Brunner the Bounty Hunter

by C. L. Werner

  ‘The dwarf tunnels run clean through the mountain,’ the bounty hunter said. ‘It will take us a week to reach the far side. Keep quiet. Keep alert. Listen for the slightest noise.’ Brunner cast a final look back at Brega.

  ‘Remember,’ he warned, ‘if I die, you’re goblin food.’

  It was some time before the bounty hunter at last found a place for them to rest. They had trudged for long hours through the darkness. Brega had been impressed by the mammoth size of the main tunnel while they had remained within it. It seemed to grow even more massive as they journeyed deeper into the mountain; rising into the very heights above. A few stretches had crumbled and collapsed, leaving giant boulders and huge chunks of worked stone strewn about the tunnel floor. For a time, Brunner had navigated a path through the debris, relying more upon the light of his lantern than the feeble sunlight that trickled downward from cracks in the ceiling.

  Brega noted the mouths of other tunnels branching off from the main hall, but the bounty hunter had ignored them, never pausing to look at the intricate carvings, nor the often defaced statues that loomed beside them.

  All was silence save for the muffled sound of the horses’ hooves. Brunner had fastened fur boots around the feet of the animals to soften the sound. Only the gentle babble of the faint stream of water flowing along the old channel added to the noise of their progress.

  Brunner paused but once, stopping to examine more closely a crude banner wedged into a pile of rock. He stared at it for some time, so Brega had a chance to look as well. It was a homely thing, a length of poorly cured hide stretched between two braces fashioned from the bones of some creature.

  The glyph upon it was a simple representation of a snarling mouth, with black fanged teeth bared for violence and battle. Soon after, Brunner had diverted their route into a side tunnel. The ceiling in the second passage dropped alarmingly from the towering height of the main hall to only fifteen or twenty feet. It was only then that Brega became aware once more of the heavy brooding pressure of the mountain above.

  Brunner had explained the detour after Brega had pestered him for some time about it. ‘This area was controlled by the Sharp Nose clan the last time I passed through these halls. Over the years, I’ve come to a sort of understanding with the Sharp Nose goblins. They leave me alone and I don’t kill them.’

  ‘Then why the detour?’ Brega asked.

  ‘Because that totem we found was from the Black Fangs. Nasty bastards, even by goblin standards. I’d prefer to steer clear of them. We’ve never come to any sort of understanding, you see.’

  They had continued on along the side tunnel, taking several turns until Brega could not be certain if they were running parallel to the main hall or were now working their way back toward the entrance. They passed numerous rooms and chambers, the bounty hunter pausing to make sure the rooms were empty as they passed. Once, Brega heard something huge moving in the darkness. Brunner had grown tense, creeping forward to investigate the sound. He had soon returned, wiping sweat from his brow, before replacing the helmet.

  ‘Only a stone troll,’ he said with relief. ‘We’ll wait here until it moves on.’

  ‘What did you think it was?’ Brega asked nervously. The bounty hunter just shook his head.

  ‘Something that should be very far from here, a thing the dwarfs named Arijogk.’ Brunner uttered a nervous laugh. ‘In Khazalid, as I understand, it means “Slaughter”. A Chaos troll, from the Wastes themselves. Come down during the Great War Against Chaos, or so the dwarfs say.’

  ‘Have you ever seen it?’ Brega wondered, fear creeping into his voice.

  ‘I’ve seen what it can do,’ Brunner replied. ‘That was enough for me.’

  At length, when the bounty hunter decided that the stone troll had moved on, he began to lead the way onward into the blackness.

  They made camp at last in a small room that branched off from the tunnel. Brunner chose the site because it had two entrances, which would make it more easy to defend and would give them an escape route if they were set upon by enemies or wild beasts. There was also the fact that he heard water running in the room and a quick examination revealed an old cistern fed by iron pipes. Brunner tasted the water, deciding that it was relatively pure, so the thirsty horses could drink.

  The bounty hunter slipped Brega’s rope from Fiend’s saddle. Keeping the smuggler’s hands tied, he let his captive drink at the cistern while he retrieved a coarse blanket from Paychest’s load and settled himself on the floor.

  Brega greedily drank the water. It had a stale, metallic taste to it, but it was welcome just the same. The smuggler rose from the cistern and began to move about the room, inspecting his surroundings.

  ‘Don’t go wandering off,’ Brunner advised, not rising from the blanket. ‘Something might find you before I do.’

  Brega ignored the threat, and gazed at the carvings cut into the walls. He was struck by the craftsmanship of even the smallest details, the gently whirling scrollwork at the base of the walls, the savage, flowing cuts of the dwarf runes. If any of it was portable, it could probably fetch a tidy sum in Altdorf or Marienburg. The smuggler walked the length of the room, stopping when he encountered a small statue in the corner opposite the cistern.

  ‘The dwarfs certainly do good work,’ Brega declared. He reached forward, his hand sliding along the smooth surface of the small statue. ‘I doubt if any sculptor in Tilea could match this statue. It almost seems alive.’ Brunner did not pay the smuggler any attention. He was busy cleaning his sword.

  ‘Why, you can even see the folds in the statue’s cloak, the chips in its teeth,’ Brega continued his observations. ‘Such detail. And on a statue of a goblin, of all things.’

  Brunner leapt from his seat on the floor, advancing swiftly toward Brega, his longsword, an ancient blade named Drakesmalice, gripped tightly in his hand. The bounty hunter placed great value on the sword, and never removed it from its sheath without good reason. Brega cringed back from the bounty hunter’s fearsome advance, but Brunner had his eyes focused upon the stone goblin.

  ‘It’s all right,’ the smuggler muttered weakly. ‘It’s only a statue.’

  Brunner pointed at the goblin. ‘More details you didn’t notice. See these shiny things along its nose? They are steel spikes, mark of the Sharp Nose clan. That knife thrust through its belt is steel as well. How do you imagine a sculptor managed that?’ Brega stared in a mix of wonder and horror at the goblin, pondering the bounty hunter’s question. The bounty hunter nodded. There might be some risk in examining the statue, but it was slight compared to the possibility of running into its creator. Brunner pulled a hatchet from his belt and smashed its blunt end against the statue. The statue rocked in place, then crumbled apart with a second blow of the hatchet. The sound of the stone breaking echoed from the chamber walls. The smuggler winced at the sound, wondering what sort of things might be drawn to the din.

  Brega smelled the foul odour of rotten meat even over the stench of the snotling dung. Brunner replaced his hatchet and drew a knife. On the floor, the broken pieces of the goblin lay in a heap. The seemingly solid statue had been revealed to be hollow, its interior filled with grey, decayed flesh. Brunner stabbed the meat with the tip of his knife.

  ‘Dead a few weeks, at least,’ he said, rising from the petrified corpse. ‘Hopefully what did this is far away by now.’

  Brega cringed from the gruesome remains, now understanding that the statue had once been a real goblin, a creature of flesh changed to stone by some hideous sorcery. The skin on the back of his neck began to crawl as he considered the horror of such an unnatural death.

  ‘Like I said,’ Brunner called out to his prisoner as he sat back down, moving his crossbow to a more readily available position beside him. ‘Don’t wander off.’

  A few hours later the bounty hunter was back on the march, making his way through the darkness of the abandoned dwarf stronghold. Brega was at a loss to understand how the man was able to navigate wi
th nothing but the slender beam of light emanating from the lantern. It seemed an almost unnatural skill, as if some sixth sense was guiding Brunner through the forgotten passages, showing him a path through the vacant halls and silent chambers.

  Brunner stopped abruptly. Crouching, he examined something on the floor and nodded his armoured head. He trained his lantern on the walls, and examined them closely. Then he turned, stalking past Brega to the packs and sacks lashed to Paychest’s back. The bounty hunter removed a long pole of about four feet in length. He moved back to the fore of his little train and slowly urged Fiend to back up. When he had made the animals retreat a satisfactory distance, he returned his attention to the object he had spotted on the floor.

  Brega watched in silence as Brunner carefully worked the tip of the pole underneath a tripwire—a length of tough sinew—stretched across the corridor. The bounty hunter slowly lifted the wire until at last it snapped. There was a flash and a large crude blade of steel fell from a crack in the wall, scything across the corridor just in front of Brunner like an Estalian pendulum. The pole snapped with a loud crack as the blade struck it. The murderous length of steel ended its fatal swing by crashing against the other wall, the metal trembling from the force of the impact.

  ‘We’re lucky you saw it!’ Brega exclaimed. By way of response the bounty hunter readied his crossbow.

  ‘I’ve been expecting something like that,’ he said, eyes scanning the darkness.

  ‘Expecting it?’ Brega asked, his voice nervous.

  ‘It explains why they’ve been waiting,’ Brunner said. ‘We’ve been followed for the last mile,’ he added.

  Before Brega could ask his captor what he was talking about, shapes launched themselves from the shadows, shrieking and snarling with shrill, gibbering voices. The bounty hunter aimed back along the length of the horses and fired. There was a meaty sound of steel punching into flesh and a high-pitched scream. Brega heard a body fall and something metal clatter along the stone floor.

  Brunner turned and faced the passage before them. Red eyes gleamed in the darkness, and small shadowy shapes raced forward. The bounty hunter did not wait—he fired two more bolts into the oncoming creatures. Two sets of red eyes pitched to the floor, whining in pain. Brunner turned once more, firing another bolt into one of the creatures closing upon the horses. There was another shriek of pain as the bolt found its mark. The horses were agitated now, snorting and moving about the narrow corridor. Brega braced himself, certain that the bounty hunter’s huge steed was going to crush him against the wall.

  Brunner drew his sword as the first of their attackers began to close upon him. With his other hand, he threw open the lantern, allowing its light to engulf the corridor. The light revealed their attackers. There were at least a dozen of them, each no larger than a small child. The creatures wore dark hooded cloaks, ropes of dried animal gut tied about their waists. They had short, bandy legs and long, spidery arms. The faces that grinned from beneath the hoods were twisted and malicious. Each of the goblins’ long noses was marked by a set of small steel spikes driven into the spongy flesh.

  As the light of the lantern was released, the goblins drew short their charge, raising their arms to their faces to protect their eyes from the sudden light. Brunner did not hesitate, for that might give the greenskins a chance to recover, an opportunity to decide if they would use the axes and clubs gripped in their hands or turn tail and flee before the light. The bounty hunters sword slashed through the face of the first goblin he closed upon. The creature was flung aside by the force of the blow and crumpled into a shrieking heap against the wall.

  A second goblin was disembowelled, its green-black blood spraying the walls. A third was decapitated, the head still mouthing a shriek as it sailed from its shoulders. A fourth goblin found Brunner’s steel crunching through its chest. The bounty hunter kicked his foot against the mutilated goblin, tearing its body from his blade.

  Still blinded by the unexpected brilliance of the lantern, the other goblins could hear the rapid and brutal demise of their fellows, their deaths all the more horrible because they couldn’t be seen. The remaining goblins dropped their weapons, crying and wailing in piteous, simpering tones as they began to retreat. Blinded, the goblins crashed into one another in their reckless haste to escape the fearsome man they had hoped to claim as their prey. To speed them on their way, Brunner grabbed hold of the slowest by its hood and smashed its skull against the murderous steel pendulum.

  Brunner turned from the carnage he had wrought, and stooped to clean his blade with the cloak of a slain goblin.

  Brega stared in awe at the scattered goblin bodies. The entire fight had taken perhaps two minutes, yet the bounty hunter had managed to kill nine of the creatures in that time.

  ‘Sharp Noses,’ Brunner declared as he stepped forward to take Fiend’s reins. ‘Fortunately they don’t have any skill with a bow, otherwise they might have given me some trouble. That probably explains why their clan is so small.’

  Brega fixed an angry glare at the bounty hunter. ‘I thought you said you had an understanding with the Sharp Noses!’ he accused.

  ‘I do,’ Brunner said. ‘But sometimes you have to kill a few of the young ones. Remind them why they should listen to their elders.’

  For long hours they continued on, through the endless night of Karag-dar. Brega could tell that the area they were now travelling in was derelict even by the standards of the former dwarf stronghold. There was no sign of activity in this area, though the walls were pitted in places by the rude tunnels and caves that he had come to understand were the work of goblins. Yet unlike the rest of the tunnels and halls they had walked, there was a sense of an even longer neglect here, as though even the savage inheritors of Karag-dar had forsaken this place. Cobwebs were everywhere, dust lay thick upon the floor. As they moved onward, there was a scratching sound. Brega looked up. With some horror he discovered the source of the sound. A thin trickle of dust fell from overhead. That was the reason these tunnels were abandoned, the smuggler realised with dread. Goblins were not great miners, like the dwarfs, but even they could recognise when a tunnel was ready to collapse!

  Brega cleared his throat of the lump that had risen there and opened his mouth to speak. The bounty hunter turned on him, a gloved finger upon his lips.

  ‘Be quiet,’ Brunner whispered. ‘Make any noise here and you may just bring the entire mountain down on us.’ The killer smiled coldly. ‘Before you go thinking that would be a nice death, consider that you might not die outright in the collapse. You might be trapped, trapped under tons of stone and rock, where even the gods won’t be able to find you. Buried alive in the shadows of Karag-dar. Starving, suffocating, spending long miserable hours waiting for the end. Or perhaps the rats of Karag-dar might find you first and hasten your passing.’

  Brega shuddered as the bounty hunter detailed such a terrible death. Brunner smiled as he watched his prisoner recoil from the image he had painted for him. He turned once more, leading the horses still deeper into the silent, brooding dark.

  ‘Mind the cobwebs,’ Brunner warned. ‘The spiders grow quite large down here.’ The bounty hunter’s last whispers drifted back to Brega as a disembodied sigh. ‘They need to.’

  It seemed like days later before the bounty hunter called a stop, though Brega knew that so much time could not possibly have been spent on the march. The lengthy periods of tedium had been interspersed with moments of absolute horror as dust drifted down or rocks shifted overhead. Once, Brega had been certain the entire tunnel was going to collapse when he saw the numerous goblin holes that had been cut into the walls, weakening the ancient surety of the dwarf construction. But in the end, he and the horses had received only a bath of dust and a few bruises from small stones that rained down upon them.

  At last the unstable section was behind them. Brunner trained his lantern frequently on the ceiling, studying it and peered into the rooms and side passages that they passed. Finally he smiled, nod
ding for Brega to come forward and see what he had discovered.

  ‘Bats?’ the smuggler asked as he saw the squeaking shapes clutching to the ceiling of the room.

  ‘They don’t settle in areas that are weak,’ the bounty hunter explained. ‘Like rats on ships, they have a certain sense for such things. It means we can finally take a rest.’ The bounty hunter pushed Brega back into the corridor. ‘I’m sure the horses would appreciate a bit of a break.’

  Quickly the bounty hunter examined a side passage beyond the room where the bats had made their nest. After a keen study of the floor, Brunner began to unburden the horses. Brega stood aside, letting him work. He had learned not to get in Brunner’s way, and his hand still pained him from the last time he had drawn too close to one of the bounty hunter’s many weapons.

  He sat on a rock and watched as Brunner removed the saddles and harnesses from his animals. When he had finished watering and feeding the horses, Brunner removed a blanket from the unloaded packs and sat down, his back against the rough wall, crossbow at his side.

  Brega watched Brunner dig a piece of dried meat from a pouch on his belt. His mouth watered as he watched the bounty hunter eat, his stomach groaning in protest at the sight.

  ‘Don’t I get anything?’ he asked. Brunner looked over at his prisoner.

  ‘You ate yesterday,’ the cold voice of the killer stated between bites.

  ‘I thought you wanted to bring me to Vaulkberg alive,’ protested Brega.

  Brunner stared at his prisoner. ‘Alive doesn’t mean well-fed,’ he said. ‘I keep you hungry, I keep you weak. I keep you weak, and there is less chance of you getting into any mischief. You’ll eat tomorrow.’ Brunner tore another bite from the salted beef. ‘If you behave. Maybe.’

  Brega slumped, gazing at the floor, trying to ignore the sounds of Brunner chewing. He was all right when it came to fighting the Emperor’s customs men, or fleeing the city guards through midnight streets, but this perpetual, unremitting ordeal was more than his courage could endure. The reality of his situation suddenly smashed him flat as the last, foolish shred of hope deserted him. He had held out hope that somehow, by some trick of fate or stroke of fortune, he would escape this hideous situation. He had thought that, despite everything, he might be able to outwit his captor. But now he faced the cruel, harsh reality. There was no escape. In a dozen ways, his captor had seen to it, a hundred measures to crush the very thought from his mind.