Damien floated far above the ground, searching for signs of movement. Dealing with the bandits at the farm had taken less than an hour so the rest couldn’t be too far ahead of him. If Sloan and Marris kept to the forest he might miss them, but a mile or so from the border the thick hardwood gave way to scrub and eventually a mix of sand and gravel. He’d have no trouble spotting them when they emerged. The bandit he’d questioned told him everything he needed to know in order to rescue the hostages so there was no need to capture either the baron or Sloan.

Lane’s disapproving face appeared in his mind’s eye. No, she wouldn’t like it if he killed them out of hand. Contrariwise he felt like both men had earned a death sentence. As a high-ranking bandit Sloan had no doubt done many horrible things and Marris was a traitor to his country and his people. Damien considered that the worse crime.

He caught movement through a gap in the branches. Damien dove toward the opening, flashing through the leaves and shattering branches. On the ground he found two horses racing away, their saddles empty.

Damn it!

No way Marris was running for it. Either they had extra horses or—

Something heavy landed on Damien’s back, driving him to the ground. A dagger pounded his ribs, trying with no success to penetrate his shield. More annoyed than hurt Damien sent spikes of soul force out his shield and into whoever was on top of him.

The rain of blows stopped and he shrugged off his attacker. Halfway to his feet someone kicked him in the back of the head. He dropped back into the dirt. Snarling, Damien conjured a whirlwind of blades around his body. Bits of his attacker spattered him.

Satisfied that he wouldn’t be attacked again, Damien clambered to his feet. Eight bandits surrounded him, with Sloan in the center, a curved blade dripping black flames in his right hand. The weapon’s corruption made Damien nauseous.

Eager to end the fight Damien sent his barrier of blades flying toward the bandits. Most of them fell, pierced repeatedly. Sloan blurred and his horrific weapon sliced every golden blade that came close out of the air before it hit.

Damien grimaced. He was in for a fight now.

He sent more power to his shield an instant before Sloan appeared a couple feet away. His sword snaked toward Damien’s face at warlord speed. The tip skipped off Damien’s shield. Even though it didn’t penetrate, Damien’s skin burned under his barrier where the corrupt blade had touched it.

Sloan recovered from his failed attack in half a heartbeat. The blade darted back in for another try.

Damien expanded his shield, pushing it out from his skin. Once again the corrupt blade skipped off. It sickened Damien, but didn’t burn him.

Like a tornado of steel Sloan slashed over and over again. His sword couldn’t break through, but every blow drained a little of Damien’s power.

It wouldn’t happen fast, but eventually Sloan would wear him down.

He couldn’t let that happen.

Damien sent soul force into the ground. It burrowed under his shield and sprang up around Sloan’s ankles. Tentacles of golden energy wrapped around the bandit’s legs. Thorns shot out, piercing Sloan to the bone and locking him in place.

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Sloan ripped his right sleeve back, revealing a black tattoo of a horned skull. He dragged his thumbnail across the skull. Blood welled and burst into dark flames.

The flames surged across Sloan’s body, burning the thorns and tentacles away and healing his wounds. The bandit threw his head back and howled like an animal.

Damien leapt for the sky. He needed to put some space between them. Sloan wouldn’t be able to channel that much corrupt soul force very long. The smart move was to wear him down from a distance, then when Sloan collapsed, finish him.

Sloan must have known it too. He leapt twenty feet up, kicked off a small maple with enough force to shatter the trunk, and arced over to an old oak. His boots landed on a gnarly branch. He kicked off again, sailing straight toward Damien.

Damien powered higher. There was no way a warlord, even augmented with demonic soul force, could leap as high as Damien could fly.

The burning sword swung toward Damien. Black flames streaked up. Damien dodged the first burst, but the stream twisted like a serpent.

Damien drew more power. Somehow he put enough energy between him and the flames that they didn’t consume him. They did drive him down into the ground with enough force that his body embedded six inches into the forest floor.

Sloan landed fifty paces away, panting. Veins had burst in his face and black blood dripped to the dirt, sizzling where it hit. He couldn’t keep this up much longer and Damien still had half his power left.

A quarter of Damien’s soul force went into a pair of golden griffins. The constructs rushed at Sloan. Gleaming claws slashed and curved beaks snapped.

With insane speed even Jen would have envied, Sloan blocked every attack and somehow found openings to carve chunks out of the griffins. Another vein burst in the bandit’s forehead. Blood ran down his face, but it didn’t seem to faze him. Damien fired an energy blast. If he could score a hit or even distract the warlord the griffins would tear him to shreds.

If someone asked, Damien would have had no way to describe how Sloan twisted his body to avoid the blast. Bones weren’t supposed to bend like that. However he managed it, the golden blast brushed past Sloan’s chest with a fraction of an inch to spare.

Sloan turned his twisting dodge into a pivot that brought the edge of his burning sword across the neck of a griffin. The construct’s head fell away and vanished, though that accomplished nothing beyond removing one of the beaks Sloan had to dodge.

When the bandit turned his attention to the more-intact griffin Damien sent a surge of power into the damaged construct.

Ten blades of energy sprang from its severed neck to plunge at Sloan.

He dodged and deflected, but couldn’t avoid them all. Two swords scored deep slashes on his back and chest. Dark fire dripped from the wounds. The injured bandit gasped for breath. His sword wavered.

The griffins lunged. With a final effort Sloan cut them in half with a single stroke of his corrupt blade. Three quarters of the way through the second griffin, the steel shattered. Sloan collapsed under the dissolving beasts.

Damien eased over to the dying bandit, cautious of any potential deception. When he stood over the unmoving bandit it became clear Sloan had nothing left. Thick, black blood covered him from his hairline to his waist. He stared up at Damien.

“I lost.” Sloan coughed up blood and spat to one side.

Damien nodded. “You put up a good fight.”

The bandit laughed, his voice hoarse and bitter. “Not good enough. My master promised the demon fire would defeat any opponent.”

“Did he tell you it would burn away your life as well?”

“So what. Wining is all that matters. If you’re going to die, better to send your enemies to hell before you.”

Damien shook his head. It isn’t winning if everyone died. “Where’s Marris?”

“Dead. I gutted the pig and left him on the side of the path. He was slowing us down.”

So much corrupt energy swirled around Sloan’s head Damien couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. The part about slowing them down was certainly true.

“Finish me, boy. At least allow me the dignity of dying by the hand of my enemy rather than being consumed by these black flames.”

Damien raised a hand and drew deeply from his rapidly refilling core. He didn’t do it for the dignity of the fallen bandit or anything else so ridiculous. The corruption needed to be cleansed to eliminate the possibility of Sloan rising again as some undead horror that might threaten the area.

Golden flames roared from the air in front of Damien’s palm. Sloan’s body disintegrated in an instant and his shattered sword followed a few seconds later. Damien incinerated everything in the vicinity of Sloan’s body then hunted down every drop of black blood on the ground and burned those away too.

He didn’t stop until every trace of corruption was gone. Exhausted, but nowhere near finished, Damien turned his gaze southeast.