Jackal Among Snakes

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.

Argrave took a deep breath in this silent valley. “I’ll do it.”

“I’ll tell everyone.”

Argrave looked around wildly, searching for moving darkness amidst the shades of white and gray. 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 true problem.

“Up and left,” the head said, and Argrave looked. “Good luck. Now, I’m going silent.”

In one moment, there was nothing there. In the next, an entire squadron of tentacle-faced monstrosities stood on the edge of the mesa, with bows of shadow 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 his bread and butter.

With so much gained over the past months, Argrave wasn’t exactly lacking in options.

He called upon an S-rank spell he’d learned from Erlebnis’ 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 of more opponents, but elected not to attack. Without allies to cover him, he’d have to be far more conservative. If he attacked without receiving energy returned, he could perish easily.

More and more archers took their place, looking down upon the valley. So long as Argrave stayed moving unpredictably, it seemed an impossibility for him to get hit. Then, Argrave heard 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 Argrave saw was a bunch of slow-moving, juicy targets.

He ascended upward with [Perfect Movement], minding his surroundings carefully. He had brought blood-infused wind eels in way of electric eels to use them 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 deal the most damage to this huge thing when he spotted strange movement atop its ahead.

When recognition dawned, Argrave frantically stopped his rapid ascent and muttered, “Shit.”

The now-horseless black rider walked to the edge of the dragon’s gigantic red eye, and leapt downward with a spear of shadow held out to impale. Argrave moved to the side as quickly as possible, but in response the rider merely took aim and threw his weapon ferociously. Panicked, Argrave threw up a ward. It gave him just enough time to dodge.

The rider landed on one of the lesser dragons—which, now that they were near, were far faster than Argrave had ever imagined. The shadow knight didn’t hesitate 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 the air, Argrave had the advantage.

He felt one of the lesser dragons behind him and whirled, conjuring his 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 the beast. Moments later, projectiles soared upward from down below, and Argrave cast a brief glance to see the archers had repositioned. In the valley where he’d been, a ravening horde had appeared, waiting for his fall.

Argrave chose to soar ever upward, where the giant dragon lurked above—now that he knew his opponent was in the sky with 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 spear or sword.

The knight’s assault was impressively unrelenting. His strength was such that Argrave couldn’t actually contest him without sufficient time to prepare, and his skill ensured he kept pace with Argrave as he ascended easily. The only reason why Argrave managed to get by without taking a wound as harsh as their first encounter was because they fought in the air. Whether it was luck or a prudent choice on his part, Argrave was glad.

“WE’RE ALL SET UP!” Argrave heard the baby’s head shout above the wind, just barely.

Thinking of how amazing it was to have competent allies, Argrave took the time to look up at the gigantic dragon. On the low end, Argrave had his wind eels descend upon those that had occupied the valley. On the high end, Argrave diverted his attention to the black knight fully, this time—not to defend, but to begin his attack.

Argrave played 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 of vitality delivered expressly by Anneliese as his eels dug into the ground troops, yet kept his cool waiting for opportunity.

When the rider came 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 then… well, he didn’t defend. It might be said that he tackled the rider, grasping him firmly. Then, he unleashed [Withering Gift] from both of his hands.

Argrave held onto the rider firmly, and bloody vines erupted from his fingers, seeking purchase in the knight’s steel-hard flesh. They dug in, bit by bit, pushing past that steel-like skin… but the rider took Argrave for a ride all the while. He slammed 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 discomfort to remember his role in this capture.

[Withering Gift] was an insidious spell 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 the knight continued to bash Argrave as they whirled through the air, locked.

It was only when the knight finally pulled his sword free of Argrave’s body, and thrust it toward his head that Argrave swapped place with the blood echo. He collapsed onto the ground in the fortress they’d made. There, a few people waited.

“Planted the seed?” questioned Balzat.

Argrave couldn’t speak, but he made a vague grunting noise that made him cough blood.

“If you did, we’ll handle the rest.” The man knelt. “Because together, no one is our match.”

#####

In a few minutes, Argrave felt as right as rain. And in half an hour, Argrave realized that he’d pulled together one hell of a team. Why? The reason was lying right in front of them, crippled by the [Withering Gift]. Everyone had done far more than their part.

With the black knight weakened, marked by Roland, and all avenues of escape amply covered, the people he’d brought had been capable of snatching this man as he and his troops attempted to slink back into the shadows. [Withering Gift] had utterly incapacitated him, and Ghislain’s illusions and Bhaltair’s undead armed with blood magic weaponry mounted an ambush aback the Archchief’s wyvern. The combined efforts of several amazing fighters had allowed them to spirit this man away. Argrave hadn’t even possessed the time to offer help if he wanted to.

“Somehow, you look worse than him,” Felipe noted. “Elenore wouldn’t be pleased with you. Nor would the man who made your armor, I suspect.”

Argrave agreed—his coat, his armor, it was all in total tatters. He looked rather like Orion had after fighting the Plague Jester. Perhaps it ran in the family. But Argrave hadn’t felt much pain in that battle, fortunately. There were some nice aspects to the dullness of this place.

“Well, he’s the captive, and I’m the captor. It’s a victory,” Argrave said. He looked down at the silent knight, then kneeled. Black vines coiled in and out of the knight’s body, yet his white eyes stared ahead firmly. He reminded Argrave of Galamon, if going by eyes and temperament alone. “Hello there.”

“Will you try and liberate me?” the knight asked. “You had best kill me, Manumitter scum. Free, I’ll only finish what I started.”

Argrave smiled, then looked at everyone. They seemed to be having similar thoughts—that this might be a conversation worth having.

“You’re going to enlighten me about a few things,” Argrave said. “Does that sound fun?”