The worst part about Elias being correct had to be the fact that he wasn’t smug about it, Argrave had come to realize. Were it anyone less decent, Argrave was sure they’d be rubbing his error in judgement in his face, and he’d be able to confront it squarely. A week had passed, and yet Argrave could still not feel unbothered by it.
House Jast and House Parbon had entered into an alliance. Elias would soon be returning to Parbon to get his father’s approval, alongside a contingent of mages sworn to Jast’s service. The true effects of that pact would surely be felt in the days to come as it spread throughout the land—Argrave would need to see if Elbraille did indeed fall in with the rebels as he and Anneliese had theorized. He had many doubts regarding whether or not things would proceed as planned, but he tried not to dwell on them. As Argrave had come to understand, many things were beyond his control.
Yet the uncertain future was not the sole thing disturbing Argrave. Elaine seemed content to never again bring up what she’d mentioned at the banquet, and Argrave was not exactly eager to broach the subject. It had made the business between Rowe and Elaine a good deal more awkward.
“Why are you sulking, boy?” Rowe’s voice broke Argrave’s thoughts. “Bothered you’re still dealing with my requests?”
Argrave, who was sitting in a chair, looked up to the aged elf. He had not especially liked Rowe in the game, mostly because he was very difficult to fight. Rowe alone was hard enough, but the fight was cheap—two on one, Rowe and his dragon, Crystal Wind. Now, after some time spent with him, Argrave started to view him as a senile old uncle with outdated ideals. It was difficult to dislike that.
They were in the Vyrbell manor. Argrave was waiting for Elaine to return from the bathroom so that things could proceed. Galamon was busy at the blacksmith, finalizing the reforging of his armor, and Anneliese remained at their inn, wrapped up in study.
Argrave rubbed his hands together. “How could I be bothered by that? It seemed like things were wrapping up. We’ve worked out an equitable illicit exchange of knowledge between Jast and Veiden. I’m sure your pride as an honorable Veidimen must be direly wounded.”
Rowe grinned. Despite his age, he had a rather clean set of teeth. “To think that Dras thought this would be difficult.”
Argrave frowned. “Meaning what?”
“Dras is a smart man. I don’t say this lightly.” Rowe tapped his staff against the ground, and then pulled up a chair. “I didn’t come here to tour your continent, looking at your ridiculous gaudy enchanted architecture,” Rowe waved his hand. “This deal was precisely the reason I came here.”
Argrave was perplexed. “What are you talking about? This is what you wanted all along?” Argrave leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms. “Why not just ask? Seems simpler.”
“Dras knew if I came to you, asking to set up contact between me and an influential person in this city, you’d wring us dry. Money. Books. Whatever other damnable things you can conjure in that dome of yours,” Rowe shook his head, lips curled. “So, Dras gave me some lines, instructed me to lead you to where he wanted, and… well, here we are.”
“Smart. Be stingy with the guy fighting against everyone’s enemy.” Argrave nodded drolly.
“You seem to misunderstand something.” Rowe leaned his staff against the wall, and then pulled his chair a touch closer towards Argrave. “To Dras, you are merely the one who made him aware of He Who Would Judge the Gods. You made all of Veiden aware of his coming.” Rowe shook his head. “To the Patriarch, and to Veiden, that is the end. You do not matter. If you die, our fight continues. Whatever you achieve is of no consequence. At best, you could facilitate an easier landing on Berendar.”
Argrave was a bit offended at first, but his reason shone through and he accepted Rowe’s words with a quiet nod.
“Even if you’ve a god at your back, Dras doesn’t see what you can reasonably achieve as one man. Despite the two formidable allies following you about like little ducklings, you’re not much to him.”
“He’s only one person, too. Why is he forgetting that?” Argrave shook his head, then examined something about the way Rowe was speaking. “You’re separating yourself from them,” Argrave noted. “You’re not saying ‘we,’ but ‘Dras’ or ‘Veiden.’”
“Unfortunately, I can’t disregard you. You seem to worm your way into important people’s ears with ease. Not just that, your mana grows too quickly, for reasons I cannot understand,” Rowe veritably grumbled. Argrave had not made the existence of the Amaranthine Heart known to any outside of Anneliese and Galamon, after all.
“When you aren’t doing something to benefit yourself or your companions, all you do is read spellbooks. At the very least, you have aptitude and drive. You remind me of others I’ve known. More talented than me, more hardworking than me. That girl with you, Anneliese, is one of those number.” Rowe gripped his staff. “They’re mostly dead, though. Some I watched die. Some I killed when they overreached. Don’t forget that. Talent and hard work cannot bring you everything.”
“Real heartwarming talk, Rowe,” Argrave said exasperatedly. “What’s your point?”
“Don’t get stupid. Don’t get cocksure,” he said sternly. “Had I the time, and were you less insufferable, I might teach you some things. As it stands, your jokes make my head ache and I’m to be very busy dealing with that red-haired one… what’s her name… Elaine.” He came to his feet, using his staff to lift himself up. “I’ll say it plainly. Keep as you are, but know your limits. One mistake, one misstep, and you might end all your progress. You can’t restart life, boy.”
Argrave blinked, taking in Rowe’s words. “This is a very strange way to express concern.”
“Whatever. I’ve said my piece. Live or die, it’s not my concern. It’s yours. We probably won’t speak again for some time. I understand most of your business is near done in Jast.”
“That’s—” Argrave was about to confirm, but the door opened and Elaine reentered.
“Apologies,” she said, adjusting her gray robes. “I believe we were finalizing things?” she questioned, tone completely business-like.
“Right,” Argrave agreed, standing up.
Argrave thought that it would be for the best if they continued like this, ignoring what had been said. At the very least, things could continue as they were.
#####
“Here are the first two outfits,” the tailor introduced obsequiously. She was a short woman with neatly cut short brown hair. “It was very pleasant to work with such strange dimensions. A tall, thin figure like yours… uncommon. As you requested, I left room in case your physique should change somewhat. The lady, too, was an enjoyable challenge,” she gestured to Anneliese.
Both of the outfits had been laid out across the table, likely because they had no mannequins that could reasonably fit either’s size. Argrave stepped forward, removing his gloves. Both leather outfits were a dark steely gray, lined with white at points subtly. Argrave could faintly feel the enchantments as he ran his hands across it.
“It consists of the base—leather boots, leather pants, and the leather shirt, long-sleeve. Overtop that, you may wear a heavier duster lined with fur on the inside, in case the weather should grow cold… or if more protection is needed. It has a hood to protect the head, too.”
The tailor stepped up beside Argrave as he examined their new gear. “Each is made of leather and fur from the Snowstrider Bears in the north—very durable leather, shrugging off blades by itself. The fur is soft and warm, and mostly lines the inside. The enchantments, too, should ward off much magic. The materials and the enchantment you chose work well in tandem, sir. My compliments,” the tailor nodded.
“Excellent work,” Argrave said, withdrawing his hand. “Anneliese?”
“It is… very overwhelming,” she said, staring at the outfit as though she were staring at a pile of gold. “Oh—I do not mean this negatively. I am simply in awe,” she quickly added.
The tailor smiled amiably. “The other set, then. This way, if you would.”
She led the two of them to another table. There, a black set waited. It was distinctly different in design from the other.
“Here it is. You mentioned that this would be for the Burnt Desert, sir, and so I prepared it with this in mind. I took some liberties that I hope will not be contrary to your preferences.” She grabbed some of the joints of it. “It’s made of the very breathable Krell leather from the distant jungles, so I felt as though some areas could be blocked off to prevent sand from entering the boots or other parts of the clothes.”
Argrave grabbed the sleeve of the outfit, weighing it. “Feels light.”
“Indeed, sir,” the tailor agreed. “A very lightweight set. Just the same as the other, it consists of boots, pants, a shirt, and a duster—the duster will likely be needed sorely in the Burnt Desert. I included some face wrappings, free of charge,” she picked them up. “The enchantments on this are split between protection against physical and magical attacks. All said, I think these outfits will serve you both for decades.”
“You should wait until you see what we have to do before you make that judgement,” Argrave said, and the tailor took it in jest and smiled. It was no joke, though.
Argrave reached into his pocket and pulled free a bag. “I’m very satisfied with your work. Here’s the remainder of the payment.”
The tailor held out her hands, receiving the bag. She opened it quickly. “Ah… my apologies, sir, and meaning no offense, but I would like to count these.”
“I understand. You’re right to be cautious,” Argrave dismissed. “Go ahead.”
“Thank you for your understanding, sir,” the tailor bowed, then stepped away elsewhere.
“So,” Argrave turned to Anneliese. “Thoughts?”
“They look rather hardy. The first one, in particular, would be right at home in Veiden.” She looked back to it. “I feel guilty that Galamon receives no such thing.”
“He’s getting a killer sword and a dagger. He wears armor, anyway. And if he gets hit, it matters less,” Argrave shrugged. Anneliese looked at him strangely. “Uhh… I’m not saying he’s less important, but only that… well, you know what I mean,” he shook his head. “He’s got a unique constitution. A regular tough guy, that one.”
“I understand,” she nodded. “Thank you very much for doing this. Even if you do not seem to expect it, you deserve gratitude.”
“Yeah, I know, I’m a saint,” Argrave waved his hands dismissively. “The other thing. Elaine gave me this, for you.” Argrave retrieved a silver badge and handed it to Anneliese.
“What is this?” she took it, moving it about. “An owl? I—oh. This is that matter you mentioned earlier,” she quickly put the pieces together.
“Congratulations, Anneliese, honorary Wizard of the Gray Owl. I will no longer be risking expulsion from the Order when I lend you the books from the library.” Argrave clapped quietly. “You can also enter the Order buildings without being suppressed by the myriad enchantments in the place.” Argrave tapped the badge gripped in her hands. “It’s a blank canvas now, but you should will some of your magic inside. It’ll mark you as the owner.”
She nodded and did so. The badge shone. She held it up in the air, pointing it at Argrave. “Yet another thing to thank you for.”
“Benefits me more than you. Like I said, no more risk of expulsion,” Argrave shook his head. “Well, we have but a few more things to do on my list.” Argrave retrieved the paper, from which many things had been crossed out. “We have the two enchanted rings to get, there’s Galamon’s enchanted weaponry… plus his enchanted arrows…” Argrave briefly looked up to Anneliese. “See, he got plenty…”
“And after your list is over and done?” Anneliese pressed.
Argrave lowered the paper, stashing it back away in his pockets. “We buy what we need for travel, and we leave.”
“Back to the road once more,” she nodded, gaze distant as though preparing herself for that.
Argrave shifted. “I won’t lie. Given your experience in the Thorngorge Citadel, the place we’re going to next may be… very difficult for you. The Low Way of the Rose abounds with creatures made by the same magely order. These ones aren’t impotent, though. These are well-oiled machines made by the Order that far outlive their masters.”
“Well-oiled?” she questioned. “Meaning…?”
“Er… they’re tried and tested. Effective, meaning dangerous. They were intended to be patrolling guards for the underground roadways bridging the Burnt Desert to the lands of Vasquer.” Argrave turned his head to see the tailor returning. “We’ve done a lot of preparation for this trek. Whether it’ll be enough… we’ll have to find out.”
“I will not see your journey stalled by my own issues,” Anneliese said resolutely. “Even if creatures resembling those at Thorngorge Citadel should frequent this Low Way, I will overcome it.”
“Don’t push yourself too much,” Argrave advised. He was ignorant of Anneliese’s eye roll at his hypocrisy. “We’ll have to associate with a group called the Stonepetal Sentinels. I’m not too sure about what to expect.”
