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.

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

“Someone?” Argrave pressed.

lone armored footman—a Sentinel,”

considered this. “Alright. Let’s keep going. Tell

food rations were greatly reduced, and it felt much lighter than before. Still, he kept a slow pace, being careful not to

back. “He has a sash

“You mean… another one, besides the

has

what to make of that. Fortunately, Anneliese supplied, “These sashes are a sign of command, as you told me,” she looked to Argrave. “If

ground, then at Anneliese. “So… Alasdair has something important to get to the

enough for Argrave. Even still, he spent a long while deliberating on the matter before giving his answer.

let

“What?” asked Galamon incredulously.

Argrave amended. “Then… deal with him. In

then patted Argrave on the shoulder as though to reassure him the choice was correct. Argrave didn’t feel any

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 killed the one

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

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 rolled his shoulder, pulling the heavy gray

#####

one of the sluice control rooms. He had been examining the way that the sluices were set up, and by his estimation, this one would be pivotal

was narrow and simple, made of stone and filled with an unpleasant mildew. It was dark, no light prevailing. In the center, three rusted chains descended down below. Alasdair looked into the hole, and he could see rushing

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,

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

lowered himself. Soon enough, both of his men entered into the room,

“No luck?” Alasdair inquired.

sir,” both replied

all of the other nearby sluice gates,” one

everything, this place is 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 trained for decades against vampires and Guardians, nimbly

directed calmly. “They’re here. They