JACKAL AMONG SNAKES-Novel

Chapter 160: Sunset for the Desert

“Argrave,” Anneliese called out, drawing him from a book. He read beneath the shade of a palm tree just beside the oasis. His Brumesingers stood near the buried bodies of the veterans that had fought at Sethia. He had thought the southron elves might be bothered by this, but rather, they saw it as an honor. They hoped the Brumesingers would replicate the forms of their fallen warriors, some day.

“Hey,” he greeted, shutting the book at once.

“Reading what Garm wrote for you?” she questioned, walking up.

“Yeah,” Argrave nodded. “The stuff about the soul. Galamon had said it might interest me, and… well, it certainly sounds familiar.” He weighed the book in his hand. “Just as he wrote, whenever I tried to learn a spell ‘Argrave’ knew, I learned it very quickly. I guess if I ever tried torturing people, I’d be good at that, too.”

Anneliese raised a brow. “I take it ‘Argrave’ was not a good person?”

“If Felipe was their father, they’re a bother,” Argrave rhymed with a snap. “But what do you need? Some questions about our journey back north? About Orion? I was vague about him, but he’s… Christ, he’s my biggest worry. We stand to be here a couple more days. Plenty of time to settle anything that needs settling, I reckon.”

“Yet you are sad,” she noted.

Argrave turned away, then turned back. “I hope that isn’t obvious.”

“To me it is. To others… I know nothing of what they notice,” she shook her head. “What troubles you?”

“Just thinking… maybe if I had talked to Garm more, something like this wouldn’t have happened,” he admitted.

Her face fell a little. “Then it is not me alone thinking like that.”

Argrave gave a slow, bitter nod. “Ironically… heh,” he scratched beneath his nose. “If I had trusted him less, he’d be alive now.” He lowered his head. “Why was I so quick to bring Durran along? I smelled trouble. I knew something was brewing. If I had just…”

“I would feel a hypocrite consoling you when I feel the same. But truly, these thoughts do nothing for us. Nothing for Garm.” Anneliese held her hand out. “Come with me,” she insisted.

Argrave looked at her hand. He decisively set the book down and took her hand, standing quickly. She led him through the oasis town, and they waved to the few acquaintances they’d made amongst the southron elves. Eventually, she ducked into a cavern. Her Brumesinger was lounging away from the sun there, fluffy ears twitching.

Argrave was perplexed, but he said nothing. The dark cavern opened up after not ten steps, revealing a plateau beyond. He sized up the place, searching for something she might wish to show him. He soon realized he was looking in the wrong place, though. The suns were setting.

“I hoped you would be willing to do this, for me,” Anneliese began, stepping towards him. “Every time the suns descend below the horizon… we could watch them, talk… for an hour or so.”

He held his hand out. “What if we’re underground? That happens a lot,” he asked teasingly.

“Argrave, I—”

“Of course we can,” he interrupted her before she could misinterpret his answer as hesitance. “That sounds nice. Something to look forward to at the end of the day.”

Her small frown quickly turned into a smile. “That is… good,” she took his hand. “I feared it would be difficult to persuade you, especially since your health has improved. But I think this will be good for you, genuinely.”

Argrave furrowed his brows. “You’re not doing this out of obligation alone, I hope.”

“Well…” she paused, pulling on his hand slightly. “Even though you constantly joke, all you talk about is how we are to deal with Gerechtigkeit, the plague… how else am I to ask you questions, learn about you?” She led him towards the edge of the plateau, where she sat. “So, sit. Vincenzo,” she said pointedly.

Argrave scratched the back of his neck, and then obediently sat. “The only person that still called me ‘Vincenzo’ was my ma. Most people said ‘Vinny.’”

“Your mother?” Anneliese repeated. “A fitting point to start…”

#####

Galamon waved his hand, and his kriegsmesser whistled through the air. The blade of wind created by its enchantments seemed to emerge from a location wholly separate from the blade… but once Galamon brought it to a stop, the blade distorted back into where it actually was.

The elven warrior held it up, studying it without much emotion. If Argrave willed it to be so, he could see the densely packed magic imbued in the blade by the enchantments, placed impressively closely alongside the runes of the southron elves. Garm’s eyes continued to prove their usefulness.

“Looks impressive,” Argrave said as he stepped forward.

“Of course it does,” said Iltuda proudly. “They both do.”

Durran hefted his glaive aloft in turn, though he did not swing it as Galamon had. The haft of the glaive had runes just as the blade, shining purple even in the daylight. The black wyvern bone complimented the runes well.

“Never worked with wyvern bone before,” Iltuda commented. “Had to read some old texts written by grandfather, back when the stuff was in abundance. Despite that… worked out well.” She looked at Galamon, jet black eyes scanning his person. She was examining his repaired armor, not his body, though. “Might’ve worked on adding runes to the armor… but that isn’t something that can be done in seven bloody days.”

Argrave stepped away, satisfied. “You’ve done plenty. In fact, everyone has been far too accommodating,” Argrave complimented loudly, looking to Corentin, Florimund, and several other southron elves who had treated them well.

“Gave up a leg fighting for your little coup of Sethia,” Corentin noted, and though his words were harsh, he still had a smile on his face. “And now, you made me wait for a new one because your boys needed some little toys.”

Argrave glanced down at the man’s leg, where a stump just below the knee had been hidden by white wrapping. The grizzled, one-eyed veteran walked with crutches even now.

“I didn’t…” Guilt made Argrave trail off, flustered.

“Hahaha,” Corentin laughed, then pushed Argrave. “You should know I don’t care by now.” His gaze wandered to a set of gravestones. “I got off light. But each and every one of the men buried there followed with the knowledge such a thing might happen,” he finished.

“They… were some funny guys,” Argrave reflected, knowing that empty platitudes would earn no respect from the southron elves. “And all of them left descendants behind. If things continue as they are… their line will continue forevermore. And a damned good bloodline it is,” Argrave looked about.

“Don’t get crazy, now,” Florimund held out his hand, and several present laughed. That they could laugh amidst grief was a testament to the strength of their people, Argrave supposed, but he felt too uncomfortable to join them.

“Then…” Florimund stepped forth, offering his hand. “Though I hope to see you again, if you say you head to the northern kingdoms once again, I fear that wish may never come true.”

Argrave shook his hand, and then Florimund did the same for the rest of his party.

“It’s not like we’re leaving now, but we’ll probably be gone before dawn tomorrow. You might not see me again…” Argrave stepped away towards the exit of Otraccia. “But I can guarantee you’ll be hearing my name again.”

Florimund grinned. “Cheeky boy, are we? Well…” he nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll keep my ears open. Provided I don’t die of old age before then, naturally.”

With a single wave and a wink, Argrave turned and left, steps weighed down by the books in his pack but lightened by the fire in his heart… or so he told himself, at least.

#####

“Back to the road again tomorrow,” Argrave told Anneliese. “It’s become clear to me the future is unpredictable. Going forth… looks like I’ll have to rely on knowledge of what is, not what should be,” he shook his head. “Precisely because of that… this plague worries me. It’s not just a disease, it’s—”

“The point of this time, Argrave, is to avoid discussing these matters,” she said pointedly.

He let out a long sigh, then wrapped one arm around Anneliese. “You’re right. Sorry.”

She rested her head on Argrave’s shoulder, staring out across the vast expanse of black sand painted by the light of the setting sun.

“We leave tomorrow, though,” Argrave repeated himself. His voice grew quieter, and he continued, “I don’t really want to leave.”

“You will never again be sick,” Anneliese pointed out. “And travelling will come much easier to you, now. Moreover, we are not slated to traverse the Low Way again, if I understand you right.”

“Yeah, that is true,” Argrave nodded. “We’ll get those daggers for Galamon, a flying druidic bond for you to scout with… both of which aren’t especially dangerous. Relative to the Low Way, at least. That’s on the path.”

She lifted her head and rested her chin on his shoulder. “Then perhaps there is little to worry about.”

“Spending time with friendly people, learning fulfilling things… moments like these,” Argrave turned his head to face her. “It’ll be hard to get started again. An idyllic life like this…”

“You say that, but you are already prepared to leave,” she noted. “You never lack for willpower.”

Argrave laughed. “You’re not wrong.”

“Then what is on your mind?” she insisted. “Why are you worried?”

Argrave kneaded his palm. “You and Durran stand to be at the highest risk in the northwest.”

“You claimed you were going to take measures,” she pointed out. “And both of us are healthy. I am young, and I have been travelling with you. We Veidimen are a hardy people. And the winter will stifle the plague, you say.”

“I can take measures… but that isn’t immunity from the plague.” Argrave shook his head.

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Do not worry. Do what you can, and that will be enough.”

He stayed silent, then nodded with a smile. “You’re right. I’ll do what I can. Not worrying, though? That’ll never happen.”

“I am not so helpless,” she refuted. “Mages of higher ranks are healthier than average humans. And despite your recent changes, I am still one rank above you—B-rank.”

He smiled. “I know. And you’ll rise further yet, I know.” He paused, staring at her awkwardly.

“What?” she pressed, staring steadily.

“Honestly…” he rubbed his hands together nervously. “The fact that you… that I…” he shook his head. “The fact that ‘Heroes of Berendar’ existed made everyone feel like an outsider. Everything was something foreign. Even… even you,” he said quietly.

Anneliese shifted but said nothing, waiting patiently.

“Now, though… it’s starting to feel like I have some connection to this place. This plane. This whatever,” he shook his head. “It always felt like the world was my enemy, and I needed to struggle against it to stay alive.” He held Anneliese a bit tighter. “Now, I’ve got a reason to keep living other than just staying alive. And I’ll make sure that we make it through this together.”

She kept her amber eyes fixed on Argrave, then returned his embrace just as tightly. “I understand,” was all she said. And that was enough for him.