jackal-among-snakes-16091326
chapter-501

Argrave looked out across the verdant hills just beyond the hills of the Vysenn. It had been some time since he’d seen this place. He had passed through this area after returning from his ‘diplomatic mission’ to the northern part of Vasquer. Back then, he’d been forced to do battle with the people taking residence there because one of their many tribes had invaded at the behest of Georgina.

Now, Argrave looked down at the brunette woman who’d caused all of that trouble. She was chained to a metal stake just before him. Initially he thought that she had done her duties in service of King Felipe, but in truth, she likely hoped to bring his deceased father to Mozzahr, Castellan of the Empty. After their successful subjugation of the cult, Georgina been captured and put under Elenore’s… ‘care.’ She only dodged execution by virtue of being a protagonist of Heroes of Berendar. More specifically, she dodged execution for a day like this one, where she could be useful.

Now, that ‘protagonist’ wore a drab burlap robe no more glamorous than what a beggar might wear, and judging by her gaunt face seemed to have suffered some malnourishment in the dungeon. She had always been a classic beauty, yet time under duress had muted that a great deal. Her hands were chained behind her back, and her palms had been nailed together to prevent her from casting magic.

Argrave knelt down before her and looked back to Anneliese. She gave a him a nod, indicating she was watching and judging all of Georgina’s answers. Argrave looked back at her. She had been very quiet since he’d arrived.

“My sister tells me that you claim to still have some ties to the people in Vysenn,” Argrave began without cordiality. Her actions had caused much death, and he had no desire to be gentle with her. “But the tribe that you sent out to attack us was killed, almost to the last. And I’m questioning her insight because of that. Now—and answer honestly, or this will be the last time that you can see grass—can you talk to some people within Vysenn? Does your word have enough weight to convince them to migrate?”

Georgina bit at her lips. Judging from the blood and the scarring on them, this wasn’t a new thing. When she first opened her mouth to speak, empty air came out as her voice failed her. She swallowed to get it back and then managed hoarsely, “Maybe.”

Argrave stood and repeated disdainfully, “Maybe. That’s your answer?”

Despite freedom dangling before her eyes and the pain undoubtedly wracking her stabbed hands, Georgina maintained her calm and chose her words carefully. It was both somewhat admirable and worrying, by Argrave’s estimation.

“While it’s true that the tribe I associated strongest with was wiped out, I had others that I maintained ties with. Reserves. I couldn’t move freely through their lands without other ties in other tribes. But it’s been a while since I’ve been here. I can’t say how dependable time will have been on those friendships. So, the best I can say is maybe.”

It was a reasonable thing to say, and something that Argrave had been thinking himself. If the Alchemist inside the Ravenstone around Argrave’s neck wasn’t pressuring him to act quickly, he might’ve never considered Georgina as an option. But the dwarven volunteers would be coming quickly, and they would need to prepare Vysenn for use before then.

“Why did you betray your country for the Ebon Cult?” Argrave asked.

She looked up at him with her soft brown eyes, yet there was still some fire within them. “Because my country was torn apart by a civil war with no good outcome, and judgment was coming.” She stewed on her words, then amended, “At least, I thought there would be no good outcome. Mozzahr and his cult were many things, but fractured they were not. Between destroying all or surrendering my homeland to a despot, I thought the latter was better.”

Argrave crossed his arms. “You certainly came up with that quick.”

“I’ve had months staring at iron bars as time to reflect.”

Argrave sighed. He felt brutality was somewhat warranted on a war criminal, but he still didn’t truly have the heart for it. He paced around the grasslands, glancing at Anneliese to see if she had any input. When she offered none, Argrave came to kneel beside Georgina once more.

“You can earn your freedom if you perform well in this task,” Argrave told her. “We need the tribes of Vysenn to vacate their holy temple for some months. No interference, no protests—nothing. We intend to leave them be once we’re done with the area. You’re to be part of the diplomatic party heading into there. It includes the former chieftain of one of their tribes. They’re part of the refugee group.”

Even hearing the potential of freedom, he could see Georgina’s gaunt face gain some of its vigor back. She nodded. “I won’t let you down, Your Majesty. I have nothing to return to, no cause to fight for—I just want freedom,” she said, adding those unnecessary details as some kind of assurance.

Argrave didn’t reply to her words directly. He reached into his coat’s pocket and pulled free a slender shard that looked like obsidian. “This is Ebonice. It hampers magic up to B-rank—in other words, it’ll render you magically impotent. I can’t very well have you appear before the tribes chained, with nails through your palms. But you will stab this into yourself, hiding it completely. Then, one of our mages will heal the wound closed.”

“I…” she stared at the black shard, searching for any way out of this. When she looked up at Argrave, he kept his gaze as cold as the grave. He couldn’t allow to think there was any hope. She seemed to get the message, for she nodded quietly. “Alright.”

Argrave walked around to her chains. He put the key into her cuffs and freed her from the shackles, then grabbed her hands, pulling the iron nails out one by one. When it was done, she stared at her hands for a while before healing herself. Argrave handed her the shard.

“Someone should watch you do it, just to be safe,” Argrave said gruffly. “If you can’t, someone else can.”

He walked back to Anneliese, and she joined them in heading back to the rest of the party as Veidimen royal guards took up the rest of the process. In the distance, a group of bone-white tribals wore clothing Vasquer and chatted in a small party. They centered around one man in particular—a tribal chieftain once known as the Snowrock. Now, he was just Snowrock, former chieftain and citizen of Vasquer. According to Elenore, most of them had joined the army to provide for their families, and consequently they lived a decent life in Blackgard.

But now, he needed them for this diplomatic mission. He was glad they’d integrated with his city, but he hoped their ties to their people remained strong. He and Anneliese walked past them, heading for a tent in the back built in Veidimen style. Argrave pushed the flap aside, and they entered.

Rowe the Righteous, S-rank mage of Veiden, sat on a stool reading. He looked up when they entered.

“Have you got what you needed from my student?” He focused his white eyes on Argrave. “Becoming S-rank takes time. She needs to learn. That is what you want, no?”

“She’s partly yours,” Argrave nodded, walking in. “Are you up for the task of teaching a genius?”

Rowe did not scoff, nor leer, nor even grow indignant, surprising Argrave. “I’ve been preparing her lessons for some time. She will be the future of the Veidimen. I suspect you’ll be well pleased, Argrave.”

Argrave looked at Anneliese with a pleased smile, and even she herself looked surprised. He gave her a quick hug, a quiet ‘good luck,’ and then left her there. She would be receiving daily lessons from Rowe the Righteous henceforth, pushing her toward S-rank. And come tomorrow, they would attempt to peacefully displace the tribes of Vysenn.