Jackal Among Snakes, Book 3: A GameLit Fantasy, page 7
“What for?” Anneliese questioned, voice different in light of her recent awakening.
“Just bothering me, that’s all,” Argrave answered distantly. “Leave our stuff. If there’s one thing we can count on, it’s that no one will steal here in this place. We saw the fate of those that do.”
“Am I ‘stuff,’ or do I have the dubious honor of coming with?” asked Garm.
“That’s up to you,” Argrave answered quickly. “We’ll get ready. I hope you can decide if you deserve that honor by then.”
“This is fine by me.” Anneliese rubbed her eyes. “I hope that man, Titus, did not get embroiled in this.”
Argrave looked at her, sharing her worry.
“Something tells me he did.” Anneliese sighed, crawling off the bed before rising to her feet.
***
Argrave stepped into the main room of the brothel, his companions with him. Garm had elected to come along, and so Galamon hauled his pack to give credence to the disguise. The air of the establishment was strange. Neither guest nor prostitute seemed particularly focused on the other. That was an unusual thing, given the purpose of the place.
“You’re here. Good,” Zirun noted, garbed in vainglorious white clothing. “If you hadn’t come, I would’ve sent someone with word. I can share this in person, fortunately.”
“What did you want to tell me?” questioned Argrave, stepping into the room.
“Nothing important. I’ll be out to deal with something the city deems necessary. The bell of duty rings, and I must abide.”
“This duty being…?” Argrave pressed.
Zirun’s workers removed the jewelry on his body diligently, fingers running across his face, arms, and a multitude of other places to free the gold. “My fellow Vessels have deemed that the revolt is necessary to suppress with force. I must obey Fellhorn’s will.”
“What changed?” Argrave stepped in front of Zirun.
The Vessel did not answer, for his workers were removing some piercings on his face. Once they were out, he caressed his lips and said, “I know only that I was called.”
“Right.” Argrave nodded, mind elsewhere. He stepped aside.
At last, Zirun’s workers removed his clothes. Argrave kept his gaze upward. The Vessel’s body began to shimmer like wind over a body of water. His flesh liquified, bursting out into water. Argrave crossed his arms while Anneliese and Galamon stepped back cautiously.
The blob of water moved about in front of them, formless yet with purpose. Floating in the middle of the water was a small orb of rapidly moving water. This orb contained a body—a baby, to be precise, and one that seemed to be straight out of the womb judging by size alone.
The water surged forth with ludicrous speed, leaving nothing behind. The baby in the orb stayed in the center, pulled along with the mass of water.
Anneliese stepped up the spot Zirun had left, pointing with mouth open wide in surprise. “Was that a… a baby?”
“He looked full-grown to me, unless you’re insulting him,” Argrave said drolly.
“You know what I—”
“Yes, that was the figure of a baby,” Argrave cut her off. “Titus told you that they choose Vessels at birth. That baby is their true body, and sole vulnerability in that immaterial state. I told you about their magic, didn’t I? I guess seeing is believing.”
“Troubling,” commented Galamon.
“I don’t get it either.” Argrave shook his head, staring at Zirun’s workers as they moved away carrying his jewelry and clothing. “What we’ve seen thus far—it’s how that body would look grown up, like some… maligned projection. Maybe projection is the wrong word, because they can be injured when they’re flesh.” Argrave pointed where Zirun had exited. “They go like that when they intend on fighting. All that they are becomes water except the foundation of the Vessel; namely, their body before they received Fellhorn’s blessing. Only the baby can be harmed in that form. I’m told it’s mentally taxing, so they don’t do it often.”
“Is Ebonice truly effective against them?” Galamon touched his axe.
“I told you it was,” Argrave said. “The water falls away like… well, water, upon contact. Wouldn’t use it to block attacks, though. Their attacks would probably break the axe. Regardless, we shouldn’t need to fight them,” he said pointedly, as though in reminder.
Anneliese took a deep breath and exhaled. “And your plan to head into the production district…”
“It’s unchanged.” Argrave stepped forward. “All the more reason to see what’s rocked the boat.”
***
Malgeridum was quiet. The small buildings made it easy to see most of what was happening in the flat city. The constantly billowing smoke they’d been treated to yesterday had ceased. In the far distance at the production district, one could see the magic of the Vessels laid plainly. Unnatural tendrils of water danced about the air in ways liquid was not meant to move, unbound by gravity. The water imitated innumerable things—blades, animals, hammers, shields—yet most common was a simple geyser that tore apart walls, the street, people…
The harsh industrial scent persisted in the air, and Argrave drew a piece of cloth over his face, tying it quickly. He raised his duster’s hood over his head and then gestured to Anneliese and Galamon, urging them to follow. Garm perched on Galamon’s backpack, disguised by his helmet as per usual.
All of the people were idle as they watched this suppression happen, so it made traversing the streets difficult. Argrave’s party wove through the idle crowds while watching the distant event happening ahead. It was like some terrible mockery of a water show—less bright lights and beautiful fountains, much more screaming and mayhem.
After a long while of threading through the crowd, they made it to an encirclement of guards blocking the people from proceeding further. The guards said nothing to calm or move the crowd, merely stopping them from advancing with a braced posture and a large tower shield.
Argrave stepped up to their encirclement, and all the guards near paid special attention to their group. He placed a hand on the top of the shield, trying to look beyond at the writhing water.
“Remove your hand from the shield, foreigner,” the shield-bearer said.
“I was told the revolt wasn’t worth suppressing,” Argrave said. “What changed?”
The guardsmen looked up at Argrave, staying silent for a moment before practically spitting, “I don’t need to answer a northerner.”
“Northerner? Hurtful.” Argrave removed his hand from the shield, covering his chest as though wounded. “Bandying the N word about like that… Well, I’m the bigger man,” Argrave mused as he reached into his pockets. “Hear me out. You might hate northerners…” Argrave pulled free some gold coins, having predicted he might need to do something like this. “But you won’t refuse a rich northerner, I hope.”
The guard’s attention was devoted solely to the coins in Argrave’s hand at once, though he didn’t reach to take it. Seeing the inaction, Argrave turned his head to the others nearby, who had doubtless heard the exchange. He waved the gold coins about, as though offering it to each.
“Alright,” the first guard said, freeing one hand from the shield and moving to take the gold. Argrave shut his hand, holding a finger out to urge him to speak first. The guard sighed, and explained, “It wasn’t a problem earlier, because the rebels had limited supply… but they got resupplied. On top of that, there was some trouble in the mines, something with some old southron elf ruins.” The guard shrugged. “That’s all I know.”
Argrave stared down at the masked guardsman for a moment in silence, then opened his hand wordlessly. The guard reached up and took the coins, then continued, saying, “Could the gentleman give us guards some space?”
With a quiet laugh at the change in politeness, Argrave stepped away. His mirth quickly turned into a frown. They walked a fair distance away, where the crowds were not so dense, and Argrave leaned against a wall.
“Well, the man might as well have said it.” Argrave scratched his chin.
Anneliese stepped up just in front of him. “You do think Titus had something to do with this.”
“I don’t know.” Argrave shook his head. “If he was… probably not deliberately. He didn’t seem the ‘conscientious objector’ type. But resupplying rebels? I never saw the cargo he had. We didn’t see him load or unload.”
“When things settle, we should go see what happened up close,” Anneliese said.
Argrave crossed his arms. “I didn’t realize we were the conscientious objectors,” Argrave said incredulously. “Listen, Titus was a nice guy… but we can’t be his keepers. If this is his mess, we can’t get involved. Too much at stake. Would you like to draw the ire of the high-pressure waterjets with legs?”
“Hear, hear,” said Garm from atop Galamon’s backpack. “Let’s get out of this hole in the ground. No use getting your shoes wet for strangers.”
Anneliese took a deep breath and exhaled. “Both of you are right.” She stepped closer to Argrave. “…At the very least, can we discover what truly happened? For me, if nothing else.”
Argrave stared at her amber eyes. He stayed silent for a while.
“This is a slippery slope, Anneliese, and I’m not talking about the wet roads,” he cautioned. “I won’t agree with doing anything more than a simple walkthrough of the streets after the chaos has ended.”
“Thank you,” she said sincerely, clasping her hands together. “I will request nothing more, nor act out of turn. But this event… I need to know more.” She stepped away.
Argrave stayed leaning against the wall, introspecting. Hard to say no to her. At least she’s not asking me to buy a puppy, or… Argrave shook his head to dismiss his thoughts. She’s not stupid. If she’s making a request, it has to be important. And truth be told… I want to know, too.
Chapter 10
Once the revolt was suppressed, the people went back to their usual routine with an odd sense of normalcy, returning to the forges and the mines that they had been operating with an almost rote disappointment. The disappointment didn’t seem to stem from the Vessels’ victory—that seemed an inevitability. Rather, it was almost as though they had been deprived of an interesting happening.
As Argrave advanced with Anneliese and Galamon, they were still treated to oddities. The aftermath of the fight left water everywhere in some places, but the puddles on the ground bubbled as though boiling. Miniscule drops rose into the air, seeking out their origin; the Vessels of Fellhorn from whence they had been born.
Argrave walked aimlessly for a while, observing the carnage alongside all the others. There were bodies to be sure, but most had been captured alive. The Vessels Drained them. It was a gruesome thing. The Vessel would grip their forehead, and then the victim’s body would shrink, their skin would crack and curl, and dust would scatter everywhere. The screams made it clear it was not a painless thing.
During these executions, the Vessels remained the picture of politeness. They would smile or bow at Argrave and Anneliese as they stood wrapped in improvised cloth to cover their nude bodies after reversion from their immaterial form. Their propriety served to display they viewed this suppression of dissidents as a triviality.
Despite their concerted effort to find Titus, they found not a hint of the man—not his caravan nor his person.
“If we haven’t seen Titus, that’s a good thing, no?” Argrave asked Anneliese as they walked, the water still dancing in the air around them.
“There is a reason I asked you to do this beyond the mere concern about his well-being,” Anneliese said, keeping her arms crossed as she advanced. “He was especially anticipatory arriving here… as though he had something large planned. He was nervous, specifically.”
“Meaning…” Argrave narrowed his eyes. “More nervous than you might expect?”
Anneliese pondered that. “I cannot say for sure. Some people are more nervous than others. It may merely be a—”
“Red herring,” Argrave finished, pausing on the road.
“I do not follow.” She paused with him.
Galamon stepped ahead, scanning all nearby warily.
“Something misleading,” Argrave explained quickly. “We’ve been walking around for a while now, though. Are you satisfied enough to move on?”
Anneliese sighed. “Yes. Thank you for your indulgence, Argrave.”
“Sure. Let’s just not make a habit of overindulging,” he said dismissively, turning. “We should get moving while the weather is clear. Don’t want to deal with another sandstorm.”
***
Argrave fell to the sand, black sand billowing past his face. He held Titus’ compass in his right hand while a spell matrix formed in the other. When it materialized, a thin translucent ward spread out, no thicker than a piece of paper, but the whipping sand ceased. Argrave took a few minutes to clear himself of sand, shaking his face and hood to dislodge the small black grains. Anneliese and Galamon came to join Argrave, cooped up beneath his ward.
Above and around, the black sand billowed about them. The sandstorm made it seem as though a thousand mosquitoes moved past them, or as if the night itself made to consume them. Despite Argrave’s insistence to move quickly, his haste had only landed them in the middle of the situation he had most been hoping to avoid. The ward abated the sound, creating an odd zone of quiet that was disconcerting when contrasted with the chaos outside.
“Damn it.” Argrave sighed, out of breath and weary. “I guess we made good progress. Can’t deny I’m struggling, though.”
“Take off the helmet, please,” pleaded Garm. “I’ve got sand in my nose. Shake me about.”
Argrave looked over, then stood before either of his companions could do anything. He lifted Galamon’s helmet off, and then did as the severed head bid, spinning and shaking the head about.
“Stop, stop!” he said at once. “Gods. Somehow, you’re the least gentle one of this party.”
“Are you sand-free?” questioned Argrave.
“Yes. Just set me down. You have shaky hands,” Garm derided.
“Shaky hands? It’s called a ‘benign tremor,’” Argrave said in faux condescension as he fulfilled Garm’s request, sticking the stake deep into the sand. After, Argrave fell to the ground, opening up the lid of the compass and moving it to line up properly.
“We’re headed the proper direction?” questioned Galamon.
“Yeah.” Argrave shut the compass. “If I could keep up with you two, might be we’d be at our next stop by now. Unfortunately… Well, you saw. My legs are glorified sticks.”
“Least you can walk,” Garm commented.
Argrave ignored the head’s comment, feeling that nothing could be achieved by responding to him. He settled down, getting as comfortable as one could atop the sand dune. “We can only wait this out,” Argrave commented.
The other two agreed and took their positions. Silence settled over them as people grew to relax.
Argrave stared up at Garm, rubbing his hands together as he deliberated whether or not to say something. The head was ignorant of his gaze, for he faced forward.
Argrave broke the silence. “Garm.”
“What?”
Argrave adjusted himself so that he could look at the head. “What are your plans for regaining your body?” Garm’s eyes fell upon Argrave, unshaking. After a long while without an answer, Argrave continued, “Because I don’t see a way forward for you.”
“And what would you know?” Garm retorted at once. “You’re some half-baked C-rank mage who’s never dipped a finger into necromancy.”
Argrave chuckled quietly, lowering his head. “Necromancy’s all but died out as a school of magic. The only practitioners remaining are criminals.” Argrave looked up to meet Garm’s gaze. “I wouldn’t trust a criminal with my soul. Especially not if they realize the value of what’s in your head.”
“So what?” Garm pressed. “I have nothing but time. Haven’t died yet, despite appearances.”
“My point is…” Argrave sat cross-legged. “You will never be able to fix this problem on your own. You are limited as you are now.”
“Real keen insight. The severed head has limited options,” Garm mocked.
“Back at the Low Way, you said that you had to be adaptable in your position,” Argrave recounted. “I haven’t seen any of that adaptability since. All I’ve seen is a stubborn adhesion to this mire you’ve been forced into.”
Garm closed his eyes. “What do you want from me? Openness? Honesty?” he asked with disdain. “I can’t teach you spells. I can’t inscribe them, in case you haven’t realized. I can give guidance for what you already have, and nothing more.”
“I don’t know what I want from you,” confessed Argrave.
Garm kept his eyes closed, and silence settled within the ward once more. Argrave recast the spell so that no sand would leak, waiting.
“Why did you come to this place?” Garm finally opened his eyes, staring at Argrave passively. “I can’t discern that.”
“To fix my body. I get sick easily,” Argrave answered after a moment’s pause.
“How?” Garm continued.
“We have to get one more item. The Wraith’s Heart.” Argrave flipped open the compass, mentally routing the path to Argent based on his memories of the game’s map. “After that… we have to go talk to an alchemist living elsewhere in the Burnt Desert. He’ll make me black-blooded.”
“So, this alchemist promised a cure for you, provided you collect some artifacts for him. The Unsullied Knife. The Crimson Wellspring,” Garm tried to conclude.
Argrave shook his head. “Never met this alchemist. Few people remember his name, and he doesn’t know these artifacts even exist. But I know he can and will fix the problems I’m dealing with.” Argrave settled back comfortably.
“So, you’re delusional,” Garm posited as though he’d finally figured things out.
“Maybe. Care to make a bet?” Argrave smirked. “I know a little too much about a lot of things. What I just outlined… I bet everything will happen the way I say it will. There might be some twists and turns along the way, but by and large, all that I say is true.”
