Bael was breathing heavily as he forced himself through the dense forest. He has been running for what seemed like an eternity. His legs felt like they were on fire, and his lungs screamed for want of oxygen. That was expected though, so Bael ignored the pain as he forced himself forward. Bael was a strong man though; he had been a soldier for sixteen years and was just past his prime. He had the body of a trained swordsman, all muscle and with very little excess bulk to slow him down. As he ran he carefully watched the ground and made sure his feet always found the best available footing.

Ordinarily he would be able to run like this for hours without pause. Today however, two things were slowing him down. One was the beautiful girl clinging to his arm as he cradled her carefully to keep her from falling. Her name was Eve, his daughter, and she had celebrated her tenth birthday only three days ago. Ordinarily Eve was a cheerful girl, always happy to involve herself in anything that she could do. Now however, her black hair framed her terrified face. She was desperately trying to be brave, but whenever Bael looked at her he could see the concern in her eyes.

He knew why; her father was dying.

For the last few hours Bael had been running with two crossbow bolts in his back. One in the upper left shoulder area, it was deep wound, and bleeding heavily. That wound however paled in seriousness to the other bolt. The other bolt was lodged in his lower back. It had somehow managed to avoid causing spinal damage, but it was a fatal wound. It wouldn't have been surprising to see a strong man in his prime die within minutes of wounds like these. Bael couldn't afford to fall though... his daughters life lay with him alone now.

Bael almost tripped on a large tree root when he misplaced his foot after a particularly bad spasm of pain from the bolt in his back. He knew he wouldn't last much longer. Bael's eyes widened in a soundless scream as another spasm hit him. This one dwarfed all that had come before it. Bael dropped to his knees and succumbed to a fit of coughing. He had suffered so much internal damage from the lower bolt, the mad run causing the bolt to rip him apart. Bael looked down, struggling to focus... his mouth, hands, and his beautiful Eve were all covered in blood.

Bael pulled himself to a nearby tree. He could hear his pursuers... Bael was struck with the weight of failure. His desperate run had bought his daughter only a few terrible hours.

"Eve........" Bael wheezed before suffering from another coughing fit. "Run......." It was all Bael could manage. Now that he had stopped running it would be impossible for him to start again. Whatever energy he had been using had run out. Her only chance was to flee on her own.

For the last time, tears came to Bael's eyes. His wife Iri was dead. She had been struck down by the same flight of bolts that Bael carried in his back. Thankfully she had been unaware of the ambush. She had died never knowing what had killed her. His daughter Eve wouldn't be able to outrun the men who chased her. They were soldiers too, and from the way they had chased him, Bael knew they had some knowledge of woodcraft. He might have even trained some of them.

"I'm coming... Iri...." Bael closed his eyes. Eve hadn't left him. She was crying now, and her sobs tore at Bael, but he didn't have the strength to do anything. He felt Eve grab his arm. She lifted it up and crawled under. Bael smiled sadly at the act. His daughter wouldn't try to escape, they would all be together soon enough.

It had been about fifteen minutes since Bael's run had ended when the first of the pursuers saw him. Bael lay unmoving, likely dead, but the man edged forward carefully. By rights, no man alive should have been able to run for as long as Bael had while carrying a ten year old girl and with those wounds. He unslung a small hunting horn from his belt and blew a short note to tell the other men with him that their chase had come to a end.

He took a few more steps towards Bael. The older soldier had been an inspiration to him once. Liam had joined the army when he was fifteen. Bael had been his sergeant then. But Bael had left him; he left all of them. Bael had moved to the mounted division upon the unfortunate death of the cavalry sergeant. He was an excellent soldier, and it had been a promotion for him. Liam had been pleased for him... but the sergeant they had received in place of Bael had been a poor substitute.

Bael, Liam and the men of their unit had been stationed at the border then. Bael left to return to Greenholme to take up his new position. One morning, Liam and his unit were out on patrol. There had been some signs of troll activity in the area. Their new sergeant was trying not to show his nervousness at leading men and probably praying that they wouldn't run into any trolls. They had been moving for hours without sight of any enemies when the sergeant called for a short break.

Liam could still remember Jack's cry as he had seen the smoke starting to break past the trees in the distance. The outpost was burning.

The sergeant, Liam didn't even remember his name, ordered a quick march back to the outpost. They were to assist any survivors and reinforce what they could. Hal had been given orders to run to Greenholme and request aid... he had been the luckiest of all of them.

Liam and his men had marched straight into an ambush. This hadn't been a small incursion of trolls attacking an outpost. It was a provisioned and organised assault. The trolls had watched the men march out into the surrounding forests to search for the small signs that Liam now realised had been planted for them to find.

After the men had left, and were far enough away that any aid they could bring couldn't come in time, the trolls had lay waste to the diminished garrison of the outpost. They set it on fire and waited for the unit to return. The troll ambush had hit them without warning. A hundred poorly made arrows crashed into Liam's fellows. The sound of them flying had been the only warning, and despite the heightened alert, many men had been caught unawares. Men died to arrows without even raising a shield to defend. The sergeant had been marked for death. The casualties around him were high, and the man himself had been struck no less than five times.

The trolls rushed out of the forest, screaming their blood-curdling war cries. Liam still remembered the sound, it seemed almost like a cross between some mad laugh and the howl of a wolf. No human could hope to emulate the sound. Without the sergeant giving orders, and being outnumbered, the humans had fallen back. The survivors prepared their shields and tried to retreat as best they had been taught.

It had seemed hopeless. The trolls had screamed all the louder at seeing the enemy retreat. The average troll was about nine feet tall, and all of it was bone and muscle. These trolls loped around the retreating humans, throwing spears and shooting arrows whenever there seemed an opening. They would attack the formation from both the left and right flanks, but fall back before the humans could effectively counter. Liam watched his friends die, amazed that he had so far gone unwounded. His shield had protected him from the first wave of arrows, and he had used it desperately to fend off any incoming projectiles.

The troll game of cat and mouse continued for a time. The trolls were content to pick at the retreating opponent. While time consuming, the tactic would have resulted in the utter defeat of the humans with little casualties to the troll pack. There were perhaps fifty trolls visible at any time, but there were more in the surrounding forests. There were probably twenty of Liam's once hundred strong unit left. They had been marching through the morning, then suffered under a forced march back to the outpost, and since then had been making an organised retreat while under attack from a superior and more mobile force.

It wouldn't be long before the trolls simply rushed the remaining men. That they hadn't already was only testimony to the sadism of the trolls. This death march was more to their liking than a pitched battle.

Then it had all been over. Liam and the few remaining survivors had made it to the edge of the forest. They burst out into the open where the trolls would hopefully not follow. The trolls let them continue their retreat to the nearby city, then they had followed. The full lot of them bursting out of the forest. They had been herding this band of men ahead of them to cause confusion, and perhaps as arrow shields before them. There were hundreds of trolls. Liam and his men had broken ranks at that point. Hurling down their shields and fleeing for their lives. Twenty against three, four hundred... no-one could have fought.

They were almost at Greenholme. There had been a few farms between the forest and the small city, but they hadn't taken long for the humans to cross. Bael had been waiting there. Hal had reached Greenholme and Bael had been given the chance he needed to prepare.

A full fifty of the city knights and a hundred footmen were waiting for the trolls. To their left twenty-five of the city's crossbowmen were busy picking off whatever trolls they could, though careful not to hit the men fleeing ahead. The casualties that the crossbowmen had inflicted had been good despite the handicap. The trolls wore armor, but none of it like the strong plate of the humans. Even so, when they crashed with the city garrison, there were still double the number of trolls. The humans were prepared though, and in a defensible position, so the odds were not as bad as they initially seemed. The trolls had rammed straight into the footmen, swinging their massive axes and bowling over humans. The footman line held. Plate armor, shields and formation an even match for the overpowering strength of the trolls.

Bael had brought in the cavalry at that point. With lances lowered, they had trampled rank upon rank of trolls. Usually savage and bloodthirsty fighters, the trolls soon abandoned their attack on Greenholme. Their retreat was just as quick as the attack had been. They were not chased back into the forests.

Liam had survived... barely. Bael had seen him then, and came over. He had apologised for the loss of the men that he had been close to. He had expressed his sadness at the unfortunate timing of his new position. Liam didn't hear him. This was the leader who had left them all mere days before they had been wiped out almost to a man. Bael was the hero of the day now, having led the garrison to victory over the trolls.

It was only later they discovered that the attack on Greenholme had been nothing more than a diversion. Seven similar outposts along the border had been similarly wiped out. The trolls had invaded the area and no-one knew just where they were.

The war to drive the trolls back across the mountain range had lasted just over a year from then. The King, and some of the nobles with large land holdings had sent much of their available army... even a regiment of King's Guard had been assigned to deal with this threat. Bael had been promoted again and was leading more and more men. In some battles he had been the commanding officer. Liam had faded into mediocrity. As one of the few survivors of his regiment, he had been assigned to another one. These were not men he had trained with, fought with or trusted. Liam had not fit in well with his new regiment... and it was all Bael's fault.

When the job to hunt Bael had come to his attention he had jumped at the chance....

Now he looked down at his once commander and felt a little pity for the man. Bael had died with one arm draped across his sobbing daughters shoulders. The feeling didn't last long though, Liam's scowl returned.

Liam grabbed the girl by the hair and wrenched her away from Bael. She screamed loudly in fear and pain. Tears falling freely from her face. Liam threw the girl to the ground.

"Shut up girl! The chase is over. Your da did something bad and he died for it," Liam didn't actually know why he was hunting Bael. The order had been kill the man and capture the daughter. Bael and his family had left the city on horseback. Bael's daughter was sitting in front of him on the horse. Liam and the team he was with had pushed ahead and were waiting when Bael and his wife had passed their position. To avoid killing the daughter, the men shot at Bael and his hit wife from behind.

It was then Bael had managed to spirit his daughter away into the nearby forests, beginning the long chase. She just wouldn't stop crying though. Liam gave the girl a strong slap. The shock stopped her tears, but they would return soon enough, thought Liam.

He didn't have time to think anything else. Bael reared up behind him, and with far more strength than a man who should have been dead should have Bael hurled the younger man head first at the same tree he had lay at moments before. Despite the shock, Liam managed to twist himself enough that his shoulder took much of the impact, but the right side of his face still struck the tree with enough force to drive him unconscious.

Bael was breathing heavily. He was amazed to find that somehow he had found the energy to stand, let alone attack whoever it was standing over his daughter. His vision had almost completely abandoned him and everything was a grey haze. But he could still hear the pained cry of his daughter.

"Bael!" a powerful deep voice to his left called his name. Bael reacted with all the speed he had left to him. He turned to face whoever was coming, only to take a third crossbow bolt. This time in the chest, at near point blank range.

Bael was thrown back by the force of the bolt. This time, no force could compel him to rise again.

Kell allowed himself a brief smile as Bael crashed to the ground. The older warrior had taken two bolts, ran for hours and still managed to find the strength to throw another fully grown man. Not interested in further testing the prowess of the dying warrior, Kell had taken the easiest option. Now Bael was dead, and his daughter sat prone, too scared to move.

Without another thought for Bael, Kell grabbed the girl and hoisted her over his shoulder. It was a long trip back home, but he wouldn't be much of a King's Guard if he couldn't handle a little run through the forest.

'If you cry out, I'll gag you' was all he said to the unfortunate girl riding on his shoulder.