JACKAL AMONG SNAKES-Novel

Chapter 88: Oppressive March

If there was one thing that Argrave hated above all, it would be ignorance. More specifically, his own.

Seeing something he had no clue about made him squirm. When he encountered such a scenario, Argrave took two routes: ignore the thing in question entirely or learn it completely. Perhaps that was why he had taken up the role of editing the wiki for the game—to seek remedy for his ignorance by learning every detail that there was to be known about ‘Heroes of Berendar.’

This trait had helped him a great deal, both in the past and after his arrival at Berendar. It allowed him to focus on magic far beyond a point most would deem normal. Argrave found magic interesting, and it was also largely foreign to him. It had become a conduit that his efforts could be directed to, just as his fascination with ‘Heroes of Berendar’ had been in the past. In essence, he had replaced one outlet with another.

In the Low Way of the Rose, his dislike of his ignorance served as prime kindling for the all-consuming flame of anxiety. Uncertainty was Argrave’s primary companion, being both pursued by the Stonepetal Sentinels and flanked by the horrors of the Low Way.

Their trek through Nodremaid was harsh. The stone beneath their feet was hard and wore out the back, and much of the path was stairs. The way forward was often blocked by dense foliage, forcing awkward maneuvering. The air reeked of foul, unnatural smells at all times. Prevailing above all was the scent of iron, yet beneath it was strange, exotic, and earthy smells—mushrooms and other foul things lined their path, much of it growing atop equally rancid fertilizer.

Every time Argrave spotted one of these creatures, his blood would run cold and his body would shake. They crawled on the cavern walls, on the roofs of buildings, and even swam through the canals, fighting against the current like some twisted mockery of salmon. The three of them moved cautiously enough to avoid being seen, Argrave reasoned. Galamon ensured their party never strayed too close. Still, their fleeting presence bred uncertainty within his mind.

The oppression of the Low Way wore at Argrave’s sense of time. The unceasing light from the flesh plants above furthered that effect. The rays would flicker at times as the faces blooming on the flowers blinked, casting ever-dancing shadows that gave one the impression the entire city was constantly moving.

Worse yet was the constant noise. The streams flowing through the canals emitted an unceasing roar. The sound would shift in volume as they moved, rebounding off the stone corridors and growing more or less intense as they moved up and down stairs. Buzzing or chirping insects occupied everywhere, making even the areas away from the canals constantly awash with sound. At times, the constancy of these noises would be supplanted with howls, screams, and roars—they were infrequent, and that infrequency only increased Argrave’s uneasiness as he tensed, waiting for the next to come, fearing what it might be. He had guesses, of course—he knew what was in the Low Way. But there was no certainty.

Argrave tried his damnedest to suppress all of that. Anneliese was with him—she would certainly be having a rougher time than he. Galamon remained constant, leading their advance as ever, undaunted and steady. Argrave had no place to be held back by these things. He tried to find the same courage that he’d mustered within Thorngorge Citadel, only to realize that had been confidence, not courage. He had known what to expect. Now, though, he felt exposed. He felt his feet were metaphorically bare and cut as he trod through a salt mine.

The sole comfort he found in this place was the distant sight of the headquarters of the Order of the Rose, brightly lit by the red lights of the flesh-plants winding in and out of the stone on the cavern walls and ceilings. Of all the buildings, the headquarters was the only one that broke the uniformity in Nodremaid. It resembled Petra vaguely, if only by its entrance alone. All of the vines of flesh and bone originated from the building, and as such, the light was most intense there. Beyond the entrance was darkness, though.

Argrave crested the top of one of the terraced pyramids, eyes fixed on their destination. Breathing heavily, he raised his hand to his mouth and a spell matrix swirled, conjuring water that he drank sloppily. Galamon stopped, waiting. Anneliese stepped up beside Argrave, significantly fatigued but nowhere near as badly as he.

“Haah…” Argrave exhaled after he’d finished drinking. He spent some time to catch his breath, then said hoarsely, “Not much further. Let’s keep going, end this quickly.” Argrave veritably dragged his legs forward.

“No.” Galamon stopped Argrave. “I smell the foul blood of the Guardians ahead. It’s moving away. We can take another path… or wait. I would advise the latter.”

Argrave was secretly relieved for the opportunity to rest and looked about for a place to do so. The higher portions of the city were mostly crossroads, so there were few buildings about. After some time, they decided to descend down the stairs a small amount further to enter a decrepit residential building.

Once within, Argrave sat on a solid piece of rubble. It wobbled briefly, but he settled it and leaned back. His knees, feet, and back all ached horribly, and the pain surfaced as he stopped his motion. Galamon stood at the doorway, watching and waiting, while Anneliese found a place near Argrave to rest.

“You’re damned reliable, you know that, Galamon?” Argrave said, wiping some sweat that leaked into his eye.

“Hmm,” he grunted half-heartedly.

Argrave brought his feet up, removing his gray leather boots. He cast low-ranking healing magic to relieve some of the pain. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anneliese moving about. He raised his head, watching her. She had a book in hand.

“You’re reading?” Argrave inquired.

“I need a distraction, anything,” she answered quickly, voice taut. “I’m at the cusp of learning B-rank magic. I will press towards that.”

“Not good to distract yourself in a place like this,” Galamon said, though his tone was not especially judgmental.

“This place is utterly devoid of all that is good,” she rebutted quickly. “Escaping from it, if only with my mind, will keep me sane.”

Galamon had no rebuttal. Argrave took a deep breath, feeling some measure of guilt well up within. He finished healing his feet, and then removed a vial of black liquid from his backpack. He downed it quickly and felt the magic resurge within.

Argrave sat in silence, his taxed mind and shaken body regaining some clarity. He rummaged in his backpack, pulling free the bronze hand mirror to strengthen his resolve. Something came to mind, like a bolt from beyond.

His gaze turned away from the mirror to each of his two companions in turn, examining them. They were battered and weary—they had endured the same things that he had. They did this willingly. They did so because of conviction, because of duty, and because they should. They were people willing to die for these simple facts.

“They’ve moved on,” Galamon’s voice split into Argrave’s thoughts, and he flinched.

“Oh,” he said quickly. “That’s good. That’s great,” he stood, quickly putting his boots back on. “Come now,” he said, mustering false cheer. “The road has been long and hard, yet every step we take, we grow closer to our goal. Struggle begets growth.” Argrave walked towards the doorway.

Argrave walked back out into the city of Nodremaid. Just as before, it was a harsh and grating place. Nothing offered reprieve—the dreadful atmosphere was suffocating. Argrave took a deep breath. His chest felt strangely tight.

“I wish I could say we’ll be moving to safety. Instead, we’re just embracing another threat,” Argrave mused, staring out at the headquarters of the Order of the Rose. “At least this one is more manageable. Vampires sound nice at this time of day.”

“One who is dehydrated would be remembered as the greatest fool if they drown in the first spring they find,” Galamon said, stepping past Argrave and moving to the stairs. “Do not rest easy. I am not infallible.”

Argrave nodded. “But you’re damned reliable, like I said. Let’s go.”