Chapter 143: Cushioned Iron Fist (Patreon)

“When you said you had something to show me…” Durran trailed off, then looked to Argrave. “This is one of the last things I expected. You’re…”

“Not a necromancer, no,” Argrave shook his head. “He is, though. And he wishes to speak with you.”

Durran stared down at Garm, brows furrowed and eyes wide. “Not ominous at all,” he nodded his head slowly. “Listen… I—”

“You should listen,” interjected Garm annoyedly. “Argrave. Let me speak to him alone.”

Argrave looked down at Garm. “Sure about that? What if…”

“If he ends me… avenge me, pretty please?” Garm mocked. “Just put me in the sand, walk away. The elves need to talk to you—that much I know. This one’s too bothered to be of much help. I’ll talk to him.”

Argrave shrugged, then planted Garm into the sand. “Alright. Be gentle, Durran—he’s more sensitive than he looks.” He walked away in long strides, casting glances backward occasionally.

“I know this is bizarre,” Garm began once Argrave was far away. “But I don’t want to be slowly introduced to you. I don’t have the luxury of patience, grooming you to understand what I am. I need to speak, now.”

“This is some…” Durran ran his fingers through his matted hair. “What are you?”

“Living misery,” Garm introduced himself. “And Garm, High Wizard of the Order of the Rose.”

Durran stared for a moment, then shook his head. “This should mean something to me?”

Garm sighed. “Foolish of me to think one secluded in the mountain would know of us… I was once an A-rank mage. Still am, technically… but limited, as you can plainly see. Argrave has been accommodating me the past month.”

Durran shifted on his feet. “Alright. Still not getting the full picture, but… you’re a powerful spellcaster. You were a powerful spellcaster,” he amended. “Still don’t see why we should be speaking. Still don’t know… how you speak,” he added, obviously disturbed.

“I’m speaking to you because we’re alike, and we’ve gone through similar things.” Garm paused, then lowered his voice. “Galamon, the big one—how near is he?”

Durran said nothing, very suspicious. Eventually, he scanned the distance, then said, “Pretty far.”

“How far?” insisted Garm in a whisper.

“One… two hundred feet, I guess.”

“It should be fine, then, but keep your voice down. That one hears all, and I won’t draw suspicion by conjuring a ward.” Garm cleared his throat—an action that disturbed Durran—and then continued. “You. I can practically smell it on you. The frustration with other people. The frustration with yourself. Your weakness. Your ineffectual leadership.”

“A head on a stick comes to cheer me up because we’re similar?” Durran laughed. “What is this? Comedy can’t solve all woes, if this is what you’re getting at.”

“But you’re also pragmatic,” Garm continued in a low mutter. “And after that little awakening back at Sethia, doubtless you’re feeling a bit… disillusioned. You’re realizing how stupid the average person is.”

Durran stared down at Garm, silenced by his words.

“You’re right to think that. People can be stupid, provided they’re leaded poorly,” Garm stated matter-of-factly. “But you… you’re weak. Nothing. No more than dirt, unable to enact meaningful change. You need power to save people from their own stupid decisions—power the world has proven you lack in totality.”

Durran’s golden eyes gained back some of their fire as he stared down at Garm. “In totality? Taking the putdown a bit far, totem pole.”

“Do you know why it is I travelled with the three of them?” Garm questioned. “I needed options. I needed a way to earn a new body. But things can change. The winds can shift.”

“Sensible goal, I guess,” Durran stared down at Garm cautiously. “Can’t imagine life is easy for you as you are now.”

“It’s misery, as I said earlier,” Garm confirmed. “I need a change. Every day I exist like this, my mind grows closer to shattering. Absolutely unbearable. And now… my soul is damaged. You probably don’t understand the meaning of that, but… it is…” the head struggled for the words. “It’s bad for the mind, to say the least.”

“Is it my turn to comfort you?” Durran questioned.

Garm sighed. “You are just like me. Damned smartass. No wonder people hate me.”

“Hate? Women love me, I’ll have you know,” Durran quipped.

“Love you for a week or two, maybe more, ‘til they realize they’ve made a mistake. I’ve had my fun in the sun, believe me—you can’t fool me,” Garm answered, undaunted. “You can see why that might be hard for me, now.”

“We can agree on that, at least,” Durran nodded slowly.

“We’ll agree on more, if I’ve read you right—I know I have. You’re weak. You resent this. You’re proud of being talented, of being handsome, of being superior… not for vanity, but because you believe that you can handle the future best because of it.”

Durran didn’t answer, but his pupils shook as if he’d heard a sentence he’d been thinking for years.

“Imagine lacking arms, legs, even a torso… lacking independence.” Garm stared up, unblinking. “I know you don’t pity me. I wouldn’t. But I… I know power. I know power better than any of the people you’ve seen today. Any you’ve seen die today. Brium, Quarrus, that golden one… forget her name… in my prime, they were nothing to me.”

“Seems that worked out well for you,” Durran interjected.

Garm blatantly ignored him. “We’re on a limited time frame, so I’ll speak my offer plainly. You’ll help me. Quietly. Argrave, Galamon, Anneliese, even your lizard pet—you’ll tell no one of our arrangement. And… in return… I’ll make you know power, too. Power beyond your conception.”

“Pretty sure it’s a universally bad idea to accept a bargain with a head on a stake,” Durran pointed out.

Garm smiled. “Maybe so. But time is running out fast. Soon, Argrave will become Black Blooded—the damn boy is so confident, it’d be more surprising if he was lying. After that, I’m near certain the opportunity I’m offering will be gone, forevermore. For you… and for me. They won’t want this. I don’t plan on giving them a choice, though. My final act of selfishness.”

#####

Florimund returned to Otraccia at night. Argrave was ready to receive him—the other southron elves tended to the bodies that Durran had brought back. Argrave certainly wasn’t going to sleep. The elves of the village treated Argrave strangely—treated him as simultaneously a guest and a danger. He supposed it was respect. He wasn’t used to that.

The leader of the old veterans didn’t give news, first. Instead, Florimund asked Argrave, “Their bodies. They made it safely?”

“Er… yeah,” Argrave confirmed. “They haven’t been buried.”

“I’ll do that tonight,” Florimund shook his head, his large ears swaying with the movement.

“Maybe you should rest first,” Argrave suggested. “Well… not my place to give you advice. What happened at Sethia? Hated to leave like that, but it’s clear it wasn’t exactly safe.”

“Titus… is already the de facto leader,” Florimund shook his head. “He took control quickly. But… well, it did not feel like an armed takeover. He had medical needs tended to, food distributed, water collected, shelters established…” Florimund retrieved something. “And he gave me this. Instructed me to bring it to my people.”

Argrave looked down. Light was dim, but he recognized it was paper.

“You’ve read it?” Argrave questioned, looking up.

“It’s a proposal to us. A pact of non-aggression, mutual defense… and promises of supplement, aid, cooperation. Free entry into Sethia, exemptions from tolls and taxes. Priority in trade. All of it, free, and for the southron elves alone.”

“That’s…” Argrave trailed off. “It sounds like a very good thing. And that might be the problem. A honeyed apple hides poison all the better. It asks nothing of you?”

“There are some things,” Florimund nodded, unrolling the paper. Argrave conjured light, scanning the document quickly. The ink was old and dry, suggesting the document had been drafted some time ago. “We have to recognize Sethia as independent… support Titus as its leader… and agree to use their soon-to-be minted coins in all of our dealings. Mutual defense, too, might be considered a ‘condition.’”

Argrave soon confirmed the things Florimund described with his own eyes.

“But he…” Argrave hesitated to argue against the document. This was regarding the southron elves’ future—what place did he have to argue?

“I know what you think,” Florimund nodded. “This is a man willing to butcher innocents to gain this power. He tried to frame one of his allies when it was politically expedient.” Florimund stepped away. “I cannot speak for all of my people, though. I will tell them everything—believe me, I am as wary of Titus as you are.”

Argrave rolled up the paper and held it back out to Florimund. “Don’t forget he was ready to kill more, had I not threatened him personally.”

“But he does not demand fealty,” Florimund noted, taking the paper. “Instead, he suggests cooperation. He seemed… amenable to negotiations, too, if we were unsatisfied with the proposal.” The elf held the paper close to his face. “We are isolated, protected. I see no reason we cannot probe, figure out whether or not he can be trusted.”

“If that’s your decision,” Argrave said cautiously. “Regardless, I am eternally grateful for your help. What you’ve done… what you lost,” Argrave noted, looking away where he knew the bodies of the veterans lie. “You have my condolences.”

“Morvan would tell you to shove your condolences…” Florimund lowered his head, then laughed. “They were glad to be sacrificed. They fought for hope. Hope… for the first time in a while, I have some. Our future might not be so bleak.” Florimund looked at the paper. “But maybe I’m an old man, fooled by a snake merchant.”

“Be careful,” Argrave warned. “Titus… I wish I knew more about him. I wish I could give you better advice than that.”

“You can’t be expected to know everything, everyone.” Florimund stepped up to Argrave, looking upwards into his eyes. “Did you get what you needed at Argent?”

“I did,” Argrave nodded.

“Then what is next for you? My people made promises to you—they remain valid.”

“I’ll leave early dawn,” Argrave looked to the sky. “Should reach where I need to be in a day. There…” Argrave took a deep breath and exhaled, as what was coming slowly set in. “Going to get some cosmetic surgery. Change my blood from red to black. Once that’s done, I’ll come back here, call in that promise.” Argrave shook his head. “Though, with the war relics you gave us, feels like I’m asking too much…”

“Cosmetic surgery? Are you joking?”

Argrave lowered his head. “Well, it’s not cosmetic.”

Florimund snorted. “You’re the sort that likes to be mysterious, I see.”

“I’m caught,” Argrave smiled.

“You should sleep,” Florimund suggested. “Our homes are open to you.”

Argrave shook his head. “Can’t sleep. Won’t bother trying.”

“New to bloodshed?” Florimund questioned.

“No. Not that,” Argrave shook his head. “Sad as it is… gotten a little used to blood.”

“Guilt, then,” Florimund concluded.

Argrave frowned. “How’d you know?”

“It’s obvious,” Florimund nodded. “You have the guilt of a leader. You feel that the plans you made are insufficient. All the suffering—it’s on your hands.”

“A bit true,” Argrave nodded. “If I had been smarter, better—”

“Pointless questions,” Florimund shook his head. “Reflect on mistakes—correct them. Ruing your inability is a useless thing.”

Argrave digested the words, then laughed with a shake of his head. “Think Galamon said something like that, in the past.”

“Because he was a leader once, too.” Florimund pushed Argrave’s shoulder. “I’ve said enough. I must… bury those I lost.”

Argrave nodded. As Florimund left, he called out, “Thank you, Florimund. For everything.”