Copyright © 2020 by Helen Garraway
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without express written permission of the author.
Published by Jerven Publishing
Cover by Jeff Brown Graphics
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organisations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used it. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
eBook ISBN: 978-1-8381559-0-2
Print ISBN: 978-1-8381559-1-9
Hardback: 978-1-8381559-2-6
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First Edition
For my Mum
Margaret
I miss you every day
Contents
1. Lady’s Temple Gardens, Old Vespers
2. Rangers Garrison, Old Vespers
3. Old Vespers
4. Greenswatch
5. Marchwood Watch
6. Greenswatch
7. The Grove, Greenswatch
8. Black Hen, Greenswatch
9. Black Hen, Greenswatch
10. The Grove, Greenswatch
11. Chapterhouse, Old Vespers
12. Deepwater Watch
13. Greenswatch
14. Chapterhouse, Old Vespers
15. Greenswatch
16. Chapterhouse, Old Vespers
17. Deepwater Watch
18. Stoneford Watch
19. Stoneford Keep, Stoneford Watch
20. Stoneford Keep, Stoneford Watch
21. Stoneford Keep, Stoneford Watch
22. Stoneford Keep, Stoneford Watch
23. Velmouth, Stoneford Watch
24. Stoneford Keep, Stoneford Watch
25. Watch Towers, Stoneford Watch
26. Greenswatch
27. Greenswatch
28. Watch Towers, Stoneford Watch
29. Stoneford Watch
30. Greenswatch
31. Greenswatch
32. Greenswatch
33. Greenswatch
34. Old Vespers
35. Chapterhouse, Old Vespers
36. Old Vespers
37. New Vespers
38. Old Vespers
Acknowledgements
Letter from the Author
Chapter 1
Lady’s Temple Gardens, Old Vespers
The sword missed his nose by an inch, if that. A momentary relief as solid steel thunked into the ground and Jerrol jerked back like a snake about to strike and then slithered away, inhaling the scent of soggy grass, dirt and roses. Roses? His brow wrinkled in confusion as he scuttled away and regained his feet. Backing towards the tall sentinal tree arching over the Lady’s temple, he strained to see his assailants.
He leaned against the trunk as he scanned the gardens. He would have to apologise later; staying alive was more important than the sanctity of the temple gardens. There were three guards, large and brutal: Chancellor’s men eager to deliver him up more dead than alive.
The complaint of him snooping around the Chancellor’s business would be enough to get him placed on report, if not demoted. He wasn’t supposed to be near Chancellor Isseran, let alone follow him.
Gritting his teeth, Jerrol considered his options. He couldn’t kill them, not on the Lady’s soil, yet he couldn’t let them report back, either. The satin-smooth bark of the tree beneath his fingers warmed for a moment as he hesitated. The image of a tall, black-haired man stood before him. This apparition wore a silvery green high-necked uniform that glimmered in the swirling mist. He was striking to look at, unnaturally pale, with distinctive features and straight, black eyebrows over silver eyes that gleamed in the dim light.
Jerrol gaped at him, unable to stop staring. It wasn’t possible. Lady help him, it wasn’t possible, was it? He recoiled as the man spoke, taking a step back.
“Captain? Is it time?” the man asked, his silver eyes burning bright.
He was young – younger than he was, Jerrol thought. Yet his expression was grave. There was a sense of a burden understood and accepted, of experience over youth. He had a sword strapped to his hip and a bow across his back, and he looked like he knew how to use them.
Jerrol frowned. “Time?” he asked, and the image faded. He took a deep, steadying breath and turned into one of the guards rushing him. Blocking the blow, he spun towards his attacker instead of away. Deep grunts and the thwack of punches broke the silence of the garden. Jerrol twisted out of the man’s grip and drew his knife.
He hesitated, remembering he was on the Lady’s ground, and instead landed a punch that dropped the man as he retreated. More men arrived, crowding the gate. Jerrol flinched as something buzzed by him, and one of the men grunted in pain and fell back. Audible thuds followed, and the men jinked back from the gate.
Jerrol took the opportunity to fade into the night, circling the temple and up towards the justice buildings. The tower chimed another hour. The sky was beginning to lighten to a steel grey. If he didn’t return to the barracks soon, it would be evident to everyone that he had been out that night.
Keeping to the shadows, he made for the rear wall of the garrison. The small pack still nestled at the foot of the oak tree where he had hidden it. Assessing the height, he pulled the grappling hook out and slung it over the wall. The soft clank was loud in the quiet night air. He pulled it tight and was over before anyone noticed him; gathering up his rope, he dropped to the ground behind the stables.
Jerrol reached his room undetected; as a captain of the King’s Rangers, he rated his own place. Sometimes he missed the camaraderie of the shared sleeping quarters but not on nights like this, when he was returning from an unsanctioned venture, battered and bruised.
He dropped his bag in the corner and lit the lantern with the candle he had picked up from the hallway. Fishing the notebook out of his pocket, he shed his clothes, lay down on the bed with an exhausted sigh and began flipping through the pages. His fingers slowed as he realised it was the Chancellor’s handwriting. He recognised the looping tails Isseran used. A list of names and words. Nothing else, nothing to explain what they meant. Most of the names in the book were known to him, a scattering of administrators, lords and courtiers, as well as high-ranking officers from both the Rangers and the King’s Justice.
He snapped the notebook shut and lay frowning in thought as the sky lightened. Had he seen a man in the sentinal? Legend said that Lady Leyandrii’s Sentinals, her personal guards, had all vanished with her when she sundered the Bloodstone and brought down the Veil nearly three thousand years ago. The trees appeared at the same time – it was said in memory of them – and that’s where the name came from. Some said the guards slept inside them, unable to cross the Veil with the Lady.
No, it couldn’t be true. It was all myth and legends.
His unsanctioned foray into the warehouse district of Old Vespers raised more questions than answers. If the Chancellor was involved in smuggling goods across Vespiri, then they were in more trouble than he had realised. According to the notebook he had found, the Chancellor was colluding with a network of influential individuals.
Rising before sixth chime, he showered and dressed in the grey and black of a King’s Ranger. The only visible sign of his overnight excursion were his reddened knuckles, and a slight bruise discolouring his right cheek. At least they could be e
xplained easily enough. Everyone gained bruises in the sparring ring.
Commander Nikols was in his office when Jerrol arrived. Nikols was a career soldier; he had risen through the ranks uninterrupted and had been tenured as the Commander of the King’s Rangers, and Jerrol’s commanding officer, for the last seven years. He was a large man, towering over Jerrol’s slight stature, and twice as wide.
He was also intelligent. Jerrol respected the sharp mind that sat behind the piercing brown eyes that saw through every ragtag, desperate excuse. He could cut through bull faster than any commander Jerrol knew. Nikols was a staunch supporter of the Lady and Jerrol trusted him.
Nikols’ brow darkened as Jerrol reported. He glared at Jerrol as he took the notebook he offered him. Jerrol knew the names, having memorised them during his sleepless hours. He stiffened under Nikols’ inspection and knew his nondescript appearance, slight build and brown hair belied his competency. After all, he had been on Isseran’s detail because he was tenacious and discreet. The tenacious piece was the part that got him in trouble, and that usually meant trouble for Nikols.
Nikols flipped through the notebook. “This doesn’t tell us much. It certainly wasn’t worth drawing Isseran’s attention to you any more than it already is. You’re not supposed to be anywhere near him.”
“I didn’t expect him to be there, sir. I left him in the arms of his latest floozy. He should have been there for the night.”
Nikols glanced up from the notebook and Jerrol winced.
“If the Chancellor is at the root of our recent troubles, then we have no choice but to go to the King,” Jerrol said, watching his commander. “If these people are his supporters, then most of the administration is corrupted.”
“If you can get through the Crown Prince first. He guards his father’s peace with a tenacity equal to yours.”
“Depends if the King wants it guarded so,” Jerrol said, considering the astute monarch who ruled their kingdom. He didn’t think the King would accept his son’s scheming for long.
“Unless he says otherwise, that is what we have to accept.” Nikols glared at Jerrol in warning. “Do not offend the Prince, Haven. Your life will become much more difficult if you do. You think Isseran is a pain? Kharel would be ten times worse.”
“But it’s not like the King to allow others to speak for him,” Jerrol argued.
Nikols shrugged. “It’s time the Prince was more involved, and I expect Benedict is preparing him for the throne.”
“Still, it doesn’t seem right to me.”
“Good job it’s not down to you, isn’t it? Leave this with me. I’ll see if I can get an audience with the Prince. Keep your head down. You’re supposed to be off Isseran’s rotation, so stay away from him. Let’s not rile him any more than necessary. Keep to the barracks.” Nikols stood and leant on his desk. “Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Jerrol saluted and left the office. He didn’t think arguing would get him anywhere. He knew Isseran was up to no good – look at his attempts to lose Jerrol. If he didn’t have anything to hide, he wouldn’t try so hard. His turning up at the warehouse, which was totally unexpected, sealed it for Jerrol. He wondered why Nikols wasn’t so sure.
The days passed, and Jerrol kept to the barracks, leaving once to visit the Lady’s temple to apologise for fighting in her gardens. When he arrived, a young man was kneeling before the altar and Jerrol halted in surprise. The white marble was shimmering; it solidified as he watched, and soft voices drifted on the air.
“Dearest Birlerion, please, be a diversion, protect him.”
“But my Lady...” The man broke off as he looked around, aware of someone behind him. He rose in one fluid motion, turning back to bow towards the altar. He turned away, keeping his eyes downcast, and left the temple, but Jerrol recognised him even without his bow strapped to his back. The glimpse of silver eyes and the archaic uniform – those were distinctive.
“Hey, wait.” Jerrol ran after him, but he had disappeared. The gardens were empty. Returning to the temple, Jerrol knelt before the Lady’s altar. He stared at the lifelike statue of a young woman, standing barefoot by a stream surrounded by flowers. The Lady Leyandrii, the deity who helped create the world of Remargaren.
The white marble gleamed in the soft light of the temple, the statue shimmered, and the flowers rustled, giving off a heady scent.
“You are late, my Captain.”
Jerrol stiffened, glancing around the empty temple, and his stomach fluttered as he stared at the statue. “Late?”
“Events quicken, and we are unprepared.”
He swayed, grappling with her words. “Unprepared for what?”
“The forgotten stir. It is time.”
Jerrol braced a hand on the stone step. What was going on? He flicked another glance around him and back to the statue. “The forgotten?”
“They wait patiently, my Captain.”
“Who does?”
A tinkling laugh filled the air. “Who do you think?” The shimmering statue solidified, and the laugh faded. The statue gleamed in the subdued light, watching him.
Jerrol rose, staring about him wildly, his heart thrumming in his chest. He backed away from the altar and hurried out of the temple. He stopped before the tall sentinal. It couldn’t be, the myths could not be real. The silvery trunk glistened in the sunlight, and he placed a tentative hand against it. Nothing happened.
He shook his head. He was an idiot. What had he expected to happen? Did he really think a man would step out of the tree?
The sentinal stood as it had for the last century and more. Records stated that the temple had been buried beneath the land for nearly three thousand years, and all that time the sentinal had been sheltering it. As the soil was excavated and the temple revealed, the sentinal had slowly straightened, its pointed leaves reaching for the sky. It was one of many sentinals scattered across Remargaren, though the only one in Old Vespers.
Deep in thought, Jerrol paused at the entrance of the Chapterhouse; after a fleeting glance back at the temple, he entered and approached the duty scholar.
“History of the Sentinals? First floor, section twelve. You won’t find much though. No one’s been able to explain them,” the duty scholar said, pointing the way.
Jerrol leaned back in his chair and scrunched his face up. His eyes were sore from trying to decipher the faded text in the oldest document he could find. According to the dusty journal, the Lady Leyandrii had called forth her Sentinals in 1122, and nearly one hundred men and women had responded, committing their lives to her. Then she had dispersed them throughout Remargaren. She had kept an arm at the palace. An arm? He frowned at the unfamiliar term and returned to the parchment, searching for references to an arm.
He stilled as he read the list of twelve strange names that comprised the "arm": the Sentinals posted to the Lady’s Palace. His breath hissed out as he found what he was searching for. The name he had heard for the first time only a few hours earlier. “Birlerion,” he whispered.
As Jerrol returned to the barracks, his mind was spinning. Questions spangled off one another, and there were no ready answers. He wasn’t sure if the Lady had spoken to him, or if he had imagined her and the man. Could a man exist within a tree for three thousand years? And if he could, why had he awoken now? And a more disturbing thought, were there others?
Chapter 2
Rangers Garrison, Old Vespers
It was much later by the time he slept, and early when a tapping woke him from a dream about the Sentinals, the Lady’s Guard. Tall, silver-eyed men and women lost when the Lady banished all magic from the world, immortalised by the silver-trunked trees which had appeared overnight in their place. The Sentinals awaited his command.
A young page in palace livery stood outside his door, a missive in his hand. “Captain Haven? Message for you.”
Jerrol pushed his hair out of his face and flipped open the note. The page waited, trying to suppress a yawn. The King expected his presence
in the throne room, immediately. As he dressed, he speculated on why King Benedict of Vespiri was granting an audience at this late hour. The page led him to the dimly lit courtyard, where horses waited patiently in the darkness.
On arrival at the palace, a sleepy groom took his horse, and the page led Jerrol through the silent corridors to the throne room. King Benedict was already seated on his throne when Jerrol arrived, which was unusual. He was also unattended.
Behind the King, engraved in the wall, were the words of the King’s Oath. The oath that bound the King to the Lady and the Land, and the protection of his people. A gleaming mosaic of a sentinal tree and a crescent moon covered the floor.
Jerrol entered and knelt before the King. He bowed his head, waiting for permission to rise. It didn’t come, and he remained kneeling, getting stiffer as the minutes passed. He swallowed; was the King that angry with him? He reported what he found. It was not his fault if it wasn’t what the King wanted to hear.
As he continued to wait, he realised the King was muttering to himself, but he couldn’t make out the words. The mosaic floor began to burn his knee, and he squirmed into a more comfortable position, but it didn’t help.
He hadn’t seen the King for a few weeks; his last report had not been received well, and the King had not been pleased. Discreetly peering up at the King, Jerrol could see those few weeks had not been kind to him. He looked as if he had lost weight, and Jerrol’s frown deepened in concern.
“Do your Duty. Never Falter. Never Fail.”
Jerrol jerked his head up as the first line of the King’s Oath rang around the throne room. He inhaled sharply as the words vibrated in the air. Was the King trying to invoke the Oath?
He stared at the King, noting now how dishevelled he appeared. King Benedict was usually immaculate no matter the hour, but now his shirt was wrinkled, his brown hair looked as if he had dragged his hands through it a few times, and his face was lined and pale. He mumbled under his breath; he seemed agitated and not quite himself.
Jerrol held his breath as King Benedict’s unwavering eyes stared into his. The King rambled about oaths, the King’s Oath in particular. He kept changing topics: he talked about the Watches and his responsibility, and then back round to his Oath before he veered off talking about his concern for the guardians, the tall Sentinal trees that were located across Vespiri. The King struggled with himself, and then he spoke again. “Lady, Land and Liege obey.”
Sentinals Awaken: Book One of the Sentinals Series Page 1
