With a flap of wings, a huge raven landed only a few inches from Jack’s nose. Intense pinpoint black eyes stared into his.

“All’s clear,” declared the bird, in a surprisingly deep voice. It spoke with a slight accent that Jack found vaguely familiar. “The babe neutralized the opposition. I spotted three men and she got them all. Tough cookie, that lady.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” asked Jack. “You could be trying to trick me.”

“After warning you of the attack in the first place?” replied the raven. “That doesn’t make sense, Johnnie.”

Jack groaned. The nickname confirmed his worst fears. The bird squawked with a noticeable Swedish accent. It sounded just like his mother. Who was the only person in the world who still used that particular boyhood tide.

“You’re Hugo?” guessed Jack, sitting up. He had never been very good at telling his mother’s two pet blackbirds apart. “I never knew you could talk.”

“I didn’t know you were hanging ’round with Amazons,” retorted the bird. “So we’re square.”

Jack groaned in dismay. It had only been a few weeks since his final encounter with Dietrich von Bern and his army of Border Redcaps. He had hoped for a little more rest before returning to the fray. However, this unexpected assassination attempt didn’t bode well for the future. Jack had a feeling it was going to be a long day. A very long day.

2

A few seconds later, Cassandra appeared at the edge of the clearing dragging an unconscious man by the feet. A short, powerfully built man with a dark brown beard that covered his face, he was dressed in khaki green combat fatigues. That his head bounced along the ground with solid thumps bothered the Amazon not a bit. Cassandra hated being disturbed during their practice sessions. Jack knew better than to ask die fate of the other two attackers. Sometimes he preferred not knowing all the answers.