My feet carried towards a distant thread of smoke glamour for over an hour. It brought with it the faint scent of food. I approached slowly, aiming for a mortal pace. My veil was up, hiding my glamour.
To aid my mortal guise, I’d discovered, to my delight, that I could alter my outfit slightly. The palette was limited, and there was a certain theatricality the clothes refused to part with. This left wearing a serviceable ash-grey coat, trimd with red squirrel fur.
I’d also found a small, serviceable pack containing my few possessions. Of my old clothes, I’d discarded all but the silk hair tie, which now secured my long hair. The hair was staying for the mont; it helped sell the troubadour image. I also bore the stubble of several days’ growth, suggesting my ti telling my story had lasted far longer than I recalled, or that I’d slept among those wildflowers far longer than I suspected.
I found a road ten minutes prior and was now heading towards a bridge. Beside it sat a camp. A huge knight was stationed before a tent made of stone, a clear sign of an earth cultivator. His armour was chainmail, but it sat over tan-coloured skin that had hints of a marbling pattern beneath, suggesting his glamour had begun to influence his body—a feat that typically only occurred at Iron rank.
He might have seed mighty and threatening if he wasn’t fumbling with the cooking of a rabbit.
It appeared to be going poorly. I had never developed much in the way of cooking skills, but I was certain that food and coals were not supposed to touch.
“Stupid bloody thing. First ti I catch a…” He looked up and saw . I waved. “Shit, hang on.”
The brute stood, grabbing a warhamr with a head the size of my own. He scrambled to the centre of the bridge and bellowed.
“Halt! Who goes there?” His voice bood, reverberating through the forest and its patches of snow.
“Taliesin, wandering troubadour.” The na leapt to my lips, feeling far more natural than Regus ever had. That was so fae sorcery I added to the pile of mysteries to investigate later.
“State your business.”
“My business right now is allowing you to save your lunch. It appears to be both in and on fire.”
“Shit!” He began fumbling with his blade and shield. I ran over to his rapidly blackening rabbit and, with quick hands, pulled it from the fire. Letting it rest on a nearby stone, I sucked at my fingers as though burned.
“Is it okay?”
“I think it just needs the black bits cut off, and it’ll be fine.” We both looked at the rabbit, which was more coal than crispy. The larger man let out a deep chuckle.
“I didn’t an to interrupt you. I’m sorry it appears I have ruined your lunch.”
“No, no, I’d done that plenty fine myself. Taliesin, was it?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“I’m Bors, Knight Errant. Don’t suppose you’ve co here to challenge in a contest of martial prowess?”
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“Would you accept a blistering battle of barbs?”
“And lose? Well, maybe that’d be for the best—then you can have the damn bridge.” He grunted and sat down, gesturing to a rock nearby for to use. “Damn, and from the look of you, nothing worth asking for in toll.”
He looked over. I held up my new lute.
“I could compose a song?”
“Can’t eat a song. I don’t even want sodding coin. I just want sothing to fill my belly. Look, I’ll be honest: this whole bridge gig is a total waste of ti. Two months I’ve been here, and I’ve only had four fights. Well, other than the fae beasts, which always seem to wait till I’ve gone for kip.”
“You’re out here alone in the wilds?”
“I’m a Knight Errant. We wander in search of noble quests to further our cultivation. Free of the oppression of the Knightly Orders, seeking to further our banners! To fight the insidious corruption of the Divine Cultivators!” His voice drifted into a monotone I recognised as rote learning.
“Sounds like a nice, carefree way of life,” I offered. A single fight a month sounded like a luxury. I did twitch at the ntion of Divine Cultivators. I’d had enough of them with the Harkleys.
“Well, it is—till so Order thugs get wind of you. Then it’s all ‘noble squire’ this and ‘honourable duel to the death’ that. I don’t mind that too much. At least then you tend to get a fair few fights in one go.” He grinned. “Arty though, he said we had to stop beating up the Orders round here. Otherwise, they’ll send so Knight Captain after us. He stuck with this bridge till they could handle sothing delicate.”
“Sounds like a rough job.”
“Oh, you don’t know the half of it! No one told you had to stick with your bridge all the fae-cursed ti. Leaving it alone is a big no-no. ans I can’t go far for hunting or pop to town. I’ve hunted everything around .” I chuckled at the huge man’s frustration. I could easily believe he’d decimated the local forest trying to feed his giant fra.
“The lack of a decent fight is the big surprise though. The last bastard I challenged had half an empty wineskin and naught else but hunting gear, then had the gall to complain to about the lack of food! I beat him twice and he still wouldn’t leave, kept demanding compensation for the few bits I took as tribute!” Bors looked sheepish for a mont, and I noticed an excessive amount of hunting gear around his camp.
“I’m not best pleased about it, but I ended up killing the daft sod when he wouldn’t piss off. Felt like he was going to try and kill in my sleep.” He sounded a little worried, but I waved my hand diplomatically.
“If he was Iron, he should’ve accepted the lesson. I doubt you left him destitute.”
“Damn right! And another thing—” The Knight Errant continued to complain. He seed to enjoy my company, likely as starved for it as he was for food. Iron-level cultivators, which he certainly felt like, could survive for long periods without sustenance, but it was, by all accounts, a miserable existence.
As he continued to rant about why he hated bridges, a fresh idea ford. I still needed to eat, but I also wanted to talk to soone. Soone other than the otherworldly fae with lakes for eyes.
I looked over Bors. From the weight of his glamour, I was certain he was an Iron cultivator. His face was young, which didn’t an much, but his manner didn’t suit those who took their ti reaching that level. This ant he was likely quite talented.
I was, despite only ascending yesterday, mid-Bronze rank. An unbelievable rate of growth, enabled by an equally improbable string of events. I was technically skilled with the blade but lacked the experience he no doubt had.
In short, he could obliterate if he wished.
Fortunately, he’d barely given my lute a second look. There was no reason to suspect he sensed anything of value on , nor would he expect to be carrying sothing worth his ti. He’d also helpfully told exactly what he wanted.
Ti to make friends.
“Bors, I may have a solution to your worries. I must also reveal a small deception.”
“If you actually have food, this won’t go well for you.”
“I’m Taliesin, a cultivating bard.” I allowed my veil to rise. Bors choked, giving a long once-over. For a mont, I worried I’d misjudged him.
“That’s a fancy trick. How does being a bard work for cultivating though?”
“Still working that bit out,” I said with a smile, though he still seed unsure. “What I an to say is I would prefer to cultivate mostly through things beyond combat. I’m far from useless. If you lend a bow and arrow, I could hunt for you. That way, you can avoid leaving your bridge.”
“Well, pluck , stuff , and call dinner! Lead with that next ti!” His grin returned as he clapped on the back, sending stumbling.
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