Jackal Among Snakes

Argrave turned his head to Onychinusa, placing both of his hands upon his hips. She looked up at him, perhaps already knowing what it was he was going to ask.

“Would you be willing to help them?”

The unwrinkled hag looked bitter, and her hands fidgeted as she grappled with the idea. Eventually, Onychinusa’s voice came with resignation, “The Lord sent me to help you.”

Argrave wasn’t fully pleased with that answer, but it was acceptable. He looked back up to the dryads. Instead of just their faces peeking beyond the roots, some of them had emerged fully, sitting on roots and playing childish games with each other. They wore dresses and tiaras of interlocked leaves. The green-skinned creatures seemed to be princesses of the woods. Seeing them conjured memories of Drezki the Coward, Silvic’s servant in the wetlands.

“My friend here can help you if you want her help,” Argrave declared.

The dryads stopped playing, and some of them cheered upon hearing that. The voices came so quickly it was difficult to distinguish them.

“However, if you want her help... she wants you to give some, not all, of your mist to these little guys.” Argrave picked up one of the Brumesingers by the scruff of its neck and raised it up into the air. “Can that be done?”

The place grew still, and the dryads whispered between each other. Finally, one of them descended to the ground, while others came to stand beside Onychinusa, trying to hold her hand.

“Not our choice. Mommy has the mist. We borrow it. But mommy likes us. We can try and persuade!” the dryad promised innocently.

“If it helps, you can tell your mother that we’re going to get rid of the mandragora.” He paused. “Actually, I’d like to tell her myself, once the task is done.”

“The mandragora? It’ll die? But what about its friends? The big squirmy things that eat everything are trying to get married to it!”

Argrave narrowed his eyes, thinking. Squirmy things... she must be talking about the Yateveos. I was wondering why I’d seen none of them. Perhaps they came here after the disturbance of the roots.

“I can get rid of them. But you have to be extra positive when you talk to your mommy,” he said, pointing his finger.

“Okay!” the dryad answered, then looked back. “Old lady, come outside! Big bastard gave you to us.”

Argrave chuckled after being called as such, then looked at where Onychinusa avoided the touch of the dryads. Anneliese caught onto Argrave’s thoughts, for she raised her hand and volunteered, “I’ll go with her, Argrave. The mandragora, will it pose any problems...?”

"No," Argrave said dismissively, casting a spell to make his Brumesingers follow her. They bounded into her arms eagerly, docile and obedient before her. “I’ve got Orion, you forget,” Argrave said, patting his brother’s worn golden armor. The man jumped, as he was lost observing the dryads. “And Myriarch Batbayar will come, too. But the books... best give them here.”

and handed them off as the Brumesingers turned into butter in her grasp. “Good luck,”

kids trick you,” Argrave

the books in his pack, but Batbayar was staring at him. “Perhaps

shoulder, then nodded. “Sure, but... on

Batbayar repeated

hands out. “Of

#####

did not

was especially conscious of the fact he deliberately deceived an ally for convenience after Dimocles called him out for it. Still, just because he was aware of it didn’t mean he was going to stop. He didn’t have a problem,

they endured the chatter of the dryads. In time their mocking and teasing faded away, taking all of the warmth from these cold stone ruins. All outside light dimmed, and the only thing that illuminated their path was Argrave’s spell.

Yettle fairly deep in. When it fell upon the light, it looked like a goblin who’d had a losing argument with a thorn bush. Its giant eyes widened terribly wide and it scurried away. Orion chased briefly, but stopped

they saw them, they

slings, and he took them all without breaking stride. When he came upon them, they scrambled back like monkeys, swinging vine whips or crude implements of wood that

rather efficiently—by slamming them against the walls, the floor, or the ceiling, he needed only one arm to crush an opponent. Orion ended

it was done, Argrave cautiously

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

the battered walls and then said, “...maybe don’t slam them against things, given how many

gave a

Orion rolled his shoulders. “I

three of them advanced yet further. More things blocked their path, but Argrave conjured a blade of blood magic for Orion to use. The weapon proved to be quite effective, speedily clearing a path as the winding spiral descent leveled off. The end was a large room functioning as an entryway that mirrored the courtyard they’d seen outside—four pillars, four monuments. At the end, there was a

Indeed, this area was illuminated well enough that Argrave could see into the room somewhat. What he saw made him hasten his step, then crouch

cavern, two waterfalls on each corner that fed a converging stream supported by abundant and beautiful plant life. This stream then wrapped around a serene building, its serenity disturbed by a mandragora taking root just at its entrance. This place had been the secret garden of the ancient elven imperial family. Here, an

which had a dozen

was not as

endless abyss. The mandragora stood atop the only remaining solid land, supporting a lone pillar with its partially-exposed root network. One small mercy was that the library Argrave had been seeking was close enough to the mandragora that it had been spared collapsing into the sinkhole.

of these roots, eating away with their disgusting mouths. The mandragora bit at it, but its were of yet insufficient to catch them. One small mercy was that it did not deign

Argrave and whispered, “Given how white

head.

keeping that library from plummeting into the abyss... and looking down into the hole, Argrave didn’t have high hopes for getting the shamanic magic he needed should