The air grew cooler, carrying the damp scent of moss and wet stone as they approached the base of the Water Mountain. The constant, pervasive sound of cascading water, a low roar from unseen heights, echoed down its verdant, pine-studded slopes.
Towering pines, their ancient roots gripping moss-covered rocks, created a tranquil, almost sacred atmosphere, a stark contrast to the menacing gloom of Anansi's Forest.
Leonotis craned his neck, marveling at the sheer, intimidating size of their destination, its peak lost in a swirl of low-hanging cloud.
A palpable sense of anticipation, of nearing a vital threshold, radiated from Jacqueline; the destination of her months-long, sorrowful quest was finally close, infusing her movements with a new, almost urgent grace.
Low, ever vigilant, moved with a hunter's quiet tread, her eyes constantly scanning the dense surrounding foliage, her hand never straying far from the smooth, heavy throwing stones tucked into her belt.
Their peaceful, if wary, ascent was shattered without a whisper of warning.
From behind a cluster of ancient, lichen-covered boulders that flanked the narrow path, figures erupted with a sudden, brutal efficiency.
Three of them, clad in mismatched, roughspun leather armor and bearing an assortment of blades, heavy cudgels, and precisely aimed crossbows, moved with the practiced, predatory coordination of a seasoned wolf pack. Their eyes, hard as river stones and glinting with undisguised avarice, locked onto Leonotis with chilling focus.
"Well, well, well," a gruff voice sneered.
The speaker was a burly man, his face a roadmap of old scars, one eye milky and blind, the other keenly fixed on Leonotis. His crossbow was aimed squarely at the boy's chest, steady and unwavering.
"Look what the tide finally dragged in. Heard whispers in Stylwater of a little green sprout causing some... disturbances." He gestured with his chin towards Leonotis, a cruel smirk twisting his lips.
"That's him, ain't it? Matches the pretty little sketches the King's men are papering every tavern with."
Another bounty hunter, lean and wiry with a nervous tic at the corner of his mouth and a cruel, thin-lipped smile, produced a crumpled, dirt-stained piece of parchment.
He smoothed it out with a grimy thumb – a crude but recognizable drawing depicting a boy with unruly dark hair and a root-sword. The price scrawled beneath the drawing in bold, official script was surprisingly, shockingly high.
"The verdant little weed himself," the wiry man rasped, his voice like dry leaves skittering over stone.
"Seems King Rega's offering a king's ransom for your unique talents, boy. Dead or alive, though alive pays better."
Recognition, cold and sharp, dawned on Leonotis, a knot of pure dread tightening in his stomach.
Wanted posters. He hadn't even considered that his desperate display of magic at the orphanage auction might have consequences that rippled this far, that made him prey.
Jacqueline's eyes flashed with a sudden, incandescent fury.
"Get away from us!" she commanded, her voice, usually soft, now ringing with an unexpected authority.
Her hands, already beginning to glow with a faint, pulsing blue luminescence, clenched into fists as water droplets beaded in the air around her, coalescing into shimmering, unstable orbs.
Low, her stance already low and ready, had palmed two of her sharpest, flint-edged stones before the first bounty hunter had even finished speaking.
The tranquil mountain base, moments before a haven of green and stone, had instantly transformed into a scene of imminent, deadly violence.
The hunt, it seemed, had finally found its quarry.