Jackal Among Snakes

Galamon grabbed the large mass of stone with both of his hands, using his legs to lift it from below. It shifted upwards easier than he thought it would, and he tossed it into the mineshaft behind him. A few fragments of rock fell when the rock was removed, but there was an entryway large enough for him to enter. He had taken off all his weapons except for his Ebonice axe, completely adhering to Argrave’s directions.

He crouched low, walking awkwardly forward. He did not need to do so for long. The small passage opened up into a vast room. Galamon stood. He could see everything clearly, and he acknowledged that Argrave had been right to send him; even with a torch or magic lamp, this place would be difficult to navigate. Galamon could not sense any blood nor sense any movements. Nothing in this place was alive.

The room was very open, barring the pillars holding the mountain above up. The central walkway was a neatly polished gray stone and had many branching paths. Beside the walkways, lined up in perfect rows, were rectangular stairways that descended to an altar. Each of these altars, of which there must have been a hundred, were filled with various objects: weapons, gold, gems, and other such earthly treasures.

Nothing was alive, to be sure, but the creatures that Argrave had described filled the place. The tomb guardians sat behind the altars, each in an identical cross-legged pose. They held a weapon across their laps, heads drooping over them as though bowing or sleeping. Their bodies were wholly metal and decidedly anthropomorphic but they lacked any distinguishing features beyond that.

Briefly bewildered, Galamon took out his flask and held it to his lips. He drained the entire thing, and then put it back in its place. He set off into a steady, certain walk, running Argrave’s directions through his head. He was careful to watch his step so that he did not kick anything. A rock might hit one of the altars if kicked, and the situation could quickly get out of hand. Above all, Galamon could not waste time dealing with one of the awakened guardians.

The path wound confusingly. Try as he might to remember where he came from, most of the place looked the same, and that only deepened his reliance on Argrave’s directions. They included an escape route and everything. If the man had been lying to him, Galamon would be in dire straits. He had come to trust Argrave, though he was at times annoying.

Before long, Galamon stood at a set of stairs that led upwards. Pillars stretched for dozens of feet above, holding the great mass of ceiling at bay. Galamon took the stairs two steps at a time, and he arrived at a great open portion of room. A royal red carpet that had degraded over the passage of years led to a single massive altar. There was a king’s ransom in gold, jewels, and magic artifacts. Behind it was a metal guardian larger than most of what Galamon had seen.

He gave the glistening pile of wealth a large berth, walking until he stood in front of the tomb guardian. Argrave had said this man was a dead king; true to his word, a crown hung from the brow. Galamon took a deep breath, running through Argrave’s directions one last time. They seemed ridiculous, like a child’s game. But Argrave had assured that this strategy worked ‘two hundred percent of the time,’ whatever that meant.

Galamon identified every aspect of the plan—scouted out everything Argrave had mentioned, and took mental note of the closest tomb guardians that had bows—and then he reached both of his hands out, hovering just beside the crown. He moved his hands quickly, touching his fingers to the circlet and yanking it off.

“The crown’s a pretty good artifact. Bolsters your st—er, your physical abilities considerably. Leave your helmet outside, and just toss that baby on,” Argrave’s voice rang through Galamon’s head.

He put the crown on and leapt back. Galamon leapt much further than he intended and crashed into the pile of gold—the physical enhancements were considerable indeed. The tomb guardian raised his head, standing and lifting the gargantuan sword off its lap. He heard metal clanking behind him, as though a thousand blacksmiths came to life.

“Run behind the boss, and head for the left corner of the room. The pillars there are pretty close together, and the big guy won’t be able to fit.”

Galamon sprinted forward and jumped off the altar, easily dodging a slow swing from the tomb’s king. He headed for the set of pillars, and then squeezed into them.

“Once you’re there, the king’ll probably come and try to reach you, banging his sword against the pillars. They’re quite strong—they’ve been holding up a mountain for a thousand years, after all. All you need to do is wait. Eventually some of the little guys’ll come near.”

Hiding behind one of the pillars as instructed, Galamon watched as the king slammed the greatsword against the pillars. He watched for cracks, fearing they were not as sturdy as Argrave estimated, but there was not a one. He poked his head out, watching for the progress of the tomb guardians. A purple projectile soared through the air, and Galamon brought his head back in, inhaling sharply.

The projectile impaled into the wall, and Galamon recognized that it took the shape of an arrow. It sunk in very deep—nearly a foot—and then fragmented into purple shards before dissipating entirely. Galamon took another deep breath to calm himself. He waited as the big king slammed his sword against the pillars in unintelligent attempts to get at him.

One of the guardians drew near enough to swing at Galamon. He dodged, stepping back until his back was against the wall.

“Once the tomb’s guardians get close enough, you’ll want to go to the opposite corner, keeping within the pillars. Just keep hugging the wall, and head for the stairs. It should be a tight pinch—you want them bunched up like that. If it’s too tight, just jump. The crown should let you, even with that heavy armor.”

Galamon sprinted for the opposite corner. Behind him, the archers shot the wall, leaving foot-deep stabs. Galamon drew his Ebonice, just in case; according to Argrave, what they conjured was pure magic, and so unlike some elemental magics, it would dissipate immediately when touching Ebonice.

Practically flying down the stairs, Galamon kept close to the wall and took a sharp left when he came to the bottom. He kept behind the pillars as instructed. One projectile came close, but he swatted it aside with the axe, surprised by his own speed.

“Just keep hugging the wall. Eventually, you’ll go off into another room, but it has two entrances back to the main hall. If you stay in the leftmost corner, you’ll give the tomb guardians enough time to shamble away from the mineshaft’s entry point. In other words, hide behind the pillars again, waiting for them to group together.”

A crowd of the tomb guardians blocked the wall ahead, but Galamon could see the room Argrave described just beyond it. He hastened his run, and then jumped as hard as he could, soaring above them. After clearing them considerably, he landed, his legs jolting from the impact. He started running again, and he did not stop until he reached the spot that Argrave had designated.

“This second room is a long hallway, in essence. It breaks off from the main room and has two entryways; the one you’ll enter from, and the one that connects back near the entrance. It was constructed to accommodate more bodies once the main room was filled, but their civilization died before they had the chance to use it. As such, empty.”

“Hurry up and wait,” Galamon muttered to himself, keeping his eye on what was ahead. The great mass of tomb guardians slowly entered into the room, shambling towards his position. They moved about as fast as he walked, but they were devilishly strong and their bowmen caused problems. The king stood in the back, twice as large as the rest but unable to proceed past the mob that had formed ahead of him.

“You should probably wait until the king enters the room fully. That’s usually the proper cue for when to skedaddle.”

Galamon watched and waited. The bulk of the archers were also behind the mob, meaning that they could not fire at him. He waited until a few seconds after the king had crossed the threshold, and then bolted. Innumerable projectiles flew at Galamon—too many to work out a path to dodge and dispel with Ebonice. He considered how to dodge them, but then he simply jumped. He cleared all of them handily, and one of the altars shattered into dust and pebbles when the arrows struck behind him.

After this, Galamon ran unimpeded for the opposite side of the hallway. The archers did fire more at him, but their attacks were too far away to have any considerable accuracy. He found the exit to the room, walking back into the main hall. He saw the light shimmering in from the mineshaft and rushed towards it.

One of the guardians bearing a sword lunged at Galamon as he ran. He tried to parry the blow, but it stabbed him in the shoulder and he dropped the axe. He pulled his arm free, deliberating between the axe and the exit. Ultimately, he decided to move towards the exit. The wound had already stopped bleeding, and he felt his vampiric blood stir as the injury closed itself. He reached for his second flask, draining it of blood and sating himself before his instincts could consume him. He had none left after this, but the worst was over.

I’ll be sure to make that beanpole reimburse me for that axe, Galamon thought to himself, dodging a purple arrow that flew past. He came to the entrance, ducking into a graceful slide that delivered him right into the mineshaft. There, he grabbed his helmet and his weapons, stringing them to his person as quick as his fingers could manage.

He moved as fast as the close confines of the mineshaft would allow, moving towards where he sensed air was coming from. It was not long before he was outside. He took a deep breath and exhaled.

“Once you’re out, just set off riding. They’ve got... magical tracking on the crown, you see. The big guy will get stuck at the entrance, seething, while our favorite frozen freaks will chase you towards Barden. There, I’ll either be dead, dying, or starting to form an ego after holding back a Veidimen raiding party.”

I lived. That felt wrong, somehow. Cheap, Galamon mused. He walked to the horse, untying its reins from the rock he’d attached it to. He leapt on, spurring the horse forward. He took off the crown and threw his helmet on to hide his elven ears. He looked behind, scanning the cave’s entrance. It took some time, but the metal things started to emerge from the mine.

Let’s see if I find a corpse or a hero.