“What’re Thesans?” Renna asked.

Arlen looked at her in surprise. “We are. All the Free Cities. I mean for ’em to stay free.”

The one had traveled far while the coreling prince waited out the day in the Core, but the mimic was swift, and it wasn’t long before the mind demon caught sight of its prey, walking his mount through a sparse copse of trees. The mind demon circled above, watching as wood drones attacked the human. The one killed these with quick efficiency, hardly slowing his pace.

The mind demon’s cranium throbbed, and the mimic banked to the side and dove into the trees, its wings melting away as it took the form of a giant wood demon. It caught a thick tree branch before they had fallen far, smoothly pulling out of the fall and into forward motion. It swung easily from branch to branch, still carrying its mind.

They came to a stop at a high vantage, watching the one approach. There was no sign of the female, though the mind demon could not recall her trail ending. It sniffed the air, tasting her. She had been about, and recently, but it could not sense her now.

Pity. She would have been a useful tool against the one, and her mind was deliciously empty, yet flavored with powerful rage. A meal worth tracking after the one’s mind had been similarly consumed.

“ ’Nother woodie ahead,” the Painted Man sighed as what must have been the eighth wood demon that hour swung into view. It was larger than most, almost too big for the tree branches to support. Closer to a rock demon.

“Can I try this one?” Renna asked.

The Painted Man shook his head. He glanced back at her, but it took him a moment to find her. The warded cloak still made him dizzy, and it was easy for his eyes to slide right off it without seeing, if his mind was not focused.

“You need to sleep when we get to the cache,” he said, “and you won’t if you’re all charged with magic.”

“What about you?” Renna asked.

“Got warding to do tonight. I’ll sleep when we’re back in the Hollow,” he said, watching the demon out of the corner of his eye to see where it perched for its ambush.

But the wood demon didn’t wait for them to pass, picking up momentum and launching itself at him from the front. It was an unexpected move, but the Painted Man still had plenty of time to duck to the side, reaching out for its lead talon to twist and turn its own force against it.

He must have misjudged the length of the demon’s limbs, though, because he somehow missed its clawed foot, which grabbed at his robed leg and pulled him from his feet. They both hit the ground heavily, and the coreling rolled away, rising on equal footing with him.

They faced off, and immediately the Painted Man knew something was different about this demon. It circled him patiently, waiting for opportunity. A few times, the Painted Man lowered his eyes or seemed to turn away, inviting attack, but the coreling didn’t take the bait, watching him intently.

“Smart one,” he mused.

“Need help?” Renna asked, reaching for her knife.

The Painted Man laughed. “Be a cold day in the Core when I need help killing a lone wood demon.” He reached down to open his robe.

The coreling growled and launched itself at him before he could untie the garment, tackling him to the ground. The Painted Man fell on his back and kicked at it, delivering a blow greater than even Twilight Dancer could have done, but the demon’s arms became the tentacles of a lake demon, wrapping tightly around him. They dug in with a sharp, horned surface even as suckers latched on to his robe, holding it tight and keeping his wards covered. The demon’s maw grew before his eyes, becoming like a bank demon’s, large enough to swallow his entire head and shoulders.

The Painted Man snapped his head forward, butting the demon’s lower jaw with the impact ward atop his head. There was a flash and the demon howled as a few of its teeth shattered, but there were hundreds more, and it did not let go its grip. The Painted Man had exhaled sharply with the blow, and now found he could not draw a new breath.

With the last bit of air in his lungs, the Painted Man emitted a shrill whistle, and Twilight Dancer tossed his mighty head, yanking the lead away from Renna and charging in, horns lowered. They tore through the demon’s shoulder in a blast of ichor and magic, and it shrieked in agony, finally relaxing its grip. The Painted Man rolled away, gasping for breath.

The coreling melted away from Twilight Dancer’s horns and grew again, its armor shifting and changing color as it became a rock demon. It swiped a backhand blow at the stallion, never taking its eyes off the Painted Man.

Even without its barding and saddlebags, Twilight Dancer weighed nearly a ton, but the powerful demon still sent the horse flying. He struck a tall tree, and the Painted Man could not tell if the resulting crack was the tree’s trunk or his horse’s spine.

“Dancer!” the Painted Man screamed, tearing the robe from his body and launching himself at the demon. Renna ran to see to the horse.

The Painted Man’s blows rocked the coreling back, and it gave ground freely under the assault, but the wound Twilight Dancer’s horns inflicted was already healed, and the Painted Man’s punches and kicks seemed to have no lasting effect. Its flesh pulsed around the scorched impact points, healing them instantly.

He knocked the demon down on one arm, but it dug its great talons into the ground, throwing an enormous clump of dirt and wet leaves at him. The Painted Man had no chance to dodge, and was struck full-on. He recovered his feet quickly, brushing the filth from him, but he knew his wards were weakened where it clung to him, if they still worked at all.

But he was no more injured than the coreling, and there was no way he was going to let this powerful demon get away. They circled again, baring their teeth and growling. One of the demon’s arms became half a dozen tentacles, each ten feet long and ending in a sharp horn.

“Night, what part of the Core did you come from?” the Painted Man asked. The mimic gave no answer, lashing out with the new limbs.

The Painted Man dodged to the side, rolling and coming up at a run to get inside the demon’s reach. There was a gap in the armor plates at its armpit, and he drove his stiffened fingers, painted with piercing wards, into the crevice, trying to reach some vital part that might cause lasting damage.

The coreling screamed and twisted, and its flesh dissolved around his hand. It was only then, when he was in contact with the demon as it changed, that he realized what it was doing. It was dematerializing and reforming, the same way he did, or any coreling for that matter. This demon could simply reform in different ways. A thousand possibilities opened to the Painted Man at the realization, too many to even consider. He brushed the epiphany aside like an irritating fly and focused on his adversary, striking again.

In the split second when the demon was in transition, the Painted Man dematerialized as well, intermingling with it slightly to keep it from solidifying. The demon still felt solid to him, but Renna’s scream sounded as if she were a mile away. He knew how it must seem to her, both of them fading away, ghostlike, but there was nothing for it.

He’d fought another demon this way once before, and knew that in this state strength and wards were meaningless. It was will that was power here, and the Painted Man knew his will was greater than any demon’s.

He locked on to the mimic demon’s very molecules, keeping them scattered and immaterial, shepherded by his will. He sensed the creature’s sudden fear, and returned it with his anger and rage, dominating its will the way a parent would a disobedient toddler.