Sentinals Rising: Book Two of the Sentinal series

by Helen Garraway

  “Indeed, Tagerillion of the Captain’s Guard at your service, my lady,” he said with a slight bow.

  The woman held out her hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Sentinal Tagerillion. I am Lady Miranda of Greenswatch.”

  Tagerill bent over her hand. Greenswatch? He wondered if she was related to the newly confirmed lord of the Watch, Simeon and his sister Lady Alyssa. “A pleasure, my lady. I would offer you my horse except I didn’t ride him today. I’m afraid we will have to walk.” He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm before she could protest and steered her down the hill.

  “Do you prefer to walk?” she asked as they began the descent towards the palace.

  “I had the ‘day off’ today,” he said, emphasizing the words, “so I thought my horse should, too.” Tagerill grinned. “I was considering what to do with my day. I thought I might explore the city. It is very different from what I remember.”

  “Are days off so unusual then?”

  “It is my first in many years.”

  Lady Miranda glanced at his face. “I do thank you for your help. If you would like, and please do not feel obligated, I could guide you around the city. I know it quite well,” she offered, as a delicate blush rose across her face.

  Tagerill considered her. “If you have the time, and you are sure you are up to it, then I would enjoy your company.”

  “I’m fine.” She waved off the fall. “I have a day off, too. If we could go in by the stables and make sure Magya is alright, and if you could give me time to change my clothes, I’ll join you shortly.”

  Tagerill nodded in agreement as they reached the outskirts of the palace grounds. They entered through the northern gate and cut across the terraced gardens and rounded the corner into the stable block. The palace guards observed their progress through the flower beds, though they didn’t challenge them. She submitted to the resultant interrogation from the stable master and Tagerill recruited himself to wait as Lady Miranda dashed off into the palace corridors.

  To Tagerill’s surprise, she appeared no more than half a chime later. A change of dress, a snug jacket gathered at her slim waist, and a new hat sitting primly on top of her reordered hair. She laughed at his expression as she approached, pulling on her gloves. “Not all ladies take hours to get ready,” she said, tucking her hand under his arm. “Anyway, I didn’t want you to waste any more of your day than you had to. A day off is precious and we need to make the most of it.”

  “But you said this was your day off, too. Are you sure you want to spend it walking around the city?”

  “But what could be more fun than showing off my favourite city? You can tell me what it used to be like. A fair trade.”

  “Sounds fair to me,” Tagerill agreed. “Lead on, then, my lady. Where do you suggest we begin?”

  “Why don’t we walk down to the temple, then return via the Chapterhouse and back through the markets?”

  Tagerill happily followed her down the switchback, listening to her explain the theory behind the city plan. They passed the garrison and the courthouses to the north of the city. They would admire the architecture on the way back, so said Lady Miranda as they skirted the lowland fields, surprisingly not yet built on, so her narrative went, until they entered the Lady’s Gardens.

  “The gardens are said to be the remnants of the Lady’s actual gardens, though we have no proof. She apparently loved her flowers,” Lady Miranda said as they strolled under the leafy trees.

  “Roses,” Tagerill said. “Leyandrii loved roses. You could smell their perfume across the city. It is one of the things I miss most; the scent of her roses.”

  “I can’t get over the fact that you knew the Lady. Was she as amazing as they say she was?” Lady Miranda asked as she led him down a side path, damp and chilly in the shade.

  Tagerill’s face lit up. “There are not the words to describe her; she was amazing and loving and special. It was and still is an honour to serve her in any way possible.”

  “Well, you should like this, then,” she said as she waved her hands towards a small arbour opening before them, as if she had conjured it herself.

  Tagerill strolled under the wooden archways, staring about him in wonder at the rose bushes being trained up the woodwork. A small smile hovered over her mouth as she watched him, pleased at being able to show him something he would like. “These have just been pruned, but once they have grown and begin to bloom next spring, maybe you can tell me if these are the same roses?”

  Tagerill laughed. “It would be my pleasure, though I highly doubt they are the same. Her Palace and gardens would have been over where the garrison is now. This area would all have been arable fields right up to the temple, which is in about the same place as before, I think,” Tagerill said, rotating to get his bearings.

  They continued through the gardens, Lady Miranda pointing out the infirmary and the foundling hall, both nestled in the soft greenery and under the watchful eye of the temple. Lady Miranda paused as they approached the temple and settled on a stone bench beside the tall sentinal tree arched over the white marble building. A small dome crested the top. “I’ll wait for you here,” she said, stretching out her legs and crossing her ankles. Grass stained boots peeked out from under her skirts.

  Tagerill hesitated. “Don’t you want to come in too?”

  “No, this time is for you. I can come another day. Don’t rush. I will be happy sitting here under the trees. I always find it so peaceful here.”

  Tagerill nodded his thanks, paused to greet his brother Birlerion’s sentinal tree, smiling at the soft caress he received in return, and entered the white stone arch, which led into the temple.

  The air was cool and the light subdued. Voices echoed softly in the domed ceiling as visitors walked around the walls; their words muted and indecipherable.

  Tagerill walked up the central aisle and knelt before the altar. Bending his head, he emptied his mind and waited. The white marble warmed beneath his knees and his tension and uncertainty bled away as She gave him her blessing. He stirred as he heard the words: “Don’t forget the forgotten.” He glanced around in surprise, but the temple was quiet and still. Dust motes sparkled in the shafts of light coming through the circular window above.

  Reluctantly, he stood. Usually, he would have stayed a lot longer. He hoped the Lady would forgive him for his rude haste, but with Lady Miranda waiting for him, he felt obliged to cut his visit short. As he rose, a sense of approval permeated the air, or maybe it was his imagination.

  Lady Miranda was still sitting on the bench, her face raised to the sentinal above her. He studied her. Was she Lady Alyssa’s mother? She didn’t look old enough, but he was only aware of one Lady Miranda at court and she was closely linked to Princess Selvia, the wife of Crown Prince Kharel, who was currently under house arrest, having been caught plotting the downfall of the king.

  5

  King’s Palace, Old Vespers

  Jerrol left the king’s chambers with his mind reeling. As if he didn’t have enough people trying to kill him already, he had another responsibility to deal with. Keeping the king in order in his current mood was likely to be difficult, especially as King Benedict was simmering over the fact that his son had tried to depose him, had drugged him, and had colluded with the chancellor so that he could be declared Regent in the king’s place.

  King Benedict was busy cleaning house. His inquisitors were checking the loyalties and behaviours of all the chancellor’s men and those holding office. The justice buildings were quiet as men and women alike tried to keep out of the king’s line of sight. Jerrol was sure the king wondered if his eldest son and heir would have gone as far as to kill him to gain the throne.

  The court reflected the caution and uncertainty that was rife in the administration; the usual high jinks and pranks in abeyance as a subdued air pervaded the palace, especially as the mysterious Sentinals became more visible, patrolling the corridors and grounds, whispers of tall tales and conjecture following them.
Jerrol hoped the imminent return of the king’s youngest son, Prince Anders, from his sojourn in the army, would lighten the king’s mood.

  Deep in thought, Jerrol didn’t notice Birlerion arrive as he strode through the corridors. His musings took him out of the palace, down the wide stone steps, and around to the barracks. It was much easier to skirt around the building than to try to traverse the warren of corridors. He stopped at the bottom of the steps and Birlerion skittered around him.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing, sorry. I forgot you were there,” Jerrol said in apology, as the Sentinal relaxed.

  Birlerion was the first Sentinal Jerrol had ever met, though he thought he had imagined him at the time. He was a striking young man. Jerrol often forgot his young age, as he was always so calm and self-assured. Alert silver eyes missed nothing. His wore his bow strapped across his back, a sword at his waist, and he had already proved he knew how to use them both. At one point, Birlerion had been Jerrol’s only defence against persistent assassination attempts.

  “Where is everyone?” Jerrol asked.

  “The excavations at the Landgard progress well. Serillion is in charge and has an army of eager scholars assisting him.”

  “Excellent news. I’ll leave that in his capable hands. I look forward to his report.”

  “Tagerill has the day off. Fonorion is with King Benedict and Darllion is with Deane-Scholar Liliian, undergoing an interrogation, I think he called it.”

  “He’s the best person for it,” Jerrol agreed. “Where is Jennery?”

  “I think he was trying to instruct Tagerill on what a ‘day off’ meant. I’m not sure he succeeded.”

  “And do you know what a day off means?” Jerrol asked with a smile as they walked around the barracks to the stables. Zin’talia, his pure white Darian mare, crooned in his head. Their telepathic link a comforting presence. She liked the palace stables because she got spoilt. The king had found out she had a love of Baliweed, a sweetgrass she was partial too, and was keeping her in supply. The king was a fan. Jerrol had an inkling that he was coveting her for himself, but although Zin’talia allowed him to give her treats, she had no intention of swapping Jerrol for anyone.

  Zin’talia nudged Jerrol’s shoulder affectionately as the stable lad bustled about, preparing her. “Where are we going?”

  “Down to the Chapterhouse.”

  “To see Taelia?”

  Jerrol grinned. Zin’talia had taken a strong liking to Scholar Taelia, maybe a reflection of his own feelings, he had to admit.

  He swung up into the saddle and led Birlerion out of the stable courtyard.

  Birlerion was answering his question. “It has been so long; I think we’ve all forgotten. Just being outside, breathing fresh air, is a novelty. Having a whole day to do with as I wish?” He shrugged as they rode down the hill towards the outskirts of the town of Old Vespers, side by side.

  “As I said, breathing the air is enough for me. Adjusting to how much has changed is the main challenge. I think staying within the Watch eases you into the present day more gently, but coming here and seeing Vespers, with a different name and none of the landmarks remaining—it doesn’t feel real.”

  “What was it like being trapped in the sentinal all those years? Could you talk to each other?”

  “I wouldn’t say we were trapped; more like we were wrapped in Leyandrii’s protection, and I don’t think we experienced time in the same way. It was more awareness of company, but not existence, if that makes sense.”

  “A bit of a shock to find yourself here, then,” Jerrol said with a wry smile as they rode down the switchback towards the city.

  “Yes, it takes some adjusting to, but Lady willing, we will. She still has work for us to do. What I want to know is what happened to the Vespers Sentinals; there should be more Sentinals here. I don’t remember where they were at the end. The palace was in chaos, though Leyandrii had sent as many of the staff home as she could.”

  He stopped speaking as they concentrated on wending their way through the morning crowd of people, hurrying from one place to another. Their horse’s hooves echoed on the stone paving lining the city streets. “Niallerion and my sister, Marianille, should be here, as well as others,” he mused, lifting his gaze to the rooftops as the grey walls of the government buildings passed by and wood clad structures took their place. “I remember terrible winds and being battered by the gusts. The Ascendants caused violent storms...” Birlerion tensed. “‘ware archers!” he shouted, barging Zin’talia towards the side of the road. Sliding off his horse, he grabbed his bow, cursing as he got tangled with his quiver.

  Jerrol slid off Zin’talia, daggers in hand. People were screaming in shock as the body of a man dressed all in black fell into the road with a dull thud. He gaped at Birlerion: was he using a sling?

  The road cleared fast as people ran, and Jerrol pushed Zin’talia into the mouth of an alley, scanning the rooftops for their assailants. Birlerion untangled himself and dived across the street to the shelter of a doorway. Balancing on Zin’talia’s back, Jerrol levered himself up to an overhanging balcony and climbed up on the roof, scanning the scene.

  Birlerion drew all the fire. Arrows peppered the woodwork around him, though in return, a body slumped on a roof and another had fallen into the now-empty street.

  Jerrol muttered a soft command as he traversed the roof to the next building, keeping out of Birlerion’s line of sight. The sound of a door splintering preceded Birlerion diving into the closest building, avoiding a return volley of arrows, which thumped into the remains of the wooden door swinging behind him. Jerrol spotted one of the archers positioned on the roof next to him and he ducked behind the chimney and slithered down the tiles to the ridge that joined it to the next building.

  He crept up behind the archer and hit him behind his ear. The man collapsed, and Jerrol grabbed the bow and broke it across his knee. Picking up the man’s quiver, he looped it over his shoulder in case Birlerion needed the arrows; he was going through his own at a ferocious rate. Jerrol crouched, scanning the rooftops.

  A bright flash caught his eye and he squinted at a man who peered through an eyeglass and seemed to be talking to his hand. Jerrol stealthily worked his way towards him, pausing as Ari popped into view in front of him. The cat-like creature hovered in front him, his scaly wings extended like a bat, sunlight gilding the scales. Jerrol instructed the little Arifel to bring help, and as he disappeared, Jerrol resumed his journey across the rooftop.

  A low whistle attracted his attention. Birlerion had reached the roof opposite and he indicated where the archers were located. Jerrol threw the quiver across the narrow street, where it clattered on the tiles. A volley of arrows thumped into the roof where Jerrol had just been, and Birlerion grabbed the quiver as Jerrol disappeared.

  Birlerion kept the archers occupied as Jerrol scaled the rooftops, veering towards the last location he had seen the man with the eyeglass. A sharp curse below made him backtrack and peer over the edge of the roof. Birlerion had hit another target, and the body slumped over the side of the building.

  A man crouched on the balcony below him, and he muttered into his hand as he stared across the street at Birlerion, who still drew most of the fire.

  Jerrol dropped straight down on top of the man who collapsed beneath him. He held his dagger against the man’s throat. “I suggest you drop it,” Jerrol said in the man’s ear, pressing the knifepoint deeper. A line of bright blood sprung up along its edge. The man froze, his eyes widening in shock. His hand jerked open, releasing a clear crystal, which clouded over as it struck the floor.

  “Who are you?” the man whispered, his voice cracking on the words.

  “More to the point, who are you? And why did you attack us?” Jerrol replied as he pocketed the crystal.

  The man stilled.

  “Don’t make me repeat the question,” Jerrol said, twisting his knife.

  Jerrol spun as Birlerion shouted a warning. The man crie
d out as he pulled him up in front of him and an arrow thunked meatily into the man’s stomach. The clatter of galloping horses echoed down the street behind them. Jerrol dropped to his knees, keeping the man as a barrier as another arrow thudded into him. “Who were you sent to kill?” he asked.

  The man gasped for air. “It doesn’t matter now. If I’d known what you are, I would have charged more! They are after your head.” He grinned, blood bubbling in his teeth as he wheezed. He coughed out a spray of blood over Jerrol, who flinched back.

  “The assassins? You mean the Kirshans?” Jerrol asked, but the man’s eyes had glazed over and Jerrol let him slump against the wall. At shouts in the street, he peered over the balcony. The king’s soldiers had arrived and were beginning a sweep of the roofs. He searched the man, sucking in his breath as he found a Kirshan blade, proof that the Terolian assassins were still hunting him. Inspecting the ornate carving on the hilt, he admired the remarkable workmanship and pondered on the Terolian involvement. Why would the Terolian Families get involved in Vespirian politics? They never had before. It was like an unspoken agreement to not get involved. He slid the knife into his belt, straddled the balcony, and climbed over. He let go and landed lightly on the ground.

  Birlerion rushed to his side. “Captain, you take too many risks,” he said, his face hardening as he assessed Jerrol’s blood-spattered appearance.

  Jerrol gestured at the Sentinal, relief that he was unharmed flashing through him. “Look who’s talking. I’m amazed you didn’t get skewered. It’s not my blood,” he said, trying to reassure as Birlerion’s frown deepened. “I saw a man talking into this.” Jerrol held out the cloudy crystal. “Do you know what it is?”

  Birlerion took the faceted crystal and studied it, a crease between his brows. “It looks like a voice crystal.”