The hero held his finger under the ice cold water and watched the ripples make waves against the creek side. It had never ceased to fascinate him, the way the creek flowed down the mountains, winding around the trees, carving a path through the hard rock. He pressed against a clump of snow balanced precariously on the edge of the bank, and he followed its path in wonder as it fell into the water and wept silently at its own plight.

Here, higher in the mountains it was still cool, despite the obvious signs of spring everywhere else in the country. Fog stuck to the air and the trees' bark, pulled on clothes and got under the horses' semi-winter coats. The grass was a dark green that seemed to hover above the mountain dirt. Up here birds never sang; the world was too ugly to be graced by even a flutter of wings in the tree tops. Frost clung to the princess's tent, murmuring softly as the wind caressed the blue-gray hide of the material. The opening fluttered, framing the princess's shivering form inside the tent. She glanced out at him and he looked back, disinterested. He had seen princesses before, and their bodies were no more beautiful than a common street whores'.

He pulled his shirt off and splashed water over his torso, shivering at the coldness of it. He pushed his head underwater and massaged his scalp free of sweat and dirt. He shook his head like a dog and pushed his hair from his face, promising himself to have it cut soon. It was brushing his shoulders again.

He kicked at a woollen log lying in a snowy hollow. 'Git'up, Tony. Gotta get goin',' the log moaned but folded upright, 'and help her highness with the tent.' With a curse Tony struggled out of his cover and staggered upright, feeling slow and drunk in the early mountain air.

The hero continued onwards past a pile of icy ashes and walked purposely through the trees, humming a tune under his breath. Before he even reach the sheltered clearing they had left the horses in overnight he called out at them, smiling when he heard a crunch of hooves and a gentle wicker. This was his world, horses, complete freedom, no need to do anything, but complete power over everything in his grasp.

He tightened the horse's girth again, staring into the trees as he concentrated on the task in hand. He wished they could have taken cars through the mountain pass, but the snows meant the way had been closed up, and storms had cut out air travel. Horses. They were okay, but they were his, and he hated sharing them with the princess. A hand fell on his shoulder and he flinched.

'I'm sorry for what I've said,' the voice was the princesses, and it was soft in his ear, soft and seductive, 'I just had no idea what you'd been through; how much you've suffered.' He turned and her face loomed big in his eyes. The eyes, her eyes, were so beautiful. Delicate, crystal clear, perhaps hiding something, but they were so beautiful, and her lips were so red. She came a little closer to him and he felt her breath, warm, on his skin. 'I'm so sorry,' she whispered and brushed her lips on his, trying to part them with her tongue. His eyes, void of emotion, watched her, his body not yielding to her. She came away from him a little, her face questioning. 'What? Is something wrong?'

'You think that I have not seen beautiful women before?' he asked and stepped backwards, away from her. Then he turned his back on her and walked up to Tony. 'Help her ladyship onto her horse. I'm riding ahead. Follow my tracks.' He shot daggers at the princess' back as he walked away.

The gun was burning a bruise in his thigh with every dip the horse tripped into. He was a good horse, home bred and retired from the track. The hero liked horses and this one was his favorite. It was the melting snow and dead grass beneath that made the stallion trip. He had another gun lying against his ribs, and hanging carefully under his jacket were grenades. He didn't like explosions, generally, but Tony did and Tony hadn't been able to carry all the ones he had brought.

They were following the creek line as it was the easiest way to make the way down the mountain. Every so often he would cross the creek or have to dismount to fight a way through the trees. The princess had caught up, Tony just behind. Her guard. He hated the idea of it. Him, of all people, taking the princess over the mountains. The princess was the mission, but she was also an annoying addition to the party. Tony he could stand. The man didn't talk, not much more than a word or two when things when wrong. He liked people who didn't talk, and the princess had picked up on that but the damage had been done. He didn't like her. But what could you do when the princess was the mission?

He had been tense the whole way since they left the creek at the waterfall and made their own way down the steep, rocky hill. He stopped at the edge of the trees and stroked his horses neck, staring through the leaves, trying to see through the drizzling rain to the clearing. His horse flicked his ears backwards and forwards and took a dancing step sideways. Mumbling comfort to the stallion he pulled the gun off his thigh. He arranged the reins in one hand and set his feet firmly in the stirrups. Tony came up behind him, but the only warning he needed was the raised gun. From the sound a quiet click he knew Tony was ready.

With a harsh kick to the stallion's belly he leaped forward, gun held in one hand ready to blaze out Death. He shot the first man before he knew if was a danger to them, and then swung the horse violently on the reins to face a second. Tony's gun spat briefly and blood flew in chunks at the trees. They both froze when they saw the three remaining men. Between them, her soft, pretty arms held firm but black gloved hands, was the princess.

The hero held his gun levelly at the tallest man's head. 'Let her go.' His voice was sweet and calm and almost musical. He felt rather then saw the guns being pointed at him. 'Let her go, or I will shoot you.'

'You'll die before the trigger is even pulled.' The voice was too familiar and the hero shuddered with the realization that it was Tony's.

He didn't need to ask why. He had flipped sides once, lied to them all for a hefty bank cheque. Loyalty was not set in stone, it could be bought, anyone could be bought. Everyone had a price. But once bought you should complete the mission. The princess was the mission. For him to get his money, she had to be alive. For them, too. Both would kill for the mission. There was no difference between him and them. Only he was one, and he had to save her life.

'I'll kill one of you.' He moved his gun from one to the other, slowly, tantalizingly. He sneered a little as their eyes followed the weapon, but Tony was still behind him. Tony would be a problem. 'I don't particularly care which one.'

There wasn't much hope. He couldn't leave alive, he knew faces and could guess names. The princess would be taken and his blood would pulse out onto the ground and his body would rot and the snows would melt around him. There was no hope. He knew this. But the princess was the mission and the mission could not be ignored.

He looked straight into the princess' frightened eyes. He wanted to give her some confidence but he could not lie to her. In this moment he could see everything so much more clearly. Lives that had been lost, changed, destroyed, all by him, his close friendship with Death. But he could see the details in this world, this place, as well. He could see the veins on the leaves, the wet slushy mud of the deer trail, he could hear the tinkling of the waterfall.

He was going to die.

He looked at the two guns pointed at his body and felt Tony's angle its way to his head. He held his own gun firmly and held the princess' eyes. He couldn't save himself, but he could help her just a little.

He barely glanced at the tall man as the hero shot him, blood spurting messily onto the grass. He held the princess' green eyes as the others shot him, twice in the chest, once in the shoulder.

The princess was the mission. He had failed the mission. But at least he hadn't given up.