Jackal Among Snakes

“Such a cruel world,” said a deep voice in lamentation. “That the gods should take these hands from you… it is their test. You must stay strong.”

Orion wrapped a bandage around the disease-ridden hand of a farmer. The man, likely a common laborer, laid on the floor in a simple mat of blankets. His skin was bloated and waxy. Orion knelt by his side, long black hair bound in a single braid behind him. Throughout the rest of the simple warehouse, the royal knights tended to the other sick. Some of them were already showing signs of disease. Orion’s hands, though, were clean of pustules or other blemishes marring the sick.

Orion finished wrapping the hand. “I have blessed you, good man of the realm. The disease is most likened to the pale fingers of Death itself—its dread breath cannot be reversed, only halted, even with the blessings of the gods. Until a cure is found, you must wrap your hands carefully like this every day.”

“Bless you, Prince Orion,” the man said weakly. “Bless you…”

“I am merely one of the gods’ favored, good man, but we are all their children. It is my duty to protect and heal merely because I can.” He stroked the man’s hair like he was a child, and then stood, plate mail clanging beneath his dirtied white robes.

Orion looked about the room for yet more people to tend to, but one of the royal knights stepped forward. Half of his right cheek was badly deformed by the disease, and his hands were already wrapped in bandages.

“Prince Orion. How much longer must we go untreated?”

Orion looked to the man, then reached out and caressed his cheek. The man very clearly wanted to flinch away. “This plague is a test issued by the gods. Just the same, my good knight, it carries their divine will. You are servants of House Vasquer assigned to me. You are an extension of my divine crook. If you accept their will, I can mold you into true scions of me—of the gods,” he whispered.

“Oh, gods…” the man said, nearly breaking down. “We’re going to die…” the man fell to his knees.

“If your faith is true and your actions righteous, death will never meet you,” Orion said with conviction, kneeling down. “From hardship sprouts greatness. Already, you feel no pain where the gods’ plague has touched.” Orion stared at the man’s bandaged hands.

“When it consumes all of your body, I will give you my blessing and name you the Knights of Moder, heralds for the virtues of the goddess of plague and rot. Your flesh will be as tough as stone, and you will know neither pain nor fear. Do not despair, good knight of Vasquer. Pray to Moder and her mercy. Though the people may suffer, this is your gift,” Orion preached enthusiastically. “You will help bring peace and prosperity to Vasquer and the lands beyond it, as is your sworn duty. Did you not take an oath to give your life to the royal family?”

“We’re going to die,” the royal knight said, face twisting in despair where it could—some of it was rendered immobile from the disease. The knight looked up at Orion. “You’re no saint. You’re a beast. A demon!” he shouted. Many of the people in the ward turned to look at them.

I forgive you for your words. If you repent, and your faith remains true… you will someday bask in the warmth of the gods’ love.” Orion placed his hands together, eyes closed as though praying.

and more refugees arrive each and every day. Nearly every single house is becoming filled with the sick. Your father

scale and importance. Though the air grows cold as autumn ends and the humors in the air do not spread so easily, we must fight to

would speak to me. I hear their voices ringing in my head. There is no discouragement. I cannot call myself a man of the gods should

at the prince as he walked away, gaze bouncing between the door and Orion's back. Finally, his sight lowered to the sword on his hip, and he pushed his tongue

does not need us as guards—I suspect he could face an army naked with

knight said angrily. “For some delusions of a knightly order. To save

“Most are from Belleden. Allegedly, even Belleden’s Baron has fallen ill with this disease. This plague is indeed a serious one.” The senior knight turned his gaze to Orion. “Most prophets were thought to be mad before they changed the world. It may be hard

it to them. The knight cast one more glance at the

#####

Argrave. “You boil these without crushing.” Argrave walked over and dumped it in an empty pot, and then conjured some water to fill

villagers take. This morning had been occupied with a trek through the woods, scavenging mushrooms, roots, and flowers. Now, they were

instead tending to the harvest, the vast majority within

to Anneliese a fair distance away from the working villagers. He kept

that?”

and he played a little song on his magic pipe, and the rats followed him

lead

head. “Into the sea, maybe. Accounts vary, and

happened?” she

morality. Guess it’s in line with Veidimen teachings—never renege on a contract, or an instrumentalist will steal

in Veid’s scriptures,”

It’s like a drug; too much and you