Jackal Among Snakes

Knowing that all of them might not ever again return from the Shadowlands, Argrave gave one final compromise for those he’d brought back beyond the grave: a day to say their goodbyes to this world, in whatever manner they saw fit. He wasn’t trusting enough to see them roam freely, though, so he only allowed those who were fitted with something of Raven’s design to leave. It would kill them if they did not return in a timely fashion.

Argrave sat with Garm, who went without eating despite a good-looking pile of food being placed before him.

“How does it feel, knowing you’re responsible for all of this?” Argrave asked.

Garm picked up a leaf of lettuce and moved it between his fingers. “Empty, yet complete. It feels like there’s nothing more to do, and that’s a rather empty feeling. At the same time, I don’t feel things are as… unfinished as they were.”

Argrave nodded. “I don’t know how much time is remaining to you, but do you want to tie up some loose ends? We visited Malgeridum, but I’m not entirely sure that’s enough.”

“I got closure in that regard.” He studied Argrave. “It’s only you I haven’t tied things up with. In terms of the amount of time, you didn’t appear in my life the longest. But in terms of the influence? I don’t think any one person has had more impact on me.” He tapped the table. “What you said, about naming your first son after me…”

“Yeah. I meant that.” Argrave nodded. “If you want, the offer still stands.”

“No.” Garm looked at Argrave squarely. “I don’t want you to do that. I respect what you’re trying to do, but I want my name to be my own. Besides, it’d probably bring the kid bad luck.”

“Okay. I’ll remember that. Instead of the first, I’ll name the second son Garm.”

Garm laughed, then finally took a bite of his meal. “Alright, you bastard. Do whatever you want.” He chewed for a few minutes, then his gaze went distant. “It’s hard to imagine being anything other than alive. But I’ve been dead, twice. Once more isn’t so much trouble.”

Argrave stared solemnly, letting his thoughts go. “What you’ve done… so long as the people you chose are up to the task, it’ll never be forgotten. I absolve you of any sins.” Argrave drew a cross in the air. “Your soul is saved. Rejoice, my child.”

“I don’t need absolution. The only thing I’d have done differently is… well, I wouldn’t die.”

Argrave looked at him, having some trouble understanding that sentiment. “Then why help me?”

“Hmm.” Garm pushed away his plate. “Maybe… it’s because I think you might be the one person who’ll miss me when I’m gone. And even in spite of all I’ve done, you won’t forget I’ve done something worth remembering. Hell—I don’t understand it myself.”

Argrave couldn’t begin to understand why Garm had helped. But he was right in one thing—it wouldn’t be forgotten.

“In that sense, at least… memory… I’ll make sure you never die,” Argrave promised.

“You’ll have to live yourself,” Garm pointed out.

“Indeed I will…”

#####

“You’re a little bit late,” Onychinusa told Balzat. “Argrave and Anneliese already brought me here. How else do you think we learned the imperial spells?”

The former emperor looked at his granddaughter fondly as the dryads wove crowns of twigs in her hair. She seemed far more comfortable with them than she did anyone else. He had intended to come here, where he knew the dryads would still faithfully serve the imperial family, and bestow them upon the ascendant kingdom of Vasquer. With their aid, never again would they suffer famine. Mastery over the dryads had been one of the reasons his empire had been able to control the masses; through them, the imperial family controlled all agriculture, causing great prosperity or harrowing famine at whim. These ones, here, had been his personally raised litter.

“It seems I’m quite late,” Balzat agreed.

The dryads came to him, too. He saw so many that had once been children. With the presence of Onychinusa, they had been able to grow into adults; she had taken his role as their caretaker. He wouldn’t dare deprive her of that right. They kept the Bloodwoods sprouting brilliantly, never to be shaken. In the past, this region had been a sparsely inhabited place claimed by the imperial family. Now, these redwoods supported the elven ethnic group that had once been slaves to the empire of old.

“All of this land was supposed to be yours,” he said to Onychinusa.

She stopped and stared at him. “But it isn’t.”

He nodded. “It isn’t.”

“I don’t want it, either.” Onychinusa rose to her feet. “Anneliese works so hard. I don’t want that.”

Balzat couldn’t deny he was a little disappointed, but at the same time, he was strangely relieved. A life of peace, or a life of reclaiming the nebulous idea of a birthright… for his granddaughter, he earnestly hoped she’d choose the former. And it seemed she would, so far as he could tell.

“What do you want?” He asked bluntly.

“To do whatever I want.” She held out her arms. “Whenever I want.”

He smiled. “You seem to be doing a great job of it.”

“It’s pretty easy,” she admitted. “I just watch, listen, learn. To see people’s lives play out… is entertaining.”

Balzat wondered if he should say anything, but felt he might regret it if he stayed quiet. “I only hope you make time to live your own, after what you endured at the hands of Erlebnis.”

“Well, he got his comeuppance.” She sat back down on the dirt. “I know what not to do. I know to be nice, like Anneliese is. I know not to enslave people, because Llewellen said it was hard on him. Argrave says to treat others like you want to be treated. He can be annoying, but I like when he said that. It’s easy to follow.”

He felt a little heartbroken that she struggled to understand things like that… yet at the same time, seeing how she’d ended up in spite of all those troubles…

“I’m very proud of you,” Balzat said earnestly.

“Okay.” She nodded.

With a grin on his face, Balzat turned around. “I understand the elves here wanted to speak with me. I’m going to take care of that.”

“I think… I think I’ll miss you,” she said. “And I wish we had more time to talk.”

He paused. “And I as well. But even this was more than I deserve. I hope I was of help to you.”

Onychinusa shrugged. “We’ll see.”

Balzat stared at her. “Your parents loved you. And I do, as well, difficult as it might be to understand. So long as you remember that… I’ll meet the dark, gladly.”

#####

Balzat examined each of the elves that led these people in the Bloodwoods. And right alongside them, he witnessed others—the leaders of the slaves that had revolted against his empire. The ones partially responsible for the extinction of his people, who had become gods of the Bloodwoods. He had died before they had revolted, but the fact remained they’d been responsible for the death of his descendants. They loomed nearly as large as the redwood trees towering above. This place retained the eerie beauty that it always had, and the elves residing within had adapted far better than his empire ever had for this brutal location.

Of all people… they had called for him asking for counsel. It felt like a joke the universe was playing.

“With the situation as it is, more and more people are immigrating to Vasquer. Dozens, even hundreds, are leaving seeking better opportunities,” one of their commanders, who led a tumen, explained to him. “We wished to know how we might emulate the empire of old. How we might rise to our former glory.”

Balzat looked at the gods, who were present yet silent. He looked at these eager-eyed leaders. He looked at the fierce warriors, who regarded him like some idol. All of these people had been fed a lie. Should he break their illusion, tell them the truth? Should he play up his glory—embolden their fantasy? Perhaps the gods were here to break him if he attempted as much.

“I could give some advice. I could tell you of our tactics, and revive some secrets. But even if they could be emulated, my ultimate advice would be the same.” He looked between them. “King Argrave came here, spilling blood. It might’ve been to spare his own kingdom the unrest should the Bloodwoods fall, but nevertheless, he fought hard for each and all of you. He refused to betray you, or use you as bargaining chips in games beyond yourself. And even after all of that, he didn’t demand fealty—instead, he rose you up as allies. One would be wise to remember that.”

“We don’t intend to betray the Kingdom of Vasquer,” another elf argued. “We would simply prefer we be equal allies, rather than a fading power reliant wholly on Vasquer. All our people migrate away because they have a reason to leave—now, we must give them reason to stay.”

“You may think that, for now. But I know better than any that the future generations do not always carry on the torch of the past.” He shook his head. “If you want glory and freedom, I’ll give you the route. Swear fealty to Argrave,” Balzat said plainly. “Because what he builds today is grander than my empire ever was. You will not match it, yet you still can be a part of it… if you put aside pride and submit.”

“Submission?” they protested loudly.

“Yes. Actions speak louder than words—and I’ve already submitted. That action in itself is the largest bit of advice I can give.”

With that, he elected to leave them. Whether his advice was to be taken would remain to be seen.

#####

“What do you mean? You gave me the fruit for this, no?” Durran protested loudly.

“It’s for the best, Durran,” Elenore said quietly.

“Listen to my sister,” Argrave advised. “You have the Fruit of Being’s ability, yeah. But did you unlock anything more? No, you haven’t. I’m not saying that to disparage you—I’m saying that for your benefit,” he argued. “When I’m gone, I want to rest easy knowing that I can come back to something. Should Gerechtigkeit try to take advantage of any absence, I want to know that my best people are here, ready to receive him. So stay here, Durran. Guard Blackgard.”

“You only call me your best person because you want something from me,” Durran countered, then cradled his head in his hands. “Wish Anneliese was here, so I could ask her if you’re bullshitting me. But… damn it, Argrave. I spent so much of my time steeling myself for this.”

“Then keep that steel.” Argrave grasped his shoulder. “And put it in defense of Vasquer, of Blackgard.”

Durran nodded solemnly. “Alright.”

#####

“I hope all of you made your peace,” Argrave called out, looking behind his shoulder. Then, he held out the elegant black scepter of Artur’s design. He felt pain in his arm as he called upon blood magic, and then a shimmering blade of dark crimson energy erupted from the top of it. He plunged it forth into the inky portal of darkness ahead of him.

He could feel a terrible power in motion as his blood magic burned through the stygian darkness, setting it alight and transferring through the staff. Then, he felt a soothing balm erupt from within his very soul as Anneliese replaced what the blood magic had ripped from him with the very energy he burned away. She raised her own staff up just beside his.

Where a dark portal had been once before, strands of light fell from Anneliese’s staff, drifting like dainty white petals until they took shape into something beyond the repetition of darkness. Where there had only been the Shadowlands, something new was being born—something within their comprehension. There was no color beyond—only black and white, and all shades of gray between. Even Argrave’s blade appeared colorless beyond the portal. He pulled it free and looked behind him.

“Going by probabilities, all of you will die in there.” Argrave looked back ahead to the transformed Shadowlands, now finally perceptible by his naked eye. “Only one man’s gone in and out of this place—and he’s the one we’re hunting.”