Chapter 249: Relic Regalia

Argrave and Galamon emerged from the thinning beige smoke. Judging by the reactions they received by Elenore’s gathered men, they struck quite a harrowing pair. He saw Elenore beside his companions—the princess crossed her arms in uncertainty, for she could not perceive things a long distance away. Argrave walked confidently forward.

“Mages! Gather,” Argrave commanded. “The pump of poison in the air has stopped. The vampires are preparing for our assault—we dispel the smoke, then press through to put a stake in the chest of these foul bloodsuckers before they can prepare!”

Elenore had already given Argrave significant authority, and his words themselves had a commanding atmosphere. Her people rushed to obey, the mages taking the head of the pack to dispel the smoke. Argrave stepped up to Elenore.

“Things went well,” Argrave told her, watching the mages as they worked. “I’ll take the helm for the second assault. They’ve grouped up—perfect for me.”

Elenore studied him, evidently unsettled. “You… encountered trouble?”

“Not enough,” Argrave commented. “Anneliese, Durran. You’re ready, I trust?”

Durran hefted his glaive. “Naturally.”

Anneliese did not answer, but instead came to his side to tend to the wounds he’d left untreated wordlessly. Argrave smiled at her.

“Perhaps you should hang back, let me handle things from here,” Elenore suggested.

“You’ve done enough. Barely let me participate last battle. Besides, they have spellcasters in their number. I still have something to show you,” Argrave grinned broadly.

Anneliese gave him a sideward glance for his words but did not protest.

“The smoke clears!” one of Elenore’s men shouted.

Spurred to action, Argrave turned on his heels. “Won’t be long, now. I’m looking forward to getting to brass tacks when we come back,” Argrave left her, then ran speedily to take the vanguard as he’d promised.

“Galamon—give Durran the axe. Durran—here,” Argrave removed his glove and his ring, then gave the thing to him. “You cast wards to defend. I imagine they’ll try something they already have—holding a chokepoint, like a corridor. I’ll break past, but I need you to defend me.”

“…right,” Durran acknowledged, then turned to Elenore. “Hey. Keep this safe, will you? I appreciate it,” he thanked before her answer, then tossed his glaive towards her.

“That’s—!” she shouted, alarmed, yet caught the glaive all the same. “That was dangerous!” she admonished him.

“Hey, come on. Look after it well and you’ll go from me being okay with you to me liking you. Big step up!” Durran laughed.

“I hope you…!” Elenore began to curse him but deflated in half a second. “Treat this task seriously, lest you perish.”

Durran waved her goodbye, and then with his new equipment, advanced alongside them.

“Ladies, gentleman!” Argrave shouted with bravado as he stepped past Elenore’s band, his companions at his heel. “Your role is simple—cleaning duty. Now, I know you might hate cleaning… but this time is a bit different than scrubbing floors. I’ll kill everything that moves, and you catch anything I miss.”

Argrave felt he was tempting fate with such arrogance. Argrave knew people, though. A confident, arrogant leader who’d already proven himself in battle was a great boost for morale. They’d seen him emerge from a poison waste covered in gore—if that was not a proven fighter, what was?

And so, with fighters of renewed confidence at his heel, Argrave once again dove into the catacombs. The smoke had thinned tremendously already, and the mages still worked to dispel it. Despite that, all the warriors bore cloth wraps over their face for added protection. For a long while, only the sounds of their footfalls echoed through the stone halls… yet after a time, they spotted vampires. They were scouts setting traps, and once their warband was spotted, they retreated.

“How kind. They lead us to where they’re gathered,” Argrave said sarcastically.

Galamon gave Argrave a signal—a great bulk of them were gathered ahead. Argrave triggered his Blessing of Supersession and began creating [Electric Eels]. Galamon held his Giantkillers at the ready, prepared to protect from errant lightning cast by distant spellcasters. At first, he heard surprise behind him, and nothing more… yet as the eels became dozens, hundreds, there were disbelieving murmurs. He heard his newfound sobriquet muttered: Kinslaying Serpent.

They passed by where Argrave and Galamon had halted their initial assault and entered a long and wide corridor lined with stone sarcophagi. Lightning attack spells bridged the gap almost at once, yet Galamon caught them with the blue lightning rod daggers in his hand. Long passages were the best place to restrict large group of foes, and their foes intended to hold this spot so as not to lose an advantage… but they’d done Argrave an unwitting favor.

The spells changed form, soon enough—spells of other elements came, coupled with blood magic. Anneliese and Durran took the role of defense.

“Stop here,” Argrave commanded the men behind him. “Wait for my signal to advance.”

The men complied, fearing the barrage of magic ahead of them. Their party advanced steadily into the constant barrage, dispelling and conjuring wards in short bursts of movements. He kept the eels at their back, and they illuminated all ahead with light blue light. He was sure the spectacle would appear as though they were standing in front of the sun—to dark-accustomed vampires, it would be blinding.

Argrave stopped midway through the corridor, unable to press further without dispelling their wards. Argrave held his hand out, and two thick strands of blood took the shape of a recurve bow. It was as tall as Argrave, and he laid one point against the ground. In his other hand, an arrow of blood took shape. He nocked the arrow.

Echoing impacts struck their wards again and again, less accurate on account of the wall of blinding light behind them. Argrave spotted a few mages possibly of A-rank in their number… but given the price of failure, each of their foes would use an A-rank spell as a last resort. Prevailing magic wisdom dictated spells were to be conserved and used at the right opportunity.

Prevailing magic wisdom didn’t account for the Blessing of Supersession.

Argrave’s arrow grew larger, and his vision danced as he put yet more blood into the attack. Once he was content it would be able to shatter any defense the foe might form, A-rank or no, he spurred the electric eels at his back past him. They swarmed like a beam of unimaginable power, hissing and sparking past Argrave’s ear. They were so many, he could see nothing beyond them… yet once they reached a certain threshold, Argrave released [Bloodfeud Bow].

The area ahead became naught but chaos and lights. [Bloodfeud Bow] was used to shatter any wards, allowing passage for the [Electric Eels] to kill en masse. Confident in this theory, Argrave started to walk forward before the scene had settled, using what little time remained in the Blessing of Supersession to spawn more electric eels at his side. He felt a little woozy after using the blood magic, but he was certain he’d be fine.

Sparking electricity danced along the walls and the ceiling from the attack of eels. Most of what remained of the enemy could only be described as charred corpses. A great gash of overturned stone lined the floor and wall, until his arrow of blood hit a stop and dug ten feet through. What few living dead remained were in no condition to mount a serious defense, and even the unharmed fled in a panic deeper into the tomb.

Argrave turned and called, “Cleaners! Advance!”

The spellcasters had congregated here to stall them in the corridor and had paid the price. Elenore’s men could handle what few remained. If they couldn’t… well, even now, near a hundred eels swirled above Argrave’s head, and Anneliese and Durran were unspent. He was sure he would think of something.

#####

“Seems the last of them locked themselves inside here,” Argrave said, looking around. He knelt down, examining the lock to the vault before them. “Doesn’t look like part of the construction of this tomb. Some kind of puzzle lock.”

Argrave stayed staring at it. He was sure that Ruleo would be able to handle something like this… but that would take time, and he wouldn’t be able to be present for the opening.

“…sir,” one of Elenore’s men said respectfully. “Jerard might be able to handle this. I’m… I’m not sure where he is, sir, but things have nearly finished up. Sir,” he lowered his head, out of both fear and deference.

Argrave rose back up to his feet. “The two of you—go looking for him. Stick to areas that’ve already been cleared, and be careful,” he directed them seriously.

When the two of them departed, Argrave was alone with his companions once again. Looking around, one could see the bodies of vampires everywhere. Elenore’s men were quite skilled. He would have to ask her how she assembled so many talented and reliable people. She had never elaborated on that in ‘Heroes of Berendar.’ He supposed there were a lot of questions he had that could finally be answered.

“I can feel it,” Galamon said abruptly.

Argrave turned to him. “What?”

“A tugging. At the heart, the mind.” Galamon rubbed his breastplate of dark gray steel. “At… the beast. The relic is ahead. It’s exactly as you said.”

Realizing he was referring to his vampiric nature, Argrave looked around to be sure none were listening. “Well, now’s not the time to let others know about that. I’ll handle it.”

Galamon’s white eyes refocused, as though he had been drawn from a haze. He shook his head and slapped himself in the face, to Argrave’s surprise.

“I’m fine,” he finally said.

Argrave looked to Anneliese and Durran, giving both a silent signal to keep an eye on Galamon. They waited by the vault. Not much time passed before the two he’d directed to find this locksmith returned. They were out of breath, obviously not wishing to keep Argrave waiting.

“You’re Jerard?” Argrave asked.

“Yes. Yes, sir,” the man lowered his head.

“You know locks?” Argrave crossed his arms.

“I do, sir.”

“You know enchanted locks?” Argrave pressed once again.Text © owned by .

“Yes sir,” Jerard nodded confidently.

“Take a look,” Argrave gestured.

Jerard shifted on his feet, then slowly walked up to the lock. He hunched over, examining it, then knelt to get a better view of it. After a time, he reached into his satchel wordlessly, pulling free some bizarre-looking instruments. Judging by the crude nature of the tools, they were handmade. That alone was promising.

He watched Jerard as he worked. Though he caught a few sideways glances, once the man began to get involved in the work, he could not stop. He started craning his head, muttering observations. After a time, he drew out more tools from his satchel, some of them with enchantments gleaming on them. After his preparations, he stuck two thin metal tools into the hole.

He counted numbers up, then paused after a certain point, shifted the tools, and started again. Anneliese knelt down to see what he was actually doing. She seemed ready to ask a question, yet then a louder click echoed, and Jerard rose to his feet.

“Opened,” he declared.

Before Argrave could give a command, Galamon grabbed the thick handle to the vault door and turned it. He yanked it open, and Argrave had to jump aside to avoid being slammed by the thick reinforced door. Three people waited within. Though most they’d seen before were passably human… these people had extended fangs, pale skin, and eyes that glowed red. They seemed inhuman.

Galamon rushed towards them with reckless abandon. They, too, surged at him like rabid dogs. He did not meet them with his typical efficiency… instead, he engaged in a simple and ruthless struggle with all of them at once.

The vampires tried to overpower him with brute strength… and succeeded for a time, unprecedentedly. Durran hacked one foe in the back as they grappled, and that brief moment of pause was enough for him to break free. Galamon ruthlessly seized one, slamming the vampire to the ground and crushing his head with bare hands. The other two buffeted his helmet with blows, trying to return the favor, yet he rose back to his feet and disemboweled one with his bare hands. The other he seized by the neck… and then grasped something at the vampire’s chest.

Galamon pulled free a black blade, holding it up in the air. A simple elbow to the face dispatched the vampire he still held, and before the body even fell, Galamon stared at the black knife with runes along its surface with a terrible, inhuman fascination… and something changed in his expression.

“Galamon,” Argrave stepped forward, more than ready for this situation. Ever since he’d been seized by the vampire all those months ago, he’d been preparing for another situation like this. “Remember Muriem. Remember Rhomaden,” he listed off Galamon’s wife’s name, his son’s name.

Galamon’s gaze broke from the black dagger for but half a second.

“Come on. Think,” Argrave urged. “How old would Rhomaden be now? Do you remember the day Muriem gave birth to him?” he urged, trying to ground him back to reality.

“It was…” Galamon said, voice shaking. “Seventeen years ago.”

Argrave stepped a little closer, hands outstretched. “Remember how you felt that day?”

“I…” Galamon swallowed, his intense grip on the black knife slackening.

Argrave took the moment, gingerly pulling the knife from the vampire’s grasp. He looked to Argrave, anger rising… yet then, his face grew slack. He briefly held the wall for support.

Argrave stowed the gleaming black blade in his duster’s inside pocket, hoping the enchantments might muffle the dagger’s primal effect. Once it was, he looked around. His eyes fell upon something in the back of the room—a set of black ceremonial regalia, many pieces missing. The most prominent pieces remained, though—a royal mantle, adorned with a giant golden snake on black silk, and a crown. The crown of the first king of Vasquer.

“It’s over,” Argrave stepped forward cautiously.