Jackal Among Snakes

Chapter 666: Smoked and Hazed

“…long story short, he’s cutting a very persuasive figure on the stage.” A man quietly pinched small flakes of green leaves into a pipe, compressing it down with his thumb.

“You can’t worm any doubt in?” asked a female’s voice from nowhere in particular.

“I could try,” responded the man, brushing off a few flakes of green with his hand. He conjured flame from his hand, then set his pipe aflame. After inhaling deeply and blowing outward, he continued, “But he’s arranged things in such a way that anyone trying to sow doubt might get isolated from the rest, even killed, on suspicion of being an agent of Gerechtigkeit’s. I like you well enough, but I’m not willing to risk that much.”Ccontent © exclusive by Nô/vel(D)ra/ma.Org.

“This is Gerechtigkeit’s fault,” said the woman’s voice with conviction. “People wouldn’t cling to Argrave so readily if he hadn’t been so overtly destructive. Things are weakened, brittle. I guess it’s been more than enough time for rot to take hold.”

“But he was overtly destructive, and the gods are clinging to Argrave.” The man blew an O from his mouth, and it drifted upward toward the night sky. “Only a matter of time before they start searching. And I can almost guarantee you they’ll start finding. All this reminds me of the old days… only worse. Or better, depending on the perspective you’re taking.”

“They’ve been talking to me about him,” the voice continued. “They’re all but saying they want me to do something.”

“Oh yeah?” The man laughed. “I guess everyone’s a bit spooked. Only question is—what do you want to do?”

There was a long silence as the man sat beneath the night sky, casually puffing on his pipe and blowing O’s and wisping trails of smoke up into the air. No answer came for the longest time.

“Go back in,” the voice answered, a trace of defeat on her tone. “Help him. Ingratiate yourself with his inner circle. Arrange an in-person meeting, far outside Law’s Court.”

“Gerechtigkeit’s always paying attention,” he reminded her, balancing the pipe on his finger. “You’re a bit of a homebody, these days. You could get jumped.”

“I’m still who I was,” she disagreed. “And he’s not half-bad himself.”

The man laughed, smoke puffing out from his nose in wispy bursts. “He’s no dragon.”

“I am,” she reminded him. “However this shakes out, I want our first encounter to be on my terms.”

“Seems to me the boy-king will want much the same.” The man emptied his pipe onto the ground, then pulled out a case. He briefly cleaned it out with a cloth, then put it into a form-fitting mold inside the case. He stuffed it back into his pocket. “But I’m good at what I do.”

“I know,” she said, though there was a trace of bitterness in her kind tone. “Take care.”

#####

After Argrave’s grandiose speech came the more difficult part of being a politician—avoiding answering questions without seeming like someone without integrity.

Many viewed the role of head of state as an overseer for the government. Sometimes it was, but in Argrave's case, he was largely the public-facing figure, leaving the more complex issues that required actual managerial talent to Elenore. This, then, was the arena he shined in: foreign relations. These interviewers were quite ferocious, seeing as a great many of them had been doing this for hundreds of years at the minimum.

The benefit he had, largely, was the urgency of the situation, and the lack of a unified front of questioning. The gods couldn't ask specific enough questions to extract an answer before someone else came along and changed the line of questioning. At least… he thought that was a benefit.

Things started getting very dicey, very quickly. They honed in on Argrave’s claim about having fought Gerechtigkeit so many times, asking for precise details. He was relieved when the interrogator spent his allotted time, and another rose up to take their place—yet already, a coalition of some sort had formed. The questions carried over from one to the other like nothing had changed at all.

Even after he successfully recounted detail after detail of his various playthroughs of Heroes of Berendar, they seamlessly transitioned to another line of questioning—Sophia, and her role in things. It was a very uncomfortable line of questioning, because somehow, they’d all caught on that Argrave cared for the girl rather deeply, and wondered about the precise measures that he was taking regarding putting an end to Gerechtigkeit once and for all. He couldn’t outright tell them, ‘I’m just going to wing it when the big man shows up!’ even if it was the truth of the matter.

Worse yet, Law himself joined the queue to ask questions. That fact deeply unsettled Argrave, considering what he’d preempted from the god before this whole fiasco began. Argrave leaned heavily on the fact that Sophia was being targeted by Gerechtigkeit to avoid answering questions, but he could tell that his answers were getting tired, and people were beginning to smell blood in the water.

Finally, Law became the very next questioner… and Argrave looked upon one of the last. A god in mortal image, wearing a hefty coat and brandishing a pipe billowing a sweet-smelling smoke, walked up before Argrave at the dais. He had unruly hair, but there was a certain suaveness in the way he carried himself.

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“You are?” Argrave asked, ignorant of this deity.

“Jaray,” he said, inhaling on his pipe deeply. When next he spoke, smoke billowed from his mouth and nose. “God of politics. You’ve met a great deal of my friends.”

Argrave inadvertently felt his posture straighten on the dais. All the hard-hitting questions that’d come his way—if this man was the god of politics, it stood to reason that they’d been unified by this fellow. Argrave had to admit, the man had an undeniable charisma. Everything from his posture to his somewhat gritty, deep voice commanded attention.

Argrave braced for what he was certain would be a kill shot of some kind, looking at Anneliese to steel himself. She gave him an encouraging nod.

“Argrave…” Jaray leaned up against the stage, almost casually. “To start, let me ask you a fundamental question—a question of character. What do you intend to gain by establishing yourself as the leader of the Blackgard Union?”

Argrave searched that question for tricks, for traps, then answered cautiously, “The means to end the cycle of judgment. The means to protect people from what Gerechtigkeit is presently doing.”

“And after…” Jaray held his arms out. “You’ll give up? You’ll step down, nobly?”

Argrave nodded, watching as Jaray inhaled his pipe deeply. “Of course.”

“But all of us should know very well…” He blew smoke from his nose, and it wreathed about his face. “It’s not so easy to give up power. What have you ever sacrificed without expecting something in return?”

Argrave grasped for an answer, standing in silence for some time as he stared down Jaray. Before he could say something, however, Jaray spoke again.

“Because I can tell you, people.” Jaray, instead of facing Argrave, turned around. “There’s been a huge problem with this interrogation today. That problem, namely, is that Argrave has been far too humble.”

Argrave narrowed his eyes in confusion, watching this man as he walked about before the audience.

“Truth is, from day one, Argrave has been sacrificing. Let me ask you this, Argrave—is it true you sold your own heart to a monstrosity so that you could cure a man of his sickly body? A monster that ate your heart?”

Argrave gaped for a moment, saying nothing, before he nodded. “Yeah, that’s… that’s true.”

The man put his hand to his heart. “How noble.” He puffed on his pipe again, then looked back to the crowd. “After having experienced this world the countless number of times that he has, I mention that to demonstrate there still remains boundless compassion in Argrave’s heart. I could tell you more tales of his, but my time is limited. I’ll mention one other.”

Jaray looked back. “Is it true, Argrave, that you went into the Shadowlands?”

Argrave inhaled, wondering how the hell this deity knew all of this information. “It is,” he confirmed.

Jaray began to walk up on the stage, asking commandingly, “Is it true, Argrave, that you secured the means to prevent the Shadowlanders from attacking this world ever again?”

“It is,” Argrave confirmed again, still fearing there was a trap at the end of all this.

“And did you ask for any credit for that monumental feat? Did you request any payment, any recompense, from the thousands of gods that this herculean deed benefits? Did you even proclaim your victory?”

“…no,” Argrave confirmed.

“No.” Jaray nodded, then looked out amongst the gods. “How many, I ask you, have the Shadowlanders killed over the years? Not mortals—our kind, too.” He puffed on his pipe for a while as the question reminded them of the terrible Shadowlanders. Then, he put his hand on Argrave’s shoulder. “In truth, Argrave has been leading us, bettering us, protecting us for far too long. To all of you, I ask this; let us clap for this hero.”

Argrave thought there wasn’t a chance in hell any clapping would actually begin, but to his surprise, the incredibly somber room erupted into loud, deafening claps. In the midst of all that, Jaray leaned in to Argrave’s ear.

“Law’s questioning is coming up,” the man said, any grandiosity gone from his tone. “Heard things might be tense. Heard you might’ve tricked him a little. I can make him abstain from questioning. It’ll save you some embarrassment, keep this amazing momentum you’ve got going. But one hand washes the other, yeah?”

Argrave looked at him as the applause continued. “What do you want?” He answered back.

“A meeting, face-to-face. Outside of this place,” Jaray said.

Argrave looked into this god’s dark eyes, questioning if that was wise. Law could, if he questioned harshly, shed some doubt about the upstanding nature of their leadership proposal. At the same time, he might not. Still, Law was known as one of Vasquer’s biggest proponents—any crack in the foundation might cause problems. Argrave had been ready to weather it alone… but if he didn’t need to? If it could all just go away?

“Alright,” Argrave agreed.

“Talk to me after this, then. A pleasure, hero,” Jaray said, patting Argrave’s shoulder as he turned away.

Argrave waited tensely, wondering if he’d just made a huge mistake. The applause died down, and Jaray left the room. One of Law’s Justiciars walked up in front of the stage. It appeared to be ready to speak and ask its lord’s questions, but suddenly came to a grinding halt. When next it spoke, genuinely surprising words came out.

“Law surrenders his right of interrogation,” the Justiciar said.

A little muttering spread throughout the room, but all-in-all, it didn’t seem to ruffle too many feathers. Law was known as Argrave’s ally—after all, he’d received his blessing. His abstention could be seen as a tacit endorsement. To Argrave, though, this was utterly bewildering.

Who the hell was Jaray? How did he have this much sway? And how had Argrave never heard about this before? There were thousands of gods that he didn’t know, but one that could so effortlessly manipulate Law’s Court, and who knew so much about what had gone on in the world…

Whatever he’d gotten himself into, he’d need to be prepared to deal with.