A/N: I republished the . I realized there are few inconsistencies and poorly written paragraphs. I became muddle-headed when sleepy. Apologies to my early readers.
Prince Alaric and six of his soldiers, including Agilus, Aramis, and Redon, were travelling east—the direction the bandits were heading. Even in the darkness of the night, Alaric’s guard could see the anger radiating from the prince’s posture as he led them to chase after the escaping prisoners.
His eyes grew dark as he realized that he had been played with. They were delayed because even his strongest guards were helpless against the relentless effects of diarrhea. He had to give them his precious medicine, the one that protected him from the onslaught of the bacteria that caused their stomach sickness. Otherwise, they could not stop emptying their bowels.
Alaric’s frustration simmered beneath the surface, a tight knot in his chest. He squinted into the veil of the night, willing his eyes to pierce through the heavy darkness. Yet, all he could discern were vague silhouettes, monstrous shadows stretching and shifting like wraiths in the distance, their forms distorted and elusive.
The group still pressed on until they reached the riverbank, where they found the abandoned carriage, its door closed.
"Don’t open it!" Alaric snapped, his voice sharp as a blade, when Aramis drew near the carriage, hand outstretched toward the creaking door.
A surge of instinct raced through him, a shiver of apprehension gnawing at his gut. Shadows played tricks in the dim light, deepening his unease. The horses tossed their heads, snorting and stamping, their dark eyes wide and wild, mirroring the tension crackling in the air. Alaric could feel something ominous was lurking inside.
Redon lit a torch to inspect the carriage.
Cloak snapping in the wind, Alaric spun toward the sound. Two arrows sliced through the darkness—only to clatter harmlessly to the ground at his feet.
"Take cover!" he barked, his voice cutting through the night like a blade.
The arrows had come from west, where tall reeds swayed—just enough to betray the silhouettes of hidden attackers.
Without waiting for an order, Redon snuffed out the torch and tugged the reins of the horses, guiding them behind a thick stand of trees.
But before they could take cover, more arrows rained on them. One struck a soldier in the shoulder with a sickening thud. A horse reared and screamed as another shaft was embedded in its flank.
Alaric dropped to one knee, pulled his bow from his back, and notched an arrow with practiced ease. Even in the murk, his finely tuned hearing pinpointed the soft snap of a bowstring from the riverbank. He turned and fired.
A strangled cry pierced the air.
He released a second arrow.
"Move in—silently and split!" he commanded.
The soldiers dismounted swiftly, fanning in pairs and slipping through the brush like ghosts. They approached the riverbank from multiple directions, blades drawn, eyes scanning.
By the time the reeds were parted, only two wounded bandits remained—grimy, bloodied, and barely breathing. Nearby, the former magistrate and the ex-chief of the town guard lay sprawled in the grass, throats nearly slit.
Redon and Aramis hauled the surviving bandits beneath the shelter of an old tree. There, they bound them with coarse rope and forced them to kneel in the dirt.
Agilus stepped forward, eyes hard. He drove a boot into the stomach of one, who crumpled with a grunt.
"Who sent you to rescue the prisoners?" he snarled.
The bandits stayed mute, jaws clenched in stubborn silence.
"Don’t waste your breath," Alaric said, calm and cold. "They’re nothing but pawns. Get them to open the carriage."
At the mention of the carriage, a visible tremor passed through the captives. They shook their heads frantically.
Aramis seized them by their collars and dragged them toward the locked carriage. With a blade pressed to their backs, they were forced to reach for the door.
But before their hands could touch the latch, they collapsed—suddenly, violently. Their bodies convulsed, foaming at the mouth.
Aramis turned them over and swore under his breath.
Agilus, undeterred, stepped forward, sword in one hand and dagger in the other. Curiosity blazed in his eyes.
"Wait—no!" Alaric shouted.
Snakes slithered out of the carriage, a lot of them.
Agilus screamed—a raw, primal sound that tore through the night. He slashed wildly, but a cobra sank its fangs deep into his leg. He stumbled backward.
Alaric caught him just in time, sword cutting down one of the slithering horrors.
Aramis moved fast. He lit a torch and hurled it into the carriage. Flames erupted, devouring the interior. The rest of the soldiers followed suit, lighting torches and waving them urgently.
The snakes recoiled from the fire, hissing as they retreated into the shadows. But not before one struck another soldier, who fell without a sound.
Alaric was frantic as he laid down Agilus on the ground. He cut his trousers, and in the flickering firelight from the burning carriage, he saw the snake bite on his shin. He used his leather belt to tie it around his upper thigh as a tourniquet, then he made an incision to let out the venomous blood.
Agilus was conscious, but barely. Panic danced behind his eyes. Was this it? Was he going to die tonight—alone, unmarried, his parents mourning a foolish son too curious for his own good? Alaric had warned him. Why hadn’t he listened?
Lara and her brothers arrived, drawn by the orange blaze from afar.
Lara leapt from her saddle, tossing the reins to Percival without a word. She hurried to the group, her eyes scanning their grim faces before locking on Alaric kneeling beside Agilus, blood-streaked and grim.
"What happened?" she asked, voice trembling.
"Snake bite," Redon replied heavily.
Her expression shifted—no time for emotion. "Sit him up. Now."
Alaric looked up, caught off guard, but obeyed.
Lara knelt beside Agilus, hands steady. She carefully loosened the belt and examined the bite with practiced urgency. She washed it with soap and water from her bamboo tube.
She needed antivenom, but where could she obtain it? In the past year, she had learned how to extract antivenom from snakes, but she didn’t yet have a way to administer an IV.
Ultimately, she turned to the wisdom of age-old remedies. She placed a turmeric salve over the wound and hoped that Agilus had immunity to the snake bite.
Alaric felt Agilus had gone into shock!