Prelude

The first clue I had that my shadowy stalker had found me once again was when an arrow went through the side of my thigh. It hurt like hell but it was really just a deep gouge along the outside that didn't bite into too much flesh or nick anything important. That certainly woke me up and received my complete and undivided attention. To this day, I thank that sudden steep downdraft gust of wind on the hillside that probably prevented the arrow from going right into my back.

I had two choices and I really didn't have time to think about either of them since the next arrow with my name on it was probably less than six seconds away. I could keep climbing up this nearly shear hillside; I'd be slow and very, very vulnerable for about twenty seconds that I didn't have, or else I could just let go, drop and roll and hope like heck that I didn't hurt myself too badly on the way down. I almost thought too long and when I went for the second option, the drop and roll, the next arrow missed my head by about an inch. The landing and rolling part at the base of the hill went better than expected it too. I came down fast, but rolled face-first into the side of a large snow covered bush that stopped my movement entirely. I then immediately flopped flat on my face into the snow, just in time to miss a third arrow that went right through the center of the bush that had previously shielded me.

Old Venatari, the senior scout that had trained me years ago, had the perfect advice to give for just a situation such as this one.

"Lads, every time you go off into the wild by yourself, there are three things that can happen and two of them are bad. First, you can run into absolutely no one and find nothing - this is good, outstanding in fact. You get to return home all safe and sound and you haven't pissed anyone off in the process."

"Secondly, you could find someone before they find you. Maybe you get to kill them, maybe not; maybe they're faster and smarter than you, maybe not. Your life now depends on your luck and how smart you feel that particular day. Myself, I would just stay hidden and quietly pray that they haven't also found you, since things would then start to get interesting and it could turn into a coin flip to see who gets to go home, possibly alive and hopefully mostly in one piece."

"Lastly, if somebody luckier or smarter than you does find you first — that means you are now in BIG trouble and you have to pray that they make a mistake. IF they do, run — and run like hell, until the odds are at least even again and you are able to evaluate the situation calmly and hopefully in relative safety. Even then I'd advise you to keep running some more. There are brave scouts and then there are veteran scouts that have survived — there are no "brave veterans. Your job is to get information — not to go around killing people. Let the idiot boys with the sharp swords and bright shiny armor have that kind of fun."

"Old Venial" as we called him was a very smart scout until his dying day, when he broke his own rules and got "brave" - and it cost him. Today, I had not been particularly brave; sort of. I had just become lazy and decided that a five minute 'shortcut' up the side of a steep hill was better than a twenty minute trip going around it through the snow, fog and boulder strewn hillsides I had been circuiting all afternoon. A major mistake and nearly my last. Old Venial had a number of things to say about shortcuts also and a low opinion of any scout who ever thought it worth their while to take one.

I'd had an encounter with a group of enemy scouts a few days ago and couldn't quite shake the feeling that I hadn't lost them for good this time. It was getting close to evening (not that you really could tell with all of the gloom and fog) and I had thought to myself that I'd risk climbing the highest local rise to check and see if there was anything obviously behind me. My evasion route over the last few days had taken me far away from the main river valley up into the vast mostly uncharted range of foothills to the northwest that lead up eventually into the great mountains. I'd been in this area before, but I wasn't really 100% sure of where I was — the constant snow flurries and fog hadn't helped. Also the thought had crossed my mind about finding a safe camp spot where I could dare building a small fire. Trail rations were getting a bit old after over a week out in the wilderness.

It was a bone-head move and it cost me; fortunately not critically. It was now time to make with option three and do it quickly. Keeping low, zigzagging towards a thicker blanket of fog further down the next hillside, I ran like hell. Speed was my friend now, I was going to be leaving obvious tracks in the snow but that was unavoidable for now. If the bowman on my trail was part of the previous group that had hunted me, then I had been followed for the better part of a week in total, even when I was making a hard effort to conceal my trail. It worked apparently for a few days or at least long enough for me to become overconfident that I had 'lost them' and no longer had any shadows. Apparently not but I might now have at least one advantage on my side. Fatigue.