“There!” cried Hassing, pointing to the edge of a swamp. At first Bene wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be looking at, so he just stared at the reeds and the glassy surface of the water, all brown and nasty-looking. But then he heard a strangled cry, after which a figure dashed out from behind some bushes and charged headlong into the bog. Mulkern raised his crossbow and snapped off a bolt. The missile went wide and vanished in the muck. “Aw, fuck it!” he said, reloading. Hassing steadied his horse. “Don’t waste another shot. She’s out of range.” He put a horn to his lips and blew a long note. “We going in after her, sarge?” asked Mulkern, an expectant look on his face. “My word we are,” said the sergeant, nodding. The soldiers left the horses, shrugged out of their cloaks and ran into the swamp. Bene followed. Even though he didn’t think he was all that out of shape, he was gasping for breath in an embarrassingly short time. He did his best to keep up, but lagged behind from the beginning. On the other hand, he was perfectly positioned to watch the pursuit unfold. Desperation lent the girl some initial speed, but she tired quickly. She also wasted energy lumbering over mossy hummocks rather than dashing around them, and all the while the swampy ground sucked at her boots, slowing her pace. Hassing and Mulkern sped along, predators after a prey that just wasn’t up to the task of outrunning them. The sergeant got a hand on the girl, but then slipped and almost fell. She managed to spin away from his grasp, the hood of her cloak flying back and flapping against her shoulders as she pelted along. She cried out in terror. He lunged for her again but missed. “Get her!” shouted Mulkern.