Anderson leaned onto the tree trunk, glad for the brief respite. They had been on the move for nigh over a fortnight following Their tracks into the winter, and had finally caught up with them. He glanced around the small clearing, looking at the half a score or so of grim men with him. They all knew that when they encountered Them later, for even one of them to emerge from the engagement would be a miracle.
However, these tough men, whether from the sea or the mountains, the valleys or the plains, had been training for this moment all their lives. They knew the sacrifice they would be making beforehand, and they still decided to do join up.
It was what a real man would do when necessary, Anderson thought. It's what a man of the Motherland Guard would do.
A shriek pierced the silence, followed by a series of muffled thumps.
The men, previously huddled around the fire for warmth and comfort, leaped to their feet, reaching for their weapons and dousing out the fire in a swift practiced motion. The rasping of steel told Anderson that the others had drawn their weapons as well. He crouched down, ready to fight.
"I thought that we were hunting Them. Why are they hunting us?"
"Shush down boy," Anderson told the nervous youth, "prepare yourself."
Without so much as hiss of an arrow or the smack of a bowstring, Anderson instantly found himself with half the companions he had just minutes ago. Those alive noted that the friends they had just spent the last two weeks traveling with all had arrows through their throats, with the exception of one, whose forehead had been split wide open, blood seeping onto the fresh snow.
Dang it, Anderson thought. Not only are they expert assassins, but they are economical, efficient ones at that. Only one arrow per person? They must have known where everyone was before they stood up. No one moved from their position near the fire after the scream.
Then Anderson realized what the now recently deceased youth had said was correct. They had been stupid to only follow the tracks. They were being lead on by Them, and they were now hundreds of kilometers away from the nearest settlement.
"What fools we have been," Anderson voiced.
As the remaining Guards formed a circle with Anderson, backs against the backs of the others, a figure stepped out into the clearing, followed by a retinue of well over twoscore of Them.
Tossing back the cowl that covered his face, the figure merely reaffirmed Anderson's words. "It's been such a long time Anderson. I never believed you to be such a fool, but your stupidity must have come from your old age."
As understanding dawned upon Anderson, he and the rest of what remained of the group were instantly shot through the chest at point blank range.
As a red haze filled his vision, Anderson struggled to his feet. "No, no, I can't die now," he growled to himself, "have…to…tell the Commander…that there…s'a turncoat—"
Blood gushing from Anderson's severed head, the figure strode away with his bloodied sword, with Them following right behind, leaving the carnage behind them untouched as the snow fell around them. And Them.