They'd been riding for twelve minutes, pushing into the marshlands to the west of the fortress.  It wasn't the most direct route to follow the fleeing knight, of course, but a man on foot could traverse grounds a chocobo couldn't manage.  The greater weight of the warbirds would cause them to sink into the muck if they left the paths, unless the rider was particularly skilled at trailblazing.  And Piero knew he wasn't particularly skilled in that regard.  So he occupied himself thinking, and watching, and counting.  Counting the number of paces his steed had taken, and the number of waymarkers they passed, and the beats of his own heart.<br/><br/>Numeric obsession was the curse of the Calculator, Magus Avelia had warned him.  Even the apprentice Calculator.<br/><br/>A shout from Lydalia jerked his attention from the hypnotic rhythm of the numbers and he looked up, startled to see repulsive figures rising from the slime and water of the marsh.  Greyish, slick-skinned things with black, unblinking eyes above a writhing mass of tentacles.  The things glared at him with a hideous, malevolent hatred, then flowed forward towards the path.  Six of them, his reflexive count reported.  A multiple of the prime numbers two and three.<br/><br/>As they gained the path, Lydalia dismounted and attacked.  The first went down beneath her blow (five remaining - another prime), but the others were moving to flank and surround her and he heard her grunt of pain as slick, writhing tentacles slashed against her.<i>“Let me take the brunt of their hits, Pietro,”</i>she called as she downed another,<i>“As our only healer, we will truly be at a loss if you were to fall.”</i><br/><br/>There was wisdom in her words, and yet he found himself dismounting and drawing his own blade anyway.  "Piscodaemons," he called, crouching and pulling up an egg-sized stone from the path.  "The weakest of the Mindflayer family.  You needn't fear poison or psychic attack, at least."  With a grunt, he threw the stone at the closest of the Piscodaemons.  It fell short, but attracted the monster's attention.<br/><br/>"Four tentacles," he called out as the Piscodaemon writhed towards him.  "And if you watch, they attack in a pattern:  feint, lash out, recoil, dodge."  His own attacker demonstrated, tentacles lashing left then whipping around towards the right.  Piero twisted frantically, barely avoiding the hooked barbs, then stepped forward and stabbed the creature in the chest.  Purplish blood spurted as the creature's leathery flesh split beneath the keen edge.  "Attack when they recoil!" he shouted.  "They're open, then!"