Death and Honor Omnibus

By James E. Wisher

Justice or Revenge

Which would you choose?

When a bandit raid destroys his home, Gabriel Kane believes his whole family is killed in the fire. Burdened by guilt, he dedicates his life to bringing those responsible to justice.

Xander Kane has a secret place, a crawlspace under the kitchen perfect for stealing snacks. When the bandits attack Xander is trapped by the flames. Xander emerges hours later scarred and near death, his whole world reduced to ashes. Blind with rage, Xander dedicates his life to killing those responsible.

Four years pass before Xander, now an elite assassin, learns Gabriel survived the attack and is now an officer of the city watch. Xander returns home for a reunion, but what reaction will he get from his by the law brother?

Will the two brothers be able to set aside their differences to bring down the evil responsible for their pain?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sand Hill Publishing
• Release date: Aug 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9781945763359

James E. Wisher

James E. Wisher is a writer of science fiction and fantasy novels. He’s been writing since high school and reading everything he could get his hands on for as long as he can remember.

Book preview

Part I

Chapter One

Burt hated the forest. Whenever he came this way something bad happened. Last month his mule threw a shoe halfway to Lord’s Way. Six months ago a rotten branch broke loose and came down on Joey, breaking his arm. Now here he was walking along a well-worn path through dappled shade just like nothing bad would happen when he knew damn well it would. If the roof on his little cottage didn’t need replacing he wouldn’t have taken this job .

The lead in his hand jerked when his mule lowered its head, again, to crop the lush clover growing along the side of the path. He gave the lead a yank and the mule’s head came up. Come on, damn you. You’ll get your feed when we make camp, same as me.

Burt snatched his hand out of the way when the mule tried to bite him. He cracked it across the nose with the leather lead and it shied away. Miserable beast.

Behind him the guards riding drag chuckled. Bloody mercenaries with their fancy horses and fancy armor, they got to ride the whole trip to Lord’s Way while Burt and the other drovers had to walk and drag the mules along with them. The bosses hired six of the bastards this trip; the other four rode up front to protect the caravan master.

Hey, Burt, old Susie giving you a hard time?

Burt grinned at his buddy, Mik the stick, walking beside the next mule in line. Mik just flicked his hickory switch and his mule looked away from the clover. He got similar results waving it at his kids. Damn thing just wants to eat. What time you reckon it is?

Before Mik could reply an arrow loosed from the right side of the road pierced his throat. He fell, blood spraying from his neck. Shouts of pain came from the front of the caravan, and a second later more shouts came from behind him. Burt spun and found the mercenaries lying on the ground, both sporting arrows in their chests, their fancy mail not phasing the arrows in the least.

Burt swung back an instant before an arrow slammed into his shoulder, spinning him around and dropping him to the ground. He lay still despite the screaming, both from the rest of the caravan and his shoulder. The little belt knife he carried wouldn’t be much use in a fight like this, and if he moved they might put another arrow in him for good measure. Live to fight another day, that was Burt’s philosophy.

Minutes passed before the forest fell silent. Burt kept his eyes shut until he heard voices.

We have what we came for.

Burt opened an eye in time to see a group of bowmen—he counted a score plus three—dressed in ragged armor made of leather and bits of chain. The bandits were looking at another man dressed in gleaming mail and wearing a helm with the visor open. The man had a bent nose over a bushy mustache, but the helm hid the rest of his face. Another fancy mercenary, only this one worked for the other side. In his hands the leader—Burt harbored no doubts about who led the bandits—held a small wooden chest. The chest was a late addition to the caravan; a desperate woman in Three Streams paid the master double the usual fee to bring it to Lord’s Way, though who the recipient was Burt couldn’t say.

You’ve got five minutes to loot the mules, then we leave, the leader said.

The bandits howled like animals and tore through the panniers looking for anything worthwhile. One pulled out a small box of ingots intended for a silversmith. A second man tackled him and they rolled around kicking and punching to see who’d end up with the silver. Burt closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pain in his shoulder, praying no one would notice his shallow breathing.

All right, you dogs, time’s up. We’re leaving.

Burt risked a glance. The bandits were trudging northeast behind Fancy-Pants. He waited another ten minutes, shoulder be damned, to make certain they weren’t coming back. Burt climbed to his feet. A short distance away Susie lay on her side, an arrow through her ribs. Stubborn mule or not she hadn’t deserved to die.

Burt shuffled up the road a ways then knelt beside Mik; he hadn’t deserved to die either. The arrow in Burt’s shoulder complained with each step, but he continued to ignore it. Rest easy, mate. Burt closed his friend’s eyes.

Now, unless he’d gotten turned around, they’d passed the road to some nobleman’s estate about two miles back. They had to have a healer on the grounds, soldiers too. Burt gathered his gumption and started back down the road, his shoulder yelping with each step. By the gods, it was going to be a long walk.

Jeremiah Kane watched his sons face off with padded wooden swords. They sparred in a training circle drawn in the dirt between the barracks and Lord St. Jaques’s estate. They were alone in the late afternoon sun, the soldiers having decided not watch the afternoon match. That suited Jeremiah since the boys liked to show off when the soldiers gathered. He wanted them focused on the fundamentals not entertaining an audience .

Gabriel held his sword in high guard. With his short blond hair and blue-gray eyes Jeremiah’s elder son looked like a younger version of himself. Though he’d just turned fifteen a few months ago Gabriel already stood near six feet tall. Older, stronger, and more experienced, Gabriel should have been able to best his younger brother with no trouble. Xander, however, never let being younger and smaller stop him from doing what he wanted, and at the moment what he wanted was to drive his father and brother to distraction.

Begin, Jeremiah said.

Gabriel swung down and to the left. Rather than block the way Jeremiah taught him Xander spun away and counter slashed at his brother’s ribs. Gabriel blocked and danced out of the way.

Stop! Jeremiah scowled at Xander who grinned back at him, wooden sword resting on his shoulder. Sweat plastered Xander’s long dark hair to his head. You’re supposed to parry the blows, not dodge them.

Xander’s ice-blue eyes locked with Jeremiah’s, ready to argue. Fast, smart, and two years younger than his brother, he looked so much like his mother in that moment Jeremiah’s frustration faded away. My hands are still tingling from the morning match. If the idea is to avoid getting hit dodging is better.

The idea. Jeremiah forced himself not to shout. Is to build up your strength and calluses. You do that by blocking. I’m trying to teach you two the proper way to fight a duel.

Father, I’m curious.

Jeremiah put a hand to his forehead and suppressed a groan. If he had a gold royal for every time his younger son began a sentence with I’m curious he could have bought the estate from Lord St. Jaques.

It seems the only way someone can win a proper duel is to be stronger than his opponent. I’ll never be stronger than Gabriel so why should I learn to fight in a style that will cause me to lose?

When you’re older, Jeremiah said for the thousandth time.

Before he could continue his explanation Gabriel pointed down the road and said, Father, someone’s coming.

Jeremiah looked where his son indicated. A figure, a man from the looks of him, staggered down the road. Fetch the guards then get in the house, now.

The boys sprinted for the barracks. I almost got you that time. Xander dodged a good-natured swipe from his brother. They reached the barracks door and Jeremiah put the boys out of his mind. He drew his sword, and started down the road to see who was coming to visit this late in the evening. When he got closer the man’s staggering gait and the arrow jutting from his shoulder gave mute testament to the fact that he was no threat.

Jeremiah sheathed his sword and rushed forward just in time to catch the man when he collapsed and lower him to the ground. Easy, easy, what happened to you?

Caravan… the man gasped. Bandits…

He passed out.

The thundering of booted feet on the road announced his mens’ arrival, ten men-at-arms, swords drawn and ready for battle. His second-in-command, Sergeant Marcus, knelt beside him. Lord Knight?

It appears we have bandits roaming our territory, Marcus. Jeremiah pointed at a pair of husky men. You two carry him to the guest cottage. Someone get Bones.

One man sprinted back to the barracks to fetch their healer while Jeremiah and the rest escorted their guest to one of four guest cottages on the eastern edge of the compound.

Do you think he’ll live? Marcus asked.

I’m no healer, Jeremiah said. But that wound is far from his heart. I suspect the exhaustion caused his collapse more than the injury.

They reached the cottage, a one-room affair with a tile roof and two windows. Jeremiah unlocked the door with a key from his key ring. The light from the setting sun provided dim illumination. Put him on the bed and get a fire started.

One soldier bent down in front of the fireplace and there was a creak as he opened the flue followed by the click of steel on flint. Soon a warm glow filled the little space.

If you’re not bleeding, get out. The imperious voice of the company healer rang out.

The men fled like rats from a sinking ship at the sight of the wizened figure stomping toward the cottage, his satchel slapping against his hip. Little more than skin and bones, which was how he earned his name, Bones was shorter than Xander, louder than the cook, and tougher than old leather. Bones ignored Jeremiah and leaned over the man on the bed.

Jeremiah gave him a minute then asked, Well?

Bones looked at him. He’ll live. The arrow missed the big vessel running to his neck. Let’s yank that arrow while he’s still out.

Jeremiah pulled the unconscious man into a sitting position and held him while Bones cut the arrow short, pushed it through the back of his shoulder, and pulled it free. He dropped the arrowhead on the floor and smeared a thick crimson paste on both sides of the wound. He bound bandages in place then nodded for Jeremiah to lower him back down to the mattress.

Bones wiped the man’s blood off on his smock. That troll’s blood ointment will have him right as rain in a few days.

Can you wake him? Jeremiah asked. I need to know what happened.

I can, Bones said, the disapproval in his voice clear. It’d be best if you let him sleep until morning and get some food in him before you put him to the question.

I’m not going to torture him. Jeremiah scowled at the old healer who grinned. Morning will be fine. I can’t ride until then anyway. Will you stay with him?

Bones nodded. Jeremiah closed the door behind him and headed for the main house. The boys bounced back and forth by the front door waiting for him. Was it a bandit, Father? Gabriel asked as soon as he got in earshot.

Jeremiah tousled Xander’s hair. No, just a man who needed help.

Ha! I told you it weren’t a bandit, Xander said. You owe me half your dessert.

You’re both getting half portions tonight. Jeremiah smiled when Alexandra appeared behind the boys in the doorway. His wife had a knack for catching the boys at mischief. How many times have I told you two about wagering like that? And Xander, your grammar was awful just now. You know better.

The boys hung their heads. Sorry, Mother, they said.

Get inside this instant and wash up. Dinner’s almost ready.

They scooted past her and into the house. Xander stopped and looked back. What are we having for dessert, anyway?

Alexandra pointed toward the wash room. Xander grinned and scampered up the stairs.

That boy’s a devil, Alexandra said.

Jeremiah kissed her. Takes after his mother.

Alexandra swatted him on the shoulder, her long, dark hair swirling around her slim, elegant figure. Seventeen years since they married and she still looked as beautiful as the day she first caught his eye. He said a silent word of thanks to whatever god had placed such a wondrous woman in his path.

So what’s this about a wounded man? Alexandra asked, jolting him out of his moment of reflection.

He staggered onto the grounds while the boys were sparring, an arrow in his shoulder, muttering about bandits. Poor fellow passed out without another word. Bones is with him now and I’ll question him in the morning.

Alexandra slipped her hand into his and they went inside to eat. The warm wood floor and familiar stone walls welcomed him home. While he’d been out Alexandra put up a new tapestry in the entry hall, dragons chasing unicorns this time. Last week’s was knights at the joust.

You’ll go after them? Alexandra asked.

Jeremiah nodded. In the morning as soon as I question the stranger.

You could have Marcus lead the men. He’s a good soldier, he could handle it.

He is and I’m sure he could, but it’s my responsibility. I won’t hand it off to someone else.

You’re getting older, Alexandra said. The quiver in her voice tugged at Jeremiah’s heart. No one would think less of you if you let someone else take up some of the burden.

He stepped back and looked into her eyes. You’re wrong. I’d think less of myself. I’m not hurt or sick, that would be different. Lord St. Jaques entrusted the care of this estate to me, not Marcus or anyone else. It’s my responsibility, and keeping bandits off the roads is part of that responsibility. Honor demands I see it through as long as I’m able.

I know. She laid her head on his chest. I just wonder which time you won’t come back.

That will be as the gods will. Better an honorable death on the battlefield than a coward’s death at home. We’ll speak no more of this.

The next morning Jeremiah met Marcus by the front door and they made the short walk to the guest cottage together. Bones asked for a double helping of breakfast this morning, Marcus said. I guess that means the stranger is awake .

Jeremiah laughed. I wouldn’t make that assumption, the way Bones eats.

The two guards on watch snapped to attention as they approached. Be at ease, Jeremiah said.

The guard on the right pushed the door open and Jeremiah stepped through. Their unexpected guest was sitting up in bed and doing his best to inhale a bowl of oatmeal. Bones dozed in a chair nearby.

It looks like our guest has recovered, Jeremiah said, louder than necessary.

Bones’s head snapped up, eyes wide. Are you trying to scare the life out of me?

Jeremiah smiled. I see your patient has recovered.

Of course, I told you, just a flesh wound. If you’ll excuse me I’m heading for my bunk.

Jeremiah patted Bones on the shoulder as he passed then took over his chair beside the still-eating man. So my good fellow, what brings you to our door in such poor condition?

The stranger swallowed the last of his food. It were bandits, my lord. They killed all the others. I was damn lucky they didn’t notice me still breathing.

Why don’t you tell us everything from the beginning? Your name and occupation would be an excellent place to start.

Name’s Burt, and I’m a drover. Me and the others was hired by the Tristar merchant company to lead a train of mules down to Lord’s Way. Well sir, the trip went smooth enough except for the miserable excuse for a mule I got stuck with. That critter was the most stubborn beast I ever seen in all my days handling animals.

Jeremiah smiled. I quite understand. I’ve dealt with my share of stubborn mules though most were of the two-legged rather than four-legged variety.

Burt laughed. Aye, I’ve dealt with the two-legged variety as well, usually on payday. Anyway, we was about halfway through the forest just north of here when the bandits attacked. Most of the others died in the first volley. I got this in the second. Burt indicated his bandaged shoulder. I was out of it for a few minutes, but when I come to I seen them ugly buggers going through our packs.

One moment, Jeremiah said. Could you describe the bandits in more detail? Weapons, armor, numbers, any information would help.

No problem there, your lordship. I gave them rats a real good lookin' over. I counted a score and three dressed in odd bits of leather and chain. As for weapons, you name it and they had one. The only thing they had in common was every man carried a new-looking longbow. Truth be told I ain’t seen that many of the big bows since the eastern invasion twenty years ago.

You fought in the war? Jeremiah asked.

No, sir, quartermaster division. That’s where I learned my trade. If you ate it, swung it, or wore it me and my mates hauled it to you. There was one other fella there, the boss I reckon, he wore a breastplate and carried a sword near as nice as yours.

Did you see his face?

Just a bit, he had a helm on but the visor was up. All I seen was a bushy mustache and a bent nose. He was an odd one, didn’t have no interest in looting he just took this one little chest.

Oh?

Yes, sir, only reason I marked it was on account of it was a late addition to the caravan. A woman practically begged the boss to take it. Paid double the usual fee too.

Very interesting. Thank you for your help. Please enjoy the use of the cottage until you’re fully recovered. Jeremiah turned to go.

You give them bastards hell, sir. The lads deserve a little payback.

Jeremiah turned back. They will answer for their crimes, rest assured. Good day.

Jeremiah and Marcus left the cottage and started back to the main house. What do you think? Marcus asked.

First and second squads should be able to handle this. Go get them ready. Loken too, we’ll need a tracker.

Aye, sir. Marcus turned off toward the barracks.

Jeremiah continued toward the main house alone. He’d laid out his weapons and armor last night and needed only to strap them on. He’d promised Gabriel he could help. The boy was eager to learn about being a knight, even how to strap on armor. Jeremiah sighed; he wished Xander showed as much interest.

Alexandra waited just inside the door. How bad?

Just some bandits that think they can hunt in Lord St. Jaques’s territory. It shouldn’t take more than a week to hunt them down.

You’ll be careful? It sounded half question and half order.

I will, never fear. Where’s Gabriel? He’s to help me dress for battle.

Alexandra smiled. He saw a spot of tarnish on your sword and went to polish it. Gabriel!

The boy raced around the corner a moment later, Jeremiah’s sheathed sword slung over his shoulder. Sorry, Father, he said between gasps. I was tending your sword.

Jeremiah took the weapon from him. As a good squire should.

Father and son retreated to the armory where it took five minutes to get all the bits of steel plate strapped in place. When they finished they found Alexandra waiting in the great hall. Where’s Xander? Jeremiah asked.

In the library, where else? Gabriel said.

Get him, won’t you, dear? Alexandra said.

Yes, Mother. XANDER!

That was not what I meant, Gabriel.

Xander appeared at the top of the stairs, hopped on the railing, and slid down to join them. Off to smite the unwashed hordes, Father?

You’ve been reading the Princess and the Barbarian again haven’t you? Jeremiah said.

Yeah.

Well in this case the horde is small though still unwashed.

Fight well, Father, Gabriel said.

Yeah, carve ’em up good.

Jeremiah dropped to one knee and hugged both boys. In another year he wouldn’t have to kneel to include Xander in their goodbye hug. Be good for your mother.

Why do you always look right at me when you say that? Xander asked.

Alexandra kissed his cheek and closed the visor on his helm. Come back safe.

The flapping of ravens’ wings and the scream of crows announced their arrival at the ambush site. Bodies, both human and animal, lay strewn about the dirt track. Jeremiah shook his head and dismounted. He’d seen death often enough, but he never quite got used to it. He’d decided long ago that if he could ever look at the aftermath of a battle and feel nothing he’d retire .

Loken?

Aye, sir. The scout dismounted, his mottled brown and green cloak swirling around him, a quiver of arrows on his hip, a longbow slung over one shoulder.

Jeremiah watched while Loken studied the ground then turned his attention to the bodies. Loken bent down for a closer look at one of the many arrows pincushioning the corpses. He yanked one out and handed it to Jeremiah without comment before resuming search.

The arrow was ash, sanded smooth, and fletched with gray goose feathers, a high-quality weapon, no doubt stolen from some unfortunate hunter.

He frowned. Burt said the leader wore expensive gear. Maybe he’d bought the weapons and armed the bandits, but why?

Sir?

Jeremiah looked up when Loken spoke. Report.

They went northeast, through the forest. The bandits made no effort to hide their tracks. Judging by the prints I’d say your informant was right on about their numbers.

Probably figured no one would be after them for days, Marcus said.

Jeremiah thought much the same. Good work, Loken. Let’s get after them.

They rode out, Loken in the lead. The trees slowed their horses but the forest floor was largely clear of undergrowth so they maintained a steady trot until dusk. They made camp in a clearing near a creek. While the men tended the horses Loken approached. We’re getting closer.

You’re sure?

Loken nodded. We’re only a few hours behind them now. I’ll wager a week’s pay we catch sight of them by midday tomorrow.

Jeremiah raised an eyebrow at that. No bet, you’re too good to wager against. Spread the word, no fires tonight.

Aye, sir.

Jeremiah heard little grumbling about the lack of fire. It was approaching summer and the nights were warm. While Marcus set guards for the night Jeremiah found a likely patch of ground and spread his blanket out. They were only a day from home and everyone had fresh food to eat. He was curious to see what Alexandra had packed him.

He opened his satchel and on top, wrapped in white cheesecloth, sat a peach tart, a bit crumbled after bouncing around all day. Jeremiah smiled and took a bite. Xander must have nicked it from the kitchen and snuck it in his pack. He’d have to remember to thank the boy when he got home, right after he gave yet another lecture about not stealing from the kitchen.

The next morning they were on the road once the sun cleared the horizon. It was a beautiful day, clear and bright, the humidity of summer still far off. A shame they’d have to spoil it with a battle. After three hours’ steady riding the trees thinned then opened into a wide field. In the distance the field rose into a steep ridge .

Loken reined in at the edge of the trees and Jeremiah eased his horse up beside the scout. Do you see them, sir?

Jeremiah squinted but his eyes weren’t as keen as Loken’s and he couldn’t make out anything. Where?

Halfway up the ridge angling to our left, a line of men, it’s got to be our prey.

Jeremiah squinted again then shook his head. I’ll take your word for it, Loken. What’s our best approach?

If we ride after them now they’ll hold the high ground and we’ll be riding into the teeth of an archery barrage. Best if we let them get a little further ahead. Once they’re out of sight we can cross the field unseen then catch them on the flat ground up top.

Jeremiah nodded. We might even let them make camp and hit them after dark. Keep watch and let me know when it’s safe to move on.

Sir? Marcus said.

The men can eat if they wish. We’ll be here a little while.

Jeremiah pulled out a strip of jerky and gnawed on it. He wasn’t hungry but once they got moving he might not have another chance to eat. What he wanted was to sit at the scout’s right shoulder so he could ride the instant the bandits cleared the ridge. That wouldn’t get the bandits moving any faster and it would annoy Loken. Better to keep his distance. The scout was a professional, when it was time to move he’d say so.

They’re clear, Loken said. It had taken over an hour for the bandits to clear the ridge. All the while Loken crouched, unflinching, as he watched the tiny figures moving ever further away. It grated on Jeremiah to let the bandits get even a step further away from justice, but he accepted the necessity.

The horses pranced in place, sensing their riders’ eagerness. Let’s go. Jeremiah led the way across the field. At the base of the ridge they found a narrow path that switch-backed its way up the slope. Loken was right, if they’d tried to take the bandits on the path they wouldn’t have stood a chance.

At the top of the ridge they found another field and in the distance a scattering of trees; no way they could close the gap on horseback in broad daylight. Loken, scout ahead, Jeremiah said. I don’t want to blunder into them.

The scout dismounted and tossed his reins to the closest man. Keep a good distance back, Loken said. I’ll double back when I find their campsite.

The sun had almost set when Loken appeared out of the shadows. They’d ridden a couple miles from the ridge, Jeremiah having set a sedate pace. You found it? Jeremiah asked .

Loken pointed. Three-quarters of a mile. They’ve already started drinking. If we’re lucky, by the time we get in position they won’t even know which end of the sword to hold.

Jeremiah eased his horse over to a clump of trees and dismounted, his men following suit. We’ll leave the horses here and move in on foot. When we arrive, Marcus, you take half the men to the far side of the camp. When I give the signal we’ll take them from two sides. Questions? No one spoke, so they followed Loken through the gloom, as quietly as men wearing armor could.

They heard the camp before they saw it, shouts and laughter ringing through the quiet spring night. A bonfire illuminated the clearing where the bandits had sprawled, sacks of loot scattered here and there. Filthy men lay in the dirt, some wrestling and others eating joints of meat from what looked like a wild pig roasting on a spit over the fire, it had to be near raw. A short distance from the fire, sitting alone, brooded a man in bright mail that had to be the leader Burt described. At his feet sat a small chest.

Jeremiah and Loken eased closer while Marcus made his way to the far side. Loken pointed right and left, a sentry was at either end of the clearing. Jeremiah nodded and pointed at Loken’s bow. The scout nocked an arrow. Jeremiah gestured for the other men to ease up closer. When everyone was in position Jeremiah patted Loken on the leg.

Loken drew the arrow to his ear and loosed. Before the first arrow hit a second was in the air. The first arrow struck the far sentry in the throat; he fell without a sound. The second sentry took an arrow in the chest and he died screaming. Jeremiah surged forward, his men right on his tail.

Confused, drunk bandits staggered around looking for weapons. Jeremiah slammed one man to the ground with the flat of his sword. Another charged him, hatchet raised. He slapped the crude attack to the side and cut the bandit from shoulder to waist. All around him the battle surged. His men handled the bandits with little trouble, the only real resistance centered on the leader and a knot of four men standing back to back.

Hoping to avoid unnecessary bloodshed Jeremiah looked to where he’d left Loken and his bow to watch for runners. He whistled to get the scout’s attention, pointed to the leader, and tapped his shoulder. A moment later Loken’s bow twanged and the leader flinched, just enough that the arrow rammed into his neck instead of his shoulder, rocking his head back and knocking him to the ground.

Damn it! Jeremiah wanted the leader alive.

He charged toward the still-standing bandits. Surrender and you’ll be spared!

One bandit made a clumsy thrust with a short sword but Jeremiah batted it aside and decked the man with a mailed fist. The bandit’s head twisted around and he went down in a heap. The sight of their comrades dead or down must have convinced those left to surrender because as one they tossed their weapons to the ground and raised their arms.

Sergeant, secure these men. If they give you any trouble run them through. This last bit he added for the benefit of the bandits. None of his men would kill an unarmed man. Loken, go fetch the horses. We’ll camp here tonight and ride home in the morning.

The victory was one-sided for the most part. Once they sorted out the chaos of the battle they had ten prisoners. The rest were dead and dumped in a heap outside the clearing. As for his men, one unlucky corporal got a deep gash on his cheek and two others took blows to the body that would be sore for a few days.

The prisoners are secure, sir, Marcus said when they’d finished tying up the survivors. He held a belt pouch in his hand. I took this off the leader’s body, thought you might want a look.

Excellent. Jeremiah took the pouch. Post a guard detail and tell the rest of the men they can get some sleep. We ride at first light.

Marcus saluted and went to carry out his orders. Jeremiah walked over and sat down beside the little chest that appeared to have caused all this fuss. He hefted it; it weighed maybe a pound or two. The lacquered wood gleamed, and the catch showed no sign of damage. The bandits hadn’t attempted to open it after three days in their possession, that seemed odd.

Jeremiah set the chest aside and dumped the pouch out on the ground. By the light of the fire he studied the contents: a used silk handkerchief, no monogram, that went into the fire; a folding, ivory-handled pocket knife that Jeremiah appropriated, it would make an excellent gift for Xander’s birthday next month; and a three-inch-long scroll case. Inside the case he found a rolled-up strip of paper covered in vertical and horizontal lines. If it was a language it was one Jeremiah hadn’t seen.

He replaced the scroll in its case and tucked it away in his own pouch. Maybe Alexandra could make sense of it, her father worked as a scribe so she knew a lot about languages.

Jeremiah yawned and got to his feet, tucking the chest under his arm. He didn’t plan to let it out of his sight until he had a better idea what was happening. Loken had returned with the horses and it was time to get his bedroll and try to sleep. It would be a long ride home at the pace the prisoners could walk.

Chapter Two

Ick shrieked and waved his hands at the sky causing the branch he perched on to shake. Below him, in a little clearing in the woods four days’ travel from the nearest settlement, six of the master’s thugs looked up, frowning, at their tiny commander .

The humans’ fear washed over the little demon and he reveled in it. For three days they’d waited for the rest of the humans to arrive with the master’s package. Even allowing for the general laziness of humans, the bandits should have arrived two days ago.

After one last shriek at the universe Ick turned his attention to his servants. They were filthy, diseased creatures too stupid to be trusted with even simple tasks without his supervision, the absolute dregs of Lord’s Way. Ick smelled their sweat and the remains of their last meal rotting between their decaying teeth even from his perch far above them. Reaching into their minds Ick read their anxiety and a desire to collect the gold they’d been promised so they could spend it on alcohol and females. Disgusting.

Ick drew on his innate magic and sent his thoughts streaking through space to his waiting master. The vermin have still not arrived, Master.

Even the edge of his master’s fury sent a thrill of pain through the little demon. If they haven’t arrived yet they’re not going to. You may return. Gorn will be waiting.

Yes, Master.

His master severed the connection and Ick allowed himself a gleeful chuckle. Gorn would pay the humans in blood and Ick’s misery would be washed away in it. Humans, the meeting has been canceled. I will take you to collect your payment now.

Relief and excitement oozed out of them. They wanted out of the forest and back to what passed for civilization. It was a couple miles’ hike to the edge of the forest where they were to meet Gorn and Ick was as anxious to get there as the humans though for different reasons. The little demon spread his wings and leapt from the tree, gliding east to where his brother waited, the humans trotting along behind him.

They reached the edge of the forest a few minutes before noon. Ick sensed Gorn’s presence even though he wasn’t in view. They emerged from the edge of the woods and found Gorn sitting on a boulder. He wore the form of a human warrior in black, spiked plate armor. On the ground at his feet sat a cloth pouch. The humans eyed it licking their lips, eyes shining with greed.

Your reward, Ick said. Go collect it.

The humans needed no further prompting. They raced forward, each wanting to be the first to collect their payment. The humans were so focused on the pouch they never noticed Gorn hop off the boulder and straighten to his full seven-foot height. Once the first human was within reach Gorn lashed out, striking the man with such force that his fist went all the way through the bandit’s chest and blasted out his back in a shower of blood.

The moment he struck, the illusion that cloaked Gorn in the shape of a man faded, revealing his true demonic body. Pebbly, reptilian skin covered a massive, broad-shouldered figure. Bat wings sprouted from his back and a barbed tail lashed behind him. Gorn ripped his arm free of the human’s chest; in his clawed hand he held the human’s heart. The demon popped the morsel into a mouth lined with three rows of shark teeth and ground it up.

The horror that was Gorn held the other humans rooted in place as surely as chains. Gorn flailed left and right, crushing the humans under his fists. All the while Ick flew overhead chattering like a mad thing, dancing through the air around spurts of blood. Far too soon for Ick’s liking nothing remained of the humans but piles of quivering flesh.

Gorn reached down to collect the pouch then gestured for Ick to join him. The little demon would have liked to play in the blood a little longer but he knew better than to keep his unpredictable big brother waiting. Ick landed on Gorn’s shoulder and the two of them teleported away.

Knight Commander Eric Ericsson contemplated the two-inch-tall pile of papers on his desk, each sheet detailing either a crime under investigation or one that his officers had solved. As a whole the stack represented the corruption that was Lord’s Way. Sometimes Eric thought it would be best to wipe out the city and start fresh, like a farmer mucking out the stables .

Eric picked up the top sheet, but before he could look at it a tingling in the back of his head interrupted. Eric leapt to his feet and tossed the paper back into the pile. He hurried over to his office door, locked it, and sat back down. With slow deep breaths he calmed his thoughts, preparing his mind to accept the master’s will. When the tingle became a steady buzz Eric pictured a door in his mind then he opened it.

Lord Slevas? Eric wasn’t comfortable enough with telepathic communication that he could send the words without speaking them.

Knight Commander, there has been a setback. Even from a distance the power of the demon’s mental voice caused Eric to tense for a fight, though he couldn’t win a fight with the demon. Eric suspected Slevas could destroy him with a thought. I require you to discover what happened to a caravan due to arrive in the city two days ago.

Of course, my lord. It may take some time as many caravans enter Lord’s Way every day.

The caravan belonged to the Tristar merchant house and it passed through a village called Three Streams over a week ago. I expect an update by midnight.

The demon broke contact leaving Eric breathing hard and trembling. Every time he finished communicating with the demon he felt like a rookie after his first battle, trembling and sick to his stomach. It should have gotten easier, but no.

Eric got up, unlocked the door, and left his office. The paperwork would have to wait. Bypassing the chaos of Watch headquarters’ main lobby Eric turned right and exited by the back door. Technically he was supposed to tell his second-in-command when he left the building, but he didn’t want to and nobody cared anyway.

Outside, Eric judged it to be approaching mid-morning. He had perhaps fourteen hours before he needed to report to his master. No time to fool around. Three Streams was north of the city so any caravan would check in at one of the two north-end gates. Eric headed in that direction, setting a brisk pace.

He walked through his city, barely noting the masses of people, buying, selling, arguing, and stealing. Lord’s Way was a merchant city, everybody always trying to get one over on a competitor. They were no better than the thieves whose names covered the pages on his desk, the difference being the merchants robbed people within the rules and the thieves didn’t.

When he reached the north gate one of the guards was busy inspecting a pair of wagons. Eric hung back and watched. While his underlings poked through the contents of the wagons one merchant slipped a small pouch to the Watch sergeant who made it disappear just as fast. Eric shook his head and smiled. He didn’t mind his men taking bribes for undervaluing the merchants’ cargo; the only people more corrupt than the merchants were the politicians that collected the taxes on them.

When the guards finished going through the motions Eric approached. At the sight of his lion-embossed breastplate they snapped to attention. Sergeant, I need a word.

The older man’s eyes widened and he looked around, hoping there might be another sergeant hiding somewhere that Eric wanted to talk to. Not surprising considering he’d accepted a bribe seconds before. Eric wondered if he feared losing his job or having to share the coin. Sir?

Give me your log book.

He dug through his satchel and produced a small notebook. Eric snatched it out of his hand and scanned through the last two weeks of entries. Nothing from Tristar had passed through the gates. Eric returned the notebook. Keep up the good work, Sergeant.

Yes, sir. He saluted, a slack look of relief on his pathetic face.

Eric left Gate One and headed for Gate Two. A brief examination of their logbook showed the same as the first: nothing from Tristar in the last two weeks. The caravan hadn’t entered the city, he felt certain, so where the hell was it?

He left the gates heading toward the warehouse district, lucky for him it wasn’t far from Gate Two. Hundreds of warehouses sprawled through the district, some new and others old and sagging, most somewhere in between. Tristar’s was unremarkable, small, but well cared for. It had the look of a well-run, small company. The doors stood wide open and one man rifled through one of the scores of crates while another wrote on a slate.

Excuse me, Eric said.

The two men looked at him, then at each other, and then started toward him. As they got closer it became clear that they were twins, red hair, green eyes, and both of them so thin that together they barely cast a shadow.

Can we— the twin on the right began.

Help you? the twin on the left finished.

Eric gave them a hard stare. The twin on the right flinched. Sorry, we do that sometimes.

Never mind, I’m investigating an increase in bandit activity and I was wondering if you had any caravans missing.

The left-hand twin ran back into the warehouse, to check their records Eric assumed. A moment