Casto returned after a longer time than Argrave was expecting. He was worried that his companions would grow worried about his long absence, but did not fear he himself was in genuine danger. The S-rank mage and Master of the Tower of the Gray Owl did eventually return, appearing a little more tired than before.
“What you’ve shared,” Castro mused as he stepped closer, his explosive anger from before gone. “It’s a ridiculous scenario.”
“Life is often ridiculous, I find,” Argrave nodded, sitting atop one of Castro’s tables filled with all sorts of metal oddities from the same elven civilization he’d once had Galamon lure metal undead from. Most were bizarre, unnatural metal shapes, each and all standing as testament to that civilization’s metalworking skills, and Argrave sat gingerly to avoid crushing anything beneath him.
“I endeavored to follow one lead you wrote of, one that seemed simple… I could not finish the path without leaving the Tower. Even still…” Castro shook his head. “Just as important as knowledge is its source. How did you learn of this?”
Argrave scratched his face. “Doubt you’ll believe me, but I trust you enough to know you’ll keep quiet. I learned in another life,” he said succinctly.
Castro’s expression was inscrutable, and he did not even mention Argrave's assertion, perhaps thinking it mere misdirection. “So, these rumors, these movements of yours, from Mateth to the Burnt Desert to the northwest… this is why? You move to facilitate our defense against this… Ger…” Castro grappled with the word but gave up pronouncing Gerechtigkeit. “This calamity?”
Argrave nodded without hesitation. “Somebody has to.”
“You could have brought this before the Order immediately,” Castro shook his head.
“I couldn’t have achieved anything if I didn’t take matters into my own hands,” Argrave shook his head. “I think the only reason you even entertained what I wrote is because of what I’ve already done. Mateth, the plague…”
“You could have tried to rely on others,” Castro stepped forth.
Argrave laughed, then stood up off the table he sat on. “Took me long enough to trust the people with me now. I don’t think… I trusted anyone, not until recently. As recent events have proven, I have family issues,” Argrave spread his arms out. “But things are finally reaching the point of overflow. I have to start getting the word out. And if I die… you’ll have to pick up the slack.”
Castro held up Argrave’s packet of letters. “I can’t accept this without significant scrutiny.”
“I hope you do scrutinize it,” Argrave nodded. “Nothing would make me happier than being wrong. But I’m not.”
Castro nodded, then stepped in the direction of a distant door. “Come,” he called out to Argrave.
Argrave followed, and then the Tower Master opened the door. A great howling wind sounded outside, none of it penetrating the door. Argrave stepped outside, greeted by a chill. The air was thinner and colder up here, it seemed. Even still, walls of stone kept the balcony from being too cold. There was a walkway leading out to nothingness, where Castro generally mounted his wyvern. Or he had, at least.
Argrave could see for hundreds, maybe thousands of miles in every direction. The balcony extended along the whole tower, and Castro stood near the railing, waiting. Argrave stepped up to him.
“In time… elite troops will encircle this place. High-rank mages, elite knights… not an army, but more than enough to catch any fugitive. These will be experts at catching and hunting people.” Castro shook his head. “Our relationship with Vasquer will be strained tremendously.”
Argrave looked down at the old man. “There’s a reason why the Order can afford to be neutral, Castro. If Felipe storms this place, not only will his army be obliterated, Vasquer will lose access to the largest repository of magical knowledge in the known world. He’d make enemies with every Magister—must be, what, a dozen here alone, fifty of them across Berendar, each and all S-rank mages? You have a monopoly on higher magical knowledge here in the Tower. Most A-rank and higher mages are loyal to the Tower first, not Vasquer, simply because they can’t get the spells or the knowledge they need anywhere else. No, Felipe will not dare actively hinder the Order… so long as you don’t harbor me.”
“Trying to force me to escort you out, hmm?” Castro smiled and laughed. “I meant what I said. I cannot leave.”
“I’ll get someone else,” Argrave shook his head. “Just… more costly. And less surefire. And I can’t form a closer bond with one of the most powerful spellcasters in Berendar.” Argrave rubbed his hands together, still slightly cold despite his gloves. “Even still, what is holding you here?”
“Active trouble with a… relative,” Castro shook his head.
“Ingo?” Argrave raised a brow.
Castro turned, his face intense. “What did you say?”
“I know about him,” Argrave shrugged. “I don’t care, so don’t worry. But he’s proof enough—Vasquer will not antagonize you.”
Castro stepped from the railing, moving close to Argrave. “What do you know?”
“Felipe wanted to use Ingo’s unique constitution for… cruelly effective purposes. You saved him, brought him here… and the king bent,” Argrave held his hands out, demonstrating his point. “He let you have Ingo.”
“He was a boy,” Castro said angrily. “And Felipe did not ‘let me have’ him. He stays here because he wants to, and because the world is dangerous to him. No one should own a person, not even a king, and especially not if they would grow and harvest him like wheat his entire life.”
“We agree there. But Felipe’s committed far more monstrous crimes than owning a person, and I don’t see any conscientious retaliation from you. Regardless, we’re getting off topic,” Argrave held his hand out. “It is Ingo having problems, right?”
Castro was briefly taken aback by Argrave’s mention of his inaction but did not object to it. He bit his lip, then turned to look over the balcony, out to the vast plains of wintry grass before them. “Yes, it is.”
Argrave wanted to say that he could help him… but he couldn’t, not yet. Not until the boundaries between realms grew weaker. Ingo was someone like Orion—someone chosen for a blessing from birth. Only… Ingo’s god was not so understanding of human fragility, and until more opportunities opened themselves up to Argrave, nothing could be done.
“I understand, then. Focus on him,” Argrave said. “Was there anything else?”
Castro leaned out over the balcony. “I want you gone,” he said, letting that hang for a while. “…so, whenever you choose a Magister you deem worthy of escorting your noble self… I’ll pressure them.”
“What about my reward for my thesis on [Blood Infusion]? That is why you brought me here, no?” Argrave said, trying not to let his joking smile seep into his voice. As Castro turned his head back slowly, Argrave cut back in, “I’m going, I’m going.”
#####
“It’s that same guy again,” Stain noted, lounging idly against the stone wall of the Tower. He wore a relatively inconspicuous gray robe that, upon close scrutiny, was obviously not that of an Order member.
Durran, who was just beside Stain, wore near the same thing. They appeared like nothing more than two Acolytes of the order engaged in conversation. The person they spoke of was entirely ignorant of their presence and spoke to a fairly sizable group of people, each and all Acolytes or Wizards of the Order.
“He’s saying the same thing,” Durran noted with a quiet laugh. “Same tale. ‘Legion of snakes.’ This man’s either quite committed to accuracy in this little game of rumor spreading… or he’s feeding the people something. Him, and the four other people we’ve seen doing the same thing.”
Stain gave the man an inconspicuous glance, then joined Durran in laughter. “Yeah. You’ve got a good eye. Never would’ve noticed this trend.”
Durran crossed his arms. “Much as I wish I could agree with you about how stellar I am… Anneliese and Argrave told me to look out for something like this.”
“Huh,” Stain noted, taken aback. “What does it mean?”
“Got some propagandists in our midst. People putting ingredients in the pot, stirring the soup,” Durran crossed his arms and exhaled, his golden eyes appearing to grow brighter. “Problem is… hard to tell what the intent of the person behind them is. Doesn’t seem wholly negative. There are a lot worse ways you could spin our confrontation of Induen than talking about ghostly snakes.”
“How did… how did things go down, there?” Stain asked, hesitating. “Induen, I mean. We’ve been spreading rumors, but you were there.”
Durran looked at Stain. “Well… I wanted to just hit the man from afar, be done with it… but Argrave went to talk to him, led him out of town.”
Stain furrowed his brows. “Why? Was Induen’s death not the original plan?”
“Argrave was hesitant to sever his relationship with Orion, the other psycho brother, so he heard Induen out. More than that… our leader man wanted to try and be sure no one in Kin’s End died. Other than his kin, I guess.” Durran shrugged. “I thought it was stupid—best idea would just be to kill them all quickly and efficiently. But I guess it worked. No one innocent died. We got out unharmed.”
“You thought it was stupid?” Stain noted.
Durran nodded. “Argrave is… dangerous, and precise. I think he could have killed Induen without any risk at all—kill the prince and all four B-rank royal knights simultaneously. He wasn’t as confident, so he took the risk.”
Stain nodded, then watched as a crowd dispersed. “You disapprove?”
“Nope,” Durran said immediately. “I stay in line, do what I’m told. Haven’t felt misled yet. Well… amendment: I do what I’m told when told by Argrave. Or Anneliese, if he tells me to listen to her.”
Stain laughed. “You don’t strike me as a yes-man.”
“I’ve seen some things,” Durran said. “What Argrave says usually comes true. Might be fuzzy how… but yeah, he makes it happen. Don’t get me wrong, he makes mistakes. He can be pretty stupid sometimes—man can’t tie a good knot to save his life, and he’d probably be dead thirty times over without Galamon. He’s a bit of a fool for love… luckily for him, he picked well. Or got picked. Whatever. But I lost fingers for him, and I’d do it again with the other hand.”
Stain stared down Durran. “Any more smoke to blow up his ass?”
Durran laughed loudly, hunching over breathless. His action drew eyes from everyone in the lobby.
“Good gods… I knew this would fall flat in seconds,” Stain turned away exasperatedly. “Let me clarify—this whole thing was Elias’ idea, not mine. All these questions are ones he wanted answered.”
Durran finally stopped laughing. “Ah… gods, I had you for a few good minutes, I’m sure of it.”
Stain looked frustrated but gave a good-natured laugh after a few seconds. “Yeah, yeah… eat it up, you pisser.”
Durran stood up straight, standing a good deal above Stain. “Here’s a point to remember, though.” Durran leaned down, his golden eyes and tattoos veritably gleaming. “I didn’t have to make up that much. A large part of deception is telling the truth. If you’re smart… this earnest support you’re giving Argrave? You keep it up. He remembers friends. He repays generosity. And this guy’s got some deep pockets, I’ll tell you.”
Stain nodded. “I got my taste from him. Even still, I’m just a bird perching on the big branches of House Parbon. I can’t do much.”
“Argrave valued you too much for that to be true,” Durran shook his head. “Well, we’ve wasted enough breath on him. I’m around that tall bastard way too much to want to talk about him constantly.”
“Should we go back to spreading rumors for him instead?”
Durran laughed. “Gods be damned, you’re right. What a bleak existence…”
