Jackal Among Snakes

When Argrave and Anneliese emerged from the Alchemist's fortress of obsidian, their party stepped forward eagerly to receive them. They had all seen the strange chimera named Pawn imitating Argrave, and now concern drove them in greeting. Their eagerness was abated by the looming giant that followed them. As the Alchemist exited, the vast black doors closed shut, pulled closed by an unseen force.

When finally the two groups met, Argrave looked between everyone awkwardly. He patted the side of his legs and declared, "We've come to an accommodation."

"And what is the cost?" Castro questioned, supporting Ingo on his right. The blue-haired man stared up at Argrave from his stupor, appearing able to think clearer than most times at present.

Argrave looked down to the old tower master. “I think you’ll be rather pleased. The Alchemist has agreed to extract Ingo’s blessing, asking for nothing more than the privilege of performing process itself and the waste from its results.” He glanced back at the giant behind, its pale hands held neatly before it. “You’ll need to ask more specific details from him.”

“No…!” Ingo said, attempting to shout but lacking the strength. He pushed off from Castro and lurched forward. Castro tried to stop him, but managed only to make Ingo kneel instead of faceplant. “I told you that my eyes are needed. Take them as you claimed eyes here before, and evolve once again,” he pleaded. “You’ll die. We’ll all die.”

“Being able to use your body until its death is not a satisfying enough trade when the blessing might be mine,” the Alchemist said. “I have plans for it.”

“Ingo, what…?” Castro looked bewildered, eyes darting from all who had spoken.

“Ingo wanted me to offer his life to the Alchemist so that I might get his blessing for myself—well, an improved version, at least.” Argrave knelt down before the collapsed Ingo. “But you heard the Alchemist. He doesn’t need or want your life for this. And the fact that you didn’t know that, Ingo, shows the limit of your ability. If the god who gave it to you cannot end the cycle of judgment, what hope have I? No… I have another route. My own. The only one that suits me.”

“But the shadow… the shadow grows so tall. And you’ve burned alone so long,” Ingo said, eyes bloodshot.

“This is no way forward.” Argrave rose to his feet. “I never thought this would be easy. But historically, I’ve never really fought someone on an equal level to me, so I’m well used to tall shadows and things beyond my ken. Let me worry about Mozzahr, and banish these ideas about sacrifice.” He looked at Castro. “The Alchemist will cure your apprentice, and he’ll live. Rest assured.”

Castro looked like many things—indignant he was lied to, grateful Argrave had refused Ingo, and confused about the future. But the man was a leader through and through, and so nodded, accepting the situation calmly and choosing the best option. Argrave glanced back, nodding at the titan who’d become his ally.

The Alchemist looked down on Castro as though the S-rank spellcaster was as insignificant as an ant and said, “Bring him. Do not speak or act against me. I have promised no harm will come to Argrave’s allies, so long as they do not push their boundary.”

Argrave grabbed Castro’s shoulder. “Listen to him. No matter what, don’t act rashly.”

Castro looked at Argrave’s hand, then back at the Alchemist. “You seem to forget that I am well-versed in knowing when I am outmatched. I was not always the tower master—I’ve avoided stepping on toes for a long, long period of my life.” The tower master left questions that undoubtedly burned in his mind unspoken, and instead merely asked, “You’ll be waiting here?”

“Not if all goes my way.” Argrave shook his head. “I’ll be returning to Vasquer. The Alchemist will bring you back.”

“What will you be doing?” Castro questioned, puzzled.

Argrave spared a glance toward Orion. “Family matters.”

#####

Argrave and Anneliese stood shoulder to shoulder, watching as the Alchemist led Castro into the obsidian abode. The stage was amply set. All that remained relied on the Alchemist’s ability. Gaining Ingo’s blessing was not something that suited him—Erlebnis’ alone was more than he needed at this stage. When the doors shut behind them, Argrave shifted his feet nervously and looked to his brother.

“Have you something to ask?” Orion pressed, eager and ready to serve.

Good lord, thought Argrave as he looked upon his golden-armored brother, who served as his royal guard. The idea of mentioning what he was about to mention to Orion, of all people, was an idea that never would have crossed his mind at almost any point. But Orion had changed significantly—his anger was curbed, his zeal was diminished—or redirected, at least, to Vasquer as a whole—and he was altogether calmer. And so Argrave dared.

“Elenore told me that it was you that buried Felipe after he died,” Argrave began hesitantly, stepping closer.

Orion stayed silent for a long moment, and then reached for his helmet. He took it off, struggling briefly to disentangle his long braid of black hair and bushy black beard. When it was off, he held it in the crook of his arm and stared down with his gray eyes firm as stone.

“Yes. Allowing me to bury Felipe was one of the concessions that cooled things between Elenore and I.” He looked off to the side. “Even though you hate him… and Elenore, far more justly so… he is still my father. He deserved a burial, not to rot in some mass grave, and so I gave him one.”

Argrave asked hopefully, “Was it in the family mausoleum?”

“…no,” Orion answered after hesitating a heartbeat. “Elenore would not allow that.” He lowered his head in resignation. “Induen was interred there, but not Felipe. Nor Levin, for that matter. I buried them together, at a spot intimately familiar to the family. Back when… back when things were not broken.” He fixed Argrave with his steady gaze. “But why do you speak of burials? What happened in there? Is all okay?”

Argrave sighed and looked around, trying to conjure words. He dared to say plainly and straightly, “I need to exhume Felipe.”

#####

Elenore caressed her forehead, feeling a rising headache. She looked at the messenger that had come in, and then said bitterly, “Send her in.”

With the order given, Elenore leaned back into the wooden chair. The Margrave of Parbon seemed to frown at the use of comfortable furniture, and after riding a beast like a wyvern her body protested at sitting like this for so long. Eventually, the doors parted, and Melanie entered.

Elenore took on her strict affect and began, “You were instructed to—”

“Mozzahr wants to parley with Argrave,” Melanie said at once. “I thought this was pretty important news that you’d like to learn now, rather than later. There are… there are messages strewn throughout the whole of that city, just waiting, like little beacons calling out to us. I never saw hide nor hair of the Ebon Cult, but it felt like I was being watched the whole damned way.” She shook her hands off as if dispelling some sort of foulness.

Elenore leaned back in the chair, somewhat surprised. Then, she leaned forward and demanded urgently, “Tell me what you saw.”

“Like I told you—messages,” she explained, then laid out a paper. “Here.”

Elenore seized the paper and read through it urgently. It was little beyond what Melanie had disclosed; it did not announce who Mozzahr was, or what he wanted, merely that he hoped to meet Argrave on neutral ground and discuss the futures of their two nations.

“And before you ask—yeah, we’ve been doing the other things,” Melanie continued, scratching near a scar on her face. “Got some of those dwarven thingamajigs. Plundered enough warehouses that it felt unfair. Built little safehouses, just where Argrave marked. Map worked out splendidly, by the by. And that’s just the problem.” Melanie walked a little closer. “Felt like it was too easy. We fought monsters, true enough—spiders big enough that they had eyes that dwarfed my head, and all the like. They were hard to kill. But the Ebon Cult gave no signs of life, almost like it didn’t exist. No signs… save those damnable messages, plastered about like advertisements.”

Elenore’s eyes squirmed as she thought furiously, and then as rationality set in she slowly set down the paper. “Who else knows of this?”

Melanie pointed a firm finger. “I thought you might want to keep this quiet, so I tried to quarantine it. An impossible task given these things are everywhere, but I’ve restricted it to the Stonepetal Sentinels alone, plus the men you sent with us to scout with druidic magic,” she explained. “Eerie place. That city, that place… ominously beautiful, with that blue lightshow dancing above the marble. Then these messages everywhere, like it’s all some sort of tribute to Argrave. The man’s done a lot and so has quite a few devotees, but I’m thinking he won’t be overfond of knowing he’s got fan mail plastered all over the underground.”

Elenore rose to her feet, wincing with soreness. “You… did well, bringing this to me,” she praised, whatever lecture she’d prepared dead in the water.

“Do you want me to keep on as I have been, head back in?” Melanie asked seriously.

Elenore looked out the windows of the Lionsun Castle, peering out at the Burnt Desert beyond the rock valley. Finally she said, “Yes. That plan can’t change. It doesn’t make sense to stop gaining a foothold underground.”

“Alright. Figured as much,” Melanie nodded. “Hope I was of help.”

“You were,” Elenore nodded.

“If that’s the case… can I ask what you intend to do?”

Elenore walked back to the letter, reading it once more as she thought. She slowly crumpled it in her hand.

“It seems there have been more layers added to this game,” Elenore managed only, without a true answer for Melanie’s question.