Arthurian Cultivation

My mood was electric, my smile fixed. I don’t know when I’d started singing to myself that morning, but I wasn’t about to stop now.

“I searched the skies, I searched the sea,

For someone who was lost to me,

And now you’re here, time fades away,

It feels like we’ve come home to stay.”

The words rose unbidden from my lips as I made breakfast for our small group. I danced a little as I cooked.

“Oh, I found you, after all this time,

Watching our stars finally align,

No more wondering where you’ve been,

Now the story can begin.”

“You're in a disgustingly good mood. You seemed like you were one ‘Sephy’ away from being torn apart when I left.” Lance slumped down on a stone seat, grabbing a bowl of pottage I served her. The dreamweaving had tired her out even further.

“Leave him be, besides, the singing is nice. Can’t blame him for being excited.” Gaz joined us and grabbed a bowl. The Squire seemed in a good mood.

“Well, I can’t fault his taste. I might prefer a more slender maiden, but even in armour, I could see those curves.” Lance used her spoon and bowl to trace an improbable figure. I grimaced at her crudeness.

“You know, you really know how to sully a pure moment. He’s waxing lyrical about possible futures, and your thoughts can’t break free of the prison of a mattress and the four posts around it.”

“See, Gaz gets it, he’s a romantic.”

“It is part of being a true knight—or Bard. I shall have to ask you to teach me that song so I may serenade my Tiffany when I return.” I nodded and gave him a slice of bacon off the pan.

“You’re both disgustingly sweet. Where are the companions with whom I can exchange bawdy tales of brothels and the women whose breath I stole away?” Lance bemoaned, throwing her head back like an actor grieving a lost comrade.

“Have no fear, Bors is here! Regale me with your tales, Squire.” The big man lumbered up to us, grabbing a bowl.

“Errr…” Lance paused.

“The few tales she has are being driven like a starving fox from a hen house,” Gaz chuckled into his bowl.

“That is not true,” Lance prodded Gaz, “I am a vixen, not a fox, and I never leave till I’ve had at least a mouthful of chicken.”

Bors’ deep bass chuckles rumbled out first, and soon all of us were laughing. It was a total shift from the day before. Knowing that Arthur and Sephy were safe, and that we had a plan to leave, was more than enough to lift our spirits. We’d talked briefly last night, explaining what we’d learned. While Lance relayed the codes, I’d shared that I felt I’d managed to convince her, at least somewhat, of our honesty.

Gawain had all but collapsed into bed at the news that Arthur was not in immediate danger. I had slipped quickly back into sleep. I was kindly excused from the watch. I’d needed the extra rest. My stamina was still wanting. Now it was early morning, the strange sky of leaves glowed green, and we would soon start towards the meeting point. We knew the route, and there was little to prepare, so this small window of calm allowed us the freedom to relax.

I thought back to the meeting last night. It had been painful in places. It tore into me to not be able to be seen by her, to be mistrusted. I was angry at myself for not expecting it, for not thinking it through, but in hindsight, there was little that could’ve been done. I was Taliesin now, not Regus, or even Reggie. Trying to hide that would’ve only made her trust me less.

It also stirred old worries. I knew how I felt about Sephy, the intensity of it. I never knew exactly how she thought of me, though. I did have hope. That last look she’d given me had been special. I’d never seen her face look like that before. I never expected Sephy to look so vulnerable.

As the others joked more about my good mood, I did feel it necessary to interrupt and explain a few details. “I wish to clarify something. Sephy and I are not lovers. I would not sully her honour by allowing you to assume as much.”

“You sure? The tension between you two, even when she had a blade at your throat, was something else,” Lance asked.

“A reminder, before now we were courting as part of hiding our arrangement. Courtly ‘courting’, mind you, which meant we were constantly watched when together. While I believe we were more than mere spy and spymistress, I have not had a chance to speak to her without the constant threat of death or dishonour.”

“Yet you’re clearly besotted. She must know how you feel?” Gaz asked.

“I mean, I would expect her to. But at that time, it was more important to sneak secrets out than pursue a passion that I’m sure my family would corrupt and turn against her.” I started to dole out the rest of the bacon among the group as I spoke. “I still have no idea how she feels about me, let alone now that I have a different face.”

“You must know, Bors? She must’ve spoken on this.” Lance looked at the big guy, whose face immediately locked down.

“What I do or do not know on this subject would be between me and Percy.” The man repeated the words as if reading lines from a script.

“She’d be pleased with that reply.” I grinned. I’d never pushed Bors on the subject. I told myself it was out of respect for her privacy, but I had to admit I was also scared that he might tell me she saw me as nothing more than a valuable ally. I knew our relationship was part of our cover, part of the process of getting those secrets out.

I felt our bond was deeper, but I never dared to outright ask. It wouldn’t have been professional, and I wouldn’t have known what to do with either answer.

“Then why are you so happy?” Lance asked. I coughed in surprise, and Gaz threw his head back and groaned. “What? Just because you have a fiancée doesn’t make you some sage of love.”

“Lance, this is why you can never keep a girlfriend. Isn’t knowing that the person you adore is safe, and you get to see them soon, something to celebrate? You don’t need to know if you’ll be getting into their pants.” At that, Gaz and Lance fell into what sounded like a well-worn argument that had been aired many times before.

"She'll be pleased to see you," Bors said as he finished his pottage. I gave him an extra big helping of bacon in thanks. The big man wore a knowing grin, and I hid the stupid smile that formed on my lips by finishing my breakfast. I didn’t need to peek ahead in this story. I’d see her later and live it.

We had a couple more minutes of chatter before I heard the hiss of feathers cutting the wind, and our final team member joined us.

Gawain swooped in on Archimedes, landing atop one of the giant roots that made the walls of our camp. He quickly stepped down, joining us around the fire. I started to fill him a bowl of pottage. The anger of yesterday had faded enough that he just irked me. As I went to hand it to him, Bors nudged my leg with his foot, halting me.

“Right, so our mission today is to—urk!” The Knight toppled through the last remaining stone seat as it broke apart into fractured crystal chunks. Unlike the rest of us, though, he caught himself with a gust of wind. We all broke into applause and laughter, which only intensified as his face soured.

“Dammit, Bors, this is serious,” he snapped.

“Life is serious, Gawain. Doesn’t mean I have to be. Besides, you need to eat and think. You know you’ll do better if you just take a minute.” Gawain glared at Bors for a long moment before deflating with a deep sigh.

A new seat formed, and after a quick check, he sat and took the bowl I offered, starting to eat. While Gawain was momentarily distracted, his entrance still shifted our focus. We had a prince to save and a Harkley to kill.

“So, what can we expect from the Blood Boiler?” That question came from Lance.

“I know I say he’s a fool often, but that’s more in terms of social situations. He’s a competent tactician, and while his control of blood is lacking, his control of fire is not. He excels at controlling heat. He’s reached the point where he can sometimes form heat alone rather than relying on flame. He sometimes mixes these invisible blasts of heat with other, more obvious flames.” I shuddered. I’d seen him in tournaments and during a hunt. He was a lethal opponent.

“How much do we need to worry about the blood? I’ve never really fought a blood mage,” Lance asked.

“Think water mage but with some additional fuckery. If for no other reason than despite us having two water mages, neither will be able to contest his control of the blood,” Bors contributed.

“Despite it being water with bits in, the gift they have makes it next to impossible for us to contest. That being said, the upside is that they can’t control water at all. I only have that as advice from my master. I don’t have actual battle experience.” That came from Gaz. I was interested in his master. Whatever knight or knight-lord who supported him seemed a good sort if his student was any reflection.

“Like all rare forms of cultivation, there’s not an established style, and everyone has their own bag of tricks. The trick I’ve known Astor and other Harkleys to wield primarily is this technique where he does something to his own blood that makes him stronger and faster temporarily. Apparently, it normally cooks the cultivator from the inside, but with his heat control, he can last longer.” That I recalled from his bragging. I never really interacted with him much; he was already leaving Bronze before I reached the peak of Wood and stalled myself there.

“Anything else?” Bors asked.

“In his tournaments, he’s been known for firing bolts of super-heated blood at his opponents,” Lance added. “He can’t reuse the blood afterwards, but somehow it gets much hotter than should be possible.”

“His other trick that I know is blood thralls,” I added.

“That sounds very Harkley.” Lance grimaced.

“It’s not as powerful as it sounds. He can make very weak creatures into something close to a mindless slave. To my knowledge, he’s only ever got it to work on Wood-level beasts. I know the technique is illegal to use on mortals, so it’s possible it can affect them too. I don’t believe any of us have to worry about it, though.” I cast my mind back to when I’d first seen him use it, sending out some rats he’d found to sniff out his prey. “He can only give very basic commands, and they tend to die quickly. When he used to hunt, he’d use them as scouts.”

“Yup, that’s fucked,” Bors muttered. “Percy will want to kill him, no doubt. I don’t mind leaving this one to her.”

“Should we bring blood for Percy? We could put it in our storage rings?” Gaz asked.

“No, they both need ‘living blood’ to make things work.” I got a trio of blank faces from Gaz, Lance, and Bors. “Bors, come on, she has to have explained this to you before! Look, there are tiny things that make up living things, like the sand that makes up sandstone. In natural philosophy, we call them animalcules, or the more modern term, cells. Anything you put in your storage ring has these cells die if not protected by expensive runes. That’s why there are special methods for storing some types of alchemy ingredients.”

“And neither can take it from us?” Gaz asked, going a bit pale.

“No more than Gawain can pull the air from your lungs. Unless you allow it, even a peak Steel cultivator cannot affect anything within your body. Just because it’s blood doesn’t change the rules,” I replied. I didn’t feel like expanding on the exceptions to that rule. What little I understood of the blood curse implied it violated this rule.

“This is useful intelligence,” Gawain spoke for the first time. He’d finished his food and was staring into the remains of the fire.

“Offering pointers on the art of dismantling the Harkleys is my favourite hobby.” I grinned but fought down the urge to needle him further. Gawain had a sense of tension to him, a lute string pulled too tight. It had eased significantly since last night, where I could practically hear the threads within breaking under the strain.

Taunting him now would just make me look like a prick. Besides, giving him a slap in the dream had been immensely cathartic. I was past my animosity from yesterday. I would put it behind me for the good of the mission.

“Is there no bacon left?” Gawain looked hopefully at the pan.

Alright, maybe I was still a bit salty.