Arthurian Cultivation

Mordred stood before the vast panelled door. The palace was a monument to the Atlantean empire, and this dark wood door, with its sixteen panels showing artful reliefs of some of its greatest moments, was a balm to the soul.

It felt good to be back in his finery. He had never liked pretending to be some Knight Errant. He was proud of his livery, and being parted from it had left him feeling as though his armour was loose and always missing a piece.

Its absence had also meant that he had not been shown the proper respect. Not a problem now. The servants of this mortal King had fallen over themselves to accommodate them. Priest Tobias stood behind him in his full priestly raiment. He was attending to ensure nothing untoward happened.

The mortals of the mountains were without faith or respect for their divine decree. It had been stressed to Mordred multiple times that he could not kill him for any insults. Even if, between them, Mordred and Tobias were sufficient to crush the weak cultivators of this kingdom, it would set back the advance of the righteous cause. The Rays made it clear that faith through oppression was to be a last resort.

It was far too great a drain on the time of cultivators to go round mopping up rebellious mortals who refused to accept the truth.

Mordred focused on the door, taking in the scenes to settle himself. He had felt on edge since they had arrived at Corbinec.

They had come too late. The fae-loving Round Table had fled from this kingdom days ago, and now they were strewn to the winds. The small fortress the hidden faithful reported they had used was already returned to its normal role as a barracks and defence for the mortal soldiers.

They had wanted to break in and examine the place but the priests had counselled patience and diplomacy, which is why Mordred was here.

The doors swung open, revealing a temple to how things once were. The room was ancient, the designs reminding Mordred of some of the oldest buildings in the holy capital, the few places tucked away in the hills that had survived the destruction of Atlantis. This was the legacy of the empire, preserved by mortal hands.

He was reluctantly impressed.

They approached, the Paladin following the priest’s cues for where to move and stand. They reached a point and there he bowed, a compromise as he refused to kneel for a man not of the faith. A man reeled off the King’s name, along with some pathetic titles, though Mordred did pause at the mention of Governor Inheritor.

On the throne the decrepit King chuckled.

"Bold of you to walk into this kingdom and refuse to honour ancient custom." The man’s voice was amused and contemptuous. Mordred had to clench his hands at the boldness of the pathetic Bronze rank. Where did his confidence come from?

"My companion is most devout in his faith. He kneels to none but our god and their representatives."

"Do you imagine your ancestors did not? Once long ago an ancestor of mine governed from this palace. I know not if he was read into the faith or not, but I do know that all who came here knelt before him. Do you imagine they did not include the faithful?"

"I’m—"

"I’m asking the Paladin of Mercy." The man’s voice cracked out like a whip. Mordred paused and raised himself to regard the withered monarch. Most were petrified of the Paladins of Mercy, yet their symbol was not well known. To play such a game against someone who could kill you with a thought spoke of a rare mind.

His point was also valid. The faithful had been discreet back in ancient times, guiding the empire from the shadows so as not to have their divine goal sullied by politics and other mortal concerns. They indeed would have been faced with such challenges. Mordred paused before he asked his question.

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"You are Governor Inheritor? I am not familiar with the title."

"The laws of the empire were clear. Should a governor fall, his heir would take over until such time as a new governor was chosen by the empire. The empire has not seen fit to replace my line in all this time, so by ancient rites I am Governor Inheritor. I hear you claim the mantle of the Empire. So are you here to pay respect and then demand taxes? Perhaps you have come to replace me after all this time?"

"If you respect the Empire and know its true faith, why are you not of the faith?" Mordred snapped.

"I have seen much and my mind is set. I am not a pathetic wastrel who would claim possession of faith he does not hold. Tell me young man, if I were suddenly to say I believed in the Guiding Star, that I claimed to be your brother, what would you do?"

"I would cut you down," Mordred replied. Beside him he could see Tobias put his hand over his face, and all around the room muttering from the courtiers began. The guards started to look nervous.

"A fine response. Hahaha." The old man began to laugh. It was a rotten thing, like a pair of mouldy cracked bellows. "My point is made. I offer no faith because I have none to give. My only true belief is that humans are cruel, deceitful creatures, each out for their own gain."

"King Phischer." Tobias stepped forward, trying to get a hold of the strange conversation.

"Priest, I know why you are here. You seek the Round Table, or something they have. Do you not?"

"That is one task that is before us, your majesty. They killed some of our faithful in an attack most foul. We wish to treat with them and come to a resolution." Tobias spoke. Around them the courtiers started to mutter. Mordred could hear them chatter. The mortals seemed to worry about the Round Table. It was disgusting to see how their foes had tricked these people into seeing them as saviours, not the heretics they were.

"Is that how their bard got stabbed? Can’t imagine anyone else that would be able to threaten that lot." Phischer looked around at the room.

"Everyone but our guests is to leave."

"Your majesty—"

"OUT!" The king bellowed with more power than Mordred would have thought possible. The mortals scurried away like rats before a dog. After a minute or so the doors shut and the King slumped back on his throne.

"That lot of bright-eyed children are popular here. Providing you aid would not be popular, not with my people or the kingdoms beyond."

"Such constraints should not bother a King," Tobias replied.

"Keep your flattery, priest. Such concerns do not bother me because I have one foot in the grave. I prefer your Paladin. He does not have a deceptive bone in his body."

"It seems you are inclined to help us, King Phischer. You want something, do you not?" Mordred asked, and the old man chuckled. He seemed smaller now, eyes more sunken, hands shaking slightly until he settled them on the arms of his throne.

"They gave an oath to kill a man, a vile treasonous thief. One who collaborated with Vermald the sorcerer to rob me. Interesting that they killed the sorcerer just before you clashed. I know this as the bard’s account did not mention he was wounded when he killed that wretch, so the wound must have come after.

Mordred flinched. They had already deduced that Vermald was the one who had held the artefact they had failed to retrieve before the Round Table found it. Did this mean there was a chance that some artefacts might sit with this thief?

"We would greatly appreciate direction to this treasonous criminal, your majesty." Tobias smiled.

"It seems that the Round Table rushed off to the Kingdom of Gorre, apparently in the pursuit of bandits if they are to be believed. Strange to take on such an oath and then head there," the king mused.

"What is the price of this information?" Mordred asked. He did not like being in debt to someone below him.

"No matter what, I want that traitor Merlin dead. He stole something from me." He hissed. "I want that fucker dead. I do not care if you kill their whole Order first, work together, or kill the traitor and run away with your tail between your legs. I want him dead, do you understand? They seem to know something of his whereabouts, and so I tell you.

"Paladin, give me your oath that you will see this Merlin slain. Then I shall tell you everything I shared with them and more."

"I give my oath."

"See, it all starts with my family. We were truly the governors of this fae-cursed place long ago. As the empire burned, my ancestor was entrusted with a strong box of cultivator make by a great sage. We were promised a cure to all ills, a panacea rested within, and it must be protected at all costs. We were noble and just protectors of this treasure, never opening it and waiting for the true inheritors to return, to take it back and reward us for our long service."

Mordred’s spine chilled as this festering heathen delivered divine guidance.

"Perhaps it is you who the sage expected to come? I do not know, and thanks to that cur my family has failed in our stewardship. You arrived too late."

"Maybe though you can still find what was taken!" The old king's laughter followed Mordred and Tobias strode out.