Jackal Among Snakes

“What an unpleasant trip…” Argrave complained aloud, sitting atop a rock as he cleaned off his clothes with water magic. Dust, dirt, grass, and worse covered his clothes. His upper legs had been chafed raw, probably because of poor posture. He had dealt with that as best he could with healing magic. Across from Argrave, the Margrave Reinhardt hammered in poles to set up a tent. The last bit of sunlight was fading, and so they were setting up camp.

In truth, Argrave loathed complaining so much, but all words served a purpose. Reinhardt was an impulsive and wrothful man, but he was also honorable and charitable. He would never abuse a hostage. Like Sun Tzu said, “If your opponent is of choleric temper, seek to irritate him. Pretend to be weak, that he may grow arrogant.”

“I’m in way over my head…” Argrave muttered. “What do I know about enemies… third-year college student… disgraceful…”

The Margrave’s white stallion neighed at Argrave as though to comfort him, red mane flowing in the wind. Argrave flinched and stared at it for a time. The longer he stared, the more his expression softened. Slowly, a smirk entered his face, and he looked back at Reinhardt.

“I thought horses were disgusting before. I see now that I’m right. Don’t know why you ride these things. Disgusting,” Argrave said loudly at Reinhardt.

Reinhardt paused, holding the hammer he was using to nail the tent’s stakes tight in hand and gazing at Argrave.

“Look at them,” Argrave pointed. “They defecate randomly, like giant toddlers. Filthy. Unclean. Their mouths are strange, like some foul cross between a mole, an antelope, and a human.”

“Then tomorrow, you can walk,” Reinhardt said coldly. He turned back and started hammering once more, deep into the grassy soil.

“Alright. Better than being stuck atop a horse,” Argrave agreed readily. “Of course, we won’t make it to Dirracha as quickly. How tragic.”

Reinhardt did not look over. “Never said we’d slow for you.”

“If I show up bloody and beaten, I’m sure King Felipe will show abundant mercy to your brother,” Argrave bluffed. In truth, King Felipe would probably smile if he saw Argrave battered.

The Margrave did not respond. He picked up another stake—it looked to be the final one—and bent over to jam it in the ground.

“I am not entirely sure what you hope to achieve with this. You bringing me with you is not giving you a bargaining chip—you’re carrying a lit barrel of gunpowder.” Argrave watched Reinhardt. Evidently, the man had decided simply to ignore him.

“When we arrive and you tell the king that you’re keeping me as a ‘guest,’ he certainly will not scrape and bow and release your brother Bruno like nothing happened. He’ll view it as an affront to House Vasquer, like you… killed his favorite dog or something. I’m not worth enough to him. Maybe if I was the crown prince, Induen, or that holy fool Orion, he might take the situation seriously. But then, they wouldn’t come with you willingly. And unlike me, they could probably escape from your little knightly order.”

“You’re good with your words. If you don’t wish to lose your tongue, keep it still,” Reinhardt threatened.

“Empty threats,” Argrave called out, though his heart did drop into his stomach briefly. His mind wandered as he wondered if healing magic could regrow tongues. He grew nauseous as he thought of the blood.

Argrave stood, having finished cleaning his black clothes. He could not mend the rips, but such was life. “Have you ever paused to consider why exactly King Felipe imprisoned your brother?” Argrave held a finger out. “And before you get angry at me, I’m not suggesting he was legitimately plotting treason.”

Reinhardt walked over to Argrave. The Margrave was a little shorter than Argrave, but he certainly did not feel smaller in full plate with a robust body. His ruby-like eyes were unshaking.

“Your brother was one of many stewards in Dirracha. Even if he had been planning treason, without your help, there is little he could have done. Bluntly put, besides being related to you, he is not important. King Felipe is not aiming for him. He is aiming for you. He is trying to incite a reaction, knowing your impulsivity and your direct manner of handling things.”

“A king wants his subjects to rebel. Hah.” Reinhardt chuckled, but it sounded forced to Argrave’s ears. “I overestimated your reasoning.”

Argrave held his arms wide and shrugged. “Laugh if you will. House Parbon has been growing wealthier. New mines have been recently discovered on your land, you have a growing city, and lastly, a good seat—your Lionsun Castle. A king would be wholly justified in seizing those rich lands if his subject were to rebel.”

He waved it, unfolding it, and then cast it over the poles that he’d just hammered into the

age. He wishes to secure lands, incomes, and a future for Orion of Vasquer, that holy fool. A great warrior, maybe even better than you, at the age of 24. A fitting lord

hips. Argrave walked a little closer until he felt the pull

balk at starting and suppressing a small rebellion to increase his own

Argrave. “Do not presume to know me or

Felipe III, at the very least.” Argrave pointed to his chest. “When we arrive and he learns that I am captive, he’ll feign anger, indignance. Then, he—or perhaps my brother, Induen—will order

the ways Argrave had died throughout the course of ‘Heroes of Berendar.’ It had not been Reinhardt keeping him captive, but rather one of the main characters—Ruleo, a rogue-type character. Another timebomb Argrave had

He led him inside the tent and tied him to one of the thicker posts. “You will wait here while I stable my horse.

share a quilt with a horse? First you tie me to a post, and now you bury me beneath animal accessories? Just let me freeze. Better than being reduced to a

knot around the post. He stared at Argrave, breathing deep and heavy, wroth brewing in his chest like a great storm. He furiously untied the knot, then yanked it,

a true knight should be to a hostage.” Reinhardt spoke loudly as he walked outside the tent, drawing the attention of many of the other knights who were setting up their own tents. “Have

Argrave. Argrave diverted most of his attention to his feet to avoid falling. He wasn’t sure that Reinhardt

sound of whinnying and neighing became louder and louder. The knights had constructed a makeshift stable of sorts—a few knights watched over it, huddled over a pile of wood that was likely an unlit firepit. The knights stood when

and threw Argrave in front of them. Argrave collapsed to the grass, landing on his elbows as gracefully as one

up, as long as he isn’t hurt.” Reinhardt led his own horse to the rest of the other horseflesh and tied its reins up neatly. “Another thing. He’s to sleep

his feet. “You don’t need to do this,

need to speak,” the Margrave said as he walked by uncaringly.

the Margrave as he walked away, his back facing the knights that had been assigned to look after him. If the Margrave cared to

to Sun Tzu, Argrave thought. Know thy self, know thy enemy. One battle, one victory. Far off

tug at the rope around his chest, and Argrave turned his head to the knights behind him. One of them had picked up the

order,” one of the knights said, a serious-looking man with orange hair. “If you

master, like servant. The Margrave chose honorable knights. Fighting the Margrave as a spellcaster with D-rank

Argrave said, raising his hands in the air.

other, then eventually led Argrave to a post beside the Margrave’s horse. They tied him firmly, yanking the rope tightly to make sure both the post and the knot would hold. They argued briefly about who would watch over Argrave. Eventually,

brought their horses to the area, leaving them to the knights assigned on stable duty. The knights watched Argrave, but he kept silent. Unlike the Margrave, he could see no benefit in

appetite seemingly unending. The moon kept rising, and the last light of dusk slowly faded away as the two suns went behind the planet. Or… Argrave frowned. He supposed this planet would be rotating around the suns. Was it even called a ‘sun’ anymore? It must be a different star system entirely. The people still called them ‘the

head to its source. One of the stable knights had retrieved a piece of flint. He awkwardly used his sword as the ‘steel’ of the flint and steel, casting sparks onto the wood. He grunted in

of the knights that knows magic,” one

other’s comments. “We can

fire. It won’t work,” the other reasoned. “C’mon, we can

it,” the knight stubbornly refused. He set aside his sword. “Hand

the exchange, head

on his gauntlet and tried to snap with the flint.

it all. The flint

get someone,” the other

hand. “I can help,”

knights near the horses turned

the Order of the Gray Owl. I can start your fire,” Argrave

stared at him. “The Margrave wouldn’t like that, I don’t think,” the one guarding