Jackal Among Snakes

Argrave naively estimated the journey back to Vasquer would take ten to twelve days. As it turns out, Argrave was not particularly good at estimating the length of fantasy backpacking trips. The journey took, altogether, seventeen days… and that was only to make it to the mountain highway.

It was not because of slow movement—indeed, Argrave actually found himself enjoying things when they traversed across the black sand dunes. Anneliese had described the Burnt Desert as having an ‘austere beauty,’ before, and Argrave fully agreed with that assessment. Without scarred lungs and weak bones making things agonizing, the hike was pleasant.

But that was when they were hiking.

Though the first week had passed quickly, once they strayed far from Sethia, the air became unbearably dry once again. That dryness brought with it sandstorms. They were stalled by sandstorms twice—the first had lasted but one night, while the second lasted three whole days. They sought shelter within the mountains. Though offering plenty protection, they were too steep to traverse, halting all progress.

Argrave had been worried the second sandstorm would never end, and they would starve. He’d already planned to eat Galamon first. He was sure the elven vampire would agree. But the relentless barrage of black sand did end, eventually, and they finished out the journey.

With a heave, Argrave pulled himself over a cliff onto stark gray plateau, pulling his legs up just after. The movement had been quick and smooth, and he felt some pride as he recalled the climb at the druid’s camp where Galamon had needed to help him up. Every day felt like a gift now that his body had gone from a liability to a reliability.

Anneliese was already waiting with their four Brumesingers, her long braid of white hair whipping about as she turned and examined the architecture of the highway. Argrave turned around, where he received Durran’s backpack. Soon after, the man climbed up, boots scraping against the stone wall. Argrave gestured towards Galamon for his backpack, but the vampire simply climbed up as easily as one might climb out of a swimming pool. Between his plate armor and his heavy pack, such a thing was a ridiculous show of strength.

“Show-off,” Argrave said to Galamon, turning to the highway ahead.

The abundance of gray metal made the highway seem nearly industrial. Metal sconces had once held magic lamps, but salvagers had come through here, stripping each and every sconce of their magic light. The closest ones reminded Argrave of exposed rebar. But the road kept winding up the mountain, dangerous cracks and cave-ins marring most of the road. Up high, one could see better maintained bits, where salvagers dared not tread.

The stone road was steep and required climbing at the points where it had collapsed. Iron statues with bizarre faces were half-buried in the rubble. Their faces resembled nutcrackers, though intricately wrought out of now-rusty iron and morphed in exaggerated emotion. They were angry, full of rage—though rather than terrifying, the expressions seemed like mockery.

“I cannot fathom how these highways were used…” Anneliese pondered.

“Transportation of troops between mountainside forts,” Argrave stepped up beside her, putting his backpack back on.

“Mountain climbing with heavy packs,” Durran said, catching his breath as he leaned against his glaive. “I missed all the signs. I’m travelling with morons.”

“Other options; abomination-ridden underground passage jam-packed with diseases, necromantic creatures of the Order of the Rose, and a knightly order who has vilified me,” Argrave raised one finger. “Or… we can ask the Lionsun Castle to open the gates for us. Barring these highways, there’s no other way over these mountain peaks.”

“Underground passage… this is Nodremaid, that city Garm spoke to me about,” Durran caught his breath.

Argrave nodded, surprised Durran knew more than he thought. Anneliese walked up to a pile of rubble, touching one of the iron statues. “Don’t be so carefree,” Argrave called out. “Some of these statues are functioning golems.”

“These are the golems you mentioned?” Anneliese asked, surprised. “The Veidimen say golems are myths. And moreover, metal golems…”

golems… they were made by the subterranean mountain people I had intended

our plan for this place,”

least from here,” Argrave shook his head. “Their

and took note of it

right? he gave himself a pep talk internally. This is your chance. Come on. Kill it. In truth, it was less ‘mountain climbing’ and more ‘rock scrabbling.’ The falls were not inherently deadly, simply painful. The most cumbersome part of the journey

then execute that plan. Durran voiced his skepticism frequently but kept pace with them despite hefting his glaive about. It was Anneliese who struggled the most,

into it, traversing their brume as they had in the tomb of the southron elves. They would reappear at higher elevations, lounging and playing with each other as though this was a casual stroll rather than a treacherous climb. If Argrave didn’t have such

and then grabbed her backpack, placing it up beside her. After, he did the same for Durran and his glaive, and then he and Galamon came up

for a break,” Anneliese gasped

you need. And rest easy, because that was the last bit of climbing we’ll need to do.” He straightened his back. “Now that we’re up here, I’ll stress

by now. Argrave looked back beyond them. From up

elbow on his knee. “Going to be a shame when we have to turn around. No way this makes it

only able to muster laughter at Durran’s constant derision.

they were upright at this

cut off there, severed. You can

there?” Argrave

be spears, longmaces… jeweled scepters of some kind, perhaps. It would explain why they have been cut

they trekked forward, a smile

are you so amused?” she frowned. “You

shrug. “You’ll see

they held be cut off and stolen,” Durran

on one in particular. He pulled free a silver coin minted in Malgeridum’s style and flicked it towards a close golem. As the coin spun by the metal statue he’d had his eye on, its arm rocketed forth and the rod it held slammed into the ground. The coin had been caught perfectly, smushed around the edge of the rod. Its arm clicked like a wind-up toy, cranking back to its original position. The silver coin hung

ones are stationary. They attack anything that enters into their line of attack,”

and then glanced at the silver smudge left

things to test

on the shoulder, then kept walking. The path was rough and poorly maintained, and grass growing up through the stone had left great cracks in everything. Harsh winds were shielded by higher

the path narrowed, and a thousand statues lined up

sure anyone alive can maneuver through that, if those things are all like those metal meat crushers we

center of the road, walking towards one of the statues. “I would never,” he scolded, retrieving another coin. He tossed it, and its right arm

carefully as it clicked and rose back up. Once it was at its highest point, he stepped off onto the statue’s shoulder, then stood on

shouted down. “Rescue anyone in case they

then leapt atop the thick rod once