Jackal Among Snakes

Margrave Reinhardt of House Parbon was diligently reading through all of the reports that he’d gotten this morning. Undead attacks had become more prevalent, and so he was much more proactive in looking for anomalies. Abominations from the Order of the Rose were more common everywhere, and the nearby Low Way of the Rose was proving particularly problematic. Indeed, he had a meeting with someone from the Stonepetal Sentinels today.

A knock disturbed him from his reading, and the margrave looked up. His aide entered, and he fixed his ruby eyes on the man.

“Eh… margrave, there’s…” the man began hesitantly. “The king, queen, and princess are here. Their knight-commander Galamon acts as escort.”

Margrave Reinhardt leaned back in his chair, flabbergasted. “You mean… they’re coming here, soon,” he sought to confirm.

“No, sir. They’re here,” the aide insisted. “I… have them in a guest room, but…”

The margrave ran his hand through his rich, red hair, completely caught off balance. “I’ll…” he set down his papers. “I suppose I have to… greet them, then.” He shook his head, trying to dispel the daze. “Are you certain this is…? Never mind,” he dismissed before his aide could answer. He rose to his feet, preparing to head out to entertain the royalty’s whim.

#####

Argrave looked at all of the members of House Parbon, three of whom sat on a couch while the last stood behind. There was Reinhardt—he was brawny, and had red hair and eyes. There was Elias just beside him. The man looked like a younger version of his father, and had two working eyes—that hadn’t always been the case. Elias sat with a young woman that had gray hair and dark orange eyes: his wife, Ridia of Parbon, née Jast.

And standing behind them all was Rose of Parbon. Indeed, standing: her legs had been fully healed.

House Parbon had once been rather earnest in their animosity toward Argrave. Margrave Reinhardt had kidnapped him on sight. But despite a few… unwanted borrowings… he’d helped them at many turns. He’d aided them politically in both Jast and the civil war, and he’d supported them physically by curing their ails. Now, their earnest animosity had become earnest devotion.

“How long will you be staying, Your Majesty?” Margrave Reinhardt asked after they’d exchanged greetings. “I can prepare the best room in my castle immediately. And whatever it is you need help with, I’m sure that I can provide. You need only ask.”

“Not sure how long I’ll be staying. Ideally it won’t be long, but… a certain situation has come up,” he smiled bitterly. “Just need to check things out, do a survey. If I’m right, everything will fall into place rather quickly.” He looked between them. “But enough about me: how’s the whole family?”

“Without your forewarning, we would’ve been hit hard, Your Majesty,” Elias nodded his head. “The undead attacks have been brutal, but we’ve had rapid responses ready. Lost a lot of good men, but much less than we would have.”

“And… Your Majesty, I can never thank you enough,” Rose of Parbon said, walking out from behind the couch. “You… you don’t know what it means to me. Being able to walk again…”

“Just fixing a problem I caused,” Argrave dismissed.

“No. It was much more than that,” Rose disagreed, smiling widely. She wiped at her eyes as tears came. “I feel like I have my life back in my hands. And my family remains whole because of your actions. So… thank you, Your Majesty.”

Argrave turned his gaze away from Rose, but found Elias. The once-dour man beamed at Argrave and said, “She speaks truly. What you did for my sister alone was more than I ever hoped, but… even for me, and my eye.” He turned his head to the right. “And you helped me find love.”

Argrave squirmed in his seat a little as Elias and Ridia held hands. The shy girl said nothing, but he could tell she agreed with the sentiment.

“Hey, you did all the hard work,” Argrave dismissed. “But besides all of that… anything interesting going on?”

“Searching for something, Your Majesty?” Reinhardt leaned in, concerned.

Argrave shrugged. “No, just… catching up.”

“Nothing too urgent,” Reinhardt assured. “Just remaining vigilant, as you directed. I suppose there is a meeting with one of the Stonepetal Sentinels later today, but…”

“The Stonepetal Sentinels?” Argrave repeated. “Ah… now that does sound interesting.” He looked off to the side, then focused back on Reinhardt. “Listen—I’m going to be spending time on the walls, mostly. When this meeting with the sentinel happens… please, come get me.” He smiled. “I think it’ll be fun, catching up with the Stonepetal Sentinels. And I might have something for them to do. They’re well accustomed to dank underground caverns, after all…”

#####

After a quick walk through the familiar layout of the Lionsun Castle, Argrave stood on the walls of the massive fortification, peering out at the endless expanse of black sand in the Burnt Desert. Ever since Anneliese had learned the shamanic spell [Worldstrider], the whole world seemed to have opened up to them. Nothing felt out of reach. Perhaps that was why it earned that name. Though the spell consumed more magic than it did spirits, Anneliese had still expended fifty percent of what she’d gained from Chiteng’s sacrifice. It was a testament to how much that they traveled.

Elenore was looking out across the land just beside Argrave. She said quietly, “In times like this, when I see something new and beautiful with my own two eyes, I always think about what you did for me.”

Argrave nodded and said, “Good. That’s why I did it. I wanted to get you indebted, make you like me.”

Elenore laughed at his cocksureness, while Anneliese defended him, explaining, “Argrave is merely embarrassed, Elenore. He has a great deal of difficulty accepting it when people say he’s a good person too many times, and after the meeting with Parbon, you get statements like that.”

Elenore settled down, then squinted her eyes to stare out at the distance. “Do you really think he’ll come?”

“Without a doubt,” Argrave answered without hesitating a beat. “Because I already see him.”

Elenore blinked in confusion, then stared at the ground with greater intensity. “Is he joking again, Anneliese? All I see is black. The three of you really crossed that hellscape?” She glanced between Galamon, Anneliese, and him.

“Yeah, we did,” Argrave answered her, then turned his head to watch her struggle to spot Durran. “Let me help you see.” he said in annoyance, then placed his hand atop her head and attempted to orient her vision. She tensed up at first, but gradually surrendered. He placed her head so that it was looking out across the sky.

“This is astronomically unhelp—” Elenore began, though trailed off after a few seconds.

Far above the miles and miles of black sand dunes, numerous figures flew. With nothing to give them scale, one might think they were small. As they grew closer, however, it became abundantly clear that they were rather the opposite. They were wyverns. Adult wyverns, all of them.

In time, all of House Parbon’s guardsmen on the castle wall came to attention. A loud horn was blown, and knights swarmed up to the gates. It seemed a confrontation was inevitable, but the relentless push forward by the wyverns stopped at a distance close enough to cause concern, but too far for arrows or magic to reach effectively. Something seemed off about the flying pack—Argrave couldn’t count them for some reason, no matter how hard he tried. They seemed to be one thousand or ten.

Margrave Parbon stepped up to the castle walls, looking out with caution. He’d already put on his armor, and seemed prepared for battle. “Your Majesty, did you predict…?”

“No. Well, yes and no,” Argrave shook his head. “I think they’re going to call for a parley.”

“Parley?” Reinhardt looked at him funnily. “In all my days fighting these barbarians, I’ve never—”

As they watched, one of the riders waved a giant white flag. Muttering spread among the guardsmen present. Just as the margrave had never seen this happen, neither had they.

“Your banner is white,” Argrave told him. “Might as well wave that back.”

“Do you really… intend to meet them, Your Majesty?” Reinhardt looked up at Argrave with concern.

“One of them,” Anneliese answered on his behalf.

Though the margrave hesitated for a brief moment, he eventually gave the command to signal them in turn. With parley promised, a lone rider broke off from the flying horde of wyverns. The rest of them took to the ground, that they might ease tensions and rest their beasts while the parley happened. The messenger, a huge gray wyvern, came closer second by second. Its flight path seemed wrong, warped.

“Make room,” Argrave called out, and this order was echoed by the margrave. In time, a space was cleared. It was fortunate that it had been, too, as the great winged reptile landed as the last of the men came away from the wall. Argrave realized why he’d been struggling to make out the count—this wyvern wore armor etched with the illusory enchantments of the southron elves.

People seemed hesitant to leave their weapons in their scabbards, but Argrave was sure the rider wouldn’t mind either which way. The man atop the wyvern’s neck wore gray wyvern scale armor, and hefted a glaive as he dismounted nimbly. As Argrave studied the man’s magic, he was surprised to see the sheer depth of his magic. He had more magic than Anneliese, even. He might even be at S-rank. Argrave questioned briefly if his judgment about this person’s identity had been wrong.

But the way he walked, his height, and even the glaive in his hand… Argrave scrutinized the man as he came closer. He couldn’t see any features beyond the helmet, but he was quite familiar.

“Is this a hospitable parley…” the man began. “Or do you view me as an enemy before I say a word?”

“I’d like it to be hospitable,” Argrave answered back. “But this isn’t my house.”

The wyvern rider and Argrave both looked to Reinhardt, who eventually gave a nod. “I’ll prepare a meal.”

#####

Argrave sat at a table, staring at the wyvern rider intently. Slowly food was placed out, and everyone took their seats. The man raised his hand up, taking his helm off…

And Durran was there, smiling. He was a man with tan skin, golden eyes, and tattoos of the same color all about his body, most of which remained hidden. A few scars were visible on his face, and he seemed to have gained more in the time they’d been apart.

“Hahah!” Argrave pointed at him. “Had me going there for a bit, I won’t lie to you, damned prick.”

“Oh!” Durran spread his arms wide, dropping the helmet on the floor. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m the King of the Scorched Sands! Show some respect!”

They exchanged greetings for a bit. His friendship with Durran was much different than with Galamon. He appreciated both of them, but after everyone was taking their time telling him how cool he was, how he saved their lives, et cetera… it was nice to have the cynical bastard back, he had to admit. Anneliese and Elenore watched their exchange quietly.

“Now…” Argrave sat back in the chair, looking at Durran hard. “What in the hell have you done? Who is this man I’m looking at, and why did he bring wyverns with armor made by southron elves?”

Durran planted a fork into a roasted chicken, chuckling lightly. “Well… those are my men. We’ve become some like nomads, you see. Just so happens I’m their leader. We’ve got about thirty villages under our protection, and we’re looking to expand that number. Desert’s not like Vasquer—it’s been taking some time.”

“Nomads?” Argrave repeated. “So, what, you wander around doing…?”

“More things that I can tell you,” Durran shook his head. “Fact is, though, we’ve been improving the Burnt Desert more than I thought possible. I’ve been finishing what Titus started—killing Vessels of Fellhorn, restoring water to the region. We’re getting ready for Gerechtigkeit, friend, and you better believe that.”

“I believe you should tell me more,” Elenore looked at Durran intently.

“Oh, I’m hoping for a long conversation,” Durran looked at her and smiled. “A lot has changed, Elenore.”

“And your magic—what happened there?" Anneliese inquired curiously as Elenore put some food in her mouth, growing a little red.

Some of Durran’s cheer waned. “Well… it might be that I made a large bet with someone.” He scratched his cheek quietly. “And that someone might be a certain Alchemist.”

“The Alchemist?” Argrave’s face grew somber. “Durran… you didn’t…?”

“But, uh, we can get to that later,” Durran waved his hands away. “Let’s talk, let’s catch up! How has everyone been?”