Jackal Among Snakes

“Be careful,” Argrave told Anneliese as he held her hand. “I think’s it’s pretty well-established you can take care of yourself, but I always hate sending you off.”

“I know. You want to protect me.” She leaned in and kissed him. “But need I remind you… that you still have to catch up to me?” With a cheeky smile, she turned away and walked off, and Argrave’s hand slid off hers. “So, go do that. And you be careful.”

Argrave chuckled and smiled, watching as she walked away. When he turned back, his party was waiting. It was the smallest, yet perhaps the most potent—Artur, Vasilisa, Orion, Ganbaatar, and some of the first people he’d met on this realm… namely, Nikoletta and Mina. He’d changed a lot since meeting the two of them. And maybe they’d changed, too.

Orion carried a glowing section of Sarikiz’s dreaded hair, bound in a red rope that made it look like magical wheat. Artur relaxed on the grassy ground, staring up into the sky nonchalantly. Mina and Nikoletta talked amongst themselves, and Vasilisa caressed her forehead as though she had a headache. Ganbaatar seemed eager to move.

“You two are probably wondering why I wanted you with me,” Argrave said, directing his voice towards the ducal heir and her good friend. “Well, it’s simple. I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten about my promise to ask the elves to search for Duke Rovostar and your father.”

Nikoletta looked surprised, and she crossed her arms and said quietly, “That’s… benevolent.”

Argrave stared at her when she gave that response. Things had changed, he was realizing. Now that he was king, people called basic human kindness ‘benevolence.’ All he was doing was what he thought was right. Maybe that had never changed.

He rolled his shoulders to dismiss his thoughts and said, “Let’s go.”

#####

As they walked across the grasslands, Argrave found himself very out of sorts. Galamon, Durran, and now even Anneliese were absent. He wasn’t quite at ease with Orion yet, and though he liked Vasilisa well enough he’d yet to build the same rapport he had with his mainstay companions. And as they walked…

“Might I steal a moment of your time, Your Majesty?”

Argrave looked to his right, and then far down to spot Artur’s shaggy head of brown hair. The Magister had expended much of his magic reserves in the fight against the wood elves’ Tumen and had asked them to slow so that he might walk with them—his enchantments drew from his magic supply, after all, and he needed that to replenish.

“Steal? Didn’t take you for a thief,” Argrave said lightly, giving a non-answer.

Artur laughed, though Argrave didn’t think his own joke was particularly funny. When he settled, the Magister cleared his throat and said, “I’m going to be blunt, Your Majesty, because I don’t think you care for delicate speech.”

Argrave spared the stunted man a glance, then turned his head back to the grasslands ahead. His cynicism flared, telling him that now was the time the cost of this man’s favor showed up on the balance sheet.

“I have a certain fondness for delicate speech,” Argrave admitted. “It’s saved my life a few times. And now I’m going to go talk to a god again—I hope I have a talent for it, as I think I do.”

“Again?” Artur repeated.

Argrave shook his head. “Say

strange eyes—sometimes gold, sometimes green, sometimes every color one could conceive. It probably had something to do

to create an institution subordinate to

a significant statement, to say the least. Argrave took a long time to think about it

the Gray Owl does that already. Technically, they’re supposed to have a monopoly on all magical knowledge… but such a thing is almost impossible to enforce, given the autonomy of each Order member. Still, it has prevented other rival magical organizations

think that, in the years to come, the title of Magister won’t have much weight to it anymore. And I think you’re to blame, Your Majesty. You know things. This journey here is enough to

He hoped to delay the conversation and joked, “Well, we still have to talk to a god, first. Might not make it

Majesty that the armor you wear has no modern equal,” the Magister continued, unwilling to allow himself to be diverted. “And as more and more relics of ancient civilizations surface… I can make their secrets mine, I’m sure of it. Physical enhancements, sight in darkness, resistance to poison or disease, or things like that silver bracer on your arm,” he pointed up to Argrave’ wrist. “If you allow me, I can give all of that to the crown. All of what

let the silence hang as they walked towards the distant altar. Argrave could hear their boots cutting through

asked. “What’s

realize the value of such an organization… and investments would be

“Power,” Argrave finished.

don’t think it is that. All I want is something very simple. I want to ensure that no one can disregard me. Or, as it was put to me recently… look down on me,” he finished

go everywhere with Anneliese. That sounded a plausible

“If you intend to get back at the Order… I’ll say only

work, and doubly so in that region of cold,

became literate, helped people with trade, learned medicine… it was a life of constantly striving to fill roles that were needed. It was only at thirty that I learned I had a talent for magic. It

curiously, having never heard this backstory before. He knew Artur was from

is this, Your Majesty. You might balk at hearing my motivations for founding this institution, but if you allow me, I will become an irreplaceable help to you. I’ve been doing it my entire life,

around. If being needed was all that mattered to you, would you have advanced so far? That was the main question

needed by, at this stage? You’re an S-rank spellcaster,” Nikoletta pointed out, voicing Argrave’s thoughts for

glance, then looked back to Argrave in expectation without answering

stone and watched. “Anneliese has a similar sentiment about

Artur

parliament—you know I intend for a future where it has more importance in day-to-day governance of Vasquer.” He looked at

he nodded. “So it is, Your Majesty. So long as you

#####

watch something that looked like hair burn and turn into liquids. Sarikiz had the souls of sixty tribes trapped in her hair—though perhaps trapped is the wrong word, for it implied that it was not a willing thing. Regardless, it suited their needs

air so that it might bathe the room in light. This new stone building was much the same as the first underground altar they had entered in many ways. It varied in two ways—namely, the fact that there were many more entrances, and the fact that it was flooded with blood. Argrave lifted his right foot up and looked at it, grimacing as thick, congealed fluid dripped off his

the portal, blinking open awake just as he did. Orion’s hand went to his sword at once the moment he saw the room lit by spell light. “Easy, now,” Argrave told him. “Might

stepping up to a slightly elevated place