Sentinals Justice: Book Three of the Sentinal Series

by Helen Garraway

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Marianille’s calm voice continued, “The Captain believes that the Ascendants have Lady Guin’yyfer of Tierne held against her will; he intends to free her.”

  The grand duke galvanised to his feet. “They’ll kill her.”

  “They are already killing her. She is the Summer Guardian and Lady Marguerite needs her, just as Guin’yyfer needs Marguerite,” Taelia said. “She is being suffocated, tortured without her connection to you and the land. She should be by your side; she’s written in the walls of your palace. I find her everywhere, except where she should be. The Land mourns her loss, and your rule suffers.”

  Birler moved forward as the grand duke swayed. “Your Grace, please sit. You are still recovering. They shouldn’t have sprung so much on you all at once.”

  The grand duke sat. “No, it’s alright. I should have known all along.” He rested his head in his hands and massaged his temples. “I thought I was protecting her,” he said, his voice muffled.

  “I’m sorry, Your Grace, please don’t worry. Jerrol will bring her back.”

  “You have great faith in your husband, Scholar. How is one man going to rescue her?” His voice was subdued as he took the glass of water that Birler offered.

  “He’ll find a way, Your Grace. He always does.”

  The silence was interrupted by the ornate clock on the shelf behind the grand duke, chiming eight. He sighed and leaned forward. “Come back the same time tomorrow. We’ll talk more then.”

  “It may be best if the Ascendants don’t know that we spoke,” Taelia suggested as she rose.

  “I’m trying to avoid them. Though without Captain Finn to guard my doors, I’m not sure how much longer that will work.”

  “Birlerion will protect you, and the Lady protects those who ask, don’t forget,” Taelia said as she left.

  The grand duke sat at his desk, staring at the closed door for a long time.

  40

  Retarfu, Elothia

  Birler knew Owen wasn’t enamoured with his on-the-job promotion. He hadn't stopped complaining about filling in for Finn, or the extended conversations he was expected to have with the grand duke about his sister. Being interrogated by the scholar of all people about Captain Finn and his sister Guin’yyfer had Owen fuming.

  All of the men tried to avoid him, though Captain Finn had put in place such rigorous processes that they didn’t really need to speak to him. They continued as Finn had intended.

  Birler observed the Ascendants trying to importune Owen, making threats against his sister if he didn’t let them in to see the grand duke. But Owen stood firm and they gritted their teeth and left him alone.

  Birler was the only member of his unit that the grand duke allowed to enter his rooms and stand behind his shoulder. He wondered what the regime at Adeeron would make of his promotion to lieutenant, and then shrugged the thought off.

  Interestingly, the scholar was permitted entry regularly, and subsequent requests to recall the generals began to be sent out. He watched with interest as the Ascendants tied themselves in knots trying to delay or redirect the requests. At least it kept them busy and away from him.

  The day that two soldiers arrived during the grand duke’s daily audience to say that they had killed the rogue captain was fraught for everyone involved. Owen stood to the side of the platform, trying to glower at anyone who chose to approach the grand duke with a petition. He had kept most away, but two palace guards approached, too excited to notice his scowl. The petitioners peered over the courtier's shoulders with interest at the sudden interruption.

  Grand Duke Randolf sat on his throne and inspected the soldiers before him. He glanced at Taelia, seated beside a bored Selvia, off to his left. Tall, silver-eyed Sentinals stood behind the scholar. His gaze paused on them before moving to Taelia. “Scholar?” he asked. She shook her head.

  Birler stepped forward and took the sword with shaking hands. He recognised it. “It is the Captain’s,” he said, his gut churning. He turned on the guards. “Where did you say you killed him?” His voice whipped across the room and they flinched back.

  “We pushed him off the cliff; off the drop.”

  “But you didn’t see his body?”

  “He went off the drop. No one survives that.”

  Birler smiled in relief, the cramp in his gut easing. “You’d be surprised,” he said, his voice low. “Marguerite has a soft spot for the Captain, and if he’s not worthy, then no man is. I’m sure you are mistaken.” He returned to his post behind the grand duke, unsheathing his sword and sliding the Captain’s home in its place. It vibrated gently and he relaxed at its familiar hum.

  Tor’asion stepped out from behind one of the marble statues lining the room and peered at Birler behind the throne. As he approached the dais, his jaw squared and the cords in his neck stood out as he clenched his fists. “What are you doing here, Birlerion? How did you escape from Adeeron? Your Grace, you have a Vespirian Sentinal standing behind you. He was imprisoned in Adeeron. He is not to be trusted.”

  Owen moved towards the duke. “Lieutenant Birler is as trustworthy as I am, Your Grace.”

  Tor’asion snorted. “That’s not saying much.”

  “And who made you the expert on the Elothian Army?” Owen asked, ice in his voice. Offended that they dare question his or any other soldier's commitment to the grand duke. “I would question your loyalty before Birler’s,” he bit out.

  “Randolf, you must arrest him, he is masquerading as an Elothian soldier,” Selvia ordered. “You can’t trust him.”

  Birler felt a sense of inevitability as he watched Tor’asion approach the throne. He had the Captain’s sword. One of the Ascendants who had tortured him approached the throne. A calm settled over him as he waited.

  “Birler?” the grand duke said.

  Birler stepped forward and stood in front of the grand duke.

  Var’geris spoke as he joined Tor’asion at the foot of the dais. “Birlerion, Leyandrii commands you to kill the grand duke. You will do it now,” he intoned.

  Much of the throne room faded as Birler focused on the two men who had made him suffer, though he was aware of his sister moving around the throne room, as if she wasn’t sure how he would react.

  Birler drew the Captain’s sword; the swish of metal loud in the silent room.

  “Marianille, what’s happening?” Taelia turned, her hands searching. “I do not believe they could ever enspell Birlerion.”

  “Of course they haven’t,” Niallerion said as he grabbed Taelia’s hand. His voice rose as he described the scene. “Birlerion’s facing two Ascendants in the middle of the throne room. He’s standing between them and the grand duke. Marianille has gone to help.”

  Birler spoke over his shoulder. “My apologies, Your Grace, for what I am about to do.”

  “And what is that?” Randolf asked calmly.

  Birler walked down the steps as the Captain’s sword vibrated in his hand. A sense of recognition permeated through him, and he gripped it tighter. He spoke to Tor’asion, though his eyes were on Var’geris. “You have been training me for this very moment, and you should know that Leyandrii would never command me to kill one of her guardians.”

  His eyes flickered as two more Ascendants arrived, moving to surround him. Ain’uncer and Sul’enne. “You have never commanded me. Only the Captain and the grand duke do that,” he said, rotating. He moved so fast, blocking their approach to the dais, that Ain’uncer didn’t have time to react. The Ascendant fell on the steps of the grand duke’s throne, a wheezing groan his last breath. A rising murmur raced around the room as courtiers and petitioners alike watched, riveted to the unfolding drama. Birler forced Sul’enne back away from the grand duke towards Var’geris, spinning between the remaining three. Tor’asion cursed and retreated as the shining sword flickered with a blue light as Birler disarmed him.

  Birler bore down on him, his blue eyes flashing with silver. Tor’asion grimaced before he swirled his cloak
and disappeared. The courtiers gasped and flattened themselves against the walls out of the way. Birler spun and blocked Sul’enne’s blow, the clash of swords ringing through the room.

  The grand duke sat on his throne and watched. Selvia stood beside him, eyes wide, her hand over her mouth. She gripped her brother’s shoulder. “You must stop him, Randolf. He’s one of those Sentinals. Why won’t you stop him? We need the Ascendants, can’t you see?”

  “Why would I trust those who plot to kill me?” Randolf asked, his gaze fixed on Birler. “And anyway, what do you know of the Sentinals? They are just myth. Children’s stories.”

  Selvia snorted and gestured at the fighting men. “Can’t you see the difference? Even without the silver eyes it is obvious.”

  “So you confirm he is a Sentinal?”

  “Confirm, deny. What difference does it make? There were lots of them in Old Vespers. It’s their fault Kharel died. If they hadn’t interfered ….”

  “Prevented your attempted coup, you mean? Is that what you attempt here, Selvia? Have you not learned your lesson yet?”

  “Uncle Samuel understands. He sees what needs to be done.”

  Flicking his gaze back to Selvia, Randolf wrinkled his brow. “Kabil? Selvia! What have you done?”

  “Nothing, that father wouldn’t have. You are too indecisive, too weak. We must make a stand.”

  Randolf’s gaze returned to the fight in his throne room as Var’geris cursed as he flinched back from Birler’s sword which had caught him; he switched hands, his arm hanging limply.

  “You’ll pay for that,” Var’geris spat.

  “I’ve already paid,” Birler replied, and cast a desperate glance around the throne room. Spotting his sister flanking him and Niallerion hovering at the edge of dais, he stiffened as memories teased him, but he didn’t have time to sort them. Var’geris reclaimed his attention, and forced him to give ground.

  Marianille tried to move between the fight and the grand duke, but Birler was there, blocking the way. “Birlerion, it’s me, Marianille. I’m here to help.” Marianille stepped back at the grand duke’s signal.

  Birler didn’t hear her; his focus was on protecting the grand duke. He bore down on the two remaining men, and Sul’enne resorted to defence. The fury and power of the Sentinal were astonishing as he forced them away from the throne. Var’geris dropped his sword and grabbed Sul’enne, and they both disappeared in a swirl of black material. Birler was left alone in the centre of the room, breathing heavily.

  Stiffening, Randolf glared at his sister. “I will deal with you later,” he said, his voice sharp. The threat unspoken. “I am the Grand Duke and you will abide by my decisions.”

  Selvia backed away, her gaze skittered around the throne room and she paled as she saw the fallen Ascendant crumpled on the steps and only the Sentinal left standing in the centre of the room.

  Birler slowly controlled his breathing, sheathed the Captain’s sword with a trembling hand and flexed his shoulders. He turned back to the throne and faced the grand duke. The room was silent; everyone was watching him.

  Randolf rose from his throne as Selvia scuttled off the dais and he let her go. Birler took a step towards him as exhilaration flooded through him; the flush of battle still rushing through his veins. Randolf walked down the steps and met Birler in the centre of the room.

  “Birlerion?”

  “My apologies for fighting in your throne room, Your Grace,” Birler said, and taking a deep breath, he dropped to one knee and bent his head, trying to regain his composure. A deep sense of loss gripped him, draining his exhilaration and leaving him exhausted.

  Randolf raised him to his feet and Birler couldn’t help but sway. The grand duke’s grip tightened and Birler stiffened, concentrating on remaining upright. “Thank you, Sentinal Birlerion. I thank you for your care, your protection, and your sacrifice.” Randolf gazed around at the shocked people in his throne room, and his voice rang out. “See this man. Birlerion, Sentinal Birlerion. Let his name spread throughout our country. Know this one and all; Sentinal Birlerion has the Grand Duchy of Elothia in his debt. Let it never be forgotten.”

  A low murmur spread around the throne room as the courtiers recovered from their shock and began discussing the events with excitement. They had witnessed history, and they were quick to share it.

  “Your Grace, please.” Birler was appalled. He raised a trembling hand to his temple. “I-I don’t remember being a Sentinal.”

  “You will. I have no doubt about that. The Lady sent you to us in our time of need, and we thank her for it.” Randolf grinned. “Come, Birlerion. We have much to discuss, but I think there are some people who want to speak with you first.” Randolf steered him towards Marianille.

  She flew into his arms. “By the Lady, Birlerion. You could have been killed!”

  Owen stepped forward. “Not likely,” he said with a snort as he slapped Birlerion’s shoulder. “A Sentinal, huh? You kept that quiet.”

  Taelia pushed her way through, her hands questing. “Birlerion? Are you alright?” Her concern was evident.

  “I’m fine,” he murmured, stiffening as she hugged him and unsure how he was supposed to respond. Marianille had said she was the wife of Captain Finn, no of Commander Haven. He shook his head, confused. Whoever she was, he doubted she was supposed to be hugging him.

  Her hands patted him down. “Are you sure? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

  Randolf smiled at her concern. “He’s fine. They didn’t touch him.”

  Taelia heaved a sigh of relief as she cupped Birlerion’s face, her turquoise eyes shining with tears. “We’ve missed you, terribly. Jerrol will be so relieved.”

  Niallerion gripped Birlerion’s shoulder. “Four of them!” he said. “You were amazing.”

  “Nialler,” he murmured as Taelia released him. “I’m not Birlerion.”

  “You are and you’d better get used to it, because that is who we all know you as. Maybe your memories will return as you get used to answering to your name. Leyandrii herself gave you the name, Birlerion, accept it.”

  Randolf herded them all back to his apartments, leaving Owen to clean up his throne room. He watched Marianille and Taelia hover over Birlerion with amusement, both wanting to reassure themselves that he was there and unharmed.

  Birlerion flushed with embarrassment, not used to all the attention, but the hollow ache in his chest was soothed at the fervent concern for him. They had been worried about him and for him. It warmed him through, thawing the last frozen emotions he had so diligently suppressed, melting away the fear of being abandoned and forgotten.

  Birlerion looked across at the grand duke. “They will have retreated to the front. They will drive the generals even more now that they know they have no chance of controlling you.”

  Randolf nodded. “We’ll remove to the Summer Palace. If the generals don’t abide by my orders, then I will go to them.”

  He instructed Ulfr to send a messenger to the Summer Palace staff to prepare for their arrival and drove his steward to have everything organised within a week of his decision. The grand duke would brook no argument, and for once, his staff seemed to realise that he meant what he said.

  Birlerion spent time with Marianille and Niallerion, swapping stories, catching up on events, and filling in the blanks. Relief was uppermost in his mind, to be back where he was supposed to be.

  All the Sentinals wore smiles. Marianille barely let her brother out of her sight, berating him for worrying her and hugging him tight, in turn. Niallerion kept slapping his shoulder and then pulling Birlerion into a hug as tears welled in his eyes.

  Grinning, Birlerion soaked it all up. Warmed by everyone’s concern, he slowly relaxed, accepting that if Leyandrii had named him so, then he must be Birlerion. Marianille and Niallerion would not lie to him about Leyandrii, and they both used their Sentinal names as naturally as if they had been born with them. He hoped given time, he would too.

  The horrific m
emories of Adeeron, he put to one side; they were still too painful to be prodded. He skimmed over the details of his treatment, distracting everyone with stories about Jerrol’s rise to captain. If he was honest, he was not surprised he had a few memory lapses. Considering what he had suffered, he was amazed he was still alive.

  The next day, Owen ordered Birlerion back on duty. “We’re already a man down, I need you. The grand duke trusts you.” Owen huffed as he glowered at Birlerion. “We’ve had word King Benedict arrived in Stoneford with more troops. The grand duke is even more determined to travel south. In this weather!” His voice was aggrieved as he gestured towards the window, where a blizzard of snow swirled in the grey afternoon gloom as any remaining light disappeared under the heavy clouds.

  Moving his court meant moving Taelia, Birlerion and the other Sentinals as well. When the grand duke mentioned the carriage, Taelia asked permission to ride a horse instead.

  Randolf was offended. “What’s wrong with a carriage? It is a perfectly acceptable form of transport.”

  “But they are so uncomfortable, Your Grace. I’d much prefer to ride if possible.”

  “Nonsense all the carriages have great suspension. My mother would accept no less.”

  “Maybe not all your carriages have been maintained as you expect, Your Grace,” Taelia replied.

  Randolf snorted. “You shall ride with me and then you shall see.”

  Taelia had no choice but to give in gracefully. At least the grand duke’s carriage should be in much better condition than the last one; even so, she would much prefer to be travelling in the arms of her husband.

  She very much hoped he would be waiting at the Summer Palace to greet her.

  A few days later, Birlerion handed Taelia into the grand duke’s carriage. “Calm down,” he murmured. Taelia was starry-eyed at the thought of being with Jerrol, and as he settled her, he muttered a warning. “I’ll tell your husband you were flirting with the grand duke if you don’t tone it down.”