He stood still, watching his back trail from the sheltering shadows of the forest. The sun was sinking behind him, casting long shadows down the slope of the mountain. In the fading light, he saw movement. Three men stepped out of the distant trees, one stooped over as though looking for something. More came out of the trees until there were twelve in all. Slowly, they followed the path he had left. He was not making it easy for them, nor was he making it very difficult. He wanted them to follow him, but he didn't want them to think he knew they were behind him. It was a dangerous game he was playing. He knew that one moment of inattention, one false step, and he would be dead. This game of cat and mouse would soon be over. He was almost at his destination. He hoped that those following him did not know where he was leading them. If they did, they would soon stop, leaving him to a face a fate worse than any they could devise. Another day, though, would see the end of this game. The next valley was at hand, just over the mountain rising behind him. He smiled grimly, his left hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword.

Come, he thought, follow me to your doom.

On they came, crossing the valley in the dying light, hurrying to reach the trees before the sun dropped fully behind the towering mountain. His smile broadened. They were unaware of the silent watcher above them. The one who followed his trail threw up his hand, scanning the gloomy trees that lay ahead, straining to see into the darkness. As the rest gathered around him, he spoke. Artur could see him gesturing up the mountain side. He could not hear the words spoken. A small argument began, and was quickly ended. The men were making camp. They would not attempt to follow him in the dark. Nor would they camp inside the forest this night. He taught them that folly three nights back.
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The moon was just rising when he had made his move. The camp lying in a small clearing was quiet. The men who had sentry duty were nodding. With all the stealth of a lifetime spent hunting men and animals, Artur slipped from shadow to shadow, ever drawing nearer to the camp. The fire was burning low, smoldering red and casting a dim light, overshadowed by the pale, cold light of the rising moon. Artur smelled him before he saw him. He was resting against a tree, almost asleep. Like a soft breeze, Artur slipped up behind him, his knife slipping from its sheath with a deadly whisper. Artur waited a moment longer, ensuring the man was oblivious of him. His hand snaked around the young tree and wrapped around the man's face, then slammed his head against the tree. Stunned, the man woke to a burning sensation against his exposed throat. Surprise, then horror, filled him as he gasped for air and grabbed his neck. He could feel his life slipping away, choking as the blood flooded his severed wind pipe and gushed from slashed arteries. The only sound he made was a gurgle as he died.

Artur paused, watching, alert for any sign that any one had heard the slight noise as Death visited them. He saw his next victim moving toward him. The man was unaware that Death was near. He had heard nothing more than the hooting of owls and the sighing of a light breeze through the trees. His mouth opened in shock when a figure rose from the ground in front of him. Moonlight flashed on steel. Artur drove his sword deep into the guard's chest, the razor-sharp tip piercing the his leather armor and body as though it were paper. His hand closed over the guard's mouth, trying to muffle any sounds he might make. Carefully, almost lovingly, Artur guided the dying man to the ground. Giving his sword a slight twist, he pulled it free.

Rising to his feet, Artur looked toward the camp. No one stirred. He had taken only a few steps when a shout broke the silence of the night. In an instant, the camp was in an uproar as men grabbed for their weapons. Artur turned and ran back into the trees. One against so many did not have much of a chance. He might have taken two or three more before he falling to the swords and spears of the rest. He might still die, but he planned on taking all of his enemies with him down that dark trail. A grim smile played about his lips as he heard the angry shouts of the men as they found their dead companions. Soon, he thought, soon you will wish you had died here tonight.
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The morning sun was rising in the eastern sky, turning the clouds brilliant shades of red. A fitting color, Artur felt, for the day would close on red fields. Stretching, he eyed his enemies below. They, too, were just stirring, oblivious of what awaited them. In short order, they again took up his trail. Now Artur needed to be more careful than ever. He had to draw them on, leading them to the next valley, but he had to time it right. They had to enter the valley just before sunset. And he had to be across the valley before then. Timing would be critical.

He moved slowly, carefully laying a trail they could follow. He was still close enough to hear the tracker shout as he found his camp. The angry tone of his words indicated he saw how close Artur had been to them through the night. Artur gave a small smile of satisfaction, knowing that now they would never give up his trail. His effrontry at attacking and killing two of their number and, now, the apparent insult he had given them, taunting them with his nearness to their camp, assured him of that. Steadily moving parrallel to the mountain, but at a slight upward angle, he neared the valley. He remembered the tales his father had told of the valley. The Terror that lurked within, waiting to claim the unwary. He crested the mountain, briefly appearing against the afternoon sky. No shout this time, for the trees blocked the view of those who followed. His trail was clear, though, drawing them on. All appeared to be going well. He should reach the valley floor just as the sun began to sink in the west. They should reach it scant minutes after him. They would see him running across the narrow valley and give chase. And so it came to pass.

Artur hit the valley floor. He paused briefly to scan the land in front of him. The green of the valley darkened as the sun began its journey down to darkness. The sky, too, continued to burn, the red of the setting sun spreading over the clouds. Artur was almost completely across the valley when the band of men broke the tree line. Their voices, dim from the distance, raised in a shout of triumph as they broke into a run. On they came, spreading out as they ran. Artur cast a brief glance behind him, and stopped dead. He could not believe what he was seeing. The trees behind the running band were casting shadows into the face of the setting sun! Faster than the fastest man, the Shadows raced across the valley floor. A scream came from one of the men, the slowest one, as a Shadow touched him. He stumbled, fell, then scrambled to his feet, only to fall as though tripped. The Shadows flowed over him and his screams echoed through the valley.

At the first yell, the rest had stopped and looked. Seeing their companion fall, they moved as though to help him. Then the screams stopped. The Shadows continued to flow over the ground, ever faster. The band of men turned and began to run again, knowing that now they were running for their lives. Artur watched as one by one and two by two the fleeing men were swallowed by the dark Shadows. Their screams as they were swallowed by the unnatural Shadows was as a tonic to him.

Vengeance is mine! My family and my village are avenged. Their shades can now rest in peace while their murderers writhe in the Hell they deserve. These were the thoughts that flowed with the death of his enemies. Artur noticed, too, that the Shadows did not stop when they had swallowed the last of the pursuing men. Instead, they seemed to race even faster, reaching further and further across the valley. The Shadows were after him now! The sun was almost behind the mountain top. The tree line, so close only moments before, now seemed leagues away. Artur began to run. This time, though, he was no longer playing a game of cat and mouse, but was playing a game of Life and Death. As the trees drew closer, so did the Shadows. He had to reach the trees before the Shadows did, for it was only in the trees that he could survive. He felt a chill colder than the falling night. A quick glance behind him spurred him to even greater effort. Mere yards separated him from Doom. Scant yards separated him from Life.

Artur reached the trees with bare inches to spare. He did not pause, but barreled through the brush. Branches whipped at his face, slashing his hands and arms raised to in defense. He dared not look behind. On he ran until the night closed in and all was in darkness. Only then did he stop, falling exhausted to the ground, gasping for breath. He rolled over on his back, and glanced back the path he had torn in the forest. Nothing. No Shadows. He had won. He had escaped the fate to which he had lead his enemies. He closed his eyes and soon sleep claimed him.

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As he slept, the moon rose in the night sky. She cast her silver light down on the valley below, sending out shadows as the light touched the trees. The shadows followed a path until they reached a small clearing, partially obscured by a canopy of branches overhead. The Shadows stretched out, reaching for a figure that lay on the ground at the far edge of the clearing.