Hes from West Wapentake, where the raiders strike first every spring.

Look out! Haaken dove into Bragis legs.

But the sergeants arrow was not meant for his brother. It brought a howl from down the trail.

Twenty hillmen charged from the forest.

The youths and scout braced for the charge. And Bragi marveled at the way it melted before the Itaskians arrows.

It was a lesson he would not forget.

A few of those hillmen bore stolen weapons, mail and shields. The first to reach Bragi was one such, and skilled with his blade. Haakens axe, screaming across after slashing a spearman, saved Bragi.

While Sir Cleve and his soldiers sorted themselves out, the youths and woodsman dropped three more hillmen.

The remainder scattered before the horsemen, who harried them into the forest. Finish the wounded before they escape, Sir Cleve called back.

This is some days work, the scout observed once the grisly business ended. A quarter of Majnerics men dead within an hour. Makes a week spent chasing them worthwhile.

Why? Bragi asked.

What? Ah. Hard times in the hills. Majneric brought his bucks down to raid. Cant really hate them for it. Theyre trying to take care of their families. At the expense of ours. We caught them near Mendalayas, killed a dozen. They scattered. We started hunting them down. Have to make this raiding too expensive for them.

The soldiers returned. They had corpses across their saddles and prisoners on tethers. Sir Cleve spoke.

He says thanks for the help. Some of us wouldve been killed if you hadnt been in their way.

Even the sergeant seemed well disposed.

Nows the time to make any requests. Hes happy. Hell be in good odor when the Duke hears about this.

Could he give us some kind of traveling pass? To get us to the City?

Good thinking, lad. Ill see.

They were ready to travel when the knight finished writing.

Later, after his lips stopped quivering, Bragi started whistling. But his brother never stopped looking back.

Haaken was still watching for a change of heart when they reached the capital.

The Red Hart Inn was a slum tavern. It was large, rambling, boisterous and appeared on the verge of collapse. Evening shadows masked its more disreputable features.

The clientele fell silent at their advent. Fifty pairs of eyes stared. Some were curious, some wary, some challenging, none friendly.

I dont think we belong here, Haaken whispered.

Easy, Bragi cautioned, concealing his own nervousness. Yalmar?

No response.

He tried again. Is there a man named Yalmar here? I come from Ragnar of Draukenbring.

The Itaskians muttered amongst themselves.

Come here. A man beckoned from shadows at the rear.

The murmur picked up. Bragi avoided hard eyes. These were men Haaken and he had best not offend.

In here.

The speaker was lean, stooped, ginger-haired, about thirty-five. He limped, but looked as tough as the others.

Im Yalmar. You named Ragnar of Draukenbring. Would that be the Wolf?

Yes.