Deep into the stony hills, miles from town or hold,
a troupe of guards comes riding, with a lady and her gold.
She rides bemused among them, shrouded in her cloak of fur
companioned by a maiden and a toothless, aged cur.

Three things see no end: a flower blighted ere it bloomed,
a message that miscarries and a journey that is doomed.

One among the guardsmen has a shifting, restless eye
and as they ride, he scans the hills that rise against the sky.
He wears a sword and bracelet worth more than he can afford
and hidden in his baggage is a heavy, secret hoard.

Of three things be wary: of a feather on a cat
the shepherd eating mutton, and the guard whose purse is fat.

Little does the lady care what all the guardsmen know—
bandits ambush caravans that on these trade roads go.
In spite of tricks and clever traps and all the rest that men can do,
The brigands seem to always sense which trains are false or true.

Three things are most perilous: the shape that walks behind,
the ice that will not hold you and the spy you cannot find.

From ambush bandits screaming charge the pack train and its prize,
and all but four within the train are taken by surprise.
And all but four are cut down as a woodsman fells a log:
the guardsman and the lady and the maiden and the dog.

Three things hold a secret: lady riding in a dream,
The dog that sounds no warning, and the maid who does not scream.

Then off the lady pulls her cloak, in armor she is clad—
her sword is out and ready, and her eyes are fierce and glad.
The maiden makes a gesture, and the dog's a cur no more—
a wolf, sword-maid and sorceress now face the bandit corps.

Three things never anger, or you will not live for long:
a wolf with cubs, a man with power, and a woman's sense of wrong.

The lady and her sister by a single trader lone
were hired out to try to lay a trap all of their own
and no one knew their secret plan except the two who rode that day
for what you do not know you cannot ever give away!

Three things it is better, far, that only two should know:
where treasure hides, who shares your bed, and
how you’ll catch your foe!

The bandits growl a challenge, and the lady only grins.
The sorceress bows mockingly, and then the fight begins!
When it ends there are but four yet alive from all that horde:
the witch, the wolf, the traitor and the woman with the sword!

Three things never trust in: the maiden sworn as pure,
the vows a king has given, and the ambush that is "sure."

They strip the traitor naked and then whip him on his way
into the barren hillsides, like the folk he used to slay.
And what of all the maidens that this filth despoiled, then slew?
Why, as revenge, the sorceress makes him a woman too!

Three things trust above all else: the horse on which you ride,
The beast that guards your sleeping, and your sister at your side.