Trials of the Hunt

Chapter 17

“Chicory?” He continued walking around the mound until he reached his brother.

 Dillion nodded. “So you smell it too?”

“It’s unmistakable. It lies heavy on the wind, only here and nowhere else.”

He walked around the invisible wall of magic, touching it and feeling for some signature, something that might tell him who left it behind. It mingled with him a bit. The magic allowed him to touch it, it even enveloped him for a little while, but it was stubborn. Gannon was used to encountering stubborn magic. He was a healer. He encountered people when they were fighting illness or death, at their most headstrong. This wall was as stubborn as any he’d ever seen.

“What?”

“The summoner is ill, maybe dying.”

“Bloodletting?”

Not all of the fae were immortal. Many were very long lived, and there were those with short lives that would just reincarnate should some ill befall them. The fae were magical creatures and magic is in the blood. A good bloodletting, the slow draining of blood from the body, would kill anyone or anything.

“It’s hard to tell. If one were slowly bleeding to death, the air would stink of blood and the blood’s magical essence would hang heavy in the air. If that person wanted to cast a large summon…or any summon, a blood golemn would be the best thing.”

“The stench of the blood from the beast would mask the summoner’s own blood and the magic from the summon would mask the summoner’s magical essence.”

“This is no apprentice or dabbler in the dark arts. This wall goes up for leagues. What did the underground look like before you closed it?”

“The earth here is pale, devoid of life and nutrient. We didn’t have to just fill the hole in, we had to heal the land too. That’s really what took so long.”

Gannon took a walk straight through the village, past the stables where he used to live, past the merchant stands, until he reached the small farm.

“No animals, no pests…nothing, not even a field mouse.”

“And no chicory.”

“Enlighten me.”

“In places like this, chicory is used in animal feed. It’s cheap, easy to grow, has some medicinal properties. It would need to be grown in large quantities for that purpose, but I don’t smell any.”

“And how did our summoner come to smell of it so much so that, here we are a full day later, and the essence still hangs upon the air?”

“It’s why I think the summoner is ill. Chicory is his medicine. Perhaps he’s been using it for so long it’s in his blood. Which brings me to the shaman and his role in  this.”

“Magic can work wonders, true, but you don’t get something that big out of the clear blue sky. The shaman allowed this summoner to use his people for evil works.  They were slaughtered long before we arrived last night. Their bodies turned into the beasts we encountered. The animals and the rest of the inhabitants of this quaint little place were buried and then emerged as the large hulk that you fought.”

“How long before this place can support life?”

“Could be months before this signature is gone. The land is cleansed, but…”

“Good, that’s time enough to figure this out before another occurrence.”

“You fear the summoner might return here?”

“Large, open space; empty village; one successful summon here already. I think it’s possible we may get another call here unless we capture this monster.”

Dillion began to summon his mount first. Gannon followed suit. They returned to the palace while it was still dark out. The clouds were just clearing as they entered through the large gates. Gannon returned to his abode, and Dillion to his.

Gannon tossed and turned for the remainder of the night, thinking about the summoner and the nefarious plan to bring him down. Who would do such a thing? Who would stand to gain from his death? Padraig had already conceded the honor by refusing to accept the gift of sight. Were there others in the Horde who found him unworthy of leading?

He rose just before dawn, opened the heavy curtains, and reclined in his large, overstuffed easy chair. He spied his small box of sage sticks on the side table and reached for them, then abandoned the motion falling back into the comfortable chair with a thud.

“I have a groomsman and a barrister coming in a few hours. I’d better not. In fact…” he whispered, rising slowly from the chair. He opened the drawer to the side table and placed the box inside, then retired to a long, hot shower. By the time he emerged, his groomsman had arrived and begun arranging various fabrics and implements on a small folding table.

“My lord, I apologize for the intrusion but your maid said you were expecting me.” The man was hybrid wolfen, tall and thin with tufts of grey hair along his chin and jaw and long, white whiskers. He wore a very well tailored navy blue suit, starched white shirt and blue neckerchief. He looked like what Gannon had envisioned for himself, minus the neckerchief.

“It’s fine, Mister – ”

“Heiden, my lord. I apologize for not introducing myself.” He bowed and hung his head until Gannon replied to him.

“It’s alright Heiden. No need for all the formality. What do you need to get started?”

“We can begin by taking your measurements, my lord.  I’ve already taken a look at the suit in the closet. It’s a beautiful garment. I have plans to craft a few more like it in various colors and fabrics for your upcoming events. I understand you will need a more formal wardrobe for your impending courtship. And it appears that your statesman uniform could use some mending, if not an outright replacement, if that pleases you, my lord.”

“Yes, that all sounds well within reason. Well, not a replacement…the uniform holds some sentimental value if nothing at all. I will retire it should you deem it no longer fits protocol.”

“Yes, my lord. I shall evaluate the garment as I conduct my work for you.”

Gannon imagined this to be common for how these things usually went. He stood statue still on a short foot stool while his groomsman walked around him and took measurements. This was a different experience than with his father’s tailor. Heiden touched him often. Not in an inappropriate way, but in a way that made him recognize that his father’s tailor had used a lot of magic to get his measurements, while this man did not. He would take a measurement twice, write down the two numbers, and then do it again in conjunction with another measurement.

Heiden went on to discuss accessories, belts, ties, handkerchiefs, vests, various clips and pins, timepieces and such. It was all quite dizzying for a man who was used to the military dictating what he wore, when he wore it, when it was time for mending, and when it was time for decommissioning.

By the time the maid rang the lunch bell, Heiden was wrapping up his long measuring tape and Gannon was getting dressed. His new barrister arrived right on time.