Tale of the Night Fox

by Allusir

Allusir spends most of his time in fantasy worlds—written, virtual, or dreamt. Sometimes hunger drives him to visit reality to work alongside his husband in their tiny apartment found on the island nation of Taiwan. You can read his collection of flash fictions here: https://www.wattpad.com/user/TheWriteAllusir

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~Trarush, Capital of Bruin—1371

I wish he would just hurry, Baron Matz von Lauer thought from his shadowy rooftop perch. If he doesn’t pick up his pace, it will be dawn before he leads me to his hideout. Why can’t he be like other nobles, completely confident nothing can touch him?

The figure shrouded in a raggedy cloak checked over his shoulder for a fourth time before finally ducking down a small street. A hooded man in tattered clothing wasn’t unusual to see on the border streets between the merchant district and slums. A hooded man in tattered clothing with dark leather boots crafted from a rare magical creature’s hide however …

You would think a man sporting boots that nice could walk faster. Matz wished he could gut Duke Fiete von Gerson and be done and on his way home. Though not conclusive, Matz had more than enough evidence to execute this lowly duke without trial. However,  his orders were clear—find the traitor's lair, destroy any illegal arcane weaponry, and dispose of anyone involved in conspiring against the Council of Viscounts. And the longer he keeps me from my feather bed, the more likely I am to miss his vitals with the first few knives.

Fiete turned this way and that, each new alley bringing him farther from wealthier streets lit by magical lamps. Every step into the ghettos gave Matz more planks and clotheslines to cross the flat-top roofs—and more laundry to hide in.

Had his target bothered to look up, he might have glimpsed his stalker’s messy blonde hair in the moonlight. Matz didn’t bother covering his light hair on missions anymore. No one ever looked up fast enough, and hoods left his hair flat for days.

Matz’s quarry rounded a corner and hugged the wall, waiting for anyone who might be following to turn after him. With his expression hidden by a hood, the duke was impossible to read. Will he wait there until he wins a staring contest with some fellow refuse?

Apparently satisfied, von Gerson continued to navigate the maze of the slums until he was so far from the city center that Matz began to worry about getting spotted by the wall guard. They checked the rooftops.

Matz crossed an arch once used to cover a market with rain cloths, almost running into a black raven perched on the edge. The raven’s cry echoed to the streets below as Matz flattened himself on the archway.

Fire lit the darkness as it scorched the corner of the roof near the shadowy bird. The raven took to the sky, and a cat leapt down from a nearby windowsill. Matz didn’t dare look.  He held his breath and clutched one of the knives on his belt. Though low ranking, von Gerson was an officer in the mage battalion, with more than enough power to burn Matz off the rooftops.

A muttered curse, a flash of light, a yelping cat, and the sound of footsteps growing more distant brought Matz a wave of relief. Once the footfalls grew too soft to hear, he resumed his hunt.

The duke stopped in front of a larger building unattached to the amalgamation of sun-dried clay the poor called houses.  A sign hung by rusted chains, marking it as the hall for a bygone merchant guild—what was left of it at least. More rubble and broken planks than walls, the once center of a thriving market now sat in ruin. Matz gave him credit for choosing a location no one would look in, but one strong gust of wind might do the assassin’s job for him.

Walking around the side of the collapsing hall, von Gerson checked for stalkers everywhere, including the shadows above. Then he vanished through the wall.

Whether the roof was falling apart or an illusion, Matz certainly wasn’t going to jump across to find out. The assassin untied an empty clothesline and climbed down.

Matz crossed the open street and reached into his pockets, taking out a clear sphere with a thatu trapped inside. The pure elemental glowed different colors in response to nearby magic. The orb glimmered lavender—indicating illusions alone guarded this side of the secret entrance. Twice he circled the building with no other responses from the thatu. If there were other exits, they weren't close by.

Iridescent fog filled the air as Matz stepped through the illusory wall. Haunting incantations whispered through the fog, echoing around him. Gravity shifted left and right as waves of energy churned through his body. One step. The elemental continued to produce a purple hue, as the color blue developed a unique smell. One step. The glow flickered, slightly redder, and Matz stopped moving. The thatu was calm, so there wasn’t any immediate threat. A trap probably hid in the cloudy haze a step or two forward. With each breath, his disoriented senses cleared. Matz waited. The fog dissolved.

Smooth granite walls rose, encasing a set of stairs leading down. Glyphs, carved into the stone around the entrance, lit the darkness. Matz extended his arm a little closer, until the thatu turned a clear red. The vibrant color signaled an intense elemental magic imbued in the arcane symbols.

Given the little creature’s quivering vibrations inside the tiny orb, another step and one or more of the glyphs would spring the magical trap.

Prepared for dealing with mages, Matz drew a dagger from the leather baldric across his chest, its orichalcum blade capable of cleaving steel a hundred times without dulling the edge—in the hands of someone strong enough. While Matz didn’t have the strength to split open a suit of plate armor, he could at least scuff up stone glyphs with ease.

Once his elemental pet was a calm purple, the assassin descended to an underground tunnel. Iron bars blocked a corridor at the bottom, three wooden doors on each side. Matz searched for traps and a lock, only to find a simple latch near the top. It opened without much force and was easily accessed from both sides. It didn’t really block entry or escape. Unless you were a savage animal. Matz replaced the blue-black blade with two made from alchemical silver, coated in poison for good measure.

The first door on the left opened. Daggers flew. A woman in dark robes slumped to the ground, convulsing. Fresh daggers from his waist belt in hand, Matz sprinted forward to attack anyone that might lurk behind her.

Nobody came running. He dragged the mage back into the room and closed the door. He searched the woman, finding an Austolian signet ring on her finger. While not an enemy nation in name, Matz knew of no official visitors from the largest island nation. Best to not give her the antidote then.

He looked around the small room, finding only a hay bed, simple desk, and tiny clothing chest. Matz blanched at the thought of living in such meager accommodations for days on end—underground. He thought back to days as a young street urchin, living with two other thieving brats in a room no bigger than this.

Before he was given a title that put him above the influence of low- and mid-level nobility, Matz had lived in squalor. No. That’s not you anymore. You’re a man of culture now. Fashionable and refined. Matz smoothed his silk trousers, anchoring his thoughts on his mansion, bought by the riches that ensured his loyalty.

Fiete von Gerson, for not providing your minions with better accommodations and causing me to remember unhappy times, you’ve earned yourself a missing finger before you die.

Matz glanced back at the woman—she no longer twitched. He moved to read an open book laying on the desk.

Day 478 - Without nourishment, the healing process has slowed. The herbs will undoubtedly help, but not enough. It needs meat to regain strength. Today we tried using a regenerative potion diluted with water at a ratio of one part potion per thirty parts water. Subject did not reach dangerous levels of strength but did become more feral for a time. However, it did not injure itself more. We will prepare fresh food to entice the subject to eat.

So there was some kind of creature. Matz flipped back a few pages, adjusting the brightness of the magical lamp to read better. Their rooms may have been simple, but their tools were top quality. A metal tipped quill sat in a glass inkwell.

Day 475 - The last of the new subjects died in the night. Only the original subject survives to date. We worried it would become enraged like it used to when the first batch of subjects died. I keep telling the duke that iron bars and wooden doors separating that thing from our sleeping quarters are not enough.

Fortunately it seems to have sunk into a depression. Perhaps feeling some sense of loneliness or fear, it has stopped eating. This may slow our process, but at least we are safe. Instinct and hunger will drive it to eat eventually.

Enough ink remains to properly glyph five more subjects. With the failure of recent attempts to create new subjects, we suspect there may be something in the first subject’s blood that allowed it to survive the initial procedure. We may need to breed it for better results. I doubt Duke Gerson will approve such a plan.

Day 476 - Subject did not eat. Worrying that the broken ribs from last week’s experiment will not heal properly, I approved a new experiment. We administered a regenerative potion and herbal water mix at a ratio of one part potion per ten parts water. Brother Nils sustained minor scratches and a bite forcing it to drink. As expected, the subject became aggressive. The new chains seem to hold better, but I still hold my breath and wait for it to break free. I fear someday I may share the same fate as our predecessors.

More testing will need to be done to determine if the amount of healing is worth aggravating the injuries. Once it calmed, we moved it from the laboratory cages to a hay bed in the storage room to curl up and recover. Brother Nils noticed no difficulties with using magical treatment on the wounds caused by the subject’s teeth.

Whatever the beast was, it was injured, starving, and contained. If Matz managed to prevent anyone from letting it out, he could dispose of the wretch safely. He regarded the woman who no longer twitched.
You were much more helpful than the man who insisted on squandering half the night searching for assassins he couldn’t find, Matz thought. This considerate soul had died without a fuss, wasn’t heavy to drag, and her book linked von Gerson to all of it. I might actually make it home before dawn.

A knock at the door sent Matz to his feet, daggers ready. The door creaked open.

“Sister Martina, you know Duke Gerson doesn’t like to be kept wai—” a knife in the man’s throat garbled the rest of his sentence.

“Then I won’t keep him any longer.”

Matz stripped the woman of her robes, since they had the least amount of blood on them and looked more important. He threw them over his shirt and trousers—he would need to burn them later—letting the dark fabric hide the red stains. Nothing would hide the smell. Matz would have to make his move before anyone could notice.

Grabbing the lamp and a few books from the table to conceal a dagger, he walked into the hall. The next four doors led to more simple dormitory rooms, all empty. An odd odor seeped from the final room.

Trusting his disguise, Matz opened the door. Nobody. Just a room full of beakers of colored liquids and jars of creepy bits. Unsure of what any of them were, he decided it would be best to destroy this room later.

More iron bars gated the next set of stairs. The bars were certainly thick enough to keep something strong in. He walked deeper, dousing the light before entering a new open room.

Three more robed figures huddled together, whispering to each other. Five dorms, five mages in robes, zero loose ends. The assassin pulled the hood low and shuffled in.

The ceiling was high, probably reaching all the way up to the ground level. Dying torches sat high, a staunch difference from the clear magical lamps in the rooms above. Matz walked slowly to let his eyes adjust.

Two iron doors crept into view, identical and both on the opposite side of the room. Which one led to the duke? Which one led to the weapon? Near him, Matz began to make out dense bars built into the wall. Cells? he wondered. It would be difficult to squeeze a tiger into holes that small. Did that mean the weapons being created were for more urban settings, rather than a battlefield fear tactic?

“Sister Martina, the duke is in his office,” one said, glancing at the door on the right. As he approached, he lowered his voice. “He seems to be in a bad mood. Worse than usual.” Matz stepped in close, not wanting him to separate from the others. In a room this large, giving mages space would be a costly mistake.

Matz nodded and held out the books for the man to take. His outstretched hands made his heart an easy target for the first jab. Two daggers sailed through the air, dropping the farthest target. A quick dash brought him within striking range of the third, who was only starting to realize that his superior was suddenly attacking them. A swift chop to the throat silenced any cries for help, and a crack of the neck dropped him.

Unable to access his belts for more daggers, Matz removed the robes. Aside from the corpses, the room seemed empty.

Clank.

Matz bumped something with his foot, something heavy. Chains. Black chains, four of them, anchored to the ground, ending in thick manacles. He tapped it again with his foot. Too heavy to be iron. Chilling sweat dampened his neck.

A whimper echoed from a cage in the corner. Matz drew a silver dagger and activated the lamp. A blue sheen mixed with black cage bars. Matz stopped. Each cell door was made of orichalcum. His dagger alone was worth his estate. No duke had the resources for bars made of the rare ore. And not just one cell, Matz thought. Several cells and the manacles in the center of the room ...

Who was supporting his research? And what kind of research required such a prison? The assassin’s heart beat faster with each question.

A low growl came from another cage. Matz stepped closer, the arcane light peeling back the gloom. Tendrils of shadow danced in the shape of a beast. A shade? He had heard stories of animals that had eaten too many dark elementals and changed into magical creatures, but never one as large as a wolf.

A silver dagger flew from Matz’s hand and caught the beast in the throat. The beast recoiled. Hopefully the alchemical properties could prevent the thing from healing long enough for the poison to enter its blood stream—if it had blood.

The beast gasped for air, as if trying to retch the poison out of its system. It wasn’t long before the beast started twitching. Matz threw in two vials of flame jelly for good measure. The sticky liquid clung to the wispy shadows, eating its way through the dark hide.

Another whimper came from the corner. Matz backed away and moved to check the other cell. The light unveiled a child, trying to hide in a blanket half his size. Teary green eyes peeked out.

His black hair was darker than even some viscounts on the council. Matz hadn’t heard of any reports of missing highborn children. Though there was always the possibility he was the result of a night spent with a whore. But if that were the case, wouldn’t his hair be lighter from the commoner blood?

Matz took a step closer to the cell, and the boy flinched, cowering deeper into the worn blanket. This is their idea of meat? Matz needed to get this kid out before it was feeding time.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let the monster hurt you,” Matz said. The boy didn’t move. “Are you okay?” He didn’t respond. Did he not understand me? Had he been taken from another kingdom? The last thing the kingdom of Brurin needed was for one of its own dukes to be responsible for the kidnapping and death of a foreign highborn. Was von Gerson trying to start a war? “What’s your name?” Matz asked. The boy continued to stare, wordless.

“Come here.” Matz repeated in several languages. At the sound of Itrerian, tears streamed more, and he silently obeyed.

Poor kid, Matz thought. If he’s from Itreris, he must have been captured by the rebels and sold as a slave. The last report from the smallest of the island kingdoms that Matz had read said the Marquess had been killed, leaving a rebel commoner on the throne.

Skin clung to leg bone as the boy shuffled closer to the door. Tattered rags hung at his waist and shoulders, thankfully stained only with dirt. The beatings Matz had received as a child on the streets had often left his “clothing” stained with his own blood.

“That’s better.” He did a great job of keeping quiet, but how long could a boy who was hardly five or six keep up such bravery? He stopped at the door.

“Can you understand me?” Matz asked. The boy nodded as the assassin set the lamp down and started to pick the lock. “Good lad. I’m going to open the door now, and you’re going to run up the stairs.” The boy thought for a moment and shook his head no. Why would he resist leaving?

The iron gates. With the latch so high up, there was no way a child could reach.

“Don’t worry. When you get to the top of the stairs, wait for me. There are no bad men upstairs. I need to take care of something first and then I’ll—” Bright light filled the room.

“To what do I owe the honor of this visit from Baron Matz von Lauer, Night Fox of the council?” a nasally voice asked from behind Matz. Two more quick wiggles and the lock snapped open. Matz stood and turned to face the light.

The duke—wearing much better attire than the ratty cloak he’d snuck to his lair with—already had several flames floating around him, ready to torch the intruder. Matz did hate to get blood on such fine clothes, but the duke did owe him a messy death.

The door creaked open. Hopefully the kid has the good sense to hide behind something other than me. Not that there was anything in the room to hide behind.

“Why Fiete, my dear duke,” Matz moved his arms away from his belt, hoping to put von Gerson at ease. “Your darling wife has noticed you sneaking out quite frequently the past year and hired someone to follow you for proof of an affair. After he turned up dead, one of my investigators picked up the observations. Killing him caught my attention.”

The duke sighed and ran a hand through his stringy brown hair. “So sorry to hear about your man. Had I known he was yours, I would have done more to lose him. Perhaps gone to a brothel to appease his curiosity, rather than melting him.”

“If you know who I am, then you must know what I’m here to do. I’ve already taken care of your little circle of mages, and the shade you feed small children to. It wasn’t an impressive weapon if I’m being honest. All that’s left ...” Matz rested the pads of his fingers on a trigger in his empty palm, “is to kill you, and then burn this place down. It seems you’re ready to help me with the last step already.”

“I don’t suppose a man of your reputation and wealth would be open to a bribe?” von Gerson asked.

“I’m terribly sorry, but no. Given the equipment you have in this room, I’m sure your offer would be more than what a lowly duke could procure. Still, I shall have to decline. I don’t suppose a man of your ilk would be a good sport and give me the name of your sponsor? Perhaps even do away with yourself neatly?”

“Of course, it is my duty to obey a higher born … my apologies, I forgot you weren’t born into your status … I meant a higher ranking lap dog.” The vulture-necked man smirked as if he had managed to hurt Matz. His hunching shoulders and lack of proper posture were far more offensive.

“However, it is a bit much to ask. How about a compromise? I can tell you a little secret about the weapon you took care of. That was merely a little side project. As to the weapon ... you just let it out of its cage.”

A hand clung to the assassin’s pant leg. His jaw tightened followed by the rest of his body. He turned his head, careful to move nothing but his neck. The boy’s arm trembled. Still wrapped tightly in the blanket, the boy hid behind Matz, afraid to even peek at the man who stood before them. No fangs, only tears showed on his face. No feral growls reverberated, only quiet sobs as he slowly lost the fight to keep silent. Matz relaxed.

An orb of fire curved away from von Gerson toward the ceiling above them. “Consider that your only warning. Put the thing back in its cage and walk away.”

“Oh, Fiete.” Matz returned his full attention back to the pest in front of him. “We both know you can’t let me leave here alive. You had several opportunities to attempt a cheap shot while I was distracted.” The duke’s confident smile fell into a satisfying frown. “I can’t help but think you are avoiding collateral damage. This child is the only one of your toys left. Am I right?”

The duke’s face contorted. With a wave of his hand, the remaining orbs merged and shot wide to the side. Matz used the opening to throw a dagger. The blade sliced through the air, sailing toward von Gerson’s throat.

The merged orb imploded.

Arcane force tugged air to its center for the bubbling core to consume. The heart of the flames beat once. Torn between forward momentum and the hungry pull, the dagger hung suspended in the air. Again the flaming heart beat plucking the dagger from its path and drawing it in. A third beat yanked the assassin off his feet. Matz hit the ground several steps closer to the pulsing globe.

On a fourth beat, fire and air exploded outwards.

The glassy sphere holding the thatu clattered to the floor with another dagger as the blast spun Matz. The magical sprite jumped around frantically inside, glowing bright red. Matz reached for another dagger, ears ringing. He drew the blade half from its sheath when a surge of lightning slammed into him.

Pain coursed through him. Muscle spasms ejected the blade from his hands as the lightning turned Matz into a puppet, pulled on strings of power in all directions. His lungs struggled to breathe in air. Matz tried to shout for the boy to run, but the paralyzing shock silenced him.

Instead of running, the boy reached down and picked up the magical lamp. In less than a heartbeat, the boy was standing over Matz. The cascade of power, and the pain vanished as the boy stood against von Gerson’s spell.

Matz begged his limbs to move, to step back in front, to pull the boy away. Little more than a coughing gasp escaped his dry throat. Feeling returned with each breath of air that entered Matz, but it wasn’t enough to move.

The arcane energy latched to the boy’s left arm, no longer concealed by the blanket. Runes and glyphs tattooed his skin. The black ink drank the lightning. Von Gerson screamed in terror as he cut off the spell and turned to run. He only managed half a step before the boy crossed the room with a leap and landed on the duke’s leg.

Duke von Gerson screamed as his leg snapped. He started to crawl away, only to be yanked back by his broken leg. The duke kicked at the boy’s face, which didn’t shift him in the slightest. He may as well have kicked a stone statue. The boy lifted Fiete von Gerson up, as if he were no more than a wooden play sword, and swung him headfirst into the stone floor with a sickening crunch.

Matz stared, unable to look away from the carnage as the boy tore at the duke, breaking the corpse’s arm to remove the magical bracelet that had channeled the lightning. He held the bracelet in his left hand until it stopped glowing.

Matz pushed to his knees as the boy ripped at von Gerson’s shirt and took an amulet from around his neck. He promptly lost his balance and fell over again, unable to move properly. After a few moments of holding the amulet, the boy crushed the metal disc in his hand and tossed the twisted mess of bronze aside.

He turned to Matz. A look of frenzied thirst had replaced tears. Rage and madness left a monster in a child’s body. Matz rolled to the side as the boy leapt for him. The roll turned to a tumble and brought him to his feet, legs shaking, orichalcum dagger already in hand.

But the little beast had no interest in Matz. He had already crushed the crystal sphere, releasing the tiny elemental. He snatched the helpless thatu and pressed it to his tattoos. The critter popped in a flash of light, but still the boy pushed the husk against the tattoos harder and harder.

His whole body heaved with each breath. He frantically looked Matz over. The assassin gripped his daggers tighter. Not finding whatever it was he was looking for, the boy roamed around the room. Matz stood, trying his best to not shake as the boy paced.

Finally, he clutched his chest, sputtering for a few moments. When the boy’s gaze met Matz’s, the child looked away in shame. Tears returned. With his right hand, he began to rub at the blood on his left. Rubbing turned to clawing and the boy began to wail.

Matz darted toward the boy, grabbed his blanket from the floor, wrapped it around his left arm, and pulled him close. The assassin struggled to hold the boy, who pushed away with weakening strength.

The boy buried his face into the blanket, muttering something. He repeated it, but the blanket muffled it too much. Matz moved the blanket and the third time was clear, carried through the air on a bellowing cry. Monster.

“Shhhh.” Matz rocked him until wails became weeping. “It’s okay now.” He patted the boy’s head till the weeping became sniffles. “It’s over.” He cradled him until the sniffles became long, deep breaths.

While the fragile body in his arms slept, Matz thought. There must be some in Itreris searching for a legitimate heir to the throne. The nobles wouldn’t allow a commoner to control the country for long. Though if returned, he could become a weapon that would end the hard-fought balance between the Splintered Kingdoms of the archipelago.

Matz considered his orders and the danger the boy posed to the kingdom he swore to protect. If he disobeyed those orders, someone else would carry them out, possibly after torture and experimentation.

The villains were dead. Their conspiracy against the ruling class and kingdom halted. All that remained was their last subject, a beast of unbelievable strength and speed. With a careless trigger, who knew how much damage he could do. With training and the right catalyst, he could even slay an army.

Matz raised the blue-black blade to the boy’s throat. The same blade that the previous Night Fox once held to the throat of a blonde urchin. As a member of a scummy thieves guild, Matz had robbed and murdered. He was once a hopeless wretch, who hadn’t deserved a second chance. He hadn’t deserved to be the next generation assassin for the kingdom. Yet, he had been spared.

This little one had the courage to protect me and the strength to not attack me, even in that … state. Closing his eyes, Matz slid the knife back into its sheath. He carried the boy to a bed in one of the rooms to rest.

I will tell the council that the duke evaded me, buying more time, Matz thought. Once a few days had passed, his report would tell them about the duke’s failed attempts to summon a demon and cage it for experimentation. I’ll tell them the magic circle was destroyed in the fight, banishing the demon back to the Shadow Realm. To eliminate all threats of a resummon, I burned the research with the bodies.

The boy could stay at Matz’s estate for one day without notice. There had to be an orphanage in the slums, one poor enough it couldn’t possibly have magic for the boy to interact with—assuming that was indeed the trigger. With regular donations, Matz could keep track of the boy, and the residents would keep their mouths shut, believing the boy to be just another highborn’s illegitimate child.

He read through the research to learn about the experiments, confirming his suspicions. Without magic for his tattooed runes to feed off, he was nothing but an innocent little boy. Matz gathered up all evidence of the boy and destroyed it, leaving the rest for the investigators to make their own reports.

Matz returned to the room. “You are no monster,” he whispered, watching the soft rise and fall of the boy’s chest.

Bright Realm help me if I’m wrong …

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