Trim seemed to understand. Lifting off the dead branch, he soared away into the distance. Logan Tom waited a moment, tracking the bird’s flight, and then stripped off his jacket and followed after. They passed through the darkness as silently as night’s shadows, Trim flying ahead, Logan in pursuit. The Knight of the Word kept up a steady pace, running smoothly, eyes on the terrain he passed through, the black staff cradled beneath one arm. He was careful of the terrain, avoiding the rougher parts, the places he could be tripped up and injured, the deadwood and jagged rocks and deep crevices. He could feel the sweat form on his brow, and it mirrored the intense heat of his desire to track down the skrails. He had no illusions about what that meant; he understood the nature of who he was. He was trained to fight, and he looked forward to testing himself in combat. When he was going into battle, he was alive in a way that was both exciting and satisfying. He was complete. He was afraid, too, but that was to be expected. He was always afraid. He would have been a fool if he were not. But fear was something to be overcome, an enemy of a different sort, not something from which to run away but something to confront. He had done so many times in his life, and each time it made him a little stronger, a little more self-assured.

The minutes passed, and still he saw nothing of the skrails. Trim soared and dove, rose and fell, a fleet shadow against the sky, always wheeling back to find him, to make certain he was following. There was no sign of anything other than themselves in this desolate country, no movement amid the rocks and scrub, no sounds to break the silence. It felt as if they were alone in the world, the last two living things, running to escape the fate that had befallen all others.

And wasn’t that, he wondered, pretty much the truth of what he was doing every day of his life?

Ahead, Trim wheeled back sharply and landed on a rock. Logan Tom slowed in response, sensed the hidden presence farther on, and stopped. He peered into the darkness, breathing heavily, his magic-enhanced senses registering the skrail keeping watch just out of sight. He had found them.

He felt a fierce sense of satisfaction, knowing that they had not escaped him after all, that he had been right in supposing they must stop for the night, that they did not think they were in danger of being followed and thought themselves safe.