Jackal Among Snakes

The capital of the wood elves in the Bloodwoods was not grand at all. It couldn’t be, for it never stayed in one place for too long. The only thing notable about it was that it was a true building, and presently surrounded by an army well-prepared for war. It looked like a longhouse placed atop a thick branch, supported by curling branches. It had only two entrances, one on each side. Within its largely empty halls, four stood with a rigid posture and alert red eyes.

A man entered into the doorless entryway of the hall, landing gracefully. He brushed his hands off and stepped toward the waiting four. With golden blonde hair and eyes wholly red, each of them looked greatly alike. One had to study their faces closely for differences, but even then they were remarkably uniform. All save one, that is—there was one female in their number.

“We greet the Supreme Myriarch,” the four waiting elves said in tandem as he moved to them.

“At ease,” he commanded them at once, and they lowered their hands back behind their back. “I received word that there was a heavy engagement with the Holy Army of the Wind in the south. Batbayar—that was your station. Report details of this force.”

“Sir,” Batbayar began, stepping out of rank and file from the other three. “This group entered from the south at the first quarter of dawn. They numbered three hundred and eleven. Nine of them were spellcasters of probable high ranking. Three were confirmed as A-rank. One was confirmed as S-rank. Others cast no spells, but observation of their magic quantity from myself and my juniors suggests they may be B-rank or higher. Three hundred others were identified as warriors the humans call snow elves. One among their number—one who gave orders—resembled the leader of the invasion against us years ago.”

The Supreme Myriarch clenched his fist at the last part, then nodded. “Report what happened.”

Batbayar did not hesitate a second in responding, “We attempted to intercept, but they managed to reach a forbidden area before they could be stopped. Though we made heavy use of arrow and spell rain, all attacks were intercepted by a ward. My Tumen was diverted by a high-ranking spell of flame, and personal intervention from a monstrous warrior caused the formation to collapse. My personal attempt to intercept their force with an S-rank spell was met with a counter of the same rank. They sustained no casualties, and the interception was a complete failure.”

The myriarchs looked briefly shocked at the news that not even one of their foes had died, but their military discipline kept their surprise from leaking into their posture. They looked at Batbayar not with disdain, but with sympathy. Their camaraderie was undeniable from their gaze alone.

“What forbidden area, myriarch?” the Supreme Myriarch questioned.

“They sheltered in the entrance to the holy land of the centaurs, sir.” Batbayar stared unflinchingly. “From scout observation, that was their target from the beginning.”

Stress seemed to overwhelm their supreme leader for a moment, and he caressed the ridge of his nose before remembering his place.

“I haven’t wanted to do this… but it must be. I have three Tumens locked in dealing with the anomaly in the northern forest. With four Tumens, we lack the manpower for a total screen of all exits from the centaur’s holy land.” He looked to the myriarch to his left. “Myriarch Otgon. You are to take your Army of the Roots and head to all known exits from the centaur’s holy land. Take whatever measures necessary to block them off.”

“Yes, Supreme Myriarch,” the man in question pounded his fist against his heart.

“Respectfully, sir, I believe another course of action should be taken.” Batbayar, too, made the same gesture of fist upon heart. “We cannot risk provoking the centaurs to action while dealing with the forest-wide changes. It may be a message from the old gods.”

“There are no gods in these woods. If there were, they’ve long abandoned us,” the female myriarch butted in. “Even if it were, the roots expanding has been a blessing. We can walk upon the ground without fear of centaurs.”

We all struggle in the same woods, so beliefs are to be kept private. You are to flog yourself twice in private for speaking out of turn in a military meeting.” He turned his gaze to the next. “Batbayar. For your failure to intercept foes, you are to flog yourself twenty times

a flog. As he walked, Batbayar closed his eyes. A face flashed in his mind… an elven face with blonde hair and red eyes, standing just beside the man that resembled the leader of the human

what have you brought to your home? Ruin? Or…

#####

entered were massive and complex… but that worked to their advantage, Argrave supposed. There were many entrances and exits to this place, each and all leading to holy ground of the centaurs. Maybe in the distant past he would have been able to direct their party through this place by memory. No longer—things were familiar, but only that and

ahead. Despite his age, he seemed the least exhausted of all of them—that befuddled Argrave, but he supposed it was enchantments. “Her ascension is powerful.

He saw her ears grow a little red as she sent her Starsparrow ahead and smiled broadly

up, staring at him cautiously. At that, Artur and Vasilisa both

Ganbaatar. “I had intended to reach the place in question through a different path at the

reality. He was Castro’s ‘rival,’ but the Tower Master ignored the proclamation and paid him little mind. One might expect a person who proclaimed themselves another’s rival while being ignored to be boisterous and obnoxious, or perhaps arrogant and sarcastic like Rowe. The old man was neither, thus far—he

that scene from his mind. What was the man’s

of your magic reserves, more

My apologies,” said the Magister with a facetious smile from atop his

worried that your enchantments might not have magic to draw on.” Argrave

enough,” Artur said simply. “And others to protect

a flash of gold move in his vision, he realized what it was and said at

patrolled, however. Argrave, that

know. Quite the sight, don’t you think?” He put his hand on her shoulder. “As for

descended down Argrave’s body, scampering out across the floor. They let out their eerie chiming, then vanished into the mist they conjured. Everyone watched with surprise—most of them didn’t even know Argrave had the pets on him. They had

for illusions. None of the centaurs are above B-rank, so nothing too grand,

Moriatran readied himself. “Your Majesty… you don’t think of me for

you?”

shook her head. “Even for C-rank, I doubt they’d send people capable of seeing past my illusions on common patrols,” Mina shook her head. “And my spells are fine-tuned, custom made. I swear to you, I

a quiet shrug. With that ringing endorsement, Argrave

easy to hear, for most were armored in steel. They were easy to see, too, standing at well over ten

to provide illusions thorough enough for their entire party. But regardless of how hard she was pressed, she rose to the task ably. She seemed almost eager to make herself useful. It was a great relief to Argrave, who did not wish to expend his Magisters’ magic supply too

spoke to Argrave in a moment of rest in a

Argrave,” she said

on my foot or something?”