Awash with shame, guilt, and fear, I stride through the carnage before me. I know that I must get to Arthur as quickly as possible, to steer him toward Tanglewood, but I cannot leave this place until the dead are buried.

"Reagh sceir, slaibhár. Eaoch geallair aer!"

As I speak my eldritch command, I trace the magical summoning symbol on a mound of dirt, which begins to grow taller and taller, forming a roughly human shape as it grows. When fully formed, the earth golem stands no less than three heads taller than myself.

"Bury the dead as is fitting for the custom of Christians, my servant."

The golem begins its gruesome work, shifting earth and placing the dead within. As the carcass of a horse is removed, I see one more body that I had not seen before. Gwenivere's handmaiden Elizabeth. Her delicate form is mostly naked, her silken garments ripped from her violated body; her alabaster skin, bruised and bloodied. I feel a single tear roll down my cheek at the thought of never hearing Elizabeth's laughter again. Then, as quickly as this upwelling of grief comes upon me, it is replaced with an even stronger surge of emotion. Rage. Blinding, volcanic rage, focused on the knights of Tanglewood. No, I think, reaching Arthur must be my first concern. With the might of Camelot, then and only then will Tanglewood truly suffer as they do deserve.

"Eaoch geallair bó siálairnagh! Sitir maig d'hail Pendragon!"

With this spell, I call to the spirits of the forest, that any of them who can guide me to Arthur will answer. I could track them myself, but time is of the essence. With my visions clouded by Ceridwen's spell, I have no way to know how the Queen, Jovlyn, and Kendal fare by Valerin's mercies. Just then I feel a presence moving toward me from the trees to my left. From the corner of my eye, I spy a woman coming toward me. As I focus my attention on this woman, my wizard's vision easily penetrates the faerie glamour surrounding her. I recognize her kind immediately, and I know that she will not do my bidding unless she has been bound into service.

"An leith duit an reig'a chóain dhraic taith, beinndair eaoch air ath tianna maig."

I see the glimmer of recognition in the faerie's countenance at the mention of the covenant. I feel a momentary pang of guilt at this heavy-handed tactic; given time, I would prefer to strike a bargain with the faerie for her services. In my current emotional state, however, I am only concerned with accomplishing what I have set my mind to: revenge.

"Lead on, fay servant. Lead me to the Pendragon."