jackal-among-snakes-16091326
chapter-200

As far as Argrave was concerned, the primary difference between marching during the day and doing so at was merely that they had not slept. At least, that was his opinion before they began it.

Argrave was tired and felt a little clumsy, probably doubly so because of his anemia, and the cold water of the wetlands soaked into his bones. Spell light lit their path ably, and the boundary where Silvic’s protection ended was still as dark and unknowable as ever. They were unharried on their march just as it had been during the day—a small blessing that spoke of ill fortune in their future. Though everyone present was hardy, tempered by battle and long journeys both, it was an unprecedently exhausting thing.

The wetland spirit Silvic had been consumed by the waxpox more and more as their journey progressed, just as it had been in the game. Their boundary of protection grew weaker as she did so, and the splendor of the liquid light humming within her wooden body died by the hour. Considering Orion’s recent changes… he did not know if her death was certain, anymore.

Nor did he know if the Plague Jester’s death was certain. Hopefully his words got through to Orion.

Nonetheless, they marched ever onward. The waters thinned as they did, and instead of wading through thick puddles, they stepped through no more than wet mud. The waxpox thrived here, stronger than ever. The rotted plants and trees all took on a taupe tone, accented by red. It was as though they walked through a forest of flesh and blood, and once the idea took root, it was nearly accurate enough to make Argrave nauseous.

Yet that did not last forever. In time, Argrave saw the ever-present mist around fade away, and the wetlands ahead were revealed in earnest. Stone roads were paved into the mud, each and all so uniform they were likely made by mages. None were complete, though, most either buried in mud or abruptly ending. They all led to the same point—a towering complex of buildings, dimly lit by the burgeoning light of dawn.

A beautiful palace rose up out of the wetlands, so impeccably preserved most might think it an illusion. Its walls of gaudy marble and gold still stood strong, nearly fifty feet tall. Spikes and statues of silver stood on the walls, each and all monuments to great warriors or mages. It had a central gate with a breathtaking archway, just over which the largest statue stood. It was a golden statue of King Felipe III, at a time when he was perhaps thirty at most.

A near-black polished granite pathway began at the central gate, stretching all the way back to the main palace. The courtyard beyond had an impeccably maintained garden, where the plants bloomed splendidly even now. Elaborate water fountains dotted small pavilions. All of it radiated luxury and decadence, persisting amidst the harsh wetlands which had become a wasteland of death, rot, and despair as if a mockery to it all.

“This was the palace of the Archduke,” Orion stepped forward, gazing up at it. Everyone else nearly doubled over in exhaustion. “Built after my father’s first war, and given to Archduke Regene, his brother.” He looked back to Argrave. “My uncle, his children… Have they all died?”

You’ll learn their fates soon enough, Argrave wished to say, but he nodded, still breathless.

Orion nodded, then looked back, examining each statue. “They conquered this land with a pledge to weed our heretics, to spread the faith… yet they build statues of men and women, warriors and spellcasters.”

“…this was a palace for the Archduke Regene, not a temple for the gods,” Argrave pointed out, finally catching his breath.

Orion did not answer. His gaze wandered the walls, the towers, and the distant main building. “The gate is open,” Orion said slowly. “The walls are unmanned.”

Argrave had noticed the same things, but the statues standing on the marble battlements made it seem as though they confronted a fortress manned by giants and gods. Maybe that was true, in part.

“We proceed carefully, lest more arrive,” Argrave looked around slowly. “We’ll know what we’re facing before we face it. Silvic?” he turned, though his gaze landed on Anneliese. She nodded, and he held her steady as she took control of her druidic bond.

Minutes passed as Argrave waited, and Silvic acted as though she were scouting. Then, suddenly, Anneliese took a deep breath and grabbed out. Argrave caught her arm and said, “You alright?”

The bird fluttered back to her shoulder, but Anneliese took a moment, hand held near her heart as though to calm its throbbing.

“Just tired,” she said, not rejecting his support. “And… the… the Jester. I saw her. I saw her face. I have never experienced such… absolute hatred.”

Argrave had not experienced what she had, but he shuddered when he heard her say those words. After giving her a reassuring squeeze, he asked, “Did you manage to scout, even still?”

She nodded, then stepped away to speak to Silvic to relay the information.

As Argrave feared, the enemy had rallied here. Even now, they hid in the walls and in the outer buildings, waiting to ambush them once they entered the palace—prudent, considering a mere gate could not bar them from the palace walls for long and the animals they led could not manage sophisticated commands. Two of the Plague Jester’s servants had made it here, it seemed—the bard and the jongleur. They were not staying by the side of the Plague Jester, but rather took the east and west wall respectively, likely to ambush them from behind if they proceeded too far in. The centaur was absent. Given his speed, Argrave supposed he was off gathering the more distant reinforcements. All the more reason to hurry.

The Jester waited in the Archduke’s throne room. If Orion decided to stick around and help them deal with the two servants of the Jester that were formerly manning their fortresses, he couldn’t say for sure the Jester would not come out of the throne room and attack them.

Orion needed to isolate them from the Plague Jester. She was so potent that merely being in the crossfire might mean death. Yet if Orion fought the whole force alone, even he might die. Hell, if the whole bulk of their enemies rushed out and attacked their party, they’d probably succumb then and there. But the Jester didn’t seem to be confident in that. She was not aware of her inherent advantage, so she waited. The troops she led could not handle tasks like scouting and complex strategies were off the table. One small fortune in this miserable situation.

Argrave saw only one option in all of this. They would need to face the bard and jongleur, while Orion dealt with the Jester alone. That meant they’d need to fight two bosses that Orion typically dealt with, alongside a vast horde of the same harrowing opponents they’d encountered in the wetlands. Worse yet, they’d need to do things quickly, so as to avoid confronting more foes coming in from behind as reinforcements.

The Plague Jester was only a shaman empowered by a wetland spirit, not a strategist. The fact that she had divided her forces in this manner demonstrated that. Even if she knew she held the advantage, which was dubious, Argrave wasn’t certain she’d be able to capitalize on that. This formation of hers was crudely effective and relied on their party proceeding in ignorance.

Yet Argrave was not stupid enough to brute-force things, relying on his Blessing of Supersession. Their opponent had employed their strategy and ostensibly held the advantage, but they had tremendous knowledge of their opponent. Argrave, Galamon, and Anneliese discussed the matter in great detail, all the others standing by as council. They worked to dismantle the coming battle piece-by-piece.