“What are you doing here?” Brigid asked as the twins ran over.

  “Following you,” Fergal said.

  “But you came at us sideways,” she said. “Did you get lost? Did you see any others?”

  Fergal shook his head. “You were long gone by the time I turned back to follow you. I got back to the point ‘fray which we split and kept going straight in the direction I last saw you take.”

  “You must have veered from it at some point,” Brigid said. “It worked out in the end.”

  “No, lass,” Fergal said, canting his head towards Maeve. “I’m no tracker like yer wan here. I looked back often to make sure I was going straight. If I didn’t find you I’d turn back the way I came and go home.”

  Fergal wrinkled his nose and pulled up one corner of his mouth. “Come to think of it, how did I come upon you in this manner?”

  “It turns out that newly-blinded wolves don’t have the best sense of navigation,” Brendan said. He leaned and nudged Fergal. “At least that’s what herself is blaming it on,” Brendan muttered, pointing a thumb at Maeve.

  Brigid slapped the back of her brother’s head, ending the men’s shared laugh.

  “Everything grand between us, then?” Brendan asked.

  The corners of Fergal’s mouth dropped. “Maybe, maybe,” he said. “As I told my Da back at the inn, you lot have been straight with us on the whole. It’s just that one tiny bit of otherworldly witchcraft you lied about.”

  “We didn’t exactly lie,” Brendan said.

  “Hai, but you weren’t truthful about it, either,” Fergal said.

  “And what if we had told you?” Maeve said. “You’d throw us out and tell everyone we were away with the fairies.”

  “Unless they caught you in the act like I did, they’d be more likely to say that about me,” Fergal said. “I know how I seem to others and what they think of me. So I’ll give you my help and my silence—until you give me further reason not to do so.”

  Maeve bumped the top of her fist against his upper arm.

  “Good lad,” Brendan said.

  “Do you need us to explain it all now?” Brigid said. “About our differences?”

  “Naw,” Fergal said. “You will tell me all of it once this mess is over. For now just tell me what I need to be wary of fighting alongside you. Can you ladies move the ground and throw fire?”

  “Not I,” Brigid said. “My ‘magic’ is more subtle. It makes me a stronger, faster and tougher fighter. And Maeve here—”

  “—has her own subtleties,” Maeve said, interrupting Brigid with a raised hand.

  Brendan’s earlier assessment of the state of Maeve’s abilities was overly general, but it was closer to the truth than she wanted to admit. Most of her talents came from her innate bond with her otherworldly ancestors and were honed by incessant training and practice—not through pushing magical energy back and forth between planes.

  Brendan stepped up and clapped the porter’s shoulder. “MacDavett, you keep swinging that tree at beasties and we’ll work around you,” he said.

  “Now for the bad news,” Brigid said. “This one at our feet was our only lead to the others.”

  “It’s not as bad as you think,” Maeve said. “That beastie’s senses were returning before the end. Its path was straightening. I say we continue in that direction, to the east.”

  “Seeing as we have no other choice,” Brendan said, “lead on, boss.”

  The rest of the group followed Maeve east, winding their way in between the ancient oaks. This was the darkest part of the forest yet. The smell of rotted wood and damp dirt was overpowering. Maeve wanted nothing more than to see the sun tomorrow. To lie down and bask in its dry, clean warmth. It wasn’t just the damp and the dark that ate at her. They had no proper dinner, no restful sleep and her legs ached from hours spent over uneven ground. She could only imagine the others’ struggle for focus.

  “Back to business,” Maeve said. “There could be four more of these things and four people—two of them sorcerers.”

  “Like Brendan?” Fergal asked.

  Brendan stopped walking. “Oi! Not at all like me, sir. You still think I’m capable of that kind of behavior? You saw what it did to me back at Ballykenney.”

  Fergal pinched his face and tilted his head. “At Ballykenny? Wait—you mean when we found you in a heap at the circle?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean. I was trying to suss out what manner of magic these men were using. Just the remnants of it were enough to make me almost boke.”

  “So they’re stronger than you?” Fergal asked.

  There was nothing on Fergal’s face to express anything than an honest question. Brendan scoffed at it all the same.

  “Maybe they are, maybe they’re not,” Brendan said. “The only thing for certain is that they will use much deeper and darker means than I ever will.”

  Fergal nodded and raised his eyebrows. “You three will have a lot to explain to me after this is done.”

  The group trekked eastward. A fresh wave of clouds advanced from behind them and obscured the night sky. The slope on their right steepened, requiring more deliberation from each step. Maeve knew how easily the hillside could ease them off of their intended path.

  It was a good half hour before Brigid’s cough broke the silence. “Smells like rotten eggs,” Brigid said after she recovered.

  “It’s certainly not eggs,” Maeve whispered. “Keep the coughs quieter, if you please.”

  Brigid frowned at Maeve as she bumped her arm. “Of course,” Brigid whispered. “My nose and lungs actually were fine, I just felt like hacking in that manner out of boredom.”

  Maeve turned her palms up to soften her message. “Brig, what you’re smelling right now are the hides of animals these things have been hunting. We’re getting close yet we haven’t seen or heard anything else. You’ve gone hunting loads of times; nothing you see or smell here should take you by surprise.”

  A high-pitched noise sounded in the distance on toward their left.

  “Is that a bleat?” Brendan asked.

  “It is,” Maeve said.

  Another bleat from the same direction followed by a low growl.

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

  “Let’s go,” Maeve said. “We can get another one while it’s distracted by its prey.”

  Maeve broke into a slow jog toward the sound. It was at least four hundred yards away, judging by the sound of the echoes.

  “We can’t move like you and still keep quiet!” Brigid said.

  “Do your best,” Maeve said. “It’s too far away for us to tiptoe.”

  The group sidestepped the occasional deer and badger carcass in their path. At one point Brigid attempted to leap over a fallen stag and caught her foot in its rack, causing her to stumble forward. She smacked her brother with the handle of her spear for laughing at her once she caught up with the group. It was less than half a minute before a third bleat sounded, higher in pitch and distorted by stress.

  “This might time out just right,” Maeve said.

  “For us, you mean,” Brendan said. “That doe would have preferred us arriving a bit earlier, I imagine.”

  Neither prey nor predator was visible yet. Another series of bleats and barks ensued but no echo followed.

  “Spread out and ready yourselves,” Maeve said as she grabbed another arrow from her quiver.

  At last they arrived at the outcome. The hulking, lopsided profile of the wolf loomed over the deer, its jaws clamped upon its victim’s neck. Maeve drew back her bowstring and planted an arrow in the creature’s neck. It relinquished its kill and let out a noise halfway between a yelp and a bark. A growl from an unseen animal ahead of them answered the call.

  “There’s another!” Brigid yelled.

  “Fergal, stay with me,” Brendan said. “We’ll look for that other beastie.”

  Maeve swung wide to the right to keep Brigid, now charging toward the visible wolf, out of her way. She placed another arrow in its ribs.

  Brigid swung the spear handle over her head and clubbed the creature over its right eye. She spun the handle back down and lunged for its neck. The wolf swiped its left paw at her, the motion allowing it to dodge the attack. Its injuries thus far were enough to disorient the beast; its paw missed Brigid completely.

  The other beast barked and growled. Maeve’s eyes rose from the wolf to the trees behind it but saw no sign of the men or the beast.

  “Don’t get outside of yourself,” Maeve said to Brigid, “or otherwise I can’t help you from range.”

  “Do you always have to be so shy about it?” Brigid asked. “Get in here. I won’t bite.”

  “It’s not your teeth I’m worried about,” Maeve said. Her next arrow struck the wolf high, near its hip. The animal’s movements were less stable now. Its front and hind legs seemed no longer in sync.

  Brigid recognized the opening and reengaged with another chop of the spear handle. She moved in close for another flurry of stabs, none of them sinking deeper than the base of her spearhead. The wolf collapsed to its side. Brigid climbed atop it and pinned its neck to the ground with her spear handle.

  “Finish it!” she yelled.

  Maeve ran toward the front of the beast and stepped backward as she nocked another arrow.

  “Careful, now,” Brigid said.

  Maeve scoffed and landed her next shot under the wolf’s left eye. “Don’t pretend you were actually worried.”

  “You see anything yet?” Fergal whispered.

  Brendan squinted and shook his head. “No. What’s worse is I don’t hear anything—ahead of us, anyway.”

  The ladies must be doing well, Brendan thought. I’m only hearing the wolf crying in pain.

  “It’s out here though,” Fergal said. “Can’t you feel that?”

  “Can’t say that I do,” said Brendan. “Wait.”

  Branches and saplings rustled to their left, filling Brendan with both hope and dread. Within seconds the rustling surrounded them.

  “Not the best time for the wind to pick up,” Fergal said.

  “It is not,” Brendan said. “See those downed trees up ahead and just off to the right? Let’s look around there.”

  A thick blanket of moss wrapped around the fallen trunk. Mushrooms encircled it along the forest floor. It had knocked over at least one other tree when it fell. The hole it left in the forest’s canopy had not healed.

  “Maybe we should wait for Maeve,” Fergal said. “We won’t find anything around here at night without a brave amount of dumb luck.”

  Brendan grabbed Fergal’s arm. The move caught the porter by surprise, judging by how far he jerked his arm. “Fergal, you’re right!” Brendan said. “That’s exactly how we’re going to draw out the wolf.”

  “‘Draw out?’” Fergal asked. “Dya’mean by that?”

  “We can’t track the wolf down. That’s not one of our strengths. But I have other skills, and I’m just dumb enough to rely on that and luck.”

  “No maybes about it, then,” Fergal said. “We should absolutely wait for Maeve.”

  “Sure look, Fergal. We’re not helpless. Neither of us would be here if we were. There’s two of us and one of it. Go stand on the middle of that log and do something to draw it out. Once it pokes its nose out where we can see it, we’ll take care of it.”

  “Tell me truthfully,” Fergal said. “How often do you make your guides do something like this, and how many of them survive it?”

  “That question offends me,” Brendan said.

  “Isn’t that a shame?”

  “Between your strength and my magic, nothing’s going to happen to us. I have all manner of magic I can use that you have yet to see.”

  “Do you have one that makes a man stand on a log out in the open so he can get eaten? Because that’s the only way I’m going out there.”

  “Let me put it to you like this: I’m not waiting for Maeve,” Brendan said. “I don’t care if we follow my plan or go back to wandering around in futility—I’m not staying put.”

  Fergal’s frown and downcast gaze suggested he disliked both options. Brendan’s last resort was to play a hunch. “You know we can do this if we work together. And how great would it look when the ladies catch up to us and we’re standing over the vile, defeated creature? Imagine the looks on their faces. On Maeve’s. On Brigid’s.”

  Fergal’s eyebrows nearly leapt off his forehead. He studied Brendan’s face for a few seconds and cleared his throat. “Which part of the log was it, again?”

  “Right there in the middle. I’ll duck behind a tree near it. We know it’s likely not approaching from the direction we came. And—most importantly—if I tell you to jump down you do it immediately, because I’ll be sending something in your general direction.”

  Fergal walked over and climbed onto the trunk and rested his club on his shoulder.

  “See anything?” Brendan asked.

  “Still nothing.”

  “Maybe make some noise?”

  Fergal scoffed. “Spoken like the man who’s hiding off to the side.”

  “Try it.”

  Fergal sighed. “Hello? You out there?”

  “It’s not going to banter with you.”

  “What am I meant to do, then?”

  “Make a lot of noise,” Brendan said, flicking his hands as if to shoo Fergal away. “In case it’s farther away.”

  Fergal shrugged and started beating the toppled pedestal with his club. He whooped and barked until shame apparently got the better of him.

  Brendan saw no sign of any animal and heard but a soft breeze crossing the forest. Perhaps his new friend was speaking the wrong language. He cupped his hands to his mouth and gave his best impression of the deer bleat that they heard earlier.

  “Look!” Fergal said, pointing to the northeast. “Your baby noise worked!”

  Another wolf approached with its head hung low to the ground. It growled after seeing Fergal move on the log.

  “It has to come up to you,” Brendan said. “Keep it from biting your legs and you’ll have the advantage.”

  Brendan waited until the wolf committed to approaching Fergal before sliding behind the trees to get an angle at it that was in front of Fergal. The wolf barked and ran for Fergal.

  “Brendan?” Fergal asked, his stance wavering ever so slightly.

  “Not yet.”

  “Dya’mean, ‘not yet?’”

  Brendan pulled both arms down as the wolf readied to pounce on the oversized bait. “Múr tala?!”

  He pushed both palms to the sky. An uneven wall of earth rose in front of the tree trunk, its displacement forcing the log to rock backward and send Fergal wobbling. The wolf struck the wall in mid-leap and collapsed to the ground. Brendan pulled both arms back down, closing his palms into fists.

  “Fillid.”

  The wall sank back into the soil, leaving only a line of dirt behind. Brendan ran toward the action. “Ferg, hop down and pummel that beast!”

  The younger MacDavett obliged and struck the wolf twice before Brendan reached him. The wolf was flitting in and out of consciousness. “Do that thing,” Fergal said. “Y’know, that thing where you poke it.”

  The man’s coming around, Brendan thought.

  With two words and an upward swipe of his hand, Brendan ended the wolf.

  “Is it me or is this getting easier?” Fergal asked.

  Brendan shook his head. “It’s likely you,” Brendan said. “It only seems easy if we know when—”

  “—It’s coming!” Fergal yelled as he raised his club.

  Brendan was given the courtesy of a single warning bark seconds before something tore into the back of his left leg.