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 helmet,

the corpse of the jongleur and bard both, string 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 clumsy strategy on display in this palace… they are not capable

bottom line?” Durran

considering retreating. Either will be immensely challenging, to be sure. I may… need

breath. “Good gods… I never thought I’d be hoping to see

#####

fought foes that could keep up with him. His father had been one—though that

though…

bullheadedly rushed in, intending to 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

metal shone, bursting into sludge, and Orion staggered from the power. The Plague Jester darted away. He made to pursue once more, yet that sludge took the shape of a plant and thrust towards his neck. Orion caught it with one hand, quickly shattering it.

you kill my

you? I cannot say. Why not go

Though he had already been angry, he stepped forth with an icy cold and intense rage. His hand caught fire, and he thrusted it out. The Plague Jester stepped back, yet Orion opened his palm and shards of fiery wood flew out, pelting the

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 air for half

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

broken, yet she did not bleed.

plant life, like a spring decompressed—where her

struggle was an intense surprise at first, yet then became coordinated. All he touched

did not approach, this 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

and growing in equal measure. Yet when the jester stepped atop one of her own

in 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 head aside, yet it cut into her ear and pushed the jester hat off, revealing silken brown

resembling fly traps. The plants bit at his face with teeth far too sharp. As he tore them free,

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

and he pursued the fool as intensely as he knew how. He brought all of his blessings

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

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