Jackal Among Snakes, Book 3: A GameLit Fantasy, page 13
She adjusted the pack with her ire hardly concealed, casting glances at Garm atop Galamon’s pack. Despite her constant curiosity toward the head, she asked as many questions as a mute. Argrave had intended to find out what she knew, but her stubborn silence made that difficult.
They traveled along a dry riverbed. Though the valley around them evidenced water had once flown through this area, all water had dried, and the clay-like soil beneath their feet was hard and cracked into tiles of varying sizes. Argrave kept his eyes on the mountain as he walked slower, looking for landmarks he recalled from the game to guide him.
After a long delay, Argrave spotted a strangely split rock that was quite familiar to him and smiled. “Folks… let’s set our packs aside. Someplace safe.”
“What for?” Yarra questioned, while Galamon and Anneliese moved to obey immediately. Galamon freed Garm from his position, holding him in his free hand like a torch.
Argrave rubbed his hands together. “Time to get to work, obviously.”
Yarra followed Argrave’s gaze to a large boulder down in a gulch.
Seeing she still wasn’t removing the pack, Argrave chided, “You were so hesitant to put it on, now you can’t bear to take it off? Just listen. Is that hard?”
She begrudgingly took the pack off and set it alongside Anneliese and Galamon’s. After ensuring that their packs were well-concealed, Argrave proceeded into the gulch, minding his step as it descended slightly. The gulch turned right, driving further into the mountains, but Argrave ignored the turn and walked to the boulder.
Argrave held his hand out and knocked four times, then said loudly, “Gebicca, blood of Burgund, has come to pay respects.”
He waited a few seconds… and then the giant boulder, which had been as solid as any other rock, turned to sand. It fell on him, and Argrave reeled away, coughing. He cleared sand out of his nose, his hair, his ears, and his mouth, then lamented, “Forgot about that bit.”
Argrave continued to spit out grains of sand ungracefully as the others near him stared beyond into the cave. Once he was done, he straightened and examined his own handiwork, a smile lining his face. Though the cave ahead was disorderly and uninviting, glowing blue runes shone on the surface of the cave wall.
Oftentimes games, Heroes of Berendar included, would have restrictions on quests. Even if the player knew the solution to a puzzle, they’d still need to talk to the right person to be able to proceed. That Argrave had been able to overcome this hurdle without doing so was a deeply satisfying thing—and it doubly confirmed that no one had come here before him.
“Care to lead, Yarra?” Argrave gestured ahead.
By the look of her, Yarra’s answer was a resounding ‘no.’ That said, she showed no hesitation in moving forward into the ominous cave. Galamon followed just after, while Argrave and Anneliese proceeded side by side.
The narrow cave abounding with glowing blue runes was a wonderfully unnerving sight in person. The faint babbling of rushing water echoed as they walked deeper. The runes provided light enough to walk forward without issue, though, and soon enough, the narrow entrance widened into something much grander.
The narrow passage widened into a vast cavern. A set of stairs descended deeper into the cave, meeting the smooth, upward-sloped cave floor. At the very top of this slope, there was a small spring, a single trickle traveling down in a straight line. This small trickle divided the cave into two sections, though the erosion was not especially significant.
Coffins of black clay rose up along the sloped cave floor. They were packed closely together as they ascended, like stairs built for giants. The coffins had blue runes along their rims, lighting the place like torchlight. There was an eerie mist about the whole area—dense, almost cloudlike.
“These runes… are incomprehensible,” Anneliese muttered, gazing out in awe. “And this place, so—”
“Don’t get lost in your head, Anneliese. I can tell you what I know about this place after we’re done. In fact…” Argrave turned his gaze to the Vessel, Yarra. “You may wish to prepare to fight.”
Galamon nodded, freeing his helmet from atop Garm’s head and donning it himself. He drew his greatsword, too. Argrave held out his hand, a spell matrix forming. Soon enough, four [Electric Eels] bounded from his palm, illuminating the area better yet as they drifted above his head. He took slow, steady steps down the wide stairs, waiting and watching the entire room.
Their advance into the tomb seemed to evidence that no danger awaited them, yet the atmosphere of the place was decidedly not easing. The dense mist, the coffins, the constancy of the babbling stream above… Argrave’s gaze flitted to a coffin.
Deep within the complex system of caves, a noise rang out—windchimes, almost. It was pleasant to the ear. This chiming grew in volume, slowly melding together into something more complete. It formed a soothing melody, almost playful in tone.
“Be ready,” he cautioned.
And his words of caution proved to be of perfect timing. The mist within the cave began to condense, solidify—in but a second, Argrave found himself facing a black-skinned warrior with large ears and indiscernible features. A curved sword whistled toward his face. Argrave willed the [Electric Eels] to move, and they struck their target far faster than his newly formed foe’s sword could move.
The warrior staggered back, flesh cracking and leaking mist. A guttural and phlegmy howl battered against Argrave’s ears at once, echoing in his head and against the cave walls until it was all he heard. The sound was terrifying enough that he felt all his skin crawl against his leather gear, despite that he had been fully expecting it to come. The pleasant song became discordant ringing.
Yarra was the first to regain her composure… or perhaps she never lost it, for her hand liquified and thrust forth like a spear toward the warrior’s head as soon as it ceased staggering. Its head scattered like the mist from which it was made, yet the attack seemed ineffectual. It did not walk forward—it merely reformed forward, slicing at Yarra’s stomach.
Galamon slashed at it with his greatsword. His blow struck home, both the metal blade and the wind blade following it causing another visible impact. With another near identical howl, the mist exploded backward, blown by an invisible wind. The sight did not distract Argrave from the sound of something scraping—claws on stone, Argrave thought, like a fleeing animal.
“Well,” Argrave began, stepping forth. “The first of them knows that we’re here. It’s like I told you—you can only hit them when they’re trying to hit you. They have to be solid to attack, and as such, that’s the only time they can be hurt.”
“These must be wraiths. Ghosts,” Yarra said with conviction. “This mist is not true mist. I cannot absorb it.”
“Don’t you listen? I told you they weren’t.” Argrave shook his head. “Back in the day, the southron elves used to reign supreme here. They had pets they used for war… and intrigue.” Argrave looked about the cave. “The Singers of the Brume, they’re called. Brumesingers for short. They subsist on the souls of the dead. The little devils are no ordinary animals, and can be held responsible for the warrior we just dealt with. This fog…” Argrave held his hand out. “It’s a magic mist. A brume, I guess. They can travel through it, conjure distractions, conjure fighters…”
Yarra seemed to be trying to find a hole in what Argrave said, but it seemed after some reflection, she simply nodded.
“Don’t kill them, please,” Argrave requested dryly. “They’re very valuable, culturally and otherwise. Though, maybe you don’t care about the cultural part.”
“But how will we stop—”
“Tire them out,” Argrave explained. “They expend their energy every time they try to stop us. It’s a game of cat and mouse, chasing these creatures about ‘til they drop.”
“So we have to continue to fight these mist apparitions until they simply cease?” Yarra questioned.
“Precisely.” Argrave nodded. “There are plenty of other rooms in this place. So… let’s get walking, and let’s stay alert.”
Argrave took a step forward, and the mist solidified once again. A hand thrust out toward Argrave’s neck, a dagger in hand. He raised his arm to block, trusting his armor’s enchantments, but Anneliese was ready. A single white bolt of [Skysunder] struck the hand, casting the arm aside. It dispersed and vanished.
“Should heed my own advice, sometimes.” Argrave lowered his arm, then readied four more [Electric Eels]. “Thanks, Anneliese. Someone else should lead, I think.”
***
It was not especially difficult to find the Brumesingers throughout the vast tomb. Though the rooms were many, each carved of a vast cave system, they needed only follow the mist, seeking out its intensity. The Brumesingers conjured the remnants of the spirits they had consumed—namely, southron elf warriors. Vigilance alone proved enough to combat the majority of their conjured warriors, fortunately. Argrave worked Yarra tirelessly, making her take the lead at all times.
The creatures weren’t stupid, though, and they were pack animals. They quickly gathered together, combining their efforts against the party. Cornering them was impossible. The Brumesingers could travel through the brume they conjured—that was much of the reason Argrave sought them out. In time, they’d make great scouts.
Soon enough, their party of four—five, including Garm—found themselves facing something quite unideal. Ahead, the mist was so thick that trying to see the room beyond was like trying to see through milk. The room had no other exits, so far as Argrave knew, but the fact remained that they had bunched up.
“Little bastards have been running for quite a while…” Argrave kneeled down, clicking his tongue. “Hard to get a notion of how many there are, too.”
“Place ahead is like a deathtrap,” Galamon noted. “The creatures don’t attack immediately. When we’re in that mist, it’s hard to see… and four, five of the attacks coming at once isn’t manageable.”
“Why not make use of that head on a stake of yours?” Yarra suggested. “I question why you brought it.”
Argrave looked toward her. “What, do you think it can warn us if it sees something?” he pressed, finally seizing the opportunity to learn what she knew.
“I know it can,” she shot back.
“And how?” Argrave questioned.
“Because Brium told me,” she said. “He would not disclose that without conviction.”
So, Brium knows Garm can speak. Argrave tried to ponder what that meant of the situation, but he couldn’t really narrow things down as to how Garm was outed.
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Argrave said, pushing past that and focusing on the task on hand. “We’ll just need a good, steady formation…” Argrave scratched his chin. “…and some patience.”
Chapter 19
Argrave was the farthest thing from a hunter.
But the people with him both hailed from a northern island where hunts made up a large portion of the food supply. Galamon had been a part of many hunts, and Anneliese knew much of the process by virtue of her sheer curiosity. As such, Argrave had learned that their people took two approaches to hunting animals in Veiden; trapping and cornering.
They could not afford to make any traps, and so they had worked at cornering the Brumesingers. Galamon had steered them toward that end. Now, the creatures lay beyond a veil of mist, entrenched deeply. As the saying went, a cornered rat will bite the cat. Patience was their largest virtue. Their venture to capture the Brumesingers became a siege.
The four of them would press into the mist—never enough to leave them vulnerable from all sides, but far enough to evoke a reaction from the animals hiding within. And indeed, time and time again, the warriors of mist would appear, and their party’s patient caution proved more than enough to receive all comers.
Brium’s Vessel, Yarra, proved to be well worth the trust bestowed in her by the Lord of Copper. Once she learned how these warriors summoned by the Brumesingers functioned, she was quite adept at dealing with them. Her control over the water springing from within was masterful, to the point where she left not a drop behind no matter how she attacked. She seemed to have a penchant for manipulating the water within herself into weapons. She would reform her hands into swords, spears, and all manner of war instruments.
This process took an uncomfortably long time. Argrave felt tempted to leave and ensure their backpacks left outside were truly hidden, but he kept those thoughts inside. Over the course of many fatiguing hours, during which Argrave ran out of magic, the fog that had been near as thick as milk began to dwindle. The place started to look like a graveyard sauna.
At a point, the warriors conjured lacked form and distinguishing features—it had been obvious they were southron elves, at first, and their skin had looked truly real. Now, they truly fought warriors borne of mist.
With a retreating slash of Galamon’s greatsword, the last two remaining warriors finally dispelled not into mist, but into nothingness. Argrave had grown well used to their unnatural and grim howls, yet this last’s death knell did not echo across the ancient tomb. The silence that followed was all-consuming.
“Hoo,” Argrave breathed out, some of his tension dissolved in the wake of excitement. The process of getting to the Brumesingers in the game was much the same, though admittedly infinitely more reckless and far less time-consuming. “Alright. Yarra, Galamon, stay near the entrance. Make sure the little ones don’t scamper out.”
Yarra nodded, far more amenable to direction after the nonstop conditioning of the misty siege.
With the two of them standing near the entrance, waiting, Argrave and Anneliese advanced ahead. The room had coffins lined up on each of its two walls, but in the back of the room, stairs rose up to an elevated portion that housed one single, grander coffin.
Argrave stepped around, watching the floors for any movement. Neither he nor Anneliese spotted anything for a long time, but then he heard a faint, rapid sound—it sounded like a dog’s squeaky chew toy, almost. It took him a bit to place it, but then he knelt down, lowering his face to the ground and peering beneath one of the coffins. At once, he smiled in triumph.
He saw the Brumesingers he’d been seeking crouched low beneath the coffins. The white-furred creatures were canids. Their appearance bore the most resemblance to that of a fox with especially large ears. Considering they were desert creatures, the fennec fox seemed a close relative. Their fur was like snow. Their eyes, too, were especially striking—they were like moving pools of gold, a glimpse into another dimension.
The Brumesingers were wheezing in exhaustion, all of their energy spent. Argrave lifted his head up and beckoned Anneliese over. She came to the other side, and her presence made the creatures sidle away in panic, moving closer to the center of the coffin.
“Aren’t they neat?” he said to Anneliese. “Had we found them earlier, they would’ve been as black as night. Their fur changes color as the consume the souls of the dead—white, gray, to black.”
“They are fascinating,” she agreed, white hair scattered everywhere on the stone as she pressed her face to peer under. “What should we do now?”
“I count… four,” Argrave concluded. “A lot of hell raised by four of these little guys. You see why I want them.” Argrave tapped the ground, thinking. “You should take one for now,” he looked to Anneliese. “Eventually, I want you to have a bird familiar for hyper-effective scouting. For now, though… these guys can travel through the mists they produce. Nothing short of fantastic for scouting, espionage… all-purpose monsters, these little ones.”
Anneliese nodded. She held her hand out and a green light shone from her palm—Argrave couldn’t distinguish the spell, but he recognized it as druidic magic. One of the Brumesingers lifted its head, then slowly and cautiously crawled out toward her.
Content, Argrave focused back on the last three. Lacking the magic to cast the spell needed, he triggered the Blessing of Supersession, feeling the overwhelming power surge into him. Surprisingly, the Brumesingers reacted to Argrave’s change—one bolted from beneath the coffin, surging toward the exit like a maniac. Galamon kneeled and received it easily, restraining it with his forefinger and thumb.
When he found it wouldn’t escape, Argrave turned his focus back to the other two. He held out his hand, casting the C-rank druidic spell [Pack Leader]. At once, he felt a strange sensation in his chest. The feeling was vastly different from when he had linked with the pigeons at Mateth. Then, like a cork, it exploded into him.
Argrave came to understand death in that moment.
With this newfound and entirely unexpected epiphany, Argrave’s entire body seized up. His arms lost strength, and he collapsed to the ground. His heart started to beat at the pace of a hummingbird’s wings, his skin felt like it was crawling, and he started sweating uncontrollably. He sight failed, fading into whiteness, and all sound vanished behind a loud ringing.
He did not know when this had come to pass, but Anneliese knelt over him. His vision slowly regained clarity, and he felt something warm on his cheek. Two ‘somethings,’ in fact—on one side, something soft, and on the other, something leather.
As he got his wits about him, he realized Anneliese held his face while the two Brumesingers sat by his cheek.
“There. Your eyes are focusing,” Anneliese said, her voice growing louder as the ringing in his ears faded. “I had no idea something like this might happen. I should have warned you. The spell I used was not like [Pack Leader]. Animals closely linked to things, like…” She trailed off, worried.
“That was…” Argrave began, voice powerless. “…some damn experience.”
“What did you feel?” she insisted.
“Shouldn’t you know?” He croaked out a laugh. “Death,” he relayed.
She said nothing, eyes wide.
“I don’t want to die,” he could only say. “I thought I knew that. But now I know that.”
“You hit your head when you fell,” she said. “I will turn you over, take care of that.”
