Jackal Among Snakes

Orion stepped into the throne room of the Dragon Palace. He didn’t especially like coming here. It had grandiose carved marble walls depicting the gods, but that was about the only part of this place he’d ever liked. Ever since he’d learned the truth, nothing of this place appealed to him. And now, he entered armed and armored. The point of the sword in his right hand dragged just above the floor.

The banners of Vasquer hung above the gilded coal-black throne. A velvet carpet filled the center of the room and up the seat of the king. Here, before the king, Orion recalled that no one acted truly. Maybe they had, once, in golden ages past. That time was long ago gone. Perhaps his brother could bring a just reign back. Still, Orion’s steps were especially heavy as he headed for the seat of kings. It was not for the throne itself, but for the man sitting upon it.

“You always find me,” Magister Traugott said curiously. He sat sideways in the throne, legs and back propped up against opposite armrests as his black silken hair descended to the floor. “Do the gods—or should I say spirits—of Vasquer tell you?”

“I have refused your every offer, Traugott. And now you sit upon the seat I have promised to my brother,” Orion said with a firm yet reasoned anger, ignoring the question.

Despite the passage of time, he did not feel the broken man Traugott had once predicted he would become. He had endured well the whispers of the false gods. Vasquer and Boarmask had aided him through this. And the ancestor snake aided him in finding this man, too. Every time, Orion sent him away like a woodpecker returning to peck the same house time and time again.

“This will be the last time you see me,” Traugott looked at him calmly, dark eyes mild and curious. “All I meant to ask is why you refuse to take my help, to allow me to help you part from the spirits of Vasquer.”

Orion stepped closer to the throne. The steps he took left burns in the velvet carpet as his unwanted blessings surged by accident.

“Good counsel from a wise man,” Orion declared. “I will not fall into temptation. Boarmask tells me what is too good to be true often is. You do not have pure intentions.”

Traugott nodded earnestly. “I recall hearing, by rumor… you believed you would ascend to godhood, Orion. The gods of Vasquer told you that.” The words did not mock at all.

“It is known,” Orion nodded. “I do not believe them any longer.”

Traugott smiled. “But you should. Because the ‘gods’ of Vasquer do intend to grant you divinity. The part they neglected to mention is that you would be one part of ninety-seven. You are the culmination of a centuries-old gambit to ascend from spirits to gods—a deal struck between the third son of Felipe I and the powerful spirits that whisper in your ears. Parts of them exist in you like parasites even now. But you still have freedom.”

“I hear, but do not listen. Say what you will and begone,” Orion said.

Traugott usually had a good-natured look about his face, but that mien fell away in but a moment. “It is as I feared. I am reminded why I seldom interacted with others. Brutes respond to brutality,” he sighed.

Traugott’s shadow danced until it covered him completely. He vanished into darkness, and Orion relaxed, knowing from experience this meant the Magister had given up or been chased off. Then, his uncanny sense told him of an attack. He whirled around to spot a gleam of white coming for his chest. Orion whipped his sword up and turned his shoulder to protect his face. A spear of ice shattered before his steel, ice fragments peppering Orion’s face and cutting shallowly.

Before Orion could retaliate, Traugott fell back into his shadow. He crawled out a fair distance away, stepping free of a shadow beside the wall.

“It doesn’t matter. The things I want are in place,” the Magister said somberly, his inky shadow dancing around his feet. “Even you.”

Prince Orion stomped his foot on the ground as he advanced towards Traugott, creating a great burst of flame against his will. The Magister remained even despite that. It seemed this time the renegade spellcaster would not part so simply.

#####

Argrave had been preparing to begin their advance to Dirracha by having Anneliese get a message to Orion, wherever he might be. But now… a lone cavalryman advanced towards them. Argrave used Garm’s eyes to get a good view of his magic reserve, but the man was no mage at all.

“He bears a white flag, Your Majesty,” Galamon, who was also watching, informed Argrave.

“Really now?” Argrave turned his head, and when Galamon nodded he shifted on his saddle uncomfortably. “Send someone out to retrieve him.”

Galamon barked out an order loud enough to make Argrave want to cup his ears. While waiting, he looked to Elenore and Anneliese for insight. Neither said anything, and so they waited in silence as morning winds howled across the horse-trampled plains of central Vasquer.

Soon enough, one of Argrave’s royal guards received the man and brought him before Argrave, unbound but still closely watched. Once he got near, the man dismounted and kneeled before him.

“Your Majesty!” the messenger declared loudly. “The Duke Sumner of Dedsworth requests parley!”

Argrave narrowed his eyes, puzzled. The fact that the man called him ‘Your Majesty’ implied much. It also heightened his suspicion. “For what purpose?” he pressed.

The messenger lowered his head further and shouted into the ground, “The Duke Sumner hopes to establish terms of cooperation against King Felipe’s loyalists, Your Majesty!” he shouted, his voice hoarse and nervous.

#####

Argrave waited on horseback in the center of the plains between his forces and Dirracha. In the far distance, an armored horse carried a well-armed lord forward, escorted by two others. Argrave saw the familiar heraldry of House Dedsworth on the escorts’ shields—two gray towers joined by a bridge with a green background.

Galamon held his horse slightly ahead and beside Argrave. Anneliese and Vasilisa flanked both of his sides. Elenore rode behind, supported by four royal guards. To say the least of things, Argrave was not worried about an ambush. Vasilisa could cast magic faster than any others, and Galamon was stronger than any humans Argrave could think of. Whether from sword or spell, he feared nothing. In fact, the words exchanged would be the scarier part of this.

Duke Sumner, armored in steel, removed his helmet and slowed his horse as he grew nearer. Argrave remembered the A-rank spellcaster as a neat man with a trimmed beard and short hair, but now he was a somewhat unkempt man with medium-length hair sweaty and matted from the road. Not that Argrave could disparage his appearance—undoubtedly he looked much the same, though without the beard part.

“Given that your man called me Your Majesty, can I expect this to be a fruitful conversation?” Argrave began without greetings.

Duke Sumner brought his horse to a stop and called out, “I believe so. I’d like it to be like that.”

“So would I. But at the same time, I have some concerns,” Argrave continued. “Like the bizarre oddities in the south that led to you chasing Duke Rovostar across the countryside.”

“I had to. Duke Enrico was captured,” Sumner said. “I came here today to ask for your help in that matter, with Your Majesty being both a friend to House Monticci… and the King of Vasquer.”

Argrave stayed silent, waiting for any signal from Anneliese that either statement was a lie. To his surprise, none came. He gripped the reins tighter and pressed, “I find it difficult to believe any of this. Margrave Reinhardt is a competent commander. The only way I could see something like this happening is a betrayal of some kind. And given the extraordinary circumstances…” Argrave trailed off, letting his gaze tell all.

The Duke Sumner lifted his head. “I won’t waste time on a fruitless discussion where my guilt is prejudiced. My House of Dedsworth will not bear such an accusation without protest.”

Argrave said stoically, “You deny it?”

“Categorically. Whether the south or the margrave, I am no traitor,” Sumner said fiercely, then grabbed his horse’s reins. “I’ll end the breath spent on this parley if this is the goodwill I am shown.”

Given how incensed the duke was, and the fact that Sumner was already technically a traitor by rebelling against Felipe, Argrave expected the accusation to be true. But when he looked to Anneliese, she shook her head with a serious expression. As the duke turned his horse to return to his camp, Argrave called out, “Hold on.”

“I see no reason to,” Sumner said, continuing on as he was.

“I apologize,” Argrave called out, more than willing to lower his face. “I was overcautious.”

That brought the duke pause. He looked back for a few moments, then slowly turned his horse back and trotted it some steps closer. “I will accept that apology, then.”

“But what happened?” Elenore spoke up, riding somewhat closer. “Why did you split off? How did any of this happen? I cannot make sense of it.”

Sumner turned his head, then stared for a few moments. His face shifted rapidly, then his eyes widened as he asked incredulously, “Princess Elenore? I… am I seeing…?” His gaze shifted around rapidly for confirmation, appearing totally flabbergasted by her recovery. Still, the old A-rank mage was quick to recover his composure.

“I… was frustrated with the margrave’s slow advance,” Sumner admitted, still off-balance from seeing the princess. “And I was looking for options. None of those included collaboration with an enemy, I assure you. Count Delbraun of Jast had access to druidic magic. I learned and used that to deliver messages far and wide. My theory is that some were intercepted.”

Argrave tilted his head. “I know druidic magic. You would definitely know if the messages were intercepted.”

Sumner nodded. “Yes. And if—”

Something veritably seized Argrave’s heart and squeezed it. Profound panic welled up in his being, then dispersed not a second later. By the time he’d processed this, he was struggling with his rearing horse. He was tied to his saddle and his legs were squeezed uncomfortably, but Argrave thought quickly and cast druidic magic to bring the beast back under control.

Argrave feared an attack from any direction. Everyone else, too, struggled with their horse. Elenore, who was not tied, teetered dangerously on the back of her horse. Argrave craned and steadied her, helping her horse relax. Everyone managed to recover quickly enough, and Argrave’s search began anew.

The possible source of this anomaly fell into Argrave’s sight quickly. Atop Dirracha, within the Dragon Palace… the only suitable description for what Argrave saw was that light was being sucked away. Beams of light stretched, almost as if vacuumed, and entered through the windows and doors of the palace. It was replaced far slower than it was stolen, and a strange dark aura emanated outwards from the mountain palace.

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