It took another ten minutes for the Shriket's pocket dimension to close. Merlin recommended not being inside when it did so, and judging by the fact that all the dead bodies vanished with a wet pop as it closed, he was bang on the money with that assessment.

But just by escaping, we weren't home and hosed.

Even with sinking down all my elixirs, Owain and his men were in a bad way. Although all their physical injuries had been repaired, there's something about being hung from a tree by spikes, slowly bled out and having to watch your comrades be eaten by a giant, monstrous perversion of a bord which leaves something of a mark.

I mean, I don't know that for certain. I'm just extrapolating from the available evidence.

I'd not yet had a chance to speak to the king since the rescue—his guards were more than usually clingy—so I took the opportunity of the journey back to our main camp to get next to him. I received a few glares in response, but a couple of 'you suddenly want to jump off your horse' suggestions demonstrated who was top dog.

Yes. Yes. Let the hate flow through you. There was a pause. Sorry, my dear. I do not know what made me say that.

"I'm happy that this isn't me slipping to the dark side, but stay on it, dude."

I was pleased to see that Owain was well enough to be riding his horse, but there were a couple of men in close proximity on either side, which suggested he was a bit wobblier than he looked. He looked at me for a few moments as if struggling to place me. Then his eyes swam into focus,

and he grinned at me, some of his old humour returning. "Wizard, I owe you a great debt."

"Not at all, my lord. I'm just glad we arrived in time."

I walked next to him for a time, trying to hit him with a few probing strings of Qi. However, from everything I could tell, there wasn't really very much left wrong with him. I knew that my Elixirs of Wellness did more than just improve physical health, so if he still looked like shit with an Epic one on board, I was worried about how he was going to feel when the buzz ran out.

"I've lost half of my men," he whispered, his voice haunted.

"True. But there's still half of them needing you. I think they could do with seeing you're okay." I couldn't miss the nervous glances towards us. "They're probably thinking less about you letting them down and more about how they failed to protect their king from a monster. A bit of the old 'hail fellow, well met' would probably go down a treat."

"I'm not sure I have it in me right now."

I took a beat to wonder when I became the Agony Aunt for Dark Age monarchs who were having a crisis of confidence. I mean, you'd expect dudes at the beginning of history to have a bit more about them than crumbling into puddles at the first sign of trouble.

I dived once again into the well-plumbed depths of my empathy. "My lord, I think this is probably one of those occasions where you need to fake it until you make it. Did you lose some men in a horribly brutal way? Sure. Does that mean that it's time for you to pack up and go home? Well, only you can decide that. But, I'll be honest, there ain't many sagas written about kings who come, see, take a pasting and go home.

"Is this supposed to be a pep talk?" I was pleased to see a smile creasing the corner of Sad Santa's mouth.

"Dunno, mate. But if you still fancy still taking part in a quest for Caeldfwch, you probably need to give the whole 'king' thing a little more beans."

Owain straightened a little in his saddle at that and forced out a simulacrum of a belly laugh. "Thank you, wizard. You are quite right. Where's Burford? Burford!"

A tall, thin man with an extraordinarily long beard and bald head jogged up beside the king. He was in dark leathers, with a bow in his hand and a quiver on his back. `He wasn't quite the definition of a poacher, but that was only because the dictionary hadn't been written yet.

"Your Majesty?"

"Good to see you made it through staking and eating thing!"

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

"Not sure there's enough of me to be worth the eating, my lord." Interestingly, the man had a soft burr to his voice that I associated with cider and combined harvester.

"Whereas I was clearly being saved for a special occasion," Owain slapped his belly and laughed again. It was a pretty decent facsimile of bonhomie, but I could see the lines of tension around his eyes. I doubted Burford was fooled, either. "I find myself somewhat peckish after our executions. How about you scare us up a few dear? Would be good to return to camp with more than just a story of woe and our tails between our legs."

The poacher nodded and peeled a few likely lads away from the main party to vanish into the woods.

"How was that?" Owain asked me softly.

"Spot on, my lord." I sent a few subtle suggestions of support his way. "You're the man," and such like.

"That pulling me more into the light side, Big M?"

Getting there, Paduan. Getting there.

*

We were carrying two deer and a giant wild boar when we reunited with the rest of the quest group. I was reassured that we were challenged by a bunch of sentries well before we were in sight of the camp itself. Regardless of the personal enmity between the parties, they could put self-preservation above petty grievances.

I left Owain and his men to reestablish their camp and made my way to find Arthur.

"Where the fuck have you two been?" I'd had warmer welcomes.

"We monster hunted," said Lancelot, throwing the decapitated head of the Shriket at Arthur's feet. "Was good. Saved Owain. She died."

Arthur turned to me. "You died!"

"Only a little. And it didn't stick. I might have tried to bite off more than I could chew. But it worked out okay in the end."

I quickly talked him through our little run-in with the monster. When I got to the bit about absorbing a pocket dimension full of blood, I saw something in his face change. "What did I say?"

"Sounds to me like you might have taken the Step of Blood, Morgan."

I paused, then nodded. "I think we can safely say that if that wasn't the Step of Blood, I will have to ensure I take a change of clothes when we finally meet it. What do you think, Big M?"

Arthur probably hits the nail on the head, my dear. I would be surprised if we have not completed the first of the Steps on the journey towards Caeldfwch. We, though, will only really know when - and if - we identify the Step of Faith."

"Any thoughts about that?"

I sat down heavily next to the king, unstrapping Drynwyn and respectfully passing it to the Quartermaster. The tattoed man went white as he received it and then ran to take it to our armourer sharpish.

Arthur glanced sourly over my shoulder to the tent where Mark had based himself. "The three of them have been conspiring in there all night. I'd say me being willing to have any of them anywhere near me was probably a major fucking Step of Faith."

Lancelot bristled at that. "They'll not harm you. Promise, I do."

"They significantly outnumber us if they band together. I doubt there would be much we could do - even with you two in full flow - if they decide betrayal is the only way forward.

I wasn't so sure about that.

Sure, there was a time - and not that long ago - that I would have agreed with Arthur. Lancelot was a nightmare with a sword in his hand, and I had no little game, but there were a hundred and fifty men under the command of those three kings - not counting Owain, who I kind of hoped would be at worst neutral in any confrontation.

That was a lot of arrows, spears and javelins that did not need to get lucky too often to take out the king. I was pretty sure I could bring anyone back from anything short of actual death. But three-on-one odds weren't ideal. Even then, Arthur being alive at the end of this quest was not the whole ball game. He needed these guys on his side too.

That gave me a good idea.

"My lord, can I grab your cloak for a moment?"

Arthur gave me a puzzled expression, unhooked it, and passed it over.

What are you thinking, my dear?

I held the cloak between my hands, examining it. It was soft, some sort of luxury material - who am I, a fucking weaver? -and was emblazoned with the symbol of the Pendragon—a giant, red dragon on a white background.

There was a faint, very faint line of Qi connecting me to the cloak, so I pushed some energy down it, but it disappeared into the air before connecting.

I pushed a bit harder, and the same thing happened again. It felt like there was some sort of block in the way.

It's not typical for objects not crafted with the intention of holding Qi to be retrofitted, as it were. It could well be that such a working is a touch beyond you at the moment.

You see, I've never really responded all that well to being told 'no'.

I gathered a huge dollop of Qi and shoved it along the thread of fate, not taking 'no' for an answer. Even with me giving it my full attention, I didn't immediately notice any difference.

But then . . .

There was a loud tearing noise, and I was through. My Qi flooded into the cloak, which promptly caught fire.

As it burned, I tried to make the idea in my head take shape. I took the dragon and gave it the firmest suggestions I could. Again, initially, I had no joy, but I had Qi to burn, and this would happen. With all the recklessness of a teenage boy beating one out to a poorly pixellated magazine he found in the woods, I forced the dragon to accept the suggestion.

With a nicely dramatic chorus of angelic voices, the cloak stopped burning, and light shot upwards. Morgan had done good.

I crossed to Arthur and fastened it around his shoulders. His eyes regarded me with a damn sight more respect than had been the way he'd traditionally looked at me. "What did you do?" he asked, with just enough reverential awe in his voice to make me feel pretty fine.

"Let's just say that if you think you need eyes in the back of your head to stay safe, I've been more than happy to oblige."

From behind him came a low growl and a "What the fuck are you looking at!" and a small ball of flame incinerated an unfortunate fly that wandered too close.