Jackal Among Snakes

When Argrave finished demanding cooperation from Chiteng, he felt a little lightheaded from the rush that brought on. He managed not to do anything foolish or embarrassing in the wake of that, though he furiously replayed what he’d said in his head to make sure he’d said nothing overtly disrespectful. He hung on every word uttered, thinking of how it might be interpreted… then wondered if his interpretation was fruitless, because he couldn’t think as a god could.

Still, Argrave did not come this far to submit to the advent of the gods so meekly. He fought against Gerechtigkeit—if he bent before the elven gods or the Qircassian Coalition, he’d failed before he’d even begun. If anything, this meant that old Gerry viewed Argrave as a bigger threat than the Qircassians, for he intended to use them to snuff out Argrave. That realization made Argrave only more certain his choice was the right one.

Still, his brain whirled as he thought of what he’d said and what he needed to do. He barely processed, then, when Chiteng raised his hand up and pointed.

“Return,” the elven god said simply, voice as loud and disruptive as it ever was.

Argrave stared up, trying to make sense of that. He heard something behind him and looked back to see the great whale that had carried them here swimming back to the ivory harbor, placing its broad head up against the side so as to give them a ride once more. When Argrave looked back to Chiteng for further explanation, he saw the god had closed his eyes, leaning his face against his fist while his elbow braced on the armrest.

Return. What did that mean? Argrave wished to ask a thousand more questions… but given that Chiteng had thus far only laughed a couple times, said a name, and said one word, it was safe to say Argrave couldn’t expect a further elaboration. He took slow steps away, walking backwards until he nearly collided with Orion. The prince grabbed and steadied him, giving him a wordless nod. Then the two walked back to the whale.

As the beast slowly swam away from the harbor back to the island, Argrave watched the elven god sit seemingly in stasis. He couldn’t tell whether he’d failed utterly, failed slightly, or simply delayed things for another day. But he was alive. He was alive, and other things needed doing.

Argrave realized that Orion was staring at him. He was perplexed for a few moments but saw the prince fidgeting with his hands and remembered his earlier order.

“You can talk again,” Argrave told him. “Still… don’t think we’re alone here, ever.”

“What was the outcome?” Orion asked the question Argrave himself had been pondering.

In response, Argrave stayed silent. Things weren’t necessarily over vis-à-vis negotiation. There was more that could be said and more that could be done. There were other gods that could be spoken to if Chiteng refused. He wouldn’t stop—couldn’t stop—until things were done right. He’d go, go, and go until they bent or gave in. And if they didn’t bend, if they never listened… he could rouse Sarikiz, rouse other primeval forces. If necessary, he’d be willing to do anything to win on his terms… because Argrave knew that his terms would be better than any that a god would be willing to offer. Anneliese and Artur both had been completely right—there was no place in life for self-pity.

When Argrave opened his eyes once more, he laid eyes upon that door Chiteng had called to allow him to return back to the mortal realm. That made him remember half the reason he had come here—to ascend to A-rank. Argrave took a deep, anxious breath as they neared the shore once again.

“I’m going to ascend to A-rank real quick,” Argrave said to Orion with bravado he did not feel. “After, we can discuss our next move.”

#####

Castro sat at his desk, writing something by the light of a magic lamp. He was completely ignorant of heavy footsteps and a single heavy staff sounding through his chamber.

“Is that the moon I see reflecting all that light, or a bald head?”

Castro looked up, surprised. He narrowed his eyes in the dim light, and then rose to his feet. “Rowe? What in the gods’ name are you doing here?”

Rowe the Righteous, ancient-looking Veidimen of the distant continent of Veiden, strutted through into the Tower Master Castro’s chambers with his staff in his right hand and a book in his left. “You gave me access to your tower, remember? That elevator you have… took me half an hour to get up here. What’s the damn point of something this tall? You’re surrounded by grassland—save yourself some time, build simple, wide buildings. Could have a city here. Instead, you have some stupid monument.”

Castro stepped around his desk. “I didn’t build it.”

both hunched from age, he stood a

might this be?” Castro put his hands on

said sarcastically. “What do you think? What do us two wizened wizards have in

in revelation. “His A-rank ascendency. This wasn’t necessary,”

Rowe repeated with a scoff. “You did as much good work fixing that thing as I

You can say nice things about him

He might hear about it,” Rowe shook his head,

apprentice is getting worse. Health issues.” The old man took a deep breath,

suggested. “He… knows many things, sad as it is to say. If it’s uncurable, maybe he can

Rowe narrowed his eyes and looked liable to press further, but Castro quickly changed the subject, tapping the book he’d been given as he said, “What do you

on the magic field?” Rowe tapped his staff on

you think it’s potent?”

spotted a chair and pulled it up to the desk, not bothering to make it quiet. He sat down with a huff, then leaned his staff against the desk. “But I’ll

half ago, he was only capable of casting D-rank spells. Now… he’s mastered a suite of B-rank spells. As much

very keen to tell me how talented and great he is.” Rowe spotted a bowl on Castro’s desk and craned his head. He reached forward and snatched it—it was full of nuts of some

the blatant favoritism but didn’t mention

Veiden. Might not be saying much, given how light it is… but paper being as expensive as it is, I still made a copy for the libraries, and I don’t

Castro nodded. “But…?”

active ascension,” Rowe pointed his arthritic finger. “He has to reconstruct his entire body magically, essentially. That sort of ascension requires a mastery over magic spanning decades. Mastery that he lacks. There’s a reason why passive ascensions are

difficult, too,” Castro pointed

do by accident can’t be.” Rowe chewed on another nut, then raised his hand. “Don’t act like I’m defaming those poor passive ascenders. My method

your A-rank ascension?” Castro entwined his

a few moments, eating nuts by the handful. He set

“Well… those were my walnuts you just ate. I

wiped his face off slowly and intently.

we were allies,”

then,” Rowe gestured. “Tell me your A-rank ascension’s

“We’ll play word games, like proper old men. I can give

Go ahead,” Rowe leaned back in

on it for a long time, then said

Rowe tilted his head.

old men stared at each other, thinking hard

exercise,” Rowe

silence extended between the two of them he seemed to be reminded of another matter. “There is

his desk, rummaging through various papers. Rowe waited