Ursul approached us. With each step, he seemed to grow bigger, but it was only my mind struggling to understand the scale. I had never beheld anything like this. I had read in books that most beasts change as they age. Most refine their existing bodies, becoming faster or more sturdy. Others change form entirely, sometimes even taking up a human body. I had never heard of beasts just getting bigger—well, apart from dragons. That comparison didn't reassure me.

“You stopped your playing, bard. A shame, but the pipes do get in the way of speaking.” I doubted that. There was no instrument I could play that would drown out the wall of sound that rolled over us. Perhaps some kind of explosive percussion? Despite the volume, his tone was warm and kind. I could hear the same slight accent I noticed Lance and Ban favoured.

We all kneeled before the bear.

“Well met! I am free and in good company. Who is that who carries my favourite nephew's banner and routs my enemies?” Ursul boomed.

“I am Lancelot Ban, daughter of Knight Lord Ban and Elder Elaine,” Lance spoke. A great chuckle rolled across us all.

“He married Lanie? They fought like cats and dogs!” He scented the air with a great gust of wind that whipped the snow. “You speak the truth! Stand! I smell both of them in you, and other surprises. Well met, Lancelot Fos. I am Ursul. Please introduce your companions so I know who to thank for their aid.”

“Lord Ursul, I am pleased to introduce Knight Gawain of House Lothian, with his mount Archimedes, and Knight Bors with his mount Gringolet.” Both beasts joined us on the ground in supplication. I was surprised; I’d never known that Gring was short for anything. Lance’s introductions were perfect for courtly rules. Everyone should be introduced by Cultivation rank, and then in terms of noble honour.

“Squire Gareth of Orkney, and the man with the bagpipes is the Bard Taliesin.” Those eyes flickered over the others but locked onto me with unerring purpose.

I had dealt with various manners of Evil Eye, but the threat and power of eyes the size of shields staring you down could not be underestimated. There wasn’t any glamour, just an intense sense of curiosity behind them.

“Well met. You may stand. I am impressed by your courage and fortitude to assault such a force. Before we explore that story, I must know—why do you stand here alone? You are an odd band to send out into the deep mountains.”

“We were brought here by circumstances beyond our control.” Lance looked at me, seeking my permission to speak. I gave a small nod. “We were directed here by the Lady herself. There is much wrong in the land. The Divine Cultivators, as they call themselves, have spread like a pestilence across the land. Fosburg may already be under attack, or will be, with my Uncle Roland showing signs of aiding them, claiming that my grandfather has perished during his questing.”

“The Lady herself! How can you be sure? Ah, the Bard.” The bear's eyes flicked back to me. I cursed to myself. Miss Peaches had led me to believe that those who could sense the Lady's lingering power on me would be few indeed.

“You look upset, bard? Strange, it is not you who has been told that his home may be rent by civil war, with those he once called family allying with these rabid cultists.” The voice remained pleasant and warm, yet with some small shift, I became more aware of the scale of the being I faced. I felt as if I was shrinking, my body reduced to that of a child.

“My apologies, Lord Ursul. It is a small thing. I was told by an Elder Witch that the evidence of her interest in me would not be so obvious.”

“Curious, someone knew the scent of her power enough to pick it out?” There was a bit to unpack in that sentence. I also heard the implied question and sighed. I had not meant to volunteer such information. I briefly weighed up my options and decided that the chance of this blowing up in my face was slim.

“She is Elder Nimue and stands allied with Ban in Fosburg. She loathes the Divine Cultivators more than any.” I hoped Miss Peaches wouldn’t hold it against me.

“The Witch stands with Fosburg? Is this true, young Lancelot?”

“Indeed, she goes by the Lady in Peach, or is known as Miss Peaches to those she considers friends. I understand she is trying to maintain a low profile, so is likely to hide her full power.” Lance gave me the side-eye. A dry gulp of air plunged down my throat; that detail had passed me by.

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“Even restricted, I would bet on her against any force that did not command a Mithril of its own. Do our foes possess that power?” The bear asked in a business-like manner. Lance floundered.

“It is unlikely. Taliesin, do you have any input?”

“To the best of my knowledge, the Mithrils the Divine Cultivators command are busy securing their holdings. I also imagine that they would not risk bringing one to the border of the Chox and Artoss lands. The chance that both would descend upon them would be too high. Their Mithrils are not known for taking risks.” I answered Lance's question as best I could.

“Then I am momentarily sated. I shall send a message to Fosburg now, rather than start to run in support. Then we shall get to your missing Prince.” The bear shifted its paws and turned to look at Bors, the giant man just as small before him as the rest of us.

Bors stood perfectly at attention, his fist over his heart, his head down. He cut the classic figure of a knight. It seemed unnatural, but I remembered what he'd told me earlier—that he was just the son of a chef. Proper conduct must've been drilled into him from a young age; he would never be allowed to embarrass Arthur. The figure before me was one of flawless protocol. It felt fake and wrong to see his nature twisted so. He was no longer Bors; he was now just a retainer of the Prince.

“You, Knight Bors—come this will be instructional to one with gifts such as yourself. Come, bear witness!” The bear rumbled, watching the knight carefully.

Bors paused, and the facade of formality shattered as he let loose a bark of laughter. “Was that a pun?”

“I knew someone would get it!” The bear chuckled merrily. Behind them, a small avalanche started. Beside me, I saw Gawain clamp his mouth shut, swallowing the words he'd prepared to defend his friend. He looked horrified at his friend's casual manner.

Was this how Lance and the others saw me when I acted all chummy with the likes of Miss Peaches? Good to know.

The pair headed over to a spur of rock that was like any other to my eyes, but both of them seemed very excited about it. They were talking for some time while we all just stood about, letting our blood cool and our minds revel in our victory. Several minutes of silence passed between us. Gaz, thankfully, took the initiative to block out the grisly sounds of the monsters gorging themselves.

“Well, this is going well. The Dream Mana is still disturbed, though.” Lance was the first to speak, a gentle smile on her face. Darkness had finally descended on the camp, our attack coming in the gloom of evening. This night, the clouds were absent, and above us, stars shone. She stared at them, enjoying the moment, at ease for the first time in days. In fact, I hadn't seen her look so at ease since our first dinner in Fosburg.

“It should settle down in a day or so,” I replied. I’d encountered such techniques before. The Harkleys were often paranoid and deployed similar tricks.

“We can’t wait. We should act quickly. With each passing minute, I worry that Arthur could be in more trouble.” Gawain’s voice, though, was unusually sharp. He’d clearly taken up the slack. He retained his professional demeanour but was all but vibrating in place.

"Don't forget Sephy," I muttered.

"She is a survivor. Arthur is prone to taking honourable actions that carry significant risk." I was stunned.

"That sounded almost like a rebuke, Gawain." I nudged the Knight, and he sighed.

"All I meant by it was that the Prince benefits from the robust counsel of his retainers. All his retainers," he replied stiffly. His eyes locked onto the Fae Realm. I joined him in contemplation.

For the first time since we'd arrived, we could clearly see the entrance to the Fae Realm. Amidst the chaos of the twice-wrecked camp, there stood a circle of tall pine trees. Each radiated life, the lace-like fronds the emerald of new growth, a burst of colour in the monochrome mountain. The trees shifted, following winds that didn't match the gusts from our world. In the little gaps that appeared between them, my senses told me something was moving, but I could never see what.

It was unsettling.

Within the ring, we would step into another realm—a shred of the Fae Realm that had come to rest against our own. The power within would be rich, the loot incredible, and the beasts plenty. Knights would seek it out to do battle with monsters found only in legends. Witches would kill for the reagents within that stretched what one could do with alchemy. I could understand why such places were fought over.

All I wanted from it was to see Sephy safe. Worries were breaking through my faith in her. There had been a lot of cultivators.

“Do we need to be worried about the Divine Cultivators escaping?” Gaz stepped up to join us. Maybe he wanted to distract me or just misread the intensity of my stare, but it snapped me out of it.

“I doubt it. The realm doesn't allow anyone above Iron to enter, and it's not friendly to those at the higher levels of Iron. I find it hard to believe that they'd pose a risk to us, and between the beasts and the bear, they cannot escape. They could get out a message, I suppose, but they'd have to be very lucky.” Gawain answered for me. He was starting to pace, his impatience breaking through his stoic image.

“Chances of reinforcements?” Gaz asked me.

“Still very small, especially with a Steel waiting for them here,” I replied. Gawain looked like he was going to speak again, but we were all interrupted by a staggering wave of glamour.

With a whoop, we turned to see Bors and Ursul at their rock. The knight, looking like a toy soldier beside the bear, was pressing his ear to the rock. He grinned madly, no doubt some form of cultivation knowledge. That done the pair chatted and began making their way over to us. With each pace, Ursul was shrinking.

By the time he stood before us, he was merely very big for a bear. His shoulders were level with Bors' head. Some part of me wanted to know where it all went, but the rest of me was exhausted enough to just ignore it.

“Come, you must recover your strength, and we can speak of your missing Prince. Plus, I am indebted to you; we must speak of your rewards.”