Jackal Among Snakes

“Now that is done,” Rowe said, stepping in front of Argrave and his party. “I won’t be denied my answer any longer, Galamon. Do you intend to break your word? Has your time in this place of twisted morals sullied the honor I know you once had?”

“I’ll answer,” Galamon refuted, shaking his head. “Ask.”

“Then let us go somewhere private,” Rowe waved.

“No,” Galamon stopped Rowe. “Ask here. These two would never cease pestering me if you ask elsewhere.”

“Galamon ‘the Great,’ brought to heel by children not a quarter his age,” Rowe mused. “Fine. It’s your business, anyway. I’ll give our audience context, then.” Rowe tapped his staff against the ground and a white magic ward spread out, enveloping the four of them.

“That day they found you having succumbed to vampirism, your brother’s head was crushed,” Rowe began. “Most believe you killed your brother Berran in feral rage after he turned you into a vampire. You always refused to answer. How did your brother die?”

Despite the ceremony behind the question, Galamon did not seem deeply rattled as he answered, “When I awoke, Berran apologized for what he had done and killed himself. He used a wedge to lift a boulder, placed his head beneath it, and then allowed it to fall. His death was instant.”

“Then it’s as I thought,” Rowe said. “Your brother was coerced into turning you.”

“His children were at risk. I do not blame him,” Galamon shook his head. “And it matters little. Those responsible are dead. Dras promised me he would uproot them before he sent me away, and I know he kept that promise.”

“Who was responsible?” questioned Anneliese, a query which made Argrave nod in solidarity.

“The Ebon Cult,” said Galamon, his guttural voice carrying a pure hatred that made Argrave shudder.

“Aye. They were before your time, girl. Dras slaughtered them like the dogs they were,” Rowe lowered his head. “They were once the Ebon tribe. They discovered Ebonice. Some people abhor using the stuff for that reason.”

Argrave stepped forward, then turned to face Galamon. “The Ebon Cult existed in Veiden?”

Galamon’s pupils fell on Argrave, their whiteness seeming especially cold today. “What do you mean, ‘existed in?’” he questioned.

“It could be a cult of the same name—darkness, blackness, and other such stygian descriptors are trendy in cult circles, I hear—but the Ebon Cult is alive and well in Berendar, living deep in the crust of the world.”

Galamon grabbed Argrave’s shoulders, which dredged up some unpleasant memories and made Argrave freeze. “Describe them,” he said insistently, pulling Argrave closer.

Anneliese put her hand on Galamon’s wrist. “Let go, first,” she said.

Argrave. “Forgive me. I need to

cities, whose creators have long ago migrated deeper into the earth. They

ideals—what do they worship?” Galamon

shook his head. “They’re trying to turn that falsehood into reality—not that that’s even possible. His name is Mozzahr, the Castellan of the Empty.

claim,” snorted

stronger,” Argrave nodded. “Shamanic magic is a pain,

a bushy brow, gritting his teeth. Galamon turned his head away, silent. When the awkward silence stretched out, Argrave followed up, asking, “What? Does that name mean

Galamon said musingly.

Empty? What does that mean? Did he go to an open field and declare himself its governor?” The S-rank spellcaster shook his head. “I did not

could mean a lot of things. ‘Empty’ meaning ‘empty people,’ or meaning ‘void.’ Hard to govern either, I’d suspect. We can ask him when the time comes, if indeed he’s amenable to conversation at

does that mean?” Galamon

power. They’ve done us a favor by going to the dwarven cities, deep underground, but we still have to bury them. We have to make sure they never come out of

every step until Gerechtigkeit manifests?” Rowe

problems—like Vasquer, for instance. We’re on that phase,” Argrave pointed to the ground. “Second, I gain

the third?”

of the destroyer of worlds.” Argrave held his hands out in faux

have the odd and decidedly dangerous habit of rousing my blood, Argrave,” he said. It was the first time the old elf had said his name, Argrave was sure. “Most times in anger, and

“Let’s hope it persists for three more years. You’ll need it

to me. We’ve tended to your needs, and after hearing your little speech, I

at your disposal, provided this won’t take too

your capabilities,” Rowe said, dispelling the ward around them as

#####

bring a library everywhere you go?” questioned Rowe as he stepped into their dormitory. “Books here, books there, books on the bed, books on the chair,” he rhymed. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You

all of these eventually,” Argrave picked up a spellbook and waited for the rest of his party to enter before shutting

first, your memory will,” Rowe disagreed. He moved some books off a chair and sat down,

at the cusp of losing his mind. My memory is good,” Argrave countered. “So, things have been settled with Elias thanks to your help. What could the unfathomably powerful S-rank mage want with the weak and altogether not-helpful

them,” Rowe said blatantly. His gaze wandered to Anneliese and Galamon, who took their seats at the table. “Patriarch Dras chose me specifically for two reasons—of everyone

knowing that, you’re here?” Argrave asked

themselves,” Rowe shook his head. Seeing Argrave’s incredulous expression, he added, “You try holding the line against the younger generations for hundreds and hundreds of years. There’s only one me, but they keep making more damned babies. Hard to see the value in life when you realize it’s

but I’ve outlived all of them.” Rowe shook his head, and then waved his hand as though shooing something. “Besides, Dras is reasonably intelligent. He won’t ruin things too much, and I can fix what he

see.” Argrave didn’t think too deeply into the matter—now that Veiden had ceased its progress into the mainland, his business with them would be done for a time. “You mentioned enchantments earlier. Is that