Jackal Among Snakes: Book 2, A GameLit Fantasy, page 29
“That is enough,” Elenore said, standing just behind the servant. She wore a white and green dress, as ever. The dress was long so as to cover the stumps that were once her feet. She wore white prostheses that barely showed beneath the dress. They were accurate imitations of feet, with the nails made of gold.
“But…” the servant said. “I only just began watering this one, my princess.”
“These are the Imperial Poppies—I remember their smell. You overwatered them yesterday, and they don’t need much water to begin with. You were distracted. I remember,” Elenore said neutrally.
The servant seemed surprised the princess even knew where they were standing. She opened her mouth and started to say, “I—”
“Don’t argue,” Elenore interrupted. The princess turned her head to the side. A maid walked down the aisle of greenery.
“My princess. You called for me?” the maid greeted, curtsying. Despite the fact that her master was blind, the maid had been quite diligent in maintaining her appearance—her orange hair was neatly bound in ring-braids, and every part of her uniform was impeccable. The princess’ head stayed idle, facing the maid as though watching her, despite the blindfold hiding her empty eye sockets.
“I did call.” Elenore held out her arm. “Walk me back to the fountain.”
The maid hurried to obey, gingerly grabbing the princess’ arm. She walked forth slowly, the princess’ steps beside her confident. One could not be certain if it was trust in her servant or confidence in her abilities that made the princess’ steps so sure.
“Induen has declined to return from Elbraille. He intends to… do something. He did not specify what,” the maid relayed quietly once the servant was beyond them.
“I see,” Elenore said. “Keep in touch. Watch over him. Inform me of his doings.”
“Yes, my princess.” The maid nodded. “One of the royal knights at his side is one of your ears.”
“I know,” Elenore said. “Make sure communication is infrequent and discreet. I cannot risk my brother learning I have one spying on him.”
“Yes, my princess,” the maid said once more.
“Therese.” The princess stopped walking.
The maid was surprised that the princess knew her name, and her eyes widened. “Y-yes, my princess?”
“Many of the other maids that serve me have loose tongues, and loose fingers. They take money where they can. If I did not so ruthlessly punish traitors, they would doubtless sell my information to the nobility,” she said, tone flat.
“P-princess, I have never…” the maid stuttered.
“I know,” Elenore answered at once, tone lightening. “As I said, the maids have loose tongues, especially for each other’s misgivings. Most thefts, I am aware of. I make an example of some that cannot be ignored without an adverse impact on my respectability. Yet you… for years, you have never been dishonest. That is why I intend to give you a position of importance.”
Therese’s eyes widened.
The princess turned her head towards the flowers nearby, stepping close. She inhaled sharply through her nose, and then exhaled. When that was done, she looked back to the maid. “Things must happen in the coming months. The opening I saw to fly away from this place has closed. Elbraille has folded. I must find another path. If no opening exists… I must create one. To create one, I must poke holes in that which has been built around me.”
“I live to serve, princess,” Therese said, placing her hand to her chest.
“Live for yourself.” The princess shook her head. “But know that beneath my wings is the best place for you.”
“I-I have never heard you speak like this, princess,” Therese said uneasily.
Elenore stepped forward. “And you will be the only that does, I believe.” She fumbled about, but eventually her hands grabbed Therese’s shoulders. “There must be upheaval, chaos. The box that contains us must shake until it tears. You are capable, you are loyal. I wish for you to do this.”
Therese took a deep breath, and then exhaled. “What must I do, princess?”
Elenore leaned in and whispered, “Margrave Reinhardt’s brother, Bertrand of Parbon. He still lies in my father’s hands.” Elenore paused, and then continued, “We must begin the process of planting one of our own in the team that tends to him. My father has him guarded well—he is of great value to securing victory for Vasquer. That is why he must die, and the whole world made aware of his death.”
Therese shook, but eventually nodded. Realizing the foolishness of the gesture in front of a blind person, she quickly said aloud, “I will, my princess.”
“Do not rush things,” the princess said sweetly. “Be slow, be quiet. Leave no loose ends. Inform me before you take any action. Can you promise me this?”
“Yes,” Therese said at once. “Yes, I can promise, my princess.”
“Good.” Elenore smiled. “And… when we are alone, call me Elenore.”
“T-thank you for this grace… Elenore,” Therese said somewhat awkwardly.
The princess reached to her ears and fiddled for a moment, before pulling free both of her earrings. They were studded with many diamonds, their base gold. “Take these. Sell them. It is but a beginning to a long and fruitful relationship. In time, you will become my right hand.” Therese looked overwhelmed, and Elenore placed the earrings in her hands. “Now, go.”
“Yes, my princ—Elenore,” Therese corrected, then curtsied and moved away. Elenore stayed facing her as she left, smile on her face. The maid had already long gone, yet it remained. Only after a great deal of time did her smile fall.
She took a deep breath as though taking in her surroundings. She felt around, feeling the nearest flowers.
“The white roses… three hundred steps to the square,” she recited in a low mutter.
The princess walked forth with no escort by her side, perfectly in the center of the pathway. She traveled by memory.
Chapter 40
If there was one thing that Argrave hated above all, it would be ignorance. More specifically, his own.
Seeing something he had no clue about made him squirm. When he encountered such a scenario, Argrave took two routes: ignore the thing in question entirely or learn it completely. Perhaps that was why he had taken up the role of editing the wiki for the game—to seek remedy for his ignorance by learning every detail that there was to be known about Heroes of Berendar.
This trait had helped him a great deal, both in the past and after his arrival at Berendar. It allowed him to focus on magic far beyond a point most would deem normal. Argrave found magic interesting, and it was also largely foreign to him. It had become a conduit that his efforts could be directed to, just as his fascination with Heroes of Berendar had been in the past. In essence, he had replaced one outlet with another.
In the Low Way of the Rose, his dislike of his ignorance served as prime kindling for the all-consuming flame of anxiety. Uncertainty was Argrave’s primary companion, being both pursued by the Stonepetal Sentinels and flanked by the horrors of the Low Way.
Their trek through Nodremaid was harsh. The stone beneath their feet was hard and wore out the back, and much of the path was stairs. The way forward was often blocked by dense foliage, forcing awkward maneuvering. The air reeked of foul, unnatural smells at all times. Prevailing above all was the scent of iron, yet beneath it were strange, exotic, and earthy smells—mushrooms and other foul things lined their path, much of it growing atop equally rancid fertilizer.
That alone was challenge enough, but at times, Argrave could see them beyond the wide leaves and towering buildings. The guardians of the Low Way. They were brutal creatures with a cold simplicity. Their body resembled a human head, though with the jaw removed. Two muscular arms sprouted from enlarged ears. Eight black eyes with golden irises stared off in all directions. Weapons of varying types had been buried in the back of their hands, held secure by metal bolts. Lack of maintenance over centuries left near all of them badly afflicted by rust.
Every time Argrave spotted one of these creatures, his blood would run cold and his body would shake. They crawled on the cavern walls, on the roofs of buildings, and even swam through the canals, fighting against the current like some twisted mockery of salmon. The three of them moved cautiously enough to avoid being seen, Argrave reasoned. Galamon ensured their party never strayed too close. Still, their fleeting presence bred uncertainty within his mind.
The oppression of the Low Way wore at Argrave’s sense of time. The unceasing light from the flesh plants above furthered that effect. The rays would flicker at times as the faces blooming on the flowers blinked, casting ever-dancing shadows that gave one the impression the entire city was constantly moving.
Worse yet was the constant noise. The streams flowing through the canals emitted an unceasing roar. The sound would shift in volume as they moved, rebounding off the stone corridors and growing more or less intense as they moved up and down stairs. Buzzing or chirping insects occupied everywhere, making even the areas away from the canals constantly awash with sound. At times, the constancy of these noises would be supplanted with howls, screams, and roars—they were infrequent, and that infrequency only increased Argrave’s uneasiness as he tensed, waiting for the next to come, fearing what it might be. He had guesses, of course—he knew what was in the Low Way. But there was no certainty.
Argrave tried his damnedest to suppress all of that. Anneliese was with him—she would certainly be having a rougher time than he. Galamon remained constant, leading their advance as ever, undaunted and steady. Argrave had no place to be held back by these things. He tried to find the same courage that he’d mustered within Thorngorge Citadel, only to realize that had been confidence, not courage. He had known what to expect. Now, though, he felt exposed. He felt his feet were metaphorically bare and cut as he trod through a salt mine.
The sole comfort he found in this place was the distant sight of the headquarters of the Order of the Rose, brightly lit by the red lights of the flesh-plants winding in and out of the stone on the cavern walls and ceilings. Of all the buildings, the headquarters was the only one that broke the uniformity in Nodremaid. It resembled Petra vaguely, if only by its entrance alone. All of the vines of flesh and bone originated from the building, and as such, the light was most intense there. Beyond the entrance was darkness, though.
Argrave crested the top of one of the terraced pyramids, eyes fixed on their destination. Breathing heavily, he raised his hand to his mouth and a spell matrix swirled, conjuring water that he drank sloppily. Galamon stopped, waiting. Anneliese stepped up beside Argrave, significantly fatigued but nowhere near as badly as he.
“Haah…” Argrave exhaled after he’d finished drinking. He spent some time to catch his breath, then said hoarsely, “Not much further. Let’s keep going, end this quickly.” Argrave veritably dragged his legs forward.
“No.” Galamon stopped Argrave. “I smell the foul blood of the guardians ahead. It’s moving away. We can take another path… or wait. I would advise the latter.”
Argrave was secretly relieved for the opportunity to rest and looked about for a place to do so. The higher portions of the city were mostly crossroads, so there were few buildings about. After some time, they decided to descend the stairs a small amount further to enter a decrepit residential building.
Once within, Argrave sat on a solid piece of rubble. It wobbled briefly, but he settled it and leaned back. His knees, feet, and back all ached horribly, and the pain surfaced as he stopped his motion. Galamon stood at the doorway, watching and waiting, while Anneliese found a place near Argrave to rest.
“You’re damned reliable, you know that, Galamon?” Argrave said, wiping some sweat that leaked into his eye.
“Hmm,” he grunted half-heartedly.
Argrave brought his feet up, removing his gray leather boots. He cast low-ranking healing magic to relieve some of the pain. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anneliese moving about. He raised his head, watching her. She had a book in hand.
“You’re reading?” Argrave inquired.
“I need a distraction, anything,” she answered quickly, voice taut. “I’m at the cusp of learning B-rank magic. I will press towards that.”
“Not good to distract yourself in a place like this,” Galamon said, though his tone was not especially judgmental.
“This place is utterly devoid of all that is good,” she rebutted quickly. “Escaping from it, if only with my mind, will keep me sane.”
Galamon had no rebuttal. Argrave took a deep breath, feeling some measure of guilt well up within. He finished healing his feet, and then removed a vial of black liquid from his backpack. He downed it quickly and felt the magic resurge within.
Argrave sat in silence, his taxed mind and shaken body regaining some clarity. He rummaged in his backpack, pulling free the bronze hand mirror to strengthen his resolve. Something came to mind, like a bolt from beyond.
I’m the reason these people are here. They’re following me.
His gaze turned away from the mirror to each of his two companions in turn, examining them. They were battered and weary—they had endured the same things that he had. They did this willingly. They did so because of conviction, because of duty, and because they should. They were people willing to die for these simple facts.
What did he give them in turn? Empty words. Absolute trust… but at arm’s length. He told them nothing beyond what they needed to know. Why was that? he wondered. And Argrave knew the answer. Beneath all the veneers, his refusal to examine his own reality led to an inability to accept these people as people at all.
The realization set in like a chill, and Argrave shuddered. It was a difficult thing to stomach, and he didn’t really want to think about it now. He cast another glance at Anneliese and Galamon. Things have got to change. You’ll only fail if you keep on as you are. You have these people by your side for a reason—because they’re capable. Let them in. You, alone, have proven insufficient.
Another voice argued against him, admonishing, Where would you even begin? You keep them in the dark for a reason. Better to be a false apostle than a madman. Honesty doesn’t earn any friends. You might not be able to see through it, but stone is harder than glass.
Rowe’s words came back to him—the fact that he had no plan if he should die. It would be for the best if I convey all that I know to these two. This way, even if I die, I’ll leave a successor—someone that can be sure the world doesn’t end. Anneliese would be perfect. Smart, capable…
Yet again, another voice argued, If you die, what’s the point of anything? Let them die without you.
“They’ve moved on.” Galamon’s voice split into Argrave’s thoughts, and he flinched.
“Oh,” he said quickly. “That’s good. That’s great.” He stood, quickly putting his boots back on. “Come now,” he said, mustering false cheer. “The road has been long and hard, yet every step we take, we grow closer to our goal. Struggle begets growth.” Argrave walked towards the doorway.
Set this aside for now. Listen to Galamon. A distraction in a place like this will kill you.
Argrave walked back out into the city of Nodremaid. Just as before, it was a harsh and grating place. Nothing offered reprieve—the dreadful atmosphere was suffocating. Argrave took a deep breath. His chest felt strangely tight.
“I wish I could say we’ll be moving to safety. Instead, we’re just embracing another threat,” Argrave mused, staring out at the headquarters of the Order of the Rose. “At least this one is more manageable. Vampires sound nice at this time of day.”
“One who is dehydrated would be remembered as the greatest fool if they drown in the first spring they find,” Galamon said, stepping past Argrave and moving to the stairs. “Do not rest easy. I am not infallible.”
Argrave nodded. “But you’re damned reliable, like I said. Let’s go.”
Chapter 41
Darkness loomed ahead, starkly contrasting with the red lights shining behind. Argrave tried to peer beyond to little effect.
“I don’t sense anything ahead,” said Galamon. “Only… debased viscera,” he contributed after pausing a moment to find the word. “The vampires may be using magic to disguise themselves. You mentioned they were apprentices of a mage group—the Wayward Thorns.” Galamon turned to Argrave.
“Doubtful. They know rudimentary magic, nothing beyond that. Centuries mean very little if you don’t have access to spellbooks, or the genius needed to make your own spells. They have ridiculously deep magic pools, but no spells beyond D-rank. There are reasons for that, but… I’ll share them when we aren’t caught in a vice.” Argrave raised up his hand, a spell matrix forming. A ball of light jumped into the air, banishing some of the darkness before them.
The headquarters of the Order of the Rose in Nodremaid may once have been grand, but its residents had changed it. Much of the place had been dyed red from centuries-old blood. It wasn’t the site of some bloody slaughter—instead, the roses of flesh that gave off light winding about the ceiling had been torn down and destroyed by the vampires to shroud the place in darkness. The ‘bodies’ of the flesh plants were much less frightening than the things themselves. Once the flesh rotted away, all that was left was long stalks of ivory.
“Is light wise?” Anneliese questioned, staring at the ball of flame cautiously.
“They’re vampires, the majority of them older than Galamon. Darkness means nothing for them.”
Anneliese stepped forward, contributing her own light and further illuminating the place. “It’s… quiet here. Figuratively and literally.”
“You mean… not picking up any feelings? Empathy meter goes cold just ahead?” Argrave inquired.
“Yes.” She spared a glance back, then examined the bottom of her boots. Her eyes stayed locked on the corpse of one of the guardians. The thing’s arms had been torn off. It had been drained of blood. “Still… I cannot say this place is particularly soothing.”
