Bounty

by Harper Alexander

  Being one of Mastodon’s chief favorites, Rand was especially adept in the field of combat. Godren could not discern his opponents’ features in the violent dark, but when he successfully took out one of them with a series of progressively un-thwarted blows, he knew the one left standing had to be Rand. He did not let that discourage him, though – nor did he pause in any kind of respect for that fact. If he’d being going up against two already, there was no sense in pausing just because eliminating one of them named the remaining one a figure he should think twice about ever crossing. That was silly. He’d been doing fine so far; after all, eliminating one when he was outnumbered meant he was winning, regardless of who he was left to face.

  With the encouragement that his job had just become easier, Godren attacked Rand with the same amount of fervor he’d used against them both, holding nothing back, dipping into the reserves of false confidence that coated his being and throwing himself at his foe with a savage passion of everything that was bottled up in him and everything he had fooled himself into believing. The illusions he embraced and the truths that provoked the deepest recesses of his soul, all channeled into one burst against a single, unfortunate man at the mercy of his deep wrath. Let this also serve as defiance against Mastodon’s bonds, he thought in some back corner of his mind, appreciating the ironic opportunity. Then all intelligent thought blurred into the whirlwind of adrenaline and illusion that drove him, and he tapped into an almost supernatural rank of motivation there in the safety of the forest of his enemies – and harnessed something so unstoppable for a few brief moments that, when the moments passed…he stood lost, blinking, shaken by what had possessed him as his enemy of a moment ago lay utterly beaten down at his triumphantly rooted feet. Without much ado except the blur of hazy blows he seemed to have delivered in the heat of an impassioned moment, Rand lay dominated like so much unruly clay at the mercy of his brutal hands.

  Swallowing and coming back to himself, at least for the most part, Godren blinked away what had just transpired by his own unorthodox conjuring and set his mind back on track: it was time to free Catris. Stepping over the unconscious body of his opponent, he pulled himself back through the window and moved through the shadows to the occupied corner, only then employing his knife so he could cut the princess’s bonds. As they fell away, she tore off her own gag and got right to her feet. Godren rose to his height a little more slowly now that the action was past; though he didn’t feel pain, a heavy wave of weariness was beginning to swamp his adrenaline. He wondered how much blood he was losing.

  The princess paused to meet his eyes in the dark, wondering at his lack of enthusiasm to hurry away. She looked startled but fierce amid the crisis that surrounded her, no doubt shaken but provoked, and despite her bedraggled appearance she still carried an overriding air of sophistication about her.

  Faintly, guardedly, Godren nodded in greeting. “Princess.”

  “Ren?”

  Without further explanation, Godren took her by the elbow and steered her toward the door. Dismissing an explanation, she got a hold of herself and submitted to his direction, eager to be free of the scandal. Switching the lock and throwing back the latch, Godren shoved the creaking door open and pulled the princess out into the yard. They made for the company of the trees, not exchanging any words. Catris glanced at the two forms lying crumpled on the ground near the window, but said nothing of them as they left the cottage behind.

  Only when they were immersed in the trees a ways did Godren speak. “Did they hurt you?”

  She blinked once, but that was all it took her to collect her thoughts. “No. They only manhandled me.”

  “Did they say what they wanted?”

  “Only that they wanted me to ‘cool it’, sit still, and cooperate.”

  Godren slowed and hovered, drawing her to a stop beside him, and carefully surveyed the trees. “Did they know a safe way through the traps?”

  “We didn’t spring anything, but I was blindfolded. There’s no telling which way we came.”

  He could feel her eyes trying to appraise him through the dark while they paused there. She grew slightly rigid beside him, grim in her assessment.

  “That your concern is for me is…galling.”

  He didn’t look at her. “Why should it be?”

  “Why are you still on your feet?” she rose a countering question.

  “Because you’re not safe yet–” As he shifted, a resulting twang snapped from the trees, and he cut off to knock Catris out of the way. They were only lucky the traps were so old, the tension poising the arrows rusted and relaxed, and that he had time to throw a reaction her direction before one of them was swiftly taken out. The arrow merely tore across the princess’s throat in result, leaving a shallow cut – and leaving her swiftly humbled to silence, his point proven. A scare ran through Godren at the blunt close call, and he clamped his mouth shut and renewed his vigil to get her out of the vicinity. Completely quenching the matter of her question, he pulled her close to him, shielding her the best he could, and began scouting his paranoid way through the trees. “If you hear anything – anything at all – dive for cover, your Highness. Even if it’s behind me. Do you understand?”

  She didn’t agree, but when he looked at her she met his eyes and didn’t argue, either, still duly humbled and hopefully duly submissive in extent.

  When a flurry of ravens rustled by overhead, she obligingly ducked into him and put his fears of her defiance at rest, and he ducked his head in turn, knowing the birds were probably Mastodon’s spies and still concerned enough to guard his identity from them.

  He pressed on in the general direction he had come in from, hoping he’d already sprung most of the traps in the area. The Princess stuck religiously but un-fearfully to his side; humbled but seemingly nothing more than that. He admired her bravery, wondering if it was courage or some quality of selflessness.

  When he was growing confident that they had escaped the vicinity of the traps, a wolf howled. Catris glanced up in acknowledgment, sensitive from her last encounter with a wolf. An answering call echoed from the opposite direction, causing the princess to glance up at him.

  “The wolves are dangerously hungry this year,” she said, no doubt reflecting on the unorthodox appearance of them in the city. What other conclusion could she come to for them straying so far? She swallowed. “They can probably smell your blood.”

  Godren diverted the possibility before it could register and get to him. “We’ll be out soon,” he assured her.

  Whether or not she was convinced, she let it drop. The silence continued – but the darkness lifted slightly into a lesser shroud of dawn gloom. Any additional traps were left untouched, left for the benefit of future trespassers, and soon the flickering light of the king’s camp could be seen vaguely filtering through the trees a distance ahead.

  Nodding in that direction, he released her from his shielding nearness. “That’s your father’s camp.”

  Automatically, the princess’s stride increased, but her eagerness to reunite with her father faltered when Godren stopped altogether and went no further. She trailed to a halt and turned to look at him, confusion creasing her face. “What are you doing?” she asked, uncertain.

  “I’m not going with you,” he said simply, guarding his expression.

  “Ren…you just saved my life, and you’re hurt. You need repair, and you deserve thanks.”

  “Go on, Cat. I’m not coming, and you can’t prolong your disappearance just to argue with me.” How could he tell her he deserved a lot less than she thought – and that he may even deserve death by the injuries she wanted to mend? Of course, he could never begin to tell her why – that he was a dirty rotten criminal and if he showed his face to her grateful father, her grateful father or someone else in his circle would surely recognize him and put him behind bars in place of any thanks?

  At a loss, Catris cast around for some way to make him see reason, looking suddenly upset in her helplessness. It wa
s impossible to say if she was more upset over the fact that he wouldn’t let her reward him in return for his service, or just because she couldn’t control him at all.

  “Goodbye, your Highness,” Godren prompted once again, and, after glancing over her shoulder at the waiting camp and then staring at him a few more moments, arms hanging limply at her sides, she let him go. Turning without further ado, she headed through the thinning trees. Godren watched her disappear toward the light, taking the last steps between her and the welcoming entourage that waited on the other side. Once she crossed the forested threshold, Godren turned to find his way back to his forsaken home.

  He wondered, though, if he was only going home to die.

  *

  Upon returning to the Underworld, full of dread for what he might have called down on him with his twisted heroic stunt, he found he was lucky enough to still be caught in the trailing end of Seth’s good graces. Seth waited at the edge of the Ruins for his return, restless but burning in purposeful stillness, his eyes cutting into Godren without mercy even as he saw his friend’s wretched state. A tied-up, unconscious figure lay next to him.

  Silently, Godren trailed up to him and stopped, resisting the urge to slump against the wall. A progressive spell of dizziness was overcoming him as his overwhelmingly various injuries drained him.

  “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Godren,” Seth said, extremely unhappy with his friend’s behavior and resulting condition. At least the darkness, and Godren’s dark clothing, hid some of the blood. “But I caught an excuse for you, so you could return with some sort of legitimate reason for whatever condition you showed back up in.” Indicating the bound and gagged fellow beside him, he got to his feet. “I don’t know how you’re going to explain being reduced to this state by a sorry small-timer like him, but I did the best I bloody could. I hope Mastodon looks twice at him, and doesn’t just knock your treasonous head off your foolish shoulders the instant you’re in her presence.”

  Godren blinked. “You know of the treasonous aspect?”

  “What?” Seth demanded.

  “It was Mastodon’s men holding the princess.”

  Seth stared at him, but didn’t lose the flaming look in his eyes for an instant, not even in relief of any evident surprise. His jaw remained clamped tensely shut, and somehow didn’t lose its tension even as he opened it to speak. “I meant ‘treasonous’ simply in the light that you can’t go openly fighting for the bloody law when you’ve said to the bad guys’ bloody faces that you’re on the bad guys’ bloody side.” His eyes went to Godren’s clamped arm. “Give me that,” he demanded – a provoked way of offering to help Godren get rid of the thing. He probably wouldn’t have offered at all if it wasn’t necessary, but if Godren was going to make any sort of beneficial impression on Mastodon, he couldn’t walk in there with a game trap stuck to his arm. Who set game traps in the city?

  Godren found his arm a bit unresponsive as he tried to lift it. Painful or not, it was clearly damaged. Seth didn’t wait; he took it none too gently and quickly appraised the contraption, releasing a lever and prying the thing open with a considerable application of strength. Godren could hear the teeth sliding out of his flesh, but he resisted reacting even as the uncanny lack of accompanying pain made him suddenly want to squirm.

  Shaking his head as he took in Godren’s visible state more closely, Seth folded the trap carefully shut. “I hope you got her,” he said with blatant disapproval.

  “I got her,” Godren confirmed, not meeting Seth’s eyes. Then he collected his excuse, and took his ticket back into the Underworld.

  27: Secrets and Honor

  It was impossible to say that the excuse Seth had conjured up for him worked like a charm, but it did serve its purpose. Whether or not Mastodon trusted it, she let it slide, and sent him to Lea for mending. Silent as ever, Lea saw to him without remarking about the appalling amount of damage that covered him. Then he sought unconsciousness, wretched clear through and in need of relief. He may have sheltered delusions of invincibility for awhile, but as it turned out, they did not obligingly shelter him in return.

  *

  Despite the odds that he should have been dead twice over by now, Godren’s injuries took to healing. Progress was tentative, but at least there were no signs of his ailments getting the better of him. Inspecting his wounds beneath the mask of his garb was indeed appalling, but at least he had succeeded in his reckless quest and survived through it. He couldn’t have asked to be so lucky.

  “You’re living off miracles, Godren,” Seth told him. He was still unhappy, but he’d cooled down a bit. “Not food, or your mother’s good rearing – or even luck. Bloody miracles. I hope you realize you’re tempting fate.”

  He did, of course. But fate was being tempted by bigger things than him in this city, and it was starting to weigh on more than his conscience. Somehow, he had gotten himself threaded into more than he could cover, unknowingly biting off more than he could chew. He was oddly involved, and couldn’t just extract himself without unraveling hidden pockets of chaos.

  But it was time he did something. If he had to be involved, he had no choice but to be responsible for certain things. The next time Mastodon asked him to run an errand, he obliged with ulterior motives, and took a detour.

  *

  Sneaking into the palace was not an option this time. Due to the princess’s recent abduction, security was thick and rigid. No sleeping guards tonight, Godren thought. Not even Catris herself would dare drugging them now.

  So he assumed a different plan of action. He’d gotten lucky sneaking in so far anyway. Three times was always the charm, and he was not so ready to tempt fate any further regardless of change in security. Seth was right; he relied too much on miracles. And he did have to be alive to not take certain applicable secrets to the grave – unless he could contrive to linger like whatever ghost spawn Mastodon kept. Not really something he should count on.

  Instead, he breached one of the apartment dwellings across the way – much easier to achieve, he discovered, and almost found himself relaxing in the middle of the task. Climbing to the top floor, he alighted on the balcony that faced the palace grounds. The height of his vantage point allowed him a visual of the royal estate, and he scouted out the princess’s wing through the dark.

  Inconveniently, a guard was posted on her balcony. He wasn’t surprised, but it did complicate things. Luckily her doors were still cast open, though – balancing out his need. Taking out an empty dart, a scrap of paper and a quill, he quickly slit open his finger on the tip of the dart and filled the quill with his blood. Then he began forming his message.

  Your Highness, he wrote – or ‘Cat’, if you insist… Due to developments in the matter of my discretion, I am ready to talk. Of course I understand if my unorthodox behavior has spoken of itself one too many times and cautioned you away from trusting me. I ask for an audience but do not expect it. If you choose to abstain from granting me a meeting, I will try to conjure some other alternative of contact you find less objectionable. But my position is delicate, as it is dire. Though I hope you can begin to divine the gravity of the situation, all I can ask is that you come to your own conclusion. Thank you for your consideration regarding this matter.

  Yours in Service,

  Ren

  Hoping that would suffice, Godren rolled up the tiny scroll and inserted it into the dry shaft of the dart. Piecing the thing back together, he loaded his gun and positioned himself to take aim. Before actually shooting, he carefully surveyed happenstance on the balcony and what he could make out inside the room. The guard was little more than a silhouette against the light from the room – in truth, probably only visible because of it – and the curtains masked any detail within, but Godren thought he saw the occasional vague shadow of someone pacing. No doubt Catris was restless under the sudden iron fist of supervision inspired by her abduction.

  Occasionally the guard took a turn around the balcony, either bored o
r charged with keeping a careful eye on every inch of his post. When the shadow passed beyond the curtains, and the silhouette’s back was turned, Godren pulled the trigger of the trained message carrier. It was impossible to see if it found its mark through the curtains or not, but all he could do was hope. He could only hope the princess could conjure up some discreet way to respond, too, escaping security’s notice and reaching him, but she was certainly more acquainted with the royal system and therefore how to thwart it, so it wasn’t like he could have given her any instructions and expect to see her follow them. Besides, throwing around instructions when her Proud and Defiant Highness was at the receiving end probably wouldn’t fly too well anyway.

  Unwilling to vacate the scene until he knew if the princess would attempt an immediate response or not, Godren settled in to wait awhile. No ruckus erupted from the princess’s quarters, so at least he hadn’t shot anyone – or, less dramatically, simply called unwanted attention to his shot. The guard continued to wander haltingly around the balcony, and the curtains continued to drift in the breezes of doors left open without concern. The shadow inside had stopped pacing, however, and Godren hoped that signified the princess stopping to form some manner of reply. Forcing himself to be patient, he toyed absently with his gun as he took advantage of a stranger’s unknowing hospitality and lounged on the rail of their luxurious balcony.

  Nearly an hour later, he noticed the presence of a lone figure trailing along the outside of the wall, openly clutching a fold of parchment and casting his eyes about a little uncertainly. Every dozen steps or so, he stopped and waited for a bit. Godren considered him for awhile before abandoning his post and descending to the ground to approach him. Without some manner of disguise to cover his features, the exposure nagged at him, but he supposed the dark would have to do.

  It was only a boy anyway, he discovered – probably a page – prone to being gullible in his early years, charged solely with obedience and expected to mind his own business.