To Catch A Sorcerer

Gray didn’t start to resist until Killian shoved open the creaky shop door.

The smell of iron and ash hit him hard.

The weapons shop was small and shadowy, and way more crowded than Gray had expected. A row of five soldiers stood to rigid attention, buttoned up tight in their grey uniforms. Axes, swords, and arrows neatly lined the shelves on the far wall. They glinted in the dancing light of the flame in a firepit where - Gray assumed - the shop owner did repairs.

A mage was tied to a chair in the small space in front of the counter.

He was big, as most northerners were. His broad shoulders strained. His robes were filthy, and his pale skin was marked with bruises and dirt.

His dark brown eyes were brightly intense and locked onto Gray. His braided auburn hair was stiff with sweat and worse. His mouth opened and shut soundlessly before he forced his face back into a mask of calm.

Gray recognized him almost instantly, as though from a different lifetime when Barin would take Gray down to Reviness to help with the horses. They’d travel to Reviness to deal with suppliers and bring horseloads of ale and spiced nuts back up to Krydon.

Dillon Ralph, from Reviness.

Dillon was on the cusp of his twenties, trained at the mage guild in Dierne.

His parents and four grandparents counted for six of Reviness’s twelve practising mages, and they were all blacksmiths.

Their smithy had a reputation for volatile explosions of fire and magic, and flakes and shards of metal littered the cobblestone streets for yards and yards beyond the front smithy doors.

Gray stared at Dillon, clenching his teeth together.

Beside him, huddled on the floor by the counter, were his younger sister and brother. They looked like Dillon with their broad shoulders, braided auburn hair, bright brown eyes, and sharp cheekbones, and were both old enough to be wearing mage robes - dirty, torn mage robes that stunk of forest - but only just.

They couldn’t be any older than Gray.

Probably, they’d only just started at the mage guild.

Gray didn’t know their names, even though he recognised them from Barin’s dealings, just in passing.

They were always chatty and grinning.

But not now.

Fear was etched into every line on their faces.

Gray restrained from clenching his fists. Tried to control his face.

‘So, kid,’ Killian muttered, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the strangers, ‘who’re our guests?’

‘I don’t know them,’ Gray replied, forcing his voice flat like he wasn’t trying to keep the rising heat from cracking it wide open.

This asshole would not see him angry.

Killian’s grip tightened. ‘Answer honestly, kid.’

‘No, I –‘

‘Give me their names. What their family does. Where they’d hide in the forest. And why the fuck they won’t talk.’

Gray struggled to get his breath under control. ‘I don’t – Killian – just let them go – they’re kids – let the littlest one go, at least –‘

He gripped harder. ‘Give me an answer, Gray.’

‘I just gave it to you – let them go.’

Killian released him with a muttered profanity and turned his attention onto Dillon.

‘And you?’ he asked. He gripped the back of Gray’s shirt, shoving him in front of Dillon. ‘You know who this is, hm?’

Dillon glared at him wordlessly. His jaw was swollen.

Dillon’s breath shuddered.

Killian waited.

And waited.

One of the soldiers cleared his throat.

Thwack.

Killian hit Dillon hard. Gray took the opportunity to put as much space between himself and Killian as possible.

Dillon sagged against his bonds, his breath ragged.

‘What if I told you,’ said Killian, his face inches from Dillon’s, ‘he’s mage. Will that entice you to talk?’

So, I’m mage now, Gray wanted to hiss, because gods, the rage was building inside him. He needed to push it down and stay calm.

Killian had called Gray a liar, but this man was manipulative as all heck, and nobody could trust one word out of his hard-lined mouth.

Dillon stilled. He darted a glance at Gray. Then, slowly, he rolled his fierce eyes back onto Killian.

Silence echoed.

Killian crouched in front of Dillon, elbows propped on the man’s thighs, fingers steepled like a caretaker about to deliver bad news.

Dillon swallowed. A strand of matted auburn hair caught on his eyelashes.

‘You know my reputation?’ said Killian. ‘You know my men’s reputation?’

Silence.

‘What do you think your mages - all of you hiding out there in the forest - are going to do when they find out I’ve got a mage kid, hm? I’ve had him for days.’

Killian waited, his eyebrows high.

‘Nothing?’ said Killian. ’Not a peep, hm?’

He straightened up, brushing lint off his uniform. ‘All right, lad, change of tactics. Gray, come here.’

Gray hobbled over warily and stopped just out of reach of his hands.

‘Closer, kid.’

Gray hesitated.

Killian rolled his eyes and grabbed the front of Gray’s sweater before he could dodge away. ‘Down you go. On your knees.’

‘Pardon?’ Gray said.

They struggled until he pushed Gray down onto his knees. He bit down a cry as his ankle bent. He huffed loudly, sweat dotting his whole body, his teeth clenched.

Killian latched his fingers through the turf of Gray’s hair and turned to the three Ralphs.

‘Where are the other mages?’ said Killian.

No one answered. Gray kept his gaze firmly down.

‘Did I mention,’ said Killian softly, leaning towards Dillon ever so slightly, ‘that this kid’s surname is Griffin?’

There must have been a shift in Dillon, because Killian made a quiet sound with his tongue, like he was calling a hesitant cat. ‘That got your attention, hm? That made it personal enough for you? Mage kid’s got an important name.’ Quiet stretched. ‘Important enough for you to answer me?’ muttered Killian.

Apparently not, judging by the resounding silence coming from Dillon.

Killian slid his needlepoint knife out of his sleeve. ‘Johnson. Cut off his hair.’

Gray stayed still, his teeth clenched, sweat covering his body with slickness, as Johnson stepped forward from the line of soldiers, and hacked off Gray’s messy ponytail.

‘How much do you think that’ll be worth, Johnson? Last Griffin’s hair?’

‘Mage’s hair goes for twenty ardents a gram in Dierne, Major. This much’ll be a king’s ransom.’

Killian nodded agreeably. ‘Hey, how much will his blood be worth? His sweat? Tears?’

None of them moved. Dillon’s eye was fixed on Killian with unmatched loathing.

‘Get the phials, Johnson.’

Killian crouched in front of Dillon, leaning his elbows on Dillon’s knees again. ‘How far are you going to let this go?’

The faintest hiss escaped Dillon’s gritted teeth. Then, so quietly Gray could’ve imagined it, Dillon said, ‘We’re not hiding from you.’

Killian paused. The only sounds in the shop were the crackling of the fire.

Very carefully, Killian tapped two fingers on Dillon’s knee, as a friend might when trying to catch your attention. ‘Who are you hiding from, then?’

Dillon clenched his mouth shut.

Killian slowly stood up. ‘Let’s make Griffin cry, Johson. Tears. Got to be worth a pretty penny.’

Gray stiffened, darting a glance at Dillon. Killian wouldn’t.

‘You don’t want to see him cry, do you?’ said Killian. ‘If cutting a mage’s hair is taboo, tears must be unbearably forbidden, no?’

Gray breathed through his nose, clenching his eyes shut. He heard Killian pacing in front of Dillon and the two younger Ralphs with a steady and soft pad, pad, pad.

Johnson approached, moving stiffly. Gray turned away.

‘Ah, come on, Gray,’ said Killian. ‘You were near sobbing in the square back there. Do I need to drag you back out there?’

‘Stop it,’ Dillon snarled, straining against his restraints. His voice was strong and lilted with a thick northern accent. ‘Shut your filthy mouth, you overgrown dog. Show some respect.’

Killian froze. The row of soldiers didn’t move.

There wasn’t a breath.

Killian tilted his head. His hand was very precisely on his sword. ‘You’re wrong. I’m a lot worse than an overgrown dog. Best thing for you to do is to tell me where I can find a damn master mage, else you’ll find out exactly what I am.’

A muscle spasmed in Dillon’s clenched jaw.

Silence stretched for so long, Gray braced for Killian to punch Dillon again.

But, then, as though wrenched from deep inside, ‘This isn’t about you,’ hissed Dillon. ‘This is bigger than you and your soldiers. We’re hiding to protect you, protect Krydon, you asshole. Our silence is to protect you.’

Killian’s shoulders were square. His dark gaze swept Dillon up and down, and then darted to the two Ralph kids huddled on the floor.

‘Protect from what?’ said Killian softly.

Dillon’s lips were a hard line. Sweat dribbled down his temple.

Killian crouched, his hands on Dillon’s thighs. ‘It didn’t need to be this way. You could’ve opened your mouth before I made you.’ He gazed at Dillon, through his dark hair.

Dillon sagged in the chair, his breath shuddering.

‘I just need a master mage here,’ said Killian, his voice low and restrained, ‘to aid in orders that have come from the king. You have parents, right? Grandparents?’

Dillon inhaled shallowly, his nostrils flaring. 'You're going to fuck up everything.'

‘Course you do,’ said Killian, as though Dillon hadn't just spoken. ‘You could all be charged for obstruction, for fleeing from me.’

In the following silence, Killian hauled Gray up by the scruff of his neck.

’Tell you what, lad, this is what’s going to happen. You’re going to leave here today, and you’re going to go back to the other mages hiding in the forest, and you’ll tell them what I told you.’

Dillon refused to meet Killian’s eye.

‘And if that doesn’t work, you’ll tell them exactly what I’m doing with their precious baby Griffin kid. That should bring them running. Am I clear?’

In the resounding silence, Dillon continued to avoid Killian’s gaze, and instead stared at the younger Ralphs.

‘Or,’ said Killian, his face close to Dillon’s, and forcing eye contact, ‘I could keep your little brother and sister, and they could take Gray’s place.’

Dillion hissed, shifting his legs like he wanted to kick out.

‘There we go,’ said Killian. ‘There’s your motivation. Johnson, take the kids.’

Gray had expected Dillon to fight like his life depended on it. But he sat, utterly still, the muscles corded in his neck like he’d been carved out of marble.

‘Hm?’ said Killian, tilting his head.

Silence.

‘Go get your damn mummy and daddy,’ said Killian, ‘and bring them here. Grandparents would be even better. No tricks. No magic.’

Dillon’s expression hardened, and his eyes flickered to Killian.

‘I’ll get them,’ he said. ‘And they’ll obliterate you.’

‘I welcome them to try.’