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.”

a plan?” Durran took off his helmet, wincing as sliced

the gates. It will have little effect on the animalistic creatures… yet the leaders are the ones we target, here. We must

the bottom

considering retreating.

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

#####

that had been ten years ago, and the king had never

Jester, though… she

forth just as he did, yet when they neared confrontation, she darted down, sweeping his legs with the scepter in

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. When he looked at what had broken off, he saw a wooden knife. It was familiar, and memories

kill my brother?”

cannot say. Why not go

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

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 a second before rolling

and the wound slowly closed. “The gods do not let

Her light green nose was broken, yet

pursued once again. Yet as he stepped… the room burst into color. 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

everything attacking Orion fiercely. His struggle was an intense surprise at first, yet then became coordinated. All he touched became flame, and he twisted about like

time. She danced about the room with grace. With every step that she took, the place became

once dead throne room became unrecognizable—a jungle of biting and tearing plants, burning and growing in equal measure. Yet when the jester stepped atop one

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

brushing his beard, which immediately turned to plants resembling fly traps. The plants bit at his face with teeth

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,

knew how. He brought all of his blessings to heel, seeking to catch up… yet he felt like a

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

collapsing. A great wave of stone and brick fell upon him. The main palace’s roof had been heavily ornamented, and the great weight of all these ornaments fell upon him. The jester dodged the bulk of it, having predicted this, and closed the