Daemon is a fairly generic term, or at least it used to be. We labeled any corrupted souls a Daemon. Now it has a bit more significance because it describes both a physical and mental change. It is why the Rootless technically qualify to become Daemons.

~Gwyddion, God of Illusions

The worm mount was turning out to be a challenge the further down the path they went. Crow still concentrated on observing his past and understanding the questions before him, but Nin suffered in the meantime. He could that as the days continued to pass, her Dragon Aura left her exhausted. It was mainly because the worm mount was resisting its subdual.

The beast was odd. Most beasts followed a pecking order and rarely defied it to this extent. Crow wondered if the worm had devoured dragon blood because it was the only reason he could come up with. If it had the blood of dragons in its veins, it could undoubtedly resist Nin, who was in her human form.

Lily never wandered off far and occasionally would send a jolt of lightning into the worm’s brain to scramble it and prevent it from fighting. Other than that, Crow and Nin decided that Lily shouldn’t wander far since they were approaching the monolith.

Daemons and Fae had a long history of animosity. Crow wasn’t sure if it was true, but several books on the Daemon claimed they were initially Fae. History gets distorted over too long a time. Still, one thing hadn’t changed—the stories of the Daemon being corrupted creatures. Other than that, it was like someone had expunged all history of what they once were.

Crow believed the stories of the Daemon once belonging to the Fae had a ring of truth. It would also explain the hate. It was like the Draoidh and the Rootless, which were also considered an offshoot of the Daemon races. It was just that the Daemon treated the Rootless like impure hybrids because of their human blood. Crow wasn’t sure how many other races of man had Fae blood in them, but he was confident the Druid Order did, even if it had diluted over the years.

Either way, the Rootless might operate independently of the Daemon but would always side with them when confronting the races of man. It is why he, and the entire Druid Order, despised them. Not only did they turn on their own blood and heritage, but they also turned against their own race.

On this particular day, ten days since they gained the mount, Crow decided not to use his Three-Headed Crow ability. Instead, he held onto Nin tightly as he rode behind her. She leaned back into him, and Crow struggled to maintain a cool mind when she got excited. It was another kind of training for him—resisting the urge to ravage her whenever she teased him.

In his arms, she suddenly tensed. Her head shifted as it looked toward the left of the monolith. Crow could hear her sniffing the air as her nostrils flared. The first few times he saw her doing it, he couldn’t help but mention she looked like a cute little puppy—Nin beat the hell out of him seconds later. Now he just chuckled inwardly.

Nin snorted, and her eyes shifted toward him, scanning his face. “You are thinking of a puppy again, aren’t you?”

Crow shook his head, but his flushed face gave him away. In the end, she just chuckled and then licked his face. When he flinched, and his face scrunched up like she’d broken his favorite bow, she burst out laughing. So he pinched her side—hard. Both of them fell off the worm, as it chose that moment to resist Nin’s control.

Before either of them could react, the damned thing burrowed into the ground and disappeared. Above ground, they could catch the thing, but below, it was like a fish in the sea. Lily flew above them and wagged her finger at them. It reminded Crow of a mom scolding her children, which made him laugh along with Nin, even if it was for a different reason.

“It’s fine,” Nin said after everyone was composed once more. “I was going to suggest we kill it because we are in Daemon territory—their scent is everywhere.”

A lengthy discussion ensued, and in the end, the two women reluctantly agreed with Crow’s plan. With his skills and abilities, navigating a forest without being seen was a given. So he’d scout a path while they followed behind. This way, Crow could mark out a trail using Ogham runes etched into the Fireheart Oaks. He taught them simple phrases so they could read his notes. This way, he could guide them forward as he hunted. All three of them agreed the Daemons were likely clustered tightly near the monolith.

Bow drawn, falcata strapped to his back with the handle sticking out on his right side near his butt, and several daggers in sheaths on his chest—this was his arsenal. Activating Ghostly Visage, his body turned colors until he practically disappeared. He wasn’t invisible but masked like a chameleon. Next, he activated Ghostly Aura because many races of Daemon had heat vision, rendering camouflaging abilities pointless.

The overlapping techniques and spells in Crow’s repertoire helped shore up those weaknesses. Short of tripping over him, most of these weaker Daemons should not be able to spot him. Although it was reasonable to assume that the Gray Men could sense the living, so despite his confidence, he didn’t take any stupid risks.

Crow shifted through the forest like a phantom, and within seconds, Nin couldn’t spot him. She knew Crow was a skillful hunter, and in a forest, even people with a Shield might not be as capable. However, Nin didn’t realize a human could be impressive enough to escape even her notice. The only way should trace him now was by his scent, and she was willing to bet he had tricks for blocking that too.

***

Hours later, Crow was still moving through the forest as if he was running down a road. Every foot placed was done with confidence, and his sharp eyes allowed him to dodge every branch and bramble as if he was a ghost. The only sign of his passing was the etchings he left behind so that Nin and Lily could follow him. The distance between them grew, even with him slowing his pace. The night was about to give away to day, so he started looking for a place to camp.

That was when things went slightly sideways. Crow approached a hill from the leeward side, afraid the Daemons might smell him, but on this side, the hill was sharper and more ragged. It cut down visibility but could provide a shallow cave or shelter from the harsh sunlight.

Scanning the area, he saw nothing out of the ordinary but waited all the same. He was about to leave the safety of the trees and had to cut across a semi-exposed area. Because of all the boulders and flat pieces of shale that parted from the hill, he couldn’t see much beyond those initial rocks.

Dashing forward with Ghost Steps meant he made no sound. Not even the tiny stones underfoot shifted. His fast past made his Become the Ghost ability shimmer as it tried to adjust to his new surroundings. Outwardly, he probably looked like a ghost, which was precisely what the Daemon that spotted him thought. It had just stepped around the largest piece of shale, a section of stone that Crow was trying to get behind, and spotted a shimmering man.

Screech!

It let out a harrowing scream and fled, dropping its crude wand in the process. The creature was no taller than a meter, and its stone-like skin glowed as if it was magma. Tiny wings graced its back, but Crow dismissed them immediately since they didn’t seem capable of flying. The barbed tail, small nubby horns on its head, and the fire-red hair that danced as if it was flames gave it away. This thing was a Caorthan, one of Caorthannach’s children, but most knew it by its common name—Fire Spitter. These little imps were relatively weak, but they were pyromaniacs. They were the easiest Daemons to find because random fires would appear all over the place if they were around. They were like walking disasters.

The Caorthans in this world made more sense than the Gray Men since it was practically a world of fire.

Crow’s arrow practically tore the thing in half, but he couldn’t take back its screech. Instead, he was forced to take cover under the piece of shale. Because of the way it slid off the hill, there was a gap under it, but he wasn’t sure there was a way out. He took the risk because there was no way he’d make it back into the trees, and he felt his fire resistance would be enough to fight them in tight quarters if needed.

Claws scrabbling against stone were the first warning of their approach, and he could hear dozens of the little guys climbing all over the shale above him. He couldn’t understand what they were saying, but it sounded like a turkey mating call. Gobble, gobble, gobble. Crow mimicked in his head and smiled at the ludicrous thought.

Bleppp!

It was the sound of gagging, or so Crow thought. Dozens of the things were making the same sounds, and then he saw fire splashing over the grassy area between them and the trees. It was Fire Spitters doing what they did best—spitting liquid fire. It made him curious why the one he killed was carrying a wand.

As they were chattering, fire continued to rain over the area. As the smoke continued to billow, the dumb things finally realized they wouldn’t be able to see their prey. Several of them hopped down from the rock and a few of those spotted Crow’s hiding spot. However, when they looked in the cave, their eyes went right past him. Between Become the Ghost and Ghostly Aura, they didn’t see him at all. It took another fifteen minutes before they gave up and left.

When he crawled out from his hiding place, he put his bow back into the Vortex Pin. An area like this was better suited for his Mor-Rioghain—his falcata. The crow’s head on the pommel and soft leather grip felt good in his hand. He hadn’t used this weapon much over the years, despite training with it on an almost daily basis. He really was more suited to the bow.

As he caught up to the straggling Caorthans, his blade cleaved their heads from their shoulders. He was about to teach the Daemon why the curved sword was called Queen of Nightmares.