The flickering torchlight, held by Kell – the wiry bounty hunter with the jagged scar across his cheek – cast long, dancing shadows that writhed across Leonotis's bound form and Borin's impassive face.
The third hunter, the one with the scarred visage who had threatened Leonotis with the crossbow earlier, was rifling through their saddlebags, his movements quick and efficient. He grunted, pulling out a crumpled, older piece of parchment.
"Hey, Kell," the scarred man called out, his voice a low growl. He held up the poster, its edges tattered. "Lookie what else we got here, from that last notice board in Stylwater. Seems our little green sprout ain't the only potential prize wandering these mountains."
Kell, who had been prodding Leonotis's burned hands with a detached, clinical interest, straightened up and squinted at the offered paper. It was older than Leonotis's poster, the ink faded in places, the parchment softened with age and damp.
The sketch depicted a figure with long, flowing hair, delicate features, and a vaguely regal, almost ethereal bearing – unmistakably Jacqueline. Beneath it, the title read:
"Wanted: Jacqueline of the Sunken City – For Burglary of Royal Artifacts and Evasion of Imperial Tithes."
The bounty listed was surprisingly, almost insultingly, small – a mere fifty silver pieces.
Kell scoffed, tossing the poster back contemptuously. "A burglar? Fifty silver? That's barely worth the trouble of hauling her back to the nearest magistrate, let alone tracking her up this gods-forsaken mountain. Probably some pampered brat who stole her mother's jewelry."
"Easy catch though, eh?" the scarred man grinned, revealing a row of stained, broken teeth. "A dainty little sea-sprite like that, hiking all alone up a treacherous mountain trail. Like catching a flopping trout in a bucket."
He eyed the towering, mist-shrouded peak of Water Mountain. "She headed up there, right? Figured she'd be safe among the clouds and waterfalls?"
Kell nodded, his gaze lingering for a moment on the distant, almost invisible figure of Jacqueline, who had been a small, rapidly ascending speck against the grey rock face before vanishing into the higher mists.
"Looks that way. Fifty silver ain't much, you're right, Borok," he said, finally naming the scarred man. "But she's alone, and probably not expecting pursuit for such a paltry sum. Two of us can grab her quick, make it a bonus, and be back down before this little greenie here causes any more trouble, or before someone else stumbles on her."
He nudged Leonotis none-too-gently with a heavy boot. "You stay put, mage-boy. Or you'll be missing more than just your freedom and the skin on your hands."
Borok grinned again, a predatory, greedy gleam in his one good eye. "Right then. Let's go snag ourselves a runaway princess, or whatever she is. You keep a close eye on the sprout and the nags, Big Man," he said to the hulking, silent brute who had been watching Leonotis with dull menace.
The hulking brute, Borin, merely grunted in acknowledgement, settling down more comfortably with his back against a saddle, his heavy-lidded gaze fixed on Leonotis with unwavering, dull menace.
With a final, dismissive glance at their captive, Kell and Borok started their ascent up the winding mountain path, their figures soon swallowed by the rugged terrain and encroaching shadows.
Leonotis watched them go, a cold dread settling in his stomach, quickly followed by a surge of desperate urgency.
He was alone with Borin, a brute who looked like he enjoyed cracking rocks with his bare hands for amusement, and Jacqueline, despite her abandonment, was heading into unknown dangers with two determined, ruthless bounty hunters on her tail.
Borin grunted his acknowledgement again. He settled his considerable bulk down with his back against a rough-hewn saddle, his gaze fixed on Leonotis with a dull, unwavering menace, as if the boy were a particularly uninteresting but potentially troublesome insect.
He picked at something lodged in his yellowed teeth with a grimy fingernail, the picture of overconfident indolence.
With a final, dismissive glance at their captive, Kell and the scarred man (Borok, though Leonotis didn't know his name, only the cruel set of his mouth) started their ascent up the winding, treacherous mountain path.
Their figures, laden with weapons, were soon swallowed by the rugged terrain and the encroaching, misty gloom of the higher altitudes.
Leonotis watched them go, a cold dread settling like a stone in his stomach.
He was alone, his hands agonizingly burned, at the mercy of a brute who looked like he enjoyed cracking rocks with his bare hands for casual amusement.
And Jacqueline, despite her desertion, was heading into unknown dangers with two determined, ruthless bounty hunters on her tail. The weight of it all felt crushing.