Dorvin knew he couldn't beat them on the open sea. That's why he'd gone upriver, West. West and he could make his way towards Neros. Upriver, so he wouldn't be in open sea, and they couldn't take their sail ships. Once he'd beaten them to the Nen river he knew he had made a fair chance for himself.

He could feel the cold metal of the message around his neck.

He had made quite a lot of time as they were forced to stop and load people onto smaller boats. Men, because the bird-folk were still mourning the loss of their goddess.

Upriver was the best and wisest course of action.

But right now, his muscles were complaining. _Why upriver? _He could almost hear them complaining, why not downriver? It's so much nicer. So much easier?

"Shut up, and do your job." And he decided that since his muscles didn't have vocal chords and he did, saying it out loud settled the argument. So he kept on paddling. His muscles, of course, disagreed, but he opted to ignore them. He figured they'd take their revenge the next day, and he'd suffer, but ideally he'd be well out of Golin by then, in Neros and safe from the rules of the Northern Alliance of Foedus.

The NAF had formed barely a year ago, a coalition of countries dedicated to dealing with protecting their people from the godly war that was destroying much of the world, but already, the 'neutral' organisation had taken sides, and in Dorvin's humble opinion, quite the wrong side.

His muscles were burning hot. And he figured that was his best defense against the cold that was starting to set in.

He could hear splashing far behind him. Low voices carrying accross the water.

He heard some strange wizzing and splashing behind him. He was about to turn around, then, loudly enough to make him stop turning.

Wizzz!

He flinched.

Thrack!

A quarrel wizzed past his right, just missing his ear, and lodged itself in the front of the boat with a loud crackle as it split the wood, just a bit. The boat lurched forward ever so slightly. He stared at the quarrel as it quivered from the force of the impact. His pursuers, he figured, had gotten past the last bend. They were shooting at him with crossbows.

He glanced at the bow, hidden at the bottom of the row boat. Strung. Ready to be fired. Eighty pristine arrows in their quiver.

He decided against it. He had to keep rowing.

He leaned back, hoping to reduce his visibility. He didn't stop rowing.

A few more wizzing sounds led only to splashes around him.

_Wiiizz-thunk. Wiiizz-knock. _

Two consecutive ones came close enough to cause his boat to shake. One slammed into the back of the boat, not hard enough to make the wood crack, and another just barely glanced the side.

Another _wiiizz-thunk _rocked the boat.

_The current wasn't that strong, _he thought, sure, his arms were burning, but he was still rowing upriver. He could likely swim it.

Several more quarrels splashed into the water.

He'd be leaving his equipment behind. To the water.

Another splash.

Would it even be safer?

He was less than a mile to Neros. Neros, which had seceded from the NAF after they had accepted a god into their council. Neros, which might offer him some safety.

He couldn't get this close and still fail. He simply couldn't.

Wizz.

There was a slam as a quarrel hit his left oar just as it left the water. A thunk and a cracking sound.

Thrack!

The oar pulled away from his grip. He could do nothing about it.

He snatched in vain at the air behind it as it left him. As the oar spun out of his reach, sploonked into the river with a tall blade of water reaching into the sky, and followed the current away from him.

He was already turning, using the one oar. He moved it across, using both arms, trying to switch each time he paddled, but he could feel himself losing strength. And he was leaning forward, making himself a bigger target.

He grabbed the bow and shot a return volley at the arbelists. He wasn't focused on accuracy or power, just to make them stop for a moment. He was picking up arrows by the threes and then firing them one at a time in quick succession.

His muscles began to complain again.

"Don't you dare."

He snapped the bow over his knee. Let the rest of the arrows fall into the Nen river. He dived into the river and swam for it.

_It's too long. _That was his first thought. He wouldn't be able to make it.

Without the current, it'd be little under half an hour of swimming. With the current... his arms already burning...

There was one more bend, just up ahead, if he made it to there, maybe the Nerosean guard could see him.

...he didn't have to swim.

Quarrels splashed into the water near him.

He could run through the forest. More cover. Use his legs.

He swam for the shore. He started climbing out of the water.

A quarrel crunched into the back of his right shoulder.

He slammed into the stony riverbank, tumbling over so half his body was back into the river. Warm blood trickled down his face. His ribs felt bruised. The air was knocked out of him. One of his eyes was burning. Squeezed shut. And he didn't want to think about the pain in his shoulder.

He didn't have time to think of it too hard. Hopefully it hadn't pierced a lung.

He crawled forward and started standing up against a tree. A quarrel glanced off the tree, sending splinters into his face.

He ignored the pain, running on nothing but adrenaline. He ran as fast as he could manage. Behind him he heard shouting. Ahead, through the forest, he could see the city of Verus. The first Nerosean port at the Nen river. Or the last, depending on how you count.

He continued to push through the forest.

He pushed forward. The city was coming into clear view. The trees were less dense.

He continued to run.

The trees stopped. A half mile open section, kept clear for the safety of the city.

Two guards were in view. If he could talk to them, he could convince them of the truth. He hoped he had the time.

His documentation had been in the boat. He had no way in.

He cursed, still running as fast as he could.

Words occured to him.

"Asylum!" He shouted. That would give him something, surely. "Asylum! I seek." He was out of breath. He stopped running. Everything hurt. The adrenaline was wearing off. His shoulder... his shoulder.

He heard shouts and crashing far behind him.

He managed to run a few more steps. Then he just walked for a bit, breathing.

Run. He told his muscles. But they disobeyed him. Run.

He tripped and fell and somehow got up and stumbled forward in a half run for another few seconds, wounds stinging. One of the guards motioned to someone he couldn't see beyond the gate.

He was less than thirty paces from the gate.

"Asylum! I seek asylum."

He ran another bit before his muscles gave out and he collapsed onto the mud.

He crawled. With one hand because the other one simply wouldn't.

"I seek asylum."

"Help is coming, friend," the guard said, "I cannot leave my post."

Dorvin dragged himself another few feet before dropping his head.

A quarrel wizzed past him again. He heard the guards curse in surprise.

He felt something run past him. Thundering of hooves. Some scuffling. Some figure lifting him from the ground. The familiar twang of bows being shot.

A man, wearing armour bearing heraldry of Neros lifted him up.

Dorvin pulled the chain out of his shirt. A small metal tube.

"Message. For Ge- general. Branold."

The man nodded. Still helping him enter the city gates.

Safety.

Dorvin let himself slip into sleep, still clutching the message.