Jackal Among Snakes, Book 4: A GameLit Fantasy, page 30
The metal shone, bursting into sludge, and Orion staggered from the power. The Plague Jester darted away. He made to pursue once more, yet that sludge took the shape of a plant and thrust toward his neck. Orion caught it with one hand, quickly shattering it. When he looked at what had broken off, he saw a wooden knife. It was familiar, and memories of Magnus surfaced.
“Did you kill my brother?” Orion demanded.
“The man Matesh saw with you? I cannot say. Why not go check?” The Jester straightened.
Orion shattered the knife in his grip, discarding shards of wood. He could not determine if she was feigning innocence. Though he had already been angry, he stepped forth with an icy cold and intense rage. His hand caught fire, and he thrusted it out. The Plague Jester stepped back, yet Orion opened his palm and shards of fiery wood flew out, pelting the Plague Jester.
She staggered back, and Orion punched as he stepped. The Jester ducked nimbly, then swung her scepter toward Orion’s knee. He caught the scepter with his free hand and liquid light danced out, cutting deep into his palm. He put power in his legs and kneed her in the face. She caught air for half a second before rolling gracefully and coming to a standing stop.
Orion’s palm bled slightly, yet soon enough the blood flowed back into his hand, and the wound slowly closed. “The gods do not let me bleed,” he declared, palm held forward.
The Plague Jester stared back. Her light green nose was broken, yet she did not bleed. She fixed it with one hand.
Orion pursued once again. Yet as he stepped… the room burst into color. Everywhere the Plague Jester had touched burst forth into plant life, like a spring decompressed—where her feet had stepped exploded into vines, where Orion’s kneepad met her face writhed with thorny flowers, and even his own hand burst into grasping, carnivorous plants.
The room became chaos at once, everything attacking Orion fiercely. His struggle was an intense surprise at first, yet then became coordinated. All he touched became flame, and he twisted about like a mongoose wrestling a cobra. Then, with a tremendous rush, he pushed past all that.
The jester did not approach, this time. She danced about the room with grace. With every step that she took, the place became more and more alive. The flames grew just as quickly, Orion fanning them deliberately to free himself of his pursuit.
In seconds, the once dead throne room became unrecognizable—a jungle of biting and tearing plants, burning and growing in equal measure. Yet when the jester stepped atop one of her own roots, she winced and spasmed, shocked by electricity from one of Orion’s numerous blessings. Orion took that brief moment to close the distance.
A spear of ice simply formed in his hand from the moisture in the air, and he thrust it toward her with caution, giving her combat prowess ample respect. Though she attempted to deflect it, the spear broke off at the tip, creating only another spike. She pulled her head aside, yet it cut into her ear and pushed the jester hat off, revealing silken brown hair.
With Orion close, she reached for his face. The jester succeeded only in brushing his beard, which immediately turned to plants resembling fly traps. The plants bit at his face with teeth far too sharp. As he tore them free, the jester fled once more, her bells ringing and chiming like an unspoken taunt.
She ran alongside the wall, running her hand against it as she moved. Innumerable obstacles rose to meet Orion as he rushed, yet he barreled past them like an industrial machine. She wove in between the pillars holding up the ceiling, changing her direction with practiced grace as she dodged around Orion.
Orion could not say how much time passed. His determination never waved, and he pursued the fool as intensely as he knew how. He brought all of his blessings to heel, seeking to catch up… yet he felt like a dog led about by the nose.
Eventually, the jester came to the center of the room. The pillars, which had been still, writhed to life. Four giant wooden hammers thrust out with tremendous speed, and though Orion dodged two, he could not dodge all. One struck him into another mallet that slammed him from above. He managed to stay standing, holding up a tremendous mass of wood. He threw it up, casting it aside with his tremendous strength, and moved to catch the jester.
Yet he did not foresee the ceiling collapsing. A great wave of stone and brick fell upon him. The main palace’s roof had been heavily ornamented, and the great weight of all these ornaments fell upon him. The jester dodged the bulk of it, having predicted this, and closed the distance.
She jammed the sharp back of her jester scepter into his gut. It sunk deep, piercing out his back. He saw her smile.
Yet Orion smiled too. “Finally,” he said, spitting blood.
He grabbed her arm so fiercely her smile faded in half a second. He pulled, slamming his foot into her knee so hard it bent backward. The movement made him cough yet more blood, and he deliberately spat it into her face.
Orion fell atop her, the jester’s scepter still lodged in his gut. He grabbed her neck and slammed it against the stone. The granite cracked, but her head remained intact. Greenery assailed him from all sides, piercing his back, his shoulders, his arms, his neck and head…
Yet Orion did nothing but slam his fist against her face time and time again. The ground cracked and dust scattered everywhere with each blow. She tried to hit him and hurt him, yet no damage deterred Orion. As his own flesh writhed into plant life and ate at him, it became a struggle simply to see who could kill who first.
The Plague Jester’s head gave into gore, and the struggle ceased. He kept slamming again and again, ensuring nothing remained. Only after a long while did he stop.
Orion rose to his feet, blood pouring from his mouth and staining his beard. Much of his flesh had been turned to plants from the jester’s touch, now dead and wilting after her demise. Hundreds of gashes and gouges in his back tried to heal, each doing so very slowly. He fell to one knee and spat yet more blood on the Plague Jester’s corpse.
As he knelt, he caught sight of the jester’s scepter still embedded into his gut. The mock head atop it made of silver still smiled up at him. He grabbed it with bloody hands and pulled it free. He stared at the scepter, doing nothing but catching his breath.
Ahead, something stirred. Orion lifted his head and stood at once. He had a hole in his gut the size of a fist, and his armor was so terribly damaged it was astounding it did not fall from his body.
The golden stag rose up out of the collapsed ceiling. It struggled against rubble, rocks and debris falling from its body. Most of the flames had been suppressed by the collapse, and the greenery died with the Plague Jester.
Orion walked forward toward the stag, his steps steady. Even now, his blood tried to make its way back inside of his body, dancing through the air from various portions of the room. Ahead, the stag’s golden fur turned to white ever so slowly, and its eyes regained their light. It watched Orion as he approached.
When Orion came to stand before it, expression inscrutable, its voice echoed out.
“Kill me,” Rastzintin asked earnestly, voice old and pathetic.
Orion probably did not need to be asked. He jammed the jester’s scepter between its eyes, and then its legs lost its power. It collapsed into the fallen palace, then turned all white. From its spot pierced into the stag’s skull, the mock head atop the jester’s scepter still smiled at him, half-covered in a bloody handprint. Orion’s gaze fell to where his uncle the archduke sat.
Orion fell to one knee. Without so much as a grunt of pain, he rose once more. His gaze turned back where he knew Argrave and the rest of the expedition was.
Chapter 44
Though Anneliese knew that Argrave had not explicitly given her permission to show her hand… she felt it was necessary, and she knew that he would agree. It was not so drastic a measure, of course. Indeed, exposing her druidic magic was quite a simple thing, and she had kept it hidden only because Argrave was overcautious. Nonetheless, she was sure it’d be very effective. Though she had considered simply commanding everyone to hide in the buildings… that relied too much on chance. Instead, she’d be controlling things from beginning to end.
As Anneliese had commanded, she’d had the bodies of the jongleur and the bard displayed over the gate. The giant jongleur’s ridiculously long ape arms were staked between two of the golden statues on the front gate, and it hung with its head and part of its chest missing. The Barefaced Bard’s body was too badly charred to be displayed effectively, yet its face was still intact—they cut it free of the wood and hung it from a rope. It dangled like a necklace from the body of the jongleur.
Anneliese watched the approach of the disorganized horde with her Starsparrow, getting an accurate evaluation of the foe they faced. Argrave had not told her of all the entertainers in the Plague Jester’s list, but she found it nonetheless—it stayed aback the centaur, taking the place of the troubadour. It was a grotesque mass of muddy roots that wound together like a ball of eels, and did not look mobile.
When the enemy arrived at the gates… four of the Waxknights stood in front of it, just below the massive marble archway. They confronted a host numbering probably half a thousand, yet the knights stood fearlessly. Anneliese watched from a distant place, using the last of her remaining magic to control her Starsparrow to oversee the situation.
Between the jongleur and bard hanging from the gate and the obviously exposed knights before them… anyone capable of reasoning, especially an inexperienced strategist, would suspect a trap. And that was what she wanted.
Even an inexperienced commander would know a little of how to deal with a trap when there was no option but to proceed. They would not proceed blindly. They would probe, sending less important detachments to suss out what might lie ahead.
When she saw the tangled mass of roots on the centaur’s back call out with a strange, clicking howl, she feared what was going to happen. When the horde of enemies behind the centaur pushed back the two of them as they waited, Anneliese very nearly smiled. She directed her Starsparrow in front of the Waxknights, giving them their signal. There was no better utility at her disposal to command them from a safe distance.
The plan remained as simple as ever. Anneliese was going to stall.
The palace of the archduke was a complicated complex, filled with pavilions, buildings serving many different purposes, and elaborate structures that stood as grandiose displays of wealth. Though there was a straightforward central path that led to the main building where the throne waited… the rest of the place was not so straightforward. There were winding paths that looped in on themselves, some of which looked near identical. Better yet, they were thin, hindering the coordination of large crowds.
The four Waxknights divided up and took different paths. With their gleaming golden armor, it was easy to keep an eye on each of the four from the sky, and Anneliese’s Starsparrow could maneuver quickly enough that it did not often matter if she lost track of one or more of them at a time—she could find them in only a few seconds.
The creatures sent out as probes, largely dumb animals or Sentinels, pursued in a disorganized if ruthless manner. Nevertheless, they were divided. Though much faster than the Waxknights, Anneliese had them deliberately move into thin, tight spaces like alleyways between buildings.
Durran and Silvic had their role in this. She had them lying in wait in secluded places, picking off isolated pockets of enemies when she directed them to. Gibbons armed with divinely blessed weapons would wander into an overgrown pavilion, and Silvic would swarm up from hiding, ensnaring and ending foes with her wetland magic. Rockhide hippos would barrel through crowded alleyways, only to be stabbed repeatedly from above by Durran’s glaive. Though a bit clumsy in light of his missing fingers, he managed the task ably enough.
Though they had a set path for a time, the Waxknights eventually reached the end of that road. Thus began Anneliese’s second duty—she guided the four knights through places that had no enemies ahead of them, like an overseer directing mice through a maze. She used her bird’s tremendous speed to its fullest extent, keeping each of the four winding through the place in perfect harmony. They never confronted friend nor foe.
Between guiding Durran and Silvic to hunt foes, herding the Waxknights away from danger, and keeping her eye on the mass of enemies so that none managed to get near where she hid, this task of Anneliese’s was a massive mental strain. There were so many variables to keep an eye on, and the simplest mistake might make anyone perish.
Anneliese did not know if this was because of the enchanted items Argrave had given her to help with her concentration, or simply her own personality… but she found she was very good at this. Commanding people and predicting the response of the enemy was something she had a strange, almost unnatural confidence in, even despite the fact her foes were animals whose emotions she could not read. Despite the urgency, despite the threat to their lives… she enjoyed doing this.
Yet then, the wetland spirit and the centaur took slow, steady steps up to the gate, hooves clattering against the stone walkway leading to the gate. The centaur’s gaze lingered on the Barefaced Bard’s head and the Jolly Jongleur’s corpse… and then scanned the palace beyond.
At the same time, a great tremor rocked the whole palace complex. Anneliese took her Starsparrow to the sky to see the vast building that Orion and the Plague Jester fought within collapse completely. The dust was so intense she could see nothing beyond, even with the bird’s fantastic eyesight. Yet when the dust fell…
She saw a vast jungle rapidly growing and writhing out of the dust, so many various types of plants coming into being that it was both beautiful and horrifying. This continued for near half a minute… then, all of the plants ceased, straining as though stretched to their limits. She could not place exactly what changed, but the vibrancy and intensity of the jungle waned before beginning to curl inward, wilting half as quick as they had grown.
The centaur stepped back, staggering as though he could not believe the sight before him. He stuck his arm through his strung bow and wore it over his shoulder, then broke into an intense gallop toward the main square. He stopped in the center, while in the distance, someone pushed past the dust.
Orion emerged from the devastation… though seeing as how devastated his body and armor were, perhaps he merely brought the devastation with him. One hand dragged along a massive white stag’s body, holding it by its elaborate antler crown. The other held a badly dismembered corpse by the foot, the body wearing a bloodstained motley outfit of two distinct shades of purple.
“I cannot be stopped,” Orion declared, his voice loud and smooth. “I cannot be stopped by any heretics. I will carve through your numbers piece by piece until none of you remain. My body will never tire. My mind will never waver. I’ll come for you step after step, day after day, night after night.”
The centaur trotted backward, removing his bow from his back. The wetland spirit on his back reformed part of its body into an arrow, yet Orion heaved his body and threw the great stag’s body forth. It hurtled through the air with tremendous speed, and the centaur tried to rush aside. He was not quick enough—instead, he dropped his bow and caught its antlers, sliding back from the tremendous power from the throw, hooves cracking against the uneven granite pathway. The stag’s massive crown of antlers poked at his armor and flesh, leaving cuts or scrapes in many places.
Anneliese was so awestruck by Orion’s appearance and tremendous strength she nearly forgot her duties.
Now that Orion is here… guide everyone to him, have him handle things.
With that judgement, she made to do precisely that. Yet the wetland spirit on the back of the centaur let out its clicking howl once again, and all of their enemies halted. When another call came… they all frenziedly made for the walls, entirely ignoring their quarry.
The animals and wetland spirit Sentinels that had entered the palace complex flooded out into the wetlands with an intense desperation. The centaur retrieved his bow, and then bounded back toward the main gate. Orion stepped forth near casually, stepping atop the corpse of the great white stag he’d thrown as he watched them leave.
Anneliese brought her Starsparrow back to her person and broke the direct connection between her and the bird. It was strange to be viewing things from her own eyes again, and she took a moment to gather herself before she pushed out of the building she’d hidden within and to the palace, still cautious of any and all enemies.
When she strode to the central square where Orion had been, the remainder of their party had already gathered.
“What was that?” Durran questioned.
“They flee, like cowards,” Orion said coldly. “But I will come to them.”
“They don’t flee. That call—I can interpret it,” Silvic interjected. “They intend to marshal their forces yet more. A strategic retreat, to be returned with greater numbers.”
Orion looked to the wetland spirit. “It matters not. I will defeat all challengers.” He looked around. “Where is Argrave?” he demanded.
“Unconscious. He used blood magic to defeat one of the commanders, while personally dispatching the other with… tremendous magical aptitude,” one of the Waxknights reported quickly.
“Unconscious?” Orion repeated, finally dropping the corpse of the jester. He stepped to his knight and grabbed his shoulders. “Where is he?”
“He is safe. His guardian, Galamon, protects him, alongside those small creatures he keeps as pets.”
“I will go to him, take care of him,” Anneliese decided aloud. “But Orion… all of us are drained and weary. You are needed most as a warrior and defender,” she informed him curtly.
He stepped up to her. He was like a radiating ball of worry and concern, so she could not muster fear. All he did was take a deep breath and nod.
“Yes. Go to him,” he said. “Focus only on him. He is my brother… but he is to be your husband. So go,” he directed her.
