Chapter One

The Daminion Highway cut a straight path through the hellscape for thousands of miles, connecting the north and south, before eventually intersecting with the Dimonble Highway, which ran east to west. The two highways split the hellscape into four quadrants: The ice capped Plaesil mountains, and further out, the frozen tundra called the Ubrios Wastes (better known as the Graveyard of Forgotten Things); the Okanavi Desert, also home to many of the cities destroyed in the war with the Primordial Caste a thousand years ago; the muddy, rainy Javacial Flatlands to the east; and to the west was the coast, its vast oceans mostly unexplored.

Between the quadrant one could travel through one climate to another within weeks and a few days if they traveled by train. Unfortunately, after having traversed out into the Okanavi Desert where the train tracks did not go so far, the Stray dogs had to travel by horse. For several days they rode at an almost constant gallop, trying to put distance between themselves and the desert. A grim silence had fallen over the group. They would not be safe until they reached Miffland's walls where they would be under the protection of the Eurchurch.

Whenever possible they took the backroads. These roads were often rough, taking them through rugged terrain that proved to be disagreeable to the body; the fact that these roads were secluded also made them dangerous. However the Stray Dogs were able to travel a greater distance within a short amount of time due to the fact that there was little traffic. The main highway would be crowded with refugees also heading towards the sanctuary the Eurchurch offered, fleeing from the plague of possessions and the influence of the Scarlet Church that was quickly overshadowing the hellscape and could not afford to take the train. The only souls brave enough to travel the hellscape were usually the lost ones: cutthroats, thieves, and rapists seeking to avoid the Eurchurch lest they face the noose.

There was little to see on the backroads but fields overgrown with weeds, abandoned supply carts often already too picked over to provide anything of use; occasionally they would pass an abandoned homestead. If they found a viable place, the group would stop and two Strays would go inside to make sure it was safe. There they would camp for the night and then leave again at first light.

Sara welcomed those brief moments when Commander Rake would allow them to stop and rest, which wasn't often. She always took this time to water her horse and check on Faulko. Faulko's mind had resurfaced under her healing hand but it was a slow process. For the first three days after the Stray Dogs had fled from Fort Erikson. He would sit slumped on the horse saddle, chewing absently on the meager strips of beef jerky, or slurping down spoonfuls of broth. Sara feared that his mind would never fully return to him, that the ordeal he had suffered at the hands of the Red Wraiths had forever broken him. His body she could heal over time, his mind she could do nothing for.

On the Stray Dog's fourth night, after she'd rubbed a balm made out of healing herbs on the scabbed stumps where his fingers had been, he'd spoken for the first time. It was only to say "thank you", but Sara took this as progress, proof that while her healing treatment of his body was slow it was at least working.

However Faulko was not the only one who had come back changed from Fort Erikson. Crow had said little, raising a wall of silence around himself. Gone was the expression of youthful wonder that was always fixed on his face when they traveled. At night he would hide in the pages of a tattered book he had taken from the desert and smoke one jalasa joint after another. His long fingers were always stained red with the herb. He'd always been unusually quiet and thoughtful for a boy his age, but this was a different kind of silence.

Sara recognized the signs of melancholy. Expending mana took its tolls on healers and practitioners. The consequences were different, between the two different types of mana and between every individual. The reserves of mana he had within him far exceeded her own, yet just like her, he could run out until he replenished it. The consequence of Crow's crash was like watching someone wander slowly emerge from a thick, black cloud of smoke. However, Sara suspected, this was not the only reason for his silent withdrawal from the Stray Dogs and the rest of the world. Something had happened to him of a psychological nature back at Fort Erikson and the pain was clearly visible on his face. Sara remembered feeling the same way she joined the Stray Dogs; sometimes she still did though less frequently.

She just hoped he would emerge from that black cloud soon. The Stray Dogs needed him alert should they run into danger; whether the others wanted to admit it or not they needed him.

Sara noticed, with amusement, the way Barghast stayed physically close to Crow without trying to overly crowding him. Barghast did his best to hide his attachment to the practitioner but to the healer it was plain as day. The two had become close in their own way. It was not nothing like the familial companionship between the Okanavian and Jack, which could oscillate between close friendship to parent-child rivalry; no, this was more like a moon gravitating around a planet. She found it both strange and endearing. If anyone could bring him out of it, it was Barghast.

One grey, overcast day, while washing Lydia's clothes in the stream the Strays had camped at, she spied Crow sitting several yards away, smoking a jalasa joint. She remembered the intent look on his face, how he'd stared at the burbling water as if he could see something staring back at him - something that was only visible to him. Barghast had come up behind him, hovering back like an uncertain child. The conflict was plain on his scarred face: Should he approach or should he give Crow distance? Strange to think that it was Crow that could who could bring out the disconfidence in the Okanavian when not even the possibility of death in battle could, Sara thought.

At last, voice carrying over the music of the stream, Barghast came up beside Crow. "Do you mind if I join you?"

Crow's mouth moved but his voice was quiet enough that Sara could not hear the words he said. He must have said yes, because Barghast lowered himself onto the dirt ground. Even sitting down, he towered over the Okanavian, his shoulders wider than many tree trunks. They did not talk, just stared out at the water together.

Then it began to sprinkle.

Barghast made a show of sticking his tongue out for the drops to fall on. He kept turning his head towards the practitioner so that he'd notice. Eventually Crow did, and when he did, he smiled. A real smile, full of delight. Then he, too, stuck out his tongue to catch the rain, and they sat by the creek like that for several minutes. By then Sara and Lydia had retreated into their tent but occasionally she found herself peeking sheepishly in their direction.

With Barghast's help, Crow had begun to emerge from his own personal fugue.

…

Near the eve of their seventh day on the road, they encountered a Casteless. At first glance she appeared to be a woman; she came shuffling drunkenly in their direction, gusts of wind blowing at her hair and filthy dress. A closer look and a bloodcurdling sense of dread revealed she was anything but a woman.

Out here, away from civilization, is demon territory, Sara thought. Out here where Mercius's Rays do not reach.

The horses sensed what she was as well for they curved a wide path around her. The woman stopped to watch the group pass by, her head cocked slightly to the right. Her dirt-smeared features were arranged in an expression that might have been befuddlement, as if she had never seen their kind before. Then, within the blink of an eye, her demeanor changed: Her eyes bulged deliriously, a bright unnatural yellow; what remained of her teeth and gums, black with rot, were bared in a feral grin. Her dress was mostly torn rags; another powerful breeze blew what was left back against the bony contours of her body so Sara could see the sharp angles of her ribs and her sagging breasts. Suddenly she began chasing after the group, babbling wildly in the Demon's Tongue, fist pumping wildly in the air as if in outrage. Up close Sara could see the fecund bite mark on her neck from where the malicious spirit had entered her body. There was probably no trace left of who the woman had been before.

"Sara!" Lydia cried in sharp warning.

The Casteless was suddenly at her mare's side, clawing at her foot. Sara grabbed at her reins, trying to understand how the demon could have closed the distance so quickly or snuck up on her. Before her fingers could snag the reigns, the Casteless yanked at her foot hard enough to drag her toppling to the ground. Her mare screamed in fear, kicking at the demon with its hind legs. The Casteless ducked with a primal sort of grace, lunging towards Sara. Sara shrunk back, unsure of what to do. The possessed woman's teeth were bared, yellowed teeth flashing in the sun.

Sara could already feel the teeth sinking into her flesh; one bite was all it would take and then she would be infected too. Within a few hours or a few days - there was no way of knowing - the demon's influence would take over, and she too would be the mindless vessel of a demon. And there were only two hopes for salvation: Exorcism or death.

The sound of a gunshot cracked through the air. Blood exploded from the woman's forehead. She immediately fell limply across Sara's lap. With a grunt Sara shoved the lifeless body off her and rose to her feet. She looked around, shaking. Jack sat on his horse, smoke curling from the muzzle of a single revolver.

"Thanks," she said.

She thought he might have smiled but she couldn't be sure. Jack wasn't much of a talker; it was even rarer to express definable emotion. Unless he was gambling or playing cards.

"Are you alright?" Lydia dismounted from her horse and came over to Sara. She brushed her cheek with a gloved hand.

"I'm fine." Sara's whole body was shaking. Yet again she had the body of a dead woman lying at her feet. If not for Jack's marksmanship...She didn't let herself finish the thought. Mercius was looking out. Count your blessings.

Crow had also hung back while Rake's horse trotted casually ahead of them. The commander probably hadn't even looked over his shoulder, Sara thought angrily. He did not ask Sara if she was okay but he didn't need to. The fact that he had waited for her was meaning enough. Lydia and she climbed back into their horses and the Strays hurried to catch up.