Jackal Among Snakes

Though Durran had acted as though discovering Magnus’ intentions would be a simple thing, he treated the matter very seriously. That might suggest it was not, in fact, a simple thing. Durran would probably agree with that assessment by this point.

Durran had good reasons to do this. He hoped to earn trust in the group. Argrave never doubted Anneliese or Galamon, but he did think twice about anything Durran did or said. Beyond that, Durran wanted to follow any traces of Gerechtigkeit beyond Argrave’s mere insistence it was reality. And lastly… he did genuinely want to help.

His first order of business in dealing with the hedonist prince was simple observation. Durran had hoped to catch Magnus doing something incriminating. He might have talked to shady people, delivered something, or left the camp in the dead of night, whereupon Durran would follow him and discover what, exactly, the misfit prince was doing trying to fit in. Something convenient like that was his first hope, even if far-fetched.

Durran had some experience keeping watch on people in crowded places. He had done just that in Sethia alongside Boarmask in their plans for the retaking of the city. He made good use of the crowd. He could not deny it made him uncomfortable to weave so closely with the diseased, but he trusted Argrave enough to be content wearing his Humorless Mask and drinking the vile potions that boosted his immunity.

Yet, after three days, Durran had no luck hoping for a convenience. All he learned was that Argrave was completely right about Magnus’ character. That lent him confidence for his second idea.

Magnus pushed open the flap and entered one of the tents for dining in the camp.

“You’re Magnus, right? Argrave’s brother.” Durran called out, causing Magnus to pause and glance at him. The tattooed tribal sat on a table with a meal prepared. It was all meat—some of it seemed to be frog. The food was testament to the state of the camp: they relied on scavenged meat, mostly, with vegetables and all else being quite rare.

Magnus had stopped when he was called, but he continued his steady walk into the dining tent in not a moment. “Prince Magnus,” he corrected.

“Right,” Durran nodded slowly as the prince moved to the person handling the camp’s food. With a slightly worn and stained wooden bowl in hand, he was served much the same of what Durran was eating. Magnus eyed the frog with some disdain.

Though they were all but alone save the server, Magnus moved to a table quite far from Durran. Before he sat, Durran called out, “Argrave said he was the son of a king… he didn’t mention he wasn’t a prince.”

Magnus stopped, the disinterest on his face waning somewhat. His changed his plan to sit far from Durran and stepped up right across from him.

“And what are you?” Magnus asked him.

“A mercenary from the Burnt Desert, formal tribal chieftain,” Durran introduced himself, inflating his credentials deliberately.

Magnus scrutinized him carefully. His eyes moved around his body, as though tracking something—Durran was well used to this gaze by now. Even the princes of these lands of wealth and green could not help but be intrigued by his golden tribal markings, it seemed.

Magnus placed his plate down and straddled the bench, sitting across from Durran. “Bastards are born liars. It’s a stain that affects their whole lives.” Magnus poked at the frog with his finger. “Why Felipe didn’t kill him in the crib like the rest, I’ll never know.”

“Kill him in a crib? What’d our bastard do to escape that fate?” Durran raised a brow.

Magnus nodded, then continued emboldened after Durran mirrored his sentiments. “Plenty of other harlots had the good luck to catch my father’s eye. The majority… snuffed out. Levin handles that duty now, from what I hear. Usually kills the mothers before they give birth, even.” He grasped both of the frog’s legs and tore it apart. “Good thing, too. It’s like catching a fire just as its starting, before the whole forest can burn down.”

Durran chewed on a piece of meat. “You mean there are others like him roaming about?”

The prince nodded once again. “Some unknown. Some unacknowledged. Argrave was the only baseborn fostered at Dirracha.”

reason enough to keep him

whore. One of the few good things

but kept his hands beneath the

the table. “Why do you

Money,” Durran emulated ribbing coins together between his fingers. “He was travelling here to Berendar—I wanted to see the sights, eat rich foods, behold and hold beautiful things…

his disposition changed positively. “And Argrave—how

to rely on me,” Durran held his hands out, emulating a widening gap. “He’s well-off. Has those… those pink coins that glimmer, but he usually pays me in straight

magic coins,” he

the ones,” Durran

then set it down with a grimace. He tapped his fingers against the plate as he stared at Durran. “So,

such a good look to

to guess, Argrave is here to suck on Orion’s teat, help him with this plague,

the king? Only reason

locked in your head and not spilling

ate with

#####

filtered into a building that did not seem to fit the splendor of what they wore. Some knights were already present—they bore cold gray steel

though the first gray hairs were settling in. A sharp beard and cutting

to meet him. The two seemed at ease

you come wearing armor, most people might think something

nothing, and after the handshake finished, sat at the

frowned. “What’s wrong?” he questioned,

fixed on Enrico. “My son is ill. This…

straightened and took a deep breath.

in Elbraille. The fool refuses to return home,” Reinhardt said angrily. “Says that he’s still yet to deal with the riots, that he’s making tremendous progress. It’s… abnormally aggressive, Helmuth tells

you need anything—anything

mouth. His gaze refocused and he shook his head. “No. Count Delbraun of Jast called in a favor and has sent an A-rank mage specializing in healing.” He turned his gaze to

felt comfortable leaving because my daughter has

nodded. “You must

“On the topic of our families… You have my condolences for your

nodded. “Thank you. I’d prefer not to dwell

not dwelling, perhaps we should get right to the point. I trust you gathered from my letters who I was suggesting we put at

his elbows on the table and wrapping one hand around

his friend’s reactions, then continued, “You may dislike him, but

times. Once, my prized warhorse. Second, when Elias pursued him. Third, when

frowned. “Argrave has your