Jackal Among Snakes

Darkness loomed ahead, starkly contrasting with the red lights shining behind. Argrave tried to peer beyond to little effect.

“I don’t sense anything ahead,” said Galamon. “Only… debased viscera,” he contributed after pausing a moment to find the word. “The vampires may be using magic to disguise themselves. You mentioned they were apprentices of a mage group—the Wayward Thorns,” Galamon turned to Argrave.

“Doubtful. They know rudimentary magic, nothing beyond that. Centuries mean very little if you don’t have access to spellbooks, or the genius needed to make your own spells. They have ridiculously deep magic pools, but no spells beyond D-rank. There are reasons for that, but… I’ll share them when we aren’t caught in a vice.” Argrave raised up his hand, a spell matrix forming. A ball of light jumped into the air, banishing some of the darkness before them.

The headquarters of the Order of the Rose in Nodremaid may once have been grand, but its residents had changed it. Much of the place had been dyed red from centuries-old blood. It wasn’t the site of some bloody slaughter—instead, the roses of flesh that gave off light winding about the ceiling had been torn down and destroyed by the vampires to shroud the place in darkness. The ‘bodies’ of the flesh plants were much less frightening than the things themselves. Once the flesh rotted away, all that was left was long stalks of ivory.

“Is light wise?” Anneliese questioned, staring at the ball of flame cautiously.

“They’re vampires, the majority of them older than Galamon. Darkness means nothing for them.”

Anneliese stepped forward, contributing her own light and further illuminating the place. “It’s… quiet here. Figuratively and literally.”

“You mean… not picking up any feelings? Empathy meter goes cold just ahead?” Argrave inquired.

“Yes.” She spared a glance back, then examined the bottom of her boots. Her eyes stayed locked on the corpse of one of the Guardians. The thing’s arms had been torn off. It had been drained of blood. “Still… I cannot say this place is particularly soothing.”

“Right with you,” Argrave agreed, stepping up beside her. The harsh and piercing smell of iron still persisted here, but most other scents died. No insects made noise in the darkness beyond. Indeed, the only noise still present was the barely audible sound of the canal outside, but once they proceeded deeper, Argrave was sure it, too, would fade.

The central lobby was quite a large place. A statue fountain about ten feet tall stood decorating the center, but the fountain had been rendered useless, the faintest bit of polluted red water spouting pathetically out of the statue’s chipped mouth. This place was largely free of the foliage consuming all of Nodremaid.

The main square branched off into three paths, yet there were also two sets of spiral stairs leading up to a second floor. One of the stairs had collapsed midway. The ceiling was quite high. The light of their spell did not illuminate beyond the central lobby, so nothing could be seen of the second floor or beyond.

rooms that way that only have one doorway. Good

ornate. Nodremaid had been unadorned, but the halls here were lined with jade and silver, and the walls were much more finely carved. Argrave kept imagining things in the shadows

in Nodremaid, it had fallen into ruin, the ceiling partially collapsed. Galamon examined the room for enemies a

They looked to be storage areas, for they were often blocked with

and looked around slowly. “This place…

past him, eager to sit down and rest his feet once more. When his spell light trailed into the room after him, it illuminated a fairly empty storage room. Argrave was looking at one of the crates, when something caught the light of his spell, reflecting back at

was a vampire, bad memories resurfaced of Barden, of him calling out for Galamon moments before being seized, his very blood stolen. He froze. The vampire didn’t seek to seize Argrave, though—its long nails aimed for his neck, hunting

He took two steps back before its momentum ceased. Once he had stable footing, he overpowered it easily, tossing it away. It staggered back, falling to one knee. Galamon

hid yourself

came to his feet as quickly as he could. His arm hurt where he’d fallen, but in front of the task at hand, he barely

The main robe itself was full of holes, some of it covered with patchwork cloth. It was all the same color, though—a deep red. Argrave considered that it was probably easy to keep clothes red in the Low Way of the Rose, but quickly dismissed

others?” one said, a woman, voice

Not the Sentinels, either,” the one who’d attacked answered, wiping his face free of blood. Once he’d done so, the wound was

caught his breath, rubbing his arm to dispel the pain. An uneasy

or confrontation has been made for us. We must block the door. They

Argrave started to suggest diplomacy, but his voice did not go beyond the ward and he did not trust he would not be

strung his bow and retrieved

outside the ward. “I’ll stun one with lightning magic, and Anneliese,

to block the arrow, but Galamon chose an Ebonice arrowhead. Their low-rank ward shattered, and the three scattered. Argrave sent out the D-rank spell [Writhing Lightning] towards the one that split from the group. The vampire reacted quickly, trying to form a ward, but even its supernatural speed could not contest the fastest elemental magic. The [Writhing Lightning] struck the ground, travelling to

her waist where she had been struck. Argrave followed up, casting the same spell Anneliese just had. Argrave lowered his hand, watching the vampire spasm, only for an arrow

break through! Rush! Rush!”