Chapter Two

Hounds of the Guild

Dusk had fallen by the time Inerys reached the outer ward of the Sorcerers’ Guild, hungry and footsore. While two weeks spent scouring the Wilds had taken their toll, her work was not yet finished. Her gamble of a hunt had proven fruitful and she was here to collect.

She led her pack-laden horse through the portcullis with renewed vigor, for once she turned in her materials and received her pay, she could finally fall into a real bed. Her bed. She nearly groaned at the thought. At this point, she was willing to forgo a bath beforehand, despite her stink. Her limp, honeyed curls clung to her damp skin, though whether it was from sweat or mist, she couldn't tell.

Didn't care.

As she surveyed the bailey, she noted the sparse crowd. There were only a handful of horses beyond her own, their riders occupied at the various processing stations while low-ranking guild staff tended their many saddlebags. The usual guard post monitored each Hound within the yard, each transaction and when Inerys made her entrance, some turned their attention to her. She offered a lazy salute and earned as many nods as she did scowls. When it came to purebloods, their tolerance for her kind was hit or miss. Not that she minded, anymore.

The air was heavy and thick, as if the magic practiced here had sunken into the foundations of the stonework throughout the decades like smoke in an old chimney. It had always held a peculiar scent; dry and bitter, like a rainless thunderstorm. It made her nose itch and her eyes watered with the effort it took not to sneeze. Her horse, though, held no such regard. Milo snorted with a dramatic shake of his head, the sound echoing throughout the bailey and beyond.

A few of her fellow Hounds glanced her way, their gazes lingering upon the prize strapped across Milo’s back with veiled intrigue. She couldn’t help the little, tired smile that found her lips. Like most Hounds, she had brought in her fair share of stags over the years, but none like the black beast she’d tracked these last few weeks. Dressing and packing the creature on her own had been arduous, to say the least, but well worth the effort in the end. Its neatly severed head lay wrapped in cloth upon her surefoot’s back, the rack draping his hind end like an upturned crown. The sooty black antlers almost appeared to absorb what meager light was thrown off by the bailey lanterns, a testament to the authenticity of its species.

She pulled into one of the vacant stations, patting Milo’s thick neck as she checked the break-away knot of her tether. An attendant tried and failed to mask the eagerness of her approach. She was a small, shrewd woman whose sharp eyes lacked something Inerys couldn’t quite place. She adjusted the pair of spectacles along her hooked nose, eyeing the huntress with no small amount of scrutiny as she adjusted her logbook in the crook of an arm.

“Name?” She asked.

Inerys pulled her sleeve up over the identifying guild brand on the inside of her right forearm, presenting it to the woman.

“Inerys Adosin.”

Nodding, the woman’s attention strayed toward Milo.“What have you brought us this time?”

“A handful of red willow bark and valerian root,” she said, shrugging her satchel from her shoulders and gesturing toward her catch, “as well as hide, meat and bone from a black stag. All from the Fringe north of Starvel.”

The woman arched a brow as she scribbled down the details. "A bit far from your usual territory, hmm?"

Inerys shrugged. "Pickings are slim these days."

She was lucky to find what she had, really, and she'd crossed father into the deepwoods than she'd care to admit, even to herself. Ordinarily, the months between early autumn and the first snows were rife with prized root harvests and seed pod collections, but such hadn't been the case this year. Herbs had been less readily available toward the end of summer and what forageables remained had been plundered well before Inerys returned to the Wilds after her last hunt. She'd never seen the forest so bare.

The woman walked a slow circle around Milo, pausing to take notes as she went. Inerys did her best not to fidget. Black fallow deer were rare, to be sure, but even their price was subject to quality. While she had judged and found the beast near flawless, the process inspector may yet find fault. It wasn’t until the woman nodded to herself that Inerys allowed herself to breathe a shallow sigh of relief.

“Nicely done, Adosin,” she said, “you’re the first to bring us one of these in over half a year. Once we have the poundage and the exact 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?”

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.”

“Please,” she said.

The woman merely sighed. She swiped the medicinal herbs from Inerys’ open palm with her free hand and turned to pass them to the attendant waiting on the other side of the warded processing window at the front of the station. The two quietly conversed and after yet more hastily scribbled notes, she turned back to Inerys. The attendant slid a small leather pouch beneath the grate for her retrieval and the huntress dipped her head in thanks.

Her brow rose at the weight.

Spirits' breath.

Herb prices had been up in recent months, due to the growing scarcity of a waning season, but she hadn't expected the pouch to carry the heft it did. She opened her mouth to question it, then thought better of the matter and stowed the coin on her person. If they were willing to pay her this much, why complain? Spirits knew she needed it. Prices may be high, but there was a reason. Soon enough, there would be nothing left to forage.

With a small nod of gratitude, she turned her attention to her horse and the stag upon his back. Several assistants were already making their way over, no doubt eager to finish their own evening’s labors. She eyed them a moment, but made no move to dissuade their efforts to unpack as she removed one of the saddle bags and situated her satchel. Setting the bag down, she rolled her stiff shoulders and attempted to work one of the countless knots from her back.

She spied another figure approach through the amber-lit gloom, one far taller than any of the attendants. She cracked a smile, for she would recognize Alaric anywhere. He was a tall man, broad shouldered and lean in the waist. If his height did not immediately mark his mixed blood, his ears would. They, like her own, angled into a severe point along their tip. They peeked out from his dark curls, where her own were veiled beneath the hood of her mistcloak.

With half a glance spared toward the unpacking attendants, she set her satchel beside her saddle bags and moved toward the mouth of the station to meet him. Laughing, Alaric swept her up in his arms, and spun her in a gentle circle, their cloaks flaring in the gathering mist.

“There you are,” he breathed, “I was beginning to fear the worst.”

Her chuckle was light. “The deepwoods haven’t claimed me yet.”

“I can see that,” he smiled, his relief palpable, “It’s good to see you.”

Inerys dared to kiss his cheek as he set her down, her own flushing with color. He was a roguish, handsome thing, and his dark eyes lit with a certain playful mischief. He even had the gaul to waggle his brows at her. Grinning, she thumped his chest.

“Did your own hunt run long?” She wondered.

He shook his head, voice falling to a near whisper.

“Soren suggested I take a walk this evening.”

She dipped her head in understanding.

“I’m glad you did. And thank you, for checking in on him and Nan.”

“It’s no bother,” he said, “Besides, your Nan always spoils me with sweets.”

“Careful, that’s how she lures you in,” she cooed.

Shrugging, he offered a lopsided grin. “There are worse fates. Now tell me, where did you manage to find this beast of a stag?”

She glanced toward her catch.

“North of Starvel,” she replied.

She caught his approving nod along the periphery of her vision.

"Well done," he said, coming to her side, arms crossed as they watched the assistants dismantle the rigging, piece by piece.

She mirrored his posture, shifting her weight from one foot to another in an effort to ease the pressure along her left arch.

“Thanks,” she said, “but next time, I think I’ll take you up on your offer.”

“Field dressing all by your lonesome isn’t quite so fun, is it?”

“Hmph. Neither was packing it all. Still, I can’t complain. I made it back, after all, and he’ll pad the Trust out nicely enough.”

“Was he all you came across?”

She shook her head. “I managed to find a few herbs on the way. It wasn’t much, but it seems they’re paying a premium for what’s left.”

Alaric sighed. “It appears to be a growing trend. I suppose the rumors are true, then.”

Her interest piqued.

“What rumors?”

“That the mundane folk are venturing into 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 for them to hunt.”

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

“That or they’ve finally decided to phase us out. Whatever the case, word has sure traveled fast. You’re not the first to report slim pickings. Dravas’ last hunt only yielded a few hares, enough sage for a bundle or two, and Kardin came back empty handed.”

She grimaced.“I’m sure he handled that well.”

Alaric shrugged. “About as well as you’d expect. He’s been circling the bottom of a glass all day. Dravas is with him, though.”

“That’s some relief, at least. I don’t think I have it in me to babysit. Especially not tonight,” she said, rubbing at her eye, “I need sleep.”

Alaric leaned in and gave a teasing, exaggerated sniff. “And a bath.”

“Oh, hush. You’re not exactly a rose yourself,” she said, then muttered under her breath, “cheeky bastard."

He only laughed, the sound ultimately proving infectious.

After a time, though, he asked, “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 Fringe, let alone any further in."

She pursed her lips. “How many 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. "Most likely."

“More will follow,” she murmured, “especially if the sorcerers have opened the borders to the purebloods. Sending sorcerers is one thing, but the fools they send out there are going to die. Spirits' sake, the Wilds still claim us. What chance do they have?"

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

"Mistblind fools," she muttered, "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 opportunistic."

"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 her satchel and tossed her private saddle bag back over the saddle horn. Taking the reins, she 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.

"I don’t suppose I can talk you into a drink at the tavern?" 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. She wasn't quite sure she was ready to share her bed with him yet, 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."

Alaric’s smile was gentle, understanding in a way that made her heart flutter. "Can’t argue with you there. I know Soren and Nan are eager for your return.”

She cracked a smile of her own. "Best not to keep them waiting."

"May I walk you home, then?"

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

Alaric returned the gesture. "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 more delicate matters outside her fellow Hounds. The mundane half breeds who lived within the city’s lower districts were different from those who chose to live beyond it. They believed themselves to be more civilized, more human, than their wild-loving kin, despite the mixed blood running through their veins.

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 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 quite 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.”

His brow knit.“You think something spooked them?”

Inerys shrugged. ”I’m not sure. I didn’t sense anything else nearby at the time, but my Sense is patchy at best that far in.”

“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 accurately 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.

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 tickled her blood whenever she crossed into the Wilds. She was sure Alaric felt it too, for his eyes shimmered 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. She knew she looked like the dead.

“I know,” she sighed, “and 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 forehead rose. “A hen?”

Inerys rolled her eyes as she stepped off again. “Yes. A brooding one.”

Chuckling, he followed 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 handsome,” she hummed.

“Who’s the terrible one now?”

~*~

Inerys’ Sense told her danger waited upon the other side of the door. Her eyes narrowed and she paused to listen before slowly, she reached for the mist-damp knob. She knew what lay in wait beyond it, for it wouldn’t be the first time she’d been ambushed. Still, as she stepped inside, she allowed her assailant to pounce.

The air was knocked from her lungs and despite it, she laughed. Soren had her by the middle, his face masked by a mop of dark curls. If he were any taller, he would have knocked her to the ground. Though, to his credit, he did push her a few steps back through the open door. Soon enough, he would be taller than she was. He already reached her shoulder.

“You’re back!”

She wrapped her free arm around her younger brother, grinning.

“Just in time for dinner?” She assumed.

The scent of herb roasted meat wafted in from the kitchen, along with something sweet and light. Her stomach growled, eager for a warm meal. Her supply of dried fruit and cured meats had been enough to sate her throughout her hunt, but had grown dull early on. There had been no joy in eating, only necessity.

The boy, no older than twelve, grinned up at her, his blue eyes bright. Nan had always said they were the twin to her own and most tended to agree. It was a trait they’d inherited from their mother. Though, Soren had been the one to inherit their father’s rich brown hair. Inerys’ own was a honeyed shade of blonde several shades lighter than her mother’s.

He nodded. “I wanted it to be ready when you returned.”

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. Inerys adjusted the saddle bag 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 muffins,” Soren said proudly.

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

“Soren insisted we make them when he spied those fresh berries 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 always 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 its 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 for a week or more. Especially these days. Regardless, Soren 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 clean outside before Soren had tackled her.

“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.”

She’d downed a whole stag, after all. Sure, the sorcerers received the bulk of it, but she could spare a bit for herself. For her family. They were not destitute by any stretch, but every bit counted. Winters could be harsh, especially among the northern territories, 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 liking.

Nan rounded the table.

“Go get cleaned up and I’ll take things from here. There should be plenty of water left for a warm bath,” Nan said, winking as she saw to unpacking the many cloth-wrapped bundles from Inerys’ bag.

“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.