jackal-among-snakes-16091326
chapter-158

Argrave hadn’t spoken to Galamon much at all since Garm was lost to them. Argrave couldn’t deny he was upset Galamon had gone behind his back so blatantly. They sat cross-legged amidst the sand dunes, the night sky above. The chill of winter had set in; they were well into the heart of the cold season. There was an awkward air between the two of them. It reminded Argrave of a dispute with his brother or father—they’d just avoid each other, saying only words that needed to be said…

“You look better,” said Galamon.

…until they started talking again, like nothing had happened at all. Maybe it was unproductive.

“I feel better,” returned Argrave.

But even if it was unproductive, Argrave liked things this way.

“That’s good,” nodded Galamon, white eyes focused on his armor. It was already well-maintained, but he kept it impeccably so.

Argrave stared as his hands moved, rubbing sand and oil against his armor for reasons Argrave couldn’t begin to guess. He looked around. Anneliese was taking care of something, while Durran read Garm’s writing, even now—the tribal seemed to be enchanted with it. Though Garm had left some writings related to the soul behind, Argrave still felt hesitant to read them for some reason.

His mind wandered, and he wondered what it was like to wear armor all day. Brows furrowed, he turned to Galamon.

“You think I should learn how to fight?”

Galamon paused, then turned his head towards Argrave slowly.

“…put Durran down easily enough,” he noted with the faintest smile, then focused back on his work.

Argrave laughed a little, feeling some strange mix of pride and shame. “I bet he could take me down twice as quick if the aggressor and defender switched places. But seriously… It’d be good to be versatile. If things go south…”

Galamon polished, but Argrave could tell he was thinking of an answer.

“The southron elves put it well. Magic has no ceiling.” He looked at Argrave. “Focus on it, you’ll keep getting better.”

“But things happen,” Argrave held his arms out, then uncrossed his legs. “Good to learn a trick or two, no?”

Galamon took a deep breath. “For you…” his white eyes scanned Argrave. “Your frame got bigger. I used to be your size… long time ago. I could give you advice for some things.” He shook his head. “Even still, I’d focus on learning to be agile. Magic will always be more powerful than a blade. Just dodge, get distance, obliterate them.”

“Let’s hear this advice, then,” Argrave suggested eagerly.

“Eat more,” Galamon said plainly. “You eat like a bird.”

Argrave hadn’t been expecting that. He’d been shoveling food into his mouth for the past month to the point of vomiting, and the idea of eating more now wasn’t particularly pleasant.

“Like a bird?” Argrave repeated, drawing lines in the sand. “Must’ve never seen a pelican.”

Galamon said nothing in response.

In truth, Argrave didn’t fancy the idea of learning how to fight. The few hard knocks he’d taken hadn’t been pleasant. He still shuddered when he remembered getting his cheek caved in by Induen, or the battle with Quarrus. Getting up close and personal offered the potential of a lot more of that.

Besides, Argrave would much prefer to focus on what he was good at. He could read a book for hours and have a blast, but exercise was different. Whether before or now, he never cared for weightlifting or running. He didn’t care about looking well-built, either. Dressing nice, wearing jewelry—that was the easier route.

Something caught his eye—Anneliese returned. He smiled and waved, and she waved back, walking towards them. His thoughts returned back to exercise, but with Anneliese’s presence now involved. His opinion started to take a sharp turn.

“I think I want to build myself up a little,” he said decisively, watching Anneliese.

Galamon looked to Argrave, then spotted Anneliese as well. The big elven warrior laughed quietly.

“Something funny?” interrogated Argrave, watching Anneliese as she rummaged through her backpack for something. She picked up her small Brumesinger, moving it aside, and then reached deep inside.

“Sometimes, you do something for someone, and they don’t even know it,” Galamon shook his head. “A nice feeling.”

Argrave looked at Galamon, puzzled.

“Regardless… hope you two stay happy,” he concluded.

“Well…” Argrave scratched his cheek, embarrassed. “You and me both,” he finally said. “Thought you might be against this sort of thing.”

“Why?” Galamon asked, genuinely puzzled.

“You seem like the ‘you stick with your own people!’ type of guy,” Argrave shrugged.

Galamon laughed loudly, startling Argrave. The man had a scary, grating laugh that would be right at home in a horror movie. Eventually, he settled down, scratching his cheek. “Long time ago, you’d have me completely right.”

“What changed? Living in exile?” questioned Argrave.

“Saw the worst of the Veidimen. War… awakens the worst,” he shook his head. “When war consumes the land, rapists, butchers, sadists—they all come out of the woodworks like rats fleeing from a burning building.

“Then,” he continued, putting his gauntlet back on. “I came here. I realized… things are just the same. You have good people… and terrible people,” he finished. Galamon stared at Argrave for a long while, white pupils steady. “That’s part of the reason I let Garm do what he did. I recognized him.”

Argrave tensed when the sore subject was brought up, saying nothing.

“The two of you are good,” Galamon concluded. “Not to mention… quite compatible.”

Argrave didn’t really know what to say, but Anneliese walked up, a book in her hand. Argrave’s Brumesingers jumped free from his clothing, surging before her feet. She stood before him, staring down.

“It grows late,” she greeted. “We ought to retire. An early morning awaits, especially if we intend to reach Otraccia by the end of tomorrow.”

Argrave nodded. “You’re right, little lady.” He stood up and stretched, and his druidic bonds returned to him. “Let’s go.”