It took four days to reach the final campsite before Fosburg. In that ti, I killed eight razorback wolves and a bronze-hide boar, and it seed my final battle would be a savagely rewarding one. I sensed a Gale Hare approaching.
The Gale Hare crept out of the wilderness as we camped. It thought itself sneaky, creeping up through the long grass in the thin light of dusk. It was out of luck. We’d got a campfire lit, and I’d taken to blanketing the area with a layer of thin smoke that only soone very attentive would’ve noticed wasn’t moving with the wind.
I sensed it brush against my glamour and began to move discreetly to intercept. Fae beasts were attracted to cultivators like moths to a fla. One of the fastest ways for them to accelerate their growth was by killing and eating their own kind, but cultivators were a step above that, being the fastest way for them to jump through the ranks.
This one was likely weaker than the first I’d fought, or a touch smarter, as it was aiming for Alexis rather than .
I moved as quickly as I dared, passing Trent, who was oiling his moustache, and giving him a wave, which he returned in kind. I had to seem unconcerned. Alexis was over at the fire with a couple of the guards. I waved to her and walked over as if to join their conversation.
The Hare froze. It must be smart, as that ant it recognised that I was the other threat in the camp. Smart was bad news; a beast’s intelligence was tied to its cultivation. I wanted this done quickly.
As I approached, the smoke from the fire greeted , rolling up to as I ford a natural windbreak. Totally normal if you didn’t have complete control of smoke. In the montary cover this brought , my bow was out.
The Hare all but flew out of the bush as my arrow lodged into its shoulder. Then I was upon it.
No longer a rusty, forgotten blade, I was raring for a rematch. Wounded and with a ready enemy, it was profoundly unprepared for our fight. It began a retreat imdiately—just another sign that it needed to die. Most fae beasts fought to the death, so being smart enough to flee ant I could not let it go.
I kept up with its fighting retreat easily. My Levity thods, now dusted off, gave a speed to more than match it. If anything, I was several steps above it. I could swear I saw the shock on its furry little face as I countered its attacks. I had a buckler in my offhand and used that to bat away its assault.
In a matter of seconds, I found my opening and carved it open. I then powered past it, trying to avoid the heady rush of death glamour. It still rushed at my senses, but I was able to fight it off better when not standing in the midst of it.
Looking back at the corpse, I was shocked at just how quick the battle was. I was barely breathing fast. Checking myself, I remained unscathed. It was a staggering difference from my first fight. Standing over the corpse, it was in many ways a testant to the training of the last few years, re-energised by my ti with Bors.
I grabbed the Hare and returned to camp, from which I could hear worried voices and yelling. Ti to put them at ease.
The Hare was the only one I had to get up close and personal with the entire ti. The rest of the beasts were far weaker, being early foundation stage and having no cores. They were taken out with the bow and arrow, a weapon I was coming to love. It kept far from the death glamour.
It was far more fae beasts than we should’ve t, even after a storm. Talking over dinner that night, Alexis and I theorised that the lingering scent of the bags might be attracting them. The lingering scent of monster lure being a key factor it wasn’t used more often. We scrubbed down the wagons extra hard. We didn’t want to bring that trouble to town.
I talked more shop with Alexis but otherwise spent my ti serenading, dancing, or flipping around to better entertain my fellow travellers. It was honestly the most fun I’d had since I’d been “found” and taken off the streets all those years ago. I might’ve been an orphan, but I was part of a gang, and we looked out for each other.
The extre events of my night of rebirth had left a little below Mid-Bronze. Now I had crossed that threshold and was heading towards High Bronze. If things kept up, I’d be Peak Bronze in only a few months. That was not including my plans with alchemy.
The Hare’s core was tucked away in my storage ring. I would’ve eaten it there and then if it would’ve allowed to reach my revival threshold, but it could be better used to make a brew. I had plans. Plans for the kind of alchemy that would get an apprentice alchemist thrown out before the brew could cool. Few aid to create potions to maximise cultivation and impurities!
My thoughts were disturbed as the wind changed and my senses brushed against the feathered edges of a vast cloud of smoke glamour. We were nearing Fosburg.
I knew embarrassingly little about Fosburg, mainly because it was considered unimportant by my tutors. It was run by House Fos and owed allegiance to the Chox. Its current head was struggling to break through to Mithril; many felt it was unlikely to ever happen. Other than that, I knew he had a couple of sons and maybe a daughter? Soone else was in the mix for sure. They were a trading town, built around a bridge over the Asp River. That was it.
From the caravanners, I learned that the town used to be considered highly, but since the Fos head went Questing about a decade ago, the town had been viewed as on the wane. However, they did say that at least the rules were well kept and cultivators behaved themselves more than most.
As the caravan pulled out of the forest and the walls of the town ca into view, I couldn’t help but feel jealous of this “minor” town. Fosburg was my first sampling of Euross continental cultivation. Albion was strange in that parts almost touched the fae, while other places were as distant as our shores from the Thousand City Sea. That led to far fewer, more powerful groups and cultivation being spotty. Many towns barely saw any cultivation, while the seats of power were extravagant but stuck in a state of constantly battling beasts from the Seelie and Unseelie in equal parts.
This was compared to Euross’s more consistent levels of glamour, which still ebbed and flowed but was more reliable. Fosburg was an example of the difference this caused. It was both too impressive and far too dull for Albion.
Fosburg was a walled town sitting on a stone bridge ford through cultivation. It was sothing Bors might be able to achieve at Peak Steel if he worked at it for a couple of decades. It spanned a wide valley, crossing the mile between the two cliffs. That fit Albion; the rest, not so much.
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It was plain. Dull grey walls rose up so fifty tres. The runes carved into them were simple, and I could feel the power cycling in from the glamour of the raging river beneath rather than the ambient glamour around. Then there was the town outside the town, only a wooden palisade keeping them safe. An impossibility unless beasts were far less common.
I could sense glamour being used. Just like with the guards, it seed many could use so Stone tricks. As we approached, I kept a watch. I had a suspicion that we might et trouble. Fosburg was not under any Order, Coven, or Guild. Normally, any flavour of wandering cultivator might be challenged by the local power.
Not an issue, as the local House of Renown, the appropriately nad Fosburgs, was actually welcoming to those types. They also took rejection politely, having only sent one person out to test Bors.
They weren’t the problem. The big issue was who might be waiting for us. See, I’d checked over Kristoff and found a purse of five crowns on him. And a stash of fifteen crowns in his wagon. The little shit was trying to make it big even when caught. Twenty crowns was too much. A Wood-level cultivator could buy a brew or two with it. I’d learnt enough from Alexis.
My lack of sense of how much money was worth was truly frightening. The Harkleys had many flaws, but being cheap was not one of them.
“You see anything?” Alexis asked. She and I were driving Kristoff’s wagon. We’d agreed to do our best to draw attention to us. Cultivators tended to assu cultivators were to bla for their problems, so seeing us and an absence of Kristoff would keep anyone watching from causing problems for the others.
“No, but there are a lot of people looking at us.”
“They’re probably surprised by our arrival. The storm was only a few days ago; it should’ve at least crippled our caravan. Plus the bandit damage. We should expect the guards to have so questions.”
Baste was in the wagon before ours. He took us through the palisade gates without issue. They only had a token guard—a couple of boys without a hint of stubble.
Moving into the town was an education. The palisade town was a series of rough buildings that looked to have been stitched together from pieces. Lots of tents and wicker huts. The people here were hardy and tough, and there wasn’t a child amongst them.
“Where are all the kids?”
“Oh, they’d not be let out here. This is the rough town. It’s where all the jobs too slly, vile, or seedy happen. Everything can be levelled by a single monster attack. If anyone catches sight of a monster, everyone here will flood inside. People get paid extra for having to do work out here.”
“But there are shops, and I saw a bar?”
“Yeah, well, it can take ti to co and go. So even sleep out here, but that’s only the stupid or the desperate. If you go to so other place with a rough town and see a load of kids, be worried about what you’ll find behind the walls.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it. I’m from Albion. We don’t have rough towns. No one would dare be outside the walls for longer than absolutely necessary.”
“Happy to enlighten you, my rry minstrel. Ah, we’re coming up to the main gate. Expect questions.”
It appeared the guards were waiting in the wings for just that line. As we approached the portcullis, guards rushed out. A couple of them were at Wood level, and standing, looking down at us from the tower, was a Bronze cultivator in full armour. His stern face and bushy eyebrows, shot through with grey, were topped with a fur-trimd cloak marking him as captain.
“Halt.”
The call ca. Baste had already been sliding to a stop, so we all paused.
“We are surprised to see your caravan. A hawk told us of your leaving, but we expected the storm to waylay you. Explain.”
Baste turned to look at . I felt the eyes of the captain jump to . Thanks, Baste. Great job.
“Hail, and greetings, Captain. I am Taliesin. I am a bard and ally of Sir Bors. I am a cultivator of Bronze level.”
“What manner of cultivator are you?”
“A bard, sir. I seek to pursue music, joy, and song over any other forms of cultivation, be that combat, sorcery, or physical craft.”
I could practically see the group’s faces knitting. That was not a type of cultivator they knew of.
“So not one of Sir Bors’s knightly chums trying to sneak in under false pretences.”
That question worried . From what Alexis had told , I’d understood that Fosburg welcod wandering cultivators. Still, my options were few, and while I could not lie, that didn’t an others had to trust .
“Perhaps I might answer that challenge and the question that spurned it in a single go?” I asked, pulling up my lute.
I was a little surprised to see the man smile in response and give a nod.
“Well, this song is about a Knight and his acts most brave. To save a caravan from brigands, fae beasts, and even turn aside the wrath of the storm. Let sing to you of Bors! And the Titan’s Three Trials!”
The lute humd with energy as I began to strum. I puffed on my pipe, before tucking it behind my ear, the smoke still rising, being fuelled by my glamour.
“Bors the Titan, hearth ablaze, protector worthy of ancient days!”
I lost myself in the act. It wasn’t just the singing or the playing, but also the dancing and swirling of smoke. The song brought everything around us to a halt. An act I’d honed over the last few days travelling was now getting its true debut.
“With wicked blades and savage cries, bandits descend under frosted skies.
But then the earth begins to quake, a giant wakes for justice' sake.”
As I leapt among the crowd, the smoke swirled about , showing a brace of bandits being cut down by the huge form of Bors. I could feel the gazes. All attention held a tiny amount of glamour. That attention could turn into the Evil Eye by the most powerful, a way of impressing the weight of their fury and power. Witches were said to be particularly attuned to it.
But as I sang, it did not fill with worry. Instead, that focus brought delight.
“A monstrous lynx with form of misty light, eyes burning embers, sharp and bright,
Leaps from the trees with snarl and bite, a hunger dark, a fearso sight.”
The children I’d been travelling with looked around, continuing a ga I had honed with them—trying to spot the lynx before it attacked the alert form of Bors. I had it creep out from under a caravan, and they pointed and scread a warning. I had Bors turn, saluting them, before he fought it.
The song and illusion continued, showing him battling the beast with sword and stone. Standing triumphant, he began to lead the caravan, but clouds gathered and winds blew.
“The earth itself, a sheltering hand, a monunt to Bors’s command,
A Titan's power, a Knight’s grace, a haven carved from winter’s place.”
I finished with a recreation of Bors raising the do, which I didn’t have to embellish. However, I did change his act of blowing on the earth, transforming it into a dramatic hamr strike rather than his piercing whistle. The caravanners didn’t mind—they applauded all the sa, as did the guards.
The captain was watching with rapt attention, a smile visible under his armour. His applause ca last.
I was thrilled. Who needed death glamour when a performance felt so good? The mood had turned convivial as the guards relaxed, matching their captain. The man dropped lazily from his place atop the battlents, sliding down the side of the wall. I could sll tal glamour, and his Levity control was exceptional. The ease of it, combined with his tal glamour, made realise he’d hidden his power earlier. Now I could feel it—he was a Knight, Peak Iron-ranked.
“Baste, tell , is this what happened?”
He turned a lazy eye to the guardsman, who nodded before finally rembering his duty and snapping a salute.
“Yes, Captain Ban. It is as Bard Taliesin said. He joined us to escort us to the town. We had so unexpected trouble.”
“Bard Taliesin” was what they’d taken to calling , lacking a squire, knight, or other such honorific to stick before my na. I’d tried to insist they drop it, but Alexis had scolded . I felt gloomy, as much of her logic was that it was a bad habit to teach children a lack of respect.
“Yes. I also notice that the old bastard isn’t among you, yet the hawk said he was the caravan leader.”
“I left his fate out of the song. I couldn’t work out how to fit ‘dastardly betrayal’ into the lody,” I said, speaking in low tones.
Captain Ban’s smile thinned, and then, nodding, he waved us through.
“Well then, we’re pleased to have you, Bard Taliesin. We ask you and the good lady cultivator I spy at your side to report to us so we can explain the rules of Fosburg to cultivators such as yourselves.”
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