Jackal Among Snakes

Not long after Argrave had agreed to accept Lorena’s help, Raven returned. Argrave had expected to deal with a long conversation before they got back into things, but instead, Raven wordlessly initiated the procedure once again. Argrave briefly contemplated if this was a plot to see him dead by consuming his soul, but reasoned that Raven could’ve done that long ago had he wanted to.

Once his soul was forced out of his body, he was expecting to endure a battle of terrifying ferocity. Instead, he saw the carcass of the Smiling Raven lying there, immobile, while Raven himself sat down on the edge of the boundary between their two souls. Argrave was hesitant to initiate battle, seeing him like that, and he was right to do so.

“Have a seat,” Raven called out.

Argrave couldn’t remember a single time where Raven had ever suggested such a formal thing. He stalked forth out of his fortified warzone cautiously, but did heed the man’s words, sitting down across from him. There was nothing in between them—just each other, face-to-face. The tension was palpable. Argrave kept Lorena’s knowledge close at hand, prepared to call upon it at a moment’s notice.

“I spoke to Hause,” Raven began, staring down at Argrave. “I spoke to all of them. My old… friends,” he said strangely, as if he didn’t think the word could come from his mouth. “Even Sonia.”

With much of the tension dissolved with that greeting, Argrave sat cross-legged and placed both of his hands on his knees. “I think… maybe… I shouldn’t have acted against your wishes like that,” he admitted, seeing some fault with his actions. “But I wanted to win. And I wanted to have Hause’s followers put pressure on her to use her ability again. I’m still not clear on what ‘unlocking potential’ truly entails, but if we make good use of it, it could make or break our coming victory. I hoped to force her followers to persuade her to change her mind.”

“I see the reasons. It was the pragmatic thing to do,” Raven pointed out. “An unrelated party with my utilitarian disposition would’ve suggested you to follow this course.”

Argrave relaxed his tense body fully. “So… what are we doing here, exactly?”

“We’re here because I suspect Lorena told you important information that may weaken me, and because I was being deliberately stubborn out of paranoia.” He looked back to the carcass of the Smiling Raven, still chained. “That beast yet has its uses. I cannot yet allow you to kill it.”

“Because I intend to follow your journey to the suns,” Raven said. “You will not see me, but I will intercept foes and ensure you are never overwhelmed. If you degrade that part of me, I weaken myself.” He shook his huge head. “I must admit that I have been overprotective. You will not be facing Gerechtigkeit—you will be facing his puppets alone. His power is such that they will very rapidly die from his mere presence, like flame chewing through dry grass. You saw that man’s head explode, if you’ll think back. If you faced his own soul, I would be justified in what I do… but you do not, and I am not.”

“So… this is over?” Argrave swallowed nervously. “No more fighting.”

“None from me. I believe you are more than ready to travel to the suns.”

“Just when I start to win, you decide to walk away, undefeated?” Argrave crossed his arms to express his disapproval, yet despite it all, felt some strong feeling of relief.

“No one likes to lose.” Raven didn’t quite smile, but Argrave couldn’t shake the feeling there might be one hidden, somewhere—perhaps he’d grown a mouth on the back of his head to grin to his heart’s content. “Besides, there’s something else I’d like to speak to you about.”

“Go on.”

“Inevitably, you will come into contact with Gerechtigkeit,” Raven said. “You need to probe for information, and if possible, secure an agreement.”

“Secure an agreement?” Argrave repeated. “How would that be any different from what the He—" he trailed off as he came to a word that put everything into light. “Oh. I think I see.”

“Lorena’s disclosed that Gerechtigkeit partnered with the Heralds before.” Raven shook his head. “If that happens again, I get the impression that no defeat could be more certain. The benefit we have, however, is that Gerechtigkeit seems as much an enemy to them as they are to us.”

Argrave gave that a lot of consideration, and then gave a begrudging nod. “It’s worth a talk, at least. But how am I to trust anything that comes out of his mouth? He’s said himself that if I don’t employ every method at my disposal, he’ll kill us all.”

“He’s posturing. It’s part of the game.” Raven pointed. “The Heralds are the enemies of us all. He knows all that you know, and more than likely, he’s felt the sting of their betrayal before. Above all, I’m certain that he realizes they’re the cause of all his misfortune. They were directly responsible for his present miserable situation—his struggle against the millennia, of such a magnitude that only he’s aware of the extent of it.”

“I’ll try to cut them out,” Argrave continued, nodding as he spoke. “Make the key issue our self-determination. Insist that we should be the only ones deciding the fate of the world—us, who have to live in it, who have to suffer in it.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“I see you’re already developing your strategy,” Raven said. “I’m sure it’ll be rather a interesting confrontation.”

Argrave scoffed. “Interesting. Right. That’s one way to put it. Though, I do wonder… what about Lorena?”

Raven’s face grew a little grimmer. “What about her?”

“Something tells me that she won’t be quick to give up the fight as I am,” Argrave insinuated. “She’s taken a bit of an interest in you.”

Raven lowered his head. “I had feared as much. I read her lips—some of the words she said. I didn’t get it all, but I saw enough. She knows me. We’ve met before, but I’m not sure when. Understandable—as a shapeshifter, she could’ve taken any form.”

Argrave’s eyes widened. “You can do that? More than that—you could see us?”

“Mm.” He nodded. “It’s my lab, my domain—I can see all that occurs within it when I exert the effort. It’s amusing how people think that sound is the one thing that determines who is privy to a conversation.”

“Maybe she wanted you to know,” Argrave suggested. “I could tell you what she said…”

“No, not now. That woman…” Raven hid a scowl with his hand. “Vexing. I’ll speak to her when I choose, if only to better figure out her intents. Is it true she…?”

“What?” Argrave raised a brow.

“Nothing. Return.” He waved his head. “Go. Get ready. Prepare yourself as I will.”

#####

“Anything to say before my big fight?” Argrave asked as he looked at Anneliese. “You’re my coach in the corner, at this moment. I’m about to go in for ten rounds.”

“I’m unsure.” Anneliese’s eyes grew distant as she thought. “I’ll be with you, in some way. Apparently, I’m part of your army. I suppose my only advice would be not to die.”

“Very consoling,” Argrave answered back.

“What more can I say that I haven’t already?” She shook her head as she stared down at him affectionately. “How many of the same conversation can we have before I learn to have faith in your ability? You’ve never failed when it mattered until now. Why should I be worried?”

Argrave blinked. “Now you’re making me worried.”

“Good.” She put her hand on his face. “You fight better when you’re scared.”

“She’s right,” added Raven as he looked down upon Argrave. “You fight against one who has fought against this entire world countless times. How could it ever be a difficult battle? I’m sure you’ll breeze by it all. Are you prepared?”

“Now you ask?” Argrave raised a brow.

“Now it’s serious.” Raven’s face was grave. “Take the lessons learned here. Apply them well.”

“Then, I’m ready,” he declared decisively, bracing himself. “To infinity, and—”

The soul-rending implement struck Argrave’s chest, and he felt a familiar whirl of disorientation as he was taken out of it. It felt like the very next moment that he blinked, the world had changed around him. Gravity took its hold on him as he began to fall, and he grasped out blindly at the first thing he saw.

Argrave, with the strongest grip he could muster, clung to a single root that swayed lightly in this windless space. With all his force of strength, he pulled himself up, grasping the root with his other arm. He pulled himself up until he could wrap his legs around it, then looked around. He clung to a misshapen golden tree that seemed to have been recently uprooted. It persisted amongst clouds, and far above, the two suns beamed down. Below, Argrave could see the ground. His own personal version of Blackgard persisted.

This scene was precisely as he had visualized. To reach the suns above, he’d used a mental image—that of Yggdrasil and the Tree of Being combined into one amalgamation to bridge their world with that of the stars above. To reach the two suns, he would need to climb to the top of the tree. It was suitably monumental, yet decidedly clear—in a word, precisely the sort of herculean mental task he would need to actually transfer his soul to the suns.

Argrave scrambled up the rope-like root, utterly alone besides the sound of the howling wind. Sometimes the roots came alive, seeking to dislodge and throw him off to the ground below. Argrave’s persistence was born of practiced effort, and he was able to slap away the grasping hands of shadow or burn away the dryads seeking to bite his fingers off.

When Argrave finally climbed up high enough, his feet found a place to rest—a place where he could stand without gripping the roots tightly. He took a moment to survey the area. As he did, he noticed a speck of flame burgeoning at one end of this vast tree. In the next moment, it became an all-consuming inferno, hungrily consuming the roots and the trunk of this mind-tree.

Argrave, presuming this was some machination of the world, calmly faced the threat and employed his considerable imagination. He burst away with wind magic, then conjured a hang-glider from thin air, soaring through the sky before he cut himself loose and grasped a safer section of the tree. He clung to a solid branch, watching as he realized the fire had stopped. It had stopped, strangely, in the perfect middle of the tree. Half of it had been consumed by fire, while half of it had been unaffected.

As Argrave watched this unusually rich and red fire, he spotted something directly across from him. On another branch, roughly level to where he clung, there was a figure persisting in the flame. At first glance, it looked quite like Good King Norman—tall, black of hair, red of eye. But closer scrutiny revealed subtle differences.

The man was leaner and taller than Norman. His black hair was neat, and cut short. There wasn’t an ounce of wildness to the way he carried himself. He had an elegant dark outfit on of a style that Argrave couldn’t place. Given all these details, it wasn’t difficult to recognize this man for who he was.

“Griffin,” Argrave called out.

Despite the flames, this place was eerily silent. His voice certainly reached the other party.

“You seek to stay the coming end,” Griffin called out. He raised his hand up, and Argrave tensed. “Good. The hour for turning back has passed us both. Now, we must prove ourselves worthy of what lies beyond the other’s corpse.”

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