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It didn't take long for Conor's men to start moving. Once the man had it in his head that he wanted Kirtok's horns, nothing was going to stop him from getting them. That was typical of the man: he wanted results, and he wanted them now.

After it was decided, Conor locked himself up in his office as his Wolves ran off to get whatever supplies they needed to mutilate their former guildmate. Probably trying to figure out what to do with his newly acquired treasure, Kirtok thought grimly.

Kirtok sat in the bar, drinking Jenna's most powerful drink. He noted that it tasted far more like piss than it should have. He supposed it was likely due to him acclimating to Elsa's homemade mead. It would have been more tolerable with food, but Conor insisted that Kirtok drink on an empty stomach. The sooner he became intoxicated on booze and opium, the sooner that they could lop his horns off.

Thinking about them, Kirtok reflexively reached up and ran a thickly calloused finger along the length of a horn. He'd lived his whole adolescent and adult life with horns, and now he couldn't imagine not having their weight reassuringly resting on his head.

"How are you doing, big guy?" Cale asked as he sidled into the chair across from him.

"How do you think?" Kirtok snapped, coming off more defensive and agitated than he had meant. Just how many drinks had Jenna brought him? He lost count after the fifth one. He wasn't even getting a good buzz from it either, making drinking the piss drink even more obnoxious.

Kirtok shut his eyes tight for a moment, granting him a few fleeitng seconds of clarity. "Sorry," he mumblered, then wiped his face with a hand. "My priorities aren't exactly in order right now."

"No, I get it," Cale said, nonplussed by the minotaur's outburst. "I can't believe you're going through with this."

"Me neither," Kirtok replied. "I'm not looking forward to this."

"At least it's just your horns," Cale said. "He could have asked for a leg or something worse."

"Just my horns?" Kirtok rumbled, his lip curling to reveal his thick teeth. "Tell you what, why don't we lop off your member and see how you feel about the whole thing!"

Cale's face blanched and he shifted uneasily in his seat. Probably picturing how painful that would be, Kirtok hoped. "Minotaur don't procreate with their horns," he muttered.

"No, but horns are important," Kirtok said, and huffed to calm himself down. "The size and shape of a minotaur's horns is... it's like how much you humans put emphasis on your size or sexual prowess. It's a matter of pride, and one that potential mates take very seriously."

"I guess I can see that," Cale began, the gears turning in his head. "So wait, you don't care about... you know...?" he let teh statement hang, and his face turned a little red. For some reason, Kirtok found that entertaining.

"Not nearly as much as we care about how it's used." Kirtok took another sip of his drink. He knew he was too far gone to care. Never in a million years would he have ever had this conversation with someone. It'd been so long since he'd drank enough to get good and drunk that he forgot how loose his lips got.

Cale was about to ask another question when Conor returned from the basement, sliding a tray over towards him. He looked at Kirtok expectantly and said, "Time for the harder stuff."

Kirtok stared at the pipe uneasily, and took it up gingerly between his thumb and forefinger, as though it would snap in his grip if he applied even the slightest hint of pressure. With a frown and a grunt of consternation, he like the pipe and took a deep drag from it, feeling the acrid smoke claw its way through his lungs..

It didn't take long for the opium to kick in, and from there everything became a blurry haze as the events of that night barely imprinted themselves in the minotaur's memory. He could faintly recall being guided rather harshly onto a table. His arms and legs felt like his bones were filled with lead, and he could not move them an inch. (Later, he learned that they had actually restrained him to the table).

Kirtok wasn't sure how long he was strapped down to the table. The opium made it impossible for him to focus on anything but a few fleeting memories and sensations. Despite the insuring words that said he wouldn't feel any pain while they worked to saw off his horns, they were wrong.

Maybe cattle were more docile or less inclined to make a fuss when their horns were cut, but Kirtok remembered it. It wasn't a single, distinct sensation, but rather an intense stabbing pain that radiated from the back of his skull and behind his eyes. He could only imagine in hindsight how unbearable the experience would have been without the precautions they took to numb the pain. Adding to the pain was Conor's slow and meticulous method as he worked to extricate as much of the horns as possible, with a fine even cut and without damaging the surrounding areas. He worked with a physician's touch, as though this hadn't been the first time he'd sawed someone's horns off. Perhaps it hadn't been Kirtok thought in retrospect, now knowing the dark side that resided within the man.

Fortunately for the minotaur, he eventually passed out. When he finally came to, it was to the screaming of his aching skull as his senses returned to him in full. He grunted and grit his teeth together to keep from crying out. He still couldn't move, and realized he was still strapped in. His hands couldn't grab at anything, and he ended up squeezing his fists so hard his nails dug into his palm and drew blood.

Kirtok looked around through crusty eyes, and winced when he tried to turn his head. He wasn't going to be moving for a while, that much was certain. Without turning around, he wasn't able to see anyone, and aside from the noises in the room below, it was quiet.

"Hello?" Kirtok called out, but his voice was weak, almost a whisper, as the words scratched at his throat. He cleared his mouth and tried again, but to no avail. Why was his throat so sore?

"Here," said an unseen voice as a canteen appeared over him. The cap was screwed off, and slowly the water was poured into his mouth. Kirtok coughed and sputtered on the water as he tried to drink it, the pain flaring every time his head was jerked by each convulsion.

"Figured you could use that."

Once Kirtok settled down, he glanced out of the periphery of his vision and saw Cale sitting in a chair nearby, playing with himself in some card game. The man seemed indifferent to the minotaur's suffering as he worked through another set of moves, giving him a chance to regain his bearings.

Feeling better able to speak after having something to drink, Kirtok said, "How long was I out?"

"Half a day, I think," Cale responded, not looking up from his cards. He was concentrating hard on something, and Kirtok wondered what game he could possibly be playing by himself that required so much forethought before making a move.

"My head is killing me." Kirtok pulled at his restraints, wanting to rub the crusties away from his eyes. They refused to give. With how strong they were, he was surprised that they had managed to hold him down for any length of time. "Can you get me out of this?"

"No can do, I'm afraid," Cale replied. "Boss has the keys."

"Of course he does," Kirtok grumbled low in a tone that suggested he'd rather rip the man's head off than deal with him again.

"He's a man of his word, Kirtok," Cale said, trying to reassure him. "He'll hold up his end of the bargain. You don't need to show the man such disrespect."

"Yes, he's proven himself to be such an upstanding person since this mess started," Kirtok shot back. He should have figured that Cale would side with Conor all along. The man was just as pathetically loyal as all the rest of the Wolves. "Threatening people with violence and murder, running opium out of his own guildhouse, and mutilating people for their body parts. I don't see how any of that is respectable."

"He's a good man." Cale sounded like he was trying to be reassuring, but his words came off as an attempt to dispel his own doubts.

"Good men don't hold people hostage and threaten their lives over money. Why do you work for a man like that?" Kirtok asked.

Cale went through a few moves with his cards before he finally answered. "Because I need to earn a living. I don't own a farm and I never learned the family trade. This was the only thing I was able to pick up without begging someone for an apprenticeship in something. Simple as that."

"And you're okay with how Conor works?"

Cale shrugged. "I don't bite the hand that feeds me." He finally looked up from his game and met Kirtok's glare. "Don't give me that look. Lots of us are like that, Kirtok. We do what we must to be able to survive in this world. You're kind of the reason why we don't try and oppose him."

Recalling their discussion the previous night, Kirtok looked back towards the ceiling and said, "Well at least he won't go lopping off your junk if you piss him off."

Cale chuckled but tried to hide it behind a fake cough. He fell completely silent when the door opened and Conor stepped inside the room, twirling a keyring around his fingers. The elderly man seemed pleased to see that Kirtok was awake.

"I'd have no use for his 'junk' anyways," Conor said. "Your horns, on the other hand, are far more valuable and pleasing to look at mounted on my wall. For the time being."

"Just the kind of snide taunting I want to hear first thing after waking up," Kirtok said dryly. "Let me out of these shackles, now!"

Conor smiled, and tossed the keys over to Cale. "Go let him out, if you don't mind."

Kirtok cursed the man. He wasn't going to take any chances getting close to him, and his casual disregard for the safety of his men suggested that he didn't care what might happen to Cale once he was freed.

Once Kirtok was finally freed from his confines, he flexed his arms to make sure that they were still working. It hurt to do so, but he couldn't take remaining still any longer. His wrists were sore and bruised, and they were painful to touch. They had lacked circulation for that too long.

Cale helped Kirtok sit up, and the dizzying sensation from finally becoming upright combined with the throbbing pain from his skull to make for a truly hellish experience. The minotaur wanted nothing more than to sleep until the pain had subsided, but Kirtok knew that he didn't want to remain in the Last Hill. Retreating back to the Peaceful Pegasus was a much more preferable option. The company and the booze was much better.

"Bandages look like they could use changing," Cale said. Without waiting for orders, the man was off to retrieve some new ones. Kirtok silently hoped that the gauze he was getting had been treated with some poultice made of elfin herb. It would do wonders to relieve his headache.

"Awful nice of him," Conor remarked as he watched the man leave. "Certainly too nice in my opinion, but who am I to judge? See how good of a family this guild is?"

Kirtok ignored him, not wanting to get baited into another discussion with the man. The minotaur wanted nothing more to do with the Ebonwolves.

"I don't plan on staying long," Kirtok said with a grumble, holding his aching head in his hands. It would be hard to make the trip back to Mullead without help, but Kirtok would have to manage.

"Whatever do you mean?" Conor said, grinning like the idiot that he was.

Kirtok's heart skipped a beat. What was he up to this time? "That was our deal. You get my horns, I go home and you leave Elsa alone."

"I never said anything of the sort."

"You lying snake!" Kirtok bolted upright, but swooned as he ascended. The minotaur collapsed onto the table again, holding himself up with his arms. Between the pain in his head and the intoxicants still running through his veins, Kirtok couldn't do much. Even in his anger, the fire was dormant.

"I never lied. I merely said we could work something out in exchange for your horns."

"I only gave you my horns so I could leave in peace and to protect Elsa!"

"I'm willing to leave the woman alone, but you are far too valuable to let go of."

Cale stood in the doorway with fresh bandages, watching the two of them argue. A few others curious about the exchange came to watch. Conor didn't seem to care to notice that they were there, and didn't bother to send them away.

"Having problems?" Conor sneered.

After a few moments of trying to stand on weakened legs, Kirtok gave up and allowed himself to fall. Something was wrong beyond the alcohol and opium he had taken. He reached out and touched his legs. There was still feeling in them, so Conor and his men hadn't done something underhanded to cripple the minotaur. He was perplexed as to why he couldn't stand

It was painfully obvious that Conor had done something though, and slowly Kirtok was beginning to realize that he was losing control of the situation faster than his brain could keep up. His fire was doused, for whatever reason, and his body was in immense pain.

"What did you do to me?" Kirtok spat. He gripped the edge of the table with such force that it crunched and cracked beneath his hand. Had he the strength and leverage, he would have ripped the table apart and hurled it at Conor.

"Have you never heard of Doqua Grass? It's one of my favorite paralytics. It should be enough to keep a big fucker like you still for a while. Don't worry though, it's not permanent," he added with mock reassurance.

"We had a deal!" Kirtok shouted, trying once again to stand. His hooves splayed out uselessly beneath him. He looked like a newborn calf struggling to stand after leaving the womb.

"You should have been listening more carefully."

"Sir," Cale said, "This isn't right."

"Shut up, I don't care what you think," Conor snapped, barely giving the man a second glance before returning his attention to the minotaur.

Kirtok wasn't always the brightest minotaur when it came to academics, but even he could see an opening when it appeared. Perhaps, he thought, there was some way to talk my way out of the situation after all.

"You said you were a man of your word," Kirtok said, keeping his gaze fixated on Conor. "How can you go against your word, and worse yet, use terms that are loose enough to mean whatever you want?"

"Because this is my guild house," Conor shot back, jabbing himself in the chest with his thumb. "I make the rules here, and I decide what happens here and what doesn't. You should have fucking realized that before trying to cross with me and my Wolves. Now you're paying the price for your misdeeds."

"I've given you that much and more for this betrayal."

"It's more than your betrayal," Conor said. He began to walk around, and made a sweeping gesture with his hands. "Do you see all this? It's mine. Do you see these men before you? They're mine, too. They all obey my word to the letter. Do you think the guild would prosper if every man was looking out only for himself? Not a chance! It is through my will that the Ebonwolves have become the shining stars of the Blackguard organization. You left the guild, and that sends the wrong message."

"And that would be?" Kirtok grunted.

"That it is okay to go against my will. And when it comes to the Kelmore province, my word is law. This land prospers because of us, and not because of that doddering old fool Rohmer up near Marlton."

Kirtok couldn't believe the audacity the man had to claim Kelmore as his. He didn't do anything to earn it; it was through the work of his Wolves that he was busy trying to whip into a frenzy. His mind ran through a half dozen insults a second that he wanted to spew at the man, but he knew that it would do him no good. The words would bounce harmlessly off him. This was not a simple bar room brawl that Kirtok was used to. This was something much more serious, and a misstep could get himself and Elsa killed.

"I don't care what your intentions were, I interpreted your words to say that you'd free me and leave Elsa alone if I gave you my horns." Kirtok's eyes darted from one mercenary to the next, seeking for any hint that they might have agreed with him. He couldn't see anything on their faces that would betray their true thoughts. Humans were always too hard to read.

Kirtok could feel his leg twitch, and found that he could move it, albeit with more effort than was necessary. There was no chance in hell that he would risk attempting to put weight down on it. All it would take is one good fall to crack his head open on the corner of the table and pass into unconsciousness, and in this situation that was the last thing he needed. He would have to wait until the paralytic had almost completely worn off.

"Even if that were the case, who is going to force me to hold up my end of the bargain?" Conor asked, grinning with that yellowed smile as he gestured towards the minotaur. "You? You can barely stand, and your flame spirit has become dormant. Did you not wonder why I chose opium instead of something more potent like Heaven's Kiss to dull your pain?"

Kirtok thought it over for a second, realizing that his statement rang true. Opium was far harder to obtain in a place in the middle of the prairies, but Heaven's Kiss was always being pushed and imported illegally through the black market. It would not be difficult for the Ebonwolves to obtain some of the white, powdery narcotic while helping the sellers smuggle it into the province.

That meant that there was something about the opium that affected the fire spirit that had infested him. Even when Kirtok was injured and physically weak, the flames had never died out completely. Now they were quiet, and no amount of urging could spur them to ignite once more. Either the opium had "cured" him of his affliction, or far more likely, it had affected the spirit as well and it was drugged out of its goard.

"How could you have known that?" Kirtok asked. Conor let on far more than he was telling me, that much was certain. How much had he questioned, or worse yet, tortured the shaman who treated me to obtain this information?

"Your doctor had a very loose set of lips," Conor answered simply. "It doesn't matter how or what I know. All that matters is you no longer have the strength to go against my will any longer. Your... uniqueness allowed us to rake in far more money far more quickly than I could have anticipated. It's going to take a lot of work, but I'm sure we can make you see things my way once again."

Does he mean to torture me and brainwash me? Such devilry through the arcane would not be impossible, but would Conor really go that far?

"You wouldn't dare!" Kirtok's angry yet fear filled voice echoing throughout the room.

Conor snapped his fingers, and said, "Take him downstairs. I'm sure we can figure out some way to make the stubborn fucker see things our way."

"No."

Both Conor and Kirtok whirled to face the speaker, and watched in astonishment as Cale stood firm against his guildmaster's orders. His face was drained of blood. Even though the man looked absolutely terrified trying to oppose the alpha in his own den, his body language suggested that he was getting ready to spring forward and strike should he need to. Kirtok couldn't help but give the man credit for this. He was certainly showing more courage than he thought the man had in his blood.

"What did you just say?" Conor asked in a cold and angry voice.

Cale swallowed the lump in his throat and repeated himself. "No. He held up his end of the bargain. You are a man of your word, and you should honor it."

"Shut up!" Conor snapped.

"I won't! This isn't right!" Cale shouted back with equal fervour. "Let him go. You have everything you want and you can always make more money. Kirtok..." he looked sadly over at the minotaur, and then turned back to Conor. "He can't grow his horns back."

Kirtok didn't think that Conor's face could achieve such a distinct shade of red, but after being opposed by Cale, his body somehow managed to pump all his blood into his cheeks as he became furious.

"Dispose of him," Conor ordered.

The room fell silent. The air felt like it had been forced out of the inn from the tension alone. Kirtok wasn't sure what to make of the situation, so he opted to remain quiet and observe. At the very least it would give the paralytic a few minutes more to run its course, but he didn't even know how long that would take. It could be minutes or hours more before he would be able to stand on my own two hooves again.

"Are all you people daft?" Conor screamed, sweeping his head from one side to the next to glare at his mercenaries. "I told you to get rid of him!"

"Are you sure?" another man said, feeling uncertain about the order. His voice wavered, and it sounded like he was not used to questioning authority figures.

"Yes I'm fucking sure!"

The collective silence returned as a few of the Wolves shifted uneasily and fidgeted with their weapons. Kirtok watched curiously as the obvious thoughts played across their faces. They wanted to follow their orders like they always had, but they also didn't want to kill one of their own. Cale looked about ready to bolt from the room, but his nerves were returned when a woman clapped a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"Are you going to get rid of anyone who questions you sir?" she asked.

Conor opened his mouth to respond, then shut it when no words would come out. It was clear that he had no idea how to respond to that question. If he said yes, then the Wolves would gang up on him right then and there, but if he said no, then they would all know that he ultimately could not do anything truly terrible to them. The question was a well executed trap, and Kirtok was momentarily impressed.

"Let Kirtok go," Cale reaffirmed. With the rest of the Wolves backing his decision, color had returned to his face and he now looked more determined than ever. "Call Doren back and let him live in peace."

"You're fucking serious, aren't you, you little shit?" Conor snapped, his cool fading with the growing afternoon heat.

The Wolves moved into a semi-circle around Conor, blocking his escape and surrounding him at the same time.

"Cale said you were a man of your word, and we all heard what you said," the woman continued. "Live up to that and this won't have to get any uglier."

As the mercenaries continued to bicker back and forth with their leader, Kirtok noticed that Cale had disappeared from the room. He wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean, but he was grateful for the extra time the argument afforded him. His legs were weak and shaking, but he guessed that soon he would at least be able to stand, even if he wouldn't be able to walk far unassisted. It wasn't much, but it would be a start.

Much to Kirtok's surprise, Cale returned a few minutes later and shifted past the mercenaries to get to him. He carried something with him: a vial and a needle of some sort. The minotaur was apprehensive of what he was doing as he filled the syringe, but he seemed to realize this.

"This is an anti-toxin," he explained as he pushed the plunger down and squirted a few drops out of the syringe. "It should cancel the effects of the poison. Just hold still..."

He lined up his hand with Kirtok's thigh and drove the needle straight in. He felt a sharp pinch that made him hiss through his teeth. It took about ten seconds before he removed the needle, and after that Kirtok could feel his heart flutter in his chest as the concoction began to course through his veins. It was an almost dizzying feeling, yet well worth it considering now Kirtok was able to move his legs normally.

"Thank you," he managed to say as he grunted and stood back up. Cale stepped back to give the minotaur room and tucked the needle away.

Kirtok still couldn't feel the fire spirit, but at this point he no longer needed it. He felt strength swiftly returning to his body, and the minotaur knew that in seconds he would be able to throw all my weight behind a punch if necessary. Kirtok cracked his knuckles and snorted. His head was throbbing painfully, but with a fresh surge of adrenaline, it became nothing more than a distant reminder of his mutilation. Stretching his arms out, Kirtok limbered himself up as Conor took his time to turn around and realize he was standing once again.

"You wouldn't dare!" Conor spat.

"At this point I would dare anything to protect Elsa and Nia," Kirtok replied, bending my legs to prepare to charge. "It's your call, Conor. What are you going to do?"

The mercenaries that surrounded Conor stepped aside, likely to avoid being caught in the minotaur's path if he decided to attack their guildmaster. Every muscle in his body ached to be put to action if it meant protecting the people of Mullead. Conor was shifting uneasily on his feet as he faltered under Kirtok's gaze. How much longer until the man's will broke?

"Let me go and this won't get any uglier," Kirtok said after a long moment of waiting for Conor to say or do something. "Call Doren off and we can go our separate ways without any further blood on anyone's hands."

"What makes you think I'd just let you leave scot-free?" Conor asked, but despite his attempts to sound confident, his voice wavered. Without his mercenaries backing him, he was feeling far less capable of handling the situation.

"I don't think that you have a choice," Kirtok remarked. "You're the only thing standing between me and freedom, and at this point I know that no one is going to get in my way at this point."

"If anything happens to me, Doren will --"

"It won't come down to that." Kirtok frowned and gave a harsh snort. "I'll be back in Mullead before he even finds out and I would best him easily."

Conor gulped audibly, his throat bulged from the action. He knew that Doren was no match for the minotaur, that much was clear. An encounter with the man would be like trying to kill a mongrel dog: it would put up a decent effort, cause a few superficial wounds, and then fall beneath him.

"Now, what will you do?" Kirtok rolled his head from one side to the next, feeling the crack of his collar bone as he shifted and loosened up.

Conor looked as though he'd aged a decade in the last couple minutes. He looked wearily from one individual to the next as he looked around the room, seeking support from someone. All he received in response was silence and the cold stares of his Wolves. He met Kirtok's gaze and scoffed in disgust.

"Fine. Get the fuck out of here," he said as he stomped off, trying to regain his composure. "But if I ever catch you or that bitch in Swifthaven..." Conor let the statement hang, and Kirtok wondered if he truly meant to threaten them. His words were harsh, but they lacked the conviction necessary to make them an effective threat.

Kirtok looked at Cale and the other gathered Wolves, and said, "I'd say thank you... but I won't forget that the lot of you had swords pointed at me only hours ago."

Cale shrugged and smiled. "Considering what you did to the fellas you sent to the infirmary back in Mullead, I'd say you're getting off easy." He clapped the minotaur on the back and said, "Let's head back and get Doren out of your hair, eh?"