Jackal Among Snakes

Chapter 381

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.

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,

your Blessing is the

I could fight Erlebnis with his own Blessing—that is why they’re seldom given

have nothing more, Argrave. What can we do but keep our eyes open and

head to

word, an

few locations,” the warrior said. “He’d like to speak with you when you are

feet at once.

#####

a drink when Argrave arrived. The commander paused, seeming surprised, and then rose to his

we

today,” Argrave said, and then came to him. “So—you have a

from the centaurs. One of them is 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

head, somewhat disappointed. “Alright. You’re Ganbaatar’s mentor, so I trust you. I’m going to sleep,

out, “King Argrave. If I may… can I ask

“Can you? That’s

And how

slowly walked towards him.

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

and mother. Then Merata, the eldest. Chiteng, Dairi, Gunlik, and then the quadruplets Lunho, Orda, Murgid, and Volgar.” He chuckled. “Time was, the most notable thing about them

Batbayar said, narrowing his eyes. “Certainly, it… it would fit, but…

out to caution the man. “It won’t happen

others in the room.

he shrugged, knowing the slave rebellion was

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

#####

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 crouched side by side. He watched with his eyes, while she watched

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,

yet familiar way. When he blew, a loud whistle echoed throughout the canopy. He’d learned this trick from Anneliese, and now he was glad he had. It was loud, yet quieter than the elven horns—perfect for their needs. Soon enough, the whistle echoed once, twice, and thrice, sending signals to

only those near the

Artur’s slowfall. He drifted

#####

red apparition appeared beside

spell his father had cast in combat against him. It was this greatsword that he used 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

their destructive mayhem. He raised his left hand and pushed down the golden visor of his helm with his thumb, and then bounded

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 to surge, diverting

steadfastly against all those he couldn’t. Their projectiles were fast enough to break his steel-like bones,

their equine backs to draw swords and ready lances. Spellcasters 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

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