Jackal Among Snakes: Book 1, A GameLit Fantasy, page 14
The barrier shattered from the spike of blood, and the druid fell onto his back after being struck squarely in the stomach. Galamon proceeded unabated. Tirros did not remain idle, however. With his free hand, he grabbed the arrow. He pinned his arm underneath his leg and pulled. The arrow was freed, but the man’s arm nearly split in half. Tirros shouted in agony, but he still tossed the arrow aside, raised his hand, and cast magic.
As soon as Argrave saw the spell matrix forming, he brought the bottle he held to his mouth and drank. It burned as though he had dropped a cube of dry ice in his mouth. In a matter of seconds, that cold feeling spread throughout his entire body. Then, he triggered the Blessing of Supersession. At once, he felt a great sea of magic billowing within him, its power so intense it seemed liable to erupt free from his mouth or nose. Despite the foreign and overwhelming sensation, the potion he drank earlier kept him calm.
Though Argrave wished to dispatch Tirros quickly, he had always been considering the notion that the high-ranking spellcaster would be able to cast spells. Tirros, even amidst pain, was a veteran of many battles and an experienced spellcaster. His first priority once he was free of the Ebonice would be to regain control of the situation. To do that, he would need to stop the attackers and help his men.
In such a situation, Tirros would most likely call on elemental magic: a water spell with a large area of effect. Argrave could think of many the druid might cast, but his conclusion was that the best way to counter them all was with potent ice magic. Argrave had drank the blood of a winter nymph; a very deadly brew, ordinarily, but it enhanced one’s ice magic, and was partially abated by the presence of heat.
Twin geysers of water erupted from Tirros’ hand towards Galamon, swirling together and forming a cone whose tendrils wound about each other as they proceeded. Water showered everywhere, sizzling when it met fire. Argrave recognized the spell; the B-rank magic, [Rip Current]. Galamon paused, and Argrave advanced in front of him. He held both hands out, and D-rank matrixes formed in front of his hands. He felt the chill of the winter nymph’s blood rushing to his fingers, turning them gray and numb. Argrave cast [Frost Wave], and a burst of sheer cold erupted forth.
He continued to use [Frost Wave] time and time again, and the dangerously-fast [Rip Current] slowed before pausing in air, completely frozen. Argrave used another spell, [Wind Hammer], and shattered the ice. Galamon rushed forth, pushing past the falling ice crystals.
Tirros stood shakily and walked backwards, preparing another spell. Galamon raised the axe to dispatch him, but the druid beside Tirros Argrave had attacked earlier had not died from the stomach wound—he interfered briefly with the snow elf mercenary, grabbing his arms at the peak of his swing. It was enough time for Tirros to gain distance and prepare another spell.
Argrave aimed towards the druid grappling with Argrave and cast an E-rank lightning spell, [Bolt]. It tore through the air and struck him, and Galamon broke free from his grip. Argrave used [Bolt] time and time again in quick succession until the druid had fallen. The chill of the winter nymph’s blood was growing harsher, and Argrave sidled towards the flames, their heat a welcome reprieve to the feeling of the icy fingers ruining his insides.
Galamon came just before Tirros, but the man had prepared another spell. A small tornado erupted forth. Galamon slashed its center with his Ebonice axe, and it dissipated, exploding in all directions. The sheer power of the wind sent Argrave stumbling, and the flames roared and twisted. Tirros was knocked on his back. Though Galamon only stumbled from the wind explosion, his Ebonice axe was torn from his hands as a consequence of being so close to the center of the blast. The Veidimen mercenary drew his greatsword and proceeded, stabbing it towards Tirros.
Tirros conjured a barrier, and the greatsword bent slightly when it impacted. Argrave’s mind worked as fast as it ever had. He rushed past the fragments of ice littered on the ground, kicking the Ebonice arrow slightly into the air and using a simple E-rank wind spell, [Push]. Though the effect was somewhat diminished by the Ebonice, the arrow flew and struck the barrier sideways. Sideways was enough, though—Tirros’ ward fell, and Galamon seized the opportunity. He stepped forward and stabbed Tirros’ eye, piercing his head.
Now that the largest threat was dealt with, Argrave did not lose himself in celebration. He whipped his head back around towards the roaring flames, proceeding onwards. He used one of the best D-rank elemental attack spells, [Writhing Lightning]. Even if it missed its target, the lightning would surge along whatever surface it had struck towards living opponents.
Lightning danced through the air, the power of the Blessing of Supersession enabling and encouraging him to attack with reckless abandon. The further he proceeded into the flames, the more his pain from drinking the winter nymph’s blood lessened. Argrave attacked anything living that still moved within the flames. When he felt his body was no longer under duress from the winter nymph’s blood, he retreated from the flames, watching for movement.
Once Galamon came to stand beside Argrave, he cast water magic to begin diminishing the flames. Galamon had an arrow nocked, watching everything in front of them. Slowly, the fires began to die down, and the scenery was revealed in earnest.
The clearing, which had been grassy and green, had been charred black. The shacks were burnt to ashes. The druids’ bodies were everywhere, charred beyond recognition. Some were twisted, still spasming and sparking with lightning. As the adrenaline began to fade, Argrave’s dulled senses became clearer.
Argrave recognized that putrid smell he sensed earlier. It brought back memories—memories of his father. His father had always liked to eat his hamburgers burnt. The scent that hung in the air, just now…
With that realization, the crushing reality of what he had done set in and Argrave fell to the ground, vomiting profusely. His vomit resembled mercury because of the winter nymph’s blood. His eyes and nose were dripping, and the pain began to set in. He had been cut and burned half a dozen times, but he’d barely even noticed it until now.
Galamon stood above him, alert as ever, seemingly unaffected by it all. Argrave’s vomiting fit continued until he was dry heaving. Once the Blessing of Supersession wore off, he felt entirely back in reality. He stayed on the ground, trying to bring his mind to heel. Galamon scanned the forest line, watching in caution.
Having deemed there were no more threats, Galamon released the bow string slowly, keeping the arrow nocked. He walked off, but Argrave was not sure where. It was only once he returned with his Ebonice axe in hand that Argrave deduced things. He felt a big hand wrap around his arm, and he was hoisted to his feet.
“Drink,” prompted Galamon, holding a canteen to his face. It was filthy, but Argrave could not be bothered by his germaphobia with all that was occurring around him. He drank, but the water made him vomit again.
“Drink slowly,” Galamon added. Argrave obeyed, taking small sips. “The battle is won. All of the druids are dead or gone. You can take your time.”
Some time passed. Argrave stayed standing, staring at the scene that he caused to happen. He was slowly beginning to get his bearings again.
“You did well,” Galamon said, his words more objective than complimentary. “Two men killed an entire scouting party from Veiden. Your strategy and bearing were both excellent.”
Argrave processed the words. Though they may have been intended to console, they did not make him feel good.
Chapter 20
The druid’s haven had grown very quiet. With all of the druids dead, the animals would be free from their magical control. They were probably fleeing, having abruptly been given freedom. Argrave still stared blankly at the scene of carnage as though committing it to memory. Galamon tended to a few of the bodies, slicing wounds in them to fill his flasks of blood.
I’m pathetic, Argrave thought. Faltering here. Faltering at this. The first step of the stairway, and I’m out of steam? I have to do better than this. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the bronze hand mirror, hands shaking fiercely.
Galamon finished his task and walked to Argrave’s side. Argrave turned to look at him. At once, his entire demeanor seemed to shift, his blank look regaining life and vigor. He stowed away the mirror.
“That winter nymph blood was foul.” Argrave scoffed and held his nose. “I should read labels before I go shoving things down my throat.”
Galamon was taken aback for a moment by the abrupt change in expression. “It worked, no?”
“I suppose. Next time we go druid-hunting, I’ll think of something else,” Argrave said with exaggerated cheer. He turned on his heel. “I would say we could hunt more now, but the scouts on the other ends of this place are going to be long-gone. They’ll flee and return to Veiden posthaste.”
“Is that what you want?” Galamon inquired.
“Yes,” Argrave said with a nod. “If all of the druids simply disappeared, it would take longer for the rest of Veiden to respond. If they receive news of what’s happened, they’ll act on it quicker.”
“Quick action means less time to prepare,” Galamon countered.
“Vasquer is about to go to war. A civil war, unfortunately,” Argrave lamented. “Now, while that’s bad enough on its own… the last thing I’d want would be for the civil war to begin, Monticci’s knights to get involved, and then your people land on the shores.” Argrave tapped Galamon’s arm. “The invasion is inevitable; you know Veiden. Conquest is their divine duty. Quick action might be the only way to salvage this situation.”
Argrave looked up the hill to Tirros’ mostly unaffected shack. “We should go to Tirros’ hut. He was teaching some his fellows, and has druidic spell books in there—invaluable for me, considering their rarity in Berendar. I don’t even think the Order of the Gray Owl has even one.” He marched his way towards Tirros’ hut, boots sinking into the wet ash and making unpleasant squishing noises.
Argrave stopped at Tirros’ shack, looking around inside. He grabbed the doorway to the shack. Galamon noticed that Argrave’s hands were still shaking fiercely.
The snow elf mercenary followed behind Argrave. “Since Tirros the Tempestuous was here, I can’t doubt your claims that an invasion will occur. But… humans do not seem as fond of warfare as my kind. Do you hope to stay the civil war by inciting the invasion earlier?”
Argrave proceeded into the shack, looking about. “The civil war is inevitable. House Vasquer wants House Parbon to rebel. If that does happen, House Monticci will likely join them, leaving Mateth undefended; the invasion needs to be brought to light before then. That’s why we need their reports.
“I think Reinhardt fundamentally misunderstands the king; King Felipe does not care about life. I tried to tell him this when he kidnapped—” Argrave paused, looking back at Galamon. “Oh, I never told you about that. It’s not important. Anyway, Reinhardt will start a civil war—”
Two voices rang out simultaneously. One was female, the other male.
“Wait!” the woman said.
“What are you talking about, a civil war, an invasion?” the man said.
Galamon drew his greatsword quickly and turned his back. Argrave, too, turned his head, and saw a familiar face that he did not expect to see. Elias of Parbon stood at the entrance of Tirros’ shack.
“Why in the…?” Argrave trailed off, befuddled at seeing this man here.
Galamon stepped forward with his greatsword, and Elias stepped back, ready to fight.
Argrave called out, “Wait a moment, Galamon.”
Galamon held his sword in place. “This is that same one that was following you a week ago.”
Elias was undeterred, but he relaxed his posture. “I asked you a question, Argrave! What in the gods’ name happened here? What are you talking about?”
Argrave shuffled on his feet, mind spinning as he tried to deduce how this situation came to pass.
“Don’t try to fool me with a witty answer!” Elias spat, stepping forward. “Who were these people? Why did you kill them?”
Very wise to yell at someone who just committed a brutal slaughter, Argrave wished to say, but he held his tongue. “How did you get here?”
“I followed you,” Elias said quickly. “I wanted to see what you were up to. Seems I was right to do so. So how do you explain… this?!” He gestured behind him fiercely.
Argrave bit his lip, then asked himself, Why am I keeping this secret? We came here to get the scout’s plans. I wanted to present them to Nikoletta, and eventually to Duke Enrico. Elias isn’t necessarily an enemy.
“These men were advance scouts for an invasion,” Argrave explained gently and concisely, holding his hands in the air to appear non-threatening. “They’re spellcasters, as you probably saw. In their homeland, they’re called druids. They know magic that controls animals. They’ve been using that magic to spy on Mateth and the villages near it for some months now, gathering intelligence for an invasion.”
Elias stared, his ruby-eyes wide with some mixture of confusion, surprise, and hostility. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Then come inside, see for yourself the fruits of their labor.” Argrave stepped forward and tapped Galamon’s pauldron with his knuckle, motioning for him to put the weapon away.
Galamon put away his greatsword and stepped back towards Argrave. He kept his hand near the Ebonice axe strung to his waist. Elias walked forward tentatively, and Argrave beckoned him closer. Argrave grabbed one of the many parchments littered throughout the room.
Argrave scanned the document quickly. “Look at this. A request for a detailed drawing of the structure of the walls of Mateth. I wonder who would order such a thing? Quite insidious,” Argrave prattled off sarcastically. Elias snatched the paper from his hand and read it, then moved to other documents in the room, his frown growing deeper.
“Really, I’m surprised you were willing to get Mina to help you come here,” Argrave commented. He turned back towards the shack’s entrance. “Don’t deny it—I have a good memory for voices.”
Elias glanced at Argrave, but turned back to the papers, absorbed in their content. Nothing came of Argrave’s call, and he sighed.
“Drat. She’s scared. If I had some catnip on hand, I’m sure she’d come running, but alas…”
Argrave paused, waiting for an outburst. “Huh. Guess she really left.” He turned and picked up a book. Then he spun around, raising the book in the air as though to throw it. He heard a brief yelp in the corner of the shack, and he pointed. “Aha! There! I win again!”
“Win?!” Mina shouted, dispelling her invisibility.
“Yes. I found out where you were hiding twice. I consider that no small victory, knowing you.” Argrave put down the book. “Well, since you’re both here, you’re being enlisted.”
Elias turned to Argrave. “This is a serious matter, Argrave. Regardless of my opinion of you, that you found this… it’s of grave importance.”
“Yes, yes, spare me the sappy monologue.” Argrave waved his hands and walked to Tirros’ shelf. He looked at the books, taking out those that he found important and setting them on the table. “I didn’t ‘find it,’ by the way. Everything I’ve been doing the past week or so has been related to putting an early end to this invasion.”
“But how did you—” Mina began to ask.
“Ah, ah,” Argrave interrupted. “We can talk as we work. Help me gather this up. Elias, you’ll have to carry all of the spell books.”
“What?” Elias said, stunned.
“What, yourself,” Argrave parroted back. “You’ve carried my books before. This time is even more important. I’m cut, burned, my throat was nearly frozen solid, and I expended all of my magic.” Untrue, actually. I used Erlebnis’ magic. They don’t need to know that. Argrave held a book out to Elias. “Come on. We need to get these to Mateth posthaste.”
***
The Veidimen climbed down from the mound of rocks and into the forest, urgency flavoring their actions. One of them was unable to walk on his own and needed to be carried by one of their larger members. The party’s white skin and light hair were very conspicuous in the moonlit forest.
They rushed as quickly as they could, supporting their wounded comrade with their shoulder as they walked. He was badly burnt, and a Lichtenberg figure marked his face. One of the druids cast healing magic, but the wounds were too severe to be fully dealt with.
“What happened in there?” one of them asked the burnt snow elf as they moved away. “How could we all…?” The snow elf swallowed his words.
The burnt Veidimen raised his head, staring ahead in undisguised agony. He reached a hand and gripped the one who was speaking, pulling him close. The action brought the party to a stop, and they all huddled over their comrade.
“…the… exile,” the burned snow elf whispered vainly. “Gal… Galamon… the Great.” he forced out. “Tirros… dead.”
“Galamon?” one of the snow elves echoed, their hands shaking. “It was… Galamon? He must’ve…”
The burned snow elf nodded. One of his companions brought water to his lips, and he drank from the canteen, shaking. “The other… human. A dread mage. Hair as black as the abyss, breath billowing white from his mouth.”
The scouts shivered at the sight of their comrade’s state and the fear in his words.
“We must return to Veiden as quickly as possible,” a male snow elf said, standing tall and looking through the forest, where the coast was. “The humans know of our presence. With Tirros’ correspondence in their hands, they will know our plans. We must return to Veiden before they have the opportunity to prepare themselves.”
A few pigeons swooped down from the sky, landing on another snow elf’s shoulders.
“I kept my link with the birds. I’ll send them ahead, with a letter to Veiden.”
The elf standing took a deep breath and exhaled. “Veid wishes for this war to begin earlier than our patriarch intended. That we have survived is Her will, too. Now, we can only do our best for Patriarch Dras.”
As soon as Argrave saw the spell matrix forming, he brought the bottle he held to his mouth and drank. It burned as though he had dropped a cube of dry ice in his mouth. In a matter of seconds, that cold feeling spread throughout his entire body. Then, he triggered the Blessing of Supersession. At once, he felt a great sea of magic billowing within him, its power so intense it seemed liable to erupt free from his mouth or nose. Despite the foreign and overwhelming sensation, the potion he drank earlier kept him calm.
Though Argrave wished to dispatch Tirros quickly, he had always been considering the notion that the high-ranking spellcaster would be able to cast spells. Tirros, even amidst pain, was a veteran of many battles and an experienced spellcaster. His first priority once he was free of the Ebonice would be to regain control of the situation. To do that, he would need to stop the attackers and help his men.
In such a situation, Tirros would most likely call on elemental magic: a water spell with a large area of effect. Argrave could think of many the druid might cast, but his conclusion was that the best way to counter them all was with potent ice magic. Argrave had drank the blood of a winter nymph; a very deadly brew, ordinarily, but it enhanced one’s ice magic, and was partially abated by the presence of heat.
Twin geysers of water erupted from Tirros’ hand towards Galamon, swirling together and forming a cone whose tendrils wound about each other as they proceeded. Water showered everywhere, sizzling when it met fire. Argrave recognized the spell; the B-rank magic, [Rip Current]. Galamon paused, and Argrave advanced in front of him. He held both hands out, and D-rank matrixes formed in front of his hands. He felt the chill of the winter nymph’s blood rushing to his fingers, turning them gray and numb. Argrave cast [Frost Wave], and a burst of sheer cold erupted forth.
He continued to use [Frost Wave] time and time again, and the dangerously-fast [Rip Current] slowed before pausing in air, completely frozen. Argrave used another spell, [Wind Hammer], and shattered the ice. Galamon rushed forth, pushing past the falling ice crystals.
Tirros stood shakily and walked backwards, preparing another spell. Galamon raised the axe to dispatch him, but the druid beside Tirros Argrave had attacked earlier had not died from the stomach wound—he interfered briefly with the snow elf mercenary, grabbing his arms at the peak of his swing. It was enough time for Tirros to gain distance and prepare another spell.
Argrave aimed towards the druid grappling with Argrave and cast an E-rank lightning spell, [Bolt]. It tore through the air and struck him, and Galamon broke free from his grip. Argrave used [Bolt] time and time again in quick succession until the druid had fallen. The chill of the winter nymph’s blood was growing harsher, and Argrave sidled towards the flames, their heat a welcome reprieve to the feeling of the icy fingers ruining his insides.
Galamon came just before Tirros, but the man had prepared another spell. A small tornado erupted forth. Galamon slashed its center with his Ebonice axe, and it dissipated, exploding in all directions. The sheer power of the wind sent Argrave stumbling, and the flames roared and twisted. Tirros was knocked on his back. Though Galamon only stumbled from the wind explosion, his Ebonice axe was torn from his hands as a consequence of being so close to the center of the blast. The Veidimen mercenary drew his greatsword and proceeded, stabbing it towards Tirros.
Tirros conjured a barrier, and the greatsword bent slightly when it impacted. Argrave’s mind worked as fast as it ever had. He rushed past the fragments of ice littered on the ground, kicking the Ebonice arrow slightly into the air and using a simple E-rank wind spell, [Push]. Though the effect was somewhat diminished by the Ebonice, the arrow flew and struck the barrier sideways. Sideways was enough, though—Tirros’ ward fell, and Galamon seized the opportunity. He stepped forward and stabbed Tirros’ eye, piercing his head.
Now that the largest threat was dealt with, Argrave did not lose himself in celebration. He whipped his head back around towards the roaring flames, proceeding onwards. He used one of the best D-rank elemental attack spells, [Writhing Lightning]. Even if it missed its target, the lightning would surge along whatever surface it had struck towards living opponents.
Lightning danced through the air, the power of the Blessing of Supersession enabling and encouraging him to attack with reckless abandon. The further he proceeded into the flames, the more his pain from drinking the winter nymph’s blood lessened. Argrave attacked anything living that still moved within the flames. When he felt his body was no longer under duress from the winter nymph’s blood, he retreated from the flames, watching for movement.
Once Galamon came to stand beside Argrave, he cast water magic to begin diminishing the flames. Galamon had an arrow nocked, watching everything in front of them. Slowly, the fires began to die down, and the scenery was revealed in earnest.
The clearing, which had been grassy and green, had been charred black. The shacks were burnt to ashes. The druids’ bodies were everywhere, charred beyond recognition. Some were twisted, still spasming and sparking with lightning. As the adrenaline began to fade, Argrave’s dulled senses became clearer.
Argrave recognized that putrid smell he sensed earlier. It brought back memories—memories of his father. His father had always liked to eat his hamburgers burnt. The scent that hung in the air, just now…
With that realization, the crushing reality of what he had done set in and Argrave fell to the ground, vomiting profusely. His vomit resembled mercury because of the winter nymph’s blood. His eyes and nose were dripping, and the pain began to set in. He had been cut and burned half a dozen times, but he’d barely even noticed it until now.
Galamon stood above him, alert as ever, seemingly unaffected by it all. Argrave’s vomiting fit continued until he was dry heaving. Once the Blessing of Supersession wore off, he felt entirely back in reality. He stayed on the ground, trying to bring his mind to heel. Galamon scanned the forest line, watching in caution.
Having deemed there were no more threats, Galamon released the bow string slowly, keeping the arrow nocked. He walked off, but Argrave was not sure where. It was only once he returned with his Ebonice axe in hand that Argrave deduced things. He felt a big hand wrap around his arm, and he was hoisted to his feet.
“Drink,” prompted Galamon, holding a canteen to his face. It was filthy, but Argrave could not be bothered by his germaphobia with all that was occurring around him. He drank, but the water made him vomit again.
“Drink slowly,” Galamon added. Argrave obeyed, taking small sips. “The battle is won. All of the druids are dead or gone. You can take your time.”
Some time passed. Argrave stayed standing, staring at the scene that he caused to happen. He was slowly beginning to get his bearings again.
“You did well,” Galamon said, his words more objective than complimentary. “Two men killed an entire scouting party from Veiden. Your strategy and bearing were both excellent.”
Argrave processed the words. Though they may have been intended to console, they did not make him feel good.
Chapter 20
The druid’s haven had grown very quiet. With all of the druids dead, the animals would be free from their magical control. They were probably fleeing, having abruptly been given freedom. Argrave still stared blankly at the scene of carnage as though committing it to memory. Galamon tended to a few of the bodies, slicing wounds in them to fill his flasks of blood.
I’m pathetic, Argrave thought. Faltering here. Faltering at this. The first step of the stairway, and I’m out of steam? I have to do better than this. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the bronze hand mirror, hands shaking fiercely.
Galamon finished his task and walked to Argrave’s side. Argrave turned to look at him. At once, his entire demeanor seemed to shift, his blank look regaining life and vigor. He stowed away the mirror.
“That winter nymph blood was foul.” Argrave scoffed and held his nose. “I should read labels before I go shoving things down my throat.”
Galamon was taken aback for a moment by the abrupt change in expression. “It worked, no?”
“I suppose. Next time we go druid-hunting, I’ll think of something else,” Argrave said with exaggerated cheer. He turned on his heel. “I would say we could hunt more now, but the scouts on the other ends of this place are going to be long-gone. They’ll flee and return to Veiden posthaste.”
“Is that what you want?” Galamon inquired.
“Yes,” Argrave said with a nod. “If all of the druids simply disappeared, it would take longer for the rest of Veiden to respond. If they receive news of what’s happened, they’ll act on it quicker.”
“Quick action means less time to prepare,” Galamon countered.
“Vasquer is about to go to war. A civil war, unfortunately,” Argrave lamented. “Now, while that’s bad enough on its own… the last thing I’d want would be for the civil war to begin, Monticci’s knights to get involved, and then your people land on the shores.” Argrave tapped Galamon’s arm. “The invasion is inevitable; you know Veiden. Conquest is their divine duty. Quick action might be the only way to salvage this situation.”
Argrave looked up the hill to Tirros’ mostly unaffected shack. “We should go to Tirros’ hut. He was teaching some his fellows, and has druidic spell books in there—invaluable for me, considering their rarity in Berendar. I don’t even think the Order of the Gray Owl has even one.” He marched his way towards Tirros’ hut, boots sinking into the wet ash and making unpleasant squishing noises.
Argrave stopped at Tirros’ shack, looking around inside. He grabbed the doorway to the shack. Galamon noticed that Argrave’s hands were still shaking fiercely.
The snow elf mercenary followed behind Argrave. “Since Tirros the Tempestuous was here, I can’t doubt your claims that an invasion will occur. But… humans do not seem as fond of warfare as my kind. Do you hope to stay the civil war by inciting the invasion earlier?”
Argrave proceeded into the shack, looking about. “The civil war is inevitable. House Vasquer wants House Parbon to rebel. If that does happen, House Monticci will likely join them, leaving Mateth undefended; the invasion needs to be brought to light before then. That’s why we need their reports.
“I think Reinhardt fundamentally misunderstands the king; King Felipe does not care about life. I tried to tell him this when he kidnapped—” Argrave paused, looking back at Galamon. “Oh, I never told you about that. It’s not important. Anyway, Reinhardt will start a civil war—”
Two voices rang out simultaneously. One was female, the other male.
“Wait!” the woman said.
“What are you talking about, a civil war, an invasion?” the man said.
Galamon drew his greatsword quickly and turned his back. Argrave, too, turned his head, and saw a familiar face that he did not expect to see. Elias of Parbon stood at the entrance of Tirros’ shack.
“Why in the…?” Argrave trailed off, befuddled at seeing this man here.
Galamon stepped forward with his greatsword, and Elias stepped back, ready to fight.
Argrave called out, “Wait a moment, Galamon.”
Galamon held his sword in place. “This is that same one that was following you a week ago.”
Elias was undeterred, but he relaxed his posture. “I asked you a question, Argrave! What in the gods’ name happened here? What are you talking about?”
Argrave shuffled on his feet, mind spinning as he tried to deduce how this situation came to pass.
“Don’t try to fool me with a witty answer!” Elias spat, stepping forward. “Who were these people? Why did you kill them?”
Very wise to yell at someone who just committed a brutal slaughter, Argrave wished to say, but he held his tongue. “How did you get here?”
“I followed you,” Elias said quickly. “I wanted to see what you were up to. Seems I was right to do so. So how do you explain… this?!” He gestured behind him fiercely.
Argrave bit his lip, then asked himself, Why am I keeping this secret? We came here to get the scout’s plans. I wanted to present them to Nikoletta, and eventually to Duke Enrico. Elias isn’t necessarily an enemy.
“These men were advance scouts for an invasion,” Argrave explained gently and concisely, holding his hands in the air to appear non-threatening. “They’re spellcasters, as you probably saw. In their homeland, they’re called druids. They know magic that controls animals. They’ve been using that magic to spy on Mateth and the villages near it for some months now, gathering intelligence for an invasion.”
Elias stared, his ruby-eyes wide with some mixture of confusion, surprise, and hostility. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Then come inside, see for yourself the fruits of their labor.” Argrave stepped forward and tapped Galamon’s pauldron with his knuckle, motioning for him to put the weapon away.
Galamon put away his greatsword and stepped back towards Argrave. He kept his hand near the Ebonice axe strung to his waist. Elias walked forward tentatively, and Argrave beckoned him closer. Argrave grabbed one of the many parchments littered throughout the room.
Argrave scanned the document quickly. “Look at this. A request for a detailed drawing of the structure of the walls of Mateth. I wonder who would order such a thing? Quite insidious,” Argrave prattled off sarcastically. Elias snatched the paper from his hand and read it, then moved to other documents in the room, his frown growing deeper.
“Really, I’m surprised you were willing to get Mina to help you come here,” Argrave commented. He turned back towards the shack’s entrance. “Don’t deny it—I have a good memory for voices.”
Elias glanced at Argrave, but turned back to the papers, absorbed in their content. Nothing came of Argrave’s call, and he sighed.
“Drat. She’s scared. If I had some catnip on hand, I’m sure she’d come running, but alas…”
Argrave paused, waiting for an outburst. “Huh. Guess she really left.” He turned and picked up a book. Then he spun around, raising the book in the air as though to throw it. He heard a brief yelp in the corner of the shack, and he pointed. “Aha! There! I win again!”
“Win?!” Mina shouted, dispelling her invisibility.
“Yes. I found out where you were hiding twice. I consider that no small victory, knowing you.” Argrave put down the book. “Well, since you’re both here, you’re being enlisted.”
Elias turned to Argrave. “This is a serious matter, Argrave. Regardless of my opinion of you, that you found this… it’s of grave importance.”
“Yes, yes, spare me the sappy monologue.” Argrave waved his hands and walked to Tirros’ shelf. He looked at the books, taking out those that he found important and setting them on the table. “I didn’t ‘find it,’ by the way. Everything I’ve been doing the past week or so has been related to putting an early end to this invasion.”
“But how did you—” Mina began to ask.
“Ah, ah,” Argrave interrupted. “We can talk as we work. Help me gather this up. Elias, you’ll have to carry all of the spell books.”
“What?” Elias said, stunned.
“What, yourself,” Argrave parroted back. “You’ve carried my books before. This time is even more important. I’m cut, burned, my throat was nearly frozen solid, and I expended all of my magic.” Untrue, actually. I used Erlebnis’ magic. They don’t need to know that. Argrave held a book out to Elias. “Come on. We need to get these to Mateth posthaste.”
***
The Veidimen climbed down from the mound of rocks and into the forest, urgency flavoring their actions. One of them was unable to walk on his own and needed to be carried by one of their larger members. The party’s white skin and light hair were very conspicuous in the moonlit forest.
They rushed as quickly as they could, supporting their wounded comrade with their shoulder as they walked. He was badly burnt, and a Lichtenberg figure marked his face. One of the druids cast healing magic, but the wounds were too severe to be fully dealt with.
“What happened in there?” one of them asked the burnt snow elf as they moved away. “How could we all…?” The snow elf swallowed his words.
The burnt Veidimen raised his head, staring ahead in undisguised agony. He reached a hand and gripped the one who was speaking, pulling him close. The action brought the party to a stop, and they all huddled over their comrade.
“…the… exile,” the burned snow elf whispered vainly. “Gal… Galamon… the Great.” he forced out. “Tirros… dead.”
“Galamon?” one of the snow elves echoed, their hands shaking. “It was… Galamon? He must’ve…”
The burned snow elf nodded. One of his companions brought water to his lips, and he drank from the canteen, shaking. “The other… human. A dread mage. Hair as black as the abyss, breath billowing white from his mouth.”
The scouts shivered at the sight of their comrade’s state and the fear in his words.
“We must return to Veiden as quickly as possible,” a male snow elf said, standing tall and looking through the forest, where the coast was. “The humans know of our presence. With Tirros’ correspondence in their hands, they will know our plans. We must return to Veiden before they have the opportunity to prepare themselves.”
A few pigeons swooped down from the sky, landing on another snow elf’s shoulders.
“I kept my link with the birds. I’ll send them ahead, with a letter to Veiden.”
The elf standing took a deep breath and exhaled. “Veid wishes for this war to begin earlier than our patriarch intended. That we have survived is Her will, too. Now, we can only do our best for Patriarch Dras.”
