Jackal Among Snakes

When Grimalt’s new liege returned, he thought that the king looked rather trepidatious. He always had a keen intuition about how others felt, and the times he was wrong was more so misinterpretation than mistake. Nevertheless, Argrave had a strong composure in wake of whatever crisis he faced, and he gave orders to the three Veidimen officers—namely, himself, Bastal, and Rasten.

King Argrave’s order was simple: fortify this frontier fortress better against the Bloodwoods. It stressed the importance of haste as though some enemy might bear down on them at any moment. Bastal and Rasten thought that this was a test, but Grimalt wasn’t so sure. They dug a large moat in front of the fortress, using magic to aid in this task. When that was done, they left it dry—apparently whatever enemies might come didn’t use siege weapons or tunnels, so filling it with water was unimportant. The king himself joined in this task. Though none commented on it, Grimalt could tell that endeared him in the eyes of his fellows somewhat.

But then, all the Veidimen were already quite endeared to the king considering he took one of their own to wife. The queen was named Anneliese. They shared a distinct eye color, so Grimalt felt a certain kinship with her. It made him question what tribe she had come from. He did not recognize her name, but then supposed she had adopted a name from this land when she became queen.

And in time, they might all take names from this land. Those here had been chosen by the patriarch and Galamon based on several criteria. They were all veterans of many battles, they were all faithful of Veid, and they all had not yet started a family. In coming here, they brought with them hopes—hopes that they might make this fertile continent their home, hopes that they might spread the glory of Veid. There could be no higher honor than fighting against He Who Would Judge the Gods, standing in defense of the Mother of Veidimen. And from all they had heard, there was no one closer to the van than King Argrave. Whether they ended this war in a fire of glory or settled into a life of prosperity after victory, none could deny they lived.

That night, however, the king called the three of them to his tent. The king’s closest council was there, plus the new faces—Nikoletta, Vasilisa, and Mina.

“I’m going to say some stuff. I don’t want it spreading around, so make sure your lips stayed sealed, all of you,” the king began, leaning over the wood stove keeping this place warm amidst the cold air of the night. With the roots having overrun the place, there was no lack of wood to burn.

Grimalt and his two compatriots nodded in a soldierly fashion. Anneliese and Orion remained calm, but the other three did not rest so easy.

“Your men have been scrambling about like ants all day, Your Majesty,” Mina said politely, though Grimalt thought he noticed a subtle undercurrent of unease beneath the woman’s well-developed façade. Human or elf, Grimalt was finding their emotions played the same. Mina continued, asking, “What are you preparing for? What exactly is this?”

“You keep talking, it’s gonna be hard for me to get to that.” Argrave looked at her pointedly. After a few moments, he cleared his throat. “Talk to me casually, here, all of you. Your Majesty takes so long to say that it’s a waste of time. But to the point: our plans have changed, somewhat. They might change more depending on what Elenore gets back to me with. Anneliese is going to get her reply tomorrow.

“I’ll say the facts as I understand them. Once that’s done, we can get into my speculation.” He raised his hand up, counting as he went. “The first fact: those roots encroached upon a fortification. Second fact: large numbers of wood elves have gathered near the edge of the Bloodwoods, and they’re building things in the branches of the redwood trees. On top of that… their wire traps are just about everywhere. Third fact: the roots of the Bloodwoods are expanding unnaturally. The forest floor of the Bloodwoods has been completely overrun with them. A lot of centaurs are dead or trapped and dying.” He entwined his hands together. “Which kills part of my plan…” he said bitterly.

Grimalt listened intently, though some parts he didn’t quite follow yet.

“As for speculation…” Argrave rubbed his palms together, as though he didn’t like saying it. “I think a god belonging to another realm has made a breach between its realm and this realm deep in the Bloodwoods. And I think it’s trying to kill the entire forest, so that everything within is forced to migrate into Vasquer.” Argrave looked at everyone in turn, letting the silence hang. “I say that ‘I think,’ but it’s really Anneliese’s idea—I just stole it.”

“After providing the information,” she defended him.

Grimalt leaned in, placing his hands upon his knees. “Your Majesty…”

“Yeah?” King Argrave stared at him with steady gray eyes.

Grimalt could see his new liege was eager to hear what he had to say. Emboldened by this, he asked quickly, “We are ignorant of this land. What would a mass migration mean for the kingdom?”

“The wood elves… we might accept them, somehow. It’d be difficult. I’ve got a guy coming—Ganbaatar. He’s a wood elf. I want to see how I might swing some diplomacy. There’s the centaurs, too. I hoped to make fast friends with them, but the ones not dead or dying have all retreated to the Mother’s Steppe. They’ll be difficult to reach there, but also safe there… still, they need to eat meat. Carnivores like them can’t stay in the Mother’s Steppe forever without resorting to cannibalism.”

“But there are other concerns in the forest they should know about.” Nikoletta, the king’s cousin, looked at Grimalt. He spotted some lingering loathing as she looked at the Veidimen, but he couldn’t discern why.

Argrave nodded. “Migration from the elves isn’t the concerning bit. There are giants—brutes well over thirty feet tall. Pachamamas—giant herbivores that live in the branches. Those are the primary two that can eat the fruit and leaves of the redwoods in that forest, and so form the start of the food train. Carnivores are far more abundant. The Amaroks are wolves big enough it takes a whole pack of centaurs to take down… and they can walk with the wind, too, making traps or smart formations all but useless. The wood elves use Amarok tendons to make their wires.

“Those wolves fight with the Mishis—panther-like creatures with weaponized tails about fifty feet long, the tip of which are covered in spikes that the centaurs use as arrowheads.” Argrave rose to his feet, pacing about the room. “Then there’s the only other plant life in the forest—the Yateveo, roaming unintelligent plant life comprised of a digestive core and numerous entwined palpi that eat flesh for sustenance. I could go on to the insects, but looking at your gaping, horrified faces I think you get the point.”

Grimalt swallowed, feeling a bit uneased he could detect no hint of dishonesty in the king’s voice. What he relayed wasn’t rumor—it was as though he’d seen it himself, Grimalt judged. When his comrades looked to him for confirmation, knowing well his judgement of people, he could only nod and listen further.

“If the trees die… all of that comes out of the forests?” Prince Orion asked seriously. “You’re certain that’s the result?”

“The trees are utterly essential to all life in the Bloodwoods. You look on the forest floor, you don’t see much shrubbery, grass, or even mushrooms—it just doesn’t grow. The trees there monopolize all resources and nutrients. Without them, the entire ecosystem collapses. If the trees fail, there’s going to be mass displacement in weeks.” Argrave turned around and stopped pacing. “Not to mention that lying at the heart of it all is a god. An ancient god, probably, likely with servants of its own.”

Anneliese nodded while staring at the wooden stove. “What motives do the gods have? Why do they want to establish this Divine Feudalism?”

“This once-in-a-millennia event is a period of opportunism for the gods. Only here do they have unabated access to rivals and contemporaries, and only here can they grow their power inorganically by subsuming spirits—fragments of gods.” Argrave put his hand on his waist and looked up to the hole allowing smoke to pass upwards from the stove. “Depending on how things go… the ‘winners’ decide how the world is going to shape up until the next run of the cycle. It’s like Black Friday, but trampling on other people is how you get your discount, not an unfortunate side-effect.” The king smiled, but then as no one laughed he seemed to remember something and muttered to himself.

Prince Orion raised his hand to his temple. “My head writhes.”

“Bottom line: what needs to be done?” Nikoletta leaned in, the fire casting shadows over her eyes.

“Quadreign is being notified as we speak. Archduchess Diana is smart—she’ll take this seriously, take measures. The region over there is mountainous and cold, and therefore not exactly easy to traverse. They have an advantage in case of displacement. But here… you saw it coming in.” Argrave pointed to Anneliese, and then to Grimalt and the Veidimen. “Plains for miles, dozens of little villages nested beside rivers cozily. All those abominations would tear this place apart if they came out.”

“So, we prepare for what comes?” Nikoletta tried to confirm.

“Elenore does.” Argrave sat back down around the stove. “But us… we wait for Ganbaatar. We wait for the royal-forged armor to arrive. We wait for volunteer Magisters. We’ll scout things out with druidic magic as we wait. And then… we’re going on an expedition. A hunt, even. Recover a father, fight a god. Fun stuff.”

Nikoletta looked at Argrave with serious eyes, but Vasilisa interrupted, exclaiming, “Are you crazy? You prattle off that list of bad dreams then suggest heading in there with your pants down, screaming?” She stared, and Argrave slowly nodded. Vasilisa leaned back, crossed her legs, and caressed her forehead. “…fuck. I need a drink. No liquor in the god damn frontier… why am I here? Should’ve booked it the moment I heard he was coming…”

The Magister stood and walked away, projecting exhaustion from every movement. Grimalt watched her go, confused by the high-ranking spellcaster’s extreme reaction and the king’s state of relative calm. “You intend to kill a god?”

“Kill?” Argrave looked at Orion. “He’s killed a god, technically. A spirit in truth, but a god in practice. I don’t think he’s proud of that. But an ancient god? I said fight, not kill.” Argrave rose to his feet again, unable to stay sitting for long. He walked to the tent flap and pulled it aside, looking out at the titanic forest before them. “Gerry wants to call in a higher power? Fine. That’s fine. But he should know these things work both ways. And I’ve been waiting for this moment.”