Sentinals Justice: Book Three of the Sentinal Series

by Helen Garraway

  Jennery sighed. “Come, let us go in. We have much to discuss and much still to do.”

  54

  Elsewhere

  “So many lost. Was it necessary?” Jerrol asked as he stood beneath the Lady’s sentinal, idly staring up into its branches. A soft green light illuminated the glade, soothing and calm.

  Leyandrii sighed. “Man is impatient. They use force and pain to solve what the mind could solve easily, but the power of the mind, as you have also seen, is a danger unto itself. It is a drug, a seductress that lulls man into thinking they are supreme and don’t require governance. They believe that, because they have power, they must, therefore, be ascendant over all others. But power needs control, and in a world such as Remargaren, such power is not required.”

  “What happens now, then? I couldn’t save Lorillion. He was tied so tightly that even as I released him, he wrapped himself around me and came too.”

  “My poor Lorillion. He was my locus, he was used to linking. I expect it was as natural as breathing to link to you. Don’t berate yourself, my Captain, it was meant to be. His role was ordained before you were even born. And the twins, Ellaerion and Elliarille, you’ll need to keep an eye on them; they’ll need some help to come to terms with what happened to them, trapped in the Veil all these years.

  “As for the others, you released Serenion, Generille, and Royerion. Chryllion, I think, saw a need and filled it. He was always there when you needed him,” she said fondly. “And my dear Saerille; the Veil recognised her, I think.”

  Jerrol stirred restlessly as he looked at his hands. His skin glittered with the crystal pumping through his veins. “I thought we would find more. I was sure of it when I heard their voices.”

  “I think some were only echoes. It has been a long time, and as you well know, the Veil does not give anything up easily.”

  The Veil caressed his skin as gentle and as jealous as a lover. It tried to call him away, tempting him to merge as one with his lost friends. Serillion’s name lingered in the air, and his heart constricted as the Veil coaxed him to wrap the world in their protection. Offering him two perfect hands to hold the world in. He shook the temptation away and met the Lady’s sympathetic eyes. “What about Birlerion? Who is he really?”

  “Ah, Birlerion,” the Lady’s face grew pensive. “He never deserved any of this. He never asked for it, yet there was never anyone else. As you have found, my Captain, you can’t do it alone. There is a balance to everything. You need the unvarnished sight to achieve the impossible; without it, you just deceive yourself and everyone else. He hid much, kept his abilities safe until it was needed. He has always been my shield, as my Captain is my sword.”

  “What about me? Can I return? I am no longer what I was. The Veil calls to me.”

  The Lady smiled, her exquisite face sad. “Change happens to us all. You will always be part of the Veil as you are the Bloodstone. You are my Captain; you are the Oath Keeper, and you have a choice as always. You will always be my anchor and treasured as such, no matter what you choose. We would live in a very different world but for your bravery, your fortitude, your belief. You are the soul of Remargaren.”

  “I am but a man.”

  “The greatest miracle on this word is man. Man will always find a way. My Sentinals were once but men and women.” She shrugged, her eyes bright. “We would not be here but for them. They kept the Ascendants at bay long enough. We lost so many, and as the few awaken, those we never found, it’s like losing them again.”

  Jerrol smiled in sympathy. He shared the pain she felt. “What happened to Guerlaire?”

  “He chose,” the Lady said with a glittering smile. “He chose to stay with me, and no matter what, I am only a woman, and I cannot fault his choice.”

  “What of me?”

  “You have a choice as all men do.”

  “You would leave it up to me?”

  She gave him an amused glance. “But you make such good choices, my Captain.”

  Jerrol grimaced. “This is going to hurt, isn’t it?”

  “Birth always hurts, but the rewards are so great. I will be watching; take care of them for me.”

  “Always.”

  She reached out to touch his face in parting as the king’s throne room in Old Vespers began to coalesce around him. The king and his court were caught in silent tableau. The king’s mouth open to issue a command.

  Jerrol looked around him. Time had passed since the final confrontation. Benedict had returned to Old Vespers, and Randolf to Retarfu. Taelia stood beside the king, her face sad but composed, the life they had created together still hidden within. He stooped to kiss her, and her eyes widened in shock. Her hand began to rise towards him.

  He knew Birlerion and Tagerill still convalesced in their sentinals, and he sent a silent blessing to them both and to those whom he had lost.

  He saluted the king and his frozen court as he walked across the room and stood in front of the Oath. He laid his left hand flat against the words. His palm pulsed sending a shaft of pain through his veins as he began to push. He heard a despairing wail behind him as the Oath began to pulse red as he sank further into the wall. The crystal expanded through his body, the edges stinging as they cut; his blood welled and seeped into the grooves of the letters. Pain spiked through his veins and made his arms tremble as he forced himself forward. His skin glittered, causing flashes of light and colour to spangle around the room.

  Taelia launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist as if she could pull him back. Her sudden movement broke the stasis as the king shouted in horror and voices crashed around them. The throne room was a blur of horrified motion until a brilliant flash engulfed the room stunning the occupants to silence and Jerrol and Taelia were gone. The echo of Taelia’s wail combined with Jerrol’s voice raised in agony gradually faded to silence as the Oath pulsed a brilliant red before finally settling into a warm golden glow, bathing the king and his court in its light.

  The shocked silence was interrupted by a nervous courtier dashing into the throne room and skidding to a breathless halt in front of the king. “S-sire,” he stammered, “there’s a tall tree in your courtyard. I-it just appeared fully grown.”

  The court rushed out of the throne room and into the courtyard, gasps of wonder and dismay arising as they stared up at the tall sentinal tree towering over the palace walls, the subtly glowing trunk a twisting dance of two trees entwined, the bark emitting a silvery hue.

  King Benedict solemnly bowed his head and placed one hand against the bark. His other hand rested over his heart. He shivered as the sentinal’s acknowledgement tingled through his palm, Jerrolion. He turned and swept the court with a searing glance. “Our peace has been bought with many lives. It is our duty to guard that peace for the good of all, in the name of our Lady.” His eyes rested on the awed faces of Jennery and Alyssa, openly clutching each other in shock, before passing on to the Sentinals standing tall.

  “The Captain will be watching,” he said.

  The Sentinals knelt. The king watched them nervously. Only Jerrol had seemed able to keep them under control. They struck their chests with their fists. “The Captain sees all,” they chanted. “In the sight of the Lady, at the command of the Liege, to protect the Land and its people.”

  Niallerion stared up into the leafy canopy overhead, the pointy leaves intertwining so much that one couldn’t tell which tree they belonged to. And he smiled.

  The Captain’s sentinal had arrived.

  Epilogue

  A slender young man with gleaming silver eyes and shoulder-length brown hair strode into the throne room. He was dressed in a somewhat archaic-looking silvery-green uniform. His high-necked tunic glimmered as the Oath flared a brilliant white in welcome before settling into its more usual golden glow. The man nodded an acknowledgement and bethought the king. He waited patiently, staring up at the Oath, his hands clasped behind his back.

  He didn’t have to wait long. The king came puffi
ng into the throne room, stopping as a grin of pure delight spread across his face. “Jerrol,” he exclaimed as he strode forward, hands outstretched. “At last! Or should I call you Jerrolion?”

  Jerrol smiled wryly as he dropped to one knee. “My liege,” he murmured.

  “Rise, rise, thank goodness you are alright. I am glad you came.”

  Jerrol quirked an eyebrow at the king as he rose. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

  The king laughed. “I wouldn’t have blamed you,” he said, inspecting him. “You look, ah, a little different,” he said, observing the threads of silver in his hair, the slight sparkle to his skin, and the luminous eyes that saw everything.

  “The Lady’s influence. You know how she likes to meddle, even Taelia didn’t escape. Once she got over the shock of seeing me and receiving the Lady’s Blessing, she settled down quite nicely as the wife of Captain Jerrolion.”

  “Well, congratulations!” the king said, an appreciative smile on his face. “Before your lovely wife arrives, I need to tell you about the trouble we’re having.” The king began explaining as the Captain of the Lady’s Guard, Commander of the King’s Justice, and Keeper of the Oath, listened.

  The End.

  The adventure continues in Book Three dot five: Sentinals Recovery. A novella following Birlerion’s recovery and his bonding with his Darian. There was no physical way to include this story in Sentinals Justice. Birlerion never had the chance to return to Greenswatch before the final confrontation, but I thought it was a story worth telling. Available December 2021. A surprise Christmas bonus for those of you have reached the end of Sentinals Justice and to tide you over until the next book in the series releases! Keep reading to find the first chapter.

  Sign up to my newsletter via the link on https://linktr.ee/helengarraway to find out first when it is available, and to download a free novella in the same world.

  Novella: Book 0.5: Sentinals Stirring

  If you have a moment and you enjoyed reading Sentinals Justice, then please do leave a review and tell other fantasy readers what you enjoyed. Reviews are so important to independent authors to drive visibility and to help us to continue publishing our books.

  Thank you for your support.

  Helen Garraway

  www.helengarraway.com

  September 2021

  Other books in the series:

  Book One: Sentinals Awaken

  Book Two: Sentinals Rising

  Book Three: Sentinals Justice

  Book 3.5: Sentinals Recovery (December 2021)

  Book Four: Title TBC: Spring 2022

  Acknowledgments

  I can’t quite believe that I am writing these words, but I have finished the third book in the Sentinal series and with the release of Sentinals Justice I will have published three books in one year. Don’t expect three books every year!

  I have some very special people to thank who helped me on my self publishing journey.

  First, my wonderful daughter Jennifer who has supported all my dreams to write and publish my novels.

  My very good friend Kaye Adams who is my sounding board, and keeps me sane when I go off track.

  Michael Strick, my ever faithful beta reader and Jill Wells who helped hunt down those darned typos. If you do still manage to find any, the fault is all mine!

  Maddy Glenn, my editor who asks those probing questions and makes me look more closely at some of my ‘darlings’ that really need to go, and encourages me to expand rather than cut!

  My wonderful team of ARC readers, who grow with each book. Thank you for joining me on this journey, I really appreciate all your support, comments and feedback.

  Jeff Brown of Jeff Brown Graphics (jeffbrowngraphics.com) designed my gorgeous cover and Tom from Fictive Designs (https://fictive-designs.com/maps) drew the wonderful map of Elothia.

  Thank you all,

  Helen

  Chapter 1

  Birlerion woke in a panic. Gasping for air, he struggled out of the constraining blankets. He couldn’t breathe. His mouth was full of dirt, clogging his throat, suffocating him. He coughed and choked, and tears trailed down his cheeks as he dragged in a desperate gulp of air. His chest ached at the effort.

  Warm arms embraced him. “Hush, you’re safe, Birlerion. Concentrate on your breaths, one at a time.”

  Birlerion writhed, inhaling more noise than air. His face darkened as his lungs failed to take in enough, and he shuddered as the stench of burning flesh filled his nose. He clutched the material beneath his fingers, and the arms around him tightened.

  “You’re safe in your sentinal. You can control it. That’s right. One breath, two breaths …”

  Birlerion collapsed, exhausted, his throat raw, his chest heavy. He inhaled, chest heaving, and exhaled a wheezing sigh, concentrating on the effort. He relaxed as the soft touch of his sentinal embraced him, and then darkness claimed him.

  Much later, soft voices woke him, and he lay concentrating on the simple mechanics of getting air into his lungs. In and out. Why was it so difficult to breathe? His chest was tight, uncomfortable. Voices percolated into his awareness, and his brow wrinkled as he tried to place them.

  “He needs more time. We can’t move him yet. He’s not stable enough.”

  “The grand duke has recalled all his men; the plateau is deserted. It’s been nearly two months since the battle, Marguerite. How much longer will it take?”

  “As long as it needs to. He nearly died, Taurillion. His chest was crushed. It takes time to rebuild, to heal.”

  “Then how did he survive?”

  The light changed above Birlerion as a soft hand smoothed his forehead. Marguerite sighed. “Birlerion?” She leaned over him, and he opened his eyes. As her precious face hovered above him, her vivid blue eyes were full of concern, though she was quick to hide it. She smiled at him.

  “Hi,” she said. Birlerion stared at her, an impossibility. She had bonded with the land, hadn’t she? “Marguerite?” he croaked, raising a shaky hand. By the Lady, he felt weak. He rested his hand on her arm, rubbing the auburn curls between his trembling fingers. She was real. “How are you here? Did we win?”

  “Of course we won. You did it. You shielded the Captain long enough for him to strike.”

  Birlerion flinched against the flood of memories: the terrible winds, Leyandrii and Guerlaire falling as the ground ripped apart, being consumed by the Land … “Leyandrii fell. Is she alright?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “And the Captain?”

  “He had to leave. He is in Old Vespers with the king.”

  Birlerion dropped his hand, exhausted by the effort. He cleared his throat; the taste of rain and fresh soil filled his mouth. “King? What king? Where are Leyandrii and Guerlaire?”

  Marguerite hesitated and exchanged glances with Taurillion. She reached for a glass. “They are fine. Here, drink. You must be thirsty. Just take small sips.”

  Taurillion helped Birlerion sit up, and he sipped the water while resting against Taurillion’s solid chest, catching his breath in between. If he took the gulps he wanted, he thought he might drown. He lay back on his pillow, breathless, his chest wheezing.

  “What happened to me?”

  “You got in the way of an Ascendant, and he blasted you in the chest,” Taurillion replied.

  Birlerion stared at the copper-eyed Sentinal as the memories filtered in. “It was Clary, wasn’t it? He just won’t stop hounding me.”

  “I think that’s enough talking for now,” said Marguerite. “Rest, Birlerion. We’ll talk more later.”

  Obediently closing his eyes, Birlerion relaxed into the soft embrace of his sentinal. The hum deepened in concern, and Birlerion hurried to reassure him that he was fine. Then his awareness melted away, and he slept.

  Marguerite looked down at him. His black hair had grown and now curled around his neck, accentuating the translucence of his skin. His face, relaxed in sleep, was all hollow angles and curves, with dark lashes hidi
ng mesmerising silver eyes. Once, they had been an equally mesmerising indigo. His cheeks were sunken and he had lost weight, a result of the huge discharge of magic he had made; too much.

  On top of that, he had taken the full brunt of an Ascendant lord’s anger. It was amazing that he lived. She wasn’t sure how it was possible. The healer had proclaimed him dead, but Ari, the little Arifel, and his sentinal had refused to believe it.

  As his chest rose, she knew that, although the horrific burns had been healed by his sentinal, his lungs were struggling to fill the space that his newly rebuilt rib cage provided. If that was not enough, he was also confused. Unsurprising, she supposed. She should have anticipated it.

  The next morning, Birlerion tried to get up. He paused, resting on the side of his bed, his hands gripping the edge as his head swam. A soft exclamation had him peering up. Marguerite stood before him, her hands on her hips. “What do you think you are doing? You don’t have the strength to get up by yourself.”

  “You said I’ve been here for over a month. I should be healed by now.”

  “Your sentinal brought you back from the brink of death. That’s no mean feat and certainly not an overnight job,” Marguerite snapped, pushing him back onto the bed. “Why aren’t you keeping him in bed?” she asked the air above her, scowling up at the sentinal that surrounded them.

  Birlerion chuckled. “Because I told him not to. I want to get up.” The air around him warmed, and a flush of energy rushed through his body. He straightened. “Only for a few minutes to look outside and breathe the fresh air.” He shuddered as his words reminded him of the tragedy in Terolia, one of many memories and experiences he hadn’t had time to process, and that still grated on his nerves.