“No, Captain. I won’t.” He glanced at Birlerion and punched him on the shoulder. “Come and help me pack.” He embraced Tagerill before departing to prepare for his journey.
Jerrol sent Ari to advise Saerille to hunker down and hide until help arrived. If he hadn’t been sure that he was on the tip of a discovery about the Ascendants, he would have dropped everything and gone himself, but he was tantalizingly close to something significant and he couldn’t afford to lose the trail.
8
King’s Palace, Old Vespers
“We ought to go and wake the others. Denirion is stirring, as is Anterion in Marchwood,” Birlerion said the next morning as he stood stiffly, holding Zin’talia’s reins.
Jerrol jerked upright, his hands busy with Zin’talia’s saddle. “Do you know where everyone is?”
“I wish I did. Then I could tell you how many we are, but they are the only ones I can sense.” Birlerion tightened his grip on the reins as Zin’talia stirred, pulling against him.
“He doesn’t like me. Make him let go of the reins,” Zin’talia said.
“Don’t be silly, of course he likes you. Though if you skin his hand, he may change his mind.”
“We don’t have time to travel across the Watches, not now. The king wants me here, he expects me to focus on researching the Ascendants,” Jerrol said.
“I get the feeling the more of us you have, the better off we’ll be.”
Jerrol scowled. “If I knew how to make these Waystones you keep mentioning, it would be much easier.”
“If you want, we could try to make one down by the Chapterhouse. I did close down a Waystone once. We could see if we can create one.”
“I knew it. I was sure you knew more than you were saying,” Jerrol said with a laugh.
“Leyandrii was upset with me. I wasn’t supposed to know how. If we could find Niallerion, he could explain it better. Who knows where we’ll end up with one of my making?”
“It’s worth a shot. It would make it easier to traverse Vespiri. I get the feeling we are running out of time.”
They mounted and rode down the switchback with a unit of the King’s Guards around them. Jerrol screwed up his face; the thought that he needed a twelve-man guard was ridiculous. But he kept silent. The king wouldn’t let him stir without one.
Arriving at the Chapterhouse, the guards dispersed around the perimeter and Birlerion strode out of the courtyard, searching the surrounding area. “I think it would be better to position the Waystone outside the Chapterhouse; they might get upset with the constant traffic. What about behind that copse of trees? It’s secluded enough that it’s unlikely to draw attention.”
Jerrol shrugged. “I have no idea. You choose.”
“You are very trusting, my Captain.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Jerrol followed Birlerion over to the trees, shadowed by one of the guards.
“Guerlaire would be expecting gotchas, paybacks, and goodness knows what by now.”
“So, life wasn’t so peaceful back then, as history would have us believe?”
Birlerion’s eyes crinkled as he crouched in the dust. “It was never peaceful for me, anyway.” He stacked some stones into a small pile. “Ok, this is the marker. Now you need to use the sword to concentrate the… the…” Birlerion trailed off, frowning. “I know what you need to do. I’m just not sure how to explain it. I wish Niallerion was here.”
“So you keep saying,” Jerrol said, watching him closely. “Do you want to try?” He offered Birlerion his sword.
Birlerion reached for it and hesitated as if it might bite him. His hand shook as he took the sword, and he let his breath out in a hiss as he held it. “The last time I used this, Leyandrii nearly killed me.”
“Well, be assured, I won’t.”
Birlerion’s lips quirked. “Are you sure? She said I could have obliterated the palace.”
Jerrol stiffened. Was Birlerion serious? “If it’s dangerous, then no, I forbid you. Don’t risk your life for a Waystone.”
Waving the sword above his head, Birlerion drove it into the pile of stones before Jerrol could protest further and a soft chime resonated through them. “Well, look at that,” Birlerion said in surprise. His face relaxed as if he felt the contented hum of the sword vibrating through the air.
“What did you do?”
“We have a new Waystone. Now we just need to make an active one at the other end to go to.”
“Active? To go where?”
“Wherever we want to go.” He moved closer to the echoing chime and stepped forward. He vanished, sword and all, and Jerrol gasped in shock. He waved his arm across the space in which Birlerion had just been standing in. Nothing. He had disappeared. Before Jerrol could raise the alarm, Birlerion reappeared, his silver eyes sparkling.
“The Grove is open,” he said, a huge grin on his face. “Come on. Just think of the Grove and step with me.” Birlerion grabbed Jerrol’s arm and tugged him forward.
The next moment, they stepped out in the Grove in Greenswatch.
“What?” Jerrol spun, disoriented, grappling with the fact that he was suddenly in the Grove, surrounded by tall sentinal trees. “How is that possible?” He patted his body down as his stomach settled. It may have been one step, but the swirl of the changing landscape was unnerving.
“Waystones,” Birlerion laughed. “They make life so much easier. For Sentinals, anyway. Other folks don’t tend to travel so well.”
“I’m not surprised. How do we get back?”
“Think of the Chapterhouse and step forward.” Birlerion handed Jerrol his sword back.
“And there is a Waystone in every Watch?”
“Should be. We just need to find them. The Land is much changed, and they may have been buried, which is why I can’t sense them.” Birlerion surveyed the avenue of sentinal trees. “We ought to tell Parsillion we’re visiting so he doesn’t get concerned.”
Jerrol turned towards the elegant trees. They were all empty now, bar one; the Sentinals awake and scattered around Vespiri at his bidding. They were interrupted by the jingle of a harness, and they both dived behind the tall monoliths surrounding the Lady’s altar.
Jerrol peered around the rough stone and watched a posse of men dismount. They were dressed in unfamiliar brown uniforms; all matching. So they belonged somewhere.
“Spread out. Make sure it’s clear, then we’ll begin.” A large man strode into the glade, an axe in his hand. Jerrol’s glance, before he ducked out of sight, caught a hooked-nose and a hard face. He didn’t recognize him, unsurprisingly.
“Captain, I’ll cause a diversion and you return to Vespers,” Birlerion whispered.
As if he would leave Birlerion to defend his retreat. Who did Birlerion think he was? “I’m not leaving you here on your own, so don’t even suggest it.”
“It’s my fault. I should never have brought you here. I didn’t think.”
“It was pure chance, and anyway, this is our opportunity to find out what is going on.”
Birlerion called an Arifel.
“We can’t stay here. They’ll find us,” Birlerion whispered.
“We have every right to be here,” Jerrol replied, his silver eyes glittering.
“I don’t think these are pilgrims, Captain.”
“Then we need to find out who they are.”
“Captain, we have to leave.” Birlerion’s voice died as a light voice spoke from the clearing.
“Can I help you?”
Jerrol recognized the voice; Parsillion, the Sentinal he had left here to guard the Grove. A sharp voice replied, accompanied by the menacing rasp of unsheathing swords.
“Grab him, quick. He’s one of them.”
Jerrol tensed at the sound of the scuffle and then gasped in dismay as Birlerion took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the monolith.
“Release him.” Birlerion’s voice cracked across the grove.
“There’s another one, and which one are yo
u?” the man asked, his gaze skittering around the glade, searching for more Sentinals.
“Does it matter?” Birlerion asked, nocking an arrow in his bow.
“I suppose not. But I know you, you’re the archer.”
Birlerion laughed. “Sorry to say, I don’t know you.”
“You’re outnumbered. Put down your bow and we’ll make it quick.”
“The Lady would be most displeased, so I think I’ll have to refuse.”
The man roared a command, Parsillion twitched, and Birlerion loosed his arrow, followed by another. Parsillion wrenched himself out of his falling captor’s grasp and grabbed the nearest sword. He spun, slicing the throat of the man reaching for him, flinching back from the spurt of blood.
Jerrol rushed up beside Birlerion, his sword glowing in the dim light, and Birlerion discarded his bow and stepped towards him in support. Jerrol grimaced as Birlerion cursed under his breath and swung his sword, forcing the hook-nosed man back, the clash of swords loud in the soft air.
“Get Versillion,” Birlerion gasped as the black and white Arifel, Lin, appeared and disappeared in a blink. His distraction cost him as his knuckles took a skinning. He changed hands and counterattacked, shaking out his hand.
Jerrol cut in front of him and efficiently dispatched his opponent, and Birlerion paused, gasping for breath as he checked the glade. Parsillion was holding his own, though it looked like they were regrouping for another attack.
“Captain, Parsillion, centre,” Birlerion barked, turning his back so that the three of them faced outwards with swords raised. They met the oncoming rush as the glade was suddenly filled with many men and horses, led by a large, red-headed Sentinal. The attack collapsed.
Birlerion exhaled. “Versillion, I am so glad to see you.”
Versillion strode over and hugged his brother close. “Birlerion, what are you doing here?” His eyes widened as he realized Jerrol was also present, turning over the bodies. “Captain, what is going on?”
“That’s what we would like to know. These men were here to attack the Grove and its sentinals. If we hadn’t been here, they would have succeeded.”
Parsillion returned from reassuring his tree and frowned at the carnage. “But who are they?”
Jerrol looked up from riffling through the clothes of one of the bodies. “It seems they are for hire to the highest bidder. The question is, who hired them?” He frowned as he watched Birlerion struggle to sheath his sword. “Birlerion, are you alright?”
“Yes, fine. I’m fine. We should get you back to Vespers, Captain. Before the guards miss you.”
“I suppose. Versillion, can we leave you to clear up here?”
“Parsillion and I will escort you back to Vespers, and then I will return and clear up here. I assume you travelled by Waystone? You were fortunate I had found the Greens Waystone, else the outcome might have been different.”
“Yes, we found one in Vespers and here,” Birlerion said. “Good news, eh?”
“For some,” Versillion said, watching his brother closely.
Old Vespers
As they stepped back into Old Vespers, Tagerill strode out of the Chapterhouse, accompanied by Jerrol’s guard. He took one look at them and exploded into recriminations.
Birlerion held up a bloody hand. “Tage, for Lady’s sake, enough. Do you think I deliberately led the Captain into trouble? We were just trying out the Waystone.”
“I never thought I’d say it, but you just don’t think. You know the Captain’s a target; you should have known better.”
“That’s rich coming from you. You’re not exactly the world’s greatest thinker.”
Tagerill loomed in front of Birlerion and Birlerion glared back at him. A tiny crease appeared between Tagerill’s brows. “At least I would have thought twice before dragging the Captain between a new Waystone.”
“Really? When did you become so restrained?”
“When did you become so irresponsible? I thought better of you.”
Birlerion stiffened, and Versillion stepped between them before Birlerion could respond. “I think you both need to cool down.”
Birlerion backed away as Torsion rushed up. “Jerrol, I just heard. Are you alright?”
Jerrol rolled his eyes. “Yes, fine, thank you.”
Torsion spun on Birlerion. “It was you, wasn’t it? I knew you weren’t to be trusted.”
Birlerion twisted his lips, but Parsillion beat him to it. “What nonsense. The Lady called him. I needed help.”
“That’s convenient. Just Jerrol and him; that’s a great defence.”
“You’d be surprised how much damage they can do,” Versillion said, squeezing Tagerill’s arm in warning.
“Don’t you think it’s funny that every time Jerrol’s life is put at risk, Birlerion is the one supposedly defending him?”
Tagerill glared at Torsion. “That’s why the Captain is still here: because Birlerion was defending him.”
“Only because he put him at risk first.”
“Torsion, you know that’s not true,” Jerrol said, frowning at his friend.
“Of course, it is. You’re blinded by the fact that the Lady made them Sentinals, but they are still men, easily swayed. It’s been three thousand years, for Lady’s sake. He’s probably given up on her.”
“No, he hasn’t.” Jerrol’s quiet voice was drowned by Tagerill’s angry reply defending his brother. Jerrol flicked a concerned glance at Birlerion. He was concentrating on wrapping his handkerchief around his bleeding knuckles. As he watched, Birlerion straightened and focused on the conversation. He stepped towards Torsion; his face tight. “Enough!” His voice was unexpectedly sharp. “We were supposed to be in the Grove; the Lady needed our help. Men were attacking the sentinals and Parsillion needed support.”
Torsion sneered. “He would say that. He leads Jerrol into danger and then says it’s alright, the Lady was expecting them. You expect us to believe that? He’s lying through his teeth. Who does he think he is? The Lady’s Captain?”
Birlerion met Torsion’s derisive glare, and Torsion fell silent.
Jerrol spoke firmly. “This is not the place for this discussion. It was not Birlerion’s fault. It was lucky we were there or we could have lost Parsillion. As it is, we prevented an attack on the sentinals. Versillion, you need to place a guard on the Grove. We can’t leave the trees unprotected.”
“They are not that easily cut down,” Versillion replied, “but we’ll keep a closer eye on them. I’ll advise Lord Simeon.”
“Jerrol, you are not going to let him get away with it. He deliberately led you into an ambush. You can’t trust him. Even his brother said that.” Torsion was back on the attack.
“I never said any such thing. Birlerion would never deliberately put Jerrol in danger,” Tagerill growled.
“That’s not what you said earlier,” Torsion said, jutting his chin out.
“No more,” Jerrol commanded. “It’s done.” Jerrol moved to stand between Birlerion and Torsion. He frowned as he saw the blood staining Birlerion’s rough bandage. “Birlerion? Do you need a healer?”
“It’s nothing. My sentinal will sort it.”
“Tagerill, help Birlerion to the infirmary. Birlerion, don’t argue. Versillion, you ought to return to Greens. Parsillion here can escort me up to the palace. No, I said enough, Torsion. We’ll bid you a good day.”
Jerrol herded his Sentinals out under the watchful eye of the lieutenant, aware of Torsion’s scowl following him. He didn’t understand why Torsion hated Birlerion so much.
Birlerion resisted Tagerill’s entreaties to see the healer and led his brother back to his tree.
Taelia appeared beside Jerrol, making him start. She hadn’t been there a moment ago. How did she keep appearing out of nowhere?
Taelia gripped his arm, her turquoise eyes wide.
“Taelia, I wish you’d stop doing that; whatever it is you are doing,” Jerrol said with a huff of breath as he scanned her face
. “You turn up when I least expect it.”
“I can’t help it. When there is need, I respond. Jerrol, there is trouble in the Watches, but I can’t tell which. One is affecting the other, and it’s confusing.”
Jerrol sighed. “There is always trouble in the Watches. You’ll have to be a bit more specific if you want me to do something about it.”
“I can’t see. It hasn’t happened yet.”
“Then, unfortunately, we will have to wait until it does.”
Taelia screwed up her face.
“Hey, it’s not your fault. Don’t worry. We’ll deal with it when we know more. At least we know something is brewing.” Jerrol looked around. “I need to return to the palace. I think I’ve caused enough trouble for one day.”
Taelia’s face eased. “You don’t cause trouble, and nor does Birlerion. There is much yet to happen. Keep Birlerion by your side, Jerrol; you need him.” She patted his arm and began walking towards the Chapterhouse.
“What do you mean, Taelia? What’s going to happen?” Torsion asked, flapping around her.
Taelia ignored him as if he wasn’t there, or maybe she wasn’t there, and walked through the gates. Jerrol shook his head at the conundrum. When they had time, he’d have to ask her how she kept appearing from nowhere. Accompanied by Parsillion, he set off for the palace.
Palace Archives, Old Vespers
Jerrol returned to the palace archives the next day with a belligerent Tagerill at his shoulder. Even though he had told Tagerill he didn’t believe Torsion, Tagerill was fuming at the accusations against his brother. The king had not been impressed by Jerrol’s brief escapade with Birlerion, and Jerrol was lying low.
Birlerion was back in the barracks, having spent the night in his tree. He had shown Jerrol his healed hand with a, “See, I told you it was just a scratch. Nothing to worry about,” and he took Parsillion off to give him a tour of the palace.
Jerrol collected the folio of papers and climbed out of the musty archives, and he headed for the library which was better lit. Silence fell as they settled and began reading. A sense of expectation permeated the air. Jerrol felt so close to finding out something important, maybe it was just on the next page? The Lady had said to follow the trail. Find the forgotten; help the lost. Who did she mean? The lost Sentinals or the silent descendants?
Sentinals Rising: Book Two of the Sentinal series Page 7