Jackal Among Snakes

Argrave rolled his shoulders and flexed his hand, warding away the pain. After the funeral, he’d taken some time to explore his powers more in-depth. As it turned out, he wasn’t barred from using spirits in magic—he merely needed to change the way that he did it. Every shamanic spell that he learned had to be changed with [Blood Infusion]. Effectively, the field of shamanic magic had been folded into blood magic. In actuality, it was likely vastly more efficient in terms of spirits consumed than shamanic magic had ever been. He’d had help in figuring that detail out, elsewise he expected he might’ve struggled for a long time.

“Thanks, Raven.” Argrave turned his head. “I did have a few more things to ask you.”

The man stared impassively without response, a comfortably safe distance away from him.

Argrave turned toward Raven and took some steps closer. “Operating under the assumption that Gerechtigkeit attacked Vasquer to distract from Traugott, do you think invading the Shadowlands is a dumb idea?”

“Yes.”

Argrave waited for Raven to say more, but nothing came. He was forced to ask, “Why?”

“They lack our senses. We lack theirs,” he explained bluntly. “They can adapt our senses to perceive this world. We cannot adapt their senses to perceive the Shadowlands. Sight, smell, sound, even touch—none function there. Not even the gods can perceive its true nature. It’s an abyss, an absence of light. A shadow.”

“Traugott does it,” Argrave pointed out. “He took on the form of a Shadowlander, but even before that he managed to hop in and out enough to escape any attackers.”

“He fumbled about in the dark until he figured out the lay of the land. He has more ready access to that realm than any other mortal or god in the entire world, and thus the time to discover its intricacies. We do not.”

Argrave crossed his arms. “I think that problem can be remedied with a Fruit of Being.”

“Interesting.”

“Interesting, you say. Care to elaborate?”

“I don’t have a clue,” Raven elaborated. “Do you think I have a rational explanation for those things?”

Argrave uncrossed his arms and tapped his forehead. “Erlebnis claims there are ways into the Shadowlands before the allotted time. I’ve yet to test any, but the possibility exists. Given those two variables… is the idea still dumb?”

“I would come, if you do it. Perhaps I might find a way to adapt to the Shadowlands independently of whatever method you devise. Regardless, one of those creatures tore through the entirety of the old capital. As you are now, you would die.”

“Have you ever dissected a Shadowlander?” Argrave inquired.

“Yes. Enough to know they function by different rules,” he explained with a shake of his head. “Their organs were made to process something different than us—though, what that is remains beyond me. Their flesh and bones break several preconceptions I have about the world. They lack an identifiable brain, but not intelligence. I believe they have a stratified society of some kind, and those we see are of a lower class.”

Argrave bit his lip until he summoned the humility to bite the bullet and ask, “What does stratified mean, again?”

“They have classes. A social hierarchy,” Raven explained without judgment.

Argrave was taken aback. That made the Shadowlanders sound a lot more advanced than they acted. “How do you know this?”

“If you’d listen, I said ‘believe.’”

“Why do you—”

able to work out a pattern that roughly

knowledgeable as Erlebnis. He had the added ability to not only gather information,

into consideration. One last thing, then—counsel from a pragmatist. How would

you to have a contrivance whensoever you should

need to ask, “Are

When you find yourself in a corner, or things seem impossible to escape from… contrive something. As a matter of fact, that might be a more apt name for those. Fruits of Contrivance.” Raven shook his head. “You know what I’ll say, don’t you? You ask only to hear your disappointment confirmed. Give one to me.

off-balance from the

what you will, because foolishly, they gave the decision for their use to you alone. And, foolishly, I will heed your

#####

siblings to follow along with the idea of invading the Shadowlands. To that end, he called his old friend who he hadn’t had much time to speak with

somewhat after a long while away from the desert and more time spent indoors. His golden tattoos still shone

stolen; if detected on Amazon,

Elenore told me that you evolved,” Durran said as

thinking about pocket monsters. The floor had been rented out, but he didn’t like to mention it all so

as much,” Argrave confirmed vaguely. “How is

a ton of siblings. Mother, too. Uncles, aunts. Disturbs the heart, the guts,” he waved in that general area. “Time fixes it. You either come to terms with it, or you

you care for her, but even still… treat

that you have limited choices, and I know that I have, in very distant centuries past, acted a little liberally… but you can’t deny I’ve put my everything on the

narrowed his

gave me S-rank spellcasting. Thereafter, this gracious King of the Burnt Sands bestowed upon you a territory just as vast as Vasquer, of his own volition.” He held his hands out. “If you want someone to share your burden, my life itself is aligned with

uncomfortable recognition dawning on

you’ll give me a proper burial when you’re still young and immortal, and I’m three hundred and

“Durran…”

just officially throwing my name among others.

mouth. He wished more and more neither Orion nor Elenore had relinquished the right to the fruits. Perhaps it was time to give them back, have them decide. At the very least, he wouldn’t be solely responsible for distributing them. Hefting such a burden upon his siblings, though, while they

with Elenore,” Argrave said. “Can I count on you

back. “I’d kiss your royal haunches for the fruit, but I won’t

adamant hesitation, honestly—it was some sweetness that mitigated the bitterness

nothing covert. You don’t have to agree if you don’t agree, but even still, just hear

#####

Not even hours later…

catch him off-guard and alone in the parliamentary hall and mentioned

back of her head.

your hat in the ring should

no,” Melanie shook her head, adjusting her tellerbarret. “I think… you shouldn’t give the fruits to

pursed his lips, thinking. “Reverse psychology. On