Argrave’s eyes lingered on the man wearing reddish-brown robes slightly behind Elias: Helmuth. Black hair, a widow’s peak, a dour face, and a beard trimmed to a point all lent the spellcaster an appearance of harsh sternness. His eyes were constantly in motion, twisting and beckoning like there was an abyss beyond those orbs. It had been merely another interesting thing when viewing it from the perspective of a player, but now that those eyes were real, it somewhat disturbed Argrave—both their appearance, and the knowledge of what they could do.

It was difficult to distinguish where, exactly, Helmuth was looking, but Argrave was certain he had seen something out of the ordinary, for Helmuth displayed considerable caution gazing upon them. Perhaps it was Rowe, magical titan that he was, or perhaps it was Argrave, possessed of the blessing of a God of Knowledge. Worst yet, it might be Galamon, the vampire.

Regardless, the spellcaster stepped up to Elias’ ear and whispered something. Elias frowned as he listened, and then eventually turned an eye back to Argrave.

Argrave did not know what, exactly, Helmuth said, but eventually Elias looked to him and said simply, “I won’t. There’s no need.”

“I strongly advise against that course, young lord,” Helmuth said insistently, slightly louder. He lowered his voice again.

Argrave turned to Galamon as Helmuth whispered to Elias, conveying to the elf he wished to know what they were saying.

“He wishes to leave,” muttered Galamon beneath his breath. “He believes you are a danger, and fears that you have an S-rank spellcaster in your retinue.”

Argrave nodded, but his question soon turned out to be a waste of time. Baron Abraham said loudly, “I also think we should leave, young lord.” He raised a hand and waved it at the Argrave and his three companions. “You said this bastard stopped the Veidimen invasion—why, then, does he keep only their company?”

“Because words are stronger than swords in ending wars,” Argrave supplied smoothly, interjecting himself into things to speed the conversation up. “Things were resolved diplomatically. I was named friend to the Veidimen.”

“Hah.” Abraham shook his head. “More likely you were the puppeteer behind the invasion to begin with. Start something and end something with the same hands, fabricate glory from nothing—not unlike most in Vasquer,” Abraham said, voice low.

Argrave laughed. “Conspiracy theories, now?”

“Baron Abraham, you forget your place,” Elias said.

“Margrave Reinhardt made it clear to me my place was to advise you,” Abraham turned. “And you’re going down a foolish road even conversing with this lowlife. That is my advice to you.”

“Lowlife? You’re not worth a tenth of him, even were your flesh made of gold,” Rowe said provocatively, sparking Argrave’s panic.

“Now, let’s just—” Argrave tried to begin.

“Is that right?” The Baron placed his hand on the pommel of his sword, taking a step forward towards the four of them. “Blade or spell, he’d be dead within ten seconds if we came to blows.”

Argrave felt magic stir within the air and took an instinctive step back. Something rushed from Helmuth’s hands, winding about Abraham like a tetherball. When things settled, it was revealed to be a purple mass of air coiled around Abraham’s body. The knight struggled with it, clawing at it with his hands. Argrave recognized what had happened—Helmuth used the B-rank spell [Tempest Grip]. The spell, a wind-type elemental spell, had been tainted purple by Helmuth’s unusual magic constitution.

The enchantments on Abraham’s armor sparked wildly, keeping the magic from crushing him outright. “Be silent,” Helmuth said loudly, not quite yelling. “You know naught. You tempt wrath beyond your ken, and should you proceed, I will cast you to the dogs. I would sooner carve your headstone myself than lay beside you in death.”

Helmuth clenched his fist, and the spell matrix shining in his hand dissipated. Abraham collapsed to one knee, his legs braced as though the knight was ready to lunge and seek revenge. He stared at Helmuth indignantly, breath quick. Argrave feared that things would continue to escalate.

After a time, Abraham stood, running a gauntleted hand through his messy blonde hair. The Baron walked a fair distance away, refusing to continue the conversation. Elias stared at the Baron, saying nothing.

“One of you has some sense, it would seem,” Rowe said. “But they say if a dog has a fault, it’s the master’s—"

“Let’s not, Rowe,” Argrave interrupted, voice tense. “I have an exercise for you—if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it at all.”

Rowe grumbled something inaudibly, and Argrave sighed, rubbing his hand against his face. “Well, since the possibility of an amiable conversation has died on the vine, let’s get to the point, Elias.” Argrave lifted his head up, meeting Elias’ gaze.

“That suits me fine,” agreed Elias. “But first, Mateth—what happened there? News is inconsistent and vague in Parbon.”

“Mateth survived,” Argrave said seriously. “A lot of people died, all of House Monticci’s fleet was destroyed, the harbors have been entirely wiped out, and the Dukedom is essentially crippled, but… the Duke, Nikoletta, and Mina persist yet.”

“That’s…” Elias processed Argrave’s succinct explanation of a complex situation. “Then this rumor of you stopping the invasion—how did that happen? How did you repel the snow elves?”

Argrave wished to claim it was fabricated, but with three snow elves at his side and Argrave having already confessed being named friend to the Veidimen, he was not confident enough to maneuver his way out of this one. Worse yet, Rowe would probably force honesty from him.

“I resolved a misunderstanding between Veiden and House Monticci. End of story,” Argrave shrugged. “Anneliese here helped me.” He tapped her shoulder, and after a moment’s pause, she nodded. “Most of the credit goes to her. She was the bridge between the two sides.”

Rowe looked back perplexedly but said nothing, to Argrave’s relief. Elias sized Anneliese up as she stared down at him. They locked eyes for a moment, and Anneliese gave a brief nod.

“It’s good that things ended, then,” Elias concluded, turning his gaze away. “But I’ve forced a digression. What is it you wanted to speak to me about?”

“The Duke of Elbraille intends to support Vasquer,” Argrave declared plainly.

Elias frowned and lowered his head. The news was similarly disquieting in Elias’ company. Helmuth looked surprised, and he brought his hand to his beard, stroking it idly. The knights looked at each other, exchanging emotions with glance alone. Even Abraham was pulled from his sulking, and he turned back to them with some anger still present in his posture.

“And by extension, Jast, his vassal, will support Vasquer as well?” Elias questioned further, half-lost in thought.

“That is the natural order of things, yes,” Argrave nodded.

“And you know this how?”

“You spoke to him,” Argrave pointed. “Veladrien of Jast. He confirmed some things for me. Good kid.”

“Then where is he?” Abraham questioned from far away.

“Absent,” Argrave said after a pause. He had neglected to ask Stain to come along. “But I have these letters detailing exchanges between the Duke and the Count, speaking of the war to come. It contains strategy, the like. Here.” Argrave reached into his satchel, pulling out a tightly wrapped bundle of letters. Elias stepped forward and took it, breaking the string binding them.

Elias read through the letters in silence. Argrave kept his eyes on Helmuth. He could not be certain of it, for the man lacked both pupils and irises, but he was near certain the man was staring at him.

“Letters can be forged,” Abraham stated. Argrave was rather impressed the man could still be so annoyingly opposed to him even after being threatened by an A-rank mage—his own ally, no less.

“I don’t think they are,” said Elias as he read through them.

“How?” Abraham asked incredulously.

“Intuition. You should be well familiar with the Parbon instinct, Baron Abraham,” Elias reminded Abraham. He looked up at Argrave. “Besides, the information contained within these isn’t something that can be forged.”

“I’m glad you see that. Even still, I can get Veladrien if you doubt me. Would just take a snap of the fingers, more or less,” Argrave emulated the motion.

“A boy of unconfirmed identity,” Abraham said, shaking his head.

“The man’s stubborn adhesion to his own mental deficiencies is very admirable,” said Rowe sarcastically, disguising an insult with compliment.

Argrave said nothing so as not to draw more ire, but internally agreed with the comment. Abraham walked away and sat on a stump.

“So you wish to stop me from entering Jast,” Elias followed Argrave’s logic. “It could be dangerous for me there.”

“Not necessarily,” Argrave pointed to emphasize his point. “I think things would be better suited if Jast came to the aid of House Parbon, instead. Anneliese and I have been discussing how we might make that happen.”

“You’d do that—turn Jast against Vasquer? You intend to support House Parbon against your own family?” Elias tried to confirm.

“Family? I’m not a Vasquer,” Argrave shook his head. “And most bearing that name do nothing good for the world by continuing to live.”

Elias seemed taken aback by that statement. “Even still, King Felipe is your father.” Elias sighed, and then shrugged his shoulders defeatedly. “Well, I… I’m not here to teach you morals. What exactly did you have in mind? I’ll hear you out, at the very—”

“Young lord Elias,” Helmuth interrupted, grabbing Elias’ shoulder. “Let’s speak privately for a moment.”

Elias looked at the spellcaster for a moment, then nodded.

#####

“What is this about?” Elias inquired from within the confines of the warding spell Helmuth had created.

“You should not work with this man,” Helmuth said plainly.

“And why not?” Elias inquired neutrally.

“There is a foul blackness within him.”

“Even you opine on his morals?” Elias looked away as though disappointed. “I know him better than—”

“No,” interrupted Helmuth, uncaring of Elias’ station on account of their privacy. “I don’t speak of his morals. I speak literally. An abyss resides within his chest. As you know, I see more than most,” Helmuth pointed to his eyes.

“You do,” Elias nodded. “And there’s a… an abyss? Within Argrave?” the young lord repeated uncertainly.

“Yes. I might use more specific wording, but even looking at it is…” Helmuth dared a glance, then quickly turned his head away. “There is a hole within him. It is the touch of something ancient—older than Vasquer, perhaps even older than the soil we stand on.”

“What does that mean?” Elias leaned in. “What exactly did you see?”

“I but glanced at it, and it threatened to consume my mind,” Helmuth stated. “It is a connection to something unknown, perhaps unknowable. There are few words I can use to describe it besides… an abyss. A void. I suspect that whatever it is rests beyond the limits of my mind. Were I to guess… it must be a connection to a god.”

Elias tapped his fingers together, lost in thought. “Could Argrave be blessed by one of the gods in Vasquer’s pantheon?”

“No. Whatever resides in him is far older than any of our gods,” Helmuth shook his head. “I must reiterate, young lord—be wary of this man. Stay far away. If he belongs to one of the ancient gods, their callous disregard for life will surely be mirrored in him. We gain nothing by associating with him.”

Elias turned his head towards Argrave, gaze distant as it was lost in deliberation.