Page 60 of Lady Knight and the Thief

When they departed A’aravos Paravale, it was with a new companion. A small bay pack horse laden with supplies was roped to Torren’s saddle, another length of rope strung from his pommel to Cypress’s.

Cypress and Torren had set off in the early hours of the day, truly not long after he departed her rooms.

After they’d…

Oh, what a mess she’d made.

Cypress still couldn’t wrap her mind around the notion thatshe,an orphan at the Keep, had Fair Folk blood. It was an absurd idea, one that Cypress had never even thought to entertain.

There had never been any indication of anythingotherabout her, and the orphanage thoroughly tested the children before sending them off for our eventual assignments.

Some orphans went to the kitchens to learn the art of cooking and baking. Others went to the schools to be scribes, while a select few were sent to labor camps– the ones who had bone structure denser than others, who, Cypress dimly realized, likely had giant or troll blood.

And then, orphans like Cypress, who had a fervor for the heat of battle, who didn’t lose their stomachs at the sight of blood, were sent to the armies.

In all her training, never once had even a hint of power of any kind shown itself. There had been plenty of harrowing experiences in her day for any ability to show itself. But, Cypress was still ordinary.

Cypress could remember when Shale, one of the older kids, fell from the walls of the Keep, only to have gossamer wings erupt from his spine just in time to save him.

Cypress never saw Shale again. And she never had an ability reveal itself, but not without her many attempts. She pushed herself in training in the hopes that one day she’d get herself in a bind so desperate that any such powers wouldhaveto reveal themselves.

But there had always been nothing. No spark, nothing but her beating heart.

Cypress put aside those thoughts for another time, and instead brought her horse even with Torren’s, and asked, “So these hounds.”

“Yes?”

“What do they look like?”

Torren huffed a laugh. “Imagine a dog, as big as a house, with wings large enough to blot out the sun. The back paws are more like thick, scaly claws. Glowing amber eyes. They are almost always black, with some tan and white points.”

“And… what do they do?”

“Lass, do you not know any of the stories?” Torren asked, exasperated.

“Clearly not enough. Everything I was taught about Fair Folk was done at the orphanage, and then very little with Cade after I became his companion. If what you say is true about Caelith’s motives regarding the Fair Folk is true, then I cannot trust the information I have to be complete, let alone accurate,” Cypress said, then added, “humor me.”

Torren sighed. “The Winged Hounds were part of the original Hunt. Humans stalked into the woods with a thousand hounds, all trained to scent and herd Fair Folk to slaughter. As the stories go, one of our Druids laid a curse upon the hunt, calling on the energies of all of the spirits of Faerie. The curse took all those who had participated in the hunt, including the hounds. Something went wrong, though.

“The next waxing moon, the Hunt rose once more, at the helm the Old One. The once ordinary hounds used by the humans were now winged beasts, caught between realms. Their call will strike fear into even the bravest of Fair folk, as they thirst for the blood of the betrayer, those who first shackled them to the Hunt– their human trainers who are already dead. They will charge across the world once the Old One is fully awoken. And then, nothing will be left in their wake.”

“And they have… tombs? Seems strange for an already dead thing to have a tomb.”

Torren cut a look toward her, unease written all over his face. “It is merely a resting place. When the Hunt first rose, the destruction it reaped was catastrophic, for humankind and Fair Folk. Eventually, we came to an agreement to join forces for the good of all in order to put the Old One to rest.”

Cypress nodded. “And that's where the scepter comes in?”

“Correct. When the Hunt was subdued, the Hounds were all put to rest in warded tombs.”

“And what did you mean by the first kings aren’t really the first?”

Torren sighed once more. “The Hunt has risen eleven times. Each time, Humankind has been practically wiped from existence. The humans who survive, rebuild, and call themselves the first.”

“But not Faerie?”

“Faerie has not seen the same level of destruction as the human lands in some time, though that is not to say we haven’t suffered losses.”

“So why is everything waking up once more?”