Jackal Among Snakes

“I did it as best I could, prince Levin,” a man garbed in brown robes spoke. He was short, and his skin green. He was one of the swamp folk.

“No, I can see that,” Levin soothed casually, staring down at the dead body of Magnus. Levin was dressed befitting a prince. He was thin and tall with a sinewy strength to him. He kept his hands politely behind his back.

A few days’ travel had made Magnus’ body somewhat worse for wear, but he deemed it would be good enough for the funeral. They would need ample perfumes, he judged. He stayed fixated on the hole in his neck.

“…but nothing came of it, my prince,” the man said anxiously. “I mean, beyond the murder itself… he is your younger brother, so the murder was not necessary for succession…”

Levin turned his head back. His rich blue eyes seemed like ocean water, almost innocent. “You’re trying to assume my reasoning for this,” he noted. “Don’t.”

The man lowered his head obsequiously. “Of course, my prince.”

Expression inscrutable, Levin turned back. “My father has commanded I make the funeral arrangements, alongside the investigation. He’ll need to be dressed better. A… a high collar, to be sure, to hide the wound. And something sleeved. Traditional Vasquer colors.” He turned to the man. “You’ll get it done?”

The man looked back up. His expression was obvious—he was no funeral director, his face seemed to scream. But he nodded. “I will take care of it to the best of my abilities.”

He made to leave and pulled the door inwards to step out. Four black-garbed men lunged in, stabbing him in the chest and neck quickly and efficiently. Levin watched them work. When they finished, the four knelt before him.

“Did you hear what I said?” Levin questioned.

The black-garbed men looked up, then looked between each other, confused.

Levin freed his hands from behind his back. “The clothes. Do you remember what I asked?”

“Yes, my prince,” the quickest among them said.

“Take his measurements. See it done,” he commanded naturally, then walked out of the open door.

#####

“Frankly, he’s lost enough blood that a normal man would surely have died,” Galamon said to Anneliese. As her heart dropped, he continued, “But… he’s no normal man. He’s black blooded. He still has a strong heartbeat, if a bit rapid, and none of his functions seem seriously impaired. Above all… he has vitality. I know this,” he looked at her, leaving ‘why’ unspoken.

Anneliese gazed down at Argrave, a mess of worry and thought. Though his wounds had now been healed, he still refused to rouse after hours. “Healing magic cannot replace his blood,” Anneliese said. “What should be done?”

“…all I know is first aid,” Galamon said cautiously. “But… well, we’ll have to tend to him constantly. You should use healing magic on a regular basis to combat organ failure, I believe. That’s what gets the men that bleed. As far as I know, healing magic combats that. All the while… he’ll need to be fed, hydrated, and his body allowed to work at self-rejuvenation.”

Anneliese held her hands out. “Fed? How?”

Galamon bit his lips. “Healers I knew… used honey on a cloth. I remember a few other things. I can show you how to administer it, but I’ve never done it personally. If we have no honey or anything like it, it’ll have to be something liquified. We might ask Silvic about the plants that are edible, or for something that resembles honey in the wetlands.”

as tenderly as he knew how, “He’s strong and stubborn. I’ll give him a day to wake up, especially with magic in his blood. People tell tales of how resilient dragons are, and mages drink dragon blood for health and vitality. That’s because of the magic in their blood. Failing that…

must this happen?” she asked

#####

amidst nothing but an utter soreness. His eyelids stubbornly refused to obey his directive to open. He could not move his hands or arms. Even his tongue was weak, yet as he moved it, he realized there was a cloth barely in his mouth. He heard

someone, saying something, and then going out once again. He had many of those memories—barely lapsing back into being, and then fading out

exactly how long this lasted, yet eventually, the world crystallized around him. He

not comfortable. He was well used to pain, and soreness, and weakness, and his present state brought back rather uncomfortable memories. He tried to move his arms and sit up… and succeeded, yet

in, and he turned his head towards

sigh. “Thank the gods,” she said as she came

like… a bag of grain,” he confessed, his mouth far too

shook her head and chuckled, then stroked his hair with a gloved hand. “You don’t need to move.

been poked into his brain to wake him up. “Oh.

to stir, but Anneliese needed only to put her hand atop his chest to utterly suppress him. “You will eat. And then you will

negotiate with terrorists,” he

at him tenderly. “Wait,” she directed,

rather sensible, and so

#####

mind far clearer than it had been—clear enough to refrain from rambling nonsensically about negotiating with terrorists. Clarity brought with it a heightened awareness of his state. He could move, but walking would still be difficult. The black blood in

bones,” Anneliese informed him. “So many cuts… some of them left scars,

hoarse voice. “That’s not so bad.

what he’d refrained from saying

not having a response on-hand. “So… the Jester is

Anneliese nodded.

his head to the side. “After this, both of us need to

confirmed. “It’s morning. And Orion has yet to return from his… hunt.

stepped in, saying, “Hey, I—” he paused. “You’re up again,” he

Anneliese looked back to

a knock you took. You put on quite the display, though. I thought Orion was the scary

is,” Argrave nodded. “And—” he

what Argrave was looking at and hid

noticed before

his hand out once

more than a bit horrified. “You only have your forefinger

“Enough to cast spells

can… we’ll make a visit to Vysenn right after, fix this. I’ve been meaning to go

on going there

Argrave rebutted, “That’s beside