Bailey struck the lightstone and dropped it into the pile of dry wood. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and watched the flames dance to life. It had been a long hunt —perhaps the longest he’d ever been on — but the bounty had finally been claimed. Here, in the frigid mountains of Chimera, Bailey and his pack had slain the black wolves that had terrorized the villagers in the valley below.

  “White ash,” Laura said. She had snuck up on Bailey without him noticing. There was a reason she was the pack’s forward scout. 

  “You know boarmen can smell this a mile away?” White ash gave off an aroma when burned. Every hunter in the pack knew this.

  “Well, it’s a good thing we’re not hunting boarmen,” Bailey said. He leaned his scabbard against a rock and sat down on a large fur coat that covered the icy ground. The coat was his own and one that he used more often as a carpet and blanket.

  Laura leaned against an outcropping and peered down at the valley.

  “Staring at the village?”

  

  Laura nodded, her white hair blended into the winter backdrop of snow and ice. “Just a few days ago, the villagers were afraid to even dump their garbage after sunset. Now, it’s almost midnight. The city lights are still on… there is dancing, music as well… if you can hear?”

  Bailey shook his head. It was a rhetorical question on his second-in-command’s part. “I sometimes wonder if those sharpened senses of yours are more curse than gift.”

  Laura’s yellow eyes turned to Bailey. They were an Aatolon tracker’s eyes, full of depth and cunning. “Isn’t everything in life a double-edged sword?”

  Now wasn’t the time for heavy philosophical discussions. There had been many of those in the long nights that accompanied their mission. Bailey wasn’t keen on breaking out into another hours-long debate on the meaning of life. He stood up and walked over to the edge of the cliff. “It’s the town’s new year celebration. Fitting, as it is a new beginning for many of them.”

  Behind them, bushes ruffled, and hasty feet stomped upon the fresh snow. “Oi, I got’em.”

  Bailey turned around to greet Tankerd. “You found dinner?”

  The lanky man with a slim neck and oversized sailor coat was the absolute definition of a walking flagstick. His thin but long arms cradled two large river birds whose limp tails swung around as he jostled through the snow. “Found is understating it, Bailey. There were miles of earth I had to cover over this frozen wasteland before a long and arduous hunt ensued from which I emerged the victor.”

  Tankerd, the man of hyperbole and embellishment. A useful trait to have when swindling information from tight lips and coin from even tighter pockets.

  “And in this great battle of yours, did you remember to swing by the town market for seasoning?” Laura said, her eyes flashing with a pointed playfulness.

  Tankerd stuttered. “Well… I… you see… there was—”

  Bailey grinned as the usually silver-tongued thief found himself speechless in the face of such a simple question.

  “I am only… what is the phrase? Pulling your trousers?” Laura said.

  “Leg… Pulling your leg,” Bailey said, even as Tankerd’s face turned beet red.

  “Eh. Just you wait until I cook these birds over that fire. You won’t be asking for any spice then.”

  “I’m very sure your cooking will be adequate.”

Bailey ignored the rest of the banter. His sharp eyes had caught a lonely silhouette approaching through the wilderness. What seemed like minutes passed before the shadow turned into the figure of an old man.

  Lago.

  The group’s source of wisdom, and occasional heart of the team. Lago was the oldest member of the pack and Bailey’s former mentor. His left hand, tattooed with intricate runes, reached out and grasped Bailey by the shoulder.

  “Mountains are clear?” Bailey asked as he returned the gesture.

  Lago nodded. “The road from here to Ilacus is clear. I witnessed no signs of the wolves.”

  “They may be hiding because of the snowstorm.”

 

  “If that were the case, I would have heard their howls calling their kin back to the caves. Yet, there was nothing but silence and the dead of night.”

  Bailey nodded. He shook the specks of fallen snow off his red-orange beard. “We leave at first light… or whenever Tankerd gets the bird cooked.”

  Lago smiled. “You worry too much, old friend. The new year is on the horizon. We should celebrate.”

  Bailey clenched his teeth. “You know how I feel about—”

  “Even if not a celebration, but a lively dinner. The Wayward Tavern is but a short walk. The time it would take for us to get there would still be shorter than Tankerd figuring out how to roast the damn birds.” Lago raised his voice at that last part.

  

  “He’s right, you know,” Tankerd said.

  Laura gripped her violet cloak as it fluttered in the cold air. “We could rent a few rooms and stay the night. Wake up more refreshed. It does seem more amenable than eating dinner in the snow. That is… if our Commander deems it so.”

  Bailey realized the sense in their words and was experienced enough not to argue when the odds weren’t in his favor. “Tankerd, kill the fire.”

  The lanky thief dumped a bucket of dirt over the flames. “All done.” He stuffed both birds into a bag and swung it over his shoulder. 

  “Lago, I hope you had the foresight to bring something warming for the trek. Blood in my veins is turning colder than the last lover who dumped me.”

  “Oh, shut up,” Laura said. “You both weren’t even in a relationship. How could she have dumped you?”

  “Ah.” Tankerd waved his finger. “Our hearts were inextricably linked, and she chose to deny her feelings and wander away with a more sensible choice over me.”

  “You mean the tall, chiseled aristocrat from Eagleon?”

  Tankerd scowled as he marched past Laura. “As I said, the sensible choice.”

  “Everyone’s time will come,” Lago said. He began to walk. “Follow me.” His hand dipped into his satchel and pulled out a crystal bottle with a gold cap.

  “That can’t be…” Bailey said as he reaffixed his cloak with the gold chain around his neck. He hurried over to his old mentor’s side and grasped the bottle by the neck.

  “Riger’s Whiskey. From Count Rinault’s own private stash. Next to impossible to get your hands on.”

  “Known only to the Count’s personal friends or people with exceptionally deep pockets,” Laura said. Her eyes scanned Lago with suspicion. “And you are neither.”

  Lago chuckled as he twisted the cap off. “Well, shadow walkers do manage to get their hands on these from time to time.” He winked and brought the bottle to his lips.

  “Ahhh… your turn.”

  Bailey took the bottle and poured the liquid down his parched mouth. His throat burned to life as the whiskey gushed forth from the bottle. Warmth spread across his frozen limbs, energizing his somewhat languid movements. “Lives up to its reputation. Laura?”

  The Aatolon scout shook her head. “When we get to the tavern, I shall celebrate. In the meantime, I believe my senses are required.”

  Tankerd snatched the bottle and downed a few gulps. He coughed half the liquid back up. “What in Burkam’s belly is this?” He keeled over, coughing and wheezing.

  “It’s a tad stronger than your usual drink.” Lago slapped the young man on his back and helped him steady.

  Tankerd passed the whiskey over. “You old farts go drink that. I’ll hold out for a beer.” He readjusted the sack over his back that had the river birds. “Only thing I’ve been looking forward to anyway.”

  “Come come,” Lago said. “It is a new year. We all should be looking forward to something.”

  “Not me, old man. Bounty to bounty. Flagon to flagon. That’s my motto. No expectations, no disappointments.”

  “A cynical outlook on life,” Laura said. “Surely there is more to life than sadness and spirits. Perhaps something worth hoping for?”

  Bailey observed Tankerd give Laura a look, his hazel eyes wanting to say more than what his mouth could. Instead, he threw the sack over his other shoulder and marched further ahead, away from earshot of the group.

  “An odd fellow,” the Aatolon woman said. She sighed, and her warm breath billowed into the night sky.

  “Not odd once you have a little bit of perspective,” Lago said. His teeth flashed a sly grin.

  Bailey elbowed him in the ribs. Lago turned around and Bailey gave him a stern look that all but said, keep your mouth shut.

  Lago nodded. “Well, let’s move on. How about yourself, fine maiden? Do you have any thing or any one to look forward to in the coming year?”

  Laura shrugged. Her golden locks were caked with droplets of snow and ice, but her face seemed radiant and warm despite the freezing weather. “I am happy. For now, at least. I wish to travel the world a bit more, see lands I have never been to and meet people rather than glance at them from across rooftops and behind gutters. That is what I want to do more of next year.”

  Bailey smiled and raised his hand. “There we have it. The first goal for the new year!”

  “Here here!” Lago said. He took another swig and turned to Bailey. “And you, old friend?”

  Bailey straightened his back and looked out at the horizon. He hated conversations like these where anything personal about him could slip out. No. Nothing like that. Perhaps a shallow goal that was so far out of reach it would not be taken seriously. “Sky hunting with the hawks in the annual tournament at Aras d’ Ars.”

  “You’ve mentioned that for years,” Lago said. “Never have done anything about it.”

  “Because every year, something’s come up. So, this year,” Bailey grinned, “I’m going to make it happen.”

  “When pigs thunder down from the sky, old friend,” Lago said.

  Bailey chuckled.

  “What is the tournament at Aras d’ Ars. Is that not some mythical fortress for the sky hawks?”

  “Supposedly, yes. Legend has it as the birthplace of the Great Hawk King from which all sky hawks descended from,” Lago said.

  “Not supposedly,” Bailey countered. “The place does exist.”

  “Yet, no one has seen it or lived to tell about it.”

  “One person has.”

  Lago sighed. “Don’t talk to me about Farwell. I wouldn’t be surprised if the man made up half his tales in the taverns to attract attention from any fool gullible enough to listen to him.”

  "Farwell is many things, but a liar he is not."

  "I don't think he lies, I just think the thin atmosphere due to him flying all the time has addled his brain."

  “He leads a squadron of hawks wherever he goes,” Bailey said.

  “Then why don’t you get him to fly you up there?”

  Bailey climbed over a fallen tree, whose trunk must have been a grown man’s length in diameter. He turned and reached a hand to Lago. “You are invited to see Aras d’ Ars. You do not go alone and unbidden.”

  Lago rolled his eyes as he clambered over the now snow-caked tree. “Well, when you do get an invite, let me know.”

  “I will,” Bailey said. He offered a hand to Laura, who turned it down and simply somersaulted over the felled tree.

  “I may be a woman, but I am an Aatolon, Commander Bailey. Do take care to remember that.”

  Bailey heard the snow crush under his weight as he jumped onto the ground. “I meant no offence, milady.”

  Laura smiled and continued on the path. “The tavern is close.”

  Bailey smiled and hurried forward. He was happy that the conversation immediately died down as everyone became focused on reaching the tavern. In the distance, he could see Tankerd still lugging the birds on his back.

  He turned his gaze over his shoulder, a habit he had developed over time.

  Nothing but a frozen wasteland lay behind. He turned away and focused reaching the inn.

…………………………………………………

  “Finally!” Tankerd said. His voice broke the silence amongst the group as he kicked open the inn door and stomped in. Flecks of snow and ice fell to the wood floors.

  Bailey followed him in, expecting a bit more patrons given the weather. Instead, only a small group of hooded travelers were present. They had long swords, though not strapped on their persons, and Bailey noticed a flash of a muzzle when one of them adjusted his navy cloak.

  A woman with freckles and red hair sorting some flagons on a rack turned and greeted him with a wave.

  “Welcome in. All travelers are allowed. Bring in your coins and cheer, leave your bad luck and enemies outside.”

  Bailey moved his lip close to Laura’s ear. “Keep your eyes on them. They trouble me.”

  “Should we leave then?”

  “We might have to.”

  Tankerd cleared the space from the entrance to the bar in a flash. His quick eyes scanned the menu. “Two flagons. Dark and stormy.” He dropped the sack to the ground and took a seat on the high stool.

  The bartender nodded and went to work.

  Lago sat beside him while Bailey and Laura remained standing.

  “Hurry your drink, Tankerd. We’re clearing out of this place the moment you’re done.”

  Tankerd shooed him with a hand. “What are you worried about? Those bunch of misfits by the fire?”

  Behind him, Lago mumbled a drink to the bartender.

  “They barely moved when we walked in,” Bailey said.

  “So? Isn’t that good?” Tankerd downed a flagon and moved to the second. “You’re overthinking again.”

  “It is exactly what worries me,” Bailey said. His hand gripped the dirk strapped to his waist.

  “He may be right, boy,” Lago said. “The long swords and navy coats are unmistakeable.”

  “What do you mean?” Laura asked.

  Lago tilted his head toward the hooded group and spoke in a low voice. “They are from the Dead Legion.”

  Tankerd spat his drink out at the words. “Oh, krak. Well, time to go.” He raised the collars of his sailor coat higher and dug his chin in.

  “What are you doing?” Laura asked.

  “I’ll explain another day,” Tankerd said as he not-so-subtly made his way to the door.

  “Wait. The birds,” Laura said.

  “Forget the damn birds. I can catch another two any time any day. Lago, pay the woman. Hurry.”

  “Tankerd!” It was a woman’s voice.

  “Krak.”

  Bailey moved to the front of the group as one of the hooded figures rose up. Her slender hands and painted nails were unmistakeably a woman’s.

  The hood fell back and a Cardellan woman with purple eyes glared in Bailey’s direction. Well, most likely at Tankerd who was now positioned strategically behind him.

  “Hello, Eleanor,” Tankerd said.

  “You have not paid your dues yet, thief.”

  Tankerd rushed to the sack of river birds and dragged it over the tavern floor. Blood streaks trailed behind in his wake. “Actually, I came over to offer you these precious birds, snatched in the prime of their lives, as tribute and partial collateral.”

  “Oh, damn,” Laura said.

  Bailey pinched his forehead. Whenever Tankerd’s mouth ran on, it was a sign that he was in trouble… either because of a woman or gambling. “Tell me you didn’t…”

  “Well, I did dump her after finding out her father was the local crime lord.”

  “You have wonderful taste in women,” Laura said.

  “And I may have gambled and lost to her brother a few hundred coins.”

  “Four-hundred and fifty-two.” Eleanor raised her long sword and pointed the tip at Tankerd. “I am here to collect his debt and regain my honor. I will not rest until I have the coins and perhaps your hand on my father’s desk by daybreak.”

  “I didn’t know he was your brother at the time,” Tankerd said. “If I did, I probably would have played against someone else.” His voice cracked, almost pleading, though Bailey wasn’t fooled. He eyed the daggers whose tips were already slipping out of Tankerd’s oversized sleeves. There was a reason the young man always wore that sailor coat.

  “You seem to be in a spot, my boy,” Lago said. “My friends,” he turned toward the Death Legion, “perhaps we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement without any bloodshed tonight. It is the start of a new year.”

  “Shut up, old man,” Eleanor said.

  Lago stood back, his face unimpressed but undaunted. “I can see why you dumped her.”

  Tankerd grinned. “That and many other reasons.”

  “Legion, behind me!” Eleanor said, her voice muffled by the din of swords sliding out of their scabbards.

  “So, I take it you don’t want the birds?”

  Laura raised her hand, and a bow of light materialized out of thin air. “Perhaps eating the birds in the frozen snow would have been a better choice than coming here.”

  Bailey smirked and removed the chain that kept his fur cloak on. “Don’t worry. I won’t say I told you so.”

  Lago smiled. “Eight against four. Hardly a fair fight.”

  “But a unique way to ring in the new year,” Tankerd said. He tossed a few coins onto the counter. “Get a few drinks ready and pull out your finest bottle of spirit, milady. The show’s about to begin.” The coins tumbled onto the floor behind the woman.

  The bartender flushed strawberry red and disappeared into the backroom.

  “Well, shall we?” Tankerd said.

  In the distance, the midnight bells pealed deep and loud.

  “Start of a new year,” Bailey said.

  “And good riddance!” Tankerd shouted as a chamber pot flew past his head.

  The first shot.

  Shouts and stomps flooded the tavern as the Death Legion members rushed forward with Eleanor in the lead.

  Bailey drew his sword and dirk.

  Tankerd slid his daggers out and twirled them. “I suppose this is the closest we get to a New Year party.”

  “You can gamble on that and probably win a bet,” Laura said.

  “Not a bad idea.”

  “We are never coming back here,” Bailey said.

  "Remember what I taught you, old friend. Never say never," Lago said.

  In perfect symphony, Bailey and the pack lunged forward, weapons at the ready with ale and bruises on the horizon.