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of each and every shadow point—and rejoicing that my new free talent did not require me to consume any. The spinning rod really did work at greater distances and accuracies, and for all of the idiosyncrasies of its construction, it no longer seemed rough to wield. I grew more and more comfortable with its use. It was much inferior to real spinning rods from my past life—but even in this form, it made me orders of magnitude better a fisherman.

Thirteen years had passed since I had held one in my hands, but I now recalled how light, responsive, and accurate they were. It looked nice, too.

I could have certainly afforded some better line to match.

Now I would spend lasciviously at any fishing store I encountered.

“Ged, look: the boats are returning!” the ghoul exclaimed, yanking me from my dream world, where I was looking into a shop window at coils of fishing line that were strong enough to raise a tank from a swamp.

Without comprehending, I instinctively turned to look the same way Beko was looking: towards the left bank of the river. Two boats emerged from the reeds, one after the other. Fifteen men and women sat within—and a leader, clearly stronger than the rest. Ash. Next to him, clad in dark leather armor, was Hugo the Ambidexter, the trading post’s enforcer.

“It’s our people, returning from their search for the Emperor of Pain and his crew.”

Beko nodded. “But something happened.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. They said that fifteen ventured out, though. I see fourteen. Can you count them too, Ged? I always try to count everything, just like you taught me, but sometimes I miscount.”

I was the one who had miscounted. I ran over the rowers and passengers and nodded. “Fourteen, just like you say. One is missing.”

“But people make mistakes. Maybe the people who told me their starting number were wrong. It could have been fourteen.”

I reeled in my line so that the others would not gape at our secret machines. “Let’s take a break. Go and see what news they bring back.”

The party rushed up with a stretcher bearing, we realized, the missing fifteenth man. His face was covered in dried blood and the flies it brought. The shaft of a broken arrow was protruding from his right eye socket. At a glance I could tell that my limited talents and recent experience in simple field surgery would not be sufficient here. Even a university-trained healer would be unable to help.

It was time for an undertaker.

“What happened to him?” Beko gasped.

“Caught a head cold, can’t you tell?” Hugo the Ambidexter replied lazily as he proceeded up the path.

“The hell are you staring at?” Ash snapped. “Beat it!”

It was unwise to disobey the leader of the trading post. We stepped aside without question. Beko whispered to me in agitation, “I’ve heard of this kind of thing before. There’s a bandit out there who always shoots his targets in the eye. Did you see that, Ged? He killed Zash!”

“Yes, I saw. I’ve seen him kill others, too. Some of the arrows whistled right by me.”

“What? When?”

“On the way here. The caravan was attacked.”

“Right. At the Redriver crossing—I heard about that, but forgot. It’s far from here, after all. So, Bloodshot Eye has drawn close to our post. That’s bad. He’s a dangerous bandit.”

“You call him ‘Bloodshot Eye’?”

“Sometimes. They say his real name is Atto. And that he is a deserter from the Emperor’s army. Or even, according to some reports, from his personal guard. I doubt those reports are true. Why would a guardsman desert? His accuracy is legendary, and he always puts his arrows right into his targets’ eyes. A gang of plunderers follows him. Last year, they nearly overwhelmed a village near Second Stone.”

“It sounds like this sniper is in league with the Emperor of Pain,” I remarked.

“What makes you think that?”

“Ash went out to catch the emperor’s henchmen. He returned with Zash, dead, shot in the eye. The Emperor of Pain arranged the events of yesterday in conjunction with this killing today, in order to intimidate the trading post. He knew Ash would launch a retaliation campaign. So, he set an ambush somewhere, along the tracks his own people had left from the day before. Either that, or the archer’s band is relocating here from Redriver, and the Emperor of Pain has nothing to do with this second killing. In that case, perhaps the boat was a copycat attack—an act of the band in imitation of the emperor’s style. An act to lure our people out. Something must have gone wrong, though. They only killed one. No matter who was behind it, they might have intended to inflict heavy losses. Or not. Perhaps one kill is more useful, as intimidation. One arrow, one corpse, and now our people will think twice, or thrice, before crossing the river again. We don’t have enough capable people to defend everyone. Not that it would help. This was a party of fifteen warriors and hunters, and they were thwarted by a single bandit. I believe this year’s hornflower season is now at an end. It was cut short, very intentionally, by our enemies.”

“I’m sorry to say it,” Beko shook his head, “but you’re right. The worst hornflower season in known memory.”

* * *

Jadiro the innkeeper paid for our catch without too much bargaining. We had done business with him before and so had an understanding. I hardly ever tried to weasel a little extra out of him, and vice versa. He was the most convenient buyer, too, since he would also purchase the spices dropped by the slain kotes. After the transaction was complete, Beko and I had only to take one basket to Megaera, and our fishing trip would be concluded.

It was a great catch. No one had ever caught close

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