Running

He had been running for more than an hour now and still they dogged his every step. His boots were heavy with mud and his newly acquired cloak was soaked through, weighing down his shoulders and clinging to his legs. The storm had been raging on for hours now and showed no signs of letting up. Lightning crashed to the earth from time to time allowing the elf to keep track of his surroundings. Not that he needed to see, as he seemed to be running endlessly in a grassy plain once again with the all too familiar rolling hills all about him. How happy he would be if he never again laid eyes on a grassy knoll!

Although his pursuers were not gaining ground on him, Ademar could tell by the baying hounds in the distance that he was not getting away either. They were clinging to his scent despite the storms best attempts to wash it away. For many more minutes he ran on, stumbling often as his strength failed him and clinging still to the small box he had recently procured. Finally he stopped at the top of a hill, gasping for breath he dropped to his knees in the muddy turf. Letting the box fall, he drew his sword and smashed the pommel of it against the hasp on the box. After a few similar strikes the latch finally gave way and Ademar ripped the lid open. He plunged one hand inside and pulled forth a fist full of coins and jewelry while his other hand unlaced his waist pouch. Within the span of a few heartbeats he had filled his pouch yet the box was still heavy with riches. With a sigh that was equal parts exhaustion and regret, he rose slowly to his feet and adjusted his equipment before moving on again leaving the box open on the hill.

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Chivahle Garrison led half a dozen townsmen out into the pouring rain, every-other man carrying a sunrod from her personal cache to help them navigate the darkness. She was a hero in the area, a former adventurer who had beaten back many orc invasions with her friends in years past. Those friends had jokingly given her the nickname Hatchet in reference to the way her large frame dwarfed the heavy war ax that she favored. Chivahle lifted that ax now, it's handle comfortable in her hand and it's weight reassuring. It had been many years since she had placed her ax on the mantle but she remembered the old days of wild adventure. She remembered the sacrifices that had been made which had ushered in her idle retirement as a blacksmith in a sleepy, backwoods village. She also remembered how a filthy sneak-thief had broken into her home and taken much of what she had sacrificed so much to gain.

The baying hounds ahead of them suddenly surged forward with renewed vigor. They were back on the trail. Chivahle clenched the leash tightly in her left hand, holding Baden in check as he tugged at his bond. She was not the only one eager to meet this thief. They ran on grimly into the pounding rain and flashing lightning, trusting in the hunting ability of the three dogs leading the way. It would only be a matter of time; they knew the land and the dogs seemed to have a strong scent trail to follow despite the rain.

*** *** *** *** ***

Exhaustion was beginning to win over his body. Despite the cold rain, Ademar was sweating profusely. His legs felt weak and unsteady beneath him. His run had slowed to a labored jog, waterlogged boots barely clearing the ground. Still the hounds could be heard over the storm and they were getting ever closer. At least he was on level ground again, he noted. Of course there was still no where to hide out here in the middle of the tall grass.

He stumbled again, for perhaps the thousandth time this night. With a splash he fell to the muddy ground. The breath blasted from his lungs leaving him writhing in the tall grass. For many minutes Ademar lay there gasping for breath; the baying of the hounds growing louder and louder in his keen ears. He thought for certain that this would be his end. Laying face down in the mud, gasping for breath, he felt that he should just await his fate. He was too weak to continue, too tired to push on any further. A couple more minutes passed and still he lay there but, once again the grinning visage of Kendrick Cwik came to his minds eye. Once more he reminded himself that his goal had not been met.

Even with a red rage building inside him, Ademars’ body protested and responded sluggishly as he rose once more to his feet. The lightning had slowed and the night was dark once more. He could hear the shouting of men now mixed with the barking dogs. They were no more than a couple hundred paces behind him he guessed. Not bothering to look back, he pressed forward again slowly picking up speed.

Everything seemed to work against him this night. The gloom about him was impenetrable now, the rain had soaked through his clothes weighting him down, and the tall grass, which seemed to stretch on forever in all directions, tugged at his legs as if it were heeding the will of those on his heels. It took all his will to continue forward through the plains. The dogs had been let loose he knew, they were no longer barking but he could hear them rushing through the thick grass not far behind him.

Thin elven lips trembled as he pleaded to the night sky: “Sanastarus, if ever I needed your aid, now is that time.” As if in reply, a bolt of lightning struck in the distance, replacing the night sky with pulsing blue-white light. It was not the divine intervention he was hoping for. The light, brief as it was, only revealed his alternate end. Not two strides away, the ground fell away to a wide, churning, river flooded by the rain. The storm had drowned out the sound of the rushing waters below. He had no hope of stopping before the edge. Blackness returned as quickly as it had been dismissed and suddenly Ademar felt only the air rushing beneath his feet. For nearly five heartbeats he fell before plunging into the icy cold, black waters. Terror filled him as the current dragged him downriver, smashing him into unseen rocks along the bottom. Thrashing desperately, he clawed his way back to the surface. Ademar gasped for air and gagged as the dark water of the river flooded his throat. For minutes which felt like hours to the frantic elf, he bobbed along the river rapids, the cold water sapped all remaining strength from his body. It was not long before he could no longer feel the rocks that he was thrown against or the other floating debris which battered him, all he knew was the cold and the darkness, then, just darkness.

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