jackal-among-snakes-16091326
chapter-39

Argrave stared up at a sheer wall of ice, the two suns above raining light down. The light travelled through the wall, illuminating it and sending rainbow-colored rays in odd directions. Though the light made it seem magical, Argrave was searching for enchantments without success. It was a wonder such a thing could persist throughout the ages without help from magic; a hundred-foot-tall wall made of ice could not be a simple endeavor.

He reached a hand out and touched the blue ice. Even through his gloves, he could feel the cold. It emanated outwards, and he pulled away his fingers as though he’d just touched dry ice. Even with the sunlight above, it did not melt, it did not morph, and it did not fall, protecting against the snow for thousands of years. Perhaps there was some irony in that; the greatest bulwark against the cold was cold.

Argrave heard footsteps behind, and he turned to spot Anneliese. The capital of Veiden lay before him; unlike the previous city of Katla, the eponymously named capital Veiden was made of stone. It was ancient, too. The buildings were carved, each one depicting some sort of historical scene. It looked more a ruin than a city, yet snow elves abounded nonetheless, joyfully participating in the suffering of the world.

“I’ve found their home,” Anneliese began, walking to him. “Galamon’s family lives not so far from here, according to the locals. Do you truly intend to visit them?”

“I do,” Argrave nodded, tapping his cane against the ground. He gestured for Anneliese to lead onwards, and they moved through the city slowly.

“I didn’t expect this place to be so… developed,” Argrave commented. “I hear the word ‘tribe,’ the mind thinks of backwards people. But this place is truly just a civilization separate from Berendar. I suppose a people capable of sailing and using steel have no reason to be simple.” He gazed at some of the stone carvings as he passed.

“The city of Veiden was carved from a glacier formed atop a mountain,” Anneliese spoke quickly. “Thousands of years of history have been etched into the stone here. Even then, we Veidimen were using steel. We have never been a technologically stunted people; we have only been divided and lacking resources. Now, that has changed.”

Argrave turned his head to Anneliese. He was very curious about her motivations, her goals, her likes, her dislikes. She liked to stay neutral and passive in conversation, but she seemed to genuinely care about Veiden. They shared a common interest; a fascination with the world of ‘Heroes of Berendar.’ Hers was more scholarly, granted. I suppose I have plenty of time to learn about her, Argrave thought.

“Here,” Anneliese pointed, stopping them both. “That building.”

Argrave turned towards where she was pointing. It seemed a fairly nice home—large enough for a family to live, certainly. It was square and stone like most other buildings in this city, so it was difficult to judge if it was exactly well-off. Argrave stepped forward towards the stone door at the entrance, lifting his cane and tapping it thrice.

After a few moments, he heard faint footsteps on the other side of the door. A woman’s voice called out, “Who is it?”

“Hi. Is this the residence of Galamon’s wife?” Argrave called out.

After a few moments, the door peeked open. A deep purple eye sized him up. “You… aren’t a Veidimen.”

“I’m a friend of your husband’s.” Argrave tapped his chest. “I wanted to meet his family, see how you’re holding up.”

She opened the door wide, some amount of confusion and shock on her face. She looked rather young, and her face had a kind innocence to it, as though retaining all its childlike naivete. Her hair was a bright gold color and kept short. “You mean… on the human continent? You spoke to him?”

“He’s my retainer, though he’s presently not here for reasons I’m sure you can surmise.” Argrave nodded. “May we come in?”

Her eyes darted around, her mouth agape in surprise. “I never thought… Galamon, how is he? Did he look well? How has he been doing?” the questions poured out as her wariness immediately faded. “Oh, forgive me. Come in. My name is Muriem. My son is downstairs, I should…” her voice faded away as she ran into the house.

Argrave looked to Anneliese while laughing lightly through his nose, and then he entered, cane clicking against the stone. He tried to shut the door casually, but he found it unmoving. He had to push it shut with his whole body.

Muriem walked back into the room from the basement. Behind her, Argrave saw a familiar-looking dour face. He was rather taken aback by how similar the snow elf looked to his father, Galamon. Argrave reckoned If the boy were to get some age lines, some scars, and possible post-traumatic stress disorder from years of intense war, he’d be Galamon’s double.

“Have a seat,” Muriem beckoned. “Please. I’ll prepare drinks.”