Arthurian Cultivation

Bors returned three hours later. At that time a storm had blown in. It had been rumbling distant all day and it consumed the entire sky. The rain had been hammering for the last hour and I'd tacked down my tent. The storms on Euross could hold a lot of glamour, and this one was heavy with it.

Unphased by the water and wind the Knight Errant glided along the ground his stance perfectly still like a statue sliding over ice. With him were a group of mortals, a merchant caravan of sorts. It looked like it'd seen a rough time. Of the eight carts, four showed signs of damage, scorched or with arrows still sticking out of them.

He waved me over as the caravan approached. As I walked over he took a look at the chaotic maze that was our training ground, he stamped his foot and the whole place flattened out like wrinkles from a flicked tablecloth. He pointed to the space and the caravaners headed over to it. It looked like we were to have guests.

“Squire Taliesin, I require your aid.” His voice boomed over the wind, I winced at the label, it was in the terms of cultivators technically correct but it felt itchy. I was not part of that tradition. I looked him over, his armour of maille and a few pieces of plate had a few gouges in it, making me think more of claws than cultivators.

“Of course Sir Bors.” I walked over to meet him out of earshot of the caravaneers, who could probably barely hear us over the wind anyway. The mortals all looked like they'd taken a trip through the Unseelie.

“I need guidance. Something weird is going on. They were attacked by brigands, some were cultivators, killed a couple of their guards. They were bartering passage when I arrived.”

“Decent?”

“No utter trash went through em like butter. The issue was the brigands had caught the attention of a Mist Lynx. Bastard came at me while I was distracted keeping the mortals alive. The issue is I know from Gawain's constant rambling on fae beasts that Mist Lynx are not native to these parts. Coincidence possibly, but it’s also basically a perfect counter to my skill set, they’re difficult to affect with earth glamour or weapons.”

“You suspect foul play?”

“I don't know. I mean it could just be some real bad luck. Look, I'm not good at this, I don't want to go round suspecting everyone, nor can I let my guard down now.”

“If it was foul play, it would make sense it would’ve been released from the north, and they expected it to run into you on the way. Then it found this lot, fae beasts don't often fuss about mortals. So it was just their bad luck the brigands were about. You make enemies that way?”

“Hmm, that hunter I killed was from that way.”

“You mean the man whose clothes I'm wearing, who also had a load of kit to capture fae beasts alive?”

“That's the one!” He only seemed to process the first half of the sentence before the rest clicked. He clapped me on the shoulder “Mystery solved, those bastards using a fae beast to fix their problems? I'm going to duel my way through the lot of them!”

“It could also be a complete coincidence?” I offered before the Knight could run off to do battle. I could see why his allies had stuck him on a bridge. I could feel the pressure coming off him.

“Anyway to check?”

“Well, a Mist Lynx is valuable loot, as would be anything you've got on you. Tell me did you leave behind any big signs of your fight? No, good then the storm will wash the evidence away. So I'd expect some people to come along and try and find it and you. If I had the corpse I could look it over and see if there's anything to indicate it'd been tamed. The mortal caravan is also bugging me, seems like an odd choice, this hunter you killed has been dead nearly a month, this isn't a spur-of-the-moment kind of revenge plot, so why wait until there's an unknown element in the mix?”

“I've gotta get you and Percy in the same room. She'd want to pick your brains. Look I've got the Lynx. Not going to waste the body, I didn't even make too much of a mess of it. Almost got the technique from that text to work too.” Bors used earth movement to make an awning out of the rain and deposited the beast in it.

It was a beautiful animal, even in death it still held that aura of feline grace. Its fur was grey and held an ethereal edge to it like the halos of rainbow light you sometimes could see on misty days before the sun chased the fog away. The beast was at least my size, with claws as long as my fingers. This was a foundation stage beast, and I could smell the death coming off of it, though far less potent than it was from any of my kills. Did that mean my role in the slaying mattered?

I started to look it over, Bors staring at me with an unusual intensity. “This is going to take a while you know.”

“Damn, I should probably go set up some shelter for the mortals. Storm is just going to get worse and they've been through enough to worry about tents tonight.” He seemed like he was about to say something when shouts rang out from the caravaneers.

“FAE BEAST” cries came from the caravaners. I heard a deep whiny from the horses. I was up bow drawn and ready to fight, but Bors put a hand out to stop me.

“Gring you horny bastard. Be polite. Don't shoot it's just my steed. Come along you can help smooth things over.”

Meeting Gring revealed a lot about why Steed and Master didn't get on. Gring was a pegasus, one of the fabled horse lords of the skies, and yet equally totally unable to lift his rider. The differences didn't end there, while Bors was always neat and tidy, a soldier through and through, Gring shone, clearly using his inherent Cultivation to help maintain his glossy coat and fine wings.

We came round to find Gring dancing before the horses, tossing his mane back and forth and doing his utmost best to rouse some attention. The mortal horses having had a day involving cultivator battles, and powerful fae beasts were locked in a panic and just stared at the prancing animal.

Another difference, the pegasus didn't like me, he glared daggers at me. Maybe he blamed me for interrupting his fun?

The caravaners were all a muddle. So as Bors went to wrangle his steed I stepped in. “Hello to you all, I'm Taliesin wandering minstrel. I would suggest you rest here till the storm passes, Sir Bors will be back soon to help put up an earth shelter to help you weather the storm.”

“I'm Kristoff caravan leader, it's a mighty fine offer. I'm not sure we can pay for such services though.” An older man who was all bristle and wire piped up. There were at least twenty in the group and not another one said a peep. They looked to have not come out of the fight badly.

“This comes free of charge and obligation, it is just right to help out those who find themselves at the mercy of the elements. We also have fresh meat, and would be willing to do some trade of things if it makes you feel better.”

“I really think we should see to our immediate damages and then be off. We'll be fine.” That set me on edge, was he that scared of cultivators?

“Are you mad Kristoff, I can barely hear the nonsense you're saying over these winds? We'll die if we head out.” Someone burst out of one of the wagons, through the lashing rain it was hard to see but it sounded like a young woman. She had a faint whiff of Cultivation to her, likely mid or early Wood stage. It was different to the guards who had the dull sense of Stone stage glamour users.

“Alexis get back inside, what if the cultivator sees you? Protect your virtue.” The man's comments sounded like a protective elder, but his eyes told a darker story. Even if I ignored that he seemed to have forgotten I was a cultivator. His eyes didn't go towards where Bors was having an aggressive conversation with his pegasus, involving lots of finger waving and hoof pawing. No, they went down the road to the North.

“What if we die? This is the first big storm of spring, the entire road could be washed out further up. Please sir ignore the old man's rantings, he seems to think I will be ravished if so much as the sun hits my skin. He's kept me cooped up all journey. We would be happy to accept your hospitality.” Alexis spoke, I could feel the tension in the group, they really wanted to stay, but Kristoff was the elder.

“Girl get back in there, we are leaving now.” Kristoff snarled, which might've done something if Bors hadn't chosen that moment to come over.

None the wiser to the tension, Bors stumped over, having finished his argument. He took in a big breath and through pursed lips let out a whistle that grated on the nerves like a rusty file. With the ease of a glassworker blowing air into molten glass, a dome rose from the earth. He then ran a finger through it to create a doorway and stepped inside. A moment later his head popped back out.

“Come on over, I'll make one for the horses in a minute.” Through the rain, he probably couldn't see the astounded faces of the crowd wore. Everyone had likely seen squires in battle, throwing round little techniques like earth slide, or conjuring whips of fire, this was what a Knight could do.

Alexis was first to get over her astonishment and ran over to the building. Everyone else ignored Kristoff. Apart from me. I could practically see the gears turning in his head, he glanced at the northern path, at the caravan, and then at the raised dome.

We were the last ones outside. I clapped him on the shoulder like we were fine pals, if anyone turned back it'd look like I was assisting the elderly man. He turned to face me, and I could swear I saw the moment it clicked and he remembered I was a cultivator too. Which was good, as otherwise, he'd probably have done something with the knife hidden in his sleeve. And then I'd actually have had to hurt him.

I marched him inside, to find a veritable palace of stone. The dome had been ten paces across, and stood with only a central pillar to support it, at the very edge, benches or beds depending on how tired you were had been shaped out of the walls. In the middle, gathered around the central pillar was a series of small seats and tables. I arrived just as Bors finished hollowing out the central column to make a chimney.

The caravaners were looking around with awe, some touching the walls as if expecting them to fade away. It made me appreciate how rare Iron level cultivators were, to have people so totally blown away by the display.

Even to me, it was a monument to how crazy powerful Bors was for his rank, he'd travelled for hours, got in a disadvantaged fight, and could still do this. I also really wanted to pick his brain about control, as this showed far better control than anything I'd seen in our fights.

“I'll go sort a stable now. Taliesin why don't you get a fire going, and get them some of that boar you killed yesterday, I'm sure they can make something of it. I hope someone has some beer?”

“I do. I'll come out and help you see to the horses. I've got some cooking bits as well.” A man with a huge moustache replied, with how soaked he was I was shocked it didn't drown in it. A couple of others agreed to go lash down the wagons and wrangle the horses.

I sat Kristoff at a table, keeping one eye on him I pulled the wood out of my storage ring. That seemed to remind the gathered few that I was a cultivator, and they all started to mumble their thanks and call me sir. As the fire began to catch I turned to find them nervously watching me, worried about getting closer.

“My good people, I am despite how I may look not a terrible beast, please come sit and be merry and safe. You have been rescued by the Noble Knight Errant Bors. He is the epitome of honour.”

“How should we address you, Sir-?” Alexis approached, now less soaked I could see she had striking red hair, and sharp eyes brown eyes. She was watching me carefully, undeniably weighing me up as I did her. I was impressed, she wasn't phased by either of us. And with Kristoff hunched over pondering his choices, she stepped up as the spokesperson of the group.

“I am merely Taliesin, I am a bardic cultivator, not a Knightly one, I sing and I tell stories, and if called upon fight my corner. You must be cold, come join me!” The group decided to give in to temptation and began to take their seats.

“I've never heard of a bardic cultivator before?” Another woman emerged from beside Alexis. She was less wet and I was sure I'd not seen her earlier. Were they really hiding all the women from us? It didn't paint a good picture of the kind of honour practised by the average cultivator.

“Well, it stands to reason we must exist, think of all those stories where knights rush off to battle monsters that could still a mortal heart with a mere look. How else do you think we get those stories?” It was a question with an easy answer. No bard was daft enough to go within ten leagues of a dragon, so most songs were penned as an afterthought or political tool. But the question goes them thinking.

I used my glamour to stir the flames. I could control neither air nor flame, but in moving the smoke just the right way I could draw up more air to fuel it. A few minutes later the rest returned, followed by a chest-sized keg of beer, and finally, Bors who was trying to manoeuvre it through the door. I revised my estimate of the kegs as I watched him struggle just as much to fit through the door, that was a giant's torso worth of beer.

Some of the group got to work on the boar, over in one corner. Others were pouring beer, it seemed that the moustache man, named Trent was a tavern owner or other purveyor of victuals. He also had some mugs with him and passed them out. A group of tired-looking men who wore pale imitations of cultivators' armour were second after Bors to get a drink. The guards mourned their lost fellows but otherwise looked healthy. I heard whispers that Alexis was some form of alchemist and had produced some brews to aid them in their recovery. That piqued my interest.

The last group huddled together, some older folk, six children with three parental types between them, and a couple of young women my age or a little less. That did not include Alexis. She'd draped herself over Bors's shoulder, knocking back a beer with him.

I checked on Kristoff, who wasn't even looking at her. So much for any of his earlier worries about her virtue. No, he was looking at the door. The same, one that someone had sealed with a piece of canvas.

What to do. The storm outside was raging. Even other Cultivators wouldn't be trying to move through this right now. Beasts often wandered in storms. I cursed was that part of their plan? A way to explain the Lynx if he did survive? Or worse to explain the Lynx's presence if it escaped them and went on a rampage. Was that assigning them too much competence?

I looked at Kristoff. No, if they were that competent they'd never have involved the mortal. That they also tried this roundabout method I still couldn’t fully sus out and didn't just gang up on Bors implied they didn't have a Knight of their own.

It’d take a Knight to push through the storm, and their last Knight-ranked cultivator had been obliterated in a one-on-one fight, so it was unlikely they’d risk another if they had it. Tonight, or at the very least until the storm blew itself out we were safe. That meant I could relax and wait for Kristoff to do something stupid. I was passed a mug by a friendly guard who from his stumbles had raced to the depths of his cups and had yet to come up for air. He wore tears.

I put aside the glare I wished to send Kristoff, he'd be doing nothing for a while. Sipping the admittedly fine beer. I approached the huddling group of assorted worriers.

“Now yee merry souls, what song shall I sing you this fine night. I know all the greats, the slaying of the red dragon by Erral, the noble troll of the glittering horde, or my favourite.” I spotted one of the little girls had a toy in the shape of a wolf. “Wolfheart the brave who howled at the moon till it howled back?”

My fingers found the strings and our little palace was filled with music. I pulled the smoke from the flame, bolstering it with my glamour, and played out scenes from the ballad. All was well, good food was had, and beer was supped. The group relaxed, finally realising that the cultivators were not about to reveal themselves as monsters. They had spices and herbs that brought out the best of the boar. Leaving Bors and I groaning with pleasure.

Eventually, it came time for rest. Bors was practically dragged back to his tent by Alexis. I was not similarly propositioned, which I was thankful for, some company would've been mighty tempting over the task I'd set myself for the evening.