Arthurian Cultivation

My time in darkness was not peaceful. I had rarely been chased by dreams of the Harkleys since I’d escaped. I believe it might have had something to do with my encounter with the Lady. By all accounts those long years should haunt me like a spectre. Yet I slept soundly, confident in my freedom.

Whether it was the poison, or the exposure to that memory through dream glamour, or some combination of the two, my mind was no longer spared. A sense of wrongness infected me. A sickly feeling that left my mind confused as to what was real and what was mere spectres. Sometimes I dreamed of nonsense, but more often I found myself walking through dark halls. I heard voices, dead or distant. The memories ranged far and wide.

I was lost in the long galleries of Harkley House, the walls stretching above me as if I was nought but an ant at the bottom of a gaudy prison.

I could hear the sounds of sharp, vindictive laughter creeping through padded doors. I avoided those. The competitive cruelty of the place meant that you never got involved, never stuck your neck out, not unless you wanted to become a stepping stone to those above you. I rushed through doors, trying to find the small alchemy room I used to hide in. It was a place I could even now find while blindfolded if you’d asked, but here in this in-between place I kept getting turned around.

Doors that should lead to quiet libraries turned me out to grand halls. Small cupboards that were good for hiding in dropped me in the thorn gardens. And stairs to basements had me arriving at the training grounds.

I found my pace, nearly always the same unhurried but purposeful walk which I’d relied on to mask my movements faltering. I began to run, a big mistake here. Running made you stand out.

I lurched through the halls, trying to find my way out.

Occasionally I stumbled upon people, but they were but shadowy things, creatures of darkness with blood-red eyes that smiled in contempt at me. Some of them I thought I recognised, my most prolific tormentors. Even as mere silhouettes, a head tilt here, or the way fingers danced across a table anchored their identity in my mind, and with that recognition surged memories of days better forgotten. I fled.

The sounds of jeering voices chased me, laughter at the "cripple", the little perfumier who was only good for a bit of coin. While I’d turned it into fuel to drive me forward, here in this murky place it carved fresh wounds into me. The crushing weight of what I was up against left me feeling breathless and fearful. Like a fox driven to its den who can hear the hunt discussing whether to dig them out.

Beneath it all I felt like something was behind me, a constant threat, a presence I couldn’t banish. In the few rational moments I had I suspected it was the poison, but the twisted fae-like world of my dreams turned it into a monster haunting me.

It took on the shape of what had been my greatest fear, the fear that they’d kill me. Not that I would remain dead, but that they’d find out about my power. Familiar nightmares of them discussing dissecting me, or rendering me into a near mindless stud to pump out children for their filthy plans, crawled into my mind. At least others could end things. With my power I could be called back. Over and over.

Death wouldn’t free me.

There was a brief respite here and there. Light seemed to break through on a couple of occasions. The moments that fortified me most were when I stumbled into a ball. Sephy was there, feeding me finger food and sweet wine. The usual sharp wit she displayed at such events was absent and instead she coddled me most kindly.

Her voice asking me to return.

Dreams began to break through the nightmares more frequently. Most were nonsense, but I also got flashes of the camp where I’d met Bors, the Artoss manor, and Felix Lodge. The memories soothed me, but I was never anywhere kind for long. The camp would turn into that frantic night fleeing from Roland and his lackeys with Lance. In the Artoss manor I’d find myself stuck in front of the plant my mother planted, an unfilled grave yawning open. In Felix Lodge I found myself trapped again with Rowena.

After one such event my memories jumped back. Another Harkley prison, but one whose edges were fuzzy, the details made up of fragments of memories, the scale distorted. The rooms were vast because at the time I was so little that everything seemed made for giants.

It was the Annex, a small mansion I’d lived in with my mother and "father", Regus Senior. A cold-eyed silhouette loomed over me and I shuddered. A moment of lucidity came to me, and I knew for certain I was in a memory, one of the earliest I had.

Regus Senior was watching me. He was a titan casting his shadow over my tiny three-year-old body that stood limply before him. It was the only time I could remember being alone with the man, ever. My mother kept him away quite adeptly, and besides, he wasn’t the kind of man to fuss over a child. I was nailed in place out of fear. Something about him made my skin itch. He, in turn, did nothing to ease the tension, just stalked around me, looking at me like a smith might check over a piece of work by an apprentice.

Then he grabbed my head, yanking it so my eyes met his. His hand on my jaw was like an iron vice. I could no more resist it than stand before an avalanche. My eyes began to tear up, and I let out a sharp cry.

His only response was to click his tongue in annoyance and tighten his grip.

There was shouting and the memory dissolved. In my memory that’s when my mother found us. It wasn’t much later that the bastard was killed in a family spat and we’d then escaped to Portsmode.

The details of the memory filtered through, and I felt more aware than I had in a while. I floated in the shallows between sleep and the waking world, able to think yet unmoored from reality.

I’d rarely dwelt on this memory. I tried to think of "Regus Senior" as little as possible. Something about this recollection made me pause. Why look at my eyes? Did he suspect my heritage? My thoughts swam, and with them I felt dimly aware of voices that sounded friendly and kind. I no longer returned to those grim halls, and the sense of wrongness that had been pervading me eased.

I slowly woke to find myself in a rather nice bed. There was a scent of herbs and blood in the air. I could hear the sounds of a city outside, the hustle and bustle of daily life creeping through the windows that also delivered enough light to rouse me. Blinking, I spotted that my fae-gifted clothes had shifted into a nightshirt, a red and black one, which was something I’d never managed to convince it to do before.

As I drifted into consciousness I noted that my arm was no longer screaming in pain, having settled into a dull throb. That pain told me that I’d definitely not used my phoenix regeneration. So far I’d never come back with a wound, my body remade in peak condition. What was a little surprising was that as I checked my body with my senses I found that it felt clean and unsullied by poison glamour.

It was peaceful. I could sense some glamour shifting but nothing overwhelming or that indicated danger. With that thought I noticed the absence of the chest. The constant beat of the foul chest’s death glamour was missing.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

I jerked fully awake, sitting up as I looked around for the cursed object. I immediately swore as my wound complained.

"What do you think you’re doing?" A sharp yet wonderful voice snapped at me. Blurry shapes resolved into the form of Sephy, who leant over me, pushing me back into the bed. I then noted that she was fiddling with a sphere of blood over her other hand.

"The chest?" I managed to splutter out from dry lips.

"It’s safe. Marrek is here. We’re in Phischer’s Kingdom. You’ve been out for two days." She pushed me back gently. I tried to speak but she forced a brew down between my lips, and then some water.

"Two days?" I croaked out once I was settled.

"A healing sleep. The poison was a nasty one. Even without that bastard’s poison glamour enhancing it the wound would’ve been difficult to fight. We’re lucky that you trust me enough that even unconscious you’ll let me play with your blood. Otherwise it might’ve gotten difficult." Her smile faltered and she leant over to rest her head on my good shoulder.

"It was really tough keeping you alive for a while. Please don’t get stabbed by a poison cultivator again." Her voice had a fragility to it I’d not heard before. It made me shrivel up just to hear it, my heart reaching out to her.

"I’ll try not to. Is everyone else okay?" I grunted as I again tried to move my bad arm on instinct. My hand shifted weakly before the pain slapped me down. The bastard’s dagger had got in there deep.

"Everyone else is far better off than you. Their pride took the worst of it. To hear them speak you’d think everyone surviving an ambush where they were outnumbered, with enemies informed of our weaknesses and strengths, is something to be embarrassed about. If anything I’m the most exhausted right now. Your beautiful paramour has spent far too long cleaning that filth out of your blood." She grinned and kissed me on the cheek.

"Now let’s just put this back into you and then we’ll get you up to speed." She brought up the large orb and I began to sweat.

"That seems like a lot of blood." I frowned at the fist-sized sphere. It was shortly after that I learned that one could get a lot of blood back into the body in a rush, but it wasn’t a fun experience.

Done cramming the blood back into me, Sephy joined me in lying on the bed. She rested on my good side and curled round me and began to explain what I’d missed. Her voice was soft, far softer than I was used to.

She then explained the challenges of keeping me alive. Her description left me feeling ill. I could understand her worry a bit better. I was very lucky that Sephy could filter my blood. Whatever the poison had been, it wasn’t a common thing, and had rooted itself in my organs and muscles. Without the Blood glamour cleaning it from my system the damage would’ve rapidly outpaced the healing offered by the brews.

I would’ve died, and then all of the Round Table would’ve known my secret. Not that I didn’t trust them, but the best guard on such vital secrets was not to air them out.

After a while, and a few quick kisses, Sephy started to relay what had happened outside of my battle against the poison.

No one else had been so seriously injured, and we’d managed to keep the chest secure. It seemed that the cultists who’d ambushed us had been to blame for the attack in town that had distracted Kay’s team. A deliberate attempt to separate our forces, which had led the others on a wild goose chase. The only reason Lance had returned was because Kay had felt something was off and had sent Lance to check up on us.

Lance had spotted our horses fleeing upriver sans riders and charged in to help.

She was actually the one who’d killed the Paladin of Sacrifice. Lance had simply jumped off her mount and used the cultist to break her fall, planting her blade in his gut via the neck. The Priest and the other Paladin had also been taken down by the combined forces of the team. They’d got almost everyone. The only person to escape had been the Shadow Squire. The Squire had unfortunately escaped any attempt to track them, which meant that the cultists would know what happened in the fight, which put everyone on edge.

I’d survived in large part due to my own alchemy. I’d given the group training before and made sure that everyone had some of the elixirs and brews I concocted. Between them they’d managed to stabilise me, enough that Sephy could arrive and begin to filter my blood of the toxins.

The whole group had then formed up and charged through to Phischer’s domain. They’d taken turns carrying the chest and kept a constant watch out for the Divine Cultivators. While there was still a lot of doubt about whether this was the Grail, the fact those monsters wanted whatever was in the box meant protecting it was top priority.

So it was that we were now holed up in a small fort on the edge of the city of Corbinec. The usually bullish and miserly King Phischer had apparently been so pleased that the long-standing bounty was to be collected that he’d happily allowed them to inhabit the old fort.

Gawain had arrived that morning with both Marek and Rowena, who had both, after a quick check in on me, devoted themselves to examining the box.

"Well it seems that all is well that ends well." I got the words out, but then Sephy pinched me sharply on the stomach. It was enough to make me jump and then hiss at the pain. Still, when I settled down my partner was staring at me with eyes hooded with rage.

"Sephy?"

"Don’t look so confused. Am I not permitted to be a bit annoyed at such a ridiculous attitude being demonstrated by my pretty bard? My wonderfully skilled artist, whose many talents are not focused upon combat, yet twice now has ended up duelling threats? And now has gone so far as to lose a staggering amount of blood and gain just as much poison."

"I mean it’s not like I planned for that." I grumbled.

"I just thought you were the last person I had to worry about getting hurt."

"We’re cultivators, it comes with the territory," I responded lamely. It sounded weak to me, and from the way Sephy’s eyes narrowed it didn’t sound any better to her.

"You’re meant to be a bard."

"And if I choose to follow knights who stand against dragons, I know I’m risking getting burnt."

"I know. It’s just both times it happened while I was away. The poison, well, if they hadn’t got me to you." She flexed her hands before nailing me with a look that didn’t have the evil eye behind it but certainly felt like it did. "Look, I know you have your trick. But I still don’t like the idea of you dying. Not now, not ever, and especially not on a table in front of me as I frantically draw the blood out of you."

"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…"

"I’m just angry. You didn’t do anything wrong. It just hurts." She sighed and leant her head back on my shoulder.

"Everyone knows we fucked up. Not you, not anyone specifically, but we should’ve been better. Kay is beating herself up for not deciding to have more guards on the artefact. Bors and Maeve are kicking themselves for sparring when they should’ve been keeping watch. Arthur’s so angry at himself that Maeve agreed to spend time distracting him."

"Know who I blame? Those thrice-cursed cultists," I growled out.

It wasn’t that we’d not expected to encounter some cultists on their journey. The bastards were trying to take over Euross after all. However, the co-ordinated attack that targeted the chest had shown a level of planning and subterfuge we’d never expected of them.

It was a worrying shift in their behaviour.

It was big enough that Rowena had even come with Marrek, risking the ire of the Green Knight to ensure the chest and whatever its contents were destroyed. They’d spent a sizeable for-the-area force on the attack. It wasn’t unbelievable to imagine they’d have more in reserve. Possibly even a Steel.

Sephy had mentioned in her summary earlier that Tristan and Maeve had both been slinking off repeatedly to talk to their respective families’ spies. Their combined network was going over every rumour and possibility to hunt for hints that would explain their presence.

The fact they’d been disguised and close enough to attack us told us everything we needed to know.

The Round Table had been shaken by the attack. The last few months had lulled the Knights into a sense of complacency. The bandits, even if they contained an Iron here or there, were never much of a threat, never gathering in more than a trio. The biggest threats tended to be beasts. The greatest challenges were protecting mortals, not their own lives.

Only now a great fire had risen right beside us and burned us for our hubris.

I found myself reassuring Sephy. Her tone as she spoke of those mistakes was full of an unfamiliar level of self-loathing. She placed the blame firmly at her own feet.

It was as I was reassuring her for the third time that I didn’t blame her for heading into town that day that the door to our room swept open.

Lance stared at the pair of us, seemingly confused, before her face broke out into a wide grin.

"Taliesin, you’re awake. Knew you’d be all right." She ran over as if to clap me on the shoulder. Given only one was free I was very grateful when Sephy leapt up to intercept her and shut the door.

"I hear I have you to thank for that."

"Don’t mention it. We were the ones who got tricked in the first place. We shouldn’t have left you alone." She grimaced.

"Lance, I assume you came up for a reason?" Sephy said, straightening her clothes now she was out of the bed. The blonde knight smartly didn’t comment on our closeness.

"Well, I came up to tell Percy that we’re about ready to crack open the chest. Marek and Rowena think it’s time. Seems you woke up just in time for the big reveal."

"Well this should be worth seeing," I grunted.