Jackal Among Snakes

Argrave set down his backpack and sat in the guest bed that had been offered to them. Dust jumped up off it, but Argrave could hardly be bothered by dust anymore considering all that he’d endured. Anneliese sneezed—he thought it was a cute sound, and Argrave found himself staring at her.

She wiped away her nose, oblivious to him as she examined the room. “Unused for a time… yet it seems sturdy enough that I have no worries. The people here hate me. Me and Galamon, I suppose. They only allowed us to stay because of our generous payment… and our weapons.”

Hearing that made Argrave frown. “There’s perhaps twenty people in this town, and they go to a big city maybe once a year,” he reasoned. “I suppose elves are as mythical and as feared as dragons to them. Nothing will bother us, here. We can rest and recuperate. Enjoy an idyllic life… for a couple weeks, maybe.”

They were in the largest house in this small town. The only resident was an old widow, whose children had all left the village or built houses of their own elsewhere. Durran and Galamon had their own room just nearby. The widow was the only one who didn’t seem to be highly suspicious of his elven companions.

Argrave’s Brumesingers started to sneeze, too, and he laughed.

“Perhaps we should dust up,” Anneliese suggested.

“Absolutely,” Argrave rose to his feet.

Once Argrave began cleaning again, he remembered how much he enjoyed doing it. He was very methodical in his approach, and before long the place was noticeably brighter, freed from a blanket of gray lying atop it. Once that was done, the two of them sat there on the bed in silence.

“Only crickets, endless plains of winter grass in most directions… no noises, no distractions,” Anneliese mused. “I like places like this.”

Argrave thought about it, soaking in the quietude. “It does have its charms,” he conceded. “But I still like big cities the best. Constant noise, always drowning things out, distracting.” He paused, taking in the sounds… or lack thereof, he supposed. In time, his gaze found Anneliese again. “Of course, if you’re with me… that’s a constant distraction. Can’t stop my eyes from wandering to you.”

Anneliese scoffed half-heartedly and looked at him with affection. No—there was something a little bit more intense that just affection between them. He took off one glove and put a hand to her cheek. It wandered across her cheeks, her lips, and then down her neck until her hand rose up to meet his. She held it close to her chest.

“It’s nice and quiet,” Argrave said. “And we have plenty of time.” His fingers fiddled with a strap on her leather armor.

“Argrave…” she said quietly, yet there was some nervous excitement in her voice. Her amber eyes stayed fixed on his hand.

“I know we agreed it was a bad idea… but sometimes I’d like to have a bad idea. Or two,” he said suggestively.

Her eyes finally lifted from his hand to his eyes. “You are unwell.”

“I’m perfectly capable,” Argrave stared back at her.

Anneliese held his gaze for a long time, as though deliberating on something. With a swallow, she said quietly, “I think… it should be fine, now. It is a safe time.”

a

her hand off of his and moved

soft kiss. They slowly fell back into the bed, growing more emboldened in every passing second. Their hands wandered naturally, completely in-tune

porch with the old widow. Argrave’s Brumesingers curled

#####

things were a little brighter nonetheless. His Brumesingers curled around the Starsparrow, shielding it from the elements. Their fur was a dark gray, now—the creatures had eaten many souls without an excessive expenditure. The bird nested in their fur as though it

bed was a bit too small for Argrave… yet despite these annoyances he felt well-rested. Maybe she had already been awake, or

morning,” Anneliese

never been truer,” Argrave

hair, enjoying her warmth in

of this,” she said, voice muffled. “As much as I

disappointment. “Are you sure about that? I’m

not persuade me, no matter

ceiling blankly. “Part of me is glad you

laugh. It echoed off the walls of the wooden cabin they stayed in, and Anneliese poked him in the ribs, demanding

#####

in the enchanted leather armor heirloom of her house, a blue swordfish emblazoned on the breastplate. Her obsidian black hair was neatly bound in a ponytail, and her bright pink eyes betrayed some nervousness. Her hand hovered near the ring to pull the door open, and she took

the door. Two people bore red hair—one, the armored Margrave Reinhardt, and two, his son, Elias of Parbon. Parbon’s court mage, Helmuth, stood nearby, alongside

and her escort of knights entered just behind her. She strode

“Margrave Reinhardt,” she greeted.

Nikoletta,” Reinhardt nodded curtly,

then said, “My father has

to gain experience in diplomacy. A

She looked at Elias… yet did not see what she was expecting to

It was glossy, resembling wax. A streak of the waxpox rose up from his neck, onto his cheek,

Nikoletta

waxpox,” Elias informed her curtly. “Lost my sight

eyes that seemed unnatural, contributed, “The disease has stopped its spread. There was something mystical about it—something unnatural. Yet now it is gone, in

quickly and said in frustration, “But too late

it, father,” he directed. Reinhardt looked surprised at his son’s tone, but he

the two of them, looking