Sentinals Rising: Book Two of the Sentinal series

by Helen Garraway

  “Where are they going?”

  “To get rid of the dirt. As they tunnel a new mine, they fill a disused one up with the dirt.”

  “Where are the other guards?”

  “Down at the mine face where they use the tools; making sure they don’t attack us,” the guard said, stiffening as the tall Sentinals moved ahead.

  Jerrol stuffed a rag in the guard’s mouth as the pitiful sound of metal on stone grew louder. The passage came to a dead end. At the very end, five men struggled to hit the rock face with pickaxes, watched closely by two bored guards, their backs to the passageway. The Sentinals didn’t hesitate. The men were disarmed and trussed up before they realized they had company.

  “Where’s the other one?” Jerrol hissed, removing the rag from the guard’s mouth. The man shrugged.

  “He should have been down here.”

  “Stop. You can stop now,” Jerrol called to the men still pounding the rock face, the shock of the blows making them stagger. They continued.

  Jerrol pushed the guard off onto Birlerion and touched the shoulder of one of the men. The man stopped and turned empty eyes towards Jerrol. He stood, waiting. Jerrol touched the shoulder of each man and told them to stop. They were all emaciated, underfed, dressed in rags that barely covered their filthy skin. They struggled to lift the pickaxes, never mind use them.

  Even after they had stopped and stood staring at him with dead eyes, the sound of striking metal still resonated through the caves.

  “I thought you said this was the only working face?” Jerrol asked.

  The guard swallowed, watching Jerrol’s grim expression. “It’s the kids.”

  “Kids?” Jerrol’s voice couldn’t get any colder. “Show us.”

  The guard led the way back along the passageway and veered off down one of the tunnels. “Where there are fissures, we lower a kid down to see what they can find. They stay down there all day until we pull them back up.”

  “How many children?” Jerrol asked.

  The guard shrugged. “Varies; got about a hundred right now.”

  “How many?” Jerrol jerked the man to a halt.

  “About a hundred kids. Probably a thousand adults scattered throughout the mines. They rotate on three shifts, though we’ve only got one shift working. No point, really. The rest are in their quarters.” The man spoke as if what he was saying was commonplace.

  Jerrol caught the expression on Birlerion’s face and shivered. He was sure it was a reflection of his own. “You are telling me you have about eleven hundred Terolians working in these mines?”

  The guard nodded tentatively, realising that his captors weren’t taking the information too well.

  “Raise the children, now,” Jerrol ordered, pushing the man in front of him.

  They watched horrified as the guard pulled at a rope knotted against the wall and started hauling. Ropes were knotted at intervals along the passageway. A small wicker basket breached the wall, and the guard lifted it over. With an eye on the forbidding face above him, he gently placed it onto the floor.

  Jerrol squatted down and looked inside; a small girl cowered at the bottom. He lifted her out. She weighed nothing, even the bones of her tiny wrists jutted out. She flinched away from him. “Hush,” he whispered. “I won’t hurt you.” But he could see the child didn’t believe him.

  He stood still, cradling the child. “Get them all up, now!” he said, his face stern and forbidding. Jerrol put the child down, and she crouched beside the wall. Birlerion helped to pull the baskets up, each revealing a cowering child half the size they ought to be; skin so paper-thin, Jerrol could see the blue veins tracing underneath. Each was dressed in filthy rags and staring at the floor with dull, lifeless eyes.

  Jerrol clenched his fists as he tried to control his growing anger. Ten terrified children stood trembling in front of him. The guard flinched back from the fury boiling in Jerrol’s eyes, shifting from foot to foot in agitation.

  Adilion tied the guard’s arms behind his back with the rope. The children waited. Jerrol crouched and took the little girl’s hand. “My name is Jerrol. What’s yours?”

  She stared at him, mute.

  “How about Leyla? After the Lady?” he suggested. A faint wisp of interest flickered in her eyes. “Can you say it?” Jerrol asked.

  She shook her head.

  “We’ll practice later,” he promised. He stood and led her down the corridor. The other children followed. He led them back to the slave quarters and baulked at the entrance. They were overpowered by the stench; the stink of vomit, waste, and death and horrors yet unseen. The children seemed unaffected, used to it. Jerrol swallowed convulsively and entered the cavern. Bodies lay everywhere, covering the floor like a carpet of reeds. It was impossible to tell how many were alive or dead; so many were still with fixed eyes. This was a place where life had given up.

  The children scattered, finding parents or friends, who were squatting on the floor and staring at him as he moved further into the cave. Jerrol turned as Adilion paused in the entrance behind him, an expression of absolute horror on his face.

  Jerrol turned towards him and spread his hands. “I suggest we move those still alive out of this hole. Use the caverns on the next level up. Did you find the other guard?”

  Adilion shook his head. “There was no one in the upper levels. Just empty offices.”

  “Alright, everyone, we have one guard unaccounted for. Be careful and keep alert. Let’s move those we can up a level. Adilion, find us some water. Niallerion, assess those we can move. Birlerion and I will help you.” They started the grim job of moving those still alive out of the dire conditions.

  36

  Telusion Mountains, Terolia

  Jerrol stood in the entrance of the passageway facing the golden desert, staring into the distance; the small camp they had set up in the lee of the rising mountain invisible to his eyes. Anger stirred within him. If he let it, he might self-combust with overwhelming fury. How could they treat their people so? They had devalued human life until it was worthless. If they weren’t going to look after their people, then what was the point of taking power?

  He thought back to Var’geris’ speech in Mistra: only those who were pure and carried the best blood would rise. All others had to demonstrate their worth by being obedient and sacrificing themselves in the name of Terolia. He gritted his teeth. No one deserved to be treated like this. And the children; how could they judge them, deny them the opportunity that should be theirs by right? Jerrol’s anger deepened.

  Jerrol turned as footsteps stopped behind him.

  “Captain?”

  Jerrol’s glare scorched Birlerion, a physical crackle in the air, and Birlerion flinched, taking a step backwards. He kept his face carefully neutral.

  Jerrol breathed out and tried to contain his anger to a simmer. “My apologies,” he said, trying to soften his voice. His throat was so tight, he was amazed he could get the words out. “I am not angry with you.”

  Birlerion nodded. “The Ascendants care for no one. If they had their way, only they would exist. Makes you wonder how they think they could survive on their own.”

  “They don’t think enough, it seems.”

  “No, they always were short-sighted.” Birlerion sighed and gestured back down the corridor. “Niallerion needs you. The people want to come out.”

  Jerrol gazed back out at the shimmering sand. It was early afternoon and the heat was suffocating. He took a deep breath and turned back into the dim passageway. The stench hit his nostrils as soon as they crossed the clearing and entered the large cavern. He breathed shallowly.

  “Marianille returned from the port and all was quiet. No ships. She is helping the children wash first, and we found the clothes store. If they wash, we can give them clean clothes; that will make them feel better,” Birlerion offered.

  On the surface, maybe Jerrol thought grimly. The damage was deeper than that; they would all be affected by this. “Good, well done,” h
e said aloud.

  Birlerion led the way out of the main chamber towards the small tunnel to the left that led down to the slave’s quarters. They were met by the sight of Niallerion trying to calm a group of agitated people.

  “Please,” Jerrol’s voice carried across the cave. “We are trying to help you. Calm yourselves. Let us help.”

  “We have the right to go outside. You said we were free,” a strained voice called out from the group. The people parted for an old man to step forward. He was skeletal. His shoulders and ribs jutted through the filthy rags he was wearing. His skin hung from his gaunt grey frame. He had maybe enough energy for one last request.

  And then Jerrol realized the man before him wasn’t that old; the greyness of his skin and hair was misleading. He was old before his time; something else the Ascendants had taken.

  “Yes, you are free. But it is the middle of the day and the heat is intense. You will not survive it. Don’t let the sun finish what the Ascendants started. Take the time to wash and change into clean clothes.”

  “A bath won’t wash away what they have done to us.”

  “No, it won’t,” Jerrol agreed, “but it will help you feel a little better. We are few. We need to identify those who need immediate help. Those of you who are stronger can assist us. Once we help those we can, the sun will have advanced and it will be cooler. Then you can go outside.”

  The man stared at him and slowly nodded. “You promise?”

  “I swear by the Lady,” Jerrol replied. “It is a few hours till evening; let us help each other. I know it is a small start, but we have to begin somewhere.” He ran a hand through his hair as the small group of people muttered between themselves. He hoped these were not the only people standing. He knew how people who’d held out in terrible conditions could collapse once help arrived.

  “All of you, take the time to look after yourselves, then help us to help your families. I promise, once the sun goes down, you can come outside and breathe the fresh air the Lady provides.” His eyes shone silver in the dim light as he made the promise again, and the man straightened up before him.

  “My name is Mat’iller,” the man said, holding his hand out. Jerrol took it gently. “My wife and daughter are in here somewhere, I hope. Some days, I hope they are not because that would mean they lie safely in the Lady’s embrace.”

  Jerrol waved Adilion forward. “Could you start a list? We need to try to bring families back together. Mat’iller will help you, starting with himself. List the details you know of each individual here; let’s see who we can reunite. And find some water.”

  The man’s eyes glistened with tears. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  Jerrol nodded and glanced around the cavern. “Birlerion, check what’s in the offices. They must have kept some records of who is here.”

  “There’s a complex of small rooms up there,” Birlerion pointed to the ceiling. “We thought helping the people was the priority.”

  “Well, we have some help now. Niallerion, carry on. Co-opt those with the strength to help the others. Water, wash, clean clothes. Marianille start preparing something these people can eat, gruel or something. They won’t be able to eat our travel rations. Go check the rooms, Birlerion. We need to find out the purpose of this place and where all these people came from.”

  Jerrol walked back out of the caves, leaving Birlerion to climb the crudely cut steps of the upward passage. He paused at the cave entrance and braced himself between the walls. He squeezed his eyes shut as he shuddered, struggling to contain his despair. These poor, poor people. How they had survived as long as they had was beyond him, and he could offer them so little. Well, if they could get them strong enough, he knew a lovely little village waiting for them. The Atoleans should have it spruced up by the time they were ready to return. He breathed in hope and exhaled despair, trying to control the simmering rage bubbling below the surface.

  “Captain?”

  Jerrol started as Marianille’s voice interrupted him. He had almost forgotten where he was. He needed to get a grip.

  He took a deep breath and straightened up. “Marianille, what’s up?” Jerrol asked.

  “What did that woman mean? You called her Taelia. She said we didn’t have time.”

  “What?” Jerrol frowned at her.

  “She came from nowhere to warn us; what was she warning us about?”

  Jerrol stared at her as icy dread trickled down his spine. Marianille was right. What was the threat that Taelia warned him about? The people were in no immediate danger and most of the guards had left, so why had Taelia hurried them on?

  Most of the guards had left.

  Jerrol spun and ran back into the cavern. “Niallerion! Where did you put the guards?”

  “Down at the mine face. I can tell you, they struggled; they didn’t want to go deeper into the mountain.”

  “Show me. Marianille, get Birlerion for me. He is up there.” Jerrol pointed at the ceiling and hurried after Niallerion.

  When they arrived, the guards were still struggling to free themselves. Jerrol bent down and removed the gag from one of them. “What are you afraid of?”

  The man’s eyes rolled as he stared up at the ceiling. “We have to get out. We have to get out, now!”

  “Why?” Jerrol’s voice cracked through the cave.

  “Th-the mountain. It will collapse.”

  “What?” Niallerion’s eyes narrowed.

  “They said we have to leave before nightfall. Otherwise, we’ll never leave. You have to untie us; you can’t leave us here.”

  “Why should I? You were going to leave those poor people here.” Jerrol paced angrily. “Can you stop it?”

  The guard shook his head. “I don’t know where they rigged it. All I know is that we have to get out before it gets dark.”

  Jerrol dragged a hand through his hair. “Niallerion, go warn the others. We need to start moving these people out of the mountain.”

  Birlerion entered the small room that had been carved out of the rock, by hand, probably. He sniffed angrily as he inspected the walls. Two smaller rooms led off it, roughly circular; one was for sleeping, while the other held boxes of paper.

  He sat at a crude wooden desk, just a few bits of wood nailed together. Rifling through the papers lying on the surface, he sat back in the chair as he slowly reread the paper at the top of the pile. It was an order to load the remaining crystals in the carts and transport them to the port of Feril, a little further north on the other side of the mountain range. A ship called Sente Lenz would be waiting.

  A cart full of crystals, Birlerion thought, his stomach clenching. He checked the date and his heart stuttered at the numbers, the year 4123. It should be 1124. He stared at the sheet until the words blurred and his breathing calmed. As the Lady wills, he thought, as he relaxed tense muscles.

  The instructions were a year old. Now, that either meant they had a regular shipment or that was the last shipment they had made. But if that was the last shipment, then why was the paper still on the top of the pile? He turned it over and froze. On the other side was a crude map of the mountain. “Lady, save us,” he muttered as he lurched to his feet.

  Marianille appeared in the doorway. “Birlerion, the Captain wants you.”

  Birlerion stared at her and then waved the paper he was holding. The map marked several key intersecting points in the mountain. “They are going to blow the mountain. That’s why there are so few guards here. They’ve evacuated.”

  Marianille’s jaw dropped and she looked around wildly. “What? Are you sure?”

  “Yes, we have to get out of here.” He stuffed the papers in his tunic as he herded Marianille before him. Giving the crude office a last glance, he followed as Niallerion rushed into the cavern below them.

  “Mat’iller, we need to get everyone out of the mountain, now!” he shouted as he ran through the cavern.

  Jerrol followed him. “Get as many people outside, as you can. The mountain is going to collapse
.”

  Mat’iller stared at him in horror. “Move, now,” Jerrol shouted, scooping up two of the children hiding behind him. He hustled them out to the camp Marianille had set up. The children cowered away from the bright light. “Wrap their heads in cloth; the light is too bright for them,” he yelled as he ran back into the mountain.

  Niallerion herded another group of dismayed people, each desperately clutching a child, down the tunnel. “Cover your eyes. The light is very bright,” Jerrol shouted as he ran past. “Mat’iller, you have to leave, now.” Jerrol pulled the man away from the bodies lying on the floor.

  “I need to find my wife,” he mumbled.

  Jerrol shook him. “There is no time. Help people out. We have to save as many as we can.”

  Mat’iller stared at him and gulped, but he nodded and turned away as a deep groan vibrated through the rock. He stared at Jerrol in panic. “Get out now.” Jerrol pushed him towards the first cavern they had entered before turning and running deeper into the mountain.

  Birlerion and Marianille froze on the crude steps and looked up. “Hurry,” Birlerion snapped as they began descending again.

  The groan became a rumble and the ground began to vibrate. Grit and sand sifted down from the ceilings. Jerrol skidded to a halt in one of the lower caverns. “Adilion!” he shouted. “We have to leave now.” He strained to see in the gloom and then, remembering, he clenched his fist and opened it flat; the silvery light glowed from his hand. “Adilion?”

  He had sent Adilion off to find a water source, but surely, he would be back by now? A huge boom rocked the mountain and Jerrol staggered. A second smaller boom followed it. Jerrol hugged the walls as bits of rock fell. He saw a glow ahead and hurried forward, holding his hand up high. “Adilion, we need to leave, now!”