by C. L. Werner
‘I don’t suppose you could shoo him away?’ Ithilweil asked, her voice distorted by the fingers pinching her nose close.
‘Not after what I’ve gone through to get here!’ Ulgrin cursed. The dwarf gestured again with his axe, this time at the other bounty hunter. A clump of filth tumbled from Ulgrin’s arm. ‘I’ve had to hide from ghouls, sneak past ghosts and hack apart a street just to get here! Then I get half-drowned by a geyser of filth before crawling through a muck-hole no wider than a cart wheel!’ The dwarf patted at the blackened patch of mud that had once been his beard. ‘And let’s not even start talking about the frogs!’ he snorted. ‘Those damn things are going to cost you fifty gold each!’
Brunner’s eyes narrowed, his mouth becoming a straight-edged line. ‘We agreed on one thousand, and one thousand it stands,’ he warned. Ulgrin took a threatening step forward. An expectant silence drifted between the two bounty hunters for a moment before the slender shape of Ithilweil interposed itself before them.
‘You two can argue over gold later,’ the elf said, her angry glare encompassing both man and dwarf, an aroused temper overwhelming even her offended senses. ‘After we do what has to be done and escape this place.’
Brunner and Ulgrin slowly looked away from one another, each of them casting a surly look at the enchantress. At length, Ulgrin shrugged his shoulders, adopting a less combative stance.
‘My ancestors would skin me for saying it,’ the dwarf hissed, ‘but tall-ears here is right. Best we settle this when the timing is better. But I can tell you right now, I’m not splitting my reward with an elf!’ Ulgrin tipped his head, indicating the way he had come. ‘I’ll lead you to the tunnel, but if we run into any more frogs, you’re the one who gets to play with them. I’m not touching another one unless we agree on how much they are worth first!’ Ulgrin turned to begin to lead the way out.
‘We’re not leaving yet,’ Brunner said. The statement brought looks of shock to the faces of Ulgrin and Gobineau.
‘Not… not leaving,’ the dwarf sputtered incredulously. ‘Why not!’ he demanded.
‘If there is some sort of disagreement,’ Gobineau said, rising to his feet. ‘Why don’t I just go with the dwarf, and you can go off and do whatever you have to do here.’ The rogue put on his most disarming smile. ‘I can assure you, I’m as eager as anybody to get away from Marimund, even if it means a hanging in Couronne.’
Brunner turned to glower at his prisoner. ‘I’d trust you out of my sight about as much as I’d trust a hungry halfling in a pantry.’ The bounty hunter looked back toward Ulgrin. ‘I’m not leaving here without my sword,’ he told the dwarf. ‘Ithilweil knows where Marimund put it. I’d rather have you with me on this than kill you over it.’
Ulgrin chuckled at the bounty hunter’s words. ‘Kill me? I think you’ve got a distorted opinion of how that particular fracas would resolve.’ The dwarf smiled beneath the filth crusting his beard. ‘But I might help with this foolishness you are set on… for another hundred gold added to my share. And another ten for any more frogs I have to kill.’
Brunner eyed the dwarf for a long moment, then nodded his head. ‘Watch the thief,’ he muttered as he pushed past Ulgrin, motioning for Ithilweil to again lead the way. Ulgrin laughed, slinging his axe so that it once again rested on his shoulder. The dwarf took up position at the rear of the odd procession.
‘Ten gold for a frog.’ Gobineau whistled as he walked in front of Ulgrin. ‘That has to be an even bigger act of robbery than anything I ever tried.’
‘You haven’t seen the size of the frogs.’ Ulgrin snarled back.
Gobineau stopped, favouring the dwarf with an embarrassed smile. ‘I’m sorry, but do you mind switching places. I’m afraid you’re standing upwind,’ the rogue told him.
Ulgrin sighed deeply, taking a step forward before realising what he was doing. With another snarl, the dwarf pushed Gobineau forward.
‘Well, it was worth a try.’ Gobineau commented.
Sir Corbus descended the narrow stairs that led from Marimund’s cellars to his dungeons. The vampire’s mood was foul, the thirst burning in his veins. It had all been that miserable elf witch’s doing. She’d placed some sort of enchantment upon one of the duc’s cisterns, causing it to change water into wine. Marimund was entirely enthralled by the spectacle, ordering every cask and barrel in the castle brought down and filled. Corbus didn’t trust the witch, and wondered what sort of trick she was playing at. Perhaps the enchantment would only last for a few hours, or perhaps the wine would all change back when dawn broke. There was some sort of mischief in her magic, of that he was certain. Her excuse that her efforts had worn her out and that she needed to sleep and restore herself had rung hollow in his ears as well. Still, Marimund had been too engaged to pay her departure any notice. That was just as well, she would not be there to mollify him when the magic at last failed, and then Corbus would have the pleasure of seeing her try to appease the duc’s anger.
Such a sight would bring Corbus a great deal of pleasure, not the least reason being the way the sight of all the churning red liquid filling the cistern had awoken his own thirsts. Corbus existed precariously, striving to control and subjugate the unholy hunger that always threatened to consume him. It was an effort not to fall upon slain enemies like a feral beast, a torment not to rip open the throat of a peasant in the street and drain her of her life’s blood. But Corbus did manage to exert some control, denying his hungers as long as he could, until at last they built up within him to such a degree that it seemed he must burst from the pent-up demand. Then he would indulge his abominable hunger, falling upon the wretched prisoners Marimund kept in the dungeons for just such a purpose.
The vampire stalked into the guardroom that opened into the lower dungeons, then stopped. His eyes blazed into crimson embers as he saw the two men-at-arms lying asleep on the floor. Striding forward, Corbus lifted both men from the ground, one in either hand, and shook them like rag dolls until they awakened. Their stupor vanished in an instant, their eyes growing wide with horror as the vampire’s enraged countenance glared at them.
‘You shall wish your mothers barren for this dereliction!’ Corbus roared. He flung one of the soldiers from him, the man crashing against the table that stood at the centre of the room. ‘Go and check on the prisoners!’ Corbus snarled as the guard rolled out from the wreckage. The man-at-arms scrambled out of the door that connected with the cells. A few moments later he returned, his face paler even than Corbus’s undead flesh.
‘The… the assassin…’ the soldier sputtered. ‘And… the… the one… the one who…’
‘Go and tell the duc about the escaped prisoners!’ Corbus roared. As the vampire spoke, his powerful grip intensified, snapping the neck of the guard he still held. The soldier’s body shuddered and twitched as life fluttered from it. The other guard needed no further encouragement, racing past Corbus and toward the cellars.
The vampire’s fury blazed within his cold body. So, the elf bitch was feeling tired after her efforts? Corbus would make her suffer for betraying their master, the faithless witch! The undead knight sank his teeth into the neck of the still twitching body gripped in his hand. The dying man’s warm blood coursed into the emptiness of the vampire’s husk. Corbus did not intend to satiate his thirst, just sip enough to make his hunger more keen, to make his sense sharper. He would find the assassin and the adulterer and the elf witch. Between the three of them, the vampire intended to have a full belly indeed.
Duc Marimund’s private chambers were opulent, by the impoverished standards of the aristocrats of Mousillon. The floors were covered in rugs of bearskin and shaggy windswept hide, and even included a few patterned carpets from distant Araby, quietly rotting relics from Mousillon’s prosperous past. The furnishings were likewise relics, dark wood from Estalia, the Drakwald and even more distant lands, carved by skilled artisans so that every inch of their surface was engraved. In one corner, a suit of armour worn by a distant ancestor o
f Marimund’s stood in solemn silence, the grail standing out in bright gold upon the steel breastplate, testament to the heights of chivalry and virtue the dead worthy had achieved. A great marble fireplace stood against one wall, bronze lions flanking it, their forepaws raised in challenge. A mahogany bath stood in another corner, a patterned screen imported from Tilea standing beside it.
One large bookcase held a variety of curious objects—a small, rusty dagger, a wickedly grinning wooden fetish, a battered shield. These were the enchanted relics Marimund had acquired down through the years, items about which the aura of magic had gathered. Upon a large table were strewn the oddities the duc had collected more recently, those which he had yet to determine if they warranted a place in his collection, if they had indeed been imbued with a touch of sorcery. Here rested the arms and armour of the bounty hunter, a dragon-hilted sword, a dented steel helm, a breastplate of gromril. Beyond those things taken from the bounty hunter, there were only a few other curios. One of these rested near the edge of the table, a long cylinder of ivory, engraved with strange lettering and curious carvings. Marimund had discovered the secret of the cylinder, twisting it open to expose the strange relic that lay within—a darkened crescent of hollow bone. This sat beside its casing, forlorn and forgotten.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The route Ithilweil had chosen was a rambling one, straying down side corridors and circumventing the main hallways, but Brunner was impressed by how alone their path had left them. Even in the desolate environs of Mousillon, Brunner knew that a nobleman of such station as Duc Marimund would have a host of servants seeing to the upkeep of his castle and the personal comfort of his household. Then, there were the ducs soldiers to consider. Given the hostile climate in which Marimund was surrounded, there would be quite a few men-at-arms residing within the walls of the castle as well. All things considered, the fact that they had not encountered a living soul was quite remarkable.
Gobineau had an answer for that. As they turned yet another corner only to find the hallway beyond vacant, the rogue cast an appraising look at Ulgrin. ‘It must be the perfume you’re wearing,’ the man quipped.
Ulgrin’s face contorted into a scowl beneath his beard and for a moment, it seemed he might allow Gobineau a much closer view of his axe. Then the glint of greed twinkled in the dwarf’s eyes, draining the hostility from him as though he’d been drenched in ice-cold water.
‘Five hundred gold if he dies,’ Ulgrin muttered to himself, reciting it over and over again as though it were some holy mantra from far away Cathay.
After several more twists and turns, Ithilweil motioned for her companions to stop. She removed a large iron key from her belt, slipping across the hallway. Pressing her long, slender fingers to the stone wall, she slid one of the bricks upward, exposing a hidden keyhole. Ulgrin shuffled forward to get a better look at the cunning piece of engineering, wearing a look of interest that was no less appraising than that which Gobineau had favoured the dwarf with minutes earlier. The enchantress placed a pale hand to her face, recoiling from the dwarfs filth-caked figure. Ulgrin grunted angrily and stepped back once more. With the dwarf withdrawn to a less odorous distance, Ithilweil inserted the key, twisted it in the lock, then motioned for Brunner to assist her. The bounty hunter nodded, stepping forward to press his hands where the elf had indicated. Together, the two began to push the wall inward, exposing a hidden passage.
‘This was used by the old lords of the castle, back when Mousillon was prosperous and the noble families more bound by the laws of honour and propriety,’ Ithilweil told Brunner as they stepped into the passageway. Ulgrin, pushing Gobineau before him, stomped in after the pair. ‘They found that such a hidden corridor allowed a certain discretion when seeking out dalliances that might have proved embarrassing were they to be known.’
‘Where was this when I was dallying with Tietza?’ Gobineau commented, eyes carefully studying the passageway. The passage was narrow, the monotony of its length broken every forty feet by a steel lever mounted beside a cogwheel. As Gobineau inspected the nearest of these devices, peering over the shoulders of an equally curious Ulgrin, the elf stepped to the device and released the lever. Instantly, the wall that had been pushed inward shot back into its former place, taking with it the light from the hallway.
‘And how might an elf learn of such a hidden path?’ Ulgrin asked, glaring even more suspiciously than usual at Ithilweil. ‘A dwarf might spot a trick like that straight away, but how does some slinking tall-ear pick up something of that sort?’
Brunner ignored the dwarf’s surly voice, removing a torch leaning outward from an iron sconce fitted to the wall and thrust it toward Ulgrin so that the dwarf might light it, illuminating the narrow passage for all with eyes less used to the dark than the cavern-bred dwarf. Ulgrin’s annoyance hissed out from behind his beard, but he soon had a small tinderbox in his hand. A moment later, the torch blazed into fiery life. The first thing the bounty hunter saw was the icy smile that Ithilweil had forced onto her face. She bowed with strained, exaggerated courtesy toward the dwarf.
‘I have been a prisoner within these walls for some times,’ she spoke the words as though instructing a slow-witted child. ‘I have had many lonely days to wander these halls, learning every crack in the stones. In time, even an elf might be expected to take notice of so elaborate an artifice.’ She turned away from the glowering dwarf, facing Brunner once more. ‘These halls are sealed, so that neither light nor draft might betray their existence. We can travel along the length to the far end of the corridor, which will place us just outside Marimund’s private chambers.’
‘You spoke of guards,’ Brunner reminded her.
The elf nodded sadly. ‘They will have to be dealt with,’ she replied. ‘If we are fortunate, there will only be two. They will be stationed outside the door.’
The bounty hunter nodded his head. ‘If the wall retreats faster from the inside than it does from the outside, we can be on them before they know what is happening,’ Brunner stated. ‘That is, if there are only two.’
‘If there are guards,’ Ulgrin snorted, ‘then they are your problem. I’m perfectly happy leaving this place right now.’ He turned a menacing eye on Gobineau. ‘I have what I came here to collect.’
‘Gobineau stays with me,’ Brunner warned, glaring down at the dwarf. ‘If you want to hang back in this passage, do so. But the bandit goes where I go.’ Ulgrin held the other bounty hunter’s hostile gaze, then smiled beneath his beard.
‘As you want, Brunner,’ the dwarf agreed. ‘I might even be persuaded to help you. Say for five gold pieces each guard.’ Both of the bounty killers fingered their weapons, waiting for the other to make the first move. Gobineau appeared at Ulgrin’s shoulder, waving his hands to gain the attention of his captors.
‘If it is all the same,’ he said, ‘why don’t I stay in the passage with the dwarf? You can do what you have to do and we’ll still be here waiting when you get back.’ The rogue clenched his fist, shaking it for emphasis. ‘You have my solemn word of honour on the matter.’ Both bounty hunters rolled their eyes.
‘Just keep an eye on him,’ Brunner snarled, pointing a finger at Gobineau. ‘If there’s any killing to be done, I’ll do it.’ The bounty hunter looked once more at Ithilweil. ‘Lead the way, if you would.’ The elf nodded her head, clearly eager to proceed. She had watched the haggling between man and dwarf with obvious impatience.
‘This way,’ she said. ‘We must hurry. I do not know how long we may expect Marimund to be away.’
Brunner and Ithilweil started down the corridor. Ulgrin Baleaxe and Gobineau watched the two walk away. The dwarf’s eyes began to narrow with suspicion. Brunner had agreed to allowing him to stand guard over their prisoner far too easily. Were the roles reversed, Ulgrin certainly would not have trusted Brunner with a captive worth two thousand pieces of gold. The dwarf rubbed at his beard as he considered the problem. He groaned in disgust as he reached the only possible conclusion.
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‘What… where are we going?’ Gobineau demanded as the dwarf pushed him down the corridor, urging the man to hurry so they could catch up with Brunner and Ithilweil. ‘Aren’t we going to stay here?’
Ulgrin snarled at his prisoner to close his mouth and keep quiet. Very cunning of Brunner, very cunning indeed. There was only one reason the other bounty hunter would have risked Ulgrin making off with Gobineau while he was away. Retrieving his precious sword indeed! That elf witch had told Brunner about some hidden treasure of this mad duc, a treasure that would make the bounty on Gobineau’s head look like pig slop by comparison. So, Brunner thought he could cheat Ulgrin of his share in such a find, especially after all the hardships the dwarf had endured to sneak his way into the cursed castle! Well, if he thought dwarfs were such fools as that, then he’d been listening to that elf wench far too long!
The sentries standing watch outside the chambers of their lord, the Duc Marimund, leaned tiredly upon their spears. Theirs was a dull, uneventful post. The possibility of any intruder making his way into the castle was remote, some might say impossible. None had done so for years, not since one of the rival noblemen of Mousillon had employed an Estalian assassin to attempt to remove their master’s claim over the city in a rather forceful fashion. So it was that the two soldiers were less attentive and wary than they might have been, their minds more focused upon the dice games unfolding in the barracks during their absence then they were upon the quiet, lonely stretch of corridor.
Abruptly, impossibly, the wall across the hallway disappeared, replaced by a patch of shadowy blackness. Even as the two men-at-arms snapped out of their fatigue and stared in amazement at the strange sight, a figure rushed from the shadows. He was dressed in the same manner as the two sentries, and the minds of the two guards puzzled over this as much as the hidden passage from which the man had emerged. Was he some herald, some spy of the duc’s carrying with him a vital message for their lord?
