I missed lgraine funeral rites. Such as they were.
From what I heard, there was not much appetite for another ‘celebration’ so close to Uther's, so the tail-end of one was folded into the other. Like in ‘Hamlet’. And with almost exactly the same amount of the feeling that something rotten was in the state of Tintagel. I couldn't help but feel he deserved much more. Of course, the uncertainty abound her passing did not help.
“My mother did not kill herself,” Arthur had told me, “she didn't have a sentimental bone in her body. She missed my father, of course, but we had plans . . . we had . . .” And he had abruptly left my bed chamber.
Bors had visited later that day. He was taking it hard and was obviously worried about the impact on Arthur. As he said, to lose one parent was tough enough. “To lose the second -”
“May be thought of as carelessness," I supplied. There was a pause during which I wasn’t sure whether he was going to cry or punch me in the face. I did my best to forestall either. "Sorry, mate, the Big M has me on some very strong Elixirs.”
After a moment, Bors blinked and then continued as if I had not spoken. "But I do agree with what he is saying. There's absolutely no way in the world that Igraine killed herself. Just no way. If she was that way inclined, she’d have done it years ago when things between them were grim. It makes no sense for her to have done it now.”
“Look, there’s no argument from me here. But what's the alternative?" From the bits and pieces of gossip that had reached me, I understood that the Queen had taken a long trip from a short tower without the benefit of loading up on several hundred Elixirs of Wellness. As someone who had done something similar recently, I was happy to testify you had a long time to regret the choice on the way down. "Had she drunk too much at the feast?”
Bors wrinkled his nose.“Some. We all had, hadn’t we? Only way to put up with some of those fucking kings. But was it enough to fall through an open window? Doubt it. The woman could hold her drink.”
"Dude, she either jumped, fell or . . .”
"Yeah. I know. It's the 'or’ that's keeping us up at the moment.”
“I imagine there are guards to be questioned, Servants to - you know - torture horribly until they falsely confess to things they had never even dreamed of."
The big man stood and began pacing around my room. The bits and bobs from off Merlin’s shelves that were lying around didn't quite wobble as he walked, but they weren't a mile away from it. The dude had gravity. "I’ve tried. No one knows anything." I opened my mouth to speak, but he met my eyes and shook his head. "I'm not good for much in this world, Morgan, but when l ask a question, I get an answer, Sooner or later.”
He sat down again on the edge of the bed, and I momentarily took flight. "I miss her."
I understood where he was coming from. Queen Igraine had not been especially kind to me during my short time in the Dark Ages. But she was clever, funny – in a bitingly satirical way - and took absolutely no shit from anyone. Seeing the way she'd collapsed in on herself in the days following Uther's death had been hard, but - as Arthur had said - she'd been central to the plans for the kingdom that we had discussed.
It was inconceivable she'd have abandoned the vision for the British lands that she had been so instrumental in plotting. But, on the other hand, was it any more likely this icy, controlled woman would have stumbled drunkenly through her window and crashed to her death?
Bors was wringing his hands again, his eyes downcast, shoulders slumped.
This might be a good moment, my dear, to try what we've been practising.
I should explain.
Since taking the Erobus root, Merlin has been trying to broaden out my Qi sensitivity a touch. I was proving pretty adept at pulling it in - although, as you convalesce in my tower, it would take a cultivator of unusual incapacity not to be - but I was still a bit of a blunt instrument in pushing it outwards.
Massive, sonic booms of Air Qi and arcing flames of lightning are not really the sign of a subtle and understated power, my dear.
"Mate, ‘subtle’ and 'understated are not words that have been especially present in my life to date."
Old life, my dear. The new you has the potential for far greater things.
So, we'd been practising, during my enforced recovery from epic Erobus poisoning, on just trying to nudge people into taking actions I wanted. Now, I know that doesn’t sound like the most altruistic of things for a cultivator to do, but Merlin had convinced me there was merit in developing the skill. And, to be honest, the process was quite simple.
All I needed to do was take the thinnest threads of my newly super-concentrated Qi and load it up with a suggestion. Then, I simply pushed that little string of Qi into the other person's brain, and my suggestion would flow into their mind.
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But when I say simple . . .
It's a suggestion, my dear. Not an imperial command backed by twelve war bands, a company of elephants and a phalanx of ninja werewolves.
I watched as the serving boy brought me my tenth tray filled with glasses of water, his panic-stricken face not unlike a horse being swallowed whole by a Komodo Dragon, and again reflected that subtlety was not a skill I seemed to possess.
It'll wear off shortly, but the art to this technique is to ensure the subject does not even realise they have been influenced. You will not be able to get much done if other people notice someone behaving bizarely.
My serving boy bowed and scraped his head on the floor. “I'll be right back, oh enchanting mistress. I'm sorry for this one's slow response to your command."
"Too much?" l asked Merlin. His silence was the only required answer.
The thing was, if I made the suggestion too subtle, it slipped of my questing thread of Qi before it even reached its target Likewise, if I made the thread too thick I was rewarded with a range of confused, angry and puzzled faces as they brushed my intrusive thought aside.
The strength of mind of the person you are seeking to influence will also be a factor. It is very unlikely a cultivator, for example, will allow themselves to be influenced in this way. I should also mention, my dear, that it is seen as . . . uncouth to try to pressure a fellow Wizard in this way."
"So I shouldn't try it on another cultivator?"
"That's not what I said, my dear. Merely, that if you do, you should do everything you can not to get caught."
Over the last few days, I’d quickly realised who around the Court was open to this type of manipulation and who wasn't. I could, for example, get Lancelot to remove his shirt with the merest hint of it being slightly warm.
Whilst there is not a ‘dark side’ per se to Qi cultivation, my dear, I would merely note you would look askance if you caught me encouraging pretty young maidens to remove their clothes in my presence.
"Which you obviously did, right?"
Of course, and now you're judging me for it, correct?"
Arthur and Guinevere, on the other hand, were completely closed doors to me, no matter what I tried or however subtle my suggestions.
Some people just know their own minds, my dear. I doubt either of them has ever done something they didn't wish to in their whole lives.
However, having Bors in front of me, clearly filled with guilt and grief, I felt this was actually a moment where I could use this technique for good. So, I pulled out the thinnest strand of my Qi as I could and gave a slight flick of my thick, glossy paint between the two of us.
To begin with, it didn't look like the connection would hold. However, after a few heartbeats, it stabilized. I let the link sit between us for a moment, just to make sure it wouldn’t immediately fray. When it didn’t, I was able to push the suggestion I had especially prepared just for him.
"It wasn't your fault."
Pleasingly, the effect was almost immediate. Bors sat up a little straighter, and the deep frown eased somewhat on his forehead. Don’t get me wrong, he still looked utterly downcast, but I was pleased to see that the burden had lessened somewhat. I held the thread for just a beat longer and then pushed out a follow-up thought to follow it.
"There was nothing you could have done." Again, the tension eased somewhat around his shoulders, and I received the notification that I had developed a new technique.
There was dearly only one appropriate name for this one.
You know, my dear, there Is no need for the hand gesture when you channel this skill. Qi manipulation is an entirely internal process.
“True, Big M. But when
*
It was the sixth day before I was able to put weight on my legs and walk about.
Merlin thought that said more about my levels of physical fitness prior to becoming a cultivator rather than any miscalculation in the formula he used to calculate the volume of the Elixir.
You have to remember, my dear, most cultivators will have spent years, if not decades, seeking to increase the physical limits of their bodies- I had hoped by putting you in Wulfnod’s body, you would be able to inherit his foundations. However, as with you clinging on to your pre-reincarnation view of your sexual history, It does seem, somewhat, that your previous physicality has – infected is too strong a word, but you take my meaning - your current form.
“So, not only is the core of my being a slut, you're saying it’s a lazy one at that?"
To be clear, my dear, I am not saying that at all. You, however, seem determined to hold on to aspects of your previous personality that you yourself found distasteful. Your core, your soul, is as beautiful and inviolate as anyone else’s. I would hazard I have had a hundred, two hundred times the sexual encounters you have, and they do not weigh on me one bit. You seem determined to cast yourself in a dim light. In the same way, there's no reason you have needed those extra three days in bed other than the fact you believe you did.
"Should I
You joke, my dear, but I have heard worse suggestions. There are few great cultivators who are wracked with self-loathing.
"To be fair, mate, I think I've made some pretty decent progress on that store. Sometime hours go by and I barely hate myself at all." I thought back to my conversation with Zizzie in Aurelius’ prison. I was doing my absolutely best to let the past be the past. The fact it was, in reality, the future somewhat fried my noodle, but there was nothing to be done for that. Apparently.
I don't disagree, my dear, and the fact we have largely been able to keep the timeline secure despite the appearance of a legendary cultivator who appears in no version of Arthurian legend of which I am aware speaks volumes for your success. But this is now the critical moment.
"With Uther dead, you mean?”
Indeed. If we can get Caldefwch into Arthur's hand, if Bors can reinstitute the Marghekyon, if we can keep increasing your power and, if we can get the remaining kingdoms to acclaim Arthur as the Pendragon, we will have - in the vernacular of your time - a ballgame ....
"There's an awful lot of ‘if's’ there.”
My dear, my vision still stands. I can see it as clearly now as I did on the night I received it. King Arthur, in his throne room, overseeing a land of peace and prosperity. He has the sword at his side, a happy wife and a united kingdom behind him. Whilst that vision holds, your timeline is secure.
We were interrupted by the sound of trumpets. I cursed and threw the last few of the things I thought I might need during the expedition into my inventory.
Arthur’s quest was about to get underway. And to listen to Merlin, the stakes could not possibly have been higher.