Jackal Among Snakes

Ringing metal echoed through the obsidian abode of the Alchemist. Galamon took slow, heavy steps, eyes glancing around everywhere. He followed a trail of purple lights, though he didn’t seem to trust them completely. The uniform hallways and sterile atmosphere of the place seemed to disquiet him.

He’d still not had the opportunity to repair his armor after the arm had been severed in the battle with the Lord of Silver, so he raised a bare hand to block his nose as though something ahead smelled foul. He stared down the hall, hesitating to move forward. He reached for his side, retrieving a flask and draining it utterly of the blood within. Once it was gone, he inhaled deeply, and proceeded uncertainly.

Ahead, someone breathed through clenched teeth. The breaths were shaky, but strong. Galamon kept his hand to his nose as though the smell was unbearable. He neared the threshold, steps quiet. He looked into the room first, eyes peeking around the corner, then stopped at the doorway.

Galamon’s head turned slowly, drinking in all of the sights. The place was, bluntly put, horrifying. Sheets and blankets were piled up in one corner of the room. Some of them had enough blood on them to be called ‘soaking wet.’ Anneliese had set up a makeshift washbasin in another section of the room, which Galamon judged she was using for laundry.

And though Galamon had been worried he had drawn the ire of the Alchemist by hunting so many of the creatures in the jungle, the food waste remaining evidenced that had not been the case. Bones had been picked clean and piled neatly. Galamon recalled collecting fruits—he saw none, so he presumed they had been eaten fully, seeds and cores included.

The centerpiece of the room was the centerpiece of the horror. The bed was the stuff of nightmares. Bloody handprints marked the bedposts, the walls nearby. The bed… if the blankets had been bad, the feather mattress was worse. Galamon knew from experience that no man possessed that much blood. It was dark blood, too, looking infected. The obsidian floor was covered, some of it dry, some of it fresher.

Galamon would have been certain he was approaching a dead man had he not heard the breathing in the hall. He stepped into the room tentatively, Argrave’s form obscured by the tapestries hanging from the four-poster bed. When he came into view, it took a moment for Galamon to notice Argrave was writing in something.

Argrave spared a glance upwards, then looked back to his book. He double-took, lowering the book.

“Galamon,” he said, voice surprisingly steady given the state of the room. “Thought you were Anneliese.”

Galamon surveyed Argrave. His skin was the palest it’d ever been. His lips were blue. His eyes were bloodshot and sunken. He was missing all of his nails. Strange, jagged abscesses lined his body. The list of symptoms went on and on. Despite this, Galamon felt an intense vitality radiating from Argrave—it was like the heat of a forge, the strongest of any living thing he’d ever seen.

“It’s been, what, seven days?” Argrave continued. “Hard to tell. No windows. Even if there were, we’re in a damned cave…”

Galamon nodded in confirmation.

“Seven days…” Argrave repeated. “First time I see you in a week. What, you finally get thirsty?” he questioned with clenched teeth. “Followed the sweet aroma, looking for a drink?”

Galamon lowered his head.

“Lying here in blood puddles and you’re provoking the one guy I told you not to engage with!” Argrave shouted and tried to point a finger, but he couldn’t raise his arm up. The movement seemed to dislodge something, because he started coughing. It was a terrible, wet hacking, punctuated by Argrave spitting blood out.

“There’s your drink,” Argrave pointed, then let out a long wheezing laugh. “Christ. I’m losing my mind,” he muttered.

“I have no defense,” conceded Galamon.

Galamon, breathing a little heavy. He adjusted his position, then endeavored to catch his breath, calming himself. As he wiped the blood off his lips, he seemed to be assaulted by pain, because he winced and put his hand to his chest. Galamon furrowed

“I know you’ve been helping

bed. “I make a mistake… and you’re asking

though the action hurt. Footsteps drew both of their

for a bit, then smiled. “You have come.

food in?” Argrave gestured. “Couldn’t have carried it inside on

want to attract attention,”

his book. “Maybe you are an imbecile. I’m starting to question.” He moved

looked off to the side, thinking about how to answer

They’re still running scared from the big guy.” Argrave hefted the book, then laughed with a shake of

say, but he elected to leave it unspoken. He looked

help clean,” he

for food, you mean,” Argrave called

shook his head, a bitter smile seizing his

#####

walked down the halls of the obsidian palace. “Sometimes… he

“Sometimes?” queried Galamon.

she trailed off. “Let us simply say I am

Galamon nodded. “I will.”

I drawn his ire… I understand your position, staying outside. Even still, it was foolish, what you did,”

to fear,” Galamon

sound like

stopped walking, staring off to the

ahead, staring backwards. She studied Galamon,

from leaving Argrave alone for so long, does it?” Anneliese questioned.

Galamon refuted. “I do feel guilty about being away for so long.

you do?” she demanded

to speak. He started walking again, and Anneliese followed, casting glances

initially wished to speak to the Alchemist… was Garm,” Galamon

has no legs, so if you intend to