FSE

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The sun had not been long in rising above the horizon but already it seemed that it had been a waste of effort. Twilight clung to the the sky with an iron grip and the weak, grey light had to fight hard to illuminate the city. Thick clouds cluttered up the sky in a manner that suggested that it would be some time before the warmth of the sun returned. It was cold, humid and miserable as the leaden masses of moisture laden cloud drifted slowly over the tops of the squat stone buildings of the sprawling city below. A heavy, wet snow began to drift down from the grey skies and coat the streets below in an ever thickening layer of melting slush. Nothing much moved down there; the weather kept most sensible people indoors where the warmth from a fire was never very far away, but then again, not everyone was sensible.

A lone figure was discerned through the drifting snow. He jogged down a narrow alley, leaving a trail of meandering footprints in the slush behind him. An exhausted figure, his breath came in deep gasps and he paused momentarily to lean one shoulder heavily against the wall of an adjacent building. He stayed there for a moment, trying his best to catch his breath. He straightened up and a grimace of pain contorted his pale face. He clasped a hand to his side and he stumbled as he tried to take a step. He reached a hand to the wall and bent over at the waist, teeth bared in pain. When he recovered a bit, he glanced apprehensively back the way he came. When no pursuing figures appeared through the snow, he turned his back against the cold stone wall. Each breath hung in a cloud around his head for a moment before being lost among the falling snowflakes.

The figure slid down the rough wall to sit in a crumpled heap in the slush. He didn't even feel the cold that began to seep through the seat of his pants. He forced his head back against the stone and closed his eyes. The features on his face drew tight, determined. He exhaled slowly through his nose and his shoulders sagged. His jaw worked as he ground his teeth and he bounced the back of his head off the wall a few times. He opened his eyes and turned them up to the grey sky.

There was intelligence that showed in those eyes that were the colour of the great northern glaciers, but it was almost lost in the sea of hopeless fear that was all too evident in those pools of blue. Snowflakes clung briefly to the stranger's unkempt hair and beard before they melted into tiny drops of water that glistened on each individual hair.

This exhausted, dirty stranger was a human male. He reached up with a grimy hand and pushed a tangle of wet blond hair out of his eyes. He left his hand on his forehead for moment before passing it down over his face, trying to wring some of the water from his beard. He sighed and his expression momentarily became as empty and as devoid of expression as a day old corpse.

He was not old, this human, but neither was he young. His age was hard to pin down exactly as his beard made him look some years older than he really was. Fine wrinkles marked the corners of his eyes and ran across his brow that even now was furrowed as thoughts churned away behind his blue eyes. At best guess, his age would be somewhere in his early to mid thirties, a fine age for a human in a world where few of his race indeed lived to see their fourth decade.

The stranger's clothes were stained and threadbare from months of hard times and hard travelling. A tattered dark grey cloak, possibly made of wool, was tied about his shoulders and draped down to just below his waist. Moisture beaded on the cloak as it tried in vain to keep the heavy flakes of snow from penetrating the coarse wool. Beneath the cloak, just barely visible, was a shirt that may have at one time been white but had been stained to a patchy shade of brown over the last few months. His dark brown trousers were tattered and had been patched several times in a crude manner. A sizable hole in the right knee exposed pale skin to the elements. His boots were near unrecognizable lumps of mud. The soles were visible as he slumped against the wall and they were heavily worn. His hands were grimy and calloused and they were getting very, very cold as he sat motionless in the snow.

He was soaked to the skin, he was freezing cold, he felt utterly miserable and he was exhausted from spending the better part of the last five days on the run.

Five days, he thought, as he leaned against the wall. The muscles in his jaw worked as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. Those five days felt more like five years to him. Five days of sustained effort, of running and hiding. Five days of nearly constant fear. He drew his knees up to his chest and hugged them tight. He wondered when he last slept. He stared dismally across the narrow alley, wondering what he should do.

His options were rather limited. He understood all to well that to run would be to get caught. To stay where he was would be to get caught. There was no hiding from his pursuers. Even if he could hide his footprints in the treacherous snow, the Others would still be able to find him. With their sharp noses they would follow his scent trail and with their keen ears they would hear his terrified breathing. Despite that, he had to run, that was really the only choice left to him. He kept a tiny flame of hope alive that in running he would somehow find a way to escape those that hunted him.

What he would give for a horse! A wry smile crossed his lips as he realized that he wouldn't be in this position if he still had his horse. Sadness suddenly flowed over his features and his smile quickly faded into a frown. His horse, his beloved travelling companion, was dead, shot out from under him five days ago at the beginning of all of this madness. He had been very lucky to escape the same fate. The Others had pursued him relentlessly after they had killed his mount and he had managed a very narrow escape under the cover of night by jumping into a quick flowing river that fortune must have made sure was flowing near at hand.

He had lost everything that night except his riding cloak and the clothes on his back and he had very nearly lost his life as well. The icy waters of the river had stolen away nearly all of the heat from his body before he managed to crawl ashore. Staggering away from the waters in a hypothermic daze, he had lucked out and come across a small farm. The summer's last cut of hay had been stacked in piles at the edge of the field and it was under one of these piles that he had crawled. There he had spent the remainder of that horrible night, shivering uncontrollably and hoping that his pursuers thought him drowned and had given up on the chase. When his shivering had finally died down, he had been unable to sleep. He'd spent the long night hours listening to mice squeak and rustle through the hay and praying that the farmer didn't choose this particular night to check on his stores of hay.

The next morning he had been jolted awake by the sound of approaching voices. Frozen in terror, he could do nothing but listen as the voices got closer and hope that the sweet smelling hay would mask his scent. He had waited in agony for the moment of discovery and found it hard to believe when it never came. The voices passed by his hiding place without incident and didn't return. He had waited for nearly an hour before he dared stick his head out from his sanctuary and take stock of his surroundings...

The stranger looked up sharply as a faint shout reached his ears. He sighed and forced himself painfully to his feet. It was time to run again. Aching muscles protested loudly and he limped down the alley.

He rounded a corner, keeping his body pressed close against the stone wall. He tried to keep his thoughts on the problems at hand but he found it difficult to keep them from wandering back over the last five days.

After spending the night in the stack of hay, he had carefully found his way back to the river that had nearly killed him. He was at a total loss as to what he should do as he stood on the bank and stared at the flowing waters. His pursuers lay upstream and were likely heading down this way to find out what had become of him. He could either follow the river downstream or he could strike out and try to find his way across country. Neither path was particularly appealing to him. He had nothing left that would help him to survive. All of his travelling gear, his weapons, his tools, everything, even his flint and steel had been lost with his horse. He knew that there would be settlements along the river, and that with a little bit of luck he might find help and new supplies there. From what he had seen those settlements would likely be full of the Others, but there was a small chance that he might come across other humans if he followed the river. If he struck out on his own and fought his way across country, through the forests and swamps, there would be next to no chance of finding help. Starvation and death lay down that path and despite understanding that with cold reality, he still considered taking that uncertain trail. There was little left for him in this life and some small part of him longed for the release that death would surely provide. However, the stronger, more dominant part of him fought tooth and nail against it. He knelt down beside the roiling waters and cupped his hands, drinking deeply of the cold waters. He stood up slowly, water dripping from his beard, his eyes lost in thought as he stared into the distance. He would follow the river. The instinct to survive was a difficult thing to fight.

Four days he'd spent following the twisting path of the river, four very hungry, very desperate days. He had found a few berries clinging to the bushes that lined the banks of the river and he had eaten of the ones that he'd known weren't poisonous. That was the only food he had been able to find the whole time. He had narrowly escaped another encounter with one of the Others on his second day, and had plunged into a deep, icy cold pool and hidden among a pile of floating driftwood and overhanging bushes at the edge of a steep bank. The Other that he had been hiding from, a tall and lanky feline, had stopped on the bank of the river scant paces away. He could hear the Other sniffing questioningly while the cold water stole his precious body heat away. He had closed his eyes and prayed that the background noise of flowing water and the overpowering smell of rotting vegetation would hide his terrified breathing and his fear scent from the acute senses of the one on the bank. When the Other had finally departed, he'd crawled soaked and shivering up on to the bank. He'd staggered blindly into the trees and found a hollow next to the trunk of a tree. He'd curled up into a ball on the soft moss under the overhanging pine branches and had spent a horrible few hours shivering and trying to get his teeth to stop chattering. He'd nearly died that time too...

The stranger paused for a moment in the shadowy recesses of an overhanging doorway. The building he pressed his starving body against was old; mortar was crumbling away and several stones had loosened and fallen away. The ground was littered with them. The door behind him had been boarded over and briefly he thought about tearing the boards away and hiding somewhere within the dusty and forgotten rooms of the ancient structure. He shook his head. It would be foolish to attempt it. He knew that his only hope was to keep moving. He crept to the corner of the building and slid into another narrow alley.

He's come across this city on his fourth day of stumbling along the river. His first thoughts had been to avoid it and give the place a wide berth but for some reason, he'd gone against his better judgement and approached the city.

He had seen horses there, and his heart had soared at the possibilities that had suddenly presented themselves. If he could get his hands on a horse, it would be a lot easier for him to get away from the Others that surrounded him on all sides. It had been a foolish idea and one that had led to nothing but trouble, but it had seemed like a great idea at the time.

He had watched the stables for the better part of a day and had memorized the patterns of the Others that frequented it. Night soon fell and a nearly full moon rose with the stars, flooding the city with a pale light. It wasn't much but it was still enough for some of the Others to see quite well by. He cursed his luck and waited. Around midnight, clouds scudded across the sky and the stars winked out one by one. When the light from the moon was sufficiently dimmed by the intervening cloud, he had taken his chances and crept to the stables. Silently as he could, he had opened the door a crack and stolen into the dark interior. The warm animal odour welcomed him and he had stealthily crept among the darkened stalls, searching for a suitable animal...

A dark look crossed the stranger's face as he recalled what had happened next. His plan had been sound except for one small detail that he hadn't thought about. Those horses weren't familiar with humans. Raised and broken to the saddle by the Others, to those horses humans were just another animal, and a potentially dangerous one at that. The stranger sighed and turned a wary eye over his shoulder as he moved down the alley. He had been so close...

When he had found a suitable animal, the damned thing had spooked when he approached it. His heart almost stopped when the huge animal reared and kicked at the sides of its stall. Questioning voices called out into the night and he heard the rattle of a lock being opened. He hadn't waited around to see who it was. He fled, tripping in the darkness and ran out into the night. Shouts were raised behind him and a swath of light shone through the door that he had hastily exited. Something whizzed by his ear and threw sparks where it clattered off of nearby stone. The moon was a dull glow through thickening clouds and the first of the snowflakes had begun to drift down as he desperately tried to get away. He had darted out into a street and almost collided with a wagon pulled by two horses. The horses had spooked and there was a startled outcry from the driver of the wagon. With his escape route blocked, he had done the only thing he could do. He'd ducked into an alley that was close at hand and run down it, trying desperately to distance himself from the steadily growing uproar behind him...

The stranger stopped and thumped a fist against wet stone. Fleeing down that alley had been his second big mistake. He'd had no choice but to go deeper into the city after that. Every time he thought he'd found a way out of the maze of streets, it was either a dead end or he would find that the way was blocked and there were Others there waiting for him. He was a bit surprised that they hadn't made a move to catch him yet. The Others were taking their time. Maybe they thought he was armed and they weren't going to take any chances, it was hard to say. Slowly but surely though, he was being surrounded and the trap set up. He doubted that he had much time until it sprang shut.

He slowly crept to the end of the alley and found himself facing one of the city's main streets. He would have avoided such a place if he could have, but he had little choice in the matter. Shouts rang out in the distance and he suspected that the trap was beginning to close behind him. His pursuers would likely be showing up in the alley behind him in minutes, if not seconds. The stranger eyed the wide street suspiciously. It was deserted, probably because the local equivalent of law enforcement had told everyone to stay away or inside. He was still suspicious though, the Others were a crafty bunch and this was as likely a spot as any to spring the trap.

He gathered his legs underneath himself and darted around the corner and up to the wall of the next building. He hardly had the time to gather his thoughts before an angry shout echoed from an alley across the street. He ducked instinctively and a shot rang out. Chips of masonry erupted from the wall behind him barely a hand's breadth from his head. Splinters of bullet and stone stung his ear and his cheek. There was a high pitched undulating whine as the projectile ricocheted upwards into the spiralling snowflakes. He jumped sideways, sliding on the snow covered cobbles. His heart was hammering in his chest and his eyes were wide with terror. He spun around to see a large cougar dressed in grey and red armour running directly at him from barely twenty metres away, ghostlike through the veil of snow. In mid stride, the huge cat stuffed a smoking flintlock pistol into his belt and drew another one. His ears were back and his teeth were bared in an angry snarl. He raised the pistol and pointed it in the stranger's direction. In his other paw he gripped a curved sword that glittered darkly in the dull morning light.

The seconds eroded like granite. Out of the corner of his eye, the stranger saw two more guards come running out of the alley he had just exited, swords in hand. There was a loud curse from one of them as he slipped in the fresh snow and went sprawling. The stranger looked around frantically. He was running out of options really fast.

There was a doorway a scant few steps away, and in the space of a heartbeat he sized it up and knew it was his only chance. He gathered his breath and charged right at it, just as another shot smacked into the wall behind him and deflected into the ground by his feet, kicking up a spray of slush. He didn't break stride and as he turned his shoulder to the weathered wood he fervently hoped that it would be the door that gave way instead of his shoulder.

It did. With a great splintering crash, the aged door was torn from its hinges and he went sprawling inside. He thought he felt something go 'pop' in his shoulder. He quickly sprang to his feet and a horrible grimace distorted his face. Pain lanced like fire up his left arm.

In his panicked state, he was barely aware of his surroundings. The fire that crackled cheerfully in the hearth barely registered in his mind before he fled deeper inside the building. The frightened and confused voices that filtered through an open doorway off to his right were ignored. He turned a corner and in his panic nearly collided with a startled fox that was coming to investigate the uproar. The stranger brushed him aside and kept on running. He found a stairway that led up to the next floor and bounded up it three steps at a time. He slid to a halt on the wooden floor, breathless. A long hallway stretched out before him, and three doors were scattered along its length. He paused for a moment and tried desperately to pull himself together. Voices echoed up through the stairwell. One that sounded frightened and questioning and several that were loud and demanding. The sound of running footsteps reached his ears.

He ran for the nearest door and twisted the knob. It was locked. He swore. He ran to the next one and tried it. It swung open with barely a touch. He stepped in and quietly shut the door behind him. He leaned his back against it and breathed deeply for a moment. He had better come up with some sort of plan and quick or else he was going to get a very close and personal tour of the local dungeons, or worse. He turned and fiddled with the lock on the door for a moment and then dragged a convenient chair over and wedged it under the door handle. He turned his attention back to the room he had entered. It appeared to be a study or a library of some kind, the sort owned by someone who was fairly well off in the material world. A desk of some dark and expensive looking wood sat in one corner and rows of bookshelves lined the walls. A large window was directly opposite him and he saw much to his relief that it was partly open. He ran over to it and peered out. Snowflakes spiralled down past his head. The window opened up onto an alley and it was only a two and a half metre drop to the snow slickened cobbles but there was one small problem. A figure clad in red and grey armour was making his way up the alley towards him. The stranger groaned inwardly and pulled his head back inside. His situation was not getting any better. His eyes flickered around the room until they landed on the ornate pair of marble bookends that rested upon the desk. They looked good and heavy. He picked one up and weighed it in his hand. After a moment of hard thinking, he returned to the window. He was no soldier, and he had never liked hurting anyone but he figured that this time at he would have to make an exception. After all, those that were pursuing him had shown no qualms about trying to hurt or even kill him. He took a deep breath and settled the bookend into his hand. The guard that that been patrolling the alley had taken position just below the window and a few metres off to one side. The stranger drew back his arm and after offering a silent prayer to whatever Gods may be listening, he threw the bookend at the guard with all his might.

The stranger's aim was true and the bookend impacted on the side of the guard's helmet. The guard dropped to the ground, stunned. His sword clattered to the cobblestones and his helmet rolled from his head. The stranger felt a little guilty about having to knock the guard out but he knew he had no choice. He was halfway out of the window when he was distracted by a heavy crash from down the hallway as his pursuing guards kicked one of the doors open.With precious little time to spare, the stranger jumped.

He landed heavily on the slick cobblestones about three metres from the stunned guard. As he regained his bearings he saw that the guard was beginning to stir.In an adrenaline driven blur of action, the stranger jumped up and ran towards the guard's sword but the guard reached it first. The stranger kept right on running and bowled the guard over before he had a chance to regain his feet. The sword was knocked in a glittering arc across the alley. There was a pained yelp from the guard as he and the stranger went sprawling in the snow. The stranger's shoulder shot fire through his body. He cried out in pain but nevertheless, he managed to regain his feet at the same time as the guard did. His mind barely registered the lethal shape of the sword lying in the snow a few scant steps in front of him. Without a moment's hesitation, he scooped the blade from the snow and lunged forward to pin the guard to the cold stone wall, pressing the sharp edge to the guard's throat. He drew the sword back, preparing to strike, but stopped cold as the guard whimpered fearfully. Terrified blue eyes met his, and the realization dawned on him that the guard was a she! Those terrified eyes stared out at him from the white furred face of a canine. A trickle of blood dripped down from a patch of red stained fur behind her ear to splatter on her shoulder. She whimpered again, literally shaking in fear and the stranger's brain turned to mush. He lowered his arm and the sword fell from his suddenly numb fingers and clattered to the ground. He slowly released his grip on the guard and he backed away a few steps. He was so shocked he could do nothing but stare at the canine guard he had so nearly killed.

For a brief moment, their eyes stayed locked on one another's and all else was forgotten. It was a terrible mistake. The stranger knew it as soon as he saw the guard's wide-eyed stare snap upward towards the window that he had jumped out of. He spun around just in time to see the deadly shape of a musket barrel protruding through the open window. Panicked, he tried to run but couldn't gain any footing on the icy cobblestones.

The shot took him in high the left shoulder. He felt the bullet hit and heard the blast of the musket loud in his ears. The impact of the shot spun him around and he crashed into the wall. A cloud of sulphurous smoke drifted down with the snowflakes to blanket him has he slowly slid down the wall, leaving a streak of red on the stone behind him. He was vaguely aware of shouts from the window above. He came to rest on his side in the snow. He moved weakly for a moment, clutching at his wound. His hand came away sticky and red with blood. He began to feel light headed and his vision swam in and out of focus. The cold seeped into him, draining away his last remaining vestiges of strength. Through the haze of pain and shock, he was barely aware of a figure that had come up to kneel next to him. He fought to raise his head and found himself looking into the wary blue eyes of the guard he had attacked. The stranger managed to force a weak smile. "I'm sorry..." he choked out as his consciousness faded.

The shadowy silhouette above him grew closer as the world slipped away. A touch lingered on his shoulder and then the darkness took him.