There! Not three paces past the boulder was a spot that seemed a little too even, with the barest suggestion of a circular border around it. A snare! Ronon almost laughed aloud. Nekai had lost none of his guile! The faint track had been a trap, designed to lure him between those boulders and straight into that snare — he was willing to bet another mark lay just beyond the trap, to draw his attention there instead of to the ground beneath his feet. It was a good trap, and he’d almost fallen for it.
Almost.
Ronon considered the scene again. If he’d been Nekai setting up this ruse, he’d have walked along, brushing away his tracks behind him and deliberately leaving a few just visible for bait. Then he’d have circled back, set the snare, perhaps added a second snare just beyond that next boulder in case the prey had gotten past the first unscathed, and then kept going in the other direction. He’d have scaled those boulders on the far side to avoid leaving additional tracks, so he wouldn’t have touched down on dirt again until — there!
Keeping the spot he’d selected in sight, Ronon clambered from boulder to boulder, keeping low so anyone watching would have a hard time picking him out from a distance — his clothes didn’t blend in as well as the V’rdai’s mottled jumpsuits, but his coat was close enough that it wouldn’t clash. At one point as he crawled across a portion of rock something crumbled beneath one hand, and lifting his palm Ronon saw that it was now dusted with dark brown. Dirt! But dirt wouldn’t collect here on its own — it would have been deposited lower down by rain and swirled away by the frequent winds. This had been brought here more recently, and only a little bit.
Just enough to have been trapped in the soles of a man’s boot, and dislodged as he climbed from one side of the clearing to the other.
Ronon smiled again. This was the real trail — he knew it. Nekai had thought to fool him, and most likely had circled around to some nearby vantage where he could spy upon the false trail he’d laid and see if anyone set off one of the traps. But by following his real path, Ronon could overtake the V’rdai leader and get the drop on him.
Not that Nekai wouldn’t anticipate the possibility. There’d be traps along this trail as well, Ronon was sure of it. But he knew they might be there, so he’d be watching for them.
Nekai was about to find out what it felt like to be on the wrong end of a Runner’s hunt.
As he stalked after the older man who had once been his friend and mentor, Ronon thought about the irony of it all. Here he was, a Runner chasing a Runner, a hunter pursuing a hunter, a man using skills against the very man who had taught them to him. It was, in some ways, the ultimate test of Nekai’s long-ago training, and a true contest between them. That was at least part of the reason why Ronon had left the tracking monitor behind for Sheppard. Of course he had wanted Sheppard to have it in case something went wrong here and they needed to know where Nekai and the other V’rdai were, but that wasn’t the main reason. He hadn’t wanted to use the device to follow Nekai. It would have felt like cheating, and it would have tarnished his victory — if in fact he won this contest. But Nekai deserved his best effort, his full attention and utmost skill, and that meant a lot more than staring at a little screen and closing in on the dot it revealed.
Ronon was still musing on this when he came across another clearing, this one a bit larger than the tiny area by that rocky outcropping. He had been following Nekai’s tracks for over an hour and had already eluded one concealed pit and a nasty coiled branch. This was by far the largest empty area he’d passed through, and all his senses went on high alert as soon as he set foot within it. Nekai’s bootprints had led him down out of the foothills and there was brush here instead of boulders, and dirt deep enough to support them and some bristly grass and a few scraggly trees as well. Ronon considered. This was the perfect place for an ambush, with the ground soft enough to conceal snares and the trees scattered around the edges, thin but sturdy and with long, springy branches. It was exactly where he’d set his trap, if he were the one hunting.
Pausing for a minute, Ronon dropped to his haunches and ran his fingers lightly along the ground. He could feel the smooth arc a branch had made as it had been brushed across the dirt, obscuring all traces of Nekai’s passage but leaving those faint marks of its own. This was definitely the place.
Reaching into his jacket and his belt, Ronon extracted what he thought he’d need. A minute’s preparation, then a few more, and he was ready. Or at least as ready as he could be. A lot would depend upon how much Nekai had changed over the years, if he had at all. Rising to his feet again, Ronon studied the trees around him. They bent together over this clearing, their leaves eager for sunlight and forming a loose canopy up above so that the entire space was dappled with shadow. Some of those branches looked sturdy, and Ronon studied two in particular.
Finally he sighed and shook his head. Nekai was close, he was sure of it, and he’d done everything he could to be ready. There was nothing left now but to finish this.
Ronon drew his pistol and started across the clearing, studying the ground carefully before setting down each foot. Despite his care and caution he was still startled when he felt the dirt beneath his right foot shift slightly, and then a tight loop close around his ankle. There was a sharp tug and a whoosh up above as the hidden rope released the bound tree branch and it snapped upright, and Ronon felt his world tilt upside down as he flipped over and hurtled into the air, feet-first. His head spun as he struggled to regain his equilibrium and his breath while the world tilted around him. Damn, he’d never get used to being snared!
Nekai had chosen well, and by the time Ronon’s eyes were clear again and his breathing steady he was a good six feet off the ground, which was more than high enough to render him helpless. Only one ankle had been trapped but he couldn’t reach high enough to grab the snare, and it was tight enough that he couldn’t loosen it at all. His gun had fallen when he’d sprung the trap, and lay several feet below his grasping fingers. His knife, meanwhile, was still snugly in its sheath in his boot — the same boot caught in the rope! He tried grabbing for it, but just bending and trying to grasp his own ankles was enough to make him flop down again, gasping for breath. No good. He was well and truly stuck.
Well, I wanted to finish this, Ronon thought, letting himself dangle by his foot and feeling the blood rush to his head and hands. It looks like I’m about to get my wish. He just hoped Nekai showed up soon, before the lightheadedness made him pass out. He’d hate to be unconscious for their big showdown. But Ronon had a feeling it wouldn’t be long at all — Nekai was too good a hunter to leave his snares unattended for extended periods.
The only question was whether the V’rdai leader would be surprised or pleased when he discovered his most recent catch.
Chapter Twenty-eight
It was difficult to judge time with the blood pounding in his head and throbbing at his temples, but Ronon doubted it was more than ten minutes before he heard rustling among the brush on the far side of the clearing. Then one of the trees swayed slightly, its slender trunk and long thin branches moving more than could be accounted for by mere wind. Ronon glanced in that direction, then swung himself around to face away from it, squinting up into the sun, and waited.
A minute later, the foliage directly ahead of him parted without a sound and a figure emerged, pistol in hand and leveled at his head. It was classic Nekai, creating just enough noise to attract attention from anyone watching and then circling around to catch any potential ambushers flatfooted.