If anyone is actually reading this, thank you for taking the time (even if you don't like it). Even without any readers, I will continue to update as per usual. To my silent readers that actually are enjoying this story - send me a personal message if you don't want to leave a public one, or drop a guest review.

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Chapter Seven: Hints of Cultist Activity

"Find the three holy relics and bring them home."

Morty nodded. "It will be done."

"I have received the blessing from N. You have been chosen to serve the Phoenix," the woman said, placing her hands on his shoulders. "He has travelled to our region to help us locate the three holy relics that will resurrect our Phoenix from the ashes. N wishes he could undertake this task himself, but he can't be exposed to sunlight."

N, the leader of Order of Ash, and the only man who had survived death by becoming death himself. The full details of the story were unknown to Morty, but it was rumoured the man had been cursed with three holy relics which had cursed his soul to eternal damnation. All he knew was that the man could not rest until the three holy relics were found and the curse reversed so he could die a true death.

"You will need this document to gain entrance," Naoko said, digging a hand into her pouch to present him a small scroll with a red seal on it. "Taken from a soldier of Blackthorn. This will grant you entrance into the city without question. Do not become distracted by your environment – stay focused on your task of finding the three relics. I will come to you when the relics are found. My spies will know."

The ravens of course.

"I will succeed."

"I know you will."

Morty pulled out of his thoughts as he reached the gates of the infamous city of Blackthorn. Rumours had said the city was protected by a thirty-foot wall made of iron, but those rumours were proven to be false. The wall was not made of iron and it certainly wasn't as tall as the stories claimed. Rather, it was made of stone and only reached a height of around fifteen feet.

"Ah, Blackthorn. I never thought I'd be setting foot here so soon," he murmured. Dropping a hand into the satchel around his waist, he pulled out the document Naoko had given him and approached the gate. "I demand entrance into the city!" he called out.

"State your purpose, stranger."

"I'm a mercenary seeking an audience with your leaders."

There was nothing at first then he heard what sounded like bars being lifted. He heard some grunts from behind the doors. Obviously, the bars were of reasonable weight. Some poor soldier had the role of lifting the bars every time the gate needed to be opened. Moments later, the gates started to open. Two guards looked at him, their faces concealed by their closed helms. Both guards were dressed in the standard chainmail and equipped with a sword and shield each.

"Without a pass you will not be allowed entrance. Rules have changed since the war," one of the guards said, extending a hand expectantly. "We have the right to deny you of entrance."

"It's a good thing I have a pass then," Morty said, handing over the document. "My name is Morty and I've come an awfully long way to serve your king."

The soldier looked him up and down. "Where are you from?"

"Ecruteak City."

"The city of golden leaves," the other guard said. "I've been there once. Before the war. How fares the city?"

Morty nodded. "All but the towers have been restored."

The guard looked him up and down and made a dismissive sound. "Well, Morty, you look to be a fine healthy young man, but what makes you think your services are needed?" He handed the pass back.

Morty took it and put it away. "It's a dangerous world beyond these walls, and sometimes people die and need to be replaced." He took a few steps towards the guards. "I came here alone without a horse nor a companion. As you have been to Ectruteak before then you would know the journey takes several days by foot. An inexperienced man would perish to the dangers in the woods yet here I am unscathed."

"Well he does make a point there, Falkner," the man to the right said. He was slightly taller. "He travelled all the way from Ecutreak to reach our gates. The king is always looking for strong recruits and this one looks in good health as you said."

Morty grinned. "Then allow me to prove myself worthy."

Falkner examined opened the scroll and read the contents of it mouthing the words in silence. Morty wasn't sure what it even said – he never had the chance to read it himself – but he could make out a few words just by looking at the guard. King's guard and service were just some of the words he managed to pick up on.

"I will escort you to the barracks. From there, you will be given details on the quests you must complete to prove yourself a worthy addition of the king's service." He looked at the document once more, as if trying to see if there was some fault with it, then handed it back. "If you do not pass the tests, you will be asked to leave our walls."

"Then I shall not fail."

Falkner looked at the other guard. "Brock. Stay here."

"Of course."

Morty looked at Falkner and said, "I will erase all your doubts about me."

"I've heard that one before."

"Oh, so you have several people coming through ready to serve?" Morty answered as he followed Falkner through the gates. He noticed there was a young lad in charge of opening and closing the gates. The boy was lean and pale, and looked on the verge of collapsing. Probably a slave. Why would such a menial task be given to a soldier?

"Normally peasants who aspire to be something greater, but of course, they don't get accepted because they can't afford to be trained properly. It's a role normally reserved for the rich because it guarantees them security for their families even after their deaths," Falkner explained, as he guided Morty through the busy streets of the city. Although Ecruteak was a kingdom itself, it was much smaller in both size and population than Blackthorn.

"That make sense I suppose."

Falkner continued. "Soldiers who wish to commit further become part of the King's Guard. They don't have to sleep in the barracks, but within the castle. Of course, there are sacrifices. Chuck is the general commander of the soldiers and he is also the recruiting officer, but it's Lance who oversees military matters."

"Lance. I've heard the name. The King's grandson."

Falkner nodded. "We're not high enough in the ranks to be part of the King's Guard, but Lance does come by the barracks every so often to check on the recruits and ensure we are up to standard. Sometimes, he'll assign us specific missions when the King's Guard are on other duties. There is a royal wedding to be hosted within our kingdom in the next week or so, and they will be busy with the parade and security. That means us soldiers being left to carry out important scouting missions."

"And what sort of missions are we talking about?" From the stories he had heard, the soldiers had an interest in hunting down wild mages and wolves. They didn't seem to have any knowledge of his people. The less they knew, the better it was as they would have more time to prepare the necessary arrangements.

"We keep an eye out for trouble and if we find trouble, we do our best to learn all we can about it. Sometimes we'll be sent to the forest to look for signs of mages and the wolves. They're a big concern here." Falkner continued to lead the way through the winding streets towards the barracks. They passed by several small groups of soldiers on patrol. "If we find something suspicious, we bring it back for the scholars to study it. Protecting the kingdom is our top priority. Protecting her allies is also important and that is why the king will sometimes send us to our allies to protect their borders."

"Trade routes do have to be protected," Morty remarked. His people didn't bother with trade – they saw no need for it when they could just take it for themselves, but he knew the larger kingdoms relied heavily on trade. Without the smaller villages, Blackthorn would no longer be able to receive goods such as fish within the kingdom. But it wasn't just valuable goods the villagers offered – they offered an extra pair of eyes serving as outposts. If the allies fell Blackthorn would have less vision making it easier for enemies to invade.

"Indeed. We can't afford to lower our guards. We've lived in a period of peace for many years now, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't be careful. You'll be taken directly to the barracks, and if Chuck agrees, you'll have to take the trials immediately. We don't have time to waste," Falkner explained.

"Right to business then. These trials. What can you tell me about them?"

"We need to ensure every recruit can do the basics. You'll have to do three tasks. If you pass, you'll be taken to the king and inducted into the king's service." Falkner drew out his long blade temporarily drawing attention to the king's seal on the blade's hilt. It was a symbol of a dragon's head. "Every soldier is given one of these blades, but only Lance wields Dragonite's Bane."

"Dragonite's Bane, huh?"

"An old sword forged with dragon's fire many centuries ago in a time when dragon's ruled."

Morty nodded. So, Lance had a fancy sword. It didn't matter. "Right. That's of little concern to me. I'm more interested in these trials. As I told you earlier, I am confident I will pass them."

Falkner scoffed. "That's what all the potential recruits say."

"And what is the quality of these recruits?"

"Usually commoners hoping to become something greater.

"I assure you, I'm far more capable than any commoner."

Falkner put his sword away and looked at Morty. "I will reserve judgement until I see you pass with my own eyes. If you do end up passing, you'll be assigned to me. I watch over the new recruits for the first six months."

"Well, I guess we ought to get to know each other a little bit better then since you'll be seeing a lot more of me in the near future," Morty replied with a grin.

Falkner ignored him. "Let's continue moving then. The sooner I'm rid of you, the better."

The man didn't speak again, and Morty just rolled his eyes. Don't get distracted, Naoko had said. Do not attempt to make friends or make yourself too comfortable, he told himself. Only do what was necessary to get what he needed. There was no point in growing attached to a city that would be razed to the ground.

The barracks was walled off from the rest of the city. Morty supposed it was to separate the soldiers from the peasants though he didn't understand why. The building itself was made of stone, much like the material of the castle and its fortifications itself. He could hear the clash of steel in the courtyard to the back of the building and the grunts of soldiers in training. He never understood the training regimes of the soldiers of the city. From the stories he had heard, their regimes were heavily structured. For the people of his cult, training took place in the real world outside the safety of the walls.

"I suppose this is all very new to you," Falkner said.

Morty nodded. "Yes. My people just give us a training session that covers the basics then they leave you in the middle of nowhere in dangerous territory. The fun part is finding your way back out with the scalps of your enemies to prove your success. They always leave us in the same place – a dark cavern beneath the mountains where many dangers lurk. Many people die, but that just proves they were too weak."

"Barbarians then."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"We call them uncivilized people," Falkner replied, screwing his face up in disgust as if repulsed by the very sight of Morty. "A lack of culture. No structure. From what I've heard you people from the south even breed with your own blood."

"You are terribly ill-informed," Morty replied with an amused grin. "We don't even get along with our own families – why would we want to breed with them? The job of the parent is to raise the child until puberty, and then the elders would take ownership of the child. They would teach us how to write and read, combat and survival skills." And magic practice, but he kept that part to himself.

"That's what sets us folk apart from you barbarians. We care for our people – we look out for each other. Parents play an important role in their child's life for the entirety of it. That's why our people hold a dominant position in this region because we have strong bonds maintained throughout life."

With a shrug of his shoulders, Morty said, "We might not live in a fancy castle, but I can assure you, my people don't need to hide behind walls to be effective. There's a much bigger world outside these walls and many threats."

Falkner's words meant little to him. Clearly, the man had never ventured far outside Blackthorn Castle otherwise he'd have an entirely different perspective. When enough dead had been sacrificed, the Phoenix would be reborn, and all nonbelievers would be burned to ash. Not even Blackthorn's walls would protect them. Still, it would be amusing to watch these people try.

"Well. Here we are," Falkner said, coming to a halt. He tilted his head forward, drawing Morty's attention to a winding path leading up a gentle slope.

There were red banners lined up on both sides of the path with a symbol of a golden dragon's head stitched onto the cloth. At the end of the path was the barracks itself – it was a tower made of stone where the foot soldiers lived overlooking the city streets. This tower was five levels in height and was probably home to least fifty to hundred soldiers. He suspected the knighthood lived in the castle keep separating them from the commoners. Although he couldn't see the courtyard from this side of the tower, he knew there'd be one behind it for the soldier's training grounds.

"Let the fun and games begin."

Falkner ignored him. "We will speak to Chuck. Follow me."

Without saying another word, Morty followed Falkner up the winding path. This would be life for the next couple of months. He would learn what he could; see the weaknesses of the city; learn all he could about the royal family; obtain the knowledge to retrieve all the relics then he would leave and bring his observations to his people. The proud city would fall, and it would be because of his efforts.

Although the path to the Lake of Rage was a short one, it was no easy walk. The lake could only be reached by a winding uphill path through the thick forest. A thick canopy blocked out most of the sunlight, and wind blowing down from the snowy mountains only made it a cold unwelcoming walk. It was like being forever trapped in winter.

It wasn't long before Lance felt the familiar burn in his legs as he began the ascent up the hill. He wasn't unfamiliar to steep pathways, but it was much easier traversing the slopes with a horse. The air was also thicker here because of the higher altitude, and his vision was lessened because of thick fog rolling through the woods. Fortunately, years of combat and survival training made the walk bearable.

His hand rested on his sword as he moved through the woods, keeping his eyes peeled for any signs of danger. He had heard rumours of snowy dog-like beasts living on the lower slopes of the mountains known as absols. Bards often told tales of absols being able to sense impending doom. To see one with your own eyes was a sign of bad things to come. Lance had yet to see one, and he hoped never to lay eyes upon a creature.

"Stop."

Turning his head towards the source of noise, Lance was surprised to find a young woman with long blonde hair standing behind a couple of bushes, her dark eyes watching him. Her clothes made of simple cloths of leather hide, were torn. Upon closer look, he noticed there was a mixture of blood and dirt on her body. He looked for a weapon but saw nothing.

"Can I help you?" Lance said.

She slowly walked around the bush, her eyes never leaving his face. The girl didn't even seem to blink. "You bear a great burden on your shoulders."

Was this woman part of the town? Perhaps she had been forced to leave after committing too many crimes. Many of the towns and villages punished those found guilty of crime by sending them into the woods to die. "Indeed," Lance remarked then gestured towards the lake. "I'm here to deal with an issue at the lake. You wouldn't happen to know of the wolf that has moved here, would you?"

"You fear the wolf?"

He approached her. "The local villagers can't visit the lake to fish. Without fish they can't trade for other goods and that means the people here will die of starvation. Fishing is what keeps the people here alive for another day and this wolf is dangerous. If you have anything that could help me then please let me know, otherwise I will continue on."

She remained silent.

Figuring she wasn't going to speak further and that he was wasting precious time, Lance walked past her. He only managed to take a few steps when the woman stepped out in front of him. He came to an abrupt halt. "Please step aside. We can talk when I return."

"We won't be meeting again. But you should know this," she said, beginning to walk in a circle around him. She stepped closer within arm's reach then grabbed his left arm, her grip surprisingly firm. Lowering her voice to almost a whisper, she said, "I'm so glad you and I finally have a chance to meet." She released her grip.

He stepped back, hesitant. Was she a mage? It would explain her ragged appearance and the dirt and blood on her clothes. She seemed to be in an otherwise healthy condition; no signs of a sickness on her skin nor did she look underfed. If she was indeed a mage then it would be in his grandfather's best interest to have her brought back to the kingdom and executed before the public, but she seemed so young. "What is your name and why are you here hiding in the forest?" Perhaps if he asked more questions, he could learn enough about her to make a judgement.

"My name is Yellow. My parents called me that after my hair." She raised both her hands and turned around in a circle before stopping to face him again. Lowering her hands, she added, "And this is my home. I was once like you. I had a family. I had a home. But then the soldiers came, and they took everything from me. My parents were slaughtered like animals and then they turned their attention on me. I was beaten. I was raped again and again. All because I was different," she said, her words laced with controlled anger that hadn't been present earlier.

"I'm sorry."

Her gaze hardened. "Are you really? Because these people came from your kingdom. They bore the king's symbol on their capes." She stepped in closer once more and grabbed both his arms. Continuing to maintain her gaze with his own, she tightened her grip and uttered a few words in a language he didn't understand. At first, he felt nothing then a burning sensation in his fingertips. "You hate us because we're different. You track our people down like we're wild animals for sport, yet we do not bring harm to you."

He tried to pull his arms free to fight back, but he couldn't move. He was under the influence of her magic. Was she trying to set him on fire from the inside? Could a mage even do that? He didn't know. It only showed just how little he understood the mages and their magic. But even though he was unable to defend himself, he wasn't going to show her any form of weakness.

Tightening his jaw, he said, "You're proving exactly why your kind needs to be stopped." The burning sensation stopped. That took him by surprise. Perhaps her magic wasn't strong enough, but the look of surprise on her face suggested that wasn't the case.

Her eyebrows arched. She looked down at her hands then up at him again. "…What are you doing?"

"I'm not doing anything."

She pulled back her hands and took a step back. "…You made it stop."

"Your spell? Perhaps you are not as powerful as you think you are."

She shook her head, her eyes growing wide. Fearful. "No. No that's not right. This always works. You should've burned from the inside out and become engulfed in flames, but here you still stand, unharmed." She further distanced herself from him, retreating into the woods. "…You regenerate faster than a normal human. My magic can't make an impact on you and it should…. Tell me this. Have you ever felt sick before? Unexplained symptoms that can't be cured by normal means?"

His grandfather always told him not to engage in conversation with a mage, but his curiosity to know more made him want to stay. Her magic wasn't working on him and without her magic, what else did she have that could cause him harm? "And what would you say if I said yes to that question?"

"Then I'd say you're something more than just a human. You've been cursed with powerful magic unlike anything I've ever seen before, but I've heard about it. Curses were placed upon people to cripple and weaken them; designed not to kill, but to make a victim suffer because there is no suffering in death." Her hands dropped to her sides. "Whoever placed this curse on you was afraid of you."

He threw his arms out to the side. "What is that supposed to mean?" He hadn't ever crossed paths with a mage before and wolves couldn't perform magic. It wasn't as if there was anyone within the kingdom that could perform such magic either so how could he have been cursed? "You're not making any sense. Who could possibly be afraid of me?"

"Some of the biggest threats are the ones that come from beyond the grave."

"You speak of the necromancers."

She seemed surprised. "Yes. They exist."

His suspicions were correct. Necromancy was a threat, but even so, the words of this woman would not convince his grandfather. He would need hard evidence; not the words of a mage, but how was he supposed to find it if he wasn't sure what to look for? Strange symbols could only go so far. He needed living proof. "Is that why you are here in the forest? Are you hiding from them?"

"Yes."

"But why… how could they place a curse on me? The kingdom has been free of magic in over a decade. If they saw me as such a threat, why haven't they sent anyone after me yet?" They had power the dead. Surely, they could do more to him than simply give him a headache and muscle aches for a few days every month.

"My guess is they want you alive."

"For what?"

"Maybe you are part of a bigger plan."

He gave a sardonic laugh. "Right."

She tilted her head to one side. "Magic gave your grandfather the right to rule the kingdom; in return, he sent all the mages away and ordered them to be hunted down, the wolves of whom he harbours a strong dislike towards. I know you want to kill me or at least take me back to your kingdom to face judgement, but does that not make you the villain in this story?" She came towards him again, seeming to have regained confidence after the surprise of her failure with magic.

Instinctively, he dropped a hand to his sword and withdrew it from its sheath. Pointing the tip of the blade at her, he said, "I am no villain. I am loyal to the crown and will do as asked. I should take you back, but I can't afford to waste further time. I am truly sorry, but I can't allow you to continue roaming these lands unguarded." She wasn't a child. Probably a teenager, and even though he swore an oath to himself not to kill children and juveniles, she was a mage and that alone was worthy of death.

Her jaw tightened and her posture stiffened. "You're going to kill me."

"Your magic can't harm me, but it can harm others. You made a threat against me earlier and I can't allow you to try the same trick to other people. Consider this penance for your sins."

"No! Wait! I can help-"

Before she could even finish her sentence, he thrust his sword into her stomach with enough force that it went right through to the other side.

She gasped, blood spilling out of her mouth, as her hands fell to the blade, as if she still had a chance to live by removing it. Her strength rapidly drained and her knees buckled before giving way. She fell against him, but he immediately withdrew his sword and pushed her back. She continued to gasp and claw at the ground, blood quickly surrounding her.

"I wish it did not have to come to this, but you are a danger to us all."

At long last Yellow took her final breath, her eyes closing for the final time.

Chuck was a large man in both height and width. He was the tallest man in the room and a good foot taller than everyone else - at least a little over six foot. Not only was he tall, but he had a solid imposing frame. Not someone he wanted to get on the wrong side with. At least not in a physical confrontation.

"So, you're hoping to become part of the military. What's your name and where are you from?" Chuck demanded, his arms folded across his chest, a stern look on his dark features.

"My name is Morty and I'm from Ecruteak."

"Ah, Ecruteak City. It's been several years since I last visited the city. The place was burned down during the war, wasn't it?"

Morty nodded. "Yes, and we have rebuilt it all except for the towers."

The man gave an approving grunt. "And you have come here seeking to join our army. What skills do you bring?"

"I'm a mercenary, trained in combat the moment I could walk and talk. I don't mean to brag, but I would be lying if I said I wasn't able to hold my own in a fight. I'm a dual blades wielder, and I am competent with a bow. I can read and write well and decipher the old language of the first people of this world." And I can cast spells that can bring an armoured man to his knees gasping for breath without even having to lay a finger, he thought.

Chuck didn't seem convinced. The man tilted his head up, down and up again, analysing him from head to toe. It was almost as if he was searching for some physical deformity to prove his doubt. "Very well. We aren't currently recruiting any soldiers this month, but since you are here… It would be rude to turn you away so soon considering the travel you must have taken to reach this place."

Falkner looked to speak, but kept his mouth closed. The man was probably trying to find a reason why Morty shouldn't be allowed to undertake the trials.

Morty wasn't even sure why the man seemed to dislike him so much. Perhaps he felt threatened by him. "What sort of trials must I face?"

"There are three trials: The Blackthorn Brawl, The Archery Competition and the Knaves Challenge. The Blackthorn Brawl will require you to show us your combat skills with a wooden club. You will face our swordplay instructor, Wallace. The Archery Competition will require you to shoot down more than five glass bottles with only ten arrows. If your fingers slip, or your aim is off, your chances of passing will be severely lessened. Finally, the Knaves Challenge. You will be given a rhyme written by our local surgeon, Samuel Oak." He pulled out a small piece of parchment and held it out for Morty to take.

Morty accepted the paper and unfurled it. The rhyme read: I've hidden three feathers, scattered them wide, placed white in a box, and locked it inside. Blue followed termite-tracks, down where they ran, green in the pocket of same-coloured man. Simple enough, he concluded. He had to find three feathers. "So, I have to disarm a hazardous trap, pickpocket some poor citizen and unlock a chest."

A simple task to achieve with the aid of magic though he had to ensure he didn't get caught practicing. All it would take was a single command and hopefully Chuck wasn't watching too closely. Although he was trained in basic thievery skills, it would quicken the process using weak magic.

Chuck nodded. "That is correct."

He seemed impressed. Clearly, not many people passed the trials judging by the look on his face. That meant many people within the kingdom lacked formal education in reading and writing. He had a clear advantage.

Morty was eager to begin. "No sense in standing about, then. Where do we start?"

"Follow me." Chuck turned his back to him and headed towards the entrance of the barracks.

Falkner allowed Morty to enter first as if he thought he would turn around and leave. The man clearly thought the worst of him, and he wasn't sure what had given him the impression he was not to be trusted. Perhaps it was a city-folk thing to distrust outsiders.

Morty walked through the door. The barracks wasn't anything spectacular. It reminded him of the abandoned dungeons in his birthplace beneath the Burned Tower. The only source of light came through the circular windows which were no bigger than a human head. Strange. As he followed Chuck through the dimly lit corridor, he heard voices from one of the rooms. Two females. Probably servants cleaning.

"And the darkness? You're sure it's spreading?"

"Haven't you felt it? The sense that something bad is going to happen to us?"

"What do you mean, Sabrina?"

"I get these dreams at night, Roxanne. I see bloodied corpses stretching out across the land as far as the eyes can see. I see ravens feasting on the flesh of the dead and the dying. I venture closer to the bodies and as I walk past them, I see strange markings on their foreheads. A symbol. A five-pointed star. I reach out to touch them and I feel… a cold chill race through my body and then the eyes open and I awaken from my nightmare in a cold sweat."

Morty froze. Visions? Ordinary mages did not specialize in the art of divination and nor did his people. Oracles were rare; in fact, he had often been told the oracles had all died and so had their magic, but it seems that wasn't the case. If this Sabrina woman really was an oracle, then it was likely she had received visions of the Phoenix. Perhaps she was simply a paranoid fearful woman and her visions reflected her deepest fears. It seemed she was a slave – no woman served in the military in the cities – and if she spoke no one would believe the words of a madwoman. Still, he knew he had to be cautious.

"What? Been a long time since you heard a woman speak?" Falkner said, giving Morty a hard shove. "Or are you getting cold feet now?"

He really seemed desperate for him to fail. Holding back a chuckle, he said, "You seem awfully concerned about me. I should be flattered that you care so much."

He was greeted with another hard shove and almost stumbled into Chuck, but he regained his composure. That would've been embarrassing.

Showing no signs of annoyance, Chuck said, "The servant girls are often exchanging gossip. We have them clean the barracks when the boys are busy with drills because we don't want our men hearing untrue stories. What you heard is not true. Oracles seek to know the future, but no future is set in stone. We are in control of our own destinies."

"Fair point," Morty remarked, as he followed Chuck towards the training grounds out the back.

The arena itself was marked by a sand pit and it was large enough for at least twenty horses to be standing in rows of four. Chuck walked over to the weapons stand and picked up the wooden club then handed it over to Morty. The man he was supposed to be fighting was already at the arena. What was his name again? Wallace? He was tall skinny man with long light-coloured blue hair. A result of hair dye gone wrong Morty assumed. The man was wearing the same chainmail the common soldiers wore.

"Ah, a new challenger steps into the arena," the man crowed, sauntering over.

"Indeed," Chuck said. "This one is quite confident." He handed a club to Morty.

Wallace looked him up and down. "Then allow me to test your worth. We get a lot of you folk coming through eager to improve their lives, but you have to get through me first."

"I promise I won't disappoint," Morty replied, stepping into the pit.

Morty started the fight, swinging the club at Wallace, testing the man's movements. The hard wood successfully hit the side of Wallace's jaw causing him to stumble backwards, but Wallace recovered, and he swung back with brute force. Morty took a step back, narrowly avoiding the side of the club. So the man had power, but all that heavy armour just makes you less agile, he thought.

Wallace swung the club again. This time, Morty parried the blow and brought his right foot forward, catching Wallace in the knee. Although his foot did connect with metal, he did cause him to stumble back a little. Was this the best Blackthorn had to offer? He waited for Wallace to recover to give the man a false sense of security.

Wallace circled him then lunged forward, swinging his club. Again, Morty evaded the blow then kept his distance waiting for Wallace to attack once more. He was waiting for the right moment. The perfect counter. When the man lunged, Morty parried the blow and kicked him again with his other foot earning a grunt from his opponent. Morty ducked as Wallace swung, then swung his bat at the instructor's leg, catching him to the side of his right knee.

"Fighting dirty, eh?"

"Have to do whatever it takes to win. There's no honour in the field of battle," Morty replied.

Wallace spat at the sand then charged once more. "A true mercenary you are."

"And one that could be of great benefit to your people."

Wallace charged. Morty stepped to the side then spun around and swung his club, the club connecting with the man's back. Although the armour absorbed most of the blow, Wallace still stumbled. Now that the man was vulnerable, Morty rammed into him from behind and tackled him to the ground. The man's club fell out of his hand. Leaning down, he whispered into the instructor's ear, "I think I win our little fight." He stood up.

Wallace climbed to his feet. He refused to meet Chuck's gaze. Perhaps he was ashamed.

Morty looked to the spectators. Falkner had his arms crossed with a displeased look, but Chuck seemed impressed… Or at least he didn't look angry or dissatisfied.

He walked over to Morty and reached out his hand in a gesture of respect. "Impressive. Your people have trained you well enough."

Morty accepted the handshake. "We were put through a rigorous schedule in my hometown."

"And it shows, but now we will test your skills in archery. Please, follow me." Chuck walked around the arena and turned a corner.

They were now on the northern side of the barracks. Morty saw several goblets lined up on multiple wooden benches of different heights up against the northern wall. There was also a weapons rack nearby. He could see a short bow.

"You will need to grab the short bow on the rack and load it with the bolted arrows. You will then have to shoot down five different goblets and you will have only six arrows available meaning you can only miss once."

"No moving targets?"

"We used to have men carrying combat dummies, but many of the recruits failed to hit the target and instead hit the men. As you can imagine that did not end well and many injuries were had. When they join the ranks, they will practice firing at moving targets," Chuck explained.

Morty nodded. Seemed fair. Perhaps a little easy, but if a man could not fire at a still target then what hope did he have in hitting a moving one? He walked over to the archery rack and picked up the bow. The people in his cult were trained to use various sorts of weapons to adapt to the situation at hand. In most cases, his people tried to limit their magic use in the heat of a battle – casting spells was far more strenuous than it appeared. It also took time to cast the correct the spell and, in many cases, the enemy would not allow you the time. It was best to learn to not rely on magic unless necessary. He loaded the bow with the first arrow and aimed at the first goblet on the lowest bench. He fired. His arrow struck its target.

"Beginner's luck…" Falkner murmured.

Morty aimed at the next goblet on a higher level. He fired again and missed. It was intentional of course; he didn't want to make it look too easy. He loaded the crossbow again and fired once more. The arrow contacted the goblet, knocking it over onto the ground below. He repeated the steps several more times until his arrows had all been used. All goblets were on the ground. He put the bow back.

"And that is another challenge down. Only one more to go and I'm officially part of the army."

Chuck nodded. "Yes. Do you remember the rhyme?"

"Of course." I've hidden three feathers, scattered them wide, placed white in a box, and locked it inside. Blue followed termite-tracks, down where they ran, green in the pocket of same-coloured man, he repeated in his mind. Disarm a trap, pickpocket and unlock a chest.

"Very well. Falkner will follow you and ensure you have completed the task. We will wait here for your return. You have less than an hour."

Morty didn't waste any time. He followed Falkner to the eastern side of the barracks. All the resources for passing were present. Morty turned his attention to the chest first.

"You'll find three lock picks beside the chest for you to use. Once you have used them all up that's it. You won't get any more so be careful." The man stayed near the eastern wall of the barracks, pressing his back against the cool surface.

Morty walked over to the chest and dropped down to his knees. He picked up the lock picks and inserted the first one into the hole. "I have to make this look convincing…" he said, as he snapped the lock pick in half. Glancing over his shoulder, he gave Falkner a casual shrug of his shoulders then turned back to the chest. This time, he carefully rotated the picks until the lock popped open. He pulled back the lid and grabbed the blue feather inside.

Climbing to his feet, he shifted his gaze to the next chest. This one was covered in vines. "How to remove you…" he murmured. It wasn't as if he had access to any weapons to cut them safely. He couldn't use magic either because that would be too obvious - he had used other means. But what else could he do? Falkner wasn't going to allow him to leave. There had to be something within the training grounds. He looked around searching for something that could be of use. There. Two wooden sticks no longer than a dagger just lying a few feet away. Fire. Fire would burn the vines away allowing him to easily break them to reach the chest.

Grabbing the two sticks, he started rubbing them together until he felt the sticks burn hot. It wasn't long before flame appeared. He quickly pressed the burning stick against the vines before the flames consumed the wood. The vines caught alight and within seconds burned. He waited a few minutes for the vines to cool down before pulling the vines away. Now he was able to open the chest. Pulling back the lid, he reached down and grabbed the white feather. Only one feather remained.

He looked around for a man wearing green and spotted him at the opposite end of the courtyard, his back turned to him. It seemed a bit odd – wouldn't the man suspect someone was going to attempt to take a feather from him? Morty bent his knees slightly and slowly walked across the grass towards him, keeping his eyes trained on the man's head in case he turned around. The man was talking to himself. Perhaps he had taken one too many drinks before coming here. He neared closer until he was within arm's reach of the pocket. Never taking his eyes off the man, Morty reached into the pocket and carefully drew his hand back with the final feather in hand.

"Too easy," he murmured, walking away from the strange man. Holding up the three feathers, he grinned at Falkner. "Looks like I'm done here. Are you impressed?"

Falkner folded his arms. "You got lucky."

"One of these days you'll be thanking me." Perhaps I might even spare your life, he thought. He didn't wait for Falkner to respond and instead made his way back towards Chuck, presenting the feathers to the man. "I'm done. I have the three feathers as you can see."

Chuck took the feathers. "Congratulations. How did you find the tests?"

"You want the truth? They weren't exactly challenging," Morty answered.

Chuck chuckled. "Indeed. They are not. We simply look for our potential recruits to pass the basics. If they can't do that then they will not last a single day within the barracks. It's usually the peasants that sign up and many peasants are not trained in combat. These tests are simple, yet effective in filtering out those with potential." He handed the feathers to Wallace who placed them in a small pouch made of rabbit hide.

"So, what happens next?"

Chuck looked at Falkner. "Falkner will be your mentor. He will tell you the rules of service and he will accompany you on quests. No soldier travels beyond the walls alone." Falkner opened his mouth to protest, but Chuck silenced him with a raised hand. "My word is final. Morty has shown a lot of potential. It has been many months since we've found someone suitable. You will receive instructions on your first task tomorrow morning."

"Already?" Falkner blurted.

"The other soldiers are busy. Besides, I have enough confidence in Morty to know he will survive this mission. Perhaps he can teach you a thing or two about surviving in the wilderness, Falkner."

Falkner grumbled. "I think it will be the other way around."

"I'll leave you two alone. One of the girls will bring you the mission details in the morning." Chuck said his farewells and left the area.

Falkner faced Morty. "I'll take you to our room, so you can make yourself comfortable."

"Are you going to give me a tour?"

"There isn't much to show." He started to walk away.

Morty kept his mouth shut figuring there was nothing much else to say and followed Falkner inside the barracks. This would be his life for the next couple of months until he succeeded in his task. Best to make the most of it whilst sticking to the kingdom rules.

Lance pushed the incident with Yellow aside. He couldn't dwell on the past. He had to keep moving forward and investigate the issue at the Lake of Rage as promised. It was his duty. The girl's death was unavoidable. She had attacked him first and he had to defend himself.

He glanced down at his arms remembering where she had touched him. He was supposed to be consumed by fire, yet the magic had done nothing. Why? That was the part that troubled him. Why had her magic done nothing? What made him different from other people? It wasn't as if her magic was weak – he could see the fear and surprise it in her eyes when her magic did little. Perhaps it was the medicine Samuel had given him. Had that made him immune somehow?

He continued walking along the dirt path. Years of people using this same route with their horse-led carts had caused the grass not to grow properly. With grass not an issue, he was able to spot paw prints on the dirt. Dropping to his knees, he examined the prints. Wolf prints. Rising to his feet again, he continued moving forward.

Soon, he reached the lake. He wasn't sure why it was called the Lake of Rage; some people said it was because it was frustrating trying to catch a decent sized fish. Other people said it was because of the chaos that happened during the Times of Trouble. He was above the fog now and was able to see his surroundings. There were pine trees around the edges of the lake and a few rocks as well that had tumbled down from the mountains. The lake itself was bigger than the town and its waters were as clear and blue as a cloudless sky.

"Well, I should be flattered to receive a visit from the royal prince."

Lance spun around and drew out his blade. A man with sky blue hair and tan skin emerged from the bushes. He was dressed in torn leather clothing and Lance noted there were several bloody stains on the cloth. Evidence of blood being spilled. The man was unarmed, but he didn't seem concerned. He came towards Lance without fear, his blue eyes fixed on him.

"Keep your distance, wolf," Lance remarked, pointing the tip of his blade in the man's direction.

The man threw his arms up in the air. "Ah, you know what I am? Of course, you do. You've been busy chasing down my people. I'm afraid you won't find me so easy to deal with… But lucky for you I'm not here to fight you." Lowering his arms, he pointed to himself and said, "Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Brawley, an alpha wolf of the local pack here."

Lance frowned. A friendly wolf? The last one he had crossed paths with had attacked without hesitation. He assumed they were all violent thoughtless beasts. "I would've thought you'd have attacked me by now. "

"We're not violent, Lance. Don't look surprised. I know you. The Wolf-Slayer… You killed one wolf, yet people are quick to praise a man for one minor achievement."

Lance kept his blade pointed at the man. "Why are you here?"

Brawley paced back and forth. "Because it's the only way I'd get to see you up close and personal. If I sent you a letter, you'd no doubt be suspicious and come with a small force. I should kill you for taking one of my wolves. But killing you would sentence my pack to a cruel fate. Your title protects you."

"Nothing forbids me from killing you."

The man chuckled. "You could try, but you'll fail. The wolf you killed. Just a juvenile. Only survived his first full moon the previous day. I'm far more experienced, but you are welcome to try." He held his arms out and ushered Lance forward to tempt him.

"So, you wanted to see me. Why?"

Brawley closed the distance between them. "I need to see for myself."

"See what?" Lance kept his blade pointed at Brawley.

Unphased, Brawley took another step forward, and reached out for the blade. Lance swung, but the man grabbed the weapon, and tightened his grasp around the silver until the sharp edges pierced his flesh. Blood seeped through his fingers. He pulled his arm back then opened his palm, revealing a deep cut. Within moments, the cut repaired itself.

Lance lowered the blade. "…What are you…"

Brawley grabbed Lance's arm and slapped the sword out of his hand. Lance tried to make a lunge for it, but Brawley pulled him back, fingers digging into his arm. Pain shot up through his arm. The man could easily tear his arm off, but he wasn't interested. Instead, he brought his face close to Lance's arm and… sniffed. "…So, it's true then…" He loosened his grip.

Lance pulled his arm back then picked up his sword once more. "What is true?"

"Do you know how we came to be? The pack founder fell in love with a woman, then betrayed her. She cursed him and the men in his tribe under the light of a full moon. Every full moon they'd turn into the mightyena that prowl the forest, and it would be painful to reflect the suffering she felt." Brawley circled Lance, an amused grin on his face. "Fathers inflicted with the curse pass it onto their sons."

"I've heard the stories, and I don't see the point."

"You've seen it, haven't you? The five-pointed star."

"Necromancy."

The wolf nodded. "Yes. The necromancers exist."

"Why should I believe a wolf?"

"Magic flows through our veins. I know magic when I see it. I can smell it. Sense it." The man tilted his head towards him. "And I can sense it on you."

Lance raised an eyebrow then gave a sardonic laugh. "I'm not a mage."

"No, you're not. But there is magic on you. A curse. Dark magic."

"You're lying," Lance replied. "My grandfather would never allow magic to be used near me… Nor would he allow magic to be used within the kingdom's walls. He'd rather die than allow that to happen." Although he tried to keep his voice steady, he couldn't conceal the edge in his tone. Edward didn't like talking about the past. He didn't like talking about magic either. "And you're changing the topic. Why have you come to this town? These people need this lake to fish. Your presence frightens them."

"I do not harm the local villagers. They are free to fish if they please, but they are under the impression that all wolves are violent murderous beings… I wonder why that could be? Your grandfather has spread vicious lies about our kind."

Lance shook his head. "No. You wolves are a threat to our people… You're unnatural."

Brawley threw his head back and laughed. "Unnatural? That's a new one. But now you're the one changing the topic. Why do you seek to eliminate the wolves? We have done no harm to you or your people. Is it right to kill the innocent for the crime of existing? Do you think there is any honour to be found in killing us?

"Innocent?" Lance repeated, eyebrows raised. "If I was anyone else you would've killed me."

The man chuckled. "And yet the villagers of the neighbouring town live. Not a single death. You're wrong about me. But I suppose your grandfather has told you many lies about our kind, yet he is not a wolf."

"Is this why you wanted me here? To smell my arm and defend your kind?"

With a shake of his head, Brawley added, "You may not believe me, but I do mean you no harm, Lance. If I wanted you harmed, I would've done so already. Something is amiss – the necromancers are back, and someone has placed a curse on you. The people you trust the most are often the ones most dangerous."

Lance frowned, puzzled. That was clearly about his grandfather. "The king is a good man."

"A man who stands idly by whilst the innocent die."

His jaw tightened. Edward was a man of honour. Through clenched teeth, Lance said, "He is protecting the kingdom from danger. He knows sacrifices have to be made in order to keep the people safe by whatever means necessary."

"Is that what you believe?" Brawley scoffed. "You're a typical soldier, aren't you? You're obedient. You don't question the orders; you follow them with a false belief you are doing the right thing even if you don't understand why."

Confused, he fell silent, reflecting on Brawley's words. What did he mean by his people weren't the enemy? That didn't make sense unless he was implying the people of Blackthorn were the villains here and they were just the innocent victims in this war. But that couldn't be right. His grandfather wouldn't order him to attack the innocent if he didn't have a justifiable reason why.

Brawley was just trying to manipulate him. That's all it was. He wanted to plant seeds of doubt in his mind. To lower his guard and make him vulnerable. To appear weak. A weak prince was of no use to anyone. "My grandfather would not hurt me. I can trust him. But I can't trust you."

The man sighed. "I can see I am wasting words on you, but if you ever want to talk to me again, just come to the forest and I'll find you."

"What makes you think I'd seek you out again?"

The wolf feigned disappointment. "Because I can help with the necromancers. We are creatures of magic and we are resistant to it as well."

Lance's thoughts shifted to Yellow. He had been resistant to her magic too, but he assumed that had just been a side effect of the potions Samuel had been giving him that had somehow protected him from magic. "For all I know you could be in league with him, but I will let you walk. If I receive any reports of dead villagers, I will be back with an army."

The man nodded. "We don't break oaths, Lance. We are not a dishonourable race. You have my word your people will not be attacked."

Lance put his sword away and retreated to the cave entrance. Any other man in his position would've attacked the wolf – his grandfather certainly would've asked for the creature's head – it was the right course of action to take. But the wolf knew about the necromancer threat, and he knew there was something unusual about him. Yellow had noticed as well. A curse placed upon him of some nature. If he wanted to learn more, Brawley had to live. For now.

He retreated from the cave and made his way back to the town.

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Reviews much appreciated, as always!