Jackal Among Snakes

“You come from Veiden?” Mina questioned Anneliese, trying to start a conversation.

Anneliese stared out at the doorway which Argrave and Orion had left, nervously braiding and unbraiding portions of her long white hair. She answered Mina idly, “It depends on how you define ‘come from.’”

Mina placed her hands loudly on the dining table the two of them sat at. “You were born there.”

“I was born on a coastal village in Berendar,” Anneliese shook her head.

Mina frowned, then tapped her fingers against the table for a time, staring at the white-haired elf. She bit at her lips in quiet deliberation, then questioned, “Why did your people invade Mateth?”

Anneliese was drawn away from her idle braiding and turned to face Mina completely. Though silent for a moment, she eventually answered simply, “They thought it their duty.”

“They?” Mina repeated.

“I do not envision myself returning,” Anneliese replied.

Mina tapped her fingers on the table once again, then questioned, “Who gave them this duty?”

“Veid,” Galamon answered. Mina looked at him blankly, and so he elaborated, “Our goddess.”

Mina nodded, then placed her head on her arms on the table. “Of course. Naturally. There must be something higher than yourself giving you a reason to kill, elsewise people will have to confront their deeds.”

“Better for some to die now to establish a thousand years of prosperity,” Galamon disagreed at once.

Anneliese didn’t seem to have any stake in the matter. She rose and exited, walking to where Argrave and his half-brother had left.

“I don’t see how it is all that different from what someone like Orion does,” Mina spoke to Galamon.

Galamon stared down at her coldly. He was easily twice her size. “This is a pointless conversation. I dislike that man more than anyone else here, I’m certain, but I put that aside.”

“I just don’t want Argrave to forget who he’s helping,” Mina said. “This place… these knights… it’s safe, sure, so long as you don’t step out of line. I just…” she paused, then shook her head. “No matter. It’s not—”

Mina paused as two people walked through the door. Anneliese and Argrave walked side by side and strode up to the table.

“It seems it’s time to get to work,” Argrave clasped his hands together and rubbed them. “Orion wants to talk to Silvic, meaning we’re soon to start planning the expedition. A week, maybe a bit longer, and we’ll leave camp. Going to be a bloody journey.”

Mina looked up at Argrave. “I’d best be going, then.”

Argrave lowered his head in a slight bow. “Once again, nothing but thanks from me, Mina.”

She stood up from the bench. “You’ll pay me back in more than just words, I hope. Risking life and limb for you. Let’s not forget who Induen is.”

Argrave’s face grew serious. “I know the gravity of this.”

Mina kept her yellow eyes on his, then seemed to shudder from a chill. She walked away, preparing to head off.

#####

Despite Magnus’ first interference with the introduction to Silvic to Orion, the promised proof offered to Orion was provided without issue. It was a simple thing for Silvic to recreate the magic used to destroy the fortress—it had already been inscribed into the stone long ago. Silvic activated her strange magic usable only by wetland spirits of her kind, and the stones began to emit a foul poison.

Though Orion was enraged by this, it was proof sufficient for the Holy Fool that there was a conspiracy brewing in the wetlands. With that…

Argrave, Orion, Anneliese, Galamon, and Silvic occupied the Holy Fool’s private quarters. There were several Waxknights present as well, but they served merely as guards rather than participants in their meeting. Durran and Magnus were both absent. That was either a promising or an apocalyptic sign.

A grand map of the wetlands had been arrayed atop the central table. Argrave moved it about with his fingers and said, “It can’t have been easy to acquire this.”

“Indeed,” Orion nodded. “The gods gave me a cartographer who once resided in this land in the form of a refugee—once I spread the word maps were needed, this was delivered readily.” Orion took a deep breath with a smile on his face, then exhaled. “Another sign the gods look upon this endeavor kindly.”

Argrave gazed at the map. It was far beyond what one might expect to see in a Medieval period—though Argrave couldn’t begin to guess how, he was sure magic had something to do in the map-making process. The borders of the wetlands were unclear, and the primary focus was the eight fortresses that had once resided in this land. That was fine. That was all Argrave needed.

“Alright,” Argrave hunched over. “The wetlands are very dangerous to traverse, especially with the waxpox writhing everywhere within. It’s not just the environment—foul beasts who can tear a man apart with ease roam the swamps, and poisonous creatures abound.” Argrave gestured towards the wetland spirit. “Silvic can aid us in travel, but this is still enemy territory. And I do mean ‘enemy.’ We’ll be facing active opposition, hunted as intruders.”

Orion scratched at his beard as Argrave spoke. When another talked, his gaze jumped to them.

“A small group of your best men would be ideal,” Anneliese noted. “It would facilitate ease of travel, ensure that gathering food is no great ordeal, and keep our movements relatively obfuscated.”

The Prince gave slow nods that seemed more contemplative than anything. He looked at Argrave and questioned, “The enemy—what foul manner of beasts must be conquered?”

“On the road? When we’re on dryland, it’ll be relatively safe. I don’t suspect we’ll be on dryland often. The greatest enemy will be the Sentinels of the old wetland spirits—they’re all manners of beasts, natural-born chimeras in part, but they’re only in the deeper portions. Beyond that, there are manticores, blacksnout alligators, rockhide hippopotamuses…” Argrave shook his head as he recalled the most obnoxious two of all. “There are leopards in the trees—they’re poisonous, too. And gibbons, armed with weapons like Drezki had.”

“Drezki?” Orion tilted his head.

“My child, whom you murdered in cold blood,” Silvic said.

“I see,” he nodded, unoffended by the accusation. “Yes, I recall. She broke my right gauntlet and my skin with one blow. Powerful weapons, indeed,” Orion noted.

Argrave saw Galamon give Orion a frigid glare, hand hovering near the two Giantkillers on his belt. Argrave fixed him with a stare of his own, calming his elven companion.

“The wetlands are not so large. How long you do believe this journey will take?” Orion questioned further. “Where is this so-called Plague Jester?”

Argrave tapped his gloved finger against the fortress furthest from the one they were at. “It’s here. But there’s another factor. There are only a few safe places to shelter here. The wetlands—you try and sleep out in the middle of them, they’ll swallow you whole,” Argrave said seriously. “The only places vaguely hospitable are the abandoned fortresses—and even then, they’re overrun by the nastiest of the Jester’s servants.” Argrave stepped away from the map. “As such, we’ll have to plan our route around them.”

Orion stepped forward and leaned over the table, planting his hands down. “Barring the one we reside in and the one this Jester resides in… six fortresses. Will this take six days, then?”

“No, that’s not practical,” Argrave shook his head. “We can cut across, skip some. With Silvic scouting, the plan is four days.”

In truth, Anneliese and Silvic would be working in tandem. With Silvic partly afflicted by the waxpox, her ability in the wetlands was greatly compromised. Anneliese and her Starsparrow would be doing the bulk of the work. It was paranoid, perhaps, but Argrave wanted to keep his cards close. Magic animals like the Brumesingers or the Starsparrow could shrug off most of the effects from the wetlands.

“Then… four days of travel, during which we will be accosted by enemies, followed by a return trip with the same time frame?” Orion questioned.

“Yeah. Frankly…” Argrave paused, swallowing. “Frankly speaking, you’re the only one who can handle a lot of the things in this place. You and your Waxkni—royal knights,” Argrave corrected himself quickly. “You’re the only one near a match for the Plague Jester.”

“Like the serpent Vasquer for King Felipe I, you would have me act as your sword?” Orion smiled broadly. “I can and will fill this role. It brings me great pleasure to put an end to those who refuse to accept the gods of Vasquer as their own.”

Argrave stayed silent, greatly disliking Orion’s reference to Vasquer and his pleasure at the death of heretics.

“So—you’ll get your men ready?” he finally broke his silence, staring at Orion with his golden eyes.

Orion nodded. “I must put things in order here, gather rations suitable for the journey, and decide who among my knights is worthy of the honor of slaying the foul demon who ruins our beautiful land with unholy and unnatural rot,” Orion stepped forth. “A week, by my estimates, the majority of which will be settling things at camp to sustain itself despite my absence. Please. Prepare you and your companions.”

#####

Argrave sat upright in the bed. Anneliese was already asleep, her head rested against his leg. He stroked her long white hair idly, being sure not to get his fingers tangled and disturb her. He stared down at her with a distant gaze as he lost himself in thought. Orion’s offer, Durran’s actions, and Mina’s task all occupied his mind, like a triumvirate of hellish problems solely designed to give him ulcers. He wondered if being Black Blooded could stop that.

Frustrated, he moved his head about searching for a distraction. There was only one in reach—a book with a white cover, denoting it as one of the books left behind by Garm. Argrave reached forward steadily, ensuring he was quiet and still, and took it in his hand. It was the B-rank spell, [Bloodfeud Bow]. He kept that book by his side, always. He did not dare lose it. In the future, it would be one of the most valuable spells he had.

Argrave opened it. The enchantments on each page lit up, all contributing to form a B-rank spell matrix in the air. It was only a whim at first—something, anything, to distract from the thoughts whirling through his head—but soon enough, Argrave found himself studying it in earnest.

A fourth dimension to magic… if Argrave were to analogize his situation with something, it was as though he had stepped through a door into an unfamiliar part of the world. Though he was there, it had taken him a long time of looking around to understand the land. Even then, that was only surface level. He had to walk through this new land, observe things from different angles, and use all of the five senses to observe it in great detail.

Argrave believed that he understood this analogous new land—that he understood C-rank magic—well enough. And now that he understood it, he had to learn how to make it move. Make it his. With the task viewed as a conquest, he felt that the moving matrix in the air had a whole different look to it.

As the night passed by, Argrave was so consumed by his observation that he did not even notice he’d forgotten the problems that plagued him. His listened to Anneliese’s steady breathing, stared at the light before him, and passed the night in peace.