I’ve been hunted all my life.

  I’m being dramatic, of course. I’m allowed too, this is my story. Screw off.

  Before I’d tried to play the hero, they’d wanted me for my magic. Those cultish pricks in their caves wished to carve out my heart to feed their hellish obsessions. Literally. They would have drained my blood and eaten it right in front of me.

  If you’re living under a rock, you might not have heard about this practice. If you happen to be in another kingdom, you also might not have heard of it. But in BLANK (I can’t tell you that either, obviously), where I grew up, it was rather common. I still have nightmares about it.

  It was long after the Great Worm had been killed, too. Half a century after and they were still playing their sick games. To what ends, only them and their gods knew.

  So, as soon as any of my rather mild magical abilities had shown themselves, my parents had shipped me off to the Mil…an academy, which was in an unspecified forest by an equally unspecified lake.

  They’d shipped me off and promptly forgotten about me. I can’t really blame them, times were tough then and when someone left the village, they didn’t often come back. That had been fourteen years ago and no, even after the battle, I hadn’t returned.

  But that was because me and my big heart didn’t want to get them into any trouble. A target on my back would mean a target on their backs.

  Plus, they probably thought I was dead. It was better that way.

  Enough about the boring part. Let me tell you about the academy.

  That was really where my fledgling powers bloomed. Not to the status of Carlsbad the Bold One, whom I’m sure you’ve heard of. But I had a couple fun tricks up my sleeve. But, alas, a mage never reveals his secrets.

  So, when the time came to fight, the Academy made one hell of a stand. A last stand, that is. All that was left was a bloody crater that had apparently turned into a lake since the big day. So I’d heard. I’d already gone off on my own quest of absolution at that point.

  Hold up. I’ve completely skipped the Worm. That bloody damn Worm. Most of you will know the story of the Worm but I know education lacks in certain parts of the land so here it is. Technically, its full name is, or was, Wormslung. A great beast from the Netherworld that a couple hundred cultists summoned for their own mad schemes.

  Now listen, I’m partial to a mad scheme myself. I’ve perpetrated a few in my day. But I’ve never summoned an Earth Eater. That is a whole other level. Half of them did die, so I’m told. But they’d signed up for that.

  Besides, when ‘ol Wormy did show up, the fools proceeded to kill it. They killed it.

  Tried to steal its power. As far as I could tell, it didn’t work.

  That left us all to pick up the pieces while the guts of this otherworldly beast spread their power through the world.

  I’m making this sound a lot simpler than it was. Entire schools of thought have since been dedicated to Wormslung. Whole departments of study at the larger colleges interrogate the effects of such a beast casting its corpse on the land.

  Nasty stuff.

  Back to the real stuff. I was hunted before my heroic antics and I’m hunted now too. Each year the bounty on my head doubles. It's about five thousand coppers last I checked. And no, the wanted poster did not do me justice.

  They forgot the heroic jawline and intelligent, yet thoughtful eyes.

  I tried not to let it bother me.

  It is also why I can’t tell you my real name, though a discerning reader will put one and two together. I’m not saying I’m famous, it's just that people who hunt other people professionally know me. I’m a bit of a big ticket item in their world.

  And some of you who happened to live in BLANK ten years ago too. Those of you who survived, anyways.

  Now, you’re probably wondering about my plan. Yes, of course you’ll want to know about the plan. It's a rather good one. Simple. Incredibly simple, mind you. Like all the best plans often are.

  Though it does include some connivery, on my part. And before you judge me, allow me to remind you, I am no hero.

  That is the first time I’ve reminded you.

  I’ll endeavor not to annoy you but it will be necessary for me to keep that point of fact near the top of your mind. Otherwise you’ll begin to resent me. Which, despite my lone-wolf disposition, would trouble me.

  So, I need to remind you why I’m doing this.

  I told you that I wish to disappear. Not in a parlor trick style, but more like one of those pirates turned Barons whose fortune is known to be by illicit means but no one dares question it type of ways. You know what I mean. Though rare they are, the kind of scarred, quiet men who did dirty work and made quite good money doing it. Now with enough means to buy a small estate near the mountains and not have to see another person.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  I’d met a few like that in my lifetime. I’d worked for a couple too. I even know what I’ll name my estate. But I can’t tell you that either, of course.

  Alright, back to the plan. I keep getting distracted.

  Allow me to let you in on a little secret. It’s about a thing called the Black Market. It's unscrupulous and only for those daring folk with nary an idea about morals or ideals. Those who don’t mind much about ripping off others. Who doesn't mind if their victims fall on hard times.

  I belonged in that barrel of dishonest scoundrels.

  By choice, you may ask? Well, mostly. Hard times were hard times and hard times made for desperate times. Though I will admit, my targets in the past had mostly been the better off folks. Like Dukes, Barons, merchants, and the occasional retired general.

  On a particularly tough month I might find my way to rob a Hreken shopkeeper or even if I was just feeling down about myself. They had the best rum.

  It was what I sipped by the side of the small pond while I waited for my bird and wrote you these wonderful words.

  A bird?

  Yes, a bird.

  What kind of bird? A raven.

  Either that or a very large crow.

  His name was Rory and he loved long flights at sunset and rats the size of small children. Besides that, I’d no idea why he put up with me. I didn’t want him around and I’d tell him whenever he got annoying.

  Well, in the beginning I would. But he’d pestered me enough that his black little beak had cracked my heart right open. Of course I’d never tell him as much.

  So don’t get the wrong idea. I’d ditch him if I could. Problem was he had wings and I didn’t. So I was stuck with the little guy.

  He did make for good company.

  If not a little annoying at times.

  On occasion he’d even deliver messages for me. Or pick them up. But he’d always give me crap about how much he did for me and how little I did for him.

  Rory was always talking noise like that.

  And no, I did not name him.

  From what I could discern he’d been the pet of a rather keen wizard somewhere in the eastern reach. But he didn’t like to talk about his past much. We were two birds from the same nest in that regard.

  Nah. He hadn’t liked that joke either.

  My cleverness went over his head.

  It wasn’t till the sun was sitting atop the nearest unnamed mountain peak that I heard Rory’s croak as it echoed dully down the windy valley.

  I wafted some smoke up from my small fire as a signal but he didn’t need it. His eyes were better than mine and his ears were too, actually. He wouldn’t let me forget it. He’d tell me constantly how much I was missing. It was rather nebulous, really, but he got a kick out of it.

  He arced high into the air when he reached me spinning in a great spiral. Show off.

  His little show ended when he landed on a high branch, a little bit of parchment clasped in his claw.

  “I do not smell any fish,” he said.

  I rolled my eyes. Yes, at a raven. It happens quite often.

  “I haven’t had time. But I was just about to.”

  “Good. I’ll wait.” He shook off his feathers and stretched his wings. I wafted some smoke towards him. “That is very rude.”

  Rory spoke like a lord of some big manor house. I wasn’t sure if he was just born that way or if his last master had put him through classes. I’d called them big bird classes. He hadn’t liked that either. He had the humor of a lord too.

  “I don’t have the…” I struggled to make something up. “Energy.”

  It came out as weakly as it sounds.

  “I’ll wait till you find the energy.”

  And no, speaking with animals was not normal. I was…well, odd in that regard. Also no, it didn’t work with all animals. Or insects. But Rory had his own kind of magic and I think that was the reason. But then again, I wasn’t an expert.

  I growled up at him but any scare tactics I could have used held no power over him. He was immune to my threats.

  You may be thinking, But Madcap, you handsome bastard, why don’t you just put a spell on him? Or hex him? Or just use your damn magic for once?

  That is a good question. One that is long and boring and won’t make me look very heroic at all. So the short answer is no, I can’t.

  It was mostly parlor tricks and party games at the moment.

  But if I’d had a rope I might be able to…I snapped my fingers and a thin rope dropped from my inventory. I caught it before it hit the ground but Rory was already flying. Maybe I’d already tried this trick before.

  “It was for the fish!” I called after him.

  He just cawed.

  So, I trudged over to the water, conjured a little metal hook from my inventory and threaded it through the end of the rope. Then I tossed it as far as I could into the lake.

  “There is a big one out here!” Rory reported, flying circles overhead.

  I lost my patience immediately and knelt, snapping my fingers slightly over the water. It took only seconds before a gaggle of little water bugs gathered. I shooed them towards the end of my rope.

  I got a fish in under ten minutes.

  A personal best for me. I was getting better with the subtle magics.

  Right. I told you I wouldn’t tell you but if I don’t you’ll get annoyed. And I’ll get annoyed that you’re annoyed. So here it is.

  You’re probably wondering why after fourteen years I’m not some savant with gold coins pouring out of my ears and silver bars from my…well, you get the idea.

  Allow me to explain magic in one simple sentence.

  Hmmm, actually two sentences.

  First sentence: Magic is a game of pulling threads.

  Second sentence: Threads are not all the same.

  That being said, small spells or instances as we sometimes call them, can be done without directly tapping into a thread. There is enough ambient magic in the air to do the little things. Big ones, however, often need you to tap into a thread.

  Take my attempted humiliation by Humphrey, the day I almost blew everyone up. I pulled a big thread.

  Some might have even called it the mother of all threads.

  It had deprived me of my eyebrows. And my clothes.

  If you put two and two together that means I was running around the countryside with no eyebrows and no clothing.

  Not my best day.

  Not my best decade either.

  Magic-wise, I was no better than your run of the mill charlatan. It left me scarred. Don’t ask me to tell you how or why. It was a mystery to me. It took me two years to be able to summon objects and another two before I could conjure so much as sparks from my fingertips.

  As I tell you this story, my magic is only just coming back to me in any meaningful way.

  Which is why you should be impressed by any stories I tell. On principle.

  Now, back to the fish.

  As I baited my little hook, Rory unceremoniously swooped in and snatched my little victory away from me. He then proceeded to fly to the other side of the small lake and begin to pick at the still flopping animal.

  “At least have the decency to put him out of his misery,” I shouted.

  “I cannot. I am too hungry.”

  He was a heartless fiend when he wanted to be.

  “My letter.”

  “Your boot,” he crowed, cackling unceremoniously.

  My hand fumbled hurriedly. He’s stuck it in my left boot somehow. He really was magic. And in the year we’d been…partners, he’d played a number of these tricks on me.

  I’d already forgotten his betrayal as my hands yanked open the familiar gray wax seal and pulled out the parchment.

  A rather wicked smile was already stretching across my face, even before I’d read the words. I couldn't help it.

  It was all coming together.