Jackal among snakes book.., p.1
Jackal Among Snakes, Book 9: A GameLit Fantasy, page 1
Contents
Political map
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
End
Political map
Chapter 1
“Why am I being held?” a man wearing a heavy cloak protested, forced to kneel by those nearby.
Two weapons of gleaming white bone pointed at his neck, wielded by towering pale-skinned elves. They bore a black sash on their shoulder displaying a sunburst, with the rays of its sun replaced by the golden snake of House Vasquer. They did not answer him, and the people passing through the gate to Blackgard were held up by several soldiers as the conflict was dealt with. The refugees watched the situation largely in concern for their own safety.
The man protested and squirmed, but the blades wielded by the Veidimen were as immovable as a mountain. Soon enough, a new party of knights arrived. Leading them was a golden-armored knight with a long black braid descending from the back of his helmet, and the people muttered his name—Prince Orion, the vice-commander of the king’s royal guard.
Prince Orion escorted a tall woman with elegant bearing, wearing the black and gold of her husband’s kingdom. People recognized her, too, perhaps even more so than the knight. She was the queen regent, Anneliese. Some of the more reverential refugees knelt to her, but she single-mindedly walked to the man.
The queen regent sized the man up with her amber eyes, then nodded. “Well done. He’s a spy.”
Hearing those words, both the Veidimen and the man deemed spy moved at the same time. He cast a B-rank spell, disentangling himself from them, then called upon the Blessing of Supersession. His being was vested with the power offered by Erlebnis, and he called upon high-caliber magic which he directed toward the queen.
Prince Orion stepped forth to defend the queen regent with a shield that seemed to be made of a dragon’s skull, but she moved past him. She effortlessly contained the countless spells with a single ward. Some of the jewelry she wore resonated with divine power and strengthened her magic. He changed targets from her to the crowd, yet she reacted faster, containing him in a sphere of warding magic.
Isolated and neutralized, the spy grit his teeth and cast a spell with fear in his eyes. His body shifted and contorted, and then exploded into spikes of gruesome blood that propelled outward with alarming speed. Queen Anneliese’s ward was stronger, though. It did not show even a crack. She turned away from the sight with disappointment in her eyes, but then faced the crowd.
“The trouble is over, my people.” Her eyes slowly scanned the crowd, as if looking into the heart of each of them. “You will be in Blackgard soon. People like that can never get past this checkpoint.” She looked at the royal guard. “As I said, you did well. Ensure no one will be hurt.”
The guards knelt. “Yes, Your Highness.”
With a single nod, she left them all, exiting the checkpoint. Orion followed right after her, watching carefully.
Princess Elenore’s voice entered Anneliese’s head, carried by the blessing of the goddess of connections, Lira. “Is it done?”
Anneliese responded, “It was. He chose death like all the rest. Better he chose it when I came rather than when he was suspected, but our luck can only last so long. My magic is enhanced by the divine artifacts we stole from Erlebnis’ vault, but it strains against their blood magic.”
“Argrave’s Domain of Order persists, protecting this place. We would know at once if any who entered Blackgard had hostile intent,” Elenore reminded her.
“Certainly,” Anneliese acknowledged. “Still, I cannot fathom where Erlebnis gets this many people willing to die for him…”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care to know,” Elenore answered. “Even if we did manage to capture one of them alive, I doubt they’d yield anything useful. Erlebnis likes keeping knowledge, not giving it to his underlings. We should be thankful that your blessing of Truesight lets us spot them. It’s turning out to be rather invaluable, even among all of our abilities.”
Anneliese responded only, “Have you forgotten how we speak through your blessing right now?”
“Of course not,” said Elenore. “Come back to the parliamentary hall. Durran will be returning soon, and I want everyone present to receive the dwarven envoy.”
“Everyone except Argrave,” Anneliese answered begrudgingly. “See you in a bit.”
“It isn’t too much longer, now, until he returns,” Elenore said consolingly. “Chin up, Anneliese.”
Their connection faded, and Anneliese looked around the growing city of Blackgard. This place was becoming titanic as more and more people filled it. Orderly buildings of black stone, long fields and orchards of bountiful crops, roaming livestock feeding on ground unpolluted by magic… in perhaps a year, this meadow valley had become a rival to the grandest cities on the continent. But it was put to test more and more by the day. The enemies that they had made probed its defenses day and night.
And looming behind it all was the arrival of distant travelers. They came not from the north, nor the south, nor from Veiden. They came far overseas from other nations, bearing strange titles, strange weaponry, and strange customs. The conflict for the fate of the world had begun, and like a frog slowly boiled, they hardly realized it until it was too late.
But Vasquer was not alone in this changed world. They had divine allies of their own—like Lira, Yinther, or Law. There was Rook and Raccomen, divine brothers, Almazora and Veid, one a goddess of magic and the other a goddess of the Veidimen. Their alliance was not meager… and already, they’d drawn eyes by robbing Erlebnis, god of knowledge.
The fruits of that heist had already been realized in the divine artifacts wrested away. But soon, another harvest would be ready. Namely, knowledge of the calamity Gerechtigkeit, of the cycle of judgment… and possibly, just possibly, putting an end to this eternity of struggle.
Anneliese stepped up to the entrance of Blackgard’s parliamentary hall. Melanie stood there, and waved at Anneliese. The red-headed countess stepped up with her mercenary swagger, carrying a black executioner’s blade on her shoulder.
“Hey. The divine envoys are ready to join you whenever,” Melanie explained, a faint smile about her scarred face. “We’re supposed to ‘wow’ the dwarves, right? I think this’ll do the trick…”
Anneliese nodded seriously. “I should hope so. Let me channel Argrave as best I can, I suppose…”
***
“What is Anne wearing?” Argrave asked Elenore, watching the Alchemist as he worked.
The Alchemist—a towering, twenty-foot-tall monstrosity that could contort his body every which way he desired—had Argrave’s chest split open, many of his organs sprawled out across the table next to him. The Alchemist worked at extracting a malignant-looking black magic thread from Argrave’s body piece by piece. They were in the process of removing the Blessing of Supersession from him without harming the rest of his body. This had been going on for a month by this point, and the end still seemed far away.
“You want to know what Anneliese is wearing?” Elenore repeated in Argrave’s head. “Are you really asking your sister for a visual image? I’m not giving you material.”
Argrave sighed. “You’re the weird one right now. My chest is split open, and I’m trying to help even still… well, it doesn’t matter. Give her my best. I’m going to get back to it.”
Argrave watched the Alchemist as he worked. On Earth, he’d often heard about solitary confinement being torture. This was rather like solitary confinement with a phone, and front-row seats to an extremely gruesome operating theater that had daily invasive procedures… so yes, it was torture.
Within a black room without deviations, no view of the sky, and nothing to keep him company except documents and his surgeon… life had become a very dull and stagnant experience. And hearing of what had happened in the month that he’d been absent had only been more difficult. It was like having someone summarize every episode of a show instead of seeing it. In a word—frustrating.
If the news he’d heard hadn’t been largely good, perhaps he would have lost his mind.
While he had been gone, they distributed the loot from the heist of Erlebnis’ vault. That had been a tremendous boon to their fighting power. Durran’s retinue of wyvern riders had grown a reputation after their journeys around Vasquer, slaying lesser gods. Apparently, Anneliese was strong enough to block common S-rank spells with A-rank wards—something that should’ve been an impossibility, largely. And their backing for the heist, their divine allies, had been largely pleased with the result.
That wasn’t even mentioning Argrave’s royal guard of Veidimen—or snow elves, as they were known by humans. They had always been an elite fighting force, yet with divine artifacts as equipment they had a retinue of well-trained knights about as strong as Orion. It was a monstrous boon to their fighting strength, and kept Blackgard the safest city in Vasquer.
On top of that, Almazora and Rook had been promised mortal champions. They’d found them—for Rook, the recipient was Stain, formerly known as Veladrien of Jast. He was the thief, and protagonist of Heroes of Berendar, that Argrave had dealt with a year and some months ago. As for Almazora, goddess of magic… despite Argrave’s recommendation of Nikoletta, she chose Artur, master of the Hall of Enchantment.
Almazora’s choice of mortal champion had been as much a shock to Argrave as it had been everyone else. Formerly a Magister of the Order of the Gray Owl, he’d left the Order after experiencing some mockery regarding his dwarfism. With the royal family’s support he founded the Hall of Enchantment, and had been working to restore the enchantment methods of the ancient elven empire.
And on that front, he’d been succeeding splendidly. Not only had they resurrected the dead art of dwarven metalworking, which used deep earth metals and spirits to forge blades that could cut through rock or resist magic, but Artur had rediscovered countless elven enchantments. Whether on armor or weapons, he was enhancing their forces with mass-production of incredibly potent equipment. By this point, their army was an equal to any that a god might have. From the sound of it, Argrave would be confident sending them against Kirel Qircassia’s force that they’d fought in the Bloodwoods.
But as the days passed ever onward, it stood to reason that Argrave would not have to guess any longer. Elenore had delivered reports of seeing foreigners land strange square ships on the shores of the Bloodwoods and northeastern Vasquer. They hadn’t lingered long, but what few sightings came suggested they wore lamellar armor and had single-sided blades. Argrave knew them well—the people of the continent far to the northeast, inspired by the medieval empires of East Asia on Earth.
If what Argrave knew held true, they were a diverse collection of peoples presently united by the Great Chu. He didn’t fully trust that knowledge remained so, but the Chu was a nation no less formidable than Vasquer—and Argrave only thought he was their equal because they’d gained many divine artifacts after robbing Erlebnis.
Regardless, the Chu weren’t the only people soon to come to Vasquer. There would be others—some would come at the behest of the divine, and others would come as their allies. But they would come, both because Argrave had made a great many enemies and because this continent was to be the site where Gerechtigkeit descended. It was Argrave’s duty as king to stand up to those people.
And behind it all, another matter lurked. They had gone into Erlebnis’ vault to acquire all the knowledge about Gerechtigkeit they possibly could. The Alchemist held all that knowledge, and with Argrave’s vague awareness of the future, they’d been steadily concocting a plan of attack—not against Gerechtigkeit, but against the cycle of judging the world that he heralded. The things that they had learned had been staggering, and Argrave had deep and serious theoretical discussions about how, precisely, they might end this all.
But to learn how to end the cycle of judgment… they might need to learn how it began. Argrave had arranged a meeting with Sataistador, the first god of war. He wasn’t sure whether it was to be a battle or a cordial conversation, but he did know that the god claimed to take part in the first cycle of judgment.
Reminded of that coming meeting, Argrave asked, “Hey. Pour some of House Quadreign’s fire on me, again.”
“No,” said the Alchemist simply. “I’m busy.”
Argrave sighed, setting his table back down on the table. In his right hand, he practiced constructing magic matrixes just as Tower Master Castro had taught him. If a battle was to come… well, he’d been training his magic for a month, without stopping, without sleeping. And whether they exchanged words or fists… he’d get what he wanted out of Sataistador. Only a week or so remained…
Chapter 2
Anneliese looked upon the group that was to meet the dwarven envoy. All here were the mortal champions of gods belonging to the Blackgard Union. They were all dressed finely in the black and gold colors of House Vasquer. They looked good, Anneliese thought, but Galamon pulled at his cuffs as though they were uncomfortable just the same as Stain did. Only Artur seemed to revel in the clothes—indeed, he’d donned a cloak bearing Argrave’s personal sunburst sigil repeated time and time again, and had imbued it with enchantments to keep him hovering off the ground.
The plan was to approach the dwarves not as the Kingdom of Vasquer, but rather the Blackgard Union—it would give a more intimidating aspect to the name, and ideally avoid any qualms that the democratic republican dwarven nation might have about working with a monarchy. Still…
Galamon, Vasquer’s knight-commander. Elenore, the king’s sister, and Durran, her husband. Melanie, a countess in Vasquer. The list went on and on, leading any keen observer to one conclusion—this party was comprised of those solely loyal to Argrave, and to Vasquer. Even if they called them divine envoys, the truth was rather obvious. The only saving grace of their composition…
“Ganbaatar. Your friendship in this time is a boon to us all.” Anneliese nodded to him.
The elf from the Bloodwoods dipped his head, his red eyes clear and unburdened. “Nonsense. It was friendship and responsibility both. The Qircassian Coalition is a greater enemy than we alone can handle.”
Anneliese could see the sincerity in his posture, but still added, “I am pleased you see it so. And congratulations on receiving Ghan’s blessing.”
The elf from the woods nodded curtly and looked away. Anneliese observed everyone else. The only one that was less than focused was Artur. As a human born with dwarfism, he was about to meet a race that called themselves ‘dwarves.’ She could imagine why he was uncomfortable.
“Elenore, Melanie, and I shall take the lead,” Anneliese continued, looking at everyone present. “But anyone else can feel free to interject. Argrave tells me the dwarves are a debate-loving people who appreciate the perspective of any dwarf. Mirroring that mentality cannot be a detriment.”
“Any dwarf. You think that means me?” Artur looked at her. Despite his jokes, she could tell he felt uneasy. “What if they take my presence as an insult?”
Anneliese met his gaze. “You are Almazora’s mortal champion. That is why you are here, Artur.”
He grunted under his breath and muttered, “Not what I asked, Your Highness, but…”
Anneliese took on a stern affect and said, “The true insult would be from their side toward ours—taking affront at a valuable member of both Vasquer and this alliance for merely being who he is.”
Artur floated away and turned, perhaps to hide his embarrassment, and said, “The flattery is appreciated, Your Highness.”
“Flattery and truth are not mutually exclusive,” Elenore contributed, then looked to Anneliese for the signal to go ahead. Artur was more at ease, so Anneliese had nothing more to do. She nodded, and Elenore directed them forth. “Let us be on our way. Remember—we dealt with the Ebon Cult. That should give us considerable leverage.”
They exited their room of the parliamentary hall, walking to greet the envoys. Orion led them while other Veidimen royal guards watched the back. The building had become suitably grander, with sizable gardens along its walkways and other buildings meant to accommodate the various diplomatic needs of the parliament and the royal family. It was becoming something of a palace, despite the absence of the king.
When they came to the small conference room, Orion opened up its double doors. Eight heads turned to look at them. The dwarves were short, squat, and brawny all. They stood at the table, the chairs pushed aside, and were surprisingly uniform in appearance. All eight were males, and wore white robes—togas, Argrave had called them—with their right shoulder and arm exposed. They had dark, curly hair, all about down to their ears, and wore wreaths of silver. They were immaculately shaven—face, arms, all of them.
