Marianille rose to her feet and grabbed a water canteen, which she slung over her shoulder, before heading off to patrol the north perimeter. Roberion went south.
Ame’lie handed the sleeping Tris to her husband. “Let me see what you’ve brought. I’ll fix a meal; maybe the others will be coaxed out.”
“I brought a few chickens if you want me to prepare one for you,” Adilion offered.
“Yes, do. The others we’ll keep. We could do with some fresh eggs. I have a coup; empty, but in good condition,” Ame’lie said, leading Adilion and the supplies back to her home and hearth.
The evening meal was very make-shift; baked chicken mixed with some chopped vegetables to eke it out and wrapped in freshly cooked flatbreads. The wafting aroma of food attracted a hesitant family, who slowly approached as Ame’lie beckoned them forward. “This is Kier’iam, her son, and her father.”
The woman was thin with straggly black hair tied away from her face. She held her baby close and stared at the crowd of tall men gathered outside the house.
Ame’lie gestured to the cushions. “Sit. They bought us some fresh food.”
Kier’iam hesitated. “Why?” she asked.
Ame’lie stood. “They come in the Lady’s name; to help.”
“Why now? What do they want?”
Jerrol rose and bowed in introduction. “Captain Haven of the Lady’s Guard, at your service, ma’am. We found young Tris’eril in Mistra and brought her home.” He indicated the child still sleeping on the cushions.
“Tris? You found her! Did you find the others, too?” she asked as her desperate gaze flickered around.
“Not yet, but we are searching. Unfortunately, they could be almost anywhere by now,” Jerrol admitted.
The woman’s shoulders slumped. “Yes, I’m sorry, you’re right. They are probably in the mines.”
“The mines?” Jerrol asked.
Kier’iam sighed and came to sit with Ame’lie, propping her young son in front of her. Her fingers caressed his soft curls. Jerrol sat back down, not wanting to startle her. She glanced across at him, absently accepting a mug of coffee. She sipped and paused; noticing what was in the mug, she sipped again, savouring the flavour.
Kier’iam relaxed as she began to speak. “The crystal mines in the Telusion range. Everyone pretends they aren’t there, but that’s where they take people. My husband followed them once. He came back saying there was a regular trade out of the mines to the port and many guards patrolling the area. He wasn’t too impressed by them.” She gave them a small smile. “After all, he managed to sneak past them, and he wasn’t particularly stealthy, if you know what I mean. He said the villages of Marmera and Lez were also deserted. All the people gone. I keep expecting them to come back and take us, too.” She stared down at her mug. Jerrol was sure she was remembering other faces.
Niallerion shifted on his cushion, his face tight, but he held his tongue, reluctant to interrupt her.
“Did he tell you whereabouts in the range the mines were located?” Jerrol asked.
“South of the Feril pass.” Kier’iam shrugged. “He said you couldn’t miss it. I guess he got too close, because one day he never came home.”
Jerrol nodded. “We’ll wait for the Atoleans to arrive and then we’ll head out to the Telusions.” He smiled at Kier’iam and Ame’lie. “Why are they called the Faluson Mountains on the maps, yet you call them Telusions?”
Kier’iam’s eyes crinkled as she gave a low laugh. “History, I think. Spellings change over time. But if you come from here, then they are the Telusions, and they always will be.”
Birlerion shifted on his cushion. “This is nothing like the old town of Melila. We’re further from the mountains and there is no temple.”
Adilion grimaced. “And no Edrilion.”
“No,” Birlerion said, concentrating on his flatbread. “He’s not here.”
Terl’ana raised his voice. “The Guardians rested here when they created Remargaren.” Then he flushed when everyone stared at him.
“The Guardians?” Jerrol prompted, glad of the change of subject.
“Leyandrii and her family. It’s said that they rested here; creating a world was hard work, you know. That’s why it’s always hot in Terolia. This is where the hard work was done before they moved up north where it was cooler.”
“Where did you hear that?” Jerrol asked.
“Here and there. The father always spoke of the origins on Lady’s day.”
Jerrol vaguely remembered Tagerill commenting on a book on the origins that he had found in the king’s archives. He should have paid more attention to it. “Are there any other places like that, that you know of?”
Terl’ana shrugged. “Not in Terolia.”
Jerrol realized there would be a similar location in Elothia, the third kingdom. One crystal for each kingdom, as there was one for the Lady, Land, and Liege. He had found one crystal under the Watch Towers in Vespiri. He knew the second must lie under the Telusions somewhere here in Terolia, and the third, well, apart from being somewhere under Elothia, he had no idea. He wondered what the island archipelago of Birtoli hid, if not the Bloodstone.
The Atoleans arrived two days later at first light. They rode into the village, staring wide-eyed at the destruction, and Jerrol recognized the leader as one of Maraine’s uncles, Yoa'ran. A lean, swarthy-skinned man with sharp black eyes, who looked like he could deal with anything. He nimbly slid off the back of his Darian and strode up to Jerrol.
“What happened?”
“According to the elders, the Ascendants swept everyone away to work in the mines in the Telusion mountains. Slavery. They destroyed the village so that there was nothing they could return to. Remove any hope for escape,” Jerrol said, staring at the ruins.
Yoa'ran scanned the village, his face tight. “And the Kirshans let this happen?”
“Looks like it. They patrol regularly, making sure the remaining people haven’t left to tell their story.”
“What do you plan to do when you find the mines?”
“Bring the people home,” Jerrol said.
“In that case, we’d better make sure they have a home to come back to,” Yoa'ran said, turning to his men to issue a few clipped instructions.
Jerrol left the Atoleans busy pulling down the ruins and clearing the village, salvaging whatever materials they could use to build new dwellings. He went in search of Roberion, scowling at the derelict buildings as he passed; such a waste. He found Roberion, stripped to the waist, helping to salvage some stone blocks. His bronzed skin gleamed with sweat from the effort. “Be careful you don’t burn,” Jerrol said. “I want you to stay here. Help the Atoleans rebuild the village. Spend the time getting to know Terl’ana and Kier’iam. You’ll need to use the Waystone. There are not enough materials here to rebuild the village; you’ll have to bring in supplies.”
Roberion grimaced in agreement. “As you command, Captain.”
Jerrol led his remaining Sentinals out of the village, now remounted on Atolean supplied horses. He studied the blue shadow of the mountains on the shimmering horizon. Somewhere in that long chain was a crystal mine. How they would find it he wasn’t sure. His only clue was to start south of the Feril pass and, apparently, they wouldn’t miss it. If that was so, he wondered why no one spoke of it.
They travelled long into the evening, making up for their late start. The mountain range filled their view as they drew closer. The rounded peaks formed a long spine, which changed to a deep red as they drew closer; vibrant against the perfect blue skies. The air chilled as the sun set, and they rode late into the night. They stopped, at last, to rest under the starry sky.
They made their make-shift camp at the top of a rocky ridge. They would descend the narrow trail the next day when it was light. Jerrol didn’t want any unnecessary accidents. They collapsed on their bedrolls, drained by the heat.
Jerrol jerked out of his exhausted dose when Adilion snapped at Marianille as she clatte
red the mugs together, the sound loud in the still night air. Birlerion gripped Adilion’s shoulder. “It will be alright. They don’t know where we are.”
Adilion’s gaze darted around them, peering into the shadows. “How do you know? They came out of nowhere last time.”
“Relax.” Birlerion began kneading his shoulders.
“What are you afraid of?” Marianille asked.
Continuing to massage Adilion’s shoulders, Birlerion glanced at his sister. “Something that happened a long time ago. It won’t happen again.”
“We don’t know that,” Adilion snapped.
“Relax, Adilion. We’ll deal with it if we have to. We did before.” Birlerion’s voice was calm, though Jerrol noticed his knuckles whiten at the strength of his grip on Adilion’s shoulder.
Adilion clamped his lips tight against the retort that Jerrol knew he had been about to snap at Birlerion. Birlerion relaxed his grip and continued kneading. He began speaking, his voice soft. “This mountain range used to be much higher, the peaks honed like the teeth of a wood saw. They always reminded me of those long, two-handed saws the timber cutters in Greens used to use. They are more rounded now, blunted, like the Ascendants’ power. They have nothing like the power they used to have.”
“How can you be so sure?” Adilion began to relax under his hands and his soothing voice.
Birlerion chuckled. “Because they are few and are relying on some persuasive mind spells and ancient crystals. They are trying to recreate what they had. They have nothing new to add.”
“We don’t know that for sure, Birlerion,” Niallerion said. He was lying on his blanket and resting his head on a hand.
“They do have some different magics, like that fire powder they used at the palace,” Jerrol said.
“That was not magic,” Niallerion said. “From the description Birlerion gave me, we used to use it back in the day. Guerlaire used it all the time on his raids, as did the Ascendants, unfortunately. Its basis was a fertilizer for the crops. The Kharma Ridge was full of these crystal formations; Khasalts, it was called. It used to be ground into a powder and sprinkled on the fields; a way to make this sand more fertile. Someone, sometime, mixed it with another powder. Belphur, I think, and set it alight, and it exploded.” Niallerion chuckled. “Bet that gave them a shock. Separate, they were fine. Mix them and you had to be careful. But the ingredients are reasonably common. If they’ve been mining the Telusions, I bet they found them there.”
Birlerion rolled his eyes. “We’ll have to have words with Marguerite… leaving dangerous minerals around for anyone to pick up.”
Jerrol spoke up. “I meant to ask about Marguerite. What happened to her?”
Birlerion flexed his hands and buffed Adilion on the shoulder. “Better?” he asked.
“Mmm,” Adilion replied as he flopped on his bedroll.
Birlerion grinned and turned back to Jerrol. “A few weeks before the end, Marguerite bonded with the Land. She went to Elothia and never came back.” He paused. “You met her in Marchwood, I believe. She came with me to Terolia once, when I collected Kaf’enir and returned Kin’eril. She was already attuned to the land then.” Birlerion paused, his eyes distant, remembering.
“Jerrol, you don’t have time to be loitering here. You must leave. Time is running out and you must get to the mountains. You have to save them.” Taelia approached out of the gloom and Birlerion grabbed Adilion as he lurched to his feet in shock.
“Where did she come from?” Adilion spun, frantic.
Jerrol rose. “Save who, Taelia?” He grabbed her hands.
“The mountains press down. They are weary.”
“You’re not making sense, Taelia.”
“She doesn’t have to,” Birlerion said, collecting his things. “We need to move. Get your stuff, Adilion; nap time is over.”
“Hurry,” Taelia said as she faded back into the night.
35
South of Melila, Terolia
They worked their way down the ridge, past the sand-scoured rock formations and dried-out channels, once filled with water. Looking back up at the ridge in the grey predawn, the water eroded rock and deep shadows made an eerie shadowfall. Jerrol shivered in the predawn gloom.
They had only been travelling for a few hours when Jerrol first smelt it. The sky lightened as the sun peeped over the mountains and began its fiery ascent, burning away the darkness and baking the golden sands once more.
He reined Zin’talia in and sniffed the air. The taint of death was unmistakable. He exchanged glances with Birlerion, who nodded in agreement. The stench grew as they approached the mountain range, which filled up the horizon. The peaks hung over them, sheer cliff faces rising to bar the way to the sea.
In each direction, steep slopes rose ahead of them. There didn’t seem to be a break in the red stone that barred their way. “Ker’iam said to the south of the pass. It must be here somewhere,” Jerrol said, waving his arm.
The Sentinals spread out and began searching the base of the cliffs. Birlerion disappeared into a narrow cleft. “The stench is worse in there,” he said on his return, pointing to the pass. “That must be a passage off the actual pass.”
Jerrol whistled and waved his arm. The Sentinals soon regrouped and followed Birlerion into the passage. The stench made them gag as they made their way through the rocky opening, sheer red walls crowding in on them. The passage opened into a sandy basin. A beaten path wide enough for carts by the shallow grooves in the rock, led out to the other side of the bowl.
“Marianille, go check that the path leads to the port. Make sure nothing is coming in from that direction. The rest of you, come with me,” Jerrol commanded as he led the way down the widening passage. The sheer walls rose above them; the red tinge to the rock cast a reddish wash over everything. Jerrol wondered morbidly if the rock was red because so much blood had been spilt mining these mountains.
The passage opened into a broad expanse of sand fronting another cliff face, only this time, there was a cave entrance at the base of the rock. The mountain towered overhead, rising to a peak that reached for the sky and would touch the clouds if there were any. It was the tallest in this range of mountains, its adjacent companions reducing in height as they marched off into the distance on either side.
Apart from the smell, there was no indication of life or death. The air was still and silent; no cries carried on the wind. No echoes of picks hitting rock.
Jerrol motioned Adilion to take the lead, with Niallerion close behind. They entered the cave, peering into the dim interior; alert for any movement and listening intently. The tunnel led down and opened into a vast natural cavern. The ceiling disappeared into the void above. Torches flared against the red stone walls, revealing columns of smooth stone rising into the darkness out of the flame’s reach.
The stench hit them in a wave as they entered, making them gag. Jerrol swallowed, trying to prevent the bile from rising. Wrapping their scarves around their faces did little to alleviate the nauseating smell of rotting flesh.
Jerrol inspected the cavern. Across one side, wooden crates were stacked against the wall. A skinny, grey mule drooped in the corral in the corner. To the right, a narrow passage led off into the dark. Further round to the right, roughly hewn steps led up the rock wall to a small entrance above them. Adilion took the steps. Niallerion led the way down the dark passage. As it sloped down, the smell got worse; the stench of unclean bodies, death, and despair.
The tunnel opened into a complex of smaller caves. They looked like they had been hewn out of the rock by the same hand that had created the passage. Nubs of tallow candles were burning in tiny pockets dug into the walls, providing a dim yellow trail. The rooms were empty, but for a few rags piled in the corners. They continued down the passage, remaining vigilant, and at last, they could hear voices.
A sharp voice echoed through the cave. A dull and defeated mutter replied, followed by the sound of a blow and the thud of a body falling. The voice ra
pped out a command and the sound of shuffling feet faded as they moved down the tunnel. Jerrol peered around a corner. They had reached a large cavern, which split into three passages on the other side. A guard stood in the centre of the cavern, hands on his hips, a man sprawled at his feet.
Jerrol strode up behind him and grabbed him around the neck, his dagger piercing the guard’s clothes just above his kidneys. “Not a sound or it’ll be the last you ever make,” he whispered. “Where are the rest of your colleagues?” He dug his dagger a little deeper. The man gasped and tried to struggle, but Jerrol’s grip tightened. “Where?” he repeated.
The man flung his hand out towards the central passage.
“How many?”
“Th-three.”
“I don’t believe you. How many guards are in this mountain?”
“Just the four of us. The rest left yesterday. Went to Feril; shipping out,” the man stuttered. “Nothing left to mine. Just dirt.”
“Shipping out to where?” Jerrol asked as he jerked his head at Birlerion to check the man lying at their feet.
Birlerion rose, shaking his head, his face carefully blank.
“E-Elothia.”
Jerrol pushed the man ahead of him as they left the cavern by the central passage. “Where do the other passages lead to?”
“S-slave quarters to the left. Storerooms to the right,” the man replied, rolling his eyes, trying to see who was behind him.
The sound of metal striking rock penetrated the dim passage.
“Why are you still making these people mine, then?” Jerrol asked, steering the man towards the noise.
“Keeps them busy; no time to think about causing trouble.”
“Trouble?”
“Trying to escape. Stuff like that.”
“Where would they go?” Jerrol asked. “It’s just desert out there.”
“Wastes our time. M-means we have to go chase them down.”
The passage had been sloping down and finally gave way to a long, thin cave. It was riddled with tunnels leading off in all directions. Piles of red dirt were stacked to one side. A group of emaciated men shovelled dirt into baskets with their hands, their movements slow and sluggish. Once half-filled, they struggled to lift the buckets and staggered off down one of the passages, eyes on the ground, taking no notice of the people standing in front of them.
Sentinals Rising: Book Two of the Sentinal series Page 32
