Arthurian Cultivation

Alka sat at the confluence of rivers, mountains and plains. As we came down from the hills towards it, we could see its wealth in its towering spires, the triple rings of walls, and the gold leaf on the tops of the fortress at the centre, which I assumed was the Golden Keep the local order was named for. The city was huge, as big as Portsmode, which was Albion's foremost port, and far more stately in design.

The walls towered over the plains that surrounded it. The outermost ring was topped in shining bronze. They even spanned the nearby river, carving out a carefully controlled dockside that even the greatest river serpents would struggle to assault. I could see figures patrolling the walls, with watchtowers placed regularly that burned with runic formations. The statement of power was clear, and from the bodies that hung from the walls in iron cages, the crows picking at them, I could tell it was no idle threat.

As we proceeded down a busy road, the mortal traffic parting before us like grass before a passing wolf, I felt we cut a fine image. Between our banner, our red cloaks and polished armour, we had gathered enough majesty to stand before such wealth.

I could sense the confusion from the crowds. It was, after all, odd for the knights to be headed by a bard, but the mortals of course didn't say anything about it to our faces. Though I could hear their muttered conversations, as well as musings as to who we were, with my enhanced hearing. A few even knew our name, which was a surprise. We'd travelled a winding path, but I'd assumed we'd stayed ahead of any news of our Order. Perhaps this was the work of Tiffany and the Steels?

The mortals that surrounded us showed that we'd at least passed the first real challenge as the Order of the Round Table. I could feel the attentions of several different cultivators resting upon us, and if they hadn't already decided to trust us and treat us as a true Order, there was no chance we'd have been allowed to proceed among so many innocents.

Still, I didn't relax. The pressure I was getting from them wasn't hostile, but it wasn't quite friendly. Given the distant but constant surveillance, I would say it was akin to how one might watch a dangerous hound that your friend assured you was trained. There was a distinct sense of suspicion and readiness to step in at a moment's notice should the hound snap, proving not to be as obedient as claimed.

We were permitted to ride unchallenged towards the 'shining gates', a dedicated entrance for cultivators that sat apart from the main gates through which the mortals flowed like water. The gatehouse was clad in marble, the walls decorated with murals of sieges pushed back, and heroes defeating mighty challengers. It screamed wealth, but the heavy portcullis and pulsing runic arrays left me in no doubt that this was a formidable defence.

We approached the gates, the column forming up in two lines. I heard shouts of excitement as Gawain and Lance flew down to join us, resting at our flanks. Flying mounts remained a rarity and helped lend credibility and a sense of awe to our presence. Looking around, I could see people arriving to watch. Both guards and civilians were spectating. The gatehouse remained professional though, a collection of decorated knights on the battlements staring down at us imperiously.

Everything at this point was heavily co-ordinated. From the distance we stood from the gates, to our state of dress, helmets off and our weapons positioned for travel not battle, all was meant to show signs that we came in peace and in observance of the chivalric rule. They in turn waited in positions I'd been told to expect. Now, I just needed to wait for the show to start.

I waited at the head of the column. I felt a twinge of nerves. While I was never one to get stage fright, the pressure of the attention here was enough to make my breath catch. Above us, in the centre of the gatehouse, a man stepped forward. He was dressed in the plate armour of a knight, but far more ornate than any we wore. Every piece was decorated with patterns of castle walls delicately worked into the steel and, at the centre, an image of a portcullis, the tips of which were finished in gold leaf.

His aura was towards the top of Iron. To try and keep myself calm, I focused on the plume that rose from his helm. The white and gold feather fluttered madly in the wind, and bobbed ungainly as he moved, adding a tiny element of comedy that helped me ground myself. He stood over the dead middle of the gate, looked us over, and then spoke words of ancient meaning.

"Who goeth there? Declare thyself, does friend or foe stand before these hallowed gate?" The man's voice boomed over us, and the world fell silent, waiting for the ritual answer.

"Friend, and thrice friend again. Sayeth I, Herald of the Most Honourable Order of the Round Table. We come not with sword drawn, nor banner raised for war, but in peace, seeking audience, succour, and the sharing of humble triumphs with our venerable brethren of the Golden Keep."

"I am the Keykeeper of Bronze-wall's Shining Gate, sworn guardian of the Order of the Golden Keep. Thy heraldry is known to us, thy vows spoken true. The Order of the Round Table standeth in noble esteem and rightful purpose." At his words, the tension that held me melted away and I relaxed a fraction in my saddle. That was the welcome we had hoped for. Had it gone otherwise, we might have spent the day in parley or been turned aside altogether. Around us, murmurs stirred among the gathered crowd, but I heard them not, for the Keykeeper's voice called forth again.

"Ye seek welcome, and we would give it. Yet by the ancient accord, I am bound to ask—Is there aught, be it feud, foul deed, or ill rumour—that should bid us bar these gates and deny thee passage?" The line sounded challenging, but was an ancient part of the process. It was meant to be a way to confess problems or issues that could otherwise sour relations. There really was no drama like ancient cultivator drama.

"None. No quarrel lies between us, nor shadow upon our purpose. We come in honour, as guests and comrades, trusting in thy grace, and pledging our own." I bowed in the saddle, pleased that we'd followed the shortest exchange possible. Some of the others were a mess of archaic language to the point it felt like I was casting some spell, not asking for someone to open a door.

"So be it! Throw wide the gates! Let our comrades enter, and lay down their arms in peace. Let them find warmth within, and share the tales borne on their journey's dust. Thus speaketh the Golden Keep. Its hearth is lit, its table laden, and its welcome deep." Before me, the doors creaked open, the looming slabs of shimmering art swinging back, the arch wide enough to easily admit our small column.

I sighed. All had gone as planned. Such greetings were a formality normally reserved for special events, and while our first meeting might qualify, it was somewhat excessive. Still, the Golden Keep was as a rule obsessed with the defence of their citadel, as protecting the ancient site that sat at the centre of their city was the central part of their tenets and path.

Looking around, I knew the pageantry wasn't a bad thing. People stared at us, mortal and cultivator alike. I could hear it on the wind, and read it on their lips: 'Who are the Order of the Round Table?' The fuss would be a boon to our cause, even if memorising the lines, and the various other ways the conversation might've gone if we'd miscalculated, had eaten up much of my spare time these last few nights.

As we proceeded through, a new knight rode up to meet with me. Unlike the Keykeeper, this man's armour was practical, worn but cared for. It still showed little details hinting at the Golden Keep, but the only bits of gold trim were on the helmet he held clasped under one arm. His dark brown hair was styled in straight lines, as if someone had used a set square to make the top of his head perfectly level. That, along with his square jaw, made his head look like a piece of cut stone ready to slot into the walls. Despite his youthful looks, the sense I got off him was of an older Iron cultivator, the kind taking their time to reach Steel.

"Herald, I am Knight Jorge. I welcome you to our noble citadel. You shall ride after me as we take you to the staging ground we've arranged for you with your associates. Both flying mounts have our commander's permission to fly above the city, as long as they do not try and pass over the silver walls." I nodded in thanks to the man who rode up on his own fine spirit horse. Archimedes tried to be stately, but there's only so majestic the giant bird could look hopping about.

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"I thank you, Knight Jorge. I am the Bard Taliesin and we all appreciate your welcome." I replied smoothly, pleased that the knight had introduced himself with his given name. I didn't know if he was just friendly or had been briefed on our preference to avoid using our house names. From the sharp look he gave us, I felt it was likely the latter.

As he settled in beside me, and I urged Elphin to the side so we could both lead the column, something bothered me about the man. He seemed at ease. The roads were lined with gawking mortals and cultivators alike. Thanks to my teaching over the last few days, I knew the Golden Keep supported a couple of crafting guilds—cultivators who pursued cultivation through the path of refining their skills to the pinnacle—and it seemed a fair few of these artisans had come to inspect us.

They watched from the more ornate buildings. All the buildings were made of grey stone. Most were uniform, blocks of buildings with flat roofs. Some had wooden balconies and flourishes in the design that added a sense of diversity, but it was clear the design was carefully planned. The only exceptions were the occasional ornate buildings that looked like the offspring of a noble mansion and an expensive boutique you saw only in the wealthiest districts of Albion's biggest cities. It was from these buildings I sensed the cultivators watching.

One particular building drew my attention. It looked like an opera house had thrown up over a smithy, their windows displaying beautifully crafted swords and armour, behind grates of shining steel. The main reason it had drawn my attention was I could feel the aura of a Steel-level cultivator radiating out of it. Not threatening, but very present. I felt a wave of worry. Was this some manner of intimidation, or threat?

"Ah, that's one of the Steel Tide's guild halls. They are very proud that they have multiple craftsmen who've reached Steel. If you're in the market for weapons or armour, you should go there. If you go, I'd suggest trying to convince a member of our Order to join you. Their prices for cultivators from outside our fair city can be a touch cheeky." Jorge narrowed his eyes at the building, and the pressure of the Steel abated. My neck started to prickle, and I resisted the urge to look again at our 'Iron' rank guide.

"I thank you for the advice, and will pass it on to my compatriots. The city is truly a marvel. Your people are content and prosperous."

"Would you believe it's normally better than this! The challenges of the last couple of months have caused great disruption. It's why we are all pleased to hear of a new Order looking to proactively deal with the mess those traitorous scum left in their wake. The people are interested in your mission, and the knights here are already begging to be given free rein to ride out with you. I'd keep an eye out for the young bloods. They are already arguing to join you, and may wish to prove they have the mettle, or prove you don't."

"We did not mean to distract your knights from the great work of protecting the Keep and stopping such chaos from spilling further out across the plains." I didn't feel so much as a twinge as I offered the diplomatic response. I was also increasingly aware of the man, watching how we rode steadily past other Iron rank guards without a care, which settled the suspicion in my mind.

Still, my suspicions didn't change how I spoke to him, nor my opinion of these new allies of ours. Of all the groups who weren't pitching in to deal with the crisis, the Golden Keep had the strongest reason of any to avoid being dragged into the conflict. The Keep stood at the very mouth of the dragon. It remained an essential shield to stop the fires within from spreading to the plains, and if the Divine Cultivators did come across the mountains, Alka would be their first target.

Alka had to remain strong or the plains would be laid open.

"A sage view, one I wish more of my fellows understood. It will do them good to know that we're not idle in our desire to impose some much-needed order on the passes, even if that is through our support of initiatives such as yours. The noble ones at least." Jorge's face creased into a frown for the first time, like he tasted something rotten.

"You imply some ignoble initiatives. Are other less honest Orders forming?" I inquired, a little surprised.

"Oh no, you're the only new Order. I do hear that some of our storied allies are now desperately collecting 'questing forces'." He chuckled. "They're a little stung at being pipped to the post by their juniors when it comes to handling this issue."

We paraded through a wide open square. A fountain stood in the centre, and the people lined the edges of the space watching us. I had to fight the urge to pull out my lute and start to strum, the audience so tempting I nearly lost focus.

"My apologies, the sights distracted me. I have never received such a welcome." I brought my full attention back to Knight Jorge, who was smiling broadly, clearly deeply proud of his city.

"No worries. What I was referring to was a ridiculous bit of news that those accursed cultists have constructed their own 'benevolent crusade'. Seems they are trying to further exert their will through placing a balm on the wound they rent." He gave a chuckle, but I could sense the anger behind it.

"A hypocrisy so great it would be a legendary jest if the stakes were not so dire," I replied, my mind beginning to spin with the possible implications. Was this just about 'benevolence', or was it something more? Did they hear whispers of the Grail?

"Indeed. On the matter of jests, I'm most pleased to see that your introduction as Bard was not one! Some of my fellows assumed it was merely a rumour."

"Is it so surprising? You host your Guilds?"

"Word of advice, don't call them 'our Guilds', not unless you want to earn a lifetime mark-up to their prices. No, it's merely that a Bard is so adjacent to Knight. While the Wizards lock themselves away in their towers, the Smiths toil at their forges, a Bard is best placed to travel, to absorb stories, and to brush shoulders with us who follow the martial path. I have known a great many Knights who enjoy music as a way to make long journeys and adventures more bearable, but never before have I met a man so keenly invested in adventure yet seeking to remain apart from it."

"My calling is not to be the hero. It is to raise up others, to tell their stories and have their legends known." I said, my hearth resonating in my chest at the truth of the statement.

The 'Knight's' eyes darted down to my belly where my hearth sat, and with that I was certain that he was not just an Iron. None of them should've had the ability to sense such small changes. "A noble pursuit. I believe your path to be true, though I imagine you might be pestered to play. Others might have a hard time believing it. They suspect you are a witch in disguise. Your cultivation though, it does not have the same sense of wishing to tame the world with knowledge. It more seems as if it wishes to spread knowledge."

"Your aura sense is very advanced to sense such things. I've only heard such things from my honoured seniors in cultivation." I didn't outright accuse him of anything, but from the sharp smile he sent me, I knew I'd nailed it.

Knight Jorge met my eyes and I felt it then, the depth of his cultivation, the power of a Steel that he was carefully hiding. I didn't cringe, didn't break, just held his gaze. Then a warmer smile came to his lips, and he threw his head back and laughed.

"Knight-Captain Frost always warns me that I'm too loose-lipped. It's irritating that he's right, to think I cannot go a whole conversation without some lad a fifth my age noticing. Tell me, was it just that, or did I give it away elsewhere?"

"You're too confident. You don't look to the other knights to check anything. It is the behaviour of a commander. Truly though, you can blame the Steel Tide's smith. When you passed, his aura disappeared like a rabbit hearing the barking of a wolf."

"Damn fool. If I didn't know the quality of his work, I'd assume that man cultivated the path of a merchant given his greed and obsession with sales." Jorge didn't seem upset at being revealed. The Steel relaxed back into his saddle and I felt like I'd passed some test. "I apologise for the deception. It is tradition for a senior member to escort in new allies under a cloak of anonymity. I knew it'd be a disaster, but it was my turn and I was interested in you lot. Got guts to head out into the mountains right now."

We arrived at a small dedicated estate right next to the silver-topped wall. It had a stable and a large house carefully tucked within the grounds. From a balcony overlooking the main door, I could see two figures, Lucan and Tiffany, waiting for us. They stood regally, but I could feel the impatience bleeding off Lady Tiffany as her gaze locked onto Gaz.

"You have good comrades. They have done well to establish themselves. I will say though, I'll be pleased when the other interested parties move on. That Lady Rowena is hard work."

"I shall exercise a rare trait of a Bard and respond to that with silence." My words got a deep belly laugh from the man and I saw the other guards who'd been escorting us flinch in surprise. "I thank you for your kind escort, Knight-Commander Jorge."

"I look forward to hearing you play tonight. You are all invited to a feast this evening. Your very able companions have all the knowledge. The Golden Keep looks forward to working with you."

"We shall not disappoint!"

"See you don't," the Steel called over his shoulder as he rode away.