Jackal Among Snakes

Though Argrave felt greatly emboldened (and somewhat psychotic) after learning that he was indeed looping through time, he wasn’t quite ready to toss his mortality to the wind quite yet in reckless pursuit of answers. On his second run through things, he checked to be sure some things were really restored. The old woman’s life, for instance—and indeed, when Argrave checked, she was alive again. Argrave could see her soul, still persisting anchored in her body.

Argrave attempted to confirm that anyone trying to speak about the prince and his name died. Nearly all citizens in the city, however, coldly rebuffed him and did not engage. They ignored him, walked past him, and one simply pushed him away. After a time, though, Argrave made headway.

“You mustn’t speak of something that Good King Norman forbade us from speaking of,” a kind market-stall owner informed him. “The curious do not last in Sandelabara.”

“But it’s just you and I,” Argrave leaned over her produce and smiled. “I just need to know some of the situation. No one will know.”

“We’re never alone,” the trader whispered. “A man like you, a foreigner, whispered to my brother, once. ‘The king will never know, he’ll never know,’” she imitated. “He’ll never know… unless you tell him. The walls have ears, and the lampposts’ eyes are all watching us.”

After giving that warning, the woman dismissed Argrave. He uneasily checked the lampposts for signs of life, but thought it a metaphor when he failed to find some. The only person that seemed willing to break this rule of silence was the old woman whose name he had not learned. Knowing her survival seemed guaranteed, he asked her the question again: what was the prince’s name? This iteration, he gave special attention to how she died. He felt rather like a hypocrite after rebuffing the Alchemist for casual murder while now doing the same thing himself. Still, he felt it necessary.

The weaving connection binding all things in this distortion to Sophia acted as the old woman’s killer. It was a wave of pure energy passing through the crimson silk-like strand of power entrapping the world. Her death was eerily quick and haunting. Argrave saw her very soul shatter within her body. He followed the attached strand for a long while afterwards, ignoring the distraught son despite the pangs of guilt he felt doing so. As long as I feel guilty, I’m still human, right? Argrave told himself this again and again as he attempted to follow the power to its source.

‘Attempt’ to follow was the operative word, because Argrave miserably failed in said attempt. The command came too fast, the weave of power was too long and entwined, and Argrave simply lacked the pure mental acuity of someone like the Alchemist. He could not divine a pattern from this network of energy—a network he, himself, was now thoroughly involved in.

As Argrave walked through the city, he overheard a conversation while hidden with [Chameleon].

“—tall, black hair, gray eyes, yessir. Really, very tall. Must’ve been up to here, sir.”

Argrave turned his head when he heard himself being described. There, one of the people he had talked to earlier spoke to an ominous-looking figure in faded red armor.

“And he was asking questions?” the knight asked. “Questions the Good King forbade?”

“Yessir, yes indeed,” the man nodded furiously. “I told him nothing. Everyone else I saw pushed him away.”

“Thank you for your time,” the knight said, then pulled out a scroll to write upon.

“Will… will the Flayer Knights come?” the man asked.

The knight looked over at the man. “Praise the Good King Norman.” It seemed a command as much as a declaration.

bowed obsequiously and said, “Praise

realized. Did I ever see their

expectations, but did not enter inside. Instead, he walked near a grain silo. There, he opened a well-hidden hatch and headed down inside, closing it behind him. Argrave

sound of his descent was blocked out by constant whimpering deeper within the cellar. When his foot met the ground once again, he turned and watched what was ahead. It looked like a jail of some kind—perhaps oubliette was the better term, considering most of the cells looked old, forgotten, and helplessly bloody. Argrave followed distant light and sound, still

figure,” one of the knights discussed, barely audible over the echoing whimpers of pain. Argrave could barely see the cell where they came from, but it was

catch

doorway at the same time another entered opposite him. King Norman, resplendent in his black velvet outfit, stepped down a staircase into the room. It would seem the place had more than one entrance.

knights kneeled at

to endure the presence of that fragile thing. But what were you speaking

wearing ornate armor and a coat… we peg

his grip. “Even the tallest trees sprout from the smallest seed sewn. Bring him here. I wish for

said, then rose and headed for another room off to the side. Half a thousand red-armored knights swarmed out of what must’ve been a barracks, but King Norman ignored them all as he walked toward the cell in the room where the whimpering came with a smile on his face. Soon enough, all of the knights had left, and only Argrave and the king remained in the room. The king pulled open the creaky iron door and entered slowly. The whimpering within grew louder, and

walked up closely, examining the cell. Frankly, it was uncanny how much the two kings resembled one another, all the way down to child abuse. To that end, Argrave tried to get

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my boys already had their fun with you? No, wait—that was from last night,”

the king’s son. The wounds were too gruesome to properly identify things, but Argrave saw neither

fun, didn’t we? You might bleed out, should things continue. If you’d like…” the king grabbed a chair, slowly scooting it forward as the chained prisoner shrunk away. “I could go to the clock shop, buy you some time. Another day. Another week. We’re born from our history, yet the future’s a mystery.” Argrave could see

the man croaked. “Good

shall again be alone, never a greater gift have I known…” the king sang as he rhymed. He had a melodious, yet terrifying, voice. He lunged forth

to become the questioner, it would seem. Argrave positioned himself at the open cell door, then cast

of Law took effect even here, and he faced the king squarely while watching for any movement. “Hello, King Norman. I’m King Argrave. I have a few questions for

King Norman as he rose, the very picture of calm despite the bloodred bow facing him. Fear didn’t seem part of him whatsoever. Argrave was a solid foot taller, yet he felt somewhat small before the man. “You’re that foreigner my boys were describing. King Argrave? A rat who would claim the title of king?” He wiped the blood off on his pant leg, then walked around the cell casually with his eyes fixed ahead. “Are you yet another that hates my golden throne, yet wants it for their own? It

throne? No, I’ve got my own land,” Argrave shook his head, staying calm while remaining unblinking. “But see, I’ve some things I’m dying to know. Who’s

willfully ignorant, or stupidly so? You must know me, know what I’ve done. The babes wept as Charles bled, yet little did they know they’d safe lives ahead. I have kept Sandelabara peaceful. Why does a king

“Protect them? So, you know

that’s for me to know. Well then, rat king… prepare, resist, or tear your heart

enough to see the king was preparing to attack. It was time to answer another pressing question—just how strong was King Norman,

away and cast [Chameleon]. When Argrave regained vision, he saw the king’s back against the wall. His clothes were partially destroyed where the bolts of blood magic had touched, yet Argrave could barely see any blood. The king’s hand was bleeding

a prize to