Jerrol held out an unsteady hand. “Will these do?” he asked with a strained smile. A dozen emerald green seed pods lay in his hand.
The nurseryman grinned. “They will do very well.”
“Guard them well. They will be needed soon. Be ready.” Jerrol felt a physical wrench as he parted with the seeds; the ache in his chest made him draw breath and sway. Birlerion steadied him, his face tight.
Jerrol straightened, flexing aching muscles, and walked over to the new sentinal tree. He lay his palm against the smooth trunk and Laerille walked towards him out of the swirling mist. “Are you ready?” he asked.
Laerille’s smile was lopsided but heartfelt. Her silver eyes were bright, and her golden hair vibrant. Her scars glowed in the subdued light. “We will be ready. You will lead the way, and we will be waiting,” she promised.
“Good. It will take time to retrieve them, but they will come,” Jerrol warned.
Laerille stretched her arms in the air. “The Guardian stands ready. We will protect them all.”
Jerrol stepped out of the tree and approached Lord William. “This is Sentinal Laerille. She will help you nurture the new sentinal trees until I can find those who are missing. Laerille, this is Lord William of Marchwood,” he said, observing the expression on Anterion’s face.
Lord William held out his hand. “Sentinal, welcome home.” He blinked as Laerille’s joy at being awake embraced them all.
“Guardian, it is good to be home at last.” Her eyes drifted over to the Sentinals beside him. “Anterion!” she gasped, dropping William’s hand and striding over to the broad-chested Sentinal.
“Laerille.” Anterion embraced her.
Lord William cleared his throat. “Ah, shall we give them a moment?” he suggested, indicating that they enter the house. His blue eyes twinkled as he watched the two Sentinals. “I think this must be a much-belated reunion.”
Jerrol grinned as he slapped Birlerion on the shoulder, “We need to get back on the road. I think this Watch will be in safe hands now, and we have much to do.”
“It’s late. Stay the night and start early tomorrow. My wife and I will be glad of your company. If I may say so, Captain, you look like you need a good night’s sleep,” Lord William said.
Jerrol allowed Lord William to persuade him. He was bone-tired, and once the Sentinals agreed with him, Jerrol knew he would be travelling no further that day. The newly awoken Sentinals dragged Birlerion and Parsillion off to hear what had been happening, and Jerrol spent a pleasant evening enjoying a good meal and good company.
14
Watch Towers, Stoneford Watch
Serillion found Saerille holed up in the mountains that loomed above the Towers. Her camp was basic but well hidden. Her horse was tethered in a patch of grass behind the shallow cave she had found. Only his Sentinal senses led him to her.
At first, he had thought her dead; she was so still and pale. But her chest rose after a moment, and he exhaled in relief. Dropping his saddlebags next to hers, he folded his long legs as he sat beside her, laying his sword by his side.
Closing his eyes, he reached for Saerille, searching for the sensation, the link that said ‘Sentinal’ to him. He found the thread and followed it up to the Veil, expanding his senses until he reached the open space and the unworldly magic that protected them. His lips twitched at the conundrum; magic reluctantly restraining magic.
The Veil glistened like a spider’s web gilded by the morning frost; a delicate sparkle belying its hidden strength. Pale strands entwined into a protective sheath that encompassed the world of Remargaren, yet allowed the light and warmth of the sun and moon to penetrate and the distant stars to twinkle in the night sky.
The Veil snarled in his mind as he approached, searching for signs of Saerille. Serillion found her trying to untangle herself. The Veil had snared her; the broken threads wrapping themselves around her, trying to burrow into her so that they could extract the life that the Veil so desperately craved.
Serillion slashed at the threads and dragged Saerille back down to her body, where she gulped a deep breath and moaned. He opened his eyes and patted her shoulder.
“Relax, Saerille. Just for a moment; catch your breath.” Serillion unpacked his water skin and helped her sit up. “You’ve been spending too long up there,” he admonished, as he offered her a drink.
“It won’t stay sealed. My repairs are being undone.” Her voice was low and strained as if she had just run up the mountainside without stopping.
“Still, getting trapped in the Veil is not going to seal it any quicker.”
“It’s learning. I’m sure it is. I thought it was inanimate, but it’s not.” Saerille gulped more water and then rubbed her face with a shaky hand.
“Rest. I’ll go and seal it.”
“Be careful, Serillion. There are others up there. They are searching for me. The only reason they haven’t caught me is because the vibrations in the threads give you a warning.”
Serillion hesitated, his face thoughtful. “You think the Ascendants have found the Veil? That they are causing the damage?”
“I don’t know. But whoever it is, they are deliberately shredding the Veil; forcing the holes wider. They undo my patching and extend the damage. Be careful of the threads; they are voracious. It’s easy to lose time up there, so don’t stay too long.”
Nodding, Serillion lay down and closed his eyes, extending his senses up and away. His body relaxed as his mind absorbed the view, assessing the weave of the Veil and its behaviour. Saerille was right. What first seemed acquiescent, was, in reality, belligerent and devious.
The strands coiled coyly, waiting for him to approach—drifting in the airless void. He began stitching the threads together, sealing the breach, alert for the vibrations that would warn him of anyone drawing near.
It was draining work. His hands shook as he concentrated, fending off the threads yet twining them together back into a whole.
A gentle bump reminded him of time, and after a last glance over his repairs, he dived back into his body and shuddered awake to find that night had fallen. He gasped as sensation returned to his limbs, along with the painful prickle of pins and needles. He had been lying in one position far longer than he had realized.
Sitting up with a repressed groan, he muttered, “I see what you mean.”
“I told you it was easy to lose track of time. I thought you should come back.”
“How did you do it, Saerille? On your own all this time; you should have asked for help sooner.”
“There weren’t enough of us awake. There are still far too few as it is. But with two of us, it should be easier. We can take turns and keep watch. Here, eat.” Saerille handed him some dry travel rations.
“I brought some fresh food with me. Let’s eat that first.”
Saerille pounced on his bag and rummaged for the food. She inhaled the aroma of fresh bread. “Oh, my, I have so missed this.”
Serillion grinned. “I remembered you liked the finer things, so I brought you a bottle of wine, as well.”
A sigh of pure pleasure greeted his statement, and Serillion wasted no time opening it, though he had forgotten to pack mugs, so they made do drinking from the bottle. Leaning against a tree trunk, he stared up at the star-swathed sky and the sliver of the new moon. “Difficult to believe there is a Veil up there when it looks like that, isn’t it?”
“Probably why it’s thought to be a myth. People rarely believe in something they can’t see.”
“True.”
There was a short silence, and then Saerille handed him the wine bottle. “What do you think Leyandrii did, Serillion? To cause such a cataclysmic event to happen. Being up here, seeing the Veil, it brings it home that what she did was outside the realm of what we thought possible.”
Serillion took a swig of wine and shrugged as he stared up at the night sky. “She’s a god. What’s impossible to us is not to her. Maybe it wasn’t so impossible. Birlerion said she and
Guerlaire fell at the end. He couldn’t reach them. It seems Leyandrii made sure we were all as safe as we could be before she called down the Veil, even though she knew she could never cross it.”
“How could she think the world would be a better place without her?” Saerille’s voice was hushed as if voicing the thoughts were a betrayal.
“She did what she thought was best for us. She protected her people and sacrificed herself.”
“And Guerlaire.”
“I’m sure he didn’t think it was a sacrifice. He wouldn’t have let Leyandrii go without him, and you know it.”
“I suppose. But still, it seems a bit extreme.”
“They were desperate times,” Serillion said, his voice soft as he remembered the chaotic storms, the crumbling palace, and, more recently, Birlerion’s anguish. “Desperate times,” he repeated.
15
Old Vespers
As the sun peeked through the clouds the next morning, Jerrol and the Sentinals stepped through the newly discovered Marchwood Waystone and came out beside the Chapterhouse in Old Vespers. They wended their way through the narrow streets of the city, giving the Chapterhouse a wide berth, and headed straight for the palace garrison.
Stable boys rushed up to take their horses as they drew to a halt in the courtyard. Jerrol dismounted and unstrapped his saddlebags before the stable lad led Zin’talia off, happily rubbing her nose in affection. Zin’talia crooned in the back of his mind, and he smiled as her contentment rippled through him, his eyes distant. Birlerion turned away, fumbling with his saddlebags, his shoulders stiff.
Jerrol acknowledged the sentry’s salute as he entered the barracks, but he hesitated in the hallway as an adjutant approached. “Birlerion, you and Parsillion go freshen up while you have the chance. I’ll be with the commander,” he said with a weary grin.
Birlerion nodded and led the way to the Sentinal’s barracks.
The man stopped in front of Jerrol. “Commander Fenton is expecting you to report on arrival, sir.”
“I need to clean up first.”
“Certainly, sir, but, um, I would recommend you report to the commander first.” The man gestured down the corridor.
Jerrol paused indecisively; should he go to his rooms and wash or report first? Reluctantly, he turned away from the barracks and headed in the opposite direction towards the commander’s office. He tapped on the door and waited before opening the door. His eyes widened as he saw Commander Nikols was in the room. As a ranger, Jerrol reported to Nikols. As the Lady’s Captain, he reported to Commander Fenton of the King’s Justice. He trod a fine line between the two.
“Sir, Captain Haven reporting.”
Commander Fenton stared at him. “And since when has it been the form to report in all your dirt?”
Jerrol stiffened. “My apologies, sir. I came to report as soon as I arrived.”
Commander Nikols stood and cleared his throat. “Let’s have it, then. Report. What is the situation at Deepwater?”
“Secure sir, but the garrison needs support. I left a unit of rangers to bolster their numbers until the Inquisitor interviews everyone. Did my request for medical supplies arrive? I had to leave Tagerill in the Infirmary, and it was woefully undersupplied.”
“Yes, sloppy work that was,” Fenton said. “I thought this was supposed to be a routine take out? How did you manage to get a Sentinal wounded? And the Lord Holder killed, as well! This will not look good on your report at all.” Fenton was determined to have his say.
“The supplies, sir?”
“They went the same day. One of the assistants from the infirmary went, as well,” Nikols confirmed, frowning at Fenton.
“Thank you, sir. Lady Alyssa and Lady Olivia are being escorted here by Captain Landis. They should arrive tomorrow, I think. The Inquisitor, Peppins, was sorting out Deepwater with the help of Sentinal Denirion. Sentinals Anterion and Laerille have also reported for duty in Marchwood.” Jerrol looked across at Fenton. “Sir, I came straight here to report. I need to go and change before the king finds out I’ve returned.”
Commander Fenton glared at Jerrol. “I’ve just this minute arrived,” Jerrol protested, interpreting the glare correctly. He knew he looked grubby in comparison to the perfectly turned out commander.
“That doesn’t permit you to be out of uniform when you are on the king’s business. Is that even a uniform?” Commander Fenton asked, running his fingers down the edge of his own perfectly presented jacket.
Jerrol looked down at his clothes and winced. “We travelled as quick as we could.”
“We?” Fenton asked.
“Sentinals Birlerion, Parsillion, and I.”
“And what makes you think the king will want to see you?”
“Well, he did send me on this mission. I am sure he’ll want the report personally.”
Commander Fenton exchanged glances with Nikols. “There is no need for flippancy. I’ll tell him you’re here. Go get presentable, and be quick about it.”
Jerrol saluted and thankfully left the office. The less time he spent around Fenton, the better. Such a cold and rigid man, he knew Fenton would never warm to him. He seemed determined to find fault, warranted or not. He wondered what the two commanders, who controlled the security of all Vespiri between them, were so busy discussing.
Jerrol waited somewhat impatiently in the antechamber to the king’s private rooms. Low voices rumbled behind the wooden door. Darris was no doubt briefing the king. There could be no complaint about him dawdling; he had rushed through the bathhouse and now wore his last clean uniform. It had shimmered into the Lady’s colours as usual, and, he admitted privately, he preferred the high-necked jacket with the silver buttons, cut to fit him. He smoothed a hand down the shimmering material. The soft linen shirt was a dream against his skin. The narrow-legged trousers were tucked into his grey leather half-boots. It may look archaic, but it was smart and practical.
Darris entered the antechamber. “The king will see you now.”
Jerrol paused outside the king’s study to straighten out his uniform. He sincerely hoped Fenton wasn’t present as he would no doubt complain about his appearance again. But there was nothing he could do about it. Darris ushered him past Fonorion, who was standing on guard, and into the king’s presence.
“Captain Haven, Your Majesty,” Darris announced before fading back out into the antechamber and closing the door.
“Ah, good. Haven, over here,” the king said, bending over a dark brown piece of parchment on the table. “Tell me if this map is correct. I found it in the archives. These are the last known positions of the Sentinals.”
Jerrol hastened over to the table. The map was quite small, maybe the length of his forearm, almost a square, and faint blue markings outlined the watches. The borders of the four Kingdoms were inked in red; Elothia to the north, the deserts of Terolia to the east, and the island archipelago of Birtoli to the south. Golden stars were scattered across the Watches, vibrant against the dull parchment. Some of the stars started glowing as Jerrol touched them. Jerrol looked up. “Sire, where did this come from?”
“I was thinking about what you said the other day, about there being more Sentinals, and it struck me as odd that I didn’t know how many there were, nor where they were situated. My Sentinals were left to me by the Lady to protect us, and yet I didn’t know who they were. I’d never even thought about the fact that each one was once a living person. I instructed my librarian to search for them, and this is what she came back with.”
“We have two more now; Anterion and Laerille in Marchwood. I awoke them yesterday,” Jerrol said, touching the stars to make them glow. “There are two missing on the borders; Venterion to the east and Tianerille to the south. They do not have trees to sustain them, yet they are marked here on the map.” He touched them reverently, but the stars stayed flat and dull. “And look, Vespers should have at least five more. Where did they go?” he whispered to himself.
The king nodded. “I
believe these were their final postings. You will find them. In fact, you must find them. You are assigned to finding them and only that. As the Lady’s Captain, it is your duty, and as my Oath Keeper, you will report directly to me. I had Fenton in here bleating about discipline and your lack of it. I expect you to report to me and only me. Your Sentinals will report to Fenton in your absence but only whilst you are away; they will revert under your command when you return. Understood?”
“Yes, sire.”
“Good,” the king grunted. “Now, tell me everything,” he said, moving over to his chair. Jerrol cast a longing look at the map before following him. “Don’t worry. I’m having a couple of copies made; one for you and one for me to write on as we find them. They won’t be forgotten again,” the king vowed, and the words resonated through Jerrol's bones as the Lady and the Land accepted his vow. He shivered as he heard the echo of the Lady’s words. ‘Find the forgotten.’
Jerrol summarized the action at Deepwater. He relayed Denirion’s acceptance of Alyssa as his intended Guardian and the expectation that Jennery would be her Lord, at least that was what he believed they were planning. He argued how important it was to have a strong northern border with Elothia. Jerrol paused in his report to dig in his pocket for the folded parchment he had found in Deepwater.
“I found this, along with a notebook. Aaron had it hidden in his fireplace. I left the notebook with Peppins to deal with, but this,” he said as he carefully unfolded the parchment, “looks similar to the map you found. It is part of a larger document. You can see the edges have been torn, but I was trying to figure out what it meant. It’s not a map in the traditional sense, but there are marks here and here, and that looks like the border with Elothia. If we assume that this is related to Deepwater, then you could assume that squiggle is the Vesp tributary. But other than that, what it is recording, I don’t know.”
“Maybe you’ll find the other pieces and then it will make more sense,” the king suggested, frowning over the paper.
Sentinals Rising: Book Two of the Sentinal series Page 12