Jackal Among Snakes

“One king is torn down before he can be crowned…” Duke Sumner, the young, brown of hair, and finely groomed mage of the south walked around a table where a map of Vasquer had been arrayed. He planted a crimson pin in the center of northern Vasquer, then lifted his head up.

All of the grand nobility of the south had gathered today. Margrave Reinhardt, leader of the southern rebellion, stood at the head of the table, flanked by his half-blind son Elias. Closest beside him was the ashen-haired Count Delbraun of Jast, the shrewd Duke Enrico of Mateth with his daughter Nikoletta, and the once-obese Duke Marauch of Elbraille. Each and all were avid supporters of the Margrave. They comprised the majority of the southeast of Vasquer.

Opposing them was another faction in the southern rebellion. These people, largely free of ties to the Margrave, had rallied behind Duke Sumner. They staunchly opposed the notion that Argrave should be their backed claimant. Fittingly, they comprised the southwest.

“One king is crowned by jumped up merchants who would play at being lords…” Sumner continued, retrieving a yellow pin and planting it in a city at the foot of the North Sea—Relize. “And now… one king has been maimed by his own son. Who knows? We may yet have a fourth, should the situation in Dirracha change.”

The Margrave took a deep breath and exhaled. “Are you here to joke, Duke Sumner?”

“Only a little,” the Duke shook his head, wavy brown hair swaying slightly. “But… more so I came to voice the concerns of some of the people within this party. Revoice, rather. I think it’s well past time for us to set this matter aside, to mend the small crack of disunity that’s formed.” The Duke spread his arms out. “Everyone has assembled. All the armies of the south willing to fight against Vasquer are here. But—unity in purpose is key.”

The Margrave nodded, leaning forward as he gazed across the map. His red eyes jumped from person to person. “You cannot be persuaded to back Argrave,” Reinhardt concluded. “Despite his deeds.”

Silence reigned—none voiced their thoughts openly, but it was clear that was the consensus from those opposite the Margrave’s party.

“Elias tells me of the boy,” Duke Marauch said, his voice a sonorous thing, not at all like the cloying, almost blubbering tones he’d had when he had been overweight. “I would agree that he’s a rather attractive proposal. And I trust Elias,” Marauch said.

People seemed to pay his word little heed. A shrewish man spoke, suggesting, “It is not the man himself so much as the company he keeps. Though he’s not involved a third party into this war as we feared, but rather merchants in Relize, the bottom line of our worries has not changed.”

“…those worries being?” Reinhardt pressed.

“Usurpation,” Sumner said succinctly. “I am sure many of us, indeed most of us, have engaged with some of the patricians in Relize or their hands. The Relizeans are a… hmm…” Sumner paused. “They are an uncompromisingly avaricious people. They do not act without a motive to profit. I am sure that this war is viewed more as an investment from their oligarchy rather than a genuine rebellion against malicious authority.”

doing business with the Relizeans in a peaceful and profitable way for much of my life. Though flamboyant and gaudy, they do not overreach—the south is beyond them. If we ally with this

to distribute these forces to… mere merchants?” another on Sumner’s side

crown,” Delbraun of Jast pointed out. “Why should the victor receive no spoils? If they

an easy victory, and you seek benefits for your own house in the event of victory. Argrave’s army poses problems to your advancement. You cannot receive the

Margrave

against tremendous threats,” Elias continued. “The walls of Dirracha have never fallen, and dozens of fortresses stand between us and the capital. This is to be no easy victory. We must take every advantage we can get. And, above all,

right in that this is to be no easy victory. And Duke Sumner presents a good point in mentioning the disunity this matter has caused. Consequently, I declare this—Argrave will not be our claimant. As suggested,

after the war… we will consider it only once we have breached the walls of Dirracha

#####

the door to one of the mystical transporters filling the center of the Tower of the Gray Owl, hauling a large, tall object between the two of them. They

cleared his throat at the two as the large disc they held, wrapped by cloth, wobbled dangerously. The men refocused

Tower Master

one corner of the room, bending their knees as they lowered it to the ground. Once done, they gave a polite bow then made for the transporters, eyes still wandering about the gigantic room

hidden by a large white cloth. He took a deep breath and exhaled, as though what he was about to face required him to steel himself. He walked to one corner of the room and retrieved a booklet. He read

the baby-blue haired Ingo stepped out from his

Do you feel well?” the Tower Master questioned, holding

been fretting about this thing for days,

his old lips. “If you feel fine… it is no trouble for

from his steps that he was not totally well. “What is it,

said cynically, reading the booklet one more time. “Went through a lot of effort to retrieve this. Called in many favors.

the cloth, slowly unwinding it bit by bit. The white fabric collapsed to the floor, revealing ever more of the image. It was carved stone, and difficult to make out without the full image before the person. The disc was held in place by two clamps on either side—it

his neck to get a full grasp of it. The stone itself was gray green, almost like patinaed copper though with more of gray than green. The image depicted was disturbing. The centerpiece was an eye, undisturbed. On its fringes, abominations of all kinds wrapped around it, as

of the storm,” Ingo said