A KILLING IN THE AIR - the Further Adventures of Bander

Chapter 1

TOBIN LEROTH WOKE UP—ALTHOUGH HE WISHED HE HADN’T. A rough cloth sack was bound tightly around his face and neck, obscuring his vision. He could taste blood in his mouth. His arms and legs were restrained somehow. And his head ached from hanging upside-down.

He shifted his weight and tested his bonds. His skin pressed against the cool metal and his worst fears were one step closer to being confirmed. He cleared his mind, began breathing deeply, and tried to tap into the magical energy around him. Nothing.

It was as he dreaded. The shackles that held him were made of relorcan, a rare metal, yet exceptionally effective in disrupting the flow of magical energy.

“He stirs,” a voice said. Not deep. Not threatening. Just matter-of-fact. With a hint of rangelands accent.

“Time?” Another voice. One word spoken, but it was with authority.

“They are just leaving the north entrance.”

“Well, he woke just in time, I’d say. Make the preparations.”

An intense pain jabbed into his gut, horribly burning his insides. Acid. A moment later Tobin Leroth felt his arms and legs jerk together, like a stag being trussed for slaughter. His body swung in the air. He considered briefly making a plea for his life, but dismissed the thought. He knew who held him and he also knew why. They were not interested in pleas.

“They’ve reached the statue,” a third voice said. This voice was lighter, younger.

“Keep clear. On my mark.”

Tobin Leroth heard the men shuffle away. A cool breeze blew through the sack and he felt the salt air on his face. He cleared his mind once more. Not to attempt to invoke magic, but to make peace with the universe.

“Now,” the authoritative voice commanded.

Tobin Leroth’s body jerked savagely and he was flung 100 yards into the air. Mercifully he lost consciousness before he hit the ground.

* * *

A FORTNIGHT LATER, A TALL, GREY-EYED MAN NAMED BANDER WALKED THROUGH THE TREES ON THE OUTSKIRTS OF THE MATHAM WOOD WEST OF LHAWSTER. He had been on the road for nearly a month and was down to his last few silver coins. Not that he spent a lot during his travels. Bander lived very simply these days. And he lived to walk.

After two decades as an Imperial investigator in Rundlun, Bander was sick of seeing nothing but city walls. So when he mustered out three years ago at the rank of Red Shoulder Captain, Bander decided he’d spend the rest of his days wandering Harion—from Waterside to Laketon to Lhawster to Kreed’s Keep to The Steading to Rundlun to Hamwick and then back to Waterside. It was a loop that ran nearly 7,000 miles and took him well over a year to complete, but Bander treasured every step. He did, however, like to travel unencumbered—and that meant caching coins outside of each major city he visited. It wasn’t that Bander was concerned about robbers and highwaymen—it was more that he didn’t want to pay the tax levied on gold being transported into each city.

Bander made sure he was alone, then sought out a particular hollowed log next to a boulder as tall as he was. Hoping there was nothing inside that might sink its fangs into his fingers, Bander reached into the log. He felt a braided cord and tugged it, extracting a oilskin pouch from its hiding place. Inside were enough regmarks to keep him in food, drink, and amusement for the two weeks he would be in Lhawster. Or at least that’s what he expected to be in the pouch. Instead there were a dozen rocks. And a flat slab of crystal the size of his hand.

Bander gripped his shortstaff and scanned the area. He didn’t believe that whoever stole his cache would be stupid enough to remain in the vicinity, but he needed a few moments to calm himself so that he could assess the situation. He spiraled out a few hundred yards from the log, looking for tracks. Bander wasn’t a ranger by any means—not even an amateur one—but he’d become more familiar with signs of the forest since he began his wandering. But there were no telltale broken branches, no bits of cloth, no bootprints that he could detect.