Sentinals Justice: Book Three of the Sentinal Series

by Helen Garraway

  Jerrol was aware that their losses were horrendous. Sentinals had fallen; he could feel their loss, though he didn’t know who had gone. There was no time to check, no matter how much he wanted to; he needed to keep focused.

  A blinding light shot into the night sky, and the fabric of the air was torn apart. Jerrol stiffened as Tor’asion stepped out onto the middle of the plateau. He was followed by Sul’enne, the last remaining brothers of the Ascendants.

  Birlerion shifted next to him, and Tor’asion’s black eyes caught sight of them as they approached. Tor’asion’s face was pale and haggard; deep lines grooved either side of his mouth and between his eyes, permanently etching a frown on his face. He lifted his finger and pointed at Jerrol, his attention exclusively focused on the man who had disrupted all their plans.

  “You,” he snarled. “I should have killed you the first time I met you.”

  Jerrol faced him. “And spoil such a good friendship? Surely not.”

  “If I had realised who you were and what your survival would mean …” Tor’asion paused and then smiled. His eyes glinted with his anger, but he controlled it.

  “Then what?” Jerrol asked, watching him. Birlerion slowly drifted towards the second Ascendant poised behind Tor’asion.

  “It doesn’t matter. The Veil is breached, and you won’t be sealing it again.”

  “Don’t you think I could have sealed it by now if I wanted to?” Jerrol asked.

  Tor’asion frowned. “You would have if you could, but you obviously can’t. Leyandrii must be so disappointed in you.”

  “I should think your ancestors must be much more disappointed in you. Two acolytes left; not much of a welcome is it?”

  Tor’asion bunched his fists, the cords in his neck standing out as he braced for an attack. He relaxed at a soft word from his companion, though Jerrol saw it took effort.

  “You know, Var’geris was right about me. I have compassion for others. My purpose is to protect. You never got that, did you? He was just too late. Did you feel it when he died? Along with Pev’eril? Even Ain’uncer?” Jerrol asked.

  Tor’asion raised his arms, his face livid. “You will pay. I will kill you many times over. You will regret you ever lived.” His eyes glazed as he focused elsewhere, searching, and Birlerion raised his hand, drawing a barrier around them.

  “I think not, you will not find Taelia or anyone else to threaten; your fight is with me. And anyway, don’t you have more important things to do?” Jerrol gestured towards the luminous sky above them.

  Tor’asion hesitated.

  “Aren’t you going to call them? They must be growing impatient. Do you think you and Sul’enne are powerful enough to call them here?”

  Tor’asion’s gaze darted around him. The battlefield was littered with bodies. A shimmering barrier on top of a small ridge prevented those still standing from reaching each other. The soldiers stood shocked, watching the outcome of the tableau above them. Small movements indicated that not all were dead though, and the sound of weakly calling voices stirred some to help.

  Jerrol watched the Ascendants, waiting calmly.

  From the grand duke’s encampment far to the north, Taelia stuffed a fist in her mouth to avoid shrieking out. She could see Jerrol standing tall in her mind’s eye. There was an otherworldliness about him, the Lady’s glimmer bright in his eye; he was something more than just a man. His brother in arms was standing in his shadow. “Birlerion,” she breathed in horror. The two most important people in her life stood between them and the Ascendants’ final act. Marianille stiffened by her shoulder, her gaze on her brother.

  Taelia turned as the grand duke exited his tent behind her. “Do something,” she pleaded, her blind gaze taking in Taurillion, Serenion and Landis behind him.

  Serenion stepped forward to steady her. “It’s too late. We won’t be able to breach the barrier. Now it is in the hands of the Lady.”

  The grand duke shivered as an icy breeze swept around them. “I think it’s time I had words with my generals. They have much explaining to do.” His gaze swept the battlefield and lingered on the stalemate before them. “Serenion, get a triage set up. Let’s get as many of our men off this field as we can.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “But we have to help Jerrol and Birlerion,” Taelia said.

  “I’m sorry my dear, it is out of our hands now. Come.”

  “We can’t just leave. We have to watch.”

  “Watch?” Randolf repeated, bemused. “There are enough watching for all of us. We need to prepare, just in case.”

  “Just in case?”

  “Yes, in case your husband is unable to defeat whatever it is he thinks is about to arrive. I am sure we will hear about it as soon as anything happens.”

  “I’ll go,” Landis whispered in her ear, squeezing her shoulder before setting off across the battlefield towards the plateau.

  Jerrol stood, waiting. The sky shimmered above them as dawn arrived, and the sun rose, bathing the battleground in its golden light. A new day; an ongoing fight. On the horizon, darkening clouds roiled as if an impending storm was about to break.

  The breach in the Veil grated on his senses as if it was a wound on his body. The tang of power filled his mouth as the crystal in his blood stirred, responding to the needs of the Veil. The murmur of voices grew louder in his ears as the breach tore further and Tor’asion worked his magic.

  Birlerion waited at his shoulder. A comforting presence, observing Tor’asion. Jerrol’s skin began to glow in response to whatever Tor’asion was trying to do and he felt the Veil give. Birlerion was suddenly in motion, responding to the threat as Sul’enne tried to strike out at Jerrol.

  Birlerion blocked the blow, forcing Sul’enne back. Jerrol watched. He would have been cleaved in two, but for the Sentinal.

  Jerrol focused on Tor’asion as he reached for the Veil, for the voices calling him. He breached the Veil and gasped as a confusion of thoughts swirled around him, entwined with the fabric of the Veil, caught as securely as Saerille had been. The Veil swirled around him, the torn ends reaching for him, seeking his body, seeking sustenance, seeking life. He sensed Birlerion in the outer weave, part of the original creation with the Lady, his song steady and true, woven with the Lady’s. He hadn’t realised Birlerion had been part of the creation of the Veil. He suddenly wondered what else his reticent Sentinal had been involved in that he wasn’t aware of.

  Sul’enne’s gaze flicked towards Tor’asion, but he was as absorbed as the Lady’s Captain was, and Sul’enne focused his attention on the lethal Sentinal in front of him. He seemed indestructible, always wherever Haven was. It was time to dispense with him. Sul’enne began to mutter under his breath but stopped as Tor’asion hissed. Tor’asion needed his power.

  Birlerion bared his teeth. “Time to see if you can fight like a real man,” he said, his voice a low growl. He lifted his glowing sword. The soldiers below watched transfixed, as the two men circled, testing each other. Sul’enne reacted swiftly, and the clash of swords and the ring of metal echoed over the battlefield. The two men were evenly matched, fighting each other and yet hampered by the need to protect the two men frozen beside them in concentration.

  Serenion instructed the Captain’s unified unit of men to begin retrieving the fallen, Elothian and Vespirian alike, and then drifted towards the barrier, his gaze drawn to the men on the plateau above him. He mentally reached towards the Captain and gasped as he was buffeted by a swirl of energy and desperate voices. Jerrol pushed him away.

  “I can help,” Serenion insisted and reached again; he felt Jerrol’s hesitation before he accepted their connection and he swirled into the maelstrom that was the Lady’s Captain.

  “Serenion? What’s wrong?” Taurillion shook his shoulder, but Serenion was unmoving, fixated on the Captain. His silver eyes were luminous in the growing gloom as the sky continued to darken above them. Tendrils of black hair escaped from his normally neat queue and rose around his
waxen face as a strengthening wind began to swirl around him.

  Taurillion looked up at the Captain and reached.

  “No, my love, protect Randolf. He is not safe yet.” Marguerite’s voice settled in his mind. He could feel her sense of urgency and concern. Taurillion looked at the nearest soldier. “Denning? Isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Stay with him. Make sure he doesn’t come to harm.”

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  “He’s with the Captain,” Taurillion said as he returned to his post at the grand duke’s shoulder.

  Deepwater

  Jennery raised his head above the edge of the ditch he had been sheltering behind and stared at the barrier shimmering in the distance. All sounds of fighting had stopped, and the silence was unnerving. Around him, men rose from the ground like toddlers on unsteady legs, staggering in the unexpected stillness and gazing at the barrier in shock, hands previously bent on killing hanging limp at their sides.

  The rising sun lit the battlefield in streaks of golden rays revealing men both littered on the ground and standing. Discarded weapons glinted in the morning light. Bodies were shadowed, until the sun slowly peeked over them, revealing their colours, mostly marred with bright red blood.

  He climbed out of his ditch and began to walk towards the barrier, stepping over discarded weapons and makeshift defences. He began to run as he neared the area of fiercest fighting where Tagerill had last been seen holding the line. Bodies lay sprawled in ungainly positions. A few low groans disturbed the silence. “Call the healers,” Jennery shouted as he began his frantic search.

  A brave soul hesitantly reached for the shimmering divide and his hand met resistance. He stood back and looked up. The brilliant blue sky above was being encroached on by a roiling mass of dark clouds.

  Oprimere

  The voices grew clearer as Serenion began to help Jerrol unravel the threads. “Mind you don’t get trapped; the Veil is greedy,” Jerrol murmured as his fingers worked fast, his mind working faster. He had found the lost Sentinals, but if, and it was a big if, he could get them out before Tor’asion completed his work, where would he send them?

  He was dimly aware of Birlerion moving around him, a glowing light pulsing in his peripheral vision, but he feverishly concentrated on the Veil. It was insidious, constantly reaching for him, needing him and what he contained within. “Not yet,” he soothed, “not yet.”

  Part of his mind was monitoring Tor’asion and another part, he had to admit was gawping at the brilliant beauty beyond the Veil. The expanse of possibility and opportunity, the seductive pull of unending power and unknown futures; the essence of what could have been or what might still be if the Lady had never pulled down the Veil around them.

  He was drawn back as Serenion gasped in pain as he pulled the threads free from his skin. Jerrol realised he had freed his captives and he pushed them into Serenion’s arms before the threads could burrow back in. “Take them to Marchwood,” Jerrol said pushing Serenion away as his attention skittered elsewhere. Laerille reached. “I’ll take them,” she breathed as Serenion collapsed. Corporal Denning caught him before he hit the ground.

  Jerrol moved onto the next presence caught in the Veil. There was a weight about this one that was familiar, and he frowned as the Veil expanded and contracted beneath his hands. “Lorillion,” he breathed, recognising the lost Sentinal and he furiously slashed at the threads, pulling the Sentinals to him, indiscriminately grabbing them as they reached for him, directing their thoughts at the Veil and ignoring all else.

  Birlerion’s sword penetrated Sul’enne’s guard, and Sul’enne faltered before him, his agonised eyes wide with shock. Birlerion yanked his sword out of Sul’enne’s chest and watched him collapse to the ground. He breathed in deeply, trying to catch his breath. His gaze flicked out over his barriers, checking that they were still holding. He fed his dwindling energy into the barrier stretching to Deepwater, allowing the wall around the plateau to flicker and fade. Sweat gleamed on his face as he turned to Tor’asion.

  A shimmering form began to coalesce between them. The indistinct outline of a man began to firm as Tor’asion’s arms shook with the effort, his jaw jutted out as he gritted his teeth and continued his chanting.

  “No!” Saerille shouted as she reached Chryllion at the foot of the plateau, her sides heaving from the run from the waystone the Captain had created at Oprimere. Chryllion was staring up at the Captain and Birlerion. She gripped his arm. “I’ll help him, you help Birlerion protect the Captain.”

  Chryllion stirred as her words reached him. “Are you sure?” he asked in concern. The last time she had tried to patch the Veil, she had got trapped inside it and another Sentinal, Serillion, had died protecting her and the Captain.

  “I’ll do it. You must protect them long enough to finish this. Help them,” Saerille said firmly, turning towards the Captain and the subtly glowing Sentinal beside him. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the Veil and froze in turn as she connected to the Sentinals assisting the Captain trying to save those trapped in the Veil.

  Chryllion climbed the icy slope and drew his broadsword as the shimmering form coalesced into a shrouded figure, slowly straightening between the Captain and the Ascendant. More shapeless figures began to form behind it, stepping onto the plateau. The Ascendant Tor’asion gasped out his breath in heaving gulps as he slowly lowered his hands and gazed at his ancestors in awe.

  Jerrol slowly raised his hands in supplication, and Tor’asion laughed. “It’s too late now. Clary will rule all. Our ancestors have returned, and you will all bow down before them. You will be first,” he said, holding Jerrol’s gaze. “You will submit to his will and accept Ascendant rule. You will have no choice, you will …”

  Birlerion made a sudden movement and struck, and Tor’asion instinctively blocked his strike. Distracted, he released Jerrol from his hold. Unnoticed, Landis crept up behind the Ascendant and he drove his dagger into Tor’asion’s back with all his strength. Tor’asion screeched in agony as he twisted, instinctively striking Landis away from him, and as he turned back towards Jerrol and Clary, Chryllion was there. His broadsword decapitated the Ascendant before he could react.

  Jerrol straightened as power rolled off the figure before him.

  “You dare to get in our way.” The voice hissed and bubbled, not quite fully formed.

  “Yes, I dare. You are not welcome here,” Jerrol said. “The Lady has already told you once. This world is not for you. Your acolytes are gone; you stand alone. There is nothing for you here.”

  “This world is mine, as are you.” The figure reached for Jerrol, and a brilliant white light engulfed him as his touch encircled Jerrol’s throat. Clary hesitated, though his grip tightened. “What is this?”

  “My Captain already told you; this world is not for you, nor is he or my Sentinals.” The Lady stepped out of the light, her green robes flowing around her. Long blonde hair swirled around her face as if alive. Her emerald eyes were hard as stone. The Lady’s voice rang out over Oprimere, and everyone stopped and looked skyward in amazement. Light swirled in the roiling clouds, streaks of all colours blending and twisting, flashes of lightning cutting through the air, and the land trembled in response.

  “My people are not for you. Begone and never return,” Leyandrii said.

  The figure hissed, drawing Jerrol closer. Jerrol struggled to relax, his instinct to fight an overpowering impulse. A soft kiss caressed his cheek, and he stilled as he remembered the line from the prophecy:

  ‘Keep thy course as stillness creeps

  Bide thy time lest maidens weep.’

  He had to wait for all the Ascendants to arrive.

  “This cannot be.” Clary lifted his face as if testing the air. He swung around, taking Jerrol with him, and he negligently struck Chryllion out of the way. The force of his touch sent Chryllion flying over the heads of stunned soldiers. He hit the ground with a muffled thump, and many eyes turned ba
ck to the plateau, watching the shining Lady and her Captain and his shadow held in the grip of a creature from another time.

  More shrouded figures formed behind him.

  Birlerion stepped around Jerrol and into the light, a glowing nimbus of power in Jerrol’s eyes, and Clary flinched back. “You!” he hissed.

  Birlerion smiled, his eyes exultant. “Yes. There is only one truth. I belong to only one purpose, and that purpose is not yours.” Birlerion smiled viciously. “Clary, you just aren’t good enough,” he said, his voice full of satisfaction.

  Clary’s hand shot up into the air, and it seemed to grab and twist before his black eyes focused on Birlerion. He roared his anger, striking out at Birlerion as the Lady whispered, “Now, my Captain.” Birlerion shielded them, feeding what was left of his power into the transparent barrier until the Ascendant lord’s power hit him in the chest and he fell. Leyandrii absorbed his shield as she wrapped herself around Jerrol and he drove his hands into the creature’s chest, reaching up and through, Jerrol grasped the Veil in both hands and pulled.

  The bloodstone exploded out of his body, shooting himself and Leyandrii skywards and beyond, dragging the remnants of the creature and his companions with him. Jerrol spread to fill the gap, and the Veil caught him and buried itself in his skin, driving down into his bones, humming in delight as it made him its own. The wail of the Ancestors was lost as the Veil devoured them, never fully formed, and now silent forever.

  Birlerion failed to draw breath as his lungs collapsed and fire seared through his soul. He struggled to reach for Leyandrii one last time, knowing he had lost her as his sight faded and he lost consciousness.

  His desolate cry was lost as he collapsed. Unresponsive, his body flew through the air landing in a senseless heap beside Chryllion’s. An appalled Landis stopped slapping Chryllion’s slack face and moved towards Birlerion’s smoking body in horror, shouting for help. The grand duke’s soldiers came running, and between them, they dragged the unconscious Sentinals away.