of the Hero Academy but that they weren’t on his level and so shouldn’t use the opportunity to take advantage. The Wulfshead was always the hero of the story, wherever he happened to be, and no matter whom he was speaking to. But before he could say anything, Hawk got in first. Because he was never impressed by anybody.
“Yes, we know who you are, and no, we don’t care,” he said bluntly. “You’re not welcome here.”
“We don’t approve of you,” said Fisher.
“Whyever not?” said the Wulfshead, honestly taken aback.
“Because we’ve talked with people who’ve actually met you,” said Hawk.
He took a careful, deliberate step forward, so he could plant himself directly in front of the Wulfshead and block his entrance to the Tree. The Wulfshead didn’t budge an inch, and the two men faced off. The Wulfshead made a point of playing to the eagerly watching crowd. He was famous, or perhaps more properly infamous, for leading a pack of political outlaws that liked to be called the Werewolves, in the darker and more primitive woods of Redhart. The country was ruled by King William, who was, in turn, very strictly advised by the elected Parliament. But the Wulfshead saw growing democracy as too slow a process. There was a certain amount of support for his cause, but not for his methods. Which tended to be brutal, murderous, and self-serving. You were either on the Wulfshead’s side or you were dead. The Wulfshead had never actually said who or what should replace the King, but no one would have been at all surprised if Warren’s name turned out to be at the top of the list. He was, after all, a Born Leader.
“We’d heard you’d been doing badly,” said Hawk. “That your vicious activities had undermined your cause and turned most of Redhart’s population against you.”
“Lies, spread by my enemies,” said the Wulfshead, still playing to the crowd.
“Most of your followers have been killed, arrested, or just deserted,” said Fisher. “Because you treat your people worse than the King does.”
“And because you don’t know a thing about strategy,” said Hawk. “Hiding in the deep woods, attacking from ambush and then disappearing, is all you know. Last I heard, you’d been chased right out of Redhart, with your few remaining followers. You tried to set up business in the Forest Kingdom, but since that’s mostly a democracy these days, with just a constitutional monarchy, your brand of outlaw politics never stood a chance. The Forest army kicked you out before you’d even had time to write a song about being there. And now here you are; with a mere seven followers, none too impressive, I might add, demanding the right to tutor my students in your own brand of extreme politics, so you can carry them off to be battle fodder in your own private war. Like I’m going to let that happen.”
“I need a new base, and a new army,” the Wulfshead said calmly. “And I have found them both here. You can’t stand against me. I have destiny on my side. They’re not your people anymore. They’re mine.”
“Over my dead body,” said Hawk.
The Wulfshead smiled happily. “That’s the idea, yes. A ship can’t have two Captains.” He looked at Fisher. “I’m here for him. The man in charge. You don’t get to interfere.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Fisher. “My Hawk may not be as young as he used to be, but there will never be a day when he needs my help to take out a jumped-up little turd like you.”
The Wulfshead gestured imperiously to his followers. “Seize her!”
Fisher stepped forward and glared right into the faces of the seven Werewolves. They backed away despite themselves, huddled together and shifted their feet uncertainly, and didn’t make a single move to go for their weapons. They didn’t know what to do with people who weren’t scared of them. Fisher let loose with a harsh bark of laughter and set herself firmly between the Werewolves and their leader.