Bernt moved more slowly after encountering the goat demon. He couldn’t afford to keep getting into surprise fights. Sure, his banefire spell gave him a powerful advantage against demons, but sooner or later he was going to stop getting lucky. He didn’t want to think about what might have happened if that goat thing had access to hellfire.

  Then again, he’d survived the blast back by the carriage… but he’d had his thornskin amulet activated then. It was possible, maybe, that his sorcerous investiture had somehow made him more generally resilient against fire – his right hand certainly was – but he wasn’t about to test that against hellfire.

  He reached up to touch the spiritually infused bramble. It had disintegrated into loose fibers, and the thorns were gone entirely. He seriously doubted it would work again, if he could even recharge it.

  The sun sank low in the sky ahead, casting long shadows behind the monolithic rocks that lined the road. Bernt could appreciate the beautiful interplay of light and shadow over the stark landscape, but it was hard to enjoy the moment considering what it meant. He was nearly out of time. If he didn’t run into the others soon, he was going to have to camp out here by himself.

  But he wasn’t ready to give up yet. The others could be just around the next bend. He had to keep going as long as possible.

  Just then, as if he'd summoned it by magic, the sound of voices carried on the wind reached his ears – snatches of sound, nothing more. His heart leapt, and he nearly called out, but then he stopped himself. His friends weren’t the only ones out here. He couldn’t afford to be reckless. Moving carefully to avoid making any loud noises, Bernt stepped off of the road and crouched down next to a shoulder-high boulder.

  He strained his ears, trying to catch more sounds. Maybe he’d recognize someone’s voice, or hear a horse or something. But, for a long moment, there was nothing. Just as Bernt was starting to wonder if he’d imagined it, he heard the crunch of gravel against a paving stone.

  It was close – someone was coming.

  Carefully, Bernt prepared a banefire spell, shaping the spellform in his mind’s eye and watching the road. He wasn’t going to get caught unawares again. Besides, if it was someone friendly, the spell wouldn't do much more than scare them.

  Sure enough, two demons slunk into view – a large imp, and it was riding on the back of a hellhound with its nose in the air, trying to catch a scent. That was new. And they were going the wrong way. Why would they be coming back toward him?

  The answer was obvious the moment he considered it. They were looking for him. Nuros wanted him dead, personally. That cultist had been trying to take him to someone to claim a reward. If they’d realized that he wasn’t among the dead, and that one of their cultists was missing… well. This was going to be a problem.

  Aiming carefully, Bernt activated the spell, releasing it from his right hand to include the effect of his perpetual flame for good measure. A dense bolt of dim gray flame, nearly as big around as his head, struck the hellhound’s upper back, enveloping the imp’s lower body and splashing outward from the point of impact.

  There were no screams, just a yelp and a loud hissing noise as the pair toppled to the ground. The hellhound’s front legs twitched and hellfire sprayed onto the road for a moment before subsiding, swallowed up by Bernt's still-burning banefire. Letting out a slow breath, Bernt got up and approached.

  The hellhound was dead, even though one foot still made odd little shivering motions now and then. Beyond it lay the top half the imp. What little was left had holes burned into it where bits of flame had splashed. They’d never stood a chance.

  The pyromancer allowed himself a moment of satisfaction at the sight. Finally, a nice, clean kill. He just had to make sure he wasn’t taken unawares, and he’d be fine. Sure, mages were vulnerable in a fight, but what they lacked in defense, they made up for in destructive potential. Leaving the bodies, he continued down the road, keeping a wary ear out. He was already partway around the next bend when he remembered that hellhounds didn’t talk.

  Heart leaping into his throat, Bernt stopped in his tracks and listened once more.

  Nothing. Who had the imp been talking to? Or had it been the imp at all?

  He needed to get off of the road, and quickly.

  Ducking down once more, he made his way over and around the rocks that littered the ground finding cover wherever he could. He made a wide circle around the bend, doing his best to stay out of sight and stopping often to listen. It was slow going, but his caution was rewarded after just a few minutes. Once again, he heard unintelligible snatches of voices. Sound echoed strangely here, and it was difficult to get anything coherent, but this time it definitely didn't sound human.

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  Carefully, he continued to make his way back toward the road, but he hadn't caught sight of it yet when a shrieking noise brought Bernt’s head around. It came from his left, roughly back in the direction he’d come. Hells, one of them had found the bodies. He should have pulled them off the road, at least. That was stupid!

  Answering sounds came from somewhere to his right, as well as in front of him a short distance. There was an entire group here looking for him, and now they knew he was here.

  And night was falling.

  Bernt cursed under his breath and ducked even lower. This was a disaster. He couldn't fight all of them, and that meant he needed to get away and find somewhere to hide for the night. Turning, he began to make his way south. That would take him further away from the road, and from where the shouts had come.

  The sun set completely only minutes later, making it more and more difficult to move quietly in the growing darkness. Bernt tripped over a rock and nearly fell on his face before he realized that he had a solution to this problem. With a thought, he activated his belt and marveled once more at just how well he could see with it. The uneven, rocky ground, which had been practically invisible in the dark, was thrown into sharp relief. Why hadn't he thought of this before?

  In theory, he could keep going well into the night, which meant he might be able to catch up with the others in the night. In practice, though, he knew it wasn’t going to be that simple. Jori could see perfectly well in the dark, and Bernt thought it was fairly likely that most others would have the same ability. Worse, demons slept barely half as much as mortals, and they didn’t have to do it in a regular cycle. They just slept when they had time.

  That had been convenient when he’d been trapped in a dungeon with Jori, but it was a real problem here. The closer he got to the others, the more likely it was that he’d run into more demons. Besides, they had to know he would try to catch up. There was nowhere else to go except back to Gobford, and only the one road.

  He could stay off the road, maybe, but then he’d never catch up. The unsteady footing was treacherous – a day’s hike on the road would probably take a week out here, assuming he didn’t step on a loose rock and break his ankle. The demons had picked this leg of the journey to finally wipe them out for a reason. The geography kept travelers confined to the only route available. Bottled up.

  Groaning softly, Bernt settled down onto a reasonably level rock sheltered between two larger boulders and pulled out his bag. He needed to eat, and it was too damned cold. He could decide what to do next when he had something in his belly. Carefully, he removed his small pot, a few hard biscuits and a bit of salt. Two spells later, he had a quarter-full pot of boiling water, into which he dumped the biscuits to soften them up. It wouldn’t taste like much, but he wasn’t in any mood to break his teeth trying to chew them right now.

  Leaving the pot of food to do its thing, Bernt unpacked his bag and laid everything out on the ground in front of him. He needed to take inventory.

  There was a rope, his books and notes for his research in the Phoenix Reaches, food for maybe two weeks, a box of minor healing potions, one mid-grade healing potion, a hatchet, a knife, his bedroll, and a round pebble, carefully inscribed with a small portal circle that was supposed to open up to the elemental plane of fire. He’d bought it from Grixit the day they’d met, but he’d never found an appropriate moment to use it. Why did he even keep the damned thing? His manaburn spell was faster to cast, and probably safer to use – at least for him.

  It had felt like more when he’d been packing, but seeing it all laid out like this, Bernt didn’t feel well prepared for anything. How was he supposed to fight his way past a pack of demons by himself with this?

  He could maybe hide for a week or so, and hope that they gave up. They might assume that he’d made it past them, somehow, or maybe that he died out here on his own, right? But there was no way to know when they’d give up, or if they would find him in the meantime. Besides, he’d never catch up to the others at that rate. Torvald, at least, wouldn't have left him if he thought he was still alive, he was sure. They weren't going to wait for him.

  Dejectedly, Bernt spooned a bit of soggy biscuit out of the water and looked over his things again. If he only had a way to contact the others… but he didn’t. He could talk to Jori, and she might be able to arrange for Ed and Iriala to send a message to the Mages’ Guild in Goldwater, but they wouldn’t get that in time to help him. If they even could help.

  He needed to figure another way out of this on his own.

  Bernt’s fell on his notes – more specifically, his most recent notes from the library in Gobford. Hadn’t there been something there…? Bernt rifled through the sheets, looking for the one he wanted. There. Another way.

  He had a map of the northern part of the Phoenix Reaches. It was hand-drawn and at least sixty years old, but it covered this entire area. Well, not here, but on the other side of the mountains. It even had helpful markings to point out landmarks and places to harvest materials. Bernt stood up and looked south. The Sunset Range looked especially imposing at night, backlit by red-orange light from behind, its many peaks reaching up like teeth trying to bite the sky. But it wasn’t impassable. Bernt could see… well. Not passes, per se. But it wasn’t all cliffs. A determined mage who wasn’t afraid of a bit of fire should be able to make his way through.

  The demons wouldn’t be checking the mountain slopes, and they certainly wouldn’t be in the Phoenix Reaches. Nobody would expect it, because it was stupid. Or it would be stupid for someone who hadn’t already been planning to go there. Bernt could conjure enough water to drink, and he could probably make the food last as long as three weeks if he stretched it. The burning rain wouldn’t be a problem for him unless he was caught totally unawares.

  He could do it. He could hike to the Sacral Peaks from the other side, entering the way he’d originally planned to access the Phoenix Reaches. He’d need to avoid straying too far in, but it wasn’t supposed to be too dangerous near the borders. Certainly not as dangerous as staying here.

  Decision made, Bernt finished what was now a sort of tasteless porridge, conjured some more water to rinse the pot and packed up his things. He’d need to get a little more distance from the road before he felt safe enough to sleep a few hours. Tomorrow, he was going to the Phoenix Reaches.