Chapter 640: Curse of Competency

Argrave walked out into a wide-open valley, alone in spirit but not in fact. Excluding the thousands of blood-infused wind eels soaring above him as a cloud of death, he had the charming company of the Shadowlanders, playing the role of the lurking mountain lion ready to leap down upon him. In the back of his mind, he kept at close attention the blood echo positioned miles away. One of the good fortunes about being in an area where the enemy had no knowledge of him meant that he could call upon old tricks where necessary to gain an advantage.

And considering what he’d volunteered for, well... he would need every damned advantage.

Elenore’s blessing of connections didn’t function in this place, but they weren’t without methods to communicate long distance. There was a baby’s head on Argrave’s shoulder, and he was doing his best to ignore what it looked like as he listened to what it said—or rather, what its creator said, speaking through it.

“They’re just now starting to take the bait. You’re far enough away from us that they seem to be willing to try something. The horseman, though, isn’t getting any nearer,” Bhaltair said, conveying the details from the other members back at their base of operations.

Argrave’s gaze went upward, scanning the tall mesas cautiously. Their plan was rather simple—Argrave, alone, should poke out at the edge of the boundary, clearing the dark away to hide his true goal: baiting the enemy to attack. He told himself he was in no more risk here than he was back with allies. Well, perhaps a bit more. Or a lot. Regardless, Anneliese could heal his wounds no matter the distance, and if needed, he could still swap places with the blood echo.

“About ten... no, about a hundred... mmm...” the baby’s head trailed off.

Argrave looked at it, resenting the sight of the peach-colored thing tied to him with leg tendons. It looked like he had a twin brother absorbed in the womb on his shoulder. “What’s happening?” he asked Bhaltair.

“There’s about... it’s upward of about half a thousand, I’d say, and increasing. They’re approaching your position in groups of one hundred. It’s not like that first attack was. Anneliese’s scouting efforts with her bird say these could be considered full military squads, with leaders. They have fliers, some archers...”

“Archers?” Argrave repeated, feeling some fear. Charging beasts he could handle—he’d sparred with Orion enough to be confident in taking a close-quarters foe. Projectiles were another matter, doubly so projectiles coming from these freakishly strong opponents. One blind spot, and he could get a bolt through the back of the head.

“Yes. They’re taking a position on the plateaus, and—oh. You’re surrounded. But there is some good news. That horseman’s come back out. We don’t have a visual on him, but Roland’s confirmed it.”

“Alright. And what does that mean for the plan?”

“If you can hold out... we can cut off their escape back to the darkness, set up the ambush we’d planned,” Bhaltair said certainly. “We’ll help entrap the horseman. But at the end of the day, you’re likely the only one that can do any significant damage to him.

Argrave took a deep breath in this silent valley. “I’ll do it.”

“I’ll tell everyone.”

Argrave looked around wildly, searching for moving darkness amidst the shades of white and gray. But the darkness was always there right at the edge of his vision, and it was difficult to avoid mistaking the boundaries of what they’d carved out for a true problem.

Argrave held onto the rider firmly, and bloody vines erupted from his fingers, seeking purchase in the knight’s steel-hard flesh. They dug in, bit by bit, pushing past that steel-like skin... but the rider took Argrave for a ride all the while. He slammed his fist into his face, time and time again. He kneed Argrave, and the spikes dug into his guts. He pulled on the sword like it was a joystick at an arcade machine, slicing up Argrave inside and out continuously. But vitality coming both from the troops on the ground and this knight he held gave Argrave just enough fuel to hang on, and the dulled pain of the Shadowlands allowed him to press past any discomfort to remember his role in this capture.

[Withering Gift] was an insidious spell that, much like [Bloodfeud Bow], grew stronger depending on how much magic and blood someone fed it. It was a parasitic entity that took root in whoever its caster touched, slowly disabling and killing them. Argrave created enough to kill just about anyone a thousand times over, but the knight continued to bash Argrave as they whirled through the air, locked.

It was only when the knight finally pulled his sword free of Argrave’s body, and thrust it toward his head that Argrave swapped place with the blood echo. He collapsed onto the ground in the fortress they’d made. There, a few people waited.

“Planted the seed?” questioned Balzat.

Argrave couldn’t speak, but he made a vague grunting noise that made him cough blood.

“If you did, we’ll handle the rest.” The man knelt. “Because together, no one is our match.”

#####

In a few minutes, Argrave felt as right as rain. And in half an hour, Argrave realized that he’d pulled together one hell of a team. Why? The reason was lying right in front of them, crippled by the [Withering Gift]. Everyone had done far more than their part.

With the black knight weakened, marked by Roland, and all avenues of escape amply covered, the people he’d brought had been capable of snatching this man as he and his troops attempted to slink back into the shadows. [Withering Gift] had utterly incapacitated him, and Ghislain’s illusions and Bhaltair’s undead armed with blood magic weaponry mounted an ambush aback the Archchief’s wyvern. The combined efforts of several amazing fighters had allowed them to spirit this man away. Argrave hadn’t even possessed the time to offer help if he wanted to.

“Somehow, you look worse than him,” Felipe noted. “Elenore wouldn’t be pleased with you. Nor would the man who made your armor, I suspect.”

Argrave agreed—his coat, his armor, it was all in total tatters. He looked rather like Orion had after fighting the Plague Jester. Perhaps it ran in the family. But Argrave hadn’t felt much pain in that battle, fortunately. There were some nice aspects to the dullness of this place.

“Well, he’s the captive, and I’m the captor. It’s a victory,” Argrave said. He looked down at the silent knight, then kneeled. Black vines coiled in and out of the knight’s body, yet his white eyes stared ahead firmly. He reminded Argrave of Galamon, if going by eyes and temperament alone. “Hello there.”

“Will you try and liberate me?” the knight asked. “You had best kill me, Manumitter scum. Free, I’ll only finish what I started.”

Argrave smiled, then looked at everyone. They seemed to be having similar thoughts—that this might be a conversation worth having.

“You’re going to enlighten me about a few things,” Argrave said. “Does that sound fun?”