Sentinals Rising: Book Two of the Sentinal series

by Helen Garraway

  “It wasn’t deliberate,” Jerrol protested, “and anyway, I wasn’t sleeping. I was studying the grid lines in the ceiling.” He pointed upwards.

  “In the dark, with your eyes closed,” Torsion said, curling his lip as he raised his lamp to look up above him and indicating that Jerrol’s lantern had gone out. He sighed. “Jerrol, are you sure you didn’t hit your head? There are no grid lines in the ceiling.”

  Jerrol glanced up to where he could clearly see the lines in the light of the lamp, but he held his tongue. “Honestly, I’m fine, just a few bruises. I’ll be glad to get out of here and have a bath.”

  Torsion peered around him, inspecting the room, and Jerrol watched amused as he crouched by the stone table and ran his fingers over the engravings. Torsion started muttering under his breath. “Look! Look at this text. We’ve never found enough to be able to translate it. But now, this will give us the key.”

  “Glad to have been of assistance,” Jerrol replied as Tagerill arrived at his side.

  Torsion ignored him, engrossed in his inspection.

  “Captain, are you alright?” Tagerill asked, gripping his arm.

  “Fine, be glad to get out of here and leave the exploration to the scholars.”

  “I should think so. You must be starving. It took all day to clear the rubble, and there is still much excavation to be done,” Tagerill said.

  “Well, let’s get out of here then and leave it to the others,” Jerrol suggested, sudden exhaustion overwhelming him. He didn’t think Torsion noticed them leave as he accepted Tagerill’s assistance to climb over the rubble to the steps they had cleared, and allowing eager hands to pull him up. Liliian gave him a keen inspection before she led him back to a guest room and sent him off to the baths.

  No one commented on his new sword, though Tagerill opened his mouth to say something before closing it when he met Jerrol’s glare, so Jerrol left it out of his report.

  2

  Chapterhouse, Old Vespers

  The next morning, Jerrol entered the main hall and squinted at the shafts of sunlight that shone through the tall windows down the east wall. Scholars sat at long wooden tables set up throughout the room. Some sat singly, engrossed in ancient parchments, and others in groups deep in some vital discussion.

  He spotted his friend, Torsion, seated at the end of a table, talking to a slight young woman opposite him. As he watched, Torsion waved his hands in the air to punctuate his point, and Jerrol headed towards him.

  The young woman lifted her head, flicking her cloudy brown hair out of her face in a well-practised motion and smiled as Jerrol approached. She always seemed to know when he was in the vicinity. His heart thumped.

  “Jerrol, join us.” She patted the seat next to her, interrupting Torsion’s flow. Her voice had a tinge of desperation to it, and Jerrol wondered how long Torsion had been pontificating. “How are you feeling this morning?”

  “I’m fine. Thank you.” Jerrol slid along the bench next to her. “Taelia, my dear, good morning. Torsion, what bee is in your bonnet this fine morning?”

  “Bees? There are no bees in here,” Torsion replied, scowling at the interruption. “I said that the king should appoint a new minister, since there has been no news of Chancellor Isseran. The king should replace him and move on. Trade is suffering, and the merchants are nervous. We need a chancellor to release the docks and get us back in business.”

  “I’m sure the king will sort everything out soon enough. Give him time. He has a lot to deal with,” Jerrol soothed as he snagged a mug of coffee off a passing tray.

  Taelia leaned over, and his chest clenched as her curls drifted in front of his nose; he inhaled the scent of apples and warm spice.

  “I hope you are having more for breakfast than a mug of coffee,” she said as the aroma of fresh coffee permeated the air. “You should be more careful, Jerrol; you could have been hurt yesterday.”

  “How did you manage to get through that wall?” Torsion asked, scowling at him. “We’ve been trying for weeks.”

  “I took a leaf out of Taelia’s book.” Jerrol’s voice warmed and his eyes twinkled as he watched her. Petite and slender, she had beautiful, expressive turquoise eyes that made him catch his breath; eyes, which, unfortunately, could not see anything. “I found an engraving and touched it.”

  “You did what?” Taelia asked.

  Jerrol leaned forward. “I’ve never noticed it before, but there is an engraving over each door; an image of a sentinal tree and the Lady’s moon. So, I went to check the dead end, and there it was again.”

  “An image,” Torsion repeated. “Like the ones at the Watch Towers?”

  “I don’t know. What did you find up there?”

  “Come to my rooms and I’ll show you,” Torsion said, beginning to rise.

  “Not until he’s eaten something,” Taelia said.

  Jerrol laughed as Taelia grasped his sleeve to keep him seated. “That’s rich, from you! When discoveries are looming, I believe you are the tenacious one, are you not? The one who forgets to eat when a knotty problem presents itself?”

  “That was only once,” she responded, her voice clipped.

  Jerrol chuckled and glanced at Torsion. “It has been more than once we’ve dragged her away from those tablets, hasn’t it, Torsion?”

  Torsion scowled at them both. “Too right, and how come you haven’t said two words to me all the time we’ve sat here but as soon as Jerrol turns up, you have lots to say?”

  “But Torsion.” Taelia widened her eyes at him. “You were in full flow; I couldn’t get a word in edgeways!”

  Jerrol reached over to punch his friend’s arm. “You do realize that no one in their right mind would interrupt you once you start speechifying?”

  Torsion straightened, offended. “What about those Sentinals of yours? Are you still allowing them to run about freely? You know nothing about them, yet you have them guarding the king.”

  “They are the Lady’s, Torsion. Why wouldn’t I trust them with the king?”

  “You need to be more careful, Jerrol. I’m telling you there is something strange about them.”

  Taelia laughed. “Of course, they are strange. They’re over three thousand years old; they come from a different time. I would have thought you’d be all over them; firsthand knowledge of the Lady at your fingertips.”

  Torsion physically growled. “If they would tell us, yes. That Birlerion is as slippery as a bathhouse soap. He knows a lot more than he is sharing. When are you going to force him to tell us, Jerrol?”

  “Give them time, Torsion. They have much to adjust to. The Lady trusts them and so should you. Anyway, I wanted to ask you something. Do you remember when we first met in Stoneford? You were chasing a group of people who had stolen something. Do you remember what they stole?”

  Torsion gaped at him. “What?”

  Jerrol grimaced. “I know it was a while ago, but it was that time when you were injured, along with Bryce.”

  “Jerrol, that was years ago. How am I supposed to remember that? And what does that have to do with the Sentinals?”

  “Nothing. Only I wondered what they stole to make you chase them clear across Vespiri. It must have been important. They escaped as well, if I remember right.”

  Torsion shook his head. “The things you come out with. I have no idea. And why are you still here pretending to be a scholar? Don’t the rangers need you?”

  “Why, Torsion, anyone would think you don’t want my company,” Jerrol said, fluttering his eyelashes outrageously.

  “Stop messing about and come and tell me about these symbols, and I’ll show you what I’ve found so far.”

  “I will tell you,” Jerrol said with an air of someone bestowing a favour, “if you grant me the chance to finish my coffee and enjoy a stroll in the gardens with my favourite scholar here.” Taelia’s face reflected her pleasure, though Jerrol knew she didn’t realize how much her face showed her thoughts.

  “I will accept
your kind invitation if you eat something first,” Taelia said.

  Torsion’s scowl deepened as he stood. “Fine. It’s obvious my presence is not required. I will see you both later.” He stalked off, his back rigid and his robes flapping around him as he left the hall.

  “Oh dear, I do hope we haven’t offended him,” Taelia said, her face reflecting her concern.

  Jerrol laughed again and sipped his coffee and then, at Taelia’s urging, went to choose something off the buffet at the head of the room.

  Later that morning, Jerrol knocked on Torsion’s office door. He waited, listening to the muffled movements inside before Torsion called out for him to enter. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

  “Torsion, here I am, as requested. It seems ages since we were last in the same place at the same time,” Jerrol said as he closed the door behind him.

  “Well, if you will gallivant all over the place causing havoc, it’s not surprising,” Torsion replied. His rooms were full of the usual clutter; books and scrolls overflowed from an overloaded desk and were piled on chairs and even the floor.

  “I was only gallivanting, as you put it, because I was searching for you.”

  Torsion raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh? Why were you searching for me? You know where I live,” he said, indicating his rooms.

  “Yes, and you are in them as often as I am in mine.”

  “More often, I think. You need to speak with your boss about having some time off. You’re looking a bit peaky, lad.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing, been on the road a while.” Jerrol waved away his concern. “I wanted to speak to you about the councils and ask if you’d noticed any changes.”

  “The councils?” Torsion asked, turning away from Jerrol and picking up a piece of paper.

  “Yes. I know you often sit on the council at Velmouth when you are at the towers. Jason said you had been gone for months. They were getting concerned because they hadn’t heard from you. Did anything happen? Were you alright?” Jerrol watched Torsion’s reaction. Birlerion was adamant that he had seen Torsion at the Watch Towers, though at the time, he had called him Clary. Birlerion had suffered a severe beating, and Tagerill thought he’d had a concussion and had dismissed his claim. Jerrol wasn’t so sure.

  Torsion laughed at him and began rolling up the paper. “Like what? As you can see, I’m fine. I spent some time up at the towers before returning here. I told Jason I wouldn’t return via Stoneford. He worries over nothing. I find the Watch Towers fascinating. I don’t know why scholars don’t visit more often.”

  “Liliian said you referred to it as a care home for old men and there was no point in scholars visiting,” Jerrol said, watching him fiddle with the papers.

  “Nonsense. Yes, the Watchers are ancient, but the buildings have a lot to tell us. It is as important as the catacombs here, from a historical sense. They are an important part of our history.”

  “I agree. I went up there searching for you.”

  “You did?” Torsion stilled. “And what did you find?”

  “What would you expect me to find?”

  “A tired and forgotten outpost of history, filled with dying old men.”

  “And Ain’uncer?”

  “Ain’uncer?” Torsion repeated, his grip tightening on the scroll of paper in his hand.

  “Surely you’ve met the man running the towers?”

  Torsion shook his head. “No, you mistake me. I’ve met the warden, but I didn’t know he was called Ain’uncer. But then, I don’t tend to speak with the staff. I spend my time in the towers. Each room is slightly different and they are all steeped in history. I am gradually recording all the features. Look,” Torsion tossed the paper aside and began unrolling an unwieldy scroll across his desk, weighting the corners to keep it from rolling back up.

  “What did you make of the grid in the ceiling?” Jerrol asked.

  “Grid? I haven’t seen a grid. But I did find this image. Look, these are the images I’ve captured so far from the West Tower. All the rooms are occupied, but the Watchers never wake up, let alone speak.”

  Leaning forward, Jerrol examined the drawings. They were different from the rooms he had visited, except for the symbol of the tree and the moon. Jerrol pointed to it. “That’s the one I touched. What do you think it means?”

  “Some representation of the Lady, I suppose. That image is present in every room. But as you can see, there are no grids in these rooms. Where did you see them?”

  “In the South Tower there are lines across and down the ceiling, forming a grid. It was sectioned out, and the Watcher was talking about co-ordinates.”

  “The Watcher spoke?” Torsion straightened.

  “Yes. He was quite peeved that I wasn’t writing down his report,” Jerrol said, remembering the notebook in his room.

  “Do you remember the co-ordinates?” Torsion picked up the letter opener he had used to weight the corner and the scroll began to curl back up.

  “Goodness, no, you know what my head is like for numbers.”

  “Better than you would have most believe.”

  Jerrol grinned. “You know me so well! I don’t remember. I made a note of them on a pad. It’s in my room.”

  “Maybe you can show me later?” Torsion said, rolling the scroll up.

  “Of course. I’m supposed to be down in the archives, now,” Jerrol agreed as he turned to leave the room. He paused at the door. “Torsion, momentous things are happening; the Watches are under siege, the Guardians are failing. Are you sure you haven’t seen anything at the towers?”

  Torsion looked up from the scroll and shrugged. “I’m not sure what you expected me to see. The Watchers never speak. The tower staff do their best to look after them, but it is a dusty, forgotten place, and nothing exciting happens there.”

  Jerrol nodded slowly in acceptance. “Very well. Meet you later for dinner?” he suggested as he pulled the door shut behind him.

  Torsion stood staring at the door for a long time after Jerrol had left.

  3

  King Benedict’s Palace, Old Vespers

  The summons for Jerrol to attend King Benedict arrived later that day. Jerrol dressed, selecting a clean uniform. He had purchased a ranger’s uniform in the king’s colours, but as soon as he touched them, they transformed back into the Lady’s silver-green. He gave up. The Lady was determined. He buckled on his belt and sheathed Guerlaire’s sword, wondering whether he would ever find out what Prince Kharel had done with his sword. He had lost his sword when the prince had him arrested for treason. He grimaced at the irony. Now the prince was incarcerated for treason, having tried to overthrow his father, the king.

  Birlerion, a lean and capable Sentinal, stood guard outside Jerrol’s room. High cheekbones curved down to a stubborn chin, which was softened by a dimple. His black hair had grown since he had been awoken and now touched his collar and accentuated his striking features. He had been waiting to escort Jerrol from the Chapterhouse back to the barracks. The Sentinals were taking their Captain’s safety seriously, and Jerrol had to admit it was reassuring having Birlerion behind his shoulder. His predatory grace was a silent comfort. Calm and assured, he was as different to his irrepressible brother, Tagerill, as he could be.

  Arriving at the king’s private chambers, having passed Fonorion’s inspection, the Sentinal Jerrol had assigned as personal bodyguard to the king, Jerrol now paced the antechamber.

  When Darris, the king’s steward, finally called Jerrol, he was considering trying out his supposed new powers over the king. The king had invoked the Oath when his life was in peril. He had made Jerrol his Oath Keeper in an attempt to use an ancient protection to help defeat the Ascendants. Maybe he should remind the king he was his Oath Keeper, and could request the king’s presence at any time, just as the king could call on Jerrol.

  He entered the chamber and paused as he saw the image of the tree and moon engraved in the wood panel of the door. His fingers traced the depression; he
had never noticed it before. As King Benedict said his name, he turned and stepped over the threshold, closely followed by Darris.

  He dropped to his knee and bent his head.

  “Rise,” Benedict said.

  Jerrol inspected the king keenly. He was much improved from their last meeting. He had regained some weight, though he was still thinner than he had been. At least he looked healthier, though his dark hair now glinted with streaks of grey. His blue eyes were alert; the intelligent wit apparent behind his clear gaze.

  They stood assessing each other for a moment before King Benedict spoke. “I don’t believe I’ve released you from my service,” he said, inspecting Jerrol’s uniform.

  Jerrol grimaced. “Ah, about that, sire. I’m afraid the Lady has other ideas. As she has claimed me as her Captain, she has decided I should wear her colours. I have tried to change them, sire, but no matter what I put on, she changes the colours to this. She seems to be very stubborn.”

  “And what happened to your sword? I seem to remember you had a fine sword, which I am sure I presented to you last year?”

  “I lost it, sire, that morning in the throne room when you attempted to invoke the Oath and Prince Kharel interrupted us.”

  “Shame. That was a good sword; expensive, too. I suppose you expect me to replace it?”

  “Not at all, sire. The Lady has provisioned me, and I am sure the prince will return it in due course,” Jerrol replied. His king seemed in a whimsical mood. He wasn’t sure where this conversation was going, but he had a feeling he was going to suffer for the way he had treated the king the last time they had met. To combat the influence of a drug the Ascendants had forced on the king, Jerrol had given him alcohol. Unfortunately, the side effect was that it had made the king violently sick.

  “You had to use the best brandy, didn’t you?” Benedict said, pressing his lips together.

  “Sire?” Jerrol blinked.