Jackal Among Snakes

Argrave opened the door to the abandoned house. He was greeted by a harsh smell. Galamon stood at the table, a fire heating up a large glass bottle that had been turned black by the flames.

“Jesus,” Argrave said, coughing. “I forgot how bad that stuff smells. You get used to it when you live next to it, but…”

“You’re back,” Galamon said. “Sleep well?”

“Better than usual.” Galamon nodded at Argrave’s answer, then picked up the glass bottle. He smothered the flames with a blanket.

“This was the last potion. Eight bottles of the calming brew, four stamina-restoring potions. I fixed the Ebonice arrow. It was bent.”

“I presume your leeching session went well?” He strode in, waving in front of his face to dispel the smell.

Galamon looked at Argrave coldly.

“Come on,” Argrave urged, tapping Galamon’s elbow. “Laughing at something is how you learn to live with it.”

The snow elf set the potion down and picked up a cloth to wipe his hands. “It is a curse. An affliction. An illness is no laughing matter.”

Argrave pursed his lips. “You don’t have to sleep, you don’t age, and the only price is a strange diet and heliophobia.”

“I will not rest with Veid when I die. Instead, I will be lost in the abyss.”

“So, don’t die,” Argrave said, then laughed. His laughter trailed to a stop as Galamon’s pure white eyes stared at him like he was a bug. “Well, whatever. If it’s so terrible, once we’ve killed the world-ending ancient calamity, we can cure you. Until then, keep those fangs sharp.”

“Vampirism cannot be cured,” Galamon said quickly.

“Not by you alone. Me? I have my ways.”

Galamon shook his head. “Erlebnis’ method would be costly.”

“Pfft, where'd that come from?” Argrave waved his hand dismissively, then looked around for his satchel. “Why involve an ancient god? There are plenty of ways.”

Galamon stared. “Supposing that is true… you assume I will not die in your fool’s quest.”

Argrave looked at him, pausing. “You won’t.”

never entered your head

dying. Stop being a doomer,” Argrave held his hand up. “I’ll die centuries before you do. Stop with the morbidity. We’ve got to pack. You’ve got to pack. We’re heading to Barden.” Argrave grabbed the satchel

stoppers in the bottles and loading

my plans mentally have led me to one conclusion; getting an audience with Patriarch Dras is going to be extremely difficult. I need a little something to turn

to the point,” Galamon said, waving his hands as

some ancient traditions the Veidimen have that I might be able to take advantage of. I remember that in case of a snowstorm, the Veidimen would signal each other, even

Veelstron sign, yes. I am surprised you know of it. But it’s only accepted

them in his satchel. “I’m glad you confirmed, because frankly, I wasn’t quite sure I got it right. I also don’t know

frowned. “What exactly is

finished packing all of the potions and came to stand before Galamon. “It holds some ancient race of elves that—well, I could talk about that place for hours, but I’ll skip the details. When their warriors

brushed his hair back. “I am

but it broke recently—some stupid miners, you’ll find them dead

want me to fight against a tomb

won’t fight unless you take something,” Argrave assured. “Just be sure not to kick anything around, you’ll be fine—I

friend? The yellow-haired, short woman. Surely she, with proven stealth capabilities, would be

have the normal five senses. They sense one's magic. Besides, it’s dark in there. You

mute, gaze

pretty slow-moving. As long as you’re quick, it should be fine. They

sat down. He turned his head up at

my duty to help, I thought.” He pointed to Argrave. “That’s changed. I’m sending it to my family in Veiden, like normal. It’s the

their only virtue. Once the fighting breaks out, you’ll be off to fetch them in short order. It’s my duty to hold out until then. We’ll parley with the Veidimen, kill the tomb

such an expression on the big man’s face. He stood, and Argrave looked up to

Judge the Gods. Both are monumental tasks beyond my

Argrave hesitantly reached out and touched his shoulder. “I’m more worried about myself. I have

for a

the archers. Those… well, I’m

over Galamon’s face once

#####

drove down a poorly made road. It was wooden, and though it looked well-crafted, it was unadorned with fanciful things. Its most notable feature was a set of statues atop it. It depicted various human figures in saint-like poses. Each seemed to represent something. The modest carriage was contrasted fiercely by an array of gold-armored

slow, seeing something ahead in the road. It looked like a heap of black cloth, but it was large enough that the carriage would not be able to drive over it unimpeded. The royal knights moved ahead, well used

to pick it up and throw it aside, but he paused. His back straightened, and then he kicked the cloth.

His black hair was bound into one large braid, dropping behind

of the royal knights greeted, bowing from atop a horse. “There is a block ahead