Sentinals Awaken: Book One of the Sentinals Series

by Helen Garraway

  “Change of plan,” Jerrol said. “We need to go to the palace. It seems the Chancellor set some Kirshan assassins on me. We can’t stay here.”

  Torsion followed him. He grabbed his arm, staring at the tall Sentinals in concern. “Jerrol, who are these people? How do you know you can trust them?”

  “The Lady claims them, that’s why. I’ll introduce them later; I haven’t time now, you are going to love it.”

  Torsion hung onto his arm. “Jerrol, it’s not safe, wait for the King’s Guards. You need support. You can’t do this on your own.”

  “I’m not on my own.”

  “Violence is not the way. People will get hurt.” Torsion scowled at the enormous swords carried by the Sentinals.

  Birlerion stepped forward, giving Torsion a close inspection, his face intent. “Captain,” he began, and Jerrol cut him off.

  “Not now.” Jerrol hesitated as he stared at Torsion. “People have already been hurt, this can’t be allowed to continue. The King is at risk; we have to help him.”

  “You think you are some big hero, always racing to the rescue. You are only making it worse.” Torsion glared at Birlerion and Birlerion glared back.

  Jerrol stared at him, wondering if Torsion had been affected when he was at the Watch Towers. “How am I making it worse? You know it’s my job to protect the King and protect him I will.”

  Darllion broke through the tension. “Captain, Birlerion here doesn’t miss. And a Kirshan assassin is good sport, don’t you think?” he asked with an evil grin.

  Birlerion’s face was intent. “It would be my pleasure, Captain,” he said, holding Torsion’s eyes.

  Jerrol looked at them incredulously. “Sport?” Darllion and Birlerion exchanged grins. Each to their own, he supposed, but Kirshan assassins should not be disregarded lightly. If the Sentinals were familiar with them from three thousand years ago, maybe they hadn’t been so formidable back then. “You’ll be able to pick them out?”

  “Piece of cake,” Birlerion replied. “They’ll be so focused on you they won’t see me.”

  Jerrol choked a little on that, but he let it ride. He trusted the Sentinals implicitly. “Very well. I’m going to lead them away from the Chapterhouse and up to the palace. Darllion, bring the horses in and bar the gate behind us. Protect these people. Birlerion, do what you need to.”

  “Captain, another force approaches from the west,” Serillion’s low voice interrupted him from above.

  Torsion looked up at the blond-haired Sentinal on the wall in dismay. They were everywhere.

  “Could you tell their colours?” Jerrol reached for Zin’talia’s reins, ignoring her mumbled complaints of being left with strangers, even if they were the Lady’s.

  “The standard is the crown and crossed swords, sir.”

  Jerrol breathed a sigh of relief. “Is Lieutenant Jennery with them?”

  “Can’t see him, sir.”

  “Wait before you engage; hopefully, they are our reinforcements, and they will turn on the Chancellor’s men. If not, retreat and meet us at the palace at sunup. Understood? Do not engage if both forces unite.”

  “Understood, Captain,” Darllion said, crisply saluting and turning away to deploy his meagre troops.

  “Tagerill, Birlerion, with me.” Jerrol swung himself up into the saddle. He gave Torsion a strained smile. “I said I wasn’t on my own,” he said, and he rode Zin’talia out of the back gates and swung behind the Chapterhouse.

  Chapter 36

  Old Vespers

  Jerrol took the back streets and approached the deserted warehouses that had sprung up under the Chancellor’s tenure. He glanced at them as he passed; what could he be storing so far inland? Something to check out later.

  They kept moving, through the city streets and on past the stone buildings of the King’s Justice and up the switchback towards the outskirts of the palace gardens. Dark clouds accumulated on the horizon blotting out the sun: a storm in the offing.

  Birlerion muttered a quick farewell as he faded into the gloom.

  Tagerill and Jerrol didn’t slow; they continued up to the high walls which protected a gently shelving garden, which graduated towards the palace in terraces. Torches lit the paths at each junction that led up to the palace building.

  There was a low whistle from above them, and Birlerion’s hands flickered. Tagerill translated. “Four coming our way from the east, two patrolling the side gardens.”

  “Good, watch out for additional patrols; let’s get over this wall and deal,” Jerrol said as he balanced on Zin’talia’s back before levering himself up and over the wall.

  The soft thud of his landing was covered by a low thrum and a heavy thump. “One down,” Tagerill whispered as he skirted the flower beds and led the way up the slope.

  Jerrol heard another thrum and saw a man falter before sliding down off the wall to land in a heap. A black shape launched out of the shadows at Jerrol, and Tagerill blocked the brutal overhead swing with his broadsword, which he had unsheathed in moments.

  Jerrol flicked one of his daggers at an approaching guard. The guard dropped as Jerrol turned back towards another oncoming shadow as more of the Chancellor’s men came charging around the side of the palace. Behind him he heard Tagerill engaging with the Chancellor’s patrol, having dispatched his opponent, the clash of swords loud in the half-light.

  The assassin circled Jerrol as the air vibrated with the passage of arrows overhead, dropping guards around them. Jerrol raised his sword and advanced, forcing the assassin to engage. He drove him back across the flower beds towards Birlerion’s arrows and paused, satisfied, as the man gurgled as an arrow protruded out of his neck. He signalled his thanks and turned to help Tagerill, the torches flickering as guards passed before them.

  The palace guards faltered and fell back as a unit of King’s Rangers entered the gardens. They hesitated, glancing warily at each other before laying their swords on the ground and holding their hands in the air. Tagerill cocked at eyebrow at Jerrol. “They give up too easily. Where’s the sport in that?”

  “Be thankful. We don’t want to kill more men than we have to. Once these men were loyal to the King.”

  “Then they should be executed for treason,” he said, scowling at them in disgust. The guards cowered before him.

  Jennery came skidding to a halt beside them. “Why didn’t you wait for us?” he puffed as he waved the rangers on around him to deal with the surrendering palace guards.

  “Tagerill was having too much fun,” Jerrol said as Birlerion strolled up to join them, busy slotting his retrieved arrows back into his quiver. “Nice shot,” Jerrol complimented him. Birlerion grinned. “But seriously, Kirshans.” Jerrol turned back to Jennery. “We had to lead them away from the Chapterhouse.”

  Jennery paled. “How many?”

  “Well, Birlerion here dispatched four of them, but there could be more. Let’s go and speak to the Chancellor and find out.” He led the way around the side of the palace to the elegant glass doors standing open to the terrace.

  “Do you think he is still here?” Jennery asked, following him. “I expect he is long gone. He’s the type to save his neck and worry about the rest later,” he commented, gazing around him, his opinion of the Chancellor clear.

  “Best to check though. I need to speak to him,” Jerrol said as he contemplated the mess. They had entered through the glass doors into a long antechamber; chairs were in disarray, papers scattered across the floor. He peered into what used to be the King’s study: a small carpeted room which faced the formal gardens. He found a similar trail of destruction. “The King is not going to be happy,” he murmured to himself as he returned to the ballroom.

  “How did you convince Nikols to agree to all this?” Jerrol indicated the King’s Rangers setting up patrols around the grounds.

  “I told him you were arresting the Chancellor on charges of treason, usurping the powers of the King, and consorting with enemies of the crown. He leapt at it
. I think he was just waiting for the right opportunity, especially when I told him you were on the way to save the King.” Jennery paused and looked around. “Shouldn’t you be off saving the King? We’ve got this,” he said with a grin.

  “I was hoping to have a chat with the Chancellor,” Jerrol said as a captain of the rangers entered the ballroom.

  “Haven,” he called across the room. “He’s not here.”

  Jerrol raised his hand in acknowledgement and the man left. “Well, I guess we’ll head up to New Vespers.” He scowled, thinking fast. “See if you can keep any more assassins off our tail. And don’t form up to storm the new palace until I give the signal. I need to make sure we’ve secured the King first.”

  Jennery gripped his arm. “I’ll wait for Nikols to come up before we follow. Take your Sentinals; they are waiting by the front gate for you. This is a good day’s work, go finish it.”

  “Very well, see you later,” he said. At his signal, the two Sentinals fell in behind him, and they made their way to the front entrance, where he collected the rest of his Sentinals.

  Darllion grinned as he saw Jerrol. “Captain, the scholars are safe. The Chapterhouse is secure. Lieutenant Jennery brought the King’s Rangers, and they quelled those soldiers soon enough. They seemed quite eager to surrender,” he said with a frown.

  “Doesn’t surprise me.” Jerrol mounted Zin’talia again. “The Chancellor does not seem to have instilled much in the way of loyalty.” He grunted as he shifted more comfortably into the saddle, flexing his shoulders to ease the aches. “Right, next the King,” he said as he led them down the road to New Vespers.

  The brooding storm was approaching fast as they crested the last rise which hid the city of New Vespers. The wind began to strengthen, whipping the trees into a frenzy of rustling leaves. The air was heavy with expectation, and the evening light had a yellow cast, bathing everything in a peculiar shadow. The city seemed to float on top of the regimented streets, which led to the gleaming palace.

  Jerrol pulled Zin’talia to a halt and turned to the Sentinals, mere shadows behind him. “These guards will be more difficult to overcome. They will be loyal to Prince Kharel, and the Prince suffers no fools. They will be nothing like what you saw at the palace. I don’t think the palace guards had their heart in defending the Chancellor. They were reluctantly following orders.”

  “I think a bit of sneaking is in order,” Tagerill suggested. “But getting close enough unseen to sneak is going to be the challenge,” he finished thoughtfully, observing the open approach. The road was a light ribbon wending its way up the hill lined by flat grass verges. There were few trees to provide cover.

  Serillion dismounted and stared at the palace. “How close can we get before they see us?”

  “It depends on how fast that storm gets here. If we go straight up the road now, they’ll see us as soon as we go around the first bend, assuming the guards are alert. There is an alternative.” Jerrol paused, assessing the Sentinals. “We send two of you up to the front door as a diversion, and the rest of us go in the back door.”

  “Objective?” Darllion asked.

  “First, secure the King; that’s my job. Reinstate his control of the palace and impound the Prince and his supporters; that’s where you come in.”

  “What about the Waystone?” Serillion suggested, slowly rotating.

  “Waystone?” Jerrol watched him scan the horizon.

  “Why don’t we enter through the Waystone? You could create one up at the new palace. I suggest up by where that tall tower is situated.” Serillion pointed at the tower towards the north of the palace.

  Jerrol stared at him. “What is a Waystone?”

  Serillion gaped back at him. “You don’t use Waystones anymore? Why, Waystones enable us to travel from one place to another almost instantly. Saves a lot of time. There’s one in each Watch. The Landgard was the Captain’s Bridge; it connected the Chapterhouse with the Lady’s Palace. Guerlaire built it as he did the Chapterhouse, and all the archives below.” Serillion grimaced. “He was always adding new rooms; he never had enough space.”

  “The Landgard doesn’t exist today except for the marker. It is just a landmark. The reason for it was lost with so much else. I’ve never heard of a Waystone. I’m afraid we would have to excavate it; it is lost as is the Lady’s Palace,” Jerrol said carefully. “We don’t have time to find it.”

  “The landscape is much changed,” Serillion agreed. “But you would find it. You’re the Captain after all.”

  Jerrol made a mental note to interrogate the Sentinals when he had a chance. So much history! The scholars were going to be in their element. “The Waystone will be useful once we’ve found it. When we’ve finished here, you can show me where it is. But for now, we need to circle that hill and come in from the east down the river valley. Nothing lives up there except sheep and more sheep. The guards tend to pay little attention to the east perimeter. I’ve slipped in that way before now.”

  The Sentinals looked at him with interest and Jerrol waved a hand. “We’ll swap stories over an ale another time.”

  Tagerill’s eyes brightened, and he shared a grin with Serillion and Birlerion. “Deal,” he said with a firm nod.

  Jerrol cast about for a stick and then knelt in the dirt. He opened his left hand; the silver glow dispersed the gloom and lit his face, casting his features into shadow. The Sentinals murmured in surprise and gathered round as he began scratching a rough map in the soil. Ari popped into view and meeped as he hovered over him. Ari chittered more sternly and Birlerion opened his hand for the little Arifel to perch on. He wrapped his scaly tail around Birlerion’s wrist and leaned forward, watching with interest.

  “This is the main entrance,” Jerrol said, pointing at a gap in the south wall. “It leads into a central courtyard, barracks and stables which are in the west wing. There are three levels, and the King’s chambers are at the top of the south tower. The Prince’s rooms are in the north tower.

  “We need to distract the guards long enough for me to reach the south tower and find the King. Then protect him until the rangers arrive, and preferably capture the Prince alive on the grounds of treason.”

  “How many men does he have?” Darllion asked.

  “At least two units, about fifty.”

  “If we can secure as many of the guards as we can in the barracks, we can even the odds,” Birlerion suggested.

  “Darllion, you take Fonorion with you and see if you can befuddle the guards for us. You need to be inside the palace gates to be most effective, no quarter given. Give us two hours to go around the back, then start up the road. It will take you an hour to ride up the switchback. It is further than it looks.” He squinted at the sky. “The storm should be here by then; even if there is a lookout to the east they will suffer the brunt of the bad weather.”

  Jerrol was surprised when Fonorion spoke. He was the quietest of all the Sentinals and hardly ever said anything, preferring to let the others talk. “Serillion would be best to go with Darllion. He can sweet-talk Guerlaire into parting with his money, even if Guerlaire knows better,” he said, his voice low and measured.

  Darllion chuckled. “I concur, Captain. Fonorion is right. Serillion is our best befuddler.”

  Jerrol acquiesced. “Alright, Serillion, you are on gate duty with Darllion. Fonorion, you’re with me, Tagerill and Birlerion. We come in the back door and surprise the rest. Anything else? Questions?”

  The Sentinals looked at each other. “See you on the inside!” Tagerill said with a broad grin as they split up.

  The remaining Sentinals followed Jerrol down the track and circled behind the hill, approaching the palace from the rear. They left their horses sheltered in a small copse of trees, before working their way up the steep valley, following the little stream that burbled its way merrily through the deep grass.

  The storm overtook the last of the daylight. The roiling black clouds made the air heavy and the darkness oppressive. A f
lash of lightning lit up the fields, followed by a deep rumble that echoed around the hills. Blinded by the rain and the unexpected flash, they stumbled over tufts of grass and hidden dips.

  Tagerill cursed under his breath. “In this light, they wouldn’t have seen anything,” he grumbled.

  “Not worth the risk.” Jerrol gripped his cloak tighter as the rising wind whipped the rain, driving it against the palace walls.

  “If you’ve entered this way previously, Captain, why didn’t you warn the King?” Birlerion asked as they struggled through the tall grass. They reached the base of the palace walls and crouched in a ditch, surrounded by uninterested sheep snuggled against the wall for protection.

  “He rarely comes here.” Jerrol wiped his face. “And when he does, he stays in the south tower, which is more secure. And anyway, I know about it, so we are always prepared.”

  Tagerill and Fonorion hunkered down next to them, hair plastered against their heads as the rain suddenly got heavier. A louder rumble of thunder growled across the sky. “The best way in, Captain?” Tagerill peered through the gloom at the high stone walls.

  “There is a storm drain at the base of that tower. It’s going to be a bit tight, but you should fit.”

  “We can’t get any wetter,” Tagerill complained.

  Birlerion started chuckling. “You can go in the middle, Tage. That way, one of us can pull you, and the other can push.”

  Tagerill grunted. “If I get stuck no one else will get through. You puny fellows had better go first.”

  “Be careful who you call puny, you may need us later! Or we could just leave you there.” Fonorion slicked his hair back, which made him look a lot younger.

  Jerrol watched them. Their enthusiasm made him feel old, yet they were all about the same age. “Come on, let’s get out of this rain.” Jerrol climbed out of the ditch and ran towards the tower, keeping low to the ground. The Sentinals followed. Jerrol used his dagger to lever the grille away and led the way into the circular drain. The roughly hewn walls gave them enough purchase for their feet as they climbed up.