Vero stopped and took a strip of cloth out of her bag. Carefully, she doused it in a mixture of pure clear water and fragrant herbs. Then she tied it over her face.

Dora stayed far back with Vero’s put-upon little mare Papillon, which carried their baggage and provisions. “Gods- it smells awful! Why would you want to go closer?”

Vero surveyed the carnage in front of her. Counting the heads, she surmised that it was once a group of three people. “Something made this mess. It stands to reason that someone around here will want that something gotten rid of. Either for revenge, or only out of a sense for self-preservation. There’ll be some coin in killing it, I’m sure.”

“And – just suppose – that the only someones around at all… are the someones already in little pieces down that ditch?” Dora asked.

Vero dropped down into the ravine which ran along the road and did not answer.

The space to either side of the old Via Imperium was meant to be cleared of trees for a space of at least fifty paces to prevent brigandage. At its deepest point near where they stood though, the Whitewood encroached all the way to the very edge of the path. The trees around her soared up higher than any castle tower she had ever seen, and the way became very dark in places.

Despite this, the road was supposed to be very safe. The Baroness Stirba who owned the territory was widely reported to be the most ruthless landowner in the south. According to the merchants who took the land routes out of the Republic, her hunters stalked the forest and any bandits or poachers they found were left crucified to the massive pines.

She and Dora had already passed several old looking bodies nailed to the trees and left to rot. Nothing recent.

Vero moved carefully to avoid disturbing the tracks in the brown needles which covered the forest floor. She decided that some heads must have gone missing, because there were more than three people’s remains. The true number was probably closer to five or six, but some of the bodies were more complete than others.

Whatever had done this was no bandit. That was fortunate, since her code forbid her from hunting human predators.

There had been panic among the victims. Vero could hardly blame them, given how matters had ended for them. Unfortunately, the scramble made it harder to determine what exactly had happened.

Even so, after a long space of careful analysis, she had a few ideas.

“Conclusions?”

Vero whirled around a hundred and eighty degrees while drawing her longsword, sending a small cloud of needles up in a semi-circle in front of her. The anonymous voice had come from a man several yards away- between her and Dora. Vero was sure her partner would have said something if she had seen him approach. How had he come between both of them without either noticing?

She had no idea. She heard no footsteps.

The man was tall. He held himself with so arrogant a bearing, she would have been certain he was a noble if he had not been geared like a huntsman. He had probably been attractive at one time, but his appearance had since been marred by a missing ear and a deep gouge in his lower lip. He also seemed to be missing one whole finger and a couple other digits as well.

“Who are you?” Vero asked.

He ignored her question. “I asked for your conclusions, journeyman.”

Vero watched the stranger carefully, but said nothing.

Dora took it upon herself to respond on their behalf. “He is not a journeyman, he’s a trained slayer. And my husband may look slender, but he really knows how to use that sword.” Vero and Dora traveled together disguised as man and wife to avoid unwanted attention. “So, I’d advise you not to anger him.”

The stranger was not making any aggressive move, although he was armed. Besides having startled her, and taking a rather curt attitude, she did not see any definite evidence that he was an enemy. He took no notice of Dora and kept Vero held very closely in his gaze.

“You don’t need your woman to speak for you, journeyman. Give me your conclusions.”

Vero relented. “Numerous remains, decayed for a few days. Clothing scraps, and the proximity to the road, indicate travelers. Flat space near the road not far away… looks like ashes from a fire. They made camp and were attacked during the night. No weapons, so they must have thought the road was safe. That’s certainly what we were told. Bones have been mauled and eaten, signs of a large predatory beast. Tracks and tooth marks should allow for identification.”

The stranger said nothing so Vero relaxed her posture and sheathed her sword. After consulting with her journals of tracings, she found a diagram of fang marks to match those on the bones. “Dire wolf. A strange thing- to find one so far to the south.”

The stranger nodded and waved her over as he walked back towards the road.

Vero followed him. “Solitary set of tracks, so there’s only one of them.”

The stranger gave her a wry smile. “And two of us, should be a simple hunt then.”

“Three of us.” Dora corrected.

The stranger’s smile disappeared, and he bore down on Dora with a withering glare. “You’ll stay with the baggage.”

Dora gave Vero a pleading look, but Vero motioned for her to stay silent.

“You already knew what the creature was, and that it was here.” Vero made it a statement, not a question.

“Monster killed five of them, two others got away.”

“How did it come this far south?”

“Gods know. And we’re not being paid to find out.”

“Have you gotten a contract for the creature?”

“Yes, the Baroness of Shadowtree gave me the commission.”

“For how much?”

“It doesn’t matter. I have debts to pay and I’m in need of all of it. I do have something you may be interested in- to offer you as your share. Are you lettered?”

“I can read anything in Imperial script.” Vero was being generous to herself. She could read Velian without too much difficulty, any other dialect was more of a trial.

The stranger whistled. “My name is Pentarch.”

A tired looking old stallion meandered out of the greenery to approach them. The animal was clearly past its prime, but it looked like it had once been a fine warhorse.

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“My name is Virgil. My wife is Theodora.”

Pentarch grunted dismissively to introduce himself to Dora, who was still frowning darkly after being silenced. He opened the saddlebags on his aged charger. From inside, he produced a worn looking tome bound in dark leather. He handed it over, and Vero began to skim through its pages. From what she could tell, it was a first-hand account of a progress through the far north by a Friar Theobald de Emmoi. It was not illuminated.

Vero closed the book. “I’m sure that a cleric would find this fascinating, but I’m no scholar. Is it valuable?”

“To most? No. But it does speak of certain ruins. A legendary fortress high in the Star Mountains. The locals fear to go near. Although according to their legends it repels even the mightiest of abominations, and purges all evil curses.”

Vero’s master had once told her about those mountains several years previous. She tried to remember the why. After a moment, she found it. “Our last academy was in those mountains.”

A smile. “You see my interest. The ancients wrote down many formulae and techniques we’ve lost since. It was my intention to go north and find this place- before my other pressing business arose. Perhaps you would go where I could not?”

Vero looked at Pentarch, then back at the book. There were no spelling errors in it she saw. That meant it was probably well-written enough that she could sell it on for at least something, even in the worst case. She was already flush with ducats after her recent vampyre hunt in Whitegate. Her new partner Dora had also proven adept at earning her own coin so far. They had no desperate need for more money.

She wanted another hunt.

Vero extended a hand. “Very well. I accept the tome as my share of the contract. Shall we begin?”

Pentarch accepted the handshake, and they went to work.

The pair of them tracked the dire wolf quickly. They left Dora with the animals to make camp. Dire wolves hunted only at night, and it had not been long since midday. The beast would stay in its den until sundown. They found the lair in a mossy glen, where the tracks ended at a small hole leading underground. It was well hidden in the trees and they would not have found it without the trail to lead them.

Vero carefully watched Pentarch remove a clay bowl and two tinctures from his pack. He poured both into the bowl and mixed them with a small pinch of what looked like salt crystals. When he was finished, he prayed over the bowl and drank the mixture.

He watched her just as carefully when she took a pair of wide green leaves from a pouch on her belt and put them in her mouth. She chewed them to suck out the resin. Then she took her dagger from her belt, and ran the edge of the blade along her left hand from the gap between her thumb to the tip of her index finger. She chanted the words of power and those secret names of the gods which she knew. At the same time, she drew the signs on her armor and boots with her blood sacrifice.

“Do you mind?” Pentarch asked, idly toying with his own dagger.

Vero shrugged. She drew the same signs on him, and they recited the words in unison. When she was finished, they were both reassured that the other was not a charlatan. He nodded at her like a schoolmaster, and she was beginning to struggle not to show any frustration at his patronizing.

Pentarch’s dagger had an extensive handguard for parrying. In his stronger hand he took out a long Imperial style estoc. Both looked well-made and in fine condition. Vero found it satisfying to watch to look of surprise, however brief, which crossed his face when he examined her longsword closely.

“Those runes on the blade…” He spoke with what she thought was a deliberate sense of disinterest.

“They’re Sylvan, I think.”

“Can you read them?”

Vero shook her head. “Can you?”

“No.” He sounded annoyed by the fact. “There are not many weapons like that left on this continent. Take good care of it, journeyman. It would be unfortunate to find it hanging on some vampyre’s mantle.”

“Or being gnawed on by some dire wolf.”

Pentarch’s wry smile showed itself once again, just for an instant, before he stifled it. “Indeed.” He stood aside at the edge of the pit and motioned for her to enter. “Will you go first, or shall I?”

Vero did not answer, but she shouldered past Pentarch and carefully slid down the declining slope. The ground was soft and sandy. It gave away easily under her feet, speeding her descent.

She abruptly came to a stop as the ground leveled out. Pain shot down her leg from her hip, which was still recovering from a dislocating injury sustained on her previous hunt. She took a single stumbling step to right herself, and remained composed so as not to portray any weakness.

Behind her, Pentarch landed with a grace intended to look effortless.

They were standing in a small cavern. It was dark, but the ceiling was very shallow and cracks of diffused sunlight broke through the needles and sod in some places. Past them, the way narrowed so that they could barely proceed even one at a time.

Vero stowed her sword with some disappointment, and began to check her small crossbow. “You should go first.”

“Lost your nerve, journeyman?”

“You have a thrusting weapon. There’s no way to swing my longsword down here.”

“And how would you advise me to proceed?”

“Keep the wolf away from us. Pin it down in one place if you’re able to do so safely, but don’t put yourself at risk. Dire wolves prefer to attack from the rear, so it’s instinct will probably be to stay away and warn us off with barks and growls first. I’ll kill it with the crossbow from a distance.”

Pentarch smirked yet again, to make it clear that she had passed another test he had taken it upon himself to set for her. He turned sideways, and with his estoc ahead of him, he sidestepped forwards.

Vero followed him. She would have to aim carefully not to hit him, so she hoped he was as competent as he pretended to be. He might be forced to hold the wolf at bay for some time before she could find her target.

They moved at a slow pace in the cramped confines, but even so, Vero felt the den went on forever. After walking for some time, Pentarch stopped and inhaled a pinch of snuff from a pouch on his belt.

He sniffed the air before informing her, “It’s close.”

In a flash, from the moment he spoke, the dire wolf was on them. It was a huge angry animal, nearly the size of a horse, wiry and muscular under its mangy fur. It lunged at them from out of the darkness, barking and foaming at the mouth. Its black eyes were filled with rabies madness.

It leapt straight for Pentarch’s neck. He held it back by raising his dagger just in time to press it against the dire wolf’s chest, between its forepaws, and then bracing his back against the uneven wall. The claws scratched across his armor and outstretched jaws gnashed inches from his face, until he sent it lurching back by stabbing at its belly and groin with his sword.

Vero tried to find her shot, but her partner’s body was blocking her. She dropped to the ground to aim from a prone position. Pentarch kept the beast at bay by stabbing at its face. It had already felt the estoc’s sting and drew back from the weapon. Blood ran down both its hind legs and dripped from the ends of the fur between them.

She fired, and the bolt whizzed past Pentarch. It struck the creature along the neck and penetrated deep into the wolf’s flesh.

At once, it threw itself at Pentarch again. This time he could find no place to brace himself and it pressed him backwards. The force caused him to trip over Vero, and then the animal had him pinned to the ground.

He kept the snapping maw away from him, at least for the moment, and called out to her with controlled urgency. “Do something!”

Vero scrambled out from under the wolf, drew her dagger, and mounted the animal’s back. She stabbed her weapon deep into the creature’s shoulder to anchor herself with one hand, then grabbed the broad-headed crossbow bolt in the thing’s neck. She secured herself with a firm hold and pulled the bolt out to let the arterial blood flow freely.

The beast tried to buck her off. Rather than struggling to remain where she was, Vero let herself go limp and rolled off the wolf’s back without serious injury as soon as the bolt was out. The wolf retreated for a few faltering steps in a state of confusion as it registered its shock. It dipped it’s head down a few times as blood pumped from its wounds in regular beats, before then collapsing to the ground completely.

Pentarch was already back on his feet and pressing their advantage. An instant after the wolf had lain down, he crushed the monster’s jaws shut with his boot to stretch out its neck. Then he drew his dagger across its entire throat. In a few moments, the animal’s trembling convulsions had finally stopped and they were sure it was dead.

“Did it bite you? Are you bleeding?”

Pentarch checked himself and shook his head.

Vero led the way as she and Pentarch silently pulled the dire wolf’s body out with a rope. Once they were back in the open, Vero skinned it and took the heart and liver for preservation. She was preparing to start pulling out the animal’s fangs, when Pentarch must have decided that he had seen enough.

“I’ll take the pelt back to the Baroness; she should accept it as proof of contract fulfillment… There’s no need for you to follow me to Shadowtree, I’ll leave the book with your woman.”

“You won’t camp with us tonight?” Vero did not particularly care if he remained, but there were several more questions she would have liked the opportunity to ask him.

“There are still several hours until dark and I don’t intend to waste them.”

“Why are you in such a hurry?”

Pentarch folded up the pelt and placed it into a sack. “That is my business, journeyman. If I thought it was important for you to know it, I would have told you already. You may keep any reagents harvested from the beast; I’ve no need for them.”

“How generous.”

One last smile. “It’s the least I could do. I fear you may be taking the unequal share.”