Jackal Among Snakes

Argrave grabbed Anneliese’s wrist weakly. “When I die…you go see Orion. You’ll need his help for the jester,” he mumbled. “After, you should deal… with the war. I think. If you like Orion, help him. If you don’t, help the rebels. You’re a smart… cookie. You’ll do it fine.”

All while Argrave was talking, Anneliese was repeating his name time and time again. He didn’t seem to hear it at all.

“Just remember to get Elenore on your side—she’s the Bat,” he continued, slurring. “After that… the steppes. Go there. The centaurs… and the elves…. You’ve gotta deal with the malfeasance… and the dryads. Side with the centaurs… they’re better. Cooler.”

Anneliese finally shook Argrave, and his bloodshot eyes came to focus on her, open wide in surprise. “Argrave. It is over. You have been treated. You are not dying.”

He stared for a moment, mouth agape. He smacked his lips together, and his eyes rolled back into his head before coming back to attention. “That can’t be right. I feel terrible.”

“Just let him be,” Garm spoke, causing Anneliese to turn her head back. “That spell drains a lot from the one subject to the disease—he’ll probably need to eat and drink a lot before he’s back to working order. Even then… his lungs probably have some scarring. Minor, though, and it should heal given time.”

Anneliese lowered him back into the makeshift bed that Galamon had constructed. Argrave spoke, staring at Garm. “What are you… a doctor? An… anesthesiologist?” he spoke the word incredibly slowly, as though he could barely remember it. Once he laid back in his bed, he shifted. “Shitty hospital bed… I want to go home. The HOBwiki is nothing… without…”

Anneliese looked up at Galamon. “What is he talking about?”

“Doubt anyone could answer that.” Galamon crossed his arms and shook his head. “He’s delirious. Let him be. We should prepare some easily-chewable food for him—crush those berries, dice some of our rationed meat.”

Anneliese leaned away from Argrave, letting out a deep sigh of relief that caused the stress to veritably drain from her face. Her eyes were sunken and bloodshot, with deep dark bags beneath them.

“I hope you won’t forget our deal, sweetie, now that your little friend isn’t one toe into the grave,” Garm spoke from behind her.

Anneliese’s expression tensed once more, and she looked back to Garm. “I will honor that arrangement. And… thank you for your tutelage.”

“Don’t expect more… unless I benefit, somehow.” Garm smiled. “If you think that’s selfish, realize you’re speaking to someone worse off than a cripple.”

She turned her head away and nodded, then rose to her feet. Galamon was staring at her.

“You should rest,” he stated. “Hard to tell time here, but I estimate you’ve gone two days without sleep… your job is done, and now you must come back to form. I will take care of things from here. Nothing will disturb us.”

“But you must be near devoid of blood—perhaps I should—”

“Sleep,” he commanded. “Do not be as bad as him about taking care of yourself.”

Anneliese nodded. “Wake me should anything happen. You said the Sentinels are still clearing out the lower levels of vampires—an unideal time to be found here.”

“I know,” Galamon said. “Bad for them, at least. After what we did, to be extorted like that…” Galamon clenched his fist, his gauntlets creaking against one another.

Anneliese held a hand out. “Please, do not dwell on it. Everything turned out fine.”

#####

“So… a talking head, huh?” Argrave said. His voice was hoarse and speaking still hurt. His mind had gathered somewhat—enough for conversation, at the very least. “Most kids bring home a pet, it’s something like a dog… or a cat, maybe, if you’re lucky. But Anneliese… a head,” Argrave outlined, then nodded his head as he let the words hang.

Anneliese let out a few small laughs through her nose.

It had taken some days for Argrave to recover enough to speak, and she seemed to be glad he was back to snuff. Galamon was off collecting some of those berries from the trees. Argrave and Anneliese sat near the wall, Argrave well-supported by a bed of cloth that Galamon had foraged from the Menagerie.

“You’re pondering this now?” shot back Garm.

Argrave scratched his chin. “Didn’t really have much room for thought when the idea was pitched. Anneliese takes the next step on the path of magic, it got me out of debt to the Sentinels… good enough for me.” Argrave frowned. “How are we… going to bring you anywhere? Not exactly easy luggage. You pass through any city gates, the guards won’t know how much to charge for the toll. Three and a quarter? And that’s assuming they let us in.”

“The mind makes the man. They’d charge for four,” Garm said bitterly. “Yes, very funny. Mock a head on a stake. Do you mock amputees? Cripples? The mentally deficient? Are you merely a classless man, or has the standard of propriety in Vasquer dropped so low after my death?”

Argrave was a bit taken aback, and he frowned, genuinely considering Garm’s situation. After a time, Argrave looked him in the eyes and nodded. “You’re right. It’s just… so ridiculous. Impossible to even think about.”

“Try living it,” Garm said poignantly. “Picture it. I can’t turn my head. The only thing I can do is move what’s on my face. If I think there’s something behind me? All I can do is wait—maybe conjure a ward to block. Any itch, any sensation… I’m powerless. I have to be carried everywhere.”

Argrave let his imagination wander as Garm set the scene and could not help but shudder. “You’re right. It’s terrible,” Argrave raised his hands in surrender. “It’s just not going to be easy to bring you anywhere. I’d say we pull out the stake, wrap you up in a… a blanket, or something, but even that… what if brain falls out? Or… or…” Argrave shook his head, dispelling unpleasant thoughts.

“Why is it so strange?” Garm questioned.

“Are you being serious?” Argrave asked, genuinely unsure.

“Lots of Wizards walk about with their necromantic creations. I knew this man… he had—"

“Necromancy is illegal, now,” Argrave said plainly, finally realizing the culture gap. “After the Order of the Rose fell, their creations started going out of control, and… well, things have been extremely unpleasant for everyone involved. You’ve seen this place,” Argrave waved his hands around. “Every ruin of the Order of the Rose is like this.”

“Everywhere?” Garm narrowed his eyes. “That doesn’t make sense. Unless they all vanished overnight, something like this… makes no sense,” Garm repeated, flabbergasted.

Anneliese looked over at Argrave, curious for his answer. Argrave looked between them, then raised his arms up. “Why are you looking at me? I don’t have all the answers.”

Garm closed his eyes, looking disappointed, and Anneliese nodded as though it was the natural course of things.

“I can tell you about the last thing that I know the Order did collectively, though,” Argrave said, sitting a little straighter.

Garm opened his eyes, and Anneliese also straightened her posture, both listening intently.

“The last recorded meeting of the Order of the Rose was called by its last Grandmaster,” Argrave began. “This was when the southern tribes were invading the Low Way. He called together all of the High Wizards of the Order to the Low Way, in a gathering now known as the ‘Night of Withering.’” Argrave’s gaze switched between Anneliese and Garm.

“No one knows the purpose of the meeting, or what actually happened in it… but that night, when the southern tribes made it deep into the Low Way, trying to push into Vasquer… what awaited them was a river of blood. Everything in the Low Way was submerged in a great tide of blood. Some drowned—others were torn to bits in the flood, cut apart by debris carried by the tide.”

“Had to be something Grandmaster Astran did. He was a master of blood magic and necromancy, both,” Garm contributed.

Argrave shrugged. “No one knows what happened. Some people say the Grandmaster and the High Wizards both gave their flesh to wash away the invaders with blood strengthened by their own magic. Others say they were a victim of their own project and died in the flood just as the southern tribes did. But… there aren’t any witnesses.” Argrave finished.

“I… can’t picture the Wizards of the Order sacrificing themselves like that to stop a mere invasion,” Garm looked down. “I don’t…”

“We have to move again… tomorrow,” Argrave looked to the door of the Menagerie.

“What?” Anneliese questioned, surprised. “You are still unwell.”

“Galamon mentioned the Sentinels moved to clear out the vampires,” Argrave said, gaze distant. “They can’t get their hands on the Unsullied Knife. They'll take it back to their fortress. We can't hope to match them there.” He looked back to Anneliese. “You think I want to get up and move around? I feel like death itself. This conversation’s killing me, but I like talking too much.”

Anneliese sighed, rubbing her forehead. “I’m… if you think there’s no other choice.” She shook her head. “Promise me you won’t overexert yourself.”

“I mean… it’s a little beyond my—”

“Just promise,” she insisted.

Argrave met her eyes. He found himself unable to say ‘no,’ and so he nodded quietly.

“I think the Sentinels and I will have to enjoy another conversation,” Argrave said, tightening his hand into a fist. “This time, though… this time, I’ll be the one stepping on their neck.”

#####

“Look at this,” Alasdair spread his arms out. “All the knowledge of the Order of the Rose, within eyesight. The vampires stared at this for years, unable to move past… unable to claim it.” Alasdair reached a hand forward and tapped between the thick iron bars thrice, where the metal gauntlets met with the invisible barrier. “And unable to ruin it, naturally.”

“The important bit is that the vampires are wiped out, don’t you think? It took four days, and a lot of lives, but… it’s finally done, barring two or three that luckily managed to escape,” Ossian said, stepping up beside Alasdair. “This victory is a lot more important than some ancient library we can’t touch.”

“And if we could touch it?” Alasdair turned his head back.

Ossian laughed. “You see, this is why I didn’t want you to come. You say a bunch of stupid stuff all the time. The vampires have been here for centuries—if it was as simple as that, this place wouldn’t be undisturbed as it is.”

Alasdair inhaled sharply, then looked back to the library. “Maybe so. But you did something very stupid. You left that murderer roam free. I intend to correct that.”

“Are you serious?” Ossian tilted his head. “He’s the reason we made it here to begin with, and you’re going to ‘correct that?’”

“That head he has,” Alasdair looked back. “If it’s the key to these doors, it might be the key to this library. Argrave said the Wayward Thorns were mere Apprentices in the Order of the Rose, but that head… it was a High Wizard, no? There has to be something to that. Even if it can’t get rid of this barrier… it definitely knows how to break it.”

“Gods… you’re being serious. The man hands us the biggest boon to our knightly order in centuries on a silver platter, and you want to make his life harder than it already is—if, indeed, he’s even alive?”

Alasdair stepped up to Ossian. “What happened to your bravado, Ossian? You chased after him with the intent to kill, and then you find him and make nice? If Claude were here, I’d petition to have you stripped of your rank.” He pressed a gauntleted finger against Ossian’s chest.

“You do this—go to the Menagerie—I won’t stand for it,” Ossian swatted Alasdair’s hand away. “And I won’t let you do it secretly during the night, either. All I did, I did for the Sentinels’ honor. You, though… I’ve got no idea what you’re thinking.”

“You want to start a mutiny, Ossian?” Alasdair tilted his head.

“It’s no mutiny. You’re not my leader,” Ossian said loudly and clearly. “This is a joint expedition, for the purpose of wiping out the vampires. Nothing more,” he emphasized.

“Fellas, no need to argue over me,” echoed out a hoarse voice.

The two Master Sentinels turned their heads to the side, where three figures walking beneath a ball of light slowly stepped out of the darkness and into the lower levels. Alasdair raised his fingers to his mouth, and despite the gauntlets, sounded out a perfect whistle. At once, all of the Sentinels that had been idle came to attention, facing towards the new arrivals.

“Gods… Argrave?” Ossian said, brows furrowed in confusion and surprise both.