Jackal Among Snakes

“Artur is one of the best craftsmen in the world,” Anneliese said to Argrave. “I do believe the idea of letting him choose another method to utilize the fruit holds some merit.”

Argrave cleaned off his armor of black dirt accrued in the cave of volcanic rock—armor of Artur’s make, upon reflection—as he listened to Anneliese. Raven had derided Argrave somewhat for cowardice, but even he eventually admitted it might be foolish to press further. He remained behind to gather more information, while Argrave returned to preside over Blackgard and Vasquer.

“Yeah, but…” Argrave conjured some water, rubbing across it with a rough cloth. “Give a man a fish, you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish, he can feed himself for a lifetime. Imagine the things Artur might be able to make if he does eat the fruit. He could turn anything he touches into a work of art.”

Anneliese narrowed her eyes. “In this scenario, we would be feeding him the fruit.”

He tried to think of some way to rework the idiom in this context, but eventually gave up and set aside his mostly-clean armor. “Consider this. Giving the fruit to Durran might have given us the ability to loosen Gerechtigkeit’s control over the undead. On the other end of the spectrum, giving the fruit to Artur might unlock some way to prevent automatons from falling under his sway.”

Anneliese considered that deeply, then shook her head. “I don’t see it. If it were Dario, perhaps. Artur has no relation to automatons.”

“All I know is I’d much rather have King Arthur on my side than Excalibur.” He shook his head. “A special artifact. Whoopee. Unless it can duplicate itself indefinitely, cut through space and time, and kill Gerechtigkeit in one strike, what’s the point?”

“You were reserving the last fruit to help us invade the Shadowlands, as they’re allegedly vastly different from both mortal and divine realms,” Anneliese pointed out. “Perhaps we can give the task of creating an artifact that would allow us to breach the Shadowlands upon Artur.”

“That’s…” Argrave tossed the idea around in his head, and as he saw its merit, his back grew rigid as his depleted vigor returned. “That’s wonderful. And if it’s Artur that handles things, it might do far more than allow us to infiltrate the Shadowlands. I won’t say no to a key item that gives some other buffs. But… I don’t know. What the hell do you craft out of a fruit? A smoothie? Wine? Maybe you use the skin to make a lampshade?”

“Artur is the crafter, not us. I believe the idea will appeal to him greatly. Asking him not to change his body, but to employ his well-earned craftsmanship to create something unparalleled… that might ignite his fervor far more than the research team did.”

her. “He’s not so enthusiastic, eh?

He has a stubbornly independent personality which prohibits him from effective cooperation, yet also bestows that fiercely

of Artur shouting down his employees about quotas. It was hard to imagine the man meekly working with people in the team. He dismissed the thought and asked, “Besides that, how was the first

does, sadly, but I’ve grown rather accustomed to it. And because I’m the chairman, I don’t write the notes. Someone else takes notes for me. That was

“Sweet talker,” Argrave smiled.

him, remembering something. “Garm needs to be reigned in. He showed up drunk, and he was complaining about the Domain of Order over the city that prevents lawlessness. He inquired to various members of the team about where he could buy certain herbs which I presume were drugs of some kind. I elected to have him removed. I wasn’t able to learn what

If you read it on Amazon,

he’s already… well, fine. I’ll

#####

seriously if you act like this?” Argrave sat

them to take me seriously,” Garm answered back, his words still slurred. Argrave wondered just how much he had to drink. “I want them to think I’m a worthless nobody. Because if I can’t

back in the chair. It had been long enough

over his body. “Cast a spell, and the alcohol goes away. All fun,

take some time,” Argrave said. “In the meantime, I need you to act with the dignity and gravity that everyone else acts with. We’re dealing with a very serious

subdued smile on his face. “The last thing I remember… you were in the Alchemist’s little workshop, getting worked and shopped. The last few centuries before we met I had spent in a haze, running through my head again and again why my own son would put my head on a stake. I was alive… but not alive. A head on a stake.” He smiled. “I chose to die. I died fighting, but I did die. I died, you little bastard. I died. For the third damned

got better,” Argrave countered.

more kings that any of Vasquer ever were. I don’t even know how it all fell apart.” He grabbed a pillow and sighed into it, then threw it aside clumsily. “Now… you, supreme king. Order of the Gray Owl. Gods on earth. Biggest calamity ever. And me, a little figment on

it lasts?” Argrave

Garm grinned broadly.

narrowed his eyes. “You