Jackal Among Snakes

“It’s safe,” the Alchemist declared. A bird landed on his huge finger. His druidic bond had scouted the whole of the crematorium. “Nevertheless, watch the shadows.”

Argrave descended down into the crematorium, shadowed by Anneliese and Galamon. The Alchemist was the last to follow, ducking low and compressing his body to avoid the low-lying roof. They weren’t the only ones present, however; nearly all of Argrave’s most potent forces had been brought to bear, but remained outside. If Traugott was within, he wasn’t going to escape.

Once inside… Argrave smelled blood. The scent was thick enough to be nauseating. He looked to the Alchemist. “You’re sure we’re safe?”

“Only the dead within, along with some animals. I saw nothing mortal,” the Alchemist confirmed, then cast a spell to light the way.

Argrave considered having Anneliese perform another scouting journey. Ultimately, he left the matter to the Alchemist’s discretion, yet kept in mind that terrible scent as he proceeded. Looking right and left, there were large pits of ash covered by glass in recesses along the pathway. Flowers, jewels, and gemstones had been placed atop the translucent covering. Each of the pits had a plaque next to them. Entire families were buried here, joining their ancestors in death. The people of the Great Chu believed the dead could get lost without their ancestors to guide them to the heavens—as it was in life, so it was in death; one’s parents taught the way of the world.

Some of these pits, however, had been opened. Ash—and fresh ash, which was apparent just by looking at it—overflowed out of many. There were small puddles of blood dotted all along, and Argrave saw crematory pits that had been used not too long ago. When they finally came to the central room, Argrave began to make sense of where the thick smell of blood came from.

There was a large pit in the center, with an iron grate instead of glass like all the others. The plaque before it was giant, and told that those cremated here were those without a family that still deserved the guidance of the dead. Now, however, it was a muddy slush of ash and blood that made Argrave’s stomach uneasy. It wasn’t immediately apparent where all of this blood had come from.

Argrave rubbed at his nose, then said angrily, “We should turn back, stop indulging this fucking psycho. I don’t want to play these mind games. Nothing he can say can be worth enduring this.”

“I’ll proceed alone, then. I have some questions.” The Alchemist stepped onto the grate, looking back as if daring Argrave to comply with what he’d said.

Argrave was sorely tempted to turn around and leave. But ultimately, the Alchemist’s insistence and his own desire to put an end to whoever would do something like this spurred him forward.

As they continued onward into the next pathway, it became evident where all of the blood had come from. Body parts lined the shelves and dotted the floors. They were each and all incredibly similar to one another, almost repeating infinitely. Though he had an inkling of whose they might be, he soon had confirmation when he saw the Good King Norman’s head on a shelf, red eyes staring forward lifelessly. No one had the gall to speak in this place. Even the Alchemist seemed silenced by this horror show, but no words needed to be exchanged. They all knew.

This place, without a doubt, was Traugott’s workshop.

the first few rows of burial chambers, blood overflowed from within the ash pits, making a grotesque mire of red and gray… but before long viscera was everywhere, soaking the walls and floors without any restraint. Argrave could picture what happened in his head—at the

the war going on… they’d never stood a chance against the former Magister of the Gray Owl. He must’ve

place like a warehouse of life-size puppets. Good King Norman, whole of body, repeated what felt like infinitely. Their dead red eyes stared at the ceiling, at the walls, at the floors. Some were skinny or fat. Some were muscled or flat. Some gaunt, some tall, some short, some black, some hunchbacked… but each and all variations of the base template. Black of hair, red of eye… these people had been born, then died, in the image of

on, amidst the misery of it all. When they came to a dead

“Roh! Rogh roh!”

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the side. One of the Norman’s was buried beneath bodies, alive… and barking, like a

told me nothing was here,” Argrave

for an animal,” the Alchemist

possesses an animal’s soul.” Anneliese kneeled, looking around. “I’ve seen

the thing. It had been acting like an animal moments

came! Wonderful,” the dog-Norman said, and

widened with recognition as she stepped back with him,

his one dagger, stepping between

shell the soul of an animal… but I shouldn’t brag. You figured it out

looked shaken—it must’ve bothered her, to see her people’s magic

man. You have a history with Norman. I’ve come to know the man better than you do, I should think. His daughter, Sophia… his

breath, almost gagging at the scent of blood and the voice of this person. The words of Traugott, but the voice of Norman… he didn’t

properly. I’ve always regretted that—I find you rather admirable, Argrave. And the same to you, Anneliese.” Traugott, wearing Norman’s shell, rose to his full height. “So admirable, in fact, that I decided to ask you something, before I asked Erlebnis. I have no love for the god of knowledge, but we did do good work together. I suspect it was the same for you,

to take things in stride, but he couldn’t deny he was shaken. “Glad to see

for, and now I intend on casting him aside. Just like you, no? He blessed

Anneliese pressed, her grip on