The Bounty Hunter

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

The door to the bar swung open slowly as Safita pushed against it and she squinted into the gloomy room as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the shadows. Tugging her hood and checking that it shielded her face properly she wound between the tables and headed towards the bar; after ordering a lukewarm pint of mead she settled down to wait. She had been in Scaera for nearly a week and had made her way through nearly half of the taverns and inns in the city over the past couple of days and her patience – which had been eroded over the years – was wearing thin. As she sipped at her drink she wondered what it would be like if Finred were still there, if he was sitting alongside her and helping her hunt down the prince. Over the past weeks she had become used to his company and the abrupt change in her life which was caused by their argument had thrown her off balance. It was strange for her to have to return to a way of life which she had almost forgotten how to live; although she told herself that she had slipped back into it as easily as putting on an old cloak it didn’t feel quite right, as if the material no longer fitted her body properly and she had been beginning to feel lonely, something she believed she had grown out of years before.

Her long fingers wrapped around her glass and she rested her elbows on the counter, the hum of murmuring voices drifting towards her as she drank her mead; she listened to the snippets of mumbled conversation which she could make out, hoping to hear some kind of clue as to the location of the prince amongst the back-alley business dealings and hushed discussions over low-burning candles and half-drained glasses. As she did so, among the rising and falling of unfamiliar voices she thought she heard one which she did recognise and it was one which was extremely unwelcome.

“It won’t be long before I am the highest paid bounty hunter in the Outlands,” the voice said, barely carrying through the noisy bar. Safita’s ears pricked up and she began to listen to the exchange, wondering if the statement was fuelled by alcoholic courage or whether she genuinely ought to be worried.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the other man lean in towards his friend. “Oh really, and why’s that? Because it will take something big to knock the Spider off his throne.”

“Ah but I have something big,” the man leaned back casually, crossing his arms with a satisfied smile, “something bigger than anything the Spider has. Something I actually, in fact, steal from right under the Spider’s stinking nose.”

“What?” The other man’s curiosity was pricked now and he sounded intrigued, eager to know what this secret was. His partner looked round cautiously before leaning in to whisper to his friend, obviously worried that one of the other bounty hunters in the room would overhear and make it their mission to pinch his prize. His words were very nearly lost to the din but not quite and Safita just managed to catch them, with only the odd word vanishing. The clamour of the bar was both an ally and an enemy to him because it protected his boast from most of the people gathered there but also forced him to speak slightly louder than he would normally so that his friend could hear. “About a month ago the Spider was approached by someone from the Palace and asked to find their prince who had vanished without a trace. They went to the best,” here he spat into his glass to show what he thought of the Spider and his knuckles whitened as he clutched the handle of his glass tightly, “but the best wasn’t good enough and the Spider spent nearly a month tracking him through the forests. He doesn’t even know who the prince is, let alone where to find him!”

“But you do?”

“Of course I do!” he spat. “I was the one who told him how to escape the goddamn Palace in the first place! I was well paid for it too as I should have been but not as well paid as I will be for bringing him back!”