Argrave blinked open his eyes, staring up at the white ceiling above. He took a deep breath. His lungs felt back to working order, finally. He started to move and found his body happy to obey. He sat up, his head clear and everything in working order. He touched his chest, putting on a pondering expression.
Anneliese looked at him from where she sat at a table, reading a book. “You slept well,” she remarked.
Argrave ran his hand over his face. “Yeah… I guess I did. I feel pretty good, actually.” He turned to look at her. “Had a dream. Went to this barbecue place I always used to go to. You were there. Then it got weird,” Argrave shook his head.
“And you felt this was worth sharing?” Garm remarked.
Argrave turned his gaze to him. He had many choice retorts in mind, but what Anneliese had told him yesterday still stuck with him. He clasped his hands together and asked cheerily, “How are you doing, Garm?”
Garm could not move, but Argrave veritably saw him shrink away. “I’m… fine,” he responded awkwardly.
“That’s good. Sorry we couldn’t take you with last night,” he apologized. “I hope you understand why, at least.”
“…it’s fine,” he dismissed, closing his eyes so as not to look at Argrave. “Bunch of people eating, smacking their lips—wouldn’t want to be there, anyway.”
“Even still,” Argrave shook his head, then stood, setting aside the woolen blanket and grabbing his duster off a chair. “Where’s—”
The door opened, and Galamon ducked through.
“Speak of the devil,” Argrave said, throwing his duster on quickly.
“The sandstorm has cleared,” Galamon reported, and then slammed the door especially loudly.
Argrave furrowed his brows. “That’s good news, no? Something wrong?”
“…nothing,” he answered after a time.
Argrave looked to Anneliese, who returned his glance with an unspoken confirmation that something was indeed wrong.
“Right,” Argrave continued. “Well… we should find that merchant Tatia referred me to… his name was Titus, I believe.”
Anneliese shut her book, then came to her feet. “I shall get my things together.”
#####
Though Argrave didn’t wish to press Galamon as to what was bothering him, believing it might have something to do with his vampirism, Argrave found later that they did not need to ask.
When they made it to the central square, Argrave noticed there was a particularly large crowd around there. His first instinct was to avoid it, but curiosity drove him to see what they were gathering around. When he grew close alongside Anneliese and Galamon, he found it easy to look over the crowd of people ahead.
Chairs had been arranged in a circle around the fountain statue depicting Fellhorn. Argrave saw strange dark lumps on them but couldn’t immediately recognize what they were. They were many, numbering near fifty. He stared for a while, failing to discern what they might be. Gradually, though, he made sense of it.
They were corpses.
They looked like husks, in truth—the skin had become so dry it cracked at every point, curling inwards to reveal what lay within. Their mouths had not a hint of saliva, and they had shrunk so small that they could not weigh more than fifty pounds, even the largest of them. The flesh fell away at points, revealing petrified organs or bone. Wind carried bits of them away as little more than dust.
It smelled of nothing. Argrave supposed that without liquids in them, it had no reason to smell of anything. It was a vaguely disconcerting sight, but Argrave had been through the Low Way, and was not as fazed as badly as he might’ve been months ago.
He looked to Galamon, understanding what had made the elven vampire bothered so.
“They were executing them, earlier,” Galamon said. “I see, now, why you warned us against touching others’ skin.”
Argrave said nothing, turning his head back. He intended to look for only a bit longer and then move on, but he spotted someone standing by the chairs, and they locked eyes.
Mistress Tatia smiled when she saw Argrave and moved forward. The crowd parted for her, and she came to stand before Argrave.
“Hello!” she greeted happily. “A pleasant surprise, seeing you again.”
Her tone was jarring in the wake of the husks on the chairs, but Argrave managed to return her greeting, saying, “Yes, hello, Mistress Tatia.”
“Titus will depart soon, I suspect. He sells much of the dye we use for clothes, so we interact on occasion,” she noted, touching her purple dress. “You were on your way to meet him, I suspect?”
“That’s right,” Argrave answered quietly with a nod. He looked past her. “What happened here?”
“This?” she looked around, as though it wasn’t immediately obvious what he was referring to. “Ah. The jails were beginning to grow full. I decided to clear them out, stop procrastinating. A terrible habit of mine, you see,” Tatia laughed lightly.
“What did these people do?” Argrave questioned.
“You should know it well,” Mistress Tatia returned. “Some stole, some used magic within the city, some committed violence, some refused to pay their taxes, some dared to blaspheme against our Fellhorn… yet most tried to provide subsistence to those outside the city… the tribals. Many convert falsely, and then try to subvert our authority.” She placed a hand on her hip and turned around.
“When we welcome someone into our cities, we Vessels…” she strode up to someone in a crowd and tore them from the crowd—a red-robed woman. “…make them take Fellhorn unto themselves.” She pulled back the person’s sleeve, revealing a cross with four x’s on the tips etched in a strange, shimmering blue ink. It looked like the person had sapphires in their skin, almost, but Argrave knew it was magic.
Mistress Tatia released the person, who quickly cradled her wrist and returned to the crowd. “We know when they transgress. Yet if they are not reminded of this… they think we do not.” She stepped back up to Argrave. “Everyone needs a reminder, wouldn’t you agree?”
Argrave bit his lip for a second, not answering. Then, he slowly nodded. “I think I understand.”
“Good,” she nodded. “When you return from Argent, I would love to host you once more. Your stories were quite fascinating.”
“Maybe so,” Argrave responded in non-committal language.
“I look forward to it,” she beamed, blue eyes shimmering against the dawn light. “Good luck on your journey. Welcome to the Burnt Desert—and please, make the most of your time here.”
Mistress Tatia walked away.
Argrave swallowed his saliva, especially conscious of the fact he had spit to swallow as he stared at those husks. He turned back to Anneliese and Galamon, and said, “Come on. Let’s get going.”
#####
Argrave sat atop a velvet cushion, a book in his hand. He couldn’t read it, though. He simply stared out across the dunes of black sand, watching the road pass them by. Their caravan was hauled by four dark brown camels over the sole stone road of the Burnt Desert. They wouldn’t be able to ride this thing the whole way, but it would take them far enough.
“Comfortable caravan,” Argrave noted, turning away from the black sand.
Galamon nodded. Anneliese stayed silent, staring out.
“Look. I think their message was pretty clear,” Argrave looked back out across the dunes. “Might’ve been for her citizens, but doubtless Tatia sought to give that message to us, too.”
“Indeed,” Anneliese agreed. “Fall in line, obey, and we will be treated fairly, even luxuriously. Transgress but slightly, and no mercy will be shown.”
“And can you do that? Both of you?” Argrave sought to confirm.
“Yes,” Galamon answered without hesitating.
Anneliese did not answer so quickly.
Garm, though, added, “I have no sympathy for any of them. They’re fools, unable to accept they’ve lost, unable to embrace the winners. The terms are fair, if merciless. Break no laws. Submit to Fellhorn. End of story.”
Argrave glanced at Garm, acknowledging the point of his cynicism. “Well, be that as it may, I can’t imagine I’d like to live under these people. Delphasium is probably the best among them to live. The deeper we go, the worse it’ll get.”
“It would be difficult to remove them from power. They are deeply entrenched, supported by legions of people, and are possessed of a strange magic beyond magic.” Anneliese tapped her finger against her temple as she thought. “And at the end of it, we receive the gratitude of a people who refuse to ask for help, who refuse to ask for aid. I cannot suspect they would express their gratitude easily… nor are they in a position to do so. Indeed, the Vessels may be more likely to offer aid against Gerechtigkeit than any of the southern tribals.”
Argrave furrowed his brows, not expecting this sort of talk from Anneliese.
“I see why you want to stay out of this,” Anneliese looked to Argrave. “And I think that it’s the smart thing to do. We should stay this course. Once you become Black Blooded, we will leave this place.”
“I’m… pleased you agree,” Argrave said uneasily.
“But I am not especially fond of it,” she said, voice distant. “I liked it here. There is an austere beauty to these dunes. I dislike seeing it ruled by those who could not care about its future, its people.”
“Yeah.” Argrave replied with one nod. “But part of me… wonders if I’m losing a bit of the big picture.”
“How so?” Anneliese came back to attention.
“We are incapable of changing things here,” Argrave said plainly. “This isn’t a people struggling against the Vessels. The Vessels have already won. They control the Burnt Desert. There is no ‘other faction.’” Argrave took a breath and exhaled. “And yet… well, who is to say we can’t foster a seed of resistance? Who’s to say this won’t happen at Argent? I did mention I had to cause a little trouble, after all.”
Anneliese tilted her head. “You mean to say… someday, when the world has settled, we will return. And with a different intent in mind?”
Argrave smiled. “Could be.”
“Then I shall hold you to that, Argrave,” she stared at him. “I shall hold my tongue and enjoy of this place what I can.”
“Mmm, yes, you’re all saints,” mocked Garm. “Save the poor, downtrodden tribals. Protect them from themselves. Please,” he scoffed. “The world doesn’t run like that.”
Argrave turned to him. “And how does it run?” he patiently indulged.
“It runs on selfishness. Everyone’s self-serving. If the roles were reversed, these southern tribals would be trampling on the Vessels like dogs.”
Argrave laughed. “Great theory… but funnily enough, the Vessels came to power because the southern tribals welcomed them with open arms. Over the years, though, the Vessels grew in number and monopolized the resources, subverting tribes with their own towns and cities.”
Garm looked up at Argrave. “All that proves is that selflessness just gets you nothing but misery.”
“I suppose I’ll have to find out,” Argrave mused, his mood undampened by Garm’s unrelenting pessimism.
“It’ll be too late for you by the time you find out,” Garm said bitterly.
Argrave looked at the severed head. “You sound miffed. You want to look out the window?” he questioned.
“What?” Garm looked at Argrave incredulously. “And let me be spotted?”
“C’mon,” insisted Argrave. “It’s gotta be boring, staring at a velvet cushion all day. Here.”
“What are you—” Garm trailed off as Argrave picked him up and positioned him just right to see the outside.
“There,” Argrave finished.
“This isn’t necessary,” Garm said monotonously. “It’s unnecessary, in fact.”
“Sure, sure,” Argrave agreed. He looked to Anneliese, retrieving one of his books off the floor. He smiled at her. She returned it. They both looked down at their books, and the ride passed by in silence.
