Brunner the Bounty Hunter

by C. L. Werner

  The eavesdropper let a light giggle pass his lips as he heard the slaughter within the room grow still more frenzied. The hour would soon come when sounds such as these would echo across all of Remas.

  Some time later, the man in the black cloak crept along shadowy halls. He paused before one door in particular, his pale hand emerging from the dark folds of his garment to softly rap upon the portal.

  The dark man smiled as he heard sounds of movement within the room. Presently the door opened, revealing the bleary features of Alfredo Gambini.

  ‘What do you mean, disturbing me at such an hour?’ the nobleman snarled when he recognised his visitor. By way of explanation, the dark man dropped a large sack onto the floor of the corridor. Alfredo swore. ‘Again?’

  ‘Quite so, quite so,’ the dark man smiled. ‘It was necessary to make a special offering to our lord,’ he explained. ‘The possessed brother you sent to dispose of the bounty hunter was itself destroyed.’

  Alfredo’s face grew ashen. ‘Destroyed? How?’

  ‘I warned you that the bounty hunter was here to assist the temple of thrice-damned Solkan,’ reminded the aristocrat’s visitor. ‘How else would he be prepared to confront a true believer who had married his soul with that of a daemon?’

  ‘But he was attacked by the followers of Solkan when he first arrived,’ protested Alfredo Gambini.

  ‘You should be used to the deceits and tricks of the Solkanites by now,’ chided the dark man. He directed a sour look at the aristocrat. ‘But perhaps we can discuss the whys of it later, when you do not have an offering sitting on your threshold.’ The reminder of just what it was that his visitor’s sack contained evoked a haunted look in Alfredo as the nobleman considered how dire events would become were such a thing discovered here.

  ‘What is it you wish me to do?’ he asked.

  ‘Take the offering to the temple, and gather the true believers,’ the dark man said. ‘Prepare the ceremony. We must apologise to our lord for the death of his servant.’ The man’s pale hand flipped toward Alfredo in a dismissive gesture. Alfredo hastily withdrew into his room, quickly dressing himself. He reappeared minutes later, stooping to retrieve the heavy sack from the floor.

  ‘Stay at the temple and make sure that all of the preparations are in order,’ the man in the black cloak stated. ‘I will join you when the ceremony is to begin.’ He paused, smiling once more. ‘I shall be bringing a new initiate to our faith with me.’ The dark man waved his hand again, shooing away the burdened nobleman as he might ward off an annoying dog. Alfredo Gambini scuttled off into the dark, the heavy sack slung over his shoulder.

  The dark man watched Alfredo go, then reached beneath his cloak. He withdrew a scrap of cloth from a pocket in his tunic. The cloth was stained by the still wet blood of the murdered harlot. He considered the rag for a moment, then wiped it against the handle on the door to Alfredo’s room. Once he was satisfied that enough blood had been smeared onto the bronze fastening, the man replaced the rag in his pocket. Whistling a morbid dirge in a high, jaunty note, the man slipped away into the darkness.

  Princess Juliana Bensario could not sleep. For the past four hours she had paced the floors of her sitting room, trying to decide how she could escape her current dilemma. She had passed the crippled General Mandalari shortly before retiring. As she had walked past the old warmonger, he had slipped her a piece of paper. It was the contents of that paper that had occupied her mind so completely. The general had not veiled his words in flowery script, nor couched them in suggestion and innuendo. No, with the brutal straight-forwardness of a soldier, he had stated quite plainly what he knew, and what he expected of Juliana. In exchange for the general’s silence, Juliana would support the general’s war plans. Otherwise, Prince Gambini would be informed of his bride’s dalliance, the wedding would be called off and Juliana would have to return to Pavona in shame to face the scorn of her city.

  So lost in her troubled thoughts was the princess, that she did not hear the hall door of the sitting room open.

  ‘Princess?’ a familiar voice spoke. ‘I saw your light from the hall. Are you well?’ Princess Juliana looked up to see the concerned features of Corvino staring down at her.

  More than any other soul in the Gambini household, Juliana had formed a bond with the fool, attracted by his pleasant manner and sympathetic ear. Perhaps, in her own home in Pavona, she might not have trusted someone so much, but in the still unfamiliar setting of Remas, she had needed a confidant. Had Corvino not aided her in her affair with Manfred? Knowing that the fool was privy to half her problem, she handed him the note from Mandalari, that he might leam the other half.

  Corvino quickly read the letter. Juliana watched as the fool’s expression faded from worry to anger and finally to rage. His soft hand clenched into a fist, crumpling the letter, then tearing it into ribbons with both hands.

  ‘That scoundrel dares threaten you!’ he hissed. The fool’s face had twisted into an animalistic snarl. His eyes met those of the princess and his expression softened. He stepped forward, cradling one of her hands in his own.

  ‘I shall teach that scheming swine the price for such roguish audacity!’ he declared. He saw the confusion in Juliana’s face.

  ‘How can you do anything to help me, Corvino?’ she said. ‘You are only a jester. He is a general.’

  ‘I shall, you will see,’ asserted the fool. ‘I would do anything for you, my lady.’ Corvino dropped to one knee, staring up at the noblewoman with wide, watery eyes. ‘There is nothing a man would not dare for love.’

  Juliana recoiled from Corvino, pulling her hand away. She retreated a few paces, as though the fool were a noxious serpent.

  Corvino saw the emotions play across her beautiful features. Shock, disbelief, then disgust. It was the last emotion, however, that thrust into the fool’s breast as though it were a dagger. The final feeling that won control of Juliana’s face. Pity.

  Corvino rose to his feet, a tear sliding down his gaunt face. ‘I do not presume that you could ever return my affection,’ he confessed. ‘I am no grand prince, worthy of your hand. I am not even a dashing young mercenary captain to win your eye. As you have said, my lady, I am only a fool. All I can expect, all I can ask, is the joy of serving you. That is my honour, that is my reward.’

  Juliana tried to compose herself as Corvino spoke. She stepped forward to speak, but the tall fool lifted his hand, motioning for her to remain silent.

  ‘Let me serve, my lady,’ Corvino begged as he backed away, moving toward the door. ‘That is all I can ask.’ Juliana watched the sorry spectacle of the man trying to recover the scraps of dignity he had worn before entering her sitting room. ‘Allow me to remain near you.’ He reached behind him and opened the door.

  ‘But, know this,’ Corvino said before slipping back into the hall. ‘The man who troubles you, will not trouble you again.’

  Mandalari awoke, staring upward at the canopy of his bed. The old soldier rolled his head, trying to focus on whatever had disturbed his sleep. By degrees, as his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, he began to detect a man’s figure standing beside his bed. The general acted at once, dragging a long knife from beneath the mass of pillows that supported his aged frame.

  ‘Forgive the intrusion,’ the calm, modulated tones of Mandalari’s spy addressed him, their suggestion of scorn just a bit more pronounced than usual. ‘I have learned things that are of great importance.’

  Mandalari relaxed his grip on the knife, staring at the dark silhouette of his agent. ‘Indeed,’ he grumbled. ‘Of such importance that it could not wait until a decent hour?’

  ‘I fear not,’ the spy stated gravely ‘I have learned that someone is going to try and kill you.’

  General Mandalari’s face betrayed the shock that his spy’s report caused, but quickly the bluster of a man who had faced death on dozens of battlefields rose once more to the fore. ‘Indeed,’ Mandalari snarled. ‘And what is the name of this gallow’s bait that
seeks my life?’

  ‘Someone very close to you,’ the spy replied. The arm of the silhouette swept towards the old general and the mauling force of heavy cold-wrought iron smashed into his chest. The old man was knocked from his bed by the blow, crashing against the floor in a crumpled heap. He moaned, trying to disentangle himself from the bed clothes twisted about his body. His attacker circled the bed, standing over him once more, blood dripping from the iron mace he gripped. The spy smiled down, watching the general’s frantic efforts.

  ‘It appears you got up on the wrong side,’ the spy said. The general howled in agony as his attacker swung the heavy iron mace at his leg, sending it crunching into the man’s remaining leg with a loud crack. The general turned his shriek into a snarl of rage, clawing at the assassin, who swiftly stepped away. Mandalari tried to twist around, to reach toward the knife lying on the floor near where he had fallen. As he exerted himself, however, he screamed again, his body wracked by frenzied spasms in its attempts to free itself from the twisted sheets that were wound about him like some insect’s cocoon.

  ‘Now you don’t have a leg to stand on,’ the assassin sighed, watching Mandalari struggle to reach the knife once more. ‘But let’s make certain of that, shall we?’ He brought the mace crashing downward once more, pulverising the already maimed limb once more.

  ‘Gods’ pity!’ howled Mandalari between screams, his outstretched hand forsaking the knife to clutch at his broken limb. ‘Have mercy, Corvino!’

  The fool smiled down at his former patron, the mocking sneer more pronounced than ever before. He sent the mace crashing down again, cracking the general’s ribs. Mandalari howled, bright red drops exploding from his mouth.

  ‘I warned you about pursuing your plans regarding Princess Juliana,’ Corvino said regretfully. ‘But you wouldn’t listen.’ He swung the mace into Mandalari’s side again. ‘I trust you know better now.’ Corvino let the mace break the general’s arm as the old soldier roared at him and tried once more to gain the knife lying on the floor, then he tossed the weapon away. He walked toward the headboard of Mandalari’s bed, lifting a large object propped against the wall there.

  On the floor, the general writhed in torment, his mouth muttering garbled words between groans of agony. Corvino looked down at Mandalari. ‘It is no good calling for your valet,’ he said. ‘I saw him earlier, bleeding his life away in the gutter.’ Corvino snorted with contempt. ‘You couldn’t even manage to kill that mercenary without botching it.’ Mandalari’s eyes grew still wider with horror as he saw what his former spy held.

  He lamely reached his hand upward, muttering through his painwracked lips.

  ‘Now now,’ chided Corvino, lifting the heavy wooden leg high over his head. ‘None of that please, I detest long goodbyes.’ The fool brought the claw-footed leg down, smashing into the general’s head. And again. And again… Only when the sound of babbling voices began to drift into the bedchamber from the outer door of his sitting room did Corvino tear himself away from his gory distraction, slamming the wooden limb one last time into the puddle that had been Mandalari’s face.

  The fool quickly made his way to the small concealed door he had used to visit Mandalari in his capacity as the general’s spy. Just before slipping into the hidden passage, he glanced back at the general’s mangled body, a mad giggle rasping from his throat.

  ‘I always said you knew how to put your foot down,’ he laughed, before disappearing into the darkness.

  It was two hours after the fight in the Red Horse before Brunner and his companions returned to the Gambini palace. The men had taken the injured Meitz to a doctor dwelling in the district, forcing the leech out of a sound sleep to attend the old veteran. Zelten had refused to leave until he was satisfied that Meitz was past any immediate danger, though the doctor made it a point to remind the mercenary captain of the possibility of infection setting into his man’s wounds.

  Meitz had been left to rest in the doctor’s parlour, the Tilean tracker Guglielmo remaining with him to ensure that infection was the only thing that would arise to hinder the warrior’s recovery. The others had left to return to the palazzo, and investigate something Schtafel had observed about the mysterious man who had hired their assailants. The marksman was almost certain that he had seen the man at the palazzo before, attending the crippled General Mandalari.

  But whatever confrontation Zelten had been planning between himself and the old general was at once put aside by the scene outside the general’s room. Half the household seemed to be gathered in the corridor, Prince Gambini and Princess Juliana among them. A number of the household guards were forming a barrier between the servants and lesser courtiers and the doorway itself. They made to bar the way for the mercenaries as well, but one look at the grim visages of Zelten and his companions made the men think better of getting in their way.

  A small cluster of people were gathered about a shrouded form lying upon the floor. Standing over the body was the dour-faced priest Scurio, his black robe drawn tight about his body. The priest bore a look of solemn detachment, those others around him who had seen the corpse were ashen faced, some showing signs of sickness about their mouths.

  ‘Poor Mandalari,’ Prince Gambini commented. ‘Whatever could you have done to make someone do this to you?’ The merchant prince shook his head.

  ‘He is not going to answer you,’ observed the elderly Remaro, leaning against the tall slender figure of Corvino. For once, the fool’s smile was absent from his face, and he was clad only in a long white night shirt, instead of his normally extravagant attire. Corvino patted the old man’s shoulder, trying to soothe him into silence.

  ‘If my lord will allow,’ Scurio said, bowing before Prince Gambini. ‘It is within my ability to attempt to speak with the spirit of the departed.’ The priest’s dirge-like voice became still more grave. ‘Perhaps he may be able to reveal the identity of his killer. If I could remove the body to the chapel, I have everything I need to perform the necessary rituals there.’

  Prince Gambini waved his hand, giving Scurio permission to attempt his ritual. Brunner noted a quick fearful glance that Juliana directed first at Corvino, then at Zelten. The mercenary captain shook his head, trying to assure the princess that he had not been involved in the general’s demise. Corvino’s face, however, remained impassive, even after the frightened, accusing glance the princess had given him. The bounty hunter wondered about this, filing the fact away in his steely mind.

  ‘I shall perform the ritual at once,’ the priest stated.

  Scurio gave instructions to two of the soldiers standing near him to gather up the body. The two warriors walked toward the bed, removing a heavy blanket that had not fallen to the floor along with Mandalari. The mercenaries laid the blanket on the floor beside the dead general and rolled his ruined body onto it. Juliana hid her face as the full extent of the man’s injuries was revealed. Even Brunner was impressed, at once recalling Masario’s description of the slain serving wench in Pavona, a murder that looked like the handiwork of a blood-mad orc. Suddenly the murder of the old general assumed a professional interest for the bounty hunter.

  The soldiers each took two corners of the blanket, lifting it and the messy remains of Mandalari from the floor. The prince and the other onlookers parted as the two soldiers followed Scurio from the room.

  Prince Gambini looked over at the nearest of his palace guards. ‘I want all the sentries doubled,’ he stated. ‘I want the whereabouts of everyone in this house accounted for. I will find the murdering swine who dared this outrage within my house!’

  The prince’s tirade was interrupted as a guard forced his way into the room.

  ‘My lord,’ the man called out. ‘Your cousin is not within his rooms. We went there to ensure that he was safe, as you ordered, but he was not to be found.’ The guard paused, then added, ‘There was blood on his door!’

  This report caused the room to fall silent once more. It was Corvino who broke the quiet. ‘Can it be?�
�� he asked in a horrified voice. ‘Can it be that Alfredo committed this hideous crime?’

  The fool looked over at his master as he voiced the thought, then shifted his gaze to Juliana, favouring her with a knowing look. Brunner noticed the sudden pallor that crept into the woman’s face, the frightened widening of her eyes. There was something here that wasn’t being spoken, something that might prove of profound interest to the bounty hunter.

  Prince Gambini considered the fool’s accusation for a moment, then faced his guards once more. ‘Search the palace from gable to cellar! Find Alfredo and bring him to me!’

  The soldiers hastened to obey the prince, Zelten and his men departing with them. Brunner stood in the room a moment longer, considering the body for a moment before jogging after Zelten.

  ‘Well,’ he said as he caught up with Zelten in the corridor, ‘if Mandalari was trying to kill you, he certainly isn’t now.’

  Zelten shook his head. ‘Assassins I can deal with. Searching every dark corner of this palace looking for a madman is another matter entirely.’ The Reiklander laughed grimly. ‘This is no work for honest sell-swords and bounty hunters.’

  Brunner considered for a moment the look that had passed between Corvino and Juliana, then decided that perhaps it was something entirely unrelated to the murder. Perhaps the princess numbered men other than Zelten among her lovers. After all, he was certain that Corvino had been in Remas when Masario’s serving wench had been butchered. That fact decided him. ‘On the contrary,’ Brunner corrected him. ‘I believe I may have been looking for this man ever since I arrived.’

  In the corridor outside the small chapel of Morr within the Gambini palazzo, the once more gaudily dressed Corvino looked down at the young servant standing beside him in the corridor. The fool explained what he wanted in a soft, almost conspiratorial voice.