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.

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 and take his place as king, while others yet wished for him to resume the status quo.

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

were numerous, thoroughly enchanted, and took tremendous effort to remove… but all

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

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

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…

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

an A-rank spell was coming split the air. A great blade of fire manifested, swinging towards the wyvern’s head and the Margrave both. But Helmuth, the dark-haired spellcaster

solar flare. By the

practiced skill. Bodies fell into the inner courtyard of the castle, some of them 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

brave men carried a large and sturdy ladder, preparing for

the point of assault, but mages on the side of the rebels countered whatever magic was thrown

fortress and dealt with the invaders. Soon enough, the largest problem became the cramped spaces. One unlucky soul was pushed by those

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 were seized and forced to provide

the walls, his breathing still heavy and his ax still held close at hand. “All our captives be lamenting the fact that

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

and stepped away. A knight in gray, a white moon as his sigil, stepped up beside the Margrave. His armor was quite