Arthurian Cultivation

The endless roaring cascade of water cast an impressive backdrop to the arena. Six stone platforms, arranged in a pyramid, appeared almost floating before the torrents of white water. Their supports were hidden by the same waters that sought to break them. The fact the stone could endure the raging water was a testament to the skill of those who made it. Five of the stages hosted battles between Knights, the sixth remained empty, waiting for the final.

Maeve hadn't expected to see many Knights out in this small town. She’d forgotten how many Orders had outposts here. Most likely, they didn’t participate in these events normally, but she suspected word of her arrival last night had gotten around, and suddenly everyone wanted their future talents in front of her. Overall, what she’d seen wasn’t that impressive, especially as they were mostly water cultivators with an endless supply of glamour beside them.

It irritated her to see most barely made use of the immense resource. What a waste. Her blade gift left her jealous of those who could call on environmental sources.

She smiled as she spotted someone finally making use of it. A Knight from the Order of the Kraken siphoned away water, gathering it under the stage, all while dodging spikes of ice hurled by a goon from the Order of the Crystal Mountain. The Kraken Knight, having gathered what had to be hundreds of gallons of water, formed it into thick tentacles. Four arms descended upon the goon. He put up a reasonable fight, slicing through them with disks of ice that destabilised the technique. It was all for nought, though.

The water that fell was instantly reabsorbed. The attacks were relentless. Eventually, a tentacle smashed into the ice goon, the water launching him from the platform like a fly struck by a horse's tail. He tumbled through the air before runic spells arrested his descent. With that, the referee called the match. The Kraken Knight bowed, and Maeve made an effort to nod to them to show her approval.

“These pastries are to die for. Lady Elaine, you must store your honey all winter for these treats.” Sir Tristan Artoss lazed next to her. Being talented with the gift of nature, he had whistled to his seat, manipulating the long-dead wood into a chaise lounge rather than the high-backed throne it had once been. The unwelcome addition to their spectator's box reminded her of a stray cat that has decided to make itself at home, regardless of your opinion on the matter.

“Thank you for your compliment, Sir Tristan. As your family is keenly aware, our honey is one of Stonetown’s key exports. It is a poor day when one cannot find honey in Fosburg.” Lady Elaine replied with utter grace, radiating calm motherly warmth. She had a soft gentle air to her, which would be a worrying trait in an ally if Maeve didn’t know her second gift was that of Poison. Her motherly aura was so strong that despite knowing this, Maeve had still eaten several of the pastries without thinking. Truly, a terrifying woman.

They all sat together in the private spectator's box dedicated to her branch of the family. Madame Rensliegh stood guard at the back. They were, after all, in Lord Roland’s dominion within Fosburg. Initially, when the message had come back saying their meeting would be deep within enemy territory, Maeve had thought Lady Elaine mad. Now, here in their spectator's box, she understood her confidence.

Knight Lord Ban Fos was a peerless Metal gift, with his second gift being the rare gift of Runes. The entire box was coated with a layer of steel sheets that held countless enchantments. Being Rune-gifted was a double-edged sword. They made better enchantments than most anyone, but in doing so damaged their cultivation, forcing them to take time to recover between their great works. This small room alone could represent a year or more of being held back.

“That is why it tastes like home! We buy it from you, don’t we? Well, the honey is spectacular, yet it is far from the most noteworthy thing here.” As if the prick hadn’t known, he was just flaunting the reason they couldn’t eject him. “I do believe it’s congratulations all around. Lady Elaine is now an Elder, and Lady Chox has spread her wings and is now a Knight. What a pleasure to be in such talented company, especially given we are joined by the celebrated Madame Rensleigh. My uncle wished me to send my compliments to you.” Tristan waggled his eyebrows at the Governess.

“I suggest you return them post haste.” The reply dripped acid. There was no trace of the Evil Eye, but her aura pressed down on the mid-Iron rank. The bastard just smiled in response, oozing innocence even as everything about him screamed of wanton sin.

Sir Tristan wouldn’t look out of place in a high-end bordello. He was in purple tights and shorts trimmed with silver. The foppish silk ballooning out around his thighs in an impractical manner that could only be explained by the dark arts of fashion. His chest was in a black and silver contraption that Maeve could only describe as a men’s corset. It terminated just above his nipples, leaving an indecent amount of his waxed muscular chest on display. His hair was black and curled, immaculately arranged to frame his blue eyes and sharp cheekbones. A clean-shaven face was completed with subtly painted lips, the colour chosen to accentuate the underlying colour rather than hide it.

What she knew about Sir Tristan, she didn’t like. The man was a lothario, a gadabout known for his frequent indecencies. With his looks, she could see how he’d gained such opportunities and reputation. She could swear she’d even caught Lady Elaine peeking at him. It was tempting to dismiss him as a fool, but she had met his patriarch, the man who insisted he call her Pell. Her grandmother’s Mithril-ranked agent hid behind his reputation, fooling most of Euross into thinking he was little more than a raging maniac. Was Tristan the same?

“Lady Elaine, I understand you and your husband broke through within a day of each other. This humble Knight would be touched if the illustrious Elder would indulge my curiosity about what spurred you both to such heights.” Tristan continued to schmooze Lady Elaine. She remained aloof and pleasant, even if her smile didn't reach her eyes.

“As you know, with the Divine Cultivator threat looming, my husband and I felt that his father would not stand for them and we must represent his wishes.”

“Well, you're in good company. The Artoss are firmly committed to rooting out that unsightly bunch. And the young raven here pecked them right in the eye. How was it setting that trap, Lady Maeve? I understand your betrothed somehow survived? I find it hard to believe a mere wood-level cultivator would escape your wrath.”

“As your patriarch has made quite clear, he is still an Artoss, no matter who his father was. He was spared.” Maeve ground her teeth. She didn't believe he knew Regus had escaped her, but she found the memory embarrassing. She kept the scowl from her face. Of course, the bastard knew about Regus, but how much did he actually know?

“Well, it's good to know we're so respected by the Chox. That bird's eye view you command gives you better insight than most. I wish it was the same with Knightly Orders. They are clomping around everywhere, making an awful racket like hunting dogs on the trail of a fox. They are barking at everyone and even snapping at each other.” Maeve nodded, for once he had a point.

The Divine Cultivators were launching attacks across Euross and this was no different. As their tactics of slow corruption were no longer tolerated, they changed tactics. Where they could, they sought to slay their enemies, claim towns and cities, and otherwise spawn misery and death. The Orders of Euross got along like cats in a wet sack. Their counterattacks had been chaotic and, in some places, started small wars.

The Houses of Renown were more coordinated, but they had fewer cultivators and were spread thin. Even given these challenges, the enemy was gaining little traction. Their plans hadn't been prepared for the unified response, no matter how clumsy it might be.

“One point of correction. These fanatics are rats, vermin growing fat on the hard work of others. Foxes are too cunning. If anyone is a fox, it's the Artoss. You are, after all, adept at slipping out of the shadows and causing problems for weaker prey.” To Maeve's surprise, the man smiled at the barb.

“I take no shame in being deemed a fox. Foxes thrive even as bigger predators fall. It's their intelligence that sees them through. They are also such handsome creatures.” Tristan preened, daring Maeve to comment.

“Well, we in Fosburg know we can rely on our Liege Lord,” Elaine added gracefully. “Though you will not find us lacking. If you look up now to the arena, you can see one of the Knights my husband trained in the semi-finals. He is but a guard, yet can stand with the Orders.”

The pair continued to discuss the match as Maeve pondered her situation. As the only true Chox in the immediate area, Maeve had a responsibility to aid her vassals. Captain Ban’s, now Knight Lord Ban, agent had explained the situation. Lord Roland was plotting something, his son exposed the issue by wandering around with a Guiding Star. That had pushed the formerly quiet Ban to act. He and his allies had gathered evidence and found out that something dark was planned for the end of the celebrations she now found herself in the midst of.

Maeve needed to speak with Elaine about the plot and their plans to counter it. She had called for reinforcements via her uncle, but they’d be slow to arrive. So it was up to them to make the best use of their few but potent resources. Most impressive of which was Madame Rensleigh, who added another Steel rank to their combined forces.

Maeve also had a few other Knights and Squires in her retinue. The unassuming bunch were there to maintain appearances, protect her, and smooth the journey. If you asked them, they would tell you that their charge cared little for them and mostly treated them as a nuisance that slowed her down. They’d be quick to open up the kegs and swap stories of arrogant nobles.

She wasn’t about to stop them, it was their job. Each and every one of her retinue, including Rensleigh, was after all a Magpie. The feared intelligence wing of House Chox. Her spies had already collected some very worrying information about a few Orders that were already under suspicion for having ties to the enemy. The Crystal Mountain was one such Order, the frigid bastards had reportedly gained an influx of new recruits over the past few weeks.

All of that was important but secondary to the real reason she wanted to flay Tristan. She had questions for Elaine. The Magpies had delivered a good amount of information about one ‘Taliesin’. The mysterious ‘bardic’ cultivator, who’d appeared as if from nowhere. He’d performed a song at the gates while forming illusions out of smoke.

Smoke gifts weren’t exceptionally rare, but still uncommon enough to be noteworthy. So what if the description of the man didn't match Regus? Someone that talented in spycraft wouldn't be caught out by appearance. She was lucky that Ban Fos was a fan of music and had ended up inviting the man into his home. The rest of the rumours about him were a jumbled mess. The only consistent theme was that he'd left a couple of days ago with Lancelot Fos.

She wished she knew more, but that was her impatience talking. She was lucky to have this much. If the Commander sent to seek aid hadn’t been so flustered and desperate to secure support, Maeve would never have known that ‘Taliesin’ was the one who’d identified the Guiding Star on Barclay.

They'd had some manner of confrontation, during which he’d used his control of smoke to slip his senses beneath Lord Roland’s son’s shirt and discover the foul icon. That a travelling bard had not only the skill to do so but could identify it by shape alone painted a most interesting story.

If that wasn’t enough to at least make him extremely interesting, it was Ban and Elaine’s trust that pushed it over the edge. They’d taken in this strange wandering cultivator, protected him from the other houses, and believed his word enough to call on the Chox for aid and entrust their daughter, their only heir, into his care. They’d even refused her request to explain more about him in a letter, instead requesting to talk in person. At this point, it didn’t matter if it wasn’t Regus. Taliesin was too interesting to ignore.

Was that same thought shared by Tristan Artoss? What was his role in all this? He could be here about the Divine Cultivators, but one Knight and the few hangers-on he travelled with seemed a risky addition to such a mix. He'd arrived the same night she had, arriving a little after her. They'd both crashed the ball being hosted last night.

Maeve normally didn't enjoy balls. She'd revised her opinion when she'd seen how put out he was that his sudden appearance was not the biggest surprise of the night. That, and the way Lord Roland looked as if he’d soiled his britches, had improved the event immensely.

He had wormed his way into their company this morning. Lady Elaine couldn't just reject him outright, but Maeve could practically feel her calculating the political backlash of ejecting him.

The irritating man was currently debating some aspect of dream cultivation, a gift he shared with Lady Elaine. She repeated her mantra, her concept, ‘A blade in the right place at the right time will strike success’, seeking inspiration.

“Yes, it’s little known but plants do have a type of dream glamour. I could guide you if you’d like.” Tristan made the offer sound casual, rather than the borderline offer to sleep together that it was. Elaine, who’d been doing an admirable job tolerating him so far, gave a clearly fake laugh while her eyes committed murder. Fuck it, sometimes it was patience, sometimes you just had to stab people.

“Sir Tristan, what are you doing here?” Maeve demanded.

“Lady Maeve, whatever do you mean? I’m enjoying this fine festival and tournament.” He smiled as he took another bite of pastry.

“Sir Tristan, I must ask again. What is your goal in being here?”

“Well, there’s simply a lot going on in Fosburg, is there not? It is a happening place. People are coming and going, yourself included. I like to be ahead of the trend. I am here to observe and make the most of the family's interests.” His eyes glittered, daring her to push. The whole sentence was a trap. His family's interests could be Regus or just in protecting a trading partner. What she didn’t understand was how he knew about any of this. He’d arrived barely after she had. It wasn’t the Dream gift helping him. Regus and whatever the Divine Cultivators were up to in Fosburg were totally obscured from such tricks.

“This requires you to bother Lady Elaine and myself?”

“You cruel rook, you peck away at my very soul. To have my company labelled a ‘bother’! That simply won’t do, I must improve. Tell me, what would you have me do?”

“I would have you be silent.” A hard, earthy voice commanded. A new presence had joined them, appearing as if from nowhere, a tiny old woman with white hair and a peach coat stood behind his modified seat.