Arthurian Cultivation

Staring out at the oncoming shadow, I was deeply unsettled. It marked yet another event I was tied up in. I’d known I was not destined for a quiet life, but this felt uncomfortably like destiny. A bone-deep weariness settled in, telling me I was wrapped up in something yet again. It could be harmless. Realistically, it should be something benign, a lost Dire Owl that happened to be flying over them.

Yet I knew it wasn't. My lute’s strings hummed as the wind blew through them, impatient for the next part of a story I was increasingly certain I had little to no control over.

Only a night ago, I’d been fighting for my life, and now something was bearing down on us. Some fresh ‘event,’ I knew not what it would bring, but I could feel deep in my soul it would not be something mundane. It was almost too much.

My spiralling thoughts were derailed as, beside me, Gaz was violently sick.

At our level, purging alcohol was as simple as cycling glamour to purge it from the blood. Sadly for Gaz, who’d just downed another pint, it didn’t do much for what was in the stomach. That still required ‘mortal’ methods. I grimaced. I could forgive him for not muting the soggy and invasive squelches with his gift, but it sounded as if he was amplifying them.

It undermined the seriousness of the tone as we gathered. Bors was standing with me and Lance, looking at the shadow. Gring was fussing behind us, unsure if he should take off or not.

“I see two shadows behind the first one,” Lance pointed out. It took a second before I caught the two spots of darkness close behind. I nodded. Of course, I couldn't pass and just have one fae beast bear down upon me. No, that would've been too simple.

I shook off the malaise. Focus. How could I improve our situation? I reached for my smoke, but it was no help. It seemed suspense was required before the main act. They were approaching with the wind, so my smoke had no chance of reaching out toward them.

“We’ve got a minute at best. I’m confident the first one is Gawain on Archimedes. He’s using wind and water, which matches his gifts. No idea who is following him. Could be an Order, could be those Divine fuckers. At this speed, I'd say he’s going flat out, which doesn’t say anything good about those behind him. If Gawain is running, then those following have to be at least Iron. You should all hide.”

“Not a chance. We can still help with the beasts,” I cut in sharply. Like Gring, the creatures should only be at Bronze.

“This is no game. You came here to be safe, not get dragged into our mess.”

“I'm with Taliesin. Bors, what's the likelihood they know we're here? Any reason you can think of they'd be expecting a bunch of cultivators to be waiting for them?” Lance asked. Bors' face went from stern to calculating before settling into a wide grin.

“Next to none.”

“Taliesin, you still have your bow?” I nodded, seeing where she was going with this. Our encampment was all but invisible from the air in this light. At most, it would appear to be a large clearing.

“I've dulled the noises we make.” A pale Gaz joined us, pitching in without a second thought.

“Bors, you make sure your friend is okay and then focus on the cultivators. We'll focus on taking down the birds. Mind if I ride Gring? If the riders ditch their mounts, we can then hunt them down.” Gring's head perked right up at that.

“Do it. Don't get into a straight fight with Knights, though. They'll take you both out in a handful of hits.” Bors’ warning was unnecessary. We were all aware after sparring with him just how great the gulf in power was.

“Understood. Don’t get killed. Gaz, can you run communications for us, keep an ear out for any friends they might have or tricks they pull?” Lance continued. I could hear the echoes of her father in her tone.

“Sure, all of you should take one of these.” He passed all of us a hooped contraption, of bent brass with a little glass ball full of water. “Hang it over your ear. My master came up with the idea. I infused the water so I can make it ‘speak.’ I'll also be able to hear you, but it's not that sensitive. You'll have to talk loudly or hold it to your lips and whisper.”

“Smart.” I took the small marvel off the cultivator. I had to admit I was always entranced by the clever creations pairs of gifts could achieve. I had no time to indulge in examining it, though. Instead, I clipped it on and drew my bow as the rest of the party moved out.

I hid in the doorway of the dome, which Bors was quickly widening in case Archimedes needed access to the shelter. We didn't know what manner of gifts our opponents would have or the state of our allies. I'd have used the forest for cover, but I feared they could be a nature cultivator up there. In the unlikely case, there was an earth cultivator up there, at least Bors’ constructions would be infused with his will and would be hard for them to take control of.

The others took position. Bors melted into the earth, and Gaz stood beside me. In the gloom, I could barely make out Lance leaping onto Gring. The pair of them charged into the chasm the bridge spanned, the pegasus flicking his wings out as they stealthily took flight, hiding his gleaming white coat and her shining armour from sight.

The first shadow was coming lower. I could barely hear the wings. A heavy, drawn-out rustling of wind as each tired flap of the wings brought them closer overlapped the hiss of the wind moving over the feathers. The massive shadow twisted to land on the road, the creature stumbling and bouncing ungainly as it landed. A man jumped off it, drawing his sword.

“Bors, I am--” The man started to yell, and I saw Gaz wince beside me. I could feel his glamour shift.

“Be quiet, you daft bugger. We know. It's an ambush,” Bors hissed from somewhere, his voice sounding muted and flat.

“They're nearly here, south by southwest, they aren't slowing.” Beside me, Gaz spoke, his voice doubled, an echo of it appearing in my ear.

“You've finally fallen, Errant fool. Heretic, all you've done is waste our time. I shall take pleasure in killing you slowly. Your sins shall be purged, your insult to our Order paid for in blood.” A deep, haughty voice taunted the fallen Knight. His voice, empowered by glamour, projected confidence. The words weighed heavy upon me. Of course, they belonged to a Divine Cultivator. Yet instead of rage bubbling up, fear twitched in my heart.

I knew which Ray those words fitted best. The threat they carried. I quivered, unsettled and uncertain. I was a master of many fears, yet some were etched deeper than others.

“Calm yourself.” Words punctured the fog of fear that consumed me, Gaz shaking my shoulder to snap me out of it. His face stern, I nodded and took position.

I let the bird get low and close, the rider fixated on the grounded silhouette of the eagle. The Divine Cultivators had done nothing to light their path, so there was a good chance they'd not seen hide nor hair of us. Equally, I could see little, but the barest hints of them and the hole they cut from the stars above.

My heart was pounding, my fingers twitching. I could feel the anger telling me to attack, while fear told me to run. If I was right about the Ray this lot belonged to, I was about to anger people even the Harkleys feared.

Now more aware of myself, I could feel the waves of fear and anger crash down upon me. I’m sure a knightly cultivator would say they were unmoved, that they stood like a rock before the storm. Idiots, why waste that energy? I rode those waves. I sat atop that which would bring me down to propel me forward. To enforce my strikes. I pushed a little of my death glamour into the tip of the arrow.

With the same control that pulled my lips into a smile, I pulled on the string, curving the bow. I was ready.

The hissing grew louder. I could all but imagine the bird's claws out, ready to strike. The cultivator on its back with a spear or some other long weapon, ready to lash out. The Knight, presumably Gawain, stood in the road, ready to defend his bonded beast, which lay exhausted and collapsed on the ground. His sword drawn, ready to face off against the charging foe.

I held the string as the shadow grew and grew until the wings filled the entire view of the horizon, blotting out each and every star. I’d seen ships with smaller sails than the wings that hissed above. It was only at this last second, as the bird began to pass overhead, that I unleashed my barrage of arrows.

I empowered my body, pressing my strength and speed to the limit. I used Levity to move even faster, and with that, in the scant fraction of a second that the bird was between us and the cultivator that rode it, I was able to unleash four arrows.

A pained screech pierced the night air. The fae bird, knocked off target, wheeled left and pulled out of its dive at the last moment. It spun out over the woods, fighting for control with one good wing. The rider on its back jumped down into the forest beyond the road.

He was shouting something. I caught something about ‘how we dared to disrespect him.’ An odd bone to pick when we were all trying to kill each other. Seriously, if you want to be an unoriginal hypocrite, just call me a bastard and be done with it.

Watching his descent, I was startled when I was yanked backwards, hard. That mild surprise was overwhelmed as the world was drenched in sharp white light, and a lightning bolt and accompanying thunder slammed into the stone arch where I’d just stood.

The thunder that came with it wasn't like storm thunder, but it still left ears ringing. Panting on the floor, I gave Gaz a thumbs up. The Squire looked grim. I couldn’t blame him. We were dealing with a lightning cultivator. And that most likely meant Inquisitors.

Lightning cultivators numbered among some of the most deadly forms of cultivation while also being weak against those of their own level. The issue in part came from our armour. Those who could use glamour at a similar level could use the steel in their armour to redirect the flow of the electricity. Those of lower cultivation levels weren't so able to stop the lightning from going where the cultivator intended, and even a small amount of that power could stop hearts.

In other words, they excelled at punching down and were a fantastic tool to hunt awakened companion beasts like Gring, not to mention scything through plucky Squires that tried to assist their superiors.

Lightning also excelled at torture and formed half of the Ray of ‘Truth.’ If there was a Ray I loathed most besides ‘Bonds,’ of which the Harkleys were a part, it was Truth. The Ray of Truth was small but powerful. Given the task of policing the other Rays, they were total sadists. Even the other Rays feared them. I knew many of their names, their titles earned through cruelty so twisted it became their identity. The stories whispered in fear.

I’d always avoided them. They considered screams entertainment, and I suspected they'd find me exceedingly entertaining.

“Second Knight is lightning-gifted. He's flown overhead, still mounted. Be wary. Gawain and Archimedes look exhausted. Lead Knight is on foot, Bors attacking.” The double voice sounded over the ringing in my ears. I turned in time to see Bors Earth Stride out of the ground, rising out of it as easily as I would breach the water. He rose up, bringing his full power to bear on the stranded Inquisitor.

Then we were all blinded by a gout of flames and a flash of heat that washed over my face. I felt my gut sink. That confirmed it for me: these were both Inquisitors. Fire made up the other half of their Ray.

Lightning to find the unfaithful, fire to cleanse the heresy.

I used ash to choke out the merry fire that lit our dome, unwilling to offer an easy source of power to the man. With the flames out, the smoke formed up into a cloak behind me. My glamour churned, still far from recovered. I took a breath and focused on riding the emotions that sought to swamp me. These were monsters famed for their penchant for cruelty by those who excelled at it.

Just this once, I decided I’d leave an audience wanting.