B4 – Chapter 41: What was Lost

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.