Sofya’s feet pounded the soft leaf litter of the forest’s floor, her long legs working easily, her long, brown hair streaming behind her as she made her escape. She knew the Duke’s hunters must by now be giving chase, but she had a lead on them, and their horses would be of little advantage in the closely-wooded valley. She just needed to keep a sustainable pace and to pray to the Gods for a little luck, and in two days she would be free.

And if not? Well, she couldn’t think about that now, couldn’t let the prospect of failure shake her focus as she gracefully dodged between the silent trunks. The morning air in the forest was still except in her wake, and it was peaceful. Few birds sang. No mouse or fox or squirrel rustled in the underbrush. It was as if the forest was telling Sofya: I will not speak of your passing. It watched her slender body, her long legs, her brown hair pass, but would not betray her.

The temptation to reach beyond the perception of her eyes and ears, to test the closeness of her pursuers, threatened to distract her. But she forced that temptation down, focusing on the rhythm of foot and earth and root, and ran.

She ran across a stream in a single leap, ran through a clearing that must have seen many meetings in times long forgotten, ran past ash and alder and oak all a blur, ran for her life. She knew what awaited her should she be caught, knew the stories, had seen survivors. Everyone survived, they said, and yet she ran, ran for her life.

The morning sun rose in the sky, chasing away the gloom from the underbrush. The chill of the autumn night still clung to the woods, but Sofya did not feel it. She did feel the effort of her flight creeping into her muscles, and she felt the first twist of hunger at her belly. She carried nothing but a small sack and waterskin and, without stopping, ate some of the dried berries and drank from the skin.

She continued until, past midday, she felt it was time. She slowed, then stopped, for the first time in hours, breathing heavily. A crow cawed in the distance but the forest was still otherwise quiet except for her breathing. Sofya stood there, trying to appreciate the beauty and the peace, trying not to think of the danger. She prepared herself, forcing her breathing to slow, closing her eyes and calming herself. It was dangerous, but not doing it was more dangerous. Finally ready, she knelt carefully in the litter, put one palm to the ground and closed her mind to the forest around her, reached out with her other senses. Nothing… nothing… she reached further, probing as gently as she could, until she gasped, her eyes snapping open. She leapt to her feet, cursing, and was at a run again in a blink.

She cursed the Gods, cursed herself, cursed the Duke. Ten pursued her, two of them hunters. Worse, one of the hunters was only a mile off the path she’d been taking, the other only a little further, meaning they could cut her off far more easily than she’d expected. Worse, each was no more than five miles from her and sure to be alert, so they would definitely have sensed her probe, and she was in terrible, terrible danger.

She tried to pick the new direction at random, to be unpredictable when the hunters sensed her and modified their pursuit. Her thoughts in the minutes after were plagued by visions of her capture, but soon she settled back into a rhythm, albeit with a sense of desperation as she fled.

Her feet pounded the soft leaf litter of the forest’s floor, her long legs working rapidly, her long, brown hair streaming behind her. She pulled on her waterskin and ate from her rations, and tried to ignore the gradually mounting ache in her legs.

In the early afternoon, she felt it: an unmistakeable pressure in her head, a sense of intrusion. And more… an inviting sense of calm, of reassurance, welcoming… No! Sofya forced the intruder out of her mind, dropped to one knee, palm to earth, and reached out: they would soon all know where she was, but she could only tell the position of the one hunter who had sensed her, so there was no reason not to reveal herself now. She didn’t have to probe for long before her fears were confirmed: the other team had guessed her direction and closed the distance.

This time Sofya did not set off immediately. The hunter teams had to carry more than she did. They were trained for fitness, could surely outrun her in a straight race, but they had crossbows, spears, usually a tent. She could still escape if she kept her focus. They would be unlikely to search for her magically again soon, but she would be able to do so much sooner, and now she knew where they were… Her mind made up, she started walking in the direction of the nearest hunter, saving the energy she’d need.

After judging that she’d be able to guess their heading, she searched once more, carefully this time, focused. With a little luck and the skill she’d developed over years, she would be able to search near the hunter’s previous location and find them without alerting them. Nothing… nothing… there! The pack hadn’t picked the direction she’d expected, but she saw they had guessed she’d take an easy path with gentle terrain, and saw an opportunity to trap her. Not this time she thought grimly and was once again running, now with fresh determination.

Her feet pounded the soft leaf litter of the forest’s floor, her long legs working swiftly, her long, brown hair streaming behind her.

One day previously

The air was cool in the square, in spite of the late morning sun. Summer was assuredly over, but in spite of the chill, close examination of the figure stood by the massive stone fountain would reveal a sheen of sweat on her brow. Sofya glanced furtively at the clocktower for the second time that minute. Still not noon.

The town of Felsberg was bustling. Half of the square was filled with market stalls selling all manner of food, drink, tools, baubles, potions, books and almost anything one could need. It buzzed with the noise of hawkers and buyers alike trying to haggle out good deals or complain of bad ones. In the middle of the square where Sofya stood, a huge area around the fountain was clear of stalls, but all those vying otherwise for the attention of the crowd competed there against one another: musicians and actors mainly, but a few prostitutes counting on their ability to spot watchmen coming and pretend to be something else, and two men delivering vicious diatribes against certain officials. They counted on their ability to spot watchmen coming and pretend to be criticising someone unimportant.

Further out, a few figures with work still to employ day-labourers shouted their rates — too low to have fulfilled the day’s quota. Beyond them was a stream of people hurrying about their business — the central thoroughfare of the town passed through the square there, and merchants, clerks, servants, messengers and all manner of busy people trotted to and fro. Finally, behind them, loomed the imposing frontage of the town hall, festooned with pilasters, crockets, gargoyles and, peering down suspiciously at the oblivious masses, a giant eagle of carved stone. Above all that rose the clocktower which, shocking Sofya out of a reverie, tolled the hour.

A shape intruded on the edge of her vision. “Follow,” it said, and she followed, the pair rapidly disappearing into the crowd then into the warren of side-streets. In silence they walked through dark, claustrophobic alleys until eventually reemerging in a less busy road. A short way along, the silent, hooded figure brought her to a pair of horses, one riderless. She mounted up and the pair left the stranger behind.

Sofya did not know her new companion well, only what he was there to do. They’d spoken once or twice but she couldn’t remember his name, and now was not the time for speaking. They rode uphill to the northernmost city gate, where the rider presented papers to the bored watchman on duty, who waved them through before returning to a game of dice. After a few hours on the quiet northern road they saw their target in the distance: a country house built by some nameless lord, long since acquired by the Duke.

As the shadows in the forest grew longer and the gloom returned, Sofya felt the tiredness become a palpable thing. It inhabited her legs, her chest and her mind and she could no longer ignore it. But tiredness she had trained for: no amount of training had prepared her for the fear which now gripped her and drove her forward, threatening to spur her too fast and exhaust her. Birdsong blossomed through the canopy as dusk approached, replacing the day’s quiet with excited chatter.

She had hoped by now to have evaded the hunters but, with them still closing in, she would have to face a choice at nightfall: whether to push on at a slower pace until morning, or risk hiding and sleeping in the cold, with no fire or shelter.

She put off the decision for as long as she could, but as the sun sank further she eventually knew she could wait no more. She couldn’t risk locating her pursuers now; they hadn’t made their presence known for over an hour, too long for her to have a chance of finding them by subtler questing, so she’d reveal her position just before she either tried to sleep or as her pace became much slower in the darkness. Nevertheless, she could estimate how far away they were with a different spell, discover how risky staying still would be.

Once more she closed her eyes and focused, not sending out tendrils of sense now but rather searching for the minute mental vibrations all humans emanated and which would be stronger if they were nearer. It was hard to do, as one’s own mind was always the loudest, but Sofya had practiced this many a time.

The forest was still once again — the birds all roosted except the owls. Something small snuffled nearby, but then was silent. Even in the calm evening though, Sofya was having trouble, it felt as if something was obscuring what she could sense, damping it, like a drumskin muted with a hand. She exhaled deeply, relaxing, letting the vibrations run through her when…

What was I doing? she asked herself, momentarily distracted. She shook her head; it felt fuzzy, like it was full of something. I was trying to find how far away they are, but I didn’t sense them… That’s good, they must be far away. Something niggled at her, pressing on her mind, but she ignored it. She only truly realised something was wrong when she started to walk. Oh… oh no. Oh no, no, no! The pressure increased, pushing her forward until she could sense the foreign mind invading hers: the mind of the hunter.

As his control over her mind grew, her own dimished, and she found herself thinking less and less, merely observing herself as she walked towards the hunter and his company. After a short while — she had no idea how long — she cupped her hands to her mouth and yelled into the blackness, “HERE!!” What little consciousness she was able to muster recognised that this was not a good idea, or would not have been, had it been her idea at all. It didn’t prevent her from repeating the calls as she walked on, almost blind in the night.

Before long she became aware of lights through the trees, and voices, and she turned slightly to head towards them. Shouts went up when the first of the men spotted her, running towards her with crossbows and spears leveled. In a rush, her thoughts returned to her and she whirled, turning this way and that, looking for a way out. She was surrounded though, and the spearpoints and boltheads gleamed threateningly in the torchlight. “By the Gods,” she breathed.

A fifth man joined the others, holding only a slender wooden staff from the end of which a peculiar, unflickering silvery light emanated. Sofya spat a curse. “There’s no need for that, and it certainly won’t help you,” he said, his voice higher than she had expected, and betraying his exhaustion. “Bind her hands. Back to the clearing and we’ll make camp.”

The soldiers with spears dropped them and moved in to follow his orders. One grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, the other by the wrists, and she was suddenly acutely aware of the thin clothing she’d worn to allow her to run without overheating. She started to struggle as the rope was placed around her wrists, but immediately she felt the pressure in her head return and her legs turned to jelly. After that, the soldier who had been grasping her shoulders had to hold her up. The soldiers exchanged a whispered word, then guffawed openly, leaving her, when her wits returned, blushing furiously and blinking back tears. She wiped the dribble of fluid from the corner of her mouth with her bound hands and was prodded forward by a spear butt.