Arthurian Cultivation

A few days later we arrived at Oakwall, dragging the caravan behind us into town just as evening fell. The nearest thing to a trading hub for miles, its walls loomed tall and welcome over the weary caravaners, who needed repairs and rest before following the Golden Keep's knights back toward Alka.

For us knights, too, it was a relief. The dense forests and sheer cliffs had cast long shadows on the road, and keeping the caravan safe had been a grind. The dregs of the horde harried us with sudden raids, slipping from the trees under cover of the heavy canopy, even Gawain and Lancelot missed them once or twice.

There had been close calls. We could handle the beasts, but the caravaners? Fragile as spun glass. If even one monster slipped through, it would have been a massacre. It was good training though, a reminder that fighting to protect others is a different battle entirely. I had caught Kay muttering about fresh drills, and the way the others sweated told me they feared he meant it.

But that was behind us.

Oakwall rested on a lake in a valley hemmed by three low mountains. Rough roads branched out through farmland heavy with its first harvest. Nearer the town, a swathe of emerald grass met the lake's bright blue waters. Misty white peaks rose behind grey cliffs, giving the whole valley a strange, whimsical calm, like a paradise barely clinging to the mortal world.

The town itself broke that illusion. Oakwall's namesake ramparts towered over the fields, a ring of massive tree trunks, each as wide as Bors at the shoulder, sharpened into jagged stakes and planted upright into a sloping stone base taller than I was. A moat, fed from the lake, circled the foundation. Scratches marred the wood, signs that beasts had tested the defences.

The fortifications were crude but practical. Stones braced the wooden stakes, keeping them secure against both monsters and time. And Oakwall's position on the border of three kingdoms meant the town thrived in spite of it all.

The townsfolk nearly fell over themselves to welcome us. A terrified sergeant greeted us at the gate, bowing low as he begged us for good conduct. He almost leapt out of his boots when Koko introduced me as a representative of the Round Table, the second Order the town would be hosting.

The Golden Keep should have parted ways here, but Korina had decided otherwise. She wanted time, to introduce us properly, but also to scout for other threats. The horde of unseelie vermin and Iron-ranked beasts had shaken her, she had not expected such dangers so close to their borders.

The group was battle-hungry, itching to fight. But protocol demanded patience. Apparently, it was "rude" to hunt monsters without filing the proper paperwork. While the others claimed an inn, Korina and I were ushered into a quiet, well-appointed room in the townhall, supplied with drinks and apologies while the mayor scrambled to gather his council.

I leaned back, using my smoke to spy—observe our hosts. Their panic was almost comical, scrambling to prepare for not one but two knightly Orders. Amused, I hummed a tune to myself.

That was a mistake.

"I expect you'll be playing in one of the taverns tonight." Korina's voice was icy. She sat opposite me, radiating dignity, upright in her gambeson and formal tabard, the sigil of the Golden Keep picked out in gold thread upon earthen linen that matched the stones of Alka. There was tension in her posture, the same brittle refinement I had seen at the balls and soirées my captors once dragged me to.

She carried it well, a cultivator who loathed the duty before her, yet had decided that if she must endure it, she would do so flawlessly.

"Yes, Korina," I replied coolly, holding back a sigh. I already knew what debate we were about to rehash.

"You know if I try to play in the average tavern, they all dress up as though summoned by the local lord to perform some arduous service." She lifted the cup before her with dainty precision, a movement ill-suited to the same woman I had once seen kick an Unseelie Hound's head clean from its shoulders.

"Have you considered simply turning up?" I asked politely.

"That would not be proper."

"Wouldn't be proper as a knight, or as a princess?"

"Either. Besides, do you not see? You put them on guard. You have seen how most treat us." Korina's eyes flicked to the door, where the servants had retreated the moment I had dismissed them. I pinched the bridge of my nose.

If she were vain or cruel, these conversations would have been easier. I could at least have ignored them, or fobbed her off with some nonsense. But I did not, because Korina cared. Noblesse oblige clung to her like perfume. Her family had ruled for centuries, a rarity in the mountains, and she embodied their belief that privilege was duty, that wealth and power must serve the common good. And since becoming a cultivator, that conviction had only sharpened.

"We have spoken of this. My music is more common than yours. It helps them relax," I reminded her.

"But why does it move them so differently? Why does my music not stir them as yours does?" she pressed.

"I do not know. If it troubles you so much, play in disguise."

"With a harp? We are not exactly tripping over harpists."

"Then play something else. You mentioned you know the lute."

"But I am not as skilled with it. No better than you."

"Ouch. You wound me." I collapsed theatrically back into my chair. "At a certain point, mastery matters less. Competence, the right song, the right emotion, that is enough. You simply need to match what the audience desires."

"And what do I play?" She waved a hand before I could answer. "No, I know what you will say."

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"The audience will tell you. Sometimes quite literally. Though just because they beg for Ulfast the Ugly for the third time does not mean you should indulge them."

"They do not know what I am capable of. How can they know what is best? Am I not the artist?"

"You have the mind of a cultivator. I know you remember what I said."

"Yes, yes. An entertainer, not strictly an artist. That helps me little. At a recital no one shouts 'Play Verdant Sleeves!' across the hall. And I cannot bear to offer less than my best."

"If you are not enjoying it, I do not know what to say." A sudden thought struck me, an idea I would not have suggested if we were not soon to part ways. "Perhaps work with someone else, entrust them to guide your audience towards a state where they will most appreciate your work."

"And how would that help?"

"You could guide them to the right frame of mind, to appreciate your music. If you like, we could attempt it here before we part ways." I offered. I was not certain it would work, but at least if it did not I could part ways with my fellow artist knowing I had done my best, and certain her continued griping would not follow me about if it did not.

"Perhaps. But first, let us see how dire the town's needs are. I cannot permit self-indulgence if duty calls." She nodded, every inch the dutiful knight, though I saw the crackle of eagerness dancing at the edge of her composure.

A pair of servants returned bearing tea and a tray of fine biscuits. The elder, a grey-haired woman with the severity of a head maid, apologised for the delay. Behind her, the younger maid trembled with unease as Koko's eyes snapped to her.

"We are grateful for your hospitality. Please, excuse yourselves, we shall call for you if necessary." Both women nodded and withdrew. Koko glared at me.

"You need not have dismissed them so quickly. I was not going to savage them, merely inquire why it took so long. We are the Golden Keep, our conduct must be exemplary. We are the shadow our keep casts."

"No need to ask. They are still scrambling to summon the representatives of the three kingdoms. The mayor dares not exclude them, but it seems they were all at some revelry, and are now being hastily sobered."

"And how do you know this?" She looked baffled until I pointed at the hearth, or rather, the chimney smoke rising within it.

"The chimneys are connected. One of the representatives is retching loudly into the next flue."

"I cannot decide which is worse, that, or your blood cultivator. Do you know why she always stares at my neck as if she means to sink her teeth into it?"

"Se—Lady Persephone can be like that," I said. I nearly told her not to worry, but that would have been a lie. If Persephone looked at me that way, I would be tearing myself apart to discover what I had done wrong. I coughed. "Keep in mind, she carries many burdens."

"Better than the Chox woman. I have gained much from our spars, but never before has my armour been so battered. If not for the monsters we faced, I would struggle to explain the claw marks."

"Claw marks?"

"Her gauntlets end in pointed fingers. She channels her blade-glamour through them. Rare work, and I respect it all the more for that. Still, I would prefer it remain rare."

"At least she admitted you are the best blade among your cohort."

"I would feel better if I were not still fourth. Lancelot and Arthur are demons, and even then I am not ahead of all. You travel with an inspiring company of knights."

"It is my good fortune. And they are nearly ready for us. One of the envoys has just been dunked in a water-butt. They are drying him now."

"That is good. I cannot wait for a bath, though I will insist on one of better quality." A rare joke from Koko, and I smiled.

"Before we go, tell me what you know of these border rulers."

"Two kings and a queen. All three houses stable, by which I mean two generations without being annexed or torn apart by their own scheming. One crown has passed to an heir, but the man is forty and already handled his father's affairs, so little has changed. The queen is famed for political wit, with a cadre of wood-ranked cultivators sworn to her. The last king is old, dug into a fortress mortals would call unassailable. They have held an alliance for more than fifty years."

"The challenge being?"

"They dislike cultivators meddling in their affairs. We risk upsetting the balance they have laboured to preserve. Suspicion will be their first instinct."

A knock came. "They are ready for you."

We stepped into a large chamber, the council already on its feet. A gesture of respect, extreme for mortals. We were directed to our chairs with all the solemnity they could muster.

The council itself was a patchwork of authority, the mayor, a reedy man weighed down by his chain of office, the stern sergeant I had seen earlier on the walls, and an older woman in plain grey, her clothes carrying the pungent tang of alchemy. Beside them stood the envoys of the three bordering monarchs.

They were… less dignified. One was a preposterously fat man, cheeks ruddy and breath strained by the mere effort of standing. Another, a middle-aged woman with hawk-like eyes and a steady bearing. The last, an older man with hair still wet from his recent dunking, his expression wavering between pride and nausea.

Only the woman smelt sober. The other two reeked of drink and desperation.

"I am Lady Korina Kovax of the Order of the Golden Keep," Korina began, her voice smooth and regal. "I bid you good tidings, and present to you the Herald of the Order of the Round Table."

Polite words followed, a volley back and forth. Korina guided the exchanges with practised ease, her dignity smoothing the way where my presence might have unsettled. When it was time, she turned the floor over to me.

I explained the Round Table's goals, our guiding philosophy, and the assistance we hoped to provide. Every word had been chosen in advance, we needed to be invited into their realms. We could, of course, ride through unopposed, no mortal law nor fortress could stop us, but that would not win us allies, nor aid in the hunt for the Grail.

"Now," I finished, "do any of you have questions?"

"Come to our towns first!" The fat man burst out.

"That is not a question! Do not be so crass!" The woman sniped back, her head falling into her hand in despair.

"We beseech you, aid us!" The old man was a bit slow on the mark, but was the loudest of them.

After that the chamber erupted. I did not know if it was the drink or what have you, but what had been a stately yet humble meeting became a squabbling pit. I am sure things would have slipped into further chaos if the local members of the council had not separated to try and calm their allies. After a round of insults the three ambassadors turned on one another, voices rising in a chorus of complaint and one-upmanship.

"You think you have troubles? Just last week a whole pack of Unseelie Hounds tore through our flocks, black fur, glowing eyes, teeth like razors. Took three days just to gather the bones of the prize ram!" the fat man wailed.

"Luxury!" the older man snapped. "Hounds you can throw guards at. I have bog-lurkers in the lake, drag you under before your boots are wet. Ate my cousin's mule right out from under him, saddle and all!" His arms flailed wildly for emphasis.

"Bog-lurkers? Hounds? Hah!" The hawk-eyed woman scoffed. "Try an owl-faced bear with flaming claws. Roared once and the whole wall collapsed. Burned down half the orchards before anyone dared blink. My villagers are sleeping in cellars now, hoping it does not fancy perching on the roof."

"A cellar! Must be nice to have stone overhead," the fat man shot back. "When the hounds return, they will be hiding in barrels and begging the sidhe not to gnaw through it."

"At least the sidhe give you time to beg! The lurkers do not. One ripple, one splash, and you are gone!" the older man shouted.

"You both still have homes and ponds to complain of," the woman cut in. "I have scorch-marks for fields and claw-marks for walls. You call that living?"

"Well," I interjected weakly, sharing a glance with Korina, "it sounds as though you all face grave challenges. Perhaps you can gather your reports, and tomorrow we will map a route through your realms to address them in turn."

The envoys were too busy bickering to hear me.

The situation was worse than we had imagined.