Jackal Among Snakes

Chapter 133: Easy Out

Mistress Crislia, the Lord of Gold. Though Argrave was embarrassed by his lack of knowledge of Titus, he knew plenty about the master of Aurum, the golden tower on the outside of Sethia. The knowledge came from facing her as an enemy, though—the player could only ever collaborate with Cyprus, and Aurum and Argent would always be one’s enemies were that the case.

The Crislia Argrave knew was narcissistic and greedy. She didn’t lack for ambition, both for spiritual and physical matters. She would constantly try and expand both her physical wealth and her Vessel by Draining people, sacrificing their souls to Fellhorn—typically, both would expand at the same time. She was fond of forcing merchants to infract so she could both seize their wealth and their soul.

“What did you wish to discuss about Sethia?” Argrave inquired, making no move to proceed further into the room towards the three elven Vessels across from him.

“Brium’s speech, heretical though it may be, did resonate with me,” Crislia said, crossing one leg over the other. Her gold ankle bracelets rattled against each other, metallic rings echoing about the room like muted windchimes. “Even if he is misguided.”

Argrave took a breath, and nodded slowly, reminding himself to play the part of a loyalist. “Brium speaks a lot of sense, I find.”

“True. The southern tribals—they are unruly beasts, obsessed with war and glory and honor. The fools are utterly unable to set aside grudges,” she criticized condescendingly. “Well, those tribals still resisting, anyhow. Most beneath our banner have been brought to heel.”

“Someone should do something about that,” Argrave commented, reflecting Brium’s sentiments outwardly.

“And that is just the point.” Crislia leaned forward against her crossed legs, very obviously trying to make use of her sex appeal. Anneliese frowned and glanced at Argrave but calmed quickly when she saw his stoic face. “I tried to broach the subject with Quarrus, but the Lord of Silver cannot be reasoned with. Despite being the one who suffered the raid from the tribals, he is adamant we stay our course.”

Argrave felt an uncomfortable inkling. “It sounds to me as though you’re coming to view things as Brium does.”

She did not confirm it, but from Crislia’s expression alone Argrave knew he was right. “I cannot very well approach his tower in the open. As such, I have deigned to come to you—a mercenary, largely free of prying eyes.” She leaned back. “I wish for you to tell Brium this: if he surrenders to me, I will collaborate with him, and be the herald of the flood he so desires to wash away the southern tribals in the mountains.”

“Surrenders how?” Argrave tilted his head.

“If he becomes my vassal,” she spread her arms out. “It is only the natural course of things. Gold has always stood far above the likes of silver and copper.”

Argrave nodded slowly. “And what of Argent?”

“A city must have a firm central power to properly shepherd the ignorant into doing what is good for them,” she said with a smile. “I will tolerate no other to contest my power. Quarrus has already proven… disagreeable.” She leaned back further, crossing her arms. “Have you more questions, or will you deliver the message?”

Argrave hesitated for but a moment, then gave a quick nod. “I’ll get this to him.”

“Excellent,” she said, rising to her feet. “I will leave you, then.”

The elven Vessel walked past, her two other companions eyeing Argrave as they moved past. Titus was the last to leave. His gaze stayed on Argrave as he left—it seemed emotionless.

Once the door shut, Argrave stood staring at it. The Brumesingers, as though summoned, lowered themselves from Argrave’s clothes and started to prance about the room, playing. Their fur seemed a little darker than before, faintly tan. The souls of the dead were abundant in this place, it seemed, and they had plenty to eat.

Anneliese conjured a ward at once.

“I dislike that woman. Argrave, I—”

“That’s the easy way out,” Argrave interrupted her. “And it’s walked right into our hands. A lot of the uncertainty—whether or not the southern tribals are capable of fighting the Vessels, whether or not I’ll be caught playing the double agent… if I persuade Brium to accept Crislia’s offer—and I’m sure I can—I can get the Wraith’s Heart as easy as anything.”

Argrave’s words brought a silence over the group, and whatever Anneliese had to say, she didn’t continue.

“Brium would agree. I’m sure he would. He might betray Crislia later, but he’d definitely agree now.” Argrave turned around, facing his three party members. “We could stroll into Argent and pluck that heart freely. We’d be gone before the sun rises the next day, headed for the Alchemist.”

Galamon crossed his arms, staring down at Argrave. Anneliese remained silent.

“Do it then, you damned fool,” Garm encouraged. “You owe these people nothing. You’re no hero. You aren’t a savior. Stay in the good graces of the powerful. Regardless of if some ancient calamity is actually coming, having powerful friends here only helps you.”

Everyone stayed silent, and so Garm continued.

“Even if you help the southern tribals and all of the Vessels are purged from this city, their new fledgling government would be of no help to you. They’re small, insignificant, and with manifold enemies on every flank. They’re good for no one. And considering your covert role, I doubt they’d be grateful. They wouldn’t even know you’d helped them!” Garm shouted.

“Garm,” Galamon veritably snarled, turning his face to the severed head.

“Hold on,” Argrave finally spoke up, raising his hand. His eyes were bright with epiphany. “Did you get sand in your ears, Garm? Do the Vessels seem the grateful type?”

“Well…” Garm said, voice muffled from beneath Galamon’s helmet.

“On the contrary. What we’ve seen, it’s shown us that these Vessels don’t see people as people at all. Gratefulness, reciprocation—those words aren’t in their diction.” Argrave stepped around. “Long-term, neither the tribals nor the Vessels seem like good options. Ungrateful pricks, one and all. Might sound like I’m being mean, but it’s true. I’ve met the tribals.”

Galamon furrowed his brows, watching Argrave as he paced about.

“But here’s the key difference. The Vessels don’t care about life—hell, most of them we’ve seen have an active interest in Draining people’s souls.” Argrave paused, pivoting on his heel to face his party once again. “It’ll be easier and safer for us to help force a collaboration between Crislia and Brium. But dispel these notions of pragmatism versus morality. There’s no extra benefit. So, should we erase the last pocket of resistance to the Vessels? That’s the only question.”

“You might be saving your life. Does safety mean nothing to you? Don’t be a fool,” Garm insisted.

“I’d sacrifice a bit of personal safety to do the right thing,” Argrave summarized. “I think I’m fine with that.”

“Talk is talk. When you die later, there’ll be no time for regret.”

“That’s just the thing,” Argrave shook his head. “I’ve been working hard to become powerful, but I’m still walking about like a little player.” He spread his arms out. “The whole point of being powerful is getting what you want, no? And I really want to do things my way. I won’t die,” he shook his head confidently. “None of us will.”

“You are a maddening idiot,” Garm rebuked.

“On the contrary,” Argrave disagreed. “Every time I look in my mirror, it tells me I’m intelligent. That’s a fact, strangely enough,” he shook his head. “Brium and Crislia are going to have an unfortunate miscommunication. Aurum and Argent will proceed onwards as they have been, and attempt to wipe Cyprus off the map. Then, in the ensuing battle, they’re going to be removed from power. All of them. Forcibly. Any questions?”

“Not a question,” Anneliese raised her hand. “An observation, though, and a hypothesis.”

“Please,” Argrave gestured towards her.

“Titus knew about Garm,” she said with certainty. “I gleaned that from his wandering gaze, and his mental state. As for my theory regarding that…” she hesitated, a bit uncertain. “Titus may have been the one to inform Brium about his existence.”

Her words made Argrave pause, and he stood there in silence for a minute. He thought back to the journey, and to the man’s mannerisms—he had been very generous and pleasant company. His lack of prominence in Argrave’s memory made him lower his guard with the travelling merchant.

But that journey had been when they were most carefree with Garm. Argrave had set him by the window in an attempt to be nicer to him and win his favor. When they had spotted the Brandback, Garm had spoken up—Argrave had tried to cover for him, but Titus had heard the head, that much was for certain.

“Hah,” Garm laughed. “I told you it was unnecessary, giving me the window. Look what happens.”

“Yeah, next time I’ll encase you in clay and keep you in a bag,” Argrave snapped back at once, then directed his attention to Anneliese. “But what’s the reasoning for him being the one that told Brium?”

“He loathes Crislia. I can guarantee you he does not serve her out of loyalty. It is such a complete and utter loathing as to be uncomfortable,” she stated. “And he felt guilty when looking at us.”

Argrave nodded, putting the pieces in place. “But anything else…?”

“He knew about Yarra, and knew she would be coming,” Galamon supported Anneliese. “Further, he was able to delay her arrival.”

“That might be Crislia’s influence, though,” Argrave argued.

“Crislia never mentioned Yarra. She seemed to be ignorant that Brium did have eyes on you—she said so plainly. She spoke to you precisely because she thought none were watching you, if you recall,” Anneliese countered.

“It’s…” Argrave scratched his chin. “It’s plausible—more than plausible. But this guy, Titus—I know nothing about him. That’s why I was getting all moody earlier,” he pointed to Anneliese.

She nodded. “I thought that might be the case. But you cannot know everyone in millions.”

“I should know enough to avoid something like that from happening,” he disagreed. “Getting blindsided like this—I’m putting everyone at risk.”

“You sought me out because I’m good at handling risk,” Galamon pointed out.

“Can’t rely on you for everything,” Argrave dismissed.

“Why not?” Galamon asked simply. Argrave didn’t have an answer for that.

“Do what you can. Do what you excel at,” Anneliese urged. “But do not loathe yourself for occasional shortcomings. I dealt with that, once. It is an unpleasant thing, to constantly undermine yourself.”

“I can’t be complacent,” Argrave insisted. “Too much at stake to settle for ‘good enough.’”

Anneliese sighed. “You are a maddening idiot,” she repeated Garm’s words with resignation. Strangely, he did not feel the need to contest the point when she made it.

“Let’s wait for Yarra,” Argrave concluded, stepping away. “Then… we’ll set things in motion. Or resume things, I suppose. Crislia’s visit doesn’t change a thing. In fact, it might just speed things up tremendously…”