Jackal Among Snakes

Though Argrave knew that something needed to be said to Orion, those words did not come to his head immediately as the two of them walked away from the rest of the party. They entered into the keep of the fortress that had manifested after the battle had concluded. Argrave glanced around at decrepit wooden furniture covered in equal parts by wood rot and growths from the wetlands.

Argrave came to stand over a table. Orion stood opposite it, staring at Argrave with curiosity as he waited for him to speak. Though Argrave briefly contemplated sitting in a chair, he saw its thin, shaky legs rotted out and decided against it.

“That centaur getting away bodes ill,” Argrave began, starting at the problem Orion had caused. “Centaurs—they’re closer to man than beast, and they can communicate with our foes. He can report to the commanders of the other fortresses, or even the Plague Jester herself.”

“You fear our enemies will take note of us? They already have—they harass us during this whole journey, brother,” Orion stepped around the table.

Argrave mirrored his brother’s steps, circling around the table opposite him. “This is different. These beasts that assail as we travel… they sense intruders and hunt them, but little else—now, you’ve displayed your power, stated your intent plainly. If the commanders are warned, the final assault will be all the more difficult. They’ll group up.”

Orion lowered his head. “I apologize.”

Argrave sighed. “I don’t get why this is happening. Back at camp, you lunged at Silvic as though she were your nemesis without any provocation whatsoever. Now, someone attacks you first, and you let them stab you? You let their ally get away?”

“I apologize,” Orion repeated sincerely, lowering his head further.

“I don’t want an apology. I want to know why,” Argrave insisted.

Orion raised a hand to the table before him, placing his fingers against it almost gingerly. The battle he’d just endured had destroyed both of his gauntlets, leaving only scraps of loosely hanging metal with broken enchantments behind.

“Do you ever grow lonely, Argrave?” Orion raised his head, gray eyes emotionless.

Argrave thought for half a second before answering, “Not lately. But I did, once. A lot.”

against the decrepit table, pushing it lightly and watching the thin wood bend and bounce back into place. “I cannot grow lonely. I always have company. The gods accompany me

less afraid of Orion lately, so he dared say, “But that doesn’t answer my

his fist against the table and the wood buckled easily. Argrave didn’t move an inch as wood splinters fell at his feet. “Because I don’t

when their dominion extends from the tall mountains of Dirracha to the distant corners of the world. I have ninety-eight parents, brother—my mother, our father, and all the gods of Vasquer. Each

all my parents, both within and without…” Orion clenched his fist. “And I find that learning to do something is wholly different from putting it into action. The task is simple: spread

“Me?” Argrave questioned. “What?”

them in their

books, last to comprehend lectures. Though my instincts and will are second to none, and I have my parents at my

player in ‘Heroes of Berendar.’ Maybe it was because

have only allies and enemies.

the enemy,

so many forces, stretched so thin by so many it was a wonder he was functional at all. If

be a better person might sabotage their journey to cure the plague. Millions could die if Orion continued to act indecisively as he had earlier. It would be tremendously stupid to prioritize Orion’s personal growth over the fate of

get more time,

his desire to be disentangled from the man before him. Orion was

with that. Experience. Understanding. Growth.” He took a step forward, looking up at the prince. “For now, put all of that out of your

#####

seemed pleased by his vague offer and his empty assurances, Argrave was not entirely sure that things would resume

was forced to relax and rest. He did not realize how much he needed such a thing until he had it, but once his mind had rejuvenated he was consumed by feelings of

Argrave had recalled some people claiming that arguments and fights were the sign of a growing

rose with a headache not quite as severe as yesterday. The Waxknights had better morale, having lost

explained hollowly to Argrave as