Jackal Among Snakes, Book 3: A GameLit Fantasy, page 15
“I’m certain,” Argrave confirmed, coming to a stop and glancing around before turning back to his compass. One of the Brumesingers poked its head out just by his neck, glancing around the vast expanse of black desert excitedly before retreating back into cover.
“How?” she questioned, stopping beside Argrave, her backpack—technically Argrave’s backpack—swaying briefly before settling.
“Eidetic memory,” he said, unfocused.
“What is that?” She shook her head confusedly.
“Photogr—well, no, that wouldn’t make sense to you either. Doesn’t matter. Was a joke, anyhow.” Argrave shut the compass. “Should be around… somewhere.” His gaze scanned the distant mountains. After a time, he stopped scanning and his face lit up. “Aha. I’ve still got it.”
Argrave walked forward again, unburdened and certain. They passed over the top of another dune, and just beyond, there was a relatively flat bit of sand. Almost perfect in the center of this flat plane, there was a sword overturned and partially buried. The blade of the sword had curved barbs and was quite badly rusted.
With quick steps, Argrave headed downhill toward the center of the flat bit of sand. He walked to the sword, and then picked it up, stabbing it into the ground. On the first try, it fell back into the sand. The second time, Argrave used more force, and it stood upright in the sand as he walked away.
“Alright…” Argrave took a breath. He held his hand out, and then used water magic. A steady pour of water flowed from his hand.
“What are you doing?” Yarra asked at once, angrily.
“Keep your hat on,” Argrave said dismissively. “I’m taking us to the southron elves.” He turned his head to look at her. “Well, us, actually. As agreed, you’ll stay outside.”
Argrave was, ostensibly, revealing the location of the southron elves. They were a nomadic people by this point, though, moving from abandoned settlement to abandoned settlement. Argrave would be sure that, even if things did go sour, the elves would never be discovered. All he needed now was to keep Yarra far from them.
She stared at the water, not meeting his gaze. “Fellhorn permits violence against those that would conjure water with magic.”
Argrave kept his gaze steady. “Permitting isn’t encouraging, you know,” he noted as the pool of water grew larger and larger, sinking into the sand and spreading out.
“You encroach on His domain,” she pressed with a neutral, steady tone that was all the more threatening.
With a clench of his fist, the downpour stopped. “Are you going to stop me from doing what I need to do to help Cyprus?”
“I am a Vessel of Fellhorn before I am a servant of the Lord of Copper,” she repeated in the same monotonous tone.
Argrave took a deep breath. Part of him would be happy to be rid of this woman. They were alone, miles from Sethia, miles from any witnesses… and the woman was far too inhuman to warrant any remorse. All of the Vessels were.
But it couldn’t happen. Argrave had to stay close with Brium until the time came to separate cleanly and completely. No nonsensical excuse would repair the trust severed by his best Vessel’s death. It would be a stupid thing to do, and for the sake of ego instead of logic.
“And what do you think Brium would do, were he standing here?” Argrave questioned, eyes narrowed.
At that, Yarra looked away at once, almost visibly recoiling. Argrave held his hand out and resumed his task, growing the pool larger and larger. Once that was done, he removed his glove.
“What are you doing?” questioned Galamon.
“We need blood, don’t w— Oh.” Argrave paused. “I forgot.”
Argrave put his glove back on. Galamon stepped forward, retrieving one of his flasks. He removed the lid, then dropped the remainder of the blood inside it. Nothing odd seemed to happen to the pool of water. Its mundanity was enough that Argrave questioned if he was forgetting something.
“Don’t forget, Yarra. Stay here. Out of sight, preferably. We’ll be back… and when we are, the southron elves will fight at our side when the time comes.”
“We’ll see,” she said.
Argrave took a step forward, toward the pool. Though his body had expected his feet to meet solid, if mushy, ground, it felt like there was nothing but air beneath them. Argrave fell into the water with nary a splash. Galamon counted to three, and then stepped just after him. Anneliese came last.
Yarra peered into the water, shocked. She looked as though she wanted to kneel down and touch it, yet she did not.
Had she been more attentive, Yarra might have noticed a set of golden eyes watching her. A single, off-white Brumesinger crouched low atop a sand dune, watching the Vessel with sublime patience. Its actions were far different from that of an animal.
***
Having fallen to the ground, Argrave rose to darkness. His gloved hand brushed against something hard—a sandy stone, by his estimation. It took him a second to think to conjure a bit of spell light, and at once, the subterranean cave became lit up with light. The cave was made of black sandstone—a rather eerie sight, like some cavern of hell, but this place was precisely where Argrave intended to be.
Galamon joined Argrave, very nearly landing atop him. His quick reflexes spared them both that. The elven vampire growled, “Move,” and Argrave hasted to obey. Soon enough, Anneliese joined them, and Argrave supported her so that she wouldn’t fall as he had.
After she gave a thanks, Argrave questioned, “Is it working?”
“…it is,” she confirmed. “I can see Yarra.”
Argrave sighed in relief. “That’s good. We can keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn’t try anything.” He turned his head around, examining the cave. Recalling his experience yesterday, he questioned Anneliese. “And… you’re not overwhelmed by feelings of death?”
“Not overwhelmed,” she said, emphasis implying that she was merely whelmed. “And the feeling is fading fast.”
“Okay. Do you think we can move?” Argrave gestured ahead.
“…I cannot, not while maintaining the druidic link,” she admitted. “Not without guidance.”
“Okay.” Argrave stepped up, then said, “Gonna grab your shoulders, guide you along.”
After she nodded in confirmation, Argrave wrapped his arm around her and moved her along as he walked in the cavern. Fortunately, the place was spacious enough that they did not need to duck or maneuver significantly. The sandstone was flat and lacked treacherous obstacles, so the task was not excessively difficult.
“Gods…” muttered Garm from atop Galamon’s backpack, just ahead.
“Something more to complain about?” Argrave questioned.
“Oh, nothing,” Garm said sarcastically. “Just wishing I was blind.”
He frowned. “What does that mean?”
“Please, don’t distract me, both of you,” Anneliese interrupted before Garm could give his answer.
The both of them heeded Anneliese’s word, and they trekked through the sandstone cave in silence. They trekked a long, long way, Argrave’s spell illuminating the path ahead. Occasionally, holes of light poked through the cavern—the surface was not too far above. Piles of sand evidenced that they were still in the dunes.
Eventually, though, the flat ground started to go upward.
“Wait.” Anneliese stopped them.
Argrave stopped suddenly, concerned. “What is it?”
“The druidic link… is stretched quite thin,” Anneliese said. “If I go further, I fear it will sever. I think you two should go on ahead. If Yarra does anything, I will come and find you.”
“Sure about that?” Argrave double-checked. “The exit’s pretty close.”
“Indeed.” She nodded. “And if the exit is close, all the better.”
With a nod of surrender, Argrave released Anneliese and pressed on with Galamon, casting glances behind him to be sure nothing would go wrong. Eventually, sunlight started to rear its head more and more, and the cave opened up into a very different sight.
Grassland.
The grass stretched for a great distance ahead. It all led up to a great body of crystal blue water, utterly still and clear and pure. This oasis was flanked by many of the palm trees that they had seen back in Delphasium, with black trunks and purple leaves and strange fruits. Indeed, much of the land had been farmed.
And just beyond the oasis, one could make out houses carved into the stone, with glowing blue runes carved into the paved walkways. Though suppressed by sunlight, those were sure to light up the place at night sufficiently.
“Place is big,” noted Galamon, kneeling. “Not many people, though. Sixty. Seventy.”
“Some are out, maybe,” Argrave thought aloud. “But this is it. The last bastion of the southron elves. Seems it’s just us three.”
“Might as well say ‘us two.’ I know you expect me to keep my mouth shut,” Garm said bitterly.
“You can talk if you want.” Argrave shook his head. “Southron elves don’t mind necromancy all too much. Nonetheless…”
“You like to keep your cards close,” Garm finished. “I’ll stay quiet.”
Argrave sighed. “Thanks, Garm… Let’s hope we don’t have another Stonepetal Sentinels situation on hand.”
Chapter 22
“Wanted to say…” Galamon looked at Argrave as they watched the oasis town, far out of sight. “You’ve gotten tougher.”
“The hell does that mean?” Argrave asked, worried at Galamon’s praise.
Galamon shook his head as though telling Argrave to calm down. “You used to never stop complaining. Couldn’t bear the sight of blood. Hated physical work. That’s different, now.”
“Not my choice, believe me.” Argrave turned his head away. “I like soft hands.”
“Regardless… you’re blind to yourself, at times,” Galamon finished.
“You’re still making potions and poisons next time we need them.” Argrave pointed at Galamon without looking.
“…as ever,” Galamon said with a sigh. “Enough talk.”
Argrave and Galamon proceeded openly and honestly into the oasis town of the southron elves. It would be difficult to approach any other way with both of them being over seven feet tall, and they also didn’t come for deceit and trickery. Of late, that was a rare thing.
“Just a reminder…” Galamon began seriously, and Argrave turned his head to look at the elf. “…don’t use the Blackgard name,” he advised.
Argrave laughed once. “Hadn’t planned on it.”
“I’ve been with you too long,” the big elf noted, looking around the town. People were starting to take notice of them, and anxiously moved to act.
“Tired of me?” Argrave kept his gaze facing forward, keeping an eye on developments.
He shook his head. “Used to you.”
Argrave spotted familiar people and kept his eye on them. “So what’s the problem?”
“Didn’t blink an eye at jumping into a pool of water and blood to enter a cave with a dying race within. It’s… concerning, that’s all.” Galamon tapped Argrave’s elbow. “Keep your hands up. Demonstrate we’re harmless.”
Argrave obeyed Galamon’s command, keeping his hands in the air. “I just broke one of their illusion spells. Though… that’s not the least crazy thing I’ve done, I’ll admit. Maybe you can help convince Garm that I’m as all-knowing as I claim to be.”
“He’s seen enough. If he isn’t convinced, my words won’t change him,” Galamon answered. Argrave saw Garm’s eyes move around in the helmet on Galamon’s back, and then squeeze shut.
A great many of the southron elves moved around the oasis, weapons in hand as they moved to confront the two intruders upon their territory. As they came closer, Argrave saw their features clearer.
The southron elves were far distinct from the pale-skinned Veidimen—they deviated far from their ancestors, enough so it was near impossible to think Galamon or Anneliese might be distant relatives to those present. Most notable was their jet-black skin, far darker than that of the southern tribals or other denizens of the desert. Their hair, their nails, and even their eyes were black. Their ears were much larger, and their bone structure was altogether sharper.
The southron elves were a lean and skinny people, and a little taller than the humans Argrave had seen in the Burnt Desert—a couple inches, perhaps, but not to the extremes of the Veidimen. They wore elegant silk clothing matching in color with their skin.
These elves gathered in front of Argrave and Galamon, most pointing a large glaive toward them. They shouted and cried and made demands, but their voices were too many to follow any sort of direction.
Argrave took an uneasy step back, and then called out, “We aren’t here to cause any trouble.”
But his words were drowned out by a multitude of questions, and the glaives in the elves’ hands did not lower. At the very least, the conflict was not escalating. Argrave was content to wait until things settled enough for him to speak, but then he spotted someone he knew quite well walking out toward them.
“All of you, let me pass!” a loud voice rose above the rest.
A grizzled veteran pushed past the crowd, face marred by scars and burns. Half of his nose had been torn off by something, and one of his eyes was blinded by a burn. Even still, he looked no less of a warrior as he pushed through the crowd, using his own glaive as a walking staff that he did not seem to need.
He came to stand a cautious distance away from the two of them. With silence reigning, Argrave pressed the advantage, using his classic trick—knowing everybody’s name.
“You’re the warrior Corentin?” Argrave pointed.
Corentin shifted on his feet, planting his glaive in the ground.
“I mean… can’t picture anyone else matching your description,” Argrave pressed, lowering his hand.
Corentin pointed with his glaive. “Who told you this? How did you get here?”
“Gebicca, of the line of Burgund,” Argrave disclosed.
Though the hostility from the southron elves did not evaporate, it did diminish into a steady caution in the silence following. The Brumesingers hiding in his clothes came out at this moment, and the sight of their long-dead war pets evoked gasps of silence and mutterings from the crowd.
“Gebicca? Is that right?” Corentin said. “And what did she say about me?”
“She said…” Argrave paused, rubbing his chin. “Well, she said that you’re a real asshole, honestly.”
Corentin laughed. “And Gebicca… why is she not here?”
“Because she’s dead,” Argrave said simply. He picked up one of the Brumesingers off his shoulder, holding it in his hand and petting it.
Corentin stared at Argrave. “Then it seems you have a reason to be here.”
***
Corentin entered into a large room, seemingly emerging from nothing but the wall. He looked about, and then went to retrieve something. After rummaging through a bag in the corner of the room, he pulled free a black cube, etched with glowing runes like those found everywhere throughout the village. These runes did not glow blue, though—theirs was a fell purple.
“Dad?” came a voice.
Corentin turned around. “Don’t leave the room, Iltuda.”
“I won’t,” the woman responded. She was a rather muscular southron elf with a long, braided ponytail. She wore heavy coverings, likely for dealing with the heat of a forge. “But what’s the matter? That…” She looked at the cube in his hand. “Has danger come to the village?”
“I don’t know,” Corentin answered. “Not overt danger. Not an attack. But the Vessels taught us hidden dangers might be the biggest threats.”
“Then…?” she pressed.
“Someone claiming to know Gebicca has come.”
“Someone else?” She raised her brows.
“Yes.” Corentin nodded.
Iltuda removed the thick forging gloves she wore and stepped forward. “What do they want?” she said insistently.
“To talk alone,” Corentin said grimly, then hefted the black cube glowing with purple runes. “I’ll find out what he wants, who he is,” he said, then moved toward the wall he had entered from once again.
“This could be dangerous, Dad!” She tried to grab his arm.
Corentin dodged her grasp easily. “And I am a warrior of our great empire. I am here to protect. Protect you, protect the villagers, protect the empire.”
“Our dead empire,” she refuted.
“Stay inside,” he repeated, pointing, and then walked to the wall. “Step outside, I’ll tan you on that leather rack, young lady.”
“You’re mud.” She shook her head.
“Yeah, love you too,” he said with angry sarcasm, then vanished into the wall.
***
“Gods, I’m turning paranoid…” Argrave tapped his temple rapidly as they waited for Corentin’s return. “Keep thinking about ways this might go wrong. Can’t muck this up.”
“Gods?” repeated Galamon, standing just behind Argrave. “You always said ‘God’ before.”
Argrave looked up perplexedly, then dismissed with a shake of his head, “Whatever. Been here months. When in Rome…”
Southron elven architecture was much more refined than most of the buildings they had seen in Sethia. Though Delphasium had been a place of marble, and was quite beautiful, this place had a distinct flavor and culture to it separating it from anything else. The walls were made of smooth, black sandstone, polished to the point where it shone. The glowing blue runes decorating the walls and ceiling gave an accent to the place that made it seem almost mystical.
The chairs were made of silk and wood—the wood formed the frame, and silk cloth stretched tight made the seat itself. It was a little like sitting in a hammock. The center sunk the lowest, while the edges held firm. Argrave’s Brumesingers roamed at Argrave’s feet, moving about the place frenetically. They were energetic little devils.
“He’s coming,” Galamon notified Argrave, bringing him to attention. Soon after, Argrave heard the sound of steady footsteps coming up the stairs.
When he saw the cube with glowing purple runes in the southron elf’s hand, Argrave straightened his back in the chair and placed his feet against the ground, ready to bolt.
