Jackal Among Snakes

The red moon had long ago taken its place at the center of the sky, but still Argrave paced restlessly. They were in their own tent, pitched by the Veidimen warriors for their easy rest, but sleep was the last thing on Argrave’s mind as he consulted with Anneliese and Galamon.

Argrave looked up at Galamon. “If your kid wanted to kill himself, would you let him?”

Galamon stared back at Argrave for one, two, three seconds, white eyes colder than the grave. “No,” he said contemptuously.

Argrave pointed both index fingers. “Even if he was trying to save the world?”

“No,” Galamon repeated. “A world without my son isn’t worth saving.”

Argrave smiled bitterly and curled his pointed fingers into fists. He bluntly felt it was a stupid answer that he would never make. But he had no children. He couldn’t know what it was that possessed Galamon to say such a decisive thing. Still… the whole world? Good lord, Galamon, he thought.

Argrave brought it back to himself. Would he kill himself to save the world? Hell no, he realized. He only did any of this because he thought it would result in him living, not dying. The closest he’d ever come to that was the Bloodwoods, where he thought Elenore could pick things up if he failed. But failing to live was much different than choosing to die. Even in his most desperate moments, he’d never once gone into them truly expecting death.

The next closest person to him, Anneliese… to have her die? To never again hear her thoughts, see her face, touch her skin…? To speak to a coffin or a gravestone, and never receive an answer? As Argrave ran through the simulation, his breathing got a little heavier. His own death would almost be more acceptable because he wouldn’t have to live with it.

He understood Galamon completely in that moment, and also understood this: Castro would never accept Ingo’s death.

Argrave felt a warm touch, and Anneliese burrowed her way into his arms. Her Starsparrow landed on his shoulder, its small body struggling meekly to offer comfort. It was a reminder he fretted over a choice not yet final. As he wrapped his arms around her, his Brumesingers popped out of his coat and used his body like a tree to better show their affection toward her. As ever, their druidic bonds were a mirror of their own states.

“This desert’s cursed. Garm. Durran. Now this,” Argrave whispered quietly. “Maybe this was one of those cycles Castro was talking about, where you make a bad decision and get swept away.”

“But what is certain?” Anneliese countered, her voice muffled. “What did Ingo say exactly? All of his sight is couched in symbolism. He makes guesses about the proceedings, but if anyone could predict things with knowledge alone every scholar would be a king. You came with knowledge—foreknowledge, even—and yet things ended beyond your expectations in every case.”

Argrave took a calming breath, and then looked down at Anneliese. “Ingo said Mozzahr was looking at me, I’m certain. ‘An empty shadow is watching you,’ he said; who else could it be? And if that doesn’t bode poorly, what does?”

Anneliese removed her arms around his back and stepped away. She looked off to the side and then said, “…I have no answers, Argrave. And without actually speaking to the Alchemist, we must content ourselves with this: Ingo seeks to bestow his true sight upon you, which he believes can only occur with his death. Castro will not allow this—not in my view. So, what now?”

“I don’t know. It’s not now, though. It’s later. In the meantime… we keep this

few moments, then nodded

I can’t deny it would solve an issue we’ve been having,”

#####

proposed sparring. Regardless, his relentless

extended beyond the set lines. It was almost like a wilting bud. “To this end, you must perfect exact flow

held her own hand up at once, following Castro’s instructions. Argrave watched the flow of her magic as she worked, then decided to try on his lonesome once she completed hers. He was quite mindful of exactly perfecting thing,

It’s like you’re pouring water into a bottle from ten feet above—the liquid’s spilling off to the side, getting caught by the wind...” the tower master sighed. “I’ve never seen an A-rank spellcaster

another. He sent his magic forth, relying on muscle memory. In less than half

percent, wasted,” was Castro’s

it personally.

instant before his leg lit up with pain and red hotness pooled at his

to

blood magic… wastage is especially prevalent. Speed is important, no denying that. But these things are not mutually exclusive.” He pointed at Argrave. “I want you to create one thousand F-rank spells with zero wastage. Don’t cast them, but complete them and then withdraw

with F-rank?”

you think it’ll be easy? If it is, it shouldn’t take long, right?” Castro pointed

and so he and Anneliese started on this task. And every time they failed… there was an immediate and painful response. It wasn’t

hours passed by, it seemed, in this carriage

failure much longer than I could have ordinarily,” Castro said time and time again. He was polite as ever, but Argrave was almost certain he

Argrave intensely deliberated on whether or not this entire endeavor was wastage. In the end, he only barely made it to C-rank by the time their carriage came to a stop in preparation for tonight’s camp. Anneliese was much further along, probably nearing the middle of

up for the night,”

to do this on low sleep. If you can perform this drowsily, you can perform it at your

exchanged glances

in bed faster.” Castro shrugged. “But remember that failure does not increase your count. If you

considered giving up on this whole tutoring