Trytian paused, as if listening, then nodded for us to follow him. We hunched, racing low to the ground, from the edge of the petrified forest over to the first big boulder. Part of me felt like we were in some oddball sci-fi action movie, on an alien planet, trying to keep hidden from the terrifying inhabitants of the new world. But I wasn’t laughing. Because if the Demonkin caught us, we were dead meat.
The boulder was a good ten feet in diameter, and smooth, as if it had been worn down over the years by a million footsteps crossing its path. We crouched behind it for a moment as Trytian edged out, gauging whether the way was clear. And then on to the next one, which wasn’t on the path, but next to it. We darted from rock to rock, ringing the outside of the path, and I began to notice more dry clumps of long, spiky grasses as we went. The bushes were frequent, and I could smell the foliage now. The lack of greenery made what little was around stand out. The scent wasn’t unpleasant, a slightly pungent, dusky smell, like old bitter herbs.
I wondered what the scrub brush was, but my alarm bells were ringing and I knew better than to ask any unnecessary questions. We were four boulders over from the first, and Trytian suddenly froze, motioning for us to get down. We crouched in the shadow of the rock, waiting, as the sound of marching feet echoed toward us. I wanted to see what was coming along the path, but kept still—freezing into position. Demonkin had senses very different than ours, and some of them were all too astute when it came to nuances in sound or motion.
The marching grew louder, dozens of feet stomping in unison, as a cloud of dust rose up from their passing. It filtered through the air to us, and Trillian and Shade very quietly covered their noses and eyes. I realized they were trying to prevent any sneezes from happening. Another few minutes, and the marching began to fade, and then, in a little while, it vanished into the petrified forest.
Trytian slumped against the rock, Lokail beside him. He caught my gaze and—for one of the first times since we’d met him here—smiled at me. With a weary shrug, he motioned for us to follow him into the thicket of scrub brush, and before long, we were around the back side of a hill, away from the path, skirting the area.
*
We threaded our way through the scrub, stopping more often than we wanted. The detention center wasn’t that far away from the petrified forest, but going the long way around was tedious and every moment we had to freeze, thinking some sound was coming our way, was another moment that I found it harder not to just rush in like some fool.
Finally, we reached a point where Trytian motioned for me to come up beside Lokail and him. He nodded ahead, and I saw it. There, about three hundred feet away, beyond a patch of yellowed, spiky grass, was a building. It was carved from red stone and reminded me of an adobe structure, squat, with a flat roof. It wasn’t altogether large, so unless it had an underground section, it shouldn’t take us long to search. The main problem that I could see from here was the three guards standing atop the roof, holding bows and arrows.
Trytian waved me silent when I started to open my mouth. He motioned to two of his buddies from the back, who moved up beside him, and pointed to the guards on top of the building. They nodded and—as they moved out from behind the scrub brush—they shimmered and all I could see was a faint wave in the air where they were. The ripples in the air began to move, and I realized the daemons were on the move.
A blur, a ripple, a wave . . . that was all we could see as they moved ahead toward the building. Trillian and Shade watched over my shoulder, both looking fascinated. Whatever race of daemons they were, I had never heard of them before, and I had the feeling neither had either of my companions. Vanzir, however, just shrugged when I glanced his way.
There was a faint ripple against the side of the structure and the next moment, the daemons scaled the wall and appeared on the roof of the building, immediately attacking the guards. The moment they attacked, they appeared in full form again. But they were unevenly matched—whatever demons were atop that structure were strong as hell.
Our men managed to bring down one of them, and then a second, but then it was one-on-one as the remaining demon skewered one of our guys and he fell. The guard was shouting something when—the next moment—he had no head. The head rolled off as the daemon brought his short sword straight across in a blow that looked strong enough to slice wood.
Trytian shrugged. “We’re in for a pound . . . that cry was bound to alert others.” And he was off and running.
I leaped to my feet, fast on his heels, and the others were only seconds behind me. We sprinted the stretch, then were suddenly at the building. The door was nearest me and I didn’t wait but yanked it open, too worried they would kill Nerissa if they knew we were coming.