“You can’t be serious.” Uriah said, glaring at Bernt. “You’re talking to a demon in the hells, and you’re surprised we got ambushed?”

  “Hey, watch it!” Elyn reprimanded him. “Jori wouldn’t betray us. She's a friend.”

  “Besides,” Torvald added reasonably, “Ed is with her. Do you think he’s the kind of person who would let something like that happen? You're being ridiculous.”

  Uriah visibly controlled himself, seeing that nobody else was apparently on his side of the issue. “Even then, you have to maintain some kind of connection, right? How many of those are there, running between our world and the hells? They can probably trace it right to you with the right kind of seeking spell.”

  “What?” Bernt stared at his former coworker in genuine confusion. “That’s not how familiar bonds work. They’re totally passive – there’s no metaphysical link or anything there to trace. That’s why they’re range-dependent. They probably just had the shade follow us. Didn’t you go to the academy?”

  “Companion-Bonds was part of an elective scrying course in Henfelden,” Uriah said defensively. “I swapped it out for advanced agricultural water management. You still shouldn’t trust a demon like that, regardless.”

  “Your concerns are noted.” Bernt said shortly, instead of telling him to shut up. And Iriala had claimed he wasn’t a natural diplomat. That would show her. “The point is that Nuros wants her, and they think they need to kill me to get her loyalty. So, maybe they’re after everyone here, sure, but they’re definitely trying to kill me personally. I had to tell you, because you deserve to know that being near me will put you in danger.”

  Looking around, Bernt still wasn’t sure that the severity of the situation was getting through to them. Elyn looked a little concerned, at least, and Uriah was obviously irritated, but he’d still expected more of a response.

  “Eh.” Nirlig said, shrugging. “Did you see how they came at us? I mean, that wasn’t an assassination. They were just trying to overrun us. That, or these demons were all idiots.”

  “Or they didn’t have very much time to plan the attack,” Torvald mused. “We don’t know exactly how well they’ve been tracking us. Maybe they didn’t expect us to be here today, or they couldn’t get the warlocks they needed into place. That would explain why there weren’t any Duergar soldiers, either. I don’t think any of them were as dangerous as Jori, and she’s not considered all that powerful, right?”

  Bernt nodded. “Not as far as I saw. I don’t really know about the ones that High Priest Hannis killed, but I’m guessing a class four or five demon would have put up more of a fight. They also mostly fought by hand – barely any magic. More powerful demons use shadows and hellfire and that horrible screaming thing that Josie has from her pact.”

  “We got lucky.” Uriah summarized uncharitably. “If they’re following us below ground, then maybe we’ll be fine, but we don’t even know exactly where in the Depths the enemy lives. For all we know, we’re walking toward their cities, and they’ll be able to hit us properly the next time we camp too close to an access point.”

  “Maybe,” Torvald allowed. “Regardless, no one is under the illusion that this is a one-off attack. I’ll talk to the priests, and make sure that we always have one of us on watch. Surin and Angjou can't really fight, but I think they can sense an attack before they hit the sentries. A few seconds' warning can make a big difference, especially with Hannis. You saw how terrified they were of him.”

  Bernt cleared his throat, ordering his thoughts. “I think I can help with that, actually. Keeping them off of us, I mean. I’ve been thinking about ways to protect myself from shades…”

  “You mean that torch spell you’ve been running around with all the time lately?" Torvald asked. "How many shades do you think they have?”

  “No! I mean, that’s what gave me the idea, but I’m not sure this would actually work against shades. Otherwise I would have already used it. It probably won’t stop the bigger imps, either, but… just wait here. I’ll show you.”

  Rising, Bernt wandered over to where Baron Regin was standing sentry, looking into the darkness with attention born from fear. The angry red light that had illuminated the camp earlier had dimmed considerably, fading slowly now that the conflict was past and letting the dark of night creep back in. The nervous man whirled around when he approached and sighed with relief.

  “Ah, it's you. Thank the gods! You know, once you see actual monsters come crawling out of the dark, those old childhood fears don’t seem so childish anymore.”

  Bernt patted the skittish nobleman on the shoulder.

  “Don’t worry about it. We can have Nirlig take over again, or I'll do it.”

  As Regin retreated back toward the fire, Bernt extended his right hand and began to cast. It was cold fire, modified in a very different manner than his banefire spell.

  His sorcerous investiture flexed in a way that was starting to feel more and more intuitive and he produced a thin stream of liquid silvery flames that shot out of a finger as he swept it down in a line. The spell only lasted for a second, but it worked. A low wall of fire danced merrily on the ground where he cast the flames, only a little more than a foot high. It barely put off any heat that he could feel from where he stood, and showed no signs of going out.

  Taking a few steps over, he did it again, curving the line a little bit to start forming a ring around the camp. If any other demons wanted to visit their camp tonight, they would at least get burned for their trouble. Not to mention the light, though relatively dim, would help with spotting intruders before they could strike.

  When he cast the spell for the third time, the others started to notice.

  “Hey, are you trying to set the fields on fire?” one of the injured fighters called. “Put that out!”

  “Do you see any fire spreading?” Bernt called back, annoyed at the interruption. “It’s perfectly safe.”

  Another one of the adventurers that had been sitting with the man jogged over to examine the fire. She made a confused noise when she realized that some of the flames cut directly through clumps of tinder-dry grass without burning them. Bernt watched her poke a boot at it, followed by a finger.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “It’s not even hot!” she exclaimed in surprise.

  That wasn’t quite true, Bernt knew, but it wasn’t anything like natural fire. Bernt smiled at her, doing his best not to look smug.

  “Try telling that to the demons.”

  ***

  Tallash narrowed his eyes against the otherworldly glare emanating from the mortals’ camp. The Conqueror’s eye was closing as the god’s attention waned – finally. Soon, they would be able to strike again. Kill a few sentries, whittle down their numbers. By morning, there would be too few left to resist. Even a god’s protection wouldn’t save a mortal priest forever. They were born to die, while Tallash and his thralls could come back again and again.

  Not that it would come to that. He didn't have time to do this slowly. His missing thralls, much to his surprise, hadn't been killed or poached by a rival. No, they'd been captured by the imp – the very same one whose mortal he was here to kill. That was good. He would wipe out these mortals tonight and return to the hells in time to capture the rebel imp for Nuros.

  Shivering in anticipation, Tallash reflected on his sheer luck. He'd only been granted this task because he'd discovered that his thralls were the imps' cousins. Once he'd learned the truth, he'd shared it with his mistress, who spoke to Nuros. He had expected to find Dzhorianath alongside the warlock, but this was just as well. She'd delivered herself to him.

  A new light flared up, a slash of bright, unnatural white that burned Tallash’s eyes before diminishingnto a soft silver flicker. He hissed softly and raised a hand against the glare as the mortal cast the spell again, then once more. There was a short interruption, then more fire. The flames were forming a ring around the camp.

  He recognized this type of fire from the battle at Halfbridge. Their mages had used it to burn demons, even those from the third hell. It took him another minute to realize that the ring wasn't fading. It just kept burning, undiminished. Was the mage sustaining the spell? No… he was sitting down, now. Not casting.

  This was going to be a problem.

  They had two tasks to accomplish here, and neither would be possible like this. Their mortal pactors demanded that this group be stopped and killed – the sooner the better. Meanwhile, their masters’ master, Nuros, thirsted for the blood of their warlock. The one whose thrall had destroyed his mortal vessel.

  Aelos had seen the target with this group earlier, but he hadn't seen fit to point him out specifically to his peers. The arrogant shade had been destroyed in the skirmish earlier. The denizens of the fifth hell always thought too much of themselves, and he’d paid the price. He wouldn’t be reborn from the shadows for days yet.

  All the better. He wouldn’t share in the reward. They couldn't know which of the casters the warlock was – not unless he began throwing hellfire around. But it didn't matter, in the end. There would be no survivors.

  Next to him, a hag crouched, claws digging into the soil. She’d seen the same thing he had, and understood the problem. Like him, Roaznis was a servant of Zijeregh, and therefore supposedly an equal. One day, he would devour the strength of her existence along with her flesh.

  “Our thralls will be destroyed in the flames,” she rasped. “They are too weak. And you and I are too few. Zijeregh will not be pleased. She will be forced to act personally, and she will etch her humiliation into our teeth.”

  Tallash clenched his teeth and glared at the mewling coward, hissing softly. He wouldn't be stopped by mere fire – he, who ate the burning flesh of demons. He bathed in hellfire rivers!

  “If you had properly paralyzed the mortals when you were supposed to," he growled, "we would not be having this conversation.”

  “I did not expect to be interrupted by an ogre!” she replied angrily. “By the time I chased it off, your thralls were scattering.”

  “You didn't kill it?!”

  The hag scoffed, not bothering to reply. Tallash didn't push the point – why argue with a rival who had just admitted weakness?

  "We will not be stopped by a simple wall of flame,” he replied, returning to the matter at hand. “They will not be able to carry it with them when they move.”

  Roaznis looked as if she wanted to argue, but a look from Tallash silenced her. She knew which of them was greater.

  ***

  Bernt wasn’t sure what he’d expected from the demons, but giving up wasn’t it. Only half of the adventurers were still in fighting shape after a single ambush, though all of the legitimators and invigilators had come away practically unscathed. No one wanted to think about what might happen if the demons caught them unawares again.

  Bernt’s lopsided ring of cold fire had raised a few questions in the camp, but no one had complained once he’d explained himself. He wasn’t sure if it would be enough to kill any demons outright, but it would serve as a deterrent, at least. Nobody liked to be burned. He could have intensified the flames, of course, but he didn’t dare. If he miscalculated, the spell might exhaust the ambient mana more quickly than it could replenish itself. Then, the fire might go out in some areas while he was asleep, leaving gaps.

  Not that anyone could sleep. The camp had stayed awake through the night, some due to traumatic injuries and most out of simple paranoia. The sense of exhausted relief that shivered through the camp when the sun rose without another attack was palpable.

  Moving slowly and deliberately, they packed up their belongings, loaded the one-legged ranger into a cart, and set off. Bernt kept the fire burning until the last moment, extinguishing the circle only when they started to move.

  The horses, like the people, were exhausted after the stressful night, and progress was slower than the previous day. Nobody felt like talking, and their small column made its way down the road in near silence. Even Nirlig kept his head down.

  After an hour, it started to rain – a cold, unwelcome drizzle blown directly into their faces by a steady southern wind, obscuring their sight and making every bit of exposed skin go numb. Only Uriah was unaffected. Water seemed to bounce right off of the hydromancer. The smug bastard.

  Bernt resolved to work on his control over water, if only to keep himself dry in the future. Or, maybe he could adapt a pyromancy spell. Rain couldn’t reach him if he vaporized it before it struck, right? But that would require a mobile fire shield, which was something he'd never heard of. Barrier spells of all kinds had to have a clearly defined and stable location to be effective, otherwise an opposing spell or force could move or disperse it like any other spell.

  The hot steam might be a problem for people near him, too.

  Bernt felt, rather than heard the attack start. Something was… wrong. He whirled, peering into the bushes and seeing nothing.

  Something chittered, then a twig broke. There were hisses, shouts. Bernt raised a numb right hand and began casting banefire, even as the adventurers drew weapons. A chimeric, skinless wolf creature dragged itself out of the bushes. Its upper body glistened revoltingly with some kind of slime before transitioning to scales and the tail of a serpent near the middle.

  Before he could release the spell, Nirlig lunged forward and pinned the thing with his spear, keeping his distance as best he could. No hellfire spat forth from the wound, and the creature recoiled in pain. Probably not from the third hell, then.

  Shapes leapt out, intercepted by adventurers – too close for Bernt to strike with fire. Eyes finally adjusting to the gloomy undergrowth, Bernt spotted a tall humanoid creature, nearly bent double as though it had a hump. Its hair was gray and ragged and hung down nearly to the ground. As he watched, it spread its too-long arms wide, raised a remarkably hideous face to the sky and screamed.

  Bernt activated the spell, flinching back in anticipation of what would come next.

  The peal of a bell drowned out all sound, resonating with something deep inside Bernt and overpowering the hag’s sorcery before it could begin to take effect. Adventurers hacked, stabbed and kicked at the attackers, pushing them back. Out of the corner of his eye, Bernt watched a gray-haired man leap into the bushes. Bloody light seemed to emanate from the air around him.

  This time, the demons hadn’t caught them napping.