As she spoke, Godren was aware of Ossen inching decisively away and slinking to the distance of the study doors, forgotten and unwelcome. Bastin stood silently in the corner, watching everything proceed.
“Your faith moves me,” Godren said sarcastically.
“Well I apologize, but you looked pretty wretched for awhile,” Mastodon reminded him. “It was not entirely unreasonable to consider the possibility.”
“However, in the future you would do well to remember I don’t appreciate being underestimated when my life is on the line,” Godren informed her, surprising even himself with the conviction in his voice. It was meant for Ossen, though, more than anyone else, something to discourage any further attempts at ‘persuading Mastodon to declare him fruitless and issue the order to have him taken care of’.
“Granted – in the future we will have to make sure to be more sensitive to your feelings when it comes to the matter of your death,” Mastodon said, a little mockingly, but he could see she was sincere as well. “But, just to clear the air, I had not decided to eliminate you yet.”
“I’m flattered.”
“Well then. Are we officially back in business?”
“What do you need me to do?”
“Hunt, if you will. I’m ready to taste some results. And if that’s the mood you’re in, I’d like to see what you can do.”
Taking it as his dismissal, Godren turned to leave. With his arms still casually crossed over his chest, Bastin’s eyes followed Godren up the level of stairs and to the doors.
“Watch yourself, Godren –” Ossen started to warn as his rival drew abreast of him to take his leave, but Godren’s lead-heavy hand snaked out to clamp his throat and silence him, and he shoved him up against the door frame, glaring into his mismatched eyes – one full of loathing, the other dull behind its black and blue swelling. Seth’s work.
“You should have finished me when you had the chance, Ossen,” he told his nemesis evenly. “Both times.” Though his muscles felt watery and lethargic, unable to support his threatening conduct, his arm felt steady as a crushing statue, his fist like iron, and he realized just how strongly the urge to crush the life out of Ossen must have a hold of him. “As it is, you’ve earned yourself three deaths by my hand to compensate the damage you have done and leave me with my revenge.”
With that hanging between them, Godren pried his fingers away from Ossen’s strangled throat. It took a conscious effort of will to release him, and when he finally succeeded, he was surprised to see the distance that Ossen slumped to perch comfortably on the ground again. Godren must really have had him hoisted and pinned.
Masking the tremors that shook his muscles as he left, Godren strode into the shadows of the corridor without.
Starving for fresh air, he vacated the Underworld and emerged out into the open, armed and ready to spend the rest of his recovery exposed above ground – then he would hunt. When he returned to the Underworld, he would have a prize.
*
As the poison faded from Godren’s system, his returning strength and flexibility tempted him to go wild with anything he could do. Having taken his ability for granted in the past, he was more than ready to take any opportunity that came his way and dive into it without holding back, full of gratitude and awe for being able-bodied. That, on top of his sustained lack of feeling, made him truly reckless. Not only did he want to stop taking his abilities for granted and start using them, and not only did his numbness make him fearless – not feeling made him hunger to prove to himself that he was alive; and to feel alive, he sought thrills.
Pursuing the nameless bounty hunter through the city, Godren tore through a routine of wild attempts to gain on him, driven by adrenaline equal to what his quarry fed off of from desperation. The chase had started clear back in the Ruins, where the small-time bounty hunter had been contriving to sneak into the picture unnoticed since his fellow big-shots were occupied with warring against each other. Now he was running scared with Godren stuck to his amateur tail, no doubt regretting ever spawning such a brilliant idea. He tried to be elusive, ducking through arches and cutting through side alleys, but Godren dug in and blazed after him, unshaken, closing in as they skidded across rooftops and careened over the edges, scrambling to their feet and tearing off, vaulting over deterringly planted barriers and scaling suicidal sheer walls. Godren felt as if he had unlocked a feral animal inside him – savage, invincible, and limitless. He sprang from one obstruction to another, careless and impulsive, every move bold and deliciously thrilling. Hotheaded fire fluttered inside him, a crazed feeling that more than compensated for the numbness he suffered everywhere else, and he plunged on with wild abandon, ignoring the alerting clamor of his breath as it came short and rattled in and out of his raw lungs.
Over cobbles and shingles, Godren gained on his quarry. His rampant feet closed the distance between them, and as they reached the climax of the raging chase, he launched himself like a hungry predator and tackled his prey to the ground.
Turning to fight, the bounty hunter attempted a desperate, breathless defense. They tousled on the ground a few moments, crashing across the avenue, grunting and rasping, and then Godren forced him into quick submission and dragged him to his tired feet.
They returned to the Underworld without delay, and, once he had deposited the bounty hunter into Mastodon’s surprised hands, Godren did not hesitate to go right back out in search of further madcap adventure.
“No gun, Godren?” Mastodon asked curiously, ignoring the bound criminal in a heap on her floor as she eyed Godren on his way out.
“It gets in the way,” he could be heard explaining to the corridor without, not bothering to cast the words over his shoulder. Blinking, Mastodon’s eyes followed him all the way down the passage.
As action broke out over the next few days, Godren was always there to intercept it. He sought it out and took over, feeding himself with it. Everyone stayed out of his way, pulled up short and only able to watch as he took matters into his own breakneck hands and riskily twisted the situation into submission. Finally, they started making progress. Mastodon started getting results.
Naturally, Seth was the first one to protest.
“What in the gods’ names is wrong with you, Godren?” he demanded as his reckless friend limped in from his escapades one night, having fallen from the walls while he was out. Seth had been with him, had followed him on his escapade, and had been gallingly brushed off as Godren rolled off his bruised back and climbed to his feet, moving off to continue his antics. “You’re going to kill yourself.”
“Maybe it’s just my defiant side coming out,” Godren suggested shortly, “finally realizing my fate is inevitable and refusing to let it be delivered by anyone else’s hand.”
“I just spent a week of sleepless dedication nursing you back to health, drilling sustenance into your unwilling body and fighting back the demons waiting to take you, and this is how you treat the miracle we worked? This isn’t even wasting it, Godren – it’s beyond that. It’s as good as grabbing it by its gracious throat and ungratefully renting it from head to toe.”
“You brought a dead man back, Seth,” Godren pointed out. “I don’t know what kind of life you expect me to go back to, but this is me now. This is as good as you could do. I can’t feel,” he said through gritted teeth, “and I’ll be cursed if I’m going to pretend to live like that.”
Seth stared at him, and then it dawned on him, flooding his eyes. “You’re doing this for the thrills?” he demanded. “Gods, Ren. Give it a chance to come back to you. Don’t kill yourself because your recovery doesn’t come as quickly as you’d like. That would be a hell of a shame,” he said coldly.
“Don’t tell me how to live,” Godren murmured angrily. “You wouldn’t know what it’s like to have your life thrown into perspective the way I have.”
“Your ‘perspective’ is suicidal, Godren,” Seth shot back exasperatedly. “If having your life thrown into perspective means b
eing suicidal, then what have I been fighting for by your side this whole time? You never needed your life thrown into perspective. That’s what we always kept clear in our minds – our perspective. Through being jaded, we kept our perspective. Through guarding ourselves against reality when it was too much, closing our eyes against certain things, we kept our perspective. So you can’t feel much right now, and that’s a shame – so what. Keep your bloody head on straight!”
There was not much Godren could say to that. Seth didn’t understand, but he didn’t care, either. He still had the strength to be set on perseverance. Godren didn’t. They had finally reached different points in their lives, and had become incompatible in the field of watching each other’s backs. That was all. All there was to it.
“You can hate me, Seth,” he said, the bickering tone gone from his voice. “But don’t you dare judge me.”
And he left the courtyard. He wouldn’t return there – not to stay. He didn’t want to fight with Seth, and it would be better if they stayed apart so they could avoid that.
Just beyond the courtyard, in the corridor, he ran into Bastin. “The city’s uproar mutual with you two?” Mastodon’s bruiser inquired, glancing over Godren’s shoulder to where Seth watched after him from the courtyard. “From down the hall, it sounded like you two might be starting a riot of your own.”
“Uproar?” Godren repeated, not following.
“Haven’t you heard?” Bastin asked, surprised. “Her Royal Highness Vandelta is missing. Rumor has it she was abducted – they suspect she’s being held hostage somewhere.”
25: The Crowing Woods
As Bastin moved on, Godren lingered in the corridor only a moment before changing direction and heading for the upper grounds. Seth was right behind him as he emerged into the Ruins.
“Godren!” he called after him in protest, quickening his pace when Godren only kept up his stride. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Don’t ask me that, Seth,” Godren said over his shoulder. “You and I both know very well, and I don’t want to argue with you.”
Both conscious of the ghosts hanging about, neither of them voiced anything about Godren’s destination or intentions, but Seth wasn’t going to let him go that easily.
“There are complications, Godren. You can’t do this. Stop and think – think, for the gods’ sake.”
Godren spun, coming face to face with Seth as his friend pulled himself up to a stop to avoid a collision. “Think? I want to feel. I felt something down there in the Underworld when the news was voiced. I’m feeding off that. If I feel an emotion, the gods save me – I’m going to act off it.” That declared, he turned on his heel and paced off down the alley again.
This time, Seth didn’t follow. Full of resignation and frustration, he stayed behind – was left behind, a solitary figure grounded in watching at the abandoned end of Godren’s one-way road. He shrank in Godren’s wake, and Godren put him from his mind as he turned the corner.
They couldn’t stop him. He was going to do this, because he had felt something respond within him when Bastin announced that the princess was being held captive. A mix of alarm for the situation, concern for Catris, and hatred for her abductors had stirred around inside him, and he was not going to ignore that – no, he was going to jump at the opportunity to feed the flames of those feelings. Who better to get involved than a fearless man as the princess’s savior anyway?
As he breezed through the city, he began thinking. What was this all about? Assassination and abduction had ever been the conventional tragedy and nightmare of the royal family, but to actually have one of them happen, for it to be substantial and real, turned it into a more complicated matter. It was no longer just the stereotypical thing that could happen; it was happening, and there had to be a reason. What did they want? A ransom? A political compromise? Or were they just trying to prove something?
If they’d been assassins, they would have killed her already. That was a bit of a comfort. So were they holding out against the princess’s negotiators, or were her rescuers still looking for her?
Where were her bloody guards when she needed them? Godren wondered in exasperation as he made his way swiftly toward the palace. But he knew she could have shirked them a dozen different ways, as she was prone to do. Why do you have to be so bloody rebellious, Princess? Curse your independence.
It was harder to gain entrance to the palace grounds this time around. Reeling with the news of the princess’s abduction, the townspeople were gathered outside the palace wall, anxious for news and, ultimately, to see the princess come home. Guards swarmed along the wall, trying to keep the people calm.
A ladder, Godren realized, would be a little too conspicuous among all these people. Applying his newfound recklessness, though, he thought he might not need it. Eyeing one of the rigid guards by the fortification, he gauged the distance from the man’s shoulders to the top of the wall. It would not be very subtle, but he might just be able to make that. What did subtle matter, anyway? So what if they chased him after he was over the wall? No one had ever said he had to do this secretly – he just had to stay one step ahead.
Taking one glance around the crowded avenue, Godren skipped right over hesitation and just launched himself toward the wall. The guard in his path hardly had time to recognize that the speeding figure was destined for him before Godren had leapt from the ground and used him as a vault to the top of the wall. Stone jarred into his ribs and roughly chaffed his hands, and he felt a muscle strain in his shoulder, but his judgment served him true and saw him accurately plastered to the fortification with a means to haul himself over the top. Guards yelled at him and clattered into action, but he pulled himself swiftly over and dropped without a thought toward the fall. He hardly realized the impact had reached his feet before his knees were buckling and he crumpled hard to the ground on the other side. For a moment a jarring wave of nausea washed over him, and he wasn’t sure exactly what had hit him, but the blackout lasted only briefly before he was responsive enough to realize his knee had been sent up into his chin.
Hearing the clamor of the guards without, he shook off his stun and rushed to his feet. His knee threatened to give, causing him to stagger as he first took off, and he had to clench his jaw down to keep it from feeling completely shattered as his strides jostled it in its rattled socket. Blinking away black spots that made the darkness of night almost impenetrable, he sprinted a fleet line across the palace grounds.
He didn’t meet with any significant impediment as he breezed across the estate; the multitude of the guard was focused on the people swarming outside – and, he assumed, somehow on retrieving the princess.
To gain entrance to the palace, he scaled the vines leading to the princess’s own room, thinking surely there would be an inspection taking place there that he might glean something from, and if not, then it was a discreet way to connect to whatever council was taking place inside the palace.
Clinging to the outside of the balcony, Godren peered through the midget pillars. The balcony windows were cast open, and the liquid movement of drapes crossed his vision, flowing in the night breeze. It was hard to distinguish if there was other movement in the room, past the streaming curtains, and Godren’s muscles began to quiver as he held himself there, trying to discern things. He thought he caught wind of some muffled voices, and then finally he caught a glimpse of someone through a rippling fold of the curtain. Going rigid with caution, he pulled himself around the curve of the balcony railing and climbed astride the balustrade where he could plaster himself to the palace wall with the cloaking curtain billowing out beside him. There, he listened.
“…a pointless investigation, when we all know she wasn’t abducted from her room,” someone was saying. “Security has not gone that slack, and we all know Her Highness has a tendency to…wander,” he finished delicately.
“Shall we slack in security’s place, then?” a more dedicated investigator proposed pointedly.
&nb
sp; “Then tell me, Captain, what good it’s going to do to scour potential abduction sites when we already know where she’s being held?”
“Until she’s back in our possession, we glean every ounce of potential information we can – about her abductors, their possible intentions, their motivation, and anything that might give away their weak points. I cannot help that we were assigned to a potentially unlikely location.”
“What I wouldn’t give to be where the action is right now,” the more rash guardsman remarked restlessly.
“I doubt there is much ‘action’, seeing as His Majesty will likely be doing everything in his power to maintain peace between the opposing ranks until his endangered daughter is back in possession. Besides, I hear the Crowing Woods are haunted–”
And Godren was gone, reacting to the name like the words had pulled his trigger. He was on the ground before his descent registered in his limbs, and then he went straight for the stables. He could hear the ruckus of the guards he had stirred up, but didn’t stop to spare a thought toward the chase he had drawn after him. He just let the thrill of pursuit drive him, and set his mind on reaching the princess.
He was in and out of the stables in seconds, meeting with no resistance since the barn had been almost completely vacated in the interest of riding to the princess’s rescue. Indeed, Godren had stolen nearly the last mount present, hastily throwing on a bridle without fastening it and jumping onto the mare’s unsaddled back almost as she was already charging out of the stable.
Resistance found him then, but it was on foot and he just charged right through. Pulsing muscles thundered beneath him, sweeping him along toward the closest section of the palace wall. Jumping a hedge, Godren nearly lost his seat on the landing, but jarringly righted himself and urged the mare to gallop on. She lengthened her stride, her breath coming quicker with exertion and excitement, and he fastened his eyes on the looming wall that rose up to obstruct them.
At the wall they slid to a prancing halt, and Godren climbed to his knees, then his feet, and reached the lip of the wall from the mare’s tall back. It would not have been possible except for the grassy boost of a hillock that was posed on this, the ‘harmless’ side. Clambering over, with considerable more strain than the first time, he abandoned his temporary mount on the other side. His knees gave again as he dropped to the ground, but this time he rolled away and saved his jaw a second bashing.
Bounty Page 20
