Jackal Among Snakes

“Knight-commander, sir,” one of the royal guards said in a quiet voice as Argrave spoke to someone about sealing up this tunnel until the time came to deal with it fully.

Galamon turned his head and looked. His white eyes were chilling enough, but his size and proven skill made all of the guards beneath him both fearful and respectful of him—exactly the qualities one might need in a position of leadership.

“Speak,” he directed his subordinate.

“The king, sir… His Majesty…” the knight looked at the king.

Most of them had jumped at the opportunity to guard the man who would be king of all Vasquer. Beyond the personal glory and prestige of the post, they all personally had a great measure of respect for Argrave and his deeds. Their unit had a tight cohesion because of this shared respect. And yet, of late…

“How did things come to this?” the knight asked. “I mean… how did His Majesty know of this place? How did His Majesty know what would be within?”

Galamon turned around and stepped towards the knight. “That’s like asking your gods what came before or after life. For your sanity… don’t ask.” The elf turned his head towards Argrave. “I’ve been travelling with His Majesty for a long while—nearing a year after a little while longer. He is seldom wrong about what he knows. But how he knows it… that is a question you must content yourself with leaving unanswered, unless he deems it something worth sharing.”

The knight stared blankly, his commander’s answer only leaving him more confused.

“Right!” Argrave clapped, the sound and his voice echoing against the tunnel. “This tunnel is going to be sealed off for the time being to avoid any… unnecessary accidents. It’s a nice grave, but I don’t want to be buried here… so, let’s go. Galamon, you can inspect the garrison and whatnot, and then we’ll be on our way.”

Their knight-commander turned and dipped his head. “At once.”

#####

A large and burly tattooed man struggled with the cork on the wine bottle. His thick arms and brawny shoulders made the bottle in his hand look small. He unsuccessfully used his knife to attempt and pry the cork free, succeeding only in cutting away some of the brown matter. He sighed, a low growl behind it, then pinched the neck of the bottle between two fingers until it broke off quietly. He poured the wine into a nearby glass, then stepped out to the balcony where he sat at a chair.

“Duke Rovostar,” a voice rang from the room behind just as he raised the glass to his lips.

burns while most from wicked cuts. He looked more a strongman or a thug than a duke, and

arrival said. “Reports from local fortifications suggest their force is a thousand strong. Positionally, it’s a nightmare. If they march in force, we cannot hold many places for long

glass down, twisting it about with his

person stepped out onto the balcony. He was a middle-aged man whose elaborate facial hair only gave him

said with mock enthusiasm as he looked off into the

him. Is this best for the

What an insightful question,” Rovostar laughed and poured

for us. Outnumbered both in terms of sword and spells, assailed from two fronts—not to mention, with Dirracha lost to us… there are other ways to end wars than by the blade.

He won’t be anytime soon. The situation is fine,” Rovostar shook his

roots are pulled from the earth, the tree will wither!”

Felipe…” Rovostar took another long drink. “He is a little

The count looked perplexed.

lands, managed by crown administrators—our king’s lands, in essence. His Majesty gave them to us. And he gave

Felipe’s conquests. I scavenged the battlefields for years, collecting and selling weapons and armor for paltry scraps of food. But then… King Felipe came, putting the land and its overlords to the sword. I saw it plainly—those that submitted were treated well, and those that resisted died most brutally. Hanged, drawn, and quartered.” Rovostar

he is beaten, duke. The king has been torn from his seat by his son. And despite his meager force, we cannot take

I try again,” Rovostar shook his head. “You don’t seem to understand, Agnil. The reason why you stand here, gritting your teeth at me yet unable to say what you really want to, is because of His Majesty. The men around you—tanners,

a promise, he delivered it shortly after: soldier’s pay, rewards, land, or titles, it mattered not. He’s earned our loyalty, our trust. So long as we obeyed, we were always given what we wanted.

punishment will be far crueler than you can ever imagine. Time and time I saw it happen—the king on the verge of defeat, the guillotine hanging over his head. He’s been poisoned, buried beneath a mountain, and hurled into the North Sea wearing plate armor, yet still he lives. Call him a cockroach if you will, but he’s

finger. “The north will not soon forget the message taught in His Majesty’s conquests. That promising new herald

#####

held a bottle in one hand—it had been the bottle that Master Castro had brought to this

his finger to get some liquid, then put the dragon blood in the center of the disc. The eye became animate once again. Traugott stared at it with his dark eyes, his shadow dancing behind him like a twisted tail of some sort that betrayed his anticipation. The eye locked onto him, and he convulsed. His shadow became frantic and inhuman, morphing into twisted spikes and unnatural shapes. Then… it solidified once more, a patch of darkness

eyes once more. He tipped the bottle onto the palm of his hand, and the black blood

upon that ground as he watched to