A small girl dressed in what looked like a sack entered the room and placed a small tray with a clay mug on the table. She stared at Jerrol from wide grey eyes before dashing out again.
“Surely not. The Guardian would protect her people. And anyway, I heard it was the Lady Marguerite’s temple.”
“She was jealous, that’s what I think. A woman spurned, you know, very dangerous; she destroyed it all,” the man said with a crisp nod.
Marianille was describing the inn to Taelia as they came into the bar. She sat Taelia at the table and, at her prompting, Taelia picked up the clay mug. She sniffed it with some suspicion and took a hesitant sip before placing it back on the table and pushing it away as an expression of distaste crossed her face.
“Why does the road run through the ruins if they are so dangerous?” Jerrol asked, turning his gaze back to the innkeeper.
“Quickest route,” the man said.
The Elothian captain appeared in the doorway. “We need to leave. We still have at least five hours to travel, and it will be dark by the time we get to the city.”
Jerrol nodded. “We’ll be right with you. The scholar needs to finish her tea.”
“That’s fine,” Taelia said, hurriedly standing.
“Of course,” Jerrol offered Taelia his hand and led her back out of the inn. He looked around them as Niallerion approached.
“They are nervous about something. The captain had to speak quite sharply to his men. If I didn’t know better, I’d say some of them are on the verge of deserting,” Niallerion said, keeping his voice soft. Jerrol glanced about, observing the skittish horses reflecting their riders’ discomfort.
“Stay alert,” he said in acknowledgement as he handed a reluctant Taelia back into the carriage.
“Did he say another five hours?” she asked as she arranged her skirts.
Jerrol’s sigh matched hers. “That’s what he said.” He settled himself beside her, relaxing as she moved closer. Jerrol braced his foot against the other seat as the carriage lurched its way back onto the road, clasping his wife in his arms.
They were murmuring sweet nothings to each other to pass the time, Jerrol flinging an arm out sporadically as they met overly deep ruts that rocked the carriage, when they heard a shout. Jerrol looked up and eased over to the window. There wasn’t much to see. A damp fog swirled around them in wisps, thinning to reveal grey stone tumbled amongst the wiry grass and then thickening to conceal them.
There was another shout, and the carriage lurched violently. A resounding crack split the air as the carriage tilted, throwing Jerrol and Taelia to the floor. They slid across the surface as the carriage careered at a precarious angle down a steep slope before shuddering to a groaning halt. The squealing of panicking horses and the sound of shattering glass were interrupted by more shouts, and then there was silence.
13
Ruins of Cerne, Elothia
Jerrol loosened his grip on Taelia. Fortunately, she was lying on top of him. He was wedged against the door, which had buckled under him, and something was sticking painfully into his back. “Are you alright?” he asked.
“Yes, I think so.” Taelia’s voice wavered. “Are you? What happened?”
“Looks like we won’t be riding in the carriage anymore.”
“Oh, good,” she said, her voice firming.
Marianille’s voice came from outside. “Captain, Scholar, are you alright?” Her horrified face appeared in the cracked window, taking in their awkward position she pulled the door open and leaned in to pull Taelia out.
“Scholar, are you hurt?” she asked, and not waiting for an answer she leaned in and helped unwedge Jerrol, who gratefully accepted the strong hand pulling him up and out.
“Are you alright?” he asked as he peered at the underside of the carriage.
“Yes, Niallerion is helping to calm the horses. One is trapped in its traces; the guards are trying to release it.”
“What happened?”
“I’m not sure. We were about halfway through the ruins. It looked like the road continued straight, but when this mist swirled in it was quite disorientating. I think we must have veered off the road and run down the bank. I’m not sure we’ll get the carriage back out, though Captain Ragthern seems determined.”
“I’m sure he is,” Jerrol murmured as they climbed out of the ditch. He straightened and surveyed the scene; controlled chaos he thought.
“Zin’talia, are you alright?”
“Fine, Niallerion and I were further back. The mist was so dense, it was impossible to see anything.”
The captain shouted some more commands at his men and turned to Jerrol. “Commander, if you please, wait over there.” He pointed at a group of rocks. “We will be on our way soon.”
Jerrol thought he was overly optimistic but nodded in agreement and escorted Taelia over to a weathered slab of stone beside the road. “Your seat, my lady.”
“Why thank you, sir,” she sat, patting the rock beneath her, and then she stretched. “I’m not sure I want to sit. Do you think we could walk for a bit? Maybe work a few of these kinks out?”
“Good idea. Marianille, do you want to see if you can help Niallerion?”
“Don’t go far, Captain. We don’t know what’s out there,” Marianille said, looking around with caution. Jerrol glanced at her and Marianille laughed. “You should hear the tales these people tell.”
He shooed her away. “We won’t go far,” he said as he turned to look at the ruins behind him and the fog parted to reveal a tall stone column. Jerrol pulled Taelia to her feet. “Look,” he murmured, “this column is a lighter coloured stone than the blocks scattered around it. It’s been shattered about half-way down, but there are much taller columns all around us.” He placed her hand on the column. “Grooves run the length of it all the way round.” He frowned up at it, then turned around.
The mist swirled around him; damp air caressed his face and lingered, sprinkling droplets of water on his hair and clothes. He took a step forward as the guards called to each other off to his right, their voices muffled in the eerie twilight air. “Taelia,” he began, and then his foot gave beneath him and he dropped. He landed lightly on his feet, looking around as dirt pattered down on his head. Brushing himself down, he approached the wall in front of him. It was filled with engravings of scenes of people in action. He reached out to touch the semblance of a tall tree with broad pointy leaves and a deep ache flared through his chest.
“Jerrol?” Taelia called from almost on top of him.
“Tali, stop. There is a hole right in front of you,” he shouted. She gave a slight shriek as her foot stepped onto empty air, and she landed in his outstretched arms before he hit the ground with a whoof! and lay winded for a moment.
“Jerrol? Are you alright?” Her fingers fluttered over him as she rolled off him. “I am so sorry, my love,” she murmured, kissing his face, her hands patting him.
“Just give me a minute,” he gasped, “get my breath back.” She rubbed his back, slowing as she felt moisture and a jagged tear. She raised her hand to her nose.
“Jerrol, you’re bleeding; you’ve hurt your back.”
“It’s nothing,” he replied, sitting up.
“I’ll be the judge of that. Take your jacket off.”
“Here? It’s much too cold. It can wait.”
“No, it can’t. Take it off now.”
Jerrol gave a martyred sigh and took his jacket and shirt off. “Aren’t you more interested in these engravings?” he suggested as he turned his back to her.
“No. They’ll still be there in a minute.” Her hands fluttered over his warm skin, which was chilling fast in the cold air. “Jerrol,” she exclaimed as he shivered. “How can you say this is nothing? You have a great big splinter in your back.”
“Then yank it out,” he replied. “It’s freezing down here.”
Muttering under her breath, she ripped her petticoat and handed a section to him. “Tear that into s
trips for me and tie them together. I should just carry a stock of bandages whenever I am with you. I’m running out of petticoats.”
Gently feeling his back, she poked and prodded as he winced, and she eased the splinter out. There was a spurt of blood as she finally got it out and clamped a pad over it. “I hope the grand duke has healers. We need to make sure there’s no dirt in it,” she said as she took the strips of cloth he passed her and tied the pad in place.
He kissed her nose. “Thank you,” he said, and he donned his shirt, buttoning his jacket over the top. She wiped her hands on her skirts. “Come over here.” He took her hand, his were freezing, and placed it on the wall. “This looks like a sentinal tree,” he said as her hands slid over the wall, her sensitive fingertips registering the shapes that formed in her head.
“It is,” she breathed as she moved down the wall. “Jerrol, this is Elothian history before us. We could find out so much about how they lived back then. These engravings are very old. I’d say it matches the same style we found in that small chamber you fell into.”
“You could have just said ‘discovered’,” he complained, though she heard the smile in his voice. “You should ask the grand duke if you can come back and explore. We are not going to have time now,” he said as he walked down a slight incline. The ceiling rose above his head and disappeared into the shadows. “This place is enormous,” he said, his voice echoing as he reached to touch another column. A vibration shimmered in the air as he peered up into the vaulted ceiling. A gentle glow gave him enough light to see by, but he couldn’t see where the light was coming from.
He squinted above him and froze, his hand resting on the column. Only it wasn’t a column; it was a tree. A petrified tree, grey and silent. The pointy leaves were frozen in place, overlapping to create the ceiling of the cavern. He embraced the tree, reaching within; there was no response; the air was still and silent.
He persisted, pushing through compacted layers of fossilised wood. There had to be a Sentinal under all this hardened bark. He wormed his way past the outer rings and sifted through fading memories; a vision of a tall, muscular soldier, brown eyed, and with an impressive beard. He was kneeling in front of a young woman, a sword at his hip and laughter in his eyes. A luminous beauty glowed in the woman’s face as she laughed with him. Jerrol recognised her vivid blue eyes and copper burnished hair. She knelt with him and shoved her hands deep into the earth, and all around her soft green grass and meadow flowers sprung up from the frozen depths.
“Marguerite,” Jerrol whispered.
The woman raised her head and stared straight at him. “Save my warrior,” she said clearly. “Do not allow him to give up.” Her eyes, as blue as the sky, drilled into his and then softened, pleading. “Don’t let any of them give up, please,” she whispered as she faded from view.
Jerrol stirred and awareness flooded back. Taelia was calling him, and he realised he was trapped inside a petrified tree, somewhere under a ruined town in Elothia. What was he doing? He reached within. “Marguerite needs you; she is waiting for you.” There was silence. “She needs your strength, and she needs your love. Taurillion, Marguerite needs you.”
No response.
“The Ladies Leyandrii and Marguerite need you. Their Sentinals strong, defending their realm. You are derelict in your duty,” Jerrol snapped, his voice hardening. “You’ve spent long enough nursing your sorrows. Awake now and report,” he commanded.
A resounding crack split the air and the tree began to tremble. Jerrol stepped back into Taelia’s outstretched arms. “Jerrol?” she said, gripping him tight as the ground began to tremble as well.
“It’s a Sentinal,” Jerrol murmured, clasping her hands and leading her away from the tree. He hugged her as the outer shell of the tree started to crack like spreading fissures in thin ice, forming a mosaic of tiny pieces that began shedding off the tree. Jerrol deepened his voice. “Report,” he commanded, making Taelia jump. The canopy of leaves unfurled above them, reaching for the ceiling. The ceiling shimmered and was gone. The moon shone; the brilliant gleam meeting the questing leaves, which shivered and then stilled as they absorbed the light of the moon for the first time in centuries.
Jerrol stared at the man who appeared before him. He was the man from Marguerite’s memory; tall and broad chested, his copper eyes a little wild. His face was pale with anger.
“Where is she? Where’s Birlerion?” he demanded.
“Umm, they are not here at the moment.”
“She promised, she promised me.” The Sentinal paused, glaring at Jerrol. “Who are you?”
“Captain Jerrol Haven, Captain of the Lady’s Guard, and this is Scholar Taelia Haven.” Taelia tightened her grip on his arm.
“You’re not the Captain. Where’s Guerlaire?”
“With the Lady, I believe,” Jerrol said, watching the Sentinal stiffen as he searched the cavern.
“What did you do? Where are we?”
“We are amongst the ruins of Cerne.”
“Cerne? In ruins? What am I doing here?” Taurillion gazed around, disoriented. He rubbed his chest absently as he frowned. “She promised.”
“What did she promise?” Jerrol asked.
“Not to leave me,” he said, looking around him, his eyes haunted.
“Maybe she didn’t have a choice. I believe it was chaotic towards the end. She had to save who she could. Many were lost.”
“Of course she had a choice; she is a Guardian. All-powerful. Why did she leave us to die?”
“But you’re not dead,” Jerrol pointed out.
“Might as well have been. Frozen in time, stranded, helpless. That’s dying, isn’t it?”
“But no longer. Elothia needs you. Marguerite needs you.”
“And she expects us to just fall back in line as if nothing happened? Why would we?”
“Because you made an oath to protect the Lady and Remargaren, and they need you now. The Ascendants threaten our lives as they did three thousand years ago,” Jerrol said, keeping his voice calm.
“She tricked me, she promised. It’s way too late,” Taurillion spun around, looking about him wildly. “It’s Birlerion’s fault,” he said, before he shimmered back into his sentinal and out of sight.
Jerrol exhaled his breath with a whoosh. “That didn’t go too well,” he murmured.
“He just needs time. It must be a terrible shock to be awoken just like that. It’s a lot to get used to, and he has been in a lot worse conditions than some of the others,” Taelia suggested.
“Why would he blame Birlerion? What’s it to do with him?”
“He may be confused,” Taelia suggested.
Jerrol frowned as he thought of the Terolian Sentinals who had been in a similar situation and came out reasonably whole. He glanced at the second petrified tree. “There’s another one. What do you think? Should we try again?”
“Surely it would be better to be awake than not?”
He peered back towards the hole they had fallen through. Muffled shouts penetrated the cavern but little else. Swirls of mist drifted in the air. “It must be taking them longer to get that carriage out than they anticipated. I’m surprised they haven’t missed us yet.”
“I don’t think we’ve been down here very long,” Taelia reassured him.
“We haven’t? It feels like we’ve been down here for ages. Very well, let’s try number two.” He reached out towards the trunk. Taelia placed her hand beside his and, taking a deep breath, he pushed against the petrified shell, trying to discern who was within.
“A woman,” Taelia’s thoughtful voice sounded in his head as he received the impression of a lighter, more feminine touch, but when he staggered back from the sentinal dragging Taelia with him, he was confronted by a stone-faced warrior. Her eyes glinted silver, her hair of the palest blonde, almost white, was plaited down her back. She stared at them. Her uniform was a faded green tunic and trousers, made of a thick material that looked like it was designed for warmth
rather than elegance.
“What do you want?” Her voice was low and scratchy.
“Your help,” Jerrol replied.
The woman laughed and rolled her eyes. “Nothing new there, then,” she said, her voice cutting. She flexed her shoulders as if settling back into her body then turned back to her tree and laid a gentle hand on its bark. “We’re back,” she said, and the tree shook itself as the outer casing cracked and fell in a pearlescent cascade. A brief smile flitted across her face, before she turned back, stone-faced, to Jerrol.
“Yaserille, the Lady needs you, as does Marguerite. We need your help.”
“Who are you?”
“Captain Jerrol Haven, Captain of the Lady’s Guard.”
“The Lady’s Captain? Yeah, I can see it. To do what?”
“To save the grand duke and free his people.”
Yaserille snorted in disgust. “The grand duke? He’s a greedy bastard who cares for no one but himself; let him rot.”
“Umm, I don’t think the latest duke is the same man,” Jerrol said with a tight grin.
Yaserille stared at him. “The latest? How many have there been?”
“Quite a few; you’ve been asleep for over three thousand years,” Taelia said.
“What?” Yaserille took a step back, her eyes widening.
“It’s the year 4124. It’s been three thousand years since you last walked this land,” Jerrol said.
“Surely not. Where’s Marguerite?”
“She bonded with the Land. Her family were banished behind the Veil when the Lady sundered the bloodstone.”
“She did what?” Yaserille hissed. “Who else is here?”
“Well, Taurillion, but he wasn’t too impressed with his awakening either.”
“Taurillion? Get your arse out here, now!” Yaserille’s voice filled the cavern, and Taelia moved closer to Jerrol as she shivered in the chill air.
“Something’s not right here,” Taelia murmured. “These Sentinals don’t feel like the others.”
Jerrol sighed as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I fear nothing in Elothia is as it should be,” he whispered, watching the tall Sentinal as she strode towards the first tree.
Sentinals Justice: Book Three of the Sentinal Series Page 10
