Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

O ver the course of his career, Conleth had amassed an impressive CV, with an extensive list of qualifications and achievements. After two weeks as a camp counselor, this had grown considerably longer:

CONLETH TIERNACH-WEST

BA (Hons), MBA

Key skills

Conflict negotiation (specializing in resolving complex, high-stakes situations, e.g. “who took the last chocolate chip cookie when I called dibs first”)

Expert in logistics and supply chain management, in particular ensuring constant flow of snacks, water, tissues, snacks, sunscreen, spare underpants, snacks, bug spray, dry socks, snacks, more snacks, etc.

Deep knowledge of complex rules systems such as Capture the Flag, Shift Tag, Dodgeball, and Running In Random Directions While Screaming Is Not An Actual Sport, Kids

Pest control, particularly humane capture and release of giant, terrifying, no doubt poisonous spiders from under bunk beds. Mostly at 2am.

Glitter

Extensive expertise in removing various stains (maple syrup, glue, poster paint, unidentified animal droppings, all too identifiable bear droppings, etc.) from a wide variety of fabric (beach towels, children’s t-shirts, own clothes)

And last, but very much not least:

Professional goat wrangler

“It’s too far, Conleth!” Nancy clung to the tree trunk. “Can’t you just come up and get me, like you always do?”

“If I keep rescuing you every time you’re stranded, you’ll never learn how to manage on your own,” Conleth replied, not letting any of the tension in his body show in his voice. He kept his eyes fixed on Nancy, ready to speed to catch her if she fell. “You got yourself up there, you can get yourself down. Trust your instincts.”

Nancy peered down through the leaves. “My instincts are telling me this is really, really high up.”

“Don’t look at the ground.” Conleth snapped his fingers, redirecting her attention to back to his face. “You’re perfectly safe. You know how fast I can move. In the unlikely event that you fall, I’ll catch you. Now focus on the branch just below you. Keep your weight on your right foot, and see if you can reach it with your left.”

Nancy gulped, but tentatively stretched out a foot. Step by step, he coached her down the tree, twitching with adrenaline at every hesitation or fumble. By the time she reached the ground, he felt as drained as if he’d fetched her from the peak of Thunder Mountain itself.

Hopping down from the final branch, Nancy broke into a big, beaming smile. “I did it!”

He breathed more easily, relaxing at last. “Indeed you did. Well done.”

“It wasn’t as scary as I thought it was going to be.” Nancy brushed a few leaves out of her hair. “I guess I didn’t need your help after all.”

“Perhaps next time you get stuck, you could try getting down all on your own,” Conleth said encouragingly—and then had a brief, terrifying vision of a newly confident Nancy leaping from the dining hall roof. “Though please make sure I’m standing nearby first. Just in case.”

Nancy screwed up her nose. “I can’t always rely on you being around, though. I mean, it’s not like you can come home with me.”

“That’s why we’re working on this now. By the end of the summer, I’m sure your parents will be impressed with your progress.”

And hopefully, much less likely to suffer from premature heart failure, he didn’t add. His own had certainly missed a few beats during some of Nancy’s more extreme feats of inadvertent agility. He hadn’t even known it was possible for a mountain goat to balance on top of a flagpole.

A thoughtful look crept across Nancy’s face. “If I work really hard on my climbing, would you be impressed?”

“Your climbing is already excellent,” Conleth said dryly. “It’s the descending that still has some room for improvement. But leaving aside technical matters of linguistics, yes, of course. As a matter of fact, I’m already proud of you for being brave enough to rescue yourself, rather than relying on me to get you down.”

“And if I keep managing to get myself out of trouble, you’d be even more impressed, right?” Nancy’s voice took on a sweet, wheedling tone that made ice run down Conleth’s spine. “I mean, like, really, really impressed. If I proved I can get down safely no matter how high I jump, you wouldn’t have to worry anymore that I might fall and hurt myself. So we’d be able to do more activities.”

Conleth had the sinking feeling that he had just made a critical error.

“Like mountain climbing!” Nancy continued, inevitably. “If I keep improving, will you take us out on a proper expedition up Thunder Mountain as a reward? Please, Conleth? Pleeeeease?”

The sensible answer would have been to tell her he’d think about it—meaning, of course, for about five seconds . But there was more than mere hope in Nancy’s expression. This was something she desperately wanted, and he had a hunch it wasn’t simply some childish whim.

“Nancy,” he said slowly, mind working. “Why is it so important that we go climbing this summer? I would have thought you had plenty of opportunity to do that sort of thing back home. Aren’t there other mountain goat shifters in your family?”

“Yeah, loads. We go on expeditions all the time.” Nancy dug a toe into the ground. “But I never actually get to go up the mountain. My parents say it’s too dangerous. I always have to stay at base camp with the little kids and my aunties. It’s not fair. I just… I just really want to prove to my family that they don’t need to keep treating me like a baby.”

Only a sheer monster would have said no after that. “I can’t make any promises, you understand. As your counselor, I have to make sure you’re safe. But that doesn’t mean wrapping you in cotton wool and never letting you take any risks. If we work together on developing your skills, and you show me you won’t get stuck or fall?—”

Nancy’s ear-splitting squeal of joy cut him off. She launched herself at him, flinging her arms around his waist in a heartfelt hug. This would have been a lot more endearing if she hadn’t also delivered a solid head-butt to his sternum in the process.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Nancy babbled, her enthusiastic embrace squeezing the last traces of air from his lungs. “I’ll work really, really hard! You won’t regret it, I promise!”

Conleth was already regretting many things, but he wasn’t about to dampen her enthusiasm. He extricated himself from the hug before she could crack a rib in gratitude. “This doesn’t mean we’ll be planting flags at the top of Thunder Mountain tomorrow, mind. We’ll have to start small and work our way up. Literally.”

Nancy squinted speculatively up at the branch. “If I practice a lot, I’ll improve faster, right?”

Conleth pinched the bridge of his nose. “Nancy, do not jump back into the tree.”

“Nancy!” Estelle hollered, streaking past with a flag flapping from her hand and a wombat hot on her heels. “Stop standing around and move your butt! We’re getting crushed out here!”

“I’ll put together a proper plan to help you practice under safe, controlled conditions.” Conleth gave Nancy a light push towards the chaotic brawl on the field. “We can work on it in your free time, outside the scheduled activities. Now go help your friends. They certainly need it.”

“Okay.” Nancy dashed after Estelle, calling back over her shoulder, “Thanks, Conleth! You’re the best!”

“You couldn’t have said that while Paige was in earshot?” Conleth muttered under his breath.

Unfortunately, she was all the way on the opposite side of the field, refereeing the game of Capture the Flag along with Buck, Moira, and Ragvald. Dodging screaming, overexcited kids—along with several snow leopards, a panda, and an alarmingly uncoordinated giraffe—Conleth made his way back to them.

“That took longer than normal,” Paige greeted him. “Is Nancy all right?”

“Yes, although we might not be.” He took a prudent step back as a zebra galloped past. “I’ll explain later. Is anyone else concerned that the campers appear to be hell-bent on a species-diverse re-enactment of the Battle of Thermopylae?”

Buck shrugged. “No one’s lost a limb yet. And the kids are having fun.”

This was not entirely true. Hetta was sitting alone, well back from the brawl on the playing field. Since the nature hike, they’d managed to coax her into a few more activities, but Capture the Flag was well past her limit.

“No luck persuading Hetta to join in?” he murmured to Paige.

She shook her head. “One of us should keep her company.”

He eyed Hetta speculatively. “Let’s both go. It’s a good moment to talk to her in private, while the other kids are distracted.”

“No,” Paige said, too quickly. “You stay here and referee the game. I’ll sit with her.”

“Paige,” Conleth started, but she was already hurrying off without a backward glance.

“I see things are going well,” Buck said from behind him.

He sighed, watching Paige join Hetta. “That was one of our more successful interactions. These days, I count it as a victory if I can get her to say anything more to me than ‘Nancy’s on the cabin roof again.’”

“Mmm.” Buck sipped his coffee. “Archie seems to have stopped persecuting you, at least.”

“No doubt because he’s worked out it’s far more effective to stand back and let me shoot myself in both feet. My performance so far has not been impressive.” Conleth cast a glance at Moira, who was monitoring the kids’ chaotic game with the same close attention she gave her lifeguarding duties. “Speaking of Archie, how are his lessons with you going?”

Moira blew out her breath. “He’s…trying hard.”

“Forgive me, princess, but that is hard to believe,” Ragvald put in. “I have witnessed myself that our young cub still finds it hard to stay in one skin for long.”

“For once, Ragvald is right,” Conleth said. “Archie doesn’t seem to be making much progress. Yesterday he turned into a bear six times before breakfast. I counted.”

“And recorded the result in a spreadsheet?” Buck murmured into his mug.

“Of course not,” Conleth snapped, who had. “But if I were keeping track of key metrics related to his progress, the projected trend line would not be looking good, Moira.”

“I’m doing everything I can, Conleth,” she said with a hint of exasperation. “No matter how many times I guide him through meditation techniques to calm his animal, it doesn’t seem to sink in.”

Buck made a skeptical sound. “Can’t imagine Archie voluntarily sitting still for more than thirty seconds.”

“He swears he’s trying his best,” Moira replied. “I think he really does want to get better at his shifting.”

Conleth found Archie, charging after another kid at full speed. “I don’t believe he lacks motivation. And even if he did, Paige certainly doesn’t.”

“I know she’s making sure he practices his exercises. But I can’t tell if he’s not grasping what I’m trying to teach him, or if it’s genuinely not helping.” Moira cut herself off, blowing a sharp blast on her whistle. “Estelle! No biting!”

Buck raised an eyebrow as Moira hurried off to dispense penalty time-outs. “Sounds like your current plan isn’t working. Maybe it’s time for a new one.”

“You think I haven’t realized that?” Conleth raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “But what can I do? I can hardly help Archie myself. He thinks I’m a scheming jerk trying to steal his sister. And I’m certain there’s something more behind Paige’s concern over his shifting, but I can’t find out what it is when she won’t even talk to me.”

“Do not be downcast, friend Conleth!” Ragvald announced. “I know what you must do!”

Conleth gave the wyrm shifter a flat look. “I very much doubt it.”

“No, I want to hear this,” Buck said, a broad smirk spreading across his face. “What should Conleth do, Ragvald?”

“Is it not obvious?” Ragvald spread his hands. “The boy is still dubious about the match, and clearly our honorable shield-sister Paige restrains her own desires out of fear of causing a great rift in her clan. Friend Conleth must impress his mate and her kin both! If he can but arrange a situation that allows him to demonstrate his many virtues, they cannot fail to be won over.”

“And what, exactly, do you think I’ve been trying to do?” Conleth asked.

“I mean no offense, my friend, but you can be too subtle. You must take a more direct approach.” Ragvald raised an arm, waving. “Shield-sister Paige! Turn your attention upon us!”

At the wyrm’s call, Paige looked up from her conversation with Hetta. Conleth made frantic ‘never mind’ motions in her direction.

“Ragvald,” he muttered, trying to maintain an unconcerned smile. “I believe I asked you to promise never to try to help me.”

Ragvald clapped him on the back. “And a wyrm never breaks his word!”

Conleth breathed out in relief.

“Which is why I did not give it,” Ragvald continued cheerfully. He grasped Conleth’s shoulder, lowering his head so that they were eye-to-eye. “Do not fear, friend Conleth. I have a plan.”

Conleth opened his mouth, but it was too late. Ragvald was already turning away, lifting his voice.

“ALL BEAR WITNESS!” he roared, drowning out all other sound. As kids stopped in their tracks, he raised both arms above his head. “I CHALLENGE CONLETH TO A TEST OF HONOR!”

The kids erupted in whoops, cheers, roars, and barks. They abandoned their game, the ones who were in animal form scrambling for their clothes.

“You are so screwed,” Buck murmured as campers converged on them.

“Is that right, Conleth?” Estelle asked eagerly. “Are you really gonna fight Ragvald?”

Conleth did his best to look like this had all been his idea. “Apparently.”

“Like an alpha challenge?” asked one of the younger campers.

Ragvald let out his booming laugh. “Of course not, hatchling! This is a friendly competition between warriors.”

“I don’t think Conleth is feeling very friendly right now,” Buck said under his breath.

“Three desserts on Ragvald!” yelled a short, stocky girl from another pack. She turned to Conleth’s own campers. “Who’ll make a wager with me? Come on, one of you must be willing to bet on your counselor.”

Ignatius turned an arctic stare on her. “Do I look like an idiot?”

“You’re on, Flora,” Beth said loyally. “Uncle Conleth will easily beat Ragvald.”

At the moment, Conleth was indeed restraining a desire to beat Ragvald. Perhaps, if he moved fast enough, he could knock the man out and still manage to look plausibly concerned about his sudden, inexplicable collapse.

Unfortunately, the heaviest blunt implement to hand was Buck, which would only be swapping one problem for another. There didn’t seem to be any way to get out of this asinine challenge.

We don’t need to get out of it. In his head, his pegasus stamped a hoof. We will defeat any male who dares to challenge us! Our mate will see our strength and speed!

His animal might actually have a point. Ragvald knew he was fast, but perhaps not how fast. If the wyrm thought he’d be an easy punching bag, he was about to be surprised. And a little medieval one-on-one combat, while ridiculous, was just the sort of thing that might have a chance of getting Archie to see him in a new light. And possibly Paige, too.

“Stake a whole week’s worth of desserts, Beth,” he said loudly. He drew himself up, giving in to some of his stallion’s urging to preen in front of their mate. “We have a saying in this land, Ragvald. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. Allow me to teach you the meaning of it.”

“Ooooooooo,” chorused most of the kids.

Ragvald, for his part, seemed delighted by the trash talk. His toothy grin widened as he held out a hand. When Conleth gingerly took it, Ragvald flexed his arm, pulling him in closer.

“Now you are getting into the spirit of things,” the wyrm muttered in his ear. Giving him another bone-shaking slap on the back, Ragvald released him. “Come, friend Conleth! For a true test of might, we will need much space!”

Wondering just what he’d gotten himself into, Conleth followed the wyrm onto the field. The kids streamed after them in a giggling, excited mass. Conleth caught a glimpse of Paige, trying to keep their pack together in the crush. She was the only person in the crowd who seemed more concerned than thrilled. Catching his eye, she mouthed: Are you sure about this?

Conleth’s confidence in this plan was diminishing at an increasing rate, but he flashed her an assured smile. He could hardly back down now, after all.

Ragvald led the entire motley parade to the center of the playing field. Having had a horde of kids in a variety of forms stampeding back and forth across it all morning, the earth had been churned up into thick, slippery mud. Ragvald scuffed a booted foot thoughtfully across the slick surface and nodded in evident satisfaction.

“Perfect,” he announced. He shooed campers back as they attempted to crowd around him. “No, younglings, form a wider circle than that. It is not safe to stand too close when warriors clash. We do not want any of you getting hurt.”

He had not, Conleth noted, said anything about either of them not getting hurt.

Evidently he wasn’t the only one to have had this thought. Moira pushed her way through the crowd of kids, looking rather tense.

“Ragvald,” she said. “Before this goes any further, we should clarify exactly what sort of challenge you have in mind.”

“Is it not obvious?” Ragvald flung his arms wide, beaming. “Toga honk!”

There was a moment of profound silence.

“Toga…” Ignatius sounded like he couldn’t believe the words coming out of his own mouth. “ Honk?”

“Yes!” Ragvald’s brow furrowed. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

Conleth turned to Moira. “As our resident expert in all things Ragvald, what on God’s green earth is toga honk?”

From Moira’s expression, she was just as baffled as the rest of them. “I have no idea. I’ve heard the word toga before, though, in some of the old sagas about famous feats of battle. It’s not easy to translate. To… violently yank something, perhaps?”

“I am not keen on the prospect of Ragvald violently yanking anything,” Conleth said. “Particularly not anything of mine.”

Moira spread her hands. “It’s possible I’m mistaken. Wyrmish is a complicated language. The meaning of a phrase can be dramatically different from the literal translation of each word separately.”

Conleth turned to Ragvald. “Please tell me this is one of those times.”

“No, no. The princess has the right of it.” Ragvald made a brief, upsetting gesture. “In the contest, we do this, like so. Toga , yes?”

“I don’t know about anyone else,” Buck said from the circle of onlookers. “But I for one can’t wait to find out what a honk is.”

“I would say that the reality cannot be worse than my imagination,” Conleth said. “But since we’re talking about Ragvald, that would seem to be tempting fate.”

“I thought all warriors engaged in toga honk.” Ragvald sounded as though he was the one confronted with utter insanity. “Surely you must know this concept.”

Moira shook her head. “I think this is another cultural difference, Ragvald.”

“No sauna, no toga honk,” Ragvald said under his breath. “Outlanders. Next you will be telling me you don’t have communal ice baths either.”

“I have bad news for you,” Conleth said. “But not, I suspect, as bad as the news I’m about to receive myself. What is toga honk, Ragvald? Explain it like we’re three years old.”

“It is a contest,” Ragvald said patiently. “A contest of strength and endurance, in which two warriors sweat and strain to see who will emerge victorious.”

Neither sweat nor strain sounded reassuring. “And does this contest involve axes?”

Ragvald looked as though he’d proposed lighting the camp bonfire with a flamethrower. “Of course not.”

At least half the children seemed profoundly disappointed by this statement. Archie most of all.

“Just to be completely clear, Ragvald,” Moira said cautiously. “Do you use any weapons in toga honk?”

“Oh, no.” Ragvald reached behind his back. “Only this.”

With a flourish, he produced a coil of rope.

A long, thick coil of rope.

With knots.

“I am having the best day,” Buck observed to no one in particular. “Every time I think it can’t possibly get any better, it does.”

“I already know I’m going to regret asking this,” Conleth said. “But what do you intend to do with that, Ragvald?”

“We grip it!” Ragvald demonstrated, wrapping one end around his brawny forearm. “One on each end, like so! With this knot, here, in the middle between us, see? We stand some distance apart, and at the signal, we both strain most mightily. The first to drag the knot into their own territory is the victor!”

This time, the silence was rather longer.

Archie broke it first. “That’s it?”

Ragvald shook out the rope. “Yes.”

“But that’s just tug-of-war,” another camper protested.

Ragvald’s bearded face broke into a relieved smile. “So you do have toga honk! I knew you must. There are things that are surely universal to all cultures, like poetry duels, or sleeping on gold.”

Moira opened her mouth, paused, and shut it again.

Disappointed mutterings were rising all around the circle of watching campers. Archie gave voice to the general discontent. “So you’re not actually going to fight?”

Ragvald cast the boy a puzzled look. “Friend Conleth is my shield-brother. Why would we fight?”

“Well said, Ragvald,” Paige said firmly. “Fighting is never a good idea. Tug-of-war sounds much better.”

Conleth did not share this opinion. With mounting dread, he realized Ragvald had hit upon the one form of contest where his own speed power would be completely, utterly useless.

“Let me help you with that, Ragvald,” he said for the benefit of the crowd. Under the pretense of untangling the rope, he hissed in the wyrm’s ear, “And how is falling flat on my face supposed to help me impress Archie and Paige?”

“Have faith, friend Conleth,” Ragvald murmured back. “I would not humiliate you in front of your mate. Trust me to have your back, shield-brother.”

Ragvald straightened, reverting to his usual deafening tones. “Hear me, o fortunate souls! Still your tongues and halt your breath, for you will not wish to miss a single moment of this epic battle. Surely your children’s children shall one day beg to hear you relate the tale of this day!”

The campers—all literal children themselves—looked somewhat dubious about this. Nonetheless, they settled down. An expectant hush descended.

“I shall draw out the boundaries, and explain the rules,” Ragvald continued. “We do not wish any unfortunate misunderstanding.”

Ragvald dragged his foot through the mud, scoring a deep line. Moving to one side, he made another, about five feet away. He laid out the rope so that the large central knot lay halfway between the two lines. Several smaller knots were tied into each end of the rope, presumably to provide better grip.

“My territory, and yours,” Ragvald said, gesturing at the two areas he’d marked out. “The area between represents the sea, which belongs to none, yes? The first to claim the treasure knot shall be the victor, but he who strays past his own territory instantly loses the bout. Does this match your rules of—what was the phrase—war of tugging?”

“Tug of war,” Moira corrected. “And yes, it’s about the same. Though we usually play in teams.”

“Is that so?” Ragvald contemplated this for a moment, then shrugged. “How odd. But I suppose it is natural for you outlanders to always unite in a war band. Numbers are your only advantage. You are so very small, after all.”

Conleth was painfully aware that this was indeed the case, relatively speaking. He was no lightweight himself, but Ragvald was built like a pile of bricks. He ran a brief calculation of his chance of being able to dislodge the wyrm so much as an inch, and came up with a number that was very much not in his favor.

But he couldn’t back down now. Steeling himself, he picked up one end of the rope. “I believe we’re all on the same page. Shall we get on with it?”

“Not so fast, friend Conleth.” Ragvald’s expression turned more serious. “I do not know how you outlanders do things, but in my land, toga honk is a most revered and ancient ritual, and not to be taken lightly. I must insist we follow all proper form, as tradition demands.”

Oh God, what now? Conleth braced himself for whatever fresh horror the wyrm was about to unleash.

“We must face each other as the revered ancestors once did!” Ragvald ripped off his camp t-shirt, letting the shredded remnants flutter to the ground. “Bold and bare-chested, as befits true warriors!”

If there was one word Conleth had not previously associated with Ragvald, it was ‘guile.’ Now he was forced to revise his opinion of the wyrm. Perhaps he really was trying to help.

Conleth pulled his own t-shirt over his head, casting it aside. He deliberately did not glance at Paige, but his acute shifter hearing picked up a distinct intake of breath from that direction. His opinion of Ragvald ticked up several more notches.

“I am Ragvald Ragnarsson of Clan Fyrgard!” Ragvald declared at the top of his lungs. He grabbed one end of the rope, winding it several times around one brawny forearm. “No man has ever defeated me at toga honk, nor managed to make me take so much as a single step! I shall emerge victorious this day!”

The wyrm looked expectantly at him. Hoping Ragvald knew what he was doing, Conleth picked up his end of the rope.

“I am Conleth Tiernach-West of… here, I suppose.” Since wrapping the rope around his wrist seemed like a good way to lose a hand, he settled for taking as firm a grip as he could manage. “I have never toga honked in my entire life, and I wish I wasn’t now.”

Ragvald shot him a broad grin of approval before glancing at Moira. “Will you do us the honor of giving the count, Princess?”

“Very well,” Moira said, though her face said she still had distinct doubts about this entire situation. “On the count of three, then.”

Conleth had worked out Ragvald’s plan by now. The wyrm had done everything short of spelling it out in semaphore, after all. He could only hope that Ragvald’s heavy-handed hinting about ’no one ever managing to make him take a single step’ meant that the wyrm didn’t plan to throw the match too obviously.

Moira lifted her voice. “One…”

The rope tightened as Ragvald took a step back, taking up the slack.

“Two…”

Conleth tensed, waiting for the final call. Ragvald might be more subtle than he’d previously suspected, but that was not a high bar to clear. He’d have to play this carefully.

All the kids joined in on the final number. “THREE!”

Conleth had been expecting Ragvald to underestimate him. He was braced to carefully match the wyrm’s force, ensuring a lengthy (and hopefully, from Paige’s perspective, photogenic) struggle. It would give the game away if he pulled the man clean off his feet, after all.

He was thus entirely unprepared for Ragvald to yank on the rope with his full unholy strength.

His power kicked in, but he was already off the ground. With no way to alter his trajectory and no room to shift, the burst of speed only gave him a subjective eternity to fully appreciate the inevitability of the approaching mud puddle before he landed in it.

Face first.

Spitting out mud, he pushed himself up. He was still speeding, he realized. All around, the crowd appeared frozen in expressions ranging from disappointment to outright glee. Archie, he noted, had the broadest grin of all.

Conleth took a moment to scrape the mud off his face. There seemed to be little else he could do to salvage the situation, short of sprinting for the horizon and taking to the sea. Grimacing, he forced himself to slow.

Time snapped back to normal. The low, distorted roar of the crowd shifted up to cries of triumph and groans of despair.

Paige pushed through the crowd, hurrying to his side. “Are you okay?”

“Apart from my irreparably shattered dignity, yes.” He ran a hand through his hair, realizing too late that this had done far more harm than good. “Well, so much for that. At least it’s over now.”

“First victory to me!” Ragvald roared. He pounded his bare chest in triumph. “Come, friend Conleth! Why are you sitting there? Take up the rope once more!”

“What,” Conleth said flatly.

“Surely you did not think to play but a single round,” Ragvald declared, striding over. Conleth found himself bodily hauled out of the mud like a bedraggled kitten. “A bout of toga honk does not end until one warrior concedes defeat. We are just getting started!”

Paige bit her lip. “I think Conleth’s had enough toga honk for one day.”

In Conleth’s opinion, Conleth had had enough toga honk for the rest of his life. Ragvald, however, was having none of it.

“Surely you would not insult friend Conleth by implying he wishes to surrender so soon, shield-sister.” Ragvald steered him back toward the rope with all the delicacy and consideration of a bulldozer. “Only the most craven of cowards would flee after the first blow.”

“I thought,” Conleth said through clenched teeth, “you were trying to help me, Ragvald.”

“And indeed I am,” the wyrm replied in a low whisper. “Patience, friend Conleth. Your mate will see your worth, never fear.”

Ragvald returned to his end of the rope, wrapping it around his wrist once more. “Again!”

“But you’re much bigger and heavier than Uncle Conleth,” Beth protested. “You’ll just yank him over again.”

“Don’t think you can get out of our bet that easily,” Flora said. “You should have thought of that before staking all those desserts.”

Ragvald stroked his beard, frowning. “No, young hatchling, the little shield-maiden makes a good point. I am a wyrm, after all, while friend Conleth is but an outlander. There is no honor to be had in defeating those much weaker than yourself.”

“Excuse me,” Conleth snapped. “I am standing right here.”

“For now,” Buck said under his breath.

“We shall make this a fair contest!” Ragvald declared. With a flourish, he put one arm behind his back. “Behold! I shall jerk Conleth off one-handed!”

Moira made a strangled sound. “ Over , Ragvald. Not off.”

Ragvald’s brow furrowed. “Do they not mean the same thing?”

“In this context, no,” Moira said. “No, they do not.”

Perhaps Ragvald was even more subtle than Conleth had thought. Perhaps the wyrm had deliberately crushed him in the first round in order to build drama. Perhaps this time, things would be different.

Perhaps everyone would be distracted from this ridiculous competition by a passing flock of flying pigs.

But there were desserts on the line. He couldn’t give up without letting Beth down. With a sigh of resignation, Conleth took up the rope.

And, at the count of three, was unceremoniously pitched into the mud. Again.

“I am the victor once more!” Ragvald crowed. “Come now, friend Conleth. Surely you can put up more of a fight than that?”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” said Flora, smirking. “In fact, I haven’t.”

“It’s not over yet,” Beth said, in the face of all the evidence. “Ragvald may be strong, but Uncle Conleth is tough. He’ll wear him down eventually.”

Conleth was not so sure about that. Ragvald had the constitution of a granite cliff. If he could be worn down at all, it was likely to be in a span of time measured in geological ages. This was not a battle he could win.

He picked up the rope anyway. “I’m still standing, Ragvald.”

The wyrm gave him a beaming smile, like a proud parent watching a toddler take their first teetering steps. “Indeed, friend Conleth! Such a show of valor demands an equal demonstration of respect. I shall make this even easier for you!”

“Please,” Conleth gritted out. “Don’t.”

“No, I insist.” Ragvald held the rope aloft. “Behold! I shall defeat you with no hands!”

With a broad grin, he stuffed the rope into his mouth.

Conleth had a very, very bad feeling about this.

The kids, unfortunately, seemed to take the wyrm at face value. A chorus of complaints and “Ragvald, noooooo” rose from the campers.

“Come on, Uncle Conleth!” Beth called out. “You must be able to beat him now!”

“Do it for our desserts!” Estelle added.

Ignatius stared at his packmates. “I am surrounded by idiots.”

Conleth had also worked out where this was likely to be going. Thus, when Moira counted to three, he wasn’t the least surprised to find himself facing not an enormous, smirking man, but an even more enormous, smirking wyrm.

Ragvald grinned at him, rope clamped between huge, fanged jaws. In this form, he most closely resembled a wingless dragon, with a sinuous, reptilian body set on four stocky, powerful legs.

He was also the approximate size and weight of the average whale. Conleth couldn’t have moved so much as a single clawed toe even if he’d had the assistance of an entire logging crew and a couple of backhoes.

The wyrm flicked its horned head, snapping the rope like a whip. Ready for this, Conleth let himself be catapulted into the air, shifting as soon as he was high enough. He spread his wings, catching himself, and managed an almost graceful landing.

“Ragvald!” Estelle stomped a foot. “That’s cheating!”

The wyrm shrugged, sending a ripple down its serpentine length. It shrank back into Ragvald’s customary shape.

“We did not agree that we must stay in the same form.” Ragvald cracked his neck. “All is fair in love and toga honk.”

Conleth shifted back to human form as well. He brushed a hand down his abs, reflexively attempting to straighten a shirt he wasn’t in fact wearing. “Do the rules permit a short recess, Ragvald?”

“Recess?” Ragvald looked at Moira, who murmured something in wyrmish. “Ah! But of course, friend Conleth. It is not unusual for a game of toga honk to last several days, with short breaks to attend to necessary needs. Do you require refreshment?”

“No, just a small clarification.” He drew the wyrm to one side, dropping his voice to a low hiss. “And how, precisely, is spending the next few hours mopping the field with my face supposed to impress Paige?”

Ragvald’s brow furrowed. “Is it not obvious?”

“Believe me, it is not.”

“You are demonstrating all the most important virtues a man can possess.” There was nothing but earnest sincerity in Ragvald’s tone. “Persistence, humility, and a good sense of humor. What more could any woman desire in a mate?”

Conleth stared at him.

“Also, you are now covered in mud,” Ragvald added. He leaned in even closer, as though imparting a great secret. “In my experience, outlander women find that very attractive.”

Conleth risked a glance at Paige. Alas, she did not seem to be appreciating the view. In fact, she wasn’t even looking at him. Her fists clenched at her sides as she glared daggers at Ragvald.

Archie, in contrast, could not have been grinning any wider. Catching his eye, the boy gave him a sarcastic thumbs up.

“You see?” Ragvald beamed at him. “Everything is going to plan.”

“Again!” Ragvald roared.

“I can’t look!” Hetta pressed her face into Rufus’s shoulder. “Someone tell me when it’s over.”

“He has to give up now, right?” Finley said anxiously. “I mean, he must know he can’t win.”

“It’s Conleth,” Estelle pointed out. “I don’t think he knows how to give up.”

Sure enough, Conleth pushed mud-streaked hair back from his face. Giving Ragvald a look that should have vaporized the wyrm shifter on the spot, he headed for his end of the rope once more.

“Uncle Conleth!” Leaving the rest of them behind, Beth dashed into the makeshift arena. She seized her uncle’s arm. “Please, just stop.”

“Unfortunately, I’ve never been much good at that.” Gently shaking her off, he stooped to pick up the rope again. “Besides, there are desserts at stake.”

“I don’t care about the desserts! Uncle Conleth, this is pointless. He’s just going to keep smashing you into the mud!”

“Probably. But it’s not over until someone surrenders. I don’t intend it to be me.” Glancing sideways, he added under his breath, “And at least I’m making someone happy.”

“Go, Conleth!” Archie crowed, dancing on the spot. “Don’t give up now! We’re all counting on you!”

“Don’t worry, Beth.” Conleth flashed her a reassuring smile as he braced his feet. “You know me. I always have a plan.”

“What did he say?” Estelle asked as Beth rejoined the rest of the pack.

Beth spread her hands helplessly. “He says he has a plan.”

“No offense, Beth,” Nancy said, following Conleth’s progress through the air. “But your uncle’s plans are kinda weird.”

Finley winced as mud splattered yet again. “I’m not sure Conleth really does have a plan.”

“He needs our help,” Beth announced. “We have to do something.”

“Yeah, but what?” Nancy asked. “If we charge out there to lend a hand, we’re just gonna get tossed in the mud too. I mean, fun as that sounds, I don’t see how it’s going to help.”

“You have a very strange idea of fun,” Ignatius muttered. “And also, just for the record, under no circumstances am I touching that rope. My ancestors would die of shame.”

Estelle rolled her eyes. “Ig, they’re ancestors. By definition, they’re already dead.”

“They’d come back to life to kill me, and then die of shame,” Ignatius retorted. “Besides, these are Gucci jeans.”

Hetta shrank back against Rufus. “I’m not going out there either.”

“It wouldn’t make any difference, anyway,” Finley said. “All of us put together aren’t strong enough to defeat Ragvald, even if he doesn’t shift.”

“We need a distraction,” Estelle decided. “Nancy, go jump on something.”

“We’re in a field,” Nancy pointed out. “The highest point is Ragvald.”

“I’ve got an idea.” Beth turned, starting to push through the crowd. “Cover for me!”

“Huh?” Estelle said, but Beth was already pushing through the crowd.

“Is anyone else amazed this camp is still standing?” Ignatius asked as Conleth skidded into the mud once more. “Because based on all the evidence, it should have gone bankrupt within two weeks. That man clearly should not be trusted with a banana, let alone an entire business.”

“Come on, Ragvald!” Archie yelled from the other side of the impromptu arena. “You can yank harder than that! Conleth doesn’t want you to go easy on him! Right, Conleth?”

Whatever reply Conleth might have made was drowned out by a sudden shrill sound. Rufus tackled Nancy, grabbing the hem of her shirt just in time to stop her launching herself over the crowd.

“Fire alarm, kids.” Buck was abruptly all business. “You know the drill. Find your counselors and get to your muster points. No dawdling.”

“Aw.” Archie’s face fell. “I wanted to see Conleth get dragged through the mud some more.”

Buck shooed him toward the rest of the pack. “All good things come to an end, kid.”

“Do not fear, young hatchling!” Ragvald gave Conleth a broad, conspiratorial wink. “Friend Conleth has not yet conceded. We shall continue this battle another time.”

“Absolutely not,” Paige bit out through clenched teeth. Stalking forward, she scooped up Conleth’s discarded t-shirt, thrusting it against his muddy chest. “This stops right now, you understand?”

“We’ll call it a draw,” Moira said quickly. “Come on, campers. You heard Buck. Everyone off the field.”

Paige turned her back on Conleth, surveying the pack. “Where’s Beth?”

“Here!” Beth panted, rejoining the group. She bent over, chest heaving. “I’m—here.”

“Good.” Paige turned on her heel, not sparing so much as a glance at her co-counselor. “Everyone follow me. Hurry, now. We don’t want to be the last group to the muster point.”

One of Conleth’s eyebrows rose as he surveyed his out-of-breath niece, but he didn’t comment. Pulling his t-shirt over his head, he followed Paige. The rest of the pack fell in behind the two counselors.

“Did you pull the fire alarm?” Estelle whispered to Beth.

“Shh!” Beth cast an anxious glance at their leaders. “I don’t want to get in trouble. But I had to do something. If Uncle Conleth really planned that whole thing, it can’t have gone as he wanted. Paige looked furious . ”

“Maybe that was his plan,” Nancy suggested, overhearing. “If someone was beating up my true mate, I’d be angry too. Maybe Conleth deliberately arranged to lose so Paige would realize she’s falling in love with him.”

As one, they looked at their counselors. Conleth was a bedraggled mess, so plastered in mud he seemed to have been dipped in chocolate. He winced with every step, favoring one leg.

Paige, in contrast, was stiffly upright. She faced straight forward, back and shoulders rigid. Her heels hit the ground in hard, angry strides.

Estelle spoke the thought running through every mind. “She’s never going to fall in love with him.”