Author's Deeply Idiotic Note: Ah! Here we go, the real beginning! A long, nice fat chapter, with delicious descriptions (I luuurve descriptions!) and colorful dialogues! Yeah! I know I must sound horrendously self-conceited, but well, one can't help feeling a certain pride when one reads one's own masterpiece…Admit it. Anyway, read on, and don't forget to review, which is a word you must never forget, and should better tattoo on your shin.

Chapter Seven

The Predator's lair

It took them nearly three days and nights to reach the flamboyant GreenLands. At the first day, they had been luckily rescued by a tall, fast merchant caravel called the Sweet Lily, whose captain was a tall, thin, grey haired menacing man called Captain Dolpheen. Arach, bored to death, had spent her time annoying everyone she could find in anyway possible, and ruthlessly spitting at the surprised sailors, while Hawkke had stayed in their tiny room, locked in his silence and smoke, drawing deep puffs from his dark glossy pipe.

The immensely famous Port of GreenLands was a rarely beautiful, over-crowded, richly merry port; next to a bright, white, cheery city where the popular markets were abounding and the women held themselves handsomely, all of a beautiful and slim kind in their deliciously colored, grandly fine-looking dresses. It was a well-known city; with its numerous inns and taverns, its crowded markets, its magnificent gardens, and especially its remarkable weavers and tailors, who could make out of nearly nothing incredibly fine materials such as water-fine silks, rich luxurious velvets, gossamer dazzling laces and feather-light muslins, and make out of those garments of a rare magnificence and cheapness. The city was build very close to the port, climbing towards the cerulean canopy of the sky and clear, simple white roofs and twisted chimneys, and protected by a river that was separating it from the rest of the GreenLands, a long, glittering river called the Blue Lily, because of the lovely blue water-lilies that were always growing at its pure edges. This city was the main city of the GreenLands, the city of commerce and light, the city were all youths dreamed to live and win their place, which they usually could do with very few problems. Beyond were the many castles and manors of the Barons and Lords, their domains, and even farther beyond were the NorthLands, cold, desolated pale fields of dead trees, snowy, cold ground and solid lakes.

The moment they touched land, Arach casually jumped down and tried to give to the slip to the vigilant hunter, who vigorously pulled both her hands in her back to tie her again, and dragged her to a rag-clad, cute little boy who was selling two or three horses next to a vivid inn on which's wooden sign were two crossed, white horses. The boy peeped sheepishly up behind his brown strands at the hunter, and grinned encouragingly at his captive, who held her tongue at him, winked in spite of herself, and gave a tentative tug at her ropes, with no effects at all on either it or the hunter.

'How much do you sell your horses, little boy?' enquired coldly Hawkke, glancing at the three horses that were slowly eating the birthing grass with disgust in his haughty golden eyes.

'Five coins gold one, my Lord,' answered the boy, looking frightfully at Hawkke.

'Five coins gold for one of those corpses?' he said disdainfully.

'Stop talking like that to everyone!' said angrily Arach, 'Must you feel so superior you must think that everyone that is not a hunter is in the mud, you filthy little…'

'You shut your sweet vast mouth and try to keep your tongue behind your teeth,' he said, but she ignored him, turned to the frightened boy and said:

'For how much can I get a ship here, little brother?'

'You can have one for less than four hundred golden coins if you know where to look for them,' said the boy, gratefully.

'So much!' she exclaimed, slightly disappointed.

'What are you thinking about?' snapped Hawkke; he threw a bag of gold to the boy, and took a horse, on which he hauled Arach and then climbed himself.

'Stay close to me, assassin, lest you fall in the crowd,' he whispered softly in her ear, giving a small kick to the steed.

'Do not worry, if I fell, it would be from free will,' she replied, mournfully.

They rode in silence through the crowded city, until they finally crossed the great stone bridge over the sunny river, and went away from the shimmering Blue Lily into beautiful, emerald green fields were the grass was undulating like a sea of green waves under the Northern wind of GreenLands.

Arach, in front of him, was silent and still, the wind slashing her hair back on Hawkke's shoulder. The light and joyful sounds of GreenLands hurt her, and she nearly couldn't bear the delicate touch of light and soft wind on her ghostly pale skin. Suddenly, she said, raising her voice upon the speed's wind and sounding childishly hopeful:

'If you gave me money, and held me free, I could find and kill the woman for you, then go as I want, like this you'd be free of me and her, I would have my money, and we would both be contented.'

Hawkke seemed to be taken aback by her habile proposition and he said slowly, not really minding if she could hear him or not:

'What proves me that you won't fail? Or that you won't simply go away with my money?'

'Well, it is Assassination Honor Law,' she said, much more lightly, because she knew she was in her element, and she started to count on her finger, reciting: 'Kill the one gold ordered, or else die. Never betray gold, or else die. Two of the most important laws,' she added as a self-satisfied conclusion.

'Does everything is just gold to your eyes?' he asked bitterly.

'What else could it be? Nothing else could give me happiness save from gold,' she said, trying to turn to look at him.

'Have you never had a bit of love for anyone?' he asked keeping his handsome face out of her gaze.

'And what next?' she replied, with such a disdain of this feeling it startled him, 'What use would it be? It's not bringing gold, after all, just a bunch of troubles in your life and nothing else.'

'Tell me, young girl, if I was to give you gold, and ask you to kill your most close friend, would you do it?'

'I don't have any close friend. Too useless. But yes. Gold is gold and I'd do anything for gold,' she declared solemnly.

'Everything is just gold to your eyes,' he said again, disgustedly, and he pulled her harder against him, leaning his chest against her back, stuffing his sharp nose in the sweeping jet waves of her tenebrous hair. The hand he didn't used to ride the horse was locked tightly around her waist, and his subtle breath made her feel so strange and so nervous when she felt in on her temple, that she said:

'Keep me away from you, hunter, and stop breathing in my hair.'

'I like the scent of your hair,' he murmured, but suddenly, he cried: 'Look, kid, here are my domains, with the Predator's Lair, my castle, how do you like it?'

'It is beautiful,' she said in a low voice, and it surprised him.

The Predator's Lair was beautiful. A tall, dark stone castle, with dozens of black birds flying and screaming over it, glorious dark gold and black standards flapping in the fresh wind, the sun breaking its lights against the hard stones. The castle was surrounded with little white and black wooden houses, and the great door was preceded by a stone-grounded court were a few peoples dressed all in glorious black and gold were chatting, working and busying themselves around the houses and the castle. When they had passed under the tall arch that made a whole in the stoned wall surrounding the Hunter's castle and arrived in the courtyard, the horse's hoofs clicking energetically on the stones, a cheer welcomed Hawkke, and when he jumped out of the steed, two young men immediately came to pull Arach gently on the floor and to take the beast to the stables. Hawkke grabbed the young girl's arms, and shouted:

'Crowe! Robeen! Get a room ready for the kid!'

'I am not a kid!' protested Arach, while the two young men ran out of the stables and disappearing in the castle.

Hawkke didn't answer, and followed his men in, taking Arach with him. Inside, it was darker, giving on a long, warm, crowded hall, with only lights the two fires at the end of the room and the dim clarity from the opened door. Gold and ebony chandeliers were scattered all over a long, dark wood table, were roasted meat, tall greenish bottles, ripe fresh fruits, fat white bread and cheese were standing, spreading their delicious odors all around the room. Girls, women, warriors, boys, all the population of Predator's Lair were obviously there, eating, arguing, laughing, while on the middle of the table the fool was making music, singing some stupid verses at which the young maidens were chuckling gaily.

Hawkke, taking Arach with him, went to sit at one of the benches, between two young men, that were drinking a great bottle of whine just for the two of them while talking animatedly.

'I see that you have taken advantage that I was far to achieve your great goal of the life,' said Hawkke, taking the bottle from the hand of the left man's hand, 'Ruin me by drinking all my whine, eh?'

'Sorry, our Master, t'was too good to resist,' said the man with the blond hair, a merry youth, gulping his glass all at once.

'Who's that you've got with ye, our Master?' asked the second one, a blue eyed Bird.

'Yeah, who's the lass?'

'A kid from StonePort,' said Hawk vaguely.

'I am not a kid!' cried Arach, pulling furiously at her ropes, then sending her elbow sharply in his arm, 'I am an ass—'

'Yes, a silly ass, you are,' said Hawkke, and shouted above all the noise from the Hall 'Robin, come here and take the kid to her chamber!'

The man called Robin, tall and slim, with sweet hazel brown hair and silvery grey eyes materialized from nowhere just behind Arach, who started, forgetting to protest that she was not a kid but an assassin, to turn her fury towards the young man. Hawkke limply helped Arach to pull herself upright, and Robin gallantly took her elbow, taking her out of the room, in a dark, richly hung with tapestries and bedecked with statues and high oaken furniture corridor, behind tall slender pillars of carven stone and up a beautiful wooden staircase. He led her through another, narrower, and bare corridor where two long lines of tall wooden doors gave upon the rooms of the guests, and finally he opened one of the doors at the far end, next to a tall, curtain-less, dirty-paneled window. Waving inside the room, he bowed, and said:

'Your room, my Lady.'

'I am not a Lady I am…' started Arach, but he gently pushed her in, and closed the door again, so she broke out, yelled: 'You cad!' at the door, and then was silent.

The room was not very large, but not so small altogether. It was furnished with a large oaken bed on which were a thick straw mattress and two bear-fur blankets, a little table with a marble basin on it and two high-backed chairs, and rugs on the cold stone floor, next to the bed and the fireplace, were a bright little fire was discreetly burning. Arach, still foaming with rage, suddenly noticed that both her hands were gloriously free, and rapturously, she stretched, like a feline, and threw herself on the bed. The pillows were white, clean and fresh-scenting, and the blankets smelled good, chasing away any harmful idea, so that she very nearly forgot she had to try to escape; her mind returned to her when she saw two slender, adorned swords that were hanging at the wall, obviously for decoration.

A long, satisfied smile stretching thin scarlet on her white face, her black eyes glittering black sparkles, Arach went to see the swords. They were sabers, light and beautiful, but they looked also very sharp, so she took one of them, and went to the door. Then she stopped. They were too much of those people outside, she would never be able to kill them all, she reflected, annoyed; on the off-chance, she went to look at the window. It was narrow but tall, with dark red curtains hanging at each side and trailing on the floor. Arach opened the glass panels, and looked tentatively outside. Only to discover that her room was too high for her to jump; however, there was a narrow edge, and if she could stealthily slip all along it and reach the wall, then jump in a tree and reach the floor— Arach sighed and nearly toppled outside when she heard behind her:

'You have really no brain at all, kid, if you're thinking about escaping by the window.'

She turned abruptly, and clutched her saber so hard her knuckles nearly lost all color. Hawkke was looking at her with golden eyes full of irony, but also of amusement, even though he looked weary and drawn, leaning at the threshold.

'You don't come near or I slit your throat off, hunter,' said Arach savagely, drawing her weapon high, 'and stop calling me kid.'

'You look like a kid even more with this toy you're not allowed to play with, my sweet one,' he replied indolently, and casually, stepped in the room, locking the door behind him.

'Would you kill me as well if I'd told you I am willing to pay you to kill her.' he went on, smiling, sitting on the bed in an annoying landlordly way.

'You've changed, and I am not sure that I like it. And stop looking at me like that!' she cried savagely, stepping back nearer to the window, clutching the sword even tighter.

'Really? I have changed and I look at you in a way you don't like. Interesting,' he drawled, 'So, what say you about the proposition?'

'Show the gold before, I lower the saber after,' she said, spitefully.

He threw a fat, very big bag of gold at her face, and when she had looked at its content, ravenous, she smiled widely, and threw the sword on the floor.

'Ooh yeah! I'll take the job!'

'Ah, it's good. I won't have to run after you all the time then.'

She bent down to take the weapon again, and made toward the door, but he stopped her by saying nonchalantly:

'The door is locked and you needn't go.'

'One thing I want to tell you hunter, I am not staying here. That's your place, not mine. I am going back at StonePort to look for the woman. I don't even understand why you have taken me here.'

'I have taken you here, because I made my own inquest, kid, and I discovered that the woman had left StonePort two hours after talking to you, and that she was heading to the GreenLands. She's certainly one of my rivals, one of those filthy barons from the west, and I even made the necessary to make your business easier: I invited all the barons and lords of the GreenLands to a great celebration at the castle: you, the only thing you will have to do is to spot her, and kill her. Understood?'

'I do whatever I want,' she replied, frowning, feeling nervous to see him leaning so comfortably on this bed, locked with her in a bedroom in his own castle. She hugged the sword, and drew it higher, closer to her face in a defensive way.

'I am not so sure about it, kid.'

'Am not a kid!' yelled Arach, and the last string of any composure snapped; she threw herself on him, clutching her sword.

Swiftly moving away from her path, Hawkke ducked just before she had time to strike, and her blow as well as herself went to crush in the bed. He laughed out, took the saber away from her, reached for the other, and said, gracefully making to the door:

'Go and wash yourself, kid. There is water in the next room, as well as proper clothes. Make hast, kid, I am going to come back with some food for you. And don't try anything stupid, kid.'

'Curse you to the seven hells, I am not a kid!' screamed Arach, sitting up and ragingly throwing her hair away form her face; but he had already shut the door and went away in the corridor.

She remained on the bed for a few more moments, thinking about not going to wash and dress, just for the pleasure of disobeying him, but she indeed felt very dirty, and her tunic was starting to smell. Cursing like a witch from the Northern plains of the Pentagram, she went to the next room, a little room with a small window in which were standing a thick wooden tub full of steaming water and a chair on which were standing a little pack of dark clothes and a piece of dazzlingly white soap.

Arach sighed in a deeply fatalistic way, and sniffed in the perfumed air, then she shook away her coat, which she hadn't once taken off during the whole adventure, untied her old corset and her flimsy breeches, kicked her muddy boots off, and merely remaining with her oh-so-ancient tunic, she slipped her legs in the water. Warm water, it was warm water, so good she felt like dying. She ducked under the water, wetting her hair and splashing water all over the floor, and then reached for the soap, scrubbing her hair and her skin until the water was grey with her filth. Then she rinsed, stood up with the water streaming down her slight body, shook her head like a wet dog, and grabbed a soft towel that was lying on the floor to pull it tightly around her, after having shaken the dripping tunic away. She quickly rubbed herself dry, and then she thought about her tunic, that she wouldn't be able to wear. She was conscious that the pack of clothes on the chair was for her, but she didn't want to wear anything that the hunter owned, nor please his golden eyes by being dressed well, and the tunic was causing her a problem, irritating her already atrociously cut honour. Cursing, swearing, fuming, she ragingly grabbed a whole handful of streaming jet-stone black hair and pulled it off, trying to draw solutions from the pain.

'This is useless, stupid and unbelievable,' said a voice behind her.

She turned swiftly, quicksilver, grabbing the towel to her, and crossing both arms over her high chest, and nearly screamed with indignation and savage fury:

'Go away! How dare you…'

'Ah, finally caught you when you would rather I had not!' he exclaimed, looking highly pleased, stepping in the room.

She saw he was greatly amused to surprise her half naked, with her hair long and wild around her pale face, and she hissed like an angry serpent, miserable in the depths of herself.

'Why don't you put these on?' he asked, taking up then flinging her the pack of clothes.

'Don't want to wear something that's yours,' she spat furiously.

'Why? If it is really bothering you, you can pay it after,' he said amiably, while she hissed again, then he smiled and added:

'Don't worry, I am going away. Just dress and hurry up.'

She did hurry up, worried beyond herself by the fact that he was just behind the door, and that he could come back in every moment. She swiftly pulled on the tunic, then the stockings, the corset, petticoats, skirt and boots. Then she tossed her heavy, wet hair in her back and stormed away from the bathing-room.

'Those clothes were made for you, and they could even make you a bit lovely if you wore them properly,' said Hawkke when she stepped in the room.

The clothes were very beautiful indeed. The tunic was black velvet, with gossamer silk laces at the long, knuckle-reaching sleeves and a low neck, cut elegantly and loose, an obvious masterpiece from the well-known seamstresses of GreenLands; the corset was also of rare silk, black with small, graceful embroidered gold flowers and hooks, and the skirt was deep black, luxurious water-like velvets, making a gentle, discreet noise when she moved, and supplied with two or three black silk and lace petticoats that felt soft and gentle against her finely black-stocked and light leather-booted long legs. Hawkke stood up cheerfully from the bed where he had been lying, and strode toward her to arrange her. She stepped back:

'Hold your distances, hunter,' she snarled.

He said nothing, merely smiled his wolfish, roguish smile, and pulled her to him, arranging the neck of the tunic, his hands brushing over the pale skin of her throat, and she clenched her teeth till it hurt with difficultly compressed anger. Then he disposed the silken ties of her sleeves, the corset's hooks, and smoothed the skirts, and finally he stepped away, to look at her thoughtfully.

'How come your skin is so pale?' he asked, brushing his fingers over her throat.

She ducked sharply away, and replied:

'Don't like the sun.'

'Why don't you make something with your hair?' he went on.

'Stop talking like that and just tell me what the hell you are going to do with me.'

He grinned smugly and went to seat back on the bed, gesturing toward the little table where had appeared a bowl of soup, some tempting cheese and bread, with dry meat and fruits:

'Eat before, talk after.'

'M'not hungry,' she said, but sat down nevertheless.

The soup was warm and thick, some vegetable soup, and the meat was exquisitely salted. Arach ate quickly, discreetly, used to grab bits to eat instead of proper meals, and she had just started that she had already finished, pulling the empty bowl away from her, and turning toward Hawkke, who was smocking at his pipe, gazing thoughtfully at her.

'If you behaved more femininely, you'd be beautiful,' he said matter-of-factly.

'Tell one more thing about I-don't-know-what-I-must-do-to-be-beautiful or this kind of useless rubbish, and I stuff a punch in your suave face.'

'Aye, I believe you could do it. You've already done it after all,' he replied, and chuckled for himself.

'I'm tired of all this, hunter, so tell me what you intend me to do, so that I can finish my business and go away from your maddening person.'

'Night's fallen, now you sleep,' he answered her, wearily sitting up.

'What! Sleep? Sleep? You're mad, hunter? I just won't stay sleeping with some work on my back.'

'Why, it's night!' he exclaimed, pulling his now-empty pipe on the floor.

'Course its night. More's the reason to go away and start my work,' she retorted, icily.

'You're mad, kid.'

'I am not a kid and I am not mad!'

'But you're lovely.'

She knew he was just saying that to make her angry, but she roared and threw herself on top of him, crushing both her hands on his chest, knocking him down on the bed. His adroitly grabbed her wrists, but she shook them away, and slapped him, furiously, conscious that she was hardly hurting him with her tiny skinny hands. He merely sniggered and snatched her hands, and pulled her away from him. She hissed, and tried to pull herself upright, but he very casually tipped her back, with a slight push of his hand in her firm chest, and while she has struggling with her hair and her fury, he slipped away from the room, still laughing.

Author's Sympathetically Silly After-Note: Aha, things are progressing, aren't they? If you'd only knew the time I spent writing, rereading, correcting, embellishing this chapter: the result—humhum—being totally satisfying, I guess I deserve a rest. No, no I'm kidding. I am so hardworking I can't keep my hands away from my keyboard. My parents, needless to say, resent this deeply. They both hate keyboards. Which is ridiculous, you must admit—I mean, just REVIEW.