After getting his armor and equipment set up, Tristan exited the chambers with Felicity in tow. They split up after exiting the Queen’s Wood – her to go and fetch reports from the dryads, and him to visit the ambassador. Reaching her house, he knocked politely on the door and then stepped back.

  Rel’nasha opened the door, bleary eyed and dressed in a simple robe thrown over her body. “Ah . . . Lord Winterbloom.” She stifled a yawn and dipped her head. “That party . . . I will say, I’ve never experienced anything like it. We don’t have such celebrations in The Witchwood.”

  “Did you enjoy it?” Tristan asked.

  “Oh yes.” She grinned. “So many types of food. Back home, we mostly eat mushrooms. And they aren’t nearly as tasty.”

  “Well, just share your honest experience when it is time for you to cycle back to The Witchwood and trade places with another member of The Coven.”

  “I will speak to Thallia about having a delivery go along with me. Sharing the bounties of the Fey Realm ought to be convincing.”

  “Then you are leaning towards joining us in an official manner?”

  She nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yes. This entire place.” She frowned and met his gaze, stifling another yawn. “We . . . our society is what you would call tribal. This . . . I believe Beatrice, that lovely large woman, called it feudal.” She glanced back into the house. “I’ll be honest, I don’t want to leave this building. I have a bed. Not just reeds stacked on top of each other, but a soft, cushioned bed.”

  Tristan just grinned. “Well, that is good to hear. Please direct any concerns to one of the Courtiers.” He left with a brief wave and manifested his wings, flapping them to gain altitude and alighting on the Top Boughs.

  The Matriarch was standing there, at the Astrologer’s Glass, and looked up. “Ah, Lord Tristan.”

  “Any news from the dryads?”

  “Throughout the day yesterday, they probed and discovered what they believe to be Lost Realms.” She pointed to the horizon, and Tristan followed her fingertip. “Over there is the most promising possibility. They estimated it to be very likely.”

  “Then send out the word. I want an expeditionary force of volunteers, assembled and ready to travel. We’ll meet in the Springthaw Meadows and travel as one. An hour, at most, before I go.”

  “Of course.” The Matriarch shifted to her massive, full-sized fairy dragon form, and she took off from the top boughs, her voice echoing out. “Volunteer army, assemble at the Springthaw Meadows!"

  Tristan walked to the back of the top boughs and jumped off, gliding down and landing in the meadows just in front of Rory and Bertram’s house. The man was practicing his bladework, while the still-very-pregnant looking Rory was sitting on the porch, reading a book. “Hey there,” Tristan said as he let his wings recede.

  Bertram looked up from his workout and nodded. “Brother.”

  “Going to join me on a delve into a Lost Realm?”

  “I’ll pass.” Bertram pointed at Rory. “She’s due any day now.”

  “Fair enough.” Tristan walked over next to Bertram and crossed his arms with a slight sigh. “I . . . I want your advice.”

  “Go ahead.” Bertram kept practicing his swings with the massive hunk of steel.

  “People died,” Tristan replied. “Under my command.”

  “They chose to fight. Their deaths aren’t on you.”

  Tristan frowned, feeling that sense of responsibility still weighing on him, forgotten after the battle and the flurry of activity that followed. But now, waiting in the meadow as the armed volunteers assembled, he was left with nothing but time to confront the thoughts. He felt his resolve crack ever-so slightly. “Part of me thinks I should just do these delves into Lost Realms on my own. Not risk others.”

  Bertram stopped his movements and looked across the meadow, to the backside of the Queen’s Wood, where the army was slowly forming. “They are volunteering. They know the risks. They are taking those risks on.” He slammed his blade tip-first into the ground and put a hand on Tristan’s pauldron, staring him in the eyes. “I’ve never commanded armies, but I know that if you care about the deaths of those under your command, you’re a good commander. If you were a callous asshole? I’d be more concerned.” He patted Tristan’s pauldron then gave his face a little smack with a chuckle. “You’re overthinking it. You can fully command anyone here – well, not me or Rory, but the various species. And yet you’re giving them the choice.” He walked back to his sword and pulled it out of the ground. “Now, if you don’t mind.”

  Tristan glanced back at the still assembling forces, and drew his sword. “Would you care for a practice bout?”

  Bertram shook his head. “You’d decimate me. I saw you move on the battlefield. You were fast, brother. I’d never keep up if you went full-speed.” He laughed. “Cheater.”

  Tristan sheathed his blade, gave Rory a little wave, and turned around. He headed over to the assembling forces. Onyx was not present and when he inquired, he learned that Midnight was away with some of the mares, due with her foal at any moment. “Pass along my congratulations,” Tristan said to one of the younger unicorns that was nearby, but not armored up. That unicorn dipped their head and raced off in a blur of white across the meadows.

  “I’ll wait for you all at the edge of the realm.” Tristan manifested his wings, and crouched. He spun his crucible. “The skies unfold before me!” He jumped up, pointed his toes down, and blasted into the skies. Then, re-orienting his feet, he rocketed out across the Fey Realm in a surge of speed. Testing out his maneuverability, he flapped his wings and tried to incorporate rolls in the sky, intentionally dropping his altitude before unfurling his wings to continue his glide.

  The motion of the spin was a bit unsettling and he went queasy for a moment, but recovered and tried it again until his stomach got used to the sensation. He arrived at the border of the Fey Realm and swooped down to land.

  Willow and four other dryads were already there. Their forms looked akin to how Eloise had dressed in the Demon Realm – a lithe, roguish assassin. She turned and bowed, while her fellows continued to touch the wall of the realm; their fingers leaving little ripples across the expanse. “This one has determined with our sisters that a Lost Realm exists nearby. You have a limited amount of time. One week, before we pass by it.”

  Tristan walked up and placed a hand on the wall. He could feel the hum of essence under his hand. A hard shell of it, protecting the Fey Realm from whatever lay beyond. Hmm . . . The Mortal Realm is a spherical globe. Perhaps if one goes high enough into the sky, they would find a similar barrier. He pulled his hand away and pushed essence into his artificed Pocket Dimension spell. Pulling the Queen’s Wood staff out, he held it in his left hand, and drew his sword with his right. “We wait for our forces. Good work, everyone.”

  One of the dryads turned, and the flowers covering her face like a veil folded in to reveal her mouth as she spoke. “This one estimates a ninety percent probability that this is a Lost Realm.”

  “Seems like good odds,” Tristan replied as he waited. “To graft the Lost Realm, I just need The Matriarch to make the connection, yes?”

  “This one does not know,” Willow replied.

  Tristan both-direction spun his crucible and whispered. “Explain how it works.”

  Zeltana’s voice came through, confident and assured of itself. You need to clear out the Lost Realm of any husks that exist. Everything that was once alive is dead, and only their remnants persist. Defeat their husks, and then when it is clear of threats, The Matriarch can graft the Lost Realm.

  Tristan frowned. “But I had her graft the Inspiration Realm a few season ago, and only killed one husk.”

  Tiny realm. Or, rather, it had whittled down to a very small size. This Lost Realm could be enormous – worthy of a full military campaign. The good news is, everything within is dead. Sure, you may face husks of essence-weavers, species, and even Heritages; but hey, guilt-free violence.

  Tristan heard the arrival of his forces and turned to face them. The Matriarch landed last, and plodded to the front of the group. “I am aware of what we need to do,” Tristan said. “Here’s the plan. Fairy dragons? You’ll be the first in. All invisible, all scouting. Unicorns? Enter and sweep out a perimeter. Krik? You take the spriggan and set up a fortification just like you did with The Witchwood. We’ll fight any husks we find, but then we hold until the scout reports come back.”

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  “Sounds like a good plan,” The Matriarch replied. Her voice was tense, and Tristan knew that she was feeling anxiety over Tristan’s decision to act like Zeltana, with the grafting of other realms. “What if it is not a Lost Realm?”

  Tristan frowned. “Then we pull back, seal the incursion, and try again. We won’t just go pillaging realm to realm. Lost ones, only. What was lost, we will find and add to the Fey Realm.” He turned and walked back to the barrier of the Fey Realm. Raising the staff, he tapped it against the barrier. But nothing happened. Tristan muttered. “Zeltana? Advice?”

  Whack it hard. And, you need to push essence through the stick.

  Tristan pulled his arm back, poured essence into the branch, and felt it get heavier. Glancing up, he saw that it had become a fully-grown branch of the Queen’s Wood. Absolutely massive in size, just like the branches along the top boughs. With the power of his essence surging through it, he swung the staff forward.

  Slam! Crack!

  The entire wall of the realm echoed like a heavenly bell rung with a delicate hand. A slight tinkling noise that spread as the wall fragmented, fractured, and split. A gap appeared that spread in a massive crevice, before opening up to a twenty-foot-wide and tall portal. Tristan felt a rush of stale, cold air blow toward him.

  The Matriarch put her claw up on the edge of the rift. “This is a Lost Realm. Congratulations.”

  Tristan turned to the dryads. “Good work.” He looked at the cracks as he put the Queen’s Wood staff back in storage. “Uhm . . . will those be a problem?”

  The Matriarch shook her head. “No. That is normal. The cracks will vanish shortly, but the rift will remain until I either close the incursion, or I graft the realm.”

  Tristan turned to his arrayed forces. “Let’s get on with it.” He turned, and pushed essence into his armor and weapon, activating all of the artificed, go-to spells. As his helmet emerged, he stood aside to let the forces past him. “Matriarch, what is this realm called?”

  “Abyssia.”

  Tristan turned to the rift and took a deep breath. “Keep Felicity from following. I don’t want to risk her life.”

  “Understood.”

  He walked forward and entered the rift. Taking in the realm, he felt small. They were in a massive cavern. Truly enormous, with the vaunted ceiling stretching high overhead. It was pitch-black, and Tristan was thankful for his innate dark vision. The glowing forms of unicorns provided illumination, and he watched as they did a loop of the enormous cavern before returning to where Tristan was alongside Krik, who was trying to set up the fortifications.

  Krik turned to Tristan. “Forest father, there is no wood. No bark or flesh we can call to and draw up. This realm has none.”

  Tristan nodded. “Then return and make the fortification in the Fey Realm, on our side of the rift. Take who you need.” He pointed across the cavern to the massive tunnel at the far end. “And then bring wood. We can set up fortifications there. We’re either deep in a cave system, or the whole realm is like this. In which case, I would bet that leads to a huge tunnel system.”

  “I understand.” Krik departed with some spriggan, and Tristan called out for a unicorn to come over. He grabbed the mane with his left hand and hoisted himself up. Spurring with his thighs, he pushed the unicorn toward that tunnel, and came to a stop as he stared down the long, black tube that kept extending off. Fairy dragons flew overhead, their bodies outlined denoting their invisibility, on their scouting mission.

  “We hold here until the fortifications are brought up,” Tristan said. “Everyone be vigilant.”

  They waited for thirty minutes. Tristan had to refresh his spells twice before the fortification at the tunnel was fully built and the first of the fairy dragon scouts returned. It was one he recognized. The same one on dish duty the night before; Rhoden. “Boss! We found some husks! They are scary!”

  “How far?” Tristan asked.

  “A few miles, but they’re coming fast!”

  “Good. Get back to scouting. We need to know the full extent of this Lost Realm. We’ll coordinate intelligence and make a map once all the scouts have returned.”

  “Right!” The fairy dragon flew off.

  Tristan dismounted the unicorn and got on top of the fortification. “Archers, to the front! Spriggan behind the gate! Unicorns behind the spriggan!” Troops replied to his commands, and he sheathed his sword and grabbed his unstrung bow. Pouring essence into his fingertips, he gripped the top and felt the vine-line string extend from the notch down until he had a fully strung weapon. Activating his Pocket Dimension II, he grabbed a quiver full of arrows, hooking it to his belt.

  He could see the husks, and they sent chills down his spine. They were nightmarish monstrosities of mottled flesh, tentacles, gnawing mouths, and hissing wails. Deep, bloody-red eyes with purple irises that had gone slightly dull dotted their bodies. Abominations. “Fire at will!” Tristan shouted as he pulled the string back and let loose. His first arrow flew true, slamming into one of the creatures and sending it tumbling back from the sheer power of the strike. But, the creature rolled to its misshapen feet and kept shambling forward.

  A barrage of arrows joined his, fired from the now-expert fairy dragon archers. A wall of adamant wood tipped points that thudded into the front ranks of the wave of husks. And yet they kept coming.

  Tristan cursed under his breath and ran along the top of the wooden fortification. He tapped bows as he ran. “Feel the power I have claimed,” he muttered as he spun his crucible and kept casting the Second Order spell. Adamant Wood could take flame, and so he empowered the bows to fire a variety of elemental damage types; fire, water, lightning, and ice. “Fire at will! Call out what seems most effective!”

  Arrows of arcing red fire, deep, blue water, yellow lighting, and light-blue ice all shot forward and thudded into the advancing line of monstrosities. Tristan watched closely as their bodies writhed, and a fairy dragon archer shouted out what he had concluded was the most effective. “Water and lightning!”

  Figures, Tristan thought. He looked back at Krik down below. “Can the fortification keep back water?”

  “Yes!” the spriggan warrior replied.

  Tristan pulled his cloak up and referenced the small, water-proofed page he had stitched into the interior of the cloak. That one. Fourth Order . . . I will be draining my essence substantially. He glanced back to the rift to the Fey Realm. But, I can go back and refill my essence. He turned back to face the almost-at-them horde. “Incoming water!” Tristan spun his crucible and poured the essence into his cloak, focusing on the scale he had just referenced. He activated the spell Tidal Wave.

  The churning in his torso spiraled out of control for a brief moment, as if a ship had dipped below the waves in the middle of the surging froth and taken on water. Then, the essence surged into his cloak, down to the embedded scale, and the spell activated. He put his hand over the edge of the wall, and a massive burst of water blasted out. The sheer force of the projected liquid bowled the creatures back, and the tunnel was covered with a small layer of water. “Now!” Tristan shouted. “Lightning!”

  The fairy dragons with lightning imbued bows shot at the mass of husks, and as soon as the lightning touched them, the energy coursed over their forms and dropped them. But, the lightning did not spread across the water like Tristan anticipated. We need more. He gauged his essence crucible’s capacity, and looked down to Krik. “I’m going to do another spell. Be ready to have a unicorn take me back to the Fey Realm to refill my essence.”

  “By your command.” Krik glowed green, then grew in size, and put his hand behind Tristan. “Ready to catch you.”

  Tristan turned back to the front and kept spinning his crucible. He didn’t need to reference his cheat sheet corresponding to the scales, and didn’t have time to scan down that list that was hundreds of entries in length. The mass of husks was too close too the walls. This is going to hurt. Hooking his bow over his shoulder, he held both hands out to his sides at chest height, arms fully extended. He lined up his fingers, tucked his thumbs into his palms, and brought the hands forward in a slow, gradual motion until they met in front of his chest. He connected his thumbs, and the tips of his fingers, and formed a small triangle with them. “Tear the clouds asunder and call down wrath from on high. The bolts of vengeance crash down upon you, and smite you.”

  His crucible churned to empty, and Tristan felt his eyelids flutter and almost lost his footing, but Krik’s firm hand behind him kept him from falling. Tristan directed the flow of essence out of his fingertips.

  CRACK!

  A massive bolt of lightning shot out from the small triangle formed by his fingertips, then shot straight up. It scattered in a haphazard pattern, going five-hundred feet down the tunnel. A crackling web along the roof of the cavern. The first of the husks began to beat at the fortification, and then the bolts began to fall.

  Massive lightning bolts that crashed down from above; yellow and silver bolts that exploded upon impact, jolting the husk’s bodies and immediately killing them. The water conducted the lightning, and thanks to the multiple impacts and sheer volume of potent, skyborne might, the husks were all annihilated.

  Tristan let out a grunt of pain, and would have screamed if he could. But he could not – his whole body locked up in a single, huge muscle spasm. He fell back into Krik’s waiting hand, and was lowered down to a unicorn. A fairy dragon flew over and grabbed Tristan’s gorget with one hand and the mane with another. “Go!” the fairy dragon shouted.

  Tristan could only grit his teeth and work through the pain and exhaustion drawing on him from his use of essence. The spasming of his muscles radiated through his whole body, and the pain was easily ten times worse than when he had used Split Bolt and felt his arms lock up. Stupid fucking lightning elementalism being so fucking painful for Elves to use. That’s a stupid backlash effect.

  He was brought through the rift, and managed to reverse-spin his crucible. He sucked in the realm’s ambient essence and used Cure Wounds in his belt, fixing the muscle spasms in an instant. Finally, he could really catch his breath, and sucked in deep lungful’s of air.

  “Lord Tristan?” The Matriarch asked with a concerned expression. “Are you unwell?”

  “Just backlash,” Tristan replied as he grabbed the unicorn’s mane. “Lightning elementalism does not agree with Elves, but it was necessary.” He fully refilled his essence and nodded. “I’m good. Come on, back in.” The unicorn dashed forward through the rift and brought Tristan to the fortification.

  Fairy dragons stood on watch up above, and the still-massive Krik towered over the fortifications. He looked back as he heard the unicorn’s hooves against the stone. “Lord Tristan, you did an excellent job.”

  “Let’s hope there aren’t more groups of that size,” Tristan replied as he dismounted and climbed the ladder to the top of the fortification. “Are the scouts back?”

  “Starting to return. But, quiet, and listen.”

  Tristan closed his mouth and his eyes, focusing on his sense of hearing like how his mother taught him so long ago. He could hear panicked shouts, taunts of fairy dragons at their slower companions, and beyond that, hundreds of those shrieking voices. “That’s a lot,” Tristan muttered.

  Krik’s voice replied. “It is. Do you plan to replicate your feat?”

  “Lightning elementalism is effective. Water elementalism pairs nicely with it.” Tristan replied. “I’ll re-empower the bows when targets get into range. We should be able to hold them off.” He glanced over the wall, and saw the wooden spikes on the other side. I don’t think that counts as a weapon for the purposes of Elemental Imbuement.

  “Very well,” Krik replied. “Then we wait for the scouts or our foes.”