Jackal Among Snakes

When it was done, Ansgar left, leaving Argrave alone with Anneliese once again. She laid against the bed, still-half-asleep. She had slept well, despite everything.

“Wish I could make a third pledge,” Argrave said once he was gone. “I’ll make my pledge to the people, make my pledge to the Grand Council… and then my pledge to you,” he leaned down until his nose brushed against hers.

“No,” she said in a playful, yet tired haze. She bopped him on the nose with her finger. “Bad. Terrible idea. I will be up there with you, per your insistence. That is bad enough.”

Argrave’s face hardened. “Christ, Anneliese, you’re more than half of the reason I’m here today. If you’re not—”

“I know. Please, do not take that seriously,” she quieted him calmly. “I need no honors, prestige. But if you insist on giving them to me…”

Argrave leaned down and kissed her, then whispered, “I do. I can’t be the only one that suffers in this. Going to drag the rest of you into the spotlight with me.”

She laughed, then pushed him. “Go on. The preparations for this will take some time.”

#####

The day was quite fair. Some light snowfall came and went during the night, but all it achieved was slightly blanketing the city in white—an ill attempt by whatever gods had called the snow, for the city was already mostly made of marble and needed no blanket of white. Still, by the time Argrave departed for the Assembly Chamber of Governance and Commerce, the snow was already being cleared.

Once there, Argrave was greeted by Leopold and the selection of people that had been designated for the coronation ceremony. They had all prepared an elaborate set of clothes for him. Fortunately, it was not done in the style of Relize—the kings of Vasquer had never historically donned that style, and they felt it might damage his reputation for others if he did.

Four patricians would place the royal mantle over Argrave’s shoulder. After, he would kneel, and Leopold would place the crown over his head. That was the short and simple of what was to occur, yet even now the patricians argued amongst themselves about specificity and ceremony—irrelevant posturing, all of it.

Still… their self-serving words grounded Argrave in reality. He was not to be named king because he was great—he was to be named king because of these men before him. And why these men? These patricians crowned him because they had men supporting them. These men served these patricians to further their interest. And like this, the line went ever downward. A hierarchy of self-interest. He could see it all so clearly, splayed out in his mind like some sort of diagram.

Strangely enough, recognizing this set a sense of peace over Argrave, and the budding nervousness dissipated to a large degree.

“So, what is our king-to-be thinking of?” Durran asked him as he sat there, staring out the window at the slowly gathering crowd.

“Wish Elenore could be here,” Argrave told him. “I don’t think she would be, even if things weren’t as they are presently. She doesn’t seem the type to like ceremonies. Besides, she’d probably insist on staying behind because being her presence might be bad publicity for me,” he scoffed.

“Hmm,” Durran nodded. “I do hope this idea of yours works. It’s a far cry from sending a tower in the ocean, I’ll tell you that much. That certainly stuck with me.”

Argrave put his hand on Durran’s shoulder. “Keep your voice down,” he said in irritation. “She could hear everything, capisce? What if what you said got to her ears?”

“Alright, alright,” he pushed Argrave’s arm off of him. “Gods, you’re a tyrant already.”

Galamon stepped up to them as they spoke. “We could hold this coronation at higher grounds. Here… there’s tall buildings everywhere. Archers could take position there. I’ve got Leopold’s guards stationed, watching, and what few magic users we have on hand to watch for threats of that nature… yet even still. A higher vantage point eliminates threats.”

Argrave looked at the elven vampire, questioning if that was mere paranoia or a good point. Finally, he shook his head. “The point of holding it here is to show my commitment to the people… and to Relize. I trust your capabilities, Galamon. You’re why I’m standing here, still fully intact.”

Galamon nodded and stepped up to Argrave. He said nothing more about the matter. Argrave turned his head back to the window, continuing his crowd-watching.

A door opened and Anneliese stepped out. She wore a decadent gown of the smoothest-looking white silk that Argrave had ever seen. Amber inlays trailed along much of it, like the trails of shooting stars. Her long white hair was bound back in a half-crown braid. Parts of her hair had been woven around a simple silver tiara that did not demand much attention, yet nonetheless accentuated the beautiful woman before him.

“Well…” Argrave stepped away from the window. “It seems I have my reward for coming this far.”

Anneliese smiled bashfully, her amber eyes sparkling far brighter than the gemstones on her dress. “The time approaches,” she told him. “I imagine the servants will tend to you as they tended to me. Someone must make those dark circles disappear, no? Come on.”

#####

A grand crowd had formed on the square just before the Assembly Chamber of Governance and Commerce. It was only a natural thing—all had come to see the man who would be king. Even more came for the promise of festivities and food. Common laborers and middling merchants filled the square, talking amongst themselves. The wealthier sat behind windows, having rented rooms from nearby inns or perhaps more simply owned the buildings outright.

The gathering place wasn’t made to accommodate so many people… but it did. Thousands gathered in the square, and thousands more spilled out onto the alleyways beyond. All wanted to see the Kinslaying Serpent, the Bastard of Vasquer. Perhaps he had horns and a devil’s wings, some suggested. Perhaps he was a saint, walking about with a golden aura. Others claimed he was a but a man, and they’d seen him in the city.

Eventually, the great bell atop the Assembly Chamber rung out. It was loud enough to deafen, and several people winced uncomfortably after hearing it. Yet its purpose was achieved—the great crowd grew silent. The time had come for them all to see the Kinslaying Serpent properly.

A procession emerged from the Grand Council’s meeting area. Heading it were guards, many of them flanked by patricians. They were dressed rather modestly—or at least, at modestly as the garb of Relize could be. The people half-expected to see someone being carried out on a platform.

Instead… they saw a towering man step forward in the center of that formation of guards. He was over seven feet tall and did not need to be carried atop a platform to stand out—he did so naturally, like the gods themselves had deemed he was above lesser men. His well-trimmed black hair glistened like obsidian might. His fanciful garb, entirely black and gold, instilled a sense of regality in his already confident walk.

Slowly, the procession reached the edge where the crowd awaited. The guards and the patricians stepped aside, all coming to kneel before him. More and more people emerged from the Assembly Chamber, prostrating before the man in their display of fealty. Yet the man all knew as the Kinslaying Serpent stepped past them, stopping just in front of the crowd.

“People of Vasquer!” he shouted. His voice was powerful, needing no magic to carry it. “The kings of Vasquer have, since time immemorial, made a pledge. This pledge is to the people—to protect them, to govern them justly, and to strive for the realm’s prosperity. My father has broken that pledge!

“And so, in his place, I, Argrave, must make things right under the eyes of the gods,” Argrave continued. “I pledge to you, proud citizens of the realm. I will protect you. I will govern you justly. And I will strive for the realm’s prosperity!”

Trumpets blared before the crowd could decide whether or not they should cheer for his proclamation. Argrave turned, stepping back towards the kneeling procession. A great many more swelled its numbers—most eye-catching was a tall elven woman garbed in a beautiful white gown.

“And you, the Grand Council of Relize… I pledge to you that your great city shall remain forever yours. I pledge that this loyalty to the ideals of Vasquer shall not be forgotten. And I extend to you the same pledge—to protect, to govern you justly, and to strive for the realm’s prosperity.”

Leopold rose to his feet. “Then we, the representatives of the people, declare you King of Vasquer, master of its rivers and lands, divinely anointed ruler of its plains, hills, and mountains. Borrowing the authority of the gods, I place this crown upon your head—the very crown the first king of Vasquer donned.”

At once, in practiced ceremony, four patricians rose, the royal mantle stretched out between them. Argrave knelt, and the royal mantle was clasped upon his shoulders. Leopold stepped forward, the crown held gingerly in hand. Argrave dipped his head, his eyes closed. The crowd witnessed the cold gold crown touch his ears, settling upon his head.

“Rise, King Argrave of Vasquer!” Leopold shouted, then knelt as well.

Argrave rose to his feet a king, the crown and royal mantle weighing heavy upon his person. The elven woman, still kneeling, offered him a jeweled scepter denoting his authority. He seized it, turned, and rose it up high into the air.

At once, a noise far louder than that of the Assembly Chamber’s bell split the air as the thousands gathered voiced their exuberant support. Yet the man standing there was not shaken—Argrave waited, basking in their voices, his scepter raised high. When he finally turned, the cheers of the crowd had not yet dimmed.

The king walked away as confidently as he had entered, the cheers still following him. Yet once he left, the festivities began. The trumpets blared once again, and entertainment of all kind came out of the woodwork to make this day utterly unforgettable. Just then, servants exited the Assembly Chamber, each and all carrying tables of food or barrels of drink.

It was clear, then, that the king would not allow them to forget this day. Under the heel of Vasquer, saying as much often took a sinister tone… yet perhaps as much would not be the case with this new king.

Perhaps that pledge was more than empty words of ceremony.