The hob bent back to his work, and Ash departed, head reeling. Not for the first time, he sorely regretted losing the opportunity to add Knock to his army’s ranks. Krachnis promised there were hobs willing to join their cause, but having one nearby might help Ash understand more of this confusing land. As a shaper of stone, Knock would probably know exactly what the wood shaper was talking about. To Ash, it sounded like gibberish.
And he wanted to know more. Maybe that was the point. If so, the old hob was sly and possibly someone worth spending time with during Ash’s brief stay in Breeze Tower. Krachnis would inevitably complain, but Ash desperately needed more firsthand knowledge of this land and its people.
Earlier he had thought himself a weapon, but as he held the wood shaper’s tool in his hands, he knew he had been wrong. If the swamp hob could forego his talents with water in favor of his love for shaping wood, Ash could also change.
Instead of a weapon, he would be a tool like the one in his hand. But one that knew its purpose and its limits. And sought to exceed them.
Eventually, Krachnis might destroy him, but for the time being, he gave Ash power. With that power, he would find his way free of Krachnis’ control. Krachnis would be his tool to be cast aside.
Ash suddenly realized he had never given the hob his name or received the hob’s in turn. So much for his attempts at understanding etiquette. He was about to turn back, when a voice spoke to him.
“One moment you’re raving against lycanthropes, and the next, you’re becoming a wood shaper’s apprentice. Who exactly are you?”
Unexpectedly confronted by two very large shapes, Ash took several steps backwards and found himself entering a dark alleyway.
“Apprentice? No...I just…” His mind reeled.
With a deep breath he calmed himself and took a closer look at the duo before him. Werebears by their size. Ash vaguely recognized the woman from Liar’s Square. She had been standing on the plaza’s edge, silently listening to his speech. Her partner was one of the biggest men Ash had ever seen, easily topping most of the Untamed.
Resisting the urge to reach for his sword took more effort than he cared to admit. The werebears had made no threatening moves, but their sheer size felt like a threat.
Moss pointed to the red question mark badge on her cloak. So, not just any werebears, a pair of detectives.
Ash had been small among the Untamed. Though not one of them, his time in those harsh lands had infused his body with the remnants of Chaur’s wild magic. Being away from the Untamed, Ash had quickly realized that he was a head taller than most of the races in the Radiance. Except for the hobs, of course. And the werebears and werewolves. They towered over him to a man. Or woman, in the detective’s case.
“I’m detective Moss, and this is my partner Chains,” the woman said with a scrutinous eye. “We’re investigating a murder that occured not far from here. Do you often visit Liar’s Square?”
“A few times since I arrived in the city,” he said, adding a bit of squeak to his voice. Chains grunted, a look of disgust on his face. When he thought Ash wasn’t looking, he scrubbed at his nose.
She was clever to use the ursinel in this way, Krachnis said, stirring. They can smell my power in you. As if merely rolling over in its sleep, Krachnis retreated once more.
Ursinel? Ash had never heard the term but guessed it referred to the werebears.
“New to Breeze’s Tower?” Moss asked, now holding a small slate board in one hand and a bit of sharpened chalk in the other.
He nodded, keeping up the pretense that he was awed by these creatures. It would be one thing for a normal man to shout derisions about the lycanthropes from the relative safety of a public platform, but it was an altogether different matter to be confronted by two of those beings in an alley.
“Then perhaps you can lend us the aid of a fresh set of eyes, albeit ones blind to the good we’re doing here,” Moss said, ending the suggestion in a growl.
“Surely you can understand why some of us aren’t convinced of your motives,” Ash said. He looked between the werebears to the open street beyond as if contemplating escape. A few pedestrians cast interested glances as they passed.
“Because you think we feast on the dead like gravelings and nightwings?” Moss asked, crossing her arms. Even in her human form, those arms looked powerful. She wore a flexible green fabric cut into a high-necked shirt beneath her cloak which easily stretched around her muscular arms. Ash wondered if her clothes would remain intact when she changed form. The alternative would be more than a little embarrassing.
“The problem is we don’t know enough about your kind,” he said. Ash spoke quickly but slowed down as he continued, pretending to overcome some of his feigned terror. “Ignorance breeds fear. We know you are part beast, and we know what those beasts you become are capable of. But we don’t know why some are given your curse. Does it flow through my veins even now from this close contact with you?”
“Even the most ignorant should know it doesn’t work that way,” Chains said in his deep baritone.
“But surely there are those in Breeze Tower who shy away when you approach, moving to the opposite side of the road or suddenly taking a turn down an unfamiliar alley to avoid that possibility.” Ash had seen such behavior and knew it must rankle the lycanthropes each time it happened. They wanted so desperately to be accepted.
“And let us not forget the history of your kind. In the past, each time one of Unmaker’s champions rose to power, lycanthropes flocked to their banners. Every time you were drawn by the promise of a better life. If a new champion arrived and marched on the Radiance, wouldn’t you be tempted to join as your kind always have in the past?”
“No,” Moss said, the word free of her lips the instant he had finished his question. “There have always been those of our kind drawn to Unmaker’s dark promises. Just as there are those of every race drawn to it. Unmaker touched, you humans like to say.”
Interesting that she didn’t count herself among them. It made sense. Shëlls in Core had sent word that the Council of Elder Races had declared lycanthropes a race unto themselves, even if each of their kind had begun life as a human. Or had they? So much of the knowledge Krachnis imparted dealt with the various races’ weaknesses. Ways to conquer and destroy them. To use them.
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If a lycanthrope mated with a human, was it possible to produce a lycanthropic child? And what if both parents were lycanthropes? It stood to reason their offspring would receive their curse. The problem was that no one had been able to study the lycanthropes. They were still a young race. The first mention of them predated Edore but not by much.
“I don’t know how this interview became centered on us,” Moss said, “but I’ll see an end to that with a friendly word of warning.” Her voice was anything but friendly. “Your feelings about our kind are not unique. None of my pack would dare harm you for saying them, but I can’t speak for the other packs. Especially the wolves. Now, have you noticed anything strange near Liar’s Square in the past few days?” Moss asked the question in a softer tone.
“Aside from your own activities,” Chains added.
“I’m not sure what you qualify as strange,” Ash said. He delayed answering, buying himself time to think. They must have found another body. Although he knew who was responsible, he didn’t want the werebears interfering with his affairs. Better to lead them astray. “Now that you mention it, I saw a large...person in a cloak last evening. They had an odd way of moving, hunched over as if uncomfortable walking upright.”
“Can you tell us anything else about this person?” Moss asked.
“I could have sworn they had red eyes. I thought it was a trick of the wisp lights, but all the lights in that area were yellow and white.” Inwardly, Ash was pleased with the simplicity of his deception. When a lycanthrope gave in to its bestial nature, their eyes were said to turn blood red. Gravelings and a few other creatures also had red eyes though, and any of them could match his rudimentary description.
Moss and Chains exchanged a look.
“Where was this?” Moss asked, thin chalk poised over her slate.
“A few streets over from Liar’s Square. Here on the market side of things. I think there might have been a bakery nearby,” he lied, adding some of the information recently offered by the wood shaper. “I remember smelling baked bread and some kind of melon. Maybe dewdrop.”
“And where can we find you if we have any further questions, Goodman…?” Moss asked.
“Plait,” he breathed. “Goodman Plait. I’m staying with my cousin in the Talls.” The poorest of districts in Breeze Tower, the Talls were a ramshackle collection of buildings continually stacked atop each other. It was a maze difficult for even the lycanthropes to navigate with its pervasive odors.
“We’ll use the criers,” Chains said, earning an approving nod from Moss. “If you hear them calling your name, find the nearest detective station. They’ll bring you to us.”
At some unspoken agreement, both werebears moved to either side of the alley, opening a space large enough for Ash to squeeze through. He did just that, pretending to panic until sure he was far enough away from them. As he fled, he could hear Chains chuckling only to be scolded by Moss.
Ash darted into the nearest alleyway, saw that it was open at the other end, leading deeper into the market, and reached out with magic. Recent ordinances had prohibited people from leaving their trash in alleyways--undoubtedly a suggestion by Gailinn or the werecats to cut down on the rat population--but people still tossed fruit rinds or thick tako leaves crusted with leftover food. Ash had found the cities teeming with a better sort of spy, especially in alleyways such as this one.
In a crack at the base of one wall, he felt the lifeforce of several roaches and cast his mind into the largest of the bunch. With a steady pulse of wings, it took to the air. Seconds later, he watched Moss and Chains retracing their steps back toward Liar’s Square where they separated.
She intrigued him. None of the werebears had yet joined his cause, only the wolves who had always been more prone to answering the bestial instincts their kind tried to suppress. Studying Moss might give him some insight into how to approach the more reluctant lycanthropes.
V.
In the Investigation Center, Whisper handed Moss a cup of coffee as dark as night. The I.C. was a decrepit warehouse, cobwebs competing with mold in every corner. A veritable army of roaches skittered across the floor and watched the pack from every unclean surface. If the citizens of Breeze Tower ever stopped murdering each other, the pack would spend more time cleaning. They had natural light through high windows, and the city’s various protective units had plenty of wisp lights and bundles. A varied collection of stools and chairs surrounded the large table where Whisper set down her own coffee.
Moss looked over her mug as she sipped, peering through the tendrils of steam at the nearest slate board. Her choppy script outlined their newest case, letters white as bleached bone. What remained of the body had been identified by Freyn’s neighbors. She and Chains had split up to interview neighbors, most of whom recounted howls, which they had assumed belonged to the wolves.
In the center of the board, the words “Graveling” and “Lycanthrope” were scrawled in bold letters.
“Erase that,” Whisper said. She didn’t indicate what part of the notes she meant, but Moss understood.
“You don’t think...no, you’re right.” Moss rubbed “Lycanthrope” from the board with a moist cloth. Once, she had wished it were that easy to remove the curse from her blood.
“There are elements in the city that would love any excuse,” Whisper said. “Are you absolutely sure?”
“Since when have you doubted me?”
“Never, my love.” Whisper laid a hand on Moss’ shoulder. The latter relinquished her coffee mug and reciprocated the gesture. She pulled her eyes from the slate board to meet Whispers’ but found her mate’s eyes cast toward the line of windows, searching for answers in the darkening sky. “I don’t want it to be true. Not now. It’s too early.”
“How much do you trust Rugner?” Moss asked, changing the topic slightly.
“That’s an even more dangerous thought in its own way,” Whisper said. “He didn’t interview with his pack. When he arrived with the rest of us, all his previous crimes were forgiven, and he took charge of a city’s worth of lycanthropes. But why here? He could have easily done the same in Core if he wanted influence over the greatest number of our kind.”
“It reeks of deception,” Moss growled. “If Unmaker were to choose a champion, my gut tells me it would be Rugner. He’s basically prepared for the role his entire life.”
“My gut tells me the opposite. You’ve had less interaction with Rugner than I have. He’s definitely hiding things, but I sense a goodness in him. While he’s no hero, neither is he the villain depicted in bard’s tales.”
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Looking for her own answers, Moss focused once more on the board. A thumb-sized roach impersonated a tightrope walker across the top. Moss almost felt as if the insect were watching her, but it quickly scuttled away from her gaze. “We’re assuming it was a lover. We all know how first transformations can be rough.”
“You have a gift for understatement,” Whisper said. She squeezed Moss’ shoulder and joined her at the table.
“With his blood up after his first kill, he would have left a trail of bodies like lines on a map. The city should be boiling with the news.”
No city ever truly slept, but the day’s last cart had left the warehouse district with most of the haulers and shippers. Air sighed through the open windows, carrying seagull cries and fading bootfalls. The night would soon awaken with feasting and drinking in other quarters, but their corner of the world was still and quiet for a moment.
Moss leaned against Whisper, shoulders kissing. They sipped their coffee and shared silence. When other members of the pack arrived, they passed like ghosts around the warehouse’s edges. After a sense of infinity had passed, their tender moment together somewhere between too long and not long enough, Whisper broke the silence.
“Watch your back, and don’t hesitate to pull in others if you need.”
Mountain called the pack to dinner. Every member was there, no excuses. They had made a pact. No matter what else changed about their lives, they would laugh at Chains’ naivety, get on each other’s nerves, suffer through a tale of Claws’ latest conquest, and break bread together.