They were all men; all their faces were clean-shaven, like boys, with neat, short-cropped hair except for two elderly ones whom I recognized as local hunters. Some were clearly warriors, armed and armored, others were somewhat of a mystery as to their purpose or place. Several were unmistakably slaves. They seemed to be on the short side, yet all of them strode with a swagger, a confidence the likes of which I usually saw only in the most powerful of chiefs. Except for my two hunters, all exuded arrogance and power.
Anger warred with curiosity as I trailed them. They were so unlike anything I had ever encountered before that I felt some kinship with the moths that fluttered about my campfire at night. Fascinated, I watched them all afternoon and into the evening. I came to understand that they might all have the bearing of chiefs, but one amongst them was chief of all, expecting and receiving deference from all the others.
This one was shorter even than most of the others, yet he was compact and powerfully built. Indeed, I had never seen muscles so sharply cut and defined on a man. His bare legs and arms seemed almost like polished wood. His obvious ease at command made it clear he was accustomed to instant obedience. I was able to come close enough as they stopped for a meal to catch some bits of conversation, but the tongue was unknown to me and fell oddly upon the ear in sharp, clipped cadences. Still, one word, his name, did come through repeatedly: Rufus.
They finally stopped in one of the common campsites surrounding my altar. Hunting parties would customarily make their offering then spend the night nearby before journeying home. I wondered what sort of offering I could expect from such as these, as it could not be coincidence that brought them directly to this spot. I felt a certain warm satisfaction as four of them, three of the warriors and one of the old hunters, set out along the path to my altar.
I moved parallel to them, trying to stay close enough to catch the words they spoke, but unable to get a clear picture of what they were saying. One thing was clear, though, the old man was unhappy and that amused the other three. As they neared the altar the old man’s distress mounted and I began to suspect something was badly amiss.
They entered the clearing. My altar consisted of a pillar of carefully placed stones with a large, flat slab at its top. It stood just thigh high to a normal man and was otherwise undecorated, but I enjoyed its simplicity as it stood in the center of a clearing devoid of other stones or stumps. It was solitary and solid and as such it represented me in a way that gave me some satisfaction. The old hunter pointed to it and the other three approached it. They circled it, looked it up and down and peered closely. One of them said something in that odd tongue and then all three of them laughed. I could not understand their words, but I could understand their intent.
This is what you have been babbling about all the way out here? A pile of rocks?
I was stringing my bow even before they acted, but what they did next sealed their doom. The tallest of the three lifted his boot and set it to the altar. With a powerful shove he toppled the slab from the top and the pillar crumbled about it. As he did so I stepped clear of the trees and leveled my bow. They all laughed at the old hunter who nearly screamed in horror as his eyes locked on me. One of the three turned in his mirth to see what the hunter was looking at and my arrow took him in the throat.
The other two reacted instantly, crouching and drawing their blades, but I killed the second with two arrows to the chest before he could do any more. The last warrior turned and dove for the trees, finding cover before I could drop him. I sprinted into the clearing, trying to listen for his movement, but the old man was weeping too loudly for me to hear the running coward clearly. I silenced the old fool with my knife through his throat, fair punishment for bringing these interlopers into my woods to desecrate my altar. In the blessed silence that followed I could hear the last man attempting to move quietly around to the south, back towards his camp.
Fetching an arrow from my quiver I set out after him and soon had him in sight though he was unaware of me. I trailed him back to the camp, now brightly lit with two large fires and numerous torches. As we drew close he began to run, thinking himself safely away. I listened to him begin to cry out an alarm, watched as those in the camp reacted and then dropped him with an arrow through the left calf. He shrieked in pain again as I sent another shaft into his right calf, effectively pinning him to the ground.
Others rushed towards him, but stopped suddenly as three shafts struck the ground before them in rapid succession. I drew down on my whimpering victim again, this time piercing his left shoulder. I waited a moment, listening to the commotion in the camp, seeing several men head out into the woods, doubtless to attempt to circle around me. I loosed another arrow into my victim’s other shoulder, fixing him to the earth at all four limbs. My last arrow struck him at the base of the skull, silencing his moaning.
The one who commanded, Rufus, came to the fore and stood just beyond where my three warning arrows had fallen. It would have been so very easy to kill him then and there, but I stayed my hand, taking his measure. He stood fearless with his arms crossed over his chest, staring into the deepening gloom of the forest, obviously intent on laying eyes upon the one responsible for this. I nocked an arrow and stepped clear of the tree line and out into the light. Our eyes met. His gaze was level as he regarded me in my loincloth, chest wrap and bare feet. A flurry of motion began behind him, but my eyes never left his as with a motion of his hand he brought his warriors to a halt. I pursed my lips, spat on the ground before me and certain that my point had been clearly made, turned my back upon him. I returned to the forest, striking out to the west, moving swiftly along hidden trails I knew well in order to avoid any skirmishers who might seek to annoy me.
I retreated deep into the forest avoiding all contact for two days. Despite my firm response to the disrespect I had suffered I was still somewhat disturbed by the episode. Who were these people that they should think to come to my land and behave as if I were of no consequence? I knew the old hunters must have warned them, yet they had laughed and invited retribution. What kind of men would be so foolish?
I took up at one of my meditation spots, quiet and secluded, there to contemplate what had happened and how to ensure it would not happen again. The breeze carried the scent of storm and lightning the next morning and I approved, for a savage storm would be just the thing to reinforce my displeasure with these invaders. When the sky lit up and the thunder rippled across the land I laughed and cavorted in the rain, so very pleased that I had chosen this as my parting message to those fools who were doubtless even now beating a hasty retreat back to whence they had come.
On the third day, content that my storm had finished what I had begun, I set out to return to my normal haunts. However, as I made my way south there was uneasiness in the forest, a wrongness I could taste on the air. Moving with more care I slipped through the brush, following my nose and my ears.
Then I heard them off to my left and a bit behind me, dogs and men crashing through my forest with an obviously intentional and destructive racket. It was the interlopers I had encountered and there seemed to be more of them than I remembered. Worse luck, they sounded to be fairly tightly clustered and I realized I had only ten or so arrows. I did not think I could reliably kill them and their dogs in the thick of the trees, and they were between me and both my closest emergency cache and my main camp.
I attempted to circle around them, but as I did so the dogs began baying excitedly. I cursed quietly, realizing they were probably trained to follow scents, and that I had not retrieved the arrows I had shot into their camp. Habitually, I bound iron tips and feathers onto my arrows using my own hair, and it had been too long since I had considered the danger that might bring. Surely the dogs could now scent me from my own arrows.
A flock of birds took flight overhead and in their fluttering wings I heard a voice: “Silly fool, run!” the trickster-God Loghaz laughed. Cursing him silently, I turned and made all speed toward the nearest clearing in the opposite direction. This would perhaps give me a chance to see exactly how many there were, and might afford me an opportunity to thin their numbers. I believed I could outpace them for some time; however, if they spread out with the dogs it would be quite difficult to slip around them.
I crossed the clearing at a dead run, taking up a position on the far side a small distance into the trees. I counted my arrows: eleven. Listening, I tried to determine how many I faced. I could clearly make out eight different dogs but there could be more. They drew closer and I nocked an arrow, waiting, but no one entered the clearing. I could make out motion along the edge, men and dogs, but nothing I could take a clean shot at. Clearly, they were wary of my bow and suspected my presence.
Suddenly a man shouted and two dogs dashed into the clearing heading straight for me. I loosed two arrows in quick succession and was in motion even before I heard the dogs yelping in distress. It had been a foolish move on their part, for they should have waited until they were certain of my location and could move in closer before charging. On the other hand, I was now down two arrows and the chase was on in earnest.
The advantage of being tracked by dogs was that there was little point in attempting to be circuitous. I ran at the best pace I could maintain while trying to think of an escape route. There was a river ahead, but even at this pace it would be well towards evening when I reached it. I was not certain I could open my lead enough to use the river effectively. I could hear the demon laughing as the wind rushed past my ears. You are no goddess, you are nothing! he hissed, but his taunts were nothing new and I ignored him.
Then I heard a dog charging upon me, nearly silently. Only the rapid thuds of footfalls warned me in time to seize my knife and turn. This dog was larger than the two I had dispatched, and yellow in color, thickly muscled with a wide jaw and a collar of sharp spikes protecting its throat. I feinted with my bow but he ignored it, lunging for my left leg as I leapt out of the way. He spun on his paws, spittle flying from his jaws as he came for me again, forcing me back towards the line of pursuers. I dodged again and this time threw down my bow as he lunged. I turned and leapt at his back. He snapped at my arm, but I was able to force him down and bring my weight to bear on the knife, sinking it into the beast’s back as he struggled beneath me. He did not die easily, forcing me to hold him down and strike again and again with the blade. Through it all he made only eerily hoarse and quiet yelps and grunts; otherwise, no sound but my own breaths and the slick snicker of my knife plunging into his ribs again and again accompanied our struggle.
My anger was now mixed with an emotion I had not felt in a long, long time: doubt. I found that emotion even more infuriating, for how dare these mortals cause such feelings in one such as I? But these men and their beasts feared me not, and now I found myself having to kill a beast with my hands just to escape their clutches. How mortifying, how offensive!
As the beast’s struggle ended beneath me I realized I had lost precious time and could afford no further emotional indulgences. As I scooped up my bow I spied one of my pursuers coming through the brush about 50 paces away. I loosed an arrow but he stopped and quickly raised a shield to catch it. Turning to run I heard a horn sound behind me and my left arm began to throb. The dog’s collar had caught me and a long gash running along the inside of my forearm was welling blood.
I ran hard, seeking out some place where I could perhaps pause and strike at them. The land rose somewhat as I approached the crest of the hills and I began to calculate. It would have to be here, for beyond this point they would be above me. I skirted along the ridge, seeking the highest point where I could see what opportunities might present themselves.
The men swept towards the hill in a semicircle, very deliberate and methodical. They rightly concluded I might be perched on the high ground, because horns sounded and they stopped closing. Watching carefully as I tended my left arm I could make out some forty men, all wearing identical garments and armor. Towards the center of the line there were several men clustered together—and there he was, the one they called Rufus.
He wore gleaming armor and a helmet with a tall crimson crest. I could see him gesturing, the men about him reacting almost as if his very movements carried some physical force. The breeze carried his voice to me, deep, imperious and so very certain of himself, of his power and his purpose. He sent men running to the ends of his skirmish lines and they began to fan out, stretching the line as the center began to move forward. He turned and gazed along the ridgeline, his eyes passing over my hiding place and continuing on… then returning. With a look of determination, he pointed energetically. Four men immediately set out up the hill straight towards me. I cursed him even as I admired his ability to so quickly calculate where I must be.
I realized then that I wanted him to come closer. I wanted to watch this arrogant creature die. But the others below were spreading out. If I remained I would be encircled and would have to slip past the dogs to escape.
Watching the trees I gauged the wind for a moment, then drew three of my precious remaining arrows, setting two point-down in the earth and nocking the third. The men climbing the hill were getting close enough for me to hear them clearly. There was no more time.
I stood and drew the arrow back to my ear, aiming in a high arc out over the ground below. I loosed the arrow and then swiftly repeated the action, sending two shafts in a high arc toward the men below. The third I let fly at Rufus himself and with grim satisfaction as he missed with his shield and my arrow found the side of his calf. A confused commotion began below as I turned and sped down the reverse slope, hoping to disappear into the brush as I made for the river still far below.
It was growing dark when I reached the riverbank and plunged into the water making for the far bank. I had gained ground on my pursuers and had time to use the river to my advantage. I followed it far downstream, at times letting the current carry me as I rested my aching legs. I would be far south of them now, well beyond the skirmish line, and the dogs would have to scour both banks upstream and down to pick up my trail.
As the night grew deeper I came upon a familiar spot and left the river, heading up into the low hills where I had a regular camp. To the north I could see the glow of fires. They had given up the chase and settled in for the night. Oddly enough it saddened me that they had stopped. Despite the arrogance and foolishness of their pursuit, it had been… exhilarating.
Finding blankets and supplies where I had secreted them the season before, I settled down for the night but I set no fire. I could see their light and there was no need to permit them to see mine.
Sleep was elusive and light when it did come, but I managed to rest until the sky began to go gray with the coming dawn. Muscles ached but were otherwise cooperative and the wound to my arm was well on its way to healing as I broke camp. With a new quiver full of arrows I set out eastward, seeking to circle far behind the men who had pursued me. I was still angry and it was in my mind that punishment was in order as I made my way along familiar trails, listening to the wind in the trees and…
There was silence. Listen as I might, seeking the words of Nerth?, or even Loghaz, I heard nothing. Nerth? electing to remain silent I could understand, but Loghaz? That one never passed an opportunity to make merry at my expense, sewing his doubt in my heart with whispered words of fear, death and despair.
I slowed my pace. Had I missed something? What would silence the voices who had been my companions for so many winters? What would drive them from me? I stopped in my tracks, eyes closed, listening as I calmed my breathing and the beating of my heart. Settling down into a cross-legged sitting position I slowly shut out the sounds I knew, listening solely to the rustling of the breeze in the trees, the songs of birds… the quiet snapping of a twig.
Instantly alert I attuned myself to that sound. Men were moving in the woods toward me. There were at least two of them and they were close, but they likely had not seen me.
Angered by their persistence, I strung my bow and slipped off the trail.
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