Spot needed to think fast. He had seen the destruction that Stompy was capable of, but that familiarity also meant he also knew the titan’s weaknesses.

  “Look,” the hound told his terrified companions, “I know you're all frightened, but I've faced this creature before. If you do exactly what I say, you just might live through this.”

  He took a deep breath to calm himself. “Whatever you do, don't move. It hunts based on movement, but it can't see you if you don't move.”

  Spot let out a sad smile as he looked from the titan to the frightened orcs. “I'll try to lead it away. But remember, whatever you do, whatever you see, don't move. Close your eyes if you have to, but don't move. If you move, you're dead.”

  Leslie watched as their companion dove over the side of the boat, sacrificing himself to save them. Such a noble act would be spoken of for generations to come. Leslie would dedicate a recipe in the dead hound’s honor, as was orcish tradition.

  The orc closed his eyes and braced himself for the inevitable screams. But none came. However, he did have a sudden sinking feeling. And it had nothing to do with the boat they were currently standing on.

  He cracked one eye open to see Stompy looking down at him. Then, a realization hit Leslie. He looked over to see Spot rapidly vanishing in the distance.

  The hound was swimming with the current, putting as much distance between himself and the orcs as possible. Stompy gave Spot a passing glance, then turned back toward the boat full of his new friends.

  “Guys, I think we've been had,” said Leslie.

  “No shit, Shirley,” replied his second in command.

  ***

  Francis looked at the gently glowing pair of black and yellow thunderbird eggs in front of him. They were man-sized and, if his run-in with the Green Cloaks was any indication, probably powerful enough to level a city block. No wonder Stonebreaker wanted them out of his basement.

  “This is going to be fun,” the Marine said. It had been way too long since he had gotten the chance to blow something up. Going so long without release was unnatural, and probably unhealthy. A grunt needed to vent their frustrations from time to time, otherwise they might snap. (Or possibly end up becoming an officer. Either result was equally devastating.)

  Stonebreaker looked up at him. “You have a pretty fucked up idea of fun.”

  “Yeah, I'm not arguing with you there.” Francis stroked the thunderbird egg lovingly. The Marine wouldn't have been able to define irony (even if you gave him a dictionary and a five minute head start). But something about the situation tickled the foul little recesses of his brain.

  The Kingdom of Grumble had paid for these bombs, then paid to have them smuggled into his city. And now he was about to drop them on their troops. Alanis Morissette would have been proud. (Or possibly not, which would have been ironic.)

  Stonebreaker tapped his boot impatiently. “Well, are you going to just stand around admiring your new toys until they blow up and kill us all? Or are you going to get to work?”

  Francis laughed. “Never move ordnance until you know where it's going, and how it's going to get there. Besides, my ride isn't here yet.”

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The dwarf threw up his hands in disgust and went back upstairs. It probably wouldn't save him, but Stonebreaker figured that his chances of living were much better if he could put a little distance between himself and the bombs.

  This proved to be a grave error, because in his haste to escape the immediate blast radius, Stonebreaker had left a Marine unattended in the basement of his bar. And worse yet, a proud member of the E4 Mafia (which did not exist).

  Francis grinned as he opened up his bag of hoarding. It was time to get even with Stonebreaker for smuggling bombs into his city. By the time he was done, all that remained in the basement were bare shelves, a few empty barrels, and two ominously pulsing thunderbird eggs.

  ***

  On the edge of the Dark Forest, three dire wolves were having a discussion. It wasn't going well.

  “I still think we should go in and see what's going on,” Wolfie said, “It's my duty as a Paladin.”

  “What, to be a nosey asshole who's up in everyone's business?” Not-Wolfie asked bitterly. So far he was the only one of his pack-mates that hadn't been offered a class.

  Wolfie shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I'm still new to the whole Paladin thing.”

  Also-Not-Wolfie raised his paw. “My class is telling me that there are hurt people in the city, if that matters.”

  The three dire wolves mulled this new fact over. Game had been increasingly scarce as of late, and there were plenty of humans in the city. Surely they wouldn't notice if a few went missing.

  “I could eat,” said Not-Wolfie. “We could sneak in, snag a bite, then be gone before anyone even knows we're there. It might piss off the Druids, but that's a risk I'm willing to take.”

  Wolfie shook his head. “Absolutely not. The Druids said that Brexis is off limits. If they find out we're hunting there…” He shuddered. “Well, we all remember what happened to Yip.”

  All three dire wolves winced in unison.

  “That was a bad way to go,” Also-Not-Wolfie said.

  “Definitely creative,” added Wolfie, “I didn't know you could-”

  Not-Wolfie cut him off. “Don't say another word. It was bad enough seeing it. I don't want to talk about it.”

  The three dire wolves waited in awkward silence until Also-Not-Wolfie slowly raised his paw. “Actually, I might have an idea.”

  Not-Wolfie rolled his eyes. “I can't wait to hear this one.”

  Also-Not-Wolfie ignored the insult and continued, “Well, the Druids will get mad if we go hunting in the city. But what if we weren't the ones who went hunting in the city? What if we wore some kind of disguise?”

  Wolfie perked up at the idea. “Ooh! We could wear masks to hide our identities! I've always wanted to try wearing a mask.”

  Not-Wolfie swatted at the overly enthusiastic dire wolf with his paw. “Don't be an idiot,” he said, “We live in the Dark Forest. Where are we going to get masks?”

  “There was that group of Bards we ate last week,” Also-Not-Wolfie replied, “The ones covered in paint tasted a bit funny, but they probably had some masks we could wear.”

  Wolfie wagged his tail. “Oh yeah! I remember those guys!”

  Not-Wolfie sighed. He knew when he was defeated. “Fine. But if this goes pear shaped, I'm blaming it all on you, Wolfie.”

  “What's a pear?” Wolfie asked.

  “I think it's a kind of bird,” replied Also-Not-Wolfie. “They look like this.” He traced out a vague outline with his paws.

  “Actually, pears are a kind of fruit,” Not-Wolfie corrected his pack-mate.

  Wolfie shook his head. “No, I'm pretty sure he's right. I remember seeing them in trees.”

  “See?” Also-Not-Wolfie tapped his head with a paw. “He's got you there. If it's in a tree it's definitely a kind of bird.”

  “What about squirrels?” asked Not-Wolfie, “They live in trees. Are they birds?”

  Also-Not-Wolfie shrugged. “Who knows? They're certainly fast little buggers, I can tell you that.”

  “Definitely,” agreed Wolfie, “Much too fast.”

  Not-Wolfie let out a groan of frustration. I'm surrounded by idiots.

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