/n/jackal-among-snakes-1520/c-175
chapter-174

The time spent at Jast passed in much the same way as their first visit… though without the feeling of tension from the last time. Jast was allied to House Parbon, now, and the sentiment was reflected in the streets. Flag-saluting patriots abounded, whereas last time had the atmosphere of a heated, tense debate. Parbon was well-loved and supported by the Count of Jast.

Yet the plague was an imminent issue. Count Delbraun was managing things in a stern way—any plagued refugees from the villages were kept outside of the city, and the gates were opened only during specific hours of the day. Even during those hours all entries were heavily guarded, and all entering the city were strictly checked. Though this did not prevent the spread of the plague entirely, it did contain it a great deal.

Residents of the city were given medical treatment. Those that could not pay were given free, if limited, medical treatment, and cordoned off in abandoned buildings. Those that could pay could receive highly specialized medical treatment from spellcasters.

Entrepreneurial wizards in the Order of the Gray Owl were already developing things to combat the plague. Many of them were utter bogus. Argrave had the good fortune to know which were scams and which weren’t. All of these elements working in tandem kept Jast quite stable.

Argrave bought twenty masks—their seller dubbed them ‘Humorless Masks.’ They were solemn looking plain white masks that shone with complex enchantments on the inside. When worn, the mask would constantly project clean air infused with healing magic into the airways. Its seller said it would ‘keep out bad humors by ensuring only clean air entered,’ but despite its dubious description, it was a tremendous boon to the constitution. It was like a constant minor healing agent pumping throughout the body, carried by the lungs and then the blood. He bought twenty for reserve—each lasted a week when actively used.

Though the Humorless Masks would be quite effective for most purposes, Argrave still bought an abundance of ingredients needed to make potions that would help combat disease. He would be sure to have Anneliese and Durran both drink them whenever they were in high-risk areas.

Galamon brewed these potions. Naturally.

While moving through the town, Argrave made it a point to practice using Garm’s eyes to discern what rank spellcasters was at. As he practiced more and more, he grew confident in discerning who was what rank, and his own knowledge of certain people helped verify those results. He felt fairly adept at determining a spellcaster’s rank now, but naturally, it would need some fine-tuning.

Beyond tending to the issue of disease, Argrave also focused on refueling, so to speak. He sold the jewelry and other valuables pillaged from Argent, the Tower of Silver. Between the war and the plague, he did not get as much as he’d liked—nevertheless, it was a handsome sum. He used that, plus the remainder of what he still had in his lockbox, to pay for everything he needed.

Anneliese and Argrave had used most of the B-rank wards available in their enchanted rings, so Argrave had them recharged—significantly less expensive than having them made initially, yet still quite costly. Argrave also had their enchanted gear examined and repaired. Between paying back the Margrave, the Humorless Masks, and the enchantment repairs and recharges… Argrave found himself completely out of rose gold magic coins.

When Argrave recognized that, he did quite a lot of introspection. He had received that money from the sale of the estate of Foamspire, which had come from a bribe by Induen. Anneliese and Argrave could still spot the tower every day when they did their daily ritual of sunset watching. Argrave checked Rivien’s calendar—as he recalled, Foamspire vanished into the ocean ‘overnight’ on 1/13/873. He prayed he remembered that date.

“What are you grinning about?” Argrave questioned as he ate breakfast with Durran and Anneliese.

“What, the man with the magic eyes can’t catch on?” Durran tapped his fork against the plate, then leaned back in his chair. “It seems you and I are on the same level.”

Argrave double-took for a moment, then set down his fork, scrutinizing Durran a little more carefully. The man had always possessed a large supply of magic, well over many C-rank mages. Yet Durran yet to breach the barrier, lacking any C-rank spells to learn.

“You’re C-rank, now,” Argrave said, catching on.

Durran beamed. “Couple of weeks with Garm’s books, I finally break this little limit I’ve had for near a year. Wondrous thing, isn’t it? It seems we’re together now in being midway to the end of the road to mastery of magic.” He picked up his fork again.

Argrave wiped his face off with a napkin as he stared Durran down. He didn’t say anything.

“That thing I mentioned to you,” Argrave turned to look at Elaine. “You took care of it?”

Elaine nodded.

“Make sure they were all delivered,” Argrave insisted.