Putting In the Fear (Patreon)

Another bit of short fiction from 2019 that never got posted to my blog. I was specifically trying to write high fantasy with modern ideas and phrasing, and I came up with... this.

Aylethor sniffed the kind of sniff that was supposed to be bored and dismissive, but he didn't yet have the easy, practiced air of superiority needed to be effective.

"I'm supposed to stutter and panic because some Vigiles turns a baleful eye on me? I'm made of sterner stuff than some candlemaker or hedge-caster. Where were you even trained, hexhunter? Boarwyrt? Shatterspear? Was it even an Oak League academy?"

Tiffany Hanlon felt the official response begin to form on her tongue by rote, and killed it with an icy thought. This little shit was already more than halfway to being the kind of irredeemable bastard that thought he could make pacts with devils or actually cast an interdicted ritual that even masters were only allowed to access for scholarly study.

He was, in short, well on his was to being someone she'd have to put down in a decade. And if there was any hope of changing his course, he needed a hard reality check.

"Oh no." She keep her voice actively upbeat. "Not Oak League at all. I was brought up in a backwater coven, and had to go through remedial runes and sigils courses just to apply to the Vigiles."

Aylethor's smug grin turned predatory. So she matched it with her own hunter's grin.

"And that should frighten you, you privileged prick. First, because it means I am so good, so dangerous, I didn't need gold-inked letters of recommendation from the eldritch and wealthy to get my appointment. And second,"

She let the dracos arcana show itself in her eyes, and her canines, as her smiled widened.

"Because I don't have familial connections I need to protect. Mommy won't be upset if I get our bloodline banned from the Imperial Arcanulum, or Harvard Eldritch. I'm expected to be a little rough. A little wild and raw.

"So while yeah, if I let the dragon out and it burns your face off, I'll get a formal slap on the wrist, that's it. The Praetor sends lower-class hex-hunters like me to investigate infractions among you privileged wand-wankers for a reason. If he has to stick us hunting wendigo in Hyborgard for a few years after we piss off your upper crust colleagues, he can.

"And don't think for a second acing your pre-wiz studies and getting golden pentacle awards means you can hold me off for even a quarter of a second. You're not a man of great accomplishment. You are a baby, who has proven he's just smart enough to go through life on easy mode, and get the best teachers and facilities to help you along.

"While I have actually driven ashen stakes through the hearts of screaming diabolists who thought their family connections and fancy diplomas would protect them from the fact that they give goddamn DRAGONS to those of us who have to take down pricks like you when you go rogue."

Tiffany fed the dracos arcana a tiny mote of freedom, and flames leaped to her fingers.

"And since I KNOW you are supposed to have been top of your class in Mystic Ethics, I also know you are aware that as a sworn member of our community you have a duty to assist and support any Vigiles in their official duties.

"So you can start answering my question RIGHT now, or you can receive a firsthand refresher course on how broad a Vigiles' authority is in dealing with arcane dereliction of duty."

As the firelight danced in Aylethor's eyes, Tiffany thought she saw a flicker of realization of the difference in their capacities in his eyes.

And, more importantly, he started talking.