They sat for a while and let the adrenaline seep from their bones. It was replaced by a sheer exhaustion. Bloumen’s mind was fixed upon that horror in the woods, and realized it was still relentlessly following them. The thought made her shudder. “Will we be here for long?”

“No, maybe ten minutes, I can’t take you much farther before I would have to carry you otherwise.” Kirtridge yawned and watched the trees dance about them. “Of all the stupid things I could do, I had to choose this. Say, your crown is pretty significant, can you do anything with it?”

Bloumen shook her head. “Just hear a voice in my head. It makes me tired and sick; I don’t know why its bad.”

He stroked his beard as he looked at the little shimmering aura about her head. “I find it hard to believe that the Viscountess herself would be after a little child like you then. Come on, it has to do something.”

She shrugged. “My parents just said it was a marker for a future me.”

“All crowns are.” He stood up, and then reached out to help her upright. “Ready to go?”

“No.”

Kirtridge looked out into the gloom, biting down on a piece of jerky he had drawn from his pack. He nodded at her response. Bloumen watched the pines rustle and the dry brush dance in the wind, feeling too tired to try to run anymore.

“How long do we have?” She asked, after a minute’s silence had gone by.

“Against sacred hounds? They hunt based upon sight, your magic is too weak for them to find. I’ve lead us up along a poorly known route, one which would be difficult for them to travel along. Even with that being true, at best thirty minutes.” Kirtridge seemed too comfortable about all of this.

Bloumen sat back, and looked over the forest. She was hungry, and craving warmth. Right now, she wanted a fire, something cozy to lie beside and forget all about the hounds and the viscountess. Even without the hounds, it was awfully dry, and it seemed like it would be dangerous to light one.

Maybe dangerous wasn’t so bad right now. A little spark of inspiration crept into her mind, and she looked at the dry pines in a new light. A little flammable? We can scare them off, or cause a distraction, anything to keep them away.

She looked up at Kirtridge; “Do you remember when there was a fire along the mountains, three years ago?”

“Of course… Why?”

“If we were to light a fire now… Could we start something similar?”

“No. It would draw attention to where we are.”

“They’ll know anyway, when its daytime, right? Will we make it right now?”

“It’s just not possible. Well… Maybe.” Kirtridge was quiet, and he lapsed into thought. “It’s not the worst idea.”

He reached into his bag and withdrew a small tool. It was metal and looked like a tuning fork. There was a small glimmer of red around the tines of the tool. Kirtridge smiled, a little bit nostalgically. “A gift from your father, when I was complaining about the weather during a hunt.”

Kirtridge handed it to her, and she felt it tingle when it entered her hand. “If you want to try this, we’ll need to do it as we move. It’s a magic tool, put something between the prongs, and envision…”

He trailed off there, like he usually did when explaining something difficult. “It looks like a circle with two triangles in it, they’re connected by some lines. I don’t know how to explain it. It’ll make your head spin, so be careful. If you feel worn out, or can’t figure it out, don’t bother.”

Bloumen looked at the tool and tried to figure out what he meant. Kirtridge stood and looked about them. “We had best get moving, it won’t take them long to find out we’re moving along the bluff. If we move quickly, we can reach the deep forest by sundown tomorrow.”

“The deep forest, is it safer there?”

“Well… I suppose in that nothing will be actively hunting you. It’s filled with malignant fae, so it will be a good space to shake off anything divine.” He turned, and began to thread his way along the path. “When you light the fires, look for dense spots of brush, preferably dead. Fallen trees and dead juniper are your best bets. The tool will flash, so cover it with your cloak to avoid giving us away and hold it as low as you can.”

Bloumen reluctantly picked herself up, and shook her legs. They felt sore, and she felt dizzy when she stood. The thought of her warm home, and the sound of her piano, her father’s violin, and her mother’s smile all came rushing back to her. God, I just want to be home right now.

Kirtridge led her along the slope, carefully threading between boulders and trees. Even while the route doubled back on itself and looped around the bluff, he was always heading upward. Bloumen kept her eyes out, looking for an opportunity to start the distraction. Her experience with fire was limited to her family’s hearth, but she was sure there was probably the same principle involved.

When Kirtridge reached the top of the ridge, he paused to look over the surroundings. There was a fallen pine among a large patch of juniper bushes, bordering the ridgeline. This was where she saw her opportunity. While he leaned upon a boulder to look out over the ridge, she knelt down beside the brambles. The wind picked up once more, making her hands shake when she withdrew the magical tool.

“Is this a good spot?” She asked.

“Should do fine. It causes a small fire, and the bushes will hide it for a bit. I’m going to look about for our pursuers. I should be able to see the entire approach from here. The deep forest borders this bluff, so the only approach is up these cliffs.”

She knelt and held the tool against the lower branches of the fallen pine. Her hand tingled, pins and needles racing up and down her fingers. It was almost pleasant. The feeling changed a little when she began to envision, as Kirtridge had told her, two triangles, linked by a line, in a circle. It felt now like an icy chill, but the feeling was faint.

Nothing happened.

Bloumen tried again, rearranging the symbols in her mind. With frustration, she tried to figure out how many ways two triangles could possibly fit in a circle.

There were far too many.

“What’s taking so long?” Kirtridge called.

“How do these fit again? You’re really pretty bad at describing these things aren’t you?” She called back, a little annoyance in her voice.

“The tips touch. It’s hard to explain, when you get close they sort of click together in your mind. If you can’t figure it out, give up. I need my magic for if we get caught.”

Bloumen fought every urge she had not to give back a venomous retort. From experience, she knew Kirtridge would give it back ten times as badly. Just as she was about to give up, she felt a familiar migraine approaching.

Oh, not again. The thought of dealing with the effects of the uninvited guest in her head filled her with despair.

“What on earth are you doing child? I feel you tugging at the Erd-flow, and poorly at that.” The cold voice in her head was displaying an unusual amount of interest.

Really, what do you want now? I don’t have much time. The migraine grew a little more intense as Bloumen tried to envision the sigil again.

“That’s a Royal Hunter’s sigil. Child why do you have such a tool? Well, nevermind, stay strong and bear with me.” There was a rare tone of sympathy in the voice of the demon.

“Hey, Bloumen, I can see the hound’s making their way up the cliff. We need to go.” Kirtridge said.

Bloumen felt a wave of vertigo hit her. When it cleared, her headache had increased to a mind melting level. A fresh image had flickered into her mind. It was more complicated then expected, and nothing like how Kirtridge had described. Inlaid upon a circle was a complex pattern of triangles, overlaid with a black floral pattern. It somehow felt familiar to her, she supposed that was the demon’s doing.

As soon as it had entered her minds eye, the tool’s pleasant tingling stopped. In its place was an icy chill, as if she had bathed her own hand in ice water.

The biting cold spread up her arm in an instant. Before she could react, her body had grown frozen and numb. She could not let go of the device, as black fire spread along the tree and the bushes in a horrible wave. The device vibrated violently, before there was a crack, and the cold feeling stopped. The heat of the fire burned at her face, as the black fire, ringed by a ghostly white aura, rippled over the bushes and into the forest. She could no longer move, and she crumpled to the ground like a blanket.

“What have you done now demonspawn?!” Kirtridge cried, running over to her. His voice was panicked, and he dragged her limp body away from the fire.

“If I knew Kirtridge, I wouldn’t have done it.” She managed, weakly.

He swore. “We’re moving, now. Profane fire, of all things to do.”

There was a howl, and another and another. It sounded like the screams of a hundred woodland creatures, all crying at once.

Kirtridge threw down his pack. He pulled Bloumen up, and over his shoulder like a sack of flour. She could feel his powerful muscles ripple as he made for the forest at a rapid clip. As he reached the forestline, a silhouette jumped up onto the ridge. It was horrible and misshapen, its skin writhed with a hundred legs and little paws. A golden halo was above its head, and its six malformed legs turned every movement into a drunken dance. It was horrible and awe inspiring all at once, and covered in a thick, glistening pus.

A sacred hound.