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.

man bowed obsequiously and

Did I ever see their like in the castle? I don’t think

walked away, Argrave resolved himself to follow this mystery figure. The man headed back to the castle despite Argrave’s 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 stared at

fortune as Argrave climbed down the ladder. The 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 masked by magic. Ahead, a

distinct a figure,” one of the knights discussed, barely audible over the echoing whimpers of pain. Argrave could barely see

catch him, he’ll tell

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

knights kneeled at once

of that fragile thing. But what were you speaking of?”

King. Merely a rabble rouser, who we’ve decided to subdue. Extremely tall, black of hair, wearing ornate armor and a coat… we peg him as a wandering noble, asking questions

and grabbed their shoulders. Argrave saw that strange power within him surge, strengthening his grip. “Even the tallest trees sprout from the smallest seed sewn. Bring him here. I

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

kings resembled one another, all the way down

Amazon without

so much,” the king said. “And look. You’re bleeding. Have my boys already had their fun with you? No, wait—that was from last night,” he said teasingly. “My memory… how could I

to properly identify things, but Argrave saw

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 king lick his teeth behind the first genuine smile he’d seen on the man.

from me?” the man croaked. “Good King Norman,

and pick your bones, and then your soul shall grace my stroll. And though I shall again be alone, never a greater gift have I known…” the king sang as he rhymed. He had a

He’d been hoping for better information just by listening in, but it seemed that he would simply be witness to heinous acts henceforth. No—it was time to become the questioner, it would seem. Argrave positioned himself at the open cell door, then cast [Bloodfeud Bow] by himself and with two echoes. Ten

to himself, and the king turned his head in some surprise at his whispered voice. Argrave’s Domain of Law took effect even here, and he faced the

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 seems you’ve mastered this meddlesome maze, and sent my knights

his head, staying calm while remaining unblinking. “But see,

you? My, my. I thought you a spy, but you seem a fly, buzz buzzing so. Are you 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

“Protect them? So, you

that’s for me

how to read body language well enough to see the king was preparing to attack. It was time to answer another pressing question—just how strong was King Norman, and what exactly was he? As the king lunged,

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

darling, a prize to be,