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Chapter 13

Two months hence small snowflakes swirled down outside her horse-stable nursery while Molly lay on her side half-dreaming, milk-heavy teats tingling to the sleepy nursing of five healthy puppies she and Garth had brought into the world. All five were grizzled gray with subtly differing fur patterns in the style of natural wolves, not a one of them white like Garth nor black like she was. Molly didn't mind. They could be pink with purple leopard spots for all she cared. So beautiful they all were! And so tiny. The birthing of her three had hardly hurt at all, and she had never developed much of a belly while she carried them. Her ten teats had grown manyfold, though, and she had far more milk than these little creatures could drink, even with Garth... unable to help.

Molly sighed, tail curling fondly and nipple-tingles spreading to other parts at the thought of that gorgeous white-furred lover she would never see again. Garth was not dead, of course, nor injured, but once his pups were born he had entrusted them to her care and used the painstakingly recharged mage gem to restore his human form. Even now he was in Valinoin mingling with his powerful friends and showing off the salt-cured head of William Wolf-Fang: international criminal and the source of most of the hill-bandit raids that had bedeviled Valinoin's northern territories in recent years. Garth would be back as soon as he could manage it, she knew, with money she devoutly hoped. Surely the bounty for a villain of William's stature would attest her nation's gratitude in a generously tangible way! Molly was not holding her breath about that, however. Her hopes rested more on the pack of hellhound cattle-herders John had urged him to recruit. Many would be eager for the job, John had vowed, reciting for Garth a lengthy contact list of fanciful canine names. John's arrow wound was long-healed and he'd have gone himself but he was still working for Nathan Vachon, who had set him the task of monitoring events in Hightshame while he rode off to make his report before the king's ministers in Gerlofstad.

Mr. Vachon was back now, accompanied by a half-dozen royal guards and some high-and-mighty royal official styled High Sheriff Percival Lyon. They were staying at the garrison, of course. The castle keep would have been far finer except that Garth and Molly had burned it to char-stinking rubbled stone. She was sorry now but it had seemed a good idea at the time, and folk around her seemed inclined to agree. Even His Honor High Sheriff Percival had been affable when she stood before him for questioning--he had seemed nigh-fawning to her, in truth--eerily praising her valor with not one word said about excessive property damage or the questionable legality of her presence in Metagonia. Many others had been called to testify and a pronouncement would surely be coming soon, but John seemed unafraid and told her of secret hints from Nathan suggesting she would not be harmed.

What a treasure was John Smallberries! As soon as he was able he'd gone out with Garth to assist him as harvest collector, a job seemingly made to order for hellwolves. Food was scarce in Hightshame at the best of times but the rebellion had slashed productivity and damaged what storage and transportation resources the barony did possess, raising the very real possibility of widespread death by starvation before springtime. Farmers were understandably reluctant to refuse a hellwolf-led pack-horse team sent out to garner food, however, and when they did hold back Garth or John would sniff out their secret caches and gently remind them of the hidden bounty they had so conveniently forgotten.

When Garth went away John took over for him and the plan was still working well. Rations were scarce but no one had died yet, so far as she knew. No one had died from starvation, that is. Folk were still perishing of wounds received in the rebellion, of course, and winter chills were a devilment and would always be taking their grim toll.

The thought of death brought Molly's mind back to an incident from the castle battle, the sights and sounds and smells still bleeding-fresh in her memory. The frenzied joy of victory had faded and hands were turning now to the daunting task of putting all to rights again. The castle keep was a blackened crumbling stone shell behind her, still venting swirls of acrid choking smoke, and before her two rebels were dragging a loyalist corpse toward the cliff-edge from which refuse was cast. She asked them "What are you doing with that body?"

"We're chuckin' the garbage afore it start t'stink," came the guarded response. Bitter cold belied those words, of course. Cook-fires and the burned keep stones cast warmth but no other thing did in that frigid grim afternoon, and the corpse was frozen wood-hard in the contortions of its death. It would not be stinking any time soon.

"No you don't," she told them. "Every man and woman who died here gets a priest's blessing and burial in hallowed ground, with their name or a token marking each grave."

One of the men was hard-faced and clearly beside himself with rage and grief. To his comrade's shock he demanded of her, "And if we don't do that?"

Molly stretched her head forth and sniffed him gently, nose to nose. "In that case I'll do it myself," she told him. "And I'll remember you."

The hard-faced man shuddered, and nodded. He told her softly "Yes, Ma'am. I'll do my best to see the job gets done. If one is missed it'll not be by my will."

Molly nodded back and told him "Yes, that'll do. Some day you'll be glad we took the effort." Then she turned tail and left him there, going back to the healing work she had been occupied with before, and which she felt far more competent and comfortable doing. Through the corner of her eye she saw Nathan Vachon intently watching her, but she pretended not to notice.

John's wound turned out not so bad, saints be praised. Stitches would have been nice but barring suppuration it would heal, neatly-sewn or not--perchance with the same miraculous speed Garth's and her own wounds had shown!--and there were others who needed her help far more. Her paw-hands lacked the delicacy they had once possessed but healing is an art that flows from brain and heart, brought to life by whatever hands you happen to possess. Molly's deep herb-lore and subtle magic were her greatest gifts but she was stronger than any man now, and found herself in great demand for setting bones or holding limbs immobile while more delicate fingers did the delicate work.

Many died from wounds they received that day but all were tended, and both sides in the conflict received equal care. Molly had to remind folk of that ideal more than once but no one dared gainsay her. Only half a bitch she might be but that was a four hundred pound burning-eyed hellwolf half-bitch, and seemed enough to do the trick. Often she wondered why she tried so hard to be fair but in truth she couldn't help it, the feelings welling out from her heart unasked-for, all desire for vengeance extinguished by Baron William's death. These strange Hightshame people impressed her more every day she dwelt among them, possessing a deep iron-tough beauty beneath their cringing ways. If only she could--

Wool-scarf-muffled greetings outside her stable door told of someone coming and Molly snapped back to the here and now, her ears pricked eagerly in hopes it might be John...

... and John Smallberries it proved to be, grinning cheerfully around the blood-wet fresh heifer-haunch clenched steaming between his jaws. Molly had meat whenever she asked for it but John always brought some now when he came to visit, honoring the traditional hellhound courtesy expected when paying call to a bitch with pups.

He set the meat down and one of Garth's pups--Conan--released its nipple to investigate John's massive ink-black muzzle curiously, wagging its fluffy tail in cheerful greeting then wandering off to sniff over the flesh-gift and lick off some of the oozing blood. "They'll be eating meat soon," John murmured, gently nuzzle-snuffling the puppy's shoulders. "We could start them today if we chew or chop it soft."

"No hurry!" Molly laughed. "I have far too much milk as it is. And John... could you latch the door for me please?"

John grinned broadly and latched the door for privacy then took one teat in his mouth and began to suck milk from it while Molly sighed in grateful relief. "Thank ye love," she said, and John wagged his tail but didn't answer in words, drawing down that teat and all the others slowly one by one, unplugging puppies as needed but politely ignoring the swollen and clearly aroused wolfy male-part nestled outlandishly there between them. When he was finished he reminded her gently, "Hellhounds don't hide when they do that."

"Hellhound bitches don't have such embarrassing 'tween-tits equipment," she replied. "Not that it matters in my case, of course. When these pups are weaned I'll be taking back my human form... and remember! If you change your mind and want your old self back just give me the word! I could do it today if such be your wish. It's been slower to reenergize with Garth gone but I've been working hard and the mage stone is ready now for another use. Kind of surprised I was able to do it at all, in truth. Without Garth's help, that is. I think I'm growing stronger."

John licked his nose nervously and said "Molly... I need to talk to you about that. I need a favor from you and it's kind of... er... personal. Please don't be offended if--"

"John you silly pooch-wolf just tell me! You know I'll do anything for you."

"Alright then, I need you to get me pregnant."

"What?"

"I said I need you to get me pregnant. It's February and I'm in heat now and soon I'll be the last remaining adult hellwolf. I need you to impregnate me while you still can."

"John... I don't know what to say! You're in heat? I never guessed! I should have scented it, I suppose, but that blood-smell from the meat you brought sort of--yipe!"

While she was dithering John had slunk around and nuzzle-tickled her hindquarters, teasing her tail into an involuntary half-wag-half-kink. He snorted "Ha! Thought so. Seems I'm not the only silly pooch-wolf in heat today."

"I can't be in heat! I just had puppies!"

John murmured "Eh... these things happen. Easy to be caught by surprise. The days are growing longer and your womb has rested enough to answer the call and no doubt you thought the scent and swelling but a legacy of your recent whelping. But don't you worry now; I won't be molesting that part of you. It's the sire's job I'm asking of you, no strings attached. Are you ready?"

"You mean right here? Right now?"

"Why not? The door is latched to suit your modesty... and no secret need be kept in any case. If my belly begins to swell next month there'll be no mystery how that came to pass."

Molly snorted and rolled her eyes then wriggled free from her puppies and rose up on four feet to nuzzle-caress John's hindquarters, knocking loose a dusting of loose snow that had so far failed to melt in the unheated castle-yard stable she now called home. Her quarters were clean and spacious and doting humans visited her all the time... but they never took their coats off and often asked why she had no fire. She did like... fire... didn't she? Of course she did! One heard so many astonishing stories! Molly said she didn't want one and the puppies had blankets to keep them warm when she was gone, and the humans didn't understand. She could see it in their politely incredulous eyes. John understood, though. His ebon pelt was as luxuriant as hers, warming and concealing everything about him. She nuzzled lower, well down beneath his tail, and scented clear there the fevered readiness she had missed before.

She tongue-touched that place and John's tail snapped sideways, making welcome for her, and Molly realized all at once the fierce greeting-joy she'd been feeling in his presence was in fact a raging lust. She'd been intending to tease and talk a bit then modestly mount him in fulfillment of his request but now she jumped him without any preliminaries at all, quickly hooking forelegs round his haunches and pulling herself intimately close, her sensitive nipples squishing up against his rump in a wondrously erotic way. She gently probe-thrust and John stood for her trembling, ears down; he had never sired puppies and his firstborn would be coming from his own body now. Such an odd change of plans from his boasting talk at the Metagonian border last fall!

Molly felt that warm wet place she was seeking and thrust forward, testing... bucked her hips and thrust harder, her tip slipping just barely inside... then she snarled in frustration and pushed away from him, dropping down again to all fours but carefully, so as not to crush the pups. "I can't do it," she said.

John looked back at her and yelped "What? Why not?" His voice was grievous puzzled, and hurt.

"M'sardin' prick's swole up too much. Can't get it outta me sheath!"

John snort-guffawed in delighted relief. "I hate it when that happens!" he said. "No problem there, ruttin' hellhounds deal with it all time, we'll just distract ourselves with a bit'o talk till the swellin' goes down, then try again."

"Talk. Ugh. What d'ye fain we talk about?"

"I could share a choice bit'o gossip Zanger gave me..."

"D'ye mean Zanger Voortdragen? That nice young arsonist man who destroyed the garrison stables and several of his comrades in a fire and gunpowder explosion?"

"Yep. That Zanger. But please don't tease him so. He's mortal tetchy 'bout the incident."

"It was war. He'd be a hero if he let us tell the tale."

"Indeed. In the fullness of time perhaps he will. But the story goes on! Yesterday I met him on my gleaning rounds and by chance we found ourselves alone together. He said he wanted to talk to you in private but couldn't think of a way to do it without drawing attention to himself. I promised he could trust me with a message and he took my word. Here is his tale:

"No doubt you'll recall leaving him in my care and advising me not to eat him or his dog. I was the perfect gentlewolf but he was ne'ertheless uneasy in my company and soon excused himself to go about other business. That other business was to make tracks t'the castle and plot more mischief with a man there who's name he would not share with me. He said it was a false name in any case so why does it matter 'cept to give the mages another clue should they seek to hunt him down. He said I could call him Guy Fawkes if I felt so inclined. This Guy Fawkes fellow was recruited in secret by the baron to make gunpowder for the extension of a deep-delved gold mine not far from here. Strange irony, is it not? The banned weapon that gave us our victory was never intended to be used for war! Twas of little import for Mr. Fawkes, o'course. Our dear baron, being the evil monster he was, had long since imprisoned the poor man and forced him to work never intending to set him free again. Saltpeter is one of the three ingredients needed to make gunpowder and Zanger was one of those lucky fellows sent to caverns in the mountains that he might harvest it from the rotting shit of bats. He came to know Guy in that way and they became friends--Guy initiating him into the mysteries of sums and letters while Zanger expressed his gratitude by smuggling fruit and other small luxuries whenever he could manage it. When battle was joined at the garrison Zanger ran to the castle and sought him out, telling him the opportunity was at hand to implement an escape plan they'd long been contemplating: a plan turning Guy's forbidden knowledge to the very destruction of his prison's walls!"

Her pups were fussing and Molly stirred them up with a quick-patting forepaw, provoking a gleeful five-way battle embroiling Garth's Conan and Nessa with her own Cathbad, Oghma, and Sreng. She asked "But how did they bury the charge deep enough? Surely someone would have noticed them chipping away great mortared stones to bury something beneath them."

"Ah! That's the cleverest part of all! Zanger worked at the stables most days and beneath them lay a sewer drain unguarded due to its small size. The stable walls hid him from view as he filled the deep part with oilcloth-wrapped gunpowder and the rest with tight-packed clay, and a waxed fuse through it all to be ignited when the time seemed right... and we all know how that adventure unfolded! Mr. Fawkes has not been seen since that day. No doubt he concealed himself from danger during the battle, then afterward emerged from hiding and made his escape amid the confusion of our victory."

The five-way puppy battle had been short-lived, and was fading now to a haphazard conclusion with Sreng asleep already and his siblings looking soon to follow. Molly made a hollow nest of blankets and gently gathered them into it muttering "Well! That's a--"

"And there's more! One final irony for extra flavor: Mr. Fawkes was of the opinion gunpowder blasting could be useful in that mine but was not at all worth the risk of discovery. He said all that was really needed to make it profitable was to replace the obsolete water pumps so that seeping groundwater could be drawn away more quickly and they could follow the primary gold vein deeper down. He said Nouveau Rochelle has suitable pumps for sale at four hundred valins each, more or less. Never thought fit to mention all that to the baron, though. And... that's the end of the story! Did it work?" John twisted round to nuzzle her prepuce then bumped it gently and told her "Seems 'bout right now, far as I can tell. Go on, don't be shy!"

"Eh... what?"

"You mount me now, remember? Before your knot locks up again?"

"Oh! Yes. Of course. Silly me." Molly took John's advice and mounted him straightaway, quickly lining up and thrusting home the moment she felt herself in the right place. John yelped and staggered beneath her at the move and gad! How hot he felt around her! Instantly her knot began to swell but it was deep-set now and couldn't go wrong. Couldn't pull it out now if she tried. The urge to rut him madly was nigh overwhelming but she held it back a moment, hugging him close. In his ear she whispered, "like this?" and John softly breathed "hh-hhh... yes..." His new female muscles had locked her in a clinging reflex grip and slowly he relaxed them... then without warning clenched her hard again and Molly's hips bucked hump-thrusting in strange enraptured movements she had no power to prevent, voluntary and involuntary movements somehow all the same while beneath her John whimpered softly and arched up to match the curve of his body with hers.

Melting pleasure-surges overwhelmed her and Molly's range of movement grew limited as her knot swelled tighter and her own vulva quivered to phantom-knot-sensations surging deep. John was rocking back hard to her short thrusts and huffing softly--both their movements grown erratic now, and wild--when all at once his muscles began to flutter then rhythmically twitch and in that same moment Molly's belly clenched in helpless response, tingling pleasure-shocks crawling up her spine as sweet release claimed her and her seed began to flow--as always too soon by her human reckoning but damn sarding right for a randy wolf. Panting softly she ceased her humping and began to shift weight from one hind leg to the other like any street dog would do--treading the bitch's grapes as that vulgar saying goes--rocking softly from side to side till the feeling passed then at last growing still, gripping tight to John's backside unmoving save for the steady pulse of her seed flowing into his womb.

She relaxed her grip and turned then, deft and competent from all the times she and Garth had practiced together--stood there tied with him tail to tight-kinked-tail, hot-flushed and intoxicated, her empty backward-squished vulva forced intimately in contact with his knot-stretched one as bedding straw pattered to the spill of his seed and deep within him slow contraction-twitches tugged in blissful synchrony with her own.

The feelings went on in that wonderful canine way, a slow climax never-ending, timeless and all-encompassing until the thin shrill keen of a puppy's cry pierced her ears.

John yelped "Who's that?" Fretfully he tried to pull free but Molly soothed "Steady now, that's Nessa crying and she's not hurt. She just wants more milk. Let's lie down together so she can get some."

Eight legs tugged and settled themselves down to puppy level and both hellwolves rolled sideways so Molly's nipples were exposed for ready use. Both waited patiently for Nessa to emerge from her blanket cave and... she failed to do so. After a few minutes of waiting Molly sighed and grumbled "Little bitch changed her mind. I think she's asleep now. What a lot of trouble for nothing!" She was silent awhile then murmured "Funny thing about the power of a name, isn't it? I just called Nessa a bitch but she's no more female than her brothers are. Her name could just as well have gone to one of them, yet now in my mind she's a she and her brothers he."

"And what of me?" John mock-whimpered, clenching down on her unexpectedly, teasing, drawing out from Molly a startled gasp and sudden shudder of heightened pleasure. He said "I'm sorry she changed her mind. One can never have enough puppies!"

Molly giggle-snorted and rolled all the way onto her back. Still tied tight she paddled all four paws in the air and yapped "Look! I can be a puppy for you! It's easy. Just flail around like this... or like this..." Her movements tugged and pulled at them both, blissfully stretching, and Molly's vulva tickled to a trickle of leaking seed. Still twitching deep within she rubbed back against him, intoxicated by the delightful double sensations...

...then froze still, shocked, as she realized all at once the significance of that slippery wetness between her legs. That was semen she felt there--her semen--infused deeply by her rubbing through heat-fertile folds where a single drop might get her pregnant.

Molly's knot shrank down rapidly at the shocking thought, pulling free to release a small gush of hot liquid across those same receptive folds; folds her silly upside-down writhing had placed close in and down low, in the most vulnerable possible way. She flopped sideways and curled around to lick herself but--

"Molly what's wrong?"

--no amount of licking could be enough. There were the abortion herbs, of course. She knew a storage room where dried ones could be found--

"Molly?" John had surged to his feet and was nosing her shoulder worriedly, trying to understand what had suddenly changed.

--but that was not a thing she chose to do. Better to cast prudence to the winds and invite John to do the job properly. With a full tie his deep-sown seed would flood away all traces of hers, most likely, and if that failed to transpire so be it. Incest is not such a terrible thing. Especially if one doesn't talk about it.

Molly left off licking and rose to her feet, solemnly regarding John eye to fiery eye. "John Smallberries," she said, "I have come to desire more puppies of my own. Will you do me the honor of siring them?"

John looked dumbfounded for a long moment then gradually his jaws sagged open in a silly grin, and straw bits flew through the chill air as his tail began to wildly wag. "Of course I will!" he yipped.

"Are you going to ask me why?"

"No." He pressed forward to nuzzle her cheek and murmured "Should I?"

"So the custom with a friendly bitch is shoot first and ask questions later, eh?" Molly was rubbing fondly shoulder to shoulder with him, her tone and movements taking all sting from the words.

"Hmmm... pretty much. Do you want more time to think? Should I come back tomorrow? When the heat's running strong it's hard to make sound decisions..."

Molly curled herself beneath his neck and swept around him saying "Yes... your words are wise... but I know my mind well enough to tell you now what I'll be telling you then. If some of the puppies are not yours will you be annoyed with me?"

She was tail to nose now and John sniffed her shyly saying "How could they not be mine? No one else has been with you! I can smell that plain as day." Behind her he mock-growled and in thick accent rumbled "Is't th'cart-mastiffs ye 'ave yer eye on now? Th'wild wolves won't 'ave ye, they're too shy, ain't no 'ell'ounds 'ere an' th'only other 'ellwolf is..." John's banter stopped short as comprehension dawned.

"Me. Our tie was leaking and I got wet."

"Oh."

"Indeed. Oh."

"Molly I'm so sorry! I never thought about the risk of backsplash onto you!"

"Not your fault. I didn't think either. But I want you to know... I really do want your puppies. I'm not just using you."

"Of course you're not. And if you were, I wouldn't fault you for it. I'm the one who brought this all to pass! Are you sure--"

Molly swept the words from his mouth with a restless tail-swish and kinked that same tail seductively sideways, granting her lust for him full rein. Two months pregnant and two more nursing were not such a hard thing, and she knew she'd love the new pups as fiercely as she loved those with her now. She sighed deeply, at the thought of them. What a precious gift they were! And so thoughtful of the wee dears to be still asleep through such wild goings-on! Such a pity she'd be human soon, delayed now by a few months but still far too soon, still loving and supporting but useless for running with them or knocking the silliness out when they grew big and bold and bumptious. John would do that for her, surely he would, but what a burden for him to do it alone. Unfair, it was. Molly knew it and John knew it... and Garth knew it too.

John's tongue was caressing her now, not wasting any time, and Molly's haunch muscles melted trembling at his touch. Astonishing how fast the fever rose! She braced her legs for him and he was on her just like that, probing through her thick rump fur with eager little searching thrusts. He found his way quickly, in a few strokes gently slipped his way inside, and then his hips were pumping and his knot was swelling and the time for second thoughts was past.

When John had spent and turned and hunched still pulsing seed within her he said "Molly... I'll take good care of 'em. All of them. By Shamus' name I swear I will."

Molly panted softly, intoxicated, her muscles still reflex-twitching to every rhythmic pulse. Muzzy-voiced she told him "No. We'll do it together. I'm... I won't be changing back." Where had those words come from? She had never intended to say them... but when they left her mouth she knew they were true.

Really now, what was the point of changing back? As a hellwolf war hero she was admired and respected, but life as a single woman had been hard before Shamus took her in. Garth was an ardent lover but did she fancy he'd be asking her hand in marriage? Did she want him to? They would always be close friends, she knew that, but he was immeasurably her better by birth and she knew that too.

John Smallberries would have her, no doubt about that! And she shared his conviction that the hellwolf species should be preserved, to honor Shamus' memory if for no other reason. It was the "dawn of the hellwolves" he told her half-joking, but only by half, for John oft indulged the habit of concealing his true feelings in light jest.

In the distance cattle lowed and behind her John was saying "Don't commit yerself too soon, Mollikins! The day may come when you'll be glad to bid yer shaggy wolf pelt goodbye. But till then we'll work together and I'll be right glad o' yer company! Nathan'll release me from his service, if I ask him, and the Canine Corps'll grant me breeding leave without pay--"

"No! Stay with Nathan if he'll have you. We'll need money when these Hightshame folk tire of feeding us... and I can mind the pups if you're called away. Garth'll send us money too. As much as he can. D'ye suppose that's him now? I was never expecting him so soon!"

The cattle lowing had grown stronger, and closer, and now bustling excited noises about them told of something interesting afoot, but not something bad. The alarm bells would be clanging if danger were at hand.

At the thought of Garth returning she raised a paw-hand to her throat and felt the single stone in its thin silk pouch there. She owned but a single stone now, the true one; Baron William's dead left nostril had received the false stone bone-crunch-deep as token of her feelings for him.

She heard a timid door-knock but she ignored the sound and John did too, and it was not repeated. When John was good and ready he softened and pulled out from her, and both hellwolves curled down on the bedding straw to put their ruffled fur and well-used private bits to rights.

Before they were done a voice called "Molly?" It was Garth's voice! His human voice, coming from right outside her door. Molly jumped up and unbarred it for him, throwing it wide to reveal Garth, and her two door guards... and a pair of lanky snow-flecked hellhounds whose grinning tooth-jagged maws would have unnerved her in her human days. They were both male, she could scent that clear enough, and both sniffed the stable air avidly, savoring the steamy musk of lovemaking that suffused it now.

From behind her John called "Bambi!" and one hellhound bowed low in response, half-mocking. He licked his jaws lasciviously and laughed "John Smallberries! Dear comrade ye've changed! I thought the stories overblown but clearly such is not the case." To Molly he bowed lower and purred "Molly O'Dowd... famed ye are yet in the flesh far finer than I had hoped to dream. And in season too! If that mongrel cur behind ye hath in any way failed to satisfy please let me know and I'll do all in my power to uphold the honor of Valinoin on yer behalf. One hellhound looks much like another, so they say, but by yer leave I'll prove we're not the same in other ways!"

John growled softly and forced his way between them but the move was ill-thought as it fixed both hellhounds' attention on him, and in particular the heat-fragrant tail end of him. John realized his error and quickly sat down tail-tucked, ears flattened in embarrassment. He addressed the second hellhound asking "What would your name be?"

"I'm Yoda, sir. You recommended my brother Jabba but he's married now and couldn't come. Mating season, you know." He wagged his tail and shyly sniffed the air again, scenting hellwolf lovers clearly aware just what sort of season it was. Garth had not the nose to tell but surely he knew too, by the innuendo in Bambi's words if by nothing else. He said not a word but watched her wide-eyed as John wuffed "Jabba's married? Lucky dog! Anybody I know?"

"Her name's Oprah, sir, whelped of Tinkerbell by Garmheart."

"No, haven't met her... but I wish them both the best of happiness together! By the sounds of it you've done quite nicely in his place. How many dogs are you? And how many kine?"

"Not counting Garth we're eight noses, sir: Yoda and m'self and a half-dozen half-breeds... and thirty score head o'cattle. More or less. They're hard to count and every day we lose a few, but that seems about right for today. Some lame ones'll be staying here for slaughter but the rest'll be taking the Gerlofstad road tomorrow at first light. It's a comfort these are wild 'uns what know how to push snow aside and find the grass beneath it. Lazy barn-cows 'ould be having a hungry time of it I tell you what!" He sniffed politely toward the puppy nest and asked of Molly "May I? Garth will never stop talking about the wee darlin' bairns he had to leave behind."

She looked to Garth and he nodded so she said yes, carefully pulling aside blanket folds to reveal the five sleeping gray forms. Garth and the hellhounds crept forward to sniff and touch and the puppies slept on, stirring only slightly. Garth murmured "How big they've grown! I wish I could have been here with them. Let them rest now; we'll play when they're ready to wake." He hesitated and added "I have news to share... if this is a good time..."

Molly nodded, the guards and the hellhounds excused themselves, and John was going too until Garth asked him to stay. When the door was closed and latched he whispered "Do you have it? Is it safe?"

What was he talking about? Wasn't this the time for him to be condemning her for making love with John? She mumbled "I don't understand. What are you--"

"The mage stone! Show it to me!"

Without speaking Molly sat back on her haunches and lifted the stone-lanyard from her neck with both paw-hands. She offered it to Garth and he took it, quickly spilling out the mage-gem and feeling with his own flesh the truth of its power. He sighed in relief and offered it back but Molly said "No. Shamus lent it to me but it's yours by rights, as his heir. You should keep it now."

Garth hesitated, not sure what to say, then he slipped the lanyard around his own neck and tucked it all under his tunic. He said "We'll talk more on this later, but for now I'll keep it safe. And secret. When you need it just let me know."

"Garth I'm not sure... I'm not sure when that's going to be. John asked me for puppies and I told him yes... then things got out of hand and it looks like I'll be having more too."

Garth nodded and told her "Good. We need pups of diverse blood now to give them all better choices for mating partners once they're grown." He knelt down to cradle her massive head between his hands and kiss her nose saying "Molly... I've never met a woman like you. On my journey I had much time to think and--"

"--and how was your journey? Did you get a nice bounty for William's head?"

"Er... no. Gorepaw confiscated that when he arrested me at the border--"

"Arrested you! On what charge?"

"Treason by way of cross-border freebooting in violation of our king's peace."

"Oh, Garth! Men hang for that! How did you get free?"

"I was pardoned. You were too. Puddleford was seething with important people and they tried us both right there to save time."

Her hackles rose in horror and Molly whispered "I was tried too?"

"Yes. In absentia. But you're free now! We both are. And I didn't come back empty handed." At Garth's side was a thick-walled leather pouch. With some effort he slipped the strap over his head and let it all slip heavily down to the flagstoned stable floor, then he unfastened the pouch flap to spill out a cascade of gleaming golden coins. "Payment for my father's mage gem," he said.

"But we still have that!"

"A stone was found concealed in Baron William's nose. Mage Culann called it a mage gem and confiscated it in the Mage Guild's name. He gave me money in compensation. I took it."

"How much money?"

"You should have been there, Molly! Never have I beheld such a glamour. That pebble was long in contact with the real stone and absorbed energies Mage Culann used to create an illusion so convincing it fooled even me, who was privy to the full truth. I knew the stone was safe with you but still I saw it sparkling sky-blue in his hand, a perfect likeness in every way I could perceive. If not for--"

"Garth! How much money did he give you?"

"Seventy five thousand valins. Three hundred ounces Troy."

"Hmpf. That mage was toying with you, Poochikins. Seventy five thousand valins is a sarding lot of money. Enough to set you up for life even if you inherit nothing from your father's estate... but the stone's worth is beyond price. What's his game, d'ye suppose?"

"I think he's trying to protect us. Clearly he knows the stone he has is false, but by pretending it is real he diverts attention toward himself and thereby away from us. I know he has our best interests at heart because Mage Culann Yarroway was one of my father's closest friends and..." He hesitated, looking from Molly to John, and back again. "You must swear to keep secret what I tell you next. Swear to me by Shamus' name."

John and Molly so swore and Garth said "Mage Culann has another name. At times he is called Cynsanguin. He is Gorepaw's sire."

Oh. That explained a lot, indeed it did! Molly joked "Cuculann! Gorepaw is Culann's cur so we can call him--"

"No! Don't ever call Gorepaw by that name unless he asks you to!"

"Hush-hush Garth," Molly soothed, "I was but jesting with ye; I have more sense than that. Your secret is stronger now, not weaker, for John and I will do our sneaky best to keep it safe. Was Cynsanguin the secret of your early return? Arrest aside I was ne'rtheless expecting you to take far longer recruiting that pack o'herding dogs."

"Yes. I told Gorepaw my needs and the dogs came to me! Never would I have thought to seek out half-breeds but their hire was far cheaper and they've done their work as well as any full-blooded hellhound. The half-breeds don't easily speak human words but Bambi and Yoda do their talking for them, and hold their pay in safekeeping. Or rather their families do, back home in Valinoin. Six months' wages already paid in full."

"So trusting these hellhounds be! Can't say I blame 'em, mind you. We could all be dead before this adventure is at an end."

Guard-voices outside their door rose in overloud salutation-greeting and Garth jerked nervously, his scent spiking thick with something like fear. He cleared his throat and told her "Molly... if there's one lesson I've learned in our time together it's that no thing in life is certain, and we each need to seize our own destiny day by day. It is time for me to do that now, Molly. What I want to say is... when your new pups are weaned, and you're human again... will you consent to be my wife?"

Shocked stupid Molly sputtered "Me? Garth you're far too fine for the likes o'me! I could be your mistress, perhaps, until you find a proper wife, but of late I've decided to keep my fur coat and folk will surely talk. Perhaps it's best if we--"

Quick rap-rap knock and then the door behind Garth swung inward with no time allotted for response. One of Molly's guards walked through and behind him walked Nathan Vachon, and with him His Honor High Sheriff Percival Lyon. The door guard saluted and straightaway walked out again, closing the door behind him to leave the Metagonian officials alone with two fearsome black hellwolves and one man... and that man's peacefully sleeping furry brood.

His Honor greeted Molly first, bowing half-low and booming "Well met! Is this a propitious time for paying call?" Garth and John had crept off and were whispering together now, out of view behind Vachon and the high sheriff. All at once both locked their eyes on her and began to smile, sneakily. Garth doffed his cap and shrugged out from his greatcoat then unlaced his tunic and pulled that off too. He pulled off his boots, his socks... and his trousers too... then stood before her pale-skinned and shivering, wearing nothing but the mage gem lanyard around his neck. He removed that too, withdrew the gem and concealed it in one clenched fist, and Molly kept her expression bland as he did these things, not daring to give offense. What could Garth possibly be planning? Was he really going to use that mage gem?

She ignored Garth's mischief and bent her forelegs elbow-to-the ground in gracious hellhound style, resting her chin down too before telling the high sheriff "Yes! I am deeply honored, Your Honor! Have ye aught in particular ye'd fain discuss? In truth I have no clue what--"

"Yer Worship!" demanded Garth's voice, offensively interrupting, "Should I be hearin' this? Please fergive me impudence but I've done as ye commanded an' seems no need to linger on. By yer leave I'll have me true form back now, if I may, then I'll be on about me duties and out from underfoot."

"Garth what--"

"Thank ye thank ye, Yer Worship! Never once did I doubt yer word!" Molly's bones shook thrumming with the power-wash as Garth activated the mage gem in his hand, in swift seconds bulking up and hunching down to massive four footed form while dense white fur swept overall like foaming ocean waves upon the sand. For a short moment he stood there swaying, mage gem still concealed from view in one clenched paw-hand, then he shook himself and flashed her a roguish grin and both hellhounds ran off to the shadowed back part of the stable where the ladder to the hayloft lurked. Through the dimness she saw them both ascend it as she soothed His Honor's ruffled feathers with soft words, gently bringing him back to focus on whatever strange business had brought him to her humble abode.

"Your Worship I was doubting of the rumors," he said at last, "but I see now some at least of them are true. Pray tell me, if you will, what be your plans for Hightshame?"

Garth and John were beaming down at her from the hay loft now, visible to her but not to the humans she faced. Molly stammered "Plans? I... have no plans for it at all. I've grown fond of the people here, it is true, but with William dead my vengeance is achieved and there's nothing to hold me here at all. If it pleases you to see me gone I can depart at any time." The hellwolves were kicking back loose hay bits now, making a flat firm place to stand. Staring straight at her Garth kinked his tail to one side and John mounted him, right away probe-thrusting and pulling close as he found his way inside.

"Your Worship that is not my desire, nor the desire of my king. Mages often take the trouble to establish homes far from the petty distractions of city and court... and if you're feeling the inclination to establish such a residence at Hightshame... that can be arranged. The people want you here. In four short months you've utterly captured their hearts. Surely this cunning cattle-herding scheme of yours is a test to determine what sort of welcome you might expect to receive from the crown."

"I'm not a mage!" Molly yearned to answer but she held her tongue. An awkward silence followed, broken only by the rapid soft panting-sounds of John Smallberries impregnating his second hellwolf of the day. Those sounds were too soft for human ears to hear, she fervently hoped. Surely they were. The two humans made no outward signs of hearing them, at any rate, and after long moments His Honor High Sheriff Percival added "My king would require full tribute and a commitment to honor his decrees and maintain a just peace, but in nigh all other ways you would be free to do as you will. Human or wolf at your whim, it matters not; my king's intent is simply to make this district peaceful and productive again in the most expedient possible way. With that goal in mind he has issued the command that if you so agree you shall be made baron here forthwith, or baroness, possessing these lands fully in your name, and in the name of your heirs."

"You want to make me a baron? That is...difficult to believe. How can you give such honor to an animal? Metagonian law has no provision for that at all! And what about Tommy Atkins?"

"Your Worship need not concern yourself with minutiae of the common law, in this case. Gentlefolk follow a different code and several dogs and cats hold Metagonian titles even now, in company with two stallions and a duck. All are legacies of our late mad king Reynaud's wit and their stewards, many of whom remain quite influential in court, adamantly desire to keep matters as they are. And your good friend Tommy Atkins has not in any sense been forgotten! He seems well read... far more than would be expected from a man of his station. Perhaps the hat of a magistrate would suit his tastes."

Overhead the panting sounds were growing louder and Molly told him "Yes! Yes indeed! I would be honored to accept your king's offer. Please tell him I'll do everything in my power to keep this small corner of his domain trouble-free and profitable. Have you papers to be signed? Do you have need to go fetch them?"

The hayloft panting sounds had taken on an urgent squeak-whining quality and both humans looked up anxiously as above their heads thick timbers shook and bits of hay-chaff drifted down from the cracks between. His Honor said "Yes... Your Worship. Some small details... do indeed need to be worked out. We'll meet again tomorrow, perhaps. Would the tenth hour of the morning be convenient for you? At our quarters in the garrison, perhaps? They're kept warmer, and the ink is less likely to freeze."

"Yes! Ten in the morning! I'll see you then!" Molly unlatched the stable door and threw it wide for them, standing by until the humans had passed through then closing it quickly, and quietly, and latching the bolt behind.

She climbed the hayloft stairs to find her two lovers standing dopey-eyed tail to tail, panting softly and reeking of hot sex. At the sight of her John's black tail and Garth's white began to wag in fluffy twined synchrony and Garth asked her breathlessly "Molly am I still too good for you? Will you marry me now?"

Molly hissed "They're going to make me a baron!"

Garth parted his jaws to answer and "I'll marry you!" yelped John.

Molly fixed a burning gaze on John and glared at him, teeth half-bared. Softly she growled "You knew!"

John replied "I didn't know, love... just caught a little hint now and then. The high sheriff had been sent to judge but he was reluctant to commit himself, suspecting you were nothing more than a brave and lucky witch... until Garth changed his mind."

She whipped around to snarl at Garth "How dare you! My heart is not a plaything for your clever games!"

"This is not a game to me!" Garth whimpered, tugging fretfully and popping free from John's overworked and stress-softened knot. "I had already determined to use the stone and woo you as a wolf but John explained the need for quick action and we both... acted quickly. It was the right thing to do! You'll agree when you've had time to--"

Disturbance-sounds arose outside her door and an urgent voice called "Molly! Molly Yer Worship! Simple Pete's been cow-kicked bad an' his leg's broke sure as shit."

Molly shouted down "I'll be with ye directly!" and right away frightened puppy-wails rose up in response to her resounding voice. "Sardit!" she muttered and "There's a trader here to see ye too," came the shy voice of Leslie her second guard. "He has divers items brought for sale and in particular three mortal-heavy strange devices he's calling double-stage-double-action-buttress-valved-water-pumps. He say's on a tip he's shipped an' packed 'em all th'way from Nouveau Rochelle an' he vows ye'll be wantin' 'em real bad."

"Aye Leslie," she replied, "I'll be right down." She looked to Garth and John who were staring at her heads down, mouth corners pulled nervously back, ears pressed flat in puppy-like pleading for a kind word. Clearly they had meant well and who's stony heart could remain wroth at so pitiable a sight? Not her own reckless heart; she knew that all too well! Cruel games were wrought of such feelings but Molly had no taste for them; she never had. Fair truth and fair words were far more to her liking. And fair speed, when such was called for.

Garth had said the time for decisive action was any time, and his words rang true to her; never more true than now. Molly drew deep breath and gazed back at her hellwolf suitors wide-eyed, and without pretense. She said "Our pups are hungry now, and a mite afraid. Ye've meat below and teeth enou' between ye more than ample t'chew it soft. Soothe those pups now, while I'm called away, and when I return I swear by Shamus' name... I'll marry ye both."