Eliphaz fell, wind rushing past his ears. For what felt like seconds he remained in freefall, limbs flailing helplessly in the darkness. Shouts of surprise broke out above him, and he turned up towards the distant light of the upper city. Just barely could he see the blur of soldiers, all gathered along the edge of the street from which he had leapt. He imagined their confounded faces, jaws slack in open-mouthed astonishment when—

—his back hit the sloped wall of the aqueduct. He bounced off the hard surface, feeling the impact of stone hidden beneath the slimy, rubber-like surface. He bounced again, protecting his head with his forearms as his neck jerked back-and-forth, the centripetal force of his tumble pulling him apart. He continued to roll, arms clenched together, knees tucked under his chest. No longer pinching his nose (and mouth inadvertently opened due to hyperventilation), a revolting smell invaded his head, burning into his sinuses. His stomach heaved, and his throat seized violently; acidic, bitter fluids gathered in his mouth. As Eliphaz prepared to empty the rest of the contents of his insides, a frigid dampness enveloped him. Limply he fell in, and the murky waves submerged him completely.

The channel was deep—deeper than Eliphaz expected. Eyes tightly shut, his mind still spinning in his skull, Eliphaz kicked his legs wildly, searching for some solid purchase. Finally he found one of the sides—covered in what exactly Eliphaz didn’t want to consider—and pushed towards the surface. He gasped into the frigid night air, treading water as he oriented himself. His eyes stung, and peering up he could see the crystallized light of the night sky filtered through his lashes. Water from his lips ran down his tongue. It tasted slightly sour, of moss and rot. Not particularly awful, but Eliphaz figured he had already been inured to the stench of the sewage channel.

In the relative silence of the sloshing water, he heard a sound, the distant hum of a vibrating string. Like the pluck of the lowest tones of a singer’s lute, it echoed down the canyon-walls of the channel. He turned and looked up, searching for the source.

A dark, slender figure flew down. It was tiny, barely the size of his fist—a bird or bat, perhaps. Swift, silent, like a falcon diving for prey, it flew down the clay wall, descending at an angle. Headed straight toward Eliphaz.

On instinct, he ducked under the water, wincing as his nose filled with acrid water. Something whipped past his head, hitting the surface in a shower of droplets before descending into the depths, leaving a trail of bubbles behind. The object was thin like a reed, a tuft of trimmed feathers fanning out at its end. The front was black, pointed, catching the starlight for just a moment—even in the murk of the stagnant canal. And in that glimpse, Eliphaz knew what it was.

An arrow.

Coming up for air, Eliphaz heard the hum of a hundred bows, each singing its arrow into the night. They swarmed down the aqueduct, a cloud of dark bats that blotted out the stars. The deadly onslaught was completely silent, hovering like a dark spirit over the water as they descended.

He dove under, desperately swimming away as the arrows hit. The surface boiled as if its temperature had increased ten-fold. Some missed the channel, clattering loudly against the walls before falling down. As he swam, Eliphaz could see arrows streak past on either side. Some found their target, but thankfully, the water slowed their speed. Through adrenaline and sheer willpower, Eliphaz scarcely noticed the stinging pain as the arrows tore through his soaked clothes and lodged themselves along his shoulders and back. He focused on propelling himself forward, coming up for air briefly, only to dive deeper into the sewer.

The water was thick, as if Eliphaz pulled himself through sludge. Eyes closed, he felt his way forward, praying that the soldiers would lose his position. His arms ached, and pain tore through his left shoulder, an arrow having caught in between the ribs of his back. His lungs screamed at him, demanding air as his throat slowly tightened. Eliphaz pushed on. He ignored the alarms of his body, waiting until the very last moment, when his mind began to dull from the throbbing discomfort. For the third time he pulled himself out of the water, and drank greedily of the fetid air. He reached back, gripped the arrow still lodged in his back. He pulled, and a searing stab shot through him, the arrowhead stealing a chunk of his flesh. Before he could stop himself, he shouted out in pain. He dove under before knowing if the soldiers had heard.

He continued onward in a similar manner: diving as deep as he could, swimming up to the surface only when absolutely necessary. His pursuers had stopped trying to kill him, or at least for now, Eliphaz acknowledged. He didn’t want to take any chances, not when escape was so close. Soon it would all be over, he told himself. He ignored his aches, his cuts and bruises, and kept moving.

Eventually the city wall loomed, towering before him from his lowly position. A sudden relief washed over him. He felt his body gain new strength, pushing through the waters more easily than before. A black, half-circle emerged out of the darkness. Was this it, finally? An escape? The movement of the water quickened, he heard the low rush of a river nearby.

He reached the half-circle, now close enough that he could see the river beyond, the vague shapes of a distant shore. He reached out, his arms outstretched, and felt his fingers wrap around icy metal. Eliphaz’s heart dropped.

The way was blocked. A cold, metal grate stood between him and his freedom. With what little strength he still had, Eliphaz shook the grate. It didn’t budge.

An arrow shot out, its head burning with black tar. It hit the wall, falling down like a bright red beacon. It landed in the water next to Eliphaz and sizzled out, but not before casting the bottom of the channel dark scarlet light.

“There he is!” a voice cried out from above.

Eliphaz heard the groan of bows being strung, saw knotted ropes unfurl and fall down the sides of the wall. They had known he was trapped, that he headed for a dead-end. The soldiers had waited, silently preparing until they knew he was cornered with no-where to run. Now that they saw their chance, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill him.

He dove under, covering his head with his soaked cloak and prepared for the onslaught of arrows. He tried to focus. He needed to escape, and fast, before the soldiers showered him with arrows. They’d wait until he succumbed to his wounds, until his body was a bloody pincushion. Then they’d fish him out, his face all blue and bruised, his body caked in sludge and blood, a veritable porcupine with broken arrowshaft quills…

An arrow dove past his face. He saw its dark shape, its body carved out of a tender branch. An idea came to him.

Out of the folds of his clothes, Eliphaz pulled the branch he’d plucked from a tree at the thoroughfare. He’d meant to keep it in case he needed a surprise attack, but now was as good a time as any. He held the branch between the center bars of the grate, and activated his ability.

Staff of thorns!

The branch grew rapidly in between his fingers. It widened into a staff, its ends pushing against metal. The grates groaned, bars bending slightly as metal scraped against stone. Eliphaz grit his teeth and tried again, pouring mana into the staff.

Staff of thorns!

Arrows fell all around. Some shone with fire, burning briefly atop the noxious surface of the sewer. Red shadows flickered along the steep walls, revealing the horde of soldiers looking down from their vantage points. Eliphaz hugged the grate and tried again.

Staff of thorns!

The metal groaned and gave in. The center bars lost their hold in the stone wall, fell out and splashed softly in the water. Eliphaz slipped through, wriggling his shivering body through the opening as a barrage of arrows fell on his position. One pierced his shin, but he was already halfway through the wall.

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He barely heard the soldier’s shouts, barking their orders as the river took him, pulling him under. The current was strong, stronger than it looked. The Arantu’s icy-cold waters swirled around him, tracing a winding path away from the city, through underwater vortexes and whirlpools. His side hit a large rock that jutted out of the water, and Eliphaz tried to grab on, clutching the notched surface with his numb fingers. The rock was slick with algae and his frozen hands found no purchase. He slipped away, pulled back into the Arantu’s frigid currents. Back and forth he went, between rocks and streams, until his mind knew nothing but the ceaseless undertow of the river.

—

Eliphaz didn’t know how long he was caught in the violent whims of the Arantu. But eventually, the currents brought him into a calmer eddy at the river’s edge, where he patiently waited, eyes peering out from the reeds.

He couldn’t stay here all night. He felt the cold seeping into his bones, and Eliphaz knew that eventually the cold would take his mind as well. Besides, he saw lights gathering across the river, outside the shadow of Qadesh’s walls and building. The empire’s men hadn’t given up after his escape from the city, and a force of torch-bearing soldiers were preparing a search. He guessed they would patrol the river’s edge first. His best chance of survival was to keep moving, heading through the tall grasses of the marsh and into the forest.

Slowly, as silently as possible, he emerged from the water. His clothes were soaked and heavy. He’d lost his shoes in the sewer and felt the damp mup beneath his feet. An broken arrow still clung to his leg, embedded so deep in the flesh that Eliphaz feared the damage tearing it out would rend. His back protested his every move, and so he crawled between the grassy banks of the marsh like an animal, looking back as he went.

A low fog settled in. Through the gray, the light of the torches floated like ghostly spirits as they spread across the dark landscape. Eliphaz looked on, face grim. He rested his bruised and broken form against a fallen tree, its decayed body half-submerged in mud. He pulled the Sword of Lamech from its pouch, wiping it clean with edge of his ragged clothes. When its dull sheen returned, he hid the blade between the folds of his cloak.

His searchers wouldn’t find him—not if he found them first.

—

A soldier stalked the marsh, wading through the knee-high water, torch raised in the air. He scanned his surroundings. Reeds and grasses shifted quietly, the hulking shadows of low trees dotted the scene, painted in deep blues. Eerie shapes danced in the corners of his vision.

A low rustle caught his attention. The soldier turned, raising his sword across his chest. What was that sound? An animal, a woodland creature? Or his quarry?

He prepared to call for reinforcements, when something behind him gripped his neck. He staggered back, dropping his sword and raising his arm to his throat. He felt something slide across him like a snake, soft yet firm, its skin as thick as leather. What in Bast’s name had attacked him—a monster, a demon?

He shouted in fear but the sound cut off as a figure lunged out of the grass. Hunched forward it ran on its hands and feet, scrambling down the bank. As it leapt, a blade flew from the folds of its shadows, catching the light of the torch. The soldier’s shout lost its air as he felt cold metal wrenching through his lungs, robbing his breath. Mouth agape, he looked down as his bowels leaked into the marsh.

In the torchlight details emerged. At the hilt of the bronze sword stood a boy, clothed in rags and his face covered in mud. Despite the dirt, his hair shone unmistakably auburn, his nose sharply defiant.

It was the habiru, the soldier thought in disbelief, as his limbs tensed and grew numb. His quarry… his… his…

You defeated a soldier of Amun! +50 exp

Eliphaz grabbed the torch as the soldier’s body fell into the water with a silent plop. He’d learned previously that allowing the torch to extinguish would only indicate that something had gone wrong, sending more men to investigate. He climbed up the bank, wincing as his shin throbbed. Using an animated vine, he tied the torch to the trunk of a tree, where it would burn well into the night.

Turning inwards, he concentrated on the power of his godshard. He felt the marsh and its vegetation stretch before him, his sense easily extending over a hundred paces. In his mind, he could feel the soft pads of a hare roused from slumber. A heron landed, standing over the water on its slender legs. No other soldiers entered his vicinity.

Eliphaz had quickly realized his advantageous position. Despite his injuries and poor condition, he could hide in the darkness while his pursuers stumbled about. With his abilities he attacked from afar, closing in only to deliver a final blow. The fourth man who’d suffered such a fate now lay before him, hidden under the dead water of the mire. He’d gained two-hundred experience points so far, nearly reaching the midpoint toward his next level.

But despite his success, he knew this game of cat-and-mouse couldn’t last forever. Exhaustion was setting in, his body still shivered and bled. Even if he lasted the night, daytime would only expose him further to danger. He needed to leave, push further into the forest, where he could hide. Rest, regain his strength. That was his only option.

Eliphaz sighed. He thought of Narina with the Kotharat. Had they started the ritual? Was it already finished? He hoped she would live, strong and healthy as ever. He hoped he would see her again.

He limped on, venturing into the forest. His feet stuck to the soft earth, and all around trees grew at odd angles as their roots sank under their massive weight. Webs of branches sheltered him from the sky, the shadows of needles and overripe leaves mottling the ground. The smell of stagnant water and peat receded. A layer of mist clung to the earth, and Eliphaz kicked particles of dew into the air as he haltingly walked.

Every ten paces or so he stopped, resting his throbbing limbs as he leaned his head against a tree. He ignored the pounding of his temples and entered his magic sense. No humans nearby. Onward he went.

He reached a clearing in the wood. Eliphaz hobbled to a nearby tree, to rest and check his surroundings when he heard a sound. Soft, barely louder than the chirping of insects, but unmistakably human. Thus it went:

“Don’t…move.”

Eliphaz stopped, his legs shaking in place. In a calm, fluid motion, he withdrew his sword. He reached out with his sixth sense…and found nothing, as far as he could see. Yet he heard the whisper as clear as day, so where?

He looked up. Ahead of him, he thought he saw a shadow rest in the crown of a tree. Was it a person, or just his exhausted mind playing tricks on his perception? He flexed his empty hand, letting vines slowly scale the trunk from all sides.

“If you move again, if you try anything—we have men with bows all around you. Disobey me and you will find a bolt in your neck.”

Eliphaz stopped the vines. Was the man bluffing? He couldn’t sense anything above the ground, and had no way of knowing whether the man spoke the truth.

Also no way of fighting them off if they chose to attack. His body ached from sores and cuts, bruised from when he’d fallen down the aqueduct, slammed against the rocks of the Arantu. For two days he’d been running, hiding, and running again. He lacked of sleep and sustenance, his mind on constant alert as he moved from one danger to the next. Eliphaz wanted to fight, but with his will and strength depleted, a hopeless fatigue washed over him.

“Put back your sword. Lay down on the ground. Call for help and we will slit your throat.”

He dropped his sword and fell to his knees. His cheek impressed on a soft bed of moss. His eyelids were heavy, and Eliphaz expended the last of his energy to keep them open.

He saw shadows slip down from the trees. Beneath their clothes, pale skin glistened in the starlight of the clearing. Hands and limbs wore thick, gash-like tattoos that dripped like blood.

His arms were roughly pulled back, and a stab of pain shot through his shoulder blade. Eliphaz groaned, but felt a hand cup his mouth.

The voice of the leader came again, this time close up, by his ear. “Hush,” it said.

The spasm passed and his muscles relaxed. His arms were tied at the wrists; at his legs, his knees. A cloth came over his eyes and then all was black.

Hoisted into the air, Eliphaz felt himself swung across a broad shoulder. Large hands gripped his ankles. His spine cracked and he groaned again.

“Good? Any pain? Not a sound, you understand?”

Eliphaz nodded weakly.

“Good.”

They carried him into the night.