Arthurian Cultivation

The screams and din of battle were almost enough to make me start scrubbing my skin again. Monster lure, while variable in power, was potent even at the worst of times, and I had reason to think I might've pushed it further. A hypothesis had occurred to me after the team headed out to enact the plan. As I am an alchemist trained to make scents, it wouldn't be inaccurate to say I excel at it. As follows, any scent-based alchemy I produce would be exceptional, including the monster lure.

The bloodbath outside offered compelling support for my theory.

I winced as I saw a trio of white-furred trolls slam into the northern camp. Just behind them was a mass of writhing beasts. I knew only the Icehorn Elk by sight, and that was only because its horns were a valuable alchemy ingredient. The rest were a terrifying mystery to me. A comprehensive knowledge of monsters was not within my training.

The plan required me to be in a hide, able to see both teams' positions. I needed confirmation that both Steel rank opponents were out of commission. We'd placed me near the Saint's camp, assuming it'd be the first one emptied. I secreted myself in a small hollow of rock, tunnelled beneath the snow by Bors. I could barely move. What little extra space I had was filled with the bagpipes I was trying to keep inflated, keeping them ready for their time to shine.

I was trying to do this silently. The bagpipes laughed at my efforts.

Every traitorous squeak and whistle made me flinch, such movement only making the accused instrument honk again. I started to consider that this was my punishment from the Lady for my stormy thoughts.

I'd watched as the South camp was the first to taste the monster wave. The response was a chilling reminder of just how shockingly powerful a Saint could be. The death of the Icehorn had been instant.

The first deaths surprised me. At the distance I was at, all I saw were the explosions of blood and the fallen corpses. Something had slipped past the Saint.

Did I feel bad about causing those deaths? Not one bit. A quick death was a mercy compared to what they'd have done to any of us given half the chance. In the Ray of Bonds, you were either part of the ‘family’ or you were nothing.

Things moved quickly from there. More beasts appeared, the Saint gave some orders, and then returned to the fight. As we predicted, her camp quickly emptied. I saw the signal, a small rock rising out of the snow from Bors and Gawain's camp signalling monsters from the North. Monsters I'd just seen wreck the exhausted forces, who'd barely even spotted them before they struck.

That brought us up to the present, as a peal of thunder split the sky. The iconic sound made me curl up instinctively, my instrument wheezing in response. I had to remain stock still as I held in my fear. I knew who the Saint was and found myself considering prayer, not to the Guiding Star, but to the Lady. I stopped myself; I knew that by the end I'd be cursing her out.

The Ascendant Spear was one of the few Saints within the Ray of Bonds and known as a ruthless killer. Her spear could travel so fast it sundered the very sky. She excelled at duels and routinely appeared to solve ‘points of theological debate’ on behalf of her ‘family’.

One such duel had occurred when the Harkleys had been attending some clergy function. I'd only been permitted at the event due to the interest in my perfumes. I'd not been able to go to the duel, nor did I wish to. I avoided any event where so many powerful were gathered, if at all possible.

Even if I didn't see it, I'd heard the battle. The thunder of her spear rang again and again across the estate we had commandeered. It'd been a reminder of the vast differences in power between us. So to hear it again right before me, to feel the glamour at the core of the sound, sent my heart thumping. The power had that strange flavour that Steel ranks exuded. Not elemental glamour, but something more complex, something as unknowable as the fae.

I waited for the result of the technique. To my surprise, I soon saw a combination of rocks rise up from Lance and Gaz's position. Four rocks. That meant the Saint was fleeing. Five would've meant dead.

I let out a breath I didn't realise I'd been holding. Another honk from the pipes mocked me.

The Saint leaving marked our triumph. She'd never have left if she thought her forces had a chance of success.

Now we just had to survive our victory. I couldn't see the Cardinal's camp, but this was already going better than I'd hoped. The Saint scared me. The Cardinal was just as capable of killing us, but if I knew the clergy, he'd prefer to keep us alive, to make an example. There was a chance of escape there.

The Saint would've just killed us.

My thoughts were interrupted as the rune formation screamed. Ursul had sensed the opportunity and was clearly trying to break free. Thanks to the failing light and the oddities of the runic magics, I couldn't see properly within.

I saw a lone figure rising into the air. At this distance, they were just a splotch of colour, but I recognised the bright scarlet cassock. The Cardinal was trying to flee.

The magic cage screamed. In the abandoned camp, glimmering runes burned with the light of the midday sun before growing dim, leaving molten scars on the elegant sculpture. Tortured by the failing runes and the rapid shift in heat, the marble exploded.

The cage fell.

The Cardinal rose in terror, but the manner of flight that Steel rankers commanded was not an efficient means of travel. A paw the size of a wagon swatted him out of the sky. A glowing ball of light formed at the last moment, as he strived to protect himself from the raking claws. The raking blades were held back, but even the impressive glamour behind it could not stop him from being slammed into the ground.

Techniques and glamour flared, but Ursul was not going to be denied his revenge. The colossal beast ignored the Paladins who sought to distract him. His huge jaws came down and ate the golden ball and Cardinal in a single bite, as one might scoff down a strawberry. He chewed for a moment and then turned to the now fleeing Paladins.

It was my time to act. If Ursul just ran off in pursuit, we might never find him.

I kicked the wall before me. It fell apart into a wave of diamond-shaped pieces. Bors’ trick was not just for pranking the unwary. I found the right positioning of my fingers. The song that Lance had requested of me was one of the few I'd learned from her father. Ban considered this a favourite, and it was a pleasant and easy piece. Even with my limited skills, it should at least be recognisable.

I just hoped that Ursul was not a harsh critic.

The song was a merry tune, or as merry as one could manage with the bagpipes. Personally, I had always considered the instrument one best suited to either firing up the blood or making maudlin music.

The song was one written for Ban's adoptive father, Ursul's pact companion, the true Lord of Fosburg, as thanks from some people he'd aided in the Lands of Woad.

My fingers danced, and I tried to balance the flow of air between how I breathed and how I squeezed the bag under my arm. The bagpipes were a total bastard of an instrument. Give me a flute any day.

The first notes rang out over the scene of carnage. From the two hides, my companions rushed out, a late addition to the plan.

See, the plan was rather inspired. First, with some carefully prepared avalanches, we create funnels to focus the beasts into attacking from two separate points. Second, we spread the lure and collect an army of monsters who will assault our foes. Third, when the foe's defences become overwhelmed, Ursul breaks out and kills or drives off the Steel ranks. Fourth, I charm the bear with the power of music.

The only problem was that step four might take a while to kick in. So right now, I was standing out in the open playing extremely loudly while surrounded by monsters.

I found myself cursing my early hypothesis. I'd been told my perfumes were to die for at least a few times. I doubted this is what they meant.

Monsters were turning to look at me. Ursul, however, remained busy. He had Paladins to eat.

The first to arrive was Archimedes, with Gawain on top and Bors dangling beneath from his talons. He could be mistaken for captured prey, but even they didn't look as petrified as he did. At least it didn’t last long. While impressively high, the Knight was dropped. I heard him cursing right before he landed, like a meteor. From his feet, spikes of rock shot up. Impaled upon them were writhing tendrils of snow.

They looked awfully like snakes made of snow. I hadn't even noticed them. Around me, I funnelled smoke, creating a vortex of black dust that rose up to my waist. I didn't want to risk something climbing up my legs.

Lance and Gaz arrived a moment later. Lance jumped off Gring and pulled from her ring her family banner. We'd decided that it would be a good addition to our ‘please don't eat us’ argument.

Just like the bagpipes though, the bright colours and fluttering standards only drew further attention to us. From both North and South, their enemies slain, the monsters who'd failed to get their teeth into some god-bothers turned to our group and began to march.

They approached on all sides, even above. Gawain remained airborne, circling us. We'd seen, thankfully, few flying beasts pulled in by our trick, but the few that had appeared, he'd handle.

I kept playing, hoping.

The monsters were closing the distance quickly.

My fingers slipped on the pipes, a terrible note of discord ringing out. I felt the mana in my music distort with it, the volume spiking as my control broke loose. The pipes rang painfully loud until I wrangled the damn thing under control.

“Bring it, you frigid fucks!” Bors called his challenge, raising a short wall of earth in a ring around us.

Wolves with fur bristling with ice crystals led the charge. Around me, my friends took up arms, readying their defences. Lance held her sword in one hand while the other waved her banner in defiance. I paused my song, ready to switch to the blade at a moment’s notice.

A growl washed over the valley. It was a low, guttural sound that tickled the back of the neck. It was a threat that would rise out of the dark forest to warn away an ambitious hunter, a generational memory learned over countless lives. After all, only people who fled such noises lived long enough to sire children.

The wave of monsters stopped. Some slid, others fell, and a few just collapsed to the ground. The spell of the lure was broken, overwritten by the singular command of a beast that they were but ants before. I didn't know the nature of the command, but I could sense the underlying claim of ownership the bear had placed upon us.

The world stood frozen and silent. Even my bagpipes didn’t dare make a sound.

Then the beasts turned and began to slip back, heading towards the still-cooling bodies of our foes. They had been tamed as surely as the crack of a cane would silence unruly children. The bear turned his gaze upon us, blood dripping down his snout.