“I know,” Benedict said as he sat behind his desk and steepled his fingers. He stared at Jerrol for a long moment as if making a decision. “I want you to head up a delegation. A diplomatic mission to shore up our relations with Randolf. We can’t afford to go to war. Not while these Ascendants are still stirring up trouble.”
Jerrol straightened up in surprise. “You want to send me to Elothia?”
Benedict nodded. “You are my best hope of avoiding war. You know Randolf; you’ve dealt with him before. You’ve already demonstrated your skill at diplomacy. You can explain to him about the Ascendants, warn him what to look out for. Let’s preempt any move they can make on him. Bryce can continue managing the King’s Justice while you are gone. It shouldn’t take more than a month. I’ve sent for Roberion. He will take you in his ship.”
Jerrol stared at the king in shock. How had he managed to arrange all this without him knowing. “How long have you been planning this, sire?”
Benedict scowled. “Since you returned. Healer Francis says you are fit for the journey. In fact he said it would be a good opportunity for you to rest. A diplomatic mission should be peaceful enough for you to manage.”
Peaceful? Jerrol could imagine how boring it would be. Last time they had kept him kicking his heels for weeks before the grand duke deigned to speak to him. Though seeing as Randolf himself had sent the missive to Benedict, maybe it wouldn’t take so long. He realised he had been silent too long as the king raised an expectant eyebrow. “Of course, sire,” Jerrol murmured.
“Take these.” Benedict handed Jerrol a folder. “It contains a copy of all the recent correspondence. Also, the background on Randolf’s key supporters and detractors.”
“Commander Nikols has been busy,” Jerrol said as he rifled through the thick wad of papers.
“It’s all the information we have. You have until Roberion arrives to study it.”
“Yes, sire.”
“You will also be escorting Scholar Taelia to Retarfu. Randolf requested a scholar versed in ancient engravings. Scholar Deane Liliian would have sent Torsion, but he is in no fit state to travel, or so I understand?”
“No, he can’t go.” Jerrol rubbed his eyes. “He looked exhausted. He needs to recover from his recent ordeal. Venterion was going to take him to Stoneford. Healer Tyrone will look after him.”
King Benedict stood and paced back over to the window. Rivulets of water streamed down the glass, blurring the view. He turned back to Jerrol. “Then it will have to be Scholar Taelia. Randolf’s request said they had found evidence of Sentinals. Randolf wants to find out more about them. You may tell him what you know but not that you are the Lady’s Captain. That we keep under wraps.”
“If there are more Sentinals then we need to wake them.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Benedict replied. “Your priority is persuading Randolf that we are not a threat. After that, you can help Taelia search for the Sentinals. But you return after a month, no longer. I need you here.”
“Of course, sire.” Jerrol stood, bowed and made his escape.
The king’s shoulders relaxed as the door closed behind him. He rubbed a weary hand over his face and returned to his desk. He stared blindly at his papers for a moment before leaning back in his chair with a sigh, his frown firmly in place. The Veil. The Lady Leyandrii had created a Veil of protection around their world to guard against the threat of wild magic. The Ascendants wanted to bring it down, to shred it, so they could control the magic for their own purposes. The king shivered. They had tried to overthrow him, and then subjugate the people of Terolia. Were they behind the deteriorating relations with Elothia? He hoped not.
Jerrol paused outside the king’s study before squaring his shoulders and heading for the stables. He needed to see Taelia. Niallerion followed close behind, and retrieving their damp cloaks from a footman and their horses from the stables, they set off for the Chapterhouse.
They found Taelia down in the catacombs, busy working with Mary; a young novice whom Taelia was mentoring. Mary smiled at Jerrol before she left them alone, joining Niallerion in the upper room out of earshot.
Jerrol engulfed her in a desperate hug.
Taelia hugged him in return, before leaning back and gazing up at him with a slight frown on her face. “What’s wrong?”
“Benedict said that the Deane received a formal request from Grand Duke Randolf for the services of a scholar expert in ancient engravings.”
“Which is within his rights,” Taelia said.
“I am to escort you to Retarfu. I am Benedict’s Ambassador for peace.”
Taelia’s face brightened. “You are? I am so glad. The trip will be so much more fun if you are there.”
“I’m not sure Elothia is the safest place right now, Taelia.”
“It’s as safe as anywhere. Lillian said they had found signs of more Sentinals. Isn’t that exciting?”
“Convenient, maybe,” Jerrol murmured.
Taelia tilted her head back and stared at him. Her turquoise eyes narrowed, even though she couldn’t see him. “You don’t think there are more Sentinals? Why would they say there are?”
“I sincerely hope there are more. Niallerion said there were more posted to Elothia, so there should be signs. But I’ve never heard of any trees. The Elothians have never mentioned them before.”
“More reason for me to go. We have to find them and wake them. You can’t leave them sleeping.”
“I’m just worried about where the Ascendants went. The only word we have is that they went north into Elothia. I should be searching for Birlerion, not kicking my heels in the corridors of a palace in Retarfu.”
“If the Ascendants did go north then you might hear of it in Retarfu. At least you would be in the right country.”
“True.” He paced across the chamber and back.
“What is it? What is worrying you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to take you into danger.”
“The grand duke is suing for peace. He is actively in negotiation with Benedict. They are sensible men, and sensible men do not go to war. And anyway, it’s not your decision, my love. The grand duke petitioned the king and the Chapterhouse for my services. It is their decision.”
“I’m worried it’s not safe.”
“If it’s not safe for me, then it definitely isn’t safe for you. Have you told the king your concerns? I’m surprised he is letting you go.”
Jerrol sighed and folded her into his arms. He rested his head on her shoulder and kissed her neck as she snuggled close, holding him tight against her. “I have no proof, and as you say Benedict and Randolf are talking. If I don’t go then there is more likelihood of war. I just don’t like it.”
“I’d rather have you negotiating for peace than anyone else, Jerrol. And just think of all that time for us to be together! How can you turn that down?”
Jerrol’s breath huffed out on a laugh. “You’d never forgive me if I did.”
8
Adeeron, Elothia
Var’geris’ black gaze examined Birlerion as he stood in the sparring ring and waited. Birlerion held a sword in his right hand; the edge blunted, useless. Even more useless was his left arm, which was splinted; the result of an earlier session with Tor’asion. Bruising of all colours marred his pale skin, evidence of their many fruitless sessions.
One result of the repeated beatings and attempts at Mentiserium over the past month was that Birlerion was finally more malleable. In fact, he was a different man, unrecognisable as the Sentinal they had first brought here. Less assured, younger even, yet when threatened, his reactions were feral, untamed. His eyes had lost their silver sheen and were a deep, dark blue, where they were not bloody. The young men watched their opponent warily. The battered man’s reputation preceded him, and none of them were keen to try his sword. A sharp order had the men advancing, but Birlerion stared at his opponents without much interest.
Even with the beatings, they had found it di
fficult to enspell the Sentinal. Var’geris wasn’t convinced they had succeeded, but Birlerion was now docile and obedient. No matter what they did, they had been unable to get him to tell them anything. Resentment roiled through Var’geris as he scowled at the Sentinal. No matter how much time Var’geris spent with Birlerion, he got no information out of him. He had talked himself hoarse, but the man just stared at him as if he didn’t hear a word. Tor’asion had done more damage than they had realised.
As Var’geris watched, Birlerion decimated his opponents. He had not lost any of his fighting skills. Only the blunted sword was preventing their deaths, though at least one of his opponents cradled a broken limb.
“He will obey whomever you put in command of him. Use him as you will; he is useless to us. We can’t send him back now,” Var’geris said as he turned away. “We cannot delay any longer; we’ve wasted enough time. The grand duke is expecting us in Retarfu.”
The brute of a man they called the Tasker smiled. “I am sure we’ll find a use for him. He has already demonstrated his skill, damaged as he is. At a minimum, he will make a worthy soldier in the grand duke’s army.”
Stepping back at the Tasker’s order, Birler waited. The Tasker snapped his fingers and five more recruits joined him in the ring. Birler stiffened into a semblance of his fighting stance. He focused on the new threat and concentrated on surviving.
He was good at that.
9
King’s Port, Old Vespers, Vespiri
A few days later, Roberion of Selir arrived on the morning breeze in a tall ship with its sails in full glory. Sailing into King’s Port, his ship caused all sorts of excitement. The sailors efficiently furled the sails and brought the vessel to anchor safely. Such a ship rarely visited the port. Normally it was just troopships or Jerven shipping line boats delivering their haul of fish and goods from Birtoli. Nothing as elegant as the frigate now gracing their harbour.
Roberion grinned as his men pulled him ashore in a skiff, revelling in being a sea captain of note. Glancing back at the sleek lines of his ship, he thrust his chest out proudly as he disembarked. He knew his fellow Sentinals would burst his bubble soon enough, but he was going to enjoy it while he could.
The hired carriage rumbled up the Port Road towards the town of Old Vespers and thence onto the king’s palace. Leaning forward, he inspected Old Vespers as it passed; he had never visited before, having stayed behind in Terolia to help the devastated people relocate after the terrible events in the Terolian Mines.
Once folks were settled, Roberion had remembered the Captain’s words from one long night in the Terolian desert. The Captain had said that the Lady provided many miracles and that they should rejoice in them if they had the chance, or words to that effect. So he had. He had bought the Lady’s Miracle with monies he had found accruing in his name, and here he was in response to the king’s order.
Roberion couldn’t have been more pleased with his welcome to Old Vespers. Marianille, Darllion, and Niallerion all crowded around him, and he could hear Fonorion on his way, released by the king, the Captain not far behind him.
He hugged them again. Marianille, slender, alert and beautiful. Niallerion, still looking thin and gaunt but present. Darllion, grey-haired and sensible. He had missed them all.
Just as he was asked the question, ‘But why are you here?’ for the third time, Jerrol came skidding out of the palace.
“Captain,” Roberion shouted and engulfed him in a huge hug.
“Roberion, welcome,” Jerrol gasped as he managed to escape the hug. “I’m so glad to see you.”
The evening meal was quite a celebration. The king declined the invitation to join them, saying they all had much to catch up on; he could meet Roberion the following day. He left the Sentinals to celebrate in peace. Bryce reluctantly took bodyguard duty, missing out on the reunion, but was satisfied that Fonorion therefore owed him one.
It was quite late when Jerrol stood, waving his mug in the air. “A few words, just a few,” he said with a laugh as the Sentinals jeered. “Alright, alright,” he said as he waved them down. “Seriously, nights like this are too few. We rarely get to appreciate each other.
“It’s not often we’re all together at the same time, and I just wanted to say I appreciate all that you do for me and the king. Thank you,” he said, solemnly nodding at the Sentinals. “This is a time of conflict, no more peaceful than when you left. We hope the end is in sight and Remargaren can be at peace, as the Guardians meant us to be. Rejoice in your brothers and sisters, as we rejoice in you all. Our thoughts and prayers are with those who are lost; we hope they will return to us soon. Lady’s blessings to you all,” he said firmly before sitting back down with a thud. There was a small silence and then uproar as the Sentinals all began talking together.
The next morning, Adilion arrived with Zin’talia in tow. Jerrol hugged her silky neck and breathed in her musky scent, absorbing the affection she bombarded him with. She was a pure white Darian, with a flowing white mane and tail, though she was looking somewhat grubby and travel-stained.
“I am so sorry. I never meant to be so long. It was further than I remembered,” she murmured in his head.
“You are here now. I’ve missed you.”
“And I you. There was nothing I could do, Jerrol. I am so sorry. I couldn’t help Birlerion.”
Jerrol stroked her neck. “It’s not your fault.”
“If it hadn’t been for him …” her voice faltered.
“Shh, we will find him. His sacrifice will not be in vain. I promise.”
“Good,” she said, a vicious bite to her voice. “They have no respect for life. They don’t deserve the Lady’s grace. That Ain’uncer, he was livid that they had lost you.”
“What about Torsion, did you see how he escaped?”
“No, I don’t know how he managed it. Must have been when they took Birlerion onto the ship. He wouldn’t co-operate. It would have been the only time they were distracted. That was when I managed to slip away; the other horses didn’t want to board, either.”
“At least you are here now. Let’s get you stabled. We will be travelling to Elothia soon.”
“Not by ship, I hope?”
“Roberion is here, so yes, by ship.”
“I don’t want to go on a ship; they are smelly and they leak, and they don’t stay still.” Zin’talia continued to grumble as a stable boy rushed up to lead her to the stables. Her complaints filled Jerrol’s head until the stable boy procured her favourite baliweed and began to groom her, which shut her up.
The next two days were spent with Nikols and King Benedict going over their arguments. They had spent the time trying to fill Jerrol’s head with as much information about Randolf’s government as they could. His head was ringing with names and associations, and whatever Benedict could think of, which would sway Randolf towards peace.
Jerrol was glad when the Lady’s Miracle set sail, and he could have a rest.
Two days later, Jerrol stood with Roberion, looking out over the bow of the Lady’s Miracle at the smooth waters as they drifted in the becalmed sea. The silence of the night was only interrupted by creaking ropes and the gentle slapping of water against the hull. The moon shone down from a star-filled sky, and not a cloud marred the twinkling array above them.
They had left the port of Vespers headed for Pollo on the Elothian western seaboard. After two days of sailing north, the wind had suddenly dropped, and Roberion had ordered the men to get the oars out.
Jerrol thought back to his last audience with the king. As if he wasn’t under enough pressure already, the king had repeated the importance of the mission. After that meeting, he had tried to convince Niallerion to remain behind. Niallerion had been adamant he should come too, but as Jerrol had said, they had few Sentinals as it was, without putting two at risk in Elothia. Marianille would be perfectly capable of looking after Taelia and him. Niallerion’s parting argument that he would have taken Birlerion, was, Jerrol though
t, a little below the belt, but Niallerion had been beside himself, and in the end, Jerrol had given in.
“Roberion,” Jerrol said, his voice a mere whisper on the night air.
“Captain?”
Jerrol smiled. “I want you to be the captain tonight. Would you perform the joining ceremony for Taelia and I? A moment out of time just for us, under the Lady’s moon, where the sea meets the sky under her peaceful gaze?”
Roberion stared at Jerrol. “I would be honoured,” he said. “Are you sure you want to do it now?”
Jerrol was certain. “Oh yes. This is for us and no one else. You were right. There is nowhere better than the middle of the ocean to really appreciate the Lady.”
Roberion smiled. “Of course.”
Jerrol went to find Taelia below decks. “He agreed if you are still of a mind.”
She smiled up at him. “I couldn’t live another day knowing that I had missed the chance to finally become one with you.” She twirled. “Look, I even have a gown,” she laughed, displaying her scholar robes.
Jerrol frowned. “I should have warned you so that you could have chosen a dress.”
Taelia leaned against him. “Don’t be silly. I don’t need a dress. I just need you.”
He bent his head and kissed her lips; they tasted so sweet. “Come, before we do something we shouldn’t,” he murmured, leading her up the steps to the deck.
Word spread around the ship like a prevailing wind. The sailors had placed lanterns around the main deck, and a trail led up to the Quarterdeck, where Roberion stood waiting. Marianille and Niallerion stood next to him, grinning broadly.
Smiling down at the couple before him, Roberion couldn’t think of a more deserving man and woman. They had persevered through so much and yet had so much more to face.
Taelia was radiant as she stood beside Jerrol, her beautiful blue eyes sparkling with happiness. Jerrol clasped her hand and she gripped his back, fairly humming with delight. Roberion’s lips twitched as he watched Jerrol run a finger around his collar; his silvery-green uniform glowed, surrounding him in a soft aura of light. His silver eyes were luminous as he looked up at Roberion, a shy smile on his face.
Sentinals Justice: Book Three of the Sentinal Series Page 6
