Chapter Two

Hounds of the Guild

The grounds of the Sorcerer's Guild had always made Inerys’ skin crawl. The air was heavy and thick, as if the magic practiced here had sunken into the foundation of the stone over the years like smoke in a chimney’s mortar. It held a peculiar scent; dry and bitter, like a rainless thunderstorm, and the walls were too tall, too dark, to be considered a sanctuary.

Like most hounds, Inerys had only ever been privy to the outermost courtyards, where she and her kin were permitted to bring their goods. The fortress beyond remained a mystery, the arcane practices within a secret only the stones could tell. It was better that way, Inerys thought. The sorcerers often spurred her nerves more than the beasts she hunted on their behalf. Her interactions with the practitioners themselves were often minimal, save for those who dealt with the Guild’s Hounds directly, but she took great care to minimize even those rare occasions. This late into the evening, she knew most were already neatly tucked away inside their warded halls.

Still, she took a moment to survey the courtyard before she made her final approach. Beyond the usual guard post, few stirred. Those who did were either fellow hounds or various low ranking guild staff attending the many pack-laden horses. Inerys led her own into the stone courtyard, mindful not to jab anyone on the way in with the antlers of her quarry. Her passage garnered a few passing glances from her fellow hounds, but ultimately, she’d been left to find an open hitching post in peace.

She patted Milo’s thick neck as she checked the break-away knot of her tether, then turned away and cleared her throat before the warded grates of the delivery window. The attendant on the other side was a small, shrewd woman who’s eyes lacked something Inerys couldn’t quite put her finger on. She adjusted a pair of spectacles along her hooked nose, eyeing the huntress with no small amount of annoyance.

“Name?” She asked.

Inerys pulled her sleeve up over the guild brand on the inside of her forearm and presented it to the woman.

“Inerys Silspire.”

Nodding, the woman gestured to Inerys’ pack with her stylus. “What have you brought us this time?”

“A handful of redwillow bark and valerian root,” she said, setting her pack upon the short counter of the window and gesturing over her shoulder, “as well as meat and bone from a black stag. All from the northern territory.”

The woman paused. “Was the stag mature?”

Inerys stepped aside to afford the woman an unobstructed view. While it certainly wasn’t the most impressive rack, the sooty black antlers draped over her horse’s back spoke for themselves. The woman’s eyes grew a fraction wider. She nodded and hastily scribbled across her tablet.

“Nicely done, Silspire,” she said, “you’re the first to bring us one in over half a year. Bring your horse around the side and I’ll have it unpacked for you. Once we have the poundage and the grade, we’ll see to your pay-”

Inerys held up a finger. “Is it possible to sell the herbs now and have the earnings from the stag added to my trust?” She asked.

Glancing up from her notes, the woman raked her over with an appraising eye.

“If that’s what you’d prefer, I’ll see to it.”

“Thank you,” Inerys said with a shaky smile.

The woman merely nodded. She swiped the medicinal herbs from the table with her free hand and weighed them somewhere behind the counter. After a few more hastily scribbled notes, she turned back to Inerys and slid a small leather pouch beneath the warded grate for her retrieval. The huntress did her best not to appear too disappointed as she stashed the pouch in her pocket. She frowned, but there was little more to be done. Pickings along the Fringe were slim these days and she’d been lucky to find what she had.

With a small nod of gratitude, she turned her attention to her horse and the prize upon his back. A few assistants were already making their way over, no doubt eager to finish their evening’s labors. She eyed them a moment, but made no move to dissuade their efforts. She wasn’t eager to turn down help, especially after her latest expedition into the Wilds.

“Where’d you manage to find that one?”

Inerys spared a glance over her shoulder, cracking a smile. “In the Wilds to the North.”

Alaric had always been a brooding hulk of a man. The sort that came to mind most when Hounds were mentioned. Between his height and the slight curve of his ear, he was the epitome of their half-blooded forebears. At least, as far as old texts were concerned.

“The North? Maybe I should pay a visit, then.”

“You’d be better off looking elsewhere.” She hummed.

He raised an eyebrow. “Afraid I’ll encroach on your territory?”

“Whether it's mine or not has no bearing. It’s been picked clean. I spent close to a fortnight scouring the Fringe and this is all I have to show for it. I’ve never seen the forest so bare.”

He sighed. “I suppose the rumors are true, then.”

“What rumors?”

“That the mundane folk are venturing the Wilds now too.”

“What? Since when?”

“The past few weeks, from what I gather. Apparently the sorcerers in the southern city-states are telling folk the Fringe is safe enough to hunt.”

She snorted. “Are they that desperate for material?”

He shrugged. “Must be. Whatever the case, word has sure traveled fast. You didn’t encounter anyone else out in the woods?”

She shook her head, lowering her hood. “None. You?”

"A few here and there. More than usual, that's for certain. None of which had any business being out in the forest, let alone the Fringe."

She pursed her lips. “How many mundanes have ventured out and come back alive?”

“Enough to encourage others, apparently.”

“Wonderful,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Silence fell between them as they watched the assistants unpack her horse, until Alaric said, “Arjan and Ozkar are still missing.”

She frowned. “Claimed by the deepwoods, then?”

He nodded grimly.

“More will follow,” she murmured, “especially if the sorcerers have opened the borders to the mundanes. Sending sorcerers or other purebloods is one thing, but the fools they send out there are going to die.”

“If they want to throw sheep to the wolves, that's their business, not ours."

"It's still a waste."

He shrugged. "Maybe they'll draw in some of the more elusive woodland beasties and save us all a trip into the deepwoods ourselves."

Inerys gave his arm a half hearted slap with the back of her hand.

"You're terrible."

He chuckled. "I prefer the term optimistic."

"You can prefer whatever you like," she said with a wave of her hand.

As the stag head was at last lifted from her horse, she retrieved the reins and gave Milo an affectionate scratch. The stallion nudged her side in reply, which may have been endearing, were he not covertly searching her pockets for any rogue mints she may have been harboring. Spoiled beast.

"Off to the tavern, then?" Alaric wondered.

The last few weeks had taken their toll, if she were being honest, and her lingering aches ran deep. Still, she took a moment to consider. It was an intriguing thought, especially when paired with the more subtle implications that usually accompanied his invitations. Spirits knew she could use a night to herself. She wasn't quite sure she was ready to share her bed with him, but the thought was nice.

At the same time, she wanted nothing more than to fall into bed and never leave.

"I'd like to," she sighed, "but I’m afraid I've been away from home long enough as it is."

"I'm sure Vidaar's missed you terribly."

She cracked a smile. "Likely."

His own lips quirked. "May I walk you home, then?"

"You may," she said with a mock bow. "Milo and I could use the company."

Alaric chuckled. "Then I shall endeavor to entertain."

They kept conversation simple until they were well and truly beyond the walls of the city. The sorcerers had eyes and ears everywhere, even among Inerys’ own people and she wasn’t keen to discuss most matters even within the streets of the Houndsquarter. Those who lived within the city itself were different from the hounds who chose to live beyond it. They believed themselves to be more civilized, more human, than their wild-loving kin and often acted accordingly. Inerys never quite understood it, but had learned long ago never to trust the purebloods or their sympathizers. Human, hound or otherwise.

It wasn’t until they were among the misty fields of the outer farmlands, that Alaric broke the silence between them.

“Is something on your mind?

There were several things, if she were being honest, but she settled for, “Has the forest seemed . . . off to you?”

His lips grew thin. “How do you mean?”

“When I was out in the deepwoods, something didn’t feel right.”

“Do the deepwoods ever feel right?” He asked.

She huffed. “No, but that’s not what I mean. It was quiet, more so than usual. I didn’t see a single migrating tree either and you know how they are this time of year.”

“You think something spooked them?”

Inerys shrugged. .”I’m not sure. I didn’t sense anything out of the ordinary.”

“There may have been a larger predator in the area. Perhaps you’re lucky you returned when you did.”

She focused on the road ahead. “Maybe.”

While she hadn’t sensed anything at the time, a certain anxiety crept over her whenever she recalled the memory. Her intuition rarely led her astray, but perhaps she’d simply been too exhausted while in the deepwoods to read the situation. Whatever the case, at least she’d made it out alive. Hunting the Fringe was one thing. Few dared the shadows of the deepwoods, and for good reason. Any one of her outings could have been her last.

Most died within their first or second expedition. Either due to being underprepared, or overconfident. Sometimes both. Hunting along the Fringe was relatively easy for those wise enough to respect the forest and her boundaries, but few beyond the Hounds knew where those boundaries were. Venture too far into the deepwoods and the mists could easily shroud the trail. To those with common sense, the fog was usually a good indication they’d gone too far. However, it was then the forest’s tricks were at their most dangerous. It was easy to chase down a shadow mistaking it for prey, only to lose one’s way and end up the meal of something more cunning or fall into some hidden ravine.

And yet, she always returned. The goods she brought back with her were as lucrative as they were necessary, but there was something more to it. A certain thrill that tickled her blood whenever she crossed into the Wilds. She was sure Alaric felt it too. There was a certain shimmer in his eyes whenever he spoke of his own adventures.

The warm brush of his fingers coaxed her from her thoughts and for a moment, she swayed on her feet as he drew her to a halt. Milo gave a soft snort and she laid a hand along his neck to steady herself. Alaric watched her, his brow knit as his eyes searched her face.

“You need rest,” he murmured.

She rubbed her forehead, her fingers still tingling from his touch.

There was no point in arguing, not when he could read her like an open book.

“I know. I’ll have plenty of time to rest after I see to Milo and store the rest of the stag meat.”

He raised an eyebrow.

She sighed. “I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“You usually do,” she said, “you’re like a mother hen.”

This time, his entire brow rose. “A hen?”

Inerys gave a subtle role of her eyes as she stepped off again. “Yes. A brooding one.”

He chuckled, following after her with a shake of his head. “At least one of us cares about your well being. If that makes me a hen, so be it.”

“At least you're a handsome hen,” she hummed.

“Who’s the terrible one now?”

~*~

The moment Inerys stepped through the door, the air was knocked from her lungs. Her pint-sized assailant had her by the middle, their identity masked by a mop of curly brown hair. If he were any taller, he would have knocked her to the ground. To his credit, he did push her a few steps back through the door.

She laughed, wrapping one arm around her younger brother as she patted his head with her free hand.

“Easy, Vidaar or you’ll - what have you been into?” She asked, before sneezing at the plumb of flour dust that rose from his shaggy hair.

The boy, no older than seven, grinned up at her, his blue eyes bright with mischief. Nan had always said they were the twin to her own and most tended to agree. It was a trait they had inherited from their mother. Though, Vidaar had been the one to inherit their father’s dark hair. Inerys’ own was a pale shade of blonde several shades lighter than her mothers. In truth, it was more in line with her Nan’s.

“We’re making muffins,” Vidaar said proudly.

Her eyes narrowed as she stooped down to his level. “Is that so? You sure you weren’t getting into Nan’s cookie flour again?”

He shook his head vigorously. “No. Come see!”

Chuckling, she allowed him to lead her into the cottage and around the corner to the kitchen, where their Nan was carefully monitoring what Inerys assumed was her second batch of muffins. The first rested comfortably in the center of the table, far enough out of reach that swiping one would prove less than convenient to any would-be thieves. Particularly those of smaller stature. Inerys adjusted the saddle bags draped over her right shoulder as she leaned into the counter and plucked one with her free hand. Her lips quirked.

“What are these?”

“Blueberry!” Vidaar exclaimed.

Nan chuckled, straightening and wiping her floury hands on her apron.

“Vidaar insisted we make muffins when he spied those in the market today.”

Inerys winked at the boy. “Good choice.”

He puffed his chest and said, rather matter-of-factly, “They’re your favorite.”

“Mmm, that they are,” she said, passing him one muffin, then a second, “take one out to Alaric for me? I think he could use a hand in the barn.”

He seemed to consider for a moment, but eventually took the bribe and scampered outside.

“That boy always knows exactly when you’ll be home,” Nan said.

“He does, doesn’t he?”

Inerys did her best to give them her best approximation as to when she planned on returning, but she’d learned early on that the Wilds operated on their own terms. Some days, she was gone for a few hours, but those were few and far between. More often than not, she was gone a week or more. Especially these days. Regardless, Vidaar was always the first to greet her. Some days, it was almost uncanny.

“He wasn’t too much of a handful, I hope?” She asked.

Nan waved a dismissive hand. “Hardly. He’s far easier than you were at his age. Running around in the mist like some Wilds-forsaken beast.”

Inerys cracked a smile. “I recall having more twigs in my hair.”

Nan gave her a withering glare. “Brambles too. And mud.”

She glanced down at her boots, thankful she’d scraped them a few times outside before Viddar had tackled her when she opened the door.

“How was the hunt?”

“Long, but I managed to down a stag,” she said, setting her saddle bags down upon the table. Mindful of the muffins, of course.

“Big enough to share, I see.”

She nodded. “I thought we could cure a majority of it to help pad out our winter stores. We can cook the rest over the next few days.”

Her family was not destitute by any stretch, but every bit counted. Winters could be harsh, especially among the northern territory, and Inerys wasn’t keen to rely on the markets that had run dry a few years prior. As it was, their cellar was a bit too bare for her tastes.

“I can cook some now, if you like,” Nan offered.

Before Inerys could offer a reply, her empty stomach answered for her. Her cheeks flushed, but it was hardly the first time her stomach growled when her Nan offered to make dinner. The woman only smiled as she saw to unpacking the many cloth-wrapped bundles.

“Go get cleaned up and I’ll take things from here. There should be plenty of water left for a warm bath.”

“I’ll be down soon to help,” Inerys promised.

“You’ll take your time,” Nan said, leaving little room to debate the matter, “I’m sure your friend is more than capable of earning his supper in the meantime.”

Her cheeks burned at the thought of Alaric staying for dinner, but she wouldn’t argue.

Instead, she hid her smile as she made her way up the stairs.