Jackal Among Snakes

“Set aside this fight, for now. Let me ask you a question,” Durran hefted his glaive, pointing it at Garm. “Say you prevail. What next?”

“I’ll work at regaining the power I had,” Garm answered at once.

Durran lowered the glaive. “You see, I’ve noticed a little problem you have. I ask that question, and you first talk about what you’re going to do for yourself.”

“I can’t help anyone without power,” Garm shook his head. “That’s why you’re doing this, no? I offered you a route to power, and you lunged for the opportunity.”

“More I learn about you, the more I realize how your perception of me is flawed. There’s a key difference between you and I,” Durran settled back, sitting cross-legged amidst the field of black roses. “And it’s how far we’re willing to take things.”

Garm raised a brow, and also sat down patiently. “How so?”

“Let’s reflect on things,” Durran raised his hand up. “You deliberately withhold information whenever it suits you. You lie constantly to get what you want. You don’t care about how your actions bother people, nor about those you hurt. Moreover…” Durran picked a black rose. “These things you summon. They’re made of human flesh. I can’t just gloss over the fact that death is such a casual thing for you.”

Garm snorted. “You’re denouncing me as a bad person? You joined me in this deception. Don’t get sore when you got caught in your own trap.”

“You don’t really care about other people,” Durran held his gaze. “That’s the impression I get.”

Garm stared in silence, then raised a brow. “Is that a bad thing? I do intend on helping Argrave, if that’s your concern.”

“I know what I’ve seen,” Durran said flatly. “And I’ve seen that when you want something, you’ll do whatever it takes to make it yours. Person like that with power… well, it’s dangerous. Letting you roam free would be dangerous. If not for the present, for the future. Gerechtigkeit might be a supreme enemy… but what comes after, that’s just as important. That was my mistake at Sethia.”

Garm scratched his cheek. “A man can’t change?”

“My uncle was someone who did whatever he needed to get what he wanted,” Durran said calmly. “You yourself said people like him were like rabid animals, and that the best thing to do was put them down. For themselves as much as everyone else.”

“I said people that toy with kids are rabid animals. You’re comparing me to your molester uncle?” Garm veritably growled.

Durran shook his head. “I don’t think you have that twisted inclination, no. But if you did, nothing would hold you back. You’ve got no conscience. No morals.”

Garm threw a dagger at Durran, and the tribal warrior quickly rolled to the side to dodge it.

“All this guilt I’ve been feeling—it’s suddenly gone,” Garm spat.

“Your life has been miserable,” Durran continued as Garm rose to his feet, readying spells. “I’ll admit that. You’ve gotten plenty of life lessons that taught you to be as you are. In your situation, you had to take what you wanted, because no one was going to give it to you.”

Garm conjured a whip of lightning and swung it at Durran. The tribal warrior caught it, shattering it with one hand. He stabbed his glaive into the earth and walked forward. Garm stepped backwards. With each step he took, the black roses unfurled into bats of flesh, flying towards Durran.

“It’s how my people—the southern tribals—became as they were. Life in the desert is harsh, and so they learned how to take what they want by the blade. It worked well, for a time. They conquered the empire of the southron elves. But eventually… they hit a wall. And they were eaten from within.”

Durran’s hand liquified—he was mimicking the power of a Vessel in this lucid dream-like state. Great spouts of water hunted each bat that came towards him, killing them relentlessly. Ahead, Garm used Argrave’s favorite spell, and electric eels danced upwards into the air, forming a great cloud of sparking terror above.

“Thing is… a hard life is no excuse to trample on the lives of others,” Durran continued. “You’re tough. Tougher than me, probably. You’re more ruthless, certainly.”

A cloud of near one hundred electric eels shot downwards at Durran. He pulled an axe out of thin air, and swung it upwards. Garm only realized it was made of Ebonice when everything he’d conjured dissipated, and sparks of lightning scattered across the vast expanse of land ineffectually.

Durran lunged forth and grabbed Garm’s neck.

“My brothers and sisters were all tougher than me, more ruthless than me. Better embodiments of southern tribal traditions, by all rights.” He held Garm there, squeezing tight. “When I was the last living, my father said I was ‘good enough.’ And that’s just the thing,” he continued. “I am good enough. I can get the job done. And unlike you… I won’t leave a wasteland in my wake.”

“Like at Sethia?” Garm smiled mockingly, barely resisting Durran's grasp.

“If you were Argrave, you would have sided with the Vessels from the beginning,” Durran pulled him closer. “Am I wrong?”

“And I would’ve been RIGHT!” Garm shouted. “Much less danger, much less sacrifice. Less a battle, more a slaughter.”

“But the Vessels would’ve kept their grip over the Burnt Desert for time eternal. And my people would be dead. I owe Argrave—I haven’t forgotten that.”

“I hate this self-sacrificial bullshit you people engage in,” Garm snarled. His body started to contort unnaturally, popping and breaking. He seemed to be shrinking. “It’s a damn shame. Work twice as hard to live half as much,” he mocked.

“You grind your fingers to the bone building others’ homes. Absolutely nauseating,” Garm continued. “At the end of the day, if you’d stop worrying about what’s right and worry about what’s good, you’d live twice as much and work half as long.”

“That’s your problem,” Durran shook his head. “You think living well and living right are mutually exclusive. For most people, the two are one in the same.”

“Don’t lie to yourself,” Garm disagreed. His transformation had finished—once again, he was but a head atop a stake. His eyes were missing, now. “You would be much happier if you lived as I do.”

“I think you agree with me,” Durran shook his head. “And that’s why you did this. Because you’ve changed.”

“But that’s just it. You’ll never know what’s in my head. You’ll never know my thoughts. Mutual understanding—that doesn’t matter.”

Durran shook his head. “We have mutual understanding. The same kindness you hate so much, Garm, is exactly what you wanted as a kid. Maybe we’re alike in that way. But rather than becoming those who mistreated me, I’d much rather be their better. That way, the next generation can be spared of cynical bastards like us.” Durran let the words hang, then thought of another example. “Like your son.”

“Stop talking. You’re insufferable.” Despite his harsh words, Garm’s voice shook slightly.

Durran was not sure if it was fear… or something else. And he would never know.

#####

Galamon sat near the incapacitated body of Durran. He was unsure of what, exactly, was going to happen. Matters of the soul, of death… simply put, there was a reason Galamon never studied magic. He was smart in many areas, but he had difficulty wrapping his head around things of a mystical nature. Ebonice suited him for this reason.

He wasn’t looking, but he could feel the body’s heartbeat quicken, as though the person had just woken up. Galamon knew, then, the battle was finished. He stood, walking over to the altar-like table where Durran rested. The eyes were closed.

“It’s over, then,” Galamon said, though the person had given no indication they were actually awake.

One eye opened, and a golden eye locked on Galamon. Slowly, the man sat up. He looked at his hands like they were foreign objects.

“Who won?” Galamon asked tentatively.

His head turned, and the two eyes started at Galamon for a long while.

“Why? Did you make bets?” Durran looked around. “Given no one else is here, I’m guessing not.”

“Garm’s gone, then,” Galamon concluded, with so much certainty it was not a mere guess.

Durran sighed. “Yeah. That was…” he shook his head, then stared off into the distance, as though there was much that he wanted to say. “He was a good man,” Durran lifted his head up. “He tried to do what he thought was best, at the end.” He lowered his head. “I’ve learned from him. And, in a way, I’ll continue to learn from him, for the rest of my life.”

Galamon stared down Durran for a few seconds, scrutinizing him. Slowly, he nodded.

“Argrave knows about this… earlier than intended. He improved a lot, today. He went off into the jungle when he found out what’d happened. Anneliese followed.”

Durran ran his hands across his face. “Damn it. I was hoping…” he stood up off the table, rising to his feet. He swayed for a bit, then steadied. “I should talk to them. Apologize, something.”

He started to walk, but Galamon grabbed his shoulder. “No,” he stopped him. “You shouldn’t.”

Durran furrowed his brows, staring up at Galamon. “You really think so? I mean, even if it was Garm’s idea, I still deceived them much more than they deserved. Not to mention… I’ve deprived them of someone.”

“They will talk. Alone,” Galamon emphasized. “Interrupting them now would be a great disservice.”

Durran nodded. “If you think that’s best.” He shook his head. “Might be I’m hated for this.”

“Might be,” Galamon shrugged, taking his hand off Durran’s shoulder.

“How reassuring,” Durran noted sarcastically.

“You made your choice. I’ll offer no empty comforts,” Galamon declared. “But you made your vow, too. As long as you hold it… as long as you help… I cannot imagine they will remain frigid towards you. But bear this in mind.”

Galamon stepped closer, looming over Durran. “When you take a life for the sake of duty, I expect that duty to become your single-minded focus.”

“I’ll do more than my part,” Durran agreed, nodding. “Garm gave his life for mine. I will never forget that.” Durran stepped away, leaning against the table. Thinking of something, he questioned, “What do your people say of Gerechtigkeit?”

“Much,” Galamon declared simply.

“Then it’s about time I get to work, no? Educate me, please.”