Sentinals Awaken: Book One of the Sentinals Series

by Helen Garraway

  Jerrol gasped out loud, recognising the second line of the oath. The King’s eyes bore into his as he gripped the arms of his throne. He looked, dare Jerrol say it, a bit desperate. The King was rambling about time when he cut himself off and started to speak the third line. “All are one, entwined ascend...” The throne room doors crashed open and interrupted him, and a stocky young man in an ornate uniform of navy blue and gold trimmings entered.

  “Father.” The King’s eldest son, Crown Prince Kharel, strode up to the throne. The King faltered, the words dying on his lips.

  Jerrol flinched as a loud crack ricocheted around the throne room and the floor trembled. Jerrol caught the King’s eye. “Sire, if it is your wish, I accept your oath. I will guard the Watches for you.”

  The King dipped his head in what Jerrol hoped was acknowledgement rather than despair. Jerrol was sure the words of the Oath flashed as he spoke.

  Prince Kharel grabbed Jerrol roughly by the shoulder and jerked him to his feet. His numb legs failed to take his weight as he tried to rise. Staring at the wall, the Prince growled, “Haven, you are under arrest for treason.”

  Jerrol struggled to his feet and glared at the Prince. “For what?” A shiver of fear flashed down his spine.

  “For plotting against the Crown and the Administration,” the Prince replied, his face stern. “Guards, arrest this man.”

  Jerrol turned to the King, who leaned back on his throne and closed his eyes as if exhausted. “Your Majesty, I swear, I have done no such thing.”

  “All lies,” the Prince said. “Take him away.” He waved the guards forward, and they gripped Jerrol’s arms firmly between them. Jerrol had no choice but to let them steer him out of the throne room; their grip was unyielding. The Prince was telling his father he had it all under control as Jerrol was escorted away.

  Jerrol sat on the floor of the cell and stared at the bare rock wall opposite him. It was good for interrogations, he assumed, as he’d collected a few cuts and bruises as the guards bounced him off it when he first arrived. They weren’t taking any risks. He must have quite a reputation for being difficult.

  Not only had they shackled his hands behind his back, but his cell was also on the lowest level. A solid oak door barred his escape. His lips twitched. He had to admit he had been a thorn in Chancellor Isseran’s side; this must be payback.

  He frowned in thought. Was the Prince’s action connected to Isseran? It must be. Nikols must have gone to the Prince with the notebook. There had been more than enough time for the Prince to speak to Isseran. The Prince must have believed Isseran’s lies. There was no other reason to arrest him.

  The situation was far worse than he had reported if the Crown Prince supported Isseran. After the King, they were the two most powerful men in the Kingdom of Vespiri. The Prince had moved fast. Nikols could only have shown him the notebook in the last few days.

  He sighed as he tried to get more comfortable. His shoulders ached along with his head as his mind spun, trying to figure a way out. Why had the King not spoken up for him? Why would the King try to invoke an oath that as far as Jerrol knew had never, ever been invoked, and yet allow the person he was entrusting it with to be arrested? It didn’t make sense.

  The cell door rattled as it was unlocked. It opened, revealing Commander Nikols. Jerrol struggled to his feet as his commanding officer raked him with a no-nonsense glare and folded his arms as the guard locked the door behind him. It was clear he wouldn’t be amused by Jerrol’s blood-stained jacket and bruised face.

  “You are a disgrace to the uniform,” Nikols began, his voice deep and hard, just as Jerrol had expected. “That a King’s Ranger is arrested for treason, manacled as a common criminal – words fail me.”

  Jerrol grimaced; he wished they would.

  “Look at me when I am speaking to you.”

  Jerrol raised his eyes to his commander’s furious brown ones.

  “The Prince has ordered you executed at dawn. I wonder at his eagerness, but from his reports, you have been stringing us along for months. Your actions have finally caught up with you.” The Commander’s eyes flicked down to his hands, and Jerrol’s eyes followed. He was holding a set of metal lock picks in front of him.

  “I don’t know whether to beat you myself or offer you to the dogs, but I suppose the Prince has made that decision for me.” He leaned forward and slapped the wall, before pushing Jerrol back against it. “You are no longer a King’s Ranger. Maybe that will remind you not to embarrass me before the King.” He slapped the wall again as he lent over Jerrol and stuffed the bundle of metal down the back of his trousers. He stood away as Jerrol slid down the wall. “You’re not worth the effort,” he spat, turning back to the door. “Open up; this reprobate won’t even make the first dawn.”

  The door rattled, and the Commander left. Jerrol lay stunned for a moment, the picks digging into his back. The guard leered at him before locking the door again. Jerrol considered what his now ex-commander had said; he had to get out before dawn. Trying to ignore the creeping sense of failure, he worked the picks out of his waistband and felt the thin metal rods to find which would be best to unlock his manacles.

  Shucking the manacles off on the floor, he rubbed his wrists and rolled his shoulders, easing the tension in his muscles. He froze as a sharp voice penetrated the wooden door. “A cat? You’ve had your nose in too many jars, mate.”

  “I swear, a black and white one, with... um... with wings! It just flew down the steps.”

  “Yer having a laugh. Try and pull the other one.”

  “I swear, I saw it. It appeared out of thin air. A cat with wings.”

  The other guard burst out laughing. “You think you can gull me? You’d have to come up with something better than that.”

  There was a clatter of boots as one of the guards clumped down the stairs to the lower level – presumably to chase the cat. Jerrol grinned. The guard slid the peephole back and peered in; he saw Jerrol laid out on the floor and turned back to the hunt. Boots clattered back up the steps. “Did yer see it? The bloody thing’s greased, slid right out of my hands it did.”

  “There’s no such thing as a flying cat.”

  “I swear, look, it’s over there.”

  There was the echoing sound of a chair falling over. “Bleeding ’ell. Well, catch it then you idiot; it can’t stay down ’ere.” Muffled curses floated down the stairs.

  The older guard groaned. “Only you could make such a ball ache out of it. It’s just a bleedin’ cat.”

  “Well, you catch it then.” The younger guard sounded annoyed.

  “If this costs me my rotation, you’ll regret it. I’ve got just one more watch, and I’m out of ’ere. One more soddin’ night of making sure locked doors stay locked and you have to find a bleedin’ cat...” His grumbling voice faded as he climbed the stairs.

  Jerrol peered through the peephole; the younger guard had his back to him, and at an exclamation from above, he climbed the first few steps. “Did you get it?”

  Jerrol knelt by the door and selecting his picks, set to work. Sliding out of the cell, he shut the door behind him, and as he crept along the wall, he listened. The older guard cursed. “The bastard’s slippier than the first frost. Get up ’ere. I’ll chase it to you, and you grab it.”

  The guard on the stairs hurried up, and Jerrol silently followed. Chairs scraped across the floor as they shoved furniture out the way. “There it is, go on, chase it up the stairs, quick. It’s just a cat. It ain’t got no wings; you need to get yer eyes checked.”

  Jerrol peered through the doorway. Both guards were herding a small black and white cat up the curved stairway to the upper level. He squinted at it. He was seeing things. It did have wings, and a scaly tail which was flicking in agitation. Jerrol hid behind the desk, rubbing his eyes.

  “Which idiot let it in? That door shouldn’t be open,” the older man said, stomping back down the stairs. “Whatever next. You go down and check the lower cells. I’
ll do this floor.” The guards dispersed and Jerrol fled up the stairs. His eyes widened as he reached the top; the door was open again.

  He eased out of the opening and after a quick scan of the dark expanse of the parade ground, he shut the door behind him and knelt to lock it. He didn’t hesitate; he straightened his jacket and strolled towards the outer wall of the palace, the darkened parade ground behind him.

  A low hooting, like that of an owl, made him stop and peer up at the wall. A knotted rope dropped down, almost braining him. He tugged it and climbed up and onto the gantry and then, flipping the rope over the wall, down the other side. He peered around for his helper, but he couldn’t see anyone.

  The torches lining the palace walls flickered as patrolling guards moved in front of them. Jerrol waited, counting as the guards reached the end of their patrol, and as they exchanged words, he slid down the steep slope into the scrub.

  He waited again, expecting a hue and cry as they realised he had escaped. But the night was silent, and after a moment to calm his racing heart, he worked his way deeper into the bushes and retreated into the balmy night.

  He picked his way towards the city, trying to minimise the noise he was making as he stumbled over roots in the dark. The cloudy sky hid the moon and him in murky darkness. He made slow progress across the shadowed landscape, listening for whoever had helped him, but there was only his heavy breathing, loud in the silence. He worked his way towards the edge of the city as the faint grey dawn began to steal across the sky.

  Chapter 3

  Old Vespers

  Jerrol paused in his flight across the rooftops; his grey and black uniform blending into the velvety shadows lurking in the corners of the brick chimney stacks. Not that he needed them, as no one was looking up; in fact, they were very focused on charging down the Port Road. As if he would be that obvious! You would think they had higher expectations of his capabilities. He raised his eyebrows as two more units of guards came charging out of the garrison.

  He eased further back into the shadows as his ex-commander exited the gate and scowled after his soldiers. Nikols’ glance swept the surrounding buildings, and even reached as far as the upper windows; then he abruptly about-faced and passed back into the garrison courtyard.

  Jerrol rubbed his chin as he considered. Nikols never did anything without an excellent reason. He wouldn’t have emptied the whole garrison without cause; and Jerrol thought, with a wry grin, he was a cause that could use all the help he could get.

  His heart rate spiked a moment as he thought about the last few hours. One night was all it took to rip his comfortable life apart and force him out. Shutting the thoughts out, he refocused on his immediate problem. He needed to get out of Old Vespers alive, then he could worry about the rest.

  Spying the drainpipe at the end of the terraced roofs nearest the garrison, he shinned down, dropping the last few feet to the ground. A quick sweep of the entrance showed the courtyard was clear. He brushed down his uniform and strolled through the garrison’s main gates as if he belonged there, which of course he had.

  Jerrol entered the adjutant’s office and picked an order pad up from the desk. Listening intently, he dashed off a few words before addressing the front and slipping it into the worn leather courier bag stacked on a chair by the wall. He padded up the stairs and down unnaturally quiet corridors to his room in the officers’ barracks.

  Collecting his travel pack and daggers that were unaccountably still where he had left them and regretting the loss of his dress sword, which the Prince had taken a liking to, he grabbed his spare. He froze as he heard pounding feet in the distance. Time to go, but maybe not via the stable as he had first intended. He picked up his overcoat and slipped out of the garrison without a soul seeing him.

  Jerrol observed the entrance to the Chapterhouse of the Lady’s Order of Remargaren. It looked perfectly normal, with scholars entering and leaving the stone archway unhindered. It didn’t appear to be under surveillance, but he couldn’t be sure. Few people knew of his relationship with the scholars, but that didn’t mean the connection hadn’t been made; after all, it hadn’t been a secret. He slipped out of the shadows, following the dirt track around the golden-coloured stone walls to the rear gate. His timing was perfect – the supply cart was entering the Chapterhouse, and he managed to slip in with the cart before the gate closed.

  The Remargaren Chapterhouse was the centre of learning in Vespiri. It was a sprawling set of two-storey buildings above ground which split into colleges focused on a variety of disciplines. The Chapterhouse contained scholars from all over Remargaren learning the skills of research and interpretation. Below ground was a catacomb of archives and tunnels still being excavated and catalogued by the scholars, and – Jerrol was sure – not yet fully discovered.

  Scholar Deane Liliian was a formidable, angular woman. Grey-haired and sharp-eyed, she had been a close confidant of the King for many years. As head of the Chapterhouse, Liliian was the one Jerrol sought. He sauntered through the cloisters which led out of the courtyard and through the walled garden. He reached the stone stairs at the base of the tower which led up to Liliian’s office. Hoping she would be in residence, he acknowledged the portly scholar-secretary seated at the desk in the outer office.

  “Is the Deane in?”

  “Captain Haven! We weren’t expecting you!” His eyes widened as he took in Jerrol’s dishevelled appearance. “Is everything alright?”

  “Yes, fine,” Jerrol lied.

  “She has people with her, and there is no free time until much later today.” He spread his hands. “Her calendar is solid, and she has to go up to the palace this afternoon.”

  “I can’t wait. If you could keep my visit between us three, I’d appreciate it. I need to leave the Deane a message; I have to leave town, and I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

  The scholar smiled, used to keeping the captain’s visits under wraps. “What is it this time?”

  “Can’t say. Is Scholar Torsion here, do you know?” Jerrol scribbled a note explaining his situation, before folding the paper and handing it back.

  The scholar shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not. Scholar Torsion left for Velmouth about four or five months ago. Haven’t seen him since.”

  “Keep it close. I wasn’t here!” Jerrol left the office hoping to escape the Chapterhouse without being seen, but he should have known better. She always seemed to know where he was.

  She was waiting for him outside the tower, a slender silver-robed figure, a broad smile across her face. A mass of curly brown hair tumbled around her shoulders, framing a precious heart-shaped face, dominated by enormous sparkling turquoise eyes.

  “Taelia.” Jerrol scanned the courtyard and, wrapping her in a hug, steered her out of view behind a stone column. He indulged in breathing in the fragrance of her hair and the tension running through his body eased.

  “Jerrol, you weren’t going to sneak out without seeing me, were you?” Her smile slipped as her hands fluttered over his face. “What’s happened?” Her fingers paused at the heat of his bruises.

  “How many times do I have to tell you not to look out for me? It’s safer if you stay away from me; I’m nothing but trouble. Torsion’s told you enough times.”

  “Rubbish. I can choose my friends.”

  “You don’t need friends like me.” Jerrol forced the words out. “I’ve been dishonourably discharged. The Prince and no doubt the Chancellor are after my head. I have to leave before they track me down. It would have been safer for you if you hadn’t known I was here. I don’t want to get the scholars in trouble.”

  Taelia gasped, her eyes widening in shock. “But what about the King? He can’t want you to leave. He relies on you.” She tilted her head. “In fact, there’s something else, isn’t there? I can feel it. The King’s charged you with something, hasn’t he?”

  “Hush. Ask Liliian to make sure she speaks to the King every day. Prince Kharel is trying to isolate the King and banishi
ng me helps his cause.” Jerrol memorised her face. His troubles melted away when he was with her. He set her apart from him, resisting the urge to bury his face in her hair. “I have to go. Don’t tell anyone except Liliian you found me here.” He placed her hand on the wall and left her there, staring sightlessly after him.

  Jerrol made it out of the Chapterhouse without anyone else seeing him. He hunkered down in the shelter of a small copse of beech trees on the outskirts of Old Vespers, the thick screen of green leaves providing cover. The King had been concerned about the Watches; therefore, the Watches would be his destination. It would be a few weeks before the orders he had sent would reach his friend Jennery in the King’s Guard; he was on the Elothian borders to the north.

  He would do the short circuit. That would give him enough time to return to the port in time to meet Jennery. By then, he would have an idea of what they were facing. He would swing through Greenswatch and Deepwater, maybe even as far as Marchwood if he didn’t dawdle, before cutting back along the East Road to Lowalstall. That would take him a month on foot. The recent settled weather meant the roads would be in reasonable condition. Unless he could find a horse.

  Pulling his purse out, he looked at the paltry handful of coins he’d emptied into his hand. He sighed. That would not get him very far. He could offer to do some stable work for a meal or two; after all, he’d spent enough hours in the stables at Stoneford as a lad.

  He stowed his purse away and started down the trail towards the Guardian mountain range, which curved around the city of Old Vespers. He would avoid the port, especially with the number of guards Nikols had sent in that direction. Hopefully, he would reach Greenswatch by sunup, and then he could lose himself in the forests.