Jackal Among Snakes

“Gods. Never seen the princess bloodied,” noted a woman standing by the door. She wore a wide-brimmed and plumed tellerbarret that partially hid long red hair, and cast a nice shadow over her pretty, scarred face. She bore lightweight chainmail, though much of it was concealed by ostentatious, puffy clothing. Argrave’s gaze lingered on her, vision dancing from his haze of blood loss.

“This is Melanie,” Elenore said, leaning against a wall. “She’s a native of Relize. She’ll be leading our caravan there, establishing contact with trustworthy people.”

“I know,” Argrave straightened, feeling like every part of him was sore. Melanie was yet another protagonist from ‘Heroes of Berendar,’ and he wasn’t eager to deal with this. “Clothes give it away.”

Galamon helped Durran and Anneliese up next, then knelt, peering down below. The elven vampire’s armor was bloodied and scratched, but any wounds he might’ve taken in his task of lighting the fires and fending back the royal knights had healed. The man who’d taken off the hatch put it back on, then wiped his hands away.

Argrave looked to be sure that Anneliese was watching, then questioned Melanie, “You’re working solely for Elenore?”

Melanie frowned, yet the scars near her eyes made her seem oddly amused nonetheless. “Don’t answer to you.”

“You do. Answer him,” Elenore said harshly, kicking off where she leaned against.

“No one else funding me, sweetie. The trust you’re showing is utterly flooring,” Melanie said in irritation.

Anneliese gave no indication the woman was lying. Argrave nodded and said, “Let’s be off.”

“Ought to have someone look at that bleeding,” Durran stopped Elenore.

The princess looked ready to refuse, but eventually she nodded. “Once we’re settled in the caravan.”

#####

The caravan they entered was quite a nice one. It was entirely enchanted wood, made for transporting large quantities of grain. The caravan they travelled with had many other carts, each and all identical to the one they resided. It would be a good veil for concealing their movements. Relize constantly had food transported to it—its population was too large to be sustained by local agriculture alone. They would raise no flags travelling this way. Melanie handled all operations outside.

Argrave sat beside Elenore and Anneliese, sandwiched between the two of them on a cushioned bench. He leaned with his back to the wall, utterly exhausted. He slowly ate biscuits that Anneliese gave to him. Galamon and Durran occupied the side opposite them, though without a bench.

Durran held Elenore’s leg and unwound a small iron rod. As he did, a metal clamp around Elenore’s leg slowly loosened. It reminded Argrave of a manual vice. Her leg had been cut by her prosthetics at various points.

“Probably doesn’t need to be so tight,” Durran told her.

“If it’s not tight, it can shift—unimaginably painful if my leg shifts off balance, and I crash to the floor,” she said through clenched teeth. As Durran wordlessly tended to her feet, she laid her head back against a bag of grain.

Argrave chewed, growing content with the sound of the caravan travelling and Durran tending to Elenore. He was unimaginably thankful things had gone as well as they did, considering the circumstances. He had been very worried of parting with someone here.

“The enchanted items you gave me for appraisal…” Elenore said in a sigh. “It’ll take some time for me to get them, I’m afraid. I don’t think they’ll be lost. My men—they’re smart, they know how to hide things. They’ve been hiding from the Order for—”

Argrave leaned up. “Just… think later,” he told her simply, patting her shoulder and offering a smile. With that, he leaned his head back.

Silence reigned for a time—another minute.

“We’ll need to keep an eye on what Levin is doing, at least for a few days,” Elenore cut back in. “I suspect he was the large cause of the commotion in the royal palace that caused our lucky break. If this is true, he may be—”

“Why don’t you put something soft beneath this metal, then?” Durran interrupted. “Look at this. These clamps leave bruises, cut open your skin. And this material itself—it’s heavy. And by the gods, why is it gilded? Get some light, sturdy wood. Disgraceful.”

Elenore grew silent at Durran’s lecturing, growing quiet for another minute.

“The chaos itself is an opportunity. I can think of half a dozen ways to turn a huge profit based on what just occurred. I can turn ten rose gold coins into one hundred based on what happened in Dirracha. It is a disaster, but we should—”

“Elenore,” Argrave lifted his head up. “Just say it honestly.”

The princess slowly turned her head towards Argrave. The bottom of her lip was trembling. Her face seized up, and she leaned forward onto Argrave. He was puzzled for a few seconds, but her back started to heave. He realized what it was—she was crying.

“Therese, Vasquer… I can’t… I can’t just…” she babbled, the words muffled beneath his duster. “Why did she do that? Why didn’t she just give me up? I… all I’ve brought her is pain, yet she wouldn’t just sell me out. And now they’re with him, they’re both with HIM. I can’t. I can’t just… Why do I get to go, when they… they’re both better than me, both suffered more than I have… why couldn’t…”

Argrave put his hand to her back, holding her gently. He did nothing but soothe and wait, letting her speak. He listened intently, offering whispered words of comfort where he thought they fit. She deserved this much, he thought. After a time, Elenore went quiet. Argrave briefly questioned if she was asleep, but her breathing was too erratic for that.

“I want to stay,” she finally said, voice fried. “A few days… do what I can, try to help them. Try to make sure I can save Therese, protect Vasquer… but it’s stupid. I can’t. We waste time, we risk exposure, we risk losing more.”

“Put that nonsense behind you,” Argrave told her. “So we stop for a few days to get apprised of things. So what?”

She finally pulled away. “Staying in the city is a surefire way to be found,” Elenore disagreed at once.

“Never said anything about the city. Plenty of secure and remote locations.” Argrave adjusted himself to turn his body. “Doing the right thing, doing the most pragmatic thing—more often than not, they’re not mutually exclusive. This person… Therese, the one that got captured. You care about her, right?” Argrave asked, holding his hand out. When Elenore nodded, he snapped his fingers. “Then let’s make the attempt.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Elenore said firmly. “She’s in the heart of the palace. She’ll probably be executed now that her usefulness is at an end, or maybe disposed of quietly by Levin.” Elenore shook her head. “And Vasquer… I know Felipe won’t harm her. I know it. Why am I caught up in this?”

Argrave put his hand on her own, and she looked over. “So you learn that. You do what you can—all that you can. It might be that what you learn sticks with you… but I can guarantee doing nothing will haunt you for the rest of your life.”

“…what would you know…” Elenore leaned her head back.

“You forget already?” Argrave leaned in. “I know a lot more about you than probably anyone.”

Elenore freed her hand from his grip and crossed her arms defensively. She stayed quiet for a long while, and Argrave started to settle back into his place. Anneliese gave him a smile and handed him another biscuit.

“…I’m sorry,” Elenore eventually whispered. “For getting emotional. I can’t do that. It’s not right. It doesn’t have its place. I’m meant to be a boon in your fight, not a child.”

“It’s not wrong. It’s a fact of life. Durran cries himself to sleep every night, muttering about Orion,” Argrave kicked the tribal lightly across from him. The tribal looked at him with a resigned, bitter acceptance, not even bothering to deny the lie.

Elenore let out a slow, choked laugh, her throat obviously blocked up. “I hate crying.”

“Me too,” Argrave agreed.

“It…” Elenore began, then cut off. “When my… when that bastard gouged out my eyes… it was messy. The tears… how they’re made… I don’t know. Something got damaged. People talk about phantom limbs… I don’t know,” Elenore trailed off again.

“It’s painful,” Durran finished. “Literally hurts.”

Elenore laughed, then wiped away snot from her nose. “Yeah. Guess Argrave must have told you.”

“Nah. Maybe he told Anneliese… but I could tell.” Durran looked off to the side. “You try too hard not to cry, you don’t address why it’s happening in the first place.” Durran said, then glanced around to realize everyone was looking at him. Embarrassed, he continued, “Why do I bother saying anything? This touchy nonsense… not good with it. I don’t know.” Durran scratched the back of his neck, then said optimistically, “But maybe it’s good. If my sisters cried more, maybe I wouldn’t have had to kill my uncle.”

“What?” Elenore questioned incredulously.

Durran threw up his hands. “Forget this. I’m sleeping.”

The former tribal rolled over and sprawled across the floor, burying his face in an empty bag used to transport grain. He covered himself with a blanket meant for horses, then rested quietly.

Elenore looked to Argrave, clearly wanting an explanation.

“Well… he…” Argrave began.

“You say a damned word, Argrave,” Durran lifted his hand up, voice muffled beneath his makeshift pillow. “I know where you sleep, damn you. I can get to you. Watch yourself. My seven fingers still have a deadly grip. Crush your throat like straw.”

Argrave laughed, then leaned back. “It’s no big deal. One kinslayer, two kinslayers… it won’t make the journey any less safe, I promise.”

Elenore’s tense body finally settled into the cushioned bench they sat upon. In time, the sound of the caravan’s wheels and the horses pulling it forward were the only sounds prevailing.

“Thank you,” Elenore said deliberately. “All of you.”