Jackal Among Snakes, Book 3: A GameLit Fantasy, page 11
“If I might advise you, Argrave…” Anneliese said gingerly, sitting on a table before Argrave’s bed. He sat half-covered by a blanket.
“You’re smarter than me. Why would I ever refuse your advice?” he conceded quickly.
“Oh. Um…” Anneliese showed a rare moment of pause, taken aback by his words. Cheeks a little red, she gathered herself quickly and said, “I would hold back trying to learn any B-rank spells yet.”
Argrave leaned back into his bed, looking down at the B-rank spell book. He thought about her words, then lifted his head and asked, “Why?”
“Because it is challenging, especially if you have only a shallow mastery of C-rank spells,” she explained patiently. “At the moment, I believe it would be best to focusing on those you are capable of learning, rather than trying to stretch yourself as you are.”
Garm added, “The girl is right. You might have the magic capacity to handle spells of that rank, but if the knowledge is shallow, you’ll only waste your time. It’ll take longer. Much longer. It’s naught but wasted time.”
Argrave bit his lip, then decisively shut the book, setting it on the table where Anneliese sat. “Alright. I’ll heed your advice. A part of me questions if you just want more time to ask me questions about my homeland.” He pointed to Anneliese.
She smiled. “I wonder,” she replied vaguely, though Argrave knew she was only joking.
Argrave lowered his finger, then flitted his gaze between the two of them. “But I’m just curious—why should I hold back on reaching this milestone? Why would it take longer?”
“Because B-rank magic differs greatly from the ranks below it,” Garm said. “Each rank before it adds complexity, both to the matrix and the spell. The increased complexity accommodates increased power. The matrix is larger—it can manifest more raw magic.”
Anneliese nodded as Garm spoke. “But B-rank magic does not merely add another dimension to the spells. Instead, the previously static matrixes become animate.”
“I know about that,” Argrave said. “But why would having a shallow understanding of lower-ranked spells hinder me? For C-rank, I just kept studying, thinking about it… until something clicked.” He shrugged, not fully grasping it himself. “I know it’s far from the image of a scholarly mage, but it worked.”
“The fact you don’t understand why something clicked is the problem,” Garm admonished, and Argrave turned his gaze to face the severed head. “Put simply, you will be adding movement to C-rank spells. If you can’t understand the quintessence of these spells, how will you ever learn how to move them?”
Argrave didn’t respond, and Garm’s face grew serious as he continued.
“Learn more. Come to understand C-rank spells completely and utterly—illusion, elemental, healing, it matters not. When you understand what you did different, you will be ready to poke at the next barrier. Until then, refrain.”
Argrave nodded, taking in Garm’s words in silence. “Thanks for the advice,” he finally remembered to say.
Garm closed his eyes. “There is nothing more unbearable than watching incompetence as an expert,” the head dismissed. “Doubly so when I am unable to do much myself.”
Argrave found it difficult to hold back a smile at the head’s attitude. “But I have—”
Sharp knocks disturbed Argrave’s words and he tensed, immediately looking to Galamon. The elf stood up, holding his Ebonice axe close at hand. Evidently the vampire had not heard whoever was just outside the door, and that set all of them on edge. Argrave quickly lifted Garm and hid him under a blanket.
Galamon opened the door slightly, bracing it with his foot so it could not be forced open. A woman wearing red clothing stood beyond. It took only a few seconds looking at her wet, dark skin to identify the woman as a Vessel. She had sharp, narrow features, and looked so thin as to be starving.
Argrave immediately recognized her as one of the Vessels sworn to serve the Lord of Copper, though for some reason he could not recall her name. “Galamon,” he called out. “She’s one of Brium’s. Let her in.”
The woman seemed surprised, yet not uneasy, that Argrave knew her purpose immediately. Once Galamon opened the door, she eyed him and his axe without much caution before taking slow, almost sauntering steps inside. She looked around the room.
“So you’re the ones,” she said.
“The chosen ones, yes,” Argrave said glibly. “Something you need?”
Unamused by his quip, the woman stared at Argrave coldly. “Argrave?” she asked, and when Argrave confirmed with a nod, she continued, saying, “The Lord of Copper would meet you. He expects to see you and your companions out front of the grand tower of Cyprus.”
“Out front?” Argrave tried to confirm.
“Yes,” she confirmed begrudgingly, as though she loathed the question. “The master says to arm yourself, though he isn’t expecting you’ll need to fight.”
Argrave furrowed his brows questioningly, and then nodded. “We’ll be there shortly.”
***
Though Argrave had been worried that Brium’s request to see them out front meant that he would refuse them access to the tower of Cyprus, that was not the case. Instead, the Lord of Copper stood just outside the walls of his tower, with a small entourage of Vessels.
The Vessels swearing fealty to the Lord of Copper all wore clothes matching the shades of the metal that was their namesake—oranges, browns, reds, and all in between. None of their outfits could be called decadent, barring Brium’s. Argrave, still in black enchanted leather, felt out of place as he approached them.
Brium had been engaging the Vessels near him, but when he spotted Argrave, he tore away from the group without a word and spread his arms wide as though to welcome Argrave with an embrace. Finding himself in a predicament, Argrave slowed and raised his hand to wave.
“Lord Brium,” he said cautiously.
“You’re here. And promptly, too,” Brium greeted, not making to embrace Argrave as he feared. “That’s good. Honestly, you’re early. That’s fine. Let us speak some. I will inform you what is to happen.”
“I’m all ears,” Argrave said.
Brium placed his hands together, then walked past Argrave, obviously wishing for him to follow. “I found nothing suitable to pass to you on such short notice, unfortunately. These things take time. Perhaps that is why you were surprised to have been contacted so quickly, hmm?”
“If you found nothing, then…?” Argrave trailed off, unsure where this was going.
“Ah. My mouth outpaced my mind.” He shook his head, walking down the road. Argrave followed him, the two of them walking side-by-side. “I’m sure you remember a certain happening some… two days ago, I believe. It revolved around the southern tribe’s wyverns, and a raid on Argent?”
“It was our welcome into the town.” Argrave nodded.
“Was it now?” Brium questioned, then continued. “At the time, much of the Lord of Silver’s Vessels were engaged with me.” Brium placed a hand to his chest. “Even Lord Quarrus himself was engaging in a discussion with me. It was a minor dispute—which of the city’s people belong to who and such. This proved an inopportune time for them to have such a discussion—their tower was raided while they were away.”
“Funny timing,” Argrave commented.
“Hilarious,” Brium agreed with a plastic smile. He stopped in the road, and Anneliese and Galamon came to stand with Argrave. “Today, the lords of Argent and Aurum have insisted I meet to discuss this matter. They believe I am subverting them.” Brium clasped his hands together. “I have to correct the misunderstanding.”
“But… what do you want us to do?” Argrave questioned.
“You’re going to come with me to this meeting,” he stated plainly.
Argrave didn’t know what to say to that for a time—it had been the last thing he was expecting to hear. He shifted on his feet and questioned delicately, “Don’t you think, if you want to give them the idea that you aren’t subverting them, bringing a foreigner into the meeting might send the wrong message?”
“I have some plans on that front, fret not.” Brium shook his head. “You’ll learn them once we’re there.”
Argrave was frustrated by the vagary but could not point it out directly. “This doesn’t really test whether or not we’re trustworthy,” Argrave noted. “In fact, it’s really just risking for nothing. I could cause problems for you.”
“Well…” Brium raised a hand to his chin and cradled it delicately. “A part of me likes you. You possess some of the politeness of a gentleman of the Burnt Desert without the obsequious fawning I’m constantly privy to as the Lord of Copper. A pleasant balance.”
“I trust that’s not all,” Argrave pressed.
Brium put on his best smile once more. “I think you know in your head… what’s at stake.”
Argrave’s features grew taut at once. Between the emphasis, the word choice, and the complete non sequitur, there could only be one thing that Brium was referring to—Garm.
“Don’t worry,” Brium said calmly as Argrave’s mind whirled with a million questions. “I don’t care. Indeed, that kind of thing only affirms my choice. Someone willing to step past the line into the forbidden is precisely what I need at this juncture.”
Argrave suppressed the urge to shout and demand, ‘how.’ As much as he wished he could believe that Brium was simply bluffing to extract information from him, there was little room for interpretation. It was no bluff. Brium knew about Garm, and beneath that, he could make Argrave’s life very difficult.
Argrave was certain Brium wasn’t an exceptional schemer or master at espionage. That made the scenario all the more baffling. They hadn’t been incautious with Garm—measures were taken at every turn to ensure he couldn’t be easily seen.
“Once more… don’t let this weigh at you,” Brium said as he reached up and grabbed Argrave’s shoulder. It felt like a spider was on his arm, but he stayed still. “We have a meeting to attend later; I’d like you to keep your tongue sharp for that.” He removed his hand and waved Argrave forward. “Come. Meet the Vessels beneath me.”
Chapter 16
With Garm’s existence made known, the Lord of Copper had gained leverage over Argrave. That was an incontrovertible fact. With a word or two, Argrave could become an outlaw in most of the lands in the Burnt Desert. Fortunately, the significant delays in their travels had enabled Argrave to recover fully from his magic debt to Erlebnis—he could use the Blessing of Supersession again.
“What do think we should do?” questioned Anneliese. The three of them watched the Vessels speak to Brium. “This is… an unenviable position.”
“He has his hands wrapped around something vital: our head.” Argrave nodded, then he looked to Anneliese. “But look at things this way—we skipped a step.”
“How?” asked Galamon in disbelief.
“His trust.” Argrave lowered his head, staring at the road before Cyprus. “He thinks that he has power over us… and so he’s more willing to implement us in his plans.”
“He thinks?” repeated Anneliese. “He does have power over us. Perhaps we should make sure that Garm is safe.”
“I don’t think that Garm is in danger.” Argrave shook his head. “But if you judge differently, we can go back and make sure right now.”
Anneliese sighed and crossed her arms. “If only we still had our druidic bonds, we might confirm that without needing to move…”
“We’ll get new ones soon enough,” Argrave assured. “Perhaps quicker than I thought, if indeed Brium believes we’re under his thumb. They might even be more useful than that dragon our friend Rowe has.”
“…what?” She looked at him incredulously.
“Better in terms of utility, certainly. But for now… I say we go along with what Brium asks of us.” Argrave turned to her.
She looked very torn. But after a while, she gave a slow nod. “Alright.”
***
Brium and his escort of four Vessels stopped just before a plain gray building that was no more than a simple dome of cold stone. Argrave’s party was off to the side, not fully integrated with the rest of the Lord of Copper’s retinue.
“Before we enter… allow me to relay my expectations.” Brium spoke to Argrave, though did not turn his head. “This place is called simply ‘the Stone.’ It is a neutral meeting ground for the Vessels in this city.”
“The place from which all of the lords of Sethia were born—mined from the Stone, forged by Fellhorn into metal,” Argrave finished. “I know.”
“That’s correct.” Brium smiled and nodded. “My distant ancestors were pagan lords, but Fellhorn’s coming changed that.”
“What’s expected of us?” Argrave pressed.
“I don’t suspect you will have cause to speak much,” Brium confessed. “Here is your role—you are mercenaries, hired by me. Your presence is meant to provoke them into action.”
Argrave nodded seriously, then questioned, “Against the tribals? Or…?”
“Against me.” Brium’s smile faded. “The other lords—they are constant, calm, just like the waters of Fellhorn. The southern tribals have been belligerent for years, and yet not once have the lords retaliated. We Vessels only enforce rules on our subjects.”
“And you are not fond of that refusal to retaliate,” Anneliese noted. “Why are you different from them?”
“They are all literalists. Traditionalists,” Brium said contemptuously. “They plan to be but a Vessel all of their lives—a stagnant pool, a still lake, growing only as rivers deposit their rainwater into them. Their power grows, certainly. But… Fellhorn is the god of rain and floods.”
The Vessels alongside Brium nodded eagerly, his zealous followers drinking in his words.
Anneliese pointed to him. “And you wish to become the flood?”
“The southern tribals of the mountains have learned, grown, and adapted. Our current way nets us nothing. The literalist way—remaining as a stagnant pool, offering drink to those who submit—is insufficient to spread Fellhorn’s eternal rain further.” Brium shook his head and clenched his fist, genuinely aggrieved. “I cannot see the faith stagnate like this. Even if I must be the one to stir the waters, they must begin to move.”
“What is the benefit of provoking action against you?” Galamon questioned.
“When is wood weakest?” Brium questioned, stepping up to Galamon and staring up at him. “When it is rotten inside.”
Galamon stared unflinchingly. “Your point?”
“When will an enemy attack?” Brium held his hands out. “When their foe is at their weakest. And the southern tribals have been looking for an avenue to attack for many years now.”
“Provocation after provocation.” Argrave shook his head. “You certainly have your work cut out for you. All of this just to lure the southern tribals down from the mountains? Seems far-fetched. Too many things left to chance,” he baited, trying to get some information out of the talkative Lord of Copper.
“My people need to wake up to the realities. I am certain Fellhorn will see fit to bestow upon me the luck I need. I am certain that the tribals will be ready.” Brium smiled and shook his head.
Now it’s all but confirmed. Brium is working with some tribals. Even if it isn’t Durran who’s talking with them, if I can get contact with these tribals… I can make this flood hit a dam. Of course, he’s not going to let me meet them easily. He’ll hide their existence until the day of the attack.
“I see you’re pleased,” Brium noted, staring at Argrave.
Argrave hadn’t realized it, but he was smiling. He ran his hand across his face to suppress his expression, then said, “Just feels like things are finally going my way for once. Long road ahead, but I’m eager to trod it. I have some ideas to swing things in our favor ever more. But those can come at another time, certainly.”
“Indeed.” Brium nodded. “What I’ve told you, I will soon tell those inside this building. I feared I might have to use the leash around your neck, but you convince me I was mistaken. It matters not.”
“I am glad of that,” Argrave said simply.
“Now, the lords Argent and Aurum have been kept waiting for twenty minutes. I am positive they will be incensed.” Brium stepped ahead into the Stone.
***
The three lords of Sethia were each and all as remarkable as the copper-skinned Brium and matched their titles absolutely, embodying them in their appearance and dress. These appearances were not something coincidental. Each of the three had been tailored over generations to better fit their role, and to cement their status as the lord of their tower.
Argrave knew how they maintained these appearances—breeding systems within their towers. People with desirable traits were ‘hired’ to bear a Vessel for the tower. They were technically free, but realistically forced to remain in the tower, living luxuriously for the purpose of producing heirs with the desired physical traits.
Now, these three lords sat at a table in the center of the Stone, flanked by their own personal retinue of lesser Vessels. Argrave felt out of place. He usually did, though.
The three lords sat in a triangle at the circular table, none facing another fully. The Lord of Silver, Quarrus, was a tall albino man—his skin, hair, and eyes lacked all pigment, making all of his features resplendently white. He had a sharp look about him and seemed to be angry constantly. He kept his hair long as though to show it off, and wore only silver jewelry and clothing. His status as a Vessel seemed to preclude the usual vision defects associated with albinism.
The Lord of Gold, Crislia, was a woman with very strong elven features. Her skin was vaguely gold-like but lacked the intensity of the real metal and was further muted by the wet skin natural to the Vessels. Her hair, though, was a perfect match for the word gold. On top of all that, she wore enough accessories of the precious metal to afford a king’s ransom.
Quarrus leaned forward into the table, clenching his fists as he stared at Brium. “We agreed to meet here with you out of respect for the long-standing title of the Lord of Copper, and of respect for the greatness that has come out of Cyprus in the distant past…” Quarrus slammed his fist and stood. “But you insult Argent by bringing a mockery of our features?” He pointed to Anneliese.
