Jackal Among Snakes

Chapter 99: Night of Withering

Argrave stared out, once again, into Nodremaid. The bleak and inconstant red light coming from the ceiling seemed a salve for the constant darkness they had been subject to inside the Menagerie. Argrave’s party had come here only after Galamon had done significant scouting. Ossian had returned to the fortress in front of the Low Way some days ago, and returned with a second party, numbering near forty—amongst them was Alasdair.

“Do you know a very interesting principle about water?” Argrave quizzed Anneliese, staring out into the distance.

“Could you ask a vaguer question?” Anneliese shot back.

“Water always runs downhill,” Argrave looked at Anneliese, brushing her sarcasm aside.

“…I think that is true of most liquids,” she said after a time.

“Very good,” Argrave turned his head away. “Just checking to be sure you knew.”

She breathed out lightly in some amusement, then pressed, “Why are you bringing this up?”

“The canals,” Argrave raised a finger, pointing at them. “They have sluices. They’re part of the path that I need to take to get the Crimson Wellspring—divert the water right, you get a dry path you can take to get up to it. But then… I got to thinking. We opened the lower levels, didn’t we?”

“…oh,” she nodded, understanding things.

“These Stonepetal Sentinels… they’re real nasty people. I was thinking real hard, running things through my head I might say to win them over to my side… and maybe I could,” Argrave looked up at the ceiling. “But these people… I think I got them wrong from the start.”

“How so?” asked Galamon.

“They’re cowards,” Argrave said, looking at Galamon. “Like you, apparently.”

Galamon frowned. “I didn’t mean that I—”

“Don’t get mad,” Argrave looked back to the canals. “I just mean… they live in fear of the outside, and they live in fear of what’s in here. They don’t trust anything… because they’re scared.” Argrave sighed, then frowned when he felt some pain in his chest.

“Fear keeps people alive,” Garm rebuked.

“Just let me make my point,” Argrave shook his head. “You can’t reason with these people. Hardly even worth it to try. And… well, I’m damn tired of acting nice to people who couldn’t spare but a single spell for my welfare. The scraping and the bowing, the false flattery… it has its uses, but I think I’ve been relying on it too much.”

“So you intend to flood the lower levels, kill them?” Anneliese asked.

“I don’t think that’s possible. Despite its current state, this city was well-made. Even if the canals overflow, a drainage system will correct things quickly enough.” Argrave looked around. “I just need to… well, I’ve said it. I need to scare them. I know that’s possible. I intend to turn their caution against them. Especially Alasdair’s.”

“What do you mean?” Galamon pressed.

“That one wants to be leader of the Sentinels, no matter what. He needs a good achievement. Wiping out the vampires… that was mostly Ossian’s thing, and he’s young and bold. I imagine Alasdair sees him as his chief competition to replace their missing leader, Claude. As such…” Argrave looked at Garm. “I imagine he’ll want to get into the library. And quickly.”

“Why are you looking at me?” Garm asked concernedly. “I can’t open the library. It was well-managed by select Order members. Now that they’re dead… well, I can’t imagine anyone can get in, unless they destroy the enchantments entirely. Near impossible to do, you know.”

“Alasdair doesn’t know what you know. He probably thinks you’re invaluable. If you’re absent, he won’t act against us as easily. He wants you above all, I suspect. You’re another card in my hand,” he gestured towards Garm.

“I want a royal flush if I’m betting against the Sentinels this time.” Argrave looked to his companions, and all looked confused by the expression. “Er… I mean, I want things heavily weighted in my favor,” he elaborated.

Garm sighed. “I wish people with a sense of self-preservation had found me.” He stared up at Argrave. “I won’t do anything dangerous. Anneliese, tell him.”

“You want dangerous? I imagine Alasdair will try doubly hard to have us killed if you’re present,” Argrave ruffled Garm’s hair. “You stay near the final sluice, and you raise it to start and stop the flooding after a little bit. You’ll be safe, don’t worry.”

“…fine,” Garm eventually agreed. “Don’t forget, though—this is a favor.”

“Yeah, sure,” Argrave waved his hand dismissively. “I go in. I act bold, I act unafraid—make it seem like I’m in control. After some happenings, some well-placed words, everyone falls into place. So… any objections to this plan, you two?”

“You should elaborate a bit more,” urged Anneliese. “For clarity.”

“Alright,” Argrave nodded. “From the beginning, then…”

#####

Argrave stood before a group of numerous Sentinels once again, with Alasdair at their head. Though the setting was entirely different, it brought back some memories. Last time things began like this, they ended very poorly. Argrave was a bit more confident things wouldn’t end up the same way.

Of course, he didn’t come without a way out. He had been very cautious before approaching—Galamon had confirmed their count, the Sentinels numbering thirty-six, and Garm had confirmed there were no mages beyond B-rank. Should things go sour, Galamon was instructed to pick Argrave up and run away. Unflattering, perhaps, but Argrave was confident they could get away easily enough. Indeed, their enemies might not even give chase, considering their paranoia of traps and snares.

Guess they’re right to fear a trap. Not like they can escape it now, though, Argrave thought, using that to assuage his anxiety.

“Interesting conversation you two were having,” Argrave spoke at a fair volume, his voice ragged and rough. He sounded like a chain-smoker when he spoke loudly, but Garm assured him that would change in a few days. His limbs felt weak, taking deep breaths was still painful, and Argrave could not exert himself, but he had no choice but to be here.

With things as they were, Argrave knew he couldn’t expect a warm reception. Despite the many days taken for his recovery, he still felt terrible. But the Unsullied Knife would still be here, and Argrave would much rather get it now before the Stonepetal Sentinels could take it back to the entrance of the Low Way.

With things having progressed as they had, Argrave had only two options. His first option: he could get the Unsullied Knife now by dealing with a group of weary, cautious Stonepetal Sentinels who had already seen the power he possessed. They were, further, ignorant of his Blessing of Supersession’s limitations.

The second option was to let them have the Unsullied Knife and get it from their fortress later… in the heart of their power, where near two hundred of them would be waiting. In addition, he knew they had at least two A-rank spellcasters at that fort—Jean and Kaja.

Obviously, confronting them here held more appeal. The preparations he had made further sealed that deal.

Ossian took his hand off the pommel of his sword. “You cured the Redlung? How?”

“I had to unhinge my jaw like a snake, open real wide… then I stuck my hand deep, past my throat and into my lungs… and pulled the disease out, piece by piece,” Argrave emulated what he described, then stepped forward, continuing in his hoarse voice, “It took southern grit and a sword-swallower’s finesse, but I managed. And here I stand. My heart’s-a-beating, my soul’s-a-singing.”

Alasdair held his hand out and shouted, “Keep your distance.”

“Say ‘please,’ maybe I’ll consider it,” Argrave said, but he did come to a stop. He looked about casually as though he didn’t care about the armored entourage before him. The place had been filled by the corpses of vampires, Sentinels, and Guardians. It was gruesome enough that it might’ve bothered Argrave a great deal… but he was starting to grow used to these sights.

“Nice work in here. I would say ‘Couldn’t have done it better myself,’ but… well.” He looked to Alasdair. “I think you saw the central lobby on your way in.”

It was very difficult to try and intimidate a room full of knights wearing enchanted armor who were also flanked by spellcasters at the same or higher rank than himself. Argrave was happy enough to have gotten through the sentence without stumbling over his words.

Part of him expected to be laughed at in unison by the whole group like some sort of comedy sketch, but instead, a long silence settled throughout the lower levels of the headquarters. The shining lights of the library beyond the iron bars grimly illuminated the place.

“…why are you here?” Ossian eventually asked, one of few of the Stonepetal Sentinels that did not seem to positively bristle at Argrave’s presence.

“I told you from the beginning, and my purpose hasn’t changed. I’m here to reclaim my family’s heirloom.” Argrave shook his head as though disappointed. “Things could have gone easy for the both of us. I could have taken you here, we could have wiped out the vampires together… yet for reasons beyond me, you decided to move against us as we slept.

“But!” Argrave spread his arms wide. “We’re here now, having achieved what I initially wanted, despite some… significant setbacks. I had to preserve myself, and despite that, I still gave you what you wanted most. I think it would be best for all of us…” Argrave’s throat failed, and his voice faded away. He paused to take a drink of water. “…to put the past behind us.”

His words seemed to dissolve the tension somewhat. Alasdair stared at Argrave unflinchingly. He seemed disappointed–likely due to Garm’s absence. “I can’t trust you. You were dishonest from the beginning. House Blackgard doesn’t even exist,” Alasdair posited.

“That’s what it was?” Argrave raised a brow in surprise. “I see. Guess I shouldn’t have… well, it doesn’t matter. You want honesty from me?”

No answer came, so Argrave continued. “Alright. I’ll give you honesty. I am Argrave of Vasquer, son of King Felipe III.”

“Don’t toy with me,” Alasdair said, stepping forward.

“I’m not,” Argrave said coldly, pausing to allow his lungs to rest. It was starting to hurt to speak. “Everyone should know what their king looks like—a giant of a man, as tall as me, with hair as black as night and eyes a cold, steely gray. Perhaps this light doesn’t show those features well enough,” Argrave adjusted his position so the light from the library fell on his face.

A grim silence settled over as they took in his features.

“If you’re a prince, you’d have an entourage of royal knights,” Alasdair countered.

“They are performing certain tasks for me,” Argrave shook his head. “And it is hard to travel quietly with so many knights.”

Alasdair took a deep breath, thinking. Ossian asked, “Why not say this from the beginning?”

“Yes, because it would be very prudent for a prince to roam about using his name carelessly when he’s in the heart of the territory of an enemy rebellion,” Argrave mocked sarcastically. “Though… with things as they are, I suppose you have a point—things would have gone easier had I been honest from the beginning.”

Argrave put a hand to his chest. “I came here on behalf of my father to retrieve the Unbloodied Blade. Our family founded the Order of the Rose, and the artifact belongs to us, by rights. What use he has for it, I don’t know… but being a prince has its responsibilities.”

“This is nonsense. You make up things to suit your needs, and you lie again—even using the king’s name—to bend us to your will,” Alasdair sliced a hand through the air.

Galamon tapped Argrave’s shoulder—that was the cue. Argrave had stalled long enough for the water to come.

“Alright,” Argrave nodded with a smile. “You don’t trust me, that’s fine. How about I prove it?”

“Prove it?” Alasdair repeated. “There’s no way I can think of,” he shook his head.Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

“You remember the Night of Withering?” Argrave questioned. “Well, stupid question. Of course you don’t remember it. But you’ve probably read about it.”

Alasdair’s face hardened. “What are you talking about?”

“No one knows the cause of the Night of Withering, or so it’s said. The only thing people know is that a tide of blood washed away the southern invaders. There’s speculation, of course, but no one knows the real answer,” Argrave spoke, stalling for time. When he started to hear rushing water, he sped things along.

“Well, that’s not true,” Argrave shook his head. “The royal family caused the Night of Withering, flooding the Low Way with a river of blood, killing both the southern invaders and the Order of the Rose.”

The rushing of water became louder, crashing against the stone walls and echoing into the room. The Stonepetal Sentinels all shifted uneasily. Argrave stepped forward, raising his hands in the air.

“Let me lay things out clearly for you,” Argrave spoke louder, voice rising above the rushing water. “If you refuse me… I will prove my descent. These walls will become awash with blood once more, and all within this place will be lost. Just as it was near seven hundred years before… if Vasquer cannot claim this place, none shall.”

By this point, red water started to push past Argrave’s feet and into the room beyond. The swell soon rose further yet, battering at his calves. His gray leather duster blocked debris carried by the overflow.

“So, Stonepetal Sentinels,” Argrave continued. “Make your choice.”

“Argrave!” Ossian shouted out, stepping back. “We agree! We’ll put things behind us!” he shouted in panic.

Argrave was a bit taken aback. He hadn’t expected an answer to come so quickly. He remained quiet as the tide grew larger yet, approaching his knees. Had the water been moving quickly, it would have been impossible to stay standing. What is Garm doing? I didn’t want this much!

“I’m unconvinced,” Argrave returned, trying to earn some more time for the tide to slow.

“Gods be damned!” Ossian cursed. “Alasdair, just give it up!” he shook the other Master Sentinel.

Alasdair stepped back deeper into the lower levels, stepping away from the water. He looked shaken, and most of the other Sentinels seemed equally shocked by the occurrence.

“I…” Alasdair began but trailed off.

Argrave faltered a little, and Galamon put his hand on Argrave’s shoulder to stop him from being knocked over by the tide.

“Alright!” shouted Alasdair. “We’ll hinder you no more!”

Argrave accepted the words in silence. As if divinely ordained, the rush of water coming from behind started to slow, and the red water spread out across the lower levels, battering against the walls. It was quite a messy sight, for the blood and gore caused by recent conflicts had all been stirred by the water.

“I’m glad we came to an agreement,” Argrave smiled, a ray of light from the library beyond falling onto his grin.