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Between Winters

Part X

One Magic Fox

Ashford Tanner took a deep breath and squinted against the piercing sunlight that showered the forest meadow in rich hues of yellow and green. With thornbills above and daffodils below, this was a fine day for a battle. Across from him stood a badgerkin, armed with a crude but heavy staff. He stood one head shorter than Ashford but was stockier and more muscular than a human.

"We both knew that it would come to this some day", Ashford taunted his opponent while he unsheathed his sword. "It's just down to you and me now, stripes".

Snowheart bared his fangs in a snarl and pointed his quarterstaff at Ashford, "I don't know what is more deadly; your sword or the human stench that you carry."

Whenever Ashford got into a brawl, he could normally predict the next move of his opponents by watching their eyes. Sometimes they would glance to one side when preparing for a strike, or twitch nervously if they felt overpowered, but in this case, it was useless: Snowheart had two black orbs for eyes which revealed nothing. No emotions, no anger, no fear. All Ashford knew was that the nocturnal badger was almost blinded by the bright sunlight.

Snowheart began to twirl his quarterstaff and circle slowly around Ashford. "He's trying to locate me by sound and smell", so Ashford stood motionless and silent until the moment seemed right. Then he leaped forward three paces and slashed his sword at the badger, who deflected the blow with his staff. Snowheart countered the strike, hitting Ashford square across the back with a loud "whack!"

"I heard you moving through the leaves," the badger explained.

Ashford winced and waited until he could catch his breath. "Damn! You hit hard."

"Sorry... I didn't mean to."

"He doesn't know his own strength". Ashford was happy that this was only a friendly round of practice; if Snowheart had not held back, the impact could have injured him seriously. Ashford began to shift his sword back and forth from hand to hand. This was a move that had no practical use, but it sometimes gave his opponents the unnerving impression that Ashford was ambidextrous or knew what he was doing. "Any trick goes", but Snowheart seemed unimpressed. "How can you impress someone with fancy moves when they can't even see you?"

If any of their fellow travellers from the trade caravan had been watching, they would notice that the fighting styles of man and badger were very different: Ashford had been trained in combat through drunken brawls and some months of practice at fort Jaansworth. This made his style unpredictable and unbalanced, but also dangerous. Snowheart wielded a simple wooden staff with the extraordinary strength that characterised the badgerkin, but he had learned most of his combat skills through studying traditions and his style was stiff and still inexperienced.

Ashford picked up a large branch from the forest floor and began to circle it above his head. "If he heard me moving through the leaves before, this oughta confuse him". The noise of wind rustling through the leaves caught Snowheart's attention, and moments later Ashford let go of the branch sending it flying. The whistling noise diverted the badger's focus for just a split second, and a split second was all that Ashford needed to make a dash and pummel himself headfirst into Snowheart's midriff with a "Die! Snowball, Die!", and an impact that sent his quarterstaff flying.

Ashford pointed his sword at the badger's neck, "I hereby pronounce you dead, my friend. You owe me a drink."

"Did you just call me Snowball?", asked the badger. "If this had been for real, I'd have bitten you".

The two friends headed back towards the caravan and specifically the wagon of Strongbelt's Wine and Grog. Here Ashford took the opportunity to bring up a widespread rumour pertaining to the badgerkin, "Is it true that you guys bite until you feel the bones snap?"

"You know, I never cared enough for the taste of humans to find out".

---

Sir Oghier had returned to fort Jaansworth after the battle of Grimslade Plains, but somehow his mind had remained behind among the fallen soldiers. His body now sat in a comfortable chair facing a west window at the old fort, one hand clenching a chalice of luke-warm grog and eyes unfocused on infinity. The hypertensive blush so characteristic of his appearance had faded into a pallid grey, but the bottomless thirst for strong wine remained unchanged.

Ted Arbinger removed the chalice, which was now pouring its tepid contents into Sir Oghier's lap and placed it on a nearby table.

"The orcs knew our every move." Sir Oghier's voice was little more than a whisper.

"Remain calm, my friend", Arbinger comforted Sir Oghier. "They used strange and dark magic and you are not to blame for the outcome at Grimslade Plains".

Arbinger glanced at Sir Forwan and the Grand Duke Helies of Oakenford, and both nodded back in supportive agreement. "It is true that the Orcs had already planned a response to our every strategy before the battle had even started, but I can assure you that Sir Oghier could have done nothing different", Arbinger turned towards Sir Forwan, "and I believe that I know the cause of our defeat."

Both Sir Forwan and Duke Helies looked at Arbinger in anticipation. "Gods, the truth is simple", he thought "but uncomfortable". The Sabrehold Knights had not changed their combat strategies for centuries and still relied on the archer/mounted units/infantry combination that had served them well many times before. The orcs, on the other hand, had proven adjustable. They made full use of what forces they had and formed new alliances to complement them. The orcs had used magic - a simple weather spell that conjured forth a gust of wind, so light that it could barely pluck a seed from a dandelion, but the force created by simultaneous casting by many orc sorcerers turned the wind into a raging storm that had plucked hundreds of arrows out of the air.

"We got beaten by a simple weather spell, end of story!".

He was tempted to say it aloud and shake some sense into his aging superiors, but he knew that the Sabrehold knights frowned at the use of magic. Still it was obvious that the human alliance needed to include magic in their strategy, and to harness spells much more powerful than some weather display.

The order had grudgingly accepted the fact that he could channel magic and had allowed him to take up a part-time apprenticeship with Sebastian, but the healing magic that he studied with the mage could never win the war. However, if Sebastian was right in his wild-eyed fantasies, tomes of unspeakable power had been hidden away in the lost and fabled Library of Tamaria.

Fancy dreams aside, Arbinger itched to get his hands on whatever ancient knowledge that was hidden within. "With such knowledge, I could win the entire war for the alliance". Yet, Arbinger also knew that the knights would not allow him to go hunting for that library. They disagreed strongly with his interest in the arcane arts, and with Sir Oghier currently incapacitated, Arbinger would have to take over some of his duties.

There was only one person left in Namairith now, that he could rely on to locate the library in his place - and she was not willing to go.

Arbinger took a deep breath; "Your highness, we have a spy in our midst."

---

"Don't be ridiculous, Arbinger", Sir Forwan spluttered. He had heard Arbinger speak against protocol on quite a few occasions, but this was madness. "No knight of the Sabrehold would ever betray the order".

"I assure you, the spy is not to be found inside these walls". Arbinger took a sip of wine and calmly waited before continuing". "The boy is good", thought Sir Forwan "he knows when to make a dramatic pause" and he glanced at the Duke whose attention was fully on Arbinger.

"The planning for the attack took place in Oakenford", continued Arbinger. "The city is home to many good men, but it is also filled with creatures of sharp senses. Pointy noses, luminescent eyes, sensitive ears. Foxes, kisanti, badgers. Are you sure where their allegiances lie?"

"Badgers are trustworthy", argued the Duke. "Their council has always been loyal and sworn to neutrality when situations arose."

"If this is true, then where is their council now? Don't you find it strange how the badgers have kept oh so quiet throughout the whole affair? They have had plenty of time to intervene."

"and the foxes?" asked sir Forwan, mostly out of curiosity.

"The foxes have always been poor, and they have suffered greatly under the blood cough plague. They are desperate for money and medicine, and what better way to make an extra coin than selling a bit of information. These are simple creatures that will do anything for gold."

Sir Forwan was not sure that he bought the premise of some outside spy eavesdropping on the planning, but the explanation relieved the Order of any responsibility for the defeat. Having being spied upon in Oakenford further carried the bonus of placing the blame halfways on the Duke himself, who was ultimately responsible for the security in the city. so Forwan nodded with honest enthusiasm when Duke Helies looked to him for confirmation.

"But what would you have us do?", asked the Duke. "Surely you don't expect us to interrogate every beastkin in the entire Oakenford. That would take months!"

"Oakenford is not safe as long as the streets run wild with beastfolk", insisted Arbinger. "They must be encouraged to leave Oakenford while we are at war. Those among the beastfolk who are honest and right-minded will understand that this little sacrifice it is for the greater good - and for their own".

"There is one fox that we do need to keep in the city, though", said Duke Helies. "She works with Victor the herbalist, and together they have almost cured the city of the blood-cough".

Sir Forwan noticed a sudden change in Arbingers posture brought on by the Duke's words. The young man clenched his teeth and his eyes narrowed in - what seemed to be subdued rage. He wondered why Arbinger reacted so strongly to this particular individual?

"Perhaps my Lord remembers...", Arbinger moved close to Duke Helies, almost whispering into his ear, "the days before Victor and the fox began to mass-produce the cure? The citizens of Oakenford were grateful for every potion that the city council bestowed upon them. Your highness could reward select individuals for outstanding commitment so richly, simply by offering them the gift of life, while those who had fallen out of favour could, well, contemplate the wrong of their ways while they waited for that rarest of potions."

"But look at them now!", Arbinger pointed to the window. "Now they take the cure for granted, even asking themselves why the cure is distributed so freely now when not before, and why it comes from a civilian rather than the council. We must stop thinking of the plague as an enemy. Think of it, as an ally - only right now, that ally is asking for directions."

Sir Forwan finally understood. "I believe that Arbinger is right. We would do well by separating Victor from the fox. He who controls the cure controls the people. He who controls the people controls the economy. He who controls the economy controls Namairith. The magic fox has got to go."

Duke Helies smiled, "I'm beginning to see great promise in the young and soon-to-be "Sir" Arbinger". He reached into his robes and produced a sack of coin, which he put on the table. The few gold pieces only amounted to an insubstantial sum, but it served as a token of funding to come.

"Sir Forwan", he insisted, "I want you to give this promising young knight free hands to take over Oghier's units and also free hands to get to the root of this spying issue, using whatever means that he sees necessary".

Sir Forwan gritted his teeth. He was not used to taking orders from anyone, and certainly not from someone who had never served in the army, but the promise of gold also guaranteed power and the continued existence of the Order. By accepting the offer, the Order would remain blameless for the defeat, all at the expense of some beast folk. "man up soldier", he said to himself. "It's either human or beastkin, whose side are you on?", but he knew that he had grown soft over the years, fraternising with the foxes, drinking with the badgers and sleeping with the kisanti, "gods forbid anyone finds out".

With the friendliest smile that he could force his mouth to flash, he shook Duke Helies's hand. "We accept your kind offer my Lord, and you have my word that Sir Arbinger has our full support in solving this issue", and together they left for the main hall, leaving Sir Arbinger and Brett Oghier behind.

---

Brett Oghier had barely moved during the entire discussion. He seemed relieved by Arbinger's reassurance that the blame could be placed elsewhere, and he smiled sweetly at Arbinger while a quiet trickle of wetness ran down his leg and formed a splash of yellow warmth on the green marble floor.

Arbinger looked at him in pity and disgust. The spectacle was devastating for morale, he thought. As long as Oghier was alive, he would be a liability to the morale of the troops if they ever saw him in this condition. A hero's funeral, on the other hand, could boost morale for weeks and preserve Oghier's legacy as a wartime hero. Arbinger looked thoughtfully at the chalice that only moments ago had contained a rich and satisfying grog, but the cruel vessel was promiscuous and would not complain about hosting other, less canonical contents.

"let me pour you another drink my friend", he said and Oghier smiled gratefully and smacked his lips.

• -

The market day in Oakenford had never been this dead. Elora the apothecary quietly packed her wares into separate crates and stacked them on her trade wagon preparing herself for departure, as did the carpenter, the wainwright and the many merchants of imported goods. All had different wares on offer, but all had one thing in common: they were beastfolk.

Once they had felt welcome in Oakenford, but they had recently been accused of doing undercover work for the enemy, and the decree was for all beast folk to leave the city by the next morning. The identity or race of the spy had not been made public and was currently a matter of eager guesswork.

"nonsense!", said one voice "a Kisanti spy would never allow himself to get caught". "It must have been a fox", said another, "they can hear through walls, you know", "badgers? Well, I never trusted them. Peaceful one minute, then they'll bite until they feel your bones snap!".

In the case of human-beast hybrid, the paternal side defined the species. Thus, a half human-half fox was considered sufficiently human to stay, provided that the father was all human. Having a fox for a father, on the other hand, called for immediate expulsion.

Rhania was all fox, and apart from a distant cousin who had settled with a kisanti warrior at some point, her entire family-tree had remained entirely vulpine for any traceable number of generations. She had never given her background much thought in a land where so many species lived together, but now she felt very vulnerable and aware of her heritage.

This morning she had helped her parents pack their belongings, and had bought passenger seats for them on a carriage going east. She was now packing her own things in Victor's workshop when she felt a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It is terrible news, I'm so sorry", said Sebastian, "if there is anything I can do..."

"Thanks, Seb, you are a good friend, but as you can see I'm already packing", said Rhania. "The city council has decreed that all beastfolk must leave the city by tomorrow."

"I'm sure that you'll be alright", Sebastian assured her. "By pure luck or coincidence, the trade caravan heading south has just arrived outside the city. If we book passage, you can travel with it all the way to Farvale and join your kin".

"My kinfolk travel to Farvale on foot. Few foxes can afford the luxury of travelling by caravan."

"Truth is", said Sebastian and he blushed, "I had actually hoped that you might join the caravan and follow the trail of books that have leaked from Tamaria. It was selfish of me and I apologise, but I have dreamed of this for so many years, and with your talent..."

Victor stood still and watched Hugin and Munin. "The timing is a strange coincidence to some, but strangely convenient for others", he said quietly. Then he looked up and his voice held a determination that was very unusual for the mild-mannered mage "I think Sebastian is right, Rhania. You should join the caravan and use your power to trace and uncover the Library of Tamaria".

"Are you feeling alright?", Rhania looked at him in bewilderment. Of all three of them, he had been the most ardent opponent to the idea from day one; "An unimportant waste of time", had been his standard reply whenever the issue had been brought up, followed by "curing the blood cough is the only thing of importance" and "some things are better left alone". Why the sudden change of heart?

"Sebastian, I want you to go and fetch all the maps that you have on the library while I help Rhania pack". Rhania had never seen Victor this insistent. The stunned Sebastian wiped a tear of joy from his eye, then hastened back to his study.

Victor rummaged through his cabinets and took out a few flasks of potions that Rhania did not recognise.

"Sebastian might believe in your sudden change-of-heart display, but I'm not buying it. You are up to something."

"Here, put these in your backpack!", he handed her a few flasks.

"Potions?"

"It's not potion, it's linseed oil".

Rhania gave Victor a puzzled look. "But linseed oil is flammable as the abyss. What in Shaenor makes you think that I would ever put that stuff in my backpack?"

"How old do you think that Hugin and Munin are?", asked Victor and changed the subject.

"I'd say that your cat must be about eight years old, and the raven..the same, but what does that have to do with you stuffing linseed oil into my bags?"

"The fact is, that both animals are at least three hundred years old. Hugin and Munin were summoned into our realm from the abyss several hundred years ago, by that same kind of magic that supposedly rests in Tamaria. They are part animal and part... something unspeakable."

"I know, you mentioned something about claws and teeth and "something", Rhania wiggled her fingers the way that she had seen Victor do when describing the otherworldly sides to the two animals.

"They have one set of paws in this world, and another set in the abyss. Fortunately, they are on our side - most of the time. They have served as guardian pets for generations, and I once saw with my own eyes how they changed, when two burglars broke into my workshop. Hugin and Munin changed...", Victor closed his eyes and went quiet for a few moments. "It is one of these things that you forever wish that you could unsee. Only, when you broke into my house, they left you alone. I'm grateful that they did, but I don't understand why."

Victor stroked the cat. "Is there something that I don't know about you guys?" The cat did not reply and only gave him a lazy green stare.

Victor's tone suddenly turned urgent. "Rhania, just think what could happen if knowledge of this type of magic resurfaced and wound up in the wrong hands - or in any hands, right or wrong? Maybe Sebastian is all wrong and the library only contains common knowledge. But if he is right, we have no idea of what we could unleash into our realm, but someone smarter than Sebastian is desperate to find out.

"But Victor, what is that you want me to do?"

"I want you to find the library of Tamaria, then burn the damned place down before someone summons the entire abyss into our world!"

---

"It's of no use!", shouted Rhania and cast an angry look at a stubborn wagon wheel "the wheel axle is too thick - I can't get it on". She gave a final attempt at putting the spare wheel onto the axle of the wagon but to no avail; the hole had the wrong diameter.

Ashford and Snowheart gently eased the caravan wagon back down. With a broken wheel and a spare that didn't fit, there was no way to progress any further that day.

"well, I'll be damned! That wheel was almost new". Edward Cooper the caravan master scratched his head with his one free hand. The other held the broken wheel of the passenger wagon that Rhania now shared with Snowheart, Ashford and K'luul. "I just don't see how it can break like this". He kneeled down and examined the spokes. The wood was strong and fresh, but there were some strange markings around the broken spokes as if an axe had been taken to them. He shrugged. Stranger things had happened, and they were not too far from the village of Millmeadow.

"There's a cartwright in Millmeadow a few miles down the road to the east. If you ride down there and get him, the rest of us will carry on in advance, and you can catch up with us later".

Cooper was right. The wheel had broken down with no prior warning, and the entire wagon tilted so badly that they could not use it for sleeping. Riding to Millmeadow and staying the night while the cartwright fixed the wheel sounded, not only like a practical solution but to Ashford the lure of a proper bed and possibly a proper tavern too sounded like a brilliant solution. "He's right, let's go y'all", and he lifted K'luul onto the horse with him.

Snowheart held Rhania's horse while she mounted it. She had joined the caravan at their stop in Oakenford, and had been assigned to the last bunk in the wagon that he shared with Ashford and K'luul.

Like so many other passengers who quickly grew bored with the uneventful days of travel, she had begun to help out around the caravan. Specifically, she had taken a great interest in helping out old Forgebeard, the bookseller. Snowheart had seen how she helped Forgebeard take in new books as they travelled from town to town. He watched her evaluate the books, and he had noticed how she almost caressed each single book with her hands before separating them into different crates according to subject. She had even brought a few with her back to the wagon. "It's funny", he had mentioned to Ashford during combat practice, "she really likes books about magic, but foxes can't channel at all."

"-and you really like HER, don't you?", Ashford blinked his right eye twice.

"She's beautiful - for a fox, I mean."

"well go get her, tiger".

"I can assure you that my family carries no feline blood", to which Ashford had just sighed.

---

Humansweatalefoodcookingfatwinebloodchickenvomit. The many scents hit Snowheart the moment he entered the tavern of Millmeadow, and he felt uncomfortable; it was too cramped, too stuffy, too much.

The humans were not bothered by the smell and their noses tired quickly. They didn't seem to mind their own noise either. There was laughing and shouting; some of the humans tried to get a conversation going, but their voices were drowned out by the shouting of other humans, so they just shouted even louder and laughed and belched and reeked. The only vacant table that they could find was close to the fireplace. "Now there's a stroke of luck", Ashford smiled and sat down and motioned for the waitress to bring them a pitcher of wine and three cups. Rhania shook her head, did not want to drink the wine. Like Snowheart she did not trust humans, intoxicated humans even less, and she certainly did not like to drink around them. Ashford shrugged and punched the badger's shoulder playfully "Guess that just leaves more for the two of us, eh buddy?", and poured them both a generous mugful of local brew. Snowheart took a few sips. Normally he enjoyed having a few drinks with Ashford, but his senses were overloaded by the place, and the heat from the fireplace was getting to him. "Gods, I think I can feel my fur melting", he said to Rhania who looked to be just as uncomfortable. Their eyes met, and Snowheart threw a short glance towards the door. Rhania nodded silently, and the two beastfolk got up.

Ashford had already fallen into conversation with a fellow patron, who immediately called for the waitress to bring them more wine - an offer that Ashford found very hard to turn down. The stranger smelled badly of unwash, but had an attractive, almost triangular face that slightly resembled that of a weasel. "Had he only been a proper weasel", Snowheart thought "-at least, we could have sat down for a chat", and he recalled how he enjoyed the company of the carefree weasels back in the woods around Badger's Rest, until the scent of the stranger gave him away - it was all human, and in that moment Snowheart felt very lonely. Rhania seemed to have read his mind, and she nudged his arm. Snowheart put his paw on Ashford's shoulder and let it rest there for a moment, the way that he had watched humans do "We'll be outside if you need us".

At first, Ashford gave him a puzzled look and motioned towards the cup still half full, then he noticed that Rhania was making preparations to leave as well. Then his mouth widened into a toothy grin, he blinked his left eye twice in succession. "You old rascal, you!" he slurred at Snowheart, then turned to continue the conversation with his newfound drinking buddy.

Snowheart and Rhania stood outside the inn and let their fur cool off under the stars.

"The gods weren't overly generous when they created humans", Snowheart sighed. "They have very little sense in their heads, no sense of smell and are very poor of hearing. In return they have what? The ability to see more colours than the rest of us".

"I see colours like they do, but their eyes work better than ours", said Rhania. "Victor tells me that those blurry things in the night sky are actually tiny little spots of light."

"Victor?"

"a human friend of mine in Oakenford. We work together, or rather - we used to do", Rhania sighed.

Snowheart suddenly felt a sensation rising inside that he had never felt before. Even though he had never met the human named Victor, he took an instant disliking to him.

"So, what is this Victor like?"

"Victor is very hard working, he is kind and considerate towards both his own kind and ours too, but he is also absent-minded and a little bit helpless -the way that most humans are."

Snowheart was not sure why he felt a slight anger towards Victor. He did not like the fact that Rhania worked along with the human. He felt that he was missing out on something, and he did not like the fact that Rhania was saddened by his absence.

"but I really prefer to be around your kind", she continued, "-around OUR kind". Rhania corrected herself and let out a short bark.

Snowheart looked at Rhania. Her vulpine features were very much in contrast to the wide-jawed muscular badger. "I'm a badger", he thought "I should be attracted to other badgers, not to foxes -that's how it works". But still, he found himself strangely attracted to this one. Even the way that she barked was beautiful to him, foreign as it was. He enjoyed standing next to her and taking in her scent, and whenever he accidently brushed against her fur it made him feel warm inside and wanting more of the same.

"You went quiet all of a sudden", Rhania interrupted his thoughts and nudged him. He looked into eyes that reflected brightly in the moonlight. They were light, much lighter than his and he had been told that foxes had eyes the colour of the sun. In that moment he would have given anything to know what it was like to see sun colour.

"I just thought that... maybe I would like to experience more than black and white, and maybe you could explain to me what it is like"

"I would love to", She said with a chuckle, "but, for now, I really have to go and watch K'luul while Ashford is away being all drinky and human-like".

"I'll sleep outside", said Snowheart "I need to clear my head."

He took her paw in his and found it impossible to let go. After wonderous moments of comfortable silence they met in a long embrace. Their noses touched before shyness set in and Rhania went inside, ears bent in embarrassment.

Snowheart realised "By the ears of Inaris, I've fallen in love with a fox".

Relationships between foxes and badgers were not unheard of, but it was an unusual constellation, which was often frowned upon, especially by the elder generation. But times were changing, and if a father-daughter relationship could happen between human and troll, maybe it was also time to embrace that sometimes love happens to defy tradition.

"I'm in love", he repeated to himself. "I want to bury my nose in her fur and take in lungfuls of her scent. I want to rub my nose against hers and shut out the world and the war, if not forever, then just for a few moments. I want to feel her fur between my paws, run them down her back, feel the softness of her belly, the coolness of her tail against my face. I want to..."

He did not finish the thought. "No! don't even go there", he thought "That is just unnatural - that's what they all say. We're not even of the same race." Then he conceded. "by Inaris, I want to make love to her".

Snowheart sat down by the foot of a large oak. From here he watched the patrons of the inn leave and head back to their homes. Some came alone and left pairwise, but most came alone and left alone, and he watched Ashford not quite stable on his feet go back to the room that he shared with K'luul. Snowheart leaned back against the tree trunk. It was past midnight and the nocturnal badger did not feel sleepy. Everything was upside down, he thought. He had adjusted to staying awake by day, his best friend was a human, his peacekeeping council had been sidelined in the current conflict, and he felt very alone and very far from his home in Badger's rest. He reached for the leather pouch that he always kept on a string around his neck. Its contents of winterberries, kept fresh by the rejuvenating magic of Turfdigger was his comfort and sole companion on journeys like this.

The night breeze carried the scent of apple blossoms and wild thyme, of rich soil and sheep and that of three unwashed humans approaching. Snowheart sniffed. One of the humans carried a scent that he recognised from earlier that evening -it was the scent of Ashford's drinking partner. Only, this time, he was not chatting and laughing, but moving with the special noise that only humans make when they do not wish to be heard.

"That's his room up there?", he heard the patron whisper.

"The fox and the human?"

"The human and the badger have no value. Kill them if you must, but we need the head of the fox as evidence".

Snowheart was fully focused in a split second. These people were bounty hunters of some kind, and they were here to kill some fox, who travelled with a human and a badger; the target in question could only be Rhania. Indecision lasted scarcely a second and turned into blood rage. He had just found someone to love and care about, and now humans were trying to steal that moment away from him. Intrusive thoughts about diplomacy and peaceful negotiation evaporated like dew and were replaced by a cold state of protective efficiency, and he grabbed his quarterstaff, taking care not to make any noise.

There was a small plaza between the bounty hunters and the inn, and being close to the inn, Snowheart could intercept them halfways. But halfways also meant that he would have to face all three of them on the plaza, which was illuminated by a single torch, put up by the innkeeper so that the patrons would not have to navigate in darkness, or stumble into one of the feeding troughs.

The moment the three bounty hunters stepped into the torchlight, Snowheart did the same. "It's the badger!", the bounty hunter from the inn shouted, "I remember that guy".

"Let's fight on my terms for a change", Snowheart thought. He grabbed the torch from its holder and threw it towards a feeding trough. It missed by a foot and hit the ground still burning dimly.

The bounty hunter drew his sword and moved close to Snowheart while his partners remained hidden in the shadows. They were still outside striking distance when the bounty hunter lunged ahead and swung his sword in an overhead blow. Snowheart parried with his simple staff, but the bounty hunter's blow was so powerful that his sword cut deep into Snowheart's wooden staff, and their weapons locked. Snowheart expected the bounty hunter to pull his sword to unlock the hold like any trained swordsman would, but instead he grabbed his sword midway with both hands, swung the pommel end around and slammed the sharp guard of the sword into Snowheart's temple, and he felt his fur split and go wet with blood. Slivers of wood rained from the staff as the sword came loose, and the bounty hunter took one step back to ready himself for another attack.

"He fights like Ashford, unpredictable and without finesse", and Snowheart took a defensive stance, waiting for the bounty hunter's next move. The bounty hunter made a running charge towards Snowheart intending to gore him directly with the sword, but in the dim light all of Snowheart's senses worked together as one, sight, hearing and smell and he moved swiftly to sidestep the attack. As the killer passed him, snowheart channeled all of his rage, all of his frustration and all of his protective feelings for Rhania into one mighty blow to the killer's back that broke both staff and spine in half with a nauseating "crack!". The man collapsed with a terrible wail and thrashed about, arms and legs flailing for a few seconds while screaming for his comrades to come to his assist.

One of the remaining bounty hunters fled headlong into the night in terror while the third stood motionless and indecisive. Snowheart leapt at the remaining man and pummeled into him with all his weight. He landed on top of the bounty hunter and pressed his broken staff against his throat to choke the man.

"Look at me", hissed Snowheart "What do you see?"

"a badger?", the bounty hunter gasped for air under the weight of the staff and stared into a set of uncompromising fangs.

"- then you also know that my kind never lets go until we hear the bones snap, so start talking. I want to know just who wants us killed, why - and how much gold you thought that you would be getting".

The bounty hunter gasped for air and spat out short sentences "Musclefang, magic fox, two thousand".

"magic fox?", Snowheart eased the pressure on the man's throat.

"It's the fox girl", the bounty hunter gasped and spoke quickly to pacify the raging badger, "she knows how to cure the blood cough... or something. Musclefang has a bounty on her head. Two thousand gold. That's a lot of money, please don't snap my bones."

Snowheart froze, still seated across the man. He had sat with Musclefang when the chief put up the bounty for the "magic fox", but he had given it little thought ever since, and had not made the connection when he met Rhania. "Landon, are you alright?", the bounty hunter glanced around.

"Landon took off and left you and that other guy behind. Some company you keep", Snowheart sneered.

"No, Landon is the one over there", the bounty hunter nodded towards the dying man.

"Rot your ears!", Snowheart cursed at him, "I didn't need to know his name."

The door to the guest house opened and Ashford stepped into the dim light. The first thing that he saw was Snowheart sitting across the chest of a stranger and doing his best to choke him with a broken staff. Then he noticed the dying bounty hunter sprawled on the ground. "Snowy? What happened here, that's my drinking buddy!"

"Your drinking buddy and his pals are bounty hunters!"

"What in the bloody abyss have you done to get a bounty on that stripy head of yours?"

"The head's not mine, it's that of Rhania - the "magic fox of Oakenford."

"Tell Ashford what you just told me, or by Iuna I'll break something". The terrified bounty hunter repeated verbatim what he had previously told Snowheart, right down to the "please don't snap my bones", and he looked to Ashford in the hope that he would somehow help to get the raging badger off his chest.

"Two thousand gold, That's a lot of gold to someone desperate". Ashford crossed the plaza and squatted down beside the bounty hunter. "You can go and spread the word that Rhania is under our protection. No bounty is worth the amount of pain that we will put them through if they try something like this again". The bounty hunter nodded enthusiastically and Snowheart got up, allowing the surviving bounty hunter to scurry off into the darkness.

"What do we do about this guy?" Ashford looked down at the dying killer. He was flat on his broken back and had stopped complaining. He struggled to breathe, but his eyes were awake and wide in terror.

"He's not thrashing around as much as before", Snowheart noticed and brushed dust and grime off his fur.

"You've broken his back. That's paralysis kicking in and creeping upwards. The legs are the first to go, then the arms. Finally, he lungs will forget how to breathe. It's a nasty way to go - and it could take hours."

"Is there anything we can do? Call in a healer - or a mage?"

"I've never heard of healing magic powerful enough to fix a broken back. You might find someone in a large city like Oakenford, but never in a rural sinkhole like this. This guy has had it."

The blood rage had worked itself out of Snowheart's system now, and he felt a sense of pity for the dying killer. "Shouldn't we put it out of its misery then, if it suffers. I mean, maybe we could hit it with something heavy, or stab it."

"He's not an IT!", shouted Ashton. "He's a human being, just like I am. Don't refer to my race as an IT!"

Snowheart shrugged, "If you feel more comfortable killing a HIM instead of an IT, be my guest! By the way - his name is Landon".

"Landon", Ashford hesitated, "that's not the name that he gave me when we sat in the tavern."

"What do you expect! the man is a bounty hunter. Of course, he wouldn't give you his real name. He got you drunk and pumped you for information. Then he and his buddies took a stab at the two thousand gold bounty".

"Landon", Ashford repeated, "That's actually more of an elven name than a human name. Are you sure that it's not an elf? I mean, that face doesn't look all human to me."

"See this nose? I can smell the difference between fifty types of butterfly by their wing-dust alone, and elves and humans are really not that difficult to smell apart. Landon is all human, take it from me."

Ashford slumped down on a nearby rock. "Shit! Shit! Shit!

At this moment, Rhania came out of the door, awakened by the noise. "Why is everyone shouting? You'll wake up K'luul" Then she noticed the lifeless body on the ground, and let out a terrified bark. "That's the human from the inn", she cried "did you just kill him?"

"Well, this representative of the human race did his best to kill all four of us for a bounty of a thousand gold pieces", answered Snowheart.

"Two thousand, actually!", added Ashford "and he's not dead. At least... not yet. He's sort of working on it. You should have hit him up higher so that he died right away, you could have aimed for the neck".

"I'll keep that in mind the next time I save your furless hide."

"But he's alive and it looks like he's suffering, you can't just leave him to die like that" said Rhania.

Snowheart waved an exhausted hand towards the smithy. "There's no way we can get him to a healer in time. If you want to take action, I saw an old anvil over there by the blacksmith - feel free to make the drop. Landon, meet anvil."

Rhania thought about it for a second, then sat down next to the others. She frowned at Ashford "What did you do to get a bounty on your head, anyway?"

Ashford gave her an offended look back. "Me? I don't have any bounty on my head! - At least, none that I know of."

"There's a bit of a complication", explained Snowheart, "the bounty offered by Musclefang - surprisingly enough, is not on Ashford."

-"It's on You".

Rhania yelped in surprise "the orc chief? But I've never even met the guy!"

"I have", said Snowheart and knew in that instant that he was in for a very long night of explanation. "Actually, I was there with him, when he put the price on your head."

"-and you never told us?"

"He only ranted on about some magic fox with an ability to cure the blood cough. How was I supposed to make the connection when we met? You're not the only fox in Namairith."

As if he tried to join the discussion, the dying Landon made a few gurgling noises, that made the three friends jump in horror. "Do you think he can hear us ?", asked Rhania.

"I should think so. The brain remains clear until his lungs are paralysed", said Ashford.

"You could always ask him if he wants you to make it quick."

Snowheart and Ashford looked at each other, then they approached the dying man. "Hey, err. Would you like to.."

"you know.."

"get it over with?"

They both looked intensely at Landon, trying to interpret any spasm as a nod or a shake of the head.

"I think I saw him shaking his head", said Ashford.

"that was DEFINITELY a shake", Snowheart was all too eager to agree.

"He doesn't want us to take any action", Ashford let out a sigh of relief.

"then we'll just sit here, I guess."

Ashford rummaged through his pockets and produced a flask. "I want a drink", he said, "a VERY large one, and then I want an explanation of just how one scrawny fox from Oakenford can piss off Chief Musclefang so much that he wants the four of us dead". He leaned back, flask in hand and looked expectantly at Rhania and Snowheart.

Snowheart and Rhania looked at each other. Apart from the affection that they felt for each other, they also shared the key to Rhania's involuntary part in the current affairs.

"I guess I'll start, huh?", said Snowheart.

Some time later that night, Landon the bounty hunter stopped breathing.

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