Warlock was an old word. Normal people cast it around without understanding the ancient slur, thinking it meant male witch, when it meant traitor. It was reserved for practitioners gone bad, those who betrayed magic’s first tenet: “do no harm.” And the warlock he was hunting had done plenty of harm. Every lead had led to a maimed magical creature, to bone bound in glass and bog iron. Most of the creatures still lived, hobbled, their agony constant. The warlock had done more than enough to earn the moniker.
