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.”

pack and handed them off as the Brumesingers turned into butter

trick you,”

leave after placing the books in his pack, but Batbayar was staring at him. “Perhaps you ought to

over his shoulder, then

Batbayar repeated for

held his hands out.

#####

not

last of the ancient elves. Argrave 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

that illuminated their path was Argrave’s spell. The building wound downward in a long,

the first 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

saw them,

them, they scrambled back like monkeys, swinging vine whips or crude implements of wood that looked like pickaxes. Orion merely raised his foot up

the floor, or the ceiling, he needed only one arm to crush an opponent. Orion ended them ruthlessly one after

was done, Argrave cautiously

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

then said, “...maybe don’t slam them

gave a

“I behaved imprudently, Your Majesty.

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,

it wasn’t. Indeed, this area was illuminated well enough that Argrave could see into the room somewhat. What he saw made him

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 abdicated sovereign had built a

like a stump, the top of which had a dozen heads that resembled venus fly traps. They were clearly intelligent, moving

was not

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. The

core that looked like a brain and palpi with tiny mouths at their ends—slowly crawled up the base 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

and whispered, “Given how white

head. “Not

the only thing 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