Much as Flinzer hated to admit it, Moraney might be right.

After the barrage of blackbirds, Flinzer woke before dawn to a sky gone gray as a grave. He sprawled, half-frozen in a grove of shit-spattered ilex. His bedroll had more holes than a net. The fire was dead, and two men were missing. Black feathers fluttered everywhere. The storm of crows was no dream.

For a spell, Flinzer was too cold and afraid to move. Whent and Bluddox were gone, along with their gear. The two mutineers must have had enough after the airborne assault.

Could he even blame them?

Hard-hearted and numb-fingered, Flinzer tried to revive the fire. His striker clacked in vain, the sparks would not bite. His hands cramped—it was too dark, too damp, too cold, he was too old. The eternal woes of life in the elements were as insignificant to Flinzer as flies. The real wound was the way they’d left him.

Bluddox didn’t have the guts to shake his hand and meet his gaze before they parted ways. Whent didn’t bother to thank Flinzer for all he’d done or to curse him for all he hadn’t. Season after season, they shared Flinzer’s success and sorrows. How could they slink away like weasels in the dead of the night? They didn’t even have the decency to put another log on the fire.

Flinzer considered rousing the others to hunt the deserters down. Bluddox they could surely get. The big man was a whaler from west of Wyrth, more of a bruiser than a trooper. For years, at the back of the pack, there was always bowlegged Bluddox, plodding along with his huge double-headed axe strapped between his shoulders.

What of the other? If the two deserters should split up, Whent would likely escape. Whently Larone was a rapacious rogue with a raspy Nortan brogue. For years, Whent eked a lawless living in the accursed Cimbalwood, pitchcapping renegade wendigs and poaching bluehorn deer.

Eventually, his antics angered too many tribesmen and burned too many border lords. They rolled him right out of Norta. Where could he go now? Few would forget such an unfortunate face.

Flinzer doubted the pair would part ways. Instead, the two turncoats would surely trudge south on a long and hungry trek through bogs, barrens, and boonies. Snow was on the way. Perhaps they could reach civilization before the blizzard hit, but Flinzer wouldn’t bet on it. They’d wind up snowed-in somewhere, and one of them would snap, long before spring.

Flinzer finally got the fire going, more from stubbornness than skill. Flames licked up, and revenge flashed in his eyes. He could run them down. Three days, maybe four, and the deserters would be out of food and have to forage. Those two didn’t know any tricks Flinzer hadn’t taught them. He could swoop upon them and step on their necks for their disrespect.

The notion had a certain sadistic savor, but it was a flimsy fantasy. There was no profit in such pursuit, and morale was in short supply. If Flinzer started settling scores to assuage his petty pride, the others would mutiny. Bitter as it was, he had to be the bigger man.

Again.

“They gone?” Cocker’s croak broke the silence. He pointed at the bare earth where Bluddox’s bedroll once was. The snowflakes began to stick.

Flinzer blinked at the insipid question. Cocker was the second son of a Tck’Hurr merchant, bedeviled with the archipelago’s archetypical high opinion of oneself. Cocker was once the captain of a clinker-built cutter, or so he claimed.

Flinzer genuinely couldn’t conceive of any self-respecting navy giving Cocker command of a rowboat. Still, Cocker was a fierce fighter, a decent drabber, and a helpful heel. Flinzer could rely on Cocker to suggest something stupid so they knew what not to do.

“Any coffee?” Ives wondered aloud.

There was only a little left, but Flinzer figured they could use a boost. Tomorrow wasn’t promised. He pulled the little pot from his pack. Ives and Ames stirred with interest at the sound of the silver clasps. Stripes slept on.

“So, they split. Can’t say I blame them,” Cocker dared.

“Rough welcome last night. Even the birds are against us,” Flinzer deigned to reply, now that the others were listening. He endeavored to turn the venom outward. Half his task was keeping these men from turning on each other.

“Lot of rough nights of late,” Cocker continued.

Flinzer set down the silver pot. This confrontation was a long time coming, but he’d hoped to make it to town before the argument erupted. A hot meal and a night of drinking might have smoothed things over. No such luck. The showdown was now.

“Bad year. Our luck’s been rough,” Flinzer agreed.

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“I guess Whent and Bluddox had enough.”

Ives and Ames were wide awake and watching. The tension cried louder than a cockerel. Stripes snored on. Flinzer had seen him sleep through earthquakes and monsoons.

A lifetime ago, Flinzer took a contract to catch a Yarlee privateer who’d turned full pirate. For half a year, Flinzer was outsailed by the wily Yarlee captain. The renegade corsair danced from port to port, always a horizon ahead of Flinzer’s lumbering cog. Finally, a furious storm forced the Yarlee to drop anchor in Pelikle Bay.

Fueled by frustration, Flinzer’s ship flew into the storm and rammed the pirate vessel at full sail. With a brace of bounty hunters at his back, Flinzer boarded the ship and challenged the Yarlee captain to single combat upon the pitching planks. The prideful pirate accepted the duel, but he was a better sailor than swordsman. Flinzer ran him through.

With the score settled, Flinzer flung the pirate officers overboard and let them swim for it. He offered the surviving sailors and slaves their freedom and command of the broken boat. Spectacularly scarred Stripes spoke up and asked if he could sign on with Flinzer’s troop instead. In the years that followed, Flinzer never saw Stripes forgive a slight or forget a favor. Stripes was the one. He would follow Flinzer forever.

Certain of Stripes, Flinzer turned to Ames and Ives. They were the youngest of the bunch. Both men were second sons of Solkheric shepherds, born on warring ends of the Smaze. The volcanic valley swirled with smoke and seethed with strife. Ames and Ives’ tribes had been embroiled in a blood feud for better than a thousand years.

Traditionally, when second sons of the valley came of age, they set on fortune-seeking sojourns. Sheperdsons turned up in unlikely places all over the lake, brave and craving adventure. By chance, Ives and Ames happened to answer Flinzer’s call for new recruits on the same day. The moment they set eyes on each other, their faces blazed with ancient hate.

Flinzer was loath to hire both, but it had to be done. He badly needed men at the time. That was the sad, bloody season when Flinzer lost six in the frantic street fighting that followed the fall of Panger’s Palisade. Against misgivings, he took them on.

Two insufferable months of seething rivalry culminated in an all-night fistfight that both men somehow lost. As often happens, the shepherdsons became inseparable friends after beating the stuffing out of each other. With one Solkheric praxis shattered, others soon followed. Two years later, it was clear the pair would never return to the tradition-bound Solkheries. They were bounty-men now.

Three men he could depend on, down from forty. Flinzer glared at Cocker.

“If you want to leave, they went that way.” Flinzer pointed south.

“Maybe I ought to be leading instead of leaving,” Cocker quipped.

“Who do you think would follow?”

“I’ll tell you one thing, I’d have shown a bit more grit to grotty old Moraney. We’d all be sleeping snug inside that keep instead of pecked to pieces.”

“Did you miss those pikes pointed at my throat? Did you not see the sour smirk on Moraney’s heinous hog-end of a face? Get the scales out of your eyes and realize we were never getting inside, Cocker. Moraney’s just a dried-up pig-pucker. Regret it, rue it, that’s all there is to it.”

“I just think you could have— “

“No one gives a dwarf’s dingus what you think, big-talker Cocker. You want to lead? Do it. What bounty do you think the five of us can get that’s better than the course I’ve set? What’s your plan, man?”

Cocker was caught off guard. He hadn’t thought that far ahead, which was precisely the problem. Flinzer let him flounder.

“Bluddox and Whent must have had some notion. Else-wise, they wouldn’t have left. Why don’t we halt this half-baked, crow-cursed hunt? Let’s find them and bring them back into the fold,” Cocker proposed.

Flinzer saw right through his bluster. The real issue was, Cocker was a superstitious sort, afraid and looking for an excuse to break. He would have left last night with the others if they’d wanted him along.

“We don’t need to chase those two because there isn’t half a brain betwixt them. They fled from fear not foresight. Let me tell you exactly how this will go, Cocker. Wayward Whent and base Bluddox will waddle no more than half a day away before they realize they have made a colossal mistake. They’ll crawl back to me by sunset, tails between their legs. They have no choice. Summer’s done. No other troop will take them. If those two turn brigand, we’ll be hunting them down come spring.”

“I just think that—“

“Hey, Cocker,” Stripes cut Cocker off. Bedrock that he was, Stripes was still flat on his back. He spoke straight up at the sullen sky.

“Yeah?” Cocker took the bait.

“Road’s that way.” Stripes pointed toward his toe. Ives and Ames nodded at each other. Flinzer felt a surge of hope. They were still with him.

“All right. I see how it is.” Cocker sulked. Theatrically, he began to pack.

“Cut it, Cocker.” Flinzer held out a hand. Shame-faced, Cocker continued to stuff his bird-pecked backpack.

“We have no real quarrel. It’s this sorry situation that’s got us vexed. Moraney’s a scabby old goat with no morals and no manners. As for the nightbirds, who knows? Maybe it’s witchcraft, as Moraney claims. Most likely we disturbed their nest and paid the price. Either way, no bird gets between me and my bounty. Imagine slogging all this way and giving up over some feathers and fluff!”

The men brightened a bit at his bravado. Flinzer was, after all, the only one who’d stood tall against the madness of crows.

“I say, enough gloom and doom. Pride has no place in pursuit. There’s a tavern at the end of today, and we’re well overdue for a break. If you want to, you can stalk off and dwindle away all winter in this godforsaken waste. As for me, I mean to take down Threewolf and get some revenge for my pecked-apart bedroll. A four-way split would suit me fine.”

Cocker’s mouth made a tight line. Flinzer almost had him back.

“I tell you what else, boys. I’m gonna take my cut of that big, beautiful bounty and seed it until it blooms into an army of bounty hunters. I’ll call them up from all over the lake. When summer rolls around, I am going to siege Skywark and sack that stupid keep. I’ll hang Moraney by the balls over his own moat.”

Flinzer screwed up his face into a crinkled impression of Old Man Moraney’s and spat. Cocker had to laugh, and it caught on. They were still snickering when dawn broke.