Jackal Among Snakes
Chapter 141
In the alleyways of Sethia, someone crawled away on their knees, veritably pulling themselves forward using the walls. They pushed aside rubble, heaving, then eventually collapsed against a building, breathless.
“Haah… haah,” the man breathed. Covered in grime, dust, and sand, the man was entirely nude. He was ridiculously skinny, appearing both dehydrated and starved. His hair and eyes were brown. His skin was the color of copper.
If any of the residents of the city saw him, they would know he was unmistakably the Lord of Copper.
Brium did not consider himself a fool. He knew when he had lost a battle. His enemies waited beyond, letting the elves tear at him like wolves hunting a lion. All of his allies were vanquished. His death was inevitable. As such, rather than perish, he elected to commit the only cardinal sin for Vessels of Fellhorn—severing his connection with the ancient god.
Two Vessels before Brium had done such a thing. It was an abominable act, and all who had done it had died miserably. Brium was no more than a mortal man, now. He looked much older than he once did—near forty, his true age. He was weak, friendless, and surrounded by people hostile to him. But he was alive, and that alone was sufficient.
After having caught his breath, he tried to rise to his feet. Something stopped him from doing so. Brium raised his head up, only to see a man in plate armor holding a boot to his shoulder.
Boarmask stood there. His namesake, the boar helmet, was badly dented. Part of the mock boar’s eye was caved in. His armor had been ripped asunder in many places, and even now, the man was bleeding.
“Planning an escape?” Boarmask questioned. “You aren’t why I’m stalking these streets. But the world must consider itself fortunate that I was watching. A tyrant such as you cannot escape judgement.”
Brium raised his hand up. He opened his mouth, but his tongue was dry, and he could form no words. Boarmask raised his mace up. Light fell onto his helmet, revealing a blue eye as cold as the deep sea.
“Reap the misery you have sown.”
Boarmask’s mace descended. After a second, the man pulled away his foot and mace both.
“Gods above, nurture these souls I send to you, wicked though they may be,” Boarmask prayed as he cleaned his mace. “There is one more I must send to meet you. I beg of you—watch over me, and ensure I walk the righteous path.”
Boarmask limped into the alleyway, where Titus’ voice grew ever louder.
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Now that Titus had brought his plan into light, many of the oddities and inconsistencies throughout their journey started to make sense to Argrave.
a cordoned section of the mines. Titus presumably found them there. The revolt was likely a distraction to move them—and it would explain why Anneliese
allegiance started to make sense, if only just. Since he knew much about Durran and the tribals, he had likely been the intermediary
Was it a variation between fiction and reality? Was
and swirled around him dramatically. His Brumesingers flanked him, filling the air with their mysterious fog as they sung their chiming song. Following behind was Anneliese, Galamon,
crowd, they must be
spell that they knew. It achieved the same effect as Titus’
Sethia! People of the tribes! All of the lords of this city are dead and gone! The Lord of Gold, slain by her own people! The Lord of Silver, felled by my hand!” Argrave revealed the silver inheritance medallion—it was a ceremonial thing, and so easily recognizable. “And lastly, the Lord of
might be more receptive to further direction. Durran turned his gaze towards them, too, and urged his wyvern to rest not too far from
reach a higher
to join them. “We provided no weaponry to the people here. We were aware of the coming battle only days
them!” a member of the crowd shouted. “The
the sake of protection?” Argrave countered quickly, anticipating Titus’ men might try and sabotage things. “No! They
Durran?” Titus shouted out. “The tribals know he was the one to discover the southron elves, despite
deduced quickly. “If none know of this collaboration besides the tribals, then how do you?!” Argrave questioned.
replied quickly. “And I still
elves earlier rose, almost in cue. “Aye! Titus has kept in contact with us. He suffered underneath the reign
one who armed men
the power of the few bought voices within a crowd made itself known. A mob was a volatile thing—humans are reasonable creatures, by and large, but within a crowd, one can project their opinion infinitely. People join in protest simply to be a part of the group. Self-awareness and personal identity
who Titus even was,
his bell and made to speak,
is simply no proof in this matter! A
by the neck. “I captured this man. He had these,” he explained, holding out arrows that
at
gave them to us, gave us all our plans!” the man shouted, choking from
booed, but a
beaten—he’d say anything!” Titus refuted, and his men planted
Galamon muttered, stepping up to him. “Titus’
a
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