Jackal Among Snakes

“People of Blackgard,” Argrave called out, his voice amplified by wind magic.

He stood on a raised platform in a gathering square that had been constructed in the center of the city, and the place was more than large enough host the gigantic population of the city that grew around them. A servant of Elenore’s had been using this to promulgate the results of the parliament, but now it served to project his voice. And the people—his people, he reflected—gathered to hear him speak.

“All of you came to this city at the urging of the crown. You have helped bring this place from an empty vale to a home that I look upon with pride,” Argrave continued, putting his fist against his heart. “I thank you for that. But behind the shelter of these mountains and the fortresses guarding the passes, I have not forgotten what spurred the necessity of this city. Evil powers beyond comprehension stir, and I vowed to protect the people from all dangers, be they divine or mortal.

“The King of the Scorched Sands came to the walls of House Parbon, speaking in a foreign tongue that knew only fire and destruction,” Argrave walked around the stage, eyes wandering from various people. “Yet I spoke their language, and with that fire, forged an alliance between Vasquer and the Burnt Desert that now rises like a phoenix! And why? Because I would not have you, the people whom I pledged to protect, shed their blood for me without seeking every alternative!”

Some people cheered at this, and though Argrave was working himself up just fine, he got further swept along with their zeal. A speech he’d practiced more times than he cared to admit became fueled by his more… performative side.

“It has become clear to me that the malignant rot causing the undead to raze your homes is not something that can be reasoned with,” Argrave continued, raising his finger up. “It brought forth the umbral creature in Dirracha, seeking to uproot our Kingdom of Vasquer. It brought forth the abomination that would enslave the elves of the Bloodwoods, and turn them into our enemy. And it continues to scheme,” He clenched his hand into a tight fist. “All of you, from Birall to Quadreign, came here to Blackgard, seeking shelter from the long night we all know is coming.”

Argrave let silence speak for him in the moments after that declaration.

“I will guard you now as I will always guard you,” Argrave continued after his dramatic pause. “I will be the dam against the flood, the shield against the sword, and the castle against the army.” He threw out his arm. “But this is not a problem that Vasquer alone faces. In the times that come, even the heavens shall be brought to endure. As they do in the Bloodwoods, gods will walk the earth. They must confront the darkness the same as us.

“You know the gods,” Argrave continued, his gaze sweeping the courtyard. “Some are cruel. Some are just. Some trifle themselves not with the affairs of mortal. But I was not content to allow them to descend, and declare their governance one-sidedly,” he pointed to the sky. “I will not compromise on the pledge that I made. And to that end, I have forged an alliance with deities.”

He saw the creeping uneasiness settle into the crowd like an invisible fog.

“The Kingdom of Vasquer is strong. That strength—our strength—gave us the luxury of choice. And so, people of Vasquer… I chose to seek the help of the gods that would ask for nothing more than a chance. They come to us in peace, seeking harmony and cooperation. They will protect us from the enemy that threatens the peace of our kingdom, and in so doing, be protected themselves.

“You will come to know our allies in time,” Argrave continued, walking to the edge of the stage. “But I intend to introduce one, now.” He raised his hand, and his eyes briefly glowed yellow before projecting a symbol—a scale, the insignia of Law. Then, a great golden light exploded outward, permeating the whole of this newly built city and rushing across the black mountains surrounding it as though a dam had burst.

As people watched in awe and a certain amount of trepidation, Argrave reflected. Law had given Argrave two blessings.

The first allowed Argrave to establish a Domain of Law. Argrave would speak something that he wished to be true: for example, if he said, “By Law, all within this domain moves slower through time than that without,” then it would be so. The strength of the effect was limited by Argrave’s will—and as much as he’d like to be some sort of time god, he doubted he had a strong enough will to create a hyperbolic time chamber.

Though it had near endless utility, the Domain of Law was not especially large. And he couldn’t single-handedly decide how a battle was fought—if he said, ‘you can’t cast magic in this domain,’ while it likely didn’t have the strength to do that to the letter, it would have strength enough to make all magic cast within far weaker. Argrave could essentially add a condition to an area. Despite its limitations the Domain of Law still had boundless potential, and this power in particular was precisely what made the deity known only as Law so terrifying. Heroes of Berendar had limited it to six variants… but now, Argrave had no such restraints, and eagerly looked to use it.

But Argrave had used the second blessing, and established a Domain of Order. It provided absolute order to an area if the populace believed him to be its rightful governor. If the people welcomed his rule, the Domain of Order would apply the laws of the land impartially, defending people from crime. The Domain of Order would attempt to stop things like theft, murder, and other such crimes. It could also enforce any other laws that Argrave drafted into existence. Just as it strengthened with belief in him and his governing, so too did it weaken with disillusionment—he could not enslave this city against its will.

The deity of Law truly embodied what it was named after. Law was a neutral thing. If a law was arbitrary and unjust, then it could be the instrument behind extreme cruelty. If a law was just and righteous, it could be the engine that drove a nation to great prosperity. But at the end of the day, it was a tool constructed by the minds of men. Though people might provide a law tremendous power, it ultimately relied upon one’s will to enact said law, or the people beneath it to follow that law.

Argrave finally had a power that he might use to protect this city as much as he desired. And everywhere else, his companions would undoubtedly be using their powers…

#####

Durran soared through the skies aback his gray wyvern, feeling the bite of the wind at his cheek. Ahead of him, Stout Heart Swan’s spectral hounds ran through the cloudy skies, and moments behind in hot pursuit Durran and his horde of wyvern riders cut through the clouds. Onychinusa’s array of shamanic magic had spotted a god. When they’d arrived to the spot, the god had gone—but with Stout Heart Swan’s blessing, he tracked the prey, heading right to it.

“Are you seeing the god yet?” Elenore’s voice manifested in his head, crystal clear. She was nowhere to be seen, but through their connection, she could speak to him anywhere.

Durran responded not with his mouth, but with his mind—a jarring experience, but he’d adapted. There had been a surprising lack of miscommunications, as the blessing was quite intuitive to use. “The hounds are still leading—” Durran cut off as he spotted something on the ground. “Scratch that. I see it.”

“Describe it. I’ll contact Argrave, ask him for information,” Elenore prompted him.

“It’s, uhh… maybe twenty feet tall,” he said. “Got red skin, a boar’s head, and great plumes of fire burning on its body… kind of scrawny. Fingernails are black. Got a strange insignia on its back, kind of like a clock.”

“It’s a god of vengeance,” Elenore’s voice came after a few moments. “Just a deity to a small village called… I can’t pronounce that, Argrave,” she spoke to the other person. “It can use fire, but its attacks shouldn’t be any more powerful than your average A-rank spell. Oh—it’s also pretty strong physically. A little stronger than Orion, apparently. Attack from the back of your wyvern, he advises.”

“Great. I love fighting A-rank spellcasters.”

“You fought the Vessels, didn’t you? Argrave said they were powerful enough to pierce wards like butter.” Elenore’s voice stopped for a few moments, then she asked kindly, “Can I give you anything before you start?”

“Worried about me?” Durran responded back. “No, I think I’ve got it. Can you really give me things?”

“Small things. These connections draw upon our will. I tested giving Argrave a dagger—it takes a lot out of me,” she confessed. “You could do the same, you know.”

“Draws upon our will?” Durran repeated. “What if we use too much?”

“We lose the will to do other things,” Elenore said. “It felt impossible to lift my arm when I overdid it. Argrave said many of our blessings rely upon our will. It can strengthen over time, or through experiences, but it’s the limiting factor to many blessings. We draw upon a power beyond mortal comprehension, and our body pays the toll. I suppose this is what divides us from our patrons.”

“…maybe I should stop talking, then,” Durran said nervously, picturing himself falling through the sky, unable to use his arms and legs.

“Good luck,” Elenore said simply. And just as he felt her presence moments before, it was gone. From his end, Durran suspended his connection.

With that, Durran stretched. He reached back and retrieved his glaive, hefting it in his hand. “Alright, boys!” he shouted—not in his mind, but with his mouth. “Those weird dwarven things—you got them ready?”

“As far as I know,” one of his men responded, yelling over the wind.

“Alright. You two holding the dwarven contraptions get the privilege of harvesting the spirits after that bastard down there dies,” Durran pointed, feeling the weight of his glaive push against his arm pleasantly. “And meanwhile… we’ll be hunting our first deity. Strap to your saddles, friends.”

#####NôvelDrama.Org content rights.

Anneliese walked nervously through an open obsidian door. There, the Alchemist waited. Not precisely—he hunched over an obsidian table, doing something with four arms.

“You wished to see me?” Anneliese asked in greeting.

A great eye opened on his back, and shortly thereafter a mouth beneath it. “Update me,” the Alchemist commanded her, not looking away from his task.

She took a breath to gather her thoughts, then said, “All of us that went to the White Planes save Durran have been coordinating our course of action vis-à-vis the descent to the underground,” she explained. “We’ve also been discussing who might qualify as a candidate to offer Almazora and Rook for championship. Beyond that, general politics of the kingdom.”

“I’ve been coordinating with those deities you allied with,” he said. “In two weeks, all will be prepared on my end.”

Anneliese blinked. “That is excellent.”

“Yes, it is,” the Alchemist confirmed. “Enough of that. You have Truesight, now. Have you adjusted?”

“To what I can,” Anneliese scratched her neck. “To tell you the truth, I have been utterly fascinated by the world ever since I gained this ability. I can see the blessings within Argrave, Elenore, all of them… I can understand enchantments so intimately, or the makeup of another’s—” she cut herself off, staring up at the Alchemist in nervousness. She knew he didn’t like talking.

“Truesight is fascinating,” he agreed, his gray eye glowing green. “I can gain Minor Truesight through use of a spell that affects only a body like mine. But you have more sight than I do.”

Anneliese shifted on her feet. “That’s… fortunate.”

“Fortunate?” the Alchemist repeated. “It is invaluable for a spellcaster.” His arms cracked and contorted until they faced her, and his head simply leaned backward and rotated until it faced her in an ominous display of his body’s ability. “With your intelligence, Truesight, and later with the formless magic offered by Almazora, you will be invaluable in the heist. Come to me tomorrow. I will prepare you for your duty.”

“You… what?” Anneliese’s eyes widened in surprise. “I mean… yes, certainly. I can… I can be here.”

“And bring this back to all of you, now that you’re drunk on your powers,” the Alchemist said. “Appreciate your abilities… but forget not the gods who gave them to you.” He leaned in close to her. “Because they will not.” He straightened. “This will be an exceptionally busy time. Return.”