An Experiment, Part 6 – The Chase

With ambiguous votes clarified, ‘run’ is the winning option.

You turn and run for it – towards the bandits, because there is nowhere else to go save into the cave or the fire. It is the only thing that saves your life. The bandit with the crossbow had a perfect shot on you, but you are suddenly inside his guard too quickly for him to drop his aim enough, and the bolt that would have punched you off your feet instead clips the top of your shoulder as you barge between the trio of bandits and sprint away into the dark woods.

There is still a hot line of pain across your shoulder, though – your sword-arm, such as it is. The heavy, blunt sword feels very heavy indeed now, but you cling to it, just in case, as you crash through the trees, all thoughts of stealth entirely forgotten. Roots snatch at your feet, branches whip at your face.

And behind you you hear the shouts of the bandits as they give chase, making even more noise besides.

Another crossbow bolt whips through the forest just inches from the back of your head. They are clearly not especially interested in taking you alive. You think you can hear the bandit who led you into the trap shouting among them, exhorting his comrades on. You hope that the bandit from the inn was beaten by its keeper. If you knew where you were going you could try to run back for the cover of the inn – but you ran in the first direction you could and have no idea where you are in the forest now. The warm glow of the inn’s light is certainly absent. But it is so dark, so cloying, that the inn could be just feet from you and you would have no idea.

All you can do is run, and run, and hope that the bandits will give up chase before you run headlong into a great tree or fall from a cliff-edge. But they show no sign of giving up, and the crossbowman is still loosing the odd bolt at you. One punches into a nearby tree and you flinch aside and almost trip over, your feet tangling themselves. Then you hit a root, and you do fall, tumbling down a short slope before managing to regain your footing.

There is a new noise here. You stay still for a moment, listening, hearing the bandits at your back shouting to one another, wondering where you have gone. You listen, and you realise what the new noise is.

You had forgotten about the river. It is there, right there, gleaming in what little moonlight can reach it. You almost rolled straight into it. It surges, swelled with recent rain.

And, tied there at a tiny jetty barely worth of description, is an equally tiny boat. It has no oars, no sail, but it floats.

“There!” you hear a shout, and you see torchlight, hear pounding feet and shattering undergrowth, and then the light of fire on steel.

You have no choice.

As another crossbow bolt flashes from the gloom and embeds itself in the wood of the jetty, you hurl yourself into the little boat, hack at its rope with your stolen knife, and as the first bandits pile onto the jetty you break through, and the current takes you. One last bolt flashes over your head as you cringe in the bottom of the boat – but then the river has you.

You lie there in the bottom of the boat. You are tired, you are wounded, you are bewildered – but you are alive. You let the river whisk you away into the night, towards what dawn you do not know.

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As you may have gathered from this thrilling cliffhanger, this story isn’t over yet. But I’m going to take a break for a few weeks before carrying on – I want to have a think about where we’re going next and how to get there (in many different branching ways, of course).

Thank you to everyone who took part in this. You will reach Whetstone. Or at least you’ll have the chance to, if you want. Stay tuned for your second chance to do so.