Ban, he'd requested I drop ‘Captain’ once he got off duty, was walking me to his home. This part of town was beautiful. We walked over the clean cobbled streets, with small rune lights guiding our way. It was so different to Albion, the average town out of the major cities was dreary and dark. While the cities glowed and teemed with cultivators and mortals alike. It made me realise how gaudy some of the cities I'd known truly were.
The people were pleased to see their Captain and waved to him often. It was a pleasant change to how most cultivators were treated. Being somehow both a leper and a lord. All the way he waved right back knowing many people by name.
He did an excellent job about it as well. Given I knew just how drunk he was, having seen him finish the rest of the whiskey, and now serving as a living crutch. The one upside to having to support an Iron rank cultivator was that he was introducing me to everyone. I bandied words with those he chose, getting a chuckle out of the gruff men, or a ‘oh stop’ from the older ladies.
I was not introduced to any younger folk for some reason. I guess bards do have a reputation.
Ban's home was a gorgeous mansion set in a wide gardens on a raised area overlooking most of this part of town. It was perhaps the nicest dwelling about, and made me question exactly who Captain Ban really was. My suspicions could wait, with the height advantage I could take in whole town. It was a breathtaking sight.
First was the vast falls, a vast ribbon of blue with crests of churning white, crashing from the high cliff. I could here the roar of the that water in my chest, even as runic spells reduced the harshness of the noise. I'd learnt today that the falls were so high when the it wasn't boosted by melt water the raging water mostly turned to mist before it could even hit the ground. That mist in turn fed the rolling fields of farms I could see Illuminated by the setting sun. They were already showing shoots of green despite the early spring. The water glamour of the water was supplemented by earth glamour pulled from the mountain which kept the plains fertile.
The part of town I was in was neat, tidy, and spoke of quiet wealth, the kind you got from stability and having skilled mortals putting down roots. It was so far my main experience of Fosburg, but from this vantage point I could see the town was far from homogeneous. There were high walls and a strip of mansions, beautiful compounds, and glittering towers, at the side of the bridge that faced the waterfall. I was confused till I saw various banners of Orders and Covens I knew to be famous for manipulating water glamour. It must make for a rich water cultivation resouce.
On the other side of the bridge, on the hills that led down to where the farms were was a town that was bigger than the town that sat on the stone bridge. It's construction, apart from in a few places was rough. Not like the shanty town we'd passed through on our way in, but more like the less affluent towns of Albion with some cultivator touches.
Watching Ban, I saw his gaze lovingly sweep just the regular bridge town, his eyes only briefly touching on the extremes of wealth and poverty that boxed it in.
Just before a second set of higher walls that marked the inner town. It was apparently based on a ‘chalet’ design he'd seen out in the mountains, beautiful wood slats fronted the upper floors while white paint highlighted the splashes of colour. The only hint that a metal cultivator lived here was at the side I could see a small forge.
As we approached a pair of servants were waiting for us. the opened the gates to the short wall around the space. I could see them both surprised as their master stumbled. I caught him easily. I could see the butler turn his eyes to me accusingly.
“Don't be like that Jasper, not his fault. We had a run-in with the Lady in Peach today.” The butler nodded at his master's words knowingly.
“Ah, I shall go decant some wine shall I sir?”
“Yes and please let my wife know. This is the Bard Taliesin, who has been invited to tea by her ladyship tomorrow. I was asked to give him directions.”
“I take it this is the bard from the gate earlier today. I already made up a bed.” Ban nodded. Stepping through the door he sent his armour into a storage ring. He was now in a fine silk shirt with a long green sleeveless tunic over it, it was subtly embroidered with a pattern that I recognized as fleur de lyes, a common form for the area.
“News certainly travels fast does everyone know I'm here?” I said, following him to the receiving room.
Inspired by my earlier fumble with my blade where I choked it in smoke trying to transform it while under the Evil Eye. I blew smoke around me, beneath the glamour I changed my travelling clothes into a knee-length tunic, black and grey of course, with some simple stockings beneath which despite my best attempts refused to be any colour but red.
It was actually a great way to obscure the Lady's gifts. Cultivators couldn't see through it and would take another stronger cultivator to disrupt my smoke, which I'd sense. Of course a crafty Steel or higher could possibly work around it but by then I'd already fucked up in getting that level of attention.
“Bard Taliesin, a pleasure. I am Sir's butler, it is my job to stay appraised of events concerning Sir Ban and his household. Speaking of which your daughter is waiting for you in the next room SIr.” Jasper's tone remained even yet still managed to carry a sense of warning.
“Thank you, Jasper. Let's get this done.” Ban pushed open the door. A blonde form zipped under his arm and was before me in a split second. If I didn't have exceptional control after years of learning to not blink at almost anything the Harkleys sent at me I'd have lashed out.
“So what school of combat did you train under? Also -urk.” Ban wrestled the manic form into a hug.
“By all the seelie Lance let him get in the door first.” Ban laughed, holding his daughter in a vice-like grip, Jasper using that small window of time led me through to the main room of the house in that small moment. It was warm, refined and smelt of the forest and smoke. Being a cultivator had meant I'd mostly forgotten the bite of the cold, but this still thawed a chill I'd not known I'd been carrying.
“Dad. Let me go. Also are you drunk?” I heard ‘Lance’ grumble.
“Not as drunk as I'd like.”
“Mom's going to be pissed.”
“Watch your language, Squire Lancelot! Also, it is rude to assume someone else's disposition.” A vision of a woman swept down the stairs. I was used to beauty having seen many of the women Albion considered its finest. Their flawless forms are worthy of carving in marble and being immortalised for the ages. The lady of the house was not those chilly princesses, no hers was a gentle beauty, one befitting her home. She had a kind face framed in golden locks, a look enhanced by the light wrinkles earned through frequent smiles.
She was definitely a cultivator, and her attention tugged on me like a silk thread. It felt gentle but there was a strength there, an echo that reminded me of the Lady in Peach's evil eye. She was likely quite high in cultivation same as Ban.
“Elaine, my sweet come here and console my weary soul.” Ban chucked, dragging his struggling daughter with him to embrace his wife.
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I felt like I was watching a moment I should not. It was a glimpse into kindness and family that I’d almost forgotten. My mother's passing some fourteen years ago left me with little memory of such genuine love and care. I had long refined the control of my face and actions, but never in all my years, through bullying and beatings, could I remember struggling to hold back tears as hard.
“Elaine, Lance, this is our guest Taliesin, a bardic cultivator. The Lady in Peach is expecting him for tea tomorrow.” Ban said.
“A pleasure Taliesin. I take it that because you lack the maudlin air of those waiting for the gallows, that you have somehow impressed her?” Elaine asked, offering her hand which I duly kissed as was appropriate.
“I did little, my friend Sir Bors helped protect her Apprentice from some unsavoury types I merely rooted out those involved.” I offered, at which moment the struggling form of ‘Lance’ finally broke free of her father.
“Which combat school did you study under.” Lance sought to zip up to me, but her mother's gaze slowed her to an unladylike but not rude stride. Lance was the most aggressively handsome girl I'd ever met. Her hair was shorter than mine, styled like a boy's, and she wore a dress that might as well of been a men's tunic. Her hair was golden like her mother, and her features were a mix of both parents, with warm eyes and a button nose, but with a sharp jaw and cheeks. I guessed she was about Maeve's age so likely eighteen or nineteen, but was possessed with the boundless energy of someone much younger.
Despite the bubbling energy she flowed gracefully, it reminded me of how dancers moved, despite the gentle movements I could feel her confidence in each step. Even when she stopped her stance was wide and I could see the muscles under the dress. She was as tall as I was but felt like she was bearing down on me. A complete warrior.
“By all the courts Lance, did you not hear he's a bard.” Ban rubbed his face.
"Squire Lancelot, be polite, for that no questions about combat until we're sat down."
“But Mother! It's a reasonable question you're an Oracle and can fight almost as well as Dad. Besides I can see it in his stance he knows how to fight.” That answered my question about Elaine's cultivation, Oracles were a subset of witches focused on divination.
“I mean I do, but that's nothing special. I am a travelling troubadour, it'd hardly be safe to make music if I couldn't make my way from one place to another.”
“No need to be modest, you killed two Gale Hares and were able to move under her Evil Eye. Plus I saw you moving about during your performance, you can use Levity at your level. No single one of these is a simple feat.” Ban said over his shoulder as he headed through to another room from which delicious smells escaped.
“You did what? Are you one of those who prefer the Mystic styles? I hear they focus on speed a great deal.” Lance was looking me over with a critical eye.
“Lancelot, what did I just say? Now no questions till pudding. Taliesin do please join us, it's a long time since we had a bard at our table.”
“I wouldn't dare to impose, your husband has already been exceedingly kind.” I could feel my stomach practically strangle me over that small politeness. It smelt so good.
“It's no imposition, when I heard there was a bard at the gates I made sure an extra place was laid, Ban and I do so love good music. My husband plays quite a rare instruement himself on the rare occasions he has the time to do so.” She ushered me through the door, piloting me effortlessly to the table.
I was spared more questions from Lance as the first course arrived, an onion soup with crusty bread covered in cheese, plus a hint of rare peppercorns. A humble dish but lavish in execution.
“So you're a bardic cultivator? What does that entail, it's honestly an enviable concept.” Elaine conducted court at the table, Ban was sipping wine, his sips leisurely now he was in his home. Lancelot was clearly waiting for permission to speak but deferred to her mother.
“The path it's taking me now is to be in the shadow of other cultivators, learning of their stories travelling to new places and experiencing new things. I am in no rush to shoot through the ranks. I also find there's something unique about performing it strengthens me and pushes my skills.”
“Few cultivators would wish to be in others' shadow, or take their time to appreciate the world, it's an unusual outlook and one I think we could all use more of.”
“Damn right, if I could let my younger self know just how long a cultivator's life truly is I'd have made far fewer mistakes and enjoyed myself more when I was in my ‘Noble Squire’ phase.”
The conversation continued, over another two courses of delicious hearty fare. I was feeling quite stuffed. We'd strayed across a few topics. A bit about Bors, who was known to Ban, apparently a quite respected Young Knight of Fos went out to challenge him to prove his worth. The Knight was soundly beaten, but they parted on good terms as Bors was always willing to impart knowledge.
Despite Ban's assurances that Bors would be alright I still felt unsettled. I was keen to check on my friend.
Ban reassured me, that not only was that path particularly quiet, but his view of the Golden Hind was poor. They picked up those who couldn't hack it in the Orders and were often the kind of cultivators who couldn't work together enough to make it in the watch or as caravan guards. The path between the two towns was rarely used at this time of year but he said another caravan should likely be heading through in a couple of days bringing news.
With that topic closed I learned a little more about Ban's family. Ban was himself a foundling, when Lancelot tried to expand on the story of him being found by the Fos family head, he waved her off, saying 'We don't need a repeat of that old story'. Colour me intrigued.
Elaine had left her coven, and was officially a 'hedge witch' and offered services to the cultivators based out of Fosburg. Lancelot was their first and only child, the couple having met during a bout of Ban's questing some twenty years ago.
We didn't talk about local politics, nor did they probe overly into my past which was pleasant. I was getting used to the half-truths and technical truths my fae curse allowed. I realised I actually spent most of my time as a Harkley in a similar state of truthfullness. It was easier to be partially honest than gather lies around yourself. My lies mostly consisted of speaking of my loyaly to, admiration for, and of course ownership of the Harkley name.
Diverting a lot of attention from years of my life would be beyond me. Lancelot was remarkably well-behaved, keeping the conversation going without going into combat or battle. That though seemed to be a tactic to let us all relax and become addled by drink, her parents were less willing or able to corral her.
Lancelot struck as pudding was served a rich pudding of some kind of sugary syrup, called 'treacle' over a sponge cake. It was delightful. “Dad said you moved under the witch's Evil Eye. How'd you manage that?”
“Lance, if I've told you once I've told you a thousand times, you can't just ask cultivators for their secrets, that's how you get duels.” Ban sighed.
“I don't mind. It's not really a secret, it's just exposure. I'm used to harsh critique.” I replied, Lancelot seemed annoyed at the response, at me from the very first sentence. I paused. “Lancelot, were you hoping I challenged you to a duel over that question?”
“Well, aren't you delightfully sharp? See Lancelot, you are not as cunning as you think. Please let me apologise for my daughter, she is a champion of blade work in many regional tourneys, obsessed with her craft, and rather upset that we expect her to be more than just another Noble Squire going around and causing a ruckus.” Elaine shot a smile at her daughter who was going steadily redder.
“But Mom, the others have their gifts to help them, I am falling behind and there's only so much one can do with a sword against someone who can coat themselves in magma.” Lancelot's riposte got my attention, she was certainly a cultivator. She'd been introduced as Squire, so Bronze with two gifts.
Gifts could be quite different, and I'd heard of plenty of souls who had one ‘weaker’ gift. Weakness is often measured by application to battle. My Smoke gift was one such example. I'd not heard of anyone totally cursed by their gifts. Besides even a ‘weak’ gift could be put to use.
“Oh great in combat I'm going to use dream glamour and whatever this is!” She flared both her palms and the dream mana made me wince, for a combat specialist, dream glamour was not helpful till you were Iron ranked at least, she'd most likely got it from her mother's side. It was a very Oracle type of gift. The other gift though was such a shock that it froze my spoon's transit to my mouth despite its delicious load of sponge and treacle.
I felt the focus of Elaine on me. She'd seen my flinch. She could tell I knew! I could feel the weight of her gaze. Not the Evil Eye, but the total attention of a peak Iron cultivator made my skin crawl. Ban was hissing at his daughter for showing off and Lancelot was arguing back. Arguing rather fairly that 'no one knew what it was anyway? So why be so careful?'.
It was her poor luck that I did in fact recognize one the rarest gifts in cultivator circles. I also knew the fae it was supposedly tied to. Elaine watched me as a cat watches a mouse, but the pressure from her was nothing compared to the weight of the image of those eyes like lakes which sprung up in my mind.