Jackal Among Snakes, Book 3: A GameLit Fantasy, page 9
Argent was, as its name might suggest, the silver tower. It was polished to the point where it reflected all around it. The reflection created a strange warping effect on its lower half, while the top half reflected the sunlight, rebounding into the air like a radiant crown of gold. It was surrounded by a wall of the same make as Sethia before it. The walls shielded an estate befitting a king.
The other two towers, Aurum and Cyprus, varied mainly in their tower’s color. The copper tower, Cyprus, had long ago been covered with patina—its bright green was pretty, yet decidedly lackluster in comparison to the two other towers. Aurum shone as brightly as Argent.
“One of these things is not like the other,” Argrave sang. “What you see now in those towers is a good display of what’s actually happening in Sethia.” Argrave leaned closed to Anneliese and pointed two fingers out, lining them up with the gold and silver towers. “Aurum and Argent shine brilliantly, and control most of what goes on within the city. Cyprus has faded, and completely lost its splendor.”
“The mountains beyond… that is where the last independent southern tribes are?” Anneliese asked.
“Well, yeah.” Argrave nodded, lowering his pointed fingers. “But don’t you worry about them. Keep your eye on the prize.”
“The prize, is it?” Anneliese’s gaze lingered on Argrave as he rose to his feet.
“That’s correct.” Argrave turned around. “We four have to exploit the faction dynamics within the city to get what I need.”
Though Argrave spared a glance at his place atop Galamon’s backpack, Garm did not react to his inclusion in their party.
“Outsiders will have trouble gaining influence,” Galamon criticized.
Argrave turned his back to the city. “When people are down on their luck, they’re not going to be choosy with the hand reaching out to help them.”
“So… you intend to join hands with Cyprus,” Anneliese concluded, walking past Argrave to stare at Sethia.
“Quick as a whip, little lady.” Argrave moved his head, following her as she walked past. “Argent has the Wraith’s Heart—it might seem counterintuitive to go with Cyprus, but as you’ll find, their faction is willing to do just about anything to get ahead. The current Lord of Copper is a young, ambitious Vessel who wants to recover his faction’s power. He’ll do anything to that end.”
Argrave strode away, continuing, “They’ll take suspicious people so long as they’re helpful. They’ll do anything that needs to be done, provided they pull ahead on the race to nowhere. I intend to pit them against Argent. It’s already what the Lord of Copper wants—I merely need to give him the push.”
“Do wyverns visit the city?” Anneliese questioned.
Argrave turned his head at the non-sequitur. “Look, I know I talked about getting a wyvern way back, but you might want to curb your—”
Anneliese grabbed Argrave and turned him around to face the city. He staggered a little, but she kept him steady and pointed off into the distance. He followed where she was pointing, squinting.
“You see?” she asked as if validated.
Argrave didn’t answer, staring at three flying creatures steadily growing closer to the city. He didn’t know what to make of the situation. As the wyverns grew closer, he saw many people on their backs. Argrave started walking down into the crater, keeping his eyes fixed ahead with his brows furrowed in confusion.
The wyverns narrowed in on one of the towers—Argent. The furthest ahead landed on the wall around the tower. Someone atop its back threw a sling, and the projectile slammed into one of the windows, shattering it. After, the wyvern craned its neck, and the people atop the thing climbed up into the tower. The other two wyverns circled about, one clinging to the tower, all offloading men into the window.
“What in…?” Argrave whispered, still walking into the crater.
“This is beyond your expectations?” Galamon questioned, jogging to catch up.
“What do…?” Argrave stopped. “No… No, I get it.” He nodded. “They’re raiding the tower. Damn it all,” he cursed, moving a little faster. “We’ve got to get down there. I have to see who’s leading them.”
With his exhaustion forgotten in the wake of urgency, Argrave moved down into the crater quickly enough that he could not afford to keep his eyes on the raid happening ahead. He watched his footing carefully as he descended the rocky black hills, sending dirt and dislodged rocks tumbling down ahead of him.
A bell rang out across the city, loud enough to be heard even distant as they were. As they descended into the crater, Sethia’s wall grew too tall for them to see over its top. Argrave gave the walls a wide berth, not wishing to draw the attention of any of those people guarding outside. Instead, he moved around Sethia, hoping to get the best view of Argent that he could.
They were not alone in wishing to view the spectacle, it seemed. People emerged from the city walks, rushing to get a better look at the rare occurrence. Argrave felt that was a fortunate thing, for he did not need to be so restrained in his approach. Soon enough, he had a clear view of the incursion.
The people were southern tribals, as could be expected from the masters of the wyvern. They wore armor made of wyvern scales, each and all beautifully crafted. They offloaded things from the windows, throwing crates and bags of valuables. Gemstones scattered from one poorly tossed bag, and he heard a shouted admonishment from a rider.
Argrave walked while catching his breath, eye on the wyverns now that he had some leeway. Eventually, he saw the person he expected emerge from the tower. A tall man wearing a gray coat of lamellar wyvern-scale armor stepped to the window. His helmet had a grand red plume.
“Durran,” Argrave muttered beneath his breath as he watched. “Nobody else would—”
Argrave’s voice caught in his throat as he spotted another person step up. The man’s shining plate armor stood out starkly beside the tribals wearing armor of wyvern scale. The newcomer bore a mace, and his helmet was made in the shape of a boar with two tusks.
With words escaping him, Argrave watched silently as the raiders began to emerge one by one, climbing back onto the now-loaded wyverns. They clutched their haul tightly. From the city of Sethia, a mass of water made its way over the walls. The southern tribals spotted this, hurrying their escape. The wyverns braced, preparing to lift into the sky.
With their powerful wings creating gales and scattering sand everywhere, the wyverns took off into the sky. Argrave shielded his eyes as he watched them go. The mass of water—a Vessel, undoubtedly—wound its way up Argent until it came to the cone-shaped roof on its top. The water swirled in front of it, and a thin line of water shot out like a bullet into the distance after the wyverns.
Despite the tremendous distance made, one of the wyverns was hit. It swayed, roaring, but managed to rebalance in time to prevent its descent. Argrave could see its blood dripping down into the sand it passed over, gliding for the mountains as it lost altitude.
Argrave turned around, where Anneliese and Galamon watched with as much interest as he did.
“Let’s find a place to talk.” Argrave sighed.
***
“Let me explain things,” said Argrave to his other three party members. They had elected to wait until things calmed down in the city to go inside—being implicated with this happening would be a difficult stain to remove. They sat cross-legged in a relatively secluded part of the crater.
“The… avatar I told you two about, with which I experienced this world before.” Argrave placed his finger on the ground. “I had ten choices each time. A custom-made one, or nine pre-existing ones. Of the ready-made, each was divided into three distinct categories—spellcaster, warrior, or rogue.”
Argrave paused, but all three were listening intently—even Garm, though he looked confused.
“Stain was the pure rogue. Nikoletta was the pure spellcaster,” Argrave continued. “You two met both of them.” He pointed to his two elven companions.
Both nodded.
“I also mentioned Melanie, as I remember—she’s got a warrior focus, but she also has some traits from the rogue side of things. Then there’s Ruleo, who’s rogue-focused with magic abilities… now, I’ve seen two more of these avatars.”
Garm frowned. “What in the gods’ names are you talking about?”
“A game,” said Argrave, pushing past the head’s interruption. “Boarmask is here—the pure warrior. Durran is also here—another warrior with a dash of magic spice. From what I saw, they’re working together.”
The two absorbed the information. Anneliese adjusted her sitting position, then asked, “I think you have more to say than simply unloading this information.”
“Well…” Argrave paused, trying to discern this for himself. “These two have lofty ambitions and enough rolling around in their head to achieve them. I have no doubt they were the driving force behind the raid that happened today. I can say this with certainty because it falls in line with what the player could do—one of the ‘quests’ I described to you.” Argrave kneaded his palm, uncertain if he was explaining things sufficiently.
“Do you believe these people took the Wraith’s Heart?” Anneliese followed up.
“No. It’s not exactly sitting on a table, begging to be taken.” Argrave leaned back, looking to the shining silver tower. “But things won’t be predictable. I don’t like that, as you might guess,” he said with a bitter frown.
“You know what was, and we have seen what is; it should suffice for navigating this place,” Anneliese assured, and Galamon nodded, agreeing with the premise. “Leadership is the head that moves the people, though. What will their response be?”
Argrave looked down, thinking. “The southerners don’t really have a use for baubles and trinkets from the tower. They have more pressing concerns, and don’t value the material as much.” Argrave looked up. “The Vessels will respond as Durran probably intended for them to. I suspect he’s working with Cyprus. It’s a provocation… one that won’t suffice, by my estimation.”
“But why would he…?”
“His brain works in ways I can’t codify in short-form.” Argrave sighed. “I could explain, but maybe you’ll have the opportunity to ask. I don’t want to make an enemy of him.”
Garm looked to have much on his mind but said nothing.
They stewed in the silence before Galamon asked, “What do we do now?”
Argrave turned his head back to Sethia. “Things have probably settled. We can go to a place that I know—no brothel this time, thank the Lord. From there…” Argrave turned his head back. “We’ll have to adapt.”
Chapter 13
Argrave had an important question: how did one gain the good graces of a faction in a xenophobic cult with enough power to rule over a city?
As much as he wished to, he certainly couldn’t walk up to any of the three towers, declare his intention to go inside, and be welcomed. The circumstance in Delphasium had been exceptional, but Sethia was a much larger city, and its lords were not nearly as gregarious as Mistress Tatia had been. Argrave and company would be refused at the gate, he was certain, and he did not wish to test the theory.
In Heroes of Berendar, the player’s induction into Cyprus had been spurred by a random, coincidental happening—a chance meeting, in essence. The player would meet a Vessel serving within the tower of Cyprus, demonstrate their prowess, and… things went from there. Argrave could not replicate that. Causing a chance meeting was even further beyond his purview.
Despite thinking on the matter during the entire journey, Argrave couldn’t answer his question. But with a little refinement from his companions, some half-baked ideas he’d been ruminating on blossomed into one beautiful little scheme.
“This is the home,” Galamon whispered and nodded. It was night, and few people were out. They stood before a rather humble dark stone house. It had no windows, and its doors were shut tight. “I smell dried blood… and not in small amounts. If things are as you say, this is the place.”
Argrave exhaled. “Good. I thought it was, but it’s better to be certain. It’s been a couple of months, you know. Things about the old game are starting to fade from my memory. Too many spells to learn, and they’re overwriting what was once there…” Argrave twirled his finger about his head.
“Do you have a solution for that?” Galamon questioned seriously.
“Only rerunning things through my head constantly,” Argrave admitted. “Whatever. Anneliese is with Garm. Guess you and I just have to wait. Won’t be long. Midnight, I think.” Argrave looked up at the sky, staring at the red moon.
“You don’t really need to be here,” Galamon stated neutrally. “Following someone is best done alone.”
Argrave held out his hands. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
Galamon raised a brow, then shook his head. “As you will.” He grabbed Argrave’s arm, shepherding him away a great distance. They made their way into an alley between two houses. It was quite dark, and Argrave couldn’t even see the house any longer.
The wait was long and boring, and Argrave wished he’d heeded Galamon’s suggestion. Galamon’s patience was boundless, though, and Argrave stood there fidgeting his hands until the elf’s whisper broke the silence.
“Someone’s come out,” he said. “They’re being especially paranoid.”
“Wouldn’t you?” Argrave questioned, craning his head to see beyond the wall. Galamon forced him back.
After a while of tense silence, Galamon pushed Argrave deeper into the alley. “Come on.”
They made their way through the alley, emerging on a street on the other side of the one they followed. Galamon was especially alert, taking quiet and deliberate steps in pursuit. Argrave tried to stay just as quiet and didn’t dare speak—he knew Galamon was tracking with senses other than sight, as the man they were following was not anywhere in view.
“Hmph. Seems he knows the guard patrol routes,” Galamon noted. “He’s made it to the farmland. He’s digging.”
Argrave smiled and exhaled in relief. He had been somewhat skeptical this would work without a hitch, but things had fallen into place. They waited quietly on the street. After a time, Galamon started to move beyond.
They came to a patch bearing pepper plants. Argrave couldn’t see anything amiss, but Galamon knelt down, removed one gauntlet, and then dug into the earth. The elven vampire had to dig very deep, but eventually, Argrave saw a dim blue mark. As Galamon dug more, the rest of it was revealed: a freshly severed human hand with a mark on the back of its hand signifying its former owner as a human belonging to a Vessel of Fellhorn.
Galamon picked up the hand. “This is what you need?”
“Yeah.” Argrave nodded. The thing was mostly drained of blood, and the dark-skinned hand was much paler than it had any right being as a consequence. “That should get some attention, for sure.”
“Then I’m to do the next thing?” Galamon questioned, rising to his feet.
“Yep.” Argrave nodded, tearing his gaze away from the hand. “Go to the house. Scare them. Make sure they think someone’s onto them.”
***
“Excuse me,” Argrave greeted, drawing close to the large gates of the wall to Cyprus. Two men stood in front of the great stone doors of the wall. They bore brown silken clothing covering most of their body, and their spiked helmets were made of dull bronze resembling copper.
“Keep your distance,” the guards cautioned. “Turn back. This is the residence of the Lord of Copper. You have no reason to be here.”
“Is this the place I might report a crime?” Argrave said quickly, ensuring he got their attention.
The guards looked at Argrave and his company of two warily. They might’ve brought Garm, but he didn’t want to risk anything with this little venture. He was safely in their inn.
“A crime?” the guard repeated.
Argrave held out a hand—not his own, strangely enough. The guards looked at each other, then back to Argrave.
***
“Funny how offering a hand to someone in need can earn you friends so easily,” Argrave mused, sitting cross-legged on a once-decadent couch that had not been maintained or changed for several years.
Neither Galamon or Anneliese, sitting just beside him, seemed amused by his joke, and so Argrave sighed as they waited.
“Come on. A bit of levity amidst morbidity is the best way to handle it,” Argrave urged them.
“What we are doing here is beyond merely turning a blind eye,” Anneliese said. “We’re involved. It is merely hard to swallow.”
Argrave had no answer to that, so he stayed silent.
As Argrave had hoped, the hand alone was evidence enough to earn him a meeting inside Cyprus. The guards out front had deemed this matter important, and so they fetched someone more able to handle this matter.
Argrave looked around the interior of Cyprus, taking in the sights. It was the first floor of the tower, so one might expect that it would be the best-kept and most presentable. ‘Disrepair’ was the best term for the room Argrave saw, though. There was one long, if decrepit, tapestry winding about the whole of the room, depicting the god Fellhorn and various Fellhorn-peripheral scenarios. After a while examining it sequentially, Argrave realized it depicted their creation myth.
He was just about to rise to his feet to examine the tapestry when someone came back into the room. Barring his brown-plumed helmet, the man seemed a guard just as those before. Argrave knew who he was: the Lord of Copper’s primary human commander, Captain Jeralian. He was an old man with the air of a hardened veteran about him. His hair was all gray, and his beard was short and patchy as though he was normally clean-shaven but hadn’t groomed in a few days.
Captain Jeralian stepped up to them. He had the severed hand, clasping it by the wrist. “Foreigners. My men tell me that you discovered a man trying to bury this hand.”
