Jackal Among Snakes

Alasdair ducked beneath the iron gate of the Menagerie where a few of the Stonepetal Sentinels awaited him.

“Nothing, sir,” the closest to Alasdair said immediately.

“Nothing?” Alasdair repeated. He raised up both hands, kneading his gauntlets together anxiously. “Gods be damned… where would he have put the accursed thing?”

“We searched everywhere. All the rooms, every corner… not a thing,” the Sentinel confirmed, shaking his head.

“Damn it all,” Alasdair muttered, ducking back out of the Menagerie and into the balcony of the second floor. He leaned against the railing, staring out at the soaked floor. Even despite the blood having washed through the place, traces of the battle where Argrave had supposedly conjured enough magic to kill everything within sight lingered. According to Ossian, despite his display of power, Argrave seemed able to use magic—a veritable bottomless well of power well befitting a prince of Vasquer.

Yet even still, something did not feel right. A deceiver remained a deceiver. Even their efforts to prove the contrary were merely grander shows of deceit. Alasdair knew this well, because he was a deceiver himself. Though he played the part of the honorable Master Sentinel, well concerned for the welfare of those beneath him, he truly only cared for the position of Grandmaster. He had wasted his youth in this doomed knightly order—at the very least, he would be its master before his death.

Alasdair watched the blood, his old and scarred face tense beneath his stifling plate helmet. After a time of staring, his face relaxed, eyes locked on the blood. He knelt down, retrieving a rock with a frown on his face. He dropped it, and it impacted with the floor a story below. Ripples spread out—quick and shallow, but present.

“Mixed with water… It’s not just blood,” Alasdair said aloud in awe as he came to the answer.

At once, he moved to the stairs, rushing down them as quick as his heavy armor would allow. He walked out to the door, out into the city of Nodremaid, ignoring the confused cries of the Sentinels behind him. Moving alone in the Low Way was ill advised, but Alasdair was too overcome with excitement to allow his caution to control him.

He rushed to the side of the platform, leaning out and staring across the canals. As his eyes took in the sights, he started to realize something.

The flow is different. The sluices have been moved.

The realization brought a smile to his face, though it could not be seen beneath his helmet. The Sentinels beneath him, concerned for his well-being, caught up to him.

“Alasdair, sir,” one called out, not overloud because of their location.

“One of you, return back to the lower levels. Gather everyone serving beneath me,” he commanded, removing his sash of stone roses around his chest. “Use this to ensure their obedience. The rest of you… we search the city, checking the sluice control points for the severed head.” Alasdair turned his head back to the canals, where the water rose especially high. “Argrave is no prince. He used the floodgates to create an overflow.”

#####

“Someone approaches,” Galamon informed Argrave, stepping in front of him.

towards freedom, ostensibly—once they were on the road towards the Crimson Wellspring, their days of dealing with the Sentinels would be over. A

“Someone?” Argrave pressed.

lone armored footman—a Sentinel,”

considered this. “Alright. Let’s keep going. Tell me of anything

readjusting the backpack on his back. Their food rations were greatly reduced, and it felt much lighter than before. Still, he kept

back. “He has a sash bearing

frowned. “You mean… another one,

It has

command, as you told me,” she looked to

then at Anneliese. “So… Alasdair has something important

he spent a long while deliberating on the matter before giving his answer. This person might be delivering an order that could compromise a lot of their future progress. He might not be,

let him

“What?” asked Galamon incredulously.

a bit,” Argrave amended. “Then… deal with him. In whatever way

to reassure him the choice was correct. Argrave didn’t feel any less terrible

approached. Their party of three stood aside, Galamon even giving a polite nod to the Sentinel as he jogged past. As much as Argrave didn’t want to watch, he didn’t dare look away considering the potential danger. Perhaps he should have, though—Galamon grabbed the Sentinel’s helmet with one hand and quickly dispatched him by jamming his enchanted knife into his neck. The Sentinel struggled only once before dying. It was hauntingly similar to the way Galamon had

best off hiding the body,” Anneliese suggested. “Argrave cannot move especially quickly anyway, and it only benefits

hurry. Alasdair is probably looking for Garm. He can take care of himself, but… we’d still better be quick. Quick as I can manage, at least.” He touched his chest, then

#####

sluices were set up, and by

unpleasant mildew. It was dark, no light prevailing. In the center, three rusted chains descended down below. Alasdair looked into the hole,

about, scanning the room as best he could in the lack of light. He felt along the wall, trying to feel things out. The only source of light came from the doorway. The light of Nodremaid was faint outside, but

tugged at it, and despite the fact that it was quite old, it

behind and lowered himself. Soon enough, both of his

“No luck?” Alasdair inquired.

both replied

all of the other nearby sluice gates,” one followed

this place is the most vital. If anywhere, I suspect the head will be

the walls and heading for the back. Once the two were deep enough in, a light flickered at the entrance. An arrow shot out, glowing in the light. Alasdair, reflexes

cover,” Alasdair directed calmly. “They’re here. They