Jackal Among Snakes

Chapter 102: Thicker than Water

Argrave stared into the rushing red water, watching it rise and writhe against the red-stained stone. He leaned against a railing just before the canal. Anneliese stood just beside him, looking around Nodremaid with Garm in her hand. Evidently she had grown to tolerate the place much better, for she was less troubled than Argrave.

He was coming to terms with the fact that Berendar had changed him. Beyond the initial rush of fear, uncertainty, and panic that cropped up in the act itself, he wasn’t bothered by what had happened today. Four people had died, their bodies cast into the canals. He had been the engine behind their deaths, even if he had not killed himself. Despite that, their deaths did not weigh at his thoughts as the druids had. Perhaps it was because he had come to loathe the Sentinels. Perhaps it was merely that he was different, now.

The smells, the sounds, and the horrors of Nodremaid and the Low Way had already made their effects known, Argrave supposed. Experiencing day after day of the horrible and the bizarre… he didn’t dare think he was some sort of mentally untouchable iron man now, but the tasks ahead seemed less harrowing. Confronting the grim realities of the Low Way, morbid though they might be, might have served as the tempering he needed to continue.

If I can survive this, I can handle anything, surely?

“Maybe this was a good thing,” Argrave muttered, straightening his back a little. “A jolt to the system to wake me up.”

“What?” Anneliese asked, not hearing Argrave.

“Nothing,” he dismissed.

Galamon stepped out from one of the sluice control buildings, stepping up to Argrave. “You said that was the last one?”

“Should be,” nodded Argrave, not looking away from the canal.

The change in the water was not instantly perceptible. It continued to rush along its path, spattering the walls with wetness. Argrave noticed he saw more of the walls, first, and after, the constant flow of the water started to slow. Eventually, as more and more water came by, the flow ceased entirely, the water dispersing across the surface.

The bottom of the canal was filthy—all sorts of twisted aquatic growth grew from the bottom, unpleasant crimson barnacles blocking most of the smooth stone. Much of the canal had eroded over the years from the constant rush of water, and the terrain was uneven and jagged. That, coupled with years of debris, made a very unpleasant and wet walkway. There were weapons and bones in abundance, likely from the corpses of Guardians that had fallen into the canal.

Argrave stopped leaning against the railing. “There’s our path. We should move quickly.”

“And if someone raises the sluice?” questioned Anneliese. “The remainder of the Sentinels will emerge eventually. If they notice something amiss…”Content held by NôvelDrama.Org.

“The whole walkway isn’t on the route of the canal,” Argrave disclosed, walking up to a set of stairs leading down into the canal for maintenance. “It branches off into a cave. This cave leads up to the Crimson Wellspring.” Argrave looked at the sluice. “Even if we’re really unfortunate, and a tide of water comes rushing towards us… I suspect our B-rank wards in tandem should be enough to buy us time sufficient for an escape.”

“Two wards against a tide of water? Gods, you’re mental,” Garm said from Anneliese’s hands. “Throwing everyone into danger time and time again. Perhaps I would have been better with the Sentinels.”

“Maybe,” Argrave adjusted his pack, and then descended down into the canal below. “We’re at the final stretch. A fight awaits us. It’s the one I told you two about, way back when we still had grass beneath our feet instead of corpses and gore. We’re well-prepared for it, despite the setbacks we faced here.” Argrave stopped a little down the stairs, glancing between Galamon and Anneliese. “Let’s finish this with the same caution we entered.”

The two of them nodded. Garm raised a disbelieving brow at the mention of ‘caution’ but seemed somewhat relieved.

With a quiet nod and as deep a breath as his scarred lungs would allow, Argrave stepped down the stairs, heading for the drained canal.

#####

“Induen gave me an ultimatum?” Elenore questioned, her legs crossed in her seat at the fountain. One could barely see the stumps where her two feet once were, though they were mostly concealed by her unblemished white dress.

“He did,” Therese, Elenore’s new personal maid, replied. Evidently the orange-haired maid had been training her movements for some time, for she did not nod for her blind master as she had those weeks ago.

“He must be under great duress,” Elenore mused, placing her fingers on her chin. “Despite Severin’s reports, I am unsure of what he intends to achieve at Elbraille.”

“Will we do something about Argrave, as he demanded?” Therese questioned, and noticing that Elenore’s teacup was empty, moved to refill it from the dainty white floral pot nearby. “New tea, my princess. Be careful. It is still hot.”

“I don’t know where Argrave is,” Elenore shook her head, then felt around until she placed her hands around the teacup, enjoying the warmth. “He left Jast, and then… nothing. Elaine reported a shipment of books from some fringe town with an Order branch. He is, fundamentally, an unpredictable variable. He claims to know me. Even of that, I am unsure.”

“Then perhaps it would be best to allow Induen his way, punish Argrave when he resurfaces, and stabilize things?” Therese moved to suggest, having gained boldness being so close underneath Elenore.

Elenore smiled. “I told you that I wanted to create chaos. Shake the box.” Elenore held her fingers against the lip of the cup to ensure no liquid overflowed as she raised it to her mouth, then took a drink of the tea. “We will do nothing to Argrave.”

Therese looked surprised, but said, “Yes, my princess. But…”

“Why?” Elenore finished. “Induen is growing to be just as unpredictable as Argrave. In times of peace, where none would dare oppose his activities, he was relatively stable. Now…” the princess paused, placing her hands back on the teacup. “…now, he faces widespread disobedience. For someone like him, I imagine that causes great mental stress. His impulsivity manifests more frequently—an unideal trait for someone aiding in my navigation.”

“I… cannot follow, my princess,” Therese lowered her head.

“Provided Argrave is not simply another victim of the coil of war…” Elenore took another slow drink. “When he resurfaces, and should Induen grow incensed with him once again… I will merely quietly disclose his location. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“To what end?”

“To decide which unpredictability is worth supporting,” Elenore turned her head up at Therese. “If Induen should deem it necessary to reevaluate the worth my advice, I find it necessary to test if he is up for what comes ahead.” Her thin hands clenched a little tighter on the teacup, turning her knuckles white. “It is something I would never have considered, had he not said what he did. But… trust is a commodity, it seems, even between kin.”

Therese stared down at the princess, her face sad. “Then, Argrave… you believe he can…?”

“Prevail?” Elenore picked up the teacup, and then set it down once more. “If they confront each other directly, it seems ridiculous. A prince, accompanied by royal knights, versus a bastard with known health problems. I know little of his two companions, but Elaine said he trusts them without compunction. He is smart, sidestepping and solving problems in a multitude of ways. In the face of all that, Induen is uncompromisingly relentless and a talented spellcaster and warrior both.”

“We can only wait,” Therese concluded.

Elenore said nothing, and then nodded after a fair amount of time had passed. “Yes. Regardless of the result, it would be best not to latch too firmly to any one person.” Elenore crossed her arms. “Disappointment is my sole companion, these days.”

“On that note, my princess… perhaps some good news is in order?” Therese began. “Two of the guards watching Bruno of Parbon have folded under threat of family. While I suspect they will not do anything major, such as murder… we can get much out of them. The Margrave’s brother is largely in our hands, my princess.”

Elenore smiled, then reached her hand out. “I knew I was wise to trust you, Therese. Give me your hand.” Therese took it, as directed. “Trust is a fickle thing. It fades with the slightest infraction, and repairing it is much harder than building it. Remember this, always.”

Therese’s face grew serious, interpreting the words as both a lesson and a warning. “I will, my princess.”

#####

Argrave, breathing a little heavy, stared at a mound of red crystals ahead. It was just barely illuminated by the spell light hovering over their heads. The canal had a low ceiling and the descent was quite steep. The overhang was just low enough that Argrave had to crouch a little to proceed, and if he was reckless, he could bang his head against the ceiling—the enchanted hood over his head had taken the brunt of his mistakes, but his head did ache a tad.

Deciding that now might be a good time to rest a moment, Argrave looked back behind, seeing the path of the drained canal making its way back up into Nodremaid. He gestured to the others and made a vague utterance signaling to stop. He searched for a safe place to rest, and then lowered himself onto a patch of stone unmarred by moss, barnacles, or other such generally detestable growth. Feeling a dull ache, he held his hand to his chest.

“Should have rested earlier,” Galamon said to Argrave, coming to stand over him. “Travelling downhill is taxing when the terrain is uneven.”

“This whole place is taxing,” Argrave said in exasperation. He looked around, locking eyes with Garm. He was sorely tempted to make a joke about wanting to be carried, but he didn’t want to lower the head’s opinion of him more yet.

“Those crystals are familiar,” said Garm from Anneliese’s hands. “The work of blood magic,” he continued.

“That’s the cave,” answered Argrave without looking back. “Not much further until the Wellspring.”

Garm stared ahead. “I’m glad, at least, I get to see it. Might be I can make sense of what happened here if I see it personally…”

Argrave felt his magic was full, so he repaid some of his debt to Erlebnis. He took his pack off his back and retrieved a vial full of the black liquid magic from within. His supply of the stuff was running quite low. Once he made it to the Burnt Desert, he intended to make one more batch of liquid magic.

After taking the time to rest fully, Argrave rose to his feet. They continued to trek downhill, moving ever closer towards the crystal mounds. They were ruby-like in quality, but quartz in structure. Despite the fact that they were the same eerie red predominant throughout all of the Low Way, their beauty was some welcome reprieve from the bleak harshness of the overgrown city of Nodremaid. Indeed, nothing grew overtop them, as though they warded off life.

“Here,” Argrave pointed, spotting an opening in the crystals. He stepped towards it, taking the first step. “An upward trek through this crystal cave. I hope you’ll understand if I take it slowly.”

“The scent of blood grows stronger ahead. The rotten blood in the canals, and… something else. Sweet. Rich. Like wine,” Galamon said, inhaling deeply. The elven vampire pulled free a flask of blood, drinking—he had refilled it from the Sentinels’ corpses.

“I can’t believe you fools travel with a vampire,” Garm muttered.

Argrave ignored him. “That’s good. We’re heading towards the source—the Crimson Wellspring. There, we’ll deal with Claude, Grandmaster of the Stonepetal Sentinels. Or at least, he was.” Argrave looked ahead, peering beyond into the cave.

“Now… he’s the current undead Knight of the Wellspring, keeping the thing pumping blood.” Argrave turned back to the two of them. “And he’ll be the last.”