Jackal Among Snakes

Argrave walked out into a wide-open valley, alone in spirit but not in fact. Excluding the thousands of blood-infused wind eels soaring above him as a cloud of death, he had the charming company of the Shadowlanders, playing the role of the lurking mountain lion ready to leap down upon him. In the back of his mind, he kept at close attention the blood echo positioned miles away. One of the good fortunes about being in an area where the enemy had no knowledge of him meant that he could call upon old tricks where necessary to gain an advantage.

And considering what he’d volunteered for, well… he would need every damned advantage.

Elenore’s blessing of connections didn’t function in this place, but they weren’t without methods to communicate long distance. There was a baby’s head on Argrave’s shoulder, and he was doing his best to ignore what it looked like as he listened to what it said—or rather, what its creator said, speaking through it.

“They’re just now starting to take the bait. You’re far enough away from us that they seem to be willing to try something. The horseman, though, isn’t getting any nearer,” Bhaltair said, conveying the details from the other members back at their base of operations.

Argrave’s gaze went upward, scanning the tall mesas cautiously. Their plan was rather simple—Argrave, alone, should poke out at the edge of the boundary, clearing the dark away to hide his true goal: baiting the enemy to attack. He told himself he was in no more risk here than he was back with allies. Well, perhaps a bit more. Or a lot. Regardless, Anneliese could heal his wounds no matter the distance, and if needed, he could still swap places with the blood echo.

“About ten… no, about a hundred… mmm…” the baby’s head trailed off.

Argrave looked at it, resenting the sight of the peach-colored thing tied to him with leg tendons. It looked like he had a twin brother absorbed in the womb on his shoulder. “What’s happening?” he asked Bhaltair.

“There’s about… it’s upward of about half a thousand, I’d say, and increasing. They’re approaching your position in groups of one hundred. It’s not like that first attack was. Anneliese’s scouting efforts with her bird say these could be considered full military squads, with leaders. They have fliers, some archers…”

“Archers?” Argrave repeated, feeling some fear. Charging beasts he could handle—he’d sparred with Orion enough to be confident in taking a close-quarters foe. Projectiles were another matter, doubly so projectiles coming from these freakishly strong opponents. One blind spot, and he could get a bolt through the back of the head.

“Yes. They’re taking a position on the plateaus, and—oh. You’re surrounded. But there is some good news. That horseman’s come back out. We don’t have a visual on him, but Roland’s confirmed it.”

“Alright. And what does that mean for the plan?”

“If you can hold out… we can cut off their escape back to the darkness, set up the ambush we’d planned,” Bhaltair said certainly. “We’ll help entrap the horseman. But at the end of the day, you’re likely the only one that can do any significant damage to him.

in this

“I’ll tell everyone.”

But the darkness was always there right at the edge of his vision, and it was difficult to avoid mistaking the boundaries of what they’d carved out for a

and Argrave looked. “Good

drawn far. When they all fired at once, Argrave figured this is what it must’ve been like to face a volley of [Bloodfeud Bows] from his blood echoes. Ordinarily, Argrave might’ve conjured a ward, or teleported away. Those two defensive strategies were

much gained over the past months, Argrave

vast hoard—[Perfect Movement]. Wind encircled him, and with will alone he spiraled upward in the air, dodging the attack. The projectiles pulverized the ground. He hovered just below his cloud of blood-infused wind eels, using them as shields. He took note

a familiar roar and looked upward, peering past his constructs. Fully healed of the gaping wound Argrave had caused, the one-eyed dragon of shadow had brought with it several similarly draconic minions. All

as partial shields against attacks from blind spots, and he took full advantage of their protection to completely block any attack from the archers as he rose to meet the dragon. Its smaller minions fanned out, casting a wider net, and Argrave was considering which spell could

frantically stopped his rapid ascent and muttered,

to the side as quickly as possible, but in response the rider merely took aim and threw his weapon ferociously. Panicked,

a moment in leaping forth at Argrave again, conjuring a sword as if from thin air. Argrave used the A-rank [Devil’s Claw], and a black hand with sharp nails took form out of his blood, swiping. The warrior blocked it with his sword partially, but it proved a fundamental notion—in

staff with a blade of blood atop it to take a swipe at what came. The blade of blood magic met an open maw, slicing straight through

him, it made the decision simple. He’d go high enough their arrows couldn’t reach, stalling. Along the way, the shadow knight continued to hound him with his unrelenting precision and caution. The man rode the lesser dragons up, leaping out at Argrave with either

prepare, and his skill ensured he kept pace with Argrave as he ascended easily. The only reason

heard the baby’s head

had his wind eels descend upon those that had occupied the valley. On the high

the matador, dodging fearsome bull rushes as he looked for the proper opening. His slowed ascent gave the other dragons time to catch up. Above, the gigantic dragon put some distance between them. Argrave could feel a surge

at him with a stab of its sword, Argrave decided opportunity had reared its head. He called to his mind the rather disgusting spell he’d prepared, and

his fist into his face, time and time again. He kneed Argrave, and the spikes dug into his guts. He pulled on the sword like it was a joystick at an arcade machine, slicing up Argrave inside and out continuously. But vitality coming both from the troops on the ground and this knight he held gave Argrave just enough fuel to hang on, and the dulled pain of the Shadowlands allowed him to press past any

that, much like [Bloodfeud Bow], grew stronger depending on how much magic and blood someone fed it. It was a parasitic entity that took root in whoever its caster touched, slowly disabling and killing them. Argrave created enough to kill just about anyone a thousand times over, but