Jackal Among Snakes

Orion stepped into the throne room of the Dragon Palace. He didn’t especially like coming here. It had grandiose carved marble walls depicting the gods, but that was about the only part of this place he’d ever liked. Ever since he’d learned the truth, nothing of this place appealed to him. And now, he entered armed and armored. The point of the sword in his right hand dragged just above the floor.

The banners of Vasquer hung above the gilded coal-black throne. A velvet carpet filled the center of the room and up the seat of the king. Here, before the king, Orion recalled that no one acted truly. Maybe they had, once, in golden ages past. That time was long ago gone. Perhaps his brother could bring a just reign back. Still, Orion’s steps were especially heavy as he headed for the seat of kings. It was not for the throne itself, but for the man sitting upon it.

“You always find me,” Magister Traugott said curiously. He sat sideways in the throne, legs and back propped up against opposite armrests as his black silken hair descended to the floor. “Do the gods—or should I say spirits—of Vasquer tell you?”

“I have refused your every offer, Traugott. And now you sit upon the seat I have promised to my brother,” Orion said with a firm yet reasoned anger, ignoring the question.

Despite the passage of time, he did not feel the broken man Traugott had once predicted he would become. He had endured well the whispers of the false gods. Vasquer and Boarmask had aided him through this. And the ancestor snake aided him in finding this man, too. Every time, Orion sent him away like a woodpecker returning to peck the same house time and time again.

“This will be the last time you see me,” Traugott looked at him calmly, dark eyes mild and curious. “All I meant to ask is why you refuse to take my help, to allow me to help you part from the spirits of Vasquer.”

Orion stepped closer to the throne. The steps he took left burns in the velvet carpet as his unwanted blessings surged by accident.

“Good counsel from a wise man,” Orion declared. “I will not fall into temptation. Boarmask tells me what is too good to be true often is. You do not have pure intentions.”

Traugott nodded earnestly. “I recall hearing, by rumor… you believed you would ascend to godhood, Orion. The gods of Vasquer told you that.” The words did not mock at all.

“It is known,” Orion nodded. “I do not believe them any longer.”

Traugott smiled. “But you should. Because the ‘gods’ of Vasquer do intend to grant you divinity. The part they neglected to mention is that you would be one part of ninety-seven. You are the culmination of a centuries-old gambit to ascend from spirits to gods—a deal struck between the third son of Felipe I and the powerful spirits that whisper in your ears. Parts of them exist in you like parasites even now. But you still have freedom.”

“I hear, but do not listen. Say what you will and begone,” Orion said.

Traugott usually had a good-natured look about his face, but that mien fell away in but a moment. “It is as I feared. I am reminded why I seldom interacted with others. Brutes respond to brutality,” he sighed.

of an attack. He whirled around to spot a gleam of white coming for his chest. Orion whipped his sword up

shadow. He crawled out a fair distance away, stepping free of a shadow

Magister said somberly, his

great burst of flame against his will. The Magister remained even despite that. It seemed this time the renegade spellcaster would not part so

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he might be. But now… a lone cavalryman advanced towards them. Argrave used Garm’s eyes to get a good view of his magic reserve, but the man

Your Majesty,” Galamon,

turned his head, and when Galamon nodded he shifted on

looked to Elenore and Anneliese

Argrave’s royal guards received the man and brought him before Argrave, unbound but still closely watched. Once he

messenger declared loudly. “The Duke Sumner of Dedsworth

him ‘Your Majesty’ implied much. It also heightened his suspicion. “For what purpose?”

Duke Sumner hopes to establish terms of cooperation against King Felipe’s loyalists, Your Majesty!” he shouted, his voice

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the plains between his forces and Dirracha. In the far distance, an armored horse carried a well-armed lord forward, escorted by two others. Argrave saw the familiar heraldry of House Dedsworth on the escorts’ shields—two gray towers joined by a

held his horse slightly ahead and beside Argrave. Anneliese and Vasilisa flanked both of his sides. Elenore rode behind, supported by four royal guards. To say the least of things, Argrave was not worried about an ambush. Vasilisa could cast magic faster than any others, and Galamon was stronger than any humans Argrave could think of. Whether from sword

he grew nearer. Argrave remembered the A-rank spellcaster as a neat man with a trimmed beard and short hair, but now he was a somewhat unkempt man with medium-length hair sweaty and matted from the road. Not that Argrave could disparage his appearance—undoubtedly he looked much the same, though

man called me Your Majesty, can I expect this

a stop and called out, “I believe so. I’d like

same time, I have some concerns,” Argrave continued. “Like the bizarre oddities in the

Sumner said. “I came here today to ask for your help in that matter, with Your Majesty being both a friend to House Monticci… and

for any signal from Anneliese that either statement was a lie. To his surprise, none came. He gripped the reins tighter and pressed, “I find it difficult to believe any of this.

time on a fruitless discussion where my guilt is prejudiced. My House of Dedsworth will

stoically, “You deny