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 nearly 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 since run out, and my lack of physical discipline had started to show at the midway point. I might have a refined body, worthy of literal study, but it was unused to such labour.

  Our pursuers were relentless, escape was impossible. Even with night having fallen, the fact that 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. 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’s—just at a greatly reduced rate—and glamour could only sustain me for so long.

  “They’re 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 spinning the ash fast enough to that it started 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 a cliff on the other, with the forest behind us. The only other way around 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 versus the two of us 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.

  “All right. Let’s get to it.”

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  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 to 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 of 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 my friend and 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.” She fixed me with a sharp look.

  I nodded and drew out some smoke-sticks, the same as Kristoff had been given to signal his mission. I’d 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 at least I had something to work with. 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 clearly. 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 illusory torches made of light glamour. The illusions were copies of the central torch, held by a familiar face topped with blue hair. I checked the faces but didn’t recognise the rest—not that I expected to. They were all beefy-looking types, thugs more than Squires. What I did catch was that 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 missing one had 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 that, if I didn’t know better, would’ve seemed like 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, and 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. Letting my senses spill out, I sought the perfect place to shoot, and using the void in my smoke, I settled on aiming for the neck and then the 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 taunts irritated me—I was far from anyone's pet.

  The arrows flew. 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.