KERK LOOKED UP to the door as he dunked the hot metal he worked into a trough of water. “You look like a lost pup, bard,” he pointed out blandly. “And here I thought everyone was happy spring has finally arrived.”

Gareth smirked a bit as he ambled over to the side and hopped up onto an empty workbench along the wall. “With Doom and Tiwaz off hunting with their wolflen friend, it’s too damned quiet. It is making me itchy.”

“And the town’s too small for you to cozy up to any of the pretty young things to distract yourself, huh?” The blacksmith laughed heartily at Gareth’s expression. “You know you should be careful what you wish for and enjoy the peace and quiet, lad. Wanting things to be ‘more exciting’ often leads to more trouble than it’s worth. Especially up here in the north.”

“You’re being superstitious,” Gareth began when the frightened squeals of young children interrupted, followed by the slamming of doors and window shutters going up the street. Ian ran to the door and looked outside in curiosity. The boy’s body language spoke volumes. “What’s the matter, Ian?”

“There’s a giant out there!” he exclaimed breathlessly. “He is even bigger than Doom!” He pointed unnecessarily towards the cloaked, colossal figure that walked the main road through town.

Kerk punched Gareth in the arm hard enough to make the bard utter a pained exclamation. “What did I tell you?” He waved towards the figure. “Go on. You deal with him.”

Gareth blinked at the man. “You want me to…?”

“You are the one who wanted excitement.” Kerk turned back and picked up his work, snapping his fingers for Ian to man the bellows. “Far be it from me to dash a young man’s dreams when they’ve been answered with such elegance.”

“Oh, ha ha. You are funny,” Gareth retorted sourly, ignoring Ian’s giggling. The bard took a deep breath and strolled out to intercept the stranger who had stopped to consider all the shuttered shops during midday. The appearance of affluence in the stranger’s well-made clothing decorated with delicate, ornate hand-stitched designs in gold thread along the cloak’s edge surprised him. “Hey there, stranger!” he called cheerfully. “You seem lost. Can I give you some directions so you can get on your way?”

The giant turned, reaching up to lower the cowl of his heavy cloak to reveal a handsome face. Were it not for his inhuman height, Gareth would not have questioned the fellow being one of the human race. Intelligence sparkled in the depths of his blue eyes as he looked Gareth up and down. “Is this Bralden?”

“It is indeed,” Gareth confirmed. “A small, quiet village with little of value to anyone.” The bard looked the giant man over, noting the various items he wore. “Especially to magic users. I believe you took the wrong fork in the road.”

“If this is Bralden, then I am not lost.” His clothing spoke more of his affluence and mysterious origins as a slight shift of his cloak revealed more. “I am seeking a hunter-fighter pair. Go by the names Doom and the Warrior. Do you know of them?”

“Doom and the Warrior? Oh, that’s quaint. Someone is trying too hard to sound clever,” he drolled. “But no. Never heard of them. Might try three villages over and down some. They like kitschy, clever things like that over there. High elves, you know. Think they’re all witty.”

The giant’s lip curled in a humorless snarl and he turned away, heading towards the Wolfs’ Den with a purposeful gait. Gareth frowned, watching him duck into the building. He headed back to the smithy. “I don’t know who he is, or what race he is supposed to be, but I’m pretty sure he’s some sort of magic user and he’s looking for Doom and Tiwaz.”

Kerk frowned at that. “You thinking he’s a bounty hunter for their former master?”

“I hesitate to jump to conclusions, but…I think it’s wiser to err on the side of caution.” He looked at Ian’s wide eyes and ruffled the boy’s hair. “Don’t worry, we won’t let anything bad happen.”

The blacksmith made a musing sound. “Should warn Tiwaz and Doom about him. Knowing the lass, she’ll likely want to go toe-to-toe with him. Rather not have to rebuild Bralden again.” Gareth arched an eyebrow, the smith waving off the unspoken question to the word ‘again.’ “I’ll tell you about it later. Damned magic users don’t tend to be patient sorts. Need to figure out how to get word out to them before Bralden ends up being razed to the foundations because he’s not finding them fast enough.”

Gareth considered, then snapped his fingers. “The wolflen. They will be able to find them.” He grabbed his cloak, putting it on as he headed out.