M. Todd
Gallowglas

The Kingdom’s Wild

Welcome to The Kingdom’s Wild, one of three entry-a-day projects I’m working on in 2021. I’m posting entries daily on my PATREON page, free for anyone to read. This story is like a mashup of Magical Beasts and Tiger King set in a fantasy world.

Here are some nice things my readers are saying about The Kingdom’s Wild:

Every once in a while you find a story that hits just the right tone and thoughtful approach that just draws you in. That category now includes Kingdom’s Wild and Children in Trees. Both of these arcs are masterfully executed and engrossing as hell.

In The Kingdom’s Wild, I find both more questions and several answers. The ambiguity regarding the POV character I find entirely realistic, as I know I don’t think to myself about what I am, or how I look, and neither does Vale. The way they have to deal with all-too-human foibles in their mentor and hero, combined with the well-planned surroundings and background lore, and the matter-of-fact approach to “magilogical” creatures (the in-world reference term for fantastic and mythological creatures) is both grounding and utterly different from anything I’ve read before.

ONE

Think of me as Vale – most everyone else does because Valebethiqua is quite a mouthful. I’m not overly fond of either, but they are what I have, and they are better than what my master has decided to call me.

My master…

I met him today.

He answered my knock on his door while wrestling with a baby cockatrice. At that age, the creature looked almost adorable with its rooster-like head on a serpentine body, the bat-like wings, and four, feline legs. This specimen’s legs were spotted like a leopard or cheetah.

I didn’t quite know what to expect when I’d received his letter accepting me as his apprentice, but I had visions of something more… professional…? than this wild-haired man glaring at me with an illegal magilogical within arm’s reach. He wore thick, blacksmith’s gloves and a heavy leather coat. If the cockatrice had been even maybe six months older, none of that would have been enough. As it was, the sparks it breathed between squawks nearly caught Willandon’s frosted black hair aflame.

“This is not a convenient time,” my new master snapped.

I reached into one of the pouches attached to my two bandoleers, took out a pinch of dried Kimmin’s leaf, and flicked it into the cockatrice’s face. It fell asleep almost instantly.

Willandon glared at me harder. “Who are you?”

“Valabethiqua,” I said, showing the letter. “Your new apprentice.”

“Ah,” my master said. “Welcome, Cub. Your quarters are out back.”

TWO

My quarters turned out to be a barely-standing hovel behind the larger main house. I’d be staying closer to Willandon’s pens and cages than I would to the main house. I gingerly pushed open the door to my living space for the next year…

It had previously been home to some manner of magilogical. Tufts of dark hair or fur lay scattered across the floor, and I shuddered to consider how long the stench would remain after I scrubbed out the corner of piled with waste droppings.

I slid a pair of tweezers out of their place on my belt and lowered my enhancement spectacles over my eyes. (They aren’t magical. Not yet. But someday… Someday.) A quick examination of several follicles told me it was fur, not hair. By the deep blackness of the fur, lingering pungent odor, and size and brownish-gray of the droppings indicated that at least one of the previous occupants of my quarters had been a barghest — likely a young adult. Luckily, it didn’t seem as if it had grown enough to start marking its territory. Otherwise, my nose and I would be sleeping outside until such time as I could cleanse the place completely, and then cleanse it again. Still, cleaning it as it was would be an extended chore.

Several hours into my extended chore, my new master stomped in and forcibly cleared his throat.

“What are you doing?” Willandon asked.

“Cleaning,” I said.

“Huh…” Should I be concerned that he seemed bewildered by this concept? “Well, stop. Get your gear and follow me. I have a client in a panic. Time to start earning your apprenticeship.”

THREE

I’d worked so hard over correspondence to convince Willandon to accept me as his apprentice because I knew he would challenge me in dozens of unexpected ways; I just didn’t expect that day would push me to the limits of sanity and patience. Gods and goddesses, what have I done?

The client in panic lived in Hillside, one of the most affluent sections of the city. Even before an elderly servant in livery ushered us through the front door, I imagined the hovel I grew up in could fit in any number of rooms in that manor. I wasn’t wrong.

We wound up in a massively long and wide room somewhere between a banquet hall and a display corridor. Here and there throughout the hall, draconic heads rolled and twitched and snapped. Several of them had growths spreading out from their necks.

I gasped. “Hydras?”

“Good eye, Cub.” Willandon turned to his right and opened a large iron chest. “Luck smiles on us today, Cub. A client listened to me for once.”

He handed me a curve-bladed ax and a torch, then armed himself with the same. We lit the torches. Our work that afternoon consisted of rushing through the room, chopping the growths off the hydras’ heads, and cauterizing the wounds to keep them from growing new bodies – this to follow, more heads. When we completed the work, Willandon commanded me to return the still-living hydra heads back to their pedestals while he collected payment.

That’s two illegal magilogical creatures dealt with in a single day.

I’m back in my quarters. I tried cleaning a bit, but my arms are too heavy from repeatedly swinging that ax.

I’ll do something about the smell tomorrow.

FOUR

I woke with a start. Blinking in the shine of a single light floating in the darkness of my small room, I struggled to make sense of the world and what had pulled me from sleep.

“What are you doing?” Willandon’s gravelly voice demanded from behind the light.

“Sleeping,” I replied, rubbing my eyes.

“Silly Cub. We don’t sleep at night. That’s when the biggest problems demand our services. Considering your standing at the academy, I expected a greater understanding of the requirements of practicing our profession at this level.”

He left, taking the light with him.

I struggled to dress in the dark.

Nothing in my studies ever indicated that my chosen profession would require adjusting to a nocturnal schedule. However, I did want to practice this profession at the highest level, and Willandon’s reputation spoke for itself. I could handle a little fatigue in transitioning to being mostly nocturnal.

Once dressed, I joined him outside.

He looked me over, held the light close to my belt and bandoleer, and nodded with a grunt. Not the praise I’d grown accustomed to receiving from my teachers, but considering the source, I accepted it as a solid affirmation of approval.

We walked across the city until we came to a graveyard. Roughly in the center, we climbed to the roof of a mausoleum.

“What are we doing here?” I asked.

“We’re waiting,” Willandon said. “This is going to get rather tedious if I have to answer every question that has a simple, logical answer.”

FIVE

We waited in the cold and dark on that rooftop for hours. Every now and then, Willandon asked a question in a low tone somewhere between a growl and a whisper. Each question demanded a specific and precise obscure piece of knowledge about some rare magilogical breed’s biology or behavior.

“And what’s the best way to sneak up on a buj buj?”

“You can’t,” I said. “They don’t exist. Professor Da’ak asked me that same questions on my final defense.”

Willandon stroked his beard and chuckled.

Well, Cub. If Da’ak was on your committee, you might not be entirely useless.”

He chuckled at his own joke. I decided not to reply.

“Hush he commanded anyway.

He cocked his head to the side, listening for something. his head bobbed uo and down, and a low growl rumbled in his throat. He handed me a small leather bag from his bandoleer. I took it without questions, though not without reservation. When he got two similar bags for himself, I decided to watch and follow my master’s actions to try my best to keep from getting hurt.

“Down,” Willandon said, and lay prone on the rooftop.

I did as well. The coolness of the stones seeped through my clothes. A night breeze picked up, and I had to clench my jaw to keep my teeth from chattering. The shift in the wind brought sounds, some kind of crunching and creaking. Wood on wood? Wood on stone?

“Necromantic poachers, Willandon said, “come for fresh bodies.”

“Buggar me,” I said through my not-chattering teeth.

SIX

So… to go down the list; today I dealt with: a baby cockatrice, multiple hydras as trophies in a noble’s mansion, and grave robbing necromancers.

The necromancers came out of the gloom of night. The sky was nearly cloudless, and the gibbous moon shone so that I could make them out fairly well. Three humanoids with shaved heads and wearing bone-white robes (why are necromancers always so dramatic?) led a wagon pulled by some hulking monstrosity. I couldn’t tell if it was a flesh golem, a patchwork reanimate, or just an offensively large goul of zombie.

“When I go, you take care of the mule,” Willandon said. “I’ll get the necromancers.”

I didn’t know if he gave me the easy job or not.

Before I could ask what manner of being the “mule” was, my master went screaming like some maniacal breeding between a shriek lizard and a harpy. He jumped off the roof and charged. (Why couldn’t we have hidden behind some gravestones?) I stood up, Judged the distance, and threw the leather bag my master had given me. It flew and hit the “mule” square on the chest. Webs exploded out of the bag, covering the mule, the necromancers, and my master. The alchemy was so strong they all stood trapped until I managed to get some of the constables to come with me to arrest the criminals and cut my master free.

The hulking thing turned out to be a patchwork reanimate. We hacked it up and burned the bits. The constables clamped cold-iron chains around the necromancer’s wrists. What kind of regular criminality did they regularly encounter to necessitate having cold iron chains as part of their regular patrol gear.

All the way back to his home, Willandon lectured me on the care and preservation of vital resources and how could I have not known what he’d given me. I was the top of my class, after all.

I didn’t have the strength to argue any of it.

I’m going to bed.

It’s going to be a long year.

SEVEN

The roar woke me. After my body stopped trying to become incorporeal and slide through the cot to hide, I took stock of how long I’d slept. Not nearly long enough. The light coming through the slitted windows and stabbing into my dry and crusty eyes, I placed the time at just before noon. How could he possibly maintain a pace like this?

I dressed hurriedly and stumbled out of my quarters.

Willandon wrestled with a middle-sized, adolescent dragon. Its scales were a mix of green, black, and brown. The membrane on one of its wings had been hacked to shreds, and the left side of its head had been bashed to pulp. It bled from over a dozen of minor wounds that covered its body. Willandon pushed and pulled the creature with a snare rod around its neck. The rod was long enough to keep out of clawing distance, but not the—

“Master Willandon,” I said. “Watch out for the—”

Before I completed my warning, the dragon whipped its tail around and took Willandon off his feet. Even though he fell, he held a firm grip on the snare rod.

“You could have warned me earlier,” WIllandon said. “Don’t just gape at me. Get a snare rod and help.”

I dashed to the shed with all the gear for handling magilogicals, got the longest snare rod I saw, and rushed back to my master. Getting the loop of dwarven chain around the dragon’s head wasn’t too hard. Still, even with the two of us, it took over an hour to get it into the back compound and into a cage. I almost got locked in with it. I hope Willandon gets used to having an assistant soon.

“That’s going to be a huge moneymaker,” Willandon said. “A wizard and a warrior caught it in the north hills. Addled it’s brain enough that it can’t speak. Will get a percentage of the selling price. I’m going to bed. Get it a sheep from the back pasture.”

EIGHT

The back pasture was on the far side of the cages.

I’d been waiting for a chance to walk through there and see what kind of collection of magilogical Willandon was currently convalescing. I only wish I hadn’t been so tired.

Passing through the front, I saw the baby cockatrice and the dragon. Further in, a female barghest nursed a litter of six pups. was she the previous occupant of my quarters? trapped behind walls of ice punctuated with a few air holes, a massive red bull stomped back and forth, snorting smoke. How was I even going to feed THAT? The last cage before the gate leading to the back pasture held a pair of owlbears. Owlbears. Two! They stood half again as tall as me and slammed their furry and feathered bodies against the bars when I walked past. They snapped their beaks and growled. I already knew without any deeper examination that one of them was female and the other was male.

What is going on here?

Deep breath. Deep breath. Deep breath.

I left the cage’s compound through the back gate. Livestock of all breeds wandered about the back pasture: goats, sheep, cows, chicken, a couple of horses, and once unicorn that hobbled with a limp on its right hind leg, and it looked as if someone had shaved or cut two-thirds of its horn off. The mangled and stunning creature came up to me. I petted and rubbed its neck. That’s when I noticed the faint spotting on its rear flanks, something no true unicorn would have. Long before I entered school, some less-than-ethical individuals involved in the selling of magical supplies and components had experimented in breeding horses and unicorns together. The magic worked using the anatomy from the offspring of those pairings produced volatile and chaotic results. The practice stopped, mostly. This must be one of the last of that era. I had a feeling I would be spending lots of time out here.

Before that though, I caught a sheep with my snare rod, fed the dragon, and went back to bed. Once you’ve seen a magilogical predator devour hapless livestock, it loses its charm.

NINE

I got the chance to nap a bit more that afternoon. I might have slept longer, but I’d gotten just enough sleep that the stench of my quarters overcame my weariness. So, I collected water from the pump, found a few bits of soap from the equipment shack, and set to work. During my scrubbing, I figured that it would take two or three more days like this to cut the odor down to where my nose would adjust and not really notice anymore.

At some point during my work, Willandon appeared close by, sitting in a chair and watching me. I didn’t want to start a fuss or potentially be pulled away, so I kept working. By mid-afternoon, my back and shoulders ached so much, I let myself be done. At least for now. Willandon still sat in his chair, watching. Without knowing what else to do, I went over to him.

“What crazy task must we accomplish tonight?” I asked.

Willandon shrugged, then stroked his beard.

“Won’t know until someone hires us. Though, I am on retainer with the city. That’s where most of our night jobs come from.” He looked past me to the hovel of my quarters. “You’re quite the enthusiastic  worker, aren’t you, Cub?”

“That’s why I was at the top of my class,” I said.

“Good. Good.” He stroked his beard. “Well, feed the animals and come into the main house for supper.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, then added, “Uumm…”

Without stopping his walk back to the house or even glancing back at me, Willandon said, “Never mind the bull. He’s fine. We don’t want him eating anyway.”

TEN

In feeding the magilogicals (a goat for the barghest, a few chicken eggs for the baby cockatrice, and another sheep for the dragon) I noticed how absolutely filthy the pens were. My quarters were pristine by comparison, and that was before I started cleaning them.

How had Willandon allowed things to become so bad?

How could I have not noticed before? Had I been that tired, of perhaps just that overwhelmed by the enormity of my over-stimulation.

I examined the empty pens. All had feces and excrement from at least one creature, along with the bones and other remains of whatever animals had been used to feed the former occupants. I didn’t get close enough to examine anything close up. Without knowing what creatures had been in any of those pens, I had no way of knowing what sort of vermin or parasites might be lurking around waiting for a new host to come along.

Willandon is a legend, but stories around him and about him tell of a much different man. Even the instructors at the academy speak of him with reverence and awe.

Questions haunted my mind, and I went about the pens. The more I looked and noticed and observed about the stated of things, the more I wanted to know how Willandon had come to this.

“Cub!” Willandon’s voice came bellowing from the main house. “Food!”

I took a breath and settled into looking won and tired. It wasn’t too much of a stretch.

ELEVEN

I did not taste my food. I ate it, but in the tension wrapped around me, squeezing my joints and innards, putting food in my mouth, chewing, and swallowing was a matter of survival rather than enjoyment. Thankfully, Willandon didn’t seem to notice. He didn’t even look up from his stew when he asked, “What did you think of your first two days?”

“Tiring,” I said without looking up from my bowl.

“get accustomed to that, Cub.” He still didn’t look at me. “When we get the first magilogical of the season, it’s a good indication things are about to get busy. Never had a dragon as the first. Wonder if that’s a sign. Do you believe in omens?”

“No, sir,” I said. “The gods may send their faithful signs and portents, but the world itself, even magic, is one great jumble of order and chaos pushing and pulling each other. Even the gods fall into that struggle.”

Willandon opened his mouth to speak, but a knot on the door interrupted him. He got up from the table and left the dining room. I head the door open, and then Willandon spoke to someone in a low tone so that I could not make out the words.

“No,” Willandon said.

The other voice said something else.

“No,” Willandon snapped, louder than before. “I will not explain. No.”

The voice spoke again.

“That is acceptable,” Willandon said. I imagined him stroking his bear.

The door thumped closed, and Willandon came back into the dining room and sat down.

“Well, Cub.” This time he did stroke his beard. “It seems you have the entire evening to yourself.”

TWELVE

We finished supper in silence. Every time I tried to ask about his errand, Willalden cut me off. The first time he said, “No I won’t tell you. No, you can’t come with me.” After that, he shortened it to “No. And. No.”

I gave up.

When we finished dinner, Willandon said, “Clean up, Cub.”

So I did.

All the while, I tried to catch a glimpse of his preparations, nothing stood out as specific enough to give me any idea of what task would occupy his night. It might not bother me so much if I didn’t already have concerns over the various illegalities and conditions of the cages and pens. Add the secrecy on top of that… and… well, for this evening, I would leave well enough alone.

Shortly after I finished cleaning up from supper, Willandon left. He had two bandoleers with pouches and pockets stuffed to bursting and a double-ended snare rod. He reminded me to rest because we were about to get busy.

Busy? This wasn’t busy?

I’d been here two days already and I’d worked harder than most fortnights at the academy.

Well… I want to be the absolute first name people think of when they need assistance with their magilogical emergencies. Pushing myself to be at the top of my class at the academy was the first step. Suffering a year’s apprenticeship with Willandon is the next. I am a hunter with my prey’s scent filling my head. I must stay the course.

Is that someone knocking at the door?

THIRTEEN

I opened the door, “Yes?”

A man wearing the black tabard bearing the white eye of the city constabulary looked me up and down. His face tightened into a frown. I think he was trying to hide the expression, which only made it worse.

“I’m looking for Willandon,” the constable said.

“He’s on an errand,” I said. “ I’m his apprentice, Valebethiqua. Yeah, it’s a mouthful. Vale is fine. Might I be of assistance?”

Again, the constable looked me up and down, though more slowly this time. A much more thorough examination.

“Beggars and choosers, I suppose,” he muttered. “We have a situation that really can’t wait. How long will it take you to be ready?”

“Just a few minutes.” I considered inviting him in but didn’t really know how Willandon would feel about that. “I’ll be right back.”

I closed the door, rushed to my quarters, and got my bandoleer. What else might I need? I took a snare rod from the equipment shed. Feeling prepared for most issues, I returned to the constable.

He led me through the city, into the dockyards down by the river, and up to a warehouse with no features to really distinguish it from any of the others in the area. It was perfectly constructed not to stand out. Which made me suspicious already, though most people aren’t trained to notice that conformity of that is almost always intentional. Helps with spotting certain types of magilogicals. Men and women in black tabards surrounded the warehouse, and not just constables. Some tabards had the white tower of the city guard.

“This is outside our expertise,” the constable said. “Can you give us anything to go on?”

He opened the door, and the odors of spoiled fish and rotting flesh assaulted my nose.

FOURTEEN

I choked down my bile.

“You alright there?” the constable asked.

I nodded. “Just hit me by surprise.”

I wanted to take a deep breath to steady myself before stepping into the warehouse, but I suppressed that urge. Splattering vomit all over the street would not help me relax, no matter what my body thought. It also probably wouldn’t do much for my professional estimation in the constables’ eyes.

I entered the warehouse. Several of the constables did as well, holding lanterns. Even only a few paces inside, the stench grew exponentially worse. The lantern light revealed bodies scattered all over the warehouse. Mutilated bodies. Modified bodies. Mutilated, modified bodies. Some humanoid. Some… others. Aquatic types.

My curiosity and fascination pushed the nausea and revulsion aside. I positioned the constables with the lanterns where I thought the light would best help my examination. Luckily, they didn’t protest. I lowered my enhancement spectacles. (Someday they will have magical augmentation. Someday…)

The first subject was a half-elfin female. Late adolescent or young adult. Her modifications made it impossible to get a closer gauge on her exact age, without dissection, and even then, I might not be able to tell. My specialty has always been magilogical biology and not humanoid. I only took the barest required classes. Her legs and hands (not arms) had been replaced by fins. I used my tweezers to help examine the slits on her neck. It seemed someone had tried to give her gills.

“So…” the lead constable said, “botched shape change or polymorph spells?”

“No,” I replied. “I think all this was done with mundane surgery.”

One of the constables haded another some money. Another splattered vomit all over the floor.

FIFTEEN

Surgery, the constable asked. “Like with knives and needles and thread and all that? No magic?”

“I decided against correcting the constable on the difference between knives and scalpels. This seemed like one of those times to address the spirit of his question rather than the wording. I’d learned that lesson through a series of blunders with my professors and mentors at the academy.

“Yes.” I used my tweezers to pull a bit of thread out. “See. As far as I can tell, all of this was done by mundane means  without a bit of magic.”

“Buggar me,” one of the other constables said. “Who would do something like that? And Why?”

“I don’t have an answer for that,” I said. “I specialize in magilogical biology and behavior. Whoever did this is deeply disturbbed.” I cringed a little when I said that. Why not state more of the obvious. I quickly came up with something to move on. “How can I help with this?”

The lead constable said, “We need some sort of starting point on where to look for whoever did this.”
“Not to tell you your business, I said, “but wouldn’t a diviner make more sense? and provide faster results?”

“You’ve a good head,” the constable said. “And I respect that you’re ready to give up the extra money we’ll have to send Willandon for your assistance, but that money will still be far less than what it would take to pay a true diviner. Unless we find the corpse of some noble’s successor, no one is going to approve that expense. So, you’re what I have.”

“Well, then,” I said. “I’d better get to work.

I looked over the several dozen bodies, both humanoid and aquatic. One eye from the severed head of a large fish glowed in the lantern light. Its gaze seemed to follow me everywhere. It was going to be a long night.

SIXTEEN

I discovered body parts from humans, elves, half-elves, one (maybe two) half-orcs, and a smattering of gnomes and halflings. Not one dwarf or other humanoid species. Of the aquatic specimens, not were magilogical. While some were overly-large, I couldn’t find any evidence of magical enhancement. My observations and deductions told me the animals used in these experiments had been specifically bred for this. I told the constable of all my findings.

“You’re looking from someone with money, patience, and enough space to support several generations of over a dozen aquatic species. I’d maybe start looking at suspects that I didn’t find among the victims.”

“What?” the constable asked. “Of course the suspect isn’t among the victims.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I meant that isn’t among the species I found.”

“A dwarf,” one of the others said.

“I can’t say for sure,” I replied. “But it’s the best fit you have right now. Maybe a really old human or a psychotic elf.”

“Thanks, Vale,” the lead constable said. “Tell Willandon we’ll have payment in the few days.”

“Of course,” I said, trying to sound like I knew how the whole thing worked. “Let me know if I can help with this in any way. Whoever did this needs to be found and punished.”

We exchanged the appropriate professional pleasantries, and I started back to the compound. Each step took me further from my professional curiosity in the moment and closer toward the horror of what I had not only just seen, but also waded into fishing about for any telling details. The night pressed down on me. The shadows took on the forms of those mutilations. Several times, I stopped to vomit in an alley as if I was some drunken adventurer after a late night in the tavern. The last time I stopped, I could only manage dry heaves.

SEVENTEEN

When I finally returned to the compound, I didn’t circle the main house and go to my quarters. I walked right through the front door and collapsed onto one of the couches in the front sitting room. Willandon could scream at me later if he wanted, but I needed a taste of rest without the lingering stench of barghest.

I lay on my back, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath through my nose. A faint but distinct odor pricked my brain. If not for my academy training, I might have mistaken it for incense or a pungent residue of some magilogical that Willandon had brought into the house at one point. (I’m sure it happened more than now and then… Like the baby cockatrice.) If, that is, I had registered the scent at all due to my weariness. But training is training, and I had trained to the point it kicks in even if I’d rather it didn’t so I could sleep.

My eyes snapped open. The brimstone was faint, which made it all the more ominous, as it hadn’t been three during supper or when the constable had knocked on the door. I sat up.

Just on the other side of the door leading to the rest of the house, a succubus stood looking at me. The creature hadn’t bothered to disguise itself in any way: bright scarlet skin, horns, wings, tail, black eyes reflected the depths of the abyss for any man who might succumb to his desires with this outer-worldly, not-remotely-a-woman creature.

“Good morning.” Her voice caressed my ears like velvet lathered in caramel and midsummer night’s transgressions. “You must be the new apprentice. Nice to meet you.”

My mind, emotions, and body went to war. If I hadn’t been so tired, the fight wouldn’t have lasted as long as it did. I screamed and fled, dashing out of the house. I don’t even remember if I closed the door behind me.

EIGHTEEN

Someone nudged me gently awake.

“Vale,” a familiar and patient voice said. “Wake up, Vale.”

I opened my eyes, Professor Da’ak crouched next to me. His mere presence alone settled my fears and concerns and the weariness in my bones. I took my first easy breath in… how many days has it been now?

After the shock, I fled Willandon’s compound and sought out the one place I knew I might feel safe and get some solid advice: the academy. I’d fallen asleep sitting with my back against Professor Da’ak’s office door.

“He has a succubus, sir,” I said.

Professor Da’ak helped me up, opened the door to his office, and invited me in. Once I sat down and he closed the door, Da’ak’s entire posture changed. He transformed into the terror of every first-year student who suffered through his Introduction to Magilogical Identification course. All my fears about Willandon returned and weariness settled back into my joints.

“Yes, Willandon has a succubus,” Da’ak said. “So?”

“I don’t understand, sir,” I said. “It’s a succubus.”

Da’ak shook his head. “I suppose next you’re going to start whining about whatever other illegal magilogicals he happens to currently house in his menagerie.”

“You know?” I asked. “About all of it?”

“Of course I know,” Da’ak said. “It’s one of the reasons I recommended him as your final mentor.”

I felt like one of those first-year students who learned that, yes, we were going to be cutting up multiple magilogical specimens because we would sometimes act as healers because druids rarely come into cities.

“but…” All of a sudden, I found words terribly challenging. “But…”

“But what about your dreams of changing how the world relates to magilogicals?”

I nodded.

“You can’t change the world until you know what the world really is.”

NINETEEN

My feet carried me at a sluggish pace through the city. I was not prepared to return to Willandon’s compound just yet. Learning that Professor Da’ak knows about everything going on there is hanging around my neck like a snarerod. What’s more, he sent me there. He knows. He knew. All along. And still… and still…

I wandered through the city.

My words are becoming as aimless as my travels.  I’m still lost in thought, wondering what I should do.

I could petition for a new master, if any are still available.  I could request a leave of hiatus. Considering my academic standing, I should be able to get into the first round of picks next term. If not, definitely the second. I could still get a competent master so I could finish my studies and then work toward my vision once I graduate.

My vision… my goal… my dream.

To change everything.

I knew the keepers of magilogicals skirted some regulations, and that some even broke laws. I never suspected how wide-spread it wall was… even accepted by those in my own profession if Da’ak’s response was any indication.

A thought… have I learned how bad it is? How deeply this goes through the upper tiers of our society? I have a feeling that it’s much worse than I’ve seen.

Da’ak is right. I can’t change anything if I don’t really know how bad things have gotten.

Time to head back to the compound straight away.

TWENTY

Again, when I reached the compound, I walked straight into the main house. I might as well face Willandon’s anger, scorn, and belittlements sooner other than later. Only, Willandon still wasn’t home. And, the succubus was.

This time she lounged in of the chairs in the sitting room sipping on a cup of tea. The smell teased my nose and stomach, reminding me how long it had been since I’d had anything to eat or drink.The demon wore a more appropriate form, without wings, horns, or tail. Her skin had also subdued to where she seemed a little sunburned rather than scorched by the flames of the abyss. She had also put on clothes, a robe and slippers.

“How many members of the city watch am I going to have to seduce this morning?” she asked.

“None,” I said.

She arched an eyebrow at me.

“I went to speak to my mentor,” I said.

“What did Willandon say?” she asked.

“Not him. My mentor at the Academy.”

“Which teacher?” she asked.

I considered not telling her. Part of me knew I should go back to my quarters and sleep until Willandon returned and piled any numbers of tedious, insane, odd, or just asinine tasks onto me.

But weariness and frustration won out over sense.

“Professor Da’ak.”

The succubus stared into space with a wistful and satisfied expression.

“How is Dacky doing?” She asked.

Too much. Far, far, far too much.

“I have to feed the menagerie,” I said, and fled her for the second time.

TWENTY-ONE

And so I fed all the creatures in that menagerie, except the bull, red and steaming in that cage of ice. The dragon came last. When I got the sheep in its cage, the wyrm looked me right in the eye the whole time. When I turned to leave, it croaked something. I turned back. Again, the sound came. Exactly as it had before, sounding almost like a word. Someday, the dragon might develop vocal cords capable of emulating human speech, but not for many decades. The sound came again, and the dragon looked at me with so much hope in its eyes that I desperately yearned for some way to speak with it.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just don’t understand.”

I’m certain, had the dragon’s biology given it tear ducts, the magnificent beast would have wept. Instead, it pounced on the sheep and mutilated it before setting in to eat.

After feeding, I considered cleaning a bit, but my body protested enough that I went to my quarters and lay down. The smell didn’t bother me much at all now. I’d considered going back to the main house but didn’t want to deal with the succubus with this little rest.

I slept.

I woke. It was still daylight, barely. My stomach growled its displeasure at me.

I sighed and headed to the main house to see about supper.

The succubus approached me a moment after I entered. Thankfully, she was clothed.

“Willandon has yet to return,” she said, “and I need sustenance.”

TWENTY-TWO

Deep breath. Steady. Deep breath. steady.

“I will prepare supper,” I said.

One step at a time. Don’t try to keep track of too many tasks at once or it might get inside my mind and from there it wasn’t too much further to get inside my soul.

“I don’t need food,” it said. Yes, think of the succubus as an “it” and not “her.” That helped. Hopefully, it would keep on helping.

Well, I need food,” I said. “Badly. Everything else can wait until after.”

I went into the kitchen and rummaged around. Willandon owned a chillbox and a freezebox. Both were stuffed full of meats, fruits, and vegetables. He also had a dwarven stove. The possibilities of what I might prepare quickly threatened to overwhelm me, so I settled on a salad. I mixed vegetables with strawberries and apple slices along with strips of chicken grilled on that piece of glorious dwarven technology. Reveling in this moment of normalcy (baring the presence of a succubus staring at me while I ate, I savored the experience of the salad.

The moment I swallowed the last bit of spinach, strawberry, and chicken, the succubus said, “You have eaten. I still require sustenance.”

I turned to it. “How does Willandon provide your sustenance?”

The demon glared as if I was the simplest simpleton to ever fail to grasp some basic and foundational aspect of the natural workings of the universe.

“He pleasures me,” it said. “And I pleasure him. “Shall we?”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. I laughed and laughed and laughed.

The succubus returned to her fully demonic form and all its clothes burned away.

I continued laughing.

TWENTY-THREE

It took me longer than I would have liked to get my laughter under control. When I finally composed myself, the succubus glared at me, and likely had been the whole time I’d been laughing.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Really sorry. That was rude of me.”

“I don’t see how the idea of our mutual pleasure us a cause for such mirth,” the demon said.

“Not surprising,” I said. “Considering your nature. Unlike mine.”

I added those last two words without thinking. I blamed everything I’d been through the last few days for not being able to keep a grip on my emotions.

“Unlike what?” it asked.

I should have known that would open some windows into myself that I didn’t want people looking into.

“Nature,” I replied. “My nature can be a bit surprising.”

“Explain.”

I considered for a moment.

“No,” I said. “It’s not any of your concern. Just know that any attempt of pleasuring that might happen between us, mutual or otherwise, is likely to yield less than satisfactory results.”

“Then what do you propose?” its voice changed pitch slightly, getting deeper, huskier, perhaps hungry. “Before long I will grow frustrated. After that Irritated.”

“And after that?” I asked.

She looked at me blankly. “I will take matters into my own hands.”

“Alright,” I said. “Let me think. Can you gain sustenance without killing someone of destroying their soul?”

“I have been here over a year, and Willandon is still fine,” the demon said.

I think demons and mortals have a different definition of what fine looks like. Also, the intactness of Willandon’s soul was very much open to conjecture.

“I’ll figure something out,” I said.

TWENTY-FOUR

“Where are you going?” the demon asked.

“For a walk, I said. “I think best when I can just walk about.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said.

“I’m bored being stuck in this house, especially without Willandon to entertain me and offer sustenance,” the demon said. “And even he was getting a bit monotonous. You won’t give me either entertainment or sustenance… which I find an intriguing puzzle. The least you can do is let me have a brief change in scenery.

For about two seconds, I almost fell for it before I remembered the words written on the slateboard on the first day of my Basics of Infernal Denizen’s class: Beware the reasonable demon. This one perfected the balance pushy and reasonable to keep me from getting overly suspicious of its intentions. I didn’t know exactly what its intentions were, but it was a demon… So… If it needed me to get it out of the house, then I’m certain Willandon had set up some way to prevent it from leaving. And while Willandonn might not be everything I expected, considering his reputation, I didn’t think he’d wandered so far outside of professionalism that he would bring an infernal into the world without some fairly hefty safeguards.

“Maybe another night,” I said. Then I added another, “Maybe,” with a bit of emphasis so that it wouldn’t mistake it as an actual bargain. “Tonight I need to be alone. I’ll let you know if I ever want company in the future.”

I left the house to wander the streets of the city with no destination in mind. Questions bounced around in my mind, and one kept coming back more than any of the other: Where had Willandon gone?

TWENTY-FIVE

I need a drink

I’m not one to drown my sorrows and hardships in any kind of altered state — chemically, herbally, arcanely, or alchemically. But, nearly every humanoid species are inherently social creatures, and I felt the need for some interaction that wasn’t about my studies. So a quest began, a quest for a tavern. Such a quest is not, upon early considerations, a challenge of any magnitude in this city, a community that owes much of its size and robust economy to its proximity to multiple sises known for drawing adventurers. And adventurers are known for their drinking.

The true challenge of my quest was in finding a tavern that wasn’t overpopulated with adventurers. I wanted to drink, feel the press of friendly conversation around me, and make keen-eyed observations on the behavior patterns of the patrons. Too many adventurers might (and usually does) lead to a brawl. Just good-natured fun, and any healers make sure no one remains permanently injured. I almost considered being an adventurer, but I decided I have an aversion to most injuries, permanent or temporary. At least injuries from weapons of magic. I have an entirely different mindset about injuries sustained in pursuit of magilogical husbandry.

I knew a few places that might give me what I needed, but those were too close to the academy. I didn’t want to spend the evening discussing classes, or practical theories, or run the risk of getting a little tipsy and venting about Willandon. So… my search went on, the evening grew into night, and my feet carried me from street to street, inspecting and rating taverns that might suit my needs.

IN the end, my quest ended at a promising, clean, and not overly-crowded inn called, the Goblin’s Rings.

TWENTY-SIX

I’m a fairly careful drinker. IN my first term at the academy, I watched too many of the wealthier students ruin potential opportunities by performing poorly after a night out with their friends, or worse, sometimes alone. One of the most promising students made the mistake of trying to get too familiar with professor Da’ak’s daughter and got himself expelled. I don’t need to suffer poor choices to learn certain lessons from others’ behavior.

Almost two hours into my evening at The Goblin’s Ring, I was only half-way through my second mug. People in the tavern behaved exactly as people in taverns behave, with no outliers noteworthy enough to record here. As far as I could tell, only two of the patrons were adventures, and they were the rare breed that liked a quiet evening now and then.

At one point in the evening, right in the lull in every conversation, a person walked in wearing a dark cloak.

“Wrong place,” everyone called out.

“Apologies,” the cloaked figure said, and left.

I don’t think I will ever understand adventurer culture. Animals, even magilogicals, are so much easier. For the most part, even with distinct individual personalities, each tends to act in accordance with its biology. The problems with animals, especially magilogicals, arise when humanoids try and get them to act outside of their biological imperative, live in an environment too different from their natural habitat, or both. That’s where my colleges and I come in. We largely clean up messes made by those people, or we work to acclimate magilogical to their new situation.

And then it hit me. For the last several years, I’d been acclimated to the academy’s environment. I had to figure out how to live in thrive in this new one.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Someone put down two mugs on my table, sat down, and said, “Who are you, and what’s your angle?”

I looked up from my journal.

My new, self-appointed drinking companion turned out to be one of the two adventurers sitting at the far table back in the shadows. He was human, dark hair with a slash of silver in his neatly-groomed beard, and one matching in his curly hair. I suspected he was a warrior of some variety or another. The musculature of his arms and shoulders hours and hours spent swinging weapons, but I couldn’t tell what kind. If he had any weapons on his belt, the table obstructed them from my view. He looked grizzled without being old, and sat as if ready to flee or fight at any moment. That’s when I felt I understood his purpose in coming over to me. I was an anomaly, and he needed to ascertain any danger I might present.

“Just a student from the Magilogical Husbandry Academy out for a few relaxing drinks,” I said.

He examined me even more closely. “What year are you?”

“Last term,” I replied. “In my final apprenticeship.”

“And your mentor lets you wander about alone?”

“I’m an apprentice,” I said. “Not a slave. Also, he went running an errand two nights ago. Hasn’t returned. Didn’t expressly forbid me from going out.”

The man smiled and slid one of the mugs over to me. “I’m Kodiall… Kode.”

“Vale,” I said. “My full name is a journey of many extra syllables.”

“Good to meet you, Vale,” Kode said. “Tell me… ever do any consultation work on the side?”

“I haven’t before,” I said. “But my mentor hasn’t expressly forbidden it.”

Kode raised his mug to me. I picked up the mug he had just slid over to me. We touched mugs and drank.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Kode waved to the other adventurer.

She came over and sat with us. Partner? Companion? Whatever their relationship, she seemed as tried and tested as he was, but instead of grizzeled and ready for action, she carried herself with then wariness of a unicorn, hippogriff, or a first-year being asked to any social gathering by third or fourth years. I guessed her expertise as either roguish, arcane, or some mix of the two. However, my deductive powers often fall short when it comes to humanoids.

“Vale,” Kode said. “This is Caprice.”

“Good to meet you,” I said. “Tell me about your issue.”

“well,” Kode said in the tone of voice people use when deciding how much information they want to share.

“Just give me everything,” I said. “You can rely on my discretion.”

They looked at each other. The muscles around Caprice’s eyes and in her cheeks tightened and softened a few times. Kode nodded.

“Alright,” Kode said. “We need to get into a series of caves a couple of days away. “

“Let me guess,” I said. “Guarded by something nasty?”

Caprice nodded. “It’s like a flesh golem or a patchwork man, only made from bits of various species of magilogicals.”

“The tricky part is,” Kode said, “we don’t want to kill or destroy it, either on the way in or the way out.”

“That is tricky.” I took a drink of the mead Kode gave me and considered the situation. “Best thing I can give you without seeing the construct myself is to try and get the various bits of its make up to conflict with each other so that its synapses overload. That will probably render it dysfunctional enough for a few minutes for you to get past. However, depending on the sophistication of its construction, you may need different stimuli on the way in and out. Take some time to observe it  carefully if you can.”

Kode and Caprice looked at each other and smile.

“Thanks, Vale.” Kode slid a gold coin across the table. A full gold crown. “Where can we find you if we have any more questions?”

I gave them directions to Willandon’s compound.

TWENTY-NINE

I finished the rest of the drink Kode gave me and turned the coin over in my fingers. What must it be like to live a life where each simple, yet ambiguous, information warranted so high a reward. I’d considered the drink payment enough for so brief a consultation. After I finished my drink, I relieved myself in the priv and headed back to the compound. The walk took longer than usual because I chose to avoid some questionable neighborhoods. Not exactly bad, but rather, I didn’t feel like risking it.

When I returned to the compound, I avoided the main house. I felt relaxed for the first time in days. Some of that had to do with the mead, but more than that, someone had asked my advice in the arena of my expertise and heeded it… without me having to wade through a warehouse full of mutilated bodies. I had no desire to tarnish the glow of that gold crown shining on my spirit by dealing with the succubus. It could go another day or two whiteout sustenances, unless Willandon hadn’t returned by then.

My quarters were so sparse and threadbare, now that I had some time to consider them without a rush to some task. I hadn’t expected the need to furnish the quarters myself. Most apprenticeships provided for at least most basic needs. I looked at my gold coin, a full crown. It glinted in the moonlight. Good purity content. I could get everything I might need and then some. Maybe I could start saving for arcanely enchanted enhancement spectacles.

With such a nice evening, and things looking a bit brighter, I slept under the stars.

THIRTY

I woke stiff and sore, but almost fully rested.

Since Willandon hadn’t kicked me away or screamed me out of my dreams, I decided to head to the main house.

The succubus lay sprawled sleeping on one of the couches in the front sitting room. Everything I’d studied said that demons and other extra-planar entities didn’t need sleep, so I spent a few minutes looking at it, waiting for this ruse to end. Its soft snores went on and on. I observed it as I would any other subject and concluded from all available details, the succubus actually was asleep.

Since it was here and not upstairs, I concluded that Willandon had not yet returned. I found a blanket and covered the succubus. I don’t know why. It seemed the thing to do. The demon stirred a bit and murmured something but did not wake.

The kitchen silently called to me. More specifically, the food inside the kitchen waiting to become my breakfast silently called to me.

In the middle of stirring the porridge into boiling water, the succubus came into the kitchen. It looked mostly human with the blanket wrapped around its body underneath the arms, almost like an elvin gown.

“You sleep?” I asked.

“I don’t need to,” it replied. But I enjoy it. Willandon taught me how.

“Do you eat as well?”

It wrinkled its nose at the gruel. “Selectively.”

“I’ll try to be selective at supper.” I figured if I was going to be dealing with a demon for the foreseeable future, I might as well work to be on at least civil terms with it. “Any thoughts on when Willandon might return?”

The succubus shrugged. “Maybe today. Maybe weeks. Depends on the job.”

I contemplated going weeks without my mentor.

Someone knocked on the front door.

Enjoying the story? READ THIRTY-ONE HERE!!!