Jackal Among Snakes

“Grimalt, Bastel, Rasten—you have a very simple goal. I don’t want you to even think about advancing outside of the ranks. All that I want you to focus on is taking care of whatever slips past the front. My Brumesingers will be helping, too—I’ll demonstrate their power before the fight begins so there’s no confusion,” Argrave told the Veidimen officers. “Still, remember this: protect the Magisters above all.” He looked at the lone wood elf among them. “And you, Ganbaatar—I trust you to act independently in defense.”

All of the people that had come with him in this journey stood arrayed before him. Though the results of his scouring for traitors had disappointed him back then, now he felt content with an absolute trust in all of them. The Magisters, the Veidimen officers, Ganbaatar, Orion and Anneliese… the only people absent were Nikoletta and Mina, and they had gone in search of Duke Enrico.

He decided to send Artur with the ducal heir and Mina. The escort that Myriarch Purev sent was formidable—Anneliese had scrutinized all of them to watch for traitors, and one of them was an A-rank mage. Even still, he wanted one of his own men with his cousin, and Artur was still minorly depleted from protecting Argrave back then alongside maintaining his enchanted gear. If Rovostar proved trouble… Artur would stop that.

“Orion, Anneliese, and I are going to be standing at the front of the action,” Argrave said, tapping his chest. “We have more endurance and power, combat-wise, than anyone else. Even still, I need to receive an immediate response if I call upon your magic,” he informed the Magisters. “If I yell your name, and then ‘S-rank spell, right side,’ I need an immediate action. Inform me about how much magic you have left after so I can make a judgment about who to call upon.”

“Done,” Vasilisa assured him.

“I’m a little spent. Can manage two S-rank spells at best,” Moriatran shrugged. “But… done, certainly. Let’s hope you’re not forgetful. And that we live through this…”

Argrave looked at Anneliese and Orion in turn. Objectively speaking, they were the perfect fits for the front of the action. Argrave now had power in spades, and had earned some endurance in the elven realm by creating hundreds of blood echoes—plus, he had a backlog of magic in the Blessing of Supersession. He hoped to preserve it, however. Anneliese would gain some magic back for every spell he cast near her, meaning her endurance was near as high as his. And Orion… he’d already proved his monstrous capability. That still didn’t put him at ease.

Argrave suppressed a sigh before those he led and focused back. “We get one small benefit, being at the rear of the formation… we don’t have to join the initial fighting. Instead, the elves have to do the complicated retreat.” He looked around at the redwood trees above them. “We wait here for their arrival. In time, all the forces in the northern Bloodwoods will be stirred, engaged in a life-or-death struggle.”

He looked back down at his men. The Veidimen honor guard remained ready and able, as ever, but he wanted them to be more than that.

feeling inspired. “No one will soon forget that it was us that beat back a god to the realm he came from. And since you’re taller than all

laughter from a few, and that

looked around him. The trees near seemed to have more depth to them. And that

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were a disorganized legion of monsters, uniform in purpose but varied in

with eight white wings on its center and one eye on its front flapped up and down, sagging and then rising like a jellyfish in water. Everywhere it went, black winged creatures poured from its bottom like sand from a cut

black winged creatures had weak bodies, like frail bats… yet their beaks were sharp and hard as metal, and they dived towards their enemies’ throats, eyes, and other soft parts with tremendous speed, digging in deep enough to sever limbs or pierce heads. They seemed to die upon impact, yet

swung out from the high branches by a wire, a spell prepared that created a mana ripple as it finished. A single forked bolt of yellow lightning slammed upon the top of the demon’s head, leaving

white feathers from its wings to use as arrows. It was a master marksman, pulling its bow back again and again to release deadly volleys upon the elven armies. Whenever retaliation came,

prowess with that weapon far beyond what seemed possible. They were Kirel Qircassia’s servants, and befitting the god of land and sky, those flying seemed masters of all levels of the battlefield. They hunted the elves without

did not begrudgingly retreat. Indeed, if this

of ant-like creatures swarmed the ground, their bodies thick carapaces that resembled shards of pottery. They acted in complete unity, and whenever resistance was met their bodies came together to form giants of earthenware. Some of these giants were ten feet tall, while others were one hundred. These constructs rained blows powerful enough to punch through steel. Any attacks against them killed one or two ants out of

well forgiven that the elves retreated. And given the nature of their foes, it could be, too, overlooked that all the elves moved in a very particular manner. If the elven forces were a line holding against the forces of Kirel Qircassia, that line seemed to come into itself as it fell back, becoming thicker and thicker. And all the forces on

so far they were forced to fight. Great wolves that seemed to become wind tore apart the winged monstrosities. Felines with tails fifty feet long swept at the earthenware giants, killing the ants by the dozen. Giants acted in reckless defense of their children, throwing logs and rocks big enough to crater the earth. The elves seemed adept at navigating

so slowly, the elven forces that had been spread thin centralized in a single force. Commanders met with commanders, coordinating and organizing. Like a puzzle piece fitting just right, Tumens took their place in both the canopies and the ground. Elven wire traps, though absent in the retreat, now dismembered foe

Many looked to the source of the noise. A redwood tree was