Page 2 of The Wolf and Her Shadows

*Stop thinking so loud then.*

*Would the both of you stop arguing? You’re going to make us fall,* Aren interjects, followed by their familiar pained sigh.

*Right.* I shake my head, doing my best to focus and ignore the others’ presences in my mind.

With a couple more grunts of effort, and a few choice expletives, I manage to get to the window and tumble inside. A rush of air leaves my lungs as our aching back connects with the floorboards, and I allow myself a couple moments to lie there and catch my breath before groaning one last time and pushing myself to my feet.

Reaching into the small pocket on the underside of our breastplate where Aren always puts our bounty notices, I pull out a folded up piece of parchment, its edges worn and looking to be a bit charred.

Mariane Onyxclaw.

Onyxclaw. Why does that… Have we…heard that name before?

Before the thought has time to fully take root, a series of memories flash through our mind. Fire. Screams of terror. A wolf’s ominous howl. A smoldering corpse at our much smaller feet.

When the moment passes, I gasp, frantically shaking our head. No…it can’t be. I’m sure it’s merely a coincidence. Our mind’s desperate attempt to fill in the gaps in our painful memories.

With trembling hands, I raise the notice back into view. One hundred and twenty thousand gold… Enough to have every mercenary and bounty hunter in the entire kingdom chasing after this poor woman. The part of the notice that mentions wanting her returned safely helps to slightly lessen my anxieties. At least, in some regards. Hauling corpses and ‘trophies’ around is quite an unpleasant ordeal. Rotting flesh has a stench that…lingers.

Not to mention, whoever this Mariane is, she is beautiful. Much too beautiful to become another victim to our…skills. No. This particular bounty, I think I’m going to enjoy collecting.

Maybe if I’m lucky we can even have a little bit of fun first.

Three nights later, I find myself across town at yet another tavern. We’ve stayed at a new one each night, hoping to catch a glimpse of the raven-haired beauty…bounty that we’re seeking. So far, we’ve seen neither hide nor hair of her. Or anyone else matching the description, either. Which would be odd, if we weren’t in the middle of a piece of shit town in the middle of Nowheresville.

Brenhill, to be exact. The place where low-lives and beggars come to wither away while their pockets get picked clean by hood-covered vultures. There are plenty of city guards here as well, but they're also prone to lining their own pockets with gold procured by turning a blind eye.

The perfect town for a woman on the run to try and lay low. Pity for her that we’re so good at our job, she must be awful keen to stay hidden if she’s chosen a place this wretched. Bigger cities such as Skyden Ridge are just as easy to get lost in, and at least they smell a bit better. Less likely to get knifed in the back for simply walking down the road at the wrong time too.

My ale-induced pondering is cut short by the sound of heavy footsteps echoing throughout the room, bringing a hush to the rest of the patrons. Shifting only my gaze to the newcomer, making sure the rest of my body remains still, I note that it’s a very large and impressively muscled woman. Giantkin, if I’d have to wager, based on her size. One of northern descent, I believe, her pale skin and black hair common to the half-giant tribes in the Krodesian Mountains.

And this particular half-giant has got a mighty big sword strapped to her back for someone just passing through.

Sure enough, when she reaches the bar, she slaps a familiar looking piece of parchment in front of the barkeep and growls, “Have you seen her?”

The barkeep looks scared shitless as he shakes his head. “No…ma’am. Sure haven’t. I’m so sorry… Can I…offer you a drink instead?”

To my annoyance, the woman nods sharply and takes a seat in front of the man, the barstool creaking in protest under her weight. Damn. Two bounty hunters after the same mark in the same tavern. Recipe for disaster. Or…

A sign that we’re getting close to our quarry.

I’m about to abandon my seat and retire to our room, when our long ears pick up a bit of whispered conversation across the bar.

“...Was a real beauty, that one. Not sure what ole Kelv had to offer her to get her to work for him, but oh boy, it sure ain’t hurting his business none.”

“Right on that, place was so damn packed I had ta settle for slumming it in this joint with the lot of you slimy scumbags.”

“Eh! Nice piece of ass she was though. Tomorrow night how ‘bout me and you go by and pay her a visit, ey? See if a good tip might…”

I stop listening. I despise men.

*If I truly identified as one, I’d take offense to that.*

*Aren, I would never be so cruel as to lump you in with creatures such as those.*

A brief image of their grinning face flashes in my mind. *Appreciate it. And on the brighter side, we now have a mighty fine lead. What do you say we follow it, hmm?*

In lieu of responding, I down the last of my ale before rising from the table, making sure to appear casual while crossing the tavern floor to the stairs leading to the upper floor. This time, I intend to be more prepared. Which means there’s gear needing to be retrieved.