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—a mix of different creatures, some small, some hulking—all 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—less 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—once 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—we 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—another 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—its 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—he 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—more 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—to 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—” 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—you’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—‘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’—she 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—Astor’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—a 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—fallen 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—the vital life within preserved by glamour—snaked 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—nothing 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—Arthur 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.