by Aldrea Alien
That’s when Authril had secured her place as the horse’s rider, claiming that having him seated behind her would leave him without having to worry about the steering whilst he clung to her.
This was only their second day on horseback. They’d broken camp as soon as it was light enough for the horses and they seemed to be making good time through the forest. The trees were thinning and the undergrowth had broken into clumps sheltered beneath the bigger trees. He couldn’t yet see the capital through the branches, but he could hear the distant, unfamiliar cry of birds. Looking up at the right moment afforded him the chance to spot them through the gaps between the trees.
“What type of bird are those?” he asked Authril, pointing at the feathered animals circling high above them.
“Gulls,” she replied, not even bothering to look up. “We should reach Wintervale before nightfall.”
“Not as late as then, my dear woman,” Tracker said from his place at the head of their line of three. He nudged his horse into a trot and the others followed.
Dylan tightened his grip around Authril’s waist and squeezed his eyes shut as the horse bumped its way along the forest floor in jerky, sometimes hesitant, steps. Although he no longer rode side-saddle like in the past, opting to merely hitch up his skirts until he was capable of sitting astride, it didn’t make his seating any less precarious.
Direct sunlight shone on his face, not leaf-broken or fleeting. He peeked through his lashes. They’d finally emerged from beneath the forest.
Before them, rose Wintervale.
At any other time, he would’ve stared agog at the sight of the king’s castle standing proud between sea and sky, would’ve been equally mesmerised by the undulating sea stretching either side of the great walls and building scattered beyond the city’s primary protection.
But now? Dylan sat like a sack of flour behind Authril as the horses increased their pace from a lazy trot, eyeing the city with sullen disinterest. He was here for one reason. To ensure the crown believed he was the last living and leashed spellster in the kingdom not already confined to the castle, although his unleashed status would change soon enough.
The river that had been on their left the whole way through their journey east ended here. The estuary cut Wintervale in half, much like the city of Whitemeadow. Massive wheels, attached to large buildings on the western side of the city, churned through the water.
His gaze idly slid to the city walls. Beyond them, tiled roofs of red and black filled his vision. The tops of spires and turrets of taller buildings reached for the heavens, speckled with birds. Soon even they vanished from sight as their horses cantered ever closer.
But the king’s castle continued to dominate the afternoon skyline. It stood far higher than any building had a right to, even more so than Dylan’s home. An imposing thing of grey stone and steel. According to Tracker, the hound’s lived beneath that monstrosity. If he could even believe that.
Tracker pulled his horse to a halt as the last of the tiled roofs disappeared behind the walls. “The army camps on the other side of the river, just beyond the walls.” The man twisted in his saddle to address Authril. “We will be parting ways at the gate, my dear warrior. It would perhaps be best if I relieve you of your riding partner now.”
Authril grunted and, with a gentle twitch of her leg, swung the horse’s hindquarters far from the hound. “If it’s all the same, I’d rather stick by Dylan’s side until he’s leashed and able to return to the camp with me.”
The hound frowned at her, his glare throwing all sorts of knives his fingers likely itched to mimic. “If that is his wish, dear woman.”
Dylan tightened his grip on the warrior’s waist. He wasn’t sure where Authril would be assigned once they rejoined the army, seeing that those she’d fought alongside were all dead. But perhaps if they stuck together long enough, then she would become his new warden and he wouldn’t lose another familiar face.
“Looks like he’d prefer I stayed,” Authril said.
“So it would seem.” Tracker indicated the road winding towards the city. “Shall we?”
Dylan laid his head atop Authril’s as they ambled down the road. He took in the portions of city that could be glimpsed through the open gates. It was a jumble of buildings, archways and barely-visible streets, all sloping up towards the castle.
Authril stiffened as they drew nearer. She pulled on the reins, slowing the animal to a high-stepping walk. “Does something strike you as odd about the guards?” she whispered over her shoulder.
“Yes,” he breathed back. Now that his attention was drawn to it, the people manning the gates seemed far jumpier than those in similar service at the other cities. Even twitchier than Toptower’s guards, yet these men and women hadn’t the threat of Udynea breathing down their necks.
A glance at Tracker told him that even the hound had noticed something was wrong.
“What have you done?” Authril demanded of the man.
Tracker straightened in the saddle. “I have not done anything, dear woman.”
Their mounts drew even with the gates and the guards ran for cover in their little buildings either side of the entrance. A group of men and women garbed in dark leather stepped out of the shadows to spread themselves along the entrance.
Hounds. And they’d clearly been waiting here for some time. Dylan glared at Tracker. So much for the man’s claims of no one else knowing Dylan still lived. He should’ve expected more lies from the elf by now, but it still stung.
The fair-haired human of the group planted herself in the middle of the entrance. “One-four-eighteen-seventy,” she said, giving the rest of them a cursory glance. “How nice of you to finally come home. It has been such a long time.”
“Hunter,” Tracker curtly replied, his eyes narrowing. “Should you not be training how to break spines back at headquarters?”
The woman smiled coolly. “Such a mouth,” she murmured. “I would have thought that brothel would have beaten that out of you.” Her gaze settled on Dylan. “And this would be our renegade spellster, yes?”
“It is.” Tracker’s skin had paled ever so slightly and his face had lost all expression. “How did you know we were coming? I sent no message.”
Hunter’s attention snapped back to her fellow hound, her head jerking like a hawk. “That you did not, which is most displeasing to our master. Nevertheless, Five-nine-eighteen-sixty-five told us all about your little journey. You certainly took your sweet time bringing him.”
The pale, frizzy-haired human man of the group snorted. “Probably because it is difficult to march with your arse full.”
A snigger came from a nearby elven woman amongst the hounds.
Tracker straightened in the saddle. “I could not say,” he replied. “But you sound as if you speak from experience, my dear Seeker. Have you tried it lately?”
“No.” The man leered at Tracker. “But that is how you hunt, yes? By allowing everything under the sun to crawl up where it does not shine?”
Tracker laughed, the sound mirthless. “You are merely jealous that no one wishes to sleep with that ugly mug. Or was that meant to be an insult? Sniffer taught you better than that, yes?”
“That sad sack of manure?” another man spat. “He was the first one to back out of our orders.”
Seeker examined Dylan, his dark eyes piggish and sickly yellow where they should’ve been white. “This one has look of being brought in on your dick. Or did you let this one pound you sore, too?”
“This one,” Tracker said, “has no interest in men. So no, I did not do as you so eloquently put it.”
One of the women nudged Seeker in the ribs with her elbow. She cupped her long fingers before her mouth as if she was to whisper, but her words came loud enough over the city chatter. “As if that would stop our little whore.”
Wrinkling his nose as if the chuckling duo had crawled out of a midden heap, Tracker turned his attention to Hunter. “Did I hear right in that Fetch told you
of our coming?” He waited for the woman to incline her head in answer before saying, “I rather doubt she revealed that willingly, not in the state I found her.”
Dylan frowned. Tracker had mentioned his fellow hound earlier, but he’d not said much else about the woman. What state could she have been in that would hinder her ability to reveal Dylan’s whereabouts?
Hunter laughed. “No, I hear she howled like the bitch she was. It is strange though. She was of the belief that you would not bring him so far. It would seem you are more loyal than we have been led to believe.” She turned her focus to the women still sitting on the horses. “Who are these people?”
“Just travelling companions,” Marin replied.
If Hunter heard her answer, the woman didn’t acknowledge it. “That outfit marks you as a hedgewitch, yes?” she enquired of Katarina, who nodded. The hedgewitch had barely opened her mouth to speak when Hunter continued. “And the horse? I have been told your mounts are far smaller creatures. Where did you get this one?”
Katarina glanced at Tracker and back. “He bought—”
Hunter waved her into silence. “So, it is property of the crown. Dismount at once. You will go no further with them. All of you.”
Slowly, the three women slid to the ground. The horses’ reins were snapped up by a pair of hounds.
Hunter then pointed a delicate finger at Dylan. “Seize him. He can walk the rest of the way.”
The rest of the hounds surrounded his horse. They grasped at Dylan’s legs and robe, dragging him from the horse’s back until gravity took over. His ribs smashed into the cobbles. Pain and fire flared through his chest. Dylan gritted his teeth, lying still as his magic worked to repair the damage.
“Hey!” Marin snarled.
“Keep out of this, dear woman,” Hunter said.
One of the other hounds nudged Dylan with their boot. “Get up,” the man ordered.
When Dylan didn’t move, still slightly winded from the fall, they hooked a hand beneath his armpit and hauled him to his feet.
“Stop!” Tracker ordered. He’d dismounted at some point whilst Dylan was still on the ground.
As one, the others turned to eye their fellow hound. They gripped their sheathed weapons as if waiting for Tracker to make a wrong move.
“Do you have an issue with us taking him in?” Hunter asked.
Tracker’s gaze slid over the hounds encircling them, no doubt marking far more than Dylan had. “Of course not, that is why we are here.” He squared his shoulders and matched the woman glare for glare. “But he is my charge. I should be the one to do it.”
“Yes, well.” Hunter sniffed. “You will have to see the master about that. He is somewhat unimpressed with your tardiness.”
Dylan frowned. Tracker had spoken of a woman being in command of the pack, who was this master?
Tracker jerked his head back, his brows lifting. “I got here as fast as I could. Look at him.” He indicated Dylan with an open palm. “Do you think a man of his shape could handle a forced march for long without sustaining an injury? The army would not be pleased if I returned their weapon to them damaged. That is where he is destined, yes?”
Hunter’s eyes narrowed. Rather than answer, she turned swiftly on her heel. “Trapper,” she said to the elven woman who’d made the whore jibe at Tracker. “You and Seeker take a horse and go on ahead. Make the people aware that we are bringing a spellster through the city. Get them out of the way.”
Both hounds gave Hunter a brief salute before mounting the horses and dashing up the street.
“One-four-eighteen-seventy? You wish to be responsible for him, yes? Then do your duty.” With that, Hunter marched up the road, trailing a few of the hounds.
Tracker gently cupped Dylan’s elbow, silently guiding him into the city. Behind them, more of the hounds followed.
He barely acknowledged the surrounding city, his mind too consumed with rage at the display before him. People parted like herded sheep. Stall keepers eyed their passage with a barely restrained terror. He’d never been met with such open fear whilst in the other cities. Even those men in the tavern who’d witnessed his magic hadn’t been so cowardly.
“What are they telling the people?” he hissed.
“The truth,” Tracker replied. “You are an unleashed and dangerous spellster.”
“Do not encourage questions, One-four-eighteen-seventy,” Hunter snapped over his shoulder.
Dylan glanced behind them. The hound leading the third horse plodded at his flank. Of the women, he could see no sign. Had they chosen to venture back onto the road? Or take another route through the city to where the army camp stood at the northern wall? What of Katarina? What if he needed her testimony that he truly had survived the collar’s detonation?
He sighed. Hopefully, the king’s alchemist would be able to tell what had happened from the fragments. “Why does the king have a spellster in his castle?” he mumbled. Surely, they must be leashed, but the hound hadn’t mentioned it.
“She is there for our training,” Tracker replied. “They use her as the final test of a hound’s reaction to magic.”
One of the men at their backs gasped. “Do not tell him that.”
“Is this what you have been doing all this time?” a woman snapped, shoving Tracker’s back so the man stumbled. “You have been telling him all our secrets, yes?”
Tracker righted himself easily enough. “I have not. And what would it matter? He will be leashed soon enough.”
“You are too soft, Track,” the first man muttered under his breath. “You know what that gets you. Do you really want to go back?”
Dylan frowned at Tracker. He could’ve sworn the man had just flinched, but there was no sign of… anything in the elf’s expression. Tracker continued to stare ahead of them, his face carefully neutral.
The streets continued to climb. Buildings towered over them, crowding his view with sun-bleached wood and red tiles. The creaks of wagon wheels and the snippets of idle chatter Dylan had come to think of as the life of the cities he’d been through remained little more than distant sounds. Everywhere the hounds led him, the fearful silence and suspicious looks followed.
By the time they reached the castle gates, Dylan thought his legs would give out. The castle rose from behind the wall of stone and ironbound wood, a hulk of sharp angles and towers. His gaze travelled up to the highest peak where gulls circled like vultures.
The hounds barely paused at the gates before continuing on through. Tracker briefly left Dylan’s side to talk to one of the guards. Whatever the man said, it had the woman nodding and taking off for the castle proper.
Tracker returned to his side. “Do not attempt to fight me,” he whispered, grabbing Dylan’s arm and aiming them towards the castle entrance whilst the rest of the hounds continued on the different course.
Hunter halted, spinning on her heel to face them. “Where do you think you are taking him?” she demanded. “Our master—”
“Has no authority over his fate,” Tracker smoothly interrupted. “He was leashed, which makes him part of the army, yes? I have already alerted the general of his presence. Whatever is done to him will be up to her.”
Hunter pursed her lips. “That is true, but it is you the master demands to see.”
“And he shall.” Tracker’s grip on Dylan’s arm tightened to the brink of painful. “Just as soon as I have delivered this man to the general.” He tugged on Dylan’s arm, jerking his head in emphasis.
Dylan remained silent as Tracker led him into the castle. They wove through a seemingly endless weave of corridors and intersections. He fast lost count of the bends, or even the direction they’d taken. Stairs were involved every so often, always leading up.
Eventually, they entered a small room devoid of anything beyond a narrow window. Light shone through the slit, showing little else beyond a sliver of blue sky. There, the hound leant against the wall beside the door. He stared straight ahead, gnawing on his lip. “I do not
suppose you wish to talk?”
Shaking his head, Dylan wandered to the windowsill. He had nothing left to say to the man that he hadn’t already.
His gaze drifted across the sky, silently watching the faint blanket of clouds warp and shimmer in the wind. They were quite high, possibly in one of the towers. It allowed him to see over the walls and ogle the ocean far below. The deep blue water glittered in the sunlight like a jewel. “What are they going to do to me?”
“Hopefully,” Tracker replied. “They will believe you about the collar and leash you again. If not…”
Dylan nodded. There was but one alternative. I wish Katarina was here. Even Authril would’ve been of help. Either woman could vouch for him fighting the Udyneans they came across in the army’s main encampment. But he supposed the hedgewitch was on her way to Dvärghem and Authril had returned to the army camp outside Wintervale.
They waited for some time, long enough for the sunlight to shift in the sky. Was that a good thing? Or had the hound master gotten to the general first and they were busy discussing how best to kill him.
The door banged open.
Dylan jumped, flattening himself against the wall. A shield flickered around him for a brief instance before he released it. Such a defence was useless against a hound and could be seen as a sign of aggression.
A woman in a tailored tunic and trousers of green and grey stormed through the doorway. She halted in the middle of the room. “So, dog.” Her head snapped around, the greying brown of her bun swaying slightly with the force. “They tell me you have something of ours?”
The hound offered up a salute to the woman. “I do indeed, General sir.” He indicated Dylan with a wave of his hand.
She sneered. “A spellster?”
“He is unleashed, so I would recommend watching your words.”
The general’s face turned an interesting shade somewhere between red and purple. “You dare to bring an unleashed spellster into the king’s abode, dog?”
Tracker winced. “There was no other alternative. But I assure you, he is quite tame. We also come with news from the border and the tower.”