Jackal Among Snakes, Book 3: A GameLit Fantasy, page 8
Garm furrowed his brows, but Argrave was certain there was some intrigue on his face. “What are you trying to convey to me?”
“The things I know—and I do mean know—aren’t limited to Gerechtigkeit’s coming.” Argrave leaned in a bit closer to Garm. “If you want some proof of Gerechtigkeit, I can’t offer that. You’ll come to know in the future, naturally, but I can’t give you anything now.”
“Because you’re delusional,” Garm concluded, repeating his earlier observation.
“Believe what you want. If there’s one thing I can’t control, it’s what’s in your head.” Argrave tapped his temple. “But there is one thing I can offer you. I can promise you’ll see some proof that my knowledge is genuine. You’ve already seen some of it. You’ll see a hell of a lot more in the future. And I hope that earns some of your trust.”
For the first time that Argrave could recall, Garm looked overwhelmed. Argrave laid down against the black sand, staring up at the writhing sandstorm. He kicked his feet back and closed his eyes, letting out a self-satisfied sigh.
***
In the corner of a ridiculously luxurious room, there was a man with a rather large frame leaning up against the wall. He sat atop a bed, listlessly staring out the window at the setting suns. Despite the luxury of the room, he was extremely emaciated, his skin drawn tight against his bones. His hair was long and uncut, shining like fire against the sunlight. His eyes shone like two rubies.
The rattling of metal echoed out across the room, and the man’s head turned. He pushed away from the wall, moving to sit at the edge of the bed with a weary caution. After a long time of shaking, a final click echoed out, and a large metal door opened up.
A knight stepped into the room, each step slow and cautious. He came to stand in the center. For some reason, his breath was labored.
“…you’re not one of the guards,” the red-haired man said, his voice hoarse and tired.
The new arrival removed his gauntlet and pulled free a dagger. He took two unsteady steps forward.
“I see,” said the sitting man. “You’re here to kill me.”
“Don’t make any noise,” the knight said, though his voice was strained and shaky.
“I can’t comply with that,” said the emaciated man, though he did not move to call for help. “Why are you doing this? Do you hate my House Parbon? Or is there another reason?”
The knight froze like a child caught doing something bad.
“At least answer the man you’re to kill,” Bruno of Parbon said. “Why are you doing this? Are you trying to worsen the rebellion?”
“M… M-my family,” the knight sputtered. “I have to,” he said with conviction and desperation. “I have to.”
“They threatened them.” Bruno nodded, brows furrowed in understanding. “Who?”
“I… I…” the knight stepped forward, holding the knife and breathing quickly.
Bruno stood up. He was much taller than the man and had great presence despite his emaciated state. “You don’t know, do you?”
The knight wordlessly pointed the knife at Bruno, his training enabling him to keep a steady hand.
“If you want to save your family, I won’t fight back.” Bruno spread his arms. “I never had any hope of getting out of this alive. Let my life save others, at the very least. I know enough of politics to know that my brother will only benefit if I die. Vasquer will lose a hostage. Insubordination will seize the northern lands—a noble murdered under house arrest. Such a thing is an affront to the oaths between monarch and lord.”
The knight’s breathing grew more erratic, and he stepped forward. Bruno turned around and knelt on the floor. He sat, head held high, neck clearly exposed.
“Just do it,” Bruno said with conviction. “Ensure, at least, you keep your family safe henceforth.”
The knight’s breathing slowed and steadied. He took a step forward, the knife raised into the air. The knight struck out at Bruno’s neck with all the speed of a snake, and the room was dyed crimson.
Chapter 11
The Dragon Palace, seat of House Vasquer, moved as though it were a beehive with a bear on the outside. Officials, guards, and royal knights flowed quickly, each with their own purpose and with a sense of urgency. Diplomats met couriers, frantically reading and writing letters to send off to Vasquer’s supporters. Royal knights obeyed commands from their commanders, each seeking different leads on the murder of Bruno of Parbon.
One person waded through the crowd with slow, steady steps. Royal knights bearing golden armor pushed through the crowd, acting as a wedge for their master. King Felipe III towered above all present, and though he was broad already, his veritable mane of graying obsidian hair redoubled his presence. He had gray eyes as steady as stone, and a beard all the way to his stomach. He wore elaborate black and gold armor that could nearly be called ceremonial, though enchantments on its surface bolstered its protective ability. A black mantle bearing a golden snake wrapped around a sword hung from his shoulders, barely touching the ground.
King Felipe moved through his courtiers, breathing steady and step calm. He stepped through the Dragon Palace, walked up the stairs leading to his throne, and then moved past it into a large meeting hall. A single large table stood at the center, with innumerable maps splayed out across its surface.
A thin, tall man waited politely in the room, his hands behind his rigid back. He had black hair kept diligently trimmed and rich blue eyes. His clothes were fanciful and bore the black and gold of House Vasquer. He had sharp, sunken features, with a stern air about him that commanded some mystique.
King Felipe stepped into the room, looking about. “Guard the room,” he directed his knights as he stepped forward.
The man placed his hand to his chest. “Father,” he greeted, dipping his head.
“Levin. You remain as magically impotent as last I saw you.” King Felipe came to stand before his son. “Even my bastard shows better results than you.”
“Some are unsuited for standing on the front lines. I know my place,” Prince Levin said smoothly.
“Yes. At least you know that. That separates you…” Felipe stared down with slight approval on his face but shook his head and said nothing more on the matter. “Tell me what you’ve uncovered.”
Levin readily launched into explanation, saying, “The one responsible for organizing the event has been detained. The one who ordered this… remains unknown,” Levin said disappointedly. “The organizer, a royal maid named Therese, has some connections to House Parbon. Her house originates from a cadet branch of their house. She served in the palace, attending to many courtiers.”
Felipe moved to stand over the maps on the table, staring down at the uneven rectangular continent of Berendar. “We allowed a cadet branch of House Parbon in the palace?”
“Her relation was so distant none considered it would hold bearing,” Levin explained.
“And you have nothing of her backing?” Felipe continued.
“Under torture, she revealed all the information she knew. They led to dead ends. Her contacts fled, abandoning her. She will be crucified in the city square on the morrow,” Levin outlined. “I have sent some more seeking leads, but…”
Felipe smacked Levin’s head, and the man staggered slightly. “I give you a kingdom’s resources, you can’t keep one valuable hostage safe? You persist on a thread, Levin. I question if it’s worth maintaining your life. I will not have my funeral overshadowed by brothers fighting brothers for a throne not yours to have.”
Levin shook his head, straightening his back once more. “I know my place. Induen is my better. I am inferior.”
Felipe stared down at Levin. “Be thankful Orion is your elder. I trust him to keep you in line.”
“I must thank my fortune.” Levin dipped his head seriously.
“Regarding your brother… the plague.” Felipe stepped around the table, retrieving another map. “Outline its spread.”
Levin leaned forward, retrieving a writing implement. He drew a circle around part of the northwestern region of the kingdom. “Orion has been working diligently to keep it limited to this area. Travel has slowed in the northern regions on account of winter. When the ice thaws…” Levin trailed off, setting down his tool. “It will spread.”
Felipe stared at the drawing, saying nothing. “A prisoner under house arrest died under our care. This will be perceived as a foolish act of tyranny. The northern nobles rallied beneath us will waver. We cannot expect them to be as steadfast as before.”
“I’ve been working on—”
“No,” Felipe said coldly. “You will recall non-essential men in northern territories. Ensure only that we know that they do not act against us. Now that things have come to this…” Felipe stroked his long beard. “We are weakened. We must weaken in turn.”
“Then I will direct my attention toward sabotage.” Levin nodded.
Felipe lifted his head up, staring Levin in the eyes. “Send men to the northwestern regions. Collect the corpses of those that succumbed to the plague. Spread them across the south, everywhere.” The king leaned over a map of the south. “Make sure Orion remains ignorant. The south will become a hellscape, where dead on the streets will be more common than clouds in the sky.”
Levin’s breathing grew quick and his eyes widened. Once his breathing calmed, he nodded. “I will see this done, Father.”
“At the very least… I can count on your obedience.” Felipe looked over. “Go. See it done.”
Levin turned and walked away. As he walked, his expression grew dead.
***
Wind howled against the stone. In the middle of a cold stone cell, the sounds of someone shivering echoed in the empty dungeon. An orange-haired woman, nude, leaned against the wall. Her pale white skin was marred by jagged cuts everywhere. There was nothing in the cell besides stone and iron—not a single basic amenity. There were only the iron bars of the cell, and a window ten feet above. Not even the tallest could ever hope to reach it, and even then, it was too thin to grant passage.
As the woman sat there, shivering, waiting, a click echoed throughout the cell. The woman turned her head, peering out into the hallway beyond the bars. Another click came, louder this time, and she flinched. The clicks came again and again, each louder. She came to realize they were moving up the wall. The woman stood, moving to the cold bars of the cell.
Something flashed near the window, and she shrunk away. After a moment, a thin rope ladder entered, dropping down. The woman shrunk away in terror, curling into a ball in the corner of the cell. The intruder chipped at the window, sending shards of stone into the cell as the window was forcibly widened.
Eventually, the passage opened wide enough for entry. Someone crammed their way in, and then dropped down, landing. They wore a thick cloak and light leather armor.
“Therese?” the man said, kneeling down.
Therese looked up, terrified. The man moved forward slightly, and she shrunk away as though he intended to hurt her.
“The Bat sent me. Wear this,” the man directed, setting something down and stepping away. “No time for terror, no time for delays. I offer help. Success lies on you.”
Her breathing slowed as she stared at what he’d set down. It was a simple fur robe. She slowly moved toward it, taking it in hand. After she put it on, she winced terribly, opening the scabs on some of her wounds, yet she seemed to relish in the warmth offered by the robe.
“Come,” the man directed, moving to the ladder. “This little climb is the last thing you’ll need to do. There’s a mage waiting outside.”
Therese walked unsteadily, wrapping her fingers on the ladder. She climbed up, shaking terribly. The man stepped up to the bars, peering beyond into the hallway. Once Therese was near the top of the ladder, he walked away, following just behind her on the rope ladder.
Therese stalled at the top, having some difficulty making it through the narrow gap. The man gave a somewhat heartless push, forcing her past. An arm gripped her, pulling her to safety. She yelped and started tremoring once more, but slowly, she realized she was in no danger of falling. The carved side of the Dragon Palace had little room for standing, yet stakes had been stabbed into the side, held up by magic. A big man held her up effortlessly.
The man who entered into the cell emerged, rising to his feet. He held his hand out. “Let’s go. Don’t make noise, lady.”
Therese nodded frantically, and the one holding her stepped off the stake. His boots lit up, and he slowly descended, gales billowing about his feet. Therese buried her head into the man’s chest, unwilling to watch.
After a long time, the man landed soundlessly on something. Therese lifted her head up. They were on a ledge on the side of the mountain that bore the Dragon Palace. Just behind them was a cave—it seemed to have been carved by hand, for it was supported with makeshift wooden pillars and showed signs of excavation.
The big man set her down. “Go into the cave,” he directed.
Therese placed her hand to her chest and walked into the cave, casting glances every which way as though something could leap out at any moment. She spotted someone sitting, though they were of much thinner frames than those who’d entered and retrieved her. She walked up slowly.
Princess Elenore lifted her head, and her obsidian hair fell to reveal her face. She was free of her blindfold, and one could see her empty, horrifyingly deformed eye sockets. Therese was used to the sight, so it was not jarring, but she still could not help but hold her breath.
“Did you retrieve her?” Elenore asked. “Is she fine?”
“Elenore,” Therese said, stepping forward.
“Therese.” The princess rose at once, stepping forth. She very nearly bumped into the woman, but Therese caught her arms.
“You’re alive,” Elenore said, relieved. “That’s… I brought a healer. Come, come.”
Therese’s face was a mess of emotion—relief, indignance, betrayal, joy—but she stepped forth, still leading the princess even now. A woman stepped forth from deeper within the cave, rushing to tend to Therese’s wounds.
“Therese… you did well,” the princess said lightly. “And I failed you.”
With those simple words, the former maid burst into tears, lowering her head onto the princess’ shoulder. Elenore did not reject her, merely standing there while comforting her.
“You will be taken from here… to a safe place, a place I know will never be touched by the war,” Elenore soothed sweetly.
“I didn’t tell them anything, my princess,” Therese muttered into her shoulder. “I did… I did my best.”
“I know.” Elenore touched her head delicately. She pushed the maid away so their faces were before each other’s. “Now… you must persist alone for a time. Live well. Live free. You will be taken care of.” The princess deposited a sack of metal coins into the former maid’s hand. The light of the rose gold magic coins sheening could be seen even through the cloth.
Magic shone at the back of her head. Therese’s body sagged, and she fell onto the healer, unconscious. The healer hauled them away delicately, where yet more joined to tend to her.
Once Therese was a sufficient distance away, the man who’d entered the cell stepped up to Elenore. “Didn’t know you had compassion. You pulled a lot of strings to save one little maid.”
“And what would you know?” Elenore replied at once, all her sweetness gone. “This isn’t about compassion. This is about reputation, power.”
“Oh yeah?” the man asked incredulously.
“Yes,” Elenore said. “Wanton displays of cruelty befit my brother, not me. Everyone who serves me can guess that I was behind what happened to Bruno. With this, they know that those who serve me faithfully will not be tossed aside when it is expedient. Indeed, I can save my people from any trouble, even the attention of the king and his kingdom.” Elenore turned his head. “It’s a message, nothing more. High-profile incidents demand proper replies.”
“Guess I expected too much from a Vasquer.” The man shook his head.
“Don’t overstep, Ruleo,” she cautioned. “We share a goal, and so we work together. Do not presume to grow comfortable.”
“Do not presume,” Ruleo mimicked, then cackled. “Whatever. We’re done here. Give me the payment I asked for, the usual way.” He walked into the cave past the people treating Therese and vanished into darkness.
Chapter 12
Argrave’s legs gave out as his feet sunk into the top of a sand dune, and he collapsed ungracefully onto the ground. As he lifted his face up and shook his head to dislodge sand, a lizard blending in with the surroundings scurried away, heading for the distance. Argrave followed it with his gaze, and far ahead, a great monument loomed above.
“Are you alright?” Anneliese asked, kneeling beside Argrave with genuine concern in her voice.
“Just…” Argrave rose to his knees, adjusting his misaligned backpack. “…exhausted.” He pointed ahead. “Hiking is supposed to be easier the more you do it. I’ve been healing blisters for days, now.” Argrave shook his head. “Whatever. I was worried that I got my directions mixed, but… there’s Argent. In the distance. The silver one.”
The land before them was like a great crater in the earth. The black sand dunes of the Burnt Desert faded in way of rocky hills of igneous rock, descending toward a central point. There were marks in the earth where rivers had once flowed, but they were gone—dried up utterly.
In the center of the crater, there was a fortress city: Sethia. Its gray walls were every bit as grand as Mateth back in Vasquer. At well over one hundred feet, they might have even been taller. The fortifications formed a perfect half-circle around the city itself. Where the missing half of the circle was, three roads led to three high towers, each structure the color of precious metals.
Far beyond, sand dunes ranged once again, and a mountain encircled the sand, seemingly forming a great bowl. A wide waterfall descended the side of one of these mountains, though it was quickly shielded by another tall peak. Argrave saw a vague silhouette flying about, and after a time, distinguished it as a wyvern. In those mountains lived the last free tribe.
