Mr Terry Pratchett, the great and devious creator of the Discworld owns everything about it – no copyright infringement intended.

Chapter 2:  The Fox Bites Back

Angua and Carrot dismounted and handed their horses' reins to Vimes.  Carrot followed Angua behind some trees, a few moments later he came back wrapping Angua's clothes into a bundle, Vimes heard a four footed Angua run off into the forest.

            "Don't worry Commander, she'll find their scent."  Carrot said tying the clothes behind her saddle then remounting his own tired horse.

Vimes was incapable of 'not worrying'.  Too long in the saddle had not improved his temper.  "It's not going to be easy getting through these trees on horseback at any speed."

            "We'll have to keep up as best we can Sir."

//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\///\\

Sybil Ramkin was ushered into the bedroom of the Princess of Avor and was shocked at how deathly pale the young woman was.  The doctors had advised her gravely to stay only a few moments and now she could see why.  Silana's eyes flickered open when she held her pale hand.

            "Sybil…" The whisper seemed to take more than breath from the girl's stricken body. "…thank you for coming." 

            "Hush, don't talk, let me do the talking."  The Princess' silence was her answer.  "I've sent Sam off to find Havelock, I am sure they will both be fine."

            "Margolotta sent word," Silana whispered with obvious effort.  "Sam has reached the border." 

Sybil wasn't sure about receiving news via a vampire, but Margolotta had helped Sam in her own devious way during their last visit.  That they had reached the border warmed Sybil's heart, but she knew that from now on the conflict would really start.  She felt guilty letting the girl speak.  "Hush."  "The baby is lovely, she was awake when I arrived and I held her.  She's got Havelock's eyes."  Silana managed a smile in reply, but it was obvious the effort of communicating was challenging her strength.  "I'm just going to sit over by the fire and read, dear.  You pretend I'm not here and go to sleep.  I'll be right there watching over you if you need anything."  Sybil had tried to hide her shock at how terrible the girl looked, 'Silana should never have given her strength to her father, not at a time like this.' Something in Sybil, maybe she had picked up some of Sam's copper's instincts, said 'Don't leave her alone, she is so vulnerable, don't leave her to the servants' care' so she found herself a chair near the fire and picked a book to read by its dim light.  She soon heard Silana's breathing change to that of sleep.

//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\///\\

The Werewolves ran in a wide pack following the scent of the prey.  Howling strategies and jeers back and forth, joyous in the excitement of the chase.  Suddenly four sturdy saplings sprang sharply in the front group's snouts, knocking them into their companions.  They went from joy to a disorganised yelping melee as they tried to take in the situation – the fox had just bitten back.

The Baron organised them into running on again.  All went well until suddenly the same trap was sprung again, and a different group of Werewolves had sore noses and hurt pride.   "The damn prey has dared to fight back!  Come brothers, his blood shall be ours, we'll taste his defeat."  The Baron raised his voice to try and rouse their pursuit, but they all moved a lot more carefully from then on.  And still they fell into holes in the ground Vetinari had covered over.  The traps became fewer – the Patrician had only dared spare so much time on them – but the traps had had the desired psychological effect – the Werewolves were made wary and their pursuit was slowed.

//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\///\\

The wind came up and it suddenly started to rain.  Not the soft rain when you might turn up your collar and walk a little faster to your destination, not really minding getting a little wet kind of rain.  No, this was the buckets upturned on your head kind of rain that whips your hair into your eyes and debris, stripped from the surrounding trees, driven by the rain start scrapping across your vulnerable skin.  Rain is probably not the right word for it, clouds vomiting nature's revenge is probably a better term – and Vetinari was stuck naked, exhausted and alone in the middle of it.

He stumbled on, trying to shield his eyes enough to see where he was putting his feet, while trying to protect his bare body from the strafing effect of loosened pine needles as they came spearing down carried by the unforgiving downpour.  Thick clouds completely obscured the sun making a false twighlight, under the trees it was even darker.  Between the rain in his eyes and wind driven debris it was not a surprise that he tripped and fell, he lost his walking stick.  While he was getting up the animal track he had been following suddenly developed into a runaway for the sudden flood of rainwater, he lost his footing completely, began sliding as part of the cascade down the hill.  Grabbing at handholds, trying to use his assassin trained muscles to stop his fall – nothing stayed in reach long enough – he seemed to slide and fall for an age – sharp things cutting into him until finally total immersion – the green silence of deep water.

Even in near panic he held his breath, kicking out to get to the surface – to the wet, rain filled, and life-giving air.  He looked up and around him through the rain, blinking the water out of his eyes.  He was in a hole in the ground, a hole that was half filled with water and 15 feet deep, a hole with sheer sides and a few tree roots as hand holds. 

Vetinari chose the side with the most roots and away from the cascading water and swam towards it.  He grabbed onto a sturdy root and gave himself a minute to recover his breath and his strength.  Gods he was cold.  He brushed his hair out of his eyes and the still cascading rain brushed it back.  He concentrated his resources and took a firm grip of the next tree root up – it was wet and slippery with mud so he had to use every ounce of strength in his hands to support his weight – he felt side shoots digging into his palms and fingers and acknowledged that to climb out he was going to loose some skin.  He considered for a moment waiting until the water rose to make it less of a climb but knew if he took that luxury he would be greeted by Werewolves once he had made that delayed ascent – and he wasn't going to make it that easy for them.

He began to climb, using handholds and foot holds, ramming his toes into the crumbling wet mud, getting enough purchase to move his hand higher, his muscles shivering with the strain.  He had been starved for days, tortured and beaten, he was asking his body to do things that, even with his iron will, were nearly impossible, but he refused to accept that this hole in the ground would be his grave – he struggled on.

Vetinari was about a foot below the rim of the hole and deciding how best to climb out when disaster struck.

Pain.  Blackness, water, a terrible pain across his back.  Sinking… sinking… sinking.  Blackness… sinking.

Gritting his teeth he fought his way back to the surface again on empty lungs with arms and legs that did not want to move, he felt like crying with the pain from his back – who would notice a few salt tears in such a downpour?  He made it to the wall and hung on, 'Just hang on, just breath and hold on, just stay alive a little while longer, just get through the pain, just think.  Just hold on.'

He cursed out loud.  He let out the fear and anger that had been building up since he was distracted enough to grip his carriage door handle and self-administer the drug that had made him helpless and made his capture possible.

Fear because he feared leaving so much undone, he had finally seen a bright future for Ankh-Morpork and, in his marriage, for himself - and to lose all that now?  It was unthinkable.

And anger at himself for being captured so easily, for forgetting all his assassin's training in that one vulnerable moment.  What was the point of having an extensive spy network, to spend so much of his time monitoring it, only to be captured in his own carriage commuting to see his wife – if he couldn't even ensure his own safety under those circumstances, then just how incompetent had he become?  Yes, he had emotional commitments now, in the shape of a wife and soon to be child, but he should have factored that change in circumstances into the equation and better applied his resources.  Instead Silk had endangered his life and threatened Silana.  Vetinari's anger with himself was incandescent.  And it was going to bloody well burn long enough and bright enough to give him the adrenaline to get him out of this damned hole.

He assessed the situation, looking behind him he saw what had hit him, a thick branch had followed him into the hole and struck him across the back.  He tried not to think of the damage to his back – he could still move, that was the only important thing.  'Right, can the new element in the situation be used as a tool to get out of this?  Damn right it can.  Well get on with it then.'

Vetinari swam over painfully and pulled the branch to the narrowest part of the hole.  Taking deep breaths he filled his lungs and going under heaved the branch up and kicking forward managed to lodge it into both sides of the hole.  He took a moment to catch his breath again then began to climb, using the branch as a handhold then foothold, ignoring the protests from his newly injured back.

The rain eased a little so he had a little more visibility.  Finally he rolled onto rain soaked 'dry land' and took the luxury of minutes he didn't have to recover a little, but while he had adrenaline he'd better make the most of it – he started off down the hill again.

//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\///\\

Blood.  Blood.  Blood.  The chant pounded between the Werewolves as their lust for death grew stronger.  That the foe had the effrontery to lay traps for them was unthinkable.  That the prey had a brain and was capable of rational thought when it should have been shrieking in terror was beyond imagination.  What was this creature that they hunted – just a human, just flesh; easily rendered – just bone; easily broken – just a spirit which seemed to burn more brightly in its ingenuity and savage will to survive that the other humans who had been sport for the hunt.  If Vetinari was a new breed of human then he demanded to be culled, and if he was one of the old spirits, the ones who were worthy of the hunt in their grandfather's grandfathers' day, then the Baron was glad he was alive today to see it.  But his poor nose still smarted from the blow of that sapling and his lust for blood was being quelled by his trepidation of what would come next.  Hunting Vetinari was not as much fun as it should be.

//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\///\\

Suddenly Vetinari was looking at leaves and mud and twigs when he was sure he should be looking at tree trunks and sky.  For a few moments his exhausted brain could not comprehend what had happened.  Then he put the jigsaw puzzle of his perceptions together and realised he was down on his hands and knees, but he didn't remember getting there.  He got up and stumbled on.

It happened again.  Suddenly he was looking at the forest floor – with no idea how or why – he realised he must have blacked out in some way.  This time there was a lot of pain from his right knee, he sat back on his haunches and found he had grazed it quite badly.

What to do?  If he carried on falling like this he was bound to get more injuries, but if he paused here, and the ground looked so inviting, there was no guarantee his strength would return and once he stopped it would be so hard to get started again.  He took several deep breaths and stumbled to his feet, realised how badly he was shaking from fatigue.  He leant on trees and moved as best he could, at least the rain had stopped and the sun was making a little headway at peaking through the clouds.

Mud, leaves, this time a worm shared his sudden change in perspective.  He decided to give himself a long minute to gird his resources.  Breath deep, breath deep, block the pain, breath deep.  He felt suddenly very alone, this was not the place he wanted to die, he concentrated on his scarred shoulder and reached out his mind to Silana… 'Silana…Silana.'  Nothing.  'Silana?'  Nothing.  There should have been something there, even a slight hint of a presence, but this time nothing.  Gods, he hoped she was safe in Avor.

Respite over, he forced himself to his feet and stumbled on.

//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\///\\

Rain.  The Werewolves lost their footing along with the quarry's scent.  Torrential rain.  Rain that stopped the fun of the Great Game.  Rain so pounding it stuck their coats heavy to their backs.  The kind of rain it was best to hide under a tree from and once it stopped, spring back into the chase.  The prey would be hiding from the downpour too – if it had any sense – they'd not lose much ground to it in this rain.

//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\///\\

Eventually Vetinari came into a clearing, grass soft on his battered feet, sun softly warming his chilled skin, and blessing of all blessings – a berry bush, that in the sun had lots of fully ripened fruit.  Vetinari picked and ate the fruit hungrily, soon his fingers were stained purple with their juices.  He knew he was eating too many too fast for his poor starved stomach but he needed the fruit sugars so badly to sustain his flight that he took the risk.  He gave the food a few minutes to get into his system then as the shaking in his hands stilled he re-used the bark pouch and supple bindings to fashion some protection for his feet.  He picked more handfuls of fruit and eating it while he walked, began his trek again.

//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\///\\

The Baroness was thinking:  'Skinny man, I starved him, how could he have gone so far so fast?  Bony man, not much flesh for them all to share – how could he make traps and be so far ahead?  Insolent man, how dare he pit his will against that of the Überwald clan?'  For a doomed man Vetinari was putting doubt into the secret places of Serafine's mind.  'He is prey, he will be killed.'  But his blue starring eyes still haunted her – alone, chained in his cell with her scraping her claws through his skin – he had still scared her.  His kind demanded death from her kind, there could be only one kind of Werewolf in Überwald.

//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\///\\

Vetinari climbed down the riverbank past rapids and found a large chunk of tree trunk washed against the shore; with difficulty he pushed it out into the water and holding on began floating with it downstream.  He was not naïve enough to believe the water would put the Werewolves off his scent but his body desperately needed rest and he needed time to think – at least the river was moving fairly swiftly.  Unfortunately it was also quite cold and he knew he would not be able to stay in it long.  It began to rain again.

//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\///\\

Angua sniffed the air.  A recent history of wildlife and eddies of wind softened by trees presented itself before her.  She knew she was in the valley traditionally used for the Great Game (she had even taken part in the Game before she had grown to know better – the excuse of 'Tradition' for senseless murder for sport was one reason why she had run away from home).  She had a vague scent of Werewolf far off to her left, that would be the hunting party, but no scent of Vetinari – the breeze was in the wrong direct – well if the hunters were coming from her left she'd go down further into the valley – to find what they hunted.  It began to rain again.

//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\///\\

Vetinari was roused by his log bumping into a rock, he noted that the river was widening, his progress slowing – could he be at Saxom lake already?  Damn, the cold and fatigue must have made him doze – too dangerous, his grip could have slipped or hypothermia taken him or more rapids – he berated himself but had to admit that he was nearing the end of his strength – he had hoped to give them a better run for their '400 Crowns' than this.  Too cold to shiver he forced his limbs to move, stumbling out on slippery rocks he realised he had lost one of his bark 'sandals' damn!  He found more flint stones and broke them to use as implements and weapons, he carried them as best he could.

He began to jog, every muscle protesting, he was not as young as he used to be.  And it would have to be uphill to get away from the too obvious river route, plus the area around the lake was clear of trees, he would be too visible, the only blessing was the sun finally showed itself, its warm rays drying the water from his goose fleshed skin – he began to feel a little bit alive.

//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\///\\

Sam Vimes was swearing, trying to ride a big horse through forest with low branches was not a good idea, despite how low he ducked, for the sixth time he received a face full of leaves and twigs – it was only luck that he hadn't got a bigger branch.  And the horse wasn't happy about it either – it was only by good horsemanship that he was keeping the nag going in the direction he wanted.

Carrot was fairing no better and was sporting a black eye and a cut across his cheek – the price of being so tall.  "That's it, we're dismounting – we can lead the horses."  Vimes ordered.  "We've been lucky so far but the next branch that's got a name on it could take an eye out.  The only place I'm getting new scars is in Ankh-Morpork."

            "Right you are Commander."  Carrot agreed half reluctantly – torn between the need to rush and the need to be in one piece enough to fire a cross bow when they got there.  They had agreed with Angua that if they lost her they would continue riding down to the valley floor and then follow the river downstream – as that would be the logical route for Vetinari to follow if he was being pursued, and meet up with Angua when they could.  They had admitted they had lost Angua some time ago, so they were heading for the valley bottom.  They began tramping off at as fast a pace as they could set.

//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\///\\

Vetinari's instinct for danger suddenly told him to stand still and listen.  He strained with his ears trying to hear past the loud beating of his heart… the birds were strangely silent… wind through the trees… the river… then he heard it; the soft footfalls of a four-legged predator.  He located where the hunter was coming from, it seemed to be at right angles to where he had expected the Werewolves to appear.  He sped off at a tangent to his pursuer, knowing that he would now unfortunately end up back at the river – where the creatures that sought him would expect him to be – damn!

//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\///\\

Angua had to restrain herself from howling in triumph – finally she scented Vetinari – she began to run. 

//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\///\\

Close, too close.  Vetinari spotted a likely tree – it would only buy him minutes – but anything that delayed the inevitable – but when he tried to climb it he realised his worn out muscles just would not let him.  Instead he slid down the bank into the shallows of the river, taking a firm stand he picked up stones, found the energy from somewhere to break them and stood ready to fight back with the few resources he had.  His heart was trying to pound its way out of his chest, from more than just his exertions – he realised this was it.  He gave himself a moment, 'Goodbye Silana,' and was ready when the first Werewolf came through the trees, his first stone caught it on the shoulder, he was pleased to see blood.  The creature scuttled behind a tree for cover, a moment later Vetinari was shocked to see a beautiful naked blond haired woman walk out from behind the tree

"Angua!"

            "Sir."

            For a second they stood, captured by the moment – some part of their minds acknowledging that they were both naked, not bad, and hell they were in danger.  "Are you alone?"  Vetinari asked.

            "Carrot and Commander Vimes are…"  She paused, rubbing her cut shoulder, her senses still Werewolf sensitive.  "…a little way behind me, we'd better get moving."  Whatever else they may have said was cut short by the howling of definitely unfriendly Werewolves.  The pack had finally caught up with him.

//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\///\\

Carrot paused to listen.  "Is that howling I can hear Sir?"

Vimes stopped to listen and, "Damn!  Lets move."  He drew his crossbow and started to run – rather bravely in the direction of what, from the sound of it, was a large pack of Werewolves.

            "Two men against that many Werewolves, even with silver weapons Sir, not good odds."  Carrot felt it his duty to point out to his commanding officer the folly of what they were doing.

            "But if they are still chasing Vetinari that means he's till alive, we will be 2 men and an assassin when we find him – and I've brought some daggers for the Patrician – that will even up the odds a bit."  He sounded as if he was trying to convince himself as he panted his way down the hill, struggling to control the horse he was leading.   Carrot was using the bridles of his two horses to keep himself stable as he slid and ran down the leaf-mulched hill.

//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\///\\

It soon became apparent to Angua that despite his will to run, Vetinari's physical exhaustion soon had him panting and leaning against a tree, blue eyes blazing in anger at the world and in defiance of his own mortality.  She looked him up and down, many bruises, long cuts that she recognised as the work of wolf claws – so they had misused him before pursuing him.  And his feet, damaged from too much running and too many sharp stones.  They needed to move, could she carry him?  He was slim and in her werewolf form she was extremely strong.

Balancing his body along her wolf back, to hang on he tangled his hands into the thick fur at Angua's neck, all he could do with his legs was keep them off the ground, far from ideal but at least they were moving, slowly, but every footfall was another second of survival.  They moved off along the river's edge.

//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\///\\

Vimes did not know at what point he realised they were out of control but suddenly he was not running but scrabbling and his horse was panicking down the increased slope – Carrot managed to stop himself against a tree but his two horses were continuing down.  Vimes came out in the open rolling in leaves and mud just far enough away from killing horses hooves, a wolf suddenly reared up as he fell in front of it.  In a microsecond he thought, 'That's it I'm dead.' then a human body landed almost on top of him.  He had his knife out and was backed against a rock before he realised it was the Patrician who was scrabbling to his knees with a stone blade in his hand.  Vimes took in the wild hair, wilder eyes and naked mud covered body and decided to remain very, very still until the assassin took in that the equally mud covered person before him was a "friend". 

"Ah, Vimes, so good of you to come."  Damn the man's reserve – Vimes' had expected, after their long mad chase to rescue him, 'something', some emotion.  Well to be honest he had expected exactly the reaction Vetinari gave, but it would have been nice to be surprised.

            "Sir."  He nodded, equalling the Patrician's detachment.  He stood up out of his crouch.  He looked to where Carrot was chasing after their spooked horses, fortunately the beasts had had a little sense and were running away from the howl of Werewolves – the presence of Angua hadn't helped their panic.  He realised Angua was growling and taking a few steps towards Carrot then coming back.  The howls were getting closer.  "Time to move."  He held out his hand to help the Patrician to his feet and felt the chill of the man's skin and the shiver of his bones.  He looked more closely at him, and realised what a state he was in.  Without ceremony he pulled the taller man over his shoulder, carrying him, and began an awkward walk/jog towards Carrot who had managed to catch Angua's horse and was using it to round up the others.  By the time they caught up all three horses' reins were in Carrot's hands.  Vimes put Vetinari back on his feet, the Patrician managed to stay upright.  "Thank you." 

Vimes nodded acknowledgment while scrabbling in his horses' pack – he had been a participant in The Great Game before so had brought extra clothing, he passed Vetinari trousers and a thick jacket, while the Patrician scrambled into the trousers, Angua whined worriedly – she knew how little time they had  - Vetinari swung himself up in the saddle and moved the horse forward, guiding it with his knees, while pulling the jacket on over his arms – he'd button it later – he nudged the animal into a canter and hung on with the last of his strength.  Vimes found what he was looking for and mounting on his own horse, kicked the animal into action.  Getting level with Vetinari he passed him a leather rolled bundle.  Vetinari took it and hefted it – weapons - still tired beyond words at least he felt he had a chance now to fight, and not just be flesh prey to the Baron and Baroness.

Angua speeding ahead of them demonstrated just why she had been so worried; so a Werewolf could out-run a horse; problematic.  Vetinari decided to just concentrate on staying on his galloping horse – none of his muscles seemed to have any strength left, his legs shuddered at the effort to remain in the saddle, he shoved the weapons roll into the waistband of his trousers, then leant forward and gripped the saddle with his free hand and guided the horse with the reins and his feet, inspired the animal to go faster.

//\\//\\//\\//\\//\\///\\