TRASH - Act 1: The Spinner

Maddison stood in the woods, sighing at his lack of luck. Preparations weren’t going as well as he’d intended, because he had forgotten one crucial detail. To make any of the poisons and potions he wanted for fending off a sorcerer, he had to collect the more spoilable ingredients.

That was easy with a bird that had done it a hundred times over.

He didn’t have a bird.

He trudged along the small creek he had found, grinding the tip of his boot into the softer patches of pebbles skirting the water. He needed a bluefish. It was as the name described it. Bright blue. To make sure everyone that looked at it knew damn well it was poisonous.

It secreted a paralytic venom through its skin, and looked like a pathetic little worm of a sardine with four nubby legs. As slippery as a bar of wet soap, and quick as a cat.

Maddison kicked at some more rocks, instantly distracted by a creeping thorny vine edging the stream. He cut a piece and shoved it in his bag. If he couldn’t find a blue poisonous menace to coat his weapons, he’d rub it with thornwhip paste, and at least give the Sorcerer a week-long case of hives.

As he organized his little satchel, he saw the holy grail. A little blue swish scurrying into a little mound of pebbles.

Maddison didn’t have talons, so he stepped on the pile of rocks with a loud crunch. Much to his disappointment, the slippery creature shot out the other end. He growled in frustration, hightailing it after the ingredient. He stilled his irritation as it scrabbled under a log, bracing his shoulder against the rotted wood to roll it. "Damn Heroguard is probably waiting for the signature line to dry by now." he growled, shifting the large log after a few shoulder checks. Thirty more minutes and the whole case would be a write-off.

He scooped up a rock when he saw it run, his aim blessed by mysterious forces as the stone he hurled struck the fleeing lizard. Fish? Whatever the hells it was. Maddison just saw it as a future gooey paste anyway.

Maddison slipped on his gloves and grabbed the stunned creature, shoving it into a tight bottle and twisting the cap. He gave his glove a couple of pats in the stream, freezing at the light that rose and refracted off its surface. Golden and god-awful bright. He could see it right through the trees well before it rose high into the sky and burst into a bird.

Maddison gawked, watching the signal fade.

That wasn’t a normal call. The Heroguard liked to demand attention in ways that made them powerful. Contracts to dispatch problems were signed, messenger birds were summoned and sent, and squadrons appeared as necessary with their flashy banners and trumpet calls. They never made a scene like that except out of desperation. The golden bird was a call for the closest squadrons to come running. Maddison had seen it once before, only it was dozens of rising birds, screaming for help over a city falling to darkness. The squadrons that heeded the City of Westlock's call that fateful day never came back through the gates.

But this was one bird, likely belonging to the scouts he had met earlier in the day. Scouts were never equipped well, and the Follower looked like they wouldn't be much use in combat.

However, the strength of the scouts wasn't the problem, it was who the signal had likely called. There was at least one squadron in Stonesong, and he hadn't the pleasure of meeting their commander.

“Thirty minutes,” Maddison muttered, rushing back to the trail where he had left Horse. He cursed under his breath, hastily packing his ingredients and hoping he would have time to finish his preparations in the town. Only the gods knew what that signal had called, and if he didn't have a sorcerer's head in his hands by the morning, then he would be stuck with both Sariel, and a Heroguard squadron. And the Heroguard would definitely be on the lookout for more than a single sorcerer, or witch, if the scouts had been dispatched so quickly.