Ian had been right with his premonition. The bishop had made their lives much more difficult. It had had been nearly a week, since that first morning in the mass and the young Sidhe had been nothing if not busy. It seemed like the knight, who had been instructed to fetch them on that morning, Sir Marek, had been instructed to work them, mainly Ian to the bone.

  After assessing his prowess with a sword, which was good for someone, who was a total beginner, but nothing when it came to the orders expectations, he had him spar against Faolan. And the young knight, who had been squire to this perfectionistic knight, was one hell of a fighter. Even when he tried to hold himself back, what was not easy at all for the newly awakened Fey, who had a suddenly gained a new level of strength and athletics, as well as instincts who didn’t care for slowing down at all, he left his liege bruised and battered. Something Marek and Lorenz watched gleefully. But under duress Sidhe tend to grow.

  There was a reason young Sidhe were not cuddled. Their powers tended to not show themselves if not put under a considerable amount of stress. And even though Ian cursed the harsh training regime that left him no time to hash out a plan to escape he could feel his body grow stronger, his reflexes and mind sharper. The magical iron and silver shackles the bishop had gifted him on the first morning drove his magic to retaliate. Which would have been good if he didn’t know, that his magical leeway in regard to things such as lies, as well as his human-side’s resistance towards the same metal he was forced to wear, were shrinking. Ian could feel it. He was well on his becoming a full Sidhe just like his uncle had predicted.

  But he wasn’t the only one changing. In step to the maturing of his own magic the bond to Faolan grew and the young Fey changed. As if the quality changes towards high sidhe magic in Ian triggered an evolution from a simple shape shifting fey, who were somewhat low in the ranking of the Sidhe to something more. Just today Ian had been woken up by Faolan who had cursed out loud when he had looked in the mirror.

  It had still been dark outside so the only light in the room had been coming from the young knights glowing golden eyes. A perfect dark sight had come with the change. That was good as he matched Ian now in that trait, whose black eyes could see in the pitch like it was day. But Faolan had needed several tries to turn the eery glow, that frightened himself off.

  The fear didn’t help a whole lot in this endeavour, since the glow and all his instinctual powers were linked to strong emotions. ‘Everyday something new.’, Ian commented dryly when he discovered the second change to his new friend’s appearance. A streak of green hair had found its way into the knight’s sandy locks. They had braided his hair so that most of the colour was hidden. Faolan was on the edge about everything that happened to him. That was so far out his control.

  Ian could not comfort him. He was even more beside himself. Green hair. This colour hinted at something, Ian had been ruing ever since his friend’s first change. The young knight, who like himself liked humans was turning into one of the feared Cu Sidhe. Fey dogs who grew up to a bull’s size and could kill with their bark. And were utterly bound to their masters, just like Kelpies were. He would have more than a vassal in Faolan. The young Sidhe would have something akin to a loyal dog.

  Ian hated the idea of having that much power over a friend. But his royal Sidhe magic did its own bidding, caring little about what its vessel thought. The old magic acted on potential. It acted in the best interest of those it favoured most. Such as the royal lines. Those who produced the old magic, by being alive. Even if it had to act against said persons will. It wasn’t cruel for it knew no morals. He had seen the consequences of its acting. The bitterness when Ron felt the weight of its chains on him, chains that bound him to Sean. A man who was everything to him. A man who was bound so deep to the old magic it was illuminating his true form from the inside. Filling him completely, changing him to act like Sidhe did, like the old magic did. Completely unapologetic.

  That made Ian fear for them. For Faolan who would be bound in such a way and for himself who would one day stop fearing and loose the last vestiges of his humanity. Rather sooner than later.

  The knights didn’t know they were hurrying him in his evolution. They had done the whole process with several other special recruits in the history of the order.

  But none of them had been high sidhe. None of them had been awakened to their Sidhe powers.

  The clanging of weapons resounded through the training hall abord the Righteousness. Ian and Faolan were sparring and Ina was losing bitterly, again. Faolan manoeuvred the young Sidhe through the ring like he was leading him through a complex dance. The young prince knew that the older fey could have ended this spar several times already. He didn’t do that because he wanted to give his lord at least some face. Ian knew that, too and hated it. But if he couldn’t even land a single hit on his friend, there wasn’t much Faolan could do besides giving him the chance to improve by not cutting him down directly. The thirteen-year-old gritted his teeth. It was frustrating. He knew if he let loose, he would have a chance, but he wasn’t sure whether he could do that with his shackles on. They were burning his arms. It was a constant pain he hadn’t quite got used to.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  His mind drifted away from the fight, his eyes unfocused and that was all that was needed. While his friend did give him time to improve, he didn’t tolerate any loss of focus. His protectiveness wouldn’t let him slack in protecting Ian. And protection meant best-possible chances of self-defence. And a swift correction, when the boy in his care slacked.

  One fast step forward and a quick rotation of his sword against Ian’s, that was sent flying, alongside its owner, who suffered a quick kick against his now unprotected chest. Ian looked up at the furiously gleaming eyes of the fey knight, who now stood over him. Clearly pissed at his failure.

  ‘Stop gawking and get to it again. You won’t get any better with the sword from just laying around and doing nothing, princeling.’, Marek chided Ian who still lay on his back, Faolan’s sword tip against his chest. The tenth time that morning. Gritting his teeth more due to the words than to real pain, which had already been healed by his hyperactive old magic, he stood up and raised his dull sword. Even the practise weapons though dulled were made from the same precious alloy the real swords were. Three parts cold iron, two parts hallowed silver. It burned in his hands. Faolan had had real burns after his first awakening and wore now leather gloves, a luxury the order didn’t afford to squires. That meant Ian’s hands burned worse with every time his magic healed him. But it didn’t bother him now, not much at least.

  He faced Faolan again, getting in fighting stance watching every move of his sparing partner. Determination and something wilder finally awoken under the thinning veneer of his human form illuminated the black eyes of his with an eery glow, fangs unconsciously bared, Ian now looked anything but human. Faolan in turn grinned ‘Seems like you are finally starting to take this serious.’, he quipped, his own eyes beginning to glow ever so slightly.

  Then as if suddenly unchained Ian jumped and he fight unfurled. Nothing reminded of the rather tame sparring minutes ago.

  Now they traded blows at an unpreceded speed, sparks flying from were the dull blades met. Ian was still on the backfoot, but now one could see him improving by the second. The young sidhe lost, still, but this time he did care. A low growl escaped his throat, when he was driven back to the very border of the ring. Using all his strength he pushed back, but couldn’t quite match Faolan’s strength. His shackles now gleaming as if heated in a smithy all over again. Ian’s skin burned hissingly, but he didn’t let up. Pushing even more power in his limbs. Finally landing a hit on Faolan. The young knight laughed throatily ‘Finally. That’s what I call a spar. No need to hold back, young one.’ Then upping the speed again he easily overpowered Ian, who had to let go of his weapon lest he wanted to risk a broken wrist. This time the young didn’t let up and evaded his attack with a quick dodge reaching with his other hand for his lost weapon. Faolan tried to kick it away but wasn’t fast enough and Ian got up his sword still in his left hand. Before he could switch it over to his dominant hand again Faolan attacked swiftly. Ian parried with his left hand whilst trying to grapple the taller knight with his right hand, aiming to upset his balance. Faolan avoided his try easily, but smiled ‘Good try. Maybe we should give you two short swords instead of one long sword. You seem nimble enough to dual wield.’ Then he used Ian’s own grappling to unbalance the younger man making him stumble, so that he could shove him again. And for the eleventh time this day Ian found himself flat on his back.

  ‘Finally. Some improvement.’, Marek said watching Ian get up on his feet again. Then he added ‘I think Faolan’s idea has merit, don’t you think, Lorenz?’ The head knight furrowed his brows but nodded, ‘Dual wielding? That’s quite a hassle, but the boy is young and nimble enough. Maybe we should let him try it.’ And then with a grin ‘Two swords mean double maintenance and double the work to master. You are going to hate Faolan for suggesting it. But I think you are going to be a menace on to field with it.’ And with that their training regime was upped again. But against all odds two swords felt much more natural to Ian than one ever had. And over the next few days he finally developed his fighting style enough to make his sparing matches much closer calls, than before.

  After a week it finally happened, Ian could secure his first tentative win against Faolan, who smiled and congratulated him with a pad on his shoulder. Over the time their sparring matches had developed in such a clearly paranormal way, that many knights were now coming to watch them fight. Speed and strength, as well as their agility exceeded everything most of them had ever seen and the upper echelons approved the audience. They thought, if the knights saw what they would be up against when fighting Sidhe or demons, they could prepare better.

  But their fighting was not the only thing that changed. Faolan, now wore a scarf over his hair that was now nearly predominantly green. They had tried to shave it but after about ten minutes it had grown out again. At night he now oftentimes went to sleep in his human form, but woke up as something was clearly a Cu Sidhe.

  That made Ian worry, as well as their deadline, that was now only a few days away. He could feel the pull of his silent promise to his uncle, to not leave him hanging with his oath. But despite all their long nights of planning neither Faolan nor Ian had a solid plan. The fleet had left the harbour and sailed in the opposite direction from where Ian could feel his promises pull. It made him sick.

  Ian looked at the moon outside their quarters window.