Viscount Rangogh drummed the arm of his ivory chair and sighed. His glassy eyes were fixed on the silver cup of wine across from him. The surface, a rich ruby red, sparkled in the candlelight. It had been filled out an hour ago, and while his own had run dry – along with the rest of the bottle – the soft scent of grapes and goosegogs swimming from the further cup was less than welcome.

His finger drumming reached a thunderous crescendo as he threw himself backward into the rest and sighed a second time. As though plied like boards from a window he tore his gaze from the cup.

A sound of distant clattering met his ear. He spun to face the doorway… but no one entered. Footsteps that had drawn near grew faint again as – whoever it was – slipped by the dining hall without stopping.

Dejected, Rangogh turned back to the table – and the full cup.

‘Fuck it,’ he grunted, surging forward to reach across the table. He swiped the cup and downed it without letting it grace the table a second time.

‘My lord Rangogh… The lady Eryn of Koss,’ said a voice at the Viscount’s back. Rangogh choked and threw down the empty cup. 

Werner was standing in the doorway, his arms clasped and a bitter smile on his face. ‘At your request, sire.’

‘Er- yes, yes. Please send her in, Werner.’

Werner bowed low, and slunk from the hall. A moment later he re-emerged, though not alone. At his side strode a stranger to Rangogh. A stranger with burning eyes and an uneven, shoulder-length cut of red hair. Beyond the startling dress, it was apparent that she was not tremendously beautiful. She was a little too pale; her jaw a little too strong; her face bore perhaps one scar too many. They were the many marks of a fighter, Rangogh knew well – a soldier, a slayer of monsters and fouler folk. He recognised one jagged cut that shot beneath one of the woman’s eyes as though it were his own house coat, as he himself bore the same mark.

‘Lady Eryn,’ he said, admiring the curve of her hips with a wandering eye. She was far from the prettiest flower – but then, few flowers were as shapely in Urnn. In fact, now that he thought of it, she wasn’t quite as homely as he’d first thought… ‘I trust my intrusion this morning was not too disagreeable. My steward tells me he interrupted a rather personal affair.’ The Viscount smiled wryly as though picturing the scene for himself. Something told Eryn that the scene in his head was much filthier than what had actually transpired.

‘Sleeping is such an intimate activity, my lord. I do regret having embarrassed myself in such a silly way. I’ll make certain to remain awake for the foreseeable future, lest I turn the repellent eye of every sex-starved dog in town.’

Rangogh’s eyes snapped to Werner, who simply shrugged.

‘I presume it was less the activity, and more your state of dress that inspired the eyes to look. That, and your choice of partner in regard to the former, albeit tame, activity.’

‘I’ll be naked if I so choose, my lord. And I am quite accommodating. Let any man who doesn’t fear my blade dragging against his curly hairs look all he likes.’ Eryn did not break eye contact as she lowered herself into the armchair across from Rangogh. ‘As for the girl – a poor forgotten thing. She was only in my bed because the men here would rather be fucking their horses – or so I hear.’

Rangogh’s mouth was agape. ‘Yes, well…’ he stammered; his mouth dry as a bone. ‘Apologies all the same.’ He too sat down at the table – relishing the time it took as a reason to avoid the witch’s gaze. He didn’t want to look at her anymore. She was an ugly thing, he thought. Ugly in mind and soul, and completely, if not for the minor graces of other things. Once seated, he seized another moment and turned to his steward. ‘You may leave us, Werner, I believe the lady and I are quite capable. Though, before you resume your regular duties – would you mind having one of the servants fetch another bottle of wine? I’m afraid this one must’ve been snagged by a hob when I wasn’t looking. Empty – see?’ Rangogh turned the bottle upside down. A single cherry red drop left the opening.

‘Certainly, my lord.’ Werner wasn’t buying it – and neither was Eryn. Her eyes flashed over the pair of empty cups: both stained red and both favouring Rangogh’s side of the table. 

‘Do you drink, Eryn?’ Rangogh asked, turning back to her.

‘Afraid so,’ she said.

‘For what reason are you “afraid”?’ 

‘I love a drink – I’d say as much as you do, but clearly I am out of my depth, my lord. Regardless, the wine here tastes like beer, and the beer like wine – and neither tastes as good as goat piss.’

Rangogh grinned. It was unbecoming for a woman – a lady – to talk with such colour, that was certain, but he had to admit she was right. The alcohol in Urnn was about as appealing as the royal dish water.

‘Luckily, Lady Eryn, the stores in my house are stocked with wines from all corners of Filiana. I won’t apologise for not extending my supply to the entire town, as – and you’ve quite inferred it on your own, I won’t deny it – I am hopelessly enamoured with the stuff. Quite a problem for my longevity, I am told, but alas, what my lethal vice dulls, is not so promising for my longevity either.’

‘What does it dull, my lord?’ Eryn asked. ‘I see by your scar you’ve led quite the life. The lash of a basilisk tongue is quite a unique mark to bear – stranger still to bear it and live – so… old pains, is it?’

‘The oldest, and the hardest to dull…’

Eryn stared with an indecipherable expression. ‘Drinking to forget?’ she said. 

‘Indeed. And yourself?’ 

‘Often.’

‘Does it ever work for you?’ 

‘No.’

‘Nor me.’ Rangogh stroked his unshaven neck and glared at the pair of empty cups in front of him. 

At that moment, the sound of light steps swept into the hall, and was followed quickly by the arrival of the hunchback boy that Eryn had met earlier in the day. He trudged with a queer gait across the gleaming floor clutching with both mitts a fresh bottle of wine. Upon reaching the viscount, he chanced a look toward Eryn. The boy’s bloated face blushed beet red and a crooked smile spread from ear-to-ear. He laid the bottle down upon the table and bowed – not once removing his hungry eye from the witch.

‘Thank you,’ said Rangogh, snatching the bottle as soon as the hunchback boy had let go of it. ‘That will be all, Bherman,’ he said; shooing the boy with his free hand as he filled both cups. The hunchback bowed again, and backed away a few feet, before turning reluctantly to plod out of the hall.

‘So, Eryn, tell me. What is your business here in Urnn?’ said Rangogh after a lengthy sip.

‘Must I have business?’ 

‘Often folk don’t. It is quite reasonable for a wanderer to come here in search of a situation that might fit him or her better than the wilds beyond our border, but…’ He fiddled with the topmost button of his jerkin as he spoke, pushing it in-and-out of its loop. ‘You detest the men, the drink – every ounce of you rebels against the subtleties of a woman’s lot; the decorum of my court – and yet you are here. Strange, no?’

‘I’m simply passing through,’ she replied.

‘From where? On the way to what?’ 

Eryn narrowed her eyes. ‘You haven’t asked me here to inquire about my diary, Viscount. I assume there is a point to all of this – other than a display of your curiosity?’ 

‘Indeed,’ said Rangogh. ‘I have quite the task for one such as you, Eryn… Quite the task… But I must know that you are free of other engagements if I am to call upon your services. It shan’t do at all to have a witch on my side who is otherwise occupied when I need her.’

Eryn smiled coolly. ‘My business in Urnn has already concluded. Feel free to share the details of your task and I’ll let you know my fee.’

‘Excellent,’ the viscount said, slapping the table-top. He moved his cup to his lips again, but paused as realisation struck. ‘Er- fee?’ 

‘You don’t expect me to assist you without pay, my lord?’ Eryn said with a weary expression. It wasn’t the first time she’d spoken the exact phrase. Very few landed men in Filiana were all that accustomed to the rates of untethered witches and wizards. When one has a magician assigned by their liege, the true cost of such services often astounded.

‘N-no, of course not,’ said Rangogh. ‘I am sure whatever price you deem fair for your expertise will do well-enough.’

‘Twenty-thousand coats,’ said the witch without the slightest hint of a smile.

Rangogh swallowed hard. ‘Perhaps… A little lower? I expected something more along the lines of… Three-hundred coats?’ 

Eryn raised an eyebrow. It was a fun game – to test the gentry on their knowledge of the worth of a coin. Most were so hopelessly out of touch. A goose might have more sense of its own worth in silver than any noble the worth of that same goose. Sometimes her potential employer would laugh at such an absurdly high opening bid, and counter with an insultingly low one of their own, however, more often than not, the fool would fall into the same trap as Rangogh, and choose an amount much lower – but still four times higher than her usual rate.

‘Done,’ she said, smirking. ‘You drive a hard bargain, my lord.’ 

Rangogh frowned, perplexed by what had just occurred, but shook the woman’s hand all the same. ‘Though,’ Eryn went on. ‘I expect you understand that this is only an initial charge? Think of it as payment for listening. We can discuss the true price of my involvement in whatever it is that you need me for after you have explained the details.’

‘Naturally,’ said Rangogh. His brow quivered with uncertainty.

‘So why don’t we get down to it. The sooner we’re done the sooner I can get out of this lovely dress – and, no my lord, that isn’t an invitation.’

Rangogh, mid-drink, choked a little. ‘Certainly, lady Eryn.’ He set the cup down beside the bottle, and cleared his throat. ‘Tell me – are you acquainted with many fairies?’

‘Can’t say that I am,’ said Eryn. ‘I’ve known a few over the years, but all of those are long dead. Fairy-hunting is a lucrative occupation. Their wings and eyes are terrifically useful ingredients in certain advanced alchemical processes.’

‘I was not aware…’ mumbled Rangogh, dismissively. ‘I only ask because this task does require a foreknowledge of such creatures to some extent. Fairies are, as I have heard, typically distrustful of those who are not familiar with their customs. I for instance, am not granted more than a rude noise from the blasted thing. My steward, Werner – whom you met – has slightly more luck, owing to his childhood in Langabard. Fairies are almost as common as elves in Langabard – or so he says.’

‘Common as slaves, perhaps,’ said Eryn, coldly.

‘Slaves, servants – it matters not the ethics of foreign realms. The issue I have is with the free fairies in my land – in my damn house, at that.’

‘You mentioned a “blasted thing”?’

‘Ah, yes. The creature. The fairy. Though, she – if it is a she – is quite unlike any I’ve ever heard of. A truly hideous thing. It is our only hope, I fear…’

‘It’s here? In the house?’

‘Indeed. Were it to fuck off, I can’t imagine I’d complain, though it is perhaps better for my dear Dalia that it has stayed.’

‘Dalia?’ the witch asked.

‘My granddaughter,’ said Rangogh with effort. Shaking his head, he seized the bottle and began to pour himself a new cup. It wobbled in his jittering hand and a few drops spilled onto the tablecloth, staining it red. Eryn looked down at her own cup. It was still untouched.

The viscount gulped down half of what he’d poured, before returning to the topic. ‘My poor granddaughter – an infant still in her cot – was stolen from this very house late last night. A cruel twist of fate for the wild to take her only a mere day after the passing of the court wizard; the very man who might’ve helped me with such a matter.’

‘That’s not a coincidence,’ said Eryn with a curiously glum expression. ‘Wild creatures can sense the presence of magicians – in the same way we can sense them. I imagine his death has turned a few wild eyes this way, my lord.’

Rangogh sighed. ‘Well, those bastard fairies have certainly wasted no time in exploiting his absence.’

Eryn cocked her head. ‘How do you know it was fairies that stole her?’

‘My steward recognised the thing at once…’ Rangogh said, staring at nothing in particular, as though racking his memory. ‘Though there were other signs. The window was wide when I entered this morning. I found a peculiar dust on the rug. And of course, the thing they left behind – the damned ugly creature.’

‘They left it in her place, didn’t they?’ asked Eryn. ‘The thing you spoke of – you found it in her cot?’

‘Precisely. Is that common?’ Rangogh asked.

The witch nodded. ‘What you have is a changeling. They’re rarer now than they used to be, I’ll admit. Before hunting fairies was all the rage. Changelings are fairies that have grown tremendously old. Too old to care for themselves. They’re traded with new-born children in the hopes that their parents won’t notice and will care for them. I imagine it’s quite sought after among wild things – the pampered life of human offspring. The love.’ She looked down at her feet and frowned.

‘And what of the child? The new-born that is taken?’ asked Rangogh, leaning closer. His face now glistened with a fine mist of sweat, and a definite reddish tint had begun to develop about his nose and neck.

‘It depends,’ said Eryn, looking down. ‘Sometimes they’re raised by the fairies who stole them – though what becomes of them I cannot say. Some believe they become fairies themselves, but I couldn’t attest to it. Other times…’

‘Yes?’

‘They’re ripped to shreds and eaten.’

Rangogh sat back. The colour – all but the sneaking red hue – had drained from his face in an instant.

‘Fucking hell…’ he muttered. ‘So you understand, don’t you, Eryn, why it is vital that I receive your assistance in this matter. And why I would prefer your undivided attention.’

‘I do.’

‘And so…’ said the viscount, his voice faltering. ‘Will you help me find my granddaughter? Will you see that she is returned alive and well? Providing that those bastard insects haven’t… haven’t-’ Rangogh threw his head into his hands and began to sob uncontrollably. Snot and tears ran between his fingers.

Eryn processed the request in silence; pressing a fingertip to her lip. She ran it along the cracks and raw skin; the cuts and bites where her own teeth had torn away layers, or had been torn by the fists of others. She thought for a long while, though finally, as the viscount was still cleaning himself up with a silken handkerchief, she spoke.

‘I will.’

Rangogh beamed with weary eyes; a strand of snot dangling from his nose. ‘Thank the Lady above for you, Eryn of Koss,’ he said.

‘I will need to speak with the changeling. Where are you keeping it?’

‘Er- in its cot- In Dalia’s cot… The bugger won’t let us move it. Almost had my hand.’

‘Good. I’ll need to fetch a few things from my room at the inn first,’ she said. ‘It was difficult enough to fit my sword into this dress – I couldn’t manage the rest of my gear.’

‘Yes, I- Wait, what?’ spluttered Rangogh, his eyes bulging. He blinked rapidly and adjusted. ‘No matter, now. I will send for your horse to be prepared. Will you be needing an escort?’

‘No. I’ll be quicker on my own.’

‘Very well. Hurry back, Lady Eryn,’ he said. ‘Oh, forgive me! We haven’t discussed your price!’ he blurted out as the witch was rising.

‘The three-hundred will suffice for this meeting alone, Viscount,’ she said. ‘There is no reason for you to pay me to assist in solving this problem. I am bound by Wild Law to help you anyway.’ She sighed as she said it, and then looked down. For a moment, she seemed angry, though the viscount could not parse why.

With narrow eyes she swiped the still full cup from her side of the table and tipped it over her mouth. She wiped the trail of wine from her chin as she set it back down with a clatter, now completely empty.