Brunner the Bounty Hunter

by C. L. Werner

  The knight gestured with a gauntleted hand, causing the archer who had fired to return to his position among the other soldiers. Then the mounted warrior fixed his attention upon the two bounty hunters.

  ‘It is seldom we receive visitors to our humble city,’ the knight spoke his Bretonnian with a lilted, antiquated quality. ‘I fear that the prejudices and superstitions of the peasant rabble are not very accepting of strangers,’ the knight continued.

  ‘Empty bellies and starving children have a habit of doing that,’ Brunner retorted. The knight chose not to take offence to the surly remark, shaking his helmeted head sadly.

  ‘It is true,’ the knight admitted. ‘Our fair city is far from its glory days and the minds of the common folk are plagued with doubts and petty fears.’ The knight straightened in his saddle. ‘Still, I apologise that you should be met with such discourtesy.’

  ‘We accept your apology,’ Brunner agreed, turning to recover his weapons.

  ‘Though it might ring a bit more sincere if laced with a touch of gold,’ Ulgrin informed the knight.

  Brunner froze in place, looking closely at the mounted warrior. The knight’s face was hidden behind the steel of his great helm, betraying nothing of the emotion that might be playing across his features. The knights of Bretonnia were quick to take offence to any attack upon their honour, and Brunner had begun to suspect that this strange black knight was more than a trifle mad. The bounty hunter braced himself for the explosion of indignation and outrage he was certain would soon issue from the knight.

  Instead, the helmeted head regarded Brunner exclusively, ignoring Ulgrin entirely. ‘If you are seeking employment, you may find the situation in Mousillon slightly less than vibrant,’ the knight informed him. ‘Still, for a man of such skill with the blade and such ruthless determination, I might have a position available.’ The knight chuckled inside his helmet, a sound that reminded Brunner of the sickening, insane giggle of the jester Corvino who had summoned the daemonic Mardagg to wreak havoc upon the city of Remas. ‘You see, we had a very nice view of the whole thing. You impressed me, and I couldn’t very well let the scum butcher your bones. Not when you might serve a nobler cause.’

  ‘You saw the whole thing and did nothing to stop it?’ snarled Ulgrin, fingering his axe. The men-at-arms tensed, the archers nocking arrows to their bows.

  The knight waved a dismissive hand. ‘What is past is past,’ he proclaimed. ‘I had to make certain of the quality of my hirelings before discussing such complexities as payment.’ The mention of payment stilled any further protest on the part of Ulgrin.

  Brunner nodded his head in agreement that the issue was settled. He could even appreciate, in a way, the twisted efficiency of such an exploitation of the murderous wretches. Still, it sickened him to have slain men whose bellies had growled even as they shrieked their half-hearted war cries. It sickened him more to see such suicidal desperation so ruthlessly utilised.

  ‘What is your proposition?’ the bounty hunter asked, keeping his distaste to himself.

  The knight looked askance at the crumbling buildings all around them, peering into the shadows. ‘This is no place to talk. Every mouse has ears, after all. You will follow me to a place where we may speak more freely and more openly.’

  The place to which the black knight led the bounty hunters was just within the massive stone wall that had once surrounded the city. Here the ground was more solid, scraggly bushes occasionally poking through the sickly soil. The buildings were less dilapidated than those beyond the wall, though they were still a far cry from being well-maintained. Holes in the plaster and wood walls were haphazardly patched with dried mud and straw, gaps in tile roofs were stuffed with bundles of thatch. The few denizens of this inner district that the men encountered were still miserable to gaze upon, but their limbs seemed to match and what covered their backs bore a passing resemblance to clothing. The stamp of desperate poverty was still omnipresent, however. One old woman, upon sighting the approaching warriors, fished her meal from the boiling pot resting on the ground before her, cradling the halfcooked rat to her chest with a scalded hand.

  At length, amidst the misery, the knight stopped before what must once have been a prosperous eatery and inn. The black-clad figure dismounted his warhorse in a single fluid motion, then turned his obscured face back toward his guests. ‘We can talk here,’ the knight informed the two bounty hunters. ‘The owner of this establishment can be trusted to keep his mouth shut.’ Again the sinister chuckle echoed from within the knight’s great helm. ‘Not that a man without a tongue can do much talking anyway.’

  As if dismissing whatever threat Brunner and Ulgrin might pose to him, the black knight ordered his soldiers to remain outside, to guard his horse and ensure that their meeting went undisturbed. Inside the inn, the men found a large common room, a gaggle of mismatched chairs and tables staggered about the floor. A large fireplace, from which many of the hearthstones and most of the iron work had been stripped, dominated one wall. A collection of mangy, lice-ridden animal heads adorned another. A faded painting, depicting some past lord of Mousillon riding out to war, rested behind the bar, green spider webs of mildew already picking at the pigment.

  The knight sat down with a bold flourish at one of the tables, indicating with an armoured hand that his companions should take seats beside him. The warrior looked away, stabbing a finger at the little, gnome-like man who stood dejectedly behind the bar. The man hopped into action, snatching up a chipped crystal glass and a clay bottle, hurrying to place both before the knight. Brunner noted the extremely pale liquid that the knight poured into his glass, wondering for a moment just how much water had diluted the brew. He also noted that the knight made no motion to remove his helmet or lift his glass. And, of course, the fact that the innkeeper had brought only one glass was not lost on the two bounty hunters.

  ‘You spoke of a position?’ Brunner inquired after the uncomfortable silence had persisted for too long. The knight seemed to rouse himself from some inward contemplation, lifting his helmeted head to stare at the bounty killer. ‘What is it that you need us to do?’

  The knight leaned back in his chair, his armoured bulk causing the wood to groan in protest. ‘That should be obvious,’ he said. ‘I need you to kill someone. Someone who has made the atmosphere within Mousillon quite unpleasant of late.’

  ‘I wouldn’t think it would be possible to make this place any less pleasant,’ muttered Ulgrin, picking splinters from the tabletop. Again, the knight chose to ignore the flippant comment.

  ‘There is a malcontent, you see,’ the knight stated. ‘One whose interests are at odds with those of the other noble houses yet left to Mousillon. Often violently so,’ the knight left the vision of murder and battle hang in the air a moment before resuming his speech. ‘As you may know, after the heresy of Duc Maldred, the realm of Mousillon was effectively destroyed and the position of duc abolished by the king. Our best farmlands were given over to Lyonesse and the rest left to rot and fester in whatever fashion the gods might deem fitting. Of course, those of us who were left, after Maldred’s madness and after the red pox had run their course, tried our best to rebuild our land with what was left to us. It is more by sufferance and indifference on the part of the king and our neighbours that we are allowed to do so. If any of them felt that our humble city was again becoming a threat, it is not impossible that the king might declare a new Errantry War to dispose of us for once and all.’

  ‘All very interesting, I am sure,’ Brunner interrupted. ‘But how does all of this concern me?’

  ‘I was just coming to that,’ the knight responded, a faint suggestion of annoyance in his lilting voice. ‘This miscreant I have mentioned, one Marquis Marimund, has made himself a threat to the other noble houses of Mousillon, and indeed to the city itself. Like a bloated leech, he preys upon this city, sucking the life from it, scavenging every last scrap of power and control he can seize. From his castle in the north-east quarter, Marimun
d’s ruffians have made themselves the horror of the peasants, exacting a gruelling tribute from them, leaving nothing for the rightful rulers of the other districts to collect and claim. His thugs do battle with our soldiers in the streets, dozens of bodies are dumped into the bog each day, with no end to the strife in sight. But worse than all of this, Marimund has started to call himself Duc Marimund, and begun to cast his eyes beyond the walls of this city. That would bring down the wrath of the king upon us, and we cannot defend ourselves against his ire.’

  ‘Why not attend to this Marimund yourself?’ Brunner asked.

  ‘We have tried,’ the knight stated frankly. ‘He does not fight his own battles but leaves them to his champion, an honourless brute named Corbus, who has yet to even be scratched by our best knights. His blade is swift and his strength is that of a titan. The heads of a score of heroes who fell before Corbus now grace the gates of Marimund’s castle. And then there is his enchantress, a dire witch who now serves the Duc Marimund and his twisted ambitions. Her spells warn him of any ambush we ready to capture him. Between Corbus and the witch, Marimund has managed to keep himself beyond our reach.’

  ‘It sounds like a challenging prospect,’ Brunner said. He lifted himself from the table. ‘But I am no assassin. I have come here looking for a man, a stranger to Mousillon like myself. I have no time to intrude upon local politics.’

  The black knight’s mailed fist came crashing down with such force upon the table that the rotten wood crumbled beneath it. ‘Damn your insolence, sell-sword! You will do whatever I tell you to do!’ The fiery words seemed to explode from within the great helm, echoing like the roar of a troll. Brunner’s hand closed about the hilt of Drakesmalice, drawing it several inches before he was even aware of the motion. Ulgrin had fallen from his chair, startled by the violent outburst, yet was quick to regain his footing, and his axe.

  Yet the tirade was over as soon as it had begun. With elaborate calmness, the black knight began plucking wooden splinters from between the steel plates of his gauntlet. ‘For this service, I shall pay you the princely sum of one hundred golden crowns,’ the knight spoke as though Brunner had never taken issue with the offer. ‘As for this man you are looking for, I can tell you that yourself and your little friend are the first strangers who have found sanctuary with any of the nobles of Mousillon. Perhaps the man you are looking for has found shelter within Marimund’s household. Otherwise, you should look to the graveyards and the bellies of the ghouls for this man you are seeking.’

  ‘It is a simple plan, really,’ the knight informed the two bounty hunters. ‘Sadly, we need an unknown quantity such as yourselves for it to work properly. I had a very promising Norscan who happened into our city to serve the role I would hire you to play, but sadly the fellow simply could not heed my advice to stay off the streets at night. The ghouls, you understand.’ Brunner had the impression that the face behind the helm was favouring them with a mocking smile. ‘Luckily, everything is still in place, just waiting for a man of your particular skills. Tomorrow, in the old hay market, I have arranged for one of my squires, a man named Feder, to be collecting tribute from the corn farmers. Of course, Marimund will get word of this and send his champion and a gang of his animals to secure that tribute for himself. I’m afraid that quite a fight will unfold when Corbus discovers that the information regarding how many men-at-arms are with Feder is a bit, shall we say, on the conservative side. That is where you come in. You will intervene in the fight on the side of Corbus. Impress him enough and he is certain to offer you a position with Marimund’s guard.’ A chortle of anticipation bubbled from behind the helm. ‘That will get you inside the castle, and get you close to Marimund. The rest, I leave to you.’ The knight waved his gauntlet in a dismissive manner. ‘Bring me the scoundrel’s head when you are finished and you shall have your payment.’

  Brunner glared at the arrogant armoured warrior for a moment, then thought better of pursuing any confrontation with him. The bounty hunter simply nodded his head, turning on his heel and marching for the door. Ulgrin hesitated a moment, then hurried after his comrade. When the two stood once more upon the desolate street, it was the dwarf who spoke first.

  ‘Surely you don’t mean to accept that braggart’s offer?’ Ulgrin inquired. ‘One hundred gold crowns!’ he scoffed. ‘That might be pretty money, but not to someone searching for two thousand!’

  ‘He might be right, if he’s telling the truth,’ Brunner observed as he began to lead the dwarf away from the inn. A pair of the black-and-gold garbed soldiers followed them at a discreet distance. ‘Gobineau had a definite purpose in mind when he rode for this place. If he’s not taken up with any of our patron’s friends, then perhaps he has sought shelter with Marimund.’

  ‘What if that other possibility is what happened?’ growled Ulgrin. ‘What if the fool got himself killed or eaten by the scum that infests this dung-heap?’

  Brunner smiled down at the surly dwarf. ‘In that case, we’re wasting our time.’

  ‘Ah well,’ Ulgrin sighed. ‘I suppose splitting a hundred is better than splitting nothing at all.’

  ‘Oh, he won’t pay us,’ Brunner told the dwarf, speaking from the corner of his mouth. ‘He can’t afford to. Even if we do all that he hopes, even if we kill Marimund, Corbus and the witch, our friend back there won’t pay. They have peculiar notions about honour and nobility in Bretonnia. A knight may kill another knight, but for some untitled commoner to strike down even the most hated nobleman is a great affront, something that simply cannot be tolerated.’ Brunner shook his head. ‘No, if we were to kill Marimund, we’d be putting a death mark on our own heads. Besides,’ the bounty hunter continued, ‘I don’t like being hired like some guttercrawling assassin. There are certain lines that even I won’t cross.’

  ‘So what do you propose that we do?’ Ulgrin demanded.

  ‘I’ll go ahead with our friend’s plan,’ Brunner informed him. ‘It’s far too good an opportunity to gain entry to Marimund’s castle to pass up and it will convince our friend back there that I’m following his plan.’

  ‘I couldn’t help notice that you were referring only to yourself,’ Ulgrin pointed out, his face contorted into a scowl beneath his dishevelled beard. ‘What about me?’

  ‘You, my friend, will need to find another way into Marimund’s castle,’ Brunner said. ‘After all, we might not be able to get out the same way I got in. I’d prefer to have another route open to me.’

  ‘And why does the dwarf get to find this magic entryway?’ Ulgrin grumbled, kicking a loose corner of paving stone down the narrow street.

  ‘I’ve been here before,’ the bounty hunter reminded him. ‘The castles of Mousillon all share one common feature, something of a rarity in Bretonnia. They were built with a drainage system, a network of underground culverts that empties into the Grismerie. Who better to send sniffing around for a tunnel than a dwarf?’

  Ulgrin Baleaxe nodded his head as he considered the wisdom behind Brunner’s plan. ‘You always were a cautious character,’ the dwarf declared. ‘But I see the sense in these schemes of yours. When do I go looking for this secret slop chute?’

  ‘When it’s dark, naturally,’ Brunner returned, looking past the dwarf to stare at the two soldiers trailing after them. ‘Better chance of losing any unwanted hangers on that way.’

  ‘One way, or another,’ Ulgrin replied, his fists clenching about the heft of his axe.

  ‘Just make certain you don’t get yourself killed,’ Brunner warned the dwarf. ‘At least not until after we’ve found Gobineau if he’s there and found a way out of the castle.’

  Night had fallen upon the cursed city, casting its darkness upon the rotted ruins and festering slums like some dour priest drawing a shroud over the face of a corpse. Screams and laughter sang out from the desolation, insane sounds that seemed loudest where the light and life were least. The broken, burned-out ruin of one castle, which Brunner had been told once belonged to Duc Malford, glowed with
an unearthly shine. From its darkened halls, the faint strains of a waltz seemed to issue, the ghosts of the perpetrator of the infamous False Grail and his court of the damned forever cursed to haunt the mouldering passages and corridors.

  Ulgrin Baleaxe crept through the blighted streets, cursing once again the folly that had made him set aside the past and join forces with Brunner. The bounty hunter’s plan had sounded feasible enough in the light of day, but now, with the desolate city seeming to crawl with unnatural, unholy energies, the dwarf was regretting ever agreeing to Brunner’s plan. It was not the dark that so disquieted Ulgrin, indeed, he had spent most of his life in tunnels and mines far less illuminated. It was the wispy shapes he’d seen dancing about the collapsed balconies of castle towers, the disembodied merriment that rang out from the most dilapidated and abandoned buildings. The dwarfs were a people who venerated and worshipped their ancestors, to them, the thought of dead spirits walking the earth in perpetual madness and misery was an obscenity beyond sacrilege, a horror that plucked at the very soul.

  The dwarf shuddered as furtive noises issued from an alleyway to his left. Ulgrin thought of the grotesquely oversized rats he’d seen beneath Zhufbar, their fur matted with filth, their chisel-like teeth gleaming with the fresh blood of their prey. The warrior shuddered, bringing his great axe down from his shoulder so that he gripped it across his chest. He’d already seen the loathsome, sub-human corpse-eaters once this night. A pack of the ghastly scavengers had erupted out of a similar darkened alley, swarming about the dwarf, clawing at him with their long black claws, snapping at him with their fanged mouths. Ulgrin had stood his ground before the ghouls, removing the arm from the boldest of the pack, and taking the head from one of its friends. That had taken the fight out of the others. They had sullenly withdrawn, retrieving the corpses of their former comrades. Ulgrin guessed that burial was far from their intentions.