In The Doghouse

Dorgath uncorked the bottle of damson wine, a tiny pop issuing from the neck of the bottle. He poured out the purple liquid into a wooden chalice carved from a somber cherry. The Emperor stared at the wine as it swirled, much like his own turbulent thoughts. He upended the bottle and set it down on the oak table, sinking deeper into the comforting softness of the velvet couch. Across from him on the other couch was that damnable Chrysalis, looking rather smug for some reason or another. It was always hard to tell what was going on in that twisted mind of hers. Dreams and desires of sucking out his brains and feasting upon the flesh of infants, no doubt. He took a long draught of the wine. It was sweet, very sweet, and the heady taste of well-aged alcohol tingled on his tongue and brought him a brief moment of pleasure.

“My my. Someone enjoys their wine. Too bad you’ll never taste pure love. Without a doubt it’s the most exquisite of all delicacies, and can be aged to be stronger, much like drink.” Chrysalis gave a fanged smile. “I could do what I did with your grandfather, and imbue you with some changeling attributes. He quite enjoyed them.”

The mastiff set the chalice down onto the table and glared at the insect. “Those changes of yours made him insane within five years. I’ll not make the same mistake as he did.”

“Come now, you don’t know that. I was able to give him sight beyond a normal dog’s, eyes that let him see the miniscule threads of power and magic that flow through the world. His insanity was a poor coincidence.”

“He died screaming ‘Get this monster out of my head! She’s killing me!’ I highly doubt that was a coincidence.”

The changeling’s mouth morphed into a thin line. “I assure you I had nothing to do with that. Again, it was insanity. The ramblings of a dog whose mind was shattered and broken. I always considered him a friend, even if he kept me imprisoned.”

Dorgath took another drink of the wine and swished it around in his mouth before swallowing. “Enough talk of your past victims. You said you had something interesting to tell me. I assume it has something to do with the phenomenon.”

“Indeed. You see, I observed the footprint of a sizeable magical event, similar to the teleportation spell that I use. Whenever a spell like that is used it leaves residue, time-space stuff, if you will. I found a trail breaking off from the epicenter that confirms something was brought through to your city due to magic and later moved, either by itself or with help, though I think the latter. This trail I followed weaved in and out of alleys to avoid being seen, but did so expertly and took a specific path out of the city, so the guide must be familiar with all the streets and which gates are unguarded.”

“Wait. How do you know that it wasn’t someone familiar with this city that teleported in?”

“Well I don’t know for sure, but I based it off where the trail leads, and the inability for you dogs to craft a useful teleportation spell. You learned about that magical explosion that occurred outside your city, correct?” she asked.

Dorgath nodded. “I did. It was the house of a scholar named Nokto Tresbulon, assistant to a professor here. In fact we’ve taken that professor into custody due to his connection with Nokto, amongst other things.”

“That’s where I followed the trail. In fact he would’ve died if I hadn’t healed some of his injuries first. So we can assume that he either guided whatever came here to his house, or perhaps carried it. Whatever showed up may not be a living creature, but an artifact of some kind. For all we know that could have caused the explosion.”

Dorgath nodded his head. “That makes sense. Hopefully we’ll be able to get some answers when he wakes up.”

The Emperor of all Diamond Dogs sank into the couch and gave a long, shuddering sigh. Today had been one of the worst days he had ever had. Secret plots, unknown magic, potential traitors that he had kept in his service, and having to see that bug again. Sometimes he wished that he had married young and produced an heir to help with the troubles of running a nation. That was something else he needed to worry about. In a few years he would be required to marry in order to carry on the Forge line. His wife would need to be of noble blood, of course, but most were witches that spent all their time trying to win favor for their families in the game of politics. Dorgath didn’t want that, he wanted a bitch that would be a good mother for Lapis.

“You know,” Chrysalis spoke up, “I do have magic that could see into our injured pup’s memories to find out what happened, if only you would let me.” Her voice was dripping with feigned sweetness.

Dorgath glared at her, or at least tried to, but he really didn’t have the energy. Not today. “Our mages can also read minds, though they lack accuracy, and I don’t trust you.”

“Then why did you bother to use my talents today? You consider me to be a monster, yet your family has used my powers constantly for hundreds of years. This collar,” she said, motioning towards the rune speckled iron collar on her neck, “binds me to the service of you and your blood relatives, so I cannot disobey a direct order from any of you. Why not just order me to look through the scholar’s mind, and only look?”

The hulking mastiff didn’t even bother with a reply. He just sat there with his eyes closed, breathing deeply. After a time a light snore came from deep in his throat, his entire body rumbling. Chrysalis snickered a bit and silently moved to his side, poking his nose with a holed hoof. He let out a snort.

“Aw, is the wittle pup tired from his tough day?”

“Wait,” Chrysalis said to herself. “What am I supposed to do now that he’s asleep?”

The changeling thought of her options. Technically he had ordered her to find whatever came into the city, and he had never absolved her of those duties. Chrysalis shrugged and picked up the bottle of wine with her green magic, taking a few long, deep swallows. She smacked her lips and placed the bottle back on the table.

With a flash of green magic she was gone, leaving nary a trace in her wake.

***

Captain Sleipnir stood in the middle of a room situated in the medical wing of the castle, staring down with curiosity and just a hint of malice at the bandaged dog. The patient was of an impressive size; Shepherds rarely got this big, though he was still a bit smaller than the captain, and couldn’t really compare to mastiff’s like Dorgath. His body was covered with stark white bandages, wrapped tightly around his chest. The dog’s breath was slow and raspy. An IV drip ran fluids into his bloodstream. A magic powered monitor to the left of his bed beeped and booped, the flashing lines and numbers indicating his vitals from heart rate to brainwaves. Etched into the floor and surrounding the bed was a circle etched with a myriad of designs and runes, the symbols pulsating gently with a sorrowful blue light. The captain turned to the doctor next to him, a Malamute wearing a white robe trimmed with red and a red cross pinned to the lapel, indicating his status as a healer.

“What exactly is that circle for?”

“Well, the doctor said, “most of his physical wounds have been healed, such as the muscle tears and minor fractures or injuries to small bones, like the paws or nose, but I’m more concerned about his internal leylines.” The doctor glanced at a chart he was holding, then at some numbers on the monitor. “Whatever hit him sent a strong magical surge through his entire body, damaging and disrupting the magic currents. Normally leylines can heal on their own if the damage is small enough, but that isn’t the case with Nokto here. His leylines were almost completely destroyed, which leads to death in most cases.

“Think of leylines like irrigation canals. They exist to guide water, or in this case magic, from a large source, which is located in the stomach. Occasionally that water may overflow the banks and cause some flooding and damage, but it’s usually minimal. In this case the canals were obliterated and all the water flowed outward like a tidal wave, destroying anything it comes in contact with. This circle keeps his magic flowing in the proper way while his body tries to heal itself and re-align his internal leylines. On that note his prognosis seems relatively good, and I doubt he’ll die, since he was brought here in time. The bad news is that his career as a mage will most likely be over. He’s a scholar of magic, correct?”

Sleipnir nodded. “He is.”

The doctor looked saddened. “That’s just too bad. Judging from the damage, his magic will only ever recover to a mere percentage of what it once was, like a canal system drying out. I doubt he’ll be able to cast anything more than a light spell, and that’s being generous. Poor dog.”

“When do you think he’ll wake up, doctor?” Sleipnir asked.

“Within a few days, hopefully. Does he have any family? I’d like to get a letter sent, if possible. His emergency contact list only has a Professor Sapphire listed.”

Sleipnir snorted at the name and scratched his chin. “I think he has a mother in some convent on the other side of the Everfree, but I’ll have to check. I’ve briefly interviewed some of his friends and colleagues, and he never mentioned his family to any of them.”

The doctor stayed for a few minutes, going back over Nokto’s vitals using an ornate, spiraled wand carved from rowan to scan the bedridden dog’s body before scribbling down more notes on his clipboard. Meanwhile Sleipnir was deep in thought, going over the potential problems that this could create for himself and his allies. Nokto was an unknown, an element that could bring everything down around them, or help their plan along. Sleipnir had planned on arresting Sapphire anyway, but this incident forced him to act ahead of schedule.

The real question was what happened to Nokto. Something caused his staff to break and release all the energy encased within, and few things had the strength to do such a thing. Maybe he tried some spell that was far out of his league, or maybe it was some sort of freak accident. Or someone wanted him dead.

That brought up the question: should he kill Nokto? A quick surge of magic would be enough, and it would be expected, given his injuries. However he desperately wanted to know what had happened to the young dog.

Sleipnir turned on his heel and marched from the room, sparing a last glance at the injured dog. He needed to consult the duke. Their plans might need to be sped up just a bit.