Aurora’s history of weakness was a convenient excuse that allowed Avalon to leave Gunnar’s side and return to the keep. While Gunnar was busy drilling the newest recruits in Harold’s household guard, Avalon made his way to the old treasury. Away from prying eyes, he ventured towards the magic hidden inside. When he opened the door, the heavy, acrid smell of dust filled his nostrils.

A centaur’s strong constitution would have snorted out the stagnant air, but it incited a hacking cough in Avalon’s new body. He covered his mouth and tried to silence the coughs, but tears welled in his eyes and he backed away to breathe in cleaner air. His only saving grace was that, in his corner of the castle’s keep, there was nobody that could be alerted to his presence.

Avalon wiped his eyes and pulled the breathable inner layer of his clothing over his face to shield himself from the dust. He had not cried in centuries, he would not be turned away from his mission as well. He forced his way into the room, taking shallow breaths as he felt the vibrations of magic in the air. A rat scurried through the back of the room, overly accustomed to the dust built up through Man’s neglect, but its wild spirit allowed Avalon to triangulate the source of the magic hidden in the room.

On a shelf, resting on a stack of old books, was a simple longsword. It was made of the iron metal that Man specified as steel and bound in the leathered hide of a cow. When Avalon seized its handle, it seemed to speak to him, but there was no time to talk. Footsteps echoed from the hallway.

Avalon pulled up the long skirt of the dress the maid’s had forced him into earlier in the day. It almost trailed the ground as he walked, an ill fitting and cumbersome thing, but it would conceal the sword well enough. He placed the hilt against the inside of his calf and used the long segment of leather attached to the scabbard to tie it into place.

A woman’s voice called out, “Hello? Who’s there?” One of the maids peeked her head around the doorway and frowned at Avalon. “What are you doing in this dusty old place? You need to leave now or it’ll make you ill.”

Avalon tried to respond, but the dust made him cough. The woman was right, as was Gunnar. He pulled the breathable layer inside his dress to cover his face as he walked out of the old treasury. The sword strapped to his leg awkwardly bumping against the front of his skirt, forcing him to sway as he walked or reveal the sword’s presence.

However suspicious it might have looked, the woman had other concerns. “You shouldn’t do that, it’s improper.”

The strict propriety of these humans didn’t make sense, they constrained themselves like birds with clipped wings. “It helps me keep the dust out of my lungs, which would be improper for my health.”

“I suppose so, but run along. You wouldn’t need something to cover your face if you weren’t going into dusty places like these.” The woman turned away, her frown growing deeper. “It really does need a good cleaning. I don’t think anybody’s bothered to clean this place since your grandfather died.”

As the woman went deeper into the old treasury, muttering something about rats in the walls, Avalon wandered back to his room. He shut the door behind him, wary of any movement from the halls as he unstrapped the sword from his leg. The sword was calling for him now, he was certain, begging to be unsheathed.

The sword sang as he pulled it free from its scabbard, its naked blade quivering in the air. There was something familiar inside, trapped by human magic. Avalon closed his eyes and placed the flat of the blade against his chest, calling silently into the void within, “What are you?”

Whatever was inside the blade shrank away in surprise, then rushed forth with brilliant green light. It was a spirit of the forest and it was trapped in a vessel of steel, just as he was trapped in a vessel of human flesh. “Release me. Your flesh is human, but I can see your spirit. You are one of my own kin from the forests. Release me and I will be your faithful servant until the end of your human lifespan.”

“How do I free you from the sword?”

The spirit howled in bliss and in agony, pleading and demanding with a desperation for freedom. “The seal! The seal! Break the seal!”

There was a seal marked on the blade, written in blood over a century old. Avalon tried to scratch it with his nail, but it shimmered red as his finger glided over the seal. Though the blood had dried and ought to have flaked off, magic kept it in place and would require magic to remove. He tried to break it apart, calling on his slim reserves of power, but had no familiarity with the runes on the seal.

They were almost dwarven in aesthetic, but distinct from their kind of magic. It would take time to decipher the meaning of each individual rune before they could be untangled with finesse, but he wasn’t sure if he had time for finesse. He dragged the tip of a finger across the blade, just enough to draw blood, and pressed the bloodied tip against the seal.

Magic was potent in blood, and the seal drank of both until it glowed. The sword sang louder as the spirit inside pushed against the weakening seal. With a loud crack, the spirit broke through the seal and into the physical world.

The spirit’s ethereal body solidified and took the naked form of a human man. Impressive in musculature, for a human, his brown hide reminded him of the trees in the Northern Evergreen. Hurried footsteps resounded through the hallway, there was little privacy in the castle for the things Avalon needed to do. He opened his mouth to order the spirit-turned-man to conceal himself, but the spirit was flickering like smoke as it was pulled back into the sword.

Call this one Morgan, I shall be at your service. The spirit’s voice spoke directly into his mind.

And I am Avalon, of the Evergreen. Avalon responded, wondering if Morgan could hear him.

Avalon… He responded, as if to confirm.

When the door flew open, Gunnar and a maid-woman rushed in. When the old warrior saw the sword in Avalon’s hand, he sighed and moved to take it from him, but Avalon raised the sword and bared his teeth. “This sword is mine now, you will not take it from me.” He declared.

Gunnar’s eyes were wide with surprise and could not help but pull away, despite his good chances at physically overpowering Avalon in his current state and taking the sword by force. He scratched his beard and looked at Avalon’s hand. “Fine, keep the sword, but you’re bleeding. At least let the maid take a look at it.”

“It’s just a flesh wound.” Avalon returned the blade to its scabbard and tied the sword around his waist. He put his finger in his mouth and sucked on the shallow wound, it would stop bleeding soon enough.

“Aren’t most of them flesh wounds?” Gunnar wondered and peered around the room. “And the noise? There was a noise.”

Avalon said nothing and stared at Gunnar, who just shrugged.

“I’ll have to go tell your father, but be careful with that. Whatever you did, don’t do it again.” He left the room, leaving the woman speechless and confused.

“You’re not going to confiscate the sword?” The woman asked, looking back and forth at the sword and Gunnar’s back as he walked away.

“That’ll be up to her father.”

When Harold arrived at the room, the maid had opened the curtains to the window, and light beamed through. Avalon preferred the room be kept dimly lit, it was meant to be his private den, but he could say nothing in front of the lord of the castle. It all belonged to him in the end.

“What were you doing with the sword?” Harold asked. “And you’ve injured yourself! There’s blood on the floor.”

“I unsheathed it to look at the blade. The blood is from a small cut on my finger, I was testing the blade.” Avalon responded simply. “It’s sharp.”

“Of course it’s sharp, it’s a sword.” Harold eyed the sword on Avalon’s hip warily. “You got that from the old treasury, it was your grandfather’s sword.” He stated, already knowing.

The maid behind Gunnar spoke up. “A sword isn’t a toy for a young child to have. Girl of otherwise.”

Harold sighed. “During my great-grandfather’s days, it wasn’t uncommon for women to join up with his band of adventurers. Not as camp followers, mind you, but as shieldmaidens.”

The woman was taken aback. “But the way she bared it against Sir Gunnar? It was barbaric, unsuitable behavior for a proper lady.”

“Is that true Gunnar?”

“Aye, my lord, she cut an imposing figure. As well as she could anyhow. But there’s always room for improvement.”

Avalon tightened a hand around his sword. He was still a centaur in mind, if not in body, and he struggled to contain his rising anger. The older human rendered judgment upon him, but only because he had become so weak. They would not have done so when he was still a centaur.

I am weak now. Avalon thought.

You are, but you do not have to be. Morgan responded.

“Will you teach me?” Avalon asked.

“I would be glad to, it wouldn’t take away time from my other responsibilities.” Gunnar said and looked to his lord for confirmation.

“It was about time you learned how to use a sword.” He told Avalon. “Gunnar, ready my daughter for a bout on the proving grounds.”

The maid sighed and spoke softly to Harold as they left. “Her husband will not be impressed by calloused hands.”

Harold scoffed. “That upjumped merchant only wants my name, to attach his blood to my own. He’ll take her as she is and be happy. It’s more than he deserves.”

Avalon’s brows furrowed. “Gunnar, what is a husband? And do I have one? It sounds as if I’m going to be taken away.”

“It’s nothing so sinister. Your father can better explain it to you, let’s just get you fitted into some practice armor.”

Avalon took note of the old warrior’s hesitation to explain himself and followed him to a building outside the keep, embedded into the curtain wall near the portcullis and the barracks. There, a man was brushing oil onto a shirt of ringed metal.

“How goes the work?” Gunnar asked.

“As it always goes, captain.” The man looked up and smiled at Avalon. “I see the young miss is up and about. How are you feeling?”

“Well enough.” Avalon said.

“Folks at the library were happy to hear you recovered.”

Gunnar headed to the back of the armory and pulled out a long coat, thickly padded and adorned with strips of metal. “She’s better than recovered, she’s going to be sparring on the proving grounds.”

The man chuckled, but his laughter silenced when he saw Gunnar smiling. “What? You’re serious? She just recovered, it’s too soon.”

“I say it’s fine, and so does Lord Longfirth. If you got a problem, you can take it up with him.” It was his turn to chuckle then, as he wrapped the coat around Avalon’s shoulders.

“It’s heavy.” Avalon said, surprised with how light the clothing looked in the old warrior’s hands.

“To help protect you. Arms through the sleeves now, I’ll help you fasten the straps. Then we’ll get a helmet for you.”

A woman called out. “Not just yet, here are her pants.” The maid from earlier entered the armory with some loose cloth with two sleeves, but too awkward looking for his arms. It would pin them forward or backwards, hindering his movement beyond what was acceptable. Even by human standards, surely.

“What are those for?”

“For your legs, of course.” The maid stooped low and placed the pants in front of Avalon. “Put your legs through and I’ll pull them up for you.” She looked at the other two men in the room. “Look away, the both of you.”

There were too many layers as it was, but this woman had been the one who insisted the loudest on stuffing him into a dress. Avalon did as he was told and allowed the woman to pull the pants into the place as the men looked away. After they were finished, the woman returned to her other duties and Gunnar helped tie up the long coat.

The other man handed him a cap of padded cloth, then yet another cap of metal. Layers on layers, but Avalon could acknowledge how it might protect him. Gunnar handed him a blunted sword and tried to take the other sword, the one with Morgan’s spirit. Avalon was reluctant to relinquish the blade, but agreed to a compromise. He didn’t need to wear the sword, but he wanted the sword kept close at hand.

“Your grandfather’s sword will be taken good care of. We’ll hang it from one of the posts so you know where it is.”

In the courtyard was a circular patch of ground that had been fenced off. Avalon realized the proving grounds was like a small arena for duels. Men and women stood around the circle, chattering to themselves. Harold was also there, speaking with some men in hats plumed with feathers. They would all be watching, making the sparring bout into both exercise and spectacle.

Avalon wasn’t ready for an audience, but Gunnar hopped over the fence and beckoned him closer. He could only hope he didn’t shame himself too much. When he hopped over the fence, his foot grazed the top of the fence and almost tripped into the dirt. A man clapped and chuckled, “Still on your feet! You can do it!” The man said encouragingly and Avalon felt half a foal again.

Gunnar hung Morgan’s sword on a post, true to his word, and raised his practice sword. He wore armor of his own, but lighter than the thick layers he had placed on Avalon. It was clear he wasn’t expecting too much from lord’s young offspring, but trapped in Man’s flesh or not, Avalon had been a centaur once.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“Are you ready?” Gunnar asked. “Come and try to hit me. Show me what you’re made of.”

Avalon pointed the blunted sword at the old warrior, who just smiled and waited expectantly.

Carry your sword in both hands, Morgan said, Whatever you used to be, you are now a small human child.

I still have some magic left to me. Avalon felt his small reserve of magic surge through his body, but he lacked the experience and control with his new body. He listened to Morgan’s council and held the sword firmly in both hands. The practice sword was heavier than Morgan's, but easy enough to hold in two hands. One small step forward, then another, brought him closer to Gunnar.

“What are you waiting for?” Gunnar asked loudly. “Come and fight!”

When Gunnar blinked, Avalon leapt forward and swung down at his chest. It caught the old man by surprise, but he was faster than a man his age and his size had any right to be. He sidestepped the swing and avoided it by hair’s breadth, and delivered a heavy smack against Avalon’s back, sending him to the ground.

“Go easy on the poor girl!” A man cried out.

“Bully!” A woman also said.

Gunnar shrugged. “It’s training, can’t learn swordplay without a little pain.”

Avalon agreed and whacked the back of Gunnar’s leg. He no longer possessed the strength required to break bone, but it was enough to make the man hop around with pain as he clutched his leg. The advantage was his, however, and he wouldn’t let up. He swung his sword again, but Gunnar recovered quicker than expected and parried the sword.

“That was a good hit! Surprise is good to have, but let’s see if you stand your ground.” Gunnar swung back at Avalon and he held up his sword to block it, but his arm caved under the blow and Gunnar’s sword whacked against his helmet. Avalon could not stand his ground.

“Let’s have a friendly wager.” Harold called out. “Aurora lands ten blows on Gunnar. The time limit is when she gives up.”

“1 gold she lands ten blows!” Someone called out.

“1 gold she gives up!” Someone else called out, but Avalon didn’t take it personally. Such wagers were common enough among centaurs and he was almost surprised the humans practiced such a custom.

“You’ll lose that wager!” Avalon cried out and charged at Gunnar, swinging once from above. As expected, the old man blocked the swing, but the blade slid against his sword and Avalon pulled it away. As the tip slid away from Gunnar’s sword, Avalon drove the point into his chest.

“Two blows!” Someone declared.

Someone else laughed. “That was the first!”

“That was the second, learn how to count! Come on, eight more to ten!”

“Where did you learn that?” Gunnar asked, but Avalon just shrugged.

Gunnar swung his sword, but Avalon took the blow against his arm before swinging his own sword to hit Gunnar’s arm in turn. Gunnar laughed a throaty laugh, “Three blows!”

The sword grew heavier in Avalon’s hands, feet straining in his shoes, as he pressed forward. He was caught up in the action, finding that he enjoyed his part of the bout. He couldn’t remember the last time he dueled someone that he considered strong. He landed blow after blow, edging closer towards winning his half of the wager. One more successful blow made for seven, but as soon as it struck, Gunnar pulled away and readied his sword in front of him.

“Three blows left to win. Can you do it?” He asked.

Avalon charged forward again, every swing of his sword an answer, but Gunnar was responding with his own. The old warrior was no longer dueling with Avalon, but focused on blocking and parrying his sword. Every clash of steel drove more breath from Avalon’s lungs, but he kept pushing until he wheezed for breath. His magic was running out, growing thin in his fingers and toes. It wouldn’t be long until his arms were too weak to lift his sword, or for his legs to hold up his own weight. He’d be forced to surrender.

Take a knee and breathe, the wager ends when you give up. Morgan said, his voice clear in Avalon’s head despite the blurring of the world around him. But Gunnar may attack.

I’m the only one who needs to land hits for the wager. If he swings, so will I.

Even so, be prepared.

When Avalon took a knee to breathe, Gunnar strode forward to attack. Avalon allowed the blow to strike his shoulder, but it was heavier than the others had been. It knocked the air from his lungs, but Avalon caught Gunnar in the side. A light tap was all he could muster, but it was enough.

“Two more blows!” Harold called out.

Avalon was on both knees now, sweat soaked through the padded cap and dripping down his neck. Gunnar was keeping back now, allowing him time to breathe. It was several long minutes before Avalon returned to his feet, but it felt as though needles were jabbing into the bottom of his feet. He trudged forward and raised his sword, but the blade sagged towards the ground.

“We’re on the proving grounds now, so it’s fine if you let yourself get hit a few times, but you can’t be trading blows like this on a real battlefield. The first one will kill you as likely as not.” Gunnar charged forward and swung at Avalon, breaking through his parries and guards to whack him across his arms and torso.

The old warrior intended to beat him into submission, but Avalon grit his teeth and snarled as he lashed out as Gunnar struck him across the side. It made Avalon quiver with pain, but he had landed his ninth blow. One more and he won.

“I want to win. Don’t hate me for that.”

“I’ll be the first to congratulate you on your victory.”

Avalon swung his sword at Gunnar, letting him parry the blade to the side. It was a weak bluff, but another surprise for Gunnar. Avalon brought one hand from the sword and struck at Gunnar’s jaw with a balled fist with the final reserves of his magic. It surprised the old man more than anything, but it was enough for Avalon to drive the tip of his sword into his gut with one desperate gasp.

Harold was laughing furiously as someone announced, “Final hit! She did it!”

If Gunnar was angry with him, Avalon didn’t see. He dropped to his hands and knees, gasping for breath as his ears rang and vision spotted. A voice called to him as he slumped over, but everything went black before he could see who it belonged to.

In the darkness, Morgan was sitting in a glade and whistling a tune. Somehow, he and the trees around him were fully illuminated despite the absence of the sun. When Avalon approached, he was himself again. Tall and strong, his hooves tottered along the black, formless ground.

Morgan looked up at Avalon, without any hint of surprise for what he saw. The Sparrow approaches, you must not stay.

I missed this body. Avalon said, but his voice was a hushed whisper.

Morgan shook his head. Wake up.

“Wake up.” A boy’s voice said. “The Sparrow is here. You have to wake up.”

A blurred face greeted Avalon as his eyes opened, but he knew it was the boy-child, Gareth, who spoke to him. He tried to speak, but the child looked back at the door and ran into an open wardrobe, closing the door behind him. Avalon jumped from his bed with renewed vigor despite his earlier exhaustion, finding he had been washed and placed into a new set of clothes in his sleep.

He wandered to the wardrobe and peeked inside, but Gareth had disappeared. Where did he run off to? He asked Morgan.

Into the walls.

That wasn’t possible, was it? He closed the wardrobe and just as one door closed, another one opened. A tall, slender man walked through, but Avalon could smell the stink of death before he ever saw the so-called Sparrow. It emanated from his body, like he had been cursed to rot.

Sparrow’s eyes furrowed on the bed. When he caught sight of Avalon, his eyes went wide in shock. “You’re up? You should be-” The man shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, unhappy that his supposed patient was healthier than he had left her. He waved to the bed and set a bag onto the table.

A woman walked into the room, one of the maids. If Sparrow’s stench offended her, she showed no signs of it. “If there is anything you need-”

“I will not be requiring your assistance, thank you. You may leave.” Sparrow said brusquely.

Avalon called out to the woman before she left. “Bring Harold.”

“No, that will not be necessary.” Sparrow cut in, but the woman ignored him.

“Yes, my lady. I will bring him right away.”

As the woman left, Sparrow grunted and redirected his anger at Avalon. “You, sit on the bed. I’ve prepared a potion for you and I must see you drink it.”

That potion will have poison in it. Avalon thought. Slow acting, but more potent. so he can leave safely while it kills me.

It is likely. Morgan agreed.

“Take the potion and we can both be finished with this business.”

Avalon walked towards the bed, but lifted Morgan’s sword instead. He tied the sword around his waist as Sparrow walked towards him, ignoring the glass vial of poison the man tried to hand him. The man’s mood darkened at the deliberate sleight, but it only amused Avalon. How could such a man have been trusted by anyone?

“I’d rather not.”

Sparrow’s pale face contorted with barely concealed anger as he grabbed Avalon’s jaw and tried to empty the potion into his mouth. “Just. Take. It.” Avalon had not expected such a naked display of force, but the man was no Gunnar or Harold. His fingers were nimble, but lacked the strength for what he wanted to do.

Instead of pulling away, Avalon leaned closer and closed his teeth around Sparrow’s ring finger. The man’s screams echoed as Avalon spat half of his bloody finger onto the floor. The taste was ordinary, but Avalon didn’t want to risk illness by accidentally drinking some of Sparrow’s blood let alone consume his flesh. Something about the man was tainted and that was all Avalon needed to know.

Harold was through the door just in time to see Sparrow sitting on his floor, cradling his bleeding hand. “What in Seven Hells is happening here?”

Sparrow pointed an accusing finger at Avalon as he whimpered. “Your savage daughter bit my finger off!”

Avalon wiped the blood from his lips with the sleeves of his dress. “Keep your fingers away from my mouth or I’ll do it again.”

“What reason could you have for biting off a finger from the physician?” Harold’s face was growing red with anger, but he was more shocked than truly angry.

“He tried to force his potion down my throat.” Avalon said and the words took some anger from Harold’s face as he calmed.

“One of the maid’s informed me of your collapse, it was for your own good.”

“The collapse was from exhaustion, not illness.” Avalon added.

“Are you a trained physician now?” Sparrow stood and retrieved his things. “Your daughter is clearly very energetic. As she no longer needs my treatment, I will be leaving for the capital.”

“For how long?” Harold asked, as if surprised, despite everything that had just happened.

“Indefinitely!” Sparrow stormed out of the room, pushing past a maid. “Out of my way, I must attend to my OWN injuries!”

Harold shot a stern glare at Avalon. “Stay here.” When he followed after the Sparrow, Avalon could hear Harold’s voice echo through the hallway. “You will be compensated for your finger, so let’s come to an agreement.”

And like that, Sparrow was gone from the castle. Before he left for the capital, Harold paid the man several golden coin as compensation for his finger. However, while reprimanding Avalon, he let slip that the gold was a costly expenditure to buy Sparrow’s silence.

“Our house needs to send money to the capital to support your sister at the Academy. I can overlook your recent wildness, it’s good to see you so energetic after everything that’s happened, but this business with the physician? It places our family in jeopardy. If the other houses knew we were struggling with money-” Harold grimaced and balled his hand into a fist, tapping it gently against his forehead, before turning to Avalon. “You must not scare away your betrothed. The wealth your new husband will bring to this family will solidify our hold over Longfirth.”

Avalon didn’t like the way Harold spoke of betrothals and husbands, especially in relation to money. The more he heard, the more it sounded like he was being bartered away. He knew loosely of human customs, but they were never as free as centaurs were. They constrained themselves in every aspect of life, sometimes selling other humans in exchange for trinkets, but those had been humans taken in war, as slaves.

Aurora was meant to be Harold’s own flesh and blood. Yet, Avalon had to consider that he had not fulfilled his some obligation expected of him. There were many rules he needed to learn to live as a human. If he needed to play the dutiful child, he would do so. It was better than being sold like cattle.

“With that being said, I’m allowing Gunnar to escort you around the city. You’ve recovered well enough and it would be good to have you interact with people outside of the castle. It’ll give you an opportunity to stretch your legs. Being trapped in here was probably making you wild.”

“I will not shame you again, father.” Avalon vowed.

The smile Harold returned was melancholic. “I’m not ashamed, Rory.” He grabbed the sides of Avalon’s head and planted a firm kiss on his forehead. “I’m just a little stressed, so try not to get into too much trouble out there.”

The next day, Gunnar prepared a wagon to collect things ordered from the city. It was a task usually left to others, but a second wagon, otherwise called a carriage, was prepared to transport Avalon. The usual porters were allowed to continue as usual, but Gunnar led half a dozen guards. Himself on horse, along with two others, the last four walked on foot for seven total guards. They were to escort their lord’s offspring, as well as the two maids who would be accompanying her.

Avalon insisted on bringing his sword once again and wouldn’t allow anyone to dissuade him. The maid who had stuffed him into dresses and other clothing, the noisy woman as Avalon decided to call her, was forced to find a compromise of her own. She could have been a matriarch in her age of wisdom, but nothing would dissuade him. As Gunnar had learned, before their sparring bout at the proving grounds.

A cloak was placed over Avalon’s ordinary clothing, excused by Aurora’s known illness. Made of thin, green velvet, Avalon was glad that he could choose what color the cloak would be. It helped obscure the sword hanging from his belt. Morgan’s sword, which he felt quivering with anticipation.

I wish to see the forest again, can you take me there? Morgan pleaded. I hear the old trees in the distance, their songs grow louder.

I also long to leave this place, but we will have to see.

As the carriage rolled past the portcullis, Avalon was the only passenger to audibly gag at the putrid smell of the city. The two maids accompanying him had long grown used to the filth of their kind. It would be his excuse to take a trip out of the city, it would have to be. Avalon couldn’t imagine becoming accustomed to the smell.

He poked his head out of the carriage and called over to Gunnar, ignoring the noisy woman’s protests. Gunnar’s horse trotted forward, eager to break into a run, but Gunnar pulled his reins to slow his advance. They matched the carriage’s speed so Avalon could speak without having to lean out of the carriage. “Will Harold permit us to leave the city and visit the forest? The air is foul. There are still forests around this city, yes?”

“Your father intended to have you show your face around the city, to assure the people of your health. If you can do that much, I believe he will allow a trip to the forests around the city. The closest grouping of trees is immediately to the north. Safest as well, with all the adventurers ranging into the frontiers.” Gunnar called for one of his guards to ride back to the castle, to inform Harold of their change in plan and to return once the message was delivered. “The air in the city is certainly fouler than fresh, country air. Probably all the shit.”

“Gunnar! Manners, please.” The noisy woman wagged her finger at the old warrior, who grumbled a half-hearted apology.

“He’s right, it’s all the shit.” Avalon muttered and Gunnar laughed, but the noisy woman tittered.

“Gunnar, you’re a bad influence on the young lady.” She said, but Gunnar laughed louder.

“If that is all, my lady, I will return to the others. It’s important to keep formation, for discipline and all that.”

As Gunnar’s horse slowed to rejoin his marching column, Morgan spoke. There are people following us, I feel them. Killers all, they reek with Sparrow’s stench.

The notion of others like Sparrow made Avalon uncomfortable. Not even humans should smell of such wretched, sweet death. Do they rot as he does?

No, but his stink clings to them. Prolonged exposure to that man has tainted them. It was a small relief, but Avalon turned to look at Gunnar and his guards. If the guard he dispatched returned on time, many of the guards looked fresh-faced and untested. Even the older men were nowhere close to matching Gunnar’s veterancy.

They may attack when Gunnar keeps true and brings us out of the city. Will he and his guards be enough to defend us?

They do not clatter with metal as the guards do, but they outnumber them two to one. We must aid them if there is battle.

Avalon was not afraid of the Sparrow or his human collaborators, but he had only recently learned how to live in Aurora’s shoes. Can we defeat them? I am far weaker than I once was.

I am bonded to the sword, despite the broken seal. The iron weakens my magic, but I can kill all of our pursuers. Though, the enemy is numerous and it will take time. They may fall upon you and the other humans while I am busy fighting.

Avalon closed his eyes and called to the forest. It was distant, but he could feel its energy. It was too far to answer his call, but the twin moons had gone. Perhaps the forests he had known had gone as well. The other humans were acceptable collateral, but how would Avalon protect himself? For the first time in centuries, he felt the stabs of fear in his chest.