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camp and tore out Ugmar’s throat as he slept.”
    Vildar snatched the “wanted” notice from the bar and tore it to shreds. He tossed the confetti up than spat at the pieces. He threw a final glance at the Beast.
    “Don’t even consider it. Marrock’s hide is mine. I am going to flay his carcass bare, then mount his head right on this wall.” Vildar’s bold claim earned a round of cheers. He liberated a foaming ale from hunter’s hand and hoisted it high.
    “Ugmar was my brother. And he was ten times the hunter than the likes of you.” Vildar measured the Beast. “Whatever you are.”
    “To Ugmar!” Vildar drained the stein and flung it into the hearth. Jagged shards tumbled free, glowing like hot coals. He wiped his mouth with a dirty sleeve.
    Vildar’s company jumped to their feet, knocking over chairs and dousing the floor with ale. Up and down the table, the huntsmen clapped swords and punched at the air. They chanted Ugmar’s name and stomped the floor, rattling a chorus from dancing cutlery. Startled patrons looked up from drinks. Some made for the door.
    The Beast remained anchored to the bar, shoulders rigid, squeezing the bucket-stein. He snorted like a bull contemplating a charge. This man must be a fool of the highest order , the Beast thought. I could be done with you without even setting this cup down, little man . The idea simmered just long enough for him to abandon. It would take more than a slight from a drunken fool. But every man has his line .
    Hamish burst through the kitchen door, arms laden with trays of blackened meat, anxious to disrupt the escalating tension.
    “Any of you blokes fancy another round of mutton? On the house, it is.”
    He offered the tray to Vildar, who snatched a blackened piece of meat. He bit a large hunk from the bone, then spit it immediately back at the bar keep. Hamish’s eyes widened and he stepped back, ready to use the tray as a shield.
    “That was the vilest mouthful I’ve ever tasted.” Vildar snatched the rag from Hamish’s shoulder and wiped his tongue.
    “I doubt that.” The Beast’s tree trunk arms hung from his sides, paws clenched into mace-heads. If these men insisted on acting like savages they would be treated as such.
    The huntsmen scrambled to readiness. Vildar stood front and center, chest puffed out. The Beast was not so easily intimidated. He spotted the false bravado in the shaking swords and flop sweat.
    Quick thinking patrons elbowed their way into the snowy night. Silence reigned inside the Troll’s Breath. The Beast took a single step forward, repelling the wall of blades. A metallic twang shattered the standoff. The Beast’s paw shot up from his side, plucking the mysterious sound from the air.
    A crossbow bolt.
    He squeezed the bolt, grinding it to pulp. The iron head clunked onto the grimy floor. The Beast flexed his knees, drawing energy like a cobra. Vildar would be first.
    The hearth exploded, covering the tavern in dancing oranges and yellows. The company of huntsmen gasped and flung themselves to the floor. Their screams combined in terrible symphony. The Beast shielded his face with a forearm. He peered between his claws.
    Only Madame Urda remained seated, hunched over her table. In the middle of the flames.Unshaken. There was at first confusion, but then cause and effect were clear. The Beast’s cloak was unsinged. The clothing of the huntsmen was unsinged as well. The Troll’s Breath, consumed by flame, did not burn.
    An amused snicker rolled over the bar.
    “Gets me every time, it does.” Hamish beamed. He waved to Urda who returned an animated wave of her own.
    Remaining skeptical, the Beast passed his paws through the ‘fire’ while stepping over the writhing huntsmen. No heat . An illusion for interrupting fools .
    Madame Urda blew a kiss at the Beast. A cool breeze accompanied the gesture, extinguishing the false flame. Vildar’s company scrambled to their feet, patting themselves down and searching for