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.”

downwards. Faint, reddish light greeted them, draped like a mist over the cold gray stone of the stairs. A horrifically potent and sharp smell reminiscent of truffle oil and iron invaded his nostrils, but Argrave shook his head and pushed past the feeling.

ceiling towering hundreds of feet above them. That, though, seemed small in comparison to the grand chamber that opened up before them. The Low Way of the Rose was

to the trading city of Nodremaid,”

had been, once, a city of impeccable order. That order remained in the architecture. Several terraced pyramids held tall stone buildings, residential and commercial both. Stairways led from terrace to terrace and pyramid

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

end of the cavern opposite them. Over the years, strange plants had begun to grow by the canals, and much of Nodremaid was consumed

and horror. Even Argrave felt some, despite knowing fully what to expect. Few people save the Stonepetal Sentinels understood just what the Order of the Rose

at the flesh plants in the ceiling. “How could anyone feel

I don’t think.” Argrave looked about. “Even were that not the case, if you see something every day, you get

as in Thorngorge Citadel. It’s

someplace that’s likely safe and secluded enough that the Stonepetal Sentinels won’t be able to find us… if indeed they are pursuing.

go and reassess what we must do,”

Argrave adjusted the collar of his gray enchanted duster,

#####

an enchanted weapon that killed him, not magic. Fire-based. Probably a dagger,” commented Jean, kneeling beside a body. The corpse had been stripped of its armor barring the helmet, which had

standing at the head of

priorities, old

cast a reproachful glance at Ossian while Jean shook her head and said, “No. The enchantments on the helm are ruined anyway. Meant to protect against threats without, not within, and the

“On the morrow, he’ll be buried, the proper hymns sung to send him to the gods’

the knights asked, clearly emotional for the

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

spat angrily, “You mean to tell

what I would have done. You aren’t our leader, Alasdair. Claude is. Until a month passes, and he’s declared dead, we’re in a state

already intended to enter

happened to do so just before you stormed their tent while they slept,” Ossian laughed. “Just rich

strengthen the guard around the tunnels.

interrupted. “It sounds to me like we aren’t going