CHAPTER 144: RIDE AND DIE

“You want to give us a ride?” Argrave questioned Durran.

“I do,” Durran nodded, spinning his wyvern scale helmet about in his hands. Up close, the armor was quite impressive—a coat of gray lamellar wyvern scales stretching down to the knees, held together with studs of what looked to be brass. His glaive was made of wyvern bone. It was done in the style of the southron elves. All-in-all, impressively armed.

Argrave crossed his arms. “Why?”

“You probably saved me from Titus,” Durran answered at once. “I owe you a debt.”

“I’d expect you to default on the first payment of any debt you got,” Argrave shook his head. “And it’s not ‘probably.’ I did save you from Titus.”

Durran laughed. “You act like you know so much about me. It’s a bit perplexing.”

Argrave stared at Durran. The man was obviously in better spirits—he couldn’t help but spare a glance at Garm.

“I know an uncomfortable amount about you,” Argrave nodded. “Your favorite color is gray… particularly when supported with burgundy.”

“Maybe that’s why I’m coming,” Durran suggested.

“Because your favorite color—”

“No, because you know so much about me,” Durran interrupted.

“There is something I don’t know,” Argrave confessed. “Your father. You said he was dying?”

“Well… he improved in time to dish out some spiteful, life-ruining nonsense, but yeah,” Durran nodded.

Argrave looked to Anneliese, and she nodded, confirming he was being honest. Argrave turned away. Did he just catch an illness randomly? It’s certainly possible… but it could be foul play, too. Argrave juggled the idea, but then realized, Does it really matter, now?

“How in the world do you know so much about me while being ignorant of common knowledge within the tribe?” Durran stepped forth back into Argrave’s sight.

“For reasons you couldn’t comprehend or codify,” Argrave snapped back to attention. “Listen… the place we’re going is very out-of-the-way.”

“That’s fine. It’ll be nice to have a last long voyage with my girl,” Durran looked to where his wyvern was. Some of the southron elf children played with the creature cautiously. “She isn’t mine. She’s the tribe’s. She’ll go back to the tribe when I set her loose. She’s still young, and she needs to have children. Not many females left living after the battle.”

“Finders, keepers, maybe?” Argrave suggested.

Durran was confused for a second, but he placed the meaning after a time and laughed lightly. “She’s a social one. She won’t last long away from the others.”

Argrave sighed. “Maybe you can get another, then, bring it too. I’ll take it.”

“That’d be a sight, watching you try and fly,” Durran turned his head back. “But you still never answered me.”

Argrave looked over to Garm. “Ought to have him talk to people more,” he noted. “Happy to accept free transportation. I’ll need to get things together, secure them on the back of your wyvern… then we can get going.”

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Durran’s wyvern hovered above endless blackness. They were only a few hours past sunrise, and the suns had not yet come over some distant mountains, keeping the black desert illuminated only by the pale blue light of dawn.

Even if the place had been better illuminated, the only thing they’d be able to see better would be the eternal black dunes of sand. Not a bit of civilization could be seen in any direction, even from their significant height. To be lost in this place was a death sentence, it seemed—nothing lived here. Even the Brandbacks, titanic predators, did not lure prey in this place.

“You sure you aren’t taking me somewhere secluded to do me in?” Durran shouted over the winds.

“Given how many people hate you now, I don’t think seclusion would be necessary,” Argrave returned.

The great wyvern continued to glide onwards, Argrave confidently directing Durran where he knew to go. He used the mountains and the compass as his guide. Beside him, he saw Anneliese struggling with her hair—one of her braids had come loose, and strands of hair battered about everywhere. Argrave leaned in, shielding her from the wind, giving her time sufficient to correct the issue.

“Thanks,” she said. “Perhaps I should cut it. Given how much we travel, it only causes problems.”

“That would be a tragedy,” Argrave stated. “It looks too good to cut. Though, your choice, naturally.”

Anneliese tilted her head but said nothing in response. Argrave turned his attention back towards the dunes of sand.

Now that they approached Argrave’s final goal, he finally felt the nervousness set in. He had been obsessively checking everything to be sure that nothing was amiss—the Wraith’s Heart was fine, the Amaranthine Heart still functioned, the Unsullied Knife still retained its power, and the Crimson Wellspring had not a single crack.

Still, becoming Black Blooded as Argrave had a thousand times more weight than it had in ‘Heroes of Berendar.’ Failure and success both promised to be monumentally emotional things. If Argrave failed, now… to say the least, the prospect made falling off this wyvern seem not so bad.

But Argrave was not worried about failure. The Alchemist might be temperamental… but he would be as eager to perform this surgery as Argrave would be to receive it. Such was his nature. Argrave was more worried about whether or not his companions would get through this unscathed.

Argrave spotted a shift in the constant sand dunes and tapped Durran’s shoulder. “There!” he pointed. “Where the color changes.”

“The lighter shades of black?” Durran questioned, and Argrave nodded. “No, those are just quicksand pits. Must be somewhere else.”

“That’s the spot, Durran,” Argrave insisted.

Durran turned his head back, staring Argrave down, but then eventually swallowed and nodded. As they neared the pits of quicksand, the wyvern started to slowly descended, spurred downwards by its rider. They circled around, and Durran eventually landed atop a dune of sand a fair distance away. The landing scattered sand everywhere.

“Whew,” Argrave breathed out, then stepped off the wyverns. His legs, weak from the ride, collapsed beneath him, and he slid down the dune a bit in a sitting position. His Brumesingers abandoned him immediately, jumping to safety. Once Argrave came to a stop, he overlooked a vast plain of deadly quicksand.

Well, somewhat deadly quicksand. As long as one wasn’t stupid, they could easily get out, even if they landed in the center of one of the pits. It wasn’t meant to catch humans—it was meant for animals. Indeed, meant. They’d been constructed here, not formed naturally.

Argrave’s Brumesingers came to his side, their golden eyes glowing. Apparently, they had much to eat here—plenty of souls drifting about, ready for feasting. Anneliese stepped up to Argrave, her own fox held in her hands. It quickly jumped down from her arms and watched the pits ahead, eating souls in silence with its kin.

“Desolate,” Anneliese noted.

“Depressing,” Galamon confirmed.

“Dastardly,” Argrave finished the alliteration with an ill-fitting word, then sighed. “Now I’m thinking about Brium, that poet creep…”

“This is the treacherous path you mentioned?” Durran walked up, too, still holding his wyvern’s reins as he walked. “Hope there’s something I’m missing.”

“Nope. Pick a hole, any hole… actually, that hole, specifically,” Argrave pointed one out. “I’ve taken this path too many times to forget it.”

“You want us to jump into quicksand?” Durran frowned.

“’Us?’” Argrave repeated. “I thought you wanted to give a ride, nothing more.”

“I still want answers,” Durran shook his head. “If I have to tag along until I get them, so be it.”

Argrave frowned, suspicious of that answer. Durran was whimsical, but not to this degree. He had a purpose, certainly. He wondered what Garm had said to the man—it had to be something related to that. Argrave wished to simply ask, but he feared he might make Garm feel distrusted when things seemed to be improving.

Still, Argrave knew he didn’t have the luxury to relax his vigilance—especially not when he was at the cusp of becoming Black Blooded. Argrave liked Durran. He wouldn’t mind having him tag along, temporarily or permanently. He was talented, diligent… but his loyalty was untested.Text © owned by .

I’ll have a word with Anneliese and Galamon, have them keep a closer eye on Durran, he decided with some measure of guilt. He felt paranoid. He wasn’t about to let guilt ruin months of blood, sweat, and tears, though. He wanted to trust Garm, but their own experience had proven he was capable of deception. Durran was no saint, either.

“Well, I don’t exactly loathe your presence. If you wish to follow, follow.” Argrave rose to his feet with a grunt. “But maybe I’m just a madman about to jump into quicksand. Ought to consider that.”

“Some say genius and insanity are two sides of the same coin,” Garm commented. “Fortunately, you’re none too genius, and by the law of inverse… I’d say we’re safe.”

“I see Garm has volunteered to enter first,” Argrave said with a bitter smile as he walked back up to the wyvern.

As Argrave tussled with his backpack, unstrapping it from the wyvern’s back, Durran walked up to Argrave.

“Hold on a minute,” Durran said cautiously. “You’re just going to… jump in? I mean, the thing probably isn’t deep enough to even take you. You’ll just get stuck. What is it you’re expecting to happen?”

“There’s a path below,” Argrave explained.

“A path,” Durran repeated.

“Yeah,” Argrave nodded, then pulled his backpack free. He put it around his shoulders. Anneliese and Galamon moved to do the same, retrieving Garm and their own luggage.

“Alright, alright,” Durran nodded. “Alright, I’ve got some rope. We can make a stake, stick it into the sand. Should be enough to pull us out, in case things go awry…” he mused, planning.

“You can if you want,” Argrave nodded. “But if you take too long… I won’t be able to guide you. Place isn’t exactly intuitive, though, I warn you.”

Durran frowned. “What do you mean, ‘not intuitive?’”

“Well…” Argrave began, then waved his hand. “All these questions,” he complained. “You talk more than me.”

Durran held his hands out, offended. “She asks innumerable questions—you don’t seem to have a problem with that!” he gestured to Anneliese.

“She’s an exception,” Argrave shook his head, then walked down towards the quicksand. When he reached the pit he’d pointed to earlier, his step didn’t even slow before he plunged his foot in, wading deeper. Already, he sunk. His two companions were just as unhesitating in entering after him. Even their pets, the light gray creatures resembling fennec foxes, clung to them as they sunk.

“Gods above…” muttered Durran. He was stunned for a minute, then he started to laugh. “Never thought I’d see the day someone made me look reasonable.”

He removed the reins from his wyvern and cast them to the ground. He removed the saddle, too, and threw it aside.

“Live well, girl. Hope my people treat you better than they did me,” he said as he put his head to its face. With a deep breath to gather courage, he turned. Argrave was already leg-deep into the pit.

Durran took slow, steady steps towards the pit. If it were a normal pit, he suspected they’d already have stopped sinking by now—instead, they kept drifting lower.

“You coming?” Argrave called out, chest covered. “Water’s nice and warm.”

“You have no idea how much I want to pass,” Durran shook his head, but eventually stepped out.

Argrave lifted his head up as the pit covered his neck. “Joke’s on you. This was all an elaborate murder-suicide,” he left those words before he inhaled, filling his lungs.

Durran stared as Argrave’s face vanished. He started to laugh once more.

“This guy…” Durran muttered as he watched his body sink ever lower. Eventually, the pressure around his feet lessened. He could move his feet freely, he found. Despite that assurance, he couldn’t hold back the fear from the uncertainty. His wyvern moved closer to the quicksand pit, watching Durran disappear.

As his face vanished, Durran heard the roar of his wyvern—maybe it thought he’d died. Durran was half-convinced he did. Eventually, though, he kept descending, and dropped down.

Durran landed on his feet. He was surrounded by darkness. A light soon filled the room. They seemed to be incased in a cube of obsidian. On each side of the room, there was a portal containing a mass of moving sand—instead of downwards, though, it flowed sideways.

“I’m really wondering what Garm told you that you’d genuinely follow,” Argrave spoke to Durran.

“What is this place?” Durran looked around, awed.

“A path,” Argrave repeated his earlier claim. “What, that’s not obvious?” he said drolly with a smile on his face, then lowered his gaze to his compass. “Alright… follow me, people.”