"I die, but I shan't go alone! My last request must be honored! Bring me the head of Irongrip Goodfellow! Bring it here! Bring it today! Irongrip Goodfellow, curse his name and ancestry! Thirty years I've hated him, and now he'll die with me! Go quick! Bring me his head so I die in peace!"

The crazed elder, a merchant named Declan, shook fists like knots in rope, then sagged back on his musty bed. Over and over he muttered, "Irongrip Goodfellow!"

Belgar plucked his beaded mustache. The barbarian was hung in leather and fur, an old steel helm, and an iron-rimmed shield much battered. A bearded axe was shoved in his broad belt.

"I usually don't accept assassinations, but I don't usually miss three meals in a row either. Very well. Where do I find this Irongrip Goodfellow?"

Eyes closed, the merchant waved a claw. "Penders can direct you."

The servant nodded at the dim stairwell, and Belgar descended to the street. A wardog hopped up. Like his master, Tug was pitted and striped with scars. His tail and one ear had been bitten down to half.

Penders pointed down the dusty street. "Irongrip's tower stands by the south road. You can't miss it."

"I've attended your master, as you asked. Might I have a retainer to visit this Irongrip fellow?"

Coins changed hands. Belgar picked up his bindle and bow and wended south by the marketplace. "We took their coin, Tug, so we took the job." The dog's tongue lolled and dripped.

Late in the day, only a few stalls were open, but Belgar bought himself a wedge of cheese and loaf of black bread, and drank from the communal fountain. An open-air tavern with its yeasty aroma of beer made his mouth water. Locals and travelers of all races and colors lingered and laughed and hoisted tankards. Belgar was moved to ask his dog, "Why do you suppose, Tug, among all those brawny idlers, none have collected the bounty on this Goodfellow's head?"

Farther along a chicken went to Tug, who ate it beak, feathers, and feet. The farm wife asked, "What bit off his ear?"

"I did," said Belgar. "He's mean when he drinks."

South of town the road split towering white pines reserved for the king's masts. Belgar glimpsed a white tower's top between boles. Down a slope lay a meadow muzzy with bees and hummingbirds. Centermost and alone stood the tower of Irongrip Goodfellow.

Jigging down the steep road, Belgar walked right up to the tower, for it was unwalled, unfenced, undefended. And white and slick as a narwhal horn. Around and 'round went Belgar and Tug, but found never a seam, chink, crack, door, or window. Finally the barbarian stopped circling and plucked his mustache.

"This will take some thinking, Tug. Let's spend our last cash and ask some questions."

Mounting the road, Belgar wove among pines to study the tower from on high. But the top was domed and smooth as a bald-man's pate. The two turned back to town.

"At least we know what keeps the idlers at bay. I wonder what else they can tell us."

The sky-roofed tavern was busier than before. Stepping under the tent fly, Belgar plunked a coin on the soggy bar. "A beer in a mug and one in a bowl, barkeep. And pray tell, how might I enter the tower of Irongrip Good--"

"Get him! He's mine! Stand aside!"

Belgar gaped as idlers sprang up to fight. With swords, axes, polearms, stools, and benches, the crowd elbowed each other to kill the stranger.

The stranger had no desire to kill, so Belgar left his axe in his belt and merely raised his shield. A giant ran his snout full onto the iron rim. Beer spumed in an arc as Belgar smashed his tankard against the other giant's eye and tripped the behemoth into his partner. A swordsman caught the iron boss across his jaw. Tug tore into a trio of dwarves who promptly screamed. Belgar knocked one man into a crate of chickens and another into a flowerbed, then jerked a long-armed pikeman over the bar to crash amid crockery. Some laggards still shoved to get him, so Belgar hauled up the bar and pitched it in their faces. The two kegs that propped the bar followed, bursting into staves. As the tent fly fluttered down, Belgar grabbed a pole and pounded heads and shoulders until the locals' enthusiasm waned.

Catching his breath, Belgar snagged a broken-nosed man by the hair and dragged him to eye level. "Apologies, friend, but I'm cranky when hungry. May I ask, why?"

"Shooda noed with that scarred shield you was trouble." The man's nose bubbled blood and snot. "Decl'n's been tryin' to kill Irong'p for y'rs! 'E's got a standin' rewa'd for any assassins askin' --"

The last tent pole tilted and clonked the man on the head. Belgar let him drop. "Thanks for the news, but I just thought of a way in."

Again south of town, Belgar diverged from the road into the pines. Squinting in slanting summer sun, he chose a tree and began to chop. He whet his axe often, and hacked steadily and precisely, gauging each blow. Once he dangled his axe by the helve to sight along the tree trunk. When the great mast pine began to shiver, Belgar touched up his edge one last time.

Tug had napped the whole time. Belgar booted his lumpy butt. "Gird, lazybones."

A final cut made heartwood crack. With a judder and shudder and sigh the tall pine toppled. Pine needles spun through the air as the great tree slashed its neighbors. Then the distant top shattered the white tower's skull -- and stuck.

"Come on, Tug! Let's visit!"

Hopping to the stump, man and dog scampered along the sagging bole like squirrels. Parting branches at the top, Belgar dropped into a round attic littered with broken stone and beams and old furniture and trunks. Dog at his heels, the barbarian hopped down a dark stairwell.

One flight down an iron-strapped door was painted with the glyph of a fire-eyed monster. The iron handle was shiny with use. Belgar hefted his axe and barged in.

The wizard's lair was illumined, the barbarian noted wryly, by elegant windows all the way around. Scarred and stained tables stood mostly empty. Shards of jugs and crocks and bric-a-brac littered the floor. Herbs and oddments and potions dripped and puddled and steamed. Amidst the mess stood an elder in brown robes trimmed in buff. He was bearded and beefy and bald as the tower had been. And outraged.

Belgar grinned and advanced. "Good day. Irongrip Goodfellow?"

Stubby fingers crooked. "Vanish, assassin! Ras-tal-fanna-galat!"

A gargling cry made Belgar spin. A monster worse than any nightmare crowded through the door. It had two heads - no, three - and lobster claws and toothed tentacles and feet broad as an elephant's with nubby pustules that squirted acid at each ponderous step.

"Eye of Oscar!"

Belgar fell into the fight of his life. Fast as thought, the demon ensnarled his arms with whiplash tentacles that stripped flesh. A fanged head shot out on a stalk and sank shark's teeth into his shoulder. Acid splashed the barbarian's bare legs, sizzling flesh and burning holes in his be-ringed boots. Flames lipped the monster's many eyes so smoke stained the ceiling.

"Tug, bite!"

Howling, Belgar hacked with his axe. He split a spitting skull to the neck only to watch it reform. Slashing sideways, he lopped off a twisted arm that sprouted a tentacle. Bony hooks caught the back of Belgar's head and ripped his scalp. A crooked arm stippled with tines gouged Belgar's ribs.

"TUG, BITE!"

Hacking, kicking, biting, Belgar slammed his axe in the beast's neck and could not pull it free. In horror he watched his own blood dapple the monster's warty hide. One trapped arm was naught but red-striped bone, and he watched his elbow tendons part. A stinger shot from the monster's chest and speared his right eye.

"Tug! Where are you? Tug, bite - Eh?"

From the corner of his remaining eye, Belgar glimpsed his faithful mastiff. Tug had pinned a fat money-colored cat to the floor. It yowled.

As the monster chewed him to flinders, Belgar watched his dog work. Then he closed his eyes and bespoke the demon. "Begone."

Like summer fog, the monster faded. So too did Belgar's wounds. Before him stood only the iron-strapped door. The painted monster still leered with fire-rimmed eyes, but most of the image had been hacked away. Jammed in the door's top was Belgar's axe. He jerked it free.

Tug now trapped the throat of the sorceror in buff-brown robes.

"Good dog, Tug." Belgar added, "Clever."

Half-throttled, the magician gasped, "That illusion would have killed you but for your dratted dog!"

"If, if." Belgar whetted his battleaxe. "Now, just so I fetch the right head, you ARE Irongrip Goodfellow?"

"Yes, damn it! I was a fighter once, a doughty axeman like yourself, before I got old!"

"Nice to hear a fighter can get old."

"I can pay! I'll pay more than Declan to spare my life!"

"No, sorry. I already took part fee." Belgar fussed with his axe edge. "Any last request? This is a day for them."

Irongrip cursed. "Last request? Yes, I wish I could talk to that idiot Declan the Deceiver! We used to be friends, years ago, but we argued over money, what else? If I could see him a last time, I'd give that greedy bastard a piece of my mind!"

Belgar braced his foot on the wizard's spine and took an experimental swing. "You've had thirty years. And he wants your head entire."

"Go on, then. Tell the old crank I said to drop dead!"

Sucking wind, Belgar swung the axe near the ceiling. It slammed down so hard the blade bit the floor.

The axeman plucked his mustache. "Wait a bit..."

Penders went ahead as Belgar clumped up the dim stairwell of Merchant Declan's house. The servant cleared his throat. "Master, the, uh, large gentleman has returned."

"Has he, by the gods?" Old Declan craned up in bed like a vampire. "Has he? Has he brought me the head of Irongrip Goodfellow?"

"Aye, that I have."

As Belgar entered the bedchamber, Declan's rheumy eyes bulged. "I - I commanded you bring me his head!"

"I did." Belgar's meaty paw marched Irongrip Goodfellow to the footboard. "Along with the rest of him. He wants to talk."

"Talk? Talk?" croaked Declan. "After that rascal cheated me?"

"You cheated me, you miser!" barked Irongrip. "That flying carpet wouldn't lift a skunk --"

"You skunked me in that trade, you liar! That brass lamp was plated tin --"

"If I'd known what a snake you were --"

"If I'd known you valued money over friendship --"

Belgar cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, might I be paid?"

Both men spun their heads. "PAID?"

"You broke into my tower to assassinate me!" snarled Irongrip. "Now you dare --"

"You didn't kill Irongrip!" wheezed Declan. "Our bargain is null --"

Belgar took out his whetstone and honed his long axe blade.

"That is..."

"Uh..."

In the street, Belgar scritched his dog's head as he picked up bindle and bow. He tossed a fat purse that chinked in his hand.

"It's all in how you ask, Tug. Now come. Let's find those friendly fellows from before and buy them a drink..."