jackal-among-snakes-16091326
chapter-128

Corentin sat in a group of near eight others, in the same house that he had just had his discussion with Argrave. The other southron elves were grizzled, scarred warriors just as he was—obvious war veterans. They were in a loose circle, some standing, some sitting.

“So, just as Durran did, this new arrival claims to have met my daughter?” one asked, a man with a missing nose.

“Yeah,” Corentin nodded, looking out towards the door. “Same tale as Durran, too. Gebicca was crushed beneath rocks. Same accounts. Only difference…” Corentin turned his head back. “Argrave brought Brumesingers with him. Seems to have tamed them, too.”

The warriors all looked greatly intrigued by this. One, who leaned against Corentin’s wall, asked, “How?”

“I don’t know,” Corentin shook his head.

“You didn’t ask?” the man pressed.

“What am I, a damned interrogator? You ask him,” Corentin crossed his arms and shook his head.

“What good are you, old bastard?” the man with the missing nose asked.

“Least I can still smell things, Morvan,” Corentin returned with a laugh. “You go outside, that cavity you call a nose fills up with sand. What kind of desert warrior loses to sand?”

Some of the others joined the man in laughter.

“You one-eyed prick,” Morvan leaned forward, a smile on his face.

“Let’s stay serious,” another man interjected—though he seemed the oldest, he was the least scarred. All of the others heeded his words at once. “Save the banter for when we don’t have an unexpected visitor. This man, Argrave, claims to be working with the Lord of Copper. This deserves serious treatment.”

Corentin raised his hands. “Of course, Florimond.”

Florimond looked about. “What is he doing right now?”

Someone stalked to the door of Corentin’s house. “Looks like… he’s letting the Brumesingers play with the children.”

That brief little description immediately made everyone stir.

“Either he’s not a bad guy, or he’s damned good at tugging the heartstrings,” Morvan shook his head.

“This is someone working for the Vessels,” another warrior posited. “With the intent to betray them, too. Maybe he’s a paragon. Maybe he’s a good actor.”

That sobered some of the warriors up, and their smiles faded somewhat.

“But what he’s saying—that the southern tribals are going to attack with the help of the Lord of Copper—it does match with what Durran told us. Everything matches,” Corentin ceded.

“Did you tell him anything about Durran? About the proposition the man’s made to us?” Florimond questioned.

“You think I’m stupid?” Corentin put a hand to his chest. “I kept my mouth shut, tried to let him say his piece.” Corentin lowered his hand.

“And that warrior with him?”

“Quiet fellow,” Corentin nodded. “Looked… I don’t know. Probably the type of guy I’d avoid on the battlefield. Strong, tough, hard. If a man like that would follow him…”

“You’d run from anything, craven moron,” Morvan crossed his arms.

“You stand before that damned giant and tell me how brave you are,” Corentin gestured towards the no-nosed elf. “His hand’s bigger than your head. Maybe that’s not saying much, considering how small the brain inside is.”

The whole room laughed, and even Morvan sunk back into his chair, shaking his head with a grin on his face.

“So, what in the world are we going to say to this guy?” Florimond looked around. “Do we tell him about Durran?”

“Why would we?” Corentin crossed his arms.

“True, true,” Florimond nodded. “Nothing to gain from that. I do think we need to hear more from him—ask questions, work out his personality.”

“And we need to hear this ‘grand plan’ of his,” Morvan raised his hand. “Doesn’t matter if he can manipulate the Lord of Copper if he’s a drooling imbecile. If he’s stupid, we should probably migrate. Been too long, anyhow. Don’t like staying in this place for too long.”

“We should regardless. But…” Corentin began. “Didn’t want to say this, because it’s just conjecture on my end. I brought this,” he pulled out the black cube with glowing purple runes on it. “He kept his eye on it, like he knew what it does.”

“Gebicca might have told him,” Florimond posited.

“My daughter had never seen one of those,” Morvan disagreed. “Smart girl, but… too young,” he shook his head, then lowered his gaze to the ground. “Too young,” he repeated hollowly.

The room grew quiet, as though to comfort the man’s loss. Someone patted him on the shoulder, but no words were exchanged—they didn’t seem needed.

“Yeah, embarrass me by staying quiet,” Morvan finally broke the silence, shaking his head. “Keep talking, you damned idiots.”

People in the room chuckled. Florimond heeded Morvan’s advice, continuing, “So—we ask him questions, try to get a clearer picture of things—everyone in agreement?”

“Aye,” said the entire room asynchronously.