Hound Hunting - Chapter 5.

Minstrels Market is one of the myriad of trade districts that have sprang up around Emberhelm. If you wanted to hire someone to play for you, to shape a song, make music, craft an instrument or try to teach you; Minstrels Market is where you come. And it isn’t quite what most who visit expect I’d wager.

There isn’t an abundance of fanfare or flash to celebrate its presence. Most of the stonework and wooden buildings are weathered to the point that some residents have resorted to ramshackle repair tactics. Anyone expecting gilded glass windows and flawless facades might easily mistake the area for a lower district.

But one signature element makes Minstrels Market unmistakable to any other area of Emberhelm; an endless aura of music. In every manner the trade can be implemented there is always practitioners at work day or night. The streets echo the subtle sounds of song and the permanent presence of playing instruments.

Walking through the market is an experience in itself, the atmosphere ambient altering flawlessly to fit with the time of day, the weather or even the unspoken mood of the city. In a way it was an affirmation to the almost magical power music could have – especially in the skilled hands of those who mastered the craft.

It wasn’t the kind of setting you would suspect to find a formidable SpellHound, much less a Justicar. Even though I myself had discovered that this was the most likely location to contact Maeredith long ago, the mental image of a proper office or stately room just seemed more appropriate. Maybe it was just me, but I never could shake the idea that someone determining a person’s fate should be behind some desk or seated regally. Not standing serenely on some city street listening to the drifting music of the night.

But that is precisely where Maeredith Starseer was, stationed near the center of a small empty courtyard with a flowing fountain of water as a companion. Placed along the perimeter the Everlight lanterns glow only afforded a dim illumination. Even in the mix of moonlight and manufactured magical light doubted I could have mistaken her for anyone else.

A thick long braid of liquid twilight dangled behind her disturbing what little light her banded armor caught and threatened to cast back. Instead of opting for heavy cumbersome armor made from worked plates of steel, Maeredith prudently preferred the far less restrictive qualities of a composite approach. It made use of overlapping strips of metal that had been sewn onto a leather backing, along with a mixture of chainmail and studded leather to protect her from harm.

It was a part of her approach to things that I admired. She was just as capable as any male SpellHound to ever serve in my opinion, and even were she otherwise I dare not discount the danger she could represent to a foe. Only a death-seeking fool would turn a blind eye to the lethal long sword that hung ever ready at her hip. And even a fellow SpellHound would be wise to pay heed to the long hafted hammer resting before her – its head seated on the ground and its handle poised beneath her palms.

Despite her own slight size or feminine features there was a raw strength to Maeredith. She might only stand even with most men’s chests or chins at best, but I could scarcely recall another so surprisingly skilled with steel against opponents so superior in size. And yet, even as physically capable as Maeredith had proven herself to be there was no ignoring the fact that she was without question a woman.

Perhaps it was her heritage, the blended traits of both her parents but my eyes always threatened to tempt an angry response when in her presence. Even so encased in her armor a collection of curves couldn’t keep themselves hidden. Never mind her overwhelming professional persona or aura of authority. It was a different kind of nervous anxiety than that of being a recruit in the presence of someone like Corrin. Although, I can’t completely say that it was a completely separate sensation.

“With your permission, Ma’am,” I cordially started to greet her only to cut myself off short with the reminder such formalities were no longer necessary. Maeredith was no longer my superior, nor were we confined to code of conduct expected between serving SpellHounds. This only added to the awkwardness my racing pulse seemed eager to punctuate.

“Ahem,” I faltered, hoping to find some way to regain my balance. But my mind was sadly and rather determined to avoid any speech that might preserve any passing semblance of dignity. Instead it was quite content to juggle about a curious collection of chaos that resisted my attempts to organize them.

“What was my intent for seeking you out again,” someone asked aloud and then I found myself firmly embarrassed when I recognized my own voice. “Apologies,” I countered as quickly as I could and redoubled my efforts to re-organize my thoughts. When next my lips parted it was with an increased sense of self-control.

“I hope this night finds you well and that I am not intruding,” I attempted to ingratiate myself and desperately prayed my recent display might go overlooked. Maybe I had finally found some fortune since her head had yet turned towards me and therefore could still be engaged in enjoying the evening entertainment. Instantly my stomach fell from existence and left me the moment her eyes acknowledged my proximity.

Those eyes, they were like starring up into a starry sky; a deep sea of endless blue flecked with hints of green, gold and silver stars. It was always a point of contention that I struggled to contemplate; had she garnered the name Starseer for her ability to look afar into someone or quite simply for her marvelous eyes alone? I had never been able to satisfactorily decide.

My tongue decided it was a fitting time to allow my mind the opportunity to debate the issue once more before I could object. Maeredith’s eyebrow rose ever so slightly in an expression that I couldn’t determine if it meant to convey polite irritation or a patient demand for me to hurry along to whatever point I intended to make. My skills regarding women in general are lacking to say the least so I wasn’t sure which would be more likely.

Closing my eyes I paused long enough to wrangle with my words, resigned to drive straight towards my intended purpose. “I bear a law-breaker, charged with the malicious use of magic among other crimes. Justice demands she see judgment, but my conscience isn’t clear that some other force is at work. I fear her innocence is neither intact, nor is her guilt grave. She has a need of a Justicar’s discernment, and I can think of none other more apt to approach the issue without clouded contemplation.”

An extra ring of steel on stone sang to life to join the midnight melody of Minstrels Market, Maeredith’s hefty hammer rising briefly before returning to rest on the ground. Carried along with the curious chime was a growing circle of pale white power that passed beneath our feet. As it swept by, a tingle of energy crept over my skin, leaving my hair standing on edge.

And just like that, with a single tap of her hammer we were frozen in place, our feet firmly rooted statue like to the street. In the limited light available, Maeredith’s eyes were transformed and I could feel her attention pouring through the both of us. Unable to move I found myself likewise incapable of offering any objection. We were transfixed by her gaze, and as we stared into those depths I understood. For I was looking directly into the ever-burning heart of a star among endless darkness, Starseer was quite the fitting name after all.

“Tsk, tsk,” she chided me, an alien aspect present in her voice that I’d never known before. But then, I had never been on the receiving end of a Justicar like this. “I do not permit such thoughts about me by those in my presence unless I have granted permission,” she continued to chastise me. By all creation I could only wonder at what she was seeing – let alone where she was finding the images she was hinting at. All the same I could feel my cheeks beginning to blush.

“Although I do suppose it could be our little secret, perhaps I will allow you your daydreams. Maybe they will provide some mercy to this weight of worry you burden yourself with. What have you fumbled into, what are these threads that threaten to unravel I wonder?”

Maeredith’s stance shifted slightly as she directed more of her potent probe deeper into Lillian. “Hunter’s Horn,” she cursed with a sharp gasp that I felt more than heard. “Malicious magic has been worked by your hand dear lady, but there is more of its stain upon your soul. Something has had a sorcerers hand at work within you as well.”

My ability to move returned to me with a sudden staggering weight that made me appreciate the grounds consistent nature to remain beneath me. Maeredith’s demeanor had changed in the aftermath of her examination. Where a serious nature had been or even the touch of a dark humor now a glimpse of softness showed. Almost invisible in the twilight a single tear trailed down her left cheek tracing its way down a blue braid of tattooed knot work.

Even so shaken, her posture faltered none and I could not mark any other visible reaction to whatever she had witnessed. I don’t know which was worse to think about; seeing Maeredith’s response or not knowing what could have caused it. And then I remembered that Corrin and company had her cohort already in custody as well.

I could really use that drink now, I decided. And, just maybe, I could crawl inside it to find this whole mess had blown past me. I could take my purse, pay some debts and begin looking for the next client with coin.

An awkward stillness settled over us, nobody so much as moved, save for the shallow signs of breathing. Lillian herself showed little desire to speech, trembling openly from her experience. More questions began to take shape in the quiet corners of my mind and as they did I had to consciously remind them that I had decided not to allow my curiosity any more freedom over me.

It, however, had not agreed with that idea. “How bad is she,” the question shattered the growing silence like it was a fragile frost. Maeredith herself was forced to close her own eyes this time before meeting mine and compose herself. But when she spoke it lacked her usual complete confidence.

“Shards,” the valiant veteran started to explain. “Someone has used spells to shape this poor woman’s soul and left her with only pieces of herself. There is no doubt in me that she has made use of her own small talent for magic to commit crimes as she has been charged. However, there is too much of her missing to piece together more.”

My belly opted for the opportunity to reassert its return with a sickening lurch at hearing the news and all that it implied. “What could have done something like this to her, what could ravage her so without alerting anyone to the damage? How do we handle dealing with her knowing this,” a flood of fears all threatened to overwhelm me at once. Had any SpellHound ever had to face such a complicated issue like this?

Pushing the panic aside I tried to close the gap my rushing rant had taken advantage of. This wasn’t Maeredith’s fault; I couldn’t allow myself to lash out at her. It was just as likely that she also was absent the answers I was desperately demanding. “Allow me to apologize once more, I am afraid the current situation has found me on unfamiliar footing,” I stated sincerely.

Maeredith actually smiled, just enough to be noticed before her face returned to the mask it regularly displayed. Are Justicar’s even allowed to smile a part of me started to ponder, but by that reckoning I had no basis if they were permitted to shed tears either? Theirs was a task that doubtless could tolerate an abundance of open emotional displays. The thought of a figure that acts as judge and jury being seen showing anything less than detachment in delivering their sworn duty could be dangerous.

“Don’t lose any sleep over it,” I encouraged her, trying to provide a friendly grin out of genuine compassion. “Mixed blooded mutts like us have to stick together. No mention of your mere-mortality will ever be heard about from these lips.”

Maeredith’s guarded bearing didn’t seem to acknowledge my implications, but I was quite confident that she had caught my meaning clear enough. With a formal bow of her head and only a faintly hinted flourish she once more tapped her hammer against the stone. This time there was no tingling tide to wash over me. Instead, Lillian relaxed visibly and fixed her head obediently towards the form of Maeredith.

“I will ensure that the presented culprit of crimes is dealt with is a manner appropriate to her actions,” Maeredith declared automatically in her official Justicar tone. “You’re free to return to any matters that previously engaged you former SpellHound Vaen. My parting counsel to you; walk with a wary eye and mark where your feet lead you with care. Scarce courtesy will be granted you or consideration for your past service should you be found involved by others.”

“Thanks for giving the girl a fair chance,” I told her gratefully. “Appreciate the advice too; I’ll try to keep my nose clear. As far as I’m concerned my obligations to my client have been met. People have been caught, problem solved and I’ve even done my civic duty to surrender them into the hands of the authorities. Consider me as removed from involvement as can be.”

And with that Maeredith and I bid each other farewell. Lillian fell immediately into tow behind her and the pair disappeared into the night on the opposite side of the fountain. Suddenly the feeling of being alone and no longer in the company of a Justicar brought a shiver to my skin. The music of Minstrels Market becoming more pronounced as I found myself left to my thoughts.

First among them was the admission that remaining in my current surroundings wasn’t going to do my nerves any favors. I could leave the dark isolation to those with a more poetic disposition. Give me a warm hearth, friendly faces and my imagination at bay instead. It was far too easy for one’s nerves to run away with them otherwise.

Howlers Hall came to mind immediately and I was quite happy to head its way. There was the promise of payment, a well earned drink or two and a deserved distraction. If troubling times were on the horizon; let the SpellHounds handle it. My duty these days rested solely with keeping my debts paid and whoever hired me happy.

Hound Hunting - Chapter 4.

Burning in my belly was the remains of the rise Lillian had managed to coax out of me. It may not have been a cheap shot much less anything intentional at all. She had just been caught committing a crime by precisely one of the people she didn’t expect to draw any attention from. Lillian was facing a large amount of uncertainty about her future. But it was exactly the kind of gambit she had risked in trying to amass for herself enough funds to suit her dreams.

Suffer a fool for a time, and in time that fool will suffer. I’d heard that saying many times as a child, and right now I could truly appreciate its wisdom. It is ironic how often such proverbs can prove themselves true. Despite knowing it wasn’t particularly necessary I couldn’t resist the impulse to give my captured conniver a brief nudge to direct her towards the doorway.

Baylen’s bearded face stepped out from behind his bar, his hands held before him in a gesture that pleaded for me to pause. The tall man of the tap-trade regarded us both before finding his words. When he spoke it was with careful consideration.

“You have done your job, just as you gave your word to do,” he began, blinking briefly to direct his eyes aside. “The quality of your craft is to be applauded, and I fully intend to uphold my own end of our agreed bargain. But I would ask you one final request if you spoke honestly; please, if any influence is available to you make use of it to allay her punishment. I have known this girl countless seasons, long before she grew into the shape of a woman. I would look on it as a personal favor and don’t think I could live with it on my heart should she forfeit her life for a lapse in judgment.”

Mercy was the hallmark of an honorable man my father had once told me. It was one of the limited number of lessons he had been allowed the time to impart to me before fate found it fitting to remove him from my life. Chief among the things he had taught me was one central foundation that I had always used to guide me. It was the knowledge that a good man can always choose to do what is right without being forced to do so.

That was the last ideal my father imparted to me, and it had cost him his life to do so. It wasn’t the kind of experience you could allow to lose value or ignore. He deserved more than that, his memory was worth being honored. And just thinking of him was sobering enough to remind me that I had indeed already spoken with at least an implication of sympathy.

There was only one person that I could think of that I could turn Lillian over to and have any chance of being able to leverage any good will on my own behalf. Especially after my recent warm reception from Corrin and company. If I showed up with a second suspect when he was already suspicious of me I doubted he would let me speak so much as a word on either of our behalves.

No, I would have to take her straight to the Justicars themselves and surrender her into custody. This wasn’t without its own potential unpleasantness, a Justicar’s talent laid in their ability to look right through you. Where other SpellHounds can follow a trail or perceive the flowing magic all around, a Justicar can sniff their way right inside you. They can smell your own guilt; even see the stain of any sinister sorcery on your soul.

Or, that is what they say anyways. I’ve never been all that comfortable with the idea of finding out first hand myself. Especially since Justicars hold the authority to pass judgment on anyone outside the royal line – even other SpellHounds. There have been those among the ranks who thought themselves above the law. They all ended up facing a Justicar for judgment of their crimes and punished accordingly. Usually it took the form of a private farewell visit from one of the Extinguishers.

The word comfortable couldn’t be used to describe anytime I had ever been in the presence of one of their number. Granted, I had been required to interact with a Justicar on a number of occasions, we all did. Anytime an Interceptor apprehended someone, and they were still breathing, we had to present them before a Justicar. It just so happened that over the course of my service I had been assigned a designated member with which to deal with.

Her name was Maeredith, but precious few dared to call her by her given name choosing instead to call her Justicar Starseer. I knew Maeredith; we had worked together enough times that she was familiar with more than just my reputation. Where her peers might be content to consider simply if those brought before them had indeed committed a crime, she looked deeper. Maeredith would look to the core of them and balance every aspect before announcing their fate.

It couldn’t be an easy thing to do, nor was it something I could imagine being on either end of. But Maeredith was steadfast in her duty and did it without fail. I had to respect that about her, even if some did not. Maeredith’s heritage was one of mixed blood, a fact that I was uniquely suited to find a compassionate disposition towards. This isn’t the kind of thing that helps you make friends among other SpellHounds.

The trait can be found among any number of intelligent races, it isn’t something any one race holds a monopoly on. In fact, since the earliest discovered births of any SpellHounds some families have sought to preserve their own bloodline by breeding. Some of the more ‘noble’ houses have often held that mingling between races or with non-SpellHounds to be a scandalous affair.

Both of us were the offspring of parents who not only were of different races but also unions between SpellHounds and non-SpellHounds. Specifically; my mother was of dwarven descent and my father was of elvish blood. Maeredith’s mother was a proud and beautiful elven warrior, while her own father was a dwarf SpellHound already serving the throne. Neither of my parents ever served.

Whether or not it had anything to do with why we were assigned each other I couldn’t say. But it certainly didn’t make things any harder on either of us. We just never brought that particular topic up any in conversation, not that we had much in the way of friendly socialization. At least we could understand one another though.

“Baylen,” I breathed his name out into a brief sigh. “I am not some heartless SpellHound. Rest assured, if any ears exist to hear her case fairly I can think of no other than those I can seek out. Take my word; she will be in the best hands but she will have to face what she has done. I cannot promise she will not be punished. There is always a cost to be paid, you must understand that.”

“There is comfort, at least, that I can take in your promise,” the big brewer confided casually. “I will have your reward ready once you return, and to show my appreciation I will buy you a drink to celebrate!” Baylen slapped me on the shoulder hard in a friendly gesture that prompted a warm inviting smile to once more appear upon his face. It made me welcome the motivation to return – even if it wasn’t just for my promised pay.

It gave me a pleasant feeling as I escorted Lillian out into the fallen night of Emberhelm’s streets. The foot traffic had lessened but still other inhabitants moved about, careful to cling to the cast illumination of the Everlight lanterns. Even for those who were blind to being able to sense sorcery, there was a primal instinct that cautioned them from trusting too completely to the darkness.

I couldn’t call it an act of ignorance or superstition myself; there was something to be said for a healthy fear of the shadows. Tangible threats such as thieves were just as likely to lurk within them just as readily as sadistic spellcasters. It was wise to worry about some stranger with bared steel stalking about for a quick coin. Too many think only wielders of magic are worth their terror.

Lillian still moved with a sullen shuffle, her boots now making a far less rhythmic accent to herald her steps. Keeping my senses sharpened I set them about scanning our surroundings while we walked. The city was a blend of sights and sounds that could overwhelm an untrained SpellHound if they couldn’t filter things out. For some the experience was always a struggle to maintain.

But when you are tracking a specific trail it is more effective to single out defined elements and focus on them. Ignoring everything else worked well if you were on the hunt for a known scent, it wouldn’t help me detect a potential problem if it presented itself. Especially if I was ignorant of what to be looking out for, this always made me anxious.

Far safer to be a little nervous when nothing happened than to be caught off guard and suffer for it. A thought occurred to me on our twilight travel that still tormented me; there were still details I was missing that made me wonder. How had Lillian managed to come into contact with a Butcher for starters and where had the two of them got their hands on spells like they were working with? Not to mention what had convinced her to engage in their pernicious plot?

My conscience gradually started making demands that I seize on this opportunity to find any answers I could. Professionally I know that it wasn’t required for me to earn my pay. That had already been accomplished, I didn’t have to know the how and why of what had happened. But it didn’t keep me from still wanting to make sense of this whole mess.

“You want to educate me on how you became caught up in this whole ordeal,” I questioned, hoping got coax her into conversation. “Can’t say it is exactly common for someone like yourself Lillian to be involved with a Butcher let alone either of you to be using magic of the caliber the pair of you was about to. Stay silent if it suits you, but seems to me that things couldn’t have been overly unpleasant in Hereward’s employ.”

Lillian’s tumbling tresses caught the passing lamplight and cast it back like that of a pond at midnight. The taunting twitch of it swaying about was gone, leaving no readable clue to imply how she would react. For half a block I allowed her quiet and had nearly accepted her refusal to talk to me.

Passing under the smooth branches of a tree shaped from living stone I was promptly proven wrong. The light was interrupted as it reached out in its tasked duty to dismiss the darkness. “I’m not sure how we met,” Lillian acknowledged. She sounded different now; almost a child-like confusion was present in her tone. 

“We’ve known each other forever, always dreamed of opening a little shop of our own. Me and him met up on an empty side street some time back and worked out a plan. Messages kept coming to us, offering us more and more money if we kept Baylen’s patrons clear of Howlers Hall. But…” Lillian halted both in speech and in motion.

“Nobody was aware of our scheme. I never told anyone, I swear! And try as hard as I dare I cannot remember anyone delivering the messages to us. Nor can I bring to mind any memory of the man until recently. Whispering winds, what have I done?”

Curse my curiosity! Now I was really going to need Maeredith’s help. With a monumental shift in the way my luck was going tonight, maybe I could find her in a decent mood. And while I was counting miracles; manage to keep my big mouth from making this worse. I already had a captured criminal to turn in that may or may not have committed a crime under another’s influence and I hadn’t even been paid yet.

I definitely need to start making a list of things not to do; like speak without thinking first and avoiding my nose from getting stuck where it shouldn’t.

Hound Hunting - Chapter 3.

Dusk had already befallen the streets of Emberhelm, casting the fading glow of day aside and leaving only the promise of twilight. Everlight lanterns had only just begun to awaken to life to combat the dark in their own nightly duty to preserve some measure of daylight. The everlight lanterns were a creation crafted by spellsmiths long ago, they say they absorb a measure of the day’s light to gradually echo back in its absence.

The network of lanterns were already pushing the advancing shadows back and shedding illumination in shades of purples, blues and whites. It really gave the buildings of Emberhelm a different life all their own, highlighting each structures exterior in a way the sun couldn’t. Even the pavestones under my feet took on an alternate aura, the natural energies of the earth changing flow as it always did.

My pursuit had taken me further down the street than I had originally realized. I must have really been so honed in on the hunt that I didn’t notice. The walk back did however provide me at least a few extra moments to think a little clearer.

Lillian had hexed the brute’s beverage, but he had already held a duplication spell to mirror her magic into all the drinks in Howlers Hall. It wasn’t exactly something a Butcher would typically be capable of. That was more along the lines of a degree of subtle sorcery that requires more skill than strength. And it meant that he had to have expected what she was going to do.

But, what did he have to gain… The word hit me like a sharply blown horn after a long night that had only just ended with closing eyes. When the Butcher had produced what he gestured as payment, there was no sound of a coin hitting the hardwood of the table. A detail no serving lass could overlook if they wanted to remain employed. Quite the opposite, they generally kept a wary eye out for an increased incentive in the form of their patron’s purse.

Lillian’s lament was either a smokescreen for some far more elaborate plot or she had been maliciously motivating the man to turn his attentions elsewhere. Considering the now mobility challenged man’s costume coat charade I don’t think I can lean towards the likelihood of the latter. That only left the former as the far more plausible plot.

If the devious drink dealer expected me to fall at the hands of my fleeing foe she might still be present. The smart move would be to cut her losses after encountering my involvement and take advantage of the moment to escape. I really hoped that wasn’t the case, it’d cost me the opportunity to earn a little extra off this case.

Once I approached the worn walkway outside Howlers Hall, my doubts melted away in a flash. I was left with a satisfying grin as I couldn’t smell even a faint sign of Lillian leaving. In fact, as I stepped inside I was instantly rewarded with the image of her standing behind the bar, stealing any amount of sympathy she could garner. A kindly woodworker comforted her while Baylen refilled a trio of tankards.

“You’re friend is already in the hands of the watch and three veteran SpellHounds. He’ll be hurting for awhile but he’ll live – I’d wager his lips are already parting to plead for any healers available to ease his pain.” I didn’t bother with keeping my voice down or allowing any mistake at to whom I was talking. Every head in the hall fixed on me as I planted myself directly in front of Lillian.

“What are you saying,” she tried to mutter aloud, but her façade was already starting to falter with returning fear. “I don’t understand,” Lillian lied through a quivering lip, adding a shudder for affect. Part of her was trying to keep up her act, but I was sure at least some of genuinely shaken up. Arguably by my unexpected second appearance I assumed.

“Save it, sister,” I shot at her and she literally jumped at the words I thrust her way. Think what you want, but well placed and timed words can be a weapon all their own. Some diplomats can be far more deadly with dialog than a dozen duelists. Seeing her stumble off her balance I charged ahead to press my advantage.

“Bear in mind exactly who you are talking to,” I cautioned with a pointed finger directed at her. “For someone so keen on keeping that guy away you didn’t seem to bother playing along with him only pretending to pay.” Without even bothering to turn my attention to Baylen I could easily mark his tensing presence beside us.

“I also noticed that he wasn’t the only one working malicious magic here, more accurately he was only setting a spell up to respond to your own. Isn’t that why you panicked at my revealed presence? And likewise why your companion tried to spell sling his way out? I guess he didn’t want to be the one to take the blame; which means your window is drastically narrowing and fast. Could already even be gone…”

I trailed off that last thought and allowed myself a long pause for it to sink in. Who says I can’t be dramatic? Besides, everyone appreciates a little presentation. A well-crafted work is a fine thing, but if it catches the eye also its value is increased. If I could leverage a little showmanship for my cases conclusion it might help my reputation. But if I botched this public display I could land myself labeled as just some guy who grills scared serving girls.

Baylen broke in before Lillian had decided just which option would be the lesser cost to her. He squared off only a pace or two away from us to address her, a mixture of compassion and disappointment warring within his voice. “Is this true child, are you involved in this affair that threatens what I have built?”

Where my accusation may have been met with dread, Baylen’s plea for understanding seemed to hurt her like a hammer to the middle. Air left her in a sudden sob and fresh tears flowed forth with it. “It was never personal, Bay,” she confessed in a rush. “But the more we ran people away, the more others were willing to pay. We were only going to keep it up long enough until we could set a place up of our own. You would have had no trouble getting back on your feet and I’d have been my own boss for a change.”

“If you have to destroy someone else’s creation to build something for yourself, then it isn’t worth it,” Baylen said plainly. “Anything so built is sullied and bears the stain.” The burdened bartender had to lower his head after he spoke, one final question escaped his lips just barely loud enough to be heard. “What could have made you think so?”

Lillian was beyond providing anymore answers; the only resolve left to her was in facing her guilt. She had confessed her crime, even explained her own reasons for having taken part in it. As far as closing a case goes, this one was just about finished except for being paid and turning her into the watch.

Still, I hated to see Baylen suffer over being betrayed by someone he had trusted. The guy had worked hard to build something he could be proud of; he even went out of his way to treat his hired help well enough. When he hired me that had been a big part of his concern was that if he went under he’d be taking paying jobs from others too. So, why the deception, what deeper motivation could have spurred her to want to visit misfortune on a decent man only to gamble with trying her own hand at the trade?

I’ve seen some greedy unscrupulous people in my time, but they didn’t normally feel remorse for the ones they were using. What did I know though; my expertise primarily lay in sniffing out a problem and chasing it down. Here I had found what had been running off Baylen’s customers and I’d run it down. I’d say I had earned my wage, even if it did still gnaw at my curiosity a little.

“Come along miss, I’ll have to deliver you to the watch as well,” I informed the still sniffling Lillian. “For the crimes of arcane assault, malicious use of magic, and conspiracy to undermine a tradesman’s enterprise you will have to be held accountable. You’ll have to face the Justicars and let them measure your fate in the matter. With any fortune, who knows, you might avoid a severe sentence. I’ll make sure they at least take your confession into consideration.”

Without waiting for her consent I went about the process of binding her hand together with a band of resilient braided cord I still carried at my belt. The feel of its textured surface was at once smooth and flowing yet gripped against its own surface as I wrapped it around her wrists. The contact with her caused it to twitch ever so faintly and then with a snap it closed itself – one end sealing seamlessly with the other.

The braided binding was a product of intertwined enchantments and natural materials found to react with spellcasters. It fed off their own ability to channel and shape latent magical forces around them and used it in an effort to make itself into a single endless entity. In short, as long as it remained in contact with her flesh it would use her own magical talents to not only keep her hands restrained but also to circumvent her ability to tap into any arcane power.

Lillian noticed the sudden sensation of being cut off from the flow of the natural force around her, her head dropping down dejectedly. “Remove me then SpellHound,” she surrendered hollowly. “Go earn your little reward like a good pet and obediently offer me up to me end.”

Snatching a hold of her bound wrists I spun her about to face me, for the second time in such a short span feeling the threat of my temper getting the better of me. And once more I had to avail myself of the wisdom of tempering my tongue. Sadly tonight was not going to be the night I would establish myself as a better man.

“Hold. Your. Tongue,” I snarled with building fury. “You’re not speaking to some blindly obedient lapdog to the throne. The fact that both you and your little Butcher buddy still draw breath should be testament to that truth. I was hired to hunt down whom or what was hurting the honorable Mister Hereward’s business. To that end I found the two of you engaged in activity directly responsible, and you yourself confessed.”

Breath, I reminded myself. It would be bad for business to make a showing of yourself as some rabid unprofessional street thug. “You made this bed for yourself; I’m just helping to tuck you in.” After saying my piece I did feel some consolation, the release allowing me to reign my anger back in. Loyalty is an admirable trait, even courage can be respected. But the ideal of being required to act without question or conscience I find loathsome and unable to stomach.

A SpellHound I may be, but no one holds a leash on me.

Hound Hunting - Chapter 2.

It didn’t take too terribly long for the watch to be summoned after my little display in the streets. Which, to be fair, is only to be expected when you see a man run down another – especially if it ends in visible violence. At least I had a lack of spilt blood on my side, although arguable that wasn’t saying much considering my current standing with the authorities.

There was no love lost between us. As far as SpellHounds go, anyone found with the talent is tested and if it proves to run true enough they are sanctioned and pressed into service. You could say it is a matter of required duty for those determined able enough to make use of their gifts for the best interests of the realm. Or so they like to proclaim.

Of those sanctioned SpellHounds, they find their tasks to be quite varied, to put it mildly. They have to investigate any and all magical threats to the kingdom, crimes involving sorcery and even engage in actions to keep the peace. Knowing my own luck, and my own personal history it wasn’t a stretch to expect that any watchmen answering the call would in turn be in the company of at least one SpellHound as well.

So when no less than five pairs of feet marched to a halt before me, I wasn’t all that surprised. A little impressed actually, only two of the arriving figures bore the official insignia of the watch. The other three were SpellHounds instead; I must really rank higher in their regards than I thought to warrant a response of such overwhelming numbers. Typically it only called for one SpellHound to appear on the scene of a disturbance alongside the watch, if any were called for at all. Their time is supposedly precious after all.

Both watchmen moved with caution common for veteran members of many seasons patrolling the streets. Emberhelm isn’t exactly a lawless land by most standards, but despite anything sand to the contrary it isn’t without its share of crime. For those who work for the watch that translates to dealing with all manner of situations; from spell duels in the streets to standard street vendor’s being stolen from.

Each watchman took up position to either side of my suspect, their hands rested on the waiting hilts of long swords as they surveyed the scene. To everyone looking on this was a show of force, an unspoken threat that any act to interfere in the investigation would be met with sharpened steel. But for someone more familiar with procedure, it was simple misdirection.

While everyone focused on the watchmen the SpellHounds could examine any lingering traces of magic and keep an eye out for additional arcane acts. It wouldn’t be the first time someone seized upon a situation to ambush anyone trying to keep the peace. There would always be people with a grudge, an excuse or just looking to try and make some kind of name for their self. Even though it never ended well for them, there has never been any shortage of those choosing to try.

The surging wave of adrenaline had already begun to subside, leaving me with the shadow of its storm inside. Wisely I had already had enough clarity to gather my thoughts and sheath my sword. A fact I was already grateful for as I tried to prepare myself for a trio of suspicious stares. Compared to the thrill of the chase, this was going to be anything but. And if I was still standing over the sprawled form of a screaming man with drawn steel I doubt any patience would be present.

While I reminded myself to take a deep breath I mentally reaffirmed that I had not broken any laws. Even a working knowledge of the law and how it was enforced didn’t remove the worry worming around in my belly. I had once worked alongside these people, and to my knowledge had been one of the only, if not the only SpellHound, to ever request being released from service. Even more amazingly my petition had been granted and I had been permitted to function as a freelance SpellHound. The only restriction was that I could never engage in any activity that could be interpreted as a challenge to the royal authority or in opposition to the interest of the realm. A fact that I always knew could be easily used against me for any reason.

My fears weren’t relieved any by the first of the three to speak. Corrin Cindercleave was the imposing kind of image that those engaged against the throne avoided at all costs. I couldn’t blame them, meeting him on a street with only the moonlight between us wasn’t something I dreamed happily about. Even though he stood a few inches shorter than me his broad shoulders formed the foundation of a muscled frame quite accustomed to applying itself daily. Highlighting this fact was a heavy sword, easily twice if not three times the size of my own that hung absently behind him.

A part of me had to imagine that its placement wasn’t by chance; that it was another unspoken message that warned its wielder didn’t rely on needing to speedily summon its steel. My interactions with Corrin had only ever been few in number and always brief in duration. But on those rare occasions he had never required his official rank to establish his authority. When he spoke, those SpellHounds in his presence listened.

Of course, that had nothing to do with the small detail that Corrin Cindercleave was an Extinguisher. It works like this, there are different tasks SpellHounds may be assigned based on what they might be good at. For me, I had some skill when it came to defending against magical attacks which could have landed me labeled as an Interdictor. They are the ones deployed to halt a threat or establish a line of defense. Instead, I was fortunate enough to be determined to have a greater capacity for tracking and chase when examined. That made me an Interceptor.

Extinguishers were a different breed altogether; they’re strengths did not lay in stalking a target down or in preventing it from producing harm to others. They quite literally were the ones called on to extinguish anything required. According to the stories that was commonly whispered about, that was even how Corrin had earned his notorious moniker. The tale goes that he snuffed out the life of a dangerous war wizard with a penchant for fire spells. Supposedly he had mastered the use of his massive sword so capably that he cut clean through a wave of blistering heat to remove his opponents head.

Once cobalt blue eyes bore into my own from beneath blonde hair roughly parted to keep his vision clear I didn’t care what anyone else believed about the stories. Because I wasn’t about to doubt a single detail from them, and I think he already knew it. Maybe he had learned to tell when people were intimidated by him, or just perhaps he had just become accustomed to peoples reactions.

“Irony; if any other word is better suited to herald your appearance I believe it would be hard-pressed to surpass it,” Corrin commented icily. Without regard for any possible dangers, the experienced executioner stepped forward, clasping his hands behind him. The full weight of his bearing speared into me and once more I felt the awkward nervous apprehension of a newfound SpellHound all over again.

I never had liked the feeling that implied claim that I was something inferior to what stood before me. Despite my personal decision to resign from service, or the slight issue of the pointedly larger sword than my own, Corrin was no better than me. And I’d be laid out on a cold stone slab before I would bow my head to his sense of superiority.

“Perhaps,” I snapped back, my mouth already committed to the task before any other thoughts might try to temper my tongue. “If by irony you’re referring to the fact that when a SpellHound is needed to take action that I am the only one ever on hand. Or, were you speaking of the discretion to not use lethal force to deal with something that didn’t require it?”

My ears were warning me with a growing wave of warmth that further dialog of the sort might prove disastrous. I sharply dismissed the spark of self-restraint and decided to continue anyway. “I need a drink, and since I am owed one directly along with my fee I think I will see to that. Unless I am being formally charged with some manner of wrong doing,” I challenged.

I could almost see the cold logic burning behind Corrin’s eyes as he considered the option of doing exactly that. Regret started to quietly whisper as it began to nag at my lack of restraint. While I contemplated the value of considering my conversational skills more cautiously in the future the other two SpellHounds caught my attention.

Stane Stormaxe and Wynna Snowsong; two faces that I’d almost say were friendly if I weren’t seeing them in the current situation. Stane was a couple years older than me and an admirable Interdictor by all accounts. We’d shared many a night in discussion and even more days practicing together. I wouldn’t think twice to say that I respected the man.

Wynna though was the same age as me, and we’d both trailed down more than our share of quarry. Next to me, she was possibly the fastest Interceptor serving. The two of us had been trained together actually, we were colleagues – you might even say close. Nothing serious, mind you, but even after I established myself as freelance SpellHound she’s visited me on a handful of occasions. Could be she was ordered to keep tabs on me, but if she was at least she did it without a suspicious stare.

Stane gestured at the path we had traveled and then down to the still groaning Butcher at our feet. “Clear enough sign to follow,” he called out, mostly speaking his own thoughts to himself. “Vaen’s right too, might be battered but we’re not looking at a corpse. Not like we can’t hunt him up if anything turns up for him to answer for.”

Wynna’s hand lightly brushed against Corrin’s arm for a moment before she chimed in as well. “And if it does, we all know he can’t outrun justice – or me,” she added teasingly. “Besides,” she emphasized another barb by brushing a strand of honey colored hair aside. “Nathanial isn’t known for vanishing acts, all we’ll have to do is look for someone doing something foolish to find him.”

If I hadn’t been looking right at her as she said it, I might have missed her half smile or the faintest wink directed my way. Corrin on the other hand had never taken his eyes off of me and was therefore ignorant to her admission of humor. I think anything jovial might have been beyond his notice. He furrowed his brow at me nonetheless as if he still toyed with the idea of imprisoning me – just to see the look on my face.

“You can find me at Howlers Hall should you think of anything convincing enough to blame me with,” I bluffed with all the bravado I could pull together. “Very well,” Corrin answered back before I could draw another breath. He followed it up by surging forward and I discovered that my knees were threatening to buckle despite my firm desire to the contrary.

“But bear in mind that not even an ex-SpellHound is above the law. Keep causing chaos in the streets and I will personally see to it that even the slightest crime costs you ten-fold.” I actually had to force myself to avoid muttering an automatic ‘yes sir’ when he finished speaking. Corrin had to practice these little speeches regularly I told myself before turning my back on him. It was safe to sigh if he couldn’t see me, right?

“Captain Carnage there has been attempting to ruin a local drinking establishment,” I decided to inform them as I walked away. “Feel free to charge him accordingly and if he mentions any other involved individuals I’d appreciate the information. Might even be a reward in it for anyone willing to help a hardworking former peer out.”

The look of revulsion on Corrin’s face was well worth the increased threat of him changing his mind about releasing me. All the same I nodded a silent farewell to Wynna and Stane both and hurried my steps ever so slightly. My purse wasn’t going to fill itself. Especially if I continued to linger around for very much longer engaged in taunting Corrin’s patience, which was a sure recipe for keeping it empty. And I had little desire to witness that big blade of his being drawn against me either.

So instead I redirected my thoughts to smiling faces like Baylen’s and more importantly my own. I had little doubt that I had uncovered the source of his dwindling drinkers. Our dear bright Butcher had been using magic to make the beverages of everyone else unfit for consumption. There was a chance he was even making people ill as well.

Lillian’s look of shock returned to me, and with it turned my thoughts toward the fact that she had been the source of some of the spellcraft as well. It was her hand that held the mug, and I couldn’t overlook the professed displeasure at the now broken-legged Butcher. Something wasn’t adding up. And just maybe that meant that I could turn one fee into two by solving my client’s problem and removing a potential repeat thereof.

Besides, I had debts of my own to pay. Being a freelance SpellHound wasn’t free and it isn’t like I’d been suffering from an abundance of paying customers myself. I needed the coin Baylen was promising but I could use the word of mouth even more. People already weren’t exactly comfortable with the idea of hiring a former SpellHound. Most of the rumors about me claimed all manner of reasons for me being released from service. Which meant the simple truth that I had asked to be wasn’t worth much. It also limited my options for offering my services.

Returning Howlers Hall to its profitable nightly pace would definitely help establish my ability to provide positive results. You can’t eat a kind word or pay your rent with reputation. But for someone starting out with my kind of standing in the public eye it could certainly help put me a step closer to a steady ability to keep doing exactly that. And I could use all the help I could get.

Hound Hunting - Chapter 1.

I think that it is only fitting that since I first mentioned my current story in the works was a month ago today that I should share more of it with you now. As always; it is still a work in progress and might change considerable in the time to come. But for now, I hope you enjoy it and don;t hesitate to say what you think about it! Without further ado - Hound Hunting, Chapter 1:

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There exist certain people with the born ability to sense magic at will; we like to call those people SpellHounds. Traditionally, SpellHounds are only ever allowed to exist in the service of the Realm. With the potent talent to track and detect all uses of magic they make the ultimate investigators of all magical activity. But sometimes a SpellHound exists outside the service of the Realm. And sometimes, those SpellHounds are less than friendly about how they use their birthright.

My name is Nathanial Vaen, and I am a SpellHound. But despite what some might have you believe, I don’t work for the King, Queen or Country and I certainly don’t play for the morally ambiguous team. Life for a freelance SpellHound is anything but glamorous, but it is a life with some measure of freedom. And when someone’s neck is on the line, who would you really prefer to call? You want someone who can sniff out trouble and loyal enough to stick by you.

And that someone is me. At least as long as you got the coin for it. Currently that someone with the coin was a worried and troubled pub owner who had also decided to take up brewing in his business’s basement. Hence my personal regret for my many bad judgments in my life – namely my decision to descend into those foul-smelling depths.

Baylen Herward had been operating Howlers Hall for as long as I can recall and the place typically stayed busy, especially at the end of a long day. Howlers Hall is a rather no-frills type of establishment – functional hardwood benches and long broad tables. The floors beneath your feet crunching softly with the collection of daily debris and a crackle of roaring fires warmed the room form a large hearth.

Baylen’s tireless frame could often be seen fetching up casks with practiced ease and pouring drinks behind the bar. Baylen was by no means an overly large individual, so it always struck me as ironic to watch the man at work. He was a tall and lean man who rarely stopped moving but always seemed to welcome every face who entered his establishment.

It was, perhaps, for only that reason that I accepted his request for aid. Baylen was a good man by my reckoning, and I hated to see him without those patrons. Alright, the promise of a bit more weight to my purse didn’t hurt to persuade me either. But Baylen was definitely a man who deserved a hand, and I could lend him one.

This is why I was starring at stone blocks that formed the Howlers Hall dependable cellar. The smell of mingled mold and mildew vied for my attention against those of yeast and fermentation. “Why couldn’t Baylen have hired me to taste test something instead,” I mused softly to myself.

Standing about complaining wasn’t going to get me paid any faster, or return me to the plentiful fresh air above. So with a groan I tried to get my mind back on task and concentrated. Closing my eyes I called up everything Baylen had been able to tell me. The details were few in number but it was a place to start, so I had to work from them.

Within the last week or two customers had begun to suddenly leave disgusted only to not return. Regulars and long time patrons both were not immune to the growing trend of migration from Howlers Hall. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Baylen had been brewing his own beverages of late either, so all the puzzled barkeep could figure is that somehow it was his own self-made wares providing the motivation. But despite all his efforts to prove where the problem was, he couldn’t find anything to fault.

So that left me with only a handful of options to investigate. If someone had managed to find a way to hex his ale in a manner that eluded him, then that might explain the unhappy exodus. And if it wasn’t the beverages themselves, then it had to be someone or something influencing how patrons reacted to them. Either way meant malicious magic was afoot. And I do hate me some magic misused for nefarious purposes. What could be more nefarious than fouling the taste of a handcrafted brew, or ruining an honest man’s business?

Shifting my focus, I sniffed at the air once more and set myself to sorting out all the scents that had already firmly decided to assault me. There was quite the myriad array to be frank, but as I tried to key in to any lingering traces of sinister spellcraft there was naught to be found. Even a scan of the room once more didn’t avail any clues to my sight. Whatever was happening here obviously wasn’t taking place down here at the source of Baylen’s supplies. That meant a welcome return topside and further investigation.

A long thick braid hung at Baylen’s back, barely bobbing about as he paced at a much slower speed than his typical busy manner. His thick dark beard concealed some of his features, but I knew an unhappy demeanor when I saw one. And when you work this job you’re bound to see them quite regularly. Busy didn’t seem to be improving and without a single word I think we both already knew I wasn’t surfacing with good news.

“Well,” Baylen asked, unable to mask the melancholy from his tone. His forearms tensed as he set his hands to the habitual ritual of wiping down the bar before him. But the frustration was clear enough from his stance. Worry was written all over his brow and every inch of his frame was wound tight enough it threatened to snap.

I hate it when I don’t have an answer already waiting to present. Even more so when a client is expecting me to do exactly that, it makes me look like I don’t know what I am doing. And worse yet; it sets me up to appear like anything I say next is just me bumbling about for excuses. Never mind if that is precisely what is happening.

“Apologies, Baylen,” I decided to open with and tried to put on my best professional expression. “Don’t you worry just yet; I am still on the case. Everything below checks out; there isn’t any sign of magical tampering or influence. That just leaves a few other possible angles up here. Give me a little more time to track your trouble down and I give you my word that we’ll sort this out.”

It was hard to judge if my words had provided any comfort since Baylen didn’t look up from his task. This also meant that I had no clue to whether or not he bought my professional approach or if he was already rethinking his decision to hire me and had chalked my tactic up to simply stalling. To be fair, I’m not sure which way I’d have looked at it either.

But Baylen had come to me for help, and that meant that he was going to get my help – I had given him my word after all. Looking around the room I couldn’t avoid admitting that he indeed needed my help. Only perhaps half a dozen or so patrons were still seated around the room, cautiously nursing their drinks like they might explode. Which is a fairly depressing sight; anytime you see an empty or nearly empty pub it is a rather sad scene.

By the look of those melancholy few, Howler’s Hall had become a reluctant roost to spend their evening. Their boots told stories that their silence would not, I had already wagered most of them either knew one another or were simply wary enough to avoid socializing. A mixture of powdered stone, mud and sawdust clung to the various customers while they consumed their beverages. It didn’t take a well trained eye or keen intellect to deduce that these were labor men by trade, toiling in their respective crafts by day and enjoying what remained as the sun settled outside.

My gut told me that I should rule these men out; what could any hardworking folk have to gain from sabotaging Baylen’s business? It just didn’t make any sense, so I continued my search for explanations. While I mulled it over, a serving lass slipped up beside Baylen and sighed slightly as she surveyed the room. She was young, by my reckoning, barely starting to grow into her own curves but she carried herself with the casual grace of experience. Her hair had been cut off short, just long enough to be tucked behind her ears into an effective style that forwent anything ornate. And in the warm glow of the firelight it shone like burnished copper.

After a long moment she began to untie the apron that hung down her front and neatly folded it to store behind the bar. “Lillian is already here to take over,” the young lady reported, an edge to her timid tone. Entering the doorway was the working woman’s obvious evening counterpart. Lillian wasn’t a short woman by any reckoning, easily nearly as tall as most of the men who frequented the hall. Or, perhaps it was the nearly thigh-high laced boots she wore that enhanced her legs with highlights only heels could produce.

She stalked her way towards the bar, warm eyes of amber taking note of the number of few faces seated inside. A rhythmic click marked her steps and her long dark locks swayed in time showcasing only a hint of curl. If I had to wager on the fact, I’d place my coin on the knowledge that while both women had been working this job awhile, Lillian had learned to play to her feminine strengths. And by the comfortable way she chose to display her own curves she had become quite used to doing so.

“Evening Abigail, Baylen,” she greeted them neutrally before she deftly bound her hair back behind her to prepare for duty. Those amber eyes flicked towards me and an eyebrow arched aloft in response immediately. “And whom do we have here,” she added with an attempted air of playfulness.

I took the opportunity to allow my own grey eyes meet hers and studied her reaction carefully. Now, I have to concede that I am far from anything of note with regard to my appearance or physical features. You’ll never hear a room full of ladies swoon at my presence or find much jealousy from any men around me. But one thing I have always been told for as long as I can recall is that my eyes have this strange quality – they almost seem to change color. Maybe it has to do with the way different lighting brings out little details, I couldn’t tell you.

Lillian might have found the effect of my focused attention unsettling, or maybe she just had felt a lingering chill from her journey but whatever the cause a sudden twitch gripped her. The unmistakable signs of curiosity began to show itself on her face as well. She could really use some lessons in how to bluff better.

Before I could break the stretching silence, Baylen did it for me with a voice well accustomed to speaking with a measure of authority. “This is a hired advisor I have contracted to help improve our situation. A smaller crowd is no excuse to not be keeping your mind on your job,” he warned her and pointed towards another waiting apron.

Reluctantly Lillian retrieved the bit of cloth and tied it on, a short nod acknowledging the point without further talk on the matter. “At least he isn’t here,” she whispered mostly to herself only to find an elbow from Abigail nudging her in the side. “Don’t be so quick to speak on that topic,” she chided before a brief chuckle as she made her own way out the door.

Entering the establishment was a young gentleman clad in a ragged old coat, eager to immediately settle into an open seat near the room’s center. He casually called for a glass while I sized him up, a slight tingle stirring along my spine. Magic had begun to shift, ever so slightly, but as the ambient flow of its forces changed my body alerted me to the fact.

Goosebumps began to threaten their presence along my arms and I found myself standing alert, wary for any further signs of impending sorcery. At my left Lillian snatched up an empty mug and started to fill it hesitantly. Her mouth opened as if to impart some objection but Baylen’s experienced eye interjected instantly.

“All coin is welcome here, now more than most; you would do well to remember that.” Baylen kept one hand firmly planted on her shoulder as he spoke, his head bent towards her to reinforce his meaning. “And misfortune is just as regular a companion to an empty purse,” she cursed back at him. To Baylen’s credit he merely pointed towards the waiting customer and Lillian bowed to her bosses wishes once more.

Lillian hefted aloft the full mug and begrudgingly began her walk to deliver the drink. Upon seeing her impending approach, the mysterious man reached within his battered coat to withdraw something from a vest pocket. Unlike his tattered outer garment, pristine clothes peeked out from beneath to draw my interest. Without pause I compared his boots – hardly a single speck of dirt could be found there as well.

Instinct flared to life along the back of my neck and my gut warned me that something wasn’t right. He placed his hand palm down as if to slide his payment forward for the drink, but the only clink to be heard was that of Lillian’s boots. And I felt it hit the air even before I could see the threads of shaped spells being crafted.

Just below the table a waiting spell was already nearing completion, awaiting some trigger by my estimate. It had the dark blue aspect of a frozen ripple in water, ready to cascade outwards but as yet hadn’t done so. Whatever that spell was about to accomplish I didn’t want to wait to find out.

Moving as quickly as I could, I vaulted over the bar and threw myself into take action. Yet, even as I put myself into motion another spell started to form, and this time it was not from the table or the man seated there. Pale threads of green and purple were being shaped by Lillian’s will, finding the drink held in her hand their home.

“Hold,” I roared confidently towards the both of them. The sudden command sent a shock through them, causing Lillian to release her grip on the mug, sending it toppling to the floor. With the spilt contents of the drink also went the pulsing magic, ruined before it could finish forming. Scattering as well was the gathered spell, its energy fading back to wherever it had been drawn from.

“SpellHound,” the man spat, throwing the table forward and rushing to get his feet beneath him. Lillian’s head whipped around at the words, naked panic visible at the revelation that they declared. “Impossible,” she whimpered in reply, but I didn’t have time to provide her an explanation. Mister mysterious apparently had no intention of surrendering himself peacefully.

A sloppily slung spell was already spreading down his arm to explode in a mix of yellow and red as it raced towards me. I recognized it without issue, aside from the predictable way it looked; like a crude pointed spear of orange, its smell gave it away. They don’t call them slaughter spells for no reason. The scent of mingled fresh and dried blood as well as some rather other unpleasant odors assault your senses making it unmistakable.

It also made this foe easy to identify; he had to be a Butcher by the way he immediately resorted to such crude combat magic. Butchers, for the most part, are little more than brute thugs among the magically talented community. Hence the straightforward panic-fire approach of flinging the first spell that came to mind.

The clumsily cast spell flew in my direction, more or less, but I don’t think it had the impact that it was intended to. In a single fluid motion that capitalized on my surging momentum I had already drawn the sword that hung at my side. There was no sound of scraping metal, instead the blade parted freely as if slipping through water. Its short length of steel rose up before me and immediately falling into a defensive position.

Making contact with the magical attack was not the waiting flesh it sought, but instead a blade of spellforged steel. Its energy crackled along the blades short length and dissipated harmlessly into nothing. Every SpellHound in service to the throne is issued such a weapon to wield. It is equal part a badge of authority and a tool to be used in their duty. Not all SpellHound’s carry the same kind of sword however, mine is barely two feet long but the blade itself is as wide as three fingers. This makes it quite handy to bring to bear on the move, and quick to do so as well. But one thing they all have in common is a marking of interlocking rings along the blade. They all are crafted with the ability to ground away hostile magic if used correctly, or negate it if the need arises in the hands of a skilled wielder.

Apparently Butcher-boy wasn’t familiar with that fact, which meant his next move would likely be another bad decision. So I tried to offer a little friendly advice. “If I was you, mister, I would consider real careful what I was about to do next,” I recommended coldly. But even as the words left my lips a voice was already whispering to me; he is going to run, it predicted.

I hate it when I am right, because he did exactly that. Like I said, Butchers aren’t known for brains and trying to run from SpellHound has to be one of the less thought-though options available. Especially if you’re a talented Interceptor like I was, with a gift for running whatever prey had been designated down. Someone should really have a talk with these people.

Lillian fell to the floor with a gasp as the fleeing foe collided into her in an effort to make his escape. Bolting through the door he jerked to his right and angled his way up the streets, probably trying to make for some of the scattered carts and side streets that in theory could buy him time to elude a pursuer. But unfortunately for him my heart was already pounding with the excitement of promised sport.

Everything else around me decreased in importance, and a grin of enjoyment spread across my face. In a blur I launched myself into a sprint that carried me straight out the door and dug my feet in as I pounded into a pace that promised to bear me onto his trail. Flashing alongside me were passing people and an assortment of stumbling hazards that I dodged in between by sheer reflex.

Fear began to work its way into my quarry, as it often does and he hesitated, stealing from his steps the few precious seconds of a lead he had possessed. He wasn’t about to surrender himself into my custody, I had already witnessed that. And if I allowed him to continue running he was likely to start slinging more wild magic hurting people.

Long ago I made the choice to avoid unnecessary bloodshed, even though I can accept that in some situations it is required. To that end I blunted the edges of my blade, leaving only its tip as its only sharpened part. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t cause lasting harm – far from it. That just meant that I had to intentionally choose to use it to spill blood, and that I could use it in less than life taking ways as well.

I had no desire to kill this thick-skulled thug but I desperately needed to cut his flight short. So, seizing on his confusion I increased my stride passing just behind him. Using all the added power my pursuit had provided me I brought the blunted edge of my blade down hard into the back of his knees. The crack of impact told anyone witnessing the event that medical expertise wasn’t required. Only the intervention of a miracle could have prevented even a single bone from being shattered by the blow. And I didn’t see any miracles moving to act on his behalf.

Fresh howling screams of torment ripped up into the sky from my formerly fleeing friend. He might not appreciate the fact, but had it been any other SpellHound besides myself he wouldn’t still be drawing breath. Small consolation for the pain currently wracking its way through him, but at least it helped me sleep at night.

I Blame The 90's.

For whatever it is worth I was born in the 80's and even as a child of that decade I have to concede the fact that while the 80's raised me, the 90's defined me. The first decade of my life was spent growing up in the 80's, but during the period of your youth that helps shape you into the person you will become I found myself passing through the 90's. It was an interesting time to be fair, and it obviously left its unique impression on me. Possibly in all manner of ways, some of them not readily apparent to me.

Well, maybe it was a product of my youth or maybe it had something to do with the fact that my wife recently played 'Guess this song,' with me using all manner of things we had grown up with. It might even be explainable by me listening to all manner of random 90's hits on Spotify or YouTube. (Hey, don't judge me those were some great times musically!) For whatever reason you care to blame it on I found myself with a concept for a story.

At first it was just a curious little idea that I wrote down a brief bit as it took shape. After a short bit of writing I was looking at a little introductory tease/hook if you will. I shared what I had with a dear friend and talented fellow scribe(and likewise child of the same era) who encouraged me to charge ahead and develop it further.

The following is the same sample I shared with him;

There exist certain people with the born ability to sense magic at will; we like to call those people SpellHounds. Traditionally, SpellHounds are only ever allowed to exist in the service of the Realm. With the potent talent to track and detect all uses of magic they make the ultimate investigators of all magical activity. But sometimes a SpellHound exists outside the service of the Realm. And sometimes, those SpellHounds are less than friendly about how they use their birthright.

My name is Nathanial Vaen, and I am a SpellHound. But despite what some might have you believe, I don’t work for the King, Queen or Country and I certainly don’t play for the morally ambiguous team. Life for a freelance SpellHound is anything but glamorous, but it is a life with some measure of freedom. And when someone’s neck is on the line, who would you really prefer to call? You want someone who can sniff out trouble and loyal enough to stick by you.

And that someone is me. At least as long as you got the coin for it. 

The central theme was the idea that what if people existed in a fantasy world who could actually sniff out sorcery. What if some gifted few could actually perceive the use of magic even more than just what those spells did after they were cast. Imagine if a man was murdered by a fireball from afar and someone was around able to follow the lingering trail of arcane energy to find the killer literally red handed with the same spell signature. Just think of it... It would be almost like Bloodhounds but for magic.

A fun vehicle to run with the notion I thought was something akin to a noir detective angle so I will admit that the hero is about as close to a private eye as he could be in such a setting. But in a world where such talents exist, it is only expected to find them pressed into service for king and country. Which means that for our hero, trying to go freelance may not be without its own trouble.

I have no real clue as to where this little avenue will take me, but I have to agree with my colleague that I should certainly allow it to develop further. So far it has been fun enough to make me set aside another work I had been planning to devote further attention to as my wrist/hand improved during my recovery. But even with my own lack of improvement I have been driven to peck out anything I can, even if it is in spurts.

Perhaps I'll share more of the story soon as it continues to evolve. Either way, I'd love to hear any thoughts on the matter. Does my little pitch peek your interest? Or does it find you with words like cliched coming to mind? I'm all ears, as always!

An Early Valentines.

My Love for you doesn’t live it expensive things

It lives in the mind,

In the memories we have made and the promise of those that remain.

Your worth lies not in petty bobbles dangling about from a string,

Nor does your beauty equal that of frail flowers blooming for but a lingering moment.

Know that it is the full measure of you that I adore, everything you’ve been and so much more.

You wake me in the morning, becoming my dawn.

And every night I kiss you to end the day with a whispered ‘I Love You.’

You are my beginning and my end.

You truly are my forever friend.

All I have to give is the full sum of the knowledge that you alone are all I hold dear.

No precious stones, no bars of gold or forged steel.

Just your Love, is all I need to live.

You are my everything,

My Lady Beautiful.