Jackal Among Snakes

“Feels like I can think again,” Argrave said loudly into the wind, one arm wrapped around Anneliese.

He hadn’t realized how much being stagnant in Relize had been weighing at him until he was gone. He hadn’t been doing anything too grandiose. His time had been spent giving his name to things, ordering that things get done in his name… but real, genuine progress? It was hard to come by. Certainly, this maneuver might damage his reputation somewhat… but Argrave was sure that would be overshadowed when they returned with an army of spellcasters under his command. Already, his mind worked quickly to pull himself up out of the situation.

“You elves enjoy the cold that much?” Vasilisa spoke to him suddenly, and Argrave turned his head. Whenever she came around, he felt an urge to be sure his white-haired wig was on properly and concealed his ears well, but he resisted it. It was secured with adhesive—it was fine, he reminded himself.

“Well…” Argrave looked to Anneliese. “What do you think, Sanora, Vulras?”

“We were made for it,” Galamon nodded quickly, showing no reaction to the alias.

Vasilisa stepped on the railing and looked over the sea as it passed on and on, an endless plain of tumultuous water that whipped up winds. Her blonde hair danced as she noted, “I should hope you travel the cold half as well. We’ll be on foot.” Her blue eyes fixed on them—she didn’t seem particularly happy, but then maybe that was her natural disposition. “What business have you with the flame of Quadreign? It’s for those beginning their journey on the path of magic… not midway through it,” her eyes lingered on Anneliese.

“I feel comprehending something borne of magic sufficiently grandiose may give insight into something I research,” Anneliese described succinctly.

“Do you even know what the flame does?” Vasilisa stared at her coldly.

“We know what your house used it for… and we know what it does,” Argrave answered for her. “The two are separate. It burns away the magic inside… but more than that, it burns away mental fatigue, stress, fear, and some insecurities. Physically, it improves fertility, fights disease, and generally improves health… for a time. These are the things your house used it for,” he shook his head.

Quadreign used the flame much like Argrave used the Blessing of Supersession—in repaying his magic debt, he drained the magic within himself quickly. Continued depletion and replenishment was pivotal to growing one’s magic supply—that, coupled with his black blood, was why Argrave had been advancing so quickly.

House Quadreign used the flame on their family and their loyal vassals’ families since birth. In essence, by the time they reached adulthood, they had already been performing highly efficient training as spellcasters for nearly two decades. Those that they favored became magical juggernauts, while those that they didn’t had to struggle just as all the rest. Like this, Quadreign secured hegemony over the region.

“But that’s not the sum of what it is. You called it… the Flame of the Tenebrous Star?” Anneliese looked to Argrave, and he nodded in confirmation.

Vasilisa took her foot off the railing and crossed her arm. “Then, what can this Flame of the Tenebrous Star do, exactly?”

Argrave took his hand off Anneliese. “I see no need to tell you. That information is valuable. We have our contract. If you’d like more from me, I believe it only fitting I’m suitably compensated.”

Vasilisa tapped her foot against the deck as she looked at the two of them. “So be it,” she decided levelly, then turned her head to the side. “I see the shore.”

Argrave looked where her eyes went. Just as she said, the shoreline was in sight. The place they saw wasn’t Quadreign. It was quite a stunning sight nonetheless—there were pine trees as far as the eye could see, blanketed by a thin layer of melting snow. Like a pocket of civilization amidst the wilderness, a river ran through a small city that verged on being demoted to a town.

“Prenviania,” Argrave recognized, sitting on the railing and looking at it with a smile.

Vasilisa turned her head to him as he sat. “…correct,” she said begrudgingly. “These lords here, House Prenvia… they were once vassals to the Queen of Quadreign. Now, they rule most of the coastal settlements here as its duke.”

There was bitterness in Vasilisa’s voice. It was part jealousy, part longing, part sad defeat, expressed so clearly Argrave did not need to look to Anneliese to ask what it was.

“We land, sleep the night, then move,” Vasilisa said. “I won’t travel by night.. too risky,” she decided. “You and your father-in-law can handle traversing the pine forests, I trust?”

“On the contrary. It will be welcome,” Anneliese nodded. She grabbed at Argrave’s shoulder as he sat in admiration of the coastline. “Let us prepare to take our things… and then spend whatever time is left studying what master Llewellen left, shall we, Silvaden?”

#####

The north of Vasquer was dreadfully cold, even in the middle of spring as they were. Argrave and Anneliese donned their heavier gray enchanted leather gear, and Galamon put his armor back on, making some effort to conceal it with fur. Vasilisa looked at him peculiarly but did not question that—Argrave imagined Vasilisa viewed it as inconsequential if he failed during their travels. Such a thing would be their problem, not hers. If she asked why their companion remained stalwart, Argrave would explain merely that his armor was enchanted.

The towns of the north had a separate culture from all those of the south or central Vasquer. It was densely forested, and many creatures of yore still roamed night and day, dangerous and mythical both. The soil was poor, and the cold made it poorer. Here, the people were primarily hunters and herders. Exceptions existed, naturally, yet the point stood. They traded in rare hides and mined the earth, but beyond that few other industries existed here.

To that end, Argrave was glad Anneliese had long ago mastered the B-rank [Progenitor] spell of the druidic family—she could bring an animal other than her Starsparrow about, even if in limited capacity. It would facilitate getting a little souvenir for their friend back in Relize. On the matter of their druidic bonds, the Brumesingers loathed the cold, and stayed nestled deep within Argrave’s backpack.

Vasilisa, true to her word, allowed them only one day of rest at Prenviania. While they were leaving the next morning, Anneliese spotted a familiar building.

“That is one of the branches of the Order of the Gray Owl, is it not?” Anneliese asked of Argrave.

Argrave hardly needed to look to answer, but he did. “It is,” he confirmed.

It was a stone building, two owls looking over the entrance like gargoyles. It stood in stark contrast to the homes made of pine logs all throughout the city of Prenviania. Even the grandest estates were wooden. This stone building, a branch of the Order… Argrave had been to one a very long time ago at Mateth, and now here another stood. As he recalled, the place had few facilities in ‘Heroes of Berendar,’ nothing more than the bare essentials. It stuck out, to say the least.

“Just an abandoned building, now,” Vasilisa said, overhearing them. “People tore it down not too long ago. Inside is in pieces.”

Argrave furrowed his brows. “What? Why?”

“Order isn’t well-loved everywhere,” Vasilisa said. “Might have heard grand tales in Relize… but they’re a new presence here, a foreign presence. This building was like a token of the north’s fall. I think it’s a waste, but the people did what they did.” She stepped down the simple dirt road. “Don’t gawk, elf. People seldom see your kind here. It’d be best if we’re on the road. I won’t trouble the people of the north. They have it hard enough.”

Argrave spared one look at the building, then followed. He supposed nothing like that could happen in the game because the player always needed those facilities. It gave some insight as to the culture of spellcasters in the north, though—many of them weren’t Order-reared, merely converts after Felipe’s conquest. Vasilisa hadn’t been taught in the Order, for instance. Already, an element of the disparity started to make sense.

How, then, would he win them to his side? How could he build momentum here? These were ideas he pondered as they trekked through the pine forests, their party following only a simple dirt road that was more a trail formed by game than humans. He engaged in conversation with Anneliese and Galamon, feeling of greater spirit today alone than he had in the past month. He saw bizarre snow formations as they melted for spring, and they passed by hunters, babbling brooks… a lively, yet markedly different, community.

Soon enough, though… Argrave could not afford to be so carefree. The path started to grow steeper, more treacherous. The path beneath their feet went from densely packed soil with pine needles scattered everywhere to hard stone and rock, slick with the water from the melting snow at many points. With both breath labored and mind taxed, he devoted himself to the task fully.

Anneliese had a much different experience. After all, she had her special boots with wind enchantments—like Argrave’s silver bracer that stored his blood for blood magic, the boots were one of the things that Elenore had appraised. They’d been obtained from one of the various places they’d looted. Whether moving faster, moving upwards, slowing a descent… her boots could do it all. Anneliese used them sparingly, testing and training herself to use them best. The steep path made a good opportunity for that, even if Argrave did find it somewhat bothersome when he was hit by snow.

At a point, Argrave heard her yelp and retreat, and he looked up to see what was going on. He saw a white paw moving through the air where she left, and he immediately turned, prepared to confront whatever was coming. A truck-sized beast chased after her. It had white fur, and a squat, low-lying body. Its mouth was clearly that of a predator’s, but could not be called dog, cat, or anything familiar. Argrave recognized it—a lyr, one of the many wild beasts of the north. He prepared a spell.

“Stop what you’re doing,” Vasilisa grabbed his wrist, fingers wrapping around his silver bracer.

“What?” Argrave protested.

Vasilisa stepped forth, and then conjured a simpler spell of fire. She held it before the creature as large as a rhino and warded it away as one might any other wild animal. And it behaved as a bear or wolf might, snapping at her with its strange bark before retreating back whence it came.

“Unless you intend to skin and eat it… you kill nothing in the north unless absolutely necessary,” Vasilisa turned to Argrave. “I will not deprive the people of what might one day fill their bellies. I would think snow elves of all people would understand that.”

Argrave straightened. “I apologize. It’s difficult to remember such things when they concern A…” very nearly saying Anneliese, he quickly salvaged things, finishing, “…a person very precious to me.”

Vasilisa clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Quadreign is not so far. Let’s proceed.”

Argrave pulled his pack up over his shoulders, casting a glance at a guilty-looking Anneliese. He could not bring himself to blame her, and merely bid she continue as they pressed forward through this snowscape.

Familiar landmarks and mountains marked Argrave’s vision as they neared Quadreign. When they crested the top of a particularly steep incline…a city spread out before them, nestled deep within a valley. To put things simply, it appeared like an isolated community of the rich. All of the buildings within sight were so grand as to suffice as a noble mansion back in the south. And in the back, above it all, was a towering palace. Its furthest wall supported a large clocktower, overlooking the valley and city both.

And yet… further scrutiny revealed many oddities. The streets were quiet and ill-kept, some of them entirely blocked off by snow. The clocktower did not move. So many parts of the palace had been destroyed as to make it worthless in any defense. A lot of the grand estates were abandoned—even more had been partially torn down to make room for a burgeoning pasture of cows.

“One last steep decline, and then we’re in Quadreign. I’d like you to get to work right away,” Vasilisa looked back. “Let’s go, Silvaden, Sanora, Vulras.”