The Hound of Woodlocke

T. James Harris

There has been little peace in this heat. In usual years, the clouds would be heavy and the rains drawing nigh to the town and surrounding forests of Her Majesty’s northern province. Save for touches of dew in the early light of morning, the air was as dry as parchment, and would draw any trace of moisture and disparate it long before the sun rose past it’s mid point. All seemed wilted as a party passed me on the road. The nobles fanned their red faces with ornate expensive feathered fans, only bringing them to sweat more. Gentry would go by, boiling in their leathers, giving me the mildest of salutes before trying to reach the next patch of shade. The peasants? They were always grim, but they shown in their eyes, the gratitude that the heat was the great equalizer. Be you King or beggar, you sweated.

I bear no ill will to the commoner, and have been known to allow a poacher to escape me, viewing the crime as simply feeding their hungry families. I understood them as I come from their humble stock. Unlike the others of my title, I was not born into a family that would allow me to become a Queens Hound, it was a position I earned as a much younger man.

My father was a tradesman, a baker, and I was destined to step into his spot and man the ovens, had not a single event changed the course of my life.

While assisting my fathers booth at the faire in the Capital, I rescued a woman off a run-away horse. When she could at last speak, she tried to press silver into my hand, but I refused. I simply did what needed doing, and would take no payment for it. The woman was the Queen’s dressmaker; her favorite. A fact I did not know until my father and I were summoned to the Royal Court.

Queen Isolde herself had tried to press payment to me.

“Your most gracious Majesty,” I managed, bowing before her, and studying her fine silk slippers. “What I did was only to ensure that she should not come to harm. I would have done the same for a Priestess, or harlot.” My father fainted as if he had died on the spot. And in her humor, the Queen placed him in one of her own chairs, and bid that some of her own cold wine be brought to him. Before the audience was concluded, she decreed that my father was to work in her royal kitchen as her personal baker, and I would be taken to the Bachelors barracks, and assigned a sponsor, a horse, and would begin my training as a Queens Hound.

The others in the company regarded me as a curiosity, which eventually gave way to quiet disdain. Perhaps they believed that I would fall in the first campaign, or an illness brought on by a woman of questionable talents. But I pushed myself in my training, and my skills, and worked myself into a death sleep in my cot each night. For as grand a position I had earned, it was the hardest task I had ever thought possible to place before a mortal.

I kept to myself, and instead of cultivating relations with my peers, I bonded instead to my large red stallion, Kren.

I served in the Capital and covering each duty as it came. I would hear the disputes between merchants, patrol the streets to ensure that folk could walk amongst the building in safety. I guarded dignitaries, and fought along side the common soldiers.

After I had worked my contracted six years, I was approached by the Royal Commander, and informed that I could either retire, or chose my next duty. Not having a manor house, or tracts of land to fall back on as a land lord, I chose the position of northern scout. This way, I could have long periods of time to myself, while enjoying the country. I longed for the Great Green of the Northern Provence, intrigued by the land and the native people that lived outside the pomp and polish that was so common in Capital’s Courts.

Kren and I took to the Northern Territory and for the next four years, we had every bit of softness beaten out of us. I was known to carry on me, a bit of weight, but after my first winter, I had a hard enough time keeping my britches up. I became a quick tailor to make certain I did not loose any article of clothing I could ill afford to let go.

I met and became familiar with the Roa, the Red People who lived in these mountains longer then our nation had been established. They thought me an oddity, and often vanished into the underbrush when I approached. After weeks of my tromping around, they recognized me as someone who was not a threat. By the start of the second spiring, I was invited into their camps, and into their way of life.

Kren was of great interest to the Roa, being of a color and size they were not accustomed to seeing. I was offered wives, pelts, and anything valuable for him. Instead, I let them have his seed for future stock.

They called me ‘Out-land’ in their native tongue, and I took that as my sire name. Vias Outland seemed to reflect more of my spirit then Vias Baker.

Woodlocke was the closest city, but I spent little time there. Instead, I hunted brigands and thieves that would roam these roads, preying on the few caravans that came this far north. The Roa would often tell me that “you walk in red steps” meaning I would leave the blood of the men I slew, on the road as my only trace.

I grew to love my life and would widen my patrol circuit every chance I could. I stayed away from the city that seemed so out of place in this haven of green growing things. When called back to the gates of Woodlocke, I was less then happy at hearing my new orders. But they had been delivered by the Queens messager, and as much as I hated Court, I loved our sovereign Lady. I did not hesitate the moment the message reached my hands. I was to report to the city commander as soon as my shadow fell within the city walls.

Again, the day was miserably hot, like the many days before, so I removed my field leathers when the city came into view. I wore my duty uniform now, despite the tradition of being armored at all times within this City of Thieves. Kren was freed from his saddle, and I rode him bareback through the gates. My horse rejoiced in the lack of leather across his back, so as soon as we were amongst people, he foppishly tossed his head and pranced. I was more amused then embarrassed and simply dropped the reins loose in my fingers and gave him his joy.

Grave Ridge Hall was not one of my favorite places. It was a sturdy stone building that stood against the west city wall. It had been a military establishment for over a hundred years, and smelled of it. I handed Kren to one of the fresh faced stable boys, wondering if they would be spoiled before the year was up. I buckled my short sword at my hip, and went looking for the Hound who would be giving me my orders.

I found her, in her office. A small, windowless box that was made sweltering by several candles. The officer sat at her tiny desk and regarded me with a sleepy eye and melted disposition.

“Outland, isn’t it?” She asked, ignoring my salute. “Took your time getting here. I suppose the Queens word is not sufficient motivation to get you here promptly?”

“I broke the seal on your summons only this morning. A newer Hound would have taken two days to get to the gate. Perhaps your messenger got lost.” I said evenly, looking not into her eyes, but at her right shoulder. She gave me a low ‘harumph,’ and began shuffling notes that were laid out before her.

“You have orders that will detail your new assignment.”

“I understood that patrolling the borders of the north region was my assignment.”

“You will question the wisdom of Her Majesty?”

“Any who know me, know that our sovereign Lady is first and most beloved in my heart. I do not require court to prove this, nor any dance you think I should do for you. Now, if you will give me my orders, I would take my leave of you and this oven of an office.” I knew this woman. Rina Farbarrow had a reputation of her own. She had bounced in rank depending on the availability of a welcoming nobles bed. She was pleasant on the eye, but the moment her personality surfaced, she grew more unattractive by the moment. I did not judge her for the way she excelled in her rank, for it was not my duty. My distaste for her stemmed in that she kept slaves. In this enlightened times, when a class of servants were as common as coins, slavery seemed to be a waste of human spirit. People were not property, unless they had committed a crime, and were paying restitution.

She waved an envelope at me, not surprised that I snatched it from her fingers before she could pull it away. I turned my back to her, and broke the wax that sealed it close.

“Oh my, it is written by the Queen’s own hand.” I whispered, loud enough for her ears, knowing this would gall her to no end.

Instead of reading the words, I scanned it, noting in the script the profound sadness it seemed to hold. My heart ached for her, and without a look over my shoulder, I left the officer to ponder the news she was not privileged to.

I went back to the bachelors quarters, and took a room on the highest floor. Once there, I opened the two windows hoping for a trace of a breeze, stripped to my small clothes, and began to devour my letter.

My father had died. He had been found in the kitchen early one morning, preparing the Queen’s bread for the day. His Last few years had been the happiest of his life, and my younger brother would stand in his stead, having taken up my fathers passion. I was saddened beyond my own understanding, and yet grateful that his talent had been appreciate by the highest person in our realm.

But the Queen had a duty for me, and the last half of the letter was written in a different ink. It was heavy with magic, and as I read the words, they vanished from the page, and were burned into my heart. What they said exactly, I am not certain, nor could I recite them. All that I could say was that a quest was now asked of me.

Our Lady’s royal consort, a handsome man named Tillith had gone missing. He was the Queens favorite, and likely to father the heir to the throne. Tillith had been sent to Woodlocke to obtain artifacts from the local people. In the circles of the well breed, decorating in the style of more primitive cultures was the rage. Artists would try to copy the style of rugs, paintings, imitating the ways of others. He had decided that the Roa needed to be represented in his dining halls and bed-chambers. He had disappeared. His party had vanished as well. The clerics in the capital swear that he is not dead, but he can not be scryed upon. Even by the most talented of seers. I was to find him, or his fate, and report the situation. Inside the envelope, a small steel ring tumbled into my palm. It had the royal crest on it, and I knew that any merchant, any officer who saw this on my hand, would be rewarded handsomely for their aid.

Lady Isolde knew that gold was not my hearts desire. She knew that I would take care of my position, and not abuse such a thing. The one aspect of her letter, where the words were most clear, was a compliment: That others in her court should have my character. It warmed me to know that I should be so highly thought of by the Queen. My investigation began as soon as I was able to don my uniform.

Tillith had come into the city, as I recalled overhearing tradesman squabble over who’s booth he had visited. I expected his disappearance to be attributed to simple bandits. But he was well guarded, and an ambush of any kind on his traveling group would have left traces. There was nothing on the roads that lead to the city. His party had arrived here. This I was certain of. What had happened to him after he came into the merchants square, I would glean from the venders and others on the street.

I went to check on Kren. My stallion was cheek deep in a bucket of oats, eating slowly with his eyes closed. I left him to his favorite meal.

The Street of Brass glowed with an almost demonic light in the late day. No wind touched us, and I took to carrying my leather flask, but did not fill it with common spirits, but the clearest water I could find. It was not the custom for city dwellers to drink water as the small river that cut through the city often ran brown. So I kept myself protected from the crushing heat with drink I had found outside the city.

As I passed the peddlers, I would point at pots and pails and inquire as to who made them, and what made them any better then the next merchants display. I would not ask question about the Consort, but waited to hear his name dropped.

I had not been at it long before an older fat woman who was not coping well with the heat, informed me that several of the Consorts guards had purchased some polished ornate beads from her just a week past. I asked her to describe for me what was sold, and she handed me several of the beads.

“Good lady, are these done by your own hand?” I asked, fingering the small fox and other native animals.

“Yes, I cast them myself, but my son is the one who creates the shapes. He works from the clay he finds up-river. Do you know if it, sir Hound?” She asked.

“Yes, it has come off my boots many times. Sticky stuff, as thick as rumors.” I held out my hand, and the enchantment of the steel ring began. I placed two coins of gold into her palm, and she was thrilled at the tiny treasure.

“For your craft.” I said, and turned away, before she could offer me more.

Again, I wandered. This time, down past Weavers Corner. I wanted to see if the Roa’s work would be found here. I did not find it exactly. Instead, there were tapestries of the Royal House, or figures of white men as they plowed fields or gathered apples. Clearly, it was influenced by the Red People, but nothing that depicted the Roa’s culture, or way of life.

The lamp-lighters came out, with their hooded lanterns held away from their sides for the heat they threw. I watched the streets transform from the top of Gallows Hill, to look as if great glowing serpents wound through the city.

My flask was empty at my hip, so I went looking for a tavern. The Giants Feet seemed like a quiet place. It was populated more by local folk then travelers, so I was greeted with only mild suspicion, when I sat in the common room. I ordered a meal, a cup of the local wine, and a candle. I paid for my meal from the coins in my own pocket, rather then summoning the money through the ring. The meal was simple, but hearty. It seemed odd that I should not have to prepare it myself, so I was troubled by the dirty plate as it sat for a time at my left. The wine was made from local berries, and was not for those seeking sweetness. It was so tart, that it made the corners of my jaw ache. I only slacked my thirst with it, and would drink not a drop more.

I took to examining the brass beads the old woman had sold me. I recognized the Roa influence in them, despite the creators lack of red skin. The craftsmanship was without compare. The fox, the forest cat, and the hawk were all detailed perfectly.

“Playing with toys, Hound?” I heard a familiar voice say to me. Without looking up, I gestured grandly and replied,

“Sit down, Gaylene, I would enjoy your company.”

When I did give him my eyes, they fell on a balding man with a neatly trimmed beard. He wore a robe of brightly colored pieces, stitched together with gold thread. There was a pattern to it, despite the chaotic clash, and it seemed to catch the eye, and hold it hostage. It was, however, cut to fit him exactly as it should, and probably cost more then what my salary gives me in a year. To his right, a taller man quietly joined us. Rafael. A handsome man with bi colored eyes; one blue and one green. Dark hair cut to fit his square jaw. He and Gaylene had been friends since they were boys, and I dare say that they were inseparable. Raf wore the oddest leather armor I had ever seen. It was dyed blue, with a reptilian skin pattern stamped on it. I would bet that it was a gift from my flamboyant friend.

“Good to see you, Gaylene.” I said. “I thought that the Lord Mayor had skinned you for the birds.”

“Do not be silly, Hound. That man has fewer wits then I have tails. I believe he could not find his way out of a box, even if he had a map.” I chuckled softly. Gaylene had become a friend of mine quiet unexpectedly. He came across me in the wilds, hip deep in a skirmish with some bandits who were raiding the Red People’s villages. I did not see one of them come up on a blind side, and certain he would have skewered me with a pike, had Gaylene not cast some kind of spell that convinced the rouge that he was covered in scorpions. I am certain that this funny little man had saved my life.

“What are you looking at, Vias?” Rafael asked, his eyes shining in the dim light, like a child sitting before presents.

“Beads, from a vender, on the Street of Brass. They are quite good.” Gaylene sighed and put his hands under the table. I could not quite hear the whispers from him, and was about to ask what he said when I felt the tiny figurines in my palm begin to move. Startled, I dropped them. But instead of hearing a clumsy clatter across the wooden table, the tiny hawk took wing, and the fox and cat began chasing each other. “I have always been amazed at how you can do this.” I laughed and watched the two figures. The fox suddenly stopped, rolled over on it’s back and was mounted by the cat. I barked out a short laugh, and covered the two as they copulated, with a cupped palm. Rafael roared his laughed, and smacked Gaylene’s arm.

“Only you could weave such a spell.” He said.

“It is only illusion my dear Hound.” He winked at me. I took my hand away, and the two animals had resumed their inanimate state. The hawk, I would learn later, had flown into my pocket.

“What brings you inside the city walls?” Rafael asked, dipping his fingers in his beer, and flicking it at Gaylene. “Woodlocke has never been your favorite place.” “An assignment from her Majesty.” I replied. Gaylene sparkled.

“Certainly about the missing ‘man-servant.’” His grin was monestrous, but I did not allow it to show in my own face. Gaylene seemed to know more about everything then the average citizen. He was very well connected with the local court, and somewhat in the Capital. I silently chided myself for not seeking him out earlier.

“And what can you tell me of Lord Tillith’s disappearance?” I asked, trying to construct my smile with coyness.

“Let me ask you something, good Hound of the Crown...” He fluttered his eyelashes at me. “What do you think happened to him?” I looked to Raf, for any shadow of a hint, but he studied his companion as fiercely as I.

“It is too early in my investigation to know if the man even still breathes. But if you know something, you really should come forth with it.”

“And if I refuse?” I sat silently for a long moment, allowing no trace of ire to show on my lips or in my eye. I had spent years learning to keep a still expression, but in Gaylene’s presence, I was a fool.

“I could do nothing to you. Would I throw you into a cell, beneath the castle? No. Could I arrest you, and put you into a servants contract? Of course not.” He smiled at me, but I was able to evade his charm.

“But would you resent me, and refuse to play further?”

“Yes.” I said, and took a drink from Raf’s beer.

“Then we can not have that.” He stood, and took hold of Rafael’s arm and drug him to his feet. They turned to leave

“Coming?” Gaylene asked, but I shook my head.

“I have far too much to do.” But before the dark doorway could swallow them, the illusionist returned to the table, put his hand behind my neck and whispered his warm and wet words into my ear.

“I could not tell you exactly what befell the consort, but be aware that his boots were sold in the Dust Quarter.” He drew back for a moment, and much to my dismay, quickly kissed me. He giggled like a child and left the pub in a flourish of sleeves and loudly sung a verse from a bawdy song. I sat there quietly, considering the tiny seed of information the man had given me.

Not a soul would walk these streets without shoes. And to allow your boots to be discarded was not the custom. They would be passed to a servant and Gods help the servant that sold them.

The Dust Quarter? What a wretched part of the city that was. Thieves would avoid that area for fear of having their own throats cut. The unclean, the unsavory, the lost and the mad lived in that tiny dark portion. If the Consort had gone there, then it was a real possibility that he might be held against his will. It was not uncommon for a noble to fall prey, and to be ransomed back to safety.

Tillith was a large man, bigger even then myself. He may have been a fop at times, but he was also well skilled in weapons, and even a little magic. He also had several former Hounds in his group. For Tillith to be taken by a common ruffian was something that I could not wrap my mind around.

Instead of rushing off to the Dust Quarter, ill prepared and weary, I decided to seek out others of Tillith’s make. Being late in the evening, I decided that I should go to the Harpers Rose, as the well-born would be drinking there.

As a Hound, and on those days when I had come into the city of my own volition, I had seen this pub on several occasions. But I never ventured past the door frame. Although I held a title, and would be welcomed, I found it to be a place that would hold little interest to me. There were games of chance, women, and a collection of wine that could make even the most jaded traveler happy.

I pushed open the doors, and walked into a hedonistic dream, bathed in yellow light. Almost instantly, I realized that my hair style and lack of whiskers set me apart from the men. In fact, several who looked up from their cards or cups gave me an unwholesome look. Had I been on leave, I would have simply slipped back into the comfort of the street. But I was trusted with a task, and a Queen required an answer. I stepped into the establishment with my shoulders back.

“Welcome, Hound!” A man called to me from the center of the common room. He had a young girl in his lap who was feeding him bread dipped in wine. The man wore the uniform of a Hound, but his wealth adorned him like dust adorned me. “Do join us, and tell us of the wild land that is just beyond the gate.” He was drunk, and probably had been most of the day, yet his eye held a current of good will that could not be ignored. I reminded myself that not all Lords were scoundrels, even those that were too fond of drink.

Shyly, I sat, for all eyes were on us, and my years in the wild made me prefer my own company. Too much attention only reminded me of how obvious I did not blend with the others. In the forest, those that stand out, were quickly eaten, and this pub was rife with predators.

“And how are the uncivilized places in Her Majesty’s realm?” He asked me, as the girl made for my own lap. With a kind touch, I refused her tender advance, which thankfully, she was not offended by.

“Hot.” I answered, and was startled by the tankard of beer that was slammed down in front of me. My host smiled at me, and returned to quickly kissing the young woman.

Her eyes were those of someone much more ancient then her collection of years. She stared at me, with those grey stones, and though her smile was sweet, it did not touch her eyes. So she plied the Hound with her lips and the sweet wine, and stole the silver from his pocket. I could not help but wonder what kind of pitiful history she knew that she would allow the rough hands of the Hound to freely roam the fields of her body.

I suddenly hated this city, completely. Save for a temple, I would have gladly seen this entire place swallowed by the ground. I pushed the tankard away, untouched, and made to stand. The man who sat opposite of me reached out and took hold of my fist.

“Stay. We could talk of your mission.” I relaxed a moment, and realized he was not as drunk as I had assumed. I chided myself for had I made this kind of mistake in the wilds, it could have cost me dearly. I took up the tankard, and touched the foam to my lips. This malt beer was not a drink for me.

“I am Duncaine of South Harbor.” Not releasing his hold on either my hand or attention.

“Vias Outland.” I responded to his introduction with my own. When he was satisfied that I would not flee, he released his grip on my hand. He turned his attention again to the young woman.

“Petal, take wine to my room, and for the love of light, please make certain there are no vermin in my bed. I will be up shortly when I am finished with Lord Outland.” His words were like velvet across skin, and as hard as she seemed, there was a sense of anticipation about her. With a tilt of her head, she bid me a good eve, and let the gloom of the common room take her.

“I am a drunk, a villain, and a lustful lout. But first and always, I serve Her Majesty.” His eyes shone with a clarity I had not noticed when first I sat at his table. His tone was that of a comrade, a peer. I appreciated that. “What can you tell me of your mission?” I smiled at him, and he took my momentary silence for a challenge. “You do not look or smell of drink or women. Your appearance tells me that you have been in the wilds for a number of seasons.” I nodded. The Hounds inside the walls were groomed by those that attended Nobility. Where my hair was worn in a single braid, theirs were quaffed and curled. I despised facial hair on myself, but they wore oiled beards that were cut to a point. Even after my time in this place was done, I would keep my straight hair, and smooth chin.

“So, are you favored or punished with this mysterious task that has been set before you?” He asked, and drank deeply from his own tankard.

“Favored.” I replied. “I seek the Consort of the Queen.”

“Has he fallen into disfavor? For as beloved as she is to all of her servants, Her Grace is jealous and will not suffer disloyalty.” I shook my head.

“No, she is concerned, for he has gone missing.”

“Or has he simply run off?”

“I would not imagine. But it is within the realm of speculation.”

“Perhaps the young buck has taken up with another. If this champion was bedding our Gracious Queen, then perhaps he feels that he has acquired all that he can. I would also remind you, that carrying the station of The Silver Heart, many women would find most... appealing.”

“Perhaps you are correct in your assessment. But any woman who boasts of holding the Queens Buck certainly would know the wrath that would follow.”

“True. Good for a tumble or two, but all would know that there is danger in his embrace. How long has he been missing?”

“I would guess a fortnight.”

“Ransom demands have not appeared?”

“None have come forward for a payment, nor has any been asked.”

“Then if not for his heart, or his purse, who would take him?”

“Lord Duncain, that is the question I have been asking myself all this day.”

We fell into a comfortable silence. I ordered bread and cheese, and the hour grew late. I reminded him that he had a woman waiting for his company upstairs. He waved the comment away, stating that it was a common game that they played. I was about to ask him if he wished to assist me on this assignment, when he asked of me first:

“Is this quest of yours something you wish to handle alone, or will you take on a partner?”

“It has been several years since I have worked with anyone other then my horse.”

“I understand.” He stated, and made to stand. This time, I was able to stop him. “But I am not familiar anymore with the workings of this city. Your help would be appreciated.” He smiled again, and his eyes shone. I did not know if his current assignment was to guard, judge, or protect. But I felt better about company on this duty. That a new or different perspective could illuminate where a single logical point could not.

“Asleep with you, my new friend! For you look as tired as I feel. The runaway will be no more lost or dead when the sun rises.” I nodded and informed him that I would meet him for the first meal of the day. He suggested the second, winked at me, and took the stairs two at a time.

Slowly, I walked towards the Bachelors barracks. The heat of the day was yielding, but by only a trace. Once or twice a breath of a breeze touched my skin. I was aware of those that moved around me, and my hand rested easily on the hilt of the blade at my hip. I spied a lone figure ahead on the street, far enough away from the lamp that I could not make out his features. He saw me, and began his advance. He held no weapons, but seemed to recognize me as his steps took on a purpose. I tensed, but tried to keep my own reaction fluid. He moved like one of the Roa.

“*Be you the one who walks in the red steps?*” He spoke in the tongue of the Red People. I relaxed a trace. For as long as I had wandered the wild lands, I had never heard of one of the Roa even becoming a bandit, a thief, or a murderer. But Woodlocke was notorious for calling forth the ugly in all.

”*I am he.*” I responded and he quickened his steps until I saw his face bathed in the lamps light. I did not believe that he was seeking me out to harm me. I noticed that he wore hide shoes, and his long shirt was woven from the slender chaff that grow near the northern part of the Grand River.

”*I am Soziya, and my elders have sent me here to give you this.*” In his hand, he offered a tiny cloth pouch. I took it to be one of their medicine bags. When I accepted it from him and was able to give it just a trace of attention, I saw many ceremony knots holding it together, and small arcane symbols stitched into it. When Soziya saw the puzzlement on my face, he laughed, and it sounded like the call of one of the colorful birds that abide not too far from the city.

“*Dust. You will need it.*” I realized he was waiting for my gift, so I unbuckled my short sword, and handed it to him. His smile could have challenged every lamp on the street. He bowed, turned, and fled as if a devil had whispered his name.

I needed to get back to my quarters, as I was now without a weapon. The tether of the pouch was long, so I strung it around my neck, and dropped it inside my shirt, and hurried to the barracks.

Grave Ridge Hall stood like a screaming face as I approached. Inside was Kren, probably dreaming. But I had spent so little time in beds these last years, that the softness was smothering. I dreaded going back to that tiny room, so I decided to bunk with my horse.

Kren wickered softly as I came in. I spoke to him in Roa, which he seemed to respond to. I stroked his flank, which he leaned into me as I rubbed him. I noticed his hobbles, and removed them and found a blanket to cover the straw. I trusted my equine friend not to step on me, and quickly fell into a deep sleep.

I dreamt of horses. All breeds of them ran in herds. From the regal Spanish Chargers, to the Roa’s stumpy ponies. I could hear them, feel the pounding of the hooves as they churned the earth up beneath them.

Kren’s call snapped me out of my slumber. Outside, many people ran in the young light of morning. A horn sounded, and outside, a wagon raced past, sounding as if it left most of itself scattered on the cobblestones of the street. I could smell smoke, and understood Kren’s unease. I gave him a command that would keep him silent, and fled the stable. Down the street, the Bachelor Barracks was completely ablaze. I stood transfixed, for never had I seen such a rage of flame. Had not a larger man nearly knocked me flat, I might have simply stared until the building collapsed. I was puzzled, for the building was made of stone, save for the wooden roof. I quickly joined the bucket line, and even took a turn at running the water. By the time the sun had addressed the day, three had died in the fire, and the structure was reduced to an ugly scorched shell.

Duncain arrived, looking surprisingly fresh and lucid. He brushed the ashes off my shoulders.

“I am glad you were not in there.” He said, and I could see genuine concern.

“How did you know that I was not?”

“If you had, there would not even be bones left.” He pointed at the ruins. Oddly, and thankfully, it had not touched the surrounding buildings. But the blaze was hot, far more so then any normal fire.

“Did the quarter master store oil in the cellar?” I asked.

“Anything like that would be placed in a separate structure. I do not believe that it was brought about by normal means.” I looked at him as he pondered.

“Then how could the fire have been so damaging?” He just shook his head. I believed him to have a theory, but he was not ready to give it voice yet.

“Aw, look. The town mage has arrived. Perhaps she could tell us.” I watched in silence, uncomfortably aware that I was soaked with sweat, and more ash could be seen on me then skin. Duncaine chatted at me, as I watched the ancient and bent woman cast spells over the smoking rubble. When he noted that I was not paying attention, he began giving orders to those around him. He nearly brought a gawking stable boy to tears, but sent him off to tend horses and to close his mouth.

We watched the Sage until exhaustion was about to take her frail form. I approached her is if she were a body already in a coffin.

“My Lady, I am Vias Outland, guardian of the North, and on assignment from Her Majesty. What can you tell me?” She regarded me with a squinting pallor.

“Magic was how this started. What kind, I am not certain. Now, away with you boy, before I cast you into parts.” I turned, and went back to where the other Hound was fuming. I saw he was about to stride up to her when I placed a hand on his arm and whispered.

“Leave her be. All who attend her know that her rank is less then our own. Give her a bit of dignity, even if it costs us some of our own.” I guided him back toward the stable, where I could retrieve what few possessions I had left. We both ignored the blistering stare from the stable boy that Duncaine had taken to task.

Kren was a mess, and I took out a brush and began to tend his mane.

“There is only one reason to destroy the Bachelors Quarters, my new friend. And we both know why.” I nodded, but refused to let the fear that had started in my belly, take me in it’s cold control. I had been the target of the fire.

“Then now we know,” I said across Kren’s back. “That Lord Tillith is not simply in some lady’s chambers.

“You are a fool to do this!” Duncaine was so irate with me that the veins in his forehead threatened to explode. But I would not be detoured. “There is every kind of vile being in the Dust Quarter. Even a Hound would not be safe. At least let me come with you! I may not know the layout of the streets, but I know of it. And you know even less then I!”

“Brother, the only way I am going to find out about Tillith, is if I follow his steps. I understand the danger, but in these two days since the fire, all that we have been able to uncover is that he was making his way to where the ragged people live. I owe Her Majesty an explanation.”

“Then send word back that he has died.”

“I could not say that. It would be a lie, and Her Grace deserves better.”

“Vias, she will grieve for the handsome sod, and find a new father for the Heir. But throwing your life into a hole is pointless.”

“Enough!” I had lost my patience. Still, he stood defiant. “I do not know how the varlet behave in this city, but I am outside of it. I serve one Queen, and I swore over my own blood that I would do my very best to serve her and her interests.” He looked at me with cold eyes, but I knew he would not end our new friendship for stating the truth about my motives. “I agree, it does seem a fools errand. But how could I wear the uniform if I did not believe in the one who put me in it?” I caught a glimpse of myself in the polished mirror, and I have to say that I was hideous. The clothing I had bought had spent the afternoon in a solution of lye and milk. I scraped my boots until it looks as if I had walked from the Capital in the them. My hair was matted with mud, and I had snipped a burnt candle wick and rolled it in my mouth to grey my teeth. I poured amounts of the cheapest wine down the front of my shirt, and rubbed soap into my eyes, until it looked as if they would bleed. I purchased a dagger from a boy on the street that was more rust then steel, and tucked it, unsheathed into my frayed belt.

I would go into the Dust Quarter, and sell ‘stolen’ items, and look for any trace of the missing Consort. Duncaine was vocal in the extreme, thinking I had gone mad.

“I will go this night, Duncaine, and should I not return by next morning, then you are free to do what you will. Come look for me or stay away, it is a choice that falls onto your shoulders. But by the Gods, please do not come before then.” I took hold of his arms and made him look at me. I would know a lie on his face.

“Agreed. But I will not tell you what I plan to do.” I nodded and reached for my tattered coat. “But I will tell you this, Vias.” He said, and his tone touched me. “I have never allowed another Hound to address me as ‘brother.’ But from your lips, it seems appropriate. I know of no other, who lives the Duty as you. Be well and come back.” I left the guest room of his suite, and found myself in the street just after mid day.

My performance started the moment I staggered into public. At times, I would mutter to myself, or shout at a passer. I carried a small bag over my shoulder with a few silver articles, mostly broken or cracked. They clattered as I stumbled, and more times then one, I spilled the contents at the feet of someone. Twice, I was met by cut purses, who took the copper from my pocket.

The sun was well down when I ventured past the stables, the whore’s den, and to the corners of the walls that were beginning to disintegrate. A few rough people walked past, deep inside the depths of their own cloaks, faces turned away from any wandering eye. I decided that I would behave like a tipsy, yet greedy thief. I approached a few individuals, offering the contents of my bag. No soul would, consider it past two blinks of an eye.

For the first time in my life, I saw a Red Man in a place like this. Dirty, scuffed, looking as bad as I. My recognition must have spooked him, as he darted away. Cursing my lack of concentration, I left my bag on the broken cobbles, and gave chase.

Through a narrow alley, I saw his shadow, and nearly lost him around a crumbling shack. I rounded the corner, expecting a club or blade to meet my gut, but none came. I stood in the dead end passage and stared at the nothingness he had left. Had he grown wings? Perhaps he had melted into the shadows. I walked to the closest wall, and let my hands search the filthy surface, seeking a hidden latch or concealed button. I did not realize that my position was vulnerable. The ground cracked, and before I had time to leap, I found myself plunging downward.

The street above me was dark, the chamber I sat in was black. My hands found mud and moisture. I could hear my own breathing against the far walls. But no trace of light, save the slightly less dark space that marked the mouth of the hole I fell into, reached my eyes. Fact is, I had to stare upwards for a time, just to find it.

On hands and knees, I crawled forward, slowly, making sure I was not destined for another drop. I was either in a part of the sewer that was no longer used, or the ruins of some part of the city eaten by newer construction. Either way, the stone wall I found was simply a remnant, and led me no where.

I sat back down, and tried to keep my wits. The darkness was crushing, complete, and filled my mind with fear. My senses were limited to the extreme. My fingers only felt the crumbling bricks. My ears only detected my own breath and heart beat. The smell was rank and constant and had not changed since I came into this part of the city. Never before had I been so ill prepared for this ‘wilderness.’

I thought about crying out for help, but this was the Dust Quarter. A frantic call would have been ignored, or worse, it could draw the wrong attention. I decided that I would simply wait for daylight, remaining as still and as silent as possible.

I do not know how long I sat. Time had stopped. No star could be seen, nor trace of the night could be detected. But a single footstep sounded. At first, I thought it simply my imagination. Then another came. The near useless dagger I carried in my belt had remained past my fall into darkness, and it felt good in my hand. Movement around me, and the squeak of rats. Still, I could not see a single image, but hear the sound of furry feet. I tucked my knees up under me, and pressed my back against the half wall, it was a wonder I did not topple it.

All around me, I could sense the vermin. I knew that they were regarding me with their shiny black eyes. I could feel the touch of their whiskers against the side of my neck, my wrist, my cheek. I bit so hard on my lower lip, I could taste copper. But still, I dare not cry out. I am no hero, and do not possess an iron courage, but to panic now would be to die. And leaving this world, eaten by rats was not a way I wished to end my life.

Soft words began to form in the darkness.

“I know you, outlander.” They said. And a tiny, unsteady illumination lit the chamber like a small sun. I blinked back the pain, and when I could at last make out detail, I noticed that the man was one of the Roa. Around me, there were more rats than I thought a city could hold. That alone ensured that I would not have a good nights rest while inside these walls. Beside me, and as black as my shadow, one of them sat motionless. It was of a size that it could have easily bitten my head off.

“If I am to die down here, then I ask you to stay your charges a few moments so that I could pray.” I slowly stood, making my movements constant and without suddenness. I let the dagger fall from my fingers, as it would have been as useful as a green stick.

“I will not be the one to take your life tonight.” He said. “Your language is foul. Do you speak the words of my people?” He asked. I nodded. “*Good, not many of the White Backs can.*” When at last I could make out his features, I realized he was not the youth I had seen on the street earlier. He motioned for me to follow, and I slowly advanced.

“*Why have you come to this terrible place, Outland? My people believe you to have shed the white skin and become a forest spirit.*”

“*The forest would be welcome now.*” I said. “*But my Queen has sent me to find her mate. He has gone unseen for nearly a run of the moon.*” Though I had been among his people, I still did not possess the skills of his language, and it sounded like child-speak in my own ears.

“*He is the one with the yellow hair. He buys much with his coins. Yes, he is a devil.*”

“*Why is he called that?*” I asked gently, and painfully aware of their custom, and not wanting to irritate him while I was this vulnerable.

“*Because he takes, and gives nothing back to the land. No token, no try. Had I seen anything that had come from him without it being coin, he would have been spared.*”

“*Then his spirit has been freed from the body?*” I asked again.

“*Oh no. His spirit is bound to more skin and sinew then anyone realizes.*” I fell silent. Too many questions would bring him to believe I disrespected him. But I needed to know more.

We came into another chamber, and despite the filth of the surroundings, there was a pool of what looked and smelled of clean running water. Beside it, on a patched tiny table, garments.

“*This does not become you, Outland.*” He pointed at my attire, and shook his head. He moved to the door, followed by his vermin army. He placed the tiny lantern beside the door, dimly illuminating the chamber. The large black rat stayed behind, and simply stared at me. “*I would advise you not to wander through the tunnels. My companions recognize my will and wishes alone.*” And he left me. Without a hesitation, I disrobed, and began washing the grime and the disguise off of me. I dressed quickly in the loose fitting clothing he had provided for me, and while pulling my hair back, I realized that I still wore the tiny medicine bag around my neck. I did not take it off.

The black rat watched. Words can not describe the anxiety it instilled in me. Yet, I respected his distance, and would only cast a small glance in his direction.

My host returned with a small tray that held bread and beer. I took a bite, and a sip, and thanked him, which was the custom. I had no appetite, and anything more my body would have rejected in a violent display. Still, the man did not give me his name.

“*Come, I would show you another chamber, and perhaps share with you something familiar.*” We walked deeper underground, and through enough turns, I was no longer certain which way was north. And as always, the giant rat plodded just beyond my heels. When we at last emerged, it was into a great carved place. Light came from all around, and I was not certain of it’s origin. It could have held the entire barracks in here. In the center, a monolith of stone rose up. It was covered in symbols that were native to the land, but not Woodlocke. It was polished, and shone dully in the weak light.

My host offered me the chance to examine the runes, which I took. I stepped with bare feet on the cool pedestal, and placed my hands on the symbols. Some I recognized. The Growing Time. The Hunt. The Wise Child. The Weak Enemy. They had been carved into this stone, and painted. The rituals that created this piece must have taken years to complete. They could not have been done simply by this one man.

“*Magic has died in this land. There are those of my kind that wish to blame the White Backs. But it was dying long before the city was ever built. This place is one of the few areas of power that remain.*”

“*Why did you burn the barracks?*” I asked, quietly. But there was no meekness in my voice.

“*I knew that you were not there. Had you been in the building, I would have burned the stables. I needed to bring you down to us. That is why I sent the illusion of the youth. To guide you into our hole.*”

“*Why?*”

“*Because you would condone what has been done to my people!*” His words struck me as sharply as if he had struck me with an edged weapon.

“*Never! And if you were to look into my heart, you would see that I have nothing but respect for the Roa!*”

“*I know you, and of you, Outland. You hold the word of your Queen above all else. You are nothing but your duty. Did you know that the man you seek was the one who started enslaving my people?*” I could not speak. “*By his own tongue, he confessed to me, at the very spot on which you stand. By his own decree, people were being abducted from villages outside of your path.*”

“*Those are not the wishes of my Queen! She has no use for slaves!*”

“*But he had! The coins that he valued so much were the only thing he sought. He would sell our kind in his capital, and to those of other lands.*” I stood silent, but I knew he spoke the truth. I knew on an instinctive level that this strange shaman had done nothing but present me with facts. Tillith was ambitious. I understood that he wanted to make more of a name for himself then just the Queens drone. Perhaps he sought his fortune in the selling of flesh. I had hoped for something different, but once again, I was faced with the ugliness that separates us from animals.

“*Then why am I hear?*” I asked him, after a few moments of silence.

“*At first, I would send a message to your Queen. To inform her that the Roa will not stand by for this. That you should share the same fate as the one who brought you here.*” He motioned to the end of the chamber, where I had stood a few moments before. The great dark rat regarded us. And for but the tiniest of moments, I would swear that I saw Lord Tillith, crouched and watching with those vitrified eyes.

“*You have turned them all into rats.*’ I could barely form the words, and was afraid that if I lost control, I would scream this realization. His smile was minacious. “*You would do this to me, a friend of the Roa.*” I was about to step from the pedestal, but to my dismay, I could not move away from it. As if pulled, my back pressed against the cold stone so severely, I was sure that the symbols would be stamped into my flesh.

“*Outland, for you, I had something else in mind.*” He moved his hands above his head, and I could smell the acrid scent of something arcane about to happen. I saw the light illuminate the chamber, and could feel the heat of the obelisk on my skin. He began to mutter in Roa, words that I had not heard before.

“*You can not do this to me! I have saved your people from my own. I demand that you treat me as your ancestors would!*” I fought the invisible bonds until I could feel blood flow on my arms and shoulders.

“*You will be regarded, Outlander, for I shall give you wings.*”

Enraged, I cried out a harsh sound at him. My curses became a single call, and I could now see in the shadowed places that were hidden from me. I could see the heat that the rats gave, and the outline of the man who made me the victim of some terrible enchantment. But I was no longer tied to the stone relic, and my next movement took me into the caverns that I had been in before. But this time, I was not a man.

The tunnels were of no challenge to me now. I cut through them like a feathered arrow shot from a bow. And almost as quickly as I could think, the city dropped under me, and I flew into a hot morning. The sun had just started it’s climb, and I could see the citizens come awake. The sky was an impossible blue, and it called to me, greater then anything I had ever wanted, I would have flown into the heart of the sun. But I knew that this was not right. My time of rational reason was depleting. I needed help if I were to return to my life as it had been before. I turned my new owl eyes to the ground below me. I would need aid. But who could I turn too?

I saw him through the window. At first, I took him to be asleep. But as he rolled over to investigate the frantic pecking at his shutters, I saw that he was reading. I wanted to call out his name, to let Duncaine know not to go into the Dust Quarter. I would have yielded my life to give him this warning. But he simply threw a piece of uneaten bread at me and cursed that the devil should take me.

I would not be detoured. Frantically, I screeched at him, flapping my dun colored wings while holding tight to the window sill. He came to throttle me, for certain. But he stopped, and let out a cry of disbelief. The medicine bag I had been given several days ago, was still tied about my neck. It was by the grace of something holy that it had not fallen from me while I soared.

Duncaine donned his gloves, and gave me a perch as he brought me into the room. I picked at the pouch again, and looked him in the face. Words could not be formed, so I softly hooted at him in the one note I could make that would not offend his ears. Duncaine placed me on the back of a chair, and began the chore of undoing the knots.

I could feel the mind of the man began to ebb. Soon, I would be lost in the constant now, of animal thought. I clacked my beak several times at the Hound, to hurry him. He gave me a pained look, and I noted that his hands were shaking. After the last tie had fallen away, he looked at the red dust.

“It is clay!” He said to me. “This will not save you!” He slapped his thigh. “Am I to brew this as a tea? Melt it with butter and feed it to you?” His voice was frantic. I would be a winged hunter for the rest of my days. Instead of the bandits, I would take shrews...

And he dumped the contents onto me. I fluttered, and cast the dust all about the table I was next to. I could feel the tingle, which became a fire, and I was sure that my flesh and feathers were falling off. Instead, I looked down at my own feet as they began to form.

Naked, I collapsed on the floor. Duncaine covered me with his linen sheet, and I spoke the first words I could give.

“Thank you, my brother.” I said, and meant it truly.

Your Most Humble Grace,

It is with a profound sadness that I should give you the news that your beloved Lord Tillith has fallen prey to a horrific fever. He was tended by the locals, who could not stop his quiet descent. He was at peace when he died.

I am returning to the forest surrounding your Northern Region. It would appear that a new crop of slavers have surfaced, and as this would offend Your Majesty, I would crush it, or die trying.

Enclosed is your ring, along with my heart.

Your servant, Vias Outland.