Jackal Among Snakes: Book 2, A GameLit Fantasy, page 32
“Pretty good, actually. Kind of like… grapefruit, I guess, but less tangy.” Argrave pulled a few more off.
Anneliese watched with obvious concern. “I do not know what grapefruit is.” When Argrave swallowed another, she quickly said, “Maybe you should not eat so many.”
“It’s safe, don’t worry,” Argrave assured. Argrave held his hands out, the white fruits balanced atop his bony palm. “Try some. Every bit helps. Besides, we don’t want to cut into our rations too deeply.”
“I…” Anneliese said hesitantly, staring at the berries. “I think I will stick to our preserved meat.”
“Do not be frivolous, Argrave,” Galamon said. “The gate. I think it would be best to leave it open, even if it might attract attention.”
Argrave considered that. “Let’s break it down. Even if someone discovers it, which is unlikely, who says they’re to assume it’s us? Better to leave the possibility of speedy exit open, in my estimation,” Argrave nodded.
Both agreed with his assessment of the situation, then spent their time examining the surroundings.
“Seems a straightforward path,” Galamon noted.
“For now, it is.” Argrave nodded, peering out into the crimson forest beyond. “It opens up into a grander area later—much more open.”
“Do you have an idea why there are so many of the guardians of the Low Way dead here?” Anneliese questioned, noticing the abundance of their corpses lying about.
“Because the guardians and the things within the Menagerie aren’t exactly allies.” Argrave pushed one with his toe. “This place… uncomfortably crowded, a lot of places to hide.” Argrave looked ahead. “We should probably be more cautious than normal.”
Galamon stepped ahead without a word, proceeding in silence. Argrave followed just after him, and Anneliese took the rear. This place was much more difficult to traverse than even Nodremaid. The growth of moss and plants made the strain of walking less on the back and feet, but the uneven terrain made watching one’s step paramount—twisting an ankle would be less terrible than on Earth because of the presence of healing magic, but Argrave still did not wish to use magic for something that was ostensibly easily avoidable.
Argrave and his companions walked through the red forest in single file. Though the berries had only vaguely resembled eyes from the entrance, inside the forest, Argrave got the chilly feeling that a thousand gazes were on him at once. Argrave tried eating more of the berries to dispel that feeling, but the taste was ruined when he perceived them as eyeballs and he found them a little more difficult to swallow.
They passed by many stone cells with the corpses of creatures within. It was difficult to perceive what exactly they were. The things within the Menagerie of Morbidity had been made of human parts. Because of the imperfect spell used in their creation, they slowly morphed back into the shape they had been molded from. They would see the body of a tiger, for instance, yet the head had been morphed back into an arm or leg. Even as bone, it was a disturbing sight.
Sound started to echo out across the crimson forest of the Menagerie, and eventually, the stone cells housed the still-living. A great black bull huffed at them as they passed by, the horns on its head morphed into two skeletal arms that moved with an apparent will of their own. The creature approached the steel bars that held it, and the two arms reached out, bony fingers grasping the bars as any human prisoner might. It unsettled Argrave more than he cared to admit, and he did not feel at ease walking by it. He checked behind him at times to be sure Anneliese was coping, and she seemed stable enough.
Sounds and smells grew more intense as they proceeded. Ape-like noises, barking, yelping—it was enough that each and every step was ever more uncertain. The smell of rot made Argrave nauseous. The hallway they had been traveling on opened, and the forest of red trees thinned, opening into a large room. Cages were placed equidistantly throughout the grand room, holding up the place like pillars.
Though many malformed animals made noises from within their cages, the centerpiece drew Argrave’s attention at once. A wyvern lay within. Though it was normally proportioned, where it might’ve had scales, veiny skin covered it instead. Uneven patches of hair grew at random portions, with varying colors and lengths. Cuts and scratches marred its body, many of them leaking pus. Seeing it now, he was certain it was the strongest smell in the room. Argrave grabbed at his throat, feeling like something was rising. Fortunately, he managed to suppress it.
Galamon kneeled, casting his eyes about the room to be sure nothing was amiss. A dog-like animal of indeterminable species barked at them, and Argrave felt like every animal locked in this room was watching them.
Argrave leaned on Galamon’s shoulder. “Maybe we don’t need to go so slow,” he suggested, only half in jest.
“Don’t see anything out of sorts, but… hard to hear. Hard to smell,” Galamon reported.
“Then…?” Argrave pressed.
“Then we proceed. Cautiously.” Galamon looked up at him, white eyes shining within his helmet. “Where do we head next?”
“That hallway over there,” Argrave pointed out. “Right side. We follow it until the end. Whether we weave through the cages or follow along the wall… I’ll leave it to you.”
Galamon nodded, rising to his feet. “Along the wall.”
The elven vampire stepped forward. The animals watched them as they passed. They passed by the monkeys. Their tails had turned into human arms, which made their movements awkward and jerky. They screeched horribly as the three of them passed. The sight that made Argrave most uneasy, though, was an empty cage. Its bars had split like something had burst out from the cage.
Though moving through the area was unbearable, it passed quickly and without escalation. They entered the second hallway, moving along to the end of the line. This place was much more open than the entryway and largely free of obscuring vegetation, which assuaged some of Argrave’s fears. This place was the personnel’s branch of the Menagerie, if Argrave recalled correctly.
“End’s not too far. Third on the left,” Argrave eventually broke the silence.
Galamon nodded, and Anneliese let out a sigh of relief. They proceeded upwards, and Argrave stopped them at the door. It was made of iron and largely intact, though spots near the doorknob had rusted.
“Alright. Let me do the talking,” he whispered.
“Talking?” Anneliese repeated, confused. “Is someone in there?”
“Don’t be loud,” Argrave said, lowering his hand as though urging her to lower her volume. “I told you that the head we’re looking for retained its cognition, right? And the ability to use magic?”
“You said it retained its magic signature, not its ability to use magic!” she whispered back, a bit louder.
“I’m sorry, alright?” Argrave apologized. “It’s not that big of a threat, honest. I didn’t consider it because it’s not worthy of consideration.”
She stared at him with mouth agape like he was a fool.
“Come on. No use dwelling on this,” he tried to dismiss. “Let’s just get ready.”
Anneliese looked at the door, face taut, while Argrave pushed his tongue against his cheek. “Alright. Now’s a good time to test out the B-rank wards conjured by our rings, I suppose. I’ll use mine when we pass through the door.”
“Galamon.” Argrave gestured towards the doorknob.
The elf reached a hesitant hand out and turned the doorknob slowly. He made sure Argrave was prepared with the ring, and then swung the door open. With will alone, Argrave conjured the B-rank ward before the door had even left his vision. A semi-visible golden shield filled his vision at once. He had expected to see a room beyond it—instead, a blinding flash of light filled his vision as flames hurtled towards them.
Argrave could not help but jump back. The golden B-rank ward stayed strong, though, and the flames hurtled upwards. The fire battered against the ceiling, floor, and walls. They continued for a great length of time, and then slowly began to diminish. Once they had faded, what was left beyond was a scorched mess of a room. It the center of it, untouched by anything, stood a stake. This stake had a head atop it.
“You bastards had a trick, I see,” the head said.
“Nice to meet you,” Argrave said, stepping forth through his ward despite the earlier display of power. He remained ready to jump back at a moment’s notice. “We got off on the wrong foot, I think, but we have much to discuss.”
The head squinted.
Chapter 45
The severed head stared at them warily from its position atop a stake. Despite the utterly destroyed room around it, where every wall had been scorched black from fire and other spells, both the stake and the head were unblemished. They were shielded by a sheening ward that Argrave knew was relatively low-ranking.
The head itself had quite an ordinary appearance, once one looked past the ‘disembodied’ part. It seemed young, with mostly smooth white skin and short brown hair. His expression had a general air of arrogance and defensiveness, though perhaps that came from the situation it was in. His eyes were black and gold, like most other creatures born of the Order of the Rose.
“You…” The head’s brown eyes moved up and down, sizing Argrave up. “Show me your teeth.”
Argrave complied, pulling back his lips. After a moment, he let them fall back into place. “There. Nice and pearly white, none of them sharper than they need to be.”
“Then who are you?” the head asked. “Why are you here? Are those… elves?”
“I am Argrave.” He placed a hand to his chest. “And who are you?”
“I’m…” Its eyes rolled back into its head. It stayed silent for a long while, and Argrave shifted on his feet patiently. “…that’s who!” it said suddenly, eyes drawn back to attention. “And you… you’re…” His gaze flitted back between Anneliese and Argrave. “Both of you are wearing the same thing. A uniform. You’re part of a group,” it said accusingly.
Argrave was taken aback for a moment, and he spared a glance at Anneliese. Indeed, just as Argrave did, she wore gray leather gear covered by a duster.
“You’re part of a group exploring the grand city of Nodremaid. I get it…” It licked its lips. “You’re pillagers, come to wrench free the knowledge of the late great Order of the Rose,” it spat angrily. “You’re no different from the bloodlappers. You’re—”
“Shut up for a minute,” Argrave interrupted, holding a finger out. “You can’t even remember your name. Do you even know your own situation?”
“Of course I can remember my name!” it shouted out. “I’m…” Its eyes rolled back into its head again.
“And your arms, your legs… hell, your whole body,” Argrave spoke to it, despite its trance-like state. “Where is it all? Think about it. Break free of your mental constraints. Remember who you were.”
Its eyes twitched, its face scrunched up, and its lower lip began to spasm.
“Think long and hard,” Argrave said insistently, stepping further past his ward. “Who were you? What did you do? Why are you here?”
It opened its eyes again, its face scrunched up in fear as it stared at Argrave with bloodshot eyes. Blood started to trickle down its face like tears.
“Your breathing, your heartbeat… you can’t feel them, can you? You’re not paralyzed. They’re just not there,” Argrave said smoothly, as though trying to hypnotize.
The head started to spasm and twitch as it gazed up at Argrave. Galamon tried to stop Argrave from advancing further, but he shrugged off the elf’s grip.
“I’ll say it again,” Argrave said, standing just before the head. “Who were you?”
The head ground its teeth together, veritably growling at Argrave.
“You weren’t always just a head on a stake,” Argrave said conclusively.
The head’s eyes widened, and all its movements stopped. Then, its face sagged, as though it had fallen asleep. The ward surrounding it dissipated, the magic shattering like glass. Argrave held his hand to his chest and let out a sigh of relief.
“Nerve-wracking,” he muttered to himself.
Argrave dispelled the B-rank ward so that Anneliese and Galamon could enter the room. Anneliese stepped forward cautiously, arms crossed. “Is it… over? What happened to it? I saw immeasurable distress, and then… nothing.”
“It’s breaking free of the magic that kept it servile,” Argrave explained. “It… no, he should wake up in a few minutes. I would advise plugging your ears when he does so.”
Argrave was quite relieved that had worked. He had recited what the player said to the head in-game. It had worked out in Veiden when he talked to Dras, and now it worked out once again. To be frank, he wasn’t entirely sure his memory of the dialogue was spot-on, but he got the gist of it right, and it worked out.
“Would… something like this be possible for others?” Anneliese inquired.
Perhaps it was Argrave’s imagination, but he detected some hopefulness in her tone. He felt the answer was ‘no,’ but he gave the truth.
“I don’t know.” Argrave shook his head. He stared at her amber eyes as she turned away, quietly nodding and accepting his information. “How are you handling this place?”
She looked at him and gave a faint smile that had some bitterness beneath it. “Let us say simply I will be glad to put it behind us.”
Argrave nodded. “You and me both.”
Galamon shut the iron door. Argrave used the time that the severed head was inanimate to settle his frayed nerves and catch his breath. It was strangely hard to breathe, and his chest felt tight. It was probably because of where they were, he reasoned—even with all the foliage in Nodremaid, it did not change the fact that they were underground.
Anneliese, once more, took the time to read her B-rank spellbook. Her diligence had been especially high in recent days—Argrave assumed there was a spell that caught her interest. He kept his eye on the head on a stake. When a few minutes had passed, he stirred, and Argrave was the first to greet him.
“Hey, you. You’re finally awake,” Argrave greeted, standing just in front of him.
The newly and truly awakened head looked up at Argrave. He blinked for a few moments. Without so much as a word of warning, he let out a deafening scream. Argrave had been well-prepared, and had his hands already placed over his ears. Anneliese had heeded his warning and had done the same. Galamon, though, took a step back and frowned in annoyance.
He screamed for a very long while—he had no lungs, after all, and his voice born of magic could last near forever. Argrave might’ve casted a ward to muffle him, but that might’ve earned his ire, and the iron door muffled the sound well enough that nothing outside would come to investigate. After a long while, his abject terror settled into a panic-ridden mess of curses, obscenities, and general confusion.
When the head became aware that there were three people in the room with him, he sought out answers. Argrave spent a long while trying to console him, offering calming words while trying his very best to ignore the oddity of the scenario.
“Hooh…” he breathed out. “Gods damn it all. That bastard Macheid… he got me. He got me, gods damn it all,” he said, face scrunched up as though he were about to cry. “So… who are you people? What in the gods’ name do I do next?”
“Considering that everyone you’ve ever known is dead, the Order of the Rose is entirely defunct, and you haven’t left this place in, oh, six hundred years?” Argrave guessed drolly. “I think it’s about time we get you out of this place, for your health if nothing else.”
The head looked overwhelmed.
***
“Ossian!” a knight shook the man he mentioned, and the master sentinel was immediately roused.
“What’s happened?” Ossian said immediately, already awake. He sat up from the cold stone floor, rising to his feet quite adeptly despite the plate mail armor he wore. “Report,” he commanded.
“There’s a huge swarm of guardians headed this way. Biggest I’ve ever seen.” The man stood with Ossian, walking towards the doorway and exiting into the city of Nodremaid.
Ossian followed, and then stepped outside. The knight pointed off to the distance.
The guardians of the Low Way stormed through the city like monkeys, leaping from building to branch adeptly. Barring the noise of their metal weapons scraping against the stone of the city, their approach was soundless.
“Gods,” Ossian breathed out. “How was this missed?!” he demanded, stepping forward. “Gather everyone,” he commanded swiftly.
“They were two separate groups, sir, and moving away from us, chasing something. They converged, and—”
“I told you to pay attention for anything odd,” Ossian said angrily. “The fact that they were chasing anything at all was an oddity. Gather everyone,” he repeated, grabbing the knight’s arm and pushing him away.
Everyone moved frantically, waking those that were sleeping and retrieving those that were on watch. Before long, Ossian scanned the group, and seeing everyone was there, began giving commands.
“We have to move quickly. The group of guardians is too large to avoid completely. We go into the headquarters of the Order of the Rose.”
“Sir,” one of the female spellcasters protested. “We should hole up in a nearby building, prepare fortifications and traps,” she recommended.
“Not enough people to resist that wave.” Ossian shook his head quickly. “No arguments. Spaces are confined there, but there’s still room to move. Even if the vampires are there, they are enemies to the guardians just as much as we are. Now, let’s move,” he repeated, shouting.
Ossian was the first to move, pushing past and heading down a flight of stairs that led to the headquarters. The others followed obediently, even the woman who disagreed. All knew well enough that to disobey orders in the Low Way meant to potentially cause the deaths of all.
***
Argrave watched as many of the Stonepetal Sentinels swarmed into the entrance. He, Galamon, and Anneliese were all on the second story. Argrave held the severed head like a staff, and now he used it to support himself as he kneeled.
