Stam the Stout whistled an old Drekker tune as he strode through East Wood ahead of his comrades. Fesslehorn and Harlan Seer were walking somewhat more slowly. To be fair, Stam’s stature made it difficult for anyone to keep up with him. But his two friends were also chatting animatedly about their brief stopover at Halfwind.

Truly, Stam shared their excitement, but he was perhaps the most practical of the three. History, and especially ancient history, could often drive Fess to distraction. As for Harlan, the price for his wisdom and apparent glimpses of what might lay in the future seemed to be occasionally getting lost in the yet to come. Stam was the happy-or at least usually-medium between the two, able to stay present in most situations.

He was thus the natural choice to take the lead as the trio made their way north through the woods. With their Halfwind visit behind them, Fess and Harlan were eager to proceed to Nick Hollow and beyond. They had chosen to cross into East Wood north of Vandalia, rather than traversing the hills that lay between Halfwind and the hollow. Hopefully, it would not be many days before they found what they were seeking.

Before his brain knew something was amiss, Stam could feel it. He slowed his pace and then stopped, ears twitching. Perhaps he had heard something? Yes, he realized-or rather, he had not heard something. The woods ahead were silent…unnaturally silent.

Quick as a wink, Stam’s great warhammer was in his hands and held ready. The movement startled Fess and Harlan, for in spite of his bulk Stam was quite speedy. Seeing his tension, Harlan gripped his stout walking staff more tightly. Fesslehorn unshouldered his shield and drew out his sling, traditional Drekker weapons that Stam himself had trained his comrade to use.

“What is it, Stam?”

Fess’ voice was steady, and he was clearly ready for action. Stam was about to answer him when several forms emerged from the trees he was facing. A dozen wolves formed a line facing the three rabbits. At their center stood a large white wolf who bore a spear and his own shield, painted black with a red diamond and fang emblem at its center.

The symbol was almost a match for the red diamond on Fess’ shield, but there the resemblance between the armaments ended. Where Fess’ shield was plated in metal, the wolf’s was all wood. Still, Stam thought, even an antique shield was an unpleasant sight in the hands of a wolf. It spoke of greater intelligence and foresight than was usually to be expected from such brutes.

If that had not been enough to arouse Stam’s concern, the mere fact of the wolves’ presence here was. This was no chance encounter, but a planned ambush. Such a thing could only be possible if someone who knew where the three Lord Captains were going had passed word to these vile predators. And any rabbit that deep in King Jupiter’s counsels was dangerous indeed.

“Harlan, Fess, get ready,” Stam said in a whisper. “Split up, and do yer best to get back to Halfwind or to Vandalia. I’ll try and keep as many of these snappers pinned as I can. But ye should be prepared for a chase.”

“Don’t be stupid, Stam! We’re not leaving you!”

A retort to Fess’ outburst was ready on Stam’s lips when Harlan spoke. “We must do as he says, Fesslehorn. This is a trap, which means someone knew we were coming. If we can, we must get word back to the king.”

Much as Stam knew he must want to object, Fesslehorn said nothing. Peering over his shoulder, he saw sadness in the historian’s eyes. In the eyes of Harlan, he saw a grim acceptance. Stam saw his fate written in the seer’s eyes…and he smiled.

“Run fer it, bucks! Ye have no more business here!”

Yelling, Stam charged the wolves, obviously taking them by surprise. A few overcame this and surged forward. The white wolf, obviously their commander, halted the others with a sharp bark. With another, he sent some of his followers charging in one direction while he led the rest in another.

Knowing that Fess and Harlan had split up as he suggested, and that he could do nothing more for them unless he killed the wolves charging to meet him, Stam advanced. Sidestepping the foremost wolf, he silenced its snarls with a devastating blow from his hammer. The second wolf leaped at him, only to meet a kick from one of Stam’s massive feet. As the stunned predator hit the ground, his two remaining comrades began circling warily around the hulking buck.

Though he had not known until a moment before that this was to be his dying day, Stam the Stout laughed as he readied himself for the next attack. He might have sung, given the opportunity, or hurled an insult or two at the suddenly cautious lupines. But then Stam’s eyes caught a movement in the trees above him…and with a sinking heart he looked up.

Perched in the shadowy heights was a deeper, far more terrible shadow. Two eyes glinted balefully in that darkness. As the shape shifted, a faint light revealed a massive owl. Then Stam knew that he looked upon one of the Six, whose name was the terror of every rabbit forced to travel, stand guard, or fight in the dark of night.

Vardon.

There was a sound of wings beating from behind him, and Stam turned his head slowly in that direction. Another raptor, a brown falcon as large for his breed as the owl was for his, had landed in the trees opposite Vardon. This, Stam knew, was yet another of the Six. Shelt, whose hateful shadow had been known to make daylight as hateful to rabbits as the nights that hid Vardon from view.

Now Stam knew the true hopelessness of his and his friends’ situation. Even if Fess and Harlan could somehow escape the wolves tracking them, they could not outrun or out fight these monsters. The enemy had come fully prepared to deal with the most famous fighters in King Jupiter’s army. And the Lord Captains had no answer for such force.

So Stam did the only thing he could do: kept fighting. As the wolf he had stunned rose to face him, Stam hit him with a blow that would ensure that he never rose again. This brought howls of rage from the other two wolves. Stam responded with a bellow that actually gave the wolf in his range of vision pause.

Unfortunately, Stam’s cry was no match for the piercing shriek that sounded from above. He had just enough time to turn as Vardon descended upon him. Stam raised his warhammer, the haft coming between him and the owl. Too late, he saw the ax gripped in Vardon’s talon, and was unable to act before it sheared through his own weapon.

Before Stam could even release the sundered halves of the hammer, Vardon had dropped his weapon and seized the rabbit. Large as he was, Stam felt like a toy in the grip of the monstrous raptor. Vardon’s wings, for all their beating, were silent as he carried the powerless Stam up into the air. Above the trees they rose, higher and higher, until the individual trees were merely a green carpet below them.

And then Vardon let go.