When Svetlana of Quadreign opened the door and Argrave’s gaze fell upon Ganbaatar, memories came rushing back just alongside his plan for how to deal with this situation.
Ganbaatar—a fairly tall individual with golden hair, pure red eyes, and sharp ears—was the only elven playable character in the game, so he naturally had a large constituent of loyal fans that hoped to betray humanity and instead hug trees. The elven rogue-warrior protagonist hailed from what the humans in Vasquer called the Bloodwoods.
The Bloodwoods was one of the most dangerous places in the continent—a fitting fate for tree-huggers. Not that Argrave was in any place to criticize; he had wavered between liking and disliking the woodland elves quite frequently himself. He’d always liked the Veidimen, and the ancient, now largely extinct elves were even cooler.
In the redwood forests the woodland elves called their homes, even the smallest of their big trees rivaled skyscrapers. The danger of the place came from the fact there was another species competing for dominance, one Argrave and company had encountered before: centaurs. The centaurs and the elves were natural enemies after generations of feuds. The elves had been winning for a long while, yet Vasquer’s invasion hurt their numbers terribly and gave the centaurs an opportunity for resurgence.
Why was this history relevant to the conversation? Because Ganbaatar wasn’t from a human culture, and therefore had far fewer traditionally human values. Argrave had come to Veiden relying on their adherence to their forefathers prophecies of old, and it had worked splendidly. In convincing the elf turned vampire hunter, he couldn’t use the same tactics that had carried him in Relize and elsewhere.
Yet extreme cultures were the easiest to play.
“Vasilisa…” Argrave looked back and lightly commanded, “Get the door.”
The Magister stepped within, cast Argrave a perplexed glance, then shut the door. Argrave had yet to say a word to Ganbaatar, and nor had the vampire hunter said anything to him. They both just stared. Anneliese stood just behind him in steadfast support.
As soon as Argrave heard the door shut, he reached at his head and pulled off the white wig, dropping it to the floor. Svetlana raised a perplexed brow, and even Ganbaatar could not help but show some surprise.
“I am King Argrave,” he declared at once. “I reign over the lands of Relize and have an army of twenty thousand swords willing to fight for me.”
Svetlana’s face twisted at those words. She looked to Vasilisa, yet when she saw her aunt was deadly serious, what had been humor twisted to shock.
“I am Ganbaatar,” the elf replied, conditioned by years of service to answer. “I fought in the Holy Army of the Wind, and now travel as a lone vampire hunter taught by the Sunscourge Monastery.”
At once, Argrave was pleased with the dynamic established in this conversation. The elves of the woods had a militaristic society. Hierarchy and rank were important to them. Leaders were to be obeyed without question and revered both on and off the battlefield.
“I have a grievance. You attacked my knight-commander without provocation,” Argrave spoke quickly and strongly.
Vasilisa stepped into Argrave’s line of sight and started, “Argrave, what are you—”
“He is a vampire,” Ganbaatar interrupted. “That is provocation against all life.”
Silence set in between the two of them. Ganbaatar had a wariness in his red eyes, and all of his attention was devoted to Argrave. Doubtless he was wondering why and how Argrave was using speech customary in his people’s armies. While they stared, Anneliese stepped to Vasilisa and explained what Argrave was doing.
“Is that your defense? Will we bring this to your superior?” Argrave pressed in the same tone.
“…I have no superior,” Ganbaatar said after a time. “As I said, I am alone here.”
“And as king, I have no superior,” Argrave followed up, keeping his arms rigidly at his side. “As such, it is within my right to suggest a resolution to this dispute.”
“…what game are you playing?” Ganbaatar said, finally breaking free of the rigid guidelines of their conversation. “Are you toying with my people’s customs?”
“Far from it,” Argrave shook his head. “I’m employing them to end this in a way that can satisfy everyone. Your people resolve disputes by escalating the matter to a superior so that any disputes that arise are resolved without adversely impacting both groups. These resolutions are meant for preservation of the species.”
“That is because we, as elves, have a common interest,” Ganbaatar refuted. “That doesn’t exist here. You are a man—he is an offshoot of the pure branch.”
“We don’t have common interests?” Argrave raised a brow. “I think we do. You want to eliminate vampirism. I do, too.”
Ganbaatar’s eyes briefly glanced at Vasilisa, who had settled to watch this exchange after Anneliese’s explanation. Presumably, she had told Ganbaatar why Argrave had been seeking the flame: to cure Galamon’s vampirism. Allegedly.
“You’re in possession of a glass eye that locates vampires that meet certain specifications,” Argrave claimed.
Ganbaatar’s defensiveness increased a fair bit, and his gaze remained unflinching so as not to betray anything. Both served to completely clarify that Argrave was right, ironically.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ganbaatar played ignorant.
“I think you do,” Argrave shook his head. “And I think it’ll match well with these two items.”
Argrave reached into his coat and retrieved the unnamed black bowl with strange red runes, then the knife called Althazar that had much the same appearance. While resting the bowl in the palm of his hand, Argrave placed the knife atop it.
“If you’ve been hunting vampires, these will be familiar in appearance,” Argrave said.
“Vacant vampiric relics,” Ganbaatar stared at him, then raised his gaze back up.
Argrave wagged his finger. “Not vacant. These artifacts still work. And I’m certain these two are responsible for helping Galamon show up on the eye.”
Ganbaatar shifted on his feet and crossed his arms. “Is this… true?”
“It is,” Argrave nodded. “You killed a vampire to gain possession of that glass eye, didn’t you? A wandering bard, who carried an instrument stringed with his victims’ hair.”
Ganbaatar’s caution rose to a new peak, but he did eventually admit, “I… did.”
“Just as you’ve been seeking vampires to kill, we’ve been seeking that glass eye,” Argrave explained. “The eye… it helped him project himself, didn’t it? He didn’t even need to touch someone to feed from them. And it led him to the victims with the richest blood.”
Ganbaatar took a deep breath of shock. Meanwhile, Svetlana cut in, saying, “Auntie, what’s…? What is this?”
“…just let them speak,” Vasilisa urged quietly, putting her hand on her niece’s shoulder. “Trust in this.”
“Now that all the variables are established, I believe we can come to a resolution,” Argrave declared. “These artifacts—the glass eye, the knife, and the bowl… they all serve to actualize the vampiric beast within the vampire. Rather than some dread instinct, it can make them more than that. It can make them tangible. And what is tangible… can be stripped away and killed.”
“You’re mad,” Ganbaatar said, eyes widening.
“Not yet,” Argrave shook his head. “This idea of mine is backed by thousands of hours of cold, hard research. I’m confident enough to promise you this: you can keep my neck wrapped in one of those wires of yours while we do this. If I’m wrong, take my head.”
Vasilisa stepped forward and said, “Hold a minute. What?”
“You heard me,” Argrave looked to her. “I’ll stake my head on this.”
“But you…!” she began, then trailed off. “You’re king, Argrave. You cannot make promises like that.”
“Galamon is my subordinate,” Argrave stared steadfastly. “A commander should stake his life on his decisions, just as his men have their lives staked on his decisions.”
Vasilisa raised her hands and said, “The people—"
“You may relax, Vasilisa,” Ganbaatar interrupted. “I have no intention of holding someone unrelated hostage.” His red eyes fixed on Argrave. “I would hold only the vampire hostage.”
Generally, Argrave would delegate the decision to Galamon, personally. He didn’t have any right to volunteer the man’s life. And… he had. Long before this meeting, he broached the idea with the elven vampire. His response?
“You can do so,” Argrave nodded.
The woodland elves didn’t respect individual choices—most matters were delegated to the leaders. Argrave could only earn respect from Ganbaatar by acting in this manner. He didn’t need the man’s respect, only his cooperation… but respect would be amply useful nonetheless.
Ganbaatar took a deep breath and stepped away until he stared out the window. Svetlana walked up to him.
“If my aunt would speak for him…” Svetlana began to counsel.
“Say nothing,” Ganbaatar interrupted her. “Let me think.”
Time stretched out. Argrave looked to Anneliese, hoping to get her input. Instead, he met Vasilisa’s cold, blue eyes, obviously greatly displeased by this development. Argrave was sure her anger would fade with time.
Ganbaatar turned back. “This is a suitable resolution that serves our common interests.”
Argrave nodded. “I think so, too.”
#####
“Galamon…” Argrave looked up at his knight-commander. “Are you sure about this? I mean, really sure?”
“Yes,” the vampire responded, taking off the last of his armor—his helmet. He wore simple brown clothes beneath, little more than rags.
“If you want to call it off… I’ll do it,” Argrave continued despite Galamon’s assurances. “It’s your head at risk, not mine. If he’s not true to his word like I think he is… the moment that wire’s around your neck…”
“I’m sure,” Galamon nodded, stepping away to set down his helmet. “If he beheads me once the wire is in place, his life would be forfeit. It’s against common sense.” He looked back. “And I trust your judgement.”
“I trust my judgement, too, but I might balk at the whole hostage idea…” Argrave put his hands on his waist, distraught.
“Just do it,” Galamon closed his eyes, his voice shaking for the first time Argrave had ever heard. “I… want finality. I have come long enough.”
Argrave looked at him. The idea crossed through his head, very briefly, that Galamon might not care one way or the other whether he was cured or killed. All doubts vanished in that moment, and Argrave’s face hardened. “You’re not going to be a vampire anymore, Galamon. If you have any final meals you want, I’m willing to do a blood drive.”
Galamon stepped away and out the door. Argrave bit his lips, frustrated at himself that he’d chosen to joke instead of comfort. With no other option, he followed just after.
They were far on the outskirts of First Hope, in a simple abandoned ranch house. Ganbaatar stood with Svetlana and Vasilisa. Anneliese was waiting just outside the house, and smiled at the two of them as she joined them in stride.
“The eye?” Argrave asked.
Ganbaatar stared at only Galamon. “You’ll get it when the wire’s around his neck.”
Galamon needed no more words to step forward. He knelt down. After hesitating a beat, Ganbaatar twirled his fingers adroitly, his two wires glimmering in the moonlight. He wrapped them around Galamon’s neck ever so slowly, then pulled them until they pushed against the vampire’s pale skin. He saw the flesh bulge over the top and bottom, and felt his own neck grow uncomfortable.
Then, Svetlana stepped forward. She handed Argrave the glass eye. Off its shrine, it looked more like an obsidian eye, with its strange runes glowing red.
“Alright,” Argrave nodded, looking up. Doubt overcame him for a moment, and so he hastened to do as he remembered. He reached into his pocket, retrieving the black bowl. Anneliese handed him the knife—once it was out, Galamon’s body tensed, the beast stirring within him.
Argrave put the tip of the knife against the now-inanimate eye’s iris. Then, after taking a deep breath, he handed the bowl to Anneliese. She held it beneath as he ran the eye through.
Black mist seeped out of the eye. Ganbaatar watched this ordeal, hands tight against the wire. Slowly, a bloodlike liquid started to condense out of the eye, filling the bowl beneath. It went from a trickle to a stream, then back to a trickle before it trailed off as drops. Anneliese held the bowl with steady hands. When Argrave took it from her, he realized his were shaking.
Argrave turned to Galamon, knelt, and held the bowl to him. The elven vampire received it, staring at his reflection in the bloodlike substance. Then, like downing medicine, he raised it up and drank deep. Down and down it drained, until nothing remained.
Galamon lowered it, white eyes staring ahead. Then his breathing quickened breath by breath. By the tenth, red mist started to come from his nose. His body seized up, and blood started to drip from his mouth as his teeth dug deep into his lips.
“What’s happening?” Svetlana asked, panicked.
Galamon opened his eyes… but the whites were gone, and instead glowed red. Argrave, alert and knowledgeable, watched this mist coming from Galamon’s nose with steady caution. Though formless at first… it was slowly taking shape.