Jackal Among Snakes

“Durran told me you said that these were made to kill gods,” Argrave said, staring down upon a ballista. It was entirely metallic, even the string that fired the bolt. He had seen it fire, and when it did, it let out a deep resonating rumble that might be used for music were it not so intimidating. He turned his head to its maker, Dario. “Was that a bluff?”

Dario sat on a chair, his crutches at his side. His arms were wrapped in bandages—if they weren’t wrapped, they would bleed profusely. He had braces on his legs that kept them from bending. His bones were more pliable than others, and without the braces his limbs would bend and eventually snap if he put excessive pressure on them. In summary, he was totally and utterly ruined after assisting the Heralds in trying to keep Argrave from Sandelabara. But still he lived, and surprisingly… still he served.

Dario gestured at it weakly. “When I had one strapped to my arm, the Heralds powered them. These models are magic or lightning powered, like the rest of my people’s work. They’re less powerful, but still miles ahead of any weapons your army has. They can kill lesser gods, damage greater ones. As for ancient gods, I’m skeptical.”

“How many have you made?” Argrave asked, touching it and moving it about with his hand.

“About two thousand.”

Argrave stopped and looked at him. “I said ‘made,’ not ‘will make.’”

Dario grabbed his crutches and rose. “And I said two thousand.”

Argrave followed the crippled master artificer as he shambled through his workshop. Though technically imprisoned, Elenore had ordered a workshop built in Vysenn that employed the magma in the volcano to operate forges of higher metals—both dwarven, and what the subterranean mountain people used for their golems. Considering Gerechtigkeit was bound to commandeer golems when he descended, they couldn’t make any constructs. Instead, Dario made these ballistae en masse. Argrave hadn’t been expecting much, but Dario led him into another room.

Rows of these weapons of war spread out before Argrave, all of them so recently forged that they hadn’t even collected dust. Each and every one looked factory made. He supposed the casting part would be rather easy to perfect, but as far as he knew, Dario would have to manually carve energy pathways that transferred power from a core into the metal to give it power and purpose.

Argrave looked around in wonder. “Did Elenore give you assistants?”

“She offered, but I turned them away. Even I won’t give away my people’s secrets so easily. All I have are constant guards,” Dario referenced, looking back where a few armored mages watched vigilantly. “I’ve decided to make these weapons every second I’m awake. It’s harder to think about what I’ve done when I’m working. There’s just the heat of the forge reminding me that if I make a mistake, I’ll lose fingers or worse. Then, I chisel the energy pathways into the ballista and its power core until I run out of raw materials.”

“How did you learn all of this? I don’t remember you in the place I came from,” Argrave said bluntly.

“I wasn’t special. Right tool, right place, right time. The Heralds led me, and I learned from dreams,” Dario recounted. “Forgotten methods. Forgotten forges. They showed me the Iron Giants and much more. Our people were devastated by golems in the last cycle… yet still, we haven’t fully learned our lesson.” He looked to Argrave. “I’ll work day and night until my body gives up. But I hope I can ask something of you, Your Majesty.”

“…go ahead,” Argrave gestured.

“Consider my perspective. Give up this foolish pursuit, and return Sophia to the Heralds.” He ground his walking aids against the ground. “And if you don’t… at least save my people.”

Dario didn’t wait for an answer. He walked down, crutches clinking against the stone, until he got to his workbench. There, the magma of Vysenn roared heat into the room. He merely got back to work, casting metal as he chiseled energy pathways into the pieces which had already been forged.

Argrave examined the ballistae once more. He had come here to get a little more insurance against Sataistador for this coming meeting, but Elenore said that he might be surprised by what he saw. He agreed with her sentiment. Dario had made something suitable to arm an army. If these ballistae could be powered, they would have a tremendous advantage against the forces of the Great Chu.

Another reason to thank Melanie, thought Argrave as he tapped a ballista’s brace. He looked with pity at the man broken far beyond what magic could fix. Maybe in another life… things didn’t have to end this way.

Then again, this wasn’t the end.Content is © 2024 NôvelDrama.Org.

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Argrave had chosen to meet with Sataistador near Castle Cookpot in a wide-open plain. Long ago, he and Anneliese had fought against the tephramancers of the Vysenn people in this region. Now, the alabaster-skinned tribes were largely under the thumb of Vasquer. Argrave had kept his promise and vacated their land after the business in Sandelabara, but extended contact with Vasquer and witnessing the refugees living extremely well in Blackgard had led to something of a voluntary diaspora.

Now, the tribes even permitted traders, and Elenore had obviously been allowed to construct the workshop Dario and other craftsmen resided in. It was somewhat colonialist, but the tribesmen certainly weren’t being treated unfairly. About a thousand of their number had joined the army, and were undergoing basic training as Argrave stood here. Warriors that were fearless and regenerative—the Veidimen warriors would make great troops out of them, and in return, their families would be living in the shelter of Blackgard while the troops themselves earning a high salary.

Georgina, freed of her imprisonment, acted as something of an ambassador between the two very different cultures. Mial, Mozzahr’s daughter, had a similar role around the remnants of the Ebon Cult, who were accepting that Mozzahr had died and truly beginning the difficult process of integrating into Vasquer society. They kept a close eye on how things proceeded, but thus far, both had been a boon to the kingdom’s cohesion.

Ideas came to Argrave one after the other as his eyes scanned the verdant plains before Vysenn. Argrave broke from his thinking when he saw the red-haired god of war kneeling down in a field of tall grass, his long hair swaying in the breeze. He looked to the side, where his company waited for him to move.

Argrave travelled with Anneliese alone for this meeting. They both wore the armor that Artur had crafted for them—his black and gold coat, hers white and amber, with all the well-crafted armor beneath bearing his personal sun and snake heraldry. Sometimes he did feel a little ridiculous in such an elaborate getup, but he couldn’t deny he did love looking sharp, doubly so with Anneliese by his side.

When they approached, Sataistador stood up. He was like a lion emerging from the bushes—nothing in one second, then an image that sparked a primal fear in the next. Wearing barbaric armor and bearing many weapons on his person, he looked the same as ever. Namely, menacing.

“There are an awful lot of rather interesting weapons nearby,” the god greeted them.

“They’re being transported north,” Argrave said, excuse on hand.

“Of course. Though, I’d be careful. If you have them loaded and ready to shoot while you’re transporting them, they might accidentally loose a bolt as we speak.”

Argrave smiled broadly. “Thank you for the advice. I’ll take it to heart once we finish this conversation.”

Sataistador laughed. “Fair enough. I’d hoped to have this conversation in Blackgard, but you’ve fortified that place well enough that even I had trouble slipping by. The all-seeing snake, the magic wards in the sky and the land… why, it’s a final bastion. What’s so important in there? People? Or something else?”

Anneliese stepped up beside Argrave. “Your plan to counterattack the Qircassian Coalition fell apart. We were wondering if you had something to do with it.”

He looked at her with his predatory green eyes. “Why would I kill my child?”

“Because you are you,” Anneliese crossed her arms, undeterred.

“True,” he nodded. “But I was actually rather fond of that plan. Do you think I expected them to set up that weapon they’re using? The Sky Tower, they call it.” Sataistador looked back to where the Great Chu was, reminiscing. “Qircassia’s creation, but Erlebnis’ design. It’s a great pillar of clouds in the sky, erupting like a volcano day after day. You can feel the rumblings from the ground. Qircassia’s made it their unassailable fortress. If they purged my informant, then they know I’m after them. I suspect it’s why they’re cowering so, firing at Berendar like cowards.”

“The way the pieces have fallen, we’re going to have to attack. I don’t care to endure this bombardment forever,” Argrave disclosed bluntly. “I think that your role has to change. You need to make sure we can sail overseas without being disturbed by something. We join forces, and we kill them all.”

“You’re going to head overseas?” Sataistador crossed his huge arms. “Well… wonders never cease. You’re turning out to be much more likable than I thought you were.”

Argrave didn’t like hearing that. He didn’t like any of this. He had been against this invasion since the beginning, but the longer he stewed on it, the more he accepted that rescuing Sophia meant he could not afford the half-measure that was sending the Veidimen as lone invaders. He needed to get rid of his largest opposition once and for all, liberate the Great Chu, and turn the world against the true threat that was Gerechtigkeit. At least his personal involvement would mean he’d have a greater degree of control over the situation.

“The thing that they want most is for you to sail overseas,” Sataistador said plainly. “That liquid fire you dealt with against their fleet—Great Chu docks abound with the stuff. They can set miles of the ocean aflame for months while they bombard your fleet with their magic—though, they queerly call that power ‘vital force.’ No ships could possibly sail those waters.”

“I have a plan for that,” Anneliese said. “Besides, their magic bombardments would help me greatly.”

“But those are only mortal means,” Sataistador shook his head. “They have gods.”

“And we have some of our own.”

Sataistador tilted his head. “Isn’t the Blackgard Union a defensive coalition?”

“The best defense is a good offense. I think I can persuade them of that.” Argrave gave a false smile. “I have some plans of my own, you see.”

“The two of you… you work well together.” Sataistador sighed. “Would that I had a woman like yours. I intended to groom Melanie for that role, but she seemed to view you as a better prospect than me. No matter. How would you like me to factor in?”

“The liquid fire, the magic, the docks—we’ll handle that on our end. All we want from you is to abate the pressure the gods of the Qircassian Coalition cause. Hunt them, tear them apart, and eat them alive.” Argrave gestured. “Sounds like something you’d enjoy.”

“That’s it? You don’t intend for me to distract the more notable members of the Qircassian Coalition?”

“The only one of those I truly fear is the leader. Qircassia is a god of land and sky. The sea has always been his weak point.”

Sataistador stewed. “You’re relying on me a fair bit all the same.”

“Not really. Law is easily on Qircassia’s level. He’s my patron, and I now how to make him tick.” Argrave tapped his chest. “I chose my allies prudently.”

Sataistador clicked his tongue, then gave a nod. “Expect my aid, then. But when?”

“Not too long…” Argrave began, explaining things to Sataistador.

#####

With Sataistador’s assistance reaffirmed, Argrave and Anneliese returned to Blackgard. Tomorrow, Argrave intended to speak with the gods comprising the Blackgard Union. He felt the support of some, like Veiden, was guaranteed. The others… he didn’t know what he might have to offer to get them to bend.

But behind this gigantic undertaking, a crux of it remained. Sophia, the seven-year-old girl rescued from the strange city of Sandelabara. Argrave’s duties kept him extremely busy, but he saw her at least once a day. Despite Elenore’s efforts to introduce highly competent caretakers that had reared the children of many great noble houses, Sophia trusted only Argrave—and to a lesser extent, Anneliese and Elenore. He had intended to give her a nice and calm life, but she actually wrote him an elegant letter pleading that she find some way to repay what Argrave had done. He half-thought Elenore had written it for her, but no—Sophia wanted to find some way to be helpful, despite being seven and severely traumatized.

Argrave was reluctant to do anything until Sophia started trying to clean the parliamentary hall. After, Argrave assigned tutors. Sophia felt even more indebted until Argrave managed to get through to her by saying Elenore was one of his most valuable people, and she went through the same tutoring. That sealed her fate; Sophia’s grand ambition became to be just like Elenore. His sister seemed somewhat baffled by this, and she clearly didn’t know how to deal with children, but she treated Sophia as kindly as she could. The young child badgered her with questions on how to best help the kingdom whenever they spoke.

And to that end, her desire to repay Argrave made a certain task all the easier.

Argrave opened the door, coming upon Sophia as she read a book diligently. She wore a green outfit in some imitation of Elenore, had her black hair done straight like Elenore, and her red eyes scanned the book with the same focus that Elenore often had. She was so focused that she didn’t even hear the door open. Argrave knelt beside her, and some seconds passed before Sophia noticed him with a gasp.

“Your Majesty!” she said, shocked as only a child could be.

“Who’s that?” Argrave said, looking around. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”

“Everybody calls you that. I should, too,” she said guiltily.

“The people I like can call me Argrave. I say you can. What’s the matter—don’t you like me too? Come on…”

“…hello, Argrave,” she said shyly.

Argrave was a little disappointed she had corrected her speech impediment, frankly. He thought it was adorable to be called ‘Argwave.’ Still, he held his hand out and said, “Hello, Sophia. It’s time to visit Doctor Raven. Are you ready?”

Sophia nodded, took his hand, and rose. When he turned, Anneliese stood at the door, smiling. The three of them walked side-by-side to visit the Alchemist—now known in the parliamentary hall as ‘Doctor Raven,’ a name given by Argrave. Over the past few months, the Alchemist had been exploring the depth of Sophia’s power.

Today was especially important. Apparently, the Alchemist said he’d finally begun to somewhat comprehend Sophia’s power of creation.

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