Jackal Among Snakes

“Duke Rovostar heads south, Prince Orion, to combat the approaching forces of the south. Though we can still see the dust clouds from their horses, we long ago lost sight of the army itself,” a kneeling royal knight said to Orion. Bandages peeked out from places in his golden armor, marking him as a plagued Waxknight. “We would need to send scouts to confirm where they are precisely.”

Orion patted the man on the shoulder. “I would not risk lives by sending men out on foolish scouting missions. I trust what we can see from the walls of Dirracha,” he assured his man.

The knight knelt a little lower and continued, “Our conjecture, my prince, is that the army of Rovostar heads to reinforce the southern fortresses. By now, the Margrave will be heading out to begin his war. Winter has passed, after all, and the snows melt from north to south.”

Orion nodded. “Good, good. Felipe has stocked this city well enough to last a year with its provisions—even the city’s residents itself can be fed. Distribution fares well, does it not?”

“It does, my prince,” the knight confirmed.

“Excellent. The people will not starve under my watch,” Orion declared. “Carry on. I must visit with Vasquer.”

The knight walked away, leaving Orion alone in the royal palace. At once, he clutched his head.

Ninety-six voices raged against his mind constantly, battering at the walls of his consciousness. Orion had always been whole and hearty and remained so, yet dark circles underneath his eyes indicated both stress and fatigue that were foreign to him. Just as he had gone against his parent, defying the wisdom of the gods, so too had they gone against him.

The gods—for indeed they were still gods, even as deceivers—did not allow Orion a moment of repose. He was acting against their instructions, and for this, he was constantly beset by their pleas and demands. Their whispers became not comfort nor guidance as they had always been, but an insidious punishment. He was kept from sleep, kept from focus.

take away the blessings they’d bestowed upon Orion, even rogue as he had gone. Instead, they constantly insisted upon the debt that he owed them, the relationship that they shared. It was like a leash tugging at the neck. Worse yet was that the gods of Vasquer were not in unity—some wished for him to kill Felipe

found himself gazing upon Vasquer. The snake moved, coiling around Orion in greeting. At once, like a balm upon his wounds, some of the intensity of the pressure pushing at his mind was alleviated, the burden shouldered by Vasquer like

kin could come and relieve him. He strode to the metal rings binding Vasquer. They were numerous, thoroughly enchanted, and took tremendous effort to remove… but all Orion had was his effort. He’d already removed enough to give Vasquer some measure of mobility,

advent. He would mend his shattered family, right all of the wrongs in the world, and be a hero to the

line in the sand between good and evil, I think ‘fell calamity that

did not know right and wrong. It was a difficult concept for him to conceive of, and so he had always been told. But as Argrave said, he knew of what was to come and the evil behind it. And now, lost spiritually and breaking down day by day… all

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through the sky, leaving a roar in its wake that shook the sky like thunder. Then, a mass of red scales slammed against the walls of the castle. Margrave Reinhardt’s wyvern clung to the stone, its breath a low roar of defiance as men

wyvern’s head and the Margrave both. But Helmuth, the dark-haired spellcaster with eyes like purple

the blade of fire, and flames billowed up into the sky like some kind of solar flare. By the time the flames

of the castle, some of them in pieces. The Margrave himself rushed after the mage.

walls outside the castle, the now-unmanned walls could not even attempt to stop the approaching force. Numerous brave men carried a large and sturdy ladder, preparing for an escalade. The ladder was tilted, fitting into a spot between the parapets so naturally

Knights began climbing up them. By now, mages on other sides of the walls moved to reinforce the point of assault, but mages on the side of the rebels countered whatever magic was thrown at the invaders. Like this, the fortress was breached—knights under Duke Sumner, Duke Enrico, Count Delbraun, or Duke Marauch flooded the walls, soon outnumbering

the cramped spaces. One unlucky soul was pushed by those behind him and fell into the

that were not slain surrendered. Highborn captives were quickly isolated, secured, and brought to the courtyard. Spellcasters received the same treatment. All others were seized and forced to provide directions to what had been their castle’s dungeon,

of his knights reported as he walked the walls, his breathing still heavy and his ax still held close at hand. “All our captives be lamenting the fact that they had not surrendered when given the opportunity, I

a difficult position by our act of rebellion,” the Margrave instructed. “Take five good men and scour every inch of the castle, interrogate all staff. I

a white moon as his