A/N: I am very sorry for the lateness of this chapter…I am embarrassingly aware that it is almost two weeks since the date it should have been updated. There is a reason however, though one that contains good news and bad. This took so long because it is a longer chapter…I didn't cut it off where I possibly could have done. Unfortunately, this was done to placate you as the next chapter may not be up for some time. I will be doing work experience for the next 4 weeks without computer access and although I will try to keep writing, I won't be able to post anything until the end of March. Sorry again…and thank you in advance if you stick with me!

Chapter 3
As the savage, undulating howl went up behind him Vimes whipped round, instinctively crouching low to the scrubby ground. In the brief afterglow of the lightning flash he caught a glimpse of them before they vanished into the dead ground between two of the more raised fields.

Vimes cursed, his lips writhing back from his teeth as he glanced around in a moment of indecision. He hadn't had time to separate the sodden-furred mass into individual bodies, but the size definitely indicated a full pack…and he didn't have time to wonder why the hell they would be so comparatively near to Ankh-Morpork. If they had just been tracking him by smell he might have had a chance to loose them and break for the city, but Vimes knew what the howl meant. It meant they had caught sight of him, and in a straight run over the flat fields they would outrun him, then surround and pull him down with ease. He took a last longing look towards the too distant lights, then turned and dove into the dark shadows under the trees.

Sybil sat at her writing desk, doing her level best not to do anything so unladylike as to worry at her lower lip. Seeing as her level best had a life-time of breeding behind it, the impulse didn't have a hope…but that didn't stop it attempting a valiant rearguard action.

The reason for Sybil's anxiety was simple; for perhaps the first time in her adult life she had no idea what to write. As a regular patron of the Opera House she had felt obliged to write a letter of condolence on hearing of Christine's untimely death, but now she had come to putting pen to paper the actual words eluded her. Alluding to the girl's ability had been easy; Sybil had quickly embraced the idea that if you couldn't give praise you could be kind, and if you couldn't be kind you could be polite, but as to what to say about the whole situation…

She knew she should say that everything would be resolved, but she also knew that Sam had been called out of a council meeting to deal with the situation and that wouldn't happen with a normal murder, whatever that was. Sybil stared out of the window with a worried frown, another crumpled attempt at solace swept to one side. All the carefully constructed pleasantries had quite fallen out of her head, leaving her with nothing left but a terrible sense of foreboding.

Vimes' breath sawed harshly in his throat, his tongue lolling from his panting mouth as he ran headlong through the trees. He jumped a fallen log, one paw slipping on some wet twigs and almost tumbling him, but his forward momentum saved him and he barely slowed. The wood echoed with the sounds of pursuit, the trees catching and throwing back the sound until it sounded as though they were all around him, in front as well as behind…made worse by the muffling effect of the rain. Vimes knew this couldn't be the case, but the thought gave new energy to his aching body.

He had been unable to lose them, and now only a fleeting head-start was keeping him alive in a chase he couldn't possibly win. His eyes flicked desperately around as he ran. Human intelligence was the only thing that could give him an edge now, clutching for control over a panicked wolf that wanted to either run until his legs failed, or turn and fight until sharp teeth found his throat. Vimes snarled, trying to get the still unfamiliar part of his mind to understand; he would fight, but in a place of his choosing where their weight of numbers couldn't tell. He remembered one of the few lessons Angua had been able to give him, in one of the rare evenings where neither of them would be missed.

Angua trotted forward cautiously and sniffed around the base of a tree, then tilted her head to indicate that Vimes could stop acting as sentry and come closer.

"It's fine, the scent is a week old at least. This pack won't be back any time soon."

They were further out that she had ever taken him before…they would have to run flat-out to make it back to Ankh-Morpork before dawn, but Angua had been definite about how important this was.

"Remember the smell and the signs, and avoid them if at all possible," she said seriously, sitting to one side while Vimes cast around the marked ground. "Wolves don't take kindly to our kind, and even if they don't see you they may follow a werewolf track for days to make sure it leaves their territory. If they do track you down they'll hunt and kill you to protect themselves, so don't expect mercy or any other human traits."

Vimes looked up from the ground, coming over to stand beside her.

"And if the worst should happen?" he asked, shifting his paws in the soil.

"Don't try to run or fight them over open ground," she began, looking away towards the horizon. "They won't come at you one by one, or let you fight the leader to prove yourself; they'll surround you, ham-string you if they can, then rip you to pieces all together. Get to cover if you can…even if you don't have time to hide your trail, you may find somewhere to hold them off, where their numbers don't matter."

Vimes turned suddenly to the left, following a slight smell that had snaked over him like a whisper of hope. As he ran closer he could see a deep, steep-sided ditch, the brackish trickle of water he had miraculously smelt in the sheeting rain oozing at its base. He ran along-side, opposite to the flow, weighing the risk in his mind. If this was one of the tributaries that fed Ankh then something must be damming its flow, something that might form enough of a barrier for him to make a stand. On the other hand, even if that was the case, if any of the wolves had managed to outflank him they could either block his escape or simply come at him from above. Another howl, closer this time, made up his mind for him. If he didn't find a place soon, he would have no energy left to face them…this was his only hope. Barely checking his speed, he half leapt, half slid down the slick bank. Suddenly his feet slipped from under him, and he rolled the rest of the way before splashing down into a shallow pool with a strangled yelp. He jumped up again in an instance, wincing at the pain in his side, before resuming his punishing run.

The going in the ditch was hard, and Vimes could feel himself slowing. The mud was deep, almost half-way up his legs in places, and he could hear the sounds of pursuit getting louder. Luckily, all the wolves seemed to have followed him into the stream-bed as he couldn't hear any noise from above him…perhaps none of them believed he would not soon be caught. Vimes dodged around a fallen tree that had half-slid down the bank, pushing through some close-packed branches, then stopped dead.

He had found the source of the blocked water. One whole side of the bank had collapsed in the sudden storm, bringing with it a strand of trees that had choked even this deep waterway. Some water still welled over the top and through cracks, but all it could do was turn the earth at the base of the dam to a churned mess of mud and leaves. The sides were high, steep and strewn with debris; no-one would be able to get at him from the back or sides. Vimes looked back the way he had come and showed his teeth in a terrible imitation of a smile. The trunk he had just run around narrowed the ditch even more, meaning they could only come round one or two at a time. By a mixture of thought and pure luck, he had found perhaps the only place that would even the score. Vimes sat on his haunches near the gap, panting as he tried to recover his breath, waiting for his pursuers to come into view.

The wolves ran as a pack, shoulder to shoulder down the narrow trench in the earth, tired, but determined. They had discovered the sickening trace in their territory as dawn signalled the end of the hunt, so fresh they knew the perversion would be close by. Indeed, they had caught glimpses of the furtive shape throughout the day as they gave chase, but somehow had been unable to close with it, even though the trail was pure and clear.

When they reached the border of their territory, many had wished to turn back. The sun was high, and there were cubs to be cared for, the nurses waiting to be relieved. The alpha had overruled them though, supported by his mate. The wrongness had made an obvious challenge to the pack, one that must be met if the unit was to be defended. They followed on as the sky darkened, the air heavy and clogging to the senses, into unfamiliar fields heavy with human scent. Then the trail was gone, as if it had never been. The pack had never encountered such a thing, but then the thought was driven from their minds. Another insult had left a trail, and catching sight of the twisted form was too much for the frustrated wolves. As the rain poured over them they gave tongue, eager to rid one threat where the other had led.

Then, at the fore, the alpha halted, stopping the others and nipping the shoulder of one who looked to pass. The wolves began to mill anxiously, looking to the narrow gap left by the fallen tree, with the block behind. They could smell the twisted scent behind, but with such a narrow entrance the members would be vulnerable.

Vimes crouched behind the tree-trunk, muddy water saturating his fur. He had seen the pack stop, and now could hear the low murmur as they conferred amongst each other. He knew it was only matter of time before he would have to fight…after chasing him so far they would not turn back so easily. Sure enough, as he thought this, the sound of discussion stopped and he could hear the squelch of mud as someone approached the gap.

A brown shape pushed cautiously through, but Vimes wasted no time letting it get its bearings. He left his hiding place, taking advantage of the surprise he would only be able to use once. Vimes ran in low to the ground, coming under the wolf's guard to fasten his teeth in its throat, ripping until a gout of bright blood spurted over his eyes and muzzle. The unfortunate wolf gave a rattling gasp and dropped to the mud, twitching spasmodically as its life pulsed away into the stagnant slop. Vimes backed off a pace, the taste horrible and wonderful in his mouth. His mind recoiled at the murder, even as the wolf in him exulted, revelling in the clean kill.

The moments hesitation cost him however, as the next minute he was bowled off his feet by a hard impact to his shoulder. He rolled over in the wet mud, twisting like a cat to keep the snapping jaws clear of his neck as he regained his feet. He faced the big female, mindful as they circled that he now had his back to the entrance to the small space. He chanced a quick glance behind him, where already another wolf was trying to pick its way past its fallen pack-mate.

Vimes realised he had to act fast, or he would be overrun. He charged the female stalking round him, driving into her shoulder with his chest so her feet slipped from under in the mire. He then rounded quickly on the other wolf, who had not yet negotiated the obstructed entrance. He ran towards it as if to go for the throat, but as he reached it he moved his head down and to the side, the other wolf's teeth sinking into his shoulder. Vimes closed his jaws over its forelimb, biting down hard until he felt the splintering of bone. The wolf let go of Vimes, howling with pain as he released the shattered limb. As Vimes hoped, it could not move forward, but neither could the other wolves push past it to come at his back.

He turned back, just in time to meet the female's rush. He braced himself, checking her even though his feet slid back slightly. They both reared up to meet each other, their chests touching, lips cut and bleeding as fang clashed with fang. When they broke off they resumed wary circling, her growl rising and falling over the pitiful whines of the other wolf who was trying in vain to push through the rest of the way and come to her aid.

"Go back!" Vimes snarled desperately at her. "I don't know what made you come this far, but I didn't invade your territory and I don't want this fight. I won't kill any more of you."

The female's face wrinkled, displaying her bloody mouth. Her eyes glittered with hate as glared at him, then without warning she dove in again, scoring bloody tracks down the side of his neck. Vimes tried to go on the defensive, avoiding her teeth as he backed towards the dam that blocked them in. She whined in furious frustration, trying again and again for the fatal grip she wanted. Over her shoulder he could see that the other wolf was nearly free of the gap, and although it was no longer a threat, moving would allow the other wolves to come boiling through. With a despairing snarl he pushed off the dam, using his greater body-weight to bear her to the ground. His jaws ripped down once, then he stood, her body dropping boneless to the ground.

Vimes turned slowly, advancing on the remaining wolf, his fur bristling and a dreadful expression on his face. He growled, forcing the other to take limping steps back until its back was at the branches once more. He then sat on his haunches and let it turn and force a painful path back to the rest of the pack. As soon as the other wolf was out of sight, Vimes let his head drop. His entire body ached, and the blood in his fur made it stiff and uncomfortable. That, coupled with the slight tremors that ran down his legs, told Vimes that if the wolves decided to attack again he would be in no shape to face them. He wasn't sure if he wanted to either. What he had done, and the savagery with which he had done it, sickened him to his stomach. It was the sort of thing he had always hoped he was not capable of, but the wolf within him had risen to the challenge with sickening ease. The looks of fear or hatred that the attackers had given him paraded in his mind, each garnering a new shudder.

Then, suddenly, the chorus of anger changed abruptly into one of fear. Vimes could hear whines and panicked snarls, coupled with the sounds of bodies splashing into the mud. There was a desperate howl and a snapping of branches, then the head and forelimbs of a mud-streaked wolf crashed through the gap in front of Vimes. Its fear-maddened eyes met his for a moment, then it thrashed and scrabbled as it was inexorably drawn back. Vimes moved warily to the hole it had left, but as he did so all sounds ceased, and he could see nothing beyond the tree's trunk. He was about to make his way through, against his better judgement, when a haughty voice from behind him pulled him up short.

"I have to admit I'm impressed. For a such a civilised man, you've really done rather well."

Vimes turned slowly, confidant that if whoever was behind him had intended to attack they would not have announced themselves before doing so. As he did so, a silhouetted figure left the trees at the edge of the trench and trotted forward to stand on the centre of the dam. The female werewolf stepped forward, the moonlight shining off her pure-white coat. She stared down at Vimes with an expression that was equal parts malice and amusement, and he knew she was no albino throwback as her eyes were a pitiless black.

"I almost wish we hadn't stepped in to help," she continued, the redness of her mouth even brighter contrasted with the pale coat. "But we had to be on the safe side. Your getting torn apart by ordinary wolves just doesn't feature in our plans…even if I had to waste all that effort bringing them here."

"Did you kill the girl as well, or are animals all you can handle?" Vimes asked harshly, baring his teeth.

"Shut up!" she snapped, and for a second Vimes caught the flash of pure madness in her eyes before she brought herself back under control. "If I were you I would worry less about the girl and more about those you left behind in the city. No matter what she says, I wouldn't bothered to save you if Lokir hadn't completed his task, though I expect Fenrin will have had to step in, as usual."

The last sentence was muttered more to herself than to him, but Vimes barely noticed over the crushing band which seemed to be gripping his chest.

"What have you done?" he said in a low voice, his ears forward as the fur on his neck bristled.

Her tongue lolled out of her mouth, then she bent her chest low to the ground and wagged her tail, like a dog inviting another to play.

"We've taken what is yours and now you have to chase us!" she said in a sing-song tone, the taunt obviously designed to anger him further. "What will the city do without its leader, and what will you do without yours?"

Awful realisation crept over Vimes and he reflexively turned to start the run back to the city that he knew was already too late. He had only begun to move however, when her voice snapped out like a whip, cutting through the reddened haze of his thoughts.

"You take one step and he is already dead."

Vimes checked, looking up at her with narrowing eyes.

"That's better," she continued, ignoring his expression. "Listening to me is the only chance you have…if you ignore my instructions in the slightest way, we won't even leave you a body to bury."

She began to pace back and forth on top of the dam, her dark eyes always fixed on his.

"You will go nowhere near Ankh-Morpork. If you even try to pass a message, those of us left in the city will know and he will suffer. Your task is to keep up with us. Fenrin is already a night's travel ahead of you, and once I join him we will not stop…it is easy to do when you realise that coaching-inn horses are made out of money rather than flesh, so don't entertain hopes of catching us before we reach our destination. You will also not have the luxury of stopping more than is absolutely necessary. Each evening we will send up a howl, one which you will reply to. If we feel you have fallen too far behind, we will leave you a piece of him for each mile you have to make up."

She stopped her pacing, then unexpectedly sat, pointing her nose at the sky and giving an undulating howl.

"I expect you trust him to escape?" she asked Vimes, when she had finished, taking his answering growl as confirmation. "He couldn't avoid his capture, could he? The vaunted Vetinari, taken at his desk like any frightened bureaucrat. I hope you will be more of a challenge, Mr. Vimes. Now, consider this a present, a little reminder of what you did to one of the best of us…with love from Skuld."

She padded over to a thick branch sticking up out of the top of the dam and took it carefully in her jaws. As she did so there was an ominous creaking, and extra trickles of water began pulsing from around the sides. Vimes flattened his ears back against his head, his eyes widening as he realised what she must be about to do. He crouched and sprang at side of the ditch, trying to gain a purchase in the unstable side, his claws slipping in the mud as he slid inexorably back. From the corner of his eye he saw Skuld looking down at him, then she heaved with all her strength, leaping to safety as the wall of wood dissolved under her.

The deluge of icy water swept over Vimes, plucking him from his precarious position and plunging him under. He fought against the current, his head breaking the churning flow long enough to snatch a hurried gasp of air, before a wave swamped him and pushed down again. He twisted in the grip of the water; unsure even which way was up until, by luck more than design, he surfaced near the middle of the now surging river. He began to swim, trying to angle towards the nearer bank, then a log struck him and Vimes was swept down into the cold and dark.