Arthurian Cultivation

Mordred could taste the power of the divine in the air. The artefact was here, he knew it. It wasn’t just his absolute faith, but a lingering touch of that divine spark.

For it to be so potent even when faded, he shuddered in anticipation of its reclamation.

The push through the night had been worth it. Sure, it had seen many of them wounded, and they’d lost five of their squires on the march alone, but it wasn’t a great loss. They’d already been gibbering, their minds weak and allowing the demons in.

The priests would not stop complaining about how many divine artefacts they’d used to keep the demons at bay, expecting they’d get in trouble for the waste. But Mordred didn’t agree. It was better this than risk using the artefact to call the Saint to their side. Not only was it infinitely more valuable, but the Saint would undoubtedly see it as a failure.

She had little tolerance for failures.

Speaking of, they’d lost Priest Maxim, who’d fallen to simple greed. The Inquisitor’s priest had surprisingly weak faith, letting his mind be overtaken by demonic whispers of wondrous bounty. During the march they’d chanced upon a divine gift in the centre of a lake. His weakness had seen him ignore orders and try to capture the treasure for himself.

His punishment for his transgression had been swift. A demonic water eel had torn him in half. The only thing Mordred mourned was the two squires who’d been unlucky enough to trust him and had been slain as well.

Allies lost ahead of the great challenge. And a challenge it was. They stood before a vast overgrown mausoleum to fallen powers. Mordred could feel the flow of Mercy rolling off it like steam from a boiling pot. It was a place steeped in death and misery. The other Paladins hesitated, but he could see his way forward.

“It is trapped.” Priest Tobias stopped him as he began to walk through the doors.

“Is the trap lethal? Was it put there by them?” Exactly the cowardly, dishonest thing a heretic would do.

“No, it’s old, and more an alarm than anything else. Yet…”

“They are ahead of us. If they hunt some other, then alerting them will do them no favours.” Mordred made to move forward again, but Paladin Fallowmere darted in front of him, his constant half-smile gone, his mood sombre.

“One moment. We should decide on a strategy. Should some remain on guard? We cannot be certain that all of them went inside. The smart thing to do would be to have a team to harry us from behind.”

“You aren’t suggesting cowardice, are you?” Mordred growled.

“I’m just suggesting some of the priests, and maybe our wounded Paladins and squires, remain to make camp at the mouth of the ruins. Remember, it’s not the Order we hunt, but this Merlin character. If we are all aiming to flush out our quarry, then surely having someone waiting at the doors is wise.”

“I agree with Fallowmere. Also, I believe I have seen flyers around, and I struggle to believe the hawk or the pegasus crammed into those tunnels. We should be prepared for an attack.” Inquisitor Lucinda spoke, the lone woman among the Iron ranks. She spoke rarely, but always with total authority. Mordred paused. He respected Inquisitors, and had the least amount of issues with her out of any of the Rays.

“What if they are not split, and we arrive outnumbered?” That was Fergal, the Paladin of Bonds, a wastrel of a man. He always looked twitchy, like a fox watching to see if you’d spotted it or not. He’d been injured in their push through the night, his shield arm stuck in a sling. “Perhaps the Prince or Bard are also out here. We’d be in trouble if we didn’t have enough men to capture them.”

“I suggest myself, Mordred, and Lucinda move forward with Priests Tobias and Quentin. Mordred, you still have your two squires, you take them as well.”

“The Rays of Bonds and Health seem a perfect choice to set up camp. You keep a watch out, heal the squires, and be prepared to assist.”

“I can agree to that. We can always retreat back if we’re under attack,” Lucinda offered. Mordred ground his teeth. He couldn’t imagine retreating right now. He held himself back. There was no point in fighting this. He would see the task done. The guiding star would not allow heretics to hold an artefact. What they had must be enough.

“Do the priests have their parchments of grace, to summon the Saint?”

“Yes, we’re prepared. We have two. One will go with me, and one will remain with you in case our quarry runs,” Tobias replied.

“Onwards then. Let us be our Saint’s hounds and flush them from their den,” Mordred growled, before sweeping off down the corridor, Tobias running after him, a set of runic tools clasped in his hands.

---------------

In the forest, hidden beneath a fallen oak, Gaz and Kay watched in absolute silence. They’d slipped out when Lance had reported their enemies getting closer, but they’d barely had time to hide themselves before the first ones had arrived. Only once the Paladins split into two groups, half of them disappearing inside while the rest made camp just within the archway of the ancient keep.

“I don’t like that one. ‘Mordred’, was it?” Gaz muttered, a faint buzz to his voice letting her know he was suppressing the sound so only she could hear.

“He’s a Mercy Paladin. They’re worse news than the Inquisitors. The Inquisitors at least want to talk.” Kay shuddered, suppressing a memory.

“I don’t know if we’ll have to worry about him. From the way the others described it, he’ll walk right into a trap.”

“I don’t know. Their priests are better than we are with runes.”

“Any contact with them?” Kay asked.

“No. The water marble isn’t powerful enough to get through all the stone, let alone whatever glamour was worked into this place’s construction. No way to warn them.”

“We’re going to need to take out that camp.” She frowned.

“Should we not wait to hear from them?”

“They have priests. The longer they have to set up defences, the worse it’s going to be for us.” Kay said, pointing at the group who were already starting to set up tents and place stones on the edge of their camp.

“There’s still two Paladins and a pair of priests down there, and some squires,” Gaz said, using a disc of water to help magnify his view.

“Those squires look to be more of a burden than a fighting force. I’m genuinely surprised they didn’t just abandon them,” Kay added bitterly.

“Still, it’s bad numbers unless you call over Lance, Arthur, and Gawain.”

“Which risks Mer—Nermil slipping out the other exits.”

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“There could always be other exits, ones we’re not covering,” Gaz muttered. He’d been trying to extend his senses to find more, but had no luck before the cultists arrived.

“Yes, but the more exits we cover, the better. Nermil is still top priority. Besides, if the team inside finds the way through to them, then we can all leave without going through this little camp of theirs.”

“Wait, do we need to destroy this camp?” Gaz paused, a grin springing across his face.

“What do you mean? Right now this is their only way out.”

“No, do we need to destroy it? Who says it has to be us?” His smile was getting wider. It wasn’t a friendly look.

“Explain? If you’re thinking of drawing a beast over here, I’d rethink it. Lance and Gawain said this part of the forest is notably empty of beasts.”

“That’s not what I’m thinking. We didn’t hear the whispers when we were that close, right? They’re back now though.”

“Yes, thanks for pointing that out. I’d just managed to ignore them. What are you getting at?”

“They shouldn’t know the whispers are gone. Now you and Taliesin told us they all hate each other.”

“I wasn’t with them long, but they weren’t constantly complaining about the other Rays.” Kay scowled at the memory. She didn’t like to linger on her time with the cultists.

“Well, there’s some ragged-looking people who’ve just marched through some terrifying woods, look exhausted, and even with what little I can see through the door it looks like they’re setting up separate camps. Now normally, if you heard some weird whispers from nowhere, you’d assume some wind or sound-gifted was messing with you.” Gaz’s eyes were locked on the milling group.

“But here it’s just the fae.” Kay began to nod along, an evil smile growing on her lips.

“The terrifying demonic fae, ready to warn them all about the traitors in their midst,” Gaz grinned.

“I really wish Taliesin was here. He’d be perfect for this,” Kay muttered.

“I hope he’s not having too much fun without us.”

--------------------

Lance hurtled back, flying low to the treetops, the huge canopy of the Oak stretching far above. They shifted in the wind, sometimes revealing slivers of starlit sky as they moved.

It was stressful. Neither she nor Gring were at ease. The canopy made creatures hard to spot. The last few days had involved several near misses as flying creatures had tried to make a snack of them. Most had been Bronze rank and easy enough to fend off, but the occasional Iron rank had appeared, forcing them to land and hide with the other Knights for safety.

She’d seen an owl with a beak the size of her a few minutes ago, gliding silently through the air a little way over. She shuddered at the image of becoming an owl pellet.

The sun was coming up, the first light of dawn kissing the sky. The top of the Oak was already catching the light. She moved lower, risking an attack from below to ensure the cultists wouldn’t see her from their little camp.

She had laughed when Gaz had explained his plan. It had taken the sting off the dire news.

The cultists had, against all odds, caught up with them. They must’ve burned through something valuable to do so.

She winged over to a little outcrop of fallen rubble, a tower or other fortification that’d crumbled. Huddled in a half-collapsed circular room were Arthur, Archimedes, and Gawain, all of whom sat watching a small trapdoor.

“Land gently,” she whispered to Gring, who nodded and alighted upon the thick natural stone rather than the finished floor.

“What news from our comrades?” Arthur called out. Lance bit down her dislike of just how frustratingly noble he sounded. Arthur had got better, but neither of them got on. Part of it was her unexplained moon gift and similar appearance, which even she didn’t like to dwell on. Still, not her fault.

The other half was that he seemed to believe she was stealing his time with Maeve, who he was obviously obsessed with. That she did do deliberately, though that was primarily to spare Maeve his awkward conversations.

Annoying him was just a delightful extra.

“I don’t have much time. I have to get to the others. The cultists are here. Half outside, half going inside.”

As she adjusted her eyes to the shadows cast by the sun and saw the two men come into focus, she pulled back. Both of them were sporting a number of red welts.

“What happened to you?”

“One of the traps inside. It released a load of Rust Hornets. They came out the vents and found us.”

“Hornets as a trap? This Merlin sounds delightful. Wait, what’s this about the vents?”

“It’s how we contacted them and got dragged into the hornets. It’s to let air flow into the structure below. I saw some smoke rising from a vent. Turns out they were getting rid of an entire nest of Rust Hornets.”

“Insects’ emotions feel awful.”

“While it was far from ideal, it did allow them to contact us. I left a note to Tristan to do it again if they found another vent.”

“Of all the unseelie luck, I thought you’d met them. And now there are more exits?”

“Not unless you can fit down a foot-square hole several stories long. The contact part is limited. They’ve already moved on from that vent. Sorry, we were rushed. I only planned signals for contact, not every scenario. Perhaps if we—” Gawain got distracted, his mind getting lost temporarily in all manner of codes.

Arthur took this moment to strike.

“We should move in. Help them against this vile threat.” He went to move forward, but Gawain grabbed him.

“No, we need to make sure Merlin doesn’t escape here. There are clear signs this exit has been cleared and repaired. He could be heading here right now. If we open it and alert him we’re waiting, he might pick somewhere else.”

“Or he might choose somewhere else anyway. Or nowhere, as our friends capture him in the depths below.” Arthur argued back. He paused and took a deep breath, steadying himself, reining back his emotions.

“It seems wasteful to be out here when we could be in there. Surely we’re more useful—”

“Did you forget the hornet trap? Or the other nightmares they described? You’d have better chances going up against some unseelie hounds,” Gawain snapped at his friend and charge, before breathing deeply. “Sorry, the stings are irritating me.”

“We have orders. We agreed to this. It’s what we need to do. Taliesin never complained at being stuck outside,” Lance snapped at him. She’d made a mistake in bringing up the bard. Arthur might not like her, but they still got along. They spoke with swords in their spars and exchanged brief but important notes on Moon Glamour.

Arthur, for a myriad of reasons, loathed Taliesin. You could tell by how unflinchingly professional he was around him.

“You—” He waved a finger at her, before grinding his teeth and rolling his neck. The wave of anger that rolled off him had Gring snorting and scraping his hooves, and her hand shifting to the pommel of her sword.

“You are… not wrong.” He spat the words out like each one was taking a tooth with it. “I will remain here. You two go look for smoke or the vents. Gawain, maybe you can send the message down the vents to them.”

“It’d risk warning the cultists, but at this point that’s not that big of a problem. They know we’re here.”

“I’m with you. Let’s go.”

--------------------

Watching through the enchanted mirror he’d looted from hidden rooms in the complex, the apprentice of Merlin ground his teeth. This group were very good. Irritatingly good.

At least he now had the others. He’d never liked the Divine Cultivators. They asked too many questions, though it was easy to manipulate their faith. Right now all he needed to do was ensure the groups met.

He frowned as he looked again. They’d just finished with the hornets and were coming back towards the central chamber. He’d given up spying during that fight. The amount of smoke in the air had made it impossible to see. The bard-looking one with the black hair was really getting on his nerves. He’d had the gall to clap after the prophecy.

He was further stymied by the fact he couldn’t hear what they said. The mirror he used was a creation of illusion and dream glamour, and as such only allowed him to scry images. But after handling one of the more dangerous traps they were distressingly unscathed. Though from the way they looked about, it seemed as if they were about to rest.

He grumbled at his poor luck. They were just about to enter one of the lecture halls. That wasn’t ideal. The cultists were getting close. This lot would hear them coming and have the chance to set a trap for them. It’d undermine the whole goal of having them bleed each other out. That was unacceptable. He needed these red-cloaked Knights dead. He didn’t like how they kept looking around.

Looking for something.

Looking for him, maybe?

They hadn’t paused long enough after the ‘prophecy’. That had sent a good number of those who’d made it past the stairs running.

Who had sent them? He didn’t recognise the heraldry. He’d spent too long lost in his research, preparing the plans of the ring. Of his master.

What could’ve aggravated so many people of power? It didn’t seem like they were from any of the Orders who occasionally sent their more expendable Knights into his domain. He hoped they were here for some treasure or piece of history, but didn’t believe it.

They wanted him. But why?

His experiments avoided those with powerful connections. He’d even avoided a couple of possible tests just because they were distantly related to cultivators who’d left the mountains. He’d been careful. His subjects weren’t the kind of people that anyone important cared about. Just mortals.

They were talking again. He needed to hear more. He was well hidden, and while he didn’t like being close to danger, there was no reason to think any of them would sense him.

He let the mirror fade to black. He would have to sneak closer to where he could hear them. Perhaps interfere a little and draw them out.

He trusted in his master’s whispers. He wasn’t due to die here. He was destined for greater things. Still, his faith wasn’t blind. He might have a wonderful future as the right hand of a mythic figure to look forward to, but the path would be smoother if he took action.