The Sentinel's Reign

by Suzanne Rogerson

When he turned to look at her, she saw the apology in his eyes.

  ‘We’re on the verge of civil war, now’s not the time to try to repopulate the bloodline. We need to act or there won’t be an island left for the children to live on.’

  ‘I’m just one person, one more mystic…’

  ‘Stop lying to yourself, Tei. You have a talent for this; you’ve proved it before and Hafender would vouch for you to join his team again.’

  She threw up her hands. ‘I wish you’d all stop interfering in my life. I don’t want to leave Turrak or be forced to have another protector. I don’t want to watch my friends killed. I’ve seen enough death.’

  ‘There isn’t a choice, don’t you see? Staying in Turrak isn’t the solution, because the enemy will come here. They’ll come for us and destroy us if we don’t put up a fight.’

  His eyes bore into hers, angry pits that showed a truth she couldn’t deny. ‘Then when you’re watching your friends murdered, you can reflect on this day, the day you decided to give up.’

  Thal stormed away, his whole body rigid with repressed anger.

  Tears blurred her vision. Brushing them aside, Tei raced after the Elder. ‘That’s not fair.’ She fell into step beside him. ‘I’m not strong enough to lose anyone else.’

  He walked a few more paces before he stopped and faced her. ‘I’m sorry; forgive an old man his frayed temper. I don’t mean to direct all my anger at you; it’s the others who need to see sense.’ He waved in the direction of the meeting hall, where no doubt his departure would be causing a stir.

  ‘I understand how you feel, but I’ve done my part. I found the Sentinel; I sacrificed everything, everyone I love, in the process.’ Tei shut her eyes and willed the pain to go away.

  Thal put his arms around her and she sagged against him, feeling the quiet strength in his aging frame. The comfort of his magic cocooned her.

  ‘We don’t get to choose, Tei, not really. Every action has a consequence and if you turn your back now, the consequences will affect us all.’

  She pulled away from him. ‘I don’t think I’m that important.’

  ‘You were to Gohan. You still are to Callisa, and you will be to many people you haven’t even met yet.’

  She dried her eyes on her sleeve and sniffed.

  Thal’s bony hands squeezed her shoulders and he smiled at her. ‘Stop doubting yourself, Tei.’

  She pondered his words as she slowly trekked back to her dorm room.

  ***

  Brogan ducked in through the back door of the guardhouse when he spotted the solitary guard popping outside to empty his bucket in the gutter.

  His heart hammered as he raced silently down the steps towards the cells below. He’d been watching from the shadows outside all evening, waiting for an opportunity to sneak inside ever since he saw the rest of the guards heading for the taverns. Jarance had been loud and flaunted his coin, promising a night of drinking ahead. The young guard they’d left behind was clearly annoyed, judging from the banging and ranting Brogan had overheard drifting from the guardhouse.

  Once inside, Brogan realised how idiotic his plan was. Set the exiles free and then what, and how? He hadn’t seen any keys when he’d dashed through the corridor and down the stairs.

  He stood for a moment, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. He took a hesitant step towards the cell at the end of the corridor; it was the only one with a locked door. The rest of the cells were empty. He saw four figures sitting awkwardly on the floor. They were chained to the wall - their shackles barely long enough to allow them to sit at all.

  ‘Don’t show us your face, or tell us your name,’ a prisoner warned, not looking up. ‘He has ways of extracting information from us.’

  Brogan pulled the hood tighter around his face, his skin prickling with paranoia.

  ‘You should go,’ another man said, struggling to form the words through a mouth of broken teeth and swollen lips.

  ‘I had to come. I know you’re scapegoats. You had nothing to do with the murders, did you?’

  The prisoners shook their heads, but none of them looked at him directly.

  The first man spoke again. ‘That’s of no consequence.’ Older and bearded, he was clearly the leader of the group.

  Brogan stepped right up to the bars and took a closer look at the prisoners. He could just make out their shadowed faces. One young man had no shirt and there were wounds across his torso from rope lashes. His head was slumped forward and Brogan watched him intently, relieved to see his chest expand as he dozed. Another young man held his arm at an odd angle; Brogan guessed it was broken. The third had mashed-up lips, a broken nose, and looked as though he was struggling to breathe through broken ribs. The last prisoner, the one who had addressed Brogan, kept his gaze aimed at the floor even though his eyes were so swollen they barely opened.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re being treated this way, it’s despicable. The Assembly should never be party to such depravity.’

  ‘Walk away, don’t concern yourself with us,’ the blinded prisoner said, his voice calm and accepting.

  ‘How can you say that?’ Brogan’s voice rose. ‘How can I sit back and let such injustice happen?’

  ‘The exiles are always being framed for murders committed by the Masked Riders. All we ever wanted was to save the magic and keep the island safe.’

  Brogan remembered the riders he’d seen by the river, and Rathnor’s meeting with a rider dressed in black. ‘Rathnor’s behind it all.’ He paced the corridor. ‘He must have arranged the attack and intends to frame you in order to start a war against the exiles, but why? I still can’t figure out what he has to gain.’

  The prisoner with the mashed-up lips struggled to speak. ‘Magic is the key.’

  Brogan turned to him. ‘What do you mean?’

  A noise from upstairs interrupted them. Brogan heard a persistent knocking and then muffled voices.

  ‘You have to go now,’ the blind, bearded man interrupted. ‘You’re better use to us alive, not swinging next to us.’

  ‘I can’t leave you here to die. At least let me help you escape.’

  ‘None of us are in a fit state to run. And if we tried to escape, he’d only find others to fill our place. This is how it has to be,’ the blind man said.

  The others didn’t speak, but fear hung heavy in the air and Brogan saw the youth with the broken arm bite down on his lip.

  Brogan gulped as he looked at the four prisoners and wondered if they had any family. Would they leave behind wives, children?

  ‘Go, we need people like you to help stall the madness.’

  Brogan turned away, but stopped. ‘I’m sorry I can’t save you.’

  ‘Get word to the mountains. Tell them Rathnor is the enemy. They need to know, but our magic has been blocked.’

  ‘I’ll find a way, I promise.’

  Brogan turned to leave, hating himself for leaving them behind.

  ‘Go quickly, while the guard is distracted upstairs,’ the blinded man said.

  Hugging the walls and keeping to the shadows, Brogan wound his way through the corridor and up the stairs of the guardhouse. At the top of the steps, he peered out of the gap. A draught was blowing through the building as the young guard had the door open and was arguing with someone outside.

  Brogan took his chance and raced to the exit. He opened the back door just enough to slip through and then hesitated outside as the door shut silently behind him. The sounds of an argument reached him, the caller demanding to speak with Jarance or a senior guard.

  As Brogan skulked home, he thought about the exiles in the cell and the sacrifices they were about to make. Then his thoughts drifted to Tei; he hoped she was far from Rathnor’s reach. He hoped every exile was as far from Rathnor’s reach as possible, but he knew the only way to ensure that was to follow the prisoner’s advice. Stay alive and fight against the madness Rathnor was so determined to nurture in their once peaceful people.

  Brogan n
eeded a plan to get word to the mountains, but in a town so full of hatred he didn’t know who to trust. If only he’d shared even a trace of his mother’s magic, maybe then he’d feel a connection to the woman who’d raised him and would know how to help her people.

  ***

  ‘Tell me what you know about the Sentinel.’

  Rathnor flicked the whip, feeling a rush of pleasure as it connected with the boy’s naked back.

  The prisoner grunted in pain, but didn’t speak.

  Rathnor swung again and felt the same satisfying connection of leather on flesh. ‘Where does the Sentinel live in Turrak? What does she looks like? What are her weaknesses? What are her strengths?’

  Every question was followed by a strike of the whip.

  The boy refused to answer. Blood sprayed and tears fell, but he didn’t say a word.

  ‘You owe her no loyalty, Beneger. She won’t send anyone to save you. You’re mine to toy with and keep alive for as long as I please.’

  The boy passed out, hanging limp from the ropes that held him spread-eagled between the posts. Rathnor sneered as he dropped the bloodied whip on the ground. ‘Cut him loose, Jarance.’

  Jarance rushed forward, the glint of his blade matching the drunken glint in his eyes. He severed the rope and spat on the crumpled body at his feet.

  ‘Which prisoner shall I get for you now?’ he asked eagerly. ‘The other youngster is close to cracking, I can feel it.’

  ‘No, I’ve had enough for tonight. Have your men clean them up. We can hardly drag them in front of the Assembly tomorrow in this state.’

  He saw the murderous look in Jarance’s eye. ‘Don’t forget, if any of them die in your custody, it’ll be your head.’

  ‘As you wish.’ Jarance nodded reluctantly, his fervour cooling as he barked orders at the nearest guard.

  Rathnor picked up his cloak from the back of a chair and headed away from the fetid cells. As he walked through the silent streets, his thoughts returned to Gohan. He often thought about Gohan and that fateful day he’d knocked at the Sentinel’s door...

  ‘What is it boy?’

  ‘My grandmother’s sick, she needs your help.’

  The old man bent down to eye level. ‘I’m sorry, she’s beyond my help. The island will claim her soon.’

  ‘But you’re the Sentinel, you can do anything, I know you can.’

  Gohan shook his head and almost seemed sad. ‘It’s not my decision to make.’ He rested a hand on Rathnor’s shoulder.

  Rathnor had felt the spark of power in the old man. ‘Please, you can do it.’ He’d grabbed the old man’s arm and tugged him towards the door.

  Gohan had pulled away from him. ‘No.’ He’d been more forceful then and Rathnor had seen the truth - the complicity and the greed; the old man wanted to keep all the power to himself.

  Rathnor had run home, ignoring the Sentinel calling after him. He’d nursed his grandmother through her last pain-filled hours. She’d died as the sun rose. Through his grief, Rathnor had seen something astounding, a spark as her spirit left her body. Somehow he traced the spark into another place - his world but different. A mistiness shrouded everything. He saw his grandmother’s spirit drifting away from him, but he couldn’t catch up to her, he couldn’t call out to her either. He floated along in the misty world, lost and scared.

  He saw his grandmother reach a place of brilliant light. It absorbed her and he felt the island beneath him shudder and flair with a brief flicker of power.

  The same power had clung to the old man. That’s when Rathnor realised the Sentinel was living on the magic, feeding on the spirits.

  He woke up back in his body, dizzy and vomiting on the floorboards next to his dead grandmother’s bed. It was dark; he’d been lost in the other place for hours. Now he was alone, thanks to the Sentinel, but it didn’t matter because he was already planning his revenge...

  He’d waited to get even with the greedy, power-sucking mystic for over forty years. His cheeks flushed with shame when he remembered how he’d begged the Sentinel to save his grandmother. He might have missed his chance with Gohan, but Callisa was young and enchanting, and it would be all the more delicious to crush her spirit into oblivion.

  Chapter Four

  Farrell scanned the scroll from the governor of Wennock City, realising a raiding party had slipped past Stone Haven’s patrol ships. He read the words again, hearing the lilt of the governor’s accent in the clipped and angry prose.

  It is against our agreement. I want a full account of why these barbarian invaders have returned. Last year you saw them off and assured us we would be safe against further attacks. If we are to continue to trade and supplement your people with supplies, I need further promises from you.

  ‘Thank you for coming to me, Captain Ranson.’ Farrell rolled up the scroll and stored it in his pocket.

  ‘It’s only right, Commander. You’re on good terms with the governor; I thought it best you settle this business in your own way. Though of course I can’t stop the lads gossiping at the taverns after a few ales.’

  ‘I’ll deal with this issue as soon as the opportunity arises.’

  Captain Ranson saluted and headed back to his men who were transporting their belongings ashore, having already unloaded the supplies.

  It was troubling news; firstly, the invaders had attacked their nearest neighbours and his patrols had missed it. Then there was the threat of losing trade agreements, and it galled him that Captain Ranson had detected the tensions between himself and the council. If others noticed, it could lead to problems with his leadership and leave him open to mutiny.

  Farrell waved to Allisus, who was still conferring with the record keeper, and headed home, his thoughts whirring.

  ‘You look troubled.’ Leila greeted him at the door. Instead of the usual loving kiss, she stared into his face, waiting for answers.

  He limped to his seat and tried to hide the fact he was out of breath. ‘The governor of Wennock City is being difficult. It’s been a bad time for me to be out of action.’

  ‘That’s hardly your fault.’ Leila perched on the arm of his chair, waiting to hear more.

  ‘Wennock was raided while I lay here recovering. The governor is unhappy with us. Bloody cowards, they have their own armies to protect their shores, why should we be held accountable for their ineptitude?’

  ‘You’re being too harsh, Farrell. Wennock relies on our protection, all the islands do. We need each other. How would we survive without their trade?’

  The very thing they threatened to take away from us, Farrell thought to himself, not wanting to worry Leila about the ultimatum the governor had presented in his note. ‘I hate being beholden to them, to feel them looking down on me. The only difference between us is circumstance.’

  ‘You’re a big man, Farrell. Your pride can take it.’ Leila winked as she bent down to kiss his cheek.

  He grabbed her and pulled her onto his lap, kissing her deeply until a pain in his back calmed his ardour. Leila noticed him wince and pulled herself off his lap.

  While she smoothed down her dress, Farrell adjusted his position in the chair and the pain subsided to a dull ache.

  ‘Where’s Fynn?’

  ‘Taking a nap, he’s not been sleeping well since you were…’ Leila trailed off, and returned her attention to the pan heating over the fire.

  Farrell had seen the concern in her eyes as she moved back to her cooking but before he could question her, Fynn came running into the room.

  ‘Daddy!’ He threw himself into Farrell’s arms.

  ‘Hello, Captain.’ He held his son on his lap and kissed the top of his head, breathing in the scent of him. ‘I’ve only been gone a few hours.’

  ‘Uncle Allisus is here,’ Fynn said as he rested his head on Farrell’s shoulder.

  He looked down on his son, seeing his sleepy eyes already closing. ‘He’s not here.’

  ‘Allisus and an old man are coming.’ Fynn yawned.

&nbs
p; Farrell looked over at Leila; she shrugged but the concern was evident on her face.

  As Fynn relaxed into sleep against his shoulder, Thorn started barking at the door. Farrell whistled and the hound came to his side. With his free hand, he patted Thorn into quiet obedience. Leila opened the door to reveal Allisus and an old man walking down the path towards their home.

  Leila welcomed them in and rushed to clear the table so they could sit down together. Farrell struggled to his feet and, with a quick smile at his guests, left them while he deposited Fynn in his bed.

  When he returned, Leila had just finished pouring the three of them drinks and was struggling into her coat.

  ‘I need to get meat and flour from the stores.’ She pecked Farrell on the cheek. ‘I’ll leave you boys to talk.’

  She shot Farrell a look over his guests’ shoulders, and he knew he’d need a good excuse prepared for her return.

  ‘Commander Farrell, this is Buck.’ Allisus introduced the bearded old man.

  Farrell recognised Buck as they shook his hands. Why had Allisus brought the mad hermit to his home?

  ‘I think Buck could help you.’

  Farrell faced them, aware his scepticism was probably showing. ‘Forgive me; it's been a difficult few weeks. I hope you aren’t about to waste my time.’ He looked the old hermit in the eye. ‘If you are, I’m offering you a chance to leave before this goes any further.’

  Buck looked neither flustered nor intimidated by the statement. They held each other’s gaze, and then Farrell reached out tentatively and touched him with his magic.

  Buck smiled. ‘I’m here because you need my help. You distrust this magical island and the man who comes to you planting thoughts of a new life for our people. You want me to tell you the island exists and that you have made the right decision, that you aren’t leading our people to their deaths.’

  Farrell looked open-mouthed at the hermit, and then glared at his first mate.

  Allisus held up his hands in defence. ‘I didn’t breathe a word, Commander. I just asked him to prove he had the magic.’

  ‘Your first mate speaks correctly; he gave nothing away, but you, Commander, gave away your thoughts. You’re too open.’