Jackal Among Snakes

The worst part about Elias being correct had to be the fact that he wasn’t smug about it, Argrave had come to realize. Were it anyone less decent, Argrave was sure they’d be rubbing his error in judgement in his face, and he’d be able to confront it squarely. A week had passed, and yet Argrave could still not feel unbothered by it.

House Jast and House Parbon had entered into an alliance. Elias would soon be returning to Parbon to get his father’s approval, alongside a contingent of mages sworn to Jast’s service. The true effects of that pact would surely be felt in the days to come as it spread throughout the land—Argrave would need to see if Elbraille did indeed fall in with the rebels as he and Anneliese had theorized. He had many doubts regarding whether or not things would proceed as planned, but he tried not to dwell on them. As Argrave had come to understand, many things were beyond his control.

Yet the uncertain future was not the sole thing disturbing Argrave. Elaine seemed content to never again bring up what she’d mentioned at the banquet, and Argrave was not exactly eager to broach the subject. It had made the business between Rowe and Elaine a good deal more awkward.

“Why are you sulking, boy?” Rowe’s voice broke Argrave’s thoughts. “Bothered you’re still dealing with my requests?”

Argrave, who was sitting in a chair, looked up to the aged elf. He had not especially liked Rowe in the game, mostly because he was very difficult to fight. Rowe alone was hard enough, but the fight was cheap—two on one, Rowe and his dragon, Crystal Wind. Now, after some time spent with him, Argrave started to view him as a senile old uncle with outdated ideals. It was difficult to dislike that.

They were in the Vyrbell manor. Argrave was waiting for Elaine to return from the bathroom so that things could proceed. Galamon was busy at the blacksmith, finalizing the reforging of his armor, and Anneliese remained at their inn, wrapped up in study.

Argrave rubbed his hands together. “How could I be bothered by that? It seemed like things were wrapping up. We’ve worked out an equitable illicit exchange of knowledge between Jast and Veiden. I’m sure your pride as an honorable Veidimen must be direly wounded.”

Rowe grinned. Despite his age, he had a rather clean set of teeth. “To think that Dras thought this would be difficult.”

Argrave frowned. “Meaning what?”

“Dras is a smart man. I don’t say this lightly.” Rowe tapped his staff against the ground, and then pulled up a chair. “I didn’t come here to tour your continent, looking at your ridiculous gaudy enchanted architecture,” Rowe waved his hand. “This deal was precisely the reason I came here.”

Argrave was perplexed. “What are you talking about? This is what you wanted all along?” Argrave leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms. “Why not just ask? Seems simpler.”

“Dras knew if I came to you, asking to set up contact between me and an influential person in this city, you’d wring us dry. Money. Books. Whatever other damnable things you can conjure in that dome of yours,” Rowe shook his head, lips curled. “So, Dras gave me some lines, instructed me to lead you to where he wanted, and… well, here we are.”

“Smart. Be stingy with the guy fighting against everyone’s enemy.” Argrave nodded drolly.

“You seem to misunderstand something.” Rowe leaned his staff against the wall, and then pulled his chair a touch closer towards Argrave. “To Dras, you are merely the one who made him aware of He Who Would Judge the Gods. You made all of Veiden aware of his coming.” Rowe shook his head. “To the Patriarch, and to Veiden, that is the end. You do not matter. If you die, our fight continues. Whatever you achieve is of no consequence. At best, you could facilitate an easier landing on Berendar.”

Argrave was a bit offended at first, but his reason shone through and he accepted Rowe’s words with a quiet nod.

“Even if you’ve a god at your back, Dras doesn’t see what you can reasonably achieve as one man. Despite the two formidable allies following you about like little ducklings, you’re not much to him.”

too. Why is he forgetting that?” Argrave shook his head, then examined something about the way Rowe was speaking. “You’re separating yourself from

Not just that, your mana grows too quickly, for reasons I cannot understand,” Rowe veritably grumbled. Argrave had not made the existence of the Amaranthine Heart known to

I’ve known. More talented than me, more hardworking than me. That

Argrave said

“Had I the time, and were you less insufferable, I might teach you some things. As it stands, your jokes make my head ache and I’m to be very busy dealing with that red-haired one… what’s her name… Elaine.” He came to his feet, using his staff to lift himself up. “I’ll say it plainly. Keep as you are, but know your limits. One mistake, one misstep, and you might end all your progress. You can’t

“This is a very strange way

won’t speak again for some time. I understand most of your business is near done

to confirm, but the

said, adjusting her gray robes. “I believe we were finalizing things?” she questioned, tone completely

agreed, standing

be for the best if they continued like this, ignoring what had been said. At the very least,

#####

strange dimensions. A tall, thin

likely because they had no mannequins that could reasonably fit either’s size. Argrave stepped forward, removing his gloves. Both leather outfits were a dark steely gray, lined with white at points

base—leather boots, leather pants, and the leather shirt, long-sleeve. Overtop that, you may wear a heavier duster lined with fur on the inside, in case the weather should grow cold… or if more protection is needed. It has a hood to

leather and fur from the Snowstrider Bears in the north—very durable leather, shrugging off blades by itself. The fur is soft and warm, and mostly lines the inside. The enchantments, too, should ward off much magic.

Argrave said, withdrawing his

the outfit as though she were staring at a pile of gold. “Oh—I do not mean this negatively. I

set, then. This way, if

black set

She grabbed some of the joints of it. “It’s made of the very breathable Krell leather from the distant jungles, so I felt as though some areas could

the outfit,

pants, a shirt, and a duster—the duster will likely be needed sorely in the Burnt Desert. I

you make that judgement,” Argrave said, and the tailor took it in jest and smiled. It was no

bag. “I’m very satisfied with your work. Here’s the remainder

tailor held out her hands, receiving the bag. She opened it quickly. “Ah… my apologies, sir, and meaning no offense,

be cautious,” Argrave dismissed. “Go

for your understanding, sir,” the tailor bowed, then