“Why do they call you Threewolf?” Flinzer asked.

“Why not?” the giant rumbled. Up close, his eyes were brighter and his frame was larger than Flinzer remembered. The sword at his side was the same, worryingly huge.

“I count nine wolves not three.”

Flinzer fought to keep his voice from quavering. Nine sets of hungry amber eyes watched him from between the birch as they’d shadowed him for leagues. Every step he took was at their mercy. Had the pack attacked, Flinzer’s sword might have worked for one or two. But he was only one man. They could have dragged him down if they wanted.

Instead, the wolves kept close watch and let him slog on unmolested. It was a long, cold way to the ancient clearing. Threewolf waited, shadowed before the northern yew.

The night was quiet now, the moon was high. The skull meant to represent Flinzer was still tacked on the tree, though wind had trimmed away its beard of moss.

“I had three, long ago. Wolves breed. That obelisk used to stand straight. These yews were saplings, once. Men didn’t used to be so stupid. In the old days, if I spared a man, he was wise enough to never return.”

“Alas,” Flinzer said.

Threewolf slid his sword from its scabbard. In the twilight, the silver edge seethed with a crimson glow. Flinzer shriveled at the sight.

“Let’s get on with it.”

Flinzer drew his own utterly mundane sword, as insufficient as a toothpick against Threewolf’s masterwork blade. He tossed it into the dirt. Threewolf tilted his head.

“I’m no match for you. I didn’t walk this far just to die.”

“Then, why?”

“I have a proposition.” Flinzer grinned.

* * *

One fine summer morning, a murder of crows stole the sun and refused to release it. Their mischief persisted deep into the night. Crows beyond counting cawed and cavorted above Skywark Keep.

Enraged, Lord Moraney demanded every bird be shot down. His bowmen dutifully loosed into the darkness, but it was just a waste of arrows. The crows climbed out of reach and cawed all the louder.

At dawn, Moraney walked his spattered ramparts, lids drooped with disdain. For the second day, the sunrise was obscured by a boundless bevy of blackbirds. Moraney sniffed and spat. The crows could not keep this up forever. If Threewolf thought he could spook Lord Malorn Moraney with a bit of bird shit, he was dead wrong. They’d have blackbird pie and wait for the next crop of bounty hunters to arrive.

Threewolf was surely slipping. He hadn’t even killed the last batch. Flinzer and his flunkies had departed in disgrace months ago.

“We’ll see, indeed.” Moraney sneered. His cackle became an ‘Ack!’ as a brazen crow swooped down and knocked off his lordly hat. A retainer scooped it up and tried to put it back on Moraney’s head, but he slapped the churlish servant. The velveteen coif was streaked with leavings.

“Go wash that!” Moraney howled. His farsighted eyes spied motion on the road. He hoped it was more bounty hunters. Moraney’s sentries ought to have sounded the horn, but they were worthless, hiding inside to keep their uniforms clean.

Incensed, Moraney howled for his scope. An aide hastened to his side with the precious spyglass. Moraney yanked it from his hands, sheltered beneath an awning, and peered down the road.

It was bounty hunters, all right. Familiar green eyes glinted back at Moraney as the graybeard waved at him. Flinzer! Moraney’s miserly heart skipped a beat. Had they got their mark? Was that what the crows were cawing about? Was Threewolf dead at last?

With regret, the landlord remembered the dickering at the drawbridge. Slippery as an eel’s arse, Flinzer had pried an oath from him before witnesses. Moraney would have to actually pay the bounty. Then, he remembered his plan for this contingency. In his treasury was a pouch, stuffed with a hundred completely convincing counterfeit Khemerian coinfish. Moraney cracked a wicked grin. Flinzer would be a hundred leagues away before he realized he’d been had.

Moraney wrung the focus of his spyglass, trying to see if he could make out Threewolf’s head. He noticed Flinzer’s troop was more numerous. Hadn’t there been seven of them? Moraney distinctly remembered the figure from dithering over the divvy. Double that number were marching up the hill. No, thrice that. They kept coming. Soon, a hundred men were mustered at the top of the path. Perhaps they meant to claim a coin apiece, but Moraney could not see any sign of the giant’s head. His grin became a grimace. These men meant trouble.

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

It did not matter. With her present garrison of forty defenders, Skywark Keep could repel a thousand scruffy bounty hunters. As he peered through the crowd, Moraney recognized other unfriendly faces. There were other hunters, men who had stood on the bad end of the drawbridge and been snubbed, just as Flinzer had. The graybeard had scraped together the scant survivors from a dozen other bands.

“RAISE THE DRAWBRIDGE! SOUND THE ALARM! ROUSE THE GARRISON!” Moraney shouted to be heard above the crows.

A page rang the alarm bell. Skywark Keep rose in a roar of rattling spears and clanking armor. Bowmen raced into position. Whatever folly Flinzer’s rabble intended was bound to break against the stout walls of Skywark and wither beneath a hail of arrows.

The mercenaries could block the western road, but Moraney could simply summon reinforcements from the east. They had provisions to outlast months of siege. Indeed, the opposing army made no move toward the keep. They sat in the shade and waited.

What was their game?

Four white behemoths trundled up the switchback path, yoked to a sledge. As they drew closer, Moraney saw it was a team of tundra bears, dragging a load of thick timbers. Again, he screwed up his sour face. Were they going to put on a circus?

All day long, the team of bears lumbered up and down the path, five trips in total. The bounty-men worked in the sun as the keep languished beneath the blight of crows. Moraney watched the structure take shape with increasing despair.

It was an enormous trebuchet, a consolation gift from Flinzer’s old rival, Duke Tom. The men built an earth ramp to roll huge boulders into the bucket. There was nothing Moraney could do. The siege engine was well out of arrow range. He didn’t have enough men to charge out and battle the bounty hunters, let alone a pack of ferocious white bears.

Flinzer stood beside the trebuchet with a wide grin. He caught Moraney’s spying eye, popped a thumb in his mouth, and held it to the wind. It was too far to hear what he said, but Moraney could guess.

We’ll see.

There was only one saving grace; no Threewolf. Moraney was surprised the giant hadn’t come to witness Skywark’s downfall, but there was no sign of him. Just as well.

Moraney called up his marshal, Leones. Leones was the pudgy and superfluous third born son of King Cresmore, Lord of Adder Vale. Skywark Keep was supposed to be a quiet post, the perfect place for a useless political appointee.

On a normal day, there was nothing for Leones to attack besides a second helping of dinner. At this dire hour, Leones the Lard was worse than worthless. The peacock plume atop his captain’s hat was plastered flat by crow crap.

“Leones! You are to hold the line to the last man. We’ve got to stall them long enough for reinforcements to arrive. I’m off to send word to your father. You have the wall!” Moraney ordered.

Leones’ lip trembled as he saluted. A minor blessing, the manchild was too light on logistics to realize Moraney’s proposal was impossible. Aid would not arrive for days.

Moraney issued a jumble of contradictory orders to his aides to disperse them. Alone, he slipped into the keep and scurried down to his vault. No one was watching.

Moraney unlocked the iron door and barred it behind him. Safe, he stuffed a sack with his choicest treasures. At the back of the vault, a secret passage was concealed behind the backing of a massive oaken wardrobe. Moraney pried open the false panel and descended the hidden way to the sewer. He recoiled at the stink and found the tunnel was choked with roots.

Moraney had to worm through the effluvia on his belly. He retched as he shoved the sack of treasures ahead of him. Plastered with filth, Moraney reached the end. The doorjamb of the escape was caked with rust and wouldn’t budge.

Desperate, Moraney planted his slimy feet against the rear wall and shoved with all his strength. It was barely enough. The door shrieked open, and he fell on his face. He blinked, blinded by the light of Adder Vale.

Relieved, Moraney crept from the concealing ivy and squinted at the brilliant afternoon. He was alive! Truly alive for the first time in decades. Skywark would surely fall, but he was free! As free as the eagle soaring high overhead. He only had to make his way east. Though his steps were slow, his mind swiftly spun a scheme.

It would take the invaders all day to conquer Skywark. Moraney only had to make it to the Scarlet Rill. There, he could scrub off this filth and bribe the ferryman to carry him south to the Denere River. Any misgivings the man might have would be swept aside by the glint of gold.

Then, the moment his guard was down, Moraney would strike. He’d backstab the boatman, reclaim the bribe, and dump his body. The ferryman could tell no tales from the bottom of the river. A week downriver would carry the stolen boat into Yarlee territory. Moraney could book passage on a southerly ship and sail half the Arc away.

Later, there would be time to plot revenge. For now, he just had to reach the Rill. Once Moraney was on the boat, Flinzer would never find him. The filthy sack held riches enough to begin a new life somewhere far, far away from the accursed keep.

“Lord Malorn Moraney,” a deep voice called down from the trees.

Moraney clutched his chest and nearly keeled from fright. The leaves seemed to fold into the very air as Threewolf peeled off his skein of sorcery. The giant’s steps began silent and gained weight with each stride toward Moraney until they rattled his rotten teeth. Cold blue eyes froze the old man in place.

“You can’t be here!” Moraney squawked. Skywark Keep was the only path to Adder Vale.

“Oh? I wouldn’t let a few mountains come between our friendship.”

Threewolf held out huge hands, scored and raw from climbing. The cliffs that flanked the keep were sheer walls of frozen stone, utterly unscalable. Just as the walls of Skywark were unassailable. Just as the secret passage was unknown to all. Moraney glanced back at the passage and wondered who had betrayed him to Threewolf.

“I was here long before they laid the first stone of that ugly keep. I will remain when the last brick crumbles. I know all the hidden ways. I knew you’d rabbit. How could you leave without settling the score? Here is your bounty, Moraney.”

Threewolf clapped a hand against his chest.

“Come and take it.”

Moraney turned and ran. He didn’t get far.

THE END.