Jackal Among Snakes

Chapter 90: Poor Timing

Chapter 90: Poor Timing

“They were more experienced with this life than I am,” Galamon stated, before pushing up a shelf loaded with rocks in front of an iron door. The thing could not have been light, but he pushed it very casually. With both the enchanted crown from the elven tomb and his vampirism, his raw strength was something to marvel at.

After the battle had finished, the three of them elected to find another place to seek refuge. Argrave thought it might be a bad idea as they might run into more of the vampires, yet Galamon persuaded Argrave when he mentioned some might come seeking the source of the sound. Lightning-based spells were not quiet. They had decided to barricade the doors for the night, leaving room enough only for air.

Certainly, it would be difficult to survive an assault against every vampire within Nodremaid. That said, there was a tenuous balance of power in Nodremaid between the Stonepetal Sentinels, the Guardians, and the vampires. The three were always wary of the other—neither of the two sentient groups would risk such an overt move for what might be a trap by the other.

“You overpowered them pretty easily,” Argrave responded to Galamon, feeling a bit guilty watching the elven vampire do all the work while he sat atop an overturned shelf. The presence of Anneliese, who was reading just beside him, assuaged that feeling somewhat. “Vampires grow in strength when they kill by feeding—they call it drinking the Lifeblood. Considering most of the blood they drink doesn’t come from that, they can’t be exceptionally powerful vampires.”

“Experience isn’t strength,” Galamon shook his head, dusting off his hands against each other. “And vampirism isn’t just a passive state. The beast, the curse within… some vampires suppress it, resist it—like me,” He tapped his chest, the gauntlet ringing out against the metal chest plate. “In return, we receive minimal benefits while largely retaining moral reasoning.”

“Others embrace it,” Galamon stepped forward towards Argrave until he stared down at him. “They court the curse within, unable or unwilling to resist it. They succumb to bloodlust, lose their sense of morality… but in return, they gain the power of the curse.” His gaze turned back to the door. “Back there… They stopped their heartbeat, ceased their breathing, eliminated all trace that they were alive… embraced undeath fully. I have to be more vigilant,” he scolded himself, voice low.

Argrave tilted his head, looking up at Galamon. “How do you do it?”

Galamon removed his helmet, and his matted white hair fell to his shoulders. “Do what?”

“You never sleep. You’re always vigilant, always watching, always ready. You never falter. Despite all that… I never hear you complain,” Argrave said. Anneliese looked up from her book, evidently intrigued by the line of questioning.

Galamon stepped away, turning his head. “…it’s different than what you think.”

“Help me understand,” pressed Argrave.

“I don’t get tired. I don’t get headaches, or aches, or fatigue. I only grow… unsated,” he raised his helmet, looking into the twin sockets. “There is but one need I must monitor.”

Argrave leaned back, resting his elbow against the shelf to support himself. “If you’re trying to turn me, you’re doing a great job selling it.”

Galamon’s head snapped towards Argrave, and he took two quick steps forward. “The curse is not to be trivialized. The vampire’s very existence is a scourge upon the living. Their life is sustained by misery and death. All of them deserve death,” he said intensely. Argrave tensed.

“Yet before becoming a vampire, you campaigned at the head of Dras’ army, killing tens of thousands of your own kind in warfare,” Anneliese commented, closing her book. “Is that not an utmost display of this ‘misery and death’ you speak of?”

Argrave’s face slacked at the unexpected contribution. Galamon turned his head towards her, brows furrowed.

“Do not misunderstand me. I am not admonishing you,” she raised her hands innocently. “I am merely questioning if it is truly misery and death you have a problem with. You united Veiden alongside Dras. You even expressed that, if you had not become a vampire, you would have aided him in invading Berendar,” Anneliese stared up at him.

“…that was different. It was for the greater good,” he said, his back straightening. “For Veid. For the good of all Veidimen.”

“Therein lies the true answer, I think,” Anneliese said calmly. “You take issue with vampirism because Veid fashions vampires as an abomination before Her eyes, to be purged.”

Galamon took a deep breath, and then turned away. He raised up the helmet once more, gazing into it. “Aye. I hate that which I am. I hate myself… and my cowardice.”

“If you’re a coward, I have to seriously reevaluate my own standing on the spectrum of bravery,” Argrave rebutted incredulously.

“I am good at fighting because I fear death,” he told Argrave, slightly shaking his head. “Fear spurs me towards martial perfection.” Galamon hefted the helmet in his hand, and then looked back at the two of them. “And because I fear death, I violated the thing I was most proud of—my faith in Veid.”

‘Most proud of?’ You have a son, remember? Argrave was tempted to say, but felt it was better left unsaid.

“You’re right, Anneliese. The curse lies not in the hunger, the beast. The true curse is what it deprived me of. My homeland. My wife, my son. My friends. The Patriarchate that I helped create…” Galamon clenched his hand tight on his helmet. “There are nights when I think of what is behind me… and I think of what I did to stay alive that day. I just want the day to end.” He looked to Argrave. “But sleep never comes. I am left alone with myself, who I hate.”

Argrave said nothing. He wasn’t sure there was something he could reasonably say to that.

“And yet… despite what has happened to me… Veid did not abandon me,” Galamon said finally, tone lightening somewhat. “She gave me a path to atonement. Gerechtigkeit. He Who Would Judge the World. A desperately pitched battle, and one that I must throw myself into fully.”

Galamon walked up to Argrave. “Dras knew I was afraid of death… and he used that to secure victory, placing me in impossible situations time and time again. And now, another fool of the same nature has come along,” Galamon said somewhat bitterly, white-eyed gaze locked on Argrave. “I will atone. I will prove myself before Veid. That is the truth of how I do not falter.”

Argrave was a bit taken aback by the abrupt shift of the conversation’s tone. His mind harkened back to his thoughts earlier this day.

“Even if…” he began, his voice shaking. He took a deep breath and began again. “Even if I’m not who you think I am? Even if all that nonsense about Erlebnis is made up?” His gaze moved back and forth between the two of them. “Because it is,” he continued when neither spoke. “I’m no ‘agent of Erlebnis.’”

In the silence after his confession, Argrave’s heart was beating rapidly. Both stared at him, saying nothing. Galamon eventually broke the silence, asking, “At Mateth… you went to that shrine, communed with Him. What was that, then?”

“That was to receive the Blessing of Supersession. It was a business deal—nothing more, nothing less. Second time I’d had contact—and the last, if I have my way.” Argrave spread his hands out. “I strung you two along with nonsense, acting like I had the world in the palm of my hand. Now we’re here, and I’ve proven my incompetence.”

Argrave’s uneasiness spiraled further upwards in the silence that followed. Galamon stepped away.

“Even barring your punishment of me, the ‘indentured servitude,’ as you called it…” Galamon crossed his arms. “Not six months have passed since I was hired. I am still bound by contract. I would be here regardless.”

“Wasn’t exactly honest about the terms and conditions,” Argrave shook his head.

“You wanted me to stay by your side and protect you and perform the occasional menial task. The fault lies with me for not inquiring more about who you were and what you intended to do.”

Argrave found those words a little difficult to swallow. Eventually, he only nodded when no words came up to counter Galamon’s words. He looked to Anneliese.

“What about you? You left your home, your family—terrible though they may be—to go off with someone who concocted a tale.”

“It does no good to speak of this now,” she shook her head. “We are here, now. What happens after can be settled once we make an ‘after.’”

Argrave sat in the silence. “This doesn’t bother either of you?”

“You had all but confirmed it,” Anneliese shook her head. “And now you have confirmed it. But let me ask you this: do you intend to fight Gerechtigkeit?”

Argrave took her question in, examining it beyond a mere token confirmation. After a brief moment, he nodded. “I do.”

“You have proven your knowledge is real time and time again. I will likely keep following even after you reveal its source, so long as you stick to that goal.” She placed her hands on her knees neatly. “I have had my moments of doubt. I will not deny I considered leaving silently, one night. But the way you act… it is as though you are being chased.” She paused, then smiled as though an amusing thought came to her. “In a way, you and Galamon are rather similar. Both of you struggle desperately because you fear death.”

Argrave exhaled deeply. He felt like some of what was gnawing at his chest was fading.

“It is curious, though. You talk to people as if you know them, not merely knowing of them,” she emphasized. “And you travel through dangerous places like you’ve been there before. I considered if you had been there before. But then… you balk at some things within them. Death. Killing. It is as though you have read about these places… or studied about them. To be frank, the notion that Erlebnis had planted this knowledge in your head held credence, given these discrepancies.”

Argrave was taken aback by her insights. Once again, he confronted the difficulty of properly conveying what, exactly, had happened to him.

He opened his mouth, but before he could speak Anneliese interrupted.

“You did drag us into this. I am still deeply rattled by this place, both physically and mentally. I cannot say I hold no enmity—I am no saint. But there is a time and a place. I am exhausted. I wish to sleep. We can confront this squarely at another time.”

With things phrased like that, Argrave felt foolish.

Galamon put his helmet back on. “She’s right. You’re too… introspective,” he emphasized, “at pivotal times like these. Before Barden, in the Cavern of the Lily’s Death… instead of thinking, you should just sleep. I will keep watch.”

“Thanks,” Argrave said blankly as the elven vampire turned and went to the door, sitting on the wall and closing his eyes.

He had to admit, he had not been expecting the conversation to proceed in this manner. Perhaps they might yell or simply leave. Then again, maybe it wasn’t that I was expecting it… it was that I wanted something like that to happen. A little bit of punishment for my failure.

Argrave sighed. He felt deathly tired, but he wondered if sleep would even find him tonight.