Jackal Among Snakes

“At this point, the main challenge is confining the infected to the camps,” Mina spoke to Induen, staring out over the city of Veden from the castle. “People that catch the disease spread it indefinitely. Some people, when it stops spreading, resume mingling into society. Like this, the outbreaks never really stop.”

“Just use force,” Induen shook his head disapprovingly. “It isn’t so difficult.”

Mina looked to him. “Do you think this tiny county has the manpower to force more than half of its residents into refugee camps or within their own homes? And even then, the last thing we wish is for our military to be infected with this disease. That would only exacerbate the disaster.”

“Who said anything about confining them?” Induen’s blue eyes locked with Mina’s, veritably shining.

“Yes, we can kill anyone that disagrees with us, become the rulers of corpses. It’ll be harder to get them to tend the fields that way, I’m sure, but at least we’ll have gotten what we wanted,” Mina challenged him.

Induen’s jaw clenched as he stared at Mina, eyes narrowing with anger. Then, one corner of his mouth split open, and he started laughing dryly.

“You’ve a lot of bravery for one so small,” he noted as his laughter trailed off. “I’ve killed for less.”

Mina stared back at him, not flinching at all. Then, she nodded. “We established this already. You want to kill people for getting sick.”

Even Induen was flabbergasted by her boldness. He only laughed once more, then turned back to the city, watching out. He could not be both amused and angry, and he was more amused than anything.

“Fine. Fine…” he conceded, crossing his arms and leaning against one of the keep’s pillars. “People that resume their tasks despite their sickness—it’s a selfish act, so they’re selfish people. Give them incentive to stay inside, they’ll fall in line. Greed is an easy, base emotion to satisfy.”

“You mean… pay them? Veden is not… exactly…”

Induen considered for half a second, then said, “Promise exemptions from taxes. It’s not an immediate boon, but the promise alone will convince many to obey. You don’t even need to uphold the promise,” he looked to her.

Mina nodded, eyes distant as she considered his idea. “No… no, it’s a good idea. Exemptions will be sorely needed after the devastation from the plague, anyway.”

“It’s the promise that matters—promises enough to get them to do what you want.”

Mina walked over to her desk, then retrieved quill and paper. “Nikoletta told me something, once. Even if you view people as tools, well-maintained tools perform a task all the better.”

Induen bit his lip, a bit displeased at the mention of Nikoletta. He stepped towards Mina, arguing, “If people know there are consequences, they’ll work hard.”

“They’ll only work as hard as they need to avoid consequences,” Mina quickly rebutted. “If people love their ruler, they’ll do what they need to and more. People crave to rise, and as they do so, they’ll bring you up with them. All they need is opportunity and reward.”

Induen stared down at her, but she turned to the document in front of her and began writing in it diligently. The prince opened his mouth once more, but someone entered the door. Induen turned his head back, spotting one of his knights. He strode forward and pushed the man on his chest.

“You don’t knock?” he said coldly.

“An urgent matter, prince,” the knight knelt. “Forgive me.”

Induen stared down at the kneeling knight, then cast a glance back to Mina. Almost bitterly, he said, “Speak, then. Stop wasting time.”

“Prince Magnus is dead, my prince,” the knight relayed, bowing all the lower. “Forgive me.”

Induen took a deep breath of surprise. “What? That wandering fool?”

“He was murdered, my prince, in the wetlands to the northwest.”

Induen frowned. “Where Orion is?” He heard Mina set her quill down behind him, paying closer attention.

“Yes, my prince,” the knight confirmed.

“Any more details?” Induen inquired, the only genuine emotion on his tone that of perplexment.

“The news is only just now being spread, my prince, forgive me.”

Induen scratched the bottom of his clean-shaven chin, turning away and walking about in thought.

“Mina. Do you think you can handle things? I should probably return to Dirracha.”

Mina blinked quickly, then looked to the papers before her. “It is… I mean, I see no reason why…”

“Then I’ll go,” Induen interrupted in her, his interest lost once he heard her bumbling. He stepped away, heading for the door.

“You’ll leave as soon as things get challenging?” she called out, almost urgently.

Induen paused at the door, then turned around. His eyes were frowning, but his mouth was widened in a grin. “What did you say?”

She blinked quickly, obviously flustered, but she kept her yellow eyes fixed firmly on the prince nonetheless. “I think you heard me,” she said.

“You think this is challenging?” he questioned coldly.

“One of the options you always use is off the table,” Mina said, her voice steady. “If that isn’t a challenge, what is?”

Induen started laughing once more, placing one gauntleted hand to hide his mouth. “You seem determined to face repercussions of some sort. I wonder why that might be?” He stepped right up to his desk, and the two of them endured a long, tacit staring contest.

The prince turned back to the knight. “Send word to Dirracha I’ll be preoccupied with something for a time.”

#####

“Why have you been working so frenziedly lately?” Anneliese questioned as they sat together in the darkness of night. It felt like they were alone, but in truth, Galamon and Silvic both were close enough to hear. Durran was the only amongst them sleeping—a well-deserved rest, by Argrave’s estimation.

Argrave gazed at the matrix for [Bloodfeud Bow] with his golden eyes distant, as though hesitating. Then, he said, “Durran being taken away for interrogation put things into perspective.”

Anneliese sighed. “I knew it was that. Yet even still… if you overstrain yourself, you will suffer more in the long run.”

Hearing that, Argrave bit his lip in contemplation, yet he did not shut the book. “I’ve got a different sort of bad dream, now, Anneliese. Not about my death. Not the Low Way, not Induen. But…” he sighed. “The thing I fear most, now, is watching the suns set alone.”

Anneliese grew silent, before noting, “Sometimes, I question if you are simply too sweet, or if you merely know precisely what to say to stop me from dissuading you.”

They both laughed quietly. After, Argrave looked to her and questioned, “Do you think you can help me out? Mentor me, maybe?”

She paused, glancing at the book. “Blood magic…” Anneliese noted, trailing off.

“It’s just the one I’ve been studying most,” he assured her.

Anneliese pushed away and moved to sit across from him as quietly as she could. Sitting cross-legged, she gestured towards him. “Try and cast it,” she directed.

Taking a deep breath, Argrave gave one last look at the whirling matrix conjured from the book and then closed it. He set it aside, then held out his hand. He had seen the matrix enough that it conjured as quickly as any spell might’ve. It hovered in the air, inanimate and ineffectual. He tried to set it into motion in the same moment he willed magic into it, making it whole…

It shattered after not half a second. Argrave sighed and lowered his hand, while Anneliese’s amber eyes stayed locked on where his hand had just been. Her face was as steady as stone for a time, and she said nothing. Eventually, her eyes met with his and she commanded, “Again.”

Argrave did so. Once again, it shattered nearly identically.

Anneliese leaned back, supporting herself with her arms. She spaced out, lost in thought and contemplation. Argrave waited patiently, hands on his knees.

“You are not moving it from every direction you can,” she finally said. “It resembles… it is like if you had a tower, and you tried to move only the first floor. You neglect pushing the tower above. It all needs to move at once, lest it fold and collapse.”

Argrave frowned. That was the last thing he thought she’d say. “But what angle am I missing? I feel like I’m applying the force evenly.”

She scratched her forehead. “I cannot say. The force applied is invisible—I can only comprehend it when I am the one using it.”

“Would it help if I did it again?” Argrave pressed eagerly.

“It would help if you rested, finally,” she concluded, moving back. “I will. I hope you do the same.”

Argrave watched her leave, heading to where they slept. Argrave bit his lip, considering joining her.

Never again, came that voice, fighting against the promise of comfort and fulfillment he knew he’d feel if he joined her.

With a sigh, Argrave opened the spellbook, eyes bloodshot but still burning with a steady flame of ambition.

#####

After a long time with no results, the night passed and morning dawned. Argrave had not slept at all, and he was the only besides Galamon and Silvic awake this early. He stared up at the branches of the tree that Waqwaq had resided in dully. Despite persisting for so long, his Black Blood enabled him to function on a relatively normal level. The reasons why he obtained it, least of all his near exponential magic growth, counted up day by day.

He ruminated on what Anneliese had advised him time and time again, the book long ago discarded. The matrix was not his problem—his method was the problem, plainly enough. He held his hands out and tried to emulate how to move the entire matrix in bizarre motions, then clenched his hands together in embarrassment.

But then, after a time, Argrave grew still. His brows slowly lowered, his vision narrowing, as he pondered dimensionality and exponentiality. To have something in one dimension could be represented by one number. To have something in two dimensions could be represented in two: 2x2, for instance. For three, this trend continued—2x2x2.

He rose to his feet, Anneliese’s analogy of his attempts to move the first floor of a tower finally ringing in his head. He strode away from his party, ignoring his own advice for them all to stick together, and moved to an isolated place in the fortress’ courtyard. Galamon watched him go, perplexed.

Argrave had always viewed himself as something existing only in three dimensions. Maybe it was fact—he wasn’t so sure, anymore. But the fact remained that the tool that he used was beyond that, and the force that he had to exert upon the matrix had to be beyond that, as well.

With this new perspective, Argrave held his hand out and conjured the matrix once more. He tried to set it into motion, yet also acted upon that imperceptible, imperceivable fourth dimension to things. It set into motion…

And then shattered. Argrave stood there hollowly for a moment, then looked at his hands in disappointment. His bitterness slowly morphed into a stubborn anger, though, and he held his hand out once more, confidence in his idea renewed.

The matrix formed, and then whirled… Argrave started to breath faster as it persisted for more than half a second, yet then it shattered once more. He looked at his hand once more, yet not with disappointment—instead, his eyes were eager and hungry.

“Have to memorize the path, now…” Argrave muttered as he ran off, retrieving the book for [Bloodfeud Bow] once again. He studied not only the matrix, but the way it moved, and the path it took. With that, he closed the book, and held his hand out once again.

The matrix formed. It began to swirl, persisting. Argrave willed his magic forth… and instead of meeting a wall as it always had, the matrix accepted it. Then, as though it never was, it dissipated. Argrave was panicked for but half a second before pain seized his arm. Twin spirals of blood pulled free of his arm, moving into position.

The twin spirals formed a recurve bow in his left hand. He felt power brewing in his other hand, his blood bubbling just beneath the skin. He raised the hand up, and a string descended. An arrow formed, perfectly nocked but small, pumping blood ever so quickly.

Argrave quickly wrenched his hand away and dispelled the magic, clutching his head as his vision grew white and his world spun with dizziness. The bow fell to the earth, nothing more than mere blood, now. He took a few moments to collect himself, and the dizziness and lightheadedness slowly faded as he breathed quickly.

Argrave stood straight once again, then looked around. He turned his head every which way, looking for anyone that had seen that. Finally, his gaze fell back to his hands, and he collapsed to his knees. He held his hand to his mouth to muffle his laughter for a time, then wiped away flowing tears once the laughter had faded.

Once that was done, he took a few moments to collect himself, steadying his breathing and clearing his face. He cursed again and again in a low whisper, triumph and heartache both making his voice shake.

Only once he had calmed down entirely did Argrave gather himself, returning back to where his companions were with only a slight grin on his face.