Jackal Among Snakes

Argrave and Galamon sat around a campfire, engaging with the Stonepetal Sentinels. One Sentinel seemed to be recounting a story, and Argrave was asking him questions. Though there was a cautious distance between the two parties, there was also an undeniable curiosity from both—by all accounts, an engaging conversation.

Meanwhile, though, far out of either’s sight, something else was happening.

Alasdair leaned on a table with his arms crossed, standing just across from a woman who examined a long piece of parchment with spell light. The woman was old, with wrinkled skin and thinning gray hair, all concealed by robes bearing a rose on the shoulder. They were in a tent that had been enveloped by a ward to block out any would-be listeners.

“The lords of Blackridge Citadel were the Tullens. Even the minor nobles in the regions—the castellan, the treasurer, et cetera… none of them were named Blackgard, Alasdair,” the old woman looked up at the Master Sentinel.

Alasdair sighed, then kneaded his forehead. “Is there even a noble house with the name ‘Blackgard’ affiliated with the Order?”

“These records aren’t perfect, but they’re just about so. ‘Blackgard’ was never a house associated with the Order of the Rose.”

“Slippery bastard. Had everyone under his thumb the whole time. Played us like an instrument, now I’ll string him like one…” Alasdair muttered. “Thank you, Jean.”

“What will you do with him?”

“Confine him. Find out why he’s here, why he knows so much about the Stonepetal Sentinels, and… after that, I’m unsure. Depends on what he says. We’ll probably confiscate his things. Both he and that female servant of his have items worth at least a year’s supply.”

“Those two are both mages,” Jean contributed. “The she-elf is probably B-rank, judging by how much magic she has. Argrave, or whatever his real name might be, is likely C-rank.”

“What about the big snow elf?” Alasdair pressed.

“A warrior alone. You’d know better than me about his skills,” she shook her head.

“Alright. Thank you.” Alasdair leaned off the table, walking about the tent. “We’ll gather some people before they fall asleep. Veterans, mages... all our men are here, and I’ll take no chances. Can’t be sure what these people want. I’ll be sure they rue this deception, though.”

“Acting without the approval of the other Master Sentinels?” Jean clicked her tongue. “You’re taking liberties with the leader gone, Alasdair. I thought you were the honest one.”

“You know as well as I do that Claude would do the same were he here,” Alasdair refuted passively. “We’ll keep them engaged, make sure they feel welcome. It’s important we find out why they’re here, and who sent them, if anyone. Claude would agree with me.”

Jean rolled up the parchment. “Not my place to argue. I’ll return to the ladies' tents, gather some spellcasters to help.”

#####

was night. With the moon behind the mountain, the fort in front of the Low Way of the Rose was deathly dark. In one of the tents closest to the walls, a set of white

flitted from the work in his hands—maintaining his armor—and watching the outside. He continued like this in relative silence, the silence of the

a time, body completely still, and then put the gauntlet he had been cleaning back on his hand. He stood and moved to Argrave, kneeling down beside the

immediately. He mumbled something

“Be quiet,” Galamon insisted.

mumbled something to the effect of, ‘Is

winced in surprise. “A lot

preparing to enter the tunnel,” Argrave dismissed, too tired

in your long talk with them last night?” Galamon said sternly. “They’re giving our area a wide berth and muffling

blinked, thinking. “You

I wanted to capture potentially dangerous people without casualties,”

the gun?” Argrave asked, some

know me to

twice, then shook his head as though to jolt himself awake. “Alright. Alright.” He pulled out of the sleeping bag, rising to his feet. The commotion awoke Anneliese, who turned over to look at the both of

around frantically. “Already dressed, everything’s packed…” He took a deep breath. “Okay, what the hell am I doing?” he asked himself, trying to gather his

Anneliese asked,

nothing, but Argrave replied distantly, “Our

I remember where there’s a caved-in portion. Can’t sense any people blocking it. We move quickly, we exit without issue,” Galamon said, planning everything out thoroughly. “We’ll lose

know what the hell happened, but I need to get into the Low Way. All the other entrances are

now? We have a quick and easy out.

the kingdom of Vasquer. It’d be ridiculous to

held disdain. “Ridiculous. Cut your losses, Argrave. Acknowledge when you have

base of the mountain. There is another collapsed portion there. We can enter right next

pointed insistently to Anneliese, feeling his point supported. Galamon questioned, “You’re

walls and the tunnel. It was

That’s enough for me,” Argrave said eagerly.

will attract attention. I will lead you two through

retorted, his

urgently to put what few things of theirs remained unpacked back in their bags. Soon enough, the tent was left with only their sleeping bags on the grass, and Argrave put the backpack over his shoulder. He

breath and followed. He could hear nothing beyond the sounds of his companions and his own feet hitting the ground, and the night was so dark he could only follow after Galamon. True to Galamon’s word, it did not take long before their feet left

at his cheek, and his hair moved. Realizing this might be the last time he felt open air for a long, long while, he felt

his daze. They followed along the wall as it winded, taking quiet yet quick steps. With the wall to guide them, Argrave felt