make out a silhouette of the man. Broad shoulders and what seemed likely to be a drawn bow aimed at him.
“I am from Raíz, my friend, which is located in the southernmost region of our great and bounteous empire. My name is Jorge Elhuyar, and I have come to the nearby city of Gogoleth to learn at the feet of the finest apothecaries in the world.”
“Huh,” said the bandit. “You got any potions on you?”
“I’m afraid not, my friend. I was only out to gather foxtails for my master to make his potions. You are of course welcome to search me if you like.” He smiled as he squinted up at the silhouette, still clinging to the hope that they might let him go without further incident.
“You know, Nikolai…,” said a third voice that was near the first. “We could use ourselves a potion maker.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” mused the first voice, who Jorge presumed was Nikolai. “Hey, Alexi, you still got that itchy foot problem?”
“Damn right!” said the voice on the left. “Smells terrible, too!”
“And, Vasily, ain’t you having trouble taking a shit?” asked Nikolai.
“It’s been a week since I dropped a load!” called a fourth voice from much higher up the slope. “I’m ready to burst!”
“You hear that, potion maker?” asked Nikolai. “I sure hope you can fix these problems for us.”
“Well, I—”
“Because if you can’t, we might as well just kill you.”
Jorge could not keep the anxious fear from creeping into his voice. “Ah yes… Then, I would, eh, be happy to assist. In whatever way I can.”
“That’s the spirit,” Nikolai said cheerfully. “Pytor, go bring up our new potion maker.”
A few moments later, a large, hairy man suddenly appeared next to Jorge in the snowy haze. The Raízians were a worldly and open-minded people, but there had always been stories… more like tall tales, really, of the savage, hairy barbarians, more ogre than man, who ranged lawless and half-wild across the icy tundras of Izmoroz. The man who now stood before Jorge looked and smelled very much like the subject of those tales. He had no need of hat or scarf, since his lion’s mane of yellow hair and beard provided more than enough warmth. He reached out with a thick hand encased in a glove of what smelled like imperfectly cured hide and took hold of Jorge’s shoulder.
“Lord of Heaven, you’re as thin as a bird,” said Pytor as he shoved Jorge over to a narrow, steep path that led up the side of the rocky cliff.
“Don’t break ’im, then!” called Vasily. “I expect to be having the best shit of my life by sunrise!”
Jorge focused on keeping his half-numb feet from slipping on the icy path as he made his way up the side of the cliff. He tried to imagine how his situation could be made worse. Usually, this was a thought exercise that made him feel somewhat better regarding his current predicament, whatever it might be. But in this particular case, the only thing worse would have been death, and even that wouldn’t have been worse by much. After all, once he had cured these bandits of their various ailments, what was to stop them from killing him anyway?
The path opened to a ledge that was sheltered by an outcropping of rock. He could see another bandit waiting for him, similarly large and threatening, with bright red hair and beard. This was probably Nikolai. Farther up the cliff was a third bandit, presumably Vasily the constipated, who was positioned as a lookout. Jorge could also just make out Alexi on the opposite side of the pass. There was far less snow flying around this high up, and they were somewhat sheltered from the harsh glare of the late-afternoon sun, both elements that contributed to making it so difficult to see anything down below. It was, Jorge had to admit, a well-chosen spot to waylay travelers on the road.
“So, potion maker,” said Nikolai as he clasped Jorge’s upper arm in an alarmingly possessive way. “Is it true that there are potions that can make me an even better shot with my bow?”
“W-well, there are tinctures that can temporarily increase visual acuity and steady one’s hand,” admitted Jorge.
“Temporarily?” asked Nikolai. “Meaning it only works for a little while?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
Nikolai gave Jorge’s arm a painful squeeze. “Luck’s upon you then. Sounds like we’ll have to keep you alive for a good long while.”
“Our very own potion maker,” said Pytor. “Reckon we’re moving