Jackal Among Snakes

“Your Majesty…” Grimalt began, prompting Argrave to look into his amber eyes. “Why exactly am I here?”

The Veidimen officer was clearly uncomfortable in this luxury carriage—not that Argrave felt much different. But it seemed to bother him he was with Elenore, Argrave, Anneliese, Galamon, Melanie, and Orion—he felt his status was not up to snuff, evidently.

Argrave looked out the window of the carriage. “Did no one tell you, or does the marching army outside not give it away? There are a few other stops we’ll be making first, but I promised the Stonepetal Sentinels that I would send aid to secure the Low Way of the Rose, permanently. Galamon thought that some of the men should taste real battle in a challenging place,” Argrave pointed to his knight-commander, who nodded in confirmation. “The Low Way will be a vital line of trade between Vasquer and the Burnt Desert. You should be the one to lead the army into their first battle. This is a royal tour of sorts, to announce to the realm that I’m still present.”

“I understand that part, Your Majesty. But perhaps I ought to be… outside, marching with the men.” Grimalt gestured out the window. “The other officers are.”

Argrave scrutinized the warrior. Grimalt kept his head shaved, but Argrave could faintly see white hair emerging.

He relaxed his back against the upholstery and said, “We had a conversation a long while ago in the Bloodwoods. As I recall, you said that you were good at discerning people’s emotions.”

Grimalt nodded understandingly, but Anneliese came to closer attention.

“I thought Your Majesty may have forgotten about that,” Grimalt admitted. “But perhaps you ought to have. I am uncertain about putting it to greater use than I already am. It helps me lead your men well, but beyond that… what more can I offer?”

“Is it a family thing? Your empathy, I mean,” Argrave continued, and Anneliese turned her head to him, a fed-up look about her face.

“…I cannot say that I’ve asked. But all of my family members have been noted commanders, for what it’s worth.” Grimalt raised his white brows. “Might I inquire what Your Majesty would ask of me?”

“Argrave is merely attempting to learn one of his officers more personally,” Anneliese cut in. “But there are a few other matters to talk about, right?” She looked at Argrave sternly. “You may go, Grimalt.”

Grimalt did not need to be asked again. He left quickly, dismounting from the moving carriage with splendid grace. Once he was gone, Anneliese pulled shut the door.

“What?” Argrave asked her as she stared at him. “Clearly you get what I was driving at.”

Melanie, perhaps the only outsider in the carriage, glanced between the two of them in confusion as they spoke.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but that is unnecessary.” Anneliese shook her head. “Yes, we are probably related somehow. I don’t care to expose that fact. It brings us no benefit.”

“That man Grimalt has the same gift you do,” Argrave pointed out. “Maybe there’s something their family can teach you. Maybe someone can explain what exactly happened with Onychinusa—you know, that whole impact you felt after your conversation. You said it faded after helping her, but you really had me worried back then. You weren’t yourself.”

“If Grimalt divulged nothing, then there is nothing to learn,” she dismissed calmly. She wasn’t angry, but her mind seemed made up. “I do not care to connect with my paternal side. No one that did what my father did is worthy of knowing—and given the implications, I doubt his family are stellar people, either.”

“Okay,” Argrave shrugged. “I should have asked you first. Was probably rude.”

“I am untroubled. I understand why you did it.” Anneliese, ever the patient one, picked up a book and split it open. “But turmoil is the last thing we need. Perhaps it might not be so after all is done… but for now, let it die.”

Melanie, sitting across from Anneliese, questioned, “You never knew your dad, Your Highness? I thought he was the king… or chief, or whatever.”

Anneliese looked at her. “I was adopted. In adulthood, as a matter of fact.”

“Should you two be so liberal with that information?” Elenore questioned, gray eyes looking between the two of them.

“Anneliese believes Melanie’s loyalties are settled. I do, too,” Argrave grabbed a book of his own. “She can get a few answers.”

“No, I wasn’t prying, I just… I can sympathize, I guess,” Melanie said quietly, brushing back some of her red hair. She seemed embarrassed to be vulnerable, and so quickly interjected, “Seems to have worked out for the both of us, seeing as we’re in a carriage like this with kings and princesses, eh? And speaking of that… that elf had a point that applies to me. Why am I here?”

“Simple. You’ll be reigning in the Stonepetal Sentinels, making them subordinate to the crown.” Argrave pointed his book at her. His eyes caught on its white cover—this was one of the books that Garm had written before he gave his soul to Durran. His work carried on even now. He pushed the bittersweet thought away and continued, “You’ll have to get used to working with us closely, Melanie.”

Melanie looked like the weight of her new position finally hit her.

“Just don’t embarrass us at the Tower of the Gray Owl, yeah? Castro is quite the looker, and I know you’re a flirt.” Argrave laughed, then leaned up against Anneliese and read.

#####

“Huh. Wondrous,” Castro remarked, staring at Argrave. The old man’s rheumy eyes traced one of the blood echoes that Argrave had projected. “Congratulations, Argrave. You invented your own A-rank ascension. That makes you a genius.”

“Aww… come on, you’ll embarrass me. That word is reserved for better people,” Argrave scratched the back of his neck, calling the echo back within. “Had plenty of help.”

“Others had help,” Castro shook his head, and then walked deeper inside the vast room of the Tower Master. “Plenty of help. But there aren’t that many A-rank spellcasters, not really. Do you realize how much of an anomaly you are? You’re what, twenty-one, and you’re an A-rank mage?”

“Enough of that,” Argrave continued dismissing. “I’m no one.”

“To think you were so insufferably confident when first we met… now you can’t accept praise,” Castro marveled, shaking his head. Reminded of something, he turned. “Anyway, while I have you here…” the tower master reached for something on his desk, then picked up a paper. “I got this.”

Orion took the paper, making sure it wasn’t a deadly assassination weapon, and then handed it off to Argrave respectfully. After casting his brother a questioning glance, Argrave quickly scanned it.

“The bounty for Dimocles,” Argrave nodded. “What—you know where he is?”

Elenore looked at the document, then at Castro. “Please. Anything would help,” she pressed.

Dimocles, the polymorph, greatly worried Argrave. They had ruined the man’s collection to thwart both him and Erlebnis, and neurotic as the man was, such a slight would not be forgotten. All of the guards at the entrances to Blackgard had been instructed to look for people with the blue-green eyes marking him as a polymorph, but no word had come. Dimocles was a player character, and therefore resourceful. Argrave did fear reprisal, but he didn’t let it rule his life. This was the most they could reasonably do.

“My apprentice Ingo spoke of him,” Castro continued. “He spoke of Dimocles’ guillotine, and a shadow behind man bigger than the one we face ahead.”

Argrave absorbed the words, but Anneliese quickly deduced, “Perhaps… Erlebnis, and that betrayal. Your apprentice sees what currently is, not what will be, correct? When was this—when we were in the Bloodwoods?”

Castro nodded. “Yes. He does not make prophecies, but he sees things. Your Majesty,” the tower master looked right at him, vigor not at all indicative of his wizened body giving clarity to his eyes. “I’m not sure how much longer he can last. His visions grow clearer, yet his seizures rise in tandem. I will not extort you—the idea of it repulses me so much, given the burden you shoulder. But… please, tell me if I should give up hope on help.”

Argrave set down the paper speaking of Dimocles on a nearby desk. An idea came to him that turned his stomach. “I can help you now. But how much risk can you tolerate?”

“Risk?” Castro repeated.

“There are two ways. One is surefire… but it requires a little luck. Luck, in that it might not even be possible.” Argrave looked out to the balcony. “If we kill the god that gave Ingo the blessing he bears, it’ll dissipate. But… I can’t honestly promise he can last long enough for us to find this deity.”

Castro quietly digested that. “The other way?”

“…it’s not surefire,” Argrave said hesitantly. He felt a manipulative bastard bringing this up, and he hated that his mind could so quickly work out a situation that benefitted him… but still, Argrave continued, “We’re visiting someone. The Alchemist. And he… he might be able to remove the blessing manually.”

Argrave had been wondering how they could approach the Alchemist without substantial risk. And this—bringing a god’s blessing right to him—would be the perfect excuse. He didn’t like this was his immediate thought, exploiting their misery in this manner, but given the situation Argrave couldn’t afford to keep his mouth shut. Anneliese gave him a knowing, comforting glance.

“I’ve tried many draughts, potions… it’s nothing an alchemist can cure,” Castro shook his head.

“I said, the Alchemist,” Argrave repeated. “He’s… not even a ‘he’ really, he’s an it. He specializes in esoteric, body-modifying magic. He replaced my heart, allowing it to pump black blood. But beyond that, he’s probably one of the most knowledgeable spellcasters in the entire world. He’s very unstable… but he’s even-handed. If we come to him with a deal, and he believes he’s capable, he’ll try it. No tricks.”

Castro listened intently, then leaned up against the table. “I don’t… hmm.” The old man shook his head. “This boy is like a son to me. If he were to come to harm…!” he trailed off, the idea paining him.

“I’m sorry, Castro, but these are the things I have on-hand.” Argrave shrugged.

Castro silently stared into space for half a minute, then said, “…but I am not his father. I will ask Ingo his opinion, when he is… clear-headed.” The bald man focused on Argrave and Anneliese. “But what else brought you here, Your Majesty, Your Highness? Not this alone, I trust.”

“Just wanted to call upon the Order in the future, if I could,” Argrave ventured. “Mozzahr—has word spread, yet?”

“I heard, yes,” Castro nodded.

“I intend on capturing some of his A-rank ascension—his Emptiness. It’s powerful beyond imagination. I’d like the Order to evaluate it for weaknesses. This could be a long way away, but I thought you should know.”

In truth, Argrave knew it was without notable weakness, but hoped to prepare the Magisters for fighting such a thing.

“Certainly,” Castro nodded. “You came a long way. You must wish for rest. Was there anything else?”

Argrave shook his head. “Not unless you have anything else.”

“I’ll… I’ll get back to you. About Ingo. He was always a precocious child… but to place his life in his hands…” the tower master sighed heavily. “Give me time. We’ll work out what to do about this ‘blessing’ he bears.”

“I understand,” Argrave nodded.

Argrave walked away, joined by Anneliese… but watching him more intently than normal was Orion. A question played about his lips, but after shaking his head the prince followed along in silence.

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