Jackal Among Snakes

After leaving their army at the Low Way, their group departed in small number for the Alchemist’s home. Along the path, Argrave and Anneliese were eager students to the Tower Master of the Gray Owl. Though Anneliese had a teacher in the form of her grandmother, Argrave never truly had someone to tutor him dedicatedly. Castro’s guidance was like sanding and polishing to this craft of his that he’d built so quickly. There were many rough spots that sorely needed such treatment, and they were treated in the breaks between travel.

The rides aback the wyverns, heading from city to city, were enlightening as to what Durran had actually managed to achieve. The cities that they came upon were badly damaged. Despite this, the people were accommodating for the random arrival of wyvern riders, treating them like lords and offering them tribute. Still, the men that Durran had picked out were gracious and helpful instead of domineering, listening to troubles as though they were kings and offering solutions. It seemed that Durran knew how to pick his men.

But things were still harsh out here in the Burnt Desert. The death of the Vessels had made many small oases in various places, but it was evident that things would dry up unless action was taken. As practice, Argrave and Anneliese cast spells of water to give more time to the populace. It was a well-appreciated gesture. A small few recognized Argrave and Anneliese from their last visit here, but none knew they were king and queen. It was a welcome thing to be appreciated for the little things.

Argrave made small notes of what Elenore would need to supply this place with. With great tracts of land dedicated to farmland in Blackgard supported by elven fruits that made the ground quite fertile and pure, they wouldn’t lack for things to offer. At the same time, he also noted what might be exported from the Burnt Desert. This, too, was a necessary evil. People by and large needed incentives to do anything selfless—hence why charitable endeavors offered tax breaks, in his cynical estimation. Argrave had to be sure this place did not become a drain on them without offering anything in return. It was simply pragmatic.

But in truth, Argrave didn’t have much time to dedicate to finer evaluations. He was busy learning. Castro drilled them on the importance of fundamentals—he imparted that casting in combat was not an intellectual activity, but an instinctual one. If the mind and body had a perfect instinct for what was cast, each and every spell could be cast incredibly quickly and without significant wastage.

After their first few days of drilling, Castro implemented practical tests. It wasn’t on quite the same scale as the fight that he and Castro had undergone, but certainly it was dangerous. They were instructed to implement what he’d taught them by blocking or attacking rapidly after certain signals. If they could not do it fast enough, they were hit by illusion magic.

But alongside this, Castro brought out the first of what he’d called the ‘finer optimizations.’ Namely, segmenting.

“Segmenting spells is an immensely useful thing,” Castro said. “It not only teaches you the fundamentals of the spells you work with, allowing you to better create your own, but it can cut down the spells you do know to gain only what you need from them.” He held his hand out and conjured a ward in it. It covered only his hand. “Why block a sword with a huge ward, covering your entire body, when this will suffice? This spell—a segmented B-rank ward—uses so little magic, yet it fills the same purpose.

“That spell you used on me,” Castro pointed at Argrave. [Nine-Tailed Bloodbriars], I think you called it. You are going to create a version that does not use all nine tails. Instead, you’re going to make a [One-Tailed Bloodbriar]. And you, Your Highness… why not try recreating this ward I made, given the specialty [Life Cycle] has?”

As Argrave listened, his eyes narrowed. [Segmentation] was a trait that existed in Heroes of Berendar… and yet it was simply a percentage reduction to spell cost. Here and now, however, it had become different. Upon recognizing this, Argrave was yet more eager to add it to his arsenal.

Argrave had never truly experimented with magic because it felt like he was toying with a gun. Shooting a gun was easy enough, but modifying a gun, using particular ammunition, and all the stuff that entailed firearm mania? He was content letting other people build his guns, and then pulling the trigger once he had it. But now, with guidance, he was a little more confident in delving deeper.

And it turned out it was prudent that Argrave waited for guidance.

Things weren’t as simple as moving a line here, snipping here, and voila! A new spell. No—experimentation was a painful, head-scratching process. Wrong combinations were infinite, yet successful ones were few and far between. All [Segmentation] entailed was isolating a segment of a spell, jury-rigging it to make it function independently, and then casting it like that.

But even as only that, it was mind-bogglingly difficult.

One had to fully understand what each segment of the matrix did, how the magic flowed into the matrix, and what caused completion. Argrave managed to isolate what split the blood magic into nine separate tails, and even each tail… but to retain the force? To retain the fact that it was blood magic? To isolate specific segments without the entire thing falling apart was much to ask. C-rank and above spells worked on the fourth dimension, adding complexity beyond compare.

It was the difference between a builder and an architect. The builder can build a bridge based on a template. But to design his own in unfamiliar terrain, over a different length gap… that was beyond him. Why was this support placed here? How do you accommodate weight at this section? Why are these wire things even here? Where do you need metal, or stone, or wood? Perhaps the builder could gain a feel for what worked, but even still that was dubious.

Argrave had certainly never built bridges, but he felt the comparison apt. He had been a common laborer before this, but now he delved into the design of magic. Indeed, he delved into it so completely that he lost track of nearly everything around him—this journey, the Ingo problem…

And unlike almost all other instances, he learned how to segment his spell before Anneliese did.

A single thin whip of blood magic whipped out across the black sand dunes, impacting with a rock. It exploded outwards, sending fragments everywhere.

“There you go! Excellent,” Castro praised, watching.

Argrave looked down at his hand, smiling. He recreated the matrix he’d just used, and stared at it. He had made this. It was derivative, but he had made this. [One-Tailed Bloodbriar]. It used less blood, less magic, but it retained the speed and viciousness of the spell.

Argrave looked at Castro. “You really can teach.”

Castro laughed. “Magic is an art, Argrave. And like any art, it can be learned, but not taught. You did this. I simply knew what method suited you best.”

Argrave looked at Anneliese. “That was amazing,” she complimented sincerely. She seemed so proud of him.

And he was proud of himself, he realized. “I was going to ask you for help about attaining [Blood Infusion].” Argrave looked at Castro. “But I think… I think I don’t need that, anymore.”

Castro nodded. “Segmentation is my own invention, but fundamentally, it’s just a framework to study the composition of magic that I found highly effective. I’m not surprised you found it so useful. I thought it would gel well with your personality after our spar. Most people find it difficult to segment spells, you know, but for you and me... it just works.”

Argrave had found the difficulty to be true at first, but it clicked after a while. So many ideas formed in Argrave’s head—spells he could tweak, things he could make… or how he might imbue blood magic into all magic, achieving the [Blood Infusion] he so desperately sought. It certainly wouldn’t come to him as quickly as he hoped, but it was as though the world of magic was not just a tool any longer, but a true entity to be explored. It had gone from a rigid framework to true freedom, and he loved it.

“I advise you keep segmenting spells,” Castro continued. “Blood magic, elemental magic, illusion magic, druidic magic… and in time, you will free yourself of limits one after another. And perhaps far down the road, you will learn how to make your own spell, utterly free of derivation. That will be the hardest thing for you, Argrave, I promise you that. Segmentation was a curse and a boon both on my path, and I think it will be the same for you.”

Argrave felt a little guilty Anneliese was not so directly benefited from this teaching, but she saw him mulling this over and shook her head. “Be proud you have something you excel at, Argrave. Do not fret that others cannot.”

He nodded and laughed. “Yeah… yeah, guess you’re right.”

“But it is late, and I believe we near the point where you sought to reach,” Castro reminded Argrave, looking up at the moon above.

Argrave nodded grimly, torn from his joyful exuberance back to the true task ahead. “Yeah. It’s been a long time coming…”

#####

Castro looked out across the dunes of quicksand, his eyes narrowed both to shield from the harsh sun above and to clear his suspicion. He asked Argrave firmly, “You’re certain this is the place?”

“I jumped in here before. He doesn’t exactly move,” Argrave stepped forward, testing the quicksand with his foot.

“Durran jumped in, too,” Trock, their wyvern rider, told them. “He made it out fine.”

“Alright,” Castro nodded, walking to Ingo and checking on him. “Then… let’s go.”

“Alright. Anne, Galamon, Orion—you prepared? Need to go over the instructions?” he asked them.

After Argrave received confirmation… there was only one thing left to do.

Their party descended into the quicksand pit just as they had long ago. It had been some time since Argrave last set foot in the strange, eerie obsidian-like path leading to the Alchemist’s abode. The gravity-defying nature of it all sparked nervousness in Orion and cautious wonder in Castro, but they made it through without a hitch.

Finally, they came to the bizarre jungle trapped within a cave that housed the home of the Alchemist. It was as colorful and vibrant as ever, and within it there was an uncomfortably familiar castle of sleek, sterile obsidian. Its foreign, alien build brought back some foul memories that Argrave didn’t realize he was repressing. He remembered pushing open its great door, and beholding the Alchemist.

Yet as he watched, reliving the events of well over half a year ago, those gargantuan obsidian doors slammed open. The Alchemist walked out with a quick stride, standing at an intimidating twenty feet tall. His black hair was like silk that formed robes around his vaguely humanoid shape. His ivory face was flat and squat, lacking a nose or nostrils at all, while his eyes were gray. Presently, his entire body was bubbling, revealing eyes that focused on Argrave alone.

Orion and Galamon stood before Argrave, and though they were obviously ready to guard him they heeded his instructions not to provoke the Alchemist. His towering figure came before them, yet his manifold eyes glowing green saw only Argrave. Castro held his arm before Ingo to protect him and watched with undisguised wariness.

Argrave stayed firm, though, watching and waiting. Silence stretched out, and the watching eyes slowly stopped bubbling and calmed.

“If you seek a deal, you must follow me, alone,” the Alchemist said at once, his countless eyes all splitting as mouths. His voice was like shattering crystals.

“Will I be unharmed?” Argrave asked—short and to the point, to preserve his life. And the other important bits.

The Alchemist said nothing, but the remainder of his eyes faded back into his silken hair robe. He looked down at Argrave with those two cold gray eyes of his, and then said, “If you bring your mirror, and do not stray.”

Argrave reached into his duster’s pocket and pulled it out, holding up the bronze hand mirror. Upon seeing it, the Alchemist turned and walked back toward his home.

After leaving the Brumesingers in Anneliese’s care, Argrave followed, advancing once more alone to the place he’d lost and gained a heart. And in this heart of his weighed a heavy question; would someone die once more at the Alchemist’s unfeeling hands?