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—and by extension Gawain—might 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—and that of his squire—was 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—the 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—or 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—possible 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.

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  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—that it was just another drill—when 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—at 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—nearly 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—herd! 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—a 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—which 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—he 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—who chuffed in annoyance at the sudden burst of ash—I 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—a 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—from entertained spectators to panicked witnesses—almost made the fall worth it.

  Almost.

  Check the spoiler below for a library of cultivation terms and their Arthurian translations.