Sentinals Justice
Book Three of the Sentinal Series
Helen Garraway
Copyright © 2021 by Helen Garraway
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without express written permission of the author.
Published by Jerven Publishing
Cover by Jeff Brown Graphics
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organisations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, businesses, companies or locales is entirely coincidental.
eBook ISBN: 978-1-8381559-6-4
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-8381559-7-1
Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-8381559-8-8
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First Edition
For Kaye
My dear friend,
crafting partner
and sounding board.
Thank you!
Contents
1. Adeeron, Elothia
2. Somewhere in Elothia
3. King’s Palace, Old Vespers, Vespiri
4. Sentinal Barracks, Old Vespers
5. King’s Palace, Old Vespers
6. Chapterhouse, Old Vespers
7. Watch Towers, Stoneford Watch
8. Adeeron, Elothia
9. King’s Port, Old Vespers, Vespiri
10. Pollo, Elothia
11. Grand Duke Hotel, Pollo
12. Grand Duke Hotel, Pollo
13. Ruins of Cerne, Elothia
14. Ruins of Cerne, Elothia
15. Deepwater Watch, Vespiri
16. Grand Duke’s Palace, Retarfu, Elothia
17. King’s Palace, Old Vespers, Vespiri
18. Taelia’s rooms, Retarfu, Elothia
19. Back alley, Retarfu, Elothia
20. Somewhere in Elothia
21. Grand Duke’s Palace, Retarfu, Elothia
22. Adeeron, Elothia
23. Deepwater Watch, Vespiri
24. Adeeron, Elothia
25. Cells, Grand Duke's Palace, Retarfu, Elothia
26. Ball Room, Grand Duke's Palace, Retarfu
27. Adeeron, Elothia
28. Retarfu, Elothia
29. Retarfu, Elothia
30. Grand Duke’s Palace, Retarfu
31. Grand Duke’s Chambers, Retarfu
32. Grand Duke’s Palace, Retarfu
33. Somewhere in Elothia
34. Tower of Leyarne, Elothia
35. Grand Duke’s Palace, Retarfu
36. Tower of Leyarne, Elothia
37. Morstal, Elothia
38. Central Elothia
39. Grand Duke’s Palace, Retarfu
40. Retarfu, Elothia
41. Summer Palace, Elothia
42. Summer Palace
43. Summer Palace
44. Summer Palace
45. Grand Duke’s Study, Summer Palace
46. Lady’s Temple, Summer Palace
47. Summer Palace
48. Elothian front
49. Stoneford Keep, Vespiri
50. Stoneford Front, Vespiri
51. Deepwater Watch, Vespiri
52. Stoneford Keep, Vespiri
53. Plateau of Oprimere
54. Elsewhere
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
1
Adeeron, Elothia
Birlerion curled in on himself, more for warmth than any protection it could afford him. Aching with the unrelenting cold, he couldn’t stop trembling. The cold ate away his reserves faster than the Ascendant could beat it out of him. He hurt everywhere. Tor’asion’s fists were brutal, and he was beside himself with fury. Birlerion hoped he had worked his anger out by now. He couldn’t take much more.
The only thing that kept him going was the knowledge that the Captain had escaped, and the longer he held out, the longer the Ascendants were distracted from their purpose. The Captain should have listened to him; he had always known Torsion was no good, and Tor’asion was worse.
His head ached, thumping in time with his ribs, and it hurt to breathe. Blood oozed from the jagged cut above his left eye, crusting on his face, and pooling onto the stone floor. He watched it seep between the cracks of the paving stones into the soil below.
Flinching against the sudden light, he tensed as the healer entered his cell. Muttering under his breath, the healer forced Birlerion’s head back, roughly stitched the wound that bisected his eyebrow and left. Birlerion wondered why they didn’t leave him to bleed to death.
Alone again, the darkness soothed him.
The Ascendants thought it would drive him mad, but he found solace in the dark. He wrapped his belief in the Lady around him like a warm blanket until the door opened and the light brought the next attempt to break him down.
Flaring torchlight flooded his cell and the guards dragged him out. The sudden brightness made his sore eyes water and his headache worse. He couldn’t stand. His legs wouldn’t hold him up, and he hung limply between the guards and shivered. Squinting through swollen eyes at the man staring at him, the realisation was slow to form. A new visitor. His battered mind hunted down the name. Ah yes, Var’geris.
He was sure he looked a wreck; he certainly felt like one. His left arm was splinted, it was difficult to breathe, and when he pissed, his urine was pink, which meant more damage somewhere.
Tor’asion had enjoyed the sound of his ribs cracking. Only the guards holding him up had stopped him trying again, along with the fact that Tor’asion had injured his hand. Birlerion would have laughed if it didn’t hurt so much.
Voices surrounded him, meaningless, just noise, until Var’geris crouched down beside him and pulled his head up by his hair, making Birlerion’s eyes water. Funny how something so simple can still cause pain, he mused.
“You know it doesn’t have to be this way. Your suffering is pointless. There is no help coming. No one knows where you are. Pain and deprivation; that is all you’ll suffer until the day you die.”
Birlerion remained silent. Nothing new there, then.
“You are worthless to us if you do not yield. We need the Captain, not you. You will listen to me because you have no other choice. Listen and obey. You will look at me.” Var’geris yanked his head back, forcing Birlerion to watch him. “Look into my eyes, and listen. Only to my voice. It’s all that you care about; just my voice.”
Birlerion stared at him and thought about Leyandrii, remembering how she had looked the last time he had seen her, with Guerlaire by her side. Beautiful and bold and with determination in her green eyes. She had never given up on them and neither would he. She had saved his life. Turning inwards, he remembered the smile on her face as she greeted him, concentrating on his memories and blocking out the present.
Var’geris stood scowling down at the man before him. The once powerful Sentinal who had persistently prevented them from reaching the Lady’s Captain was now reduced to a shivering pile of filthy, blood-spattered rags. It was useless. The man was completely unresponsive, almost catatonic. Tor’asion had done more damage than he realised. The healer had warned against more beatings unless they wanted the Sentinal dead. He had splinted the man’s arm and strapped his ribs, but there was little he could do for the rest of the damage, except rest and warmth, and it was unlikely the man would ge
t any of that.
Var’geris instructed the guards to return him to his cell and strode off.
Birlerion lay on the stone floor, no longer feeling the cold. A soft voice breathed in his ear, but he ignored it, lost in his memories.
“Birlerion? So this is where you are. Oh, my poor, poor Birlerion. What have they done to you?” The voice grew insistent, wheedling its way into his reminiscing.
Warm arms embraced him, and Birlerion stirred. Images of the auburn-haired younger sister of the Lady Leyandrii flooded through him, reminding him of better days.
“Birlerion, stay a little longer. Don’t give up. The Captain is coming. He is coming for you.”
“W-what?”
“You are doing so well. I am sorry. Birler is needed now, let Birlerion rest. He will be all the stronger when he is needed.”
Arms hugging himself tight, Birlerion struggled upright. He shook as tremors rushed through him in waves; shudders he couldn’t control. “Marguerite?” Memories slowly penetrated his battered mind. Birler? He hadn’t been called that name since he had turned Sentinal over three thousand years ago, when Leyandrii had asked him for his help and he had committed his life to her. Give her up? Never!
“Hush, she will always love you, as will I. But for now, Birlerion needs to rest. Birler has his own skills that will help you. He knows how to survive.”
Survive, Birler thought, confusion muddying his thoughts. He had to survive until Leyandrii could spare Guerlaire or maybe his brother, Tagerill, to rescue him. What his father would say when he found out, made Birler wince. At least Warren, Birler corrected the thought, his father would not stop until his son was found. Birler’s heart eased at the thought. His father would make sure someone would come for him.
“Stay strong, Birler. Help is coming. I will stay with you.” Marguerite held him, soothing the shudders, and Birler sighed back down to the cold floor, lost in memories evoked by the voice from his past.
2
Somewhere in Elothia
Tor’asion knelt before the simple altar, the rising star of the Ascendants resplendent in red and gold before him. His dark head was bowed, his black eyes closed.
They were so close. It was their destiny; it was meant to be. He had searched and searched the archives, the catacombs, the Watch Towers. He had spent his life searching, as had his father and his father before him. His ancestors were depending on him to open the way for their return. They waited beyond the the Veil, eager to claim Remargaren.
They had followed the trail, haphazard at times, but they had pieced together the Ascendant’s message. They could read it in the stars and now the final piece: The Lady’s Captain, a man called Jerrol Haven. A child he had befriended accidentally and nurtured into a close friend, held the key, and he was almost theirs. Such an unassuming man, yet he had eluded them so many times. His guards were prescient and had proved troublesome, especially the Sentinal, Birlerion. Tor’asion tensed at the thought of the man who had stood in his way.
Drawing in deep, slow breaths, he tried to control the anger threatening to engulf him. He still couldn’t believe he had let Jerrol escape from the Watch Towers. Jerrol had been in their power, helpless. Grinding his teeth, he made himself a promise. Birlerion would pay for distracting him.
The Ascendants were closing in. They would have Jerrol soon enough, and then it would all be theirs as their forefathers had ordained. They would rule Remargaren and the goddesses power would be theirs. The thought of unlimited magic instead of the dregs they struggled to use now made his heart race. A pulse throbbed under his eye and he took a deep breath. Soon. There had been sacrifices and more would be made, but it was all in aid of the final commandment. They would fulfil the demand and reap the rewards. It was only a matter of time.
Tor’asion stood and stared out of the window over the icy landscape of Elothia. His severe face tightened as he considered their hasty retreat, the lines on his face deepening as he massaged his aching knuckles. If it hadn’t been for Jerrol getting in their way, his fists shook as he tried to control his anger. He had underestimated him. He hadn’t realised what the role of the Lady’s Captain really meant. They would have succeeded if not for Jerrol and that Sentinal. They would have been in control of Terolia and Vespiri.
But still, they had one last throw, and they wouldn’t fail this time. No one knew he was an Ascendant. Jerrol had no idea; he had never suspected him of being anything other than his friend and mentor, Torsion. A harmless scholar. He would return to Vespiri and resume his disguise. He would not fail a second time.
He turned as one of his brothers entered the room. “It’s time,” Var’geris said, glaring at Tor’asion. “Are you sure this is the right interpretation?”
Tor’asion smiled, the certainty flushing him with strength. “Oh yes, I’m sure,” he said as he indicated for his brother to lead the way. Pausing at the entrance to the circular room where four men were already seated, Tor’asion scowled. There should have been eight of them but Jerrol and those Sentinals had managed to overcome two of their brothers. Tor’asion clamped his lips tight as another flash of anger seared through him. He needed to control his emotions; his frustration was getting the better of him.
All the brothers were tall and slender with black eyes like himself, the mark of an Ascendant, except the squat ex-chancellor, once called Isseran, on the end. Their faces were angular with sharp cheek bones and square chins, distinctive and yet similar at the same time. Tor’asion relaxed his shoulders as he realised they were all looking at him.
“Tor’asion, what say you?” Pev’eril asked.
“The time approaches. Focus on the Veil.”
“We have been,” Var’geris said through gritted teeth, “but it has been repaired, and we can’t get in to shred it. I thought you were going to deal with the Captain? Your self-indulgence has cost us dearly. You had him in your grasp, and you let him escape.”
Tor’asion raised his hand. “The Lady is not to be underestimated, nor her minions. Success grows as we gain more power. We still have some control of the Watches; enough for our purposes, at least. Terolia has met our needs. Let the Terolians be a distraction for the king. Our allies will harass them. Elothia will provide what we need to prepare. In the end, we will have all. We can wait.”
“Haven’t we waited long enough?” Iss’aren whined.
“My dear Iss’aren; you shall be reinstated, never fear.” Tor’asion smiled as he observed the small man who had once held the chancellorship of Vespiri, second only to the king, and still he had let the power slip through his fingers. “Your talents will not be wasted. It’s time you returned to court. I have someone for you to entertain.”
“My talents would be better spent ruling Vespiri. It should have been ours by now. Instead, we are freezing our arses off up here. Why are we here, Tor’asion?” Iss’aren snapped.
Tor’asion tutted. “You seem to have forgotten the bigger picture, Iss’aren. Vespiri is but the stepping-stone. Why not rule Elothia as well?”
“A stepping-stone for you, maybe,” Iss’aren muttered under his breath as he glared around the table.
Tor’asion kept his face calm, controlling his spurt of annoyance. “We will capture the Lady’s Captain, and he will unseal the Veil. He will come to us, never fear. I expect to hear of his arrival in Elothia any day now. Var’geris, return to Retarfu. You need to join Sul’enne and spend some time with the grand duke. He must be prepared for Haven’s arrival. I will return to Old Vespers and ensure he performs as expected. The rest of you focus on the Veil. There must be a way in.”
“If there was, we would have found it by now,” one of the brothers murmured.
Tor’asion glared at Ain’uncer. “Focus on the towers; you know them well. There has to be a way in using the Watchers.”
“You and Ain’uncer spent months there. Was your time as a scholar not well spent? Why return there now? What did you miss?” Iss’aren demanded, his face cold and cynical.
/> “I didn’t miss anything,” Tor’asion snapped. “The Captain woke the Watcher. He must be the key. We will return the Captain to the towers, and he will shred the Veil. Make sure we are in control when we do.”
“What about the Sentinals? We have one now; what have you found out? You’ve spent enough time with him.” Ain’uncer glared at Tor’asion.
Tor’asion grimaced, flexing his hands in memory. Ain’uncer was still smarting from his close call at the Watch Towers. His fight with the Sentinal still rankled. Birlerion had nearly killed him, he had held off a unit of King’s Rangers and then he had fought Ain’uncer, determined to protect his Captain. Ain’uncer had only survived because Tor’asion had helped drag the Sentinal away.
“They are troublesome and difficult to overcome. They seem immune to Mentiserium. It has no effect. Birlerion even resists Var’geris, but he is weak; he can’t hold out forever.”
“It takes too long. This Birlerion wasn’t the one we wanted. We don’t have time for this,” Ain’uncer argued.
Sentinals Justice: Book Three of the Sentinal Series Page 1