Jackal Among Snakes

“You are fine with meeting him?” questioned Reinhardt, who ate a plain, unseasoned cut of beef with only water as a side.

“I am. In truth, I have a poor memory of the happenings that day,” Rose said truthfully, whose decadent breakfast meal stood in stark contrast to the Margrave’s ascetic portion. She shared the Margrave’s prominent features—red hair and red eyes. Her legs were hidden underneath the table, but her chair had two wooden wheels on the side. “What rumors spread say he is much different than when I knew him. But then, it has been near eight years…”

The Margrave leaned closer. “Are you certain? Do not push yourself for my sake.”

She gave a nod of confirmation, then picked at her food. Beside her, a gray-haired young woman with bright orange eyes ate in quiet. The three present were all part of or soon to be part of the Parbon family. A small staff of servants tended to them, while knights stood on guard at the doors. As most of the rest of the Lionsun Castle, the place was made of carved stone.

The Margrave looked down to a letter just beside him on the table. It had a wax seal on it depicting a swordfish, split from being opened. Reinhardt scanned the closing once more.

Though I support your cause, you are brash. If you end this war with no plans for what comes after, the entire realm will be shattered by would-be kings pressing whatever vague claim they might have. Winter has stalled the war. Take this time to find a proper claimant. Having an undisputed, supported claimant against King Felipe will keep the realm whole and may even attract undecided supporters to our cause. I will make no suggestions through letter, barring that my daughter has refused. I will write, however, that some rumors of grandiose feats from Mateth are truer than you might think, and those you despise may simply be misunderstood.

When things have settled at Mateth, I intend on visiting. I hope we can discuss this in further detail when I do.

Until then, be well.

Duke Enrico of Monticci

The Margrave lifted his head and let out a long sigh, staring at his daughter. His face was wrought by complexity, but he slowly fell into a smile as he watched his daughter eat.

“If you would, continue to speak to him and judge his character while he is here. Test him thoroughly. Provided he does not make you…” the Margrave trailed off, judging his daughter’s reaction to the idea.

“I’m fine, father,” Rose insisted.

“That’s good,” the Margrave nodded, then took a drink of water. “I plan on having him stay for some time.”

#####

Argrave and Anneliese stepped idly around the gargantuan wall blocking the sole valley between the Burnt Desert and the lands of Vasquer. Two guards walked behind them, watching, and all the knights stationed obviously had been given command to keep an eye on them. His Brumesingers walked a bit sluggishly behind the two of them. They looked like they had overeaten. Evidently there were many good souls to eat in the Lionsun Castle.

The winds were harsh so high up, and likely doubled in force by the funneling of the valley. Argrave and Anneliese wore their thicker gray dusters, both still dirty from traversing the mountain highway. A long time ago, Argrave would have found such a thing intolerable. But he was used to the roads by this point.

“I never imagined such wonders existed in the world. Be it in the Burnt Desert, or here in Vasquer… humans make grand things,” she concluded, gazing at the gargantuan taupe lion statue with an enchanted jewel gleaming like a sun in its jaw. Her Starsparrow perched on her wrist, eating magic seeds from her hand.

Argrave paused with her. “That jewel replenishes all of the enchantments on the wall. It looks like a sun… and it harvests the sun’s energy, too. It wasn’t made by Vasquer, though, nor House Parbon.”

“You know much,” Reinhardt cut in, and Argrave turned his head. He hadn’t heard the man’s approach past the fast winds atop the gargantuan wall, and he scolded himself mentally. Even if the Margrave had granted him accommodation, it did not make them allies. He should have gotten Galamon.

“Margrave Reinhardt,” Argrave paid his respects with a slight bow, and Anneliese mimicked him a second later.

The Margrave wore his white plate armor even this early in the morning. He came to stand before the two of them. He was just shy of Anneliese’s height.

“My men tell me that one of the rooms went unused,” he noted, ruby eyed gaze alternating between the two of them.

Argrave raised a brow, saying nothing in response.

“Rumor has it you are betrothed to Nikoletta of Monticci,” he continued, his disapproval evident in his words if not his tone.

Argrave shook his head at once. “That was never officiated. And it never will be, now.”

The Margrave shifted on his feet, perhaps not expecting such a response. “You throw away much. The sole heir of House Monticci…”

“I throw away nothing at all,” Argrave disagreed. “Nothing could compare to what I’ve already got. I’ll never compromise on her, no matter what’s offered.”

Argrave said his words boldly, causing Anneliese looked down bashfully. The Margrave stepped away, gazing out over the walls and into the city of Parbon at the foot of the mountains.

“War has a way of whittling away that steadfastness. I pray that does not become the case with you,” the Margrave shook his head. “There are a few things you should know. Most of the lords of the south have locked down the roads, barring any travel, even trade, to prevent this plague from spreading.”

“What?” Argrave frowned. “Well, we can stay off the roads, then.”

“Maybe. But patrols abound, and you have much cargo to haul.” The Margrave looked up into Argrave’s eyes. “And I don’t think you should travel, either.”

“I have things to do,” Argrave disagreed. “Too important to not take my chances, at that. And moreover, with things as terrible as they are, your top priority should be reaching out to Jast!” Argrave insisted, stepping closer. “That’s the closest thing to a center of magic in the world, other than the Tower of the Gray Owl, maybe. If you want to find ways to abate, to combat this plague—”

Reinhardt raised a hand up to interrupt Argrave. “I am still considering measures. Ordering roadblocks was one of them. For future actions…”

“Roadblocks, pfft,” Argrave shook his head. “Why? Do you think refugees spread the disease, when there’s been not a single village that’s been razed? This is something already in the cities, Margrave. Reach out to Jast. This disease must take your top priority,” he insisted.

The Margrave inhaled and sighed. “I must…”

“More will be lost by indecision than wrong decision. This disease is virulent and highly contagious,” Anneliese supported him.

“There’s no proof of that,” one of the Margrave’s knights disagreed.

The Margrave looked torn, but he eventually shook his head. “My daughter has consented to accepting a personal apology,” he changed the subject.

It was Argrave’s turn to feel uncomfortable. He did have a reason to speak with his daughter beyond merely apologizing. Talking with her might be important for dealing with Orion. All that said, he was to apologize for something that he had never done to a person who was badly affected. It weighed at him a little, but not enough to call it off.

“Moreover… Elias mentioned you told him of a way to heal Rose,” Reinhardt noted.

Argrave frowned. “He remembered that?”

“Should he not have?” Reinhardt questioned coldly.

“Far from it. I meant what I said, I just figured he would never trust a word out of my mouth,” Argrave held his hand out. “Her legs can be fixed.”

“Hmm…” the Margrave mused, stepping away. “We will talk again later. Dinner, perhaps. For now, one of my—” he paused. “Five of my men will lead you to Rose,” he corrected. “I will expect you to go alone. These knights of mine will be mages.”

“Don’t know why that’s relevant,” Argrave acted oblivious.

“You should. Between that tunnel—gods know how you found it—and my horse, you owe me much,” the Margrave shook his head, and then walked away.

Argrave stood there agape. Anneliese looked at him with one brow raised—he had never told her the story of stealing the Margrave’s horse. Soon enough, as promised, five men came to Argrave, ready to escort him to Rose of Parbon.

#####

Stain opened two double doors stretching up to the ceiling, putting his back into the effort. He fixed his tousled brown hair and looked back, where Elias waited. Together, the two of them entered into a banquet hall. Though the place was decadent, its decorations were sparse now, and the only bit of furniture in the room was a single gargantuan rectangular table made to accommodate a hundred people. Each and every chair was filled, presently.

A fat man sat at the head of the double, wearing an oversized doublet without sleeves. His shirt’s bright red color made him resemble a tomato. Though still overweight, loose skin on his arms indicated he had once been very fat. He was bald and had genial green eyes. A tall and skinny woman sat beside him. She had a shrewish, stern look to her with great strength in her dark eyes, and she wore her brown hair bound by jewels in a bun atop her head. The man was Duke Marauch of Elbraille. His wife, Duchess Christine of Cael, was the one beside him.

All of the other chairs were occupied by servants of the castle—maids, male attendants, knights, noble councilmen. There was a great disparity in status between many, but all ate the same thing—a quarter loaf of bread, two slices of meat, and a simple stew of vegetables. The Duke and his Duchess were no exception.

As Elias glanced around, the Duke spotted him. The man had a bright, childlike glee to him as he smiled, half-rising to stand. “Young master Elias!” he called out. His wife slapped his chest lightly, forcing him to sit down.

Elias strode over with Stain just beside him. “Duke Marauch,” he greeted with a polite slight bow.

“Have a seat,” he pointed to the place of honor beside him. “I reserved it for you.”

“Thank you,” he took the seat, and Stain was seated someplace not far. There was already a plate of food waiting for both of them, untouched.

“Emm…” the Duke paused, glancing between Elias’ plate and him. “If you’d like, I can get you more food. You are a large man… muscled, and it’d be best if—”

His wife swatted his fingers. “Don’t think of it, Marauch. No exceptions, not even for the lion.”

His jowls tremored as his head quickly swiveled from his wife to Elias. “Emm… forgive me, but—”

“I am fine, thank you,” Elias interrupted before the Duke could retract his statement. “I should be subject to the ration as much as anyone else.”

“The young lord is so magnanimous,” Duke Marauch blubbered. “Would that more take after you, the world would be a better place.”

Elias had learned much about the Dukedom of Elbraille in his time here, even if it was not the purpose of coming here. He had no doubts that they would be steadfast allies in the battle to come. The Duke was a kindhearted person, if a bit slow. These two traits allowed his sharp-tongued wife to roll right over him. Though he had met worse people, she was selfish, and desperately grasped for power.

“Honestly…” Elias began, picking up the piece of bread. He dipped it in the vegetable soup. “I am impressed by the Duke’s adherence to this ration. It has increased my opinion of you greatly.”

The Duke smiled brightly, his thin lips hidden by fat cheeks turning into a crescent moon. “Well, I—”

“He should strut about, stomach bursting from his doublet, while people outside die to plague? Would only make things worse than he’s already made them,” Duchess Christine commented, tearing a piece of bread apart with her wiry fingers.

Stain tapped his fork against his plate, smiling. Elias knew that look—he was angry. He hated the Duchess. Stain had informed Elias that the Duchess had been the source of most of the corruption in the city that generated initial outrage.

In addition, she may have been behind the public executions performed by Elbraille’s knights that caused this siege to happen. Though the besiegers were not genuinely a threat, the Duke did not wish to order his knights to suppress things forcibly. Hostile actions at this point would only exacerbate things.

“Regarding the plague…” Elias diverted the subject. “I have been having my father’s court mage, Helmuth, examine it.”

Though Elias had been talking to the Duke and Duchess alone, several people quieted to listen to Elias’ next words. He grew nervous and took a deep breath to continue.

“The disease appears as distorted, waxy skin that feels as hard as stone to the touch. It spreads from there. Anything it spreads to loses all sensation—touch, pain, both are gone. It appears most commonly on the hands.”

Elias looked around, ensuring everyone processed what he’d said. “For some people, it spreads very slow, and indeed can stop after a certain point. For the unluckier people…” he shook his head. “When it reaches an organ and affects that organ… it causes failure. Lungs, hearts, stomach... And the brain… well, the brain is an exception,” Elias shook his head.

The Duke was the only one who remained able to eat as Elias continued. “For the brain, it’s… it’s like rabies. Makes people… act irrationally, even hostile.” Elias crossed his arms and leaned on the table. “That’s why it’s spreading so quickly. The worst afflicted spread it. And worse yet… the plague doesn’t seem to be entirely organic. There is something… mystical about it, according to Helmuth’s sight.”

“Bah,” the Duchess waved her hands. “These people—so foolish. They demand my husband’s head for crimes he did not commit, ignoring Vasquer, our common enemy, at their doorstep. The snake is laughing as we tear each other apart.”

Elias stared at the Duchess, red eyes cold. As he came to know the Duchess better, things fell into place in his head. The Duke would probably never support Vasquer without her coercion. She was sure that she had been the lynchpin behind their association, and now she so deftly played the supporter.

Stain shared Elias’ sentiment, tapping one foot against the ground quickly. Elias pushed his plate to draw his attention, then gave the lightest shake of his head to abate his companion’s rage. Yet as he sat there, he considered something the Duchess had said.

“A common enemy…” Elias repeated. His gaze grew distant. “People always unite against a common enemy.”

“So you would think,” the Duchess continued, oblivious to Elias’ true thoughts. “But instead they cry of corruption, unable to accept their own laziness as the source of their misery.”

Stain looked ready to blow his stack, but Elias rose. “Excuse us. I’ve remembered I forgot to do something,” he said diplomatically, then pushed Stain’s chair out, bidding him to follow.

“But… you didn’t finish eating,” the Duke said, watching Elias concernedly.

“You enjoy it,” Elias gestured, then strode away while loosening the collar on his shirt. Behind, he heard his wife inform the Duke that he could not, in fact, enjoy it.

Once they exited back into the hallway, Stain said quietly, “Glad I’m not the only one that can’t stand that miserable d—”

“A common enemy, Stain,” Elias interrupted. “It was right in front of me, but I never saw it. Instead, we’ve been trapped in a siege for weeks.”

Stain looked at his friend, perplexed.