Chapter 3
Flynn woke up from a solid night's rest in a too-lumpy bed that he believed was infested with some kind of bugs. It was not the first time he had slept in such conditions, but it was certainly better than sleeping on tree roots in the woods, where rough-shod characters could slit your throat in the night.
He stretched, his scar-crossed chest rippling with smooth muscle as he did so before donning his shirt and vest again, strapping his belt on, and slipping his long coat over the whole outfit. Cracking his neck and knuckles, he went downstairs for a bite to eat.
As was to be expected, the food was less than extravagant, but Flynn didn't complain, keeping his head low so nobody noticed him. The eggs were greasy, the bacon greasier, and the ale had a thin film of… something on the surface. It filled him up, though, and as he chewed silently, he listened.
It was at places like this that he could pick up hints, tips, and clues as to where his quarry was, and it wasn't long before he found something.
"So how long do we have to guard the lady?" one ruffian asked another.
"As long as the bosses say," his partner replied, "Besides the pay is good. The twins are splitting fifty amongst the lot of us each week."
"You've got a point there. In fact, just keeping guard may not be that bad." They both shared a chuckle at that, then the first continued, "So we need to just keep an eye out for that one guy?"
"Mhm," the second thug replied, "The bosses say that it's another hundred if we kill him, plus the bounty on his head."
The first gave a low whistle, "I guess that the lady is really paranoid about this Flynn Ryder character.
At the mention of his name, Flynn's ears pricked up and he began listening more intently.
"Well, I would be too," the second responded, "He's one of the finest swordsmen in the kingdoms."
The first simply gave a grunt before downing the last of his ale and standing up, "Well, we have to go. We don't want to keep the brothers waiting."
With that, they left, and Flynn contained a sinister smile. Paying for his breakfast, he left, following the two thugs at a distance.
Gothel kissed Rapunzel on the forehead, a basket on her arm, saying a polite goodbye before she lowered herself down Rapunzel's long golden locks and leaving the grotto.
In order to maintain the illusion that she was still at the tower, she had to leave unseen. Mother Gothel cloaked herself in a little spell she had learned as a child, one that wasn't necessarily invisibility, but would ensure that people didn't notice her passing.
Leaving the grotto, she saw two or three of the Stabbington Brothers' thugs keeping watch, walking by unnoticed, she smiled wickedly to herself, the leaves not even deigning to crack under her feet. Once she was sure that she was out of sight and sound of the brothers, she let out a sigh and released the magic that cloaked her, the dissipation of the spell lifting a great weight from her shoulders.
So she walked on, leaving to bring her daughter some of those colored pens.
Flynn was silent as a mouse, yet watched like a hawk and listened like a fox. The two thugs were loud in comparison to most of Flynn's previous prey, yet still moved quietly enough to remain unnoticed by most that would be listening.
"Most" being the operative word there.
Making a point to avoid the patches of fallen leaves and dry, brittle twigs, Flynn Ryder moved like a shadow in the morning until the two thugs stopped in a stand of trees, two tall individuals stepping out to greet them.
Flynn was too far out to hear them, yet he could identify the men as Paul and Ivan Stabbington, mercenaries renowned for brutal efficiency…. Or just plain brutality. Depended on how you looked at it.
Further investigation revealed that the four thugs were not alone. Just at first glance, Flynn found where five more would be hiding and swore under his breath. If he could find five with but a glance, then there were more surely out of his view.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped out from behind the tree, revealing himself to the Stabbington Brothers.
One of them, the one with only one eye, grinned wickedly and said, "Well, Flynn Ryder, looks like we didn't have to wait long for you. One day, we get the job, the next day, you show up."
Flynn rested a hand on the pommel of his sword. "I'm not here to kill you. Just let me pass and you will live."
The other brother, the one with the thick sideburns, laughed, "Kill him. Remember what Gothel said about the price on his head."
As he finished the first sentence, eight men revealed themselves.
"Twelve of you," Flynn said, "I was hoping I wouldn't have to shed too much blood this job, but it seems my hand will be forced." He drew his sword in one smooth motion, the blade signing as it slipped out of the leather sheath, the metal shining in the light. Flynn held it ready as the twelve men charged him.
Some of them were smart, including the twins, who circled around to flank him, but the rest of them paid for their stupidity with their lives. One thug brought his hammer about in a skull-crushing blow, hoping to end Flynn right there.
A flicker of metal, and Flynn parted his throat, allowing a crimson flood to come forth. Spinning, the swordsman met the next strike, dodging a spiked club as he did so. They began closing in, and Flynn performed the Iron Dance more intently.
His feet moved in the dance, allowing his body to flow through the forms his father taught him. Wind Rushes over the Plain disemboweled two men, and Swan on the Riverbank tripped another, allowing for a fourth kill.
Soon, Flynn Ryder was not even conscious of his movements, so intent was he on the dance, not even the blood of his fallen foes able to touch him. Soon, there were only two left: the Stabbington Brothers.
Ivan and Paul Stabbington looked across the blood-soaked forest at each other, the deadly mercenary between them before coming in at the same time. Flynn met their swords with his own, his gently curving blade turning aside one strike after another before he dodged out of the way, cracking the pommel of his sword over the base of Ivan's head, knocking him out.
Ivan crumpled like a sack of grain, leaving only Paul. The one-eyed man snarled and brought his heavy, cleaver-like sword in a brutal strike, which Flynn easily avoided, stepping into its wake to drive his blade into Paul's foot and cracking him across the jaw, the strike putting the other Stabbington Brother down.
As the two large men crumpled, Flynn sighed and wiped his blade clean on the jerkin of some poor groaning thug and walked on to hopefully find the tower.
