Sentinals Justice: Book Three of the Sentinal Series

by Helen Garraway

  “Well, you’ll want the one facing the door, so the other chair, please.”

  “Am I that obvious?” Jerrol asked with a grin as he escorted her to the chair.

  She sank down and eased off her shoes with relief. “If I’d known we were going mountaineering, I would have worn my boots. Any chance we could get some tea, do you think?”

  “We’ll ask as soon as Carsten returns.”

  “Good.” There was a relaxed silence. “What do you think’s going on?”

  Jerrol sighed as he sat opposite her. “We can either take the welcome as a deliberate insult or take it at face value. Roberion’s ship is faster than a general cargo ship, but then we were becalmed for a day. After all, they don’t know we were joined on the way here.” He paused. “We don’t have to use both bedchambers, of course.”

  Taelia smiled, hearing the amusement in his voice, and rose. “I’ve decided I want your chair, husband dear,” she said as she climbed into his lap.

  He hugged her close. “Excellent choice,” he murmured as he kissed her. They were enjoyably occupied when she suddenly lifted her head.

  “Someone’s coming. I suppose I should act with some decorum.” She sighed as she rose. “I’m not mussed, am I?” she asked, conscientiously trying to straighten her hair.

  She giggled as she sat back in her original chair.

  At the tap on the door, Jerrol bid them enter. “Ah, Carsten with some tea; he must have heard you, Taelia.”

  The crockery clattered on the tray as the boy trembled, and he stared at Jerrol, aghast.

  “Please place it on the table. We’ll serve ourselves,” Jerrol said smoothly, covering the awkward pause. “Is there a method for requesting your services? Or do we have to venture down to the reception?”

  “If you please, sir, pull that cord there. A bell will ring in the kitchens and they’ll send me up.” The boy escaped out the door.

  “Interesting reaction, don’t you think?” Taelia asked as she moved over to the table. Her fingers fluttered over the contents and set the cups into saucers.

  Jerrol laughed. “I wasn’t serious about him hearing our conversation, but I obviously hit a nerve. We’ll have to be a bit more careful, as you said.”

  “Not tonight, though,” Taelia said, smiling mysteriously at the teapot.

  Jerrol moved behind her, pulling her back against his chest and tucking her hair behind her ear. “Why, Mrs Haven, what do you mean?” His whisper tickled her ears and she shivered in delight.

  “You’ll see,” she smiled as she raised a cup and saucer. He sighed and released her to take it.

  “You know this should really be our time. I am sorry, I didn’t think this through properly.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m keeping a tally. I am an excellent book keeper. One gown, one party, a house, your undivided attention; it’s beginning to mount up, husband dear,” she said as she returned to her chair.

  She grinned with delight as he choked on his tea. “Tali!”

  Marianille entered the parlour as Taelia’s peal of laughter filled the room. She raised her eyebrows as she watched them. It was obvious that these two were not going to behave; their happiness with each other was palpable, not that she could really blame them.

  “Marianille,” Jerrol said as he frowned at Taelia, which was a waste as she couldn’t see it, but she broke into chuckles at the tone of his voice. Jerrol couldn’t help smiling with her. “My, ah, Scholar Taelia seems to find this hotel amusing,” he said, trying to sound severe.

  “I’m not surprised. It is rather unusual. We seem to be its only guests.”

  “Really? No wonder we are attracting such close attention,” Jerrol murmured. “I suggest we go for a walk, if your feet can stand it, Tali.”

  “Yes, lets. It is so stuffy in here.”

  “That may not be a very good idea. The manager was very insistent about us not leaving,” Marianille said.

  Jerrol grinned. “I’m sure he’ll survive. We only want to visit the temple, that is harmless enough.”

  Taelia spoke up. “Do you know if our luggage has arrived? I have some boots I’ll change into.”

  “I’m sure it has. They were lugging the chests up the stairs just now.”

  “We have two rooms to choose from, as we forgot to tell them about our joining,” Jerrol said.

  Marianille grinned. “Somehow, even if you had, I don’t think they would have listened. Everyone seems confused by our arrival. No one was expecting us, and it has caused quite a commotion. Would you like me to escort you to your room, Scholar Taelia?”

  “Thank you Marianille. If you could provide me with a quick layout of the room, I’d appreciate it. I’ll be fine after that.”

  “Of course.”

  Jerrol was standing by the window when they returned. He looked over as the door opened. “Ready?”

  “Yes.” Taelia raised a booted foot and grinned.

  “Your cloak, my love,” Jerrol breathed as he settled her cloak around her shoulders.

  She flashed him that look, and he shivered. Taelia tucked her hand in his arm and smiled as he moved closer.

  “Lead on,” Jerrol said, a slight tremor in his voice.

  Marianille cast them a swift glance and opened the door. “The temple is where Scholar Taelia thought. The stable boys were encouraging us to visit. I think the people around here need all the help they can get.”

  “Interesting, seeing as the hotel manager was trying to keep us in the hotel,” Jerrol said.

  “Apparently, it is dedicated to a local deity, the Lady Margrete, a Guardian of the Land. Lady Margrete manages the seasons and their affects on the land.”

  “A variation of Marguerite?” Jerrol murmured.

  “I would think so." Marianille said. “It’s been a harsh winter. The snows came early, and the grand duke has not left Retarfu. There is concern that supplies will not last the winter; they are already running low. The people haven’t had the chance to prepare, and the growing months are shortening.”

  “But that’s terrible. What is the grand duke doing about it?” Taelia asked, keeping her voice soft.

  “Nothing,” Marianille replied just as quietly.

  “Nothing?” Jerrol frowned.

  “Nothing that will help these people. He has a conscription effort going. Most young men have been drafted into the army. You’ll notice most here are women and the men are either very young or very old. There are few left to run the port.”

  “Why does he need to conscript?”

  “The Vespirians are going to attack,” Marianille replied.

  Jerrol gave her a sharp glance. “That explains why the port master was so upset about our early arrival. Are we in immediate danger?” he asked.

  “We’re not supposed to know. But the stable boys couldn’t wait to tell us. I think we’re the most excitement they’ve had in months. As long as we stay alert, I’m sure we can handle the locals.”

  Jerrol exhaled. “Let’s visit the temple. It may show we are not heathens.”

  “I’ll let you tell the hotel manager.”

  Jerrol laughed. “You leave all the fun stuff for me.”

  In the end, they managed to slip out the hotel without the manager seeing them, and they blithely strolled down the road to the temple. Jerrol watched the surrounding buildings with an informed eye. He could see the truth of Marianille’s report.

  “The houses are a reasonable size. They are similar in structure to Vespiri; you know, square with an apex at the front. But to be honest, most are in some need of repair,” Jerrol murmured to Taelia as they walked. “Especially the roofs. Tiles are missing, roofs are sagging. Simple to fix if you have the expertise and the tools. The conditions must be terrible.”

  “And the money,” Taelia said.

  “Indeed. The temple looks in good repair. It has a yellow dome, Tali, a small one. But it’s still a dome. I wonder how they built it.” He led her inside, and it felt quite warm after the biting chill o
f the wind. Jerrol felt a stir of interest in the air.

  Taelia lifted her head and Jerrol placed her hand on the wall. “Here, the outer wall,” he said as they walked around the stone walls.

  “It’s old,” murmured Taelia. “It’s been here at least a thousand years, if not longer.” She trailed her fingers over the stone as she walked. “Jerrol? What’s this?” Taelia called.

  Jerrol spun as he realised he had stopped in front of the altar whilst Taelia had continued walking. He dragged himself away from the small statue in the alcove. “What have you found?” he asked.

  “Look, isn’t this the same verse that is in the temple in Old Vespers?” Taelia was kneeling beside an inscription on the floor, worn through the middle as people had walked on it daily. Jerrol knelt beside her, his blood stirring.

  He read the archaic Elothian script, the letters resolving themselves before his eyes.

  “Art thou of Remargaren, you ask?

  Blood of Elothia.

  Realms balance,

  Divide, Unite.

  Salvation will come

  ‘neath Land’s watchful gaze.

  Marguerite awaits

  The tardy Keeper.

  Wait and watch

  The change to come.

  “Why are they always saying I’m late!” Jerrol complained, his voice echoing off the walls.

  Taelia chuckled. “That is not what it says in the Lady’s temple.”

  “Then it’s not the same. Anyway, this proves its Marguerite’s temple. I heard she was more prevalent up here.”

  “I didn’t realise you read ancient Elothian,” Taelia murmured, her attention diverted as she ran her fingers over the stone.

  “See, and you thought you knew everything there was to know about me,” Jerrol replied as he was drawn back to the altar. A leather-bound book sat on a stand; he ran his fingers over the smooth surface and he flexed the page. It was thin yet sturdy; a much better medium than he was using in Vespers. He wondered if it was made especially for the temple or for general use. He searched for any other leaflets and drifted over to a board hanging on the wall. Notices of all sizes, some even in hues of blue and pink he saw in wonder, were pinned to the board. The paper felt the same. He returned to the altar.

  Taelia muttered to herself as she moved from one engraving to another. Marianille followed behind her.

  Jerrol knelt and reached to touch the statue in the alcove. A flash of light blinded him; a vision of a young woman laughing, her arms full of flowers, chestnut-coloured hair burnished to copper in the brilliant sunlight flowing loose around her shoulders.

  “Marguerite,” he said out loud. The woman stopped laughing and stared directly at him as the flowers slipped from her grasp.

  “Sir, please, we ask that you do not touch.” A sharp voice spoke behind him.

  Jerrol snatched his hand back and the vision was gone, but the girl’s startled face was burned in his memory, her vivid blue eyes boring into his.

  Jerrol rose and turned. “My apologies,” he murmured as a small rotund priest approached him.

  “Desecration, that is what it is. No respect these days. What is the world coming too?”

  “I meant no disrespect, I assure you. Please tell me about Lady Marguerite. This temple is dedicated to her, is it not?”

  “Yes, Lady Margrete. You are not pronouncing it correctly. The Guardian of the Land.”

  Taelia drifted closer, listening with interest.

  “Well,” the priest thrust his chest out a little as he realised he had an audience. “She was the Lady’s sister and Guardian of all Elothia and the Land.”

  “Please tell us more,” Taelia murmured, smiling at the priest.

  “Hum, yes, well. Legend has it, that she was sacrificed by her family into a union with the Land itself. She can control the ground we stand on with a mere thought, raise the highest mountains, split the ground, or cause the hottest elements to rise into the air. The seasons pass or linger at her whim, and here we pray for mild winters and long summers. Unfortunately, our prayers haven’t been answered recently.”

  “Why is that do you think?” Taelia asked.

  “I don’t know; our prayers are fervent and plenty.”

  “You said she was sacrificed by her family?” Jerrol cast Marianille a warning glance at her hiss of protest. “What happened?” he asked.

  “Well, that was thousands of years ago, and we only have legends and myth to go by. I can’t say how true they are.” The priest observed the attentive faces and continued. “Hmm, well the most popular myth says that the Lady Leyandrii asked her sister to bond with the Land. It was at a time of upheaval when the ancient keeper could no longer manage the demands being made on him. The Lady believed her sister would be able to take on the guardianship and protect the lands.

  “Back then, the plains of Elothia were grass-covered and plenty. The snowline was much further north and the land thrived; the crops were bountiful under the Lady Margrete’s guidance, and the clear air sustained us all.

  “She left the mortal world to join with the Land, never to be seen again. A sacrifice, truly. She destroyed her temple at Cerne and left only ruins that were gradually overgrown and lost, as a sacrifice to the love she had to leave behind.”

  “And the least accepted myth?” Jerrol asked as the priest fell silent.

  The priest shrugged. “There are many stories, so farfetched they are not worth repeating.” He frowned. “The problem is that they are only hearsay; there is no proof. But then there isn’t much proof for the other legends, either. It’s all held in place by faith.”

  Jerrol laughed. “The impossible is not always as unbelievable as people seem to think. Maybe if we believed no matter what, the Ladies would listen more.”

  The priest snorted. “Faith is personal to the believer. I am here to guide and instruct, not propagate theories.”

  “I don’t think Marguerite would mind; she strikes me as progressive.”

  “Her name is Margrete.”

  Marianille’s voice echoed behind him. “The Captain is correct; she prefers the name Marguerite.”

  The temple trembled, and Jerrol grinned. “I think she is agreeing.”

  The priest cast about in a panic. “We must leave. If the roof collapses, we could be killed.”

  “Father, the Guardian would not hurt her followers.”

  “These buildings are not very stable. We had a land tremor about ten years ago, and there was terrible devastation down by the wharves. Many families were made destitute as a result.”

  “I expect those buildings were shoddily built. This temple is well built and in good repair; there should be no concern. It is probably one of the safest places in Pollo. If anything like that should ever happen again, make sure your flock come here,” Jerrol reassured him.

  They were interrupted by the panicked voice of the port master. “Commander Haven, I’ve been looking all over for you. You shouldn’t leave your hotel unescorted.”

  Jerrol stared at him in surprise. “My dear port master, we are quite safe in the Guardian’s temple.”

  “These are difficult times. The roads are not always safe.” The port master looked appealingly at the priest for help.

  The priest huffed. “It’s not so bad as you make out. There are few here that would attack visitors. Why, they are the lifeblood of the port, and we have few enough as it is.”

  “Yes, but they are from Vespiri,” the port master replied in a hushed voice.

  “So?” The priest shrugged. “Why would the Vespirians attack us? We have nothing. There is nothing for them to take; it’s already been taken.” The priest trailed off at the port master’s expression. “Yes, well. I must get on. Thank you for taking the time to visit our temple. Guardian’s blessings on you all.” The little man retreated.

  “Let me escort you back to your hotel,” the port master blustered, though how he would be any protection if they were attacked Jerrol was at a loss to know. But for the sake
of the port master’s anxiety levels, he agreed, and they allowed themselves to be hustled out of the temple and back down the road.

  11

  Grand Duke Hotel, Pollo

  The hotel manager, Thorsten, was hovering in the reception area as they arrived, his agitated expression relaxing as they entered the foyer. “Ah you found them safe. Commander Haven, I apologise for any inconvenience, but it is safer if you all stay within the hotel.”

  “Yes, so I understand,” Jerrol replied. “But please do not concern yourselves. We just wanted to pay our respects at the temple.”

  “Good. Well, your dinner will be served at the sixth chime in your rooms. I hope you will enjoy it.” Thorsten snapped his fingers, and Carsten slunk out of a doorway and led the way up the stairs.

  As they reached the first landing Jerrol grasped Carsten’s shoulder. “Stay a moment,” Jerrol said and tilted Carsten’s chin towards him. “What happened to your face, boy?” he asked, his voice sharp with concern.

  “N-nothing. I wasn’t watching where I was going,” the boy stuttered, his eyes desperate. He shrank away from Jerrol’s hand. “Please, sir. I done nothing wrong.”

  “I know you haven’t. I didn’t mean to snap at you,” Jerrol soothed. “I was concerned that you had been hurt. Has someone treated it for you?”

  Carsten twisted his hands together and stared at the floor. “With what, sir?”

  “What is it, Jerrol?” Taelia asked, listening hard.

  “He’s got a right shiner,” Jerrol muttered under his breath. “Lead on, lad. We ought to return to our rooms.”

  They entered the parlour, and Marianille shut the door firmly behind her to prevent the lad from running.

  “Ah, Niallerion, where have you been?” Jerrol asked as he spotted the Sentinal standing by the window.

  “I was going to ask the same of you,” he replied, his gaze resting on the boy. “Hey, Carsten. What happened to your face?”

  “My very question,” Jerrol murmured as he led the boy over to the table. “Let me look at you. Do you have a headache?” he asked.

  Carsten went to shake his head and winced.