Sentinals Justice: Book Three of the Sentinal Series

by Helen Garraway

  “Taurillion! Get out here now. You rat-faced coward.”

  Jerrol cringed. This reunion was not happening as he had expected.

  The tall, copper-eyed man appeared outside his tree. “Stop your shrieking, woman. They’ll hear you all the way to Skaarsflow.”

  “Hrmph, fat chance. What do you make of all this?”

  “She left us here for centuries. Centuries, Yas. Why should we listen to anything he says? Marguerite isn’t even here.”

  “Because I am the Captain of the Guard, that’s why,” Jerrol said. “And your Lady needs your help.”

  Taurillion laughed. “Yeah right. What did Birlerion do this time?”

  “You were with Birlerion at the end?” Jerrol asked, his chest grabbing at the thought of his friend.

  “Long enough to be captured. That boy always finds trouble. I don’t remember…” His voice faltered before firming again. “I shouldn’t be here. I was in Vespers. What was she thinking?” Taurillion’s eyes gleamed a soft coppery brown in the dim light. “She doesn’t need me, nor does Grand Duke Egryll. Lady bless his rule.”

  “The Lady very much needs and wants you. I need your help, as does Birlerion,” Jerrol said. “The final hours before the Lady sundered the stone were traumatic. The Guardian struggled to control the land as it reacted to the forces that the Ascendants drove into it. She tried to save as many people as she could. She did what she could to preserve life on Remargaren. You were encased in a sentinal to preserve you. Until now. Grand Duke Randolf the fourteenth currently rules Elothia; he has recently come to the throne.”

  Taurillion frowned. “What happened to Egryll?”

  “He died centuries ago, from food poisoning I think,” Jerrol said, racking his memory for the demise of such an ancient duke.

  “Ha! Think I’ll see for myself. Let’s see what this world has to tell me,” Taurillion said as he disappeared into his tree.

  “Yaserille, much has changed. You won’t recognise the landscape. Much damage was done. The people no longer remember you.”

  “I think I’m with Taurillion on this one. I want to see for myself.”

  “Be careful out there. Elothia is not as you left it,” Jerrol said as she re-entered her tree.

  14

  Ruins of Cerne, Elothia

  Jerrol blew out a breath as he stared at the two trees. They almost had an air of embarrassment about them before they shimmered out of sight, leaving Jerrol and Taelia still entombed underground.

  As Taelia wormed her way under his arm, he turned them back towards the opening they had fallen through. Marianille was calling them. Jerrol raised his voice. “We’re down here.”

  “What are you doing down there?”

  “Well, you see, I thought it would be a really good idea to fall down a hole, and then the scholar being the adventurous type that she is, decided it was such a good idea that she joined me,” Jerrol replied, an edge to his voice.

  There was a slight pause. “I’ll get a rope.”

  Taelia took the opportunity to hug him once last time. “Please be careful,” she whispered as he nuzzled her neck.

  “This was never going to be easy, but I’ll do my best.”

  “I love you,” she breathed as she heard Marianille return with some soldiers, and she let go of him.

  “I love you,” Jerrol whispered, dropping a light kiss on her head; an action so familiar, she leaned back against him without realising it.

  “Ah, here are our rescuers,” Jerrol murmured catching the rope. He looped the end so she could put her foot in it. “Hold on tight.”

  He watched anxiously, as she was pulled up out of the hole and the rope returned for him. Once he was pulled out, he faced the scowling captain.

  “I told you it wasn’t safe,” the captain snapped, his anger barely controlled.

  “My apologies. We only wanted to stretch our legs, but as you see, we are unharmed and ready to continue.”

  The captain stiffened, Jerrol’s unruffled response annoying him even more. “Then please return to the carriage. We have lost much time. It will be late by the time we arrive.”

  Jerrol bowed in agreement and escorted Taelia back to the now upright carriage. One window had a blanket tacked across it, and the woodwork was scratched and muddy, but Jerrol handed Taelia up without comment and sat beside her as the door was forced shut behind them. He snuck his arm around her waist, smiling as she snuggled into him. The air was chill without the sun to warm it, and the mist still swirled around them damply.

  He sighed as the carriage lurched forward and he braced his foot back against the other bench. “Do you think you can try to sleep? Who knows what they expect us to do once we arrive?”

  “Sleep? In this? You must be joking.”

  “I fear the captain wants to make up for lost time. Let’s hope he doesn’t find another ditch in his haste.”

  “Then I am definitely not sleeping,” Taelia said, gripping him tightly as the carriage lurched. Jerrol flung his arm out to brace them.

  “Let us hope all this discomfort will indeed get us there quicker,” he murmured, his body rocking with Taelia’s as the carriage thundered down the road.

  Jerrol’s arms and legs were stiff with fatigue and tension by the time they arrived in Retarfu. He feared Taelia was little better, even though he had tried to cushion her against the worst. He could see nothing outside the window. The city was in darkness. A few dim torches lined the road, guiding them to the palace, and they clattered under an echoey archway before suddenly pulling to a halt amidst crunching gravel.

  Marianille appeared at the window, her pale face gleaming through the cracked glass. She pulled the door open and offered a hand to help Jerrol out. She watched with sympathy as Jerrol tried to straighten up, his breath hissing through his teeth. Taelia stepped out beside him, her hand reaching for his arm immediately.

  “Why is there no one to greet you? I thought you were an ambassador of note.” Zin’talia’s voice had a note of grievance in it.

  He smiled at her ardent defence of his honour. “It’s late. I expect they are asleep. I hope the duke’s stables are as comfortable as the king’s.”

  “They’d better be,” she replied.

  He was sure she’d be telling him if they weren’t.

  “Jerrol?” Taelia murmured, her head tilting as she caught the sounds of people arriving.

  “Just the household staff, here for our bags,” he replied, trying to stretch the kinks out of his back. He eyed her in amazement. She seemed as fresh as when they had started the journey. Jerrol searched the courtyard for their welcoming party.

  Captain Ragthern saluted sharply. “If you would follow me, sir, madam, the footman will show you to your rooms. Unfortunately, it is too late to meet the grand duke. Your audience has been rearranged for tomorrow morning.”

  “Of course, lead the way,” Jerrol said agreeably, guiding Taelia up the white, marble steps. Marianille followed with Niallerion behind them glancing around with acute interest. Jerrol observed the palace, noting the absence of staff or any formal welcome. His eyes met Marianille’s and glided on as they passed through a large entrance hall and began to ascend the curving stairs. Ornate, gilt decorated railings marched upwards, leading them into the depths of the marble palace, and Jerrol grimaced as the thought of being corralled like livestock flashed through his mind.

  Their rooms were suitably appointed, lavishly adorned with more gilt-edged furnishings and colourful upholstery, and positioned either side of a private sitting room. Marianille had a small cubby hole off Taelia’s bedroom. Niallerion had a room off Jerrol’s as befit his station.

  Taelia was led off to the baths by a silent young maid, who murmured directions in a low voice, Marianille close behind. Jerrol washed in his room, Niallerion having brought him a supply of hot water.

  “This palace is as bad as Leyandrii’s; it’s like a maze,” Niallerion said in disgust.

  “Do your best,” Jerrol replied.
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  “Yes, sir.”

  Jerrol paced the sitting room as he waited for the woman putting away Taelia’s clothes to finish. She padded into the sitting room. “Supper will be served when the scholar returns, sir.”

  Jerrol nodded and let the woman leave.

  They were in a semblance of relaxed conversation about the voyage when Taelia returned, closely followed by a rattling trolley. She smelt of roses and jasmine, and Jerrol’s shoulders relaxed as he inhaled the scent as she approached him.

  “Feel better?” he inquired as he led her to a deeply cushioned seat next to the fire.

  “Much; hot water is such bliss.”

  “And they let you loose in the perfumery as well,” Jerrol noted as he sat opposite her.

  Taelia chuckled. “I have something else to add to my list. I think I need some of that bathwater.”

  Jerrol leant forward in his chair and lowered his voice. “Unfortunately, I don’t think you can get that list out here, at any time. Until we know the situation here, and I’ve met the grand duke, I’m not sure we should announce our joining.”

  Taelia stilled, the happiness fading from her face. “I see. That is a very great shame. I look forward to the day when we can.”

  Jerrol leaned back. “I very much hope that we will get a tour tomorrow after I have my audience with the grand duke. His palace is famous for the paintings and frescos in the long gallery. I am sure the grand duke will allow us to visit them; after all, you are here to help uncover the history of the palace for him.”

  Taelia tapped her lips, thoughtfully. “True. Marianille and I need to meet with the Archivist. I have an introduction from Scholar Deane Liliian. While you have your audience with the grand duke, I will search him out.”

  “Good,” Jerrol said, holding Marianille’s eye. They were interrupted by their supper arriving, and they had no further privacy until they had finished.

  Jerrol sighed as the last servant left and Niallerion padded after them, checking the corridors. “I believe we should have an early night for all. We’ve had a trying day. Scholar, I bid you a peaceful night under the Lady’s gaze.” He helped her rise and put his heart in the caress he gave her hands. Her hands convulsed around his in return.

  “Lady bless you, Jerrol,” she breathed, “as do I.” She reluctantly released his hands and walked to her room, leaving Jerrol staring after her. He heaved a despondent sigh and retired to his room and his very empty bed.

  He didn’t think he would sleep, but he was disturbed by a slender woman with tresses of blond hair and brilliant green eyes who stood before him. “Jerrol,” she said intently.

  Jerrol blinked in surprise. Lady Leyandrii had never used his name before.

  “For the sake of Remargaren, you must shed the Captain and embrace the Oath Keeper.”

  “What?” he frowned at her. “What does that mean?”

  “Forsake me, Jerrol, to protect the Veil. It is the only way to prevent the Ascendants from using you to shred the Veil. I didn’t see them. They are further ahead of us than I realised. This is the only way I can protect you. Forsake me. Marguerite will find you.”

  “Marguerite?” Jerrol struggled to think how the deity he had first met in Terolia would be able to help him, trapped as she was within the strata of the rock under the desert.

  “Forsake me now, completely,” the Lady demanded.

  “I can’t. You know I’m yours, now and always. The oath bound us closer. I can’t forsake you.” Jerrol lurched out of his bed. “Leyandrii? I can’t forsake you. I don’t know how.”

  Soft fingers caressed his face and his skin heated beneath her touch. “For Taelia and Jason. Would you do it for them? To protect them? It is the only way. To save my people. To save my Sentinals.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Allow the one within you to rise. Birlerion shed the Sentinal. For me, he let go of all he knew and embraced what he once was. Every day he amazes me, and I honour him for it. You must help him. He will not know you when you find him. Only you can reach him and return him to us, when it’s time. You are the Oath Keeper. Marguerite will find you. Promise me. You will forsake me. You must remain hidden from Ascendant eyes.”

  Jerrol trembled under the force of her will. His heart thrummed as he buckled under her regard. “For you, anything,” he gasped. “But they already know who I am. I don’t know what to do.”

  She soothed his distress and gently kissed his forehead. “They have no idea who you are. You know exactly what to do. Birlerion has, and he has been bound to me for much longer than you have. Do it now,” she said as she faded from view.

  Jerrol braced himself against the wall. He looked around him as he tried to catch his breath, his heart hammering in his chest. Swallowing, he tried not to vomit. Acid burnt his throat and he grabbed the glass of water by his bed and drained it. He gasped in a breath. Replacing the glass, he slumped on the bed and held his head in his hands, his mind spinning.

  After a while he stirred. Sitting here moping would not solve anything. He squared his shoulders and breathed in deeply. Rising, he moved over to stare out of the window. The moon gleamed brilliantly above him, and he felt her farewell and an unspoken demand. He frowned up at her in dismay as uncertainty fluttered in his stomach. Gripping the windowsill, he bent his head before her, wrestling with the idea. And Birlerion? His stomach roiled at the thought of what his friend must have continued to suffer, but the Lady knew where he was, and he was still alive.

  Of their own accord, his hands reached up and removed the leather cord from around his neck. The smooth green stone, pierced by the cord, glistened in his hand. He had always worn it, the stone rubbed smooth by his fingers over the years. He remembered finding it as a child when he had lost his way. He had taken it for a sign and clung to it ever since.

  Jerrol stiffened as he felt the Lady accept his rejection, the emptiness within a physical pain. He gritted his teeth and ignored the ache. Turning away from the window he dressed; he wouldn’t be sleeping any more tonight. Silently, he made his way through the palace, aware that Niallerion shadowed him and out towards the training grounds behind the grand duke’s barracks. He started to run around the perimeter the rhythm of his feet pounding the dirt. He ran until the sound blotted out all thought and numbed his mind. He finally raised his tearing eyes from the ground as the rising sun lightened the sky.

  15

  Deepwater Watch, Vespiri

  Jennery awoke suddenly, not sure what had disturbed him, but he lay tense and alert, waiting. When nothing disturbed the silence of the night, he rose and gently covered Alyssa with the blanket as she mewed a soft protest. He paused by the window and stared up at the crescent moon as a cloud passed over it, and he shivered. He dressed and silently left the room, making sure he hadn’t disturbed his sleeping wife.

  He met Denirion and Tagerill in the shadow-striped main hall. “What is it?” he asked as he inspected the Sentinals. They were both agitated and strained, unable to keep still.

  “Something’s happened to the Captain. He’s gone,” Tagerill said, clenching his jaw.

  “You mean he’s been killed?” Jennery asked, aghast.

  “No, we’re not sure. It’s like Birlerion; we can no longer sense him. But it’s not the same feeling as Serillion,” Denirion said, his face drawn. The shadows aged him, deepening the lines engraved on his face. “It’s possible that he has forsaken the Lady.”

  “Jerrol? Never!” Jennery gripped Denirion’s arm and gave him a slight shake. “It’s not possible.”

  Tagerill shrugged, rubbing his temple. “I would have sworn the same about Birlerion, and yet we can’t find him. Maybe the Ascendants got to him. They’ve had him for months, now.”

  “The Lady would have protected them both. It makes no sense,” Jennery said.

  “Then I hope Jerrol knows what he is doing because he is in Elothia,” Tagerill replied.

  “Elothia?” Jennery frowned in confusion.

  “Wi
th Taelia. My sister, Marianille is with them. They are in Retarfu.”

  “And you believe Jerrol no longer walks the Lady’s path?” Jennery asked, his face paling.

  “Yes,” Tagerill said, reluctance clear in his voice.

  Jennery paced across the hallway before abruptly turning towards his office. “There’s got to be an explanation,” he muttered under his breath as he searched through the papers on his desk. He reviewed the last set of orders which had arrived from the commander’s office.

  “He knew,” Jennery said.

  “What?” Denirion and Tagerill asked in unison.

  Jennery sat at his desk and rifled through the papers stacked in front of him, pulling one out. He skimmed it. “He knew; he must have known. I thought his last communique odd. ‘No matter what you hear or believe, follow orders. Many lives depend on it.’ He wanted us to be ready on the borders; to be ready to position men deep into Elothia. The bastard planned this and didn’t tell us.”

  “But what will we do without the Captain?” Tagerill asked.

  Jennery stood and slapped him on the shoulder. “Would you forsake the Captain just for a feeling?” he asked with a grin. “He is made of sterner stuff and will no doubt surprise us all. Make sure Marianille keeps us informed,” he ordered, belying his concern.

  Jerrol returned to his room and then went to the baths to shower. He dressed in his formal clothes, adjusting the harsh cotton shirt and slipping on his jacket. He missed the subtle shimmer, the fine-textured linen, the weight of her attention. Leyandrii had withdrawn completely, and he felt bereft as if he had lost a piece of himself. He flexed his damaged hand, her loss even more visceral than losing his fingers, and that was something he never thought he would say. He pulled the skin-tight black glove over his hand to hide the damage.

  He wondered how Birlerion felt. His faith was even more deep-rooted; for him to have stepped away was beyond belief. He clung to the fact that Birlerion was still alive, even if his situation may be dire.