There was only one pce in town that would have some answers for me, the council, but first I had to let Lokara know of the death and return the head. I remember hearing from a friend of a friend that orcs have rituals for the dead. Really bizarre stuff.

  I made my way home to check the form she filled out earlier that day and made a note of the address. It was uptown. A fancy pce called the Fabled Grotto. I bet I stood out like a bone from a leg. The blood-stained sack in hand didn’t help the look either, and I got all kinds of looks. I never thought I’d live long enough to hear a fairy, who are known for their kindness, call me a vile creature and question the length of my visit.

  It was a long walk to Lokara’s pce, made longer by upset residents who I’m sure will be sending letters to the girl. Clean, well-kept garden, gnomes no doubt, with a kelpie statue at the center. Been a long time since I saw one. The grass made a satisfying crunch under my shoes as I walked to the door and knocked.

  No answer.

  I knocked again, harder.

  Still, no answer. Maybe she was out. Better ask a neighbor or the guard at the security booth. I decided to pce the head in the bushes at the front door since I didn’t want any more attention and made my way to the neighbor. The pces were big but strangely joined together. It looked like everything on this side of the road was one big circur building.

  Fairies across the road gred at me. I must look like a zoo animal to them. All they were missing was some salted peanuts to toss at me. Though, given the situation, they might use rocks instead. I climbed the step to the front door and knocked.

  I heard light, fast footsteps on the other side spping tile and getting closer. The door cracked open, and at first I didn’t see who opened the door. “Ahem, down here, sir.”

  A halfling in a tailored suit stood at the door looking up at me. “Hi, name’s John, detective.” The house was neat. Too neat. It needed a few clothes lying around and an empty bottle or two of firewine. “Mind if I ask you about Lokara?”

  He raised his eyebrow as he looked me up and down. He wasn’t hiding his thoughts. “You? A detective? Oh, my. We are in good hands then.”

  “We?”

  “Yes, my master is aware of the request by Lady Lokara.” He gestured me into the building and shut the door with a practiced hand. “You will wait here while I inform the master of your arrival.”

  “Uh, ok.”

  Never knew a halfling could move those legs that quickly. Must be getting paid per step. I took a moment to inspect the foyer. Orc swords, spears, bone skulls, and shields. Well used, no rust. Fresh nicks and scratches. These weapons still see combat.

  “See anything you like, human?”

  A big orc stood next to me. I didn’t even hear him. Impressive. “Just admiring the arsenal.”

  “No better weapons, these. Used em just st night. Ain’t that right, Bobin?”

  “Indeed, sir. And might I say, you looked in top form.”

  “Yes, Bobin, you may say so.” He grinned widely, dispying a chipped tusk and few missing teeth.

  “Oh, you’re a gdiator?” It was obvious, but guys like him love the attention, and when they get it, their tongues tend to loosen. Probably the champ or a rising star.

  “I am. Two-time champion of the tribe.” Then just as quickly, his smile faded, repced by a sinister and intimidating gre. “Enough talk, detective. Why are you here?”

  “Just reporting to my client and returning what’s left of Raktaar.”

  “What’s left? So, the sneaky bastard is really dead.” He cackled like a rooster getting kicked. “I think this calls for a celebration, don’t you?”

  “Indeed, sir. Shall I send out invitations?”

  “You do that. Cheeky bugger.”

  I watched as the halfling scurried away, nose held high. “You and Raktaar didn’t get along?”

  “Don’t py with me, detective.”

  “It’s just a question.”

  “No, you think I off’d him, don’t you?” He showed his teeth again, but this time it wasn’t a smile.

  “You did just celebrate a murder.”

  I could feel the shift in the air, the twitch in his shoulder. He wanted to hit me. Then probably kill me. Orcs are the same no matter where you go. But this one seemed different, maybe all the fighting knocked some sense into him. “I didn’t kill him. If I did, it would have been in the ring. My honor against his. Blood for blood.” The smell of roasted potatoes filled the house; damn, they smell good. “Murder is what weaklings do. Come with me.”

  I had no reason not to follow. Except maybe getting killed by this orc. “By the way, the name’s John.”

  He looked at me over his shoulder. With that neck it must have hurt. “John. Weak name.”

  Bastard. “It gets the job done.”

  “A man needs a strong name. Like mine. Zhorgaash.” I could feel the pride dripping off his tongue as he said his own name. It did have a nice ring to it.

  He led me past the aroma of spuds. Pity, I could really go for a bite. We passed a few more doors, rounded a corner, and ended up in the backyard. Bit of an understatement. It was a massive open area encircled by about fifty houses and smack in the middle, a set of stairs leading underground. Based on the dried blood around it, I’d guess it was either a fighting arena or a torture pit. I was leaning on the former.

  To the side of it sat a really big orc with red skin. High orc, no doubt. Probably the boss, and we were heading right to him. “Cn leader, this is the human Lokara hired.”

  The big guy gave me a look that made me question my own existence. To think that humans once fought this lot. “Cn leader, my name is John. I’m a detective trying to find Raktaar’s murderer.” Given the circumstances, I think politeness is a good idea.

  “I am well aware of you, detective.” Well spoken. That’s surprising. The boys over at the council will never believe this. “I thank you for bringing me what’s left of my son, Raktaar. However, leaving it in the bushes, at the mercy of ants, is no way to treat the dead.” Oops. “Still, he is home now. How can I help you?”

  Well spoken and very sophisticated. His eyes, they’re kind, much too kind for an orc, yet he commands respect, and the others give it. Hands look hard as steel, and the little bit of visible skin is covered in scars. “I’m sorry about that. I tried not to draw too much attention from the other folks in the Grotto.”

  “Bah, weaklings, all of them. You don’t need to bother with them, John.” The chair squeaked as he leaned forward; it looks about as old as him. “Now, tell me what you’ve found out.”

  “Not much, I’m afraid. He was murdered, and the body was tossed into the great river. It washed up three days ago under the bridge where a necromancer got ahold of him.”

  There was a sudden low growl that shook me to my core. I think I can see why the others respect him. “A necromancer. Horrid practice. Defiling the dead like they’re no more than toys to be pyed with by children.”

  “I agree, but rather a necromancer than a pack of hungry bck dogs.”

  “Maybe. At least a bck dog would have a reason to defile a body. Carry on.”

  He took that well. “The necromancer told me he tried to resurrect him, but it failed.” The cn leader smirked and muttered that the boy was always a stubborn bugger. “But that’s what I find curious. I’ve never seen a necromancer fail to resurrect a corpse. The body was also branded, but I can’t tell if it was before or after the murder.”

  He motioned to Zhorgaash to come closer, whispered something, and sent him off. “You said he branded? Describe this brand.”

  “A circle with a line extending from it at the top and bottom and in the center, a dragon’s eye.” He went white as soon as the words left my mouth.

  He fell back into his chair and held on to his head like it was going to run away. “The dragon’s eye. A cursed symbol branded onto those who are greedy.”

  This was the first time I’d heard of that, but it didn’t match my memory of that symbol. “Branded onto the greedy? You sure?”

  He looked at me like a war veteran looks at a curious child. “Folklore, detective. The truth is much more sinister.”

  “And what is the truth?”

  “I enjoyed our chat. Thank you for returning my son, but I ask that you leave now.”

  Nothing left here, so I nodded and turned to leave. Zhorgaash exited the building next to his house, Lokara following behind. She nodded and mouthed a thank you. I should have asked for payment upfront. Brand the greedy, eh? Seems like I’ll have to visit the council if I want any more info.

  I left the Grotto just as the sun stared down at me, simir to the residents who seemed happy with my departure and arrived at the council an hour ter. The walk is actually much faster, but the smell of potatoes nearly drove me mad, so I stopped for a bite. Goblin Dogs. Good hotdogs, bad name. The Council of Scales is just as I remember it, complete with that pretentious statue depicting the scales of justice sitting atop criminals. Just a pity everything is bck and white with them.

  A rge reception desk, oak I think, sits in the center with rge steel bars behind it with solid steel doors on either side. It’s like they want regur citizens to see the filth that used to be out in the streets. Luckily, my destination is the offices on the second floor. I made my way up the stairs to the right and knocked on an old friend’s door. Reggie, a half-goblin, half-human.

  Knock!

  “It’s open.”

  Same old same old. I cracked open the door and walked inside. “Reggie, long time, pal.”

  The pale green man looked up from behind a mountain of papers with a wide grin. “John, you bastard, long time. How’ve you been?”

  “Can’t compin.”

  “Yeah, who would? Sleeping with your wife every night. What was her name again? Oh, right. Firewine.”

  Little shit. But I couldn’t help but ugh. “At least she doesn’t compin about everything.”

  He gnced at his wedding ring and smirked. "Fair enough. “What are you doing here?”

  “Working a case. Murder.”

  “Well, you know the drill. Find the body and hand it over to the council so they can handle the arrest.”

  I took a seat in front of the desk and slid the branded skin over to him. “The body has been found, what’s left of it, and handed to the family. Case closed. But it had that brand on it. Some part of me says that I need to find out what it is.”

  And there it was, the look. He had a way with expressions and wasn’t shy about using them. “John. That’s not how things work.”

  He was right, but something doesn’t add up. “I hear you, pal. But if the council moves on the suspect, and he’s innocent—well, more innocent than normal—then what are the ws for?”

  “Is the suspect a criminal?”

  “Fang. Angmar’s little brother.”

  “Then why do you care? He’s scum.” He let out a frustrated sigh and pinched his eyes. They looked tired. “We’ve been trying to get him on trial and executed for years.”

  “Yeah, I know… just look at the symbol. This goes deeper, Reggie.”

  He snatched up the piece of skin and looked at it. “Yeah, it’s a branding all right. Dragon’s eye in the center. Could be the Cult of Dragon; they’ve been on the rise tely.”

  “Yeah, I heard about them.” As far as cults go, they were nothing but children who worshiped dragons as gods. Dunno why though, dragons smell, have bad tempers, and horde everything they can get their cws on. Only ever met one decent dragon. “A high orc said something about branding the greedy.”

  “Branding the greedy. Sounds like a silly prophecy.”

  “The high orc went white when I described the symbol.”

  He looked like he was just winded by a kick to the gut. “A high orc went white? Then you better drop the case, John. I don’t want to get called out one day to help scrape your body off the ground.”

  Before I even had time to answer, the door swung open and smmed into the wall. I didn’t even need to look to see who was there; the smell of cheap deodorant told me exactly who it was. I grabbed the skin off the desk and shoved it into my pocket, then looked at the door to see the smug grin of a high council member. An elf who goes by the name Gerihte.

  “Mr. Cunning. I knew I smelled cheap alcohol. What are you doing here?” Haven’t heard my surname in a long time; he knows I hate it.

  “Visiting a friend.”

  “I see. Well, Mr. Reggie is busy.”

  “I noticed. Still can’t be bothered to do your own work?”

  If looks could kill, I’d have probably died a couple thousand times by now. “Watch yourself, John. I won’t hesitate to have you arrested and locked up with the animals.”

  “I’d rather be with them than you.”

  Reggie smacked me on the back of the head as he walked past; Gerihte seemed to enjoy that. “Sorry about that, sir. John was just bringing a murder case.”

  “Oh? He’s found a body, then?” He looks genuinely surprised, asshole. He couldn’t detect the direction of the wind even if a fg spped him in the face.

  “Yes, sir. An orc…”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “John thinks the suspect, Fang, isn’t the actual murderer.”

  “He is guilty of many other crimes; I see no issue. Bring him in.”

  “Whoa, hang on!” I had to interrupt. “The guy deserves death, sure, but you can’t arrest him for something he didn’t do.”

  That’s the third time he gave a look; I wonder if that’s his normal expression. “So? If he is guilty of other crimes, and this case leads to him, even vaguely, then arresting him for this is atonement for his earlier crimes; executing him and investigating the actual murderer makes no difference, yes? You humans have a saying, two ogres, one stone.”

  Dammit. He makes a solid point, but then where is the line drawn? “If you use that logic now, then what about the next crime that cks evidence? Framing them for a murder they didn’t do just to catch them for a different crime they’re suspected of. Where is the justice in that?”

  “The justice is that a wanted criminal will get justice handed to them.”

  Reggie kept quiet the whole time, but he looked about as uncomfortable as me. I could see this conversation was going nowhere. “Whatever you say, Gerihte.”

  “Yes, well, as much as I would love to stand here and chat w with you, Cunning, I have work to do.” He shot Reggie a look and held out a pile of papers. “I’ll need these forms filled out when you have time.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Cunning.” Bastard. I can hear him chuckling to himself as he made his way down the hall.

  “John, for fuck sakes, don’t antagonize him. It comes back to me, you know.” He was right; he was always right. I crossed the line.

  “Sorry about that, Reggie. That damn elf just gets under my skin sometimes.”

  “He gets under everyone’s skin. The difference is that the adults ignore it so that they don’t get fired and become homeless.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Forget it, water under the bridge. Now, about that dead orc. I’ll need names.” Never could stay angry either. Not sure where he got it from since neither goblins nor humans possess that trait.

  “The victim is the son of a high orc; his name’s Raktaar. Client was the vic’s girlfriend, Lokara. Body was found under the main bridge by a necromancer, Strok, and what was left of it was returned to his cn. Last known location, via letter, was Angmar’s Debtors. Can’t confirm cause of death, but the body had a dragon’s eye branding on the body.”

  “Got it. Seems pretty cut and dry, John.”

  “Maybe. But why would a debtor, specifically Fang, brand someone he’s about to kill? He spent years getting away with every crim known to the realm.”

  “Scumbags eventually slip up.”

  “Not this guy.”

  Reggie let out a tired sigh, took a sip from an unidentified bottle, and looked at me. “Fine, keep working the case. If you get into shit, call.”

  Good old Reggie, I need to remember to buy him something nice. Maybe a new wife. “You know me.” As I stood up to leave, I remembered something. “By the way, the necromancer said that he had a hard time resurrecting our vic. Do you think it has something to do with the brand?”

  “A failed reanimation.” So that’s what my face looked like when I heard that. “That’s news to me. I didn’t know a necromancer could have trouble resurrecting a corpse. Try the Law for Magic department on the opposite side. They might know something.”

  “Thanks, Reggie. See you soon.”

  “See you soon.”

  I made my way down the stairs and ended up back at the reception desk and walked past it to the second set of stairs. A sign at the top pointed to the left: “Law for Magic/Magic Forensics.” Fancy.

  The corridor was covered from floor to ceiling in magic circles and paper charms. I’d seen a few of them on older cases. All of them are some sort of protection. I ended up at a door, pitch-bck with runes inscribed on the edges, and knocked.

  It opened to a dark room lit only by a few mps, one of them blue. Not much else was visible. Except maybe the smell. Perfume or incense. Shallow scent. Sweet and pleasant.

  “Make yourself comfortable, detective.” She entered from a door covered in darkness and flicked a switch next to it.

  “Bit bright, don’t you think?”

  “No. . .” Guess she’s not a talker.

  “How did you know I was a detective?”

  “Reggie.” I took a seat on a blue stool near a counter filled with books, charms, and a few vials of what looked like blood. “Interested?”

  “A bit, yeah. But not why I’m here.”

  “The orc?”

  “Yeah. A necromancer, Strok, had trouble resurrecting him, and I wanted to know if that was possible.”

  “Strok is deranged. A failure of a necromancer. But he is powerful.” Not to mention he’s as creepy as a bloated corpse that got half-eaten. “To answer your question, yes. There are a few spells that can prevent a reanimation, all of them ancient spells forgotten to time.”

  “Forgotten spells? You mean relics?”

  “Oh, how cute.” She gives off the same air as Strok; must be powerful. “Tell me, detective. How much do you know about magic?”

  “Well, I know you say a bunch of rhymes, draw a few pictures, and poof! Magic.” I could practically hear her pulse quicken.

  “Detective, I’d strongly suggest taking magic a little more seriously. Not all forms of magic rely on, as you put it, a bunch of rhymes and picture drawing.”

  “What about branding?”

  “Yes. As tacky as it is, branding magical circles has been done in ancient times. It’s not used very often these days, however.”

  I decided to pull out the branded orc skin and pce it on the counter. “Does this one look familiar?”

  Her snow-white hair slid off her shoulder as she walked closer. The scent from earlier came from her. “I don’t know this one. Not fully, anyway. It has simirities with another brand, a dragon’s eye inside a square with a circle connecting the four corners. It was used by the ancient civilizations to directly torture the soul of a criminal.”

  They sound like lovely people. “I’m gonna assume that you mean a person’s actual soul.”

  “Yes. It’s said to be excruciating. The victim would be branded on the neck and left alone inside a square room with walls covered in spikes. Many reports cim that screaming would st only a day before the victims would impale themselves.”

  “Well, at least they gave them a way out.” That one slipped out. She didn’t look very pleased with it; I don’t bme her.

  “Anyway. This branding might be reted to that one and focus on a being’s soul.”

  “How can you be so sure that it isn’t for luck?”

  She spun round and began rummaging in a trunk until she found a book and opened it. She flipped through the pages with her long fingers. Her nails are bck as night. “Standard book of magical history. I believe everyone is required to learn it in school, detective.”

  She peered over the book with her deep red eyes. Beautiful. “I must have fallen asleep during that css.”

  Those looked beautiful even as she rolled them. “Well, according to findings of the ancient civilization.” She smmed the book next to me. “They believed that the eyes of a dragon could peer into the soul and judge you.”

  “Dragons can do that?”

  “No more than you or I. I’d bet that even if you had to go back, they’d see you as a god. A stupid god. But a god nonetheless.” Ok, that was rude.

  “Thanks. So they believed in something that isn’t true and turned that belief into a nasty bit of magic? Then who would create this new one?”

  “I never said it was new. Just that it shares simirities with one we already know about. But if it is from that time, it’s highly likely that it deals with the soul in some form.”

  The soul. Never thought I’d end up with a case like that. “Any idea where I can find out more?”

  I picked up the skin and put it into my pocket while she thought for a moment. “There is one person I can think of. She works at the university and spends her every waking moment studying ancient magic.”

  “Perfect. What’s her name?” Dealing with souls and going back to school. All in the same day. I’m going to need a drink ter.

  “Her name is Professor Veda, orc.”

  “Another orc?” I’m swimming in them today.

  “Another orc, yes. Perhaps you didn’t notice, but the entire city is poputed with orcs. Besides, she knows her history.”

  “Oh, I noticed. Just haven’t met so many in one day.” I stood up to leave, cracked open the door, and looked back a st time. “Thanks for the info, uh.”

  “Helga.”

  “Thanks for the info, Helga.”

  “Goodbye, detective.” She got back to work instantly as I closed the door slowly.

  I had a new lead and new information and wondered if my dragon’s eye really was connected to some kind of soul magic. Could that have been the reason for the failed reanimation, or is there something deeper? With my mind racing, the walk back to the apartment went by in a blur. Not too blurry that I’d accidentally step in that damn puddle, though. Must be muscle memory.