Jackal Among Snakes

“What is this? I’m on human soil not a day and already I have you groveling at my feet?” Rowe asked mockingly. All of Argrave’s party was crowded into his room, and the aged elf himself still sat at his bed, walking stick leaned up against his shoulder.

“I think it's warranted. All I need is for you to come with me to meet with these people, keep the peace.” Argrave spread his arms out. “You want me to help with your business here in Jast, I think you should return the favor first. Where I’m from, we call this a ‘transactional relationship.’”

“You owe help to me,” Rowe refuted. “Practically handed all the secrets of Veiden’s magic to you, and that warrants some gratitude. You think I’m a fool? Been around too long to be yanked about. This stick here is older than you,” Rowe tapped it thrice.

“We’ve established that it’s got a sword inside. It’s more a concealed weapon than a stick.” returned Argrave, which made Rowe frown once more. “And as far as I’m concerned, I don’t owe you anything. We had a trade. You did me no favors. When all is said and done, you and Veiden got more out of the deal than I did.”

“I’m not stupid, boy,” shot back Rowe.

Argrave shook his head in annoyance. “Yes, we’ve—”

“You’re playing both ends against the middle,” outlined the old S-rank spellcaster. “Extorting both sides—human and Veidimen—for your own needs. You used the books from Veiden to secure liberties in your mage order. Just because that ‘middle’ is Gerechtigkeit doesn’t change the fact that we’re being played.” Rowe pointed a bent, arthritis-deformed finger. “That’s why you owe me.”

Argrave said nothing for a time. He considered if Rowe was trying to get a confession out of him by presenting speculation as fact.

“Where’s your proof?” Argrave denied, trying to feel out if it was a bluff.

“You think Veiden wouldn’t pay attention to you after what happened on our soil?” Rowe questioned. “We have people keeping tabs on you. We’d notice, naturally, what you did.”

In the silence, Argrave heard Anneliese whisper something to Galamon, but he couldn’t distinguish what it was.

“Listen, the meeting is this morning,” Argrave said with some urgency. “There’s an A-rank mage there. He chose an unusual method to become an A-rank mage, and he has [Minor Truesight] consequently. He might notice either Galamon or me being out of the ordinary, cause problems. I’m happy to help you after, but I need this now.”

“I don’t see how this is my problem,” Rowe shook his head. “Offer me something or give it up.”

Argrave pushed his tongue against his cheek, brain working quickly. A grating, guttural voice drew him from his thoughts.

“Rowe. Do this for me as a favor,” Galamon asked.

Argrave turned his head back to Rowe, waiting to hear the response. The old elf looked perplexed. He scratched one of the liver spots on his bald head.

“A favor? Really?” Rowe repeated disbelievingly.

“Yes.” Galamon nodded.

“Fine,” Rowe grunted, standing from his bed. “I’ll call in that favor now. You have to answer that question I asked you all those decades ago before you were exiled. That one you refused to answer.”

The sound of Galamon’s teeth grating was audible, and Argrave took a step away, unpleasant memories surfacing. After a few seconds, Galamon slowly nodded.

“So it shall be.” After Galamon’s answer, Rowe looked pleased, and the elven vampire added, “But only once the task is finished.”

Argrave looked back to Anneliese and muttered, “That your idea, his interjection?”

She said nothing in response, merely smiling. Argrave nodded and gave her a thumbs up.

#####

Argrave’s party walked across the plains towards a distant riverside village—Karrel. Argrave could think of few quests that went there and could not recall a single named NPC in the village. Rowe was with them, lagging slightly behind on account of his walking stick.

“So, what question will he ask you?” Argrave spoke to Galamon, whispering very quietly.

The elf’s only response was a fierce, white-eyed gaze lined with warning.

Argrave held up his hands. “Only curious. I just can’t imagine anything Rowe could ask you, let alone something worth a favor,” Argrave pointed with his chin towards Rowe.

“Rowe intends to ask a question I loathe enough that he felt it worth a favor,” Galamon said icily. “And yet you think I will sate your curiosity simply because you asked?”

“Can’t blame me for trying, at least,” Argrave shrugged. “I’ve got some curiosity in me. It’s in my blood. Not as bad as Anneliese, of course, but it’s there.” Argrave pointed at her.

“You are overly curious too,” she shook her head. “But your knowledge has stagnated that desire somewhat, I think.”

Argrave frowned. He supposed she was right. A large part of why he had contributed so much to the ‘Heroes of Berendar’ wiki was on account that he loved the discovery process—both delving into the mechanics of the game and the lore supporting it. Few other worlds captured his attention so raptly. Berendar seemed almost a real place, back then. Now, it didn’t seem—it was.

“This place—shoddy,” Rowe called out as though in response to Argrave’s thoughts.

“What are you talking about?” Argrave questioned, turning back to the old elf.

“These roads must have been made decades ago, and they’re just flattened dirt.” Rowe dragged his stick along the road. “That city back there, Jast—it was dense with mana, but beneath it all was bureaucratic corruption and rampant crime on account of mages chafing beneath a lack of support from the government and their organization.”

Argrave was surprised that Rowe had managed to gain such a solid view of the city so quickly, but before he could say anything, Anneliese said, “Yet despite all that, they managed to achieve more than we have.”

“Yes…” Rowe trailed off, head lowering until his jowls pressed against his neck. “It’s vexing. We Veidimen are physically superior, longer-lived, harshly raised, and thrive in unity. Despite that…”

“Perhaps it’s the environment,” Argrave posited.

“Were the environment the issue, our attempts to establish ourselves on different continents would have succeeded. Patriarch Dras was not the first to attempt to invade greener lands. None before him have succeeded.” Rowe quickly shot down Argrave’s half-baked theory.

“Civilizations here are like moon cycles,” Argrave responded seriously, resuming the trek towards the village of Karrel. “They wax, they wane. You’ve caught us when we’re but a sliver of moon, near absent in the sky.” Argrave shrugged. “In time, perhaps, that will reverse.”

“You believe humans will resurge, even after the advent of Gerechtigkeit?” Rowe questioned. Argrave was surprised the aged elf could speak so amiably.

“Who’s to say?” Argrave replied vaguely.

Rowe stepped up to Argrave, walking alongside him. “You have no plans for what lies beyond Gerechtigkeit?”

“I take things as they come.”

“And you are not certain that what lies beyond will come,” the elf followed Argrave’s logic.

“I…” Argrave hesitated. “Could die,” he admitted. “All I do is tackle things beyond me. If you’ve noticed, this body is not so fit for tackling.” Argrave shook his hands about, demonstrating his wrists.

“It’s good you realize this,” Rowe said, uncharacteristically passive. “You should not be merely planning to deal with Gerechtigkeit. You should be planning for what happens should you perish.”

At that, Argrave’s breath stopped. He saw the sense in Rowe’s words immediately. Though Argrave knew that his death was very well likely, he took no measures to counteract Gerechtigkeit should that actually happen. His lungs felt tight, and Argrave took a few quick breaths to gain his bearing.

“What kind of…” Argrave paused, then mustered some cheer to say, “A bit ridiculous to make plans to die, no?”

Rowe shook his head. “I thought there might be sense yet in you. How foolish of me.” He looked out to the village. “I can feel that mage you spoke of. His mana is… unusual. Warped, dancing, like mist or fog. He did not become an A-rank mage by ordinary means.”

“No, he didn’t,” Argrave agreed. “I don’t know how it is in Veiden, but each A-rank mage is different than the last depending on how they advance. They attune their body to the magic they use.”

“There is only one method of advancement in Veiden. The spellcaster embraces the ice magics throughout their veins. Some brazen fools discover more, at times, but such is a rare occurrence.” Rowe shook his head. “Despite its bulk, his mana is less substantial than mine. I am confident should things go awry.”

They grew ever closer to the village. The homes in Karrel were made of stone—a rarity amongst villages, but being in such close proximity to the hub of most magical activity for miles around definitely had its benefits. Doubtless some earth-focused elemental mage had made these villager’s homes of stone in order to earn a quick bag of gold.

“Good that you’re confident,” Argrave nodded to Rowe, and then looked back to Galamon. “You. Chug some blood, disguise your features.”

Galamon obeyed Argrave’s directive. Rowe looked at him perplexedly. “What’re you…?”

“Vampirism is all but indistinguishable if the vampire is fully sated,” Argrave explained. “Helmuth has [Minor Truesight]—he channeled most of his mana into his eyes during his ritualistic ascendance to A-rank, and it allows him to both cast spells from them and see the truth behind some things. We have two secrets that need to be kept—my association with Erlebnis, and Galamon’s vampirism. Hopefully what Galamon is doing will be enough to trick Helmuth’s eyes. As for myself… well, it’s hopeless.” Argrave shrugged and shook his head.

“You keep strange company,” Rowe shook his head.

“You’re now part of that,” Argrave noted.

“I am strange. Regardless of the esteem behind the title, S-rank spellcasters are outliers, and thus, strange.”

Argrave considered that for a moment, eventually nodding. They walked past the first of the buildings in Karrel, and Argrave looked about, searching for the people they were to meet. Soon enough, he spotted a few men with exceptionally stocky builds wearing relatively inconspicuous clothes. Argrave could see white steel boots poking out from their robes and approached.

“Appointment with Elias,” Argrave greeted politely as though he was speaking to a receptionist at a doctor’s office.

The two knights craned their neck to look up at Argrave. “Come,” one said, leading them away. Argrave followed without complaint. Soon enough, they were led behind a building, where Elias waited with two people Argrave recognized: Baron Abraham and Helmuth. Elias sat on a stump and rose when Argrave came into view.

“It’s been a while,” Elias greeted, pulling back his hood to reveal his red hair.

“Probably not long enough, in your eyes.” Argrave returned.