They found nothing on the first day of their search. Valerien had expected as much, but Kirin looked disappointed. Still, he provided a pretty sight, surrounded by his firefly-like magic in the shade of a blooming rowan tree.

Kirin retrieved his energies and let himself fall onto the wet grass. Valerien resisted the impulse to just throw him back into the saddle. Those humans needed a lot of rest. He spread a blanket on the ground and sat down next to him.

“Maybe we should change course. There is no unfamiliar source of magic for miles around,” Kirin said.  

“They are not likely to stay so close to risk running into your warlock again.”

“Did none of you know about witches?” the bard asked curiously.

“We did. But not about warlocks.”

The young fool smiled proudly. “He is the first warlock born to Britannia since Idris the Bloodshield.”

Valerien looked at him sharply, wondering if the old man had put him up to mentioning the cursed name, but Kirin’s face looked as guileless as ever.

Seren had never mentioned warlocks to her sons or the scouts she trained. Nor had she ever spoken much about her human lover to anyone but the queen. His curiosity won over caution.

“Why is he called the Bloodshield?”

The bard took that as an invitation and launched into a rhythmic chant about how Idris kept the Romans off the shores of Britannia. For someone who got nauseated by the sight of blood in real life, he was very enthusiastic about recounting the most gruesome ways to commit mass slaughter by magic.

Valerien let him go on for a while until his brain started to ache from the sheer ridiculousness.

“You can’t heat a whole river with fire magic to 'boil them alive like crabs in their armour’,” he objected.

Kirin didn’t appreciate being interrupted and sulked.

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. It’s what bards call poetic licence and everyone else calls lies.”

“But he had a whole army of witches behind him and the star goddess at his side,” the bard insisted.  

Valerien pinched the bridge of his nose. She must have loved being thought of as a goddess.

“Are you in pain? Let me have a look at those wounds,” Kirin suggested.

He sat up, looking ridiculous with a rowan flower stuck in his hair and grass stains on his new tunic. Valerien picked the creamy white bloom from the golden locks and shook his head.

“My back is fine. Tell me about that goddess.”  

Kirin’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm, and he started to sing. That wasn’t what Valerien had had in mind, but he lay back and closed his eyes. The young fool had a very pleasant voice, even though the story was ludicrous.

It started with young Idris venturing into a forest to hunt for a beast that had slaughtered his sheep. What he came upon instead was a fair maiden bathing in a creek and singing like a nightingale. Enchanted by her voice and beauty, Idris decided to take her home as his bride.

“So if someone finds you singing naked in a forest, they can just take you home?” Valerien interrupted with a grin.

“I am not a girl,” Kirin said indignantly.

“Neither was she, but your famed hero still sounds like a dumb brute.”

The bard boxed him in the shoulder. “He didn’t know she was a goddess. Do you want to hear the story or not?”

“That just makes it worse. But go on.”

The goddess was indignant that a mere mortal would dare claim her, so she challenged him to a fight. To her surprise, the young warlock’s powers were a match for hers. They fought an epic battle that lasted for days until she saw that he was worthy of her and granted him her favour.

Her name was Seren, the Evening Star. She shared the secrets of the gods with her beloved, and that kept Britannia safe for decades when the Romans invaded. She rode into battle with him, smiting the enemy with sword and starfire, until her white dress turned bright red, so Idris made a red star his battle banner in her honour.

But at the very verge of ultimate victory, Bloodshield was betrayed by his generals because they envied his power. Disgusted by such treason, the gods cursed Britannia to fall to the enemy.

Kirin’s voice trailed off, and the song stopped abruptly. Valerien opened his eyes.

“Is that how it ends?” he asked.

“No. It ends with Seren binding her soul to her dying lover’s so she could be with him forever in the Otherworld,” Kirin said, looking quite disturbed.

“Is that some metaphor for suicide?”

“No! Do you know what a Soul Bond is?”

Valerien raised an eyebrow. The young fool seemed even more emotional than usual. Perhaps he had indulged him too much.

He stood up and said, “Come, we still have some daylight left to cover a few miles. You can tell me about it on the way.”

Kirin didn’t move, but stared at him like a man sentenced to death.

“He lied to me,” he whispered.

“Who lied?”

The bard didn’t answer, just hung his head. Fearing he was about to faint again, Valerien crouched down to catch him when something hissed right above their heads.

An arrow struck the slender rowan, shaking loose a shower of white blossoms.