Sentinals Justice: Book Three of the Sentinal Series

by Helen Garraway

  Birlerion gripped Jerrol’s shoulder at the harshness of his voice. Jerrol ignored him. “The only thing I can do is at least try to do it on my terms, and then maybe …” his words were muffled as he covered his face with hands, “just maybe, I’ll have a chance.”

  No one spoke as they stared at Jerrol’s bowed shoulders; there was nothing to say.

  48

  Elothian front

  Tor’asion watched as another unit of men marched passed, followed by a rumbling wagon loaded with tools and canvas: materials for the command post being built a safe distance from the battlefield. The troops were gathering for a major assault across the plains north of Stoneford. They would flank the Vespirian units and draw them away from the Watch Towers. Tor’asion was prepared to throw all the grand duke's men into this battle. If he couldn’t capture Jerrol, then he had to get to the towers.

  His face was stern and forbidding as he watched the men march though the compacted snow, their breath misting the air as they passed. It was their last chance and he would drive Elothia to war to grasp it. He looked around as a bluff, red-faced man puffed his way up to his side. He glared at the man, hoping to drive him away, but the general was immune to sharp glances and began speaking. “We’ll all move up to command post two once the men have it in place, then we can see how the land lies. These maps you gave us said it was all open plains, but the plains butt up to that range of mountains. How are you expecting us to get around that? Stoneford lies directly in our path.”

  “Annihilate them,” Tor’asion growled.

  “What? No, it’s Stoneford. They won’t lie down for us. Lord Jason is a wily fox. They’ll have traps and all sorts prepared for us. They must know we are coming. You can’t move these many men and not be noticed.”

  “I don’t care how you do it, General Kabil, just get me to the Watch Towers.”

  “I’m not sure this is the right way to go about it,” Kabil said, nervously twitching his maps. “We’ll lose too many men with a frontal assault.”

  Tor’asion gripped the man’s arm, a tremor of annoyance rippling through him, and Kabil let out a nervous squeak. “You’ve been paid handsomely for your services. I’m trusting you to make good on your word. Don’t make me change my mind. I’m sure your adjutant will be more than happy to take your place. Your choice, General. Selvia said you would do it. Don’t return without good news.” Tor’asion released the man’s arm and turned away as his brother approached. He tried to control his temper. Why couldn’t the idiot just do as he was told? Controlling the spurt of anger, he raised an eyebrow as Var’geris halted beside him. Var’geris looked pleased with himself. His grin an unusual expression on his normally intense face.

  “Haven’s been seen on the borders. He returned to Stoneford as you said he would.” Var’geris’ grin widened with relief, his black eyes bright with anticipation. “How do we draw him out?”

  “We don’t, you go and get him. I’ll meet you at the ruins.” Tor’asion cracked his knuckles. “I’ll be ready for him; he won’t escape this time.”

  49

  Stoneford Keep, Vespiri

  Jerrol paced liked a caged animal. He knew time was running out, and he didn’t know how to divert the tragedy that was about to happen. News from Deepwater was not good. Units of the second Chevron had already forced them back to their first holding position. This ripple of news along the front line had Stoneford’s commanders and the Sentinals out rallying the men and reinforcing their west flank. The king had split Nikols’ men between the two watches, reserves standing at the ready. Jason had them reposition in case the Elothians managed to break through the lines.

  Saerille and Adilion were prominent, as was Royerion, who had appeared through the waystone earlier, pale-faced but determined. Niallerion was busy concocting some surprises with an enterprising corporal he had found in the keep. They were now distributing the results of their endeavours with very clear instructions on how to use them, piling the strange objects behind the network of earth mounds where the archers were positioned.

  Jerrol had Birlerion create a waystone on the ridge above the plain, hoping it was far enough from the front that it wouldn’t be overrun, but it was the only way the king was prepared to wait at Stoneford, though Jerrol knew he wouldn’t stay there.

  Jason strode through the ranks and nodded at Jerrol. “Well?”

  “I’ll walk the line once more and then I’ll report back to the king.”

  Jason gripped his arm before he returning to his command tent, Chryllion close behind him.

  Jerrol was halfway down the line when the Elothians began their charge. He grabbed a young soldier. “Private, report back to Lord Jason, the third unit is engaged, line holding, go!” He swung round, expecting Birlerion to be at his shoulder. He cursed as his faithful Sentinal was obeying his orders and keeping out of sight.

  “Your weakness, Haven, has always been the people around you. You worry what happens to them.” Jerrol turned as he heard Var’geris’ voice behind him.

  “Some would say that was a strength,” Jerrol replied as he drew his sword.

  Var’geris laughed. “How can it be a strength when it fails you every time?”

  “It hasn’t failed me. It has failed you.”

  Var’geris scowled. “I have succeeded where others failed; after all, I have the Captain. You will do as I command.”

  “Oh?” Jerrol smiled grimly and struck.

  The clash of their swords startled the men in front of them. They paused to stare before returning to their own fights.

  Var’geris broke away and glared at Jerrol. “You will not win. I will kill you first.”

  “You could try,” Jerrol replied, watching him carefully. “You are finished, Var’geris. No great leader is coming. The Ascendants are no more; your cause is lost.”

  “Never,” he hissed, his eyes flashing with anger.

  Jerrol shrugged calmly and advanced on Var’geris. “Your numbers dwindle; I heard Ain’uncer is dead.”

  Var’geris stumbled back. “That Sentinal; I should have killed him.”

  “You missed your opportunity,” Jerrol said with a vicious grin as he forced Var’geris to give ground.

  “I won’t the next time,” Var’geris said, recovering and jerkily blocking Jerrol’s thrust.

  “What makes you think you’ll get a next time?” Jerrol asked, flicking the tip of his sword across Var’geris’ face.

  Var’geris hissed as he touched the cut with his fingers. “It makes no difference; I’ll end your life before the end of the day.”

  Jerrol nodded solemnly. “You can try. What made you want to destroy all that is good in the world? What was it? A desire for power? Money? Or is it adulation that your heart desires?”

  Yaserille lifted her head. What was the Captain doing? She frantically looked around for Birlerion. She caught his eye, and he slithered around the ditch towards her. “Birlerion, are you hearing this?”

  “Don’t interrupt them; it must happen. We can’t stop it.”

  “But why?”

  She felt his shrug in the gloom. “You know why. Var’geris has to take Jerrol. It’s the only way we can find out the final meeting place. We’re hoping Jerrol can get him to reveal the Ascendant’s location before they go.”

  The blood drained from Yaserille’s face. “Hoping?” she squeaked.

  “Hush, listen.”

  “So, you found the seat; did it salve your conscience? You failed at the Watch Towers, didn’t you?” Jerrol asked.

  “Our ancestors will step over the threshold, and you will all bow before our leader’s overwhelming presence. You will become his first disciple, you …”

  “Surely not,” Jerrol interrupted him, lazily swinging his sword. “Aren’t you the first disciple? After all, you have given up everything for him. Aren’t you expecting him to sweep you up into his arms and pat you on the head as soon as he arrives?”

  Var’geris paled, rigid with anger. “I will b
e his high priest, ready to escort him to his rightful throne at Oprimere. The Tower of Teranna will call him, and you will do the calling. You will be his first sacrifice.”

  “Oh? So not his disciple, after all. You disappoint me.”

  Var’geris hissed at Jerrol. “You will regret your arrogance. You will plead for mercy, plead for the honour of serving him.” He charged Jerrol, wrapping his arms around him as he drove him to the ground. He swirled his cloak, and they were gone.

  Yaserille rose in horror. “Oprimere? That is a myth; the long-lost cathedral to the Lady’s Mother. The location was lost when it was decimated in a land shift. It was lost thousands of years before the Lady broke the stone; no one knows where it is.”

  “What about the Tower of Teranna? Is it a Watch Tower?” Birlerion asked.

  Yaserille frowned off into the distance. “I know the name, but it too was destroyed. It used to mirror the towers at Velmouth. It is not far from there, though I don’t know the exact location.”

  “The grand duke might know. Come on, we need to get back. We need to speak to him.”

  “What about all this?” Yaserille cast her hand around the battlefield.

  Birlerion smiled sadly. “They’ll still be fighting when we come back.”

  Summer Palace, Elothia

  Birlerion and Yaserille stepped out of the waystone at the Summer Palace. They hustled the guards to open the gate and rushed into a confusion of people preparing to leave. “The grand duke? Where is he?” Birlerion demanded.

  “His study of course.” The footman stared after the Sentinals as they ran down the corridor towards the stairwell.

  “Birlerion,” Landis caught his arm. “Status report, quick.” He kept pace with the tall Sentinal as Birlerion briefed him, and the captain let him go. He started issuing instructions, sending his men running.

  Yaserille reached the study door first and paused long enough to rap on it, before opening it anyway. The grand duke looked up from his desk in surprise, and then he was on his feet. “You have news? What happened?”

  “We need to find the location of the Tower of Teranna,” Birlerion gasped out, hurrying in behind Yaserille.

  The grand duke snapped his fingers. “Go fetch Lady Guin’yyfer; she is in the library,” he ordered, and a young page shot out the door.

  Taurillion stepped around the grand duke. “Where is Jerrol?”

  “The Ascendants have him; they have taken him to Teranna. We have to find him,” Birlerion replied.

  “Teranna? That’s the Mother's tower. But it’s been lost for centuries,” Taurillion said.

  “As has Oprimere; that was the location of the Mother’s cathedral, destroyed long before the Lady sundered the stone.” Yaserille started searching the duke’s shelves before pulling down a rolled-up parchment. She discarded it and pulled down another.

  Lady Guin’yyfer entered the study. “Oprimere will not be on any map,” she said. “It is a far deeper memory than any we will have recorded here.”

  Yaserille reached for more scrolls. “We need to find Oprimere. That’s where the Ascendants will take him.” Yaserille stopped tugging scrolls off the shelves and frowned at Birlerion as Guin’yyfer’s words registered. “Birlerion, that time you came up here, what were you searching for? Marguerite had to pry you off the frozen ground. What did you see? You never said.”

  “The Land; he shared many images,” Birlerion said slowly. “He was trying to persuade me to stay.”

  “The Land?” Yaserille asked as she gripped his arm. “The Land tried to coax you to stay? You mean the Land wanted you to take over from him? Not Marguerite? What did he show you?”

  Flicking a glance at Taurillion, Birlerion chose his words carefully. Taurillion had never fully forgiven him for not sacrificing himself in Marguerite’s place. Taurillion had tried to persuade Marguerite not to bond with the Land, but she had felt it was her duty. “Leyandrii forbid it. She said my purpose lay elsewhere. But he showed me the wonders of Remargaren.” Birlerion fell silent as he trawled through his memories, so fresh and clear in his mind being so newly returned.

  Birlerion froze. A shudder passed through him and Guin’yyfer steadied him. Yaserille reached for Birlerion and in turn stiffened. Flanked by a guardian and a Sentinal, Birlerion’s eyes widened as he retrieved his deepest memories. “Teranna lies due north of Velmouth,” he said, his voice vibrating with power. “Its position will mirror that of the Watch Towers. High above a lake, surrounded by pine trees.” Birlerion lurched, steadying himself against the table as he inhaled.

  Yaserille pulled a map of Elothia closer. “Here, Birlerion, show us where.”

  Randolf opened his mouth to protest that he couldn’t, when Birlerion placed his finger on the map. “Jerrol is there.”

  Yaserille peered closer and then nodded. “We’ll find him,” she promised before turning to leave. Birlerion on her heels.

  “I’ll take you, Birlerion,” Zin’talia said. “Ride me.”

  Birlerion nearly tripped over his over feet. “How can you speak to me? How did you know?”

  “You’ve been open to me ever since your memories returned. I’ve been able to hear you since Terolia. You always seemed hesitant so I didn’t like to intrude, and I understand why now, but Jerrol needs me, please take me with you.”

  “Of course.”

  “Birlerion,” Randolf’s voice halted him. “We are leaving for the Chevron encampment. I fear I am needed to curtail my general’s activities. You will find us there.”

  Birlerion held the grand duke’s eyes and then nodded. He and Yaserille left. The grand duke stood beside Guin’yyfer and looked down at the map. A line of faint arrows divided Vespiri from Elothia; the Stanton mountains. They stopped just short of Stoneford, curving protectively around Velmouth and the Watch Towers. He shuddered as he envisioned the rampage his men would be on if they forced their way through Stoneford; not a man or woman would be left standing.

  He looked up as Landis appeared at the door.

  “The Chevrons have engaged at Deepwater, it’s started.” Landis reported, his face pale. “They have begun advancing across the plains towards Mendel.”

  Randolf blanched. “The fools, what are they doing? Get us moving. We’ll head for Lervik first, pull back the troops where we can before we head east.”

  Landis nodded. “We’re ready to leave, Your Grace.”

  Tower of Teranna, Elothia

  Jerrol watched the sun set behind the jagged mountains ranges which edged the plains of Oprimere. Such a beautiful view, he thought as Tor’asion coldly circled him. Such fragile beauty in the world yet men like Tor’asion didn’t even see it. Stiffening in the grip of two large Elothian guards, Jerrol tried to prepare himself for Tor'asion’s fury. It simmered behind his eyes, in the corded lines of his neck, the rigid shoulders. Could he survive a second beating? He wasn’t sure and he repressed the shiver of fear that coursed through him.

  Trying to bolster his wavering courage, he reminded himself he had saved the king and destroyed their hold on the Watches, and in Terolia, he had protected the Families and revealed their plans. Now in Elothia, he had undermined their influence on the grand duke and the chevrons. He had managed to capture or kill five of their brothers. Only three of them were left; would they still be able to open the way for their ancestors? They obviously thought so, though they needed him. They couldn’t kill him until he tore the Veil for them.

  Tor’asion unleashed a ferocious punch and Jerrol folded like a burst paper bag, pain engulfed him as he desperately gasped for air, groaning into his knees as he heaved.

  Concentrating on his breathing, Jerrol sagged in the guard's grip until Tor’asion gripped his hair and raised his face. Jerrol staggered under the blow, his vision faded as darkness consumed him. As he came to, Tor’asion’s voice was battering him, demanding he do something, but he couldn’t make sense of it. His head lolled, and the guards strained to hold him up.

  “We don’t have time for t
his, Tor’asion. I’ve told you before.” Var’geris’ voice faded in and out as Jerrol tried to concentrate. “You need to go and prepare. I have a better way to persuade him to do what is needed.”

  Jerrol sagged between the guards, his head buzzing, his body aching. Tor’asion would douse the flame; he would kill him. He knew it. Having suffered Tor’asion’s fists, he wondered how Birlerion had survived. He tensed. Birlerion had survived and so would he.

  He peered at Var’geris through sore eyes; the tone of Var’geris’ voice made his skin prickle, and Taelia’s gasp had him struggling against the guards’ hold. His heart raced as panic bubbled up. Where had he found her? She should have been safe with Randolf and Marianille.

  “Let her go,” Jerrol said, trying to keep his voice calm. Flickering anger burnt his fingertips. He flexed his hands, and the guards tightened their grip.

  “The people around you aren’t a weakness? I thought we could test your theory,” Var’geris said, cinching his grip around Taelia’s neck. Var’geris’ knuckles whitened, but Taelia didn’t flinch as she stared blindly at Jerrol. “Go, Tor’asion. I will follow when we have what we need.”

  Tor’asion shifted restlessly, observing Jerrol’s reaction. His gaze lingered on Taelia, and then he said, “Don’t fail, Var’geris, you know what’s at stake.” He took a step and swirled his cloak, and he was gone.

  Jerrol inhaled, steadying his breathing as he flicked a glance around him; the stone ruins of the Tower of Teranna stood behind Var’geris. It was eerily similar in construction to the Watch Towers above Velmouth. Narrow arched windows were cut into the stone at odd places around the shattered tower.

  They were on a small plateau overlooking a steep valley that led down between a gorge, spindly trees and bushes clinging to the limestone cliff faces, dark shadows hiding clefts and hollows. A small lake gleamed below them through the broad-leafed trees that skirted the plateau, flashes of dancing sunlight reflecting off the surface.