Jackal Among Snakes

Argrave, Anneliese, and Melanie spent some time lingering exactly near where Therapont had suggested they avoid. The place was as the senator had described—namely, an abandoned construction site. It was something of the darker side of this society that seemed so idyllic. Where once before their society had seemed nearly without flaw, they saw something abandoned, falling apart, and sectioned off. And rather than merely neglected, it was completely abandoned. That illustrated the dwarven tendency toward perfection. Either they did it all the way, or not at all. And in this case, they chose not at all.

Guards issued by the senators were constantly shadowing them, and so it was impossible to approach the people that were squatting in the abandoned sector. They didn’t seem to be especially numerous, but in a society so free of conflict, he’d little doubt that this was a hot-button issue for their people. As much was proven when they asked their guards about the squatters.

“It’s a disaster built by journeymen,” one of the guards said. “It’s better off abandoned.”

Some of the others present bristled at this answer, but Anneliese asked, “Journeymen?”

Argrave was going to explain, but he was beaten by the others present. “Journeymen are those in the crafter’s guilds that’ve completed an apprenticeship, but have not yet been declared a master,” the dwarf explained. “Those out there in the abandoned section are all journeymen, mostly. A fair few years ago, they received approval from the senate to build the next section of the city. The plans were drafted, everything was up to code, and the project was very nearly done. Then, the masters of the guilds had their construction permits and materials revoked after invoking an old privilege they possess before senate.”

A dwarf pointed to the squatter encampment. “Right. Those out there—protestors. The senate had no right to restrict permits. Now, it stands to reason it’ll be years before that section of Mundi is complete. All because the masters couldn’t bear to have their work ‘stolen,’ when they’re the one’s been dragging their feet.”

“How do you mean?” Anneliese kept up her inquiries. “Where is the conflict?”

Argrave expected some reluctance to explain, but it was clear these people weren’t used to be secretive about their politics. “There’s a large glut of journeyman dwarves in the guilds. Most of them are every bit as skilled, if not more so, than the masters above them. But the masters retain certain privileges—among those privileges is the right to anoint new masters. It’s done by popular vote from the current masters—and the current masters aren’t making many new masters. The last thing the majority of them wish to do is create competition for themselves. Generally, only relatives of current masters are getting through. It’s an antiquated, nepotistic system that needs to go.”

Another nodded. “Either journeymen enter into shite contracts for years to become a master, or they stay journeymen. Masters of the guild have a stranglehold on the entire economy—nay, the entire senate.”

“Let’s not be alarmists,” the other dwarves cautioned. “The last thing we’d want is for every single journeyman to be allowed to become a master. The consequences that might have could be devastating.

she’s supposedly graduated from. Time was, they promoted

thinking the same thing. This was their lead. This was the way to leverage an active political notion to jumpstart their own needs. It seemed as though everyone agreed there was some problems with the system, but fixing it?

and calm. Even in this supernatural method of communication, he could hear that

“Argrave, Durran is gone.”

he heard them, he knew why that was the case. He immediately stepped away from the conversation with the guards, responding, “What do you

words I received were that he’d encountered

but he didn’t answer. “We don’t know what happened yet. Until we do, let’s assume he’s simply cut off for now. Do you remember what

blessings,” she replied shakily, then went silent.

interrupted. “He’s got divine armaments, he’s an S-rank spellcaster thanks to the Alchemist, and he’s been fighting gods for the better part of a year. You need to contact Lira, your patron goddess.

their connection conveyed no such thing, he could practically hear her taking a deep breath. “I need to focus on coordination. I’ll…” she stopped speaking. “Durran said Dario was

severed, but Argrave could still feel her presence persist in his mind, ready to be opened whenever it was needed. He stepped away from the wall, refocused. Melanie and Anneliese both looked at him expectantly. They were both quick enough to catch on

said grimly. “And he’s cut

#####

Durran thought that his mistake had been trying to hide, he’d only been

with a strange white power that exuded outward from their joints. These golden automatons walked to gleaming him like angelic

he’d fought against those spear-wielding monstrosities on the mountain peak with Argrave—he knew this was not their normal behavior. Whatever Dario had summoned forth to possess these creatures had a will of their own. Durran could sense no necromancy at work, nor did he suspect shamanic magic. This was

of the divine armaments empowering him. He cleaved the divine blade through the joint near its hip, and it collapsed with a leg severed. As it lay there, his sword pierced straight through the golden armor

scattering oddly morphed magic. It gave Durran time enough to get away… but he’d never been one to retreat. He rushed at one, jumped upward as it bent down to punch at him, and stabbed it straight in the chest. His force sent it tumbling