Arthurian Cultivation

“I’m sure these trees weren’t here yesterday.” I muttered, looking about. There was a fresh wall of dense forest. It looked as ancient and mossy as any other part of the forest, but I was certain that the trees had been thinner and different before the sun set last night.

“They very well may not have been. If we didn’t have the Oak as a reference point I’d honestly be worried about getting lost.” Kay sighed.

“Is anyone else hearing more whispers?” Bors asked, as we all started to move off from the camp. According to Amergin it would take another day at our pace to reach the ruins of the Ascendant Chapter Complex. This was where those aspiring to join the Central Chapter of the Folly’s old Order would have lived. There apparently the whispers would ease, and I think every one of us couldn’t wait for it.

“Ignore them. Don’t entertain them.” Kay called.

“What if it’s—” Bors began to ask before Kay cut him off again.

“Don’t. All the stories I’ve heard said it only gets worse if you start to pay attention. Don’t give them the satisfaction.”

“But they sound so real.” The big man groaned.

“That I’m not denying. It’s time to pull out the heavy lances. Taliesin, play something.”

“I thought we were being stealthy.” I replied, a little confused.

“It’s the lesser of two evils. Not that you playing is evil but…” Kay shrugged.

“Better to be loud and sane than quiet and victim to this fae bullshit.” Sephy called out.

“Also those fools are still a day or more behind us and nothing we’re doing seems to be shaking their tail.” Bors grumbled.

It wasn’t like I needed much encouragement. I could sense the mood was low. I’d been unable to play as regularly as I’d like for what felt like an eternity thanks to the pursuit and my injury. My lute was in my hands and my fingers dancing across the strings before everyone had stopped talking.

I started to play a tune. An old one I’d not cracked out in a while.

“Arise, with sword and armour,

Arise, as the war drums pound,

Arise, for hearth and home,

Arise, as the battle cries sound”

I began the marching tune, feeling that sensation of resonance connect with my comrades. It spiked up as they joined in on the chorus, all of us happy to have something to distract us.

I almost lost the song as I returned to the verse after the chorus, as I felt the resonant connection spread further.

The forest was listening.

In an audience of a tavern or hall, I felt the resonance rise like mist from the mortals, their weak personal power bubbling up in a thin layer. With cultivators it was a trickle of power, drops from a pipette drawn to me as if I were the ground. Denser in power yet limited in amount.

This was akin to being in a fine misting rain. The power and quantity reminded me of playing for the Golden Keep, where I’d had an entire room of cultivators watching me.

I didn’t dare stop.

It made my skin prickle. I had never had such an audience. And worse, I didn’t dare stop. Something deep inside told me that interrupting the song wouldn’t be appreciated.

I drew in this power, feeling it spread through me. The pressure of its attention loomed over me as I plastered a smile upon my face and sang my tune.

When the end of the song came I trailed off. Thankfully the forest’s attention eased as well, and I sagged in on myself. I felt just a bit closer to the next hurdle of my development. If anything I was right on the precipice of taking the next step to Steel.

I was so lost in that thought it took me a moment to realise the forest was utterly silent.

The only sound was our breathing and the clink of armour. Not a rustle or creak of wood, nor bird call, and the low susurration of fae trickery was gone. It lasted only a moment before the normal sounds of the forest returned, but the fae interference stayed silent.

“Do we think that’s worse or better?” Kay asked the group in a quiet voice.

“The forest was listening. I could feel it paying attention.” I whispered back.

“You know how you told me not to give it satisfaction? I think you might have done a bit more than that.” Bors said, keeping a wary eye on the trees.

“It seemed to like it as far as I can tell.” I said.

“I’ve heard the fae appreciate music, but that was chilling.” Tristan shivered.

“Hopefully we should be at the ruins soon. Amergin said that this place didn’t have such a strong fae presence. Let’s push on.”

“I don’t suppose you remember who cursed you to receive the attention of beings far beyond you?” Sephy asked in a lighter tone, trying to ease the mood.

“I’m not cursed.” I replied, then paused. Hmmm, my enforced truth hadn’t reacted. Seems that didn’t count.

“No, I see it. You’ve met the Lady, Miss Peaches, the fae Mercury, then there’s your patriarch and Grandmother Chox.” Gaz listed them off from his point in the formation.

“What about Ursul?” Bors added.

“Ursul was just big. If we include him you’d have to include Lance’s parents, Rensliegh and Rowena. Who all seemed pretty interested in you.” Maeve added, smiling. I groaned.

“No, because then you’d have to start including Marek and the Brewer. Hey, he didn’t meet the Steel Druid we met. That’s got to count for something.” Bors chuckled.

“It’s not that many people.” Arthur chimed in.

“You’re a prince, Arthur. Of course it doesn’t seem that many compared to you.” Bors sighed.

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“I’m not cursed. Maybe it’s just my natural charisma.” I smiled at the group. They paused and then shook their heads.

“All in favour of putting a bag over his head?” The suggestion came from Gaz. With that everyone had a laugh. Thankfully I was spared the bag.

We marched on.

Quietening down the fae had eased the mood, but even as we joked our vigilance was constant. The Oak was getting closer. More roots were visible. We were encountering creatures every hour it seemed.

Before lunch we saw off two packs of wolves. Each was led by Iron ranked beasts that probed our defences. One pack was gifted in nature, slipping through the trees like ghosts. The other had coats of verdigris covered bronze that melded into the green light cast by the canopy. Even the Bronze beasts were twice the size of their mortal counterparts. Both times a few attacks sent them packing, retreating as soon as they took losses. It was odd to find beasts so willing to pull back, but it made sense.

In our lands the glamour was thin. Cultivators, and to a much lesser extent mortals, were rare sources of power that couldn’t be ignored. How else would they get stronger?

In the Folly all manner of fae beasts roamed, each just as tasty a morsel as we were. Why, in that case, bother with the organised group of heavily armed and armoured threats?

With a smile I thought to our pursuers. We were indeed a threat, all of us at Iron. The squires that the cultists dragged with them would no doubt offer a much more tantalising target. Sure the Irons could defend them but the priests would also need protection.

We marched on.

We passed a pool. In it was a water treasure, we could all feel the pull of it. And with the treasure we could all sense the fae beast guarding it. A powerful and old beast. It was some kind of water snake or eel. Though as it moved through the water, coiling anxiously as it sensed our approach, we could see its body was as thick around as a mortal pine’s trunk.

Even with such a guardian I could practically feel Gaz and Gawain’s hunger to go claim it, yet we held back.

It wouldn’t have fouled the laws of the Green Knight, but the loss of time and the potential of injuring ourselves when enemies followed on our heels was unacceptable. Plus leaving it untouched served as its own trap. True, getting the treasure might increase our enemies’ power, but in doing so they had more potential for loss than we did.

We would work together to secure it for Gaz and Gawain, but our pursuers were not so benevolent to each other. If they collaborated then it would come at great cost, and it was unlikely the entire group would work together.

We marched on.

Steadily the whispers returned. This time though we could hear the same thing, mangled versions of my music being played back at us. After a short debate I played another song. This was the bawdy tale I’d played back in Sir Spendlove’s town, to amuse children and adults alike.

I didn’t dare sing a song that named any of us.

Gawain and Lance had to land. A massive hawk, with a wingspan longer than two jousts placed together, had started to circle. Neither wanted to take any chances against such a beast. We kept our eyes on the sky for a while.

They did warn, before they’d landed, that the cultists could be seen distant behind us. Light catching on armour. They followed our trail up the East root.

We marched on.

I had just finished seeing off the whispers with a rousing rendition of Ulfast the Ugly when the grass shifted. The abundant nature thinned, and what I’d taken to be an odd hillock resolved itself into something more.

Just as the sun was beginning to set we finally reached the ruins.

And such ruins they were.

The gatehouse would once have rivalled the Golden Keep’s entrance. The walls were coated in cracked white marble, vines wedged into the channels between the stone. Moss grew over regal frescoes that I was sure once depicted great deeds, and I could see here and there scattered bits of gold leaf catching the light of the dying sun.

A scraggly pair of trees grew from the top of the battlements, looming over us like cursed guardsmen. For all I knew they might have been. Their duty though was lacking. The defences were long breached.

The door had warped with age, the planks twisted and grasping like the gnarled roots of a tree, offering an opening just wide enough for one person to walk through. The portcullis lay fallen and collapsed on the ground before us, grass growing between the bars of the once impenetrable gate.

We gathered before the door. The only exception was Tristan, who’d headed over to inspect the doorway, while Lance and Gaz kept watch behind us.

“Ominous. This place is fucking ominous.” Bors muttered.

“It certainly isn’t a place of merriment.” I added.

“Should we offer our respect to this place before we enter?” Maeve asked.

“And risk offending the Oak?” Kay pointed at the Grand Oak, still illuminated as it caught the last of the fading light.

“If I’ve ever seen a place filled with ghosts then it’s this place. I’d rather not stir them up.” Bors responded.

“Ghosts aren’t real.” I replied.

“Says the death gifted.”

“Well they’re not. What people think of as ghosts are just snarled up bits of death glamour. Sometimes it can get trapped and not dissipate.” I replied. Marek’s teaching had covered that in detail. I decided to skip that these snarled up bits of glamour could occasionally retain enough will behind them to manage to hold some form and even grudge enough to lash out. It was both very rare and the attacks weak, barely a threat at our level.

“Sounds like ghosts to me.” Bors replied. He let out an uneasy chuckle.

“I’ve found signs of someone.” Tristan appeared beside our group. His words shook all of us from our distraction. We had a lead, something to focus on.

“There’s an alarm ward on the door, a new one. Just beyond it someone has cleared out a path through the vegetation. Though with how quick everything grows here it’s hard to tell if that was done recently and poorly or a long while ago and they just don’t care about the bits of moss and grass that have spread since then. Not recently used.”

“That’s incredible news. If we trust Amergin then it’s a clear sign we’ve found Merlin here. I honestly dreaded hunting him across this whole mountain.” Kay muttered.

“Don’t get too excited. I get the sense that this place isn’t small. The air is cool. I think they might have tunnelled deep into the mountain.” Tristan added.

“I really hope we find this Merlin fucker quickly. I want out of here.” Bors muttered.

“Let’s give our respect to the Oak here. I’d prefer if we didn’t do anything to irritate it. Lance and Gawain will remain on watch out here, make sure this bastard doesn’t slip past us, and warn us if the cultists start to catch up.”

“Good idea. Archimedes won’t want to go underground.” Gawain said. “I didn’t picture the ruins being so contained.”

“Gring can handle it but I’d rather we stuck outside. Should we scout around for other exits?”

“Good shout. Let’s approach this like we did trapping Vermald.”

“There’s a sally port on the other side. It’s also cracked open. From how overgrown it is I don’t think anyone is aware of it. It’s not trapped as far as I can tell.” Tristan explained, having just investigated the doors.

We all bowed, offering gratitude to the Oak.

The group moved out. The knights slipped through the small door used for when opening the full gates would have been unnecessary or unsafe. Tristan and Kay worked the overgrown bush that had taken root there to one side with their nature glamour, so as to leave no evidence of their passing.

I felt good. Firstly I wasn’t outside with the horses, which I had to admit I’d slowly come to find a little vexing over the months. Second, it felt good to be sneaking up on the enemy for once. I’d had far too many surprises of late. It would be nice to surprise someone else for a change.

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Deep in the halls of a forgotten Order, a man sat up. Something had just triggered one of the more subtle of his alarm wards.

Beasts regularly tripped the overt ones that covered the few entrances to his hideaway. But ignoring the obvious entrance and triggering the hidden options spoke to one of two things. Either a wily and cunning breed of beast had caught his scent, or some meddlesome visitors were gracing his domain.

He cursed as he tried to reach out with his senses. Whatever it was, it was out of range of his connection to the dreaming or hiding from it.

He looked over to the shining chalice on the table beside him. Maybe he could afford a sip to boost his power.

The ring on his finger whispered guidance. An ancient voice full of wisdom steering him away from the fool’s path. A voice that knew the future, that told him prophecies of power and potential. It reminded him of the curse, the cost of such a boon.

“You’re right, probably another snake or just some fools looking for treasure. If they could interrupt the great work you’d have seen it.” He muttered to himself.

The man who had taken to calling himself Merlin smiled, shaking out his worries. He was after all on the winning team here. Only a stronger prophet could subvert the visions of another, and his master, even bound and sealed, remained unparalleled across all of humanity.

He’d handle this threat like he had all the others, and get back to the great work.