“We must be close,” Bastin said. “Looks like Wolf’s scent is positively splashed around the area – he must frequent the proximity.”
Sitting tight while Angel sorted out the scent, the men shared a mutual growing excitement as they hovered on the brink of pegging their victim. They could feel how close they were, and they all gripped their guns a little tighter in anticipation.
Then Angel struck gold. With sudden exuberant confidence, he broke into a lope and rushed away down the alley to the left. Mastodon’s men hurried to follow him, some of them forsaking the heights for the speed of keeping up on foot.
Angel disappeared around the next bend, and when they rounded it in pursuit, they were rewarded by the sight of their ultimate quarry – and another wolf.
Unsuspecting of the armed hunters on Angels’ tail, the bounty hunter cut his reunion with the lost wolf abruptly short upon spotting them, and swiftly averted to taking immediate flight. At least three guns were trained on him and fired, but he ducked through a broken gap in the wall and escaped the darts. They flew in vain, raining harmlessly to the ground as Mastodon’s men took up the chase.
The wolves, abandoned without a command, disappeared into the broken stonework as they fled after their master.
Mastodon’s men fanned out and spilled through the area at a reckless pace, intent on giving the bounty hunter no way out. As Godren cut through alleys and whisked by intersections, he caught flashing glimpses of his allies doing the same from their own angles. The swift shapes of the wolves breezed along as well, agile and evasive, weaving through the streets with their hackled shoulders pumping. Wolf was not as fleet on his feet as his pursuers, and soon he spawned the brilliant notion to enter some buildings and scale some walls, thinking he could cleverly lose them that way.
But that put them in their element, and they welcomed the challenge. The wolves were forgotten on the ground as the men burst intrudingly into the houses surrounding them, charging up the stairs and alighting on the rooftops. Godren emerged from a top-story window to the greeting of a knife flying into the sill next to his head. Startled, he regarded the protruding hilt before regaining his equanimity and hoisting himself up onto the roof to continue the chase. Wolf’s superior edge was clearly indicated in his namesake – his wolves – and Godren did not need to fear his grasp on weapons and conflict. At least – that’s what he told himself as he moved on and tried to shake the close-call with the blade from his mind.
The chase raged across the rooftops, until Wolf descended the back slope of one of the houses and was not rediscovered when Mastodon’s men overtook that point. They trailed to an untrusting halt, all on separate roofs, and vigilantly surveyed the area. The darkness, always a claimed ally, betrayed them as it kept their quarry’s hiding spot a secret. They could feel him out there somewhere, and they all shifted uneasily when his location remained a taunting secret. The silence grew taut, ready to break with the whistle of a knife and the cry of its tragically suspecting victim. They all expected something to jump out and take one of them down as they stood there vulnerable in the open, and their eyes roved quicker over the deceptively empty blackness, anxious to spot their prey before he turned the tables.
Only when a breeze stirred over the rooftops did Godren’s keen eyes spot the tattered end of a cloak billowing out from behind one of the chimneys. All it took was the urgency in which he fell behind the chimney on his own roof to alert his allies to his discovery, and they reactively ducked for cover before looking to him for direction. Jerking his head in the bearing of Wolf’s chimney, he let them look for themselves.
Locating him, Godren could see the wheels of their minds turning as they began calculating plans. Bastin and Seth rose and stealthily crept toward Wolf’s hiding place, maneuvering so they could force him out of hiding and back toward their waiting allies. Godren held his breath as he watched their shadowy figures move into place, willing their attempt to succeed. Ossen, on the roof next to his, came out from behind the chimney and knelt with an artful, deliberate bearing, raising his gun to an utterly precise, steady position next to his expert eye. Not one muscle moved as he waited, stone-like, for his target to emerge.
And then, with a bang and frenzied clatter of feet, Wolf burst from behind the chimney and dove down the near slope of the roof, Seth and Bastin topping the rise from the other side and hastily aiming their guns at him as he rolled away from them. Ossen’s gun went off without hesitation, the sullen twang of the released dart snapping through the air. The shot only punctured his target’s tangle of cloak, though, and the bounty hunter managed to seize the rapidly-approaching edge of the roof and vault off without any harm coming to him.
Godren swung out from behind the chimney to have at him at that point, but Wolf dove for the shelter of the porch and skidded out of sight behind the railing. A knife flew out of the dark and assaulted Ossen this time, but Ossen coolly shirked its threat with nothing more than a tilt of his head, and the blade only left a kiss of blood across his cheek. Enraged by that, however, Ossen’s eyes flared with a murderous light that belied his collected demeanor.
From the roof above Wolf, Seth and Bastin closed in. Godren fired a faulty shot through the vertical posts of the porch railing, and Ossen opened worthless fire just for the sake of satisfying his anger, his exterior still bearing no sign of the deadly rage inside him. Composed, he just fired mercilessly away.
And then Godren caught sight of the approaching procession out of the corner of his eye, and the blood drained from him as he feared with a jolt that he had noticed them too late. Urgently shrinking out of sight, putting his back up against the side of the chimney, he held his gun rigidly idle in a vertical position. Seth and Bastin had disappeared as well, and Godren was glad to see Ossen had the sense to melt back into the shadows.
Sitting tight, sharing conspiratorial glances across the rooftops, Mastodon’s men put the action tensely on hold and waited impatiently for the procession of riders to pass through the proximity. They moved unknowingly down the street, oblivious to the armed criminals perched above them and the bounty hunter cornered on the porch directly beside them.
Godren risked a glance over the edge of the roof. The procession consisted of roughly twenty men, all of them armed with deviating choices of spears and swords. A pack mount carried the trophies of felled animal corpses, and since the group was coming in from the direction of the Crowing Woods just outside of the city, it was easily deduced that they were returning from an afternoon hunting trip. In their center, mounted on a majestic, jet-black horse, rode Princess Catris, a bow slung over her shoulder: the huntress. Draped over her mount behind the saddle was the biggest trophy of all. She certainly did get around, didn't she?
The creaking of saddles and the metallic clink of swords and spears rose from the street below, covering for the criminals who were afraid to breathe overhead. Easing his lungs back into motion, Godren tried to be patient as he watched the weary riders take their time moving by. Couldn’t they hurry it up? He was anxious as they came between him and his concealed target. Rank by leisurely rank, the riders passed by, and Godren resisted the urge to fidget. He knew all of his allies were just as eager to get on with it.
Before the procession passed without a hitch, though, the horses began to grow restless. They pranced and whickered uneasily, growing more agitated by the second. Their riders crooned in confusion to them, struggling for soothing control while they cast their eyes about for the source of their mounts’ distress.
The wolves chose then to reappear. They launched unexpectedly from the cross streets and landed poised and snarling at the horses’ feet, one of them before the procession and one of them behind. The outer ranks went wild, horses rearing and squealing and riders falling and baring steel. The wolves went for the hunt’s catch, though, snaking through the horses’ hooves and leaping at the pack mount and the princess.
Striking out in defense, Catris deflected the wolf the first time, only to have it retal
iate and drag her from the saddle.
Alarm choked Godren as she disappeared from sight and was lost underfoot, prey to trampling hooves and one ravenous wolf. His own struggle with the same animal tore through his memory, and without thinking he jerked his gun horizontal and perched hastily on the edge of the roof to take aim at the creature sure to dominate the princess.
For one terrible moment, as hooves cleared the area and the wolf was held at bay from the princess’s face, Catris’s eyes were fatefully directed and she looked right into the killing end of his gun. For a moment in time he found himself stuck in a paradox that stayed his hand, hesitating as his position shocked him, almost confused him, his aim at the princess catching him mortally off guard. Then he snapped out of it, and shot the wolf without another thought.
By the time the injected poison took effect – which was scarcely a few seconds later – the princess’s escorts were rushing to her aid. Pulling the unconscious wolf off of Catris, Godren caught a glimpse of her blood-streaked form. It was too dark, and the site too aswarm with action still, to tell if she was coherent or not, and he spun, unsatisfied, to take the back way off the roof for a closer look.
“Godren!” Seth barked warningly in an undertone from across the narrow street, counting on the confusion below to mask his distinctly out-of-place voice.
But Godren didn’t stop to listen. Forsaking the roof, he slipped into the slight space that was scarcely more than a dark crevice between houses and treaded deliberately forward to gain a superior vantage point of the street. The guards had dealt with the other wolf, and made sure the first one was dead, and the princess was being helped to her feet as the horses were soothed. One of the men was looking over the body of the wolf Godren had shot, searching for something, and Godren briefly feared what the discovery of the dart would mean for Mastodon and her secret weapon – but only briefly. His eyes were riveted to the princess, anxiously searching her for fatal signs even though she was on her feet. Brushing off her guards, she insisted she just needed some air, and, to Godren’s surprise, they respected that and gave her her space. She retreated to the edge of the swarming formation, making a show of regaining her composure, and then deliberately turned her eyes to penetrating the shadows Godren was using to cloak his presence. From the wondering glint creasing her eyes, he could tell she couldn’t discern his frame from the darkness. Glancing at her guards, though, she treaded closer. Stopping at the edge of the blackness, she peered tentatively in.
“Ren?” she projected quietly, voice halfway between expectant and doubtful, confident and sheepish.
Godren blinked. How had she identified him in the midst of the fray? Should he oblige and show himself? Or hold out and will her away? He weighed the risks of fraternizing with her here. Tucked into the crevice between houses, he was safe from sight except perhaps when it came to Ossen on the roof just next to him, but he already knew what Ossen thought of everything he did in any case.
The princess gave him a moment to respond, and after procrastinating, Godren gave in and stepped slightly away from the wall so she could see him. The gun in his hands, though, he angled behind him out of sight.
Catching his movement, Catris struggled to focus on his barely distinguishable silhouette. When he didn’t respond verbally to her inquiry, she hesitated a little uncertainly, perhaps questioning if it were really him or not, but then she decided. “Dare I ask what you’re doing here?” she asked, then came to her own conclusion. “No. Adventuring; of course.”
Godren swallowed.
“Here,” she said, holding out a fist poised to drop something.
Shifting the gun further behind him, Godren stepped cautiously forward to see what she offered, extending his hand below hers. Her fingers brushed his as they opened, and he felt the contours of the dart rather than saw it, for she did not remove her hand, but left it hovering over his.
Godren glanced at her, and she clasped his hand. “You saved my life,” she said, but it was a statement uncertain of its own gratitude. “Thank you. But I want you to know I have this,” she murmured, re-curling her fingers around the dart and withdrawing it from his grasp. “When you explain it to me I will return it. Until then, I’ll keep it safe.” With that, still meeting his eyes, she backed a safe step away from the darkness where he resided and re-submerged in the activity around her.
Still extended, Godren’s fingers closed on emptiness.
“Its heart must have failed,” he heard a guard say of the wolf when Catris returned to him for a report.
“That’s not what concerns me,” the princess said. “What in the gods’ names are wolves doing in my city? The streets are no place for wild animals. Where did they manifest from?”
“We will conduct an investigation,” the guard promised.
“You do that. And I want to hear about the results. Don’t just take them to my father.”
“Of course, your Highness. Are you unharmed?”
“I’m well enough.”
Godren lost the rest of the conversation as he left the crevice and rejoined his allies on the rooftops. Impatiently, they lingered behind the chimneys while the king’s men cleaned up and investigated the attack site. The princess was escorted back to the palace to be checked over by the medic long before the rest followed in satisfaction that there was nothing more to be done on the street.
Finally, grumpy at the delay and unhopeful that they would find their quarry still hiding in the same spot, Mastodon’s men swarmed down from the roofs and closed in on the porch. They were lucky the wolves hadn’t attacked the procession closer to their master’s hideout; darts were strewn and embedded everywhere, and their discovery surely would have resulted in a much bigger fuss.
As they pessimistically suspected, the porch was empty. Somewhere in the midst of the excitement, Wolf had gotten away.
22: Poison and Light
Like a sail on a ship, Godren hoisted the net back into position above the alley. Suspended above like a giant spider web, its broken silhouette dappled the moonlit sky in the background as it stretched from one wall to the other. The wolf had successfully been caught, but the traps were still being maintained for the sake of halting any particularly determined bounty hunters who breached the area.
Would Wolf cause any further trouble now that his pets were done away with? Godren wondered as he secured the net. If he was smart, he would stay away now that his edge had been terminated. But nothing had ever gone to prove he had brains. He could merely be a destructive wildman who fraternized with wolves, mentally animal himself, strayed in from the Crowing Woods to try his hand at moving up in the world.
Looking up into the net suspended overhead, Godren stood beneath its poised threat contemplating his position as the one setting these traps rather than the one being caught by them. Of course, he would never have been one to come after Mastodon, but being on this side of the war suddenly fell into perspective for him. In a strange way, he suddenly – finally – appreciated it; it truly did feel safer. Never had he thought he would stumble upon the means to turn the tables and stop running, and not only did he hold a position of insurance, he held authority as well. Not that he saw it as any more of a good thing, but the feeling of safety – even if relative – was something he had been starved of for too long, and suddenly he thought all the corrupt hardship might just be worth it. It was difficult weighing the consequence of being trapped but safe, free but alone, alive but shallow, affective but worthless – but it was harder to outweigh the addiction of safety, when around every corner someone wanted you unjustly dead.
Feeling strangely at home in the quiet alley, Godren left his dart gun propped against the base of the wall while he enjoyed the rare peace that came with his contemplation as he worked. Wolf had gotten away and the princess was suspicious of him, but none of that mattered – because returning here, he felt safe. Unreachable. Removed from the rest of that prying, meddling world. The alleys around him were secure with his traps.
Curiously, and perhaps a little foolishly, Godren wondered who would inherit Mastodon’s business and wealth when her perilous life finally got the better of her. Surely she would want to pass on all she had established and have someone to continue her infamous legacy. Or would she prove stingy of the title and take everything to the grave? Godren envisioned a climactic explosion, or earthquake, spelled to cave in the Underworld and bring the Ruins down on top of her when she died. There she would lie, buried in the rubble of her faithful haven, resting in peace as she carried on her own legacy of lurking untouched below the city she had already haunted for so long. Never would they catch her; the Underworld had served her well, and would seal her darkly successful fate.
“You know, I liked you better when you reeked,” a voice broke into his thoughts. Glancing up, Godren found Ossen sharing his alley. “I’ve grown accustomed to tolerating the smell of rats. But lately…you’ve outdone yourself, Godren. What are you trying to prove?”
Godren’s brows creased ever so slightly as he tried to divine Ossen’s meaning.
“Of course, we all have something to prove,” Ossen allowed, continuing. “It’s just beginning to get to me, in a way, that you think you can just waltz in and make your point without a hitch of opposition. That tweaks one of my nerves the wrong way.”
The net was forgotten as Godren detected a slightly more significant tone in Ossen’s voice than usual. He paid attention to him, suddenly watchful. The twinge was akin to whatever had smoldered in Ossen’s eyes upon Godren’s last return, but now it seemed to have brewed into something else – something more? Perhaps it had merely settled now, and ran deeper. Would something come of it? Godren would much rather avoid a fight, if he could influence the situation in any way.
“Did Mastodon send you for something?” he asked, not sure if he merely wanted more information to peg a motive for Ossen’s presence, or if he asked simply for the sake of a distraction.
Bounty Page 17
