Jackal Among Snakes

Once everyone had set up camp, Argrave stole away from the encampment just before dusk and headed for the ring of verdancy beyond Vysenn. It was difficult for them to do so because their forces performed their duty of night watch seriously. Argrave took comfort in that fact, seeing it as a sign that these new spellcasters would be able to follow orders well.

It was extremely strange the way the temperature shifted hotter as they walked deeper. Distant plumes of gas rose up into the sky like smoke from chimneys that marked no homes. Argrave intended to keep one principle in mind—avoid low elevations, as it was there the heavier volcanic gases would pool. Some of the wildlife might prove troublesome, but Argrave was well prepared to home in on their objective—the salamanders needed for regeneration of body parts.

Argrave ran various strategies through his head, recalling details about the dozen or so tribal chieftains he might use to his advantage. This would be his first time navigating a situation with so many characters of varying interest with roughly equal factional strength. The tribes of the alabaster-skinned men in the hills were not especially small in number, yet the culture varied between each so much.

“The ground shakes,” commented Galamon as they neared.

Argrave paused, holding Anneliese to stop her as they tried the same thing. After a few seconds of nothing, he suggested tentatively, “…perhaps it just does that. As you recall, even if I’ve been here, I’ve never been here.”

Galamon walked ahead, saying nothing. “No,” he finally said. “This… comes rhythmically. Mining, or hammering.”

Argrave furrowed his brows. “I… let’s hurry,” he said, instinct flaring to tell him that this might be bad.

They proceeded further. As they did, Galamon’s account of what he felt solidified. It had a set rhythm—each shake that came did so synchronously, yet it wasn’t unified in origin. That cemented Argrave’s thoughts, and he hurried to take a high elevation to confirm them. When they did, Argrave spotted something visible even in the low light of dusk.

There was a cloud of what looked to be bugs. In actuality, it wasn’t—it was basalt, crushed into fine particles and writhing about around people who were barely visible behind the cover of the storm.

“Tephramancy,” Argrave said as he stared at the cloud. “Their shamans prepare for war. They’re gathering the loose basalt at the base of the cinder cone.” As his eyes danced across the scene, Argrave calculated things. “It looks like we’re just in time for a battle between tribes. And if they have an enemy, we might gain a friend.”

“Tephramancy?” Anneliese repeated.

Argrave knelt atop the hill, gaze wandering the base of the cinder cone in search of another similar storm of ash. “It’s a genetic magic, like a dragon’s breath, particular to bloodlines within the barbarian tribes—generally chieftains or their families. It uses fine particles spewed by a volcano and collects them in an intangible, manipulable latticework of magic. Given that this magic is limited to one region, I can’t say much more than that. I know the methods of attack or defense in tephramancy, but not details about how it works.”

Anneliese listened and watched in fascination as Galamon stared out across the landscape. “I see them. They’re… unusual in appearance. They distribute steel weapons and hearten their forces for the coming march.”

he knelt. “Alright. I think it’s reasonable to assume these people are the aggressors. We need to find the defenders and see if they’re a cause worth supporting. Some tribes

stepped around the hill, then narrowed her eyes. “Steel weaponry,

her repeat that drew to attention the fact it was out of place. Not to mention the lack of development in these people, Argrave wasn’t sure they had ready

nodded. “Unless… other

head. “Deeper underground, yes, but not here. Even if it

have it,” Anneliese finished. “Not

confirmed. “Anneliese,

confirmed, her Starsparrow taking off faster than the eye could see the moment she cast the

was not especially intensive, and Elenore had been occupied more with negotiations than combat. Other explanations came, but only one prevailed—they had been supplied these weapons by

as he came to a hypothesis. “I overheard something. They intend

gaining a friend from an enemy… their only gain

#####

room, bowing before

his hand. He was a tall, middle-aged man who, though formidable in stature, had a rich and full face that did not seem to have suffered

shortly after, stepping to Lottherf who sat beside the balcony. He didn’t touch his food, only

to prepare to sally,” Georgina

brows.

enough, a storm of ash will poke over the hills, heading for the army encamped on behalf of the claimant, Argrave. The force wreathed in ash is formidable

his shirt, some frustration on his face. Then, his nose wrinkled. “You smell of sulfur. Then, these barbarians… they’re finally coming?” He rose

any use. I intend to deliver the cure to him personally once the war is finished. And if you

suppose you will be the Unhanded Coalition no longer.” the commander laughed, but when Georgina did not join him he trailed

steel instead of satin. If you want to impress me, you might

jaw. Once she shut the door behind her, he backhanded

for a few moments. With a decisive slam on the table, he rose, retrieving