Previously:  In a world where mundane Humans coexist with magical Beings, Gildar, something of a detective-in-training, is on a quest to discover if a Human trader named Jed actually killed Ballin with a caplock pistol.  At least that’s what Gildar’s mentor, Mordrad, claims happened.   After changing his appearance to look like a hound, Gildar discovers the scent of a sixth person who was never accounted for on a percussion cap that didn’t spark.

Gildar tracks Jed to the trader’s home in town, and learns the pistol in question has been delivered to a customer who claimed he never ordered nor paid for it – but kept it anyway.  Unable to examine the pistol further, Gildar convinces Jed to accompany him to Ballin’s funeral that night.  Because Gildar is a realigner who can also change the appearance of nearby surroundings, he plans to disguise them and question the participants.

At the funeral he meets Kareece, Ballin’s widow, and her cousin by marriage, Vervale.  Mordrad is also in attendance, and threatens to end Gildar’s career as a quester.  Gildar then speaks to Plaiton, Ballin’s nine-year-old son, and learns that Vervale had spoken to the boy about pistols the night before.

Plaiton tells Gildar that Vervale told him to look into a pistol’s barrel to tell if it’s loaded, and also gave the boy a raspberry whip, with instructions not to eat it until after breakfast.  Gildar tries to question Vervale, but Mordrad intervenes.  Because a Being’s enchantments won’t work after he lies, Gildar resorts to asking Vervale if he murdered Ballin.  Vervale hurls a fireball at him and flees, and Gildar pursues him even though that leaves Jed in a vulnerable predicament.

*****

Clouds obscured much of the moonlight as Gildar raced into the meadow.  Spooked horses shuffled against their hobbles as he tried to discern which way Vervale had fled.  Gildar halted and strained to hear above thumping hooves and vexed snuffles.

After a few seconds, one set of drumming hooves erupted from the far end of the cedar grove.  The steed bore down on him, and Gildar had to dodge again as Vervale spurred the beast into a faster gallop through the clearing.

“So that’s how you want to play!”  Gildar hissed as tan mist swirled around him, and then he spread his arms and changed into an enormous owl.

He leaped, and flapped toward the sky to soar over Vervale on the galloping horse.

Taking the form of an owl helped him to see a little better and observe his target unnoticed.  And capturing the pyrotant demanded some consideration.

Elementals were considered the most powerful of all the arcane Beings, partly because they were the only ones who could outright kill an opponent with their enchantments.  Gildar could realign Jed to appear like a pile of dismembered bones.  But except for the emotional trauma that would undoubtedly cause, the trader would reassume his natural state unharmed.

Pyrotants could make their enemies spontaneously combust, and nobody recovered from that.

Luckily there was a tradeoff when enchantments were that strong.  Gildar could realign himself and his immediate surroundings all day, but Elementals exhausted themselves after too many manifestations – or if they cast that enchantment massive enough to cause an opponent to burst into flame.

Gildar wasn’t a pile of smoldering ash on the floor right now because that would have left Vervale physically weak and unable to continue enchantments.  Fireballs like the one he did hurl were limited in number of casts.

If Gildar could draw out the majority of Vervale’s power, the pyrotant would make a compliant prisoner.  He would have to provoke his quarry into summoning more fire.

And as far as Gildar could tell, he was the only target Vervale might risk overextending himself for.

“You really want to do this for a living?” Gildar muttered just before diving toward the horse and rider.

It was no surprise Vervale didn’t hear his approach.  Gildar struck him hard with feet curled like fists to avoid shredding the pyrotant’s flesh with his talons.  The blow knocked Vervale forward over the steed’s neck, but he also swatted with flaming fingers toward Gildar.

Gildar veered to one side, but the fireball brushed his wings.  The stench of singed feathers assailed his nostrils as he flipped upside down and crashed into grass and pebbles.

The feathers had offered scant protection from the blaze and abrasions, but his limbs and shoulders still stung. Gildar sprang to his feet.

Flight was not as much of an advantage now as speed and strength would be.  The mist swirled around him again, and he lunged forward as a brown and brawny, and somewhat smoky, bear.

If the horse hadn’t been galloping at full speed before, it probably was now with the realization a bruin was pursuing it.  Odds were Vervale glanced back to see what form Gildar assumed this time.  At least he didn’t cast anymore fireballs, so Gildar drew closer and alongside the fleeing beast.

He snapped the cuff of Vervale’s trousers between his teeth and slammed to a halt.

The horse whinnied and Vervale shrieked some curse as the pyrotant was ripped from the saddle.  Gildar thrust out his arms to catch him – and got fire flung into his face for the effort.

So Vervale hit the ground hard as Gildar swatted his paws against his muzzle.  But his whole head and back were burning, so he released the pyrotant and rolled on the ground for several seconds while rubbing his arms against his crown.

His eyes stung and watered, and pain throbbed throughout much of his body.  The putrid stench of burned hair didn’t help as his attention returned to Vervale a few paces away.

The clouds must have parted to allow more moonlight.  The pyrotant lay on his left side, wheezing as he struggled to breathe.  Gildar gritted his teeth against the pulsing agony that jolted through him with each step as he approached.

But halfway to Vervale, the pyrotant hurled a firewall toward him.

Gildar realigned instantly into a pile of mud – which added to his agony.  Changing form that quickly was akin to receiving a hard slap throughout his core, while taking a few seconds to alter appearance was more like a gentle stroke.

The wave of fire seared him as it swept over.  His soggy form offered the best protection yet, but didn’t negate the sensation of heat.  The flames fizzled into nothingness behind him, although smoke rose from the grass and steam from Gildar.

At least he could take a few seconds to change back to his normal self.  “You’d better be outta fuel, Vervale,” he panted while mist, steam, and smoke swirled around him.  “Cause if you spark again, I’m gonna turn the ground beneath you into a sewage ditch.”

Vervale muttered back something incomprehensible.  After that last, impressive enchantment, he did seem tapped out, and Gildar was able to finish limping over to him.

More pain shot through his singed arms as he shrugged off his leather vest, which was as charred and ragged as the rest of his clothes.  He realigned it into handcuffs, and rolled Vervale to his stomach to cuff the pyrotant’s hands behind him.

An unmistakable pop behind him made Gildar’s thumping heart skip a beat.  He stiffly turned to see Mordrad standing about five paces away.

Better not make any sudden accusations.  “Where have you been?”

“Several places.”  Mordrad’s gaze was unflinching.  “First, I made sure Jed was relatively safe, then I had to migrate a few times to catch up to you.”  His expression hardened as he studied Gildar.  “I know that look.  No, I did not have anything to do with Ballin’s murder.”

He vanished with a pop, and then immediately reappeared beside Gildar and Vervale.

His gaze leveled on Gildar.  “Satisfied?”

“For the moment, but we’ll have to finish this conversation later.  How is Jed?”

“Appreciative of Kareece.  She morphed into a briar patch that surrounded him, and told everybody he wasn’t up for grabs.  Seems to me since you’re pretty unpresentable right now, I should haul Vervale in for custody and you look into making sure Jed gets home all right.”

That offer made Gildar’s stomach clench.  He wished his doubts didn’t linger, and they must have been betrayed in his expression.  Mordrad frowned again.

The transmigrator then rolled his eyes.  “For the love of….  I’ll take Vervale to the tribune.”  He popped out of sight, and reappeared on the other side of them.  “I am not doing that again.”

Something about Mordrad’s annoyance always amused Gildar, which maybe he should contemplate someday.  “Then we’ll meet back at your place?”

“And hash things out then.”  Mordrad pulled handcuffs from the pocket of his coat.  “I presume you improvised again?”

Gildar retrieved his handcuffs that he realigned back into the vest, and Mordrad placed one foot on Vervale’s shoulder so that their prisoner would transmigrate with him when he engaged the enchantment.  Then he hesitated, sniffed audibly, and tilted his head toward Gildar.  “Do I smell bacon?”

At least the levity made their interaction feel a bit more normal.  “I’d rather be compared to a ham.”

*****

“Why did you try to impede my investigation?”  Gildar looked over the mug of tea he held as he studied his mentor.  The beverage was a welcomed treat after washing up, tending his burns, and changing into clean clothes.

Soft morning sunlight shone from the nearby window onto the table, and Mordrad had informed him what was learned from Vervale’s first interrogation.

The transmigrator shrugged as he gazed into his own drink.  “When you’ve been a justice quester for as long as I have, you see lots of inhumane treatment Humans do to Beings.”

It wasn’t as precise an answer as Gildar was looking for, but at least he was able to analyze it.  “You decided Jed was guilty because he’s Human?”  He leaned forward.  “Or you didn’t care if he was innocent because he’s Human?”

“You’re probably closer with the second question.”  Mordrad’s vagueness suggested he hadn’t thought through his own actions.

“And were you fine with a Being getting away with murder, or were you purposefully protecting Vervale?”

“I didn’t suspect Vervale at first.”  The transmigrator looked up.  “But after our discussion on the hillside, I migrated to his place for more confections.  He was gone, of course, to help Kareece prepare for the funeral.”

“Of course?  A cousin by marriage doesn’t normally assume that role.”

“Exactly.  And I thought again about the halfcocked pistol, and that Vervale had the right enchantment to make it fire.”

Gildar leaned forward.  “He was at Ballin’s the night before, and gave Plaiton a raspberry whip.  He told the boy not to eat it until after breakfast, just before Ballin and Plaiton headed out to meet Jed.  Vervale also talked about pistols, and that you look down the barrel to determine whether or not it’s loaded.”

Mordrad frowned.  “Are those two things supposed to be related?”

“Maybe.  Since I’m the outsider to this community, I don’t know Vervale well enough to confirm he might be able to concoct a consumable potion that could influence somebody already prone to suggestion.”  His gaze locked on Mordrad’s.  “But you might know.”

“Consumable potions?  Sounds like you’ve been eating some pretty strange weeds, yourself.”

“Sounds like when Jed was camped out with his wagon, Vervale crept in while he slept and took the pistol out of the box.  He armed it, but didn’t know you have to pull the hammer all the way back to make it fire.  He tailed Jed the next day, and hid in the trees to watch his plan unfold.”

Mordrad’s brow furrowed deeper.  “But Plaiton picked up the pistol.”

“Exactly.  And when Plaiton shot himself – because of a form of hypnotic suggestion – Vervale knew Ballin the empath would take the wound onto himself to save his son.”  Gildar leaned against the back of his chair.  “What I’m still shaky on is why.”

Mordrad rolled the mug between his hands.  “After his wife died, Vervale spent more time at Ballin’s.  He wasn’t just sweet on Kareece, however.  If he could combine his confectionary with her tailoring, they’d become quite well off.”

Gildar nodded.  “That makes sense.”

“But your potion theory doesn’t.”

“If Vervale isn’t the one who figured out how to make influential potions, somebody else has.”  Gildar frowned.  “And if he won’t say where he got it, we’ll have to seek out that person.”  He regarded Mordrad pensively.  “Is this your long way of telling me you didn’t want to lose your supplier of confections?”

The transmigrator shrugged again.  “I suppose I wanted to prove my suspicion about him wrong.”

The pit of Gildar’s stomach trembled.  In the past day Mordrad had threatened to get him barred from becoming a quester, but now Mordrad’s conduct bordered on making the transmigrator unfit for that duty.  Had the roles been reversed?  Should Gildar report this transgression to the tribune?

He would never call his apprenticeship with Mordrad amiable, yet this curmudgeon had been an effective mentor.  It was unsettling to contemplate Mordrad being unceremoniously dismissed after so many years of service.

Mordrad took a sip before speaking.  “I’m getting too old and fat for this.  Too many hazards with this vocation.  Time to let a younger man take over … unless you’ve been burned too many times on this quest.”

The light smile that curled Gildar’s lips reflected his relief that this time, for once, he wouldn’t have to choose the harder path.

He raised his mug.  “Call me a glutton for punishment.”

The End

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Here’s my submission for #BlogBattle, and the word this month is Provoke.  Don’t miss out on the other contributions, as well!

If you missed the preceding segments to this conclusion, Part One or Part Two or Part Three or Part Four can be found at these links.