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.

they shared. It was like a leash tugging at the neck. Worse yet was that the gods of Vasquer were

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

before his other 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, yet thousands more remained. He battered, kicked, and tore at them, slowly endeavoring to free his

his shattered family, right all

in the sand between good and evil,

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

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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 on the walls scattered in fear. The Margrave himself stepped atop his mount’s head, gazing at all below

air. A great blade of fire manifested, swinging towards the wyvern’s head and the Margrave both. But Helmuth, the dark-haired spellcaster with eyes like purple vortexes, stepped up to defend his

shield of silver met the blade of fire, and flames billowed up into the sky like some kind of solar flare. By the time the flames subsided, the Margrave had already dismounted and charged

in pieces. The Margrave himself rushed after the mage. As the man prepared another spell, Reinhardt grasped at his belt and threw a dagger. It stabbed through the man’s wrist, ending his spell prematurely. Margrave Reinhardt fell upon him, cleaving him in the neck

of the 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 it seemed to be engineered to fit there—and perhaps it

and more ladders fit against the walls of the castle. 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

swarmed into the fortress and dealt with the invaders. Soon enough, the largest problem became the cramped spaces. One unlucky soul

quick and bloody. Soon enough, the defenders that were not slain surrendered. Highborn captives were quickly isolated, secured, and brought to the courtyard. Spellcasters received the same treatment. All others

castle is ours, Margrave Reinhardt,” one 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

as you or me, and we have put them all in a difficult position by our act of rebellion,” the Margrave instructed. “Take five good men

stepped away. A knight in gray, a white moon as his sigil, stepped up beside