Jackal Among Snakes

Argrave looked back, seeing none of the moonlit night beyond. The Stonepetal Sentinel’s encampments was far beyond them. “Galamon… anyone behind us?” he asked uneasily.

“No,” the elven vampire answered after a moment’s pause.

Argrave breathed a sigh of relief, and then conjured an E-rank spell for light. It jumped into the air and Argrave’s eyes closed instinctively, adjusting to the new brightness. Soon enough, his eyes opened, and he saw the spell light reflecting off the gray stone around them.

The beginnings of the Low Way of the Rose were well-made, each stair descending downwards in perfect order. The pillars were carved in the likeness of rose stems, thorns poking out along their surface. Torch sconces were cleverly disguised into the thorns, but they had neither lamp nor torch in them at this point.

“What a disaster,” Argrave said, both to himself and his companions. “Flew too close to the sun, and the gods burnt my wings.”

“We should be moving,” Galamon said, unheeding of Argrave’s comments. “No telling if… or when… pursuit will come. We need a comfortable distance ahead.”

“Yeah… yeah,” Argrave nodded, and then they continued down the stairs. Their pace was a moderate one—a little slower than a jog. Each stair was very large, and it was difficult to proceed down them quickly. Argrave was certain that his knees would ache tomorrow. “In a while yet, the tunnel will open up into the real Low Way. There, we can reassess things,” he called out to both as they proceeded.

The briars about the ceiling and walls gave the impression the room was twisting and writhing as they proceeded downwards. Had Argrave not known the name of this place, he might’ve assumed the thorns everywhere were spikes, and this place the abode of some fell creature. Thinking of what was ahead, Argrave realized that impression was not entirely false.

“Rowe was right. I got cocksure, and now look where we are—enemies ahead, enemies behind.” Argrave shook his head. “The plans I had—up in smoke.”

“Neither of us questioned your judgement, Argrave,” Anneliese argued as she moved beside him. “The fault is not yours alone.”

“How could you question my judgement?” Argrave said interspersed with laughter. “I didn’t share it. I just insisted you follow along. Everything went so damned well in Jast, I thought the world was my oyster. Fat chance of that if I keep counting chickens before they hatch. Things went to hell in a day.”

Galamon spared a brief glance backwards but said nothing. Silence settled over them as they proceeded.

Anneliese finally broke the silence. “After Thorngorge Citadel, when I could hardly stand, you asked me a question. I will return it to you now, in hopes you understand the point I intend to make.” She pulled ahead of Argrave, stopping him. “What do you want to do about it?”

Argrave stared down at her, regaining his breath. After letting her words sink in, he slowly nodded. “You’re right. Should reflect on mistakes, not dwell on them.” He looked down the tunnel. “Probably getting close to the end of this stairway.”

“Yes. The air shifts ahead, and I hear the rush of water echoing against cavernous walls,” Galamon said. “Not much further.”

the stairs. A horrifically potent

towering hundreds of feet above them. That, though, seemed small in comparison to the grand chamber

city of

and commercial both. Stairways led from terrace to terrace and pyramid to pyramid, giving

the angular paths and canals was entirely destroyed by that which had grown over it. The walls and the ceilings housed vines of bone and flesh that wound in and out of the stone, flowers blooming at points that held the image of twisted faces. They had seen one of these ‘plants’ at Thorngorge Citadel—these in the Low Way were intended to support the ceiling and provide light.

they merged with viscous flows of blood pouring out from a waterfall in the far end of the cavern opposite them. Over the years, strange plants had begun to grow by the canals, and much of Nodremaid was consumed by foliage. The majority of the growth

despite knowing fully what to expect. Few people save the Stonepetal Sentinels

the

the case, if you see something every day,

as in Thorngorge Citadel. It’s in the water, the buildings, the ceilings… this

the Stonepetal Sentinels won’t be able to find us… if indeed they are pursuing. This place is full of secrets. I know a great

us go and reassess what we must

guard down.” Argrave adjusted the collar of

#####

not magic. Fire-based. Probably a dagger,” commented Jean, kneeling beside a body. The corpse had been stripped

you recover the helmet?” Alasdair questioned, standing

priorities, old

Jean shook her head and said, “No. The enchantments on the helm are ruined anyway. Meant

“On the morrow, he’ll be buried, the proper hymns

one of the knights asked, clearly emotional for the person who’d

are you asking him?” questioned Ossian. “He’s a Master Sentinel, not our leader. Why was this done without approval from anyone, Alasdair? You mobilize men without a majority vote from the other Master

“You mean to tell

Doesn’t matter what I would have done. You aren’t our leader, Alasdair. Claude is. Until a month passes, and

waved dismissively. “They may have already intended to enter

to do so just before you stormed their tent while they

strengthen the guard around the tunnels. In pairs, something like this won’t happen

“It sounds to me like