The forest felt as if it closed in around them as the pair rode at a steady gallop through the woods, the wind whipping about their ears and mimicking dark whispers the harder they rode.

  They rode through the forest for a while, until the sun had gone from a midday beacon to an evening lamp; when the warm tones of sunset were filtering through the trees, they at last allowed the horses to slow back down to a canter.

  Not a word had passed between them during their flight, none of Arthur's customary quips or Henry's observant remarks; all of the previous mirth and relaxation had been replaced with silent trepidation and apprehension.

  They rode along the road in silence for a few more moments, before Arthur finally broke the quiet.

  "Well, we haven't been ambushed yet, so I suppose we can breathe a little easier." Arthur grinned lopsidedly. "Not that they'd get the best of me, of course."

  Henry frowned. "We're still a two-days' ride out of the woods. I'm not relaxing my guard until then."

  "Oh posh, we'll be fine." Arthur winked. "I'm sure we'll happen upon an inn, or a hermit or someone we can ask to bed the night with."

  "We're in the Minnenburg Forest, the largest forest in the Regency." Henry gave him a look. "I doubt we'll find much of anyone who would be willing to let us stay with them."

  "Then we'll have to sleep in shifts," Arthur sniffed. "I nominate you for the first watch. I need my beauty sleep."

  As they discussed their camping logistics, the road turned sharply around a copse of trees; rounding the bend, the pair were surprised by a well-lit cottage sitting just beside the path, a lazy trail of smoke puffing from the chimney on its thatch roof.

  "That," Arthur beamed, casting a smug look over to Henry, "is what I call the Divine Hand of Providence, favoring the prayers of yours truly."

  They dismounted their horses and approached the structure, the setting sun just barely above the horizon now; the nighttime sounds of the forest, once calming to Henry, now felt foreboding and ominous, as if each sound were an imposter just waiting for him to lower his guard and pounce upon him in his sleep. Every chirp, every cicada, every knock made his heart jump; annoyed as he was with Arthur, he was secretly relieved to happen upon the lone cottage in these woods.

  "Wait." Henry stopped. "Perhaps only one of us should knock. A pair might scare them into outright refusal, let alone two young ruffians like us at this hour."

  Arthur turned and looked at him, brow cocked. "Good catch. I'll go, then." He turned back and made for the cottage's door.

  "Do you have anything to prove you're a knight?"

  "What?" Arthur stopped and turned again, annoyed. "Are my clothes not proof enough? They make a better case than your rags, anyhow."

  He was right, to an extent; Arthur's red and gold gambeson and his leather scabbarded sword were good indicators, but Henry wanted to make doubly sure.

  "Don't you have your House's heraldry anywhere on you?" Henry asked.

  "No, Sir Paulus forbade me from carrying anything like that around." Arthur' nose wrinkled. "He said it was 'unbecoming of a knight-apprentice to wear unearned heraldry.'"

  "Here." Henry retrieved Sir Gallant's heraldic coin from his pouch and tossed it to Arthur. "House Gallant isn't as famous as House Braddock, but it should help."

  Arthur caught the coin, whistling. "Very nice. Not a bad idea at all, Lord Squire."

  Henry went back to hitch the horses nearby as Arthur approached the cottage's door and rapped upon it, the knocking echoing distinctly through the woods.

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  A moment went by; no response.

  Arthur knocked again, this time more impatiently; another few moments passed with no answer.

  "Hello?" Arthur called out, his voice cutting through the air. "Anyone home?"

  The door finally cracked open; bright light spilled from within, silhouetting the person at the door in near-complete shadow.

  "Who are you? What do you want?" A gruff voice barked.

  Arthur drew himself up to his full height before he spoke. "I'm Arthur Braddock, knight-apprentice of House Braddock. My companion and I are passing through here and would like to ask for lodging for the night."

  "What does this look like, an inn?" The voice didn't lose any hint of grittiness behind it. "The only callers around here are bandits and scoundrels. Why should I trust the likes of you, knave?"

  "Bully!" Arthur cried, his face growing as red as his gambeson. "I won't be sullied by the likes of you! If you won't assist us, then at least point us towards the nearest inn or tavern we may bed down at!"

  "Hmph. You've the arrogance of a knight, I'll give you that," the voice replied tersely. "You look the part, too. How do I know those aren't threads plucked from a fallen knight?"

  "Would any scoundrel have this?" With a flourish, Arthur presented the heraldic coin.

  A moment went by, before the voice cut in sharply. "Is this some sort of joke, boy?! You claim to be House Braddock, yet flash the herald of House Gallant to me like I wouldn't know?!"

  "No, wait!" Henry stepped towards the cottage, his hands thrown up in a show of submission. "It's my coin! My master gave it to me before he fell!"

  "You?" The shadow at the door didn't move. Arthur and Henry stood tensely, closely watching the shadow for what felt like an eternity.

  After a long moment of silence, the figure at the door sighed. "Well, you were able to find my house, so you're brighter than the usual bandits." The door shut for a second, before opening fully. The bright light from within momentarily blinded the pair as the voice continued. "Very well, you may enter. You may stable your mounts beside the house if you'd like, but I'll be watching you closely."

  The pair entered the cottage, their eyes taking a moment to adjust to the interior light from the dark forest outside; when their vision returned, they found themselves in a cozy home larger than it had appeared on the outside, the walls lined with bookshelves and cabinets, and tomes stacked wherever there was space. Arcane objects beyond Henry's comprehension were scattered about, with vessels of glass, gold, copper, and all sorts of other materials unknown to him holding all manner of liquids, solids, and everything in between of all colors.

  "What is this place?" Arthur asked, confused.

  "You seek refuge in an unknown house?" The voice replied from behind them. "You're bigger fools than I thought."

  The pair turned and faced the speaker: before them stood an old man, hunched with age and wearing a flowing robe that obscured everything but his face. A great beard flowed from his face like a river, reaching near his knees, and atop his head was a wide-brimmed conical hat that sat squarely upon his scalp. His nose jutted out from his face like the wizened branch of a tree, and his eyes were small and beady; in the light of the cottage, they seemed to sparkle like black diamonds.

  "The Braddock, I now know," he said, raising a bony finger at Arthur. "He reeks of Braddock arrogance. As for you?" He shifted the finger to Henry. "Who are you?"

  "I'm Henry Davon, former squire of Sir Gallant," Henry replied, straightening slightly. "I'm undergoing my Trials for knighthood."

  "Ah, another squire, eh?" The old man chuckled. "Ah, that boy Gallant has a habit of coming through here in one form or another."

  "You knew Sir Gallant?" Henry's eyes widened.

  "Of course. I've known him since he was a tyke, the little rascal." The old man gave a slight bow. "I am Nezwick, former court sorcerer to King Tyran of the Imperial Court."

  "You're an Imperial?" Arthur's hand went to his sword as his expression tightened.

  "Was an Imperial. Ease up, boy." Nezwick flicked his finger, and Arthur yelped in surprised pain; his hand quickly released the handle of his sword, and Henry could see it glowing white hot even in the cottage's bright light.

  "I expected such a reaction from a scion of House Braddock," Nezwick sighed. "But what of you, Henry? Does my Imperial status not faze you?"

  Henry shook his head. "You said King Tyran, who was the last Imperial king. King Varrus is the current ruler."

  "Ha, capital! It seems you're one of Gallant's brighter students," Nezwick cackled. "You presume correctly, boy! I'm afraid King Varrus isn't as... appreciative of my service as King Tyran was."

  "Meaning?" Arthur grumbled, caressing his lightly burnt hand.

  "Meaning, boy, that I am not welcome within Imperial borders," Nezwick snapped. "I expected blind loyalty in a Braddock, not a mind of molasses."

  "What happened?" Henry asked, his curiosity piqued.

  Nezwick cackled again, a sound that scratched on Henry's ears like the smashing of pots and pans. "I will gladly tell you over dinner. It has been too long since we've had company in these parts."

  "We?" Arthur started; he glanced around him, taking care not to instinctively grab his still-glowing sword handle.

  "Yes, we. Rebecca!" Nezwick called. "We've guests! Be a dear and conjure up dinner for us, will you?"