Jackal Among Snakes

A fire crackled, sending smoke up into the night sky. For the first time in a long while, Argrave sat before a man-made campfire instead of one born of magic. The flame was contained in a bowl of some sort that seemed to be resistant to heat and kept aflame by chopped logs. Above it, goat meat sizzled, dripping fatty grease into the fire which would let out a cascade of sparks.

Argrave and Anneliese sat near, each using the campfire to read. Galamon had his back turned to the flame, watching out into the fading light of dusk. His helmet was off, disguising Garm from sight atop Galamon’s backpack. Across from them sat Titus, the leader of the merchant caravan.

Titus was taller than most, just shy of Anneliese’s height, and had a body clearly adjusted to physical labor. He had golden eyes and dark skin, marking him as a former tribal. Argrave found that, in the three days they had been journeying, he wore only extravagant red and gold clothing. He displayed the mark of Fellhorn, leaving the blue cross on his backhand exposed.

“That should be sufficient,” Titus narrated as he leaned forward, gingerly seizing the skewered meat’s stake. He lifted it up, taking it off the flame.

Anneliese shut her book eagerly, placing it inside her bag. Argrave took his time, watching Titus set things up.

Titus reached off the side and retrieved four thin yet wide purple leaves. “These are the leaves of a Bitterbite. It is said if one eats too many, they will lose their taste—yet I have had thousands, and they do nothing. Worry not, gentlemen, madam,” Titus spoke smoothly.

“Just call us by name,” Argrave held his hand out. “The term might apply to me, but Galamon definitely isn’t gentle.”

“I would not dare show disrespect to one who dined with Mistress Tatia,” Titus quickly refuted at once.

Argrave didn’t press the issue further.

Titus wrapped the goat meat in the leaf, and then slowly pulled it free of the skewer. “The leaf of a Bitterbite has tangy juices that go well with the spice. Please, gentlemen, madam—enjoy the first bite.” He held out the leaf-wrapped meat, and Argrave touched Anneliese’s elbow, gesturing for her to take it.

She took it, holding it in hand but waiting to take a bite. Titus diligently wrapped another piece of meat, offering it to Argrave. Argrave took it, refraining as well.

“The gentleman Galamon?” Titus questioned.

“He has his strange ways of eating,” Argrave interrupted. “He packs his own food and throws a tantrum if he cannot eat it his way. Don’t mind him.”

“Ah… certainly.” Titus nodded. He bit into his wrapped meat, and only once he had chewed and swallowed did Anneliese and Argrave do so, as well. Argrave knew the leaf itself was not hazardous, but some caution was warranted with a stranger.

The leaf added a flavor reminiscent of lime to the meat, though it was much fainter than the fruit might’ve been. Anneliese seemed to enjoy it. Argrave didn’t find it terrible, but frankly he’d rather just eat the meat as it was. That said, Titus’ skills were impressive. The Burnt Desert certainly had cuisine far beyond that of Vasquer, at least in Argrave’s opinion.

“On the morrow…” Titus looked out across the dunes of sand. “I suspect we will reach Malgeridum by this time.”

“The mining city?” Argrave questioned. “That’s good. Fast progress. Hopefully we aren’t blocked by another sandstorm.”

“The gentleman knows the city,” Titus noted, minutely surprised.

“Yeah. Prime example of Fellhorn’s infinite generosity,” Argrave said sarcastically.

Titus said nothing, staring into the fire. Argrave and Anneliese ate in silence

tribal once, right?” Argrave

“Yes,” Titus confirmed.

Mistress Tatia as

nodded in confirmation

life before, your life now—which would you want to go back

servitude.” He looked up at Argrave, his golden eyes reflecting the fire well. “I was born when our tribe was already dead. The tales my elders spoke of—glorious battle against the men of Vasquer, where strength

you like it underneath the

the crackling flame. “I know suffering with an empty stomach, and I know life underneath Fellhorn’s eternal rain. They are different in many ways, similar in some.” He stabbed the iron rod back in the

Anneliese pressed, moving

walls…” Titus rubbed his hands together near the fire. “The Vessels need to Drain to grow in power, be it from the people or from the world. They constantly hunger for their people to infract, hoping

to Galamon when ‘accursed bloodsuckers’ were mentioned, but he had tact enough to not let his eyes linger

to ensure your continued existence is

the Vessels of Fellhorn—how are they made?”

babies are taken at birth.” Titus rubbed his hands together. “It is rarely a welcome thing, and

interrupted Galamon loudly. “In the

walking to where Galamon sat. He kneeled, looking out

time, Titus said, “I see them. The gentleman has

like they’re heading towards something… a spring in the rocks,” Galamon noted. “Tribals,

Argrave asked, also standing and watching. He could see nothing for a time, until he caught a faintly

Galamon confirmed with

circle of small stones? Is there one big rock jutting

head around, scanning. Eventually, he nodded. “Seems

I’m wrong, but that’s

head away as he complimented, “The gentleman has

“Brandback?” Anneliese asked.

backwards, opens its mouth a little, and lets its saliva pool. When something steps near to drink, it opens its mouth

know it is there,”

Argrave questioned. “What

people have decided to choose death before enslavement,”

“But how can you…?”

of a tribe would not know

the sand cleared, a thick, fat lizard creature plopped onto the sand, its entire body covered in black, rock-like bumps. It threw its head with its throat swelled like a pelican, something clearly stuck in there. After a time, it

Galamon noted. “His bucket is full…

knelt. “The hunter

Some prize…” Garm spoke, causing Argrave’s uneasiness

“Hmm?” Titus looked back.