Jackal Among Snakes

“Here he is,” said Durran, his breathing heavy. He handed Argrave off to Galamon, his body limp. “Lighter than he looks.” They were in the small house Argrave had been holed up in. His Brumesingers stayed by his side, protecting him by shrouding the environment with their mist.

“Because he has little blood,” Galamon concluded. “You…” he looked down at Durran’s hands. His left hand was covered in blood and seemed misshapen.

“Just a few fingers gone,” Durran laughed, though his voice was tense and betrayed his pain. He gazed at his hand—the middle, ring, and pinky finger were all gone, torn off by a bite. “Someone had to save him. Couldn’t trust the Waxknights. A few fingers is a small price, in my eyes. He’s… quite the scary one, looks like. Conjured that magic show,” his gaze lingered on Argrave, who looked half a corpse. He had countless cuts, yet they did not bleed.

Galamon looked at Durran, judging. Eventually, he nodded. “Rejoin the fight,” he directed. “I will ensure Argrave is safe.”

Durran nodded. He ran outside, grabbing his glaive. He cast healing magic on his hand—though the fingers did not regrow, the wound did close. He awkwardly handled his glaive, possessing considerably less grace than he typically did.

Anneliese strode towards Durran. She looked a mess, hair wild and unruly, enchanted armor damaged in half a dozen places… yet her steps were strong and decisive. “How is he?”

“Galamon is keeping him safe,” Durran assured her at once.

She did not seem quite relieved, yet Anneliese contented herself with that. “That centaur has returned with reinforcements,” she informed him curtly. “You are needed.”

“Argrave gave you command,” he reminded her.

“I know this. And I have a plan,” Anneliese nodded. “The bulk of the forces within the palace are routed. Not dead, mind you—I suspect they will join up with the host approaching the palace alongside the centaur. They acted reasonably, meaning another one of the fortress commanders is with them, commanding them.”

“How many got away, do you think?” he questioned, looking around. The place was a mess of inhuman corpses, and even now the Waxknights stood diligently, waiting for more to come. Their numbers had thinned. Some were badly injured.

“Hard to say. I must assume over one hundred, for the sake of surety,” Anneliese looked around. “Neither the gate nor the walls are enchanted. Even if they were… that centaur was large enough to bound over them.”

“And you said he brought one of the commanders from the fortresses,” Durran noted.

Anneliese put her hands on her hips. “This place was not made for defending. Only four of the Waxknights are still capable of fighting, even. I have little magic left, and the Waxknights are the same. We could not even heal Argrave.”

Durran took off his helmet, wincing as sliced

jongleur and bard both, string them up above the gates. It will have little effect on the animalistic creatures…

the bottom line?” Durran

admitted. “Orion can turn the tide, I believe. Failing that, I am considering retreating. Either will

palace, taking a deep breath. “Good gods… I

#####

seldom fought foes that could keep up with him. His father had been one—though that had been ten years ago, and the king had never deigned to

though…

contest strength with strength… yet the Plague Jester played a different game. She charged forth just as he did, yet when they neared confrontation, she darted down, sweeping his legs with the scepter in her hand. When he stepped over her blow, she planted a palm against his

sludge took the shape of a plant and thrust towards his neck. Orion caught it with one hand, quickly shattering it. When he looked at what had broken off, he saw a wooden knife. It was familiar, and memories of

kill my

with you? I cannot say. Why not go check?” the Jester

he had already been angry, he stepped forth with an icy cold

her scepter towards Orion’s knee. He caught the scepter with his free hand and liquid light danced out, cutting deep into his palm. He put

his hand, and the wound slowly closed. “The gods do

broken, yet she did not bleed. She fixed it

the Plague Jester had touched burst forth into plant life, like a spring decompressed—where her feet had stepped

coordinated. All he touched became flame, and he twisted about like a mongoose wrestling a cobra. Then, with a tremendous rush, he pushed

took, the place became more and more alive. The flames

biting and tearing plants, burning and growing in equal measure. Yet when the jester stepped atop one of her own roots, she winced and spasmed, shocked by electricity from one of Orion’s numerous blessings. Orion took that brief moment

his hand from the moisture in the air, and he thrust it towards her with caution, giving her combat prowess ample respect. Though she attempted to deflect it, the spear broke off at the tip, creating only another spike. She pulled her

in brushing his beard, which immediately turned to plants resembling fly traps. The plants bit at his face with teeth far too sharp. As he

yet he barreled past them like an

passed. His determination never waved, and he pursued the fool as intensely as he knew how. He brought all of his blessings to heel, seeking to catch up… yet he felt like

giant wooden hammers thrust out with tremendous speed, and though Orion dodged two, he could not dodge all. One struck him into another mallet that slammed him from above. He managed to stay standing, holding up a tremendous mass of wood. He threw it up, casting it aside with his tremendous strength, and moved to catch the

main palace’s roof had been heavily ornamented, and the great weight of all these ornaments fell upon him. The jester