“Taurillion and Yaserille were at Cerne, but there were no others,” Jerrol said.
“No, I fear they were the only two to survive. There is one you already know of, who walks this land and cries for help; who resists the blandishments of those who should know better, but her strength fails as her hope dies. She has suffered betrayal and loss; her spirit dwindles. I cannot reach her. You must help her before it’s too late. What is now Elothia will be lost to all if she cannot entwine the throne of Elothia back in line with the Land.”
Jerrol stared at her. “Lady Guin’yyfer?”
Marguerite nodded her face sad.
“We are but three, if Taurillion and Yaserille truly mean to help me. We have no winter clothes or food. I have no sword. We will die in this weather.”
Marguerite tutted. “Look around you. Where do you think you are?”
Jerrol looked around him as his surroundings suddenly coalesced. He hadn’t noticed they had been greyed out and featureless as he spoke with Marguerite. The grey stone walls solidified into a circular room which he now realised must be the Tower of Leyarne.
He was lying in a bed which curved with the outer wall. A rectangular wooden table sat in the middle with three chairs around it. A fire burned bright in the stone hearth opposite him, logs crackling and spitting as the flames flared. The faint thwack of an axe penetrated the stone walls and explained where the logs had come from. Taurillion must be replenishing the wood pile. Candles lit the room, revealing a row of pegs near the door.
Marguerite chuckled and drew Jerrol’s attention back to her. “My Oath Keeper, you are most worthy. Remember, my mother’s tower protects that which you must find. Release my guardians. Find the lost and your hand will strengthen.”
Jerrol lay staring at the flower in his hand in bemusement. It was perfect: five rounded pure white petals, gilded by the silvery light of the moon and blessed by the Lady. The centre was infused with a deep pink, the colour of the deepest sunset; a colour seen only at the behest of the Land’s miracle of life. Below the centre was colours of the King’s robes; a deep red, gilded with gold edges. It was truly a flower of Remargaren and never seen in normal light, he was sure; he must have died and gone to the Lady’s bower.
“Captain?” A soft voice intruded, and he blinked. The flower was still there. The voice altered subtly, a note of awe entering it. “Captain? Where did you get that orchid?”
“Orchid?” Jerrol whispered, looking at the impossible bloom in his hand.
“That is Marguerite’s flower; very rare, never to be touched.” Her voice was hushed. “It is a sign of hope, of rebirth. Taurillion, get over here,” she called.
Taurillion’s face blanched at the sight of the flower. “She’s never going to forgive me,” he whispered, dropping his head in his hands.
Yaserille reached up and clipped him round the head. “I’ll never forgive you if you don’t get a grip,” she snapped. She crouched beside Jerrol. “Captain?”
“I thought I dreamt her,” Jerrol replied, extending a tentative finger to touch the flower in his hand.
Taurillion choked. “You dreamt of Marguerite?”
Jerrol smiled. “Yes, she has much she needs us to do.” He focused on Taurillion’s pale face and sat up. “She said she would be having words with you.”
Taurillion paled even more, and Yaserille laughed. Jerrol handed the flower to Taurillion. “For you, I believe, with her apologies. She did what she thought was best.”
Taurillion stood staring at him, his face lost and forlorn as he held the flower as if it was the most precious thing in the world.
“She never left you. She has been here all the time, waiting for you to wake so she could welcome you back. I think you need to talk. Maybe now would be a good time whilst she is feeling penitent?” Jerrol suggested, ignoring the slight tremble beneath his feet.
“Behave,” he thought. “Remember your last meeting, and what he has been through since.”
Jerrol felt a sense of contrition as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and joined Yaserille at the table. Taurillion collapsed on the edge of the bed, staring at the flower in his hand.
Yaserille smiled as Jerrol sat at the table and a bowl of steaming soup appeared before him. “Eat,” she said. “The Tower of Leyarne provides to those who ask.” She leaned over to place another log on the fire, and then joined him at the table, another bowl appearing before her. She picked up the spoon and began eating, closing her eyes for a moment as she savoured the flavour.
“The Tower of Leyarne,” Jerrol repeated, glancing around the small room. “Marguerite’s tower.”
Yaserille nodded. “There were three of them; Leyandrii, Marguerite and Asilirie. Asilirie was their older sister; she was beautiful, yet innocent. She was too nice to be a Guardian. She wasn’t tough enough.”
“What happened to her?”
“No one knows. She left with the Mother. One day there were three of them, the next there were two.”
“Three sisters?”
Yaserille grinned. “Yes, frightening thought, isn’t it?”
“Three of them,” Jerrol repeated. And he had met two of them. He picked up his spoon and began sipping the steaming soup. Chicken. As he ate, warmth worked its way through his bones, bringing his body back to life. His aches and pains reported back for duty. He eased his shoulder. It ached, but was nowhere near as painful as it had been. He noticed his hand had scabbed over; the wounds healing fast. He frowned. “How long have we been here?”
“A few days; you needed the rest.”
“You should have woken me.”
“I doubt Marguerite would have let us.”
“Zin’talia? Are you alright?”
“Oh yes, I am fine. I have been well looked after.”
Jerrol smiled at her contented voice. “I’m glad. How is your shoulder?”
“Nearly healed. You’ll be able to ride me when we leave.”
“You said that Marguerite needed our help?” Yaserille said as Jerrol concentrated on his soup and then reached for a piece of bread.
“Yes, we need to find her guardians and help find the missing Sentinals. Who else was in Elothia? How many Sentinals were posted up here?”
Yaserille pursed her lips as she thought. “At least twenty. Northern Remargaren was barren when the Lady installed the first grand duke. He spent most of his time building towns and travelling between Retarfu and the Summer Palace. Retarfu and Adeeron were the farthest north anyone went. Most Sentinals were posted along the coastline or below the snowline.
“Twenty! But there are no sentinal trees. Where were you located? With the grand duke?”
“Yes, in Retarfu. I was in the palace when the world went up in smoke. Much of the palace was damaged. A terrible storm drove through the whole area, destroying much of the region. Trees were felled, rivers flooded, and there were terrible snowstorms.
“I don’t remember much after that. I was caught in a twist of wind that swept me away; to Cerne, I suppose. Marguerite must have sent the wind to get us, but I don’t remember. I recall a sense of time passing. I was surprised, though I suppose I shouldn’t have been, to find Taurillion in Cerne. He had been in Vespers at the Lady’s palace.” Her eyes were distant as she stopped speaking.
“Well, we need to find the others. Ask and you shall receive. Do you think it is as simple as asking where the Sentinals are?”
Yaserille shrugged. “You’re the Captain. You know best.”
“I’m not. I am the Oath Keeper, bound by Lady, Land, and Liege to protect Remargaren and the Oath,” Jerrol said slowly. “And I am petrified of failing all of them. I mean, look at us. We have nothing; no winter clothes, no supplies, no men.”
Yaserille passed her hand over her eyes. “Oath Keeper, you will never fail whilst we are with you,” she promised. Jerrol looked up in surprise as the vow was acknowledged by the trembling Land.
“Did you feel that?”
Yaserille swallowed. �
�Yes.” Her face broke out in a wide smile. “Marguerite is listening.”
“Well, that was clear enough,” he said as he stood up.
“Captain?”
He looked at Yaserille and sighed. “You’d better call me Jerrol. I’m no longer a captain, just a deserter of the grand duke’s army or worse, a traitor.” And I would feel less of a fraud, he thought to himself.
Yaserille shrugged. “You are what you are; you can’t lose it. You are the Lady’s Captain, and I don’t care what you think, or what you believe you think; no one can take that away from you. We will come with you.”
“Are you sure? Maybe we ought to wait for Taurillion’s opinion.”
“He’ll fall in line now that Marguerite has spoken to him. Our plans were not well thought through. Elothia doesn’t know us, nor us it. You were right; it is much changed. Please forgive us for deserting you, Captain. We should have known better. Truly, we are the Lady’s Sentinals, and we are here to do as She or her Captain bids.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” he said. “You had no time to adjust. The situation was extreme, to say the least.” Jerrol looked around him. Thick winter coats hung on the pegs by the door, and Jerrol saw a sword in a leather sheath leaning against the wall. Standing, he went over to pick it up and unsheathed it; it wasn’t Guerlaire’s, he supposed that was asking for too much, but it was a finely balanced sword, and he hefted it in his left hand.
Taurillion flopped heavily into a seat at the table, an incredulous expression on his face. He stared at the fire, pinpoints of yellow flame dancing in the metallic gleam of his eyes. His usually severe expression was softened, probably by shock, Jerrol thought.
Yaserille leaned over to grip his hands. “How was Marguerite?” she asked with a grin.
“Much the same!” He looked at her as if waking from a daze.
Yaserille laughed at his surprise.
Taurillion straightened. “Captain, Marguerite explained what she has asked of you,” he glanced at Yaserille, who nodded. “We are yours for as long as you want us,” he said. “I swear allegiance to the Captain of the Guard, the Oath Keeper, and Guardian of the Lady, Land, and Liege.”
“As do I,” Yaserille said, firmly repeating his words.
Jerrol felt the oaths lock into place and sighed. “Very well. First, we need to find the Sentinals, who are hidden somewhere around here. Second, we need a distraction so we can get into the Summer Palace and rescue Marguerite’s guardian, Lady Guin’yyfer, and third, we need to rescue the grand duke from the Ascendants, and that’s just for starters.”
Jerrol laughed at the shocked expressions on their faces. “How far are we from the Summer Palace?”
Taurillion stroked his beard, a crease between his brows. “If we avoid Adeeron to the east and head back towards Retarfu, then it will take us about four days.”
“Are you sure the grand duke is still in Retarfu?” Jerrol asked.
“Definitely. From what Niallerion said, he’ll be kept away from the front. His advisors don’t want the generals getting too close to him, and the Summer Palace is too near the front line.”
Yaserille stirred. “If we could get Deepwater to advance over the border, that would distract the generals enough for us to get into the Summer Palace. They would be so frantic, protecting the southern border, they would ignore what’s happening up here.”
“Yeah, right,” Taurillion scoffed. “We just send a message to Deepwater and say please advance your troops.”
“That’s exactly what we need to do. I’m sure Jennery will be quite happy to cause a distraction,” Jerrol said. “But not just yet. Are there any waystones near here? Surely there must be one here at the tower?”
“I don’t remember Guerlaire creating any; he never had time to visit Elothia in the last year or so. I think there were only waystones in Vespiri and Terolia.”
“Shame. Without Guerlaire’s sword, I can’t create any.”
“You can create them?” Taurillion asked, his eyes widening.
“I could if I had Guerlaire’s sword. Never mind, we’ll just have to do it the old way, on foot!”
35
Grand Duke’s Palace, Retarfu
Tor’asion gritted his teeth against the curses he would much prefer to be venting. The grand duke was playing hard to get, refusing entry to all but his healer and his guards. Even Kerisk wouldn’t let Tor’asion in, no matter what he threatened.
He was sure Randolf was firmly in their control, but his intractable behaviour was cause for concern. Whatever Jerrol had said to him seemed to have resonated somewhere. He hoped it wasn’t a lasting effect as they couldn’t reinforce the suggestions they had in place. They would have to rely on Selvia to speak to him, and her persuasive skills were not strong.
He turned away from the guard barring his entry and stalked off down the corridor, muttering under his breath.
The guard stiffened to attention as a young woman approached. She was escorted by her tall attendant. It was the blind scholar. “I’m sorry miss, the grand duke is not receiving visitors.”
Taelia smiled. “I know. I hope he is recovering well. It is so terrible to hear he has been ill. I wanted to leave him the report of my findings; it might give him something to read while he recuperates.”
“I’ll pass it on, miss.”
“Thank you.” Taelia gave the guard a blinding smile, which made him blink and smile back at her in return.
Marianille’s lips twitched as she led her away. “Don’t overdo it,” she whispered.
“It can’t hurt,” Taelia whispered back. “Let’s hope he gets my report.”
“If he does, let’s hope he reads it,” Marianille replied without much hope.
Birler stood by the wall and watched the grand duke poring over a map on the table, comparing a list in his hand to locations on the map and cursing under his breath.
“Do you need assistance, Your Grace?”
“Yes, tell me. If you had men positioned at these locations, what would you think?” the grand duke demanded, slapping the paper on the table and rubbing his eyes.
Birler scanned the paper and leaned over the map. “That your generals have been drinking, sir.”
The grand duke gave a huff of laughter. “You could see it that fast?”
“With those positions, the Vespirians will wipe them out. There is no fallback, no defence. It’s all open territory.”
“They are fools,” the grand duke ground out.
“Indeed they are, sir. You need to order them to retreat, at least back to Lervik. They’ll draw the Vespirians straight up to the Summer Palace if they are not careful.”
The grand duke bent back over the map, his eyes moving quickly. “You’re right. Call Ulfr for me. I need to rescind their orders.”
Birler pulled the cord and instructed the page who turned up in response. The page bowed and shot back out the door. Returning to his place by the wall, Birler observed Ulfr arrive. He looked flustered; even his moustache drooped.
“Lieutenant Kerisk has the Third Chevron, Your Grace, but he is not Captain Finn. He won’t be able to keep your advisors away.”
“He will if you command him too,” Birler said.
Ulfr’s mouth fell open as he gave Birler an incredulous stare, as shocked as if the wall had spoken. “Young man, you should not be listening to our conversation.”
Birler shrugged. “The Captain said to protect the grand duke. Keeping Var’geris and Tor’asion away from the grand duke comes under that order. We can lock them up if you want?” he offered with a small smile.
The grand duke choked. “Although that is tempting, I think it will not be necessary.”
Birler smiled and stiffened back into the silent sentry. He listened as Ulfr and the grand duke discussed their options, moving to interrupt before remembering his place and clamping his lips shut.
After a while, the grand duke leaned back in his chair and eyed him. “Spit it out, private, you’re dying to say
something.”
“My apologies, Your Grace, but have you considered why the generals are positioned to attack Stoneford? What are they after? The logical route to Vespiri would be via Deepwater and Greens and then across to Vespers.”
“Go on.”
Birler moved to the table. “It doesn’t make sense. The only targets past Stoneford are the Watch Towers. If you were going to invade Vespiri, you would take out the Lady’s palace, her stronghold. So why aren’t they?”
Randolf pursed his lips. “Maybe my advisors need to explain themselves,” he murmured, staring at the map. He glanced at Birler. “How come you are only a private. What did you do wrong?”
Ulfr watched the grand duke, appalled.
“I don’t know, Your Grace. Never seemed to have the opportunity.”
Randolf frowned at Ulfr. “Send Lieutenant Kerisk to me. He needs to step up to captain. We’ll make Birler here his lieutenant. Send my orders out. Let’s see if we can pull these troops back.”
Tower of Leyarne
“How far down does the tower go?” Jerrol asked.
Yaserille shrugged. “If it’s anything like Cerne, then at least two levels. The guardians liked to be close to the Land.”
“Take the first watch while Taurillion and I go and explore. There are many Sentinals still missing. We need to find them, or at least find a sign as to where they are. This tower seems a likely place to start.”
“You think you’ll find them here?” Taurillion asked as Yaserille rose and grabbed a padded jacket off the peg.
“I hope so. We need the help. Come on, we have little time, and lots to do.”
As Jerrol followed Taurillion down the stairs, he trailed his hand over the grey stone walls. Marguerite’s excitement shivered through him, and a sense of expectation grew as they descended, the darkness wrapping them like soft velvet.
Taurillion fumbled to light the lantern, and Jerrol extended his left hand and opened it flat. A soft silvery glow revealed more stone steps spiralling down below them. Taurillion looked around him in surprise. His eyes widened as he saw where the light was coming from and, visibly awed, he began descending again. The stone walls became rougher as they descended, the stone blocks giving way seamlessly to older rock.
Sentinals Justice: Book Three of the Sentinal Series Page 28
