/n/jackal-among-snakes-1520/c-131
chapter-130

“…so, in time, I’ll need to return to them to officiate things. The date of the attack, who they’re collaborating with… so on and so forth,” Argrave explained to Brium, sitting across from him. Yarra stood behind him, hands behind her rigid back like she was a bodyguard.

They had returned from the oasis town of the southron elves. It was very late in the evening, and Argrave was quite hungry—he had not eaten since morning. Business came before that, though. As Florimund had instructed, Argrave had broken the sword in the desert. The southron elves were soon to migrate, travelling through the mountains to another home of theirs.

Anneliese had ensured Yarra did nothing out of place the whole while, and as far as Argrave could tell, no one suspected anything. The manifold uses of druidic magic were making themselves known already, though the Brumesingers were far from manifesting their full capabilities. Argrave needed to feed them souls. A strange need, truthfully, but considering the commonality of death, it was much better than your standard pet food.

“Hmm… the southron elves,” Brium mused. “It’s a little unbelievable, but those illusion magics… no one else can replicate them, certainly. They’ve caused the Vessels no end of trouble. How many were they?”

“If you mean ready to fight? Near two hundred,” Argrave exaggerated, attempting to bolster Brium’s confidence.

“Then… excellent work,” Brium leaned back into the chair. “But it doesn’t escape me that you used Yarra to bolster your personal wealth—those pets of yours. They’re certainly more for you than for my cause.”

“Well…” one of the Brumesingers poked itself out of Argrave’s clothes, and he pet its giant furry ears. “I’m no saint.”

Brium chuckled—it sounded fake. After, he raised his hand to his face. “I think I’ve figured you out.”

Argrave furrowed his brows, thrown off. The Brumesinger, no longer being pet, hid itself away once more.

“You’re testing the limits. I don’t think it’s of any genuine concern, presently,” Brium held a hand out, reassuring Argrave. “I’ll warn you, though. A limit broken before a Vessel will not result in merely a warning,” Brium leaned in. “It should not escape you that the punishment for any crime is death. Considering what I know…”

“I also know that you’re compelled to punish me. Not forced,” Argrave returned. “We’re doing great work together, so far.”

Brium stared down Argrave, running a hand across his coppery skin. Eventually he nodded. “You’ve done well. The Vessels have been looking for the southron elves for centuries. Not a single success, before you came along—only abandoned towns, ruined places. There has been little cause to hunt them in recent decades. Their mages are all dead and gone, and we seized and burned their books of spells. Nothing more remains of them to challenge Fellhorn’s authority.”

“Any predictions on when Aurum and Argent will make their move?” Argrave probed.

“They’re gathering guards,” the Lord of Copper answered idly at once. “Negating my influence in the city. Trying to stifle my income, my workers. Vessels beneath me are being tempted with wealth, power… but the core of my power isn’t in Sethia. I keep that which truly belongs to me in Cyprus. In here.”

“But when?” Argrave pressed. “I don’t want to be caught unprepared.”

“A week, most likely two,” Brium shook his head. “You have time to do more before the fighting.”

Argrave tilted his head. “Not planning on letting me closer into the machinations?”

Brium’s gaze intensified at that moment, as though challenged. “What are you implying?”

Argrave shrugged. “I just don’t think that you’re leaving things to chance with the tribals.”

Brium stared at him for a long while. “I have to speak with Yarra. Go, rest,” he finally said, pointing towards the door. “She’ll rejoin you in time. For now, do nothing.”