I caught sight of him after what might have been an hour, maybe a little more.

Already my suit tired. I was driving myself forward at an unsustainable pace. The Sword suit was swifter than the Axe or the Shield, but nothing compared to an Arrow. Perdinger was slowed by living the last months in the Wilds without the support of his pod for healing, but he was still an Arrow. I ground at his lead like a rough stone, eking away at the gap between us by inches.

He was flying forward, barely touching the ground as he raced headlong toward Buffalo. He was driven by madness and relief. He had faced death out here, must have come close. Whether or not the gift of the Penaculum would truly buy him sanctuary in the city, he believed it. He ran for Buffalo like a dying man sighting an oasis.

We raced. He ran for his life. I ran for revenge.

The weather grew turbulent. The wind plucked at the grass, rolling violent ripples across open plains and up the faces of slopes.

The hills slowly became mountainous and the going slowed for us both. I moved from tearing across pastures and meadows to sweeping around forests and crags too dangerous for the Footfield. He had to do the same. Mad as he was, he had enough wits to survive this long.

Maybe an hour later he paused on a crest. He was doubled over. I could only imagine the pain of his suit. He had fought me and lost a hand. He had battled caravans, according to the reports. He must have carried countless wounds. The flesh beneath might heal, but without access to the Pod in Buffalo his suit rotted away, accumulating scars and flaws.

I pushed harder as he paused. He was a mile or two ahead but I could close that gap in minutes if I gave no regard to my own safety. I could taste him. I could see my sword surprising him from behind, taking his limbs off at the knees and elbows. I would cauterize the wounds and drag his screaming torso back to Katya.

But he turned his head before I had closed to within a mile. With SIGHT I could see the way he started in fright. I could not know if he recognized me. He saw a Griidlord in hot pursuit and likely guessed that someone from Boston followed him with vengeance in their heart.

After that it became harder to keep pace. He pushed his suit harder. The race grew less certain. I had been slicing away at his lead inch by inch. Running for his life now, the Arrow suit found speed enough to hold me back. At times he even gained ground.

Over the next two hours I lost him twice.

The first time he dipped into a valley and by the time I reached its edge he was gone. Panic burned through me. The Wilds were vast and littered with stands of trees and crumbling mountains. He could have vanished forever. I gambled that he would press on. I pushed toward Buffalo, convinced I could cut him off. I spotted him again at the end of the valley, racing away.

An hour later he disappeared over the crest of a hill. When I reached the hilltop a flat plain stretched below and he was gone. Panic crashed like waves against the shore of my resolve. Then I saw him rising from the grass. He had fallen. I cursed myself for pausing. I had wasted a chance to close the gap. He raced on. I followed. As I passed where he had fallen, I saw shreds of armor lying partially hidden in the dark green blades of wild grass.

His suit was coming apart.

It took more than five hours for us to reach Buffalo. It should have taken much longer but neither of us ran with caution. He ran as though his existence depended on reaching Buffalo before me. I ran as though my existence would mean nothing unless I took his head.

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The winds grew more violent. I felt their force even through the Footfield and the suit. Rain came without warning, erupting from the sky.

Buffalo rose from the landscape as I reached the plains between Lake Ontario and Lake Erie. The city lay beneath a strange darkness. The rot that spoiled it, the infection of Danefer and the Green Men, seemed to drive away the sun itself. The city sagged beneath a sickness no one was willing to cut out.

I was not alarmed when he reached the walls before me. They would not let him in easily. I imagined him having come back before, begging and pleading for access. The duty of their Griidlords was to put him down when the madness overtook him, but they had not rallied for a true hunt. If he had come back to beg for his pod, they may have come forth to end him, but his suit had given him the speed to escape.

I watched him reach the gates. He was stationary now. I raced toward him like a herd of fanged horses. My fists clenched with hungry anticipation for the violence I would bring.

He was two miles ahead.

He hammered on the gates, tilting his head back. I could see him shouting and screaming for entry.

I charged forward, my breath quickening with a terrible desire.

The distance was a mile and three quarters.

His head was raised, one arm gesticulating wildly. The other arm, the one that still had a hand, held the relic aloft, showing it to someone. He was pleading for entry and so far remained denied. The growing storm laid down curtains of dense rain between us.

If Danefer truly wanted the Penaculum, then whether afforded true sanctuary or not, he would probably grant Perdinger access. I needed to reach him before the gates opened. Once they opened, he could have the protection of the walls. He could have the protection of Jythorne, Snowfang, and Bonefrost. That might be bad enough if it meant the end of my hunt, but matters were much worse than that. I knew I could not turn back. If he gained the walls, I would tear them down. If he gained the protection of the other Griidlords of Buffalo, I would take them apart or die on their blades.

He seemed to spasm with desperate excitement as he roared up to the unseen keeper of the gates. I could not tell if he was frustrated with denial or excited at being admitted.

There was less than a mile and a half to go.

I plunged down the gentle slope, my hands itching to hold my sword, needing my arms free to pump and drive me forward even faster.

Barely a mile.

The gates began to crack open. They opened too slowly. I could make it. The gap edged wider on mechanisms that were poorly manned, or poorly maintained, or both. He bounced with anxiety at the widening space, clawing at it, not yet wide enough for a man to slip through.

It was less than a mile. I burned everything I had, reaching deep for strength I never imagined I possessed. The path behind me was wreckage, the ground ruined by each footfall as though exploded by ordnance.

I was going to make it. I was going to reach him before he got in. I felt the terrible bestial snarl take hold of my face. No predator of the night ever wanted its quarry more than I wanted him. Every time I looked at him, I could see the sad remains of Lauren. The dead meat and ragged cloth that had been a woman possessed by purpose and life.

And then I glanced to my right, to the movement in my peripheral vision.

It was for the best that I looked. I try to convince myself of that whenever the memory returns to me. I am ashamed to admit that in my weaker moments I squeeze my eyes shut and wish that I had not.

On the plain to my right, a few hundred yards distant, horses raced and a man galloped for his life. SIGHT showed me the face of Dirk Jaxwulf, riding hard from the direction of the town that overflowed the edges of the city. SIGHT showed me a face sheened with sweat, stiff with fear and determination. Behind him rose a dozen knights in the colors of Buffalo.

Even as I watched, an arrow flew from his pursuers. SIGHT missed the arrow's impact, but I saw the violent fall of Dirk's horse. The horse slammed into the ground as it went down, grass and mud flung high. Dirk was thrown loose, a rag doll tumbling and bruising along the earth.

My heart beat faster. I would not have thought it possible.

The knights behind him charged on, lances lowered toward the writhing form.

I turned my head back to Perdinger. I could have him. I could reach him.

I could also reach Dirk before his pursuers did.

Was I to let Perdinger escape behind the walls? Was I to let Dirk die so I could have my vengeance?

Could a man not just take revenge in peace?

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