Jackal Among Snakes

Argrave had been pondering morality the whole time during his journey to Sethia. He supposed it was normal to examine oneself when confronted with the uncaring power dynamics within this southern region of Berendar. Argrave had his own moral code, naturally, and though he might be a bit more flexible than most others, he largely felt he was a righteous person. Everyone did.

And yet Argrave now found himself exposing a secret smuggling ring that offered people freedom from the Vessels, all to earn the good graces of a cult worshipping an ancient god that used its subservient people as walking water bottles.

He reckoned it was a little like exposing the Underground Railroad to become friends with Jefferson Davis.

Of course, Argrave had Galamon scare them a little before exposing them, and hopefully they wouldn’t be genuinely caught… but their operation had gone bust, and there would be no more escapes from the city.

Argrave was drawn from his haze of thoughts at another person’s entrance. He was a bit surprised to see the next comer—Brium, the copper-skinned Lord of Cyprus. Though Argrave could not deny he was surprised he’d climbed the managerial chain so quickly, he came to attention at once, uncrossing his legs and sitting a bit more politely.

“Greetings, gentleman, madam,” Brium began smoothly, coming to stand before them. “I am the Lord of Copper, Brium. I came here to personally thank the three of you for what you’ve exposed here today.” He placed his hand to his chest in thanks but did not bow his head—that little gesture was a good show of his personality. On the surface he was polite, yet beneath was pride and ambition that did not allow him to bow his head to any.

“A pleasant surprise, meeting the Lord of this tower. I am Argrave… of Blackgard,” he hesitated in saying the last part, remembering well what happened when he last used that name. “My companions are Anneliese and Galamon,” he introduced in turn.

“…of Blackgard,” Brium repeated. “What is your home of Blackgard like, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“It’s a bustling riverside city, located where many rivers meet. Place has the only bridge for miles, so it’s a rather busy trade city,” Argrave supplied smoothly.

Brium smiled inexplicably. “I see.” He moved the stool that Jeralian had set across from them, then sat atop it himself. His back was rigid and unbent, and he surveyed each of the three of them in turn.

“This smuggling ring you exposed—I am having men examine it as we speak,” Brium began. “You’ve done a valuable service. Yet strangely, you came to the tower of Copper.” Brium rubbed his fingers together. “Perhaps I am ignorant of your lands, but as I recall… copper is the least valuable form of coinage in Vasquer.”

Argrave nodded, catching the message beneath the Vessel’s words. “Gold and silver are shiny and brilliant. People tend to like those metals for that reason.”

Brium gestured towards Argrave. “And yourself?”

“Copper…” Argrave leaned in until he was at the edge of the couch. “Copper a strong metal at its core. But when you combine it with something else—a different metal, far from itself—you get something stronger. You get alloys. Bronze. Brass,” Argrave counted the two with his fingers, then waved his hand with a smile. “Both prime examples.”

Brium laughed lightly, raising his hand to cover his mouth. “I see your metaphor. You are different—far from copper, certainly.” Brium lowered his hand, expression stern. “But metalworking is a complex business. The wrong component can weaken the metal instead of strengthening it. How can you be certain you’ll get the results you want?”

Damned metaphors making my hand spin, Argrave thought.

“It’s as with anything—I’ve done it before.” Argrave leaned back to emphasize his confidence. “But… if there’s doubt, you can always stick with the reliable—practice, testing. Make a small batch of bronze alloy instead of converting all your copper at once. Once you’re sure it works, upscale the process.”

Brium stared down Argrave. His dark brown eyes had an intense sharpness to them that made it clear he scrutinized Argrave carefully. After a time, his eyes lightened and he smiled. “Do you enjoy poetry, Argrave?”

Argrave was taken aback by the conversational turn, but he answered, “Some, certainly.”

“Do you write?” he pressed.

poetry, but yes, I suppose what I’ve done

my poems with you. I have the feeling you’ll appreciate

nodded slowly. “Another time,

and power…” Brium lowered his head, lost in thought. After a time of deliberation, he raised his gaze up to Argrave. “I think things are as you say. An alloy… the thought has never crossed

agree,” Argrave said, though the words

on his knees. “A

vaguely, “… of which my… metal, is

aside the vagaries and speak frankly,” Brium waved his hand

Argent has something I want. It’s not the sort of thing they give away, either, even if I ask

out. “And bronze is more than fitting

tired of this long analogical

held his hands out, placing the tips of his fingers against each other like some kind of diabolical schemer. “I’m going to have to work something out for you to do. And

he was wearing thick leather gloves and was quite thankful for the protective enchantment as he reached out and took the

“Likewise,” Argrave concluded.

#####

heavy. He felt guilty,

curious about,” Anneliese

guess her question

her head. “This name—Blackgard. You use it consistently. That is what I was curious

Argrave scratched the back of his

“You’re embarrassed,” she noted.

her. “If I wasn’t

me more curious,” she

looked between both of them—even Galamon expressed that he was focused on

the road. “It doesn’t exist. But I’ve made it before.” Anneliese and

of northern and southern Berendar are divided by a big river—in the future, it becomes an almost natural border between the rebels and Vasquer loyalists. The biggest bridge between the two is an important place to hold in the war. It’s located in a valley, too, so it’s quite a defensible place. There’s a sizable

it in

game. Lots of good farmland, choke points preventing raids, pre-existing population, center

Anneliese stopped him.

a name, isn’t it?” Argrave answered, turning back

it is merely that,”

lip, the answer on the tip of his tongue. “Alright,” he surrendered, throwing his hands up in the air. “If Gerechtigkeit wins, the world ceases to exist—it becomes a void. A void is blackness. I considered that name—Blackgard—just as that. A

“I see.”

“You see,” Argrave repeated.

think it is a noble name,” she said

I should probably