Life had been hectic lately, and it wasn't likely to get any better. While Oliver wouldn't shy away from his duties, even he could admit that he needed some time away. With the excuse of polishing his sword—the steel one—he found a remote clearing and tried to make sense of the general situation.

  Crossing the Stepchild had ended up being easier than expected. Its churning waters had suddenly calmed, and the omnipresent feeling of being observed by something hostile had gone away as if the water elementals had suddenly fled, only to return a day later angrier than ever.

  Oliver didn't know the specifics of what had led to that, no matter how sure his friends were that he knew and wasn't telling. Still, he had listened to enough snippets of conversation between his mentor and high-ranking officers to realize something huge had gone down in the South. Huge enough to have repercussions here, too.

  Whatever Leonard and Amelia had planned worked out well, and the army was able to cross the river unimpeded.

  Indeed, everything went so smoothly that they completed the operation in just a few hours and avoided being spotted by the occasional patrols that ranged along the river by hiding deep in the Darkwood.

  Many within the army believed this would lead to an immediate assault on Pepperhof—the largest town and seat of Count Pollus's army, according to the latest reports—but they spent the past couple of days settling the orc warriors into their ranks and solving the last outstanding issues before the coming blitz.

  And a blitz it'll be. Sir Leonard made it clear that once we get going, we won't stop until we reach Hassel. Whether we break Pollus here or force him to retreat, we'll keep marching. If we give them too much time, the royal court will start interfering, and while I don't doubt we'd defeat anything they can throw at us, it'll be much, much harder.

  "There you are." A familiar, melodic voice interrupted him, though Oliver didn't sigh. Lady Amelia wouldn't bother him without a reason.

  He put his sword down and stood up, inclining his head in greeting, "My lady, how may I help you?"

  "Oh, look at you, all grown up. Reaching Expert at your age is no mean feat. I wanted to congratulate you on that and the coming knighthood." She replied, stepping fully into view.

  As always, she was a vision of comeliness, with just enough mystery and danger to never lose effect.

  "I'm not yet a knight. I told Sir Leonard I wouldn't feel it was right to receive it for what happened at the orc village." Though he hadn't been the main culprit, he had certainly helped make things worse, and while he was proud of his accomplishments, he wanted to earn a knighthood on the field, as was proper.

  "Yes, yes," she waved his objection off, "I know that. But now that you've reached the necessary power, and no one can gainsay you, it's only a matter of time."

  Oliver inclined his head in agreement but didn't reply. She wouldn't have come just to say that, and he was finding that the less he spoke, the more people just told him what they wanted. Or maybe it was because of his latest Blessing. He was still getting used to being treated as something special because of his merits.

  "I may have found exactly that opportunity for you," she finally said, purple eyes glinting dangerously, and Oliver knew he'd go along with her request.

  He was humble, but that didn't mean he wasn't ambitious.

  "I bet that the orcs were proper miffed at being told we'd take this mission," Hector mused with a grin, easily following Oliver as he jumped from one tree to the next.

  "They had plenty of fun picking off the scouts over the past couple of days. They have nothing to complain about," Esmeria, Oliver's second in command for this specific mission and his likely lieutenant-to-be should he be knighted and receive the rank of Captain, replied.

  She was a lithe ranger who had proven to be level-headed and talented enough to deserve the position. She had an unbroken winning streak on the training grounds against the others who made up Oliver's unofficial corp.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  "I still don't see how anyone would think this is fun. We are going against the Count's right-hand man! This is dangerous!" Lucy complained, almost tearing her hair out. Despite her misgivings, the mage followed obligingly, weightlessly stepping from one tree to the next thanks to her wind magic.

  "Then stay hidden and don't let them see you," Oliver said. He appreciated her; he really did. She gave the group enormous flexibility with her utility spells, but her pessimism could sometimes be grating. "We're not here for fun or glory. We're here to do a job." He glanced back at her and offered a brief, reassuring nod. "Lady Amelia's information has always proven solid. Stick to the plan, and we'll be fine."

  They continued along the route. The dense canopy allowed them to move quickly without fear of being noticed in case the enemy happened to be closer than expected.

  Oliver's eyes roved constantly, scanning for any signs of danger. Though they were following a path that had been divined beforehand, he wasn't about to collect his first failure just because he was careless. Unlike the southerners, the Count's men were thorough, and the losses they had suffered recently only made them more vigilant. They needed a big win to maintain morale, and Oliver would not be the one to give it to them, especially not on the mission meant to grant him his knighthood.

  The group of twelve moved like shadows through the trees, their progress nearly silent thanks to Lucy's enchantments. She wove her magic as a faint haze of wind that dampened their sounds and blurred their movements. The others followed Oliver's lead, splitting into pairs to cover more ground and avoid leaving a single path that could be easily tracked.

  After some time, he spotted the first signs that their target was nearby. A patch of underbrush lay flattened, its branches bent at odd angles as though trampled by something heavier than a deer. Further along, a narrow path cut through the foliage, its edges marked with broken twigs and crushed leaves.

  He raised a hand, signaling a halt, and the group gathered atop a sturdy, twisted oak with wide branches that provided cover from the ground.

  Esmeria crouched beside him, surveying the signs. "We're close. Given the sticky sap, the disturbance is fresh—probably no more than an hour old. This is almost too obvious."

  "Then they know we're coming," Hector muttered, his usual grin absent. "Why don't we break the ambush before they can spring it? Hit them hard and fast from multiple sides before they're ready."

  Oliver shook his head. "No. We stick to the plan," he said firmly. He was confident in his skills, but being arrogant now would be a potentially fatal mistake. The reports about the Count's adjutant painted him as a ruthless man, and he wouldn't give the man any chance. "Lady Amelia's instructions were clear—we need to avoid anyone leaving with confirmation of our presence, and springing an ambush is too risky. I won't bet everything on a direct assault, especially since these tracks suggest at least twenty men. If we all go charging in, we'll lose the advantage.

  "And if they see through the ruse?" Esmeria interjected, her brow furrowing with concern. "If they have set this up, they know we are coming. It's even possible they have prepared for orcs." And they weren't nearly as durable as orcs, went unsaid.

  Oliver glanced around the group, reading the unease on their faces. "That's why we need to be ready to follow my orders," he said, a slight edge creeping into his tone. "I trust every one of you to pull off your part. For everything else, I'll take care of it."

  There were nods of assent, though Hector still looked like he would prefer a more aggressive approach. Oliver didn't blame him; it was the natural impulse when facing a dangerous enemy. Still, Amelia had warned him that Jeremiah D'antan was a cunning opponent. If he had entered the forest, it meant he thought he could exit it despite knowing orcs heavily patrolled it.

  He divided the group, sending seven of them with him to the ground, where they would appear to be on a forward patrol, while the other four, including Lucy, remained among the trees to cover them. He felt the comforting weight of his sword at his side as he landed, his feet barely making a sound thanks to the soft earth.

  "Keep your head in the game," he murmured, glancing over his shoulder at his companions as they fanned out behind him. Animal sounds were entirely absent now, indicating more than any tracks that they were close.

  They followed the trail to its end, reaching a small clearing where the path opened and twilight-orange sunlight filtered through the canopy in patches. At the far side of the clearing sat two dozen mounted men, their armor gleaming dully. The sight of the horses, still and patient rather than grazing, revealed that they had been waiting for some time.

  At the head of the group, a man sat astride a black horse, his gaze as cold and still as winter ice. Dark hair hung down his back in a long braid, and his expression was one of practiced indifference. Jeremiah D'antan was just as Lady Amelia had described—a man with soulless, frigid eyes that seemed to bore right through to the bone. Oliver had no trouble believing he'd be capable of anything.

  Still, he had a part to play. He stepped forward, keeping his hand near the hilt of his sword but not drawing it yet. "Well met," he called out, his tone calm but firm. "You're a long way from Pepperhof, solder. Are you lost or just looking for trouble?"

  Jeremiah's gaze drifted over Oliver as though weighing and measuring him. "I could ask the same of you. Your camp must be pretty deep in the forest to have escaped our scouts," he replied, his voice smooth and unhurried. "But I suspect you aren't likely to tell where, are you?”

  “No, I’m not," Oliver replied drily. "Why don't we skip the pleasantries and go straight to your surrender? There's no need for bloodshed if you're willing to cooperate."

  A faint smile tugged at the corner of Jeremiah's mouth, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Cooperate? You misunderstand, my friend. I'm not here to negotiate. You will come back with me to Pepperhof."

  Oliver's fingers tightened around his sword's hilt as he saw Jeremiah give a subtle nod. The movement was so slight it could have been missed if one wasn't watching closely. But Oliver was watching and saw the shift in the mounted men as they reached for their pouches, grabbing vials.

  They threw them, and the world exploded.

  Oliver called upon the Light, and it answered immediately, as it had since his latest Blessing. A bright shield formed around his companions even as a firestorm raged around them.

  "Running into that might have been a mistake," Hector murmured, earning a snort.

  Instead of fading away, though, the flames kept increasing in intensity, slowly shifting from the bright red and yellow of a magical explosion to the poisonous green of an alchemical one that Oliver recognized from his basic lessons with Old Lia, where he was taught never to allow such a flame to go out of control, as it would consume anything to keep feeding itself. It was so dangerous that apprentices were never allowed to brew by themselves until they demonstrated their ability to keep one contained all day and night.

  The fact that the loyalists would use an alchemical explosion of this size to attack them made him realize that D'antan hadn't intended to capture anyone; he was trying to kill them.

  Occultist and, more importantly, for constantly supporting this story. The Glorious Revolution took me months of worldbuilding to craft, and it will always be my baby.