by Joseph Lallo
“Perhaps, but you should relish this opportunity to learn and grow. Why do we live, if not to learn? And in the spirit of education, let me suggest that you put this new knowledge to work. Obedience is praised, but success is rewarded. I would begin your task now, rather than await Bagu. And focus your attention on contacting the bandits rather than the law. They tend to be a bit more receptive to the aid of strangers with questionable motives.”
“Yes—yes! Anything to be through with this once and for all,” Teht proclaimed, throwing open the door and marching off to put his advice to work.
Shortly afterward, Bagu finally arrived. A seething anger was rumbling just beneath his rigid expression. It was an emotion that seemed to warp the very air around him.
“Epidime,” he fumed. “Where is Teht?”
“She was here, preparing to give you excuses, but after a word of advice, I believe she had an epiphany.”
Bagu clenched his fists and pounded the table. “Useless!”
“To you, perhaps. She's easily manipulated, at least. That tends to be quite handy for my purposes,” he suggested. “Am I to infer from your attitude that things are not going well with the king?”
“The king is my concern, not yours. Give me your report on Kenvard and go,” Bagu growled.
“Ah, well. You will be happy to know that I've got good news. Kenvard has renewed their dedication to the Northern Alliance once more, after an assassination plot was uncovered during this most recent gathering. Seems a Tresson sympathizer somehow infiltrated the great hall . . .”
“Assassination plot? Epidime, I made it clear I wanted the whole of the ruling council killed, and you assured me you could accomplish that without taking direct action.”
“I did assure you of that, Bagu, but I hadn't anticipated a dedicated and rather remarkable young elf who recently became a commander. Her name is Trigorah Teloran, and I believe that you will be quite interested in meeting her . . .”
Chapter 20
In time, Teyn's mound of money grew, but it wasn't enough. It was never enough. No bounty ever came close to matching the price of Duule. The coins handed over in exchange for the scoundrel had been the last gold he'd seen. Since then, anything more than a handful of entus was a rare occurrence. It would be months before he could match the amount he'd needed to free the previous slave. Knowing this, however, changed nothing. All he could do was keep at it.
Midnight once again drew near as he waited in his usual spot, tucked quietly in an alley near the watch house in Tressor's capital. Beside him was the tightly restrained young woman that he'd tracked down over the course of the last few days. She was wanted for various crimes of petty thievery. Nothing that would fetch a high price, but enough to make her worth his while. Streets were slow to empty, and from the smell and the sound, the watch house was unusually full.
Though there was nothing tangible to give him pause, he found himself becoming uneasy. Something was wrong.
When the streets were finally clear, he hoisted his prize to his shoulders and dashed to the courtyard of the watch house. He delivered his customary three sharp knocks to the door, lowered his prisoner to the ground, and took a step back. The door was open almost instantly, as though someone had been standing at the ready. Rather than the elderly night commander or one of his underlings, the man who answered the door was the portly day commander. He looked first to the bound woman, then to Teyn.
“Chandra. Twenty entu bounty,” Teyn said quietly, his voice muffled by the mask.
The day commander glanced to a watchman, who scurried off to fetch the payment. He then turned back. “So. You are the man who brought in Duule.” He had a wide, genuine smile on his face as he spoke, as though this introduction was long awaited.
Teyn nodded once.
“After all of the success you've had in recent weeks, I just had to meet you face to face. Odd that I never see you during the day when I announce the list.” Teyn gave no answer. “Duule escaped shortly after you turned him in. No doubt his men have been after you. Had any trouble?”
“Some.”
“I imagine you would.” The watchman returned with a small sack of coins and dropped it into the commander's hand. “I've got to say, you've done an awful lot of good for Tressor. How about you take off that mask so that I can look you in the eye and thank you properly?”
“That isn't necessary.”
“I appreciate your humility, but there are rumors. Some say you're just one of Duule's men, fetching the ones he doesn't care to protect any more. Others say you're a criminal thinning the herd to make things better for himself. Both claims are laughable, of course, but no sense letting them linger when we can put them to rest by having a look at your face.”
Teyn's heart began to hammer in his chest. His sensitive ears twitched beneath his hood as the sound of a half-dozen men readying weapons filtered from within the watch house. The shuffling of feet in a nearby side alley caught his attention. It felt like a noose was tightening around his neck.
“If I show my face, Duule's men might see. I could be in danger.”
“I can vouch for my men. Just let us see who we are dealing with and it will be over.”
“Just give me my money and let me go.”
“You sound nervous, sir,” the commander said, his expression hardening. “Now answer me this: what reason would an innocent man have to be nervous about showing his face to the watch?”
The commander took a lantern from just within the doorway and pulled it out, holding it high. Teyn recoiled, turning away and retreating further.
“I brought you who you wanted. Just give me my payment!” He growled.
“I've heard enough. Grab him,” the commander ordered.
A bell began to ring out and armed men poured from the alleys around the watch house, but Teyn had been tensed for flight since the moment that the wrong man answered the door. They tried to close in around him, but they were expecting a man, not a malthrope. He moved in a blur, charging through a gap and rushing down the short street toward the city gates. At the sound of the bell, though, the rattling of chains had begun. The gate was dropping. He was barely three strides away when the massive gate struck the ground with an earsplitting clash, blocking his way with iron bars less set too close for even his narrow frame to slip through.
Without missing a step he launched himself onto the gate, climbing the crosspieces toward the top. The creak of bowstrings being drawn turned fear to desperation. A wall of sturdy wooden slats covered the top of the gate, preventing him from simply slipping over, but he knew that he could not afford to stop moving. The hiss and thunk of an arrow shooting past his face and driving itself into one of the slats drove the point home. He swung hand-over-hand along the gate, working his way toward the point that it reached the walkway along the top of the wall. There were men stationed there, swords ready.
He managed to heave himself from the gate to the edge of the walkway, but before he could pull himself up, the soldiers there were upon him. He glanced desperately around, his sight limited by his mask. Behind him was a tall building with a flat, open roof. Bracing his feet against the wall, he leapt backward, pivoting in air. The leap was panicked and ill-timed. With a sickening smack and a huff of lost breath, he struck the edge of the roof. An arrow sliced through his cloak and grazed his side before he could climb up, but he shrugged off the pain and rolled to the dusty surface. More arrows followed, but once he was on his feet, there was little hope of hitting him.
Leaping bounds sent him from roof to roof, moving in straight lines, while those below were forced to work their way through the streets. By the third roof, he was too far into the town for the archers to take aim any longer, lest a stray shot strike a resident of the capital. Word spread from person to person, and eyes raised to the roofs, but panic and confusion are the enemy of coordination. The watch fell further and further behind; in time, Teyn was able to drop down to the streets.
Long before word could reach
any of the city's other gates, he was outside the walls and disappearing into the countryside, bleeding, exhausted, and empty-handed.
#
In the weeks that followed, the same scene played out in one bounty office after another. Word from the capital reached each one, and at best he was told he could not do business with his face hidden. At worst, there were weapons and concealed men waiting for him. None were so well-equipped or prepared as those in the capital, and thus none did so much as send him away with a bruise, but it didn't matter. Doors were slamming shut. With no one to pay him his bounties, he could not earn any money this way, and no other way had even come close. All he could do was continue to try, until he was sure that no bounty office would have him.
It was thus that he found himself in the northeast of Tressor, in a town called Millcrest. It was a place quite close to the front of the still-raging war with the Nameless Empire. Things were different this far north. For one, most people had at least a touch of the same accent that had flavored Sorrel's speech. The houses were different, too. They were stouter, with sloped roofs and shingles to help withstand the frequent rain and occasional snow. This particular town was also nearly deserted, no doubt thanks to its proximity to the front. Three bad days of battle could easily mean that the war would be at one's doorstep.
Though mostly empty, the town was still quite an interesting one. A mighty river that flowed roughly southeast wrapped around two sides of it, twisting in a wide loop and forming both the northern and eastern edge of the town. At the northwest corner of town, the land was level with the river, and no fewer than three mills dipped now-broken and forgotten wheels into the rushing water. From there, the town stretched eastward, built upon a gradual slope that rose to a bluff a few dozen feet from the water's edge at the northeast corner. At the highest point of the bluff, there was another mill, this one driven by wind. Though only two of the five blades of its fan were whole, a stiff gust caught it from time to time, causing it to turn.
In a ruddy little building tucked among a few empty houses on the south side of town was the smallest, and last, of the bounty offices that Teyn knew. If he was denied here, it was likely the end of his bounty-hunting career. He had spent little time here, but when he did, it was frequently for a swift and easy hunt earning a meager reward. The closeness of the battle meant that war profiteers, traitors, and deserters could often be found nearby, and thus the bounty list was always packed with fresh names and the ground was always crisscrossed with fresh trails. He didn't even need to hear the names and descriptions most of the time. The scent was always the same: blood, sweat, fear, and panic. They could always be found hiding in a dark corner, and they seldom put up much of a struggle.
He tracked down the first that he could find, bound him, and brought him in.
Unlike the capital, there was no need to wait until the streets cleared in Millcrest, and no need to knock on a door. The one responsible for dispensing payments and announcing bounties was an exceedingly fat and unmannerly woman who could be found sitting in the light of an oil lantern from sunset to sunrise, eating nuts and swatting flies. She was dressed in a grimy and formerly white linen dress beneath a scarred leather scale armor coat with short sleeves. She smiled an incomplete grin when she saw the masked figure approaching.
“Well, well. Been a long time since my favorite hunter came a-calling. Who do we have here?” she wheezed. Her voice had a smoky and abused sound to it, though Teyn had never seen her with a pipe. Hefting herself from her seat, she ponderously reached down and pulled the hood from the prisoner's head. After a few moments of staring him down, she referred to a slate board attached to the front of the rickety wooden building. She turned back to the prisoner and pulled the gag from his mouth. “Your name Rittleh?” When an answer was not forthcoming, she gave him a kick to the ribs. “Your name Rittleh?”
“Yes,” he groaned.
“Well, well, well. This boy's fresh to the list. Just got the description a few hours ago. Not exactly the highest bounty on the list. Seven entus.” She suddenly raised her voice. “Boys! Seven silver! Now! And both o' you get out here!”
Teyn stepped a reasonable distance away as there was a stirring and a pair of thickly-built and heavily-armed men lumbered out. One held a small chest.
“Honestly, boy. You need to learn to count,” she grumbled, tipping open the chest and counting out seven coins. “Now, go lock up the prisoner and get lost for a bit. Both o' you. The hunter and I need a bit of privacy.”
The pair glanced at Teyn, who stood far enough from the light to be little more than a silhouette against the night landscape, and set off for the only other building with any life in it, an inn a short distance down the road. Her chair creaking under her weight, the woman tugged the table beside her a bit closer and dropped the coins in a neat stack. As she spoke, she picked up the stack and let each coin drop to the table, then swept them together and repeated it.
“If you've come this far, I imagine you know that I'm not permitted to conduct official business with masked men in general anymore, and you in particular.”
Teyn growled. “I brought your bounty . . .”
“Calm yourself. I said official business. This close to the fighting, 'official' isn't enough to keep food on the table. Now, you'll have your money for this one. I'll say one of the boys tracked him down. But, in the future, if you want to work for me you'll doing a different sort of job.”
“What sort?”
“As a part of the string of nonsense the Tresson authorities make me say, I've had to inform you that you won't get a bounty unless you bring in a prisoner alive and unharmed or if the crime was such to warrant their death. The sort of people you'll be working for aren't so choosy about safety, and mostly they don't care about what the target may have done. Matter of fact, most of them are rather insistent that a good deal of harm be delivered regardless of guilt.”
“You want me to hurt people.”
“No. I want you to kill people. Well, my clients want you to kill people.” She swatted a fly on her neck. “I just want what the clients want.”
She made the statement without a hint of nervousness or shame, as though it was the only reasonable thing to say.
“I can't do that.” The mere suggestion of it quickened his heart and made his hands shake with the memory of last time.
“No? Well, very few can. That's why they pay so much. See, that piece of rubbish you brought me just now? He was worth seven measly entus alive. Just seven pieces of silver. If he'd been on my other list, if someone had wanted him dead? Well, we don't deal in silver for jobs like that. Strictly gold. And not less than five pieces of it. Most jobs, not less than twenty. Sometimes more.” She eyed his darkened form intently. “Sometimes a lot more.”
“I can't. You're asking me to take a life.”
“Is that really so hard? What do you think will happen to half of the people you bring me once I turn them over?”
“That is different.”
“Not to the prisoner, it isn't.”
“I won't do it.”
“Fine,” she allowed, in a tone that made it seem like her willingness to let him pass on the offer was an act of the utmost charity on her part. She fished among the broken nut shells littering the ground beside her until she found a small cloth sack that had once contained walnuts and dropped the coins inside. In a smooth toss that he neatly caught, she delivered his payment. “You ever change your mind, come back and see me. I don't figure someone in your position has too many other options, and you certainly aren't in the position to spread the word to the authorities about my little side business. Just remember, you've brought me your last official bounty.”
Teyn turned and quickly retreated into the night. His stomach was a knot and his heart was heavy in his chest as he searched for a place to sleep once the sun rose. Her offer had stirred up terrible thoughts, but more pressing on his mind was her assurance that the door was officially shut on bounty-hunting. The money he
had earned bringing criminals to justice had enabled him to free his first slave, and the jingling sum in his pocket might give him just enough to free another . . . but there was no telling how long it would be before the next.
With little else he could do, he decided to find the slave he had freed, find some way to convince him to do as Gurruk had done, and give another of his brethren their freedom. Doing so would require that he cross nearly the whole of Tressor and spend a long time tracking, but that was just as well. He would need the time to think up a way to coax a favor from a man who had only ever been given reasons to hate him, and to decide what could be done after.
#
Night and day he journeyed. A part of him, deep inside, marveled at the ease with which he moved about the kingdom. Not so long ago, his only recourse to remain hidden was to stay far from the cities and roads. He had learned much since then. The bone-deep drive to stay hidden had been honed to something deeper than instinct. A single glimpse revealed to him the shadows and unseen corners that could safely conceal him. A moment of observation traced out the movements of a crowd: where they were headed, where they would not be, where he must go. It allowed region after region to whisk by him as the days rolled on, and all the while he was deep in thought.
So lost in his thought was he, it was not until the landscape began to take on strangely familiar shapes that he realized where his path had taken him. A bright moon was lighting the endless fields of a stretch of farms. He skidded to a stop, one memory after another hitting him like a hammer. The trees, the roll of the horizon . . . the house.
He had unwittingly found his way to what had been Jarrad's farm, then Marret's. Now a new name graced the deed, it seemed. The much-abused land had healed somewhat. Not enough to match the legendary output Jarrad had coaxed from it, but enough to nurse a few simple crops from the soil. And if land could be worked, then there must be workers. Teyn's eyes clouded with tears as he saw green shoots sprouting through the ground that had been stained by his crime. At the edge of the field, the same simple quarters still stood, weary and hopeless laborers sleeping within them or pacing restlessly between. The smell, the sound. All of it was the same.
