Jackal Among Snakes

When Argrave looked upon the so-called silver-tongued priestess with the [Minor Truesight] lent by the Alchemist’s lens, pieces fit together in an instant. They were mysteries both within this small distortion, and those without it. The vague, incomprehensible experience that he had falling down into Sandelabara with the voice, the insistence of Dario and the figure behind him… and the Heralds.

The silver-tongued priestess kneeled before a triangular altar that was unadorned. It wasn’t clear what, exactly, she was praying to, if anything at all. Argrave approached her with some caution. If his screaming instincts were correct, and this woman was related to the same being behind Dario, then caution was the proper move. Magic, divinity, all of it was powerless before the power Dario had used. He only hoped that the same was not true here.

Argrave didn’t undo [Chameleon], but instead walked with the utmost quiet through the small prayer hall the woman knelt at. She wore all white and gold with a veil over her face, and clasped her hands before her in a rather traditional fashion.

“You ought to speak your prayers aloud,” Argrave said. “They might be better heard.”

The priestess turned her head, but did not scare as Argrave had expected she might. Instead, she looked about as if in wonder.

“Tell me, priestess. What might’ve possessed you to sacrifice the prince?” Argrave stepped around the room, his voice projecting throughout the stone hall rather wonderfully.

“Who speaks?” she whispered quietly. Her blues eyes wandered where he might’ve been, but found nothing to land upon.

“I believe you know the answer, if you look into your heart,” Argrave returned vaguely, weaving through the pillars of the hall.

The priestess rose to her feet and followed after his trailing voice. “You’re either a fool playing a god, or an answer come too late. What could you seek from me?”

Argrave leaned against the altar. “Was all of this for power, just like the king, or did you seek something more?”

Despite his overt questioning, she did not seem to panic or grow surprised at all. “And what is power? The king thinks it is strength—to grab and hold, to maim and make lame, as he might put it in that rapacious, rhyming tongue of his. For myself, power is faith. In people, in institutions… the things that faith can achieve could make all things pale before its light. The mayor holds high the candle of wealth, affluence, and the elder’s torch of knowledge burns ever brighter day by day. Power, all. Whoever you are, blessed lord or trickster, you don’t seem to know the half of it. And nor did I, praying before this altar, beseeching the masses ignore the insatiable appetite of the tyrant above them.”

“But now you do,” Argrave guessed, moving away as the priestess followed after him yet further. “And what, dare I ask, have you become?”

“A woman far too bored by mundane questions to suffer them much longer. If you are a god, should you not know?”

“I know, even if you don’t,” Argrave said, moving back to the door. “You… are an anchor. One of three, I should suspect.”

Argrave once again triggered [Minor Truesight], and beheld the true face of the silver-tongued priestess.

figure towered above. It mirrored her movements absolutely, yet staked into its flesh half a thousand times and concealing its true form were thick black spikes with red strands of power attached to the end of them. Argrave was completely certain of one thing—these things, whatever they were, held the denizens of this place captive. Argrave even

others involved in this scheme with the Heralds, but Argrave felt that one thing was certain. These people were a key to unravelling this vast mystery. And to discover what, Argrave cast the same spell that had subdued the all-powerful King Norman—[Unfathomable Perception]. The bolt of power travelled out of Argrave’s hand, struck the

whatever King Norman has inside him is wholly different

harm this person more. He could easily enough collapse a ceiling, or do something else indirect to end her, but he couldn’t tell what would happen if he did. Perhaps everyone

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hypothesized, they, too, carried along with them a hulking figure impaled with thousands of spikes attached to people’s existence. The mayor stayed in his oceanside estate, while the elder had a humble home

had seemed implicitly evil—he’d gotten the impression from the priestess she was disillusioned by her faith because of Good King Norman’s terrible rule. The mayor seemed simply to chafe under taxes. The elder sought vengeance for one of his

has been taken without permission.

He let Bogart go free, because he couldn’t see much use for the man. Fortunately, the search party sent out to capture him meant the castle was lightly-manned, and from what Argrave gathered, even the meal the king

took some time to study her. He estimated he’d spent two hours here during this loop, and yet all of that time, she didn’t seem to have changed in any way. Not in the physical or magical realms, either—his use of [Minor Truesight] revealed the

guests to speak with a host. She wasn’t doing anything at all, but she seemed somewhat happy. Argrave took a seat on the couch across from her, and then dispelled [Chameleon]. He’d blocked the room with a ward beforehand in case she’d cry out or something, but

Ghost!” she called out, somewhat

child be this incautious? “Good to see you again. It seems we have some time to speak more. Did you do alright? Did anybody

her head. Her black hair had been done into pigtails, and they shook around fiercely as she did so. “Thanks to Sir Ghost, nothing happened. The maid even said I didn’t have to have a meal with the king!” Her happiness was

have something to do with that,” Argrave nodded. He reached up and removed his monocle. “Say, princess… how would you

repeated, then covered her mouth when

“Young lady, you’re too

sparkled and she rocked happily before

something that no one’s figured out,” Argrave said, setting the monocle on the table between them. “Even I’m stumped

“Mystewy,” she corrected.

pointed to the monocle. “I just need to hold that up to your eye, and you tell me what you

hurt? I’ve been practicing not crying,” she said

with her promise, but he tried to stay smiling. “It

nodded

the couch, grabbed the lens, and kneeled down before Sophia. He

a sparkly thing in your chest, and all this black—” she turned her head too fast, pulling away from the lens. When she realized she had to keep looking through the lens, she lowered her head back,

you to focus on the red strands coming from your body,” Argrave said. “Can you see