The time spent at Jast passed in much the same way as their first visit… though without the feeling of tension from the last time. Jast was allied to House Parbon, now, and the sentiment was reflected in the streets. Flag-saluting patriots abounded, whereas last time had the atmosphere of a heated, tense debate. Parbon was well-loved and supported by the Count of Jast.

Yet the plague was an imminent issue. Count Delbraun was managing things in a stern way—any plagued refugees from the villages were kept outside of the city, and the gates were opened only during specific hours of the day. Even during those hours all entries were heavily guarded, and all entering the city were strictly checked. Though this did not prevent the spread of the plague entirely, it did contain it a great deal.

Residents of the city were given medical treatment. Those that could not pay were given free, if limited, medical treatment, and cordoned off in abandoned buildings. Those that could pay could receive highly specialized medical treatment from spellcasters.

Entrepreneurial wizards in the Order of the Gray Owl were already developing things to combat the plague. Many of them were utter bogus. Argrave had the good fortune to know which were scams and which weren’t. All of these elements working in tandem kept Jast quite stable.

Argrave bought twenty masks—their seller dubbed them ‘Humorless Masks.’ They were solemn looking plain white masks that shone with complex enchantments on the inside. When worn, the mask would constantly project clean air infused with healing magic into the airways. Its seller said it would ‘keep out bad humors by ensuring only clean air entered,’ but despite its dubious description, it was a tremendous boon to the constitution. It was like a constant minor healing agent pumping throughout the body, carried by the lungs and then the blood. He bought twenty for reserve—each lasted a week when actively used.

Though the Humorless Masks would be quite effective for most purposes, Argrave still bought an abundance of ingredients needed to make potions that would help combat disease. He would be sure to have Anneliese and Durran both drink them whenever they were in high-risk areas.

Galamon brewed these potions. Naturally.

While moving through the town, Argrave made it a point to practice using Garm’s eyes to discern what rank spellcasters was at. As he practiced more and more, he grew confident in discerning who was what rank, and his own knowledge of certain people helped verify those results. He felt fairly adept at determining a spellcaster’s rank now, but naturally, it would need some fine-tuning.

Beyond tending to the issue of disease, Argrave also focused on refueling, so to speak. He sold the jewelry and other valuables pillaged from Argent, the Tower of Silver. Between the war and the plague, he did not get as much as he’d liked—nevertheless, it was a handsome sum. He used that, plus the remainder of what he still had in his lockbox, to pay for everything he needed.

Anneliese and Argrave had used most of the B-rank wards available in their enchanted rings, so Argrave had them recharged—significantly less expensive than having them made initially, yet still quite costly. Argrave also had their enchanted gear examined and repaired. Between paying back the Margrave, the Humorless Masks, and the enchantment repairs and recharges… Argrave found himself completely out of rose gold magic coins.

When Argrave recognized that, he did quite a lot of introspection. He had received that money from the sale of the estate of Foamspire, which had come from a bribe by Induen. Anneliese and Argrave could still spot the tower every day when they did their daily ritual of sunset watching. Argrave checked Rivien’s calendar—as he recalled, Foamspire vanished into the ocean ‘overnight’ on 1/13/873. He prayed he remembered that date.

“What are you grinning about?” Argrave questioned as he ate breakfast with Durran and Anneliese.

“What, the man with the magic eyes can’t catch on?” Durran tapped his fork against the plate, then leaned back in his chair. “It seems you and I are on the same level.”

Argrave double-took for a moment, then set down his fork, scrutinizing Durran a little more carefully. The man had always possessed a large supply of magic, well over many C-rank mages. Yet Durran yet to breach the barrier, lacking any C-rank spells to learn.

“You’re C-rank, now,” Argrave said, catching on.

Durran beamed. “Couple of weeks with Garm’s books, I finally break this little limit I’ve had for near a year. Wondrous thing, isn’t it? It seems we’re together now in being midway to the end of the road to mastery of magic.” He picked up his fork again.

Argrave wiped his face off with a napkin as he stared Durran down. He didn’t say anything.

“That thing I mentioned to you,” Argrave turned to look at Elaine. “You took care of it?”

Elaine nodded.

“Make sure they were all delivered,” Argrave insisted.

#####

Durran sat in his bedroom, sitting on his bed with his back to the wall. Argrave had extended their stay here, for reasons Durran couldn’t guess. One knee supported a spellbook which projected a three-dimensional spell matrix. He studied it, head tilted to one side. As he did so, a knock came at his door.

“It’s open,” he called out, only moving his head.

Argrave opened the door and entered, lowering his head beneath the doorframe to enter. He was a very physically imposing person, an effect that had only increased as they travelled—black blood was doing wonders for him, evidently. Durran had come to know as they travelled that he was not quite so fearsome. Despite everything, he was still as mortal and fallible as anyone—he just knew a lot of things that he shouldn’t.

“Leader man. What brings you here?” Durran greeted.

Argrave clasped his hands together. “Want to ride a horse?”

Durran frowned. “Why?”

“Want to show you something,” he shrugged, stepping closer. “And horse riding is fun.”

Durran closed the book. “Why not? I love a good mystery. You’ll have to teach me how to ride.”

“Of course,” Argrave nodded. “You know, I learned from Margrave Reinhardt. Quite a tale…”

#####

“…and all the horses went wild,” Argrave said, hands held over the fire. “The knights roamed about, trying to rein them in… meanwhile… I cut my ropes, snuck over to the Margrave’s horse… and took off into the night.”

Durran broke into a loud, howling laughter that echoed across the plains. It rebounded off a distant white tower on a cliff overlooking the sea.

“After that, I rode through the whole night… then I sold the guy’s horse to some horse merchant I knew. Could have bought a damn house with what I got.” Argrave held up his hand in an ‘ok’ sign.

Durran’s laughter was stoked by Argrave’s continuation, and he fell on his back, where the two horses they’d rode in on stood behind them, grazing.

“Gods above,” Durran sighed. “Thought I was so special, but I was just carrying out a tradition.”

Argrave chuckled, then handed a skin with a lid on it over to Durran. “You want?”

“What’s this?” Durran eyed it.

“Wine. Expensive, I’m told,” Argrave moved it, and liquid sloshed within. “Might have stolen it from Elaine.”

Durran grabbed it. “You had wine this whole time? You greedy…” he trailed off as he threw the wineskin back, drinking heavily.

“I didn’t touch it,” Argrave protested. “I can’t get drunk anymore. Now it’s just terrible-tasting juice to me.”

Durran frowned. “Because you’re Black Blooded?” When Argrave nodded, he shook his head. “What a blow.”

“Better than getting sick every damned month. Abject misery,” Argrave disagreed.

The word ‘misery’ seemed to remind Durran of something, because he quieted down. He took another drink, staring at the moonlight reflect off the white tower ahead. It was a grandiose piece of architecture. It seemed sturdy—made for the ages.

“Do you still think about Garm?” Durran questioned.

Argrave nodded, saying nothing.

Durran laid on his back. “I’ve got nightmares of the blue-eyed prick.”

“Blue-eyed?” Argrave turned.

“Saw what he really looked like when we… fought,” Durran explained.

“Oh. The fight between souls. That must have been wild,” he said ponderously. “Necromancer like that surely has some imagination.” Argrave nodded, turning back to look at the tower.

Durran looked surprised Argrave knew about it, but he turned his head to the fire. “Always the same dream. We’re on a field of black roses. He asks me a question. He says, ‘when you think of freedom, do you think of flying?’” Durran shook his head. “Then the roses become hands, they pull me apart… or they try, at least. I always struggle. Then, he asks me another question. Different, this time.” Durran looked at Argrave. “’When you think of freedom, do you dream of dying?’”

“It rhymes,” Argrave noted quietly.

Durran drank deeply this time. “It’s like the guy’s still there, tearing me apart. Trying to take what he wants.”

Argrave shook his head. “Not possible.” He looked at Durran, but his assurances didn’t seem comfort the man. He continued, “I’ve got nightmares, too. Sometimes Garm is in them, sure. Mostly it’s… everything else.” Argrave turned. “I told you I have a lot of good stories. Fact is, they’re fun to talk about… but they were hell to experience. The Cavern of the Lily’s Death, the Veidimen invasion, the Low Way of the Rose…”

Durran stared at Argrave’s back, then took another drink from his wineskin.

“Gotten better with Anneliese. She wakes me up when I start muttering, stuff like that… and I do the same for her. I never thought she might be going through the same thing,” he said wondrously.

“Ahhhhh,” Durran exclaimed knowingly. “Nothing quite like a bedmate.” He drank more of the wine. “That lady, Elaine… she was a pretty one. Smart, too, and fiery. Exactly the type I like. Wanted to have a chance to chat with her alone, but she was too damned busy.”

Argrave whipped his head back. “Was that why you stayed inside like a good boy?”

Durran smiled.

“Now’s hardly the time, anyway,” Argrave shook his head disapprovingly.

“Yeah, you’re one to talk,” Durran said bitterly. “My father always told me the gods love me more than anyone… but no gods love a man like a woman can. And you—you’re set.”

Argrave said nothing more on the matter, and Durran took another drink out of the wineskin, turning to look at the tower.

“So—let’s hear another story,” Durran urged. “The Cavern of the Lily’s Death—let’s start there. You say you’ve got so many stories, after all.”

Just then, the ground rumbled. The fire flickered ahead of them. Argrave shifted, and then rose to his feet. He stepped ahead, then turned around.

The rumbling began to intensify. Though Durran had been staring at Argrave, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to look at the white tower in the distance. Durran rose to his feet. He realized that the tower was lowering. He furrowed his brows, perplexed, and stepped forward.

Suddenly, great stretches of the land ahead began to distort. It was not so much a catastrophic shaking as it was a simple collapse—a landslide on a grand scale. The grass-strewn sea arch ahead started to depress in the center, great chunks of stone and dirt falling off into the sea. It gained momentum. As some fell, more joined it.

A colossal amount of land suddenly fell away, making the sturdy tower and its accompanying walls seem like nothing more than pretty stone as they fell. The tower bent inwards, crashing into the land, which triggered yet more activity. Durran stepped back, briefly afraid. Miles and miles of land ahead collapsed into the ocean.

All of the center of the sea arch fell into the water, creating a colossal mass of water and dust exploding upwards into the air. Once things began to settle, Durran calmed, stepping closer. Just then, the pillar of the sea arch began to turn, splitting at the center. It, too, fell, causing another massive splash of water and debris.

Durran watched, mouth agape and awed. Argrave had stared at him the entire time, and Durran’s gaze slowly moved to him.

“Told you I had something to show you,” Argrave said, stepping forward. He put his large, bony hand on Durran’s shoulder and squeezed tightly. “Let me tell you a story. That bit of land up there—I used to own it. I sold it for an exorbitant sum, because I knew this would happen.

“I had Elaine send each of the servants living there a letter,” Argrave looked to the rubble. “I told them this collapse was coming, gave them all the evidence. Some of them believed me… the others… well, I assume they’re dead.”

Argrave neglected to inform Durran that none had disbelieved the letters, and the tower was truly empty.

Argrave leaned in close to Durran’s face. “They didn’t listen to me, and they died. They thought they knew better. The things I say, Durran, they usually come true.”

Durran stared Argrave in the eyes, more than a little unnerved.

“I have a lot of stories. We’ll make a lot more, and they’re only going to get more and more noteworthy.” Argrave squeezed tighter. “So, if you want to have fun, and you want to do crazy stuff… just wait. It’ll happen,” he smiled genially. “But I don’t need you doing things like what you did at the Lionsun Castle. It throws things off. If I tell you to wait because it’s smart… well.” Argrave turned back to the site of the collapse. “You should wait.”

Durran slowly nodded.

“Structure, leadership—these things are very important for precise operations. Even if you see what you consider a ‘better way,’ going off alone only causes trouble for everyone else.” Argrave released his grip, then pinched Durran’s cheek. “I don’t like dealing with uncertainty, imprecision. We’re fighting a god. There is very little room for error.” Argrave stepped away. “Can you handle that?”

Durran lowered his gaze, staying silent. Eventually, he lifted his head up. “Yes, Argrave.”

“I need more than a yes,” he pressed.

Durran blinked, then locked his golden eyes with Argrave. “I won’t go off on my own, and I won’t disobey you.”

Argrave smiled. He gave Durran two light, friendly slaps on the cheek. “Let’s ride back. Early day tomorrow.”