jackal-among-snakes-16091326
chapter-84

A vast mountain towered overhead, like a sheer wall of gray stone warding off all who would dare approach. At its base, a great opening gave way into sheer darkness. The hole was so large that it could be seen far in the distance—indeed, if one could see the mountain, one could likely see the gaping entrance.

The opening was a perfect half-circle. Perhaps one hundred men could walk side-by-side and enter without issue, and its highest point was about three hundred feet tall. Briars carved from stone seemed to emerge from the tunnels, clawing up the side of the mountain before blossoming into brilliant stone roses. The years had defaced both the briars and the roses, many chipped or discolored by the elements.

A great wall of stone formed a half-ring fortress around the tunnel, and though formidable, it still paled in comparison to the entrance it protected. Much of the stone fortification had crumbled, yet people still persisted within, pitching tents and hosting fires in the vacant courtyard of the ruined castle. Much of the fortifications had been repurposed—instead of protecting against invaders that would come to the tunnel, they protected against that which might emerge from it.

Heavily armored knights roamed the entrance, keeping watch on the inky darkness beyond. Their armor bore a surcoat with a rose on the front, though all of the colors had faded to gray, and many bore miscolored patches as a consequence of repair. Despite the poor look of the surcoat, the steel was polished and glimmering. Magic persisted on the armor’s surface, each set thoroughly enchanted. Many of the knights bore sashes across their chest. These sashes had roses carved of stone pinned to them, each of identical quality. Some knights had many stone roses, while others had only one or two.

Light flickered in the darkness inside the tunnels. Most of the knights quickly came to attention. One, a knight bearing at least twenty stone roses on his sash, grabbed a horn from his side and raised his visor. He stepped past the simple stone fortifications, scarred face deathly still and serious as though awaiting a threat. The light came ever closer, dancing out of the darkness.

The sound of steel clanking echoed out. It soon became clear the light was torchlight, and the ones bearing it were knights just the same as those watching outside. The old knight relaxed somewhat, and then raised the horn to his lips, taking a deep breath. The sound echoed out across the ruined castle, and at once, people came from their tents, most armed and ready.

The old knight took off his helmet entirely, letting his unruly and matted gray hair fall to his shoulders. He stepped towards the entrance of the tunnel with slow, measured steps, moving to meet the emerging party. Once he had moved close enough to them, the emerging party slowed, and then pounded their fist against their heart.

“Greetings to Master Sentinel Alasdair!” they all shouted, somewhat synchronously.

“Relax, men,” Alasdair said, raising a hand. “Where is Knight Dirk?”

One of the sentinels stepped forward. “Reporting, sir. Knight Dirk died.”

“A Knight of a Dozen Roses died on a simple culling trip?” Alasdair said incredulously. “Have the beasts grown bolder yet?”

“No, sir.” The knight removed his helmet. “A portion of the road collapsed beneath him as he led. He fell and broke his neck.”

Alasdair sighed, raising a gauntleted hand to his mouth. “The fool. Too skilled, but overeager.” Alasdair looked up. “His body?”

“Lost, sir.” The knight could not look up. “He… his body fell too far. It tipped into the canals.”

Alasdair looked to the rest of the knights. None of them looked accomplished, merely weary and defeated. Deciding there was no point in harping on the matter, Alasdair nodded.

“It was unavoidable.” He grabbed the knight’s shoulders. “We must fight on with Dirk in our memories.”

“My memories of the dead are starting to replace each other,” a Sentinel said, stepping forward and removing his helmet. He had dark hair, barely green, and a mischievous look about him coupled with shrewd eyes. “I’m starting to confuse them. Was Dirk the one with one-eye, or that scar across his forehead?”

“Ossian,” Alasdair said coldly. “Show respect.”

“I don’t need to obey you, not anymore. I lived another journey: I receive another rose. We’re both Master Sentinels, you and I, Alasdair.” Ossian walked forth, his hand held out. “Do the honors.”

Alasdair glared at the younger knight. “Do it yourself, if you’re my equal.”

Ossian clenched his outstretched hand and smiled. “With pleasure.” He looked around, then moved to a rock. He picked it up, weighing it in his hand, before tossing it aside and picking up another. Satisfied, he cast a spell. He shook it, and stone fell away from the rock, revealing a perfect rose. He raised it and pinned it to the top of his sash.

“There we have it. Twenty journeys, twenty survivals. I do believe I am the youngest Master in the Sentinels.” Ossian smiled.

“You’ll never be given command, you know,” Alasdair said coldly.

Ossian waved his hands. “I don’t need such a thing.” He spared one last glance at the group he’d emerged from the tunnels with, and then shook his head. “Well, I’m going to eat and sleep. The rest can do the report.”

Alasdair glared at Ossian, veritably trying to bore holes in the knight’s helmet with his gaze alone. The younger knight walked away, helmet dangling from his hands.

“Alasdair, sir…” the knight who’d reported Dirk’s death began. “Ossian led us out of there. After the collapse, he took us all out and made sure we met our quota of kills. Not one of us died.”

Alasdair looked to the knight, brows furrowed. He opened his mouth, ready to say something, but a horn sounded across their encampment. They came to attention, looking at the wall the sound came from. The horn blew twice more.

“Visitors?” Alasdair muttered, stepping away.