Jackal Among Snakes

Though Argrave had wished to inform Brium of what Crislia had said immediately, the Lord of Copper had been preoccupied with something. Anneliese and Argrave spent that time planning for how to handle the changing situation. Ridden with anxiety, he had returned the next day, catching the Vessel early in the morning.

“She told me to ‘know my place?’” Brium questioned, one hand placed atop the other on the table as he stared at Argrave.

“Well…” Argrave trailed off, acting hesitant to repeat it.

Brium sat there for a while in the silence. He tapped one finger against the back of his hand, gaze distant. Eventually, he stood up, pacing about the room.

“…I’ll give her an answer. Tomorrow.” He turned his head to Argrave. “And things will be expedited because of it. When one is spurned, love can turn to hatred overnight. She must have something prepared for both answers—Crislia plays both sides against each other, she always has. Immediately after my refusal, there will be retaliation.”

Argrave took a deep breath and gave a steady nod, resolving himself. On this front, he and Anneliese had been correct. He had done everything he could. He could only hope Durran moved as quickly as he did and did not lose himself in indecision.

“Indeed, we might expect their attack tomorrow, as soon as my answer is given,” Brium placed his hand to his chin. “This suits me fine; I have everything in place. But you… you will head to the southron elves. You will prepare them, and then I will expect to see them coming to Cyprus tomorrow morning. Yarra will accompany you to gather them—no exceptions,” he pointed his finger. “I will stall for your arrival.”

Though hesitant, Argrave did eventually give a nod of agreement. “She’ll have to wear a veil, but I can certainly make this happen.”

“Then make it so,” the Lord of Copper snapped. “Rushing water is always cleaner than stagnant water. And Sethia will soon become as clean as ever.”

#####

“Why did you lie to me?” Durran demanded, holding his glaive to Titus’ neck. The blade was made of a black bone, and sharpened enough to rival any blade. The merchant wearing red and gold sat across from him with hands still, maintaining complete indifference to the situation.

“Because it was easier,” said Titus.

“Easier?” Durran repeated. “No—I know that’s not true. Even if you’d been honest that Brium intended to betray us, I would have gone along with it. You’re one of us—you used to be. You know we would take this chance to liberate Sethia. You just wanted us to be unaware. Wanted us to die.”

Titus pressed his finger to the glaive, pushing it away. “I won’t answer,” Titus said boldly. “Go. Do your duty. After Crislia’s intervention, the battle will come all the sooner.”

Durran stood. “Answer me, damnit, or I’ll cut your head clean off.”

Titus’ golden eyes remained firm. “You would lose the battle without the men under my control to help you.”

“I don’t care. We haven’t attacked yet. I can call this thing off—I still have that luxury. If you won’t explain yourself, I’ll ruin whatever you had planned.” Durran readied his glaive.

“Durran…” Boarmask interjected, voice cold and cautious. He stepped up beside Titus.

“I won’t answer,” Titus shook his head. “Stop bluffing. Sit.”

Durran swung with all his might, rage fueling the swing. Titus remained still, yet closed his eyes. Yet a ringing sounded out as metal met metal. Boarmask held his hand against the blade. It had bit through the gauntlet’s plate, cutting into the knight’s hand. Blood dripped out.

Titus had his teeth clenched, staring at the glaive. Sweat dripped down his brow, but he stayed firm.

“I’ll kill you too, pig. Don’t think I won’t,” Durran said coldly. “These are my people’s lives, and he was ready to throw them away. He would see them battered and broken in the streets of Sethia. I need a reason to let him keep breathing.”

“This is not the answer,” Boarmask shook his head, voice tight with pain.

“It is an answer. Even if it’s wrong, it’s an answer. I don’t like leaving questions unanswered, you see,” Durran pulled his glaive back.

Boarmask stepped in between Titus and Durran. He drew the mace at his side, holding it in his hand.

“There is no sense in this,” Boarmask shook his head. “I won’t allow things to fall apart. Sethia must be liberated. The injustice here cannot persist.”

Durran took a fighting stance, holding the glaive before him. “Tolerate one injustice to end another. Whatever happened to the honor you constantly talk about?”

“This isn’t an easy choice for me,” Boarmask replied. “But we cannot let things fall apart. After things have settled, I will help you bring Titus to justice. But not here. Not now.”

“I can’t work with him!” Durran yelled. “Not until I get answers. So step aside, or I’ll finally answer that burning question of ‘who’s stronger?’”

“This, here, is precisely why I hoped your people would die,” Titus said bitterly. “Fine. I will tell you.”

Durran stood there, not taking his gaze off of Boarmask. The armored knight dropped his mace, raising his hands to the air. Only then did Durran relax.

“Talk, then,” Durran gestured, standing over Titus.

“The Vessels, the southern tribals—there is no future in either,” Titus said. “The Vessels are merely the current tyrant.”

“What are you talking about?” Durran demanded.

“We work together to end the reign of the Vessels, establish another foothold for your people to fight back against the unending rain of Fellhorn.” Titus waved between the two of them. “I have no love for the Vessels. They stole my baby from me, claiming it as a Vessel. They Drained my wife, Drained my twelve-year-old child… all because he was ignorant of Fellhorn’s laws.”

Durran’s intensity softened a little, a vague semblance of sympathy weakening his anger.

“Yet centuries before, the southern tribals ruled over this vast desert. They wrested control from the southron elves—burned their cities, butchered their people, destroyed their knowledge.” Titus crossed his arms. “And after? The tribals turned their gaze to the north—Vasquer. They threw themselves against the Lionsun Castle, hordes dying yearly.

“Centuries of rule, and to what end? Your people achieved nothing!” Titus stood up, staring Durran down. “Ignorant savages, condemning their people to death. A tyranny of a different type—a human tyranny. I would not suffer your people’s control over Sethia. I wished to build something different. Something better. And I won’t apologize for that.”

“No matter who got in the way, is that it?” Durran spat.

“Yes, that’s it,” Titus spread his arms out. “There’s your answer. I kept you ignorant because you are the enemy as much as the Vessels are.”

Durran stared him down in silence, hand clenched tightly against his glaive.

“We will work together to remove the Vessels. With Crislia’s intervention, the battle will come soon. But as far as I am concerned, your people are yet another blight on this beautiful land.” Titus shook his head.

Durran backhanded Titus, sending him sprawling against the chair. The flimsy wooden thing shattered. He turned in the same movement.

“We’ll do our part, Titus,” Durran said coldly. “And then we’ll settle things.”

Titus stared up at him bitterly, slowly rising to his feet amidst the shattered chair. Boarmask’s gaze lingered on Titus for a long while, and then he moved for the door, following after Durran.

#####

With a direct command from Brium, Argrave had no choice but to leave Sethia immediately, still sore and unrested from the wearying journey to the elves. Things had mostly aligned with their expectations, barring Yarra’s presence.

They arrived back at the flat stretch of sand they had first entered into the southron elves’ territory. Argrave didn’t know if the elves had time enough to migrate, but the sword stabbed into the sand was broken—their magic would no longer function, even if Yarra did the correct ritual. He supposed it didn’t matter anymore, anyway.

“Break the seal, once more,” Yarra directed Argrave.

Argrave looked to Galamon, who stood behind Brium’s trusted Vessel. “Need to spill some water, first. Time for blood.”

Galamon removed his helmet from atop Garm’s head quietly, placing it over his own. He set the backpack down. His Ebonice axe was the only that could be drawn without making noise, and he did so. Yarra crossed her arms, ignorant, and began to turn to look around. The elven vampire’s axe descended, cleaving into her head.

Water burst into the air near a hundred feet as though a hole had been made in a dam. Yarra staggered towards Argrave, who stepped back to avoid her. She fell, but as her body made contact with the black sand beneath, her flesh turned to liquid and a great mass of water exploded out. The explosion caught all of them, tossing them back. Argrave landed on his back a fair distance away, much of his face stinging where he’d been cut by high-pressure water.

A great sphere of water rested where Yarra once was, an infant form encased in the center. Argrave could see blood on the back of the baby’s head through the crystal-clear water. Focused, he raised his hand and started to use the spell [Electric Eel]. Blue eels of lightning emerged from his hand, sparking loudly as though crying out in the silence of the night.

The sphere of water took on purpose in that moment, going from an unrefined mass of water to a dangerous Vessel—tendrils of water rose into the sky, each and all twisting and writhing towards the three separate targets. The attacks seemed sluggish compared to what they had seen at Malgeridum. That was the effect of the blow to the head, Argrave knew, and he’d long ago instructed Galamon to do just that.

Anneliese conjured a B-rank ward with her enchanted ring. Jets of water slammed against the golden shield, and it cracked in a multitude of places. Galamon seized the initiative, pressing against the Vessel’s onslaught. Each swing of his Ebonice axe made the approaching tendrils lose their animation, turning into harmless water.

Argrave, though, left himself open, retreating away. Yarra’s attacks were unrelenting and dangerous. He dodged as best he could, though he had little doubt that his enchanted leather gear saved his life many times. With greater distance, the water needed to be stretched thinner. The orb in the center, encasing the Vessel’s infant form, began to thin.

Common perception dictated that water conducted electricity well. The opposite was true. Water—pure water, unpolluted by dissolved mater—was actually an amazing insulator. Argrave only knew this bit of knowledge because the Vessels were resistant to electricity in ‘Heroes of Berendar,’ a fact which spurred him to research the science behind the matter. He would need to strike very close to Yarra’s true form to end her, and as such, he needed to stretch her thin.

A jet struck Argrave in the cheek, casting him to the ground. His vision blurred with pain, but he remembered his role. The electric eels he’d been conjuring the entire time rushed forward towards the Vessel’s physical body. The baby was drawn away by a current, twisting about and away with inhuman speed as it tried to get away from the assault. Argrave hounded it as unrelentingly as it had hounded him.

The water rushed back, trying to protect the infantile form, but Argrave kept his pursuit up. Blood started to drip into his eyes from a wound he didn’t know he had, but he persisted. Eventually, as the water rose up into the sky, sparking eels nipping at its heels, Yarra ran out of water to flee into. The electric eels surged into the water, and the infant form protected by Fellhorn’s blessing sparked with electricity.

After an unbearably long moment of suspense, the titanic mass of water sagged like a body losing life. Then, gravity seized it, and it all came crashing down, filling the vast pit where the illusion magic formation had once been.

Anneliese managed to escape the rushing tide of water without getting wet at all—Argrave was far enough he didn’t have to move. Galamon, though, trudged out, water draining from holes in his armor. His expression was hidden by his helmet, but he seemed incredibly bitter. Once he freed his feet of the water, he walked up to Argrave, patches of wet sand stuck to his armor.

“Clean,” said Argrave, out of breath. “Not as clean as I’d have liked, but…” Argrave moved to the newly-formed pool, using the water to clean his face.

“It’s done. These things… are very difficult to deal with. I question our chances,” commented Galamon.

“She was one of the strongest,” Argrave reassured. “A wyvern is a great match for them.” The Brumesingers emerged from Argrave’s duster, scattering out over the sand and watching Argrave, almost worriedly. Argrave healed his cheek, then searched out other cuts to tend to.

“We have stepped past the point of no return,” Anneliese noted, joining the two of them. “If things go awry…”

“If things go awry, then we’ll work something out,” Argrave shook his head. “Let’s get our bearings… and then get ready.”