“It’s a wonder you three fit at all,” Durran noted as they rolled down the road in a tightly packed and humble carriage.
Moonlight made its way through the thin decrepit cloth that covered the top of the carriage, illuminating a group crammed left-to-right on one side: Galamon, Argrave, and Anneliese respectively. Argrave was awkwardly holding his shoulder up so it was not jammed against Galamon’s plate armor, while Anneliese contentedly peered out at the city, comfortably nestled against an accommodating Argrave.
Opposite them was Durran and Elenore. Elenore wore a hood and a completely black mask to disguise herself. The bronze jewelry she wore didn’t need exposure to work—it could see through walls, even. As if taunting them, Durran put one of his legs up. There was ample room on his side. Argrave didn’t care one whit if Durran put his feet anywhere—after his talk with Elenore, she returned with a change of heart. That meritorious feat would not soon be forgotten.
“Better than driving,” said Galamon.
Argrave chucked quietly, briefly reminded of the days back when they travelled and fought with the Lily Lurkers. “That week was something. Remember running from that horde of the bugs?”
“No,” Elenore turned her head. “I don’t remember.”
“What, you don’t want to hear me reminisce?” Argrave’s smile was undampened. “Sourpuss,” he called her.
“I’m—” Elenore began fiercely but paused and took a deep breath. When she spoke next, her tone was businesslike once again. “Since you’ve been proven right already, can you at least tell me what we’ll find down here?”
“Vasquer,” Argrave told her plainly once again, then winced when the carriage bounced and Galamon’s pauldron dug into his shoulder. He was not especially worried about how this meeting might go—Nikoletta could converse with Vasquer, so he had some experience about this matter to rely on. Things might go differently… but the giant snake was not dangerous.
Argrave saw Elenore was annoyed by his simple answer, so he smiled and continued, “Don’t worry, things aren’t dangerous. No traps. I imagine Ruleo has been thorough in his cleansing—he always is. I think some of the older members of the vampiric coven will still be alive deeper in, but they’ll never leave their little sanctuaries. They have defensive measures in an old catacomb—poison. Your men will be stopped there, I guarantee it. I have something in mind for that.”
Elenore gestured towards him. “And what of Ruleo, your history with him?”
Argrave shrugged. “Has to be resolved someday. Put a stop to any conflict.”
“You essentially murdered his father,” Elenore said dryly.
Argrave scratched his chin. He always hated hearing about his old self. “I did,” he agreed.
“You want to stop any conflict? Stop his heart,” Elenore suggested to him.
“Not my way,” Argrave shook his head.
“Mmhmm. Yet you agree to having murdered his father. And these rumors of kinslaying are baseless, I suppose?” Elenore asked wryly.
Argrave bit his lip, realizing he’d been called out. “Induen’s dead because he tried to solve all of his problems by domination or destruction. He was cancer growing on the world.” Argrave turned his head to meet her eyes, but his gaze fell upon only her jet black mask “I think Ruleo can do good work if kept alive.”
Elenore kept her head facing forward. Maybe it was only Argrave’s imagination, but he thought she was observing him, judging him… maybe it was her reputation, but Argrave thought all of his secrets might be revealed in seconds.
“Ruleo will be kept away. I’ll send him to the palace to observe things up there before we enter,” Elenore concluded. “I think my answers come before this potential resolution. I hope I get them,” she said pointedly.
#####
After their lowkey carriage travel through the dead of night in Dirracha, they arrived at a place at the foot of the mountain leading up to the Dragon Palace. The mountain wall was steep here, forming a natural barrier from the higher reaches of the mountains. The mountain was not what was interesting—instead, they headed underground, wearing cowls and robes to hide their identities. Little use, given their size… but every bit helped.
Though Elenore’s servants were prepared to lead the princess down to Rancor’s conquered territory, she relied on Argrave to give her an escort to disguise the effects of the new jewelry that she had received. The princess seemed insistent to keep her partially recovered sense a secret for the time being—Argrave thought it reasonable, being that he had done much the same thing in the past. Keeping her cards close at hand even with her own loyal servants proved she was taking Argrave’s advice to be cautious seriously.
Rancor’s headquarters was a cleverly disguised place, seeming an ordinary gentleman’s club on the outside—as they walked through, Argrave saw it had all manner of high-class drinks, plenty of books for the average high-class aristocrat of the capital to read, and ample lounge space for all to socialize. An enchanted glass display meant to keep high-class liquor secure and displayed hid a stairway down into Rancor’s base of operations.
At the head of the stairway down, Galamon scratched at his nose behind the cowl. “Blood’s thick ahead. Mostly fresh, but some centuries old.”
“Well, no need for the commentary,” Argrave told Galamon, hoping that Elenore wouldn’t ask too many questions about why his companion would say such strange things.
It appeared that this place had some strange effect on Galamon just as the area housing the vampire coven below Nodremaid had: his tongue was looser than normal. Galamon nodded, catching Argrave’s point, and they began their trek into the underground.
Argrave kept his arm upright so that Elenore could hold on as he escorted her. The fact she remained silent unnerved him a bit, but he only remained arm up and available. She didn’t like touching people all that much, Argrave knew. He related and acted accommodatingly, even if that dislike of his had subsided the past few months.
The place was a grim and winding stone complex. It was well-maintained, though gruesomely decorated. If the upstairs had been the aristocrat’s gentleman’s club, this place was much the same: a gathering spot for well-to-do vampires with pompous attitudes harboring a desire for close relations with similarly well-to-do vampires. Instead of high-class liquor, they kept high-class people.
To say the least of the scene… Argrave was glad he had not arrived at this place first.
Elenore’s people were tending to the former captives of the vampires. The majority of them seemed mentally unstable, having been used as veritable drinking taps for years. Other, fresher victims showed relief and remorse. If only all could be so lucky.
Argrave studied Elenore for her reaction to the horrific happenings around them. Though her face was blocked by a cowl and mask, he noted her grip on his arm was a bit firmer—a subconscious reaction, perhaps, though of anger or unease he could not say. She would likely try and find a use for the people who were still sane. Elenore might ransom them back to their families, put others to work. The rest… Argrave could not say. Could they even rejoin society?
Making a mental note to ask Elenore her thoughts later, they proceeded deeper. Past the entrance, the more business-like operations were revealed—distilleries, alchemy labs, great collections of weaponry, and yet more cages. These rooms were littered with corpses, each and all badly mutilated. Vampires did not die easily, and their corpses reflected that. Having seen the earlier rooms and the broken people, he thought being butchered might be a bit too merciful.
“Turn right ahead,” Elenore whispered to Argrave.
“What?” Argrave turned his head. “But the path…”
“Do it,” she said. “And shut the door.”
Argrave obeyed. Durran was the last to enter shut the door behind him, and Elenore moved to sit on a crate. Fortunately, this room was only a storage room of some kind. Argrave wondered what this was about… until he saw her holding her stomach. She was nauseous, Argrave finally placed.
Her display of humanity shattered some of the image of the ruthless spymaster Argrave had in his head. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. He wanted to say something to help, thinking back to the things he’d endured at the druid’s camp. That was his first taste of gore. First taste of killing.
Before Argrave could act, Durran strode up and crouched before her as she held her stomach. He stared at her face, saying nothing.
“I’m fine,” Elenore broke the silence first.
“I can see that,” Durran nodded drolly.
“The long stairs were exhausting. I am unused to exercise,” she excused. Argrave thought she said it naturally enough it wasn’t a lie, but Anneliese tapped his foot with her own to indicate she had been lying.
“Exhausted, huh? I can carry you,” Durran offered.
Elenore lifted her head up. “I’m fine,” she repeated, making Durran shake his head and laugh.
They waited patiently for Elenore to get her composure once more, and then they left the room. There was one final steep stairway downwards. As though she had some sort of sixth sense, Elenore stalled like something tremendous lurked below. Their descent was slow and cautious. This final stairway was not as well-constructed as the others, and Elenore’s prosthetic feet offered no grip or control. It was a laborious and slow process, and Argrave’s arm started to grow tired of supporting her.
Yet soon enough… the stairway’s ceiling became low enough to see beyond, opening up into a gargantuan room lit by magic lamps on the wall. The majority of Argrave’s companions had vocal reactions to the sight before them.
“What? What is it?” Elenore said, panic lining her voice. Her jewelry offered only a complete perception of what was near—she could see nothing that was far away.
“It’s Vasquer,” Argrave said.
The golden serpent before them was the biggest living thing that Argrave had ever seen. Her shining head alone was the size of an adult elephant, and her body wound in a tightly compacted S-shape for miles and miles. A great mane of feathers began at the back of her head, lining all of her body. These feathers seemed like genuine gold. Her body was trapped, bound by thick steel rings linked to the ground and inscribed with enchantments. Each ring had about ten feet of distance away from the other. A particularly heavy ring kept her mouth contained, and all the others kept her bound nigh immutably. Precise, surgical cuts lined the golden body of the serpent, slipping in between the scales. There, blood was harvested.
A silence slowly settled over the place even with the presence of Elenore’s men. A faint stir echoed throughout the room, like a broom against the floor. After a while, Argrave placed what it was. Vasquer was breathing. When he realized that, his eyes met with the serpent’s. Like her scales, they were bright and golden… and he swore they saw him.
“Is it…” Elenore began. “Is it before us?”
“It is,” Argrave nodded.
He heard Elenore swallow. “Is it…”
“It’s safe,” Durran assured.
“We have to make contact,” Argrave told Elenore. “Then, we can speak to her. You’ll know what’s coming.”
He could feel Elenore shudder as she held his arm. Her grip tightened, and she said, “Let’s go. Let me see what you so desperately wanted to show me.”
Argrave looked ahead at the serpent. He had been so confident entering here… yet now, faced with the centuries-old beast, he found it a wholly different experience. As ever, Argrave only steeled his courage and advanced, the serpent’s breathing growing closer and closer. He was reminded that he, too, could speak with the ancient snake before him. After all, he shared the bond of blood.
And Vasquer might answer.
