“Nothing,” Hurgus announced to the bandit leader looming over him. “Oh, hundred or so rabbits, few foxes, a prairie cat and her cubs. But nothing human er humanoid s’far as I c’n scry.”

Bear frowned down at the lesser journeyman dark mage where he crouched over a magic circle and a scattering of bones in the middle of the cabin’s floor. “So, that’ll be, what? Two lenn in any direction?”

“Bit less,” Hurgus hunched his shoulders. “More like one. And a bit.”

Great, Bear thought to himself. That's just wondrous great. Not like anybody hunting them might wander farther out than a single lenn, was it?

He growled like his namesake and turned away, stumping over to the table at the room’s end and the bottle sitting atop it. Hurgus was near worthless, but he was what Bear had. Rank fourteen, he was, and had been since Bear had known him. Years, at this point. Which meant that he’d peaked. Regardless of any experience he’d gained or ever would, he’d never be more. Good for basic needs, decent with simple attacks, and a fair hand at wards, he was a mediocre mage without the gift to grow.

Which left Bear with the problem of how to find whoever appeared to be hunting them before whoever it was finished them off. Near half his band was already gone and he hadn’t an inkling of what was happening. Damnation!

One thing sure, he’d no intention of sending anybody else out looking. Anything could take on Thumper and Bonce together wasn’t nothing he wanted to meet with fewer than four or five men at his back. And considering as how that now accounted for just shy his full remaining force, he wasn’t about to split them up.

“Keep at it,” he growled before upending the bottle and taking a long pull of its rank contents. He stared down at the bottle in his hand as the burn washed through his upper body. That old feeling was back. The one he hated. From back when that damned hero was wandering around loose and none of them able to stop the whoreson no matter what they tried. He shivered involuntarily.

He slammed the now much lighter bottle down and wiped a forearm across his mouth. “Well, keep at it! I wanna know if anything bigger’n a fox comes within a lenn of this camp!”

“Aye, Boss,” Hurgus replied without looking up

Bear stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame, staring out into the muddy yard, scowling. Empty. He could see the whole of the station as though it were a cloudy afternoon despite the rain and the clouds, thanks to his dark sight; a rank five skill so common to his class it may as well have been a default.

He stood there for a few more moments, listening for anomalous sounds before grunting and setting out into the rain. They’d all be in the stable, no doubt. Hunkered down and crying for their mothers or some such.

He paused again just out of sight of the doorless opening. Nope. Not crying. They were doing something far worse. Searching around, he spied a tin bucket laying on its side in the shadow of the building. Taking it up and sidling up to the doorway, he swung it by its bail and flung it with some force into the stable, where it bounced from the far wall with all manner of racket.

He stormed in behind it, while all heads beneath the leaking roof were still turned to the clattering bucket. “What’s this now?” he demanded in his best crack of doom voice.

Six heads snapped back towards the doorway, fear written upon their features.

“You!” Bear pointed a shaking finger at an older, rank fifteen highwayman. “Ephram! What manner of nonsense are you filling their damned empty heads with now! The Madwoman is a myth! She never existed! She was only something idiots made up as an excuse for losing battles they should’ve won!”

“W’Weren’t neither!” Old Ephram stood his ground not quite steadily. “She were real, and her constructs was, too.”

He smacked a hand against his chest. “I knowed a hobbie back when th' demon lord was alive see’d ‘er one time, and lived t’tell the tale, be it only by a notch.”

Bear glowered at him, but the old man didn’t back down. True, he had to admit, hobgoblins lived long lives, and it was remotely possible Old Ephram had met one who’d been alive as long ago as The Madwoman was said to have been roaming and slaughtering. Equally true that creatures such as hobgoblins nor bandits were known for their strict adherence to truth telling.

But, and here was the important thing, did he let these chowderheads get it into their minds that The Madwoman might be back, they’d be off into the woods fleeing to the west by morning. That was something he wasn’t about to let happen.

“Shut it!” he commanded. “Don’t matter if she was or wasn’t real.” he gave an expansive wave of his arm, encompassing the whole of the world outside the doorway. “Not she nor her creatures ain’t been seen in eighty-odd years.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Now he stabbed the finger at Old Ephram again. “So, even If she was, and I ain’t sayin’ she was... If she was, she ain’t no more. So just you shut it about her and give more thought to what you might do t’ keep yourself alive past mornin’.

“Now....” and he set about putting them into some order. Not spread out higgledy piggledy, or too far out from the station, but far enough out to give some warning before they were, the lot of them, within bowshot of Thumper’s bow.

They were none too happy about it, but the lot of them knew better than to cross the Bear when he was in this sort of mood.

Old Ephram, particularly, gave some considerable effort to grumbling when he was sure he was out of earshot. Oh, while he was where the Bear could see and hear him, he was square shouldered and straight backed. He even volunteered to take the least favorable watch, down by the old dock, where the mosquitoes were thick.

The Mauler narrowed his eyes, but nodded for him to go.

Ephram grinned and saluted, heading off for the water. The Bear would have no way to know that Old Ephram had him a charm against the river monsters, and therefore a way out of this mess the others didn’t. First sign of the Madwoman or any of her constructs, he’d be out of his armor and into the water, quick as a shot.

Sure, he’d lose all his gear and most of his plunder, but he’d be alive. His gold pouch was on his belt, and he was high-ranked enough to make it by alone in these low ranked zones. Long as he was careful and steered clear of the Mad Woman or her creatures, he’d make it back to the main force just fine.

Bear and these other idiots could fend for themselves, for all he cared. He’d no loyalty to any of them. He’d warned them, hadn’t he? That was more than enough.

* * *

The guild hall door burst open, causing a dash of rain to enter and Tiglund to jump. Master Jonkins, of course, merely looked up. Cable strode across the room, not bothering with his cloak.

“Tig,” he called, “hie yourself on over to my place and gather up Jube and Bor. We’ll be needing them at Mohrdrand’s villa—”

“Bor?” the guildmaster raised an eyebrow.

“Big roan gelding with a great white spot on top of his head and a scarred muzzle,” Tiglund supplied helpfully, a wide grin on his face.

“You don’t say,” the guildmaster scrubbed at his beard with a contemplative hand, giving Cable the eye.

“Eh hem,” Cable mushed on. “And do you saddle Molly up for yourself,” he ordered the boy.

“Where’re we going?” Tiglund straightened, brightening.

“We’re not,” Cable told him seriously. “I’m going north with the novice mage. You’re going to drop off the horses and beeline straight to your parents’ farm. You gather your family and you bring them...” he turned to Jonkins, who nodded resignedly. “You bring them here. The guild hall should be safe.”

Tiglund was looking between the two men, back and forth, his face clouding.

“What we’re going to face,” Cable spoke before the boy could ask, “ain’t something I’m absolutely certain we can handle. I may not be back. In that case, Tig, Molly’s yours. Hell, the whole place, if you want it.”

“But Cabe!” Tiglund lurched from his chair. “You’re joking, right?” He turned to the guildmaster. “He’s joking?”

Jonkins’ face was stern when he shook his head. “He’s got the right of it, Tig,” he confirmed. “And if he falls, it’s up to us —you and me— to protect the town.”

“Now go!” Cable waved the boy out. “Time’s precious. I’ll meet you at Mohrdrand’s soon’s I’m done. You know how to get in?”

He didn’t, of course. So Cable explained the way.

Once the boy had gone, the big man sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Bor—?”

“Y’mean me, or the horse?” Jonkins queried dryly, even as he drew the rank thirty an ale.

Cable chuckled despite himself. “I mean, he really does favor you, y’know.”

“The gelding.”

“Well, not that, I suppose,” Cable made his way to the bar, although he didn’t take seat. “I’m only guessing, of course.”

He took the mug and downed a good swallow while Jonkins stood with his arms crossed. When he’d done, he set the mug on the bar top and wiped his mouth. “Girl hasn’t got the bounty token, Bor,” he told the older man. “Gave it to the sentinel, she says.”

“Well, then, give me—” but Cable was already holding his guild token out.

Jonkins took the token and fed it into the chronicler. This wasn’t a usual thing, but it could be done. He brought up the bounty and, consulting a dog-eared book beside the machine, drew a series of glyphs within the field, finally enclosing both the token and the glyphs within a nine pointed star. Then they waited.

It took a moment or two. Jonkins wasn’t a mage, he was only following instructions written by one, while the device provided the magical energy. Eventually, though, the token and glyphs began to glow with a faint light. The lights began to pulse, each with its own cadence. The pulses altered, moving into synchronization until they beat as one. The pulse faded until token and glyphs once more shone steadily. The spell faded.

Pulling Cable’s token free, Jonkins observed the bounty and nodded. “There you go, Antel,” he tossed the guild token to the spearman. “You’re officially a member of the party.”

Cable nodded, drained his ale, and headed for the door.

“Wait,” Jonkins called to his back before he’d gotten three paces. Cable turned and Jonkins tossed him the gold ring. “This belongs to the girl,” he said. “Make sure she gets it.”

Cable caught the ring and turned back for the street.

“Luck!” Jonkins called after him. He’d need it.

* * *

Within the shadow of a small copse of trees well east and a bit north of Mokkelton, standing upright in the grass, like the entrance to a magical cave. A few seconds only, it shimmered, growing and spreading, until a shambling, hirsute form lunged clear of it. Four more followed, at which point the pool collapsed in upon itself with a soft pop.

The five figures stood for a few moments, acclimatizing themselves to this new place, checking weapons, testing the air with upraised snouts. Two bore ugly short swords, two carried crudely fashioned crossbows, and the fifth, and larger creature, a sword and buckler.

After four or five minutes, at a nod and grunt from the largest beast, they set out towards the west at a ponderous trot.