ã€ŠArthurian Cultivationã€‹


 Chapter 1 - Too many knives for a wedding night

    Of all the ways my wedding night could go, none of my wildest guesses had included this many knives. I¡¯d expected some, but this was excessive. Dancing around a snow-laden conifer, I winced as another blade punched through with a burst of snow and pine needles.

    ¡°Would you stop!¡± I called, ducking as another knife sailed over my head. It was honing in on the sound even though muffled by the snow and trees.

    ¡°Raaaghhh!¡± came the shout from my darling betrothed.

    ¡°Well, be like that, then.¡± I slid down a hill, my fine clothes soaking up even more snow. Pulling glamour from my hearth, the core of my cultivation, I took gentle, focused breaths, kindling the flame and pushing the heat to my muscles and skin.

    The burst of glamour chased away the cold and fatigue, and I bounded across the snow. My gifts were good for heat, but I had to pull on my limited reserves as there was no ash or smoke in this frozen forest to pull glamour from.

    ¡°Come back, you annoying rabbit.¡± Her voice echoed, deadened by the snow and dense trees.

    ¡°My fair maiden, I shall continue to hare away; would it be possible for us to meet on the morrow?¡± I couldn¡¯t afford to die here. Tomorrow might work better, though. That could do.

    ¡°Just let me kill you, you utter waste of blood and steel.¡±

    I ran through the forest, the crisp smell of winter taunting me as I ploughed through it in my regal best. My hearth fluttered in my chest, struggling to maintain the bellows-like breathing technique I needed to keep it from reducing to embers.

    I was marginally faster than my bride, but the exertion took its toll. I was far more flushed than my blushing bride would likely be. My heart pounded in my ears and my breath felt like claws in my throat. Stuck at the peak of the wood stage, only fire had hardened my body, everything. I was inferior to her, who was at peak-bronze and held many times my reserves.

    The only reason I hadn¡¯t already been slain was that I¡¯d been stuck at the peak for so long, making my body the perfect example of that limited layer of cultivation. I also had my Ash & Smoke gift helping to keep me warm. While not fire, they were arguably more useful right now, swirling a billow of smoke beneath my starched finery.

    My bride¡¯s gift, I assumed, had to do with blades. Either that, or she had some enchantment to summon them. It was impressive, seeing her form copies like that. I¡¯d only seen the one under her dress. That gave me an idea.

    ¡°My lady of fair skin and golden hair, my soul weeps at the sin I committed in entering our bridal suite and seeing you in an unbecoming state. I should have offered my apologies then.¡±

    ¡°You jumped out the window!¡±

    ¡°Well, you were strapping a knife into your wedding garter. I am, of course, keen to make my betrothed happy, but the inclusion of blades in our underclothes seems a topic to be introduced once we¡¯ve had some chance to get to know each other.¡±

    ¡°Come here, you Harkley monster. Your family is a group of sick cultists. You¡¯re the runt, and your body is full of impurities. You¡¯re already dead thrice over! You just haven¡¯t realised it yet.¡±

    I dodged another hurled blade. Confirming something with a glance, I saw this one was identical to the others she¡¯d thrown, down to a scratch on the pommel. Amazing how a run for one¡¯s life can focus the mind on the least important details.

    I sensed its fae nature too, likely from her gifts. I¡¯d heard of such techniques during my long years of study, so it seemed at least one of her fae gift had to do with the magic of blades. This aligned with the research I''d done. Though no one had discovered what her second gift was, she''d never even used it in a tournament. That gave me the smallest glimpse of hope. A blade gift was no use against the cold, and anything that wasn''t useful in a fight was unlikely to help against the cold, meaning that every minute out here would pull on her hearth to sustain her. With all these blades, her reserves had to run out soon. Already she was throwing fewer than before.

    Another advantage was that, frankly, my betrothed was not thinking straight. I slid through the wilderness with ease while she barreled through it. She kept talking to me and wasting time throwing blades, both of which did little to stop me.

    If she were smart, she¡¯d rush out in front of me, throw everything into getting ahead, and then knife me or batter me to the ground with her overwhelming strength.

    All this wasted time was giving me chances. Chances to plot, find an escape, and get that lucky break.

    And I think I¡¯d just found it. A shallow river yet to freeze over. I¡¯d had no way to hide my tracks until now. Should I go upstream or down? Either way, she¡¯d see the trail disappear and have to make a choice, buying me time.

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    Both routes were quickly lost around a bend. Upriver offered more cover, taking me further from Horkenstone Keep, the wedding site joining two minor arms of the great houses Harkley and Chox.

    Downriver it was. Maeve Chox seemed direct. From what I¡¯d learned, she was stuck at a bottleneck at peak Bronze, which gossip said she took poorly.

    I¡¯d built up quite the lead, and even as I rounded the river bend, I could still hear her barreling through the forest. I went on a short way further before pausing to quell my breath and quiet my heart, which rang louder than a blacksmith¡¯s hammer on an anvil.

    I took a moment to appreciate the world around me. Being hunted through ice and snow was no reason to lose sight of the wonderful winter forest.

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    I took a moment to appreciate the world around me. Being hunted through ice and snow wasn¡¯t reason enough to lose sight of the forest''s beauty. Crisp snow blanketed everything, while little ice crystals danced on the wind, aiding my deception as they blew across the river. It was a rather beautiful place to be chased through. The pines, with their sharp green peeking out from under the snow, added a sense of life missing from the bare oaks, birch, and spruce of my native Albion.

    Maeve finally caught up, wearing the torn remains of her wedding gown. Her ensemble, which had once woven Harkley and Chox colors together, was now ragged and barely hiding her muscular form. Beautiful hazel eyes glared from under perfectly manicured brows, somewhat ruined by the veil plastered against her golden hair, which had once been styled into delicate plaits.

    She was stunning, though I preferred the demure look she¡¯d had before. This version had too many knives for my taste. She wielded two blades¡ªone a slender needle-tipped copy of the others she¡¯d thrown, the other a brutal tool as long as my forearm. Reaching the river, she stumbled to a stop, smart enough to notice the abrupt end of my trail.

    Her eyes darted, and I practically saw her spot Horkenstone Keep, illuminated by the setting sun. Grunting, she turned upstream, cursing as she charged away.

    I counted my lucky stars I¡¯d been betrothed to her. If she¡¯d been competent, this would¡¯ve been hellishly harder.

    Not willing to risk her showing unexpected intelligence by doubling back, I moved on as stealthily as one could with shoes full of water. With any luck, I¡¯d stay ahead of her until nightfall. Then I could get on with my real escape plan. Frustrating as this was, it wasn¡¯t the end of the world. It¡¯s not like I¡¯d ever planned to spend my wedding night in bed with her.

    Not when I¡¯d never intended to be at the altar.

    This was my only chance to escape the people who called themselves my family. I wasn¡¯t about to let a church full of nobles and a maniac bride end five years of planning.

    The Harkleys had earned my hate from the moment they ¡°saved¡± me. They¡¯d earned my ¡°betrayal¡± a thousand times over with the torture they¡¯d put me through.

    Happy thoughts now. No point in dark places. Just look around¡ªI was outside, having a nice stroll through the forest, and for the first time in months, there wasn¡¯t a handler in sight.

    Following the river, I found more luck¡ªa cliff where water trickled to the edge of a frozen lake, cascading where ice hadn¡¯t spread yet. It would be mere weeks before the spring thaw turned this into slush.

    The Winter Court was passing control to the Spring Lords, and I was only too happy to see it. Running and hiding through winter¡¯s depths would¡¯ve been much harder.

    Taking a deep breath, I channeled heat into my core. As always, I struggled to pull in glamour from the world around me, my channels gunked up by my family¡¯s haste to turn me into a marketable product, combined with my own machinations. Maeve wasn¡¯t wrong about how that was a death sentence for cultivators.

    Not that I agreed with her. Sure, with all those impurities, a cultivator could never ascend to a higher level and gain immortality. For me, who¡¯d never sought cultivation, the idea of living twice as long as anyone I¡¯d ever liked back in my ¡°peasant¡± days didn¡¯t sound like death at all.

    I slipped down the wall, where the falls had kept ice from forming. My arms ached, ice-covered needles pounding my fingers, but I managed to get down with minimal fuss. I didn¡¯t dare test the ice beside the falls, instead working along the cliff until I spotted ice marked with animal tracks.

    Gingerly, I tested it. While it gave a warning creak, it held firm enough. The sun had faded to embers on the horizon. Soon it would be night proper, but rather than stumbling in darkness, I had a path. This cliff had shown me the way out. I just had to follow it.

    The moon was waning, giving me enough light to navigate without making me stand out. Even the snow had stopped. This situation just needed a bit of polish, and it¡¯d all be golden.

    A few flakes fell¡ªfine, maybe more than a bit of polish. Then came more, in heavier clumps. I only thought, odd, before my heart launched into my throat.

    I looked up to see Maeve at the top of the cliff, the light catching on her eyes. Given all the stories I¡¯d heard of heartache and woe, I¡¯d expected walking out on one¡¯s spouse to be easier.

    Her knife glinted, but the angle was wrong. The cliff loomed, not enough to block her line of sight but enough to make the throw awkward. She weighed the shot and then, surprisingly, left.

    For a few seconds, I hoped. A bad habit, but one I refused to give up.I strained to listen, pumping the bellows of my hearth, pushing power to my ears. Then I heard it¡ªthe pounding of feet.

    ¡°No, don¡¯t do that!¡± My shout was too late as she leapt over the cliff edge and plummeted twenty feet.

    For a cultivator, a fall like that was nothing. She¡¯d roll with it and not even notice, if this had been solid ground. I heard the crunch of the ice as it splintered below her, and then the splash of displaced water.

    I watched in despair as my betrothed disappeared into the icy water. A few bubbles and a cracked window of ice marked her landing.

    Internally, I cringed. Maeve might be at Bronze stage, but from what I¡¯d seen, her gifts didn''t generate heat. Given her limited cultivation and the power she¡¯d used in the last two hours, this could kill her.

    I could only watch. Right now, under the ice, she was as good as dead. I might gather warmth and heat, but that came from swirling ash and smoke¡ªnot something that handled submersion well.

    A blade blasted through the ice. She rose, thrashing as she churned the ice to pieces. She was in full panic, worse still moving away from the shore.

    I cursed. I could leave her to her fate. That was the smart thing to do.

    That¡¯s what a Harkley would do.

    ¡°I¡¯d better not get stabbed for this,¡± I muttered to myself.

 Chapter 2 - Winning takes blood, sweat, and tears of blood.

    We sat before a fire. My gifts did not include fire itself but depended upon it, so I was never without at least a couple of ways to start a flame. The fire was returning life to Maeve. Unbeknownst to her, the ash and smoke were also fuelling my cultivation, my bellows-like breathing drawing in the magic of the fire''s leavings.

    The dress was ruined. She¡¯d stripped to her underclothes, and I was doing my best not to look¡ªa challenge when her eyes bored into me, sullenly watching, waiting for my dastardly plot to reveal itself.

    I was just enjoying being warm. However, I did have a question I was curious about.

    ¡°Can I just ask why you were so murder-focused?¡±

    ¡°Your death was already decided. You think I wore that knife for fun? I assumed you''d be running back to tell your family of the plot.¡±

    ¡°You could¡¯ve at least heard me out.¡±

    ¡°Really, hear out a Harkley?¡±

    ¡°The Harkleys are utter curs, total knaves, the lot of them. Still, they can occasionally provide some knowledge that¡¯s worthwhile knowing,¡± I replied. I knew it well¡ªI had done my best to milk them for the knowledge I could fit into my noggin.

    She settled back. I took a moment, dabbing something from my eye. I caught a scent in the air and laughed.

    ¡°Well, I take from your earlier statement that this wedding was nothing but a trap. Is that why you''re alone? Your kin busy at slaughter?¡±

    ¡°That was the plan.¡±

    ¡°You must think positively, have hope! I''m sure you succeeded.¡± I dabbed at my eye again. I sniffed my finger and smelt iron¡ªit had already begun.

    ¡°You¡¯re crazy. You speak so harshly of your own family. I thought you lot were all about loyalty.¡± She moved closer to the fire, keeping the flames between us, as if worried I might jump and attack at any moment. That couldn¡¯t ruin my mood. I had to dab my eyes again as my laughter subsided.

    ¡°I¡¯m not a true Harkley, as they often reminded me. You called me the runt, and I cannot decide whether to take it as a compliment, as it¡¯s a far kinder word than what I¡¯d been used to.¡± I paused to throw a few more sticks on the fire. The wood was green, and the smoke plentiful. I used some glamour to bank it between us. I didn¡¯t feel like having her see me. ¡°Or whether to loathe it, as it still ties me to them.¡±

    ¡°So what are we meant to bond over, our mutual enemy? Marry, and you can whisper sweet nothings into my ear about how vile your cousins are? Tell me how you¡¯re different! We know what you all do, how blood matters above all to your family.¡± I heard her bitter laugh and couldn¡¯t miss her nod to the family secret¡ªa family secret I was currently experiencing at full intensity.

    How to play this? She certainly hated the Harkleys, which didn¡¯t surprise me. I would argue I knew the family better than she ever could, and I wouldn¡¯t trust a single one of them. With good reason¡ªa Harkley acting against the family was on borrowed time, or was faking it.

    I used some snow to wipe my face and clear my head. I was no exception to that rule. So I decided to go for part of the truth, at least. Get what I wanted before my time was cut short.

    ¡°My fair maiden, I was never going to marry you. Just as you were never going to marry me, I had a deception planned all along.¡±

    ¡°Damn right. Wait, what?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d always planned to run away.¡±

    ¡°But the blood curse!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m most amused. My family seem to think that¡¯s a secret. And I¡¯m limited to what I can say.¡± I could feel the itch as my will butted up against the shackles on my soul. I wouldn¡¯t miss that sensation.

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    ¡°So I must muse most circumspectly. Fair Maeve, a question for you¡ªif you had the option to live a day free and dance, or a lifetime in slavery and toil, which would you choose? I¡¯ll go first.¡± I stood and did a twirl, a little laugh escaping my lips. Turning back, I saw Maeve¡¯s face had changed. I could feel it through my tight control of the smoke''s glamour, even if my sight was obscured. Gone was the casual disregard and hate.

    Through the gathering smoke, her eyes stared at me as if I¡¯d just disembowelled myself before her.

    ¡°You can¡¯t be serious.¡±

    ¡°Dead serious, my fair lady. I had fully intended to escape and spend some time out on the hills just being free.¡±

    ¡°Why give up? Why go now?¡±

    ¡°Well, a number of reasons, chief among them. I¡¯m not giving up. You, a blade-gifted, must know that timing is everything. When I came to our suite¡ªbefore I saw you strapping a questionable amount of steel to your leg¡ªI was aiming to check on my gift to you.¡±

    ¡°You gave me perfume.¡± The voice came quietly.

    ¡°Indeed, a quite fine bottle I made. Don¡¯t waste it¡ªit really is quite valuable.¡± Alchemy was one of the arts I pursued to increase my value, aiming to ensure I had enough value to be sold off but not so much as to be held onto. I should¡¯ve sprayed some before this run; it would¡¯ve helped hide the coppery tang that was creeping up on me.

    ¡°It had to be potent to hide what I snuck in there. Check the vial out¡ªyou¡¯ll find a quite clever little crystal inside. On it is, well, basically every dark little secret about the Harkleys I could fit onto it. I had intended to write a note directing you to it before I got my not-so-metaphorical cold feet.¡±

    ¡°You were going to hurt them. Then what, run off and die? Why not petition my family for aid? With a stack of secrets, I¡¯m sure something could be offered.¡± Her voice had shifted. It had less barb and had grown a brittle edge to it.

    ¡°Be careful there, my lady¡ªyou almost sound worried for someone you call Harkley. To answer, I cannot even speak about what I need aid with. If I could, I wouldn¡¯t be able to accept any help that might be offered. Amusing¡ªI have to act as if it is a secret, even though you¡¯ve all but said to my face you know about it. That, and I have no interest in being beholden to another powerful house of renown.¡± The curse was a bloody nightmare of a thing.

    ¡°So, what now? You go and die. It''s still a loss.¡±

    ¡°Did you not call me thrice-dead already?¡±

    ¡°You should still fight!¡± She now sounded desperate. I had to remind myself she was, what, only eighteen? A couple of years younger than I, raised with care that had been absent for the last five years. She was genuinely worried about me, and that left me with a spark of joy.

    ¡°I have fought! And I have won. I am the blade sinking in at just the right moment. What am I to slave my life away, to try and slay this giant? To choose what parts of me I allow them to corrupt so I can gain the power to finally slay them and make me free but forever broken? No! I will make them bleed, and if I buy in my death but a drop of blood from this monolithic monster, I have succeeded.¡± A racking cough rolled through me. It ended wet and raw. I could taste blood.

    ¡°But that''s not right!¡±

    ¡°I decide what victory looks like. All those fools off to break free of the whims of the fae, stealing immortality from their clutches¡ªthey think that''s victory. A peasant thinks a good harvest and a happy family is victory. You do not get to decide what victory looks like for me, no more than I get to choose for you.¡± I was spitting with rage as I spoke, only able to tamp it down at the last moment.

    ¡°We can help you, Regus!¡± I winced, hopefully for the last time anyone used that name for me. She stood and genuinely sounded as if she meant it. I sighed. I''d gotten too worked up.

    ¡°That I shall take as my final win¡ªto be offered kindness from a damsel such as you. I¡¯m afraid that no one had any chance to aid me. It seems my entourage is slain, and as I remain, they''ve decided I must''ve betrayed them. A fitting final deception, for them to call me a traitor but not know the extent.¡± She went to speak, but I cut her off by parting the curtain of smoke between us.

    She covered her mouth in horror, stepping back. The feeling had been growing as we spoke, searing chains of the glamour woven into me scraping the blood from my veins. If I looked half as bad as it felt, I had to be a nightmarish sight.

    I had seen a death-by-blood curse before. It was the same day I¡¯d started working on this plan. It started with tears of blood, then moved to the mouth, and soon the nose would run. It was after that point it got grisly. There was nothing like watching every drop of someone''s blood forcibly expelled without a single wound to streamline the process. A gaunt reminder of the power the family had over you.

    ¡°My darling Maeve, do not worry for me. I¡¯ve got far more out of this day than you can imagine. I ask three things of you. First, do not remember me as Regus¡ªI am Gwendolyn of Artoss''s son, no other name. Second, please do your best to take what I¡¯ve managed to smuggle out and burn them with it. Buy me more drops of blood from that monster. Finally, I must now head off. Time to live free and die freely. I ask you to leave me to this¡ªthe process is not pleasant.¡±

    I bowed, a mere silhouette in the smoke, and melted into the dark.

 Chapter 3 - Reborn with death

    I was naked and covered in blood, lying on the cold snow, blood was my world, it filled my mouth, my nose, and even gurgled from my ears. It was a truly terrible way to end a wedding night.

    A raven watched me, likely waiting for me to take that last step through death''s door, a portal I already had my foot wedged in.

    ¡°You carry on my carrion friend, I do suggest you avoid getting too close. There will be no free dinners for you this night.¡± I tried to say, but with the blood and heaving lungs, I''m not sure it had a chance to understand me.

    Shockingly the curse wasn''t actually painful, immensely distressing yes as I leaked from places no man should leak from, but little actual pain. It helped that the blood loss numbed me. I mostly felt exhausted. A wave of lightheadedness swamped me. Throwing me into my Hearth.

    Standing at the core of my cultivation, in my mind I saw it like a neglected fireplace of a grand hall. In it, the flames flickered surrounded by ramparts of ash, and the flue was all but stuffed with soot leaving the fire all but guttering.

    In here I could feel it, my death approaching. The vital force of my blood is all but gone. I took a breath, a deep one. With it the flame that was little more than an ember was snuffed out.

    I was dead.

    It lasted a heartbeat, an impossible heartbeat of a corpse. Then all was a flame. The impurities caught alight, the ash being blown away to reveal wood turned to charcoal by the burning flame. The soot spiralling in the chimney was blasted away by the rush of wind and licking flames. For the first time in two years, I felt my soul breathe properly.

    The flames rose to a roaring crescendo, a violent power that my Hearth couldn''t contain. The effect was far grander than my last death. I''d not had this many impurities when I''d discovered this trick after I''d annoyed my ''family'' and been forced into an ill-fated escape attempt with fatal consequences.

    My surprise at not only being alive but also having risen a rank in Cultivation had totally redefined my goals. It''d also been hell to cover up! Not least that fire was not limited to my soul, my body was its own pyre right now. I''d awake in a swamp of melted snow and burnt earth.

    Bearing the blood of the phoenix was a blessing and a curse.

    My Hearth, unable to contain the flames expanded, I could feel the breakthrough to Bronze as it happened. The structure changed, my fire shrinking, and the colour changed, as my Hearth reached the Forge stage. The flames radiated through me, no longer would I be limited to refining what I had, now I could forge myself anew.

    With the breakthrough came the first great reveal. For most, this was a moment of revelation, a sense of what fae they were connected to. While most got a gift at the beginning of their path, it was not universal, nor useful at decoding heritage.

    There were uncounted numbers of fae, if you were lucky you might get a hint at the court your sire hailed from. Fire gifted were almost always connected to the summer court, just as ice was to winter. The reveal of the second gift was where things started to narrow down.

    Get ice and water, you were definitely winter court, and if your family had others with those traits you might know there and then whose bloodline you held. That revelation could help guide your cultivation, and help you bring focus to the areas your heritage would shine.

    For others, it was a curse, the revelation showing they hadn¡¯t inherited the blood they¡¯d hoped for. A fire gifted who gained metal would realise their heritage most likely descended from one of the rare smiths of the autumn court. Families could be destroyed with accusations of infidelity only to discover their line had always carried ancient blood long dormant.

    I had none of these worries. I knew my parentage. My Mother was Lady Guinevere Croxleigh, and my father, well I didn''t know the bastard''s name but he certainly was shot through with phoenix blood if not an actual phoenix taking human form. He certainly wasn''t Regus Harkley as my birth records indicated. The Harkleys had never had a phoenix in their line in over a thousand years of recorded history.

    I had checked quite thoroughly.

    The fires from my Hearth reached into the stone foundation. Laying the stones was the first step on the Cultivation journey, to build the foundations for the fire that was to grow. Reaching into the stone which had over the years of my stagnation at Wood merged deeply with my slumbering gift.

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    A phoenix was connected to many gifts, fire was most common, but life, rebirth, and justice were all options. Smoke was one of the lesser-known aspects. I''d often fantasised about what gift I might get. Getting fire would be nice.

    The flames reached down and I could feel the connection. A new path to power opened before me. It felt cold and empty, and my soul twitched, had I been mistaken, was I some other fae thing reborn from fire and ash? Could I actually be a Harkley?

    The revulsion was short-lived, as power blew into my Hearth, feeding the flames with fresh power I recognized it finally. It was a power I''d known most intimately from my two sojourns beyond the realm of the living. I had the gift of death.

    A fitting gift. A curse as well, death cultivators were not popular, often going mad in battle. A perfect one for me as well. No one would be trying to marry me off any time soon, and I''d already decided to leave behind the whole rising to the top of a mountain of bodies.

    With my revelation complete my body took the opportunity to reform. My soul sense expanded to my new Bronze-level body. As it did I felt a certain malleability to form, just like last time an intrinsic sense told me I could make some changes.

    Gone was my blonde hair, always a bit too glossy compared to the Harkley''s hay stacks, it was still upheld as a sign of my heritage. I shifted it I''d intended to go for brown, but found it growing darker. My face changed and shifted, and for a moment I nearly held onto my eyes, they were green, and the last remaining mark of my mother''s heritage.

    I pushed them away, they were too iconic, and part of the charm and mystique I''d woven around my former self. Better to cut anything that might tie me to my old identity. I held no doubt my mother would have wanted me to take every opportunity to distance myself from the Harkleys.

    In the same sense as when I changed my hair, my appearance was not fully under my control. I aimed for blue eyes but felt something twist that command.

    Other than that I didn''t have much else to change, I did even out my legs, according to my numerous fighting instructors I had one leg shorter than the other. A minor deformity that was harped upon constantly. A few tweaks here and there, but my time was already done, my senses were returning.

    I came to in a steaming pit, my renewal having boiled away the snow and ice beneath. The ground beneath me was still warm. I lay back enjoying the moment. The stars were out in full force. I breathed in deep.

    I was free.

    From across the snow, the raven from earlier hopped towards me. It was missing a foot but still made good time. Its beady little eyes judging me for my unexpected vitality.

    ¡°I did try to warn you beaky. I am pleased you''re not burned though.¡± I got a strange sense from the raven. It took me a second to place it, till it cawed its dismay as I further proved I was not a corpse by standing up.

    The harsh croak reminded me of my earlier days before the Harkleys found me when I was living as a peasant where death was a frequent threat. The most potent reminder of death¡¯s presence was the corpse wagons, the croaks of the ravens announcing their passing as surely as the ringing bells. What I was sensing was the bird''s aura of death.

    I dressed quickly, my clothes wonderfully dry, I had hung them close by. I marvelled at the litheness of my body. My new realm of Cultivation meant that the glamour of my Hearth was rolling around my body freely, no longer did I have to push the power to my muscles to gain a burst of speed or press it into my eyes to get a clearer sight.

    No one sensation was new but the collective whole was beyond my wildest expectations. I bounced and shifted laughing at the effortless infusion of my glamour. For a second I was worried, would I eat through my reserves? Even with my recent cremation, there was only so much ash and smoke about me.

    Death saved me here too. The glamour of death was everywhere a constant source of sustenance for me. I''d spent far too long absorbing the ambient glamour as I hid my gift, now pulling on two sources I was spoilt for power. Drinking deeply I finished changing and began the next part of my escape plan.

    It took a few minutes to get ready.

    Of my clothes, I''d removed all but my trousers, belt and shirt. My jacket, an exceptionally foppish brocade showing a pattern of peacocks on Harkley blue, I''d snagged that ugly insult to fashion on a log and thrown it into a nearby stream. It was too easy to recognize and may confuse any search for me. I''d also hurled my blood-soaked boots away for similar reasons. With my new level of Cultivation bare feet were no worry to me.

    Before tossing the boots, I''d been sure to extract my boot knife and the trio of gold coins I carefully cobbled into each sole. The knife then peeled off the strip of silk that covered the leather of my belt. In there was a collection of coins and other odds and ends.

    The silk I added to one of my socks, the pair had become two pouches between which I split my valuables, including my flint and steel and alchemical fire starters. I moved the knife to my belt and then blasted myself with ash, aiming to destroy all scent of blood.

    The raven croaked in surprise, clicking its beak in frustration, it seemed to be holding out hope that I''d realise I was dead and become dinner.

    I took a look at the stars and got my bearings. Path picked, and I began to run. The woods around the keep were relatively safe, the monsters hunted by the Knights in their frantic attempt to gather power and climb the ranks.

    I aimed to brush against the deeper untamed forest and onwards to the city of Chartex. The path wasn''t as safe as heading back to the city of Frauls that the Keep overlooked, but I was far less likely to meet the risk of being discovered this way.

    It also gave me a chance to fight monsters. Something I was equally keen and worried about. Keen as their cores could fuel my growth, and afraid, because without the impurities clogging my paths I would not resurrect if I fell in battle.

    Like everything in my life, it was a balancing act.

 Chapter 4 - Dance in the pale moonlight

    I ran, the half-moon offering the perfect amount of light for my enhanced vision, I saw everything in the light as clear as it were noon, yet every pool of shadow was pitch black.

    I kept checking the stars, making sure of my direction. Astronomy was one of the many ways I''d sought to add to my worth in the Harkley compound. I''d picked it because it was seen as harmless but of scholarly merit, the same as my work as a perfumier. Full alchemy of brews, the concoctions every cultivator chugged like water if they had the money would''ve made me too valuable a resource to let go.

    I had spent ages walking the fine line, adding enough value so I was not scrapped and turned into fuel for the curse, but not so much as to actually get any of the house heads attention. I had finally been sold off in marriage to the Chox.

    It''d been a surprise announcement, and for a moment I was the darling of my family branch. It was a mixed blessing. Its greatest contribution was it got me to the continent, I''d assumed I would end up with some no-name family on Albion and have to make the crossing myself. Albion was the Harkley''s centre of power, and there was not a chance I could breathe easy without putting it behind me.

    Now, as I raced through the vast lands ruled over by the Chox, I at least did not have to fear being delivered back to my supposed family. I did however lack a lot of knowledge about the Chox lands. I''d made great efforts to learn about the lands of my supposed family, and I''d even been given tutors to cram in more so as to not embarrass the family.

    What I learned was about the local powers and towns, the monsters that roamed, the Knightly orders big and small. No one taught me, and I dared not ask how a wandering cultivator would be received, what papers they might expect, and how I should hide and blend in.

    Those worries were nothing though compared to the freedom I felt running under the moonlight. I was free. I found myself dancing as I ran on occasion, the mirth and tingle in my limbs bubbling up without my say-so.

    As I descended the mountain the snows were fading, my enhanced speed and the slope leaving me all but flying downhill. As the moon was at its zenith when I found a round pool maybe thirty paces across. The surface a mirror of stars, the half face held perfectly in the centre.

    Standing before this mirror pool I could see myself for the first time. I had long black hair and grey eyes, and my face was nicely average rather than the chiselled jaw and high cheekbones I''d had before. A value of beauty I''d enhanced in my first death, I''d been sure to take back my face. I did miss my eyes though.

    As I caught my breath, barely winded despite my long run, a strange fancy came upon me. I pulled out the silk strip and tied up my hair. It was me for the first time. I had to celebrate. I twirled my fingers, dancing was yet another talent I''d honed to add to my value, I had always danced under the eyes of constant evaluation.

    All that watched me was the moon.

    The air was rich in glamour, I could taste it, feel it on my skin like the heat of a summer''s day. Not all glamour was aspected, some places were just closer to the fae. A detail that in hindsight was something I should''ve thought more about.

    Walking up to the water''s edge I bowed to it, my mother''s blood was that of a moon-aligned spirit. I hoped that some part of her was able to see this.

    I began to dance. My movements were to the measured beat of a ballroom dance, I twirled about an invisible partner till I found my stride. I would not keep to those stale ballroom patterns. My dance changed, I began to cavort, to test the limits of my new body. I imitated the jesters of court, the circuses of my youth. I rollicked and rolled.

    I felt my laughter bubbling on my lips as I launched myself skyward only to flip and spin coming down facing the way I''d started and running backwards, keeping myself parallel to the lake the entire time.

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    Without noticing I had traced the edge of the of pool at least a couple of times, breathing hard, harder than I had from my run I felt the finale come on. Despite being barefoot I pirouetted, my new body handling the strain on my exposed toe. I spun faster and faster, the lake being my fixing point so I did not dizzy myself.

    Serenely I came to a stop. One last impossible flip and spin, and I landed on one hand. Pulling deep on the glamour around me, I felt my Hearth surge. I rolled forward rising to my feet in a bow to my celestial audience.

    It was a dance done for myself, an expression of hard-won freedom, and an exploration of my limits. An indulgent moment of frivolity, not seeking nor worthy of applause.

    Which made the burst of clapping all the more startling.

    My head perked up, and there standing at the edge of the water was a woman. No. Not a person of flesh and blood but a spirit shaped as a woman, her body made of water, her robes of moonlight and her hair studded with stars.

    A normal cultivator would be very worried about now. Knights were full of warning of water spirits, selkies to sirens, water spirits took great pleasure in drowning their prey. Yet the spirit had no Glamour of death about her. Her glamour though did give me pause, it was vast, as if I''d found myself trapped at the bottom of the pool before me.

    Manners cost nothing, and five years in the Harkley household had inured me to that fear that something far more vast was going to just obliterate me. This spirit felt like one of the few times I''d met the retired Knight commander who ran the family branch. If I had her good cheer I must simply keep it.

    I sprang up and bowed to the fae spirit. Sending a small prayer she''d be one of the Seelie. At least you had a chance with the Seelie.

    I felt it better to let her speak. She had the face of a young woman, not the refined noble bearing of Maeve, but the round cheeks and genuine smile that reminded me of girls I''d only started to explore my feelings for back when I lived with my friends. She would not look out of place as a milkmaid.

    ¡°Sir, what a fine sight for mine eyes you bring.¡±

    ¡°My lady, I appreciate your applause, I must confess I did not know you were watching. Your applause and the knowledge I have entertained you, however briefly is a balm to the soul.¡±

    ¡°Young knight, I would have your name to know who I should give thanks to.¡± She sounded giddy, and a touch flirtatious another contrast to Maeve. It was a dangerous question though, and one uniquely challenging for me to answer. It was also impossible to tell with the fae if the question was innocently asked, or a malicious attempt to gain power over you.

    ¡°I give my apologies, I actually find myself without a name right now,¡± I answered, I could see her eyebrows quirk, the fae could sense lies and to know I was not lying must confound her. It was the truth, my old name was dead. In fact, I was never Regus. Nor the names I''d invented before.

    ¡°You grow more curious with every second little phoenix, strange to meet one so young who has already risen from the ashes. I would like to know how you found yourself at my lake this eve.¡± The request was polite, and was delivered with a boon. She''d provided evidence of my heritage, and like all things with the fae, it was a trade. If I did leave without spinning my tale at worst she''d take the memory of those words with her. Or she might decided to trade out something else, like the ears I''d used to hear her words with.

    ¡°Of course¡­lady of luminous beauty, I shall share my tale.¡± The word lake was still in my memory as I spoke, as the word lady waited to pass between my lips, my earlier calm threatened to fade. This was no pure maiden of some pool, she was a Lady of the Lake.

    I might be in trouble.

    As panic spiralled within I took a bellows breath. The Lady of the Lake, one and many, were the things of legend. There was no chance I''d ended up here by chance. I was not even an errant ember on the wind compared to her bonfire. Her power had snared me. Whatever happened happened, I was but a puppet in her hand. My only choice was to decide what winning in this situation looked like.

    I''d found life came easier if I didn''t grasp it with corpse-like rigour, so I put worrying about my survival to one side. What did I want? I''d felt some elation explaining my situation to Maeve, telling even a scrap of my story had brought levity to me.

    ¡°My lady I must begin at the beginning some twenty years ago. My mother married to a foul tyrant, slipped his clutches and met someone I have no name for. I am the fruit of my mother''s rebellion.¡±

 Chapter 5 - A blade in the right place at the right time

    Maeve arrived back at the keep under her own power. She''d fished her blade out of the waters and powered back. Her gown was a wreck but covered her modesty. If anything it appeared to have taken the most damage of anything.

    The Keep was remarkably intact. The Harkleys must never have got any warning. As she approached her attendants also looked hale and whole gathered to fuss. They always fussed. She caught the eye of the woman she was looking for after twice fighting free of the flock who did not seem to understand the last thing she wanted was to be bathed and pampered.

    Her governess, Madame Rensliegh met her eyes. A nod between them signalled the deed was done but the simmering energy that thrummed within Maeve was not quelled. Something about that must''ve bled out as rather than immediately start debriefing her she fell into step beside her.

    The Governesses presence was a hawk amongst the pigeons, the attendants flapping away before they caught her attention.

    ¡°Where are we going, my lady.¡± The voice was precise, like a scalpel.

    ¡°To the suite where this all began, there''s something of great importance there,¡± Maeve responded, receiving only a nod in return.

    Rensliegh''s lack of follow-up questions was unusual, the woman lived up to her raptor-like appearance. Spotting weakness and diving upon it in a split second. Why she didn''t tear at her now was unknown but not having to dodge the questions allowed her to keep her focus on the tempest howling inside.

    Maeve couldn''t get her former fianc¨¦''s words out of her head. She''d lived for years under the pressure of her past failures, the tapering off of her incredible initial powering through the ranks only to get stuck at the peak of Bronze. Mant she''d once left in the dust now striding ahead, each adding another stone to the crushing weight.

    Her failure was absolute. It squeezed the joy and fun of cultivation from her. She was certain it could not be overcome.

    Till now. Regus, that insipid little perfumier was stuck at peak wood, poisoned by his own family to stagnate there, used as a bargaining chip, and from the sounds of things treated worse than she could imagine. Only he''d won!

    It wasn''t false bravado, he truly believed even as he wept literal tears of blood that he''d won. The logical part of her wanted to prove was true, he hadn''t confounded and tricked her. The storm in her hearth though, that wanted to see his will through.

    They pounded through the grey stone keep, the runes were flaring from containing the magics within. She could see the husk of the ''chapel'' through some of the windows. Even with layers of protection it still made her shudder. Filthy ''Divine'' cultivators.

    From the minimal damage to the spirit wood-panelled halls, it seemed that only the weakest of their entourage had escaped. Anyone at Iron would''ve taken out chunks of masonry too. Here and there scars marred the lovely dark wood, but a team were already going through repairing what they could.

    ¡°Thanks to you stopping Squire Harkley from warning them the ambush was flawless. They were deep in their cups and unprepared for our attack. Only some servants were outside of the spell runes.¡± As if sensing her gaze Rensliegh filled in the blanks for her.

    ¡°I didn''t stop the Squire from doing anything. He never intended to tell them a thing.¡± She didn''t keep things from her Governess, one of her staunchest allies.

    ¡°You know this how?¡±

    ¡°I spoke with him before the elders on Albion activated the blood curse on him. He was less their supporter than I.¡±

    ¡°You don''t fear this was a deception because?¡±

    ¡°I aim to prove it with my actions now, but I''m already of the opinion he was telling the truth.¡± She''d felt it, the truth of his words when the smoke parted. ¡°He laughed when he was cursed.¡±

    ¡°A madman then.¡±

    ¡°No terribly sane, in his mind the day was won. He defined what it meant to win this day, and he felt even with his death he''d achieved that. He imagined himself a blade at the right time in the right place. He wished to die free, and he wished to bring harm to the Harkleys. He achieved both.¡±

    ¡°A free death is worth something indeed.¡± Madame Rensliegh frowned as they rounded the corner, Maeve heard it a moment later. Shrieks of laughter. The shrill, reedy whine hallmarks of the Twins. ¡°They should not be here.¡±

    Maeve did not pause, she powered on, her heart in her chest. The Twins ruined all they touched. She threw open the door to find the pair of them pouring through her things. Helene looked up and scowled.

    ¡°Margarette, you lost the bet, she is alive.¡±

    ¡°She looks half dead, maybe if we wait a while she''ll keel over.¡± The other harpy screeched.

    Rensliegh seethed in the corridor unless a specific set of circumstances were met, mostly revolving around the amount of blood lost, she was banned from interceding in ¡®family squabbles¡¯. In the past, her hovering about added to the shame Maeve felt but this time it was a comfort.

    Maeve strode into the room past the pathetic insults, she ignored they''d trashed her things, and she didn''t see the faces they pulled, none of it was important. All that was nothing but a way to stop her blade from finding the right place and right time to strike. She could feel her glamour twitch, the statement resonating with her hearth.

    She threw aside the mess, ignoring that too. What was important was the vial of perfume. Talking to them, caring about them, that was losing, only the vial could get her the win. Complete his triumph and cement her own.

    ¡°Cousin, you''re ignoring us. It is rude to do so to your betters.¡± The twins tittered seemingly amused at their total lack of wit. Maeve knew she''d been surpassed by them, both having reached low iron rank. They''d been poor losers when she''d been powering ahead and were worse winners.

    She stamped out the thought. They weren''t winning, they''d still be like this no matter how far they rose. Nasal, horse-faced oafs.

    The storm in her hearth grew, ignoring them. Finding the perfume, with that she could set up her own revenge. She''d spent the last two years refusing help with the Twins and their ilk, always trying to handle things on her own as a cultivator should. The sty they''d turned her room, their pathetic bullying all of it was just them opening their chests and exposing their hearts to the blade she just had to find.

    Finally, she found it. It was presented in a small wooden box. She opened it to find the vial sitting there, a neat piece of shaped crystal holding an amber liquid within. Glamour rolled off of it. It was a princely gift, magical perfumes were rare and expensive, as they required great alchemical skill, yet still sold for less than the other things an alchemist of that level might make. She breathed a sigh of relief, now she was looking for it she could sense the memory crystal in the stopper. He''d not been lying.

    Like all bullies, the Twins could sense their time to strike, they could tell what she cared about. Iron was on a whole other level than Bronze. Giggling Margie put this into practice hurtling across the room as her clone looked on and laughed.

    Fighting senses twitched, she could and would smash it. Destroying everything, wasting all his work. Taking her win. Knocking aside this poised blade.

    What did the win take? Getting this crystal before her grandmother. That was the win. What else did she need?

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    The bottle was heavy in her hand, and he had told her to make good use of it. Ripping off the stopper she smashed the perfume bottle into the oncoming Margie. The pathetic woman despite all her additional power always lacked skill, not expecting an attack the crystal exploded over her.

    She fell screaming, and the wave of magical perfume, no longer contained hit them all like a hammer.

    ¡°Rensliegh, I have something of value to the family head.¡± Maeve managed to choke out just as Helene rose like a fury of ancient tales. Rensliegh arrived foot first, kicking her into the far wall.

    That was definitely a win.

    They stood in the main hall facing an empty throne. It was simple in design, with a motif of ravens winding up the side. As ever she tried to spot her grandmother''s familiars, Eyeball, and Peggy. They were always there somewhere.

    Rensliegh was hovering over her, not quite a hawk now, more a fretful hen. Unconcerned Maeve stood tall and waited.

    To her left her cousins strutted about, while her uncle grimaced. He kept casting looks at her.

    ¡°You''ve done it now.¡±

    ¡°Just because you were her favourite.¡±

    ¡°Be quiet girls.¡± Uncle Jacobi was smarter than his progeny. He was watching her carefully. A puzzle he couldn''t solve. A master tactician but sloppy parent, his brows knit unable to work out her angle.

    His consternation was not helped by the fact his mother was being pulled here not to congratulate him on a task well done but due to some spat his daughters had dragged him into. He had to know that she''d never pulled on her grandmother''s influence like this before. Something she''d always avoided, it felt like admitting she was stuck. Like she needed help.

    No, it didn''t matter, she''d already won something this day. Margie and Helene were a mess.

    ¡°We''re going to give you such a beating when this is done.¡±

    ¡°Girls!¡±

    ¡°But father¡­¡±

    ¡°You should listen to your father.¡± A voice boomed, it was good-natured but as the woman responsible stalked into the room they could all feel the pressure of her personal glamour. Margie let out a shrill meep in shock as everyone stood up straight. Privately Maeve wondered how long her grandmother had been waiting around, it was daft to assume she was only there when you could see him.

    ¡°Now, now what''s all this. A great victory has been won this day and yet you all look someone''s shat on your dinner. And worse it appears three of my lovely granddaughters have faced hardship this evening.¡± Grandmother flopped onto the chair, she was a bear of a woman, heavily muscled and wrapped in furs like some barbarian of old. Lacking sleeves her arms had lost none of their strength despite her hair being shot through with grey.

    An affectation, her age was unknowable, at times she acted like a spoiled child, and at others, she felt as ancient as the Chox House of Renown itself. Maeve fought down the urge to explain herself, she was going to win, and the pressure to prove she wasn''t a waste had faded. That didn''t matter today.

    As he got settled, Eyeball fluttered up to her. The monocular raven living up to his name his one good eye darting about. When she didn''t react he began, clacking his beak trying to distract her. That or trying to steal a treat. Her cousins grimaced at the obvious favour shown by the familiar.

    One of the girls tried to speak, but his tactician side sensing an overwhelming defeat on the horizon Jacobi shushed her hard. He knew, there was no way they could improve his situation.

    Clearing his throat he spoke. ¡°Mother Chox, I wish to report that we have completed the task without a single casualty, our foes in house Harkley are dead without exception. Essential to this task was Squire Maeve, when her betrothed came across the preparations she managed to stop him from alerting his compatriots. Others who proved themselves in battle include¡­¡±

    Jacobi continued to give a breakdown of the ambush. It was a masterstroke, a combination of poisons, surprise, martial grit and a great deal of careful planning. For a moment she questioned why he''d give her credit before cursing herself.

    If she looked past her self-obsession, his actions were totally expected. She had previously liked Jacobi before his daughters got involved. Now her anger at everything was taking a backseat to her focus on this task she was able to reevaluate him. He remained a useless parent, but now if she thought about it not one of those aiding her detractors. He''d trusted her with a key role after all.

    His report began to tail off. He looked back to her, ¡°I was made aware just before this meeting that Squire Maeve returned from her task and I believe she has uncovered some further assets that she wishes to make us aware of.¡±

    Taking her cue from him Maeve began to speak.

    ¡°I feel the need to correct my Uncle.¡± She could see him and both girls flinch before she continued. ¡°I believe that my chase of the Harkley Squire was not as critical as he implied, instead I commend him for the planning and execution.¡±

    Her uncle''s mood had rocketed up and down with her sentence, ending with a small nod in appreciation.

    ¡°An odd correction. Do go on Mads, explain why.¡± She winced at the nickname.

    ¡°Squire Harkley proved to be acting against his family. He took action to aid me when I fell through the ice while in pursuit of him. As I recovered before a fire he explained he only sought to get free of their influence. He also colluded to spread their secrets and do further damage to the Harkleys.¡±

    ¡°He found a way to work around the blood curse?¡± Her uncle asked, genuine curiosity painted across his face. She shook her head.

    ¡°No, last I saw him he was weeping and dribbling blood. He''d always known he''d die, but chose to die free, and felt he could score a ¡®win¡¯ over them with this.¡± She held up the little stopper from the perfume bottle. Eyeball grabbed it from her hand and flew it up to her grandmother.

    ¡°That''s why you attacked us? Some sob story from a Harkley.¡± She didn''t care to look, to see which twin had just stepped in it. She was the favourite mostly because she could read the old monster''s face as well if not better than those who''d been around for centuries. She recognized the look on her grandmother''s face, a rare one. A look of wonder, that was swept away by the shrill squawk.

    In a heartbeat, the vast hall felt far too small. No longer a feasting hall but just the six of them and Eyeball packed in a stuffy study. Her grandmother''s voice shifted, it was quiet but everywhere in the crowded space.

    ¡°Rensliegh, I sense your glamour on my granddaughter, care to explain.¡±

    ¡°Duchess Chox, I was assisting Maeve in retrieving the asset. We came to the suite to find these two tearing it apart, they expressed disappointment that their cousin had survived and discussed a bet about her survival. When Maeve ignored them to find the asset in amongst the mess they''d made, they became more agitated. When the perfume vial was finally found Margie tried to strike it, in an apparent peevish moment of spite. Maeve sensing a threat to the asset, responded with appropriate force. Then announced the asset as of importance to you. This did not stop Helene from trying to attack her. That is when I struck Lady Helene.¡±

    ¡°Is that true Mads?¡± Maeve went to respond. To say some variation on ¡®it is but a spat between family¡¯ or ¡®it is nothing I feel warrants your concern¡¯, a mantra she''d been repeating since the bullying started. Believing she had to force herself forward through sweat and tears. The only way to overcome her challenges was to surmount them alone.

    ¡°That is true grandmother.¡± She replied. Feeling the thrill through her body, at the blade sliding in at just the right time to end bring down that particular beast.

    Silence fell in the hall. The pressure from their grandmother was all-consuming. They could only watch the crystal stopper dance as the old monster twirled it in her fingers.

    ¡°You two, do you know what this is?¡± She held up the crystal. The pair seeing their father''s pale face, and sensing the waves of pressure got it through their horse-shaped heads that this wasn''t going to go their way. They couldn''t even muster up a response only shaking their heads.

    ¡°This crystal contains a hoard the like of which stirs even the interest of an old dragon like me. It''s the Harkley''s alchemy secrets, their training regimen and mentors, information about family politics, maps of their castles, lists of their hunting grounds, and the list goes on. There''s even notes on various family member¡¯s preferred dances.¡± She brought the little gem up to one ice-blue eye, letting silence fall back over the room.

    Maeve fought the urge to let out an unladylike squeal. She''d won. The manic energy that had been powering her since she''d seen that blood-soaked face and heard his laugh turned into a calm lake. The blade he''d polished, with which he''d sought to take but a drop of blood was now held by a giant able to wield it. The blood spilt would rush across Albion like a tide.

    Mother Chox¡¯s voice returned at barely a whisper, one you still felt in your bones.

    ¡°Our slaughter today was the opening of a war. A war we expect to be long and bloody, and this crystal may well speed its end. It will spare the lives of our friends, it will save members of your family, it is the work of someone who gave their lives to undermining our foe, AND YOU WERE GOING TO DESTROY IT TO BULLY YOUR COUSIN!¡± Her bellow shook the room. The hall now felt like a cell, her displeasure echoing off each wall.

    Despite the pressure, Maeve lost the thread of the speech. A laugh exploded from her lips. No matter the volume, no matter the glamour, right now she was too full of joy.

    Regus, no, the son of Gwendolyn Artoss, had been right. It was true madness to let others decide what success looked like. Not when conquering the challenge you set yourself could feel this good.

    The blade at the right time, in the right hands, aimed right bit deep.

    As she dissolved into a fit of laughter her hearth roared, and she started to break through to Iron.

 Chapter 6 - Im not a planner

    ¡°And that is how I ended up in your splendid company your ladyship. I thank you for listening to my long tale of woe, challenge and finally triumph.¡± I finished up. It''d been cathartic to speak at length about my history. Up till that point, I alone knew it, my secrets were only ever doled out in parts between people I''d never see again or by those forever silenced in death.

    There came a burst of applause. The Lady had been an attentive audience as one could ask for. She''d oohed and ahhed at moments that almost made her seem human. That was if I ignored her eyes, the glamour that bled out of those orbs held the weight of every drop of the lakes that dotted the mountain. I had no doubt if she used the Evil Eye on me I''d be a dead man.

    Completing my bow my whole body sagged. I was not exhausted, I had more energy in me now than compared to when I''d died. It was beyond emotion or the tiredness of the day. My body shook like I''d chiselled the words out into stone. I had been talking for hours, days perhaps but the moon hung still above me.

    What strength I had allowed me to fall sideways rather than forwards. I didn''t relish ruining my new face but a few hours into it. I blinked. Hours? That felt wrong. I lay back and tiredness slid over me like a tide, I had to be consciously aware of each breath.

    The Lady approached me, kneeling beside me, she stroked my long hair out of my face, the silk coming undone somewhere along the telling. It was a refreshing feel, a cool breeze on a summer''s day.

    ¡°Thank you, you have a true gift with words, with faces, with dance and song. I think you should sleep now, I offer you a place to rest free of obligation, and safe from harm. You shall awake tomorrow with your rewards. I have not enjoyed a story so much as this in a millennia.¡±

    ¡°It''s bad luck to sleep without a name,¡± I mumbled, vaguely aware of old superstitions, babes must be named when their eyes first opened, and before their wailing ceased. That''s how you got changelings or so the superstition went.

    ¡°Then I shall give you one for a time, there was a bard of old you remind me of. Taliesin, do you mind if I give it to you.¡± My brain was so much fog, that I became aware I would have to sleep, and it was to sleep without a name or accept one given to me by a fae?

    Giving Fae your name was definitely bad, no one had ever written down what to do about taking one. I fumbled for the answer but a wave of calm washed over me as our eyes met.

    As if I had a chance of outmanoeuvring this ancient being. She''d trapped me in time, wrung me of my secrets, and I could''ve very literally been dancing in the palm of her hand around a spoonful of water for all I knew.

    She was beyond me. I could only hope her intentions were good. I''d consider it an epic achievement just to wake up tomorrow at this point.

    ¡°Taliesin is good.¡± I managed to mumble.

    Waking from a deep restful slumber in a ring of wildflowers would be a wondrous way to start any day. To find the ring of flowers circled with snow added a fresh layer of whimsy to it. I was not dead, nor did it feel like I died again.

    I had no doubt the scenes of last night were real, they felt seared into my memory. The Lady''s glamour was also nowhere near. Not that I''d notice her if she didn''t wish me to. I was already quite adept at controlling my glamour and I likely had fewer years than she had centuries.

    The next thing I noticed was my clothes. Someone, I suspected I knew who, had dressed me as a wandering minstrel. It was a mix of practical travel clothes, my jacket layered like a gambeson, but with pleated sleeves and strikingly red trousers. All the rest of my clothes were black or grey. I recognized the look from the tournaments I''d used to attend always coming in a respectable third, only mucking up once and winning. An achievement that sounds better than it was, I was at this point a couple of years older than most competitors due to my Cultivation issues.

    The look was completed by a lute which lay on the grass next to me. Another skill I''d built over the last few years as I sought to ever add the exact right kind of value. I could feel the enchantment radiating off it, tentatively I grabbed the instrument.

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    Glamour flowed through me, the instrument held more potential than any weapon I''d ever been close enough to examine. If it had been a weapon the Knightly Orders would''ve gone to war over it, as an instrument I had not the foggiest as to how it would be valued. I strummed across its strings, it was of course beautifully in tune.

    A fear unwound inside me, the fae generally known as the Lady of the Lake, was one of the Seelie, and the most powerful and grounded of their kin. Their gifts tended to be swords and a destiny. Usually bloody and violent.

    Whether that destiny was due to their power or because they''d stuck some poor sod with an incredible artefact, the kind which drew the kind of attention from which Destiny with a capital D was forged, I wasn''t sure. Not having it be a blade may at least somewhat temper my destiny. As if sensing this was the perfect time to reveal itself I felt a small whisp of blade glamour.

    Blade glamour. From. My. Lute.

    A terrible certainty settled upon me. An inevitability. Placing a hand around the neck, I pushed a touch of glamour into it and things started to change. The lute transformed into a blade, a bastard sword, my preferred weapon. The changes didn''t stop there, with a billow of smoke my minstrel''s attire was swallowed. Only to be revealed as pitch-black armour.

    There was an extremely vexing moment when a helmet grew over my head in a burst of smoke. Which is when I realised the transformation was tugging on my glamour to fuel itself. Worse I''d just bound the artefact to myself.

    The whole damn thing was a soul enchantment. Bound to my soul till it left this plane. Normally I''d say till death, but I knew that wouldn''t be enough to part us.

    ¡°Well, I have woken in worse situations,¡± I said to banish the mood that was settling on me. I mean I''d woken up yesterday knowing I was going to die.

    My senses coming back I decided there and then to use the blade as little as possible, pulling on the glamour, I was again washed with smoke. I could now sense the armour and the minstrel''s outfit were just empty vessels for my glamour to enforce.

    This was apparently a significant difference from the practices of the lost Realm of the Mystic East. The Mystic East was a fraught topic. Depending on your source one of two things happened. Court scholars will tell you that long ago our realms traded pointers about the nature of cultivation where we shared our knowledge of glamour and sought to understand their view of Qi. If you check first-hand sources from the time, a woman named ''Zhang Jinghua'' came through a rift, beat up our sorry excuses for cultivators, and was so vexed with our total lack of skill that she imparted much of her knowledge upon us just so we could avoid disappointing whoever found us next.

    Apparently, our ability to enforce our armour was a trick she didn''t totally hate, so that got to stay.

    The court scholars will tell you this is heresy. Though they always struggle to explain the fact the Great Empire of Atlantis, became the lost Empire of Atlantis the very same year she appeared.

    Cultivator Armour could be enforced with glamour, in doing so a cultivator sacrificed some of their available glamour, but in return benefitted from more protection than they might otherwise get from regular enforcement. There were numerous other tradeoffs, ranging from mobility to combat styles.

    Armour choice was a huge topic of discussion across Euross. Albion was obsessed with plate armour, which ate up lots of glamour, but in turn, made its Knights into tanks capable of dealing with the huge monsters that tended to spawn there.

    My new armour was half-plate, far more than I was used to wearing.

    I began to cultivate, the bellows breathing sucking up glamour so quickly it made me light-headed. It was a method that assumed you couldn''t absorb glamour easily. Now? My Hearth was straining to contain the rushing energy. I began to funnel the excess into the armour.

    The glamour around me was dense, not almost liquid as the mirror pool had felt, but soupy and rich.

    I''d more than stumbled into the stuff of legends, I''d danced right into its maw. If I was to survive long enough to not become a footnote I had to get my head screwed on right and not find it bitten off. I folded my legs under me and thought out what to do next.

    I was not much of a planner, which might make most blink given my meticulous planning of revenge, but that was out of necessity. I needed a plan, so I made one. I''d found focusing on my needs made for the best defence against loss. Wants bred disappointment.

    Needs were easier, I could be sure I rarely lost what I needed. And I rarely wanted for much. In fact, I hadn''t wanted anything further than ¡®escape cause maximum damage¡¯. Did I need to cause damage? Yes, otherwise my mind would''ve wandered into the madness of the Unseelie long ago.

    What did I need right now? Sensing its moment my stomach grumbled.

 Chapter 7 - A new lute, and a Knight Errant

    I''d been heading towards a distant thread of smoke glamour for an hour. It carried with it a thread of the scent of food. I approached slowly, aiming for a mortal pace. My veil up, and hiding my glamour.

    To aid in my mortal guise, I''d found to my delight I could alter my outfit a little, the palette was limited, and there was a certain theatricality that the clothes refused to part with. That meant I now wore a serviceable ash-grey coat, trimmed with red squirrel fur.

    I''d found a small serviceable pack with my few possessions within. Of my clothes, I''d thrown all but the silk hair tie away. That I''d rebound my hair with. The long hair was staying for the moment, it did help sell the troubadour vibe. I also had the stubble of several days'' worth of growth, implying my time telling my story had been far longer than I recalled, or I''d slept longer in those wildflowers than I''d suspected.

    I had found a road ten minutes or so ago and was proceeding towards a bridge. To the side of which sat a camp. A huge knight sat before a tent made of stone, a sure sign of an earth cultivator. His armour was chainmail but it sat over skin that looked almost like marble. That implied he was high enough rank for his glamour to be affecting his body. A feat that normally only happened at Iron rank.

    He''d seem mighty threatening if he wasn''t fumbling the cooking of a rabbit.

    It looked to be going poorly. While cooking was not a skill I''d ever developed, I did feel certain that the food and coals were not supposed to be touching.

    ¡°Stupid bloody thing, first time I catch a¡­¡± He looked up. I waved. ¡°Shit, hang on.¡± The brute stood, grabbing a warhammer with a head the size of my own. He scrambled to the centre of the bridge and then called out.

    ¡°Halt who goes there.¡± His voice was booming, reverberating across the forest and its smattering of snow.

    ¡°Taliesin, wandering troubador.¡± The name leapt to my lips, feeling far more natural than Regus ever had. That was some fae sorcery that I added to the pile of mysteries to investigate later.

    ¡°State your business.¡±

    ¡°My business right now is allowing you to save your lunch. It appears to be both in and on fire.¡±

    ¡°Shit!¡± He began to fumble with his blade and shield so I ran over to his rapidly blackening rabbit, and with quick hands managed to pull it from the fire. Letting it rest on a nearby stone. I sucked at my fingers as if burned.

    ¡°Is it okay?¡±

    ¡°I think it just needs the black bits cut off and it will be fine.¡± We both looked at the rabbit, which was more coal than crispy. The larger man let out a deep chuckle. ¡°I''m sorry to have ruined your lunch, I didn''t mean to interrupt you.¡±

    ¡°No, no, I''d done that plenty fine myself. Taliesen was it?¡±

    ¡°Yes indeed.¡±

    ¡°I''m Bors, Knight Errant. Don''t suppose you''ve come here to challenge me in a contest of martial prowess?¡±

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    ¡°Would you accept a blistering battle of barbs?¡±

    ¡°And lose? Well maybe that''d be for the best, then you can have the damn bridge.¡± He grunted and sat down, gesturing to a rock nearby for me to use. ¡°Damn and from the look of you nothing worth asking for in toll.¡±

    He looked me over. I held up my new lute. ¡°I could compose a song?¡±

    ¡°Can''t eat a song. I don''t even want sodding coin, I just want something to fill my belly. Look, I''ll be honest this whole bridge gig is a total waste of time. Two months I''ve been here, and only four fights I''ve had. Well other than the fae beasts, which always seem to wait till I''ve gone for kip.¡±

    ¡°You''re out here alone in the wilds?¡±

    ¡°I''m a Knight Errant, we wander, in search of noble quests to further our cultivation. Free of the oppression of the Knightly Orders, seeking to further our banners! To fight the insidious corruption of the Divine Cultivators¡± His voice drifted into a mono-tone that I recognized as rote learning.

    ¡°Sounds like a nice carefree way of life.¡± I offered, honestly a single fight a month sounded like a luxury. I did twitch at the mention of divine cultivators, I''d had enough of them with the Harkleys.

    ¡°Well it is till some Order thugs get wind of you, then it''s all ¡®noble squire¡¯ this and that. I don''t mind that too much, at least then you tend to get a fair few fights in one go.¡± He grinned ¡°Arty though, he said we had to stop beating up the orders round here, otherwise they''ll send some Knight Captain after us. He stuck me with this bridge till they could handle something delicate.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like a rough job.¡±

    ¡°Oh, you don''t know the half of it! No one told me you had to stick with your bridge all the fae-cursed time, leaving it alone is a big no-no. Means I can''t go far for hunting or pop to town, and I''ve hunted everything about me. Last bastard I challenged had half an empty wineskin and nought else but hunting gear, then had the gall to complain to me about the lack of food about. Ended up killing the daft sod when he demanded compensation, and that was after I beat him the first time!¡± I chuckled at the huge man''s frustration, and could totally believe he''d decimated the local forest feeding his giant frame.

    The Knight Errant continued to complain, he seemed to be enjoying my company, probably as starved for it as he was food. Iron-level cultivators, which he certainly felt like, could survive for long periods without food but it was by all accounts a miserable existence.

    As he continued to rant about why he hated bridges a fresh idea formed. I still needed to eat, but I also wanted to talk to someone. Someone other than the otherworldly fae with lakes for eyes.

    I looked over Bors, who I was certain from the weight of his glamour was Iron cultivator. His face was young which didn''t mean much, but his manner didn''t suit those who took their time reaching that level, which meant he was likely quite talented. I was, despite only ascending yesterday, mid-bronze rank. Which was an unbelievable rate of growth, enabled by an equally improbable string of events. I was very technically skilled with the blade but lacked the experience he no doubt had.

    In short, he could obliterate me if he so wished. Equally, as he''d not even give the lute a second look there was no reason for me to suspect he sensed anything of value on me, nor would he suspect I would be carrying something worth his time. He''d also so helpfully told me what he really wanted.

    Time to make friends.

    ¡°Bors, I may have a solution to your worries. I must also reveal a small deception.¡±

    ¡°If you actually have food this won''t go well for you.¡±

    ¡°I''m Taliesin, a cultivating bard.¡± I allowed my veil to rise. Bors choked and gave me the once over, he considered me carefully and for a moment I was worried I''d misjudged the situation.

    ¡°That''s a fancy trick. How does being a bard work for cultivating though?¡±

    ¡°Still working that bit out.¡± I smiled, but he still seemed unsure. ¡°What I mean to say is I would prefer to cultivate mostly through things beyond combat, I''m far from useless. If you lend me a bow and arrow, I could go hunt and you can avoid leaving your bridge.¡±

    ¡°Well pluck me, stuff me, and call me dinner. Lead with that next time!¡± The grin returned and he clapped me on the back, sending me stumbling.

 Chapter 8 - Beware the white hare

    Bors showed remarkable zeal in getting me equipped for a hunt, the Knight he''d slain earlier had been a dedicated hunter and had quite the selection of equipment. I managed to avoid grabbing too much, focusing mostly on the bow, quiver, a proper hunting knife, and the kit to properly clean and dress whatever I caught.

    He did warn me his steed was somewhere in the forest doing its own thing. It was a fae beast and while he asked me to not shoot it he looked embarrassed when I asked questions. He fobbed me off, just saying I''d know it if I saw him.

    It turned out he did have food, rations of something that someone dared to call bread. At first, I thought he''d passed me a club. The ¡®bread¡¯ was incredibly solid, and if my jaw didn''t have enhanced strength a club is all it could''ve been. I understand now why Bors didn''t consider it food. Having tried it once, I was extremely motivated to find anything that would keep me from needing to eat it again.

    A few hours of walking downhill following the river got me to a bare willow, with slash marks on its trunk, his mark for the edge of the area he''d picked clean. It was apparently an hour¡¯s travel for him, which is the furthest he dared go. The man was a monster to get so far so easily even without our differences in cultivation.

    I started to settle into my role. I was still getting used to my Bronze level of cultivation, it was fundamentally the same stage as Wood, but so much more, by opening up the second gift I still had to condense and gather my glamour, but with the additional source helping me it was doubly easy.

    Normally there was a long period of adjustment after that breakthrough, as the body was refined, glamour being used to rebuild muscle, bones and even the senses. Up until that point it was seen as wasteful to use the little excess glamour you could gather to do it, rather than pushing forward. Being stuck at peak wood I''d had the time to rebuild my body.

    My captors had thought it funny, that me stuck at Wood due to the impurities that tarred my soul. I was preparing for the Bronze power I''d never have. Now it felt like I was at my best constantly, and that was helping me not totally hash up my hunting.

    I was alright at hunting. The King of Albion was a massive fan, and the Harkley¡¯s noses getting steadily browner pressed between his cheeks were at least as keen. So I could not afford to be too good. I also just didn''t fundamentally enjoy it, I didn''t object to killing some beast that had slaughtered mortals, but there was something fundamentally upsetting about kicking in some innocent beast''s door and ripping out their core just for the fun of it.

    That could perhaps explain why I continued to lean on what I did excel at. On my walk I''d gathered some herbs and medicinal plants from beside the river, we were much lower than we were before, and spring was already blooming. While my alchemy focused on perfumes it required an excess of knowledge about all sorts of ingredients. Many are edible in their raw form.

    As I knelt by the river harvesting some very early shoots of Iron''s Bane, a rust-coloured grass, I finally got a clue to my location. The clouds that had settled to the east parted revealing the White Mountain. The ''mountain'' I was on merely one of its foothills. Horkenstone Keep and the town of Horken a small blurry smudge.

    I had to be a hundred miles from where I lay down the night before. What the Lady wanted of me I didn''t know but she''d dropped me here, miles from any possible pursuit. It wasn''t a great burden, lute still scared me on some level, but the fact Bors didn''t immediately sense it salved my worst fears.

    Lost in my musings I was shocked as a skinny doe stumbled into my clearing. I stayed very still. My veil was up again, and I was downwind. My grey jacket matched the stones of the riverbed. I pulled out a bow and arrow when its poor luck multiplied, deciding to scan left for threats rather than right which would''ve spotted me.

    With a single fluid motion, the arrow was strung and let fly, the bow bending with such ease I feared I''d destroyed it. The arrow thudded into the side of the doe and it collapsed with a short squeal. I dashed over to it, and with a slice of my knife ended it.

    The burst of death glamour bloomed like a punch to the gut. It filled my spiritual sinuses like smelling salts. I began cultivating without even thinking about it, my bellows technique drawing it in. Death was all around in the forest, a constant low-level hum, but that was but rustling of leaves compared to the howl of the storm I was experiencing as I drank in that power. It was invigorating, overwhelming, and gone too quickly.

    And that was just a deer. I shivered at what it would be like to kill something with some Cultivation under its belt. This is why death-gifted cultivators had such a bad reputation. I could see this becoming an addiction. Worse I knew that if I kept giving into that urge the grip of the unseelie would consume me.

    Seeking a distraction, I checked on the bow. I should''ve really done some test shots, the luck of the fairies must''ve been with me otherwise all I would''ve caught were splinters. It was a recurve bow, beautifully finished with etchings while aggressively functional in actual shape. It was made of some kind of laminated horn that held the vestiges of earth glamour. It wasn''t enchanted but made from some beast, its power still reinforcing its unnatural durability. I was impressed, it must''ve been built with cultivators in mind.

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    Bows were not a good weapon for cultivators, they were limited in speed and impact, and the smaller projectile was difficult to enhance. Even this one with its enhanced draw weight I could shoot Bors all day with it and unless I got him in the eye or ear he''d barely notice, and no attack would be lethal. That was if he even let the arrows hit him.

    At Bronze it was still a threat, but more as an ambush weapon. It''d puncture my body, but my glamour-reinforced flesh would halt the attack quickly. You''d have to get lucky to do lasting damage, and a lethal strike was all but impossible. It''s part of why I''d asked for it from the Knight Errant, it was like begging to borrow a toy sword for all the threat it posed to him.

    Ignoring the lingering waves of death glamour I dressed the kill quickly. I was in the wilds proper and something would likely smell the blood soon enough. Fae beasts didn''t tend to last long near civilization, but I was far from it, and I''d never have tried this if not for Bors'' assurance he''d slaughtered everything worth a fight for miles. No point in testing my luck though.

    Throwing the carcass over my shoulder I began to run back. I wanted Borsto like me so a quick return would be best. Plus I wanted some food that did not require glamour reinforcement to chew.

    It was a genuine pleasure to make friends without the Harkley name hanging over me like a choking cloud. Especially after what he''d said about demonic cultivators.

    The Harkleys were one of the bastions of ¡®Divine¡¯ cultivators in Albion. Known as demonic cultivators to most. Their worship included but was not limited to pledging themselves to the ¡®divine¡¯, burning ¡®unclean¡¯ mortals, blood rituals where they ate the body and drank the blood of demons, self-mutilation, and a host of other villainous acts.

    Cultivators were pretty on board with doing extreme things for power, but at least none of them ever tried to claim they were doing everyone else a favour. Just like the Harkleys went around cursing their children with blood oaths, and called it ¡®bringing unity to the family¡¯.

    My mind kept slipping back to my captors. Occasionally I''d find myself watching a patch of shadow just waiting for one of the minders to come out and drag me back. As the next hour passed, I couldn''t decide if it was getting better or worse. I ended up tying the deer awkwardly over both shoulders freeing up my arms, Bors had insisted that I take some rope for which I was grateful.

    That done I pulled out my lute. The wood was black, with a slight hint of grain giving it no texture at all. The fixings were in silver and shone in the weak sunlight. I strummed and continued on, occasionally tapping a rhythm, the hollow body giving a deep thud with each slap.

    Between trying to ignore my habitual worry about being watched, and attempts to distract myself, it was no wonder I was ambushed.

    The first I knew of it was the burst of air glamour from a bush. I dodged on pure instinct as a white blur passed through where my head had been not a second ago.

    Rolling forward I left behind my burden and placed my back to an oak. My eyes tried to find what had assaulted me. I''d like to say it was a conscious decision to keep my trump card at bay, and not turn my lute into a sword. But the truth was I''d completely forgotten it was an option till I had my knife in front of me.

    A pair of red eyes watched me. I could smell the cultivation of the fae beast, the glamour of air was thick upon it. I was underwhelmed by the form of the beast.

    A white hare stood on its haunches watching me, coming up no taller than my knee. It would be almost funny if its fur wasn''t stained with blood.

    Before I had an opportunity the hare launched itself at me again. The air distorting around it. My off hand raised to block, as it arrived feet first aiming for my throat.

    There was a reason that most spirit beasts grew in size as they cultivated, and mass made a big difference in fights. Most spirit beasts didn''t move as fast as a high Bronze stage cultivator though. It was like it was using a Levity technique to enhance its speed. Even though it weighed next to nothing I was sure it would''ve broken my arm if I''d not had my new gear on to help spread the impact.

    It bounced away, and so began the next chaotic minute of battle. It was a battle to just keep my guard up, each time it bounced off it''d come back from another angle. Each time accruing more bruises.

    I was fumbling my cultivation, I had all these new resources but it''d been an age since I was in a tourney, and I''d had little chance to practice fighting in the last couple of years. Every time I thought I could get my thoughts together the blasted thing would slam into me from a new angle.

    I was fast, faster than most, but the rabbit matched my speed and then some. Its tiny body always sliding out of reach.

    I snagged it once with my blade and once with the lute. A sonorous slam that reverberates across the small clearing that hosted our duel. That seemed to irritate it further. It must''ve decided it was time to bring me down. The tempo of the strikes increased.

    It attacked and used my guard to push itself straight down, kicking off the floor to catch me on the knee before I could adapt to the new attack pattern. I tumbled. As I fell I could already sense the air glamour gathering. It was coming in for a killing strike.

    If I had one talent in a fight, it was patience. I looked up to see the hare launching itself at my throat, razor-sharp teeth first. It was currently dodging my ill-timed swing of the lute, its body just out of reach of my swing.

    I grinned. My lute shifted into its sword form. I fought the change in the clothes, not wanting to lose the mobility if this went wrong somehow, and was pleased to find they obeyed my commands.

    The blade had twice the reach of the lute. I saw the rabbit try to abandon its strike, gathering air glamour, the attempt in vain, as I sliced it in twain. The extra length caught the flop-eared terror perfectly. My vicious foe vanquished, I collapsed back against the tree, and let out a long groan of exhaustion.

    I may have overestimated my skill in a fight just a bit.

 Chapter 9 - Knowledge of the Mystic East

    I checked the body. According to my alchemy text books the hare was in the condensation stage, which made it a noble and just threat considering my cultivation. I mused on the strange standard of academic texts of labelling beasts by the terms brought to us by our realm walking visitor.

    Wood and Bronze were both in the Condensation stage. It was where glamour was still being collected, the body''s reserve always in need of being topped up but at your core, your Hearth was well formed and constant. At Wood, you had enough to regularly infuse yourself but it tended to be uneven or in short bursts. After the second gift and reaching Bronze, you could reliably keep your whole body infused and it was when most went about refining their body. Even with the additional gift, there was still the risk you might run out of glamour if you over-exerted yourself.

    There was a stage before that was what most called the Stone or Body stage, that''s where mortals and beasts were. Able to occasionally use brief puffs of glamour, but having yet to form a true hearth.

    Bors was iron or foundation stage, his glamour was distilled from emanations from the Fae to a resource he held within, condensed it into something that started to stamp his ownership on the concept. The better you understood yourself and the gifts you pulled on the greater the potential for control. Beasts of this stage were often intelligent and some even capable of speech.

    Above that was steel, mithril and then a level just known as ¡®Fae¡¯. There were only rumours about that stage. Steel was when the cultivator must start to work on their soul forge. Mithril, the Forge was finished and lit, The cultivator or beast creating their own glamour and able to achieve things that seemed beyond the realm of sanity. For the beasts, these stages were known as Formation and Nascent Soul.

    The less I thought about the ¡®Fae¡¯ stage the better, there wasn''t a beast equivalent, as any spirit or beast that reached that level was by definition part of the Fae.

    My mind snapped out of the breathing technique I''d slipped into by accident, the death glamour had knocked me into it as surely as feast got me drooling. Only embarrassment was far from my only worry. My rigid self-control locked down my Hearth''s demands. Despite the thick glamour that remained I stopped myself and focused on the other task I must complete.

    Death glamour should not be so casually consumed. All had heard the stories of death gifted going crazy from consuming strong glamours. Their souls were warped by their meal''s power. More powerful the foe, the more human, the worse the effect would be.

    The hare was no Fae beast of legend, which would''ve saved my ego no amount of distress. That didn''t mean it was weak, it was a high-level condensation stage fae beast. With considerable pain, I cut it open. The body was tiny, and it seemed a cruel joke that I''d barely had to work for the entire doe but had been beaten bloody for something Bors could finish in a couple of bites.

    I didn''t want any of the meat, beast meat tended to be terrible unless your gifts were complimentary, no what I needed I found about where I''d expect my Hearth to be, a little below its heart. A walnut-sized beast core.

    I was at the river so washed it off. Beast cores were a key component in enchanting, and alchemical brews. That required a lot of processing though, that processing got rid of impurities, bits of soul stuff that clogged the pathways. Right now they were basically poison.

    I popped it in my mouth and chewed it like the nut it resembled. I immediately began moving the tainted glamour it released through my body. I needed the impurities, after my first death the knowledge came to me. With the same certainty that I knew breathing was good, I knew the impurities were allowing my resurrections.

    It took a good half an hour to process the core, I could feel the boost to my cultivation, and at the same time like soot coating the inside of the chimney my pathways got that little narrower. I was nowhere near the level I needed to be at to shrug off death but it was a start.

    It also didn''t restrict my Cultivation by much, I''d been struggling for each sip of glamour for so long now that I''d forgotten what it was to drink freely. I was in no hurry to return to that state. If I had any say I¡¯d feel it again, I only had to reach the threshold for resurrection, not block my growth entirely.

    The day was getting long, and I still needed to get back. I buried the rabbit nearby, I knew monster parts beyond the core had value but didn''t have the energy to work out what parts of it I wanted. Returning with the whole thing was not an option. If Bors asked me where the core was I didn''t want to explain I chomped on it like a boiled sweet.

    I let a blast of smoke glamour through my clothes and found them clean again. My lute had remained a blade for mere moments and was now slung over my shoulder, it was quickly joined by the doe.

    Arriving back at camp as the sun was dipping low, I was feeling a natural exhaustion. My wounds were still raw and bruises were growing. I must''ve looked a sight as Bors ran over. I was touched till his first action was to grab the doe from my back. The Knight Errant was buzzing at the sight of the meat. He helped me over to the fire while gushing about my luck with the doe.

    I stretched and focused on circulating the glamour from my Hearth around my body to speed my healing along.

    ¡°I thought you''d karked it for a while, looks like you almost did? Got in a battle with a bastard of a ballad, or fall foul of a malicious melody?¡± I eyed Bors, he was grinning.

    ¡°A barb you''ve polished for some time I take?¡±

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    ¡°Only most of the afternoon, I was pondering how poorly that battle of barbs would go for me.¡± Bors with practiced ease began to skin and quarter the doe.

    ¡°Perhaps you should stick to slinging swords, and I do my winning wit. Would you believe a hare did this to me?¡± His face fell.

    ¡°Ah fuck!¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°I said it was safe, I totally forgot about the Gale Hare that''s been about. It never lets me get anywhere near it, and it can''t threaten me. Those things are vicious, I saw one take a Squire¡¯s head clean off at Caerbannog. I could''ve sent you to your death ''cause I was hungry!¡± Bors whole body collapsed in on itself. The giant of a man shrinking, no longer a titan and now just tall.

    ¡°Well, that''s a balm for my bruised ego if not my actual bruises. I felt like a right fool after the fight, beaten raw by something I could pick up by its ears.¡±

    ¡°You killed it? I''d have thought you''d just managed to escape.¡± I cursed myself for letting that slip. He continued. ¡°I am sorry though. This is why I''m on this bridge, I do things without thinking.¡±

    ¡°Like pick fights with Orders?¡±

    ¡°No, they pick fights with me. I just don''t think about the consequences of saying yes. I should be the bigger man according to Arty.¡± Bors kept talking and from a storage ring caused a cooking pot to appear. He probably hadn''t even noticed he''d showed it off to me.

    ¡°I don''t see how you could fail at that?¡± He chuckled at the joke but remained surly.

    ¡°I collected some herbs, root veg and tubers from down by the river. Shall we make a stew?¡± He nodded and headed down the water returning with a pail of water. He took my foraged bounty and set to cooking, something I was happy to let him handle.

    Silence descended and I sat back. I felt more at ease in Bors''s company than I had walking through the woods on my own. While I was in captivity I''d have assumed it was all some ploy to get me on his side, yet burning within me was an absolute confidence that he was just as honest as he seemed. He meant well. His mistake was just that, and from the aggressive way he chopped I could tell he was angry at himself for his failing.

    I hated that this was an exceptional experience for me. Almost unique. To have someone worry over me. Not the loss of my value, just my intrinsic safety. I felt my finger start picking out a gentle tune. I let my glamour out, letting it touch the smoke, which began to dance, and faces began to half-form.

    Maeve was first, she quickly twisted into the Lady, and then memories that I often forgot I had surfaced and I found my mother gazing at me. I lost control of the glamour then, my heart twisting.

    ¡°You alright there Taliesen?¡± Bors was serving out stew into a couple of bowls. More of the accursed bread was back, not clubs, but round loaves hacked into bowls.

    ¡°Sorry. I got lost in memory.¡±

    ¡°No worries, your control is impressive. Better than mine for certain.¡± A scowl darkened his brow.

    ¡°Bors I''m not angry at you.¡±

    ¡°Why not? I could''ve got you killed ''cause all I can do is smash things and I can''t even stop to think about others for even a minute!¡± He spoke into his food glaring at it.

    ¡°This stew is really good. It doesn''t deserve the evil eye off you.¡± I replied. It really was exceptional stew for something made of scrounged ingredients, far better than I could''ve made.

    ¡°You must accept some apology, there''s something I must do to make things right. You have to be angry.¡± the other words, framed like a command burned me opening the barely patched wounds of the last few days. I wanted to squirrel away my secrets but I''d spent so long lying, living in a choking mask of subterfuge, that the truth burst forth. It demanded to be heard.

    ¡°Bors, I shall be honest with you, as I sense you have been honest with me. Up until very recently, I''ve been as near to property as makes no difference, the chattel of some truly vile people. I have spent every day working to avoid having my light snuffed out by the mere whims of my jailors. I have survived constant scrutiny where a single wrong step could have me turned into spare parts. I was not about to die to some jumped-up rabbit.¡± I felt my rant build up steam.

    ¡°What is nice is I am free, eating this scrumptious stew that has no business being half as good as it is. I have your noble company, and it is a fine company. I could''ve stumbled upon one of those Order pricks and I could''ve been sent out into the woods as a joke or just challenged to duel for their entertainment. Instead, I am here. I am alive. I AM FREE. YOU DO NOT GET TO DECIDE IF I AM ANGRY.¡±

    Silence descended on the camp. At some point, I''d stood up, which would''ve left me standing over anyone but Bors. Instead, I just stared him in the eye. I flopped back to my seat and picked up my abandoned stew bowl.

    ¡°I don''t know, that sounded pretty angry.¡± Bors grinned as he broke the silence. I couldn''t help it I laughed, and laughed. Bors did too.

    ¡°And here''s me complaining about a bridge. How do you get involved in shit like that?¡± Bors asked when the chuckles had passed.

    ¡°Let''s just say that when you said you were against divine cultivators, that''s when I knew we would get along.¡±

    ¡°Scum the lot of them. It''s why I get so worked up by the Orders, they should be riding out to slaughter the lot of them. Not having tourneys against them. I do wish I had some of your smarts, there''s a limit to how much sense you can beat into a bunch of knights.¡±

    ¡°And if I had some of your strength I''d have escaped long ago. I tell you what, I lined up some revenge on my way out. Made them bleed for what they did to me.¡± I smiled at the memory. The look on Maeve''s face gave me the sense she''d believed me. Enough to at least check out the bottle.

    ¡°You might not be angry, but I''m still angry with myself over the whole hare thing. Sounds like you''re set to wander for a bit. I''ve got a spare tent and bits, you could join me here to work out what you want to do next. I''ll keep you safe till you want to move on.¡±

    ¡°Totally nothing to do with wanting some company on this lonely bit of masonry.¡±

    ¡°I am informed that a Knight Errant should have some mystique to them, so I shall refuse to answer that question.¡±

    ¡°Another from your mate Arty.¡±

    ¡°Nah that nugget of wisdom comes from Percy. She''s all about our reputation, our stories of renown. You''d get along, you both got the wits for it. They''ll all be coming back in a month or so, so my offer stands at least till then.¡±

    ¡°I''d like to meet these Knights who stand against the divine cultivators, we can trade tips.¡±

 Chapter 10 - Lady Grady

    So began my time with Bors. He set up a tent for me, another looted goodie from the hunting cultivator. In fact, he ¡®loaned¡¯ me the man''s entire storage ring and most of its contents for the duration of our partnership. The tent was pleasant, but everything else the man owned made me feel as though a hunting lodge had thrown up over it. One thing I wasn¡¯t going to complain about was the fur-lined camp bed. Bors grumbled about that, grousing about short men and tiny beds.

    Not that size alone was the issue. I suspected that with his huge body, he¡¯d collapse most beds, even if they were built to scale.

    For the first few days, our companionship was quiet, a distant silence as we got used to each other. That changed when I asked to borrow a bastard sword and shield to train. Bors was ecstatic to get in some fighting. He wasn¡¯t a great teacher, but I was focusing on relearning what I¡¯d forgotten.

    Part of his difficulty in explaining anything was that his martial skill was simply on a completely different level from mine. Even when limiting his strength, he could beat me hands down with one hand tied behind his back¡ªliterally. He was polite about my failings, but I could sense a little frustration. Bors lived to fight.

    He explained why it was going slowly after a particularly tough fight.

    ¡°You fight more like Gawain or Percy than me. You¡¯re fast and can attack quickly. You fight tricky too. You can use both hands for the sword, and that quick switch almost got me.¡±

    ¡°Alright, but why am I on the floor while you¡¯re untying the arm you didn¡¯t use?¡±

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s easy. I¡¯m used to fighting Gawain, who is faster than you, and Percy is even trickier. Both are Iron, too. Sorry to say, you¡¯ve got a ways to go before you can compare.¡±

    ¡°Any tips?¡±

    ¡°Keep doing what you¡¯re doing, and get to Iron rank.¡±

    With that sage wisdom ringing in my ears, we flipped our roles on their heads. I volunteered to give some lessons on control. Being stuck for so long meant control was one of the few things I could develop. Control was essential for techniques, like my smoke illusions. Techniques weren¡¯t often possible until high Bronze rank. They tended to require excessive amounts of glamour and a level of control that ranged from middling to excruciating heights I never reached.

    Techniques were a melody you could play, while control was your command of the instrument. I had one technique: my smoke illusions. And illusions required a song to make them work. So, my control had to match. Thankfully, it was low on glamour usage.

    Teaching Bors control, though, was stretching my self-control. He just bulled through everything like an avalanche. It was reflected in the techniques he could use, which had to be demonstrated a good distance away from the bridge. Destroying your own bridge is another big no-no in the Knight Errant community.

    The least destructive technique was something that turned everything within ten paces of him into splintered hexagons. While he ran through some exercises I suggested, I tried to work out how to help him. For that, I needed space.

    I hunted and foraged again while retrieving the Gale Hare''s corpse. Bors let me know there was a small bounty in the local town on them. The local government paid Cultivators to handle them, as they were such a disliked enemy that, without some coin, they¡¯d be ignored in favour of better prey.

    Our time continued. We shared stories. I was careful not to share so much as to fully out my identity¡ªnot that I thought Bors would share, but I didn¡¯t want him to accidentally say something that made its way to the wrong ears.

    In turn, I learned about the small group of knights he belonged to. There were four of them currently, and all of them were, according to Bors, at least as proficient as he was. Though he was happy to say he was physically the strongest. Their leader, Arty, was a true prodigy. If the man who trounced me without breaking a sweat considered himself a simple dabbler in the sword compared to the man, then I could believe it.

    The other two members were Percy and Gawain. Percy was their lifeline; she knew people and was somehow always able to keep the heat off the group. She sounded like some kind of confidence trickster from the way Bors told it.

    Gawain was a master trainer of beasts. He had a soul bond with a Whispering Kestrel, an impressive fae beast. It allowed them to communicate over longer distances and acted as a scout.

    All of them had run afoul of demonic cultivators. All had been less than impressed with the reaction of the Orders to the threat.

    The rest of the group was out hunting down a group of ¡®Inquisitors¡¯ who¡¯d been found putting entire towns to blade and flame to aid their foul rituals. It was within the borders of a local Order that Bors had annoyed previously, and so their response would be aimed at him rather than the rampaging murderers.

    We agreed that was the height of folly.

    I spent much of my time apart from Bors just thinking, playing my lute, and settling my mind. I passed it off as cultivation, but really, I was just trying to anchor the fact in my mind that I was actually free.

    It had taken years. I still half expected to wake up in chains back at the Harkley mansion. I woke up from nightmares, tangled in my bedding. I kept expecting tests or challenges.

    I caught him watching me carefully on a few occasions. He could no doubt sense the storm of emotions that raged within. Even if my mask was normally excellent, the change was so overwhelming. And that didn¡¯t even touch upon what happened after I escaped.

    I played the lute. My initial cover as a Bard had been based upon the gifts I¡¯d received, but I increasingly found I enjoyed the role. I¡¯d spent the last few years in an unending performance. It was more normal to act up to a role than it was to be myself, given that I wasn¡¯t overly sure who I was.

    I could be Regus¡¯s revenge, pursuing the Harkleys, hunting them down and vanquishing them. While there was an ember of fury that idea connected with, I knew that in a way seeking that out would just be saying they still had power over me. What I liked most about it was the idea I¡¯d gather power, ensuring none could put me back into that situation again.

    Stolen story; please report.

    If I wanted power, I could be a Knight, or maybe even seek out a Witch to teach me. Both of those options felt risky; I didn¡¯t want to find myself under another¡¯s power. The looming sense of the Lady was already enough pressure, though at least she was Fae. I could no more fight her than I could stop day turning to night.

    My confusion was probably why I didn¡¯t move on. Bors and his bridge were a safe place to be for the moment. He had no expectations of me beyond asking me to fetch meat. It helped that I felt comfortable in his company. It was clear he was a good person from how he treated the mortals we met.

    His bridge wasn¡¯t completely desolate. We met a few passing travellers. They were in small caravans or in dedicated wagons. They were hardy and suspicious people, none more so than cultivators who guarded them. They did, though, offer some entertainment.

    The cultivator guards would bluster when they saw Bors, and then shrivel like a man headed to the outhouse in the height of winter when they really saw Bors. They were but grains of sand before a mountain.

    None of the guards had yet fully realised their gift, their hearths not yet complete and ready to hold glamour. They could do a few tricks; they were slightly tougher and hit harder than any mortal should. That power was finite, though. They could get off maybe two or three punches before exhausting the little glamour they could hold.

    They were of little threat to me and of no threat to Bors. I could practically feel the disappointment radiating off him each time he realised they weren¡¯t worth a fight. He asked them for a simple toll, preferring goods like drinks, salts, or other simple things. Most had little; these were not the trade caravans. Those, we were told, would be starting up soon, as most were waiting until the snow melted.

    They never had any word of any cultivators coming along, which further frustrated Bors. Our sparring tended to get intense after such a visit.

    On the seventh day since I¡¯d met Bors, we were visited by a small caravan, and I was in no mood to spar with Bors afterwards. Seeking a distraction, I noticed this caravan had a few children on it, four boys and girls, none of them older than ten.

    As Bors exchanged pleasantries with the leaders of the group, the little ones chatted amongst themselves and kept pointing at my lute as they talked. I could hardly deny such an opportunity. Plus, Bors had just finished up with the adults and had that look in his eye that told me that sparring would start before this lot was out of earshot.

    I did not need to have them hear me getting knocked to the ground, so I sought to buy myself some time. I plucked a few strings, wondering what I should pick. It took but a few moments to settle on something fun, that would also be an expression of my hard-earned freedom.

    ¡°In a garden green and shady,

    Lived a girl named Lady Grady,

    She found a mushroom ring, oh so small,

    And took a step, she began to fall.¡±

    Thankfully, entering the Fae was not so easy. The music bounced, and I could see recognition on a couple of the children¡¯s faces. The parents smiled, though I saw one sour-faced old woman looking scandalised. There¡¯s always a critic. At least she wasn¡¯t giving me the Evil Eye over it.

    ¡°Oh, the glamour of the fae,

    Turning night into day,

    Trees with wings and stars that sing,

    Fairy lights and magic springs!¡±

    I belted out the chorus with gusto, the children clapping along. It was a nonsense song, though it did touch on how glamour came from their realm, a place warped and different from mortal lands. Despite it being a harmless tune for children, it had been banned in Harkley Manor and everywhere within the areas the Divine Cultivators ruled.

    ¡°The fae king laughed, his eyes aglow,

    ¡®Welcome, dear, to our magical show!¡¯

    Her humble house turned into gold,

    A talking chair, and bread that scold!¡±

    Because it was banned, I of course set out to learn it as soon as possible. The Divine Cultivators claimed glamour was a blessing from their many-faced god, a belief so fragile that even a children¡¯s song was enough to challenge it. I sang the chorus again, basking in the attention, revelling in the freedom to sing such nonsense. To my side, Bors was slapping the earth, adding a drum to keep the beat.

    I grinned, nodding in thanks to him. Perhaps the sparring wouldn¡¯t be so bad? I completed the chorus again and marvelled at the freedom I felt. It was like the dance on the shore of the lake. Even as I entertained, this performance was more for me than anyone else. It was not like the early days of my captivity when I tried to act like the cultivator they¡¯d wanted me to be. Nor was I the bookish and refined perfumier I¡¯d crafted to deflect their attention.

    ¡°A squirrel in a suit served tea on trays,

    With cookies that danced in peculiar ways,

    The clock struck twelve and chimed a tune,

    Flowers sprouted in the middle of the room!¡±

    My hearth was surging as I made music. This felt right¡ªright in a way that nothing before had. It didn¡¯t feel like when I sang to myself; this was different. It was the sense of making beauty and sharing it with others. It didn¡¯t matter that it was silly and a terrible depiction of the Fae. I had died to sing this nonsense. That knowledge infused my words as I belted through the chorus. The kids and even a couple of adults sang along to the words.

    ¡°Her garden bloomed with colours bright,

    With tulips that twirled and daisies in flight,

    The pond turned into liquid gold,

    Where fish told tales and secrets bold!¡±

    I found myself dancing around. A cultivator¡¯s body could move in ways a mortal¡¯s couldn¡¯t. I played the fool, capering about. None told me off for being ¡®improper,¡¯ no eyes watched me assessing my value like I was a prize flower waiting to be plucked.

    ¡°Lady Grady danced all night,

    With fairies in the pale moonlight,

    Her hair turned green, her nose a flute,

    Her toes grew flowers, oh so cute!¡±

    We were nearing the end, so I went all out. I pulled on a hint of my smoke glamour, manifesting a puff of grey ash right out of my nose. It took more glamour than I¡¯d like, but the laughter of the children as I danced about with a nose flute and flowers on my feet made it worth it. My teachers would¡¯ve spat blood at the ¡®waste.¡¯ I maintained the silly nose flute for the final chorus before the tune changed tone as we reached the outro.

    ¡°So beware the mushroom ring,

    The fae¡¯s enchantments they do bring,

    Your world will change in a whimsical way,

    When you step into the realm of the fae!¡±

    I punctuated the line with a backflip and then a bow. The children were immediately clamouring for more. More I wanted to give. This was freedom. I could feel the thousand different paths that lay before me converge into one.

    I had survived by playing a role. Now, I¡¯d live for the role I wanted to play. I was a Bard, and I¡¯d act as I damn well pleased.

 Chapter 11 - The Illuminated Text

    I followed the caravan for a while, playing a few more songs before we parted. The feeling of making music, of seeing them smile, made it so that I all but danced back to the camp. Bors was grinning. He didn¡¯t even ask me to spar. I offered anyway, which coaxed an even wider smile from the man.

    This was a simple sparring session, lacking the underlying current of frustration our other bouts had held. The man felt distracted, pensive almost, not something I¡¯d come to expect from the blunt Knight.

    ¡°A penny for your thoughts, Bors, you seem not yourself,¡± I asked as we sat down to cook for the evening. The caravan had traded some beef with us, which was a welcome change from our gamey fare.

    ¡°I envy you, Taliesin, for having something you enjoy outside of battle.¡± The man sat, pulling up the earth beneath him to form a chair. ¡°I am here because I tend to find trouble. When I grow bored, I seek a fight to entertain myself. When I¡¯m angry, I fight to let off steam; when I¡¯m sad, I fight to lift my spirits. I wish I had something else that so occupied me, something I could embrace as you do your music.¡±

    ¡°Are there no hobbies, crafts, or pursuits you enjoy?¡± I asked the big man. He was hardly alone among cultivators, many being focused solely on fighting and improving themselves through fighting. If anything, I was the odd one for being so diverse in my attentions.

    ¡°I have to be stronger. I feel like doing something that doesn¡¯t make me stronger is akin to retreating. So, no, I have nothing else. Well, I used to have my fellow Knights but¡ª¡± he gestured around him at the lack of companions and then his shoulders slumped.

    ¡°I am in a different situation. I am not sure what I want. Well, that¡¯s not true. I know I wish to make music, but that is an action, not the end goal.¡±

    ¡°Do you not have something you¡¯re aiming for? Do you not wish to master the Fae courts? I thought you didn¡¯t like Divine Cultivators? Do you not aim to challenge them?¡± Bors seemed shocked that I lacked a clear goal. It wasn¡¯t an unfair assumption to think I had some guiding principle. Cultivation was strengthened by purpose. Concepts, the defining power of Iron Rank, all but demanded something that reflected your underlying ambition.

    My only real ambition had been to escape. Now I was out, I wanted to live for myself, to play music. I had a goal to see my darling Sephie again, the one person I¡¯d actually liked during my incarceration. That was a long-term plan. In our last set of coded messages, she¡¯d all but warned me she was going to be going into hiding for some time. Considering she was as adept as I at sneaking under the noses of the powerful, it meant that it might be years till I found her.

    ¡°I¡¯m still working out what I want. I know what I¡¯ll do. I will happily take down any Divine Cultivator I can, and I will sing and dance. Do I want to commit everything to hunt down my enemy? No. Equally, do I want to be the most celebrated bard in all the land? No. I wish to be me. To be Taliesin. If I don¡¯t take time to be myself, how can I hope to even work out what I want?¡± I mused that as we prepped dinner. I was good at tending the fire; I didn¡¯t permit the smoke to smother me.

    ¡°That¡¯s helpful. Do you reckon that¡¯s why I¡¯ve been stuck here? To work out who I am?¡±

    ¡°I mean, I can¡¯t tell you that for certain, but that sounds like something the Knights I knew might pull.¡± I was often irked by my instructors, who always seemed to delight in finding the most roundabout methods to achieve the simplest of things.

    If you want me to think about myself, just tell me. Don¡¯t give me something mind-numbing to do and expect me not to spend the time thinking about alchemy or something else worthwhile.

    ¡°Hm, something for me.¡± Bors remained quiet for the rest of the meal. After dinner, he settled down and pulled out something I¡¯d not seen before. It was an Illuminated Text. From the amount of gold and work that had gone into it, I could sense it was a manual of rare power, holding some technique that would be the pride of any Order who found it.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    His brows were knitted, and I could see his lips moving along with the words. Bors often played the oaf, but he was smarter than he pretended to be. He also held up a chunk of rock in his other hand and kept turning to stare at it.

    ¡°Anything I can help with?¡±

    ¡°Depends. Do you know what ¡®prithee and thus one must avail thyself of humour of the striations and earthly histories most sublime¡¯ means? Because it sounds like a load of bollocks to me.¡±

    ¡°Ah, you don¡¯t know the rule?¡±

    ¡°What rule?¡±

    ¡°Almost anyone who commissions an Illuminated Text also has to find the most complicated way to say anything. It¡¯s like part of the job.¡±

    ¡°So, I¡¯m not going crazy? I thought for a moment I was actually as dumb as people say.¡± He pinched the bridge of his nose, the scowl I¡¯d come to know as a sign he was struggling with the events that led to his temporary exile.

    "Look, can I help? I know all that stuff about texts, but I swear on my honour I''m not an earth cultivator."

    "No offence, I don''t need an oath to know you''re not an earth cultivator." He flopped back and passed the book over.

    "How so?" I took a moment to appreciate the beautiful binding. The outer cover was in polished silver, detailed with gold, and the face was set with slices of crystals. Their strange formations reminded me of the rings of a tree.

    "Your dance earlier is one example; you''re like a leaf on the wind. If I didn''t know you were smoke and ash, I''d assume you were wind. I am stone; I am immovable until I become unstoppable." The last part felt like a mantra, and even just him saying it made the glamour in the crystals hum.

    "Small word of advice¡ªyou may want to avoid so casually sharing your intent with others." That was what took you to Iron. You had to understand your gifts; it often formed a sentence or concept about stating who you were, and what your power was. It was also meant to be something you only shared with your closest allies.

    "Well, my night is just going fantastic. First, I can barely read the technique I''m meant to know by the time they get back. Now, I''m sharing my inner truths. Also, don''t worry, that wasn''t the whole thing, but don''t spread it around." With each word his scowl was only intensifying.

    "Let me help. I''m a pretty trustworthy guy, you know. Besides, I''m good with this kind of writing; this is a bardic way of thinking." I got a grunt back.

    The manual was thick, with some illustrations of movements, but the actual amount of text was limited. Reading it over the first time made me question if the author wanted anyone to ever actually learn it. The second read-through went a bit easier. The technique seemed to have something to do with firing bits of rock.

    I had been a right bookworm before now, so I felt I could unjumble some of the terms. I was no earth cultivator, so even what I did glean from it was confusing. It was only some alchemical knowledge and natural philosophy about crystals that allowed me to piece together anything.

    Crystals? I shut the book and stared at the cover, the slices of crystal catching the light. Fiddling with the cover, I found to my surprise that the circular crystals came out, akin to a stained glass mural. I held it up to the firelight.

    I had some ideas as to what it was trying to say, but just dumping them on my companion would only undermine him further. I needed to give him the tools to find the answer himself. I nudged his foot to get his attention.

    "Two things. First, striations mean the layers in the rock. There are some who believe these are formed over great periods of time, layer upon layer." At those words, Bors exploded upwards, fury written over his face. He picked up the rock from earlier and hurled it into the woods.

    I heard a tree collapse as he stomped away from me. I curled in on myself, worrying I¡¯d said something to offend. A roar of frustration followed, and Bors stamped back.

    "That mouldy old coot! I know all about the layering thing, it¡¯s what happens in rock, no doubt. Striation is a ten-gold word for a copper concept. I thought it was something special and mystical. Stupid bloody word for it. My master just called it ''layers.'' Weeks I''ve been at this."

    "Other thing¡ªthis pops out, and doesn''t the fire look pretty through it." I offered him the crystal pane.

    "Thanks, Taliesin. This really helps." He sat back, still huffing his frustration, and began to examine the pane. "Why¡¯d he have to make it a puzzle? We''re both earth cultivators¡ªthis isn''t how we think."

    "Maybe he was trying to get you to think differently."

    "I hate that you''re probably right. I should''ve started hanging around bards earlier. Arty and Gan were all about meditating on the inner meaning¡ªno bloody use if the words don''t make sense."

    "Oh, you don''t know the half of it. Striations are not the worst. Want to guess what percolation means?" A moment of mute silence. "It means to be filtered."

    "What utter bastard thought that one up?" Bors was back in good cheer. We spent a companionable evening exploring the daftest words I could scrounge up, while he kept looking through the crystals, and I could sense little bursts of earth glamour and some other form of glamour I didn''t recognise from him.

 Chapter 12 - Positioning is not retreating

    The next morning began with control exercises for Bors and combat exercises for me. The control exercises were at his request. He might not have much in the way of techniques but he could still shape the earth around him with the raw power of his glamour.

    So began a combat where the ground was my foe. Bors struggled at first, in part so as not to destroy me. His smallest attacks were the size of barrels. His other struggle was even when we were playing what was essentially cultivator tag and he refused to move. This was a problem as my goal today was to practice my Levity techniques.

    Training the last few days had shown me there was a lot to be said for cavorting, rolling and otherwise bouncing around a battlefield. Not only was it unlike how most Knights fought, being similar to Witch combat styles, but it leant well into my Levity techniques. Levity was the broad name for the glamour technique that all cultivators could access and was responsible for the extreme speeds they moved.

    Levity techniques were a trick mostly honed at high Bronze. They had a common base, where glamour ''lifted'' the body and helped it move. It was how higher-level cultivators could manage to fly. The actual execution and mental images which made Levity work though were developed by the cultivator.

    My Levity consisted of two images, the first focused on visualising whisps of smoke dancing around, dodging attempts to swat them, rising and falling as ash. I was but a coating of ash waiting to be sent whirling, a being made only of grey infinitesimally small feathers ready to be sent whirling at a moment¡¯s notice.

    The other half was something I recalled being genuinely impressed by my captors for pushing on me. They took as many of us as they could to see a volcano explode in the balmy south, at the edge of the Thousand City Sea. I was an afterthought, of course, this being a last-ditch attempt to get me to break through. It was a rare fond memory.

    It was there I watched a curtain of ash demolish a town. Burying it and burning it in seconds.

    It was at that moment my Levity technique came to me. Ash was levity personified, till it wasn''t. There it had been a dense wall, each piece of ash trapped by the other. It was like a sandstorm compressed and baked in a volcano.

    I''d had a mini-break through there and then, which had been terrifying. I''d come dangerously close to breaking through to bronze.

    I had been refining the image in my head for the last year, only able to use it for a few seconds at most before consuming weeks of cultivation. Now? I could use it for minutes and refilling my glamour took only a few hours.

    I was still shocked to be actually cultivating! My bellows breath method was shockingly efficient, it¡¯d been the work of the unseelie to learn. I¡¯d originally learned of it because it allowed one to suck up huge amounts of glamour in a sharp burst, even if only a shred of that got through it still was something. It was perfect for my ruined pathways.

    Following the huge inhalation, the method required you to squeeze the bellows, pushing the glamour across your hearth in a controlled stream. That had always been for me a sharp press, I got so little glamour in each breath that I just slammed the bellows closed and then began the next breath.

    Just learning the bellows breath was considered hard, modifying it as I had done was madness. But it was that or be stuck without glamour. Now that work was paying a dividend I never anticipated. I was gathering glamour at a pace that was far beyond the norm. I cursed that we didn''t have any runic tools. I didn''t know much rune work but I did know the basics of glamour focusing spells.

    All that said, what it meant for our practice was it was as laughably one-sided as the earlier duels with weapons had been. Even if I stopped myself from just soaring over the battlefield I could get within reach of Bors in a span of seconds.

    We paused after the third match, and as I opened my mouth Bors held up a hand. The giant was looking frustrated. The marble patterns were creeping up the dark tan stone that his skin had been transfigured into, rivers of pale lines creeping up his neck like a blush.

    ¡°Look you heard it last night, I''m Immovable until I''m unstoppable. I don''t really do running away.¡±

    ¡°But you do positioning in battle? You''re always on about my positioning needing work.¡±

    ¡°That''s different though. It''s retreating. Look when you get an Intent you''ll understand it rewards you for some actions and restricts others. It''s like the fae can''t act against their nature.¡±

    ¡°Alright, and this restriction is because of how it feels to you right?" He nodded.

    I pondered how to help my friend. Words weren''t enough, Bors was a very visual thinker, "Grab a staff."

    Bors grinned, that''s why I like Bors. He didn''t debate that I was trying to help. He didn''t ask why he just went along with it. With a flick and a burst of glamour, the warhammer with its massive head was back in his storage ring. A moment later he held a staff

    I couldn''t help but feel intimidated as he did some test manoeuvres, armed with polearm the Knight''s reach was truly extraordinary. Compared to the hammer it was clumsy in his hands though. Which worked well for my plan. I undid the silk binding from my hair.

    "Right, I''m tying this bit of silk around this end. I''m going to attack you, I''m going to try and touch you, you have to hit me with the silk to score a point. Hitting me with the staff, or your body earns you nothing. Equally, I only score a point if I touch you, not the staff. I''m only going to use Levity and you''re only using that staff. Oh and don''t just beat me into the ground with it and tap me with the silk that won''t count." He frowned, he was thinking. I didn''t want that.

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    "Isn''t this..." His half-form question was silenced as I pushed glamour through me. Pushing off from the ground, I came in low rushing at his legs. He thrust the staff in my way. He still had it grasped in the middle, to allow for maximum control. I rapped his knuckles.

    "Point Taliesin." I was already out of his reach as the silk end came scything after me. He would''ve caught me if he was using a different grip.

    "You didn''t say go." He yelled but didn''t stop. Recognizing how much faster I was, he shifted the grip to one like he was holding a spear to maximise his ability to deny me.

    I went on the offensive again, ducking and weaving towards him. My technique meant my body of ash floated with me, I thanked my body refinement, I was moving so rapidly that my old reflexes and senses would''ve been overwhelmed. It gave me the confidence to attempt my next move.

    Bors might be able to move that spear point very quickly, the tiniest shift in his hands causing it to swing into my path. But he was too used to his hammer. To his overwhelming power.

    The staff tracked me, and Bors struck. The silk tip heading straight for my chest. And I just batted it away. My leverage and speed outstripped even Bors'' immense strength.

    I rushed down the spear and vaulted over him, using his head as a stepping stone. "Another point to Taliesin."

    "Damnation!" Bors spun and charged. His grip shifted again, a balance to keep more control. I had to focus on avoiding the frenzy of attacks that followed me. I was able to dodge or deflect them all. And I found a third way to avoid them that annoyed Bors to no end.

    "Stay still will you!" Bors roared as he caught me with the side of the staff and I floated with the blow. My Levity left me as substantial as a whisp of smoke. It didn''t win him a point, but did nudge my course enough that I could clip his shoulder.

    "One more point and I win!" I called. I''d been watching Bors'' footwork this whole time and felt we were near something.

    "Faeries take you, Bard." He replied. He took a stance preparing for an attack when I made my move. Running up I darted close, his staff moved to block and there almost imperceptible his foot shifted back at a touch to give the staff the space to block me.

    I harried him, I was the fox before the bear. I was underfoot always out of the way of the clumsy paws. Then this little play came to its climax. Bors was blocking me, but he couldn''t score the point. As I took a step back to avoid a sweep of the butt of the weapon, he took a full step back to get the silk at just the right spacing to hit me. The blow launched me across our arena.

    "POINT BORS! Oh shit." His bellow of triumph was interrupted as I struggled to escape the nest of broken branches I''d carved for myself out of an innocent tree.

    "All is forgiven if you tell me what you just did to get that strike on me?"

    "You mean the step? That''s just positioning."

    "I take it back I don''t forgive you, I have branches in places that would make you blush, and the best you can do is ''just positioning''. You moved backwards to attack." Working my way free and dropped to the ground, Levity slowed my fall.

    "I, wait. Hmmm." Bors stroked his chin, the clink of his skin on skin sounding glassy. Matching the glassy smoothness of his jaw, I''d never seen so much as a dot of stubble upon it, but then again who''d heard of stubbly marble?

    ¡°Look think of your glamour control attacks as the spear, you wouldn''t want me within your reach, right?¡±

    He nodded and held up a hand for a pause, clearly thinking something through. ¡°Let''s go again. Not the spear, techniques¡±

    Bors leaned into the learning, I could sense the earth''s glamour working, redefining the way the earth worked around his feet. I ran closer, dodging boulders and short walls of stone that sought to trip me. Still, I closed the distance. As I got a few sword lengths from him, one foot pushed out and his whole body skated left.

    Earth Stride, an iconic earth cultivator technique, and not one I''d ever seen him use before. It totally redefined our battle. Bors moved serenely around the battlefield, as I dashed to chase him. Something about using the technique refined his attacks. No longer was it entire boulders but blunt spires of stone, the walls were thinner but rose higher and quicker.

    We both wore grins, the battle was finally even, and I kept getting close, but he was always able to skate away, somehow using his retreat to fuel his attacks.

    The round stopped when I took a rock spire to the codpiece. Bors came over laughing and helped me up off the floor where I''d been lying wheezing. I had to thank my glamour-reinforced clothes for saving me from the life of a eunuch.

    ¡°I''m sorry my friend, that was a harsh blow, especially for one who has inspired me so. To think I''ve only ever used that to get up close and personal! What a waste!¡± Bors was grinning like a fool, and I would be sure to join him once I felt certain I could keep down breakfast.

    Being called a friend made it all worth it. Maybe.

    ¡°It''s incredible, I''d always felt my unstoppable nature came during an attack, but the idea of just being on the move, like a landslide gaining momentum! I have so many ideas. If I master this I can even keep up with Fen.¡± Fen was the name of his steed, and even mortally bruised as I was I couldn''t help but notice that Bors implied he was running after his mount.

    "Is it normal for you to run alongside your steed?"

    "Oh, don''t worry about it." I saw lines of marbling spread up his neck and even to his cheeks. A flush of embarrassment! I decided to probe further.

    ¡°I still find it odd I''ve never seen your steed.¡±

    ¡°Look he''s my bonded spirit, kind of an accident really. We don''t really work well together, not least because¡­Well, you''ll see I''m sure.¡± He waved it off. ¡°Look let''s do another round.¡±

    ¡°My plums are bruised, I don''t want them mashed thank you.¡± I waved him off, cycling energy through my hearth to help the healing along. I really needed to get my hands on some alchemy gear. A brew would be a great aid right about now.

    As I sat resting and cultivating I had a little time to reflect. My levity was coming along nicely. I still had more to think about and there was my death gift which I''d not touched. I knew I needed to understand it better. I mean right now I could feel it thrumming in my hearth. Why was it doing that?

    I felt my smoke gift twitching. I caught the whiff of glamour on the wind, if I was honest it had been there for some time but we''d been too busy. My head jerked to look down the road. The sense built and with it so did my confidence in what I was sensing. Smoke and Death carried on the wind.

    ¡°Bors, there''s smoke, oily smoke, something down the road.¡± I was expecting questions, but Bors''s face went serious at once. He grabbed the rest of his gear and gone was the laughing earth cultivator, now there stood a Knight arming himself.

    ¡°You stay here. I''ll check it out.¡±

 Chapter 13 - You can call me Pell

    Maeve paced outside the office. She could burst in, her grandmother wouldn''t begrudge her, but she wasn''t about to act spoilt. She was one of the few people the old monster would tolerate such an interruption from, and the more she leant on that the more she would feed into the idea she was the ¡®favourite¡¯.

    Peggy sat on her shoulder, watching her, so of course she knew she was waiting out there. She''d know Maeve was here even without the raven, at Mithril her senses could probably track every person in the keep. The raven was her way of signposting she was aware.

    She''d awoken from her breakthrough in a washroom. Still in her outfit from the wedding night. If the dress hadn''t been ruined before it was now. Black ooze soaked out of her, and a bucket of water and her new armour and fresh clothes awaited.

    The sludge had been grim. While she''d stayed mostly free of impurities she like any cultivator picked them up just by living.

    At Iron level she was now a Knight, having moved beyond the Squire of Bronze. The armour that waited for her was resplendent, shining full plate in Albion style, meaning it covered more than most and was split into many parts. Probably the spoils of the battle. While it was mostly unadorned, she noticed her pauldrons were etched with Ravens. A subtle pattern of feathers spread over the rest of it.

    Was it meant to be a gift or had someone done this in the time she was breaking through?

    She''d found food as well and a missive that her grandmother was out doling out some justice, and she was to remain within the keep. Spend the time solidifying her cultivation till she returned.

    She''d found her Governess waiting for her. Together they helped her get on her new armour while she got caught up. Maeve was limited to just one gift, the gift of blades, it was stronger than anyone else''s and she rarely felt she lacked the flexibility that having two gifts would''ve allowed her. Putting on new armour she felt the restrictions keenly. After the first time, a storage ring could handle it, but it had to be placed properly at least once.

    Madame Rensleigh was back to her hawk-like self. Explaining the breakthrough had taken five days, an astonishingly long time. It was a reflection of her struggle to push through it. She''d been stuck there for five years. She''d reached peak bronze at thirteen, once-in-a-generation levels of growth. Then sat at the bottleneck waiting.

    The Twins had been sent home, and stripped of their cultivation privileges until they could prove they could move up without being spoon-fed by the family. Their teachers changed and the plan was to put them through the wringer. There was also going to be a heavy review of the family practices in guiding the younger generations. Grandmother had not been happy.

    On a larger scale, the wedding massacre was the first beat on the drums of war. The Divine Cultivators were up in arms, while the true cultivators of Euross found themselves keenly aware of just how deeply they''d allowed this creeping corruption to spread. There were said to be small skirmishes going on throughout the many kingdoms.

    The armies were slowly forming up. Preparing for battles on a scale not seen in centuries.

    Over the next two days, Maeve solidified her new rank. The rise to Iron had turned the glamour in her Hearth into a liquid. A drop of perpetually burning oil sat within her core, a haze of misty glamour surrounding it. It gave her far more raw power to work with, and her body was drinking that in.

    At Bronze things like her muscles and bones were at peak for a human. Not peak for an average human, it was like every part of her had been copied from the best mortal out there. Like the muscles of the Land of Woads warriors, the eyes of the sailors of the Thousand City Sea and the bones of the herders of the Flower and Flood lands. If she cycled glamour she could push those to heights no mortal could touch.

    Now the levels achievable when she''d fed herself glamour were just there. She''d heard the people who refined before the jump into Bronze felt something similar.

    That though had got her back to thinking about the Son of Andross. His ability to outpace her, even if she''d have eventually run him down showed he''d done just that. Refining his body before ranking up. She had complicated feelings about her former betrothed. One thing though that felt wrong was that he was just lying out there in the woods somewhere, in a pool of blood. It was an image that haunted her dreams the first night.

    She''d asked to go out and look for the body but had been shot down harshly by Madame Rensliegh. Any corpse would be long gone. She was also commanded to remain and wait so the discussion was out of her hands.

    That is what led Maeve to this moment standing before her Grandmother''s study. Getting steadily more frustrated with the situation. It surely wasn''t such an imposition to let her out with some people to look for a lone body? They were deep in their territory after all. She paced, she could feel the numerous knives she had strapped to her humming, their glamour had an impatient edge she batted away thanks to her new intent.

    The door opened with a flick of glamour, a voice booming out. ¡°Enter.¡±

    Maeve stepped in to find her grandmother in her relaxed outfit, a long tunic that befitted the head of the house, it was black with an iridescence that matched the ravens she so loved.

    ¡°Thank you for being patient Mads.¡±

    ¡°Gran, I thought I asked you not to call me Mads?¡±

    ¡°You''d tell me what do you, whippersnapper?¡±

    ¡°If not me then who else?¡±

    ¡°Ah, trying to usurp Peggy are we?¡± She grinned as the bird croaked. ¡°Now tell me how did it go? Quite the dramatic breakthrough, I always knew you could do it!¡±

    ¡°It went well, I''m now a Knight, and my cultivation hasn''t suffered. I''m looking forward to refining it moving forward.¡± Maeve felt the smile and bubble of pleasure as she said it.

    ¡°Will you indulge this old lady with your Intent?¡±

    ¡°A blade in the right place at the right time will strike success.¡± As she said it out loud she felt that drop of liquid glamour quiver and dance. Her knives shivered in their sheaves. Her gran sat back muling the words over.

    ¡°Well that''s a genuine surprise, don''t get many of them at my age. I''d say it doesn''t fit you, given how impatient you''ve always been and how stubbornly you''ve stuck to your own path. Still, your current success shows it''s a perfect fit.¡±

    ¡°I think it''s something I''ve been learning slowly, and then understanding all at once.¡±

    ¡°I''ll say that was a masterstroke against the Twins, I was scared for a moment that you were about to cover for them again.¡±

    ¡°It was the right time.¡± Maeve had locked in that thought. She could¡¯ve and should¡¯ve taken action before. But those were mistakes her past self had made. To live up to her Intent, she had to judge her actions at the time and place she was at now. Now look to the missed opportunities of the past.

    ¡°It''s a good intent, blades, timing, positioning, striking, success. All are good elements to take forward.¡± The matriarch was about to say something else before she looked off in the distance and then cursed.

    ¡°Of course, this is when they turn up. Mads we¡¯re about to have a guest. Only tell the truth to him or remain silent, I¡¯m expecting this to touch upon your reasons for being here as well.¡± Maeve could see the change from ¡®Gran¡¯ to Grandmother Chox, the matriarch of one of the great Houses of Renown. She had just enough time to wonder who would be forcing themselves on a Mithril-level cultivator before the doors burst open.

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    Framed in the doorway was a man Maeve only knew by reputation. Pellinore Artoss, the Shadow Lion. It was that or some other Mithril cultivator decked out in Artoss black and silver, with hair like the void had kicked in the door. Unlikely, as Pellinore was now the sole bearer of this appearance, having killed his father recently to take control of the house.

    The Artoss were allies in theory. Pellinore had taken his father''s dithering with the ¡®divine cultivators¡¯ poorly and slain him when the elder Artoss had refused to commit to action. According to her grandmother, Pellinore was only a ¡®theoretical ally¡¯, their goals aligned but he couldn¡¯t be trusted to work as part of the team. Such as when he¡¯d been outright hostile to the Chox for ¡®bedding the enemy¡¯ ignoring suggestions to shut up and let the house get on with setting up their trap.

    ¡°Matriarch Chox.¡± The man reminded Maeve of a former betrothed, the kinship clear in the sharp lines of the face. Pellinore wore a younger man¡¯s face, mid-twenties or so. That was out of step with the few other Mithril Cultivators who preferred at least another half a decade minimum. The face and body that accompanied it were all extremely handsome, but in a detached way, like someone had commissioned an artist to carve the most ¡®handsome¡¯ person they could. It lacked identity beyond its appeal.

    The arrival came with a roll of glamour that she assumed was meant to make a statement. One that was cut off at the knees when her grandmother¡¯s glamour brushed it away like a fart on the wind. With that, some of the man¡¯s bluster faltered.

    ¡°Patriarch Artoss. You do not have an appointment. I assure you you did not have to rush to tend your apologies for your insults to our house?.¡± Her grandmother didn¡¯t get up and pointed him to a seat next to her desk.

    ¡°I need no appointment, nor aim to tend any apologies. You have killed one of my kin. I would request answers.¡± The man didn¡¯t sit but did tend his words more carefully.

    ¡°We did no such thing.¡±

    ¡°Regus Harkley was the son of Gwendolyn Artoss. I had been clear that I was looking to reclaim all of my family who¡¯d been auctioned off like chattel from these bastards.¡± The man looked genuinely irate as he spoke, even safe from his glamour she could sense it, like distant thunder.

    ¡°I still fail to see where we killed him?¡± Her grandmother was watching him with an expression Maeve knew well. It was the same she wore when shepherding around the most junior members of the Chox lineage. Her grandmother was surprisingly good with toddlers.

    ¡°I assume this is Maeve, who was betrothed to him? I expect she¡¯s here to say she did not kill him. That all is forgiven it was this thrice-damned curse?¡±

    ¡°This is my granddaughter Maeve. Maeve this is Pellinore Artoss, Patriarch of their house. Would you please confirm what the man said?¡± Her grandmother¡¯s words were almost lazy. Maeve schooled herself to speak, trying to remember the protocol for meeting another family head as someone of her level, but was cut off before she could.

    ¡°I don¡¯t need to hear some child speak. You killed my kin when you dragged him into this. I will not ignore your success, but I made myself very clear in my edict. There are more I have to rescue, and this will not help my actions. There must be some kind of recompense.¡±

    ¡°So here¡¯s the fundamental problem with your request. The Son of Gwendolyn Artoss is alive.¡± Maeve felt her head snap to her grandmother, who had the broad smile of a cat who¡¯d got into the cream. A face of genuine satisfaction. She had to choke down the questions lest she forget even more of the proper decorum.

    ¡°Seriously?¡± Pellinore¡¯s voice switched no longer booming with distant thunder. Her grandmother just nodded.

    ¡°Ah, faeries dance on me this day.¡± Pellinore stomped over to the chair and sat down. ¡°I take it, that from your grin that it¡¯s something that is going to make me look like even more of a fool than I did up till now?¡±

    ¡°You do play the fool well. Maeve please take a seat as well. This is Pellinore, he is someone I actually enjoy the company of.¡±

    ¡°Only because you can get me chasing my own tail at a moment''s notice you old monster. So how was my descendant? Frothing with that Harkley nonsense, I assume?¡± Pellinore materialised a full glass of whiskey before him.

    ¡°I well, patriarch Pellinore, I¡­¡± Maeve felt like she¡¯d just been hit by a lance at full tilt. Unseated and confused she fumbled for the words. Her grandmother cackled, coming back to being ¡®gran¡¯.

    ¡°Relax, think of him like Eyeball.¡± She now also had a whiskey and offered one to Maeve who refused. She didn''t need to be drunk around two Mithril-level cultivators.

    ¡°That is both a great offence and a significant compliment. If it helps you can call me Pell.¡± The patriarch offered, adding to the insanity of the situation.

    ¡°In that case Pell.¡± She only stuttered a bit over the name. ¡°Can I answer you when Gran tells me what she means by he¡¯s not dead? When I last saw him he was bleeding from the eyes.¡±

    ¡°Ah, I was looking to put off my embarrassment a moment longer. Do tell Morgan.¡± The man sipped his drink calmly, as Maeve blinked at the rare use of my grandmother''s name, which only compounded her confusion as to his relaxed nature. She had to invite you to use that name.

    ¡°Well two things first, he had a way out of the curse. Unique to him, but something that gives us hope for a way around it.¡±

    ¡°He survived it? Damn, and here I thought he would be just another demonic toady. That means he¡¯s alive, and yet not here?¡±

    ¡°I had Peggy checking in on my granddaughter, she followed him, it rare we get to witness the blood curse. When she saw his survival she was going to extract him but was forced away. See during the festivities, my granddaughter here fell in a lake. Artoss junior helped her and apparently caught something¡¯s attention.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean Gran?¡± Maeve''s brow knitted, there was no fae in the water that her grandmother, or even Peggy couldn¡¯t handle. Pellinore let out a barking laugh.

    ¡°The Lady got him? Did she take an interest in the kid? Why?¡± Maeve¡¯s eyes grew wide as the immensity of what was being said settled in on her. The Lady of the Lake was the face of fae power in Euross. The seasonal courts didn''t impact life much, they had representatives sure, but their focus was on their work with the seasons. The Lady was the voice of the Fae who lived in Euross itself. What had she gotten involved with?

    ¡°I think it¡¯s time Maeve informs you just what your long-lost member of your family has been up to.¡± Maeve cursed as their attention came back to her. She should''ve known her grandmother was going to push this onto her.

    It took an hour of questions, and explanations to get through it all. His cryptic words and satisfaction with death cast their conversation in new light. She still wanted to pick up on the miraculous survival of the curse, but her grandmother had shut both her and Pellinore down on that front. The crystal was also a topic of debate, and Pellinore was just as intrigued by it as she was.

    Pellinore left after agreeing to launch an investigation. The story was he''d been fobbed off with promises that the boy was alive. The investigation wasn''t just politics, he¡¯d been all but obsessed with hearing about his kin.

    He¡¯d laughed so hard that Maeve had to restrict his glamour again lest his raw emotions hurt Maeve when she revealed that he wasn¡¯t even Regus¡¯s son. They all agreed there was little to do right now though about someone claimed by the Lady. He might be dead, might be lost to time, reappearing in centuries, or somewhere halfway across the known world. In the silence that followed the Patriarch''s absence, Maeve had been left with only questions and even her grandmother couldn¡¯t answer them.

    To distract herself she focused on trying to understand the other conundrum. Pellinore. ¡°What was all that about? With the Patriarch.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s our idiot.¡± She grinned madly, swigging more whiskey.

    ¡°Pardon?¡±

    ¡°I gave him what he needed to kill his dad, I agreed to treaties to not attack him while he built up the power to stand equal to his rivals. Part of the deal is I have him running around, a brash unpredictable hothead who keeps muddying the waters and keeping everyone on their toes.¡±

    ¡°But who is entirely in your pocket.¡± Maeve nodded.

    ¡°It¡¯s not a new strategy, but he¡¯s so good at playing the role that bastards seem to believe it hook line and sinker. That''s why he barged in, had to look good and pissed. When he realised I wasn''t acting up my part he took the mask off. It requires finesse, but the whole family are like that, there¡¯s been a string of ¡®disobedient commanders¡¯ who ¡®ignore¡¯ his orders and do something that helps us out. All of who make it look like genuine conflict.¡±

    ¡°And him coming here incredibly rudely just reaffirmed his image.¡±

    ¡°And mine of being incredibly patient with total morons. A useful attribute as I step up to assume the role of moderate and noble leader of the anti-divine faction. I want them saying ''If Morgan Chox can put up with Pellinore I can put my grudges on hold too.''¡± Her grandmother grinned. Maeve knew there were probably a hundred reasons beyond what she shared, but even lacking that context it was still an impressive bit of statecraft.

    ¡°So he is an ally then?¡±

    ¡°Yes, but one that we can¡¯t treat like one. It''s safest if we act independently. That¡¯s why I need you to go quietly look for your wayward paramour in our territories.¡± Maeve choked, regretting accepting a glass of whiskey from her grandmother.

    ¡°But the Lady.¡±

    ¡°The Lady is not unknowable, not if you¡¯ve had centuries to watch her as I have. He¡¯ll be about somewhere. She is not a fan of the ¡®Divine Cultivators¡¯, and likes ¡®poetic justice¡¯ so will use him as a weapon against them. There¡¯s also nothing she seems to enjoy more than turning a single drop into a tidal wave. Elevating an unknown cultivator to something that can help bring them down is totally her style.¡±

    ¡°This is stepping into destiny though? Is it not, didn¡¯t you tell me to avoid getting involved in the fae.¡±

    ¡°Until you were Steel yes. But like it or not you¡¯re already part of this story. Better to take action than find yourself swept along in destiny¡¯s wake. Now let¡¯s talk strategy.¡±

 Chapter 14 - Mystery of the Mist Lynx

    Bors returned three hours later. At that time a storm had blown in. It had been rumbling distant all day and it consumed the entire sky. The rain had been hammering for the last hour and I''d tacked down my tent. The storms on Euross could hold a lot of glamour, and this one was heavy with it.

    Unphased by the water and wind the Knight Errant glided along the ground his stance perfectly still like a statue sliding over ice. With him were a group of mortals, a merchant caravan of sorts. It looked like it''d seen a rough time. Of the eight carts, four showed signs of damage, scorched or with arrows still sticking out of them.

    He waved me over as the caravan approached. As I walked over he took a look at the chaotic maze that was our training ground, he stamped his foot and the whole place flattened out like wrinkles from a flicked tablecloth. He pointed to the space and the caravaners headed over to it. It looked like we were to have guests.

    ¡°Squire Taliesin, I require your aid.¡± His voice boomed over the wind, I winced at the label, it was in the terms of cultivators technically correct but it felt itchy. I was not part of that tradition. I looked him over, his armour of maille and a few pieces of plate had a few gouges in it, making me think more of claws than cultivators.

    ¡°Of course Sir Bors.¡± I walked over to meet him out of earshot of the caravaneers, who could probably barely hear us over the wind anyway. The mortals all looked like they''d taken a trip through the Unseelie.

    ¡°I need guidance. Something weird is going on. They were attacked by brigands, some were cultivators, killed a couple of their guards. They were bartering passage when I arrived.¡±

    ¡°Decent?¡±

    ¡°No utter trash went through em like butter. The issue was the brigands had caught the attention of a Mist Lynx. Bastard came at me while I was distracted keeping the mortals alive. The issue is I know from Gawain''s constant rambling on fae beasts that Mist Lynx are not native to these parts. Coincidence possibly, but it¡¯s also basically a perfect counter to my skill set, they¡¯re difficult to affect with earth glamour or weapons.¡±

    ¡°You suspect foul play?¡±

    ¡°I don''t know. I mean it could just be some real bad luck. Look, I''m not good at this, I don''t want to go round suspecting everyone, nor can I let my guard down now.¡±

    ¡°If it was foul play, it would make sense it would¡¯ve been released from the north, and they expected it to run into you on the way. Then it found this lot, fae beasts don''t often fuss about mortals. So it was just their bad luck the brigands were about. You make enemies that way?¡±

    ¡°Hmm, that hunter I killed was from that way.¡±

    ¡°You mean the man whose clothes I''m wearing, who also had a load of kit to capture fae beasts alive?¡±

    ¡°That''s the one!¡± He only seemed to process the first half of the sentence before the rest clicked. He clapped me on the shoulder ¡°Mystery solved, those bastards using a fae beast to fix their problems? I''m going to duel my way through the lot of them!¡±

    ¡°It could also be a complete coincidence?¡± I offered before the Knight could run off to do battle. I could see why his allies had stuck him on a bridge. I could feel the pressure coming off him.

    ¡°Anyway to check?¡±

    ¡°Well, a Mist Lynx is valuable loot, as would be anything you''ve got on you. Tell me did you leave behind any big signs of your fight? No, good then the storm will wash the evidence away. So I''d expect some people to come along and try and find it and you. If I had the corpse I could look it over and see if there''s anything to indicate it''d been tamed. The mortal caravan is also bugging me, seems like an odd choice, this hunter you killed has been dead nearly a month, this isn''t a spur-of-the-moment kind of revenge plot, so why wait until there''s an unknown element in the mix?¡±

    ¡°I''ve gotta get you and Percy in the same room. She''d want to pick your brains. Look I''ve got the Lynx. Not going to waste the body, I didn''t even make too much of a mess of it. Almost got the technique from that text to work too.¡± Bors used earth movement to make an awning out of the rain and deposited the beast in it.

    It was a beautiful animal, even in death it still held that aura of feline grace. Its fur was grey and held an ethereal edge to it like the halos of rainbow light you sometimes could see on misty days before the sun chased the fog away. The beast was at least my size, with claws as long as my fingers. This was a foundation stage beast, and I could smell the death coming off of it, though far less potent than it was from any of my kills. Did that mean my role in the slaying mattered?

    I started to look it over, Bors staring at me with an unusual intensity. ¡°This is going to take a while you know.¡±

    ¡°Damn, I should probably go set up some shelter for the mortals. Storm is just going to get worse and they''ve been through enough to worry about tents tonight.¡± He seemed like he was about to say something when shouts rang out from the caravaneers.

    ¡°FAE BEAST¡± cries came from the caravaners. I heard a deep whiny from the horses. I was up bow drawn and ready to fight, but Bors put a hand out to stop me.

    ¡°Gring you horny bastard. Be polite. Don''t shoot it''s just my steed. Come along you can help smooth things over.¡±

    Meeting Gring revealed a lot about why Steed and Master didn''t get on. Gring was a pegasus, one of the fabled horse lords of the skies, and yet equally totally unable to lift his rider. The differences didn''t end there, while Bors was always neat and tidy, a soldier through and through, Gring shone, clearly using his inherent Cultivation to help maintain his glossy coat and fine wings.

    We came round to find Gring dancing before the horses, tossing his mane back and forth and doing his utmost best to rouse some attention. The mortal horses having had a day involving cultivator battles, and powerful fae beasts were locked in a panic and just stared at the prancing animal.

    Another difference, the pegasus didn''t like me, he glared daggers at me. Maybe he blamed me for interrupting his fun?

    The caravaners were all a muddle. So as Bors went to wrangle his steed I stepped in. ¡°Hello to you all, I''m Taliesin wandering minstrel. I would suggest you rest here till the storm passes, Sir Bors will be back soon to help put up an earth shelter to help you weather the storm.¡±

    ¡°I''m Kristoff caravan leader, it''s a mighty fine offer. I''m not sure we can pay for such services though.¡± An older man who was all bristle and wire piped up. There were at least twenty in the group and not another one said a peep. They looked to have not come out of the fight badly.

    ¡°This comes free of charge and obligation, it is just right to help out those who find themselves at the mercy of the elements. We also have fresh meat, and would be willing to do some trade of things if it makes you feel better.¡±

    ¡°I really think we should see to our immediate damages and then be off. We''ll be fine.¡± That set me on edge, was he that scared of cultivators?

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    ¡°Are you mad Kristoff, I can barely hear the nonsense you''re saying over these winds? We''ll die if we head out.¡± Someone burst out of one of the wagons, through the lashing rain it was hard to see but it sounded like a young woman. She had a faint whiff of Cultivation to her, likely mid or early Wood stage. It was different to the guards who had the dull sense of Stone stage glamour users.

    ¡°Alexis get back inside, what if the cultivator sees you? Protect your virtue.¡± The man''s comments sounded like a protective elder, but his eyes told a darker story. Even if I ignored that he seemed to have forgotten I was a cultivator. His eyes didn''t go towards where Bors was having an aggressive conversation with his pegasus, involving lots of finger waving and hoof pawing. No, they went down the road to the North.

    ¡°What if we die? This is the first big storm of spring, the entire road could be washed out further up. Please sir ignore the old man''s rantings, he seems to think I will be ravished if so much as the sun hits my skin. He''s kept me cooped up all journey. We would be happy to accept your hospitality.¡± Alexis spoke, I could feel the tension in the group, they really wanted to stay, but Kristoff was the elder.

    ¡°Girl get back in there, we are leaving now.¡± Kristoff snarled, which might''ve done something if Bors hadn''t chosen that moment to come over.

    None the wiser to the tension, Bors stumped over, having finished his argument. He took in a big breath and through pursed lips let out a whistle that grated on the nerves like a rusty file. With the ease of a glassworker blowing air into molten glass, a dome rose from the earth. He then ran a finger through it to create a doorway and stepped inside. A moment later his head popped back out.

    ¡°Come on over, I''ll make one for the horses in a minute.¡± Through the rain, he probably couldn''t see the astounded faces of the crowd wore. Everyone had likely seen squires in battle, throwing round little techniques like earth slide, or conjuring whips of fire, this was what a Knight could do.

    Alexis was first to get over her astonishment and ran over to the building. Everyone else ignored Kristoff. Apart from me. I could practically see the gears turning in his head, he glanced at the northern path, at the caravan, and then at the raised dome.

    We were the last ones outside. I clapped him on the shoulder like we were fine pals, if anyone turned back it''d look like I was assisting the elderly man. He turned to face me, and I could swear I saw the moment it clicked and he remembered I was a cultivator too. Which was good, as otherwise, he''d probably have done something with the knife hidden in his sleeve. And then I''d actually have had to hurt him.

    I marched him inside, to find a veritable palace of stone. The dome had been ten paces across, and stood with only a central pillar to support it, at the very edge, benches or beds depending on how tired you were had been shaped out of the walls. In the middle, gathered around the central pillar was a series of small seats and tables. I arrived just as Bors finished hollowing out the central column to make a chimney.

    The caravaners were looking around with awe, some touching the walls as if expecting them to fade away. It made me appreciate how rare Iron level cultivators were, to have people so totally blown away by the display.

    Even to me, it was a monument to how crazy powerful Bors was for his rank, he''d travelled for hours, got in a disadvantaged fight, and could still do this. I also really wanted to pick his brain about control, as this showed far better control than anything I''d seen in our fights.

    ¡°I''ll go sort a stable now. Taliesin why don''t you get a fire going, and get them some of that boar you killed yesterday, I''m sure they can make something of it. I hope someone has some beer?¡±

    ¡°I do. I''ll come out and help you see to the horses. I''ve got some cooking bits as well.¡± A man with a huge moustache replied, with how soaked he was I was shocked it didn''t drown in it. A couple of others agreed to go lash down the wagons and wrangle the horses.

    I sat Kristoff at a table, keeping one eye on him I pulled the wood out of my storage ring. That seemed to remind the gathered few that I was a cultivator, and they all started to mumble their thanks and call me sir. As the fire began to catch I turned to find them nervously watching me, worried about getting closer.

    ¡°My good people, I am despite how I may look not a terrible beast, please come sit and be merry and safe. You have been rescued by the Noble Knight Errant Bors. He is the epitome of honour.¡±

    ¡°How should we address you, Sir-?¡± Alexis approached, now less soaked I could see she had striking red hair, and sharp eyes brown eyes. She was watching me carefully, undeniably weighing me up as I did her. I was impressed, she wasn''t phased by either of us. And with Kristoff hunched over pondering his choices, she stepped up as the spokesperson of the group.

    ¡°I am merely Taliesin, I am a bardic cultivator, not a Knightly one, I sing and I tell stories, and if called upon fight my corner. You must be cold, come join me!¡± The group decided to give in to temptation and began to take their seats.

    ¡°I''ve never heard of a bardic cultivator before?¡± Another woman emerged from beside Alexis. She was less wet and I was sure I''d not seen her earlier. Were they really hiding all the women from us? It didn''t paint a good picture of the kind of honour practised by the average cultivator.

    ¡°Well, it stands to reason we must exist, think of all those stories where knights rush off to battle monsters that could still a mortal heart with a mere look. How else do you think we get those stories?¡± It was a question with an easy answer. No bard was daft enough to go within ten leagues of a dragon, so most songs were penned as an afterthought or political tool. But the question goes them thinking.

    I used my glamour to stir the flames. I could control neither air nor flame, but in moving the smoke just the right way I could draw up more air to fuel it. A few minutes later the rest returned, followed by a chest-sized keg of beer, and finally, Bors who was trying to manoeuvre it through the door. I revised my estimate of the kegs as I watched him struggle just as much to fit through the door, that was a giant''s torso worth of beer.

    Some of the group got to work on the boar, over in one corner. Others were pouring beer, it seemed that the moustache man, named Trent was a tavern owner or other purveyor of victuals. He also had some mugs with him and passed them out. A group of tired-looking men who wore pale imitations of cultivators'' armour were second after Bors to get a drink. The guards mourned their lost fellows but otherwise looked healthy. I heard whispers that Alexis was some form of alchemist and had produced some brews to aid them in their recovery. That piqued my interest.

    The last group huddled together, some older folk, six children with three parental types between them, and a couple of young women my age or a little less. That did not include Alexis. She''d draped herself over Bors''s shoulder, knocking back a beer with him.

    I checked on Kristoff, who wasn''t even looking at her. So much for any of his earlier worries about her virtue. No, he was looking at the door. The same, one that someone had sealed with a piece of canvas.

    What to do. The storm outside was raging. Even other Cultivators wouldn''t be trying to move through this right now. Beasts often wandered in storms. I cursed was that part of their plan? A way to explain the Lynx if he did survive? Or worse to explain the Lynx''s presence if it escaped them and went on a rampage. Was that assigning them too much competence?

    I looked at Kristoff. No, if they were that competent they''d never have involved the mortal. That they also tried this roundabout method I still couldn¡¯t fully sus out and didn''t just gang up on Bors implied they didn''t have a Knight of their own.

    It¡¯d take a Knight to push through the storm, and their last Knight-ranked cultivator had been obliterated in a one-on-one fight, so it was unlikely they¡¯d risk another if they had it. Tonight, or at the very least until the storm blew itself out we were safe. That meant I could relax and wait for Kristoff to do something stupid. I was passed a mug by a friendly guard who from his stumbles had raced to the depths of his cups and had yet to come up for air. He wore tears.

    I put aside the glare I wished to send Kristoff, he''d be doing nothing for a while. Sipping the admittedly fine beer. I approached the huddling group of assorted worriers.

    ¡°Now yee merry souls, what song shall I sing you this fine night. I know all the greats, the slaying of the red dragon by Erral, the noble troll of the glittering horde, or my favourite.¡± I spotted one of the little girls had a toy in the shape of a wolf. ¡°Wolfheart the brave who howled at the moon till it howled back?¡±

    My fingers found the strings and our little palace was filled with music. I pulled the smoke from the flame, bolstering it with my glamour, and played out scenes from the ballad. All was well, good food was had, and beer was supped. The group relaxed, finally realising that the cultivators were not about to reveal themselves as monsters. They had spices and herbs that brought out the best of the boar. Leaving Bors and I groaning with pleasure.

    Eventually, it came time for rest. Bors was practically dragged back to his tent by Alexis. I was not similarly propositioned, which I was thankful for, some company would''ve been mighty tempting over the task I''d set myself for the evening.

 Chapter 15 - Revelations of Smoke and Death

    The wind screamed around me, beating the trees into a wall of sound that ate up everything in its rustling chorus. The rain was pouring down. Seeping into my boots and puddling in my britches despite my best efforts. I asked myself again why I was doing this.

    I was still unsure what I wanted from my newfound freedom. There were vague notions in my mind of continuing my quest for revenge or hunting down at least one old acquaintance. A rare soul who I¡¯d actually liked and seemed to like me at least enough to collude in a bit of espionage. Those were more of a long-term goal. It came second to choosing what to do with the knowledge that the Lady was involved in my fate. The greater fae looming over my decisions left me feeling adrift.

    Lacking the revenge and escape motivations that had dragged me forward. My long-term goals were cast aside, I was committed to doing what I could right now. And that meant protecting my new friend.

    That is why I was up here being miserable. I had strapped myself to the chimney and was in my actual armour for once. That plus some oilskins kept the rain off enough that I could wrap the smoke glamour around myself to keep warm and to listen to what the smoke told me.

    People think all smoke can be seen, something I am not about to correct them on. It''s also never written down anywhere I could find, other cultivators seemingly hadn''t noticed or like me kept the fact it existed a secret.

    Invisible smoke gathered everywhere where fires were lit, it also hung around more than its whispy grey sibling. Even with the chimney enough of this invisible smoke was floating around in the air. It was mostly useless as a medium for battle, but just as air glamours could be used to spy on distant conversations, as long as I was connected to the smoke I could use it to extend my senses of sound and touch.

    It was a uniquely bizarre sensation to feel the rise and fall of nearly thirty people''s bodies. To feel their every breath disturbing the smoke. My expanded senses were surprised to find the dome had air inflows. Air and poison glamour users had long ago learnt that humans all breathed out a noxious gas similar to that of flames. The fact that the quickly constructed shelter accounted for even that made me want to go and demand more from Bors to explain his wonky control.

    My attention was disturbed, not by Kristoff who was still faking being asleep. No, a vision of madness had escaped the seelie. I watched in fascination, as the pegasus stole its way into the stables. Complete with concerned looks around and very light steps as if the ground was ice it was afraid of breaking. I was most impressed that it managed to unknot the canvas door with its teeth.

    Kristoff chose that moment to ''wake'', and try and make his own stealthy exit. Gathering his things he made for the door.

    I swore if he saw the pegasus. Wait! How had it retied the canvas? Fae beast or not, it was just a horse with extra bits which as far as I knew didn''t include thumbs.

    ¡°Just going out for a shit.¡± He said to the guard on the door who merely grunted having been half asleep.

    Before the night had set in, and in part to show off to the increasingly amorous Alexis, Bors had extended the entrance, in part so the wind didn''t obliterate everyone the second they pulled the canvas open, and to create some squat toilets. The was air, water and lightning glamour in the storm, no one should have to deal with that over a dicky bladder.

    Either Kristoff was a very nervous shitter, or he was up to something as he forced himself past the second canvas door. I slid down from my perch, and snuck through the storm, not really having to try to avoid notice. I was pleased with my infused body to fight the winds. Kristoff was less lucky he was crawling on his hands and knees towards the wagons.

    The moon was out and there were breaks in the cloud but the clouds were ripping past so fast it was a flip of the coin if any moment offered light. The light painted Kristoff''s deeds like a series of black-and-white paintings. I watched him struggle to get beneath one of the caravan¡¯s wagons. Not his own I noticed, this was the one Alexis had been in.

    He fumbled around, his own sight near useless. I had landed on the caravan and watched his attempts from behind his head. He finally found the pair of little leather pouches tucked away beneath the wagon. Grabbing the larger he stuffed it down his shirt, and then with his hand he began to scramble from all places towards Bors''s tent. I watched him get somewhat close, but by this point, he was shivering and sluggish.

    He had a bit of cultivation, just the background level you got from living reasonably well, enough to sustain him through his trial. Totally exhausted, he grabbed a small rock tied it to the other pouch and made to hurl it at the tent. Which is when I decided to intervene.

    I appeared out of the storm and caught the bag mid-flight. The moon was on my side and the light lasted just long enough for me to see his face fall. I then stomped over to him. Grabbed him and dragged him into my own tent.

    My tent was well made but the storm made it ripple and quake. The howling of the winds was not deadened as it had been in the stone dome. I threw him to the floor and pulled out a small lamp lighting it with a touch of glamour. As the weak light entered the room I could see Kristoff looking totally spent.

    ¡°You see, I could sense there was skulduggery afoot, as one I am no stranger to skulls nor doing a bit of digging if I must. Now, here''s the deal. Answer me three questions and don''t start screaming.¡± He nodded.

    ¡°For our opening act, were you the only person who knew about your little arrangement with the hunters?¡± The man slumped, I''d got a true bull''s eye. He must''ve thought he could lie his way out, but not only had I quashed that hope, but confirmed my suspicion.

    ¡°I am sorry cultivator.¡±

    ¡°Just answer the question, I promise you there is a way out of this for all of you unharmed, but it begins with honesty. Absolute honesty.¡± I almost couldn''t say unharmed, the word tasted like ash on my tongue, if he was forced and coerced maybe. I just didn''t believe it.

    ¡°I''m the only one who knows.¡± I could sense the lie in his tone, I''d not survived a day about the Harkleys with this man''s level of skill. He must''ve caught the look as he began to gibber. ¡°I''m the only one who knows for certain, Baste Guard Captain caught me hanging the witch charm they gave me under the cart. I told him it was just for luck but he was damn suspicious about it. I had to bribe him to look the other way.¡±

    That felt like the truth. ¡°What did the hunters ask you to do?¡±

    ¡°I was to tie both the charms under the cart, and then when we got to the Cultivators bridge was to cut the smaller one free and leave it nearby. When that was done they gave me something to burn after I''d headed down the road and said I was to do it in the evening light. That was it, nothing else I swear.¡±

    ¡°How much are they paying you to do this?¡±

    ¡°It''s not like that cultivator, yes they''re offered me five crowns, but they also have my family you must understand. I only did it for my family¡± I wanted to believe the second part, I really did, but I knew it was a lie.

    How did I know? Unseelie knows! I was used to going with my gut, going with what felt best when I only had half a song and a rough melody. This sensation was not that, it was an entire sonata sprung and burned into my brain. It was a sure a lie, as my name was Taliesin. Wait!

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    ¡°Shit,¡± I swore out loud as the next thought clicked into place. A horrible sensation came over me. This felt like actual seelie nonsense to me.

    ¡°Please understand cultivator I''m just a poor mortal.¡± His whining was getting loud, his salvation within sight he got up to his knees to beg. The sight turned my stomach even as I reeled at my new condition.

    ¡°I understand don''t worry I won''t hurt you.¡± I got as far as ¡®don''t¡¯ before my throat closed up. I was going to hurt him. Even a painless death wounds the soul.

    Cold certainty flooded through me, I had to scan back over the last few days. Nothing, not one. Not a fib? Not even a sarcastic remark barb? I loved sarcastic remarks! I had not let a lie slip from my lips since the Lake.

    I felt bereaved. That surge of grief where you didn''t know how to feel yet only knew you''d lost something dear. I was bereft of my greatest defence and yet perfectly aware of it being wielded against me.

    ¡°Please I have two children and a wife.¡± Again the lie grated on me. It scratched at my soul. My attention turned to the wretch before me.

    ¡°Then why did you hang it under Alexis''s carriage huh? What they tell you to frame some innocent girl as part of the threat to your family. No, that was it she had a bit of cultivation you knew, you knew it might be tempted. That''s why you wanted her to stay inside the caravan.¡± The man went taught, his eyes turned hateful, full of spite and malice. He spat.

    ¡°You cultivators are all the same just¡­¡± I struck, my lute becoming a blade and taking his head. His body

    The knave had one last nasty surprise, a veritable fount of death glamour. I went to take a bellows breath but wrestled it closed just in time. My chest burned, it was like I was a starving man drowning in rich honey. I fought with everything I had to not take even a whiff of his death glamour. I knew my stories, I''d seen them warp people who called themselves ¡®Divine¡¯ into monsters for even their ilk.

    It demanded my action, beat on my consciousness. It might have got me if my soul wasn''t on fire from discovering the fae trickery. I held the bellows closed, eventually circling smoke glamour around myself to scrape it away, to fill my surroundings with the sweet scent of wood smoke.

    I breathed gently, not my bellows breaths. I was safe when the moment had passed. It was exhausting, but I''d seen out what I meant to do this night. I checked the body again. He was not the first man I''d slain, and would not be the last. He was a clear rogue, putting others in danger without a second thought, so it wasn''t going to keep me up. How close I''d come to slurping on his soul was going to give me nightmares.

    Sleep and the waiting unseelie visions would have to wait, my night was far from over. The flap of my tent slid open and Bors stepped in.

    ¡°This day won''t end.¡± I slumped back into a chair.

    ¡°Can you pass me the bags?¡± Bors''s voice was flat, I couldn''t read him, his face was but a doing a great impression of a block of marble. I threw him the bag and he looked it over and smelt it. His stone face only briefly cracked as he gagged.

    ¡°I recognize the smell. Percy uses something similar to train her hawks. Alexis is a junior alchemist, I''ll ask her to look at it. This is what the Lynx was after. You were right on all counts.¡±

    ¡°How much did you hear?¡±

    ¡°Odd thing, I felt my bond go weird, which is generally a sign that Gring is up to mischief. I come out and find you stalking this man through the dark.¡± He waved and the body folded into the floor.

    ¡°Gring snuck into the stables.¡±

    ¡°The knave! Told me he was going to behave. Some of those mares are going to be very tired tomorrow.¡± He went to sit on my chair but thought better of turning it into firewood and raising a stone chair out of the ground.

    ¡±So you heard it all then. I was going to tell you I promise.¡±

    ¡°I don''t doubt it.¡± A truth again, maybe my new power wasn''t the worst. It protected my fledgling friendship with Bors from this cold conversation.

    ¡°Then why am feeling this dischord from you? It feels awfully like an executioner sharpening his blade.¡±

    ¡°So first thing, I think, I want to believe you''re the good man you present yourself as.¡± Another truth, actually come to think of it had I ever felt Bors lie?

    ¡°This leaves an avenue where I''m not? And you have to do something we''ll both regret. Or at least you will because I''ll most likely not be doing much of anything?¡±

    ¡°Look I don''t like doing this but I have a duty alright? Please, just bear with me. The key issue is you have death glamour. I''ve known for a while, your Cultivation technique is odd, you suck up so much in one go. I could feel the death glamour disappearing too fast. So I need to ask you have you ever absorbed the energy of a human life.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± I snapped. To my surprise, the marble visage collapsed and he grinned. All was right with the world, for a moment there I''d truly believed that Bors had been leading me about by the nose all this time7Bors was a terrible interrogator.

    ¡°Great, that''s the first hurdle passed. Seriously don''t absorb any death glamour from people, it''s the fastest way to go crazy. It''s what the inquisitors do.¡±

    ¡°Shockingly I didn''t need to be told to not drink people''s souls.¡±

    ¡°Look I wouldn''t be like this if you didn''t eat a monster core raw?¡±

    ¡°You followed me?¡±

    ¡°No Gring was watching you, and that''s totally on him. And now you confirmed it. It was a very confusing pantomime, so mind telling me what that''s about. Because eating cores raw is what crazy people do.¡± I pinched my nose. I''d never volunteered an answer like that before this whole fae lying thing came to light, it was throwing me off my game. Well, maybe it could be a boon.

    ¡°Before I explain I need you to make me an oath you won''t share what I''m about to tell you with anyone.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, I have to hear it first, I will make the oath that before we leave this tent I will either have sworn myself to secrecy, or I will at least tell you if I feel it is essential to tell someone, and who I will be telling.¡± Not a word of a lie according to this new sense. I settled. For the second time since I met the Lady, I shared something I''d assumed I''d never tell another soul.

    ¡°My fae gifts come from a phoenix, the impurities from cores are the key element of my ability to come back from the dead. I burn them off to aid my revival.¡± Bors listened, nodded and then steepled his fingers.

    ¡°Say it again.¡± Slightly off but I did. His brow creased, I was reminded of his attempts to learn from the Illuminated text. Like he was puzzling something out. After a full minute, he looked at me again.

    ¡°And the impurities don''t make you go crazy?¡±

    ¡°No. I spent years chock full of them waiting for my moment to-¡± I couldn''t say ¡®fake my death¡¯ I''d actually died! Why was this so much easier when I wasn''t aware of it? ¡°die in the right way to escape.¡±

    Bors nodded, his lips moved and then he slapped the table beside him making me jump.

    ¡°I agree to your oath of secrecy. I will not share a word.¡± He grinned and then he sprawled back into his chair. ¡°Damn, I''m so pleased that''s over I did not enjoy that at all.¡±

    ¡°Seriously? We''re done, you come in here with a face like death itself and now we''re just good?¡±

    ¡°Oh man, this has been like a bur on the inside of my armour. You seemed like such a relaxed guy, said all the right things, were against demonic cultivators, had a tragic backstory, the works! Then I had Gring going on about you eating hearts, and I could tell you had a death glamour gift. And I''m sorry I didn''t bring it up earlier. It''s just I''m not great at sussing people out. Percy says I''m terrible at it. Also no offence but you have a super rare fae gift that lets you come back from the dead and eat monster cores, not an answer anyone could''ve expected.¡± I felt my whole body unclench. I was not dead, and Bors was still Bors. He seemed genuinely relieved at no longer having to deceive me.

    ¡°I ask this out of morbid curiosity, but couldn''t I have been lying this whole time? How do you know this isn''t all some elaborate ruse, a dastardly plot I''ve set up to bamboozle and confound.¡±

    ¡°So I''ll let you in on a secret cause I want to make amends for tricking you. Earth Cultivators who spend enough time in someone''s company can tell if they''re lying, well sort of. It''s more like I get to know when your body is wary, waiting to see if the lie lands. My mentor raised me to be honest or silent because of it. It''s not perfect and it doesn''t work on Iron level cultivators but yeah it''s still pretty useful. It''s why I really wanted you to be a good guy. You like never lie!¡±

    I began to laugh, great painful gales of laughter. I may as well have never left the shores of the Mirror Lake. No matter where I went before the Lady of Lake I was but a puppet dancing on strings.

 Chapter 16 - Ballad of Bors the Titan

    After my burst of laughter, and calming Bors who thought I¡¯d gone mad, the night finally wrapped up. I debriefed Bors on everything I''d come to understand from Kristoff and the hunters¡¯ actions. He agreed with my assessment that until dawn broke, we''d be safe. The storm was starting to slow even as we spoke.

    We left Gring to the stables. But Bors did go over to knock on them and explain that the mares needed to not be so tired as to be unable to pull the wagons tomorrow, and unless he wanted to be hitched up himself he better go easy.

    He returned to Alexis to break the news and ask her thoughts as well as her opinions on the bags. I tried to sleep but the events of the day haunted me. I looked over to the blood stain on the rush matting of my tend. I''d asked him to move the body far away from me and he''d agreed without a word.

    I instead turned my mind to the task of tomorrow. We had to make this look good.

    The next day required some finesse to get our guests to work with us. The guard captain a man named Baste helped immensely in explaining the situation to the group and explaining the absence of Kirstoff. I agreed to not mention his bribe in return for his staunch support, an offer which earned an eternal ally based on the grovelling that followed.

    We could''ve just bluntly told them and ordered them on, but I preferred it this way. I still remember my time as a mortal where cultivators felt like a natural disaster looming over you. While they would''ve nodded at us saying that Kristoff betrayed them, there was no telling if they''d believe it.

    With Baste explaining what he''d seen, and apologising to all of them for his oversight, the whole thing went far smoother. Alexis also helped, she was furious. At least partially at me, angry I''d robbed her of a chance to take a crack at Kristoff herself.

    Alexis had explained to them all that she''d identified the bags as a monster lure and a monster training aid. Her hypothesis was the lure kept it close, while the other bag was like a ¡®do not attack¡¯ smell. That got everyone muttering, Kristoff had stuck all the girls in that wagon. Clearly not thinking anything of endangering them.

    Privately Alexis let us know Kristoff had accidentally helped her by hanging it there. Bors had growled like an avalanche as she explained that only keeping close to the training bag had likely guarded her from the Lynx.

    As they got ready in the pre-dawn light. Bors and I staged the scene of the ¡®battle¡¯. I directed him to make it look like he''d fought the Lynx here. Gring in a rare moment of obedience was scouting from the skies. The hunters would be stumbling into an ambush.

    Bors was putting the final touches to his ¡®tomb¡¯. We were going to leave the lynx''s corpse looking trapped, like they''d both fallen in battle in a spire of rock. As more spikes popped up I broke the silence that''d only been interrupted by our professional discussions.

    ¡°Bors, can I ask about your control? Was that part of the deception? Cause if it was your better than you give yourself credit for.¡± I also

    ¡°No, I wasn¡¯t, considering I pushed my nose into your secrets it''s fair to share a bit of mine. My control on earth is good. Not as good as your smoke. What I was using to attack was actually my other gift. Crystal.¡±

    ¡°But you were attacking me with the earth?¡±

    ¡°it only looks that way, I was actually manipulating the crystals in the rock. Look, crystals are everywhere, they''re in ice, and they even turn up in honey if you leave it too long. That''s what I''m struggling with and you did help, I''ve been trying to refine my control without relying on earth but it''s difficult cause they''re so similar.¡±

    ¡°Thanks for explaining. I think we''re done here.¡± I looked over our handiwork, the tomb of earthen spikes and the corpse tangled within. We''d even made use of Kristoff.

    ¡°You sure you don''t want help?¡±

    ¡°You sure you want to be more than a bard? That''s where helping me kill them leads?¡±

    ¡°You''re right, I just wish I could be more use..¡± Bors, or Gad rather, came over and clapped me on the shoulder.

    ¡°You''re plenty helpful, you caught the bastard. Worked out the threat and formed a plan. If it was me I''d probably be waving them goodbye and just going to be tucking into my lunch when they came for me. I agree with your take on it. They don''t have a Knight or if they do they''re weak, they''d not be messing about like this otherwise. I bet it''s a bunch of Squires hoping to strike it big. I can handle that. Especially now I know they''re coming. Besides.¡±

    He looked over to the caravan which was all but ready to leave. He gave a small wave to Alexia who with Baste had taken up command. ¡°It''s my fault they are in danger. It stains my honour to see them hurt, plus it''s just right isn''t to want them to get to Fosguard without any issues? Keeping them safe is important work.¡±

    ¡°I''m sure you''d have worked something out.¡±

    ¡°I''d have to send Gring to watch them, and I really don''t want to be remembered as the cultivator with the randy horse.¡±

    ¡°No worries, I''m going to sing them songs about you, really play up your height.¡±

    ¡°See if you can get rid of ''Bors the Beast'', hate the name. Do that and you can write any song you damn well, please. Oh, also I have, something for you to apologise for last night.¡± Even wrapped in the leather pouch I could sense it was the Lynx core, before I could respond he spun me around and then pushed me on a wave of earth towards the caravan. ¡°You gotta get going, remember to light that smoke signal.¡±

    I said some thanks but then joined Baste on the lead caravan. The signal was the last part of our plan, we were going to make it appear as if everything had gone the way they wanted. Bors waved them all goodbye and gave Alexis a parting kiss. Then settled into wait.

    We moved quietly for the first couple of hours. The caravan wasn''t pleased to be involved in ''cultivator business'' but was pleased to have the additional protection. They let me step off and light the signal, an alchemical smoke stick, that I found deeply interesting as the glamour it gave off was rich and ripe for us. I also took the opportunity to eat my present from Bors.

    The core of a foundation-level beast was so much more potent than a condensation one. I had to spend the rest of the day circling it through me, not only to push the benefits into my hearth but also to spread the impurities throughout me. Normally I just let them settle throughout my pathways, the spread was always equal. Now though, I pushed the dark mass towards the pathways that felt closer to my death gift.

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    I didn''t want the temptation like I''d felt with Kristoff, and it made sense to somewhat choke off this access point. It would hopefully also stop my damn cultivation method from outing me. I''d have to find a new one.

    It was a kind gift from Bors, the cores were worth a lot. It was also a sign of trust. I didn''t blame him for his worries or precautions, yet I was pleased that he truly had seemed to believe in my good nature. If the Lady wanted to shuffle me about, I could think of worse fates than his company.

    Sitting on the caravan, letting a gentle tune work itself from my fingertips, I felt I was making remarkable progress in getting back to my impure state. With just those two monster cores, I was halfway to getting where I needed. While only bunging up around a fifth of my cultivation.

    I didn''t need to be completely clogged, I''d only done that to stop my progress. I wondered if going over the target was what had allowed me to grow in power, boosting my cultivation with my rebirth. I should make some plans.

    I frowned, now it was all less of a race I should be more careful. I could push my cultivation forward far further while gaining impurities from brews. It was something I''d considered before. But estimating impurities with the Harkley¡¯s alchemists was pointless, if you listened to them every brew had no impurities whatsoever. A miracle in every potion. Hang on, I had a spare alchemist who liked me, or at least liked the man I was associated with.

    ¡°Alexis, how goes your day.¡± I jumped between the caravans to get to her. I''d made a bit of a show of it. Flipping and turning as I did, it delighted the children, and should brigands be watching nicely advertised my cultivation. I¡¯d also dropped my viel, if wanna-be rogues did approach if any had a bit of cultivation, I hoped my mere presence would dissuade them.

    ¡°Tis a fine day out under the sun Taliesin. Now I don¡¯t have the old man harping on.¡± Alexis grinned basking in the warm sun, her red hair caught the sun wonderfully as did the smattering of freckles on her cheeks. It is a pity Bors didn''t get a chance to appreciate her in such light.

    ¡°I apologize again for being so dastardly as to smite him and rob you of a chance to deal out your justice.¡± As I spoke I lit a small pipe. The herbs within were an import from a distant realm, and only really popular with low-level cultivators and mortals. I traded for some silver with Trent and his moustache after he began to puff on one last night. It was an affectation I¡¯d taken up in my past life. Always helpful to have a cultivation source nearby.

    ¡°It¡¯s fine, now it¡¯s done I¡¯m glad I didn¡¯t have to. I can imagine he snivelled at the end, I wouldn¡¯t want the nightmares. Besides my mistress says killing others is bad for the soul.¡±

    ¡°Speaking of your mistress, I was wondering if I could bandy some words about alchemy with you. I have a passing knowledge of it.¡± Passing almost caught my fae curse, but it was true! I had a passing knowledge, as well as a staying kind of knowledge that you only got from hiding in libraries.

    ¡°No sales, no refunds, no grumbling.¡± Her voice lashed at me, and I placed a hand in mock pain over my heart.

    ¡°You sure you''re not a trading cultivator! Those words are keen as any blade.¡±

    ¡°Sorry, it¡¯s what Miss Peaches says. She¡¯ll say it to your face cultivator or not. Though I might as well get it out the way.¡± Miss Peaches was her teacher, she''d promised us that she''d be very interested in this mess and would with any luck show her gratitude.

    ¡°You mistake me as a rank cur looking to shave off some copper. That is not I, I just want to talk about alchemy and impurities.¡±

    ¡°Oh don¡¯t talk to me about impurities,¡± Alexis replied, before launching into an hour-long rant on the very subject.

    Much of the second half of my day passed talking to Alexis about alchemy. As an Apprentice, she was actually more helpful than a full alchemist, as she was still very much in the stage where impurity reduction was the bane of her existence.

    She ranted at the tradeoff, and the fact that brews would often be completed, looking whole and complete, only for a test to confirm the impurities were far above the acceptable amount. These brews were generally sold to desperate souls for knockdown prices. To her mind only idiots brought them.

    Well, those idiots would soon find another among their number! That sounded perfect to me.

    I asked after her mentor, and she promised to introduce me to the Hedge Witch, which was a witch without a coven witch, similar to Bors being a Knight Errant.

    I was intrigued by this. The cultivators of Euross split themselves up to focus on their arts. This was another difference to the Mystic East, where apparently all cultivators gathered in ¡®sects¡¯ or ¡®clans¡¯. The Houses of Renown, like the Harkley and Chox, were the same as the clans, however, the sects never formed into monolithic groups, the cultivation practices too different.

    You had the Orders, who were closest to sects, they had Knights and focused on martial prowess. They also encouraged their members to try and explore other pursuits but it was rare to find a master alchemist in an Order. That was unless that Order had a strong relationship with a Coven. Witches marked the second greatest group of cultivators. They were the inverse of the Orders, focusing on alchemy, rune spells, and enchantments. They encourage combat, but as a method to dissuade attacks upon them, they mostly focused on economic alliances and also curses. Lots of curses.

    Third was the Artisan Guilds, who were entirely owned and supported by a House of Renown or the Orders, and often found themselves connected to several. They provided similar things to the witches but without the cursing or fighting. Last but far from least were the various druidic groups. They did their own thing and generally didn¡¯t come out of their territories. For which we were thankful. Any groups who could live in the deep wilds and survive were welcome to stay there.

    All of these groups had their own wandering variants. Some like the witches seemed more accepting of the practice than others. A wandering artisan, was known as an ¡®unlicensed¡¯ artisan, and tended to gather attention.

    ¡°Oh yeah, you can leave covens easy enough but you have to take on a curse to do so. You will not be able to remember the secrets of the coven, and it can even lock away parts of your cultivation. It sounds tough but as I understand many witches use it to challenge themselves to come up with new ideas. That is what my Miss Peaches is doing, she intends to go back relatively soon I think.¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯ll go with her?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the plan.¡±

    ¡°Well, I shall drop in on your coven in the future if I¡¯m able. Maybe drag Bors along with me if I¡¯m able.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t say no to that, I do so like tall men.¡± She laughed pleasantly, it seemed junior witches were not forced to cackle. ¡°So you think you¡¯ll continue to follow him about. I¡¯m still not sure what a bardic cultivator does.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m still working that one out too. But I¡¯ll stick with him for a while yet, I can feel he¡¯s got some more stories in him.¡±

    ¡°I shall listen out for these songs of yours about my titanic paramour.¡± She grinned at the double entendre but was startled when I slapped my thigh.

    ¡°That¡¯s it, Titan! Bors the Giant just feels so low effort. Well that works, hmm I can make that.¡± I sang a few lines much to Alexis¡¯ confusion. ¡°Well who am I to keep a lady waiting, allow me to whet your appetite.¡±

    I stood and let my voice cry out. Strumming on my lute.

    ¡°Deep within the winter''s hold, where frosted boughs and branches cold,

    A caravan with treasures bold, crawls on, a tale yet to unfold.

    From shadowed pines, a glint of steel, a hidden danger, all too real.

    With wicked blades and savage cries, bandits descend under frosted skies.

    But then the earth begins to quake, a giant wakes for justice sake.

    Bors the Titan, eyes ablaze, protector worthy of ancient days!¡±

    As I sang a grin formed, and not just due to the nodding heads of my fellow travellers. I was only a day into my fae curse and had found a loophole. I¡¯d not noticed in the writing, but the line about being deep in winter''s hold was a total lie. But something about it being a song loosened my throat. Today was shaping up to be far better than the one before.

 Chapter 17 - Gale Hare Rematch

    It took four days to reach the final campsite before Fosburg. In that time I killed eight razorback wolves and a bronze hide boar and it seemed my final battle would be a savagely rewarding one. I sensed a Gale Hare approaching.

    The Gale Hare crept out of the wilderness as we camped. It thought itself sneaky creeping up through the long grass in the thin light of dusk. It was out of luck. We¡¯d got a campfire lit, and I¡¯d taken to blanketing the area with a layer of thin smoke, that only someone very attentive would¡¯ve noticed was moving against the wind.

    I sensed it brush against my glamour and began to move discreetly to intercept. Fae beasts were attracted to cultivators like moths to a flame, one of the fastest ways for them to accelerate their growth was by killing and eating their own kind, but cultivators were a step above that, being the fastest way for them to jump through the ranks.

    This one was likely weaker than the first I''d fought, or a touch smarter as it was aiming for Alexis rather than I.

    I moved as quickly as I dared, passing Trent who was oiling his moustache and giving him a wave which he returned in kind. I had to seem unconcerned. Alexis was over at the fire with a couple of the guards. I waved to her and walked over as if to join their conversation.

    The Hare froze, it must be smart as that meant it recognized that I was the other threat in the camp. Smart was bad news, a beast''s intelligence was tied to its cultivation. I wanted this done quickly.

    As I approached the smoke from the fire greeted me, rolling up to me as I formed a natural wind break. Totally normal if you don''t have complete control of Smoke. In the momentary cover this brought me my bow was out.

    The hare all but flew out of the bush as my arrow lodged into its shoulder. Then I was upon it.

    No longer a rusty forgotten blade, I was raring for a rematch. Wounded and with a ready enemy it was profoundly unprepared for our fight. It began a retreat immediately, just another sign that it needed to die. Most Fae beasts fought to the death, so being smart enough to flee meant I could not let it go.

    I kept up with its fighting retreat easily. My Levity methods, now dusted off gave me a speed to more than match it, if anything I was several steps above it. I could swear I saw the shock on its furry little face as I countered its attacks. I had a buckler in my offhand and used that to bat away its assault.

    In a matter of seconds, I found my opening and carved it open. I then powered past it, trying to avoid the heady rush of death glamour. It still rushed at me but I was able to fight it off better when not standing atop it.

    Looking back at the corpse I was shocked at just how quick the battle was. I was barely breathing fast, checking myself I remained unscathed. It was a staggering difference from my first fight. Standing over the corpse it was in many ways a testament to the training of the last few years, re-energized by my time with Bors.

    I grabbed the Hare and returned to camp, from which I could hear worried voices and yelling. Time to put them at ease.

    The hare was the only one I had to get up close and personal with the entire time, the rest of the beasts were far weaker, being early foundation and having no cores. They were taken out with the bow and arrow, a weapon I was coming to love. It kept me far from the death glamour.

    It was far more fae beasts than we should''ve met even after a storm. Talking over dinner that night Alexis and I theorised that the lingering scent of the bags might be attracting them. We scrubbed down the wagons extra hard, didn''t want to bring that trouble to town.

    I talked more shop with Alexis. But otherwise spent my time serenading, dancing or flipping around to better entertain my fellow travellers. It was honestly the most fun I''d had since I''d been ¡®found¡¯ and taken off the streets all those years ago. I might''ve been an orphan, but I was part of a gang, and we looked out for each other.

    The extreme events of my night of rebirth had left me a little below Mid-Bronze. Now I had crossed that threshold and was heading towards High Bronze. If things kept up, I¡¯d be Peak Bronze in only a few months. That was not including my plans with alchemy.

    The hare¡¯s core was tucked away in my storage ring. I would¡¯ve eaten it there and then if it would¡¯ve allowed me to reach my revival threshold, and it could be better used to make a brew. I had plans, plans for the kind of alchemy that would get an apprentice alchemist thrown out before the brew could cool. Few aimed to create potions to maximise cultivation and impurities!

    My thoughts were disturbed as the wind changed and my senses brushed against the feathered edges of a vast cloud of smoke glamour. We were nearing Fosburg.

    I knew embarrassingly little about Fosburg, mainly because it was considered unimportant by my tutors. It was run by House Fos and owed allegiance to the Chox. Its current head was struggling to break through to Mithril, many felt it was likely to never happen. Other than that I knew that he had a couple of sons and maybe a daughter? Someone else was in the mix for sure. They were a trading town, built around a bridge over the Asp River. That was it.

    From the caravaneers, I learned that the town used to be considered highly, but since the Fos head went Questing about a decade ago the town has been viewed as on the wane. However, they did say that at least the rules were well kept and cultivators behaved themselves more than most.

    As the caravan pulled out of the forest and the walls of the town came into view I couldn''t help but feel jealous of this ''minor'' town. Fosburg was my first sampling of Euross continental cultivation. Albion was strange in that parts almost touched the fae while other places were as distant as our shores from the Thousand City Sea. That led to far fewer more powerful groups and cultivation being spotty. Many towns barely saw any cultivation, while the seats of power were extravagant but in a state of constantly battling beasts from the seelie and unseelie in equal parts.

    This was compared to Euross''s more consistent levels of glamour. Which still ebbed and flowed but was more consistent. Fosburg was an example of the difference this caused. It was both too impressive and far too dull for Albion.

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    Fosburg was a walled town sitting on a stone bridge formed through cultivation. It was something Bors might be able to achieve at Peak Steel if he worked at it for a couple of decades. It spanned a wide valley, crossing the mile between the two cliffs. That fit for Albion the rest not so much.

    It was plain, dull grey walls rose up some fifty metres. The runes carved into them were simple and I could feel the power cycling in from the glamour of the raging river beneath rather than the ambient glamour around. Then the was the town outside the town, only a wooden palisade keeping them safe. An impossibility unless beasts were far less common.

    I could sense glamour being used, just like with the guards it seemed many could use some Stone tricks. As we approached I kept a watch. I had a suspicion that we might meet in trouble. Fosburg was not under any Order, Coven or Guild. Normally any flavour of wandering cultivator might be challenged by the local power.

    Not an issue as the local House of Renown, the appropriately named Fosburgs was actually welcoming to those types. They also took rejection politely, having only sent one person out to test Bors.

    They weren''t the problem. The big issue was who might be waiting for us. See I''d checked over Kristoff and found a purse of five crowns on him. And a stash of fifteen crowns in his wagon. Little shit was trying to make it big even when caught. Twenty crowns was too much. A wood-level cultivator could buy a brew or two with it. I''d learnt enough from Alexis.

    My lack of sense of how much money was worth was truly frightening. The Harkleys had many flaws but being cheap was not one of them.

    ¡°You see anything?¡± Alexis asked, she and I were driving Kristoff''s wagon. We''d agreed to do our best to draw attention to us. Cultivators tended to assume cultivators were to blame for their problems, so seeing us and an absence of Kristoff would keep anyone watching from causing problems for the others.

    ¡°No, but there are a lot of people looking at us.¡±

    ¡°They are probably surprised by our arrival. The storm was only a few days ago, it should''ve at least crippled our caravan. Plus the bandit damage. We should expect the guards to have some questions.¡± Baste was in the wagon before ours. He took us through the palisade gates without issue. They only had a token guard. A couple of boys without a hint of stubble.

    Moving into the town was an education, the palisade town was a series of rough buildings, that looked to have been stitched together from pieces. Lots of tents and wicker huts. The people here were hardy and tough, and there wasn¡¯t a child amongst them.

    ¡°Where are all the kids?¡±

    ¡°Oh, they¡¯d not be let out here. This is the rough town. It¡¯s where all the jobs too smelly vile or seedy happen. Everything can be levelled by a single monster attack. If anyone catches sight of a monster everyone here will flood inside. People get paid extra for having to do work out here.¡±

    ¡°But there are shops, and I saw a bar?¡±

    ¡°Yeah well, it can take time to come and go. Some even sleep out here, but that¡¯s only the stupid or the desperate. If you go to some other place with a rough town and see a load of kids, be worried about what you¡¯ll find behind the walls.¡±

    ¡°Thanks, I appreciate it. I¡¯m from Albion, we don¡¯t have rough towns, no one would dare be outside the walls for longer than absolutely necessary.¡±

    ¡°Happy to enlighten you, my merry minstrel. Ah, we¡¯re coming up to the main gate. Expect questions.¡± It appeared the guards were waiting in the wings for just that line. As we approached the portcullis guards rushed out. A couple of them at Wood, and standing looking down at us from the tower was a Bronze cultivator in full armour, a stern face and bushy eyebrows shot through with grey, a fur-trimmed cloak marked him as captain.

    ¡°Halt.¡± The call came, Baste had already been sliding to a stop so we all paused. ¡°We are surprised to see your caravan, a hawk told us of your leaving, but we expected the storm to waylay you. Explain.¡±

    Baste turned to look at me, I felt the eyes of the captain jump to me. Thanks, Baste great job.

    ¡°Hail, and greetings Captain. I am Taliesin, I am a bard and ally of Sir Bors. I am a cultivator of Bronze level.¡±

    ¡°What manner of cultivator are you?¡±

    ¡°A bard sir. I seek to pursue music, joy and song over any other forms of cultivation, be that combat, sorcery, or physical craft.¡± I could practically see the group''s faces knitting. That was no cultivator they knew of.

    ¡°So not one of Sir Bors¡¯s knightly chums trying to sneak in under false pretences.¡± That question worried me. From what Alexis had told me I¡¯d understood that Fosburg welcomed wandering cultivators. Still, my options were few, and while I could not lie, didn¡¯t mean others had to trust me.

    ¡°Perhaps I might answer that challenge and the question that spurned it in a single go?¡± I asked pulling up my lute. I was a little surprised to see the man smile in response and give me a nod.

    ¡°Well, this song is about a Knight and his acts most brave. To save a caravan from brigands, and fae beasts, and even turn aside the wrath of the storm. Let me sing to you of Bors! And the Titan¡¯s Three Trials!¡±

    The lute hummed with energy as I began to strum. I puffed on my pipe, before tucking it behind my ear, the smoke still rising, being fuelled by my glamour.

    ¡°Bors the Titan, hearth ablaze, protector worthy of ancient days!¡±

    I lost myself in the act, it wasn¡¯t just the singing or the playing, but also the dancing and swirling of smoke. The song brought everything around us to a halt. An act I¡¯d honed over the last few days travelling was now getting its true debut.

    ¡°With wicked blades and savage cries, bandits descend under frosted skies.

    But then the earth begins to quake, a giant wakes for justice'' sake.¡±

    As I leapt among the crowd, the smoke swirled about me showing a brace of bandits being cut down by the huge form of Bors. I could feel the gazes, all attention held a tiny amount of glamour. That attention could turn into the Evil Eye by the most powerful, a way of impressing the weight of their fury and power. Witches were said to be particularly attuned to it, but as I sang it did not fill me full of worry, instead that focus brought delight.

    ¡°A monstrous lynx with form of misty light, eyes burning embers, sharp and bright,

    Leaps from the trees with snarl and bite, a hunger dark, a fearsome sight.¡±

    The children I¡¯d been travelling with looked around continuing a game I had honed with them, trying to spot the lynx before it attacked the alert form of Bors, I had it creep out of from under a caravan. And they pointed at screamed a warning, I had Bors turn, saluting them, don''t stop before he fought it.

    The song and illusion continued with him battling the beast with sword and stone. Standing triumphant he began to lead them but clouds gathered and winds blew.

    ¡°The earth itself, a sheltering hand, a monument to Bors''s command,

    A Titan''s power, a Knight¡¯s grace, a haven carved from winter''s place.¡±

    I finished with a recreation of the Bors raising the dome, which I didn¡¯t have to embellish. However, I did change his act of blowing on the earth, less piercing whistle and more single hammer strike. The caravaneers didn¡¯t mind, they applauded all the same. As did the guards. The captain was watching with rapt attention, a smile visible under his armour. His applause came last.

    I was thrilled, who needed death glamour when a performance felt so good? The mood had turned convivial as the guards relaxed, matching their captain. The man dropped lazily from his place a top of the battlements sliding down the side of the wall. I could smell metal glamour, and his Levity control was exceptional. The ease of it and his metal glamour made me realise he''d hidden his power earlier. Now I could feel it, he was a Knight, Peak Iron ranked.

    ¡°Baste, tell me is this what happened?¡± He turned a lazy eye to the guardsman who nodded, before finally remembering his duty, snapping a salute.

    ¡°Yes, Captain Ban. It is as Bard Taliesin said, he joined us to escort us to the town. We had some unexpected trouble.¡± Bard Taliesin was what they¡¯d taken to calling me, lacking a squire, knight or other such honorific to stick before my name. I¡¯d tried to insist they drop it, but Alexis had scolded me. I felt gloomy that much of her logic was that it was a bad habit to teach children a lack of respect.

    ¡°Yes. I also notice that the old bastard isn¡¯t among you, yet the hawk said he was the caravan leader.¡±

    ¡°I left his fate out of the song, I couldn¡¯t work out how to fit ¡®dastardly betrayal¡¯ into the melody,¡± I said, speaking in low tones. Captain Ban¡¯s smile thinned, and then nodding he waved us through.

    ¡°Well then we¡¯re pleased to have you, Bard Taliesin, we ask you and the good lady cultivator I spy at your side to report to us so we can explain the rules of Fosburg to cultivators such as yourselves.¡±

 Chapter 18 - Miss Peaches

    The caravan continued into a large staging area, likely to accommodate the rough town influx in case of emergencies. The caravan peeled off waving me goodbye as I followed Captain Ban. The inside of the town was far prettier than the plain stone walls outside. The buildings had sharp slowing rooves to deal with the snow and were decorated with beautiful wooden trimmings with subtle curves and shapes that reminded me of spring in full bloom. Their shutters were painted a riot of colours. It was rather beautiful.

    The place was rich with earth and water glamour. The water glamour rising off the river below but also the channels all about. I was surprised to see guttering running through the streets. I could see, it channelling the waste and debris of human life away. The gatehouse we approached was not so pretty, an imposing block of stone with wrought iron grilles over its windows.

    The whole building was reinforced with runic spells. I''d never had time to get but a passing knowledge of runes. I knew enough for a glamour gathering formations, and some privacy formations, among a few other odds and ends. Beyond that though my knowledge of the sharp chiselled shapes was next to nothing. I added equipment to scribe runes to my list of things to get, I''m sure Bors would appreciate some added cultivation.

    Alexis looked unphased by our current situation, so I chose to go with her. I was rapidly learning that while I was good with people in a general sense, my common sense about what was normal was totally broken. If the Captain had addressed a Harkley like this there would already be duels happening. I would never be so arrogant, but I was fundamentally unaware of how the world acted when I was not the face of a bunch of total arseholes.

    We were led to a small well-appointed office. The man had a small picture of a young girl on his desk, sheaves of paper with woodcut prints upon them were stacked on his desk. I had long ago formed the habit of reading everything I came across no matter the angle or ownership. The paper was a collection of warrants, bounties, and reports. All from the three nearest towns. Rasslig, the town the hunters were based out of featured heavily.

    ¡°Please sit. Before we have any misunderstandings you''re not in trouble. I just want to hear out the situation. Also, I should properly introduce myself. I am Sir Castor Ban, retainer of the Fos, guard captain of the north bridge.¡±

    ¡°I am Taliesin wandering troubadour, Bardic Cultivator of Bronze rank.¡±

    ¡°I am Apprentice Alexis Wealdstone, junior alchemist. Wood Rank.¡± Alexis said. It was the first time I''d heard Alexis¡¯ surname. It wasn''t a house but taken from the place of birth.

    ¡°Thank you both for cooperating and I appreciate the show. I was quite the musician in my younger days, so your playing was a rare treat. Now you mentioned betrayal, and I see a lack of a wiry little schemer of an old man.¡±

    ¡°Sir Ban, everything Taliesin said about Sir Bors is true. He did save us from all three issues, but at least one was no accident. I shall retrieve something to show you if that is alright.¡± Alexis spoke first, I was only too happy to let her take the lead. Old instincts warned me to clam up, especially when a fresh curse made my tongue loose.

    ¡°This is a pouch, one of part of a pair Kristoff admitted to stringing under my caravan at the behest of the Golden Hind Hunters Lodge. This is a training tool for fae beasts. I believe it was used to keep the Mist Lynx from approaching our caravan. A necessity as they''d also planted a beast lure on with it.¡±

    ¡°You''re sure of this.¡± The man''s eyes flicked up, and I could sense a bit of the Evil Eye stir behind his gaze, not at us but his rage was palpable. Fosburg ran off caravans, messing with them was attacking its lifeblood.

    ¡°Both myself and Sir Bors were familiar with the smell and could identify it. I saved a small sample for analysis as well. It was a revenge plan, the hunters lost a Knight-level member to Sir Bors. They planned to leave the lure and the Lynx with it to kill Sir Bors.¡±

    ¡°And Kristoff admitted to all this? Damn fool, I knew him to be a smuggler but thought he was smarter than this. I assume you handled him.¡±

    ¡°Yes, he admitted he was paid by the hunters, and tried to claim they had his family.¡±

    ¡°He''s been left by two wives and walked out on a third, no pure greed was his motivator.¡±

    ¡°I thought so too. I was also unimpressed that he chose to hang the pair under Al-Apprentice Wealdstone''s wagon, a wagon he then stuck the other two young women in under the pretence of protecting their virtue. It all went wrong when they were attacked by bandits who included cultivators, which drew the Lynx closer and pulled up Sir Bors''s attention as well.¡±

    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    ¡°Come to think of it, we were meant to have a Squire escorting us but he couldn''t make it. Now I realise the hunters must have forced him off. Kristoff also pushed for us to keep going despite not having the protection.¡± Alexis said.

    ¡°This is serious. The Golden Hind has quite a few members in our town, only one is Iron ranked but they are important to Rasslig''s economy, so this report is going to need to be detailed. I''m sorry Apprentice Wealdstone, I''ll need to know who your master is. It''s best if we get you a protection detail while we sort all this out.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I''m apprenticed to Miss Peaches. I should be fine.¡±

    ¡°I beg your pardon.¡± The man went totally still, his whole body locking up, only his eyes changed, irises widening in shock.

    I felt it then. Power. The world around us contracted, my skin, bones and soul throttled by it. I heard the door open behind us. The light of the study didn''t pass that ominous portal, but I could sense something before us. My body used to situations of immense pressure reacted even as my mind lay dull. I felt my lute shift in my hand to a blade, it came with an explosion of smoke glamour as I pushed far too much energy towards the fae device.

    I stood between Alexis and the monster in the doorway, blade out body shaking. My only thought was to somehow buy a moment for her to escape whatever devilry this was.

    ¡°Miss Peaches please stop he''s a friend,¡± Alexis said, her voice exasperated rather than screaming in fear like any sane person might expect. With that, the weight was gone. I sagged to my knees, finding myself looking upon a rail-thin woman. Her hair was grey, her face wrinkled and buried beneath a dark green coat, and with a shawl wrapped around her head.

    Despite looking like a well-dressed mortal grandmother, she was scary beyond all reason. No one thing about her was upsetting, but right now terror consumed me. My blood pounded in my ears, and my throat was dry.

    ¡°Oh Alexis I was so worried, I heard you were rushed off by this rust bucket for questioning. Let me look at you.¡± The woman stepped right past me as I sucked in rough breaths. Behind me, I think I hear a ¡®glurk¡¯ from the Captain.

    ¡°Ow, why do you always pinch my cheeks. I''m fine Miss Peaches, I was saved by a Knight and helped by Taliesin here, the Captain has been nothing but respectful, and I must admit I forgot to inform him of who I was apprenticed to.¡±

    ¡°So the rust bucket didn''t haul one of my girls off without asking. That''s good to know.¡± the witch said. I heard deep breaths resume behind me as Captain Ban was freed from her Evil Eye. I shuddered, I''d heard the witches used Evil Eye on a whole other level. I''d thought years of the Harkleys throwing it around as a way to win arguments had steeled me to its effects but I was wrong. If she''d pinned down the Captain though she had to be Steel.

    ¡°Alexis we cannot have you late for supper. Captain Ban, I trust my Apprentice can come with me.¡±

    ¡°Yes, please. My apologies Elder Nimue.¡± He choked out. Elder was a Steel rank witch, being correct in my assessment of her power gave me no reassurance. Not as her attention turned to me.

    ¡°Young man, you showed surprising fortitude. You will visit my humble abode four days hence, at the eleventh bell for tea. I''m sure the Captain can give you directions.¡±

    As quickly as she''d appeared she was gone, with only Alexis mouthing sorry to mark her passing. Then even though she was gone, the door closed. Captain Ban stood rigidly and shuffled over to a cabinet from which he pulled a large bottle of whiskey and a pair of glasses. I managed to get my legs under me on the third attempt.

    ¡°Damn impressive you being able to move.¡± He grunted and began to pour.

    ¡°I''m used to harsh critique.¡± I managed the half-truth.

    ¡°I take it you didn''t know about her.¡± He passed me the whiskey, which I went to sip. He downed him in a single gulp before before pouring another. The flavour was rich and peaty. From the Lands of Woad no doubt.

    ¡°No idea,¡± I said.

    ¡°Well, at least the Golden Hind isn''t my problem anymore, or at least only as much as signing off a load of suicides.¡±

    ¡°Suicides?¡±

    ¡°What else do you call pissing off someone like her? Look, how about I agree to not ask about nor mention your sword there to anyone, and you agree to never speak to anyone about what happened in this room.¡± He pointed to my still-transformed lute. I''d curse my sloppiness changing it back, but in truth, it was a wonder I''d retained enough control to not shift my clothes into armour as well.

    ¡°Deal,¡± I replied.

    ¡°Haaaa, I will also be putting you up for the next few days, and I hope you take no offence if I have you all but marched to her door tomorrow?¡±

    ¡°Seems like a sensible plan.¡± I finished my drink and found another poured for me.

    ¡°I must ask you in advance to humour my daughter.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean by that?¡±

    ¡°You''ll see.¡± Was that a fourth glass he''d just finished?

 Chapter 19 - Secrets over treacle pudding

    Ban, he''d requested I drop ¡®Captain¡¯ once he got off duty, was walking me to his home. This part of town was beautiful. We walked over the clean cobbled streets, with small rune lights guiding our way. It was so different to Albion, the average town out of the major cities was dreary and dark. While the cities glowed and teemed with cultivators and mortals alike. It made me realise how gaudy some of the cities I''d known truly were.

    The people were pleased to see their Captain and waved to him often. It was a pleasant change to how most cultivators were treated. Being somehow both a leper and a lord. All the way he waved right back knowing many people by name.

    He did an excellent job about it as well. Given I knew just how drunk he was, having seen him finish the rest of the whiskey, and now serving as a living crutch. The one upside to having to support an Iron rank cultivator was that he was introducing me to everyone. I bandied words with those he chose, getting a chuckle out of the gruff men, or a ¡®oh stop¡¯ from the older ladies.

    I was not introduced to any younger folk for some reason. I guess bards do have a reputation.

    Ban''s home was a gorgeous mansion set in a wide gardens on a raised area overlooking most of this part of town. It was perhaps the nicest dwelling about, and made me question exactly who Captain Ban really was. My suspicions could wait, with the height advantage I could take in whole town. It was a breathtaking sight.

    First was the vast falls, a vast ribbon of blue with crests of churning white, crashing from the high cliff. I could here the roar of the that water in my chest, even as runic spells reduced the harshness of the noise. I''d learnt today that the falls were so high when the it wasn''t boosted by melt water the raging water mostly turned to mist before it could even hit the ground. That mist in turn fed the rolling fields of farms I could see Illuminated by the setting sun. They were already showing shoots of green despite the early spring. The water glamour of the water was supplemented by earth glamour pulled from the mountain which kept the plains fertile.

    The part of town I was in was neat, tidy, and spoke of quiet wealth, the kind you got from stability and having skilled mortals putting down roots. It was so far my main experience of Fosburg, but from this vantage point I could see the town was far from homogeneous. There were high walls and a strip of mansions, beautiful compounds, and glittering towers, at the side of the bridge that faced the waterfall. I was confused till I saw various banners of Orders and Covens I knew to be famous for manipulating water glamour. It must make for a rich water cultivation resouce.

    On the other side of the bridge, on the hills that led down to where the farms were was a town that was bigger than the town that sat on the stone bridge. It''s construction, apart from in a few places was rough. Not like the shanty town we''d passed through on our way in, but more like the less affluent towns of Albion with some cultivator touches.

    Watching Ban, I saw his gaze lovingly sweep just the regular bridge town, his eyes only briefly touching on the extremes of wealth and poverty that boxed it in.

    Just before a second set of higher walls that marked the inner town. It was apparently based on a ¡®chalet¡¯ design he''d seen out in the mountains, beautiful wood slats fronted the upper floors while white paint highlighted the splashes of colour. The only hint that a metal cultivator lived here was at the side I could see a small forge.

    As we approached a pair of servants were waiting for us. the opened the gates to the short wall around the space. I could see them both surprised as their master stumbled. I caught him easily. I could see the butler turn his eyes to me accusingly.

    ¡°Don''t be like that Jasper, not his fault. We had a run-in with the Lady in Peach today.¡± The butler nodded at his master''s words knowingly.

    ¡°Ah, I shall go decant some wine shall I sir?¡±

    ¡°Yes and please let my wife know. This is the Bard Taliesin, who has been invited to tea by her ladyship tomorrow. I was asked to give him directions.¡±

    ¡°I take it this is the bard from the gate earlier today. I already made up a bed.¡± Ban nodded. Stepping through the door he sent his armour into a storage ring. He was now in a fine silk shirt with a long green sleeveless tunic over it, it was subtly embroidered with a pattern that I recognized as fleur de lyes, a common form for the area.

    ¡°News certainly travels fast does everyone know I''m here?¡± I said, following him to the receiving room.

    Inspired by my earlier fumble with my blade where I choked it in smoke trying to transform it while under the Evil Eye. I blew smoke around me, beneath the glamour I changed my travelling clothes into a knee-length tunic, black and grey of course, with some simple stockings beneath which despite my best attempts refused to be any colour but red.

    It was actually a great way to obscure the Lady''s gifts. Cultivators couldn''t see through it and would take another stronger cultivator to disrupt my smoke, which I''d sense. Of course a crafty Steel or higher could possibly work around it but by then I''d already fucked up in getting that level of attention.

    ¡°Bard Taliesin, a pleasure. I am Sir''s butler, it is my job to stay appraised of events concerning Sir Ban and his household. Speaking of which your daughter is waiting for you in the next room SIr.¡± Jasper''s tone remained even yet still managed to carry a sense of warning.

    ¡°Thank you, Jasper. Let''s get this done.¡± Ban pushed open the door. A blonde form zipped under his arm and was before me in a split second. If I didn''t have exceptional control after years of learning to not blink at almost anything the Harkleys sent at me I''d have lashed out.

    ¡°So what school of combat did you train under? Also -urk.¡± Ban wrestled the manic form into a hug.

    ¡°By all the seelie Lance let him get in the door first.¡± Ban laughed, holding his daughter in a vice-like grip, Jasper using that small window of time led me through to the main room of the house in that small moment. It was warm, refined and smelt of the forest and smoke. Being a cultivator had meant I''d mostly forgotten the bite of the cold, but this still thawed a chill I''d not known I''d been carrying.

    ¡°Dad. Let me go. Also are you drunk?¡± I heard ¡®Lance¡¯ grumble.

    ¡°Not as drunk as I''d like.¡±

    ¡°Mom''s going to be pissed.¡±

    ¡°Watch your language, Squire Lancelot! Also, it is rude to assume someone else''s disposition.¡± A vision of a woman swept down the stairs. I was used to beauty having seen many of the women Albion considered its finest. Their flawless forms are worthy of carving in marble and being immortalised for the ages. The lady of the house was not those chilly princesses, no hers was a gentle beauty, one befitting her home. She had a kind face framed in golden locks, a look enhanced by the light wrinkles earned through frequent smiles.

    She was definitely a cultivator, and her attention tugged on me like a silk thread. It felt gentle but there was a strength there, an echo that reminded me of the Lady in Peach''s evil eye. She was likely quite high in cultivation same as Ban.

    ¡°Elaine, my sweet come here and console my weary soul.¡± Ban chucked, dragging his struggling daughter with him to embrace his wife.

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    I felt like I was watching a moment I should not. It was a glimpse into kindness and family that I¡¯d almost forgotten. My mother''s passing some fourteen years ago left me with little memory of such genuine love and care. I had long refined the control of my face and actions, but never in all my years, through bullying and beatings, could I remember struggling to hold back tears as hard.

    ¡°Elaine, Lance, this is our guest Taliesin, a bardic cultivator. The Lady in Peach is expecting him for tea tomorrow.¡± Ban said.

    ¡°A pleasure Taliesin. I take it that because you lack the maudlin air of those waiting for the gallows, that you have somehow impressed her?¡± Elaine asked, offering her hand which I duly kissed as was appropriate.

    ¡°I did little, my friend Sir Bors helped protect her Apprentice from some unsavoury types I merely rooted out those involved.¡± I offered, at which moment the struggling form of ¡®Lance¡¯ finally broke free of her father.

    ¡°Which combat school did you study under.¡± Lance sought to zip up to me, but her mother''s gaze slowed her to an unladylike but not rude stride. Lance was the most aggressively handsome girl I''d ever met. Her hair was shorter than mine, styled like a boy''s, and she wore a dress that might as well of been a men''s tunic. Her hair was golden like her mother, and her features were a mix of both parents, with warm eyes and a button nose, but with a sharp jaw and cheeks. I guessed she was about Maeve''s age so likely eighteen or nineteen, but was possessed with the boundless energy of someone much younger.

    Despite the bubbling energy she flowed gracefully, it reminded me of how dancers moved, despite the gentle movements I could feel her confidence in each step. Even when she stopped her stance was wide and I could see the muscles under the dress. She was as tall as I was but felt like she was bearing down on me. A complete warrior.

    ¡°By all the courts Lance, did you not hear he''s a bard.¡± Ban rubbed his face.

    "Squire Lancelot, be polite, for that no questions about combat until we''re sat down."

    ¡°But Mother! It''s a reasonable question you''re an Oracle and can fight almost as well as Dad. Besides I can see it in his stance he knows how to fight.¡± That answered my question about Elaine''s cultivation, Oracles were a subset of witches focused on divination.

    ¡°I mean I do, but that''s nothing special. I am a travelling troubadour, it''d hardly be safe to make music if I couldn''t make my way from one place to another.¡±

    ¡°No need to be modest, you killed two Gale Hares and were able to move under her Evil Eye. Plus I saw you moving about during your performance, you can use Levity at your level. No single one of these is a simple feat.¡± Ban said over his shoulder as he headed through to another room from which delicious smells escaped.

    ¡°You did what? Are you one of those who prefer the Mystic styles? I hear they focus on speed a great deal.¡± Lance was looking me over with a critical eye.

    ¡°Lancelot, what did I just say? Now no questions till pudding. Taliesin do please join us, it''s a long time since we had a bard at our table.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn''t dare to impose, your husband has already been exceedingly kind.¡± I could feel my stomach practically strangle me over that small politeness. It smelt so good.

    ¡°It''s no imposition, when I heard there was a bard at the gates I made sure an extra place was laid, Ban and I do so love good music. My husband plays quite a rare instruement himself on the rare occasions he has the time to do so.¡± She ushered me through the door, piloting me effortlessly to the table.

    I was spared more questions from Lance as the first course arrived, an onion soup with crusty bread covered in cheese, plus a hint of rare peppercorns. A humble dish but lavish in execution.

    ¡°So you''re a bardic cultivator? What does that entail, it''s honestly an enviable concept.¡± Elaine conducted court at the table, Ban was sipping wine, his sips leisurely now he was in his home. Lancelot was clearly waiting for permission to speak but deferred to her mother.

    ¡°The path it''s taking me now is to be in the shadow of other cultivators, learning of their stories travelling to new places and experiencing new things. I am in no rush to shoot through the ranks. I also find there''s something unique about performing it strengthens me and pushes my skills.¡±

    ¡°Few cultivators would wish to be in others'' shadow, or take their time to appreciate the world, it''s an unusual outlook and one I think we could all use more of.¡±

    ¡°Damn right, if I could let my younger self know just how long a cultivator''s life truly is I''d have made far fewer mistakes and enjoyed myself more when I was in my ¡®Noble Squire¡¯ phase.¡±

    The conversation continued, over another two courses of delicious hearty fare. I was feeling quite stuffed. We''d strayed across a few topics. A bit about Bors, who was known to Ban, apparently a quite respected Young Knight of Fos went out to challenge him to prove his worth. The Knight was soundly beaten, but they parted on good terms as Bors was always willing to impart knowledge.

    Despite Ban''s assurances that Bors would be alright I still felt unsettled. I was keen to check on my friend.

    Ban reassured me, that not only was that path particularly quiet, but his view of the Golden Hind was poor. They picked up those who couldn''t hack it in the Orders and were often the kind of cultivators who couldn''t work together enough to make it in the watch or as caravan guards. The path between the two towns was rarely used at this time of year but he said another caravan should likely be heading through in a couple of days bringing news.

    With that topic closed I learned a little more about Ban''s family. Ban was himself a foundling, when Lancelot tried to expand on the story of him being found by the Fos family head, he waved her off, saying ''We don''t need a repeat of that old story''. Colour me intrigued.

    Elaine had left her coven, and was officially a ''hedge witch'' and offered services to the cultivators based out of Fosburg. Lancelot was their first and only child, the couple having met during a bout of Ban''s questing some twenty years ago.

    We didn''t talk about local politics, nor did they probe overly into my past which was pleasant. I was getting used to the half-truths and technical truths my fae curse allowed. I realised I actually spent most of my time as a Harkley in a similar state of truthfullness. It was easier to be partially honest than gather lies around yourself. My lies mostly consisted of speaking of my loyaly to, admiration for, and of course ownership of the Harkley name.

    Diverting a lot of attention from years of my life would be beyond me. Lancelot was remarkably well-behaved, keeping the conversation going without going into combat or battle. That though seemed to be a tactic to let us all relax and become addled by drink, her parents were less willing or able to corral her.

    Lancelot struck as pudding was served a rich pudding of some kind of sugary syrup, called ''treacle'' over a sponge cake. It was delightful. ¡°Dad said you moved under the witch''s Evil Eye. How''d you manage that?¡±

    ¡°Lance, if I''ve told you once I''ve told you a thousand times, you can''t just ask cultivators for their secrets, that''s how you get duels.¡± Ban sighed.

    ¡°I don''t mind. It''s not really a secret, it''s just exposure. I''m used to harsh critique.¡± I replied, Lancelot seemed annoyed at the response, at me from the very first sentence. I paused. ¡°Lancelot, were you hoping I challenged you to a duel over that question?¡±

    ¡°Well, aren''t you delightfully sharp? See Lancelot, you are not as cunning as you think. Please let me apologise for my daughter, she is a champion of blade work in many regional tourneys, obsessed with her craft, and rather upset that we expect her to be more than just another Noble Squire going around and causing a ruckus.¡± Elaine shot a smile at her daughter who was going steadily redder.

    ¡°But Mom, the others have their gifts to help them, I am falling behind and there''s only so much one can do with a sword against someone who can coat themselves in magma.¡± Lancelot''s riposte got my attention, she was certainly a cultivator. She''d been introduced as Squire, so Bronze with two gifts.

    Gifts could be quite different, and I''d heard of plenty of souls who had one ¡®weaker¡¯ gift. Weakness is often measured by application to battle. My Smoke gift was one such example. I''d not heard of anyone totally cursed by their gifts. Besides even a ¡®weak¡¯ gift could be put to use.

    ¡°Oh great in combat I''m going to use dream glamour and whatever this is!¡± She flared both her palms and the dream mana made me wince, for a combat specialist, dream glamour was not helpful till you were Iron ranked at least, she''d most likely got it from her mother''s side. It was a very Oracle type of gift. The other gift though was such a shock that it froze my spoon''s transit to my mouth despite its delicious load of sponge and treacle.

    I felt the focus of Elaine on me. She''d seen my flinch. She could tell I knew! I could feel the weight of her gaze. Not the Evil Eye, but the total attention of a peak Iron cultivator made my skin crawl. Ban was hissing at his daughter for showing off and Lancelot was arguing back. Arguing rather fairly that ''no one knew what it was anyway? So why be so careful?''.

    It was her poor luck that I did in fact recognize one the rarest gifts in cultivator circles. I also knew the fae it was supposedly tied to. Elaine watched me as a cat watches a mouse, but the pressure from her was nothing compared to the weight of the image of those eyes like lakes which sprung up in my mind.

 Chapter 20 - Moon Glamour

    ¡°Jasper, I''ve just remembered something I must speak to Ban about. Please leave and double-check the privacy runes. Only disturb us if the other Lords of Fos demand our attention.¡± Elaine''s voice was pleasant but firm. The butler nodded and promptly left, hustling out the couple of servants with him.

    ¡°What''s going on?¡± Lancelot turned to her mother. Elaine passed some signal to Ban through her eyes, and he turned to face me as well. Great now I had two powerful cultivators'' attention. She hushed her daughter firmly and then came over to me. I finally put down the spoon. Treacle Sponge would have to wait.

    ¡°Taliesin, I can see you have an idea of what that glamour is. Am I incorrect?¡± Elaine''s voice was pleasant, as was her smile but the energy in the room was practically crackling.

    ¡°My answer on that depends, I feel I''ve just stepped into something more than merely saying a few words,¡± I replied.

    ¡°No way, this guy knows? What is it? TELL ME.¡± Lancelot tried to barrel forward but was grabbed by Ban who was dabbing off his lips with a napkin.

    ¡°Taliesin, we do not know what Lancelot''s second gift is. As she is of the Oracle blood the range is quite vast, and with Ban''s family unknown there are questions there as well. The only people we might be able to ask are people who could and would rip our daughter from us if her potential was deemed great enough.¡± Elaine said, her voice was gentle but clear.

    ¡°The Lady In Peach has tried to poach her.¡± Ban rumbled.

    ¡°I''m never going to be a witch. They wanted me to use knives!¡±

    ¡°Thankfully she agreed you weren''t suited to witchcraft. Still she wouldn''t tell us what the gift was, but her advice was to not ask this question of those we don''t trust implicitly, which sadly includes even the Fos.¡±

    ¡°WHY AREN''T YOU ASKING HIM?¡± The Squire thrashed in her father''s grip.

    ¡°Lancelot, the young man would be volunteering knowledge worth a lot of money. Knowledge that will reduce the leverage powerful groups have over our family. This is information that could get him killed and you abducted. This is not something to force on a guest.¡± Elaine''s voice was absolutely firm.

    ¡°But you can''t-¡±

    ¡°I''ll tell you. Just give me a moment to collect myself.¡± I cut her off. I took a deep breath as the pressure in the room lightened considerably at my declaration. I liked Ban and Elaine, they could be beating this out of me right now but approached it with decorum and class. Lancelot, I could take or leave, but I could respect what was driving her.

    My mind was swimming. I had relaxed in their company, feeling genuinely welcome. That''s where the flinch had come from, I''d not expected to have to hide, to mask myself. Just like my casual core consumption had damaged the trust between me and Bors. Both moments were a reminder that a single error could expose me.

    Equally, I didn''t have the energy, nor did I want to spend the rest of my life hidden behind a mask. Treating the world as my captor, waiting for someone to catch me. Waiting for traps that never were. Corrupting all enjoyment of the pleasures of the world.

    I''d basked in the Ban family company. Their love and care for each other had amused me as much as I''d envied it. All that would''ve been ruined if I was constantly on guard. Right now I could ask them for a thousand and one oaths, I could extort them, and the warmth would grow cold.

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    It also felt like a betrayal, not just of their kindness, but of my very self. I was new to being a bardic cultivator but this sounded a discordant note in my soul. I tell stories and while I might keep my own secrets, locking my knowledge behind walls of control, or demanding tithes for it felt wrong.

    ¡°I have only three things I''d like to ask of you all. Primarily I expect safety and privacy, you should not reveal who gave you this knowledge, nor investigate, demand or otherwise seek to harm or manipulate me to gain more knowledge or explore my past. Second should be obvious, it would be unacceptable to hurt or kill me to contain the information. Lancelot will have to at least hold back on revealing it till other credible sources who could''ve provided it to you pass by. I shall of course reciprocate and not share this with others.¡±

    ¡°Agreed.¡± All three spoke. I could feel the truth in it.

    ¡°Lastly, I am personally in need of some connections and expansion of my reputation. You appear to be well respected. I''d appreciate some introductions, and general goodwill which I shall of course endeavour to live up to.¡±

    ¡°Agreed,¡± Ban spoke first, Elaine nodded and confirmed a moment later.

    ¡°Well, then noble Lancelot. Your gift is vanishingly rare, the Lady In Peach was right to advise you to remain silent. I assume you have noticed the glamour is stronger under the moon?¡± I knew it was rare in part because of the context in which I''d seen it. The displays of power during the hunts run by the Quillvern family. The Royal family of Albion.

    ¡°Yes, we''ve been calling it moon glamour. I get it from other sources at times but there''s no rhyme or reason to it.¡±

    ¡°It''s known as moon glamour. But at its core, it''s the glamour of reflection. Cultivators long ago learned the light of the moon is light reflected off its surface from the sun as it rests on the other side of the world. The phases of the moon are the shadows of the world upon it.¡± Lancelot was nodding frantically. Behind her, Elaine was yanking a mirror off the wall to immediately start testing.

    ¡°I should be clear, it''s not just light being reflected. It''s the very act of one thing being reflected off of something else. The reason I imagine it''s been tough for you is that it''s a glamour most often encountered in short bursts like a ball bouncing off a wall, or is very weak if constant like light off a lake.¡± I coughed at that. The image of the lady of the lake appeared in my mind. Now came the last piece of information. I knew who the Albion royals claimed to be related to. How much had the fae foreseen?

    ¡°So it''s useful? I mean I can use it in combat.¡± Lancelot was practically begging. I decided there and then, there was no way I was leaving her with half the information.

    ¡°The most notable practitioners of this gift are the Quilvern. The High King of Albion and his kin. It is part of their claim to being related to the Lady of the Lake.¡±

    Everyone looked stunned. Lancelot''s face rose and then fell. Ban radiated energy I associated with the Evil Eye, while Elaine looked at her reflection in the mirror.

    ¡°Fuck!¡± Lancelot yelled, breaking the silence, ¡°So I''ve got an amazing gift that''ll get me nabbed the second I use it?¡±

    ¡°You''re sure of this?¡± Elaine asked, wringing her hands as the weight of what I was saying hit home.

    ¡°I am sure. I have witnessed it in person before. Plus, I believe I may have been pushed here to share this knowledge with you. It''s related to something your husband has agreed to not speak about.¡± The man''s eyebrows knit together before his jaw fell open, eyes resting on the lute which was slung over the back of my chair.

    ¡°You''ve seen her,¡± he said collapsing back into his chair.

    ¡°I believe we agreed to not ask for the sources of my information.¡± Was my only reply, I drained my glass of wine.

    ¡°So what do I do?¡±

    ¡°That is up to you, I will share more of what I know of the glamour over the next few days as I stay here. It seems your family may need to chat.¡± I got up the room was silent, each lost in their own thoughts. I felt dirty like I''d damaged the harmony I''d found.

    ¡°Thank you. I fully appreciate what you have offered here, what you are risking by saying it.¡± Ban stood clasping my shoulder as I tried to leave.

    ¡°It is a bard¡¯s job to share stories. I''m just sorry we missed a chance to make music together.¡± I smiled even though I didn''t feel it.

 Chapter 21 - Dream weaving

    Lance sat across from her mother, surrounded by candles. She may never want to be a witch, to truly tap into the powers of an oracle, but that did not mean she was foolish enough to reject the gift outright. She''d learned enough to understand the glamour.

    Her mother though had been a prodigy. Lance had heard it many times, how she''d grown up in her Coven being lavished with attention, she was pushed too far, asked to use her powers to darker purposes. Her mother refused and had been driven out, forced to leave lest she find herself silenced. That same skill was on full display now. The pair of them working together to pull on the Dream Weave, the name oracles gave to the collection of dream glamour that formed at the back of everyone''s minds.

    Oracles didn''t foretell the future, they pulled on the thousands of threads of dream glamour from the sleeping minds of humans, fae beasts, and if they were unlucky the fae themselves. This massed collection could be read by those talented in the skill, it could be asked questions and used to search for people, or by high-level cultivators was a tool to invade and influence the dreams of others.

    Lance was not at that level, nor did she ever expect to be, she''d always wanted to be a knight. Her skill with a blade was second to none at her age. It felt right, her body came alive with a sword in her hand. But her gifts meant that those around her were creeping past her. Dream was useless for Levity, and could do little to the waking mind. The one thing she''d managed to do was spy on her opponent''s skills before a battle, that was the very limit of her skills, and that only worked when enough people had seen them fight.

    The collected memories of those moments of battle gathered in hazy images she could try and glean insights from. It was barely worth the headaches it caused, but she needed every edge.

    With her limited gifts, the only other thing she could half do was guard herself against others, reducing her imprint in the weave.

    The one thing she was good at was helping her mother. Together they dipped into the weave, appearing as they often did at her mother''s dream space.

    They sat in a stone room from her coven days, opposite sides of a huge cast iron cauldron filled with liquid silver.

    ¡°Now you remember the questions we agreed upon?¡± Her mother stressed the point. ''Mum'' isn''t what you call a woman draped in dreams and shadows.

    ¡°Yes, I remember them.¡±

    ¡°Keep them clear in your mind, these are the kinds of questions others will be watching for. We also stray near breaking our oath to the Bard, which is a poor way to repay his generosity and violate our role as host.¡± Her Mother was a witch at her core, and they took rules of hospitality and oaths extremely seriously.

    ¡°I mean are we sure he''s not lying to us?¡±

    ¡°Banish that thought from your mind lest it cloud our work here. Your father and I are sure, that is enough.¡± Lance was quiet. Her mother was stricter than her dad and would brook no discussion on this. The strange cultivator had barged into their lives and sent everything spinning. She''d felt crippled not knowing what her glamour was, and now felt paralysed after learning she might not be able to use it for fear of the attention it would bring. It grated on her would, now she knew what it was the prickling sensation to pull upon, the temptation to use it, had grown tenfold.

    People had already started whispering that she was one of those who had only a single gift, one twice as powerful as others, a rare and celebrated occurrence. It made sense to them, explaining why she was in such a foul mood, and why the Lady in Peach was interested in her. They thought she was an Oracle playing around with a sword, her future to be locked away and protected as an asset to a House, Coven or Order.

    ¡°Focus Lancelot, we must ask the first question.¡± Her mother was lost in shadows, dressed in the blacks and faded grey of the witches. She was in her training gear, it manifested around her, outside her control, shaped by her thoughts. She focused on the whistling harvest method, she imagined her lips breathing in, aiming to pull in only the threads of glamour that responded to the question.

    Dad would jump. He sat guarding them as he must, he said that even after years of experience the way they both started to whistle in their sleep set his teeth on edge. How she hated being a dream-gifted, seriously who else had to be asleep to cultivate properly?

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    ¡°Our first question this night. Does the attention of Albion and its allies rest on our home?¡± The question was carefully crafted, most powers of Euross had defences prepared against dream cultivators, naming the power directly or even worse a specific person could trigger a backlash.

    She let her lips pull in the tendrils of glamour that felt alive, that twitched in regards to her question. She had her mother to help filter out the mess, and between them, they gathered a fair bit of glamour. The pair breathed that out over the liquid silver, the mirror rippling as if a storm crossed it.

    The ripples lasted long after their breath stilled. The chopping waves included distorted images, bits of pieces of memory and scattered moments, distorted by the dream glamour. All were near incomprehensible to Lance, she dutifully watched them anyway. She got that vaguest sense of an answer from them, a sort of ¡®My sources say no¡¯ kind of non-response. Her mother looked to get much more from them, her shoulders slid out of the worried hunch they''d held since she¡¯d lit candles in the waking world.

    ¡°We''re in luck. Unless carefully hidden, no attention sits on us.¡± Lance hadn''t believed they would know, but it was nice to have the confirmation. Her mother hurried her along, the longer they stayed her the more likely they were to be sensed by other dream cultivators. ¡°Now to the second question, what do people believe Lancelot''s gifts are.¡±

    Again the question wording was important, while ''who'' Lancelot was provided by their will, they didn''t need to be specific as to which Lancelot. That was under their control but if they were specific and said ''second gift'' it would miss those who might think her first gift was the Moon, or those who thought she only had one gift.

    Equally, if they asked the weave ¡®Does anyone know Lance has the moon gift?¡¯ they might draw out those who listened for such questions. Revealing themselves to the very people they were trying to avoid.

    The liquid silver was a frothing mess, Lance could just about get a sense with a yes or no question, but this was complete chaos to her eyes. Her mother could read it like a beginners illuminated text, and looked more relieved than before. Their worst worries were banished. ¡°All appears good. The belief you¡¯re twice gifted with dream is strong. ¡±

    ¡°Now onto the last question. Is anyone tailing our guest, do they watch him?¡± Her mother spoke and Lancelot aided her, doing her utmost best to keep the traitorous part of her brain that wanted to know who he was at bay. She focused on whistling while fuming at her parents for being so cautious.

    She was no fool, she didn¡¯t believe her dad¡¯s theory that Taliesin had met the fabled Lady. The Lady was the patron of powerful warriors, kings, and those who would change the world. It made sense that he had seen Moon glamour in action if he was part of their courts, it was enough to meet cultivator royalty, and his mystique did not need Fae royalty added to it.

    As she whistled she caught the threads around her, pulling them towards but not into her Hearth. Pulling dream straight into the Hearth was a recipe for a bad end, just like the other gifts like death which contained a great amount of the will of those that generated them. Instead, she worked to move the mana around her hearth, spinning it, binding it, helping what was already there grow. In turn, her hearth imparted a little of her will to the dream glamour.

    Pulling in the glamour she was almost done when her breath hitched, the whistle fluttering. She¡¯d caught an indigestible string of mana. She was a fish on a hook, she¡¯d played at fighting her mother, but that felt like a torrent of water trying to force her to obey. Not the absolute command that had her now.

    The world around them shimmered, they were no longer in the witch''s cottage. She and her mother were on warm grass around a perfectly circular pool, a crescent sliver of moonlight bearing down on them. As before they sat opposite each other. Her mother¡¯s hand was held up, urging her to stay still. Lance hated being a dream-gifted.

    ¡°Oh, my. What a surprise.¡± A gentle voice, a motherly voice. Walking out from the impenetrable gloom was a being of myth and legend. Lance averted her eyes, catching but the hint of the most gorgeous face she¡¯d ever beheld.

    ¡°We offer our apologies, we did not mean to intrude.¡±

    ¡°No, no this is my fault. I did not think this through, I should¡¯ve known this might happen. I¡¯m just impressed, my Harlequin has been so efficient. Besides it¡¯s a genuine pleasure to see the echoes of Ban in my presence again.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± how did she know her dad''s name, the fae shouldn''t be able to use his name unless the most dire circumstances had come to pass.

    ¡°Daughter be silent.¡± her mother''s voice was a whip crack.

    ¡°Oh don¡¯t worry, I am seeing out an ancient debt. One I owe to Ban¡¯s father. You are safe in my presence as your father was for a time.¡± Lance felt her mind reel at that, what did any of that mean? How was the Lady, the greatest of all Fae in debt to anyone let alone this mysterious grandfather? What could it mean that she knew her dad''s name? None of this made sense, but her mother was right she should be silent. Also her Harlequin? That had to mean Taliesin, so the Bard did actually know the Lady. Oh by all the seelie they''d asked if anyone was tracking him!

    ¡°We thank you for this knowledge oh Lady of the Lake. Tell us what you wish in exchange¡± Her mother''s voice was dry and formal.

    ¡°You''re not listening I can tell.¡± She sounded frustrated.

    ¡°Oh, Lady let us know how we can appease you.¡± her mother''s voice cracked with the strain.

    ¡°The Bard made this much easier. Yes, that''s it, I shall get him.¡± The otherworldly presence shifted, her voice commanding. ¡°Taliesin, I have need of your services.¡±

 Chapter 22 - Im not a changeling am I?

    I was having the most delicious, indulgent dream. I was dancing with Sephy, one of the few women from my past life I''d been deeply fond of. She was in a rare if not unique turn of events fond of me as well. We danced in a ballroom, coming close enough that my teachers would''ve chided me for indecency.

    The warmth of the Ban household must''ve brought out memories of old. This dream was a twisted memory of the last time we''d had a chance to see each other before letters became our sole means of communication. Letters of polite friends edging on courtship, beneath which hid our coded messages.

    Part of the reason I held her so dear was our mutual hate of the Harkleys. If the crystal stopper failed, at least Sephy had gained some of my insights. Her red hair brushed my face, matching the red that coloured her full lips, her sharp eyes twitching with amusement, all adding much context to why I held her so dear.

    Sephy was the one thing I wanted to hold from my past life. A flame I didn''t want to see snuffed out. She''d been a pillar of support and without her, I fear I might''ve slipped into madness. If I had one goal now I was free it was to find her.

    I stepped away from her as the dance demanded, and the dream began to change, there was nothingness behind me. I fell, a sickening sense of being untethered spreading through me as the ballroom faded away filled my body.

    Something was wrong. I like all children of houses of renown was taught to spot the meddling of dream gifted. Fighting it was beyond me but I could at least sense the change from a natural dream to something else.

    I crashed onto a carpet of grass, there was no pain just a muted shock throughout my body. Blinking I realised I had landed right beside Lancelot. Who scrambled away from me in shock.

    ¡°I was having a lovely dream, was this really necessary.¡±

    "Is a dream with me so unpleasant?" That voice was familiar. I pushed myself up onto my elbows and found the Lady of the Lake smiling down at me. She offered me a hand up which I took as my brain struggled to keep up.

    "It would likely ruffle some sensibilities if we pursued the actions I was considering in that dream in this. One of the rare times I would not be keen on an audience." I quipped before I could stop myself.

    "Oh, I don''t know." She winked at me, her face the most human it''d ever seemed. I felt my blood stir and did my best to ignore it, cursing whatever oddity in my mind that caused my lust to be aroused by powerful and dangerous women. "I appreciate your time though, and I assure you you''ll get to see your muse again soon once you help me with a task."

    "I am wounded that you think my mind would be on others while in your fine company my Lady." I bowed even as I banished the last of my frustrations and lust.

    ¡°Are you actually flirting with the Lady of the Lake?¡± Lancelot was staring at me utterly baffled.

    ¡°Be quiet daughter. Don''t talk to the changeling.¡± Elaine was also here? I spotted her on the other side of the lake, that was a surprise. I could imagine Lancelot being foolish enough to poke into my past but I thought better of Elaine.

    ¡°Oh no you didn''t try and look into me did you? I did specifically say no to.¡±

    ¡°No they were quite respectful Taliesin, they just wanted to know if their guest had brought any unwanted attention to their home. Their question was nicely circumspect, unfortunately, you have performed in strange circles I keep an ear out for potential critics.

    ¡°And I''m here for what my Lady? How can I help apart from explaining I''m not a changeling. Wait? I''m not a changeling am I?¡± I asked a seed of doubt suddenly growing. Being a changeling would make my Death gift seem like a rash compared to the Pox.

    "Taliesin do not fear, your name was given freely, it is yours forever more. It does make it easier for me to watch over you and has a few constraints as well as advantages some of which you''ve already uncovered. But your mind and fate are your own. I admit using it to bring you here because I wish to converse with these two but they insist on being so very worried I shall bind them or otherwise control them. You know I''m not so cruel.¡± The Lady smiled as she mentioned constraints, likely sensing the squall of rage within me. I put that aside and assessed her request.

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    ¡°So I''m here as a sort of interpreter am I? Well, I''m pleased to be of assistance, and to not be a changeling. What wisdom and witticisms do you wish for me to impart?¡±

    ¡°Oh Lady of the Lake, please let us know what we can do to be safe this night.¡± Elaine finally spoke up, clearly still very suspicious of the whole situation. Lancelot was just staring at me, beset by bafflement.

    ¡°Help me with her first.¡± The Lady sighed.

    ¡°I shall call you Oracle for our talk. You must understand that you are in a presence deeply beyond you. Keep your wits about you but I assure you that it is in your best interest to not act this way. If the Lady guarantees your safety then you have it. Is there something that would placate you?¡±

    ¡°I would feel most at ease if she permitted my daughter to leave.¡±

    ¡°That won''t work. It is her I wish most to speak to. Our conversation is happening because I wish to see Ban''s daughter for myself and see out a debt long-standing. Considering the source of her recently revealed gifts I thought she''d be most pleased.¡± the Lady just watched me. Of the jobs I''d expected after resurrection, a mouthpiece of one of the great fae was not among them. Elaine looked nonplussed by the response.

    ¡°Taliesin.¡±

    ¡°Daughter no names!¡±

    ¡°I think that ship has long sailed Oracle.¡± I heard the Lady laugh, a tinkling noise that made my Hearth quiver.

    ¡°Taliesin I request you relay my request to understand how she can speak my father''s name. I wish to know the price of such information and be free to decline it if it is too great.¡± Lancelot''s artful request surprised me. It should not have, she''d been like that at dinner crafting a question designed to get a rise out of me.

    ¡°A clear request Squire. My Lady the Squire-¡±

    ¡°I have ears, considered it relayed. Oh, sometimes reputation is such a burden. Taliesin please tell the daughter of Ban that as I keep stressing this conversation is under the auspices of a long-held debt that I owe Ban and his kin. Our conversation this eve will demand nothing of them and if our discussion is likely to draw significantly on the debt I shall warn them. This stands for both her and the Oracle¡±

    I cut Lancelot off as she went to speak, I could see Elaine about to yell again. ¡°I shall repeat that for peace of mind despite your functioning ears Squire.¡±

    After I repeated the terms Lancelot bowed and turned to her mother. ¡°Thank you Taliesin, and thank you Lady. Oracle is this acceptable?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I apologise for my earlier conduct. I seek only to protect my daughter.¡±

    ¡°A noble goal. Now we must speak. Taliesin, please return and tell Ban not to worry and his family will wake tomorrow unharmed by this little misadventure. Also please do tell him I am proud of the man he has become.¡±

    ¡°Of course my Lady, can I just¡­¡± The falling sensation rushed over me again, and I cursed. I just wanted to ask a question!

    <hr>

    ¡°So they¡¯re safe, you swear?¡±

    ¡°ess I swr!¡± I managed to speak despite his vice-like grip on my throat. The fury of a peak Iron Knight worried about his family. He eased his grip and I slid down the wall choking. The considerable weight of his evil eye lay like lead on my lungs

    ¡°Could you settle your Evil Eye elsewhere, I may be less fussed than others but I''m still acutely aware of your displeasure,¡± I asked after getting back to my feet. He grunted, and the pressure lifted. I took in a bellows breath free of the physical and spiritual aspects of his ire.

    Getting into the room had been tough, and just getting to this point had taken a lot of haranguing Jasper till the man finally cracked. When he did Ban appeared full of rage and dragged me into the sanctum ready to tear me limb from limb. He knew something had gone awry.

    We now sat in a heavily runed room, I couldn''t even guess at half the spells at play. The pair were resting on a pair of cots, both looking relaxed in their slumber.

    ¡°She told you she was proud of me?¡±

    ¡°You mentioned you were a foundling. I assume there''s more to that story.¡±

    ¡°Some confusing memories which are now much clearer, both in what I remember making more sense and as if some veil has been lifted.¡± Ban huffed, clearly lost in thought.

    ¡°I feel a right cur, I did not intend to bring trouble to your doorstep, and you''ve been nothing but pleasant.¡± I collapsed into a chair.

    ¡°I do not blame you, if anything I am indebted to you. It must be hard to find oneself a tool of such powerful forces.¡±

    ¡°I am still myself, I was put within spitting distance of your family by her and she relied on our natures to put us in contact. Some might rail and chafe at the idea of fate, but I know if I''d come here under my own power, I would''ve acted like this, be as I am now. It is only her choice of location that turns my bardic bumbling into destiny.¡±

    ¡°She knew I liked music. She knew you would recognize the glamour, that Lance chafes at the lack of knowledge enough to show off. I see it.¡±

    ¡°I doubt I am done. I suspect there are layers upon layers to her decision. Hopefully, I shall bring my discord to those more deserving of upset.¡±

    ¡°Do not worry, this would have to happen. Better her benevolence than someone pretending to be a friend with a knife behind their back. You have my sympathy and thanks. Damnation, I shall not sleep this night. Yet staying cooped up in here leaves me feeling like a caged tiger. But I must watch over them.¡±

    ¡°I find myself in a similar position, I shall keep you company if you so wish.¡± I offered. I was annoyed to have lost the dream of Sephie but it wasn''t going to come back for wanting.

    ¡°You mentioned music. I am fond of an instrument that you a man of Albion may know. My fondness for it stems from that hazy period of my childhood.¡± He opened a box. He drew from it an instrument I knew only by reputation, the Land of the Woad played them. A bag with a series of flutes connected. Bagpipes which was a fitting name.

    ¡°May I ask why these are down in here in what I took to be your inner sanctum?¡±

    ¡°My neighbours don''t appreciate the playing, and playing upstairs tends to wear the privacy runes down too fast.¡± Ban began to inflate the bag, it sounded like someone sitting on a cat, very slowly. "How about we tune-up first with a classic? Battle of the Cairns?"

    "A splendid idea." I strummed and set our beat. The pipes began to sing, a mournful howl that fit the battle song well.

    ¡°Arise, with sword and armour,

    Arise, as the war drums pound,

    Arise, for hearth and home.¡±

    Arise, as the battle cries sound¡±

 Chapter 23 - Teatime, clothes optional

    I awoke to find Lancelot staring at me, her look enlightening me as to what a puzzle missing a piece must feel like, and not a corner piece either. I had fallen asleep at some point. Ban and I had played for some time, enough that I wasn''t sure when I''d fallen asleep. I actually enjoyed the bagpipes once used to them. I knew why armies marched with them, they could stir the blood as well as instil that sombre mood of reflection that was sometimes necessary.

    ¡°I trust you and your mother are safe?¡± I stretched, a cultivator''s body was proof against many things, a sore back from sleeping hunched against stone was not one of them.

    ¡°Indeed, though I somehow have more questions about you than I did yesterday. You did mention you''d tell me more of what you knew about the glamour."

    "I suppose I did." I groaned, as the woman began to pepper me with questions.

    Thus began the next few days of my time with the Ban, Elaine and Lance. I would talk cultivation with Lance, I would play music with Ban, I even became somewhat proficient with the Bagpipes. Elaine would occasionally speak with me, but there was a certain tension. The encounter with the Lady had clearly unsettled her.

    That stung most, the warmth of their home was still there, but gone was the easy welcome I''d received. I resented losing it. I didn''t appreciate being manipulated like a toy, nor being dragged into anothers dream against my will, but what could I do against one so powerful.

    I enjoyed Lance''s company, the Squire''s dedication to understanding her glamour and easy way of speaking led her to grow on me. Ban was as friendly as anything, and even strained Elaine was pleasant. Still my sense of freedom had been dispelled, was I little more than a puppet? One who only caught glimpses of the strings that made him dance.

    Those thoughts only increased as my meeting with the Lady in Peach approached, and I became aware of just how I was being held here merely on the whim of someone powerful. I may have escaped the Harkleys but still my life was dictated by the power of others.

    Filled with these thoughts it was on the fourth day that Elaine escorted me to the Elder Witch Nimue''s cottage. She was very respectful and didn''t accuse me of being a changeling once which was reassuring. Still, I found myself being treated with undue deference. I''d got a better sense of her power last night, she was at the peak of Iron. To have someone so far above me treating me like a falling knife they had to dodge, was unsettling.

    ¡°Bard Taliesin, I thank you for helping my husband last night.¡± She offered as we walked through town.

    ¡°I''m pleased to help Lady Elaine. It was a genuine pleasure to make music with someone so skilled.¡± We had all agreed that unless we were in their sanctum to not discuss the events of the last night.

    ¡°Indeed I''ve rarely seen him so enthused. You are sure you''re alright if I briefly speak with Elder Nimue?¡±

    ¡°Of course, how could I deny such gracious hosts such a thing.¡± I was intrigued by what the discussion would be about, given the animosity I''d sensed between the family and the witch. It was not my business, and right now I just wanted to wrap up my commitments here and then return to check in on Bors.

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    As we moved through the city, the town was setting up for a festival. Apparently, it was Founders Day the day after tomorrow. An event to commemorate when the town was gifted to the Fos ancestors by one of the local Kings of Euross. It was a yearly event and lasted three days. I could see bunting being hung out, and stalls being set up. The city seemed more lively.

    We headed to a quieter part of the city, the buildings were still close together, and people were about on the streets but the bunting was absent, and the air smelt of industry. I could feel the wood glamour as artisans formed and shaped timber. A smith radiated fire and metal glamour.

    Among these different places of work, I found I could easily spot ¡®The Cottage¡¯ which turned out to be the name of the business, rather than being an actual cottage. A long warehouse stretched down an entire street, and before it people moved ¡®politley¡¯ was the only term for it. Men carrying entire trees over their shoulders would stand up straighter. Bawdy conversations turned to debates about local news at a respectful volume.

    Elaine was twitching next to me. My escort was more affected than I was. ¡°Bard Taliesin, how do you do it? Stand without flinching before such power?¡±

    ¡°I am entertaining, that is how.¡± I''d given my behaviour some thought last night, given just how affected Elaine and Lancelot were.

    ¡°I don''t understand.¡±

    ¡°Simply put I put great stock in being a likeable soul. Forces far greater than me don''t need me but they do like a chuckle every now and again. They could wipe me out in a moment, so why fuss, why not focus on what I am best at? And if I get very lucky I might come out of the situation better than I expected, or they anticipated.¡± I answered, unsettled by how I could feel the truth of the words sink into me. There''d always been the risk that the whole escape attempt would end with a slow clap from a ring of Harkleys, them laughing at my struggles.

    Even if that had happened, I knew the life I''d brought up to that moment came from keeping them glued to their seats, watching my half-baked capers.

    ¡°Your fortitude does your credit. Let us not keep Elder Nimue waiting.¡± Elaine''s brow creased, I doubted my words had helped her. She got us to a peach-coloured door and waited till the eleventh bell started to ring before knocking.

    The door opened, and Alexis was there ushering us in. She didn''t seem phased by Elaine. We were shown into the cavernous workshop, I could smell the alchemy, and feel its odd glamours. Alexis brought us to a group of other young women sitting at study desks arranged before a table set with a full tea service for two. Already tucked in was Elder Nimue.

    That the girls called her ¡®Peaches¡¯ amused me deeply. She was dressed sharply, her dress, peach, of course, was a balance between fashion and practicality, with embroidery here and there, but it lacked the general poof and starch that weighed down courtly designs.

    Alexis twitched nervously, as she showed me to my seat, and then rushed to one of the remaining desks. Elaine was left standing alone.

    ¡°Lady Elaine, a pleasant surprise to see you here.¡±

    ¡°I beg your pardon for the imposition Elder, I merely wanted to see Bard Taliesin here safely, and communicate to you an interest in resuming our discussion from last year if you''re willing. At a time of your choosing of course.¡±

    ¡°Is that so? I shall call in on you tomorrow then around this time. I would love to share a cup of tea.¡± I could feel the energy crackling between the two, Elaine though seemed to have got what she wanted and nodded. ¡°I hope you will forgive me if I don''t see you out myself. The tea will get cold.¡±

    Elaine left, if I felt uncharitable I would describe it as fleeing. I felt the Elder''s attention on me again. I nodded and smiled at her. Her face was unreadable, she poured me tea though and forced a biscuit onto my plate.

    ¡°You are a very intriguing cultivator, Bard Taliesin. The girls here have all been told of what you''ve done for young Alexis. I invited you for tea as I believe you could be of some use to my girls, would you be so kind as to help them out.¡± Her voice let nothing slip, the girls were totally silent.

    ¡°Elder Nimue, I am at your disposal,¡± I answered and took a sip of tea.

    ¡°Good, now strip.¡± I nearly choked.

 Chapter 24 - Autumn Court No.5

    ¡°Ladies this is why we witches practice a slower progression, we are not like the Orders who are happy to let their Paiges and Squires bull forward and build their body like like a ramshackle shed. One they must burn down and rebuild time and time again till they finally create something that can hold up before the storm of their cultivation.¡± Elder Nimue tapped my rib cage with her long cane.

    I was used to making a production of myself but never like this. The Apprentices were gathered around me, reviewing my body like a textbook. Nimue had apparently noticed my carefully honed body during our first meeting. Apparently, my attention to detail was a rarity and a novel learning experience to be exploited.

    She''d had me drink a couple of brews and cycle them, to illustrate my even distribution of the glamours that I took in. She''d been disapproving of my pathways dusted with impurities, but other than that, she''d been complimentary.

    She also had me do increasingly difficult stretches. Currently, I am doing a handstand on a small podium. One leg pointed skyward and the other out at an angle. I was sweating, even with my cultivation we''d been at this for over an hour.

    ¡°Now Elsa, what is the most consistently underdeveloped part of the body.¡±

    ¡°Miss Peaches, we''ve been taught and seen that the senses, often smell and touch are overlooked due to improvements bringing negative side effects.¡± All the apprentices were blending into one but I at least recognized that voice. I found it strangely comforting that they all called her Miss Peaches.

    ¡°Bard, did you find it overwhelming?¡±

    ¡°No Elder Nimue, I made gradual improvements to my whole body. I barely noticed the change.¡±

    ¡°You should''ve been a witch boy, not a minstrel. This is the art of refinement, none of this arguing over whether it''s skin first or bone and then developing muscle groups like rampaging hooligans. Gentle and constant improvement is the way.¡± I didn''t choose to reveal that my refinement approach stemmed from my lack of cultivation meaning it was the only way forward for me. It was slow and steady, not acceptable to most knightly cultivators.

    ¡°Bard, what wood is that pedestal made from? ¡±

    ¡°It feels like oak Elder Nimue, I recognize the grain.¡± I resisted the urge to cycle my glamour through my fingers to check my intuition. The point of the demonstration was to prove the benefits of a refined body. The body I''d honed so carefully meant I didn''t have to pull on glamour to constantly boost my deficiencies. The background flow was enough to bring significant benefits. I also could boost those benefits for less glamour than those who''d refined lopsidedly.

    That was the only reason I''d not died full of knives to Maeve.

    Witches took body refinement very seriously but the girls were all still at Wood stage and not yet as far along as I. Asking them to look at Nimue''s body was pointless, you might as well give them a marble masterpiece and then point them to a quarry. I was in the unique position of not having advanced too far to be unhelpful while also being the perfect specimen.

    ¡°How do you know what oak grain feels like boy?¡±

    ¡°I''ve had a refined body for a few years. It''s the sort of thing you pick up.¡± I shrugged, a complex task when upside down.

    ¡°This is the core reason we pursue this, it is all the more essential as alchemists. Bard, what do you smell in this room?¡±

    ¡°That you have a refined taste in perfume. It smells like Autumn Court No. 5 to me.¡± I may have been starting to feel a little cheeky, I blamed all the blood rushing to them due to my prolonged inversion. Besides, she was wearing one of my perfumes, it was too good an opportunity.

    ¡°Women''s perfume just another thing you just happen to have picked up?¡± I had chosen right. I had scored a small win as there was the briefest flicker on the witch''s face. Not a smile, just the slightest tug a the corner of her mouth.

    ¡°Well, I am a Bard, Elder Nimue.¡± That got a titter from the class who''d so far been unflinchingly professional.

    ¡°Indeed. This girls is the core of why we refine ourselves as early as we can. We gain insights and advantages from just existing The Knightly Orders believe an outsized focus on bones or their muscles makes them better at combat, but their failure to refine their senses early leads to the issues and misconceptions Elsa described. With that, we''re done with class. Bard, you may dismount.¡±

    I backflipped off the podium, again using just the background glamour. Landing I settled into a bow. ¡°I thank Elder Nimue for the education and opportunity to educate.¡±

    ¡°Come with me, boy. I have some things to discuss with you. And put your clothes back on, unless you wish to catch a chill.¡± That last bit sounded like a threat, perhaps driven by the way her ''girls'' were still watching me quite carefully.

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    Dressed, I was directed to a tidy office up some stairs. It was unremarkable except for the expensive glass windows that allowed one to look out over the hall. Through them, I could see the space below was divided into eight booths all the girls pairing off, two booths left unused.

    It was interesting they all took up their tasks and pulled out standardised books going to shelves that reminded me more of a library than an alchemy lab. There they pulled from small labelled boxes. The ingredients weren''t expensive, which made sense they were likely still relatively junior alchemists.

    ¡°Oh don''t forget to notice the safety equipment, no warts and boils for these girls.¡± the voice was right beside me.

    ¡°I hadn''t noticed, are those glass blocs they wear before their faces? Ingenious.¡± I didn''t flinch. I had a sense the Elder would pull something like this.

    ¡°You boy are a mystery. Mysteries can be irritating.¡± The peach shawl moved out of my peripheral vision and Nimue sat at her desk gesturing for me to take the seat before her.

    ¡°Well then give me some direction and I shall strive to be a mystery that amuses and replenishes the soul,¡± I said, taking my seat.

    ¡°This is what I mean, most cultivators would be jumping to offer up their secrets or trying to deflect away from them. I had believed the bardic cultivator claim a mere front, but with every moment you show it''s a path you truly follow. What would you do if I demanded all your secrets now? ¡±

    ¡°I argue it doesn''t solve the underlying problem of me being a mystery. I know all my secrets yet find myself more mystified with each passing day.¡± Doubly true after last night''s chaos.

    ¡°HAH. A cunning answer. You are strange Bard Taliesin, your name has the edges of power it shouldn''t, you speak truths but are a liar at heart, you can even hold out under my Evil Eye. Not the full force so don''t get too cocky, Ban is no slouch. Still even enduring a sliver of it is far more than most should be able to handle. You live up to Knightly ideals and are trained in battle but have the body of a Witch and from what Alexis told me a passable knowledge of Alchemy.¡±

    ¡°I promise I did not set out to be vexing.¡±

    ¡°Vexing is a good word for it. Ignoring your vexatious nature I must admit you have aided one of mine and I suspect from Elaine''s message have solved another problem. I find myself indebted to you which is a further vexation. I can smell power on you, a familiar power that means I dare not shortchange you.¡± The mood in the room shifted, I had been sitting before ¡®Miss Peaches¡¯ before, and now Elder Nimue was out in full force.

    ¡°May I ask Elder Nimue, is this power you sense one that everyone knows.¡± I didn''t really wish for every cultivator with decent senses to see the nature of my patron and start shaking me up and down for swords and secrets.

    ¡°No, only those who''ve met the Lady in question and dig around a little bit when confronted with a confounding bard would notice it. It''s a small group who''d be able to sense it, and fewer still who''d be foolish enough to use it against you.¡± That was a lot packed into a sentence. Worst of all it exposed a massive gap in my knowledge I''d been unaware of till now. The Orders wrote songs, told stories, and generally harped on about any and all meetings with the Lady of the Lake, seeing the encounters as momentous occasions to boost their power. The Covens were silent on the subject. Not a word nor warning.

    ¡°I admit I really don''t know what to ask of you, as I took no actions intended to create a debt between us. Nor will I be so rude to scorn your kindness.¡± Debts and duty, as with the rest of Euross''s cultivation, were strongly connected to the fae. So at higher ranks unpaid debts could fester, damaging your cultivation. If Nimue felt indebted to me then it had to be paid.

    ¡°All cultivators, even bardic ones desire power, even if that is only the power to keep singing. How do you choose to pursue that power, is it wealth, knowledge or connections? Answer this and I will think on it. As well as telling me if you have any simpler needs.¡±

    ¡°You ask deep questions. I have a need of knowledge right now, I have an issue with one of my gifts.¡±

    ¡°I can see that. A difficult boon.¡± She nodded, I felt marginally safer talking to a witch about my Death gift than others, they didn''t have quite such an intense view of it.

    ¡°Indeed. I thought you might.¡± I really needed to learn a new cultivation technique. If Bors could sense it, of course, Nimue would.

    ¡°I also have a need for some alchemy resources, some healing brews and tools and ingredients to explore making my own brews. I wish to expand my skills in that department.¡± I could''ve asked for cultivation brews, but I wanted to make my own impurity-laced concoctions. I think asking for that from Nimue would''ve got me a cuff around the ear, and some pointed questions.

    ¡°That is plenty to work with. Before you go, I will leave you with a small piece of advice. This is in exchange for your aid today. Be careful with the names of those at Steel and above. You know names have power, at Steel this takes on a new aspect. You seem shielded from this given your repeated use of my name today. This is something which others will take note of. You shall call me Miss Peaches in public from now on, and let any who ask know I''ve permitted you to do so.¡± The Witch watched me as I digested the warning. There was so much about high-level cultivation hidden from us at the beginning that I wasn''t surprised, but I was now wary. I checked over the sentence for anything hidden, that I might have missed. An impish smile leapt to my lips

    ¡°Well, how can I turn down an invitation to call you Nimue in private? Or is it Miss Nimue?¡± The old woman threw back her head and cackled. It was a laugh that had been bound in oak and matured for decades, bold and rich it cut through the senses.

    ¡°Young man, I hope your story works out and I envy those who have the chance to grow with you. Their journey will be all the richer for your company. I would like you to return tomorrow. I shall think on what to offer you, and I may need you for another demonstration.¡±

    ¡°You didn''t answer my question,¡± I said as I stood to leave.

    ¡°It''s Miss Nimue to you, now shoo, and stop making this old lady blush.¡±

 Chapter 25 - How a bard fights

    Lancelot met me on the street, it seemed the family were taking no chances with me. She craned her neck to peer in the door as I left. It may have been my imagination but I could swear the door slammed closed in response.

    ¡°How was it? And why are you so sweaty¡± Lancelot had tact but only seemed to use it on occasion.

    ¡°Well, I spent much of my time mostly nude in interesting positions being hit with a cane.¡±

    ¡°What? I thought you were going for tea! I was going to ask if you got time to chat with her girls but I can¡¯t imagine she let them in on that.¡±

    ¡°Oh no the apprentices watched.¡± Her eyes bugged out, and I let out a laugh. ¡°She was using me as an instructional tool, it was not some salacious rendezvous. More like they were dissecting me with their eyes, I apparently have refined my body enough for witches to be impressed.¡±

    ¡°That''s what she wanted you for? Totally unfair, I¡¯ve followed all mom¡¯s advice so I can¡¯t be too far behind. Even then the Lady in Peach won''t let me near them. Says I''d be a distraction.¡± I looked over at the very handsome Lancelot.

    ¡°Would you be a distraction?¡± I probed. Same-sex relationships were not uncommon in most cultivators'' circles. The Divine Cultivators had more problems with it than most, claiming it was against ¡®the divine will¡¯. I suspected that had to do with babies more than anything. Much easier to have cultivators born into a family who worshipped than convert people. As such it wasn''t something I''d normally heard discussed other than as tawdry gossip.

    ¡°Totally. I mean have you seen some of them?¡± She mimed a very curvy figure in the air, one with a waist so improbably thin that I''m sure it''d cause problems standing upright. ¡°I mean you¡¯re a bard aren''t you, why are you not a distraction?¡±

    ¡°If I had to guess because I''m not expected to stay around. Should they come to me for a short dalliance, then that''s what they get. You''re an intense soul, I can imagine you in some love affair that singes pages and starts wars. Stealing princesses from princes.¡±

    ¡°I would deny it, but that does sound like something I would do.¡± She laughed.

    ¡°I can''t help but notice we''re not going back to your family compound.¡±

    ¡°You are far too sharp, you''ve been in this town what a day? And you can tell that. I can see why you keep the company you do.¡±

    ¡°That was not an answer.¡± I probed as we headed deeper into the town.

    ¡°Yet you still walk with me. Fine, I wish to spar with you. I was going to take you to the training grounds. We have some at home but I don¡¯t think they will allow you to showcase your abilities. Mom and Dad suggested it.¡± I was confused, she wasn''t lying, but why were we going to some public space to duel? She wouldn''t be able to explore her Moon Gift there.

    Then it hit me, Elaine and Ban were smart operators. If I turned up and then their daughter disappeared into private training immediately after, only to later reveal her gift then I could see people joining the dots and wanting to follow up. Dueling me as if nothing had changed was the best way to obscure the revelation.

    ¡°I will spar with you but I remind you, I am a bard, not a knight.¡±

    ¡°A bard capable of killing two Gale Hares. We are going to the place where Dad trains the guards. It should be mostly empty at this time.¡±

    We walked through town, and I was further impressed by the amount of cultivation on display, as well as the good nature of the townsfolk. They waved to Lancelot often and I could see a fair few jealous glares thrown my way from boys and girls alike.

    ¡°Your family is very popular.¡±

    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    ¡°This whole part of town is under Dad''s jurisdiction. He works hard to keep everyone out of the brother''s schemes. He basically agreed to remain neutral as they vy to be the next House head, he made the deal that as long as they stay out of stone town then he won''t get involved.¡±

    ¡°I don''t mean to disrespect your father but why does one captain have so much say? Surely they could oust him if they wanted.¡± I felt a little confused and didn''t want to get too involved in some family squabble.

    ¡°Ah, well that''s because Dad''s humble. He mentioned he was a fosterling? Well, what he didn''t say is the Bear, that''s the current head mind you, basically said he is his son in name if not in blood. He technically has as much legitimacy as the brothers to claim the inheritance. When the Bear went out to do some lone questing through the fae doors, he gave Alastair Hightown, Lucius Clifftown, and my Dad Stonetown. Saying he wanted them to help build up Fosburg and see each of their domains thrive. My dad has focused on protecting Stonetown as per his orders, while the others keep trying to get a leg up by standing on each other. ¡±

    ¡°So your Dad''s a full House member?¡±

    ¡°Yeah but we''re not treated that way, the others like to throw their weight around a lot because they''re both Steel and my dad''s only Iron. I think he hasn''t broken through because if he did they''d see him as a threat, especially as my mum could also break through soon.¡± Lancelot''s hands clenched, a trait she shared with her mother. ¡°It eats at me, I feel they''re waiting because of me. Like if I was stronger they could do more, be more. I almost went with the Lady in Peach, if I was under her protection the brothers would never dare go against her. They are only low Steel.¡±

    Moment of vulnerability past, she schooled her expression as we neared a large stone building, a small fort that looked over the surrounding chunk of town. She changed standing up a bit straighter and looking more like the image of a true Squire. Befitting as a member of the House of Renown.

    We entered the building and I could feel the runic spells surrounding us. The bustle of the town became a dull buzz. The glamour changed as well, becoming thicker and richer. Good for training. Lancelot marched through the plain stone corridors of the building nodding to serious-looking people who nodded back, eyes washing over me and assessing.

    I''d felt it before but these guards had a quality to them that was a step above. Most were only Stone but they were all alert, and I could all but feel them noting down my appearance in case they were asked later. Ban ran a tight ship.

    We reached an austere training hall, it was well kept, smelling of soap and polish, showing how it avoided that swampy sweaty smell of several day-old underwear that so often gathered in places like this. The ground was spread with fine sand, and a series of targets lined one wall. It was at least fifty paces on each side and had only four sturdy columns spread evenly through it to support the building above.

    The space felt all the more cavernous as currently there were but a few older guards training in pairs spread out over the vast space. They were all at least Wood, showing a single gift in their battles. They showed their years, most looked grizzled, and the only one I''d seen use two gifts was a woman with lines of grey through her brown locks. I felt a little shocked to see them so old and not sense her as an Iron cultivator, but I had to correct my thinking.

    I had been all but stuffed full of training aids as a Harkley, even as a less favoured member of the house I had been surrounded by wealth most would never touch. Lancelot was on par with most people I''d known but she was the only child of an entire branch of the Fos House of Renown, it made sense she''d had the tools to boost her cultivation.

    Sadly people who didn''t have that backing rarely got that far. Working it out for yourself was time-consuming, even training only helped so far. Brews, the chances to go questing, the right runic spells to help you cultivate, techniques, and methods to absorb glamour, all of these cost money or required connections most did not have.

    I nodded politely to the assembled guards as Lancelot went over to them. They were inscrutable in their assessment of me. However with that sense of looking for a problem that all guards managed to carry. It left me feeling uneasy, I worked hard at the Harkley household to avoid such attention.

    ¡°Commander Smith would you allow me use of this space to spar with this wandering cultivator. My father believes it would be instructional for us all.¡± Lancelot''s voice was formal and she bowed to the older woman.

    ¡°This would be the Bard I understand? Of course Lady Lancelot, it is always a pleasure to watch you fight. Men fall out. Go grab those who are free for an instructional match. Lieutenant Kharlov, make sure the rune arrays are up to scratch.¡± The woman''s voice snapped and the men shot to attention before filtering out. I headed over to Lancelot.

    ¡°I thought we''d just be sparring. This is far from my preferred stage.¡±

    ¡°Think of it as investment, you fight me here and then people won''t come looking to fight you again.¡±

    ¡°I don''t really wish to fight anyone at all.¡±

    ¡°The other cultivator families in town are asking about you. To them, you''re just another way to get a leg up on the competition. They can''t beat our Lady though. So as long as you don''t beat her then there''s a lot less prestige in fighting you. When they''re all vying to prove they are better than our prodigy here. You''d best give a good showing though or the scum will come out looking for a leg up just by having beaten someone.¡± Commander Smith placed an affectionate hand on Lancelot''s shoulder as she spoke. The younger woman blushed slightly.

    ¡°Gloria, I mean Commander Smith is right. Look just show off how a bard fights. Make it showy, you''re staying with my family and not for long, this is just to stop the bastards from hunting you down for a duel on the streets, or after you leave town. There''s a reason Bors hasn''t seen much combat, they only want to fight against Knight Errants they can beat.¡± Lancelot had actually thought this out, I''d just assumed she was itching for a fight.

    ¡°How a bard fights ey? I''ll see what I can do.¡± It was a good question. My recent training was just about getting my skills back. I''d had ten days since my rebirth and get some of my skills and most of my training with Bors was just to get myself up to speed. We''d not even done a full spar with all our abilities, in part because there''s only so much for me to learn from getting obliterated.''

    What were my strengths? I was super mobile and not bad with the blade, I doubted I compared to Lancelot, it sounded like she was undefeated, and that was despite grousing about a duel with a lava cultivator. I had smoke and my control was great. I had a lot of Ash in my storage ring. I had my techniques mostly my Levity and Illusions.

    People began to file in, and I could sense a bubbling excitement from them all. They were expecting something worth their time. I recognized at least one face from the guards yesterday who was excitedly pointing me out to his friends. I''m sorry friend this was going to be nothing like yesterday. Wait, why couldn''t it be?

    Fight like a bard? I was not so foolish, it was time to put on a performance.

 Chapter 26 - A bag of tricks

This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

 Chapter 27 - Meeting the Fos

    Lancelot was the single most terrifying person I''d ever faced behind a sword. I knew venerable instructors who weren''t this good. I''d become a smoke monster with six arms and was faster than her thanks to Levity yet I could barely hold her back! It took everything I had to not get slashed open. It was pure luck I¡¯d drawn out the fight as long as I''d managed, and I''d somehow backed myself up against the spectators who were going mad for their heroine.

    I was grinning too, I''d never much liked fighting, but this had felt like a memorable performance. Lancelot sheathed her sword and helped me up. I was reassured that she was breathing heavily, in the battle she was all fluid grace and icy focus. It wouldn''t have surprised me if she''d immediately wanted to go again. I was naturally struggling to gulp down air, even if I tried to hide it. That had taken it out of me to no end.

    I flooded myself with smoke and changed back into my normal gear, someone came running over and placed my lost bow into my hands. I felt better to be away from the martial gear, it weighed on me.

    What had helped was viewing it as a performance. An improv show, or perhaps a showcase of our skills, I''d called on the Levity from my fight with the Gale Hare, my still growing skill with the bow, and my illusions and blade work. In theory, I could''ve just swamped her with smoke and we could''ve had a very dull fight in a cloud, but that just didn''t match how bards should fight.

    With that thought, I felt the curtains swing open within my soul. Upon the stage bowing and reaping its accolades was the revelation that this was how I could fight, how I should fight, and that it matched the emerging intent that was still forming as I headed towards Iron. I fought not to win, but to look good doing it. I''d make beauty from battle.

    Huh, that might cause some problems down the line.

    The group of guards swamped us, half after Lancelot, and half commiserating with me for a battle well fought, though they were quite clear that ¡®no one¡¯ won against their Noble Squire. Alright maybe not prioritising winning was good, I sensed I''d get mobbed if I''d pulled off an impossible win. Still, the voices were warm and friendly, it felt totally unlike any group of cultivators I''d ever encountered.

    ¡°What a splendid bout!¡± The words were a frost-bitten wind blowing through the cosy hall we''d built. The mood of everyone changed in an instant, eyes fixed on a group of three newcomers. The speaker was a man wearing, he was in full armour with a tabard in the Fos colours of blue and white. He bore an unfortunate rat-like face that reminded me of my least favourite ''cousins''. He was flanked by a pair of Squires, both from an Order I dimly recognized as the ¡®Order of the Leviathan¡¯. The tentacles on their tabards were hard to miss.

    ¡°Noble Squire Barclay, what has this humble guard station done to deserve the honour of your presence.¡± Commander Smith''s voice answered a whole bunch of questions for me. So this was the other Fos? Damn, and here I was hoping that it was just Albion cultivators who were all stuck-up pricks.

    ¡°We heard that a wandering Squire was here, it seems poor taste that you should be the first to test yourselves against him. I do believe my father requested that he be informed of any Errant Knights who visit.¡± Barclay sounded insufferably posh, it was a pantomime of the accents of those actually in power. He probably thought it sounded genuine.

    ¡°Barclay, come out and say it.¡± Lancelot was beside the Commander, and I saw all three lock onto her and marked two sneers and one leer. The leer came from Barclay, who I decided to immediately hate. Was he competing to be the most punchable fool around or just naturally talented?

    ¡°Dear Lancelot, a pleasure to see you. Indeed, it seems that your father has overlooked his duty. He was ordered to inform us of such guests. I will be taking this Squire with me.¡±

    ¡°Not a chance.¡± Lancelot''s hand went to the pommel of her blade. You could cut the tension with a knife, though from the way Barclay placed his fingers on the pair of short swords at his side, and the other Squires shifted to present the tridents favoured by their Order I felt it was an unlikely choice of cutting implement.

    ¡°I believe there has been some form of miscommunication. No rules have been broken.¡±

    ¡°You dare to contradict me, peasant?¡± Barclay spat. Damn, it''d been a long long time since I''d been called peasant. It was oft considered a mortal insult to a cultivator and their lineage, if I''d still been under the Harkley''s gaze it could''ve resulted in a full assault from the family. Thankfully I was my own man.

    ¡°Well it is the nature of my profession, I am no Squire. I''m a Bardic cultivator.¡± I wasn''t sure if it was the fact I ignored the barb, or my career choices that caused Barclay to imitate a wide-mouth fish gasping for air.

    ¡°You what?¡± That voice was far more natural, no longer his pantomime falseness. It didn''t make his voice any more pleasant, but it was a step in the right direction. The other two were just as confused but hid it better. Of course by sneering at me. Their sneers were pretty good, but still amateur compared to what I usually faced.

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    ¡°Are your eyes just for show Barclay? Or can you not recognize a Bard when you see one?¡± Lancelot was grinning as her hand swept over me. Back in my usual gear, I completed the look by pulling out my lute and strumming a few notes.

    ¡°What nonsense are you going on about? We just saw him fight?¡±

    ¡°Yes, you saw me fight, which is how you know I''m a bard?¡±

    ¡°What?¡± The second ''what'' almost cracked my mask, he looked like a confused rodent wondering where its cheese had gone.

    ¡°I mean clearly the optimal combat option was to swamp the entire room in smoke and attack a blind opponent? But that would''ve been a travesty to hide her swordplay from sight. It was rather marvellous.¡± I bowed to Lancelot.

    ¡°I don''t understand? Are you saying you lost on purpose?¡± That came from the sneerer on the left, who looked the most intelligent of the bunch and not just because he''d dropped the unfortunate facial expression. He swept a hand through blue hair as he mulled over the thought, the strange colour a clear sign of a strong fae lineage.

    ¡°Oh no, I had no chance of winning Lancelot is far too skilled an opponent. I did stand a chance of putting on a spectacular show though, and took it.¡± Lancelot had a grin on her face. She was enjoying this fresh show.

    ¡°This is nonsense, you are a Squire you shall duel us.¡± Barclay snapped out of his confusion, affecting again his ¡®posh¡¯ accent and doubled down on his idiocy.

    ¡°I actually don''t duel,¡± I replied smartly.

    ¡°What?¡± Behind me, I heard a guard start to lose it before his friends managed to silence him. I couldn''t blame it, Barclay Fos was made for comedy. It was the way he went bug-eyed and jumped between accents.

    ¡°Again I''m a Bard. This was merely an educational spar, a request from my host for a small performance.¡±

    ¡°Do you disrespect us, are you claiming we are not worthy of such attention? Are we less deserving of such honourable combat than this Squire?¡± That was the smart one, Barclay must outsource his brains to his lackeys. Respect and honour were quick ways to demand a duel that I had little defence against. I weighed up my options.

    ¡°You claim honour while stomping into this guard house where you should not be, and demanding combat against an innocent cultivator.¡± Lancelot''s voice was grim. As she entered the conversation the floundering Barclay perked up. Perhaps this conversation was far less about me than it seemed. I was but a tapestry in the background with an odd design, a conversation starter it seemed.

    ¡°Want to make something of it Squire Lancelot,¡± Barclay replied.

    ¡°I''ve been asked to stop fighting you, it''s getting embarrassing,¡± said Lancelot, sighing due to the terrible burden of her skill. Her taunt only made his grin wider.

    What was his game? Why do this? He maybe thought he had a chance against her, but I found that hard to believe somehow. If he had a genuine chance, why was he putting on this show? Surely just challenge her conventionally if that was the case. The smoke in the room had spread out and I used invisible tendrils to subtly probe him.

    Cultivators were far harder to use this skill on than mortals, as competent cultivators would keep control of the glamour directly around them. It was no surprise that Barclay didn''t, of the three only blue hair was protected.

    Barclay had talismans aplenty, and his armour was good if a bit flashy, in fact, it seemed as if he''d gone for a quantity over quality approach to his assorted items, I could sense the glamour and none of it was as good as Lancelot''s blade for instance. Smoke fumbling around I didn''t find anything that immediately worried me, no poison glamour, nor strange artefacts that might explain his confidence.

    Then again I had my totally mundane lute that was in no way a soul-bound item. Ban had told me last night that to his senses it was just a very minorly enchanted item, durability being the main focus. That proved it was always possible to hide these things.

    I was about to give up when my smoke curled up just within his breastplate, I was fumbling around with my senses here, even a fool like Barclay would sense if I started sampling the glamour here. Fortunately, the shape I found was one I could recognize even if I was beaten and blindfolded.

    A small icon of a seven-pointed star, with one point far longer than the others, sat on a chain around his neck. The Guiding Star, the mark of a Divine Cultivator.

    I felt my hand move to my blade without thinking. My blood rose in my ears, and my heart roared to life. My stance on duelling was facing a rapid revision. Stop, don''t be a fool, I struggled to rein in my impulses. My mood barely changed, even if I forestalled my immediate urge to cut the monster down. I checked him over again and felt sick.

    How had I missed it the first time? His glamour had a whiff of corruption, glamour senses were a mix of the senses, so he both smelt sickly sweet and I also had the uncanny sensation of pushing against a log I thought firm and feeling it squish as I discovered it rotten from the inside. It wasn''t deep set and meant he''d started down that path recently. With the rest of my check, I found at least a couple of talismans I''d dismissed as nothing were similarly afflicted.

    A brief check over the Order lackey found no sign of the corruption on him, that was reassuring at least. I didn''t feel like taking on a corrupted Order. I brought my attention back to the two cultivators arguing before me. They''d been riling each other up while I examined the group. They were but a few steps away from a fight at this point. Could I even defuse the situation?

    ¡°Enough I challenge your fool here to a duel! He has a far too fine a storage ring for a ¡®Bard¡¯. I will fight but I will permit him to use a second.¡± Barclay answered my question for me. Apparently, I was getting roped into this farce, and over the storage ring no less. I cursed, I''d completely forgotten to hide I had the expensive device. Lancelot began to speak, no doubt to accept.

    ¡°If we must though I must insist it''s after my business with Miss Peaches is concluded. Also, the storage ring is not mine but loaned to me by the Knight Bors.¡± I couldn''t have made a bigger impression than if I''d slapped everyone in the room. Even Lancelot was looking at me like I''d grown a second head.

    ¡°I beg you''re Pardon but did you just call the esteemed Elder Witch ¡®Miss Peaches¡¯?¡± That question came from blue hair.

    ¡°Well, it''s what she asked me to call her. I''ve just come from her place where we were discussing the nature of bardic cultivation. So I did indeed refer to Elder Nimue as she requested is that so wrong? See, she was quite pleased with myself and Bors after we helped out one of her apprentices, though I did little.¡± With those few words, our play had gone from a comedy with dark undertones to an absurdist piece of humour as the two Order men started to edge backwards leaving the gaping Noble Squire on his own.

    ¡°You''re Bors¡¯ Squire? As in Bors the Beast? Fuck.¡± The forgettable Order lackey made his sole contribution to the conversation. He was hushed by blue hair but the damage was done. I didn''t appreciate my friend being so slighted even if it did afford me confidence that they had some respect for Bors. Perhaps it was the Guiding Star and how it reminded me of the Harkleys but my hackles were up and I was itching to make a point.

    ¡°We''re terribly sorry it appears an error has been made.¡±

    ¡°Indeed Bors the Titan my friend. Also, it seems you are still confused as to my calling. Let''s fix that let me play you a ditty.¡± The two Squires were lost, clearly torn between their desire to flee, and the possibility of creating a bigger insult. Barclay, I noticed had put his hand to his chest, and was now circling glamour. Too late.

    ¡°This I wrote based on the challenges Bors helped the caravan which one of Miss Peaches¡¯ apprentices was a part of.¡± I strummed my lute, and the smoke swirled around me ready to become part of my performance.

    ¡°Bors the Titan, hearth ablaze, protector worthy of ancient days!¡±

 Chapter 28 - On the subject of Moon and Dream

    I was back at the Ban household planning my next move. Playing music, it turned out, was a great way for Barclay to quietly dip out of the conversation. Never did schedule a duel with me. The two goons relaxed immensely once he was gone, which said a lot about the power dynamic, they seemed to genuinely enjoy the music and gave compliments and apologies before leaving.

    Lancelot filled me in. Barclay was the grandson of the current lord of the Falls, one of the Fos brothers who ranked the same as Ban. The Orders were always trying to cosy up to the lord and by extension his family. She had good things to say about Blue Hair which surprised me, the guy was called ¡®Gareth¡¯ though Lancelot did mention she tended to call him ¡®Gaz¡¯ when he wasn¡¯t on duty. The Order of the Kraken was mostly a seafaring Order, with their power base far from Fosburg they had to do more sucking up than most.

    I didn''t tell her about the Guiding Star, I wasn''t about to talk about it to anyone but Ban, Elaine, and Miss Peaches. I knew I could trust them to at least not be secret cultists and give the threat the weight it deserved. Lancelot was definitely trustworthy, I just also felt she might run off and do something stupid. She was politically savvy, but considering how close we came to a fight, seemed lacking in control.

    Especially right now, she was bouncing off the walls with impatience as we waited for the sanctum''s defences to fully activate. ¡°Lancelot calm down, we can talk more in a minute.¡±

    ¡°I''ve already told you to call me Lance, really all my friends do.¡± Lance casually dropping the offer of friendship distracted me. I felt embarrassed but the burst of joy I felt at the simple but honest gesture. I had been drowning for so long in a sea of enemies with only the rare temporary ally to help keep me afloat. Even those were constantly changing caught up, battered and capsized by capricious storms of politics.

    ¡°I''m flattered.¡± I managed, so wrapped up in my thoughts of darker times I''d forgotten I was in a better one.

    ¡°Did you just blush, look I want to be clear here I mean¨C¡± She sighed and began what I imagined was a polished rant. I cut her off.

    ¡°Friends, I get it. I was merely appreciating your kindness. Runes are fully lit by the way.¡± I nodded to the walls.

    ¡°Tell me everything you know about the Moon Gift.¡± she was practically vibrating.

    ¡°Alright, first I don''t have it, so just to be clear I''m talking about observations and rumours. And I will assume you don''t want the long-lauded history, more practical applications.¡±

    ¡°See you already get me!¡±

    ¡°Alright, so things I know are possible include, reflecting opponents glamour attacks back at them, empowering your weapons and armour with it to enhance your blocks and counter, using it for mobility, not Levity but literally stepping off the air, oh and illusions of course. Even sound, someone used it to muffle sound, like a targeted echo.¡± That last application I''d seen in a hunt with one of the princesses when she''d visited the Harkley estates, she''d somehow muffled everything around her, making everything sound like it was coming from the wrong angle. It''d caught my attention as before then I''d never considered how echoes actually worked.

    ¡°You''re not lying, that''s all actually possible?¡± Lance''s face was unreadable, she stared at her sheathed sword.

    ¡°I mean yes, it''s reflections. I''ll be honest it''s going to be tough, it''s a very broad gift so mastering it is notoriously difficult.¡±

    ¡°But it''s not useless? It''s not one of those that''s really useful at lower ranks and then tops out at Iron? Like Fire often does.¡±

    ¡°I''d personally disagree with what you said about fire, but no It''s literally the preferred tool of the High King of Albion and his family,¡± I said.

    ¡°How do you think I train it? Use it?¡±

    ¡°So I did actually speak to¡­¡± He didn''t say the word princess, Mary Quilvern did not appreciate the title and using it was a great way to derail the conversation. But it''s not like I could hide I was talking to important people.

    ¡°You don''t need to tell me who, just what you learned.¡± Lancelot wrung her hands together, I could taste the desire for knowledge on her. Also what choice did I have? A Fae Goddess had put me in her path, I doubt she wanted me to play a game of half-truths with someone who she was possibly related to.

    Come to think of it, was I not being dragged into possibly the biggest family spat in all of Euross? Passing around knowledge from one arm of the family to the other.

    ¡°I feel I should reveal at least a little. Look nothing I say here leaves this room right?¡± I wanted Lance to trust me, and I didn''t want her second-guessing the only piece of real advice I had directly from a moon glamour user. Still, the spectre of the Harkleys loomed over me and every time I spoke of these things, even indirectly, I feared it would somehow sense it and come claim me.

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    The feeling was intense right now because I knew that I would have to share at least some parts of my story with Ban, Elaine, and Miss Peaches when explaining the threat to Fos. A life I''d assumed I''d leave behind and forget about was becoming more relevant by the day. I could always remain hidden, and say nothing, but I hated Divine Cultivators with a passion that eclipsed my own desire for secrecy.

    I''d not survived everything I had just to survive. I had survived to spite them, to bring about their loss. Living my life was not a victory, their failure was what was most important to me.

    ¡°Of course, you have my silence, especially after last night, which I''m sorry about, I promise we weren''t trying to snoop,¡± said Lance, looking guilty.

    ¡°It''s alright, to be honest, I''m a little thankful to know the Lady is keeping such a close eye on me.¡± It did answer a couple of questions about my current situation.

    ¡°Is her attention related to how you know all the things you do?¡±

    ¡°It''s complicated. Look first things first. How did I, your friendly bard get loaded down with this knowledge? Well, I spent some years in what I would describe as captivity at the hands of a House of Renown in Albion, a powerful house. The kind of house that occasionally hosts members of the royal family. I have since escaped but the idea of being caught by them fills me full of dread. Still, I feel confident that my escape was successful as during my escape I met the Lady, and that''s where I was given the name Taliesin.¡±

    ¡°That sounds¨Crough .¡± Lance couldn¡¯t find the words.

    ¡°You have no idea. Look I told you that so that when I explain that I spoke to one of the Quilvern''s it doesn''t come as across as nonsense. The sound thing I mentioned, I was dragged on a hunt and saw it used that way. I asked about it which she took well to, apparently, it was the trick she was most proud of, and chose to spend some time explaining it to me. Much to my fellow''s frustration¡± I didn¡¯t want to get full frustrations of ¡®my family¡¯ to that, my peers have been getting no traction with her all day, and suddenly the bookish boy had the princess''s full attention. They were jealous enough that the hunt was when I first learned I could return from death and was the first time I brought death to another person.

    Getting this knowledge had literally killed me.

    ¡°So you have experience flirting with royalty? No wonder you were so smooth with the Lady.¡± Lance tried to inject some positivity, my emotions must be showing. I silenced the urge to point out that my behaviour back then was based around a bookish and delicate persona of Regus, not my bombastic self that had emerged since my rebirth.

    ¡°I am not a flirt, I am just friendly. Now look what she told me was that reflections are a moment of loss, if you bounce a ball off a wall you hear a thud, if light reflects off a sword over time the sword heats up, a reflection is a redirection of glamour coupled with a small sacrifice of its original power. She mentioned her earliest training was in bouncing something off her and controlling how much energy she absorbed and how much she returned. The echo control was like a tuned-up version of that.¡± I¡¯d been digging that conversation out of memory since I¡¯d seen Lance¡¯s trick at the table. It helped that I¡¯d used the same theory to create a simple technique of my own, a smoke cloud that could muffle my movement, trapping the sound within it.

    ¡°So what do you suggest?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going to throw things at you.¡± Lance didn''t so much as pause, she just grinned.

    ¡°So that¡¯s why you were collecting pebbles on the way home. Alright, bring it!¡±

    <hr>

    ¡°Stop dodging!¡± I yelled an hour later.

    ¡°FUCK!¡± She exploded flinging her arms up and cursing the sky, the sanctum rang with echoes. ¡°This isn¡¯t working. I can feel it but the second I do, my brain tells me to fight back, to react.¡±

    ¡°Look, you¡¯re so close do you really want not to get this because you can¡¯t stay still?¡± I was getting frustrated, I¡¯d had trainers who used to take sick pleasure in flinging rocks at me, claiming to train my ¡®awareness¡¯. Till now, I believed it was purely for their entertainment, but an hour in and it got boring. It was not helped that every time I could start to feel the familiar glamour shift, Lance would instinctively dodge an attack.

    ¡°I¡¯ll try.¡± She wasn¡¯t any happier, I¡¯d hit her a lot. Adding just a bit of glamour to the rock seemed to help her train, but also came with the downside that they hit far harder. Five rocks in and I felt her glamour start to flow. The sixth rock she dodged, the seventh that I fired right after nailed her dead centre of the chest. I sensed something and the rock fell limply to the floor.

    ¡°I did it, I did it! I¨Cfucking ow!¡± She clutched her chest.

    ¡°What happened?¡±

    ¡°I caught all the energy! I did it!¡± She winced as she tried to throw both arms up. ¡°I can see why this glamour is broken there¡¯s way more power in just a small rock than you¡¯d expect.¡±

    ¡°Congratulations!¡± I was impressed, manipulating a new gift was always a challenge. I still hadn¡¯t used my death glamour.

    ¡°My hearth is exhausted though, I was dumping so much into each attempt to make something happen. I¡¯ll get better but I¡¯m going to need to take some time to cultivate to get the glamour back. Now I know what I¡¯m looking for though it shouldn¡¯t be difficult. I can¡¯t thank you enough.¡± She ran over and gave me a hug. I went stiff from the surprise.

    ¡°Oh, crap before I do that I need to help you. Look I have a request from the Lady, mum was going to cover it but as we have some time now I can get you started.¡±

    ¡°A request from the Lady?¡± I was starting to think I was nothing but a convenient translator, what had she lined me up for?

    ¡°The Lady said to take you through the basics of dream glamour cultivation. Implied it would be useful for you.¡± Lance worked hard to keep the curiosity from her tone. I couldn¡¯t help but raise an eyebrow in surprise at the offer though, it wasn¡¯t like dream glamour was of any use to me.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t explain, not that I remember. There must be a reason though, I bet it¡¯s because dream glamour is different than most glamors, in that you don¡¯t take it into your hearth. Not a good idea, has too much of the source¡¯s soul and mind in it. It¡¯s why so many Oracles all seem kind of mad and crazy.¡± Lance was speaking casually as she started to tidy up the sanctum collecting the pebbles. She was ignorant of how my racing heart and pulsing hearth. I could feel my death gift stirring at the implications.

    ¡°Please tell me more.¡± I kept the desperation from my voice as Lance continued to share the secrets I needed to keep my mind sane.

 Chapter 29 - War on the horizon

    So death and dreams had a lot in common. There was even a name for the subset of glamours that fit under the title, ¡®Soul-touched¡¯. Soul-touched glamours were those made most often by living, thinking beings. This imparted some of their will into the glamour, which I understood but didn''t realise was the same principle as when cultivators took control of regular glamours.

    When a flame gifted took hold of a flame they were influencing it with their hearth, or in other words their soul. If an opponent wanted to take control of that flame you had to break their grip over it. Which took some of your own energy. In theory, you could absorb this ¡®soul-touched¡¯ flame into your hearth if you had the right gift and your opponent let you, but if you did you were basically allowing their willpower into your soul.

    It was such an unpleasant thought it made me shudder just thinking about it. Part of the reason the blood curse had been escapable was it bound to my blood, the entirety of which I lost in my rebirth. If it had been bound to my soul instead even resurrection wouldn''t have saved me. Thankfully your hearth was very picky about what it let in, you had to intrinsically trust the source to let in any glamour with willpower attached to it, and it was near impossible to fool.

    What had settled my mind was that not all glamour was soul-touched, I''d feared that my current cultivation was setting me up for disaster, as I absorbed background glamour regularly. Well less regularly now, I was only going to cultivate privately till I could work out a new cultivation method.

    Thankfully a few hours later Elaine had arrived and swapped out with Lance. She went outside to cultivate, as the pounding sound of the waterfall was a great natural source of moon glamour. Elaine had taken over my instruction and was now teaching me the method they used to cultivate dream glamour. It was a strange whistling practice, the note and tone told you a lot about how quickly you were absorbing glamour. The entire focus was to control the flow of glamour, ensuring you picked up only what you wanted to absorb and control the speed at which it entered so it didn''t go straight into your hearth.

    I decided I was going to come clean with Elaine about my gift. Besides I needed to tell her and Ban about the Divine Cultivators and for that, I needed a lot of trust. The Lady''s attention on me gave me a seal of approval most kings couldn''t equal, but I was going to tell them that one of the ruling families of their House was corrupted.

    Elaine''s presence in the house meant I had no doubt I was safe from the rot here. The Covens and the Divine got along like a house on fire, lots of screaming, and someone was getting burned. The Divine saw witches as a threat to stamp out and did so ruthlessly, and the witches responded in kind.

    I had decided I''d check in with Miss Peaches about this cultivation method tomorrow. I didn''t want to discover that death had a whole list of rules that would make this pointless. I liked to think that the Lady wouldn''t do that to me, but she was a Fae. The seelie in particular were fond of tricking you into building the gallows on which you would end up swinging.

    ¡°Your whistle is fluttering, you''re not keeping your breathing steady. You should try focusing on breathing in without the whistle to ensure the breath remains consistent.¡± Elaine''s direction corrected a mistake I could hear. It irritated me to hear the wavering notes, I''d never had much luck with wind instruments but considered myself proficient, so to be struggling was frustrating me.

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    ¡°Thanks, I need to take a break, I feel as if I''ve been active all day.¡±

    ¡°Well you have an opportunity to rest, it''s about time for Ban to get back. You mentioned you had something to tell us. We can do that after dinner.¡± I was about to argue, but it wasn''t like my news was going to be any more palatable on an empty stomach, and after the fiasco of dinner last night I wasn''t keen to ruin another. Besides the food here was exceptional.

    Ban was in a poor mood, the day had been full of small frustrations as Fosburg dealt with preparations for the Founders Day celebrations. The food was excellent even if it churned in my stomach as I ate it. I briefly considered skipping telling Ban and Elaine, I could justtell Miss Peaches, she would undoubtedly resolve things. That though could leave Ban and Elaine in a difficult position and would imply I didn''t trust them when they had been nothing but pleasant and respectful to me.

    The urge came because the family was so sickeningly pleasant, and I felt like I was turning up to throw corpses upon their table.

    As the meal wrapped up, we retreated to the sanctuaryand I prepared myself.

    ¡°So there is a reason I have called you both here today.¡± I directed this to the seated Ban and Elaine. Lancelot was not invited, she was currently cultivating in the moonlight.

    ¡°You seemed stressed. I gather you encountered the worst of the Fos today, you did well to avoid a battle, thank you for not involving Lance in it. I don''t like how that boy looks at my daughter¡± Ban''s face promised death.

    ¡°It''s worse than just a man who doesn''t know his place. I must explain something so you can appreciate that this is not some passing insanity. I spent some time captive with a House of Renown from Albion, this is how I have my knowledge on moon glamour and my general knowledge of its origins.¡±

    ¡°We''d guessed as much.¡±

    ¡°Well, I must now add another detail. The house that held me was corrupted, believers in the ¡®Guiding Star¡¯. I do not like thinking on this time, but must mention it because the memories were pulled to the surface today when I examined Barclay Fos.¡±

    ¡°What about Barclay reminded you of such vile people.¡± Elaine''s voice snapped out. Ban''s face was a mask of shock.

    ¡°He wore numerous corrupted talismans, and most critically wore a star inside his armour. I found the Star when I was trying to understand why he seemed so confident in battling Lancelot.¡±

    ¡°You are certain of this?¡± Ban leant forward, his voice low like distant thunder.

    ¡°As sure as my name is Taliesin.¡± I nodded to Elaine, who got the weight such conviction conveyed, she had not forgotten the name was given to me by the Lady.

    ¡°This is another of the reasons she set you on this path,¡± Elaine murmured to herself.

    ¡°That damn fool. He''s entirely too confident that his father''s dead.¡± Ban roared standing from his chair and pacing the small room. I felt the weight of his frustrations boil over and had to strengthen my defences or be scalded.

    ¡°Is one of the Fos brothers dead?¡±

    ¡°Barclay would not fill a chamberpot without his father''s say so. No Roland Fos his father, the damn swine. I knew he was desperate but this is insanity. He believes the Bear has fallen. His Fae gate closed almost a year ago, and Roland claims his father is dead, while Bromley and I maintain he is just coming back on a different path. He would do anything to be crowned the next Lord but would never hold the position. We are vassals to the Chox and I know the Raven Queen would not stand a meek Steel like him.¡± Ban was stomping around thinking things through.

    ¡°She would not stand a Divine Cultivator, you heard she declared war upon them with the slaughter of the Harkleys,¡± Elaine added, I could see her similarly processing the implications. I fought down the urge to wince at that, I didn''t need the reminder.

    ¡°I have a meeting with Miss Peaches tomorrow. I will have to mention this. I did not dare go to her before then, as after I mentioned I was close to her, Barclay became very worried and did more to hide his glamour. I figured if I went straight there it might trigger an alarm.¡±

    ¡°Wise. It is stupid to have let Barclay wear it, I trust you showed no reaction.¡±

    ¡°If there''s one thing I excel at most it''s deceiving Divine Cultivators.¡±

    ¡°He was there with the two Krakens, were either of them wearing it.¡± Ban''s full attention rested on me.

    ¡°I didn''t get a read on Gareth, but the other one wasn''t.¡±

    ¡°Roland controls the cultivator district. There could be an entire army waiting there. This is a nightmare.¡± Elaine said the fear aloud.

    ¡°We must prepare for a war.¡± Ban clenched his fist.

 Chapter 30 - Dont poke the bear

    She watched the useless Squires as they patrolled the paths below, they had stern expressions, hacking at any of the fae-touched wilderness that got too close to them. She counted five different Squires, but couldn''t spot their Knight. She didn''t know if that was because he was smart and stayed hidden or lazy and was back at their camp ¡®leading them in spirit¡¯.

    The Cultivators looked unhappy with their lot. It was just another mark of their strangeness, as most cultivators dreamed of being sent to a fae-touched realm. The sky was made of distorted rainbows, a deformed tent of ethereal fabric propped up by impossibly vast trees. The glamour was so thick you barely had to think about cultivating. That and the place was littered with natural treasures.

    From her vantage point high on a natural shelf of branches formed in the looming trees she watched them through the leaves below. They were an annoying wrinkle in the plan. If they were able to raise a warning too soon then there could be a problem. She heard some fresh curses and grinned.

    The Fae realm was a dream for cultivators, but like any dream could rapidly turn into a nightmare. She watched a fae beast, a Quillhog come upon them, and charge. The screams that followed told her two things. These Squires were the chaff and had a good reason to have looked less than pleased to be on the front lines without a Knight to lead them. The fae beasts matched the Iron ranked power of the realm and took poorly to the cultivators disturbing them.

    Of the five only two made it out alive, the Quillhog feasting on their fallen brethren. It was far less cute than its mundane Hedgehog cousin. Something that tended to happen when you scaled anything up to the size of an ox and gave it spines longer than most swords that all radiated metal glamour.

    ¡°Percy, are we good to go?¡± Gawain was right beside her, splitting his attention between the retreating group, and fussing his bird. Archimedes was not taking being cooped up in the Fae Realm well. He was not used to the average bird being bigger than him.

    ¡°We''re good, those bastards are a good distraction if nothing else.¡± Percy reached out and was just able to reach high enough to stroke under Archimedes'' chin. The soft feathers were tickling the back of her hand as the giant bird preened at the attention.

    ¡°Alright, then you know the plan?¡±

    ¡°Do you think me a simpleton? I made the plan Gawain! Get going before the lot of them work out how to stop squealing like stuck pigs.¡± Percy ignored her fussy comrade, he was the eldest and so tended to assume he needed to check things like a worried parent.

    ¡°Alright. Here''s to hoping Bors hasn''t made any fresh enemies.¡± Gawain muttered as he prepared his travelling gear.

    ¡°Don''t hold out false hope cousin. We must instead have hope that any enemies he made were swiftly buried and were without friends.¡± Art came over and clasped Gawain in a hug their armour clanging like a smithy.

    ¡°Too right. Now remember you must then go to Fosburg and request Captain Ban, he''s the only Fos worth a damn apart from their Patriarch who has been Questing in the Fae realms. With the Chox aligning themselves with our fight they should be keen to help especially if you hold the location of this realm over their heads.¡± The Chox''s sudden shift had shaken her, and while she had opinions about the treachery involved it gave them at least a chance of success.

    ¡°Ah, it is indeed annoying to be reminded of the plan that we''ve laboured these last days over.¡± Gawain chuckled as he mounted the golden feathered mount. The height of his giant hawk saved him from Percy''s raised fist.

    ¡°We''ll begin the distraction, swift winds, and fair weather my noble ally.¡± Art waved off Gawain, as Percy merely shook her fist at the knight. Their lives depended on this, he''d better return.

    ¡°So we begin the assault now?¡± Art turned to her, she swore he must be doing something to keep looking like he''d just spent time at a salon, while she felt like she had been dragged backwards through a bush. It was the glowing blond hair, that framed his blue eyes and regal brow that irritated her most.

    They''d both seen their hair change as part of their rise to Iron, matching her Blood Gift her hair had turned a matching dark red. Not a terrible change and added to her image. That still paled in comparison to his transformation. His hair became as spun gold, literal gold! Even worse hers still always looked dirtier despite the darker colouring. He was hiding some soap somewhere she just knew it.

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    What she would do for a bath, and a proper hot bath. That plus a change of clothes, and ideally a spritz of some of her sadly dwindling supply of perfume was what she needed to feel more like her old self. She cast aside the thought. They''d been stuck on this mission for too long, accidentally following the inquisitors they were targeting to a Fae Realm had at first seemed a blessing worthy of a greater Fae. Now they''d been trapped here for two weeks by the group who''d followed them it had become a curse.

    The Divine Cultivators were getting regular reinforcements which kept them trapped inside, and worse meant even if they did escape they would be hunted down on the outside.

    ¡°Let me just grab some ammunition.¡± She smiled as Arthur''s face creased in distaste. He wasn''t a fan of her second gift, not that she could blame him, it was a reminder of some of the vilest cultivators he knew. He''d held a low opinion of the Harkleys even before she told him of the secrets she''d learned. Not her fault that her gift had overlapped with theirs.

    She slid down the tree, and the Quillhog grunted at her, but didn''t stop her from gathering the spilt blood on the ground, the beast was quite full and wasn''t much of a climber, so long as she posed no threat it wouldn''t care. What was she going to do, jump on it?

    The glamour flowed around her and resonated with both her gifts. Her dual gifts of metal and blood had taught her that the red liquid was full of iron. She gathered it in a pair of pouches at her sides, leaving her preferred flask untouched. Frustratingly she needed ¡®living¡¯ blood for it to be at full power, and putting anything alive into her spatial ring killed it, so regularly gathering blood was essential before a fight. During a fight, blood tended to take care of itself.

    ¡°Ready, let''s go knock some heads together!¡± She moved to the other side of the tree and was met by Arthur, leaning casually against a root taller than himself.

    ¡°You know I think Bors has had an effect on you.¡± Art chuckled.

    ¡°I take that as a compliment. I still think we could''ve brought him.¡± The decision to leave him at the bridge had been a long sticking point. They wouldn''t have been trapped here if he''d come along.

    ¡°He needs to learn to be calm. The bridge will be good for him.¡±

    ¡°You abuse his trust too much. Let''s move on,¡± Percy pushed down the urge to argue, she had to be focused, the arrogance of royalty meant he never seemed to sense when to drop something. ¡°Look we need to do this now, they''re opening the door again today.¡±

    She didn''t give him the option to continue the conversation. They ran to the nearby cave they''d discovered last week. She could hear the snoring before even stepping inside, it was impossible to miss, same as the way the gravel outside vibrated with each thunderous snore.

    ¡°I still feel this is a bit underhanded.¡±

    ¡°Art, the time to have second thoughts is before your cousin''s life depends on our actions here.¡± She cursed her oldest friend''s sense of honour for the thousandth time. He was a lethal combatant but was completely useless at anything outside it. He was a very kind meathead.

    ¡°It still feels like trickery.¡± he picked at it like a dog with a bone.

    ¡°It is tactics Art! Strategy is not dishonourable, especially if when we are tricking a monstrous bear, that may well still kill us if we get unlucky.¡± Percy hissed at him, mercifully a snore loud enough to shake the branches off of the trees cut off their conversation.

    ¡°Alright then, at least allow me to be down here to be the one to wake it.¡± Percy sighed, she''d expected this, in fact, the plan wouldn''t have worked without it. She found it frustrating that she could so keenly rely on him to put his hand up for the most dangerous task, it was why she tolerated his constant hemming and hawing.

    ¡°You do remember it requires being drenched in blood?¡±

    ¡°I do.¡±

    ¡°And fighting it rather than fleeing will get both you and your cousin killed, and probably me killed as well when I''m forced to interrupt.¡±

    ¡°You were never this contrarian when I was a Prince. But yes, I won''t make a mess of your plan.¡±

    ¡°In that case, close your eyes.¡± Percy felt her anger rise up, why bother mentioning the past. Her glamour gripped the specially prepared bottle at her side.

    ¡°Wait!¡± She did not wait. A moment later the blonde knight was dripping, spluttering and cursing.

    ¡°Hmm such foul language, nothing I''d have expected to hear from you when you were a prince, your highness. I will go ahead and start laying the trail. Remember to get to the river and try not to die.¡± She didn''t wait around for whatever ¡®the prince¡¯ wanted to say. He''d probably say something entirely too well-meaning and kind that would make her feel stupid for soaking him. She didn''t need that right now.

    Percy threw herself through the forest, her Levity skill involved pulling her armour and blood around like a single unit, seeing herself as a piece of living metal flowing from one place to another. She used her glamour to begin firing darts of blood. This wasn''t the extra blood she''d just gathered, this was far more precious.

    The blood in the flask at her side came from the Knight Commander of the forces on the other side of the gate, collected during their last failed escape attempt. The Fae Realm couldn''t handle anyone above Iron, which protected them from being chased by any Steel-ranked assets the Divine Cultivators had. It didn''t stop the bastard from waiting just the other side of the gate for them.

    That escape was nearly a disaster but despite their different ranks Art had managed to hold him off long enough for them to all retreat back. The former prince could be an idiot, but his combat skills reflected his family''s legacy.

    That failure though marked the seed of their success. With her gift, she''d used her glamour to multiply his blood, and with it traces of his essence, enough to lead the bear on a wild goose chase. The bear was also Steel rank and shouldn''t be present in the realm, Gawain who made a habit of researching beasts explained that is why it was slumbering, it had grown too big for the realm and would only wake rarely. Unless forced.

    The roar that echoed through the forest slapped Percy like a physical weight. It was like the Evil Eye of a witch in auditory form. She doubled down on her sprint, it was miles to the Divine Cultivator camp and she needed to mark the whole route so the bear could exact its ¡®revenge¡¯ on the foolish cultivator that had roused it.

    In the silence that followed in the wake of the roar Percy heard what she hoped was the splash of Art jumping in the endlessly looping river that roamed the realm. It seemed the fool had done what she asked. That faint reassurance was lost though as she heard the sound of stone being torn apart, looking behind she could see chunks of stone sailing across the chaotic sky.

    Percy swallowed, okay maybe she''d miscalculated just how big the bear was. At least it''d make a great distraction. Then Gawain could get Bors, and between the two of them, they could get help. Because if they didn''t need help before they certainly needed it now they''d unleash that bear on the world.

 Chapter 31 - Gifts and partings

    My brain itched. I¡¯d spent all night awake as we planned and schemed, offering everything I knew about the Divine Cultivator threat. Captain Ban had wrung me dry for anything he could use, and that had got me worked up to no end. I had been very lucky that nothing had bothered me on the walk over here. Bard or not, if some Noble Squire had asked for a duel I''d have taken him up on the offer. Thankfully I''d had Lancelot with me which had warded off any attention.

    Lancelot had been read in on the issue and then spent the rest of the night helping Elaine call on dreams to answer some questions. The eerie way they whistled in unison had not helped me focus. It helped us understand the problem immensely and informed our roles for the day.

    I was executing stage one of my role in the plan, visiting Miss Peaches and reading her in on the threat and our plans. Elaine would be meeting her afterwards to provide further details, using the meeting they''d agreed on yesterday as cover. Ban had been very clear that he didn''t want any of us doing anything that might imply we knew something was wrong.

    ¡°Thrice cursed cultists, and right under my nose too. Must you continue to rack up my debts to you? Can''t let those monsters near my girls!¡±

    ¡°This debt is at least easy to settle, any help in defeating them would be much appreciated.¡±

    ¡°I cannot wipe debt like that, it''d be like asking you to wipe a debt by singing, you will do it anyway so it is not of commensurate value.¡± She pulled out a book from her desk and began leafing through it. ¡°What does that rust bucket have to say for himself? To let his brother fall so far?¡±

    ¡°He''s going to handle the brother, but would appreciate any support you might offer.¡± Captain Ban took the rise of this corruption under his nose personally. He''d left early in the morning to quietly marshal his troops. He''d arranged for a ''fugitive'' to break out of the gaol, so he and some of his Knights could disappear to ''chase them down''. The reality was that he was in a hidden location, busy breaking through to Steel, a process I was surprised to learn he''d been putting off. Lance had let me know that both her mother and father could''ve broken through, but due to the politics of Fosburg had been waiting till the patriarch returned as they feared the brothers would take poorly to be finding a power couple to contend with.

    ¡°And you?¡±

    ¡°I''ll be escorting Lancelot to see Sir Bors, and if you''re willing to work with our deception, will be delivering something to the Noble Knight on Miss Peaches'' behalf. A delivery for you will give us an excuse to be clear of the town.¡± That had caused a flaming row, Lance had taken poorly to being sidelined. I''d been excused for a while and eventually, a tearful Lance had come to me to explain she''d agreed to come with me.

    She wanted to stay close but spare Iron level cultivators we could trust were thin on the ground. Those allied to the Captain would be needed for the fight. What no one said was that if things went wrong having her far from town would at least mean they''d saved her.

    ¡°Sensible, if I was protecting her directly she''d be in my debt and the girl has enough potential to tempt me to see she doesn''t work her way free of it.¡± She looked over to Lancelot who was exiled to one of the empty alchemy rooms, currently checking her gear blessedly unaware of the monster sizing her up. I didn''t shiver, I''d heard far worse but it was a reminder that as much as I liked the older witch she was still a powerful cultivator with her own goals. ¡°Not that I''m against purging such filth, but why is this so urgent?¡±

    ¡°It seems Roland believes his father, the lord, is dead. Apparently, he always sends some kind of message or manifestation of power at the festival. Ban, while confident that his adopted father lives, feels worried that the festival will be a starting whistle for whatever they''re planning. If there''s no sign from the Bear then Roland acts. If there is a sign of the Lord there''s a chance the Divine Cultivators do a ton of damage as they flee.¡±

    ¡°Dang fool betting against the Bear of Fos. The young''un may be many things but easy to kill ain''t one of them.¡± Miss Peaches said, casually referring to a several century-old cultivator who was questing to rise to Mithril as she might a teenager. Then she sighed and made a couple of notes. ¡°I''ll spare some time to get this cleaned up, can''t have rats like these running around near my girls. Now I believe you''re here for a demonstration and my little witches are waiting. They can then put together your delivery as well.¡±

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    She seemed totally unbothered like I''d told her about a minor disruption and a delay in her deliveries. I couldn''t help it. ¡°Miss Nimue, the Divine Cultivators are no joke.¡±

    ¡°I''d expect a Bard to know that jokes are all about your audience, and I, little Taliesin, who bears the gifts of the Lady of Lake, who reeks of death, and clearly has fooled those demons masquerading as gods, I can laugh at most anything.¡± The edge of her evil eye whipped me reminding me of my station and the fact she had my full measure. She knew the threat and found it wanting.

    To illustrate her point the Steel rank witch left the room cackling. As she left a forgotten memory thawed and dripped knowledge down my spine. Alexis had told me witches who left their coven would often give up knowledge, lowering their level of cultivation and had told me her mistress was in that category. I shuddered what manner of ancient monster had I stumbled across now.

    ¡°Come, boy, just your shirt off this time.¡± She called up the stairs.

    ¡°Yes, Miss Peaches.¡± I could almost hear the laughter of the Lady in my ears, feel those eyes bearing down on me. Of course, she had more planned for me.

    <hr>

    Lancelot was saying a tearful farewell with her mother just inside ¡®The Cottage¡¯. I distracted myself from the scene by focusing on the collection of items Alexis and Elsa were laying out for me and Bors. She''d recognized I had a spatial ring and was loading me down with an entire cupboard full of ingredients plus a collection of alchemy essentials. I could also see some cultivation brews for Bors and a collection of healing brews for us all.

    ¡°This is very generous Miss Peaches.¡± I looked it over, the collected items weren''t a sign of incredible wealth but they''d been carefully collected and arranged. It wasn''t just ingredients but she was sharing a whole system of how she arranged and performed alchemy, there were even a couple of books.

    ¡°Pah this is just clearing out the back room. I have something for you and something for Bors.¡± She summoned me over to her side.

    ¡°This is a book with some guidance on your gift, an Illuminated text with a cultivation method and technique that I think will suit you and make us even for the help you''ve brought me.¡± She passed it to me discreetly, but I got a look at the title before I slipped it into my storage ring.

    ¡°Miss Peaches, I can''t help but notice the title is ¡®Lesser Death Curses¡¯, I must say I am touched you trust me so much.¡± Witches didn''t share much about their curse techniques, I was shocked to think I was worthy of such a gift and such trust.

    ¡°Don''t get a big head child, they are lesser curses after all. This piece is for that Bors boy." She pulled out a pendant, a short metal tube that with a small window of glass through which I could see something that looked like a finger bone.

    ¡°This is a Reliquary, a bone from a powerful earth-gifted fae¡­beast, I defeated long ago.¡± She grinned as I caught the pause and nearly dropped the Reliquary. ¡°If he cultivates wearing this it should accelerate his growth a little bit until he hits Steel.¡±

    That was a treasure that was worthy of a petty king''s ransom, even as a Harkley I''d rarely seen a Reliquary that lasted beyond Bronze. It smelt of wet earth and clay, and just being near it made me feel more grounded and settled. That Miss Peaches valued her girls so much calmed my chaotic mind. As rattled as I was to be standing beside the possibly Mithril rank cultivator, knowing she valued her people''s safety reminded me that she wasn''t anything like the Harkley''s Patriarch. That there was some kind of balance among the high-ranking cultivators of this world.

    ¡°I will keep it safe and deliver it.¡±

    ¡°Good I shall send Alexis to escort you two to the gate, she''ll give you some parcels there that should make it clear you''re running errands for me. I also have some potions I''ve made that work particularly well to help you use your Levity techniques, so you should be able to get clear quickly.¡±

    ¡°That''d be good then we can see him before the day is out.¡±

    ¡°Also it''ll get that golden-haired minx away from my girls quickly.¡± Miss Peaches eyes narrowed as Lance started to help Elsa pack some things, the apprentice witch was already blushing.

    ¡°Not worried about Alexis?¡± I chuckled as we moved to safer topics.

    ¡°She''s not tall enough for Alexis, besides she''s still hung up on the ¡®Titan¡¯ and will be for some time I imagine.¡± She said with a grin. I didn''t know how well Bors would handle knowing an Elder Witch was paying attention to his love life. ¡°Now do come and visit again, I''ll be mightily frustrated if all this fussing about ends up with you dead by the roadside.¡±

    ¡°Please if I''m dying it''ll be in bed, ideally someone else''s.¡± He heard the old woman chuckle, at least part of his day was going right.

    <hr>

    ¡°And give Bors my best will you, let him know he is welcome to say hello anytime. He better not leave that bridge and not at least come say goodbye! Miss Peaches did say she wanted to meet him sometime.¡± Alexis grinned, seemingly unaware she''d just said something that would make most cultivators run for the hills.

    ¡°It''s been a pleasure Alexis, and I wish I could stay longer but my mother told me never to keep a witch waiting.¡± The words spilt out of me, my truth magic surprised me there. Not the common phrase which was frankly good advice for any cultivator but in that, I was certain I did remember my mother telling me that. A rarity for me as those memories were clouded by time.

    ¡°You too Taliesin, I expect a visit.¡± She smiled and passed the items to me casually. Alexis was a smart woman and could tell there was more to this than just a simple delivery run but played the role of an apprentice seeing off her mistress¡¯s couriers well.

    Lance was already ahead negotiating our passage. The guards on duty seemed upset on her behalf that she was being sent out so close to Founders Day, but when she mentioned ¡®The Lady in Peach¡¯ they all nodded. I followed and was given a piece of paper that outlined I''d be welcomed back in the future should I return. My heart fluttered at the offer, the idea I''d be welcome back made the stakes of the coming battle within those walls all the higher in my mind.

    ¡°Right let''s get going if we run the whole way with those potions we should be there before midnight.¡± What had taken me four days of slow plodding with the caravan was going to be eaten up in barely any time at all.

    I took the ¡®Swiftness Brew¡¯ the flavour was face puckeringly sour, but it worked a treat. We began to peel away from the town. Lance setting a fast pace that surprised me.

    ¡°Shouldn''t we pace ourselves?¡± I caught up to her as she pounded down the empty road, quickly blowing past the rough ramshackle buildings that sat just beyond the wall.

    ¡°We were being followed in town and the guards told me that Barclay was just seen entering Stonetown with a few of his lackeys.¡± Her voice was sharp and her eyes watched the woods.

    ¡°Fast it is then.¡±

 Chapter 32 - Hard to do stamina training in a cage

    There were many skills, talents and abilities I¡¯d developed throughout my life, ways I could excel that marked me as different to the average Knight. This run was a brutal way to discover that stamina was not one of them. I was gasping for air, my reserves of glamour near exhausted and I¡¯d had no chance to refill them. Three-quarters of the way to the bridge and I was all but spent. Unlike my flight from Maeve which was more about the strategic use of limited resources, this run just took a relentless toll on my body.

    We¡¯d been running for hours. The potions had long run out, and my lack of physical discipline had started to show at the mid-way point. I¡¯d never had to run flat out for so long before. Our pursuers were relentless and even with night having fallen the fact we followed a single road to our destination rather limited our options to lose them.

    If I had energy to spare I''d be wallowing in shame, Lance was clearly slowing to match my pitiful pace. I may have tuned my body to perfection but I¡¯d never been called upon to stay active for so long. The cage I¡¯d lived in may have been gilded, but it was still a cage and long-distance runs would have upset my wardens. Nor did the long day that preceded help my fatigue. Being only Bronze our bodies still built up fatigue like a mortal just at a greatly reduced rate, and glamour could only sustain me for so long.

    ¡°They are catching up,¡± Lance called out as if I too didn¡¯t hear the sound of clashing armour from down the road or see their torches lighting up the dark wood. I opened my mouth, but no words came out, as my body gulped down air, desperate for sustenance.

    We¡¯d been hearing them for the last couple of hours, Lance had refused to go hide in the forest. She stated that far worse monsters waited in the deep woods and were especially active at night. Our few strategy sessions had been unproductive.

    ¡°If you¡¯re trying to tell me to leave you behind again I will smack you,¡± Lance growled.

    ¡°Nothing- nothing, cough, nothing-¡± I tried to start the sentence three times before finally sucking in a big enough lungful of air. ¡°Nothing of the sort. We need a way to signal Sir Bors.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re right, you¡¯re never going to make it. Better to face them with some rest than totally exhausted. There¡¯s a rise over there which should be more defensible. It¡¯s also clear of snow and ice, don''t want to give them extra ammunition.¡± Lance grabbed me and dragged me over to a hill that caught the moonlight.

    My brain was clouded by fatigue but I somehow fumbled what I needed out of my storage ring. The bow and quiver, a wadded bit of cloth and some tar. I also pulled out and lit my pipe, using superheated ash to start a fire in the bowl. With the smoke starting to form it aided my sight. The moon was but a sliver in the sky and even as cultivators the meagre light was barely enough to see by. I was thankful both Lance and I followed the witches'' practices, we could at least get some sense of the world around us. Unlike our pursuers.

    The elevated position brought equal parts hope and worry. Hope as it was a good position, a steep hill on one side, and cliff on the other, with the forest behind us, the only other way around that was to cut back to a slope some couple of hundred feet back. The worry came from seeing the torches rushing along the road. They were at most fifteen minutes behind us, I could pick out three with torches but other forms moved in and out of the halos of light. Impossible to track. Lance hacked through the underbrush as she sought to carve out a good spot for the coming fight. I could see her eyes catching the faint moonlight as she gazed out at our adversaries.

    ¡°Nine of the bastards, Barclay never picks a fight unless it¡¯s at least three to one.¡± Lance could barely hide her sigh, nine vs the two of them was bad odds.

    ¡°Can do, should I send these up now?¡± I asked, indicating a quartet of makeshift signal flares I¡¯d slapped together.

    ¡°Do it, there¡¯s always a chance it¡¯ll make them think twice. They don¡¯t have a Knight or they¡¯d have caught up by now, they won¡¯t want to risk meeting Bors, so they''ll have to act quickly.¡±

    ¡°Why aren¡¯t we trying to hide?¡± I asked hopefully as I focused my attention on where I assumed Bors¡¯ camp lay. In the thin light, I could just about make out what I took to be his bridge, well out of reach of my bow.

    ¡°Barclay despite his many failings is an exceptional tracker, he is good friends with the Golden Hind, was good friends rather. That might explain why he¡¯s so dogged in our pursuit. I hope it¡¯s that, if he thinks you already know of his corruption I worry what that¡¯ll mean for my parents.¡± Lance''s lips were thin as she watched the oncoming Squires. If Barclay was being sent out to silence me about the Star, then it meant his father had ordered it. If that was true, Fosburg was likely already lit by the flames of battle as his father would¡¯ve assumed I told Captain Ban and Lady Elaine.

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    ¡°Alright let¡¯s get to it.¡± I pulled back the arrow using sparks from my pipe to light the tarry mess on the end. It sputtered into life and I let the string loose. With the air gushing over it, the arrow went from a guttering flame to a burning star as it rose over the forest. I fired once more. And then sat down to cultivate. Trying to cram a few minutes of recovery in before pausing to fire the remaining two again.

    ¡°They¡¯re speeding up. We¡¯ve got at most five minutes before they¡¯re on us. I want you to hide in that group of trees over there. Do what you can to hurt them as they try and get up to me.¡±

    ¡°What gifts are we expecting?¡± I asked as I moved over to the scraggly copse of trees, grey and devoid of leaves they stuck out the ground like the grasping fingers of a giant. They weren¡¯t the best cover but were far enough to get a good angle on the slope that led up the otherwise sheer cliff she¡¯d chosen but close enough to move up and reinforce. The lights were getting closer.

    ¡°Everyone is going to have water, that''s what those bastards love to cultivate in Roland''s town. These will be lackeys from lesser houses and Orders trying to stay friendly with him. Barclay is water and air but his air gift is pathetic. The others I¡¯m not sure, I expect Piers and Rostlon, brothers who have water and light, they have a nasty ability to focus the light with water so be careful if they float a water ball near you.¡±

    ¡°What about that blue-haired guy? Garry?¡±

    ¡°I hope Gaz is not with them, he¡¯s a good fighter. He should be too smart for this, but if he is here be wary of him, he¡¯s water and sound, do not let him grapple you. Let me talk with them when he arrives, you stay out of it.¡± I nodded and drew out some smoke-sticks, the same as Kristoff had been given to signal his mission. I had been pleased to find that these were a common tool and I¡¯d brought a few from Miss Peaches. They¡¯d help rapidly expand my available smoke. I spread out more smoke from my pipe over the ground, in the dark even regular smoke was all but invisible.

    That done I switched my armour and turned my lute into a blade. Better to have the best tools available. Prepared I focused on taking a few more bellows breaths. I¡¯d not recovered much but I at least had something to work with and most importantly my limbs were no longer shaking from fatigue. I kept a close ear out, Lance was crouched at the top of the hill cultivating as well. We both watched the flames get closer.

    The group pounded down the road, Barclay was in the lead, and with their lights, I could see the group easily. There was actually only one torch it turned out. Two Squires, the brothers I presumed with square heads and hair shaved down to stubble carried illusorary torches made of light glamour. The illusions were copies of the central torch, held by a familiar face topped with Bluehair. I checked through the faces but didn¡¯t recognize the rest not that I expected to. They were all beefy-looking types, thugs more than Squires. What I did catch was there were only eight of them, Lance had said nine and I was inclined to trust her.

    ¡°Squire Lancelot, I know you¡¯re out here with that coward. I demand satisfaction!¡± Barclay Fos tramped forward, he was casually looking around but he was still moving directly towards the bluff where we lay in wait.

    ¡°You can get your satisfaction after we¡¯ve done our work! Bold to be attacking someone the Lady in Peach has marked as one of her own and interfering with her business.¡± Lance called out but didn¡¯t stand. She was scanning the area around her. She¡¯d noticed the missing one of their number as well.

    ¡°Some dried-up old witch is nothing compared to my father. You treat her like she¡¯s more important than the very Lords of your House. You should know to respect your betters.¡± His face scrunched up with fury and his hand rested on the pommel of his sword.

    ¡°Neither you nor your father is the Lord of Fos, I respect those worthy of it, not fucking jokes like you. Eight of you to bully the two of us. It¡¯s too bad you don¡¯t have a bard on your side to spin something noble out of the embarrassment this is. Poor Barclay who can¡¯t handle a one-on-one fight. Bet your cousins would pay Taliesin to sing of this new low.¡± Lance was gifted at irritating others. I could see Barclay almost push forward held back only by a mutter from one of the light-bearing brothers.

    I spread my senses about, trying to find the last of them. Maybe the last one headed back to get reinforcements? As I hunted about I looked over the group again and could see that Bluehair was looking uncomfortable, he¡¯d stuck his torch in the ground but was now edging away to the back of the group. He¡¯d been smart before, with any luck he wasn¡¯t about to take part in this madness.

    ¡°Look just give us the bard and his storage ring and you can go on, we¡¯ll even let you take out whatever it is that the witch was sending to that fool on the bridge. You hear that Bard, you can help your friend here, just stop playing the coward. You did say you¡¯d duel me, why not now?¡± I stayed silent, in part doing as I was told, but also because I¡¯d just felt someone brush against the edge of my smoke field. The ninth member was climbing the cliff face to the left of Lance.

    They had to be shadow gifted, using the cover of the trees I peered out but couldn¡¯t see even the faintest outline of them, just a moving dark patch, if I didn¡¯t know better would¡¯ve been just a trick of the light. What I could feel though was someone slowly and carefully making their way up the cliff face. Unlike Barclay, they were circling their glamour, so I only got their outline. The assassin felt slim, if they had armour it wasn¡¯t much. They were coming up to the side where Lance would be most exposed.

    I drew my bow as gently as I could, every creak of the reinforced limbs made me wince. I tried to choose where to shoot, and using the void in my smoke I settled on aiming for the neck and then body below. Assuming they were Bronze their skull would be difficult to penetrate and if they were sensible they¡¯d be wearing a helmet. Though none in the rest of the group were. Daft bastards. The neck was less likely to be armoured, and it wasn¡¯t like I was going to shoot only one arrow.

    ¡°I knew you were a coward. Just some peasant performer acting out fights, you don¡¯t belong in this world as anything but somebody''s pet.¡±

    The arrows flew, and I fired three in quick succession, using Levity to speed my draw, as well as help fling me away from my hiding spot. I didn¡¯t need to follow my arrows There was a gurgle and then a thump down below.

    ¡°You cur! He got Charles, get them!¡± Barclay screamed, his command came too late. I was well away from the trees his comrades lashed with spikes of ice and blades of water. The battle was upon us.

 Chapter 33 - Death, Smoke and Frothing fools

    To the clamour of crashing armour, torchlight flickering across the polished steel, our fight commenced. Leading the fight were the nameless minions, keen to prove themselves to Barclay, or more likely his father, they charged up the hill. Being a cultivator might make such feats of athleticism easier but it was not without its challenge, the earth was soft and even if they were not as exhausted as me their bodies were sluggish due to the long run.

    The others held back, they came closer that was certain but did so at a slower pace, obviously waiting to see what tricks were waiting for the front line. Just as the advance group neared the rise I struck. Using the cliff face as my shield from those below I let loose a trio of arrows into the leader of the charge, a lanky man almost as tall as Bors. In full armour, the attacks were far from lethal, but the impacts were heavy, and it took a conviction few possessed to ignore the zip and zing of arrows.

    The lanky leader stumbled, nearly losing his footing and tangling up his allies as he flailed about trying to keep his balance. That was when Lance struck. She emerged from behind the rock she''d been using for shelter. Her sword hummed a barely visible line in the moonlight, I could feel the glamour of a half-formed technique form before it was abruptly cut short.

    It felt like the entire forest held its breath, the sound of his body tumbling down the hill, following the head that rolled right towards Barclay''s group. Then the night was filled with cries of shock and confusion.

    Lance didn''t stop at the leader she sliced into the two who''d got caught behind him, who both fell tumbling back rather than take on her sword. The last of the front line another of the nameless goons desperately brought up a whip of water, pushing her back. She stood dodged it easily and now stood at the peak of the hill staring down at the chaos below.

    ¡°What are you doing Lancelot, you''ll pay for this! To kill Francis over some Bard! You are but a shadow of a real Fos.¡± Barclay called trying to rally his troops. The brothers had stepped up to cover him, and the water whip fellow, realising he was alone, retreated. A behaviour I encouraged with an extra arrow that he slapped out of the air with the swirling whip of water. The last of them, Bluehair had seemingly retreated from the fight, leaving them down to just six warriors.

    The group spoke for a moment, not something I wanted to encourage, I threw a couple of smoke sticks before me and as the smoke built used the cover to start hammering them with arrows. I heard a few tings of metal on metal and at least one strike that sounded meaty before a blast of wind shredded the smoke and a column of light blinded me.

    My screen of smoke might be no more, but there was enough around me that even blinded I had some awareness of my surroundings. What was especially obvious was the pair of Squires who crashed into the ground at the top of the cliff, no doubt flung up by his comrades. I could hear swearing from Lance, quickly drowned out by yells as the goon squad charged up the hill to challenge her.

    I was blind and on my own. From the sense of the glamour, I could feel that one of them was the brothers, the light they held still flickering. The other I didn''t know but by the face, and the fact he didn''t clear out the smoke around us with wind I assumed it wasn''t Barclay. A spike of ice crashed through where I''d just been, exploding on a tree and chunks bouncing off my armour.

    ¡°I''ll gut you coward! How dare you kill Charles and insult the Order of the Crystal Mountain.¡± I didn''t thank the man for talking, his voice helping me get my bearings as I ignited another smoke stick and swirled it about myself trying to block out the blinding light.

    The extra smoke helped me sense another ice spike that hummed towards my chest. A burst of Levity launched me sideways but with no plan I tumbled, my legs and body were still weakened after the run making me clumsy in the gloom. The torch bearer launched himself at my prone form sword first and only a flipping backwards saved me, my stomach screaming in protest as I threw myself away.

    ¡°Ragh! Stop dodging and fight like a man you freak!¡± The ice glamour user proved that not all who cultivated it were the stoic, frozen-hearted type. He was tearing through the forest to get to me his eyes mad and foam gathering at his lips.

    I found my feet, as I hid away my bow and drew my blade. Looking at the square-headed Squire, his strange glamour torch fluttering in a non-existent wind fear started to grip me. If I was fresh and in a one-on-one battle I''d give myself good odds against him, but the only fighting I knew was duelling, I wasn''t prepared for a two-on-one fight, nor a battle where my limbs were already protesting.

    The next minute was a frantic dance through the forest, I fought Square-head and Frothy as I''d labelled them. I managed to take a couple of chunks out of Frothy, which only made him yell more. Square-head was being cautious, letting Frothy who was lost in some sort of beserker rage take the lead. Their lack of coordination was my salvation if they''d charged me together I''d have been done for. Still, they ran me ragged, I had to push on Levity nearly constantly to survive and my reserves were but fumes.

    I could smell my blood, I had been injured twice both by attacks from Square-head as I handled a mad charge from his comrade. Two rounds of water blades had rendered my left hand limp and weak. Using my smoke form which was far less impressive than it''d been against Lance only an extra pair of arms forming I confused Frothy enough to drive a blade up into his armpit.

    It was a mortal wound, one that would leave his lifeblood coursing freely, but not enough to kill him instantly, lost in his fury as he was. I had to step back dodging another water blade from the backline, as the dying Squire thrashed about, he could live if he sought help or sealed his wound but I could feel glamour in each enraged swing, some kind of gift powering him that I knew only through notes and whispers.

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    It appeared to be the Beserker''s gift, a gift that cultivated a combination of emotions, mostly anchored in hate and fury. I only knew of two groups who frequently manifested it, those of the Storm Sea Raiders and Divine Cultivators. The Harkleys steered well clear of that ray of the guiding star, a rare good decision if Frothy was accurately playing his role.

    That pushed me to the edge of the cliff, and while the fall wouldn''t kill me, retreating down there would leave these two a direct path to Lance. I''d sensed at least one more death over that way, meaning it was at worst a three-on-one fight.

    I could hear the barbs flying and Barclay raving some villainous litany about destiny. It was a heroic encounter I was sure, it would make a fine tale if I could hold up my side of the fight and keep things from becoming a tragedy. I would not let Square-head get past me.

    Backed up to the cliff edge I saw the first sign of real emotion on Square-head, a smile, as his fake torch started to glow brighter. I could see him form a sphere of water. Counting on the death throes of his ally to protect him he was readying a killing blow, some technique that meant he didn''t have to come close to me.

    I''d already found his blasted light pushed back my smoke more than it should, the glamour counteracting mine. Frothy was stamping around like a confused bull, finding me at last his eyes narrowed and he spun to face me preparing one last desperate charge. I looked about desperate for a solution. I couldn''t outfight, I could run, but would not abandon Lance.

    Behind me there was no sign of salvation, just the corpses of the dead, being covered with slowly spreading smoke lit by the torch Blue-hair had abandoned. That was it!

    Frothy screamed a challenge, just as Square-head''s technique finished. Sensing the glamour build, I shut my eyes and dodged behind where I knew Frothy to be. Something hot sliced into my face, like someone had dragged a scalding needle past my eyes. Despite my closed eyes, in the second it took to get Frothy between me and Square-head it felt like I''d spent an hour before the heat of a scorching summer''s day.

    As Frothy stumbled towards me swinging his blade I paid him no mind. I had to kill that technique. With my glamour near empty and my body exhausted I still had one thing that I could bring to bear, knowledge and control. Through the smoke I pushed my will, my hearth spluttering as I pushed it to the very edge,

    Reaching out through my smoke I swamped the lone torch. I could feel some magic in it, something that kept the heat going, the flame burning. Fire though was nothing but burning air. Air I robbed it of, choking the light out with my smoke.

    I felt the darkness settle on us behind my closed eyes and scalded face. I dodged the now blind Frothy who charged through my smoke with ease, and gave him a kick sending him out over the cliff edge. Then I closed on Square-head who was swearing.

    Arrogant and confident in his attack he''d ruined his night vision. So sure of his victory wasn''t prepared for my follow-up strike, I used the very last dregs of my glamour to push myself forward with Levity and brought the Fae wrought blade down on his neck. Something went crunch and the Squire collapsed.

    My grip on the smoke around the real torch failed, I had nothing left but my battered body. Panicking I struck again, terror that a final blast of light would cut into me. This time an explosion of death glamour marked my foe''s passing. I''d been feeling waves of it floating past my senses but this crashed down upon me like a damn being breached. My body was desperate to cultivate, and it was all I could do to force myself to whistle.

    The glamour rushed in, and I could hear the beat of the will I was absorbing. It wasn''t like taking in ash and smoke glamour, that was a constant song, with small changes here and there brought about by what was being burnt and the density and size of the flakes of ash and fragments of smoke. No, this glamour had a song, an entirely unique melody. I could feel a military drumbeat, the sounds of order and service, layered on top of that I could hear passionate strings striving to break free.

    I got a sense of Square-head¡¯s personality, he was a young man who followed orders, and always did what he was told, even as something in his spirit yearned for the freedom to create. On some instinctual level, I knew he was the one who''d created the burning light technique. Unable to express himself elsewhere he''d brought that sense of artistry to his combat. The soul didn''t impart memories, but I could feel the shape of him, feel the rhythm and hear the high notes. I felt uncomfortable with how I''d disrespected him with a stupid name. He was a person, a person I knew I was going to kill so I''d not distanced myself, refusing to connect him to either of the names Lance shared.

    If I let this into my Hearth, I could sense it would change me, alter me. Instead, as I''d been taught I pushed it around my hearth, curling it into a vortex that stirred the flame within, bringing fresh warmth. It felt wrong like trying to start a campfire by gathering flames around the stones but never letting them in. I could hear the song of the glamour fade, first went the strings silenced bit by bit. Then the drums slowed, the beat going from a hard march to a crawl. Finally, even they passed. The glamour stilled and evaporated never entering my hearth, despite this my hearth grew. I could feel strength gather within me and the death glamour around me thinned so I was no longer drowning in it.

    ¡°So that''s the other glamour you have. Can hardly blame you for wanting to be a bard with that hanging over your head, and it makes sense why you needed to learn our methods.¡± I''m not sure how long had passed but Lance was sitting on a log staring at me when I came out of my trance.

    ¡°I didn''t mean to, it''s like a compulsion. None of it went in my hearth, I swear! It''s why I prefer the bow. I''m not some crazy cultivator!¡± My words felt garbled I was flapping my arms about as I spoke for emphasis and realised that wasn''t helping my claims for sanity. This was the side I least wanted people to see. Even worse when it appeared like I''d been cultivating while I left her to her fate. Looking her over she looked battered but whole. Her face was unreadable in the weak light.

    I placed my head in my hands and tried to gather my senses and quell the worries in my mind. It was like Bors all over again, I didn''t want to be looked at with loathing, or worse see fake smiles and wonder what foul thoughts they held underneath. It would be like being ¡®Regus¡¯ all over again. ¡°I should''ve helped, I''m sorry this gift is still very new for me. We''re safe I take it?¡±

    ¡°Yes, they''re all dead. Thanks for quenching their light it gave me an opening, plus we had some assistance.¡± She nodded to my left and I felt someone move, I jolted in place and turned to see Blue-hair watching me as well.

    ¡°And for my help, I''d appreciate an explanation as to why you''re starting a civil war and working with a Death Knight?¡± He had a sword drawn and watched me with disdain. I groaned, of course, this could get worse.

 Chapter 34 - What part of â€˜Iâ€™m a fucking Bardâ€™ do you people not get!

    ¡°Calm down Gaz, he''s not a Death Knight.¡± Lance tried to soothe the situation.

    ¡°He just absorbed Rolston''s soul.¡± The voice cut me down, the notes of utter disgust and ramped up with finally knowing the name of my victim made me feel sick.

    ¡°I did no such thing, and I''m not a Death Knight, nor a Death Squire either for that matter. I do now pity the poor soul who manifests the death gift first and ends up a Death Page.¡± I shivered, I''d never have been able to leave the Harkleys if that had happened.

    ¡°What nonsense are you talking about? You just cultivated the dead, why do that?¡± He asked, looking down his nose at me. Rage built up within like a kettle that was about to scream, how dare he judge me on this moment alone?

    ¡°Because my hearth is dangerously unbalanced, because I have spent my entire time at Bronze terrified I''d accidentally consume death glamour and become some kind of crazed lunatic. Because these damn fools chased us for miles and exhausted every scrap of glamour I had at my disposal. Do you think I wanted to start whistling to myself in the middle of a fight!¡± I was shouting by the end, I was tired, covered in blood, and hurting. I was in no mood to justify myself to someone who''d already decided I was some irredeemable villain.

    ¡°Gaz he''s trustworthy, he warned us about this.¡± Lance then held out a blood-soaked pendant. Still watching me Blue-hair went over and then began cursing up a storm. ¡°I took this off of Barclay, my parents know, and we worry that there will be some form of trouble tomorrow. It was why we were sent out.¡±

    ¡°So it stretches to the top then.¡±

    ¡°You knew?¡± Lance snapped, her eyes focusing on him.

    ¡°Not before tonight I didn''t. Well Knight Lord Hengest suspected something I''m sure, that''s why I''m out here. I just found one on Tibault when I was checking he was dead. I wanted to put it down to the man being a rogue element.¡± Blue-hair put away his sword and held up his own pendant. He also pulled up the magical torch, igniting it so we had a decent light source.

    In the light the trial of the battle was clear. Lance was stained with blood her once shining armour lashed with red rivers. I fared better but only because my black and red motif did wonders to hide the gore. I could still feel my arm throbbing from the wounds.

    ¡°Was he the one with anger problems,¡± I asked, assuming Tibault was Frothy¡¯s real name.

    ¡°How did you know?¡± Lance asked me, well aware I had no idea who most of these people were.

    ¡°There are the seven points, or ¡®Rays¡¯ of the Guiding Star. They call them Bonds, Protection, Labour, Health, Sacrifice, Truth, and Mercy. They pervert those virtues, one example is that those of the Sacrifice Ray, that''s the Ray tipped with Blue, most often cultivate the Berserker gift and are most willing to die for their faith, they also are often charged with ¡®sacrificing¡¯ the innocent. The stars will let us know if I¡¯m right. The longer point of his star should end in that colour.¡± I said, ignoring the look I got from Bluehair. He checked the star and nodded, his frown only deepening. Not my fault he shared a hair colour with a bunch of nutters.

    ¡°He''s right. Barclay''s has an Orange-tip, which one is that.¡± Lance asked.

    ¡°That''d be Protection, they don''t have a specific cultivation type, which is actually good news as those two factions are likely the ones present in Fos and they''re some of the least dangerous.¡±

    ¡°How do-¡±

    ¡°Shut up Gaz, I''ve told you Taliesin is trusted. Do you really think he can go around calling the old witch ¡®Miss Peaches¡¯ if he''s some Divine Death Knight? Please continue, why is it good that we''ve found these are there not more of these factions involved then?¡±

    ¡°I''ve never heard of more than three rays working together on one operation, they don''t all get along too well. The Protection ray are thugs, mercenary types, and the Sacrifice ray, well you saw what they''re like. Dangerous against the undisciplined and unaware, but as the Captain knows they''re coming he should be fine. That being said the Sacrifice Ray holds one hell of a grudge so we should get moving to see Bors.¡± I stood up, my body aching.

    ¡°Agreed.¡± Lancel stood bracing herself against a tree and then started to hobble towards the hill.

    ¡°Lance are you alright. Let me get you a healing brew.¡± I moved up to support her but Blue-hair jumped in before me, grabbing her under one arm to become a living crutch. To my shock, she didn''t argue which told me just how bad the wound was.

    ¡°I already took one, Piers got me in the leg before he went down, it''s going to take a while to heal,¡± Lance said. "You should take one as well you''re arms a mess."

    I grunted in agreement and knocked one back, taking it from my storage ring. The taste was warm and herby like I''d eaten a bush worth of Thyme, the effect spread through me like pins and needles finding wounds all across me. There they went from a faint irritant to a stabbing sensation worthy of true stitches. I grunted through the pain which subsided over a minute, the healing wasn''t instant but my wounds eased greatly and I felt some of my strength return. As I healed I could sense the sound from the pair of them cease but their lips still moved, must be Blue-hair''s gift in play.

    ¡°You won''t be getting any distance like that.¡±

    ¡°We need to at least leave here, these corpses will attract monsters,¡± Lance muttered. ¡°First step get down this hill.¡±

    I looked over the steep slope, now churned up from the fight, it was a muddy treacherous climb slick with blood and the water used by the cultivators. ¡°How are we going to get down there?¡±

    That''s when I heard a whinny and snort. Gaz and Lance¡¯s faces darted to the road, hunting up and down it, looking for the mystery horse. I however recognized that whinny, and looked up. There flying above us was a white pegasus. I could swear he was grinning.

    ¡°Alright neither of you panic, but it seems we have help. Gring can you please help us get Lance down, we¡¯ve been attacked by Divine Cultivators and need to warn Bors.¡± The two of them looked at me like I¡¯d gone mad and then stared up as Gring started to descend. I got to see Gaz¡¯s stern glare crumble into shock as Gring landed in a clearing blasted open by our recent battle.

    ¡°Please allow me to introduce Gring, Sir Bors¡¯ noble steed. Noble Pegasi Gring meets Squire Lancelot and Squire Gareth.¡± I was exhausted but I still felt it best to put on some pageantry for the vain creature, it was more likely to help that way. The pegasus landed and pranced about, shaking his mane and rustling his wings, milking their stares for all he was worth.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t mention Sir Bors had a pegasus bound to him! And what a handsome steed he is.¡± Lance hobbled forward, before catching herself and remembering this was a pacted fae beast with its own intelligence. ¡°Gring I wish to approach you is that acceptable.¡±

    Lance staggered as she stopped due to her wounds, so Gring answered her request by surging up close to her and allowing him to support her weight. Sometimes I cursed my luck to be the Bard rather than the knight in shining armour, even battered and stained from the battle the pair of them looked like a story come to life, the radiant white coat of Gring, with the kind but blood-spattered visage of Lancelot was fit for legends.

    ¡°Gring, does Bors know about this? Is he coming to us?¡± Gring shook his head.

    ¡°He understands you?¡± Blue-hair whispered to me, for the first time since the reveal not sounding totally hostile.

    ¡°I know he can tie knots, so I¡¯m assuming he¡¯s intelligent enough. Gring I beseech you can you help us get Lance back to Bors we may have trouble soon.¡± Gring ignored me to enjoy the attention from the star-struck Lance. I would not let the fae beast¡¯s vanity stop us. ¡°Show him the pendants.¡± I nudged the pair of Squires who were still in awe of Gring, who was loving the attention. That snapped them all out of it, and upon seeing them Gring¡¯s eyes narrowed. An odd look for any equine. He nodded and nickered at Lance, offering his back.

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    ¡°Seriously you¡¯ll allow me to ride you?¡± Lance sounded utterly entranced even despite her wounds, when Gring nodded I heard a lady-like squeak of excitement that I¡¯d never expected from Lance. She carefully patted his back and with some assistance from Gaz, who I should probably stop calling Blue-hair as it seemed he wasn''t going to disappear anytime soon.

    ¡°Alright now Gring if you¡¯d¡­¡± Gring launched himself skyward straight towards Bors¡¯ camp. In a span of breaths, he was lost in the night sky. I cursed the sky, ¡°Fucking horse!¡±

    ¡°If you¡¯re going to hurt her in any¡­¡± Gaz''s sword was back out.

    ¡°Oh do shut up! If I had any control over that narcissistic arse do you really think I''d have run myself ragged? Let¡¯s get walking, Gring just wants to show off, and it¡¯s not like he¡¯s my sodding mount, she¡¯ll be safe you saw how he reacted to those pendants. Besides what does threatening me get you?¡±

    ¡°If she is hurt your life is forfeit. On my honour.¡± He looked at me as if waiting for something.

    ¡°Sure, that¡¯s fine she¡¯s safer than we are right now! Look, we need to leave before monsters start coming or the bodies. I assume you¡¯ve taken anything of worth off of them? ¡±

    ¡°Indeed, though I lack the wealth to have a storage ring, I have piled most of it over there. I intended to let Squire Lancelot take it in hers.¡± The accusation was clear, he didn¡¯t trust me.

    ¡°As I¡¯ve said this ring is on loan from Sir Bors. How about I take all of this now and I let Bors and Lancelot dole out the spoils as they see fit.¡±

    ¡°That would be acceptable. But no funny business.¡±

    ¡°I am a bard, being funny is my business, though I will briefly focus my attentions elsewhere as my audience seems to have a scabbard lodged up their backside which I can only hope he uses to put away the sword he''s still pointing at me.¡± I snapped, I didn¡¯t mean to provoke a fight, but hearing this Squire talk was like a perpetually off-key lute, it irritated my soul. He didn¡¯t rise to the bait, which made me feel all the worse. I absorbed the pile of armour weapons and gear, and then we started down the road. He did put away the sword.

    We walked in silence for a while. It wasn¡¯t a comfortable one, but it was better than bickering. I was exhausted and the only conversation we had was on a couple of occasions I asked to stop and cultivate. The death glamour I¡¯d gathered, that I¡¯d so carefully introduced into my hearth was rich, but I wasn¡¯t used to it, it felt different to the ambient death glamour I was used to collecting.

    The second time we stopped I was surprised when Gaz began to speak after we moved on. ¡°Can you tell me how you know so much of these foul cultivators? I¡¯ve never heard so much about them from anyone else.¡±

    ¡°That depends are you willing to accept I¡¯m not actually some battle maniac who thrives off death.¡±

    ¡°I do not trust the death gift. I have seen what those who wield it can do, what they can become, almost skeletal wraiths who are more monster than man.¡± He stared into the distance, and his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. Some memory haunting him no doubt. I struggled to have sympathy.

    ¡°That can¡¯t be the only path for this gift,¡± I muttered. It was a thought I¡¯d often had. I¡¯d tried to not dwell on the stories I knew of death knights, those who went mad with their power becoming abominations that could command the bodies of the dead. I''d managed to avoid talking about it, or even thinking on it much, especially as I''d seen such horrors up close. The Ray of Mercy was led by death cultivators and one the Harkleys were closely allied to.

    Despite the long shadow cast by the Death Knights. I knew that gifts were just that, a gift not a curse. Even if I didn''t have Miss Peaches'' book I knew there had to be a different path, one that wasn¡¯t full of death and madness. It was not my damn fault that those who fell down that path distorted everyone¡¯s view of the gift.

    ¡°You say that with confidence.¡± I was having a hard time reading Gaz, he had seemed smart before and now the battle was over and he¡¯d calmed down he wasn¡¯t looking at me with such open hostility. Still, we walked on opposite sides of the road so he was far from relaxed in my company.

    ¡°Otherwise what¡¯s the point? Do you really think I¡¯ll just push forward if all I think I have to look forward to is turning into some living skeleton who hunts down battlefields? And even if that was my fate, what is to stop me from doing everything I can with the time I have left to be the best person I can be.¡±

    ¡°Do you not seek power? Seek battle and fights.¡±

    ¡°No! I really do not get this whole ¡®I must be the pinnacle, I must match the Fae and duel my wit and body against their might,¡¯ to me it sounds like a quick way to get fucking killed. The two times we have met, I¡¯ve either been seeking to talk my way out of fight, or running from one. I¡¯m trying to enjoy being a Bard not suck up souls.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a coward then, that is not a proper way for a Knight to behave.¡±

    ¡°What part of ¡®I¡¯m a fucking Bard¡¯ do you people not get! I¡¯m not a Knight, and you know what I am no coward, and that¡¯s easy to prove Gaz, how do you think we knew that we had to run from the Divine Cultivators, that they¡¯d infiltrated Barclay Fos¡¯ branch of the family, what changed that made that sudden knowledge?¡± I ranted as I slogged down the road. Gaz to his credit paused and mused things out.

    ¡°From the fact this response is sudden and my master appears unaware of it, which he would not be if there was an organized resistance that I expect from Captain Ban, they must¡¯ve learned recently. As you''re the only recent change, and have considerable knowledge of these opponents, it stands to reason you helped expose the plot.¡±

    ¡°You remember just before I began singing and dropped Miss Peaches name, I probed Barclay and spotted evidence of corruption. I realized we were in trouble when after menitioning Miss Peaches, he began cycling his glamour, which allowed him to hide what I sensed. I think he was sent out here under the guise of taking my storage ring to ensure I was silenced if I had in fact sensed something.¡±

    ¡°I noticed him start cycling, it is something he often failed to do out of arrogance, claiming he had no need for such protections in his own town. He was just bad at keeping his attention on it though.¡± Gaz and I both grimaced, in a rare shared moment of agreement as we pondered the utter stupidity of our fallen enemy. ¡°You suspect he was worried you were her agent after that reveal and felt the need to take additional precautions.¡±

    ¡°If I was a coward that sensible thing to do would be either bunker down with Miss Peaches or just run for the hills that night. Why involve myself with this madness if I do not have to? The answer to that is the answer to your first question, how I know what I know. I was a prisoner of them for a long time, I retained my sanity and earned my freedom and I will take any and all opportunity to undermine them that presents itself to me. They are scum, monsters, you do not begin to understand the depths of their depravity. Worse they present themselves as good, pure, and honest folk. They twist our values to suit their own ends, make mockeries of tenets they adopt and yet people tolerate them. It sickens me.¡± My voice was rising my exhaustion stripping back my control, the compulsion to speak the truth and my fury that the man could be so smart but still so spiteful.

    ¡°I am not powerful enough to go on some righteous rampage, and even if I did gather such power I cannot go on some murder spree without turning into a damned monster. I can be a Bard though, spreading knowledge and helping those who stand against them. Dancing around my foes so my allies have time to strike. I¡¯m going to sow discord and bring hope where I can and I will not let the threat of death turn me aside. So do not call me a coward, you¡¯d be dead ten times over if you had to act out the tragedy that has been my life.¡± The words came tumbling out, I was tired and defensive but as I spoke I felt something shift within me.

    I felt my hearth roar, the absorbed death glamour shifting, and something changed in me. I felt my hearth grow, a burst of inspiration took me and I felt my senses connect to the statement. I began to cultivate, great bellows breaths as I felt my breakthrough help me take another step towards Iron.

    Gaz stood with me as I cultivated and as I came out of the semi-trance I¡¯d descended into I found him waiting beside me keeping watch. I¡¯d sat cross-legged on the floor at some point and as I took stock of my advancement I felt I was now at high Bronze. A step below peak but still an incredible achievement in the few weeks since my long stagnation at Wood. It felt genuinely good to progress like a normal cultivator this time, with no self-immolation or fae shenanigans accelerating my path. This time I¡¯d connected to some aspect of my intent.

    Gaz offered me a hand up. I blinked, somewhat surprised but took it. He cleared his throat and then spoke his voice friendlier if hesitant. ¡°Bard Taliesin, I believe I may have been unfair in your judgement, if you believed those words enough for it to resonate with your very soul it is clear that your goals are just. I will confess I remain, concerned about your gift but I appreciate that you at least have noble goals and I am sorry for calling you a coward.¡±

    Some part of me wanted to hold onto my anger, he still couldn¡¯t fully admit he was wrong but I didn¡¯t have the energy for a fight. Equally, I could feel that talking more would bring out the bile that still stirred. I needed to settle it or I¡¯d just destroy what gains I¡¯d made. ¡°That I appreciate. Now I feel I must start a song up, something to keep us marching.¡±

    I found myself singing a song I¡¯d always enjoyed from the Albion court, one that my family loathed. It was called ¡®Flirting with the fae¡¯ and more a cautionary tale of those who failed to keep their heads around fae, thinking themselves superior to them. A key tenet of the Divine Cultivators was that humans were fundamentally more powerful than the fae if led by their ¡®Guiding Star¡¯ that is, it wasn¡¯t a welcome tune.

    As I finished the nighttime sounds of the forest waited for us, the chirp of insects and rustle of bare branches I turned to see how my compatriot fared and found him crouched with his fingers placed to the ground.

    ¡°Something big is getting closer,¡± Gaz spoke, I had to admire his sound gift, I''d heard rumours it was extremely versatile but now I could see the evidence. I pushed my senses to the limit, my ears catching the edge of a phenomenal grinding sound akin to a tub-sized piece of slate being dragged across the rocky ground.

    I couldn¡¯t help but smile. I knew that noise well. ¡°Sir Bors has found us it seems.¡±

 Chapter 35 -Screw a proper relationship with mortality

    ¡°You are far too good at finding trouble, my friend!¡± Bors was clapping me on the back, nearly bowling me over, again. We were back at the bridge, Bors having carried me back like a stack of firewood with Gaz in tow, who was keen to check up on Lance who Bors confirmed had been brought to camp by a very smug Gring.

    We sat in the shelter that Bors had built for the caravan. The fires were lit and the place was downright homely. Since I''d been gone the place had been decorated with animal skins and he''d built out one corner to be more like a bar. Lance was propped up beside the central fire pillar on a bed of furs being fussed over by Gaz, she seemed mostly out of it but had been awake enough to flash me a smile when I entered. Gring was curled up on the floor like a cat watching them and waiting for pets. Best of all something was cooking, which I assumed wasn''t Bors'' work considering it smelt enticing as it mixed with the earthen odour and wood smoke.

    ¡°Now I thought I told you just to head down and escort Alexis to her Mistress. What''s this about duels and Divine Cultivators? Your friend there was almost out of it when she arrived but told me some of it.¡± Bors passed me an ale he''d just poured from a keg by the bar.

    ¡°Well my friend the story is strange and complicated, and part of the puzzle is the very mistress you sent me to see.¡± I relished the word friend, after the hostility of Gaz, which had ramped back up after I''d introduced him as such to Bors. He insisted I refer to him as Squire Gareth. Too late Gaz, should''ve tried harder when you were just Blue-hair.

    ¡°Wait Alexis'' mistress is a Div-¡± I slammed my hand over his mouth, I didn''t know how the old witch would react to being connected to her most hated enemy, but I didn''t want to risk it.

    ¡°Bors, listen to the story. Also never bad mouth Alexis''s mistress ever. Would you agree Gaz?¡±

    ¡°Again it''s Gareth, but yes it''s in all our best interests to never besmirch the Lady in Peach,¡± Gaz said as he poured himself a bowl of stew from a pot by the fire. The stew smelt godly, I began to rush through our story explaining the major notes and glossing over most of what happened in Captain Ban''s household. Bors was as ever an attentive audience, his brow crinkling at moments, and a snarl forming on his lips when I mentioned our flight.

    Story done I scooped out a bowl of stew and was given a loaf of surprising fresh bread straight from Bors¡¯ storage ring. I had supped on meals prepared by some of the most talented chefs in all Albion, mostly all poached from the continent as Albion food was bland beyond belief, but even the best dishes of those stolen culinary skills paled in comparison to delight I felt as I took in the rich beef, mushroom and onion broth.

    As I ate, Gaz offered some more details filling in gaps like the politics of the Fos, and adding more details to our climatic battle. I was surprised when he avoided mentioning my death gift, perhaps he wasn''t an irredeemable knave.

    ¡°So this Captain is asking us to look after his daughter while he clears the house?¡±

    ¡°I have a letter for you,¡± Lance mumbled more awake than I''d expected, a folded piece of paper sealed with a ball of wax materialised. Bors took it carefully, inspecting the seal which I could see bore the likeness of a roaring bear standing over the river. He cut it open and I felt a burst of glamour that I recognized as belonging to Ban, marking its authenticity.

    Bors scratched his head as he read it through. He sighed. ¡°So normally I''d get Percy to help me out with this kind of political stuff, Taliesin I might need some help.¡±

    At least that''s what I think he said, I was dangerously comfy. I had finished my bread and stew, and either the tankard had sprung a leak or I''d finished off the ale too. I was very relaxed, and dog-tired so fumbled to put down my bowl and focus on the paper. ¡°Sure I can help, just give me a minute.¡±

    <hr>

    I woke up in the tent Bors had lent me with no memory of how I got there. The aggressive hunting lodge ambience was still strong, had the mounted stag head always been here? A pair of dead glassy eyes stared at me. Shit, I''d not even asked about the Golden Hind hunters. That thought merged with the sound of clashing blades outside, the sound that must have woken me. I fell to the floor as I tried to stand, summoning my armour and blade, and still half asleep rushed out ready to fight.

    Blinking against the noon sun I stumbled out only to find Lance and Bors in an enthusiastic spar in an arena they''d cleared from the forest. Of course, they were fighting, the phantom images of murderous hunters or Divine Cultivators putting my new friends to the sword melting away. I slumped into a seat and watched, throwing smoke around myself to hide my shifting armour and blade.

    The pair made for an impressive duel, a purely martial battle as neither was using glamour to empower themselves or throwing out techniques. It said a lot that Lance could go toe to toe with Bors, he was older and had more mass. Gaz was watching the bout, entranced by the display of skill. I probably would''ve been more enthralled if my brain wasn''t wishing it was back in bed.

    From my storage ring, I pulled out some rations and began to chomp down a much-needed breakfast, or maybe lunch? As I ate I mulled over the last couple of weeks. The fight became background noise as I thought over everything that had happened, from meeting Bors to the slaughter of last night, it was exhausting to review it all, the quietest portion was the few days escorting the caravan.

    Worst was the fight last night, I''d come as close to dying as I''d ever done so before, well without actually being dead. Ice settled in my veins as I checked my pathways again, they were nowhere near ready for a revival. I''d been risking permanent death.

    How had I managed to keep my cool? I had been slashed, nearly burnt through with a light beam and shot with icicles all without even considering what would happen if I took a blow. The story could''ve ended there, me hacked to death by a berserker. I''d been so focused on the fight I hadn''t even thought to check if I could return.

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    I shuddered, how had I forgotten? My mind was so used to the idea that I got a second chance I''d not thought twice about it yesterday, the idea I would be the one staring up at the stars with eyes that would never close hadn''t even crossed my mind. For years I''d spent all my energy being worried about being found out, but not actual death!

    So I had to change my thinking, or I could just munch down on a few Fae Cores. I''d done a lot of personal growth of late and this would just be the next step of leaving the Harkley''s influence behind me. Screw that! I could seek a proper relationship with my mortality after making sure I didn''t have one. I began to inventory my resources, I had some alchemy resources, plus the core of the Gale Hare and whatever Miss Peaches had given me.

    I debated going back into my tent to eat the core right now, but that was when Gring announced his presence by stealing the loaf of bread hanging limply from my hand.

    ¡°Ah!¡± I nearly jumped out of my skin. Dashing backwards I brandished my lute at the thieving beast, forgetting the form my magical gift was currently in. Laughter burst forth like a war drum. I turned to find Bors doubled over in mirth, with Lance grinning too. Gaz was stoically neutral, but given his crippling imbalance of humour, I''d take that as an endorsement.

    Never one to disappoint an audience I bowed, even as I cursed the equine rogue on the inside. Though he had broken me out of my funk quite effectively.

    ¡°It''s good to see you up. You slept like the dead¡± Bors laughed even as the words threatened to send me spiralling back down the hole I''d just slipped out of.

    ¡°Is everything fine, no daft hunters or corrupt cultivators?¡±

    ¡°Nah, I took care of the hunters a few days back,¡± there was a snort from Gring, ¡°Alright Gring and I dealt with them. They were trash, a bunch of smug gits who thought they''d already won, the surprise on their faces when we ambushed ''our hunters'' was something to behold. The only good thing about them was they were carrying a hunting lodge worth of stuff between them! Where do you think I got the extra furniture from last night? No sign of any shitheads divine or otherwise but we''re staying alert.¡± Bors then turned to Lance and shared some feedback from the fight.

    That was good news, my mind turned to Fosburg, I couldn''t even imagine what was going on there right now. It was time for the Founders Festival and whatever chaos it brought. I wanted nothing more than to relax, forget the world, and play some music but the reminder of my mortality loomed large in my mind. What to do? I decided to get out the book from Miss Peaches, the sooner I learned to handle my gift the better. I was about to pull it out when Lance came to sit next to me.

    ¡°Why didn''t you mention Bors was such a capable combatant, I''d have come to fight him even without having to shepherd you here.¡± Lance was grinning even if it seemed a bit forced, I guessed her mind was back on Fosburg and her family. Even with the glassy smile she looked refreshed, not only was her armour clean but her limp was gone which was impressive for half a day¡¯s healing. If I took stock of myself I felt amazing. No doubt it was the healing brews, getting to know Miss Peaches was the luck of the fae.

    Literally the luck of the Fae. It was something I pondered as I took a seat near the arena, Gaz was soon to duel which would be interesting as I''d not had a chance to see him in battle yet. As they sorted themselves out I was still not sure how I felt being so clearly wrapped up in ¡®destiny¡¯ by the Lady. Knowing I was in the midst of events sharpened my desire to rebuild my supply of impurities, and considering my small step last night on my cultivation path it was good timing, there wasn''t that much further to go to reach peak Bronze, and then Iron.

    ¡°You in there Taliesin?¡± Lance asked, a frown marring her false happiness.

    ¡°Sorry, lots on my mind. Well, I did write a whole song about him and told you he fought a Mist Lynx. Also didn''t he beat your uncle or something?¡±

    ¡°I mean that''s one thing, but his technical skill is off the charts. It''s also a completely different fighting style, my grandfather the Lord of Fosburg is an earth cultivator but he doesn''t fight like this at all from what I''ve heard. Far more overwhelming power than technical skill.¡±

    I saw Gaz and Bors square off, the smaller man fought with sword and shield. A weapon combination that had gone somewhat out of favour recently. From the opening blows of the fight I could tell Gaz was a talented but not truly gifted combatant, his skills were technically sound but there wasn''t that bounce and creativity I saw from Lance or the improvisation that allowed Bors to so swiftly react to new threats.

    ¡°We''ve convinced Gaz to stay quiet about the Death gift by the way. He tried to tell Bors about it and that did not go well for him. Bors was pissed that you were being thrown under the cart, I also explained that you''d learned witch tricks to help you cultivate.¡±

    ¡°I''m not a Gaz fan,¡± I muttered, my mood souring instantly.

    "He''s not that bad."

    "Well, maybe not when he''s fussing you at all times. I got the sense you didn''t like that kind of attention. I''m surprised you haven''t told him to stop pestering you."

    "Oh he''s not like that, he''s got a fiance he''s mad about, one of the Lady in Peach''s girls named Tiff. They''re getting married when they reach Iron. We just go way back, and his Order told him to keep an eye out on me." Lance sounded entirely too reasonable, I cast my mind back and filtered through the faces and names I''d been introduced to during my time with Miss Peaches.

    "Tiff is the one with a book in a holster at her waist." I got a nod in return, "Well I doubt Miss Peaches would tolerate him if he was an arsehole. I just don''t like people who give me shit for things I can''t control."

    ¡°That''s fair, but don''t be too hard on him. He''s just trying to follow his Order''s guiding principles, and they''re mostly good principles he just needs to¡­¡± She waved her hand seeking the right words.

    ¡°Pull that stick out of his arse?¡±

    ¡°That''s it! You reckon if we fed him a healing brew he''d shit it out?¡± that brought a chuckle out of me, and I turned to see Lance smiling. It didn''t reach her eyes though, she sat wrong, too upright and poised, as if ready to dive into battle at a moment''s notice. I cursed, I was the Bard I shouldn''t be the one wallowing and expecting others to drag me out. I was meant to be the source of fun here!

    I''d get back to the book and give Bors his gift in a bit. Time to help out my friend, and thankfully I knew how to cheer her up. I turned back to the fight just in time to see Gaz catch a hammer blow on his shield and be sent flying out of the ring. That even got a laugh out of Lance, making me certain my next trick would help.

    ¡°Hey Bors, what do you say to a three-on-one, gifts active?¡± Bors turned to me with a mad grin.

    ¡°Let''s do this!¡± Lance stood pumping both her fists, a real smile on her face. Great, I''d made two of my friends happy things were back on track. I stood and as I did so saw Gaz looking up at me from the dirt in horror. Oh and look I''d made myself happy too, what a bonus.

 Chapter 36 - The knight at the ready or the knight at ease?

    Maeve did her best to keep her face still and calm as the mortal mayor of the town rambled on and on. The man was reed-thin, and his austere looks were matched by the plain and professional office they were meeting in. The only arena the man was not a miser in was the realm of words, which flowed from him at a worrying pace, threatening to drown the unprepared. The situation would be easier if the man was incompetent, if that were the case she could just tune out his words but he was by all accounts a very talented administrator. He just struggled under the weight of her presence and lost all focus on the task at hand.

    She fought the urge to tap her foot or let her impatience show, it wouldn''t match the image she was aiming for nor the path she hoped to follow. Did she regret choosing an intent based on patience, despite her total lack of it? Maybe, but that was why it was a worthy path, it was teaching her something and building her up.

    The mayor was relaying a detailed account compiled by the mortal guard captain, another diligent servant considering the quality of the reports she¡¯d requested. It outlined the comings and goings of wandering cultivators, plus other travellers, from caravans to vagrants. Officially Maeve was here to check on the movement of potential threats, namely the Divine Cultivators. Unofficially she was continuing the hunt for her errant fiance.

    ¡°We have also seen a rapid exodus of several members of the Golden Hind, or I should say, former members. They claimed to have relinquished their membership of their group after an internal schism. At least one high-profile member of their Lodge was slain.¡±

    ¡°How did you come to know this?¡± She asked and heard a tut from beside her. Madame Rensliegh was taking notes and nudging her to remember her etiquette, she internally grumbled but added the address she was missing. ¡°Lord Mayor.¡±

    Maeve quietly cursed her own decision to make this an in-person meeting as the mayor shuffled some paper to get out some notes. While her Governess could¡¯ve in theory handled this whole meeting on her own her grandmother deemed it important for the mortals to see those who ruled them occasionally. What she¡¯d not expected was that this would end up being a training session for her intent, and its focus on timing and positioning demanded more patience. A virtue that came to her as naturally as breathing came to a rock. She managed to hide the twitch that was forming as the Mayor finally found the piece of paper he was searching for.

    ¡°In the extended report, Captain Coates notes that the Golden Hind are banned from the city as they have consistently clashed with the Order of the Twin Tailed Kite. They were recognised at the gates and challenged, where they shared that tidbit. These two recent exiles asked permission to move through the city collect supplies and continue on. They were granted, and it was seen as unlikely to be lying, they would be hunted down for such an offence by the Hind if it were not true. He felt it best to let them pass through Krinnburg, and take any trouble that stalked them well away¡±

    ¡°The Hind are not powerful I imagine?¡± This was why an in-person report was helpful, a thousand and one little groups were bustling about their territory and it¡¯d be impossible to keep track of them all. Or impossible if you weren¡¯t Mithril rank, she somehow knew that her Grandmother would¡¯ve known who they were.

    ¡°No they have at most one Steel level cultivator, they are more akin to a business group than any other. They used to be managed by the Order of the Night Rose but that arrangement fell apart last year. I¡¯m not surprised they have disbanded if they lacked an Order to back them.¡± He said, before shuffling papers again.

    Maeve made a note to check out the group, the smaller groups especially those without Order backing were prime recruitment targets for the Divine Cultivators.

    ¡°I believe that is it for notable accounts, I have nothing left to report.¡± The Mayor nodded. Maeve nearly let out a sigh of satisfaction, but a sharp nudge from Madame Rensliegh stopped her short. She then had to stop the follow-up groan as she realised she''d be paying for that in their next training session. The Governess would not be pleased at having to nudge her.

    ¡°In that case, I thank you Lord Mayor for you and your representative''s fine work, I shall mention the upstanding quality in my report. Now we must depart,¡± A minute or two later Maeve and Rensliegh were outside walking through the streets of Krinnburg, the town was teeming with mortals with a few showing a few Stone Rank tricks, like couriers who darted through the crowd at breakneck speeds, or a man carrying an entire barrel of ale over each shoulder with ease.

    They walked through cobbled streets, and looked down on ornate buildings, the first floor stone, but the floors above made of beautifully carved wood. There were flowers in window boxes decorating each building, all marking the first real signs of spring. Down here on the plains the snows were much lighter and she''d almost forgotten that the seasons were changing. It was almost too pleasant.

    If the Mayor had seemed less competent, she''d have assumed this was being put on for her benefit. It wouldn''t be the first time a mortal tried to hide poor management with some temporary window dressing. But she got no sense of that here. There were stalls all around selling all manner of food, the people hawked their wares and the town hall began to ring its bell marking the hour.

    Amidst all this Maeve and Rensliegh walked in silence. A little personal bubble of space around them, as the common folk parted like a wave about them. People didn''t want to push up against regular cultivators let alone those who wore Chox colours. Bumping the elbow of the people who owned your town was low on anyone''s list of priorities.

    Maeve was fighting down the urge to just plough through the crowd. She had to be patient, that''s what the goal was. She had to distract herself from the torture that this wild goose chase was becoming. Maeve had already decided wild goose chase was a terrible idiom for a futile hunt. A wild goose could not be easier to hunt than a man yanked out of the world by an all-powerful fae. Given the task she''d decided to tour the Chox territory first, under the guise of inspections, she''d been at it for two weeks which shouldn''t feel like much but it had contained far too many conversations just like the last one. Lots of information, not one lead.

    ¡°My Lady, a word.¡± Those hawk-like eyes watched Maeve assessing her.

    ¡°Yes, Madame?¡±

    ¡°You should take a moment to relax. You''re too tightly wound, a harp string set to snap, and given our next destination that is not an acceptable state for a Lady of the Chox household.¡±

    ¡°Have you ever tried to relax on command?¡± She snapped back, before catching herself and sighing. ¡°You may be right.¡±

    ¡°You''re doing very well my lady, I must admit when he brought out the second folder I did briefly consider grabbing it and making up some excuse.¡± then her Governess chuckled. Maeve goggled at her, what madness was this, a laugh and an admittance to impropriety!

    ¡°Who are you? And what have you done with my Governess?¡±

    ¡°As I sat there watching you try to appear patient I realised I may have been doing you a disservice.¡±

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    ¡°I was being patient.¡± Maeve bristled.

    ¡°No, you weren''t, you were impatient but stopping yourself from acting on it, these are different skills. ¡± Rensliegh immediately cut back.

    ¡°I don''t see the difference? Surely that is patience is it not?¡±

    ¡°Imagine two knights, they stand on either side of a gate waiting for their foe, one waits, blade poised ready to strike, and the other has the blade ready but at his side. When their enemy does come which is the more dangerous?¡± Maeve was about to answer her but paused, and mulled it over. She allowed Rensliegh to pilot her to a tavern where a corner table became miraculously free followed by a couple of glass steins with golden liquid within.

    ¡°It depends does it not on the length of the wait, the ready knight is more dangerous if the enemy arrives quickly, but after a while, his muscles will tense and lock up. Then the one who waits at ease will be the more lethal.¡± Maeve took a sip, the beer was good she liked this part of the mountains, and they took their drink seriously.

    ¡°Indeed, in fact, I would argue that in most cases the Knight who is at ease is the better knight to be, the ready knight loses more combat ability than he would gain by holding the weapon ready, and his loss of ability only increases as his fatigue ramps up. It is also a mindset.¡±

    ¡°Yes if I stood ready by a doorway for an hour just waiting for an hour to attack I doubt I''d have the thought to imagine my foe was doing something else. The ready knight would become locked on the idea of the foe coming through the door.¡± Maeve sighed and drank deeply. ¡°I was just thinking that the Mayor was helping train my patience, but he''d only exhausted my arm it seems.¡±

    ¡°It''s why I felt I owed you an apology. I believe I''ve not been teaching you the right things. I have taught temperance and self-control, to be ready but hold back your strike. I should''ve spent more time giving you the tools to stand calmly at ease, aware and awaiting your opportunity.¡±

    ¡°And this begins with you laughing and admitting to plotting to abandon our meeting?¡±

    ¡°You have spent a lot of time with your seniors, who have mastered the art of appearing patient. I thought it might help to know that we are not as serene as we appear.¡± Rensliegh took a sip while Maeve digested it all. In the corner of the room, a bard pulled out a lyre and started to play a tune.

    It was true she''d spent much of the last few years avoiding people her own age, in part it was the bullying but mostly it was that she spent all her time tearing herself apart, comparing herself to them. She looked about the tavern, a bard played in the corner a group of people not much older than her met over drinks they laughed and hugged. When was the last time she had been so carefree, when had she spent time with someone her own age and just spoken casually?

    She laughed as the image of a smokey fire bloomed in her mind, was her ¡®wedding night¡¯ the only time she could remember being about someone her own age and not winding herself up for some kind of competition.

    ¡°You''re saying I''m measuring myself against the wrong people?¡±

    ¡°Indeed, I also think we should change our approach. Something I admit I''m willing to discuss is how to put off our meeting with the Order. I find Knight Lord Jasper draining.¡± Rensliegh allowed a frown to darken her face, and Maeve laughed, the stress of the last two weeks easing. Her sword arm unclenching for the first time since she''d begun her task.

    With no idea where to start and only her grandmother''s opinion that their target would be used to disrupt Divine Cultivators, she chose to aim for small towns that were likely to be targeted by the enemy. Those were the places where one person''s presence was most likely to make an impact.

    It''d been her idea to prioritise talking to the mortal administrators of the various vassals in their realm over the cultivators. She''d found that the mortals tended to take better notes about wandering cultivators, as they posed a far greater threat to mortals than they did groups like the Orders or Covens. That allowed her to get a picture of all the unaffiliated cultivators running around, of which those who commanded smoke and ash were few and far between, while the gift wasn''t unique, it was uncommon enough to act on any rumour she heard.

    That is what had brought them here to Krinnsburg, sadly the cultivator in question turned out to be an untalented Squire of a Knight Errant who mostly did work protecting caravans of the wealthy. She''d now gained everything she could here and was looking for where to go next before she could though she needed to at least say hello to the local Order.

    Coming to a town and only speaking to mortals would be ignoble of them. So they also had to make time for the cultivators. As the granddaughter of Morgana Chox any visit she made invariably involved a display of fawning, some kind of display of power, and if an Order was feeling particularly pompous some introductions to some eligible bachelors given her freshly broken engagement. That thought about ¡®couplings¡¯ stirred a memory in her mind.

    ¡°I thought you and Knight Lord Jasper had a history of a romantic nature.¡± She prodded her mentor, embracing the friendly mood she''d set.

    ¡°Exactly why I find him so draining, he has a belief things will rekindle between us, no matter how many buckets of water I pour over such nonsense.¡± She tutted. ¡°I mean we courted for barely a year decades ago. The man needs to meet some more women.¡±

    ¡°It would seem you cast a long shadow over his other prospects, not that I''d expect anything less of a woman of your calibre. Thank you, Madame, I needed this.¡± Maeve laughed and finished her drink, as the last dregs passed her lips she noticed a man in a neat suit that she recognized from the mayor''s office. He was running to them and Maeve had to silence the desire to flee him and his binder of paperwork.

    ¡°My lady I''m pleased to have found you. Secretary Wilkes at your service. We have just had a Commander Smith from Fosburg arrive. The Order was busy in preparation to receive you, so she was sent to Captain Coates''s station, she mentioned a couple of things. We may need privacy to discuss.¡± The man was out of breath, and shaking. Despite the run, he seemed pallid almost ill. Madame Rensliegh waved her fingers about stirring the air to deaden the sound of the tavern and blur the sight of those looking in.

    ¡°The Commander is looking for aid, it seems Knight Lord Fos, lord of Stonetown in Fosburg has uncovered a Divine Cultivator plot.¡± The man''s fear made sense, he''d heard she was looking into those monster''s movements but to suddenly have a report before him must''ve shaken him. One thing did bother her though, she knew of those vassals.

    ¡°Aren''t the Fos brothers...¡± She sought the right words to describe the rumours she''d heard about the pair, she hated having to be politically aware. Fosburg was on her list of places to visit but hadn''t been high up as there''d been few reports of Divine Cultivators in that area. Perhaps the famous pair of idiots were just bandying around insults?

    Thankfully the secretary didn''t make her insult the local lords out loud, inferring a great deal from her silence. ¡°Knight Lord Ban is the adopted son of the Lord of Fosburg, not his more famous sons by birth. Ban''s reputation is one of an exceptional leader.¡±

    ¡°Ah, I didn''t know he''d ascended to Knight Lord. Well we must respond is she still here?¡± This was important if not the task she''d been given.

    ¡°Yes, I''ve sent a runner to her, the Mayor assumed you would want to speak to her directly.¡±

    ¡°The Mayor decided how my lady wished to spend her time? You realise we are expected by the Order of the Twin-Tailed Kite?¡± Madame Rensliegh watched the quivering man as though he were a mouse, even if this was vital information a mortal should not presume the acts of a Knight.

    ¡°Please spare the Mayor he seeks only to please. There was a second part to this, the Commander mentioned as part of her report that a ¡®Bardic Cultivator¡¯ who used smoke was part of uncovering this plot, as that was one of the gifts you asked the mayor to prioritise reports on he felt it would be important enough to warrant your attention.¡± Maeve felt her pulse quicken and her hearth burn, resonating with her intent, days of faffing about and now there was something real before them. She knew deep down this had to be it, her soul burned with that knowledge.

    Only the training of the last few weeks of sitting through boring meetings kept her in her chair. She pulled the folder of papers from the man''s unresisting hands and smiled at him. ¡°It seems the Lord Mayor continues to be an exceptional servant, now tell me Wilkes, where is this Commander.¡±

    The man barely had time to point to the tower upon which Maeve could see a landing for large winged fae beasts before she surged out of her seat and ran across the town. The time to strike was now, patience and decorum be damned!

 Chapter 37 - The Book of Lesser Death Curses

    ¡°Alright do it again! This should be even better.¡± Bors sounded like a child waiting for his presents. He finished his tweaks and stepped back from the slender hexagonal pillar of stone that came up to his waist. I watched as a pale and shaky Gaz placed his palm atop it. For a heartbeat nothing happened, a faint hum sounded, like someone was running the edge of their finger upon a wine glass fit for giants. The sound grew, the chime of a bell strung out over seconds, I could start to hear the note quiver as the hexagonal structure began to shiver imperceptibly. I shielded my eyes just as the first crack formed but before it exploded into needle-like shards.

    They didn¡¯t go far, but I heard them pinging off Gaz¡¯s armour. Then Bors let out a whoop which Lance echoed watching from the sidelines. ¡°Gaz that was the best one yet! I think I¡¯ve got it down now, I reckon one more try and I could get the right structure to be lethal.¡±

    Gaz looked like he was about to say something, an objection probably beginning with ¡®you said this would be the last five exploded hexagons ago¡¯ but he sighed and just tried to cultivate some strength back. I could¡¯ve helped him, given his main problem was he was too obsessed with their ranks to contradict the excited Bors. But I chose not to, I still nursed a grudge over the way he looked at me like I was the hexagon waiting to explode if struck wrong. Lance was there, she¡¯d help him if things got too dire.

    The pair had been obsessed with Gaz¡¯s gift since our battle. Bors had naturally won, but Gaz¡¯s ¡®Sonic¡¯ gift had made the fight far closer than expected, with Bors having to pull deeply on his earth gift to beat us. Gaz had shown he had remarkable skill in battle, and I begrudgingly had to admit that maybe the man was competent, making maximum use of Crystal¡¯s weakness to the Sonic gift had made all the difference. Sadly for him, his decent level of control had sparked something in Bors, which spurred on this new obsession with exploding hexagonal pillars.

    That and the fact that no matter how far along in your cultivation journey there¡¯s nothing like being able to blow things up to make you laugh.

    I did my best to get my mind back on task, which was mostly deciding which of the two essential things I should do next, that was on top of keeping myself aware of the coming threat. We had limited time, the Founder¡¯s Festival lasts three days, having started at noon this Thorsdaeg and ending by noon on the Sunnundaeg. At that time most anything could happen, part of our deployment here was to keep a watch on the bridge and those looking to cross it. Divine cultivators wouldn¡¯t be moving on mass, these lands were still under the Chox, so any movements would need to be covert. I knew that Lance could use dreams to send messages but given her junior level of cultivation, she could only send messages to a dream glamour user who was currently dreaming. That meant we had a few check-ins scheduled but outside of those times we wouldn¡¯t know what was going on.

    Lance had mentioned that she¡¯d updated her mother about them slaying the supremely stuck-up Barclay, and there was no sign Roland knew of his son¡¯s death. Though he¡¯d likely suspect something was wrong when Barclay failed to return by the end of the day. That meant people could be out seeking us tomorrow even without the Divine Cultivators making a move. Lance hadn¡¯t gone into detail but she¡¯d sounded shaken by the chat, it wasn¡¯t that her mother had said anything specific but she¡¯d stopped referring to the threat as a possibility, and now spoke of it as an inevitable challenge.

    All that meant I didn¡¯t know what to do with myself. I had a book on death cultivation, that was damn important but with the bodged dream glamour cultivation technique it wasn¡¯t essential, then I had a stack of alchemy gear with perhaps enough impurities available to give me the fuel I¡¯d need to return. That was essential, but I wasn¡¯t sure if I had quite enough, and it would still clog my channels slowing down my cultivation. I needed every ounce of power at a time like this, but I also really didn¡¯t want to die.

    I floated my mind over to the beast cores in my storage ring. There was an assortment of low-powered cores, nothing like the Mist Lynx. The most powerful equalled the core I pulled from the first Gale Hare, which was high/peak Bronze. I still had the second Gale Hare¡¯s core, which was the only thing that put me within spitting distance of getting my impurities up to the level I needed. I could, in theory, choke them all down in the span of a very unpleasant couple of hours, but then I¡¯d lose a lot of potential to improve my cultivation by not alchemically processing them. Then again I¡¯d never done much of this work as an alchemist and could easily ruin them.

    I sighed and flopped back, pulling out the book. I knew on some level it was the smarter option, a gift from a possibly Mithril-level cultivator, who I was possibly pushed towards by the Lady of the Lake had to be more important than me fiddling about with alchemy. It just grated on me. I didn¡¯t like being a puppet of greater powers beyond me, I¡¯d literally died to escape such a situation. Even if the Lady wanted the best for me, it itched to feel her hooks in every decision I made.

    My story didn¡¯t need to be a hero forging the path of justice. I was happy not being the main character of whatever fateful destiny I was getting wrapped up in. What I could not stand was the feeling that I had no control over it, that I was marching to a story I had no control over. I¡¯d grown into the role of the Bard that¡¯d been handed to me, I would sing the songs of destined heroes, but I refused to relinquish all control of the words to another.

    This control had already cost me my ability to lie, and while the ability to perceive falsehoods was a reasonable compensation, it wasn¡¯t what I¡¯d have chosen. I¡¯d made friends with Bors because I was put here. I¡¯d met Ban because of the timing of the attack on Bors. I¡¯d befriended Miss Peaches and aided Lancelot as I continued down that same path she¡¯d set for me. It was getting exhausting, I was half waiting for Bors to admit he was some runaway prince or other such source of destiny. I didn¡¯t think Gaz would be the source of destiny, man was too dull to be part of such a tale.

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    It was why I¡¯d wanted to start on the alchemy because that was fundamentally a choice that was my own. An idea and a desire of my own. Yet here I was staring at the Illuminated Text and I could practically feel the Lady reading it over my shoulder with those eyes like the ocean depths smiling as her plans played out.

    The book was a formal printing done via some process that allowed multiple copies to be made, it held only a smattering of gold leaf to highlight the title ¡®The Book of Lesser Death Curses¡¯. The cover was of course black leather, which fit utilitarian in design. The book didn¡¯t have gilded pages, or beautiful scrollwork like Bors¡¯ text bore, but I had no doubt it¡¯d be just as useful if not more so.

    I always liked reading the manuals and guides of witches, they did use fancy words that would¡¯ve had Bors pulling his hair out, but they followed a highly academic format. The witches were Euross¡¯ foremost natural philosophers and researchers and their texts all matched a similar format, which included to everyone¡¯s great benefit a summary at the beginning.

    ¡®The nature of death glamour is that of a power that must be met with respect. Even weak emanations of the glamour hold a will of their own, which does not tolerate being casually seized and bent into new forms like elemental glamours allow. Death glamour must instead be appeased by sacrifice or carefully squeezed of its will. To be deployed, the glamour is most skittish and fragile, it must be given shape by another form, applied to the edge of a blade, layered onto another technique, or most relevant to this text applied to the Evil Eye. Death glamour is eminently suitable to empower the evil eye to form curses with a variety of forms that range from minor debilitations to deadly curses. This text outlines the path a death cultivator can follow to gain this control.¡¯

    Well, that sounded promising. I had never refined the Evil Eye myself, it was easy to trigger by accident if one¡¯s emotions got the better of them, and I knew of plenty of times I¡¯d likely have accidentally shot out a blast of it during my captivity. I looked through the contents and found an appendix, that included, among other things, the basics of a cultivation technique that the author referenced heavily. One specifically aimed at death cultivation. That seemed like the best place to start.

    I hoped to focus on my reading but was interrupted when Gaz almost collapsed and the pillar exploding paused with Bors offering a great deal of apologies. I didn¡¯t want to get into a conversation now the group was no longer captivated so slung Bors my ring, and explained he¡¯d find a gift within. I also told him of the deal with Gaz about the looted gear and set them all to sort out the spoils of battle. I briefly noted the storm that crossed Lance¡¯s face, a reminder she¡¯d slain someone who was in theory her kin. I had to ignore it this time, my friend would have to handle those worries on her own for a while.

    Reading the outline of the technique piqued my already boiling curiosity. From the short extract at the top, it was clear the cultivation technique was like none I¡¯d ever encountered before, I¡¯d twigged something was odd when the opening text mentioned sacrifice. Unlike the dream glamour method which pulled the power in and then suppressed its will, this approach worked on aligning the will of the glamour to match your own. It was a baffling concept.

    ¡®The will of death glamour reflects the life that was led and the emotions in the final moments. The glamour retains only the strongest emotions and follows only the grooves cut deepest into the soul by the life they¡¯ve led. This will is not intelligent, and only in special cases can it identify those important to it, with exceptions being those beings with distinct souls, or those it has spent much of its life beside. This will can cause dark maladies if taken directly into the hearth, as this remnant will clash with the cultivator''s true soul.¡¯

    ¡®To avoid this the sacrifice method relies on an intermediary ¡®offering¡¯, this offering is infused with a minuscule amount of the cultivator''s death glamour which helps alert the energy of death to its presence, as long as this offering is something of interest to the dead then they will gather about it, being held there as a ship to an anchor, this holds the glamour in place and then the cultivator can push their will into the offering, similar to holding the death glamour against the hearth, but without the significant risk of taking in the still volatile energy. This glamour can then be absorbed by the cultivator.¡¯ I¡¯d re-read this passage several times. If I hadn¡¯t died myself I¡¯m not sure I¡¯d believe it. As someone who had died, I could picture it perfectly.

    I didn¡¯t think often about being dead. I thought a fair amount about death, much more so now I¡¯d realised just how close I¡¯d come to it yesterday, that wasn¡¯t the same though. That was the worry of not being present, not exploring what happened after. I didn¡¯t think much about the afterlife, it was something Divine Cultivators rambled endlessly on about and they sounded confident yet I was certain it was lies of the monsters who supported them.

    I had a unique perspective on being dead having been so twice now. Trying to think about that time spent severed from the world was difficult to hold in my mind, like a slippery eel in a muddy pond I barely noticed it and if I did spot it, it would slip out of my clutches the second I tried to catch it. Still of what I could grasp, I remembered being deep in an endless sea of nothingness, pitch blackness in all directions and I just hung there. I remembered nought else about it apart from a soul-deep sensation of loneliness like I was a lone star in an infinite night sky.

    If I saw even a glimmer of something appear, something I recognized and did not fear I would dash towards it. I¡¯d hold onto it rather than be lost and alone. As I tried to think more on the realm of death I felt my grip on even that knowledge begin to slide. I brought my attention back to the book. I wasn¡¯t sure what this new method meant for me and my cultivation, what these offerings could be, it sounded complicated having to impress my will on something in battle. I didn¡¯t want to say it but I was worried I¡¯d start whistling the next time we fought as my body sought to protect me from the dark temptation of the death glamour.

    The next paragraph sent a tingle through my spine and had me tap the side of my lute, I read it again to be sure. ¡®The offering can be almost anything that the living soul would¡¯ve known and been drawn to, this act is co-opted into many rituals of the dead. Ranging from the use of candles as humans seek the light, to burial mounds full of treasures, and even the use of funerary songs.¡¯

    I read those last two words over and over till I felt a smile that snuck up on me causing my cheeks to ache. I could cultivate through music!

    Turns out my goal of bardic cultivation had potential, even if it relied on the audience of the dead.

 Chapter 38 - Jester and the thief

    My fingers twitched at the strings of my lute. I read the text for what had to be the fifth time, propping the book up against some rocks and turning the pages with hints of smoke, making sure I understood the concept. Infusing my glamour into something other than myself in its aspected form was not something I was used to.

    All gifts had upsides and downsides, Smoke while amazing for fine control, cheap to manifest, illusions, and speed didn¡¯t infuse well. Its power tended to rapidly bleed off, wreathing whatever it was pushed into in fumes. That was compared to something like earth, great for infusing into things and suitable for good control but almost impossible to manifest, you either had earth or you didn¡¯t. So most of my training focused on ¡®refining¡¯ the glamour to strip it of its gift before infusion. An inefficient process that was time-consuming to get right.

    To remind myself how it felt I tried a bit of smoke glamour into my shirt. My mind was so practised that my first attempt had me refining the glamour without even thinking, I sent the power spinning like a top, the ¡®gift¡¯ moving to the outside edge, while the denser power remained in the centre. I caught myself before I wasted it, allowing the spin to slow and the glamour to mix together again. I cursed and tried again, and this time I was able to do it without issue, it was actually much easier, now all I had to do was take the glamour directly from my hearth and press it against the hungry artefact. It was easy, too easy, this was something designed to soak up that power and it was currently a barren desert.

    As I sat with wisps of smoke curling up from my chest, I added another task to my list of things to do, I had to infuse my armour again, its reserves had been taxed by the battle yesterday. I put that thought to the side, in a pinch I could throw a load of Smoke glamour into the armour for temporary protection, though it would leave me looking like a mobile smoking hut. An image of playing my ¡®death music¡¯ my armour wreathed in smoke flashed through my mind, perhaps that wasn¡¯t the worst idea. If I was going to have people point at me in fear, I should at least look stylish doing it.

    Taking a a deep breath, I looked within, feeling my hearth, there were the two pools of power within. Both felt greatly replenished compared to the starvation of last night. They¡¯d gone from sputtering flames to merry ovens, but that was a far cry from the roaring forges that I was getting used to. I wanted to make more use of the extra potential my mini-breakthrough had last night. I needed to think upon those words again, they¡¯d resonated with my intent enough to stir my power further.

    My death glamour waited, this would mark the first time I pulled on it in its raw form. It felt so much heavier than the winding smoke, yet both had an etherealness to them. They were intangible things, both marking passing, whether that was flame consuming the burning wick, or the light fading from the eyes. The difference was death glamour had a weight of purpose, it demanded my respect in a way that Smoke didn¡¯t.

    Wind whipped at me and disturbed the pages of the book bringing me back to task. My fingers rested on the strings, and I felt my mind wheel through a thousand and one songs. The right song was essential. I was going to get this right. The process was simple, I would let death glamour infuse the strings, and amplify my voice, a trick that I was more than familiar with. Still, I hesitated to play a few test chords, it felt like spitting on a grave to waste the power on something so mundane.

    I respected death and music in equal parts. Even before my captivity, I¡¯d enjoyed music and song. I could picture music so clearly in my mind that even without a band to listen to I could entertain myself with nothing but a thought, it was one of the things that couldn¡¯t be taken from me. I couldn¡¯t always control the music that flowed through my head though.

    In the darkest times, when even the burning core of spite that kept me running in that terrible household was dim, the music that played had turned grim. Funeral Dirges would wind through my mind, driven forth by the march of songs dedicated to lost friends written by the soldiers who survived. My fingers twitched but still didn¡¯t play.

    This was the first time I was going to harness my death glamour, it was a moment of triumph. Death ruled out a celebration, and the occasion ruled out a wailing dirge. I thought back on when I¡¯d brushed against my intent.

    ¡°I can be a Bard though, spreading knowledge and helping those who stand against them. Dancing around my foes so my allies have time to strike. I¡¯m going to sow discord and bring hope where I can and I will not let the threat of death turn me aside.¡± I spoke the words out loud to myself, there was no accompanying thrum in my hearth. That was odd, it should still connect. What was I missing?

    I thought back on how I¡¯d been feeling at that moment. The anger at Gaz, but even more so at the Harkleys for tainting me with their name, forcing me to see evils that I could not forget. With it came a pressure, a burning desire to break down and bring low all those who touched upon those memories. That same energy pushed me to spy and deceive, to not just lie down and take it. To bring the fight to them. My hearth glowed.

    The blood of a phoenix in me, even in death I rose in flame ready to fight again. And fight I would, I could¡¯ve lived quietly but I refused to, the second I saw that Guiding Star I knew I wanted to shatter it. My hearth roared, and my fingers twitched.

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    Looking up at my friends¡­and Gaz, I knew the issue. I wanted to protect my newfound friends, but that was hardly a revelation, no it was my frustration and anger at Gaz that clicked it all into place. I¡¯d thought I¡¯d quenched that spiteful core, an ever-burning lump of hateful coal that kept me going these past five years with my escape and revenge. No, it burned still.

    Endless fury sat within me, harnessed and hidden but never far. I¡¯d not thought twice about killing the mortal, I¡¯d killed the Squires and only cared when the death glamour all but forced empathy upon me. Murder should not come so easy, but I had spent years unable to confront the horrors about me, unable to let my rage be seen, I had found a way to bury it, lose it where even I couldn¡¯t find it. Even lost it still burned.

    Anger riddled me, like a burning building still whole, with only whisps of smoke escaping. Now I knew, I had to look, I threw open the door, and the starved flames drank deep and burst into life.

    My fingers rested on the strings, and death glamour moved within me for the first time. Shivering I felt twists of ice-cold smoke passing through me, like a heavy cloying mist like that which clings to the forest floor on a gloomy night. I pressed it into the strings of my lute and my fingers began to dance. The tide of power rose up my throat. It was time for an angry song.

    The first notes got my heart beating, my body twitching, the death glamour adding a bass echo, to the high strings. The sound that followed belonged to no mortal instrument but had a feel to it that matched my anger. I picked a song to celebrate my escape, to revel in my freedom, and to vent my hate.

    ¡°I said the jester is a wanted man

    He roams the realm with a cunning plan

    See him wander ''cross the ancient land

    So gather ''round, for a story

    Of the jester and the thief in the night¡±

    The words came spilling out. I felt the infused power humming in my words. Within I felt the buried rage breaking out, fires bursting through cracked ground.

    ¡°He''s always laughing at those in power

    Always thieving till the final hour

    Taking their hearts and power

    And he is not going home

    Can you hear the jester singing over

    As she''s waiting in the syleeie tower?

    Listening out everyday

    I wonder what would happen if he stole her away¡±

    The chorus pulsed rang out and I kept singing, even as I sensed the glamour moving around me, a swirling vortex of death the centre of which was the body of my lute. Surrounded by death the contrast left me a beacon of life. I was overwhelmed by it, it reminded me of my dance at the Mirror Lake. There I celebrated my freedom, here I expelled my rage.

    ¡°Where they go, well, we may not know

    There a feelin'' though, comin'' after a show

    The jesters smile is aglow

    So I''ll sing you all the story

    About the jester and the thief in the night

    All those fae the jester fools in the night

    Hides their names from their sight

    Seelie beasts go hunting her light

    And they are not going home¡±

    With each line my lute grew heavier, I pushed on through the chorus and the refrain, the infusion trying to slip from my fingers and throat. As the power writhed in my grip I let my voice grow softer, let my fingers linger on the notes as I left the peak of my anger behind having forged something within me.

    "And I¡¯ve sung you all the story

    About the jester and the thief

    And I¡¯ve sung you all the story

    About the jester and the thief in the night¡±

    The power was rippling beneath my fingers, a churning pool of glamour sucked into the open mouth of my lutes. I whistled carefully at first, but when I found the Death glamour without will I drew it in with a bellows breath. The rich heady power of it still echoed with the rage I¡¯d poured into my song.

    I opened my eyes and felt whatever trance I was in subside. I found my three compatriots staring at me, hands gripped around weapons looking ready to fight me. Actually, it was Four compatriots, I¡¯d not included Gring, who looked ready to stamp someone to death.

    ¡°What was that Taliesin? How are you so angry?¡± Lance asked, she seemed the most calm of them all, but even if she¡¯d kept her sword sheathed she had a white-knuckled grip on the hilt. I didn¡¯t know exactly what I¡¯d done, it was clearly related to the music but the book had not warned me of this. Were they angry at me?

    ¡°I WANT TO FIGHT SOMETHING SO HARD RIGHT NOW!¡± Bors roared before stamping off and starting to summon spikes of rock and flinging them into the gorge the bridge spanned. I was spared even if the cliff face was not, somehow I¡¯d spread my anger with the music.

    In hindsight, I probably should¡¯ve read the whole book before attempting this. While it was ¡®the lesser¡¯ the fact the rest of the title was ''book of death curses'' should''ve earned it a cover-to-cover read.

 Chapter 39 - A sad lack of Mares

    We sat in the stone hall. A squall of rain had forced us all inside. The torrent of water had cooled everyone off. Bors'' expression was still cloudy, but it wasn''t the thunderous storm it had been. He had ordered everyone inside and practically forced a drink into our hands.

    We made small talk, letting the last of the untamed anger vent. I made small talk about the beer, and Bors grinned. He explained he''d traded some of his loot with a passing caravan of merchants. A group I vaguely remembered running past at some point yesterday. The rest of the furnishings were donated by the kindness of the Golden Hind. Their members had dragged a lot with them, likely planning to relocate after killing Bors.

    Being not much better than a group of wandering cultivators, there were no legendary artefacts, no fantastic brews, just stuff. Still, there was enough to make the room feel warm and cosy. More helpful to us, they''d had some formations with them, including a ring of privacy stones that Bors had set up.

    The chatter dried up, leaving the mood dry and brittle. Silence beat down, and I knew I had to be the first to offer some shade. ¡°I''m sorry I didn''t mean to cause everyone to get so angry.¡±

    ¡°I''ve never heard of that happening with death cultivation.¡± Gaz surprised me by speaking first. I expected him to be furious, and not solely because of my music fueling his wrath. The man had a bone to pick with death cultivation, and something in his tone implied it came from personal knowledge.

    ¡°It felt like a witch''s Evil Eye, but different. Rather than pressing down on me, telling me you were willing to slay me, I could feel your anger at everything. The music was an invitation to join you in that fury.¡± Lance''s assessment was astute. Growing up with a witch mother, I imagined she''d had at least some training against such things.

    ¡°I swear it was just meant to be a way to cultivate, to align the will of the glamour. I didn''t expect this.¡±

    ¡°Wait, you didn''t¡ªhaha!¡± Lance began to laugh. It was so out of place in the sombre mood that even Gring, who lay curled up on the floor, looked confused.

    ¡°What am I missing?¡± Bors asked. The man still felt off to my senses. He squirmed in his seat as if resting upon a colony of ants, and his fingers were twitching. A chunk of rock danced beneath them.

    ¡°I''m sorry, it''s just sometimes Taliesin is just¡ª¡± Lance turned to me, ¡°You''ve got this mysterious air like you know everything. You picked up the whistling in a few hours, know about the Divine Cultivators, and there''s other stuff too. So, it''s nice to see that you can be completely clueless sometimes.¡±

    ¡°You know I''m so lacking in clues I''m not even aware of the mystery that needs solving.¡± I was lost. What was so funny?

    ¡°Aligning glamour with your will is the core of all aura manipulation techniques, like the Evil Eye. I had heard you stood before the Lady in Peach''s Eye. How do you not know this?¡± Gaz wrinkled his brow.

    ¡°Wait, so did I just Evil Eye you all?¡± That felt intrinsically wrong. I''d heard it was a tough thing to learn. The Harkleys had restricted knowledge about the technique and its associated skills. You couldn¡¯t learn about it unless you were Iron ranked, so much of my knowledge was built upon abstract writings, upon foundations of personal experience.

    ¡°No, that was closer to an aura technique. The Evil Eye is far more focused. Your aura was like a shield casting a shadow across us all, whereas the Eye is more like a flash of light reflected off a blade. Were you not taught this when you were building your defences?¡± Lance appeared intrigued.

    ¡°I did explain that my resistance comes from, shall we say, ¡®critical audiences.¡¯ I''ve received a litany of negative feedback over the years, which has hardened me to such attention. It''s not like anyone taught me.¡± I grumbled.

    ¡°These critics, they would be the ones who controlled you before, the ones you spoke about destroying yesterday?¡± Gaz chimed in, and I had to resist the urge to snipe back at him. Who else would it be? I forced that down. He may be the one who''d done the most to earn my ire but was not to blame for the fire that burned within.

    ¡°Yes, they are¡ªThey were.¡± Words failed me. I went to strum my lute but stopped myself, ¡°It was not a good place. I had to hide my true self. I wore a mask so long I became it, and there are parts of me I buried to ensure my survival. That''s what came out in the song.¡±

    ¡°Fuckers, we should go stove their faces in.¡±

    ¡°Bors, I cannot help but notice you''re more affected than most. Which is odd, as I''d assume your rank would protect you. I don''t wish to pry if you''re¡ª¡± Lance was cut off.

    ¡°I hate this accursed bridge! What the hell am I even doing here? I should''ve fought more, not just accepted this exile. I feel like a child sent to his room. I should never have accepted it.¡± The words came out of Bors in a hot rush. The earth beneath rumbled like a struck drum.

    ¡°It¡¯s my own damn fault for picking fights I know. I thought Arty had my back though. I always thought Percy was the one who''d be whispering for me to be held back. No, my best fucking friend told me I had to stay here, that I should ¡®work on my etiquette.¡¯ While he and the others go hunt down the sodding enemy. I''m not dumb, but he doesn''t half treat me like it. Half the fights I got in, he was right there with me! Percy even told him it was a mistake. But no, he is too busy being a sappy sod filled with the idea of honour and no idea how to actually live up to it. So, now I''m stuck here waiting. On a bridge that next to no one crosses, in the sodding cold, while my friends risk their lives!¡± Stones rumbled as Bors spoke, the entire structure trembling at his wrath. In his hands, he snapped apart a slab of slate like it was a biscuit.

    ¡°They did that to you? At least there''s a good reason I''m out here. I might hate it. That I''m too weak to help, but it''s not like I can argue.¡± Lance joined the angry circle, venting her frustrations. The group turned to Gaz, who fought against his even-keeled nature before finally joining us.

    ¡°The complete knave I''ve been toadying around for the last year proved to be insufferably evil rather than merely insufferably crass! So many terrible jokes I laughed at. Fights I''ve had to bail him out of. The worst part? I knew he was an honorless swine the entire time!¡± Gaz laid out his gripes. We all nodded in agreement. I''d shared a scant few words with Barclay and enjoyed none of them.

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    Gring began to stamp and flick his head. He looked at us, and we looked at Bors, whose ruddy cheeks flushed further. ¡°Gring says there are no mares around here, and Lance is the only one who is a decent groom.¡±

    I choked down a laugh at the tonal shift, and like the shattering crystals from earlier, one crack was all it took to topple the column of strife and anger we¡¯d built. The dome exploded into gales of laughter.

    ¡°Well, I think that answers why that was so effective against us all. We were all very susceptible to anger. Still not great, but good to know.¡± Lance finally got herself under control and wiped a tear from her eye.

    ¡°I need to read the whole book and understand if I can avoid that in future. Lance, I might need your help. I wasn''t aware of just how much I was missing.¡±

    ¡°I''ll help where I can. I''m not always the best at witch stuff, but my mother hammered it into me anyway.¡±

    ¡°I need a fight.¡± I saw Bors stand, and Gaz flinched. ¡°Gaz, how about another bout.¡±

    ¡°I think he needs a break, Bors. Look, how about you see about a hunt. Something must''ve moved in around here since we last spoke. Besides, aren''t you faster now?¡± Gaz shot me a surprised look as I interceded. He still wasn''t my favourite person, but I could try and be a bit kinder.

    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s a good point. I might accidentally squash you right now. I''m so worked up. Besides, I have all this hunting gear and haven''t made use of it. Gring, why not come with me? You can scout from the sky.¡± The Pegasus, who¡¯d been curled up on a large bearskin rug until now, nodded, and the pair headed out. Gaz let out a sigh of relief when he left.

    ¡°I need to go cultivate. I will follow the gorge a ways down. I¡¯m sure there are some rapids with some rich glamour.¡± Gaz offered, heading out as well, though he did pause for a few before leaving the dome. Probably didn¡¯t want to risk Bors changing his mind.

    I got the book out and started to read, or at least tried to. There was one remaining member of our group in the dome, and she was staring dead at me. Lance¡¯s eyes bore into me. With her sharp gaze and blonde hair, it felt like a lioness was watching me, equally at ease but totally focused, tail flicking idly back and forth, daring me to make a wrong move.

    ¡°Can I help you?¡± I dared to ask.

    ¡°Why are you so angry? No, how are you so angry? It¡¯s like you''re a berserker on the inside but a jester on the outside. I couldn¡¯t believe the rawness of that feeling.¡± Lance didn¡¯t let her gaze drop.

    ¡°It¡¯s been a rough old time,¡± I replied with a half smile.

    ¡°No, that¡¯s bullshit! A rough old time is getting rained on or lost. It¡¯s not a feeling that tells you to dive headfirst into the fray with a knife between your teeth.¡± Lance wasn''t giving up. I sighed, trying to find the words. I could feel my rage beginning to simmer, to build in response. I didn''t want to think back on those days. I loathed the idea of my thoughts lingering on them. Daring to give voice to them would drag them out, yanking them from the gloomy haze of memory and into the light.

    I didn''t appreciate Lance poking into my past so bluntly. I could feel my bile rising, felt the sharp words sitting ready on my tongue. I wanted to tell her to go ask her questions to the gorge, but I choked that down. If I could be friendly with Gaz, I wouldn''t take a bite out of Lance. I settled myself and did what I was best at, deflection.

    ¡°I mean, I¡¯ve given you parts of the story of my past. It¡¯s not like I learned all of that, have the kind of connections I¡¯ve got, by swanning through things.¡± I offered nothing and hoped that''d be the end of it. Lance paused and paced a moment. I managed to raise up my book before she began to speak again. I just about stopped myself from huffing in annoyance.

    ¡°Did you know I can use the Evil Eye?¡± Lance asked.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t. I¡¯m surprised you didn¡¯t use it in our duel if that¡¯s the case.¡± I might not know a lot about Lance, but she wasn¡¯t the kind of person to leave power on the table.

    ¡°I don¡¯t use it because I hate it! The training was some of the worst times of my life. It¡¯s so draining, it makes me feel small and weak. You know, there¡¯s a kind of unspoken agreement to not use Evil Eye in the ring. Of course, if someone else uses it first, then it¡¯s fair game. See, I loathe that feeling so much that I never use it first. As much as an advantage as it''d give me, I don''t want to open myself up to getting hit with it."

    "Your point being?" I was getting a little lost. Years of the Harkleys had made me unused to people sharing things. On some level, I was waiting for the trap.

    "No one is going to blame you for being angry about this! When you said you had been hit with it enough to just ignore it, I thought you were lying. That''d be literal torture. I couldn''t imagine someone enduring that. It would be enough to send anyone half-mad. What''s worse? You don''t even seem to get that is some Unseelie shit! You bring it up like a joke!¡± Lance was nearly yelling, the echoes bouncing around the dome.

    "Why are you so angry about this?" I worried my cultivation might''ve taken hold again. Could it be a delayed reaction? Lance''s face snapped to mine, and I could see not the hard brow of fury, but the wavering eyes of worry.

    "Because it''s not right. Because you''re my friend. It''s wrong, and it''s wrong that you don''t even see it. It''s madness." I''d seen the expression before on people. She looked like she was going to hug me. I was not a hugger, too easy to take a stab at the kidneys. I sought to deflect with snark.

    ¡°That being half mad from exposure helps me there.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re fully mad, Taliesin, but it¡¯s not like that¡¯s a problem. Hells, if you were sane, I don¡¯t think you¡¯d get anything done.¡± Lance replied deadpan.

    ¡°Not what I was expecting you to say.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s overwhelming, all this. I feel like I¡¯m caught in a current, being pulled along, and the best I can do is nudge myself from side to side. I¡¯m furious to feel so lost, yet it¡¯s been, what? A couple of days? You¡¯re in this deeper than I am. She pulled you into our dream! She gave you a name! You¡¯ve got this history, these critics who¡¯re so foul.¡± Lance paused and looked at me with soft eyes, gentle and worried. ¡°Yet, you¡¯re smiling all the time. Dancing and making merry. If you weren¡¯t mad, you¡¯d be up to something foul.¡±

    ¡°So my insanity equals good intentions then? Is this trying to cheer me up? If so, I suggest you stick with stabbing things and grooming horses.¡±

    ¡°Pegasus, not horse. And that correction rather proves your point. I¡¯m not great at this. Look, what I¡¯m trying to say is that if you let a bit of anger out, no one is going to judge you. You don¡¯t need to hide it so carefully. I will always count you as a friend for what you shared with me about my cultivation and the support you offered my family. So, you don¡¯t need to hide your anger from me at least, and I suspect Bors is no different.¡± Lance finished, and let out a huge sigh, placing her hands on her hips like she''d just vanquished a foe.

    I didn''t know what to do with that. I felt a happy little flame dance around the desolate waste that was my mind, blasted by the interrogation and my earlier failure to drive everyone to anger. I felt embarrassed by how much I cared about being called a friend and how little I knew what to actually do with the offer. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, so I held up the book to shield myself from further attention.

    ¡°I¡¯ll take that under advisement. Now, please let me get back to this book so I can work out how to not drive people into fits of rage.¡± Lance nodded and made to leave, but the little flame in me demanded action. It didn''t want to be snuffed out just because I was embarrassed. ¡°Oh, and thanks."

    Lance smiled and left. With her gone, I slumped down on my seat. That had been exhausting. I needed to get a hang of this anger if for no reason other than to avoid another conversation like that one. I may be good at helping people, but accepting help felt like pulling teeth.

 Chapter 40 - Talks of Tiffs and Tigers

    It was well into the evening before I finished the book. The tome was relatively short and the lessons were clear and easy to understand. It painted a strange picture of the path I could follow in the future.

    Death glamour was a tool of the will. It held the ideas and power of the wielder and could be used to lash out at foes to great effect. The ¡®curses¡¯ the book described were techniques to bind the glamour to the Evil Eye and use that as a method to strike down your foes in a distressing array of forms. The problem was, I didn''t know how to use the Evil Eye and the book wasn''t going into detail on that.

    That was something that would have to change. The curses were invaluable. Despite the name, they held little actual death¡ª perhaps those were in the ¡®greater book of death curses¡¯. The lesser curses were more about applying a lasting malaise to the enemy. The Evil Eye only lasted as long as you applied it, the power letting up as soon as you turned away. A curse''s power was in leaving a lingering ¡®hex¡¯ that would take time to remove.

    For Death glamour, hexes focused on binding the target with a scrap of glamour that would harass them, from a distraction method called ¡®the curse of the wailing dead¡¯ to a far more insidious curse that would disrupt their ability to cultivate named ¡®curse of the dripping chalice¡¯, which would aim to slip small ¡®sips¡¯ of death glamour in whenever they tried to cultivate.

    There were a few things that I learned that were of use. Top of the list was a method to create ¡®totems¡¯. These were little alchemical wards that would help shield others from death curses. They used the principles of sacrifice, creating a construct fueled with death glamour and should protect my allies from the effects caused by my cultivation method. An important discovery as it turned out, the side effect of my musical cultivation was unavoidable. The imparting of emotion and will to the glamour was essential to the process of gathering it.

    ''Make Totems'' was added to an increasingly long list of ''essential'' tasks. I could assemble them with the stuff I had, thanks to Miss Peaches including the equipment in her gift. Even better, they didn''t require cores. They did need me to ask people for some of their hair, that felt like a morning question, not a late-night baggy-eyed question. I''d look a right nutter.

    Right now though, I wanted to eat whatever had been tantalising me with beautiful smells for the last hour. I poked my head outside to find the others gathered around a smoking stone mound that smelt of boar. Everyone was here, looking relaxed, a marked improvement from the earlier twitchiness. From the smell, Bors had clearly had a successful hunt.

    I stepped out to a peaceful scene. The Knight stood next to Gring and Lance. His shoulders were at ease and he wasn''t fidgeting like before. Lance was giving him detailed directions on how best to groom Gring, who was loving the attention. Gaz sat with a notepad sketching something. The normally stoic Squire wearing a faint smile that suited him well.

    For a second, I was worried I''d disrupt the good mood by butting in. Bors must''ve sensed me, perhaps his cultivation felt the whisper of hesitation in my step, so he called me over. ¡°Oi, Taliesin, can you check the smoker? Let me know if anything isn''t working right.¡±

    ¡°Are you suggesting I use my Fae-given powers to smoke pork?¡± He looked worried for a second, but I grinned. ¡°Sounds great.¡±

    Walking over, I found there were two parts to the oven. The main body was roasting the body of the boar, while the limbs were in a second chamber. Running my power over it, I could sense the smoke wasn''t flowing quite right. The exhaust was too low and the smoke couldn''t flow evenly, leaving some parts far cooler than others. A few quick directions to Bors and it was fixed. The meat would be fine, just taking a bit longer to cook.

    ¡°So a successful hunt then?¡±

    ¡°Yup.¡± Bors grinned and then, with the supernatural speed of a cultivator, palmed me a fae-core. I was too shocked to do anything but accept and send it into my storage ring. I felt self-conscious about accepting such a gift. A glance at the others showed only Gring watching me intently, the Squires still absorbed in their tasks.

    ¡°You''re very kind, sharing the bounty of your hunt.¡± I put the emphasis on ''bounty'', and he grinned.

    ¡°What am I going to do, eat it all?¡± He gave me a conspiratorial wink. Alright, now I saw why this ''Percy'', person had told him to steer clear of subterfuge. He really was bad at this, wasn''t he?

    ¡°Still, I feel I...¡± I began, I didn''t want handouts even if this one alone would be enough to get me over the line to have my pathways ready for a return.

    ¡°None of that. I''m your host! Tis my duty, my honour, and pleasure to keep you all well-fed. Besides, I didn''t realise how much I''ve been missing good company till today.¡±

    ¡°Only today huh? You hear that Gring? Only Lance and Gaz count as good company.¡± The pegasus flipped its mane and stamped in mock affront. Bors began to panic, but it was my turn to slap him on the back and laugh. ¡°I''m only joking with you. What made you appreciate it more today?¡±

    ¡°It''s been¡ªrough, being stuck alone here. I''ve been trying to not think on it, but yeah. So screw this for a stack of donkeys, I miss my mates. I''m also pissed at a couple of them. Having people to talk with has made this all so much better. I didn''t realise how bad it''d got.¡± Bors raised up some stone seats for us with a flick of his finger. I couldn''t help but notice they were hexagons and sensed a wave of that crystal glamour in the air. He was clearly getting better with his crystal gift.

    Or was it something else? I felt Gring''s attention settle on me as I sat. Now I paid attention, I could sense Lance and Gaz''s positions shifting to watch me as well. My pulse quickened for a moment, a worry that there was some darker plot at play. Had they decided that something had to be done about the death cultivator? I felt my mask come down. I must look natural.

    I focused on not flinching. I couldn''t let them know I''d spotted this. I had to work out what was going on, only then would I be safe. My mask was hiding my worries and I focused on sitting down as naturally as possible.

    As my brain twisted about like a hooked fish, just waiting for the line to go taught, I was unprepared for the actual plot. Taking my seat it offered a scant second of support before it crumbled beneath me.

    Beyond all reason, my backside had completely obliterated the crystal seat, leaving me falling through a vaguely seat-shaped mound of earthen chunks. I rolled backwards, before popping up into a fighting stance. My lute gripped in my hand, not yet a sword, but held ready to strike as I stared at the chair I''d just obliterated. That''s when the laughter started.

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    The whole group was in fits, Lance and Gring leaned against each other unable to restrain their mirth. Gaz was trying to hide his face behind his sketchpad, and Bors had fallen back off his seat which remained whole and complete. It was just a prank, a joke between friends. Harmless to all but my ego.

    I smiled. My heart couldn''t quite reach laughter, having just been freed down to the dark depths of dread, but it was rapidly rising to meet the mood. Following my rule that one should always maximise their entertainment value, I bowed low. A wave of fresh giggles marked my reward.

    ¡°Oh gods, that''s funny! What were you going to do club the seat to death?¡± Lance managed, still chuckling.

    ¡°I would''ve been interested to hear what that sounded like,¡± Gaz added.

    ¡°We''ve been waiting an hour for that.¡± Bors slapped his thigh, before wiping a tear from his face. The giant hadn''t been lying about needing the company, he thrived off it. While good-natured, I''d never have expected anything like this from the battle maniac I''d first met. His words earlier were genuine, all the better to trick me with the seat.

    ¡°We traded some tips on cultivation, and that was the crowning achievement of our work,¡± Bors explained.

    I was about to be sarcastic about how they ¡®were honouring the majesty of cultivation,¡¯ but felt my throat close around the lie, the coating of sarcasm not hiding the underlying falsehood. Damn, that was a loss. I enjoyed being a sardonic bastard. Instead, I just asked for the details behind it.

    I noticed Lance wasn''t doing much talking but instead had a series of sketches from Gaz about her. They looked like ripples of water moving around different surfaces. When I quirked an eyebrow at her she held a pointed finger skyward where the last sliver of moon was fading. Something to do with her Moon Glamour?

    She must''ve picked up what I''d said about the Princess. I was glad she had some outlet for that part of her. This friendly atmosphere was all good and well, but she was cut off from places she could properly train. It must be torturous for her, unable to experiment with her new powers while nearby her family was possibly at war.

    Gaz was unexpectedly talkative. His knowledge of sound and resonance turned him into a right chatterbox. He and Bors traded turns explaining how they''d worked out how to make a crystal structure that would be the exact right level of fragile, where so much as a single knock would shatter it into a thousand pieces. Their biggest problem was not having it turn into a thousand glass-like shards, which would''ve rather soured the joke.

    The fear of betrayal passed. I, like Bors, clearly needed time around people. My first response to friends trying to play a prank shouldn''t be to assume they were plotting a knife in the kidney. As we got out the boar, which had been stuffed with some spices, Bors revealed a collection of foods from his storage ring, all prepared and ready to go. They just needed heating through. He''d brought them from a merchant caravan who''d overnighted here. Same with the stew from last night.

    As we ate, we talked about all sorts of things. Bors opened up about his friends, Arty, Percy, and Gawain. Arty was their leader. He''d been the one to push for them to crusade against the Divine Cultivators. He kept things hazy on detail, but it was clear he looked up to him and was fiercely loyal.

    From the stories, I could immediately tell Arty was a man of action and not planning. He was someone who lived for the knightly virtues of honour, protecting the weak, and noble questing. Not a lot of thought went into the cost of pushing black-and-white values in a world of greys.

    Percy was their ''diplomat''. Just as my earlier sarcasm hadn''t concealed a lie, this one didn''t either, and I felt my fae sense for falsehoods fire off. So, while the stories he told of her wit saving them, and his respect for her knowledge of the myriad factions were like gentle wind chimes, his repeated mentions of her ''simple chats'' clanged like a dropped pan. I found the sensation distracting enough that I had little attention left for her story, a shame. She sounded fascinating.

    Gawain was the last of them. He was the scout and runes specialist. The way Bors spoke about him sounded like he and Gaz could compete for ''who can hide the biggest stick on their person''. That might be unfair to Gaz. Gawain liked to leave out ''helpful notes,'' which was tantamount to declaring a feud in my book. Bonded to some great eagle, Bors revealed that Gring was meant to be the scout''s bonded companion. That had all changed due to some kind of crisis, that Bors refused to explain, and he''d been forced to bond with Gring or let the Pegasus die. Gring looked surly at that, but I wasn''t some pegasus whisperer, so I wasn''t sure as to the exact reasons behind it.

    While he spoke, Lance doled out my portion of the battle spoils that had been divided up earlier. They gave me the majority of the coin, the weapons and armour being of little use to me. The only exception was a nice knife that was enchanted so the hilt could spit out a burst of flame. Never could have enough ways to start a fire.

    By this point, everyone was getting a bit drunk. Gaz was a lightweight, and I took some pleasure in seeing the uptight Squire unwind. He even began to gush about his fianc¨¦e, a girl named Tiff who had hair ¡®like a curtain of shining brass.¡¯ Seems the man was hiding a bit of a poetic soul under his shining armour. Lance added some commentary as Tiff was somehow tied to a nearby town that Fosburg ¡®feuded¡¯ with and ended up with her helping him infiltrate the town so the pair of lovers could see each other.

    Gaz was unused to breaking the law, and while desperate to see his beloved, had not done well at stealth. The story had them make a daring scramble over the wall, and they were now creeping past a guard station. ¡°So there we are inside, having barely slipped through. I think we''re all good when of all things this cat just launches itself at him.¡± Lance began to giggle.

    ¡°Itsh wash atigre, not a catsh a tigar!¡± Gaz was barely holding on and against all logic decided more drink would help him push on. He downed his glass and fell back onto his seat.

    ¡°So this big ginger cat goes in claws first, and in a panic, he shoots it with a jet of water.¡±

    ¡°It sheemed biggg.¡±

    ¡°The cat goes out the window yowling the whole way. I''m there thinking, well, that''s it, we''re done, they know we''re here. Light turns on, and the guard swings his head out, looks clear over us, and yells, ¡®Shut it or I''ll throw ta boot ay yeh agin,¡¯ and goes back to bed.¡±

    ¡°Hah!¡± Bors poured me another drink, which I did not need but would not refuse, and sat down to hear the rest.

    ¡°We thought it was all good, but then on our way home what do we see but that mangy fleabag, still dripping, looking at us with pure hate. It''s like it was out to get us. It began to screech. I turned to look at the window, only to see Gaz with a smug grin. See, this clever bugger had silenced the sound the second he saw it. Had to find a new way to get in after that. The cat had it out for us forevermore,¡± Lance finished up. Gaz burbled along happily as Bors and I gave a round of applause.

    Enjoying myself thoroughly, I decided to take a step outside and go for a leak. I was carrying a bit too much fine ale for my liking. It was a nice, normal problem to have.

    I stepped towards the woods and undid my britches. The night was windy and cold but had lost the bitterness of winter. With the moon but a crack of silver, I couldn''t help but appreciate the stars. I deserved some peace and quiet, even if that was against a backdrop of slaughtering divine cultivators and dancing around witches who were far too powerful.

    I was, however, coming to the conclusion I was cursed to not find such peace. As I finished my business, something caught my attention. The shadow of an enormous bird moving past the glittering stars.

    I watched it, content for a moment, wondering if it was a Dire Owl of some sort. Its wingspan was vast, and I fought the drink to try and estimate it but kept having to double-check. It was getting bigger with each attempt. No, that wasn''t it. Damn thing was getting closer, fast!

    "You know what? Screw you, can a man not take a piss in peace?" I found myself yelling into the night, hastily securing my equipment before I rushed in to warn the others.

 Chapter 41 - Lightning to find, fire to cleanse

    Staring out at the oncoming shadow, I was deeply unsettled. It marked yet another event I was tied up in. I¡¯d known I was not destined for a quiet life, but this felt uncomfortably like destiny. A bone-deep weariness settled in, telling me I was wrapped up in something yet again. It could be harmless. Realistically, it should be something benign, a lost Dire Owl that happened to be flying over them.

    Yet I knew it wasn''t. My lute¡¯s strings hummed as the wind blew through them, impatient for the next part of a story I was increasingly certain I had little to no control over.

    Only a night ago, I¡¯d been fighting for my life, and now something was bearing down on us. Some fresh ¡®event,¡¯ I knew not what it would bring, but I could feel deep in my soul it would not be something mundane. It was almost too much.

    My spiralling thoughts were derailed as, beside me, Gaz was violently sick.

    At our level, purging alcohol was as simple as cycling glamour to purge it from the blood. Sadly for Gaz, who¡¯d just downed another pint, it didn¡¯t do much for what was in the stomach. That still required ¡®mortal¡¯ methods. I grimaced. I could forgive him for not muting the soggy and invasive squelches with his gift, but it sounded as if he was amplifying them.

    It undermined the seriousness of the tone as we gathered. Bors was standing with me and Lance, looking at the shadow. Gring was fussing behind us, unsure if he should take off or not.

    ¡°I see two shadows behind the first one,¡± Lance pointed out. It took a second before I caught the two spots of darkness close behind. I nodded. Of course, I couldn''t pass and just have one fae beast bear down upon me. No, that would''ve been too simple.

    I shook off the malaise. Focus. How could I improve our situation? I reached for my smoke, but it was no help. It seemed suspense was required before the main act. They were approaching with the wind, so my smoke had no chance of reaching out toward them.

    ¡°We¡¯ve got a minute at best. I¡¯m confident the first one is Gawain on Archimedes. He¡¯s using wind and water, which matches his gifts. No idea who is following him. Could be an Order, could be those Divine fuckers. At this speed, I''d say he¡¯s going flat out, which doesn¡¯t say anything good about those behind him. If Gawain is running, then those following have to be at least Iron. You should all hide.¡±

    ¡°Not a chance. We can still help with the beasts,¡± I cut in sharply. Like Gring, the creatures should only be at Bronze.

    ¡°This is no game. You came here to be safe, not get dragged into our mess.¡±

    ¡°I''m with Taliesin. Bors, what''s the likelihood they know we''re here? Any reason you can think of they''d be expecting a bunch of cultivators to be waiting for them?¡± Lance asked. Bors'' face went from stern to calculating before settling into a wide grin.

    ¡°Next to none.¡±

    ¡°Taliesin, you still have your bow?¡± I nodded, seeing where she was going with this. Our encampment was all but invisible from the air in this light. At most, it would appear to be a large clearing.

    ¡°I''ve dulled the noises we make.¡± A pale Gaz joined us, pitching in without a second thought.

    ¡°Bors, you make sure your friend is okay and then focus on the cultivators. We''ll focus on taking down the birds. Mind if I ride Gring? If the riders ditch their mounts, we can then hunt them down.¡± Gring''s head perked right up at that.

    ¡°Do it. Don''t get into a straight fight with Knights, though. They''ll take you both out in a handful of hits.¡± Bors¡¯ warning was unnecessary. We were all aware after sparring with him just how great the gulf in power was.

    ¡°Understood. Don¡¯t get killed. Gaz, can you run communications for us, keep an ear out for any friends they might have or tricks they pull?¡± Lance continued. I could hear the echoes of her father in her tone.

    ¡°Sure, all of you should take one of these.¡± He passed all of us a hooped contraption, of bent brass with a little glass ball full of water. ¡°Hang it over your ear. My master came up with the idea. I infused the water so I can make it ¡®speak.¡¯ I''ll also be able to hear you, but it''s not that sensitive. You''ll have to talk loudly or hold it to your lips and whisper.¡±

    ¡°Smart.¡± I took the small marvel off the cultivator. I had to admit I was always entranced by the clever creations pairs of gifts could achieve. I had no time to indulge in examining it, though. Instead, I clipped it on and drew my bow as the rest of the party moved out.

    I hid in the doorway of the dome, which Bors was quickly widening in case Archimedes needed access to the shelter. We didn''t know what manner of gifts our opponents would have or the state of our allies. I''d have used the forest for cover, but I feared they could be a nature cultivator up there. In the unlikely case, there was an earth cultivator up there, at least Bors¡¯ constructions would be infused with his will and would be hard for them to take control of.

    The others took position. Bors melted into the earth, and Gaz stood beside me. In the gloom, I could barely make out Lance leaping onto Gring. The pair of them charged into the chasm the bridge spanned, the pegasus flicking his wings out as they stealthily took flight, hiding his gleaming white coat and her shining armour from sight.

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    The first shadow was coming lower. I could barely hear the wings. A heavy, drawn-out rustling of wind as each tired flap of the wings brought them closer overlapped the hiss of the wind moving over the feathers. The massive shadow twisted to land on the road, the creature stumbling and bouncing ungainly as it landed. A man jumped off it, drawing his sword.

    ¡°Bors, I am--¡± The man started to yell, and I saw Gaz wince beside me. I could feel his glamour shift.

    ¡°Be quiet, you daft bugger. We know. It''s an ambush,¡± Bors hissed from somewhere, his voice sounding muted and flat.

    ¡°They''re nearly here, south by southwest, they aren''t slowing.¡± Beside me, Gaz spoke, his voice doubled, an echo of it appearing in my ear.

    ¡°You''ve finally fallen, Errant fool. Heretic, all you''ve done is waste our time. I shall take pleasure in killing you slowly. Your sins shall be purged, your insult to our Order paid for in blood.¡± A deep, haughty voice taunted the fallen Knight. His voice, empowered by glamour, projected confidence. The words weighed heavy upon me. Of course, they belonged to a Divine Cultivator. Yet instead of rage bubbling up, fear twitched in my heart.

    I knew which Ray those words fitted best. The threat they carried. I quivered, unsettled and uncertain. I was a master of many fears, yet some were etched deeper than others.

    ¡°Calm yourself.¡± Words punctured the fog of fear that consumed me, Gaz shaking my shoulder to snap me out of it. His face stern, I nodded and took position.

    I let the bird get low and close, the rider fixated on the grounded silhouette of the eagle. The Divine Cultivators had done nothing to light their path, so there was a good chance they''d not seen hide nor hair of us. Equally, I could see little, but the barest hints of them and the hole they cut from the stars above.

    My heart was pounding, my fingers twitching. I could feel the anger telling me to attack, while fear told me to run. If I was right about the Ray this lot belonged to, I was about to anger people even the Harkleys feared.

    Now more aware of myself, I could feel the waves of fear and anger crash down upon me. I¡¯m sure a knightly cultivator would say they were unmoved, that they stood like a rock before the storm. Idiots, why waste that energy? I rode those waves. I sat atop that which would bring me down to propel me forward. To enforce my strikes. I pushed a little of my death glamour into the tip of the arrow.

    With the same control that pulled my lips into a smile, I pulled on the string, curving the bow. I was ready.

    The hissing grew louder. I could all but imagine the bird''s claws out, ready to strike. The cultivator on its back with a spear or some other long weapon, ready to lash out. The Knight, presumably Gawain, stood in the road, ready to defend his bonded beast, which lay exhausted and collapsed on the ground. His sword drawn, ready to face off against the charging foe.

    I held the string as the shadow grew and grew until the wings filled the entire view of the horizon, blotting out each and every star. I¡¯d seen ships with smaller sails than the wings that hissed above. It was only at this last second, as the bird began to pass overhead, that I unleashed my barrage of arrows.

    I empowered my body, pressing my strength and speed to the limit. I used Levity to move even faster, and with that, in the scant fraction of a second that the bird was between us and the cultivator that rode it, I was able to unleash four arrows.

    A pained screech pierced the night air. The fae bird, knocked off target, wheeled left and pulled out of its dive at the last moment. It spun out over the woods, fighting for control with one good wing. The rider on its back jumped down into the forest beyond the road.

    He was shouting something. I caught something about ¡®how we dared to disrespect him.¡¯ An odd bone to pick when we were all trying to kill each other. Seriously, if you want to be an unoriginal hypocrite, just call me a bastard and be done with it.

    Watching his descent, I was startled when I was yanked backwards, hard. That mild surprise was overwhelmed as the world was drenched in sharp white light, and a lightning bolt and accompanying thunder slammed into the stone arch where I¡¯d just stood.

    The thunder that came with it wasn''t like storm thunder, but it still left ears ringing. Panting on the floor, I gave Gaz a thumbs up. The Squire looked grim. I couldn¡¯t blame him. We were dealing with a lightning cultivator. And that most likely meant Inquisitors.

    Lightning cultivators numbered among some of the most deadly forms of cultivation while also being weak against those of their own level. The issue in part came from our armour. Those who could use glamour at a similar level could use the steel in their armour to redirect the flow of the electricity. Those of lower cultivation levels weren''t so able to stop the lightning from going where the cultivator intended, and even a small amount of that power could stop hearts.

    In other words, they excelled at punching down and were a fantastic tool to hunt awakened companion beasts like Gring, not to mention scything through plucky Squires that tried to assist their superiors.

    Lightning also excelled at torture and formed half of the Ray of ¡®Truth.¡¯ If there was a Ray I loathed most besides ¡®Bonds,¡¯ of which the Harkleys were a part, it was Truth. The Ray of Truth was small but powerful. Given the task of policing the other Rays, they were total sadists. Even the other Rays feared them. I knew many of their names, their titles earned through cruelty so twisted it became their identity. The stories whispered in fear.

    I¡¯d always avoided them. They considered screams entertainment, and I suspected they''d find me exceedingly entertaining.

    ¡°Second Knight is lightning-gifted. He''s flown overhead, still mounted. Be wary. Gawain and Archimedes look exhausted. Lead Knight is on foot, Bors attacking.¡± The double voice sounded over the ringing in my ears. I turned in time to see Bors Earth Stride out of the ground, rising out of it as easily as I would breach the water. He rose up, bringing his full power to bear on the stranded Inquisitor.

    Then we were all blinded by a gout of flames and a flash of heat that washed over my face. I felt my gut sink. That confirmed it for me: these were both Inquisitors. Fire made up the other half of their Ray.

    Lightning to find the unfaithful, fire to cleanse the heresy.

    I used ash to choke out the merry fire that lit our dome, unwilling to offer an easy source of power to the man. With the flames out, the smoke formed up into a cloak behind me. My glamour churned, still far from recovered. I took a breath and focused on riding the emotions that sought to swamp me. These were monsters famed for their penchant for cruelty by those who excelled at it.

    Just this once, I decided I¡¯d leave an audience wanting.

 Chapter 42 - Break the foe, bring them down low

    "The lightning Knight is coming by for another run, on the outside of Archimedes.¡± Gaz¡¯s voice came through both air and water, the water sounding far deeper as the earring vibrated his message.

    ¡°Gawain, get yourself and that damn bird in the dome.¡± A bellow shouted out from the melee. The Fire Inquisitor took that momentary lapse of attention to form a technique. The fire became a pair of giant snakes, two tornados of air glamour working with fire to create a lashing demon of flame. I could see Bors'' defiant silhouette as pillars of stone rose to battle them.

    Despite my fear of the Inquisitor, I trusted in Bors. Neither Fire nor Air gifts excelled against Earth, especially if the cultivator refused to take to the sky.

    The earth shook as Bors charged at the Inquisitor of Fire. As he thundered forward into the flame, his feet tore out lumps of earth. Each clump rose up his body, layering on top of his plate to turn him from a juggernaut to a landslide.

    He plunged into the swirling flames, and from within I could hear titanic crashes. The fire was pushed back, winking out as quickly as it arrived. The fire was not gone, though. Around us, trees were alight, casting flickering chaotic shadows on our battlefield.

    How could I help? I felt my heart clench at facing such powerful foes. I wanted to hide, even as my fear fuelled the control that pushed me onwards.

    Hiding was good. Actually, hiding was excellent. I grabbed the smoke from the wet trees forced to ignite by the Inquisitor''s technique. I plunged my power into the ash of our collected campfires. I dragged everything down upon us and blanketed us all in smoke. I left a tunnel for Gawain and Archimedes, to guide them towards us.

    ¡°Lightning Knight approaching,¡± Gaz shouted.

    Gawain, in battered armour and even looking exhausted, had enough power left to pull on a grand gust of wind to bowl his bird at us. The air was so tightly controlled that my smoke was only disturbed by the bird''s flailing as it was sent hurtling. The feathered missile tumbled into the dome, its once regal looks marred by ruffled feathers and spots of blood. Its eyes tried to focus on us before it collapsed onto its back.

    A lightning bolt crashed through where Archimedes had just been, with Gawain dodging to the side.

    ¡°Uncover the infidels, Marcus. I shall strike them down,¡± the lightning inquisitor yelled to his compatriot.

    Battling Bors, the Inquisitor Marcus had little attention to give, so he could only send out haphazard gusts. Smoke did not resist air. I could make it flow against the wind using glamour, but the power of an Iron Rank was not so easily ignored. Each gust of wind tore deep rents in my smoke.

    I didn''t bother trying to fight it. Why would I? I found fire cultivators rarely understood smoke well. Air cultivators sometimes got it, but this one''s studies must''ve been lacking, as all he did was empower me.

    Each gust of air dragged in new air, which in a training environment would normally be fresh. But if you''re the kind of idiot who sets the damp wet forest around him on fire, all you get is more smoke. If anything, the smoke was thicker now than when he started.

    I lost the tunnel to Gawain but cleared the area around him. He was the only one of us in the smoke blinded by it. Gaz had his sound gift helping him, Bors had earth sense, and I of course had the smoke itself. Lance was out there somewhere, waiting for her opportunity. If the general shouting and cursing was anything to go by, our opponents were not so lucky.

    My smoke was an extension of my sense of touch. The fire Inquisitor and Bors were tearing through it like whips. I could feel the techniques going off through my glamour sense. It was unpleasant to know just how different our level of power was. They were throwing out attacks that would''ve consumed everything I had like they were nothing.

    Hunting about, I could feel the Inquisitor''s wounded bird brushing against the edge of the smoke. One wing, vainly flapping, tried to clear the smoke. What it cultivated I had no idea, but I didn¡¯t like it just hanging about. Not wanting it to get any ideas, I sent another couple of arrows its way, and it squawked in complaint.

    Gawain, who¡¯d been catching his breath, heard it and stalked towards the sound, sword out.

    ¡°Lightning is back.¡±

    The lightning Inquisitor flew overhead, raining down lightning strikes, briefly setting all the smoke aglow. Lucky for us, the dome was more than enough to hold out. All gifts were, at their core, the same as their mundane counterparts. Fire went up, smoke moved with the wind, and lightning sought the earth.

    It took energy to get a gift to do things it didn¡¯t want to, and lighting was no exception. He¡¯d have to get closer than that to try and hit us directly.

    Beside us, the battle between Bors and the Fire Inquisitor was cooling down, if only because the Inquisitor seemed to have realised he was contributing to blinding his ally. He was dodging chunks of crystal and hammer blows by flinging himself about with his air gift. As he did, the Inquisitor extinguished the fires in the trees, condensing that flame down to tiny spheres and then launching them at Bors.

    The heat of each exploding marble stung my face. Even through the smoke, I saw an earthen shield Bors hid behind start to glow from the heat that was being unleashed. We needed to get the lightning Inquisitor off his mount so we could help. A fresh barrage of fire sucked on the air greedily, sending my smoke swirling. If I was more powerful, I¡¯d have been able to smother the bastard.

    As I was now? Our cover would soon be gone, and then the pair would focus on Bors. Gawain seemed wounded, at least I hoped the Knight didn''t normally struggle to kill a wounded fae beast a rank below him but that is what my smoke told me was happening.

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    If they ganged up on Bors, we were done for. We still didn''t know the nature of the Lightning Inquisitor''s other gift, which added to my worries.

    ¡°Where¡¯s the other Inquisitor?¡± I asked Gaz.

    ¡°Of course they''re Inquisitors! Damned Divines!" Gaz breathed deep after venting his complaints, tapping into his power. "He''s on a long loop and looks to be bearing down on us again. From the angle of the doorway. If he gets lightning in here¡ª¡± I didn''t need him to continue. We could leave, but Archimedes would be fried.

    ¡°He or his beast¡¯s gift must have something to stop arrows if he keeps swinging past.¡± I put away the bow but paused before I turned my lute into a blade, the beginnings of an idea starting to form.

    ¡°I can do layers of water to try and divert a strike,¡± Gaz offered, looking at a point in the distance. Diverting a strike from a higher-ranked opponent was possible but a tough order. It had, at best, a coin flip''s chance of working. And there was no chance if they really threw their weight behind it.

    ¡°You do that. I''ve got an idea to try and get him to dismount. Could you have muted the effects of my song earlier for you and the others?¡±

    ¡°If I had warning, but¡ª¡± He was too slow. I was already stepping out.

    ¡°Consider this your warning! Make sure at least his bird can hear me.¡± I shouted, diving out into the night.

    Moving through the smoke, I checked my clothes to ensure I didn''t expose myself. I hadn''t shifted into my armour, which was good. Lightning gifted could sense many types of metal and with my weaker cultivation, it''d offer no defense. I stuck the knife in my belt into the storage ring but was otherwise clear of iron or other problem metals.

    My fingers danced, I felt the chords ripple in the smoke around me, and the smoke started to dance. I didn''t dip into my pool of death glamour yet. I let my control latch onto the smoke, forming it into writhing illusions. I found it easier to control them when I had a beat, a concept for them to latch onto. I picked a classic, one that fit the theme of what I wanted and could stir anger in my foe.

    ¡°Arise, with sword and armour,

    Arise, as the war drums pound,¡±

    Hands of ash and dense smoke rose out of the ground. The ancient marching song to which legions marched. My illusions took form. With smoke from the fires spreading, I could feel my target, my feathered audience, enter the very edge of my area of control. I let the tendrils of death glamour into the strings, letting them rise up my throat.

    ¡°Arise, for hearth and home.

    Arise, as the battle cries sound,¡±

    I pressed the seething rage into each word. As I did, I felt my mind dim, trying to drag me into a state of focus. I refused to blackout, to let the technique take me. I anchored my thoughts on my illusions as they formed grasping hands. Fingers of smoke burst out of the grey cloak, swamping the battlefield.

    ¡°War is come, battle is to be met,

    Draw swords, let feet pound,¡±

    I had no idea what the rider took from this, what it made of the waves of death and smoke. A technique that sought to invade their mind. But the few Inquisitors I knew of were not the type to take idle risks. I was not disappointed. Even with my senses numbed, my attention split. I could feel him dragging aggressively on the bird, trying to get it to change course.

    ¡°Let banners fly, follow the drum¡¯s sound.

    Blood is spilt, the earth made wet.¡±

    Any other day, any other technique, that would be the end of it. The pair would retreat and the Knight assess, realising it was all a bluff. The hawk kept on. It was focused. It ignored the continued explosions of flame and the crashing of earth. It had a mission.

    ¡°Arise, with sword and armour,

    Arise, as the war drums pound,¡±

    The hawk was angry. It was still a beast, one on the hunt. A beast that heard the drumbeat of rage. Its talons were out, its focus on the prey that had eluded it. It cared not for the grasping hands that waited for it.

    ¡°Arise, for hearth and home.

    Arise, as the battle cries sound.¡±

    The lightning Inquisitor made the safe decision faced with an unknown threat. He abandoned his mount, landing outside the deepest reaches of my smoke. I felt a faint whiff of unfamiliar glamour that guided him down, but I couldn''t interrogate it, such was my focus on my task.

    ¡°Break the foe, bring them down low,

    March forth, send them home.¡±

    A legion of giant hands converged on the hawk. The smoke tangled around it, the tendrils clamping onto the creature. To no effect. The smoke was sent spiralling into clouds. I heard the sound as its talons scraped the top of the dome. My goal was achieved. The Inquisitor was unseated. I felt something shifting on the edge of my smoke, crying out for an encore.

    I pushed to complete the next verse, even as I felt the sparks gather as the Lightning Inquisitor hunted me through the ashen shroud. I added Levity to my straining mind, weaving it into the performance. My fingers strummed, and my voice rang out as I danced through the smoke.

    ¡°Let spirits soar, carve names in stone,

    Leave them nought but woe.¡±

    Lightning crashed through where I''d stood not moments ago, but thunder and threat could not stop this song. I held the smoke in place, a legion of hands forming even as each beat of its wings blew them apart. I kept the screeching creature surrounded on all sides, bar one. Darting down from up on high, hidden in plumes of smoke, Lance and Gring dived.

    ¡°Arise, with sword and armour,

    Arise, as the war drums pound.¡±

    The hawk squawked, sensing something was wrong. All but blinded by its prison. I felt it begin to break free of the rage I''d instilled in it. Attack stymied and its rider gone, it flapped amongst the smoke, trying to orient itself. Being the hunter it was, it never thought to check above.

    ¡°Arise, for hearth and home.

    Arise, as the battle cries sound.¡±

    Lance launched herself blade-first at it, striking true and bouncing back off it with a blast of Moon glamour. Gring caught her gracefully, spiriting them both away as the hawk fell out of the sky like a crumpled rag.

    "No!" The rage in the Inquisitor sent sparks dancing through the smoke.

    ¡°Both enemy beasts are down. Lightning is on the ground and¡ª¡±

    The voice was cut off as the lightning mage vented their frustration. I doubted these were fully soul-bonded beasts, but it still likely required a measure of their power to fuel whatever method allowed them to control the beast. The loss would be painful. I felt Gawain, having slain the other beast, limping towards his opponent. No doubt aiming to take advantage of his opponent''s moment of weakness.

    ¡°I am done. I wanted to draw out your sins, to give you a chance to repent, but you do not deserve such mercy. I am Ulfast, the Artist of the Burning Arc! I shall reveal your sins.¡± The words roared from the Inquisitor, even as crackling white light cut through the smoke. My heart dropped into my stomach. I knew that name. Ulfast was a spectacular ugly Inquisitor who was equal parts petty. A man who''d be nothing if not for his one claim to luck. Luck which explained why we''d only seen lightning from him.

    "He''s twin lightning gifted get down!" I shouted as I sprinted for cover with Levity pushing me further. My lute clutched to my chest full of freshly collected death glamour was nothing compared to the spreading aura. There was a taste like copper on my tongue. I could feel the glamour sparking off my skin. This wasn''t a simple burst of lightning, no this was an entire storm.

    I threw myself behind a set of stone seats we''d been using earlier that day, as night became day. Branches of lightning spread in screaming arcs that carved through the smoke. Ulfast unleashing his full wrath. Through the smoke, I felt Gawain stumble. The Inquisitor seemed locked in place till his technique finished but I knew he¡¯d soon be turning to the downed Knight.

    Perhaps I would be entertaining an audience tonight, but I¡¯d need help. ¡°Gaz, get ready for another song!¡±

 Chapter 43 - Ulfast the Ugly

    Ulfast fumed as he stomped through the smoke and mud. He''d been brought low by trickery and sin. The last day had been a litany of trials. They¡¯d been sent to intercept some Knight Errant, who knew of the Hidden Divine Realm. This coward had robbed him of the opportunity to show the Paladins his power. He''d heard them bragging that they were sure to prove themselves in glorious combat against some demon bear that had emerged during the realm''s purification.

    The Inquisitor hoped a show of power there would stop them from spreading those foul rumours that stained his honour. No matter how accurate they were. Even worse, the pair he¡¯d dragged along they¡¯d then had to abandon. The Knight Errant, a known heretic called Gawain, had proven elusive, and his fae monster would¡¯ve outpaced them if they¡¯d let the Paladins weigh them down. He had enjoyed dropping them off and telling them to let their faith guide them.

    That tended to shut down most complaints. Who wanted to imply their faith was not enough before an Inquisitor?

    Now, his faith was being tested. His mount struck down, his ally apparently useless, and a witch mocked him. The Clergy would complain about the mounts, and his soul burned from shattered rites but it was their fault for picking ones that were so slow.

    All of that meant he felt justified in showing the true power of his faith. A divine lightning coil formed about him, and burst forth as he unleashed the full force of his technique, ¡®Fountain of Truth,¡¯ spread out. The screaming white tongues lashed out, shouting aloud the wrath of his god.

    He felt someone in the blinding smoke fight his technique, the taste of the corrupted divinity familiar. It was the Knight Gawain who¡¯d led them into this loathsome trap. He''d been caught by the attack. The man''s use of water and wind had consumed much of his blessing''s power, having proved frustratingly effective at redirecting his lightning. Still, the man was now tired and weak. He would fall. Ulfast pressed his will and felt the man buckle, the Knight retreating before him.

    He now had to be patient, this technique''s one downside was that it anchored him in place. The seconds passed as he was forced to reel the arcs back in, stretching out the time before he could deliver final judgement. The holy light returned to the divine plane as the arcs settled down, and Ulfast turned to smite his wounded foe. He would slay the Knight first then the rest of these insolent scum, returning their stolen divinity to its rightful place. The very thought that they thanked the accursed Fae for its power and not the Guiding Star rankled him. It spat in every face of their god. He wished to draw out their sins, to wring them out of their sobbing forms.

    A blast of flame and a shout demanded he be quick. He¡¯d told Marcus his faith had always been weak, and this pathetic performance proved him right. Struggling against some lone Errant Knight. It robbed him of the time he deserved to take out his rightful anger. He took a step but halted. The Divinity of Mercy was surging again, he must be on guard!

    The witch was back. What fresh trickery awaited him? He¡¯d been wise to abandon his mount. He still wasn¡¯t sure how the witch had slain it or altered its mind but he was Ulfast, chosen by the Ray of Truth. He would stand like a rock before this storm, an immovable rock before their petty tricks.

    ¡°Ulfast the Ugly, he¡¯s a sight to see,

    Scares all the maidens and even men like me,

    With a face like a troll and a heart so cold,

    Ulfast the Ugly, so the tale is told,¡±

    Ulfast felt his jaw drop, his march pausing as the jaunty tune assaulted him. He¡¯d been insulted often. In fact, as an Inquisitor, when he asked questions he felt he was doing his job wrong if those who sought his absolution didn¡¯t insult him at some point. It generally came right before they started sobbing.

    Those spat hatred and vitriol, oft cursing him, his mother, and all Inquisitors. A lot of them focused on his looks, he took extra pleasure in seeking the truth from them. None though had got under his skin as much as the little musical sting at the end of that verse.

    Still baffled, he barely had to think to push off the mental influence of the foul sorcery. Its influence was weaker than the maudlin song whose echoes had barely died out. That had been a threat worthy of a choir of the dead. Behind it, he knew some great witch worked a spell against him, he''d prided himself on bucking that power. This song didn''t try and dominate his mind, no its main threat was far more insidious. It spread through the smoke just as the last had, deadening his divine senses. The acrid air was again infused with the blessing of Mercy, enough to foil those powers that let him track those with the blessing. Worse yet, being a witch, his target wore no steel to guide his blessing.

    The indignity continued. While the first had sounded like the refined instrument of their great foe, this one was just a peasant tune, sounding like a bawdy tavern song. He could practically hear mortals clapping along to it, stomping their feet and laughing at him. So baffled by the abrupt shift, the next verse began before he could silence it. A pulse of lightning sought the voice, aiming to expose the witch who mocked him.

    ¡°He tried to join many a merry band,

    But none would take his hand,

    With a voice that croaked like a dying toad,

    He brought woes even to a lonely road.¡±

    The lightning crashed into nothing. The barest hint of a shadow dancing away added to the mockery. The smoke was filled with flashes of different blessings. Even with the blessing of mercy infusing the smoke he began to sense others. He felt the Blessing of the Choir, used by to fill the Clergy''s cathedrals, and there were also hints of a strange blessing that reminded him of the moon. This was not one witch, but an entire coven who sought to bring him low!

    Of course, he should¡¯ve known! One witch was not enough to challenge him so! They were weak and had to work together, relying on deceit and treachery. A shadow formed from the smoke, Ulfast readied his blade, but it was just more tricks. The smoke writhed and began to play out scenes to insult him. A pox-scarred and bulbous face, so foul it''d be an insult to the puppets peasants used to tell their stories, floated before him. It spat something at him. Reflexes fired, and he tried to carve it out of the air. Only to realise it was an illusion of a frog. The witches would die!

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    Ulfast was a powerful, pious man. He walked the path to become a Grand Inquisitor one day! He was twice blessed with one of the two great instruments of Truth!! He would not suffer these corrupted liars to live!!! The witches would be smote!!!!

    He could feel his eye twitching and he spat the froth from his lips. The Ray of Sacrifice was shining bright on him this night.

    The next verse started and used his Levity technique to dash towards the source of the sound. Ignoring the risk of dashing through the smoke. His faith would guide him.

    ¡°In taverns dark and inns so bright,

    He drank alone every single night,

    For Ulfast''s charm was in such lack,

    Even the ale turned its back.¡±

    Riding the majestic lightning, he neared a silhouette. Flooding the area with the Weight of his Faith, equal to any Witch¡¯s Evil Eye, he immobilised his prey. The shadow quivered, and his blade slashed.

    A trap! Rather than carving his way through blood and bone, he cut into through fabric. His momentum carried him into a void of darkness. The light of Marcus''s fire quenched by something that surrounded him on all sides. Sparks gathered and for a second Ulfast panicked as a great horned elk loomed over him. He lashed out with ''Truths Brand'', a technique that drove lightning-charged glamour along the edge of his blade. The sword brought down the elk, and with it the walls of the tent he''d been lured into.

    Another trick! a hunting trophy the witches mocked him with. How well had they prepared for this assault? The music continued as he cut his way free of the heavy fabric.

    ¡°One day, he caught a witch of great might,

    Asked for a brew of beauty to cure his blight,

    They struck a deal, and she took a look,

    But even the witch, in terror, shook.¡±

    Lies! His face was manly and stern, his voice was majestic and powerful, and he had many, many, friends. The most heinous lie? He would never deal with a witch! He hunted the voice, his lightning crashing into hidden pillars of stone, lighting up smouldering trees or disappearing into smoke. The voice capered about, the Mercy blessing masking his movements, and sending whisps of corrupted divinity floating about him, the spirits chuckling at his misfortune.

    ¡°He sought love in every town,

    But the ladies laughed and turned him down,

    With a nose so bent and eyes so crossed,

    Even his betrothed found ways to be lost.¡±

    ¡°You wretch, you heretical scum. You dare insult the Inquisition!¡± That last line hit a fresh wound, empowering him with waves of his god¡¯s wrath. Ulfast poured his power into his divine technique, ¡®Many smiting lances,¡¯ launching five bolts of power to cage and slay his foe. The foul voice bounced erratically from place to place but it could only run so far.

    The thunder roared, and the music went quiet. Shadows moved and twisted in the smoke. He pressed his divinity into the attack calling down the ray of truth to slay his foe. He heard things crack and let out a wry smile. Silence was his reward. A smile, a handsome, dignified smile graced his face.

    ¡°Ulfast aid me, the infidel gathers his power.¡± A wavering shout came from Marcus and a great gust parted the smoke. It finally wiped the irritating cloak from the battlefield and with it his smile. His last strike''s only victim was a trio of smouldering trees. No witch in sight.

    Laughter bounced around him. The witches toyed with him, taking his focus off their true mission here. He snarled, forcing himself to abandon the witch and head over to aid his pathetic companion. The weakened Gawain, his original target, had long since retreated.

    Now the battlefield was clear he was more willing to use Levity. No one wanted to run into a planted blade in the smoke. He dashed over only to immediately retreat as a chunk of stone launched itself at him. He gathered his lightning, truly the Face of Truth tested him today, the enemy was an Earth blessed.

    Ulfast sought to shake off foul magic that had angered him. He must, as it seemed this fight would require his full attention. The heretic was a giant, a man perhaps warped in some foul pact with the fae. His armour was of fine make, and he¡¯d shed the heavy coat of stone he¡¯d worn earlier. Now his armour was complimented with floating hexagonal plates of stone, ready to block fire or lightning. A crystal and earth blessed. A worthy test of both their blessings.

    It had certainly been a great test of Marcus. His fellow Inquisitor was wounded in many places, his armour dented, his holy raiment torn. Ulfast spat, a disgrace, to think an Air blessed could be so pushed by¡ªOH RAYS he was fast! The hammer came at him like a meteor. Ulfast had to use his lightning to pull himself away. Pressing his power into Levity allowed him to zip far beyond the monster''s great reach.

    Ulfast, now well clear of the monster could see his well-timed strategic withdrawal was a perfect aid to Marcus. He capitalised on his foe¡¯s divided attention. The other Inquisitor sent out a lance of purifying flame. Only for the monster to use some cursed technique to glide backwards like a rock skating over a frozen pond. Dodging the flames, draining more of the holy power. His ally''s supplies must be nearly extinguished.

    Ulfast reserves were also now limited. Even with the immense power of a twinned gift, use had been heavy and his prayers few. He¡¯d repeatedly sought to use his blessing to bring down Gawain, but it was all a trick to exhaust him for this fight. That and so far in this battle his use of his blessing had drained it enough to require great prayer to restore. It was far more than he¡¯d planned to use but he was hunting an entire coven over here!

    Ulfast didn¡¯t have time for this. He had witches to torment. He clasped at his relics and blessed artefacts. He had a collection of tools for heretics whose corruption deserved unique focus. The Rays were wise and provided additional aid to deal with foes. Using them would still be his failing, a mark against his faith that his power was not enough. No, it was Marcus¡¯s fault he must do this. The guileless fool couldn¡¯t even purify one heretic when Ulfast fought a coven!

    "Looking for a mirror, Ulfast? If you¡¯re so keen to torture yourself, let me help! Your life¡¯s the real disgrace. Three betrothals but no wife? I heard the last left you waiting at the altar!" The barbed voice whispered directly in his ear. He slashed about himself with his sword, eager to silence the witch. His only achievement was carving through a fresh pillar of smoke that had formed beside him. No evidence of the witches'' presence remained, bar a strange grey plate that fell out of the smoke, crumbling into ash as it hit the floor.

    ¡°How dare you, Witch? Did you whore yourself out to the demonic fae for such secrets?¡± Ulfast screamed, ignoring how his voice cracked. How did the witch know of the betrothals or his most shameful moment? The wench¡¯s insult was a secret. The Clergy had promised him those vile, repulsive, terribly accurate rumours were being suppressed! The witches had too much knowledge. They must die here and now!

    ¡°Brother Ulfast, help!¡± Ulfast turned, already snarling at the fool to hold on. Just in time to see the man get dragged out of the sky by a whip of water and slammed into a growing field of earthen spikes. Two heretic Knights turned to look at him. Ulfast felt the rage take him. It was not his fallen comrade that inspired such vengeful wrath. No, what sent his blood boiling, pushed his lungs to howl, and spurred him into a reckless charge was the third figure.

    Over the fresh corpse, a Fae demon emerged from the freshly gathered smoke. A twisted figure, clad in red and black, with a harlequin mask. Fingers strummed on a lute, threatening to make it speak.

    Artefacts forgotten, target found, Ulfast charged the monster who knew his secrets most foul. Lightning crackled, but it wasn¡¯t enough to drown out the final verse.

    ¡°Now you know of Ulfast, poor and dim,

    Let''s toast the end of one so grim,

    May we all remember, as we sing and cheer,

    Beauty''s a curse when it''s nowhere near.¡±

    The hammer flattened his chest, ending his howl. Whips of water dragged his lightning from its path. Ulfast fell, landing half-dead on the floor. His last breaths bought him enough time to see the smile on the lips of the demon as it finished its performance.

    The lights went down, stars blotted out by a rapidly descending shadow.

 Chapter 44 - It better be able to turn back

    I collapsed to the ground, a boneless husk of a man. Ulfast was dead. His life ended under Bors¡¯ hammer. We''d won.

    The Death glamour was overwhelming, but for once I didn''t need to fight it. I sated my desire to feast by sipping upon on the pool of glamour gathered in the well of my lute. I was careful to pull on that only. The glamour of the Iron ranks was so thick, it was almost liquid. Yet it was no more tempting than the glamour I''d gathered. That may in part be that even sanitized, I wanted no part of Ulfast within me.

    ¡°Did you really just irritate someone a rank above you into all but killing himself?¡± Bors was breathing heavily, a hand resting on his knee looking down at my reclined form. He wore a grin on his face.

    ¡°While I am a supreme talent in this case, a receptive audience made it all the easier.¡± I huffed, as Bors gave me a hand up. My legs wobbled like a freshly born deer.

    ¡°Did the song get in his head? I kind of felt it, it was a merry tune, not something that I¡¯d expect to cause someone to froth at the mouth.¡± Said Bors.

    ¡°No, that''s all him. Ulfast is, was, notoriously thin-skinned, even among the Divine Cultivators. Besides, I knew he¡¯d been jilted at the altar. Seems the fear of their god was less than their fear of a life with Ulfast. Felt like it¡¯d be a sore spot for the bastard.¡±

    ¡°Well damn, bardic cultivation is no joke.¡± Bors grinned. I smiled but didn¡¯t really feel it.

    ¡°Don¡¯t rely on my comedic chops too much, that was rough.¡± The entire fight had balanced my survival on a knife edge.

    That should not have worked. A plan born of desperation and made possible by a confluence of factors. Ulfast had immense power, chunks of earth turned to glass, burning trees, and the lingering taste of copper was evidence of that. However, having only one gift, as I''d experienced with Maeve''s pursuit, limited him. Just as my former betrothed had been unable to use Levity to catch me, Blade glamour being terrible for such applications, Ulfast could only blast me with lightning.

    Only Lightning. For all that it could instantly kill me, it was something possible to dodge. It''d taken the combined efforts of misdirection from both Gaz and Lance''s gifts to keep him from killing me. I¡¯d yelled for help and both Squires had risen to aid me. Gaz¡¯s sound control was exceptional, he had some technique that allowed sound to flow around things, which helped me dodge behind things while not revealing their presence.

    Lance, risking her secret to ensure we had a chance of success, used her powers to bounce the sounds around. While she couldn¡¯t hide my original position, she could create echoes making it sound like I was coming from a number of points.

    Even with that, it took all my skill with levity to stay out of Ulfast¡¯s grasp, and his attacks destroyed what little cover I could use. My tent was shredded, our seats pulverised, and only jumping behind a particularly sturdy tree had saved me from his last big attack.  I still had splinters in my sides from the trees he''d blown up around me.

    Even with all of that, the plan only worked because it was Ulfast. The man was famously cruel, his ugly mug an apt container for the rancid soul within. I knew of his problems with his prospective brides because one of those who called themselves my cousins had been considered a potential fourth prospect. She''d asked to be assigned to the northern wastes the same day that news came through.

    Still, I felt a savage pleasure in our victory. I would not mourn Ulfast, I can¡¯t imagine anyone else would. It was something to think about that my song hadn¡¯t needed to magically affect his mind, it was just the words themselves that spurred him on. Given my knowledge of the man, keeping in a state of frothing rage had been remarkably easy. There''d been close calls, twice he fiddled with his artefacts and I feared that would be it. Something that would disperse the smoke, or silence my insulting words.

    I''d really laid it on thick at those moments. Even coming up with a new technique, based upon Gaz''s clever earring. Pressing ash into a dense disk and having it vibrate so I could whisper into his ear had saved me from approaching the man.

    ¡°I never want to do that again.¡± Lance landed with Gring, who in an unusual show of affection rushed to Bors to nuzzle him.

    ¡°I am glad I was sick earlier as I am spared that indignity now.¡±  Gaz slumped against the dome. He might''ve been the safest of us, but without his coordination and aid, we''d have been dead twice over. He looked pale and drawn.

    ¡°You all did incredible, I am in your debt. Gawain and I would be dead without your aid.¡± Bors, took a moment to stand tall and then raised his hand in salute. I saw Gaz straighten up, Knights didn''t tend to salute their lessers.  I just smiled, pleased to have been able to help. And I will admit I took some pleasure in putting an end to someone as vile as the Inquisitors.

    ¡°Speaking of Gawain? Where is the man who airdropped two Inquisitors on us?¡± Lance looked around.

    ¡°He''ll be tending Archimedes.¡± Bors nodded knowingly. That made sense his spirit beast had looked wounded.

    We spent a couple of minutes dealing with the destruction of our camp. The dome was still mostly intact. Ulfast had shredded my tent, but not my bed, which I gratefully pushed into my storage ring. The giant mounted heads could not be saved, and I would not mourn their glass-eyed stares.

    At the same time, the others stripped the two Inquisitors. I warned them to be careful of a few different items. Their glamour corrupted and grating to my senses. Both had storage rings of inferior quality, the Divine Cultivators never having secured a reliable source. The contents included a lot of sharp barbed implements that made me shudder, there were a number of brews all of which I''d have to assess later.

    We all managed to get our breath back. I was confident some kind of backup force wasn''t about to wing its way over the horizon. The Inquisitors did so love to show off, they''d never have wasted an audience. We sat on some freshly made stone seats, the other spoiled warped and split by our battle.

    Bors who was fussing Gring had told us to leave Gawain to it, so we just settled in gathering our wits about us. Lance was the most awake among us, she burned with passion. Likely elated at using her Moon gift so deftly. Gaz had collected his earrings and sipped upon a brew to calm a headache, manipulating the sound had taxed him to his very limit.

    ¡°I''m done, I beg your apologies I had to administer a healing brew.¡± The voice cut through the night. Crisp and even. The man strode towards us I could feel Gaz rocketed to attention beside me. Not out of fear but because the man oozed Order, with a capital O.

    He could be the gem in any Order''s ranks, the very picture of a noble Knight. It was the straight back, the armour which despite our harrowing battle and all that likely came before, shone in the flickering light of the smouldering trees. I''d met actual Lords who felt less noble than Gawain.

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    He strode over to us and then with his cloak billowing took to one knee and clutched his hand over his chest, the traditional sign of fealty to one¡¯s sovereign, right in front of Lance.

    ¡°Uh?¡± Lance voiced the confusion we were all feeling.

    ¡°My Lady I beg your forgiveness, please give this humble servant leave to speak.¡± Gawain''s dictation was perfect.

    ¡°Gawain, buddy? You doing alright over there?¡± Bors asked.

    ¡°Bors even given our mission, you must show respect to a member--¡±

    ¡°Be quiet Gawain, right now. Say nothing more.¡± I snapped seeing too late where this was going, just our luck to bump into someone who knew the Quilverns. Lance, who figured it out as I snapped, was looking ill. Her passionate fire from using her gift, turning to a world that burned around her. I winced, the first time using her power before those more powerful than her and she''d been addressed as royalty.

    ¡°Do as he says.¡± Lance hissed at Gawain. Gawain nodded, remaining in position.

    ¡°I am very confused.¡± Bors chimed in, he looked to me seeking an answer. One I did not have. I had a Knight who must know the Quilverns personally, and be very close enough to them to recognize the tiny bursts of Moon Glamour across a raging battlefield. That meant someone loyal, someone close to them. But why were they part of some random group of Knights Errant?

    ¡°What do I do Taliesin?¡± Lance was glaring at Gawain, looking the exact part of an imperious princeling. A shame, with that bearing past me could¡¯ve lied our way out of this, but even ignoring Bors¡¯ senses no falsehood could pass my lips.

    ¡°Give me a moment, I¡¯m thinking!¡± I looked at Bors. Gawain had mentioned their mission. This must be the real reason behind their Errant Knight group. I scanned back through my knowledge of the group, the royals, and everything I¡¯d been told so far. As I listed the names of the group, it hit me. What could¡¯ve been a coincidence, I knew with absolute certainty was nothing of the sort. I felt my face grow slack as I stared at Bors in horror.

    I could hear faint laughter. My skin prickled as I felt those distant endless blue eyes pinch with glee.

    ¡°ARTY! You called the third prince of Albion, Arty?¡± My temper was frayed, my soul exhausted. Bors had all but told me to my face. His mate ¡®Arty¡¯ who''d stuck him here. The groups cause to fight Divine Cultivators. The famously missing prince Arthur who¡¯d run off because he couldn''t stand the spreading influence of those same monsters. How had I not spotted it?

    Alright, it was a vanishingly small chance but given how ¡®destiny¡¯ clung to me like mud it basically all but assured that the smallest of coincidences would explode. If I could bump into one moon glamour user why not two?

    I was at the precipice of finally understanding everything that had happened to me since leaving the lake. Even then I could not however contain my total disbelief that I¡¯d been casually hanging out with a close friend of royalty.

    ¡°Well damn.¡± Bors looked like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar, unsure of just how much trouble he was in. Gawain however immediately interceded.

    ¡°Please don¡¯t blame him, Prince Arthur of the Noble House of Quilvern, Of lineage to the Radiant Throne of Albion, Warden of the Celestial Gate, Protector of the Seven Sanctuaries, Defender of the Realm¡¯s Mystical Borders, has given us leave to address him informally and to obscure his name.¡± I saw Lance¡¯s face go white. Gaz had taken just standing to attention, the full title working like a spell to straighten out his spine.

    I was officially done. Days of near-death experiences, and being messed around by a Fae goddess meant the looming threat of one of the most powerful families in Euross didn¡¯t even phase me. I was being fucked with, and I was done just playing along. Sure, I believed that Lady had a plan, and it wasn''t for me to be dead in the gutter. Equally, I was exhausted by always being one step behind. Time to test my theory.

    ¡°You, I¡¯m going to make a bet. You have a problem that will be magically solved by Lancelot here. Tell us about your problems.¡±

    ¡°Wait a moment Gawain. What¡¯s going on Taliesin? How did you know about Arty?¡± Bors silenced his friend, but I was on a roll. Bors was trying to help but I couldn''t risk my good-natured friend knocking us off course.

    ¡°Just trust me for like five minutes alright, I¡¯m sure this is all for the good of Euross.¡± If that meant it was good for us remained to be seen. Bors gave me a hard look, eventually nodding and taking a seat. Lance was about to speak as well but I just mouthed ¡®Lady of the Lake¡¯ at her and she stilled, a tiny amount of colour returning to her face. I stood to the right of Lancelot, the position of a loyal retainer and then gestured to Gawain.

    ¡°I am sent by Prince Arthur, he is trapped with another of our compatriots in a Fae realm. Originally this was by Divine Cultivators but now there is a monstrously strong Fae Bear that emerged from it. We initially used the bear as a distraction so I could come for aid, however, it was far stronger than we expected and when I left it was tearing through their forces, I would place the bear at mid-Steel. I came seeking aid.¡±

    ¡°Lancelot, is it too much to hope that ¡®the Bear¡¯ part of Lord Fos¡¯ moniker is literal?¡± I turned back to Lance who had her chin in her hands full of thought.

    ¡°No. He¡¯s also higher than mid-Steel.¡± Damn, that would¡¯ve really solved a lot of problems, ¡°But, ¡®The Bear¡¯ nickname actually came in part from his bonded spirit beast Ursul. Ursul is famous for disappearing one day and even my¡­Lord Fos could never seem to find him. We¡¯ve known he¡¯s not dead but¡­¡± Her eyes began to sparkle as the truth hit her.

    ¡°Anything that would allow us to identify Ursul?¡±

    ¡°Yes he was one white ear, it¡¯s even the heraldry.¡± I nodded, I¡¯d forgotten that detail. I turned to Gawain, who nodded.

    ¡°That would match the description of the bear,¡± Gawain confirmed. I saw Bors¡¯ eyes bug out.

    ¡°And if Ursul is alive, it means Lord of Fos is too. Which would rather hamper those who would like to imply otherwise, resolving our other key issue of the moment.¡± That pulled a grin on both Lance and Gaz¡¯s lips. Still, it wasn¡¯t enough, I could sense the story moving around me.

    Ever since I¡¯d stepped away from the lake everything seemingly had its purpose. This was an extreme coincidence and one that offered us a great opportunity, but it lacked something. In a sane world, the next act of our story could just be us telling Ban and Elaine about the bear, letting them figure it out. That wasn¡¯t the kind of story I was in.

    I knew, and was thankful, that I was not the lead of this destined tale, yet I knew that I was to be part of the next story beat. We had a prince to save, a bear to tame and a town free from the clutches of evil. If this was a bardic tale what would come next? I looked over to Lancelot, who was in her shining armour, regal face, and beautiful hair, seriously how does it look so good after flying around? Was the very picture of a hero. A hero with Moon glamour and the obvious favour of the fae.

    ¡°Lancelot, you don¡¯t know of any way to perhaps calm this beast down so we can save the trapped prince and company?¡±

    ¡°Fa¡­Captain Ban told me he used to be very fond of bagpipes.¡± She was smiling widely now.

    ¡°Of course he is.¡± Somehow I just knew at that moment that Lancelot would never have picked up the talent from her dad. That a certain someone who liked to learn new instruments would likely be the only person in a hundred miles with the skill.

    ¡°Where do we get bagpipes though? He¡¯s got one of the only sets I¡¯ve ever seen? And we can¡¯t go back to Fosburg.¡± Lance paused, and then we all heard it, a hint of laughter on the wind. A brush of unknowable glamour, the taste of moonlight and the colour of a mirror washed over us. The power pressed down on our group, I felt the power of the lake, those deep black waters consumed me. And then it was gone, the only change was I now held, instead of a lute, a beautiful set of bagpipes. The fabric was of course grey and red tartan.

    A touch of the true fae had elicited strong reactions from everyone. Gawain¡¯s stoic face cracked his jaw dropping open. Bors had sunk to one knee, the same as Gawain. Lance looked ready to draw her blade. Gaz collapsed backwards, not bending an inch from his parade position the entire time. Gring posed for a new audience.

    I just looked at its new form, and then addressing the air called out, ¡°It better be able to turn back!¡±

    The group looked at me in horror. I just shrugged.

    ¡°What? I can¡¯t sing while playing the bagpipes! It cuts down on repertoire immensely.¡± I focused on the bagpipes and with a twitch of my glamour, not the overwhelming power of a fae goddess, it flickered and my lute was back. ¡°That¡¯s better.¡±

 Chapter 45 - Flirting with danger

    The group stared at me. Lance was the only one who looked anything close to normal, wearing a slight smirk as she took in the collective awe of the group. Given this was my second time handling people who¡¯d got an unexpected visit from the Lady of the Lake, I had to admit I was starting to appreciate why she¡¯d pulled me into the dream with Lance and Elaine. Everyone was torn between running away, prostrating themselves, and naked greed.

    They were all cultivators after all, and there was nothing like the attention of the Fae to speed you along your path. Though that path was a twisting, dangerous thing, each step threatening to see you lost forevermore. That might explain the source of the horror. A fast way to find yourself lost was to insult your patron.

    ¡°We beg your mercy, oh Lady of the sapphire waters, this mere mortal does not know who he speaks to,¡± Gawain begged to the air. He then launched into an impressive torrent of pledges and homages to her. It reminded me uncomfortably of the Divine Cultivators'' behaviour and I couldn''t imagine it being the kind of thing she''d appreciate.

    ¡°Dang, and I thought Mum was bad. You know she couldn''t believe you flirted with the Lady.¡± Lance regarded me even as she kept one eye on Gawain like one might a yapping dog.

    ¡°You flirted, with her?¡± Gawain squawked, breaking off mid-litany.

    ¡°She flirted right back too.¡± I proudly clarified. The Knight''s brain couldn''t handle that and he just began to flap his mouth.

    ¡°Lance, you''ve spoken with her before?¡± Gaz asked, still lying on the floor. He seemed to be ignoring me and my illogical existence.

    ¡°It was recently when I was using dream glamour. My mother and I were trying to check out this random Bard who knew impossible things. She didn''t take kindly to us looking into him. Taliesin was summoned because my mother was acting much like Gawain here. They bantered a bit.¡± Lance supplied, I could hear Gawain wheezing as his brain melted from the casual way she spoke about it. Or maybe it was the word ''banter,'' that seemed to irritate him from the way his face pinched.

    ¡°Is my conduct really the most surprising thing? Not the fact that we''re all dancing on the Lady of the Lake''s strings? Or the fact she''s clearly watching us?¡± I asked,

    ¡°Yeah, Taliesin I have a question about that¡± Bors rumbled, rising from one knee, he paused, clearly trying to find the right words. Before nodding to himself, ¡°What the fuck?¡±

    ¡°Alright, first things first. Gawain, pleased to meet you, I am Taliesin the Bard. The human plank over there is Gaz-Gareth of the Order of the Leviathan. Finally, the Lady you¡¯ve been so insistent on kneeling before is Lancelot Fos, of the Fos House of Renown, she is the daughter of Ban and Elaine, not a Quilvern in sight on their family tree.¡± That was true, even as I knew I couldn¡¯t say with certainty she was unrelated to them. Ban was a foundling, and with the Lady of the Lake in play, I wouldn¡¯t bet against some kind of long-lost relative shenanigans.

    ¡°But only the royal family¡ª¡± he began before I cut him off.

    ¡°The Quilverns wield the Lady''s gift, it''s not the Quilvern gift. I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯re suggesting you know better than her, who can use it?¡± Gawain backed off like a scalded cat.

    ¡°I¡¯m still very confused. Is this what set all the kneeling off?¡± Bors asked, giving Gaz a hand up. The Squire nodded along to the question as well.

    ¡°I can wield Moon Glamour. It is the signature of the Quilvern family and is said to stem from the Lady of the Lake. Despite my best efforts to conceal it, Gawain picked up on it and decided to make a big deal out of it. Rather than speaking to me privately, which would''ve been the sensible approach, especially if I had been a Quilvern.¡± Lancelot shot the man a dirty look.

    ¡°Actually, now I think about it, you also do look very like Arty. I can see why he thought you were related.¡± Bors rubbed his chin. I contained my desire to point at the sky and ¡®hah I fucking knew it¡¯. Bors though was not done and turned back to me, ¡°But more pressing, Taliesin, would you care to explain, well all that.¡±

    ¡°You just pointed to all of me?¡±

    ¡°You know what I mean, I get that you don¡¯t seem phased by talking to people with more power than you, but talking back to the Lady of the Lake is different. Even if we ignore that and the magical shape-shifting lute, it feels like a step into the Unseelie You knew the secrets of an Inquisitor, you knew about Moon glamour and Arty, you somehow predicted a lost murder bear and the method to handle it. I trust you, especially given who you just bantered with. So, don¡¯t get me wrong but I¡¯d like to know a bit more.¡±

    ¡°Well, I think it¡¯s time I told you the Tale of Taliesin, isn¡¯t it? Actually, before I do. Gawain I trust that we aren¡¯t under too much time pressure?¡±

    ¡°Sir Taliesin, the entrance to the realm, and the location of the Ursul, is a day''s flight. We can¡¯t go there until Archimedes is healed and rested. Likely in the morning¡± His response was clipped, and he spoke to me as a superior which I didn¡¯t have time to unpack right now. I also reminded myself I should technically be calling him Sir, Bors wasn''t a fan of honorifics and I''d casually applied the same rule to Gawain, despite the man''s manner of being so by-the-book he probably shit paper.

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    ¡°That would also give me a chance to speak with my mother. I need to start preparing for that soon. The dream state takes a while to reach. If I can report this then maybe my father can go directly to Ursul.¡± Lance grinned. I let her have that hope, even if I doubted we¡¯d be so lucky. Captain Ban coming in to save the day felt like an unsatisfying next step in this story. It didn¡¯t fit the Lady¡¯s pattern.

    ¡°Alright, then the Tale of Taliesin will be told tomorrow. Let us get some rest.¡± In some ways, I wanted this out of the way but I was also dog tired, my brain all but fried from the last two days. And worse, the next day promised more adventure and challenge. I had things to do before then.

    Besides following that dramatic reveal with more of them was just terrible pacing. If I was going to tell the story of my life, I wanted an engaged audience.

    There were some protests, mainly from Bors. Those were quickly silenced, as even the usually uptight Gaz began to groan. Gawain clearly still with a lot on his mind went and collapsed next to Archimedes. Lance also stayed in the dome, she was going to do her dreaming technique to speak with her mother, but Bors was on watch over her.

    Before he settled in he threw up some stone tents for me and Gaz, simple triangular constructs with no door. I was thankful, my original tent having been shredded by Ulfast.

    We bid each other good night. However, I did not take the time to sleep straight away despite my tiredness. There was too much to do. The first thing I did was pour through Ulfast''s storage ring. The poor quality meant it wasn''t much larger than a big crate. A marvel of runic magic, but nothing compared to the one Bors had entrusted me with.

    I''d spotted one thing in my earlier review and grinned when I found it. A glamour gathering collection of Miniliths. The collection of beautifully carved Sarsen stones had to have been stolen. Most Divine Cultivators preferred elegant slabs of polished marble inlaid with gold. These though had a rough grey surface, and carved whorls patterned their surface, reminding me of the northern tribes. It was an oddity.

    The miniliths were the culmination of thousands of years of development. I knew that out there vast rings of monoliths stood as inspirations from the lost age. Those looming runic slabs, ranging from thrice as tall as Bors, to towering edifices of stone that even giants looked small before. These runic arrays had survived the rise and subsequent fall of the Atlantean empire and yet still functioned.

    From them we''d learned, we''d understood how to isolate parts of the magic, and in doing so allow us to create the miniliths which held but a fraction of their power. That fraction was perfect for cultivators like me, helping in any number of small ways. These particular runes would help me recover my glamour and would ensure I didn''t exhaust the nearby supply with my bellows breath technique.

    I stepped back outside the tent to set them up, two stacks of three aligned with where the sun would rise and set, the remaining ten stones were spaced evenly around me like a clock face. Pressing a little glamour into them the formation clicked into place, and the air around me grew thick with glamour.

    Grinning, I went inside and took a seat. The quality was exceptional, I knew that Ulfast wouldn''t have carried around something so ¡®heathen¡¯ looking if it wasn''t worth it. I paused on the bellows breath, instead taking out the first of my beast cores. This was the little nugget of power, the physical manifestation of the hearth from the second Gale Hare I''d killed.

    I took a moment to surround myself with smoke, I was still a little annoyed that Gring had spotted me the first time I''d done this. I had only myself to blame for that but really who would''ve expected a sentient pegasus to be spying on them? With that done I popped the little nugget of tainted power into my mouth. I crunched down on it with both teeth and glamour. Holding the ruins of it in my mouth I began my bellows breath.

    I drew in the powerful glamour and the impurities. For anyone else, this would be madness. Edging them towards a near-permanent crippling of their pathways, just for a small benefit of the condensed glamour contained within the core. Breathing in I dragged the glamour down into my body, the impurities settling within me.

    My pathways would clog, limiting how fast I could cultivate, but given that my near future included a Steel ranked bear, and however many Divine Cultivators remained near it I wasn''t going to risk my life again. My luck had already been pushed just in surviving Ulfast, and the thugs Barclay Fos had used to hunt us down. Mostly Ulfast.

    It would take me some time to process the power. I sought distraction as I let the uncomfortable process continue, I might know that filling my pathways full of impurities was good but my body whined at me incessantly.

    I regarded the other cores that I would work my way through over the next few hours and briefly considered attempting alchemy. I shut those thoughts down, I could not afford to botch a brew. It would take some considerable research and time before I could make brews that would maximise both cultivation-boosting glamour and impurities.

    The sore point was that if I''d had that time, these few cores would''ve likely made brews that would take me right to that final step before iron. As it was I would end up close to peak Bronze in my estimation, a waste.

    A laugh bubbled up from inside me. Greed and impatience had settled within me, their fussing drowning out the truth. My growth had been phenomenal. Barely a month ago I''d been Wood ranked, stuck there for years. Now I was high Bronze, looking to step up to peak and then Iron likely within weeks of that.

    Even with Wood and Bronze being only four or five steps, rather than the nine that made up Iron and above, it was still all but unparalleled growth. It was the kind of thing geniuses bragged about, though that was not a club I considered myself part of. It was not some legendary comprehension of cultivation that had launched me forward but instead a succession of lucky chances, plus the fact I could chow down on raw beast cores.

    As soon as the first was settled I took out another core and chomped down. This was the one Bors gave me. I was pleased to have found a friend in him, we''d known each other for a short while but knowing he trusted me was a wonderful thing. Trust is always something to cherish, but the trust of Bors felt like a warm coat on a cold night.

    It was a rare sensation as I had few friends. Lance was also rapidly becoming a firm friend, and even Gaz to my surprise was turning out to be a kind soul, once you got past his intensely respectful nature.

    That was it though, there were others from that time between when my mother fled my ¡®father''s¡¯ demise, and I was captured by the Harkleys. There was always Sephy as well, I had been her spy, and she was my spymistress during my incarceration. Striking up a mutually beneficial arrangement I''d funneled secrets to her. An act of rebellion that kept me sane. Thinking about her got me in a bad mood, I had one goal after becoming free which was to meet her in person.

    This pox of destiny, that I was spreading to all I met was a surefire way to stop me from looking for her. Other people may like that their symptoms included coughing up ancient artefacts and coming down with a nasty case of being the chosen one, but it hardly made it safe for me to search for her. She and I were creatures who lurked in shadows, or in my case danced behind those who glowed so bright it was blinding.

    Seeking to move my thoughts along I decided to do my best to work out more about my intent. The core of what would define me. I''d once heard it spoken of as the ¡®It is the keep at the centre of all your future holdings, all of them will be touched by its shadow¡¯, it was a very ¡®noble¡¯ way of picturing it. It didn''t match my cultivation. Instead, I imagined it more as the core tune, the underlying melody around which the song I would develop would form.

    I had already felt the edges of my intent. ¡®I¡¯m going to sow discord and bring hope where I can and I will not let the threat of death turn me aside.¡¯ I remembered the connection, the way my hearth grew when I said those words to Gaz. I said it over and over again, and after a while, I could pinpoint, the words that felt most powerful to me.

    Discord and Death.

    Where to go from here I was not sure. I knew many struggled at this point. Luckily, I had Bors to ask, as well as others I could likely speak to. No way I was getting stuck like Maeve did, unable to find the intent that resonated with her.

    I thought back to my one-time betrothed, she''d been so violently lost when we''d spoken. Our time under the trees reminded me more of being chased by a wild dog than a human. Clearly, her bottleneck had driven her to distraction. I hoped she had made good use of my present and was doing well, she had at the very least given me a chance to extract my revenge. I do hope that my sudden ¡®death¡¯ didn''t weigh too heavily on her.

 Chapter 46 - The Tale of Taliesin

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 Chapter 47 - Raven and the Fox

    The endless roaring cascade of water cast an impressive backdrop to the arena. Six stone platforms, arranged in a pyramid, appeared almost floating before the torrents of white water. Their supports were hidden by the same waters that sought to break them. The fact the stone could endure the raging water was a testament to the skill of those who made it. Five of the stages hosted battles between Knights, the sixth remained empty, waiting for the final.

    Maeve hadn''t expected to see many Knights out in this small town. She¡¯d forgotten how many Orders had outposts here. Most likely, they didn¡¯t participate in these events normally, but she suspected word of her arrival last night had gotten around, and suddenly everyone wanted their future talents in front of her. Overall, what she¡¯d seen wasn¡¯t that impressive, especially as they were mostly water cultivators with an endless supply of glamour beside them.

    It irritated her to see most barely made use of the immense resource. What a waste. Her blade gift left her jealous of those who could call on environmental sources.

    She smiled as she spotted someone finally making use of it. A Knight from the Order of the Kraken siphoned away water, gathering it under the stage, all while dodging spikes of ice hurled by a goon from the Order of the Crystal Mountain. The Kraken Knight, having gathered what had to be hundreds of gallons of water, formed it into thick tentacles. Four arms descended upon the goon. He put up a reasonable fight, slicing through them with disks of ice that destabilised the technique. It was all for nought, though.

    The water that fell was instantly reabsorbed. The attacks were relentless. Eventually, a tentacle smashed into the ice goon, the water launching him from the platform like a fly struck by a horse''s tail. He tumbled through the air before runic spells arrested his descent. With that, the referee called the match. The Kraken Knight bowed, and Maeve made an effort to nod to them to show her approval.

    ¡°These pastries are to die for. Lady Elaine, you must store your honey all winter for these treats.¡± Sir Tristan Artoss lazed next to her. Being talented with the gift of nature, he had whistled to his seat, manipulating the long-dead wood into a chaise lounge rather than the high-backed throne it had once been. The unwelcome addition to their spectator''s box reminded her of a stray cat that has decided to make itself at home, regardless of your opinion on the matter.

    ¡°Thank you for your compliment, Sir Tristan. As your family is keenly aware, our honey is one of Stonetown¡¯s key exports. It is a poor day when one cannot find honey in Fosburg.¡± Lady Elaine replied with utter grace, radiating calm motherly warmth. She had a soft gentle air to her, which would be a worrying trait in an ally if Maeve didn¡¯t know her second gift was that of Poison. Her motherly aura was so strong that despite knowing this, Maeve had still eaten several of the pastries without thinking. Truly, a terrifying woman.

    They all sat together in the private spectator''s box dedicated to her branch of the family. Madame Rensliegh stood guard at the back. They were, after all, in Lord Roland¡¯s dominion within Fosburg. Initially, when the message had come back saying their meeting would be deep within enemy territory, Maeve had thought Lady Elaine mad. Now, here in their spectator''s box, she understood her confidence.

    Knight Lord Ban Fos was a peerless Metal gift, with his second gift being the rare gift of Runes. The entire box was coated with a layer of steel sheets that held countless enchantments. Being Rune-gifted was a double-edged sword. They made better enchantments than most anyone, but in doing so damaged their cultivation, forcing them to take time to recover between their great works. This small room alone could represent a year or more of being held back.

    ¡°That is why it tastes like home! We buy it from you, don¡¯t we? Well, the honey is spectacular, yet it is far from the most noteworthy thing here.¡± As if the prick hadn¡¯t known, he was just flaunting the reason they couldn¡¯t eject him. ¡°I do believe it¡¯s congratulations all around. Lady Elaine is now an Elder, and Lady Chox has spread her wings and is now a Knight. What a pleasure to be in such talented company, especially given we are joined by the celebrated Madame Rensleigh. My uncle wished me to send my compliments to you.¡± Tristan waggled his eyebrows at the Governess.

    ¡°I suggest you return them post haste.¡± The reply dripped acid. There was no trace of the Evil Eye, but her aura pressed down on the mid-Iron rank. The bastard just smiled in response, oozing innocence even as everything about him screamed of wanton sin.

    Sir Tristan wouldn¡¯t look out of place in a high-end bordello. He was in purple tights and shorts trimmed with silver. The foppish silk ballooning out around his thighs in an impractical manner that could only be explained by the dark arts of fashion. His chest was in a black and silver contraption that Maeve could only describe as a men¡¯s corset. It terminated just above his nipples, leaving an indecent amount of his waxed muscular chest on display. His hair was black and curled, immaculately arranged to frame his blue eyes and sharp cheekbones. A clean-shaven face was completed with subtly painted lips, the colour chosen to accentuate the underlying colour rather than hide it.

    What she knew about Sir Tristan, she didn¡¯t like. The man was a lothario, a gadabout known for his frequent indecencies. With his looks, she could see how he¡¯d gained such opportunities and reputation. She could swear she¡¯d even caught Lady Elaine peeking at him. It was tempting to dismiss him as a fool, but she had met his patriarch, the man who insisted he call her Pell. Her grandmother¡¯s Mithril-ranked agent hid behind his reputation, fooling most of Euross into thinking he was little more than a raging maniac. Was Tristan the same?

    ¡°Lady Elaine, I understand you and your husband broke through within a day of each other. This humble Knight would be touched if the illustrious Elder would indulge my curiosity about what spurred you both to such heights.¡± Tristan continued to schmooze Lady Elaine. She remained aloof and pleasant, even if her smile didn''t reach her eyes.

    ¡°As you know, with the Divine Cultivator threat looming, my husband and I felt that his father would not stand for them and we must represent his wishes.¡±

    ¡°Well, you''re in good company. The Artoss are firmly committed to rooting out that unsightly bunch. And the young raven here pecked them right in the eye. How was it setting that trap, Lady Maeve? I understand your betrothed somehow survived? I find it hard to believe a mere wood-level cultivator would escape your wrath.¡±

    ¡°As your patriarch has made quite clear, he is still an Artoss, no matter who his father was. He was spared.¡± Maeve ground her teeth. She didn''t believe he knew Regus had escaped her, but she found the memory embarrassing. She kept the scowl from her face. Of course, the bastard knew about Regus, but how much did he actually know?

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    ¡°Well, it''s good to know we''re so respected by the Chox. That bird''s eye view you command gives you better insight than most. I wish it was the same with Knightly Orders. They are clomping around everywhere, making an awful racket like hunting dogs on the trail of a fox. They are barking at everyone and even snapping at each other.¡± Maeve nodded, for once he had a point.

    The Divine Cultivators were launching attacks across Euross and this was no different. As their tactics of slow corruption were no longer tolerated, they changed tactics. Where they could, they sought to slay their enemies, claim towns and cities, and otherwise spawn misery and death. The Orders of Euross got along like cats in a wet sack. Their counterattacks had been chaotic and, in some places, started small wars.

    The Houses of Renown were more coordinated, but they had fewer cultivators and were spread thin. Even given these challenges, the enemy was gaining little traction. Their plans hadn''t been prepared for the unified response, no matter how clumsy it might be.

    ¡°One point of correction. These fanatics are rats, vermin growing fat on the hard work of others. Foxes are too cunning. If anyone is a fox, it''s the Artoss. You are, after all, adept at slipping out of the shadows and causing problems for weaker prey.¡± To Maeve''s surprise, the man smiled at the barb.

    ¡°I take no shame in being deemed a fox. Foxes thrive even as bigger predators fall. It''s their intelligence that sees them through. They are also such handsome creatures.¡± Tristan preened, daring Maeve to comment.

    ¡°Well, we in Fosburg know we can rely on our Liege Lord,¡± Elaine added gracefully. ¡°Though you will not find us lacking. If you look up now to the arena, you can see one of the Knights my husband trained in the semi-finals. He is but a guard, yet can stand with the Orders.¡±

    The pair continued to discuss the match as Maeve pondered her situation. As the only true Chox in the immediate area, Maeve had a responsibility to aid her vassals. Captain Ban¡¯s, now Knight Lord Ban, agent had explained the situation. Lord Roland was plotting something, his son exposed the issue by wandering around with a Guiding Star. That had pushed the formerly quiet Ban to act. He and his allies had gathered evidence and found out that something dark was planned for the end of the celebrations she now found herself in the midst of.

    Maeve needed to speak with Elaine about the plot and their plans to counter it. She had called for reinforcements via her uncle, but they¡¯d be slow to arrive. So it was up to them to make the best use of their few but potent resources. Most impressive of which was Madame Rensleigh, who added another Steel rank to their combined forces.

    Maeve also had a few other Knights and Squires in her retinue. The unassuming bunch were there to maintain appearances, protect her, and smooth the journey. If you asked them, they would tell you that their charge cared little for them and mostly treated them as a nuisance that slowed her down. They¡¯d be quick to open up the kegs and swap stories of arrogant nobles.

    She wasn¡¯t about to stop them, it was their job. Each and every one of her retinue, including Rensleigh, was after all a Magpie. The feared intelligence wing of House Chox. Her spies had already collected some very worrying information about a few Orders that were already under suspicion for having ties to the enemy. The Crystal Mountain was one such Order, the frigid bastards had reportedly gained an influx of new recruits over the past few weeks.

    All of that was important but secondary to the real reason she wanted to flay Tristan. She had questions for Elaine. The Magpies had delivered a good amount of information about one ¡®Taliesin¡¯. The mysterious ¡®bardic¡¯ cultivator, who¡¯d appeared as if from nowhere. He¡¯d performed a song at the gates while forming illusions out of smoke.

    Smoke gifts weren¡¯t exceptionally rare, but still uncommon enough to be noteworthy. So what if the description of the man didn''t match Regus? Someone that talented in spycraft wouldn''t be caught out by appearance. She was lucky that Ban Fos was a fan of music and had ended up inviting the man into his home. The rest of the rumours about him were a jumbled mess. The only consistent theme was that he''d left a couple of days ago with Lancelot Fos.

    She wished she knew more, but that was her impatience talking. She was lucky to have this much. If the Commander sent to seek aid hadn¡¯t been so flustered and desperate to secure support, Maeve would never have known that ¡®Taliesin¡¯ was the one who¡¯d identified the Guiding Star on Barclay.

    They''d had some manner of confrontation, during which he¡¯d used his control of smoke to slip his senses beneath Lord Roland¡¯s son¡¯s shirt and discover the foul icon. That a travelling bard had not only the skill to do so but could identify it by shape alone painted a most interesting story.

    If that wasn¡¯t enough to at least make him extremely interesting, it was Ban and Elaine¡¯s trust that pushed it over the edge. They¡¯d taken in this strange wandering cultivator, protected him from the other houses, and believed his word enough to call on the Chox for aid and entrust their daughter, their only heir, into his care. They¡¯d even refused her request to explain more about him in a letter, instead requesting to talk in person. At this point, it didn¡¯t matter if it wasn¡¯t Regus. Taliesin was too interesting to ignore.

    Was that same thought shared by Tristan Artoss? What was his role in all this? He could be here about the Divine Cultivators, but one Knight and the few hangers-on he travelled with seemed a risky addition to such a mix. He''d arrived the same night she had, arriving a little after her. They''d both crashed the ball being hosted last night.

    Maeve normally didn''t enjoy balls. She''d revised her opinion when she''d seen how put out he was that his sudden appearance was not the biggest surprise of the night. That, and the way Lord Roland looked as if he¡¯d soiled his britches, had improved the event immensely.

    He had wormed his way into their company this morning. Lady Elaine couldn''t just reject him outright, but Maeve could practically feel her calculating the political backlash of ejecting him.

    The irritating man was currently debating some aspect of dream cultivation, a gift he shared with Lady Elaine. She repeated her mantra, her concept, ¡®A blade in the right place at the right time will strike success¡¯, seeking inspiration.

    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s little known but plants do have a type of dream glamour. I could guide you if you¡¯d like.¡± Tristan made the offer sound casual, rather than the borderline offer to sleep together that it was. Elaine, who¡¯d been doing an admirable job tolerating him so far, gave a clearly fake laugh while her eyes committed murder. Fuck it, sometimes it was patience, sometimes you just had to stab people.

    ¡°Sir Tristan, what are you doing here?¡± Maeve demanded.

    ¡°Lady Maeve, whatever do you mean? I¡¯m enjoying this fine festival and tournament.¡± He smiled as he took another bite of pastry.

    ¡°Sir Tristan, I must ask again. What is your goal in being here?¡±

    ¡°Well, there¡¯s simply a lot going on in Fosburg, is there not? It is a happening place. People are coming and going, yourself included. I like to be ahead of the trend. I am here to observe and make the most of the family''s interests.¡± His eyes glittered, daring her to push. The whole sentence was a trap. His family''s interests could be Regus or just in protecting a trading partner. What she didn¡¯t understand was how he knew about any of this. He¡¯d arrived barely after she had. It wasn¡¯t the Dream gift helping him. Regus and whatever the Divine Cultivators were up to in Fosburg were totally obscured from such tricks.

    ¡°This requires you to bother Lady Elaine and myself?¡±

    ¡°You cruel rook, you peck away at my very soul. To have my company labelled a ¡®bother¡¯! That simply won¡¯t do, I must improve. Tell me, what would you have me do?¡±

    ¡°I would have you be silent.¡± A hard, earthy voice commanded. A new presence had joined them, appearing as if from nowhere, a tiny old woman with white hair and a peach coat stood behind his modified seat.

 Chapter 48 - That watery tart

    ¡°Leave us, you feckless cur, and correct whatever tragic accident has befallen your wardrobe. Once you''re properly attired, I expect you to head off and remind your uncle to treat his wife well and not use his nephew to wheedle attention from an old flame. Losing one of my girls to his charms was insult enough. A lack of commitment to his theft would be... unforgivable.¡± An older white-haired woman had appeared just behind his seat. Her voice was raspy and deep. She wore a fine peach overcoat and smelt of rare perfume.

    The small figure had slipped in, ignoring every rune and all their senses. It was as if she¡¯d always been there. Maeve would¡¯ve demanded an explanation if not for the pressure she exuded. It was like her grandmother''s power. Maeve was pinned in place by the weight of it, the spectator''s box walls pressing in on them.

    It was the Evil Eye, but without the rending talons of will that marked lesser cultivators'' attempts. This technique impressed but one thing, the gulf in power. She was but a pebble before a mountain, and the mountain was watching her.

    ¡°-erk-¡± was all Tristan could manage, his face turning as purple as his shorts as the full pressure landed on him.

    ¡°Good, you understand. Now piss off.¡± The man launched himself from the room as the pressure eased. He careened down the hall, bouncing off walls in his haste. The terror in the peach coat paused and then called after him. ¡°Also, if I find you near one of my girls, I¡¯ll erase you from existence.¡±

    ¡°The best part is he doesn¡¯t even know who my girls are,¡± she said with a throaty chuckle. ¡°A poor introduction, but he looks just like his uncle, and I do rather loathe that man.¡± The woman sat and ate a pastry, the pressure receding. Rensliegh and Maeve shared a look. Some ancient monster had strolled into their midst, and they were at her mercy.

    ¡°Elaine, I expect you to have better judgement than ogling that man,¡± she admonished while pointing a cream puff at their surprisingly composed hostess.

    ¡°Please don¡¯t jest. I have Ban. The cocky knave had a face that reminded me of someone else. Please let me introduce you. Lady Maeve, Madame Rensleigh, allow me to introduce Elder Nimue.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve told you before, Elaine. Given you have agreed to aid my Coven, it''s Miss Peaches. You, Madame, also have special permission to address me as such. If memory serves, you¡¯re the reason that old scoundrel of an Artoss has a scar marring that perfect face he¡¯s so proud of.¡±

    ¡°I did not realise that the wound lasted, but I am pleased to hear it did so, Miss Peaches.¡± Rensliegh was composed, signalling that they were safe. Maeve filed that bit of gossip away for later. She¡¯d prod her governess about that when there wasn¡¯t a wrinkly apocalypse right next to her.

    ¡°And me, Elder Nimue?¡± Maeve dared to ask. The little old woman reminded her uncomfortably of her grandmother. If she was like Gran, leaving Maeve out was an invitation to ask a question.

    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s right. I suppose I did ask Little Morgs to keep quiet about it. I¡¯m her cousin, so I think Auntie works best.¡± She pulled out a pipe and calmly began to pack it with tobacco, acting as if she¡¯d not dropped hidden knowledge about cataclysmically powerful beings upon them.

    Rensliegh closed her eyes, cycling through memories. Elaine focused her entire soul on a single pastry, clearly fighting not to react even as her glamour roiled. The honey coating on the puff pastry was already turning green and beginning to bubble.

    ¡°Oh, what a pleasant surprise. It is a pleasure to meet you, Auntie.¡± Maeve felt part of her soul trying to escape even as she pushed on through. It wasn¡¯t so much being related to yet another ancient monster, it was the nickname. Why did the achingly powerful cultivators insist on her using nicknames?

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard a little about you, Miss Peaches." Rensliegh said as she poured herself some tea, "Matriarch Chox hadn¡¯t mentioned you were in the area, otherwise we¡¯d have greeted you properly.¡±

    ¡°I prefer my privacy. She has a tendency to fuss, and we have differences of opinion. Like you, girl, what did she do to your body refinement? It''s a lopsided mess. Come, sit down and let me look it over. Hmmm, that fellow may have been a waste of space, but at least he made this seat big enough for two. Niece of mine, come sit here. You, Rensliegh, sit down and stop hovering like a hawk.¡± The room shuffled around, their discussion briefly interrupted as Miss Peaches prodded Maeve a few times while sweeping her with glamour.

    ¡°We will talk about your body refinement later when there are not more pressing matters. It seems we have two problems. First, there are some vermin around. While I itch to wipe them away, I must not bring too much attention to myself here. So I will support this extermination, but only as an Elder Witch.¡±

    ¡°Your help as an Elder Witch, I¡¯m sure, shall be plenty, Miss Peaches.¡± Lady Elaine nodded. She was still holding the pastry that had been struck by her poison glamour. The honey glowed with an unnatural green light, and the artful curls were shot through with inky black lines. Noticing the room''s attention on it, she delicately placed it into a storage ring. Maeve reminded herself never to get on the wrong side of Elaine Fos.

    ¡°Do you mind me asking why, Auntie?¡± Maeve had finally got her ¡®speaking to gran¡¯ brain engaged. While asking this of someone so far above her in power could be courting suicide, she was confident it wasn¡¯t going to be an issue. Her grandmother had once confided that she liked being asked questions, it gave her of an easy opportunity to brag.

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    ¡°Oh, simple. I want to train up some competent apprentices. If I try to do it in my Coven, all I do is create a generation of grudges between those who get my attention and those that didn¡¯t. I don¡¯t want them finding out I¡¯m here. If they do it will just fill my girls'' heads with nonsense.¡± Miss Peaches grouched. Maeve winced. The way the woman said ¡®my coven¡¯ was not with the warm sense of belonging to a greater whole. It was a hard statement of ownership.

    ¡°They seem to think I only ever pick ¡®geniuses¡¯. Total hogwash. Give me average, hard-working girls every time over a genius. On that, I trust you and what was it? The Jackdaws? Can muddy the waters and keep my involvement here quiet?¡± She turned to Rensliegh.

    ¡°Of course, Miss Peaches, the Magpies would be happy to aid you.¡± Rensliegh was holding up well. She¡¯d even risked correcting the name. Maeve knew that most would¡¯ve just ignored it, and it seemed her ¡®Auntie¡¯ was of the same opinion. She nodded imperceptibly, undoubtedly happy to see some backbone.

    ¡°The majority of their power is focused in the Order of the Crystal Mountain, and Lord Roland¡¯s stupid mansion.¡± There was a hint of a grin peeking round her pipe as she spoke. Maeve recognised the setup.

    ¡°What makes his mansion particularly stupid?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s on the edge of a bloody cliff. Shouldn¡¯t be too hard to knock the damn thing off. Defensive runes won¡¯t keep it up if there¡¯s nothing below it.¡± The small grin her ¡®Auntie¡¯ now wore was an exact match to the same one her grandmother sometimes sported. Gran called it her ''problem-solving smile'', the House Elder''s knew it as ''the smile of impending overtime''. Elaine was going pale, and seemed to be whispering an apology to her husband.

    ¡°I can tell you¡¯re related to Gran. What was the second problem?¡± Maeve asked as she had another pastry. They really were very good.

    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s to do with that damp old biddy having her claws in this whole mess.¡± Maeve and Rensliegh blinked, unsure of whom she meant, but Elaine began to choke on her tea. A feat normally impossible for a Steel rank, given they barely had to breathe. Rensliegh patted the struggling woman on the back as Maeve untangled the message. Then the horror set in.

    ¡°Please, tell me you don¡¯t mean the fae I think you mean?¡± Maeve asked, knowing full well the answer.

    ¡°You Knightly types always get your tabards in a twist whenever she¡¯s mentioned. She¡¯s not a goddess, and she has a pretty good sense of humour. Now, you two have had a light touch of her attention, I can tell, but you¡¯re different, girl. You¡¯re soaked in her magic. What happened?¡±

    ¡°If I¡¯m honest, I fell in a lake. Not ¡®the lake,¡¯ you understand. The man who saved me was taken by her. That¡¯s as close as I¡¯ve come as far as I¡¯m aware.¡± Maeve''s skin prickled. She knew Gran had said she was mixed up in this, but to have such blatant confirmation...

    ¡°You¡¯ve been looking for him, haven¡¯t you? Morgs must¡¯ve put you up to it. I assume it¡¯s not just so you can say thanks?¡±

    ¡°No, well yes. Look, it¡¯s complicated. At the time, I thought he was a Harkley. I was meant to marry him, but it was a trap. He spots this and jumps out a window. I almost ran him down and then I fell through some ice. He saves me, and the last I see of him is blood pouring out of his eyes, saying he¡¯s off to die. Then he tells me he was never a Harkley and is leaving us a dossier of information. Info that even my grandmother was impressed by. Then she tells me he¡¯s somehow not dead and the Lady has nabbed him. I''ve been looking for him since, he is smoke-gifted and¡ª¡±

    ¡°Oh, that wily little shit,¡± Miss Peaches cursed round her pipe.

    ¡°What the Unseelie fuck!¡± Elaine¡¯s muttered curse joined Miss Peaches. Both women paused, sat up straight, and then pretended nothing had happened.

    ¡°You both know something, don¡¯t you? He''s this Taliesin fellow isn''t he?¡± Maeve asked. Neither reacted, both focused on their tea. She didn¡¯t even bother with Miss Peaches, instead focusing on the weaker option, staring holes into Elaine. Finally, the old witch sighed.

    ¡°Spare Elaine. If what I suspect is true, she would be risking undue attention by saying anything more. I am older and can¡¯t be pushed around so easily by the strings of fate. Taliesin is most likely the one you seek. You may be doused with the scent of her magic. That boy though¡ª" She puffed heavily on her pipe.

    "That boy had the water running through his very soul. This is the core of why us witches don¡¯t trust her like you Knights, I''d hoped Morgs knew better. She toys with people, taking the best we humans have to offer and making them her playthings. You should leave him to whatever fate she has planned for him, but I doubt you will.¡± The woman sank into her peach coat, deep in thought.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do. I can¡¯t help but feel I forced this upon him somehow. If I¡¯d just let him escape, perhaps none of this would¡¯ve happened. He even helped me break through a bottleneck. There¡¯s a debt that demands my attention.¡± Maeve deflated. She had duty, honour, and Gran on one side and the advice of an equally powerful old monster on the other.

    "I don''t think I could stand just leaving him to his fate. To not even try and repay the debt. It''s like a rasp across my blade." Maeve whispered.

    ¡°Like I said, she takes the best of us.¡± The old woman patted Maeve¡¯s wrist. As she said that, Elaine moved to speak, but Miss Peaches stopped her gently. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about your daughter. I won¡¯t say why, but she¡¯ll be protected from the worst of it.¡±

    They all sat in silence for a minute or so, consumed in their thoughts. Maeve had hundreds of questions, not least about whatever was going on with Lancelot Fos. She had fought Lancelot on a few occasions and had actually lost to her once when she¡¯d used a staff. The Squire was technically brilliant, and while they¡¯d shared only a few words, it had been enough to know she was a worthy successor to her parents.

    Maeve felt the weight of an insurmountable problem press down. This was something her grandmother couldn¡¯t help her with, a challenge that could crush her if she approached it wrong. It reminded her of the dark days of her bottleneck. Looking for a way out of the crushing pressure, she ran through their conversation. She didn¡¯t find a solution but did find an oddity.

    ¡°Auntie, you seem to think quite highly of Taliesin, so why did you call him a ¡®wily little shit¡¯?¡± Maeve had found that puzzling.

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s because somehow I keep owing him something. First, he helps save an apprentice of mine, then he reveals the rats to us, and now I find out he¡¯s saved and aided my kin. The worst thing about it is he isn¡¯t even trying to build up a debt between us. I¡¯d call it a ploy by that watery tart, but she didn¡¯t even have her hooks in him if you¡¯re to be believed.¡± Miss Peaches thumped the table in anger, as both Rensliegh and Elaine began to choke on their tea. ¡°Oh, do get over it, the pair of you.¡±

    Maeve felt a rush of warmth, the weight that pressed down on her shifting. She felt like she had a grip on it. It was heavy, but there was a chance. She just needed to seize it. ¡°Does that mean you¡¯ll help?¡±

    ¡°Well¡­I admit training the apprentices, while important, has been a bit boring. And if both myself and Morgs put our minds to it, we might be able to work something out. She¡¯ll feel this debt just as I will.¡± The old woman puffed on her pipe, acting like she was carefully assessing the risk. It was a lie, Maeve could see it. She had seen it all before. She wanted an excuse, a reason to get involved. Now it was time to test just how similar she was to Gran.

    ¡°Please, Auntie, can you help?¡± The voice and pitch were important. Not whiny or cutesy. It had to be said with just the right level of conviction, letting them know you were strong enough to accept a no but that it would devastate you. That was the voice Maeve had honed over many years.

    ¡°Yes, yes, fine. It¡¯s my cursed debt anyway. I¡¯d get to it without you interfering. If I do this, you¡¯ll need to be careful. You can¡¯t just run off after him. I¡¯ll need to speak with Morgs.¡± She kept muttering to herself, and Maeve couldn¡¯t hide her grin. Miss Peaches turned to look her over. ¡°What matters now is we keep things small scale. The wider this spreads, the bigger the problem will be.¡±

    ¡°Ah, that may be a problem. I originally thought this was good news.¡±

    ¡°Elaine?¡±

    ¡°So Lancelot and Taliesin are likely heading off to recruit a giant spirit bear from a fae realm.¡± The other three women turned to goggle at their host. Lady Elaine had been pushed far this last hour and rose to her full matronly power. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare look at me like that! I wanted to bring this up first, but I''ve not had the chance with all this talk of Fae and the secrets of my Liege."

    She huffed to herself, "Honestly, I really thought finding a long-lost spirit bear would¡¯ve been the biggest surprise of this conversation.¡±

 Chapter 49 - I donâ€™t like it, Taliesin, I donâ€™t like it!

    Flying is often described as a majestic experience, and that moment of takeoff where the world falls away and the trees fade from looming titans to mere blades of grass is something to behold. The rest of it tends to be boring, cold, and tiring. There¡¯s little that saps the will more than feeling like you¡¯re getting close, only to realise your sense of scale is off, and you remain punishingly far from your target. A problem that I kept having with the looming mountains we skirted.

    Rolling hills of Celtica spanned out beneath us, the mountain range of the Alpus on our right forming a curtain that consumed the horizon. Somewhere between towering peaks, the fae realm waited for us. Up this high, you¡¯d have been forgiven for thinking we were still in the depths of winter. Only the green plains which were now in the full throes of spring offered distant evidence to the contrary.

    A gust of wind caught us, getting under the furs I wore. I puffed on my pipe forcing more smoke under the layers. My magical outfit had adjusted admirably to the conditions, turning into a thick riding coat, a collar that buttoned around my neck and even a furred hood. Even then, with the wind and cold, I¡¯d had to add furs so kindly donated by the Golden Hinde to help keep me from freezing and a regular pump of smoke kept me tolerably warm.

    ¡°I don¡¯t like it, Taliesin, I don¡¯t like it!¡± Bors sat on the saddle before me, hunkered over Gring¡¯s back, a fuzzy limpet I¡¯d had to swat multiple times when he started to crush his mount in a fit of terror. He was swaddled in furs and while his iron constitution kept the worst of the cold off him, it did nothing for his crippling vertigo.

    ¡°It¡¯s alright, Bors, we¡¯re nearly there.¡± I tried to reassure my friend with a pat on the back. Earlier, I tried to highlight the majestic views, I wouldn''t be doing that again. I''m not sure Gring would ever truly forgive me for having his rider be violently sick over the side.

    ¡°You said that two hours ago!¡± Bors moaned.

    ¡°Near is relative. We were very far, and now we¡¯re nearer. Nearness is a state of mind.¡± I had to infuse glamour into my voice to be heard.

    ¡°That sounds like how my illuminated text would say ¡®We¡¯re still fucking miles away¡¯,¡± Bors whined. I heard a chuff of frustration from Gring at that. I wasn''t fluent in ''Gring'' speak but even I could tell the pegasus had no patience left for Bors moaning.

    Gring was doing amazing work keeping us both aloft, Despite his burden, the white pegasus flew beautifully. His wings had grown beyond the already impressive size I was used to seeing on the ground, the feathers glowing with glamour. Great feathered sails beating a steady rhythm to keep us aloft. Despite this magical shift, it was still taking everything Gring had to keep us aloft. Earlier Bors had complained about the cold till I''d had to cuff him on the ear. All of Gring''s air glamour was being used to help generate lift and handle our added weight. None was left to keep the winds off us.

    ¡°Oh look, Gawain is turning. We¡¯re either taking a break or we¡¯re close.¡±

    ¡°Fool me once shame on me, fool me four times shame on you. I¡¯m not looking. We know what happens when I open my eyes.¡± Bors groused into the saddle. I heard a faint whinny from Gring marking his agreement. I¡¯d already had to promise that Lance would be giving him lots of grooming to make up for the two times Bors was actually sick.

    Ahead of us, the Whispering Kestrel, burdened with the other three of our party, turned towards the mountains. As we got closer, Gaz¡¯s enchanted earpiece began to hum.

    ¡°We¡¯re near one of the camps they used. It will make for a good base. We¡¯re setting down here for the evening.¡± Gaz¡¯s voice was distorted by the vast amount of water glamour up here. His voice sounded like it was coming at me through the wrong end of a hunting horn.

    ¡°No complaints here. We¡¯re good to follow you down.¡± I shouted back, hoping the earpiece picked it up.

    ¡°What¡¯s good? Are¡ª¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re following.¡± I was now yelling over him as he continued to speak. I sighed.

    ¡°We need to work out a system for this. Message received, we¡¯re following. Done speaking.¡± I added. A second later, the glamour faded from the device, so message received? I just had to assume.

    ¡°I highly doubt that,¡± Bors muttered from the front, the wind catching his words and delivering them to me despite the roar of the winds. ¡°So we¡¯re actually nearly there, can I open my eyes yet?¡±

    Gring let out an angry snort and tipped left. ¡°I¡¯m keeping them shut, I¡¯m keeping them shut!¡±

    A few minutes later, Bors was hugging the ground. At least I think that¡¯s what he was doing as he lay face down on a boulder with his arms wrapped around it. I turned to Gawain. ¡°Is he OK?¡±

    ¡°He does this every time, Sir Taliesin. Would you believe it used to be worse?¡± Gawain stood beside me attending to Archimedes. The bird was getting a great deal for flying with three people on its back. Gawain had needed to boost his spirit animal with his air glamour often enough that he looked utterly wrecked as well.

    ¡°How? Did he try and take the ground with him?¡±

    ¡°Astute observation, one habit was indeed attempting to smuggle rocks along with him.¡± I heard a snort from Gring, who clopped his hoof for attention, before knocking it against a small boulder. ¡°Gring is right, I feel rocks might be underselling the size and weight of the stones he had.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s alright, I¡¯m going to braid your mane, you¡¯d like that wouldn¡¯t you?¡± Lance spoke gently to the pegasus who settled and let out an appreciative whinny. She, like the rest of us, was swaddled in furs, but I could tell underneath her hair would be perfect. I wanted that power. My own hair was a sweaty mess that occasionally escaped my hood, where if I wasn¡¯t careful, it would get frozen by a passing blast of wind.

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    The chill wind was lessening. Our camp was in a crack that broke off from a small valley. It was totally hidden from any passing eyes. Gawain went and pried Bors off his rock, marshalling him to help build a shelter. The narrow walls quickly became a roof and walls. We started a fire, normally a risk not worth taking as the smoke could lead others to us, but with some clever stonework from Bors and my gift, that wasn¡¯t a worry.

    As Bors got to cooking the food he¡¯d brought from the travelling merchants, I sat outside our camp keeping watch. I sat a little away from our camp, so I could see more of the valley. I remained close enough to manipulate the smoke, and we¡¯d agreed that if the shelter suddenly filled with smoke that was the warning sign for trouble. The rocks were coated in snow. I had a grey wolf pelt on and did my best to blend in with the rocks.

    Looking out, I had to admit it was a beautiful sight. We were just below where the clouds started to form, so above me was a constantly shifting field of white, now turning gold with the fading light of day. Those churning clouds were nothing compared to the beauty of watching the sun set over Celtica. All day, the rolling green hills had looked like someone had dropped a great velvet blanket across the world, crumpled and rising in peaks and falling into deep troughs. At this distance, the land looked soft, like one could reach over and pinch the peaks between their fingers and shape them anew.

    Gaz joined me. He¡¯d had the good luck to get the pelt of a great white fox, and it merged perfectly with the snow. He sat beside me, staring out across the vista. We watched in silence as the shadows of the hills grew longer, until finally the sun dipped below the horizon.

    ¡°I never imagined I¡¯d be doing something like this,¡± he said quietly, almost to himself.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you part of an Order? Isn¡¯t going out on adventures like this part of the whole deal?¡± I couldn¡¯t help but ask. The Harkleys had been very dismissive of the Orders, and the few Order members I had the chance to speak with rarely had time for a crippled cultivator. What I knew was mostly from stories, and they revolved around questing for relics, great hunts, and deep delves into the fae realms spread across Euross.

    ¡°It is in our name. The Order of the Kraken mostly works on ships. Mountains, not so much. But more, it¡¯s because I¡¯m a member due to politics more than talent.¡± I raised an eyebrow at Gaz. I didn¡¯t know him very well, but I¡¯d never describe him as someone lacking in talent. Before I could say as much, he spoke again.

    ¡°I¡¯m the youngest son of the throne-heir to Jarl Orkney. Do you know of the Orcades?¡± he asked. I knew it. The small archipelago was beyond even the Lands of Woad at the top of Albion. Go beyond it, and only the unending ice wall was to be found. It balanced its role as a place of trade and rest with being the last stop for any ships that would come down raiding from the lands of the N¨®regr. The dragon ships would shelter there before sailing down and launching their tame beasts of fire and scale to terrorise the settlements on the coast.

    ¡°I did once hear it¡¯s cold enough to freeze your prick off if you piss in the wrong direction,¡± I offered, drawing an uncharacteristic laugh from Gaz. ¡°But yes, I know of the Orcades. It surprises me you¡¯re from there. I¡¯d heard, well¡­¡±

    ¡°That we were all giants with dreadlocks and salt-caked beards who¡¯d throw an axe through you as soon as look at you? See, that¡¯s the issue. It¡¯s not that I lack talent. My talents are¡ªnot the right shape.¡± Gaz let out a rattling sigh. ¡°It made the Orcades a bitter place to be.¡±

    ¡°So what, you¡¯re banished out here?¡± I asked. That¡¯d be what the Harkleys would¡¯ve pulled.

    ¡°Courts, no. This is to save me. My father called in all sorts of favours to get me here. At home, my immediate family was close, but everyone else? They live up to the image you have of us. Still, you have to understand, I was sent here not to become some hero of the Order, nor to take it over. I am meant to learn politics. I am to become our face on Euross proper. All of this wasn¡¯t part of the plan.¡± Gaz gestured to the mountains, which were rapidly fading into total darkness.

    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t be here. I should be back at the Order, safely learning what I need to know. I¡¯m meant to be marrying Tiff in the summer and studying under my master. I owe my family for all of that opportunity. But here I am, deep in adventure, battling twisted cultivators and trying to find giant spirit bears. I didn¡¯t even think twice about joining you all. Is it bad that I didn¡¯t even consider going back?¡±

    ¡°I am the wrong person to ask about family.¡± I paused, thinking about how the Harkleys might¡¯ve approached this. My mind retched. The Harkleys weren¡¯t family but my jailors. To cleanse myself, I pulled upon my memories of my mother. They came easier than they had in a long time. The vault I¡¯d preserved them in to protect them from corruption was now open. I tried to imagine how she would¡¯ve handled this, what she would¡¯ve wanted for me. It was tough. All I really remembered was her asking, ¡®What do you want to do?¡¯ Perhaps that was the answer?

    ¡°I have a question for you. If you¡¯d wanted to stay on the Orcades, prove yourself somehow, take up drake taming, or become some great warrior there, what would your family have done?¡± I asked, letting the smoke work around me to battle the cold.

    ¡°Kept me there, I¡¯m sure. Got me trainers and gave me the tools to make my way. I¡¯d have hated it.¡±

    ¡°That would¡¯ve been riskier?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a series of islands infested with drakes and pirates. The politics here can be cutting, but it¡¯s not an axe to the face, so I¡¯d say it¡¯d be far riskier at home.¡±

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s the answer. Your family wants you to be happy, not safe.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not that simple.¡± His answer was immediate, almost angry, before he stopped himself and pondered. I let him stew on it for a moment before asking a question of my own.

    ¡°What brought this on? I appreciate knowing my compatriots more, but it¡¯s a little bit of a surprise.¡±

    ¡°I felt bad. We demanded your secrets from you. You shared them willingly, but it irked me that I did not offer the same. I felt it was time to even the scales.¡± He sat back, and I couldn¡¯t help but nod in appreciation. ¡°Do you really think my family would be happy with what I¡¯m doing?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not saying it¡¯s simple, but that¡¯s the underlying goal, right? I mean, again, I¡¯m hardly the right person to talk about this, but I like to imagine that my mother would¡¯ve wanted me to be happy, to be free. How I went about it was second to that goal. If I had been happy being a Har¡­¡± My throat closed up at the very thought. ¡°Nope, can¡¯t even say it. What I mean is, if I¡¯d chosen a path she¡¯d not approved of, I¡¯m sure it wouldn¡¯t have been simple. But it doesn¡¯t change that her underlying goal was to see me happy. That¡¯s what I have to believe.¡±

    ¡°What was her name? Your mother.¡±

    ¡°Gwendolyn. She liked to be called Gwen. She was just mum to me, though.¡± I felt a lump in my throat as I spoke.

    ¡°She sounds like my mum. Astrid is my mother. She¡¯s where I get the hair from. She¡¯d probably give me a real smack if I¡¯d stayed behind. I¡¯m sure she¡¯d like to meet you.¡± We sank back into silence for a time before snow began to fall in great sheets of white, so thick we could barely see each other. We retreated inside to begin planning our assault.

 Chapter 50 - Furry fortress

    We looked upon the entrance to the hidden realm through a narrow slit cut in the rock. The stone bunker Bors had fashioned allowed us to spy on the Divine Cultivators below. Gaz and I hid in there with him, trying to understand our opponents. Gawain and Lance were off scouting with the two spirit beasts, a task that would take a long while as they dared not get too close.

    The realm hid at the bottom of a wide basin, surrounded on all sides by mountains. The broad plain was still plunged into shadow despite the sunrise being hours past, with the high mountains blocking the light. In this gloom, we watched our targets.

    "That''s a lot of soggy-looking God botherers," I said, watching the huddled masses trying to shield themselves from the wind and snow below. Their camps were sloppy, squalid affairs, and the cultivators gathered around fires. Each figure was a tale of woe. Many sported bandages and haggard faces, their formerly white raiments now a litany of misfortune told through various stains.

    The only part of their camp that stood out was a marble statue. Twice the height of a mortal, the stern armoured form loomed over the camp, hand resting on a sword planted between its feet. Runes decorated every flat inch of marble, inlaid in gold. The statue served as a pillar of a powerful runic array, the glamour within marking it as a shining beacon of power.

    "Looks like they''ve taken a beating. Do they not have a single Earth gifted? Even an ice gifted could form some better shelters?" Bors muttered.

    "I''d bet good money that they can''t spare the glamour," I remarked, watching the strange ethereal border across which the snow seemed to fade then reappear some feet distant. I could taste the power of that spell.

    "What do you mean? Oh fuck!" Bors swore as just beyond the border of their runic trap, a beast loomed out of shadows within. A snout, which in size rivalled the great barrels of beer that could serve an entire feast, emerged from the gloom. An impossibly large silhouette emerged behind it.

    Thinking of it as a ¡®giant bear¡¯ trivialised the enormity of it. Ursul was a mobile fortress of fur, muscle, and claw. The furry fort, sporting its one white ear, probed the hidden line in the snow. The invisible plane of force that trapped it was becoming clearer as great flurries of snow were kicked up by its breaths.

    People in the camp began yelling. The cultivators were running around in a panic. To our great benefit, the order clearly labelled its different ranks. Among the twenty or so cultivators, most had their raiments trimmed in black, marking them as Paiges, Wood Rank. No more than five wore the silver trim of Squires. And I saw only two with the gold trim marking them as Iron ranked, Paladins in Divine Cultivator speak.

    Some shouting followed and from a tent emerged one last member. He was dressed differently, wearing gold-trimmed robes. One of their foul Priests. Flanked by the two Paladins, he marshalled the group into a rough square, and the lesser cultivators knelt before him and began to sing. A score of reedy voices rose up as the Priest conducted a makeshift service.

    "What are they doing? Having a sing-song to keep their spirits up or something?" Bors asked.

    "Powering the runes. That kind of choir singing is how they funnel their power."

    "Sounds like a sack of drowned cats."

    "The sound is wrong." Gaz, our resident expert on sound glamour, listened for a few moments more. "It¡¯s empty. The glamour¡¯s been completely drained from it. It feels ugly and soulless."

    "Makes sense, they empower their voices to create a slow and steady release of power, and the priest then captures it and collects all their glamour. Probably to keep the runes going. The priests tend to leave some of the glamour in the sound so it can go up to heaven or some such nonsense. If they¡¯re draining it dry, they must be desperate."

    "That¡¯ll be why they¡¯ve not got their defences up, and their camp''s shit. They¡¯re throwing all their power into keeping Ursul in check," Bors grunted.

    "Seems like it should be easy to disrupt then?" Gaz''s face was scrunched up in pain as the singing reached a fever pitch, the sound clearly bothering him. I also loathed it. Robbing the glamour from it robbed the music of its ¡®humanity¡¯. The sound had no more purpose than the sound of raindrops or the whistle of the wind. While nature could be beautiful, the order present in this dead sound was discordant. It did not belong.

    "Why don¡¯t you block that out, Gaz? Thanks." I relaxed as Gaz deadened the sound. "Look, it should be possible to disrupt them but there¡¯s no way this pathetic bunch are keeping that beast at bay. There¡¯s going to be at least one Saint here."

    "Saint?" Gaz asked.

    "Steel ranked, Knight Lord," Bors grumbled. "That¡¯s well beyond our capabilities."

    "But it¡¯s clear that Ursul is beyond their ability to handle. Otherwise, why are they trapping him rather than dealing with him?" I countered. We all settled into silence. For the next hour, we watched the camp. We saw people come and go, and there were at least two other camps we could see hints of. From the layout, I assumed there were four different camps sitting upon each of the cardinal directions, ours was the most southerly.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    "How quickly do you think this rune array would go down if it stopped being charged?" Gaz asked me after a while, breaking the silence.

    "No idea, I¡¯m not an expert on runes." The two men looked at me, as if waiting for the punchline of a joke. "What, it¡¯s not like I know everything. I know how to make like four types of rune arrays."

    "Thinking about it logically, you kind of do know everything," Gaz scratched his chin. Before I could argue, he held up a hand. "Look, we¡¯re all here for a purpose of some kind. So you might not know everything, but between us we must know something that will help us out. Otherwise, why would ¡®she¡¯ send us here?"

    "Dangerous thinking, sounds like we¡¯re fated to succeed. That¡¯s lazy, you¡¯ll end up thinking like Gawain if you do that." Bors leant against the wall, watching the tiny figures below.

    "I¡¯ve been meaning to ask you, why is he treating me like some noble scion? All this Sir Taliesin this and that? Been weirding me out."

    "Gawain¡¯s from House Lothian," Bors said. I nodded, that did make sense.

    "I¡¯ve heard of them, but I''ve got no idea what it means for us," Gaz chimed in.

    "House Lothian have a massive chip on their shoulder about being a traitor to the Quilverns, having faith in the Lady," Bors explained, which only bred more creases on Gaz¡¯s brow.

    "Bors, how did you get that out of the story of the Stag and the Silver Lake?" Bors blushed and began to stammer out a response. "Ignore Bors, I don¡¯t know why that¡¯s what he¡¯d tell you. Seems like time for a quick tale?" I offered, and Gaz nodded, and we tried to get comfortable. In the small cave, Bors raised some seats for us three. I was about to sit when I frowned, sensing an odd glamour.

    "I¡¯d like a seat that won¡¯t explode, Bors."

    "Dammit, thought I¡¯d get you." He grinned, but did make me another, this time using just earth glamour. I didn¡¯t need my lute for this. It was typically told as a poem, but that would take two days to recount correctly.

    "It¡¯s the end of the Age of False Kings. Constantine Quilvern sits upon the throne of Albion, his family reduced to only his son Uthar. He is fearful, unwilling to impart his power to a son he worries is weak. While the many false kings are slain, he sees traitors round every corner and expects poison in every gift. To try and ¡®toughen¡¯ up his son, he heads out riding with his most trusted vassals, the Lothian, on a grand hunt. In the depths of the woods, he, his son, and Gwalchmai Lothian, his oldest friend, stumble upon a noble white Stag. Its fur radiant as the moon, but that is not the greatest prize. Atop its brow is a set of fourteen pointed antlers made of purest Mythril. All can tell the beast is something of the deepest fae realms, its eyes clever and its hooves swift. The Stag dashes off before they can mount a single attack, and all three throw themselves headlong in pursuit."

    "They hunt the stag across the realm, through the paths of the fae. A week they hunted the beast, and each day is a tale in itself. These trials are overcome, and the men close in on their prey. Finally, the Stag pauses to drink at a lake of aching beauty. The water is silver that matches the elegant horns, and the water¡¯s edge is lined with trees with leaves of purest gold. Uthar and Gwalchmai are stunned into silence, but King Constantine, focused on his quarry, readies his spear, knowing this strike will be the one to end it."

    ¡°He pulls back but is tackled to one side by Gwalchmei. The stag runs. The king¡¯s fury is epic. Who is this man to foul his hunt? It is said he pulled his blade, ready to strike the errant Lothian down in that moment, finding the man kneeling already before him, offering his neck. Uthar darts between them before the blade can be swung. He pleads with his father to spare his life, to see the truth behind his actions. The King pauses, looks about and realises the mistake he nearly made, then falls to his knees and offers his apologies.

    Rising from the silver water in a form of such honest beauty that all three men felt their hearts sting, she admonished Constantine for his bloodlust, yet praised him for his commitment and strength. She pronounced Uthar a noble heir to the throne for his intelligence and bravery to stand between his father and his retainer who sought only to protect him from such mistakes. To Gwalchmei, she spoke of his unwavering loyalty and wisdom in seeing the truth of the matter, praising him for the strength to sacrifice himself to stop his liege¡¯s mistake. All three returned with boons from the Lady, but each was changed.

    King Constantine passed on his title, following the Fae paths that take mortal men beyond Mithril. He slipped into legend. The freshly crowned Uthar, who¡¯d often struggled to live up to his father¡¯s ideals, carved out a new path that represented the values the Lady had commended him upon. Gwalchmai Lothian pledged his house to be servants of the Quilverns and the Lady herself. They would act as the guardians of the Quilverns and give respect to the Lady who guided them.

    Every five years, the Quilverns and the Lothian arrange a grand hunt to honour that memory. It is said that occasionally the greatest of hunters will see the Stag and know they live up to the words of the Lady herself.

    ¡°Alright, now it makes more sense. So they basically worship her?¡±

    ¡°They do, and that¡¯s why I mentioned betrayal, you smug git.¡± Bors waggled a finger at me. ¡°They don¡¯t tell people often that they see her as their saviour. The King had every right to kill them for betrayal. Old Constantine had killed entire houses over less. Then the Lady steps in and tells the King to rein it in and stop being such a bloodthirsty oaf. Despite that, they did betray him, striking their King. The ¡®betrayal¡¯ is a spur they dig into themselves. The Quilverns trust them completely. You won¡¯t get him to not be a suck-up. As far as he¡¯s concerned, you¡¯re some kind of chosen one, meant to carry out her will.¡±

    ¡°Great, another thing to worry about,¡± I said, leaning back against the wall of our small hide.

    ¡°Could be worse. Can you imagine if the Lady had given you a message for him? You¡¯d have been all but dragged back to Albion, I bet.¡± Gaz said, and I shuddered. I didn''t like to entertain that idea.

    ¡°So, how does the story compare to your experience with the Lady? Any stags? Mythril or otherwise? Didn¡¯t have to nearly murder your oldest friend over a simple misunderstanding?¡± Bors grinned. I was pleased he was bothered by the same aspect of the story that I always was. Seriously, who tries to kill their oldest friend without even asking for an explanation?

    ¡°I just danced.¡±

    ¡°You danced for the Lady? I¡¯m starting to think Lance isn¡¯t talking shit when she said you were flirting.¡± Bors clapped me on the back and laughed.

    ¡°It''s not my fault if I¡¯m effortlessly charming. And yes, I danced, but you have to understand I wasn¡¯t dancing for her. It was for me. I was celebrating my freedom. I had just broken through to Bronze as well, so I felt incredible. I threw everything into that dance just to feel my body move. I wanted to create art that was for me, not part of some plot to distract the Harkleys. It just so happened I had her attention. She popped right out of the water and started clapping.¡±

    ¡°Must¡¯ve been a surprise?¡± Gaz asked.

    ¡°I nearly shat myself.¡± The three of us laughed, then settled in, waiting for the scouts to return.

 Chapter 51 - Making plans

    We''d settled into an uneasy watch, keeping an eye on the nervous gathering of Divine Cultivators. The cultists desperately gathered glamour after being drained by their priest. Ursul returned three hours later, and the same process repeated. I assumed that Ursul wasn''t giving them any time to rest, so the group had to be running on fumes.

    Our domed hideaway was getting stuffy. We¡¯d reinforced the rune stones, helping hide our signatures from those seeking us, and muting any noise we might make. The cultivators did little of note, though that did tell us they were lax in their patrols and clearly feeling the effects of their exhaustion.

    Lance and Gawain joined us in our hide. Archimedes and Gring both headed back to the camp, their huge forms too big for the dome. The pair were windswept, crystals of ice layering their furs. We all had a good laugh when Lance fell through the trick seat Bors had made for me, all except Gawain, who just wore the face of a put-upon father wrangling wayward children. A good sign that whatever they''d seen wasn''t so vile as to rob them of their mirth.

    ¡°Alright, so we''ve got four camps. North and South are the same, lots of Paiges and Squires, a couple of Knights and a Priest. Then there are two Knight Lord camps, or at least I assume that''s the level they are at. I couldn''t get close enough to check their cultivation. They''ve got fewer people, but each has got fancy tents and all that. One of them is praying in crimson robes, the other in armour. Both have this kind of golden floating disc above their head. So, Taliesin, how fucked are we?¡±

    ¡°So it sounds like we''ve got a ¡®Saint¡¯ and a ¡®Cardinal¡¯, which is marginally better than facing off against two Saints but not by much,¡± I replied.

    ¡°Maybe Bors and Gawain know, but not all of us have a lot of training on the stupid names they give themselves. What does that mean?¡± Lance asked.

    ¡°The right so the Clergy, is the name for their equivalent of witches, though way less dangerous in my opinion. The Clergy focus way less on combat than witches do. They are very good at formations though, and kind of passable at alchemy. What they excel at is rituals and something they call ¡®Power of the Host¡¯. They''re really good at moving around large amounts of glamour from their believers. That''s what we''re seeing happening when they power the runes.¡±

    ¡°While I agree with Sir Taliesin, remember they''re still Steel. They¡¯re no pushover. They might take slightly longer to obliterate us than a Saint, but our deaths are the only outcome if we come to the attention of either of those monsters,¡± Gawain said, pausing his rough sketch on the floor that mapped out the surrounding area.

    ¡°Don''t worry, I wasn''t about to try and go toe to toe with someone who could punch me over the mountains,¡± Lance snarked back, needling the staunch Knight.

    ¡°And they are all keeping the runes charged? Or is the Saint on watch?¡± Bors asked Gawain.

    ¡°I think they''re both keeping the runes going, but the Saint at least. Something about their camp made me think they were able to move about a bit. It''s snowing but I could see tracks leading from them and back to where they were kneeling before the statue.¡±

    ¡°There are very few beasts around here, far less than I''d expect. I suspect the Saint heads out to deal with them, so the rest can keep the formations powered. The Cardinal, was it? Yeah, he even had snow on top of him. He''s not moving.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s also something I should make you aware of, Sir Taliesin. On the north side, inside the barrier, we can see the ruins of their first camp. Within, I spotted a banner you''d know well, a bleeding dragon, its blood collected in a chalice,¡± Gawain explained.

    ¡°There¡¯s a Harkley here?¡± I felt the smouldering coals of the anger I could never quite extinguish flare up.

    ¡°I mention this not so you can go on some rampage but in case it tells you who we face. I cannot help but notice that they''re hiding which Rays they''re associated with. I see no pennants indicating their allegiances.¡±

    ¡°I am a Bard, not a berserker. I''m not about to storm off to slaughter them,¡± I snapped. Not for lack of wanting to do just that, but I was nothing if not patient in seeking justice.

    ¡°Who are we facing then?¡± Lance asked.

    ¡°The worst kind of scum,¡± I replied, still trying to process my thoughts, exploring the possibilities of who it could be.

    ¡°Anything new to add or are you just going to brood over there in the corner?¡± Lance retorted, her normally warm voice turning icy.

    ¡°It¡¯s not a corner. It¡¯s a circular bloody room.¡± I replied. Then a loud clap silenced us all. We all turned to Bors in horror.

    ¡°Thanks for keeping us silent in here, Gaz. Look, we need a plan,¡± Bors declared, then just stared me dead in the eye.

    ¡°Why are you staring at me?¡±

    ¡°You''re basically a less pretty version of Percy, and Percy makes the best plans.¡± Bors waved his hands as if such things were obvious.

    ¡°I like to think that the group working together would make the best plans.¡±

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    ¡°Yeah, that sounds exactly like something she''d say as well. Then we all talk for a bit, and she''ll somehow come up with something that none of us thought of that''s the best solution.¡± He grinned.

    ¡°All right, then aren''t we missing a step? The bit where we all share some ideas?¡± I pointed out.

    ¡°Oh right, yeah can''t just skip to the end.¡± He smiled sheepishly. We all got a chuckle at that, even Gawain. Some of the tension bled out of the room. I was still on edge about the possible Harkley. But I fought it down.

    What followed was a complex planning session. Gawain and Bors worked together to turn his rough sketch on the floor into a scale model of our target. The earth was shaped to create the land, while dull little crystals formed to indicate the soldiers and tents. We used silver coins to indicate the handful of Irons and gold for the two Steels.

    The most common idea was to use some kind of avalanche. It had begun snowing again and the mountains were laden with thick sheets of ice and snow. Others suggested seeing if we could lure beasts towards the weaker groups from multiple directions so the Saint''s attention would be split. The other big suggestion was we do something to interfere with the formation, stressing it between their camps. I felt that if it contained what was likely a peak steel fae bear, it was unlikely we''d be able to do much of anything. Worse, it put us in striking range.

    It fell to either me or Gawain to point out the various problems with the plans. As we argued back and forth, I felt it important to remind everyone of something they were forgetting.

    ¡°Remember, just because we only see two Steels doesn''t mean that''s all there is. Equally, there might be a few Irons around ready to handle problems.¡± I said, even as I privately thought the chance was remote. The groups looked so incredibly desperate, and when we''d been watching them they had sentries who watched the snows with clear fear in their eyes. Still, it was better to not assume anything, especially with a Harkley involved.

    I realised then that Bors had distracted me with his whole ¡®make a plan¡¯ goal. The giant man, while often playing the fool, was remarkably good at reading people. He must''ve seen my mood.

    ¡°So I can''t be certain, but this is likely the Rays of Bonds, and only them. They''ve got the greatest concentration of Clergy, and it''s where the Harkleys¡¯ allegiances lie. They tend to do the most work with the Inquisition or the Ray of Mercy. I don''t see any sign of either group here, and both of those groups are terrible at keeping a low profile.¡±

    ¡°The Inquisition would make sense, that''s who we followed to find this place. It''s possible that the Inquisitors were mostly wiped out when Ursul came out. The majority of the Knights and Squires we saw within the Fae Realm were aligned with the Inquisition.¡±

    ¡°How much of a timer are we on then? Why haven''t they got a load of Inquisitors turning up to help? Or other Rays for that matter? I know you say they don''t get along well, but this is a fae realm we''re talking about here.¡±

    ¡°Politics. The Inquisitors outrank any single other Ray, but two Rays can unite to question them, and three can overrule them. As it¡¯s basically impossible to get three of them to agree on anything substantial, it means only the worst offences are countered this way. Or lots of politics is required. We know that the other Rays active in this area are Sacrifice and Protection, neither of which are close with Bonds. That means if Bonds gets them involved, it''ll lose out more than if it just holds out for Inquisitor backup.¡±

    ¡°And they''re not here because?¡±

    ¡°Well, we did kill a couple of their minions which could''ve messed up their plans, but it''s more likely that the Inquisitors can¡¯t deploy their people without the other Rays asking questions. Especially with the attack on Fosburg occurring, the Inquisitors would be under pressure to explain why they aren''t helping.¡±

    ¡°I hate that I don''t know what''s happening there. I checked when we flew, but there''s something about those runes which is making it impossible to grasp the dream threads for miles around here.¡± She kicked the wall and slumped into her seat, leaning against the hard stone wall. ¡°I want to know what''s happening in town. Check my family is safe.¡± We all waited but there was no eruption of emotions like there had been last night.

    We''d all been woken when she exploded out of her trance in the middle of the night. A mess of emotions and fear for her family. After we''d identified it was a disruption, not a lack of contact from her family she''d gotten very quiet and begun packing. After Gawain''s escape our foes must''ve become concerned about their unknown opponents still within the realm. Unable to deal with them and the bear they''d drowned out the surrounding area with a distortion of dream glamour. Even after I explained we had no idea how far the distortion spread, we''d still had to spend an hour convincing Lance not to try hiking down an unfamiliar mountain in the middle of a storm. Seeking some new location where the trance would work.

    It was Gaz who''d finally got her to see sense, he''d dumped a bucket''s worth of ice-cold water over her. As she stood spluttering, and ready to commit murder, he''d explained that ¡®if she was going to be an idiot she could do them the courtesy of letting them see the full extent of it before heading off to die¡¯. When she tried to insist that she''d have been fine if she''d not been soaked, his rebuttal was that it was colder out there than any water he could call on. That finally seemed to set her straight.

    I had forgotten to extend the stress that this must be putting Lance and Gawain under. Fosburg was their home, for Lance it was basically the only home she''d ever known. I found myself so focused on the problem ahead, and on getting to Sephy that I''d pushed the challenges of Fosburg to the back of my mind.

    ¡°As frustrating as that is, it¡¯s another reason they can''t get help. Dream mana is what most use for long-distance communication. They can''t risk Ursul having some way to use it to reach out, so they''ve had to block it for everyone just to be safe.¡±

    ¡°So if we take it down we might be opening up channels for them to communicate.¡±

    ¡°Yes. And while they likely don''t want to let the other Rays know about this they might reach out for help if they''re certain they''re going to lose the realm.¡±

    ¡°Not a problem if they''re all dead,¡± Lance muttered.

    ¡°Where''s the nearest place they could get reinforcements?¡± Gaz asked, his more political mind no doubt imagining the different paths.

    ¡°That''s beyond my knowledge, but given we''re between Chox and Artoss lands, I''d say the Artoss lands would be the most likely.¡± I didn''t know a lot about the Divine Cultivators movements, my spy work had been focused on the Harkleys and what gossip they brought me.

    ¡°Why''s that?¡± Gaz asked.

    ¡°I mean the patriarch has been cosying up to them for years. Why do you think I was sold off?¡±

    ¡°No, that''s all changed. The new patriarch, Pellinore Artoss, ascended to Mythril and killed his father taking control of the family. He''s been scouring the bastards out of his territory with a vengeance.¡± Gaz corrected me.

    ¡°What?¡± I felt my jaw drop.

 Chapter 52 - One thing led to another

    Gaz didn''t seem to appreciate the full extent of my shock. The last I''d heard of the Artoss the Harkley''s complaining that he was dithering about his support. It was the same complaint they''d had for years, and nothing I''d ever found out implied it was anything but the honest truth.

    "Gaz explain, what do you mean?" I managed to keep some degree of control over myself, not letting the desperation leak through. Still, my sense of control was rattled and the words came out strangled.

    ¡°The new Patriarch has been going on a rampage demanding those married to Divine Cultivators families be returned. Slaughtering those who resist. I would''ve thought you knew? It all kicked off about four months ago¡± The Squire looked at me genuinely baffled.

    ¡°Does this look like the face of a man who''s been told something he already knew?! When did this¡­ FUCK! That''s why the wedding was rushed through! I thought that was unusually desperate of them. They were going to have a problem on their hands and thought they could pawn it off to the Chox!¡± Something in my chest began to unfurl, I let my head fall into my hands as I considered the implications.

    The fire roared, anger at yet more betrayal. This was no coincidence. The Harkley curtain of secrets and deceit had hidden this information from me. They had to know that if I caught wind of it I''d have tried to escape. It also lined up with when they dragged me into my ¡®wedding studies¡¯ isolating me under the pretense of protecting and educating me about my new role. The anger boiled up. I knew I said I wasn''t a berserker but I genuinely considered just marching out there and screaming at them.

    ¡°Hey isn''t it nice to know that your family isn''t full of arseholes though.¡± Bors clapped me on the back. "I imagine you''re mum would be pleased." The roaring flame in me was quenched as I pictured my mother, imagining how she would''ve felt hearing this. It opened up a yawning pit of questions about family. I called myself a son of Artoss but felt no connection to the name, I was not Regus, or even Reggie anymore. Did it even matter?

    Then I pictured my mother''s face. I remembered her talking wistfully about siblings whose names I''d all but forgotten. Aunts and uncles she''d told me about that were nothing like her grandfather. I racked my brains and found that Pellinore rang a dim bell.

    ¡°The only Pellinore I remember my mother mentioning was an uncle of hers who once entered a horse race with a friend. By which I mean, the two of them disguised themselves as a horse.¡±

    ¡°How?¡± Gaz shouted, before cradling his head in his hands.

    ¡°Well, I imagine one of them pretended to be the front legs¡­¡± I started.

    ¡°No, not that. That is definitely a Pellinore thing to do though if the rumours are to be believed. Don''t you understand? You''re the great-nephew of the Patriarch of one of the great houses of renown,¡± Gaz looked at us all like we were a pack of fools. ¡°You''re all directly connected to some of the most important people in the realm! I know the Lady works in mysterious ways but this is pushing it.¡±

    ¡°Hey, my parents aren''t that special,¡± Lance retorted.

    ¡°I apologise, Miss Moon Gift,¡± Gaz shot right back at her. She was about to argue and then settled back down.

    ¡°Your point?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Right, stop and think about this, beyond the problem right before us. If we foil these God Botherers, no doubt they''ll try and work out who did it and then punish you. What happens then?¡± He looked at the group. I was lost. I knew people, divine cultivators, and some family drama but I was woefully inept when it came to Euross politics at large.

    ¡°They''re directly going at some of the greatest powers on Euross. They can''t just let us go, but it''d be war to come after us,¡± Gawain was smiling.

    ¡°And even if we all die right here, someone is going to work out what happened, and then what?¡± Gaz continued.

    ¡°There''s going to be a war.¡± Gawain''s smile had grown. It looked odd on the usually stoic Knight.

    ¡°I thought there was already a war?¡± I asked.

    ¡°A war, but there''s not that many personal stakes involved. They''ve been careful. And for the most part, the Orders and the Houses are just cleaning up the local messes. Albion is opposing them in name only. People think Pellinore is a hardliner, that he''s going too far. But if we''re all being targeted or dead¡­¡±

    ¡°Can we stop suggesting we''ll die? We get the point.¡± Lance prodded her friend in the side.

    ¡°Fine, we are a starting point for a much more personal engagement from a variety of powers. We have the attention of Albion, Artoss, Chox, Lothian, and whoever Miss Peaches is aligned with, who I''m sure is equally terrifying.¡±

    ¡°Don''t forget Orkney. Your family would be livid and they''re no small deal. Look at you, all that politics you''ve been soaking up has paid off. I''m glad someone has a political mind here.¡± Lance punched her friend gently on the arm.

    ¡°The wisdom of the Lady is beyond compare,¡± Gawain''s smile had grown.

    ¡°Did you not get the part where it works if we''re also dead?¡± I snapped, the anger boiling over. I was still a mess from everything I''d just learned about Artoss and the Harkleys being here. I kept believing I''d come to terms with it only to find new depths to her control.

    Despite my vicious tone, Gawain turned to me, his calm sense of purpose unsullied. He met my gaze.

    ¡°And it is up to us to ensure we don''t fall. I, for one, will rest better knowing that no matter what, my presence here will do good.¡±

    He was so insultingly serene, that I had to head outside and collect myself. Leaving them all behind, I scurried down the small tunnel that led to the hide, popping out amidst a copse of trees that hid us from all angles. Even someone directly above would struggle to spot us thanks to the steady but gentle snow.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    For extra security, I''d used a looted runic circle from the Golden Hinde to obscure the area. I didn''t trust the ones the Inquisitors used to not have something that the God Botherers could detect.

    I still did a quick check for possible spies and then stamped around the small clearing trying to work out the rolling emotions within me.

    I had gotten very used to the idea that I didn''t have a family. I had a mother, a sacred relationship, but family at large? That was a dirty word. One loaded with torture and betrayal. I tried to breathe but a face kept popping up before me. The Lady. How much did she know? How much had she controlled?

    It was clear to me now that her reach was far greater and more subtle than I''d ever anticipated. The Lady had to have known about the Artoss but hadn''t told me. She''d hidden that I had someone I could turn to. A place I could''ve gone. One could argue that she''d just not volunteered the information, but that wasn''t right.

    I''d met Bors, who was fantastic in many aspects but his political awareness reached no further than whatever room he was in. Then I''d gone to Fosburg, where if I hadn''t been distracted talking about moon glamour and dealing with terrifying witches, I''d certainly have spent some time asking around just to get the lay of the land.

    I was being kept in the dark about things core to my very being. I wasn''t arrogant enough to think I was some chosen one, like Gawain seemed to imagine. I was her tool, a catalyst setting off a series of reactions, dragged around by her otherworldly anticipation of my decisions.

    Was the very peril we were all in her doing? Was this our fate, to be dragged by hook or by crook to the next nexus of nonsense? Would she continue to put people around me in danger? Sephy, literally one of the only people I cared for, was being dangled before me. Did she know my commitment might wander? That I would need a carrot after so much stick? And it was working! I squatted down, face in my hands, and let out a pained groan.

    ¡°If you''re going to do that at least go into a corner.¡± Bors'' voice caught me off guard and I peered through my fingers at him. He stood alone at the mouth of the tunnel.

    ¡°I''m not taking a shit. I''m trying to decide if my free will is an illusion.¡±

    "Sounds rough, still probably better to do it in the corner though. Tell me, what''s bothering you?"

    "Don''t you get it my life is not my own. Am I angry right now because she wants me to be? Does she plan for me to throw myself at some more Inquisitors? Will I even find Sephy on the otherside? Gawain is just being all sorts of shitty, which isn''t to do with the Lady but pisses me off all the same!" I began my rant, stomping about as I did so. Occasionally I went to fiddle with my lute but that just made me angrier.

    Bors raised up a seat and listened. Asking me to explain or clarify here and there. He sat on his stone seat as I paced circles around him. When my fingers darted for my lute for the fifth time, I roared my anger and transformed it into a blade, hurling it into a tree where it stuck.

    I winced and my foolishness, some spy I am. I never lost control like this in the past.

    ¡°Feeling any better?¡± Bors asked staring at where my sword was stuck a good few inches into an innocent tree.

    ¡°Not really. Still feels like I¡¯m being led around by the nose. Does it even matter what choices I make?¡±

    ¡°Come take a seat.¡±Bors summoned me a seat beside his. I strode over and flopped down. I had a moment of weightlessness and ended up in a mess on the floor as the whole thing dissolved into crystals. Laughter washed over me. I glared up at him from my patch of snow.

    ¡°Problem solved. You have free will. Can you imagine her planning that?¡±

    ¡°I''m talking in terms of philosophy not pranks!¡± I grumbled, standing and taking a new column he brought up. This I tested before taking my seat.

    ¡°That''s not what you''re angry about.¡±

    ¡°Bors, I don''t even know what I''m angry about. I''m so pissed off by it all. I fought so hard to control my future but now I feel more under someone''s control than ever. Worse, they''re hiding stuff from me that''s putting other people I care for in danger.¡±

    ¡°Does it matter right now?¡±

    ¡°No, but I''m angry right now!¡± My mask cracked. I couldn''t lie. Not to him, not to myself. Not at all, due whatever fae curse she''d afflicted me with. ¡°What if saving Sephy just leads to more! More control, more threats, more death, a life of dreadful purpose I can''t escape!¡±

    ¡°Oh no, you''ll have to hang out with rich and powerful people and have a life full of meaning,¡± he muttered sarcastically.

    ¡°You just don''t get it!¡±

    ¡°Don''t I? You know, you''re all the sons of Lord Whos-it and Lady Whoz-at? Me, I''m the son of one of the palace cooks, so yeah, I get it.¡±

    ¡°Pardon?¡±

    ¡°That''s who I am. Arty kept sneaking into the kitchens, getting in the way. I was the right age, so I was tasked to keep him distracted. He declared that I was his friend, one thing led to another and now instead of making pastry, I punch Inquisitors in the face."

    "''One thing led to another'' is doing some Mythril-level work in that sentence."

    ¡°I''m not saying I understand everything you''re dealing with, but think, really think! Do you imagine I get much choice? I was sent to that bridge by my friend, but also by someone so far above me that disobedience didn''t even enter the equation.¡± To my surprise when he explained this he didn''t seem unhappy, just at peace.

    ¡°You could always leave.¡±

    ¡°So could you. And that''s the choice. It sucks that the only choice is ¡®leave¡¯, but that''s what we''ve got. Besides, if my options are to stay and make a difference or leave and make cakes, I know which one I''m picking.¡±

    ¡°That''s an easy choice for you. You''re a terrible cook.¡± Bors winced in mock pain at my insult, clutching an imaginary wound. We both let out a chuckle. A comfortable quietness settled on us, the only sound was the whisper of falling snow. The raging storm in my brain settled into a background squall I could deal with later. My control was back and with it the knowledge that I was being an arse. I huffed loudly to myself.

    "Thanks, I needed that. Do you want to talk about¡ªyour whole situation?" I offered lamely, I was still getting used to having actual friends, but offering to listen when they opened up seemed pretty important.

    ¡°By all the Seelie no! Not what I was aiming for. You doing better though?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I''m still pissed, but I get it. I just don''t like it much.¡± I didn''t know how to feel but I knew I had to at least help Sephy, a chance I''d not have got otherwise.

    ¡°This is a rough patch, but you know what makes it better?¡± I shrugged, not sure where he was leading with this. ¡°Rich people have the best beds and best food. We just need to get back to civilisation and collect on our hard-earned luxuries. The Hinde''s stuff is pretty lush but has nothing on true rich people gear. Can''t wait for a proper bath, something to smoke, and some decent cologne so I can stop smelling like the wrong end of a sick goat. We just need to defeat a small army and we''re set.¡± He grinned despite the bleak challenge. Still, what he said twigged some part of my brain.

    ¡°Wait, what were our two big ideas? Avalanches and monsters, right?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but you were saying it''d be too risky or impossible to hide our involvement in those, right?¡±

    ¡°I need to take a look at the stuff you''ve got from the Hinde. I think they might have the exact right gear.¡± I felt a savage smile pulling at my lips.

    ¡°Told you, I knew you''d cook up a plan! So, what are we doing?¡±

    ¡°I''m going to make some perfume.¡±

 Chapter 53 - The art of the parfumier

    In our hidden valley, far from where the smells, smoke, and other evidence of my work would be a liability, I indulged in my favourite hobby, alchemy! Specifically the arts of the perfumier. I grinned at the shimmering glass, having got everything set up to my liking.

    I stood in the natural cave we¡¯d repurposed, the rough stone walls and altars of stone leaving me looking like some kind of mad hermit. Not helped by the threadbare clothes I wore, spares from our supplies, as I could not risk the scent getting on my usual equipment. My collection of glassware left me looking ready to be cooking up some dark poison or evil brew.

    At the centre of it all was the cauldron. The black iron pot was not much bigger than a couple of handspans across, but despite its small size, it formed the centre of this small world. Everything was subtly positioned to enable access to it. I might have some nice boilers, a desiccator, and other glassware, but the core of alchemy was the cauldron.

    A ¡®true¡¯ witch will rant that it is all you need. They are idiots. I could not imagine a truer witch than Miss Peaches, and she, like any sane alchemist, made judicious use of the advances over the last few thousand years. It is possible to do everything in a single cauldron, but why bother? It''s needlessly complicated, and if something goes wrong, some stained skin and warts are the best possible outcome.

    I had heard that some witches wore such disfigurements as marks of pride. To me, it seemed more like waving a banner stating that they were bad at alchemy, and given Miss Peaches¡¯ minimalist collection of gear included a portable fume extractor, I suspected she¡¯d agree with me.

    Thankfully, I wouldn¡¯t need that today. The only thing at risk today was my sinuses, and possibly a giant monster horde if I got this wrong. Today¡¯s fragrance was, after all, ¡®Monster Mist¡¯.

    I¡¯d stolen the idea from the Golden Hinde and their plot with Klaus and the Mist Lynx that had savaged Bors. Luring the beasts closer by ourselves would expose us to both beast and Saint, and it also was unlikely to significantly threaten them. We''d be lucky to find even a few worthy foes given the limited time and how thoroughly they''d scoured the surrounding area. Airdropping scent bombs near our foes and flying the scent around the mountains would collect far more attention and expose us to minimal threat.

    While collecting the ingredients for such an endeavour would¡¯ve cost us time we didn''t have, the Hinde''s kind donation of all their belongings included more than enough raw ingredients. While I¡¯d never felt bad about the massacre of the Hinde, I was increasingly realising that wiping them out was a significant service to Euross. Monster Lure was illegal except in very specific circumstances, and it had a tendency to linger and spread itself.

    Plenty of careless hunters had returned to civilization with traces of the lure dragging the monsters behind them. In the worst cases, a hunting party would move on before the monsters caught up. Entire villages and even towns had been wiped out by such foolishness.

    Why did I know such recipes? Well, when House Harkley hosted a hunt, it needed to be an exceptional one. What better way to guarantee a wealth of beasts than by tipping the scales in their favour? Who cared if a few retainers got savaged by an unexpected surge of beasts? The danger is what made a hunt worthwhile after all!

    I shivered, burying that particular pang of guilt back in the vault. Of all the tasks to be given due to my interests, that had stung the most.

    I was not a Harkley, nor a foolish hunter. I would not be so careless.

    ¡°Sir Taliesin, are you ready?¡± Gawain asked me. I fought down the urge to correct the use of my non-existent title.

    ¡°Yes. Seal me in, keep the air flowing. I¡¯ll let you know when I¡¯m done.¡± Gawain nodded, and Bors raised a stone wall between us, sealing me in. The air was going to be guided in, bubbling through a trough of water, and would flow out through another pipe that was packed with our entire stock of charcoal to filter the smells.

    I started by desiccating a couple of sprigs of Dragon''s Breath Creeper, an uncommon plant claimed to root only where dragons have breathed. In truth, the roots just took well to areas with excess fire glamour. The vines, a mix of reds and oranges, would spill out from a single start point, looking like a cone of flame. While most of my ingredients could be distilled directly, the water that was collected in the creeper could burn and sear and would be more likely to repel than attract. If the water was removed, the oils left behind served as a magnet for glamour.

    True alchemical perfumes use glamour to aid each scent. Glamour made whatever it suffused more potent, more connected to its true self. I was not one of those cultivators who pondered existence and the ''truths'' of glamour deeply, seeking to explore the mysteries of the universe to eke out a fragment of a step in my cultivation. It sounded mind-numbingly boring, yet I felt closest to them when I was amidst my alchemy.

    As I started to pull together the core essences that made up the lure, I could not help but ponder the nature of my cultivation. Glamour bled through from the fey realms. Without it, our world would be mundane. We might have some of the tools we have now, but cultivation and all that came with it would be unattainable. Glamour attuned itself to shared features of our worlds, from knowable things like water to the unfathomable experience of Death.

    Understanding the fey realm and the art of the perfumier required the same fundamental knowledge. Everything was infinitely complex. A poet might argue we could never understand death, that its infinite shades differ with each passing. They would state the death cry of a king in battle versus the dying breaths of a poisoned rat could be no more considered alike than burning stars and the ocean that reflects them.

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    The fey realm made a mockery of such beliefs. The water of the fey realm contained everything from the deepest ocean to the tears of a weeping child. The fey could serve you a cup of water, and in a single sip, you might experience being the rain across the fields, the water pumping through the roots, becoming dew drops in the morning waiting for the sun to take you back to the skies.

    It was why you never accepted gifts from the fey. You never truly knew what you were getting.

    I had found great success in embracing the same principles in my outlook on life and cultivation. I aimed to be a mask of simplicity, hiding chaos. Of always being more than others assumed. In the same way, I was not just a bard, but someone who could call on death itself with my music. My art of weaving together scents went beyond amusing the wealthy and powerful. It enabled my spying and now allowed me to bring monsters down upon my enemies.

    With my skills, the right combination of fire and nature glamour, balanced with the right scents, could make a perfume that gave a person an aura of wildfire, packed behind the scent of the flowers it had not yet consumed. It was often considered a frivolous luxury, a waste of an alchemist¡¯s time. It had no ¡®practical¡¯ application.

    To that, I say, do you have any idea how much it sold for? Even if I learned no other skill, I could probably just make perfumes for the rest of my life and live in luxury.

    That thought was filed away. There were people to kill, beautiful knights to be saved, or at the very least waved to as they saved themselves. I struggled to picture Sephy as a damsel in distress. It just didn¡¯t suit her. She had the aura of a villainess in the same way Lance radiated a sense of heroism.

    As I¡¯d pondered, I¡¯d distilled the rest of my ingredients. The last component to handle was the Starlight Orchid. Beautiful black petals, dusted with glowing dots, showed the bloom was flush with the dream glamour they collected. Dream glamour was essential to capture the attention of the beasts. It wouldn¡¯t control their minds, but even a whiff of the scent would stand out from the background odours, it would be impossible to ignore.

    I had to carefully paint refined monster fat on the delicate petals. Distilling them normally would destroy the minute formations within the plant that held the dream mana in place. Only through a process of enfleurage, where I used fat to draw out the essential oils and glamour within, could it be extracted. As I let that settle in, I used glamour to speed along the desiccation of the creeper vine.

    Then it all came down to a question of distillation. Just mixing it with water or alcohol alone would destroy the delicate glamour. Instead, I had to infuse plain alcohol with the corresponding glamour of the ingredients first. A challenge to find infusions that wouldn''t add their own odour or affect the interaction of the components. Thankfully, this was a process I knew well, and so the task took a scant couple of hours.

    We were lucky that the ¡®pungent¡¯ aroma of the lure wasn''t a complex one that demanded the distinct essences to mature over time. Much of my standard fare would''ve required weeks if not months for the smells to find the right balance.

    I brought it all together and divided it into a collection of small glass ampoules. Each one I then sealed with a special attachment to the heating runes that sat beneath my cauldron. The glass grew red for a second before I crimped them shut, sealing the vile concoction within.

    Taking a look, I could see the liquid was almost totally clear. A yellow tint with little flecks of something floating within, likely trace bits of the Starlight Orchid I''d picked up when I''d extracted the oils. A reflection of the rush job I''d committed to. It hadn''t affected the results, though. I could smell the lure in the air. While it would still need infusing with glamour to make it ¡®active¡¯, the smell was just right.

    The lure was a call. It smelt of fur, blood, and sweat, and the glamour promised prey, lying weak and vulnerable. It also had an edge to it, a challenge, something about it told the nose that this was something worth their attention. The smell was potent, and I regarded the ampoules.

    I wouldn''t be satisfied with their safety until I''d washed them in alcohol, dipped the whole thing in wax, and then wrapped each in a sturdy case, such as a drinking horn padded with straw that I''d prepared. Accidentally breaking one of these near you would require abandoning whatever mountain you were on, all your clothes, and at least a few layers of skin to be safe.

    Speaking of which, I now needed to get clean. No point in doing all of those steps if I was still covered in the scent. I''d just be rubbing it on the very tools I was using to try and obscure the scent.

    I threw the clothes I was wearing into my storage ring. It was just a spare tabard and britches. They could be disposed of later. Naked, I summoned smoke around me, igniting some spare paper on the heating element to get the process started. I found myself resistant to high temperatures as a result of my bloodline and cultivation, not totally fireproof in any sense, but enough so that using scaldingly hot ash and smoke to scrub myself was at most an inconvenience.

    ¡°How''s it going in there? We''re running out of time. We need to get in position,¡± a call came from Lance. She wasn''t pleased that we still couldn''t find time for her to go contact her family.

    ¡°Give me a minute, I''m just cleaning up,¡± I shouted back.

    As I removed any chance of accidental contamination, I did the same for the rest of my equipment. The only exception, the ampoules of lure. The lure I''d created was potent but relatively short-acting. Unlike the Hinde''s foul little creation which leaked its glamour over days yet was more of a subtle suggestion, mine would scream its presence. The glamour would only last for a handful of hours.

    Pressing glamour to it now would activate the reaction, wasting precious time.

    Finally done cleaning, I washed the ampoules and sealed them in wax to lessen the chance of accidental breakages. My full focus was devoted to not dropping them. I placed the first one in a drinking horn packed with straw. I was finishing the second when an impatient voice called out again.

    ¡°Taliesin, we need to go.¡±

    ¡°The first two are ready, you can grab them but whatever you do, don''t knock me,¡± I called back as I started on the third. The stone wall came down and Lance made to rush in only to pause at the doorway.

    ¡°Is this how everyone does alchemy or is this just a you thing?¡± Lance said. My brain, so focused on my task, had no idea what the issue was.

    ¡°What? Have I spilt something?¡± I couldn''t spare the focus. It was a mistake to let her in. The last ampoule was dribbling wax, so I focused on getting over to the horn. I dropped it within, only to look up and see a red-faced Gawain, a smirking Lance, and a baffled Bors all looking through the doorway.

    ¡°Taliesin, why are you naked?¡± Bors asked. I looked down, finally noticing the cool air moving over my skin.

    ¡°Ah, shit.¡±

 Chapter 54 - The Abominable Snow-Saint

    Lance nudged Gring, pushing the pegasus a touch higher, so the payload on the line that trailed behind them wouldn¡¯t strike the valley floor. Taliesin had stressed just how essential it was to avoid getting even a hint of the lure on themselves. No amount of warnings could quite equal his commitment to avoiding contamination.

    The sudden nudity had disrupted her grim thoughts. They¡¯d all laughed as the normally unflappable bard, blushing, clothed himself, explaining for the fifth time how essential it was not to get any of this on anything they valued.

    That had prompted another round of laughter.

    Now that it was just her and Gring, between the rolling clouds and glittering snow, her mood had soured once more. Lance wasn¡¯t sure what was going on with her family. It wasn¡¯t just their safety she was worried about, but also the underpinnings of their very nature. How did she have a Moon Gift? What did it mean that the Lady was indebted to her father and knew his name? Her mind was clouded with questions, and not one of them was simple.

    The stewing worry was set to a frantic boil, fuelled by the knowledge that in a few hours the founder¡¯s festival would be reaching its peak. If it hadn¡¯t happened already, whatever sinister plan her uncle was plotting was going to reveal itself, and her family and home would descend into civil war.

    She looked out over the valleys, once again wishing she could just fly out to the green plains she could spot between the gaps in the snow-capped peaks. Find someplace where this damned interference wasn¡¯t drowning out her voice.

    Not being able to talk to her mother was particularly galling. The dream gift that so stalled her was meant to deliver one thing, the ability to talk through dreams. To have even that ripped away left her feeling resentment towards it that she¡¯d thought she¡¯d mastered years ago. She''d been so profoundly disappointed in her gift that it''d stunted her growth. It just wasn''t the gift of a Knight.

    She''d known since she was five that she was meant to be a Knight, to follow the martial path. She came alive in combat in a way nothing else came close to. She respected her mother''s witchery, but it held no allure. It was a tool, not a passion. She knew on some level she''d never really given it the attention it deserved, but it was hard to see how it could be helpful in the heat of battle. It was a flaw she had to overcome. It''d been a foolish outlook then, and would be the height of idiocy now.

    She looked back at the trailing lure. Such a mundane-looking parcel, a drinking horn poked full of holes. With this and a bit of preparation, they were going to take down an army.

    Gring''s beautiful wings twitched, and their path shifted. Looking ahead, she could see why. Bors and Gaz were staring at a vast expanse of snow.

    The mountains here were tall, holding great sheets of snow, enough to cover the trees near her home from top to bottom. Avalanches were common, mostly small things, where a few feet of excess snow was shed. Big avalanches were rare. They happened when conditions were just right. You needed the snow to not be too compacted, the twitch of the mountain to be strong enough, and the angle of the slope to be just so. Or you needed to have Gaz and Bors.

    She paused to watch, Gring using his wind gift to keep the lure blowing away from them. It wasn''t every day you got to see cultivators change the shape of the world on such a grand scale.

    Gaz had found numerous locations. He could do something with sound she didn''t fully understand to find the right place to strike, having some way to use echoes to see beneath the snow. With him finding the weak points, they were turning the valleys and mountains into a pair of funnels, both aimed right at the Divine cultivators.

    From what she could see, he was doing his other trick right now. With his water gift, he could spread water below the surface of the snow, cutting the snow apart, and leaving a plane of ice between it and the ground. That created a natural point of weakness, ensuring the entire slope began to move, not just the top layer. Gaz stepped back from the ice and joined Bors up on a spur of rock that rose above the slope.

    Bors knelt, pressing his hands against the grey stone. Up above, she felt nothing, saw nothing. For a minute, she just watched, and with the slightest hiss, a crack appeared in the snow field. A wound that became wider with every passing second.

    The snow peeled away, and with it came a rumbling sound. It was gentle at first, not to scale with the huge swathes of snow that now slid down the mountain. The sound began to build.

    In mere moments, the rumbling grew to something that echoed in her bones. The pounding snow, once moving as a singular piece, was now tearing itself apart. Chunks of snow the size of houses were hurled into the air by the uneven landscape below. Lance breathed in awe as enough snow to drown Fosburg tumbled down the mountain, the whole mass becoming an unstoppable force of nature.

    Gring whinnied, and she tore herself from the sight. Best to not be near this. There was a chance that a divine cultivator might come to check this out. Getting caught now would ruin everything. She didn''t need to stay to know that the valley was now cut off. The plan was coming together.

    Now it was time to do her part.

    "Let''s go, Gring gotta let the monsters know where the divine cultivator buffet is."

    An hour later, she watched the results of their labour, hidden in the snow with Gaz. Gring was in a nearby clearing ready to get them both out of there if things went wrong.

    They''d spread the scent around the mountains, and now the first monsters were starting to appear. She''d already seen signs of them when flying. The furred trolls stood out the most, but there were stranger beasts she could now see.

    Through one of the valleys that overlooked the southern approach, snakes made entirely of snow flanked an elk with horns made of living ice. The elk came pounding through the snow, churning the white powder apart as if it were little more than mist. The snakes used this as cover to approach alongside the beast. All of them were called by the smell of the lure.

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    She heard the alarm sound, the cultivators shouting at each other. The elk, she''d guess, was high Bronze or low Iron. That was likely the upper limit of what the lure would directly attract, though more powerful beasts might choose to investigate the fuss their lessers were making.

    The elk burst from the deeper snow into the area that the cultivators had stamped flat with their occupation and locked eyes with the now panicked humans before them. Its nostrils flared and it charged.

    The cultivators, exhausted from constantly fuelling the runes, were still struggling to find their footing. Only a handful of them were fully armed and armoured. It was an insult to discipline. The guards at Fosburg wouldn''t have tolerated recruits acting like this.

    The elk closed the distance, ice churning around its hooves, forming living armour that coated its chest and face. The few spears flung at it bounced off, only angering it further. It began to bellow its challenge.

    A call that was swiftly answered.

    Lance barely saw it. A hiss of wind and a streak of shadow were all that marked its passing. That and the hole it punched through the elk.

    The creature crumpled into a pile, its legs collapsing under its heavy body. Its momentum held, causing it to slide forward across the snow and ice until it came up to the rough pile of snow and dirt that formed a chest-high wall at the edge of the camp. One of the two Paladins stood blinking in confusion at the dead beast.

    Lance''s heart was pounding, even as her blood ran cold. This was the real power of a Steel Rank. She had seen Steels in action before, but it had been her uncles showing off. It had pomp and flair, and while impressive, it lacked the casual power that she''d just witnessed. The way the beast had been treated as nothing more than a pest to be slain. In an instant, something that she''d have been hard pushed to slay was gone.

    And she couldn''t even see the Saint!

    She understood then and there that being caught by that ''Saint'' meant death. She''d known it. It''s not like she''d ever planned to fight the Steel. That''d be madness. But to actually see and feel the gulf in power between them left her with chills that the mountain frost could only envy.

    For a moment, it all seemed hopeless. How could they hope to distract this force of nature? The beasts were but a scant few arrows against full plate, missiles destined to bounce off, no more than a nuisance. Then the snow and ice exploded into a hissing frenzy, and she remembered why any good cultivator took out archers when they could.

    With enough arrows, one would find a chink in the armour.

    The snow snakes used the distraction of the elk to get close and now burst from the snow, attacking the unsuspecting pages and squires who were staring dumbfounded at the slain beast.

    There were maybe eight or nine of the strange elementals. They carved into the unsuspecting foes with lethal fury. The snakes were far weaker than the elk, but the surprise element and the speed of their attack tore into their opponents. Their snow-coated forms flowed red with blood.

    The response from the cultivators was quick. The Paladin was taking one out with each strike, and after the initial shock, the squires started to send out gouts of flame or lashes of water. At this distance, it rapidly became a chaotic mix of glamour.

    That storm of power was silenced as the Saint arrived. She wore no helm, long copper hair flowing behind her. Her armour was exquisite, and her stance had a sense of poise that still radiated danger. Some kind of levity technique made it seem like she''d teleported into their midst. In her presence, the few remaining snakes turned to mist.

    Lance couldn''t even get a whiff of the glamour. Just how did she do that?

    ¡°What the Unseelie fuck?¡± Gaz whispered. Lance''s friend swore rarely and only when it was appropriate. Lance grunted in agreement. She was immensely glad their plan didn''t require them to be anywhere near that harbinger of death. They were half a mile away, and that didn''t feel like nearly enough distance.

    A whole mountain would still be too close.

    The Saint was vexed. At her feet lay slain cultivators, four of them killed in the sudden attack. She turned to the rest, who all dropped to one knee, even those whose wounds were still dripping blood. Whatever she was saying to them was turning them paler than even the blood loss.

    ¡°What¡¯s she saying?¡± Lance asked, turning to her friend and long-time method of gossip collection.

    ¡°You think I dare use the glamour to find out?¡± Gaz hissed back. Lance froze and winced at her own foolishness. Taliesin had warned them just how careful they needed to be.

    ¡°Sorry.¡± She pinched her nose in frustration. A mistake like that could''ve been the end of it all.

    ¡°It¡¯s fine, just don¡¯t forget yourself. Look, more beasts are coming.¡± Gaz pointed out some more movement in the valley that led to the southern point. Lance recognised the big lumbering shapes of the snow trolls. She¡¯d heard tell of them called the Abominable Snowmen, a pathetic name for the savage giants that approached. Ranging between eight and nine feet tall, five of the beasts were loping towards the cultivators.

    With faces a cruel mockery of a human, their eyes sunken into glowing blue pits, and their mouths impossibly wide and lined with teeth made from ice glamour. Their fur left them looking soft, a deception, as beneath it were lean bodies. A single one would¡¯ve been a fearsome opponent. Five would be enough to lay waste to any village without at least twice their number of cultivators.

    Lance shuddered. This was the power of witches, a power she respected but had never mastered. Taliesin''s accidental nudity now made more sense. If this is what they''d already called, she could see why he did not dare get any upon himself. She knew she should talk to her mother more when she got back.

    ¡°She¡¯s seen them,¡± Gaz said. At this distance, even with cultivator-enhanced vision, it was difficult to see much. They were going off of people¡¯s body language mostly. The Saint had turned and stood staring straight into the oncoming enemy.

    Then she was gone. And for a second, all was silent before the trolls began hooting and screeching. Their cries lasted less than a few heartbeats before silence reigned again.

    ¡°You reckon she¡¯s getting suspicious?¡± Lance asked, watching the woman calmly step out of the bloodied mess of snow she¡¯d created. The trolls were in pieces all around her.

    ¡°Nothing we can do if she is but wait. I''ll signal the others and check if they''ve got movement.¡± Gaz moved about in their tiny hide so he could look through some disks of ice. It was a trick Gawain had taught him. He used water to melt the ice just to create the right shape and then coated the outside with a layer of his glamour-infused water so they wouldn¡¯t turn cloudy. If the Saint hadn¡¯t been about, he could¡¯ve just manipulated the water for the same purpose, but this meant there was no chance of being detected.

    They didn¡¯t dare point the lenses at the cultivators directly. They were prone to catching the light and revealing their position.

    He peered through the lenses at what would¡¯ve looked like a random patch of earth and a few seconds later grunted. ¡°They¡¯ve got movement. If she didn¡¯t know something was up before, she will soon.¡±

    ¡°Well, let¡¯s hope it¡¯s enough and that Ursul takes the opportunity to try and break out. I''m mostly worried that the bagpipes won''t be loud enough over the inevitable screaming. If my dad''s stories are anything to go by, Ursul didn''t ever take being cooped up well.¡± When she was small, her dad had told Lance quite a few stories on the same birthday that he gave her a stuffed ''Ursul'' toy. The details were visceral.

    Her mother had thought it would scar her. Instead, that toy became her favourite. What wasn''t to like? It was a huggable murder machine!

    ¡°Please, I''ve heard your father play. There''s a reason your mother makes him practise in the basement. I just hope he''s right and it doesn''t just enrage the giant murder bear further.¡±

 Chapter 55 - The Reluctant Shepherd

    Saint Ginevra, known as the Ascendant Spear, was engaged in a challenge of piety. The challenge was not the cold, desolate place she found herself in, nor the weak monsters that dribbled in on occasion. The great challenge was the pathetic sheep she had been tasked with keeping alive.

    Shepherds were a big part of the Ray of Bonds'' teachings, and she had always sneered at the use of a peasant¡¯s profession as if it could teach a Saint like her anything. Now, after experiencing the constant battle to keep her own flock of dawdling idiots from wandering off and getting eaten by some mangy pests, she held a newfound respect for those peasants.

    The Paiges in particular were like newborn lambs, wandering around on unsteady feet. Regular sheep were bad enough, getting caught in bushes and bleating for help. At least the ¡®bush¡¯ had been a monster lying in ambush; it was a foe. The lambs, though, were beyond useless. She had lost three of them in the last week: two to the cold and one to a fall into a gully. What kind of cultivator perished from falling over? A feckless lamb whose journey to ascension to the Court of Stars was a failure before they could take the first step. She wondered if the heretics had to put up with such pathetic displays of power.

    Cardinal Wexlan seemed confused about the heretics. In one breath, they were all deviant barbarians, each as wise as a lump of clay, given form and baked into mere imitations of real cultivators by the iron will of those few who commanded Mithril levels of stolen holy power. In the next breath, the heretics wielded the cunning of the fox, the savagery of the wolf, and the stubbornness of the bear. They used these attributes to endlessly plot and scheme ways to bring down good and honest servants of the Guiding Star.

    Even when acknowledging their threat, they were still equated to beasts. This undersold their danger. Beasts were nothing compared to a human who was prepared for them, just as she slaughtered the fur-coated giants before her.

    Her spear danced. She had not got a chance to challenge herself here, and this fight would barely warm her. She used her spear to carve through the abominations. She restricted her blade blessing; there was no need to waste it. The foes were vermin at best; they didn¡¯t deserve her blessing, let alone her Covenant or Divine Mandate.

    She carved them up. Briefly, she considered leaving them there for the flock to collect but thought better of it. The sheep would only get into more trouble. She picked up one of the corpses. The fur was oily and smelled most foul, but it would be good for fighting off the cold and keeping the lambs safe. More importantly, even with an ugly mockery of the human visage, the meat would still be of use. It could be cooked, and the flock seemed to have an insatiable need to graze. Such needy creatures they were.

    She flung the corpse back towards the camp and then did the same with the rest. As she did so, Ginevra paused in silent reflection. Something about this was not right. Where had these monsters come from?

    Three days ago, the main camp was destroyed by the bear demon. It had slaughtered its way through most of their number, and now only the dregs who had been in the support camps remained. With the Inquisitors demanding priority on entrance, many of their soldiers had taken to hunting to keep themselves busy.

    They had hunted everything for miles around. The reason was a mix of sport, food, and security. They would bring the spoils back to camp and celebrate their triumphs, doing what they could to salve the wound of missing out on the bounty of the Divine Realm. It was ironic that most of these weak prizes now lay within the blessed formation, likely feeding that giant demonic bear.

    Ginevra had never been one for hunting, or rather she had been happy to be led to monsters worth her time by others. She knew little of the habits of such creatures, but her instincts told her something was amiss.

    Had they been stirred up by the unusual number of avalanches she had sensed today? She had been tempted to investigate but held back. Knowing her luck, she would have returned to find her sheep competing to ram themselves down the gullet of a monster. She scanned the area with her divine senses, looking for any sign of divine power being used. Had the heretics found them?

    She sensed no humans. The use of blessings, whether that pure power of the blessed or the twisted energy of the ¡®gifts,¡¯ had a distinct feel. There was nothing but her flock. In the background, there was endless power of ice and earth, as well as the wind. She felt something in the wind, a strange power that she didn¡¯t recognise. It was thin and weak but complex, a mix of power, not some natural phenomenon.

    She was distracted from that oddity as her senses pushed down the mountain and found more beasts approaching, a whole horde of them descending on their position. She leapt back to the camp, appearing before the Paladin assigned to the camp. He was a young man, recently promoted by the trials of cleansing the Divine Realm.

    The man took a knee to hear her words. She resisted the urge to chastise him. His promotion meant he should stand with a bowed head when receiving her orders, especially as he was technically the leader of this camp. She glared at the hut where the Priest and other Paladin stood in proper displays of deference. The Priests had stolen the veteran Paladins for their protection and left her with only untested metal for commanders.

    ¡°Paladin Astra, foul abominations are closing in on this camp. Summon a few from the other camps to help you reinforce your position. Get your soldiers ready. I shall slay all that I can, but some might slip through. Call upon the other Paladins from the East and West camps to aid you. I will not be pleased if the few scurrying vermin, who are not worth my time, are able to overwhelm you.¡±

    ¡°Saint of the Ascendant Spear, how does this fit within Cardinal Wexlan¡¯s orders?¡± This was a question from the Priest, asked in a tone of genuine confusion, a pilgrim seeking enlightenment. How she wished to enlighten him by throwing him and his master into the sun!

    She cursed the tenets of the Ray of Bonds. Two had vexed her endlessly: loyalty to the Principal, and unity in conduct and mind. For the sake of unity, she couldn¡¯t call out the fat, wrinkled pig. He sat with her best soldiers ready to defend him, despite the fact that he was second only to her in combat strength. In the last two days, they had done nothing but watch over him as he fed the divine tool that kept the demon in check.

    Technically, it was his right to squander that power. He was the Principal, the head of this decimated family. His word was law, and his laws were a reflection of his soul. A craven excuse for a man.

    She prepared her thoughts. She was unused to not being the Principal. It was rare for two Saints to gather, and rarer still to find a Cardinal out in the field. She struggled to find the right words to maintain the facade of unity. Looking over the shoulder of the Priest, the formation loomed. Barely visible due to the shadows and eddies of divine power, she saw the silhouette of the demon looming over the camp, two eyes, each as big as her head, watching the proceedings carefully.

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    She might be disgusted by the Cardinal, but it was only thanks to his knowledge of the runes that they had survived. He had twisted what was once meant to be a tool of defence into a trap. That act of desperation was no miracle as he claimed. The runes had trapped them with it. The power it required was too great. They had to feed it constantly as they waited for reinforcements. All the while, the bear was testing it, looking for a moment of weakness.

    The Cardinal called it a beast, but she knew better. She had fought other beasts whose power equalled her own. They were as smart as any human, and this one was waiting for its moment to strike. She didn¡¯t need the Blessing of Prophecy to know it would get free. They had had a chance before, but now? Their power was too meagre, and this new threat had already tipped the delicate scales in its favour.

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    A smile came to her lips, something she¡¯d not appreciated before. As she was not the Principal, it would not be her fault if they failed here. She was weary of being his dog. When she was Principal, she had her own dogs that guided the wool-gathering idiots and shielded her from drudgery. She wished she could compliment Paladin Agwald; her right hand had always made it seem so easy. The Harkleys always did have a talent for such things. It was a shame he was one of the few on their side, given the privilege of being in the realm. Perhaps she¡¯d see him again if he escaped.

    She looked back down at the fussing Priest. A cold certainty that this would be her last command stilled her frustration.

    ¡°Of course, Priest, I should not expect you to have the wit to puzzle out my thoughts. Send my Paladin an order to come to aid me, but pass on a message to his Paladins. Let them know I suspect this attack is no natural occurrence. I sense the foul workings of heretics or the demonic fae. They should also send a warning to the South camp. They must have everyone on watch.¡± She enjoyed the look of constipated worry that descended on the Priest at that announcement. Her order had done three things. She¡¯d given her Paladin a chance to escape, made it clear the Cardinal was needed, and finally pressed the fear into them.

    ¡°Your will be done, Saint.¡± Paladin Astra began to give out orders. His voice was drowned out by a cacophony of roars. The beasts had caught their scent.

    The wave of monsters was closing in. Ginevra readied herself, preparing for the fight as well as checking she hadn¡¯t left anything at camp. She would act to protect the camp but knew she was unlikely to return. Best put on a bit of a show. She unleashed her Blessing of the Blade. The divine power made the edges of her spear blur.

    She launched herself at the lead beast; this was another Ice-horned elk. Her blade carved through it as easily as if it were a pile of snow. An entire menagerie followed it, a stampede of beasts that should¡¯ve been fighting each other, were now spaced out across the narrow pass that led towards the camps. The death of the elk only seemed to drive them on.

    Saint Ginevra smiled. She began to pick her targets, letting them take her steadily away from camp. She coiled up the blessing of metal and slammed herself into a trio of ice snakes. Just her aura was enough to shatter the lesser elementals. Maybe her earlier thoughts were wrong, and the monsters could be handled. She didn¡¯t want to see her flock slaughtered, it was unprofessional. Still, something deep in her gut, or perhaps a shred of divine inspiration, told her that their bleating calls would be silenced today.

    So faint as to be a whisper carried by the wind, she heard the sound of the North camp¡¯s alarm bell. It was a frantic noise, not the steady ringing of a watchman calling men to arms, but the frenzied beating of someone begging for help.

    Ginevra slashed out at another squad of beasts, buying the South Camp a bit of breathing room. Then she dipped into her true power¡ªthe Divine Mandate that marked her rise to Sainthood.

    To become a Paladin, one must make a Covenant with the Guiding Star. The heathens called such a thing their ¡®intent¡¯, a phrase that embodied the core of their being and defined their power. Ginevra¡¯s was simple and powerful: ¡®I am the tip of the spear¡¯. Her power was one of focus. She brought great power to a single point, a point that moved quickly, darting back and forth, ever able to keep the foe at bay.

    One-on-one, she could regularly beat others a step above her. Her power could punch through defences and knock away attacks. She would never be one to send out waves of attacks to strike down a horde, though.

    Her Mandate took it a step further. This marked her ascension into Steel rank. To rise, one must steel their own name against dark influences or risk losing their identity and mind. To do so required one to have a deeper understanding of a fragment of creation. The Guiding Star gifted her with Divine Mandate over the concept of the fragment ¡®Spear¡¯.

    She threw her spear into the air and focused. The concept of the ¡®Spear¡¯ was not just of the weapon, but the act of spearing something and the power within. That point of power punched through all that stood before it. It wasn¡¯t limited to weapons; she¡¯d felt a certain kinship with the Ice Horn Elk. Those spiked horns had connected with her Mandate. And with her Mandate, she could stretch her power beyond the limited realms of those who played around with blessings and ¡®gifts¡¯.

    She was her spear at that moment. Her eyes floated with it as it spiralled above the camps. She felt the tip carving apart the air, leaving a screaming rent that would be filled with a thunderclap. She didn¡¯t bother to seal it up this time; perhaps the booming shout would rouse the Cardinal. He¡¯d complained often enough about it.

    The spear cleared the South camp in a split second. It rose over the trap and the bear. She could feel the monster tracking her spear despite its terrifying speed. It hadn¡¯t forgotten that she¡¯d kept it busy while the trap was sprung. The fight had been the most lethal of her life, and that was with the support of the inquisitors and the sacrifice of several noble Paladins.

    Fighting it again would lead to her death.

    As she began to pass over the South camp, she did not know whether to groan or sigh with relief. The South camp was already being overrun by beasts. A horde of small beasts was spilling the blood of her flock, leaving nothing but mutton in their wake.

    That was it. They¡¯d lost. She quickly looked back to the Cardinal and laughed. He was already packing up. He knew it too. She could imagine him now demanding her aid. Would he have demanded she protect him, or would he have told her to sacrifice herself here in some futile effort? She¡¯d never know; she wasn¡¯t about to go back.

    She blinked, and the blade was back in her hand. Time to leave.

    She spread out her senses. The monsters were everywhere, and that was perfect. Her orders had been to protect the camp from such threats. It wouldn¡¯t be her fault that the endless wave of monsters took her away from camp. She just needed to go before¡ª

    There was a pulse of divine power. She could feel the runes burning in her divine senses. The bear was about to break out. She darted away, carving through monster after monster. When the Inquisition questioned her, she¡¯d speak nothing but the truth¡ªshe was hunting monsters to the last minute.

    Another burst of power and the runes cracked. The release of power was the screech of failing metal. It scraped from her skull down her spine, setting her nerves alight. There was a pathetic bark of power¡ªthe Cardinal, no doubt¡ªbefore a roar drowned it out. She began to sprint away.

    She cast her mind back to a spear she¡¯d left in her camp, using it to magnify her senses. She was just in time to hear the Cardinal¡¯s screams.

    ¡°No foul demon, don¡¯t! The Guiding Star¡­¡± Then there was a crunch. The bear was, after all, not much one for scripture. She could hear chaos and the sound of the monsters making mince of her flock. Just as she began to pull her attention away, she could hear the haunting sound of pipes calling out. It was a merry tune, making a farce out of the tragedy that played out.

    She heard a final burst of worried bleating¡ªthe screams of sheep abandoned by their shepherd. She shut that out and focused on running.

    A good shepherd is said to worry about each member of their flock, braving storms and wolves to protect them. Ginevra felt that the best kind of shepherd would know they could just get more sheep.

 Chapter 56 - Step Four: Profit?

    The screams and din of battle were almost enough to make me start scrubbing my skin again. Monster lure, while variable in power, was potent even at the worst of times, and I had reason to think I might''ve pushed it further. A hypothesis had occurred to me after the team headed out to enact the plan. As I am an alchemist trained to make scents, it wouldn''t be inaccurate to say I excel at it. As follows, any scent-based alchemy I produce would be exceptional, including the monster lure.

    The bloodbath outside offered compelling support for my theory.

    I winced as I saw a trio of white-furred trolls slam into the northern camp. Just behind them was a mass of writhing beasts. I knew only the Icehorn Elk by sight, and that was only because its horns were a valuable alchemy ingredient. The rest were a terrifying mystery to me. A comprehensive knowledge of monsters was not within my training.

    The plan required me to be in a hide, able to see both teams'' positions. I needed confirmation that both Steel rank opponents were out of commission. We''d placed me near the Saint''s camp, assuming it''d be the first one emptied. I secreted myself in a small hollow of rock, tunnelled beneath the snow by Bors. I could barely move. What little extra space I had was filled with the bagpipes I was trying to keep inflated, keeping them ready for their time to shine.

    I was trying to do this silently. The bagpipes laughed at my efforts.

    Every traitorous squeak and whistle made me flinch, such movement only making the accused instrument honk again. I started to consider that this was my punishment from the Lady for my stormy thoughts.

    I''d watched as the South camp was the first to taste the monster wave. The response was a chilling reminder of just how shockingly powerful a Saint could be. The death of the Icehorn had been instant.

    The first deaths surprised me. At the distance I was at, all I saw were the explosions of blood and the fallen corpses. Something had slipped past the Saint.

    Did I feel bad about causing those deaths? Not one bit. A quick death was a mercy compared to what they''d have done to any of us given half the chance. In the Ray of Bonds, you were either part of the ¡®family¡¯ or you were nothing.

    Things moved quickly from there. More beasts appeared, the Saint gave some orders, and then returned to the fight. As we predicted, her camp quickly emptied. I saw the signal, a small rock rising out of the snow from Bors and Gawain''s camp signalling monsters from the North. Monsters I''d just seen wreck the exhausted forces, who''d barely even spotted them before they struck.

    That brought us up to the present, as a peal of thunder split the sky. The iconic sound made me curl up instinctively, my instrument wheezing in response. I had to remain stock still as I held in my fear. I knew who the Saint was and found myself considering prayer, not to the Guiding Star, but to the Lady. I stopped myself; I knew that by the end I''d be cursing her out.

    The Ascendant Spear was one of the few Saints within the Ray of Bonds and known as a ruthless killer. Her spear could travel so fast it sundered the very sky. She excelled at duels and routinely appeared to solve ¡®points of theological debate¡¯ on behalf of her ¡®family¡¯.

    One such duel had occurred when the Harkleys had been attending some clergy function. I''d only been permitted at the event due to the interest in my perfumes. I''d not been able to go to the duel, nor did I wish to. I avoided any event where so many powerful were gathered, if at all possible.

    Even if I didn''t see it, I''d heard the battle. The thunder of her spear rang again and again across the estate we had commandeered. It''d been a reminder of the vast differences in power between us. So to hear it again right before me, to feel the glamour at the core of the sound, sent my heart thumping. The power had that strange flavour that Steel ranks exuded. Not elemental glamour, but something more complex, something as unknowable as the fae.

    I waited for the result of the technique. To my surprise, I soon saw a combination of rocks rise up from Lance and Gaz''s position. Four rocks. That meant the Saint was fleeing. Five would''ve meant dead.

    I let out a breath I didn''t realise I''d been holding. Another honk from the pipes mocked me.

    The Saint leaving marked our triumph. She''d never have left if she thought her forces had a chance of success.

    Now we just had to survive our victory. I couldn''t see the Cardinal''s camp, but this was already going better than I''d hoped. The Saint scared me. The Cardinal was just as capable of killing us, but if I knew the clergy, he''d prefer to keep us alive, to make an example. There was a chance of escape there.

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    The Saint would''ve just killed us.

    My thoughts were interrupted as the rune formation screamed. Ursul had sensed the opportunity and was clearly trying to break free. Thanks to the failing light and the oddities of the runic magics, I couldn''t see properly within.

    I saw a lone figure rising into the air. At this distance, they were just a splotch of colour, but I recognised the bright scarlet cassock. The Cardinal was trying to flee.

    The magic cage screamed. In the abandoned camp, glimmering runes burned with the light of the midday sun before growing dim, leaving molten scars on the elegant sculpture. Tortured by the failing runes and the rapid shift in heat, the marble exploded.

    The cage fell.

    The Cardinal rose in terror, but the manner of flight that Steel rankers commanded was not an efficient means of travel. A paw the size of a wagon swatted him out of the sky. A glowing ball of light formed at the last moment, as he strived to protect himself from the raking claws. The raking blades were held back, but even the impressive glamour behind it could not stop him from being slammed into the ground.

    Techniques and glamour flared, but Ursul was not going to be denied his revenge. The colossal beast ignored the Paladins who sought to distract him. His huge jaws came down and ate the golden ball and Cardinal in a single bite, as one might scoff down a strawberry. He chewed for a moment and then turned to the now fleeing Paladins.

    It was my time to act. If Ursul just ran off in pursuit, we might never find him.

    I kicked the wall before me. It fell apart into a wave of diamond-shaped pieces. Bors¡¯ trick was not just for pranking the unwary. I found the right positioning of my fingers. The song that Lance had requested of me was one of the few I''d learned from her father. Ban considered this a favourite, and it was a pleasant and easy piece. Even with my limited skills, it should at least be recognisable.

    I just hoped that Ursul was not a harsh critic.

    The song was a merry tune, or as merry as one could manage with the bagpipes. Personally, I had always considered the instrument one best suited to either firing up the blood or making maudlin music.

    The song was one written for Ban''s adoptive father, Ursul''s pact companion, the true Lord of Fosburg, as thanks from some people he''d aided in the Lands of Woad.

    My fingers danced, and I tried to balance the flow of air between how I breathed and how I squeezed the bag under my arm. The bagpipes were a total bastard of an instrument. Give me a flute any day.

    The first notes rang out over the scene of carnage. From the two hides, my companions rushed out, a late addition to the plan.

    See, the plan was rather inspired. First, with some carefully prepared avalanches, we create funnels to focus the beasts into attacking from two separate points. Second, we spread the lure and collect an army of monsters who will assault our foes. Third, when the foe''s defences become overwhelmed, Ursul breaks out and kills or drives off the Steel ranks. Fourth, I charm the bear with the power of music.

    The only problem was that step four might take a while to kick in. So right now, I was standing out in the open playing extremely loudly while surrounded by monsters.

    I found myself cursing my early hypothesis. I''d been told my perfumes were to die for at least a few times. I doubted this is what they meant.

    Monsters were turning to look at me. Ursul, however, remained busy. He had Paladins to eat.

    The first to arrive was Archimedes, with Gawain on top and Bors dangling beneath from his talons. He could be mistaken for captured prey, but even they didn''t look as petrified as he did. At least it didn¡¯t last long. While impressively high, the Knight was dropped. I heard him cursing right before he landed, like a meteor. From his feet, spikes of rock shot up. Impaled upon them were writhing tendrils of snow.

    They looked awfully like snakes made of snow. I hadn''t even noticed them. Around me, I funnelled smoke, creating a vortex of black dust that rose up to my waist. I didn''t want to risk something climbing up my legs.

    Lance and Gaz arrived a moment later. Lance jumped off Gring and pulled from her ring her family banner. We''d decided that it would be a good addition to our ¡®please don''t eat us¡¯ argument.

    Just like the bagpipes though, the bright colours and fluttering standards only drew further attention to us. From both North and South, their enemies slain, the monsters who''d failed to get their teeth into some god-bothers turned to our group and began to march.

    They approached on all sides, even above. Gawain remained airborne, circling us. We''d seen, thankfully, few flying beasts pulled in by our trick, but the few that had appeared, he''d handle.

    I kept playing, hoping.

    The monsters were closing the distance quickly.

    My fingers slipped on the pipes, a terrible note of discord ringing out. I felt the mana in my music distort with it, the volume spiking as my control broke loose. The pipes rang painfully loud until I wrangled the damn thing under control.

    ¡°Bring it, you frigid fucks!¡± Bors called his challenge, raising a short wall of earth in a ring around us.

    Wolves with fur bristling with ice crystals led the charge. Around me, my friends took up arms, readying their defences. Lance held her sword in one hand while the other waved her banner in defiance. I paused my song, ready to switch to the blade at a moment¡¯s notice.

    A growl washed over the valley. It was a low, guttural sound that tickled the back of the neck. It was a threat that would rise out of the dark forest to warn away an ambitious hunter, a generational memory learned over countless lives. After all, only people who fled such noises lived long enough to sire children.

    The wave of monsters stopped. Some slid, others fell, and a few just collapsed to the ground. The spell of the lure was broken, overwritten by the singular command of a beast that they were but ants before. I didn''t know the nature of the command, but I could sense the underlying claim of ownership the bear had placed upon us.

    The world stood frozen and silent. Even my bagpipes didn¡¯t dare make a sound.

    Then the beasts turned and began to slip back, heading towards the still-cooling bodies of our foes. They had been tamed as surely as the crack of a cane would silence unruly children. The bear turned his gaze upon us, blood dripping down his snout.

 Chapter 57 - Bear Witness

    Ursul approached us. With each step, he seemed to grow bigger, but it was only my mind struggling to understand the scale. I had never beheld anything like this. I had read in books that most beasts change as they age. Most refine their existing bodies, becoming faster or more sturdy. Others change form entirely, sometimes even taking up a human body. I had never heard of beasts just getting bigger¡ªwell, apart from dragons. That comparison didn''t reassure me.

    ¡°You stopped your playing, bard. A shame, but the pipes do get in the way of speaking.¡± I doubted that. There was no instrument I could play that would drown out the wall of sound that rolled over us. Perhaps some kind of explosive percussion? Despite the volume, his tone was warm and kind. I could hear the same slight accent I noticed Lance and Ban favoured.

    We all kneeled before the bear.

    ¡°Well met! I am free and in good company. Who is that who carries my favourite nephew''s banner and routs my enemies?¡± Ursul boomed.

    ¡°I am Lancelot Ban, daughter of Knight Lord Ban and Elder Elaine,¡± Lance spoke. A great chuckle rolled across us all.

    ¡°He married Lanie? They fought like cats and dogs!¡± He scented the air with a great gust of wind that whipped the snow. ¡°You speak the truth! Stand! I smell both of them in you, and other surprises. Well met, Lancelot Fos. I am Ursul. Please introduce your companions so I know who to thank for their aid.¡±

    ¡°Lord Ursul, I am pleased to introduce Knight Gawain of House Lothian, with his mount Archimedes, and Knight Bors with his mount Gringolet.¡± Both beasts joined us on the ground in supplication. I was surprised; I¡¯d never known that Gring was short for anything. Lance¡¯s introductions were perfect for courtly rules. Everyone should be introduced by Cultivation rank, and then in terms of noble honour.

    ¡°Squire Gareth of Orkney, and the man with the bagpipes is the Bard Taliesin.¡± Those eyes flickered over the others but locked onto me with unerring purpose.

    I had dealt with various manners of Evil Eye, but the threat and power of eyes the size of shields staring you down could not be underestimated. There wasn¡¯t any glamour, just an intense sense of curiosity behind them.

    ¡°Well met. You may stand. I am impressed by your courage and fortitude to assault such a force. Before we explore that story, I must know¡ªwhy do you stand here alone? You are an odd band to send out into the deep mountains.¡±

    ¡°We were brought here by circumstances beyond our control.¡± Lance looked at me, seeking my permission to speak. I gave a small nod. ¡°We were directed here by the Lady herself. There is much wrong in the land. The Divine Cultivators, as they call themselves, have spread like a pestilence across the land. Fosburg may already be under attack, or will be, with my Uncle Roland showing signs of aiding them, claiming that my grandfather has perished during his questing.¡±

    ¡°The Lady herself! How can you be sure? Ah, the Bard.¡± The bear''s eyes flicked back to me. I cursed to myself. Miss Peaches had led me to believe that those who could sense the Lady''s lingering power on me would be few indeed.

    ¡°You look upset, bard? Strange, it is not you who has been told that his home may be rent by civil war, with those he once called family allying with these rabid cultists.¡± The voice remained pleasant and warm, yet with some small shift, I became more aware of the scale of the being I faced. I felt as if I was shrinking, my body reduced to that of a child.

    ¡°My apologies, Lord Ursul. It is a small thing. I was told by an Elder Witch that the evidence of her interest in me would not be so obvious.¡±

    ¡°Curious, someone knew the scent of her power enough to pick it out?¡± There was a bit to unpack in that sentence. I also heard the implied question and sighed. I had not meant to volunteer such information. I briefly weighed up my options and decided that the chance of this blowing up in my face was slim.

    ¡°She is Elder Nimue and stands allied with Ban in Fosburg. She loathes the Divine Cultivators more than any.¡± I hoped Miss Peaches wouldn¡¯t hold it against me.

    ¡°The Witch stands with Fosburg? Is this true, young Lancelot?¡±

    ¡°Indeed, she goes by the Lady in Peach, or is known as Miss Peaches to those she considers friends. I understand she is trying to maintain a low profile, so is likely to hide her full power.¡± Lance gave me the side-eye. A dry gulp of air plunged down my throat; that detail had passed me by.

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    ¡°Even restricted, I would bet on her against any force that did not command a Mithril of its own. Do our foes possess that power?¡± The bear asked in a business-like manner. Lance floundered.

    ¡°It is unlikely. Taliesin, do you have any input?¡±

    ¡°To the best of my knowledge, the Mithrils the Divine Cultivators command are busy securing their holdings. I also imagine that they would not risk bringing one to the border of the Chox and Artoss lands. The chance that both would descend upon them would be too high. Their Mithrils are not known for taking risks.¡± I answered Lance''s question as best I could.

    ¡°Then I am momentarily sated. I shall send a message to Fosburg now, rather than start to run in support. Then we shall get to your missing Prince.¡± The bear shifted its paws and turned to look at Bors, the giant man just as small before him as the rest of us.

    Bors stood perfectly at attention, his fist over his heart, his head down. He cut the classic figure of a knight. It seemed unnatural, but I remembered what he''d told me earlier¡ªthat he was just the son of a chef. Proper conduct must''ve been drilled into him from a young age; he would never be allowed to embarrass Arthur. The figure before me was one of flawless protocol. It felt fake and wrong to see his nature twisted so. He was no longer Bors; he was now just a retainer of the Prince.

    ¡°You, Knight Bors¡ªcome this will be instructional to one with gifts such as yourself. Come, bear witness!¡± The bear rumbled, watching the knight carefully.

    Bors paused, and the facade of formality shattered as he let loose a bark of laughter. ¡°Was that a pun?¡±

    ¡°I knew someone would get it!¡± The bear chuckled merrily. Behind them, a small avalanche started. Beside me, I saw Gawain clamp his mouth shut, swallowing the words he''d prepared to defend his friend. He looked horrified at his friend''s casual manner.

    Was this how Lance and the others saw me when I acted all chummy with the likes of Miss Peaches? Good to know.

    The pair headed over to a spur of rock that was like any other to my eyes, but both of them seemed very excited about it. They were talking for some time while we all just stood about, letting our blood cool and our minds revel in our victory. Several minutes of silence passed between us. Gaz, thankfully, took the initiative to block out the grisly sounds of the monsters gorging themselves.

    ¡°Well, this is going well. The Dream Mana is still disturbed, though.¡± Lance was the first to speak, a gentle smile on her face. Darkness had finally descended on the camp, our attack coming in the gloom of evening. This night, the clouds were absent, and above us, stars shone. She stared at them, enjoying the moment, at ease for the first time in days. In fact, I hadn''t seen her look so at ease since our first dinner in Fosburg.

    ¡°It should settle down in a day or so,¡± I replied. I¡¯d encountered such techniques before. The Harkleys were often paranoid and deployed similar tricks.

    ¡°We can¡¯t wait. We should act quickly. With each passing minute, I worry that Arthur could be in more trouble.¡± Gawain¡¯s voice, though, was unusually sharp. He¡¯d clearly taken up the slack. He retained his professional demeanour but was all but vibrating in place.

    "Don''t forget Sephy," I muttered.

    "She is a survivor. Arthur is prone to taking honourable actions that carry significant risk." I was stunned.

    "That sounded almost like a rebuke, Gawain." I nudged the Knight, and he sighed.

    "All I meant by it was that the Prince benefits from the robust counsel of his retainers. All his retainers," he replied stiffly. His eyes locked onto the Fae Realm. I joined him in contemplation.

    For the first time since we''d arrived, we could clearly see the entrance to the Fae Realm. Amidst the chaos of the twice-wrecked camp, there stood a circle of tall pine trees. Each radiated life, the lace-like fronds the emerald of new growth, a burst of colour in the monochrome mountain. The trees shifted, following winds that didn''t match the gusts from our world. In the little gaps that appeared between them, my senses told me something was moving, but I could never see what.

    It was unsettling.

    Within the ring, we would step into another realm¡ªa shred of the Fae Realm that had come to rest against our own. The power within would be rich, the loot incredible, and the beasts plenty. Knights would seek it out to do battle with monsters found only in legends. Witches would kill for the reagents within that stretched what one could do with alchemy. I could understand why such places were fought over.

    All I wanted from it was to see Sephy safe. Worries were breaking through my faith in her. There had been a lot of cultivators.

    ¡°Do we need to be worried about the Divine Cultivators escaping?¡± Gaz stepped up to join us. Maybe he wanted to distract me or just misread the intensity of my stare, but it snapped me out of it.

    ¡°I doubt it. The realm doesn''t allow anyone above Iron to enter, and it''s not friendly to those at the higher levels of Iron. I find it hard to believe that they''d pose a risk to us, and between the beasts and the bear, they cannot escape. They could get out a message, I suppose, but they''d have to be very lucky.¡± Gawain answered for me. He was starting to pace, his impatience breaking through his stoic image.

    ¡°Chances of reinforcements?¡± Gaz asked me.

    ¡°Still very small, especially with a Steel waiting for them here,¡± I replied. Gawain looked like he was going to speak again, but we were all interrupted by a staggering wave of glamour.

    With a whoop, we turned to see Bors and Ursul at their rock. The knight, looking like a toy soldier beside the bear, was pressing his ear to the rock. He grinned madly, no doubt some form of cultivation knowledge. That done the pair chatted and began making their way over to us. With each pace, Ursul was shrinking.

    By the time he stood before us, he was merely very big for a bear. His shoulders were level with Bors'' head. Some part of me wanted to know where it all went, but the rest of me was exhausted enough to just ignore it.

    ¡°Come, you must recover your strength, and we can speak of your missing Prince. Plus, I am indebted to you; we must speak of your rewards.¡±

 Chapter 58 - Gift giving

    I stood in the ruins of the original camp. Ursul had swept aside most of it, but there were still signs of the former occupants. There were burnt rings of campfires, ruined tent poles standing alone, and all sorts of random gear pressed into the earth. Gawain was talking to Ursul, trying to understand what we were likely to expect on the other side.

    Bors, Lance, and Gring were off to one side, talking about something. From the intensity of the discussion, it seemed of great importance. Even Gring had his serious face on.

    Gaz was looking through the wreckage for any kind of evidence or information he could find. I would¡¯ve joined him, but I had something I needed to do first.

    I had to cultivate. The oppressive weight of death was pressing down on me.

    I¡¯d never been on a battlefield before. There was a smell in the air, of blood and the slowly growing stench of the many dead. The deaths in this camp included powerful souls, and that was ignoring the recent death of the Cardinal. The glamour there threatened to smother me. My hearth demanded that power, told me to cultivate, to breathe in, to absorb that power directly.

    I fought it down.

    The pipes hissed and wheezed. I was nowhere near as talented with the pipes as I was with the lute, but something about the situation demanded the pipes. I felt the tune out in my head. It was a tune from the Lands of Woad, a funeral song about going home. While I didn¡¯t have the most respect for the dead here, I still felt that settling their souls was important, if for nothing else, to stop it from tainting the gateway to the fae realm.

    ¡°Gaz, could you protect the others from the song?¡± I called out, getting a nod in return.

    My power swirled. I let my fingers move. My cheeks puffed out as I controlled the flow of air. The sound rang out across the snow. I could hear the echoes of it coming back off the mountain.

    The swirling death glamour in the air was coaxed under my control. As I played, I felt the power swirl around me. The souls were a mix. I felt many who were possessed by frenzied belief and arrogance, while others felt lost, scared, and worried. Such feelings were attached to the weaker glamour, those Wood and Bronze cultivators dragged into this cult.

    The worst was the Cardinal. It was the first time I¡¯d encountered a dead Steel rank. His will was unbreakable. While the rest swirled about me, taking up the restful promise of being sent home that I pressed into the song, the Cardinal¡¯s power stalked about me. The will was one of supreme arrogance and paranoia. It had no need to go anywhere. It followed no orders, took no suggestions, and trusted no offers. I had gathered as much power as I dared, and still, the Cardinal¡¯s power refused.

    Just as I was floundering about what to do, a great paw came down, scattering the Cardinal''s power.

    I blinked. My pipes felt full to bursting with power, and beside me stood Ursul in his big, rather than giant, form. The threat was handled.

    ¡°That song was notably better than your first. You were still foolish to try and handle such power. You must grow stronger. Absorb that power, then we shall talk.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Lord Ursul.¡± I bowed to him, my heart near pounding out of my chest. It took a long time to settle myself, and I had to slowly pull the now stilled power into my hearth, sating the gnawing hunger I felt. Looking over, I could see the others stood together. There were a couple of tents that had only been knocked over and had been salvaged to make a camp. I took a minute or two to guide the power in. All the while, the bear watched me.

    ¡°That is an interesting form of cultivation, Bard. I would suggest you refrain from cultivating near the souls of Steel ranks till you can easily subdue the will of Iron ranks,¡± Ursul rumbled at me.

    ¡°I will definitely try. I appreciate your intervention. This is still new to me.¡±

    ¡°It is of no concern. Now, Taliesin, earlier you seemed surprised when I knew the Lady had granted you power. I shall tell you how I noticed. When Lancelot introduced you, I could tell you owned your name. I can think of few Fae powerful enough to bestow a name to one such as yourself.¡±

    ¡°I own my name? What do you mean?¡± I remembered the Lady had ''given'' me my name, but I didn''t realise it had such meaning.

    ¡°To be Steel ranked requires one to take ownership of our name. It is one of the hidden parts of cultivation and requires dealing with the Fae. That deal might be a bargain, a quest, a battle, or a demonstration of knowledge. It is most often done at the peak of Iron. To do it before is rare. When you, a mere Bronze, were introduced with a name, I knew something strange was afoot.¡±

    ¡°This is something that any Steel might notice? Anything else I should know? None of this was explained to me,¡± I asked as my mind churned. At first, it seemed to be just another oddity, a fresh threat to counter, but then again, I decided it did come with some benefits, even if that was just skipping some trial down the road.

    ¡°Those with their own names will notice, but only if you, or someone you¡¯ve given your name to, shares that name. We do not have time to discuss things in depth, but in the future, I suggest you find nicknames or just go by ¡®the Bard¡¯ or some other such title. I was called Urs by most who did not know me well. Names have power, young Bard. The more often they are spoken, who speaks them, and the emotions behind them all can have an impact on cultivators.¡± The bear paused, looking at me carefully. He must''ve seen my look of worry.

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    ¡°As for other things to know, it is not all bad. Owning your name protects you against many fae influences. You can introduce yourself to the Fae, and they won¡¯t be able to take your name from you. Though, at your strength, it¡¯s still a poor idea to spread your name about. Those tricksters like to covet what they cannot have. The only other threat is that it imparts some form of fae influence upon you. How this manifests is different for everyone, and I''d be surprised if you did not already know how it has influenced you. I advise you not to speak of it. Some call it the ''Fae Curse'', as knowing exactly what manner of influence it places upon you can guide your enemy''s hands and reveal your strengths,¡± Ursul¡¯s voice continued. I knew the influence must be my inability to lie and my ear for the truth.

    ¡°Thank you for your wisdom,¡± I replied. We were close to the others now, and while I had countless more questions, I could sense our discussion was over.

    ¡°Good. Now, you have comrades to save. Let us get to that.¡± Ursul and I arrived at the camp, and Gaz passed me a bowl of soup from the pot that had been heating over the fire. ¡°Allies of Fosburg, you have done me a great service. I cannot follow you into the realm, so I must support you in different ways. First, I shall keep watch over the gate for a week before I return to Fosburg. I hope this gives you the time to aid your friends. Second, I have gifts to bestow on you. Gring, Lance, and Bors, have you decided?¡±

    ¡°We have. Your offer is kind, and we¡¯re all in agreement. We wish to accept,¡± Bors spoke. Behind him, Lance and Gring nodded. I raised an eyebrow. Was this what they were discussing?

    ¡°In that case, I shall bestow upon you some amulets and teach you the ritual. With this, the soul bond between Bors and Gring will be annulled, allowing for Lance to take up the pact.¡±

    ¡°What? Is that even possible?¡± I heard Gawain gasp. I was likewise shocked. I had never heard of such a thing.

    ¡°It is, but it requires a beast of my power or greater to begin the process. As a bonded fae being, I can feel the discordant clash of their souls. I would not offer such a thing if they had not already tried to reconcile their differences. Such change only functions, though, with the consent of all parties. It is a challenge and will take some time. Lance must advance to Iron before the ritual can be completed, and it will leave you both weak for a cycle of the moon. Before you leave, I shall give you the spark to begin the process now and provide you with the tools to complete it. It will take time, so do not rush it.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Lord Ursul.¡± Bors and Lance said in unison, with Gring bowing low. That done, the bear turned his attention to Gaz.

    ¡°Squire Gareth, I am impressed with your command of sound glamour. I have a bounty from the Cardinal that I believe will be of use to you.¡± Before us, appearing with a burst of glamour as if the bear had just used a storage ring, was a slim wand. A slender white body of polished wood was capped on one end with gold, and two more rings of runed gold were spaced along the tapering body before it came to a blunt tip. There, a thimble-sized cap of gold was studded with small diamonds.

    ¡°This is a conductor''s baton, a tool with which that ghastly creature would manage the squabbling voices of his choir, amplifying, silencing, and commanding every sound they made. It will be of great use to you, though much of its power shall be locked away until you have reached Knight Rank.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Lord Ursul.¡± Gaz bowed, staring in reverence at the artefact. He turned it over in his hands, gently admiring the fine gift.

    ¡°Turn their weapons against them, deafening our enemies with the echoes of their own screams.¡±

    ¡°Knight Gawain and Archimedes, rarely have I witnessed a bonded pair as well suited as you both. I grant you an item that I myself used in the past, before my bond with my pact mate grew strong. It is a pleasure to give you this talisman of connection. With it, you will be able to pass your glamour between you, even at a distance.¡± A long necklace of odd designs appeared in the air before us. Gawain stepped up to accept it, but as he did, it split into two parts, becoming more like a pair of bracelets. Each bracelet was made of carved stone beads, polished and glittering in the flickering campfire.

    ¡°Thank you, Lord Ursul.¡±

    ¡°Take it forth and use your combined might to destroy our enemies.¡±

    ¡°Finally, Taliesin the Bard. I gift you this cloak that I took from a Death Knight many years ago. It is a work of art I could not suffer to destroy, but so few of those gifted with death glamour are worthy of it. This cloak will defend you from attacks, fouling your opponent''s strike, but it demands death glamour to feed the enchantment.¡± Appearing from wherever the bear was hiding such things was a grey cloak. It was all but shredded and looked like a collection of rags gathered by a collar. I did not look at the beautiful gifts the others had received with envy. I knew not to judge a book by its cover.

    ¡°Thank you, Lord Ursul.¡±

    ¡°Put it on and feed it glamour now.¡± I did so, and to my surprise, the cloak began to repair itself. It took some time and about a quarter of my available death glamour before it was restored into a fine traveller''s cloak. I could feel there was much more it could hold, but I stopped there.

    ¡°Its appearance will betray the power left within. I advise you to keep it topped up.¡±

    ¡°Now, I have discussed with Gawain and Lance. Your purpose within is clear. I left a few alive, but there were too many rats for me to cull them all. The gate will push you out at the edge of the realm based on where you enter it. They cannot patrol the whole length, still, you can only leave from one particular place.

    ¡°I cannot enter. The realm was already waning when I entered, and in my greed, I consumed too much of its power. Originally, this was a Steel realm, but its power has fallen. That is what forced me into my slumber. Like me, the realm is tired and wishes to rest. It will soon seal itself, but it will remain open till the next full moon at least. That leaves you with ten days.

    ¡°To save your friends and yourselves, you must leave before then, or your time there will be measured in decades, as mine was. Do you have any questions?¡±

    There were a few, but most things seemed to have been handled already. I focused on preparing myself. Soon I¡¯d be through. Soon I¡¯d meet Sephy. As a final gift, Ursul distributed the spoils of war to us, giving us healing brews and other helpful concoctions to aid our fight.

    Ten minutes later, we stood at the edge of the ring of pines. Bors was in the lead, the rest of us holding hands or talons. It was the best way to ensure we were not separated. With one last wave to Ursul, we began to head forward.

    As the glamour swelled and the fronds of greenery whipped my face, I heard Ursul call out.

    ¡°Go with my blessing, companions. Retrieve your allies and break what is left of our foes! I await your return!¡±

 Chapter 59 - A realm of trees and sunsets made of leaves

    The glamour of the fae realm was so thick it was akin to falling into a lake of honey. The air felt dense and heavy, and the world was coated in the golden sheen of an autumn sunset, the sky a medley of reds and oranges. The climate was crisp and far warmer than the realm we''d left. The entire space smelled of nature''s bounty.

    The shock of the change in temperature surprised us all. Compared to the frigid mountain, the air was sweltering. It had that feel of the beginning of autumn when the burning heat of summer was gone, leaving a crisp coolness.

    To my back, there was an impenetrable wall of ferns. Before us, towering oaks loomed over us. The trunks were as wide around as Ursul and stretched skyward, their leaves all the hues of fall, melting into the sky. With breathless wonder, I realized the leaves were the sky. Compared to these trees, Ursul would¡¯ve looked like the average bear.

    We were all rendered speechless, even Gawain, who''d seen the realm before and was caught up in the fervor of his duty, wasn''t immune. His eye was more critical than ours.

    ¡°The seasons have turned in the few days since I was gone,¡± Gawain said as he examined the trees.

    ¡°It¡¯s nearly spring outside, though. How is it autumn here?¡± Bors asked.

    ¡°The rules of time and space out there have little impact on this place. It was spring when we entered a month and a bit ago, and that only lasted a week before it became a long summer. For all we know, tomorrow it could be bitter winter.¡± Gawain looked worried at that.

    ¡°All right then, you said you had a plan?¡± I tried to put the sense of awe and wonder behind me. The realm was beautiful, but we had princes to save, friends to find, and possibly Harkleys to kill.

    ¡°We had a rendezvous point. We should head there immediately. If all things are well, then we should meet back up with them, and then we can take stock of whatever the remaining forces here are up to.¡±

    ¡°Bet you five crowns that it''s not that simple,¡± Bors said, nudging me.

    ¡°I''m not taking that bet,¡± I grunted back at Bors. I had faith in Sephy to be able to handle most things, but my current run of luck, or rather manipulated fate, told me that nothing could ever be simple.

    We prepared to set out, beginning by shuffling out of the layers of furs we''d been swaddled in. A minute¡¯s work and we were all far more comfortable. My new cloak was more than ample to keep me warm. I noticed it was the perfect length for a traveler¡¯s cloak, coming just to my heels. Either I was lucky, or more than likely, it was a trick of the magic that it fit me so well.

    Gawain had got his bearings and was plotting a course. I listened in to the explanation of the various monsters and threats to look out for, but found myself lost at sea without a paddle. I knew next to none of the names, and what names I knew, I didn''t have images to go with them¡ªonly descriptions in dry tomes.

    I was only ever permitted to hunt to oversee the monster lure I''d made, and after the fiasco with the Quilvern princess and my ¡®cousin¡¯s sudden disappearance,¡¯ I''d not even been allowed that. My skills were the bare minimum for safe forests like the ones near Fosburg, but for these dark woods?

    I decided to just not touch anything¡ªa foolproof plan!

    ¡°Lance, you and Gring should fly with me and Archimedes. There are a lot of predators in the forest that''ll try to attack lone flyers. Together, we should present a less appealing meal. They are fast, so we can''t be slowed down by passengers. We''ll act as scouts and spotters. The three of you, stay alert; there are plenty of beasts that''ll take an interest if you make too much of a disturbance.¡± Gawain''s voice was commanding. Here was a man raised to serve as the right hand of a monarch.

    ¡°How are you going to navigate?¡± I asked, even if I feared it¡¯d expose the full lack of my skill. There was no north, no stars, and the forest was the sunset, so east and west didn''t apply. We knew the edge of the ring, but in those trees, we''d eventually lose sight of it. Looking in, all I saw were trees and their branches.

    ¡°We need to get to the river that cuts through the middle of the realm. From there, I can take us where we need to go. If we head forward, we should hit it in a matter of hours.¡±

    ¡°Sounds good.¡±

    We began to walk. The forest floor was littered with leaves, almost as long as I was tall. They coated everything. Despite this, the underbrush was remarkably easy to navigate. Huge tree roots formed bridges and roads that we could walk along, helping us move through the dense bushes and tangling vines.

    I felt an uncomfortable worry settle in as the scale of the place got to me. Was Sephy actually going to be okay? It felt wrong to doubt her. I''d seen her tenacity in court, in duels of blade as well as word. Bors and Gawain both seemed to trust she''d be all right. It didn''t help that right now I was out of my depth. The forests in the Chox realms were the domain of humans, maintained and cleared out of the worst. This was something else entirely.

    Then there was the chance that a Harkley was in here. There had been a ruined tent with the crest on the outside, so there was a chance that one or more of my captors were in there. Just the thought of them sent the death glamour in my heart bubbling like an untended cauldron left over a raging flame. I''d so far avoided using such power in anger, but if I met a Harkley?

    It wouldn¡¯t be ¡®if¡¯ I tried to kill them; it would be a matter of ¡®when.¡¯

    I needed to shift my thinking. Lance and Gring circled overhead, and I found the topic I needed. ¡°So, Bors, I''m a little surprised by Ursul''s offer. I didn''t realize you and Gring were so at odds.¡±

    ¡°We get along fine, but we were never meant to be in a pact, and we both knew it. The offer surprised me too. I had heard it could be done, but everyone seemed to make it sound like I was a failure for doing so. That, if we just waited, our souls would align, or some such nonsense.¡± Bors sounded shockingly bitter. I regretted my selfish request instantly. I didn''t mean to salve my worries by adding to my friends.

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°That sounds like the height of foolishness. I mean no offense, Bors, but I don''t believe I''ve met two less compatible souls,¡± Gaz chimed in before I could switch the topic.

    ¡°I know, right? Ursul, well, he understood. Saw it right away. Look, you know I mentioned that Gring was meant to bond with Gawain?¡± Bors said as he carved us a path through the underbrush.

    ¡°I didn''t know this,¡± Gaz responded, while I nodded, remembering him mentioning it when he''d introduced me to the beast.

    ¡°Oh, right, yeah. Look, it''s not something Gring likes me to bring up.¡± Bors ran his hand through his hair and took a breath. ¡°See, he''s the son of another bonded beast, so he''s always been smarter than the average pegasus. He¡¯d been told all about this noble knight he was pledged to.¡±

    ¡°We were all still kids then. I was still basically the tag-along, the scruffy extra. Gawain, well, despite being like eleven, he looked the part of a knight, like he just radiated decorum and duty. He''d already awakened his wind gift when we were nine, a proper prodigy. Gring''s mother was his aunt''s steed, and it had all been set up and decided.¡± Bors guided us over the tree roots. I was in the middle with Gaz behind me. Occasionally, they''d pause and watch some patch of greenery and then move on.

    ¡°I''d just awakened my earth gift as well, and Arthur had his. We all were going to the stables with him for this special ceremony.¡± The casual mention of awakening at eleven highlighted just how talented Bors was. Even those supported by Orders or the Houses didn''t tend to awaken till their teens. True, it wasn''t nine, but that was a near impossibility to be comparing himself against.

    ¡°So there we are, approaching this small foal, and don''t let Gring hear I said this, but baby pegasi are adorable. Gring''s looking at him, prancing about a bit. It''s a lovely moment.¡± The big man paused, taking a long breath. ¡°It all went to hell. Assassins trying to take out Gawain''s aunt didn''t even realize that we were there.¡±

    I felt for them. Experiencing cultivation that''s so far above at that age? It was terrifying at the best of times. Mortals didn''t have the senses to understand it, but as a kid, you could feel exactly how small you were before it.

    ¡°That''s when I got my first real taste of how dangerous the lives of the nobility can be. The air is full of fucking glamour. Gawain, of course, immediately abandons Gring, and as has been drilled into him since he could walk, grabs Arthur to try and get him to safety. Poor Gring, having no idea what''s going on, sees ¡®his knight¡¯ leave and tries to follow. Only to get blasted into me, and then both of us get sent through a wall by a rogue technique.¡±

    ¡°To make a long story short, Gring wouldn''t have survived without someone binding him then and there. So I did what I thought was best. It took Gring a long time to forgive me, and we¡¯re friends now, but we never clicked. It doesn''t help that he''s stuck hanging around Gawain and Archimedes, seeing what could''ve been.¡±

    ¡°That''s unbelievably rough,¡± I added. I hadn''t anticipated feeling such empathy for the preening pegasus, but I did. ¡°You know, you have a habit of summarizing a lot with a few words¡ªgood at ¡®making a long story short¡¯¡ªthough this was more informative than when you said ¡®one thing led to another¡¯.¡±

    ¡°I do. I don''t like thinking about it, if I''m honest. On the theme of honesty, I feel like I''ve not been the best rider for a long while now. I try, but I never expected to ride a horse, let alone be pacted to a pegasus. No matter what I learn, I''ve not got the mindset of a cavalryman.¡±

    ¡°How do you feel about Lance stepping in?¡± I asked.

    ¡°Oh, I''m ecstatic. They are the perfect match. Gring dreams of being a steed for a knight in shining armor, and Lance, well, she cares, which is all I could ask for,¡± Bors said, and I didn''t detect any lies.

    ¡°I feel like it''s a poor reward for you though. I still can''t even believe this wand.¡± Gaz had been examining his new toy every few minutes as we walked.

    ¡°What are you talking about? It''s an amazing gift! Ah, of course, you wouldn¡¯t know. Our bond was taxing my cultivation to no end. Part of making a pact requires you to share aspects of your cultivation. Even without our personal issues, earth and crystal did not play nice with Gring''s wind gift. We were both struggling. I''m pleased. Honestly, if Gring gets his knight in shining armor, then I''m happy.¡± He was smiling, but his tone was melancholic.

    ¡°You''re just glad you don''t have to fly again,¡± I joked, trying to lighten the mood.

    ¡°That too.¡± He laughed and gave me a good grin.

    We saw several beasts as we walked, though we managed to avoid them through a combination of mine and Gaz''s senses. The creatures here were odd. I cursed my often specific knowledge of monsters. If they weren''t part of alchemy or something the Harkleys had expected me to know, I was in the dark. We paused to let one pass¡ªsomething that reminded me of a mundane hedgehog that grew to the size of a bear and coated its spikes in steel.

    I was stumbling as the time wore on. My will dragged me on even as my body sagged with exhaustion. It was lucky that I didn''t tumble, but there was little threat of that. There was no real darkness here. The night was lit by a ¡®moon,¡¯ the leaves turning silver and radiating a thin light that filtered down from above, painting the world in blacks and whites.

    My exhaustion fueled the demons of my mind. I frequently got the sense I was being watched. Occasionally, I''d look around to find myself watched by what I would swear was a pair of glowing eyes that faded to nothing more than the glimmer of silver leaves once I focused.

    My mind wandered over Sephy, the Harkleys, and the Lady''s plans for me. I was too tired to get really worked up about anything in particular, so it all pressed upon me as a generic burden of worry.

    We hacked over the tree roots for an hour more when the trees began to thin, and I could hear the rush of water in my ears.

    Finally, we heard the sound of the river¡ªa ribbon of silver that cut through the trees. The rushing water was broad and swift. On the other side, the trees were thinner; beyond them, I could see a mountain that rose up unnaturally swiftly. There were no hills; it just went from forest to stone crags.

    The tip of the mountain was a touch taller than the trees but couldn''t escape the dome of silver leaves that made up the sky. It was as if the mountain itself was holding up the world. It stood as the center pole across which a tent of sky was draped over. From the way the trees grew out of it, part of my mind was insisting the trees were growing out of the sky into the ground.

    Perhaps that was true. This was a fae realm, after all.

    Gawain circled down and told us it was good news as we were far from the cultivator camp but close to the rendezvous point. We were all flagging; despite being cultivators, we''d been going all out for the last few days. I was particularly feeling it¡ªmy stamina was still weak compared to my peers.

    I wasn''t about to be the reason we stopped, though. I was getting increasingly aware that around the next corner could be Sephy. It didn''t really seem real.

    For me, she was a beacon of light during some of my bleakest times. A ray of hope that drew me in. My spying had taken form over the years, a sort of background behavior I used to keep myself sane. Other people wrote journals, and I documented weaknesses. It was a desperate promise to myself that I''d find a way to use that knowledge.

    Sephy had given me that chance, and for that alone, I could never repay her.

    So it was with some trepidation that we approached the rendezvous. My heart fluttered as Gawain and Archimedes flew up into a dense nest, big enough for Archimedes to fit in three times over.

    I did my best to center myself, to breathe and find some energy. We were all tired and quiet. Lance and Gring were the most animated; I could see Lance talking to the pegasus animatedly. Ursul clearly knew his business of soul pacts well.

    The attempt to calm me was a waste. Gawain returned with a grim look on his face, something clutched in his hand, and my heart sank, the flames within barely flickering.

    A few seconds later, he showed me what he''d found, and even those flames grew still.  Then he spoke and the dull sparks exploded into a raging inferno.

 Chapter 60 - Gawain has a very punchable face

    ¡°By all that''s Seelie, where''s this strength coming from?¡± Through the red mist of my rage, I struggled against someone¡ªor maybe a pair of people¡ªI didn¡¯t know. It didn¡¯t matter. All that existed was that prick Gawain and his extremely punchable face.

    ¡°I''ll kill him,¡± a voice, apparently my own, choked out as I began to slip past the hands holding me.

    ¡°Just calm down.¡± I don¡¯t know who said that, but it only made me angrier.

    ¡°Bors, help!¡± Another shout came, and then the world went dark. I was wrapped in a bear hug, and after a moment or two of struggling, my brain began to settle. Even my rage accepted that I couldn''t move Bors. I still flopped about impotently as my blood cooled.

    I¡¯d never been so angry that the red mist came down on me before. My pulse pounded in my ears like a marching drum. The red slowly filtered out of my vision, and my rational mind returned from wherever my rage had banished it. My muscles clenched and unclenched erratically, seeking out the fight I¡¯d wanted¡ªno, I¡¯d needed.

    I slowly ceased my thrashing.

    ¡°Are you touched in the head, Gawain? Why the hell did you say it like that?¡± I could hear Lance tearing into the bastard.

    ¡°I needed to know. Look, it¡¯s been a long day for me as well,¡± the Knight muttered.

    ¡°You good, Taliesin?¡± Bors asked me quietly.

    ¡°Better.¡± I took in a shaky breath. Since winning my freedom, I''d experienced a lot of new emotions, or rather, I''d let myself feel emotions I''d long suppressed. I''d never once let my anger show like this, and worse, it came with a deep dread of knowing someone who was as close as could be to me was in danger. I had never let my control slip so badly, and I could feel myself already thinking about how I should pick up the pieces and reassemble the mask I¡¯d broken.

    That bit was overruled by the part of me that still wanted to punch Gawain in the face. I could apologize and make nice, but I wasn¡¯t going to¡ªnot after what he¡¯d accused me of.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for Gawain. When Arthur is in trouble, he gets intense,¡± Bors said, placing me back on the forest floor.

    ¡°Him? Intense? Who¡¯d have expected it from Sir Sunshine and Rainbows.¡± I let some of the anger bleed off into a joke. Bors relaxed a touch, or at least stopped looming over me, ready to grab me again. He slowly stepped to one side, allowing me to see Gawain.

    ¡°My apologies, Taliesin. I should¡¯ve phrased that better.¡± Gawain gave me a stilted nod. I could tell his heart wasn¡¯t in it.

    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have waved it at him like a red rag before a bull and demanded he ¡®explain,¡¯¡± Lance was still on the warpath. It was nice to have someone incensed for me. My anger had burned through me, taking my remaining energy with it¡ªa wildfire of blistering emotion, leaving only the ashes of hollow resentment.

    From where it had fallen, I snatched up the offending piece of cloth. It was part of the raiment that Paladins wore, soaked in blood. What had got Gawain all worked up was that it bore part of the symbol of House Harkley. Who else had blood being collected in a chalice on their livery?

    He''d decided to ask for my assistance in this matter by thrusting it at me while demanding I explain.

    His tone of accusation had hurt more than I¡¯d expected. It hadn''t just been rude, it carried an implication. That I couldn¡¯t be trusted.

    That I was one of them.

    ¡°I need to go look to be of any help,¡± I said, doing my best to keep my breathing under control.

    ¡°What if it¡¯s being watched?¡± Gaz asked. I looked over and found him nursing a scrape on his chin, and his armour was out of place. Was it him I''d wrestled with? I made a note to apologize later. I was all out of diplomacy right now, though, so I forged on.

    ¡°Then we¡¯re already in trouble,¡± I replied bluntly.

    Thankfully, the others agreed. The group hashed it out for a minute or two more, but we all settled on the plan.

    Bors and Gaz stayed below to keep watch while I got a quick ferry ride up to the tree from Lance, with Gawain also joining us. Both Gawain and I had an esoteric collection of skills that''d be of use in assessing the battle. Lance didn''t have any particular tools to help, so she was here to act as a buffer so we didn''t end up trying to kill each other.

    The entrance to the nest was as wide as a castle gate; the nest was not a broad bed but a hollow ball of twigs the size of regular tree trunks. I shuddered to think what creature made such a thing.

    Gawain, Lance, and I stood in the abandoned nest. It was a mess.

    A battle had been fought here. The nest¡¯s interior chamber was as wide across as a barracks hall, somewhere where fifty men might sleep. The ground was littered with broken twigs and shredded forest litter.

    Near the entrance, the walls were scorched. Through some miracle, the whole place hadn''t gone up. Only a total hothead would start a fire in a place like this¡ªlikely a desperate Squire. Could it be Arthur? I didn''t know his second gift. I could ask, but that would mean talking to Gawain.

    Not worth it.

    Deeper in the nest, signs of a raging fight were evident. I saw pieces of Divine Cultivator armour mixed in among the debris. Something had blown a hole right through the back, leaving a tunnel of sawdust and broken tree limbs.

    The scale of the fighting was most obvious in how it marked the tree. The nest used the tree as one wall, and there, the bark had taken a beating. The ancient, gnarled wood¡ªbark as thick as my chest¡ªwas chipped and scarred. Slashes were cut into its bark, marked by trails of dried blood.

    ¡°This was an all-out battle,¡± Lance grimaced as she explored the space.

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    ¡°They must¡¯ve been tracked back here somehow,¡± Gawain muttered.

    ¡°Such insight! What, did you think they invited them here?¡± I snapped at Gawain¡¯s idiotic observation.

    ¡°Taliesin, focus on the problem. What can we learn?¡± Lance snapped at me. I grunted in acknowledgement. She was not wrong¡ªhow could I help here? I sensed the air for glamour, trying to understand the battle, and flinched back. I could taste death on the air.

    Steeling myself, I folded my legs beneath me, getting comfy on a stable bit of the nest floor. There, I began to breathe, seeking to rid myself of earthly distractions.

    ¡°What is he doing?¡± Gawain asked loudly.

    ¡°Cultivating from the looks of things,¡± Lance hissed back.

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°To see if I can sense the dead here. Now let me focus,¡± I snapped. It took a good few minutes to steady myself. Anger would not help me in this task.

    This time, it wasn¡¯t the bellows breath or playing my lute. I was going to use the technique that Lance and her mother taught me¡ªthe technique with which I''d first cultivated death glamour. I¡¯d got far more of a sense of the dead from that process than when I played music to cultivate.

    As I began to cultivate, I could instantly confirm what my senses were screaming at me. There was death here¡ªhuman death, not some mere beast. That fact alone nearly broke my concentration. The thought of feeling Sephy¡¯s power, of absorbing it, revolted me on a fundamental level. What saved me was my new cloak; it held me tight. As I wavered, my worries assaulting me and the glamour churning around me, it anchored me in place. My wavering will was dragged back to the path before it could become befuddled and lost to the lingering will of the dead.

    The cloak kept me upright, a pillar of support to which I was bound. The glamour within gave me something to brace myself against in this ethereal arena of warring wills. I sucked in a breath. The power boiled around inside me; it wanted to go to my hearth, but I refused. I needed to know, needed to sense it.

    I breathed out, a low whistle escaping my lips. As I did so, the remaining will in the glamour bled off.

    Several people had died here. I didn¡¯t know if it was the time after the death, the mix of people, or what, but I only got the vaguest senses of those who passed. Flashes of personality, I felt¡ªI could taste a common zealotry in most of them. If that had been it alone, I might¡¯ve torn my hair out in frustration, not knowing for certain what had happened here. But my mind went back to when I¡¯d accidentally tried to consume the Cardinal and the pressure that the Inquisitors had placed on my cultivation when I¡¯d handled their deaths.

    My immediate concerns lightened, and I funneled the death glamour right into my cloak. As I did, I felt its presence behind me increase, which would make it even easier to cultivate in the future. I marveled at the gift. Did Ursul even know it could do this?

    ¡°No one at Iron died here. Four, maybe five Squires died, but Sephy and Arthur didn¡¯t,¡± I said as my eyes snapped open, startling Lance, who looked to have found a corpse. Gawain turned from where he was examining the cuts in the tree bark, his shoulders slumping.

    ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡± Gawain asked, his voice more fragile than I was used to.

    ¡°I can¡¯t tell much from death glamour alone, but I can sense the strength of their cultivation,¡± I replied. I was already calmer, knowing that I wasn¡¯t standing in the grave of my friends. That had settled the storm of emotion somewhat. I got up to help Lance, while Gawain leaned back against the tree and took deep breaths.

    ¡°What can you tell us about this bugger?¡± Lance asked as we maneuvered the corpse out of where it¡¯d been slammed into the nest wall by some kind of technique. It was one of the dead Squires I¡¯d sensed. What was odd was his withered appearance; he seemed almost mummified.

    ¡°Did Sephy drain him?¡±

    ¡°This doesn¡¯t look like her work.¡±

    ¡°How can you tell?¡± I replied, and both Lance and Gawain raised an eyebrow at me. ¡°Don¡¯t be so surprised. We met almost exclusively at balls¡ªthere weren¡¯t a lot of opportunities to exsanguinate people there.¡±

    ¡°If she¡¯s draining a body, she tends to just cut off a limb to speed the process up. This Squire had his arteries cut open at the neck and wrists. It¡¯s less efficient.¡±

    ¡°But wouldn¡¯t sully the corpse. The doctrine of the church is that the body should be as whole as possible in death. A blood cultivator would get in a lot of trouble for cutting limbs off his fallen allies.¡±

    ¡°That also tracks with the attacks over there. While the attacks are all marked with blood, some have a lot of splatter while others don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Fuck, fuck, fuck. I know who the Harkley is.¡±

    ¡°You do?¡±

    ¡°Look, the family wants lots of fire cultivators; they also get blood cultivators occasionally, but that¡¯s a problem.¡±

    ¡°I thought they were all about the Blood Curse?¡±

    ¡°No, the Patriarch is all about the Blood Curse, which makes the entire family loyal to him. You know what would make you immune to the Blood Curse, or able to set up your own?¡±

    ¡°The Blood gift!¡± Lance said as I nodded.

    ¡°So the Patriarch doesn¡¯t really want a lot of blood cultivators upsetting his monopoly. He keeps a few about, under heavy scrutiny, until they prove themselves. The only one I¡¯m aware of at Iron is Atstor, and he is a right fucker, even compared to the rest of them. He¡¯s a rising star in the family. Fire is his other gift, so he¡¯s got both of the signature powers. He''s exactly the kind of person the family would send here to try and increase his strength.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard of him in competitions. They call him Blood Boiler.¡± Lance winced, and I didn¡¯t blame her. His reputation was one of brutal power. It also explained the splashes of blood. The Harkley Patriarch was most threatened by those who demonstrated fine control over their Blood gift, likely because that¡¯s what was needed for the curse. He wasn¡¯t overly worried about some meathead who flung blood around.

    ¡°It would also explain how he tracked them here. All he¡¯d need was a little of Arthur¡¯s blood, and he could use it to locate them.¡±

    ¡°Could he still be tracking them?¡± Gawain asked, that tension he¡¯d released was already building back up.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. As you can imagine, knowledge about blood cultivation wasn¡¯t freely available to me. I know fresh blood works, but I have no idea how long that lasts,¡± I replied. I¡¯d seen Atstor show off his powers on a hunt before.

    ¡°Can you not guess?¡± His voice came out hard and sharp. I didn¡¯t have the energy to waste being annoyed at him anymore. I just shrugged and began to scour the corpse of the Squire for clues.

    ¡°We should collect what we can and¡ª¡± Gawain began.

    ¡°Camp. Neither of you two are going to say it, but we¡¯re all run ragged. We¡¯re in some fae twilight forest, and we have no idea where to go next. You¡¯re both worried, I get it, but if we head out now, we¡¯re liable to get into more trouble." We both tried to argue, but Lance cut us off.

    "If these two are half as capable as you make out, they''ll have hidden their trail well. If the Seelie smiles on us, we might even get lucky, and the pair of them will loop back here having killed this fucker, and we can all go home.¡± She stood with hands on her hips, daring us to argue.

    ¡°You''re right. Assuming it''s Atstor, well, he doesn¡¯t play nice with others that aren¡¯t totally subservient to him. If he has other Iron¡¯s with him, they¡¯d have to be weak ones he could bully. It¡¯s possible they¡¯ve already killed all his minions, and assuming Arthur is at your level, he and Sephy would be more than enough to handle Atstor if he doesn''t have any minions to distract them with.¡±

    ¡°Great. Let¡¯s get back to the others then.¡± Lance clapped her hands together.

    ¡°But¡ª¡± Gawain began before I cut him off.

    ¡°Have a little faith. I thought you believed that the Lady was guiding us?¡±

    ¡°The Lady isn¡¯t one to reward slacking,¡± he shot back, though of all things, my snark did seem to settle him. I was not so lucky. My own barb tore open the still-healing wound that was my worries and frustrations about the Lady. How much did she predict? How much was decided?

    "That''s how we fucking find them,¡± Lance crowed, smacking her fist into her palm.

    ¡°You don''t expect the Lady to turn up and just help?¡± I asked, genuinely confused.

    ¡°No, I was just remembering when I met her. Or rather where!¡± Gawain twitched at that, but I caught her point of view.

    ¡°Dreamweaving! You''re a genius.¡± I must be tired because I actually hugged her.

    ¡°See, I knew having a lie down would be a good idea!¡± She said, patting me on the back.

 Chapter 61 - Difference between a genius and a fool

    We camped at the bottom of the tree under sheets of rock that Bors raised for us. The plan for Dreamweaving was hashed out. Lance couldn''t push her way into anyone''s dream. willing or otherwise. Even creating a ¡®tapestry¡¯ within the weave to host her own dream conversations was at the very edge of her capabilities. That though came down to interference, as normally because the weave was incredibly busy. When she was more powerful it would be possible, but right now it required a two-way effort from another dream weaver.

    That was unless you were in a fae realm where the weave was empowered by glamour while also being stripped of much of the noise that would normally cloud the process. There was still a problem though. Even with this boost invading the dream of someone at her level would''ve been hard, trying to gain access to the dreams of an Iron Rank actively in defensive mode would''ve been impossible.

    So we had to make Sephy come to us.

    Lance was going to build a world to intrigue them. A dream invite they''d want to explore. Gawain had of course insisted he create a space for Arthur, they apparently had protocols for such things. The level of smugness that I felt when Lance explained she couldn''t deal with the baffling dreamscape he¡¯d devised, nor sustain both his and Arthur''s higher rank of cultivation. That left me reaching out to Sephy as the only option, and it made me smile like a split pumpkin.

    I got to see Sephy¡ªor at least, I got to try. Plenty could go wrong, from the functional, such as her being awake, to the unthinkable, in that there was no one to contact. I focused on the hope, though.

    Initially, I feared I''d struggle to sleep but the second my head hit the bedroll I slipped into a deep slumber.

    In no time at all, I found myself in a ballroom. My mind had built this space, and had formed a rough tapestry by blending the many I''d been dragged to in Albion into a single space. Ballrooms were impressive when you first started seeing them, but after your fifteenth ball, you realised there were only so many ways you could set up a big box of a room with enough space for tables, dancing and some kind of drama.

    A sweeping staircase was a must of course.

    This room had a single central staircase that dominated the north side of the room and led up to a gallery that lined the ballroom, a very popular design. It gave people more angles from which to criticise each other. Supporting it all was a mishmash of the same marble-coated arches with too much gold leaf stuck to them.

    The edges of the room weren''t defined by anything as simple as walls. Between the columns at the edge were expensive drapes pinned with gilded ropes, murals stretching across the parts that couldn''t be glass. Those were blurry though as the glamour weaving it all together was worn thin by the other details.

    On the floor was a dizzying mix of inlaid marble patterns that seemed to be at war with the more artistic and natural designs on the ceiling to see which could be more intricate. They also ended up blurry whenever I wasn¡¯t looking at them, Against the walls bland art was tucked away in alcoves, their purpose not to entertain but to give people places to hide and discuss private things.

    I stood alone in the middle of the room. For a moment I just took in the sight and aligned my senses with the dream. Dreams in the weave did odd things to cultivators'' natural skills, most prevalent of which was that outside of sight and sound all the other senses only really worked when you paid attention to them. There was no sense of smell, no heat, no flow of glamour, not until your brain noticed such an issue, and it then tried to fill in a blank.

    A master Dreamweaver could create spaces so real that one could be tricked by them, but even Elaine¡¯s work wasn¡¯t at that level. I called out in the strange space, acutely aware of the lack of echo, ¡°Lance, are you there?¡±

    ¡°Of course, now stop paying attention to things. I''m not trying to fool you so this place is nothing but a cheap tapestry. Stop poking holes in it.¡± Lance grumbled at me from her seat in the middle of the stairs, dressed just as she had been before I went to sleep. The knight looked out of place in her armour surrounded by such finery.

    ¡°This is such a finicky damn working. Why do people have to be so fucking complicated with their designs.¡± She slapped the steps which were trying to become a ramp.

    ¡°I''m already impressed.¡±

    ¡°You shouldn''t be, this is a hack job, this isn''t something I''d call myself particularly skilled at.¡± She muttered, then her breathing changed and the room came into sharper focus. It was astounding what she was able to achieve despite being Bronze.

    ¡°Is that compared to a normal person, or is this the same as when you said you had ¡®reasonable skill in the blade¡¯? That same skill that our two Knights, servants of the royal family of Albion are in envy of?¡± I prodded back at her.

    ¡°I don''t think I''m that good.¡± She did settle in her seat more at the compliment, ¡°Look this is your memory I''m working with here, focus on imagining things, fill it with people and stuff. It''d be easier if you weren''t so damned amped up.¡±

    ¡°So I just imagine things right?¡± I asked with an impish grin.

    ¡°Well yes, but¡­¡± An imitation of Gawain appeared before me. He frowned and went to speak. I promptly gave him an open-handed slap, and the image dissolved.

    ¡°That''s better,¡± I said as a wave of relaxation washed over me. I took a deep imaginary breath and the world around me shifted, the columns and walls coming into focus.

    ¡°Don''t do that again,¡± then her brows knit and she gave a resigned sigh, ¡°Even if it did help. Look, I can''t banter right now. You need to bring forth every detail of a memory. What I''m doing is basically relying on you to create the dream, then I''m trying to bottle it and then wave that bottle around. If she¡¯s sleeping her mind will naturally connect with things it recognizes in the weave. It will still be on her to join us though. We¡¯re relying on her curiosity here. Think strongly on the memory of this place.¡±

    I focused hard on the image of that first ball where our ¡®relationship¡¯ began in earnest. Long before Sephy had disappeared from my life, to secretly go gallivanting around with Arthur, we''d met at events like this often. It was an intense memory, a day of triumph but also great risk. As the details flooded back the room started to fill out.

    I was good at remembering social stuff. I knew the fashions at the time was for everyone to be wearing darker colours. The ball had been in a neutral location, House Greywall, who refused to take sides and expected their guests to avoid the topic as well. Usual displays of allegiance were muted, flashes of white and gold ¡®the Divine regalia¡¯ duelled with hints while blue and silver, the traditional colours of the Lady.

    The room began to fill with dancers, not individuals but more a whirling twisting illusion of swirling dresses and stiff suits. Looking too closely was disturbing, I saw half-formed faces that I thought I recognized, people who didn''t belong there. Sometimes eyes would meet mine before a blink and I''d find it was no more than a fan being fluttered, or a pair of mirror-like eyes staring at me. Lance shouted at me.

    ¡°Don''t focus on any detail too much. This isn''t real, your mind is trying to make sense of it as if it is. It¡¯s distracting you from the actual memory. Focus on things in general rather than any specific detail.¡±

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    ¡°Easier said than done,¡± but I did pull my thoughts back. It was late September, the night of the Harvest moon and the night was cool outside, I remembered that the columns had autumnal colours wrapped around them. This was the Harvest Ball after all.

    ¡°Right, close your eyes. Tell me about her. Even if this doesn''t work, the better I understand her the more I can do. I can try asking the weave about her if this doesn¡¯t work but that¡¯ll work better if I know more about her.¡± Lance was now just a disembodied voice somewhere, I¡¯d lost track of her but didn¡¯t try and seek her lest I disrupt the delicate balance.

    How to begin? Sephy had given me the chance. We''d been lumped together, the Harkleys were keen to find an excuse to secure her for the family, her blood gift intrigued and threatened them. She and her family made it clear that they had no interest in the advances of my many ¡®cousins¡¯. The Harkleys took this poorly. Orders from the patriarch''s minions were that all of us were to do our utmost best to court her if the opportunity arose, and they''d even overlook minor indiscretions if they resulted in positive traction.

    ¡°Our first meeting was at a ball, much like this. We met in the library, having both slinked off. Both she and I doing our best to avoid my ¡®cousins¡¯.¡± I spoke aloud.

    ¡°Don''t think about places, think about her.¡± I heard Lance grumble.

    ¡°It was the first time I''d talked openly about my disdain for my family. If anyone reported my words I''d merely say it was in attempt to open up a potential courtship. We''d ended up talking long enough that I managed to tease out some information and get a sense of who she was. She was funny, and had this confidence about her, like she was daring me to actually try and fool her. Absolutely confident that she''d win even if I tried.¡± The memory of that first meeting was foggy, I was an emotional mess, taking a gamble on sticking out my neck and daring to get involved in family politics. Daring to dream of striking back.

    ¡°I had hope for the first time. This passion for keeping notes, of spying was all going nowhere, just being stored for an impossible future. Now though there was a chance. I took a risk. Both in trusting her intelligence and disdain for my ¡®family¡¯. After the ball, I sent a note, along with some perfume. They worked together as a code and concealed within was a little tidbit that would allow her to embarrass one of my relatives in an upcoming tournament.¡± I''d sent that off certain that someone would spot my treachery, I rehearsed all manner of excuses, expecting my ¡®uncles¡¯ to come find me any moment. But they never did.

    ¡°Think ballroom thoughts. Sephy and ballrooms alright.¡±

    ¡°I''m getting to it. She came to meet me at this ball. Publicly she needled me about my cousin''s embarrassing attempt at cheating in his latest tournament. A foolish attempt to use potions to boost his potency exposed by some ''anonymous tip''. To anyone else, it would''ve looked like she trying to antagonise me, but I honestly could''ve wept at that moment. I still remember what she said.¡±

    ¡°Only a fool would''ve tried such brazen treachery. Still, for every exposed fool, there is one hidden, honing their craft till foolishness shifts into genius.¡± I opened my eyes with a start. A facsimile of Sephy stood before me. My heart almost exploded out of my chest, but It wasn''t really her.

    It was her as she''d been that day. She was gorgeous, not ¡®cute¡¯ or ¡®pretty¡¯, those words were too dainty to encompass her. Female cultivators who followed the path of the Knight tended towards two extremes; delicate women with skin like cream, hair like spun gold, slender arms, and gentle curves, who dressed in silk dresses and could still punch you through the nearest wall. Or they were serious women, with muscles to rival any of their male peers, piercing eyes, and donned military uniforms in line with the men of their Order. They could punch you and the nearest wall, clean through another larger wall.

    Sephy had always stood out to me. She was as delicate as a battleship and as serious as a jester. She was never afraid to show off her toned muscles, or her other assets. Such as her beautiful legs. I had once seen her kick a particularly loathsome suitor clean over a garden maze while in three-inch heels. She was truly a marvel.

    This version of her was a copy of that night, in dark red, the colour of wine that only ever came from dusty bottles. Her hair, much brighter red than her dress, was braided with silver wire. She offered her hand, wearing gloves of white trimmed with green, I pressed it to my lips.

    ¡°Dance or something, help the dream come together.¡± I jumped as the disembodied voice whispered in my ear. Recovering I bowed, as I had those three years ago. I remembered our opening banter clearly. Every word had dripped with double meaning, and as sharp as I''d sounded at the time my paranoia that it was all some trap from the Harkleys had me looking over it for days. It marked the real beginning of our trades.

    ¡°Lady Persephone, you bless me with your presence yet I must disagree. I believe what you describe would make them merely a lucky fool. I think genius requires more.¡± Taking the memory by the hand I led her to the dance floor.

    ¡°What makes a genius then, my aspiring Parfumiere?¡± her voice was husky and close.

    ¡°I have only met a few,¡± my eyes met hers with a wink, ¡°but it seems to be a mixture of confidence to push forward, knowledge of the risks they take, and a plan to conquer the monumental task before them.¡±

    ¡°Risks such as sending an unwed maiden such as I a bottle of perfume?¡±

    ¡°There was no risk there, my perfume is rather exceptional.¡± She laughed, and it was a genuine laugh. Not the pathetic acting of the others in court, those desperate enough to try and curry favour with someone as weak as I.

    ¡°That would be the confidence you spoke of. Though I do confess that the perfume was excellent, I wear it now.¡± The memory of the scent washed over me. I''d created it specifically for her. It was a nuanced concoction that harnessed the scent of Crimson Dot flowers, which carried the tang of lightning, backed by a more traditional floral mix. It gave an electric edge that didn¡¯t overwhelm.

    ¡°I had noticed, but going around commenting on a lady¡¯s scent is rather gauche don''t you think? That sort of habit should be properly confined to poetry.¡± We danced through swishing dresses, and between sleek suits, our words lost in the mix of noise on the dance floor.

    ¡°You mean to tell me you did not pick up the talent so you could have an excuse to sniff around all the eligible maidens.¡± The banter seemed flirty, but the hidden meaning was clear to me. She wanted to know if I was sharing this with others.

    ¡°There''s only one I''m interested in speaking to. Besides I am told sending perfumes out to unwed maidens is a risky business.¡± I replied.

    ¡°So, instead you turn your attention to conquering a single monumental task.¡±

    ¡°I always have the tasks my family puts before me as my key concern.¡± I painted my target clearly, my family was what I wished to conquer. ¡°But, as long as it''s not insurmountable I''ll climb any peak.¡±

    I grimaced as I remembered what happened next, One of my cousins danced close to us, eyes glaring at me. Sephy moved between us, despite me being the lead she subtly shifted our dance. She blew a kiss at the man, one of her rejected suitors, as we slid away. He challenged her to a duel a few weeks later and was roundly trounced.

    ¡°To brave that mountain you''ll need to keep a good grip, too easy for a passing storm to blow you away.¡± She moved close to me as she spoke. The dream wasn''t complete, there was no rush of warmth from her touch, nor did the heady scent of the perfume crash into me as it had done then.

    ¡°It''s worth the risk,¡± I replied, twice as sure now as I was then. I wish I could tell my past self that it would work out, that it had all been worth it. Mouthing the lines I was proud to know my commitment had been so consistent. I knew I had to try and share the information I''d gathered, but I couldn¡¯t have even dreamed of escape at that point.

    ¡°Why?¡± The question was abrupt. Her dark eyes locked onto mine, a demand for the truth of the matter that cut through all the wit and made me stumble in our verbal dance. It¡¯d taken me a whole minute back then to find the words but the reply was on my lips in an instant this time.

    ¡°Perfume like all alchemy is made from all sorts of nasty bits that are brought together to become something that is far beyond the sum of its parts. Some say using such crafts on perfume is a waste of time, arguing it''s almost a background effect, a frivolous olfactory fashion statement, adding nought but a little edge to the wearer.¡±

    My tone shifted, a seriousness to it that hadn''t been there in the mask of playful banter, ¡°I am a man given a pile of ingredients most foul, and I am not content. So even if I accept that my perfume does nothing but add a hint of something to another, even if I never get to see what they accomplish. I would still rather aim to be more, to go beyond what I started with.¡±

    ¡°Well, I think your perfume has far more potential than that.¡± She stepped close, her smile wide on her lips, and then slid away just as smoothly as the music ended. We lined up opposite our partners, I bowed first as the song ended, my memory of it was wanting, leaving it as faint echoes of music. I looked up to see her smile again and bow to me.

    A flash of steel and the smile was gone. A blade carved through her, and the Sephy of the past was but whisps of dream stuff. There in her place was a different Sephy, a Sephy I¡¯d only seen at the occasional tournament. A woman clad in armour with her hair wild behind her. My soul sang at the sight, stepping forward to greet her I sensed something was wrong. Her eyes were on fire as she levelled the blade at me, halting my advance.

    ¡°Now, who are you supposed to be?¡± Her husky voice was the same, with the added purr of a cat who¡¯d caught a rogue mouse.

    I looked down and found I was very much Taliesin. This could get interesting. ¡°Ah yes, fuck.¡±

 Chapter 62 - New face, who dis?

    Percy was tired. The last few days since they''d woken the bear had been rough. First, the accursed thing hadn''t been a peak Iron beast as they''d assumed but some Steel-ranked monstrosity. The only reason they were alive was that it had been forced to dash from the realm or face it collapsing on all of them. At least Gawain had gotten out in the confusion.

    She''d survived the bear by a combination of pure luck and the Divine Cultivators'' choice to immediately begin to attack it, like the idiots they were. The bear had decimated their camp on the way out. That should have been the end of it.

    Then she''d found Arthur had been wounded by some River Serpent during his escape. His skill was compromised; he''d been unlucky enough to encounter a few Divine Cultivators scattered by the destruction, who¡¯d chanced upon him. Enemies he¡¯d normally have swept through left him wheezing as he was slowed by a lingering poison. She¡¯d slaughtered the rest, but having to focus on protecting him, at least a couple had slipped away. Allowing them to live had been a grave mistake.

    Of all the bastards to survive the rampage, why did it have to be Astor Harkley? The feckless blood-cultivating scoundrel had managed to get some of Arthur¡¯s blood from the survivors. He''d tracked them, destroyed their hidden base, and pursued them for the last couple of days. He took advantage of Arthur''s wound to harry them across the forest. After two sleepless days of fighting, running, and desperate work, she''d finally got a reprieve by creating a barrier that would temporarily disrupt the blood tracking.

    Tomorrow her barrier would fall, and the fight would start once again. Percy thought she had a special loathing for the Harkleys before. Now, it was on a new level.

    At first, she had hated them for their avarice and slimy advances. They coveted her power and sent all manner of suitors to ¡®secure¡¯ her, as if she was some common horse to be tamed. That hate increased tenfold when she met Regus, a talent they tortured, ignored, and only saw as coin minted in the currency of matrimony. If she was the horse, they saw him as nothing more than a bag of oats.

    When he''d started to sneak her their secrets, she began to loathe them. She¡¯d learnt from those notes that there was a vile pit to which only humans could sink. The worst of beasts could only aspire to reach such nuanced evil. The Harkleys had made this pit their home.

    It was so repulsive she''d had to take up arms against it. Armed with the secret knowledge, she''d seen the tendrils of the enemy sneaking towards Arthur. Their goal? To make him a puppet of their schemes. She''d sworn she''d return to retrieve Regus and find a way to repay him for everything, to give him the space to be the person he was meant to be.

    Then she''d found out about the Chox and the bloody chapel. It was a blow she still had not recovered from. Percy had a rule, ''don''t get upset, get even''. Despite that, when she heard the news, she shed tears for the wasted potential, for the future she''d dared to want, where they could stand together. She had thought her loathing had reached its peak.

    Astor Harkley had then distilled that storm of emotions into a pinpoint target. Not only did he hunt them, but he also goaded her into fights by insulting Regus, her family, and her honour. She was going to kill him. It was a matter of principle at this point. Still, she couldn¡¯t abandon the still-wounded Arthur, even if the prize idiot kept telling her to do just that, always insisting on being the hero.

    She had no time for it. Instead, she focused on her limited knowledge of herbology to try and find some manner of cure to hasten his recovery. She¡¯d prepared a dubious poultice for Arthur and slapped it on his wound. He was just about well enough to be on watch, and she¡¯d needed rest. She slid out of her armour and dug out a bedroll from her storage ring.

    It was late when she slipped into blessed sleep. Hoping for some slumber at last, she found even here she had no escape. Her dreams brushed up against something, a dreamweave. She''d had the training; she knew enough to recognise it was weak. Likely the few remaining Divine Cultivators trying to find each other.

    A reasonable assumption, until it brushed against her senses, and a scent wafted from it. It was a perfume made for her, the only one of its kind. It smelt like a thunderstorm over a field of wildflowers. In her ring were a couple more bottles of it. She rationed them, as she¡¯d never resupply again.

    Foolish as it was, she''d poked her head into the dream, finding it did not resist her. The dream was weak, she could easily escape it. Arriving, she was baffled. She found an image that could have been pulled straight out of her memory. The Harvest Ball at the Greywalls. At the centre of hazy dancing figures was a copy of her, and a strange man speaking Regus''s words.

    Her temper flared. Whatever this was meant for her. Was it a taunt? A trap of some kind? Perhaps some fae nonsense? Percy would normally have left¡ªthis was too risky. Yet she felt insulted that they¡¯d stolen her face. Worse, they¡¯d erased him.

    Time to make an entrance. She jumped down from the balcony, bringing her sword down on the imitation of her. The man broke into a smile and stepped towards her, and she brought the blade up, levelling it at the strange man with black hair and grey eyes, in the outfit of a bard, standing where Regus should be.

    ¡°Now, who are you supposed to be?¡± She hid her anger behind playful words.

    ¡°Ah, yes, fuck.¡± He looked down, almost embarrassed.

    ¡°Go on, I¡¯m listening. What lies are you going to weave, bard?¡±

    ¡°No lies, it just seems I forgot I had a new face.¡± She quirked an eyebrow. Of the possible lies to tell, it was a bizarre choice.

    ¡°So you¡¯re a creature who changes faces often enough to forget?¡±

    ¡°No, just the once. I¡¯ve just not been around mirrors much since then.¡± The man quipped back.

    ¡°Awfully well-kept for a man who doesn¡¯t have a mirror.¡± That got a grin out of him.

    ¡°I do not deserve such a compliment from someone who embodies a warrior queen.¡± Despite her simmering anger, Percy preened at the compliment. If the strange being was willing to talk, she¡¯d try and squeeze more information from it.

    ¡°What is a man of such refined taste doing here?¡±

    ¡°I travel with Bors, Gawain, and others. We seek to get you and¡ªArty, out of the realm. It closes in ten days. Or nine days now, I suppose.¡±

    ¡°You expect me to believe that?¡± She scoffed at the blatant lie. It was too soon for Gawain to have returned, though she didn¡¯t like the alternative¡ªthis implied he¡¯d been captured.

    ¡°Sephy, it might¡ª¡± His words died as her blade pressed against his throat. They could not harm each other here, but she could end this charade.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you dare use that name! I may not be able to kill you here, but I will banish you. I know who you seek to emulate, do not flatter yourself into thinking you have a chance of fooling me.¡± The blade at his neck only seemed to make him smile more. ¡°You might not be Fae, not unless things have really gone off track and they''ve somehow both had their names taken. But you aren¡¯t him. I feel another presence here. Show yourself.¡±

    At first, she thought that the Dreamweaver was trying to insult her, as a copy of Arthur appeared walking down the steps. But as the details settled in, she saw a more feminine curve to the face, and a slightly more slender frame. They were different, but they could have been cousins or siblings at first glance. ¡°Who are you supposed to be? Some kind of Arthur with more curves?¡±

    ¡°We cannot look that alike. I¡¯ve nothing to do with their family,¡± the woman groaned, an odd reaction.

    ¡°Se¡ªPercy,¡± he corrected himself at the last moment, even if the act seemed to physically wound him. ¡°This is Lancelot. She''s Ban Fos¡¯s daughter.¡±

    ¡°I go by Lance, a pleasure to meet you. I¡¯ve heard quite a bit about you from Taliesin.¡± The woman only added to Percy''s confusion. An odd claim. She knew of Lance. Her research on the area had been quite thorough, but her presence, fake or otherwise, added to the queerness of the whole dream.

    ¡°So you have a name, mystery man, and I can¡¯t help but notice it¡¯s not Regus.¡± Her eyes flashed, but Taliesin didn¡¯t recoil. Instead, his eyes met hers.

    ¡°Would the Regus Harkley you knew ever want to be called that name if he had a choice?¡± Her grip on her sword shifted. He was right, and that only fuelled the storm of emotions within. She wanted to believe there was a chance, even as her rational mind reminded her there wasn¡¯t one. It hurt to be taunted with the possibility. She bit back her retort and focused on the pair of them.

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    Percy would not give in to this provocation. She''d learn what she could and make them rue the day they concocted this vile scheme. Centering herself, she regained her balance and reengaged her witty banter.

    "So what is this? Some kind of absurdist attempt to interrogate me? Or do you just spout insanity at me while name-dropping my comrades for your amusement?"

    "What''s she going on about?" the fem-Arthur asked the bard.

    "She, very rightly, is treating this like a trap," he muttered.

    "But your memories?"

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

    "Yes, and even if Regus wasn¡¯t ''dead'', the idea of him being in this fae realm, with her comrades and the daughter of the local nobility in perfect position to assist her, is frankly insane. That''s without the whole Taliesin face thing." His words were acidic with self-loathing.

    "Oh, and don¡¯t forget that you¡¯re two Bronzes," she glared at the fake as she spoke. He had the decency to look even more aggrieved at failing to imitate even the most basic details of his claimed alter ego. "Two Bronzes who somehow slipped past the giant Steel-ranked bear and whatever Divine Cultivators were left outside."

    "Right, now I''m starting to get it. This is exactly what Gaz was talking about yesterday. Our group makes no sense on paper." The woman sighed.

    "Well, at least you''re aware of the idiocy of this setup. Then what was the actual plan here?" Percy asked, trying to reignite the lively banter to keep them talking, to learn more about their plot. It had nothing to do with wanting to find even a glimmer of truth.

    "Give me a moment." The bard paused and tried to marshal his thoughts.

    "Can''t you just tell her details from your memories? Oh, I have codes from Gawain."

    "That won¡¯t work," Percy and the bard spoke at once. That little smile returned, and despite herself, she felt a twitch on her lips. A competent adversary was fun to sharpen her blade on.

    "Why not?" The woman didn¡¯t seem to care that she kept interrupting his thoughts. She certainly was in keeping with the few things Percy knew about Lancelot. A dream-gifted fighter known for her bluntness of character. Percy gestured for him to explain.

    "Well, she¡¯s working under the assumption that I¡¯m something that can steal memories or have been granted his memories somehow. That¡¯s the most logical explanation for what''s going on here. Approaching us with that in mind is also safest for her, as it minimises the risk that this is some trap," the bard explained casually. She appreciated that he wasn¡¯t insulting her intelligence, even as he stomped over important memories.

    "Exactly. If you''re some manner of thing that can strip memories from Regus, Bors and Gawain could also be compromised. The only reason I remain is to try and learn more about my opponent," Percy continued, trying to hide her other reason. The hope she was proven wrong. It was a pathetic, weak thought, grounded in selfish hope. "Even if this was the real world, you couldn¡¯t have expected me to believe you."

    "I would¡¯ve been insulted if you did. I mean, even with Bors'' lie-detecting skills vouching for me, I still would expect you to strip me down and look for a rune band or hidden memory gem. Probably a long interrogation on every detail." The bard tapped the side of his chin in frustration. It was a habit Reggie¡ªRegus had.

    "Are you forgetting I''d have tasted your blood as well?" she growled. His performance was grating on her. It was good. She wanted to poke holes in it, to tear it apart, but the bard at least knew Regus well enough to imitate him.

    "I thought that was obvious," he smiled back. The smiles weren¡¯t right. They were like Regus''s, but there were too many of them.

    "Now I see what Bors meant about you being alike. Also, you need to hurry up. This dream is already fading," Lance grumbled. Looking around, Percy could see the edges of the ballroom were fading into mist. Rough shapes of columns and drapes remained, but the tapestry became blurred.

    "Dammit, how long?" the bard asked, yet again ripped from his musings.

    "Minutes. Look, is there no evidence I can provide?" Lance asked. She was irritated by the woman''s presence. Even if this Taliesin was but a twisted memory, he at least was fun to spar against.

    "Can you offer any evidence that makes this more plausible, yet can''t be explained by stolen memories? Even if I ignore your baffling similarity to Arthur, you haven¡¯t explained why you¡¯re here," Percy responded.

    "You know you sent Gawain to speak to my father! It¡¯s obviously related to that. We could explain¡ª no, that actually wouldn''t help." The woman rested her head in her palm. Beside her, the bard grunted in agreement.

    "If that''s the lie your going with why is he not here then? You are, if anything more than added trickery, evidence that things are not what they seem." She smiled, but then the bard snapped his fingers and pointed at her.

    "What if she¡¯s not? Percy, describe the ears on the bear you awoke from its slumber." She cocked an eyebrow at him, "Please, indulge this insanity for a moment."

    "Alright, well, apart from being massive, one was white. That did stick out." She remembered it well. The sight of that massive head chasing her. If that beast hadn¡¯t still been half asleep, she¡¯d be very dead.

    "Now, what is the heraldry of House Fos?" he asked, that all-too-familiar smile playing across unfamiliar lips. She paused. She always researched the local powers in any region, an image appeared in her mind. She frowned, House Fos''s heraldry did feature a bear with a distinctly white ear. Her face must''ve betrayed her, as the strange fem-Arthur crowed in triumph. Percy swore. She was slipping. It meant nothing.

    "That''s evidence, right? That was Ursul, the long-lost soul-bound bear of our patriarch."

    "Odd. And while I hate to lend any support to this madness, it does actually make sense." She examined the evidence. She was familiar with the missing bear of their house. It was something with distinct evidence that existed beyond stolen memories. While there could be another spirit bear with odd ears, that would actually make less sense. The world wasn''t drowning in giant spirit bears. "It is an interesting point, but I¡¯m not sure what that proves."

    "Percy, think about it. This place is limited to Iron rank, but Ursul of House Fos is outside. What manner of Iron-ranked foe could slip past that protector with all these memories? It doesn¡¯t make sense."

    "That is far from conclusive proof." It was something though, a crack through which she felt hope beginning to pour. She tried to plug it. "You could always be Fae. They can manipulate the gates between realms to drag you here. No dammit, you have their names, wait¡ª."

    "Persephone," Taliesin replied, anticipating her argument. If he¡¯d been Fae, he couldn¡¯t have said it, or she would¡¯ve already been lost.

    "So not Fae then." She felt a lump in her throat. The way he said it was hauntingly familiar. She was rapidly being compromised by her desire to believe that this was all true.

    "Alright, we¡¯re getting somewhere. Look, it¡¯s hard to maintain this space, can we hurry this along?" The mist was growing. The balcony and ceiling were no more, the mist absorbing them into a formless fog.

    "I¡¯m far from convinced, and now you place a time limit. Basic trick of the confidence trickster," she replied, even if her heart wasn¡¯t in the denial. She looked at this bard named Taliesin. His outfit was a mix of reds, greys, and blacks. A lute sat on his back, and the spiritual sense she got from him was clear and healthy. He was the opposite of the discrete and sickly Regus. It didn¡¯t fit.

    "You know what, I''m just going to get the most important stuff done, then leave you two to it. Gawain has a message for you: ''The Kestrel flies at midnight.'' Said I should tell you that. We hope to meet you at Ursul¡¯s rest. Also, I think Gawain¡¯s going to wander off into the forest on his own if you don''t confirm that Arthur''s alive and not in immediate danger," Lance said, looking expectantly at her.

    Percy wanted to scoff, but she paused. Biting the edge of her lip, she explored the possibility that this was at least in part true. If she ignored this, she was going to be lost and alone in the wilderness with a wounded prince, hunted by a lunatic. If this was all a trap? Well, they''d need more than a couple of codes from Gawain to spring it on her. Thinking carefully, she picked out her response.

    "If it''s really Gawain, then tell him... dammit, why do all his codes have to be so ridiculous? ''The gilded gryphon nests in the shadow but is soon to fly.'' Then it¡¯s ''The stiltweed pike follows its nose.'' And finally, tell him ''The river dragon will rest on the sun-baked shore.''" Between those three codes, Gawain would know that Arthur was wounded but healing, that they were pursued by a lone enemy of significant strength, and that she''d aim to meet them at the rendezvous at noon. At least the proposed location was one she could easily flee from.

    It was a gamble. She still didn¡¯t believe half of it, but if they were telling the truth... Well, Lance wasn¡¯t wrong. Gawain wouldn¡¯t be able to rest. That pillock would get himself into trouble somehow. For a man who made lots of plans, he tended to forget them all when Arthur was in danger.

    ¡°Thanks. The dream is going to fall apart soon. If you want it to keep going, don''t do anything stupid. Oh, and Sephy or Percy or whatever, he is telling the truth and is half the reason your friends are alive.¡± With that, the woman strode off into the steps. They turned into mist as she walked through them.

    ¡°So, what now? You''re going to keep trying to convince me that you¡¯re really Regus?¡± She turned to the bard.

    ¡°No, I was never Regus. Reggie, maybe. Honestly, I¡¯d be disappointed in you if you believed me. Still, I¡¯m just so happy you¡¯re alive. When we found the nest, I thought¡ª¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t say that! Don¡¯t pretend to be him. He is dead. I mourn him! This is some trick, some evil concocted by the Harkleys. They¡¯re the exact kind of monsters who¡¯d eat the memories of their kin and spit them back out as a weapon.¡± Percy¡¯s voice became hard and sharp. It lost every scrap of playful banter. Her chest felt like it was full of broken glass. ¡°I could maybe believe that he¡¯s alive somewhere. But not here, with his cultivation no longer crippled, and free of the blood curse? It is the stuff of fantasy! I¡¯m not sure what is worse, the attempted manipulation of my grief or the insult to my intelligence. It makes no sense.¡±

    ¡°Trying to explain would only make you laugh more at me,¡± he said, looking away awkwardly.

    ¡°Then try. I¡¯ve had Astor taunting me about your¡ªhis death for the last two days. I need a laugh,¡± she dared him, even as the slip of the tongue betrayed her hope.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to kill that rotten bastard. Good to know they actually think I¡¯m dead, though.¡± She raised her sword. She wanted this done, one way or another. ¡°Look, I can¡¯t explain. Not because I don¡¯t want to, but because I¡¯m pretty certain explaining parts of the story would require a particular name. In this kind of space, that would be one of the stupid things Lance warned against. She might start paying attention.¡±

    ¡°Are you enjoying being cryptic?¡± The blade rested against his neck. Percy had extended all the trust she was willing, but still, the strange bard was a wound she couldn¡¯t stop picking at. The dream was rapidly unravelling, pulled apart as wild emotions tore at the threads of dream glamour.

    ¡°Not in the slightest. I enjoy being truthful these days, I really do. It¡¯s nice to not hide everything behind a double meaning.¡± His face lost its look of impotent anger and smoothed out. ¡°I have it, an explanation, the only one I can offer. Think of Gawain, the rule-following, stick-up-his-arse knight protector of Albion¡¯s scions. That Gawain! What possible reason would he have for dragging me around? You saw Lance knew of my past. Why would he allow Regus Harkley within a league of Arthur?¡±

    She swore to herself as the truth hit her. There was no reason. Gawain would never let a Harkley near her or Arthur. It factored into the few plans she¡¯d entertained to go save him. The broken shards in her chest scraped against each other. ¡°Why must you be so vexing! Are you having fun trying to convince me, then giving me more reasons to doubt you?¡±

    The walls fell apart, the mist contracting, leaving just the twisting patterns of the floor in a rapidly shrinking bubble. Still, the bard remained. His voice had a desperate edge now. ¡°There is an answer. Think! You are the smartest woman I know. There''s an explanation for all of this. Who could convince him to trust me? Who could orchestrate all of this?¡±

    ¡°No one! Not even the King. This is beyond even Fae bullshit!¡± With that, it all clicked into place. There was only one being able to get Gawain to act against the core of his paranoid nature. One being with the power to direct such forces. One being who was rumoured to be able to even bring back the dead. To imagine she would be involved was the height of folly for anyone else. Yet Percy stood protecting a member of the family famed for holding the great fae''s attention. There was a chance.

    Her eyes rose to catch those of the ¡®Bard Taliesin¡¯. With his body now all but absorbed in the mist, the distraction of the outfit was gone. Confronted with his face alone, she could no longer deny the shadow of Reggie in his features, in the way his eyes moved and the brutal purpose they held. Her face went slack with disbelief.

    He laughed. It was a warm and kind sound that had been burned into her memory, a vanishingly rare treasure she had thought was lost.

    ¡°It¡¯s so good to see you, Sephy.¡± The soft words embraced her just before the mists of the collapsing dream closed around them.

 Chapter 63 - Bacon bias

    My mood was electric, my smile fixed. I don¡¯t know when I¡¯d started singing to myself that morning, but I wasn¡¯t about to stop now.

    ¡°I searched the skies, I searched the sea,

    For someone who was lost to me,

    And now you¡¯re here, time fades away,

    It feels like we¡¯ve come home to stay.¡±

    The words rose unbidden from my lips as I made breakfast for our small group. I danced a little as I cooked.

    ¡°Oh, I found you, after all this time,

    Watching our stars finally align,

    No more wondering where you¡¯ve been,

    Now the story can begin.¡±

    ¡°You''re in a disgustingly good mood. You seemed like you were one ¡®Sephy¡¯ away from being torn apart when I left.¡± Lance slumped down on a stone seat, grabbing a bowl of pottage I served her. The dreamweaving had tired her out even further.

    ¡°Leave him be, besides, the singing is nice. Can¡¯t blame him for being excited.¡± Gaz joined us and grabbed a bowl. The Squire seemed in a good mood.

    ¡°Well, I can¡¯t fault his taste. I might prefer a more slender maiden, but even in armour, I could see those curves.¡± Lance used her spoon and bowl to trace an improbable figure. I grimaced at her crudeness.

    ¡°You know, you really know how to sully a pure moment. He¡¯s waxing lyrical about possible futures, and your thoughts can¡¯t break free of the prison of a mattress and the four posts around it.¡±

    ¡°See, Gaz gets it, he¡¯s a romantic.¡±

    ¡°It is part of being a true knight¡ªor Bard. I shall have to ask you to teach me that song so I may serenade my Tiffany when I return.¡± I nodded and gave him a slice of bacon off the pan.

    ¡°You¡¯re both disgustingly sweet. Where are the companions with whom I can exchange bawdy tales of brothels and the women whose breath I stole away?¡± Lance bemoaned, throwing her head back like an actor grieving a lost comrade.

    ¡°Have no fear, Bors is here! Regale me with your tales, Squire.¡± The big man lumbered up to us, grabbing a bowl.

    ¡°Errr¡­¡± Lance paused.

    ¡°The few tales she has are being driven like a starving fox from a hen house,¡± Gaz chuckled into his bowl.

    ¡°That is not true,¡± Lance prodded Gaz, ¡°I am a vixen, not a fox, and I never leave till I¡¯ve had at least a mouthful of chicken.¡±

    Bors¡¯ deep bass chuckles rumbled out first, and soon all of us were laughing. It was a total shift from the day before. Knowing that Arthur and Sephy were safe, and that we had a plan to leave, was more than enough to lift our spirits. We¡¯d talked briefly last night, explaining what we¡¯d learned. While Lance relayed the codes, I¡¯d shared that I felt I¡¯d managed to convince her, at least somewhat, of our honesty.

    Gawain had all but collapsed into bed at the news that Arthur was not in immediate danger. I had slipped quickly back into sleep. I was kindly excused from the watch. I¡¯d needed the extra rest. My stamina was still wanting. Now it was early morning, the strange sky of leaves glowed green, and we would soon start towards the meeting point. We knew the route, and there was little to prepare, so this small window of calm allowed us the freedom to relax.

    I thought back to the meeting last night. It had been painful in places. It tore into me to not be able to be seen by her, to be mistrusted. I was angry at myself for not expecting it, for not thinking it through, but in hindsight, there was little that could¡¯ve been done. I was Taliesin now, not Regus, or even Reggie. Trying to hide that would¡¯ve only made her trust me less.

    It also stirred old worries. I knew how I felt about Sephy, the intensity of it. I never knew exactly how she thought of me, though. I did have hope. That last look she¡¯d given me had been special. I¡¯d never seen her face look like that before. I never expected Sephy to look so vulnerable.

    As the others joked more about my good mood, I did feel it necessary to interrupt and explain a few details. ¡°I wish to clarify something. Sephy and I are not lovers. I would not sully her honour by allowing you to assume as much.¡±

    ¡°You sure? The tension between you two, even when she had a blade at your throat, was something else,¡± Lance asked.

    ¡°A reminder, before now we were courting as part of hiding our arrangement. Courtly ¡®courting¡¯, mind you, which meant we were constantly watched when together. While I believe we were more than mere spy and spymistress, I have not had a chance to speak to her without the constant threat of death or dishonour.¡±

    ¡°Yet you¡¯re clearly besotted. She must know how you feel?¡± Gaz asked.

    ¡°I mean, I would expect her to. But at that time, it was more important to sneak secrets out than pursue a passion that I¡¯m sure my family would corrupt and turn against her.¡± I started to dole out the rest of the bacon among the group as I spoke. ¡°I still have no idea how she feels about me, let alone now that I have a different face.¡±

    ¡°You must know, Bors? She must¡¯ve spoken on this.¡± Lance looked at the big guy, whose face immediately locked down.

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    ¡°What I do or do not know on this subject would be between me and Percy.¡± The man repeated the words as if reading lines from a script.

    ¡°She¡¯d be pleased with that reply.¡± I grinned. I¡¯d never pushed Bors on the subject. I told myself it was out of respect for her privacy, but I had to admit I was also scared that he might tell me she saw me as nothing more than a valuable ally. I knew our relationship was part of our cover, part of the process of getting those secrets out.

    I felt our bond was deeper, but I never dared to outright ask. It wouldn¡¯t have been professional, and I wouldn¡¯t have known what to do with either answer.

    ¡°Then why are you so happy?¡± Lance asked. I coughed in surprise, and Gaz threw his head back and groaned. ¡°What? Just because you have a fianc¨¦e doesn¡¯t make you some sage of love.¡±

    ¡°Lance, this is why you can never keep a girlfriend. Isn¡¯t knowing that the person you adore is safe, and you get to see them soon, something to celebrate? You don¡¯t need to know if you¡¯ll be getting into their pants.¡± At that, Gaz and Lance fell into what sounded like a well-worn argument that had been aired many times before.

    "She''ll be pleased to see you," Bors said as he finished his pottage. I gave him an extra big helping of bacon in thanks. The big man wore a knowing grin, and I hid the stupid smile that formed on my lips by finishing my breakfast. I didn¡¯t need to peek ahead in this story. I¡¯d see her later and live it.

    We had a couple more minutes of chatter before I heard the hiss of feathers cutting the wind, and our final team member joined us.

    Gawain swooped in on Archimedes, landing atop one of the giant roots that made the walls of our camp. He quickly stepped down, joining us around the fire. I started to fill him a bowl of pottage. The anger of yesterday had faded enough that he just irked me. As I went to hand it to him, Bors nudged my leg with his foot, halting me.

    ¡°Right, so our mission today is to¡ªurk!¡± The Knight toppled through the last remaining stone seat as it broke apart into fractured crystal chunks. Unlike the rest of us, though, he caught himself with a gust of wind. We all broke into applause and laughter, which only intensified as his face soured.

    ¡°Dammit, Bors, this is serious,¡± he snapped.

    ¡°Life is serious, Gawain. Doesn¡¯t mean I have to be. Besides, you need to eat and think. You know you¡¯ll do better if you just take a minute.¡± Gawain glared at Bors for a long moment before deflating with a deep sigh.

    A new seat formed, and after a quick check, he sat and took the bowl I offered, starting to eat. While Gawain was momentarily distracted, his entrance still shifted our focus. We had a prince to save and a Harkley to kill.

    ¡°So, what can we expect from the Blood Boiler?¡± That question came from Lance.

    ¡°I know I say he¡¯s a fool often, but that¡¯s more in terms of social situations. He¡¯s a competent tactician, and while his control of blood is lacking, his control of fire is not. He excels at controlling heat. He¡¯s reached the point where he can sometimes form heat alone rather than relying on flame. He sometimes mixes these invisible blasts of heat with other, more obvious flames.¡± I shuddered. I¡¯d seen him in tournaments and during a hunt. He was a lethal opponent.

    ¡°How much do we need to worry about the blood? I¡¯ve never really fought a blood mage,¡± Lance asked.

    ¡°Think water mage but with some additional fuckery. If for no other reason than despite us having two water mages, neither will be able to contest his control of the blood,¡± Bors contributed.

    ¡°Despite it being water with bits in, the gift they have makes it next to impossible for us to contest. That being said, the upside is that they can¡¯t control water at all. I only have that as advice from my master. I don¡¯t have actual battle experience.¡± That came from Gaz. I was interested in his master. Whatever knight or knight-lord who supported him seemed a good sort if his student was any reflection.

    ¡°Like all rare forms of cultivation, there¡¯s not an established style, and everyone has their own bag of tricks. The trick I¡¯ve known Astor and other Harkleys to wield primarily is this technique where he does something to his own blood that makes him stronger and faster temporarily. Apparently, it normally cooks the cultivator from the inside, but with his heat control, he can last longer.¡± That I recalled from his bragging. I never really interacted with him much; he was already leaving Bronze before I reached the peak of Wood and stalled myself there.

    ¡°Anything else?¡± Bors asked.

    ¡°In his tournaments, he¡¯s been known for firing bolts of super-heated blood at his opponents,¡± Lance added. ¡°He can¡¯t reuse the blood afterwards, but somehow it gets much hotter than should be possible.¡±

    ¡°His other trick that I know is blood thralls,¡± I added.

    ¡°That sounds very Harkley.¡± Lance grimaced.

    ¡°It¡¯s not as powerful as it sounds. He can make very weak creatures into something close to a mindless slave. To my knowledge, he¡¯s only ever got it to work on Wood-level beasts. I know the technique is illegal to use on mortals, so it¡¯s possible it can affect them too. I don¡¯t believe any of us have to worry about it, though.¡± I cast my mind back to when I¡¯d first seen him use it, sending out some rats he¡¯d found to sniff out his prey. ¡°He can only give very basic commands, and they tend to die quickly. When he used to hunt, he¡¯d use them as scouts.¡±

    ¡°Yup, that¡¯s fucked,¡± Bors muttered. ¡°Percy will want to kill him, no doubt. I don¡¯t mind leaving this one to her.¡±

    ¡°Should we bring blood for Percy? We could put it in our storage rings?¡± Gaz asked.

    ¡°No, they both need ¡®living blood¡¯ to make things work.¡± I got a trio of blank faces from Gaz, Lance, and Bors. ¡°Bors, come on, she has to have explained this to you before! Look, there are tiny things that make up living things, like the sand that makes up sandstone. In natural philosophy, we call them animalcules, or the more modern term, cells. Anything you put in your storage ring has these cells die if not protected by expensive runes. That¡¯s why there are special methods for storing some types of alchemy ingredients.¡±

    ¡°And neither can take it from us?¡± Gaz asked, going a bit pale.

    ¡°No more than Gawain can pull the air from your lungs. Unless you allow it, even a peak Steel cultivator cannot affect anything within your body. Just because it¡¯s blood doesn¡¯t change the rules,¡± I replied. I didn¡¯t feel like expanding on the exceptions to that rule. What little I understood of the blood curse implied it violated this rule.

    ¡°This is useful intelligence,¡± Gawain spoke for the first time. He¡¯d finished his food and was staring into the remains of the fire.

    ¡°Offering pointers on the art of dismantling the Harkleys is my favourite hobby.¡± I grinned but fought down the urge to needle him further. Gawain had a sense of tension to him, a lute string pulled too tight. It had eased significantly since last night, where I could practically hear the threads within breaking under the strain.

    Taunting him now would just make me look like a prick. Besides, giving him a slap in the dream had been immensely cathartic. I was past my animosity from yesterday. I would put it behind me for the good of the mission.

    ¡°Is there no bacon left?¡± Gawain looked hopefully at the pan.

    Alright, maybe I was still a bit salty.

 Chapter 64 - Moment of discord

    Witnessing an erupting volcano had been the Harkley''''s last-ditch effort to push me over the line to Bronze, something I stubbornly resisted. For a long time, it only served as a reminder of the nature of ash. It showed me how even fine particles of dust, when gathered together, could strike with twice the wrath of a rockslide and thrice the heat.

    Now, it served as a measuring stick. A way to conceptualize the apocalyptic force of a Steel-ranked bear having a bad morning. It was the only thing I could compare to the destruction we found at the mountain.

    A good third of the mountain''s base was cracked. A vast rent in the stone, where Ursul had emerged from his rest, was big enough to march a hundred men through, arm in arm. The forest around was littered with rocks, trees were broken, and huge branches, as big as oaks, lay scattered across the forest floor.

    ¡°So, they¡¯re growing out of the sky as well,¡± I muttered. The tree directly opposite the entrance was broken in half, the top half still anchored to the mess of leaves that made up the sky. It hung their eerily suspended.

    ¡°Fae realms, man,¡± Bors chuckled as we walked alone through the devastation. The plan was for Bors and me to head into the cavern and set up a position. We were two hours early, but that was part of the plan. It would give Sephy time to observe us and decide whether or not to show herself.

    We were also acting as bait. If there were beasts or Divine Cultivators waiting for us, the two of us would likely provoke some kind of reaction. The others would rely on the mobility of their flying mounts to assist us if necessary, hidden in the forest, ready to help.

    The only reason I agreed to be bait was simple. As we set up on the bare earth, on a hill defended by boulders, I glanced at Bors as he shuffled a few stones into better positions. The shattered rocks glistened, embedded within rough cubes of pyrite. Anything approaching us would be at Bors¡¯ mercy. With Earth and Crystals at his disposal, this expanse of rock was his domain.

    We set up a small fire and settled in. I pulled out my lute and started playing, trying to distract the part of my brain that was counting each second. Out of habit, I tried to cultivate. I didn¡¯t sing this time, just played the song of ¡®Home¡¯ that I¡¯d learned on the bagpipes.

    It was so peaceful. I¡¯d been finding it so natural to cultivate in this manner that I¡¯d forgotten how dangerous the forces I worked with were. As my tune formed, rich glamour surged. The glamour here was thicker, more potent, and it writhed beneath my will. My lute absorbed it so swiftly, and it bucked so wildly that the instrument itself seemed to shift and writhe beneath my fingers. I lost concentration. My cloak wrapped around me as my fingers slipped.

    A discordant clash dumped the accumulated death glamour out in a wave before me. Wisps of uncontrolled death tried to carve into me, but the cloak absorbed them, using its stored power to counterbalance the sudden burst of unchecked energy.

    I sat, breathing deeply, staring out across the barren stone. To the naked eye, my glamour had done nothing, but I could feel it. A void of life lay before me.

    ¡°You know, I don¡¯t think I compliment your playing often enough,¡± Bors said, pulling down a stone wall he had raised before himself.

    ¡°I think I¡¯ll put the lute down for a while.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s rare that I want less of your music, but on this, we agree.¡± Bors gently let the last of the stone wall collapse.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± I said, still trying to calm my racing heart.

    ¡°It never occurred to me that this might happen if you didn¡¯t get the song right. You¡¯re braver than I am. If I mess up, the ground doesn¡¯t try to stab me. Earth and crystal like to stay still.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s odd. The wrong note, and it all falls apart. My cultivation works by impressing my will on the glamour externally. I kind of forget I¡¯m gathering a cauldron of power as I play.¡± I had known it was dangerous but had never fully sensed how it could go wrong. Yet, as much as I was terrified, part of my mind was intrigued. The burst of power had lashed out before me, uncontrolled and chaotic. Maybe I could refine it into something more.

    ¡°You know, I just realized you don¡¯t ponder your cultivation much, do you?¡± Bors asked. He was busy building a rough fort around us, dragging stones into place and fusing them with his glamour.

    ¡°Not really. It¡¯s something I actually used to avoid. I didn¡¯t want some inspiration pushing me forward where I might attract the wrong kind of attention.¡± I focused on building up the fire, pulling firewood from my ring. Having a source of fire might empower Astor, but it would burn out quickly.

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    Until then, the flames would help me spread smoke to expand our awareness of the area. I¡¯d take the warning for the small risk. I just had to remember to keep the fire small.

    Bors pulled up a pair of seats, using slices of the blocky cubes of pyrite to fashion regal thrones. I checked mine carefully before sitting on it. ¡°Have you developed your concept?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve got a bit of something. Ironically, it came up when I was yelling at Gaz. Discord, beauty, and death were part of it. It¡¯s not clear. How difficult was it for you? I know Maeve couldn¡¯t find hers for years.¡±

    ¡°I had mine in my head as soon as I reached Bronze. It formed like a diamond, under the great heat and pressure of all my experiences. Knowing I couldn¡¯t back down, I had to push on. I had this chance to be someone, and I couldn¡¯t let my momentum falter.¡± I remembered the little Bors had shared of his intent: I am stone. I am immovable until I become unstoppable. I knew that wasn¡¯t the exact wording, but it revealed a lot about the man and his approach to combat.

    ¡°What does it feel like?¡± The books waxed poetic about the beauty of purpose, but never really said much beyond ¡°you¡¯ll know.¡±

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    ¡°It felt right. Your gifts are your tools, your cultivation is your strength. Intent is your commitment to how you¡¯ll use that power. It¡¯s the final foundation of your cultivation. For me, it felt like having something I could build a mountain on. Strength and balance were there.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m close to Iron, which feels strange. I never thought it would happen. I was Wood just a couple of months ago. Now, there¡¯s this odd strangeness in my soul, like something¡¯s missing.¡± I knew I wasn¡¯t quite there yet with my cultivation. Maybe a week of cultivating here would top me off. Or maybe another death.

    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ve heard that¡¯s a bastard,¡± Bors replied. ¡°Arty complained about it. He was so full of purpose he didn¡¯t know what to pick. Said not knowing left him with a sense of wrongness. He kept trying things, but nothing fit.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s irritating. I haven¡¯t had much time to think on it, but ever since our fight with the Inquisitors, I keep asking myself all these questions.¡± I paused, reflecting. ¡°It¡¯s different now. I used to live in constant uncertainty with the Harkleys, knowing my life was mostly out of my control. Now, with the Lady, it¡¯s not the same, but something feels... off. My mind is constantly nagging me.¡±

    ¡°That could be an imbalance in your cultivation, or,¡± Bors pulled out a piece of jerky and bit into it, ¡°or you could just be stressed?¡±

    ¡°Why not both?¡± I brooded for a moment. I needed to think more about my concept. It was going to be crucial to my future. Concepts were both the most studied and least understood aspects of cultivation.

    Your hearth wouldn¡¯t accept an intent that didn¡¯t fit you, yet some people¡¯s intent seemed almost contrary to their nature when they advanced. It was a promise to yourself, a reflection of your innermost thoughts, and a method to channel your power. I recalled an old, dusty tome I had read years ago. It said intent should describe the actions that would guide you to Steel. But I hadn¡¯t really planned on reaching Steel. The book mentioned that a poor intent would lead to death on the path, though it probably wasn¡¯t written with someone like me in mind.

    Most people didn¡¯t include death as a step toward their goals, and if they did, it was the final step.

    I felt my hearth blaze, the concept of dying to move forward striking a chord within me. Unexpected, but not surprising. Death glamour hadn¡¯t been part of me for long, but I had courted death intimately for years, planning to use it as an escape. I still had one extra life stored, though I hadn¡¯t thought much about it. Would that help? I discarded the idea. The second return had consumed more power than the first, and if I abused it, I feared I might never be able to return again. The risk wasn¡¯t worth speeding my meditation from a trot to a canter.

    ¡°If I looked back on my experiences, my concept would probably be something like, ¡®Don¡¯t look at me too hard so I can bash your head in.¡¯¡±

    ¡°Nah, not poetic enough. It¡¯d have to be something like, ¡®Hidden in plain sight is where I have the most might.¡¯ It needs a certain rhythm to it.¡±

    ¡°Is that a fact?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t ask me, I don¡¯t make the rules. It¡¯s all tied to the Fae. The Steels get real intense about it but never say anything concrete. I once joked about my intent being ¡®Bors smash,¡¯ and my master laughed before smacking me upside the head. He then threatened to have a talented dream witch erase the idea if I couldn¡¯t do it myself.¡±

    ¡°Sounds serious.¡± I thought over what Ursul had told me about the importance of names. The fae was a consistent theme there.

    ¡°Oh, it was. I got so drunk that night I woke up in a different town. In the stables! Apparently, I insisted that Gring take the last room at the inn.¡± We both laughed, but a cloud of seriousness passed over Bors¡¯ face.

    ¡°The Fae worry me. I like earth and crystal. They¡¯re rigid, they follow rules.¡± His hands twitched on the armrests of the crystal seat he¡¯d made. ¡°This place, though... it feels wrong. The earth isn¡¯t deep enough. It¡¯s like I¡¯m standing on a bowl. And the trees that are the sky... it¡¯s unsettling. I feel like I¡¯m being watched, but the earth tells me nothing about who or what¡¯s out there.¡±

    ¡°I know what you mean. I¡¯ve had my share of Fae shenanigans.¡±

    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have been a Bard. You know how they love art,¡± he teased.

    ¡°Well, I became a Bard after meeting the Lady, so that horse had already left the stable.¡±

    ¡°Why don¡¯t you play us some music, then? Non-death music, please. At least Percy will know you¡¯re not Fae¡ªthey can¡¯t play a lick of music. If we¡¯re going to be bait, we might as well enjoy it.¡±

    ¡°This is exactly why I don¡¯t ponder my cultivation. There¡¯s always music to play! How am I supposed to fit in time to contemplate the hidden truths of the universe when I¡¯m busy playing songs and avoiding death by bears, witches, nobles, Fae, and evil cultivators?¡±

    ¡°Well, here¡¯s hoping the next few hours include more music and less imminent death.¡± Bors rumbled, surveying the barren land beyond his makeshift castle. ¡°I¡¯m not too worried about Astor, but there¡¯s always someone else who could come bother us.¡±

 Chapter 65 - I meant some offence

    ¡°Nah, fuck that, that''s a trap.¡± Kay hid in the tree, staring at the pair of cultivators resting alone on the plain. One was dressed as a bard, his decorated outfit picked out in reds and greys as he played a lute. From the faint strings of music caught by the wind, she felt confident it was no illusion.

    The giant of a man sat on a throne of false gold, looking like some king resting atop the ruins of his castle. A fool might be lured in by their apparent relaxed nature, but Kay was not so easily swayed. Not when she was sure she knew who the big cultivator was.

    ¡°Inquisitor Kay, poor language is the fae''s work and diminishes your connection with the Star,¡± the nasal voice chided her. Kay fought the urge to tell the woman where she could stuff her Star.

    Carefully, she used her glamour to extend a branch, her nature gift allowing her to shift the trees and carry her through the air, away from the cultivators. She¡¯d rather risk the giant detecting the glamour than step on the ground. She arrived at the next tree, where her partner waited. Clove jumped from branch to branch to keep up.

    ¡°Upon review, I say by the Star''s many rays, it''s a trap.¡± Kay didn''t like her colleagues, and not just because they were psychopaths willing to torture people at the drop of a hat and tended to giggle while doing it. While that was plenty of reason to loathe them, the worst part was that they pretended what they were doing was a kindness.

    ¡°We shall bring them mercy swiftly. We should attack now. They will fall before our purging light. This is nought but another trial.¡± Inquisitor Clove placed her hand over her heart as if in prayer.

    ¡°You''re a fucking trial.¡±

    ¡°I heard that, Inquisitor Kay. I look forward to reporting your behaviour to a Senior Inquisitor.¡± Kay scoffed. All the Senior Inquisitors around here were dead.

    ¡°You were meant to hear me. At least have the gall to threaten me personally, not farm out your cowardly threats to others.¡± Kay was stuck with Clove, and while she didn''t like her fellow cultivators, she trusted that they at least had a common enemy, which right now was everything in this realm. The challenge though was forcing some semblance of sanity through the brain rot of her zealotry to avoid getting killed by said enemy. Currently, the only way to distract Clove from heresy was with personal insults.

    Like most so-called believers, an insult to her god was a sin worthy of punishment. An insult to her person was an unforgivable sin worthy of death.

    ¡°Why, you little¡ª¡± Clove stepped forward only to find herself in a bubble of silence. Kay had forced the small runic tool she''d stolen off a dead colleague, the runes flaring and muting the sounds of the forest around them. The smaller woman drew out a knife in an instant, an oily sheen spilling over the blade, courtesy of her poison glamour. She crouched, eyes locked on Kay. ¡°What is this, convert? Why have you activated the Angel''s Silent Wings?¡±

    ¡°Listen, I don''t trust Astor or his blood zombies. I''m not going out there. Let the hot-blooded fool spring the trap for us.¡±

    ¡°And risk another Ray stealing our quarry out from beneath us? And you dare call me coward? I knew your faith was weak, but this is too craven even for you.¡±

    ¡°I called you coward to get you to come close, you d¡ª¡± Kay pinched the bridge of her nose. ¡°I didn''t want to be overheard by his creepy squirrels. That''s why I goaded you. I meant no real offence.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡±

    ¡°Alright, I meant some offence. But listen! Don¡¯t you recognize the big guy from our briefings? He¡¯s the Stone Giant.¡± Was it really so hard to remember? Kay was taller than any other woman she knew, and even then she bet that man would stand a head taller than her.

    ¡°The cultivator gifted¡ªblessed with earth and crystal. And what is he surrounded by?¡± Kay pointed out through a gap in the trees, across the bare plain of rocks and glittering shards.

    ¡°Oh.¡± Clove settled, her blade slowly sliding back into its sheath as she realized the situation. She had enough dignity to look slightly embarrassed, but too much pride to apologize for drawing her blade.

    ¡°Astor doesn¡¯t know about their little troupe. He''s just a rabid dog barking and clinging to a bone. We know, though, that the woman and man he described sounded like the Blood Hag and Silver Lion. He said there was no sign of any others in three days of hunting them. So why is the Stone Giant here?¡±

    ¡°It could be a trap for him. He comes barging into this waste and gets killed. It means they don''t expect us to be working together. They would know that Inquisitors aren¡¯t so easily fooled. They won¡¯t be expecting us.¡± Kay breathed a sigh of relief as Clove finally showed some degree of tactical awareness, even if she was still stuck on unnecessary bravado.

    ¡°Don''t be so sure. The Hag is said to be a tricky one, and I see no sign of the Storm Kestrel and his mount. I heard it was seen escaping during the chaos of the bear''s wrath. But those open wastes would make us perfect targets for both foes.¡±

    ¡°We should get back to Inquisitor Waltz. He''s been following them for months at this point. He¡¯ll have more insight.¡±

    ¡°Thank fuck. I was worried you were going to go out there.¡±

    ¡°May the Ray have mercy upon your soul for your foul speech. I do, however, concur that such action would be rash. The Ray of Truth expects us to be flexible tools and complete our tasks with wisdom.¡± Clove started to head back to where the others waited. She bounded from branch to branch, both of them now wary of the forest floor. With earth cultivators, you never knew just how good their senses were, and runic formations could extend their range.

    Their armour flashed silver as they flitted through the trees, their tabards woven together with bolts of light blue over a red background. Clove''s armour was more ornate; her tabard had small embellishments that detailed the medals and honours she''d earned. Kay¡¯s was still mostly blank, and if she had her way, it''d stay that way.

    ¡°I knew we should not have trusted one of those Harkley snakes. You know they all but worship their family patriarch, as if a Ray of Bonds were shining out his arse.¡±

    ¡°Blasphemy!¡± Clove spat. Kay sighed before offering some pretence of an apology. She accepted the sermon that Clove launched into.

    The last six months had been a nightmare. Kay was a recent ¡®convert¡¯ to the Divine Church. Six years ago, she''d joined the Order of the Verdant Grove, not realizing the church was slowly corrupting it. Eventually, their influence had grown so strong that they openly coveted her rare gift of nature, though it was her gift of lightning that truly sealed her fate. The Ray of Truth had all but demanded her.

    Her family was poor. Her grandfather was a Steel who had stalled and now grew weaker with every passing year. They were of no help. Pressure had been applied, and even with the Order helping with negotiations, she was still forced into a choice. Join them, or enter into an arranged marriage. Having met Ulfast during the negotiations, she chose the less horrifying route.

    She was spared having to torture anyone so far. She''d been somewhat saved by the fae realm opening up, her training rushed to get her into the realm. As it was, Kay was currently called an Inquisitor but had done little to earn such a title. She still saw herself as a disciple of the Grove. If anything, the more time she spent around the other believers, the more intense her convictions became.

    There was something wrong about the Divine Cultivators. Something unbalanced and broken. She''d seen more duels in the last six months than she''d seen in six years with the Order. They had a feral dedication to the idea of rising up to join the Rays. To reach the celestial host that painted the sky with its great virtues, they would build a mountain of corpses, even if it took the sacrifice of their fellow acolytes.

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    Even as the guidance of the Rays claimed unity and spoke of shared purpose, those around her plotted. Theft, betrayal, and murder were rife. Worse, it was excused by success. The Guiding Star illuminated the path of its chosen. If you slipped from it, then it was your faith that was lacking, your strength that was wanting.

    ¡°Look, I want to live, don''t you?¡± Kay started. Seeing Clove frown, she pivoted. ¡°To join the host. We''ve been in this hellish forest for close to a month, and it''s been disaster after disaster. We mustn''t be caught out by trickery.¡±

    ¡°It is merely a test of our faith.¡±

    ¡°Exactly whose faith was being tested when all your Squires got eaten by a giant hedgehog?¡± Kay was still sore on that point. She might not have liked the Squires, but they had been Clove¡¯s responsibility. That she¡¯d abandoned them to chase a ¡®blessed treasure¡¯ was an unforgivable failing to Kay.

    ¡°Their resolve must''ve been lacking.¡± The woman clicked her tongue as if frustrated with a naughty child. Kay had to bite back her retort.

    ¡°Look, I say we just let Astor go at them and pick off whatever''s left at the end. Then book it and hope that bear has pissed off. I''m not getting stuck in this hellhole for however long this place takes to open up again. We need to get out of here, and I don''t like the idea of having a Harkley at our backs. The Church will want someone to blame, and I''m sure he''d prefer to be the only one talking.¡±

    ¡°I do not disagree. Let us speak with Waltz about how best to accomplish our holy mission. If, during the collection of the Silver Lion, they kill each other, then that is on them.¡± Kay nodded. Everything she had heard about the Silver Lion and his allies sounded terrifying. Their orders were to retrieve him alive, and though she wished the Divine Cultivators'' enemies every success, that didn''t include slaying her.

    Taking a monstrous talent like that and trying to drag him along with them would get her killed, she was certain.

    ¡°That is more duplicity than I expected from you, Clove,¡± Kay answered carefully. The two remaining inquisitors frequently probed her ¡®faith.¡¯ Kay was careful not to say anything that could be construed as direct disobedience, contenting herself with vulgar language. Acting as a true convert would¡¯ve been more suspicious; better to act as an obedient but mouthy ally.

    Besides, she wasn¡¯t that good an actor.

    ¡°I am an Inquisitor. We must see the greater truth.¡±

    ¡°I leave this in the hands of the more experienced Inquisitor.¡±

    ¡°Good, I shall explain it to Waltz¡±¡ªand no doubt take credit¡ª¡°You should let me handle Astor. Don''t disagree or contradict him. The man is¡ª¡±

    ¡°Madder than a box of frogs? Has Ulfast levels of self-delusion?¡±

    ¡°In dire need of the Star¡¯s guidance and healing grace,¡± Clove answered. Even she conceded that the Paladin wasn¡¯t worth defending.

    They headed back to a clearing between the looming trees and found Astor pacing. The man looked like he¡¯d been dragged through a hedge backwards, one with inch-long thorns. He was covered in dried blood, the brown stains worked into the scratches and dents in his armour.

    The sandy blonde hair that marked the Harkley lineage was cut short on one side, along with the tip of his ear, a sign of some attack he had barely avoided. His eyes were mad, his irises red, a reflection of the blood gift and madness within. The man stood with a pack of small creatures: rats, squirrels, and other vermin.

    Watching him was Waltz, the last member of their expedition. Their group was nearly all that remained of the Church¡¯s presence in the realm. The exit was guarded by a single Paladin and Inquisitor, both wounded. They were left to keep a lookout in case this was a trick, supported by seven Acolytes who¡¯d managed to survive the many waves of slaughter by pure luck.

    Waltz acknowledged them, shooting them both a glance as Clove flashed a couple of discreet hand signs that Kay barely caught. It was meant to be part of her training, but while she¡¯d memorized all of them, she was far from fluent in the hidden language. She recognized the sign for ¡®deception¡¯ mixed in there.

    ¡°We have returned.¡±

    ¡°Well met, Inquisitor Kay, Inquisitor Clove. How goes the reconnaissance? I¡¯m sorry my tools cannot aid you; I¡¯m preparing them for another purpose.¡± Kay shuddered as Aster greeted them. Part of what she detested about the Paladin was how sane he behaved. His voice was polite, even friendly. It belonged at a party or sharing tawdry tales over ale.

    He was so far gone he didn¡¯t realize his mask of sanity was cracked and broken. He chatted like his face wasn¡¯t smeared with blood and his eyes didn¡¯t reflect the pits of hell.

    ¡°Indeed, we have much to discuss. It seems that others have appeared. A pair of unknown cultivators wait on the plain. One is a Knight, the other some kind of Bard. They wait in the location you suggest the Blood Hag is heading towards.¡±

    ¡°Ah, another irritation. More people trying to make a mockery of our purpose. May the Star guide us.¡± Astor thumped his armour.

    ¡°May the Star guide us,¡± the rest responded, as was expected.

    ¡°Did you get any sense of this Bard¡¯s cultivation?¡± Waltz asked.

    ¡°No, we did not,¡± Clove spoke again, Kay happy to let her take point.

    ¡°I would expect at least one of them to be an earth cultivator, to stand so boldly out in the open. No matter, my helpers here will prepare a surprise for them. I had intended for it to flush out Persephone, but these interlopers must be dealt with.¡± Kay looked at the collection of forest creatures. None seemed a threat to any self-respecting cultivator, but she¡¯d rather stick her foot in a bear trap than ask the lunatic a question. ¡°Waltz, could I trust you to help cloud his senses? I¡¯ve heard your Blessing of Earth is potent.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know your plan, but if it brings us closer to the Silver Lion, I will support you. How long until the Lion and the Hag arrive?¡± Waltz asked as he started to limber up.

    ¡°They¡¯re about an hour out. My blood sense gets stronger as I get closer, but I fear she has some method to sense me. If they seem to be avoiding the mountain, I¡¯ll let you know. But until then, we should wait until she gets close enough that she cannot retreat back to the forest when they feel the trap closing in. Those wastes, even with these complications, is the perfect place to trap them.¡±

    ¡°These allies that wait also explain her behaviour. You said till now her travel has been erratic. The Hag must be rushing to get aid. It might mean that the wound on the Lion is growing worse. Allies to defend would also slow her escape, and if she does leave, we can interrogate them. This Bard could aid us. He might be a witch in disguise, but they¡¯re easier to subdue. Aim to leave him alive unless their escape is impossible. The Hag and any others apart from the Lion should be slain,¡± Waltz mused.

    ¡°Heeheehee, I never did mention how much I like that Persephone¡¯s name is the Blood Hag! A fitting name for such a witch.¡± Aster''s laughter had a mania that set the Inquisitors on edge. It spoke of madness that made even the most broken and bloody captive a threat. It was the kind of giggle you¡¯d get before they tried to tear out your throat with their teeth.

    ¡°You¡¯re familiar with her?¡± Clove asked carefully, probing how much he knew of their targets. Kay schooled her expression. Six months of hanging around the zealots had honed her ability to hide her thoughts.

    ¡°Not as much as I would¡¯ve liked. She rejected my advances. I was too much for her. She has a thing for nursing wounded chicks. She flirted with a cousin of mine until she abandoned him. Apparently to run around playing at being some Knight. No doubt her interest waned when she found how broken those wings were. That runt¡¯s only value was to die and bind the Harkley name to the spark of this glorious crusade.¡± The foul blood cultivator laughed again, and Kay felt her skin pickle and itch.

    ¡°Any chance you would know who she travels with? Who the cultivators might be?¡± Clove asked again. She hid her relief when the man shook his head.

    ¡°No, she was but a pretty flower my family coveted. I lusted after her once, but now, of course, I have no interest in her beyond ensuring she understands the majesty of the Guiding Star. Perhaps if I had more time, I could enlist you to convert her for me. My family, the Harkley''s, would be happy with such a gift. It''s a pity Ulfast isn¡¯t here. I¡¯m sure he¡¯d be up for the challenge.¡± Kay decided then and there she was going to ensure that Astor died. The idea of willingly inflicting Ulfast on someone sent bile up her throat.

    It was around the fifth or sixth time she¡¯d committed to seeing Astor Harkley dead since she¡¯d met him, and the second time since he¡¯d returned from his failed hunt.

    He¡¯d arrived in their camp last night, requesting help as if he hadn¡¯t just stepped out of the woods looking like he¡¯d dug his way out of a mass grave. He explained how he¡¯d been tracking the Silver Lion but had recently lost him and requested their help in tracking down their target.

    Everyone had been briefed on the Lion, but only the Inquisitors knew of his whole troupe. Even if apprehending the Lion was considered a top priority for all members of the Church, the Rays shared only the scantest details they had collected with each other. It was why Astor had been hunting them alone. Why share the fame and respect that came with fulfilling such orders when one could hoard it?

    Everything had gone sideways when the Silver Lion had become involved. He and his allies had tracked the Inquisitors, who had followed ancient texts unique to the Church to find the realm. They¡¯d slipped in before the Saint and Cardinal had arrived and had been sabotaging their efforts to grow themselves in the dense power of the realm.

    Kay didn¡¯t know who the Lion¡¯s master was, but they must be someone powerful that the Church desperately needed leverage over. Their orders were clear: the Lion was to be taken alive or not at all, and when captured, was not to be ¡®broken¡¯ by questioning.

    She wanted to know who these cultivators were. They were running rings around the Inquisition. Somehow, they¡¯d raised the demon bear from its rest, obliterating their camp and cutting them off from reinforcements. They gave Kay a chance¡ªa way to slip away.

    She''d considered running in the chaos but she held back. If there was even a rumour of her committing ¡®apostasy¡¯ her family would not survive the Church''s retribution.

    Inquisitor Kay must be slain to sate them. And what better way to ensure that death than to say she and the rest of them ¡®perished¡¯ in glorious battle against powerful foes. Now, it was just about finding the right time for ¡®Inquisitor Kay¡¯ to fall, and ¡®Knight Kay¡¯ to rise anew.

 Chapter 66 - The meeting

    We waited in our improvised fortress of stone for what felt like anywhere between a couple of hours and an eternity. Bors did his best to keep my mind from spiralling over the impending meeting, but there was only so much I could sing to keep my thoughts at bay. If I kept playing any longer, we¡¯d get into ballads about love¡ªthe kind with lines like ¡®Thine eyes are akin to twin moons¡¯¡ªand make everyone uncomfortable.

    To spare us that fate, I ended up cultivating with the Bellows Breath, hoping my old technique would tame the wild thoughts. I pulled in great swathes of the abundant glamour, and within a few minutes, I¡¯d all but saturated myself. I could keep pushing, pressing my hearth to get closer to Iron, but without my concept, I was wary of going too far. When I¡¯d last died, my cultivation had grown faster than flame through dry grass.

    Death was something I would try to avoid if at all possible. What I felt certain I must avoid was the experience of having my body try to move to Iron while my hearth was still lacking its final support.

    I cultivated a little longer, refilling my cloak, which had done sterling work shielding me from the earlier cock-up with the death cultivation. The discordant death glamour had eaten up another portion of my resources. I felt a little tickle in my mind as I pondered that mistake. The element of discord was a potent one, one I could revel in. I¡¯d been sabotaging the Harkley harmony for years. What surprised me was the connection I felt to death. I couldn¡¯t deny how essential it was to my new identity.

    Death didn¡¯t define me, but it was the seed of my new self.

    Even with those aspects pinned down, my intent wasn¡¯t just half-baked; it was barely dough. Though as I kneaded it in my mind, I knew that death and discord were right in some fundamental way. Just as Bors said it would feel. Still, there was something missing, an ingredient that would get it to rise and balance out the heavy weight of the other two aspects.

    Death and discord weighed me down. An intent made of those alone would lead me down the path of the Death Knight. I refused to let that be my fate, but I had to find the missing piece.

    My musings ground to a halt as Bors broke the silence. ¡°I see them. They¡¯re coming out of the forest to the east.¡±

    My eyes shot to the direction we¡¯d called ¡®East¡¯. We¡¯d used the river that flowed by the plain as our guide, the water running from north to south on our little map. The river was to our west, about fifty paces across, and flowed quickly. In the trees behind it waited our comrades. That was our fallback location. With a fire cultivator on the loose, water was a must.

    Taking a deep breath, I stood. Looking out across the broken, rocky plain, I could see two figures approaching. They marched confidently towards us, ignoring the field of destruction. I could make out Sephy easily. Her armour was dull, scraped, and dented from battle. She looked every bit the warrior I knew her to be¡ªsword at her side, a javelin in hand, ready for any threat that might descend.

    I felt a thrum in my chest, chords tight, strings humming with every beat of my heart. It had been some eight months since her last message. A letter apologising that she¡¯d be away for some time. Even with the dream offering a chance to meet her, some small part of me had still feared that it¡¯d all be some cruel trick. Now, though, she was less than a thousand paces from me.

    ¡°Arty¡¯s wounded. He¡¯s not walking right.¡±

    ¡°He looks fine,¡± I said. And the Prince did. He walked comfortably, his armour in better condition than Sephy¡¯s. As he approached, I could see what the others had been talking about when comparing him to Lance. From this distance, I could have believed it was Lance walking towards us. The man¡¯s golden locks were, of course, perfect.

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    ¡°No, his pace is off. I can feel it. His right leg is hitching. I can feel it in the way he touches the earth.¡± Bors was staring intently at the approaching figures as they emerged from the forest.

    ¡°You know your skill terrifies me sometimes,¡± I said. My smoke, on the best of days, would stretch a third of that distance¡ªmaybe half, if I pushed it.

    ¡°I aim to impress. How do you reckon Percy is going to feel about your... youness?¡± Bors¡¯ comment raised an eyebrow, but he wasn¡¯t dissuaded. ¡°You¡¯ve got a lot going on, Taliesin.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough. I¡¯d be disappointed if she wasn¡¯t suspicious. I suspect she¡¯ll push past it, though. I¡¯m only a Bronze; there¡¯s only so much threat I can pose. I am a threat, but one that can be dealt with. She¡¯ll likely want to ascertain if I¡¯ve somehow corrupted or coerced you,¡± I replied. It¡¯s what I¡¯d do if our positions were reversed.

    ¡°Then I¡¯ll have the pleasure of seeing her make a tactical error.¡± Bors grinned.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°If she assumes you¡¯re an easily handled threat, it¡¯ll be a rare mistake. Ignoring the ¡®Lady¡¯ stuff, I¡¯ve personally seen you run rings around an Inquisitor while improvising multiple verses of insults, and you created a concoction that slaughtered an entire company of cultivators who were your equals.¡± Bors caught me off guard. While I couldn¡¯t directly refute what he¡¯d said, it still felt like it didn¡¯t capture the truth of the situation.

    ¡°That¡¯s teamwork that did that. If you wanted, you could pop my head with one hand. I¡¯m not a threat,¡± I replied. I still couldn¡¯t compete with an Iron rank in a direct fight.

    ¡°Maybe two hands, but that wouldn¡¯t stop you, would it?¡± Bors grinned. He alone knew of my Phoenix origins. ¡°They¡¯re taking their time approaching. I¡¯m going to say hello.¡±

    ¡°Bors, wait!¡± I hissed at him. Bors strode forward. I saw Sephy flinch, her hand going to the hilt of her blade, her grip shifting on the javelin.

    ¡°Well met, strangers. Your faces rattle around my memories; perhaps we met long ago,¡± Bors¡¯ voice boomed over the rocks, and despite Sephy¡¯s reaction, Arthur strode forward to meet him.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure I¡¯d remember a Knight as tall as you if we¡¯d met before,¡± Arthur¡¯s voice was melodic, rich and warm. It suited a prince. His lips were pulled into a smile. He really did resemble Lance. I suspected some Fae bullshit was at play.

    ¡°Mayhaps are you related to a man I know? His honour gets him into all kinds of scrapes. Last I heard, he¡¯d gone off on some damn fool plan to fight half the Inquisition on his own, leaving his allies behind to reflect,¡± Bors called to him.

    ¡°It¡¯s possible. You also remind me of a man who once warned me that ¡®sticks and stones may break my bones, but a good boulder will still crush you.¡¯ Last I heard, he¡¯d annoyed an entire Order by challenging their ¡®Honoured Knight¡¯ to single combat and then embarrassed him so badly that the entire Order thirsts for blood,¡± Arthur grinned as he responded.

    Sephy and I made eye contact as the pair continued their banter, closing the distance between our two groups. Both of us were hesitant to step forward¡ªher for tactical reasons, while some part of me still feared she was a mirage that would dissolve away if I got too close. Her eyes danced over me, and I could feel her picking me apart. She weighed me up carefully, and I was terrified I¡¯d be found wanting.

    In return, I examined her. She was never the tallest but her presence made her loom, she was broader than most women across the shoulders, and that helped her carve an imposing silhouette. Her blood red hair was gathered in a tight braid, a couple of hair pins and fixings her only adornments, the red contrasted against her pale skin. Her cheeks were tighter than when we¡¯d last met, her face pinched by exhaustion. Her eyes were darker, or at least lacked the dancing light I was used to seeing when we danced and schemed across the ballrooms of Albion.

    The memory soothed me. I might¡¯ve been bathed in fire, turned to ash and flame, and born anew into someone different, but if there was any part of me that remained the same, it was the man I was in those moments. I¡¯d lived for those stolen hours when I was free.

    Under her careful scrutiny, I drew myself up, imitating the proper form for a gentleman asking a lady for a dance, and bowed to her. For a second, I saw a flicker of a smile on her lips before the careful mask returned.

    Between us, Bors and Arthur had dropped the pretence and grabbed each other by the wrist in an aggressive handshake. I assumed it meant something to them, as they were now laughing.

    ¡°You two done sizing each other up?¡± Bors yelled. Sephy looked at me, then at them, before finally letting a sliver of a smile peek out as she started to stride forward.

    ¡°Pleased to see you¡¯re not dead, big guy. And no, this barely counts as a glance,¡± she grinned. ¡°Now, if I¡¯m any judge, we¡¯ve got a minute or two before Astor makes his play. Let¡¯s chat."

    Her eyes settled on me, and the full weight of her attention made me take an involuntary step back.

 Chapter 67 - And thats how Regus Harkley Died

    ¡°Well I''m sure we can chat in a safer location, we should move towards¡ª¡± Arthur began, before both Sephy and I hit him with a glare. Was there a deranged psychopath planning to kill us all? Yes. Were we in hostile territory with unknown forces ranged against us? Yes. Was there likely an ambush closing in on us at this very moment? Yes. Did I care? No.

    Sephy and I had some things to hash out.

    ¡°Bors, I want you to introduce our guest.¡± Sephy obviously agreed with me, seeing her left me feeling hot, cold, sweaty, and out of breath all at once, it was like I was the first time I''d realised girls were different. I just hoped that I looked calmer than I felt.

    ¡°It¡¯s good to see you too, Percy. Well, this is Taliesin, bard extraordinaire. He¡¯s been helping me for a while now. He¡¯s good people, been very open about his past as well.¡± Bors added. I appreciated that he didn¡¯t share anything I¡¯d told him in confidence. Sephy knew my background, but Arthur didn¡¯t. Though I doubted that would last.

    ¡°Wonderful, now, should we not regroup and¡ª¡±

    ¡°So, he told you he was Regus Harkley.¡± Sephy asked, and Bors nodded. She gave me a calculating look, that to be fair wasn''t a very Regus thing to have done.

    ¡°Wait, he¡¯s a Harkley? He looks more Artossian.¡± Arthur¡¯s stare was colder now, his blue eyes weighing me up carefully. It was smarter to stay silent, but I couldn¡¯t stand being called a Harkley.

    ¡°Don¡¯t tar me with that name! I¡¯m not a Harkley! Seph¡ª¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t. You will call me Percy until I am entirely satisfied.¡± Her eyes met mine, and I felt the power behind them. No longer shielded by the fake dream world, I could feel the strength of her cultivation. Still, the sentence alone sent thrills through me. Sephy was careful with her words; ¡®entirely satisfied¡¯ implied she was already part of the way there.

    ¡°Arty, Regus is the one who managed to warn us that your aunt was being influenced by the Divine Cultivators. He loathed the Harkleys more than you will ever know and risked everything to smuggle out information on them. I worked with him a lot. He was a great ally and a better friend.¡± Her last words hammered into me. I had a cultivator¡¯s control over my body, and I had to use all of it to pull back the dampness that threatened my eyes and quell the blush that crawled up from my dancing heart.

    ¡°Wait, you warned us about Emilia? That was you? Why didn¡¯t you say? That¡¯s like half the reason we left Albion!¡± Bors stared at me. I waved him off.

    ¡°I mean, I¡ª¡± I caught a glare from Sephy. I paused. This was like the games at court. I settled myself back into the patterns of speech and behaviour of Regus. I drew myself up, standing like a man of court, one hand to my chest, the other used to gently add emphasis to my words. Every movement was choreographed to show my station and follow the delicate rules of etiquette.

    I had read that court etiquette was bizarre and arcane to better equip cultivators to handle the Fae. A minor breach of etiquette could cost you some face in court; a breach of Fae etiquette might cost you your actual face. It was hard to learn, and harder to master. I had been flawless. I could offer my jailers no excuse to keep me in my cage.

    ¡°Good Sir Knight, that is not how spies work. Regus did warn the good Lady Percy that they kept demanding he make the perfume a certain lady likes.¡± I used the correct inflection and flick of the hand to indicate someone of high station. I could feel Sephy¡¯s judgement on every action. ¡°He would not have assembled the complete picture. It is only through the work of others, like the esteemed knight and her exquisitely arranged coterie of contacts, that such decisions can be made. Regus was but a humble servant.¡±

    I looked at Sephy and caught the tiny twitch of her lips, her hidden smile. I¡¯d scored well. Many things about my face had changed, but my smile was still the same¡ªno point in changing something that was so rarely seen. Our eyes met. I could sense she was about to ask something when Arthur stomped his way into the conversation.

    ¡°Wait! Regus. Regus. Is he not the one who was married to Maeve?¡± Arthur¡¯s eyes fixed on me. His demeanour went from chilly to arctic. He looked ready to attack me. Bors even took a step closer, looking at Arthur with a worried expression.

    ¡°Do calm down. By the fates, I should¡¯ve known you¡¯d focus on that over the fact I said he was dead.¡± Sephy pinched the bridge of her nose. She seemed as annoyed as I at the interruption. ¡°Still, that does bring up my main concern. Regus is dead twice over. The Chox claim to have killed everyone in the chapel. And even if Regus managed to escape, there was no way the Harkleys wouldn¡¯t use the blood curse to make sure he wasn¡¯t captured and pumped for information.¡± Sephy¡¯s words were less an accusation than an offering. Arthur was gathering steam to speak, so I dived in ahead of him.

    ¡°It is a pity that I must report that the noble Regus Harkley, and any reason for his betrothal, died after being hunted through the woods by his rather upset bride-to-be. He escaped for a while¡ª¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no way you escaped Maeve Chox. She is a prodigy with a blade,¡± Arthur interrupted, practically vibrating with noble outrage.

    ¡°Ease off, Arty. You have no idea of Reggi¡ªRegus¡¯s talents. He was quite adept at avoiding the ire of those whose power outstripped his own.¡± Sephy¡¯s voice was becoming warmer with every exchange. I wondered how close she was to being ¡®entirely satisfied¡¯ about my origins. This conversation wasn¡¯t going to be enough, but we were inching closer.

    ¡°You don¡¯t know the half of it. He ran rings round an Inquisitor,¡± Bors added, trying to be helpful. I winced a little, unsure of how that praise might be taken. It wasn¡¯t like Regus had been well-known for combat prowess. Still, it didn¡¯t seem to upset Sephy, who added that to her collection of information.

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    ¡°Despite the spirited objections of his esteemed betrothed, he did manage to escape. Sadly, that gave him a little freedom before the Blood Curse killed him. That was how Regus Harkley left this world.¡± I spoke nothing but the truth. Regus had died then. I could feel my words moving swiftly over my tongue. I could feel Sephy¡¯s eyes focusing on me. Then to Bors, who gave a small nod, no doubt confirming I wasn¡¯t lying.

    ¡°After that¡ª¡±

    ¡°After you died?¡± Arthur seemed painfully behind in the conversation. I¡¯d expected more from a prince. It was only one little resurrection, after all.

    ¡°After Regus died,¡± I shifted posture, dropping the etiquette and mannerisms of my former life, switching to the relaxed manner of the travelling bard. This day, I didn¡¯t mind the Lady¡¯s guidance. While it often chafed, it had led me here, to Sephy. Besides, it would be a lie to pretend my role as a bard was anything less than a perfect fit.

    ¡°I met the Lady of the Lake, since then my life has been complicated. She gave me a name,¡± as I said that, I saw Sephy jerk, her eyes locking onto mine. Of course, she¡¯d know about the power of names. ¡°And it appears she had made some arrangements. I was set free, and found myself meeting Bors and Gring, which has led to an increasingly unlikely series of events that finally delivered me to this blasted plain.¡±

    ¡°This is preposterous! Percy, you can¡¯t seriously believe him?¡±

    ¡°Arty, ease off. I''ve seen evidence. I heard her voice. Gawain nearly shat himself,¡± Bors chuckled, his deep voice reverberating with amusement.

    ¡°Gawain accepts this?¡± Arthur¡¯s incredulous tone softened as Bors nodded. The prince seemed to shrink down, clearly rattled by the implication. Gawain¡¯s unwavering sense of duty had become an unintentional barometer for the others, and if he believed, it was as good as truth to them.

    Meanwhile, Sephy was staring right through me, head tilted slightly, her lips twitching like she was whispering to herself. I could almost feel her mind working, analyzing the facts, weighing her next move. I had to force myself to look away from her lips¡ªtheir subtle movement was far too distracting.

    I¡¯d been trained against falling for common glamours, but Sephy wasn¡¯t just beauty; she was magnetism. Even knowing this, I found my attention pulled to her like the tide to the moon. I cleared my throat, shaking off the fog.

    ¡°Speaking of Gawain, he¡¯s probably getting agitated that we¡¯re not following the plan. Can we continue this while heading toward him? If we¡¯re expecting an attack, I¡¯d rather be closer to support,¡± I gestured toward our rendezvous point. Sephy gave a slight nod in agreement.

    ¡°Hmmm, let¡¯s move then,¡± she replied coolly, ¡°before he comes to drag you to safety. I¡¯m not tasting his blood until we¡¯re out of danger.¡±

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s promising,¡± I quipped as we set off toward the river, forming a loose line. Bors kept to the far side, Arthur between him and Sephy, who was now just a few paces from me. She didn¡¯t invite me closer, but with every step, I drifted nearer. She didn¡¯t seem to mind.

    ¡°Why¡¯s that promising?¡± Bors asked, casting a curious glance.

    ¡°If she thought it was impossible, there¡¯d be no point,¡± I replied, watching Sephy¡¯s lips twitch again in amusement. Keeping focus with her so close was harder than it should¡¯ve been. My thoughts spun in dangerous directions.

    ¡°Why not taste his blood anyway?¡± Arthur piped up, his tone still stiff. I wasn¡¯t sure how I¡¯d earned the prince¡¯s ire, but at least the others didn¡¯t seem to hold it against me. Sephy shot me a glance, raising an eyebrow, an invitation to answer.

    ¡°Plenty of reasons,¡± I began, accepting the challenge. ¡°It could be poisoned specifically to target her. I could be some fae creature controlling others through blood.¡± A flicker of a smile from Sephy told me I was doing well, but she raised her hand, fingers dancing, telling me I¡¯d missed something. I sighed.

    ¡°Or, I suppose, I could have a magical construct designed to harm her if she got too close.¡± She grinned as I cursed under my breath. How had I missed that?

    ¡°That sounds ridiculous,¡± Bors interjected, stepping in before Arthur could say anything. ¡°If he had that, wouldn¡¯t he just run at her?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Sephy and I answered in perfect sync. Her grin widened before she managed to suppress it, and I couldn¡¯t help but smile too. She gestured for me to continue.

    ¡°If I were powerful enough to create someone with all these implanted memories, the smartest move would be convincing them they *were* that person. That way, they wouldn¡¯t slip up. If they thought they were genuine, they¡¯d act the part perfectly.¡± Bors and Arthur exchanged horrified glances, then looked at Sephy, who nodded.

    ¡°What?¡± she said, chuckling as they recoiled. ¡°In the world of absurdly powerful cultivators, that logic makes sense.¡±

    Our eyes met, and my heart raced. The connection between us was undeniable, the shared understanding electric. But then, her expression darkened, and my stomach dropped. What had I done?

    ¡°We should focus,¡± Sephy¡¯s voice cut through the moment, sharp and commanding. ¡°Astor¡¯s on the move.¡±

    The air around us shifted as we fell into a more cautious formation. Sephy ranged out to one side, Bors to the other, leaving Arthur and me sandwiched between them.

    ¡°How are you tracking him?¡± Bors asked quietly.

    ¡°I can¡¯t do his full blood-tracking technique, but I can use part of the link between him and Arty¡¯s blood to get a sense of direction. No distance, just direction.¡±

    ¡°I thought you couldn¡¯t work with his blood,¡± Bors said, frowning.

    ¡°I allowed her to affect it through my aura,¡± Arthur answered tersely. ¡°I trust her, even if we don¡¯t always agree.¡± His glare fell on me, and I shrugged. There wasn¡¯t much I could do about the prince¡¯s attitude. It was a problem I hadn¡¯t expected to face. Jealousy nagged at me¡ªthe level of trust required to allow someone into your aura like that was immense.

    To distract myself, I pushed my senses outward. We were lucky; the wind was with us, carrying the smoke from our earlier campfire. Though my senses weren¡¯t as keen as Bors¡¯, I could detect things he might miss.

    ¡°There¡¯s something behind that boulder¡ªa squirrel or a rat, maybe. I thought you were watching for them?¡±

    ¡°I am. There¡¯s nothing there,¡± Bors said, narrowing his eyes. A glance at Sephy was all it took; they drew their weapons, and I followed suit.

    The boulder exploded in a shower of spikes, revealing a shredded squirrel, its tiny form now mangled. But what caught my eye was the torn fabric strapped to its back, holding a bag.

    Inside was a ruined peach with a silver sheen, its flesh radiating an intoxicating scent. Glamour poured from it, stronger than anything I¡¯d encountered before. A natural treasure, hundreds of times more potent than the alchemical components I used. Even damaged, it hummed with power.

    ¡°Why was it carrying a natural treasure?¡± Sephy asked, her tone curious. I felt ice crawl down my spine as the answer dawned on me.

    ¡°Oh, by all the fates no,¡± I breathed, panic rising. ¡°We need to run.¡±

    Arthur stepped in my path, his face set in determination. ¡°I¡¯m no coward. We¡¯ll meet them in noble combat.¡±

    I felt Sephy¡¯s eye roll without seeing it.

    ¡°There¡¯s nothing noble about this! It¡¯s an upgraded monster lure!¡± I shouted. Sephy began to curse, and Bors swore loudly.

    ¡°Ah, fuck,¡± the giant grabbed a squawking Arthur and threw him over his shoulder in what looked to be a practiced manoeuvre as we all prepared to bolt towards the river.

    Behind us, the forest roared.

 Chapter 68 - Silver eyes and red faces

    A wind blew from the North. With it, the autumn colours of red and orange began to tumble from the trees. The dancing leaves drifted on the wind, hundreds of them the size of sails fluttering about. Mixed in were dozens of charging beasts¡ªa mix of different creatures, some small, some hulking¡ªall focused on the fount of glamour. Every single one was ready to kill to get a taste of it.

    The monsters smelled the power in the air, and they wanted it. Natural treasures were always eaten or carefully prepared so the power within could be gradually absorbed. You didn¡¯t shred them. It just wasn¡¯t done.

    From within the charging beasts, a pair of silver eyes pinned me in place. The pressure was overwhelming. It felt like standing before an audience of untold thousands. It wasn¡¯t the Evil Eye¡ªless oppressive, more a signal, a statement. No, a warning.

    I knew then I was being watched. Rather, I had been watched this whole time, now I was being judged. Those mirror-like eyes told me I was being weighed and measured. If I was found wanting, I would not like the outcome. I dragged myself away from its gaze. I resisted, using everything I¡¯d learned of the Evil Eye. The power over me snapped.

    I ran. In part from the wave of monsters, but mostly from those eyes. If I didn''t have my lute smacking against my back, reminding me of the Lady''s attention I''d have been more rattled. As it was, the eyes were just another oddity added to the mix.

    Nothing could ever be simple. We¡¯d expected an ambush, and sure, the beasts were a surprise, but what in all the Unseelie were those eyes about? I focused on what I could handle, which was mainly going as fast as possible.

    It was a cruel irony to see my own tactic used against me, but I should have known. Astor was one of those who knew the Harkleys used monster lure for their hunts. He knew how effective it was, and he was devious enough to use that tactic himself. Sacrificing a treasure to kill us was costly but worth it. The man was like a rabid dog¡ªonce he got his teeth into a problem, he¡¯d never let go.

    I threw everything into my Levity technique, aiming to keep up with the more powerful cultivators. Thankfully, they weren¡¯t throwing their all into their speed, instead keeping a measured pace. Bors, in particular, kept a firm eye on the ground. Someone or something had fooled him. He was wary.

    ¡°What in the Seelie is going on?¡± Arthur was still slung over the big man¡¯s shoulder. He looked somewhat resigned to his fate, compounding my belief that this Arthur extraction manoeuvre was nothing new. I tried to speak, but my breaths were sharp and quick. I couldn¡¯t both talk and keep up.

    ¡°He¡¯s pulling in beasts to kill us, shredding natural treasures to lure them in. They¡¯ll fight whatever is around them for that glamour. How far are we from Gawain?¡± Sephy looked over her shoulder, checking on me and the approaching beasts.

    ¡°Not far. We should be alright if we can get over the river,¡± Bors answered. That seemed doable¡ªwe were some thousand paces from the water, and the river itself was only a hundred paces across here. The others could jump a hundred paces if pushed. I¡¯d have to get creative, but I wasn¡¯t getting left behind.

    We headed straight for where Gawain would be waiting to support us. It was right by the tree that had been broken in half and now hung from the sky. The others hid in the branches of its more whole brethren. They wouldn¡¯t reveal themselves too early. We had assumed something was going to go wrong, and while a horde of beasts descending on our position was dire, at least for a short while they¡¯d be too busy fighting each other to pay attention to us.

    As we neared the river, we had to slow down. No longer were we on the empty plain. Boulders had still rolled through here, but the land hadn¡¯t been blasted clean. We passed one of the few trees on this side of the river. Its limbs were broken, its bark dented and carved open. The ground was littered with broken branches bigger than most trees.

    As we ducked and dived through this debris, Astor¡¯s next part of the plan showed itself. We all felt an explosion of glamour¡ªanother natural treasure shattered. This time water-aligned. Mere seconds later, my senses screamed danger. The water started to churn.

    We slid to a stop.

    ¡°What is going on? Would you put me down!¡± Arthur was dropped onto his feet, spinning to look at the water just in time to see a horse-like creature break the surface. The beast looked unearthly, but it was a monster I knew¡ªits skin was grey and shiny, its mane made of wet leaves. A kelpie.

    A huge pike emerged from below, rising from the riverbed in a cloud of mud. It launched itself at the kelpie. The water frothed as the kelpie extended the plants making up its mane, binding the fish. With teeth like razors, it tore into its foe. Blood began to pollute the water.

    The pike writhed, trying to free its body. It was longer than a great feasting table capable of hosting a hundred, and its body was as thick around as Bors¡¯ chest. The long tail lashed through the air over the water in its struggles, making it plainly obvious how foolish jumping over the water would be.

    ¡°We¡¯ve got company.¡± Bors pointed. From upstream, I saw a figure start to emerge from under the damaged trees. He was coated in heavy armour and radiated earth glamour. He was no doubt already contesting Bors for control of the earth. He wore the raiment of an Inquisitor. I could see little details on his tabard, extra filigree akin to medals, marking him as a serious threat.

    ¡°Careful. He¡¯s not like Ulfast¡ªhe won¡¯t go down half as easy,¡± I warned. Bors gave a grim nod. Looking around, I saw few of the pieces of pyrite had made it this far, meaning Bors couldn¡¯t easily leverage both resources to squash this contender.

    ¡°There¡¯s Astor.¡± Sephy turned, her blade angled downstream. There, out of the debris, came the unhinged smile of the man himself. His approach was unhurried. His armour looked like salvaged scrap¡ªmore dents and rust than steel at this point. If you had told me he was an animated corpse, I¡¯d have believed it. His smile was all teeth, and his eyes in particular didn¡¯t seem human.

    Not like the strange silver judgment. No, these had clearly started as human but were now stripped of that pretence. They stared unsettlingly wide, enough that the whites of his eyes were clear even at a distance, his gaze nailed to Sephy.

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    I felt my whole being shudder. I had my lute over my shoulder, my bow in hand, but I couldn¡¯t stop my left hand from grabbing at the neck of the instrument, preparing to shift it into a sword. A Harkley stood before me. He was a whole realm of cultivation above me, but I wanted to fight¡ªto punish even this insane, festering scrap of the family.

    I could feel my muscles tense and my breath grow short. I held back only by leaning on all the patience I''d honed over the years. I was control. Anger didn¡¯t define me. Control over myself was what had seen me through.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got the earth mage. You two good to handle the nutter?¡± Bors asked. Sephy gave an affirmative grunt. Between them, Arthur drew himself up to his full height. My control faltered. If he tried to give a rousing speech right now, I might actually punch him.

    ¡°Finally, it is time to meet them in honest combat. Together, we will¡ª¡± Whatever Arthur was about to say was lost as he disappeared in a blur of talons and feathers. I turned my gaze up to find Archimedes flying away, Arthur below, talons carrying him off like a baby lamb before it became a snack for a giant eagle.

    ¡°I¡¯ll come back for you all. Hold them off.¡± Gawain twisted the wind to deliver his message. Archimedes spun and headed back across the water, well above the fighting. As he went, I could just hear a string of very unprincely curses being yelled at by his unwilling passenger.

    ¡°It¡¯ll be nice not to have to protect him. I hope you¡¯re half as good at dodging as Bors implied¡ªyou¡¯re going to need it.¡± She looked worried for a moment, a slight hesitation. ¡°And if you are who you claim you are, then I don¡¯t need to explain how this bastard fights. You should stay back.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve actually been working on something,¡± I replied, letting my fingers strum on the strings.

    ¡°Reggie wasn¡¯t stupid.¡± She gave me a long look, and I felt my rage cool a touch. Hearing my name stirred me from the pit of fury. ¡°If you want me to believe, I expect to see the same from you.¡±

    ¡°I love to see you work. I¡¯ll do my best to stay out of the way. Though if I get a chance to kill the bastard, expect me to take it.¡± Sephy smiled at that, about to say something, but a yell from Astor cut her off.

    ¡°Lady Persephone, what a pleasure. Finally, we can resolve our dispute. Surrender now, and I¡¯ll see about letting you join the family. Your transgressions will be forgotten. We offer forgiveness and love to all who bear our name. Perhaps you¡¯ll even get to see what true power through blood is like.¡± Astor¡¯s voice was calm, almost friendly as if he were chatting at some party with old friends. It only added to the aura of madness that came off him in waves.

    The words were so jarring that my control began to slip¡ª¡®forgiveness¡¯ and ¡®love¡¯? The Harkleys didn¡¯t know the meaning of those words. I might¡¯ve made a mistake, and charged in. Astor had me riled up. Whatever was going on with the silver eyes had rattled me, and Sephy¡¯s presence was forcing my mind into a churning, chaotic storm. But Sephy didn¡¯t give me a chance to slip.

    I knew Sephy, or at least I knew a few versions of her. I knew ¡®Lady Persephone¡¯¡ªshe of the acidic tongue and effortless grace, who cut through the social scene. I knew Sephy, the devious and intelligent woman with whom I traded covert banter. I had seen a bit of Knight Persephone in the few duels of hers I¡¯d attended.

    All three versions would¡¯ve responded with banter. They would¡¯ve goaded their opponent, taunting them into exposing something, drawing them out and finding a weakness.

    But it turns out I didn¡¯t know ¡®Percy.¡¯ There was no banter. With a hiss of air, she was gone, and then, with a clash of steel on steel, she was attacking Astor. Their blades moved with a speed I could never have equalled. A burst of flame erupted from Astor¡¯s sword, only for the shield pinned to Sephy¡¯s back to fly up and intercept the gout of flame.

    The pair broke apart¡ªAstor¡¯s sword still wreathed in fire, and Sephy with both hands on her sword, yet with a shield guarding her. I could taste the metal glamour she was using, somewhere between that coppery tang and the iron taste of blood.

    The next exchange was just as furious as their first. This time, though, the blood cultivation started to show itself. Astor¡¯s face became disturbingly red¡ªa skin tone that screamed ¡®medical emergency.¡¯ His speed increased, as did his strength. Sephy, though, was not one to be outdone. From beneath her armour crept tendrils of blood, waiting for their opportunity to punish Astor the second he made a mistake.

    The pair carved their way through the forest litter. Their skills were evenly matched, but Sephy was being pushed back by the added strength of his blood-boosting technique. I wasn¡¯t worried. She was giving ground carefully. Bursts of flame from Astor also gave me an opportunity¡ªfallen leaves and pieces of scrap. The forest floor was wet, so the flames were smoky. I wanted to help with my cultivation, but I had a hard enough time just keeping up with the exchange. I didn¡¯t want to rob Sephy of a chance to strike with my clumsy assistance.

    As I considered how I could aid, the thrashing battle in the river boiled out onto the land. Struggling against some new opponent, the pike¡¯s body swept across the shore. Its back was a mess of spines that scythed through our battlefield. Sephy had to pause her retreat, and Astor lunged.

    Astor¡¯s sword smashed into the shield, and his additional power knocked it from its position, forcing Sephy to block. Yet even as she parried away the blade, the burning edge scraping across her armour, a vibrant red whip of blood¡ªthe vital life within preserved by glamour¡ªsnaked out and cut a groove over Astor¡¯s eye.

    Whatever technique Astor was using to boost himself left the wound coursing like a waterfall. The blood flowed in a torrent. Against another cultivator, such a wound would¡¯ve decided the fight, blinding him. Astor, though, merely disengaged, using his own power to gather the blood into a crimson circle that wrapped around his brow.

    That exchange proved how useless I¡¯d be in this fight. I was a real liability¡ªnothing more than potential ammunition for Astor. It squashed my rage and gave me back full control. I needed to get clear, to distance myself from this. That was the smart thing to do.

    Problem was, where to go?

    Before me, the blood cultivators battled. To my right, the water boiled with monsters. To my left, the open plains were similarly full of beasts. Perhaps Bors was having more luck.

    Turning to look behind me, I heard the crack of stone and the crash of battle, a wave of earth glamour rolling over me. I saw Bors and the other Inquisitor, each surfing on a slab of stone that skimmed across the floor as easily as a marble rolled across a carpet. As they slid past each other, a ball of fire burst from the Inquisitor¡¯s fingers and crashed into Bors. He emerged on the other side, a wall of misshapen pyrite cubes having absorbed the worst of it.

    Then Bors launched a fist-sized cube at the Inquisitor, who was forced to dodge to avoid the projectile. The errant missile continued on until it buried itself several inches into an unlucky tree root.

    Nope. I¡¯d rather take my chances with the beasts than that.

    I finally looked up, hoping to see Gawain, but instead, I found only more frustration. Archimedes and Gawain were fighting what looked to be another Inquisitor, if the bursts of flame were anything to go by. More worrying than another opponent was that I could see, behind the wings of the giant kestrel, Lancelot and Gring fighting to gain altitude.

    The reason for their slowness was clear¡ªArthur was slumped over Gring¡¯s back, unmoving.

    The best thing for me to do right now was to leave, so of course it had to be the exact moment I was trapped. That wasn''t even counting the continual pressure of those silver eyes that still weighed down on me, watching from somewhere. I hoped they would not judge me harshly as I started to gather smoke so I could hide myself.

    As I exerted my will over the smoke, the hairs on the back of my neck rose. Intuition honed over years screamed of danger. I threw myself backwards. Bolts of dark crimson, that hummed with heat blasted through where I had just been standing.

    ¡°That was rude. Stand still.¡± came a merry shout. I landed and found Astor Harkley looking directly at me. Eyes mad and skin the colour of a demon, the blood from his wounds flowed into another sphere gathering at his fingertips.

    I might be in trouble.

 Chapter 69 - Intent

    Smoke swept over me in a wave. As the wall of grey consumed me, I feinted a dodge right, rocking back to stand exactly where I started. I felt the little blood ball slam through the air on my left, where the average fighter would¡¯ve been. Astor was a cunning opponent; dodging him wouldn¡¯t be as easy as Ulfast, and surviving that ugly bastard had been no walk in the park.

    ¡°A smoke cultivator, how quaint. I knew another one, all he could do was hide, run, and die,¡± the voice taunted, sending a shiver up my spine. For a brief second, I wondered if he somehow knew who I was, but then I heard a snarl from Sephy. I couldn¡¯t see her, only feel the burst of movement through the smoke, and hear the clash of steel on steel. The insult was meant for her.

    Gathering myself, I focused on my retreat, pulling on the now abundant smoke and ash. From my position, four columns of smoke split apart, each heading in different directions. A simple deception, but one I hoped would buy me the time to get some distance.

    ¡°Have you picked up another wounded bird?¡± The man laughed. It was disgustingly chummy, the kind of hearty baritone that slapped you on the back and offered you a pint. It didn¡¯t match the vile words he spewed. ¡°Maybe this one you¡¯ll get to see fly before we put it in the ground.¡±

    I could hear the tempo of their fight increase. Despite the thickness of my shroud of smoke, I could see his burning blade dancing as they fought. A hazy red and orange line that drew shapes in the air, moving faster and faster, occasionally letting out crescent blasts of flame. Two of the blasts of flame carved into my decoys, the explosion of intense heat and foreign glamour blasting apart my technique.

    I couldn¡¯t use my levity technique or he¡¯d sense me, so I just focused on running across the uneven, debris-strewn ground.

    A direct hit from any of those would spell my end. It pained me to retreat, but I had to put space between us. A task easier said than done¡ªwe were no more than a minute into the conflict and already fire was spreading. The drifts of leaves and the dead wood from the wounded trees were perfect fuel for the flames.

    ¡°Not sure why you¡¯re picking up more wounded birds. Your Silver Lion of yours is looking a bit tarnished. That¡¯s to be expected, though; he was already as weak as a cub with that river wyrm¡¯s poison. Now he¡¯s got Clove¡¯s poison as well, leaving him no more than a mewling kitten.¡± That pulled me up short. I didn¡¯t like the prince, but no one should die to a poison cultivator. It was a grim way to go. We had to finish this quickly and help. I had some decent antidotes mixed in with my gifts from Miss Peaches.

    Perhaps he sensed my hesitation, or my luck just ran out. Astor attacked.

    I didn¡¯t see any burst of light from his blade. No, this was a devious strike meant to end me. It was only thanks to my fine control of my smoke that I felt the invisible heat wave crossing the battlefield. The intense heat distorting the air was my only warning. With a burst of levity straining my hearth, I launched myself over a waist-high tree root.

    I hadn¡¯t even hit the ground when the strike hit. My cloak of smoke was shredded, and even with the root in the way, the heat licked my back, causing me to swear and curse.

    ¡°Found you, little bird!¡± he chuckled, as if it was all some banter over dinner. I sucked in a breath.

    In that moment, I felt the weight of those silver eyes pressing down on me, like they were waiting for my death. The attention eased a little as I struggled to my knees, but it remained a constant weight on my spiritual senses. What they wanted, I didn''t know, but it would have to wait.

    As my scalded nerves screamed, I knew I was trapped. The part of the attack not absorbed by the root had ignited the leaves and wood behind me, halting my retreat. Moving out from behind the root was not an option.

    Astor was some forty paces from me, Sephy was likewise distant, the three of us forming a triangle. Her positioning was off, and it was with a sinking feeling I realised she was positioned between Astor and my last remaining smoke decoy. A tactical error on my part¡ªI was too used to working with Bors, who always knew where I was.

    Peering over the now blackened and charred root, my back screaming in pain, I could see him gather a sphere of blood, moving back so he could see around my cover. His eyes flicked between Sephy and me. He was baiting her. I didn¡¯t know what he planned, but it was nothing good.

    Through the pain, I scrambled for a solution. What did I have? I had a lute, thankfully unharmed by the flames. It could become a sword, but neither tool would help me here. My now scorched clothes could shift into armour, which might help a bit against the heat, but would make it even harder to dodge. I had some potions and salves, and while my back could really do with that kind of attention, it wouldn¡¯t help here. I had a bow and arrow, which had zero chance of hurting anyone here. I had my smoke, but the flames were pushing it away. I could do nothing. I couldn¡¯t do anything!

    Astor, with a walnut-sized sphere of steaming blood hanging between the fingers of his left hand, edged around the outside of my root. In a couple of steps, he¡¯d be able to see me and launch the attack. I saw Sephy take a tentative step, and with it that grimace of a smile Astor wore twitched, becoming more genuine. My senses screamed danger. I wouldn¡¯t¡ªno, I couldn¡¯t let Sephy get hurt on my account.

    I refused to get anyone killed saving me. I refused to let the Harkleys win.

    Like I¡¯d told Maeve after I dragged her out of that lake, I defined what it was to win. Some said the key to winning was a life well lived. Bullshit! I¡¯d decided long ago that winning was a death well spent, ruining as many of their plans as I could on the way out.

    I felt something solidify in me. My intent was thrilled with my conviction. The weight of the silver eyes lessened as I found my control again, my mind set. I grabbed every wisp of smoke I could reach and wrenched a tidal wave of smoke down across both Astor and myself. His power was such that I barely got a split second of his outline in my smoke, a pulse of heat from his blade disturbing the air and thinning out the smoke around him. He was too late.

    In that same moment, I¡¯d drawn my bow and an arrow from my ring. My back bellowed its complaints as my muscles shifted and contracted. I let fly, the arrow carving its path through my smoke, hidden from Astor. It crossed the distance between us and carved right past the mad cultivator, right through that delicately balanced technique of boiling blood.

    If there¡¯s one bad thing about smoke, it¡¯s that I often don¡¯t get to see my victories. Still, I could hear the sudden yelp and a string of curses.

    ¡°You miserable little thing, I¡¯m going to roast you on a spit for that.¡± His voice retreated, even as he called out more threats. I heard Sephy pacing towards me. I let my smoke thin and found Sephy standing beside me, both of us looking at Astor.

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    ¡°A lucky strike won¡¯t change the fact you¡¯re just a pathetic, broken thing¡ªa sick bird that doesn''t know it''s already dead.¡± The knight¡¯s tone had finally changed. He was spitting every word. While his complexion was already red from his enhancement technique, the skin on his fingers where the blood had been was now a mottled mix of purple and pink.

    It was either the clarity from the pain, my connection with my still-forming intent, or bits of both, but my mind was moving faster. I wasn¡¯t going to leave Sephy dancing around trying to protect random tufts of smoke again. With a mental push, my bardic outfit shifted into armour. The metal was all within my aura, an extension of my body, which normally meant that any other cultivator couldn¡¯t even sense it. Arthur¡¯s act of trust in letting Sephy access his blood to reverse the tracking had been a shock, but it provided a solution to my current problem.

    Granting access to anything in your aura was difficult; your mind didn''t like giving up the safety and control. If I lowered the aura completely, my armour would be easier to heat up, easier to damage, becoming no different than mortal steel. Selective access required intimate knowledge of the other cultivator''s power. For me, all it took was a gentle push.

    She shifted for a moment, not taking her eyes off Astor. Still, it might have been my imagination, but her stance seemed to settle. She brought her shield closer, and I could see it was battered and dented in places, parts glowing with heat. I nocked an arrow, preparing to assist in any way I could.

    "Enough of this. Waltz, I need this one¡¯s blood to end this!" Both Sephy and I flinched, turning our attention to the other combatants. Upstream, surrounded by even more fire than we were, the others battled. It was just our luck that Waltz was much closer to us than Bors at that moment.

    The other Divine Cultivator glanced at us, and then the stone menhir he rode shifted, charging toward us. I heard Bors roar, offended at being ignored, sending crystals at the Inquisitor.

    "Hold him off," came the clipped shout from the Inquisitor. Astor nodded and launched a slash of flame at Bors as our enemies shifted.

    As Waltz passed through the burning forest, the flames channelled into the stone, the leading edge of which began to glow with a dark, murky orange, like molten lava. I shuddered. This battle needed to end quickly; our opponents were only getting stronger.

    I needed to get off the ground, or I''d have no chance of avoiding him when he got close. He could just open the ground and swallow me whole. I began to run up the root, trying to get away from the earth, when my momentum was suddenly arrested as my armour locked up. For the second time that day, I watched as a ball of overheated liquid passed right by me.

    I nodded in appreciation to Sephy. She¡¯d used her newfound control of my armour to arrest my movement. I¡¯d got lucky; the Inquisitor¡¯s range had surprised me. He glared at us for wasting his shot but then shifted, speeding up to get closer and finish us personally. I tried to scramble up the root but was still held firm by her power. Confused, I turned to look at her.

    Sephy looked at me. Despite everything, a small smile broke across her lips. ¡°Remember that time when Lord Winslet made a crack about me gaining more blood powers at my ¡®time of the month¡¯?¡±

    ¡°Just before you kicked him over the hedge maze?¡±

    ¡°Try and land better than he did.¡± Glamour gathered around me, and I was yanked skyward, every single piece of my armour moving in concert, launching me towards the thickest roots, keeping me far out of the reach of my foes. As I sailed through the air, I gathered as much smoke and ash as I could. The air was full of it, and it would help hide me.

    Sephy relaxed her control of my armour just in time for me to grab onto one of the roots. I slid over the surface, almost falling off before I caught myself. I¡¯d landed near the trunk of the tree that had been so heavily pruned by Ursul¡¯s awakening. Its broken branches and dead leaves littered our battlefield.

    From this vantage point, I turned to take stock. I didn¡¯t like what I saw.

    Fire was everywhere. The smoke was a haze that blew over the river. Even with my skills, I couldn¡¯t see what was going on over there, but the fact that Gawain hadn¡¯t returned said they were having at least as much trouble as we were.

    Bors and Sephy were closing in on Waltz. The earth cultivator was cursing up a storm; it seemed Astor had left to do battle with both Knights. Even with his high mobility and the abundance of flame, he was weathering their attacks. I cast around for Astor but couldn¡¯t find him in the fight, which worried me. The silver eyes were still watching, but they were now just a background itch on my senses.

    Ignoring what I couldn¡¯t control, I hunted for Astor. A shift in the smoke located him after a few moments of work. He was heading towards the water. For a moment, I was baffled. Confused, I cleared a tunnel to take a look, see if there was something I was missing.

    What I saw opened a pit in my stomach. The water was still churning with warring beasts, but its hue had shifted¡ªthe water was scarlet, the froth crimson with blood.

    Sephy and Bors were nowhere near him. In mere moments, he¡¯d have access to a supply of blood enough to drown us. What could I do?

    Nothing. Not as I was right now. I rejected that thought, opening my mind, thinking on my Intent, reminding myself what I was willing to sacrifice. With that on the table, there had to be something!

    I felt the half-formed Intent pulse in my head. Phrases filtered through my mind, none quite right. I¡¯d rather die than let them win. In death, I¡¯d bring ruin to their plans. A death well spent. All were puzzle pieces close enough to trick me until I tried to fit them in place. What was missing? Bors said it had to be ¡®poetic,¡¯ and it was missing the other word I¡¯d resonated with: discord.

    I felt my fingers on my lute, absentmindedly plucking it to calm myself. As I played the first licks of a simple tune, something bubbled up. Under my fingers, the strings screeched in complaint as my hand tensed. The words crystallised in my mind, becoming something more.

    In death, I shall sow discord.

    The statement fit. I saw a future, cutting my throat open, rising as a vengeful Iron Phoenix. Standing with the others in black harlequin armour, my blade coated in death glamour, slicing through his gouts of blood. A tide of ash drowning the lava Inquisitor. Cutting them down without mercy, standing victorious over their corpses.

    My hearth roared in approval. The death gift was hungry for this Intent. There was power here, more than I¡¯d ever dreamed of. Yet, as I felt it trying to slot into place, I yanked it away. I was a Bard, not a death knight. If I let this happen, I¡¯d lose control over my life, my Intent bound to revenge. My cultivation fought me, my hearth incomplete, and here I dangled the last piece before it.

    The Intent solved this problem, but it wasn¡¯t me. It was an Intent forced on me by a Harkley. If I accepted it, they¡¯d win. Regus, the man I was, who sought every tool to bring down his tormentors, would have embraced this Intent.

    But I decided what winning looked like, and it didn¡¯t look like this.

    I was Taliesin. My first act in this new life was to dance. I had found a path, one of music, jokes, and friends. I wasn¡¯t this.

    Besides, I had what I needed from my introspection. My lute was in my hands. Looking out, I saw Astor approaching the water. I let my fingers strum a familiar tune. A beautiful song.

    ¡°Arise, with sword and armour,

    Arise, as the war drums pound,

    Arise, for hearth and home.

    Arise, as the battle cries sound.¡±

    I poured death glamour from my hearth into the lute. My vision of the future had reminded me of something I¡¯d half forgotten¡ªa way to stop Astor. My power churned in the belly of the lute, but I didn¡¯t seek to spread emotion. I just gathered power.

    ¡°War is come, battle is to be met,

    Draw swords, let feet pound.¡±

    I¡¯d skipped a verse, but this one felt more appropriate. Wrapped in smoke, I couldn¡¯t see the fight, but my senses felt Astor pause in confusion. He was right by the water. His hands reached out. I grinned and willed my cloak to wrap around me.

    ¡°Let banners fly, follow the drum¡¯s sound.

    Blood is spilt, the earth made wet.¡±

    My fingers slammed on the strings, letting discord and death ring out. A burst of death glamour howled from my lute, funneled in a billowing cloud by the open mouth of the instrument. What little glamour clawed at me, my cloak protected me from, but I could feel its chilling touch.

    Just like before, Astor was not my target. His power was beyond me, and while my attack would¡¯ve dried him out and clawed away at his vitality, it would have been survivable. The same went for most of the monsters in the water; any Bronze bold enough to fight for the power was now dead, their blood dirtying the water.

    Which was perfect, as it made for a big target. The wave of death glamour crashed into the water, rendering every drop of blood in the river nothing more than red paint for cultivation purposes. Living blood was essential.

    Through the shroud that hid me, I heard Astor bellow in fury. It really was a beautiful sound

 Chapter 70 - Damsel in Distress

    Smoke curled around Gring with every wing beat, surrounding them. They couldn''t get clear even with his control over air empowering each sweep, there was just too much of it.

    It wasn''t thick, but it was an added frustration, one among many.

    Lance, in spite of her current frustrations, was loving her path in life. This was adventure, the kind that got turned into stories, the sort of tales that her parents would reminisce about over dinner. She battled around a swaying tree, broken in half yet rooted into the sky. Pursued by wicked cultivators with dark designs above a burning fae realm. She dodged their flickering tongues of fire and poisoned blades to keep a damsel in distress safe, one thrown over the saddle of her pegasus, who would soon become her bonded companion.

    She''d craved an experience like this for as long as she could remember. This is what it meant to be a knight.

    Her body thrummed with power. She could feel it brushing up against the part of her soul that she knew was connected to her intent but didn¡¯t waste time thinking about it. There was too much going on right now. As amazing as this story was, she knew the retelling would require some editing. Right now, her story was full of frustrations.

    First, there was the smoke, which limited her vision, totally blocking her view across the monster infested river. Only the occasional yell, mostly Bors'' bass voice, made it across the thrashing water. Not knowing what was happening across the monster-filled water was worrying, especially as the fires over there only seemed to be getting worse.

    Second, there was the fact that the damsel in distress she''d been tasked with protecting was subpar at best. In all the tales of random members of royalty who fainted and had to be thrown over a white charger by a knight and carried to safety, every last one she could recall was a damsel. Arthur was, despite the fact his charm and looks leaned towards the beautiful rather than the rugged, definitely not a damsel.

    Third frustration! He looked just like her. She''d assumed that the others had been ribbing her about their resemblance, but it was undeniable. They both had the same eyes¡ªthe eyes she shared with her father. She wanted to dig into that and the secrets the Lady had hinted at in their conversation, but it seemed her reprieve was up. The fourth frustration was going to yet again show why it ranked higher than an existential concern about her origins.

    Her ear buzzed, a warning from Gaz¡¯s little water orb. ¡°Watch out, she¡¯s lining up an attack. She¡¯s right by the trunk.¡±

    The centrepiece of their fight was the strange, shattered tree. Broken in half by Ursul''s violent awakening, it hung from the sky, a blunt reminder they weren¡¯t in the real world anymore. The wind and their fight had accelerated its swings, the wood creaking as it swung back and forth like a pendulum. As her eyes scanned it, she caught a glint of steel hidden among the leaves.

    Her buckler snapped out to catch the blade, and a pulse of her moon glamour repelled the blade and its sickly coating. She could almost taste the wasted poison glamour in the air.

    A burst of flame followed the throwing knife, but a sweep of wind from Gawain, and a couple of wing beats from Archimedes turned the flame away. He¡¯d arrived a second too late to intercept the blade, but that was understandable. He¡¯d been unlucky, getting hit with the poison early in the fight, and his actions were more sluggish than usual as he fought off the invasive glamour. Combined with the fact he had to shield Archimedes and Gaz, who rode with them, from her attacks, he was severely limited in his options.

    Even with the Inquisitor being Iron ranked, Lance wasn¡¯t too worried about the match-up. You could only throw or shoot things so fast, and without a power to support ranged attacks, poison glamour was limited to being an up-close-and-personal affair. Still, her gift kept them from just retreating¡ªleaving the Inquisitor alive to come after them again wasn¡¯t an option.

    Poison gifted excelled at assassination, or if you were more like her mother, some very specialised healing. Technically, they relied on the same skill, as what might cure you in a small dose could be lethal with the smallest increase. As proven when she wounded Gawain and Arthur with her opening attack, their greatest strength was surprise. Killing them was also the fastest way to neutralise the threat of their poison, as without their gift to support their poison, the body could purge it like any mortal contaminant.

    If they retreated, she¡¯d haunt them, maintaining their debilitating injuries as she waited for the perfect opportunity to strike again.

    Lance knew this because her mother hadn¡¯t skipped out on the details of what had made her so happy to leave behind her former coven. These days she mostly used her gift in some very specialised applications of healing, the fine control needed to reach that level necessitated a lot of practice, including plenty of ¡®mistakes¡¯. The invasive glamour stopped a cultivator from neutralising a poison with their aura. Antidotes or other healing was required to stop the attack, and while a cultivator could with concentration limit the damage it did, that fight consumed a portion of their power.

    They were at a stalemate, but it would only take a single error to shift the battle¡ªor the introduction of an unexpected factor. This being a fae realm, an unexpected factor was overdue.

    A shriek carved through the air, and something dived at them.

    Lance only caught the shift in her peripheral vision, but Gring was on it. He chuffed and dived right, using a burst of wind glamour to accelerate as he dodged into the cover of the shifting branches of the tree. Archimedes dived as well, heading for less poison-filled cover.

    Over her shoulder, as the wind stung her eyes, she caught a glimpse of what looked to be an animate cloud plunging after her friends. Streamers of mist trailed from the vaguely bird-shaped mass, that was easily twice as large as Archimedes. The only clear visual sign it wasn¡¯t a mere clump of shaped water vapour were the talons like scimitars that stretched out, clawing at the smaller bird. It was a monster she¡¯d only ever heard of, a Nimbushawk¡ªa mid-range Iron beast.

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    She couldn¡¯t spare too much attention, though. Gring was clearly afraid of the creature, enough to willingly get within the Inquisitor''s range. All that saved them from a fresh knife was their rapid descent, Gring plunging faster than a man could fall. Her beautiful mount dodged between the branches, little bursts of glamour changing his course each time it seemed they¡¯d strike a branch. She was lucky to have such an ally.

    She heard the hiss of the wind and the sound as his wings sliced through leaves. He eased up his descent as the ground was coming rapidly into focus. Yet they couldn¡¯t leave the protection of the branches.

    Checking on the others she saw the Nimbushawk clawing at a nearby tree. It screeched in fury, talons empty, it rose over the battlefield, its eyes watchful. Waiting for its prey.

    Lance swore¡ªthey were trapped. Archimedes was hiding in a different tree, the Nimbushawk just waiting for its opportunity to strike. She had mere moments before the Inquisitor caught up with them. She could hear her crashing through the canopy above.

    ¡°This is such bullshit,¡± she swore. ¡°Gaz, if you can hear me, she¡¯s coming for me.¡± The bauble at her ear was inert; she couldn¡¯t feel the connection to Gaz. Her stomach sank. Despite there being plenty of good reasons for the technique to have failed, her mind could only jump to the worst options. She needed a plan, but she was coming up empty. This was so far outside of what she knew¡ªthe duels and occasional unsanctioned fights that broke out around Fosburg.

    Her only hope right now was that the Inquisitor seemed to want Arthur alive, as no attack beyond the first had come anywhere near him. Lance nudged Gring, and he shifted so they floated over a break in the canopy that exposed the drop to the earth below. If she tried to strike Gring out of the sky, she¡¯d lose Arthur.

    The Inquisitor dropped down from the branches above. The woman was a mess, her armour was drenched, and the raiment she wore over it was stained with blood. She wore an open-faced helm that did her no favours. Not only did it frame a visage of a woman who looked like she spent her free time sucking lemons, but she also sported numerous small cuts. Her left arm was close to her side, using the armour about her hip to support its weight, and her leg twitched as she landed. Gawain hadn¡¯t been entirely passive in the fight, striking whenever he had a chance.

    Lance eyeballed her. Her stance lacked a certain crispness she expected from competent combatants. She had an instant sense that this woman was no warrior. The fact she carried only knives told her that this woman was more rogue than paladin.

    ¡°This has been much harder than it needed to be. Give me the Silver Lion and you can go free. I do not care for some weak heretic and her pet.¡± The woman¡¯s voice matched her puckered face. Gring whinnied at the insult.

    ¡°And lose my only leverage?¡± Lance replied, deadpan. She had to keep her talking, find some opening. ¡°If I hand him over, you¡¯ll kill me and Gring. What guarantee can you give me?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re more open to this than I expected. I thought his team was fanatically loyal. Seems you have some traitorous converts among your ranks too.¡± The woman spat the last part before looking about, no doubt trying to find her own opening.

    This was another stalemate, and they both knew it.

    ¡°First time I¡¯m meeting him today. I got dragged into this.¡± Lance hunted for a solution, thinking about what she had in her ring. She did have quite a few antidotes; her mother insisted on her having them. Could she survive a fight with them, could she win against a wounded iron rank? It was the last option, Lance knew the tyranny of rank but if there was ever a time to fight upwards this was it. Still she looked for something, anything, a way to tip the scales and end the standoff.

    And to watch for outside forces. Lance suppressed a smile as she saw a flicker of movement behind her opponent. This time, the fae realm''s interference seemed to be in her favour.

    ¡°Inquisitor Clove, of the Ray of Truth, pledges on the Guiding Star that if you place him on one of the far branches and fly away, I will not pursue or harm you.¡± Her face eased as she spoke, her voice smoothed and almost warm as she invoked her god, before instantly switching back to harsh tones. ¡°But if you try and get clever, I¡¯ll throw everything I have at your damned winged horse. He¡¯s weak, my poisons will work quickly. I¡¯ll focus on pain, and you¡¯ll feel it all through your bond.¡± The woman watched Lance like a snake, her eyes unblinking. A clear sign she wasn¡¯t normally a front-line fighter. A real warrior would¡¯ve been aware enough of her surroundings to spot the tree branch snaking down from above.

    ¡°That works, how about here?¡± She nudged Gring. Her new friend was smart, even if he couldn¡¯t yet speak, and followed the conversation perfectly. He drew out the moment, slowly shifting them towards the edge of the canopy. The woman took a step forward, wary of deception. She focused on them, unaware that she was blinding herself to the true threat¡ªthe branch mere inches from her. Lance gripped Arthur¡¯s back, looking at the woman for confirmation.

    ¡°Yes, and then finally, this can be over.¡± A prophetic set of last words, as the branch dropped around her neck. The wooden noose tightened around her. She tried to claw it off, daggers coming up, but this was no slow hanging where she¡¯d fight for breath, nor was it the clean drop that snapped the neck.

    The noose sat at the end of a long branch bent like a fishing rod, catch secured, the power that bent it was released.

    Ever pulled a branch back and let it snap into place? Lance had, but she¡¯d never done it with a tree¡¯s worth of wood.

    Head and body parted ways. The body plunged to the forest floor below, and the head continued upwards like it was launched from a trebuchet. Lance had heard that a decapitated head could remain conscious for a few moments, and she wondered just how far the Inquisitor would travel in that time.

    Closer to the trunk of the tree, another Inquisitor in a full-face helm descended using a smaller vine as a step. Lance was wary, but they held up their hands in a sign of peace. Lance sought to look alert and threatening, though it was a bit of an act¡ªthis person moved like a warrior and had the spiritual weight of an Iron rank. Plus, they were clearly a nature cultivator, which meant they could¡¯ve killed them at any time, given that they were surrounded by the tree.

    ¡°Please, hear me out, I¡¯m not with them.¡± It was a woman¡¯s voice, far less acidic than the last. ¡°I¡¯ve been busy killing other blood thralls of the Astor before they destroy more treasures and draw in more beasts. When I came to help you were all moving far too quickly for me to be able to act. This is the longest she¡¯s stayed still. I hope that you¡¯ll judge me by my actions, not my uniform, and at least hear what I have to say. It may be difficult to believe, but I owe no allegiance to them and hate them more than most.¡±

    Lance had a few things she wanted to say. Obviously, she really wasn¡¯t shocked that someone in their ranks would be a turncoat¡ªshe knew Taliesin, after all¡ªand another ally would be a welcome boon. She wanted to say that, but an overwhelming realisation sank in, and she groaned.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, she didn¡¯t poison you, did she?¡±

    ¡°No, no.¡± Lance sagged in her saddle and glared at the slowly rousing Arthur. ¡°I¡¯m listening. It¡¯s just... I realised I¡¯ve somehow ended up as the damsel in distress.¡±

 Chapter 71 - In death, I shall sow discord

    There were few days I wished my phoenix heritage had gifted me with fire over smoke; today was one of them. Everywhere I looked, there was fire, and yes, that meant there was a lot of smoke for me to work with, but that was a small consolation.

    Astor had responded to me robbing him of his bloody harvest by launching a frenzied attack, which had both Sephy and Bors scrambling to keep me alive. Waltz had capitalized on that distraction to coat the entire section of the forest in flame. While Astor had paid for his attack, suffering a number of wounds, the expanding ring of flames was now empowering them both.

    I¡¯d avoided being around flames too much as Regus. My phoenix heritage, and the partial resistance to flame it granted, would¡¯ve been noticed otherwise. Right now, it was critical to my survival. I think if I¡¯d been an average Bronze cultivator, I¡¯d have literally started to cook.

    We fought through the sea of flame, drowning in heat, the very air being robbed from our lungs, sucked up by the greedy fires. Our group had formed up into a tight trio; while common battle tactics against fire-gifted foes was to spread out to force them to waste their power by sending it in more directions, right now we needed each other for support as we escaped the inferno.

    ¡°Get down!¡± Bors¡¯ shout cut through the chaos, and I threw myself to the ground. A burning tree branch twice my size sailed through where we¡¯d just been. The tree pulled open the smoke, letting me spot Astor riding the flaming missile.

    His face was now pale, the red having faded as he consumed his blood to fuel his attacks. The only red that remained was in his eyes, where he seemed to have burst every blood vessel. He held onto the wood by wrapping his left arm around the branch, that hand now gone. His other hand, still dotted with burns from where I¡¯d exploded his boiling blood technique, was outstretched, ready to rain down attacks. His expression was a rictus of hate¡ªif the heat wasn¡¯t burning away every scrap of stray moisture, he¡¯d be frothing at the mouth.

    He¡¯d really taken being denied the blood in the river poorly.

    As he passed over, he lashed out with blood and flame alike, raining down attacks on the patch of smoke we used to obscure our movements.

    The attacks randomly swept through our cover, Sephy catching the few that strayed near us on her nearly destroyed shield. The formerly shining steel was now warped, bent, and dotted with pieces of hardened magma from where she¡¯d stopped Waltz¡¯s attacks. She was as tired as her shield looked, and a blade of blood got through her defences, slashing down at my arm.

    My cloak shifted, the formerly refined accessory looking little better than the starved pile of rags it had been when Ursul gifted it to me, launching itself before the attack. Death glamour, it turned out, was fantastic against blood glamour. Even with that benefit, my glamour was fighting up a rank, and that last attack drained all but the dregs of my cloak''s reserves.

    Astor sensed his blood being destroyed, his focus homing in on my location. Sephy yanked me across the ground, her glamour dragging me around by my armour. It wasn¡¯t dignified, but as the fire crashed down on where I¡¯d just been, I had to accept it.

    Even if I was totally outclassed, it didn¡¯t mean I couldn¡¯t help.

    Dragged along the ground, I threw her more ammunition¡ªanything metal that had ended up in my ring was flung out for her to push back the rabid dog that was Astor. He dodged a ballistic alchemy clamp and pulled back, disappearing into the flames. Frustratingly, he retained enough awareness to have some combat sense.

    The pair were whittling us down, trying to force us off our current path. We were trying to move parallel to the stream, far enough away that the forest wasn¡¯t littered with wood to fuel them, and the water wasn¡¯t filled with monsters. We¡¯d barely covered any distance. Waltz and his lava excelled at pulling in heat over a wide area, creating hot spots and forcing us to change our course.

    Astor harried us constantly. This most recent attack was just a repeat of his current hit-and-run tactics. I¡¯d run out of ¡®good¡¯ metal to give Sephy two attacks ago when I¡¯d thrown her the last of my arrows. Now I was scraping the bottom of the barrel and regretting not taking more of the armour we¡¯d looted from Barclay Fos and his goons.

    ¡°We need something new, this is just prolonging the inevitable,¡± Sephy said, her breath short and her words tight. ¡°Do we try the water?¡±

    ¡°I like swimming about half as much as I like flying,¡± Bors rumbled. The giant was stoic despite his wounds. He was down to five pyrite chunks, all of which were coated in rapidly cooling lava. His armour was splattered with dried chunks of stone, and he was limping as he walked, a huge dent in the armour at his thigh the only clue to what had happened. ¡°I think that¡¯s the last resort.¡±

    ¡°I think we might be at that point,¡± Sephy said, looking around, hunting for a solution and finding nothing. There was only fire. Neither was saying it but Gawain and rest of the team''s absence had them worried.

    I could still feel the pressure of those silver eyes. I still didn¡¯t know what they wanted, but I considered beseeching the clearly fae presence for assistance. It was only a marginally worse idea than the alternative.

    In death, I shall sow discord.

    The words pounded in my head. My body ached with my unfulfilled intent. My soul yearned for it. My hearth, previously strong and balanced, felt uneven and weak without it. It was the solution to our problems¡ªone I selfishly refused to take.

    ¡°Give me the Bard and I¡¯ll make your deaths swift!¡± Astor screamed, his voice cracked and broken, the veneer of sanity burnt away. None of us replied. My smoke was doing a great job of keeping us hidden, denying them the precision to strike at us carefully.

    Another series of attacks rained down on us. Waltz appeared out of the flame, sending out spears of earth that glowed red, as Astor threw endless balls of fire at us. Bors caught the stone while Sephy handled the flame. Still, our fatigue was showing¡ªa chunk of rock exploding against one of the crystals sent shrapnel scything through the air. Some of it caught me where my armour was weakest, slicing my arm open.

    Thankfully, it was at that time the two divine cultivators retreated again. I could feel them moving glamour around, preparing something.

    ¡°Close that wound. My control¡¯s so messed up that any drop of blood that isn¡¯t already under my control, he could grab,¡± Sephy reminded me. I¡¯d offered to give her some of my blood earlier, but she¡¯d warned me off. She couldn¡¯t afford to drop her focus on her metal gift, while Astor could give his all to blood if he wanted to. That meant that even if she was right next to me, the second the blood left my aura, he could get hold of it.

    I cursed and grabbed scaldingly hot ash. I swept it over the cut, cauterising the wound as I fought not to scream. That small slip of focus let the intent try and slot in. I fought it again, pushing it away.

    In death, I shall sow discord.

    The words pounded in my head. I¡¯d denied them the first time, and it had been easy, but with each use of my glamour, each wound, they repeated. Each rejection got harder, and my scramble to fix it became more desperate. There was a missing piece that would make it work¡ªI could feel it in the depths of my mind¡ªbut the harder I fought for it, the further it slipped from my grasp.

    ¡°Taliesin, you must have an idea!¡± Bors called out to me. His faith in my wits scared me.

    ¡°I do, but it¡¯s not a good one.¡± I couldn¡¯t lie. I could curse the fae for taking the power from me, but today I wouldn''t have wanted to. It was bad enough to have a solution, but to hide it? That''d would''ve been unforgivable. Yet I couldn''t give voice to it. How long was I going to look for another? I couldn¡¯t let my friends die.

    ¡°Is it better than being cooked or becoming chum?¡± Sephy growled.

    In death, I shall sow discord.

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    ¡°Better from a certain point of view, worse from another,¡± I replied, trying to put off what was starting to feel inevitable. Should I accept the intent? I could fight the future I¡¯d seen, what it would try to form into, just like I¡¯d fought the Harkleys. I looked at my worried friends; they faced out, waiting for the next attack.

    Bors and Sephy both had their backs to me. Both trusted me completely to have their backs. That broke something in me. My resolve shifted.

    In death, I shall sow discord.

    If they died and I lived, there was no chance I was avoiding the worst of the future I¡¯d seen. My rage would be endless, I doubt it would be sated even if every last Harkley lay dead at my feet. I shifted the lute into a blade, having lost my spare sword in the chaos.

    In death, I shall sow discord.

    The intent knocked again. I might give up being a Bard, but at least I could be a death knight with friends. I was about to bring the blade to my neck when I stopped myself. My resolve had not faded, but a chilling question screamed for my attention.

    What would happen to my blood?

    I didn¡¯t know exactly how long that moment between my death and rebirth lasted. Would my aura remain? Would my blood briefly become unbound? Would I rise to find Astor had slain them with my very lifeblood? Even if I warned Sephy, could I stop her from trying to save me?

    My blade hesitated, and in that moment, their next attack came, and it was titanic. I yelled out the warning, neither Bors nor Sephy sensing the shifting air that disturbed my smoke, until it abruptly felt as if the world was falling on us.

    We¡¯d been getting closer to the sky-scraping tree stripped of most of its branches by Ursul¡¯s awakening. Battered as it was, it had done better than the tree over the water, which was broken in half, and still sported a fair few branches on its trunk.

    One of the bastards, I suspected Waltz, had manoeuvred us into position and then dropped one of the remaining branches, one that rivalled a century-old oak in size, on top of us.

    Bors dived left, while Sephy jumped right, pulling me along with her. I almost lost grip on my blade as I was jerked off my feet, having not allowed her to control it like she had my armour.

    Still, our luck was running out. A branch as thick as my thigh slammed down on my legs, even reinforced by my hearth and supported by Sephy¡¯s control over metal, my armour crumpled beneath the sheer force of it. I was pinned to the ground, my legs crushed.

    Sephy tried to drag me out. I screamed in pain, the weight was too much. Honing in on my cries, Astor bore down on us.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to take your blood and drown your friends,¡± his deranged shout gave Sephy enough warning to get her block up and stall his attack. Her strikes drove him back, lacking his blood-infused strength, and with only one hand, his sword couldn¡¯t stand up. Their blood battled, both used small whips here and there to augment their attacks, but their stocks were low.

    Only by relying on the abundance of fire, and by consistently sending flames at me, did he hold her at bay. Each strike against me that she blocked robbed her of a shield she could¡¯ve used for herself.

    Astor started to laugh. ¡°I¡¯ve already broken his legs, I¡¯m going to pull off this little bird¡¯s wings right in front of you.¡± A spike of flame hurtled towards me. Sephy¡¯s shield moved to intercept, but the flames shifted at the last second, crashing into her. She cried out.

    In death, I shall sow discord.

    I ignored the intent, the pain, and that those silver eyes¡¯ attention was nearly crushing me. I had to help. I had a blade but little I could do with it. Freeing myself was impossible, the branch was thick and alive enough to hold on to the glamour that reinforced it. Accepting my intent, and bringing about my temporary death, was an unacceptable risk¡ªanything could happen to the blood within me.

    Sephy emerged from the flames looking a little scorched but mostly okay. Steam rose around her. I guessed she had used the last of her blood to block him.

    She needed blood to win this.

    In death, I shall sow discord.

    The words pounded in my head. I could feel the intent trying to guide me. It told me to rise and smite, to throw aside my fears about the blood. I felt so trapped, so powerless, only by taking that risk could I strike back. I only silenced it when I felt Sephy¡¯s familiar power flow over me, looking for metal to use, discounting the armour and not even touching the blade that I held weakly.

    Just as before, I felt an idea lock into place. A taboo I was about to break, an idea no normal cultivator would ever consider. Slapping aside the intent, I focused on what I needed to do. I wouldn''t accept that fate to the very end, but its incessant whining had given me an idea. One that felt far more Taliesin than Regus.

    Astor charged again, whips of blood and tongues of fire crashing into Sephy, who stood right beside me now. It was now or never.

    Without hesitation, I brought the blade to the side of my throat and sliced into where my pulse beat hardest. Before a drop could leak out, I nudged my aura.

    To let another through your aura, to entrust something it protected to them, was the ultimate sign of trust. It was used for healing and protection. Even the slightest doubt in the other could see your mind rejecting it. It wasn¡¯t meant to be used like this. To deliberately empower and will someone use that power to harm you, to kill you? It was almost unthinkable. Almost.

    For me, it was hardly a thought¡ªI could think of no better custodian of my blood than Sephy. Besides, what better way to kill a Harkley than cursing them to die by my blood.

    The change was instant. In the many vessels of my body, my blood stilled and then writhed. The sensation was far efficient, somehow more peaceful than the first time I¡¯d been exsanguinated by the blood curse.

    The engine of my heart pulsed empty, bruises were sucked dry, my cheeks and lips turned pale. A snake of blood streamed out of me. Sephy had her ammunition.

    I remained conscious thanks to my refined body fighting the closing darkness. I could feel myself burning glamour to stay alive. A stray thought had me push off my storage ring; I didn¡¯t know if it would survive my fire and subsequent rise from the ashes. Better to be safe. Too bad about my cloak, it was pinned in place with me. I liked that cloak.

    My mind was going fuzzy, my hearing muted. Still, I watched as Sephy drove a glistening spear of my blood up and through a column of Astor¡¯s flame, using his strike to conceal her own. The attack sliced his other hand from his body. The man stumbled back in shock, falling over the same branches he¡¯d trapped me with.

    I couldn¡¯t see him anymore, and moving was impossible. Still, I could watch her close in, hear the edge of some final exchange between them. Then she ended it.

    Using her shield and blood to absorb the torrent of flame he fired off to stave off the inevitable, she stepped forward and her blade came down. The torrent of fire stopped.

    In death, I shall sow discord.

    I forced down the intent one last time. I¡¯d accept it in death, but I wasn¡¯t about to let it win while I had breath in my lungs and blood in my¨C. Whatever, screw my gloomy intent, it could fuck off.

    I felt oddly fluffy. Stars began to appear in my eyes, and my attention wandered. In that wandering, I found I could now see the silver eyes that weighed on me so. They floated above me, staring down at my soon-to-be corpse. My capacity for fear was drained as dry as my blood, so I didn¡¯t shy away from them this time. I found them to be utterly beautiful.

    The edges were made of living silver that reflected the dancing flames, while the iris was closer to a polished gemstone, a blue sapphire, carved with a thousand facets that caught and portioned out the dancing light. The centre was dark, just like a human¡¯s, which, while otherworldly, made them feel alive.

    It was the same kind of ethereal majesty the Lady had held. I longed to invoke such beauty in the world, and that longing roused me from the stupor of catastrophic blood loss.

    As the last hurrah of my willpower flared, I could make out their expression. They looked confused. I was expecting anger, but I got instead a sense of frustration, maybe even regret. With my smoke, I could, for the first time, feel a vaguely humanoid void. Even if common sense told me the same I felt a surety, something I¡¯m sure was hitched directly to whatever the Lady did to me, screaming that this was some form of fae.

    It was either the blood loss or my general approach to all things beyond me, but I managed to rasp out with the last of my air, ¡°Give me a minute to die, we can talk after.¡±

    The figure stopped. I could only see the eyes, the sapphire irises turning the flames purple, and in the centre, two black dots met my gaze. They searched me for something, a small crease I read as surprise drifted past, and they, and the void in my smoke, melted away. The pressure of them relented. I tried to breathe a sigh of relief, but that was beyond me.

    My view wasn¡¯t long empty. Sephy arrived moments later, her concerned face appearing over me, lit by a halo of light from the endless fires.

    ¡°You can¡¯t be alive. How did I control your blood if¨C¡± Sephy knelt beside me, hands hovering, uncertain of what to do. Her eyes glanced down to my armour, realising what I¡¯d done. ¡°No, you didn¡¯t! There¡¯s not enough left. I can''t put it back. Why do this!?¡±

    She sounded pained. I wanted to speak, but my lungs were empty. Even as the darkness closed in, I tried to reassure her with my eyes.

    All I could see was the face of the woman who I considered my best friend. Her red hair wild and loose, her full lips bloodied and tight with worry. She was worried for me, she who stood stoic in the face of unending challenges, who was filled with suspicion, and pulled apart every problem with logic. In that face, I saw frustration give way to care. I saw the water gathering at the edge of her eyes in compassion. All of that paled in comparison to the moment her eyes met mine. They were all I saw as the edges of my vision ebbed away.

    She saw me, recognized me!

    It was the most beautiful thing I think I could ever recall. The most beautiful thing I would see in this life.

    My eyes closed.

 Chapter 72 - Reguss Eulogy

    Staring up glassy-eyed at the world was Reggie. His face was unfamiliar, both in shape and in the serene smile it wore. Here lay her ally, her friend, and now her saviour. All the other explanations melted away¡ªit had to be him. Who else would willingly sacrifice themselves like this?

    The earth shifted beneath her, snapping her out of the moment. But it was just Bors. He arrived beside her, looking down at Reggie as she did. His face was a stoic mask.

    "Cut him out from under the tree, and let''s get out of here. The other one retreated when you killed Astor. I''ll get us all out of the fire."

    She nodded and slashed the branch in two using her blood. No, his blood.

    She felt equal parts disgusted and blessed to control it. She¡¯d pulled on the blood, thinking he¡¯d died behind her, assuming she had a scant moment to gain control over it before Astor could. At the time, it was the only thing that had made sense; it had hurt but was just part of the brutal exchange of battle. Now it ached.

    Despite the flames, she just felt cold.

    They rode a plate of earth out from the flames, Bors'' control no longer obstructed by the other earth mage. A few seconds later, they were out of the inferno.

    He rested the stone down in a small grove of bushes and shrubs. It was a pretty place, and the plants shielded them from the angry light of the fires. There was still no sign of Gawain, but given the fact that the entire sky seemed to be filled with smoke, it didn¡¯t necessarily mean the worst.

    Percy tried to think, to plan, to focus on what she was best at. There were still threats, still enemies at large. Yet it all crumbled away before the sucking void of loss.

    It felt wrong. Percy had fought often, she¡¯d killed people before, lost people before. Never before had it felt like someone had carved out a hole in her chest, one that got deeper with every heartbeat.

    "He gave me control over his blood, while it was still in his body," she said numbly, looking at Bors, who was checking the sky for threats, doing what she should. "Why do that?"

    "To kill a Harkley, to protect you. He was very clear on his motivations," Bors replied. He glanced down at the corpse, and a small smile flared across his lips. "He pushed off his ring."

    "What?" She turned to look but found it upsetting to linger. Beyond grief, there was something profoundly wrong about how Reggie lay there, with a stranger¡¯s face and an unfamiliar smile. Like it wasn¡¯t even his body. The soul, the part that made him who he was, had left and didn¡¯t even have the decency to leave behind a familiar memento.

    There was a lot she wanted to say to Reggie, and now she didn¡¯t even have his body to say them to.

    "Better do this quickly, I''ve no idea how long this takes." Bors leant down and picked up his blade and ring from the floor. He paused and then moved the body, pulling the cloak off its back. Percy looked on in horror.

    "He¡¯s not even cold!" She almost hit him. This wasn¡¯t right. This wasn¡¯t how Bors should act! She knew Bors¡ªhe made attachments quickly, found friends wherever he went. The times when he¡¯d lost them had hit him hard.

    "So I might know how he dodged the blood curse, and I¡¯m really hoping that what I think should happen, happens. Or I¡¯m going to look like a right idiot."

    "What are you talking about?"

    "Any second now."

    "Bors!" Percy snapped at him.

    "C¡¯mon Taliesin, or I¡¯m going to look like such a dick."

    <hr>

    It said a lot about my outlandish personal experiences that I could tell this death wasn¡¯t going quite right. Not that it was unjust, undeserved, or anything like that, but it felt unbalanced. There was something fundamentally wrong about the realm between worlds that I slid into as my heart ceased its ineffectual pumping, coming to a stop as my hearth ran dry.

    I existed in an in-between state. Some might call this the void and imply I hung or lay there, but that would paint the wrong picture. I wasn¡¯t surrounded by darkness¡ªI had no body to surround, no eyes to perceive. I merely was, with only my memories to tell me that there was anything beyond the boundaries of my soul.

    With nothing else to examine, I found my attention turning inwards. It was a strange thing to experience the soul directly. I could feel the twin anchors of my gifts, bound to the empty core that was my hearth. My senses were dull and confused. I would love to say my mind tried to make sense of it by conjuring images of cold stones around an empty fire, but instead, I just knew these things. It was no different from knowing where my left hand was or feeling my tongue in my mouth.

    Something was strange, different to my last experience here. The edges of my soul felt like they were humming, and when my perception turned to them, I could hear the whispers of singing and laughter. They had a shape, a definition¡ªit was like a net of strings, and as my perception brushed past, each string danced, letting out a little memory.

    ¡°...then the earth begins to quake, a giant wakes for justice''s sake.

    Bors the Titan, eyes ablaze, protector worthy of ancient days!

    The earth itself, a sheltering hand, a monument to¡­¡±

    The Ballad of Bors the Titan resonated through me.

    I kept poking.

    ¡°...will always count you as a friend for what you shared with me about my cultivation and the support you offered my family. So, you don¡¯t need to hide¡­¡±

    Lance calling me out for hiding my problems away.

    I had to stop. These walls were my name, the Lady''s gift to me, anchoring my soul, protecting it. I followed the walls, listening to the beautiful sounds of music and joy. Until I heard a note of discord. I followed a snarl in the walls¡ªmy soul felt warped and uneven. A sensation I remembered from the last few minutes of life. Following the strings, I already knew what I would find.

    In death, I shall sow discord.

    Beneath my hearth, on the opposite side of my soul to my gifts, I found the problem. The intent hung over a hole, a void at the very core of my being, held back by the strings of my name. They fought it.

    I could feel this was what was wrong with my death, what was stopping my rebirth. To return, I had to resolve this.

    Still, I hesitated. In my soul, I could feel the chill of my intent; it resonated with my death gift in an unsettling way. It actively seemed to be eroding my name.

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    I didn¡¯t know how long I had, and there were still other threats out there. I needed to fix this.

    My attention was my only tool. I pressed it to the strands that held the intent back. With each one, a memory sounded throughout my mind.

    ¡°...girls here have all been told of what you¡¯ve done for young Alexis. I invited you for tea as I believe you could be¡­¡±

    Miss Peaches roping me into stripping off for her class.

    I pulled harder.

    ¡°...confess I remain concerned about your gift, but I appreciate that you at least have noble goals and I am sorry for calling you a¡­¡±

    Gaz apologising for doubting me.

    I felt that string break, the intent moved closer.

    ¡°...to a Lady of Artoss fair,

    And to a cunning father with flaming red hair,

    Behind her husband''s back he¡­¡±

    The song I wrote explaining my life.

    If I could weep, I would. I wasn¡¯t doing anything as brutal as destroying my memories, but I could sense the distance I was putting between the Taliesin I was now and the one I would be when I completed this task. I pushed, trying to move faster, to get this over with.

    ¡°...got a spare tent and bits, you could join me here to work out what you want to do next. I¡¯ll keep you safe till you want to move¡­¡±

    One of my first meetings with Bors, his kindness in helping me marking the beginning of our friendship.

    I threw myself at destroying that string.

    ¡°...you have no idea of Reggi¡ªRegus¡¯s talents. He was quite talented at avoiding the ire of those whose power¡­¡±

    Hearing Sephy¡¯s voice, I almost lost my nerve. More strings broke. Mentally exhausted, I turned to one of the last strings that held it back.

    ¡°Arise, with the spirit¡¯s hymn.

    From the graves, new life will grow,

    As beauty claims its throne.¡±

    I halted. The intent strained and thrashed. I let my mind brush against the thread again, careful not to dislodge it. I heard again the final lines of one of my favourite songs. There were countless variations of the chorus and verse, but the song always ended the same way.

    ¡°Arise, where blossoms unfurl,

    Arise, from the earth¡¯s embrace,

    Arise, with the whispered breeze.

    Arise, with the spirit¡¯s hymn.

    From the graves, new life will grow,

    As beauty claims its throne.

    Let our memories bloom and know,

    These flowers our blood has sown.¡±

    It was a song that didn¡¯t end until the last verse was sung, it kept going and going, waiting for those restful tones. It needed that verse to bring it to a close.

    It was a melancholic end to a song meant to rouse the soul, ready men to fight. But it served an important purpose. A message from veterans of the past to soldiers of the present: death could happen, it would happen, but from it, beauty would rise.

    That resonated with me, and I pulled back, the severed strings floating through my soul, playing little bits of my identity back at me. Now, I could feel it¡ªjust what was wrong with the intent. It was missing the most important part. It was an endless marching song, screaming at you to take up arms and break down the foe. It was missing that promise, that end. How had I missed it?

    I had sacrificed my past life to make my new one more beautiful. Why should I listen to an intent that promised me nothing but death and toil?

    The broken strands of my name that I¡¯d untangled from my intent were gathered up, those memories of everything I was now. And I knew who I could be in the future.

    This intent was a trap, a leviathan from deep in my subconscious. I might not have had the words, but the sentiment it was built on had been fed by my time as Regus. It had years to grow, its tentacles spreading through my brain. Built in darkness to survive a nightmare, it was no wonder it had lost sight of the whole bloody point.

    I fought, I sacrificed, I died¡ªnot just for revenge, but so I could make beautiful memories, share wonderful music, and so I could go back and look upon the flowers that grew from the graves of my enemies.

    In death, I shall sow discord.

    No. I pushed the severed strings that hummed with memories¡ªthe cherished bits that made me Taliesin¡ªand felt the incomplete intent begin to warp and shift. It would not go down easily.

    Gales of anger rolled off it, murderous rage fed by weeping despair. I could smell my spot in the library where I used to spy on the Harkleys. I could taste the bitter flavour of the foul brews they forced down me to try and cure me, hear their haughty laughter, feel the prickling of the evil eye on my skin as my mere existence earned their displeasure. Every part of it screamed for vengeance, waving the death gift in my face, shouting that we had the power. Demanding we devote everything we had to bringing them down.

    In death, I shall sow discord.

    I ignored it. I didn¡¯t reject it¡ªthat would be giving it attention it didn¡¯t deserve. My life was my own, and I would not waste it on a fight I¡¯d already won.

    Looking at this intent, I couldn¡¯t deny it was intrinsically linked with death. The pulsing connection that tied it to my death gift remained. That was unsettling, but equally, cutting out death wouldn¡¯t work. I also had to admit, I did rather enjoy sowing discord and spreading a bit of chaos. These parts needed to stay, but now I could see the missing piece.

    What I lived for was moments of beauty. I longed to craft wondrous things, write enthralling songs, see magnificent sights, and make beautiful memories. I knew what it needed¡ªthe last verse, the promise that even from death, beauty could rise.

    Death sows the seed of chaos and beauty.

    The intent rang hollow. The connection to death pulsed and cleared away my changes. It was like I was trying to write a line for a song, and I could hear it was a total clanger.

    It still wasn¡¯t quite right. I was close. I tried a few more, but none worked¡ªevery attempt falling flat, the pulsing connection to death burning them away.

    I stepped back. If I was writing a song, that pulsing connection to death was overruling everything. I wanted to hurry, but art couldn¡¯t be hurried. Still, if I approached this like one of my songs, what would I do? I knew the answer.

    I brutally scraped the words from the intent like I might erase a lyric that wouldn¡¯t work. I still had the structure I needed to fit, but with the words gone, I could finally consider all the options. It was suddenly obvious.

    That wounded, hurt part of me¡ªit was what was binding me to the word ¡®death¡¯. It hung on to that explosive moment of power, where it had brought my freedom and empowered my cultivation. It was forcing the word into my head. The word, as it was, hung in my mind like a dark cloud¡ªblunt, violent, and with no room for beauty in it.

    I couldn¡¯t ignore the aspect of death in my intent, but words had power, and naming it like this created something that refused to mesh with the tone I wanted. Worse, it gave that dark side of my gift a route into my very soul. I needed another way to say it, to conjure up the image of death without naming it directly.

    A metaphor for death? Hardly a challenge¡ªeven if I wasn¡¯t a bard, I had the blood of a phoenix and was a sodding Ash-gifted.

    An intent was meant to represent you, meant to be a promise of what you could be, and what you should be.

    ¡®In death, I shall sow discord¡¯ was Regus¡¯s eulogy. It didn¡¯t reflect what had risen from the ashes. The person I¡¯d awakened as was not so one-note. He spread music, he danced for the greatest of fae, he made friends, he charmed ancient witches, he pursued beautiful knights, and wherever he went, injected chaos into the well-laid plans of his foes.

    Guided by those words, I changed the intent, making it my own. Making it Taliesin¡¯s.

    From the ashes shall rise beautiful chaos.

    That was who Taliesin was, and what he¡¯d inflict on his enemies¡ªand gift to his allies.

    Beautiful fucking chaos.

    My soul shifted. In my silent hearth, fire kindled, and from there it spread. The flames were soothing, almost welcome. They spread through my soul, making me anew.

 Chapter 73 - Fresh from the source

    ¡°Oh, thank the Sidhe!¡± These were the first words I heard in my new life, delivered in Bors¡¯ hearty baritone.

    ¡°What the unseelie fuck?!¡± I heard Sephy mutter, the voice quiet but close. I blinked in confusion.

    With my new intent, it was only fitting that I awoke to chaos¡ªbeautiful chaos. Sephy loomed over me, wearing an expression I had never seen before. A delicate, fragile thing, a story told with the tears threatened to overwhelm her eyes, the lip she bit, and the furrow of her brow. It lasted only a second before a mask of anger dropped down.

    ¡°So, how do you like my way around the blood curse?¡± I asked nervously, my mouth dry. While my blood had returned, my fiery reincarnation had skipped on the spit.

    ¡°You gave me control of your blood! What were you thinking? I could¡¯ve killed you!¡± She loomed over me, fuming, her hands clasping at nothing.

    ¡°Technically, it did.¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t make it better!¡± Her voice rose an octave, and for a moment, I wondered if I should warn her it would be a while before I could repeat that trick. I¡¯d rarely seen her this mad. Bors stepped in to spare me.

    ¡°I am so glad you''re back. I was going to look like a complete idiot if you didn¡¯t come back,¡± Bors rumbled, moving in to give me a hand up. ¡°You¡¯d also have been dead, which would¡¯ve been a shitter.¡±

    Once on my feet, he wrapped me in a bone-crushing hug. I wasn¡¯t normally a hugger, but for once, I could make an exception. I saw Sephy looking at us. Alright, maybe I could make a couple of exceptions. It was good to be alive.

    ¡°Wait, your bones didn¡¯t so much as squeak? Did you just rise to Iron rank?¡± Bors asked, his voice incredulous. I took only a moment to confirm it. The world felt different, with more detail. The glamour was less oppressive, and I felt more solid, more real than I ever had before.

    My senses stretched at least three times as far as they had before. The fire behind was already starting to die down, no longer whipped up into a frenzy by the fire cultivators. A huge bank of smoke spread with it, and my senses extended for what felt like miles in all directions. My control felt limited, the image fuzzy, but I quickly realised it was because I had so much more power at my beck and call that I was overwhelming my usual techniques.

    ¡°Well, would you look at that? I¡¯m an Iron-ranked bard,¡± I replied, not expecting to be unceremoniously dumped on the ground, and for both Bors and Sephy to immediately retreat a few steps, looking at me like a cauldron that had started to smoke. I stumbled to my feet. ¡°The fuck, Bors?¡±

    ¡°You stay there. Being covered in impurities once was enough for a lifetime. I¡¯d take being dipped in monster lure over getting that stuff on me again.¡± The big man was in the same stance he used when ready to raise a shield of earth. I looked at Sephy, expecting this to be some joke, but saw her trying to discreetly hide behind Bors. I had read clinical descriptions of purging impurities, but I felt the books must¡¯ve underplayed the foulness of the experience if this was the response it provoked.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think I need to worry about that¡ªthe flames consume impurities.¡± Both of them relaxed at that.

    ¡°That¡¯s such a bullshit ability,¡± he grumbled.

    ¡°I just came back from the dead, and this is what makes you say that?¡±

    ¡°Coming back from the dead and somehow getting stronger from dying, I could understand. Skipping out on the impurities is just cheating. I mean, it could¡¯ve been worse¡ªyou could¡¯ve kept your armour.¡±

    In a panic, I looked down, not feeling my armour. Relief flooded through me as I realised his trick¡ªI wasn¡¯t unknowingly standing in the nude again. It seemed the Lady¡¯s gift to me had reformed in the fire, returning to my troubadour''s outfit. Mostly unchanged, though I noticed that hidden in the patches of red was a pattern of red feathers.

    ¡°You forget you¡¯re naked one time, and you never hear the end of it.¡± That got a chuckle from Bors, and a raised eyebrow from Sephy. She stepped forward, wearing a look I knew well¡ªa veteran of countless balls, with a gentle smile, sharp eyes, and a slight turn of the head. Her way of saying she had my attention, daring me to trade barbs.

    ¡°So, it¡¯s really you?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s really me, Sephy.¡± I used her name again, and this time there was no worried crease of her eyes, no threat to my person. Her smile grew a fraction. My pulse sped up.

    ¡°You are different.¡± She stepped closer, closely examining me. It wasn¡¯t a question, but I felt the need to explain.

    ¡°I found last time I played this particular trump card that I could somewhat change how I looked.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not just your looks¡ªit¡¯s everything. You even speak differently.¡± She took another step closer.

    ¡°I¡¯m still me. It¡¯s just¡ªI chose to bring over the bits of me I liked most.¡± Something was wrong with what I just said. I closed my eyes. I could still feel the echoes of the battle with my intent in my soul. It wasn¡¯t so cut and dry¡ªthe choice wasn¡¯t conscious. That revelation irritated the part of me that couldn¡¯t lie, and I felt the need to continue to ease its nagging. ¡°Rather, as I work out the kind of person I want to be, I¡¯m burning away the impurities¡ªthe bits of me that aren¡¯t part of the person I want to be.¡±

    I opened my eyes to find her right before me. Bors was gone, and it was just the two of us in a clearing lined by bushes that resembled holly, with inch-long thorns and a mix of red, pink, and black berries. The fires behind cast a strange, dancing light over everything, making the shadows flicker and shift. I looked around for distractions because, for the first time I could remember, I felt scared to meet her gaze. Her presence was intense.

    ¡°What if I told you I preferred Reggie? What if I said I didn¡¯t know this Taliesin?¡± I felt an old thrill hearing her call me Reggie, even as the question pole-axed me. I felt like a mouse before a cat¡ªa frequent experience with Sephy. The question would have sent me reeling before, but I¡¯d just finished metaphorically burying Regus. I steeled myself and met her gaze. Her hazel eyes bore into me. This was a test.

    ¡°You¡¯ll get to know me again. I¡¯m not going anywhere,¡± I replied, and her face broke into a wide smile that had me thinking things. I still didn¡¯t know what Sephy really thought of me, and right now, being close to her was pushing me to pursue what I most wanted to be true. The images that popped into my mind sent a flush crawling up my neck.

    ¡°Good answer. A perfect answer, in fact.¡± Her grin became predatory again, showing her teeth. ¡°Now, there¡¯s one last test I want to do.¡± She raised her eyebrow at me. Flustered, I couldn¡¯t really focus on what she was saying. I fought the parts of my brain throwing very unhelpful suggestions about what we could do, and worked on what she¡¯d said. There was only one test left.

    ¡°My blood? Don¡¯t you already have plenty?¡± My brow furrowed. I thought we had solved this. My confusion only deepened as her plate armour disappeared into her storage ring, leaving her in leggings and a gambeson. While far from scandalous, I couldn¡¯t stop my eyes from wandering over her body, drinking her in. I didn¡¯t know what was happening.

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    ¡°I¡¯d prefer to take it fresh from the source.¡± Her voice was almost a whisper. I froze as she pressed up against me. Her eyes danced over me, and her lips came right up to mine. I didn¡¯t dare move. When I didn¡¯t retreat, she kissed me hungrily. My newly heightened perception dimmed, consumed entirely by the sensation of her full lips on mine.

    She smelled of blood and smoke, and our kiss tasted the same. My brain melted, unable to do anything but embrace the moment. My hands followed suit, snaking around her waist as her hands rose up my back, one running through my hair. I met her passion with my own, the dam around my restrained feelings for her groaning, cracks forming.

    Her head shifted, and I felt a burst of pain in my lower lip. She¡¯d bitten me, but even the pain had a sweetness to it.

    She let out a little groan that sent a shiver down my spine, then broke our kiss. She didn¡¯t let go of me, and I didn¡¯t even consider loosening my grip on her. My eyes were unfocused, and my mind scrambled. Was this actually happening?

    ¡°So, think you passed?¡± she grinned.

    ¡°Bweh?¡± was all I could manage; my silver tongue was tied in knots. Her eyes, polished amber, shone with mischief, revelling in my speechlessness, dragging me back to reality. I watched as she made a show of her tongue dancing around her lips as if considering the flavour. I thought I knew what it was to feel alive, but it paled in comparison to how my heart pounded and my nerves sang. It was a perfect moment.

    ¡°Hello down there!¡± Until it wasn¡¯t. Sephy and I shared a look of utter frustration as reality burst the little bubble we¡¯d crafted. We looked up to see the silhouette of a giant kestrel descending through the smoke.

    ¡°Man really knows how to ruin a mood, doesn¡¯t he?¡± Bors laughed, emerging from the bushes. Like a good friend, he had made himself scarce. With the moment thoroughly lost, Sephy let go of me, and with great reluctance, I did the same. I was full of questions¡ªwhat did the kiss mean? I knew what I wanted it to mean... or did I? Also, I really needed to get control of the stupid grin I was wearing.

    I didn¡¯t think any of them had seen anything, which was great because I wanted Arthur nowhere near my¡ªwhatever this was¡ªwith Sephy.

    As they came through the smoke, we could make out Arthur on Archimedes, waving regally at us. Gawain was with him, looking like he¡¯d aged a century, his skin sallow and taut. The Guardian Knight was so drained that he snapped at the princeling, who settled back into his place on the saddle. I saw Gaz there as well, awkwardly looking around at anything that wasn¡¯t me or Sephy. Damn sound mage.

    ¡°You know, I used to think you were just bellyaching about it, but he really does seem to have a knack for ruining a moment,¡± Sephy said, straightening out her outfit as she stared resentfully at the sky.

    ¡°Man regularly throws spokes in your wheel?¡± I asked Bors, trying my best to rein in my galloping heart and pretend that I cared about anything other than Sephy at that moment.

    ¡°Man, you don¡¯t know the half of it. When I was flirting with Alexis, I half-expected him to drop through the ceiling. Plenty of beds have been spared a visit from the beast with two backs thanks to his tireless vigil. You two better be wary.¡± He grinned at us.

    ¡°Bors,¡± Sephy snapped at him. To my surprise, she was blushing, and it was only when I caught up with the euphemism that I felt my own cheeks burn. Needing something to distract myself, I turned my attention to the sky and, with great relief, felt Gring and Lance descending. However something was off.

    ¡°There¡¯s someone else on Gring with Lance,¡± I frowned. My smoke wasn¡¯t telling me anything about them¡ªI still struggled to get the fine details I used to sense, the added power making me clumsy.

    ¡°Gring lets other people ride him now?¡± Sephy was also looking up, and I cursed myself for overcomplicating things. With a push of glamour, I cleared much of the sky of smoke.

    ¡°That¡¯s Inquisitor armour,¡± we said as one. We didn¡¯t smile, all thoughts of flirtation banished. Sephy pulled her armour back on, and I looked around for my blade and ring. Bors passed them to me, and to my great pleasure, he also offered me the tattered cloak. I nodded in thanks, surprised the magical gift hadn¡¯t been ruined.

    ¡°Calm down. They say they¡¯re on our side. They killed one of the others.¡± Gaz jumped off Archimedes, landing before us and holding his hands up to calm us.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think we should trust traitors,¡± Arthur was right behind him, jumping even as Gawain tried to stop him. The prince landed, levelling his stupidly pretty face at me, his eyes full of accusation. I didn¡¯t like the tone, but my mood picked up as Sephy took a step closer to me, putting herself between the two of us. She didn¡¯t say anything, keeping her eyes fixed on the approaching pegasus.

    ¡°Lance argued that we should at least hear her out. She said the Inquisitor was Nature-gifted and saved her life.¡±

    ¡°So she¡¯s not the poison one? Astor mentioned that.¡± Sephy looked them over. ¡°Lancelot really does look like a Quilvern, it¡¯s uncanny.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s not mention our ancestry in front of this Inquisitor. She doesn¡¯t seem to know who we really are. And no, she¡¯s decidedly not the poison one. That one was a right thorn in my side and I''m not sure I could''ve slain her without great risk to the others. From what Lance has relayed her actions at least are to be trusted.¡± Gawain dismounted, gently petting Archimedes before pulling out a monster corpse from his ring. The kestrel tore into it with wild abandon. He moved slowly and carefully, skin grey and eyes sunken, sure signs of a battle with poison. ¡°She claims to be a forcible convert, and a recent one at that. Mercy to an Inquisitor is not something I¡¯d normally consider, but we have a precedent of good people getting tangled up with the Divine Cultivators.¡±

    Gawain nodded to me, and I might¡¯ve felt a little bad about shorting him on bacon this morning. I was a little surprised to hear Gawain speak so clearly in support of me, especially given Arthur looked ready to challenge me to a duel. I tipped my head in acknowledgement, then gave my all to watching Gring, who was only a little soot-stained but otherwise seemed healthy and whole as he descended.

    We all watched the pegasus land, Lance on its back. She dismounted almost protectively, standing before the more powerful cultivator she escorted, whose gaze was fixed to the ground.

    ¡°This is Kay. She saved my life, and her actions released Arthur and Gawain from their poison. She also killed several more blood thralls who were positioned to shred natural treasures, sparing us from dealing with that. I believe we, as a group, owe her a debt. She has asked us to hear her out.¡± Lance spoke clearly, her voice resonating with purpose, standing between us and the Inquisitor.

    I couldn¡¯t help but notice she chose to stand directly before Arthur and Gawain. Arthur¡¯s face had gone blank, devoid of emotion. Even in our brief meetings, he seemed like someone who wore his heart on his sleeve, so it was a little surprising. What did he think of the unexpected appearance of Lance, who could¡¯ve been his sister?

    ¡°Let¡¯s hear what she has to say,¡± Sephy said. Her stance was relaxed, but her hand still rested on the hilt of her blade.

    ¡°Thank you, and thank you, Lance, for giving me this opportunity. Please consider any debt between us settled.¡± The woman dismounted. Taking a deep breath, she knelt on one knee and pulled off her helm. She had long green hair that shook out and dark brown eyes fixed on the floor. Relatively short and slim in build, she didn¡¯t cut an imposing figure even in the Inquisitor¡¯s armour. That said, I had to admire her courage and determination as she threw herself on our mercy.

    She¡¯d have an ally in me if she was truly repentant. Saving another forcible convert would make this world a better one, but I could feel my power gathering in case she was lying.

    ¡°I¡¯m Kay. My family holds no great title. Until six months ago, I was part of the Order of the Verdant Grove. They were pressured to share their resources with the Ray of Truth. I have the lightning and nature gifts, which they coveted. Since my induction, I¡¯ve been seeking a way out. If I just left, they¡¯d slay my family. I have sought an opportunity for Inquisitor Kay to ¡®perish,¡¯ giving me a chance to escape. This place has proven a perfect opportunity for just that.¡±

    She wasn¡¯t lying¡ªthat much I knew. Hearing an echo of my own life in her story, I couldn¡¯t help but empathize with her situation.

    ¡°They don¡¯t tend to force recruitment. What alternatives were you offered?¡± Sephy asked. It was a good question¡ªthey never forced you to join. The Clergy liked to use it as a boast, even if the options they offered were no real choice at all.

    ¡°I could¡¯ve defied them, but as I mentioned, my family is no one special. So, it was this or marriage, to a monster named Ulfast. It was...¡±

    ¡°No need to explain further.¡± We as a group shuddered at the very thought. She looked relieved at that, her expression only growing as Lance chuckled.

    ¡°No need to worry about that fate either. The only way he¡¯s getting into a church is in a coffin.¡±

    ¡°That is a relief.¡± A small smile flashed across her face before she remembered the threat still hanging over her.

    ¡°Some questions: Have you engaged in torture? Have you hunted other cultivators?¡± Arthur¡¯s voice was clipped and professional, his earlier aggression calmed but his suspicion still present.

    ¡°No to both. I was still in training when they hurriedly shipped me here. They wanted me to use my gift in this realm to keep some of the less powerful but more loyal recruits safe. I was still being force-fed scripture.¡±

    ¡°What do you think? Is she telling the truth?¡± Gawain turned to the big man.

    ¡°I¡¯ve only just met her, but seems so. It takes a while to be sure,¡± Bors answered. I wanted to speak up in her defence, but I still felt uncomfortable exposing my fae truth senses. I didn¡¯t trust Arthur with such knowledge. He didn¡¯t seem the type well-suited to keeping secrets and would be the first to drag me around like some sort of truth detector.

    Thankfully, I didn¡¯t need to. I had a solution that could undeniably prove her honesty. Now I just needed to see if they were half as benevolent as I hoped.

    ¡°Oh Silver-Eyed Watcher, would you be able to aid us and confirm this woman¡¯s story?¡± I turned and spoke to the patch of air that felt a little emptier than the rest, a space where I kept catching glimpses of silver. The group blinked at me, then everyone scrambled for a weapon as a figure began to form.

    The fae seemed to pour into place, like molten silver filling an invisible mould from the top down. Antlers appeared first, the silver shifting to more natural tones of horn as they found their place. He took the shape of a tall human, the antlers rising from his head, making him tower over even Bors. Those mirror like eyes were the standout feature of what was, in every other regard, a stunningly handsome face¡ªall sharp angles and high cheekbones.

    His skin was blue, and his body lean, with corded muscle. He wore green silk pinned as a toga, a fashion I knew from pictures of the Atlantean empire of the ancient era. That was all he wore apart from a saw-toothed smile.

    ¡°You mortals are a blast!¡±

 Chapter 74 - You may call me Mercury

    "I¡¯m pleased we could offer such entertainment," I said, slowly rising from my bow, and the fae grinned in delight. My fellow humans were all in various states of fear and disbelief. The most proactive was Gawain, diving on Arthur and clamping a hand over his mouth. Kay, the Inquisitor, let out a scared squeak.

    "You did say that after you died, we could have a chat, but I wasn¡¯t anticipating you making it a group discussion! You¡¯re definitely an Artoss, and here I was imagining I was just going to have to nanny some overstuffed chick." He looked at the rest of the group, whose eyes were jumping between us, smartly remaining silent. "No one going to introduce themselves?"

    The whole group flinched as the shark-like teeth flashed. I remembered Ursul''s warning about not flaunting my name; while I could share it without fear, it wouldn''t do to tempt the fae with a mystery. Still, as he mentioned Artoss, my questions about the fae grew. That he could use the Artoss name was an oddity, as was his implied mission.

    "Would you care to tell us how we can address you first, honoured wanderer?"

    "No one going to bite? Fine, fine. You¡¯d be surprised how often that works; you humans do love bandying about your names. Especially you, Taliesin Artoss." The fae looked at me hungrily. It was a different kind of hunger from the ¡®Harkley stare,¡¯ one that sought to wring everything from me. The last time I¡¯d seen a face like this was in the eyes of children demanding another song when I¡¯d played for the caravans.

    The other cultivators, having just recovered from the fae''s sudden appearance, now all stared dumbfounded at me. Kay, in particular, looked like she was really regretting her choices. The exceptions were Lance and Sephy. We¡¯d been through this with Lance already, and Sephy had twigged it earlier when I mentioned I was given my name. She still sent me a worried glance which¡ªdon¡¯t get distracted. Focus on the eldritch being from beyond the realms of man.

    "It seems you have the advantage of me; you have something to call me, but I have nothing to address you by. Perhaps after introductions, we can trad¡ªshare stories." I caught myself; given our company, even mentioning the idea of trade was a terrible idea.

    "If it will make them all relax, fine. You may call me Mercury. Named so for my nature." He moved a step towards me, and behind him, his form left trails of molten silver. "I¡¯ve been looking for you, following some lead from a gussied-up whelp of an Artoss. Imagine my surprise when I find two dead Inquisitors. That was when it seemed you might be interesting. And my, oh my, did you deliver! When I followed your trail, I found corpses galore and a bear even I wouldn¡¯t want to cuddle up to. Finally, I catch up with you in this lovely place, and your face is all wrong, and you¡¯ve got a strange name."

    Mercury, true to his namesake, seemed to flow and bounce with each step, his body unable to decide if it was water or solid. "What an odd, odd person you are. I couldn¡¯t be sure, so I had to watch. It seemed to be you, yet most vexatiously, you never clearly said who you were. You did not lie, yet you never told the truth I needed to hear. You made no sense. Until your latest trick, that is¡ªthen everything was in harmony. You were a fun puzzle to solve, but now I know you are who I seek."

    "And now you have found me?"

    "Do not look so worried. I feel I should''ve proven my goodwill by handling that uppity cloud and the one that got away."

    "That was you?" Lance spoke, and I saw Kay next to her start to tremble as Mercury turned his attention to her. She paused, exploring the words; I could practically see her pulling on training from her mother, patting Gring to keep both herself and the pegasus calm. Gring was staring as hard as the rest of them.

    "You may call me Dreamer. I appreciate your intervention."

    "Another who will speak! This is rare. I did hear the implication you¡¯d spoken to grander souls than I; it seems true. I can sense her magic upon you. Seems to have done some good; most at your point in their stories would be utterly tongue-tied around me." The fae sloshed over to Lance, who managed not to flinch as he examined her.

    "You slew Waltz¡ªthat is good news. Though I''m not sure what we could¡¯ve done to deserve such aid." I dragged the fae¡¯s attention back to me. I needed him to explain what he was doing here. Fae didn''t act without reason, even if that reason made no sense to a human. The fae didn¡¯t move away, instead looking down at the shivering Inquisitor, still on one knee.

    "I never said I killed him. In fact, I am teaching him. I understand he claims to be an authority on torture; I wish to show him just how wrong he is." I shuddered. That was a fate I wouldn¡¯t wish on even Astor.

    "As to your questions, Divine cultivators¡­ I so, so loathe them. It is lucky none are in our company." He smiled at Kay, his mouth too wide, and his teeth too sharp. The Knight slumped to the ground in relief. I couldn''t blame her; getting the wrong kind of attention from Mercury would¡¯ve been a fate worse than death.

    The fae was clearly having a great time toying with us. I wasn¡¯t so naive as to relax, but I did feel a sense of comfort; I¡¯d trained for this. Whenever I dealt with those above me, I sought to be entertaining. It was how I''d handled the Lady, Miss Peaches, and even Ursul to an extent. We were entirely in the palm of Mercury''s hand here, and if I could glitter and shine just a bit, he¡¯d be that little less inclined to crush us.

    What I knew of the fae¡¯s power was that it didn''t follow the same rules as cultivators; as such, this fae was not limited to Iron as all else in this pocket realm was. For them, there was no Iron rank to be limited to. We used Glamour; they made it! Steel and Mithril ranks could fight them, and as the small reliquary from Miss Peaches proved, even kill them. At Iron Rank, we might as well be toy soldiers for all the threat we posed. We could only entertain and hope there were no tantrums.

    "Why am I here? Well, I owed your Uncle Pel a favour. He asked me to find and protect you, and ideally let him know of your whereabouts so he could come and say hello." Mercury looked like he was about to say more before pouting. "He did also have a message."

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    "Uncle Pel?" I flinched, crawling through the broad list of Harkleys.

    "New head of the Artoss family," Sephy whispered, speaking up for the first time. I was an idiot; I''d forgotten I had another side to my family.

    "Why don''t we chat more? You could introduce me to everyone?" Mercury asked. He looked uncomfortable; my mind raced. Why was the fae dithering here? Mention of my uncle had done little to reassure me. Instinctively, I was on my guard; with the exception of my mother, family had never meant anything good. As I fumbled around trying to work out what to say next, Mercury continued his hunt for entertainment.

    "I''d love to know more about Dreamer here and her imitation. They both have the blessing of a certain Lady, one fresh, one old." Lance didn''t react to the provocation, but sadly, the same couldn''t be said for her imitation.

    "I''m no imitation; I''m the mpf¡ª" Gawain had foolishly eased his grip on Arthur, the Prince''s voice haughty to the extreme. Bors came to the rescue, clamping his hand over the man''s face. He grinned awkwardly at us as the Prince flailed in his arms. Mercury''s grin was back as he moved in, sensing weakness. Sensing entertainment.

    "Mercury, I wish to receive the message from my uncle."

    "Boo, that''s no fun. Pel''s message was something about you and your mum. Gwendolyn is a nice name, by the way. He wants to do that human thing, apologising, I think it is called. Told me to keep an eye on you and your friends, which, I shall admit, was somewhat entertaining."

    "He wants to meet you, says you¡¯re not going to be forced into anything, so don¡¯t worry about that. There''s more, but you¡¯ll figure it out. Something about the Chox, but with me around, I''m sure you¡¯ll handle it." He grinned, celebrating a win at a game only he was playing. This is like when the Harkleys used to toy with me, so it was nothing new.

    The idea of an apology made me feel unsettled. I had never thought about being an Artoss much; the family had next to no presence on Albion, and the Harkleys didn''t bring it up. With Regus dead, I¡¯d assumed any true claim to that heritage would die with him.

    I didn''t know how to feel about meeting this Mithril patriarch. Getting the attention of such a powerful person was something I would normally avoid, but in this case, running would only increase his interest. Was Mercury here to drag me before him? Did I have a choice? Especially now that he¡¯d confirmed the Chox were hunting me. I knew of their appearance in Fosburg, but this only confirmed the threat. My mind churned. I just wished I had the whole message, not this garbled mess the fae had decided to share.

    I frowned. If this Uncle Pel had compelled a fae to help him, would he allow this? He must''ve known his words would be twisted and spun. I looked at the messenger, who was still grinning. The fae were powerful, but if they had one great weakness, it was their arrogance. I played back the conversation; there was something I was missing.

    I settled as realisation dawned. This fae wasn''t the Lady, and I''d handled myself far better before her than I did before this mere shadow of her power. If we were toy soldiers before him, then he was but a petulant child, being forced to do something he didn''t care for. But I¡¯d forgotten that he knew we weren¡¯t his to break.

    I drew myself up to my full height and asked Mercury, "I appreciate the words, but is that the message he gave you for me?"

    "You¡¯re no fun. He gave me this letter; it¡¯s basically what I said, though. What will you trade for it?"

    "Is it yours to trade with?"

    "No, you vexatious bard! ''Tis a gift for thee from thine uncle." He sighed and threw the letter at me, his expression a petulant pout. "Have the boring thing that nails down his words. The rest of you polish your boots or whatever it is that you do. We must leave this place now so I can return to my halls. If I cannot draw entertainment from you, I will seek to make my time with such dullards short."

    As the others set about gathering themselves, I examined the letter. The envelope was trimmed with gold and bore a heavy wax seal, the heraldry of the Artoss embossed within it. The central feature was a two-headed feline, one head belonging to an innocent-looking house cat that licked a paw, the other to a snarling Gloom Tiger.

    There was no name printed on the front. It just read Son of Gwendolyn. That relaxed me; it didn¡¯t name me, didn¡¯t claim me as an Artoss. It recognised the one connection I actually valued. Some manner of glamour clearly activated as I broke the seal, and I spotted runes built into the wax. Opening it up, I found letters flowing in reddish ink on the pale paper.

    "I hope this message reaches you safely and Mercury hasn''t been overly taxing. First, ignore anything he''s said that might contradict this; he has been tasked with keeping you and those you travel with safe and reporting your location to me. Be wary of him, and do what you can to avoid engaging with him.

    Your family has failed you and your mother. It is a failure that we will never be able to make up, yet I am dedicated to doing what I can to make some form of amends. Mercury nor I will force you to do anything. You will not be held hostage as you were. However, there are things I must tell you. Others have their eye on you, including the Chox. We shall meet, we shall talk, and I will demand nothing beyond that.

    Finally, I''ve heard of your achievements, and know that I am deeply proud, as I know your mother would be too.

    Your Uncle Pel."

    I could hardly process the words. They didn¡¯t feel real. I read it again and then called over Sephy.

    "Your thoughts."

    "The ink is infused with powdered iron, and the seal is proof against tampering. I think this is legitimate." She looked over the paper with a practised eye.

    "You think he really just wants to talk?"

    "He¡¯s known to be trying to set things right. He¡¯s powerful and dangerous. The Artoss as a whole have been stirring up all kinds of trouble across Euross. I imagine he¡¯ll want you to come visit his holdings, and I don¡¯t like that bit about the Chox¡ªyou aren¡¯t still engaged, are you?"

    "I can¡¯t be! I mean, it was a sham. They¡¯re the ones saying Regus is dead. Besides, isn¡¯t it till death do us part? I¡¯m twice removed at this point." I paused. "By the Sidhe, they are totally going to hold this over my head somehow, aren¡¯t they?"

    "If you were a lone actor? Maybe. But if you had the Artoss backing you? Then I doubt they¡¯d push it. Look, you¡¯re going to have to speak to him no matter what. We can talk about strategy until then."

    "I¡¯d like that." I smiled; Sephy¡¯s company was a silver lining that outshone the gloomy cloud it contained.

    I turned to see the others lined up, ready to move out. Mercury lazed on one of the holly bushes, which had formed itself into a throne for him.

    "Besides, I think my family would be more understanding if you had a title," I heard Sephy muttering behind me.

    "What was that?" I snapped my head around. She grinned but didn¡¯t answer.

    "Shall we go? You have an appointment to keep." Mercury whispered in my ear, and it took everything I had not to jump. He scowled at me for ruining his fun. He took a couple of steps to stand before us and then clapped his hands together. "''Tis time to return you to your weak realm of iron and order. Try to stay still."

    We nodded, unsure of what was to come. The fae whistled. It was a noise unlike anything else: the howl of storms, the whistle of wind on chimneys, the hiss of sands, and the roar of waves whipped into foam. The air became heavy with glamour, so dense and complex it made me choke. I felt no wind, yet from the forest descended a squall of giant autumn leaves dancing in a gale. Thousands of them surrounded us, wrapping around us. Gring and Archimedes panicked first. I lost my cool when one wrapped round my throat, and I sought to tear at it but couldn¡¯t move. I heard Mercury¡¯s laughter.

    A leaf came at my face, then all was black and silence.

 Chapter 75 - How many times do I have to say this? I. Am. A. Bard! [End Book 1]

    They sat a stone''s throw from the entrance to a Fae realm¡ªthe dream of cultivators. A half-step into the fae, where glamour was plentiful and natural treasures were merely uncommon rather than the rarest of the rare. Any cultivator would kill for the opportunity to enter, battle any guardian, all to claim the bounty within.

    Knowing this, Maeve sprinted towards it when they seen it through the blizzard. She only stopped when a hill had rolled over and introduced itself as Ursul, and it turned out she wouldn¡¯t fight any guardian. Especially given the staggering amount of corpses that marked the area. A few hours had passed since then, and the entrance still sang to her, despite the dire warnings she''d received.

    ¡°A lady of your heritage should not be seen sulking.¡± Madame Rensleigh appeared beside her with a cup of nettle tea. Maeve was no great fan of the concoction, but she accepted it for the warmth it provided. Even with their cultivation, tent, and rune circle, the cold still seeped in.

    ¡°You¡¯re just saying that because you can¡¯t go in, even if the bear wasn¡¯t here,¡± Maeve muttered, staring at the unnatural circle of trees. She could feel the glamour radiating from the gateway; it was enthralling. She shifted in her chair, looking again at the spirit beast.

    Ursul had reduced himself in size, a feat that had baffled even her governess, going from titanic to merely looming. He was happily talking with Elaine, who made up the last member of their trio. She¡¯d helped to smooth over their introduction. The newly minted Steel was catching the bear up on the events of the last couple of decades. Elaine had guided them here, following some technique or method to lead her to the bear, Ursul.

    ¡°Perhaps, but it seems I must remind you of Ursul¡¯s warnings. The gateway is unstable, and the realm contains an unknown number of Divine Cultivators. Yet it also contains your target and great riches. Think on what you know. Imagine the bear offers to let you in¡ªwould you enter? Should you enter?¡±

    ¡°I¡­¡± Maeve paused, biting back the impatient part of her, pushing herself to think.

    A blade in the right place at the right time will strike success.

    ¡°I am one Knight; I would be alone, without assistance. I cannot go in. It would be better to wait, to set a trap. The Divine Cultivators within will have to leave with their bounty. They may even be pushed out by the target and his allies. Or the target could leave with our foes on his heels. Either way, we prepare to kill the Divine Cultivators and take their treasures. Maybe capture a couple for interrogation, especially if the target hasn¡¯t left,¡± Maeve sighed. ¡°It just feels¡ª¡±

    ¡°Unsatisfying?¡± Rensleigh offered, and Maeve nodded. ¡°Yet you know it¡¯s the right solution. It¡¯s thinking like that which puts you on the path to be a leader, not just some Knight.¡±

    ¡°How so?¡±

    ¡°True power comes from excelling at challenges you would never choose to accept. It pushes you to grow, to become more than you were. To forge yourself as a Steel rank cultivator, you cannot merely excel at one thing. Even a legend like the Great Alchemist Trismegistus also had great skill with runes and was a well-respected duellist. You must be more than a blade. This journey has been a good start on expanding your path, especially how well you handled Fosburg.¡±

    Maeve smiled at the rare compliment. The battle for Fosburg had gone exceptionally well. After it became clear Miss Peaches was serious about the idea of dropping her traitorous uncle¡¯s castle off the bridge that housed Fosburg, she¡¯d come up with a plan. She¡¯d got them to set a trap for her. The Magpies had let it be known she was asking some very pointed questions¡ªthe kind that would make Roland Fos sweat. She¡¯d at the same time accepted the open invite for dinner, asking for a private chat, just them and their closest retainers.

    Given the questions and that her retainer was Madame Rensleigh, the weak Steel lord had decided it was a poorly concealed attempt to get him alone to assassinate him and prepared accordingly. According to the Magpies, his strongest forces had gathered, ready to take her hostage. Too bad she never made it to dinner.

    The cackle that had come from Miss Peaches when she¡¯d suggested it had reminded Maeve of her grandmother. The terrifying witch had done something, and the whole castle had slid off the bridge, with their best inside it.

    That didn¡¯t kill them all, and merely wounded the two Saints and Roland¡ªthey were Steel, after all. But they never managed to gain momentum, and with Ban Fos leading forces made up of his watch and loyalist Orders, the lesser cultivators were easily contained. Still, there was blood on the streets, and Maeve had been part of the forces keeping them penned in to the rich part of the town.

    The fighting finally ceased when the statue of Ursul in the main square roared a challenge and announced his return, interrupting Roland, who¡¯d been trying to rally the people of the town to his cause. She would long treasure the look of terror on Roland¡¯s face. The treacherous lord immediately abandoned his forces, and with him fled their fighting spirit. For her first real battle, it went as well as could be hoped.

    ¡°It was a good victory, was it not?¡±

    ¡°Indeed, though you should remember how Ursul¡¯s intervention shifted the battle. A piece of luck that tilted things in our favour.¡±

    ¡°What should I take from it? The battle was in hand even without it.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t disagree, and still, luck was on our side. Carve the impact of that luck into your soul and think about what if it was you who got unlucky? I guarantee that one day, luck will not be on your side. A mistake will be made. You cannot plan for such things, but you must learn to adapt.¡± She sipped her tea.

    ¡°Should I apply such thinking to the gateway and my target? What if I get unlucky and it closes?¡±

    ¡°A good start. Though let us come back to that; Elaine approaches. She doesn¡¯t need reminding of the danger her daughter is in.¡±

    ¡°Ursul has sensed some oddity with the gateway. Something is happening.¡±

    ¡°Could it be Divine Cultivators?¡±

    ¡°He says it feels different. Bring your weapons.¡±

    They both rose from their seats, armour called from their rings, and swords unsheathed.

    ¡°Madame Rensleigh, Elaine, what do you sense from the gateway?¡± Ursul rumbled, his voice becoming deeper as he grew. Maeve might¡¯ve been insulted to not be included in the question, but she tamped it down; she couldn¡¯t sense a thing through the overwhelming glamour that rolled off the tight ring of ferns.

    ¡°It¡¯s an odd mix of glamour, complex and potent,¡± Elaine commented.

    ¡°It reminds me of a fae I met,¡± Rensleigh said, immediately moving in front of Maeve, who was staring open-mouthed at her governess. What did she mean, ¡®a fae I met¡¯? One doesn¡¯t simply meet a fae. She flinched as Rensleigh turned to look at her. ¡°You will stay silent if something other than a person comes out of there.¡±

    She could only nod, her mouth becoming dry. Is this what Rensleigh meant when she said luck wouldn¡¯t always be on your side?

    The ferns began to shake as if enduring the ravages of a storm. They all paced back from the thrashing greenery, just in time to avoid a torrent of autumn leaves, each one big enough to be a flag flown from a castle tower.

    The leaves boiled out, and while some blew away, others gathered, forming an odd collection of shapes. Eight human shapes, ranging from towering to genteel, and then two other shapes¡ªone a pegasus, the other some form of giant hawk. For a second, all was still and silent, the wind dying down and the statues unmoving.

    A screech from the bird began a chaotic few seconds as the figures began to move, shredding the leaves that had wrapped around them.

    ¡°What the fuck!¡± bellowed the giant, tearing off the leaves with both hands.

    ¡°Get it off my face.¡± One of the figures ripped the leaves from herself, revealing a blonde, blue-eyed woman gasping for air. Next to her, Elaine let out a cry of joy¡ªthat must be Lancelot.

    One of them used wind magic to shred their armour and rushed to calm the bird, whose flapping wings were sending gusts in all directions. He looked oddly familiar to Maeve, ¡°Archi¡ª¡±

    ¡°Stop, we''re not alone!¡± A bard with dark hair and grey eyes shouted over the others. Maeve locked her attention on him. This was the man she''d been searching for. He looked nothing like Regus, but her grandmother had warned her not to judge based on appearances.

    She could judge by cultivation, though, and the man before her couldn''t be Regus. There was a weight to him that spoke of Iron Rank. Her former betrothed''s cultivation had been crippled, and even if he wasn¡¯t so limited. She might believe him limping to bronze, but even with a fae realm to aid you no one could blast through bronze in a matter of weeks. A wave of despair washed over her¡ªwhat had she got wrong?

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    A blade in the right place at the right time will strike success.

    She nearly looked away, only her intent held her firm, reminding her she needed patience. Her new mindset saved her, as she¡¯d have missed the way the bard looked over their group, smiling at Elaine and Ursul before his eyes met hers, and there was the smallest flicker of recognition. It could''ve been nothing, but his body went stiff for a fraction of a second, as if he were hiding a flinch.

    Could it be? She was about to move forward when Elaine charged ahead, engulfing Lancelot in a hug. Maeve could hear the daughter grumbling, but just as she was about to speak, a voice boomed across them all.

    ¡°Everyone speak carefully. We are in the company of the highest nobility.¡± The bard spoke again, his voice amplified by glamour. He nodded in appreciation to a squire in the Order of the Kraken livery. Maeve was so busy comparing this man to Regus that it took her a second to understand what he''d said. Her spine chilled.

    ¡°There is a Fae with you?¡± Rensleigh was suddenly at Maeve''s side, blade drawn, eyes scanning every corner.

    ¡°There was, I don¡¯t have the skill to tell if they are gone,¡± he replied earnestly.

    Ursul sniffed the air, his inhalation sounding like a gale, and then his voice rumbled, ¡°Something passed us by, it is gone now. What was its business with you?¡±

    ¡°It was sent to keep us safe.¡± This time, a woman spoke, stepping forward, subtly drawing the group¡¯s focus off the bard. It might''ve helped, but Maeve recognised the woman from her research into her errant betrothed: Persephone Graille, blood cultivator and former paramour of Regus. She almost laughed, her eyes hunting for the oddity in the bard.

    As she did, someone else blocked her view. The very picture of a classic knight stood before her¡ªblonde hair, blue eyes. For a moment, she thought that Lancelot must have a brother, but then the man pressed his gauntlet to his chest and spoke in a familiar, booming tone.

    "Lady Chox, it is a pleasure to meet you again¡­I swear, if either of you two tries to gag me, I will cut you down." Maeve felt her grip on the moment slipping away as Arthur Quilvern stood before her, glaring over his shoulder at two knights she now recognised as Gawain and Bors. The two froze, with the big man¡¯s arms going from reaching out to giving her an awkward wave. "The honourable bear has said Mercury has gone. And as long as we don''t use our given names, we should be safe. I believe we last met at your uncle''s soir¨¦e, and I am pleased to see that since then you broke through to Iron. It is an achievement worth celebrating."

    "Indeed, I hope you can forgive me if I don¡¯t address you by your full title, Prince Quilvern. I appreciate your kind words.¡± Maeve fumbled for words, completely off-kilter. Why was a member of the Albion Royal family here? She¡¯d met him and the others a few times at functions, and this was undeniably the prince. For a moment, she wondered if they were here for Regus, like Tristan Artoss had been. But no, Arthur had turned knight errant and had been seen sowing chaos among Divine Cultivators.

    She shot a look at Elaine and Ursul as she spoke, ensuring they understood exactly who else had joined this mess. To her surprise, Elaine was staring a hole through the prince, her eyes occasionally flickering back to her daughter. They had an uncanny resemblance. Maeve added that to her collection of oddities to explore.

    ¡°Well, it is a pleasure to see you again,¡± the knight said. He had a charming smile, but she really didn¡¯t have time for it right now; she had a bard to secure. She took a breath, fighting back the urge to fob off the prince and ask about the bard, when Rensleigh saved her.

    "Did you say Mercury?" Rensleigh asked, a grim look on her face. The name clearly meant something to her.

    ¡°Indeed, a Fae named Mercury. I understand that he''s here for Taliesin, a man formerly known to you as Regus.¡± The prince said and calmly looked to the bard, who just threw his head back and sighed before glaring back at him. Maeve felt a current of worry¡ªwhy was a Fae interested in him? Was this connected to the Lady?

    Taliesin placed his hands on his hips and stared at Arthur before clicking his tongue. ¡°You know, I''ve been wanting to say it for a while, but you''re being a right prick.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Arthur''s jaw dropped, and Maeve managed to school her expression, locking it down to a neutral mask.

    ¡°I mean seriously. We fought through Inquisitors, a small army, and hunted for you in a Fae realm, facing even more Inquisitors and a demented madman. And then you throw me at the mercy of the first person you meet.¡±

    "You''re the one who ran from your obligations.¡±

    "I ran from all the knives she threw at me! Or did you miss that everyone else at that wedding was slaughtered?¡± Despite his brutal assessment, Maeve couldn''t fully hide the grin; she finally had confirmation. This was him.

    "A true knight doesn''t run," Arthur shouted back, and even his entourage couldn¡¯t seem to look at him.

    ¡°How many times do I have to say this? I. Am. A. Bard!¡±

    "You can''t use that as an excuse. Why are you shaking your head?" Arthur turned to the giant.

    ¡°Arty, he has a point. He''s stood at your side in battle. Even if you disagreed, you should¡¯ve spoken to him first. So, yeah, kind of a prickish thing to do.¡± Then, in a stage whisper, ¡°Kinda like leaving your friend on a bridge while you all explored a Fae realm.¡±

    ¡°Agreed,¡± Persephone said, looking furious. Arthur turned his head to his other retainer, but Gawain was suddenly very involved in looking after what Maeve assumed was his bonded beast.

    "Not you too?"

    "Arty," the knight fumbled with overly familiar name, "while I would never use that word, I would say it was¡ªcallous. You should''ve at least given Taliesin the chance to introduce himself."

    Arthur looked genuinely shocked and searched for support until his eyes landed on Lancelot, who smirked. "Don''t look at me for help. I have other words I could use, and I don''t think you''d like them."

    ¡°Is that an Inquisitor?¡± Elaine, a veteran of her daughters social skills, shifted the conversation, pointing at the last figure hiding behind a pegasus. The squire from the Order of the Kraken showed remarkable bravery by stepping between her and Ursul, who leaned in to inspect.

    ¡°This is someone who was forcibly converted but aided us and proved her innocence and valour. Mercury didn¡¯t believe she was a Divine Cultivator, which should be good enough for all of us,¡± Taliesin said, before letting out a long sigh, he turned to Maeve. ¡°Lady Chox, I understand you¡¯ve been looking for me.¡±

    ¡°So, you¡¯re not dead, then.¡± She replied, her tone more acidic than she intended. A result of the side of her which rejoiced at her success battling the frustrations of the past weeks.

    ¡°Currently? No.¡± He replied with a faint smile. Compared to his companions, he stood out¡ªnot just because of his outfit but because he alone looked fresh. The others were battered from battle, stained with soot, with an underlying sense of exhaustion. He looked unnaturally hale and tidy, as if ready to perform at court.

    She compared him to her last memory of him, with mousy blonde hair, a thin, reedy body, and blood pouring from every part of his face. The only thing that was the same was that smile. It hinted at mischief, a knowing look that suggested he held secrets. Her mood wasn''t helped by knowing he was in fact made up entirely of secrets. Maeve didn''t let it irritate her, channelling the patience she¡¯d learned from his example.

    "My grandmother, the Raven, wishes to speak with you. I''ve been tasked with finding you and escorting you to her. She would like to reward you for¡­ services rendered." Maeve felt her intent thrum through her. All this stumbling around, bumping into ancient witches, and fighting battles was worth it for this moment. She was the blade, poised and patient, finally striking.

    "While I¡¯m sure she does, your grandmother will have to wait." A new voice announced itself, and Maeve turned, ready to slash out at the interloper, threaten them with the full might of the Chox, only to swallow her words. Walking through the snow were two figures, and she didn¡¯t know which scared her more.

    One was a towering figure, antlers trailing streams of living silver behind. Sharp features and eyes made of mirrors¡ªthis had to be the Fae they¡¯d mentioned.

    The second figure she knew. The man had the same easy smile and relaxed posture she¡¯d last seen in her grandmother¡¯s study. Pellinore Artoss in the flesh.

    He released the smallest shred of his power, and they all knelt, bowing instinctively. All but the Fae and the bard. Her target regarded him carefully, looked to weigh something, and then inclined his head, gently. It wasn¡¯t the proper level of deference, yet the patriarch made no move to correct him. If anything, his smile grew wider.

    ¡°I am Pellinore Artoss.¡± He didn''t hesitate to say his name before the fae, and she could feel why, something about his name resonated with the world. It struck her hearth, and presence of the fae that had started to swell was diminished. The Fae didn''t react, standing beside him, grinning clearly enjoying some unspoken joke. ¡°And¡­ isn¡¯t it bloody cold out here? Mercury, if you¡¯d be so kind.¡±

    ¡°This is beneath me,¡± the horned Fae grumbled.

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be like that. I can tell you had fun. What¡¯s one little fae path?¡± Even frozen under his power, Maeve saw a flinch spread among the others. Fae paths were incredibly demanding uses of glamour, allowing one to create a safe tunnel through the Fae realm to link two distant places.

    "You have ascended to Mithril. I am impressed, Pel." Ursul rose first, addressing the patriarch. He shrunk down to his more reasonable size as he spoke.

    ¡°Ursul! You furry bastard, where have you been? It¡¯s good to see you. And Lady Fos, you¡¯re Steel now¡ªcongratulations! I don¡¯t believe I ever thanked you for the lovely recipes you sent over. Is this your daughter? I¡¯ve heard she¡¯s unmatched with a blade.¡± The patriarch beamed, greeting the factions as he eased the pressure on them, allowing them to move. Maeve felt it ease but not fully lift from her.

    "My grandmother would really like to speak with your lost scion." Maeve pushed through the overwhelming sensation of his aura. She couldn¡¯t lose here, not after all her work. She knew he was letting her resist his will but making her fight for it. This was a test.

    In her experience, everything with a Mithril was some manner of test.

    ¡°Well, we¡¯ll see if he wants to speak with her, but let¡¯s do this somewhere nicer than here. Ursul, I sense you¡¯ve made quite the graveyard here.¡± Maeve nodded politely at the response even as she seethed inside, all her hard work undone! Rensliegh sensing her anger turned, and mouthed ''adapt''. Maeve drove her fingernails into her palms and breathed deeply. What would Regus do? She turned to look at him and found him looking remarkably stern, his face a neutral mask. It was his eyes that gave him away, he watched Pellinore''s every move. It was not the look of someone studying an ally. She calmed herself, there was a chance yet.

    ¡°I cannot take full credit, young Taliesin and his comrades, through wit and cunning, slew many and freed me from the runic trap the Divine cultivators were using to contain me.¡± The bear rumbled.

    ¡°Well, that sounds like quite the story¡ªI look forward to hearing it.¡± Pellinore turned to Taliesin, his eyes glittering with a wide smile. ¡°Seems we have a lot to speak about.¡±

    Light flickered next to the Fae, who she¡¯d almost forgotten in the hurricane of chaos that was the Artoss patriarch¡¯s arrival. Two elms had seemingly grown out of nothing, forming an archway just wide enough for Ursul¡¯s smaller form. Through it, she could see a resplendent hall, servants moving about, clearly waiting for them. It seemed an illusion until she saw snowflakes blow through and melt on the flagstone floor.

    ¡°Come, you are all welcome to enjoy my hospitality. Not you, Mercury. It¡¯s been a long time since my home hosted such an array of auspicious guests¡ªroyalty, retinue, reformed, bear and cubs, crow and magpie, and even a travelling bard. I invite you to be my guests and when you leave I hope we part as friends.¡± Something flashed between him and Taliesin as Pellinore ended his speech. Stress that Maeve hadn¡¯t realised the bard was holding seemed to ease, and his stance relaxed.

    Taliesin bowed gently to his patriarch and glanced at Persephone, who nodded and then strode through the gateway into the court of the Artoss.

 Book 2, Chapter 1 - Just the beginning of your problems

    Stepping out of the blasting snow and into the Artoss hold should''ve been akin to slipping into a warm bath after a month on the road. I should''ve been delighted. The hall spoke of a thousand kinds of beauty. Pillars carved to look like trees held up a ceiling with a shimmering mural, the walls were draped with gorgeous tapestries, and the air smelt of the kind of feast that would leave an impression on even a cultivator¡¯s waistline. Yet all I could feel was unease.

    It relented as the fae path behind me didn¡¯t so much as twitch. Some part of me had expected it to slam shut after I walked through, revealing that all was an illusion and they¡¯d stuck me in some deep dungeon. Why did I think this? Simply put, family meant something different to me.

    Sephy appeared beside me, and I relaxed further. Her hand brushed mine, the sudden burst of warmth and comfort letting me know she was there for me. Our strange group was hustled through by ¡®Uncle Pel¡¯.

    I heard Maeve saying something about the cultivators who¡¯d remained in the fae realm we¡¯d just escaped. My former betrothed was different from when she¡¯d hunted me down, both of us in our wedding finery. I¡¯d almost been captured, but her zeal had led to a mistake and her nearly freezing to death in the icy lake. It was only my last-minute intervention that had saved her.

    She seemed calmer now. Before, it had felt like she was a naked blade, the edge pointed at everyone and everything. She¡¯d sheathed that blade, and yet I could still feel it there, waiting to be drawn. I didn¡¯t like the way she watched me, like I was prey.

    I ignored the conversation that had now dragged in the Inquisitor we¡¯d freed from her conscription into the vile divine cultivators. They were likely interrogating her about the remaining forces. The poor woman was already overwhelmed by the whole situation and was now being interrogated by Maeve Chox, scion of the power in the region, and the patriarch of one of the other great houses of renown.

    My patriarch, because I was Taliesin Artoss. This was my family. This was¡ª I shook my head. It didn¡¯t feel real.

    ¡°You alright there, Taliesin?¡± Bors came up to me. My first friend in my new life was grinning, and he clapped a huge hand on my back. This time I didn¡¯t stumble despite his impressive bulk. My ascension to Iron Rank had brought a sturdiness to my body that I¡¯d yet to fully experiment with.

    ¡°It¡¯s a lot.¡±

    ¡°That it is. Taliesin, we¡¯re not going anywhere.¡± Sephy spoke up, and I thawed a little. With red hair the colour of blood and flashing hazel eyes, she was as beautiful as the day we¡¯d met. As I remembered our kiss, I felt the ice break away. There was beauty to be had even in the most dire circumstances.

    ¡°Lords and Ladies, I am Robertson, butler and your guide to our humble home.¡± A kindly looking older man had stepped up to our group. He didn¡¯t blink at our pegasus or the giant kestrel. ¡°As you have clearly returned from questing, we shall skip any complex pleasantries. Years of experience have taught me that those returning desire nothing so greatly as a bath, so let me take you to them.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll have your back right after I¡¯ve had a bath!¡± Bors said, hustling after the butler, who was already pacing away. I let out a chuckle despite my mood.

    ¡°We¡¯ll also bring the fine pegasus and kestrel to be taken care of by our teams and the menagerie,¡± I heard the man continue, as the group moved forward, pulled along by their desire to get clean.

    ¡°I can also tell some of you are wounded. We have a pair of witches on staff¡ª¡±

    ¡°How are you doing?¡± Pellinore had come up on my left. He¡¯d let me sense him approach, not wanting to spook me. I felt old habits form kind words which turned to ash in my mouth. The Lady of the Lake had given me a new name after I shed the shell of Regus. I was Taliesin now. That came with an oddity. I found myself unable to lie and could sense lies in others. It also meant I couldn¡¯t offer up that most common of falsehoods and say, I¡¯m fine.

    I had to pause for a second. Pellinore looked upon me kindly. He didn''t look much older than forty, with streaks of grey in his black hair, and wrinkles starting to creep in. I knew he was far, far older, but it wasn''t that dissonance that bothered me but that his face reminded me of my own¡ªthe new one, not the old. It was the crease in his brow. That¡¯s what hit me hardest. It was exactly like the concerned looks my mother would give me. As she passed through my thoughts, I found my answer. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°There is no rush. The words in my letter were sincere. If you are amenable, I would like to speak with you tomorrow. You¡¯ve been busy and deserve to relax and enjoy the feast, which is being prepared for a couple of hours from now. That should give you plenty of time to soak.¡± My truth sense didn¡¯t so much as flicker. It felt weird to be given a choice by someone so powerful. I was used to being pushed around by such forces, not being asked my opinion.

    ¡°It¡¯s not going to be a big one, is it?¡± I dared to ask, pushing further.

    ¡°No, a small affair for your group and a couple of others.¡±

    ¡°Then yes, let us speak afterwards.¡± I was tempted to push, to say no just to see how he¡¯d react, but I also didn¡¯t want this hanging over me.

    ¡°Good. Now please relax and soak. Oh, you¡¯re new to Iron, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Is it obvious?¡±

    ¡°To a Mithril maybe, but considering you were Wood only a couple of months ago, I would imagine anyone who knew that might make a similar assumption.¡± He seemed to think about something for a moment. ¡°Well, I hope you enjoy the bath.¡±

    ¡°What does that mean?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re losing Robertson.¡± He gave me a grin and strode away in the opposite direction to the group. That look was one I¡¯d seen my mother wear many a time, one I knew I wore on occasion. A smile that promised mischief.

    We¡¯d fallen behind the group, everyone giving us some space for the patriarch and lost scion to chat. I caught a couple of servants looking at me with wonder. I didn¡¯t.

    I wrestled with the urge to demand more information, convinced it was a trick. Those thoughts came from the depths of my soul, from the same part of me that had refused to bow to him out on the snow, the part that had asked questions you just didn¡¯t ask of a Mithril. The part of me that¡¯d been through years of experience that said betrayal was inevitable.

    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    I quenched that flawed blade in the swirling waters of my recent experience. I thought of the trust Sephy, Bors, Gaz, Lance, and even Gawain had extended to me. They¡¯d all stood at my side. Just because Pellinore had a family tie to me didn¡¯t make him like the Harkleys.

    My life was improving, and I couldn¡¯t let worries I¡¯d buried with Regus poison my new life. I knew that, but it was hard.

    I sighed. I hoped I¡¯d feel better after a soak. I did really want a bath. My return by fire might¡¯ve cleaned me, but it didn¡¯t have the satisfaction of a good scrubbing. I caught up with the group just in time to see another servant, a stern-looking woman, arrive to direct the women to a different bath. I gave Sephy what I thought was a discreet wave, but I caught Maeve¡¯s eyes flicker over us.

    Not sure what I made of that. I didn¡¯t know Maeve, apart from the research the house had made me do on her, and our short discussion after I¡¯d pulled her out of the water. We¡¯d barely talked, and most of our discussion was me asking her to stop throwing knives my way. What she and the rest of the Chox expected of me I had no idea.

    We were led through to some bathhouses. The Artoss used the traditional Atlantean style of shared bathing. It wasn¡¯t popular in Albion, and the Divine Cultivators blasted it as perverse, but I¡¯d travelled enough that it wasn¡¯t new to me. I undressed. At least I didn¡¯t have to fear for my things. Even if I didn¡¯t have my tenuous family connection, Pellinore had invited us in under the rules of hospitality. It was his job to keep us and our possessions safe.

    I didn¡¯t just trust my truth sense. No matter how powerful you were, you didn¡¯t invoke hospitality in front of a fae and not mean it.

    Mercury, the fae and his strange subservient nature, bubbled up, joining the swirling chaos of questions that filled my mind. So much strangeness had happened in the span of a few hours that I couldn¡¯t focus on any one topic. I wandered like a lost soul into the main baths, the last to arrive. The others rested in the cloudy water.

    The problem started as I plunged one leg into the water. It was like lava.

    The mist from my brain cleared, the questions gone, banished by the boiling heat of the water. A yell of shock and an involuntary kick from my other leg launched me sliding across the tiles.

    ¡°Hahaha, you owe me a drink, Gawain.¡± Bors¡¯ laughter echoed across the hard tiles.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with the water?¡± I looked at them all like they were crazy. Did Iron ranks have to boil themselves? No, Gaz was in there as well, trying to hide a chuckle.

    ¡°There¡¯s nothing wrong with it. Your senses are heightened. Now your blood has calmed from the battle, your body is trying to adjust to your new rank. Baths do tend to surprise people sometimes.¡± Gawain offered an answer, and I realised it made plenty of sense. Still, my pride was a little wounded.

    ¡°You could¡¯ve warned me!¡± I grumbled. I glared at Bors and Gawain and remembered Pellinore¡¯s smile. The bastard had known!

    ¡°I thought you¡¯d be fine. Bors was the one who bet you¡¯d struggle. I¡¯ll inform you of some of the other things to be wary of after we¡¯re done here.¡± Gawain leant back and tried to relax. I picked myself up and carefully lowered myself into the water. After an initial panic that I was burning to death, something clicked and my senses settled. The bath was once again nothing more than warm water.

    ¡°Consider this payback for avoiding the impurities,¡± Bors said, settling further into the water, his larger frame sticking out far above the water line and leaving him uncomfortably hunched.

    ¡°It¡¯s not like I had any control over that! Is it really that big of a deal?¡± I found my own place against the wall. The bath was gorgeous, the tiling showing a detailed series of frescoes that depicted what I assumed to be legends of Artoss past. There were certainly a lot of dark-haired, dark-eyed men running around.

    ¡°You avoided impurities? I rescind my offer to assist you in avoiding other pitfalls of your new rank.¡± Gawain said deadpan. I looked at the stoic knight. Had that been an actual joke?

    ¡°What I¡¯m getting is if I improve my rank, I should be near these baths?¡± Gaz chimed in.

    ¡°Not unless you want to be responsible for a new bathhouse. That stuff gets everywhere.¡± Bors grimaced. ¡°However bad you imagine it being, throw that idea in the communal outhouse after a harvest festival, and then maybe you¡¯re close. At least you have the water gift to help you get clean.¡±

    ¡°Well, let me congratulate you on rising to Iron. As neither Percy nor Bors is saying how you achieved it so quickly, I¡¯m not going to pry and will instead assume it comes from the intense work ethic you¡¯ve displayed so far.¡± Gawain said, and then Gaz and Bors both chimed in with their own congratulations.

    ¡°Thank you. I appreciate it.¡± I waited for an unhelpful dig at my character to interrupt the good mood, and when it didn¡¯t, I realised that we were missing one of our number.

    ¡°Where¡¯s Arty?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s got the witches looking at him, trying to help with the poison. His problems were in deep; there was damage that a brew couldn¡¯t cure.¡± Bors supplied.

    ¡°A shame he couldn¡¯t be here,¡± Gawain added.

    ¡°His absence will be felt,¡± I added, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Just because I couldn¡¯t speak lies didn¡¯t mean I couldn¡¯t put a bit of a spin on the truth.

    ¡°Taliesin, I know you¡¯re upset, but¡ª Bors, would you explain?¡± Gawain poked his fellow knight, who huffed and finally turned to me.

    ¡°Fine, fine. Look, Arty isn¡¯t normally this bad.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure? On the way to the baths, he asked me ¡®how are you faring, my boy.¡¯ I think I¡¯m older than him.¡± Gaz grumbled. He was flaring his glamour, using it to swirl water over his body. Gawain took that moment to sink below the water and start to wash his hair. I let out a laugh at that. Gawain seemed less brittle than before. He remained a rigid example of nobility, but there was a bit of give now. Already he¡¯d stood up for me in front of Arthur and was taking part in our banter.

    ¡°Gawain is also not such a stick in the mud as he has been. He¡¯s just been stressed about Arty.¡± Bors sucked in a breath. ¡°Look, Arty was raised different. There¡¯s a lot of pressure and not many options. He¡¯s the sixth child out of seven kids. It¡¯s not like he¡¯s going to be king, yet people swirl and plot around him, treating him like a piece in a game he wants no part of.¡±

    ¡°I mentioned how I got Gring? That disaster wasn¡¯t even the first time we got close to some deadly plot. Arthur decided that it was best if he had principles and stuck to them, to be the righteous peg who refuses to fit into their unrighteous holes.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d have picked a different metaphor, but that¡¯s broadly accurate,¡± Gawain added as he surfaced. ¡°It may seem strange, but it was working, until your intelligence tipped us off that more drastic ideas were being considered.¡±

    ¡°That still doesn¡¯t forgive him throwing Taliesin at Maeve,¡± Gaz argued on my behalf, not looking pleased.

    ¡°Ah, that¡¯s different. I think that¡¯s two things. One, he was a bit loopy from poison, and two, he has a massive crush on her.¡± said Bors.

    ¡°What?¡± I grumbled and slipped below the water, taking a moment to enjoy the way it muted my hearing. Or kind of did. Wait¡ªwhat were those noises? I could hear creaks and rumbles and a squeak?

    I surfaced and looked at the pair of knights, staring daggers at them. ¡°Tell me I wasn¡¯t just hearing my innards?¡±

    ¡°Then I won¡¯t,¡± Bors responded. I saw a smile twitch on Gawain¡¯s lips. They were clearly laughing at me. ¡°It¡¯ll all ease up over the next couple of days. Honestly, I found it kind of fun. It was a reminder of what I could do with my senses if I really pushed.¡±

    ¡°Back to your boss lusting after Taliesin¡¯s fianc¨¦e.¡± Gaz prompted. He laughed at the look I speared him with.

    ¡°We¡¯re not engaged!¡± I protested.

    ¡°Yeah, I don¡¯t think he cares. You were, and now you¡¯re a source of envy. He¡¯ll be upset with himself once he cools down. If he apologises, do know he¡¯ll mean it. Though I think that''s just the beginning of your problems with Arty.¡± Bors let out a little chuckle as he grabbed a pumice stone and began to rub his back. My eyes narrowed.

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°He thinks of Percy as a big sister.¡± Behind Bors, Gaz had to cover his mouth to hold in a laugh.

    ¡°And he¡¯s very protective of his family,¡± Gawain added, his face was beneath a towel but I could tell he was grinning.

    ¡°Just great!¡± They all laughed as I slipped under the water.

 Book 2 Chapter 2 - The Little Banqueting Hall

    We all shuffled back to ¡®the little banqueting hall¡¯. The room was gorgeous, about twenty paces long. The walls were decorated with beautiful paintings depicting legends that were familiar to us all ¨C stories from a history long past, ranging from the fall of the Atlantean empire to the rise of the Wild Hunt. One wall was dominated by the image of a silver lake, its edge lined with women, each beautiful in her own way, each one handing a sword to a different knight. A trick in the painting gave the illusion that the eyes of the many incarnations of the Lady followed me as I entered.

    Despite their stares, I felt more relaxed. Not only from the bath, but I¡¯d had some time to think through my current situation. I still had far more attention than I felt was healthy, but at least I was safe here and now. I was in good company. Robertson had requested that we all keep our attire humble, as the meal was intended to be informal. As a result, we all walked in wearing simple tunics and leggings, the only exceptions being Elaine and Maeve¡¯s governess, who wore dresses. I''d last seen the hawk-faced woman as I dived out the window of the ¡®matrimonial bedroom¡¯, and I vaguely recalled her name was Rensliegh. I was pleased that she didn''t seem to pay me any attention.

    My fae-given outfit had taken some persuading before it finally agreed to adopt a more subtle appearance. My black tunic with red trim seemed simple, but if one were to look closely at the black, they¡¯d find subtle patterns that mimicked billowing smoke.

    We were led to a long table of dark stone, marbled with threads of silver. It had a sheen to it that radiated power. I could see runes layered into it, mundane ones to keep food warm, as well as complex patterns that would test for poisons. To my great relief, there was no assigned seating. The last thing I wanted was to be forced to sit near the head or manoeuvred into some position of power.

    To my left was Sephy. Lance approached to grab the open slot on my right, but Elaine caught her at the last moment. The older cultivator flashed me a look of apology as Maeve took the seat. Arthur appeared from somewhere, looking fresher, and grabbed the seat beside her. Rensliegh glared at him for a second ¨C a fact I doubt he noticed ¨C but conceded the seat to the over-eager prince. She took a seat next to Elaine, who was up by Ursul.

    The bear sat at the far end of the table. Ursul was at the smallest size I¡¯d ever seen him, restricting himself to a form equal to the biggest mortal bear I¡¯d ever seen. I did notice that a few table settings were kept clear. As Gaz tried to sit between Lance and the ex-Inquisitor Kay, he was guided away by Robertson the butler. I frowned, wondering why, when Pellinore appeared at the head of the table.

    It was disconcerting. One moment he wasn¡¯t there, the next he just was. It didn¡¯t have the strange flavour of glamour that Mercury had shown. Rather, it was as if reality had decided he had always been there. It was an act so without fanfare that it took a couple of seconds for silence to fall across the table as people noticed his presence.

    ¡°Guests, I welcome you to Artoss Hall. You have a great deal to celebrate, and while I would love nothing more than to leave you to raise glasses as a group, I do have at least one other guest whom I would be remiss not to include in this celebration, as well as a couple of members of my house whom I¡¯d also like to include.¡± He gestured to a door, and through it appeared a woman I didn¡¯t recognise.

    She was dressed in a green dress that flowed from a bodice delicately patterned with gold thread. Dark curly hair collected beneath a lace net studded with small jewels. She was the image of a courtly maiden, eyes downcast and pace serene. She entered the room with grace. I looked around, and the only faces at the table showing recognition were Lance and Elaine.

    ¡°Tiff¡ª¡± The word burst from Gaz, who was over by Robertson. The squire looked like he wanted to run across the room. Where did I remember that name? I thought back to the stories of how Lance and Elaine had snuck into a nearby town to see his fianc¨¦e. This had to be her!

    She raised her face, and there on her lips was a wide grin. She went to approach Gaz but stopped herself and bowed to Pellinore.

    ¡°This Lady Tiffany Tormens thanks her gracious host, Lord Pellinore Artoss, for bringing her betrothed home from his adventures.¡±

    ¡°It is appreciated. Lady Tormens¡¯ family oversees a holding within our territory, right by our border with the Chox. She has been visiting to report on recent developments. However, this is no dry, dusty meeting, so no need to be so formal, young lady. In fact, it would gladden me if you could treat this as an informal meeting.¡± No sooner had Pellinore finished than the gentle maiden shrieked and lunged at Gaz.

    ¡°Gary!¡± Gaz, showing amazing reflexes, or maybe just knowing his bride-to-be, easily caught her, and together they swirled about, locked in each other¡¯s gaze. They lost themselves in that moment, and the rest of us found ourselves looking away. To peer at them felt invasive, as though we were intruding on something special.

    My eyes found Sephy¡¯s, unspoken words dancing between us. We had a lot to speak about, but not here. Beside me, I heard a tut from Maeve, the kind that slipped out when one saw something detestable. The rudeness of it caught me so off guard that I spun to glare at her. I knew I had to speak to her at some point, but I¡¯d expected her to at least be polite while she waited.

    Maeve¡¯s glare, and the source of her tutting, was a man who hovered in the doorway. He was a young, plainly dressed man whom I didn¡¯t recognise. He had the Artoss black curly hair and wore hints of silver, so he was likely part of the family. This unknown Artoss obviously sensed Maeve¡¯s displeasure and didn¡¯t seem keen to enter the room.

    ¡°I¡¯d also like to introduce you to Tristan Artoss, whom I dispatched to find your group. Without his hard work, we might not have found you, and you would¡¯ve been without Mercury¡¯s aid.¡± While the rest of us nodded some form of welcome or thanks, mine died in my throat. I felt the anger rolling off Maeve, her fury powerful enough that her aura slipped. It had weight to it, and my new Iron senses rippled in response.

    In the past, I could¡¯ve sensed a glamour¡¯s nature ¨C each had its own tune and rhythm. This time, though, it wasn¡¯t the high-tension whine of blade glamour I felt, but rather, if not a memory, then a very specific sensation. It felt as if I were beside someone wildly swinging around a naked blade. It made my skin crawl, and I found myself leaning away from her. She caught me looking, and then, with a blush of embarrassment that seemed totally out of character, the aura changed. The blade sheathed, and yet I could feel the steel waiting, yearning to be set free.

    What in the Sidhe was that? I had so many questions! I really knew very little about what it was to be Iron. I¡¯d not read on the subject much, not wanting to torture myself back when I¡¯d been deliberately suppressing my growth. Was this an Iron thing? Was that some aspect of her intent, or merely an evolution of her glamour?

    ¡°So let me introduce you to Tiffany.¡± The couple took a seat opposite Sephy and me. Tristan used them as a distraction and ended up sitting near Pellinore. I vaguely noted that Elaine and Rensliegh were both sending him some sharp looks. Bors was his seatmate, and he greeted him warmly, shielding him unintentionally from the rest of the table with his bulk.

    Perhaps it was deliberate? I had to remind myself that Bors was far more socially adept than his boisterous persona would have you think.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°Hi, I¡¯m Tiff. Thanks for keeping Gary safe.¡± Tiff was bubbly and kind. She eased some of the tension at the table as she earnestly thanked all those who had travelled with Gaz for keeping him safe. Gaz was clearly smitten with her, the normally reserved squire sitting close, one arm wrapped around her, a smile blazing across his face. We found ourselves lauding Gaz''s contributions in response to her gushing thanks. Then silence descended on the table.

    The food had arrived.

    The feast wasn¡¯t the fancy food of balls. There was no stuffed swan or delicate slices of vegetable that were more art than sustenance. This was hearty fare. Roast boar, suckling pig, and venison sausage competed for space on the table with buttered leeks, honey-roasted root vegetables, and sprouts with more nuts and bacon than sprout. All was complimented by bread so fresh it had yet to cool from the oven.

    ¡°So, I¡¯d like to hear about your adventures in the fae realm. I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll be told by Mercury, but he¡¯s hardly a reliable narrator.¡± Pellinore addressed the table after the initial frenzy to fill our plates subsided. I found eyes turning to me. For a moment, I questioned why I must be the one to speak, and then I nearly slapped myself. I was their bard, after all.

    Someone had poured us all heavy glasses of amber beer with a most delightful head of foam. I took a sip and had to fight to avoid spitting out the drink. Not only was it shockingly cold, but my mouth didn¡¯t know what to do with the sudden explosion of sensation as the bubbles burst and danced on my tongue. That was to say nothing of the overwhelming flavour, which had layers upon layers. I could taste the hops and the nature glamour that had been infused into them to boost their quality. My mind was lost in the sensation.

    I was drawn back to reality by Bors¡¯ booming laugh, which was enough to tell me I¡¯d failed to hide my surprise. The second voice to join him surprised me, as Sephy let out a snort, failing to hide her amusement. With that, others joined in, as word went round the table of my plight. Ursul''s laugh won the award for most impressive ¨C the bear¡¯s sounded like an amused natural disaster.

    Sephy whispered that I''d been frozen for some time, just staring with the rest of the table waiting in silence until Bors had worked out what had happened and begun to laugh. From that point onwards, the meal went smoothly. While I was still caught out by the impact of the flavours, I wasn¡¯t left stunned.

    I told our story, covering aspects of the realm. I aimed to skip some details that felt close to secrets, like our dream meeting, but Lancelot stepped in, speaking of her contribution. It helped break up the story and gave me time to eat. Others also contributed, and I learned more about the others¡¯ battle with the poison cultivator. Kay even spoke up, and we learned that Astor had three more thralls armed with natural treasures that she''d had to carefully dispatch, wary of damaging their payload and revealing her treachery.

    We kept eating and drinking, retracing our story, covering how we handled the army of divine cultivators. I got some very approving nods from Maeve and Rensliegh for that. Pellinore laughed hardest as Ursul recalled how he''d slain the cardinal.

    We finally got back to the bridge and spoke about killing Ulfast and his partner. Kay had plenty of questions there, and when we reached the end she took a deep breath and asked, ¡°Could he have survived?¡±

    ¡°Not unless he can survive with a head the shape of the leavings of a particularly sick cow.¡± Bors grinned, as Arthur and Gawain admonished him for the crass description, but as I looked over at Kay, she wore a smile and seemed truly at ease for the first time in the entire conversation. We didn''t share everything, and at no point did any of us so much as hint at the Lady or my past.

    It was not all our stories. Elaine, with help from Maeve, explained the battle of Fosburg. I was a little unclear as to how they''d managed to drop an entire castle off the bridge until I noticed a curious absence from the explanation. Miss Peaches wasn''t mentioned once, and I wasn¡¯t about to ask why. Still, it sounded like an epic victory, and Ursul, while rumbling about ¡®ungrateful cubs¡¯, seemed very pleased that his message had reached them at the right time.

    Maeve and Tristan also spoke about the hunt for the ¡®Son of Gwendolyn¡¯. I appreciated how they both used the name I''d given Maeve and placed upon my cache of secrets. The Tristan that appeared in Maeve''s story was strikingly different from the man who sat with us. I found it difficult to imagine the bombastic personality applied to the quiet, reserved man who relayed his exploits in academic detail.

    Tristan openly admitted that half his efforts went into following Maeve around, which triggered another burst of that strange blade aura. Her fury was quickly sheathed as Rensliegh admonished her and complimented Tristan on his ¡®logical¡¯ tactics.

    It was a little surprising to know that so much effort had been put into finding me. If nothing else, I hadn''t expected my fake death to be easily seen through. I blamed that one-legged crow. I should''ve been more suspicious of it in hindsight. I wasn''t sure how much they both knew, but Maeve hinted at ¡®interference¡¯ a couple of times, implying some knowledge that the Lady had placed her finger upon the scales of my fate.

    The couple of times that the discussion drew close to stormy subjects, such as exactly why Arthur and company were running wild, the odd similarity between Lance and Arthur, or what our future plans were, Pellinore stepped in to remind everyone that this was a celebration and not the time for speculation. The Artoss head was perhaps the quietest of us all. He seemed aware of the slight hush that fell whenever he asked a question or ventured an opinion.

    The night wore on, and we were very much in our cups. At some point, the Steels and above had left us to our celebrations. We were also herded into a smaller, more homely room with soft furnishings, a roaring fire, and a general lack of expensive things that might get broken.

    Without the table to spread us out, there was some tension between us and the recent additions of Kay, Maeve, and Tristan, but the force of nature that was Tiffany smoothed that out. She brought drinks and shifted around conversations. After a while, I watched Sephy start to follow her, taking notes. Lady Tormens was clearly a master at work, and Sephy wasn''t about to miss out on a chance to learn.

    With Sephy distracted, Maeve hovered near me. We had talked here and there, but it was mostly small talk, such as congratulating each other on reaching Iron rank. I got the sense she worried that I''d evaporate into mist if I got too far away from her. I found myself oddly appreciative of Arthur, who was engaging her on an endless list of topics. They got talking about sword techniques, which summoned Lance, and the trio ended up in an intense discussion.

    I resisted calls to play songs, mostly from Bors who wanted the others to hear his ballad. I was enjoying not being the centre of attention for a while. I caved only when Gaz directed the full force of Tiff upon me, and her earnest interest had my lute in my fingers before I knew what was happening.

    As I played, I noted that Tristan was talking with Kay in the corner. The former Inquisitor looked exhausted and kept glancing around as if she were waiting for all to be revealed as some cruel fae illusion. The younger Artoss had a serious look to him, but whatever he was saying seemed to be helping her. Bors, Gaz, and Lance occasionally swept by to check in on them, which was a kindness to the unfortunate knight. I would have to speak with her tomorrow.

    That was the last clear thought of the night, because then the whiskey arrived.

    From that point on, all was muddy and confused. What might''ve been an hour or five later, I was strumming idly on my lute, sat on one of the sofas, looking out upon the odd collection of faces. The face that I devoted most of my attention to was Sephy, who was curled up on the rest of the sofa, using my lap as a pillow. The exhaustion of keeping her and Arthur alive had finally brought her down. In a brief lull, I stroked her hair and marvelled at our closeness. It was a beautiful moment.

    I half-expected trouble from Arthur, but he stumbled about using Gawain as a human crutch. The prince clearly needed to rest, yet refused to give in. He ineffectually tried to join in as Lance and Maeve used some sticks they''d found somewhere to discuss sword forms. They were the most active.

    Bors had a large pipe of something that smelt distinctly herbal and was happily puffing it. He''d lend it to Tristan and Kay, who sat with him. They''d occasionally disappear and return with more food. How they had any appetite left, I did not know. Gaz and Tiff had disappeared at some point, returning with clothes askew, and now lay on one of the other benches, comfortably lounging over each other.

    I drank a dram of whiskey. It was violently peaty in flavour, so much so it almost set me coughing. Seeing the state of the room, I felt it was time for a bawdy song I''d been taught by a lost traveller some years ago. He''d run off when the other Harkleys took an interest. I never did find out what happened to him. Apparently, of the trio sent out to find him, two had been eaten, and the one other kicked half to death by some fae monstrosity that pursued the mysterious traveller.

    ¡°O, the wizard''s staff has a knob on the end.¡±

 Book 2 Chapter 3 - Dupliciflorous

    The servants of the Artoss family were experts. Shepherding around drunken cultivators was a dangerous business, a stumble here or there could take out a wall. So the fact that I awoke in a particularly fine bed in a guest room I had no recollection of was a significant achievement. What raised them to masters of their art was the large pitcher of water and the still-warm sandwich layered with bacon and lettuce.

    Even for cultivators, dehydration could leave your head pounding, so I greedily gulped down the water. My room was luxurious. A four-poster bed dominated the space, and a brief inspection led to a washroom that included a personal bath, which was still steaming. I sank into it, revelling in the decadence of regular access to hot water. I inspected the soaps with the expertise of an alchemist, and after a sniff and scrub, realised that they alone would likely be worth their weight in gold.

    I was drying myself when a knock came at the door, and I was informed that Pellinore wanted to know if I¡¯d join him for a walk in the gardens.

    After following Robertson for a few minutes, I was surprised when our journey concluded in a clanking room of metal, steam, and roaring flames, with him pointing me through a discreet door. I opened it to a wonder. We were in a vast glass building as big as the main hall, the place choked with plants blooming in riotous colour. The air was muggy and warm. A thousand and one smells assaulted my nose until my senses worked out how to mute the different scents.

    Pellinore was looking at some flowers that were oddly angular, as if made from sharply folded paper, which, even as I watched, shifted from red to purple to blue and back again. The flowers grew from a mass of vines that wound up a vast stone pillar supporting the central spine of the glass ceiling. I distantly remembered hearing of such a flower, maybe I¡¯d seen a faded picture? It was a fuzzy memory, and I couldn¡¯t even recall the name, let alone where I¡¯d learnt of it.

    ¡°How do you like this place?¡± Pellinore said with a smile. He seemed at ease. I noticed that we were alone, with no sign of anyone else about. Even Robertson the butler hadn¡¯t joined us.

    ¡°It¡¯s truly a marvel, Patriarch,¡± I replied a little stiffly. I was still trying to find my way with the enigmatic Artoss. Part of me wanted to believe he was everything he appeared, but it was just so hard to trust someone tainted by the concept of family.

    ¡°Please, I loathe the title. Pellinore, if you must. You know this is my favourite plant in our special gardens,¡± Pellinore called over his shoulder, his tone laconic and relaxed, as if this was but a mere stroll, not a long-sought reunion.

    ¡°I recognise them from somewhere, but I can¡¯t remember where,¡± I offered as I approached and inspected the oddly geometric blooms. I didn¡¯t dare touch them; they had a strong sense of glamour, so who knew what properties they might have.

    ¡°Your mother planted this vine. She spent a lot of time here.¡±

    ¡°She did?¡± I almost reached out, forgetting my earlier caution, my eyes locking onto a flower, only to snap back at the last moment, a frown on my brow.

    ¡°Indeed, her path was always among the witches, no matter what my father wanted. She¡¯d go out questing, and while everyone else returned with the cores of monsters and tales of battle, she¡¯d have a satchel full of dirt and flowers.¡± Pellinore smiled. ¡°This was something she found during her questing. It had no name we could find, so she called it a Dupliciflorous.¡±

    ¡°A two-faced flower.¡± It was a fitting name.

    ¡°Indeed. A fool might think it was because of the colour changing, but anyone¡ªany Artoss¡ªwould spot the truth that hides beneath that.¡± He chuckled.

    ¡°Is this a test?¡± I felt my hackles rise. This was closer to what I thought should be happening. That he¡¯d called me out here to see if I was worthy of the Artoss name, no matter if I wanted it or not.

    ¡°It would be if I didn¡¯t know you¡¯d already worked it out. I didn¡¯t call you out here to make you prove yourself, especially not at what I¡¯ve long treated as the memorial to your mother.¡± There was a hint of reproach, a sense of hurt in his voice. I bit my spiteful tongue and tried to think of him as someone like Miss Peaches.

    Powerful beyond measure but not unthinkingly cruel.

    ¡°These aren¡¯t flowers. Each petal is some kind of illusion over some kind of thorn.¡± I could sense the glamour, light and dream working together to create the petals.

    Dupliciflorous, the two-faced flower that¡¯s not a flower at all,¡± Pellinore sighed and flicked a wave of glamour over the vine, disrupting the illusions. Each petal was a fan of hair-thin spines with hooked tips, and trapped in them was a litter of small bugs. ¡°A greater lie, hidden behind an obvious deception. That¡¯s the Artoss way. A way we lost under my father. We lost so much under his rule, and among the greatest treasures lost was your mother.¡± Pellinore sighed and stepped back, revealing a small plaque: ¡®Dupliciflorous, added to the collection and named by Gwendolyn Artoss.¡¯

    I was there a long while, until the tears cleared and the sharp pain in my throat passed. I looked over to him, and we began to walk down an avenue between the plots, each planter filled with ingredients that rivalled natural treasures for rarity.

    ¡°Do you have questions for me?¡± Pellinore asked. Of course I did, a thousand and one questions, many burning with resentment. Why did it take so long for him to fight back? Why was my mother sold off? The encounter with the vine, though, had filled me with fresh questions. What could he tell me of my mother? What was she like before she was sent to Albion?

    My head was stuffed with a cacophony of warring emotions, not helped by the distrust and fear of family, and that tension that came from speaking to someone so much more powerful than me. Was this all a trick? Was the Dupliciflorous a hint? Was this a test? I racked my brains, wondering what I knew of Pellinore Artoss, really. The only source I could consider truth was the little my mother had told me.

    ¡°I have a question.¡± I called up one of the only stories I really knew. ¡°Did you really win a horse race disguised as a horse?¡±

    Pellinore froze, and for a moment the look of sombre serenity on his face vanished, replaced with a hollow-eyed, fragile look of profound loss. It was so potent it echoed in his glamour. As with Maeve yesterday, his aura shifted, and there was a crushing sense of weight, as if I were supporting the whole world upon my back. It lasted a fraction of a second, but it was enough to make me stumble, my body fighting the imaginary weight.

    A hand caught me. Pellinore helped me back up. ¡°I¡¯m very sorry. You caught me off guard. I¡¯d forgotten I¡¯d told her that little secret, so that was a shock. Are you alright? My aura slipped.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d rather avoid it, but I¡¯m tougher than most.¡±

    ¡°That is not in doubt. As to your question, I did, in fact, compete disguised as a horse. However, I only ever told two¡­ three people, and the only other person who knew was my brother. As he was the front of the horse he was acutely aware of my involvement. It was a secret that I¡¯d served as the back legs. Those who knew are all¡­ gone. Have been for some time, so it¡¯s a story I¡¯ve not had a chance to speak about in a long time.¡± The warring emotions on his face cleared, and the smile returned. ¡°I¡¯m pleased it¡¯s not forgotten.¡±This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    We walked quietly for a moment or two more as I digested what that meant. I knew little of the internal workings of the Artoss house, but it was clear to me that a great upheaval had occurred.

    ¡°What was the goal? Why did your fath¡­ the previous patriarch do all this?¡± I changed how I framed it. I hated being associated even casually with the Harkleys. I doubted Pellinore enjoyed having his heritage rubbed in his face.

    ¡°The Artoss have always been one of the houses closest to the Fae. You likely don¡¯t know, but the houses elect diplomats to visit their courts, and for millennia, the Artoss have been part of those delegations.¡± Pellinore paused and opened a door into another glass room. This one was dry and as hot as an oven. The planters were no longer earth but lined with sand. The plants were spiky and bulbous. ¡°Pellam Artoss just didn¡¯t have the spark. He was powerful, strong, and blunt. The Fae didn¡¯t favour him; the summer court once even expelled him. They didn¡¯t see him as an Artoss. He was ¡®a goose among swans,¡¯ as the Summer Queen once put it.¡±

    ¡°A sensible man would¡¯ve gone off and formed an Order or something. But no, Pellam tried to reform Artoss, cast aside what we once were, and make us anew. He vandalised our identity, pushed away those, like your mother, who exemplified what it was to be Artoss, and sent any who resisted out on impossible quests, giving them ignoble exile or honourable death.¡±

    ¡°You¡­ this was allowed to happen?¡±

    ¡°Each house of renown can

    only have one Mithril. This is an ancient agreement. There are other Mithrils out there who are from our line, but they can¡¯t just show up and strike his head from his shoulders, especially not with the Divine Cultivators waiting for a chance to strike. The only way to get rid of him was for another family to go to war with us and slay him, for him to step down, or for another of our Steels to rise to Mithril and demand control of the house.¡±

    ¡°My father was head of our family for less than a century. My rise to power was meteoric. I was determined and hid my ambitions, my growing power, and the favour the Fae lavished upon me. Pellam never stood a chance. A century at Mithril is no time at all to build your power. The aid promised by the Divine Cultivators he spent so much time courting evaporated like morning dew. Know that if I could¡¯ve done it sooner, I would¡¯ve.¡± Pellinore paused, looking at an odd plant that looked like it was made up of repeating blobs of plant matter, each one a different shade and holding different types of glamour. Succulents, I remembered the plant family being called.

    All Pellinore¡¯s words had been true. Maybe a Mithril could hide from the Fae senses, but it didn¡¯t seem right. I felt like I was seeing the real person here. Maybe I was foolish or naive to think such things, to trust him on nothing more than a strange sense and gut instinct, but I did.

    ¡°Gwendolyn¡­ Mum didn¡¯t speak of many of the Artoss fondly. But she did mention you and your stories, though.¡±

    ¡°In that, I am pleased, and I¡¯m pleased to meet you. It¡¯s strange¡ªI¡¯ve had images made of you before, and you had parts of her there, but this version of you leaves no doubt that you are her son. I must confess a great shame of mine, that I doubted your heritage. Part of why I didn¡¯t march over there and grab you as soon as I came to power. I blame my lack of creativity, a lack of faith in your mother, and a lack of faith in you. From the outside, you must know it seemed the weakest lie¡ªyou disappearing for years, only to return acting as a subservient little bootlicker! I was irate, and like a dullard, I sought out the aid of the Fae. I wanted to know if you were the real son of Gwendolyn Artoss and Regus Harkley.¡±

    ¡°You never imagined she had them all fooled! So when they told you I wasn¡¯t¡­¡± Things started to fall into place. I looked back at the man. The looming presence, among the most powerful in the realm, was embarrassed. He wasn¡¯t just trying to make amends for his father¡¯s failure with my mother, but for the way he¡¯d failed me.

    ¡°I abandoned you as lost. Even if you¡¯d had that hateful heritage, I¡¯d have come for you. A reminder¡ªdespite our favour, never trust the Fae with your emotions. They speak the truth, but they revel in hiding lies within it, and there is little they enjoy more than seeing us weep.¡± Pellinore took a deep breath and led me through to another room, this one so wet that droplets began to form on my hair the second I stepped in. We were following a wide loop around the central glass building in which my mother¡¯s vine resided.

    ¡°So imagine my surprise. I¡¯m summoned by Morgan to talk about my fake descendant slain at a fake wedding. I think Morgan Chox¡ªsorry, most call her the Raven or Mother Chox. Make sure you don¡¯t call her that yourself.¡±

    ¡°I think I¡¯ll manage,¡± I muttered, trying to purge the memory. To distract myself, I examined an odd plant behind a metal fence, jumping back as it lunged at me.

    ¡°Yeah, stay away from that. I don¡¯t know its name, but it¡¯s always hungry. There¡¯s something uniquely unsettling about a plant with teeth.¡± He glared at the thing, which shrank back from the railings of its enclosure. ¡°Now, where were we? That¡¯s it¡ªI¡¯m called over by her and told this exquisite story, a man who hid himself as a delicate, injured parfumier, all the while finding the perfect place to sink a dagger. Imagine my shock when they reveal not only your deception but Gwendolyn¡¯s. And to top it off, you¡¯re still alive! Somehow beyond the bloodcurse!¡±

    ¡°Imagine how I felt.¡± That got a dark laugh out of Pellinore. We exited the steam room and now headed back to the vine-coated pillar.

    Pellinore paused as we entered the avenue that led back to the Dupliciflorous, his face taking on a stern look as he radiated strength. As he began to speak, I could feel his words held power. This wasn¡¯t mere speech but a decree. ¡°Taliesin, son of Gwendolyn, I wish to know more of you. I want to support you and see what you will grow into. Know this, whether you wish to bear the name Artoss or not, you have my protection. I dare not insult you by saying you¡¯ve earned the name, not when you are the embodiment of it.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, it is more praise than I know what to do with.¡± I felt itchy. Had I ever been praised in such grand terms? Not since my mother. I felt equal parts flattered, unworthy, and livid. To know that people recognised my labours and respected that hardship was unexpectedly heartening. Yet the angry part of me seethed; how dare he speak as if he knew me, act as if his words mattered? It was akin to asking for forgiveness. If I carried that name¡­

    ¡°I don¡¯t expect an answer now. Please, rest with your friends, consolidate your power, and decide where your path might take you. I would like it if we could keep talking, even if it is on less personal topics. There¡¯s plenty of practical training you¡¯ve missed out on.¡± I bit my tongue before I said something I¡¯d regret. We came back to the pillar, and I looked over to find Pellinore staring at the colour-changing vines. His easy look was gone, his face a mask like the one I¡¯d so often worn, hiding emotions beneath it.

    I didn¡¯t know what I wanted. The idea of family hurt. My body reacted to the very concept like poison. The images it conjured were so overwhelmingly negative that I couldn¡¯t stomach it. Looking at the vines, though, made me wish my mother was here. I longed to hear one of the little songs she¡¯d sing, or feel her pop over my shoulder as I struggled with alchemy. I could easily imagine her pointing at this beautiful plant and telling me everything about it.

    She should be here.

    From the ashes shall rise beautiful chaos.

    The intent twanged in my mind, the power rippling through me and shaking loose my memories. It stamped down the parts of me that were angry, that lusted for revenge. It cut through the urge to pull apart every little detail of the story, to rake him over the coals for failings he had no hand in and had fought hard to stop.

    This place was beautiful and chaotic. That it was a place I could tell my mother loved only made it resonate with me more. I shed the hate and anger. It didn¡¯t matter what I thought or how I felt about the Artoss, she deserved to be here. From somewhere far away, I found my voice. I tried to speak, but nothing came out, my throat full of nothing and yet blocked by grief. I looked at the vines again, and finally, words came.

    ¡°She has a grave, you know? After we escaped, we lived among the mortals. She was practising alchemy to pay the bills, hiding her power. She didn¡¯t ask for it, but I couldn¡¯t¡ªI wouldn¡¯t let her go to the pits. It cost me a good portion of our savings to ensure she got her own plot. I haven¡¯t visited it. I didn¡¯t want them to know, or they¡¯d have dug her up and taken her.¡± I took a deep breath before I could finish. ¡°If I tell you where it is, could she be buried here?¡±

    ¡°I would like nothing more.¡± His voice was small, made all the smaller from the titan of a man from whence it came. I didn¡¯t look at him, and he didn¡¯t look at me. We just watched the colours change. In this strange oasis of calm, I felt a connection to the man beside me. His story was a different telling of my own¡ªstuck beneath someone he despised. Only he¡¯d been Steel and still had to hide, to sneak, to pretend not to be lining up the blade for his father¡¯s heart. I wondered what sacrifices he¡¯d made, what choices he regretted, and what manner of nightmares woke him up. I didn¡¯t know how I felt about all of this family stuff, but I knew from that moment I had nothing but respect for Pellinore.

    ¡°I cannot speak on being an Artoss, nor do I yet know if I can call you uncle, but if you don¡¯t mind, during our future talks, I could call you Pel.¡±

    ¡°That is more than I deserve,¡± Pel answered in that same quiet voice.

 Book 2 Chapter 4 - What comes next

    Pel had regretfully sent me on my way, lamenting that he had business to handle. Not something I minded. I was emotionally exhausted and needed to process everything. Before we parted ways, he did let me know that, while I didn''t have to speak to Maeve, doing so before her grandmother took too much of an interest was the smarter option.

    I tried to think about what to do as I walked. The Artoss estate was vast. It took a good twenty minutes to walk over to the building our group was being housed in. I left behind the palatial grandeur of the main building and was directed to the lesser majesty of a refined manor house hidden among low hills and trees.

    The building, an older structure, was made of heavy grey stone and had a sort of no-nonsense look to it, halfway between a hunting lodge and a guardhouse. It would''ve been quite ugly if not for the ivy that grew over it. With spring in full force and us no longer in the mountains, the leaves were lush and gave the building a feel like it had been raised directly from the earth itself.

    As I neared, I could hear the sounds of clashing steel and cheering. Following another servant, who''d taken over from Robertson when I''d left the main house, I was directed to another structure out the back. Cut into a small hill with earthen stands and contained by powerful runes, it was an arena. The fighting space, carefully controlled and supported by powers which would help ensure combatants weren''t slain, protected the spectators, and would help heal the earthen floor after the battle was completed.

    I was not surprised to find them sparring, but the participants did give me pause.

    Kay and Tristan were dancing around each other. Tendrils of vines spread out around them. The ground was a mess of tangled roots. The two nature-gifted used training blades to batter at each other, all the while trying to cancel out each other''s advantage by shifting roots or using the questing vines to try and trip their opponent. I saw Sephy and walked round beside her, leaning against the fence that marked the edge of the runic protections that kept the spectators safe.

    "Fascinating, isn''t it?" Sephy grinned, welcoming me but not taking her eyes off the fight. She seemed well and looked fuller in the face than she had when we''d first reunited in the fae realm. The wonder of a good night''s sleep and a lot of food. I joined her in watching the fight, trying to think like a Knight.

    It wasn''t the same as the fight between Astor and Sephy, as neither seemed able to claim any root or vine permanently. Instead, it was a constant battle of setting and evading traps. The roots in particular moved sluggishly, and a couple of times I saw one of the fighters stumble over a root that hadn''t quite moved out of the way fast enough.

    Tristan was better at setting traps, and any time his traps staggered Kay, he closed the distance, using a pair of knives to slash out at the other Knight, aiming for the joints in her armour. His style reminded me more of witches than of knights, and given what Pel had mentioned, I supposed that he could very well follow the witches'' path.

    The attacks might''ve surprised a lesser Knight, but Kay was no pushover. Her style was defined by her cultivation. Her left arm was wrapped in bark, and she used it as part shield, part mace. It also formed an anchor for her vines, all of which struck out like snakes, helping to foil the faster knives.

    The fight looked to be moving in Kay''s favour. Tristan made an error and got a knife knocked from his hand. Forced back, his attempts to rush and retrieve his dagger were foiled. Tristan was about to be forced from the arena.

    The group went wild. Everyone was here cheering and hollering. The only faces missing were Tiffany and Ursul. Elaine and Rensliegh were watching, though they were more reserved. Especially Rensliegh, who stood on the referee''s dais.

    "Oh, that smart bastard. This is going to be good." Bors was grinning. Following his gaze led me to an otherwise unremarkable patch of ground between the two fighters.

    Kay charged, and then, to most of our group''s surprise, she disappeared as a layer of earth crumbled into dust before her. As she fell, Tristan exploded in a burst of levity. His technique was intriguing. It felt like a bow firing, stored power flinging him across the battlefield.

    Kay, following the natural human desire to not fall into dark, unknown pits, threw out her arms to catch herself. Her armpit, and the weak armour within, were exposed. Tristan''s knife smacked into it.

    "Lethal injury. Fight goes to Tristan," Rensliegh called out.

    "What? That was cheating! The battle was limited to nature gifts only!" Arthur called out. Rensliegh turned her steely gaze upon him, and the man quietened.

    The governess looked about to explain but then pointed to Bors. "Explain. I know you noticed it."

    "It wasn''t earth gift, or anything. Tristan spent half the fight using the roots to make that pit."

    "Well, it was..." Arthur paused, stopping himself before he said any more. He clearly thought there was more to complain about, but he kept it to himself, which was progress. That, or he didn''t want to be told off by his crush''s teacher. His sourness was also ignored by the two fighters, who were grinning at each other.

    "A good fight. You''re better with roots than most Knights of the Verdant Grove." Kay clapped her hand round Tristan''s and shook it. "Great trap."

    "It''d barely have stopped you for a few moments. That technique is interesting. I''d love to receive some instruction." Tristan''s voice was delicate, and for a moment, almost flirty. I knew little of him other than some half-remembered unsavoury rumours.

    "So, this is a secret of the Grove, but considering they sold me out, I''d be happy to share." It was good to see Kay looking better, even if I could hear the twist in her tone as she mentioned her former order.

    "Oi, the bard''s here. We''ll have to build him onto the board." Bors grabbed everyone''s attention, and I looked over to find a long list of suggested fights. I needed to hobble that idea before it could get beyond a trot.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    "I''ve literally just made Iron and startled myself with how fluffy a towel was this morning. I''m not getting into that arena till I''ve thoroughly tested my limits. I could so some light sparring perhaps, but how could a simple bard compete against such forces as yourselves?"

    "If you''re a simple bard, then I''m the Kraken itself," Gaz called out.

    "Besides, you could do with staying in shape. An accomplice to murder still benefits from knowing how to stab people," Sephy said. She was looking stern, but that was a mere mask.

    A mask I quickly shattered as I teased a smile from her by rocking back, miming a mortal wound. "What dark insults do you heap upon my bardic honour?"

    ¡°Taliesin has the right of it. I suspect all of you have seen some form of progression in the last few weeks. In these fights, be wary of pushing to the edge. You might find your limits are not what they once were. Take a few minutes. It''ll take some time for the runes to reset this arena to its original state. The next fight will be Lancelot and Arthur, blades only, in the courtyard.¡± Rensliegh then walked back to sit with Elaine at a small table with an array of sweets.

    ¡°How was your meeting?¡± Sephy asked me as the group settled back down.

    ¡°It went¡ªalright. I was shown something my mother planted.¡± I heard my voice quiver as I spoke. The emotions bubbling up.

    ¡°You doing okay?¡± She nudged up against me.

    ¡°Difficult to say. Can I get back to you on that?¡±

    ¡°I''m not going anywhere.¡± Sephy grinned, and it was like the sun cutting through on a stormy day. I felt centred. I could still feel the pressure and twisting winds of, well, everything from the last couple of months¡ªthe last few years if I was honest¡ªswirling around me. Yet I wasn''t lost, and as Bors yelled something and I heard Lance and Gaz shout back, I could feel more pieces falling into place. More people I was connected with, more friends whose strength I could draw on as I worked out what came next.

    Glancing around, there was one burr that snagged my attention on this otherwise perfectly polished moment. Maeve wasn''t watching me, but I could feel her awareness on me. It felt like a blade rattling in its sheath. She was tempering her desire to slip back into my shadow, but I could practically feel her straining to hold herself back.

    Sephy followed my gaze and chuckled. ¡°Looking at other women when I''m right here?¡±

    ¡°What? No! I¡­¡± I spluttered, before catching the look in her eye. I calmed down as her grin grew wider. ¡°What do I do about her? About her grandmother?¡±

    ¡°You need to take full stock of the challenge before you. No point guessing at what she or her Mithril backer wants. Ask her directly. They might just want to say, ¡®thank you, here¡¯s some Cultivation resources.¡¯ If it¡¯s more complicated, we can talk about it then. I doubt your Patriarch will be very tolerant of another Mithril trying to yank you away, though.¡±

    ¡°Is it bad I kind of want to make her wait? I don¡¯t really appreciate being strong-armed into this, especially after I saved her life.¡±

    ¡°You need to tell me more about that. Look, she''s being pushed around by a Mithril just as much as you are. Besides, it¡¯d be cruel to make her wait. She''s trying so hard not to butt in.¡± Sephy waved as Maeve looked over at us, checking if I was free. She flinched as she was caught and hurriedly turned back to her conversation.

    ¡°I suppose it is poor repayment for keeping Arthur distracted.¡± I groaned.

    Sephy got a calculating look. ¡°I hadn''t thought of it from that angle. You should go now and set up a time to talk to her later. With a talk secured, I bet she''ll keep her distance. If she''s at a distance, Arty will follow. Then we can catch up properly.¡±

    ¡°You know, that kind of thinking is why you¡¯re special.¡± I headed over towards their group. Gawain, Lance, Arthur, and Maeve had a collection of different blades out and were debating the various benefits of each.

    ¡°I prefer anything with a hand-and-a-half grip. It¡¯s the best of both worlds. Besides, with armour techniques being what they are, you need that power,¡± Arthur argued as he moved through some sword forms with an effortless grace. Even in those scant few moments, I could see the quality of his technique. I really had no opportunity to see the Prince in action, but even that teaser was enough to know what I gleaned from Bors wasn¡¯t overstated.

    ¡°A good falchion, with a decent curve, has a lot of cutting power though. Sure, you sacrifice some reach, but if you enforce the blade enough, it can even threaten armour.¡± Maeve was interesting to watch. Anytime she touched a blade, it seemed a natural extension of her. She picked up a heavy, slightly curved blade with a single cutting edge, and it danced at the ends of her fingers.

    Lance was painfully ordinary between the two Knights. The sooner she got to Iron and cemented her strength, the better. I doubted she was much worse than either when it came to technical skill, but she lacked that spark that I could sense now I was Iron. I think she could sense it herself, so was louder, demanding their attention, fighting to not be drowned out by the glamour. ¡°Not all of us have blade glamour to make our strikes carve through!¡±

    ¡°I prefer a lighter blade myself. Much better if you want to run away! How are you all?¡± There were nods and greetings. To my surprise, Arthur kept his tongue in check and gave me a very neutral nod of acknowledgement.

    ¡°Impatient to get to Iron! I''m practically there, especially with the treasures,¡± Lance grumbled.

    ¡°Treasures? What treasures?¡± I raised an eyebrow.

    ¡°Oh right, you weren¡¯t here this morning. Robertson told us that, while we were dining, Mercury retrieved everything the god-botherers had stockpiled on the other side. Apparently, Pellinore told him to collect but otherwise ¡®have fun.¡¯¡± We all shuddered. I didn¡¯t want to imagine what happened to those few members of their forces who remained.

    ¡°We¡¯ve all got a share of different treasures to pick from. You also have a room in the manor where you''ll find them. We were told this whole manor is ours to use until we decide to move on,¡± Gawain added.

    ¡°That¡¯s generous.¡±

    A flicker of glamour, a cultivators equivalent of a whistle for attention silenced us, and the other conversations.

    ¡°Lance, Arthur, come with me. Let¡¯s get you armed. Everyone else, join us in the training yard in five minutes.¡± Rensliegh called out, standing from her table and heading towards the manor proper. Our group broke up. I only noticed as the others hurried off how the Governess had masterfully given Maeve and me an excuse to be alone. I¡¯d respect her for providing learning opportunities to her student, if the last one hadn¡¯t been sending Maeve to hunt me down after I threw myself out a window.

    Maeve didn¡¯t immediately jump down my throat, but I could all but hear the rattle in her aura as she restrained her desire to strike out at the opportunity. She twitched, and I could almost hear her brain cooking up the perfect way to open up a conversation. A little impatient, I decided to help her out. ¡°I don¡¯t know where anything is. Where¡¯s the training yard?¡±

    ¡°We can walk there together.¡± She offered, her shoulders relaxing the tiniest amount, her aura calming. We began to walk.

    ¡°So, I understand you wish to speak with me.¡±

    ¡°I would like to speak with you, but my grandmother is the one who ¡®requests your presence¡¯.¡± Maeve said, a hint of disapproval creeping in as she mentioned her grandmother. I was surprised to hear the dissent. It must¡¯ve shown on my face, as she continued. ¡°We both wish to thank you and reward you. She just forgets she¡¯s a Mithril, and they are very good at making a gift into a burden.¡±

    Nodding, I mulled it over. She wasn¡¯t lying, but then again, how much did I trust her assessment of a Mithril¡¯s motives?

    ¡°I sense this is a delicate topic. Not the kind of thing that we¡¯re going to get through in this short walk. Would you mind if we spoke privately tomorrow, after dinner perhaps?¡± I grimaced as I started to list the many things I¡¯d been putting off. ¡°I¡¯ve got a few other pressing concerns to get through today.¡±

    ¡°I would appreciate that.¡± She sagged for a moment, the blade finally silent and still. I found myself remembering the last time we¡¯d been alone as she asked, ¡°Where would you like to meet?¡±

    ¡°Somewhere with plenty of windows,¡± I replied, and to my great surprise, she laughed. Maybe Maeve wasn¡¯t so bad?

 Book 2 Chapter 5 - Competition and challenges

    We arrived at the training courtyard, which sat at the back of the manor we''d been lent. Unlike the arena, this place wasn''t equipped to handle the use of glamour, instead being more a place to practise drills. The floor was simple hard-packed earth painted with lines to help train footwork, while the walls were sturdy stone, scratched here and there from mistakes. The edge of the space, lined with wooden training dummies and other equipment, reminded me of Harkley training grounds.

    I wasn''t a fan.

    It wasn''t that I didn''t like fighting and the training that came with it, but the ¡®thrill of battle¡¯ that so many songs lauded, and Knights seemed to endlessly witter on about, was lost on me. I couldn''t avoid fighting, so I learned how to, but if for the rest of my days I never had to pick up a sword, I''d be a happy man. That didn''t mean I couldn''t appreciate a good fight when I saw one, even if most of the tournaments I''d been dragged to had few matches worth watching.

    We filed in and spread out. I idly wondered how well Maeve fought. Like Sephy, I''d never got to see much of her in tournaments. Checking the roster of fights, I saw that her fight had been scheduled for before I arrived. I was somewhat glad I wasn''t around to watch it. There was definitely a tension between the two women, and I had no illusion as to the cause of it.

    Now I''d spoken to her, Maeve was happy to leave me be, and Sephy moved in right beside me. She leant in and whispered into my ear, close enough that her lips brushed me, sending a shiver down my spine. ¡°We''ve got some time after this before I''m needed for a fight. Let''s catch up.¡±

    I nodded eagerly and tried to hide the blush creeping up from within. Instead, I focused on the fight. My mind started to wander, to think about things not suited to the training yard. They involved muscles, yes, but it definitely wasn''t fighting.

    My lecherous diversion was curtailed as Lance and Arthur''s fight began. No matter the allure of Sephy, the rare spectacle they offered us demanded my full attention.

    Arthur was limiting himself down to Bronze. Neither was using their glamour. With two identical blunted training swords, both fighters preferring a longsword that could be used one or two-handed, they began their exchange. I''d heard swordplay referred to as dancing. What dancing I''d seen had left me with the sense that whoever had coined the metaphor was both tone-deaf and without rhythm. Watching the closely matched pair fight, I finally understood.

    It was mesmerising.

    The exchanges were short, hurried beats, after which they''d separate. A pause, and then, with a hiss of steel slicing air, the melody would return as they battled again, blades ringing off each other. I was vaguely aware that points were being scored, of the cries of the others, but I found myself lost in the sound of those blades.

    When Rensliegh ended the fight, declaring Arthur the winner, I almost wanted to call out to demand it go on. Then I caught a look at Lance. Her face was utterly devoid of emotion. Drained and tired, yes, but otherwise utterly locked down. In a match that was first to ten points, she''d scored two.

    ¡°I think I need to go chat with her,¡± I said, hoping that Sephy would disagree, but ever perceptive, she recognised a wound that could scar.

    ¡°Those blonde idiots. This was always going to end with them upset. Arthur has that effect on some. Do tell her she''s done better than anyone else who has fought Arthur. I''ve never known him to let more than one point slip through before to someone at his level or below. We''ll have to catch up later. I imagine his pride is wounded too.¡± She offered me a smile and then waved me towards Lance.

    Having friends was more challenging than expected.

    In the corner, I found Lance, being fussed over by Elaine and Gaz. Getting close, I found that Gaz had erected a sound bubble around us, keeping our chat private. The Squire was always quietly considerate of such things. Getting close, a pair of sullen eyes landed on me. Rather than a welcome, she all but growled at me. ¡°If you say anything like, ¡®you did your best,¡¯ I''m going to stab you.¡±

    ¡°I was going to let you know that you did better than any other fighter, according to Sephy.¡± Then I relayed what she''d told me about Arthur''s record. Lance''s hands clenched and then unclenched. She took a deep breath.

    ¡°So what you''re saying is that I''m at least firmly in second place.¡±

    ¡°You shouldn''t look at it like that,¡± Gaz piped up, only for Lance to cut him off.

    ¡°That''s the truth though! I lost at fucking sword fighting. That''s my thing! How would you like it if you lost at¡­ sound stuff.¡±

    ¡°I''d recognise I was fighting someone who had years of experience and was a whole rank above me at sound stuff,¡± Gaz replied flatly, not rising to the obvious bait.

    ¡°Lancelot, look over at Arthur. Does he look like someone who won?¡± I pointed to the other side of the courtyard where Arthur was already starting a series of sword forms, his gaze focused and mouth thin.

    ¡°It doesn''t matter. He''s far beyond me! Look, you''re fair swordsmen, but none of you have the skill to know just how far ahead of me he is¡ªit''s galling.¡± Lance tried to stride off, but Elaine barred her way.

    ¡°Lancelot Fos, this is unbecoming of you. You know your father and I got you the best trainers we could. We gave our best resources to help you. We travelled to every tournament we could reach.¡±

    ¡°And I¡¯m grateful, but¡ª¡± her voice began to rise, but Elaine spoke again.

    ¡°You''re not thinking. We, the minor nobility of Fosburg, gave our best. What did the family of the Prince of Albion do? What masters did he have access to? What resources did he gain? How many tournaments did he take part in?¡± Elaine''s voice was firm, still motherly and caring, but with the hard edge that demanded you listen.

    ¡°But¡­¡±

    ¡°But nothing! I''m not going to see you spit in the face of your hard work. It is not your fault your skill outgrew your challengers, that you devoured all your teachers had to give. It will be your fault though if you let your pride rob you of this opportunity to grow.¡± Elaine stepped back. Lance was silent before she drew herself up to her full height. She nodded to us and started to walk away.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    ¡°I need to think. I''m going to go see Gring.¡± Her voice still had a lingering sense of anger, hurt, and frustration to it, but she clearly was feeling better. We let her head out and only spoke when the door shut behind her.

    ¡°Thank you both. I knew this would happen one day, but I doubt the nature of her opponent is helping her.¡± Elaine bowed her head gently to us both.

    ¡°Taliesin, I must also apologise. I have yet to thank you for your aid with keeping my daughter safe, and the great debt Fosburg has to you for helping free Ursul.¡± She pulled a face. ¡°I''m also sorry for interfering and allowing Maeve to sit beside you during the dinner. Her Governess said it would be for the better to not let the young Lady Chox get too wound up. I hope you can forgive me.¡±

    It had seemed like a betrayal at the time. Now, though, I had a better understanding of Maeve. ¡°I understand, Elaine. Having spoken to Maeve, I do think it was the best idea. I doubt we would''ve made it through the dinner without an incident otherwise.¡±

    ¡°Thank you for understanding. Now I must beg your pardon. I need to go check on her. Hopefully, her anger will have burnt itself out.¡±

    ¡°That was rough. I knew she wouldn¡¯t take it well,¡± Gaz sighed, and then let the bubble of silence fall. I could hear Rensliegh calling out the next fight. Maeve versus Gawain. I could see Gawain looking to grab more armour. Even when sparring, blade glamour had to be treated with the utmost care, especially with a double-gifted like Maeve. Gaz and I began to walk back toward the arena.

    ¡°You doing alright, Gaz? Tiff not about?¡± I asked. I had vague memories of his fianc¨¦e telling me why she was here, but by that point I¡¯d started on the song about hedgehogs¡ªwhich never got sung until everyone was very drunk¡ªso my memory was blurry.

    ¡°No, she''s here by chance for diplomatic reasons. She''s spending the day in negotiations, can''t skip them.¡± He sighed and looked over to the main building, which we could see peeking over the trees. ¡°I would go see her, but her mother is far from my biggest fan and is part of the same delegation.¡±

    ¡°What''s not to like?¡± I laughed, clapping him on the back.

    ¡°It¡¯s not personal, mostly. Politically, we''re not giving her what she wants. Her husband wants the connection because his family do a lot of sea trade. Her family doesn''t get the same benefits. She''s been angling to break it off. On a personal level, I think she sees me as a goose lusting after a swan.¡± He grinned. ¡°I kind of wish I had a chance to see her face when she found out I was here and realised there¡¯s no chance of things getting cancelled now.¡±

    ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡± I was good at people, not politics.

    ¡°No longer am I some random squire with some acceptable family relations. Now I¡¯m Gareth of Orkney, honoured guest of Pellinore Artoss, travelling with a Prince of Albion, the Chox scion, and hailed as a hero for helping uncover the plot in Fosburg.¡± He bowed, and I laughed. I forgot that it wasn''t just my fortunes that had swiftly changed.

    We met the others out at the arena, and Sephy smiled at me. From what I could hear, it sounded like she¡¯d soon be wrapping up speaking with Arthur, who still looked glum but a bit less intense than before. I just needed to finish my chat with Gaz.

    Unfortunately, just as that thought crossed my mind, I made a tactical error. ¡°I didn¡¯t know your marriage was arranged. From all the romance talk and the way you behaved, I figured it was a love match.¡±

    Gaz went on to gush about his relationship with Tiffany. Like a burst dam, there was no way to get him to stop. Any and all control I had over the conversation was swept away. I tried to navigate my way clear, extract myself, and talk to Sephy, but I was pulled back by the swirling vortex that was Gaz''s passion for his wife-to-be.

    I learned a lot over the next half an hour. They''d been promised to each other for five years, starting from when they were practically children. I was told about their initial distrust, how that¡¯d waned through cute misunderstandings and moments of bittersweet kindness, and how that had blossomed into their dedication and love for each other. I was only set free when Gaz was called up for a match.

    When the waters receded and I could move freely again, weighed down only by two truths that had seeped in during our chat. First, I craved the kind of love Gaz and Tiff had¡ªall-consuming and unapologetic. Second, if I ever found it, I¡¯d keep my mouth shut.

    Knowing your friend loved and was loved is heartwarming. Seeing the evidence paraded before you? Less so.

    The day was wearing on, and I didn''t have much time after that to speak with Sephy. She had a couple of fights up soon. She nudged me to do as I said earlier and explore my limits. I paced around beside the forest that backed onto the arena, moving to one side as Lance and Gring swept in over the treetops so they had space to land. She looked better and gave me a nod, which I returned. Gring demanded attention, so I gave him a rub behind the ears. Elaine joined us, the pegasus nickering happily as he was lavished with attention.

    More relaxed, I did a few exercises between the woods and the arena and tried to think of the best way to do it. I didn¡¯t want to fight, but I did need to give my body a full rundown. Beyond my physical skills, I wanted to understand how things like my Levity technique might¡¯ve changed, and how my control over my smoke gift had shifted.

    Testing my death glamour could wait. Given how, if not for my cloak, I¡¯d have likely killed myself with it in the Fae Realm, I wasn''t in a rush.

    My exercises were giving me a sense of my new physical capabilities. My Levity was much stronger. Each movement felt fluid, like smoke curling through cracks, no longer tethered to imitation. I leapt, twisted, and landed lightly, marvelling at the effortless precision in my limbs. Still, something was missing. That connection to my Intent wasn¡¯t firing. I needed more. I needed help. Yells drew my attention to the group.

    I looked over to find the arena in shambles once again. Bors had been fighting Gawain, and there wasn''t a single inch left untouched by their fight. From the look of it, Bors had come out victorious, but the true loser was the arena. It was wrecked, far more than in the fight between Kay and Tristan. It¡¯d take some time for the runic formations to reset it to normal.

    The ruined arena was chaos, but it wasn¡¯t beauty. The forest though? It was alive with new growth. A wood, kept clear for recreational hunting and training trackers and other essential skills. A mortal might find a threat, but for a cultivator it was little more than a bit of scenery. A different type of terrain.

    A bit of beautiful chaos for us to enjoy. I smiled, an idea coming to me.

    ¡°Hey, I have a challenge for you all.¡± The group turned to look at me, my voice ringing out as I empowered it with a touch of glamour. I pulled up my lute and gently strummed out a note.

    ¡°The rules are simple. First, no weapons for anyone. This isn¡¯t a combat exercise. Second, all the Irons are limited to raw power, no glamour. Rensliegh, Elaine, I beg your help in keeping an eye on us all.¡± I saw the nine knights staring at me, confusion evident. ¡°Game is a classic¡ªcatch me if you can!¡±

    I kicked back away from the group. The burst of Levity left a trail of smoke in my wake as I disappeared into the forest. I shouted a final piece of motivation. ¡°First one to catch me gets a song written about them.¡±

    ¡°Get him!¡± Bors roared and charged forward. The rest of them unfroze and rushed after me. The amassed knights moved as one, rushing towards me as I fled into the forest. The sensible thing to do would be to get ahead and hide. But I was a bard. I called up a favourite song, and as I wrapped myself in smoke, dodging Gaz, who¡¯d hurled himself at me with a Levity technique that left a thunderous echo behind him, I began to sing.

    ¡°Oh, hark to the tale of sly Reynard the fox,

    Knave of the woods, bane of the hounds.

    With a leap and a bound and a wag of his tail,

    He led them astray on a most foolish trail!¡±

    ¡°Run, little doggies, your noses are blind,

    Eyes to the ground, tails in the air.

    Through briar and brambles and muck you will crawl,

    As Reynard sits comfy, devouring your master¡¯s fare!¡±

 Book 2 Chapter 6 - A bit peckish

    From the censer, heavy smoke billowed rolled out filling the small stone room with its grey walls and heavy door. Rensliegh walked in circles, swinging the censer to spread the smoke evenly, while Maeve who sat in the centre of the room, tried to relax and let sleep claim her. They were in the small dream chamber in the basement of the manor. Like most buildings where cultivators regularly slept, the building was heavily warded against the techniques of the dream-gifted. This chamber was an exception to that rule and offered a way for those who wished to use the glamour to communicate.

    As neither she nor Rensliegh had dream glamour, they had to rely on some carefully prepared alchemical ingredients and a runic formation that would link her to its counterpart. There, she could finally give her report.

    Maeve sought to centre herself. The day had been busy. She had enjoyed talking and training with the others, such relaxed times being rare these last couple of years. Her obsession with her bottleneck had driven her to discard ¡®unworthy¡¯ pursuits, which had resulted in her becoming, if she was honest with herself, a deeply boring person. She was still forging her way out of that pit, but one day of ease and fun had reminded her of what she had missed for so long.

    She had relished speaking on sword forms and tactics with the two strangely alike but totally unrelated blondes. She had found exhibition matches exhilarating rather than viewing them as mere warm-ups. Then there was the chase, where they had all chaotically charged through the forest after the bard, a man who even Arthur had admitted was truly gifted at running away. The only sting was who had won. She still felt cheated.

    ¡°Try to clear your mind.¡± Rensliegh¡¯s voice dragged her back from her wandering thoughts. The voice wasn''t harsh, just a nudge. Her governess was in a good mood. She had even cracked a smile earlier. She seemed to enjoy yelling at the young knights.

    Maeve cleared her mind, letting her senses drown out her conscious thought. The rich scent of the herbs and the gentle pace of her governess, promising safety, filled her awareness. She let the glamour take hold and was soon in the twisting realm of the Weave.

    Maeve loathed the Weave¡ªa realm spun from the chaotic dreams of mortals and cultivators. It was the antithesis of her power. Her blade glamour was sharp and unyielding, dream glamour was diffuse, subtle, and some fools thought it weak, but it was everywhere, connecting everything.

    To her, it felt like staring into the realm of the Unseelie.

    She floated through a space that was not quite a storm cloud, and yet equally could have been a busy street. Her body told her she rose, while her vision told her she sank. Distant voices argued in untold languages, none of which she recognised. She had given reports a few times since she had risen to Iron, and using a trick that Rensliegh had taught her, she pushed on her intent. The twisting unreality was sliced back. From nowhere, her feet found a floor, and she could stand.

    After stabilising herself, it did not take long for her mind to be guided to a space that was like but not quite the same as her grandmother''s study. She arrived through the door, with the sensation that she had stepped inside yet was certain she hadn''t moved.

    She needed an actual dream-gifted on her side. They did not have to put up with this nonsense.

    Eyeball was waiting for her and squawked at her as she entered. The raven''s dark feathers gleamed faintly, as it hopped up to the back of the throne like chair that sat before the stately desk of dark wood.

    ¡°I''m pleased to see you too. I''d offer you some nuts or something, but I''m all out. Travel makes me peckish.¡± The optically challenged bird centred its one good eye on her, then threw its head back and laughed. The small bird''s voice was shockingly rich and deep, not as low as Ursul''s rumbling tones but around Bors¡¯ baritone.

    ¡°That was terrible! It''s been a long time since we joked like that. It''s good to see you, Mads, you look well. Our Mistress will be along shortly.¡± Eyeball was far from a normal raven and, like his sister Peggy, was gifted with speech, yet often preferred to go without. It was amazing how often people forgot he could understand them and would speak of treason and treachery right before him.

    A fitting behaviour for the head of the Magpies, her grandmother''s intelligence agents.

    ¡°I''m doing well. I have met with success but also a setback,¡± she admitted. There was no point hiding anything from the raven.

    ¡°I understand you''re at the Artoss Estates? So Pellinore found the boy, and you together, I imagine,¡± the old spirit creature mused.

    ¡°Along with one Prince of Albion, his minder, the son of a pastry chef, a De Graille, one of the sons of the heir to the Alcades, a reformed Inquisitor, a talking bear, and let''s not forget the woman who looks shockingly similar to the prince as if they could be siblings and her mother.¡± She grinned as Eyeball¡¯s beak clacked in surprise.

    ¡°Hmm, I could guess at the prince, that''d explain where Arthur disappeared to, but the rest sounds like quite the report. I look forward to reading Rensliegh''s report,¡± the raven said with obvious enthusiasm.

    Maeve''s brow crinkled. ¡°You once confided in me that her reports are always exceptionally dry?¡±

    ¡°When you get to be my age, you start to find pleasure in the oddest things. That woman has a rare talent. Twice she has provided reports detailing clashes with titanic forces, which half put me to sleep. It''s fascinating.¡±

    ¡°I remember one of those. Was that when an entire squad of knights threatened to go errant, believing we''d slighted her for refusing to reward her for that dragon she slew?¡± The voice came from behind her, and then the dream twisted, and her grandmother was sat at the huge mahogany desk as if she had always been there.

    ¡°Hello, Gran. It¡¯s¡ªwait, dragon?¡±

    ¡°No, that was a different time. She wasn''t under my care then,¡± Eyeball added, shifting to perch on his master''s shoulder.

    ¡°How you doing, Mads? It¡¯s good to see you!¡± The woman smiled, and Maeve knew she was never getting an answer. She added it to the many questions she had about her governess.

    ¡°I''m doing well, Gran. It¡¯s good to see you too.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s hear your report. I¡¯d love to know how you ended up in the Artoss Estate. I¡¯ve got everything up until you got to Fosburg, which I note has had a very short-lived insurrection? Seems like you''re taking after your old Gran in more ways than one.¡± She laughed, and Maeve settled into talking through the report.

    They would occasionally ask clarifying questions but otherwise remained still. She could see Eyeball twitch occasionally, and her grandmother, usually utterly stoic, flinched when she mentioned her ¡®Auntie¡¯ Miss Peaches.

    It was quite the story, and even Rensliegh''s coaching on how to properly report could not rob it of the sense of adventure she had embraced.

    She reached the end, explaining that the Artoss patriarch, ¡®Pel¡¯, was now hosting them all and that the group was relaxing together. ¡°And, I intend to forge connections with the group. They are a powerful collection of people with intentions that align with our own.¡±

    ¡°Great work on the battle. Getting them to cluster up for a trap, beautiful! You should be proud.¡± Eyeball was the first to give feedback, and Maeve nodded to accept the praise. The raven then turned to his mistress and clacked his beak. ¡°She also clearly impressed The Witch.¡±

    ¡°So that¡¯s where she got to. Going by Miss Peaches now, is she? Well, I¡¯ll respect her wishes, and you did well to sweet talk her.¡± The old woman''s face split into a grin. ¡°Now, I¡¯m even more intrigued if she has good things to say about your young man.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s not my young man!¡± Maeve retorted. She didn''t like the glint in her grandmother''s eye. It hinted at more than just trying to get under her skin.

    ¡°Is he not? You were very keen to find him, just a bit of poor luck on timing. I¡¯m surprised that Pel used Mercury on this. I think I somewhat underestimated his commitment to reclaiming his lost family members.¡± The older woman sank back into her chair, her face turning contemplative.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    ¡°I have warned you about this till all I could do was croak. If you want him as an ally, do not play games with his kin.¡± With the sound of rustling feathers, the raven was abruptly on Maeve''s shoulder, living up to his name as he eyeballed his mistress.

    ¡°You''ve got some plan for Taliesin, don''t you?¡± Maeve sighed. She was wondering why Eyeball had joined her. Now it was obvious. They had to talk the thousand-year-old matriarch out of something foolish.

    ¡°Solid name. Feels strong. What''s your take on the real Taliesin?¡±

    ¡°He''s smart and would not be easy to manipulate, and for his rank is an outsized threat. He was instrumental in killing multiple Iron-ranked divine cultivators when he was merely bronze. He created a plot to kill an entire unit of them as well.¡±

    ¡°A good trick, but that won''t help him against a Steel. He can''t defy us.¡±

    ¡°No, for that, he''d use the several Steel-ranked allies he''s accumulated. And before you mention Mithril, he could apparently handle a toned-down version of your Auntie''s evil eye, and that witch believes she owes him a debt." Maeve didn''t like the glint in her grandmother''s eye, she''d long worked out where she''d inherited her own impatience from. Her gran was not keen to wait.

    "And as you seem to deliberately ignore he has the backing of the Artoss patriarch. That''s ignoring the fae we aren''t mentioning," Eyeball added to the mix. Her grandmother stilled.

    "What are you doing that needs defying at all? Why are we doing anything other than trying to make him an ally? He¡¯s already reached Iron. I didn¡¯t even know it was possible to push through Bronze in a matter of weeks."

    "It¡¯s not the first time. Happened before, a few centuries ago," she said dismissively, as if that was nothing significant. She cupped her chin in her hand and leant on the table staring at Maeve. "I¡¯m not used to being ignored, nor negotiated with."

    "What is this about? I can tell you right now, that Eyeball is right. The way Pel looks at him leaves me in no doubt that man would kill to keep him safe."

    "I mean, we could leverage that he was betrothed to you. An Artoss and a Chox isn¡¯t a bad match." Maeve felt her eye twitch at the casual mention of an arranged marriage. Her grandmother was in a strange mood.

    "He¡¯s not Regus anymore. It doesn¡¯t count. He is Taliesin. It¡¯s hard to put into words, but something deep down tells me arguing that they are one and the same is going to go poorly," Maeve answered angrily. She didn''t like where this was heading.

    "Do you not have any feelings for the boy? Didn''t he save you? That''s the sort of thing that gets the blood pumping at your age." Her grandmother stared at her like it was the most natural thing in the world to say yes. Maeve sighed. This was why Mithrils were hard to deal with. The fear of being obliterated in an instant meant far too many people didn¡¯t call them out when they were being idiotic.

    "I appreciate what he did for my cultivation! I''m not some damsel in distress who swoons for the first mildly capable man she stumbles across." She grit her teeth. "I''m honestly a little offended you''d think that!"

    "He''s an Artoss, and apparently a bard! The two combined means he should be stupidly attractive! Look, we need to recruit that boy somehow, get him in the family. You could seduce him!" Maeve frowned at that suggestion. Crossing her arms, she tried to work out what was going on.

    "What is it that I¡¯m missing? And why do you keep pushing the fact we were betrothed?" Maeve paused. "He¡¯s got a bloodline, doesn¡¯t he?"

    "See, now you¡¯re getting it." She sagged back into her chair and gave Maeve her full attention. "I want that bloodline, Mads. It¡¯s strong."

    "Are you seriously trying to suggest I start a family to feed your whims?"

    "It is no whim. Look, you don¡¯t seem to hate the man, and if the old witch likes him, he¡¯s got to be a good one. Why not seduce him? It doesn''t even have to last. In a century, you can move on!"

    "Gran, your immortality is showing. Even if I wanted to, which I don¡¯t, he has someone," Maeve replied.

    "Oh, I should recommend Rensliegh teach you how to weaponise your womanly wiles.¡± The woman then grinned evilly ¡°Or I could offer advice."

    "Gran, ew, no. Look, I met the woman. She¡¯s Persephone De Graille, and having been in a bath with her, I can firmly state that I¡¯m bringing a knife to a sword fight. A fight I have no interest in!" Before the old monster could cut in, Maeve ploughed on.

    "Even if that wasn¡¯t the case, the battle is already lost. They¡¯re totally enamoured with each other. They spent all of today trying to sneak off together." Maeve felt kind of bad. The couple clearly wanted to catch up all day, but the pair kept getting caught up in different conversations. Not least the arguing about who really deserved to be called the winner of the chase.

    "So he has a type? It¡¯s a pity the De Grailles don¡¯t do arranged marriages. That¡¯d be an easy way to remove her from the running. Maybe I can get one of your cousins¡ª"

    "Morgan, this isn¡¯t helping," Eyeball tried to interject, but Maeve was fully wound up now. She took a step forward, her voice raised and her hands balled into fists.

    "You¡¯re not listening. It¡¯s not happening. It¡¯s also not fair. He saved my life. He gave us all that knowledge, and if he¡¯d been any less cunning, he¡¯d have died, and your alliance with Pel would be in danger. It¡¯s not right. I didn¡¯t hunt him down for this. I hunted him down because I thought you wanted to reward him, or at least make him an asset, not treat him¡ªand me!¡ªas breeding stock!"

    "I agree it would be a tactical error. You heard the group of people he is travelling with. He appears to be the bond holding them together. If you were to sabotage him, they''d all remember it as they grow in power," Eyeball added diplomatically, but it was far from enough to derail the matriarch.

    "This is about the future of the family!" If Maeve had been calmer, she¡¯d have felt the shift in her grandmother¡¯s tone. The sharpness in her eye, and tone that spoke of the blade glamour she¡¯d started her long cultivation journey and told anyone who knew Morgan Chox that her patience was running thin.

    "Yes, it is. Making an enemy of him is the worst thing we could do," Maeve snapped back with unusual venom.

    "I agree. Morgan, you are being impatient. You are too old to act like this. You are creating risks over greed," Eyeball added, his voice calm but firm.

    "You think I care if he''s got a touch of fae magic, or had a bit of luck when it comes to cultivation? When you¡¯ve lived as long as me, you know that these people come and go," Morgan Chox all but growled. Maeve knew she was on dangerous waters, but she pushed on.

    "Always? Or do some of them rise? You just said that the last time anyone advanced as quickly as he did was centuries ago! What happened to him?"

    A momentary look of embarrassment crossed her face. Eyeball chuckled and supplied, "He leads the Order of Black Woods."

    "The Black Knight! You¡¯re telling me that you want to make an enemy of someone on the same trajectory as someone who survived the Wild Hunt!"

    "Our time here is almost over," Eyeball called out. Maeve realised the office had started to dissolve, the edges of the space losing all detail, becoming nothing but blank walls.

    "I want that phoenix blood!" The ancient woman called out, slamming her fist onto the desk. The dream world quivered as power rolled through it. Her eyes bored into Maeve as she finally revealed the reason for her obsession.

    "You have to be joking!" Maeve knew of few bloodlines more precious than that of a phoenix. Even watered down, it could offer untold benefits, and she doubted his was weak. In fact, given he was so confident in avoiding the blood curse, the bloodline had to be potent. Things began to slot into place, the mystery of how he survived, and her grandmother''s obsession.

    "Now do you understand?" The woman stared at her unintentionally unleashing her aura. Maeve felt small. The pressure of the power, dulled by the dream space, was still enough to make her feel small and confined. Then all went dark¡ªa welcome darkness that held a comforting familiarity, like the gloom of a childhood bedroom.

    Eyeball had spread his wings around her, huge feathers the length of swords shielding her, easing the pressure.

    "Antagonising him is a mistake! You owe him your kin''s life. If the fae find out¡ªand they will¡ªthey will not accept you trampling such a debt." Eyeball''s voice came from way above her, his voice booming with power, pushing back against his mistress. Maeve could see her glowering at them through gaps in the feathers.

    Her pulse raced. She had never seen the pair fight before. She should be terrified, as the two powerful beings'' wills clashed. Yet, even as two beings far beyond her battled with their wills, she felt anger at the betrayal more than any fear of reprimand.

    "You¡¯re not going to let this go, are you? Even if I ask you to?" Maeve called out, staring daggers back at her grandmother. To her surprise, the old monster flinched back, as if she had just remembered who she was speaking to. The pressure eased, and the feathers retreated. What had been a presence that loomed above her became a simple raven resting on her shoulder. Likewise, the woman opposite her went from a domineering force of nature to an old warrior grumbling in her chair.

    "I need to plan. Stick close to them all till I can work out what comes next." The voice was tight. Then she sighed. "It was good to see you, Mads. I''m proud of your work."

    The woman gave her a short nod, and the dream began to collapse. Maeve was grateful to leave. The intensity had reminded her of when she''d raged at the twins. Even limited by the Weave, her body still squirmed at the thought of standing before that power.

    Maeve was keen to return to the waking world and unpack what had just happened. Yet her talk was not done. As she floated back through the Weave, she heard a shift of feathers and realised Eyeball was with her still.

    "Forgive Morgan. The war is more taxing on her than she will admit. I shall talk her round with time, but I need you to buy it for me. I''ll let Rensliegh know to follow your lead on this." The raven''s advice settled Maeve. She hated arguing with her Gran at the best of times, not least because it was on some level terrifying. It wasn''t good to know she was stressed, but it relieved her to know that she was not the root of her ire.

    "I can manage that," she answered.

    "Maybe I''ll make a Magpie of you yet!" The bird chuckled, and then his presence was gone. With it, the Weave dissolved, and she found herself waking in the chamber.

    Maeve awoke in the dream chamber with a chill down her spine. How in the hell was she going to keep her grandmother away from Taliesin?

 Book 2 Chapter 7 - In the study of Death glamour

    ¡°Death is the only inevitable truth of this world. That is what you will learn today!¡± The robed figure pointed the chalk at me as one might level a blade at my throat.

    ¡°A question. What about Mithrils? Aren¡¯t they immortal?¡± I replied. The question was earnest, but I could see a flash of annoyance on the witch¡¯s brow, and he faltered.

    ¡°This world! A Mithril cultivator is half a step into the Fae, a bridge between our world and theirs. The thin binds of our mundane realm do not apply to such titans. And you will address me as Witch Marek!¡± The witch growled back at me, his hand dropping to his side as he leant forward, looming over me.

    We were in a small study room of an unusually comfortable design. Large padded chairs were spread around with small side tables to work as desks. There was even a long padded seat by a window, where one might lounge. I''d wondered what spurred such luxury. My old teachers seemed to believe that one learned best in a stone cell, where comfort was but another distraction.

    It took a little time, as I let my mind wander while Marek bored me with his teaching, to find a worthy answer. The first clue was that I''d learned yesterday that the manor was called Felix Lodge. Then I''d spotted that the bookcases between the tall windows all had books with titles like The Complete Monsterium of Mountainous Foes and Ridderin¡¯s Thoughts on Tracking I Was Forced, Convinced to Write Down. That, and the maps surrounding the chalkboard, all dotted with notations of what appeared to be migrations, told me what kind of place we were in.

    This was a study room for rangers. A soft and cosy trap for those souls who loathed being inside at the best of times.

    Solving that puzzle had kept me sane, something I needed help with as we''d been at this for hours now. Despite saying he¡¯d teach me of death glamour, this was the first time we¡¯d so much as brushed the subject.

    It was that frustration that drove me. Normally, I would concede the point. I understood his logic, and if I wanted this over, it was equally logical to let this point go. However, no matter how comfy I was, I was in a foul mood. ¡°In that case, Witch Marek, death is not inevitable then? I take a ¡®half-step¡¯ into the Fae, and it can be avoided.¡±

    ¡°You speak of defying odds that would make the Seelie weep and the Unseelie laugh!¡± The witch scowled at me, seeing I was about to open my mouth again. ¡°Fine, fine. Death is all but inevitable. How about that? Is that acceptable, my Lord?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m no one¡¯s Lord, just a bard. And with that correction, it is. I just like to be accurate in my learning, especially when it is foisted upon me.¡± I smiled back. I heard a satisfying crunch that I knew from long experience marked a teacher pulverising a stick of chalk. It took me back to some of the few favourable memories from my time at the Harkley¡¯s manor. I took great pleasure in knowing one of my tutors had retired permanently from their role, deciding they were better off hunting monsters than teaching.

    I tormented them because they fed the minds of the insufferable cultists. I needled this witch because he¡¯d aggravated me to no end.

    This morning, I had been nabbed while training in Felix Lodge''s arena. I rose early, the others still sleeping. Despite all the vim and vigour of yesterday, nearly all were still recovering from exhaustion, wounds, or, in the case of Kay, adjusting to their freedom. A draining task I knew all too well. Given the lack of people around to accidentally blast with death magic, I¡¯d taken to the arena to try and get a handle on my new level of power.

    So it was that I sat in the middle of the arena, relying on its runes to ensure the safety of others. I warily started to cultivate with my lute. My plan was to collect some death glamour and feed it to my threadbare cloak first. It was then that Marek had appeared. He was one of the witches who had been part of the team healing Arthur and seeing to others. I''d been checked over by him yesterday, but my recent ascension had left me healthy as a pegasus.

    His outfit was made of fine green wool, delicately patterned with silver thread in geometric designs. He bore the triangular mark of a coven, the heraldry depicting a three-headed beast with the heads of a fox, a cat, and a snake. It was not one I recognised.

    The witch had been spitting mad, screaming at me to stop and even flaring his own death glamour to halt me. That had got my attention.

    I had allowed myself to be dragged to a study by the witch as he muttered about my recklessness. I was always keen to learn. However, the last couple of hours had soured me. Marek had clearly decided I was some manner of idiot and had spent the last few hours refusing to discuss death glamour. Instead, he pointlessly probed at my level of academic knowledge, insisting I needed the proper grounding before he could grant me even a grain of his dangerous knowledge.

    That alone wouldn¡¯t have been enough for me to consider him unworthy of my studious attentions. No, he earned that through his constant condescension. From the way his eye was twitching, I knew I was due another bout of it.

    ¡°You have the gift of death. You should consider yourself lucky you haven¡¯t slain yourself and should appreciate every word I have to offer you on the subject!¡±

    ¡°Have I missed something? I have a page for notes here on the subject of death, and I have yet to add anything but a single sentence to it. Did I miss something in the last two hours that I should¡¯ve added?¡± My voice was pitched just right, that combination of keenness and innocence, hiding the insult within. Marek¡¯s eye twitched again, his eyelid fluttering like he¡¯d forgotten how to blink.

    ¡°You knights are all the same. Impatient to apply with no thought to understanding. We witches seek to understand the very forces of the world. It is essential you master this knowledge before wielding.¡±

    ¡°I am a bard, neither a witch nor a knight.¡± I heard myself growl. I was beginning to lose my cool. ¡°I would¡¯ve loved nothing more than to learn how to use my gift, and yet I was not afforded the luxury. I have resisted the temptation to absorb corruptive glamour and made good use of it. I even battled an Iron Rank blood cultivator with it. These are not the acts of some bumbling fool.¡±

    ¡°You are nought but an idiot blessed with the luck of the Sidhe. An arrogant whelp who doesn¡¯t understand the power he toys with.¡± Marek groaned, then flopped back into the heavily padded leather chair behind him. ¡°If you are to learn, you must accept this.¡±

    ¡°And with that, I have reached the end of my patience. Even when surrounded by the worst of humanity, I was never expected to tolerate such drivel.¡± I began to pack up the small collection of paper and ink on my desk.

    ¡°You will be still.¡± Marek turned, his gaze locking onto me with the full weight of his Evil Eye. His patience was clearly as spent as mine. The power of it slammed into me, seeking to force me to submit. As a mid-to-high-ranking Iron cultivator, Marek¡¯s technique would have been more than enough to immobilise me just a week ago¡ªdespite my exceptional resistance to such abilities. But now, standing as an Iron Rank myself, I had a new weapon at my disposal. My intent!

    From the ashes shall rise beautiful chaos.

    I had barely begun my path in understanding what my intent could do for me, but I knew a couple of things. Through a bit of experimentation yesterday, and some talks with the other Irons, I¡¯d found that while thinking on the phrase would aid me, if I could in any way embody an aspect of it, I would feel it empower me on a whole other level. I liked to call on the beauty part of it, and my naturally chaotic nature meant I could pull on the chaos part more often than not.

    To call on beauty, I began to hum a tune. Marek¡¯s eye didn¡¯t twitch now. Both were now pinched by his fury. I stood and made a show of continuing to pack my things.

    In response, he intensified the Evil Eye. I fumbled with my quill, reluctantly impressed by the power of it. I¡¯d experienced a great many variations of the technique, and his ranked among the best. The Evil Eye was a raw manifestation of a cultivator¡¯s willpower, backed by the power of their hearth. It burned glamour but didn¡¯t strike with it. Instead, it empowered them to smother another with their aura. That same aura, which normally limited itself to a cultivator''s body, protecting it from outside forces, instead swamped the opponent.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    A victim found the very air around them hostile, as their aura fought for its right to exist.

    Everyone¡¯s manifestation of the Evil Eye was different. The Harkley senior alchemist¡¯s felt like I was being dipped in acid, while Marek¡¯s made my muscles begin to ache and tighten, as if I were in the grips of a foul fever. Such was the power that I had to resist the urge to check and see if my limbs were withering away.

    As I made to leave, the power increased again, and I almost stumbled. I¡¯d underestimated Marek, His power was possibly the strongest I¡¯d ever felt from someone at Iron Rank. Still, there was a vast gulf between his power and the force from Miss Peaches, with its sensation of being pinned in place by the gaze of some otherworldly god.

    I took another step, and the force abruptly vanished.

    ¡°All right, I concede you are no fool.¡± The Witch razed his hands in surrender as I turned to glare at him.

    ¡°No apology? Is it common to try and bully your students with torturous techniques?¡± I snapped back. With the technique broken, I could breathe normally. Freed from the focus of resisting him, I found my arms shaky and my skin coated in sweat.

    ¡°You must understand¡ª¡±

    ¡°I ¡®must¡¯ nothing! Greater forces than you have tried and failed to force my hand. What is the point of all this posturing? Tell me!¡±

    ¡°Do not be arrogant, boy! To be a death cultivator requires a special degree of willpower. I would argue it requires the most of any, bar possibly dream.¡±

    ¡°Because they¡¯re both soul-touched glamours? And if I lack the skill to scrub them of their lingering will, they¡¯ll infect my hearth, correct?¡±

    ¡°You said you didn¡¯t have any formal education?¡± Marek raised an eyebrow and sat back, looking at me a little differently than he had before.

    ¡°I don¡¯t, but you must¡¯ve noticed I¡¯m travelling with Elaine Fos, the renowned oracle? I have gleaned a thing or two in my travels.¡± My anger was still there, but it dawned on me that I should apply the ancient axiom: do not attribute to malice what can be explained by incompetence.

    It was dawning on me that it was possible Marek was an atrocious teacher.

    ¡°Look, Witch Marek, I can understand wanting to ascertain I have the mentality for this, but why not ask me about such things?¡± I asked, prodding at my hypothesis.

    ¡°It is rare that any have the willpower to cultivate death without the training. And to undergo the training requires patience. This is how I was taught, my mind trained slowly and carefully,¡± he answered, his voice full of pride. I stifled a groan.

    ¡°So it was a test? You didn¡¯t think to ask my companions or myself to gauge my patience?¡±

    ¡°I would not trust them. Would you risk your life believing some children¡¯s thoughts on their friends¡¯ patience?¡±

    ¡°If you needed proof, why not ask?¡±

    ¡°So what? You could feign patience for a day?¡± I wanted to say that anyone who lacked patience but could fake it in his company was clearly a genius actor of their generation. Instead, I forced myself to be sensible.

    ¡°No. If you asked, I could offer proof. If you¡¯d not been so arrogant, I could¡¯ve shown you this.¡± He puffed up as I called out his behaviour but flattened out as I pulled out The Book of Lesser Death Curses and placed it on the table before me.

    ¡°Where did you get that book?¡± His voice was quiet, his fingers quivering. I couldn¡¯t tell if he coveted it or was preparing to flee.

    ¡°I was granted it by an Elder Witch, who shall remain nameless.¡±

    ¡°They can¡¯t¡ªYou should¡ª I don¡¯t¡ªArgh!¡± Marek¡¯s eye twitched madly, his eyebrow bouncing like a cheap coach on a broken road. He cast one more covetous glance at the book. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡±

    ¡°You gave me no opportunity to! You asked me if I had any formal education, and when I said no, you didn¡¯t give me room to speak. I then wrongly assumed that you had non-foolish reasons for messing me around for two hours.¡± I couldn¡¯t stop my frustrations showing. To think I should¡¯ve just gone with my earlier plan to annoy him and pulled it out to start reading whenever he wasn¡¯t looking.

    ¡°You should remember your place in such things. I am a century your senior!¡± the witch growled out of habit. We both knew he was all bark and no bite.

    ¡°And yet, with all that knowledge, we just wasted two hours!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re stubborn.¡±

    ¡°So you demand willpower and then expect me to be a pushover?¡± I answered. That stilled him. He looked at the book again, his eyes lingering on it with reverence. Internally, I sighed. What exactly had Miss Peaches gifted me?

    The witch paced the room for a minute. I didn¡¯t interfere. No matter how angry I felt, I wanted the knowledge he could offer me. If he was willing to change I should at least try to engage.

    ¡°I realise my error. I treated you as a blank slate. I shall endeavour to treat you as a fellow witch who has already undergone the tests of willpower. Let us begin this meeting anew.¡± Marek was still imperious, but the underlying sneer was gone.

    The witch stood and then inclined his head, a show of respect that had been absent at the beginning of the first lessons. ¡°Blessings upon thee. I am Marek Artoss, Witch of the Coven of Puck¡¯s Harrow. Death was my first glamour. While born to the Artoss family, I left for my education, returning here to act as part of the healers, as well as warden against less direct threats.¡±

    ¡°I thank my tutor. I am Taliesin, son of Gwendolyn Artoss. I gained death glamour as my second gift. I am a bard, following a different path to either knight or witch.¡± I replied, doing my best to embrace a new beginning even if part of me squirmed, seeking to needle him further.

    ¡°Interesting you mention being a bard. I know of the other less common cultivation paths. The druids, guided by spiritual forces. The wizards¡¯ obsession with binding glamour to their will. The pugilists, seeking to embrace the martial teachings of the Mystic East. What is it that makes a bard?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m still not sure.¡± I was still struggling with this question. What did I do that was different? I sounded out what I knew of the two other major cultivation pathways. ¡°To me, it seems a knight focuses on power, then hones their combat expertise, and overwhelms the challenges before them. A witch instead focuses on understanding the world itself, shaping their power so they can most efficiently solve the challenges before them. For a bard¡­¡±

    ¡°Take your time.¡± Marek waved his hand at me. His flaws didn¡¯t include impatience, which made sense if he¡¯d been forced through such training.

    What did I do that was different though? I used knowledge, I fought, but there was a distinctly different feel to my approach than the others. I thought about everyone who aided me, how they approached their problems. What did I do that was different?

    My mind snagged on the memory of my rant to Maeve, explaining how arming her family with stolen secrets was a victory. I¡¯d brought my knowledge to bear and trusted it to others. Then there was a more practical memory, of dancing around Ulfast, bringing my skills and those of Lance and Gaz together to create an opportunity to bring someone far beyond any of us down. Other examples bubbled up, like how we¡¯d handled the army of cultivators with the monster lure. There was a pattern there.

    ¡°To me, a bard uses knowledge of people. With that, he can apply his power, reshaping the challenge. To put it in Witch terms, I am a catalyst, speeding the corrosion of my foes and invigorating my allies.¡±

    ¡°Interesting. I can understand why it lends itself to a strong sense of willpower. Surrounded by allies, you must have already encountered the issue with cultivating death glamour?¡±

    ¡°That it affects their emotions? Indeed, I have. The book led me to believe that totems could be made to help shield them against the influence, but the book¡¯s information on how they work is sparse.¡±

    ¡°Ah, you know of totems. They are indeed useful tools. Are you familiar with lightning rods? Good. Well, you may think of totems along the same lines. They can direct your power away from that which you wish to protect. It''s far from a foolproof solution, though. Just as enough lightning can render steel into useless slag, a totem can equally be overwhelmed.¡± Marek¡¯s voice was calmer now, revealing a glimmer of promise. Perhaps he had enough teaching skill that we might be spared becoming mortal enemies.

    ¡°That will be a good second lesson for us. The first lesson should be how to properly shield yourself against your death glamour. Something I expect your undivided attention upon.¡±

    ¡°Witch Marek, I agree that is important, and I say this only to avoid a repeat of earlier confusion, but it may be less essential in my case. I have this cloak, you see.¡± I could see him fight the urge to snap at me. Instead, he walked over to look at the fabric.

    ¡°This cloak does what exactly?¡± He ran the threadbare fabric through his fingers as I explained. The eye twitch returned, and while his eyebrow did valiant work trying to contain it, the movements only got worse as I explained what I¡¯d learned of it.

    Once I finished, he said nothing. Silently, he wandered back to his chair and slumped into it, seeking comfort in the soft padding. ¡°While I did rescind my earlier statement that you are a fool, it seems I must do the same for the statement of luck, as ''Lucky'' doesn¡¯t begin to cover the Sidhe born joke you are clearly in on.¡±

 Book 2 Chapter 8 - Not good at sharing

    Learning how to manipulate death glamour was both terrifying and enthralling in equal measure. My slapdash methods proved upsetting to Marek. He begrudgingly admitted that the dream cultivation method I¡¯d repurposed was a reasonable approach. He¡¯d been less enthused by my music, preferring solemn communion himself. Still, he lived up to his promise and taught me how to avoid killing myself with my own glamour.

    The method of shielding yourself from your own death glamour was to be able to gulp it down like a starving man before a banquet. It at first seemed counterintuitive, given the care with which it had to be cultivated. However, once you had cultivated it, it was aligned to your will and could be pushed back into your hearth without worry.

    The challenge was getting it into your hearth before it began to eat at the life force of your body.

    My cloak sped that process up immensely. Where most were taught by having another Witch shield them, countering the glamour if they acted too slowly, I could rely on my cloak to absorb the excess glamour before it threatened me. I was also sped along by my bellows-breath technique. When my pathways had been clogged, cultivating had been like trying to breathe through a pipe clogged with wool. The spiritual muscles I¡¯d trained to help me suck in that glamour now aided me in devouring the rogue glamour.

    Marek left me with instructions to practise the technique for the next two days, and we parted ways. Though the morning had been torture, the rest of the day had flown by. I¡¯d long ago lost track of time, and it was with some shock I realised the sun was low on the horizon. It was a mere couple of hours before dinner.

    Cursing to myself, I went looking for Sephy. Internally, I was panicking. We¡¯d agreed to meet for lunch, which, with all the drilling of my gift and annoying Marek, I¡¯d callously forgotten.

    I roamed the halls, bumping into Gaz and Lance, who calmed me down a notch. Gaz explained that everyone in the mansion could feel Marek¡¯s and my practice. It seemed random bursts of death glamour had got everyone¡¯s attention. It was so noticeable, in fact, that apparently some servants had set up a runic formation around the study to contain it.

    All glamour carried with it the idea of what it represented, even if it got nowhere near you. It could warp your senses and distort your mind. Each was different in its manifestation. Large amounts of Ice glamour left a sense of cold creeping into your limbs, while more esoteric gifts, like Rune glamour, heightened your sense for patterns, with those exposed sometimes found staring at the same section of a tapestry for hours.

    Death glamour didn¡¯t creep or confuse. No, it kicked in the door and shouted that your existence was a fleeting and fragile thing.

    Even in the chaotic mix of glamours being wielded in the Lodge, my training cut through. Nothing ruins a day like erratic whispers reminding you of your mortality. After extracting a promise from me that I¡¯d not train outside of my room, they pointed me to the Lodge¡¯s small library, where I could apparently find Sephy.

    I found her lounging in a chair beside a window. The library was not much bigger than the study. It had four bookshelves, and the walls were lined with glass display cases holding all manner of taxidermy, bones, preserved claws, and pickled monsters in jars. Like the study, the furnishings were grand, making this place a comfy trap to pin down a wandering ranger.

    She looked up from her book, not glancing at me, but checking out the window. The fading light painted her in hues of orange, her hair drank in the light, leaving it dark crimson, framing the warm curves of her face. My eyes were drawn once again to her lips, which were delicately pursed. Along with the slight tilt of her eyebrows, they left her looking concerned.

    I struggled to think of much else, lost in admiring her. Vaguely, I noticed the window overlooked the training yard. There, Gawain, Arthur, Maeve, Kay, and Lance were working through some sword forms.

    ¡°Did training rot your tongue?¡± Her voice was playful, but I didn¡¯t miss the sting to it. She was annoyed.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I was just taking in the view,¡± I replied.

    ¡°Hiding behind flattery, I see. With me, it makes poor cover,¡± she grumbled.

    ¡°¡¯Tis the truth, though,¡± I answered before I could stop myself. I must¡¯ve sounded earnest, as I saw a hint of a blush creep up her cheeks.

    ¡°Is that meant to be an apology? Or has death glamour swept you up, so you forget our meeting entirely? I hope at least it has been fun?¡± Her voice returned, more playful now.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    ¡°How fun is learning to avoid being killed by your own glamour?¡± I replied, and she grimaced. ¡°I am sorry, though. I genuinely lost track of time.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not like I can blame you. I¡¯d rather you knew such things than didn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Do you have time to talk now?¡± I asked tentatively.

    ¡°I would love to say yes, but right now I¡¯m focusing on ensuring Arthur does not ask Elaine or Lance anything stupid about her parentage. And with them wrapping up training, it seems I must keep an eye on it. I would¡¯ve been free earlier.¡± She stood and stretched, and I found myself looking, only to blush as she smirked.

    ¡°So, am I forgiven?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t say I blame you. I¡¯d do the same if someone turned up who could teach me more about my gift. Though, in my case, I¡¯d first be checking they weren¡¯t a Seelie-cursed cultist.¡± We left the library and walked towards the stairs. ¡°Honestly, I¡¯m more annoyed about yesterday. I was so close!¡±

    ¡°It seems almost everyone is annoyed about yesterday.¡± I really hadn¡¯t expected everyone to get so competitive, and the result had only made things more complicated. ¡°You¡¯re not going to say they cheated, are you?¡±

    ¡°No, I¡¯m not that petty. I¡¯m more annoyed that you¡¯re so hard to catch when you¡¯ve only just stepped into Iron. Though honestly, if you didn¡¯t want everyone so worked up, you shouldn¡¯t have offered a song as a reward,¡± she chided, bumping me with her shoulder.

    ¡°You do realise I¡¯d love to write you a song, competition or not.¡± Again, a hint of blush crept on her. But, warmed up with a bit of verbal sparring, she quickly got it under control.

    ¡°That may be, but I want to earn a song on my own merit. Let¡¯s speak after dinner.¡± We were almost at the bottom of the stairs.

    ¡°Yes. Wait¡­ Sidhe take me. I have to speak with Maeve, then,¡± I grumbled.

    ¡°Lady Maeve actually would like to invite you to the conversation, Lady Persephone.¡± Rensleigh¡¯s voice came from the step above us. The tall, hawk-faced woman appeared as if from nowhere. Neither of us flinched, but I saw a flare of shock in her eyes, which I¡¯m certain was reflected by mine.

    I still didn¡¯t know what to make of the Governess. Sephy had let me know she suspected she was part of the ¡®Magpies¡¯, the intelligence wing of the Chox family. Her cultivation was a mystery, and while she¡¯d been perfectly pleasant, there was an aura of danger around her that was of rare quality.

    ¡°How long have you been there?¡± I asked sharply. Creeping up on us was rude.

    ¡°Only a moment. I was just returning from the manor proper. I needed to lodge a number of messages.¡± The woman smiled, none of us touching on the fact she was somehow on the stairs above us, despite claiming to have just come from outside. ¡°She asked me to relay the message if I should see either of you, so seeing you together was too good an opportunity to pass up.¡±

    ¡°Well, thank you. I¡¯ll be sure to attend,¡± Sephy said in a perfectly even and friendly tone that didn¡¯t match the tension of the moment.

    ¡°Also, I say this more to share an observation, but I understand the De Grailles are looking all over for their missing daughter. You may wish to let them know your whereabouts.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Lady Rensleigh,¡± Sephy said, and the woman nodded before sweeping out of view into the lower floors. Her movements were so smooth that if I hadn¡¯t been able to see her feet move, I¡¯d have sworn that she floated away.

    Without saying a word to each other, we headed back up the stairs in silence, until we put a couple of rooms between her and us. It wouldn¡¯t stop a cultivator of her power spying on us, but it would now be undeniably rude of her to do so. We were in the gallery that overlooked the arena. The sounds of battle echoed through the long, empty room, wafting in through the open windows that led out to a small balcony.

    Not wanting further distractions, we both leant against the wall, listening to the sounds of sparring. I spread out my smoke, looking for unexpected presences. Eventually, I nodded, confirming we were alone.

    ¡°By all that is Seelie, that woman is a monster,¡± Sephy groaned, leaning against the wall. ¡°What¡¯s your take on all that?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t tell if she¡¯s deliberately terrifying, or that¡¯s just her. Still, both she and Maeve have been behaving, so that felt odd.¡± I mulled it over. It wasn¡¯t confrontational but why else bother us while we were alone? ¡°It was clandestine. She didn¡¯t want others to know we spoke.¡±

    ¡°Agreed. Mentioning my family could also be a suggestion. Why would she want my family to know where I am?¡± Sephy stroked her chin, and I tried to think of what might¡¯ve spurred this on.

    ¡°I¡¯d assume it was a trap if not for Pel¡¯s protection.¡± It didn¡¯t feel like a trap, which made it the mark of a good trap. It didn¡¯t make any sense to me, not with how they¡¯d been acting so far. ¡°Am I missing some political point of view here? Why do you think she wants your company for our chat? And is it related to telling your family where you are, or is that separate?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s nothing good, and as to my presence in the talk, I have some guesses.¡± She looked me up and down.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Nothing. Just thinking that I really don¡¯t want to have to explain to her that I¡¯m far too selfish to share.¡±

    ¡°Share what?¡± I asked, but she just grinned.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. Best thing we can do is push on.¡± She grinned and pushed herself off from the wall.

    ¡°Your knightly impulses are showing. I can think of five other things we could do.¡± My words died in my throat as she leaned in close to me. I could see her amber eyes glinting in the fading sun.

    ¡°Yeah, but I think this will be more fun,¡± she whispered into my ear before placing a warm kiss on my cheek and pulling back. ¡°Sorry, I have to go. I can hear Arthur and Lance out there.¡±

    She grinned, leaving me blushing against the wall. My eyes were glued to her as she left, her hips swaying in a manner that had nothing to do with her knightly training. She stepped out to the balcony, drew a training blade from storage, and then launched herself off the edge, hair flowing behind her like a war banner.

 Book 2 Chapter 9 - A contractual arrangement

    The hardest part of getting away after dinner was shaking Arthur. While he wasn¡¯t glued to Maeve, he still didn¡¯t seem to trust me and seemed determined to poke his nose in. Sephy, who¡¯d normally distract him, was trying to covertly join us. The prince hovered about like a fly over a treat.

    It wasn¡¯t until Maeve swatted him away, bluntly asking if he was doubting both her judgement of character and her ability to protect herself, that he finally left. He glared at me over his shoulder as he departed, and I knew this was going to come back to bite me.

    True to her word, Maeve found us a place with a positively amazing window. The Felix Lodge had a single tower, which I¡¯d initially assumed was for housing flying beasts, but when she took us up to the top of it, I found it was instead an observatory, designed for observing the motions of stars. A dome with a wide opening that faced the Moon offered an escape and a wonderful view.

    Surrounded by comfy chairs, big desks, and stacks of notes was the centrepiece of the room¡ªa beautiful brass telescope as tall as I was. It was a surprising feature in a cultivator¡¯s estate, as I¡¯d heard telescopes spoken of as a creation of mortals who envied cultivators¡¯ eyes. I circled it as our conversation stalled, Maeve fidgeting as we waited for Sephy, neither of us wanting to repeat ourselves. To fill the time, I approached the eyepiece and took a look.

    My breath left me in a rush. It was beautiful.

    The Moon filled my vision. There was detail I¡¯d never quite noticed before. While my eyes could reveal the same elements, with my greater vision and the telescope¡¯s help, there was so much more I could pick out. A vast, unchanging desert covered in great craters became a pockmarked and bumpy landscape.

    I felt a shift and noticed the telescope move, some runic construction manoeuvring it to track the Moon across the sky. Taking a step back, I admired the clever construction, glad I¡¯d not dismissed the simple tool as a ¡®mortal¡¯ fancy.

    ¡°Interesting, is it?¡± Maeve asked.

    ¡°Take a look.¡± I gestured to the eyepiece. Maeve came up and looked. She only stood there for a moment or two before nodding.

    ¡°Very pretty.¡± I almost laughed at her lack of reaction. The blade-gifted was truly a different soul compared to me.

    ¡°I need to get Lance up here. She would love it.¡±

    ¡°You have your former fianc¨¦e and current paramour in the room and are thinking of other women? You scoundrel!¡± Sephy¡¯s silhouette appeared at the opening of the dome. The moonlight framed her and her impish grin wonderfully.

    ¡°I look forward to making it up to you.¡± I smiled back, offering her a hand to descend. She gracefully took it and gently descended to join us in the room proper. Maeve watched, her face calculating.

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m even more certain of my current plans now.¡± She bowed to Sephy. ¡°Lady Persephone, thank you for joining us. I have a bit of business which mostly concerns Taliesin first, and then I have something that concerns the three of us, but I¡¯d like you to be here for all of it.¡±

    ¡°Thank you for the invitation, Lady Maeve. I see your chaperone is not about?¡±

    ¡°The reasons behind that will be clear soon.¡± Maeve then took a breath. ¡°I would like if one of you could set up some privacy runes.¡±

    ¡°I will, of course.¡± Sephy nodded. She was better with runes than I was by a great margin. Still, we exchanged a look. This was getting stranger by the second. Why would she ask for our runes? She surely had her own.

    We all grabbed some seats, sinking into the soft leather as we sat around a low table. The conversation started normally enough. Maeve thanked me for saving her and for my actions in delivering my secret reports to her. It felt formal, but I could sense the terrible sincerity in her words. Sephy stayed quiet, recognising that this part of the discussion was between just us.

    ¡°I have another thing to thank you for as well.¡± Maeve¡¯s voice, which had held all the confidence and power of a scion of one of the most powerful families in Euross, faltered. She took a deep breath and pushed on. ¡°I must thank you for aiding my cultivation. Your words helped me redefine what it was to succeed, how I should define victory.¡±

    ¡°I was stuck at the bottleneck for years. I reached it in near record time, but I could never seem to find an intent that resonated. Stuck there, as the months and years passed, I blamed myself. I saw it as a failure. That I¡¯d lost.¡±

    ¡°Then I met you, heard your conviction. Your survival doesn¡¯t lessen that commitment I sensed from you. How you chose the field upon which you battled and defined what it meant to win. It was like I could breathe again for the first time. My ¡®loss¡¯ was imagined. All these barriers and expectations were nonsense I¡¯d invented or allowed others to force upon me. None of it mattered if I could, like you, find my way forward.¡±

    ¡°I thank you for that, and have prepared a small gift.¡± She pulled out a small box, opening it to offer me a short knife. It was a sturdy camping knife, small enough to be concealed, with a pale horn hilt wrapped in black leather. As I took it from the box, I could feel subtle runes engraved within.

    ¡°A knife. How fitting.¡± She looked worried for a second before I reassured her, ¡°I mean it genuinely. I have need of a good tool such as this.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a discreet blade. The hilt contains a chamber you should be able to fill with ash. The blade is enchanted to be exceptionally durable, and the tip can start fires.¡±

    ¡°A fine gift. I am pleased to have been of such help to you. I would say there are no debts between us, but I sense there¡¯s something else you need to tell us about. Given that Rensleigh is absent and we¡¯re using our privacy wards, which makes it unlikely she can listen in, I must admit I¡¯m curious.¡±

    ¡°Yes. It unfortunately has to do with Mother Chox. Our matriarch, while thankful for your aid, has become a bit... greedy.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean by greedy?¡± Sephy chimed in, sensing the shift in the conversation. Maeve paused, a look of worry crossing her face.

    A minute later, I had been given a note, asking if Sephy knew a particular secret of mine. With a sinking sensation, I let Maeve know that she did. I now had a much better sense of what the problem might be, and if I was right, I¡¯d need every ally I could get.

    Maeve took a deep breath and began to explain, starting from when she and Pel were first informed of my survival. The knight wanted to set the scene and provide context for the problem to come.

    <hr>

    It was a few minutes later when Maeve finished, and we sat in awkward silence.

    ¡°So you want my babies?¡±

    ¡°By the Sidhe, no.¡± Maeve flushed.

    ¡°Wait, if this is the situation, why did you involve Sephy? Tell me you don¡¯t want our babies?¡± I pressed on. In the corner of my eye, I caught Sephy suppress a smile.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want any babies from anywhere!¡± Maeve slumped back in her seat. ¡°It¡¯s my grandmother.¡±

    ¡°SHE WANTS MY BABIES?¡±

    ¡°By the Sidhe. Stop saying babies!¡± At Maeve¡¯s outburst, Sephy collapsed into a fit of laughter. I was pleased to make her laugh, but inside my stomach churned.

    It had always been apparent to me that if the Harkleys knew about my bloodline, they would¡¯ve treated me like a prime stud. A sire to be rented out to whoever could pay the right price. A horrid existence, made all the worse as it exposed the truth of my birth. I wouldn¡¯t even warrant the scant protection their name offered me, leaving me as no more than a sex slave to debauched cultists.

    I¡¯d rather bed one of the Unseelie than live a life like that.

    Avoiding that fate had lulled me into a false sense of security. With so few aware of my heritage and my trust in them absolute, it had been just another secret to keep.

    How did she even know? I thought back and cursed. That fucking crow!

    What I¡¯d taken for over-eager carrion, waiting to munch on my eyeballs and tongue¡ªthe favoured delicacies of such creatures¡ªwas likely a spy. I¡¯d taken the rumours of the creatures being able to spy for the family as just that, but it was the only thing to witness my resurrection.

    While I puzzled that out, Sephy was gathering herself as Maeve glared at her.Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    ¡°Very funny. Here I am, trying to help.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t think we need help in that department, thank you,¡± Sephy said, and I felt myself crack a smile despite the situation. Maeve was now glaring at both of us, the spiritual sensation of a blade rattling in its sheath making its return.

    ¡°We¡¯re sorry¡ªor at least I¡¯m sorry. I do appreciate your warning, but how else am I going to stay sane if I don¡¯t make a bit of fun out of this?¡± I asked, and she relented a little.

    ¡°Look, my grandmother wants to work your lineage into our house. Trying to explain that your interest is entirely focused elsewhere,¡± she shot a look at Sephy, who preened, ¡°didn¡¯t sway her. She¡¯ll cool down on it soon, but right now the war is taxing her patience. She¡¯s normally better at looking at things in the long term.¡±

    ¡°But in the short term, we have to deal with her trying to woo Taliesin. And since I¡¯m here, and your governess reminded me to let my family know of my location, she considers me an obstacle to be removed?¡± Sephy leant over the small table, placing her chin in her hands.

    I felt an aura rise up in response, the taste of iron filling my mouth like I was licking blood off an iron nail. Maeve¡¯s rattling blade was quashed as Sephy¡¯s aura made itself known.

    Had this been going on all the time when I¡¯d been Wood or Bronze? A whole extra dimension to our interactions I¡¯d been unaware of?

    ¡°I would like to assume she wouldn¡¯t take action against a house we have good relations with, but¡­¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s an ancient monster. Who knows what she might do,¡± I supplied and got a nod in return.

    ¡°Do I need to explain how poorly my future relations with the Chox would be if that came to pass?¡± I growled.

    ¡°No. Look, I¡¯m trying to help. I owe you my life. Your insights helped my cultivation. I¡¯m not pleased about being put in this situation.¡± She groaned. ¡°I¡¯m still new to this skulduggery that you both seem so adept at, which is why I asked both of you to be here so we could work it out together.¡±

    ¡°You are being awfully quick to thwart your grandmother, though.¡±

    ¡°The Chox owe Taliesin a great debt. Ignoring that what she plans is just plain wrong, repaying that debt with betrayal is unacceptable. It would be an unacceptable stain on our honour,¡± Maeve¡¯s voice was razor-sharp, her eyes boring into Sephy, who didn¡¯t flinch. ¡°I am following her directive¡ª¡®do what is best for the house¡¯¡ªeven if she doesn¡¯t see that right now.¡±

    ¡°And until she does?¡±

    ¡°I have an idea that I hope we could refine together.¡± Her sharp gaze dulled, the focus lost as Maeve fidgeted in place. ¡°I suggest we fake a relationship.¡±

    ¡°And what, pretend I¡¯ve just forgotten about Sephy?¡±

    ¡°Nobody would believe that.¡± Maeve brushed aside my question. Her faith in our relationship somewhat endeared her to me and quelled some of my anger. She was the messenger in this situation, and I shouldn¡¯t forget it. Sephy, on the other hand, was, if anything, more agitated than before.

    ¡°So, which of us are you suggesting be relegated to mistress then?¡± Sephy asked, murder in her eyes.

    ¡°Not that either,¡± Maeve responded, struggling for words.

    Sephy leant back, examining Maeve carefully. ¡°Hmm. Those exotic arrangements don¡¯t interest me. Besides, you¡¯re not my type.¡±

    There was a squawk from Maeve as her face flushed. ¡°No, not that! I mean like a love triangle, like in fables and such. Two women who pine after the same man.¡±

    ¡°What interesting fables you read, Lady Maeve,¡± Sephy answered, but much of the venom was gone as the plan was finally laid out.

    ¡°Why are you being so difficult? I am trying to help!¡± Maeve¡¯s voice had a whine to it¡ªnot one of petulance, but that of a blade being honed upon a whetstone. We seemed moments away from a fight.

    ¡°I feel this little exchange highlights a flaw in the plan. How do we explain how you haven¡¯t murdered me or each other for this rakish behaviour?¡± I asked. Both women froze, nearly out of their seats, the air thick with tension and their auras clashing, a cacophony of sensation.

    ¡°We have a bit more control than that.¡± Sephy flapped her hand dismissively. Sitting back, the tension eased by a small margin, but I pressed on.

    ¡°Really? I know that look. It¡¯s the same expression you had before you stabbed Richard Rhoddersly.¡±

    ¡°He kept insisting everyone call him Rod! Honestly, it¡¯s overcompensating when your first name is already Dick! Besides, trying to get that girl to say it was out of line.¡± Sephy¡¯s ire flickered over to me, her amber eyes pinning me in place.

    ¡°Oh! Is that why he stopped insisting on that stupid nickname?¡± Maeve¡¯s genuine interest burst the bubble of tension that had been building. The auras spilling off the two of them went from clashing discord to a melodic hum.

    ¡°Pleased to be of service,¡± Sephy gave her a small bow.

    Maeve found her voice again, now less strained but tired. ¡°He has a point. Neither of us is some meek damsel pining over some distant love. I just don¡¯t know how else to fix this.¡±

    ¡°I assume just asking her again to stay out of it, or involving Pel, is out of the question,¡± I offered.

    She shook her head. ¡°Unless you want to be stuck as a prisoner here for however long this takes to blow over? I know her enough to say if she feels like she¡¯s being blocked, she¡¯ll only get more stubborn. If she feels like there¡¯s a chance of success, she¡¯ll actually start thinking it over.¡±

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s out. I¡¯m not keen on being put back into a cage so soon.¡± I sighed. Even if the Artoss estate was incomparable to the Harkley Hall, it would still feel like a prison.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure we can think of something. Look, it¡¯s better than the alternative of having my grandmother throwing random women at you.¡±

    ¡°How is this my life?¡± I slumped in my seat, trying to work out where I¡¯d gone wrong. I wasn¡¯t so cocky as to believe I¡¯d escaped the machinations of powers far beyond me. Yet, even in my wildest imaginings, I¡¯d never pictured the threat being devious women looking to farm my wild oats.

    We talked about it for a while, as it became increasingly clear we¡¯d have to find some way to make this work. Other ideas were floated, but nothing quite worked. The challenge was that Maeve couldn¡¯t lie to her grandmother and the solution also had be something that her Governess could at least play dumb about.

    That left us with this contractual love triange. Something that could be reported on by others and allow Maeve to at least say she was making some sort of progress. In her own words, ¡® I need to be confident that this is the best chance we¡¯ll get of achieving her objective.¡¯

    Maeve saw this as the truth. Even if there was no chance of it happening, it was better than causing a rift where I¡¯d be actively working against the Chox plans.

    I begrudgingly accepted the situation, with the intention of finding a new solution as soon as possible. Sephy took a while to come around, only signing on after she began to speak about all the ways to keep it secret. If there was one thing the future spymistress loved, it was a good secret.

    An hour later, we had an agreement. It was utterly unromantic and structured far more like a contract than a relationship. The core tenets were that, publicly, I was to act in a way that allowed Maeve to be seen as a viable competitor for my heart. Mostly that required Sephy and me to tone things down, and for Maeve and I to spend at least a little time together.

    There was quite a list of things Maeve was to not do. Male pride is a funny thing. Even though I lacked any interest, I still felt it take a slight blow as she merrily agreed to it. No matter my lack of interest, it wasn¡¯t pleasant to see the absence of hers so bluntly stated. That was quickly forgotten as my chest swelled when Sephy didn¡¯t bother with binding me to the same rules, her trust in me complete.

    ¡°Well then, I should go smooth things over with my governess and prepare for our ¡®date¡¯ tomorrow.¡± Maeve seemed about to ask something, but a look flashed between her and Sephy, and she just nodded. ¡°See you both tomorrow.¡±

    Maeve bowed, and then left us, walking swiftly and almost slamming the door behind her. I was about to call out about her rudeness when Sephy spun to stand before me. A dangerous glint was in her eye.

    ¡°Sephy?¡±

    ¡°This is not how I imagined any talk between us to go this evening.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t like it either, and I¡¯m¡­¡± Before I could apologise, she kissed me quickly on the lips, silencing me. She pulled back, admiring my flustered face.

    ¡°Don¡¯t apologise. I fell for a man who was in a far worse situation, a situation I fully intended to drag him out of. This is less dire, and far more amusing.¡± She gave me a bittersweet smile.

    ¡°You were the only part of that life I ever intended to bring into this one. No flames could make me forget you, and even as I tried to keep my expectations low, to not let hope blossom in my chest as to what we could be. It was a vain hope, you are far too enchanting.¡± I held up a hand and stroked her cheek. She nuzzled into it, red hair falling in a cascade over her face.

    From behind the curtain of hair, Sephy spoke quietly, ¡°This little plot is nothing but a hedge to be vaulted, a small obstacle when others have seemed so insurmountable. I cannot promise I won¡¯t be jealous or frustrated by it, but know I do not doubt you. That I have faith in us. There is no oath worth speaking, no contract¡¯s ink has more value than how I feel in your company. How I feel when I do this.¡± She leant forward and kissed me passionately.

    The awkward drudgery of the last hour was blasted away by her words and actions. I felt my hearth burn, my cultivation resonating with the chaotic beauty of the mad situation. That was nothing compared to how my heart pounded, a drumbeat that filled my chest and ears.

    With one hand, I grabbed her waist, pulling her close, and the other hand ran up the back of her neck before I wove my fingers into her scarlet tresses. Kissing her full, red lips, our breath came quickly. I tried to find some words, a response to her testament, but I was both figuratively and physically tongue-tied.

    As our lips parted, I found the words I needed. ¡°I am yours.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± She smiled and pushed me backwards. I stumbled and fell into a chair. There was the sound of fabric rustling and the feel of glamour when something was put in a storage ring. I had a split second to drink up the intoxicating vision that was the goddess before me. The curves and the muscles beneath, that had for so long been constrained by bodice or breastplate were better than I could''ve ever imagined. Then she leapt upon me.

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    ¡°Percy, are you up here?¡± A polite, refined voice, muffled by a door, drew both of our attention. Quite the achievement given our current state.

    ¡°You¡¯ve got to be kidding me!¡± Sephy growled between deep breaths. Our sweaty bodies pressed together, staying still as we both watched the door. I was thankful that, in an earlier moment of clarity, years of paranoia had driven me to use some ash to push the bolt across.

    ¡°Hello?¡± The prince¡¯s voice continued. He then began knocking firmly on the door, as if we¡¯d somehow missed him before now.

    ¡°Maybe he¡¯ll leave?¡± I hissed, whispering despite our recent and vigorous testing of the limits of the privacy ward.

    We held our breath. There was silence. Then he began to rattle the door knob like it owed him money.

    ¡°If Bors is to be believed, the door will spring open at the worst possible time, or he¡¯ll find a key under a mat or something,¡± Sephy groaned, leaning into my shoulder. "I have never so swiftly regret binding myself to a secret."

    ¡°Is nowhere safe and discrete? I know! I spotted a nice glade in the forest yesterday.¡± I winced hearing how that sounded. ¡°Sorry, that¡ª¡±

    ¡°What are you apologising for?¡± She ran a finger down my chest, her voice husky, her eyes sparkling with excitement. ¡°Come on, take me away and ravish me in your forest glade! There¡¯s an easy way down the side of the building.¡±

    ¡°Should I be worried about how into this you are?¡± I asked, picking her up in my arms, marvelling at the way things jiggled.

    ¡°Only if you plan to stop.¡± She replied, kissing me as I threw a cloak of ash up to hide our naked bodies from the pale gaze of the moon. Cultivator strength and pure, unbridled lust made me ignore the dizzying height as I stepped out the window onto the parapet and started on my way down.

    I began to chuckle as I compared this moment to my last hasty exit through a window. I also decided that this time, I certainly wouldn¡¯t be stopping to help any pursuers.

 Book 2 Chapter 10 - Conversion rates

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    The next morning, even Bors commented on my appetite as I filled myself with hearty grub. I found myself in desperate need of energy, trying to fill the hole that my lack of sleep had created. It also offered the significant benefit of stopping me from grinning like an idiot. Appearing calm, even as my wondrous mood set my very soul dancing a merry jig, was far more challenging than I had expected.

    It was bad enough that I was pleased Sephy wasn¡¯t here. I don¡¯t think I could have kept my face under control if she had been in the room. Part of the plan was that today we would stay separate. My ¡®date¡¯ with Maeve was nothing serious, just time spent publicly in each other¡¯s company. We had decided on a subtle shift. While Sephy would be using the excuse of ¡®family pressure¡¯ to explain why she was restraining her own interests and more violent tendencies.

    I waved goodbye to Bors, who was off to train with Arthur, Gawain, and Sephy, who had got up early. That left me alone with Lance, Gaz, and Kay. Gaz was in a good mood, explaining how Tiff had managed to negotiate staying for a couple of weeks once her diplomatic duties were done.

    ¡°We¡¯re still working towards Iron. Lance is at the threshold, just needs to find her intent. I¡¯ve got a few more treasures to consume. The witches are making some of the treasures into a brew for me, and I¡¯ve got some Laughing Foxglove that I need to listen to.¡± I nodded as Gaz explained their plans for the day.

    ¡°You keep putting it off. Why is that?¡± Lance nudged him, and Gaz scowled.

    ¡°I know why. I was around to help collect those. I¡¯d like to know the name of whatever bastard calls that ¡®laughing¡¯ so I can avoid their jokes.¡± Kay piped up. She was slowly getting better at becoming involved in our conversations.

    ¡°The only laughter it reminds me of is the kind that gives me flashbacks to having to pal around with those creeps back in Fosburg. The kind of laughter you only get when someone else is the butt of the joke.¡± Gaz shuddered, clearly upset by the memory. ¡°Once I can get past that and absorb the glamour, I should be ready to take the next step.¡±

    ¡°At least you have your intent.¡± Lance crossed her arms.

    ¡°You do?¡± Kay asked, looking surprised. Gaz just nodded happily.

    ¡°It¡¯s coming along. I¡¯ve had an idea for a long time that¡¯s only getting firmer.¡± Lance scowled and then tried to hide it. Far from unexpected from the competitive Squire. What did surprise me was that Kay did the same. I quietly tucked that observation away for later.

    ¡°Congratulations. It¡¯s not an easy task.¡± I reached across the table to slap Gaz on the shoulder.

    ¡°Says Mr ¡®I reached Iron in a month and a half.¡¯¡± Lance growled. ¡°I thought I might have an intent as well till I met that prissy blonde prick.¡±

    ¡°Do I have to point out again that you should be the last one making fun of his looks?¡± Gaz asked.

    ¡°His hair is always perfect!¡± she retorted. All of us stared at her shining, perfectly swept locks. Even Kay joined in. ¡°Stop staring, my hair looked far better yesterday!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not the defence you think it is,¡± I replied, which brought out a wave of chuckles. Our good mood was interrupted as Tristan ran into the room, his face a picture of worry.

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    Tristan was the resident of the Lodge I¡¯d spent the least time with. I often caught him watching me, a kind of passive study that tickled the hairs on the back of my neck. He always flinched when I spotted him, surprised I¡¯d caught him out.

    Today, he was in neutral colours. Not quite dressed like a servant, he could have passed instead for the kind of faceless court functionary who does sterling, unappreciated work for years, only to receive a commendation with his name misspelled. The image was helped by the fact he clutched a leather binder full of papers in his hands.

    Despite all the spying I¡¯d done, I hesitated to call myself a spy, seeing myself more as a carefully placed agent of all sane, intelligent people. Tristan, who seemed to practically blend into the background even as I actively looked at him, was a different story.

    ¡°Hmm, I expected more people here.¡± He looked around the room, and I struggled to believe he could ever be the same man as the one I¡¯d heard about when it came to his public persona.

    ¡°You look like you have news?¡± Lance asked.

    ¡°Indeed, I do. I had hoped to relay it just the once, but I shall not leave you in suspense.¡± He opened the front page of the binder. His words were calm, even as they dragged behind them a howling storm.

    ¡°Independent reports from the Order of Crimson Wall, the Coven of the Hunters of Herne, and House Gasparini confirm the Divine Cultivators have begun their invasion. They¡¯ve been gathering their forces in Latium, but have covertly marched up through the mountains of the Hesperia peninsula to wage war on the Germania region. They march on Teutorarge, and several mortal cities have already fallen to them.¡±

    ¡°Well, fuck.¡± Lance¡¯s voice punctured the silence that followed. The room dissolved into chaos as we all started asking questions and talking over each other.

    ¡°This was to be expected. They¡¯re being pushed out of much of the rest of Euross. They¡¯re sure to want to show some signs of success.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe any cultivator strongholds have fallen to them. That means they¡¯ve yet to make significant gains.¡± Tristan was leafing through his papers.

    ¡°Tell that to the mortals in the cities they¡¯ve taken over,¡± Kay grumbled.

    ¡°I¡¯m having a hard time picturing this.¡± Lance muttered. I wasn¡¯t surprised that she wasn¡¯t the best on the geography of our world. I was struggling to picture the scale of it myself. A flash of inspiration struck me.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got the perfect place to continue this discussion.¡± I led the group to the study room I used with Marek. On our way, we bumped into Maeve and Rensleigh. I was a little nervous around the Governess, not least because I now had to put on an act in front of her. I could feel her watching me as Tristan explained the situation, her gaze predatory. Beneath those eyes, I knew what it was to be a hare aware of the circling shadow of the hawk.

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    Then Maeve started talking, and it seemed the shadow was getting bigger, and all around me was nothing but flat grassland. ¡°Umm, it¡¯s good¡ªpleasant to see you this morning.¡±

    Maeve was a terrible actress.

    ¡°Good morning to you as well. No need to be so worried. The outbreak of war won¡¯t derail our discussions today,¡± I smoothly replied, trying to give her an out. She seemed to at least recognise her fumbling and just nodded silently.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    Keen to not further stress her acting talents, I opened the door to the study room, and we all gathered around the maps. For the geographically challenged, I pointed out the Hesperia peninsula, a vaguely boot-shaped piece of land that reached down from the main body of northern Euross. In its centre, where the mountains had started to fall away, becoming little more than rolling hills, was the region of Latium, the centre of Divine Cultivators¡¯ power.

    Following the mountain chain north led it to meet the very mountains we¡¯d recently traversed, and which helped wall the peninsula off from the rest of Euross. The Artoss and Chox lands sat more to the west of the mountains, while Teutorarge was straight north.

    The map was no original and already pitted with holes. Tristan and I started to fill in what we knew, using scraps of paper to paint a picture of the war. We could see what had happened. The Divine Cultivators had surprised their opponents, marching through and claiming parts of previously neutral mountain territories. Focusing on paths with minimal cultivator presence, they¡¯d blazed through the mountains rather than taking the longer route to the east.

    There was a lot of muttering around the room. As I labelled the third city they¡¯d confirmed to have taken, I tried to picture the chaos of it all in my head. I shared a look with Maeve. We were both starting to understand what might have provoked her grandmother¡¯s mood. Looking at it, I was not certain that it would be improving soon.

    I settled back, a sinking sensation lingering in my gut. I was not a grand strategist. My political knowledge outside of Albion and its immediate neighbours was mostly a matter of names in history books. Yet I felt certain that this was only the beginning of a grander problem.

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    ¡°How bad is it?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s good that they¡¯ve not destroyed any significant powers. However, the speed of this is shocking.¡± Tristan commented after stepping back to see the whole picture.

    ¡°They¡¯ll have had agents in those cities and towns, preparing for this. Probably for years,¡± I muttered.

    ¡°Indeed. The losses aren¡¯t too great though, and they don¡¯t treat mortals too cruelly.¡± Maeve said, studying the pins.

    ¡°Maeve, that¡¯s half the reason you should care. Long term, this means more Divine Cultivators.¡± I replied, casually dropping her name without the honorific. She blinked but now we had a topic to talk about she seemed less stilted than in the corridor.

    ¡°Could you explain how?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re not ¡®cruel¡¯ to mortals because that¡¯s where they get a lot of their recruits.¡± Kay sighed. She looked pallid, almost sick, as she examined the map.

    ¡°But we do the same?¡± Gaz asked. I saw Kay begin to flounder and stepped in.

    ¡°Most cultivators you¡¯ll meet are from established families of cultivators. Yet any mortal can become a cultivator. Even with support, maybe one in a hundred will ever build a hearth. Of those, maybe one in three hundred break through to Iron.¡±

    ¡°One in thirty thousand make Iron? Is it really so low among mortals?¡± Lance asked.

    ¡°Academic texts will tell you it¡¯s motivation. Surrounded by cultivators, being Bronze leaves you at the bottom. But if you were a peasant, even one of their Kings? That power doubles your lifespan, makes it so it¡¯d take fifty skilled mortals to kill you. Do you need more than that? I¡¯m not sure I believe that.¡±

    Kay spoke up. ¡°My family was wealthy compared to average mortals, and paupers compared to you lot. They¡¯re not wrong about motivation, but really, intent is the great barrier. You all talk about your intent like it¡¯s no great thing. You are surrounded by people who can guide you. You grow up knowing of its importance, how you need to balance the body and mind. Peasants, even those born to other cultivators, are rarely so lucky.¡±

    ¡°But surely, once you have it?¡± Lance continued. Her face was pinched. I could practically see her thinking about her unresolved intent.

    ¡°My grandfather was one of the rare ones who found his own path. By some miracle, he made it to Steel but stalled there. Outside of House, Order, or Coven, it¡¯s difficult to maintain the pressure. Tutors cost money. Brews and potions are worth ten times their weight in gold. My grandfather has seven children. Five of them became cultivators, and only three of them are Iron.¡± Kay¡¯s voice was hard. She was resolved and firm, even as she stated numbers that any ¡®House¡¯ would have been sent into a panic over.

    ¡°But with a cultivator as a parent?¡± Tristan spoke next. Kay¡¯s attention came down on him, and I felt her aura for the first time. I felt like I was stuck next to a great oak tree as lightning flashed threateningly overhead.

    ¡°It¡¯s more than just parentage. To my knowledge, of the fifteen of us in my generation who sought cultivation, I am the only one to reach Iron, and I am far from the eldest.¡±

    ¡°Can you seek no aid?¡± Gaz asked. I winced. Never had I so acutely felt a sense that we were spoiled as I did when Kay¡¯s words rolled over us.

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    ¡°Like I did by joining the Verdant Grove? Where I was sold the moment it was convenient. Cultivators of ¡®peasant¡¯ stock are not well liked. We¡¯re lucky to be discreetly married into lesser houses. It¡¯s that or take our chances in the Orders, hoping to stand out despite always getting the least support and worst tasks. None of them want to see us succeed.¡± She sounded so bitter it left me empty.

    ¡°But my father, his program with our guards¡ª¡± Lance¡¯s fists were balled up. She had taken particular offence at the last line.

    ¡°Your father and his guards are noble exception to normal rules.¡± I headed off that argument, nodding at Lance. She still looked frustrated but stamped it down and pushed the conversation on.

    ¡°Why does this mean more Divine Cultivators? I find it hard to believe they¡¯d treat people better.¡± Gaz asked.

    ¡°They do, at least initially. The Houses, Orders, and Covens all maintain the great divide. We do our best to stay out of mortal business, and they stay well out of cultivator business,¡± I said.

    The divide existed for a reason. Cultivators were terrible at ruling mortals. We limited ourselves to small towns and traded with the larger mortal nations. History had invariably proven that while a brief period of prosperity might be found, such arrangements ended invariably in strife.

    The problem was that even if one cultivator could be a good ruler, the cultivators nearby might not be. Then you ended up with wars and a lot of dead mortals.

    The only known example of it working came to us from Zhang Jinghua, our visitor from the Mystic East. Her vision of a singular monolithic empire that spread across her known world had captivated scholars for a while. Yet even her most ardent supporters highlighted that her idyllic interpretation might be a little bit biased.

    We¡¯d tried empires. They had a tendency to eat themselves or break out in a bad case of warlords.

    I thought on this as I found the words to explain the threat as I saw it. ¡°While I don¡¯t believe that they are any better at getting people to Iron, they do get more people to build a hearth. It¡¯s a big benefit of getting everyone together in their churches. They provide more than the Houses or Orders do to the common man.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re wrong. I¡¯ve seen them leave their towns to monster attacks. No Knight would do such a thing to a town under their protection.¡± Maeve shot me a look, angry, before remembering we were meant to be getting along. ¡°What I mean is¡ªumm¡­ If they¡¯re doing that, what¡¯s the appeal?¡±

    Hesitation didn¡¯t suit Maeve. It felt wrong, like she was fumbling her blade mid-strike, and I could practically feel the rest of the room blinking in confusion. I picked up the conversation and began to explain, hoping to make everyone forget.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I should¡¯ve been clearer. The church gives out bread, helps make simple repairs, sometimes sends their Squires to deal with small monsters. It gets closer than we do. They worm their way into the hearts and minds of the people, gathering a crop of people from those who have the talent for cultivation, sending them away to learn.¡±

    ¡°Then when destruction comes, they blame it all on us. ¡®The Knights have failed you, we can¡¯t bring our Paladins here because of those damned cultivators!¡¯ They don¡¯t care for the mortals, letting them rebuild, even aiding them to deepen their hold.¡±

    ¡°They even scoop up those who ignite their hearths in the chaos of battle and promise to train them up so they can ¡®protect you¡¯ in the future. It¡¯s not just about getting more cultivators. It breaks their trust in us, makes them hide their talents from us, makes the mortals happier to aid and help them in the future.¡±

    ¡°So the cities and towns are just the next recruiting ground,¡± Lance said, looking over the map and the ten new red dots.

    ¡°If they hold them long enough, they won¡¯t even care if you sweep back through and destroy them. It¡¯ll feed them. They¡¯re experts at this.¡±

    The mood of the room plummeted as I finished. All of us collected our thoughts.

    ¡°I never realised that mortals were so important. Hey, you don¡¯t need to look at me like that!¡± Tristan waved his hands as Kay glared at him.

    The argument only got worse from there. I avoided getting caught up, instead quietly examining the map. I had a question niggling at the back of my mind, demanding an answer.

    What did I want to do about it?

 Book 2 Chapter 11 - Prancing Pegasus

    The meeting broke apart. Gaz left to send a message to his family and ensure Tiff was informed, as the situation might affect her diplomatic discussions. Kay and Tristan were locked in a heated debate over ¡®mortal concerns.¡¯ This mostly involved Tristan sitting stiffly in a chair while Kay stalked back and forth, ranting. I ended up walking outside with Lance and Maeve. Rensleigh had made herself blissfully scarce, and we were heading to the training grounds for our own reasons. I wanted to explore my control over ash. The news of the coming war had shaken me, and I felt drawn to the more physical and combative aspects of cultivation.

    Like me, Maeve sought to train, but she was also sticking to the plan of publicly hanging out with me. I could feel her trying to work out the appropriate distance to stand from me. This led to at least one awkward moment of her hopping from one foot to another.

    Thankfully, Lance didn¡¯t seem to notice, too wrapped up in her thoughts. I had a good guess about her reasoning but didn¡¯t begrudge her presence. She was an excellent social lubricant.

    Their discussion on the art of the sword, to which I gamely added a comment here and there, was abruptly interrupted when we arrived at the training courtyard and I was flattened to the ground.

    Wheezing, I looked up to find the sky blotted out by a shimmering mane and gleaming feathers, an annoyed pegasus looming over me.

    ¡°Gring!¡± Lance shouted at the errant equine, who snorted but begrudgingly backed off. He snorted something at Lance, whose face contorted as she tried to puzzle out his message.

    Maeve helped me up¡ªa natural response that had absolutely nothing to do with our fake relationship. I knew this because I could feel the exact moment she realised what she was doing. She panicked, nearly yanking my arm out of its socket.

    Lance, too busy being mortified by her future companion, didn¡¯t notice as I discreetly nursed my arm. She and Gring were following Ursul¡¯s directions for forming their contract. This process included a series of brews to build an artificial soul bond. As Lance nodded and listened to Gring¡¯s whinnies, I could practically feel her leaning on that nascent bond, trying to puzzle out his thoughts.

    ¡°I¡¯m still learning and didn¡¯t get much of that, but I think he¡¯s impatient,¡± she said after another back and forth.

    ¡°I know what this is about. You¡¯ll have to wait until this afternoon¡ªyou can¡¯t rush art,¡± I replied, waving away the prancing prima donna. Gring whinnied at me, his sharp look telling me all I needed to know about his displeasure.

    ¡°Sorry about that,¡± Lance said, looking deflated.

    ¡°You¡¯re not even bonded to him yet; you don¡¯t need to apologise,¡± I reassured her.

    ¡°Makes what I wanted to ask next feel wrong, though.¡±

    ¡°You want help with your intent.¡± I didn¡¯t wait for her to explain, offering my guess.

    ¡°Am I that obvious?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re that competitive. You¡¯ve been in a sour mood since Gaz mentioned his progress this morning.¡± Lance grumbled at that but didn¡¯t argue.

    I was a little surprised when Maeve joined the conversation. ¡°It¡¯s also understandable. It¡¯s important. It¡¯d be odd if you didn¡¯t care about it. I know it consumed my thoughts for years.¡±

    ¡°I know, right? I had these ideas like¡­¡± Lance paused, sighing. ¡°Sorry, my mother would kill me if I talked about it openly. Besides, it¡¯s embarrassing.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s frustrating. Talking about it helps you form it, yet it exposes the most vulnerable parts of you. I was stuck for years.¡± Maeve smiled. Given how long she¡¯d been at her bottleneck, I could only imagine the relief of finally being past it.

    ¡°What helped you, if you don¡¯t mind me asking?¡± Lance inquired. I deliberately stayed quiet, curious to see what Maeve would share.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    ¡°I tried years of different approaches. I talked to tutors and meditated on my very identity. Then I hunted this one through the woods, nearly died, got fished out by him, and was reminded that I was the one getting in my own way.¡± Maeve¡¯s frank recollection surprised me, though it shouldn¡¯t have. Beyond some trash talk during our knife-throwing sessions, she¡¯d always been humble and honest with me.

    ¡°I knew pestering you was the right idea,¡± Lance grinned. ¡°What helped your process?¡±

    ¡°No, ¡®if you don¡¯t mind¡¯ for me?¡± I quipped, though I didn¡¯t actually mind sharing. I just needed time to decide what to say. I wasn¡¯t about to reveal, ¡®I died, and in the void between life and death stared into my soul until I untangled it all.¡¯

    ¡°Nah, you like talking. You also like it when people ask you questions. That way, you get to talk twice as long when you don¡¯t want to answer,¡± Lance retorted.

    Behind her, Maeve coughed, trying to hide a rare smile.

    I mimed being shot by an arrow. ¡°Oh no, my true nature exposed! However shall I cope? Maybe I should mention this insight into my personality and its source the next time I meet your mother?¡±

    Lance flushed, but I waved her off.

    ¡°Look, I¡¯ll share because honestly, it only adds to my mystique. Truth is, I rejected the first intent I formed.¡±

    Lance looked at me like I was mad, but Maeve nodded, understanding instantly.

    ¡°It fit, but it fit ¡®Regus¡¯ better than ¡®Taliesin.¡¯ I just knew accepting it would¡¯ve led me somewhere I didn¡¯t want to go. I knew parts of what became my intent and thankfully put it all together when it was most needed.¡± That wasn¡¯t a lie, but ¡®most needed¡¯ was an underwhelming way to describe ¡®at the very border of life and death.¡¯

    ¡°The pressure of battle does help. I tried that a few times, but I like battle, so it didn¡¯t really help,¡± Maeve added, furthering my little deception.

    ¡°Damn it! I¡¯m aware enough to recognise that I¡¯m battle-mad too, so that¡¯s no help,¡± Lance muttered, beginning to pace.

    ¡°When I was close, I felt a kind of power, a sort of echo in my hearth, as I spoke the words aloud. Look for things like that.¡±

    ¡°Are you suggesting I read out a list of words?¡± Lance asked.

    I sighed. ¡°No, and I¡¯m certain that wouldn¡¯t work anyway. I meant more that you should look out for things that feel right. You don¡¯t need to talk about your intent, but I first remember feeling that connection when I was explaining myself to Gaz.¡± Technically true, though it might be better described as the moment I told him where to stuff his moral fussing.

    Maeve caught Lance as she came stomping back past us. ¡°I have a question of my own. I mean no offence, but you talk so openly with Taliesin, a self-confessed Bard, about his intent. I was told not to speak to witches about forming my intent. Their processes are very different, and they were worried I¡¯d mess up forming my own intent. Is that not a concern here?¡±

    ¡°Nope. Taliesin has the mind of a Knight¡ª¡± I tried to argue, but Lance talked over me.

    ¡°He also has the mind of a Witch. I¡¯ve never heard of the Lady in Peach getting along half as well with anyone else who wasn¡¯t a Witch or didn¡¯t understand Witches. Probably has a few other minds he keeps in his pockets. His whole thing is understanding people. He doesn¡¯t have all the skill to back it up, so he needs help, but he¡¯s pretty good.¡±

    ¡°Couldn¡¯t have left that last bit off that insightful compliment?¡± I groused.

    ¡°Again, I¡¯d like to understand, but most of your stories don¡¯t involve you doing much fighting¡ªmostly distractions and the like. How did you decide he was like a Knight?¡± Maeve asked, her curiosity seeming genuine.

    ¡°Easy. Duel him!¡± Lance declared as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

    ¡°Oh no.¡± I tried to escape, but with a burst of wind, Gring was suddenly blocking the door, looking smug.

    ¡°Yes! He has no excuse this time. He¡¯s had plenty of time to warm up to his powers!¡± Lance continued. I tried to protest but could feel the mood shift. There was no way I was getting out of this. My fate was sealed when Elaine and Rensleigh appeared out of nowhere and offered to oversee the duel.

    ¡°So, do I win a song of my own if I beat you?¡± Maeve asked.

    Gring trumpeted his disapproval.

    ¡°I will be writing yours soon! Be glad I don¡¯t agree with those who claimed you cheated!¡± I shot back, hearing more snorting behind me.

    ¡°They¡¯re just annoyed they got outplayed by a pegasus!¡± Lance soothed.

    ¡°It was a chase, and he can fly!¡± Maeve snapped, reigniting the same argument that had raged for hours at the end of the ¡®training session¡¯ I¡¯d hosted earlier. The climax of that chase had been the teams fencing me into a corner, only to be robbed of victory when Gring dropped out of the sky on top of me.

    I wasn¡¯t sure what I regretted more¡ªforgetting how mobile Gring was or suggesting that I¡¯d write a song as a reward. There¡¯d been nothing but trouble since.

    ¡°We¡¯ll discuss this more after the duel,¡± Maeve growled. Her anger at the outcome shifted from Lance and Gring to me. From the dead-focused look in her eyes, I knew two things: first, she had completely forgotten about the whole fake relationship thing, and second, this was going to hurt.

 Book 2 Chapter 12 - Lessons, Secrets, and Truths

    ¡°I¡¯m not calling the technique ¡®the death note,¡¯ it¡¯s a terrible name. It sounds like something a tax collector would scribble in a ledger.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a perfectly reasonable name. My favoured technique is called Death Wave. It is better to be accurate and descriptive. None of that Knightly Ascendant Hammer nonsense.¡±

    ¡°Then doesn¡¯t every technique end up being called death-something?¡±

    ¡°Not necessarily. Did we not earlier practise the Whisper of Death?¡± I went to argue, then caught a hint of¡ªnot a smile, but Marek¡¯s perpetual frown did ease. Was that a joke?

    Oh, by the Sidhe, Marek was trying to inject some fun into our conversation! How poor must my mood be if the Death Witch was trying to cheer me up?

    It had been a week since the news of the war had splashed cold water over our merry band. The impact was different for each of us. Arthur and his Knights had gone into training overdrive. Sephy was included in this, though her time was also consumed by frequent visits to the library of the main estate. She wouldn''t tell me what she was researching, though from the books it seemed tied to the fall of the Atlantean empire.

    Our few conversations were stilted, not helped by my unwanted obligations with Maeve. We had met a couple of times late at night in the observatory, but those sessions ended up being purely physical expressions of our passion for each other.

    Not being able to speak with her openly left me feeling unbalanced and listless.

    She had at least confided that something specific was weighing on her, but she wanted more information before she spoke of it to me or anyone else. Being unable to help her left me feeling raw and upset in a way I¡¯d never known before. It was a unique torture to see those you cared about distressed yet find yourself unable to aid them. And it wasn¡¯t just Sephy.

    I was being driven to madness by the word fine. My companions claimed to be ¡®alright¡¯, ¡®okay¡¯, ¡®good¡¯, but fine was the most popular untruth. Each time I heard it was like the bow of viola being dragged the wrong way across the strings.

    Those associated with Fosburg were stirred into a worry. Elaine spent as much time in the dream chamber as out of it. Lance was devouring every book on intent, hassling the entire lodge for their insights. Having been left out of the last battle due to being only Bronze, she refused to let it happen again. Gring was an unexpected beacon of stability, keeping her anchored by doing all manner of training with her. Outside of that, he kept pestering me about writing his verse.

    Gaz and Tiff were having serious discussions about their marriage¡ªnot if, but when it should happen. It had come to a head yesterday after Gaz managed to reach Iron. What should have been a celebration turned into a shouting match that everyone heard. The usually harmonious couple clashed, and it turns out Tiff was also gifted with sound glamour.

    Her shout of, ¡®I''d rather risk being a widow than face the regret of never calling you my husband,¡¯ would live with me forever.

    Our assorted extras turned into ghosts¡ªnever seen and only hinted at. Tristan and Kay I barely saw. I understood Kay was offering up as much information as she could muster, having been in one of their major cities for training before being relocated to the fae realm. The only sign of Tristan was empty inkwells and the mounds of correspondence stacked in the lodge library from his many admirers. That, and the scribblings that¡¯d appear overnight on the map as he tried to piece together a more detailed picture of the invasion.

    Maeve was the exception, she instead haunted me personally. She appeared out of nowhere with questions about the Divine Cultivators or sought specific confirmation or additional context on all manner of random details found on my crystal dossier. The first couple of times I forced us to discuss such things over tea, rather than allowing her to harangue me in a corridor to add to our story. However, given our distracted audience and the clumsy mess she became each time I did so, I quickly gave up.

    The distance between us all left me trapped with my thoughts. Key amongst them was what I wanted to do. I could sense a quest coming on, a sense that fate was trying to work its hooks into me. Ready to drag me from the calm waters in which I''d been enjoying.

    ¡°Time to wrap it up there,¡± Marek said, snapping the book shut.

    ¡°Sorry?¡± I blinked, trying to work out what was going on.

    ¡°You¡¯re clearly distracted, and I refuse to work on glamour such as this while you are so far gone.¡±

    ¡°I¡ªYou¡¯re right. The war and everything.¡± I was embarrassed. Given how Marek prized willpower and attention, I was expecting a dressing down of epic proportions. However, the Witch surprised me by letting out a long, contemplative sigh.

    ¡°My teacher would always chastise me at times like these, insisting that this is when you need the most focus, and then give me extra work to get me back on the path,¡± Marek reminisced.

    ¡°You disagree?¡± I winced. The more I learned of his teacher, the more I was amazed that Marek was not a worse tutor.

    ¡°I think there are times to focus. When the dragon is at the door, distractions are an unaffordable luxury. That is not the case here. With all this talk of war, it might feel like it is burning through the wood this second, but you have time. Better to examine all your choices now than to make poor decisions.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Marek,¡± I said, bowing my head to signal my respect and appreciation.

    ¡°I¡¯m still giving you extra work, though.¡± I groaned, but my angst was mere theatre. Some extra tasks would help keep me from brooding. ¡°I want you to start making those totems and work on controlling the release of your power with your ¡®as of yet unnamed¡¯ technique. The extra task is to come up with a good name for it.¡±

    I agreed. At least the extra work was not an inconvenience. I had a few ideas for a name and was torn between working in the words Lament or Dirge. Requiem felt too gentle for a technique that slapped my foes with death glamour.

    Leaving the study, I wandered the halls of the Felix Lodge. I found the mess hall empty apart from some cold bread and cheese that showed signs of prior raids. Hoping to track down the culprits, I did a lap of all the main spaces where I expected to find my comrades, but every room was empty.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    I was uncomfortably alone.

    There was a deep temptation within me to go and wait for or pester Sephy in the library of the main estate. I pushed that aside. I¡¯d done that two days ago, and while she appreciated my company, I could see that I added to the stress of whatever she was researching.

    So it was that an hour later, I found myself back where I¡¯d started, in the study room staring at the map.

    What did I even want to do? I could imagine the chaos and devastation that was set to come to the region, but how should I help? I was a bard, and while a few songs could work wonders for morale, they wouldn''t defeat wandering monsters or slay the cruel bands of Divine Cultivators.

    My pondering was interrupted as the door slid open. I was pleased for the interruption; I¡¯d even take Arthur over this creeping loneliness. I wasn¡¯t prepared for the smile that graced my lips when I saw who it was.

    ¡°Greetings, Pel.¡± I bowed slightly to the patriarch, who nodded back.

    ¡°Hello, Taliesin. Staring at the map again, are we?¡± Pel asked casually, gently letting me know he¡¯d been watching me for however long. Mithril¡¯s senses could spread for miles, so it wasn¡¯t necessarily deliberate. It should have irritated me; I loathed the idea of being watched. Yet the warmth of his tone soothed away any irritation.

    ¡°I find myself without much else to do,¡± I replied.

    ¡°I apologise. I offered you lessons when you first joined us, but I¡¯ve found myself quite busy.¡± His eyes flicked to the map.

    ¡°It would be selfish of me to insist, not when I¡¯m aware of what consumes your attention.¡±

    ¡°Still, it¡¯s important to me. If you have some time, I¡¯d love to catch up, and I have some important lessons to impart.¡± He pushed the door shut, and I felt a subtle change in the glamour and the flow of aura around the room. The Mithril was locking down the world around us, clearing it of potential spies.

    ¡°Asking is a great kindness. I appreciate you making time for me. I¡¯d always be happy to speak with you,¡± I replied, marvelling at how easily the words came. I still found the idea of being an Artoss strange, but the idea of being connected to Pel felt as natural as slipping on a favoured boot.

    ¡°Even when you¡¯re up in the observatory?¡±

    ¡°Er¡ª¡± I flushed, my words immediately faltering, my cheeks going red. He began to laugh. A hearty, piping laugh that reminded me of my mother¡¯s.

    ¡°Please forgive me, but I needed a moment of mirth. I¡¯m glad to know you and Lady Persephone have such zeal for the astronomical arts.¡± Innocent words beneath eyes brimming with mischief.

    I locked my mouth up tight. My mother was the same when it came to poking and prodding me. The less I fed it, the safer I was. His next attack, though, came from an unexpected direction. ¡°Should I expect Lady Maeve to take up a similar interest, or is her dabbling with such things more theoretical?¡±

    It was only through great control that I managed to not splutter or squawk in protest. Of course he¡¯d noticed!

    I carefully assembled a truthful sentence to respond with. ¡°Lady Maeve finds herself under pressure from her family to produce something of note. They believe it ideal if I could collaborate with her. I do not expect nor want the final output to be related to astronomy.¡±

    ¡°Ah, they want to capture some aspect of your wit and charm, yet on any output I¡¯m certain they¡¯d insist on it bearing the Chox name. Something like that, I imagine?¡± Pel asked, circling the study and checking on some books, as if our conversation was no more than idle chatter.

    ¡°Indeed. For the benefit of everyone, we decided it best if we could at least appear to be doing the groundwork together. Maeve believes this is likely a passing fancy.¡± My mind was moving at lightning speed, seeking a way to answer without lying.

    ¡°Good. A sensible action that avoids dragging in any of us old monsters. Know you can call on me if you want someone to stand in your corner, but I appreciate you working this out as adults.¡± Pel¡¯s face changed, becoming more serious. ¡°Still, I¡¯ll keep an eye out in any case. If she oversteps, I¡¯ll get involved.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d rather you keep an eye out for Sephy¡ªI mean, Lady Persephone. It seems that there is an idea she could distract me from this perceived duty.¡± I said, unprepared for the wide grin that Pel sent me.

    ¡°Noble of you to say, but outside of the protection I offer to my guests, her great-grandfather is Percival De Graille, and he is a more than capable protector. Besides, I don¡¯t imagine anyone would dare take action against the De Grailles right now.¡±

    I gave him a long look, thinking back to Sephy in the library. She¡¯d been given a lot of support by the staff in there. He sighed as I refused to look away from him.

    ¡°Yes, I know what it is that worries her, and no, I won¡¯t tell you what it is. Other than to say I¡¯m sure she¡¯ll tell you soon, and it is better to be patient than force it.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have asked,¡± I grumbled at the soft rebuke.

    ¡°But you would¡¯ve let me speak if I¡¯d offered it?¡± My tongue tied itself in a knot as I tried to defend myself, my conviction to respecting her privacy ringing hollow. A part of me had been hoping he¡¯d share, speak the secret so I could know. So I could help.

    Pel watched my turmoil, which made me all the more aware of the ugly feelings within. I resorted to silence, not trusting myself to speak for a moment. He smiled faintly and leaned over the back of one of the plush chairs.

    ¡°So, we move onto the teaching portion of our discussion. What do you understand about your boon of fae speech?¡± I gawked at him as he bluntly stated the secret I had never spoken.

    ¡°Please, it¡¯s no surprise to me that¡¯s the benefit you received from gaining a name. It¡¯s a classic Artossian boon. It¡¯s the same as mine. It¡¯s rare to have two of us with it at the same time, though.¡± He grinned, and I knew it was the truth. Perhaps that explained part of the ease I felt around him.

    ¡°So this is not some secret?¡±

    ¡°For you, it¡¯s a useful secret. Especially as no one would expect you to have it now. My boon, however, is hardly a secret among the powerful. Over the centuries, it becomes impossible to hide it. I have some advice in delaying that for as long as possible, but before we get there, back to my first question. So, what do you know about the boon?¡±

    ¡°It forces me to tell the truth. I can hear lies¡ªor at least what people think are lies. I sense it¡¯s part of me ¡®owning¡¯ my name,¡± I replied.

    ¡°Indeed, quite a shock. I had no idea the fae could give you a name. I imagine that the Lady, who is the most human among them, may be the only one who could. It¡¯s not how it is normally done, yet I sense your name is as solid as anyone else¡¯s.¡± Pel paused. ¡°Sorry, I got distracted. Do continue. What else do you know about how it works?¡±

    ¡°I can lie when it comes to songs or metaphors, or like our conversation before, I can circle the point. I imagine people can lie to me in the same manner.¡±

    ¡°Yes, very accurate. The boon suits you; you¡¯re wonderfully silver-tongued. That was a masterful exchange just now, full of truths concealing lies. There are some subtler elements to it, some ways to stretch the truths. I shall lend you some books from my private library on this.¡± He paused, looking hard at me. ¡°I do feel it¡¯s important to remind you that this is something that a boon such as this normally only happens during your ascension to Steel, and details on it are not normally shared before then.¡±

    ¡°I understand my need for secrecy, but why is it so hard to find out what happens at Steel?¡±

    ¡°Well, two reasons. Functionally, we call them boons, but there are many who view them as curses. They introduce weakness, and Steels didn¡¯t reach that level by sharing their flaws.¡± A strange expression spread across his face. He looked me up and down, taking my measure. ¡°The second is that exploring the boons leads to a truth.¡±

    ¡°A truth?¡± I felt a thrill, a sense that I was about to learn something of real importance.

    ¡°A question for you: why do you think the fae allow us their gifts? Tolerate us tramping through their realms and mangling their beautiful glamour?¡±

    ¡°Given my meetings with them, I think we¡¯re mere entertainment,¡± I replied. I didn¡¯t have to think long on it.

    ¡°Ha, and you¡¯re half right.¡± Pel¡¯s smile didn¡¯t reach his eyes. The glitter of mischief was gone. The silence stretched out between us.

    ¡°Implying I¡¯m half wrong,¡± I verbally nudged him. He was looking at me again, his eyes cutting into me, measuring and weighing some aspect of me. His next words held a heavy tone, and I could feel the power in the air ripple as he spoke.

    ¡°Taliesin, let me ask you, where do you think new fae come from?¡±

 Book 2 Chapter 13 - Deviation

    ¡°New fae?¡± I hadn¡¯t even really thought about it, and now that I did, I found it a worrying question. The fae often adopted vaguely human forms in front of us, but to them, it was no different than choosing the right tunic. Even ignoring the shapeshifting element, imagining something like Mercury helping to raise a child of any shape felt intensely wrong.

    ¡°You¡¯re a smart one. Given the context of our discussion, where do you imagine new fae come from?¡± He looked at me and took a seat in one of the comfy chairs, a clear sign, as any, that he wasn¡¯t expecting me to rush the answer.

    Rather than settling into my own chair, I walked up to the chalkboard and began to take some notes. I knew a few things. This was about names, my gaining of an ability normally limited to Steel, and the source of new fae being linked. The obvious thing to say was that the process of cultivators becoming Steel would somehow create fae. That, I put in a big circle in the middle of the board, but that wasn¡¯t anything new. He had directly implied that. It wasn¡¯t the answer he was looking for.

    In notes here and there, I listed the other factors: names and boons. I also listed a few other things that bubbled up from the frothing cauldron my mind had become. Words like glamour, intent, and fae nature all sprung up.

    As I kept making notes, I felt a creeping sense of dread worm its way down my spine. My toes dangled at the edge of black waters whose depths I could not guess. If I took a step, I might sink a mile¡ªor get only my ankles wet. I was curious by nature, but as my mind worked through the puzzle and more notes joined the others on the board, I increasingly got the sense that I should pull back. That it was fine not to know.

    But the water taunted me, and I had to know. I pushed past the mental block, and there on the chalkboard, in big letters, were two questions.

    The first outlined the fae aspect of the world: ¡®The fae cannot create anything new. So how can they create a life?¡¯

    This was the rule that defined fae. It was why I¡¯d felt comfortable in my assessment that we were entertainment. The fae could only take and twist what they experienced.

    The second question was in regard to cultivators, and it asked: ¡®Why not progress?¡¯

    Cultivators risked death to progress. I¡¯d seen it, at court. I¡¯d seen the faces disappear, and in the void they left, there were only whispers about how they¡¯d ¡®been lost to the fae¡¯. A common turn of phrase for those lost while out questing now took on a darker tone.

    No matter this threat, it had always confused me why so many were happy to keep grazing in Iron¡¯s pasture despite the greener grass just beyond the fence of Steel. Cultivators took risks¡ªthey were no strangers to the threat of death. I¡¯d assumed there was some ingredient, an unspoken barrier like intent, that most failed to form. But now I asked myself, what if there was something worse than death they feared?

    I had it all laid out in my mind. The dark water swirled beneath me, waiting for me to make that final leap.

    ¡°You have to ¡®own¡¯ your name to get to Steel, don¡¯t you?¡± I asked, knowing the answer yet not wanting it to be true.

    ¡°Every Steel you¡¯ll meet in this world owns their name, that is true,¡± Pel answered, watching me carefully. The high-backed chair and the fading light of the afternoon cast him in shadow.

    ¡°The Lady gave me my name. What if she¡¯d made me fight for it?¡±

    ¡°Well, you¡¯d not be here, that¡¯s for certain. But you¡¯re almost there.¡±

    I stared at the black water and took the plunge. ¡°If I¡¯d failed to take my name, would I¡¯ve ended up something like Mercury?¡±

    Pel clicked his tongue in annoyance, even as his stern face showed a hint of a smile settling on his lips. ¡°To think they wasted you on perfume.¡±

    ¡°Hey, I happen to like perfume!¡± I retorted. The jest and compliment had buoyed me up for a moment, but the water dragged me down, the dark waves closing over my head as the insane truth of it all crashed down upon me.

    The fae were turning cultivators into fae.

    My head swam, and I floundered. My mind turned in on itself, examining everything I knew. Something deep within was twisted and painful, my hearth dimmed and choked. No one trusted fae, but I¡¯d always thought of them as distant¡ªa force of nature I¡¯d been unlucky enough to brush up against. It felt overwhelming, like I was being watched.

    Smiling masks hiding hungry eyes.

    Something changed, and I was dragged back into my soul, like when I was dead. Fear drowned me, my hearth closing itself off to my gifts. I rejected those hooks they¡¯d embedded in my soul. Cutting them off was foolish, yet I couldn¡¯t stop myself. The gifts that had always been soothing and familiar were now jagged and eldritch.

    My soul was in agony. My hearth ached like lungs robbed of breath for too long. Ignoring the pain, I refused to open my lips, to drink in the dark sea of glamour that surrounded me. I was desperate. My hearth was dimming¡ªit needed power.

    From the ashes shall rise beautiful chaos.

    My intent rose up, and from it came my own power¡ªnot glamour but something I¡¯d forged. The puff of power permitted my hearth a desperate breath. I grew calmer. I felt the change.

    My senses were numb. I became distantly aware of Pel guiding me to a seat. Something was pressed into my hands, and the cup was guided to my lips. I drank. It was a thick mead, cold and beautifully flavoursome. The glamour on the mead was thick, and the sudden assault on my senses broke me from my torpor. I spluttered, trying to reject the glamour, even as my body welcomed it like an old friend.

    The world snapped back into place. My hearth took a deep breath, and the glamour rushed in¡ªbut it didn¡¯t swamp me as I feared. No, it was as familiar and smooth as it had always been. Distantly, I was aware Pel had been speaking this entire time. Words I barely heard, telling me the glamour wouldn¡¯t hurt me. Reminding me to pull on my intent. He fell silent as I settled.

    I blinked warily, trying to work out what had just happened.

    Pel watched me carefully. He¡¯d pulled his own seat right up to mine, leaning over and resting his elbows on his knees, his eyebrows creased with worry.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. What you¡¯ve just gone through is something all who aim for peak Iron and beyond have to endure. If not carefully managed, it can cause all sorts of damage. While it¡¯s normally safer to let cultivators work through it on their own time, I feared that with your mind, skills, and the way the fae buzz around you, you¡¯d likely stumble across this truth at some random time in your journey, far from support.¡±

    ¡°You couldn¡¯t have eased me in?¡± I croaked, fighting to open my lips, noticing for the first time my mouth had been clamped shut so hard my teeth were grinding.

    ¡°I considered it, but the only ways I imagined it working felt too close to deceit. I believed that you¡¯d prefer an uncomfortable shock to realising I¡¯d conducted a slow deception. Besides, even a gentle introduction doesn¡¯t guarantee a safer experience.¡±

    I thought it over, pleased for the distraction. The new truth still loomed large in my mind, but it felt infinitely more manageable than it had. To keep my mind off it, I met Pel¡¯s gaze and asked what I¡¯d have done in his place. After a few moments¡¯ thought, I sighed. ¡°I thank you for your respect. This is better. Not that I feel it now.¡±

    ¡°Do you wish to know more or prefer to rest?¡± He chuckled as I glared at him. How could anyone rest with this hanging over them? ¡°You are right. Claiming your name is considered the great test. Whether you even wish to take it defines much of what it is to be peak Iron. It¡¯s a complex process, but it boils down to the idea you have to step into the fae realm, speak your name, and then hold on to it no matter what comes to take it from you. What challenges you overcome defines your boon and forges your aspect¡ªthe Steel expansion of your intent. That, though, is far beyond you now.¡±

    I filed that knowledge away. The questions warred within me. Personal ones bounced around, being added to constantly as fresh fears set in. I didn¡¯t know what worried me more¡ªthat I had somehow passed this great test, or that something different might now lurk in waiting. Those selfish fears were swallowed by a larger concern, one I needed to understand.

    ¡°So the fae are just waiting to snare us? And what¡ªcultivators like you are the triumphant few who slip past?¡± I felt queasy. This was too huge. It painted so much in a different context. Things like Ban and Elaine¡¯s hesitancy to advance until Lance¡¯s position was secure now seemed far more morbid. She could¡¯ve lost one or both of her parents, only to later learn they¡¯d been turned into fae.

    Worst of all, it made it seem that the Divine Cultivators might have a point. Even considering that made my hearth shake.

    ¡°Yes and no. The true details are more complex. I need to begin with a bigger story. One that begins long ago.¡± Pel leaned back in his chair, his voice deep and warm. A good storytelling voice.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°Back then, there was next to no glamour in our world. Everyone was mortal, and we were little better than animals. It is said our art attracted the first fae, for they covet the new and the beautiful more than anything else. They liked our world, yet we were too slow¡ªour creativity stymied by our starved realm. It could not serve as a place for them to create more of themselves. So, in exchange, they ¡®offered us a challenge¡¯. They empowered us, especially in our early steps, leaking their power into our world, and gave us the tools to use it. It is called the Grand Pact.¡±

    ¡°If that¡¯s the case, aren¡¯t we just fattening our world up for them?¡± I asked, the new fears still holding my thoughts tight.

    ¡°Nothing gets past you. That would indeed be the case if it was only glamour. I didn¡¯t think to ask before now, but I assume with your name you can sense people¡¯s aura¡ªmore so than as a force, I mean?¡± Pel looked at me, again casually outing my secrets. I¡¯d feel more offended if he wasn¡¯t offering up knowledge in exchange.

    ¡°Yes, or at least since I reached Iron I have. It¡¯s like I can feel their personalities waging war.¡± I relaxed an inch, pleased to finally have an answer to that question. No one spoke about those sensations, no books wrote of them, and now I knew why.

    ¡°That makes sense. Aura is our power. It comes from our intent. It is human ¡®magic¡¯, if you will,¡± he said, using the name mortals used for our powers. ¡°Keep that sense to yourself. It¡¯s normally only Steel who gain it.¡±

    ¡°So we generate our own power?¡± That made sense to me. The power of my intent had felt different. The power it offered me wasn¡¯t mine, but it belonged to me in a way that glamour didn¡¯t.

    ¡°Indeed, and it resonates with our world.¡± Pel used a flicker of power to pull a small hand mirror from a display case. It spun slowly, reflecting the room. ¡°Glamour comes from the fae realm. It reflects our realm.¡±

    A sword appeared in his hands, an artefact of such great power that I could taste the blade glamour. ¡°Some think that a blade creates blade glamour, but they¡¯re wrong.¡±

    The mirror stopped spinning and angled such that it reflected the sword. ¡°The raw glamour they pump into our realm is reflecting the blade.¡± His spatial ring flared, and the sword and its reflection were gone.

    ¡°Yet even as you removed glamour from your hearth, there was something else to pull on?¡±

    ¡°My intent?¡± I paused, thinking on what I knew. Wood and Bronze could fight¡ªeven mortals could kill them¡ªyet Iron, even at the earliest stages, was on a completely different level.

    ¡°We call the power it gathers Aura. The fae exist as a mirror of the realms they touch. The glamour that rolls into our world is diffuse, like mist. Our aura is like water, and as an alchemist, I¡¯m sure you¡¯re aware how much vapour is in each drop of water?¡±

    ¡°In fact, as a wielder of death glamour, you feel this most keenly. The ¡®will¡¯ that infuses death glamour is a weaker version of our aura. It is our magic overwhelming the glamour. The fact that even a mortal¡¯s will is enough to impact the glamour should give you an idea of the power at play.¡±

    That made sense and explained why more powerful cultivators¡¯ death glamour was so saturated with ¡®will¡¯. Even in death, their aura was totally saturating the glamour.

    ¡°And what¡ªthey build us up and harvest us forever more?¡±

    ¡°No. Think back on my metaphor of vapour and liquid. Our world was a barren desert into which they permit a misting breeze to flow. A respite that allows us to rise, to put down roots, and grow. And with every Iron rank cultivator who sprouts up, we create more drops of Aura.¡±

    ¡°Slowly turning the desert into an oasis?¡± I nodded.

    ¡°Indeed. These sacrifices, while overwhelming¡±¡ªfor a moment, Pel was misty-eyed, his voice brittle¡ª¡°will one day see us fully replace glamour. The fae will retreat to be mere watchers, observing the untold generations whose hearths will only know Aura.¡±

    ¡°A beautiful image. But how do we know this? I can picture it, but how can we be sure we¡¯re not being deceived?¡± It seemed both inevitable and yet unbelievable. The offering of the fae was equal parts cruel and benevolent, just as all their deals were. Yet, when it concerned the world, I couldn¡¯t help but look for the trick.

    ¡°Remaining suspicious¡ªI like it. Just the thing when you¡¯re dealing with the fae.¡± Pel sighed. ¡°It was something that only those at Mithril, or who aimed for it, seemed confident of. It was not until Zhang Jinghua that we had confirmation come to us.¡±

    ¡°The realm traveller from the Mystic East?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Her power was exclusively human. It¡¯s why she shook the world. She was one Mithril¡ªor Nascent Soul if we want to get picky¡ªbut her power was pure Aura. She called it Ki, and it was a little different to our Aura, but all could feel it. The unadulterated power of a realm just like ours. Her power cut through glamour like a knife through warm butter. Even those at Mithril, who wielded Aura and should¡¯ve been her equal, bowed before her, unable to rival cultivation built on such incredible foundations.¡± He flicked his fingers at the wall and summoned a book. I noticed the title: The Spirits of the Mystic East and Their Eurossian Analogues: A Collection of Discussions with Lady Zhang Jinghua.

    ¡°This interesting book has part of the truth. In it, she mentions her realm is older than ours by an almost inconceivable scale. Yet even her people have legends, lost to the mists of time, that stated long ago, cultivators of her world were reliant on boons from Spirits¡ªgreat beings that taught them their martial arts and directed their earliest cultivators.¡±

    He passed the book to me, flipping it casually open to the right page. At first, it seemed a Mithril thing, but I felt that the spine itself was bent, the page referenced often. I looked at Pel. How often had he had this conversation? Or was this a marker of a path blazed by countless others as they circled this hidden truth?

    ¡°If you wish for some sense of confidence, I recommend reading this. It¡¯s mostly about how to fight monsters but hints at enough. There¡¯s plenty of other records. From everything we¡¯ve been able to piece together, these were the fae¡ªor other fae-like beings¡ªand she and her world are the result of what happens when that contract reaches its end.¡±

    ¡°But how? How does my intent change this? It¡¯s so much. I can¡¯t imagine how it all works.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t feel small. I¡¯ll tell you what used to comfort me when I first heard of this. Our power is becoming one with this world. Given enough time, your friend Bors, whose aura speaks of unending stone, will make our mountains stronger. And one day, they will radiate their own aura.¡±

    ¡°Is knowing their intent some Mithril thing? I feel that can¡¯t make you popular.¡± I quipped, and Pel laughed. He poured us both more of the pleasant mead and then settled back into his chair.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know a person¡¯s specific intent, but I can feel the shape of it. I feel that aura better than most. As will you¡ªit¡¯s part of your boon to see the truth of things. You¡¯ll be less able to hide yours, just to warn you.¡± He scowled. ¡°You¡¯re right. It¡¯s not something that makes you popular. Another reason to keep this skill hidden.¡±

    A thought struck me. ¡°What do you imagine my aura might do?¡±

    ¡°Yours? Well, I don¡¯t know.¡± He gave me a long look. ¡°Yours is different. I can tell at a glance if most are a witch or a knight, and yours is like neither. Knights are conquerors. You can feel their aura demanding you and the world bend to their will. A witch¡¯s aura demands to understand the world. Before it, you might feel small or unsettled as they open you up and pull you apart.¡±

    ¡°Yours is rare. I feel like I¡¯m watching a wonderful maelstrom springing from ruin. I don¡¯t know if it means me weal or woe, but if it makes a demand of me, then it is for my attention.¡± He smiled at me. ¡°It is a pleasant sensation.¡±

    Silence descended again. I felt like I¡¯d found the bottom of the water I¡¯d stepped into when this had all begun. I drank more of my drink, letting the smooth glamour soothe me. The mead clearly had some power, as my mind was calming.

    My head was still a mess of questions, but for once, I could see that I should pause. I needed to digest what I already knew first. Looking around, I worked out my next question.

    ¡°I assume I¡¯m not to tell anyone about this?¡± I gestured to the chalkboard, which had at some point been cleaned, my notes erased.

    ¡°You¡¯ll find you can¡¯t. It¡¯s part of the Grand Pact. You can at most do what I did and provide a small hint.¡± He looked me over and sighed. ¡°I¡¯ve done my best to avoid giving you any orders, so instead let me strongly recommend you leave hints to us with more experience in this. Your reaction was mild compared to some. It has even resulted in deviation for a few unlucky ones.¡±

    I winced. My hearth still hurt from the revelation. My experience was painful, but nothing compared to what I¡¯d heard of deviation. A situation where some knowledge or experience shattered the foundations of one¡¯s cultivation, leaving them broken¡ªtheir hearth cracked or worse, sundered. The recovery time from such conditions was usually measured in decades.

    I nodded. The threat and limitations of that made keeping the secret easier on my conscience.

    ¡°Why tell me all this now? I get you didn¡¯t want me heading off, but it¡¯s a lot for a random afternoon,¡± I asked, watching Pel as he took a long pull from his tankard, his eyes wrinkling as a big smile spread across his face.

    ¡°You are restless, yes? The war leaves you unsure of your next steps. You¡¯ve been defined by revenge and immediate challenges for so long, but now you don¡¯t know what to do next? You feel you have an obligation but are scared of asking your new friends and adding to their burdens?¡± His words nailed me to the spot, piercing right to the heart of me. Exposed and vulnerable, I felt myself snarl.

    ¡°And you drop all of this on me!¡± Even with the mead calming me, I was a mess of emotions. The anger that had swelled up burst the instant I heard my voice. Sadness, exhaustion, fear, and rage swirled within me, but none of it was Pel¡¯s fault.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I said before he could reply. ¡°I admit it¡¯s good to know about my aura and boon, but how did you know I felt like this? How do you know what I¡¯m thinking? Is it a Mithril thing, or the boon, or some other unthinkable secret?¡±

    ¡°Something far more mundane, yet infinitely more special.¡± He sighed and grinned. ¡°You are exactly like your mother. You walk when you are troubled, you pick up things but can¡¯t ever seem to complete what you start, and you don¡¯t bother those who you fear have their own worries.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s¡­¡± I flicked over my memories and found it to be true. I remembered how my mother would pace around our tiny hovel when we hid as mortals, the spread of half-complete projects that grew whenever she was stressed. And how, even when she got sick, she would never ask for help, only ever reaching out if she felt I needed something.

    I felt tears prickle in my eyes. ¡°Are we truly so similar?¡±

    ¡°Delightfully so.¡± He stood, and I felt our conversation pulling to a close. There was a hint of that same melancholy I¡¯d seen last time, but his smile was warmer, his eyes twinkling with a touch of mischief.

    ¡°Thanks. You¡¯ve given me much to think on.¡± I stood as well, letting my head bow to him. He waved me off.

    ¡°You should go see Sephy in the library. She¡¯s been staring at the same page since our talk began.¡± He grinned as my face went neutral, not risking giving him any sign that his teasing had an impact. ¡°While I really don¡¯t want to be pulled into young love, I feel that I¡¯d be failing you if I didn¡¯t explain that sometimes you have to be brave enough to hang around the people you care about, even if they don¡¯t seem to want you there. There are times when they just need an excuse for the break they desperately need. There are also times when they need to be alone and will yell at you to get lost, throw something at you, or both.¡±

    ¡°How do I know which one it will be?¡± I frowned, following him out of the study.

    ¡°There¡¯s a trick to that.¡± He grinned as we started down the stairs.

    ¡°Which is?¡± I nudged him after a moment of silence. I could see his smile getting larger.

    ¡°You don¡¯t! You just accept the outcome no matter what.¡± He laughed as I scowled. ¡°Also, I recommend working out what to dodge and what to catch. If they throw something important at you and it breaks, it will somehow be your fault.¡±

    I decided to take his advice and not to ask who was throwing things at the Mithril-level cultivator. I wasn¡¯t sure I wanted the answer.

 Book 2 Chapter 14 - Oh, Gringolet, skyâ€™s noble steed

    Percy watched the fighters take their positions with an interest that went far beyond appreciating how fetching Taliesin looked in his Harlequin armour. It was another chance to watch Lance fight, her skill and competence an unexpectedly heavy weight on Percy¡¯s mind.

    The day was pleasant and warm. Most of the other residents were either watching or lingering around the arena. Everyone had worked through the immediate frenzy that had followed the news of the war a week and a half ago. For Percy, these last ten days had been brutal. Between training, the pressure from her family, and her own need to research what must come next, she¡¯d been run ragged. The only thing that made it bearable was Taliesin.

    Over the last three days in particular, her somewhat secret paramour had made it his mission to drag her out of the library at least a couple of times a day, finding excuses to pull her from the quagmire of sucking mud that was her warring responsibilities. He¡¯d also been almost annoyingly patient, waiting for her to reveal the secrets he knew she was keeping on her own time.

    She felt worse about keeping them when he wasn¡¯t actively trying to uncover them.

    The current distraction was a duel he¡¯d offered with Lance. He¡¯d noticed Percy had been taking an interest in the Squire and had dragged her along to see them fight. Comedically simpering at her, pretending to be a noble knight in need of her support, he¡¯d made her smile. The fact that he offered to fight purely to distract her¡ªa discipline he avoided as much as possible¡ªmade her feel warm inside. She¡¯d have to drag him up to the observatory tonight.

    Taliesin¡¯s fights were rare, and always in some way amusing, so he¡¯d drawn quite the crowd. Bors, posted up beside her, carefully looked her over. The big guy was worried about her too, so she gave him a smile.

    The only ones missing were, of course, Tristan, whom she¡¯d barely seen as he ran here, there and everywhere trying to gather information. The other was Gaz, who was still consolidating his recent breakthrough to Iron.

    That, in part, explained the look of utter determination on Lance¡¯s face. She was now the only one among them who hadn¡¯t reached Iron. It was a blow not only to her pride but to a thousand and one ideas that Percy was exploring for what was to come next.

    As the pair paced across the arena, Lance briefly checked in on Gring, who shot an evil look at Taliesin. The pegasus was deeply impatient for his promised song.

    The pair paced out across the earthen floor of the arena, still a little damp from a spring shower. Percy heard Elaine call for the fight to begin, and the pair were moving before the echoes faded. Of all the fighters, Taliesin and Lance were by far the most nimble. Even with bursts of air guiding him, Gawain couldn¡¯t equal Taliesin when he went all out, and the knight only beat out Lance because she was still Bronze.

    As with any fight with Taliesin, parts of the arena were immediately swamped with smoke. He wasn¡¯t a gifted swordsman¡ªcompetent, but nothing special. A fact he was acutely aware of, and so he used deception and trickery to make up the difference.

    Lance at least had a partial counter: her dream glamour. The glamour radiated from the minds of all things capable of dreaming. She knew in general where he was but couldn¡¯t follow his every move. This meant that as three billowing slashes of glamour launched out from different angles, each possibly hiding a blade, she had a decision to make. Most retreated from these assaults or wasted precious glamour deflecting all three.

    Lance just smiled.

    Showing her martial skill, guided by instinct, she shifted, effortlessly parrying the real blade and launching an attack into the smoke. There was something almost unsettling about how often she could confidently guess which strike was real.

    Percy hadn¡¯t expected to stumble across another sword prodigy, given Arthur and Maeve were already vying for the title, but Lance had a talent that all but equalled them. Something she knew drove Arty to practice relentlessly. He appreciated how spoiled he¡¯d been for tutors, and to find someone unknown nipping at his heels spurred him on.

    That worry didn¡¯t stop him from helping her though.

    Despite Arty¡¯s faults, Percy respected him because he always tried to do what he thought was right. Lance was a good person, an ally, who needed teaching, and Arty was the only person around to offer it. So the prince put aside his pride, buried the questions he wanted to ask, and did his best to show her how to fight like a Quilvern.

    Lance had been ecstatic for some tutelage in moon glamour. The pair still got along as well as two cats in a sack, but their shared passions had somewhat eased their mutual distrust of one another. They had respect, but not friendship. Percy still had lots of questions about the all-but-identical pair, but everyone remained tight-lipped. When she pushed, Taliesin bluntly warned her that unless she was prepared to end up in front of the Lady of the Lake, she should just be patient.

    Percy wasn¡¯t quite ready for that. Not yet. However, given what was coming, it could become an issue.

    Displaying her new power, the Squire leapt at the mobile ash cloud, a burst of moon glamour launching her faster than a simple jump could achieve. She sliced into it while airborne. Despite her speed and apparent confidence in his location, the strike hit nothing. Percy felt sympathy for the frustration on Lance¡¯s face.

    Even in her own duels, Percy found Taliesin¡¯s ability to never be quite where you expected utterly vexing. Her metal glamour helped her locate him, but he was so quick that knowing where he was when you started an attack was no guarantee he¡¯d still be there. This problem was made worse if he switched his fae artefact armour to the troubadour¡¯s outfit, robbing her of the metal to track.

    Lance was still airborne when dense strikes of ash lashed out. These didn¡¯t billow smoke, looking more akin to the charred remnants of a burned spear. It was a new attack from the bard that leveraged his improved cultivation. The ash was dense and had to be treated as a threat. While the ash didn¡¯t have much substance, it was just enough to unbalance you. And what Percy had learned the hard way was that he was very good at hiding a flying dagger within.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Maeve¡¯s irritatingly thoughtful gift¡ªa dagger with ash in its hilt¡ªhad replaced Taliesin¡¯s bow and arrow for ranged attacks. Using a block of your cultivation tool to manipulate weapons wasn¡¯t uncommon, but it was nearly always seen as a trick of Witches, dismissed as lacking the power to penetrate a knight¡¯s armour.

    A defence that only helped if the opponent didn¡¯t know to aim for the gaps that all knights¡¯ armour tended to suffer from. A skill that Taliesin was steadily improving.

    Lance responded to the threat by curling her body into a ball, using her gauntlets to catch the strikes, trusting in her armour and glamour to repel the attack, all the while preparing for her counterattack.

    Her right foot lashed out, and her heel hit the floor. With a flash of moon glamour, Lance¡¯s momentum was totally reversed, and she ploughed into the smoke. A clash and thunk sent flakes of metal bursting into the air, telling Percy the attack had found a bite. A dribble of blood entered her awareness. Blood she knew well. Taliesin had been tagged.

    Percy shook herself, trying to blot out the memories of the harrowing moment she¡¯d gathered all his blood. In the frantic moment, she¡¯d not realised what it meant, focusing instead on asserting control before Astor managed. Then there had been¡­

    Taliesin, perhaps sensing her distress, began to play. Music emerged from the smoke. Improbable, but not beyond the realms of possibility, for him to be so caring. He¡¯d certainly noticed she didn¡¯t like talking about the incident. His mocking voice rang out. From beside her, she heard Bors laugh as a song began.

    ¡°Hey, I¡¯ve been working on something you should hear:

    Oh, Gringolet, sky¡¯s noble steed,

    With wings of silk, you outpace the breeze.

    The clouds bow low, the stars take flight,

    To watch your dance in the velvet night.¡±

    An excited neigh from Gring wasn¡¯t quite able to drown out Lance¡¯s frustrated growl. Of the tools a bard had at his disposal, it turned out singing was a shockingly effective way to get under his opponent¡¯s skin. There was little that irritated the knights more than a feeling that they were being mocked. It was doubly effective as it was a signal, a reminder of the card he refused to play in their duels.

    Taliesin was, after all, one of, if not the, most dangerous among them in the arena. Death glamour and a confined space were lethal. Of course, he kept his death glamour carefully sheathed. Even with the Steels watching, it just wasn¡¯t safe¡ªnot for them, and more importantly to Percy, not for Taliesin. As his teacher Marek had pointed out rather tersely when Lance had pestered him about a solution, forcing Taliesin to waste death glamour meant forcing him to find it.

    Percy¡¯s brow knitted in anger just remembering the conversation. Lance was always blunt, but she should know enough about death glamour to know the risks involved in absorbing it. Risks not worth taking for simple points in a match.

    She was a little mollified as Taliesin ran rings around Lance, forcing her to send attack after attack into the smoke with no return.

    ¡°No foe could stand, no storm could stay,

    When Gringolet soars to save the day.

    The sun itself must hide in shame,

    For it burns less bright than your noble name.¡±

    Gring¡¯s hoof clomped along in time with the song, the vain horse oblivious to the friendly ridicule hidden in the excessive verse. Not everyone was so unaware. Percy could feel a smile creeping up on her face, and beside her, Bors was fighting to avoid bursting out laughing.

    Still, the fight was coming to a close. Lance¡¯s attacks had finally boxed Taliesin into a corner, forcing him to fight back and stop singing.

    As the pair battled, the smoke blades coming out only to be fended off unerringly time after time, Percy marvelled at the Squire¡¯s progression. The strangest thing was how different Lance and Arty¡¯s approaches were. Lance, so used to fighting against those with powers she couldn¡¯t deflect or stop, instead used her glamour to augment her already impressive mobility. She could use it to defend like Arty, but she instead sought to never get hit.

    Percy looked around. With the smoke gone, she could now see Arty watching from the other side. His battle style was far more direct. There were few things as unsettling as hitting your opponent full force only to feel your blade all but tear itself out of your hand as the momentum was reversed. While eventually it would consume all his glamour, combining his excellent fighting skill and expensive armour, he could battle for hours. Well, if his other gift didn¡¯t get the better of him, that was.

    He watched with a small smile on his lips, probably appreciating his student¡¯s improvement just as she was. That, or he could be pleased to be talking with Maeve. They were together, trading critiques.

    As a spymistress in training, Percy wasn¡¯t sure if she should be pleased or deeply concerned that her ¡®client¡¯ had so far not noticed Maeve¡¯s ¡®budding interest¡¯ in Taliesin. The fact that Maeve hadn¡¯t noticed his overt interest in her was equally concerning.

    Telling Maeve about it was out of the question, in part because it was deeply entertaining, but primarily because given her ¡®acting¡¯ skills, the results would be a disaster. Right now, the saving grace was that Maeve¡¯s inability to act came across as being flustered around Taliesin, giving him more than enough to improvise with.

    If she started acting ¡®flustered¡¯ around Arty as well, then the thin veneer of believability around their fake relationship would peel away. After all, who¡¯d believe Taliesin would like someone like her?

    Speaking of Taliesin, Percy watched as he collapsed backwards out of his smoke cloud. His helmet was off, and sweat beaded his brow. She¡¯d rather come round on the dark hair, and the eyes were especially nice to look into.

    Lance emerged out of the smoke, her blade at his throat. He accepted his loss gracefully.

    Percy walked over and offered a hand up. He grinned, their fingers lingering on one another a little longer than was strictly necessary but far shorter than she wanted. Honestly, if it wasn¡¯t so amusing to have a secret to hide, she¡¯d not have the patience.

    That, and the ornery Mithril who had her sights set on them. Things were strained enough with her family right now. They were impatient to push on, not sharing her reservations about acting too soon. Then again, they didn¡¯t know of Lance¡¯s secret, which changed their options drastically.

    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose I can distract you from your tomes for much longer?¡± Taliesin asked with a wry smile. Percy cursed. She¡¯d almost immediately sunk back into her worries and had to stop the instinctive apology and excuse that she needed to head back to the library. That had been all but on her lips. His grin grew a bit wider as she faltered, so she shot him a look.

    Why was it such an irritation to be so well understood by someone? And why was it also so pleasant?

    ¡°You might want to wait on that. Tristan¡¯s at the Map, there¡¯s news,¡± Gawain called from the balcony above. Persephone scowled. The Map had become more than a piece of paper over the last week. News on troop movements, changing allegiances, and the developing war had anchored it in all their minds.

    The inhabitants of Felix Lodge all filtered through to the study room. Only Rensliegh and Elaine were missing, no doubt summoned to one of the ¡®Steel¡¯-only briefings being held in the manor. They had become daily events over the last week. Persephone could feel a ball of dread growing in her stomach. She knew that this would be it. The announcement set to shatter the uneasy calm that sheltered her from her duties.

    ¡°They¡¯ve crossed the river. Some within the Order of Winding Paths betrayed everyone and are now calling themselves the Teutonique Order. A significant number have pledged themselves to their cause. The rest are dead or driven to exile,¡± Tristan called out over the hubbub.

    Percy winced. That was it. The last of the signs. She¡¯d put off the next step long enough. Her family had been probing her about why she was stalling. Rensliegh¡¯s suggestion to reach out to them had been both a blessing and a curse. They knew where she was, helping keep her safe from other plots, but they expected her to do her duty. The same duty that had overshadowed much of her life.

    A duty to see out an ancient prophecy. The Prophecy of the Grail.

 Book 2 Chapter 15 - First, find the Grail and then SMASH IT WITH A HAMMER!

    ¡°We need to do something. With their protection gone, all those towns, those passes, will soon be hit by spirit beasts.¡± Kay¡¯s voice was the loudest, her fingers tracing the long route the Order used to protect. Percy watched her finger danced below the pass, the one that years of work had confirmed was the final measure of the prophecy.

    ¡°There was always a bandit problem even when they were around. It can only get worse now,¡± Maeve added, her hands on her hips.

    ¡°We should ride out, protect those people,¡± Lance said. Everyone turned to her. ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious? We can¡¯t change the course of the war, but we can do that much.¡±

    The group nodded enthusiastically. Even the reserved Tristan seemed excited by the prospect.

    ¡°That sounds like a true adventure,¡± Taliesin said. He was smiling until he looked to her. Percy tried to hide her conflict from him, but she could see the dancing light leave his eyes. He knew her too well. Following his gaze, the others turned expectantly to them, surprised at their silence.

    Percy never liked being the centre of attention. No, that wasn¡¯t right. Rather, she wanted to control the attention she received to best further her goals. That¡¯s why, despite it being her heritage, her family¡¯s duty, and the knowledge they¡¯d carried for over a thousand years, she wanted Arty to speak.

    It wasn¡¯t that, right now, a little part of her preferred to play the coward, to let Arty be the lightning rod for the upset to come. But Arty stepped into the trap of silence she laid for him.

    ¡°If I could have your attention, please, noble cultivators.¡± She could almost hear him say ¡®Knights¡¯ and avoid it. The gulf between him and Taliesin hadn¡¯t narrowed, but he¡¯d reined in his more erratic complaints. ¡°We have something to discuss and would like for you all to join us, as it is to do with our next steps and a threat to Euross that we are uniquely placed to manage. It is a quest of utmost import, and we seek your aid in it. It is a little cramped in here, so meet us in the main hall if you wish to know more.¡±

    He then swept out of the room, and Percy followed, as did Gawain and Bors. She tried to ignore the feeling of Taliesin¡¯s eyes boring into her back.

    <hr>

    A couple of minutes later, everyone was gathered in the hall at the long table. Even the newly minted Sir Gareth had been dragged to the room. He was still adjusting to his powers. Apparently, sound-gifted cultivators had a rough time when reaching Iron. At every scrape of the stool and heavy footstep, he winced in pain.

    All had agreed to an oath to keep what they found secret from all but their Matriarchs and Patriarchs. There was no point in trying to hide it from them, but they had the good sense to stay well clear of a prophecy that directly stated that their involvement would bring ruin. Especially when they learned which prophetess had authored it.

    She sat at Prince Arthur¡¯s left. He wasn¡¯t Arty right now, not while his regal bearing radiated the authority of a lineage that had held fast for over a millennia. It didn¡¯t put people down, but it elevated him somehow. It primed everyone around to sit up straight or kneel, and wait for the tap of the sword on their shoulder, and hope the blade didn¡¯t go for their neck.

    She knew it was part of his intent and glamour. Exactly how it worked was a family secret that generations of De Grailles had never uncovered. It was subtle, and while it irritated some, most were sucked into its wake without even noticing. As a result, the table sat in silence, waiting for him to speak, heads bowed. All except Taliesin, arms crossed, eyes boring into the prince, his lips tight and jaw firm.

    She sighed, this was to be expected. Of course, a jester was immune to the powers of a king. Perhaps it was Taliesin¡¯s resistance, but she could feel an excess of twitchiness about them. Arthur, for his part, was serene, but she could see him deliberately avoiding looking at Taliesin, who sat at the far end of the table he headed.

    Bors was last to join. He¡¯d been deploying the privacy runes. He didn¡¯t join them at the head of the table, instead sitting with the rest of them on the benches. Percy didn¡¯t know if that was accidental or a deliberate choice to mark himself apart. Years of friendship, and she still couldn¡¯t tell when Bors was flexing his exceptional understanding of people and when the politics were going right over his head.

    ¡°Thank you for joining us. I wish to impart secrets to you. All of you have proved yourselves committed to fighting the Divine Cultivators. We have a quest, a prophecy passed down from ages past that has guided our actions and led to our presence here today,¡± Arthur spoke, his voice rich and authoritative. He was no great storyteller, but he had the voice of a true orator. The kind that promised death or glory and made everyone believe glory was the likely outcome, no matter the contrary evidence.

    ¡°I shall ask Lady Persephone De Graille to share her family¡¯s long-kept secret. The Prophecy of the Grail.¡±

    ¡°My family has long guarded information, secrets from the time of the Atlantean Empire. Among those secrets was a prophecy imparted to us by the Lady of the Lake.¡± The table was utterly silent; no one breathed. Prophecies were common and closer to gambling than truth. Only the predictions of the fae were seen as truth, and this fae stood above all.

    ¡°She told us of a relic. An artefact lost during the fall of the Empire to the traveller, one that was used by the corrupt cultivators of the time, who later became the Divine Cultivators we know. She warned us that it would resurface when certain things came to pass. All but the last had come to pass¡ªuntil today.¡±

    Percy paused and recited the lines long burned into memory:

    ¡°When the keepers of the pass falter, the desperate will seek tools to alter their fate. Look to the place forsaken by the eyes of traitors and dutiful alike. There you will find the grail of sacrifice being supped from once more. A place of pain, where kings shall falter, alliances will be sundered, and demons shall haunt your halls.¡±

    ¡°What is this Grail?¡± Lance was the first to ask. Persephone didn¡¯t know her well enough to gauge the flickering emotions the Squire tried to repress.

    ¡°From the accounts, we understand it¡¯s a tool given by the demons to their earliest disciples. It amplifies the power of sacrifice. Its exact powers are not mentioned in the prophecy, only that it will greatly empower our foe if they get their hands on it.¡± A true statement that hid her real knowledge. She¡¯d read her family¡¯s research. Even the conservative estimations of its powers, if accurate, were enough to keep her up at night.

    ¡°And why is it us? Why are we not getting Pel or Mother Chox to escort him there?¡± Taliesin asked, watching them carefully. His face was devoid of emotion, his usual lilting tones gone, leaving him feeling like a different person. Even Regus had more life in him than this.

    ¡°The prophecy is clear: ¡®They who bear of my gift and their allies most true must quest alone, for disaster will follow the uninvited gaze.¡¯ There is far more to it, but the intent is clear. It is best if a small group loyal to the ¡®bearer¡¯ are involved.¡±

    ¡°I spoke with his sister Marianne some time ago and know she is no fan of the Divine Cultivators. She recently reached Steel. Why is she not involved?¡± Taliesin¡¯s voice wasn¡¯t unfriendly, but it was so in contrast to the warmth it usually displayed, it felt like a slap. Percy felt Arthur stand, his regal indifference cracking just a bit as his eyes turned to flint.

    ¡°All the other members of my family are watched closely by various factions. Steels especially can¡¯t move without a great deal of attention. As the youngest, I¡¯m oft forgotten and have little power, so I am the perfect instrument. The enemy doesn¡¯t know the Grail survives, and we need to keep it that way.¡± Arthur restrained himself remarkably well. Percy breathed a sigh of relief. Of all the family members he was often compared to, comparison to Lady Mary was by far the least troublesome.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    The group gave nods, Taliesin settling back. His eyes looked to Lance, as did several others. Tristan and Maeve were the greatest offenders. They waited to see what the Squire was going to say. For her part, she was clearly thinking, seemingly battling to restrain herself from launching into the argument. A sensible choice¡ªit is not every day you find yourself the possible chosen of an ancient prophecy.

    ¡°So, the plan is to sneak up toward this location that you¡¯ve divined? What, and just ignore the war as we focus on this ¡®Grail¡¯? He has too many enemies who might bar our way.¡± Kay snapped. Percy frowned. She¡¯d expected this to be a sticking point for the group but was surprised at the former Inquisitor¡¯s hostility, before remembering her more mortal upbringing.

    ¡°It¡¯s about the good of the many. The Lady herself charged us with this,¡± Gawain spoke up.

    ¡°That does not mean her motives are so clear cut,¡± Taliesin¡¯s voice was bitter.

    ¡°Do you disrespect her?¡± Arthur snapped, a vein starting to pulse on his neck. Percy and Gawain grabbed at him, keen to avoid the worst-case scenario. Revealing Arthur¡¯s second glamour here would be a disaster.

    ¡°No, I speak from experience. I sit here literally wearing the outfit she picked out for me. I¡¯m relatively confident that her fiddling with my fate is half the reason why we¡¯re all having this conversation. Yet I was given no direction, not even a word.¡±

    ¡°Wait, what?¡± Tristan perked up, but was shushed. He alone seemed to have missed the update on the Lady¡¯s involvement with the resident bard.

    Arthur shrugged them off, taking a calming breath before standing tall and adjusting his tunic. ¡°Then it is fate! We shall head out and make haste to this hidden place.¡±

    ¡°Having to hide all the way. There are people in need of help throughout our whole journey,¡± Kay cut in again. Percy winced as she saw the nods around the table and felt the gap between the groups growing.

    Taliesin and Bors remained silent, neither of the group¡¯s peacemakers able or willing to find their voice. She wished she could¡¯ve got permission to bring in Taliesin before now, but her petitions to her elders were refuted.

    Her elders assumed that any Knight would give their teeth for a chance to be part of such a quest. Trying to explain he was a Bard hadn¡¯t helped, and she hadn¡¯t dared mention he¡¯d met the Lady. She was certain the Patriarch would¡¯ve started a political incident¡ªthe man was fantastically obsessed with recording encounters with her.

    ¡°This quest is too important. We must hide ourselves from scrutiny. There are also those who are not fans of the Quilvern line who would make trouble for us. It pains me, but we must look for this Grail discreetly,¡± Arthur spoke up. He sounded confident¡ªa miracle, given how much he loathed the plan. Still, he understood why it was necessary.

    ¡°Then why are you even going? I know I can¡¯t be the only person who¡¯s noticed that there are two people in this room who fit this prophecy.¡± Lance¡¯s voice silenced everyone. Percy sighed, she new this was coming. Lance was direct; her words could be seen as clumsy or impatient. At times, she came across as even more unaware than Bors. It was a total lie.

    The woman was as shrewd as her oracle mother, seeing through the distracting wisps to find the secret hidden within. She couldn¡¯t have missed that this prophecy applied to her as well.

    ¡°That¡¯s¡ª¡± She saw Gawain grab Arthur before he said something they''d regret, his mood getting whipped up by the hostility of the others. She''d hoped the anger would''ve started to drain away but given the vein in the prince''s neck had been joined by a friend on his forehead, that seemed unlikely.

    ¡°She has a point. It also furthers Taliesin¡¯s observation that we cannot guess at the exact intention of the Lady in bringing us together.¡± The new Sir Gareth had joined the discussion, supporting his long-time friend.

    ¡°Lance is still Bronze at this time and would be very vulnerable where we are going,¡± Gawain offered. The glare from Lance sliced into him. She felt the beginning of the Evil Eye forming from Lance¡ªsurprising from a Bronze, as was the control she showed by pulling it back. She started to speak but then bit her tongue and thought for a moment more.

    ¡°I won¡¯t lie and say that I am the strongest. However, this is not the way. We¡¯re stronger together. But that strength means nothing if we don¡¯t use it.¡± Lance sat back down with her piece said, her eyes challenging them.

    Percy rallied herself. The plan was the plan for a wide range of reasons. There were all sorts of factors, from political to Divine Cultivators, to what the prophecy said. All of which pointed towards secrecy being the best path forward. Preparing herself to present them, she was cut off at the knees as Bors¡¯ voice rumbled over them.

    ¡°If there is any other way, I¡¯m open to hearing it. I¡¯m not sure how I¡¯d live with myself if we¡¯d be leaving towns in danger and I knew we could help.¡± Bors¡¯ rebuke took the wind right out of her. It was soft, not outright stating he disagreed, but making it clear he wasn¡¯t happy. Sticking him on that bridge had put a distance between him and them that was still not healed.

    ¡°Bors, you know me. I loathe the idea of leaving people to die, but this? It is bigger than us¡ªbigger than any one town or city,¡± Arthur said, his tone one of forced calm as he tried to salvage the chaotic meeting.

    ¡°How many lives are lost before that changes? How many mortals must die before it¡¯s worth us intervening?¡± Kay fumed, slamming her hands down on the table.

    ¡°I¡¯m with Taliesin and Kay. I¡¯m not going to go on some quest to get a cup, only to abandon others along the way.¡±

    ¡°Secrecy is the best way forward,¡± Percy repeated.

    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s not, or maybe a different form of secrecy is best. Maybe if you¡¯d spoken about this with me, I could¡¯ve started to think of some alternatives. Now though, you make us feel that this threat is at the door, and we must decide or perish. If I didn¡¯t know better, I¡¯d say this was the work of a confidence man.¡± Taliesin¡¯s voice struck her like a whip.

    Without thinking, she snapped back at him. ¡°What do you think I¡¯ve been in the library all week? I¡¯ve been looking for any and all ways we could do this, but I¡¯ve found nothing.¡±

    ¡°Why not mention this before? Or at least hint at it? My Grandmother has lots of resources that she could lend,¡± Maeve spoke up. She at least remained diplomatic, which irritated Percy immensely.

    ¡°It may not have come to pass, and the elders decided that I could not share it unless certain circumstances were met.¡± She didn¡¯t flinch, crushing the urge to apologise for the elders¡¯ short-sightedness. To explain just how hard she¡¯d pushed to do exactly that. But she couldn¡¯t¡ªthat, like so much else, was part of the secrets she¡¯d been forced to keep.

    Percy could feel it all starting to fall apart. She had entered into this hoping to secure aid from at least a few of them and to prepare her backup plan in Lancelot. The De Graille go-to was secrecy. They¡¯d only agreed to let her tell the cohort because the prophecy straight up said he needed to rely on them.

    Even that had sparked debates among the squabbling academics. Some argued only Arthur should know, as that kept the secrets under control. That was the De Graille way: find the secrets and protect them. Even her intent was a reflection of that. And it was exactly why she¡¯d wished to bring the group in well before.

    The strongest metals are revealed in conflict.

    Her intent was a reflection of her understanding of the physical metals held in everyone¡¯s blood, as well as the mental steel people revealed in battle¡ªeither with blades or wits. In this moment of conflicting values, she was finding that there was a lot of hidden strength amongst the group. They collectively resisted the call of the quest in favour of the oldest and most often neglected duty of a Knight: to protect those who cannot protect themselves.

    ¡°Is it not the goal of every Knight to have a quest such as this?¡± Gawain called out. Percy almost let her face slide into her hand. Gawain could never read a room.

    ¡°You know, I¡¯m surprised. Not that you¡¯ve once again forgotten my path! No, it astounds me that you, of all people, would accept such a devious plan, Noble Prince Arthur,¡± Taliesin prodded the prince.

    ¡°My responsibility is to stop the Divine Cultivators, to protect the people. Sometimes that duty includes sacrifice. In this case, the sacrifice may well be lives, and will definitely be my own convictions.¡± Arthur replied. People began to speak over each other, but then Lance slammed both hands down on the table and stood.

    ¡°You know what? Screw your convictions. This plan doesn¡¯t make sense. Why are you in charge? Why do you sit at the head of the table here, inviting us on this quest, like you¡¯re doing us some favour? It is your family drama that is the problem. You¡¯re the one making things complicated.¡± Lance turned and pointed at her, the Squire¡¯s blue eyes boring into her.

    ¡°She¡¯s the one with the prophecy. I get that I¡¯m a bit of a surprise, a bit of a wrinkle in the parchment, but surely, with both of us in play, you have to be able to come up with something better than us sneaking across a good chunk of Euross. I mean, have you met Taliesin? I¡¯m not sure he could make it across a room without tripping over a fae or hidden plot!¡± Lance stepped out, making to leave.

    ¡°We need cohesion,¡± Arthur called.

    ¡°Yes, but do we need you?¡± Lance retorted before she stormed out of the room. After that, the room erupted, raised voices demanding more information, arguing different points.

    Percy mutely watched as Taliesin, his face held in that false mask she remembered from the balls, where he sought to hide his raging emotions, looked to her, looked down at the table, and finally stood to follow Lance out of the hall.

 Book 2 Chapter 16 - Lead a pegasus to water

    My mind was a discordant cacophony, like listening to an entire orchestra tumble down the tallest tower. It made me miss the times when I was merely angry at everything. Rage was a simpler tune, no less overwhelming, but at least it was far easier to follow. Right now, I didn¡¯t know what I wanted, nor how I should feel.

    I felt betrayed. Worse, I could see that Sephy knew it, and what made it all so confusing was that I could tell she wanted no part of it. She hadn¡¯t been lying when she¡¯d said the elders hadn¡¯t permitted her to speak on this. I was angry at her, then frustrated at myself because it wasn¡¯t her fault. My mood was further sabotaged as my mind pointed out that, betrayal or not, I didn¡¯t want to be dragged along on this quest.

    My cultivation was the antithesis of stealth. What was I meant to do? Play music very quietly? Even with an alternative, did I want to follow these ancient words around like the Lady''s lapdog?

    I¡¯d liked the idea of riding out, helping people affected by all this chaos. I didn¡¯t expect to be on the front lines, but quick wit and clear reasoning would aid the knights more than another blade. It was a noble calling. It¡¯s not like I hated this prophecy, even with the Lady involved, I just abhorred the idea of abandoning people.

    I felt questions I¡¯d long buried starting to claw their way up out the shallow graves I¡¯d tried to convince myself would hold them. Annoying questions like ¡®what did I actually want to do¡¯, and yelling ¡®be a bard¡¯ only produced fresh questions. Like exactly how being a bard would deal with the mountains worth of resentment that was still lingering in my soul.

    I hated thinking like that, and for a while it worked. It was getting better, the mountain crumbling pebble by pebble. I was feeling more whole, I had friends, I was singing, there was support from Pel, and of course there was Sephy.

    Then in one short meeting that was all thrown into chaos. Ruined by that golden-haired prick.

    I looked over to Lance, his opposite and not just in prickishness. The squire knew to leave, to regroup and think, and not try to drag others with her. I¡¯d still followed her out to the training yard, using her as my own excuse to leave the meeting. I, like her, felt I would¡¯ve done something I¡¯d regret if I¡¯d stayed any longer. She was a friend in need, and I sensed I could help her.

    More importantly I¡¯d be doing something, and with purpose I could add a layer of earth and bury those questions before they broke free.

    ¡°Who does he think he is, prancing about as if he owns the place!¡± she growled aloud as she flowed through sword forms. Her normally fluid movements were jerky and imprecise.

    ¡°I¡¯m with you. I think it¡¯s nonsense,¡± I nodded, leaning against a wall and strumming on my lute to calm my nerves. I spread my smoke around to check we weren¡¯t being listened in on and quickly set up the privacy runes. I¡¯d got much quicker at placing them over the last couple of weeks. Plenty of practice, thanks to my interest in astronomy.

    ¡°I get that secrecy is paramount, and going through those towns and villages and hiding is the best bet. But I don¡¯t believe I could live with that. I know the life of a provincial guard too well. They¡¯re not prepared for this! You remember Gloria-Commander Smith? She came to us after her whole town was destroyed. An entire town wrecked by a monster. She looks after her niece and nephew, and she¡¯s basically their only family left because of that disaster.¡±

    I nodded. The main issue with this ¡®Teutonique Order¡¯ wasn¡¯t the betrayal but the fact that the order had previously been responsible for protecting the passess and roads. While other Orders, Houses and Covens claimed the big towns, there were plenty of smaller towns that sat outside their protection. With the Order in turmoil, the monster population could rapidly grow, or rank up. For villages and even smaller towns, a single iron ranked monster could wipe them out.

    ¡°I actually disagree on the secrecy point. Let¡¯s imagine we see people in distress. Ignoring our objections, do we really believe that Arthur, of all people, isn¡¯t going to go help them?¡± I shared my biggest issue with the whole idea. I might not like the Prince, but I didn¡¯t doubt he cared for others.

    ¡°You¡¯re right! He says he¡¯s going to push on, but could he really? Having him head it up is insane. If only¡­¡± I felt her flare her cultivation, pushing on the glamour. It was the spiritual equivalent of balling your hands into white-knuckled fists. It was a habit I¡¯d seen more often over the last week, and it had become much worse ever since Gaz reached Iron.

    ¡°Don¡¯t blame your cultivation. Stop and really think. The Lady wanted you here. Of that, I¡¯m relatively sure. If Arthur wasn¡¯t here, what would you do?¡± I asked. She paused her motions.

    For a moment, it looked like she was going to say something, and I felt another small ripple of power before she stamped her foot, and the sensation was gone. Her sword forms started again.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know! Helping people is important. The quest is important. The laws of chivalry state that others shouldn¡¯t interfere with questing knights, but we all know how that¡¯ll go. We should have the freedom to move around, considering the clout of everyone involved, but all the politics means they can just ignore that and cause us problems if they want to. I fucking hate politics.¡± Lance swore, flicking her sword to her side and standing tall.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I even want to be part of this, and I certainly won''t be going if you don¡¯t.¡± I gave voice to the thought that had my mind in a vice. The questions were thrashing, trying to break out and infect my mind with worry. As much as I wanted to ignore them, my cursed truth telling meant I couldn¡¯t even hide from myself.

    ¡°Why not?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t see how anyone could describe me as Arthur¡¯s ¡®truest ally¡¯. Beyond that, do you think I want to spend the rest of my life being shuttled about at the behest of the Lady of the Lake? Glued to Arthur¡¯s retinue? Stuck waiting till he thinks it best if I cool off by staying at a bridge like he did to Bors?¡±

    ¡°How would that work with Percy?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. I need to talk with her. I¡¯m angry at all of this. At her. At myself. We have secrets from each other, but this is more than that. Secrets that she can¡¯t entrust me with, a duty she cannot abandon, and a plan that I¡¯m loathe to take up, even for her.¡±

    ¡°You should go back. This is important, and you don¡¯t need to be out here to listen to me whine. I have to simmer down. Mum says I need to learn to be less direct, and if I¡¯d stayed, I¡¯d have said things people didn¡¯t want to hear.¡± Lance pulled a face. ¡°More things. You should be in there. Work things out with Percy. That¡¯s the best place for you right now.¡±

    If I did that the questions would definitely break free. Instead I focused on the true reason that I¡¯d followed Lance out here. This was something time sensitive that needed handling now.

    ¡°On that, we¡¯ll have to disagree.¡± I took a deep breath and moved back a few paces so I was out of grabbing range. ¡°I followed you out here because I think you¡¯re close to your intent.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m what?¡± Lance looked at me with savage eyes, moving closer as if I was some wild buck she was hunting. It was like she was considering cracking my head open to get to the secrets inside.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    I took a deep breath. ¡°Don¡¯t tell anyone about this, and you can¡¯t ask me how I know.¡±

    Lance laughed, her intense gaze dissolving. ¡°You know you¡¯ve said that more than anyone I¡¯ve ever met. Just assume, if it comes to cultivation, I¡¯ll always talk to you first before sharing the magic of bards.¡±

    ¡°Well¡ªthank you. Look, I think you were close to your intent just now. I could sense something.¡±

    ¡°When was it?¡± I gave her a look, and she relented. ¡°Fine, I¡¯ll have a think.¡±

    Her face wrinkled as she kneaded her temples with her hands. After a minute passed, I tried to help by offering advice. ¡°When you spoke, what were you most passionate about? What felt right?¡±

    ¡°Trick question. I always feel like I¡¯m right.¡± Lance gave me a weak smile but then snapped her fingers. ¡°I felt something, just now when I was wishing we could just cut through it all.¡±

    ¡°Go on,¡± I nodded.

    ¡°But that¡¯s not right. I always feel most right when I¡¯m insisting something is simple, even when it¡¯s not. And then Mum or Gaz, or you, will tell me it¡¯s way more complicated.¡±

    ¡°Ignore what everyone else is saying. Tell me more about that.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not helpful. It¡¯s the kind of stuff that gets me in trouble!¡± Lance stalked about. ¡°Look, I¡¯m not as politically savvy as Gaz. I¡¯m not as cunning as you. Hell, I¡¯m not even as good with a blade as Arthur. What I am good at is cutting to the heart of all of it. You all see all these reflections, these different points of view that you weigh up, work out what everyone is thinking, and figure out how to move forward. I don¡¯t care! I just see a problem to be fixed. That¡¯s half of why I can barely use dream glamour.¡±

    ¡°I thought you used it to research your opponents. From what I understand, being able to focus on just one person is an achievement at your stage,¡± I asked.

    ¡°That is practically all I can do! I see what I want to see, and yet I can¡¯t spot anything else. I can¡¯t listen to the weave like my mother and catch insights from those whispers. All my attention just centres on my foe.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re onto something.¡±

    ¡°What? That I¡¯m really bad at being an adult?¡± Lance snapped.

    ¡°Lance, you¡¯re a good person. I do think that perhaps you¡¯ve been given a bit too much advice though. I¡¯ll say that the times I felt your intent flare were when you were doing just that¡ªseeing the truth of the matter.¡± Intents were deeply personal, and I didn¡¯t want to mess up Lance¡¯s, but I felt safe enough sharing some observations.

    ¡°The truth doesn¡¯t matter as much as what people think. You of all people should know that!¡±

    ¡°But it might matter to you! You know you¡¯re the best at detecting which of my fake strikes are real.¡±

    ¡°So, what? My intent is not getting tricked and bull-charging through all my problems?¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t tell you your intent.¡± I stepped back, and Lance followed me.

    ¡°Why not?¡± She sagged. ¡°I haven¡¯t even decided if I¡¯m joining this stupid quest, but I know I don¡¯t want to get left behind again. I need my intent.¡±

    ¡°You asked me what I¡¯d do. If I was in charge of this, what would you do?¡±

    ¡°I thought we were talking about my intent?¡±

    ¡°Humour me.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure. If we did the quest, I¡¯d prefer to cut Arthur out and take you, but then we¡¯d never have the political clout needed, or the power. Even if I became a knight tomorrow, it¡¯s a dangerous route. And if we¡¯re helping people, we need all of us to deal with whatever the prophecy is or the challenges along the way.¡± Lance began to do her sword forms again. Her blade was moving steadier now, closing in on its proper graceful dance.

    ¡°To be honest, I¡¯d be happy staying well away from this Grail and just helping the people on our way. Just get Arthur and his minions where they need to be and keep hunting,¡± she spoke without interrupting the dance.

    ¡°That¡¯d be a noble cause that none could argue with.¡±

    ¡°This must be a right kicker for you.¡±

    ¡°Why do you say that?¡±

    ¡°Your girlfriend is basically stuck babysitting a man with a very punchable face, getting dragged around by a prophecy you have every right to fear. Having met the Lady, I get it. She¡¯s too huge, too powerful. I don¡¯t see her worrying if this kills half of us. There¡¯s all this talk about purity and power. No one seems to say how smug she is.¡± Her blade was moving effortlessly now. I could feel the intent at the edge of my senses.

    ¡°You have a real knack for honing in on the crux of an issue. There was a certain confidence to her,¡± I answered, trying to not let the bitterness in me spill out.

    ¡°You know, she said something similar to me.¡± I raised an eyebrow, indicating she should continue. ¡°It was more poetic, but she said, ¡®You plunge your hand into the flames, not afraid to grasp the heart of the fire while others work their way in carefully from the outside.¡¯¡± Lance smiled.

    I felt it form as she talked, waving across the edge of my senses. The hint of an aura. A sensation like I was lost in a world of mirrors and illusions, all of them distorted and shifting, and despite the maelstrom of deception, I knew with absolute certainty that something was watching me with unerring precision.

    ¡°She also said she wasn¡¯t sure if she should call it bravery or stupidity.¡± Lance¡¯s words, and the frown of worry that came with it, sundered the emerging intent. I looked up at the squire, who seemed completely unaware of what she¡¯d just done.

    ¡°Lance, I ask again, if you had to deal with this challenge, this prophecy, and all the mortals in danger, what would you do?¡±

    ¡°Well, it¡¯s not like we all want the same thing, but it¡¯d be good to travel together. Pick up where the Order left off. I mean, there¡¯s nothing stopping us all going together to deal with it, even if half of us break off. The main issue is Arthur, but if he wasn¡¯t in charge, it wouldn¡¯t be half the problem it is. Right now, the rule of chivalry means he¡¯s in charge, whether he wants it or not.¡±

    ¡°Who do you think should be in charge?¡±

    ¡°None of us really. We get along all right, but it¡¯s not like we¡¯re a united front. Which is a shame, as if we were together, no one would fuck with us, given all the families involved. But¡­¡± She¡¯d been speaking with such confidence, her intent churning, then that hesitant voice cut in. I wasn¡¯t about to let it go this time, not the intent nor the idea.

    ¡°That¡¯s it. That¡¯s the plan!¡± I crowed, running up and, despite my dislike for them, giving Lance a hug. I shocked her intent back into form, as well as Lance, who was staring at me like I¡¯d grown another head.

    ¡°What plan?¡±

    ¡°We just stroll right through, picking up where the Order left off!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not a plan!¡±

    ¡°Why not? We form an Order! We pledge ourselves to go through, cleaning up the problems left by the collapse of the Winding Path. We help people like we actually want to, making it the perfect cover as we get close to our target and do some good.¡± I danced back, trying to work out what came next.

    ¡°But, but.¡± Lance stammered.

    ¡°You said you trust me, right?¡± She paused her argument and nodded. ¡°I tell you this will work. You found a solution by cutting to the core of things, something neither I nor Sephy spotted. Now you should go and think on your intent.¡±

    ¡°And think what?¡± Lance asked, looking lost.

    ¡°By the sidhe, you can lead a pegasus to water, but you can¡¯t make it drink! Think like you usually think, this incredibly blunt, direct way of doing things.¡± I pressed my hand to my brow. ¡°I know you¡¯re no fool and are far smarter than you let on. Time to go apply it.¡±

    ¡°Feh, it gets me in trouble half the time!¡±

    ¡°And yet it still gets you what you want! Since I met you, you¡¯ve always cut straight to the point. You found out the truth of your glamour. You showed it off at dinner¡ªall but forcing me to explain it. You knew the Lady wanted to speak, even when most would¡¯ve recoiled. You called me out for my anger when we travelled, and you saw to the heart of Kay, ready to draw a blade in her defence and convinced us to hear her out.¡±

    ¡°How does that help? All of those moments could¡¯ve gone so wrong! I got such an earful about how I¡¯m not powerful enough to handle the consequences!¡± Lance tried and failed to get back into her sword forms. Her blade hung in the air, unsure what to do next.

    ¡°But what if you were? What is seizing your intent about, if not gaining power? The power to make it so you can just cut to the core of things? Now, you should meditate or groom Gring, or whatever it is that helps you think, while I go and work out what I have to do to set up an Order!¡± Lance stepped forward, preparing a rebuke, but froze in place. Her eyebrows knotted as she really started to think.

    ¡°Oh, and don¡¯t tell anyone. I want this to be a surprise!¡±

    I left Lance behind me, feeling the swirling strings of her intent dancing at the edge of my perception. I had some research to do, and a prince to usurp.

 Book 2 Chapter 17 - A minor side of treason

    ¡°I have gathered you all here today to propose a new solution to our questing¡ªwith a minor side of treason.¡± I smiled at the five other people sitting around the small circular table I¡¯d set up in the study for this discussion. The privacy runes were active, my notes were in front of me, and I was ready to shift our fates.

    ¡°Treason has two variations, and neither is minor,¡± Sephy stated coolly. She sat upright and imperious in her chair. We¡¯d not spoken properly since yesterday¡ªshe¡¯d tried, but I¡¯d fled into the library. I could¡¯ve perhaps been more diplomatic. My excuse was that I was busy doing research for my new plan, and it was an excuse I was pleased she hadn¡¯t probed. If she¡¯d asked a few more questions, all my thoughts would¡¯ve come gushing out with no lies to hide behind.

    I was also disappointed that she¡¯d left me to it. The warring sensations in my mind I¡¯d crushed under research into all manner of agreements, ancient rules, treaties, and historical accords to drown out the discord.

    ¡°I have just survived one great insult to the Houses. I¡¯m hardly keen to begin another,¡± Kay grumbled. Next to her, Tristan gave a nod.

    ¡°I cannot engage in anything politically challenging without my seniors¡¯ permission,¡± Tristan said. It was a very Tristan-like response.

    ¡°I¡¯ll hear you out.¡± Maeve was watching me carefully, as though waiting for me to perform a trick.

    I turned to the last member of our group. Gaz remained silent. I raised an eyebrow at him.

    ¡°I¡¯m not saying anything. You have a flair for the dramatic that¡¯d outshine the moon. I¡¯m assuming you¡¯ll get to the point soon.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re no fun,¡± I grumbled at the new Knight.

    ¡°Lady Persephone De Graille,¡± I saw her frown as I used her full name¡ªit seemed as uncomfortable for her to hear as it felt for me to say. ¡°I don¡¯t believe your plan presents the best chance of success.¡±

    ¡°Well, it was made before you somehow chatted Lancelot into reaching Iron.¡± She smiled a touch as she said that. Despite our conflict, we were all pleased for Lance. She¡¯d headed off later in the evening after our conversation, flying out on Gring, only to return with the setting sun, in the throes of her ascension, slumped over Gring and starting to ooze impurities.

    It was a testament to Gring¡¯s care for his soon-to-be pact companion that the fastidious horse hadn¡¯t dropped her. I thought alchemical brews could leave behind some noxious filth, but the gunk was beyond even that. I finally understood why the others had been so jealous of me for avoiding them. Thankfully, the servants had people specifically trained for such events who carefully took her somewhere secluded and easy to clean.

    Gring was given a full bath, in an ancient horse-sized tub dragged out of some forgotten storage. Given how long he¡¯d stayed in it, I feared he¡¯d have a new obsession.

    Lance was likely to finish up sometime today, which explained her absence. Bors wasn¡¯t joining us as he was working with Gring to prepare the horse to shift his soul bond to Lance. I¡¯d not invited Arthur or Gawain, for reasons that were obvious.

    ¡°Even before her ascension, I don¡¯t believe it made the best use of our assets.¡± I pushed back at Sephy, trying to keep my voice even.

    ¡°Do go on. I¡¯d love to hear your criticism.¡± She leaned in, her eyes locked on mine, daring me to continue. I could feel her intent rush me¡ªa taste of blood that gave way to the weight of iron.

    ¡°I ask the table: what would be your main challenge with joining this quest?¡±

    ¡°Abandoning the people sickens me. If it moves on in such a way, I will not be joining the quest,¡± Kay responded curtly. I saw Sephy go to argue, but we exchanged a look.

    ¡°Is that why we¡¯re here? To drag my idea through the mud?¡±

    ¡°No. I¡¯m here to arm you with the tools to convince your allies,¡± I replied. The idea was a complete non-starter, and we needed to move past it.

    ¡°Is that the only reason?¡± she asked, her glare intensifying as I remained silent. My tongue was unable to refute her, and my anger stirred.

    ¡°I am of the opinion the risk comes from Arthur being identified and our way blocked as the local powers seek a way to thumb their noses at Albion. Worse, it places a risk of capture and ransom that is unacceptable if the importance of this quest is to be believed,¡± Tristan cut in, breaking the silence between us. Maeve nodded and stated much the same point of view.

    ¡°I am of a similar mindset. I think the politics are rough. I¡¯m not even certain I can commit to joining Prince Arthur¡¯s entourage. It might be seen as the Orkneys choosing sides.¡± Gaz looked thoughtful. He was watching me, waiting for me to explain, and I appreciated his faith. But there was still one more person to speak.

    I turned to Sephy. She raised an eyebrow, but I didn¡¯t flinch. ¡°You wish for me to state the biggest challenge of my own plan?¡±

    ¡°I refuse to believe you¡¯ve not analysed this from every angle, including its flaws.¡±

    ¡°Fine. The biggest challenge? I¡¯m not certain Arty will be able to avoid getting involved if he sees some injustice.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    I grinned at her, and she growled back at me.

    ¡°I have plans to minimise that risk!¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t grin at the knowledge that the Prince is so principled, but because it seems my solution presents an answer to all our concerns.¡±

    ¡°As Lance isn¡¯t here, I feel it¡¯s my duty to say I¡¯m going to kick you if you don¡¯t get to the point,¡± Gaz called out.

    ¡°Fine, fine. My challenge is this: Arthur may have been essential, but why was he in charge?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯ve forgotten Chivalric Law, Taliesin? As a direct son of the King of Albion, he has rank. He will be seen as in charge no matter what we say. Even if I were to take control as second in rank, the assumption is that we would be equally responsible. Then we¡¯d strain Chox allies and unite the enemies of the Chox and Albion against us.¡± Maeve answered, her brow creased.

    Her acting had eased somewhat after I¡¯d managed to give her some coaching, which mostly revolved around just treating me like a friend. That conversation had been akin to biting into a rotten apple. It¡¯d been a shock to find that the Chox scion didn¡¯t have many friends, so we instead settled on modelling her behaviour around the few rivals she enjoyed the company of.

    ¡°But what if we had a way around that?¡± I prodded.

    ¡°Bard Taliesin, I¡¯m insulted that you imagine I didn¡¯t think this through. Including the Quilverns, we have five powerful Houses of renown to pull upon, and not one is without enemies on the path.¡± Sephy¡¯s voice was sharp. She steepled her fingers, leaning her chin on them, and watched my face carefully. ¡°If this is a suggestion to merely disguise or abandon Arthur, I¡¯ll be disappointed.¡±

    ¡°You think too little of me¡ªow! What was that for?¡± I glared at Gaz, who smiled in answer, his foot pulling back, ready for another kick.

    ¡°We are not here to listen to you two quarrel. You say you have a solution, so out with it.¡± Gaz¡¯s voice resonated as he spoke¡ªnot louder, but as if the words hit harder. A reflection of his expanded power.

    ¡°Fine, fine. You¡¯re right. The path is full of conflicting allegiances, ancient feuds, and political posturing. No one House offers us the perfect solution. But Lance said something just before she advanced¡ªshe told me she wished we could bring all the Houses to bear on the problem. Together, that would be enough.¡± I could see confusion on the group¡¯s faces.

    ¡°But if we¡¯re moving through the lands of a House¡ª¡±

    ¡°Not if we¡¯re an Order!¡± Kay slammed her fist into the table and then threw her head back and laughed.

    Kay¡¯s booming laugh startled the whole table. The smaller Knight had been looking gaunt. For her, who felt the plight of mortals most keenly, yesterday must¡¯ve felt like a betrayal¡ªthe group she¡¯d found, who spoke of protecting others from the Divine Cultivators, failing to live up to the ideals she imagined for us.

    ¡°Well, steal my thunder, will you.¡± I smiled at the Knight. I got blank looks from both Maeve and Sephy, but Gaz was grinning widely, while Tristan¡¯s neutral mask had shifted¡ªhis tilted eyebrows indicating deep thought.

    ¡°We form an Order. An Order that is implicitly backed by all of our Houses, but not directly controlled by any single backer. All our Houses will want us to go on this quest, and the ideal of lessening the chaos in the area is perfect cover. It should be possible to gather all our Houses¡¯ support, which means no one will want to play stupid political games. I imagine Albion might not be possible, but Gawain¡¯s family should be enough to imply the crown¡¯s support.¡± I explained for the benefit of those who still hadn¡¯t grasped the idea.

    ¡°But we can¡¯t just form an Order like that, can we?¡± Tristan asked.

    ¡°You can. You just need it to be recognised by two or more Houses, Orders, or Covens. If you can get it recognised by more, it gains more legitimacy. You don¡¯t even need Knight Lords or a Mithril¡ªthey just tend to be the only groups who get recognised,¡± Gaz began to explain, his voice excited as he worked through the implications.

    The next hour was a chaotic mix of topics, with everyone having questions. I had answers for almost everything. There was a certain magic to our long history of knightly Orders. There were precedents and forgotten rules. Everyone contributed, with the exception of Sephy. She remained silent, only occasionally dropping a thorny question into the mix.

    One such question was where we would be based. It was a relatively important question and could affect our claims for neutrality. I had an answer. One of the most useful things I¡¯d found in my research was the now mostly defunct concept of ¡®Hermetic¡¯ knightly Orders¡ªthose who made it a point not to have any single base and travelled about to best follow their guiding tenets.

    In the few areas where I struggled, both Gaz and Kay were there to support me. Far more familiar with Orders, they could answer all sorts of questions about how the Orders functioned. As we neared the end, Sephy was still looking reserved, even as a fervour gripped the rest of us. Much of our anger had bled off, but there was still a wall between us. Clearly, something was weighing on her mind.

    I knew Sephy well enough to understand that it wasn¡¯t something petty. She¡¯d spotted a challenge that undermined her belief in the idea. I gently nudged her with my foot when a lull came over the table. She jumped, and I did my best to give her a kind look. ¡°What is it?¡±

    ¡°It is a clever idea, and if it could work, I agree it would solve a great deal of our challenges. However, while Chivalric Law might say to treat us as our own entity, and the power behind us might threaten them into compliance, some will just see whomever we decide as our ¡®Elder¡¯ as the House in charge. Worse, they¡¯ll feel able to use any underhanded trick in the book, believing this Order is our own devious way to get one over on them,¡± Sephy was calm and collected, watching me over steepled fingers.

    Everyone paused and settled back into their chairs, their faces falling as they agreed with her assessment. The warm mood icing over in scant few seconds. For a moment, I thought it was a joke¡ªthat they were pretending they didn¡¯t understand the core idea I was suggesting. When their frowns deepened, I couldn¡¯t help but let out a laugh. The rest turned to look at me, while Sephy just quirked an eyebrow, waiting for my rebuttal.

    ¡°My apologies. It¡¯s just¡ªyou all think like Knights!¡±

    ¡°I will kick you again if you don¡¯t explain.¡± Gaz¡¯s boot scraped back.

    ¡°I thought it was obvious. Think about it!¡± I dodged the kick, laughing harder. It was so apparent to me, but they were different, their minds set on conquest and power. ¡°No one¡¯s in charge! You¡¯re in this as equals. That¡¯s the beauty of it. An Order of Knights who put aside even rank, such is their wish to help mitigate the chaos of the war! It saves us having anyone take offence at us calling ourselves Elder, and it lets us wield our collective clout.¡±

    ¡°That''ll work!¡± Kay said, grinning ear to ear. ¡°It¡¯s perfect. We¡¯ll go out and help people as Knights should. They¡¯ll see us riding up and know we¡¯re here to help them, not wonder about our motives. You get to look for the Grail, and we can bring our combined strength to both issues.¡±

    ¡°One improvement,¡± Sephy sat back, her red lips breaking into a real smile for the first time. ¡°With such an unconventional approach, I think it best if we ensure there is a Bard to announce us.¡±

 Book 2 - Chapter 18 - Bad Wolf

    Things moved quickly after I put forth the idea of forming an Order. The members of Felix Lodge took to it like a candle to dry hay. I¡¯d been worried that Arthur¡ªand by extension Gawain¡ªmight resist. Sephy had laughed, saying that if anything, Arthur would be one of its greatest advocates. It shouldn¡¯t have annoyed me that she was right, or that the prince was the fastest to understand and the most enthusiastic about everyone being equals.

    At some point, we needed to talk. My resentment towards the man clouded my judgement, tarring my opinion and expectations of the prince. Sephy liked him, and in the past, that would¡¯ve been enough for me to at least give someone a chance. Sephy and I were stable but not as we once where. Something had shifted between us, and given how frantic the process of establishing an Order was we didn''t have the time to fix it.

    To try and claw back some time I met with Pel to set out our charter, a task that was left to me almost completely. The Knights as a whole it seemed loathed paperwork. Even Tristan had made excuses. Not that I was complaining. The charter would be the document he and others endorsed, and it would require Mithrils to sign off on it. So it was something I was happy to have Pel''s support with and not have to argue over the minutiae with the others.

    Normally, getting anything in front of a Mithril would¡¯ve been a challenge. However, Pel offered to help facilitate where necessary. He also served to help pass on the news of the Prophecy, which was the Mithrils¡¯ true motivation to sign the charter.

    Given that signing gave their Houses¡¯ sons or daughters a chance to be at the centre of a prophecy from the Lady, Pel believed the biggest issue would be stopping them from trying to drown us in support. Even if they couldn¡¯t speak of it now, the honour and glory of being able to claim direct association with the Lady¡¯s quest could motivate them to act irrationally.

    While this happened, the others sourced equipment and other necessary supplies. No matter our zeal, we still had a week or two before we could move out. We had to collect the seals of our allies. Some others needed permission, like Gaz, who needed leave from the Order of the Kraken, yet everyone was confident such permissions would be granted.

    We were now full of energy, yet had no way to spend it, and so Pel offered us a solution.

    To help prepare us for what was to come, he suggested we start doing work within the protections of the Artoss lands. He assigned us a task for a remote town under his protection, which had sent out reports requesting aid. He¡¯d barely finished before the Knights were running off to mount up.

    That¡¯s how, a week after I suggested an Order, I found myself on horseback, pushing through the deep woods. Our destination was Montvierre, a small town in the Artoss holdings that¡¯d been having problems with a monster. Even if it was far from my personal area of expertise I felt incredible. I wasn''t quite out on the road exploring, but I was finally travelling to places I didn''t know, off to meet fresh audiences and experience new adventures.

    ¡°Let¡¯s hear the description again,¡± Kay called over her shoulder to me, her voice carrying over the pounding of hooves. In a display of largesse, Pel had gifted all of us spirit horses. Unlike Gring or Archimedes, these creatures, while fae-touched, didn¡¯t have a gift. Their power was spent almost entirely on reinforcing their bodies. They could canter for hours, eating up leagues. They were also much smarter than the average horse, but nowhere near having the true wit that bonded beasts displayed.

    Mine was called Elphin after a friend from my mortal days, with whom he shared a good-natured demeanour. The horse was, however, far luckier than his namesake, benefitting from my lesser-armoured form. I kept only the maille of my armour, unlike my companions, who travelled in full gear.

    ¡°Report from Squire Lucan, servant of Sir Spendlove, Iron-ranked guard captain of Montvierre. A four-legged beast clad in white fur that is long like a snake but with a face that speaks of the unspeakable union of a wolf and a rat. Its body, longer than a man is tall, thrashes about unnaturally, in a manner most mesmerising. As it cavorts, it releases a clamorous clucking that strikes fear into the soul. The beast hunts our cattle, with a voracious appetite. It takes at least one cow a day. It is a wily threat and has avoided our traps, using ice magic to freeze the iron bars until they became so brittle they shattered like glass. One of our bravest souls went out in the night on a day when it ate two cows and found that the forest it calls its home is still held by the Winter Court.¡±

    I could practically hear everyone scrabbling through their memories for anything that might help us understand what we were up against. It¡¯d been hours of travel since we¡¯d first explored the message, and none of us had any inkling of what the beast was. The request for help and other documents had come from a retired Knight who was in charge of the town watch. It seemed his knowledge¡ªand that of his squire¡ªwas limited.

    It was a good sign that the town hadn¡¯t lost anyone to the beast as of yet. In a way, they were lucky to have next to no cultivators, whose power would tempt the creature closer. However, given our contact was confident that the beast was Iron-ranked, it was only a matter of time before it got hungry enough to dare face their defences.

    ¡°The ¡®clucking¡¯ really throws me. I don¡¯t know about you, but I struggle to find the idea of something going cluck being scary,¡± Bors called from his seat.

    ¡°I¡¯m more frustrated by this ¡®mesmerising thrashing¡¯. That rings a faint memory.¡± It was irritating me¡ªthe memory taunted me, sounding often but falling silent the moment I sought to examine it.

    ¡°At least we can be certain it¡¯s got the gift of Ice,¡± Maeve offered from her seat. She was more relaxed now that we¡¯d left Rensleigh behind, the pressure of the Governess no longer weighing on her.

    ¡°We really need a fire cultivator. It¡¯s going to get chilly,¡± Gaz called from the rear.

    ¡°We should see if Lance and Gawain have any fresh ideas when they come down,¡± Arthur called out from beside the second-newest Knight. I looked up to see our pair of flyers keeping pace with us. They took it in turns to range ahead, checking for surprises, while the other stayed above keeping watch.

    Lance, now a full Iron, had immediately set out to take over Gring¡¯s bond. She¡¯d only stopped to wash herself before rushing over to the stables. According to what she¡¯d learned from Ursul, the time after the ascension to Iron was when the soul was most pliable. Ursul had returned to Fosburg but had left detailed notes for a ritual that was kept secret from everyone but those concerned.

    It had taken an entire day, stretching into the evening, before they¡¯d emerged, pact in place. A fact we¡¯d celebrated, along with the formation of our new Order, with a huge feast. All of us were finally able to cast off the stress we¡¯d built up since that first day before the map, all finally having something clear to put our energy behind. The friction from our competing goals gone, everyone made merry.

    Sephy and I hadn¡¯t talked properly, but the fact that we did at least have a little time to look at the stars gave me hope that things could be fixed.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure it shall be nothing but a trifling matter,¡± a fluting voice came from the front, and I had to again adjust my mind to recognise the foppish tones as belonging to Tristan. Now in his ¡®public¡¯ persona, he¡¯d become what I considered the image of a hedonistic cultivator. His armour had nipples, for the Sidhe¡¯s sake.

    A whistle sounded before us.

    ¡°Just because we¡¯re talking doesn¡¯t mean you can let it break our formation. Gareth and Arthur, keep in line. Tristan, don¡¯t forget to call out changes to the flora. I know we¡¯re handling tree roots and low branches, but if we get incapacitated, the others will need to know how treacherous the path is.¡± Kay¡¯s voice cracked over us like a whip. She was older than all of us by several years and had by far the most experience in how to behave in an Order.

    If we wanted to be taken seriously, our new Order needed to look the part. We needed to talk the talk, walk the walk¡ªor canter the canter, in this case. It wasn¡¯t my strongest suit, as it became increasingly clear that Orders were all about order, a state of being I actively resisted.

    I got away with more than most as the group¡¯s ¡®attached¡¯ Bard, my main task being to keep to the position I was assigned. A task that I found harder than expected as our horses cantered through the forest trails.

    ¡°Taliesin, move up. You need to be behind Bors. I don¡¯t want to see you between Persephone and Maeve again,¡± Kay called out.

    In front of me, I heard Bors chuckle, an echo coming from Gaz. I let out a relieved sigh after a discreet check over my shoulder revealed only confusion on Arthur¡¯s face. He was still none the wiser.

    I sighed. I wasn¡¯t looking forward to maintaining that farce of a love triangle on the road. I really did need to speak with Arthur at some point before it became a problem.

    ¡°Signal from Archimedes¡ªpossible enemy contact. Dismount and form up when we reach the riverbed,¡± Kay called, watching the flashing flags Gawain waved at us. A few seconds later, we emerged to find the wide-open space of a dry river.

    We slowed, the Knights rapidly dismounting and offering their reins to me. I fumbled to get my pipe smoking, using the tip of my new dagger to light it and get the smoke growing. All the while, I pulled out bricks of ash taken from the Lodge¡¯s fireplaces from my storage ring.

    Elphin nickered in frustration at the unwelcome smell and the way the animals crammed in on all sides. I patted him gently to reassure him, using tendrils of ash to gather the reins. With my new levels of glamour, I could make my ash firm and exert about as much force as an average mortal man. Near useless in a fight, but endlessly useful just about everywhere else.

    I pulled the group back into the cover of the forest. It was agreed that my role in battles such as these was to look after the horses. Fights against anything at Iron rank were far too dangerous for the horses to be involved. My cultivation should be enough to keep the horses safe from glancing blows or an opportunistic strike, freeing up the rest of them to fight.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    The rest of the Knights formed into two lines. Bors, Arthur, and Sephy stood in the lead, with Kay, Tristan, and Gareth in the rear. The frontline was made up of our best defenders, while the rear line had all sorts of options when it came to harrying and hurting their opponents. Maeve hovered between the two lines. Her offence was incredible, but she lacked the defensive capabilities to stand fully at the front.

    We¡¯d drilled on this a few times during the journey, so everyone got into formation with surprising speed. Kay only had to shout at people a couple of times. I was preparing for her to shout the all-clear¡ªthat it was just another drill¡ªwhen my spreading smoke detected something coming towards us from the forest.

    ¡°Sounds like wolves of some sort,¡± Gaz called.

    Above us, Gring and Archimedes circled, watching intently. No doubt ensuring that we weren¡¯t about to be flanked. I breathed deeply, steadying myself. We were moving through the ¡®deep woods¡¯ to speed our access to the town. This was forest that wasn¡¯t thinned and managed by Knights. It held all manner of threats, with some claiming the deepest depths held mithril-level beasts.

    It was something we needed to get comfortable with in our upcoming trials. That said, we were at the very edge of it, and a group of Irons such as us would have to be improbably unlucky to encounter something truly lethal. Still, that chance existed, however slim, and so every fight had to be approached with proper caution.

    ¡°Anyone getting any sense of their glamour?¡± Kay called, receiving a chorus of ¡°No, Marshal¡± in return. The idea of equality was all nice in practice, but when it came to battle, a clear chain of command was essential. Kay had the role of ¡®Marshal¡¯ thrust upon her. It made her our leader while we were on the road, and while she was initially hesitant to accept it, she was already proving it was the right decision.

    ¡°Here they come!¡± Kay called.

    Out of the trees across the rocky riverbed burst a cavalry charge¡¯s worth of wolves¡ªat least thirty. Far more than I¡¯d have guessed given what my smoke told me. Each would¡¯ve been the equal of the biggest mortal wolf, and a few were almost double that¡ªnearly the size of the horses. They advanced in silence, the only sounds being small breaths and the thudding of their paws into the dirt. It sent chills down my spine.

    The tide of monsters rushed out in coordination that no normal beast could equal. But it wasn¡¯t that, nor their silence and size, which marked them as fae beasts. It was the unearthly way their coats shifted from bark brown to stone grey as they charged across the riverbed. The light caught on glittering claws, as though they¡¯d been dipped in silver.

    ¡°Glimmer Wolves!¡± Gawain shouted from atop Archimedes. The Knights nodded, but I wasn¡¯t familiar with the beasts. I could only hope that explained why they held out so confidently against the overwhelming charge. My heart was in my throat!

    My explanation came when water shot from Gaz. Pulling it from the anemic river, he fired it at specific wolves. His attacks were swiftly joined by pebbles from Bors, the pair using their powers to sense which wolves were real. The wolves they hit dissolved in shimmering clouds of rainbows, their delicate illusions disrupted by the bursts of glamour.

    It would¡¯ve been beautiful if the pack¡¯s reaction wasn¡¯t to start snarling and barking en masse.

    ¡°Watch your eyes!¡± Sephy shouted as she formed a rippling band of blood over her brow as a shield.

    Cursing myself for not realising sooner, I threw my power into pulling up a wall of ash. I had to shield myself and the horses. Mirage-gifted, often called Sun-Blessed by Divine Cultivators, wielded control over light. Knight, witch or beast, their tactics included two main tricks, the first we¡¯d already seen. The second, I was in no hurry to experience.

    I heard a very sharp bark and felt the glamour explode out of the beast. I managed to close my eyes, but even with them shut and the wall of ash, I could register the shift as one of the wolves emptied all its glamour into a burst of light that rivalled the sun.

    I thanked the Sidhe for the warning. I might¡¯ve been able to heal myself or endure the sudden blindness, but if any of the horses had been caught unprotected, they¡¯d have been blind and terrified, and I¡¯d have lost control of the entire pack. No, that wasn¡¯t right¡ªherd! I really should refresh my knightley terminology.

    My attention was drawn back to the fight as I heard war cries and howls of pain. My smoke sense painted a picture for me. Among the frontline, none of them were taken out by the blinding attack. Arthur was able to reflect the light, Sephy had her eye shield, and Bors probably just shut his eyes, relying on his ability to sense the tremors to guide his initial defence¡ªa series of earthen spikes that speared the leaders of the pack.

    The beasts were easily Bronze-ranked. Unlike humans, they only ever got one gift, but in giving up the second gift, they gained resilience and strength beyond their human counterparts. A few stab wounds were far from enough to kill them¡ªwhich is where Maeve came in.

    Having shielded herself behind Bors, she emerged, a thin curved blade in one hand and a dagger in the other. Her blade glamour sliced through both wolf and the stone that pinned them. She was beyond lethal, cutting through them as if they had no more substance than their illusions. Then she darted back.

    I heard a squeal of metal and turned to see Sephy¡¯s shield had caught a wolf trying to come round the side. The floating steel clashed with gnashing teeth, holding back its charge. I didn¡¯t even have time to worry for her. With both hands on her blade, she darted around her defence, carving a deep gash in the beast¡¯s neck. The blood gushing out didn¡¯t even have time to hit the ground before her blood glamour caught it, redirecting it into javelins that she launched at the wolves¡¯ eyes.

    I winced. I was never more certain that I wasn¡¯t a Knight than in moments such as these. There was a casual ruthlessness to them that I lacked. It didn¡¯t mean I wasn¡¯t capable of it, just that it was never my default as it was for the rest of them.

    Even Tristan, the spy, who was closest to me in terms of philosophy, demonstrated a clear savagery. He and Kay were pulling up roots to catch and bind the wolves trying to flank the group. With them slowed, he launched his attacks. Unlike most, he preferred to use a spear in combat and was using it to hammer into the most vulnerable parts of his foes.

    As I watched him, I saw the first mistake of the fight. A wolf baited him into overextending his attack, exposing him to another¡¯s strike. The larger wolf, one of the biggest in the pack, rivalled Elphin in size. It pounced on him, using an illusion to give itself an extra pair of heads. Like the mortal conmen who ran cup-and-ball games, the heads shifted constantly, challenging you to figure out which one was real. Tristan must not frequent such tables¡ªhe lunged at one head, not realising the golden rule of the con: there¡¯s never a right answer. The illusion dissolved, revealing the wolf a pace behind it.

    Tristan didn¡¯t back down. His spear flexed and bent in his hand like a striking serpent, the blade shifting to cut a wound into the wolf¡¯s side. The wound halted the wolf, its head pulling back as it clawed at the Knight¡¯s armour. Then it spun to slam its body into him, knocking him back a couple of paces.

    For the first time, their formation faltered. The other wolves moved in to try and capitalise on the opening.

    That was when Archimedes descended, claws first, ripping into the wounded wolf. Gawain sent bursts of water and wind into the pack to arrest their advance. Into the confused huddle of wolves, Lance descended, swiftly followed by Gring. Gring swooped low, effortlessly transitioning to running on his hooves. Lance¡¯s blade flashed, cutting into the wolves, their few attacks effortlessly deflected by her moon glamour.

    Then Gring was flying again, foiling any attempt to catch him. Not that there was much risk of that. Of the wolves that¡¯d attacked, at least half were dead, and most others were wounded. The rest howled to signal retreat.

    A couple of the Knights made to chase them, but Kay barked at them to stay in position. Spirit beasts were cunning. It was best to assume that, when it came to the hunt and combat, they were just as devious as humans.

    A rule I was glad I hadn¡¯t forgotten, as I felt one enterprising wolf trying to sneak up on me and the horses. It had used the brief moment of chaos when the fliers had been engaged to slip into our side of the woods and was now clearly hoping to grab something for its efforts.

    I briefly considered pulling out my bow, but the wolf would barely notice the attack. Instead, I pulled out my lute and, with a gentle strum of the strings, pushed my death glamour into its body. I did need to test my attack on an actual opponent, after all.

    Jumping off Elphin¡ªwho chuffed in annoyance at the sudden burst of ash¡ªI soared high, landing silently in a tree above the wall of concealing ash I¡¯d raised to shield the horses. From here, I could draw a line to the disturbance I sensed in my smoke: a blob of shadow and green slinking closer to my charges. I let more power gather in my lute.

    As my teacher Marek hadn¡¯t been best pleased that I¡¯d chosen to leave. He seemed worried that I was a sneeze away from unleashing an accidental wave of death glamour. Still, he was supportive of our public goal, and our few extra training sessions had a massive impact on my skills. The primary factor was my understanding of how to wield death glamour. To do so, we¡¯d developed my own technique that would allow me to harness my own personal ¡®Evil Eye¡¯ along with the death glamour.

    The Evil Eye was the most basic form of weaponizing your will, and at Iron onwards your aura. For most, the easiest way to get started was to look at the thing you wanted to destroy, focus your will (and, if you had it, your intent), and imagine crushing whatever had earned your ire. That¡¯s why Knights sometimes called it killing intent. Witches, though, had other ways to wield it, which they called curses. They used the aura as a bridge and then sent glamour across the path¡ªa technique I¡¯d been practising whenever I had a moment.

    My past discordant releases of death glamour, like the one I¡¯d used in the fight with Astor, were dangerous to everyone around me and wasteful to the extreme. But if I could use the evil eye to guide the power, I could focus the attack. The problem was that, while glaring worked for Knights and Witches, it didn¡¯t fit the mentality of a Bard.

    No matter how I fluttered my eyelashes, it didn¡¯t engage with my intent. From the ashes shall rise beautiful chaos demanded more. It wasn¡¯t that I lacked will power but that my approach to destroying whatever was in front of me was more diffuse, plots and ploys to pull it apart, rather than charging through them. Still, between Marek and me, we¡¯d come up with my own way to strike out.

    My lute strings called out, and the blur hesitated. I could feel the wolf looking around for the new threat, only to flinch as my aura curled around it. The pealing notes, dripping with power, sounded out as prepared to unleash my first real use of my personal technique.

    A technique that I¡¯d named after long consideration and the painful acceptance that even if I kept death out of the title the alternatives all sounded equally as dark and brooding. At least I¡¯d worked in some alliteration to soften it. Marek had approved, and I wasn''t certain if that was good or bad thing.

    The last bits of death glamour fell into place, it was time to unleash my ¡®Deadly Dirge''.

    ¡°I see you, Glimmer Wolf,

    Through the pines, your shadow slips,

    Teeth like daggers, hunger shines.

    But words sharper than claws wait,

    To make your mirage shatter and break.

    I curse you, Bad Wolf.¡±

    With the last words, my aura spiked, and I pushed the glamour out of my lute, the death glamour coursing down the connection. Not a moment later, the illusion winked out, revealing the wolf, which had been robbed of even a chance to whimper. Death, instant and complete.

    ¡°Well, fuck, that¡¯s terrifying,¡± I muttered to myself, leaning to get a better look. I wasn¡¯t sure I wanted to get closer to the death glamour rising from it.

    ¡°You¡¯re telling me.¡±

    A voice suddenly buzzed in my ear, making me leap back in pure reflex. At thirty feet up, this was less of a tactical retreat and more of an airborne disaster. As I plummeted, the shift on Lance and Gring¡¯s faces¡ªfrom entertained spectators to panicked witnesses¡ªalmost made the fall worth it.

    Almost.

 Book 2 Chapter 19 - Pig Iron

    <div>

    <div>

    <div>

    The trees thinned, and the looming power of the deep woods faded behind us. I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d ever enjoy being that far from civilisation. The wolf attack had only deepened my disdain for the fae places of the world. This disdain was further compounded by the itch I¡¯d felt between my shoulder blades¡ªa sense of being watched by familiar eyes. I couldn¡¯t decide whether the orbs watching me were mirrors or lakes.

    ¡°So, where else can we do better?¡± Kay¡¯s call snapped me out of my reverie. The Knights, of course, weren¡¯t as affected as I was, and after clearing the battlefield, they had thrown themselves into a post-battle dissection of their successes and failings.

    ¡°Lance and Gring can remember to catch people they startle out of trees,¡± Sephy¡¯s voice called out. She hadn¡¯t found my fall as amusing as some of the others. There was a grumbling whinny from Gring, who flew above our trotting column, probably arguing that he was trying to help. ¡®Help¡¯ that I was still recovering from.

    As I fell, Gring had remembered he had air glamour just before I struck the ground and tried to cushion my fall. This not only destroyed the blanket of ash I had been desperately forming, but his panicked bursts of air¡ªgeared for a Knight in full armour¡ªlaunched me skyward again, and then again. Finally, after his third attempt to catch me, I was able to use my own ash to snag a tree branch and save myself from my ¡®rescuer.¡¯

    This was of great amusement to everyone except me, Sephy, and Kay. Maeve only remembered to act concerned after the laughter had run its course. I personally was more annoyed at my initial reaction than anything else. However, Kay and Sephy both took personal affront at the cavalier attitude of the group towards injury.

    Our Marshal was displeased with our nascent Order¡¯s showing against the wolves. She picked apart the group¡¯s behaviour with exacting detail. While I¡¯d assumed it had gone well, from her analysis it became clear that the victory was more a result of our Order being made up of competent individuals than any semblance of teamwork. Her biggest compliment was that they weren¡¯t actively getting in each other¡¯s way. For the most part, everyone fought their own enemies and did little to build upon each other¡¯s strengths.

    The pair who earned her greatest praise were Bors and Maeve. Bors had steadily pushed forward, using defensive walls to press the enemy back or pinning them in place with spikes of earth. Maeve had made great use of this, darting out to deliver killing blows before retreating behind the giant to wait for the next opportunity to strike.

    I listened with half an ear as Kay took Sephy¡¯s complaint and turned it into a lecture on the importance of not becoming arrogant about how our bodies could handle punishment. ¡°One injured member of our column slows us all,¡± she emphasised. To her credit, she was a good speaker, and her audience was mostly attentive.

    I wasn¡¯t listening as closely as the others, too busy planning our next steps.

    After quickly harvesting the cores of the wolves and throwing their bodies into our storage rings, we began trotting up the river. The river appeared on our maps and ran near the imperilled town. Given it was the midst of spring, the river should have been in full swell, not the anaemic trickle we now saw. The group¡¯s assumption, backed up by the sense Gaz and Gawain got from the water¡¯s glamour, was that the river was blocked due to the frozen den of this unknown monster.

    With the benefit of the dried riverbed, we were making better time than expected. Even at a trot, we could reach the town by the end of the day. Some among the Order had wanted to head straight to the monster, reasoning that the sooner it was dealt with, the better.

    They were overruled by our designated monster expert, Gawain. He made a good case that we only had strange ramblings to go on and could easily find ourselves fighting something far more dangerous than anticipated.

    Which meant our Order¡¯s introduction to the public was imminent.

    When there was a lull in Kay¡¯s lecturing, I called out to everyone, ¡°All right, last call for name suggestions.¡±

    There were groans from some and shouts from others.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got a new one: Order of Concorde,¡± Sephy said. I might have been biased, but so far, her ideas were the best¡ªif you overlooked her inability to correctly judge the limits of others¡¯ vocabulary. Lance, Bors, and Kay were all looking at her, mystified.

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that just a different way of saying the Order of Agreement? I¡¯m afraid the average peasant might not recognise it,¡± Gaz cut in diplomatically. Sephy began to blush; that was her third idea that had been shot down for the same reason. We wanted the title of the Order to be clear to both cultivators and mortals alike, making our philosophy easily understood.

    ¡°I still think we had it with the Bannerless Order,¡± Lance called down from Gring.

    ¡°It sounds like we¡¯re cowards who¡¯ve surrendered our banner,¡± Bors retorted.

    ¡°We don¡¯t have a banner!¡±

    ¡°Which is the first thing they¡¯ll point out!¡±

    ¡°I still don¡¯t see why we can¡¯t be called the Order of Balanced Justice,¡± Arthur grumbled quietly beside me. I stayed silent. The others had already ripped the idea apart earlier. The biggest complaint was that it sounded eerily similar to a virtue claimed by the Inquisitors. I kept my own opinion¡ªthat it sounded like the title for a stuffy group of bureaucrats¡ªto myself.

    I wasn¡¯t actively annoying Arthur. This was progress.

    ¡°Does anyone want another vote?¡± My offer was met with a chorus of boos. The Knights didn¡¯t like voting but accepted that all the other methods of governance were worse. So far, it had been working¡ªthe one exception being choosing a name.

    ¡°We still have time before we properly go questing. We¡¯ve got our working name until then,¡± I said. We¡¯d had to put something down so we could start requesting recognition from our Houses. The Knights weren¡¯t enthusiastic about my suggested title.

    ¡°I still feel like a damn fool marching under the name of some furniture,¡± Bors grumbled.

    ¡°I, for one, like it. It matches our goals while sounding appropriately humble,¡± Arthur called back. In an ironic twist of our usual dynamic, he was the only Knight who didn¡¯t have a problem with the name. I begrudgingly accepted his support and forged on.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Thank you, Arthur. We all agreed it works, at least for the time being. And as this is our first outing, contained entirely within the Artoss lands, I doubt it will¡ª¡±

    ¡°Are we sure we should use that name? What if it sticks?¡±

    ¡°Well, you¡¯ve not got long to work it out. Gawain has just signalled he¡¯s seen the town,¡± Lance called down as Gring flapped his wings, taking mount and rider to meet their airborne counterparts.

    ¡°Taliesin, you still good with being our Herald when we arrive?¡± Kay asked, and I smiled in return.

    ¡°I¡¯ve not forgotten, and yes, I¡¯m hale and pleased to be of use.¡± As Sephy had suggested, my role was to act as Herald. Similar to Kay¡¯s role as Marshal, the group had put me in charge of the general speaking tasks.

    ¡°All right, form up, people. I want a flawless column. Get ready to get your cloaks out.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re still miles out, though,¡± I heard Bors comment, and Gaz chuckled.

    ¡°Ah, I see you¡¯re yet to learn the ancient rule that governs all military, from a levy of peasants to a gathering of Steels,¡± Gaz said, a wry smile on his lips.

    ¡°Please enlighten us, oh veteran!¡± Lance quipped.

    Gaz and Kay shared a knowing nod, then called out, ¡°Hurry up and wait!¡±

    <hr>

    Atop Elphin, I stood staring up at the gates, my fake smile in danger of cracking. We¡¯d arrived as the sun was setting, and the gates around the town had already closed. I¡¯d approached, and for a moment, it seemed as if we¡¯d enter without issue. The guards, seeing our column, were practically falling over themselves to let us in.

    The cohort of seven Knights and their steeds looked stately. The setting sun painted their armour in gold. None wore their houses colours; instead, they all bore unadorned red cloaks. The colour was chosen for its striking impact and because it wasn¡¯t the primary colour of any of our supporters. It was in no way due to the fact my outfit refused to be any other colour.

    Lance and Gawain were both off surveying the surrounding lands, getting a look before night fell. Should this clucking beast attack tonight, we¡¯d at least have an idea of where to pursue it.

    Even I looked good. I¡¯d switched to my noble troubadour outfit, the red and black fitting with the rest of the Knights. My enchanted black cloak billowed in the wind, matching nicely with Elphin¡¯s black coat.

    All was going well. The town was simple, mostly wood, but it had a pleasant air to it. The buildings we could see were in good condition, with enough paint to give them some life. Smoke curled from their chimneys, and the smell of cooking promised us good fare. I even spotted some children who¡¯d snuck onto a roof to see us over the simple stone walls.

    It would have been a rather perfect picture of rural life if not for the glaring face of Sir Spendlove, the local Knight.

    Our smooth entry had fallen apart after someone had the bright idea to drag out this example of pig iron from the muck it had been rusting in. So now I found myself trying to explain myself patiently for the third time. It was a challenge, given Sir Spendlove¡¯s constant oinking and the murderous intent I could feel radiating off my cohort.

    ¡°You dare insult the Artoss, you dirty string-plucker! I ask again, send out the leader of your cohort,¡± the hog-faced man roared. Beside him, a functionary or servant winced and cleared out his ears.

    I¡¯d never viewed another cultivator¡¯s rank as ¡®pig iron¡¯ before, but the man was uniquely deserving of it. Pig iron was scrap, refuse, little better than slag, and was considered the highest insult to a Knight. It didn¡¯t question your morals or your individual skills; it branded your very core as being unworthy of the rank you held.

    Sir Spendlove had capped out at low Iron, which, I was acutely aware, was nothing to be ashamed of. However, he¡¯d then wallowed in his power. He¡¯d fallen to decadence. Even his armour couldn¡¯t hide his fat, the excess weight saying far more about a cultivator than it might for a mortal. I didn¡¯t need his words to tell he took my presence as an insult, not with his unceasing glower from a pair of particularly hoggish eyes¡ªoverly small on his face due to his erratically shaved jowls and receding hairline.

    ¡°Please educate me on what offence I could have offered the Artoss family, Sir Spendlove?¡± I decided on one last overture of peace. We were new to this, after all; perhaps there was some aspect I was missing.

    ¡°It is appropriate for the commanding officer or their second to greet the ranking cultivator of the town they visit. You disrespect me, and that disrespects the governance of this town and, by extension, the Artoss¡ªour sponsors. I am a tolerant man but cannot abide an insult to our protectors.¡± The last words were a total lie, which made it clear this was all because he felt slighted. My patience was wearing thin.

    ¡°Not your sponsors for bloody long,¡± I heard a faint mutter from Tristan behind me. That comment helped me rally. I was no longer aiming to just get past this swine. Time to fatten him up before leading him to slaughter. Besides, I also wanted to answer one question for my own satisfaction: what confidence drove this man to be so brazen?

    ¡°As I have explained thrice, I am the Herald of the Order of the Round Table, a cadre of Knights who believe in putting aside their personal power to protect mortals in these trying times. We are equals without a commander to put forth. Our Order is recognised by Pellinore Artoss, among others, and we were sent here to aid you.¡± The last bit was technically true¡ªeven if our founding document was yet to host any other seals. I recognised the Order and counted as an ¡®other.¡¯

    I saw him absorb that, shushing the pained-looking man beside him. Given how the man was holding up under the Knight¡¯s ire, I assumed he was Squire Lucan, who had written the letter. Lucan was his master¡¯s opposite: neat and trim, dressed in clothes that made him look more like a butler than a warrior. He alone dared to speak, though not loudly enough for us to hear him. A model servant.

    ¡°Well, I¡¯ve never heard of you. You must be a pretty weak Order to not send a single Knight.¡± There was a brief shade of worry as he looked over us, and finally, it all clicked. His ability to sense our auras was likely as rusty as the rest of his skills. He didn¡¯t know what strength we held. He wasn''t just arrogant, he was scared.

    So, he was making assumptions. From his perspective, seven Knights and a Bard from some unknown Order couldn¡¯t possibly all be Irons. The idea that every one of us was Iron hadn¡¯t entered his mind. Not only did this explain his arrogance and condescension, but also his derision. If the monster we hunted was Iron, as expected, we might succeed in slaying it¡ªbut most of us would likely die. If we failed, the beast would be empowered from eating our glamour infused bodies. Then it come hunting for more.

    To him, we were represented a new threat. Either a group of low-ranked optimistic idiots or some unlucky fodder sent here as part of a distant political game.

    Did that excuse his insults and disrespect? No, it did not. But at least I now knew what to avoid next time. I was about to speak¡ªto give him more rope to hang himself with¡ªwhen he deliberately spoke over me, rubbing in the insult.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure we have space for you in town. There¡¯s a farmste¡ª¡±

    ¡°Sir, I must protest.¡± The butler spoke up, horrified. Clearly under the same misapprehension as his master, he recognised that billeting us at some farmstead was akin to using Bronzes as bait.

    ¡°Silence, Lucan. Don¡¯t embarrass me,¡± Spendlove snapped. From Lucan¡¯s flinch, I knew he was using the Evil Eye. Thugs like him always did. Of course, a bully like him wouldn¡¯t have let that skill wither. My smile disappeared. My fun was ruined. I wasn¡¯t about to let him torture a man in front of me.

    ¡°Before you billet us somewhere, I should mention that we have two others with flying mounts. They are currently surveying the nearby lands.¡±

    ¡°Flying mounts? They must be your Irons.¡± The little piggy smile came back¡ªonly so I could dash it.

    ¡°Indeed, they are both Knights, but I sense there has been some confusion. All of these fine souls are full Knights,¡± I gestured to the still and silent cohort behind me. Well, silent because I could feel Gaz¡¯s sound glamour muting the laughter that at least a couple of helmets were helping conceal.

    ¡°All of them are Iron?¡± he asked breathlessly, his flushed face turning pale.

    ¡°All of us,¡± I emphasised the final word and watched the piggy face crumple as he realised just how badly he¡¯d screwed up.

 Book 2 Chapter 20 - Quest for Slumber

    Sir Spendlove¡¯s manor made for a better billet than some farmstead. The place was gaudy, looming over the other buildings in town. Even the town hall paled in comparison. We¡¯d been given the best rooms in the house¡ªhe¡¯d even offered up the master bedroom, which we¡¯d unanimously turned down. The idea of sleeping in a bed he frequented was enough to turn our collective stomachs.

    The gift of housing was just part of his panic. After realising he¡¯d been mortally offensive to a fellow Iron cultivator, he¡¯d rolled over and practically thrown gifts at me, which I¡¯d turned down. In part it was because it was all tat, he was wealthy only by mortal standards and his trinkets didn¡¯t compare to the kind of things I¡¯d just found lying around in the Felix Lodge. More importantly, I didn¡¯t want him thinking he was going to buy his way out of this.

    Instead I suggested he could start making up for his egregious insults though offering his ¡®insight and support¡¯. In other words, doing his damn job and not actively getting in our way.

    Most of the group listened to my wisdom, understanding that our first outing shouldn¡¯t involve directly usurping the local cultivator. His fate was already sealed; Tristan and Lance were planning to send a dream missive to the main estate. It would be a worthy first test of Lance¡¯s abilities, helping us communicate via dream glamour across the vast distances we planned to travel. It would be her first attempt to do so without her mother¡¯s support.

    Despite the good wine we¡¯d been given and the warm welcome, a few of us were still upset about how we¡¯d been greeted and wanted to hunt the pig down. Sephy was particularly irate. Thankfully, a quirk of Knightly honour stopped them. As I was the most grievously insulted, Chivalric law dictated that, as we were all of equal rank, they could not interfere until I resolved my complaint or a full cycle of the moon passed.

    A sensible rule, it meant hot-blooded youngsters couldn¡¯t start fights on behalf of their more mature and level-headed kin. I was not mature. My petty side simply knew that the best way to make the man suffer was to let him do what he did best: sweat.

    We were gathered in his dining room¡ªsmall by the standards of the estates and halls we¡¯d recently enjoyed but palatial compared to peasant accommodations. The manor was well-run. Hot baths had been waiting for us, and extra beds had been prepared. The greatest surprise was a humble feast that appeared within an hour of our arrival, enough to feed all ten of us, served on a clearly out-of-place round table. From the smell of dust, I suspected it had been dragged out of some attic.

    Maybe we did need to pick something other than furniture for our name. It seemed ridiculous that people were already digging out specific tables for us.

    ¡°Please forgive Sir Spendlove. The recent challenges have greatly stressed him, and he has retired to his bedchamber seeking medicine for a most debilitating humour. For those I have yet to introduce myself to, I am Squire Lucan, his second-in-command. While my master oversees all, I manage this house and have been coordinating with the town to respond to the threat you have so graciously come to aid us with.¡±

    Lucan spoke without lying, but I could see the quirks in his sentence that betrayed the hidden truth. Spendlove had retreated¡ªlikely to get roaringly drunk. His absence was our net gain, sparing us his company and giving us unfettered access to Lucan, the one actually responsible for managing the monster threat.

    ¡°The only forgiveness I can offer is to the burden you bear with him as a master, Squire Lucan. The only thanks I offer is to your excellent service,¡± I said, breaking the silence. Still acting as spokesman for our group, I set the tone, and the others relaxed. The room dissolved into discussion, appreciation for Lucan, and exploration of our plans.

    I spoke a little with Sephy, though things were still strange between us. The memory of our recent conflict haunted our conversation. I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that there were more secrets¡ªor rather, I knew there were more secrets, which had never been a problem before. No, the issue was the tight control her elders had over her.

    This wasn¡¯t surprising. Neither of us was Mithril, and not being beholden to others was half the reason people sought that legendary status. What shamed me was that I¡¯d assumed I would follow her without hesitation if such forces tried to divide us. Yet when she¡¯d explained the plan, all I could think about was escaping it. I¡¯d loathed it so much I hadn¡¯t even considered following her.

    I was still relatively new to this ¡®having people I genuinely cared about¡¯ experience, but immediately deciding to destroy their plans didn¡¯t seem like the right move.

    Exploring the subject hurt, and worse, it felt like I couldn¡¯t tell exactly what she was thinking. It didn¡¯t help that we¡¯d been so busy it had just slipped past us, and now it lurked in our shadows¡ªunsaid words stalking us.

    It also wasn¡¯t helping that I had to keep up the farce with Maeve, which I was finding increasingly hard to do. She talked about swords a lot, and I¡¯d long since exhausted my interest in the subject. Hopefully, our time on the road would supply us with fresh topics.

    As more beer arrived, I listened to the discussion with Lucan, who had finally taken a seat at the table despite his complaints. His need to follow the Knights¡¯ command warred with a butler¡¯s instinct to never be seen sitting down.

    The conversation seemed to be going well. Despite his looks, the man clearly had martial training. However, even with him involved, no one seemed to have any idea what the creature was. His imitation of the clucks was, however, most amusing.

    Eventually, I slipped out of the room and fled the manor before they noticed I¡¯d gone. My feet were itching, and I wanted to move. To be free.

    I still had a list of tasks as long as my arm. I¡¯d barely added anything to my reserves with impurities¡ªthe downside of having an incredible staff was that the alchemists were too efficient. My haul from the realm didn¡¯t include any fae cores I could snack on, either.

    There was the talk with Arthur I probably should have been having.

    The talk with Sephy I both wanted and feared.

    I shivered, putting all of that out of my mind. What I needed right now was to find my roots, to centre myself. The Artoss estate had been nice, and I¡¯d enjoyed our jaunt through the woods, but it hadn¡¯t felt right. I¡¯d sought freedom to meet people, see places, and live my own life. But I felt watched there¡ªa sensation that followed me even to this manor.

    I wasn¡¯t on this journey to find the Grail, or to guard against monsters¡ªhuman or spirit. At my core, I was here to make music. To spread the word of our mission. To expose the villainy of the Divine Cultivators. And, most importantly, to bring joy and song.

    Finding the tavern was no great task. The town was barely larger than some villages, a tenth of the size of Fosburg. I could hear the carousing bouncing off the sturdy wooden buildings from streets away.

    The tavern was packed and in the midst of a celebration. I could hear rough folk music and whoops of joy from within. I stopped myself from entering when I saw the face of one of the mortal guards flash past the open shutters.

    I cursed to myself. No matter how approachable I might aim to be, just a word of who I was would shatter the mood. It would be in poor taste, especially as, from the snippets of conversation I overheard, the celebration was for our arrival. It seemed that ¡®Sir Spendlove¡¯ had shared some of his stock so the town could show their appreciation for their supposed saviours.

    I was becoming more and more impressed with Lucan. To think the man had not only arranged the manor and our meals but had time to sneak out some of his master¡¯s booze.

    I wandered around, trying to work out what to do next. This issue of class would be a recurring problem, but I wasn¡¯t about to give up on my goals so easily. As I strolled, I came across a collection of tents pitched on what I assumed was normally the town green. The strange thing was that it seemed to be entirely populated by children.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    Stepping closer, I corrected myself: children and one old man, who was trying¡ªand failing¡ªto keep order. Standing in the middle of some twenty children was a wiry, bearded gent. His eyes had the slight mania of a kind, soft-spoken person who was seriously reconsidering his stance on corporal punishment.

    ¡°Little ¡¯uns, I know your parents are out, but that¡¯s no excuse¡ªLilah, stop biting Timothy! I don¡¯t care if he bit Gregory first,¡± he called out, hobbling to help one small child who was crying while pointing at a trio of scuffling children.

    I relaxed. Compared to the challenges I¡¯d faced of late, a group of mostly laughing, excited children was a wonderful sight. A beautiful bit of chaos.

    I strummed my lute, the lilting sound drawing all their attention as if it were a spell.

    ¡°Good day! I¡¯m Taliesin, a travelling bard. I¡¯m here to play you a couple of songs.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve no coin¡ª¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not like that, Granda Po! He was with the Knights. He told ¡¯im off, he did!¡± one of the bigger boys called out. He must have been one of the children I¡¯d spotted watching from the rooftops. Unlike adults, the realisation that I was a cultivator didn¡¯t send them scraping and bowing. Instead, I felt their eyes shift from momentary interest to wild expectation.

    I felt a little sorry for ¡®Granda Po¡¯. The man looked ready to have a heart attack. He was currently carrying a small girl and was clearly trying to work out how to show proper deference without dropping her.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about bowing or anything. I¡¯m here to help. See, I want your help. I¡¯m hoping to turn the Knights¡¯ achievements into song, and I¡¯d love to hear your thoughts. However, I¡¯m not sure if I should let naughty children hear such songs. Are there any naughty children here?¡±

    The group went silent, shaking their heads violently. A girl¡ª¡®Lilah¡¯, I presumed¡ªwas the last to do so, as she had to spit out Timothy first.

    Attention gained, I gestured to their caretaker. ¡°Why don¡¯t you listen to Mister¡ª?¡±

    ¡°Mister Runpo, your lordship.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not ¡®lordship¡¯. But if you must add something to my name, call me Bard Taliesin.¡± I smiled, remembering Alexis¡¯s advice. Sadly, children needed to be taught the importance of respect. ¡°If you all do what Mr Runpo says, I¡¯ll play you a song.¡±

    I made a show of tuning my lute as a grateful Runfo set about sorting the children out. It wasn¡¯t quite their bedtime but was approaching it. Not that they¡¯d likely go to sleep with the clamour from the tavern blaring.

    Looking around, it seemed this was where the families of local farmsteads had been placed. The families were kept inside the walls for their safety. Runfo, I learned from the children¡¯s chatter, had agreed to stay and look after them, alongside another caretaker who had skived off earlier¡ªlured away by the donated drink.

    It was a bit much for one man to manage all these children, but I didn¡¯t think he was entirely alone. I felt like I was being watched. Faces peeked through shutters in nearby houses, and I saw the occasional guard patrol, which might have explained it.

    Once the children were no longer in total anarchy and, if not willing to get under their blankets, at least ready to do so, Runfo gave me a grateful nod before collapsing into a rocking chair.

    ¡°Let¡¯s start with a tune about the largest of all the Knights from our merry band. Bors the Titan!¡±

    "Bors the Titan, hearth ablaze, protector worthy of ancient days!"

    I let my smoke roll out, providing a backdrop for the song and launched into it.

    <hr>

    I didn¡¯t know how long had passed, but my Hearth burned with a heat I hadn¡¯t felt in weeks¡ªa soothing heat, like the difference between an unattended flame and the fire at the heart of a home, with all gathered before it. Their attention nourished me

    The crowd had grown. People filled the open spots on the green, and all the houses bordering it had opened their shutters and faces vied for space at the window.

    I only snapped out of it when I spotted a few parents returning from the tavern to collect their children. Deciding to wind down my performance, I played a quieter, slower song, hoping to ease the children into sleep. I stopped my illusions and instead focused entirely on my music.

    ¡°The Knight rode out at the break of dawn,

    With princess astride, her slumber long gone.

    Through fields of gold, through forest deep,

    Searching for magic to bring her sleep.

    Oh, my lady, let the stars softly gleam,

    This Knight will guide you to your dreams.

    Even with your heart kind, and my sword strong,

    It seems your rest is yet to be won.¡±

    The ''Quest for Slumber'' was not quite a lullaby, but belonged in that same space. Sung as a sign it was time for children to sleep¡ªespecially when adults remained awake. It told the tale of an overactive Knight seeking a cure to help his princess slumber, unaware that his creative remedies were half the problem.

    ¡°He sought a sleeping song from the moonlit warbler,

    Yet his rough sword failed to earn that gentle tune.

    Despite fighting hard till first light,

    Only she could close her eyes and end the night.¡±

    I heard a few chuckles from the adults in the audience, who had slowly appeared over time. The song¡¯s appeal was twofold: it was full of innuendo and jokes that went over children¡¯s heads. A ¡®moonlit warbler¡¯ was a bird with a cry somewhat human and joyous. The tone wasn¡¯t entirely bawdy, though. The Knight and princess drank bubbling ¡®golden nectar¡¯, were visited by fairies ¡®disguised¡¯ as their neighbours, and in a final desperate attempt, took up the great challenge of ¡®Saxes¡¯¡ªa pun that even the illiterate could enjoy.

    The song ended with the Knight and princess finally giving up the search and resting together. I almost considered improvising another verse to prolong the moment, but I stopped myself.

    ¡°Search not for slumber, let the tale unfold,

    Be as the Knight and Princess, brave and bold.

    Dream of adventures, of laughter and care,

    For sleep is the treasure of the unaware.¡±

    The silence lasted only a moment before applause rang out from all directions. Even the sleepy children clapped tiredly. My audience had grown to half the town, it seemed, and the sound¡ªsoft like a wave¡ªheld enough momentum to make me stagger as it crashed into me.

    My Hearth roared in approval.

    As I sought to calm myself and understand what had just happened, the audience began to disperse. The entertainment finished, families reunited, and others waved at me from their homes before shuttering their windows.

    Many of the youngest children had already slipped into sleep, two of them tucked under the arms of a gently snoring Grandpa Po. The caretaker had taken his own well-earned rest.

    I made my excuses and retreated, pleased to find the adults weren¡¯t as grovelling as I¡¯d feared. There was a distance between us, but it seemed a song full of innuendo had served as a great equaliser, transforming me into something outside their normal understanding. That, and the large amount of good booze many of them had consumed, likely helped. Some tricks I¡¯d remember for next time.

    Because there would be a next time. This felt amazing!

    My mind sparking and my limbs dancing, I felt better than I had in weeks. My performances for the Knights hadn¡¯t compared to this. It was as though I¡¯d been fumbling around in a fog, only to stumble out into a perfectly clear day. Clarity and energy coursed through me.

    I had the urge to go find Sephy and finally speak to her as I should have days ago. Then again, that might mean waking her up... At the very least, I could check on her. If she was already asleep, I could start on the alchemy I¡¯d been putting off.

    Trying to locate the source of my sudden vigour, I thought back to the strange power that had come over me during the performance. With a snap of realisation, I understood what was different.

    What I¡¯d long ago assumed was glamour from thier attention was, in fact, aura.

    Despite being mortals, their collective attention held power. It was nothing compared to an Iron¡¯s aura, but it was perhaps comparable to a Bronze¡¯s. And it was different¡ªwhile the aura of cultivators was often used to threaten and demand , this was something else.

    Cultivators¡¯ power was that of the individual, striving to become more than human, to become legends. But this power¡ªthis was the aura of community.

    Letting the sounds of the night melt around me, I slipped into the side streets, hoping to mull over my revelation. Sadly, it was not to be. That same prickling sensation returned, like the feeling of being watched, which had dogged me all night.

    Absorbed in my performance earlier, my swirling ash illusions had spread across a good portion of the town. I¡¯d sensed them then but ignored it. Now I was more annoyed than worried. I knew the culprit. I had been privately hoping they¡¯d leave me alone hours ago. Seems I was going to tick one task off my list tonight.

    ¡°Arthur, you must tell me what you thought of my performance,¡± I said, turning to stare at the prince-shaped void in my smoke.

 Book 2 Chapter 21 - Gift of the Heart

    The shadows in the alley melted away, the reflected light that hid Arthur shifting to reveal the Prince. He gave me an uneasy smile, looking like a child caught with sticky fingers next to the honey pot.

    ¡°I meant no disrespect. I didn¡¯t want to interrupt your performance and didn¡¯t know how to reveal myself afterwards.¡± He held his hands up, palms bright in the fading light, showing he held no weapon. He wasn¡¯t lying.

    I let out a long sigh. This conversation was long overdue, and in fairness, there likely wasn¡¯t a better time. I was in a good mood from playing, and even Arthur¡¯s general Arthurness wasn¡¯t enough to bring me down. Would I have chosen this moment to speak? No, but it seemed as if I didn¡¯t have a choice.

    ¡°You still haven¡¯t answered my question. What did you think of the performance? Be honest.¡±

    I set off, and Arthur followed me through the now silent streets. We were close to Spendlove¡¯s little manor, and I was in no hurry, so I left him to his thoughts.

    We arrived at the fence marking the edge of the manor. Despite the premium on space within the town¡¯s walls, Spendlove had a small garden. I swiftly jumped the fence and took a seat on a stone bench facing an ornamental tree. Even in the dark, I could see it was starting to bud, soon to blossom.

    ¡°Your playing on the lute is competent but not exceptional. I have listened to enough to recognise that much, but I don¡¯t know what it is that you¡¯re missing. I will say, though, that your voice is of rare quality. It is most enchanting, in the way that all good music is.¡± Arthur¡¯s response was clipped, his tone neutral.

    ¡°I thank you for the honest feedback.¡± I appreciated that the Prince hadn¡¯t made up some lie to spare my feelings. I was under no illusion that my music was of the highest quality, but the sincere compliment to my voice was unexpected. ¡°So, what can I do for you?¡±

    ¡°I thought it best that we talk.¡±

    ¡°About what, pray tell?¡± I asked, spreading myself across the seat, taking in the simple view. I quietly hoped it had nothing to do with my astronomical practices with Sephy. Arthur wore his emotions on his sleeve, and given his calm manner, I could only assume he was still unaware of our relationship.

    ¡°I have some secrets I must tell, an apology to offer, and some questions to ask of you.¡±

    ¡°Must they be in that order?¡±

    ¡°Not necessarily. Unless you are feeling particularly forthcoming in this moment?¡±

    I shrugged in response.

    ¡°Then the secret is first. I shall set up some privacy runes.¡±

    I watched Arthur move about. He was far more practised than I was at setting up the runes. For a noble prince, he was clearly used to keeping secrets. Grimacing, I pushed that thought down and sought to mute the chattering mob of critiques, complaints, and conspiracies that came to roost in my mind.

    To calm myself, I took the time to appreciate my surroundings. Even in the thin moonlight, the garden had a certain charm. It wasn¡¯t garish or over the top, and I had to assume it was Squire Lucan¡¯s work. I couldn¡¯t imagine Spendlove out here¡ªthe gravel paths weren¡¯t wide enough.

    The warmth my performance had instilled within me calmed me further. I suspected I would¡¯ve already been looking for reasons to escape this confrontation without it offering me an anchor. A sense of being whole¡ªsomething I hadn¡¯t even realised I¡¯d been missing.

    Thanks to that pleasant mood, I could admit that even if I didn¡¯t like the prince, my thoughts towards him were too much. I couldn''t go around twisting everything he did into a new reason to dislike him. I was going to be questing with him for a while, and it wasn¡¯t professional.

    As he finished the runes and turned to me, I was once again struck by how noble he looked. Not just noble, which technically included people like Spendlove, but like he¡¯d walked out of a legendary tale of heroes. It wasn¡¯t just the too perfect blonde hair or the blue eyes¡ªthey certainly helped¡ªbut how he carried himself. He radiated a sense of refined patience and respect. Not awkwardly uptight like Gawain, or even like Lance¡¯s purposeful stride. It was friendly but firm.

    Same as in the meeting, I could sense that there was another level beyond his looks. It had the edge of aura and must¡¯ve stemmed from his intent. If I thought the pressure was intentional, I¡¯d have called him out on it, but it was so weak and consistent. It felt more like the effect was a lantern he could, at most, shutter. For whatever reason, my intent clashed with it. I tried to ignore that, plucking at the strings of my lute.

    ¡°I have a question to ask, and with it, a secret to reveal. One that is long overdue.¡± He regarded me formally.

    ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡±

    ¡°Is there a reason my mere presence makes you so incredibly angry? Have I done some great slight to you in the past that I am unaware of?¡± His voice was still neutral, but I could hear the emotion he failed to fully restrain.

    ¡°Apart from insulting me in front of Maeve?¡±

    ¡°Yes. For that, I apologise. That was indeed the apology I mentioned before. It was ignoble of me not to give you the opportunity to explain.¡± He didn¡¯t give me a chance to linger on that and just pushed on. ¡°Despite that, I am confident you didn¡¯t like me even before then.¡±

    ¡°I know I am better at hiding my mood than most, yet you sound awfully confident that you stir such emotions in me. Why is that?¡± I replied sharply.

    ¡°My second gift is the Gift of the Heart,¡± Arthur said, watching my face.

    Only years of experience stopped me from recoiling in shock at the unexpected revelation. That gift, much like my own Gift of Death, was often considered cursed. The emotions of others fuelling it could twist the user, and even their own emotions could turn them into a monster.

    ¡°You mean the power otherwise known as the Gift of the Berserker?¡± I asked, careful to keep my tone flat.

    ¡°I would rather not be compared to those monsters. I would hope, given your gift, that you¡¯d appreciate we are all more than our gifts.¡± Arthur¡¯s face was stern, almost challenging.

    I mirrored his face and tone as I replied. ¡°I will not judge you by your cultivation, but by your actions.¡±

    I scowled as I picked at the next point. ¡°Speaking of actions, it seems you¡¯ve been spying on emotions? I thought that power struggled to easily pick up the emotions of others?¡±

    ¡°It is not deliberate. An interaction between my two gifts means I find myself prone to reflecting how people feel towards me specifically. It¡¯s not something I can turn off. If I am not careful, I find myself mimicking those emotions. It is something that tends to only happen for those at Iron and when they harbour strong feelings towards me.¡±

    He wasn¡¯t lying, and it made sense to me, especially given what I¡¯d learned of my own aura sense.

    Even ignoring aura, gifts often worked like that, empowered where they intersected. I knew that Sephy¡¯s shield was made almost entirely from iron pulled from the blood of monsters. As for me, I¡¯d not told anyone, but the ash stored in the hilt of my knife was from a cremated monster¡¯s remains.

    I looked back to Arthur, who was watching me with a calm, professional air. Apart from a couple of times, he¡¯d rarely been overly hostile towards me. He was sharing this because we were comrades, and it was something I needed to know before we saw real battle together. It also made sense why it was a secret.

    People mostly thought of cultivators like Frothy, that minion of Roland Fos I¡¯d slain weeks ago, whenever the gift was mentioned. The berserkers were the simplest¡ªusing enhanced strength and a reduced sense of pain alongside strikes empowered with raw glamour to bully their opponents into submission. With the Ray of Sacrifice using them so publicly in this manner, it was no surprise many had forgotten the true power.

    The classic users of the gift often served as the bannermen of their armies. A talented cultivator could bring calm, suppress fears, and ensure focus for both themselves and their allies if they were willing. That was something that required trust¡ªa factor often missing among the cultists.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    I didn¡¯t know what to say. I was pleased he had shared the insight, but I didn¡¯t know what to do with it. Nor did it change how I perceived him, even if it did make me feel a little guilty that I was partially responsible for his behaviour towards me.

    It did, however, answer a question I¡¯d had for a while, and I decided to lead with that.

    ¡°The initial choice for stealth makes more sense now. I thought it strange that Sephy ruled out politicking through the various challengers, but now I can picture why she avoided that. Put you in a room with enough angry foes with fake smiles, and it might¡¯ve gone poorly.¡±

    Another thought struck me. ¡°Is that why you have Bors?¡±

    ¡°Pardon?¡± said Arthur, looking genuinely confused.

    ¡°If I were travelling with someone with this challenge, I¡¯d see having someone like Bors to pick fights before they could as a boon. He acts as a first line of offence. Someone to throw down the gauntlet before you can.¡± I stated plainly.

    Arthur was about to reply but stopped himself. He paced back and forth across the gravel path. Then I saw his shoulders slump.

    ¡°It might be. I didn¡¯t realise it, but it¡¯s the kind of decision Percy would make, and my family would approve of. It is not how I have ever seen Bors, but now you say it¡­ That¡¯s why she was so against the bridge!¡± He slammed his hand into his palm, his face crumbling as the realisation set in.

    ¡°Shit, I was being a prick.¡±

    I couldn¡¯t help it¡ªI laughed.

    Arthur¡¯s face whipped to me, and for a split second, the noble image cracked. The face was a grotesque mix of sadness and anger. The bared teeth and wild eyes were pulled so unlike the Prince it shocked me.

    I looked away, not out of fear, but guilt. It felt invasive to see those emotions so vividly painted, like I was peering into his soul.

    I stared at the stars, pretending to ignore him, even as all I could hear was his rough breathing and the sound of his intense pacing. The small sounds were as loud as a concert in the otherwise silent garden. To fill the air, I played on my lute for a short while until I heard his breath draw more calmly and he came back to stand near me.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. It just never occurred to me that you could swear.¡±

    I was almost surprised when the words left my tongue. I¡¯d not expected to apologise to Arthur tonight, even if it was over an escaped chuckle.

    ¡°I have to be careful with my emotions. I am not afforded the same luxury with my feelings as you are.¡± His voice was cold and harsh. ¡°I at least appreciate you aren¡¯t wasting that privilege in pitying me.¡±

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t insult you with pity. You make me angry, but honestly, you have done little to deserve the intensity of my ire.¡±

    ¡°Then why?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I would''ve liked to say, but I was just a little too aware of myself for that. I hadn¡¯t put the words to it, but on some level, I knew the problem. ¡°Think of all that has happened to me, all that is implied but not said. You¡¯ve heard I can tolerate the Evil Eye, that I stunted my cultivation, that I know the vile secrets of these cults, and that while I seek the life of a bard, I don¡¯t for a second shy away from confronting Divine Cultivators.¡±

    ¡°I can only imagine.¡±

    ¡°I suggest you don¡¯t. If your imagination gets you anywhere close, you¡¯re likely to pull a face. Now remember that it¡¯s been, what? Three months or so since I escaped? In which time I¡¯ve developed a Death Gift, been the subject of assassination attempts, personally slain my foes, helped kill scores of men, encountered multiple fae, powerful witches, scions of multiple Houses, and found myself hitched to prophecy. Given all that, I think I¡¯m doing shockingly well to suffer from some minor irrationality.¡± I was growling by the end.

    ¡°You¡¯re angry at the world, then? I¡¯m just collateral damage.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t like you, in part due to how you treated Bors and your clear distrust of me despite my actions. At the core, though, it¡¯s because we¡¯re opposites as near as I can tell. I deal with my problems chaotically. You seem the type to impose order. Is it fair how I feel? Possibly not, but I¡¯m a deeply petty man at times.¡±

    ¡°Petty?¡± A single regal eyebrow was lifted.

    ¡°I kept myself sane by plotting the downfall of the Harkleys. I even kept notes on what fucking dances they were terrible at so people could embarrass them at parties. That¡¯s petty.¡± I laughed to myself. I wondered what the Chox Matriarch thought of that tidbit.

    ¡°Besides my personal challenges, it¡¯s clear you have your opinion of me, and it¡¯s hardly radiant. I can tell.¡± I said, deciding to change the subject, not wanting him to probe that aspect of my identity too deeply.

    ¡°I will admit,¡± his voice wavered as he sought the right words, ¡°I do not understand your path.¡±

    ¡°I preferred it when you swore.¡± I grumbled as he plastered on a false grin.

    I knew then why Arthur annoyed me so much. At least in this conversation.

    He reminded me of the people I disliked most in the courts. Those whose disdain was clear but who still pretended like they didn¡¯t hate my guts. Not the clever acting that left you doubting their actual feelings, but a simple veneer of civility that left you in no doubt of their true disposition. Professional enough to distance their emotions and words, yet unable or unwilling to hide their actual opinion of you.

    I envied them. They could be open with their thoughts, while I had to coat my words in honey, even if all I could taste was bile.

    ¡°Is there no way we can get along? I have to admit, it is challenging conversing with you sometimes.¡± Arthur spoke to me professionally again.

    Now I knew to look for it, I could hear the strain as he fought with his emotions.

    I played a little on my lute, thinking while also calming myself.

    ¡°For that challenge, you have my genuine sympathy. My disposition towards you is like a seething cauldron. I should be able to bring it down to a simmer, though, thanks to this discussion. It would help, though, if you would apologise to Bors. Also, I would like to know why you were so keen on switching plans? I find it difficult to understand what made you so keen on the Order.¡±

    ¡°I will speak with Bors.¡± I didn¡¯t like that he didn¡¯t say apologise, but that was royalty for you.

    ¡°As for switching to the Order, I find it surprising that someone who survived in the Harkley household for so long can¡¯t understand.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re on thin ice, and unlike Maeve, I¡¯m not sure I¡¯ll be inclined to fish you out.¡± My eyes narrowed, but the slight hint of a smirk on his face didn¡¯t fade.

    ¡°I am the eighth and youngest son of my father. That¡¯s just his sons, mind you. I will never inherit, and despite this, I must always be perfect. Balancing a position where a loose comment or my failure in a tournament cost my family power and prestige. And yet, if I dared to gain real power, the knives would be out in a moment.¡± He sounded bitter, and again I felt the shift of glamour. He turned his face away from me.

    I cursed my stupidity.

    I¡¯d got so wrapped up with the idea that Arthur was a prince¡ªa person of authority and order¡ªthat I¡¯d accepted his public persona without thinking. Just because he wasn¡¯t surrounded by creepy cultists ready to kill and had grown up in a palace didn¡¯t mean he was free of constraint.

    Just like me, Arthur could only afford to be a certain level of special. It didn¡¯t make me like him, but some of my hostility melted away. I doubted we¡¯d ever be true friends, but being allies was now a possibility.

    ¡°You don¡¯t want power, do you?¡± I asked, checking my understanding.

    ¡°All I want is for my efforts to matter. Just to matter.¡± He said, his voice a whisper by the end.

    ¡°That I can empathise with. I can¡¯t promise anything, but I¡¯ll try.¡± I stood from the cold stone bench and offered him my hand.

    ¡°Thank you.¡± He shook it, letting out a long sigh of relief.

    Our business done, I could tell he was about to leave. This conversation hadn¡¯t magically made us friends, and with no reason to speak, we were done. Before he could go, I did have one question that needed answering.

    ¡°I do have a question about your cultivation, though.¡±

    He pulled himself up, no doubt expecting some interrogation about how he might behave in battle or some old wives¡¯ tale about biting through shields.

    I had a slightly more important question¡ªsomething that had started to bug me as I¡¯d thought through the implications of his power.

    ¡°From my reading, I know those with your gift tend to be unable to use others¡¯ emotions unless it¡¯s a mood shared by many, or an exceptionally raw and potent mood. Can you not identify these emotions?¡± He seemed to relax before he hunched up and looked me in the eye.

    ¡°I already said I wasn¡¯t spying on you.¡±

    ¡°And I believe you.¡± I soothed, hunting for a way to ask the burning question that I didn¡¯t dare put voice to. ¡°I am confused about the power and would like to know more.¡±

    ¡°Fine. I sense the glamour of emotion, but the type of emotion is all held in the attached will. So unless it¡¯s directed at me, or I try and cultivate the glamour, I won¡¯t know what emotion it is. I make a point of only cultivating glamour from those who know, or public places where it tends to be such a mix that I can¡¯t hear any particular emotion over another.¡±

    ¡°So, without cultivating, all you do is get a sense that people are or were feeling something intense.¡±

    ¡°Indeed. It can be worrying at times. I have no idea if it¡¯s mortal fear or great joy. Rather than cultivate and find out, I find myself drawn to check on these bursts of glamour, especially where my friends are concerned. It¡¯s not spying, I just can¡¯t ignore it, as you wouldn¡¯t be able to ignore a sudden death.¡± He still seemed wary, likely concerned I was about to suggest he do some spying or make some accusation.

    Instead, I fixed a smile on my face. ¡°It¡¯s noble for you to be worried for your friends and to respect their privacy. Thank you. That has helped me understand. Now, I must bid you a good night.¡±

    I waved him off. He was stunned that I didn¡¯t follow up¡ªwatching me for tricks as he collected his privacy runes and left the garden. I let him get inside the house before I slumped into a pile on the bench, stretching my legs out across the gravel path.

    That had been exhausting.

    Not only did I hate dredging up my past, but being open enough to change my opinion of the man was taxing. At least, though, I now had an answer for one of the great mysteries.

    I sighed and pulled out one of the stones inscribed with privacy runes. ¡°I really hope Sephy knows a way to improve the privacy wards before our next astronomy session.¡±

 Book 2 Chapter 22 - Guard Duty

    The next morning, I awoke early, making my way down to the dining room. I¡¯d not appreciated it fully, but the decorations of the house were rather tasteful, which seemed out of character given the owner. I walked past several competent tapestries depicting battles of legend and several trophies of note, including a spiralling horn that looked startlingly similar to depictions of a unicorn¡¯s horn I¡¯d seen in my alchemy texts. It was enough to pause me, and I only relaxed after reading the small plaque explaining that it was the tip of a horn that belonged to a mortal beast called a narwhal. Not that I was expecting it to be a unicorn; otherwise, Spendlove would¡¯ve been either rich or dead.

    Unicorns were one of the few benevolent spirit creatures, known for offering guidance and particularly well known for protecting children. Their horns, though, were a near-legendary ingredient for alchemists, being one of the only physical formations of moon glamour found in our realm. This fact protected them, with most knights seeing hunting them as coming uncomfortably close to acting against the Lady. Some groups would even viciously defend them.

    I wondered why Spendlove had it and decided the man had likely been tricked. I could imagine some conman using the horn to leverage some cash out of him. I¡¯d bet money that he¡¯d put it on display to salve his wounded pride when he found out he had purchased nothing but mundane ivory.

    Chuckling to myself, I entered the dining room, ready to help myself to what I was sure would be a hearty breakfast. I was expecting to be the first up. I wasn¡¯t as tired as the others from yesterday. While my stamina was yet to match theirs, I had the benefit of not being in full plate and had only killed one wolf. So it lifted my spirits to find both Bors and Sephy already sitting at the table. The pair had got up earlier than most and had been reviewing a map of the various passes and roads that we would soon be exploring with our Order.

    We¡¯d set up some privacy wards around the room, so I¡¯d felt comfortable probing around my discussion with Arthur last night. Sephy had been particularly smug after she forced me to admit I may have been overly critical of the prince. However, our discussion quickly turned to a more important topic.

    ¡°So that¡¯s why he keeps playing unwanted warden of virtue!¡± Bors groaned, resting his head in his palm.

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t it occur to you?¡±

    ¡°My blood was up, or at least something was.¡± Bors chuckled as Sephy reached over me to swat him on the back of the head. ¡°Besides, I¡¯ve given him permission to cultivate my emotions whenever. It didn¡¯t occur to me he wouldn¡¯t know! Now I¡¯m almost glad. I''d trust him with my life but not my lust.¡±

    ¡°And you?¡±

    ¡°I thought Bors was exaggerating, and by the time it affected me, I was focused on the task at hand.¡± Sephy added flirtatiously. I hid a shiver. She¡¯d lied in the second half of that sentence, which set me on edge¡ªuntil I noticed the tips of her ears flushing red, just before a swirl of blood glamour cleared the outward sign of embarrassment. If I had to guess, she¡¯d just not thought of it.

    ¡°Then why is he so odd about Maeve? If he can pick up¡ª¡±

    ¡°Taliesin, picture knowing every suitor¡¯s emotions towards you! And if you were courting, he¡¯d have to deal with always knowing something they don¡¯t necessarily want to share. It¡¯d be invasive, knowing things they wanted to keep secret.¡± Bors explained. I nodded dumbly, feeling like I¡¯d been slapped. Was I doing the same thing with my truth sense?

    ¡°He actually prefers indifference. He¡¯s getting better at shuttering those senses, but it¡¯s far from perfect. Unrequited passion is, for him, the safest approach.¡± Sephy added truthfully.

    I sighed. I did not appreciate this new perspective on my skills.

    ¡°It¡¯s kind of tragic.¡± It was a curse worthy of a song. Arthur was still Arthur, but knowing his secret was forcing me to see him as a person, not as a straw man for all my issues with authority, topped with stupidly good hair. I was saved from additional empathy as our compatriots finally arrived.

    ¡°That looks good.¡±

    The door opened, and sound from the outside spilled in as the privacy wards were disturbed. The three of us had been the first to arrive at the dining table, a collection of cold meats, cheese, bread, and porridge awaiting us. We¡¯d barely touched our food, as I¡¯d immediately wanted to explore what I¡¯d been told last night.

    They quickly helped themselves to some plates. Given the immaculately laid spread, I was glad we¡¯d told Lucan that simple fare was all we needed. If this was his idea of simple, then I¡¯d hate to see what he¡¯d have done if we¡¯d asked for anything formal.

    ¡°Morning, Lance. How was stabling Gring?¡± I asked the new knight. She was ecstatic to have reached Iron and be able to travel with us. I¡¯d already had to dodge her approaching me about rewards for my aid twice. I had a suspicion she¡¯d colluded with her mother and was now preparing for a third attempt.

    ¡°Did you remember what I warned you about with the mares?¡±

    ¡°I did, though I think he¡¯s focused on trying to woo Maeve¡¯s mare.¡±

    ¡°If he¡¯s rough with Helena, he will get no mercy from me.¡± Maeve said, glamour flaring around the butter knife in her hand, the blade growing a ghostly point and the edge shimmering.

    ¡°You don¡¯t need to worry. At least not right now¡ªhe was shattered yesterday. Archimedes was little better. It¡¯s worth remembering that it¡¯s less tiring for them to fly at their own pace. It takes far more energy to keep circling round our earthbound compatriots.¡± Gawain chimed in. After that, silence, interrupted only by the sound of us eating our fill, descended. There was a lot to do today.

    ¡°You all sleep well?¡± I asked as I stood to fetch an apple.

    ¡°Well, I will say this for Spendlove¡ªhe clearly has good taste when it comes to a quality mattress.¡±

    ¡°Makes sense he¡¯d have opinions on the best ways to sleep.¡± Lance chuckled. Other jokes at the expense of our patron bubbled round the table. Only Arthur and Gawain abstained. Technically, our insults were terribly boorish, but thanks to his behaviour and the privacy ward, we weren''t about to stop.

    ¡°Has anyone seen him?¡± Arthur asked, and everyone shook their heads. I didn¡¯t look over to him. In part, because I wanted to move past the events of last night, and I wanted to avoid the urge to go examine my hair in a mirror. I avoided looking at Lance for the same reason. The rest of us looked like folk who were travelling, carrying a certain roughness to us. The men had stubble, and the women¡¯s hair was bound in sensible, manageable styles. As for our two moon-gifted, they looked like they¡¯d been prepared by a team of servants.

    Cutting short my musing on the unfairness of the world was a chorus of muttered negatives and shaking heads. Gawain looked about, checking the privacy runes before speaking.

    ¡°No, which is odd. I sent a note via Lucan that we wished to confer with him this morning before we head out. It¡¯s hard to imagine he has anything to add, as he seems to have left it all to his subordinates¡ªthat and other factors.¡± That was near a criticism of the man as we were likely to get from the uptight knight.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°What is the plan again? Did your flights reveal anything?¡± The question came from Tristan, who, while dressed like he¡¯d stepped out of a bordello, was using his more bureaucratic tones given our privacy.

    Similar to Kay¡¯s role on the road, Gawain was our expert on monsters and hunting. As such, he¡¯d been appointed ¡®Huntsman¡¯, and the knights all deferred to him when it came to working out how to handle this challenge.

    ¡°I¡¯ll get to that when I¡¯ve¡ª¡± We all silenced as the door opened and Lucan swept in. For the average man, the slightly askew tunic and the few bits of hair that had escaped his carefully swept and oiled visage would¡¯ve meant nothing, but given the man¡¯s otherwise impeccable appearance, it had the same effect as meeting a knight with half his armour missing and the rest bloodied.

    He hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath and bowing low to us, his voice quavering as he spoke. ¡°Esteemed guests, as gauche as it is to share dire news as you break your fast, it is my duty to share with you the happenings of last night. I beg you, restrict your ire to myself. I should have thought¡ª¡±

    ¡°Be calm, Squire Lucan. Unless you have totally misrepresented yourself before now, I cannot imagine we shall be upset with you.¡± Arthur was first to speak, calming the man with a pat on the shoulder. I would¡¯ve spoken first, but I was busy choking down a huge chunk of apple I¡¯d timed poorly.

    ¡°While it is my duty to serve my knight, I must report that Sir Spendlove seems to have¡ªabsconded in the night. He, his horse, and most prized possessions are absent.¡±

    ¡°Coward.¡± Yells of anger flared round the table, the knights standing in shock and fury. My senses filled with roaring intent, the knights¡¯ rage funnelling into their aura. I was able to weather the shock, but I saw Lucan go pale and rigid. While no one was targeting him, being a Bronze in a room with so much aura had to be rough. I moved up next to the butler and crudely spread my intent around us both, humming a gentle, upbeat tune to help me guide it.

    The group weren¡¯t calming down. I didn¡¯t quite follow the outrage¡ªthe only thing surprising about this was that he had the balls to actually run for it. It took more courage than I imagined he possessed to commit oneself so strongly to being a coward.

    ¡°We should hunt him down. He¡¯s failed in his duty as a knight by fleeing a town under his protection in a time of need.¡± Maeve was standing, looking out the window, as if actively considering launching herself out of it in pursuit.

    The knights were out for blood. I tried to soothe the room.

    ¡°I thought our goal was to not be political? Surely you cannot be suggesting we enforce a House¡¯s law for them?¡± I asked casually, and everyone in the room looked at me as if I¡¯d grown a second head. I winced. This was clearly a knight thing.

    ¡°He has abandoned his people! It is an insult to the very core of what it means to be a knight.¡± Arthur spoke, his words carrying the weight of a judge condemning a man to death. Now I knew to look for it, I could feel the anger boiling off him.

    ¡°I will remain and continue to do my best for the town until such time as I am taken for questioning.¡± Lucan was shaking behind me but held himself together to speak. Impressive, as even I, with all my training, would¡¯ve found this room intimidating.

    ¡°And left his squire to pick up the pieces! You know how that will be seen! They¡¯ll blame him. This is an outrage!¡± That outburst came from Kay¡ªI could actually hear her grinding her teeth.

    ¡°You cannot be suggesting the Artoss would blame the man¡¯s failings on his squire? Be at ease. Spendlove will find his comeuppance, I assure you, and Lucan will be known as the consummate darling he is. Or did you forget my last name?¡± Tristan spoke up for the first time, his voice leaning hard on his effete persona.

    ¡°Everyone, please calm down. Your auras are flaring.¡± At my call, the group finally eased their anger. ¡°Sir Lucan, as we explained last night, we deliberately don¡¯t lean on our heritage. However, I do believe that I will spare you much concern if I introduce my colleague here. This is Tristan Artoss, of the main branch of the Artoss House of Renown.¡±

    ¡°My Lord.¡± The butler¡¯s eyes bugged out, and for the first time, I saw him falter as he fought between bowing and throwing himself to the floor to beg forgiveness. Thankfully, Tristan was quick to ease his worries, clapping him on the shoulder and raising him up.

    ¡°None of that, you splendid man. I¡¯m no lord here. Your conduct has been as flawless as it is mystifying. I cannot imagine how you learned to be so competent with that ogre looming over you. I have already reported back my displeasure with Sir Spendlove and my positive impression of yourself. Your master¡¯s cowardice, and your willingness to face us despite it, only compound my belief in your skills.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, my Lord¡ªSir Tristan.¡± Lucan looked on the verge of tears before he pulled himself together with a shaky breath.

    ¡°In fact, I will be leaning on you heavily to solicit some advice on how best to resolve this dastardly act. I¡¯m sure I can count on you to advise on his behaviour up till now and ensure any punishment suits him in ways his armour never managed?¡± Tristan¡¯s voice was sweet, but there was murder in his eyes.

    ¡°Yes, Sir. Of course.¡± Lucan still looked stressed, but now he looked more like a survivor of a battle hard-fought than a man standing before the gallows. Tristan excused himself and the butler, Kay joining them as well, standing supportively with the squire as they headed off to handle that fresh mess.

    Door closed, Gawain thumped the table to get our attention. ¡°This complicates things.¡±

    ¡°Why? It¡¯s not like we were expecting anything from Spendlove.¡± I asked, genuinely confused. The rest of them turned to look at me like the second head I¡¯d grown with my first gaffe had started to sing bawdy tavern songs.

    Lance snapped her fingers. ¡°I forget you aren¡¯t so read up on monsters.¡±

    ¡°Not unless it¡¯s essential to alchemy.¡± I replied, still confused.

    ¡°Ah, now I understand the question. Despite Spendlove¡¯s¡ª¡±

    ¡°Man¡¯s a traitor, Gawain. You can insult the bastard.¡± Bors rumbled.

    ¡°I¡¯ll not sully my tongue over someone as unworthy as him. The issue is that even a ¡®unique¡¯ example of an Iron like Spendlove still radiates aura¡ªenough that the beast would be able to sense his absence. With him gone¡ª¡± Gawain paused meaningfully.

    ¡°It¡¯d know that there was no one capable of fighting it in town.¡± I filled in the rest. Now it all made sense.

    ¡°Exactly. One of us will have to stay here. While I don¡¯t expect it to sneak past us, it could happen, and then it¡¯d be a disaster.¡±

    ¡°Oh, well, that should obviously be Taliesin then.¡± Lancelot said, her intent flaring for a second. She cursed, reflexively apologising. ¡°Sorry. I shouldn¡¯t have said that.¡±

    ¡°Why not? You¡¯re right.¡± I nodded.

    ¡°You would so willingly accept that?¡± Gawain looked surprised. Sephy, though, had a grin.

    ¡°Another unexpected bonus of having a bard with us. No arguing about guard duty.¡± She said quietly.

    ¡°Not a knight, remember! I¡¯m not so worried about missing out on the dubious glory of killing some kind of fury serpent. I would only have joined you in the capacity of an audience. ¡¯Tis a shame¡ªI would¡¯ve liked to have seen this mesmeric clucker.¡±

    ¡°More like a mesmeric fuc¡ª¡±

    ¡°Bors, you are in company!¡± Gawain slapped him on the back of the head. The big man just laughed.

    ¡°Should two of us stay? What if the beast comes for the town while we¡¯re away?¡± Maeve asked. If it were Sephy, I could imagine it being part of the plot to sow word of a relationship. As it was, she was likely just being cautious. A single Iron-ranked beast was generally more dangerous than a single cultivator, unless that cultivator was both a gifted combatant and had a solid counter to the monster¡¯s gift.

    I was neither of those things. So my head swivelled back to Gawain, who had his hand resting on his chin.

    ¡°No. The beast hasn¡¯t shown interest in what¡¯s behind the walls of the town so far, and with Taliesin here, there should be no reason to change that. Besides, this is only for added security. If we approach this right, there should be little chance of it slipping past us in the first place. If we left someone else here, the beast would likely have more chance to get past us.¡± Gawain explained.

    ¡°If I must spend a day or two in town, it is no loss. There is some alchemy I¡¯ve been putting off, as well as my self-appointed task of spreading word of your exploits. With Lucan¡¯s help, I may perhaps see if I can learn a bit about this little adventure our absentee ¡®knight¡¯ has undertaken.¡± I smiled.

    I made haste to escape and put the awkward shuffling that followed behind me. I made it out of the room, only to be yanked back as a hand caught my cloak. There, behind me, was Sephy, her eyes boring into mine.

    ¡°Where do you think you¡¯re going?¡±

 Book 2 Chapter 23 - Lewd Weavers

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    While the rest of the mansion was at least somewhat tasteful, the bedroom was a monument to excess. Panelled wooden walls with gold leaf to highlight the details, a riot of upholstery covered every inch of furniture, with no two patterns alike. The jewel of this extravagant crown was two tapestries that loomed over the bed. At first glance, the scenes could be mistaken for wrestlers, but a closer look revealed that fighting was the last thing on their minds. They hung beside the double-sized four-poster bed, large enough to sleep five.

    The whole space was lit by some glazed windows, which must have cost more than anything else in the room¡ªapart from maybe the tapestries. I had no idea what lewd weavers might charge. I opened one of the windows, as the room reeked of stale sweat, poorly hidden by cheap incense.

    I was stalling. I knew it. Sephy had dragged me up here, using the excuse of us ¡®investigating¡¯ Spendlove, but from the look on her face, this was anything but work. She had just finished setting her privacy array. She turned to me, our eyes meeting. Despite my trepidation at what was to come, I couldn¡¯t help but admire her.

    The Sephy of the past had been the pinnacle of elegance, with her dark crimson hair decorated and a full dress that accentuated her decidedly feminine curves while leaving no doubt of the muscles beneath. Now, as she stood wearing britches that clung to the muscles of her legs and a tightly fitted tunic that left her arms bare, it was like looking at scintillating flames¡ªso beautiful that you were tricked into forgetting the threat they posed.

    ¡°So, we are to part ways briefly.¡± She broke the silence between us.

    ¡°We are.¡±

    ¡°The last time we parted, a great deal was left unsaid. I refuse to let that happen again. Knowing your luck, the Lady will turn up while we¡¯re away and drag you off on some unseelie adventure, and you¡¯ll turn up with a different face.¡±

    ¡°Hey, the face changing was a one-time thing. I like this face.¡± I tried to lighten the mood, but her face remained serious.

    ¡°Don¡¯t try and charm your way out of this, you handsome bastard. I¡¯m not used to asking people for their innermost thoughts. Half the fun is in extracting them with trickery and witty banter. So bear with me if this goes poorly.¡± Sephy took a deep breath. ¡°What is the problem?¡±

    ¡°Pardon?¡±

    ¡°You know as well as I do that you¡¯ve been avoiding me!¡±

    ¡°I¡ª¡± I felt my instinctive refusal cut off. My tongue twisted into a knot.

    ¡°And now you speak to Arthur first! I''ve been waiting for you to explain yourself, or at least give me a proper chance to wheedle it out of you. But no, you have to go talk to him first!¡±

    ¡°I was coming to see you when he ambushed me! You were my first priority, I swear.¡± I shouted and immediately cringed. But at least that was the right thing to say. Sephy settled back. She still looked hurt, but the anger had faded.

    ¡°That¡¯s good to know. Look, I¡¯m not going to apologise for things outside of my control! I couldn¡¯t have told you about this quest, but know that I wanted to. Are you feeling slighted by me? Or insulted that I chose the honour of my family over you?¡± Sephy stalked around the room.

    ¡°What? No! Not at all!¡±

    ¡°Then what? You know me. You understand me better than anyone, and yet here I am trying to get a grip on you only to find smoke! Do you know how irritating that is for someone of my training? Do you know how painful that is for the person who is supposed to be your partner?¡± She stalked right up to me, waving a finger under my nose. I expected to see pure anger on her face, but I couldn¡¯t deny the sadness pinching at the corner of her eyes.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t think it was this bad. I thought you knew,¡± I said, my words tumbling out in a poorly composed mess.

    ¡°Knew what?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m scared. Scared that we¡¯ll be parted by duty, by your allegiance to Arthur, by secrets you¡¯re forced to keep,¡± I answered, my voice louder than I intended.

    ¡°And you think I don¡¯t feel the same way? Taliesin, the man set on his path by the Lady of the Lake herself? Coveted by Mother Chox? You think to blame me for having a life outside you?¡±

    ¡°No, that¡¯s not it. I never imagined that we¡¯d run off like a pair of mortals and start a farm or something. Still, I at least thought I would be willing to follow you anywhere. But when you shared that first plan, I just couldn¡¯t imagine myself at your side.¡±

    ¡°Why does that matter?¡±

    ¡°How does it not? I failed you¡ªfailed us. I should be ready to follow. Is that not what one should do for someone they¡­ care for deeply?¡± I chickened out at the last moment, fearing that introducing the word love into this conversation would force me to confront something I wasn¡¯t ready for.

    Sephy took a step back and looked me in the eyes. Intense irises, somewhere between hazel and amber, danced over my face, tracing every feature. Her anger was banished by the calculating look I knew all too well, her eyes narrowing, her lips thinning.

    ¡°You vexatious bard! All of this nonsense over the last few days for that?¡± She hit my chest¡ªenough to push me back an inch¡ªbefore wrapping her arms around me and collapsing into my embrace.

    ¡°I thought it was pretty important,¡± I muttered into her hair.

    ¡°A question¡ªif I¡¯d asked you point-blank, said I needed you to come sneak across the passes with me, would you have done so?¡± She didn¡¯t release the hug, leaning her head against my shoulder and speaking into my chest.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Being together doesn¡¯t mean things are always smooth or that supporting the other isn¡¯t a chore. I love my family, but I hate that they refused to let me share this secret. I trusted you to handle Spendlove¡¯s insults at the gate, even if every part of me was burning with desire to separate his head from his body.¡±

    ¡°You were that annoyed by him?¡± I smiled.

    ¡°He was treating you like dirt. How would you feel if our roles were reversed?¡± She asked, then laughed as my face flickered with anger. ¡°I trusted you to handle it, and I was right, wasn¡¯t I?¡±

    ¡°Yes. It¡¯s just¡­ I don¡¯t really have any idea how to do this. I want to be there for you.¡±

    ¡°You will be, just as I will be there for you. I am a knight, you¡¯re a bard. We¡¯re going to clash here and there. It¡¯s how we handle it that matters.¡±

    ¡°So you¡¯re not annoyed?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m still very annoyed. You handled this exactly like you handled Arthur¡ªyou ran away until you got hunted down. That isn¡¯t any fun for me. You forced me to be direct, and you know how I hate that.¡± Sephy¡¯s grip on me tightened, and I remembered that this woman could likely crush me.

    ¡°Then why do you seem so happy?¡±

    ¡°I am a woman. We can be both. If we had more time, I¡¯d be making sure you appreciate my frustrations. Still, you better be ready to make it up to me when I get back.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll have to get creative,¡± I answered, daring to inject a coy tone.

    ¡°I look forward to it.¡± She leaned back, but with my arms still around her waist, she was in the perfect position for a kiss. My lips found hers, and we shared a passionate moment. The tension of the last few days melted away as we shared in our mutual desire for each other.

    The kiss was full-bodied and caring. It wasn¡¯t like our couple of lustful rendezvous when we¡¯d been fighting¡ªthose had been driven by base instincts, by our want for each other¡¯s bodies. This was different. This was back to how it should be. A perfect moment where our actions showed the depths of our passion. It should have been perfect.

    The sound of the latch clicking shattered the moment.

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    ¡°Are you two all right? Kay sent me to¡­¡± Arthur swung open the door, only to freeze in place, his eyes wide, his mouth opening and shutting as his brain failed to process what was happening before him. I cursed myself for not remembering our discussion this morning. Sephy, though, had a smile on her lips. Was this payback for my foolish mistakes?

    I braced for questions, demands that we separate, maybe even homicidal rage. However, Arthur just stared, his mind regrouping as it sought to understand the unthinkable.

    ¡°Well, the secret was fun while it lasted.¡± Sephy grinned as she broke away from me and ran past the frozen prince in the doorway, calling out, ¡°Oh, is that the time? Seems we have to leave.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Arthur blinked, finally shaking himself out of his fugue state. He looked at the fleeing Sephy and then back to me.

    ¡°Best of luck on the hunt.¡± I waved awkwardly at him, my heart pounding.

    ¡°You¡ª¡± His confusion banished, he pointed at me, his face promising death. I didn¡¯t hear the rest. I¡¯d fallen back upon my tried and tested method of escape.

    I leapt out the open window.

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    I¡¯d already come to loathe Kay¡¯s whistle from our training. It was constantly shrieking at me for my failures. Now, it was my saviour. Arthur had clearly wanted to talk and had sought to follow me out the window. However, his wider frame made that a challenge, and before he could do something foolish, the sharp cry of the whistle was demanding his presence.

    After landing in the garden, I slid into the town. I was going to wave them off, but I wasn¡¯t about to hang around Arthur right now. If I knew the Order, they¡¯d still be getting things ready for anywhere between five minutes to five hours after they¡¯d been asked to assemble. Hurry up and wait was truly a terrifying philosophy.

    The talk with Sephy left me feeling raw, yet it had also cleared me of a burden I hadn¡¯t even noticed I¡¯d been carrying. If I was honest, being found by Arthur didn¡¯t even register in my mind. I was far too busy reviewing my behaviour up till now, kicking myself for being so cowardly and avoiding talking with Sephy.

    Was I a coward?

    I wanted to quash the thought, but I was currently fleeing. No, that was different. I wasn¡¯t so much scared of him as I was simply aware that dealing with an irate knight who cultivated emotion in a confined space was a terrible idea.

    I was saved from further dissection of my innermost self when I noticed the town was oddly quiet. I¡¯d been walking around the back streets for a few minutes and hadn¡¯t seen anyone. It wasn¡¯t that early¡ªsomeone should have been about, surely? A moment of panic that something dire had occurred passed when I found the entire town lining the main road, between the main gate and where it branched off towards Spendlove¡¯s manor. The children clutched flowers, and the parents chatted amongst themselves.

    It was confusing until I heard the bell toll. Less than a minute later, I saw the knights round the corner, and every voice began to cheer.

    They¡¯d put on a parade.

    For a brief moment, I saw my allies as the residents of the town must see them. Knights in shining armour, red cloaks billowing behind them, weapons at their sides. Overhead, Gring and Archimedes circled, with Lance and Gawain walking on the ground as part of the column. I couldn¡¯t even be annoyed at the effortless beauty of the two moon-gifted, though Arthur didn''t quite look as put together as normal. To the gathered masses, they truly looked the part of heroes off to slay the monster that haunted their dreams.

    I jumped up to a flat roof, finding a few children I recognised already in residence, their eyes expanding in awe as I casually leapt up the building. Watching from the better vantage point, they where no less excited, and cheered my arrival, and gawked as, in a puff of smoke, my lute disappeared and was replaced by the bagpipes. I took a moment to prepare them and then began to play.

    I was no great lover of the pipes, but I had to confess I adored the volume and power they spoke with. There was something primal about the noise that spoke right to the body, cutting straight to the soul.

    The crowd, knights included, looked to me, and then the cheering redoubled. I took particular pleasure in seeing Sephy¡¯s smile and took extra care not to meet the razor-sharp glare from Arthur. I chose a bellowing tune, adapting something from my mortal days, when there was a conscription and bards sought to stir the soul and make men forget the horrors of the war that waited for them.

    The cry of the audience soothed me. My mind whirling with flaws, and failures rendered silent. I knew then that Sephy been right to corner me, and I''d been wrong for not just talking to her before. I never wanted us to part ways again with things left unsaid.

    As I watched those I cared for most stride out, my heart pounded with pride. I did not need to join them to be part of this moment, but I could make it more. I jumped across the roof tops, till I arrived at the last gates, guards to either side preparing to get in position to pull them open. That lacked a certain ''theatricality'', so I set about pulling on the smoke of chimneys and the braziers of fire that warmed the crowd. Amassing the smoke, I pushed the unbarred gates open from the other side, giving the moment a sense of majesty.

    Ahead of the knights, the gates swung without a touch from the guards, as if beckoning the Knights forth. The morning sun sweeping across them as the Order of the Round Table marched out on its first quest.

    </article>

 Book 2 Chapter 24 - Cold and calculating

    The sun hadn¡¯t quite set, but within the hour it¡¯d be touching the horizon. Less than ideal. It had taken longer than they¡¯d wanted to reach the creature¡¯s domain, the knights having to temper their speed to limit exhaustion and maintain a net that the beast wouldn''t slip through. That, and they were tired from being constantly on watch. Maeve didn¡¯t mind¡ªshe felt more like a knight than ever before.

    No more lack of intent holding her back. No governess hovering over her shoulder. No snarky comments from jealous cousins who coveted her connection to Gran. This was what she¡¯d been raised for.

    She had to admit, though, she wished the quest hadn¡¯t included quite so many frustrating elements. The stories didn¡¯t mention having to memorise the many special codenames Gawain made up, nor did they include what to do when one of your cohort was totally distracted. She wasn¡¯t sure why Arthur was acting so strangely, though Percy seemed smug about it, so she had to assume it was some kind of in-joke.

    Arthur was the only one of them to get injured so far. The beast hadn''t let them get closer without fighting back, capitalising on his distraction to send out spears of ice, wounding him in a surprise attack. It was only a scratch, but it had done wonders to wake the rest of them up to the threat the beast posed.

    They¡¯d slowed after that, making sure it couldn¡¯t ambush them while it, in turn, probed them for weaknesses. The dagger-sized icicles, wrapped in a frost glamour, weren¡¯t much of a threat given their armour, but if one slipped between the wrong gaps, it could prove lethal.

    They''d caught glimpses of the beast a number of times over the day¡ªflashes of white moving through the lush greenery of spring. It was difficult to pin down what manner of beast it was, long and sinuously serpentine, yet furred and clawed.

    The creature knew they approached and now waited for them to enter its territory, where it would be strongest. Beasts reaching Iron followed a different path to humans and had options. The rarer of the two was what Gring and Archimedes would be aiming for¡ªa physical change, taking on some new aspect that would mark them as unique. This was by far the harder of paths, requiring more resources and deliberate focus.

    Most wild beasts took over a territory, their power tied to a place. A razor-mouthed pike might become the lord of a stretch of river. In doing so, it reached Iron, and glamour would flow between the world and the creature. The rocks would become sharper, the creatures within more likely to gain some aspect of its cultivation. In turn, the beast grew stronger while in that domain.

    These could benefit humans¡ªsome beasts were fiercely protected, as they created sources of rare or useful glamour. Others, though, such as this ice-gifted beast, could threaten entire regions by shifting the natural order of things.

    Dealing with such threats was the oldest duty of knights.

    And what a duty it was. A dam of shimmering ice stretched across the silt and stone of the riverbed. The soft curves of blue crystal, dotted with beads of water, marked the battle between the monster¡¯s domain and the rising forces of the Spring Court. Maeve felt a sense of awe upon seeing this monument to the beast¡¯s power. The glamour required to push back the power of spring and change the course of an entire river marked this beast as different.

    With nine knights and two companion animals, they should¡¯ve been a force that could handle almost any threat, yet standing before the domain, she couldn¡¯t help but feel vulnerable.

    They¡¯d split into four groups, approaching from all cardinal directions to better pen in the monster. At least one defender and one attacker per group. She¡¯d been paired with Lance, whose dream gift would allow her to sense possible attackers. The goal was to flush out the beast, avoiding a scenario where it just led them on a merry jaunt through its territory, tiring them all out. If they were attacked, the others could come running. The ice-rimed domain was only a mile across, so reinforcements would be swift but not instant.

    Archimedes and Gring hovered above, watching to help give warning but avoiding getting too close. They were both only at Bronze rank and would be too tempting a target for the beast. Both companions had been less than enthused by this but had agreed to hold back and help coordinate their attack.

    Next to her was her partner for this hunt, Lance. The knight caught her eye, they both nodded, and together they began to move forward¡ªLance moving before her, blade out, kite shield flowing with moon glamour. Together, they leapt up and entered the monster¡¯s domain.

    Maeve couldn''t keep a smile off her lips as they landed atop the plateau of ice, her hearth humming with approval, like a whetstone drawn down a perfectly honed edge. The beast¡¯s territory felt like stepping into another world. She could feel a pressure very much like being on the edge of a cultivator¡¯s evil eye sweep over her, a reminder she was an invader in this domain.

    The oppressive aura wasn¡¯t the worst feature of the place. That award went to the biting chill. The glamour in the air made it so that even her enhanced body felt the sapping cold pulling at her. The air itself carried glamour that enhanced the chill wind, giving it teeth strong enough to gnaw at her iron body.

    Maeve clutched at the small artefact that hung from her neck. The runic totem glowed as she pressed glamour into it, heat spreading through her body. After her fall in the lake, she¡¯d received the totem as a gift from her grandmother, offering her a defence against the life-stealing cold.

    She¡¯d never tell anyone, but she still sometimes had nightmares about those frantic minutes in ice-cold water.

    She shook off the dark thoughts and took in her surroundings. All around them was still, the trees frozen and coated in crystal-clear ice, as though dipped in glass. The snow crunched underfoot, the top layer of ice cracking with each step.

    There was no governess watching her, no politics to navigate, and no ¡®acting¡¯. She was still struggling with being patient and living up to her intent, so having a simple task was a relief.

    A blade in the right place at the right time will strike true.

    ¡°I really hoped we''d left all the snow behind in the mountains. Glad we''ve not got to use monster lure here, though.¡± Lance spoke, the near silence¡ªonly interrupted by the shaking of sharp-tipped icicles in the trees and the crunch of ice underfoot¡ªclearly too much for the gregarious knight.

    ¡°I still can''t believe you dared to use monster lure that deep into the wilds.¡± Maeve responded, gently nudging Lance to adjust her direction so they¡¯d avoid stepping beneath a branch heavy with spikes of ice. The creature was undoubtedly ice-gifted, and as such, all this was ammunition for it.

    ¡°I''ll admit I underestimated how potent it was. I should''ve been tipped off, given that Taliesin stripped naked.¡± Lance laughed, and Maeve couldn¡¯t help but halt her stalking at the baffling statement.

    ¡°Why was he naked?¡±

    ¡°Didn''t dare risk getting it on his clothes. Why? Are you jealous?¡± Lance teased, even as her eyes never stopped scouting the area.

    ¡°NO!¡± Wait¡ªshould she pretend to be? Why was Lance smiling at her? Urgh, she just wanted to hunt.

    ¡°You two seem to be getting on alright, though you gotta realise he''s besotted with Percy, right?¡± Her tone was still teasing, yet the question had a slight edge to it¡ªperhaps a hint of concern?

    ¡°Why are we talking about this now?¡± Maeve hissed at her.

    ¡°Because being silent is worse. If we''re in its domain, it knows where we are, so sneaking is out. Better to make some noise so we don''t accidentally assault our allies. Plus, it helps stop me from getting in my head and tensing up.¡± Lance replied, her tone shifting to one of total professionalism.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    Maeve sighed. That made sense. She pulled on her intent, urging her self to just wait.

    A blade in the right place at the right time will strike success.

    ¡°I really hoped we''d left all the snow behind in the mountains. Glad we''ve not got to use monster lure here though.¡± Lance spoke, the near silence, only interrupted by the shaking of sharp-tipped icicles in the trees and the crunch of ice underfoot, clearly too much for the gregarious knight.

    ¡°I still can''t believe you dared to use monster lure that deep into the wilds.¡± Maeve responded, gently nudging Lance to adjust direction so they¡¯d avoid stepping underneath a branch heavy with spikes of ice. The creature was undoubtedly ice-gifted, and as such, all this was ammunition for it.

    ¡°I''ll admit I underestimated how potent it was. I should''ve been tipped off given that Taliesin stripped naked.¡± Lance laughed, and Maeve couldn¡¯t help but halt her stalking at the baffling statement.

    ¡°Why was he naked?¡±

    ¡°Didn''t dare risk getting it on his clothes. Why? Are you jealous?¡± Lance teased, even as her eyes never stopped scouting the area.

    ¡°NO!¡± Wait, should she pretend to be? Why was Lance smiling at her? Urgh, she just wanted to hunt.

    ¡°You two seem to be getting on alright, though you gotta realise he''s besotted with Percy, right?¡± Her tone was still teasing, yet the question had a slight edge to it¡ªperhaps a hint of concern?

    ¡°Why are we talking about this now?¡± Maeve hissed at her.

    ¡°Because being silent is worse. If we''re in its domain, it knows where we are, so sneaking is out. Better to make some noise so we don''t accidentally assault our allies, plus it helps stop me from getting in my head and tensing up.¡± Lance replied, her tone shifting to one of total professionalism. Maeve couldn¡¯t help but feel a bit of envy¡ªshe¡¯d yet to crack the issue of tensing up. While her mind was slowly embracing the patient approach, her body rebelled. It demanded action.

    ¡°Can we talk about anything else?¡± Maeve shook off the tension that was building in her limbs, trying to embrace the advice. Still, the discussion of her deception was too distracting.

    ¡°Sure,¡± Lance nodded as they entered what at first appeared to be a natural clearing. Frozen trees loomed over the empty space, a weeping willow growing out of a small hill that rose before them. Its branches, empty of leaves, were weighed down with long, razor-tipped icicles.

    ¡°Well¡­¡± Maeve, floundering for suitable discussion topics, was about to default to her safe option and ask Lance about her blade when her attention shifted to the unnaturally flat floor they were walking across. Given how her last winter hunt had ended, she¡¯d stayed keenly aware of her surroundings, and with a scrape of her armoured boot, she cleared the top layer of ice from the floor. Beneath them was a frozen pond, the shallow water entirely turned over to ice. She shuddered¡ªat least it was ice all the way down here.

    She looked up to report the issue to Lance, only to find the knight¡¯s stance had shifted, her shield up and blade in a cross-body guard. Her body was tense and ready.

    ¡°We¡¯re under attack. It¡¯s an Ice Weasel.¡± The icicles on the trees rattled as a glamour-enhanced shout from Gaz broke the silence. Maeve went to dart forward, but Lance¡¯s only move was to block her. Sword and shield levelled in the direction of the scream.

    ¡°Why aren¡¯t we helping?¡± Maeve slid to a stop, confused.

    ¡°Something¡¯s not right.¡± Lance¡¯s eyes watched the frozen trees and bushes that lined the pond.

    ¡°Your friend is being attacked.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re furthest from them. The others will get there first. Something is off, though¡ªfeel the air, look at the trees. It¡¯s all too cold.¡±

    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s what happens when you coat everything in ice.¡± Maeve¡¯s body ignored the way her intent was itching at her and Lance¡¯s apparent indecision. She felt herself take a step forward, only to have Lance crash into her. The other knight swung up her shield to guard them both against an innocent ice-covered birch tree.

    Maeve would¡¯ve complained about the rough treatment, but the tree chose that moment to detonate in an explosion of ice, bark, and frozen sap.

    From beside them, out of the mist of dust and splinters, burst a head the size of a wolf. A ravenous, narrow jaw lined with razor-sharp teeth aimed at Lance¡¯s exposed side. Maeve was off balance, her sword out of place, so she responded with her favourite technique.

    She made to throw the knife, gathering blade glamour as her arm whipped out. At the last moment, she tightened her grip on the hilt, retaining the blade but letting the glamour continue. A shimmering construct, a ghost of the blade, hummed through the air, and the monster had to duck out of the way or swallow the knife.

    The weasel wasn¡¯t halted, ducking under the attack, it barrelled through them, sending them both stumbling. As it passed, the air grew unbelievably cold¡ªjust taking a breath hurt her throat. Maeve launched herself to her feet and pushed glamour into her totem, the heat helping push back the inexorable cold.

    ¡°This is Tundra glamour.¡± Maeve called out. She¡¯d read about the rare glamour¡ªit was power over the cold itself. While it didn¡¯t allow the user to throw around ice, it was just as dangerous. The cold generated was a threat to even powerful cultivators, and with enough power, the glamour could chill steel enough that it warped and shattered like glass.

    ¡°Never heard of it, and it¡¯s difficult to reflect. Hurts to breathe.¡± Lance was standing and breathing shallowly, the open visor of her helm framing a pale face. Above them came a concerned whinny, and Gring began to descend.

    ¡°Don¡¯t come down here, go get the others!¡± Lance shouted. For a second, the pegasus looked like it¡¯d disobey, but then it shook its mane and, with a beat of its wings, flew away.

    ¡°It¡¯s not controlling ice but the temperature.¡± Maeve called out as they both watched to see where the creature would appear next.

    The creature slunk from the frozen underbrush, its long, sinuous body moving with an unnatural grace. Its fur was pure white but did not quite blend into the snow¡ªit shimmered with a dusting of crystalline frost, as if its pelt held a whirling snowstorm. The air around it crackled with a biting chill, its breath curling in the cold like a hunter¡¯s mist rolling across frozen ground.

    Maeve had never seen a beast look so smart before, so cold and calculating. That was until it abruptly hopped into the air before flopping to the left and right. The strange movements ruined its calm image, yet exposed a level of disturbing agility, and this crazed dance made it difficult to anticipate. Maeve wondered if this was the mesmeric dance. It was certainly confusing, but beyond leaving them both warily tracking its movements, it served no apparent purpose.

    That was until she felt the first wave of cold carried on the air. As the long, sinuous body flowed, it was sending gouts of frigid air at them. Even with her artefact, she could feel the power crashing into her.

    Lance snarled as the next wave hit her. ¡°So a perfect counter to the pair of us, who have to get in close. I loathe the smart ones.¡±

    A stuttering noise, a cross between lion purring and a giant hurriedly clicking its tongue, echoed across the ice-covered forest. It sounded almost like it was taunting them.

    ¡°Is that unseelie noise supposed to be clucking?¡± Maeve swore. If that was it, she was going to have words with the scouts.

    ¡°Watch out,¡± Lance shifted as the creature emerged from the frozen mounds of snow. Maeve threw another blade over her comrade¡¯s shoulder as the creature slammed itself into her shield. Claws screeched on the steel for a split second before a burst of moon glamour reflected the attack right back at the weasel, sending it skidding across the frozen pond.

    The glamour couldn¡¯t stop the wave of chill air, strong enough to cut through even the totem¡¯s protection, rolling over them. Lance cried out in frustration as ice formed on her eyebrows and cracked her skin.

    Maeve wouldn¡¯t let her defender¡¯s sacrifice be in vain. She threw herself into her levity technique. Blade glamour didn¡¯t lend itself to such uses, and it was only through studying with an expert that she¡¯d found a way to make it work. Her technique revolved around the concept of how the smallest twitch of the hilt would make the tip of the blade carve left and right. Her hearth was the hilt of her power, and as she fed glamour and movement to her body¡ª

    With a small step and little glamour, her body carved through the air, her boots skating across the floor. She arrived, blade outstretched, glamour pumping, intent flaring, and cut into the flank of the beast, ignoring how the hilt of her sword felt like it was burning her hand¡ªthe insidious cold of the beast seeking to corrupt her blade.

    The creature hissed and turned to claw and snap at her, only to find empty air. She¡¯d already retreated back behind Lance. The gash in its side steamed, bleeding red for a moment before, with a wave of glamour, it hardened in place. Maeve cursed¡ªthere went the plan of making it bleed out.

    ¡°Can¡¯t do that again, air hurts to breathe. Can¡¯t reflect it much, not like most things,¡± Lance spat through cracked lips.

    ¡°We need to kill it quickly.¡±

    ¡°Any suggestions on that? I felt it trying to freeze my eyes.¡± Lance remained calm, but there was an edge to her voice that hadn¡¯t been there before. Maeve focused on what she knew. This beast wasn¡¯t the one that had attacked them before¡ªthey¡¯d planned for a beast that could throw around ice, not this.

    Maeve¡¯s eyes hunted around, pausing only when her artefact demanded glamour. The bitter cold was draining it faster than ever before. It was then, as she sought out the glamour to feed it, that she found a path out.

    A blade in the right place at the right time will strike success.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got a plan, but you¡¯ll need to get it under that tree.¡± Maeve grinned¡ªher intent never said she had to strike with the blade in her hand!