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.”

how resilient dragons are, and mages drink dragon blood for health and vitality. That’s because of the magic in their blood. Failing that… as much as I loathe him, Orion would not let his brother die. This I firmly

times must this happen?” she

#####

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

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

lasted, yet eventually, the world

comfortable bed, but he was certainly 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 it was

he

trailed off, then stepped towards him with a relieved sigh. “Thank the gods,” she said

grain,” he confessed, his mouth far

his hair with a gloved hand. “You don’t

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

to put her hand atop his chest

terrorists,” he pointed a finger at

at him tenderly. “Wait,” she

command rather

#####

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 move, but walking would still be difficult. The black blood in his veins would make his recovery all

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

with his hoarse voice. “That’s not so

in tissue,” she disagreed, knowing well what he’d refrained from saying on

a response on-hand. “So… the Jester

Anneliese nodded.

It won’t spread at all anymore. Everyone who has it, has 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 High Wizards in the Order of the… well, ‘after’ can come when we’ve left this swamp.” He

Orion has yet to return from his… hunt.

stepped in, saying, “Hey, I—”

hoarsely. Anneliese

mumbling incoherently. Surprising, given how much of a knock you took. You put on

nodded. “And—” he stopped, noticing

looking at and

noticed before

and resignedly brought his hand out once more. “It

bit horrified. “You only

“Enough to cast spells with, enough to

a visit to Vysenn right after, fix this. I’ve been meaning to go

going there

rebutted,