Chapter Three: Dead Dogs Don't Lie

The kennel is fitted with fifteen pens, each houses one or two hounds, Silvar races in and tosses chicken hearts and livers to all the dogs then pulls a rope opening doors letting the dogs out into the fenced area around the kennel. Between the pens is a narrow pathway, the kennel smells like dog shit and urine, despite Silvar’s best efforts to keep it clean, it still reeks, and I do my best to keep my breakfast down. At the end of the hall is Fenn Wolffang, his body his stiff and arranged in an unnatural position. Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve charred thieves, blasted bandits and sent several bad guys to the underworld, but seeing an innocent man twisted like this, it impacts me differently.

“Silvar found him like this, he hasn’t been moved or touched since last night,” Ned says, walking around the body. “He didn’t have any family in town, so we were able to keep him how he was found.”

I take a breath, the heavy scent of the kennels is overwhelming and I examine the body, Fenn Wolffang was strong, his muscles pushed at the seams of his modest linen garments, his long brown hair is matted and wet, spread out on the floor methodically. There’s a strange mark on the inside of his left wrist, a scar or birth mark, I can’t really tell.. The way he is positioned is odd to me, it’s not a natural way for a dead person to lay, the reasons I know that are not something I want to get into.

“Which direction are his feet facing?” I ask, breaking the silence inside the kennel. Ned stands and slowly spins around, muttering to himself about where the town is and what direction the kennels are from town hall.

“West,” Ned finally says, looking at me, “is that important?”

“I don’t know,” I say, a slip of my confidence, “I mean, I won’t know for sure until I check the scrolls from the other murders.” Ned nods, I suspect he’s much better at the fighting, subduing and throwing criminals in jail part of the job. Fenn appears to have been stabbed through the heart, the wound is too small to be from a blade greater than about the width of my hand, which rules out claymores and broad swords, possibly a dagger or a standard sword could’ve been used.

“What are you finding?” Ned asks, I can’t tell if he’s impatient or curious, as long as I’ve known him, which has only been about an hour, he’s talked in one tone.

“Stabbed,” I say, “no sign of being dragged, so he was probably killed here.” The dirt beneath him is darker than that I am standing on and at the entrance to the kennel. “You can see the change in the soil,” I say, “it’s soaked in his blood.” I focus myself, and my hands start to move in small circles, “I’m going to cast a detect magic spell.” Ned steps back and nods at me. “Arcane, pyro, water and death, show me the signs of magics behest,” a purplish-pink aura glows around my hands as I say the words and do the motions with my hands, the aura flashes brightly and then vanishes. I look around and feel my chest deflate, nothing, no sign of magic anywhere in the kennels. Damn. I thought I could find something, anything with that. Why would it work, I’ve been kicked out of fourteen adventuring groups because I can’t control the magic. Gods I’m useless, I guess I’ll have to question Silvar. If I can’t figure anything out by tomorrow, I skip town and lay low in the next closest tavern.

“Did, did it work?” Ned asks, he seems nervous. “I’m not well versed in magic,” he continues as he looks around the kennel. He seems a little more on edge after I cast the spell.

“Uh,” he can’t tell that there’s nothing in here. “Yeah,” I say, “there’s a faint trail leading out of the kennel,” a harmless lie, and the obvious route the killer would’ve taken.

“I think you’re the key to solving this case Ceddrick,” Ned says, he’s smiling, I almost feel bad lying to him, almost. Ned leaves the kennel, following the imaginary trail. I stare at my hands, I try and cast the spell again, the spell fizzles in purple sparks, I’m still doubting myself, the spell doesn’t work, again.

Silvar and Ned enter the kennels, Silvar fills the dog’s pens with fresh mutton and then pulls the lever opening the trap doors, the dogs come racing in and a raucous chorus of hounds barking and howling fills the kennel.

“Silvar!” I call over the commotion, “I need to talk with you about Fenn!” The young man nods and I lead him and Ned Kneckt out of the kennel into the quiet forest, I hear birds chirping and squirrels skittering about the branches and twigs on the ground, looking for their staches of buried nuts from the fall.

“What can I tell you?” Silvar asks, he looks innocent enough, his eyes dart to Ned Kneckt.

“Did Fenn mention anything unusual lately?” I ask, it’s a question you hear a lot in the holding cell of Byron’s Crossing. It feels nice to be the one asking the questions for once.

Silvar makes a face while he thinks. He opens his mouth then closes it again, shaking his head. “Yes,” he says in a heavy westerlands accent, “Mr. Fenn did mention feeling like he was being followed.”

“Did he mention by who?” I ask, I don’t want to get too excited.

“Not really,” Silvar says, “I did see a cloaked figure snooping about three days ago, when I called out, they turned and ran. I told Mr. Fenn about it, and he mumbled about needing protection. Went off into the forest after that.”

“Thank you, Silvar,” I say, he had some good information, but now where do I go from here? Silvar smiles. “If you remember anything else, let me know.”

“Of course,” Silvar turns and returns to the kennel to take care of the hounds. He turns on his heel and come back to me. “I heard a jingling sound in the woods, like keys.”

“Thanks, Silvar,” I turn and catch up to Ned and his jingling key chain.

“A cloaked figure, and he said he needed protection,” I say, bringing my hand to my beard and matching his stride.

“Protection from who?” Ned echoes my thoughts. “Who would want to hurt Fenn, he’s not a gambler, keeps to himself and rarely comes into town.”

“Is he from Moss Haven?” I ask.

“I believe so,” Ned says, “you’d have to check the records in the town library, if they survived the fire.”I nod and we start to head back towards town, leaving the barking behind us.

The sun is high over head and my stomach rumbles, I feeling quite hungry and could use one of Ness’ hoppy ales while I look over the scrolls from the other murders. I notice a glimmer out of the corner of my eye, a sigil glows on a birch tree on the western side of the trail, I see at the trees base an animal track has flattened any spring shoots trying to push out of the muddy ground.

“I wouldn’t go down that path, Ceddrick,” Ned has stopped and is watching me as I study the path and the glowing sigil.  He looks concerned, “what is it?” I must not be hiding my surprised expression very well.

“What’s down this path?” I ask, the sigil looks familiar, but I can’t pin point why I recognize it.

“The hermit witch, Freyanna, she keeps to herself and dabbles in Druidism, some say she communes with the old gods,” I nod, the woman Becca was talking about, I wonder if he knows his daughter sees the witch, probably not. ” I wonder if that sigil is a path marker to her hut. My stomach growls again and I make a mental note to come back here after lunch to check it out more.

We split at the Bearclaw, Ned heads back to town hall to report our findings to Mayor Cahallan and I enter the tavern and order two flagons of hoppy ale and half a roast chicken with garlic potatoes and stewed onions in Ness’ secret seasonings. I take my meal up to my room, light the torches, pull back the shutters and set the food, ales and scrolls on the desk.