With one last surge, Owain pulled himself onto the shore of the island.

He collapsed, his chest heaving with the effort, his arms aching from the unaccustomed rowing, his hands tingling with pins and needles.

A lesser man would have leapt from the canoe and run towards the cairn where the sword, the key to his revenge, rested. But you did not plan and execute a twenty-year delayed act of brutal revenge if you were a man given to hasty actions.

From the moment he had taken hold of Igraine and tossed her through her window, he had known he was living on borrowed time. His mind wandered - briefly - back to Tintagel. Did his son, even now, sit on Uther's throne? That would be sweet.

Owain sniffed and then spat a globule of green onto the shore. He was sorry for the deaths required to make that happen. He would find time to mourn Guinevere and, of course, Bors. But you didn't make an omelette without murdering your nemesis' friends and family in a bloody coup.

Or something like that.

And now Arthur . . .

The aching in his arms was increasing, but he pushed it down. He had needed to distract the wizard long enough to get his hands on the sword. What better way than to land her master in the drink?

This had been a difficult few weeks. Whilst not regretting the course of action he had put in place for a moment - the Dumnonians had killed his fucking son! - he recognised the fallout was going to be seismic. Owain knew his son had concerns about the plan and had subsequently packed his own men into the Gwent retinue to seek to influence the course of events. For that reason, he had no choice but to have led them into the Shrieket's lair. After everything, he wasn't going to allow Maelgwyn to perform his own act of political decapitation.

Of course, getting himself trapped had not been part of the plan, but that had not worked out too badly after all.

Owain took a deep breath. He needed to get moving. The sooner he had the sword in his hand, the sooner he could get out of this place. And the sooner the men of Gwent - without fear of Aurelius Ambrosius - could take the attack to the Saxons.

"Are you the one who was promised?"

His head jerked to the side at the unexpected voice, and his eyes opened wide at the tall, willowy and entirely naked woman before him. Her blonde hair spilt down her front to below her knees, covering her modesty, and her startling green eyes were almost wholly serene.

He gawped at her for long enough that she took another step forward, smiling broadly. "Are you? Are you the one that was promised?"

Owain stood and stepped out of his canoe. He steeled himself not to look back at the lake. The wizard would save Arthur, or she wouldn't. It would not matter once he had the sword. "I am," he said, voice steady.

The Lady of the Lake held out her hand, which he took without hesitation. "About time. Come with me."

*

Funnily enough, the inside of a Kraken looks suspiciously like my Artist's Studio.

"Big M? What's going on?"

Ah, excellent. I assumed I'd get the split-second timing just right, but it is always nice to have the reality of my excellence reconfirmed.

"Happy for you. So, I'm not dead yet? Or am I?"

Not quite, my dear. However, I would encourage you not to return to reality until we have developed a pretty solid plan that can instantaneously be put into action.

"How instantaneously?"

Let's just say our margin for error will be rather slim.

"Did Arthur and Lancelot make it?"

They're in the air, my dear. My calculations - which I flatter myself are likely to be correct to the millimetre - will have them hitting the island's edge eight seconds after you restart time.

"Are they okay?"

The Big M was a little slower responding this time. You hit them with before I blasted them out of the water, so they have every chance.

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I chose not to parse those words too carefully. To be honest, it was taking me a beat to get used to still being alive. It felt a bit different than when I first woke up on the battlefield: then, I was more irritated than anything else. It had taken quite a bit of mental torment to move past that. But I had managed it, so I was sure I could do it again.

"What's our plan then, mate?"

No idea, my dear. I was working on the principle that being alive in here was a net benefit compared to being eaten by a Kraken.

"Good shout."

I thought so.

I stood up - I seemed to be lying on a chaise longue like some sort of Roman Princess - and stretched out. "How long can I stay in here?"

In theory, indefinitely, my dear. However, in my long experience, the quality of your internal landscape will start to degrade without any refreshing burst of Qi from the real world. This is, in and of itself, not a deal breaker, of course, but there are stories of cultivators going quietly - and not so quietly - insane when their soul space reduced down to nothingness.

"Got it. So, probably best to begin planning how to turn this frown upside down?"

The last picture I had in my head was of the maw of the Kraken expanding to encompass the entire span of the canoe. I had been able to see pretty much the whole way down its nightmarish throat: it hadn't looked like a good place to go. Although, saying that . . .

"Rhyddrech Hael was swallowed by one of these things, and he got out okay . . . "

I would redirect your attention to some of Drynwyn's stories of its previous owner. Under very few circumstances would I suggest Rhyddrech Hael was 'okay.'

"Fair point. So being swallowed and getting out a la Pinnochio is not an option?"

I would have that as an emergency backup plan.

I cast my eyes around the space. It was quite beautiful here: I could spend some happy hours just chilling. But, then, the fundamental problem wouldn't go away, would it?

I mentally cracked my knuckles. "Right. Let's A Team the shit out of this."

I have absolutely no idea what that means.

*

The Lady of the Lake was not living her best life.

As a neriad, she had not enjoyed being stuck on an island in the middle of a span of pseudo-water. What had seemed like a perfect place to set up and wait for the One Who Was Promised had rapidly turned into a nightmare. She couldn't set fin in the water without one of those bloody ugly things fawning all over her like a puppy. Their excretions had rapidly turned her lake into a morass of toxic sludge that brought her out in hives.

And now the man she had been waiting for turned out to be less than her expected aesthetic. But, she supposed, if she dropped her glamour for a moment, he probably wouldn't be too pleased to see the real 'her' either.

On the plus side, as soon as she could get rid of this bloody sword, she'd be free to fast-travel back home. Just the thought of having access to her power again made her beam with pleasure. Sure, it was nice to be entrusted with an important mission, but sometimes, you just wanted the familiarity of your own pod back.

With an act of conscious concentration, she kept putting one foot in front of the other - how did these bipedal things manage this for their whole lives? - leading the One Who Was Promised up the stone steps carved into the cairn where she had embedded Caeldfwch.

And then the old, fat man suddenly stopped, almost pulling her off her feet. She turned, ready to give him a piece of her mind - or turn him into a frog. Definitely one of those - and was surprised to see he was frozen in time.

Interesting. That suggested there was a cultivator in the near vicinity.

The Lady of the Lake looked back towards the water from which the human had emerged. She could see Kenneth frozen in the act of crashing down on another of those strange floating shapes in which the One Who Was Promised had arrived at her island. Two other humans were captured in time in the act of flying - did they fly? She hadn't realised that - towards her island. Neither of them was a cultivator, but each looked far more palatable than the big man who she was leading to the sword.

Interesting. Perhaps this wasn't going to be such a terrible assignment after all.

*

Tresaith continued to stare down the Fae war party that was trying to dislodge him from the crossroads to follow the fleeing humans.

Everyone involved knew this was all just for show and that, in an hour or so, honour would have been satisfied and they'd all make their way back to Moonglade, no more to be said. However, for now, both parties were giving it the full 'You Shall Not Pass / Yes, We Bloody Well Will'.

So, it was quite disconcerting to feel time lurch to a stop with such an overwhelming sense of panic.

Tresaith glanced down the road where the humans had disappeared. What was going on with that quest? The Fae had become used to Morgan dipping in and out of her soul space. The brief moments of time dilation were irritating, but that was simply the price of doing business with cultivators. It wasn't like it significantly inconvenienced the Fae, but it did miss up the thrill of the hunt when lesser beings became frozen in time.

This, however, felt different. The wizard had been dragged out of time and appeared to be staying there.

Maewyn appeared at his side. "Did you feel that?"

"I did." Tresaith's eyes flicked to the war party, which looked like it was gearing itself up for another faux charge. "I need to go and see what is occurring."

"You like these people, don't you?" His brother's face was flat, betraying no emotion.

Tresaith shrugged. "They're different. Short-lived beings who spend their time in high passion. What's not to like?"

Maewyn stared at him and then nodded slowly. "I'll stand your place, brother. Go and see what ails your pets."

Tresaith gripped Maewyn's shoulder. "Appreciated." He nodded towards the group of Fae. "You sure you can handle them?"

Maewyn drew his sword and planted his feet. "Let us say that I have a significant amount of respect to earn back."