Jackal Among Snakes

Durran took a longer time to return than Argrave had anticipated—and by extension, Elenore was delayed, too. In truth, he was a little surprised to see her get emotional about Durran. He’d shared that with Anneliese, and she guessed that her emotions had been building for a long time: decades, even. His sister seemed to do everything practically; she even chose the time to get emotional practically.

When the pair did return, it was in brighter spirits than they had left. Whatever talk they’d shared, they were not at all like they’d found out one of them might die.

“We return to a feast. Forgot about this,” Durran mused, sitting back down at the table before his chicken. “It’s cold.”

“Should be refreshing after that heat,” Elenore sat down beside him.

Argrave looked between both of them, then sat down as well. “Forget the meal. I think you ought to get into what the Alchemist gave you, Durran.”

Durran seemed to debate whether or not to take a bite of cold chicken dangling from his fork, and then set it down. “He changed my body, my insides. You might say he replaced them, then kept my real parts on hold until the time comes for me to get them back. I’m not really sure how to…”

Argrave leaned back, nodding. “Pseudo S-rank.”

Durran looked up at him. “What’s that?”

“He made you S-rank, technically. But the magic… the magic circuitry, you might call it, isn’t yours. You can recover magic fine, but it won’t grow, won’t evolve, and you can’t do finer manipulation. You don’t have an A-rank ascension, even.” Argrave crossed his arms. “You can’t really min-max it, can’t finetune it. But… yeah, you’re S-rank. A generic, non-descript S-rank. You’re driving a rented vehicle.”

“Hell, who cares?” Durran shrugged. “I’ve got quantity enough to do nearly everything I want. Fire, lightning, necromancy—you name it, I’ll do it, my friend. What you perceive right now with those special A-rank eyes of yours is not even a quarter of my max capacity. And when all of this is said and done, I give these parts back, get my old magic back, and tackle it again with experience. But I’ll tell you…” Durran held out his hand, clenching it into a fist. “I can feel Garm’s hand in everything I do, Argrave. Feels like I’m not doing anything new, just… relearning a skill I put down for a while.”

“Well, that’s how it is when you meld souls with another.” Argrave placed his hands on the table. “Listen. I’ve been thinking about your predicament. Frankly, this isn’t something I can wave my hand and cure. Your prospects are thin, Durran. Even finding a lead involves doing dangerous nonsense that was rather far removed from what I had planned. And we’re talking about a thin lead, not a certain one.”

Durran focused on Argrave. “I’ll do my part. More than my part, even. Don’t forget… you’re a little behind me, now, even if you’ve managed to get those blood echoes you kept bragging about.” He pointed at Argrave. “Don’t think I haven’t seen your little bloody shadows dancing around you. Looks smooth, I’ll give you that, but flashiness won’t matter against power.”

Argrave smiled. “Well… I wonder. I can requite all I receive.”

Argrave and Anneliese both had learned the imperial spells left behind by Emperor Balzat. Argrave had used [Requite] to defeat the emissaries, though had expended all of his spirits in the process. But they had far more than that spell alone in their arsenal, now—[Bulwark], [Inspirit], and [Edify] added extreme versatility to their shamanic magic that surpassed most spells, period. Of the imperial spells, only [Subjugate] eluded their mastery, and this was because it was an S-rank spell.

“If the two of you can stop posturing, we have something I think would be good to talk about now,” Elenore cut in. “There’s an extremely brutish man filled with lust knocking at the gates of the Lionsun Castle… and as such, we must deign to forge an alliance with him, vapid though he might be. Woe to the unlucky soul who has to seal this alliance.”

Durran took a bite of chicken, smiling quietly at her banter. “Yeah. This King of the Scorched Sands, he’s no good. But for the low price of one tender-hearted, empty-minded princess, it might be his wyverns become guardians of Vasquer rather than its pillagers. And it might be, long-term, they’re integrated with the kingdom wholly.”

the running narrative, at least. What

fork. “Yeah. Does the big brother

to hide his surprise. “Don’t have any complaints. I’ll spare you the teasing, seeing as the

plate,” she shrugged. “It’ll be fine. Druidic magic has made things

at her, baffled how she could just accept the idea of managing essentially the entire continent with a shrug and an, ‘it’ll

parliament, I should think,” Anneliese interrupted. “Margrave Parbon will cooperate and escalate the issue if we ask. And as I recall, Argrave, you wanted to

diagnosed with delayed onset death.” He cracked his knuckles.

#####

me to support the necessity of this alliance?” Margrave

agreed, sitting across from the

“I will answer

his brows. “Alright. That’s fine, I suppose. Honesty and integrity are good things to foster in the parliament.” He

him from leaving. But… yes, we kept him for

see him now.” Argrave rose to his feet. “But why was

#####

guard. They remained ever vigilant. He had come here to ask for assistance, but whatever he’d said had made the margrave hold him here for hours on end. At the very least he stayed as house guest

parted, Ossian’s head jerked towards it. A huge armored knight walked through, and he held his hand to his belt by instinct even though he’d long ago been disarmed. The knight studied him, and then the room. Familiarity dawned on Ossian, strangely enough, but then the man moved aside. The next

rose to his

put on some mass in the time since they’d last spoken. His face was still gaunt and sharp, but he filled out the duster he wore far better than he had in the past. That, coupled with a breastplate bearing a symbol of a sun with snakes as its

Master Sentinel, relegated to messenger work. That was probably my fault. I left you with

he claimed, Argrave had burned through the Low Way like no other. He’d gotten many Sentinels killed, and even a Master Sentinel—though, perhaps it was best to say that man got himself killed. Concurrently, Argrave ended the constant deluge of blood, returning clean water to the

on a chair opposite the couch Ossian had been waiting at. “Margrave Reinhardt tells me you’re looking into reclaiming the Low Way of the

face, dispelling his surprise. “Well… yeah,

interrupted. Ossian was remembering his name—Galamon. “Or speak to him

Ossian repeated. He felt a shock permeate him—knowing that this man was king affected him more than

that old city.” Argrave crossed his legs. “There’s been a change

surprising. Your Majesty,” he quickly added the title, fearing

scout?” Argrave leaned in. “Once the Low Way is taken, you’ll be out

narrowed his eyes. “I’m sure the