JACKAL AMONG SNAKES-Novel

Chapter 170: Dissonance

In the days that passed, Argrave’s strong suspicion that the Margrave intended for him to stay became a certainty. The head of House Parbon lacked subtlety and had all but said ‘you will stay here.’ It definitely did not have the same atmosphere as the first time Argrave had been restrained by Reinhardt—he was not yanked about by a rope and tied to posts, and though their party of four was guarded strictly, there was never a hostile atmosphere.

The Margrave continued to insist that the men he sent to the Low Way of the Rose had not yet returned. Argrave had asked some pointed questions to figure out if the Margrave was hiding anything, as though he had something planned for a few days later… but Anneliese insisted that the Margrave bore them no ill will, which was surprise enough.

They were watched quite closely. The only place they had a chance to talk without knights shadowing them was in their assigned quarters, and even there, they waited just outside. A ward was sufficient to stop most of their talk from leaking outside.

“Never would have pictured the fearsome patriarch of House Parbon is just a family man,” Durran shook his head, his glaive laid out across his lap. “That gray-haired woman was quite the pretty one.”

“Don’t even try,” Argrave shook his head. “She has a fiancé. And if you mess that up, I’ll flay you.”

“Too shy for my tastes, don’t worry,” Durran held his hand out. “The Margrave seems an interesting man… but never a chance to talk to him. Such a shame.”

Argrave shrugged, sitting across from Durran in a circle alongside his other two companions. A ward blocked their conversation from any listeners. “To be fair, he spends most of his times in meeting with his vassals devising measures for the war.”

“Yeah. He goes to work so his family stays safe, and then once he’s home, he spoils them. A family man, like I said.” Durran tapped the tip of his wyvern bone glaive. “Though… I guess that’d give him reason to fight harder against our invasions… More to fight for.” Durran looked up at Argrave. “Why are we milling about here?”

Argrave uncrossed his legs, then recrossed them, anxious. “This guy keeps coming up with contrivances every damn day to keep us here. He said there was a cave-in at the lower levels of the castle, and he wasn’t sure it’d be safe to leave. What the hell is that? A five-year-old can come up with better lies than that.”

Galamon locked eyes with Argrave. “Press the issue,” he suggested.

“I may have to, but…” Argrave lowered his head. “Why is he doing this? The only thing I can guess is that he’s waiting for a response from someone… Duke Enrico, maybe…”

“Why not just sneak out?” Durran questioned. “Force our way out, even?”

“Difficult,” Galamon shook his head. “It was hard enough for me to… replenish my rations,” he looked to Argrave as he said those words with a bitter sarcasm.

Argrave smiled, then supported Galamon’s claim, saying, “And I don’t want to make the Margrave toss aside what little goodwill I’ve built up in that icy heart of his. Doing something like that… sneaking out isn’t the problem. Someone’s going to get hurt, I’m sure of it,” he said, pausing as he recalled the unfortunate circumstance with the Stonepetal Sentinels. Argrave held his hand out to amend, “Not us, but them. And the Margrave would care about something like that. His heart might be icy, but that just makes it bigger. He cares for his men.”

“Then what do we do?” Durran held his hands out in a shrug.

“Tonight, we’re having dinner with them. Again. And I’ll press the issue, as Galamon suggested.” Argrave rubbed his thumb against his knuckles. “Failing that… I definitely don’t plan on staying another night. If no answers come, we’ll devise a plan the next morning.”

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“I spoke with my councilors,” Reinhardt said. “And received some petitioners from the nobles that have thrown in their lot with me. The unanimous consensus is that this plague is a serious matter… and so I heeded your advice. I contacted Jast… and the Order of the Gray Owl, requesting aid,” he told Argrave.

Argrave smiled. “My words finally got into that thick head of yours, eh?” he paused, thinking he might be acting overly familiar. “Erm, forget I said that. That’s a good development.”

The Margrave cleared his throat, then cut into the unseasoned beef he ate every meal. Argrave wasn’t sure the man got the proper nutrients.

“What do you think should be the priority moving forward?” Margrave Reinhardt questioned.

Argrave glanced around the table, taking in the expressions of everyone. He hadn’t intended to talk about this, and he briefly considered changing the subject… but in the end, he might be able to change things for the better when he had the Margrave’s ear.

“The plague, obviously. That has the potential to do the most damage to the people, be they the high and mighty or the weak and decrepit. Until it’s abated entirely… or until better methods are found to combat it… it’s the most harmful to the world,” Argrave finished by pointing to the Margrave. “It’s not the pragmatic thing to do. You may suffer in the war effort. But that is why Felipe deserves to be dethroned, and why it must be you that does it.”

“Hear hear,” Durran raised his glass of wine.

The Margrave shifted, perhaps stirred by Argrave’s words. He set his elbows on the table, then questioned, “And what about your priority?”

“The same,” he replied at once. “This plague—the longer it goes unaddressed, the worse things will get for everyone, no matter who they are. That’s why I intend to head northwest, where people have had it longer. Examining them may help me glean some insight into curing people,” he suggested—only a slight distortion of the truth. “And speaking of my priority,” Argrave continued. “I get the distinct feeling I’m being kept from leaving.”

The Margrave stopped midbite, then lowered his fork. Then, as if trying to appear inconspicuous, he raised the fork up again, and chewed his cut of plain beef all the way through. Argrave waited politely, a bit flabbergasted at how bad this man would be at poker.

“I don’t know what you speak of,” the Margrave finally said. Anneliese tapped his foot to inform of his deception, but it was unnecessary—anyone could tell he was lying.

“Really?” Argrave raised his brows in exaggerated surprise. “So, that cave-in at the lower levels, no one besides you talked about it? None of us felt it? And hell, it happened despite this castle being so heavily enchanted not even one brick has fallen off, once?”

His daughter, Rose, looked away, almost embarrassed as Argrave recounted the excuse her father had used.

“It’s a… six-hundred-year-old castle,” Reinhardt shook his head.

“Mmmhmm,” Argrave nodded with a plastic grin on his face. “And those riders you sent to the Low Way—I didn’t realize your men were so bad at simple scouting tasks. No word from them?”

Reinhardt planted his fork in his steak, then took a long drink of water. “No word,” he said, setting the cup down loudly. Anneliese tapped his foot again.

Argrave leaned back into his chair, keeping his eyes on the Margrave almost lazily. He looked to Rose, and then to Ridia of Jast, almost as if asking them silently if they believed this nonsense.

“I think we’re going to set off tomorrow, Reinhardt,” Argrave said plainly.

“You can’t,” he answered at once.

“Why?” Argrave crossed his arms.

“A snowstorm… comes,” he said weakly.

“This far south?” Argrave noted, almost mockingly by this point. “And with not a cloud in the sky?”

The Margrave remained firm. “You can’t,” he repeated.

Durran stood up, his chair creaking loudly. “I can’t listen to this anymore,” he said. Argrave looked at him with fierce eyes, concerned the man might do something ridiculous.

“I’m about to burst,” Durran continued. “Need to use the privy.”

He left quickly, grabbing his glaive leaning against the wall as he left. He practically sprinted out of the room, one hand held to his stomach. Argrave furrowed his brows, then shrugged.

Just then, Anneliese tapped his foot, and he came to attention. Durran was lying.

“Father…” Rose began, reaching her hand out. The dour Margrave looked a bit brighter at that moment, and took her hand. “Give it up. You are worthless at this sort of thing.”

The big warrior looked betrayed for half a second, but he gave a long sigh and took his hand away. “Alright. I suppose I should be honest.”

“Uh… yeah,” Argrave agreed, one eye lingering on Anneliese. She gave him a quiet nod, then looked out the door where Durran had left. “Starsparrow,” he directed her quietly, and she nodded in agreement, casting the druidic spell beneath the table. In not a second, the bird perched atop her shoulder vanished. It moved so quickly no one noticed it at all. Well, nearly no one—Ridia of Jast had been staring at the bird on Anneliese’s shoulder, and looked around, confused.

“The truth is… there is something important you should be let in on,” Margrave Reinhardt said slowly.

“Is that right?” Argrave anxiously tapped his finger against a fork, casting glances to Anneliese as she focused on watching Durran with her Starsparrow. He had a bad feeling.

“I had my reservations,” the Margrave admitted. “Even barring our past association… your relationship with Anneliese. I thought it was whimsy, a flight of fancy from a hot-blooded youth… but there is something more, I believe, and despite the difficulties some might have accepting an elf, she has keen insight and talent in many fields.”

Argrave nodded, half-paying attention. “We were blessed to meet, and I count myself among the fortunate to this very day.”

“Hmm,” the Margrave nodded, fortunately looking off to the side. “Moreover, my daughter agrees that you have changed significantly. You have not met in eight years, as I remember… but she tells me that speaking to you now is like speaking to an entirely different person. I will not presume to know your situation… but considering how Felipe’s other children turned out, perhaps it is no surprise you were as you were. Yet time away from them, it seems, has changed you.”

Argrave stared, more focused on whatever Durran was doing outside than what the Margrave was saying.

“Tomorrow morning, I will wake you up early,” Reinhardt continued.

The bird reentered the room, perching itself back atop Anneliese’s shoulders. She opened her eyes and took a deep breath.

“I wish for you to meet my close council… in part to explain what Jast and the Order might help us with, but for other reasons as well.”

Anneliese leaned in and whispered, ‘wyvern.’ Argrave had been waiting for that word, and he stood up quickly.

“Before we go on,” Argrave began, an excuse quickly prepared. “There is something that I have been meaning to give to you,” he spread his arms out grandly. “It has slipped my mind the past few days, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to get it now.”

The Margrave leaned back in his chair, then gave a slow, confused nod. “Alright.”

“Come on, then,” Argrave led his companions along. They stood and followed. His Brumesingers rushed into the room, jumping up onto him and scrambling up into hiding within the confines of his clothes. Once they exited, Argrave kept a brisk pace.

“Send the bird out. Slam it into that crazy bastard’s skull,” Argrave directed Anneliese. “Lead him to a place we can reach him. Galamon and I will get everyone’s stuff.”

Galamon stopped. “We’re going along with this?”

“What, we’ve got a choice?” Argrave pointed out. “Cup our hands, say sorry? That would never work. He’s forced our hand. Let’s move,”

“Alright,” Anneliese quickly agreed, seeking a safe place to cast her magic.

Argrave and Galamon proceeded. A phrase was repeating in Argrave’s head, again and again.