So, misplacing one of the kings we were seeking to impress on this quest wasn't exactly Plan A.

Especially as we couldn't tell if Owain and his men were 'lost' lost or 'didn't cross over into the strange fae land with the rest of us' lost. Or 'eaten by wyverns' lost. Basically, that's quite a lot of variations on 'no one has a fucking clue where they have gone.'

"I thought you had some sort of . . . I don't know, magical tracking system set up?" Arthur's voice was a little too accusatory for my liking.

"Yeah, sorry about that, Your Majesty. In between saving everyone's arses from the massive flying reptiles and liaising with the legendary cultivator who forgot to mention that we'd be SWAPPING REALMS on this quest, I took my eye off the King of Gwent and his fifty bodyguards. My bad!"

Just putting this out there, my dear, but maybe don't point your finger, with electricity cracking around it, at the chest of the King of the Britons whilst shouting at him. It's creating a mood.

I looked around to see lots of open mouths, big eyes and hurriedly drawn swords. "Guys, relax. This is kind of our deal. I turned him into a flame-grilled Whopper one time. And that was a complete ballache to heal, so I'm not putting myself through that sort of pain again. At least, not this early in the quest. I'll give it at least a few more days before going down that road."

My charm and witty banter did not appear to ease tensions.

Then, Lancelot appeared, clapped his muscular arm around my shoulder, and led me away from the growing lynch mob. "Such a funny joker you are being. With the lightning. And the pointing. And the inappropriate shouting at our liege lord." His arm tightened, and I was suddenly very aware of how powerful this man was. "Probably best you laugh. Like great hoot, we are sharing."

I did so, trying to pull enough Qi into my hands to have a chance of doing . . . something should this all spiral out of control. In theory, I should be able to take Lancelot, no worries. But I was starting to worry that theory and practice would be very different where the barbarian was concerned.

"Remembering you will, that we need to show respect to Arthur. Like you, I do. Cut off pieces I wouldn't, pretty hair." With a final squeeze - which I'm sure cracked several ribs - he swung me around so we were walking back to the king.

I mouthed a 'sorry'. He just glared back. It was probably a fair cop.

"I don't know, my lord. When we crossed into this realm, Owain and his war band were scouting a little ahead of us. I don't believe I've seen him or any of his men since then, though. As tricky as the wyverns were to handle, it hardly seems credible he would have taken one hundred per cent casualties when the rest of us -" I looked at the crew currently digging a pit for the bodies - "got off reasonably lightly."

Arthur looked around at the defensive position we had taken up. We had enough archers between those of the groups that remained to be able to put a dent in the day of anything else that attacked from the sky. Now that everyone was deployed in a deep square, there would be no further sniping off an individual from a long column.

The king raised his voice above the background hum of men at work. "We need to give King Owain and his retinue time to catch back up with us. This seems a secure enough position for the night to wait, but we can reassess in the morning. Sleep in shifts, quadruple watch. Flaming death first, ask questions later. All agreed?"

"Who the fuck put you in charge?"

Beric - of course, it was Beric - pushed himself forward. I'd seen his men in the thick of the fighting but didn't remember seeing him anywhere: his sword looked suspiciously clean, and his armour was undamaged.

Arthur turned to him; the contrast between his worn clothing and the gleaming appearance of the King of Powys could not have been starker. "I don't need to be 'put' in charge, my lord. Those are simply sensible instructions anyone could have issued. Anyone who had been in the fighting, at any rate. If you have alternative suggestions you would like to offer, perhaps drawing on your long and illustrious history of successful command in the field, I would be glad to hear them?"

Corys appears through the gloom, his gear battle-stained. "No need to be a prick about it, Ber. Let's take a breath, give the fat man a chance to get back to us and see where we are in this morning."

Beric retreated away back towards his men without saying another word. Corys winked at Arthur - or was it at me? Was he flirting with me - and followed him.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"Kil him I can," Lancelot murmured. "In Niefelheim, all things are possible. His soul stolen in his dreams, maybe? Wouldn't come back to you."

Arthur turned and pushed the barbarian in the chest, snarling as he spoke. "He's a King! I need these men on my side. I have to unite our lands, and I won't do that over a pile of corpses." He turned to me, his temper not especially under control. I wondered if he would be interested in some meditation tips. Or a fireball to the face. "Find Owain. Stop antagonising this alliance. And work out where we need to go next."

I held my curtsey until he and Lancelot were out of earshot. "Why don't you stick a broom up my arse while you're at it, and I'll sweep the fucking camp?"

*

The first thing you need to know about the fae realm is that there are no rules.

"Like the enchanted forest?"

No, my dear, nothing like that. Within the enchanted forest, you are bound by a myriad of rules, precedents and contracts. Sure, you will most likely be horribly murdered, but there would have been some element of framework around your death. Once you passed your Trial, it would have been the height of bad manners for the forest not to honour the deal that had been made.

"And it's not going to be like that in here?"

I was sat, cross-legged, in front of a lowly burning fire. Drynwyn was laid across a bunch of wyvern bones and seemed to be enjoying the experience of gently roasting them. When asked for an explanation, he merely repeated: I fucking hate wyverns.

I was gently pushing my Qi hither and tither, trying to get used to its thicker consistency. As much as I hated the phrase 'desirable difficulty', I was actually enjoying the experience.

It felt like I had spent a lifetime trying to find something to do in the quiet moments of the night. A drink. A cigarette. A spliff. A line. A cock. Anything to fill the deep, dark void within me.

And now I had a process which needed all my attention. And it felt great to do.

The fae realm, Merlin continued, is not like that. No, my dear. In some ways, it is closer to our own in its sense of chaos and unrestricted tyranny. There is only one rule here. The mighty take, and the weak are taken from.

"And we're going to take Caeldfwch?"

Merlin paused. That is a little more complicated. We are planning to take it, to be sure. But it is awaiting us. Should we be able to find it, it will be ours to take away.

"After the steps of Blood, Faith and Betrayal?"

Indeed.

I thought back to the fight with the wyverns. "I don't suppose we've already achieved the step of blood, have we?"

There was a grim chortle from inside my head. Not by any means, no. That was a very minor skirmish against a massively underpowered foe. Such things do not the stuff of quests make. No, the step of Blood will be soon, and we will need to be prepared.

"And for that, it would help to know where King Owain and his fifty spears have gone."

I have an idea for that.

"A good idea, Big M? Or one of those ideas that inevitably leads to me in a battle for my life and racking up the PTSD points like a Vietnam vet?"

Life of a cultivator, my dear. Life of a cultivator.

*

I pushed outwards, trying to feel for a presence I would recognise as King Owain.

No, not like that.

Sighing, I opened my eyes in frustration. "Dude, are you planning on being any help here at all?"

I am helping. I told you what to do, you did it wrong, and I told you. That's pretty much the definition of being helpful.

"HOW am I doing it wrong?"

Oh, I see what you mean. Subtlety. Softness. Caressing.

"Mate, am I carrying out a search and rescue operation or am I in a bad soft-core porn film?"

Quite. You don't need to do everything at a million miles an hour. Especially so, now your Qi is so much more concentrated. Not every problem requires you to blow the bloody doors off, as it were.

I pulled back on what I was doing - the Big M may have a point. I might have been going full beans at it - and let a single drop of my Qi hit the parchment. I visualised a palette of water and began to thin out that purple drop, spreading it in a smooth circle that would cover my internal map.

Better. You can obviously see the advantages of having chosen water as your Qi medium. No need to dilute that down, but I guess you are making the best you can from an inferior lot.

"Fuck off, Big M."

I worked the paint even thinner until I felt it could not have been reduced any further.

"Okay, now what?"

Use that as your model for seeking out King Owain and his men.

I did so and immediately felt the difference. Whereas, before, I had been inundated by sensory overload when questing out—I literally had been able to hear the grass grow—now it was much easier to see the wood for the trees, as it were. I retraced our steps to this point with my mind, trying to locate Owain. My hope was that they had done the same as us and held up for the night, hoping to follow our tracks in the morning.

But no. Nothing.

"Fuck's sake," I grimaced. "It's fifty men, twenty-odd horses and a lardarse of a king. They don't just vanish."

One second, my dear.

I waited. Then, I realised I had no idea what I was waiting for. "What is it?"

I appear to have stumbled across a strange overlap between the realms. It's not quite our world, and it's not the world of the fae.

I felt my attention being brought to a nondescript woodland area and could see what Merlin was getting at. On one side of the trees, it was definitely the mortal world, and on the other, it was Wyvern City. But at the place where the two intersected, there was a thin strip of land that was both.

And it smelt wrong.

I don't wish to raise undue alarm here, my dear

I turned to the small group of spears that had accompanied me on this Owain-hunt and waved for attention, drawing Drynwyn and kicking Lancelot as the Big M was talking.

Because that strange patch of land didn't just smell bad, it reeked.

It reeked of blood.