Jackal Among Snakes

The red moon had long ago taken its place at the center of the sky, but still Argrave paced restlessly. They were in their own tent, pitched by the Veidimen warriors for their easy rest, but sleep was the last thing on Argrave’s mind as he consulted with Anneliese and Galamon.

Argrave looked up at Galamon. “If your kid wanted to kill himself, would you let him?”

Galamon stared back at Argrave for one, two, three seconds, white eyes colder than the grave. “No,” he said contemptuously.

Argrave pointed both index fingers. “Even if he was trying to save the world?”

“No,” Galamon repeated. “A world without my son isn’t worth saving.”

Argrave smiled bitterly and curled his pointed fingers into fists. He bluntly felt it was a stupid answer that he would never make. But he had no children. He couldn’t know what it was that possessed Galamon to say such a decisive thing. Still… the whole world? Good lord, Galamon, he thought.

Argrave brought it back to himself. Would he kill himself to save the world? Hell no, he realized. He only did any of this because he thought it would result in him living, not dying. The closest he’d ever come to that was the Bloodwoods, where he thought Elenore could pick things up if he failed. But failing to live was much different than choosing to die. Even in his most desperate moments, he’d never once gone into them truly expecting death.

The next closest person to him, Anneliese… to have her die? To never again hear her thoughts, see her face, touch her skin…? To speak to a coffin or a gravestone, and never receive an answer? As Argrave ran through the simulation, his breathing got a little heavier. His own death would almost be more acceptable because he wouldn’t have to live with it.

He understood Galamon completely in that moment, and also understood this: Castro would never accept Ingo’s death.

Argrave felt a warm touch, and Anneliese burrowed her way into his arms. Her Starsparrow landed on his shoulder, its small body struggling meekly to offer comfort. It was a reminder he fretted over a choice not yet final. As he wrapped his arms around her, his Brumesingers popped out of his coat and used his body like a tree to better show their affection toward her. As ever, their druidic bonds were a mirror of their own states.

“This desert’s cursed. Garm. Durran. Now this,” Argrave whispered quietly. “Maybe this was one of those cycles Castro was talking about, where you make a bad decision and get swept away.”

“But what is certain?” Anneliese countered, her voice muffled. “What did Ingo say exactly? All of his sight is couched in symbolism. He makes guesses about the proceedings, but if anyone could predict things with knowledge alone every scholar would be a king. You came with knowledge—foreknowledge, even—and yet things ended beyond your expectations in every case.”

Argrave took a calming breath, and then looked down at Anneliese. “Ingo said Mozzahr was looking at me, I’m certain. ‘An empty shadow is watching you,’ he said; who else could it be? And if that doesn’t bode poorly, what does?”

Anneliese removed her arms around his back and stepped away. She looked off to the side and then said, “…I have no answers, Argrave. And without actually speaking to the Alchemist, we must content ourselves with this: Ingo seeks to bestow his true sight upon you, which he believes can only occur with his death. Castro will not allow this—not in my view. So, what now?”

Argrave nodded. “I don’t know. It’s not now, though. It’s later. In the meantime… we keep this quiet. Right?”

Anneliese hesitated for a few moments, then nodded in agreement. “Keep it quiet.”

“And yet… I can’t deny it would solve an issue we’ve been having,” Argrave moved to their bedroll.

#####

Though Argrave’s mind was in turmoil, Castro was ignorant of this fact… or perhaps he took Argrave’s apprehension to be from a fear of the proposed sparring. Regardless, his relentless instruction was far removed from any other teaching that Argrave had endured. In the proceeding days, the royal couple stayed with the tower master, learning from him.

“Magic that flows outside the bounds of the spell matrix as it travels dissipates,” Castro said, holding a spiraling spell in his hands. To demonstrate, he willed magic beyond the matrix, and Argrave saw it fade away once it extended beyond the set lines. It was almost like a wilting bud. “To this end, you must perfect exact flow of magic to minimize losses. I want you to try it. Worry not about the speed at which the spell completes, but the wastage.”

Anneliese held her own hand up at once, following Castro’s instructions. Argrave watched the flow of her magic as she worked, then decided to try on his lonesome once she completed hers. He was quite mindful of exactly perfecting thing, but…

“Look at this. Look at this,” Castro winced. “By the gods… you’re using five, sometimes six percent more than what you need to! It’s like you’re pouring water into a bottle from ten feet above—the liquid’s spilling off to the side, getting caught by the wind...” the tower master sighed. “I’ve never seen an A-rank spellcaster worse at this than you.”

Argrave narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, but…” he dispelled the spell, and then created another. He sent his magic forth, relying on muscle memory. In less than half a second, it was completed. “I have the speed down.”

“Around eleven percent, wasted,” was Castro’s only comment.

Argrave laughed, not taking it personally. “Why doesn’t speed matter to you?”

Castro looked at Argrave, then flattened his hand out downward. Argrave saw a flash of light for a brief instant before his leg lit up with pain and red hotness pooled at his foot, which quickly lost sensation. He clenched his teeth together to suppress a groan and looked down, expecting to see blood… but his leg was fine.

“Illusion magic.” Argrave put his hand to his chest and exhaled in relief.

“Zero percent wastage, casting time of milliseconds. And that spell was C-rank, Argrave. You have resistance to it as a higher-rank spellcaster, but the speed of the spell fooled even your enhanced senses,” Castro explained calmly. “With lightning magic, blood magic… wastage is especially prevalent. Speed is important, no denying that. But these things are not mutually exclusive.” He pointed at Argrave. “I want you to create one thousand F-rank spells with zero wastage. Don’t cast them, but complete them and then withdraw your magic. Move up the ranks, one by one. I will watch and make sure you have no wastage.”

“Starting with F-rank?” Argrave repeated.

“Do you think it’ll be easy? If it is, it shouldn’t take long, right?” Castro pointed out.

Argrave had no rebuttal, and so he and Anneliese started on this task. And every time they failed… there was an immediate and painful response. It wasn’t as traumatic as the first spell, but it stung. Though Argrave received the brunt of the illusion magic, Anneliese fell victim plenty of times, as well.

Hours and hours and hours passed by, it seemed, in this carriage ride without an end.

“Because I have zero spell wastage, I can punish you two for failure much longer than I could have ordinarily,” Castro said time and time again. He was polite as ever, but Argrave was almost certain he detected some underlying pride.

They heard the word ‘wastage’ so much that Argrave intensely deliberated on whether or not this entire endeavor was wastage. In the end, he only barely made it to C-rank by the time their carriage came to a stop in preparation for tonight’s camp. Anneliese was much further along, probably nearing the middle of her B-rank marathon.

“Looks like we’re setting up for the night,” Argrave said, almost gleefully.

“Keep going,” Castro instructed. “It’s even better to do this on low sleep. If you can perform this drowsily, you can perform it at your best. This isn’t a cerebral task, it’s an instinctual one. It’s turning knowledge into part of your being.”

Argrave exchanged glances with Anneliese.

“You can stop now, but I won’t teach you further.” The tower master continued, “Are you discontent? Then do it faster, and you will be in bed faster.” Castro shrugged. “But remember that failure does not increase your count. If you do things too quickly, you may never complete this task.”

Argrave seriously considered giving up on this whole tutoring thing… but when Anneliese continued, he resignedly followed her.

“Tomorrow, you’ll be doing the same thing, but alternating between spells,” Castro noted, leaning back into his carriage seat. “Once the basics are done, we can get to the harder stuff…”

Argrave failed once more in his dismay, then felt that despair double as Castro’s punishment came.

#####

On the first day, they finished their tasks late enough Anneliese managed to get only five or so hours of sleep… and Argrave, three hours. Consequently, when Castro forced them to alternate spells the same way the next day, their failure rate was considerably higher.

Enduring this, they made it to the Low Way of the Rose. Argrave beheld the gaping hole in the side of the mountain, contained by a half-ring wall that had been dilapidated to the point of ineffectualness. The last time that Argrave had come here, he had come as an impersonator, hoping to infiltrate the Stonepetal Sentinels and convince them to take him deep within the cavernous abandoned city below. They had been far superior to him at the time, in terms of strength…

Now, things were a little different.

“You don’t like the sun too much, being red-headed and all, right, Melanie?” Argrave asked her somewhat groggily as they approached. Argrave could see Master Sentinel Ossian waiting for them, his brothers and sisters lined up side by side. “Well… I think you’ll like this place.”

“If you think that, you don’t think much at all,” Melanie noted, then in panic added, “No disrespect, Your Majesty.”

Argrave chuckled, then looked back and paused. “Well, take it easy. Right now, at least, it’s time for my army to reclaim the Low Way.”

Behind, thousands of his soldiers worked to set up their tents with remarkable efficiency. Spellcasters made wells for common use. It was like a great wave of efficiency, starting in one corner and spreading throughout the rest as they finished one by one. Strong, hard men, forged of steel and cooled by the snow elves of Veiden prepared for an advance into the uncertain underground. Here, two crusades would begin; the crusade against the Low Way, and the crusade against the Ebon Cult.

“Left a box of treasures here,” Argrave looked back where more Stonepetal Sentinels gathered by the minutes, sashes of stone roses hanging from their plate armor. “Time to reclaim it. And maybe… just maybe, repay a little debt.”

Melanie looked at him. “Who’s in debt? You or them?”

Argrave only smiled. He advanced at the front, and though Melanie fell back in apprehension Galamon and Orion joined him on each side. Argrave found that words could scarce describe the feeling of having two giants by his side and an army at his back in the face of people that had once mistreated him. He wasn’t free of sin, of course, but he hoped that wound would’ve faded with time.

When he came to stand before the ring fortress around the Low Way of the Rose, he could tell that the Stonepetal Sentinels recognized him, almost one and all. He scanned them slowly, none stepping forward or saying a word.

“Been a while since we last talked,” Argrave said, a veritable tumbleweed passing by as response. Some of the indignance of the prior days training infected him, and he decided to begin sternly, “Now, I believe you have some things to answer for. Am I wrong?”