The manacles are heavy on my wrists; the stifling blanket over my magic seems impossible to resist. But I’m sure there must be a way past it. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that nothing is impossible when magic is involved; just difficult.

  The manacles form a barrier around my skin, blocking Energy from travelling in or out. Even holding an Energy Heart, I can’t absorb a drop – residue just pools uselessly in my palm. That actually raises other interesting questions and possibilities, but I decide to explore them later. I have other objectives right now.

  Interestingly, Meditation is still accessible to me – in fact, most internal Skills are. I can even reshape my body any way I like, as long as my mana doesn’t try to leave my skin. Reshaping my hands to be slimmer than normal is actually a perfectly valid way of getting the manacles off. I continue experimenting, though – I’m determined to figure out a way of beating it at its own game.

  In my Core space, the outbound threads are blocked, bronze instead of gold – presumably, the reason I can’t absorb mana. At least the effect vanishes once the manacles are removed.

  No barrier is impassable. I just need to find the way under, over, or through this one.

  But perhaps I should take a break first. I pull at the thin chain around my neck until I find the key. Touching it to the manacles, I whisper the password. The metal cuffs open by themselves, falling off my wrists.

  I sigh in relief as my magic floods back — only now do I notice how much I’d missed its constant, unconscious interaction between me and my environment.

  Pushing myself to my feet, I tuck the manacles into my Inventory – they don’t seem to be damaged by being there – and step carefully through the minefield of meditating Bonded to reach the front of the balloon basket.

  I pause next to Pelan, the one currently on watch. Ahead lies a city, perhaps an hour or two away at the speeds we’re travelling. A little smaller than Whalehost, it’s ringed by a patchwork of fertile fields, dotted with small clusters of houses.

  “Is that Sandend?” I ask Pelan. I don’t need to point – the subject of my question is obvious. The grizzled old guard grunts.

  “Aye, my lord. That’s Sandend for sure.”

  I nod slowly and then look beyond it. The green patchwork beyond Sandend is far more limited than the one we’re flying over. And beyond that lies a brown-gold expanse that stretches off into the distance. Even at the height we are, I don’t see any trees or rivers to break up the uniformity of the land.

  “And that?” This time, I point.

  The guard follows my gesture and grunts again.

  “Nethya, my lord.” He spits – over the edge of the balloon basket, thankfully. “Bunch o’ sand mites.”

  My attention is drawn to him instead of the view ahead.

  “You seem to have a poor opinion of the Nethyar,” I observe. Pelan grimaces, but fortunately doesn’t spit again.

  “They’re parasites,” he tells me plainly, the tone in his voice absolutely convinced. He gestures towards the desert ahead. “Nothing grows there – they depend on supplies that they either buy or steal. And they do far more of the latter. I fought on the border during the raiding season – they just ride in on their beasts, grab food, valuable goods, people, and then ride off again before a proper response can be marshalled. Only by keeping a regiment in each town did we manage to prevent the worst of their attacks. And even then, it left the villages undefended.”

  A crease forms between my eyes.

  “Why don’t you build walls around the towns and villages, then?”

  Pelan makes a rude sound, then sends me an apologetic look.

  “Too expensive for what they’re worth – they’ve got mages. Are known for it, actually. Fireballs eat wood dry from the desert air, and earth magic cuts through stone like paper.” He shakes his head and stares out into the desert darkly. “Should just go in and wipe them all out.”

  “Tried that,” Laeman’s cheerful voice comes, though right now it has a hint of darkness to it which I don’t usually hear present. “Didn’t work. They know the dunes far better than any of our forces – every campaign to wipe them out has failed miserably.” He shrugs. “But can we blame them? Our ancestors drove them into the desert.”

  He stares out towards the desert, a hint of melancholy in his expression. Pelan just spits again.

  “You wouldn’t care about that if you saw the aftermath of one of their raids,” he tells Laeman spitefully. The swordsman sends the other guard a glance as sharp as his blade.

  “I have,” he tells the man quietly but intensely. “I did my own tour on the bleeding edge of the kingdom, when Lord Nicholas offered aid to Lady Goldmine during the last famine. Before the–” He slams his mouth closed quickly enough I hear the click of his teeth. I’m intrigued, but before I can ask, he looks back out into the distance and continues speaking. “Anyway, that doesn’t mean I can’t understand why the Nethyar might feel justified in coming and taking what the desert will not offer them.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “Before what?” I ask Laeman curiously. The trainer sends me a slightly wary glance.

  “Best speak to Lord Nicholas about that, my lord,” he cautions. I weigh up whether he’s more likely to speak or clam up if I press him and decide that it’s not worth trying.

  As the conversation lapses into silence, I consider what the two guards have revealed and put it against what Nicholas has told me. Now I understand why he said that Goldroute has the highest costs of any territory – they’re basically bleeding resources, whether in stolen goods and people when the Nethyar raid, or because of the cost of paying fighters to guard places while never knowing when or if the Nethyar will come. And Goldroute covers two thirds of the border between Nethya and Moriax.

  I suppose it’s just as well that the Goldmines are known for their ability to accrue wealth – it’s in their name, after all.

  My thoughts are interrupted by Mathis’ approach.

  “My lord? One of the prisoners is asking for you.”

  “Do you know what he wants?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

  “He says he has information for you.”

  Alright, I’ll bite, I decide.

  I follow Mathis to the cramped corner where the prisoners are. In the end, I changed the way the prisoners are bound – it was causing too many problems to be hog-tied. Instead, I Shaped knot-less bindings onto them with spider silk and with enough slack to eat, drink, and move a little, but no chance of wriggling free. Without knives, the bonds might as well be iron for the bandits.

  They’ve also been quiet and obedient about using the hide bag toilet I made for them since I had Lathani dangle the most defiant over the edge – while not my usual method, and not something I would have followed through on, the fear that I might let them fall off the edge of the balloon has proven to be a good motivator for them to follow the rules. Anyway, Lathani rather enjoyed it.

  There has always been at least one guard sitting next to the ‘prison’ just in case, and, until Laeman came to join me at the front of the balloon, there were three – all playing that game with knuckle bones.

  I stop in front of the hide ‘wall’ that separates the ‘prison’ from the rest of the balloon. It’s only up to my chest so it is easy enough to see over the top.

  “Who wanted to speak to me?”

  “Me, me lord,” one of the bandits says, his face a mix of fear and eagerness. “I…I heard tell yer headin’ te Sandend?”

  “I am,” I confirm coldly. “As are you – for the courts there.” My announcement elicits a mixture of relief and nervousness from those around. What did they think I was planning on doing with them? Didn’t they hear me yesterday? Or did they think I’d changed my mind in some way?

  “Well, t’was about that I wanted te speak,” the bandit said, his tone oily.

  “I’m not open to bribes,” I tell him shortly – his tone seems likely to be the precursor to something of that nature.

  “No, me lord, no bribe, just…an offer o’ help, like.”

  “Help?” I ask dubiously.

  “Well, from what I heard, yer lookin’ fer somethin’...or someone. An’ none know the city underbelly as I do – grew up there, didn’ I? So, ye see, me lord, perhaps we can…help each other, like?”

  I don’t respond immediately. They’re bandits – but he has a point. Even if he proves willing to help, Layton’s guard might not know who took my companions. And what if my Bonds don’t resonate in the way Sulir thinks they will? A guide to Sandend’s underbelly isn’t a bad idea – depending on the price of it.

  “Are you the only one originally from Sandend?” I ask the bandit, whose eyes light up at the realisation that I’m considering his proposal. Then they gain a note of panic as three others start chiming in, apparently realising that there might be something in this for them as well.

  “I’m from Sandend too!”

  “I grew up in the slums there.”

  “I was born in a village nearby – do tha’ count?”

  “Quiet!” I exclaim and they go silent instantly, several pairs of eyes looking over my shoulder anxiously as if to see if Lathani is coming again. “Put your hand up if you grew up in Sandend.” They can’t exactly raise them above their heads, but they can signal well enough for me to see. Six of them – three willingly, three hesitantly. Interesting. “Keep your hand up if you’ve been involved with the criminal underbelly of the city.” Because what city exists without one? Two of them slowly put their hands down. I observe who’s left. Interestingly, the one who hadn’t murdered anyone is included in the group. Honestly, if I have to work with someone, he would be my preference, just because of that.

  “You,” I ask, pointing at the bandit in question. “What did you do in Sandend, and why did you leave?”

  The bandit shrugs.

  “Fell in with a gang – one o’ their muggers. Got nabbed twice by the Shields. Decided to get out o’ Sandend before I got nabbed again.” He looks depressed. “Didn’t work.”

  “Well, you did take up banditry rather than an honest profession,” I remark pointedly. He stays silent, a mulish look on his face.

  I consider it. All of those present are guilty of attacking people and stealing their possessions, usually violently. Even the one who isn’t actually a murderer outright is guilty of that much – and of being a bystander to worse crimes. I refuse to offer freedom as my side of the bargain – uncomfortable or not about delivering them to slavery, I’m even less comfortable with unleashing any of them on innocents again.

  But perhaps there is something I could offer.

  “I am interested in inside help,” I start abruptly and the four bandits in the group look cautiously hopeful. “But I’m not offering freedom.” That eagerness dims. “You’ll face the courts whatever happens, and receive your sentence. But I’m willing to buy one of you myself if you’ll help me navigate the city’s underbelly. And I promise that I treat my people well – regardless of a collar around their necks. That’s my offer – take it or leave it.”

  If they do leave it, they’ve still sparked an idea in my mind – perhaps there would be others who would be more open to a bargain.

  The bandits exchange uneasy looks, clearly trying to work out if such an offer is worth anything. I’ve given them food and water instead of killing them; I’ve also had a giant leopard dangle one of them over the edge of a balloon. Mercy or a special kind of cruelty – they’ve got to decide if it’s worth taking the risk.

  here!

  here!

  here!

  here