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.”

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

this happen?” she

#####

his mouth. It was like a patch of solace 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 a voice, sweet and light,

looking at someone, saying something, and then going out once again. He

didn’t know exactly how long this lasted, yet eventually, the world crystallized around him. He finally

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,

strode in, and he turned his head towards

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

like… a bag of grain,” he confessed,

a gloved hand. “You don’t need to move. Everything’s been

like a needle had been poked into his brain to wake him up. “Oh. I

Anneliese needed only to put her hand atop his chest to utterly suppress him. “You

he pointed a

“Wait,” she directed, before

command rather sensible, and so

#####

long rest, Argrave found his 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

dozen broken bones,” Anneliese informed him. “So many cuts… some of them left scars, because they were not healed fast

hoarse voice. “That’s not so bad. Scars are…

of weakness in tissue,” she disagreed, knowing well what he’d

his head, not having a response

Anneliese nodded.

it. Everyone who doesn’t… got lucky, I guess.” Argrave turned his head to the side. “After this, both of us need to be registered as

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

stepped in, saying, “Hey, I—” he

greeted hoarsely. Anneliese looked back

stepped in. “And not mumbling incoherently. Surprising, given how much of a knock you took. You put on

“And—” he

what Argrave was looking at and hid his

noticed before

sighed, and resignedly brought his hand out once more. “It

than a bit horrified. “You only have

spells with, enough to make

repeated incredulously. “I can… we’ll make a visit to Vysenn

you planning on going there immediately?”

agape, Argrave rebutted,