The Angaran Chronicles: Hamar Noir

Chapter 2

 Anargrin pushed his way through the crowded streets, ignoring his tail; it wasn't hard as they were no threat to him. And he'd have the foresight to prepare just this situation, too. Everywhere around, the large stone buildings loomed. The streets of ancient dwarven cities were built like mazes, designed to be easily defended by only a few soldiers, and made to last. Every building was Spartan and square. In the millennia since the dwarves were conquered, the people of Hamar had tried to force life into the architecture, painting the walls in bright, almost garish colours and hanging streamers overhead. Plants seemed to decorate every window sill. Even dwarves decorated their houses, despite the disrespect it indicated to their ancestors.

The daylight was on the verge of dying, the lights above dimming to simulate the sunset. Even so, the stream of commuters hadn't abated.

Anargrin checked his map. It took him a split second to see the crime scene was another block east.

The last victim was human; his body was found only a few hours before Anargrin's arrival at the Hunter headquarters.

That made it the first place to investigate the others. Anargrin couldn't just walk into the Rule Enforcer's precinct. But he needed to look at at least one of the bodies. Anargrin just hoped the Rule Enforcers hadn't stripped the crime scene too much, but knowing them...

Anargrin sighed. So he needed to infiltrate it; this job was getting more and more complicated.

He found the alleyway and slipped from the mob down into its depths. The darkness endowed him, and his eyes adjusted in a second. Even before his enhancement by the Ritual, his natural low-light vision would've pierced the dark with ease.

'Okay, Anargrin,' he said. 'Let's just hope you find something that'll quickly and easily lead you to the murderer.'

Again, Anargrin sighed. It was seldom so simple.

He inhaled through his nose and extended his senses. As a Hunter, he could sense the magical auras of others. Even those without magical potential had an aura due to the radiation the world emitted — that radiation seeped into every pore of everyone, everywhere. Even the Halflings gave off one despite being devoid of any magical potential. Well, excluding the Halflings that transformed into original vampires. People with magical potential gave off a stronger aura than ordinary people.

The priests of Jaroai could sense magical auras too. But Hunters and vampires could hide theirs. Both could reduce their auras, so they seemed average, or disguise them completely. Anargrin's senses were sharper than most. He felt the people who lived in the buildings around him, a good forty or more. Although the aura sense was limited: he couldn't tell emotion or speech, just their rough movement and location.

It'd saved his arse on countless occasions but had failed him in his last.

Sudden stinging coursed through his chest. He should've seen it coming. He should've known.

Anargrin shook it away. Now wasn't the time to dwell on that.

He found the end of the alley and stopped. His gaze wandered over the crime scene.

No sign of a struggle, no hint of blood: The lack of blood wasn't a surprise, the victim being drained of it. In a common crime, the absence of blood usually meant the murder took place someplace else. No sign of a struggle didn't mean anything either; even the weakest vampire was stronger than any mortal and most Hunters. No sign of a dragged body, but a vampire could carry a corpse from as far as it wanted with ease.

Anargrin looked up. Both buildings were twelve stories tall. The vampire could've dropped from the roof from either side and landed, without injury. If the vampire had killed somewhere else, he could've carried the body from roof to roof. Even without enhanced strength, the close-knit rooftops of Valtagan were easy to traverse.

The Hunter sighed and rechecked the dossier. Nothing was found on the victims but their clothes. At the time of the report, the Rule Enforcers hadn't identified the latest victim. Just male, white, mid-twenties. The others had already been identified and buried, Anargrin even had the details of the families, but that wouldn't help him. If he came to them asking questions and showing his sigil, it might blow his cover.

Anargrin had read through the dossier numerous times now, trying to find anything connecting the victims, but there was nothing. Their only commonalities were their approximate ages, living in the far northeast of the city and coming from poor families. Height and build varied, especially among the humans.

'Hello, there,' said a voice behind Anargrin. He didn't move, having already sensed the five auras entering the alley. He'd known about them the second they'd started tailing him, five blocks ago. They were good for simple street thugs but no match for Anargrin's senses.

'What's a little elfy like you doin' here?'

Anargrin clenched his teeth; crime was rife all through the slums of Valtagan, but the odds of being accosted were still smaller than most claim.

Anargrin turned to them, hands raised in supplication. There were five thugs total; four were big, brutish humans and one: an intimating-looking dwarf. The humans towered over the short, slender Anargrin, their scowls almost apeish in aspect. Their stink hit Anargrin's sensitive nose, and he fought the urge to recoil.

'I-I am not looking for trouble,' he said. 'P-please. I haven't much. You are welcome to take it. Just, please don't hurt me.'

They laughed, and then the one in the lead, their leader Anargrin assumed- punched at the elf's face. To Anargrin's enhanced mind, the man's fist seemed to arc in slow motion, and he fought the urge to dodge and counter. He had to wait for it to hit for what seemed like seconds before it finally connected his cheek.

Pain blossomed through Anargrin's face, and he stumbled, exaggerating the power of the blow.

'Gah!' cried Anargrin, clutching at his cheek.

The thug then grabbed Anargrin by the shirt and shoved him against the wall, making more pain erupt through his back.

'Now. We know you ain't local,' said the thug; his spittle hit Anargrin's face, and the stench of his breath made the Hunter's eyes water. 'We don't care who ya are. But we care you know us. We own this place; this is our territory. Ya got that, pretty boy?'

'O-of course, just please don't hurt me again.'

The thug's answer was a fist bashing into Anargrin's stomach. It knocked the wind from his lungs and bent him double forward.

He let go, and Anargrin sagged onto his arse, gasping.

'Take everything,' snarled the thug.

They took all of Anargrin's gold. Luckily he'd the foresight to only take a little from the Hunter funds, just in case this happened.

'Nice doin' business with ya,' said one of the thugs as they turned and walked away. Their laughter echoed through the alley.

Anargrin climbed to his feet and quickly regained his breath.

'The things I do for my job,' he growled through clenched teeth.

Anargrin sighed. At least he got something from this. The vampire seemed to be able to hide his tracks fucking well. That meant it was, at the very least, experienced.

He just hoped the gang didn't hold ties to this vampire or that word of the strange elf hanging about in an alley that not long ago had contained a corpse would spread too fast.

It wouldn't spread as fast as news of him taking down a bunch of brigands, though, and Anargrin didn't want to kill them. They did what they did in the name of survival.

He wasn't going to find anything here. He didn't have a choice. He had to sneak into the Rule Enforcer precinct.

As he started to leave, a thought occurred to him. What if there was a connection between the victims?

It was a hunch, mere conjecture, but Anargrin trusted his instincts.

If he was right, that meant there might be more than one vampire. That meant, after centuries, the Cult had resurfaced.