Jackal Among Snakes

Argrave stood at the stables with Anneliese, watching as the people there tended to the horses that had been drawing their carriage. She held a packet in her hand.

“To think your handwriting used to be so much neater,” Anneliese ruminated, biting her lip. “What is this strange script? It used to be so pretty… now I can barely read it, these days.”

Argrave scoffed. “Is that the point?”

“No, no, of course not,” she said, flashing a teasing smile at him. “Infusing blood magic into all spells… you really had your mind set on magic that caused you pain from the get-go, hmm?”

Argrave said nothing in response, looking back to the tower. “Wanted to seek Castro for counsel about [Blood Infusion], but…”

Argrave heard some commotion from the entrance to the Tower of the Gray Owl, and turned his head to see what this was all about. There, Castro walked, someone walking by his side with quite the hunch.

The Tower Master walked toward them, and Argrave moved to meet him halfway. His eyes wandered to the man that was coming with, and he saw Ingo. The Tower Master’s apprentice was in quite the state—his eyes were bloodshot, his pale skin was drawn tight against his bones, and his baby blue hair was thin and wispy. He shivered as though it was cold, but Argrave felt the weather was rather warm here. Ingo looked near death, quite frankly.

“Ingo wishes to meet this Alchemist. But I won’t allow whatever happens until I’ve met him myself, Your Majesty,” Castro said insistently yet respectfully. “I have my own carriage. We shall follow.”

“Are affairs settled at the Order?” Anneliese asked cautiously, her good-natured teasing vanished now that others were here. “This will not be a short journey. We have much to attend to before the matter with the Alchemist.”

“Yes,” Castro confirmed. “The Order is in capable hands.”

Argrave nodded. “Then… let’s get ready to go.”

#####

Their stay at the Tower of the Gray Owl was short, and then the march toward the Low Way of the Rose began again. As Anneliese said, there was much to attend to along the path—before they delved into the Low Way itself, the army, well-trained by Veidimen, cut their teeth against various necromantic abominations plaguing disparate territories. The devastation was not as extreme as Argrave recalled from Heroes of Berendar—but then, this was because he had taken efforts to mitigate the impact of the civil war and further warn people of the coming tumult. This tour served to lessen the burden placed upon the people of Vasquer, raising public safety and the royal image. Sometimes, blessings did come in pairs.

Despite the stemmed impact of Gerechtigkeit’s possession of the necromantic creations, their purge of evil was a good appetizer for what was to come. Argrave watched the army and their disciplined assault of various Order of the Rose strongholds, and he was well-pleased with the results. There were a few injuries, and one extremely unfortunate soul passed away from a collapse due to structural instability. But as was stipulated when they joined, their next of kin would receive generous compensation for his passing. Still, hearing of the first death reminded Argrave of why he was so ill at ease with raising and commanding an army.

Argrave left his royal carriage and joined with the Tower Master when they had stopped to camp for one

he was seen, Argrave asked, “How is Ingo faring with the

laid there beneath a tree, covered by blankets and all he needed to be

rather…” Argrave wiped

not. The journey did not cause this. It is just his… blessing, as

diligently and then back at Castro. “Can I

no?” Castro smiled genially yet

fire. “Been a

agreed. “For me… time moves

I have,” Argrave pointed out.

“It?” Castro repeated.

as

alarming in its tedium, no matter how many years pass me by. You start to see cycles. Cycles in people, attitudes, nations, economies… collective memory is rather short.” Castro shrugged. “The people that become S-rank are obsessed with magic. I think… I think without it, not many of us would live as long, even with the lifespan. The obsession keeps us grounded. Not sane, but

blood. Castro moved to remedy the man’s pain. It was easy to see Ingo as a child—helpless, innocent-looking, frail… but he was a

Argrave, sitting without a

do you do it?” Argrave asked. “No—how have you done it? Take care of him, all

responsibility,”

understand that. But

moral,” Castro shook his head. “It may be moral,

waited for the Tower Master to elaborate. Castro eventually caught onto his

even at the young boy’s detriment—well, Ingo was young at the time,” the Tower Master began reluctantly. “It wasn’t possible, necessarily, but… that’s what the king wanted. Opposition arose from many parties. I found myself in the center of this political storm—and yes, it was political. It began

“Noble,” Argrave commented.

him—the ability to see whatever one wished of this reality was a gift unlike any other. That was why it drew attention. But after more details came out, he was forgotten. He was another part of another cycle, and his time came

“Why?” Argrave pressed.

what happened at your parliament; these tests never end until you do. Trial after trial, just waiting for you to stumble, to succumb. People know what’s prudent, by and large. Most don’t do it. These cycles people fall into—they spin like whirlpools, drawing people in. Then they’re caught. Maybe you swim out, but probably not. Your struggles make the cycle stronger, drawing others into it. And then… you all

silence, then asked, “How does