Jackal Among Snakes

Vasquer watched Felipe the second she spotted him on the distant steep stairway leading to her prison of centuries. Though Elenore had questioned how she had managed to remain sane here, bound and tortured by vampires over centuries to extract value from her blood and scales, she was not truly imprisoned.

So long as her mind was alive, she could wander where she pleased. Such was the ability of her kin, the Gilderwatchers.

And she had. The past centuries, she had wandered the streets of Dirracha, watching as her descendants built the small settlement that had been the home of their Warrior’s Order into a grand city. Though founding this kingdom had never been her intent, she could not deny some measure of pride. To build, create—there could be no greater act. Perhaps it was merely self-comforting bargaining in her grief at betrayal.

Yet the past thirty years… though the city remained beautiful, the people grew miserable. Taxed to destitution, forced to work by those that had protected them in years past… all of it was the domain of this man before her, this man walking down the stairs. Compared to the vampires, she could not say who would be the worse captor.

Argrave’s pets had given Elenore’s people ample time to get to their place. Already, the beige smoke fell down the stairs, much denser than air. Galamon, the elven vampire, had remained in a room near the top of the stairs, setting the herbs aflame so that reinforcements could not enter… and those within could not leave easily.

Vasquer’s role in this was simple. She was to be that which lured Felipe into this chamber. It was simple enough it left room for something else. Vasquer had to know the man who could be lowered to the point that he had—she had to know what sort of man could watch as his daughter was maimed so. She had to know who could debase all of his sons to the point of irreparability.

King Felipe III, who bore the name of her partner, set foot at the bottom of the stairs. She could see his gray eyes behind the cobra helmet he wore. That cobra was a mockery of what Vasquer actually was, she felt. His royal knights scanned the place for threats, yet the king was unceasing in his advance.

Ever closer he walked. Vasquer herself craned her neck forward, having been freed of one of her bindings. Felipe stalled as she stretched… yet ever so slowly, the two inched nearer. The king removed his gauntlet and placed it against Vasquer’s nose.

The Gilderwatchers were never numerous, but they shared a common trait. Their talks, their debates… all was directly transmitted from mind-to-mind. This ability extended only to those sharing the blood of the Gilderwatcher. She had not done this to Argrave or Elenore… but if she wanted to know all within, she could obtain what she pleased.

The simple branch of consciousness she extended to Argrave or Elenore became a gleaming golden jaw as she wished it to be and it latched onto the king’s thoughts. She tore away all his defenses, pulled at his mind as though it was simply meat instead of something precious. It would not hurt him unless it was prolonged, yet it would give her a glimpse of his true nature.

Vasquer witnessed the core of Felipe III. His thoughts towards his people, his family, his children… the quintessence of that had been rotted away. His ambition had been twisted into a grotesque avarice. His love had been wrought into a possessive claw that would sooner shred something to pieces than lose it. His diligence fueled both of those like the sun upon plants. And the sole sustenance for this all?

Life itself had long ago lost all meaning to Felipe. An apathetic nihilism dictated his actions—a demon of self-sabotage that hurt himself, hurt his children, and hurt the very world. He did what he pleased, caring little for death of any kind. Indeed, Felipe wanted to die. His contradicting greed for life barred him from simply withering away… and instead, it made the world wither with him.

Felipe reeled away, holding a hand to his helmet in shock. His breathing was heavy. Vasquer stared down at him, and his royal knights drew in front of him to bar the giant snake from approaching further. None of that mattered anymore, she felt. She had seen what she needed to. There was no salvaging her descendant, no pulling him free of the brink.

opened

#####

her mind going at all times to see what she saw. So, when light crept past her jaw and illuminated all

been preparing. Jezuit, the knight-commander, cast a warding spell, and a white mana ripple split the air. Mana ripples formed when A-rank

could defy ranks, and Argrave had put plenty of his

Felipe shouted in alarm, clutching the bolt with his gauntleted hand as he slid back. His armor was the stuff of legends, and the bolt’s ferocious speed had been weakened from piercing the ward and Jezuit. The

struck in the stomach, and though the blow had not broken flesh, the impact was tremendous. Argrave stepped out of Vasquer’s mouth as the royal knights scrambled to protect their king. Having cast

alone. Two of Elenore’s best men remained with him—Anneliese had vetted them, and they were surely not traitors. They set bundles of herbs aflame and tossed them at the royal knights, who still desperately surrounded their king and waited for

great cloud of the poisonous smoke surged out of the catacombs, directed by Elenore’s mages. Though much of it spread out across the vast chamber instead of falling upon the royal knights… it had been meant for two purposes. One—to force the knights on the defense. Two—to screen their

immediately. With their knight-commander missing an arm, and their king ostensibly in grave danger, the royal knights initiated the same tactic that Argrave had

and though they bounced off ineffectually, they succeeded in one thing—polluting this chamber with

men as they carried him. Ahead, Anneliese headed the remainder’s charge out of the catacombs and to the stairs. The surprise had given them significant advantage. Durran was just behind her, carrying Elenore. The surprise of that sight was enough to push past the dim haze pressing

the steep stairs bounded upwards once hit with the winds. It was like the Red Sea had been parted, and all charged upwards as fast as they could, carrying

to his stomach. Argrave had a strange sensation that they locked eyes. He dismissed the thought a moment later, feeling it was the effect of

stepped up the first flight of stairs, the curtain of poison smoke lifted by Anneliese fell over them. The men took a deep breath, yet the climbing remained slow-going. One inhalation of the

ahead,” Argrave informed them. “Send Galamon

man

the smoke,” Argrave laughed. “Go. Get

Argrave upon a stone step once they’d made up their minds. Exhausted, Argrave half-crawled forward, listening carefully to what was happening behind him. Even still, the royal knights grappled with the poison screen set around their

He had not cast a spell… and yet their mist emanated from their fur, surrounding him. At once, southron elven warriors conjured of mist helped him along in a clumsy,

saw some royal knights attempt to cast aside the smoke on the stairs with magic. It was dense,

clanging sounded—someone ran down the stairs in plate armor. The second Argrave processed who it might be, Galamon already

arm beneath Argrave and lifting him up

on him. Argrave barely glimpsed bodies… royal knights, Elenore’s men. Some struggled with the poison smoke, coughing

the destroyed gentleman’s club, passing through the hidden door behind the liquor vault. Elenore, Anneliese, and Durran awaited, while Elenore’s men had