jackal-among-snakes-16091326
chapter-203

“Here he is,” said Durran, his breathing heavy. He handed Argrave off to Galamon, his body limp. “Lighter than he looks.” They were in the small house Argrave had been holed up in. His Brumesingers stayed by his side, protecting him by shrouding the environment with their mist.

“Because he has little blood,” Galamon concluded. “You…” he looked down at Durran’s hands. His left hand was covered in blood and seemed misshapen.

“Just a few fingers gone,” Durran laughed, though his voice was tense and betrayed his pain. He gazed at his hand—the middle, ring, and pinky finger were all gone, torn off by a bite. “Someone had to save him. Couldn’t trust the Waxknights. A few fingers is a small price, in my eyes. He’s… quite the scary one, looks like. Conjured that magic show,” his gaze lingered on Argrave, who looked half a corpse. He had countless cuts, yet they did not bleed.

Galamon looked at Durran, judging. Eventually, he nodded. “Rejoin the fight,” he directed. “I will ensure Argrave is safe.”

Durran nodded. He ran outside, grabbing his glaive. He cast healing magic on his hand—though the fingers did not regrow, the wound did close. He awkwardly handled his glaive, possessing considerably less grace than he typically did.

Anneliese strode towards Durran. She looked a mess, hair wild and unruly, enchanted armor damaged in half a dozen places… yet her steps were strong and decisive. “How is he?”

“Galamon is keeping him safe,” Durran assured her at once.

She did not seem quite relieved, yet Anneliese contented herself with that. “That centaur has returned with reinforcements,” she informed him curtly. “You are needed.”

“Argrave gave you command,” he reminded her.

“I know this. And I have a plan,” Anneliese nodded. “The bulk of the forces within the palace are routed. Not dead, mind you—I suspect they will join up with the host approaching the palace alongside the centaur. They acted reasonably, meaning another one of the fortress commanders is with them, commanding them.”

“How many got away, do you think?” he questioned, looking around. The place was a mess of inhuman corpses, and even now the Waxknights stood diligently, waiting for more to come. Their numbers had thinned. Some were badly injured.

“Hard to say. I must assume over one hundred, for the sake of surety,” Anneliese looked around. “Neither the gate nor the walls are enchanted. Even if they were… that centaur was large enough to bound over them.”

“And you said he brought one of the commanders from the fortresses,” Durran noted.

Anneliese put her hands on her hips. “This place was not made for defending. Only four of the Waxknights are still capable of fighting, even. I have little magic left, and the Waxknights are the same. We could not even heal Argrave.”

“Yet you have a plan?” Durran took off his helmet, wincing as sliced flesh stuck to it.

“First—destroy the host’s morale,” she stated plainly. “We must take the corpse of the jongleur and bard both, string them up above the gates. It will have little effect on the animalistic creatures… yet the leaders are the ones we target, here. We must instill caution in them. Considering their clumsy strategy on display in this palace… they are not capable of scouting.”

“What’s the bottom line?” Durran pressed.

“Stall desperately,” Anneliese admitted. “Orion can turn the tide, I believe. Failing that, I am considering retreating. Either will be immensely challenging, to be sure. I may… need to disobey Argrave.”

Durran looked to the distant main palace, taking a deep breath. “Good gods… I never thought I’d be hoping to see that man desperately.”