Jackal Among Snakes

Argrave had prepared many contingencies for engaging with the tribes of Vysenn. He’d been spending time in the dwarven nation, where the threat of force was about as substantial as cotton candy. But he seemed to have forgotten the fact that on the surface in Berendar, he held many big sticks, and with a few artful applications of soft words to the people that Georgina and Snowrock introduced him to, the tribes ‘agreed’ to leave. The alternative, in their mind, was a very brutal invasion that Argrave had already amply proven he could carry out. If only they knew how big of a softie he was…

With the bulk of the tribes temporarily treated to Vasquer hospitality, he and the Alchemist entered into the holy temple of the tribes of Vysenn and their tephramancers. The Alchemist carried his staff of obsidian and walked forth with a vigor rather unlike his emotionless self. The hallway of black basalt grew hotter as they advanced to the pit in which magma bubbled miles below. The intense heat was a recent phenomenon by some accounts. It was a sign their time to act on the knowledge they’d gained was nearing its end.

Once inside, Argrave looked in the circular pit in the center of the room. He was probably looking for the same thing that the Alchemist was—evidence of Sandelabara. Could this be the same pit that Sataistador, god of war, had claimed was within Sandelabara, or was this some new occurrence of Gerechtigkeit’s design to obscure details about the place? It didn’t look manmade, and decades of occupation by the tribes surely meant that no evidence of other civilization might exist. But by all accounts, this was where they needed to go.

“I will reestablish my abode here,” declared the Alchemist, jamming his staff into the ground. “And meanwhile, clear some area for the dwarves to begin their work.”

“Alright. Excellent. This place is going to be my base for some time, too, but I hope you can forgive me if I don’t want to spend my time in here.”

“The envoys of gods wish to meet you,” the Alchemist noted. “They were delayed by our foray into the dwarven nation, but now their patience nears its limits. You should not meet them here. We cannot allow them any hint of what we hope to achieve, lest they attach themselves like parasites.”

“A fair point,” Argrave conceded. “Well… good luck. If you find something, speak to Galamon if I’m absent. He’ll be hanging out near here, keeping an eye on everything.”

The Alchemist said nothing more, and Argrave departed as he began to work his staff into a home.

After passing through the long hallway leading to the volcanic temple, Galamon stood waiting at the entrance. He removed his helmet, letting his white hair flow as he walked up to Argrave to report. He dipped his head and said, “I have two thousand men keeping an eye on the tribes of Vysenn, Your Majesty. They’re sticking to the designated area and causing no problems. If they do cause problems…” he asked an unspoken question.

“Don’t turn it into a massacre. We have the weapons of the divine, now—there’s no reason we can’t subdue them.” He tapped Galamon’s pauldron. “Elenore’s going to treat them very well while we do some… some home renovations for them. Apparently, they performed very admirably in the army. She’d like some more of them to come to our kingdom.”

“As would I,” agreed Galamon. “Then, I have nothing else, Your Majesty.”

Argrave patted him on the shoulder and said a word of thanks, then departed deeper into the volcanic valley. He pulled free an old tool he hadn’t used in some time—a white Humorless Mask, producing clean air for him to breathe through this volcanic gas leaking everywhere. After a long and solitary trek through familiar territory, he arrived back out into a verdant valley just as the edge of the volcano. His sister stood there, staring out across the horizon with a retinue of Veidimen royal guards.

Argrave joined her, removing the air-filtering mask. She seemed serene, so he didn’t interrupt her.

“Last I was here…” she began, yet paused for a long while. “I got my sight back.”

“And last I was here, I wasn’t king,” Argrave reminisced with her.

“You were coronated. You just hadn’t taken Dirracha,” she said to remind him, then shook her head as though to dispel the memories. “So… Sandelabara. Do you think this place is to be the key to Gerechtigkeit?”

“I told you as much. It’s why I’m dangerous,” Sataistador nodded. “I was somewhat skeptical about our plan to counter-invade the Chu. Frankly, I thought you were giving me lip-service. But you’ve built that naval base on the northern front, filled it with snow elves and their longships…” He smiled, showing two large canines. “It seems this may actually happen.”

“You said when next we met, you’d discuss your plans in detail,” Argrave said. “I wish you would’ve given me more notice… but we’re here, now.”

Sataistador’s smiling face grew serious. “The Imperial Navy of the Great Chu is on its way.”

“You’re serious?” Argrave’s eyes widened, but he calmed quickly. “We’re well prepared.”

“We’ll see about that, I suppose,” Sataistador laughed. “Their emperor has caused quite a stir. He called forth his honor guard, got aboard a ship, and intends to come here personally.”

Argrave rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Is this emperor named Ji Meng?”

“Yes.”

Argrave accepted that, straightening his back. “He’s a scary bastard. But it’s nothing that we can’t handle.”

“He revolted against the emperor at age twelve, and has been defeating armies ten times the size of his own for thirty years. But you can handle it, certainly,” he said drolly. “Whatever your thoughts, it’s a very good thing for us. I wanted to talk about our strategy.”

“Let’s talk,” Argrave nodded, though kept a healthy distance away.

“The Qircassian Coalition, Erlebnis—they kept their grip over the empire by systematically influencing most of the administration beneath the emperor. They painted a beautiful picture for him. It was something so absolute that no scrutiny could break the lie. Everyone was part of the conspiracy, and so there was no conspiracy—merely a reality. But now the emperor has done the unexpected, and departed for this land. He’s going to see the land about which the painting was painted… and realize it’s all a fantasy.” Sataistador shook his head. “They can’t feed him lies anymore, not when he’s on the field. Their subtle method loses all power when the emperor takes the reins.”

Though Argrave was constantly surprised by how good Sataistador was at gathering intelligence, this new piece was the most valuable that had been leaked. The emperor was not fully aware of who puppeteered the Great Chu.

Argrave kept his calm and asked, “What do you suggest, then? If all of the emperor’s servants are compromised…”

“The army acts now because the orders come from the emperor. The gods of the coalition cannot well replace every soldier with one of their allegiance, and the current emperor is too effective to be replaced. Instead, they all lied until he did what they wanted without realizing it.” Sataistador stepped forward. “But the army serves the emperor, not his court. If the emperor knows of the treachery, he will war against his empire. I know him well—I enjoyed watching Ji Meng’s wars of conquest more than most. He is especially brutal toward traitors. When chaos erupts, the Qircassian Coalition will writhe and sink its roots deeper… only for the two of us to butcher them all.”

Argrave swallowed. A stroke of whimsy by the emperor was threatening to unravel the whole of the Qircassian Coalition’s scheme, and Sataistador’s proposal capitalized on that with remarkable efficiency. But Argrave saw a light, too—a way to mitigate violence, perhaps, while undoing some of the biggest threats to his kingdom. But was this something that he should risk, at the cusp of Sandelabara?

“Let’s talk details,” Argrave said with a nod.

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