Arthurian Cultivation

Book 2 Chapter 72 To catch a Nermil

Nermil’s face irritated me. It didn’t help that I knew it was a lie, just like the rest of his pitiful existence. A greedy magpie of a person, whose smarts were the only notable thing about him. Standing on the opposite gallery, I could practically feel him drinking in our loathing.“I'm pleased you caught up. Best to have punctual invaders.”

Bors raised a javelin of stone, but Sephy stopped him.

“That's not him. Another delusion of dream glamour.” Her eyes hunted round the room.

“Very perceptive. You know, in the past couple of decades no beast or adventurer has been so gifted in seeing through my illusions as you five. You have earned my attention. Now please, do explain why you have come to bother me here? I’m merely an old practitioner who has made this place his home. I would rather we part ways peacefully.” His voice rolled out, his false words bringing a smile to my face. He was here. This was no recording. While the image might be fake, the words were spoken live. I could feel the lies.

I pulled out one of the rune lanterns. The powerful illumination had been a gift from Rensliegh before we’d left. She’d had strong opinions on good lighting. They had a limited duration, and none of us were gifted with Light Glamour, so we couldn’t renew them easily. We’d been holding off using them, but now was the perfect time.

I threw it up in the air, where it glowed brightly, helping illuminate the huge room.

“Ah, a bit of colour.” The man smiled, ignoring how we started to hunt around the room, looking for signs of him.

I knew he was here. There was power there. Naturally or unnaturally, the man before us was deeper into Iron than any of us were, but he was outnumbered, and in matters of direct battle I expected him to be vastly outclassed.

None of the tales Maeve had shared made wizards out to be well suited to close combat.

“Where's the Grail, you fraud? We know you took it from Phischer.” Sephy shouted as she began to stalk round the top of the gallery, nearing the stairs down to the landing that sat just above the trap pit.

“Ah, so that man's hate finally caught up with me, did it? You know there was a different future. One where he opened his strongbox, found the Grail, and when he learned the price it demanded, he reformed.”

That made me pause. He was sharing a truth, or at least what he thought was a truth. Was the man mad? Phischer reformed.

“Wouldn’t you like to know your futures, your potential? The potential you have if you leave here, rather than see your fate severed by attacking that above you.” The fake image watched us impassively. Still, I didn’t feel comfortable letting him run his mouth. The last thing you should do is let a trickster talk. Seelie knows I’d talked myself out of enough situations.

“Ignore his speech. Find him, he's stalling.” I called.

“Oh, you're different. You don't feel quite right. Are you the one who has been pushing things off path? The pitfall takes impatient fools, and fate suggested that the hornets and other traps would have got one of you, yet it was barely an inconvenience. Smoke is a rare gift, and paired with death? Well, that’s something that wasn’t predicted.” I listened closely. He didn’t think he was lying, but his words were as twisty as my own.

I didn’t appreciate having my own gimmick thrown back at me.

I thought back to the rooms of wealth, how he spent years dressing up in disguises, and now he danced before us. This man was an entertainer, just like me. He was in here, and he was confident, no doubt aware that the cultists were rushing here right now.

He wanted to keep us looking, line us up to destroy each other.

That’s what I’d have done.

So I stopped. My smoke still spread out, but I didn’t hunt about. I calmly approached the stone balustrade of the gallery and looked at the illusion. Having seen through it, the image was hazy and transparent. The reality lost, only the suggestion remained.

In a burst of smoke, I shifted my sword to a lute and played a few notes.

“I greet another blessed with a silver tongue. It seems yours is tarnished night black, used only for dark ends.” I smiled as I spoke. Would he be fool enough to engage me?

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“What are you doing?” Maeve growled at me as she hunted about.

“I can hear armour!” came a call from Sephy. Indeed, we could hear the sounds of boots pounding across some distant floor. The cultists would be here soon. I ignored the cries and focused.

“What was your name before all of this? Or has the evil washed it away?” I asked the air.

“You say I'm evil. I merely am. I didn't make the delightful artefact you seek. I gave only succour. 'Tis the fool on them for not asking the price. They should know better than to deal in miracles.” I ground my teeth. I didn’t appreciate his continued truthfulness. Perhaps he was just insane, and couldn’t even recognise the horror he’d inflicted.

“I'm not even talking about that. That's pure evil, don’t get me wrong. The bit that gets me is the thieving. You act like you're above them, but still rob them of their worth. That isn't the act of a wizard. That's the confidence of a trickster and charlatan in you. If I had to guess, did you grow up poor and desperate?” I tuned the strings.

“Petty insults won't hurt me! See, this has all been according to—”

“Nope. Enough with the mystical nonsense. The cultists do enough of that. See, I think words hurt you plenty, just like cutting you off annoys you. You're not some grand observer beyond your fellow man. It's a cloak, a mask you wrap around yourself to feel special.” I called out. The fake was scowling at me.

“I am an inheritor of Merlin's will! I am him renewed! I see the future and your death.” Two truths and a lie. There was a crack in the man’s madness.

The alternative was too terrifying to think about.

“Merlin's not even dead! You're a lucky conman. You stumbled upon what, some books? A guide? Maybe a hermit taught you just enough so you could delude yourself?” I kept poking, trying to draw him out.

“You have no idea of the powers I wield, of the destiny I carry. I am to stand at the side of the greatest wizard Euross has ever known. And you walk yourselves into my domain? I who stand above kings, who have defeated knights and monsters in the dozens.” Again, all truth. The line about standing next to the greatest wizard was again true.

I’d have to warn Maeve after this.

Still, I kept pushing him, as the others frantically searched the room.

“Your traps did? It seems like you can't muster much of anything that isn't a trap. Have you ever actually fought a knight?”

“You feckless cur. I am a wizard, clothed in immense arcane power. My traps are but toys compared to what I shall do to you.” The illusion was now spitting with anger.

“He has to be in here somewhere. The cultists are almost here.” A whisper from Tristan passed me by. I couldn’t see the knight. He remained hidden, clearly preparing for a chance to surprise our foes.

I had to find him, but he didn’t seem a fool. He wasn’t talking to us for any reason other than to ensure we fought the cultists. I had to assume he planned to finish off whoever survived that battle. He must know our powers by now. The fact he was so close behind the door showed he was spying. He likely knew our capabilities, had made plans to avoid our gifts.

So we had to do something he’d never seen before to find him, and I had plenty in reserve.

“You know, I started to write a song about you. I had to change your name. I'm acquainted with the woman who sealed the true Merlin away, you see.” I chuckled to myself as I shifted my blade into a lute.

At that, the figure recoiled. So he knew of Nimue, but not enough to recognise her descendant who stood before him.

“Feels rather pathetic to connect you with such a noble name. So we picked Nilmer as a replacement. Sounds nice and silly. Then I started working on this,”

“False Sage Nilmer, poor of mind, poor of purse,

You sell thin hope with threadbare verse,

Boasting loud of magic, of secrets deep,

Yet you fish in the tears of those who weep.”

The music spread out. I felt the resonance draw on the power of people’s auras. Some came from my allies, who, apart from Tristan, were slowly forming up before the stairs above the hidden pit. They’d abandoned their search and now focused on the coming threat, no doubt hoping to draw some of the approaching cultists into the trap. I felt threads coming from down the hall. They were discordant and angry. The music resonated with them, but with their hate, not their pleasure.

“Robed in dust and borrowed lore,

Quoting scraps from better men’s store,

You bless the desperate, nod and grin,

Then praise yourself for reeling them in.”

I’d never thought to use resonance like this before. To feel out the connection, to follow it to the end. I pushed one more verse, ignoring the clatter of armour below, the illusion that was shouting insults at me, focusing only on the thin connections.

“You clap your hands at your own small trick,

While feeding on grief makes you feel tall and slick,

Yet beneath that robe there’s nought but lies and Nilmer,

No sage, no seer, just a leech named Nilmer.”

I felt it then. I could feel where he was hiding. The power was imprecise, giving only a faint direction, but there was only one place to hide that way. I had him. I didn’t look, didn’t hint. Just whispered.

“Tristan, if you can hear me, he’s hiding just inside the pit. On our side.” In my smoke, I felt his footsteps move.

“Pathetic. Did you think such simple insults could draw me out? Arrogant bard. Now watch fate’s march. I was never destined to die here today. You were doomed to fail. It seems more guests have arrived. I hope you can see each other—ghrk.”

The thin illusion of Nermil vanished.

Instead, I looked over to see at the top of the stairs Tristan reveal himself. A long vine in one hand, he leaned through the pit’s fake floor. After a moment, and with help from Sephy, he dragged up, flailing and twisting like a fish, a reedy, pale-faced man in golden embroidered robes.

We’d caught Nermil.

The pale man was young, far younger looking than the wise appearance he’d put on in his illusion. He lashed out, but his attacks bounced off Tristan, who was joined by Bors, who slammed him in place with a chunk of stone.

It was, of course, at that exact moment the cultists arrived.

“Heretics. I am Mordred, Paladin of Mercy. You will give us that man, and the artefact. If you do, our mercy will be swift.”