Jackal Among Snakes

Their party of six stood at the bottom of the now-useless tower amidst the rubble spawned by destroying all its floors. Vasilisa kneeled over a body: Margrave Ivan’s. Or… just Ivan, now. In death he lost all, even his title. He was covered and dust and debris and mutilated half a dozen times but remained recognizable enough.

“That sort of power isn’t normal,” Vera said, staring at Argrave with her arms crossed. “To do this much damage? To destroy a tower made to code by the Order of the Gray Owl?”

“What does it matter?” Argrave replied. “We’re in this together. The job is done,” he emphasized, using the term ‘we’ to build a sense of unity. “I think you could do the same thing if you went all out.”

Vera shifted on her feet. “…no, I couldn’t.”

Argrave forget what he going to say, genuinely surprised by that confession. Vera wasn’t the strongest spellcaster, not by a long shot… but she was an S-rank spellcaster. Argrave had sought out blood magic because he knew it could be powerful if used in tandem with his other boons, and he needed this sort of destructive potential for the fights ahead.

You’re black blooded, true enough, but you used near a month of accruement from your bloodsucking bracer, Argrave reminded himself. Don’t get a big head.

“This sort of power is what you reaped from the living fortress, is it?” Hegazar chimed in.

Argrave held his hand out. “Not at all,” he assured.

“Maybe we’re owed a little more than what we got,” Vera continued. “Maybe…”

Vasilisa rose to her feet. “I’m more concerned with the flame. We’ll have to dig through some of this debris. And we still have an unsettled matter—the margravine needs to be informed of the result of our actions.”

“You two are good with people,” Argrave pointed to the Magisters, flattering. “I can trust you to get this news to them,” he said, stating rather than asking so as to brook no room for disagreement. “I’ll help Vasilisa clear a path to the flame. I’m rather unspent, after all.”

“Well…” Hegazar slowly nodded. “I know what you’re doing here by saying that, but… alright.”

#####

Argrave had a rather difficult time helping with removing enough debris to clear a path. He never learned any earth magic, as its primary uses manifested in architecture, siege, or the higher ranks of magic. As such, he awkwardly used his hands, wind magic, and grit. Perhaps staying in the comfort of Relize for a month had stripped him of some of his grit, because Galamon worked far faster than he did without the boon of magic.

Still, with many working in tandem, a path was cleared to the unbroken lower levels of the tower, and thereafter to a set of stairs that headed deeper. Just as Margravine Sophia described—and just as Argrave remembered—the path took them to a room. Rather unlike Argrave remembered, it smelled faintly of vinegar. And deeper in… they saw the Flame of the Tenebrous Star.

The black flame was held in a great pit of dark metallic rock, almost like a cauldron of fire burrowed into the earth. A stairway led into this pit, winding along the edges of the rock. Crude runes had been etched into its surface. They seemed to have some effect on the flame that kept it bound. Four other fires burned in the corners of the room, drifting towards the larger flame as though feeding it.

When Vasilisa stepped to the edge of the pit and stared at the flame, one of her knees gave out and she knelt there, shaking slightly. Argrave knew there must’ve been a lot going through her head. She’d found a cure for her sister’s ostensibly terminal disease—it’d be stranger if she didn’t get emotional.

Argrave grabbed her shoulder and said, “Looks like your sister will be fine.”

“Don’t say things like that,” she shot back at once. Argrave looked down at her, perplexed at how he had erred. She continued, “The last person I want to cry in front of is you.”

Argrave laughed, then stepped forward. He put one foot on the black rock and leaned in, looking at it. Galamon grabbed his shoulder to prevent him from falling, but Argrave waved him away. As he stared at the waving black flame, an unpleasant memory surfaced. It was a dream he’d had long ago. He had been on a chair suspended by a chain above a fire. I guess I must be having fun, it whispered at him.

“I suppose you’ll be trying to cure Galamon, now?” Vasilisa asked, rising back to her feet with composure already returned.

Argrave turned his head, but his mind was still occupied by that dream. “No,” he said, almost by instinct.

Vasilisa narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean…” Argrave trailed off.

“Now is an unideal time,” Anneliese contributed, covering for him.

Argrave nodded, turning his back to the flame. “That’s right.”

Vasilisa crossed her arms and took some steps closer, eyes peering down into the fiery pit. “How is now not the time? Isn’t that why you did this?”

Argrave had his mental balance at this point, and so said quickly, “Why would I ever do something so foolish? This flame is still a flame—it burns away. If it burns away the beast in Galamon and he dies as a consequence, could you take responsibility for that haste?”

Slowly, her gaze wrenched away from the fire and up to Argrave. “No… you’re right,” she admitted. “But my niece is unrepentant in her support of the vampire hunter Ganbaatar, and I have compromised my principles more than I am usually willing. I won’t forget your help, but…”

Vasilisa said nothing, yet everything—this matter with Galamon was coming to a head. It was only so much longer that things could be delayed. To them, a vampire was still a vampire.

“Let’s check on the flame, then work on how we get it out of here,” Argrave decided, stepping towards the stairway winding down. He offered his hand to Anneliese, and they descended together.

“Argrave…” Galamon called out.

“Don’t worry,” he answered at once, taking the first step downwards. “I know that this is safe.”

There was no heat from this flame, and that did not change as they grew nearer. The flame had no fuel, and so did not crackle or pop or make any sound at all. The smell of vinegar was strangely pleasant where they had been before, but as they descended lower it grew intense and overpowering. The potent, vaguely chemical smell was enough to make Argrave’s face contort into a grimace.

Prevailing over the smell, though, another sensation surfaced. As Argrave had already noticed, the flame emanated no heat. As he neared, though, he felt a strange happening to the forces within him. The almost gaseous pocket of magic within him… it was usually so inactive and stagnant, yet now it moved within his body like a pool disturbed by a gust of wind.

Argrave spared a glance at Anneliese, hoping that this would be beneficial to her understanding of the A-rank ascension he’d gotten her. Her amber eyes were wide, and she was utterly fascinated by the flame that came ever nearer the further they descended. He smiled with nervous excitement as they pressed on. Before long, the magic roiling within him became so difficult to ignore Argrave entirely forget about the smell of vinegar.

The two of them came near the end of the stairs. The bizarre juxtaposition between the wild and unkempt flame and the lack of heat around it was extremely jarring. This experience could not be likened to gazing upon a candle held close to one’s face—it was like having one’s head buried in the ashes of a fire, looking up upon it as it roared and twisted.

Anneliese released Argrave’s hand and stepped within. Argrave watched her, and called out uncertainly, “Anne.”

She paused, flashed a smile, and then proceeded once again when Argrave gave her a nod. As she was enveloped by the flame, Argrave swallowed nervously… but the elven woman remained standing there, completely fine.

“My word,” Anneliese exhaled until she was out of breath. “I… my head… I have never felt anything like this, Argrave! I feel… I feel so strange. My magic, my stress… I feel as though aches I never knew I had are vanishing,” she said in abject wonder.

“It’s House Quadreign’s flame, after all,” Vasilisa declared from behind, and Argrave jumped slightly. The Magister held her hand up to the flame as though she held her fingers to an old beast that had faithfully served her.

Argrave looked back to the flame. He realized his palms were a bit sweaty despite the lack of heat. Nevertheless, curiosity drove his feet forward. It was against all instinct to step into a flame as he did, but he did it… and the flame seeped into his being.

His magic shied away intensely, yet once it was caught, it was like fuel for a fire started within his body. It burned away so much, so quickly. The mounting stress, anxiety, doubt, and insecurities of his journey here faded into nothingness, leaving his head with a satisfying emptiness that gave his thoughts ample room to stretch. His mind felt pure, as though a haze was lifted. He felt no thought beyond him, no challenge above him.

Yet then… the flame reached a certain point in his body, and Argrave opened his eyes wide.

All sounds died. Taking their place was a presence. Argrave’s head shot about wildly in panic, feeling as though there was something hostile to him at every point in the room. Vasilisa, Anneliese, and Galamon felt it, too—their mouths opened and closed, yet no sound came out. Argrave stepped away from the flame in shock, yet embers still persisted within him.

A great wave passed throughout Argrave’s body, extinguishing all of the Flame of the Tenebrous Star that had permeated his being. And then… something new surfaced in his mind. It was a thought not entirely his own.

Erlebnis didn’t like that.

All sound returned, and Argrave sat on the stairs winding around the outside of the pit. Vasilisa let out a shout, almost as though to test her own voice.

“What the hell was that? A trap?” Vasilisa questioned the moment she was certain her voice returned, stepping to Argrave. “Are you alright?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Argrave answered, actually entirely sure. “But it’s gone now, whatever it was. We’d best thank it.”

“Argrave…” Anneliese stepped up to him and kneeled down, scanning his face and holding him steady. “Take your time.”

“I’m fine,” he answered back with a half-hearted smile. “Little heart failure, that’s all.”

Anneliese’s gaze grew distant, and she kept both hands on Argrave’s knee. Argrave had been around her enough to catch what her expression meant, so he pressed, “What?”

“Nothing,” she shook her head.

“What?” Argrave demanded.

“That… no, forget it,” she insisted.

“Please, just tell,” Argrave sighed.

Anneliese looked torn, and Vasilisa looked curious as she stared upon the two of them. Anneliese eventually sighed. “Promise to do nothing,” she said.

“Can’t promise that. I have to breathe to live, and that’s something,” he argued jokingly.

“Promise to do nothing with this information,” Anneliese insisted.

“Alright, I promise,” Argrave nodded.

“That presence…” Anneliese trailed off. “It felt exactly as Master Llewellen described.” She looked back at the roaring black flame. “It was exactly the sort of thing that helped him reach A-rank with his special method.”

Argrave stared at her white hair blankly until she turned back, and then he still stared at her amber eyes for another long while.

Ever so slowly, Argrave took a deep breath and whispered, “God damn it.”