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The Last Hill loomed above Kirtok as he looked up at it from beneath his cowl. The clouds obscured the light from the moon, and the rain made everything slick. The lights inside the windows were dim, the hearth mere embers. The scent of soaked wood was all around him, and the streets were devoid of life.

A den of brigands in the middle of such a peaceful hamlet, Kirtok thought. Images of the attack on the Peaceful Pegasus filled his mind. The whites of Elsa's eyes haunted him, as if staring at him from the back of his mind. He could feel his face flush with anger, and he did his best to control it before the flames could be rekindled.

I'll kill these bastards if I have to.

The mercenaries that accompanied Kirtok back from Mullead waited outside, flanking the door. They looked like they had an itch to scratch, and their fingers nervously fiddled with the grips of their weapons as Kirtok passed them by. Even though Conor's rule over the Ebonwolves was absolute, they still could not reign in their fear of the big minotaur regardless of whatever orders they were given. Kirtok gave a huff as he went inside, spitting a stream of flame out for show. Perhaps he could use their fear to his advantage when it came time to fight hsi way out.

And when it came to the way the Wolves operated, a fight was inevitable.

With the lanterns off and the hearth out, it appeared as though perhaps the inn was closed for the night. Kirtok had the feeling of being watched, but there was no one in the Last Hill. Yet the fact that there was no one around was even more unsettling. He couldn't see or hear where all the Wolves were, but he knew they were around. Conor would not have sent them all off and left himself alone to face the minotaur. The man was much more cunning than that.

Kirtok's skin crawled as the thought entered his mind that there were at least a half dozen arrows pointed at his head that very moment. Yet what vantage point could they have? Scanning the room revealed nothing, and steadying his breathing so he could listen more clearly didn't help either. Neither the creak of floorboards above or the scuff of leather boots on wood could be heard through the building. Not a single word was whispered, nor were there any sounds in the kitchen.

Only one place to go, Kirtok thought grimly as he headed down into the depths of the inn. The heat he'd been feeling since arriving had entirely been coming from him, and even as he stepped down into the cooler air of the basement, he still felt like he was sweating buckets. He tugged at the hem of his sash.

Kirtok came unarmed as part of his agreement with Doren, yet now he was regretting that decision. He sorely wished he had his wood axe with him, even if only as a deterrent. He may have been incredibly strong compared to any one of the other Ebonwolves, but he lacked a wealth of real combat experiences. His fighters consisted of the few jobs he had and barroom brawls, hardly enough to face off against seasoned mercenaries.

But then he remembered the people back in Mullead, and the trouble the guild would cause them if Kirtok didn't comply with their demands. He shook his head in frustration. This was the price he had to pay for trusting humans. First he trusted the empire with returning his land, but they'd thrown him by the wayside in the interests of money. Then Flynn had forsaken their longstanding friendship over the words of a gossiping shaman, and soon the whole town was behind him. And now the Ebonwolves decided to start terrorizing people to get to him. They couldn't face him in a direct confrontation without significant risk, so they hit him in the one place that was least protected, the people he cared about.

Unclenching his tightened fist, Kirtok reached out and grabbed hold of the door. AS the metal touched his hide, he felt a chill run up his spine. Slowly twisting his body around to look behind him, he saw about three Wolves at the top of the steps, each one armed and looking ready to use their weapons at any given moment. Kirtok frowned, and shoved his way into the room. If they wanted to trap him in the Last Hill, they were going to suffer for their efforts.

Conor was sitting behind his desk, looking pleased with himself as he worked his way through dinner. HJe had a grin on his face, suggesting that he knew Kirtok would eventually show up. The closed off space left no room for Wolves to be hiding anywhere except perhaps behind the desk, but Kirtok didn't imagine that would be the case. THe only ones in the room would be Conor and him, while his mercenaries waited outside.

"Care for a drink?" Conor motioned to a second cup on his desk.

"No," Kirtok said, his words angry and cold. Even though he didn't have much int eh way of food or water on his trip from Mullead, and he was fighting off a headache from dehydration, he didn't trust Conor. Some simple slight of hand could see his food or drink drugged without him realizing it.

"Suit yourself."

The man went about systematically picking apart his meal. He didn't move from each item to the next. Instead, he finished his corn first, followed by his potatoes, and then began digging into the dripping beef steak that covered the plate. Kirtok thought this particular choice of food was an attempt to bother him, but any revulsion the minotaur felt wasn't for what he ate, but for the man himself and the underhanded tactics he was using to get to him.

"I'm glad you chose to come back," Conor said. He belched noisily as he pushed his plate away from him.

"I wasn't given much of a choice," Kirtok said, anger tinging his words.

"You had a choice, you merely went with the path that resulted in the least deaths," Conor replied smugly. "That kind of foolish behaviour is to be commended, but it's also landed you in hot water, hasn't it?" He stood up and walked calmly around the desk, but stopped just in front of it. He was keeping his distance from the minotaur, and Kirtok had to admit that was a smart move.

Kirtok had to admit that he was right. His desire to look after those important to him had resulted in his being captured by the mercenaries. If he were a more selfish individual, then he would have gotten away without a problem, and the repercussions of those choices would be like water off his back.

"You wanted me here to talk. So talk," Kirtok said with a huff. "I don't have any patience for these mind games."

"Yes, so I've heard. It took a bit of digging, but I found out a lot about you, Flame-Scarred," Conor said, leaning back against his desk. "Oh yes, I know all about the fire, and your treatment afterwards. I also know you got a fire burning in your belly. Did you ever consider where that power came from?"

Kirtok wasn't interested in what he had to stay. "Then why are you trying to piss me off?" he said as flames licked between his teeth. "Do you have a death wish, old man?" His voice grew deeper, his words crackling with power.

"The shaman called you a bad omen. Whatever fire spirit that inhabits your body will bring disaster upon you, or so he said." Conor's lips curled into a cruel smirk, revealing the tips of his teeth. "I suppose he was right, in some regard."

"I don't care what that shaman said!" Kirtok shouted. "That bastard ruined my life."

"You left the Ebonwolves," Conor stated. "Why would you leave your family behind?"

"Look, if this is about feeling betrayed --"

"Oh, it's far more than your disrespect towards your family that I'm concerned about," Conor said. "You see that map of Kelmore there? The Ebonwolves cover that entire region. Now, we may as well blot out Mullead and the surrounding area since you're there."

Kirtok screwed his face into a frown. "Do you think I'll take jobs away from your guild?"

Conor smirked, splitting his beard with a sinister grin. "You already did by taking that job in Mullead. We coulda had you there for months to come as a steady source of income. Now we've been getting less work from that area, and I guarantee that you're the cause. All because of that Elsa bitch."

Kirtok could feel the rage boiling once again at the mention of her name. "You have no right to bring her into this!" he roared, bolting across the room and snatching Conor by the neck. He hoisted him into the air, and the man loosed a choked laugh that caused Kirtok to tighten his grip.

"Go ahead. Kill me," Conor wheezed. "You won't make it out of here alive."

Kirtok narrowed his eyes, and he could feel them burning as the power within him was kindled once again. Smoke began to fill the room as his arms trembled with rage. It would be so easy to do, too. A little flick of the wrist and his neck would snap. He deserved all that and more for threatening Elsa and holding her hostage.

But despite all the reasoned arguments swirling through his head, telling him to go through with it, Kirtok couldn't do it. He had to be the bigger person in this entire affair. He refused to react to Conor's benefit.

"No," he growled between clenched teeth. Kirtok eased Conor down and removed his hand from his throat. The old man took several sharp intakes of air. "I will not stoop to your level."

"My level?" Conor said, and laughed. "I've seen the way you put those fucking muscles to use. Your hands are as dirtied as the rest of us. You may not jump at the chance to use your strength, but when you do, you're the scariest thing out in the field." He coughed, and sucked back a wad of spit before hawking it onto the floor. "Which is a pity really. You brought in a lot of coin. Since you left I've had no shortage of requests looking for you for a job. None of my men can compare. Your absence has made the guild look incompetent."

"That's not my problem," Kirtok snorted. "What is my problem is Doren sitting back in Mullead doing Pantheon only knows what."

Conor scoffed, sounding hurt. "My boy knows better. He ain't some fucking moron who would go and hurt someone without my signal. As long as you cooperate, no harm will come to those people."

"I won't rejoin the Ebonwolves," Kirtok said firmly. He didn't want anything more to do with the guild, and he would sooner die than allow himself to become one of Conor's thugs again.

"Then I can't guarantee the woman's safety," Conor said with casual indifference.

"You wouldn't dare hurt her!" Kirtok said with a growl.

"Are you willing to risk her life because you think we're incapable of following through on a threat?" Conor asked. Kirtok reluctantly shook his head. "Good then. I made sure Jenna kept your room open for when you came back. Even had your vest cleaned and everything."

"I never said I was coming back," Kirtok snapped.

Conor clapped his hands twice, and the door burst open as his mercenaries rushed into the room. Without waiting for any orders, they attempted to restrain the minotaur as quickly as possible.

"Perhaps you'll feel a little differently.with a little persuasion."

Kirtok thrashed as he fought to get the humans off him. The first one to grab his arms was flung off to the side, sending him crashing into a wall. He kicked back with his hooves, catching another man in the stomach, and with a savage flick of his head, and threw off someone who tried to jump onto his back.

The scuffle lasted several more minutes as the Ebonwolves tried to drag the nearly eight foot tall minotaur to the ground. Kirtok felt one of his legs give out beneath him, and realized that their plan was working. He could force as many off as he wanted, but there would always be more of Conor's men to replace them. If only he used a bit more force, he might hit them so hard they would never get back up again. But then what would become of Elsa?

When it became apparent that Kirtok wasn't going to go down easily, the mercenaries reached for their weapons, drawing daggers, swords, and bows. The minotaur's movements froze when he saw the sharp edges of several large blades being pointed at his head. He held his hands up and dropped to his knees, and watched as the room fell into an intense silence.

"You owe a debt to us, Flame-Scarred," Conor said, stepping forward slowly. "You've hurt my guild's reputation and you've stolen work from us. For that, you will be punished."

Kirtok matched his glare with one of his own as the man knelt down in front of him. If his aim was to kill or maim him, then he should have just gotten it over with. What was Conor trying to prove? It was readily apparent that he had full control over his Wolves. They answered to him without question. So what more did these theatrics prove?

"What of Elsa?" Kirtok asked. "Will you leave her alone?"

"As long as you do as I say, no harm will come to her." He grinned at him again. "I am a man of my word, after all."

"What could I offer you to repay my debt without rejoining the Ebonwolves?" Kirtok asked. There had to be something he wanted, something that would make up for whatever offense Conor felt he had caused by leaving.

"I know how much money you were pulling in, and you don't have nearly enough."

"What if I threw in my horns as well?" Kirtok said, the words leaving his mouth before he'd even thought them. "Will you leave them alone then?"

The room fell silent as the severity of those words registered in everyone's minds. It was simply unheard of for a minotaur to offer up their horns. They were an important symbol of not only virility but also social standing among minotaur.

Conor stroked his beard, his eyes scanning the lengths of each of Kirtok's horns. The minotaur could see the wheels turning in his head as he thought. He was attempting to appraise their value, judging the length and thickness of each one and how well maintained they were. Kirtok was always proud of them, being that they were almost identical and that he waxed them regularly. He'd been blessed with an impressive rack, and here he was about to give them up for the safety of a couple humans. If Kirtok wasn't sure of it before, he was certain his selflessness had driven him insane.

"Well..." Conor muttered, dragging the words out, "I'm sure we can figure something out."

Kirtok's heart was racing at this point, and he noticed that the weapons pointed at him were, at some point, put away. He couldn't believe what he was about to do for Elsa's sake, and yet the more he thought it over, the more right it felt. He ran headlong into Conor's guild and joined him all those months ago without thinking about the potential repercussions. Kirtok never imagined that things would have gone south the way they did, but he knew he had to pay for his foolishness.

"We'll have to get you ready then," Conor said, standing back up with a grunt. "Ever had opium before?"