Jackal Among Snakes

Durran stepped into a hovel on the edge of Sethia, leaning against his glaive. Once he passed the barrier, he shut the rickety wooden door behind him. He stood there, breathing heavily, almost as though wounded.

“Did you—” a man’s voice called out, and then the sound of plate boots against wood sounded out as someone moved up to Durran. “What’s the matter? You’re pale. What happened?” the man insisted. He wore a helmet depicting a boar, though most of him was covered by heavy plate armor.

Durran said nothing, merely waving the concerned knight away. “My brain’s on… fire,” he said, shaking his head. “Need to sit.”

He pushed into the room, eventually leaning against the wall. He slid down, sitting. Though the knight stood over him, concerned, Durran’s mind was lost in introspection.

How could he know? My uncle, I’ve never told anyone—not my father, not any of my friends, not anyone. No one knows. No one knows, I’m sure of it. But he does. I’m glad my uncle’s dead—I’m proud I killed him. But no one should know!

Durran could still recall those gray eyes, cold and dead as stone, staring him down. There was a heartless fury in Argrave’s eyes as he rattled off Durran’s deepest secrets one by one. His words had enough accuracy it was as though Durran himself was spilling his secrets. It was a summary of his essential qualities, all from a man he’d never met before.

“What’s wrong with you?” Boarmask insisted, kneeling before Durran. “Is someone in danger? Is the operation… if so, we’ve no time to waste.”

“In your land… can any know your thoughts? Can any see your memories? With magic, faith, I don’t give a damn, can they?” Durran lifted his head, breathing brought under control.

Boarmask said nothing. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

“Way to answer the question,” Durran growled.

“No, no one can explore your mind,” said Boarmask. “If they can, I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“No tales, no myths?” Durran queried hopefully.

“…that’s the realm of the gods, not mere mortals,” Boarmask shook his head.

Durran lowered his head against the wall. “You have no idea how little comfort that brings me.”

Boarmask grabbed the man’s robes, shaking him. “What happened?”

“He knew you,” Durran free himself of the knight’s grip easily. “And he knew me—way too damned well. Uncomfortably well. Things I’ve never shared with anyone, he knew them like he did them.”

Boarmask stayed kneeling for a moment, and then he sat down. “He knew me?”

“Your name, epithet, whatever. He knew you were at the raid. Not so hard to guess your name, ‘Boarmask.’” Durran settled against the wall, getting comfortable. “Real genius name. Definitely not something a child would conjure.”

“…my old title was much worse,” Boarmask shook his head. “He knew me…? What did he look like?”

“Extremely, uncomfortably tall—could touch the ceiling with his head, that kind of tall. Midnight black hair. His companions were elven. The northern elves. Snow elves, I think you people call them. There was a female with him—one more elf than the southron elves said,” Durran rattled off quickly and idly.

Boarmask looked at Durran intensely. “What color were his eyes?”

“Gray,” Durran said immediately.

hand to his helmet. “Did he seem… sickly to

uncomfortably thin, yeah,” he confirmed nervously. “Why? Why are you

King of Vasquer, Felipe III, has a son named Argrave.

confused. “Is he not a real human? Some kind of freak,

of wedlock,” Boarmask

children are ‘legitimate.’ Whatever—I won’t question your bizarre northern traditions. Get to the point,”

continued, “The king’s son matches your description. And

for a second, digesting that, then questioned, “What does that do

invasion from the snow elves. I don’t know the truth of that, but I do know that he brokered

things mean nothing to me,” Durran shook his

you need to know—he’s the son of one of the most powerful men in

need to talk with Titus,” Durran said. “And I’m pretty strongly inclined to believe that Brium plans

“Titus told us—”

to contact him except in dire cases,” Durran

primary deceiver. How well

feet. “I know one thing for certain. Titus won’t rest until each and

#####

man might do something foolish, he

point, glad to be returned to his room, Galamon

room,” he informed Argrave, staring at the

breath and exhaled. The innkeeper, a non-Vessel woman, seemed to be only idly cleaning her tableware after serving a meal to the others. She did not seem

searching, he spotted the only other person in the room. The man stood as Argrave spotted him and walked

before a table. Light from the fire burning

incredulously. “What

taken them from Delphasium to Malgeridum, looked no worse for wear than when they had left. As ever, the well-built former southern tribal wore an extravagant set of red and gold clothing. He gripped

not expecting

on his feet, the matter of the people in their room still weighing at his mind.

“And you work

her. “Did you enjoy

question,” Argrave interrupted,

the chair and sat. “I came to find you three,” he

to sit. “You’ve found us. What

three of

staying, for starters,” Argrave spoke. “The odd time of your arrival. Let’s skip the preambles, shall we? Why are you

on the table, tapping his fingers against the wood. Eventually, he lifted his golden eyes to Argrave and said, “Mistress Crislia, the Lord of Gold, would

people that he didn’t really want to be involved with, and now another had

for Mistress Tatia,”

held Argrave’s gaze.

and you

ever…” Titus rubbed his hands