Jackal Among Snakes

Argrave took a drink of what Muriem had provided him. It was a warm drink, but it was quite bitter and potent. It left a pleasant aftertaste, though, and Argrave quickly enough took a second drink and placed the stone cup gingerly back on the table. Anneliese sat beside him, listening to their conversation in silence.

“It sounds like Galamon has a big task ahead of him,” Muriem said, staring at the table with her hands on her lap. “I thought that… well, I don’t know what I thought. He sends gold to us every so often,” Muriem commented, looking at her son who sat quietly beside her. “Even when he isn’t here, I can live well and take care of Rhomaden.”

“I can take care of myself,” Rhomaden refuted.

Muriem reached forward and pinched his ear. “That right? Door is over there, young man.”

“Ow…!” Rhomaden freed himself and swatted at her hand.

Argrave maintained a polite, business-like smile. “Galamon’s as quiet and grim as ever. Still, he’s one of the best at what he does. One day, he’ll be sitting beside me as we talk. You can hold me to that.”

Muriem stared at him. Eventually, she nodded. “We write to each other, at times, but… tell him that I love him, and that I just want him to be happy.” She poked Rhomaden. “Rhom, what do you want to tell your father?”

“I don’t know,” said Rhomaden with an indifferent shrug. He had all the bearing of a moody teenager, Argrave thought.

Argrave leaned to the table, setting his elbows down and staring intently. “If you don’t mind me asking… how exactly did Galamon become a vampire?”

Muriem’s deep purple eyes shook, and she stiffened in the chair. “He… never told you?”

“He’s not much for conversation, as you know,” Argrave said with a light smile. “I only know at all because I found out another way.”

“I was not there,” Muriem said after a long pause. “You would be better off asking someone who was.”

“Maybe,” Argrave conceded with a nod. “But I don’t know who was, and their stories would probably have an impersonal affect anyway.”

Galamon’s wife pursed her lips, considering whether or not to speak. Eventually, she opened her mouth. “His brother was the one who turned him into a vampire. After, Galamon killed him. He was exiled for both kinslaying and vampirism. If you ask everyone around the city, they’ll say it happened because Berran was jealous of Galamon and sought to disgrace him. But…”

“But?” Argrave pressed.

“Berran and Galamon were always on good terms,” Muriem said quickly, some emotion brewing in her tone. “Berran turned Galamon; that much is beyond doubt. I don’t have any evidence for this, but I simply can’t believe Berran would act without another behind him, pressing him onwards. I’ll say no more. If you want brutal details, you would be best asking another. I do not enjoy reliving the worst day of my life.” She lowered her head, refusing to meet Argrave’s gaze.

Rhomaden leaned forward and rubbed his mother’s back, consoling her in the quiet. Argrave stood, taking another drink of the brew.

“Well, although this has been an enjoyable visit, I think I should leave now. I have things to attend to, and I would not want to overstay my welcome. Muriem, thank you for your hospitality,” Argrave bowed cordially, and retrieved his cane.

“Oh, well…” she looked briefly overwhelmed, and then said, “Thank you for coming to me with this. Tell Galamon that I love him, and that Rhomaden is becoming a fine young man.”

as the cold

shuddering as his

were expecting

down and talked about pointless stuff in a while. No purpose, just an hour or so of relaxation. Hard to relax when I have so much on my mind,

sneezed once more. “God damnit,” he complained with a clogged nose. “I think I’ve got another cold.” He reached

head inside for the

to that library. Rowe’s hopefully there, can teach me how to hug trees and such. Maybe I can

her head with a quiet laugh from her nose and walked onwards, leading Argrave to where

#####

and Argrave would much prefer caution over dismissal. They stood in a grandiose library of stone. Statues and

let you in here, hmm?” Rowe questioned, his

behind him. “The Patriarch told me I had free rein of his patriarchate. I thought

it is, so be it.” He turned to walk, but Argrave spoke again

Druidic magic spellbooks. I need a way to… well, I

take books?” Rowe repeated. “That patron of yours didn’t teach you spells? I know the Abyssal Hand Erlebnis has knowledge of our magic. I’ve seen those twisted abominations he

give their kids so much before they become spoiled,” Argrave walked a little closer, cane tapping against the cold stone floor. “He decided I still have to work

brows lowered. “A ridiculous request. This library took near a millennium to establish. Have you even the slightest notion how difficult paper is to get in this snowscape? Our knowledge is the fruit of our

on. Don’t make me beg, please.” Argrave tapped his cane against the

spat, a scowl taking its place on his face. “Impertinent boy. Stop wasting my time. I’ve already got egg on my face

person trying to stop the world from ending,” Argrave said drolly, stepping forward, “How about we trade? Knowledge

as ever…” Rowe scratched the top of his bald head. “If it’s a trade, I’ll agree, if only because both our forces need to be

enchanted items. Knowing how to

it’s that…” Rowe rubbed his chin. “If it’s that much, I can

hand out as though it was the natural course of

me to let you walk around and take whichever book you please? Oh, and I suppose you’ll want them to be nicely

can. Oh, and perfume the books.” Argrave nodded, cheerily sarcastic. “Really, what’s wrong with that? Did I forget to mention the part where

dry,” Rowe retorted. “I made sure that the Veidimen would help you, but I did not surrender all of our earthly possessions to your cause.

know you have some vessels that smuggle things to and from Berendar. If you send one of those to Jast, have them wait for

lackey of Erlebnis, the big-mouth? I’m

you’re saying. Listen, we can draft a damned

I always come away talking with you feeling like I’ve just eaten dirt. I don’t like it. But fine.

I’m the one getting shorted here. Don’t act like you’re some saint,” Argrave shot

his head, walking away muttering things like ‘impertinent

were

“Grandmother,” Anneliese greeted.