Galamon stood on the docks of the seedy underground Smuggler’s Cove with Argrave, watching the slightly turbulent waters. Elaine had told them that the Veidimen were going to be coming by today—Argrave hoped to the pickup some Ebonice here. Considering Jast was a city of magic, it stood to reason the smugglers that come here would bring some for protection.
Argrave had taken some extra days to do that little display with Durran. He didn’t like idling about for too long, but he felt this matter was important. It came with a bright side—they managed to catch one of the Veidimen smuggler’s arrival times.
“I’m really glad I remembered the date of the collapse right,” Argrave confided with Galamon. “The whole thing could have gone extremely sour. Could’ve taken the guy out drinking, wasted time telling stupid stories. I always thought I had a bad memory. I guess I was very wrong. I just hope it works…” Argrave kicked the tip of his boots against the ground.
“He’ll be reliable,” Galamon nodded.
Argrave turned his head. “You think?”
“Had soldiers like him once,” Galamon crossed his arms. “Capable, but individualistic. Punishing turns them into troublemakers.” His teeth showed in the faintest of smiles. “Develop a rapport, show your own capability. That’s the path to respect.”
Argrave looked to Galamon, feeling a bit more confident now that he’d weighed in. He appreciated Anneliese and Galamon much more now that he’d dealt with a third party member who was not so compliant. Someday, he’d like to do something to show his appreciation.
A thanks is a nice place to start, Argrave mused. As he opened his mouth, Galamon shifted.
“Boat,” he said, tone low. “Big. Eight on it. A galley, probably, and rowed.”
Argrave dismissed his thoughts and focused on the matter at hand. Though it was not even in vision, that soon changed—first, Argrave saw the disturbed water, and then a galley came into view, just as Galamon had said. It was painted for night travel, barely visible against the black sky marking the horizon.
Soon enough, it rowed into view of the lights within the smugglers cove. The giant paddles sticking out of its side were retracted, pulled into the boat, and it slowly drifted. A dockworker—one of Elaine’s men—moved to receive the boat. Argrave and Galamon moved towards where it was slated to harbor.
The lookout of the boat spotted Galamon and Argrave, and her eyes stayed on them curiously. Soon enough, the boat was docked, tied by a thick, hearty rope. One of Elaine’s men came on and explained the situation. Argrave could barely hear his name, but perhaps it was his imagination.
Once the situation was explained, the lookout of the Veidimen stepped off her boat onto the docks and moved towards Galamon and Argrave speedily. Galamon tensed, fearing what was about to happen. Argrave remained relaxed. The Veidimen soon stood before them.
“Galamon… ‘the Great?’” the woman lookout asked, standing before him cautiously. She had a certain cheery intensity to her, the effect doubled by her bright blonde hair.
“Once,” he confirmed tensely.
“By Veid…” she exclaimed, putting her hand to her mouth. “I cannot believe it. I never thought…” she shook her head wildly, like she was meeting a celebrity of some kind. “My brother was an officer beneath you. Taretin—do you remember him?”
Galamon put one hand on the pommel of the Giantkillers at his belt. “Gold of hair, missing a ring finger? I do remember. A good man,” he said cautiously.
“Aye, that’s him,” she smiled excitedly. “I cannot wait to tell him of this.”
Galamon spared a glance at Argrave, perplexed. He only returned with a smile, amused at his friend’s bewilderment. Argrave knew well that Galamon was still revered by the Veidimen, despite both his vampirism and his exile. He was not welcome in Veiden, true enough, but the people still loved him fiercely.
“Then this…” the lookout continued, turning her gaze to Argrave. “You must be the First Finger of the Hand Reaching from the Abyss!”
“First Finger? What?” Argrave asked loudly, taken aback.
“You were the first human to set foot on Veiden, spurred by the god of knowledge himself,” she explained.
“Well…” Argrave adjusted his collar. “That’s right, I am,” he took his credit, feeling a bit proud.
“They call you a mad fool, fighting alone against the calamity,” she continued, causing Argrave’s pride to stop where it started.
Argrave clicked his tongue. “Hardly alone. But yes, I have that great misfortune.” He shook his head. “Not why we’re here, though. We were curious if you would be willing to part with some Ebonice.”
“Ebonice?” she looked between the two of them.
“I hope you’re not asking me to explain what that is,” Argrave said drolly.
“No, it’s—” she paused, her cheeriness dulled none by his dry comment. “Rowe’s instructions…”
“Come now. Galamon had Ebonice— he’s been using it responsibly. An unfortunate happening made it lost to us. This is for Galamon, not for me. An axe, preferably, or whatever you have on hand,” Argrave held his hands out, assuring the woman.
She looked up at Galamon. “I’ll see what I can get from the ship,” she concluded.
Galamon watched as she walked away. Argrave watched him. A little shaken, he looked at Argrave.
“They should hate me,” he said quietly, almost weakly.
“Should they?” Argrave questioned.
“Yes,” he said resolutely. “I am an abomination before Veid’s eyes.”
“Didn’t you deliver gold to your wife for decades? You had to know you had friends.”
“I had one steadfast friend—a fellow heretic, in truth, though guilty of lesser crimes than me,” Galamon nodded. “But… everyone? They must hate me. It is only right. I betrayed Veid.”
Argrave shook his head. “Everyone knows your circumstances. Everyone knows your tragedy. Even your wife—everyone respects her, treats her well, because of you.”
Galamon closed his eyes and took a long breath.
“I told you that you’d see them again one day. I wasn’t just saying things. I can cure you, Galamon. No, that’s not all—I will,” he vowed. “Considering all the ridiculously crazy stuff you’ve done for me, it’s the least I can do. And then, you’ll go back to Veid. Everyone will welcome you with open arms. You’ll meet your wife again, you’ll meet your son. Maybe I’ll be there,” he shrugged. “Maybe we’ll have tea. Could be fun.”
Galamon adjusted his helmet. “Maybe,” he conceded. “Would she…” Galamon trailed off.
Argrave didn’t know what he was going to say, but he could tell there was some weight to it. Argrave patted him on the shoulder. In the distance, the lookout stepped out of the galley’s deck, holding a black axe in her hand. Argrave smiled.
#####
Their last day in Jast was quite fruitful. Argrave and Anneliese travelled together into the Order of the Gray Owl to deposit some of the spell books they had finished. She was allowed entry with her badge denoting her as an Honorary Wizard of the Gray Owl. Argrave could carry more than a few books this time. They made an eye-catching pair, Argrave suspected, but they were unbothered. Doubtless anyone interested would know Argrave had been in Jast, unfortunately. An unavoidable tragedy.
Argrave had broadened his mastery of C-rank spells—there were few spells of the rank left to learn that he considered vital. He felt that he would be ready to tackle B-rank after they dealt with the plague, and Anneliese agreed with that assessment. His magic pool grew every day with his diligent practice—though without the debt of the Blessing of Supersession, slower than he’d like. That would be remedied in time.
On Anneliese’s end, her talent made itself abundantly known. Argrave had counted—she’d learned seventeen B-rank spells thus far. It was a ridiculous rate of progression. For instance, she learned the druidic spell [Progenitor], binding the three spellcasters in the team in a magical network. Anneliese benefited the most, gaining a sort of awareness regarding the two of them and their druidic bonds, but Argrave and Durran would notice if anyone was disconnected from the spell. Considering that typically happened if someone died, Argrave never cared to experience it. Beyond that, she added potent B-rank elemental spells to her arsenal, coupled with helpful illusion magic and potent healing spells.
After lightening their load of many books, Argrave and his company left early in the morning. Their pocket was a hell of a lot heavier after the cash from Elaine’s sale came in—maybe his comment about being the Bat had gotten under her skin, because she was very deliberate in making it known that he had received the full amount. He doubted that claiming to be the Bat would have significant consequences.
The visit was still a net loss in terms of pure capital—that was fine, naturally. Argrave felt well-prepared for the plague, and money was no object compared to safety. The Humorless Masks would negate the worst of things, the potions would further eliminate risk… and should someone genuinely grow infected, Galamon was here. His vampiric blood was Argrave’s last resort. The only person who knew that, though, was Anneliese.
With everything coming together, they finally began heading towards the northwest. Considering that tensions were high and roadblocks were in effect all over the south, they could not travel by carriage as they had before. They travelled by horseback and kept off the main roads—it had been ridiculously challenging to find good mounts. Forests were abundant in the southern territories, and those masked their movements well. Between the compass and the eye-catching landmarks in Vasquer, Argrave was confident he was leading his party in the right direction. Galamon, who’d been a mercenary in Vasquer for a little over a decade, contributed, too.
Their party grew ever closer to the heart of the ravaging plague… and Orion, the Holy Fool.
