“I love mankind, he said, "but I find, to my amazement, that the more I love mankind as a whole, the less I love man in particular.”

― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

“A bed! A bath! Food!” Mireille was in heaven then a look of consternation passed over her face. “But what’s first?!”

Alea gave her an unsympathetic glance, then turned to look at Alyssa with a bit of pleading in her eyes.

“Food for all of us and rooms for the night.”

“A bath! Please!” Mireille jumped in.

“Yes, and a bath.”

The tavernkeeper, a stout and gruff-looking fellow in his later years, knocked on the bar and said. “We don’t do baths in winter. Too much hassle. Three rooms left. Each fits four. Choose for yourself. There is stew. And then there is bread and cheese. I think you want the stew?” Turning toward the back, he shouted. “Food for nine.”

The group looked at each other, then most nodded, and some looked indifferent. “Yes.” Mordrak nodded at the man.

“Good. Take a seat. Won’t be long. Oh, that will be five coppers for a meal, three silver per room. The first ale is free, then it's a copper.” Nodding to himself in satisfaction, the tavernkeeper whistled tunelessly as he polished the bar.

Gathering around a table that two townspeople had vacated at their approach, Mordrak took a look at each of them. “This is the last stop before the mountains. Me and mine have what we need. We can be off come dawn. But if some of you still need something, now’s the chance.”

“I think I have what I need?” Mireille was pensive, pushing Cyrus' jaws away from her backpack and the food it contained.

Alyssa simply nodded.

“I will have a look in the morning. Iseret? If you would be so kind as to accompany me?” Alea spoke up softly.

“But of course.”

“Then I think it's best we stay for one day. Everyone gets to rest, and the day after, we can be on the road again.” He grinned, exposing large canines. A burgher a table over hastily got up and scattering some coin on the table left in a hurry.

“You are scaring the townsfolk,” Mireille said with a bit of mock-reproach in her voice.

“Bah. After the welcome we received, it's only right.” The wolf-kin said without any guilt.

One man, inebriated by the looks of him, boasting an ample belly and hanging jowls, laboriously stood up and then came over, brushing over the wisps of grey-brown hair barely covering his scalp. “Evenin’. Where did you lot come from? Ever been to Sevenpeaks?”

“Was the last stop on our way. Why?” Mireille asked.

“Lots of rumors going about.” Lowering his voice, still comically loud, he ‘whispered’, “Duke’s dead, Duke’s fled, undead have overrun the city, the Queen has sent an army, so on and so forth. And? What is it?”

“Pfffft.” Mireille nearly spat out the ale she was drinking. “Soooo.” Raising a fist, she snapped one finger up, “Duke’s dead.” She grinned and then raised a second, “The undead have been something the duke was doing. Hopefully, it's ended soon. Third...” she raised another finger. “...the queen has sent an army. Thank the gods.”

“Really!?” A man sitting at a neighboring table leaned over after trying – and failing- to look disinterested.

“Yes, really.” Mireille said smugly. “We killed the bastard.”

Mordrak sighed a bit at this.

“What? You?” The man looked at her incredulously. “You aren’t even old enough for the army.”

“That’s…” Mireille stopped herself in time, coughing to cover the lapse. “As if I would want to!” She said in righteous indignation. Alyssa gave her a side-eye at that.

After seeing that the group wasn’t as hostile as feared, other townsfolk gathered around. “The duke is really dead? Really? And what of his successor? Who is it?” An old man with barely a tooth remaining lisped.

“Jamila von Nordstrom, now Nordmark, is his successor. And she is working with the queen to calm everything down.”

“Was there fighting? Were there casualties?” One of the few women interjected.

“No. There was not much fighting. Only when we took him down. But there were a lot of executions and other deaths before we even arrived. And he forced some skirmishes with the wolf-tribes. That would not have gone without bloodshed.” Alyssa spoke up.

Murmurs spread, and some people pushed chairs over. The first to sit was a dwarf of uncertain age. A red beard flecked with grey hid most of his weathered face.

And then the questions really started. Some of the humans especially, remained wary of the wolf tribe, and everyone kept a certain distance from Iseret and Alyssa, the latter because of her cold aura even as the illusion was still cloaking her more visible unnatural features.

Even the tavernkeeper came over and leaned against a pillar while nursing a mug of ale.

Mireille really went all out describing the fights against the undead, the betrayal of the northern army, and the flight from the campsite. She mentioned the little village they had passed and their efforts to rid it of the undead. She described their adventure on the astral plane and the fight against cultists and, eventually, the Duke.

Everyone was shivering as she recounted the revolting appearance of the living cadavers.

“We get that here, too.” The dwarf said laconically. “The mountains have become more and more infested with the vermin.” Gulping down a huge swallow of beer, he grunted. “The clans have fought them off for years now. Not that you lowlanders have ever helped.” He cast a disdainful glance at the assembled people. “But its grown to the point where we have retreated into the caves. It should only be a bit before you really know how much we protected you. But with the Old White and the undead, we cannot hold on any longer.”

“Always you short folk yapping about protecting us. You only want our money!” One big journeyman shouted.

“Shut yer trap, blockhead.” The dwarf returned without rancor. “You will see for yourself in a week or two. I’m here to tell the baron. But he had better things to do than meet with me. Tomorrow I return to the mountain. And good luck to you.” He added sarcastically and then drained the rest of his beer. “G’night.” He got up before anyone could question him and walked up the stairs in the back.

“We should get some rest, too,” Alea remarked softly. After telling the story, the sky outside had darkened visibly, even as only small slitted windows set high in the walls let some natural light in.

Alyssa, Alea, Mireille, and Iseret took one room, Mordrak and his men the other one, and with some persuasion, the two women among the wolfkin’s troop got another two-person room.

“Where is Vanessa?” Mireille asked into the darkness after lights out.

“She said she would go ahead and have a look at what the mountains hold,” Iseret replied after a short pause. A bit of rustling could be heard as the others tried to listen.

“I hope she will be alright.”

Silence was her answer.

“Alea? Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”

“No.”

“Why?!”

“You always steal my quilt, you barely leave me any room…” Alea mumbled something after that too soft to hear.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Mireille huffed and turned.

Silence gave way to rhythmic breathing, and Alyssa sighed while looking at the dark ceiling, but even if she did not need to sleep anymore, some rest was welcome indeed. A weight settled on her stomach, and looking up, she saw the half-skeletal skull of the Alp shrouded by a shifting layer of shadows mimicking the original skin. The undead cat stretched and yawned before settling into a more comfortable position. An ethereal purr vibrated through the thin blanket, and Alyssa stared before letting her head fall back down.

After a while, the purr eased her nerves, and she felt something like release.

The next day dawned with cloudy weather. Some warmer winds had brought some moisture from the south, and soft, fat snowflakes gusted over Fernhome's steeply arched roofs.

Mireille looked outside after opening the shutters and shivered as cold air mingled with the stuffy atmosphere inside the room. “Looks like the powdered sugar on those pastries, you know what I mean?” Gazing wistfully at a particularly fine specimen of snowflake, she tried to catch it on her tongue, nearly falling out of the window.

Alyssa grabbed her and then swore as some sparks nearly set her gloves on fire as Mireille, defying gravity and common sense, used her lightning to get back inside.

“Damn it, Mireille! Can’t you be a bit more careful? Next time, I’ll let you fall!”

The so-scolded turned around and grinned broadly. “I’m going to grab some food!”

Grimacing, Alyssa shook her hands, blowing the steam away, and inspected the damage. Brushing over the burned spots, there did not seem to be too much.

Alea walked out of the small niche that held a water basin, rubbing at her drying hair. Butler One attentively held a towel for her. Cyrus pried at Mireille’s backpack and inserted his snout underneath the flap, seeking the jerky inside.

Alyssa felt a headache coming on.

“I will be downstairs, too.” Casting a spell to clean herself, she went straight down toward the tavern’s common-room. The water swirling over her form condensed and she threw the small ball toward a wilting potted plant.

Alea followed her shortly.

Mordrak looked up and waved them over, holding something hot in a clay mug between his massive hands. When all had been seated, he cleared his throat. “Alea, you wanted to go and see the market?”

“Yes. I could use some more refined mana-dust, and the region is known to have at least one mine.”

“I will accompany her,” Iseret added.

Alyssa remained behind, playing with Cyrus in the nearly empty common room. The tavern was not very popular in the early morning.

Mireille yawned and declared that she would sleep for a bit longer.

Outside, the snowflakes drifted in thick swirls between the houses, and the windows were nearly covered by a thick layer of white.

“I don’t think they will have any open market stalls. Let's look for a general store.” Iseret raised her head and looked around before pointing down a side street.

Alea pulled her coat tight and huddled behind Butler One. The spider on her shoulder was not as affected by the cold, so she could bury her head fully in her scarf.

Shortly afterward, they saw a sign denoting general goods. They entered the dimly lit sales room with a ringing tone from several bells. A stout table divided the front from the rows of shelves holding everything from leatherworkers' goods to hammers and nails in the back.

A thin woman in her fifties inspected them with a frown. “Not from around here, are you?” It seemed more an observation and not a pleasant one. She put a jar she had been holding underneath the counter and straightened. “What will it be?”

“Good day. We are indeed travelers and need some supplies. Do you have any mana dust?”

“Mh. Should be. I keep it in the back. She looked at them with a wary expression, but seeing the rich fabrics of Alea’s clothes, she shrugged, went to a door between two shelves, and vanished with a – “Be right back.”

The door opened, and the wind blew coldly on their backs. Iseret had turned with the first noise, and one hand reached inside her cloak.

The officer who had nearly driven them off at the gate stood there with a grin. “The dog-lovers. How nice.”

“What do you want?” Iseret subtly turned so that Alea stood behind her. Butler One turned his head with a snick.

Two other guardsmen entered. They wore simple leather clothes and no longer their official tabards, but the way they looked at the sergeant and a memory of faces looking down from the wall above identified them well enough. They were rough-looking men with bushy, blonde beards.

“I want you out of my town. If you know what’s good for you, go and don’t look back. Those forest freaks have killed more than one friend of mine, and you will not buy supplies in my town to help them murder even more of us!”

“Silly me. And there I thought you were a child that gets angry when it does not have its way.” Iseret said slowly. “Still smarting from having to let us in?”

The sergeant went red in the face, and the others around him were dumbfounded at first before balling their fists.

“Stop! Not in my shop!” The shopkeeper had returned with an ornate clay vessel. “Lars! What do you think you are doing?”

“Ridding my town of foreign filth!” The sergeant took a few steps and swung at the snake-woman standing in front of Alea.

With a deceptively slow movement, Iseret moved just out of range before striking, swift as a viper, with the pommel of a dagger that appeared from beneath her robes. With a loud crack, the iron ball impacted the big man's chin, and with that, his eyes rolled up until only the whites remained, and he fell to the ground like a sack of flour.

The other three were not idle while that happened and rushed forward.

“No! No fighting in my shop!” The woman behind the counter shouted angrily.

With a crash, the first off-duty guardsman was thrown back as Butler One shoved him violently without seeming to exert itself. The other two got in each other's way and tried to get around their fallen leader.

With another lightning-quick step, Iseret pushed forward and hit one of them on the temple, felling him like a tree hit by the lumberjacks axe.

But as she tried to retreat again, the fallen sergeant groggily grabbed for her ankle, and the other guard hit her heavily in the stomach.

Grimacing, she clubbed him, too, and he fell to the ground, bleeding from a cut on his forehead.

Rubbing her middle, Iseret shrugged her shoulders and stamped down heavily on the hand, still holding on to her leg. With a crunch, the limb suddenly bent way out of shape, and a breathless howl from below made a smile flit briefly over her face.

Alea lowered her hand where a light-construct hovered, dismissing the energies with a subtle gesture. Turning around, she looked at the livid merchant. “Are you still open for business?”

Alyssa had finally decided to exit the tavern, bored by the monosyllabic answers of the tavernkeeper, who only grinned at her with his yellowed teeth when she asked him a question. Mordrak had gone with his fellow wolfkin to talk to some of the townsfolk about the upcoming trek through the mountains.

Walking through the snow, she looked at the carvings on the wooden beams over the doors of the houses she passed. A crooked mountain troll- Hardly recognizable as such, a wyvern.

She grinned. “Cyrus, look, someone drew your father!” The small dragonling was highly displeased by the weather and the cold and snorted at her.

“Ah!” Grimacing, she wiped the spittle from her face. “No treats for you!”

Cyrus haughtily turned his head away.

With a crash, a door flew open, and a man tumbled out, soon followed by another and then two more. Snow sprayed from the impacts.

Butler One strode out, his head swiveling right, then left. The porcelain mask glittered in the winter sun. Where his cloak had slipped, the old butler’s clothes were visible along with his mechanical parts, small strings of metal, gears, and joints shining with drops of machine oil shining through small tears and gaps.

Iseret walked outside next and sighed, looking at the groaning men, half-buried in the fresh snow.

One of them stumbled to his feet and roared. “You assaulted a guard of Fernhome. That will cost you your head!”

The sergeant cradled his broken arm with sweat beading on his upper lip.

Some townspeople stopped and gawked. A window cracked open, and people stared down from above.

“What the heck is happening here? Lars?” A guardsman in furlined leathers stood at the mouth of an alley, looking at the small plaza where all this was happening. Houses rising to a height of three stories threw their shade over all of it.

“They assaulted us!” The man was red as a tomato, and the cold air made the air escape his nostrils' steam with the frost. He looked like he was literally burning with anger.

Another struggled to his feet, holding his head. “...’tis true…” he slurred.

Alea flinched at the noise but stepped out from behind Iseret. “You assaulted us. Inside a store, nonetheless. With a witness. You should be ashamed of yourself. Guards should keep the peace, not break it themselves. If my uncle had such men under his command, he would summarily discharge them from his service. It’s disgraceful!” Her soft voice was struggling to be heard over the wind.

The newly arrived guard groaned, then put a whistle to his mouth before blowing a shrill note. “All of you, remain where you are. We will get to the bottom of this.”

Alyssa hugged Cyrus, who wanted to attack the man near Butler One. His eyes narrowed, and the tailstinger was raised. “Wait.” She gave him a kiss on the head. The leathery scales felt dry and pleasant to the touch. “We can always interfere if necessary.”

Shortly, a troupe of guardsmen arrived from all directions, six in all. “So, you are the foreigners I heard about?” The first guardsman to arrive, a young-looking man with a scraggly blonde beard, asked.

“Yes! They were the ones with the wolves!” One of the other guards, a woman, said scathingly.

“We are, again, at peace.” An older guard said slowly.

“...but they…!”

“STOP!” The young guard shouted. “I was the first to arrive and will take charge of this mess. Get them off the street and into the castle. This is something for the baron to decide.”

All fell silent at his words. Some townsfolk gave approving nods.

“Anyone against? No? That settles it, then. Form up. Yes, you too!” The man looked at the men who had instigated the trouble, some of whom were just waking up from the cold. The sergeant grit his teeth with pain. "Lars, go and see the medic first."

Spitting out a bit of blood from a bitten tongue, the burly sergeant nodded, still holding his left arm tenderly. Turning his hate-filled gaze on Iseret, he cursed, "You will get what's coming to you soon enough, bitch."

The young guard seemed like he wanted to say something but held it in, finally settling on a "Hurry up!"

Alyssa gauged the reactions of the locals and frowned. Many seemed angry when they heard about the wolf-kin, and some were talking in hushed tones about the recent skirmishes and losses even though the whole affair had hardly taken more than a few weeks. It seemed the tensions between the duchy and Hundred-Streams were more deeply ingrained.

The group of guards escorted the four off-duty guards along with Iseret, Alea, and Butler One. Alyssa followed a short distance behind.