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.”

have a plan?” Durran took off his

them up above the gates. It will have little effect on the animalistic creatures… yet the leaders are the ones we target, here. We must instill caution in them. Considering their

bottom

desperately,” Anneliese admitted. “Orion can turn the tide, I believe. Failing that, I am considering retreating. Either will be immensely challenging, to

a deep breath. “Good gods… I never thought I’d

#####

been one—though that had been ten years ago, and the king had never deigned to do

Jester, though…

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,

pursue once more, yet that sludge took the shape of a plant and thrust towards his neck. Orion caught

you kill my

you? I cannot say. Why not go check?”

determine if she was feigning innocence. Though he had already been angry, he stepped forth with an icy cold and intense rage. His hand caught fire, and he thrusted

he stepped. The Jester nimbly ducked, then swung 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 power in his legs and kneed her in the face. She caught

slightly, yet soon enough the blood flowed back into his hand, and the wound slowly closed. “The gods do not let me bleed,” he declared, palm held

nose was broken, yet she did not bleed. She fixed it

Everywhere the Plague Jester had touched burst forth into plant life, like a spring decompressed—where her feet had stepped exploded into vines, where Orion’s kneepad met her face writhed with thorny flowers, and even his own hand

His struggle was an intense surprise at first, yet then became coordinated. All he touched became flame, and he twisted about like a mongoose wrestling a cobra. Then,

time. She danced about the room with grace. With every step that she took, the place became more and more alive. The flames grew just as quickly, Orion fanning them deliberately to free himself

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.

to deflect it, the spear broke off at the tip, creating only another spike. She pulled

Orion close, she reached for his face. The jester succeeded only in brushing his beard, which immediately turned to plants resembling fly traps. The plants bit at his face with

ran alongside the wall, running her hand against it as she moved. Innumerable obstacles rose to meet Orion as he rushed, yet he barreled past them like an industrial machine. She wove in between the pillars holding up the ceiling, changing her direction with practiced grace as she dodged

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 a dog led about by the

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

fell upon him. The main palace’s roof had been heavily ornamented,