Jackal Among Snakes

Argrave and Anneliese made their way back to the inn rather satisfied. Argrave felt things with the Magisters had gone quite well, which gave ample comfort for the tasks ahead. To show their commitment to their work together, the Magisters agreed to refrain from visiting Ivan until asked by Argrave. And in turn, Argrave gave them a document signed with his magic signature, detailing his promise to bestow Dirracha upon them after the war’s end.

He had half-expected the two to quibble about the precise details, yet they only wanted one adage—that the city should be granted to them as a single unit. That is, the package was bound by law as a family. In essence, it was nothing less than ownership by a married couple. It perplexed Argrave and did stir some anxiety… but he abided by this condition, despite his gut questioning how long this couple might stay as such.

Before they could come anywhere near the inn, Galamon lunged out and seized the both of them. Argrave was amply surprised, but the vampire’s voice calmed him at once.

“I was attacked,” the elven vampire declared as he dragged them away into seclusion.

“You were?” Argrave furrowed his brows, pulling free his arm. “What? By whom? A mage?”

“No. A man garbed in black,” Galamon looked around in paranoia, then knelt down. “The only distinguishing features I noted were his eyes—wholly red, no white at all.”

“Then he’s elven,” Argrave decided at once, adapting quickly. “Or at least partially so. But… what…” Argrave took a deep breath to gather himself and looked around in paranoia. “Tell me everything you can of the encounter.”

The big elf nodded, still kneeling. “I will.”

“Maybe not here,” Argrave decided. “Let’s return to our room.”

“And if I’m watched?” Galamon pressed.

It was a fair point, Argrave had to admit. He bit his lip as he deliberated. “Anneliese, could you…?”

“At once,” she agreed before he could fully voice his request. As though reading his mind, she sent her bird out to scout for any watchers.

Finally, her search offered nothing, and Galamon was content none around could see them go. They returned hastily, being mindful that they did so quietly. Once inside, Argrave sat on his bed and listened to the report of happenings.

Galamon described with more words and more details than he often spoke with so as to provide Argrave with the best assessment of the situation. That said… not many details existed. The fighting strategy only confirmed the assailant was elven—only elves used wires of that sort, so far as Argrave knew. They were crafted in the Bloodwoods, and often used to traverse the often thousand-feet tall redwoods and the structures built upon them by the elves.

No words had been exchanged during or after the battle. No justification was given for the attack… and it was far too methodical to be a simply robbery, at least by Argrave’s estimation. It was a targeted attack—an assassination, almost. The person was professional enough for the term to apply.

Once Galamon’s report was given, Argrave sat still and utterly perplexed on his bed. “The only thing I can say for certain is that the man is not under the employ of Margrave Ivan,” Argrave decided.

“This is an elf from the Bloodwoods that Magister Vasilisa described?” Anneliese questioned, kneeling beside Argrave lost in just as much thought. “The ones that held out against Felipe, retained independence?”

“He has to be,” Argrave nodded in answer, then rose to his feet. “And I can’t picture why he’s beyond those Bloodwoods of his.”

“To think of why he attacked… Galamon said the glass eye was aboard a ship, coming here,” Anneliese reminded him. “He said that the eye saw him just as he saw it. Galamon?”

“I…” he stepped away. “I have not been drinking of the black bowl anymore. The days have been busy, and closely monitored… I had not been paying close attention to the matter.”

Argrave took a deep breath, about to criticize before he recalled he had given Galamon leave to lessen up on the drinking. His anger deflated in a resigned sigh as he asked, “The one who holds the glass eye is a vampire in my memory, not an elf. Was this person…?”

“No. Impossible,” Galamon shook his head. “The wound I caused on his toe did not heal quickly, or at all. He was strong, but not unnaturally so.”

Argrave shook his head with a bitter chuckle. “Then we might be dealing with someone who hunts vampires,” he reasoned. “But… an elven vampire hunter? I can’t think of anyone. No, I can say for certain there aren’t any, at least not in Heroes of Berendar. Something like that isn’t easily forgotten.”

Quietude took over when Argrave announced he had no answers to this conundrum.

“If Galamon was attacked, we should stick together,” Anneliese finally reasoned above the silent din of uncertainty.

“Perhaps not,” Galamon suggested. “That man… I cannot guarantee he will not harm the two of you. I cannot guarantee my protection should he attack one other than myself.”

“Vampire hunters are generally self-righteous,” Argrave pointed out. “It’s a thankless task, quite often, and not… implicitly legal. So, I think I’m willing to risk it.”

“Your Majesty,” Galamon said at once. “You named me your knight-commander. I do not wish to bring risk upon you.”

Argrave stepped to him and grabbed his shoulder. “You’ll just have to be more alert than normal. And by the way… it’s Silvaden. Don’t forget that.”

#####

Their only lead on the matter of the elven attacker was Anneliese’s suggestion it might be linked to the glass eye. Argrave had Galamon once again drink his own blood from the black bowl to get a lead on where the eye might be, but beyond that they had nothing to go on. They asked around about elves in the city, but nothing came back to them, and Anneliese’s scouting revealed nothing. Still, they remained on high alert.

Concurrent with that matter, early the next morning Argrave knocked on Vasilisa’s door. They were very, very loud and insistent knocks, yet even after them he waited about half an hour for the hungover Magister to rise. On top of all that, she would not speak to them until she’d had a drink that morning. It was quite the unproductive start to things.

Yet once she came to form they started moving, keeping Vasilisa entirely ignorant that the two Magisters had already arrived. They already had their fingers in the pie, so to speak, and that was sufficient enough for them. Now, they were to be introduced when they were most effective. Vasilisa’s favor from Elenore alone wasn’t enough to tie the north to Argrave’s faction in Relize, yet the two Magisters… to say the least, Argrave had some ideas for their role in things.

At Vasilisa’s direction, Anneliese sent out a message to Elenore—in actuality, they sent it alongside a message of their own—intending to secure the promised favor. Per their direction, Elenore answered positively, with a small stipend sent to demonstrate earnestness. That promise leavened with physical proof put Vasilisa’s mind at ease enough to venture into the riskier strategies Argrave had in mind.

Their goal was to arrange a conversation with Pavel Drawnwater to get a lead into the meeting with the margravine, and in turn wrap their fingers the whole of First Hope. Argrave had a good feeling about a conversation with them, and yet he and Anneliese would need to meet them to be certain of their character. ‘Heroes of Berendar’ only revealed so much about people, and Argrave would not like to have another Titus on his hands.

And so… Argrave spoke to a dock worker, bringing Vasilisa along as a trophy Magister. This shipyard laborer directed him to the dock’s manager. This overseer directed Argrave to his manager, Bran Livermore—a fairly rich bureaucrat under the employ of Pavel. It was such a short chain, yet one advanced so quickly that Vasilisa was baffled.

In not a week, they sat in a well-decorated office of a prominent citizen within First Hope, speaking of a future investment that had no other details than ‘it involves House Quadreign’ and ‘it’ll make a lot of money.’ All of it stemmed from the power of fear: namely, the fear of making a huge mistake. The dock worker didn’t want to offend someone speaking about big money, and even the dock manager found things beyond his paygrade. Could either afford to rebuff a Magister—moreover, one who spoke of making their employers vast quantities of money? The answer was clear based on their actions: no.

And because of that fear, Argrave sat on a velvet cushion across from a portly man wearing luxurious white furs that made him seem half a seal. Vasilisa stood just behind him, still the ever-diligent trophy Magister, with Anneliese and Galamon just beside her.

Argrave proposed, “If you can work things out with us, there could be goods worth hundreds of rose gold magic coins moving through these docks… by the week,” Argrave explained to Bran. “Mister Livermore… I’m sure I don’t need to explain the value of these coins to someone like yourself.”

Bran swallowed, one of his chins trembling. “Hundreds of them, sir?” he looked to the side, where Vasilisa stood mute. “And… Magister Vasilisa, he speaks for you? He speaks the truth?”

“He does,” she confirmed stiffly.

“The fortunes of House Quadreign are shifting,” Argrave continued. “So much so, Mister Livermore, that lady Vasilisa can afford to hire us to speak in her stead. I’m only a humble trader and administrator. We have a great deal of business that we’d like to do… but given the competitiveness of the market, and the necessity for secrecy… we’d like to speak with someone who can handle the great bulk of what we offer.”

“That’s… sensible, sir,” Bran nodded, though he seemed perplexed at the mention of a ‘necessity of secrecy.’ Nonetheless, he continued, “Given the flow of this conversation, I imagine you have an idea in mind?”

Argrave nodded pleasantly. “An associate of mine recommended someone. Pavel Drawnwater? I’m told you work for him…”

#####

“What in the name of the gods have you gotten me into…” whispered Vasilisa urgently as the four of them—Argrave, Anneliese, Galamon, and herself—walked towards the Drawnwater estate.

“I gave them nothing but words that were vague and meant little at all, and now we’re walking into the Drawnwater estate,” Argrave replied back.

It had taken three days for Pavel Drawnwater to reach out, but he had. During that time, they’d not been idle. Vasilisa’s feet got colder and colder, and Argrave had to speak more words to stop them from freezing solid and stopping their progress. All the while, the two other Magisters working with Argrave endeavored to get in contact with local powers of a more mystical nature: the wizards belonging to the Order.

“Yes, yes… you just staked my entire reputation on this, nothing more…” Vasilisa rubbed her hands together as though cold. “Why should I worry? Of course not…”

“If things don’t go right… I got us in, and I can get us out just the same, no loss of reputation,” Argrave assured. “I promise things will be fine. A vow from a Veidimen is not light.”

Ahead, the doors to the estate opened. Two men stepped out into the cool midday sunlight. He was rather lean, well-groomed, and fair of hair—rather the opposite of the white-furred seal that was Bran Livermore beside him.

“Pavel Drawnwater, I presume?” Argrave greeted.

“Vasilisa’s man, Silvaden, and his company… a pleasure to meet you all.” Pavel greeted in kind. “Has the day treated you well, Magister?”

“As well as could be expected, Pavel,” she answered politely.

“Good,” Pavel nodded. “Well… it would be my honor to invite you into my home. I am most interested to hear the two of you out.”

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