Haldrych Ameldan seethed through clenched teeth.

His knuckles washed white as their grip tightened on the rail. Oak bit his palms, but the ache hardly measured to the churning in his belly. What was left of Marctinus coated the mountainside where he had retched out his innards.

“Steady, man, steady,” Adelmar gripped the young patriarch’s shoulder. “Breath.”

“Why!?” Haldrych’s cry tore through the summits. His words echoed back through the ivory peaks in mockery.

“Shhh! Do you want to kill us!?” the merchant’s son hissed. He cautiously glanced about the gallery - a rough, weathered thing wedged into a narrow crevice upon the mountainside. Half had long collapsed to rubble in the snows of an isolated plateau below.

Cracks spiderwebbed through the intact stone, and he did not fancy testing its stability and risking a burial beneath rock and debris. Haldrych’s end would be swift, but - with the curse of Lycundar empowering him - he would face a dreadfully lingering death.

“I brought you here to release your frustrations in private, not crush us beneath half the mountain,” he whispered.

His old friend shuddered before him. “This is the brotherhood you promised!?” the young poet gave a choked cry. His eyes, reddened and swimming from tears, fixed upon his oldest companion. “That…that…he killed Marctinus! He made me…he made us eat him!”

“I know, I know, Haldrych,” the werewolf muttered, gnawing his lip. His eyes fell to the pines rising from the plateau below. Isolated as they were, his mind conjured all manner of things hiding within those trees.

In his rational thoughts, he knew well that they lay empty: the cliffs below the copse proved too sheer for even Milos’ beast-man to scale. Without wings, any creature would need to use the small passage to this gallery to reach it.

Still, the ill fortune that had plagued circumstance as of late left him unsure of anything, and his mind materialized a score of leering fiends in the shadows between the trunks.

“Things keep running awry.” He shuddered, shaking his head. “First the theft in your house, then the massacre at Paradise. Then the thieves kill one of the Hunt Leader’s pets and now this.” He glanced to where Haldrych had retched. “It makes one wonder if Lycundar’s is not the only curse that follows us.”

A niggling doubt rose in his mind; one that gnawed even the ravenous beast that had come to abide within his soul. He gave Haldrych an uncertain glance. “Haldrych…perhaps…do you think…”

His words stopped.

“What? What is it?” the young poet demanded. “We’re long past dancing around anything now, Adelmar.”

The merchant’s son grumbled. “Well, maybe your mother… Could she be…”

He let the statement stand. The low, bitter mountain wind tugged his beard and Haldrych’s hair.

“…cursing us?” the young poet gave a mirthless laugh, turning as he did. The Eye of Radiin swayed beneath his neck. “It would surprise me not: she stood in my way in life, why not in death?”

“I do not jest, Haldrych.” Adelmar leaned onto the rail, taking care not to place too much weight upon it. He watched a tiny line of riders leaving the palisade in the valley below, kicking up wisps of cloudy snow as they pounded toward Laexondael.

No doubt it was Hunt Leader Jairus - leading more acolytes in the name of righteous vengeance. Or so he planned.

“I am beginning to get an ill feeling.” The werewolf’s face darkened. “Nothing has occurred the way it should have. We must be cautious.”

“Cautious? Why?” Haldrych’s voice grew agitated. “What else could muck up now?”

“I do not know. And that’s just the thing.” He sighed, gesturing to the majestic peaks framing the valley. “Look at this place, Haldrych. This is where a man belongs: not cooped up in a mountain, fearing a dead woman’s curse! You-” he gestured. “-are supposed to be preparing for your grand adventure! Ready to create verses about it, like you wished!”

The young poet’s jaw tightened. “Marctinus was to bear me throughout that venture.”

“And now he never will,” his oldest friend finished. “…though I suppose you could purchase a new steed.”

“That I will have to do,” Haldrych’s lip curled. “But he did not deserve this. I do not deserve this.”

“It’s those thieves’ fault,” the werewolf growled. “Were it not for them, all would be well! The full moon continues for another two days! This should be a time of celebration!”

“The bloody Rat and Hawk should be called ‘The Eels’, for how slippery they are! Hmmm,” the young patriarch grew thoughtful. “…Adelmar. What’s the alpha’s-”

“Sacred Alpha,” the merchant’s son corrected.

“-oh yes, thank you. What’s the Sacred Alpha’s game? Why not execute them and be done with it?”

A grunt followed. “He works in Lycundar’s way: the laws of struggle and suffering.”

“Why for them?” Haldrych demanded. “The wolves slaughtered those in Paradise with hardly a thought and - if I am to be honest - they did nothing to us. Yet these thieves are allowed to keep their lives through trial of battle? It makes no sense!”

“I…hrm.” Adelmar frowned. “Perhaps…”

He glanced toward the passage in the mountain.

Neither sound nor scent emerged from within. They remained alone.

“Did you see that bald man that supped with us? The one that led the pit fighters?”

“…yes. What about him?”

“Well.” Adelmar’s eyes shifted to the passage once more before quieting his words. “The Sacred Alpha is putting him under trial…to induct him as one of Lycundar’s children.”

The young poet frowned. “And? What does…oh.” His eyes widened. “Do not say that he means the thieves to join with us? While poor Marctinus sits in their bellies?!”

“I say nothing. But the implication…” Adelmar spoke half to himself. “They were invited to his table, along with Crixus.”

“Who?”

“The bald one. They were granted the same place as he was. …I heard the beast-man broke the woman-thief’s hand and the little man was branded but…”

“The punishment for thieves is to have a hand removed!” Haldrych cut him off. “By the gods, I think you have it! He means to reward them! Why?! We cannot allow this!”

“I do not like it either, but his word is law!” Adelmar snapped. “Once his edict is given, it is done! Only the Council of Twelve might oppose the will of a Sacred Alpha: we cannot go against his word.”

“Hmmmm. Perhaps we cannot oppose openly,” Haldrych wore a contemplative look. “We secretly took fate and death into our hands once. Why not again?”

Several breaths passed before the merchant’s son realized his meaning. He gasped. “Haldrych, that is madness!”

“You say madness, but I say justice.”

“He will know!”

“Will he now?” Haldrych’s lips curved into a sly smile. “Think of it, we…” He paused. “We slew my mother in her own bed, and none were the wiser.”

“No.” Adelmar took a step back. “The Sacred Alpha can smell treachery.”

“But it is a big mountain,” the young poet pushed on, gesturing down toward the palisade below. “One full of monsters and dangers…and your Sacred Alpha cannot be everywhere, can he?”

Adelmar paused. “That he cannot, but surely they will fight in the pit again, and surely they will perish!”

“And if they do, we needn’t lift a finger.” Haldrych placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “But if they do not? Then we wait. An opportunity will arise: there will be something we can use that cannot point to us.”

“Haldrych…I…”

“Adelmar. I ask this thing of you, as one friend may ask of another. They ate Marctinus.”

The merchant’s son shifted uncomfortably. “Can we not let that pass? We slew your mother and you bear that with broad shoulders.”

A odd look crossed Haldrych’s face - a phantom of passing horror, chased away by a belligerent spite. “She needed to die.” He insisted. “Because she meant to destroy the path of my life! Marctinus did nothing yet payed the ultimate, depraved price!”

He strained beneath stifled wrath.

“How am I to bear it, Adelmar? To see those who wronged me thrive among my peers?!” His grip tightened. “I am to seek my fortune in the world! Am I to do this while my offenders snicker their poison behind my back!? Am I to allow them to sneer at how they visited evil upon me and escaped my wrath!?” He nearly choked. “You ask me to bear such humiliation? I could not cast myself as a hero within my odes with this lying upon me!”

A silence hung between the two men.

Adelmar sighed. “Haldrych…you know I will stand by you as I have since we were boys, but-“

“Please do not add the word ‘but’! I swear, if we cannot do this safely then I shall forget it, but if we can…if we can…”

He let it hang.

The merchant’s son’s mind worked, measuring risk against obligation of fellowship. At last, one won out. “So it shall be: if opportunity arises, we will see them dead. But only if it is completely certain we will not be caught!”

Haldrych grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. “If only you were my brother!”

“Hah.” A mocking grin answered. “My mother could never make such an ugly child.”

“Juliana thought me beautiful!” The young poet’s smile took a leering quality. “She could not get enough of me! Do you distrust the taste of that goddess?”

“I do not,” Adelmar chuckled. “She thought your silver beautiful and could not get enough of your gold!”

“Bah!” Haldrych waved a dismissive hand. “She spurned my coin when last I saw her. Little fool.”

“Hrm,” the werewolf glanced toward Laexondael. “…do you think she still lives?”

The young poet shrugged. “If the gods saw fit to spare her. It is none of my concern.” He wrapped his robe tightly about his shoulders. “Pfeh, let us go back inside. I am chilled to the bone.”

“Agreed.” The merchant’s son looked toward the iron grey clouds. “Could you imagine if we truly had gone on that winter hunt? In this weather?”

“Good gods,” Haldrych shuddered. “We would be as dead as those filthy thieves will be.”

“A hunting trip?” Jeva’s eyes widened toward the iron grey clouds. “In this weather? The poor boy’s likely to catch only his death!”

Fangolf shook his head wearily as the two older men trudged across the Ameldan estate. Icy wind lashed their heavy furs and bent the crest on the guard captain’s helm.

“I warned Master Ameldan of just such a thing.” The taller warrior threw a look toward the outer wall, contemplating a tree close to the labyrinth of hedges. A thief had escaped near that very tree, though he cared little for that.

What truly ground his teeth was that poor Lady Ameldan’s slayer lurked somewhere out in the world. Perhaps in Laexondael. Perhaps in the wilderness or mountains.

But whichever, they lurked unpunished.

“So close to his mother’s death and with that burglary not four days past! Now I hear Paradise was besieged by monsters?” Fangolf’s brow tightened, and his growl dripped with frustration. “A winter hunt is a dangerous thing in the best of times, but now? Agh!”

Schwch!

He kicked up a spray of white along their path. “I tried to warn him, Jeva,” he growled. “But Master Ameldan…”

He looked about.

The grounds lay empty save for the gusting winds.

Jeva clapped a hand on the captain’s armoured shoulder. “Speak freely, old friend,” he said seriously. “You know well that I hold confidences.”

Fangolf glanced about once more, ensuring they were truly alone.

Then he sighed. “…I ask that you keep this to yourself: Master Ameldan’s behaviour has been - I know it is not my place to say - but it is appalling, Jeva. His father, and ye gods, his mother - I still can hardly believe that Lady Ameldan is…”

He shook his head. “Both Lady and Lord would wring their hands in the after-world. He treats the servants with such ill respect and carries himself so poorly. And the coin he spends…”

His shoulders drooped. “I fear it might be the end of the house. He even spurned a fine marriage Lady Ameldan had brokered. Even that was denied her in death. Bah! The boy has built himself a cage of prettied words and ill-thought dreams!”

“All the more reason I must find him, Fangolf.” Jeva’s hand tightened on the captain’s shoulder. “There are certain matters that came to light in the attack…involving a certain woman named Juliana.”

The guard captain grimaced. “Master Ameldan spoke highly of her many times. He even wrote some of his poems about her beauty. Is she well?”

“I…cannot say. It is a matter that Master Ameldan must know of if he is to keep his reputation…and perhaps even his life.”

“Oh by the gods. Would that I could help, Jeva.” Fangolf spread his hands helplessly. “But I know not where he is. I know Adelmar Horvoth accompanies him. Perhaps his household-”

“I have already gone there,” the seneschal said. “And they knew less than nothing. Please, Fangolf. Even a direction would help.”

The guard captain sighed, looking north to the Midgard Mountains. “He only said that he and Master Horvoth would ride into the peaks to hunt winter stag. But it is a large range.”

“The mountains…” Jeva followed Fangolf’s gaze.

A hint of steel lay in his eyes.

“Of course, of course…” he mused, before turning back to the captain. “I believe your words will be helpful enough. I will send some capable friends of Paradise to seek him out, and his companions as well.”

He smiled graciously and gave the warrior a nod of his head. “You have done your house a great service today, Fangolf. I shall take my leave now. Expect a jug from the Olubrian vineyards to come your way soon and - again - my condolences over your matriarch, my friend.”

“I’ll drink it happily only if you come and share it with me, Jeva. You too have your own problems.”

“I do.” Again, the seneschal looked to the mountains. “But I suspect many of them will be solved soon enough.”

“And that is what I learned,” Jeva finished. “If any truth lies in what Haldrych Ameldan told his household, then the beasts’ lair may lie in the mountains. Considering how many came to the city, I daresay it must be close. Is that of aid to you and Saint Cristabel, Master Kyembe?”

The Spirit Killer’s crimson eyes rose to the mountains - visible in the distance between the weather-beaten stones framing the alleyway. His eyes narrowed. “I think you have given us a fine lead.” Kyembe bowed to Jeva. “You have my thanks, Master Jeva. You have done much, and I owe you more.”

The seneschal bowed in return. “As I said, I am at your disposal. This was the least I could do.”

“Wolves do often hide in the mountains of the world,” Cristabel agreed.

Crrrrk.

She cracked her knuckles.

“It shall be a good place to begin our search. Let us retrieve our full armament from Paradise and proceed post-haste.” Her eyes burned with blue balefire.

“We have a mighty reckoning ahead of us.”

“Indeed. A great debt to be paid. And a friend waiting.” Kyembe’s crimson eyes hardened. “Let us not keep her waiting.”