Jackal Among Snakes

Chapter 51: Hothouse Flower

Dawn light fell onto the village of White Edge. Argrave sat with legs dangling off the floor of the carriage while the door remained opened, watching the still-visible red moon dip behind the canopy of the forest. His eyes had dark bags beneath them, and he felt generally miserable. Despite that, he knew there was much to do today.

Last night, they had laid out the poison-laced deer flesh throughout the lily fields, leaving distinct marks by each to determine which poison had been effective. Today, they would have to check and see which had been consumed and which had been left alone. Argrave wished most to sleep. The feeling overwhelmed, and Argrave pulled out the bronze hand mirror and stared at it to get into the right mindset.Belongs to NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

Traits: [Tall], [Sickly], [Weak], [Intelligent], [Magic Affinity (High)], [Insomniac], [Blessing of Supersession (MAX)]

Skills: [Elemental Magic (C)], [Blood Magic (D)], [Healing Magic (C)], [Illusion Magic (D)], [Warding Magic(D)], [Druidic Magic (C)], [Inscription (E)], [Imbuing (E)]

Argrave had mostly made advancements in druidic magic—specifically, the supplementary spells of [Pack Leader] enabling him to give vague commands to the animals he was linked to. Unplanned combat was the number one cause of death in ‘Heroes of Berendar,’ and so being able to avoid it with proper scouting was quite important to him. He could already order the birds to move to specific locations, watch over him as he slept, or search for a specific thing. [Pack Leader] was but a gateway into a very useful subset of druidic spells. It would truly manifest its usefulness when he linked to animals more versatile than pigeons—animals he intended to get at the Burnt Desert.

Argrave turned the hand mirror about in his hand, about to put it away. A voice brought him from his distracted haze.

“Do you hate yourself?”

Argrave looked up, somewhat surprised. Anneliese watched, arms crossed as she stood a fair distance away from Argrave and the carriage.

Argrave frowned. “Hate myself? Where’s this coming from?”

She pointed to his hands. “Whenever you look into that mirror, I see some resentment.”

“I don’t hate myself,” Argrave dismissed, taking another glance at the mirror.

“Your face, then?”

Argrave laughed at that notion. He weighed the mirror in his hand, and then his expression grew pensive. He held the mirror out. “What do you see when you look into this?”

Argrave felt anxious even asking the question. He was probing into something he’d been doing his best to avoid thinking about—what exactly had happened to him. He worked tirelessly precisely so he never had to think about it.

Anneliese hesitated, and then stepped forward and took the mirror. She held it up before her face cautiously. “I see myself,” she responded immediately, lowering the mirror as though it as though it was obvious.

Argrave stared at the mirror in her hand for a long time. He couldn’t quite comprehend what emotion he was feeling at her response—disappointment, maybe, or some warped sense of affirmation. He examined the emotion, feeling it twisting about in his head and chest. Then he placed it.

Isolation.

No matter how much more lifelike these people had become, what he knew of this world and where he had come from placed an unbreakable barrier between him and everyone else he spoke to. A game becoming reality was a difficult thing to comprehend in theory. In practice… it was enough to make Argrave lose his mind. So, he didn’t accept it. He ignored it and lost himself in studying magic, poor humor, and a steady advance towards what hehad done a thousand times: finish the game.

Argrave blinked quickly, trying to bring himself out of his train of thought. “I see,” he finally said in response to Anneliese’s statement. He reached out and took the mirror, stowing it away.

“What do you see?” she inquired.

“You said it yourself. Something I resent,” Argrave responded simply with an empty smile. “A reminder.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, a mix between confusion and concern expressed on her face. “Do you hate your bloodline, the physical traits you inherited? They are rather distinct from most humans,” she answered, gesturing towards him.

Argrave stood from the carriage’s floor and shut the door. “We should start heading towards the lily fields, find out what poison we need to make.” He walked past her.

“You’ve said you trust both me and Galamon with your life,” she called out. “At the same time, you refuse to trust us with simple knowledge about yourself, your plans, or your struggles. It’s rather vexing.”

Argrave paused and looked back. “Didn’t realize I was so fascinating. Do I often occupy your thoughts?”

“And then you deflect or change the subject when I pry,” she pointed out.

“Maybe there’s a hint in that.”

“Maybe,” Anneliese continued, amber eyes unwavering. “But whatever is on your mind wears at you worse and worse. You don’t sleep, you have nightmares, you bury yourself in distractions…” she trailed off, then continued. “I won’t presume your burden. I don’t know what it is you’re thinking about because you won’t share. You might think it’s too much for me—for Galamon too. You might think it’s inconsequential and not worth sharing. All I ask… is that you consider trying it.”

Argrave bit his lip, frowning. He shook his head and turned around. “Oh, poor me. I’m a hothouse flower with a wounded soul,” Argrave mocked.

“Another deflection,” she pointed out with a smile that made Argrave oddly sad. “Just think about it,” Anneliese concluded.

Argrave opened his mouth to say more but stopped. He turned his head to the road. “I feel something from my birds. I think something’s coming up the road,” he said. “Could you check it out?”

Anneliese’s face grew serious, and she held out her hand while closing her eyes. After a few seconds, a pigeon in the trees flew up into the air, following down the road. Some time passed before Anneliese opened her eyes and the matrix in her hand dissipated. She nodded. “There’s a carriage coming. A well-dressed man is driving, while two knights ride outside.”

“Any symbols on the carriage?” Argrave followed up.

“A banner,” Anneliese nodded. “A red flag with a white sun in the center.”

“That’s Jast’s heraldry,” Argrave said musingly. “But why are they coming here…?” Argrave instinctually looked for Galamon, but he had sent him out both to collect more game for a larger-scale poisoning and to deal with his vampirism.

“Be at attention. I’m not sure they’ll be friendly, but I have no reason to assume they’re hostile, either.” Argrave lowered his head, lost in thought. “I’m not sure why these people are here… was the carriage particularly large? Did it have any wagons?”

“The carriage was quite large, but mostly empty from what I saw. There were one wagon trailing behind.”

Argrave scratched at his chin. “From what you describe, it sounds like a tax collector. I was under the impression that White Edge scarcely received them.”

“Tax collector?”

“They receive a portion of a village’s harvest or other suitable compensation as tax. In return, the feudal lord protects them. This system is the foundation of society in most of Berendar, although it’s a bit more complex than that, I’ll admit,” Argrave explained. “We should…” he paused, considering how to handle this matter. “…go out and meet them.”

Argrave strode down the road, keeping his eyes fixed on the distant path ahead. Soon enough, what Anneliese had scouted with druidic magic came into view—a large wooden carriage driven by two horses, a man holding the reins to the horses with two knights in tow beside him. The occasional flash of red came from the side of the carriage as the banners waved.

When the knights took notice of Argrave, they urged their horses forward and rode ahead. Seeing that Argrave was taking no measures to hide himself, their caution did not rise any further than that. Soon enough, the man driving the carriage slowed the horses into a trot. Argrave waited in the road, and Anneliese came to stand beside him.

“You’re blocking the road,” one of the knights said as the carriage drew closer.

“Did you think I wasn’t aware of that?” Argrave asked incredulously.

The knights looked to each other after Argrave’s undaunted response. “Are you part of the village of White Edge?” one of the knights questioned. The carriage came to a stop, and Argrave was not so far from the two horses bound to the carriage. They neighed and ground their feet against the road.

“Are you tax collectors from Jast?” Argrave inquired, ignoring the knight’s question. The knight looked to the man driving the carriage.

“Yes, I’m Jorund, the tax collector assigned to this village,” the man confirmed. “Many other villages, too, but that’s beside the point. Are you a resident of this village? Likely not, judging by your company,” he looked to Anneliese.

“I’m a Wizard from the Order of the Gray Owl,” Argrave identified himself with his badge. “I was under the impression tax collectors don’t find it worth the time to head to White Edge. Why has that changed?”

Seeing that Argrave was from the Order, the man’s demeanor changed, and the knights shifted uneasily. Jorund adjusted in the seat, and then climbed down from the carriage. Once on his feet, he was taken aback by Argrave and Anneliese’s height. He approached warily.

“Good wizard,” Jorund said cordially, “I can’t claim to know why it is that I was ordered to do something, merely that I was. In the grand scheme of things—”

“Let’s skip the preamble. What’s the tax?” Argrave pressed, gesturing with his hands. “You didn’t bring a small carriage.”

“One moment…” Jorund said, unoffended by Argrave’s brusqueness. He reached into his back pocket and pulled free a rolled-up piece of parchment. He unraveled it, and then read quickly, “Count Delbraun demands half of this year’s harvest, or fifty bushels of wheat—whichever is lower—or suitable compensation.”

Argrave couldn’t exactly say whether fifty bushels was low or high, but he knew that half of the harvest was a ridiculous amount for a place like White Edge which didn’t have the most fertile lands. “That’s a bit excessive, don’t you think? I thought Jast was remaining neutral in the war. What’s the need for such a large quantity?”

Jorund rolled up the paper once more. “I’m quite curious why the good wizard is so interested in the tax collection process… enough to stop the carriage, even.”

Argrave stared blankly for a moment, debating on what to say. “Count Delbraun sent me here to handle an infestation of bugs that the people here are dealing with. I have the villagers helping me with other matters related to that, and the harvest is delayed.”

“I wasn’t informed of this,” Jorund said with a frown. “I’m certain I would have been.”

“That’s why I’m curious,” Argrave pointed to his chest. “I didn’t expect to encounter a city official here. You’re going to have to turn around until things are dealt with here.” Argrave waved his hands away.

“Wizard, sir…” Jorund said, taking a step back. “I can’t simply turn around and return empty-handed. Indeed, I’m starting to question this entire situation. You meet me so far from the village, you have one of the… snow elves in tow. Recent rumor has it they tried to sack Mateth. Quite a dangerous people,” he commented, staring at Anneliese.

Argrave’s gaze flitted between the two knights, ensuring that things were not escalating. Eventually, his gaze settled on the tax collector. Seeing that Argrave wasn’t speaking, Jorund continued.

“It isn’t that I doubt your identity as a Wizard of the Gray Owl. Jast has innumerable such badges, and I am quite good at spotting fakes.” Jorund sighed. “Rumor has it… and this is just rumor, mind you… that the Count’s liege sent out orders to have this tax levied. Perhaps that is where this misunderstanding stems from. Bureaucracy is a complicated thing.”

“The Duke of Elbraille?” Argrave frowned. “That’s…” he paused. “Well, I won’t make these people resume the harvest. As I mentioned, Count Delbraun ordered me to take care of an infestation of insects here before it spirals out of control.” Argrave put a hand on his hip. “Suitable compensation, you say? What does that mean?”

“Anything of significant value. I would appraise it, naturally.”

Argrave nodded. “Anneliese, could you please go get my lockbox?” She looked at him, then nodded and went off to do as he asked. “Let’s wrap up this matter by saying that the people of White Edge went mining for jewels during this harvest season. I’m sure that you, as a tax collector, can know whether or not these jewels are a suitable compensation.”

#####

“Those were worth a lot of money,” Argrave cursed, staring at his lockbox that was a little less colorful. “Things are getting out of control. I don’t like it.”

“’Out of control?’” Anneliese repeated.

Argrave shut the box, locking it with its key. He hid the key away in his pocket and then put the box back in the carriage. “That was a war tax. Had to be. Half the damned harvest? It’s unreasonable. I was counting on Jast remaining neutral.” Argrave grit his teeth. “I have to reassess things, deduce what might be happening. For now, we deal with the task at hand.”

“Right. I spent some time watching these insects. I have an idea that may work to expedite things.” She looked out into the forest where the lily fields lay beyond. “Should we wait for Galamon?”

“No, it shouldn’t…” Argrave trailed off. “Hold on. I feel… I think something’s off.”

“What?”

“The lily fields… they’re very active. That’s what I feel. I…” Argrave touched his forehead, disoriented. “I feel a lot of movement,” Argrave said decisively. Now that he had experienced scouting something with [Pack Leader], he was much more certain.

“Do you want me to—”

“No, I’m confident in my assessment. Let’s head to the fields,” Argrave said decisively. He broke off into a jog.

Nothing ever goes right, does it? he thought, fearing the worst.

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