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.

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 and take his place as king, while others

Orion opened his eyes and 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 a parent taking a child’s backpack. He

sole task locked in this City of Dragons 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

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

the visions shown to him by the great serpent: “If there was ever a line in the sand between good and evil, I think ‘fell calamity that endeavors to destroy everything’ is quite obviously on the evil

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 Orion wished was to leave something good

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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

and the

kind of solar flare. By the time the flames subsided, the Margrave had already dismounted and charged into a crowd of men flanked

skill. Bodies fell into the inner courtyard of the castle, some of them in pieces. The Margrave himself rushed after

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

walls moved to reinforce the point of assault, but mages on the

better-supported—the rebel knights swarmed into the fortress and dealt with the invaders. Soon enough, the largest problem became the cramped spaces. One unlucky soul was pushed by those behind him and fell

defenders that were not slain surrendered. Highborn captives were quickly isolated, secured, and brought to the courtyard. Spellcasters received the same

breathing still heavy and his ax still held

by our act of rebellion,” the Margrave instructed. “Take five good men and scour

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