Jackal Among Snakes

“Most of it,” Argrave settled down into a sitting position on the serpent Vasquer once again.

More silence followed in the stalemate that persisted between the king and the Magisters, and the nobles of the south watched on cautiously. Rowe and Dras continued to observe with interest, like they watched some kind of amusing play.

“Specificity might help allow all parties to come to a suitable compromise,” Artur hovered closer from his sitting perch atop his magic mantle. He held both of his hands together, popping some of his knuckles rapidly.

“Well…” Argrave looked up to Anneliese, then back down to Artur. “You talked a lot about what the kingdom should do for you, but not any about what you intend to do for the kingdom that warrants those sacrifices. All of our enchantments? All of our knowledge? Why?”

Artur choked in awe briefly, then looked to Castro who had decided to remain silent. Gradually, the man’s face settled into a cold, calculating calm as he continued, “The support of the Order of the Gray Owl’s forces alone is—”

“Is guaranteed,” Argrave interrupted monotonously. “Do you think Gerechtigkeit will respect your neutrality? Do you think the gods and their Divine Feudalism will see that giant tower of yours poking up miles into the air and come to the conclusion that it’s off limits by law? Indeed, I can think of several gods that would love nothing more than pillaging everything that’s inside. Then… it won’t matter whether you supported me or not.”

“The south received great stretches of land for their cooperation,” Artur pointed out.

“Because they have already fought and died,” the king said pointedly. “Besides, what am I going to do with land? For it to have value, there needs to be people to stand upon it, till the soil, and build the cities. If someone should be granted that right, why should it not be those who fought my enemies, and those who put down their swords when presented with reason?” Argrave shrugged.

Artur fiddled with one of the many rings on his fingers. “It would seem His Majesty favors the nobility over the Order. The Order, which housed you without protest when King Felipe III sought to take your head. Some might consider that a debt. A life debt, even.”

“I have offered you representation in my parliament equal to that of the nobility and the burghers,” Argrave said calmly, taking no provocation. “I have given your Magisters countless leads to vast troves of treasure, some of which have already been collected. I can promise continued access to knowledge of that nature, provided the same is returned.”

Castro looked to Artur. “His Majesty has provided the Order with a significant quantity of druidic magic already. I see no reason to doubt why he cannot deliver more.”

“There is no reason to doubt,” Argrave added, nodding. “What can I give? Shamanic magic, or the secrets to the elven enchantments of old. I can offer the dwarven techniques of melding magic into metal, birthing weapons sharp enough to cut through things like that,” he pointed to the Shadowlander. “I can give you the secrets of the stone constructs of the subterranean people in the south, or the methods to rebirth eyes and limbs. But what the Order is asking for presently? It is unacceptable.”

Artur lowered his arms onto his wreathing mantle, and it appeared like the small man was sat atop a throne. “You have all of these things you mention?”

“Some,” Argrave nodded. “Others I can obtain in short order. You’ve seen my directions.” Argrave gestured to those who’d spoken earlier about their expeditions to various places of proof. “All of you must know that what I say is largely accurate.”

A great many of the Magisters did seem enticed by all of what Argrave promised, while others yet remained hardened to the notion—most of all Artur.

“We should break the founding principle of Order neutrality based on promises?” Artur said pointedly.

Argrave grew silent, shifting his legs from his spot atop Vasquer. After he mulled the question, he declared simply, “Yes.”

“Haha!” Artur laughed with derision. “The Order of the Rose was the last spellcaster order to be a subsidiary to the crown. They butchered perhaps a dozen million people throughout their existence in cruel practices of necromancy and blood magic. They proved that a king cannot be trusted with direct sovereignty over a group of mages. Even if Your Majesty understands the dangers and powers of magic, your successors will not.”

Argrave listened patiently, then nodded. “That’s a fair point. Then how is this: let this breach be an exception rather than a change. The Order can remain a separate institution, but cooperation must be maintained for extenuating circumstances: namely, Gerechtigkeit.”

Artur was briefly deflated, but he countered, “By then, you’d have all the knowledge of the Order at hand.”

The king let out a long sigh. “I think that a demonstration is in order. Rowe, cast an S-rank spell at the Shadowlander’s corpse.”

Rowe looked to Patriarch Dras, who gave him a nod. People looked at the Veidimen uneasily.

“I’d advise everyone step back,” Rowe called out. “I would hate to sour a burgeoning alliance.”

People did so quickly, and Rowe stepped to the edge of his Crystal Wind’s snout. He held his hand out, and an ice-blue mana ripple split the air, sending teal sprites dancing everywhere. His spell manifested in a quickly condensing icy spiral. Argrave leaned in.

The ice quickly condensed into a long, thick spear with a sharp point. When Rowe pushed his hand forth, it spiked forth, spinning so fast that the wind it generated picked up loose pebbles and sent them everywhere. It drilled into the Shadowlander’s body furiously, pinning it against the pillar it was secured against. The whole throne room shook as it bore deep into its flesh, and bits from the ceiling fell down.

Yet even still… the Shadowlander’s body persisted. As it spun rapidly the spear of ice wore itself down, steadily decreasing in size as it grinded down into nothingness. Even Rowe, who’d cast the spell, looked utterly surprised at the resistance.

By the time its intense power died and the last bit of ice faded, the S-rank spellcaster muttered, “The damn thing didn’t…?”

“That was [Winter’s Awl], wasn’t it?” the king nodded, staring at the damage done—it had dug through the flesh to bone, and then stopped after digging through perhaps an inch. “A spell designed for boring through just about anything—mountains, walls, or an entire enemy line.” Argrave placed his hands on his knees and leaned in slightly. “Does anyone else care to test its body?”

No one stepped forward.

“If you think you’re indomitable and invaluable because you’re an S-rank mage… that’s a bad mindset,” Argrave leaned back. “The world changes. You need to change with it.”

Whether they were distraught, offended, or frightened… those last words stuck deep in the heart of the Magisters present.

“Brother,” Elenore called out. “Given all that was revealed, and the evidence that needs to be distributed… I believe we should reconvene tomorrow to finish this, whereupon we can delve into specifics.”

“My sister has a point,” Argrave nodded. “All of you have much to think and talk about, so we’ll return here tomorrow. You can stay within or without Dirracha—you’ll be welcome in either.”

#####

Argrave flopped onto a bed, staring up at the ceiling in exhaustion with Anneliese in his peripheries. She stepped up to him and said, “That’s a rather unkinglike position.”

He smiled at her teasing and took her hand. He couldn’t recall when last he’d been so nervous. To begin with, he’d been standing atop Vasquer’s head as all the important people filtering in, enduring the biting cold and fierce winds atop the Dragon Palace all for the sake of appearing in an unexpected and surprising manner. He felt like some kind of cartoon villain, descending on a snake’s head with a crown on his head. It was very difficult to remain cool and collected after that display. It was doubly difficult to keep his voice from shaking when he was both freezing and deathly worried about mucking up this once-in-a-lifetime resolution of a civil war.

“You did well,” Anneliese assured him.

Argrave focused on her. “I have to wait a day for the resolution. Even if you’re right, I am very far from feeling well.”

The concept behind what Argrave did was simple. Even if Castro was the leader of the council in the Order, he was still subject to it. In planning with Anneliese and Elenore, they devised this strategy that hoped to eliminate choices with a blunt refusal. With an option taken off the table, it would ideally allow Castro to better guide his people towards a favorable outcome.

It had another effect: precedent of leadership. Argrave had been reasonable with the south, as they asked for reasonable returns. But if he was to be an effective leader, especially when he established a parliament, he also had to be unyielding in the face of things that were negative to the realm. The parliament would be a net positive for the future, Argrave was certain: simultaneously, until Gerechtigkeit was over and done, he could not allow it to control him. There was nothing more demonstrative of the fact he would not be a puppet than defying dozens of S-rank spellcasters.

Anneliese sat beside him. “Come now. We have to meet the patriarch once again.”

Argrave let out a long sigh. He felt like he’d done that a lot today.

“I have confidence in Castro and Elenore working in tandem to subjugate the Order,” Anneliese said quietly. “And many of the Magisters have had a thorough demonstration of the breadth of your knowledge when venturing to parts unknown with only your writing as their guide.”

“…yeah,” he whispered tiredly, then leaned up. He shook his head fiercely to wake himself up. “Alright. From one negotiation to another one—the Veidimen. Let’s go, damn it all. To Rowe, to Dras. How much are they going to charge, I wonder…”

Anneliese stood. “I think that you will be pleasantly surprised. Our sensibilities regarding selfishness are different in Veiden; you probably won’t call this a negotiation, even. And hopefully… Galamon will get something out of this reunion, too.”

Argrave looked at her, then rose to his feet with renewed energy and a smile at the prospect of reuniting two friends. “I had almost forgotten… Galamon gets to meet old friends of his.”