Some people were born wanderers. They came into this world with a deep rooted need to drift and ramble, comfort and company held no meaning for them. A moonlit night and a lonesome road was all they could ask for. 

Tallis Bertrand was not one of those people.

He was more of a house mouse than an adventurer, perfectly content to sit indoors where it was safe and warm and nothing dangerous ever happened. He’d grown up on tales of wizards and heroes and he was old enough now to know that that life wasn’t for him. He was a nobody. 

Sad as that sounded, he was fine with that. It was a simple life. Most days were the same. He made enough money to make ends meet. What more could he ask for? Adventure maybe, a little excitement, something to make him feel alive. Those would be nice, sure, but thrills didn’t put food on the table. Adventure didn’t buy his father medicine when he’d fallen ill.

For the past year he’d been working as a paper pusher for the Cold Iron detective agency. It wasn’t much of a job but it beat mucking out the horse stalls back home on the farm. Spending his days inside the city suited him. Life moved faster here. There was a certain electric hum to the air. A pulse that made him feel like anything was possible. 

With a sigh, he took his fresh cup of coffee out of the small office kitchen and headed back to his desk. It was a simple building with floral wallpaper, three square desks in the middle of the floor and a trio of private offices at the back of the room. Sitting heavily at his desk, he fished his pocket watch out of his vest. Only six hours left until he could go home. Wonderful. He tapped a pen on the corner of his desk, struggling to find some way to kill the time. There were no new cases, no new smugglers to interrogate, no new contraband magic to catalogue, just endless boredom until quitting time. At least he was getting paid for it.

Someone sat in the chair on the opposite side of his desk, pulling him out of his thoughts and back to reality. He looked up to find Detective Allistair Cromley sitting across from him. The detective sergeant was a tall, gaunt man with sharp features and hollow cheeks. His hair was long and stringy, shot through with streaks of grey. He was dressed for a day on the ranch with a stained pair of pants, button up shirt, a worn hat, and a bandana around his neck, not exactly a professional look, but Tallis had never known the sergeant to be professional.

“Good morning, sergeant,” said Tallis with a fake smile. A morning with Allistair wasn’t exactly the kind of break in the boredom he’d been looking for. “Is there anything I can do for you?” 

The sergeant tipped his hat up, and a wry grin spread across his face. “Suppose you could say that.” 

That was a bad sign and Tallis had to fight the urge to scowl at the older man. The only time he was ever vague was when he was looking to do something dirty, dangerous, illegal, or some combination of the three.

“Talked to the captain when I got in,” Allistair continued. “And I’m lookin’ to get you busted out of desk duty.” 

“You don’t need to do that, sir. I like working the desk. I’m good at it.” 

“We’ve noticed, but I think there’s a real curly wolf in you hiding behind the coffee boiler we have now. Your wastin’ your talents in here with the paper work.” 

Tallis shook his head. “A what?” he asked. 

Allistair sighed and rolled his eyes. “Well, sorry I don’t have a head full of five dollar words from some namby pamby school. I mean there’s a fighter in you. Captain agrees. You’re coming out to ride with me.”

“Are you sure?” Tallis asked. He opened one of the drawers on his desk and went hunting for the form the sergeant would need to sign him out of the office. “I don’t think I have a copy of the form handy. I can get it for you if you’d like.” An oncoming wave of panic broke over him. It was always a possibility that he’d be ordered out into the field but he never thought that it would happen. At least not so soon anyway. 

“No need. Run down and get an order in for some gear.” 

“Yes, sir.” He took a blank notepad out of the drawer instead. “What do we need?” 

“Lord o’ Thunder,'' Allistair muttered under his breath. “Degree from the priciest school in the city and doesn’t know what to pack for a trip.” He cleared his throat and spoke more clearly. “We need something to eat. Hardtack, fatback, jerky, whatever meat they got. Guns: you know what I like there. Bullets to go with ‘em. Pots, pans, ground coffee. Three horses.” 

Tallis tore off the page and stood. “Yes, sir.” He trotted off to the front of the room, pushed through the double doors, and ran down into the basement. The office cellar was packed floor to ceiling with crates of supplies and weapons locked in cabinets. He pulled a fresh requisition form from the stack near the door and filled it in, passing it to the clerk behind the armoury counter.

Within the hour the quartermaster had the equipment loaded and the horses ready outside. Tallis stepped out into the stable behind the office and swung up onto his mount. He gave the horse a quick pat and said a silent prayer that the creature would be even tempered and cooperative. The sergeant swung up onto his own horse and led Tallis out of the city. The buzz of the streets surrounded them, filling the air with the upbeat music of hundreds of people going about their business, talking, laughing. The horses' hooves beat a steady rhythm over the cobblestones lending a sharp beat to the tune, and the buildings around them served to amplify the din. The sound of the city echoed off the pale towers of stone around them and drowned out any hope they might have had of having a clear conversation. Fine by hi, really. Even five minutes of conversation with Allistair was five minutes too many.

He shifted nervously in his saddle, doing his best to stamp out the smoldering coals of fear burning in his belly before they could ignite into an inferno. They rode out past the old walls ringing the city. They were twice as tall as he was and made from pale logs that had been bleached grey by decades in the sun and the posts were lashed together with black iron brackets. The wall was less effective at keeping out people and instead served to keep spectral invaders at bay. 

Tallis slowed for a moment, casting a fearful glance into the dark press of trees rising beyond the city, grit his teeth, and pressed onwards.

Hours later, he swung down from his horse, exhausted and spattered with dirt and filth. They set up a camp site and ate a cold meat of salt pork and biscuits. It was miserable food, it was miserable weather, and it was miserable cold outside. He pulled his mud stained jacket closed and inched closer to the fire the sergeant had set. The tiny flames did little to stave off the looming cold or the darkness. He looked up from the flames, scanning the trees and double checked that his pistol was still in its holster. 

A hand came down on his shoulder. 

He nearly jumped out of his skin. Scrambling to his feet, he whipped the snub nosed revolver from its holster, stumbled, lost his grip, and watched wide eyed as the weapon clattered to the ground. 

His sergeant laughed. The man had a high pitched cackle that split the night with its scorn. “Easy, Tallis,” said sergeant Allistair. “This here is a safe track. Ain’t nothing out here but you and me.” 

Tallis bent and picked his revolver out of the mud, scowling at the dirt that clung to the barrel. 

“Gods, Tallis,” said Allistair. “A little mud ain’t going to bite you.” He took the gun from Tallis and wiped it on his coat. 

“Please tell me we’re close.” 

“Not much further now, can’t be more than a  day's ride.” He handed Tallis the small framed revolver. “You couldn’t’ve picked a better gun there, eh? Had to go with the banker’s special?”

Tallis shrugged and stuffed the stubby weapon back into its holster. “It’s all they would give me. I’m really, really not supposed to leave the office, remember?” He was hoping for a miracle. Hoping that the sergeant would follow regulation, go home, and start the process of promoting Tallis to the field the proper way. He had better odds of being struck by lightning. In the time he’d been working for the Cold Iron Detective Agency, he had never once known the sergeant to follow protocol. 

Allistair nodded and stepped over to where they’d left the horses. “I know. Don’t worry, we’ll get you right toughened up soon enough. Best turn in for the night. Got an early day tomorrow.” 

"What are we doing out here anyway?" 

Allistair shrugged. "Murder. Some neighbors found a corpse and called us in. Should be simple enough." 

Tallis yawned and crawled into his tent. "Simple. Sure."

Tallis woke up the next morning stiff and sore and still miserable. The grey light of pre-dawn filled the woods and Tallis stomped down a pang of homesickness as he carried his saddle over to the horses. His parents were likely doing the same thing back at the ranch, harnessing horses, getting ready for the day's work. He smiled to himself. It was strange to say he missed it after spending most of his teenage years trying to get as far away from home as possible. A light rain began to fall and he shivered. At least back at home most of his chores were indoors. With both of his fathers taking the lead on the heavy jobs, he'd been left to do the bulk of the cooking and cleaning. It wasn't always fun but it was better than trudging through the freezing rain and the muck.

Allistair cursed, struggling to tighten one of the straps on his saddle. 

"Do you need a hand with that, sir?" asked Tallis. The old man had lost an arm in an armed kerfuffle with some smugglers years ago, and every now and then he needed an extra pair of hands, even though he'd never admit it.

"Suppose it wouldn't hurt." Allistair waved him towards the horse with the stump of his right arm. 

They mounted their horses and set off at canter through the drizzle. Allistair sat tall in the saddle, looking completely unfazed by the wind and the rain. Tallis shivered and hunched over further. Maybe the sergeant’s thin frame and hawkish features helped him slice through the wind. Tallis’ broader shoulders and round features seemed to catch the wind like a sail, and it cut him to the core. He was frozen inside and out. 

The homestead broke the sea of trees like a ship at sea, a small man-made island adrift on a sea of green. Allistair swung down from his horse and knocked on the door. “Cold Iron Detectives. Open up.” 

Tallis jumped down after him and led the horses to a water trough next to a shed. Something moved inside the small building. “Hello?” Tallis asked. His mouth felt like it was packed full of sawdust all of a sudden and his heart beat hard enough he was sure it would batter his ribs apart. “Is someone in there?” 

He drew the banker’s special, not that it would help much. He was pretty sure it was more of a noisemaker than a real gun. Hands shaking, he pulled the shed’s door open. A small red gem tumbled across the floor, vibrating and moving of its own accord. A high pitch whine echoed out from inside the shed. The horses took a nervous step away from the sound. Tallis kicked the gem away from the shed and dove behind the water trough. The gem burst into flames with a sharp crack. The wet grass let out a sizzle and kicked up a pall of smoke as the fire tore through it.  The soaked grass won the fight, dousing the flames, and he picked himself up, brushed the dirt off his coat and holstered the pistol. 

“All right over there?” Allistair called from the main house. 

“Yes, I’m fine. Looks like there’s a store of gems in here. That neighbor had the right idea calling Cold Iron. We'll have to get this stuff out of here before someone gets hurt.” Sitting on a low table inside the shed was a case of gemstones and a small stack of books. He stepped inside and opened the book on the top of the pile. It was a familiar text, a few editions older than the copy they kept in the archives back at the office, but the content was mostly the same. “There’s a few books on spellcraft in here too.” 

Allistair stepped into the shed and drew one of the pistols on his belt. It was a beast of a weapon, heavy framed, rugged, and it had a shorter secondary barrel mounted below the main one. It was less of a side arm and more of a cannon. “Keep sharp then. Who knows what or who else is hiding around here.” 

Tallis ran a finger across the top of the table, leaving a clean streak in the coating of dust. “I don’t think anybody has used this building in a long time. It’s dusty. And the stones here are starting to spoil. That doesn’t usually happen if they’re being used often.” 

“But it does happen. I been around a touch longer than you, boy. Learned things they don’t teach you in books. Trust me. Them things can go bad for no reason at all. I seen it happen.” 

“Right. But the windows on the house are boarded up too. Doesn’t it seem more likely that this place has just been abandoned for a while?” 

Allistair motioned towards the house with the barrel of his gun. “Come on. Let’s take a closer look before we decide anything. If you’re just goin’ by boarded up windows then half my home town is abandoned.” 

Tallis sighed, wiping the dust clinging to his hands on his coat. The old jacket couldn’t get much dirtier no matter what he wiped on it. He’d be happy to get a chance to change out of it. 

Allistair stomped across the overgrown yard, stepped onto the house’s front porch and leveled his pistol at the door handle. A shot rolled through the air like the crash of thunder and the door swung open with a cloud of dust and splinters. It sure was one way to make an entrance. He hadn’t even checked to see if it was locked first. 

“In you go,” he said. “I’ll take the ground floor. You handle the cellars. If you see anything moving, shoot it.” 

Tallis swallowed hard and walked around the side of the house, eyeing the cellar door. If anything moved it would probably eat him before he had a chance to get his gun out. He opened the door and crept down the stairs, cringing with every squeak and creak of the old boards. The air was thick with dust, dry and musty. He wrinkled his nose as the smell of damp earth and mold wafted up to meet him. Thankfully, there was nothing down here but some old pickled. Tallis picked one of the jars off the shelf, turning it over in his hands, and brushing the dust off the label with his thumb. Glass rattled. Jars jostled against one another. 

A pair of yellow eyes glinted out of the darkness behind the shelf. 

Tallis froze. Whoever the eyes belonged to drew in a sharp breath and held it. 

"Hello," said Tallis. "Could you come out from behind there, please?" 

"Drop your gun first." The voice that rolled out from behind the shelf was high and wavering. 

Tallis wasn't sure who was more nervous, him or the person behind the shelf. He reached for his, moving as slowly as possible. "Its in a holster. I'm going to take it out slow, okay? I don't want to hurt you." He made sure to keep his finger as far away from the trigger as possible as he drew the gun and set it on the floor. "There. Is that better?" 

The shelf slid forward and a small figure stepped out. They had pointed ears, pale yellow skin, and gold scales along their cheekbones and down the bridge of their nose. Tallis had never seen a Changeling this close before. He did his best not to stare. The Changeling was just a kid with patched trousers, a dirty shirt and a torn vest. 

"What are you doing down here?" asked Tallis. 

The kid shuddered and leaned back against the shelf wrapping their arms around themselves and doing their best to make themselves as small as possible. "Hiding." 

"What are you hiding from?" said Tallis, dropping to one knee so he was at eye level with the child. 

The Changeling shrugged and shook their head. 

Tallis opened his coat and pointed to the iron badge pinned to his vest. "I'm a detective. It's okay to tell me. I'm here to help." 

"It got papa," said the child, tears running down their cheeks. "I don't know what it was." 

"I am sorry." Tallis scooped up his gun and jammed it back into the holster, then he stood and held out a hand towards the child. "Is it okay if we come up out of this old cellar." 

The kid wiped their nose on their sleeve, took Tallis' hand and nodded. They climbed out of the cellar together and Tallis led them to the horses. Thankfully the rain had stopped but a damp chill still clung to the air. He let go of the kid's hand and reached into his saddlebag, rifling through it until he came up with a small bag of candies. He handed them to the kid and smiled as the child's eyes lit up. 

Allistair stepped out onto the porch, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips and his revolver still in hand. "We got a body in here." He narrowed his eyes at the Changeling. "Who'd you find?" 

"They live here. I found them in the cellar behind the winter pickles." 

"Right." Allistair waved the child towards the house with his gun. "Come here, boy." 

The child took a step back, shrinking in behind Tallis' legs. 

"Sergeant, would you mind putting that gun away? The kid is already scared half to death." 

Allistair grumbled but holstered the gun anyway. "Fine. Bring him indoors. I got a theory for him." 

Tallis looked down at the Changeling and gave his best attempt at a reassuring smile. Something in the back of his mind whispered that this was a terrible idea but he led the child into the house anyway. The inside wasn’t quite as run down as the outside would suggest. Cobwebs clung the corners of the room and there was the odd pile of clutter here and there but it all served to give the place an almost cozy, lived in feel. It just needed a good dusting and it would be a nice place to live. Allistair led them down a hallway, moving towards the back of the house. The kid froze up halfway down the hall. 

“Keep coming,” said Allistair. “You need to see this.” 

“No,” said the changeling. 

“Oh, come on, now. Don’t be like that.” He took a step forward and caught the Changeling by the collar, dragging them further down the hallway. “Don’t kick up a fuss now.” 

“Sir. Let them go. The kid isn’t part of this.” 

“Pull your horns in, Tallis. Or you’ll find yourself in a heap of trouble.” 

The sergeant had a wild look in his eyes that made Tallis take a step backwards. Allistair drug the poor kid further down the hall and shoved him towards a doorway on the right. 

“Now,” said the sergeant. “Here’s what I think: little halfbreed like you, I think you get mixed up with a Faerunner or two, no real fault of your own right? You’re just trying to connect with the magical side of the family, right? So you get a couple books, a couple crystals, fire it all into the shed. Out of sight out of mind. Everything is fine as cream gravy. But then your pa here finds out what you’ve been up to. Words are exchanged. The gun comes out and you fetch him a bullet in the neck. Didn’t mean anything by it did you, now? But it don’t change the fact that you killed him.” 

The Changeling let out a choked sob and wriggled out of the sergeant’s grip. “That’s not what happened.” 

“Don’t you dare lie to me, boy!” 

Tallis strode down the hall, a fire burning in his chest and stepped between the boy and the sergeant. “Stop it,” he said. 

“I know I’m right, Tallis. There’s no sense beatin’ the devil around the stump on this one. Not when we’ve got the culprit right here.” 

“Can we please just calm down and look at the facts for one second before we fly off half cocked?” 

Allistair drew his gun again, aiming past Tallis and pointing it at the Changeling. “You go in there and look for your facts. I’ll stay here and make sure the boy doesn’t hare off on us.” 

Tallis closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. He rolled his shoulders and made an effort to unclench his fists. Punching out the sergeant was a great way to get stuck behind the desk for the rest of his career but even one-handed Allistair could probably still take him. 

He stepped into the room and his stomach heaved. He had seen crime scene photos before, and growing up on a farm meant he wasn’t too squeamish around blood. He didn’t have any illusions around where dinner came from, but this was different. Crime scene photos didn’t have the stale coppery scent of blood clinging to them. They didn’t come with the buzz of flies filing the room. They didn’t leave the sick taste of spoiled meat stuck to the back of your throat. The body was sprawled out on the bed. White sheets were stained crimson. An armoire had been upended, spilling clothes and a few pieces of jewelry onto the floor. A lamp sat shattered in the corner, leaving a puddle of oil and shattered glass. 

Everything pointed to a struggle, but a struggle between who?

A pistol lay in the doorway. Rusted. Poorly kept. Tallis picked it up and opened the loading gate, ejecting the shells one after the other. Only one had been fired. Allistair’s theory might have been true but it was worth taking a closer look. Tallis put the gun down in the same place he’d found it, and walked over to the body. The old man died in a bad way. Gashes and tears ran up and down his arms, and a ragged hole had been punched through his stomach. They were the kind of injuries you might live with for an hour, but it definitely wouldn’t be a good hour. He walked over to the room’s only window. The glass was shattered, and the wood of the window frame was gouged. Tallis ran his fingers over the gouges, they were spaced about as far apart as his own fingers but no human hand would leave gashes like that. 

Something with claws maybe? 

“Hey,” Allistair snapped. 

Tallis spun, turning back towards the hallway. Allistair still had his gun trained on the Changeling. His finger tightened on the trigger. Tallis lunged, driving a shoulder into the other man and shoving him into the wall. The Changeling spun on their heel and ran. A flare of golden light rolled off their body. They took one last step and jumped, their body twisting and changing shape in the air. Tallis blinked as the light faded and where the Changeling had been a moment before, a golden eagle spread its wings and soared out into the gloom. Allistair lifted the gun again, and Tallis caught him by the wrist, twisting and wrenching the gun away from him. The sergeant threw a kick into Tallis’ shin. 

He stumbled. 

Allistair reached into his coat and came up with a second gun. What in all seven hells did a man with one arm need two pistols for? 

“Damn it,” said Allistair. “He got away. What in hell is wrong with you?” 

“Me? What in hell is wrong with you? You were going to shoot that kid.” 

“I wasn't going to hit him. Just scare him.” 

“As if that makes a difference?” 

“Wouldn’t’ve killed him.” 

"Bullshit." Tallis held up the pistol. "With these damned big horse murderers you tote around, you could have definitely killed him." 

Allistair shrugged and tucked his spare pistol back into his coat. "I think it would have made him talk." 

"That's not how things work! There are rules here, sir. We can't take off with a lick and a promise and shoot everyone who doesn't agree with us." 

"I do not care a continental about these so called rules. All of that tripe works in offices. In libraries. In gods damned board rooms. It does not work out here. In the real world you need to be hard. Sometimes you need to shoot first and ask your questions later." 

"Against kids though? Doesn't that make us just as bad as the Faerunners? As the killers and smugglers?" 

Allistair heaved a deep sigh, his shoulders slumped and his eyes fell to the floor. "No. It makes us worse. But maybe that's who we have to be." 

"I simply refuse to believe that. Sure magic might be dangerous, sure it might get people killed, but what good will killing everyone who uses it bring?" 

Allistair closed his eyes and clenched his hand into a fist. "You haven't seen what I've seen. You don't know what kind of hurt magic brings to everyone around it." He let out a slow breath. "Every spell slinging, son of a bitch out there deserves what they get." 

"And it's your job to give it to them? I must have missed the memo that said you exist outside the law." 

"Already said, law don't matter out here. Never did. Likely never will." He headed for the door at the end of the hall. "I want this place fit to stay in by the time I get back. And write up an update for the captain. Clean. No spelling mistakes." 

Tallis took a half step after him and threw his hands in the air, exasperated. "Where are you going?" 

"To shoot some dinner. And I'm goin' it alone. Need to clear my head."