Sir Spendlove’s manor made for a better billet than some farmstead. The place was gaudy, looming over the other buildings in town. Even the town hall paled in comparison. We’d been given the best rooms in the house—he’d even offered up the master bedroom, which we’d unanimously turned down. The idea of sleeping in a bed he frequented was enough to turn our collective stomachs.

  The gift of housing was just part of his panic. After realising he’d been mortally offensive to a fellow Iron cultivator, he’d rolled over and practically thrown gifts at me, which I’d turned down. In part it was because it was all tat, he was wealthy only by mortal standards and his trinkets didn’t compare to the kind of things I’d just found lying around in the Felix Lodge. More importantly, I didn’t want him thinking he was going to buy his way out of this.

  Instead I suggested he could start making up for his egregious insults though offering his ‘insight and support’. In other words, doing his damn job and not actively getting in our way.

  Most of the group listened to my wisdom, understanding that our first outing shouldn’t involve directly usurping the local cultivator. His fate was already sealed; Tristan and Lance were planning to send a dream missive to the main estate. It would be a worthy first test of Lance’s abilities, helping us communicate via dream glamour across the vast distances we planned to travel. It would be her first attempt to do so without her mother’s support.

  Despite the good wine we’d been given and the warm welcome, a few of us were still upset about how we’d been greeted and wanted to hunt the pig down. Sephy was particularly irate. Thankfully, a quirk of Knightly honour stopped them. As I was the most grievously insulted, Chivalric law dictated that, as we were all of equal rank, they could not interfere until I resolved my complaint or a full cycle of the moon passed.

  A sensible rule, it meant hot-blooded youngsters couldn’t start fights on behalf of their more mature and level-headed kin. I was not mature. My petty side simply knew that the best way to make the man suffer was to let him do what he did best: sweat.

  We were gathered in his dining room—small by the standards of the estates and halls we’d recently enjoyed but palatial compared to peasant accommodations. The manor was well-run. Hot baths had been waiting for us, and extra beds had been prepared. The greatest surprise was a humble feast that appeared within an hour of our arrival, enough to feed all ten of us, served on a clearly out-of-place round table. From the smell of dust, I suspected it had been dragged out of some attic.

  Maybe we did need to pick something other than furniture for our name. It seemed ridiculous that people were already digging out specific tables for us.

  “Please forgive Sir Spendlove. The recent challenges have greatly stressed him, and he has retired to his bedchamber seeking medicine for a most debilitating humour. For those I have yet to introduce myself to, I am Squire Lucan, his second-in-command. While my master oversees all, I manage this house and have been coordinating with the town to respond to the threat you have so graciously come to aid us with.”

  Lucan spoke without lying, but I could see the quirks in his sentence that betrayed the hidden truth. Spendlove had retreated—likely to get roaringly drunk. His absence was our net gain, sparing us his company and giving us unfettered access to Lucan, the one actually responsible for managing the monster threat.

  “The only forgiveness I can offer is to the burden you bear with him as a master, Squire Lucan. The only thanks I offer is to your excellent service,” I said, breaking the silence. Still acting as spokesman for our group, I set the tone, and the others relaxed. The room dissolved into discussion, appreciation for Lucan, and exploration of our plans.

  I spoke a little with Sephy, though things were still strange between us. The memory of our recent conflict haunted our conversation. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there were more secrets—or rather, I knew there were more secrets, which had never been a problem before. No, the issue was the tight control her elders had over her.

  This wasn’t surprising. Neither of us was Mithril, and not being beholden to others was half the reason people sought that legendary status. What shamed me was that I’d assumed I would follow her without hesitation if such forces tried to divide us. Yet when she’d explained the plan, all I could think about was escaping it. I’d loathed it so much I hadn’t even considered following her.

  I was still relatively new to this ‘having people I genuinely cared about’ experience, but immediately deciding to destroy their plans didn’t seem like the right move.

  Exploring the subject hurt, and worse, it felt like I couldn’t tell exactly what she was thinking. It didn’t help that we’d been so busy it had just slipped past us, and now it lurked in our shadows—unsaid words stalking us.

  It also wasn’t helping that I had to keep up the farce with Maeve, which I was finding increasingly hard to do. She talked about swords a lot, and I’d long since exhausted my interest in the subject. Hopefully, our time on the road would supply us with fresh topics.

  As more beer arrived, I listened to the discussion with Lucan, who had finally taken a seat at the table despite his complaints. His need to follow the Knights’ command warred with a butler’s instinct to never be seen sitting down.

  The conversation seemed to be going well. Despite his looks, the man clearly had martial training. However, even with him involved, no one seemed to have any idea what the creature was. His imitation of the clucks was, however, most amusing.

  Eventually, I slipped out of the room and fled the manor before they noticed I’d gone. My feet were itching, and I wanted to move. To be free.

  I still had a list of tasks as long as my arm. I’d barely added anything to my reserves with impurities—the downside of having an incredible staff was that the alchemists were too efficient. My haul from the realm didn’t include any fae cores I could snack on, either.

  There was the talk with Arthur I probably should have been having.

  The talk with Sephy I both wanted and feared.

  I shivered, putting all of that out of my mind. What I needed right now was to find my roots, to centre myself. The Artoss estate had been nice, and I’d enjoyed our jaunt through the woods, but it hadn’t felt right. I’d sought freedom to meet people, see places, and live my own life. But I felt watched there—a sensation that followed me even to this manor.

  I wasn’t on this journey to find the Grail, or to guard against monsters—human or spirit. At my core, I was here to make music. To spread the word of our mission. To expose the villainy of the Divine Cultivators. And, most importantly, to bring joy and song.

  Finding the tavern was no great task. The town was barely larger than some villages, a tenth of the size of Fosburg. I could hear the carousing bouncing off the sturdy wooden buildings from streets away.

  The tavern was packed and in the midst of a celebration. I could hear rough folk music and whoops of joy from within. I stopped myself from entering when I saw the face of one of the mortal guards flash past the open shutters.

  I cursed to myself. No matter how approachable I might aim to be, just a word of who I was would shatter the mood. It would be in poor taste, especially as, from the snippets of conversation I overheard, the celebration was for our arrival. It seemed that ‘Sir Spendlove’ had shared some of his stock so the town could show their appreciation for their supposed saviours.

  I was becoming more and more impressed with Lucan. To think the man had not only arranged the manor and our meals but had time to sneak out some of his master’s booze.

  I wandered around, trying to work out what to do next. This issue of class would be a recurring problem, but I wasn’t about to give up on my goals so easily. As I strolled, I came across a collection of tents pitched on what I assumed was normally the town green. The strange thing was that it seemed to be entirely populated by children.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Stepping closer, I corrected myself: children and one old man, who was trying—and failing—to keep order. Standing in the middle of some twenty children was a wiry, bearded gent. His eyes had the slight mania of a kind, soft-spoken person who was seriously reconsidering his stance on corporal punishment.

  “Little ’uns, I know your parents are out, but that’s no excuse—Lilah, stop biting Timothy! I don’t care if he bit Gregory first,” he called out, hobbling to help one small child who was crying while pointing at a trio of scuffling children.

  I relaxed. Compared to the challenges I’d faced of late, a group of mostly laughing, excited children was a wonderful sight. A beautiful bit of chaos.

  I strummed my lute, the lilting sound drawing all their attention as if it were a spell.

  “Good day! I’m Taliesin, a travelling bard. I’m here to play you a couple of songs.”

  “We’ve no coin—”

  “It’s not like that, Granda Po! He was with the Knights. He told ’im off, he did!” one of the bigger boys called out. He must have been one of the children I’d spotted watching from the rooftops. Unlike adults, the realisation that I was a cultivator didn’t send them scraping and bowing. Instead, I felt their eyes shift from momentary interest to wild expectation.

  I felt a little sorry for ‘Granda Po’. The man looked ready to have a heart attack. He was currently carrying a small girl and was clearly trying to work out how to show proper deference without dropping her.

  “Don’t worry about bowing or anything. I’m here to help. See, I want your help. I’m hoping to turn the Knights’ achievements into song, and I’d love to hear your thoughts. However, I’m not sure if I should let naughty children hear such songs. Are there any naughty children here?”

  The group went silent, shaking their heads violently. A girl—‘Lilah’, I presumed—was the last to do so, as she had to spit out Timothy first.

  Attention gained, I gestured to their caretaker. “Why don’t you listen to Mister—?”

  “Mister Runpo, your lordship.”

  “I’m not ‘lordship’. But if you must add something to my name, call me Bard Taliesin.” I smiled, remembering Alexis’s advice. Sadly, children needed to be taught the importance of respect. “If you all do what Mr Runpo says, I’ll play you a song.”

  I made a show of tuning my lute as a grateful Runfo set about sorting the children out. It wasn’t quite their bedtime but was approaching it. Not that they’d likely go to sleep with the clamour from the tavern blaring.

  Looking around, it seemed this was where the families of local farmsteads had been placed. The families were kept inside the walls for their safety. Runfo, I learned from the children’s chatter, had agreed to stay and look after them, alongside another caretaker who had skived off earlier—lured away by the donated drink.

  It was a bit much for one man to manage all these children, but I didn’t think he was entirely alone. I felt like I was being watched. Faces peeked through shutters in nearby houses, and I saw the occasional guard patrol, which might have explained it.

  Once the children were no longer in total anarchy and, if not willing to get under their blankets, at least ready to do so, Runfo gave me a grateful nod before collapsing into a rocking chair.

  “Let’s start with a tune about the largest of all the Knights from our merry band. Bors the Titan!”

  "Bors the Titan, hearth ablaze, protector worthy of ancient days!"

  I let my smoke roll out, providing a backdrop for the song and launched into it.

  I didn’t know how long had passed, but my Hearth burned with a heat I hadn’t felt in weeks—a soothing heat, like the difference between an unattended flame and the fire at the heart of a home, with all gathered before it. Their attention nourished me

  The crowd had grown. People filled the open spots on the green, and all the houses bordering it had opened their shutters and faces vied for space at the window.

  I only snapped out of it when I spotted a few parents returning from the tavern to collect their children. Deciding to wind down my performance, I played a quieter, slower song, hoping to ease the children into sleep. I stopped my illusions and instead focused entirely on my music.

  “The Knight rode out at the break of dawn,

  With princess astride, her slumber long gone.

  Through fields of gold, through forest deep,

  Searching for magic to bring her sleep.

  Oh, my lady, let the stars softly gleam,

  This Knight will guide you to your dreams.

  Even with your heart kind, and my sword strong,

  It seems your rest is yet to be won.”

  The 'Quest for Slumber' was not quite a lullaby, but belonged in that same space. Sung as a sign it was time for children to sleep—especially when adults remained awake. It told the tale of an overactive Knight seeking a cure to help his princess slumber, unaware that his creative remedies were half the problem.

  “He sought a sleeping song from the moonlit warbler,

  Yet his rough sword failed to earn that gentle tune.

  Despite fighting hard till first light,

  Only she could close her eyes and end the night.”

  I heard a few chuckles from the adults in the audience, who had slowly appeared over time. The song’s appeal was twofold: it was full of innuendo and jokes that went over children’s heads. A ‘moonlit warbler’ was a bird with a cry somewhat human and joyous. The tone wasn’t entirely bawdy, though. The Knight and princess drank bubbling ‘golden nectar’, were visited by fairies ‘disguised’ as their neighbours, and in a final desperate attempt, took up the great challenge of ‘Saxes’—a pun that even the illiterate could enjoy.

  The song ended with the Knight and princess finally giving up the search and resting together. I almost considered improvising another verse to prolong the moment, but I stopped myself.

  “Search not for slumber, let the tale unfold,

  Be as the Knight and Princess, brave and bold.

  Dream of adventures, of laughter and care,

  For sleep is the treasure of the unaware.”

  The silence lasted only a moment before applause rang out from all directions. Even the sleepy children clapped tiredly. My audience had grown to half the town, it seemed, and the sound—soft like a wave—held enough momentum to make me stagger as it crashed into me.

  My Hearth roared in approval.

  As I sought to calm myself and understand what had just happened, the audience began to disperse. The entertainment finished, families reunited, and others waved at me from their homes before shuttering their windows.

  Many of the youngest children had already slipped into sleep, two of them tucked under the arms of a gently snoring Grandpa Po. The caretaker had taken his own well-earned rest.

  I made my excuses and retreated, pleased to find the adults weren’t as grovelling as I’d feared. There was a distance between us, but it seemed a song full of innuendo had served as a great equaliser, transforming me into something outside their normal understanding. That, and the large amount of good booze many of them had consumed, likely helped. Some tricks I’d remember for next time.

  Because there would be a next time. This felt amazing!

  My mind sparking and my limbs dancing, I felt better than I had in weeks. My performances for the Knights hadn’t compared to this. It was as though I’d been fumbling around in a fog, only to stumble out into a perfectly clear day. Clarity and energy coursed through me.

  I had the urge to go find Sephy and finally speak to her as I should have days ago. Then again, that might mean waking her up... At the very least, I could check on her. If she was already asleep, I could start on the alchemy I’d been putting off.

  Trying to locate the source of my sudden vigour, I thought back to the strange power that had come over me during the performance. With a snap of realisation, I understood what was different.

  What I’d long ago assumed was glamour from thier attention was, in fact, aura.

  Despite being mortals, their collective attention held power. It was nothing compared to an Iron’s aura, but it was perhaps comparable to a Bronze’s. And it was different—while the aura of cultivators was often used to threaten and demand , this was something else.

  Cultivators’ power was that of the individual, striving to become more than human, to become legends. But this power—this was the aura of community.

  Letting the sounds of the night melt around me, I slipped into the side streets, hoping to mull over my revelation. Sadly, it was not to be. That same prickling sensation returned, like the feeling of being watched, which had dogged me all night.

  Absorbed in my performance earlier, my swirling ash illusions had spread across a good portion of the town. I’d sensed them then but ignored it. Now I was more annoyed than worried. I knew the culprit. I had been privately hoping they’d leave me alone hours ago. Seems I was going to tick one task off my list tonight.

  “Arthur, you must tell me what you thought of my performance,” I said, turning to stare at the prince-shaped void in my smoke.