The Vessel, Yarra, placed her bare hand in the spring inside the cave. Argrave stood just behind her, watching this act with some degree of curiosity. They had retrieved their backpacks from outside. His Brumesingers were off in the cave, eating some of the still-lingering souls in this place. The fox-like little creatures actually ate with their eyes—not nearly as disgusting as it sounded, actually. Their gaze alone could devour souls that lacked attachment.
The water in the spring branched off at several portions, flowing into separate streams that slid in and out of the rocks, carving into the stone. Once Yarra’s hand met the water’s surface, though, the constant flow started to cease. The streams which had been flowing downhill started to reverse, crawling back up the stone to swell the spring.
As the spring swelled with returning water, the direction of its flow started to change. The water began to course towards the Vessel’s hand as though it was a hole beneath rather than a hand above. Despite the intense movement, once it met Yarra’s hand, it simply… ceased.
In a time no longer than a minute, the great spring quickly became a place of dry rock. Even when drained by a hose, the rock would never look this dry. Every bit of water became part of Yarra, the Vessel of Fellhorn.
“…it was a deep spring,” she finally said, rising to her feet. “Further portions will flow until they meet their end, but no more water will emerge. This visit proved to be of great value to Fellhorn and Cyprus both.”
“I’m glad,” Argrave said, lying. His triumph at gaining the Brumesingers was tempered by guilt. Perhaps he had been naïve to expect that Yarra would do nothing about the spring in this cave. But the guilt didn’t bog him down—it was a reminder to work harder until the time came to turn Sethia to chaos.
Argrave cast a supplementary spell of [Pack Leader], and the Brumesingers quickly scampered across the room, crawling up his leg and taking refuge in his duster. The creatures were light and small—something adapted for the desert, no doubt—and Argrave did not feel especially burdened by their presence.
Argrave pet one of them, then lifted his head and muttered to Anneliese, “Never pictured me as the ‘pocket dog’ type of guy.”
“Pocket dog?” she repeated.
“Explain it another time,” Argrave dismissed. “Yarra. A question for you.”
She waited expectantly, staring up at Argrave.
“How much time do you suppose we have before the Lords of Silver and Gold decide to make their move?”
“Lord Brium estimated, at shortest, a week. Other estimates are wildly varied, but the average of these predictions is about half a month,” she explained, arms crossed.
Argrave frowned. “Bit generous, no?”
Yarra shook her head. “If Aurum and Argent were so quick to plan an assault against Cyprus, one of three of the lords of Sethia existing for hundreds of years, then this city would never have survived as long as it has. Order and deliberateness are the prime things to expect from the other Lords.”
“Alright,” Argrave raised his hands, conceding. “But the day is nearly done, and I don’t fancy walking around a mountain at night. We’ll camp here tonight. Tomorrow… I have to earn the favor of the southron elves.”
The Vessel no longer held contempt towards Argrave, it seemed, for Yarra expressed neither disdain nor anticipation regarding his grandiose comments. Instead, she asked, “How do your ties to this land run so deep?”
Argrave smiled. “Been here more times than you know.”
“That answer only spawns yet more questions,” she noted, eyes narrowed.
“I’ve got a lot of depth,” Argrave spread his arms out, briefly revealing one of the Brumesingers before it sought cover once more. “I’m going to set up my place to sleep—been an exhausting day.”
Argrave walked away, but then paused, turning and pointing to Yarra. “Do you think you could watch the cave entrance, keep guard? If any tribals see it, they’ll notice the new cave and be upon us during the night. The three of us, we need to sleep… but you…” Argrave trailed off.
She stared up at him for a long while, and then slowly nodded. “I’ll keep watch.”
“That’s good. You’re quite reliable. I see why Brium chose you,” he flattered.
She said nothing, then turned, leaving the correction, “Lord Brium.”
Argrave bit his lip as she walked away, questioning if his repeated mistaken address might bring his loyalty to question. He shook his head and turned. He waited a suitably long time and then muttered, “Finally, some time to breathe.”
Anneliese held her Brumesinger in her hands, gently petting its giant ears. “It was a tiring day,” she confessed.
“And another one tomorrow,” Argrave continued. “Hell, tomorrow might be the most important day of all.”
“True,” said Galamon.
Argrave looked back to the entrance that Yarra had left from. Though Galamon shook his head, confirming she was no longer there, Argrave’s paranoia was not sated. He conjured a ward around them to be sure that she truly could not listen.
“You can talk now, Garm,” Argrave said.
“Gods. What have I to say?” Garm complained at once. “It baffles me how you people manage to reveal me so easily. And who ends up suffering?”
“Didn’t exactly hear any genius ideas about how to hide your presence,” Argrave rebutted at once, then sighed. “No, that’s not fair. But hell, I’m just as confused as you. The only times we were lax at all were on the roads.”
“It’s no matter. I have little to say, regardless,” Garm closed his eyes.
“Get your talking in now, I’d advise,” Argrave said. Despite that, Garm said nothing more.
“If you’ve nothing… As it stands, the southron elves are going to be our lynchpin for this entire thing,” Argrave outlined. “They’re going to be our contact between us and Durran, and they’re going to be the primary coordinator for this entire little betrayal of ours. As such… it’s very important that Yarra stays far, far away from any inkling of association with them.”
“You’ve said this enough,” Galamon said.
“But now we’ve had a day with the Vessel,” Argrave explained with his hands. “And we know better what we can do to stop any… unfortunate occurrences. After how easily Garm was discovered, we have to be extra, extra cautious.”
“I can agree with that,” Anneliese nodded. Her Brumesinger let out a whimper and shook, so she knelt and let it to the ground.
“As such, any conversation about plans that I have with the southron elves… I want it to be underneath a ward.” Argrave looked around. “I’m telling you so that the both of you can know how to direct the conversation.”
Galamon shook his head. “I’ll just stay quiet. You two work well enough as a pair.”
“You might not have that luxury,” Argrave turned his head. “The southron elves respect warriors, not mages.”
Galamon sighed. “I’m no orator, but I’ll do what I can.”
With a nod, Argrave concluded, “That’s all I can ask.”
#####
“He’s dead?” Elias asked, not fully able to believe it.
“There can be no doubt,” Helmuth confirmed, purple-eyed gaze staring at Elias with some measure of remorse.
Elias leaned back into his carriage’s seat, bringing his hand to his face. His uncle, Bruno of Parbon, had been slain. He felt a deep pit of emptiness within, like something had been torn out within him.
Bruno of Parbon, Elias’ uncle. The first real loss in this war. He had been the impetus of their rebellion, ostensibly, though his capture was merely the straw that broke the camel’s back. His father had been so certain that the king would not dare harm him—yet now, without trial, without any attempt at ransom, his uncle had been slaughtered.
“Sorry about your uncle,” Stain spoke quietly, sitting across from Elias on the carriage.
Elias didn’t know what to say to that. No, he didn’t want to say anything at all. He felt like the carriage he was in was far too compact and reached for the carriage door. It opened, the carriage still moving, and Elias alighted.
“Young lord…!” Helmuth called out, moving after Elias. Stain, too, jumped out.
“I just want to walk for a bit,” he said, stepping ahead quickly. Stain and Helmuth shared a glance, and then pursued the young lord of House Parbon, a fair distance behind so as not to disturb his thoughts.
Elias kept pace with the horses pulling the carriage, walking very quickly. Their escort of knights was much grander than even the one they had taken to Jast, and many of the knights looked to Elias, pityingly. Evidently, the young lord was the last to receive the news.
Elias could only watch the ground for the longest time, his mind whirling. It gave him an unfailing sense of dread. But then he grew angry at himself—this was the reality of war. People died. He should not be so shaken simply because his uncle had died.
With that bitter thought, Elias lifted his head, staring far ahead down the road. In the far distance, where the ground sunk into the earth, he saw the walls of Elbraille. Walls were meant to evoke a sense of safety, protection, Elias always thought—the Lion’s Gate just beside the Lionsun Castle had always brought a sense of wonder and safety to his chest.
Now, though, with death on his mind, he felt a sense of danger. Of entrapment. He was tempted to write it off as the idiotic thoughts brought about by recent grief, but he paused in the road.
“Young lord…” Helmuth spoke, saying nothing more beyond that. Any bitterness or hostility that had come between them at Jast had dissipated in this moment.
“The only danger in war isn’t sword and shield,” Elias said, staring at Elbraille.
“It’s true,” Helmuth agreed. “Most snakes kill with poison, not fang and claw.”
“And we’re about to enter Elbraille, to help him suppress this matter regarding unrest,” Elias turned his head. “I knew that I could expect to encounter some enemies here… now my gut’s screaming at me to turn around and go home. To safety. Never had a stronger feeling than this.”
“No shame in that,” commented Stain. “Instinct can save you.”
“Bravery is proceeding in spite of fear,” Elias shook his head. “But… I have to remember my uncle. I must be cautious to the point of paranoia. Not for my life… but for those beneath me.” He turned his head to Helmuth. “Tell the men that we won’t go to Elbraille today. We’ll camp out here today.”
Elias moved back to his carriage, climbing inside. Stain looked to Helmuth, a question in his gaze, but the old wizard merely nodded and moved to obey.
