Jackal Among Snakes

If Erlebnis’ play had been only to inspire paranoia, then he succeeded splendidly.

In the time to come living in the unnamed elven city, they ate meat aplenty and drank that strange brew of firemilk. But their time was occupied with darker tasks than eating and drinking, naturally. Argrave and Anneliese made a point of surveying each and every member of their party. They had time to spare while Batbayar assembled a team and prowled the land, determining where there might be a newly-induced foundational weakness caused by the upheaval of roots. The elven commander assured it would not take long.

The first subjects of their examination were the Magisters. They were both the most potent and the most suspect. Artur had already been under scrutiny by the both of them, considering that he was the first point of contact by Onychinusa and then later Dimocles. Vasilisa had long ago proven her trustworthiness, and they saw no way she could be even an unwitting informant.

Naturally, their lens of scrutiny was drawn to Moriatran. The man stayed in one of the Veidimen tents pitched on the ground beneath a particularly sizable root. They visited him one night.

They asked him pointed questions—why he had decided to come with them, what he intended to gain, what he thought of the direction of the expedition… but through each and every inquiry, the man answered the questions naturally. Eventually, Argrave just decided to ask a very decisive question.

“Do you have experience with any gods in your days? You’ve lived a while. What do you make of this?”

The old man looked at them, his eyes dark and shadowed from the light on his woodstove. “I avoid the gods. I’ve lost pupils to them, seen even Magisters go mad. But before today, I never thought they’d take physical form…” the man sat back, and then slowly rose to his feet with a painful grunt. “Perhaps I ought to clear the air, Your Majesty.”

Argrave raised one brow. “Please.”

“I don’t want anything from you. I don’t work for anyone. The fact is, you asked for volunteers to help you in this journey. I came because you impressed me, with word and with deed. That’s it.” The old man spread his arms out as though to profess innocence. “I do not intend to so meekly fade into history books beneath greater names. That is all this old man at the end of his days seeks.”

With that, Argrave looked to Anneliese… but her expression solidified there was no room for doubt.

And so their search began once again. Nikoletta and Mina proved no problems. Ganbaatar was reliable. Orion would sooner die. The Veidimen officers Grimalt, Bastel, and Rasten were uncorrupted… so in the end, they were forced to delve into the ranks of the Veidimen honor guard.

The Veidimen camped in tents of five, and so Argrave and Anneliese visited them in groups of five. They surveyed group after group, learning names, inquiring about injuries, and occasionally slipping in questions about gods and belief. Apparently it proved very effective in earning respect and endearment, but beyond that…

Nothing. Anneliese’s near-supernatural empathy, which Argrave had seen fail only on the Alchemist, suggested that none of their subordinates were compromised by Erlebnis.

Argrave and Anneliese sat alone in their room, an entire day wasted. “This means… the only option I can think of it that we were followed, spied on,” Argrave waved his hand in frustration. “But I swear, what Dimocles said… he had to know what we were doing. And if not our people, then…?”

“I would agree,” Anneliese nodded, though a look of doubt was on her face. “Maybe… maybe I wasn’t paying enough attention.”

Argrave stared at her amber eyes sternly. “Do you genuinely believe that, or are you just surprised that nothing came up?”

“Just… surprised,” Anneliese admitted quietly.

“Thought so.” Argrave rubbed his face, sighing, “Good lord. I am immeasurably glad we don’t have to work closely with the elven gods. I’d be sweating enough to fill a tub.”

“If we were spied on by somoene…” Orion spoke up. “They avoided my senses. That is a difficult feat.”

Anneliese and Argrave both agreed silently, then looked at each other. Both seemed to wait for the other to tell what happened next.

taint of divinity.” Argrave shook his head. “Shamanic magic employs spirits—fragments of divinity. But we lack spirits, and we lack shamanic magic. The only place I can think of finding some… it’s the place the dryads are, and it has one without the other,” Argrave shrugged. “But the dryads don’t have to be found if they don’t want to be. We can’t get there, not without the elves’

if your Blessing is the culprit?”

his head firmly. “Just not what it does. It’s a one-way road. I could

“Then I have nothing more, Argrave. What can we do but keep

minutes in total silence. Orion turned his head

to his word, an

Batbayar has surveyed out a few locations,” the warrior said. “He’d like to speak with you when you are prepared for

feet at once. “How about

#####

sitting leisurely and enjoying a drink when Argrave arrived. The commander paused, seeming surprised, and then

we would

to do something useful today,” Argrave said, and then came to him. “So—you

close, but somewhat awkward.” He stared at Argrave. “You need not rush. Already, I have men working them towards this spot. Come morning, the battle will come. If we fail there, we

somewhat disappointed. “Alright. You’re Ganbaatar’s mentor, so I trust you.

“King Argrave. If I may… can I ask you

“Can you? That’s

how did

paused, then slowly walked towards him. “Big

a boy, I had grandiose images of what the gods were. But they look like us,”

quadruplets Lunho, Orda, Murgid, and Volgar.” He chuckled. “Time was,

mortal,” Batbayar said, narrowing his

Argrave held his hand out to caution the man. “It won’t happen on Berendar. Can’t. But that family, when they took part in the slave

at others in the room. He lowered his head. “Apologies, King

he shrugged, knowing the slave rebellion

lowered his head further. “That you know our history and our gods well… it surprises me.” He straightened. “I look forward to working with you on the morrow. The Supreme Myriarch has promised his Kheshig, but I will offer men of my own. And we will be sure that our grand

#####

hear them from here…” Argrave muttered, peering through the great Redwoods. Ganbaatar and a few other members of the Supreme Myriarch’s Kheshig had carried the royal pair up here, and now Anneliese and he

fled from the rampaging horde. The Amaroks, great wolves that they were, resisted fiercely but died or fled before fire and steel. The leonine Mishis fared better, possessing their lengthy spiked tails to ward away foes from a distance, but

this trick from Anneliese, and now he was glad he had. It was loud, yet

only those near the

took a step off the tree, falling through the canopy. Now, it seemed, was the time to use Artur’s slowfall. He drifted daintily down, keeping one hand

#####

was empty… but a red apparition appeared beside him, a matrix swirling in its hand. When

to cut off his father’s hands and end his career as a spellcaster. Orion held it near his face, examining the edge of it. It brought back memories, though the uneasy familiarity was slightly quelled by the black blood his brother possessed, far unlike the blade

lowered it, he saw only the rampant horde of the centaurs, growing ever closer in their destructive mayhem. He raised his left hand and pushed down the golden visor of his helm with his thumb, and then bounded over the roots steadily. And soon

as tall as Orion and thick as his arm, headed straight for his chest. He strafed it easily, then took the next step. More arrows came one after the other. Orion raised his foot and stomped down. One of his blessings caused wind

held steadfastly against all those he couldn’t. Their projectiles were fast enough to break his steel-like bones, yet still he came, ignoring all pain from wounds received as he walked right

stepped forth, casting a wave of fire forth to clear the land ahead of obstructive roots. In unified tandem they began to gallop in the path cleared. The armored man-beasts with lances in arms made the charge of heavy cavalry seem pathetic by comparison—tons each, armored in steel head to hoof… they were a roving wall of destruction,