There were other open seats as thenumber of travelers to Lorgo had steadily decreased since theCollapse, as they had everywhere else. Still, Konic marched overand sat across the table from the mysterious killer. And a killerhe surely was. Konic could see death in the man’s icy blue eyes.The man’s hands carried the calluses of both sword and bow, as wellas some that Konic could not identify. The bandit sat, bowstringtaut, ready to spring in any direction at a moment’s notice, yet hegave the casual appearance of relaxing with his drink. The manmight not be a bandit at all, Konic pondered, more likely anassassin.

A young town girl came over to take hisorder. “Good evening, Master . . .”

“Just an ale, girl,” Konicinterrupted. “And I’ll signal if I wish another.”

The girl left with a puzzled look andKonic turned his attention back to the mysterious man who waslooking out towards the rest of the common room, though Konic wassure that the man was watching his every move.

“Can I get you a drink whenthe girl returns, stranger?” Konic asked.

“I am well cared for,fisherman,” the bandit smoothly replied.

The bandit’s accent was slight, butobviously not Sordoan. “You are not Sordoan, I see,” heremarked.

The bandit blinked at him beforereplying. “No one is Sordoan anymore,” he stated flatly. “And if Icame from anywhere around your town, you would surely already knowme. What is it you wish to ask me that comes so slowly to yourtongue?”

The man was no fool, but Konic hadalready determined that. The problem would be getting any usefulinformation from him. Konic was sure that the man could lie with asstraight a face as if he were telling the truth. It was also clearfrom the man’s behavior that he did not consider Konic as a threat,only a distraction from watching the other people in the commonroom. “I am just curious what brings someone of your obvious skillto such a small town as Lorgo,” Konic finally asked.