Ossian stood at the doorway of the headquarters of the Order of the Rose, siphoning the last few members of his band inside the cold stone halls. He did not feel at ease being here, but the sight of the Guardians of the Low Way moving through the ruined city of Nodremaid made what little unease he had about the place negligible. Their escape had been speedy, so they had plenty of time before the abominations reached them.
“Ossian!” he heard a voice echo out across the stone halls, and his head turned quickly, thinking it was one of the people in his party.
Ossian’s misunderstanding was quickly corrected, though. Their very purpose for being here, Argrave of Blackgard, leaned out on the railings of the second floor, his face grimly illuminated from beneath by spell light from Ossian’s group of spellcasters.
“How in hell did you manage to get that many Guardians on your tail?” Argrave questioned.
Ossian stepped away from the doorway, wading through the crowd until he stood at the front of his group. He did not know what to say—he had not expected to meet Argrave in this manner, let alone at all.
“Guess it’s not important. Listen—you probably came here for shelter,” Argrave reasoned. “I know of a place big enough and secure enough that even that horde outside won’t be able to bother us. Despite all that’s transpired between us, I can take you there.”
“Where are your two menials?” Ossian looked about.
“Menials?” Argrave repeated, confused. “I don’t know what… oh,” he came to a realization. “My companions are nearby.” Ossian watched the man’s eyes, trying to see if they would betray their location, but Argrave’s gaze remained fixed ahead. “There’s no ambush, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I should trust you? You killed one of our own,” Ossian shouted out. “You marked yourself an enemy to the Stonepetal Sentinels.”
Argrave lowered his gaze. “I… I never wanted that to happen. We were just trying to enter the Low Way. Things were panicked, chaotic—you gathered men to attack me in my sleep, without any provocation whatsoever,” he accused.
“Not attack. To confine you,” Ossian shook his head, but did not rebut further. He had been against the idea from the beginning, but Alasdair took liberties that could not be retracted. “We don’t have time to waste for this. Everyone, let’s—”
“Just hold on,” Argrave interrupted. “I saw you coming. Could have avoided you, left you ignorant of my continued existence entirely. I don’t want that. I have no ill-will towards you or the Sentinels, despite what transpired. My stated goal remains my true goal—claiming the Unsullied Knife from the vampires. I’ve already got the key to entering the lower levels, where they reside.”
“You called it the Unbloodied Blade before,” Ossian noted quickly.
“Whatever,” Argrave shook his head. “If I’m right, the vampires have killed a lot more Sentinels than I ever have, and theirs were purposeful. After we deal with that Horde, we can put the vampires to the sword.”
The Master Sentinel shifted on his feet, sparing a glance back outside. “You’re taking a lot of liberties,” Ossian said harshly.
“I know, and it’s because I never wanted things to be like this. I have a lot of respect for each and every one of you. What happened—it’s gutting,” Argrave said, placing his hand near his chest. “Give me the chance to right my wrong. Let me help you.”
“We should move, sir,” one of the knights said, grabbing Ossian’s shoulder.
Ossian looked down at the ground, lost in deliberation. We outnumber them, but they’ve had plenty of time to prepare for our arrival. Could be walking into a trap. The horde behind us—could be something Argrave forced to happen. But how? Would he be working with the vampires? Ossian dismissed the idea. No, that’s ridiculous.
The Master Sentinel looked up at Argrave, trying to discern his motivations. Beyond eliminating enemies, Argrave had little reason to see them dead. Indeed, things only started to deteriorate once Alasdair moved against him. That said, his intent to use them as a cudgel against the vampires was quite obvious. He had stated as much, though in nicer terms.
Is it so bad to be used, as long as things get done? The vampires have plagued the Low Way for centuries. You could put an end to that. Be a damned hero, Ossian’s vying heart spoke.
Ossian broke free from the knight’s grip on his shoulder and asked Argrave, “Where is this holdout?”
Argrave smiled. “Up here. There’s a big iron gate, about a foot thick, operated by a turn wheel. Come up the stairs, follow me.”
#####
Galamon lowered the large gate to the Menagerie of Morbidity, and it let out a loud sound when it met the stone, dust jumping up into the air. The party of Stonepetal Sentinels kept a cautious distance from Argrave’s group. The hostility was all but tangible between them.
“This place is largely safe. I can’t be sure there aren’t some creatures roaming about within—this place is a Menagerie after all,” Argrave said, paying little attention to the tense atmosphere. “But that iron door right there can surely hold back any Guardians. Even if they’re smart enough to try the turn wheel, it’s an easy enough task to keep the gate from moving.”
“So these are my descendants?” the head, still on its stake, spoke from Anneliese’s hands. “What do they call themselves?”
Ossian looked to Anneliese, who held the head.
“The Stonepetal Sentinels,” Anneliese answered.
“Oh, that’s rich,” the head said amusedly. “I remember them. They were the border guard for the northern part of the Low Way—considering it was Vasquer territory and safe as a chick in a coop, it was where they sent the rejects and useless ones.”
Ossian’s head turned back to Argrave, some of his men bristling behind him. “What is that thing? Why is it alive?”
“It’s not alive, technically,” Argrave said. “It’s—”
“I am Garm, youngest ever High Wizard of the Order of the Rose,” he introduced himself loudly. “Now, I am a head on a wooden stake.”
Argrave nodded, stepping up to Anneliese. “Adapting awfully quickly, I see.”
“I have to,” Garm said, raising his eyes to look at Argrave. “Considering how long I was in there, your coming is the only opportunity I might get to escape this place. I have to be adaptable. Can’t exactly walk, in case you haven’t noticed. Can’t even point a hand to emphasize that.”
Argrave pursed his lips, thinking. “Garm…” he set his hand on Garm’s brown hair, turning back to Ossian, “…is our key into the lower levels of the headquarters—and in turn, where all of the vampires reside. He can get us into the inner levels of the headquarters, where actual members of the Order of the Rose reside.”
Garm looked very annoyed at Argrave’s touch but could not exactly shake his hand off.
All of the Sentinels stood near the iron gate, facing Argrave and the three of them. Recognizing the rising tension, Argrave took his hand off Garm and faced them. They were greatly outnumbered, but Argrave did not feel fear. Even still, he kept the B-rank warding enchantment in his ring at the ready and kept the spellcasters in his vision.
“Tell me,” Argrave stepped forward. “Which way is the wind going to blow? Even if you’ve agreed to come here, now that we’re standing in front of each other, a lot of things must be running through your head.”
“You tell me, mind-reader,” Ossian crossed his arms.
Argrave nodded at the jab, thinking his next words very carefully. “What’s transpired between us… I can say I never wanted it to happen, that I have nothing but respect for you… and you might believe me. Might not,” Argrave reasoned. “But I can say for sure that neither of us really want to fight right now. Coming to swords in a place like the Low Way… it’s one of the Stonepetal Sentinels least favorite things, if I know your group well enough. Why?”
Ossian said nothing, so Argrave continued.
“It’s because down here, the true enemy—the enemy to us all—is the Low Way itself.” Argrave pointed to the floor. “Disunity ends in death. A group divided is easy prey to a predator.”
“You aren’t part of our unit,” a female spellcaster said. “You are the enemy.”
“Can nothing be put to bed? Had I not done what I did, I’d be dead, or worse yet, bound in chains while your people did…” Argrave threw up his hands. “I don’t know what you’d have done. I can say for certain I probably wouldn’t have liked it.”
“You were suspicious,” Ossian said back. “You knew too much about things. You travel with elves.”
“That excuses things?” Argrave questioned.
“Wasn’t my call,” Ossian retorted back. “Alasdair did it, without seeking approval from the other Master Sentinels.”
“I didn’t bring you here to cast blame, to point fingers. The whole situation was just an unfortunate tragedy, and one I’d prefer never happened. But you’re here now. I didn’t set a trap. I let you into this place that has food for weeks, a place that’s completely safe from the Guardians outside… lot of big risks on my part. We’re only three,” Argrave waved between everyone in his group.
“I’m not a person, you see,” Garm added. “I don’t count.”
“He’s not,” Argrave agreed, deflating the head’s sarcasm. “I won’t act like I came here for some sightseeing or another such benign reason. I have a purpose. You know that purpose—the Unsullied Knife. That said, we can help each other.”
Ossian stared up at Argrave, unblinking. Eventually, he turned his head away. “I have to confer with my people. Give me some time.”
“Sure,” Argrave agreed, though he did not feel entirely comfortable doing so. Persuading Ossian would be much simpler than winning the entire group over to his side, and he wasn’t certain things would go in his favor after their conference.
Anneliese, Galamon, and Argrave put some distance between them and the group of Stonepetal Sentinels. Once they were far enough way not to be overheard, Argrave spoke.
“Garm,” Argrave said. “You said you were a High Wizard once, right?”
“Indeed. Youngest in history. Promising future,” he said. “Jealousy put an end to that… a tragic tale of woe, dating—”
Argrave interrupted, “Can you discern how much magic their spellcasters have?”
Garm didn’t miss a beat in answering. “They have one B-rank, at best. The rest are all nothing.”
Argrave looked down at Garm. “’Nothing’ to you might be ‘something’ to me.”
“Hmm… the other three are probably C-rank. Mid, I’d suppose.” Silence stretched out, and Garm examined the other group. “The Stonepetal Sentinels—once vagabonds and lackwits, now forming the last bastion of the Order… they’re a dim vestige of even dimmer glory. What a sad commentary.”
“Okay,” Argrave nodded. “I think I can deal with them, should it come to that.”
Saying that dredged up some uncomfortable nervousness. It would be stranger if he was eager to fight them, he supposed, but he did not enjoy the feeling.
After a long time of uneasiness, Ossian broke off from the group, walking up to Argrave. “We can agree to cease hostilities, at least until this horde is gone.” Ossian glanced back to his group. “As for cooperating further… I think we’ll need more time to decide that. That said, most of us are tired. We’d like to set up camp.”
“Sure. Not like I own the floor,” Argrave shrugged, then pointed to a relatively flat spot. “The entrance is probably best. This place… was a Menagerie, once. Some creatures roam deeper in. We didn’t encounter any, but—”
“Spare me the advice,” Ossian held out a gauntleted hand. “We’ll decide on our own where to sleep.”
Facing such a distinct reminder of the lack of trust between the two of them, Argrave said nothing for a time. “Alright. Sleep well, I guess. The berries are edible.” Argrave pointed to a tree. “I can eat some first, if you don’t trust me.”
Ossian turned and walked away, leaving Argrave feeling dissatisfied and uneasy.
