Jackal Among Snakes

Once the revolt was suppressed, the people went back to their usual schedule with an odd sense of normalcy, returning to the forges and the mines that they had been operating with an almost routine disappointment. The disappointment didn’t seem to stem from the Vessels’ victory—that seemed an inevitability. Rather, it was almost as though they had been deprived of an interesting happening.

As Argrave advanced with Anneliese and Galamon, they were still treated to oddities. The aftermath of the fight left water everywhere in some places, but the puddles on the ground bubbled as though boiling. Miniscule drops rose into the air, seeking out their origin: the Vessels of Fellhorn from whence they had been born.

Argrave walked aimlessly for a while, observing the carnage alongside all the others. There were bodies to be sure, but most had been captured alive. The Vessels Drained them. It was a gruesome thing. The Vessel would grip their forehead, and then the victim’s body would shrink, their skin would crack and curl, and dust would scatter everywhere. The screams made it clear it was not a painless thing.

During these executions, the Vessels remained the picture of politeness. They would smile or bow at Argrave and Anneliese as they stood wrapped in improvised cloth to cover their nude bodies after reversion from their immaterial form. Their propriety served to display they viewed this suppression of dissidents as a triviality.

Despite their concerted effort to find Titus, they found not a hint of the man—not his caravan nor his person.

“If we haven’t seen any of him, that’s a good portent, no?” Argrave asked Anneliese as they walked, the water still dancing in the air around them.

“There is a reason I asked you to do this beyond the mere concern about his well-being,” Anneliese said, keeping her arms crossed as she advanced. “He was especially anticipatory arriving here… as though he had something large planned. Nervous, especially.”

“Meaning… more so than you might expect?”

Anneliese pondered that. “I cannot say for sure. Some people are more nervous than others. It may merely be a—”

“Red herring,” Argrave finished, pausing on the road.

“I do not follow,” she paused with him. Galamon stepped ahead, scanning all nearby warily.

“Something misleading,” Argrave explained quickly. “We’ve been walking around for a while now, though. Are you satisfied enough to move on?”

Anneliese sighed. “Yes. Thank you for your indulgence, Argrave.”

“Sure. Let’s just not make a habit of overindulging,” he said dismissively, turning. “We should get moving while the weather is clear. Don’t want to deal with another sandstorm.”

#####

Argrave fell to the sand, black sand billowing past his face. He held Titus’ compass in his right hand, while a spell matrix formed in the other. When it materialized, a thin translucent ward spread out, no thicker than a piece of paper, but the whipping sand ceased. Argrave took a few minutes to clear himself of sand, shaking his face and hood to dislodge the small black grains. Anneliese and Galamon came to join Argrave, cooped up beneath his ward.

Above and around, the black sand billowed about them. The sandstorm made it seem as though a thousand mosquitoes moved past them, or as if the night itself made to consume them. Despite Argrave’s insistency to move quickly, his haste had only landed them in the middle of the situation he had most been hoping to avoid. The ward abated the sound, creating an odd zone of quiet that was disconcerting when contrasted with the chaos outside.

“God… damn it,” sighed Argrave, out of breath and weary. “I guess we made good progress. Can’t deny I’m struggling, though.”

“Take off the helmet, please,” pleaded Garm. “Got sand in my nose. Shake me about.”

either of his companions could do anything. He lifted Galamon’s helmet off, and then did as the severed head bid, spinning and shaking the

he said at once. “Gods. Somehow, you’re the least gentle

sand-free?”

set me down. You have

the

the proper direction?” questioned

keep up with you two, might be we’d be

can walk,” Garm

nothing could be achieved by responding to him. He settled down, getting as comfortable as one could atop the sand dune. “We

their positions. Silence settled over them as people grew

Garm, rubbing his hands together as he deliberated whether or not to say something. The head was ignorant of his gaze, for he faced

broke the

“What?”

could look at the head. “What are your plans for regaining your body?” Garm’s eyes fell upon Argrave, unshaking. After a long while without an answer, Argrave continued, “Because I

retorted at once. “Some half-baked C-rank mage, never dipped a finger into

of magic. The only practitioners remaining are criminals and exiles.” Argrave looked

what?” Garm pressed. “I have nothing

sat cross-legged. “You will never be able to fix this problem on your

insight. The severed head has

Argrave recounted. “I haven’t seen any of that, since. All I’ve seen is a stubborn adhesion to this mire you’ve

you spells. I can’t inscribe them, in case you

know what I want from

and silence settled within the ward once more. Argrave recast the spell so that no sand would

come to this place?” Garm finally opened his eyes, staring at Argrave

body. I get sick easily,” Argrave

“How?” Garm continued.

routing the path to Argent based on his memories of the game’s map. “After that… we have to go talk to an alchemist living elsewhere in

you collect some artifacts for him.

artifacts

Garm posited as though he’d

just outlined… I bet everything will happen the way I say it will.

brows, but Argrave was certain there was some intrigue on his face. “What are you

in a bit closer to Garm. “If you want some

concluded, repeating

one thing I can’t control, it’s what’s in your head.” Argrave tapped his temple. “But there is one thing I can offer you. I can promise you’ll see