Justice For The Fallen ✓

11. Sannarah

The moon was almost full when I followed the Hell Hound through the maze of the little streets. To my surprise, the sorcerer's lair was not located in the furthest and most desolated part of the slums but barely on the verge of a more decent merchant district.

The creature stopped, pointing his nose toward a lone building at the street's end. It looked inconspicuous─made of grey stone with support beams and brown roof tiles that might have seen better days. All wooden shutters were closed, giving the impression that the place was not inhabited.

I crouched over the Hound and scratched his ear. "Are you sure he's here?"

The creature whined and looked at me as if I hurt his pride asking this question.

I raised my hands placatingly. "Fine, I'm not going to tell you how to do your job. Do you want to come with me? I could use some company."

The Hound jumped excitedly and barked his confirmation.

"Great, let's find our way in then. I don't want to force my way through the main door."

I moved to the side of the building. The streets were quiet. Some of the widows from nearby dwellings were lightened by candles, but not many. It was almost midnight, so most of the hardworking folks that lived here were already in bed.

I was glad. I didn't want anyone caught in the crossfire when I tried to apprehend the sorcerer. I found a window where one of the shutters hung askew on the hinges. I took out my dagger and unbolted them. The window behind it wasn't fastened, so I pushed it open and slipped inside the house.

All was dark and quiet. I stayed motionless, letting my eyes adjust to the murky surroundings. The area must have been a sitting room. The chaise longues and armchairs looked comfy and must have been quite expensive, considering the fine materials. I cocked my head. I didn't expect it after seeing a regular and a bit weathered outside of the building. But then again, the services of powerful sorcerers didn't come cheap, so those who dabbled in dark arts didn't struggle for coins.

A soft whine shook me off my reverie, and I looked out the window and nodded to my companion. The Hell Hound tensed his muscles and jumped gracefully through the window, landing softly on a plush rug.

The silence was ringing eerily in my ears. If I didn't know any better, I would think that no one was in the house. But if there was one thing in this world one could trust, it was the Hell Hound's nose. No matter how many masking spells they used, the creatures never failed to track down their victims.

My companion plastered his snout to the floor and moved out to the dark hallway. I followed, unfurling my whip on the way. The air was stuffy, with all the shutters closed most of the time. There was also something else, barely a fraction, but...

Blood. I smell blood.

The Hell Hound stopped at the slightly ajar door revealing stairs leading to the basement. A whisp of candlelight was dancing at the bottom of it.

As soon as I descended a few steps, a heavy stench of dark magic enveloped me like a thick mist. It must have been masked outside the basement, but here it was so strong, I felt my skin crawl. I tightened my grip on the whip handle and let the Hell Hound take the lead.

The basement was unexpectedly vast. It mainly was shrouded in darkness, though my eyes could still distinguish high shelves heavy with all sorts of gadgets and jars at which contents I'd rather not look too closely. A sturdy chair with leather belts hanging loosely in the middle of the room. It stank of dried blood.

The only light came from small candles illuminating a massive desk in the corner. A man sat there, hunching over piles of parchments laid on several wonky stacks haphazardly. His back was broad, and his hair was black with a few grey strands. He wore dark robes with some golden trimmings, which looked fancy and expensive.