Jackal Among Snakes

“It’s safe,” the Alchemist declared. A bird landed on his huge finger. His druidic bond had scouted the whole of the crematorium. “Nevertheless, watch the shadows.”

Argrave descended down into the crematorium, shadowed by Anneliese and Galamon. The Alchemist was the last to follow, ducking low and compressing his body to avoid the low-lying roof. They weren’t the only ones present, however; nearly all of Argrave’s most potent forces had been brought to bear, but remained outside. If Traugott was within, he wasn’t going to escape.

Once inside… Argrave smelled blood. The scent was thick enough to be nauseating. He looked to the Alchemist. “You’re sure we’re safe?”

“Only the dead within, along with some animals. I saw nothing mortal,” the Alchemist confirmed, then cast a spell to light the way.

Argrave considered having Anneliese perform another scouting journey. Ultimately, he left the matter to the Alchemist’s discretion, yet kept in mind that terrible scent as he proceeded. Looking right and left, there were large pits of ash covered by glass in recesses along the pathway. Flowers, jewels, and gemstones had been placed atop the translucent covering. Each of the pits had a plaque next to them. Entire families were buried here, joining their ancestors in death. The people of the Great Chu believed the dead could get lost without their ancestors to guide them to the heavens—as it was in life, so it was in death; one’s parents taught the way of the world.

Some of these pits, however, had been opened. Ash—and fresh ash, which was apparent just by looking at it—overflowed out of many. There were small puddles of blood dotted all along, and Argrave saw crematory pits that had been used not too long ago. When they finally came to the central room, Argrave began to make sense of where the thick smell of blood came from.

There was a large pit in the center, with an iron grate instead of glass like all the others. The plaque before it was giant, and told that those cremated here were those without a family that still deserved the guidance of the dead. Now, however, it was a muddy slush of ash and blood that made Argrave’s stomach uneasy. It wasn’t immediately apparent where all of this blood had come from.

Argrave rubbed at his nose, then said angrily, “We should turn back, stop indulging this fucking psycho. I don’t want to play these mind games. Nothing he can say can be worth enduring this.”

“I’ll proceed alone, then. I have some questions.” The Alchemist stepped onto the grate, looking back as if daring Argrave to comply with what he’d said.

Argrave was sorely tempted to turn around and leave. But ultimately, the Alchemist’s insistence and his own desire to put an end to whoever would do something like this spurred him forward.

As they continued onward into the next pathway, it became evident where all of the blood had come from. Body parts lined the shelves and dotted the floors. They were each and all incredibly similar to one another, almost repeating infinitely. Though he had an inkling of whose they might be, he soon had confirmation when he saw the Good King Norman’s head on a shelf, red eyes staring forward lifelessly. No one had the gall to speak in this place. Even the Alchemist seemed silenced by this horror show, but no words needed to be exchanged. They all knew.

This place, without a doubt, was Traugott’s workshop.

For the first few rows of burial chambers, blood overflowed from within the ash pits, making a grotesque mire of red and gray… but before long viscera was everywhere, soaking the walls and floors without any restraint. Argrave could picture what happened in his head—at the front of the crematorium, Traugott had at first diligently disposed of his experiments with fire. But as he continued on, he grew frustrated and lazy. He cast away the excess from his twisted projects haphazardly, in pursuit of an answer—what the question was, Argrave didn’t know.

Argrave didn’t need to ask where the bastard was getting the body parts from. He suspected if Elenore looked into things, she’d find countless vanished persons around the perimeter. These people, what with the war going on… they’d never stood a chance against the former Magister of the Gray Owl. He must’ve killed hundreds, maybe thousands. All slipped beneath the cracks, squeezed between two sides. Another consequence of war.

But as they made it deeper, the excessive gore ceased. Decay replaced it. Traugott appeared to have a breakthrough at some point. Intact forms lined the floor, packing the place like a warehouse of life-size puppets. Good King Norman, whole of body, repeated what felt like infinitely. Their dead red eyes stared at the ceiling, at the walls, at the floors. Some were skinny or fat. Some were muscled or flat. Some gaunt, some tall, some short, some black, some hunchbacked… but each and all variations of the base template. Black of hair, red of eye… these people had been born, then died, in the image of Sophia’s father.

Argrave tried to imagine that Norman himself had experienced each of these lives. That was the easiest way to press on, amidst the misery of it all. When they came to a dead end, Argrave felt some rising despair—had they been called here, toyed with, without a reason?”

“Roh! Rogh roh!”

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Argrave whipped his head to the side. One of the Norman’s was buried beneath bodies, alive… and barking, like a dog.

“You told me nothing was here,” Argrave looked at the Alchemist. “Good lord…”

“I mistook it for an animal,” the Alchemist defended.

“Because it possesses an animal’s soul.” Anneliese kneeled, looking around. “I’ve seen nothing of Traugott.”

The barking stopped, and Argrave looked back at the thing. It had been acting like an animal moments before, yet now… he saw cunning in those red eyes, and it looked around, surveying the situation.

“I see you came! Wonderful,” the dog-Norman said, and Argrave took a step back.

“Druidic… magic?” Anneliese’s eyes widened with recognition as she stepped back with him, clenching her hand around her staff. “That’s…!”

Galamon drew his one dagger, stepping between the creature and Argrave.

“Yes, druidic magic. A clever trick, giving this shell the soul of an animal… but I shouldn’t brag. You figured it out rather quickly.”

Anneliese looked shaken—it must’ve bothered her, to see her people’s magic be used for something not so dissimilar from necromancy.

“I didn’t know when you would come,” the man explained, pushing the bodies atop him aside. “Or rather, if you would come. It was a far-fetched plan, but I knew you couldn’t ignore the sight of this man. You have a history with Norman. I’ve come to know the man better than you do, I should think. His daughter, Sophia… his son, Griffin. You seemed to dislike him, so you should know Norman’s soul has existed in a state of abject agony for a long, long while… and I don’t think that’ll stop anytime soon. You’re welcome, if it pleases you.”

“Traugott.” Argrave took a deep breath, almost gagging at the scent of blood and the voice of this person. The words of Traugott, but the voice of Norman… he didn’t know what could be worse.

“We’ve never had the chance to speak properly. I’ve always regretted that—I find you rather admirable, Argrave. And the same to you, Anneliese.” Traugott, wearing Norman’s shell, rose to his full height. “So admirable, in fact, that I decided to ask you something, before I asked Erlebnis. I have no love for the god of knowledge, but we did do good work together. I suspect it was the same for you, no?”

“Erlebnis was the one that helped you get that shell on the opera stage.” Argrave tried to take things in stride, but he couldn’t deny he was shaken. “Glad to see that confirmed.”

“Of course,” Traugott nodded. “I used him for what he was good for, and now I intend on casting him aside. Just like you, no? He blessed you, then you cast him aside.”

“How will you cast him aside?” Anneliese pressed, her grip on her staff firm as ever.

“All in due time. But I do have to ask—have you reconsidered lending me Sophia? I would give her right back—I promise,” Traugott held his hands out, almost begging.

Argrave didn’t play his games—he felt the need to lay out the facts. “You’re going to die, Traugott. And soon.”

“Ah.” Traugott closed shut his hands. “Everyone does eventually. Or do they? I see an argument to the contrary.” He looked at the Alchemist. “Well—I had enough of a sample size to guess your response. Nevertheless, to borrow your words… glad to see it confirmed. And I’m glad to see you didn’t try and trick me. Erlebnis said you were tricky, crafty. I’ve always had a hard time with such people. Deception, jokes—they go right over my head.”

“Why are you here?” Argrave asked.

Argrave hoped desperately that Anneliese or the Alchemist might track where the druidic bond linked to while they talked. He wasn’t expecting something worthwhile from this conversation.

“You want to get into the Palace of Heaven, don’t you?” Traugott waved his finger. “I can see that twinkle in your eye, indeed… well, alright. I’m lying. I can’t see any twinkle, but Erlebnis knows you want to go there, and he told me. And may I just say…” Traugott tapped Norman’s chest. “I’m the one that helped them in. I’m the reason the Qircassian Coalition took that fortress. And… for my own benefit, you see… I kept a way in. I can give that way in to you.”

“Do you think we’d ever trust you? You’re a walking contradiction that serves only yourself,” Galamon chided.

“That’s true,” Traugott nodded without protest. “Objectively speaking, it just is. That’s why I was considering… something of a trade, shall we say. A mutually beneficial arrangement. I tell you the secrets you need, you tell me the secrets I need. Win-win. And to entice you, I’ll say this—this hidden path, it doesn’t relate to the Shadowlands at all. And you can verify it works long before you use it.”

“It sounds like a trap,” Argrave said. “Sounds like something we’d have to be stupid to even consider.”

“Come on. I’ve never attacked you. I like you, all of you—why would I want to kill you? I don’t hold grudges for the past. You’re far too interesting, too unique.”

Argrave looked around. “You certainly killed enough people to make these monstrosities.”

“They weren’t worth much. They wouldn’t have died if they were.” Traugott shrugged. “You can always make more people. A set of functioning genitalia, some willpower, and you’ll have new people in a matter of months. Only a select few—like present company—are impossible to replace. But before you say anything more, I’ll just say what I want. You’ve got it, Argrave. It’s on you, right now. And it’s on him, too.” Traugott pointed at the Alchemist. “I need an Undying Soul. I’m not asking for either of yours—heavens, no. All I need to know is where I might find one. A lich. A human. Anyone, so long as their soul never dies.” Traugott spread his arms out wide and smiled. Argrave felt a chill, seeing Good King Norman’s face grin again.

“You give me a location… I give you a way to breach the Palace of Heaven. Mutual benefit.”