Fergal stood straight and pointed a shaky finger at Brendan.

  “What the hell was that?”

  Maeve landed another arrow in the second wolf’s haunch. Brigid charged to wound it before it returned to all fours.

  “Fergal!” Maeve said. “Catch yourself on. There’s more than two and we don’t know where the others are.”

  Fergal’s focus shifted from the fight—and the completion of his thoughts—to the man who saved his life. Maeve knew the man had to be shaken out of his stupor lest she break her word to the innkeeper.

  “His eyes!” the porter said. “They changed color and… he couldn’t have…”

  “Fergal—”

  “A demon?” Fergal said. “A witch!”

  The first wolf had recovered and charged at Fergal, who showed no signs of coming to. Brendan stepped to the man’s side and drew his arms back.

  “No need to hold back now,” Brendan said. “Líathróit teine!”

  An orange glow spread across his right palm. A ball of fire twice as big as a sliotar erupted from his hand and rocketed toward the beast, striking it between the eyes and emitting a muffled boom. The beast spun from the group and yelped as it ran into the forest, bumping into a tree before it disappeared.

  Brendan grabbed Fergal by the shoulders and spun the man until they faced each other. He punctuated his words with a mild shake.

  “Fergal, whether it’s to the church or the town mob, you can’t hand this evil pagan over unless we survive,” he said. “Cop on, already.”

  Fergal blinked several times in rapid then shook his head. He glanced in Brigid’s direction and ran, knocking Brendan to the ground.

  “Not ideal, but it’ll do,” Brendan muttered.

  Secured between the other wolf’s jaws was Brigid’s spear, held just below its head. She hung onto the other end for dear life as the creature twisted and jerked its head in an attempt to shake her loose. Another push on the weapon by the wolf forced her to trip, knocking her backwards onto the ground. She flipped her strategy and now focused on keeping spear in the animal’s mouth as if it were a horse’s bit.

  Fergal did not run straight for Brigid. Instead, he looped behind the wolf and approached it from its rear. It managed only an ear twitch of acknowledgment before Fergal brought his club straight down upon its head. He immediately brought the club head back like a woodcutter for two more strikes. He lifted the club once more but turned to Brendan.

  “It’s still moving!” Fergal said. “Do something.”

  Brendan held up his right hand and pinched his middle and index fingers against this thumb as he brought the hand down below his hip.

  “Bloscaid talam.”

  He flung his hand back above his head. A column of earth no wider than a heavy tree branch exited the top of the wolf’s skull.

  Fergal helped Brigid to her feet and held her spear as she shook the ache from her forearms.

  “I thought it had me,” she said. “I was certain it would release the spear and come at me.”

  Fergal smiled and pointed to wounds about its shoulders and chest.

  “It may be an animal,” he said, “but it knew enough not to risk it again unless you were unarmed.”

  Brendan couldn’t contain his excitement as he caught up with the pair.

  “Fair play, you two!” he said.

  The moment of celebration faded from the porter’s face as he caught his breath and processed the finer details of the fight.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “You!” Fergal said. “By whose hand are you conjuring rocks and fire?”

  Brendan squished his face and twisted his head.

  “My own?” he asked. “I thought that was your issue.”

  “No, that’s not your own doing,” Fergal said. “That’s coming from—”

  Maeve retrieved what arrows she could from the hide on the ground and put a hand between the two men.

  “—Wisht!” Maeve said. “Whomever’s hand it was, it still finished off one of these wolves and set the other running—and it’s that one I’m concerned about now. Let’s get after it before we either lose it or it gets help.”

  Fergal put a hand on Maeve’s near shoulder.

  “Turns out that I don’t know who you people are. We’re not going anywhere until—”

  Maeve smacked it away and stood belly-to-belly with the man. He stood six inches taller and foot wider than her. She leaned in until he was forced to move one of his feet backward.

  “These beasts and their masters killed six good people and left their family and friends hurting,” she said. “You will get all the answers that we think you are entitled to—but not until this business is over. If you want 'em that badly, come with us and keep us alive. You want to go back into Rathmullan and rally the locals against us upon our return? Be my guest. Either way, the three of us are going after that thing in hopes that we can finally settle this matter.”

  She backed away from Fergal without breaking eye contact. Once she was satisfied that her point was made she turned and ran after the injured wolf.

  “Move,” she yelled over her shoulder.

  Brendan hung back for another few seconds. Whether it was his regret over revealing their world to an outsider or unease about the tension, he wanted another go at talking it out.

  “But—”

  “—Now, O’Cahan.”

  The crunch of small twigs and rustle of low branches trailed behind her and Brigid. All Maeve could do is hope that a third set of footsteps would join them before the group traveled too far.

  “Do you have any idea where we are going?” Brendan asked.

  “Did you forget who you’re talking to?” Maeve.

  “I know perfectly well with whom I’m speakin,” Brendan said. “The lady that has us bouncing from the left to the right like a wrecked man walkin’ home.”

  One hundred yards away, just out of their line of sight, something struck a tree and yelped. Maeve held the group while the forest ahead remained silent.

  “I’m following the wolf,” Maeve said. “Are you hearing how many times it’s stumbling and running into trees? You might have blinded the thing with your fire.”

  “Surely you’re not blaming me?” Brendan asked.

  “Of course not,” Maeve said. “But I’m not going to guess as to which way he wants to go and risk it straightening its path in the meantime.”

  “Shouldn’t it be able to do a better job going by his sense of smell?” Brigid asked.

  “Perhaps,” Maeve said. “Though I’m thinkin’ if your eyes were burned, even if you could gut out the pain, you wouldn’t be smellin’ much more than your own burnt skin.”

  “Fine, fine,” Brigid said.

  She cast her eyes to the ground and nudged the turf with her foot.

  “What is it?” Maeve asked.

  “We truly couldn’t have taken a moment to tell Fergal?”

  “It was the wrong time,” Maeve said. “The wolf was getting away and the man was in shock.”

  “He’s a sound fighter,” Brigid said. “We could have used his help with what’s ahead of us.”

  “I don’t disagree,” Maeve said.

  “I think he could have handled truth,” Brigid said.

  “Whether or not he could doesn’t matter right now,” Maeve said. “The risk of both losing this wolf and Fergal handling the truth poorly was too high. We’ll deal with him and his Da when we get back into town—hang on!”

  She held her hand up to pause the conversation. The sound of rustling moved to the right. She squinted in vain for any glimpse that she could catch of it between the tree trunks.

  “It’s turning once more,” Maeve said.

  As the hour wore on the beast’s erratic path straightened. Maeve noted fewer stumbles in its gait.

  “We have to close in,” she said. “It’s picking up speed and we can't rely on mere sound anymore.”

  A new noise emerged from their right. Something big broke branches and kicked at the ground—and the noises were growing louder.

  “Is that another one?” Brigid asked.

  “Maybe,” Maeve said. “Be ready. This one sounds like a bit of a brute.”

  The oncoming threat was thirty yards away. A few more steps and it could be seen, even in this forest at night. It froze, however, when a low, vibrating growl slid out of the wolf ahead of them.

  “Growling at each other like that,” Brendan said. “That wolf must be blind.”

  “I don’t think so,” Maeve said. “The thing on our right didn’t answer back. Stay here. Stay low.”

  With that, she inched toward the right, much to the twins’ incredulity.

  “Offering yourself as sacrifice isn’t going to help us,” hissed Brendan.

  Maeve waved him off and continued toward the new noisemaker. A faint outline was forming between a pair of trees ten yards away. It was hulking; at least two feet taller than either of the first two wolves. Its shoulders were broader and its head…

  Maeve stood up and let out a single chuckle of disbelief, losing all sense of her volume.

  “You’re coddin’ me.”

  The wolf ahead of them—now fully aware of Maeve’s location—ripped off several angry barks and charged in her direction. She knocked an arrow, knowing one shot wouldn't bring down beast such as this, injured as it may be. The animal grunted after Maeve’s first arrow struck but it did not stop. She tilted her head toward the shadow as it lumbered toward her.

  “You came all this way to watch, did ya?”

  The creature was close enough that Maeve could make out the burn damage on its face. She knocked another arrow and drew back the bowstring. In another three strides it would be upon her.

  A club swung down from the right, striking the wolf in the head and driving it to the ground. Maeve stepped backwards and put her arrow into the wolf’s right temple.

  “Thanks, Fergal,” she said.