by C. L. Werner
‘What… what do you think… he will do to me?’ Brega asked, his voice hollow, broken.
Brunner stopped eating, stuffing the rest of the meat back into its pouch. He paused for a moment, as if to consider the question.
‘I’ve seen Vaulkberg’s ogre pull limbs out of their sockets,’ Brunner said, his voice emotionless. ‘He’s quite good at it. Of course, the judge also keeps an entire staff of professional torturers at the Reiksfang. Perhaps he’ll let them have a go at you for a while. I’ve heard they can keep a man at the edge of death for weeks.’
Brega broke out into a cold sweat, his swarthy skin paling beneath its dusky tones, as the bounty hunter’s casual description of his end stabbed into his mind like a hot knife.
‘Of course, perhaps he’ll just make you face Raubfalke, Vaulkberg’s champion. I’ve heard that even Ludwig Schwarzhelm lost a fencing match to him. But somehow I think that Vaulkberg will have something more inventive in store for you than simple trial by combat.’ Brunner suddenly looked away, pulling the helmet from his head. A look of intense concentration marked his weathered features. Brega began to mumble a half-coherent offer of wealth and fortune for the bounty hunter to consider. Brunner fixed the man with an angry glare.
‘Be quiet,’ he hissed. ‘We have company.’
The bounty hunter’s words brought Brega instantly from his mournful state. A new and more immediate fear stiffened his frame. Brega stared into the dark of the tunnel, his eyes trying to detect a trace of motion in the dark. The bounty hunter was silent beside him, his body tense, waiting.
By degrees, a sound began to manifest itself. It was a strange, curious noise, like the clacking of wooden shoes across a cobblestone lane, or the sound of a fisherman cracking open a lobster’s shell. It was a strange, indecipherable sound, and it made Brega slink back towards the bounty hunter, taking refuge in the evil he knew.
The sound grew louder and louder. The horses reacted as it drew closer, stomping their booted hooves and tugging at the ropes that bound them to iron spikes set into the floor. The bounty hunter remained vigilant, the strange repeating crossbow held at the ready, the lantern burning brightly. There was still no sign of whatever was making the sound, but it was growing louder, definitely advancing towards the camp.
At last, the light from the lantern revealed something large, shiny and black in the dark. Brunner fired the instant he saw the reflected light. The sound of the bolt punching through a solid mass was punctuated by a liquid, popping sound. But whatever it was did not cry out in pain; it merely advanced more quickly. Brega gave a shriek of fright, and leapt to his feet making to run past the frightened horses. Brunner spared a glance at him, stamping his foot down on the dangling length of rope that bound the man’s hands together. Brega’s flight was brought short, and he crashed to the cold stone floor. It seemed he had not learned his lesson the last time he had tried to flee.
Brunner fired again as the shape scuttled forward. Once more the bolt found its mark, punching into the oncoming mass. Once again the creature did not seem to notice the injury it had been dealt. As it charged more fully into the light, its form was revealed: it was an immense black beetle, a mammoth insect as large as a pony, huge rending mandibles spread before its armoured head. Multi-faceted blue eyes gleamed weirdly in the feeble light. Brunner’s bolts had impacted against the insect’s thorax, and from each wound, pulpy green paste bubbled and oozed, like rancid porridge boiling from a pot.
Brunner sighted at the monster and fired again, the bolt smashing into the insect’s eye. The eye broke apart under the impact, and a burst of pulpy material spewed from the wound.
The insect kept coming, the long antennae before its head weaving about, the mandibles clacking together like the jaws of a bear trap. Brunner fired again, the bolt smashing through a leg segment. A thin fluid drooled from the injury and the insect’s pace slowed a fraction. Yet still it came.
Brega wailed in horror as he saw the seemingly unkillable monster scuttle forward. The horses echoed the man’s fear. Brunner drew his sword, glaring at the monster. The insect did not meet his gaze. Its antennae were twitching before its damaged head, seemingly intent on the struggling horses. Brunner turned around, severing the rope holding Brega’s horse with one clean stroke. The horse turned and galloped away as soon as it was freed. The beetle, antennae still twitching, scurried after the fleeing animal. Brunner shook his head and sheathed his sword.
‘Damn things are like orcs,’ he commented. ‘They don’t know when to lie down and die.’ He looked at Brega. The man was still curled up on the ground, his head hidden within his hands. Brunner kicked the man with the toe of his boot.
‘Rest time is over,’ he said. ‘We’re moving on.’
Brega looked around, turning his head to try and find the monster. ‘Where did it go?’ he asked.
‘It must hunt by something other than sight down here, in all this dark,’ Brunner replied, lifting a heavy blanket to Paychest’s back. ‘Movement, if my guess is right. I just gave it something a bit more lively than us to occupy it.’ Brega looked around again, noting for the first time that his horse was gone.
‘Hope you like walking,’ the bounty hunter commented as he tied a bundle to the back of his packhorse. ‘You’ll have a fair amount to do even when we get out of here.’
A few hours later the passages they had been following emptied out into a vast, cavernous main hall. The hall was hundreds of feet tall, the upper limits of the pillars supporting it disappearing into darkness overhead. The columns were vast, like giant trees, so wide that six men would be hard pressed to link hands around their bases. The far ends of the hall stretched beyond the vision of the two men, vanishing perhaps half a mile away where the inky darkness became absolute. At first, Brega thought that they had emerged outside, so bright was the vista, so immediately did the sense of pressure lessen. But the smuggler’s elation soon dissipated as he saw that they were still in the subterranean world of Karag-dar.
This section of the main hall was lit by some means that Brega could not fathom. He could not have guessed that he was seeing distilled sunlight, captured and reflected a dozen times over by crystal lenses scattered like a series of sentinels between the main hall and the side of the mountain far above. The light came down as a grey filmy thing, reflected from the white columns and pillars that supported the ceiling. Arches spread between the pillars, ornamental supports from which had once hung tapestries and banners depicting the triumphs and glories of the Ever-Kingdom. But such glories had long since rotted away, claimed by the ages. The sombre, silent statues of bearded dwarf warriors loomed from the walls, each scarred by axe and hammer and defaced by crude goblin glyphs.
In the centre of the hall, the shallow water channel emptied into a wide pool before diverting north and south to bear its life-giving waters to deeper halls within the mountain. The light gleamed and danced upon the waters, casting weird shadows upon the forest of pillars and the rubble piles where some had fallen. A low gallery and an upper walkway wound among the pillars, leading toward chambers and tunnels even higher in the mountain.
Brunner observed these carefully before leading the way into the hall, his keen gaze constantly alert for goblins. He was not certain how far the Black Fangs’ territory extended, but it would be in keeping with their vile and craven nature to lurk upon the upper walkways and pepper an enemy with arrows rather than trading sword strokes.
At last, satisfied that no goblin waited upon the upper floors, and that the piles of rubble were likewise clear, Brunner began to lead the way into the main hall. It would only take a day or so now to reach the Reikland side of Karag-dar, but the bounty hunter was intent on remaining wary every step of the way.
The arrow nearly placed itself squarely in Brunner’s face. Had the bounty hunter not hesitated, warned by some sudden feeling of unease, it would have struck him down. Instead, as Brunner’s step faltered, the arrow swept past the visor of his helm. Brunner dropped into a
crouch at once, taking cover behind Paychest, pulling Brega down with a savage tug on the man’s leg.
In the darkness, something hissed its displeasure, sending another arrow screaming from the blackness to sink itself in the large saltfilled keg lashed to the packhorse. Brunner snarled an oath, moving his animals toward the sparse safety of a pile of rubble. A third arrow nearly caught the bounty hunter once more, striking the vambrace encasing his left arm. Brunner could feel the impact rattle his bones as the arrow was deflected by the armour. He dropped down into the cover of the rubble, pushing Brega down onto his face.
‘Stay low,’ Brunner ordered, hefting his repeating crossbow. ‘There is only one of them, but it will only take one arrow to make you worthless to me.’ The bounty hunter looked over the edge of the rock pile, trying to see where the attacker was firing from. Another arrow smacked into the stone, missing Brunner’s head by a matter of inches.
‘Give up the smuggler!’ a rasping, bubbling voice called out from the darkness. ‘You’ll never leave here with him, Brunner.’ The voice trailed off for a moment into a deep, grunting laugh. ‘Not alive, anyway.’
Brunner crouched low behind the rubble, cursing under his breath. He knew that voice—it had the nightmare tone that stayed with a man to the end of his days. He had hoped to never hear it again, but at the same time, he had known that their paths would inevitably cross again.
‘Think it will be that easy?’ Brunner called back. ‘Krogh!’
Krogh. An ugly name for an ugly thing. It had been human, once. It had been a soldier, though where and when, Brunner had never known. But something had happened to Krogh, something terrible. Something had slowly, insidiously and completely consumed his humanity. Most men would have destroyed themselves. Others would have run into the wilds, to become the beasts their bodies had come to resemble. Still others would have quietly waited for the witch hunters to cleanse them with scourge and flame. But Krogh had found another path. He had abandoned his homeland, turned to the city states, to Tilea, where decadent, corrupt men would hire the unspeakable to perform the unthinkable. He had not embraced the kiss of Chaos, but neither had he denied it. Whatever Krogh had once been, he was now only a hunter. A hunter of men.
‘We can make a deal,’ the rotting voice of Krogh hissed. Brunner tried to follow the sound, but it seemed to dance and echo from every crack and flaw in the walls.
‘What kind of deal?’ Brunner called back. He caught the look of absolute horror that had found its way onto Brega’s face. It seemed he was more afraid of being handed over to the source of that ghastly voice than remaining with Brunner.
The bounty hunter smiled. Brega had good reason to be afraid.
Brunner gestured with his crossbow, making it clear that Brega would not get far if he decided to make a break for it.
‘If you hand over Brega, I’ll let you live,’ Krogh’s voice croaked. Another arrow struck the pile of rocks, just to lend a little weight to the offer.
Brunner smiled. He had a fairly good idea where his enemy was now. If he could just keep him talking, he might get a better fix. ‘I’ll kill him myself before I hand him over to you!’ Brunner snarled. Brega’s eyes grew even wider and more alarmed. The smuggler couldn’t understand how things could keep getting worse.
An inhuman, bestial laughter hissed its way from the shadows. ‘Kill him then! I don’t need him alive to collect my bounty!’ The mutant laughed again, the sound becoming a daemonic chorus as it bounced from pillar and stone.
‘Hand him over, Brunner!’ Krogh ordered. ‘Give him up, and I spare your life. Walk away, Brunner. Cut your losses.’
Brunner risked another look over the edge of the rubble pile. He was certain now that Krogh was slowly circling in the shadows. He had slipped into a pattern. Brunner was pretty sure where the mutant’s steps would bring him.
‘Don’t insult us both!’ Brunner called back as he ducked down behind the rocks. ‘I know as sure as a toad has warts that as soon as I walk out, you’ll put a shaft through my face. And you know that if you let me walk away, I’ll get Brega back before you can slink back to the entrance!’
Krogh laughed again. ‘I’m being paid seven hundred gold ducats for the smuggler,’ he boasted. ‘But I’ll kill you for free!’
‘I’m glad you feel that way,’ Brunner muttered to himself. The bounty hunter leapt from his cover, firing the repeating crossbow in a quick series of shots. The bolts hammered into the darkness behind a tall column beneath one of the causeways. Brunner was certain that he heard the shots impact against something solid, but did not hedge his bets. He rolled back into cover behind the rocks. He waited for some time, ears straining for any suggestion of sound.
‘Did you get him?’ whispered Brega, his voice filled with nervous terror. Brunner threw his prisoner a sour look. He flipped his crossbow around, then removed his helm, placing it over the stock. Gripping the weapon by its front, he slowly edged the stock over the top of the rocks. Almost instantly, something struck the helmet, ricocheting off into the dark.
‘Apparently not,’ Brunner sighed, recovering the crossbow. He stared for a moment at the new dent in his blackened helm, before replacing it on his head.
‘Hand him over now,’ Krogh’s rasping voice commanded. ‘I’ll not ask again!’
Awareness slowly roused the monster from its slumber. Heavy, leathery lids snapped open. Crescent-shaped pupils narrowed and expanded as they adjusted to the meagre light. The monster shifted its weight, working stiffness from its muscles. After a moment, its tiny mind considered what had disturbed its slumber.
For many thousands of years had the monster’s kind prowled the darkness of Karag-dar. Even in the time when the halls had been ruled by the dwarfs, they had been there, slinking through the shadows. The monsters had some slight intelligence: over the centuries, they had learned to equate the slightest vibration in the rock with the presence of prey—lone miners and craftsmen toiling in the darkness.
It did not concern the monster that its lengthy tail was already fat and bloated with so much digested nourishment that it could safely sleep for months without needing to hunt. Indeed, the world was very simple for the monster; it was reacted by only two stimuli: danger and food.
The monster began to creep through the dark tunnels, drawn by the slight vibration its incredible senses detected: the impact of an arrow upon a pile of stone.
Brunner considered his situation. In his previous encounters with the mutant bounty killer he’d been lucky to escape with his life, and it seemed luck would have to play a part in his survival this time. Krogh had him pinned down, and his attempt to shoot the mutant with his crossbow had been his best chance of outsmarting his rival. Now, he knew, Krogh would be twice as wary, his inhumanly keen senses and reflexes ready for Brunner to try again. That would be a mistake, and Brunner knew that he had already used up his quota of mistakes in this deadly game. No, if he was to regain control of this situation, Krogh would have to make the next mistake.
Brunner looked over at the cowering Brega. The bounty hunter drew a deep breath. He was reluctant to do what he was now considering, but it had become a matter of his own life, and no matter how much gold Judge Vaulkberg was offering, it would do him no good if he could not collect it.
The bounty hunter removed his helm. His cold eyes met his prisoner’s. Brunner held the helm before his gaze for a moment, then looked back at Brega.
‘Ever thought about becoming a bounty hunter?’ Brunner’s icy voice asked.
Brega wailed in horror as he realised what Brunner was planning. The smuggler began to scramble away, crawling from his captor. Brunner pounced upon the man, rolling the struggling Tilean onto his back. The bounty hunter smashed a fist under Brega’s ribs, knocking the wind out of him. The smuggler’s struggle became a boneless pained twitch. Brunner did not give the man time to recover. He held the helmet over Brega’s head, and slowly lowered it.
A sudden noise caused him to stop. His head whipped abou
t, eyes seeking out the source of the sound. It came again, a sickly, hollow trumpet note. Brunner replaced the helm on his own head, rising from his groaning captive.
‘Change of plan,’ Brunner said in the same frigid tone.
Krogh spun about in the shadows, a bestial snarl rumbling from his twisted frame. He sprang away from the column he had been hiding behind, lest Brunner heard the sound and trained his crossbow on him. Krogh had been taken by surprise by the other bounty hunter’s earlier attack—one of the hastily fired bolts had skinned his leg. Krogh had no desire to tempt Brunner’s aim a second time.
Now the situation had become decidedly more complicated. Sullen rage built up within Krogh as he heard the horn sound again. Given enough time, he could have worked his way around to Brunner’s position and come upon him from behind. When the need arose, Krogh could move so quietly that even an elf would be hard pressed to hear him. But such stealth would take time, and time was something Krogh no longer had.
The mutant bounty hunter hissed again, a soft, angry sound, and crouched behind the toppled head of some forgotten dwarf king. The interlopers would pay dearly for intruding upon his business this day. The beast would slake its thirst for blood on these foolish things. Then it would be Brunner’s turn to die.