Brunner the Bounty Hunter

by C. L. Werner

  The goblins whined amongst themselves as the predator fed, but the snarls and curses of the orcs stilled their fear. With a great roar, the orcs charged the feeding monster, the brutes thinking what a mighty trophy the fangs of such a beast might make. The basilisk seemed indifferent; it was intent upon its food. Only when a goblin spear was thrown into its side did the reptile look up.

  Brunner continued to feed bolts into his crossbow as he watched the basilisk react to its attackers. Whichever way the fight went, he knew that he would have more killing to do.

  Bruno Brega could hear the shouts and snarls of the battle. He did not know what was going on, nor did he have any great desire to find out. For the moment, Brunner was nowhere to be seen, and that was enough for Brega. The smuggler pulled himself to his feet, gripping a fallen boulder with his bound hands. Brega tested the lashings once again. There was no give in the ropes. He looked around him, sighting Paychest, and the numerous bundles strapped to the animal’s back.

  Brega was sure he would find a blade somewhere amongst the bounty hunters gear. He needed something to cut through his ropes. He paused for a moment, gathered his courage, then decided upon his course of action. Swiftly, he moved toward the bounty hunter’s animals. As he did so, a dark shape rounded the pile of rubble that Brunner had employed as cover.

  The goblin snarled wickedly as it ran towards Brega. The smuggler stopped, eyes wide with fright as the goblin slashed at him with its sword. In dodging the attack, Brega fell, and landed on his back. The goblin’s malicious laughter seethed through its fanged mouth as it noticed its enemy was bound. The vile creature scrambled forward.

  Finding the conflict with the bounty hunters and the basilisk too perilous, the goblin was eager to slake its thirst for blood on a defenceless prisoner. The leering visage of the goblin’s malevolent face filled Brega’s vision as the greenskin lifted its sword for a murderous downward stroke.

  The basilisk rounded on its attackers, hissing as it drew a deep breath. The goblin that had thrown the spear squeaked in fright, turning and fleeing as fast as its legs could carry it. Two other goblins hesitated, uncertain whether to press the assault or flee as well. Their hesitation made the decision for them. Angered by the wound in its left rear leg, the reptile scuttled forward at great speed. Powerful jaws snapped closed on the foremost goblin while a swipe from one of the reptile’s legs tore open the other. The basilisk crushed the maimed goblin under its foot, breaking those parts of the goblin its claws had not ripped apart. The giant lizard lifted its head, swallowing the still struggling form of its enemy whole. Then the monster was among the rest of its foes.

  The basilisk’s movements were swift and brutal. The powerful tail lashed from side to side in battering blows that broke bones whenever it struck. As the enraged lizard lumbered amidst the greenskins, its claws slashed and ripped, its fanged jaws closing on green flesh as often as empty air. Mangled goblins were hurled about like rag dolls, their screaming bodies landing in tattered heaps to moan and whine in agony, and to painfully crawl from the rage of their monstrous foe.

  The reptile’s rampage carried it through the goblins and their orc allies. Brunner readied himself as the maddened beast came near. He fired the repeating crossbow, and the bolt crunched into the thick bone just above the creature’s eye. The lizard reared back from the painful injury, its tree-like tail lashing the ground. Brunner fired again, this time putting a bolt into the monster’s cheek. The basilisk’s frenzied motion became even more agitated and it worked its injured jaw to try and remove the hurtful bolt embedded in its flesh.

  The basilisk began to bob its body up and down in an angry, threatening display, its breath hissing loudly, wrathfully. Brunner fired again, the shot once more narrowly missing the monster’s eye. This time it sank into the flesh of the reptile’s neck. The bounty killer swore as he saw the membranes snap close over the lizard’s yellow eyes. The terrible Chaos energies were building up within the reptile. Brunner hastily averted his eyes, knowing as he did so that he left himself open to the rending claws and snapping jaws of the beast.

  A thick, powerful axe-blow severed one of the basilisk’s rear legs. It spun about, its small brain too angry now to take any great notice of this new wound. The basilisk’s attacker lifted his axe for another cleaving stroke, but his piggish red eyes found themselves transfixed by the petrifying gaze of the monster. The orc did not emit any sound as the transforming energies flowed into his body, hardening his scarred hide into a shell of stone, as the Chaos power cooked his innards.

  The necklace-wearing orc was charging the monster even as his comrade was turned to stone. The goblins were dead or running, the other orc lying somewhere, broken by the basilisk’s tail. Now the brute’s last ally had been slain. The orc roared a throaty challenge through his tusked mouth and ran at the giant reptile. The orc’s great weight slammed into the stone carcass of his comrade, toppling its body onto the head of the lizard. The statue broke apart as it smashed into the basilisk’s skull, dashing its head against the hard floor.

  The orc did not hesitate, but leaped onto the back of the stunned reptile. The greenskin’s sword rose and fell, gouging great cuts into the basilisk’s body. The lizard shook its body from side to side, trying to dislodge the clinging orc straddling its back. As the lizard’s neck craned about to try and fix its foe with the petrifying gaze, a steel bolt shot out of the darkness, exploding the basilisk’s left eye. The lizard rolled onto its back, crushing the orc beneath it as it writhed in agony.

  Brunner watched as the basilisk rolled across the floor and smashed against the archway of a tunnel, its mass dislodging the remaining dwarf warrior that stood against the wall. The massive statue broke apart at the waist, crashing downward. A sound like a hundred thunderbolts roared about the hall as blocks of stone cascaded onto the floor. The massive pillars trembled with the violent impact, and swayed slightly in their positions, like mighty oaks disturbed by a raging hurricane. In the darkness, the echoes of the collapse boomed like cannon fire, carrying the message of destruction through the length of Karag-dar. It reverberated through every chamber and goblin-hole within the ancient dwarf stronghold. The world disintegrated into a grey mist as dust exploded from the destruction, and billowed outward in a gritty cloud.

  When the dust had cleared, the tunnel was lost to sight, now buried beneath tons of rubble. The basilisk had been caught in the rockfall; now the only sign of the reptile was a twitching leg sticking up from the broken stonework.

  Brunner gazed about the hall. Dozens of black-cloaked bodies lay strewn about the ground—some were moving, many more were still. The bounty hunter looked over towards where Krogh had made his stand. A great number of goblin bodies had been thrown about the area, many torn limb from limb. Amid the carnage, Brunner could see a single orc, its jaw ripped from its head, a gaping hole at the centre of its chest. Of the mutant, there was no sign.

  A movement nearby made Brunner draw Drakesmalice from its sheath. Brunner cast his cold eyes on the shape of the orc champion. Most of its bones had been crushed under the basilisk’s weight, there was dark green blood bubbling from its mouth, and still the brute struggled to stand. The bounty hunter walked toward the dying orc.

  ‘Thanks for the help,’ Brunner said as he met the angry creature’s eyes. The bounty hunter swung Drakesmalice in a decapitating blow. ‘I appreciate it,’ he added as the head bounced across the floor.

  Brunner returned to his horses, thankful to find them unharmed, then looked around for Brega. Near to the horses, he found the smuggler’s bindings, and beside them the body of a goblin. Brunner examined the goblin for a moment, noting the marks about its neck, the way its tongue protruded from its face. A man without a sword has few options left to him. Strangulation was one.

  Brunner followed faint traces in the dust. He cursed when he saw where Brega had run. The tunnel through which the smuggler had made his escape was blocked by the massive rockfall caused by the basilisk. Worse, it was one of
the ones from where the goblins had emerged. Brega had escaped his captor all right—by running even deeper into the territory of the Black Fangs.

  With a sigh, Brunner returned to his animals. The corridors and halls of Karag-dar were a near-endless maze. It would take days, perhaps weeks, to find Brega’s trail. The bounty hunter knew that others would find the scoundrel first. Smarting with the slaughter wrought in the great hall by the bounty hunters and the basilisk, Brega could expect a very nasty reception from the Black Fangs.

  The bounty hunter shook his head and started to lead his animals back the way they had come. The reward Judge Vaulkberg was offering was only good if Brega was delivered to him alive. It was a stipulation that Brunner always found tiresome, but, under the present circumstances, it had become impossible. Since first taking up his bloody and violent trade seven years ago, Brunner could count on one hand the number of times he had failed to collect his prey. But he was also pragmatic enough to know when it was pointless to continue the hunt. His only comforting thought was that Brega wouldn’t be boasting of his escape to anyone… at least anyone that wasn’t green.

  Bruno Brega could see the brazier just beyond the circle of grinning, leering green faces. The barbed, hook-like irons were slowly beginning to glow. The large goblin standing beside the brazier licked his black-dyed fangs eagerly.

  Brega moaned again, struggling against the ropes that held him against the top of the crude stone altar. He was, he admitted, in virtually the same position as when he had been discovered by the bounty hunter. But whatever Nuccio and his other former comrades had planned for him would have been quick and clean compared to whatever his present captors were intending. Once again, Brega wondered what he had done to so offend Ranald for his fortunes to continually spiral downward. At least, the smuggler thought, things have finally struck rock bottom.

  The night goblin crept away from the brazier, a glowing iron gripped in its thin-fingered hand. The other goblins cackled and snickered as the torturer moved toward Brega. The goblin leaned over the prisoner’s body and Brega could feel the heat of the iron as the goblin held it over his chest.

  ‘Make pretty sound,’ the goblin’s whispery voice hissed. Brega let loose with a scream that echoed from the walls of the dingy cave-like room. The goblins laughed and snickered once more.

  ‘Want better,’ the torturer commented as his own laughter died away. Brega tensed his body, waiting for the iron to sear his flesh.

  The loud thok of a crossbow firing echoed in the room. The goblin torturer was thrown back as a bolt smashed into his throat. Brega wept tears of relief as the other goblins began to scramble away, shoving and punching one another in their haste to escape. The smuggler had not dared to hope that Brunner might still find him, that the bounty hunter would search the halls of Karag-dar to track him down. Whatever horror Judge Vaulkberg intended for him, it would be pleasant compared to the attentions of the goblins.

  Brega craned his neck upward to stare over the altar as he heard his rescuer draw near. The colour faded from his face as the shabby, cowled figure strode towards him. Orange eyes glowed from the hooded face of the shadow.

  An animal stink filled Brega’s lungs as Krogh leaned over him. The mutant bounty hunter reached into the folds of his tunic with a twisted hand and drew a hollow steel tube from a pocket.

  ‘For you,’ the rasping, bubbling voice of Krogh hissed from beneath the folds of the scarf covering his face, ‘this is a very unlucky day.’

  SICKHOUSE

  The Atmosphere in the dingy little cellar room was, if anything, even more stifling than the sweltering Miragliano streets overhead. Strings of wet linen had been set between the thick wooden posts that supported the tannery above the cellar, yet far from cooling the dank chamber they had served only to increase the humidity. Coupled with the rich stink of rotten vegetables and the other refuse that lay heaped in piles all around the chamber, the effect was not unlike entering one of the blighted swamps that crouched beyond the city walls. Certainly the cellar’s lone denizen should not have looked out of place in such an environment.

  The feeble creature that sprawled upon the rickety cot rolled onto his side, stretching a thin, wasted limb toward the small oil lamp that rested on the floor beside him. Thick, wormy digits that were more tentacles than fingers raised the flame, increasing the illumination within the miserable rat-hole. The mutant scowled as his visitor sank into the chair facing him without invitation. The creature muttered under his breath. Manners were often lacking in those who still deigned to visit Tessari the information broker.

  ‘What you want to know will cost you two pieces of silver,’ the mutant croaked. The man sitting in the chair smiled thinly at the crippled monster.

  ‘And how do you know that, Snake-Fingers?’ the visitor’s harsh voice sneered. ‘I haven’t said anything yet.’ There was a note of suspicion and challenge to the man’s voice, an unspoken threat behind his words. Tessari leaned back, his eyes narrowing.

  ‘There is no mystery to my price, bounty killer,’ Tessari replied, putting as much distaste in the title as his visitor had in describing the mutant’s affliction. ‘I need two pieces of silver to secure a new supply of blankets before winter sets in. Therefore, whatever it is you wish to know, the price is two pieces of silver.’

  For a moment, the bounty hunter was silent, as though pondering Tessari’s price. At length, he nodded his head in agreement. ‘Very well, cellar-rat, I am looking for the thief Riano. So far, I haven’t been able to find him. Rats have ears, tell me what you have heard.’

  ‘Have you tried searching the back rooms of the Maid of Albion?’ Tessari inquired. ‘Riano has done favours for the owner of that drinking hole in the past.’

  ‘I’ve already looked there,’ the bounty hunter snarled. ‘Riano’s nowhere in Miragliano.’

  ‘How can you be certain?’ Tessari pressed, his tones bubbling with interest. The wormy fingers of his hand twitched in a loathsomely boneless fashion.

  ‘Because if he was in Miragliano, I’d have found him already,’ the bounty hunter retorted, his temper rising. ‘It seems clear to me that you do not know anything, Maggot-Hand.’ The killer began to rise from the chair.

  ‘Don’t be hasty!’ Tessari cried out, surging forward, reaching toward the bounty hunter. ‘Sit, and talk with me.’

  ‘I’ve better ways to spend my time than wasting it down in this rat’s den of yours,’ the bounty hunter snapped. ‘If you can’t help me, I’ll find someone who can.’

  ‘The man you are looking for has left Miragliano,’ Tessari called out to the killer’s back, frightened by the prospect of being left alone once more within the dank cellar. ‘If so, then he has gone somewhere he can lie low until the price on his head diminishes. Someplace he will feel safe.’

  The bounty hunter hesitated, turning slowly, one hand gripping the weapon hanging from his belt. ‘And where would that be?’ he demanded. Tessari held out the less deformed of his hands, waiting until his visitor walked back and placed a silver coin in his palm. The bounty killer held the other one poised between his thumb and forefinger.

  ‘I’ll give you this one if your information is useful,’ he informed the mutant. Tessari shrank back into his bedding.

  ‘Riano grew up in the small village of Decimas,’ the mutant stated. ‘If he has fled Miragliano, he can only have gone back to Decimas, where he has many friends. Friends who might make things rather hard for men of your profession.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ the bounty hunter told Tessari, tossing the other coin to the mutant. The bounty hunter turned away once more.

  ‘Wait!’ Tessari cried. ‘There is more, something else that would be of interest to a man like you.’ The visitor turned back, glaring down at the deformed man.

  ‘I grow tired of these games, lice-breeder,’ the warrior hissed. ‘What else do you have to say?’

  Tessari’s twisted face spread into an avaricious smile. ‘It will cost you another silver piece.�
� The bounty hunter drew another coin from a pouch fixed to his belt, holding it once more between his fingers.

  ‘There is another man looking for Riano, a bounty killer like yourself.’ Tessari leaned forward, voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Would it interest you to know that two days ago another man was standing where you are now, asking me the same questions you’ve been asking?’

  ‘Out with it, dung-eater! Who else is on Riano’s trail?’

  ‘Brunner,’ Tessari told his visitor, enjoying the sudden unease that manifested upon the other man’s features. The mutant grimaced as the bounty hunter returned the silver coin to its pouch. ‘That was mine!’ Tessari growled.

  ‘And how much did Brunner pay for his information?’ his guest demanded. Tessari glared at the other man, wormy fingers coiling like angry pythons. The bounty hunter smiled back. ‘Since he has a head start on me, I’d be a fool to pay more than he did.’ The man withdrew through the gloom of the cellar. Behind him, the twisted Tessari hurled obscenities at his back.

  The sun hung high in the sky, glaring down from the azure plain, causing tiny ripples of heat to shimmer upwards from the scraggly brown grass below. The barren dirt and rock of the narrow road that crawled between the underbrush and the sickly trees had been baked to the solidity of granite, for in this season there would be no kindly rains to counterbalance the sun’s tyrannical attentions. No birds flew upon the hot breeze, hiding within whatever shade they could find. The only sign of life was a large grey lizard, its long-taloned fingers clutching the sides of a large stone resting upon the road. The reptile’s eyes were closed, its body bobbing up and down in repetitious motion as its cold flesh soaked up the blazing rays. Suddenly, the lizard’s scaly lids snapped open and it cocked its head, listening to the vibrations that had disturbed it. With almost blinding speed, the reptile lunged from its perch, streaking across the road to skitter into the sanctuary afforded by a patch of yellowing brambles.