Haldrych and Adelmar found the beast-man within a lonely tunnel, curled up beneath its misery. The brute moaned piteously - blood-drenched chain clinking with its terrible fits – as it stared at the ruined stump where once had been a hand. The great wound was bandaged and sutured shut to stymie bleeding, and a topical oil of poppy and willow had been poured over the stump to dull the pain. The bandages wicked bright red.

Milos had tended the wound then cast the creature aside to brood on its circumstance. Coiled onto itself to nurse its suffering, the cult had left it in peace.

All save for these two.

A scuff of robe on stone alerted the sharp-sensed creature of their approach, and It stirred at once, flying to its feet in a blur of motion with fangs bared.

Thrmp!

It crashed its fist into the wall and rushed toward the young men in a display of strength - instinctually angling its body to place the injured limb away from them. Both Haldrych and Adelmar leapt back, but the latter bared his own teeth with flashing eyes.

A menacing growl sounded from his throat and the beast-man bellowed in return.

Haldrych cried out in fright. “Wait! Wait! Friends! Friends! We are friends!”

Adelmar snarled. His nails began to grow into claws. The best-man’s hostility deepened. Its thews tensed for a charge.

“Friends! Friends!” Haldrych continued to cry, looking pointedly to his fellow. “Stop it, Adelmar! We come as friends! Friends!” he emphasized.

The young lycanthrope’s jaw tensed but - with a deep, shuddering sigh - soothed his own inner beast. His shoulders slackened and the shine dimmed in his eyes. “Yes…” he grunted. “…friends.”

The beast-man paused; its ruddy brow creased in contemplation. Its fangs disappeared behind taut lips. “Friends…” a hideous voice mimicked Haldrych’s word, and the young poet nearly collapsed in relief.

“Yes…friends,” he pushed on quickly. “Friends like your master. Friends like Milos.”

He pointed toward the wall, roughly in the direction of the Sacred Alpha’s quarters. Dull simian eyes followed his outstretched digit. “Friiieeeeends.” The strange utterance emerged once more from cracked lips.

“Yes, yes, good. Me-” Haldrych pointed to himself. “And he-“ he pointed to Adelmar. “Are friends with you. We like you and want to help you.”

He brought his tone low and softened it to a soothing gentleness - the same he had used when first training Marctinus. “Bad woman did bad things to you. Yes?”

A gesture brought the beast-man’s attention to its own broad belt, and the jewelled, silver sword that glittered through the leather. It paused, as though shocked to find it there, and suddenly gave an agitated roar. Its ruddy hand snatched the delicate blade up and drew it high.

“Wait! What are yo-”

“Move aside, fool!” Adelmar dragged his friend back. “I told you this was folly!”

Crash!

The beast-man struck the blade against the stone wall repeatedly, seeking to destroy it with his full strength. Silver bent as Haldrych cringed, awaiting the inevitable crack and shearing of metal.

It never came.

The lean blade would bend until it curved upon itself like a reed in a gale, yet would spring back to uprightness even as the beast exerted itself to the limit.

Clatter!

Irritated, the ape flung the sword down and trampled its hilt with one of its heavy, broad feet. The hilt should have spit out its glittering gems, releasing them all over the stones, but it remained unmarred as though still within its crafter’s caring hands.

“That is some sword,” Adelmar murmured.

“Yes…it is at that.” The young poet’s admiring eyes had fixed upon the blade as though it were the curve of Julianna’s hips.

He had not taken heed of it before, but he saw now that it was a truly kingly weapon: lean silver flowed gracefully to its jewel-crusted hilt that some might call gaudy, but that he would call the weapon of a warrior-king.

Would it not be incredibly handsome in his hand? Sparkling with the rise of the sun, it would catch its rays as he lifted it to courageously smite his foes! Yes…yes. It would even complement the Eye of Radiin about his neck, bringing both to ultimate perfection!

And its strength! A sword so delicate should have crumbled beneath the brute’s rude assault - which continued even through Haldrych’s greed-tinged thoughts - but it remained as steadfast as a mountain wall.

Oh, what he could do with such a thing! He could well imagine it!

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Haldrych Ameldan, warrior-poet, clad in the finest bronze with hair blowing in an icy wind! In his hand would glitter this blade like deadly ice while the Eye of Radiin would shine about his neck. They would erect his likeness, perfectly carved in marble, and women - so beautiful they would make the comely Julianna look a mere hag - would flock to his bedchamber!

A snow of silver? Pshaw!

He would soar above such paltry sums! He was transcendent! He would make it rain gold!

‘Yes, this was meant to be! The thief took my steed but I will take her weapon - it far better suits my hand!’ he thought in childish glee. At long last, he would gain the pieces needed to begin his new life.

His true life.

Haldrych leaned toward Adelmar. “Does this creature have a name?”

The merchant’s son shrugged distantly, struck as he was by the beast’s futile attempts to crush the obstinate blade.

“Erm,” the young poet cleared his throat.

The beast paused, with foot raised almost comically, and its bloodshot eyes bore into Haldrych. The future warrior-poet cringed from that gaze like a yearling lamb before a ravenous bear. “Erm…friend.” He tried to keep his voice from shaking. “I want to kill bad woman.” He pointed toward the sword. “Bad woman.”

He mimed a biting motion at his own hand and then ran a thumb over his neck as though slitting it. “Kill bad woman?”

The beast-man grunted. “Kill.”

Haldrych smiled. “Your master made you go away. Because bad woman hurt you.”

Another grunt. “Kill. Kill little bad woman.”

“Good, goooood,” the young poet urged, his eyes coming alight. “I want to kill too. …I.” He pointed at himself. “Will show you.” He pointed to the beast. “Where bad woman is.” He pointed to the blade. “So you can kill.”

With a simian whoop, the beast pounded the wall in excitement. “Bad woman I kill.” It pointed at Haldrych. “Show me where.” It pointed to its broad chest. “Then master happy.”

“Yeeeesss…” the young patriarch grinned. “You take sword and you kill slow. Then tell master you did good thing.”

“Yes! Good! Good!” the beast-man whooped, scooping up the blade in its ruddy paw. It was but a mere needle in its meaty hand. “You. Friend show me.”

“Yes!” the young poet said cheerily. “I’ll show you! Come!”

Whirling about, he started down the hall with the dumbfounded Adelmar following and the rangy beast-man loping behind.

“Haldrych…”

“Not now, Adelmar,” he hissed. “Do as I say.”

The unlikely trio stole through the mountain passageways, keeping to tunnels that were darkened and rarely travelled. At several points, the poet paused to stoke the creature’s excitement or calm its excited growls, but at last they came to a passage close to their quarry.

“It will be easy,” Haldrych instructed the creature once more. “Sneak in quiet. Lift away the rocks and stab her, then go see your master.”

“Good! Good!”

A hideous scraping sound burst from the beast-man’s throat, and it paused to groom some dust from the young patriarch’s dark robe. “Friend.” It said.

“Yes.” Haldrych agreed. “Friend.”

With a bloodthirsty snort, the bronze-clad beast loped toward its prey. It did not glance to its wake, for if it had, it might have caught the wide, victorious grin that the poet could no longer suppress.

“And so, my assassin flies, like an arrow thrown from my bowstring,” he snickered. “And into the heart of my enemy.”

“How…how did you do that?” Adelmar stammered, looking at his friend as though seeing him clearly for the first time.

Haldrych shrugged, his heart aglow with his own brilliance. “I am a poet, old friend. I have a way with words.”

“…fair enough,” the merchant’s son glanced down the passage. “So, what happens now, oh master planner? Do we follow him and watch?”

“No, no! We must be away from here, and quickly!” Haldrych caught his old friend’s arm and dragged him along at a trot. “We should abide far from this part of the mountain.”

“Why?”

The poet’s eyes shone with cunning. “Here is how it will end: the monkey will stab that little thief to death with her own sword and - hopefully - smash her body until it is jam. Then it will scurry back to its master with bloody sword in hand, and he will fly into a rage and slay it - it was already cast aside, after all, and now it would have gone against his will again. Then after your sacred Milos’ rage cools, I shall claim the blade for myself - it will suit me well - and that wretched little thief will be dead!” He paused his gloating to grin. “None will suspect we had anything to do with it! After all, the beast did have all the reason to go after the little whelp!”

“That…” Adelmar frowned, then smiled. “That’s good! Not sure if you’ll get the sword…but the rest is good.”

“Oh…I’ll find a way.” He gave a tight, giddy chuckle. “I am taking my fate back into my hands, and that sword is meant for me.”

His chest swelled with certainty. “It will find its way to me, in the end.”

----------------------------------------

Wurhi did not quite faint, after all.

But her knees did go weak and she did slide down the wall, dropping onto her rump while the sabre-toothed tiger mirrored her movement: sitting down upon its haunches.

‘Wait! Am I seeing things? Did that cat just nod?’

A pause.

“Okay…okay…okay, Wurhi.” She shook herself. “Let’s try and sort this out.” Her mind whirled, attempting to sift through recent happenings and wring some sense out of them. That mange-ridden bastard had thrown her down here with the tiger. It did not eat her because it probably didn’t like rat.

Wait…could she…ask?

She looked at the creature reluctantly, trying not to meet its sapient gaze. “You…you not like rat meat?”

A pause.

She sighed. Perhaps she had only imagined it nodding when it-

Ooooh, sweet mother of the gods now it was shaking its head! The thrice-damned rhinoceros sized cat was shaking its thrice damned head like a thrice damned human! Shit! Shit!

'So, this means the cat can understand,’ her thoughts raced. ‘Really, really damn well. But…’

Her brow furrowed in thought. Its master hadn’t said a word to it, no more than he had when ordering about his beast-man. No…if she really thought about it, he spoke to this beastie even less.

Why had he not said a word to it when he dropped her down into the hole?

Unless…

“Hey,” she addressed it again, but paused as the words caught in her throat. She was talking to an animal. Not talking at an animal, not calling it or cursing it or ordering it, she was talking to it. This was madness! Utter mad-

It grunted at her.

Somehow, she sensed a note of impatience in its tone.