jackal-among-snakes-16091326
chapter-284

Argrave pushed into the red crescent moon on the front of the metal door, and it clicked a few times. Once enough of it had been pushed in, it made space enough to get a grip. Argrave fit his fingers into and pulled. He was rather pleased with himself when the door shifted—he’d half-thought that he’d need Galamon’s help to yank this thing open. The door itself was four inches thick, and quite heavy. Still, it shifted well enough.

Beyond, pure darkness awaited them. Argrave knelt down, getting a better look. “I am only now reminded how much this is going to hurt my back.”

“We’re entering, Your Majesty? Should we not get people to… scout this place out?” one of the royal guards asked innocently.

“Nonsense,” Argrave waved his hand behind his back, and not wishing to have their presence kill his fun, he quickly ordered, “Come on, then.”

As Argrave awkwardly shambled in a half-crouch through the door, he heard some of the royal guard call out in protest. Soon enough, everyone was pressed into the hallway. Argrave cast a simple spell to light the path, holding it below his face. It was a long and uncomfortable hallway, and his feet felt like they were walking on concrete once again. Yet soon enough, the hallway opened into a room, and Argrave cast the light away with abandon to illuminate the place.

The vast room ahead reminded Argrave somewhat of old architecture Rome and Greece, both from the symmetry of it all and the strange antiquity to the style. The room was round and tall, and rather than stairs, the balcony they stood on wound around the walls, slowly sloping downwards in a spiral towards the bottom floor. The railings were intricately carved white marble with statues on them—statues of bugs, faces, bats, each and all facing towards the center. There were many rooms along the winding spiral ramp downwards.

The ceiling was high and round and painted so elaborately as to put the Sistine Chapel to shame. They were portraits, each divided from each other by winding patterns that served as frames. The people depicted on the paintings were unusual—short of stature, brawny, and dressed in unorthodox clothing. They had curly, dark hair, and wreaths of gold atop their heads. And on the bottom floor, there was a marble statue dimly lit by Argrave’s spell. He couldn’t help but smile looking upon it. The statue depicted a dwarf.

“Knight-commander, should we be…?” one of the knights questioned, before trailing off when he entered the room.

“His Majesty has survived enough trips of similar nature,” Galamon confirmed, perhaps the least impressed of everyone. “Our duty is only to protect, not to decide.”

Argrave walked to the marble railing. It barely came up to his knees, and it felt more a hazard than anything. He sat upon it, keeping one hand firmly grasped in case he teetered, then declared, “Welcome to one of the abandoned nexuses of dwarven civilization.”

Anneliese’s eyes jumped about quickly enough it seemed they were malfunctioning. The pure, almost child-like wonder in her expression made Argrave glad he had been somewhat reticent regarding what they would be dealing with here. Argrave was not divorced from the wonder, either—it felt like he walked in the Athens of old in the height of its power, suspended in time and devoid of life.

“In time, we’ll come to occupy this place in greater numbers. Today, though, we’re here for one thing alone before we seal it up again.” Argrave stood up. “We’re not the first non-dwarf to come here. Come along.”

Argrave started to walk down the winding ramp along the wall, staying close to the walls, yet Galamon and his royal guards insistently took their place ahead of Argrave. He let them do their duty, despite knowing danger was not to come quite yet.

They passed by room after room, and Anneliese poked her head inside each one. There were only statues, tables, and chairs within each of them, and before long she was curiously asking, “What is this place? What purpose does it serve?”

“This was a diplomatic meeting area… and an entrance to a fortress. Considering the paranoia of the dwarves, they thought the two weren’t mutually exclusive,” Argrave explained. “That’s why I’ll make something very clear—under no circumstances do we try and press beyond the door at the bottom of this ramp,” Argrave said insistently. “To do so is to invite death upon us all.”

“What is death?” Anneliese asked, overwhelmed, then rephrased, “I mean, what would we invite?”

“The corrupted constructions of the dwarves,” Argrave said simply. “And worse things. The Ebon Cult.”

Galamon stopped abruptly at those words. “You mean to say…”

This was another reason that Argrave had not been too detailed about this place—Galamon’s focus might be swayed. A group by the name of the Ebon Cult had been responsible for turning his brother into a vampire, and after, turning him into one. Argrave couldn’t say for sure that this Ebon Cult in the old dwarven cities was the same, and nor could Galamon—frankly, Argrave thought it dubious. He couldn’t see the connection between the two.

But they were a threat for the future. They were a religious state persisting underground headed by a man named Mozzahr, the Castellan of the Empty. Comprised of elves, dwarves, subterranean humanoids, and regular humanoids, they worshipped Mozzahr as though he were a god. He viewed Gerechtigkeit as an opportunity for expansion rather than a genuine danger to the world. Consequently, he was a problem to be dealt with accordingly.

“Yes,” Argrave nodded, stopping. “This is the staging grounds for the war to come against them. And though I can’t promise anything, we may get answers for you, Galamon. But for now… let us focus.”

The royal guards looked lost. Argrave gave them a pleasant smile and kept walking down the ramp.

They’ll learn to stop questioning in time, Argrave decided. Or maybe Galamon will loop them in. I doubt it. But for now… let’s see what it is they can do.