Jackal Among Snakes

Argrave and Anneliese sat in their tent, which had been pitched in a relatively dry spot of the wetlands. Argrave leaned up against Anneliese as she read, feeling a little exhausted. Galamon sat atop one of the crooks of the tallest trees, keeping watch vigilantly, while Durran read a book just beneath him. The two of them had separate tents just by each other.

There were two other guests—one anticipated, and the other wholly not so. Silvic laid down on the ground, doing nothing but merely existing. And Drezki the Coward… Argrave scanned their camp, looking for the woman.

“What will happen to my Lady and Light?” Drezki questioned, somewhat surprising Argrave. She stood just off to the side of the entrance to their tent, holding her sticks in hand. Up so close, Argrave could see the sticks she bore. Their core had been hollowed out and filled with the same glowing liquid light that resided within Silvic. To be struck with them was to be struck by an aspect of an elder spirit of the wetlands—that is to say it would hurt very badly.

Argrave gazed at Drezki, then cast a glance at Silvic. “I suspect… Orion will bring both of you along to aid in the expedition through the wetlands, and the fight against the Plague Jester. He may be zealous, but he isn’t stupid. He’ll know your help is important in traversing the wetlands, dealing with whatever enemies might abound.”

“And after?” Drezki insisted.

Argrave said nothing, searching for the right words.

“I will be killed,” Silvic answered before Argrave could say anything. Outside of the Marred Hallowed Grounds, her voice did not have the all-encompassing power it once did, but it was still bizarre.

Drezki whipped her head back. “What?!”

“Drezki, sweet child… if you had the opportunity to kill any of the gods of Vasquer, would you take it?” Silvic questioned, unmoving.

The woman stepped slowly to Silvic, wooden armor clanking. She knelt down, then collapsed to her knees ungracefully before Silvic. Though the wetland spirit did not move, the roots themselves curled out of the ground, bunching around Drezki’s legs as if in comfort.

“Silvic…” Drezki muttered, not quite crying but verging on that point.

“Would you rather I succumb to this disease of the Plague Jester, what the human calls the waxpox?” Silvic questioned, voice almost amused. “Let me die in service of the wetlands. This disease ruins all. That it came from this glorious land is tragedy enough. I must do what I can to right this wrong. It is not the natural order of things.”

Argrave was glad to be spared answering that question. Drezki grieved silently for a time, then went to sit elsewhere not far from Argrave’s tent. He felt sympathy for the woman of the swamps, yet he could not deny being mildly annoyed that he was denied privacy with Anneliese.

“I apologize for earlier rudeness,” Drezki finally said.

Argrave shook his head at once. “Rudeness doesn’t bother me. And we had not met under the best of terms. Were it something avoidable, I would not have slain those I did.” The words came easy because they were the truth. It wasn’t as though he had compromised his morals in killing Silvic’s guardians, but he generally did not like fighting. It was risky, and it hurt.

“Why do they call you ‘the Coward?’” Anneliese questioned Drezki after a long amount of time had passed.

eyes, then turned to Anneliese. “’They?’” she repeated. “I call myself that. How do you know of it?

had neglected to inform Anneliese of the background for

then answer, “It’s to remind me of what I

people, not yourself,” Argrave pointed out tiredly,

of what?” Anneliese continued, trying

alone,” Drezki said. The words had weight, but she had moved past her grief enough to say them without shaking. “My Lady and Light welcomed me into her hallowed land. She protected me, sheltered me. She taught me. When the waxpox came and ate away my flesh, she imbued her own body into me to prevent my death,” she

my Lady and Light. I vowed to defend her to my last breath. And so, I call myself ‘coward,’ because it is what I hope to prove I am

opened his eyes again, looking at Drezki as he leaned against Anneliese’s shoulder. Willingness to die for something… on his first day here, that sentiment might have been foreign to him. He was beginning to understand it, though. Maybe it was because he was around people who would die for a cause—people like Titus, Orion, or the southron elves.

in his head, Anneliese tilted her head and rested it against his. It was a simple act, but it

you don’t need to die,”

like escaping this man you call Orion’s grasp will be something easy,” it pointed out. “The wetlands themselves balk in fear of

Drezki looked greatly dispirited.

purpose?” Anneliese inquired of Silvic.

the trees around us, the beauty and ugliness all. I simply wish to see it prosper, as it always has. I am but a manifestation of the desires of the folk who once lived in this swamp. I am the spirit

word ‘spirit,’

time… centuries, perhaps… so long as this land persists, another of my kind will be born. Perhaps it will

the wetlands will progress into coal forests, Argrave mused, recalling useless

of this land to sow discord,”

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identify herself as the daughter of Count Elgar—it was a double-edged sword, she supposed, but she did not wish to announce

warily. She could see that their flesh had been afflicted with the waxpox, and though it was covered by bandages, she had no strong desire to contract this disease. Despite their affliction, these knights seemed as capable as any of the royal knights she had

far as we will take you, lady. This is the

coming here was because Orion was not near as dangerous as the other princes. Yet seeing his knights and hearing their address…

I meet Prince Orion?” Mina

they are willing to wait for him,” the knight said plainly. “He

bit closer, mindful of the great bulk of people wandering. Though she had thought Veden was bad enough, seeing this place now gave her

horde of people gathered. Between their zealous cheers and their praises, they seemed more a religious congregation than a camp of refugees. In the back, towering over all of them, was Orion of Vasquer. He was free of the disease, and yet he mingled without fear. The people reached for him like he was the

She looked at the vast crowd, biting her lip and debating herself fiercely. Something drew her eye—more golden-armored royal knights—and she spurred