Jackal Among Snakes

“This is His Majesty Argrave.” The dwarf Trifon bowed toward him while introducing him. The dwarf at the head of the crowd wore a gold wreath just the same as Trifon did. Trifon and Kostis were envoys, diplomats of the senate. The man that they introduced him to was not—he was a senator by the name of Karolos.

“Is this another joke of yours, Trifon?” Karolos’s voice was tight and proud-sounding, and he spoke briskly. Though elderly, he maintained the uniformity of dwarven appearance—short, incredibly curly hair, made gray by age, and utterly clean-shaven on all of his body.

“No joke at all. This man is King Argrave,” Trifon gestured toward him. “My brother…” he bit at his lips as though deliberating whether or not to tell the truth. “He enjoyed his time there so much, he elected to stay longer and foster better relations with their people. And now the king has come here personally.”

The muttering crowd muttered all the faster upon this news. The reception was largely distasteful. Melanie’s pinky tapped the executioner’s blade leaning on her shoulder in annoyance when the dwarf didn’t even mention her.

Karolos shifted on his feet as he looked upon Argrave. In his dark black eyes, Argrave could see the wheels of calculation turning and turning. For him, it was a diplomatic situation that had become considerably more complex. But for Argrave, it was Tuesday.

“Well… I’m not sure why my fellow called you King Argrave, but here, there are no lords.” Karolos gave Trifon some serious side-eye. “No one has blood nobler than another, and royalty is a thing of a bygone era. Can you accept that, Argrave?”

Argrave smiled genially. “It’ll be a refreshing thing. Since we’re so equal and all, this is one of my best retainers, Melanie. Don’t be afraid to speak to her. She can represent me in many matters.” Argrave put his hand atop her head and moved about the wide-brimmed tellerbarret she wore, ruffling her hair. “If it helps, think of her red hair as a ruby wreath you senators might wear. She has that level of authority.”

Melanie grabbed Argrave’s wrist and kept it still with the inhuman strength of her artifacts. Karolos’ view of Argrave shifted as he looked upon the two of them—it was like he started to look at them like a bear rather than a wolf. The senator nodded. “I am Senator Karolos. I’ll be guiding you to our senate hall. The Dwarven Senate is already gathered to meet you. Come along.” The senator walked away.

“Why’d you mess with me?” Melanie complained as she removed her hat and fixed her hair.

“Looked tense, that’s all.” Argrave focused on her, giving the dwarf ample time to get ahead—it wasn’t as though he’d have trouble catching up. “Don’t forget—I brought you here because you were the best fit. You’ve proven yourself in diplomacy before. You’re a master of your blessing. Two counts in your favor. Just do your best.” He beckoned her to follow as he moved after the departing Karolos.

Argrave followed the senator through Mundi. Though the city’s architecture was grand, he started to notice metaphorical cracks in the grand image. For one, nothing here was made for people like him. The tallest of the doors only barely allowed his passageway without ducking. There was no flora whatsoever—perhaps not a surprising thing given the fact they were many miles beneath the surface, yet Argrave did not realize how much life simple bushes and ferns added to a place.

The necessity for food demanded some level of life besides dwarves alone—to that end, there were complex food processing facilities masked by grand buildings of marble. Lava was in common use all throughout the city, even for their food. Their people subsisted off creatures that absorbed heat as energy—magical fungi and all manner of livestock, be it mammalian, reptilian, or insectoid. Their diet was diverse, but so far removed from anything those on the surface knew.

“You’re asking very few questions…” Karolos noted as Argrave and Melanie walked along.

“I know what I need to.” Argrave felt no need to waste his words—the senator might pry at his intent for coming here beyond merely delivering the method of forging dwarven metal.

His answer only seemed to worry the senator, but the walk passed by without another word exchanged. Not by them, at least. Argrave felt like some barbaric exhibit for the citizens of this republic to gawk at. He had to admit they were a very dignified people. It was something bred into their culture. Even their way of walking was proper—and rather slow, much to Argrave’s annoyance. He almost stepped on the back of Karolos’ boots countless times.

A tall set of stairs marked the final stretch to the senate. Stairs had always been a problem for Argrave. His feet were huge—if the steps weren’t large enough to accommodate that, he’d have to awkwardly bend them to the side so he could fit. And these steps were particularly tiny. Melanie breezed by him as he took his time, and even taking several steps at a time couldn’t bridge the gap. Fortunately, the dwarf wasn’t much faster than he was.This content provided by N(o)velDrama].[Org.

At the top of the stairs, Karolos called out, “Hold on. Before we enter.” Everyone walked up to him. He held up a white tray. “Wearing footwear is forbidden within the senate. You may keep your blade and your staff, but please, remove your boots.”

“What? That’s a little…” Melanie protested, looking into the building ahead. It was the very picture of a state house. In way of pillars, statues of dwarves held up the sharp roof above. It looked like a state house, a colosseum, and an art museum all in one. There were other entrances higher up accessible by stairways, but their group entered through the bottom doorway. The bottom was guarded closely by fierce-looking dwarves that were even more brawny than the already-brawny race.

“The floors are cleaned every hour, fret not,” Karolos ensured, though Argrave didn’t think that was Melanie’s concern. “And your feet will be washed beforehand.”

Argrave lifted his leg up and took his boots off, balancing on one foot as he did each. Melanie resignedly joined him in this task. “These boots are holy relics. Best not cause a diplomatic incident, now.”

Karolos looked at Argrave’s boots nervously as he set them upon the white tray. They were shortly followed by Trifon’s and Melanie’s. They proceeded into the dwarven senate. The ground was pleasantly warm beneath their feet. Past the doorway, what appeared to be a pool of brine awaited.

“There are creatures within that will clean. Do not be alarmed. They are harmless, and will leave when their task is done.” Karolos set the white tray down beside several others and stepped within the pool.

“Harmless to dwarves. Maybe for us…” Melanie trailed off as Argrave stepped in eagerly, curious to feel this sensation.

He felt small creatures swimming around his feet. It was intensely ticklish, and he felt his skin being gently pulled in half a thousand places at once. He grimaced, doing his best to rein in his discomfort. When there was nothing more to clean, the creatures left him be, and Argrave stepped out, feet dripping. Behind, Melanie gave him hateful eyes as she followed. She let out a faint noise of displeasure that sounded like a hamster’s squeak, but endured. In time, she, too, joined him.

Karolos proceeded onward. Melanie whispered to him, “Watch your step. They might leave poisoned traps on the ground.”

“I can’t be poisoned,” Argrave said in his normal talking tone. “Part of my constitution.”

Melanie looked ahead, nodding bitterly. “Right. Yeah. Great. Thanks.”

“Be vigilant, not paranoid,” Argrave said in a quieter tone. “Not worth losing your hair. Yet.”

Argrave considered ruffling her hair again, but she seemed to anticipate this, grabbing at her hat defensively. The art museum that was the dwarven senate finally finished its tour as they came to a circular room in its center that had no walls, merely pillars holding it up. Beyond, several hundred marble chairs rose upward, all facing inward toward an elevated platform.

Trifon explained in a desperate whisper, “This is the senate hall. We’ll address them in the center, there.” He pointed. “Everyone’s already here, from the sound of it. And, uhh… what do you want me to say?”

“Just…” Argrave scratched at his neck, the gold chain carrying the Ravenstone jingling. “Follow my lead, I suppose.”

“Argrave, Melanie, Trifon,” Karolos stopped just shy of the room. “We’d like you to head to the center. The whole senate will address you.”

Argrave nodded. “Works for me.”

They passed beneath a tight ceiling, and beyond, the sky—or rather, the marble dome acting as their sky—opened up above them. This room had no ceiling. Tiered steps held chairs rising upward in a circle. It accommodated one thousand chairs exactly, by Argrave’s memory. At the last and highest ring of chairs, there was a wall, rising upward until it ended in a railed balcony encircling them. It made this place seem like a pit. And from there… everyone in the entire city of Mundi could gather to watch the session. And dwarves had come in the thousands to watch this momentous meeting. They were completely silent in respect for this hall—and also in respect of the guards standing up there by the dozens.

Karolos stepped up to the elevated platform, turning about as he declared, “The senate welcomes Argrave, King of Vasquer; Melanie, his retainer; and Trifon, envoy sent to Vasquer.”

The walk to the circular platform in the center of this hall was eerily quiet. Argrave looked around at the dwarves as they observed him like a monkey in a zoo. The closest ring of dwarves wore wreaths of diamonds, the next closest rubies, then emeralds, sapphires, and thereafter only gold-wreathed dwarves sat. All were elected to these positions. They wore stately white togas, and the majority of them were very old. Few broke the uniformity of the curly hair, clean-shaven crowd. There were only two women in their thousand.

“As the Head of Senate, I shall direct this conversation,” said one of the younger-looking dwarves in the front row—his hair had not yet gone gray. “I am Alexius. Kostis and Trifon were sent to negotiate the acquisition of the method for forging dwarven metal. We were prepared to offer generous compensation… but if you should come here as the head of your nation, can I presume you intended to correct the words of your queen, who claimed our neutrality would come to a close?”

It was a provocative statement, Argrave knew—it all but said that Anneliese’s words were a mistake.

“Anneliese’s words might as well be my words. Yes—dwarven neutrality is over,” Argrave nodded, turning about as he declared that. “I didn’t come to correct her. I came because this would be easiest.”

The dignity of the senate was such that even Argrave’s bold statement did not break the quiet of the place.

Several of the diamond-wreathed dwarves pulled a lever beside their chairs. A light glowed beneath their feet silently. Alexius pointed out one who’d done so. “Sabbas. You have the right to speak.”

Sabbas pulled back his lever, and the light faded. “Thank you, Head. I believe that a demonstration might be in order for this Kingdom of Vasquer. We should show why our neutrality is something we can, and will, maintain.”

Several dwarves flipped back their own levers—that could mean only that Sabbas had spoken their point for them, and they no longer wished to speak.

As Melanie’s hand clenched tighter around her sword, and Trifon seemed to despair slightly, Argrave rose his hand up.

“The floor may respond,” Alexius gestured toward him.

“I’m going to be rather bold, and cut to the crux of things. I ask that the senate not overreact, but I feel we can resolve this quickest if I take action.” Argrave touched the Ravenstone dangling from his neck, and the dwarves watched him cautiously.

With only a thought from Argrave’s mind, the Alchemist emerged from the Ravenstone and took shape on the circular platform in the center of the senate. This act was finally enough to disturb the order in the Dwarven Senate. Some of the closest, and most skittish, stepped away in fear as a twenty-foot-tall monstrosity wearing black robes of his own fur took shape. Trifon stumbled off the stage and fell on his face as the Alchemist set his obsidian staff down upon the ground and looked around at everyone. The reactions were manifold. In the balconies above, dozens of dwarven guards aimed crossbow-like weapons that contained bolts of magma. The tension rose to its apex at once, and Melanie’s head darted around as she prepared to protect from all directions.

The Alchemist wanted him to ruin things quickly, or do things perfectly. Argrave had decided to take that advice. Now it was time to decide if they would become hunted fugitives, or a reluctant ally in this dwarven nation.

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