If they had captured the Sergeant and his body was still here after all that time, then he realized that the Vigilantes were either dead or out of action. Either way, he knew he wasn’t going to have the support that he had been expecting. He was fairly certain he was catching up to the Princess and her captor. Two days before, he had come upon the embers of a small fire, and he was fairly certain that he could travel faster than the Doppelganger could move the Princess.


    Be safe.


    A man was standing on the corner of the square looking in the direction that the others had gone. His expression was downcast, and it was clear that he wanted to follow, but something was keeping him in place. The man looked towards the fire and nearly jumped out of his boots when he saw the boy.


    Well that’s something, at least.” The Elf looked towards the fire to speak with the one who looked like a woman. “I saw Stewart Cantel running north with at least six Dracairei hot on his trail.”


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    I’m sorry, I’m just hungry and looking for food. I didn’t think anyone would be out here,” another voice replied. Something seemed familiar about the second voice as well, but she couldn’t place it. Whoever the thief was, they were young.


    Well, this was a dumb plan. Stewart Cantel said to himself as he ran past the burning remains of his lifelong friend. He was fairly certain that at least five of the Dracairei were a block behind him, at most. Several crossbow bolts had been within inches of hitting him as he raced through the streets and out into the country. Once he hit the road he let loose every ounce of speed he had. The Dracairei might be heavily modified killers, but no one was faster than Stewart Cantel.


    His eyes tracked each dip, rut, and rock in the road as he poured on the speed. The sounds of pursuit began to grow distant and he heard the steps stop for a moment. In the next moment, he rolled to the side, dodging a hail of crossbow bolts that tore through where he had just been. His eyes tracked the six bolts as they tore through the air in front of him. Alright, guess I have six on my tail, or someone has two crossbows.


    Stewart ran until his legs began to protest mightily. He knew that the Dracairei were more than likely not far behind; his speed gave him the advantage, but they had stamina in spades. Looking back, he could just make out the vague outline of the six forms running on the road behind him. Knowing he had gone as far as he was likely to go, he turned left off the road and ran for the trees. Rather fitting that we’re going to die in Death’s Edge, he thought.


    Climbing one of the larger trees, he watched as the assassins slowly approached the area where he had entered the forest. A short, raspy discussion ensued. For some reason, a few of them didn’t think it was a good idea to follow him into the forest that was an anathema to their kind. The only words he caught from the conversation were the loudly hissed “…remember what happened last time?” However, it seemed that their need to kill him outweighed their instincts of self-preservation, as several minutes later they began to trickle into the forest.


    The first of the Dracairei slid silently beneath him on the ground, rousing him from his thoughts. Great time to get lost in your misery you sad old bastard. It was an unkind thought, but it nearly made him laugh, which would have certainly spelled his defeat. As the Dracairei fanned out below, looking for the slightest trace of his passage, he smiled grimly. Birds began to chirp to the north and he realized that the sun was beginning to crest the horizon to the east. He had run through the night, far away from anyone who could render him assistance.


    His dagger bit in deep. He put all of his strength into holding onto it, using it and his momentum to swing around the Dracairei and plant his other dagger in the assassin’s neck. He let go of the first dagger as he and the body hit the ground and pulled his shortsword to lop off the Dracairei’s head. Once removed, he kicked the orb as hard as he could deeper into the forest and continued his escape north. Five to go.


    Something tore through the cloth on his right leg and he felt hot liquid roll down his calf. As much as he hoped it was just sweat, deep down he knew it wasn’t. It was only a graze, but if even a little bit of whatever concoction the Dracairei dipped their weapons in got into the wound, it would only be a matter of time until they had him. Weaving through the trees, he managed to duck out of sight several times, slowing his pursuers who didn’t seem willing to come around a tree trunk and find him waiting. Smart of them.