A/N: This chapter was supposed to be up a month ago, but first real life, and then the site's uploader, got in the way. A close relative died recently, and I guess I just really wasn't inspired to write anything that wasn't too depressing for the direction this fic is going in. Also, what the bounty hunter is doing suddenly in the employ of the Archenland army will be explained later, I promise.
Thanks to all my guest reviews! You guys are great, and all your reviews really encouraged me to jump back into this story!
Ailyan's mate, Nymara, had always wanted pups.
It was something that they discussed, at first, though in hushed tones that could not be overheard by Maugrim, who would have certainly jumped at the idea, or anywhere that would be overheard by the White Queen.
They both knew that to bring pups into the world, a world cursed with over one hundred years of winter, only to be taken and trained for the service of the Witch, or worse, drowned, would be a cruel act.
When she had died, Ailyan had never once thought of finding another mate. Nymara had been his one and only, despite what was said about wolves and their packs. There would be no other, and, though the White Queen was dead, there would still have been danger, in bringing any pups into the world. Narnia, where the wolves had been exiled to the North and West for their loyal service to the Witch.
No, such a world was not one to bring pups into, Ailyan had reasoned.
And he still thought so, still couldn't fathom why other Talking Beasts would dare to bring pups into the world if they had a choice.
He had not, in all that time during his exile, nor in the time afterwards, truly thought about the mother who had brought those foolish Sons of Men and Daughters of Eve into Narnia. In fact, he doubted that many creatures gave this much thought, for the four Kings and Queens had come at an age not fully grown, but no longer newborn pups.
They had, if the stories were to be believed, simply appeared one day, in the Western Woods.
These, strangely enough, were the thoughts that passed through Ailyan the Wolf as he watched.
These had not been the thoughts he had always imagined he would be thinking, at this time. He had imagined himself standing proud, beside the White Queen, triumphant and getting justice for what had happened to his poor mate, when the little High King had so cruelly cut her down.
But this was not like those imaginings. This was nothing like he had expected, and it left a terrible pang of guilt in him, a conscience that screamed inside him, sounding all too much like Nymara.
The Queen had held the traitor down, clothes torn and body bleeding past its farthest restraint, and, though Ailyan should have been rejoicing that one of the enemies of the White Queen was fallen, that the Fell Creatures would finally be able to crush the monarchs who had killed their Queen and bring back the reign of said Queen for an eternity, he could not.
All he could think of, as the traitor lay broken and bleeding on a stone table meant for traitors, was the sight of his own mate's body, killed during the Battle of Beruna, years ago. Of her wishes for pups, and of the ever-present thought that this boy king was nothing more than a human pup, too young. Too much like the boy that Ailyan had kidnapped and brought to his death for the sake of his Queen.
How many more would die?
He tried to shake such thoughts from his mind. They were not loyal to the White Queen, and were not loyal to his mate, not truly. This was justice. Justice for her terrible death.
Killed by the High King Peter, during the Battle that had claimed the Witch's life.
And because she knew the sacrifice that Ailyan had paid for that battle, and the service he had done her by helping her return to life, the White Witch had offered to allow him to come to the Stone Table, as an honored guest, to watch her receive her own justice, her own revenge.
The boy king's brother, the pup dying on the Stone Table at the Witch's hands.
Ailyan had almost felt satisfied, at the invitation, much to his shame. The boy was not the High King, but he was his brother, and the little High King would know the grief that he had felt, once upon a time.
And that thought took him for some time, and for some time into the torture of the human pup while he lay on the Stone Table, Ailyan saw nothing but his mate.
Nothing but the sight of his mate, cut down by the blade of a Son of Man, blood matting her fur even as blood stained the smooth skin of the human pup. Every cry from the pup was a strike against his brother, her killer.
The other Fell Creatures standing in the shadows, watching, even if they had not been invited to do so by Her Majesty, were just as pleased, he knew, though not for the same reasons. Though some, he acknowledged, may have lost loved ones during the battle, it was petty hatred that motivated most of them to watch. Petty hatred and loyalty to the White Witch. Or perhaps fear, that she might notice their contempt and punish them for it.
But they were not satisfied, as Ailyan finally was. They craved even more, more blood, and more death, from the little King who had sought to exile them during his still young reign. And the White Witch had promised it to them, the moment the boy traitor was dead.
It was when the Witch stabbed the pup, bound him as Ailyan had not been there to see her bind the Great Lion, that he finally understood. Finally saw the mad anger in her eyes, and knew that this was not the same White Witch who had conquered Narnia all for herself and managed to keep Aslan at bay for a hundred years.
Oh, she was certainly the same Witch, wore the same body, and had the same magic, but this time around, her goal was not to conquer Narnia once more. Nay, this time she wished only for one thing: she wished revenge upon the traitor boy.
But this pup had not killed Ailyan's mate; his brother had, and Ailyan had no quarrel against the pup lying on the Stone Table. He was hardly a full grown human, unable to even fend for himself as the Witch tore away at him, and Ailyan recognized those screams, remembered them all too well from his time in the Witch's dungeons.
He had felt guilty, then, and the fact that he did not now...worried him.
She wanted revenge, for he could see it in her eyes, the same revenge he had seen in his own reflection for some time now.
She had been planning this since she had awoken.
And after weeks of listening to the pup's cries, deep in the dungeons, and wondering what he had done to seek her wrath, Ailyan did not think he could listen to the sound for much longer.
Not when it reminded him so crudely of his mate's pained whimpers, as the life went out of her.
He had been there then, too, had stood by and done nothing while she lay there in pain, knowing there was nothing that he could do.
But Ailyan's mate had died with her fangs sharp and ready, prepared to lay down her life for the White Witch. Prepared to die in service of the One True Queen. She had had defenses, a way of protecting herself, even if she was no match for High King Peter.
This boy was not the one he sought justice against; he was not High King Peter.
The pup king had nothing to defend himself, and, as much as he loathed his pup brother, Ailyan could not, in that vulnerable moment, bear the thought of another suffering the pain he had suffered, standing by, unable to do anything to save the one he had loved.
Ailyan ran, as fast his four paws would carry him, though he knew he would never make it in time. But he had to try.
He had to get help for the human pup. His mate would have wanted him to. She would not have approved of torturing and killing pups to begin with, would not have approved of Ailyan's kidnapping the Calormene boy, especially not for the dark arts that they had needed him for.
The man who was known only as "The Bounty Hunter" in Calormen, where his name had been long forgotten by all but one, simply because almost all who had cared to learn it were now dead, trudged through the disgusting terrain that barbarians called Narnia with a deep set frown.
It did not help that the ground had, in the brief time he had been here, gained so much snow that every step he took submerged his legs to the knee, quickly soaking his trousers. Silently, he damned Narnia and its demon lion to the fate of a thousand deaths at the hands of Tash.
At least the Calormenes had the good sense to live somewhere warm and dry, where one could not get lost so easily.
Yes, the Tarkaan who had hired him had been correct. He would never willingly stay here, even if the Tarkaan's bastard were not found and his sister's life was forfeit. He was not an idiot. He would find a way to get her back without the loss of her head, if he failed in his mission.
To further prove the idea into his mind was the fact that the Narnians could not even keep control of their own kingdom; it was tearing itself apart at the seams. Even now, the bloody battle raging below was a sign of how inspired the Tisroc was to wish it taken by those who could keep it properly.
To think that he would ever agree with anything the Tisroc said.
And just the knowledge of what he had come here to do, of what he was willing to sacrifice to regain his sister's freedom, nearly made him sick.
Some small part of him wished this was still about a boy who had simply run off.
That would have been easier to explain when he tried to reenter Calormen.
"Rivil!" the Archenlander Captain shouted, and the bounty hunter turned to face the man, face a mask of his true feelings as he responded to the fake name he had assumed only days earlier. "I want you on the South side with Arv and Arven. Make sure none of the Fell Creatures make it past you there. They are in full retreat, now."
The bounty hunter nodded, about to ask how he was supposed to tell the difference between the Fell Creatures and Talking Beasts loyal to the Archenlanders, when a hyena, eyes wide with madness, leapt up behind the Archenlander Captain and tore the chainmail from his back with its mighty claws. The sound of ripping flesh hit the bounty hunter's ears, and he turned away in disgust.
The brothers, Arv and Arven, barely men themselves, and too young, the bounty hunter thought, for war, stared down at the mutilated body of the Captain as the hyena turned away towards another prey, ignoring them, thankfully.
Of course, it didn't matter that they were too young for war; one of them was just about the age of the young Calormene boy he had been sent to find, ad this was all that mattered.
"Well, you heard him then," the bounty hunter snapped gruffly in their direction, "to the South edge."
The boys nodding silently, dutifully following after him with hands on the hilts of their swords.
The three encountered few opponents as they made their way to the South edge, a fact for which the Bounty Hunter was grateful, as his mind was clearly elsewhere.
Besides, it meant that there would be less witnesses to what he was about to do. And the less witnesses, the better.
He did not wish to retrieve the bastard child only to accosted by these creatures, calling upon their god to smite him.
When they reached the southern edge, however, he slowed. The cliffs above, a rocky, jagged formation that any unskilled swordsman could be lost in, would provide a perfect cover for what he was about to do, and the distraction of battle would cause few to miss the three of them for some time. Behind him, Arv pulled to an abrupt stop as well, Arvin slamming into him a moment later, and letting out a loud curse that nearly revealed their location.
The bounty hunter held up a hand, gesturing for them to be silent and wishing that, when he came up with the plan to infiltrate the Archenland army, it had been with a better intention than playing nursemaid.
"What is it?" Arv demanded, as Arvin rubbed his sore nose and muttered something unpleasant about his brother under his breath.
The bounty hunter raised a finger to his lips, careful not to roll his eyes. "Quiet," he hissed, and, mercifully, the boys fell silent.
It wouldn't do for this to be overheard, after all.
The bounty hunter's hand crept down to the hilt of his blade, and the boys followed his movements with their eyes, before turning to look at the surrounding boulders. It was nearing dark now, the battle against the Fell Creatures about to sink into its second day, and they squinted, obviously not perceiving any near threats.
Arv's eyes widened. "What do you see?" he hissed, leaning close enough that the bounty hunter could feel the youth's breath upon his neck.
And the bounty hunter spun around, the hilt of his sword burying itself into the chest of the surprised boy, whose eyes widened even as he gasped for breath and sank to his knees. His brother let out a cry of horror, tumbling forward to check on his brother without a thought to his attacker.
The younger boy knelt down beside Arv, crying out even as salt-stained tears slipped down his cheeks, before turning an icy, accusing gaze toward the bounty hunter.
It was a look the bounty hunter had seen many times, one that had once haunted him, after a hunt.
He no longer felt such guilt over it.
This was the only way to retrieve the bastard child, and that was the only way to get back his sister.
"You," the bounty hunter answered calmly, swinging his sword toward the younger brother.
The boy quickly brought up his own blade in a paltry defense, stumbling to his feet. He even managed to fend off the bounty hunter for a few minutes, a truly impressive feat in his current position.
Not that it mattered. He would soon follow his brother to the Land of the dead, where Tash would greet him with an iron sword.
The moment the bounty hunter realized that Arvin was about to abandon all sense and call out for help, despite the fact that this edge of the battlefield held more Fell Creatures than allies, he struck, his curved blade slamming into Arvin's chest and sending him stumbling backward. Blood curled down his lips, and he fell to his knees as the bounty hunter withdrew his blade.
Arvin, relatively smaller than his older brother, let out a few small gasps rather than dying quickly, as his brother had, eyes glaring accusingly up at the bounty hunter before he went still.
The boy's body was still disturbingly warm as the bounty hunter grabbed it, hoisting it over his shoulder. It was heavy, heavy with the weight of the dead, but the bounty hunter had hefted worse in the mines outside Tashbaan.
He could bear such a burden for a few more hours.
It would make the walk through the snow much more difficult, he knew, and if anyone saw him they would be rather suspicious.
But from what he understood of blood magic, this was the only way to get what he wanted. And he would not return to Tashbaan empty-handed, not with his sister's life on the line.
Even if it meant she would only continue to be a liability to him, if there was one thing he truly understood, it was that one did not abandon family to their fates if such a thing could be helped.
The bounty hunter continued his silent trek through the canyon, avoiding being out in the open as best he could, and not bothering to glance back at the battle to see how it would turn out.
It meant nothing to him, the outcome. Well, it might mean something, if the White Witch, somehow still alive despite the little High King's assurances, years ago, that she had died, won. Then, he would wish to escape this accursed land even more quickly than if the young High King won.
The girl lifted the bottom of her veil to brush at her eyes, sighing. It had been a long day, and all she wanted now was a good night's rest, but of course, it would be many hours until that wish came true.
Well, rest was not all that she wanted. She wanted her brother back from the barbarian lands of Narnia, but she knew that was too much to hope for in this moment. In all truth, he might never come back, and even if he did, she feared that her life would still be forfeit.
"You there!" one of the Tarkaan's guards shouted suddenly, and she snapped to attention, dipping her head as a show of submission. The guards, though slaves themselves, were still a step above the house slaves. And that was what she was now. A simple slave to a mighty Tarkaan notoriously known for sleeping with his slaves.
It was not a comfort, that knowledge. Even the knowledge that her brother would enact swift retribution, should the Tarkaan try anything, did not comfort her.
Her brother had been gone for years, and she had thought him dead in those mines.
That had all changed one day, when the Tarkaan's bastard had run off, disappeared. She only wished that she could have joined the boy then. But she had been far too frightened to do so. She knew the punishment for escaped slaves, and it was not a merciful one, not even if the slave was the bastard child of their master.
After that, she had been locked away in the cells beneath the Tarkaan's mansion until the bounty hunter could be bought from his own prison, from the mines where he was supposed to languish away until his death.
A punishment for his crimes against the Tisroc, many years ago. (May he live forever, though she certainly didn't want him to.)
Somehow, the Tarkaan had already known of their relationship, had already known who she was despite the years she had spent ensuring he didn't.
Her brother had come to the mansion soon after that, and she knew that the Tarkaan had kept her all along for this moment, for the chance to use her as leverage against a man who had spent ages making certain that all other leverage was destroyed.
She had not been sent back to the cells after that, but forced to resume her normal work in the mansion. And she was no longer young enough to escape the attentions of her master, as she had once been.
"His Lordship the Noble Tarkaan wants some bread and fruit brought to his chambers. You will see to it," the guard ordered, a smug look on his face. He had once been a stable hand, but had, quite by accident, saved the Tarkaan's life during a battle. He took great pride in his position as a guard, and tended to lord it over the rest of them.
Especially her.
One day, she intended to slap that ugly smirk off his face. Not that she ever would, but she had such plans for most of the people in this house.
Instead, she answered "Of course," her head bowed, not daring to look at the guard as she curtseyed and hurried away to the kitchens.
The food was made quickly, as the Tarkaan's slaves were all terrified of any punishment he might give them, and none of them argued when the girl gave the order. She carried it on a silver tray that was probably worth more than the boy her master was so desperate to find.
The master's chambers were on the top floor of the sandstone mansion, the only room with a view, but what a view it was.
The desert out one window, and the Tisroc's (may he live forever) palace out the other.
Before, when she was but an unknown slave and not the only leverage against her brother worth having, she would come up there sometimes just to look at the view out to the desert, for though the palace was beautiful, it did not interest her. It was the desert that she longed for. The desert where her brother was being kept, the desert which so few slaves escaped across to freedom, but did escape.
She reached the Tarkaan's chambers quickly, having no desire to be around for long, and gave a quick knock to announce her presence.
"Come in," the voice inside boomed, and, taking a deep breath, the girl stepped inside, hunching her shoulders and keeping her head lowered, as was proper.
The Tarkaan stood with his back to her, staring out the window to the desert. "The desert takes two days to cross, when one wishes to do so quickly."
She wasn't sure how to respond to that. Was this a trick? "Yes, O Noble lord," she said calmly, setting the tray on the nearest table and bowing her head, hoping he would release her quickly. "So it does."
The Tarkaan grunted at this response. "How would you know? You have never crossed it, and those who have are only escaped slaves and mad fools, none of whom return to Carlormene alive."
She bit her lip, lowering her head further in a sign of supplication. "Of course, O Noble One, you are correct in saying I would not know. Forgive my ignorance."
He waved a hand dismissively. "It matters not, girl. It is the truth, and your brother the hunter of men has spent longer than that on his journey for my bastard son. Do you know what this leads me believe?"
She swallowed hard, delicate hands clenching into fists. "My brother has always been one to honor his arrangements, O Noble Tarkaan," she answered, through clenched teeth, and hoped that he could not feel the anger radiating off of her.
The Tarkaan frowned. "I believe that he has left you here, and gone off to hide to claim his freedom that I so foolishly allowed him. I should have sent someone to ensure he was doing what I told him to once he left the city."
She shook her head vehemently, desperately. Not because she had such faith in her brother, but because she knew that, the moment the Tarkaan failed to believe her, her life would be forfeit. "He is my brother; he would never do that."
"Wouldn't he?" and now the Tarkaan sounded almost amused. He leaned forward suddenly, grasping her chin in his hand and forcing her to meet his gaze. His cold brown eyes raked over her, and she felt heat flaring in her skin. "I believe he might think a pretty girl enough to sway me, to satisfy me enough to leave you alive, despite his failure."
"Would it, O my master?" she whispered, the words barely whispering past her lips, and yet she was unable to keep them back.
His cold eyes narrowed.
She shivered, though it was not from any cold, jerking away from his touch, even as she could still feel his vile gaze upon her. Her hands shook as she attempted to steady herself, leaning against the table on which she had deposited the Tarkaan's little tray. Hoping that he would dismiss her soon, before she was sick.
Her brother would come back for her. She hadn't seen him in years, didn't know how he had changed during his sentence, but she knew that one thing for certain. They two were all they had left, and they would never abandon each other.
The Tarkaan seemed oblivious to her current state, turning his gaze back to the window and gazing out it as if nothing had transpired.
"Tell me girl, what is your name?" he asked casually, and she could hear the smile in his voice.
"Kareema, if it pleases you, O Noble One," her breath hitched as she spoke, and she glanced nervously down at her shaking hands.
"A beautiful name, girl," the Tarkaan said, though she could hear the bitterness and barely concealed mocking in it. Still, he did not turn around again. "Worthy of a Tarkeena, not a slave girl such as yourself."
"I wasn't always a slave girl, O Great One," she answered, choosing her words carefully so as not to offend. In her experience, Tarkaans were an easily offended lot, and she knew that her brother had already stepped over the line by not returning speedily, despite the words she had bragged about him.
Words that she now regretted, considering everything that had transpired since.
When the little brat, for he was, in Kareema's mind, a most contemptible little creature, had run off, she had seen her chance. After years in the Tarkaan's service, knowing nothing of what had become of the brother she had cherished beyond all else as a child, she had found her chance at freedom.
There was nothing the Tarkaan would not do to get the boy back, and, surely, if she produced a surefire way to find him, the Tarkaan would grant her one request.
Her freedom.
Of course, she had thought that it would be easy for her brother to find the boy. It seemed, now that her first plan had failed, she would have to take matters into her own hands, and the very thought made her body shake with unstoppable tremors.
The Tarkaan turned to face her, smiling. "And yet, you were never a Tarkeena. Tell me, does the occupation of your esteemed brother shame you?"
Kareema shook her head. "We grew up as commoners. He did what he had to, as did I, to survive, and we have both made our penance with the Great Tash for it," she shrugged.
The Tarkaan raised an eyebrow at this. "Oh?"
Kareema swallowed hard, realizing she might have overstepped with those last words. She bowed her head, hoping it made her at least appear contrite. "If it pleases you, O Generous Master, I have had a trying day and wish to retire so that I might better serve you on the morrow."
Once again, his eyes slowly trailed down her form before he responded, "Of course, sweet child. Go, and may Tash the Inexorable shine upon you in your slumber."
Kareema dipped her head, and then hurried away, not daring to turn her back on the Tarkaan before she left the room. Tried not to think about the leering way in which his eyes followed her, or what she was planning.
It was hours later, when the moon was already deep in the sky and the sun had disappeared into the sandy horizon, when the shout rang out through the mansion, the slaves and the Tarkaan's loyal wife woken from their beds by the noise.
The loyal wife groaned, muttering something rather unpleasant under her breath about the Tarkaan, before rolling over and drifting off into slumber once more.
The slaves were not so lucky as to be able to ignore their Tarkaan, and were pulled from their beds, dragged down into the courtyard. It was a place of unpleasant memories; the whipping post standing in the center attested to that fact, as did the faces of the menacing guards.
Moments later, the Tarkaan appeared, flanked by two of his guards, face hot with rage. He somehow managed to appear dignified even as he ran into the courtyard, glaring at each of the slaves in turn.
"Where is she?" he demanded, his cold voice, one that most associated with pain, echoing loudly in the otherwise silent night. "Who amongst you saw her escape?"
The slaves were silent, exchanging nervous glances but none daring to breathe a word.
The Tarkaan sighed, as if dealing with petulant children. "The slave girl, my leverage, if I cannot find her, I will promise a quite unpleasant experience for you."
One of the slaves flinched, a young girl, younger than the one who had vanished into thin air, despite the guards surrounding the mansion, and stepped forward. "I..."
The Tarkaan stalked forward, until he stood just in front of her. "Well? You know what has become of her. Speak up and you will not be harmed."
"I..." she worried her lower lip before whispering in a voice that was caught by every ear, "She spoke of escaping. So that, if her brother had failed, he would not need to come back for her. That is all I know, O Kind Master, I swear on the blood of Tash."
The Tarkaan was silent for a moment. And then, spinning to his guards, "She is gone across the desert! Find her, you fools, or I will have your head for hers!"
And then the slaves were allowed back into their beds, though none slept after that.
The whispers of the slaves, at the fact that such a shame had befallen this noble house twice in one year, echoed throughout the mansion long after the Tarkaan and his men had gone after the girl. To lose a slave like this would be embarrassing for any noble lord; to lose two would ruin the Tarkaan's reputation, a cruel reputation that he had spent many years maintaining.
Many of these servants were quite pleased to see it continue to deteriorate, even if it was at the expense of the young lady, and, in that spirit, prayed to Tash that the girl made it across the desert before she could be dragged back in irons.
The battle was far behind him now, the sounds of war echoing off into the wind, and so when the bounty hunter heard a howl, loud and close, he froze, the burden he carried suddenly far more so.
It did not bode well with the bounty hunter and he moved faster, the dead Archenlander's blood dripping down his back like sweat.
A bush rustled behind him, and the bounty hunter spun, unsheathed sword still covered in blood. The grasslands should have made it impossible for anyone to sneak up on him, especially.
Nothing jumped out to take a bite of him, and yet the bounty hunter knew that something was there.
He knew enough to realize that this was not simply nerves, his hackles rising in alert, and he slowly lowered the dead body of the Archenlander to the ground. It thumped into the grass, and then the Beast appeared, as if out of thin air.
A wolf. He could not remember if the Archenlanders had said Wolves were Fell Creatures or Allies, and he really didn't want to waste time finding out. Slashing his sword at the animal to warn it back, he snarled, "Do you speak, Beast?"
The wolf only stared up at him with wide, brown eyes that seemed almost...sentient. Pleading. He did not speak, as the Bounty Hunter had oft heard the wild creatures of Narnia could do, and he wondered if this one was indeed just a dumb animal. In that case, it was likely following him at the scent of fresh blood, and, though he knew little about wolves, he knew enough about jackals to know that it was likely more were about, hiding in the tall grassland.
Grasslands...it took him a moment to realize that, where this path had been a frozen wasteland moments before, it was now a tall grassland. And wasn't that odd.
Then, the wolf let out a low, warning growl, and the bounty hunter reached for the hilt of his belt knife instinctively, other hand still clutching his sword in a defensive posture.
"It would not be wise to attack me, Human," the wolf snapped, its enormous jaws making the bounty hunter's mouth go dry. The wolf's voice was of a guttural quality, low and wild, and the bounty hunter found that it suited his kind perfectly. "I mean you no harm."
"And why is that?" the bounty hunter shot back, calculating how quickly he could throw the knife before the wolf lunged at him.
"You are not an Archenlander," were the wolf's first words, and the bounty hunter wondered if all these talking beasts were both dimwitted and barbaric.
"Of course not," he retorted, and tried not to sound offended.
The wolf smirked, if it could be called that, and finally whispered, "I need your help."
The bounty hunter blinked at him. "My help? Indeed. Run along and find your Witch, Creature, or your King. I have no wish to help you, and you have nothing to offer me in return."
The wolf stared at him for a full minute before, in a voice that was almost pleading, answering, "You would have my undying gratitude, and, I suspect, that of many others, as well."
The bounty hunter snorted at that. "I have done far less than a favor for far better a reward." And he lugged the body back over his shoulder, thoroughly disgusted with the fact that he had let the beast distract him, and started walking again.
"If you are after what I believe you are after, you will not find it without my help. And I can offer help."
That gave the bounty hunter pause. "And what is it that you believe I am after?" he asked finally, coldly.
The creature bristled. "You carry a dead body from the battlefield, across frozen wastelands, to the East. It is not so difficult to figure out. The Stone Table is a thing of great magic, and I am just returning from there. I will take you there, if you will but swear to help me."
The bounty hunter eyed him distrustfully. "And what is it that I seek, Wolf?"
"Powerful magic. Just as I do. For, when I left the boy, he was not long for this world."
The bounty hunter's ears perked up at that. "What boy?" he repeated, a sudden suspicion snaking into his gut. Then, "I am come to trade this boy," he motioned to the lifeless boy callously thrown over his own body, "For that of a boy I was sent here to find. He was...turned to stone by your White Witch. But I was told it could be done."
Yes, the man with the magic pool had told him such, on pain of death.
"And so it must," the wolf answered, "but only if you come with me now. The Stone Table, as I said, is a powerful thing, but there are other powerful things within this world, and I do not imagine they will answer to myself, nor to one who wishes to drag a boy back to a land of slavery."
"Then how are you a help to me?"
"There is a magic there, that not even Aslan can undo. If you truly wish to bring back this boy that you are so intent on finding, it will be there that you must go, if indeed there is a cure in Narnia at all. The Boy who lays dying on that Table can help you, and you do not know where you go. I can lead you to him."
"He is a sorcerer, then?" the bounty hunter demanded, suddenly hopeful. Though the Calormenes detested Narnian magic and their demon, most were not foolish enough to disregard the demon's power.
The wolf's lips thinned. "He can get you what you seek, if you come now."
"I do not believe in this demon or his magic," the bounty hunter hedged, voice rough and scratched around the edges. "And why are you so intent on bringing me to this boy?"
The wolf made a motion that was the closest thing to a shrug the bounty hunter could imagine. "You seem to believe enough to trek across frozen wastelands. Come; we must hurry."