Country travel was not safe. It never had been, but one can hope. In this case, Hollen’s optimism was… misplaced. You could find a hamlet or village to camp for the night in most places. But the Marid hills and forest stretch were large, there were no roads, and you had to make camp wherever.

  After a long day across the forest depths, the fading sunlight had called for a stop. Just as Hollen removed his horse’s saddlebags, the horse shied. That was all the warning that he had. Duck and the… thing came over his head. Before he scrambled back on his feet, the horse was already gone between trees; gallop sounds fading fast.

  One good look and Hollen took off as well. The… thing… was huge. Possibly 8 feet long and up to his torso. Feline, obviously, and looking like a cross between a tiger, and a pissed mountain lion, with a thick mane that ran along the spine. Hollen had never seen anything like that and wasn’t really keen on getting acquainted with that local predator. The Marid hills had a reputation for hiding ancient magic, and that tiger-lion… tigron-thing was probably warped by the local magical influences.

  Hollen ran straight for the deepest wood. The beast's size meant he’d probably be hampered by brush and thick tree cover and possibly wouldn’t chase too much. But if the tigron didn’t chase the horse, he probably considered Hollen a better snack. Or he was smart enough to figure Hollen wouldn’t be able to flee as fast.

  Despite the branches whipping him as he ran, he kept his hand on the saddlebag on his shoulder. He would have left it at camp, but he would never find the bag again if he dropped it mid-flight. And without the bag, he’d be in deep trouble.

  The commission was simple: Courier trip between Modvarna and Cenderos. The Archmage of Cenderos had learned of some arcane contraption being discovered by the Modvarnan archeologist-mages and had arranged the purchase thereof. But the standard caravan roads meant months before delivery, so the Courier Guild was contracted to deliver by the shortest route. And so, Hollen was sub-contracted to deliver.

  For any other duty, he’d probably drop everything to save his life. But the Archmage wanted that stuff badly enough it was willing to pay a premium for special delivery. Meaning he would be very displeased if the thing were lost. A pissed Archmage on top of a pissed Courier Guild meant trouble. Potentially fatal. And so, unless he were sure he’d find the bag of trinkets again, he wasn’t taking the risk. Better get eaten than be… punished. At least the eating would be over quickly.

  The chase was still going. The thing didn’t make noises itself, but the sounds of branches and bushes were enough to tell Hollen that it wasn’t far behind him. Panic was mounting, and the flight wouldn’t last long.

  Hollen broke through, coming across a small clearing with stones all over. He nearly tripped but kept on running. Just as the tigron was coming, he jumped over a small wall and stopped, huddling and trying to keep quiet. Maybe the predator would lose him if he kept silent.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  The end of the brush noise told Hollen that the thing had entered the clearing. The sounds of the pursuit ended and were replaced by a small patter. Soft feet moved across the treacherous stone paving that had almost done Hollen in. He was starting to hope when a new sound brought renewed fear. A sniff.

  Shit. The tigron could use smell. Maybe it wasn’t as good as a warg’s sense, but if he could use smell, then sweaty Hollen would be found. He had to find something and fast. The darkness was becoming pervasive, but the predator would use sound and smell to track Hollen and get his snack. He had to find a solution and quickly.

  The forest-covered ruins were silent, but Hollen could hear a slight sound that brought hope. The sounds of water. If he could find water, then he would be able to silence his sounds, clear his smell, and maybe, just maybe, survive the night.

  But first, get out of the protective wall. Orienting on the water sound, Hollen’s leg sprung, and he ran again. And for the first time, a yowl came from behind: the cat was pissed that his prey was trying to escape again.

  Hollen zig-zagged across the ruins and trees until he came to a small plaza, barely lit by the rising moon. On the side, a pond was gurgling. An ancient fountain, with a small stream falling from above the sidewall, filling the stone basin and running over the border to stream away. Not enough water… but maybe he could hide by the pond. Press himself in the wall, make no noises, and let the falling water wash his scent.

  Without a better plan and seconds away from the tigron breaking in, he dropped the bag, waded into the pond, and huddled to the side. The water didn’t feel too cold, and the stream was just enough to cover him. It ran over his head and shoulders, making his clothes sodden.

  The predator broke into the courtyard, slowing down. Hollen pressed further against the wall. Make no noise. Make no moves. Hollen held his breath and hoped for the best.

  Fear was all-encompassing.

  Centuries ago, the stream hadn't been there when the nameless city fell to ruins, abandoned. Water had run through well-maintained aqueducts, splitting and feeding personal and public cisterns and fountains, including this central one. When the aqueducts filled and broke down, what remained started running through the ruins of the buildings themselves. One of those was a Magemaster’s workshop.

  The workshop had been used for a long time and was well-furnished with mana devices. Crystal contraptions would harvest, move, store, and refine ambient mana, making it ready for their user’s needs. Unclaimed, they had lain on shelves for decades, waiting for use that never came. Ceilings fell, walls finally cracked, and the crystals fell all over the ground. Cracked crystals didn’t work as well as intact ones, but work they did. All of them.

  When the aqueducts finally silted, and water broke through, a stream started across the ground of the old workshop. It ran straight on the floor and fell over the wall. The fountain had been drying without its aqueduct, and now it started to fill again. But the water that came was now different.

  Crossing multiple mana crystals, the water had become seeped with wild and undirected magic. It was still close to regular water but came with additional properties. Although Hollen thought the water wasn’t that cold, it was actually spring-water cold. It just didn’t feel that way.

  Hollen had never been a magic user. But everyone could, with enough training and will, focus enough for minor cantrips and the easiest of magics. A year of training, and you’d be able to remove a pebble from your boots without taking the boot off. It was just not enough to even bother. With enough mana, anyone could trigger magic. The water brought a steady flow of magic and one that was utterly unfocused.

  And the Fear was providing a focus.

  The tigron was slowly crossing the plaza, puzzled by the loss of his prey. Hollen did not dare to move, did not even dare to track the beast. He kept his breath. He would keep his breath as long as the Threat was there.

  The tigron did not notice the sodden figure pressing against the wall. Ruins and constructions were alien to it. All it knew was that prey couldn’t be far and should be found. Head turning, it kept listening and sniffing. And Hollen didn’t dare do anything.

  The Fear kept mounting.

  Hollen didn’t notice that he was still holding his breath. He didn’t notice that the slight cold sensation from the water was slowly going out. The only thing Hollen could feel was the Fear that the Threat would find him.

  And so, he never noticed that he died.