Sentinals Awaken: Book One of the Sentinals Series

by Helen Garraway

  She looked down at her unexpected guest. She was tucked up in her best quilt in front of the fire. The girl was pale, though her lips had more colour in them. Well, it looked like it was going to be a long night. Keeping an eye on her guest, she sat back down in her chair.

  It had to be at least two years since she had last seen Jerrol. Being a King’s Ranger kept him busy and away from home. She had been so proud. He had worked so hard to be accepted.

  She had recognised him straight away, just the sound of his voice was all she needed. He had gained a few inches, though not as many as he’d wanted, and he was far too thin. He felt like a bundle of bones when she hugged him. On that thought, she stood and placed a pan of soup on the hearth. Whoever turned up would be hungry, she was sure.

  Her ruminations continued as she worked. Jerrol had always been a live wire as a child, never standing still. He had boundless energy that invariably led him into trouble until the warden had apprenticed him to the keep and fostered him to her. Between them, they had managed to turn out a King’s Ranger. One of the elite soldiers in the King’s ranks, responsible for his security, occasionally sent on diplomatic or tricky missions, often on their own.

  She sighed as she set to restoring the girl’s riding clothes. She sponged off the dirt and the spatters of blood. The clothes were ruined, but she still spread them out to dry. The boots would have to wait until tomorrow. She moved them closer to the heat, to dry more quickly. The smell of damp leather soon joined the aroma of drying clothes.

  They had even received news here in Stoneford that Jerrol had recently been involved in the negotiations with the Birtolian ambassadors. It was said it would strengthen the relationship with the Birtoli empire for years to come. She stared at her cat. “So what is he doing here apart from finding trouble?” The cat stared back, unconcerned. He began meticulously to clean his whiskers.

  Chapter 18

  Stoneford Watch

  Jerrol rode up the road to the keep, his mind racing. The moon poked through gaps in the clouds, and he relaxed as it intermittently revealed familiar surroundings. He had left the little Arifel perched on the back of a chair crooning over Alyssa. Birlerion could explain her to Hannah if he had to.

  He kept to the edges of the road and concentrated on dampening down the glow that emanated off his clothes again. That was something he needed to think about as well. He hadn’t paused since the Lady had blessed him with her presence, but although she might be happy, he didn’t want to advertise his presence to all and sundry if he could help it. He’d think about it later. He had other problems to solve this night.

  Who would want to remove Lord Hugh from the Greenswatch? It was concerning, following Stefan’s accident in Deepwater. And, Jerrol mused, it would mean that relatively young and inexperienced keepers held two key Watches. Easy for the council to worm their way in there if they were not careful, and if so, what were they hoping to gain? Speaking of councils, there were a lot of new faces showing up, and that was unusual as well. Councillors tended to be homegrown, not imported from elsewhere. Who was driving these changes?

  The keep loomed up ahead. The crenulated walls caught the moonlight and created deep inky shadows. Jerrol steered Zin’talia off the road and down the sidetrack, which he knew from old led to the midden. The keep had been his old stomping ground when he was a kid; he, Jennery and Taelia had grown up here under the auspices of Hannah and a few frustrated masters. He slid off and led Zin’talia into a small copse of willowy trees. Tying her reins loosely, out of reach of her hooves, he asked her to stay hidden as he scouted out the terrain. The guards’ voices drifted on the night air. Jason would have their guts if he managed to slip in without them seeing him.

  He melted into the shadows and ghosted along the wall to the small wire gate. It secured the water inlet that ran out under the midden and helped keep the kitchen waste moist, rotting and smelly, ready for the growers to repurpose elsewhere. He undid the wire closure, which was rusting badly, slipped into the tunnel and closed the gate behind him. He was glad he was slight of build as he climbed up the pipe, levering himself into the lower storerooms set below the kitchen.

  He paused, listening, but could hear no movement in the kitchen above. Jason was a night owl; if he were awake, he’d be in his study on the ground floor, hopefully on his own. Jerrol silently crept down the passageway and up the stairs to the kitchen. Once through the kitchen, he kept to the meagre shadows under the main staircase. The torches were bright, set in the walls. He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the dull yellow glow beneath the sturdy wooden door which led into Jason’s study. He listened for a moment before easing the door open, slipping through the gap and closing it behind him.

  Straightening up, he grinned into the surprised face of the keep warden, Lord Jason, sitting behind his desk lit by oil lamps, and surrounded by maps and bits of paper.

  “Jerrol!” The warden leapt to his feet in surprise. “What in the world... how did you get in here? Where are my guards?” His face darkened with anger.

  Jerrol held up his hands. “I needed to speak with you, and I didn’t want to advertise my presence, or at least not straight away. So, um, I evaded your guards, shall we say?”

  Jason looked like he was going to have a fit. “You have no need to creep into my home like a thief, and you know it! But if you can, who else can? Times are not what they were, you know. I can’t have security breaches like this. We are exposed.” His face was flushed even though he was pleased to see Jerrol.

  “Exposed? Who would threaten you, Jason? You’re a King’s Warden, protector of his lands.”

  Jason grimaced as he came around the desk and engulfed Jerrol in a hug. Jerrol returned the embrace. “Lady’s blessings, it’s good to see you. I’m sorely in need of a sensible man for a change. Here, sit, sit!” Jason indicated the chair opposite his desk. “We’ll discuss how you got into my keep later. But for now, I am glad you are here. We’ve missed you, lad, must be over two years now since we last saw you.”

  Jerrol was shocked at how much Jason had aged; deep worry lines creased his face, his hair was thinning and more grey than black, and he wasn’t as stocky as he used to be. “So what’s happening for you to need me to be sensible? Never was my strong point,” he said, trying to keep his concern out of his voice. Jason had no heir. His wife was long dead, and he had never had children. Jerrol had been his surrogate child as Jason had been Jerrol’s father figure, both finding something they needed in the other, and on top of that, they couldn’t afford another Watch to be leaderless.

  Jason rubbed his face and heaved a deep sigh before starting to speak. “I am surrounded by people who want to act first and think later. I don’t know who is stirring them up, but I am constantly drawn into situations where we need to root out dissenters. Yet, when you get to the bottom of it, the council is trumping up charges and against people who legitimately refuse to act against their beliefs.”

  “Do they have real authority for these charges? Is there a mandate from the King to enforce some new legislation?” Jerrol asked. “I heard something similar in Greenswatch. The council is twisting some of the accepted rulings.”

  Jason looked down at his hands. “I haven’t seen anything, so I think it’s all noise, but it’s getting worse. The councillors are taking it upon themselves to exact punishments. I’ve interfered where I can, but I don’t always hear of it in time. The punishments are not petty. They are causing real hardship, which is what they want. They want to ensure no one else steps out of line. The councillors seem to have forgotten their purpose,” he finished, his face stern, the new lines accentuated by the flickering lamp.

  Jerrol leaned forward. “Are there any new councillors? Usually, councils are comprised of local people, but in Greenswatch, there is a new person with supporting henchmen who seems to be orchestrating change in the background. They are targeting Guardians. Though I have no real proof.”

  Jason grew still. “That is not as farfetched as you mi
ght think. There aren’t any new councillors, but they are targeting those who follow the Lady. Anyone who visits the groves, asks the Father for a blessing, invokes her name. Now you mention it, it’s almost exclusive, though they are not all Guardians.”

  “But everyone invokes the Lady. She watches us all, who does not?”

  “You’d be surprised. There is growing support for the Ascendants. Even among some of my men. They like the idea that they can rule themselves.” Jason snorted. “As if they would know how. They believe that the Ascendants are the true saviours, and were persecuted – not true of course, but I hear the rumblings. With the rumours of the King’s ill health, and this constant rain affecting crops, people are seeking salvation, and whispers are falling on fertile ground.”

  “Well, I don’t have any good news for you. In fact, I have some pretty bad news.” Jerrol paused and in a neutral voice reported: “I came across a skirmish on my way here. Lord Hugh of the Greenswatch was attacked as he returned home from Deepwater. The attackers were dressed as bandits, but I would say that this was a deliberate attack. It was too well equipped and orchestrated for it to be a random attack.” He pulled out the Greenswatch standard and laid it on Jason’s desk. “He fell, his whole guard was wiped out.”

  The blood drained from Jason’s face. “W-what?”

  Jerrol rose and poured him a glass of wine from the jug on the cabinet by the wall. Jason sat, stunned.

  “I discovered them as we were heading here. Hugh sent his runner back to Greenswatch, in advance of his return home. It was for the attention of Garrick, his steward, but Garrick shared it with me. Hugh was instigating stringent security protocols, and he had updated his instructions for sweeping the Watch. He was doubling the number of sweeps, effective immediately. Garrick was implementing the changes as I left to come here. I have his updated protocols so that you could have a copy as well. Makes you wonder what Hugh found in Deepwater.” Jerrol placed the parchment on top of the desk. Jason reached for it instinctively, his mind still numbed by the news.

  “I was hoping to cross paths with Hugh on the way here, so I swung further east than I normally would have into Deepwater. We managed to spook the last of the bandits off, but we were too late to make any difference. Well, there was one survivor.” Jerrol made sure Jason was listening before he continued. “Lord Hugh’s daughter was travelling with him, Lady Alyssa. We scraped her off the field before any of them returned.”

  Jason’s head jerked back. “Is she hurt?” he asked, dropping the parchment.

  “When she fell from her horse, she was knocked unconscious. I left her at Hannah’s house. I wasn’t too sure how safe it would be to come blatantly up to your front door and drop her off.”

  “I think you’d better. Bring her up to the infirmary. Tyrone can protect her from anyone,” Jason said with a slow smile, recovering his composure, “and it will be more official. I can send out a unit to recover Lord Hugh and respond to the threat of bandits, and I can give her my protection as well until we find out what happened.”

  Jerrol stood, nodding acceptance. “I was actually coming here to meet Torsion, but I understand he went up to Velmouth?”

  “Yes, and he’s been gone for too long. I was debating about sending someone up after him; you’ll do nicely. He wanted to go and spend time up at the Watch Towers. He must have left here early spring, that’s four months now. He hasn’t sent any reports, which is unusual for him.” Jason followed Jerrol to the door. “You can show me how you got in here,” he said, an edge to his voice.

  Jerrol laughed. “You’re not going to make me go back the way I came in, are you?”

  Jason wasn’t smiling. “Oh yes,” he said. “I think the fewer people who know we had this conversation, the better. Even here.”

  The night was well advanced by the time Jerrol was ready to return to the keep with Birlerion and Hannah in tow. Fortunately, Birlerion had been sitting in the kitchen, engrossed in a soft-toned discussion with Hannah when he arrived. Hannah was in full motherly mode; she had seen something in the Sentinal that needed cosseting.

  As Jerrol watched them, he wondered how he had ever thought the Sentinal cold and aloof. He had won Hannah over and he looked at home seated at her kitchen table, drinking a bowl of soup.

  Birlerion reported that Torsion’s rooms were deserted; according to the locals at the inn, he’d been gone for quite a few months and no one knew when he would return, which matched what Jason had said.

  As they prepared to leave, Hannah insisted that she accompany them and the Lady Alyssa to the keep. Jerrol didn’t waste time arguing.

  Jerrol passed the unconscious girl up to Birlerion and then boosted Hannah up on Zin’talia, who protested about carrying someone other than Jerrol – just out of habit, he thought.

  Leading Zin’talia up the road, her warm breath huffing against his cheek and chasing away the cold morning air, Jerrol turned back to speak to Birlerion when his face suddenly froze. In an instant, he had thrown the reins at Hannah, unsheathed his sword and slapped Zin’talia on the rump. “Get them to the keep quick,” he barked. With a sweep of his sword, he was deflecting an arrow heading straight for Birlerion and Alyssa.

  Birlerion and Hannah galloped away immediately, Hannah flailing for the reins. Jerrol charged towards the ambushers, closing in to fluster the archers.

  Jerrol sized the opposition up, relieved they were not particularly organised. The two men with bows panicked as soon as he charged them, losing their rhythm, their arrows going wildly off target. Jerrol cut them down swiftly and moved on to the men behind them. They were no match for his speed as he parried a wild swing, flicking his dagger at one trying to circle behind him.

  A swift glance noted positions and weapons, and he coldly dispatched them as they advanced. He spun inside the uncontrolled strike of one of the last men standing and hit him sharply behind his ear. The man dropped like a stone to the road. Jerrol hoped when Birlerion returned he would ask questions first.

  He retrieved his dagger and vaulted into the saddle of one of the sturdier specimens and was in pursuit of the fleeing horse and rider in moments. Jerrol followed, scowling in disgust. The man was not trying to disguise his route or shake any pursuit. He was travelling in a straight line towards Deepwater.

  Jerrol nursed the nag over the faint trails and across fields. It was in no condition to chase fugitives; he was surprised it was still moving considering its poor condition. He closed the distance, checking the tracks occasionally, but the trail didn’t deviate.

  The sun was overhead as Jerrol reached the outskirts of the grounds at Deepwater. He pulled his horse off the road and tied up its reins so it wouldn’t get tangled in them. The horse drooped in exhaustion. It didn’t even have the energy to graze; it wasn’t going to stray far.

  He scouted around the perimeter, noting the positions of the guards and their movements, which were nonexistent. They weren’t expecting any trouble and didn’t seem to be concerned with the arrival of a lone horseman in a frantic hurry.

  Following the tree line, Jerrol slipped through the shadows and down to the first of the three large lakes from which the land took its name. Tall reeds and grasses lined the lake edges and rustled in the gentle breeze. Gaps revealed swims punctuated with lines and nets tied to tall posts jutting out of the water. Small wooden skiffs made of a few planks nailed together nestled along the shoreline, and bundles of rope freshwater shrimp pots provided ample cover for someone used to sneaking around unseen.

  The rotting odour of dead fish and lake weed permeated the air, overlaid by occasional gusts of pungent herbal remedies that cleared the nasal system. Jerrol recognised Malhan weed and the scent of Trealt, a very rare essence only found in the Fuertes district of Terolia and often used to subvert the will of another. Why would Deepwater need that illicit drug?

  Jerrol stood in the shadows of the building, assessing the climb and the stability of the wooden trellis attached to the wall. Voices caught his attention fr
om a room on the ground floor. He knelt under the window; it had frosted glass panes, but they were held in by nails rather than the more insulating clay-like paste people were now using. He listened to the heated exchange carefully, his eyes quartering the terrain around him.

  A high-pitched voice was berating the unfortunate man. “How dare you ride up here in broad daylight. You were given your instructions; you were to wait for us to contact you, you fool. There was to be no contact. No contact and no connection between us.”

  “But sir, Per’itise and his men are dead. I can’t go back to the camp, not unless you give us the money. The lads are all riled up, spitting mad – you never said nothing about a rearguard.” It sounded as if the man gulped nervously. “We did what you said. We caught them unawares and slaughtered them! But them guards killed Per’itise. We followed them over towards Stoneford, but we couldn’t catch them.”

  “You mean you were seen on the field? And you came here?” The man was almost spitting in fury.

  “You owe us, we did what you said, we killed them all,” the man repeated sullenly.

  A lighter voice joined the conversation. “Take it off your back, Peverill. The job’s done, and most of the clean-up as well by the sounds of it. Save yourself some money and pay him off. He’s stinking up my study.”

  “My lord.” Peverill tried to temper his voice and spoke more calmly. “You shouldn’t be seen with this man. You are supposed to be travelling to Greenswatch. You know the plan.”

  “Yes, yes. I’ll go shortly. I wanted to see the calibre of man that bested the best of Greenswatch, and handed that gem into our hands.”

  “Hush, m’lord. We need to be careful. You know what Var’geris said: the less said, the better.”

  “Well, he said the fewer witnesses, the better, didn’t he?” The man Jerrol assumed was the new lord of the holding spoke coldly. “I suppose we can accommodate him.” A muffled thump followed his words. “There, no payment necessary. While I’m gone clean that filth off my carpet, and make sure you remove the blood stains or Mother will be in hysterics.” The voice faded as the man left the room.