Jackal Among Snakes

Elenore’s investigation of the fake Norman’s rapid arrival in the opera house had reached a dead end. It had ended because all the members of the travelling troupe that Xueyan had been sourced from had been slain to the last man. Traugott hadn’t been subtle with them. They were burnt to crisps in the middle of the night, and with them, any further insights into his methods or network died. They investigated peripheral people, but garnered little information from them. Anyone who might’ve had more information either vanished or died mysteriously.

This whole ordeal reeked of Traugott’s meddling—and worse yet, someone powerful behind him. Argrave suspected Erlebnis. The methodology tracked. Despite all of that, Argrave intended to go through with the meeting. If Anneliese could lock Traugott in battle, it would be the end of him. That alone was worth the risk of whatever design the conniving spellcaster concocted.

For now, however, they stood within the wing of war in the imperial palace. Argrave, Anneliese, Galamon, and Elenore were having a discussion with the governor over a large map painted into a table. They had consulted Ji Meng before this conversation, but Zen offered surprising insight.

“The Palace of Heaven is located on the top of a fairly tall mountain range,” Zen explained to Argrave, leaning deep over the painted table. “This mountain range is near the perfect center of the nation, and marks the boundaries between what can be considered north and south, or east and west. There are two pathways to reach it, one from the north, the other from the south—they’re incredibly narrow, and both pathways are too steep for horses to traverse. They wind through the mountain in an ungainly fashion, and they’re defended by small outposts all along the way with weapons imbued with vital force. This is just the pathway to reach the fortress.” Zen’s finger traced a snaking road up the mountainside.

“It’d be hard to resupply. But then with Erlebnis as the garrison, supply wouldn’t matter… they don’t eat.” Argrave shook his head. He hoped Galamon might contribute, but the snow elf stared at the painted table in silence. “We have wyverns. They can be some edge for us in the ascent.”

Governor Zen stroked his sharp beard. “Do you think the fortress hasn’t dealt with fliers before, or dealt with supply constraints? There’s a vast food store beneath the castle: edible cave fungus. Unglamorous fare, but it never rots, grows slowly year by year… they could last for decades, eating that. As for your wyverns, the same person that built the divine-warding array beneath the imperial palace built something else up here.” The governor looked at them. “The Stormfield.”

Anneliese perked up, asking, “What might that be?”

“Ingenuity,” Governor Zen said simply. “It took me nearly a decade to mimic the array beneath the imperial palace. But no matter how much I studied the Stormfield, its secrets never revealed themselves to me. A shame, too, considering how useful replication of such a feat would be.” The governor calmed his enthusiasm, then explained, “The Stormfield personifies the Great Chu style of utilizing vital force. It calls upon the sky itself to rain the elements down infinitely wherever the array’s director wills it. Lightning, fire, ice, water—every second, any approaching army must contend with constant barrages. Each has the force of an S-rank spell.”

Argrave looked to Anneliese. “You heard what she did, didn’t you? She’s well used to assaults like that.”

“Weren’t you listening?” Elenore chided. “The man never said it created elements. He said it called upon them.”

Anneliese nodded in agreement. “Meaning… my [Life Cycle] may not be able to sap power from any spells that strike my wards.” She looked at the governor. “You studied this array—are the attacks that assail assaulting armies imbued with magic—excuse me, vital force?” she corrected her terminology for the present company.

Galamon continued to stare at the map in silence as Governor Zen thought of his answer.

“No. The Stormfield calls upon the environment—it never creates any spells.” The governor shook his head. “If you need the presence of vital force to use your A-rank ascension, it’ll be useless here.”

“There are other ways to utilize my power…” Anneliese bit her nails, thinking hard.

“Impractical, janky ways,” Argrave supplied. “But you said it uses fire, ice—if this comes from the environment, there has to be limits to what it can do, how long it can last.”

“It comes in waves.” The governor walked around the table, explaining. “Lightning is constant, and remains the deadliest of the attacks. First, it isolates and extracts heat from the air and whips up ice storms from the skies and snow dotting the peak. Deadly shards of ice move fast enough to pierce hardened steel. When no more ice shards exist, the heat is manipulated until the air itself catches fire.”

“Air can’t catch fire,” Argrave interrupted.

“I’ve seen otherwise,” Zen dismissed him in turn. As Argrave considered the implications—perhaps the fungal cave beneath and some gases within had something to do with this—the governor continued. “The fire generally turns all the ice into steam. And from the steam comes deadly assaults from condensed water from everywhere all at once. Mysteriously, all of the heat drains away, and the ice recrystallizes. From there, this cycle persists. Meanwhile, those within the Palace of Heaven exist in a temperate, pleasant climate, caked in wards of the highest caliber and with stone unbroken since their placement. There are countless other measures to prevent approach—least of all, a constant pressure the walls exert the closer one walks.”

Argrave couldn’t begin to imagine what that would be like—a constant cycle of hot and cold, lightning raining down all the while. But there had to be a source, a limit, a fuel. Power, especially not power of that magnitude, didn’t come without an end. It might be ridiculously efficient, but it had to end. And there had to be some trick to it, some method that might be exploited. If these processes of transformation could be interrupted…

“Has the Stormfield ever stopped?” Anneliese asked, giving voice to his thoughts. “During a siege, I mean.”

“Magic is its fuel. It’ll cease only briefly, when the director of the array runs out of magic.” Zen shook his head grimly. “But considering who mans it now, I doubt that’ll be a problem. Even if the Stormfield didn’t exist, Erlebnis and all of his divine servants remain within that fortress. It’s resisted the siege of gods with far lesser occupants. Once, an emperor protected it alone against an ancient god until reinforcements arrived.”

Argrave looked at Anneliese. “Even if we do disarm the Stormfield somehow, Erlebnis has seen you fight without a doubt. He won’t have his emissaries attack our armies. He’ll do it himself, with his own power, so you can’t stand at the front and absorb it harmlessly.”

“I’m no strategist. But it sounds like you and your blood echoes will be pivotal for this, Argrave.” Elenore crossed her arms, leaning up against the painted table. “No one else can attack so safely into the heart of enemy defenses from afar.”

Galamon finally moved, drawing two blue daggers from their sheathes and placing them atop the table. Argrave recognized them quickly—the Giantkillers. They’d taken those two daggers from a location that might be deemed somewhat similar to the Palace of Heaven. Atop a mountain fortress, these daggers had actually been the spearheads of giant golems.

And they could catch lightning, storing it for one devastating attack.

Argrave walked up to the daggers and looked at them. “I guess these would make the best of a bad situation…”

“Is the fortress vulnerable to tunneling?” Galamon questioned.

“The Stormfield collapses any tunnels that draw close enough. It keeps the whole mountain stable.” Zen waited expectantly for further questions.

“Wyverns are useless here.” Galamon leaned in. “Two armies, on foot, will take both passes. Veid and I shall lead one. Law and Argrave shall lead another. A straightforward assault.”

Argrave didn’t exactly drop his jaw in surprise. They had received some information about the Palace of Heaven, and knew there were two paths. Dividing forces might seem imprudent… but then, that was what they wanted it to be. Sataistador might be enticed to betray if their forces were divided, one coming from the north and the other from the south.

“Only on foot? And an assault, no less—not a siege?” Argrave had to ask, unsure of the reasoning behind his old friend’s plan.

“Place was designed for attrition. We fight that way, we play their game,” he declared, voice chillingly low.

“Assaulting seems like we’re playing their game, too,” Governor Zen argued. “No matter how skilled our spellcasters are—”

“Spellcasters believe they’re the only ones suited to use spirits. In most cases, I wouldn’t argue the point.” He looked at Argrave. “But the dwarves have their ways. I’ve experienced that firsthand.”

Argrave’s eyes widened. “You want to empower warriors with spirits?”

“Mmm.” Galamon nodded, then planted his finger atop the Palace of Heaven on the map. “Small squad. Veidimen, maybe Orion, too. I’ve never considered it because it’s wasteful. But here… could be useful. We’d be strong enough to break steel with our fingers alone.”

“Could be the edge we need,” Elenore nodded, impressed. “How does this work, exactly?”

“Don’t know how, but I know what it does. When I returned to Veiden to help Dras, there was an ice wraith. Tough creatures. Rowe was occupied with another matter, and two other S-rank spellcasters couldn’t hunt it.” Galamon closed his eyes, recalling things. “Went underground, trying to set traps in its lair. Met a dwarf. Anestis. Showed me a strange construction—we have some.”

“The dwarven spirit collectors,” Argrave filled in for him.

“Right,” Galamon nodded. “Dwarves aren’t magically talented, by and large, but they learned how to implant spirits into the flesh. Bestows incredible strength—surpassing Orion’s, even. I broke down a giant wall with nothing but my own body.”

“It also generally kills those who consume as many spirits as you did.” Argrave looked at him. “Did you forget that detail? Did you forget that you of all people were rendered bedridden after using it? You can take arrows to the chest and be fine by nightfall, but doing that knocked you out cold for days. You nearly died.”

Galamon straightened, standing to his imposing height. “Veid is with us. Her presence blesses us all with indefatigability and total unity in battle.”

“Does that mean they won’t die?” Argrave asked.

Galamon shook his head. “It’s doubtful. But the Veidimen are warriors, and this is war.”

“Fair enough,” Argrave conceded with a shake of his head. “But that doesn’t change the fact that Erlebnis is still there.”

“And powerful gods have thrown themselves against the walls of the palace before.” Zen scrutinized the table closely. “No matter how powerful they were… fist and metal, bows and arrows, wind and sand, and still it stands.”

Galamon stared at the painting of the Palace of Heaven, not even deigning to look up as he declared, “They were not Veidimen.”

#####

Baiting Sataistador wasn’t something that they could rush, but Argrave felt they had a very solid start to it. Whatever requests or alterations Zen brought, they’d be able to view that through the lens of the god of war influencing the words of the governor. Still, they had a solid foundation; a juicy bait, as it were. They were dividing their armies in two. The words ‘divide and conquer’ were famous for a reason. Argrave hoped Sataistador agreed.

But now, it was time for them to confront the second matter on today’s agenda. The meeting with Traugott. The location he’d requested was incredibly strange. It was a crematorium. But the crematoriums of the Great Chu were different than the one Argrave remembered, from back home.