The Sentinel's Reign

by Suzanne Rogerson

  She patted the trunk and smiled to herself as though they had shared a conversation.

  Garrick looked around the mists. He hated it when it was this peaceful. Something had to be coming. The Soul Eater hadn’t been a problem for days, weeks even, and the threat of his legions was negligible.

  Callisa regarded him, seeming to guess his thoughts. ‘Keep vigilant tonight; there may be need for your skills, Garrick.’

  He squared his shoulders. ‘I’m always vigilant.’

  She smiled at him. ‘I know.’

  ‘How’s Mara?’ Rike asked. Sadness seeped from him like a disease, turning his aura dull and grey.

  ‘She’s well. The baby is growing strong too.’

  He nodded glumly. ‘I wish I could talk to her.’

  Callisa moved to his side and laid a hand on his arm, her golden aura seeping into him. ‘I know how much you love each other... and I know this would be frowned upon by the Elders, but I can pass on a message for you.’

  The mists surrounding Rike brightened in Callisa’s glow and her words drew a smile to his usually dour face.

  Garrick drifted away from the private moment. He’d have liked to pass on a message of his own, but for Rike, reaching out to the woman he loved was a lifeline he needed to get through their unexpected fate.

  Alone Garrick wandered through the misty astral world of Kalaya. In some ways his torture was worse than Rike’s. He could see Tei and talk to her, but it was always in his mind that she loved another man.

  He looked for Tei amongst the souls he could sense. She wasn’t close enough to feel him and he grumbled to himself about the one-sided communication; the limitations of a Spirit Guide sometimes drove him mad with irritation. He longed to see her. Even if the contact was brief and left him yearning for more it was better than this empty feeling he carried in his heart.

  Somehow, he ended up finding Brogan. Garrick watched him ducking through the streets of Newington, following two mystics as they negotiated the shadows and stopped outside the gates of what he assumed was Rathnor’s imposing home.

  Garrick felt the presence of darkness within the building; Rathnor was there. Seeing the assemblyman from his new perspective, Garrick was shocked no one had noticed his evil blight on Kalaya before.

  Below him, the three men huddled together and shook hands before splitting up. Brogan hung back, watching the mystics disappear around a corner.

  As Garrick watched his love rival preparing for the suicidal task ahead, he felt a jolt of hatred. He knew how much Tei loved Brogan, but it wasn’t fair the two of them could be together. Brogan was a non-mystic and a former Assembly member, why should he be the lucky one to win Tei’s heart?

  Garrick sighed, disgusted with himself. The future of Kalaya was all that mattered, and its very survival rested on the success of Brogan’s mission.

  Silently he wished the would-be assassins luck. Someone had to take out Rathnor and soon, before his alter ego sucked up all the island magic and destroyed them all.

  ***

  Brogan took some deep breaths as he watched the two mystics disappear into the darkness. He waited outside and studied the home of his enemy. The grand residence was the most affluent house in all of Kalaya, and yet to Brogan’s knowledge no one had questioned the dubious inheritances Rathnor had used to build it.

  Brogan switched his mind back to the present and focused on the route the mystics would be taking, hoping that, by the time he made his entrance, Rathnor would be dead.

  It was almost time to make his move. The mystics would have dealt with the guards by now and be moving towards the quadrangle where they’d last sensed Rathnor’s location.

  Brogan was sweating and his hands trembled as he checked his weapons for a final time. He glanced up and down the street; all was quiet and clear. Keeping to the shadows, he followed Sethall’s route inside the grounds and passed the unconscious guard hidden against the wall of the house.

  Around the corner, Brogan saw the door ajar and held his breath as he pushed his way inside. He pressed his unsheathed knife against his leg to stop it shining in the beams of moonlight crisscrossing the large entrance hall and waited for his eyes to adjust to the shadowy interior. Studying the room’s layout, he saw the static shapes of furniture but nothing resembling a human form.

  He listened intently, but could hear nothing above his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. His nose twitched, picking up the trace of smoke in the air, proof of Rathnor’s recent presence.

  Brogan fought to quell his rising anger and refocused on his mission. Moving cautiously across the spacious hall and through the study, he kept his back to the wall, constantly scanning the darkness for movement.

  He stubbed his toe on a chair and stifled a curse. Ducking low under a window frame, he passed the now extinguished fire and moved deeper into the house. As he turned a corner, he saw an open door spilling light into the dark corridor before him. Edging towards it, he felt the draught of the outside, smelling earth and damp foliage drifting in to counter the stale smell of smoke.

  With senses on high alert, Brogan hurried through the corridor, drawn to the quadrangle where he knew his friends were waiting for him before making their two-pronged attack.

  He stepped around another unconscious bodyguard slumped in the shadow of the wall. Brogan crouched low and peered through the doorway. The quadrangle was flooded with torchlights. They blinded him and made it hard to see much of the garden or its occupants. He waited for his vision to adapt to the light, and then took his chance and ducked outside, finding cover behind a nearby hazel bush.

  Brogan surveyed the garden from his new perspective. Enclosed on all sides, the quadrangle was open to the night. Bushes filled the interior and several tall trees reached skyward. There were lanterns everywhere, leaving barely a shadow even in the dead of night. Brogan strained to look further around his hiding place, desperate for a glimpse of the mystics.

  He spotted something under a hedge and edged closer, ducking behind another screen of hazel bushes for a better view.

  It was Sethall.

  The mystic lay in a puddle of blood. It pooled beneath him and soaked into the earth. Brogan gently turned him over and saw he’d fallen on his own blade.

  He took some deep breaths and tried to stay calm. He strained his ears for any sound, knowing Rathnor would be close by. Maybe he’d already sensed the intrusion and was waiting for Brogan to break cover.

  He adjusted his hold on the dagger; it felt strong and true in his sweaty palm. He could do this; he wouldn’t fail a second time.

  Brogan crept around the bushes, exposing a better view of the quadrangle garden. He spotted Rathnor bent over something in the far corner, and forced himself to creep slowly towards his target. Crouching low, he moved silently on the soft soil. He kept Rathnor in sight, watching his hunched back for a sign that he knew of Brogan’s approach.

  As he drew closer, Brogan heard Rathnor’s rhythmic chanting and saw Calan’s body sprawled at an odd angle beneath him.

  Brogan resisted the urge to charge. He forced his tense hand to relax on the butt of the dagger and waited a few paces from his target, concealing himself behind the trunks of two birch trees growing close together.

  As he stood coiled, and ready to pounce, he glimpsed Calan’s face over Rathnor’s shoulder.

  Rage burned through him. He gripped the dagger poised to strike, but the shock of seeing his dead friend stayed his hand.

  After a fatal pause, he launched himself at Rathnor, thrusting down with his dagger, expecting to feel it slide into the unresisting flesh by the man’s kidneys. Instead, it clanged against an invisible shield and the point of the dagger slide away from Rathnor.

  The aftershock travelled up through his arm. Brogan stumbled over his own momentum and, before he could recover, a sudden rush of heat punched him in the stomach. It lifted him off his feet and propelled him backwards. He slammed into the birch trees that had moments before provided his cover. Crumbli
ng beneath them with the wind knocked from his lungs, Brogan realised his throbbing hand had somehow let the dagger slip away.

  Rathnor slowly climbed to his feet and turned to face his attacker. He bore down on Brogan, his sadistic grin widening. ‘What an unexpected pleasure.’ He stalked up the path, holding Brogan’s gaze.

  Brogan struggled to breathe, his eyes never leaving his enemy. The hatred burned so deep, it threatened to consume him, but his paralysed body refused to reach for the second dagger concealed in his tunic. He grunted with the effort, straining every ounce of will against the spell gripping him.

  ‘Oh, Brogan, a fighter to the end… just like your friends here. I admire that stubbornness, but it will avail you nothing. Not against me.’

  ‘Kill me then,’ Brogan spat.

  ‘All in good time.’

  ‘Kill me, or release me from this spell and fight me.’

  Rathnor’s eyes flared with anger, then he shook his head and the madness left him. ‘There’s no point appealing to my honour, we both know I have none.’ He paced back and forth in front of Brogan, and then kicked Calan’s corpse and grinned wickedly. ‘No, I have you now, and I’ll use your failure to my advantage.’

  ‘Spare me the details; I’d rather be dead than watch you destroy Kalaya.’

  Rathnor laughed. ‘You’re wrong. I don’t intend to destroy Kalaya, but I will be master over all. I will harness the power of the Sentinel and bring Kalaya to greatness.’

  ‘You’re a fool…’ Brogan started, but a fist to the face stopped further insult. He tasted blood, and smiled as Rathnor massaged his bruised knuckles.

  His nemesis took a moment to compose himself, the madness in his eyes slower to calm this time. Brogan wondered why he’d never seen it before.

  Rathnor smiled and looked unhinged. ‘As much I would like to keep you alive to watch my victory, you are too dangerous to be allowed to live. Instead, your death will serve a higher purpose. As you hang in Newington square, you will remind the Assembly what happens to those who side with the exiles. Your death will be the perfect pre-war celebration.’

  Brogan kept the fear from his face when he saw how his lack of reaction angered his captor.

  Rathnor took a step closer, fist ready to strike again, but then two guards shuffled into the quadrangle, both rubbing their sore heads.

  Rathnor stepped back, scowling, and the two men cowered from his wrath.

  ‘Idiots! Must I deal with every assassin myself?’

  As they looked at the ground, mumbling apologies, Rathnor shot a conspirator’s smile at Brogan. Then he turned back to his men. ‘Never mind, tie up this pathetic excuse of an assassin and throw him in the guardhouse. And no torture, I want this one kept alive… for now at least.’

  Rough hands bound and gagged him; only then did Brogan feel the paralysing spell lift. As the guards dragged him from the quadrangle, Rathnor’s words followed him.

  ‘And don’t think death is an escape. Because I shall hunt down your spirit and take that too.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Farrell stood at the helm of The Saviour as it cut through the Silent Sea. He knew he should feel like a king leading his army to battle, but the trepidation remained. Leila had been right; he should feel confident in his course, but no matter what he tried, he couldn’t shift the doubt plaguing him.

  Buck stood at his side, quietly admiring the calm waters that carried them towards their destiny. The sea sparkled in the early morning light, limitless and serene, the perfect remedy to still Farrell’s restless thoughts.

  Today the old hermit was a good companion; he was happy with the long silences and felt no necessity to fill the gaps with idle conversations. They understood the deeper silence, and enjoyed it together.

  When his Kalayan contact broke into his thoughts, Farrell’s newly found calm evaporated on the breeze.

  Glad to see you’re on course, his contact announced, sounding strangely cheerful.

  Farrell’s nerves prickled with suspicion, but he buried his misgivings. We’ll be in view of shore in a few days, weather permitting.

  Excellent. Things are progressing here too, though you may need to drop anchor out of sight. We don’t want to spoil the surprise.

  I don’t like the idea of more delays. Has the barrier fallen?

  All in good time. Just leave the details to me, Farrell.

  Need I remind you of the risks my people are taking?

  You have nothing to be concerned about; our plans are going perfectly.

  You certainly seem in high spirits.

  The contact laughed. You could say that. An old acquaintance dropped by last night and I’m looking forward to seeing him hanging around.

  Then, without further elaboration, he withdrew from Farrell’s mind.

  He sighed and shook his head, forgetting for a moment that Buck was still standing next to him. He turned to the old hermit and was surprised to see the colour had drained from Buck’s face. The effect left him looking ancient.

  ‘What ails you man?’

  Buck still looked lost in thought and took a moment to meet Farrell’s eye. Then he shrugged. ‘A touch of seasickness is all. I guess I left my sea legs back home. I should go and lie down.’

  As Buck stumbled away, head bowed, Allisus made his way up onto the quarterdeck and acknowledged Farrell with a salute.

  ‘What’s up with him?’ Allisus asked as Buck disappeared below deck.

  ‘Seasick apparently.’

  ‘Strange, it’s never bothered him before.’

  ‘That’s what I was thinking,’ Farrell said, wondering what was really going on in the old hermit’s head.

  ***

  Tei found the three horses tethered deep inside the forest that lay a short distance from Newington; there was no sign of their riders. Studying the state of the ground, Tei guessed the horses had been there for some time. Brogan’s mount recognised her scent and nickered softly. Tei stroked the beast as she closed her eyes and reached out to the Astral Plane. The familiar misty world beckoned her and she called out to her friends.

  Rike greeted her, his expression sombre. ‘We helped Brogan’s companions pass over last night, but there’s been no sign of your protector.’

  Tei’s heart lurched painfully.

  ‘He’s not dead, take courage from that,’ Garrick said quickly as she struggled to control her emotions.

  She balled her hands into fists. ‘How can I? The mystics are dead and Rathnor’s still alive; what happened to Brogan?’

  Garrick stood before her, as strong and powerful as he’d been in life, and took the brunt of her anger. Unfazed, he reached out with his spirit and clasped her hands in his, forcing her to focus on his face. ‘You need to be positive, Tei. While Brogan’s not here, there’s still hope. Maybe he managed to escape.’

  ‘That would be too much to hope for.’ She sagged under the weight of her fear and sighed; it was easier being angry, at least it blocked some of the hopelessness she felt. ‘I’ll have to go into town and investigate.’

  ‘No, it’s too dangerous. Ask the Sentinel…’ Rike began, until Tei glared him to silence.

  ‘I’ll never ask her for anything again.’

  ‘Tei,’ Rike pleaded.

  She turned away, shaking her head.

  ‘No heroics,’ Garrick said. ‘Take a look at me and see where that lands you.’

  Tei smiled through her tears. ‘I’ll do whatever it takes to save him.’

  Garrick nodded sadly. ‘I know.’

  Rike huffed beside her. ‘If that were true, you’d speak with the Sentinel.’

  ‘She’s the reason this happened.’ Tei pulled away from her friends and returned to her body. She took some deep breaths, trying to quell the anger still firing her blood, before fully rousing herself.

  Four expectant horses faced her.

  She patted Biscuit one last time and then moved back to Starflower. ‘What should I do, girl?’

  The mare nudg
ed her arm, warm breath snorting against her hand. She rubbed the horse on her nose, tracing the white star shape, before she looked back at the mounts of the two dead mystics. Her stomach knotted with dread. If Brogan had managed to escape, he would have come back for his horse.

  Putting the thought aside, Tei shared the grain she had between the horses. Then she wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and began the dangerous journey into Newington.

  Her father’s presence surrounded her in a protective bubble and no one paid the lone traveller any attention as she slipped into the town boundaries and walked through the many rows of houses, shops and taverns.

  The first thing to strike Tei about Newington was the dramatic swell in the population. It helped her blend into the crowd as she scouted around, keeping eyes and ears open for any gossip about the failed assassination.

  When she reached the market square, she was shocked to see it no longer housed the many trading stalls she’d seen on her last visit; instead Tei watched an army of farmers and island folk training for combat.

  In the centre of the newly created training ground, the gallows were a macabre sight, complete with rotting corpses. Tei paused on the outskirts of the square to watch as two guards started removing the bodies from the nooses. Her heart pounded, scared Brogan would be among them, but then she realised these bodies had been there for some time. A glimpse of a grey beard and she knew it was the four exiles she had seen leave Turrak - more of Callisa’s victims.

  She tried to cast out the traitorous thoughts by focusing on the guards as they talked their way through the gruesome task.

  One of the men caught her attention; he was podgy and the way he moved gave her a flashback of the past, to the day Garrick rode out of the mist and slayed the Masked Riders who were tracking her. The podgy man with his mask askew had panicked at the sight of the fierce protector and fled.

  Tei gasped as the facts fell into place - the Masked Riders were in fact the town guard.

  Stepping back, she leant against the wall and tried to make sense of the new information. Rathnor had the town guards and the Assembly in his pocket. The exiles didn’t stand a chance with the whole justice system under Rathnor’s control.