Jackal Among Snakes

A couple linked arms as they ascended up the mystic stone elevator in the center of the Tower of the Gray Owl. One was a fairly tall bald man with lean features and a grin that seemed markedly bitter. The one beside him was quite the enchanting woman with gray hair and sharp orange eyes. She wore tall heels—tall enough to be the exact same height as the man beside her. There was a strange air between them. It was not quite the harmonious aura one might see in a couple, yet it could not be likened to a couple who had fought.

“I wonder why the Tower Master calls all Magisters in the Tower to assemble,” Vera said, breaking the silence.

“And you voiced that thought out loud,” Hegazar answered back, staring ahead.

“Well, yes,” Vera said. “This is generally the part where we discuss things, like civilized people who can cooperate, and share a similar lack of understanding regarding the present situation. Unless you know something?”

Hegazar turned his head. “Do you think I’m hiding something from you?”

“The irony hearing that from you, the illusionist. Historically, that is the case,” Vera mused.

Hegazar shook his head and faced forward once again. Two people passed by on another platform, and both Magisters adapted smiles on their faces like nothing was wrong at all. Once they’d gone, both went stony.

“Listen… part of being a happy-go-lucky couple is being nice to each other. I started this conversation rather normally, don’t you think?” Vera questioned. “A simple question, which, though mundane, was perfectly normal. Don’t you think you owe it to me to respond in kind?”

“Why?” Hegazar questioned. “I released you from that vault without a hitch. We split the loot as we had intended to before the star-crossed lover betrayal—as equal partners. If anyone owes anyone anything, it’s—”

“Is that why you did it?” Vera questioned. “To get me in debt? To have me as a partner once more, out of obligation?”

“No, I--!” Hegazar stopped as another set of people passed them by.

The smiles came to their face once more. Once the people had come and gone, Hegazar started laughing.

“You’re laughing, now,” Vera noted.

“I’m sorry,” Hegazar said. “Not about the laughter, mind you. I did answer a bit harshly.” Vera gave him a glance, a little surprised. He carried on, saying, “Do you know what our favorite little kingling did once he’d locked you in that vault? He embraced that girl of his, Anneliese. You should have seen how nauseatingly pleased he was—both of them were. The entire time, they’d been playing us.”

like her?” she rebuked, still moderately

the Tower. Now, one’s a king with an army to match… and the girl is bound to be a splendid queen, if I’m gauging things right. Two B-rank

by the fantasy just as much as Hegazar was. “And I’m… sorry too,” Her face slowly lost some tenseness. “…then, my

their stone platform reached the

a little more comfortable linked arm in arm than they had been before. Beyond, a simple room waited them. It was little more than a conference room,

others were assembled, including the new arrivals—six men, eleven women. To call them only ‘people’ was perhaps a bit demeaning—these were true movers and shakers, Magisters of the Order of the Gray Owl. Some of them could wipe small cities off the map if they really put their mind to it. They

with grudges, alliances, and relationships spanning decades. The tension was higher amidst some, while others seemed relaxed: the political and apolitical Magisters respectively. Hegazar envied the relaxation of the scholars, at times… yet he loved the politics far too much to do

back of the room. It was a gray-green disc, placed conspicuously close to the head of the

the

Castro

finally gone senile, and that is the thing he intends

“Perhaps it’s his apprentice’s work. Let the old man brag—he doesn’t have many

theirs might work—instead of making mocking each other, they’d make fun of everybody

is some grand show of his to one-up me by ignoring my summons,” the man said, stepping past. “Well, I’ve

to his step unlike anything that he’d seen from the Master in decades. Though old, bald,

found a cure for arthritis,” Vera

that accentuated his sharp and grim features, and cast shadows as though light obeyed his whims. His skin was quite dark, too, hinting he might hail from the Burnt

the war, Master Castro?” Magister Traugott spoke respectfully, having a measured tone and a deep voice. “We’re all well aware of your

less about the

raised a brow, surprised that the usually

setting a bottle with a dropper on its cap atop the table and walking

then looked back. “Is this a latest art investment of yours, Master Castro?” he

seen this side of the Tower Master. “It’s an investment,” Castro agreed. “But not art. It’s an investment in truth.” The Tower Master stepped away from the disc, grabbing up the bottle. “I’m going to make

Magister Moriatran stood. He was a man every bit as old as Castro. His hair was present, but its wispy whiteness made

late,” Moriatran declared

turned his head back almost disaffectedly. “You are. I don’t care to talk to you right now, Moriatran—sit down, shut up,” he declared, then walked forward