A light rain fell through the trees, each drop awakening dormant fragrances from the forest floor. Overhead, several birds took flight, the beating of their wings adding to the symphony of sound. Tilting his head down to look at the boulder stack before him, the pooled rain in his leather hat ran down in a single stream to the mossy earth at his feet. His hard leather boots left scars on the forest floor as he passed.

Moving steadily through the underbrush, he made no perceptible noise. Hemmer had made several journeys into the forest but his business had never brought him this deep, until now. Ahead of him, he spied the symbol he knew signified the border of the Elven realm. No sooner did he spot the totem than he sensed that he had compromised his advantage. He crouched with one hand on the ground and extended his spirit. Two on foot moving slowly and a third moving to flush, Hemmer thought intuitively to himself.

Pulling his poncho tight and cocking the hammer on his rifle, he moved into the cover of the broad-leafed bushes growing unchecked under the canopy of the trees. These elves were no city guards drunk on the self-confidence afforded them by the Regent. These were border guards, intent on maintaining a thousand years of tradition.

Controlling his breath and rising slowly to look down the shaft of his rifle, Hemmer let fly a single shot. On the receiving end of the shot was a slender warrior dressed in leather and bamboo mail that jerked and quickly fell into the bushes. Where he stood a moment ago a light mist of red was settling on the leaves of the undergrowth. The report of his rifle was answered by a ticking sound of metal skipping across wood. An arrow pierced his poncho, narrowly missing his chest.

Hemmer observed the white meat of a scored branch in the bush next to him. Fortune smiled on him once more it seemed. Moving in a direct line toward his prey, he pulled the long rod from the barrel of his gun. His hands moved from the gun to his belt in an autonomous manner, as his body swept through the low-lying bushes.

Once the reloading ritual was complete, his hands brought the rifle to bear again. Leveling his breathing and narrowing his vision, he once again released his spirit. The field of battle became like a chessboard. Viewing the pieces in play, himself among them, he called his spirit back.

In an instant he moved the barrel toward an old tree some 20 meters distant and let the hammer fly. As the bullet sped toward the tree the second hunter stepped into the path of his shot. Two down, one mo...

This time Hemmer would pay the price for the noise of his weapon; his left knee banged into his right thigh. A silver leaf arrow pierced the meat of his left leg just above the knee. The pain broke his concentration, causing him to lose his bearings momentarily.

Rolling onto his back and using his good leg to nudge himself into a new position, he began to reload. Jamming the rod down into the barrel, he attempted to pack the powder, paper, and shot into place. His opponent didn’t wait for him to reload; the whisper of a leaf in motion was his only warning.

Hemmer lifted his rifle defensively as the savage attack fell upon him. A long silver tooth clutched in the hand of a boy-like, bronze-skinned elf preceded the black eyes and disheveled hair of the hunter.

Rolling to his shoulder to avoid the strike only changed the point of contact. The blade skittered across Hemmer’s ribs and pinned his poncho to the ground. The sweat on is back wasted no time seeping into the wound. The stinging sensation made him bite the inside of his cheek.

With the butt of his rifle, Hemmer swung at the slender humanoid, only to find the lithe opponent had anticipated his action and easily avoided the attack. With his weight now on his back he could feel the handle of the knife pressing against him. Damn! This is going to make it hard to move quickly.

Throwing off the poncho gave the hunter another opportunity to strike. This time, the assailant’s remaining blade found its mark. The elven blade pierced his skin and parted his ribs, opening a channel for the blood to stream out. A hissing gurgle told Hemmer that the blade had entered his lungs. The gun clutched in his hands, the loading rod still in place, was pressed near to him by the weight of the elf. Hemmer adjusted the angle of the barrel and moved it under the chin of his assailant and pulled the trigger.

The loading rod lanced the skull of the elf. Hemmer winced as the flash of fire from the priming pan burned the skin near his groin.

The rain grew in intensity and was joined by intermittent winds. He was losing consciousness; the briny, warm liquid in his mouth was but a reminder of his ebbing life. An hour ago, the contract seemed the most important thing. Now his goal was like the birds above him on the branches, visible but out of reach.

His employer would likely have a contingency plan if he failed. Hemmer didn’t take the job for its considerable pay, though -- he would have done it for free.