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—it'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—” 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.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“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 fiancée telling me why she was here, but by that point I’d started on the song about hedgehogs—which never got sung until everyone was very drunk—so 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—all-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—catch 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!”