Headed by a Snake

For Tycondrius to allay his unabating concerns, he sought a caster versed with ⌈Speak with Dead⌋...

It was a simple enough Spell...

He could improvise a ritual to achieve a similar effect... but he was not confident in forcing a hostile spirit to render obedience.

Bella could also freehand a ritual in her own style.

--But there was a non-zero chance she'd inadvertently tear open a rift to a plane of death and the dead.

Such would be doing Hades a grave disservice.

Shaman... Bone Oracle... they were relatively common Classes in the Free Nation, but the Sapphire Tower didn't have any active Witches that fit the criteria.

They didn't even have any Priests... or any other Classes that could be reasonably affiliated with death.

Tycon furrowed his brows.

"Dragan..."

"Ugggh," Bella groaned, "Tycon, why are you *so* against a freakin' shoulder massage? Like, you have no idea, but the knots on my back--"

Tycon rolled his eyes, "You'll get your massage, Witch. But I mentioned War Prince Droghan because he might be able to cast the Spell I need."

"Or he'll have Gnoll Deathspeakers or Orc Shugenja willing and capable," Bella nodded. "But, like, can you wait that long?"

Tycon closed his eyes and shook his head, "I'd rather not."

At that moment, Tycon's lead foot hit a rock.

--a rock that was wearing a suit of armor.

"D-don't mind me, Commander," said the talking rock. "Just uh... whew. Been a long sun, hasn't it?"

Bella lightly kicked at the rock, "Junior Witch Meteora, what are you doing?"

"Ahm... doin' an impression of m'parents," Meteora coughed. "Buried in the dirt. Haven't moved for awhile. H-how're you, Madam President?"

"...Fine, thanks," Bella waved.

"Meteora of Clan Amberflask," Tycon frowned. "How are you still conscious?"

Meteora moved-- perhaps trying to get to her feet. She managed to stick her rear upward... and an arm forward.

Her face remained planted in the dirt.

...She did, however, manage to raise the thumb on her forward fist.

"I'm built different."

...It seemed that was enough for her.

"Ooh, is that a humie's arm?" she added.

"It is," Tycon nodded as he absentmindedly waved it. "I still need to speak to its owner."

"Oh, where's that Cortlyn girl?" Meteora asked, "And is she the reason you're walking funny?"

Tycon narrowed his eyes. Caitlyn was draped over his opposite shoulder... which would logically explain his measurably altered gait.

Still, the junior Witch's diction lacked proper decorum.

Thus, he transferred the unconscious Caitlyn from his shoulder to Meteora's back.

"Oof," Meteora groaned. "Nevermind. Found her."

"Did you get anything on Comms while we were inside?" Bella asked.

"Um. Yeah. J-junior Witch Meteora, reporting--"

"Report," Tycon interrupted.

"There's movement in the forest to the north and east, Commander," Meteora explained. "Big group marching-- thousands of 'em. Still two bells away, though."

Bella pursed her lips, nodding, "It sounds like Dragan's finished early. That's good-- if we can squeeze some 'cinnamon reds' in the catacombs, that should reduce overall casualties."

Tycon narrowed his eyes to thin squints.

Dragan was an excellent War Prince-- and it was practically impossible to estimate the upper physical limit of the fire giant bloodline.

However, Tycon did not want to believe it was his forces arriving.

He asked for Dragan to take the north and western territories in four suns. To arrive on the first implied something had gone terribly wrong.

Tycon pursed his lips... "Meteora said north and *east.*"

Bella frowned, "My girls make mistakes, sometimes. Have you met a Witch named Decemberleigh?"

"Hmph." Tycon frowned, "I don't believe that's a real name-- but I digress."

Looking down, he prodded Meteora with his boot, "Did Promethea send a thought-image of the approaching army's banners?"

"Y-yeah, they did," Meteora mumbled.

The Dwarven girl drew a symbol in the dirt with her fingers.

"What... Warband is that?" Bella frowned.

"It's not from the Free Nation," Tycon smiled. "That is the personal banner of Lady Nyctis, Queen of Shadows."

The tone of Bella's voice rose as she spoke, "That's... ominous."

"Nonsense," Tycon waved, absentmindedly scratching the skin on his neck. "Let's meet with their leadership."

Surely, the Shadow Snakes would have both the healers and the casters Tycon sought.

...

⟬ A few minutes later... ⟭

Bella grabbed onto Tycondrius' wrist just as she canceled the ⌈Flight⌋ Spell on her riding broom.

She then silently cast ⌈Featherfall⌋, which effected them both.

As they had been flying just above the tree line, Tycon was sure he would survive the fall without Bella's assistance. But... it was nice to not worry about dropping 100 fulms or so onto uneven ground or while avoiding the prickly branches of the coniferous trees.

He wondered how much of the Witch's earlier anger was on behalf of her divine peers and how much was her own.

Bella Sapphira was not a woman open and honest about her emotions.

Tycon was suddenly reminded of Natalya. Comparatively, the Archbishop was easier to deal with.

...Or maybe he just preferred her company?

[The girl from the Holy Country. She's good for you.]

Bella's voice in his head caught Tycon by surprise.

He glared back at her, [I'm wearing an anti-scrying amulet. What kind of witchcraft lets you read my thoughts?]

[Oh, I noticed.] Bella replied. [But it's not witchcraft. You're just not as *clever* as you think you are.]

Tycon shook his head while averting his gaze; he was unable to think of a clever-enough response.

The notion annoyed him greatly.

The pair touched grass. The dusky orange skies foretold the coming of night.

--which meant Tycon was going to miss a meal if he dallied too long.

"What are you planning?" Bella asked.

"Summoning ritual."

"Would it hurt you to use nonviolent, diplomatic measures?" The Witch sighed, "I know it's highly likely that the incoming force is bad news, but--"

"Miss Bella," Tycon frowned. "We can trust Queen Nyctis and her kin."

Bella narrowed her eyes, "Is that some kind of joke?"

"...No?"

"Some kind of misdirection? You're going to say something like 'we can trust them to die like the traitors they are' while belly-laughing like a third-rate villain, right?"

Tycon pursed his lips... "No? Is... that the type of behavior you expect of me?"

"Yes," Bella replied simply. "Overly violent, domineering, and not clever in the least."

"I've the suspicion you're still upset," Tycon noted.

"No. I'm not," Bella said, her speech oddly forceful and halting. "Whatso-EVER gave you tHaT iDeA?"

"You're speaking... in a sarcastic manner, are you not?"

"Just... tell me whether or not I'm charging up my laser," Bella huffed.

Tycon smiled politely, "I do not believe the charging of lasers to be necessary-- at least for dealing with the den of Shadow Snakes."

"They get stronger at night," Bella frowned.

"As this area is filled with tall trees, their abilities will be consistent," Tycon corrected.

"I'll make fun of you if you die."

"Worse then, compared to current?"

"Oh, way worse," Bella confirmed.

Tycon spent several minutes to find a tree that fit his parameters. It towered over the others in the area, over thrice the age of its smaller kin, and underneath it was a hollow profuse with tendrils of moss and gnarled, dead roots.

It was so thick that, there, no creatures hid.

The shadows were much too dark.

Crafting a quick Spell Circle to pull creatures out of magical shadows took about 40 seconds. He and Bella worked very well together.

"Hold this," Tycon said, offering the rebel leader's severed arm to his companion.

"No," Bella frowned. "Put it in your ring."

Tycon shook his head, "I don't want to subject the arm to so many unknown variables."

"And you can't hold it, why?"

Tycon motioned towards the magical hole.

...Bella begrudgingly took the severed limb.

Thus, Tycon dared to reach his arm into the darkest depths... and grabbed hold of that which lied in wait.

"(PLEASE DON'T EAT ME!!)" the Shadow Snake cried.

Tycon narrowed his eyes. His first try was successful, rendering a hatchling he recognized.

Unfortunately, it was a fellow largely insignificant.

He kept hold of the boy's head and met his gaze.

"Anthemon, where is your handler?"

"(Eh? You mean Izzy? ARE YOU GONNA EAT IZZY?!?)"

"Anthemon."

"(HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?!)"

Tycon folded the Shadow Snake into a ball and dumped him back into the magical hole.

"What was that about?" Bella asked.

Tycon pursed his lips, "It was a mistake."

"I thought you didn't make mistakes, Boss?"

Suddenly, a second Shadow Snake burst out of the magical hole.

"(MONTY!!! MONTY DON'T DIE!!!!)"

It was Azalea, a hatchling similar in age to Anthemon.

Many years ago, long before Tycon had met either of them, the two hatchlings suffered an unfortunate incident. From that point, onward, they were forced to share a single brain cell between them.

The hatchling reared up, gasping in surprise.

"(Oh! It's you! M-m-m-master?!)"

"Good evening, Azalea."

Tycon smiled politely. Azalea was much smarter than her companion, though, admittedly, not by much.

However, since she recognized him and, assumedly, his title as Ivory Prince, it would be a simpler matter to glean--

"(DID YOU EAT MY FRIEND?!?!?)" Izzy cried.

",