On day 1140, the first arrow struck the sign that said the road was open.
It entered the painted board just above the word open and remained there, quivering. The driver of the lead cart pulled his animals to a stop. Behind him, the second cart nearly ran into the first before its driver caught the brake.
Iven looked toward the ridge. He could see no archer. The road passed between a line of low rocks and the outer wall of the Three Wells waystation. A person lying behind the rocks could see the carts without showing much of themselves.
“Back to the bend,” Tavin told the drivers. “One cart at a time.”
The lead driver stared at the arrow. “They said the route was safe.”
“It was when we checked it this morning. Now it isn’t.”
The carts carried replacement parts for the meeting’s demonstration gate and two chests of medical supplies for the waystation clinic. They had no reason to keep moving toward an unseen archer. Tavin’s crew began backing the second cart first, using a rope around its rear axle to control the descent.
A second arrow struck the road beside Iven. This one carried a cloth strip tied beneath its head. The strip was red.
