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Chapter Text

About two weeks after their initial fateful meeting, Duke Stephen and his Grand Vizier, Jon, were enjoying a late dinner together. This had quickly become their habit, as both men were inclined to keep late hours. (Stephen found himself incredibly happy to have another person around to pester, on those nights when his brain decided it wasn't going to let him sleep, just yet.)

"But see, the thing about the were-merpeople," Jon was saying, "is that they've been split for decades into like 5 warring factions. All of the different Great Lakes tribes are constantly fighting one another, and then they take a break every so often to get together and beat the shit out of the Salt Lake tribes. The only neutral ones left at this point are the Okeechobee guys, and that's only because they're stuck way down in the Flower Kingdom. If all of the were-merpeople ever stopped fighting and joined up in a common cause, though, we'd be..."

He was interrupted by the squeak of hinges, and the door of their small dining room swung open. A second later, the Court Astronomer (or Court Astrologer, depending on whether or not you asked Duke Stephen) poked his head inside.

"Hey, Neil," Jon said. "What's up?"

"Hey, Jon, Duke Stephen," the Astronomer said. "I thought you guys might like to know that you're going to be receiving an important visitor in about... 15 minutes."

"Ooh!" Duke Stephen's ears perked up. "Did you read that in the stars? What else did they say?"

"No, Stephen," Grass Neil said patiently. He was an intelligent man, and it had taken him less than three days to figure out that it was a completely futile task, trying to change Duke Stephen's perception of what his job was. "But I was up in the Observatory Tower and I happened to notice a dust cloud rising from the road, because it started blocking the stars on the horizon. I turned my telescope toward it and saw that it was a lone rider, who is heading for the Palace."

"Could you tell who it was?" Jon asked. "Was it anyone we know?"

"I couldn't see her face, only that it was a woman." Grass Neil replied. "I did, however, see that she rides under the standard of the Black King."

At this, both Duke Stephen and Grand Vizier Jon sat straight up in their chairs. A Royal messenger? What could it mean?

"Have you had any business with King Obama lately?" Jon asked Duke Stephen, as Grass Neil stepped out to return to work.

"No, none," the Duke says. "You?"

"Nope.... Huh. Maybe it's just a routine state visit, then? Checking in, seeing how you're liking Newest York and so forth..."

"I guess so, yeah. Maybe." Stephen said. "Do you think we should receive her in the reception room?"

"Nah, not enough time. There's not even a fire started in there or anything," Jon said. "If it's just a messenger and not an actual Royal, they should be fine meeting us in here. And no actual Royal would ever come alone."

"Alright. Well, in that case, pass the gravy."

They waited and ate during the next fifteen minutes, finishing off a pretty decent meal of roast beef and mashed potatoes. Just as the diners were wiping their mouths and taking careful sips of wine, there came a loud knocking on the dining room's door. "Come in!" Duke Stephen called.

The door flew open, and the Royal messenger strode inside.

The rider was revealed to be a strong, wiry middle-aged woman, with pale skin and the kind of hair that could pass for either blonde or grey. She was dressed, as well, in dusty grey-brown hunting leathers, so that the overall effect was completely monochrome. She gave the impression of being able to quickly fade and disappear into any background, just by standing still.

Strapped to the woman's back was an enormous longbow, and on her belt she wore two long, curved hunting daggers.

"Duke Stephen," the envoy said, nodding to him politely, and then, just as politely, "Jon Steward."

"Hello! Wow, everybody really does know Jon, don't they?" Duke Stephen said. "Nice knives. Who are you?"

"Ahem," said his Grand Vizier, clearing his throat loudly. "Stephen, this is the Royal Huntsman, Sir Elizabeth of the Warren."

"Oh!" Duke Stephen. "That explains the bow, then, and also that amazing outfit. My goodness. See, Jon, I told you that earth tones are in right now. They're slimming."

"You did say that," Jon agreed.

Duke Stephen paused. "Shouldn't it be Royal Huntswoman, though?" he asked. "I mean, I don't see gender, but my Court Astrologer, who foretold this meeting, said you would be a woman."

"It probably should be," Sir Elizabeth agreed, "except that 'Huntswoman' sounds dumb and kinda awkward." She shrugs. "It's a traditional title."

The Royal Huntsman helped herself to a chair, pulling it up to the table. Jon, remembering his manners, motioned for the Duke's page, Kenneth, to bring her food and wine.

"Yeah, okay." The Duke straightened, and gave her his best politics smile. "What brings the Royal Huntsman here to Newest York? Does King Obama need our help, or something?"

"Yes, King Obama does require your assistance," Sir Elizabeth said. "Though ultimately it is all for your own duchy's protection." She leveled Duke Stephen with a serious stare, and said, "I am here regarding your wolf problem."

Duke Stephen blinked, taken aback.

"Our wolf problem?" the Grand Vizier chimed in. "Well, sure, I mean, there's always been the occasional pack here and there in the forests, especially once you get up toward the mountains. It's never been a huge problem, though. Our peasants tend to be pretty handy with the pitchforks and scythes, if you know what I mean."

The Huntsman shook her head and leaned forward intently, setting both of her hands flat on the table as if bracing herself against the news. Stephen started to feel strangely on edge, like he might be about to have a reason to get worried. "What we're talking about," Sir Elizabeth said, "goes far beyond the occasional wolfpack."

"Huntsmen's lore tells us that from time to time, about once every twenty years, there comes a time when the wolves' behavior changes. Whole packs of wolves, apparently spontaneously, begin to migrate toward a single destination, the location of which is different every time. As the packs meet up, they join and flow together, forming larger and larger packs. Eventually, if nothing happens to disrupt this migration, all of the wolves this side of the Big River will form into what we call a 'super-pack'."

"Uh-oh," said Duke Stephen. "That sounds problematic."

"Super-packs are incredibly problematic," Sir Elizabeth agreed. "Individual wolves are mildly dangerous, of course, but when that many wolves turn their attention toward a single target, the danger is multiplied many times. And... well, you can imagine the results." She shuddered. "I've seen it with my own eyes, and it really isn't pretty."

"So, wait. Are you saying that there's one of these super-packs forming here in Newest York?" Jon asked.

Sir Elizabeth nodded. "All of the signs indicate that this is the case," she said. "At the Black Tower we've gotten more and more reports of migrating wolves, and when we plotted them out, they seemed to converging. As far as we can tell, the super-pack is developing in the Cat Skull Mountains, just west of here."

"Oh no," Duke Stephen gasped, clutching his napkin to his chest.

"Once it forms," the Huntsman said, "all of Newest York could be at risk. Super-packs are unpredictable, so we don't know what exactly it might latch onto. By the time it starts attacking, it might already be too late."

"That really sucks," Jon said earnestly. "What can we do?"

"A good question, and one that brings me to my mission." Sir Elizabeth drew herself up. "My good Duke and... um." She hesitated, and then took a stab. "Duchess?"

"Jon's my Grand Vizier now," said Stephen. "Grand Viziers are cool."

"Ah, okay. Well, my good Duke and Grand Vizier, you must summon your brave knights and pass along my warning! All of you must meet me outside the Palace gates, at dawn upon the morrow. We will ride out for the Cat Skull Mountains, and find a way to stop this super-pack before it can begin!"

"We will?" Jon said.

"Yes, we will," the Royal Huntsman said firmly.

"Wait, wait. We're going to go out there, where there are actual wolves, and then we'll find a way?" Duke Stephen asked. "I only bring this up because it sort of makes it sound like you don't know what you're doing. And if that's the case, I'd like to give a wag of my finger to this whole concept."

The Huntsman merely shrugged. "Hunting is always about improvisation," she said. "I never know how exactly I'm going to make a kill until the arrow is nocked, or the dagger poised to strike."

Duke Stephen made a small noise, one that could best be described as an eep. (It was a sound that had been spontaneously uttered by many different small creatures, upon finding themselves face-to-face with the Royal Huntsman.)

Jon Steward coughed into his hand, and at the same time kicked Duke Stephen under the table. "Thank you, Sir Elizabeth," he said, "You're absolutely right about that. I've often thought that same thing, about hunting and improvisation and daggers, and all that." Stephen kicked him back in retaliation. "Anyways, we will totally just go and... summon our brave knights then. I'm sure they'll want to know about this whole super-pack situation right away. No time to waste!" He rose to his feet, just as Kenneth came in carrying a tray of food for Sir Elizabeth.

"Milady, we will bid your leave to go and prepare," Duke Stephen said, finally picking up on Jon's signal. "My page, Kenneth, will show you to a room, when you are ready to retire. And please don't hesitate to tell him if there's anything, anything at all, that you need."

"Yes, ma'am," the page added in a friendly tone, smiling broadly.

Duke Stephen grabbed Jon's arm and hustled with him out of the room, both of them trying hard to look nonchalant.

-----

Out in the hallway, Duke Stephen leaned in close to Jon and whispered, "Jon, she said that she wants knights. I don't have knights!"

"I know," Jon whispered back through gritted teeth. "I thought you said that were going to hire some!"

"I am!" Duke Stephen said. "I just... haven't quite gotten around to it yet. Anyway that's your fault," he pouted.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Jon said, forgetting to whisper. "How is it my fault?"

"You distracted me," Duke Stephen said, pouting even more extravagantly.

"I distracted..." Jon threw up his hands in the air. "For fuck's sake," he said again. "Why do I even like you, again?"

"Because of my charm, boyish good looks, and unexpected bursts of brilliant insight," Duke Stephen reminded him.

"Oh yeah," Jon said. "I guess so."

They looked at one another.

"What the fuck are we going to do?" Duke Stephen exclaimed. "I can't tell the Royal Huntsman that I don't have any knights! It'll get back to the Black King, and then he'll think that I'm a loser! I have to work with that guy!"

"Technically, you work for that guy," Jon reminded him.

"Yeah, whatever."

Jon Steward looked at the ground for a minute, thinking. Then he looked up and said, "I guess there's only one option, really."

"What's that?" Duke Stephen said.

"We'll just have to make ourselves some knights."

"What, right now? Tonight?"

"Nah, you'll probably need more than two. I'd aim for eight or nine, myself."

Duke Stephen cracked up in surprise, even though the pun was pretty lame. After a minute, his Grand Vizier cracked up too.

-----

Duke Stephen looked around himself uncomfortably, pulling the cloak's hood lower over his face. "Remind me of why we're here, again?" he hissed to Jon. "Because I'm definitely getting the sense that my kind is distinctly not welcome in this tavern!"

"What, you mean posh bastards?" Jon said. "Yeah, probably not." He was distracted from his teasing when a familiar face entered his field of view. "John!" Jon called out, and waved. "John d'Oliver, hey! Over here!"

He stepped around Stephen and headed toward another man, who gave him an appropriately manly, back-slapping hug in greeting.

"Jon!" John said.

"Oh, that's not going to be at all confusing," Duke Stephen said.

"Oh man, you're just the person I've been looking for, John," Jon said. In response, John swayed on his feet, and hiccuped a little.

"So, how drunk are you right this minute, John?" Jon said.

"I'm epically pissed, Jon!" John said, with a huge shit-eating grin on his face. He lifted his tankard in the air, waved it vaguely in Jon's direction, and then tossed its contents back. "Wooo!" he said loudly, to no one in particular.

"Awesome," said Jon, and then he clapped John d'Oliver on the back. "That's great, John. Tell me, how would you like to do a great service for the Black King himself?" he said. "It may involve fighting wolves. In hand-to-hand combat."

"Fighting wolves?" John d'Oliver said, lifting his tankard again. "Hell yeah, that's fucking badass! Jon, I would punch a wolf right in the goddamn mouth if there was one here, right now! Right in the mouth!" he said again. "Wooooo!"

"Awesome," Jon Steward said again.

-----

In the end, Jon had a fair amount of success with his very simple method, which involved picking out all of the people who were bored or drunk enough to think that hand-to-hand wolf combat sounded awesome. He ended up with six additional recruits, besides John.

Jon herded them all into a private room which he'd hastily rented, ignoring all of the envious looks and the smattering of whistles and catcalls thrown out by the other patrons. "Wow, do they really think all nine of us are going to go in here and fuck, just like that?" Duke Stephen said. "Because I'd imagine an event that complex would require some preparation. Possibly with diagrams."

"Yes, they do think that we're all fucking, and for the good of the realm we're going to keep it that way," Jon replied. He let out a rather unconvincing moan, pitching it loud enough to be heard through the thin walls. Encouraged, some of the other drinkers also tried their hand at making various "sexy" noises, with very mixed results.

"Gross," Duke Stephen said.

"Oh, hush. At least they made an effort," Jon replied. Then he turned toward the others and commanded, "Hey, guys and dames. Come here."

The would-be knights all slouched and staggered over.

"Okay, Your Duke-ness," Jon said to Stephen. "Better get to knighting."

------

It turned out, when Stephen finally bothered to ask, that more than half of his new knights weren't even Amurrican subjects. He suspected that might actually be illegal, but quickly decided that this was no time to begin following "the law".

He didn't have to like it, though.

Sir Jason and Sir Sam, a newlywed couple who were on their honeymoon, were a relatively decent kind of foreign; they were both from Canadia, the Kingdom's close ally and neighbor to the north. In addition, Sir Sam claimed (loudly and over-often) that she was one-quarter giant. "From the Quebec giants," she kept saying, to anyone who would listen.

It was entirely possible, of course, but Stephen thought that she didn't seem particularly super-sized.

Sir John d'Oliver was a Frenchman, as the name suggested; therefore, he immediately gained Duke Stephen's instinctive distrust. (At first Stephen had thought the man had a tragic speech impediment, until he realized that it was just one of those funny foreign accents.)

And he didn't even want to know where Sir Aasif was from. It was bound to be someplace weird and scary.

"Wow, that's kind of racist," Jon said. Stephen realized, too late, that he'd been saying his internal monologue out loud. (Again.) "He could be from, like, Tampa," Jon continued. "You don't know."

"Alright, let's see," Stephen argued. "Hey, Sir Aasif! Where are you from?"

The newly-minted knight lifted his head from his cup of wine, and rolled his eyes. "Tampa, asshole!" he said. "Why?"

"Huh," Duke Stephen said to Jon. "...Well, I'm still right, because the Flower Kingdom is totally weird and scary. I mean, have you seen how big their bugs are?"

"Yeah, really big," Jon said. He was obviously distracted.

The Grand Vizier stood up and clapped his hands loudly, paused for a second, and attempted to make a sex noise that came out sounding like an enraged spider monkey. Sir Al and Sir Jessica, who were chilling in the corner, both mimicked the sound; they cracked up, and high-fived one another. Sir Wyatt, who was sitting with them, rolled his eyes and let out a huge burp.

"Alright, guys and dames," Jon Steward said. "It's go time. Let's get you to the armory and get you suited up!"

-----

A faint pre-dawn glow was just beginning to outline the towers of the Palace, when the newly-minted knights gathered themselves outside the gates.

The Huntsman arrived just as the last rapidly-sobering reveler was chivvied into place. She strode up looking fresh and alert, with her massive longbow carried easily in one hand. Duke Stephen wondered if she had slept at all.

He was starting to rather keenly feel the fact that he hadn't.

Sir Elizabeth planted her feet and surveyed the gathered knights. Even Stephen had to admit that they were a motley crew, with a good two-thirds of them carrying only peasant weapons — torches and pitchforks and scythes, instead of proper bows and swords.

Sir Wyatt had flat-out refused to wear a proper helmet, complaining that with it on, he couldn't see a goddamn thing. (And no, it had absolutely nothing to do with him not wanting to deal with helmet-hair.) He had compromised with a padded leather cap, like those used by grasshopper players.

(Grasshopper, of course, was the popular peasant sport, which Duke Stephen refused to even try to understand. There were balls and sticks and lots of running, and the occasional broken limb or traumatic brain injury. That's all the Duke felt he needed to know.)

Sir Sam had refused to carry any good, proper steel at all. She preferred, instead, to swing around a great, gnarled wooden club, which was covered all over its surface with suspicious reddish stains. She'd pulled it from her knapsack with a disturbing amount of glee, and she'd accidentally almost smacked Jon in the face with it, twice. So far.

The Round Table, these guys were not.

Still, Sir Elizabeth gave them an approving nod. "I see you're taking an innovative approach to civil defense," she said to Duke Stephen. "I'd love to ask you some questions about how that's working out, later."

"Oh, that's all Jon," Duke Stephen said, nervously. "You'd really have to take it up with him." She nodded matter-of-factly, while behind her back, Jon grimaced.

"Noble knights!" Sir Elizabeth said, turning to the gathered volunteers. "Are you ready to do a great service to your country?" The response was dead silence.

Sir Jason let out a small, hungover groan.

The knights and the Huntsman stared at one another until the moment moved past Dramatic Pause, and blundered into Awkward Silence.

Then Duke Stephen, experiencing one of his periodic bursts of day-saving brilliance, stepped forward. He drew Sweetness, his beloved blade, from his belt, and he held it out flat in front of him, in a sort of low salute. "I, Lord Stephen de Colbert, Duke of Newest York, do pledge my sword Sweetness to the service of the Black King, and to the defense of Amurrica," he proclaimed, in ringing tones.

Sir Elizabeth seemed to buy it. She nodded and pulled her hunting daggers smoothly from their holsters, crossing them with Sweetness. "I, Sir Elizabeth of the Warren, do pledge my daggers Dodd and Frank to the defense of Amurrica and the service of the Black King. And my bow, Senator, as well," she added.

There was a pause, and then the Grand Vizier stepped forward. He was carrying a sturdy wooden bat of the kind used to play grasshopper, and a shield-like wooden contraption that Stephen thought might be used to deflect the ball. "I Jon Steward pledge my bat Joey," he said. He held out his bat, and crossed it with the other weapons.

It was a little rushed, a little awkward; but somehow Jon's buy-in seemed to turn the tide.

"Yeah, me too! I also do that!" Sir Wyatt said, stepping forward and putting his own bat forward into the pile. "My bat doesn't have a name, though."

"My club does! It's called Ballcruncher," Sir Sam said, stepping forward and adding her club to the salute.

"Please, never ever tell me the story of why it's called that," Jon muttered.

"I pledge my pitchfork," Sir Al said.

"I, John d'Oliver, pledge my hunting bow. For the Queen!" They all looked at him. "And Amurrica, and whatever," he added hastily. "Wooooo!"

"I pledge my brass knuckles, and a foot up the arse of anyone who gets in my way!" Sir Jason said.

"Yeah!" several people said, or variations on it. "Right in the goddamn mouth!" someone else added.

"Yeah!" Duke Stephen joined in. He looked around at the gathered hunting party, and felt an unexpected rush of pride. This might be a motley crew, and one whose primary experience lay in battling hangovers, but they were here and they were willing, and they were his.

His people, Duke Stephen found himself thinking, for the first time. The people of his land, that he had sworn to govern and protect.

He was becoming strangely fond of these random, half-drunk peasants.

"You know what we are?" he said, raising his voice in exhortation. "We're the Best Fucking Knight Team in Amurrica, that's what!"

"Yeah! FOR AMURRICA!" they all cheered together. For a moment, everyone's hangovers and exhaustion were forgotten.

And so, driven onward by the blossoming heat of an unfamiliar patriotism, Duke Stephen and his knights rode out for the Cat Skull Mountains, to hunt a super-pack.

TO BE CONTINUED....

Chapter Text

Finally, after an appropriate period of travail, Our Intrepid Heroes arrived at the place where the road became a track and started its long, slow wind up into the Cat Skull Mountains. All of the Knights were dirt-covered, sweaty, and exhausted. Duke Stephen, on the other hand, was the kind of person who didn't sweat; he glowed.

The Duke was glowing hard enough to light up his largest ballroom by the time Sir Elizabeth of the Warren, the Black King's Royal Huntsman, finally waved them to a halt. She, of course, appeared to have no hair out of place.

The Huntsman looked around herself, assessing the terrain, and she then turned to Duke Stephen. "All right," she said, "here's the plan. I'm going to head West and scout around the —"

"Hello!"

Duke Stephen jumped at the unexpected sound, and then flinched when a tiny, female pixie popped into existence right above their heads. Her greeting was accompanied by a faint chiming, like the ringing of distant bells. The pixie's entire body was outlined by a floating halo of curly hair that cascaded from her head, creating an effect that was quite unique. To add to that strangeness, she was waving around a very small but wickedly sharp spear, and was dressed in the grey fur of what had once been a cat.

The strange barbarian pixie zoomed down between them, fluttering her wings and hovering in place. Duke Stephen noticed that what he'd initially taken for a strange-looking hat was, in fact, the skull of a cat; the pixie wore it strapped to her head, like some kind of creepy helmet.

"Hello!" the tiny woman said again, with great cheer and enthusiasm. "My name is Kristen Skull, of the Cat Skull clan, and I'll be your host here in the Cat Skull Mountains today. So just ask me if you have any questions! For example, did you know," she continues with even more enthusiasm, "that this mountain range was named after my clan, the family of pixies known as the Cat Skulls? It's been the historic homeland of my people for more than 20,000 years!" She tapped the cat skull that she was wearing on her head.

"...I must admit, I did not know that," said Duke Stephen.

"Good for you!" Kristen said. "You've learned something new today! You're welcome." She fluttered her eyelashes at them; it was disconcertingly adorable. "Now, where would you guys like to go? I can guide you to any of the Cat Skull Mountains' premier tourist destinations, including scenic trails, beautiful waterfalls, and quaint little villages! You can hire my services for a full day for the low, low price of just 250 bucks!"

"I have a counter-offer," Duke Stephen said. "How about you take us to where there are a whole bunch of wolves gathering right now, for the low, low price of 'I don't have you thrown in jail'?"

"Harumph." The pixie crossed her tiny arms, and pouted. It was still adorable. "Well, there's no need to be that way about it. If you don't want to pay, then you can just turn around and leave my mountains! And go pick on somebody your own size!"

One of the knights groaned. Duke Stephen wasn't sure if it was because of hangover, or because of the incredibly obvious nature of that last pun.

"Oh my god," Jon Steward, the Grand Vizier, said. "Look... Kristen, right? Kristen Skull?" The pixie nodded. "Alright. Please excuse the Duke, Kristen. He's had a long day." Stephen stuck his tongue out at Jon. "Duke Stephen," Jon said, giving a rather unconvincing glare toward the man in question, "can definitely afford to pay you 250 bucks, Kristen. We just... don't have that much on us right now. But we'll definitely pay you, okay? You can come over to the Ducal Palace any time, and we'll give you the full amount." The pixie's resolve appeared to be wavering. Jon hastily added, "Plus, let's say, a 20% bonus to cover the added travel."

"Oh, alright," Kristen said. "I guess I can make an exception, just this once. A bunch of wolves, you said?" She put tapped her finger against her lip, thinking. "... Hmm, yes. I think I know just the place! Only this morning, one of my sisters reported a disturbingly large pack of wolves, gathering at the place we call the Crossroads. Follow me, I'll show you!" And the pixie zoomed off into the air, her curly hair bouncing and flying out behind her.

"Follow that Skull!" Sir Elizabeth shouted, sprinting after Kristen. Jon, Stephen, and the Knights reluctantly lifted their aching feet and jogged along behind her.

------

The pixie alighted suddenly, coming down on a branch beside Sir Elizabeth's head. She held a finger to her lips. "Shhh!" she said. "The Crossroads are just over that hill!"

Sir Elizabeth fell into a low crouch, motioning for Stephen and the Knights to also take cover. "Alright, men and women," she said. "Stay here for now. The Duke and I will go and scout out the situation. We'll be back within 5 minutes. Steward, you stay here with Skull and take care of any stray wolves that find you."

"Um," Jon said.

"Alright, let's move!" Sir Elizabeth beckoned to Duke Stephen, and they set off.

Stephen sunk into an awkward crouch and did his best to move silently, following the Huntsman. She, of course, was flitting fleetly through the shadows, causing no more sound than a gentle summer breeze. Stephen, on the other hand, was more like a Nor'easter — Hurricane Stephen, breaking branches and rustling leaves. With every step, he expected eight or nine wolves to spring upon them from the shadows and rend them both to shreds.

Well, actually they would only be rending him, because Sir Elizabeth would shimmy up a tree with one hand while shooting off deadly accurate arrows with the other, or something ridiculous like that. Duke Stephen, though, was guaranteed to become dog-meat.

To his surprise, they made it safely to their goal, and crouched down behind the cover of some large boulders. Sir Elizabeth motioned for him to listen.

Turning his good ear toward the clearing, Duke Stephen was surprised to hear a conversation in what sounded like human speech. Confused, he peeked out from around the boulder, and there he saw them: a circle of thirteen big, mean, scary-looking wolves. In the center of the circle was an old-looking wolf with a very strange appearance: his head and neck were completely bald of fur, covered only by wrinkled pink skin. The effect was disconcerting; the wolf's head looked almost human.

A weight ascended onto his shoulder, and Duke Stephen let out an unwilling yelp. He covered his mouth with his hand at the last minute, so all that emerged was a tiny squeak.

"Shh!" the thing on his shoulder said, and then Stephen realized that it was their pixie, Kristen. "Be quiet, Stephen!" she unnecessarily added. "Don't you know that those wolves could tear you into shreds in a second, if they heard you?"

"Right, thanks for the reminder," Duke Stephen quipped in a whisper. "What's up with that bald wolf? I've never seen anything like it."

Kristen flew up to check it out, and then she darted back down to re-alight on Stephen's shoulder. "That's the wolf who goes by the name of Rove," she whispered. "He's the alpha male of our local Cat Skulls pack." She pauses. "I think it's some kind of skin condition."

"You know this wolf?" Sir Elizabeth said.

"Oh yes," Kristen replied. "Rove might look strange, but he's actually quite canny, and his pack is fiercely loyal. He's been a thorn in the side of the Cat Skull clan for years and years now."

"He seems to have made himself into the alpha wolf of this entire super-pack," Sir Elizabeth observed.

"Yeah, I'm not surprised," the pixie nodded vigorously, ringlets of her hair bouncing like Slinkies all around. "He's a sly and tricksy one, that Rove."

They watched as the wolf Rove opened his mouth, and began to speak. They were too far away to make out exactly what he was saying, but he was clearly speaking to the other wolves using words in the human language. (English.)

"So, um," Stephen said, "have wolves always been able to speak human? I always thought they just sort of growled and barked, and occasionally sniffed one another's butts. You know, like dogs."

Kristen and the Huntsman both turned to stare at him. "You're silly," the pixie observed after a moment. "What do you mean? Of course dogs can speak. What kind of dogs have you been hanging out with?"

"And how exactly could these wolves coordinate something as large and complex as a super-pack," Sir Elizabeth added, "if they couldn't speak to one another? Honestly. Growls and barks, indeed."

"Oh," Duke Stephen said. "Huh." His knowledge of dogs was admittedly rather limited, being entirely based upon one single beast.

When Stephen was a child, one of his brothers had a gigantic and terrifying wolfhound, who was named Wuffles. Wuffles had certainly never spoken to Stephen, although that may have been because she was too busy trying to bite him. (And she had, once or twice, succeeded.) Duke Stephen had despised that bitch with every ounce of his young soul.

"Well, why didn't you tell me that they could talk? Problem solved!" Stephen stood up, and started to walk out around the rock.

Sir Elizabeth grabbed the edge of his tunic and hastily yanked him back and down. "What do you think you are doing?" she hissed. "They'll see you!"

"That's okay, let them see me." Duke Stephen said. "I mean, look, isn't it obvious what we've got to do here? No?" He sighed. "Okay, fine, I'll spell it out then. Item one: wolves hate silver, right?"

"I think that's actually werewolves," Kristen said, but Duke Stephen brushed her off.

"Well, if werewolves hate silver, then regular wolves must hate it twice as much," he rebutted. "Item two: it's widely known that I have a silver tongue. You can ask anyone, they'll tell you that I talk people into doing things all of the time. Things that they have absolutely no reason to agree to!"

"Wolves double-plus hate silver, and I have a silver tongue, ergo..." He makes a grand, sweeping gesture. "...I go and lick the wolves and then they die. Problem solved."

Sir Elizabeth and Kristen Skull both stared at him, mouths agape.

"See?" Duke Stephen said. "What you're feeling right there is the ol' silver tongue at work." He winked at them, and then he jumped back up to his feet and strode boldly out from behind the rock, making no attempt at further stealth. As one, the wolves' heads swiveled to look at Stephen, and thirteen mouths bared thirteen sets of long, sharp teeth.

"Hello," Duke Stephen said, and gave a sweeping courtly bow. "I'm Lord Stephen de Colbert, and I'm the Duke of these lands. Attending me is Sir Elizabeth, the Royal Huntsman." He gestured over his shoulder, but when he turned his head, the Huntsman was nowhere to be seen. "Huh. ...Well, she was just there a minute ago."

"Anyway, I'm here to parlay with your leader who, I believe, is the wolf known as Rove."

Rove slunk forward, grinning and baring an impressive set of yellow, spit-covered fangs. His beady eyes gleamed against the wrinkled, pink skin of his head. "I am Rove," he growled. "What brings the Duke of Newest York into our gathering today, all alone and, oh so very undefended?"

"I'm here," Duke Stephen said, "to ask you to leave Newest York. Barring that, I'm here to ask you to please let me lick you."

"To lick me? What?" Rove let out a sharp, amused bark. "Why on earth would I want to do that?"

"Silver tongue, see?" Duke Stephen said. "Look, I'm giving you a choice. Either go home, or let me lick you. It's your call."

He waited for a second, but Rove didn't appear to be intending to respond. "Also," he added for good measure, "you should know that I have a group of Amurrica's fiercest, most highly-trained knights waiting just over that hill, and the Royal Huntsman is also hiding around here somewhere. So if you don't agree to leave, it's not just my tongue that you're going to have to face. It's all of their various weaponry, as well."

"I see," Rove said. "Very well, then. We will leave..."

"That's great!" Duke Stephen said, lowering his hand to knee-height. "Shake?"

"...a trail of your blood, when we descend upon your village," Rove finished. Then, suddenly and without any warning (aside from the rather clear warning that he'd just given), Rove reared back and sprung at Duke Stephen.

He hit the Duke's torso hard, and easily knocked him to the ground. When he landed, Stephen's head hit a rock and he cried out in pain, struggling mightily to free his sword. His silver tongue deserted him and Stephen turned and twisted, trying to avoid Rove's cruelly slashing fangs — not to mention his deadly wolf-breath.

Stephen finally managed to wrench Sweetness free. At the same moment, there came a loud thudding sound above him, and a pained grunt from Rove. Stephen found himself suddenly able to pull free.

He frantically pushed back from the wolf and raised his sword, and without thinking he stabbed it deeply into Rove's ancient, shriveled heart. The tip of his sword knocked against the tips of three or four of the Huntsman's arrows, so deeply had they embedded themselves into the wolf's body.

Rove lifted his head and gave a mighty howl, so loud that it shook the earth around the clearing. Then the mad light finally faded from the old wolf's eyes, and he collapsed into a limp heap of fur and bone.

Stephen struggled to his feet, watching in horror and fascination as the old wolf's spirit left his body. It hovered there above all of them for a long moment, a spectral white outline silhouetted by the sun. "You've not seen the last of Rove!" the wolf's ghost howled. "I'm coming back for you, Stephen de Colbert! I'm going to haunt your nightmares until the day you die...."

Then a gentle breeze kicked up, and the ghost quickly dissipated.

Duke Stephen very calmly pulled himself up to his feet, and casually brushed the dirt off of his clothing. He touched the tender spot where he had banged his head; his hand came away a little bit bloody. "Ow," he said.

He strode over to Rove and yanked his sword back and free of the corpse, feeling surprised by the amount of effort that it took. He knelt down over a patch of grass and carefully cleaned the blood from his blade. He stood back up, and carefully re-sheathed Sweetness on his belt. Ignoring the circle of twelve wolves that were all staring at him silently, he made his way over to a large rock and arranged himself there in a comfortable position.

Then he leaned over and vomited three or four times. His mouth tasted like blood and steel, and the whole thing was, generally speaking, pretty gross.

When he'd finished and composed himself, he looked up and found that he was staring face to face with one gigantic wolf. This one was bigger than Rove, and younger; he was a great towering mass of fur and muscles, who was nearly as big around as he was tall.

"Hello," Duke Stephen said. "Am I going to have to kill you, too? Please say no."

The wolf grinned at him and swished its tail lazily. "No," it growled. "I'm not here to do you any harm. Besides, I think your friends have got me pretty well covered." Stephen looked further up and found himself faced with an array of arrows, pitchforks, clubs, knives, and two grasshopper bats — all of them directly pointed at the big wolf's head.

"Oh," he says. "Hey, guys. Nice of you to show up."

"We," Jon Steward said, glaring at him, "are going to have words later, regarding this tendency to try solving every problem with your tongue."

"Words? Alright," Duke Stephen said amiably. "I've got plenty of those."

He turns his attention back to the wolf at hand. "Well, who are you, then?"

"My name is Kris Kris," the enormous wolf said, pronouncing his name in two short, sharp barks. "I'm the leader of the Jersey wolves, and I was Rove's lieutenant. Before you killed him."

"I see," Duke Stephen said. "Nice to meet you, Kris Kris."

"I don't think you really do, though," Kris Kris said, grinning far too widely for a wolf. "You see, Duke, you defeated our alpha male in single combat. Technically. Even if it was basically an accident."

"That, of course, makes you the new alpha male and theoretically supreme leader of this super-pack. Although I must admit, none of us other pack leaders seem to be feeling too inclined to fall in behind you, at the moment." Kris Kris flopped down on his forepaws, scratching idly at a spot behind his neck. "So, good luck with that," he said.

Duke Stephen looked around him, at the other eleven unimpressed pack leaders. "Oh," he said, "okay. Well, in that case, I have a solution. Why don't you big bad pack leaders just disband the super-pack? Go back home! Isn't home nice? And besides, your old leader is dead, and the new one," he gestures toward himself, "isn't exactly an inspiring figure, in wolf terms. (Though I do have to mention that I do pretty well with humans.) And I'm sure that the twelve of you don't want to have to fight one another for dominance. That sounds really annoying, doesn't it?"

"What else is there for you to do but give it up, and go home?"

"Sorry, no can do," Kris Kris said, looking up at Stephen with one ear raised. He was the most doglike wolf that Stephen had ever seen.

"Why not?"

"Because we've got an appointment tomorrow," Kris Kris said. "Just how much do you two-legs know about super-packs, anyhow?"

"I... Some. A little. Only what the Royal Huntsman has told me," Duke Stephen said, gesturing to Sir Elizabeth. She stood off to the side with an arrow nocked, ready to let it fly.

"Let me tell you a story, then," Kris Kris said. "It's a story about bears."

"Bears? But I hate bears," Duke Stephen said, worriedly. "Are there bears here?" He looked around himself nervously. "Did I mention that I really hate bears?"

"Not right here," Kris Kris said. "But if you hate bears, you're not going to like this. Did the Royal Huntsman tell you why a super-pack forms when and where it does?" He turns his head to look at Sir Elizabeth, who shook her head.

"No," she said, and leaned forward intently. "Why?"

"Every so often, from time to time," Kris Kris continued, "a clan of bears becomes excessively successful. Whether it be through intelligence, prowess in the hunt, or simple good fortune, a bear clan comes into such abundance that it begins to outgrow its hunting grounds. When this happens, after they run out of forest land to take, the bears start to become greedy and desperate. They covet human lands, and they start to plan ways to take those lands, by killing or driving away all of the people." He paused.

"Bears are smart. And they like to cause maximum chaos by attacking population centers, places where there are a bunch of people gathered. In particular, they like to attack villages on market days, when everyone is out shopping at the market."

"Uh-oh," Duke Stephen said. "You're right, I don't like that."

"When we wolves get word that a big attack is coming, we call up all of our friends to come and follow the bears, and take advantage of the chaos." Kris Kris swished his tail. "As you humans say: whenever there's a bear market, the wolves are sure to follow."

"Fascinating," Sir Elizabeth said. "I will add that to the lore."

"So wait," Jon Steward chimed in, his voice thick with worry. "Are you saying that's happening right now? There's going to be a bear market soon, in Newest York?"

"Yup!" Kris Kris barked. He didn't sound too upset. "The bears who live in the Forest of Stearns are planning to attack the largest village in Newest York, the one right outside the Palace, on the very next upcoming village market day. Which I believe," he cocked his head to the side, "is... hmm, yes, tomorrow." He grinned at Stephen even wider.

"Oh no," Duke Stephen said. "A bear market, tomorrow? Even without the super-pack's involvement, that will be disastrous! We have to get out of here! We have to warn the villagers, and tell everyone to flee!"

"What? No!" the Grand Vizier said. Jon, of course, was a native of Newest York, born and raised in that same village, right outside the Ducal Palace.

"We can't just abandon the village!" he said. "Those are people's homes, their livelihoods! We can't just run away like cowards! We have to stand and fight!"

"But, Jon," Duke Stephen said. "Bears."

"I don't care!" Jon Steward said, his voice rising. "When you became the Duke, you swore to protect this land and its people, and to lead our defense. You're supposed to be our general, our top commander. So, start commanding!" He crossed his arms and looked at Stephen defiantly. "I will not just stand idly by and let my village be destroyed!"

"Jon," Stephen said softly, "take a look around you. I'm supposed to be Newest York's protector and commander? Well..." He shifted uncomfortably. "In case you somehow failed to notice, I just threw up because I killed a single wolf. I..." He took a deep breath. "I've never killed anything at all, before today. Rove was my first, and even that was more than half the Huntsman's doing." He paused. "I'm sorry. I'm a man of many talents, but you get right down to it, I'm a lover, not a fighter."

"And, Jon, look at my knights. They're untrained, they're poorly-equipped, and most of them only signed up because they were drunk! Not to mention that only two of them are even citizens of Newest York! You didn't hear that, by the way," he said, in an aside aimed at Sir Elizabeth.

"The Huntsman, here, is mighty," he continued, "but she's only one woman. She cannot fend off the Bears of Stearns single-handedly. And, Jon," he dropped his voice to a near-whisper, "I'm afraid. I'm terrified of bears more than anything else in the world. I always have been."

He paused, and forced himself to meet his good friend's gaze. "I'm sorry," he said. "But we can't save the village. The best we can do is warn people, and then run. And I'll be running the fastest of anyone," he concluded.

Jon said nothing in response, but the heartbroken look in his friend's eyes felt like a knife in Stephen's heart. He hated to see Jon genuinely upset, but this was even worse because Jon was disappointed with him.

Jon was looking at him like Stephen just wasn't the man that Jon expected him to be.

Then the Grand Vizier turned away, fists clenched tightly at his sides, and stalked off into the forest without saying another word. One by one, all of the knights slowly turned and followed, until Stephen was left all alone.

Unless you count the wolves.

-----

"Well, that was entertaining," Kris Kris said, after the last knight had disappeared into the gloomy forest. The wolf yawned, showing off a long, pink tongue. "Friend against friend, brother against brother!" he continued. "Dissension in the court! The proud Duke brought low, left alone in his darkest hour, forced to face the fact that he might actually be a coward! Bravo, friend, bravo. You've definitely got a knack for high drama."

"Shut up," Duke Stephen snapped. "Can't you see that I'm trying to sink into an orgy of self-pity, here?"

"Can it really be an orgy if there's only one person involved?" Kris Kris said, philosophically. "Never mind," he added. "Don't answer that."

"Please, go away," Stephen groaned. "Just, leave me here to die alone. It's all I'm really good for."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Kris Kris snapped, and then the enormous wolf lunged at Stephen without warning, pinning him down easily. Stephen didn't even try to lick him, or to fight back.

Here it comes, Stephen thought, philosophically. Maybe I deserve to die this way, for being such a shitty Duke.

Kris Kris snapped his mighty jaws together a mere inch from the tip of Stephen's nose; Stephen flinched, despite his best attempts at fatalism. "You," the big wolf said, "are insufferable, and I don't know why I'm not mauling your face right now. There must be some kind of spell protecting you or something, because I don't know why I'm even offering to help you. I must be getting soft in my old age, or something."

"Also, your friend Jon's sadface kind of reminds me of my pups." He pauses. "I think it's something in the eyes."

"Help me?" Stephen wheezed. The wolf's tremendous bulk was putting a lot of pressure on his ribcage, making it difficult for him to draw a breath. "How... could... you... help?"

"I'm a pretty well-respected wolf among these parts," Kris Kris said. "If I threw my weight behind you, so to speak, chances are good that the other alpha wolves would fall in line." He lifted himself off of Stephen, who sucked in a huge breath.

"You do have quite a bit of weight to throw," he acceded.

"Of course, there's got to be something in it for me too," Kris Kris continued. "You throw some red meat to my base, and I'll support you. And if the Jersey wolves support you, the whole super-pack supports you." He paused. "Just imagine," he said, "what you could do with a super-pack of your very own."

Stephen sat up, and considered. "I could get this super-pack to do whatever I wanted?" he said.

"Whatever you wanted," Kris Kris confirmed.

"You guys would help me defend the village against the Bears of Stearns? You'd help me make a better tomorrow, tomorrow — when they attack?"

"We'll fight bears," Kris Kris agreed, "if the pack-leader commands it. Besides, I never liked those assholes over at Stearns anyways," he admitted. "They think they're so big and bad, acting like they own the whole entire forest. I mean, hello, other animals live here too!"

"Alright," Duke Stephen said. "Wow. Okay." He could feel something growing inside of him, something that felt a lot like hope. (It was mixed with sleep deprivation, hunger, and possibly mild PTSD; but still, it was hope.) Maybe he could do the right thing, after all.

Maybe he could save the village and face down his greatest fear. And most importantly, maybe he could show Jon that he was a good Duke, and that he did care about the people and lands of Newest York.

And then Jon would like him again, and not think that he was a coward.

"Alright," he said again. "It's a deal. Lets do it!" He paused. "So, what exactly do you want in return? Money? A title? Precious jewels? Name your price."

Kris Kris stared at him. "I already told you what I want," he said. "Red meat. Maybe a couple of cows, several pigs, some chickens. Maybe a kid or two. A wolf's gotta eat..."

"You mean kid as in baby goat, right?" Stephen checked.

"Nah, goat meat's too stringy. I hate the way it gets stuck in my teeth. Kids, on the other hand—"

"Alright, okay." Duke Stephen cut him off. "I can't do the kid part, but everything else is yours. You and your wolves can take your pick of the Ducal herds and flocks, but only after the Bears of Stearns have been defeated. You'll get your payment when Newest York is safe again."

"Alright, deal," Kris Kris said, holding his paw up for Stephen to shake. "You've got yourself a super-pack!"

Chapter Text

The Bears of Stearns were numerous and well-organized when they came, descending like a plague upon the village.

Duke Stephen, riding at the head of his new super-pack, guarded the entryway to the village market. Sir Elizabeth, the Royal Huntsman, stood beside him, with Dodd and Frank sharpened and ready, and Senator raised and aimed. Arrayed around them were the Best F•cking Knight Team, who had agreed to reassemble after Stephen promised them free run of the Ducal wine cellars.

Also joining the fight was Sir Rachel, the Duke's Guard Captain, leading a small but well-seasoned battalion of other Ducal Guards. By her side was another warrior whom Stephen hadn't met; he was white-haired like an old man, but had a young-looking face. The Duke guessed that this must be the notorious Silver Fox, that mysterious mercenary whose fame had spread to all four corners of the Kingdom.

Jon Steward was notably absent; Stephen had made his Grand Vizier promise to stay safe inside the Palace, with his staff and the other members of the Court. Jon had argued, wanting to help out with the defense of his home village, but in the end he had agreed to stay away.

So it was that the battle lines were drawn, and the two armies stood face to face, assessing one another. "For Newest York!" someone started up a cheer. "For Newest York, and for Duke Stephen! Huzzah!"

"Huzzah!" Stephen said, weakly.

He was... coping with the situation. So far.

The bears let out a mighty roar and charged forward, running fast on all four paws. Duke Stephen almost simultaneously pissed himself and fell off of his horse. Aaaaaugh, oh God, oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck, he thought eloquently, while around him his super-pack rushed forward in a wave of grey fur and sharpened fangs.

The wolves crashed hard into the line of bears, and the Battle for Newest York was joined.

Sir Elizabeth stood firm and shot arrow upon arrow, each one sinking deep into its target. The Knights' and Guards' weapons were soon wet with the blood of bears. Duke Stephen, meanwhile, clung to his horse, completely frozen and unable to move.

Luckily the fighters could not see his terrified visage, and so they assumed that the Duke was standing firm in battle, unflinching and unbowed. They took courage from this imaginary sight, and fought yet harder.

The bears slowly pushed their way forward, leveraging their numbers and their bulk, but they were taking heavy losses. For a moment, the bear market seemed like it might be ending before it even really began.

Suddenly, one of the silver-haired old papa bears, a tall and powerful specimen who had obviously been the victor in many battles, stood up on his hind feet and pulled something from a pouch that was strung around his neck. It looked like a folded piece of paper.

Manipulating it awkwardly in his claws, the old bear rolled the paper into a tube and pointed it at a random building — a rather humble house. The bear roared something in a completely incomprehensible tongue, and the building he was pointing at suddenly shook and trembled.

Wide cracks spread across its foundation, and the walls began to crumble. Then the roof gave way, and the entire building collapsed.

"God help us!" Sir Elizabeth called about the noise of battle. "The bears have gotten ahold of a Spell of Subprime-Mortgage!" Stephen had never heard of one of those before, but he could tell that it was incredibly powerful and destructive. If left unchecked, these bears could bring the entire village to ruin, merely by reading off some words from a piece of paper.

Fucking wizards, what are they even good for? Duke Stephen thought. He quickly made a mental exception for his own Court Wizard, Nate the Silver, who seemed like an okay guy.

Sir Elizabeth slung her bow across her back, pulled her daggers from her belt, and threw herself forward, trying to clear a path to the bear that had the spell. Her way was blocked at every turn by a group of fierce males who menaced her with their claws and teeth, snarling. Sir Elizabeth set about forcing her way through them, but while she struggled the chief bear was already aiming his spell at another building.

This one was a building that Duke Stephen recognized; it was the village blacksmith's shop, with the all-important forge in the back. The village relied on that forge for horseshoes and farm equipment, and other such simple but necessary items.

Duke Stephen started to become genuinely worried, on top of his pre-existing state of crippling terror. It would no longer suffice to simply drive the bears off; they had to put a stop to this terrible spell, and soon.

He looked around the battlefield, trying to see if there was anyone else he could dispatch to go after the bear, but all of his forces were fully engaged elsewhere. Sir Rachel and the Silver Fox were standing back-to-back, mowing down a wide circle with their swords as the other guards drove bears toward them.

The Knights were all fighting hard, each in his or her own unique style. Sir Sam and Sir Jason had developed a system where Sir Sam would whack a bear on the head with her mighty giant's club, and then Sir Jason would stomp on it until it was dead. Sir Jessica, Sir Al, and Sir Wyatt had joined forces and were running amok with scythes and pitchforks, while Sir John d'Oliver had climbed up on top of someone's house and was loosing arrow after arrow, all the while shouting crazy foreign nonsense about his Queen.

Stephen's super-pack harried and distracted and corralled the bears. Sometimes five or six wolves would jump on a bear all at once, bringing him down with their sheer combined weight. Despite their help, though, Sir Elizabeth was still bottled up, unable to push through the stubborn group of bears that blocked her path.

There was nobody else to send.

The bear roared out the words to the Spell of Subprime-Mortgage, and the blacksmith's shop collapsed, sending up a cloud of dust and rubble.

The chief bear turned his attention toward yet another building, and Stephen's heart, which was already hovering somewhere around his knees, sunk all the way down into his feet. You see, the Duke immediately recognized that building: it was Jon's family home, the place where he'd grown up and lived a large portion of his young life. As a matter of fact, his mother and some cousins of his still lived there.

They'd all been evacuated, of course, sent off to safety with the rest of the villagers. But Duke Stephen knew that Jon would still be completely heartbroken to see his childhood home destroyed.

The chief bear opened his mouth to begin the spell, and Duke Stephen winced. He was about to look away, finding himself unable to watch, but then a movement at the doorway of the home caught his attention.

He sat up straight in his saddle, unable to believe his eyes. There, stepping out to block the chief bear's path, was none other than his Grand Vizier, Jon Steward...

...who was completely unarmored, and carried only his grasshopper bat as a weapon.

"Jon!" Stephen cried out, standing in the stirrups. "What are you doing?"

"Same thing that you're doing," Jon called back. "Risking myself for something that I care about!"

"No!" The word was wrenched from Stephen's lips as the chief bear reared back, claws extended, and prepared to swipe at Jon.

Jon, who was armed only with a meager wooden bat.

Jon, who was not only Stephen's Grand Vizier but, more importantly, the best friend he'd ever had.

Jon, who Stephen realized that he absolutely couldn't live without. Not any longer.

Something snapped in Stephen's mind, and without thinking, he spurred his horse toward the chief bear. His movement took the chief's guards by surprise; they'd gotten used to thinking of the Duke as a fixed point in the battle, one whom it was safe to ignore. His horse reared back, kicked its legs up, and broke through them.

Just as the old bear's claws descended toward Jon's face, Stephen catapulted himself forward and made a desperate leap from his horse directly onto the big bear's back, clinging tightly to his shaggy fur. The chief bear shook and twisted, trying to knock him off, but Stephen wouldn't let him.

He swung Sweetness around in a wide, flashing arc. The sword caught the sunlight and gleamed over the battlefield, giving off a J.J. Abrams-style lens flare. Then Stephen struck deep, with all of his strength, burying Sweetness up to the hilt in the old bear's back. The bear gave a mighty roar, that rattled the rooftops and left Duke Stephen's good ear ringing.

The paper holding the Spell of Subprime-Mortgage fell from its paws. Jon dove forward and snatched the scroll up, shredding the paper just as quickly as his fingers could move.

The dead bear fell forward and Stephen leapt off of its back, landing miraculously on his feet. He stood up, and tried to look like somebody who had planned all of that and knew exactly what he was doing.

The death of their leader and the loss of their secret weapon seemed to mark a tipping point in the bear market. The invaders' resolve broke, and they began to run. Stephen's super-pack gave chase as the bears fled the village, nipping and snapping at their heels.

Stephen stepped over and retrieved Sweetness from the bear's back, trying not to shudder at the horrible hairy corpse. He wiped his blade clean on some grass, and then he bent over and vomited, of course.

This time, it was only once. That felt like an improvement.

He stood up to see Jon staring, with a disbelieving look on his face. "That was... You... You just attacked a bear," Jon said, his voice full of disbelief. "You actually, willingly just jumped on a bear's back, and stabbed it with your sword."

Stephen shuddered. "Don't remind me, Jon," he said. "Ugh."

"Stephen," Jon said, "what on Earth possessed you to do that?"

"He was going to kill you, Jon!" Stephen exclaimed. "I couldn't just stand by and let that happen. What kind of friend would I be? And besides, I need you! Alive!"

"Oh," Jon said. "I mean, I had it under control, though. You didn't have to do that." He waved his grasshopper bat at Stephen.

The Duke scoffed. "That little piece of wood?" he said. "Please. Like that could do anything to stop a bear."

"Ah, but observe," Jon said, holding up a finger. He raised the bat, wound up, and took a hard swing at a large rock that was half-buried in the dirt. Stephen expected the bat to crack over the hard rock; he was taken aback when instead there was a loud boom and the rock imploded, collapsing into a neat pile of fine-grained powder.

"How?!" he sputtered. "What?!"

"Magic," Jon said. "I got the Court Wizard to ensorcel my bat."

"Nate the Silver did that, really?" Duke Stephen said. "I'm impressed. He didn't seem like the type to be into destruction magic."

"He said it was the most powerful spell that he knew," Jon said. "He called it a spell of 'compound interest'. As in, I take an interest in something with my bat, and the spell compounds the force of it many times over."

"Huh," Duke Stephen said. His shoulders slumped, and he began to turn away. "I guess that was pretty dumb, then, that thing that I did there. Sorry for assuming that you didn't have the situation under control," he said.

The next thing he knew, there were arms wrapped around him. Jon didn't even bother to pat his back in an appropriately manly fashion; he just hugged him, and didn't show any signs of letting go. After a minute, Stephen lifted his own arms and hugged Jon back.

"I'm sorry," the shorter man said into Stephen's shoulder. "I'm an asshole, and I said all of that wrong. What I meant to say was 'thank you, Stephen, for facing down your greatest fear in order to save my life'."

"You're welcome," Stephen said. "Even if you didn't really need it."

"I was terrified," Jon admitted. "My hands were sweating so much that I wasn't sure I could keep my grip upon the bat. And you just... you just straight up jumped on that bear's back and killed him with one slice, like a motherfucking ninja. I mean, damn! The Huntsman herself couldn't have done it any better!" Jon giggled.

Maybe there was a slightly hysterical edge to the laughter, but Stephen didn't mind. He found himself smiling in response. "You think so?" he asked. "It was pretty ridiculous, I suppose."

"It was heroic," Jon said. "It was really, genuinely motherfucking heroic. I'm not even joking."

"Really, you think so?"

"Really really."

Stephen buried his face in Jon's grey hair, confused by the fact that it seemed to be raining in a very small area centered just around his eyes. After a minute, he recovered himself enough to ask, "So, does that mean that I'm your hero?"

"I suppose it does," Jon said. "And why do I have the feeling that I'm going to regret admitting that?"

"Probably because I'm going to use it against you every single time we disagree, from now until forever," Duke Stephen said.

"Oh, yeah. Probably that."

Duke Stephen smiled, and rested his head against Jon's for another moment.

------

They hugged until Stephen felt like he could stand on his own again, and then they broke apart to take in the scene around them. There were blood and bear parts scattered everywhere; the fighters were gathered here and there in little clumps, resting and tending to their wounds.

Duke Stephen didn't see a single human body on the ground.

"Clean-up's going to be hell," Jon said. "We'll have to rebuild the forge, and the Widow Matilda's house that was destroyed."

"It will be hell," Duke Stephen agreed. "But it could have been a whole lot worse."

"It would have been worse. Without you, and your super-pack."

"Yeah, they really were crucial, weren't they?" Duke Stephen said. "I'm going to make sure they're rewarded. Those guys won't have to hunt for a year, by the time I'm done feeding them cows."

"Speaking of that," Jon said, "what do you think about throwing a feast to celebrate our victory in battle? I think everyone here could use some fun."

"Great idea!" Stephen said. "See, things like that are why I didn't want you to be gruesomely mauled in the face by an angry bear. Where would I be without you?"

"Probably run out of town on a rail by now," Jon said.

The two men walked arm-in-arm back to the Palace, chatting and teasing one another, stopping here and there to praise and comfort injured folks along the way.

-----

THE NEXT EVENING

After the Grand Feast drew to a close, when the handful of now-homeless villagers had been shown to their guest quarters and the last Knight was sinking cheerfully into a goblet of fine wine, the Duke Stephen and his Grand Vizier were left sitting at the grand table. Sir Elizabeth had already departed to return to the Black Tower, and Sir Rachel was off somewhere catching up with her friend, the dashing mercenary known as the Silver Fox.

("He shook my hand!" Stephen had exclaimed to Jon, earlier. "The Silver Fox actually shook this hand, right here! And, get this, he said that I'd displayed great valor! He's just so cool! And handsome..." Stephen sighed.

"Aww," Jon said, "does somebody have a little crush?"

"What? No!" Duke Stephen had quickly said. "Not at all. Besides, isn't he, you know, 'involved' with Sir Rachel?"

Jon had laughed in his face. "Not at all," he'd said, "they're just good friends. Besides, Sir Rachel only likes women, and I've heard rumors that the Silver Fox only likes men."

"Oh," Stephen had said. "Really?"

"Aww," Jon had said again, smirking. "You totally do have a crush on him. That's okay," he'd patted Stephen's arm reassuringly. "We all do.")

"Stephen," Jon said, catching the Duke's attention from where he'd drifted off, staring into the fireplace. "Earth to Stephen! Hey. I have something to show you." He rose from his seat and motioned for the Duke to follow.

Stephen obediently trailed after him, walking down the hallways toward the Duke's personal suite. Jon led Stephen into his private sitting room, and then stopped and gestured toward the fireplace, which was lit and giving off a cheery crackling blaze.

"What?" Duke Stephen said, and then he saw it.

There, covering the floor in front of the fireplace, was a fine big brown-and-silver bearskin rug. It was marred only by a single hole in the center, where it looked like a sword had pierced cleanly through the hide.

"Oh wow," Stephen said, running over to it and crouching down to bury his hands in the thick fur. "You had this made for me?" he asked, over his shoulder.

He could hear Jon approaching, and then the other man levered himself down beside Stephen and rubbed his own hands over the soft rug. "Yes," Jon said, "I had Will the Tanner make it. I thought it seemed like an appropriate memento."

"A bearskin rug, huh?" Duke Stephen said, lowering himself into a sitting position. "Serves those bastards right, attacking my village with their creepy spells." He leaned against Jon, who put an arm around him.

"Thank you, Jon," he said, running his fingers over the hole where his sword had entered. "This is absolutely perfect."

And it was.

THE END (FOR NOW)