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.”

and grabbed a folded tarp. He waved it, unfolding it,

of 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

he felt the pull of the rope wrapped around his

small rebellion to increase his own powerbase? You are his vassal, true enough, but you

to Argrave. “Do not presume to know

to his chest. “When we arrive and he learns that I am captive, he’ll feign anger,

throughout the course of ‘Heroes of Berendar.’ It had not been Reinhardt keeping him captive, but rather one of the main characters—Ruleo, a

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

blanket? I should 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 beast—most of all a filthy, unclean beast like

in his chest like a great storm.

outside the tent, drawing the attention of many of the other knights who were

and pulled it just aside Argrave. Argrave diverted most of his attention to his feet to avoid falling. He wasn’t sure that Reinhardt wouldn’t simply pull him along. Some of the knights watched their passing, shaking their heads

makeshift stable of sorts—a few knights watched over it,

Margrave gave a yank on the rope and threw Argrave in front of them. Argrave collapsed to the grass, landing on his elbows as gracefully as one could manage.

much, I leave it to you to decide how to shut him up, as long as he isn’t hurt.” Reinhardt led his own horse to the rest of the other

rising to his feet. “You don’t need to

said as he walked by uncaringly. “Didn’t stop

to look after him. If the Margrave cared to look back, he could see a faint

self, know thy enemy. One battle, one victory. Far off

his chest, and Argrave turned his head to the knights

Margrave has given us the order,” one of the knights said, a serious-looking man with orange hair. “If you do not

Fighting the Margrave as a spellcaster with D-rank skills? Positively suicidal. Eluding

raising his hands in the air.

briefly about who would watch over Argrave. Eventually, they played a game of chance, and the winner stood just beside Argrave, watching

staring at the sky. More and more knights 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 provoking them. Soon, the moon was peaking above the distant mountains, half-full, bright, and still eerily red. It still gave Argrave shivers to see

bided his time. The Margrave’s horse grazed on the grass, its 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

knights had retrieved a piece of flint. He awkwardly used his sword as the ‘steel’ of the flint and steel, casting sparks

of the knights that knows magic,” one of the men

knight crouching dismissed the other’s comments. “We can do

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

can do it,” the knight stubbornly refused. He set aside his sword. “Hand me my gauntlet. I’ll use it

watched the exchange,

put on his gauntlet and tried to snap with the flint. After a few tries, and some sparks cast, Argrave

it all. The flint broke.” He threw

someone,” the

hand. “I can

the horses turned their head to

Order of the Gray Owl. I can

wouldn’t like that, I don’t think,” the one guarding