Sentinals Rising: Book Two of the Sentinal series

by Helen Garraway

  Jerrol stiffened in shock, nearly losing the connection. The stone ceiling shimmered before the starry panorama replaced it again.

  “Saerille? Serillion?” he called as he searched. He gasped as a sparkling weave of threads stretched out before him, curving around above him, reaching around their world. The Veil.

  Hesitantly, he reached for the Veil, testing the fabric, feeling the damage and the attempted repairs. He picked up the threads of the Veil and began stitching, sealing the edges together, instinctively repairing the damage. The more he restored, the more he realised the extent of the damage. As he worked, he recognized the essence of Saerille in the threads. He followed the scent and gently called her name.

  Saerille wept.

  He found her entangled in the fabric, trapped and exposed. Serillion stood in front of her, trying to defend her, his shimmering essence limned by the crackle of energy flickering around him.

  “Saerille, I am ordering you to let go,” Jerrol commanded.

  “I can’t,” she moaned.

  “I fear she is caught in the Veil,” Serillion said, deflecting a sudden thrust. “She has given too much of herself, and she can no longer separate herself.”

  “What can I do?”

  “You can only offer her shelter until she is ready to return,” Serillion said, his glance embracing her and then returning to his watch. “You need to be quick; they have found us, I think.”

  “But she will return?”

  “If you can persuade her, then yes.”

  “Very well.” Jerrol expanded his thought to embrace Saerille. He wrapped her in love and safety and carefully drew her essence out of the Veil and into his heart. He offered her shelter and sustenance and Saerille clung to him desperately.

  Jerrol expanded his thought further and reached for the edges of the tear. He brought the strands together and began stitching again. Serillion watched his perimeter, guarding against attacks. There were subtle probes against his defences, but nothing he couldn’t handle.

  Jerrol continued stitching, working his way around the jagged tear in the fabric of the Veil. Carefully, ensuring he left no gaps, he concentrated on sealing the edges, trusting Serillion to protect him as he worked.

  It took a lot of effort. The Veil sucked his energy as he worked. His respect for Saerille rose as he realized how much effort it must have taken to hold the Veil together for so long. He’d had no conception of what was involved. He berated himself for leaving her to cope on her own, but there had always seemed to be another emergency to solve.

  The wholeness of the Veil was an enormous presence impinging on his senses as he continued to seal it. It drained his strength. It was not only the physical sealing that was exhausting. The Veil constantly tried to entangle him in the threads of the fabric, and he fought to keep himself separate. His understanding of Saerille’s predicament grew as he struggled to control the voracious appetite of the Veil.

  He touched the essence of Saerille tucked away inside him. She huddled in on herself, and he offered a gentle blessing. All would be well.

  The attack came from nowhere. Serillion blocked and instinctively retaliated, but before he could throw up his defences, a second, concerted attack hit at the same time. Serillion expanded to shelter Jerrol, expending energy, which the Veil sucked in at a lethal rate.

  “Serillion, no,” Jerrol shouted as he frantically sealed the last section, the lines glowing before his eyes.

  Serillion continued to expand. Energy pulsed over and over as he linked multiple waves together before, with a gentle sigh, he exploded in a blinding flash that shattered the attack. He sent an energy bolt pulsing back to the source, burning out those who had dared to attack the Captain and the Veil.

  Jerrol launched out of the reclining chair, blinded by Serillion's power. He reached for Serillion in the Veil space and staggered against the stone wall in shock, as awareness returned.

  The last of his strength drained away, leaving him weak and shivery. The Veil was sealed, but at what cost? His mind was numb, seared by the sight of Serillion’s sacrifice. He could barely sense Saerille curled up in the corner. She wasn’t responding to any of his tentative calls. He couldn’t blame her. He wanted to curl up and hide as well.

  Taking a deep breath, he blearily looked around the stone tower. Ain’uncer stood opposite him, flanked by two of the King’s Rangers.

  Serillion was lost, his body consumed by his final sacrifice.

  “Well, what do we have here? I still can’t quite believe that you are the Lady’s Captain. You are not what we expected. You couldn’t even save one of your own. Where is the power of the Lady now? Do you think you repaired the Veil? You are just going to have to unfix it, now,” Ain’uncer crooned. “I’m going to enjoy making you rip the Veil.” With a quick hand signal, the guards moved to flank Jerrol, rigidly holding him in place.

  Jerrol cringed. Ain’uncer was solid muscle, and by the glitter in his eye, he had revenge in mind.

  “Why are you doing this? You can’t want to destroy the world we live in,” Jerrol said, trying to delay the inevitable. He tested the hold of his captors, but they tightened their grip in response. He had no strength left. He could barely stand up.

  Ain’uncer laughed as he crossed the room. He unsheathed his dagger and ran the cold steel down the side of Jerrol’s face. Jerrol shivered. “You think I’m going to hurt you? You’re probably right,” he mused. “You have quite a reputation. The famous man of iron who doesn’t feel anything, ruthless in his pursuits. Killer of men. Do you think you can resist me?”

  Jerrol stared at him, grappling with a sense of loss and inevitability. Exhaustion swept through him as he tried to concentrate on what the Ascendant was saying.

  “You think you can escape me? Such a clever man; so smart, he lets his people die in his place.”

  Jerrol tried to contain a flinch, the anguish raw and painful.

  “Ah, that hurts, does it?” Ain’uncer said, sheathing the knife. “Maybe you’re not made of iron, after all? Let’s test the theory, shall we?” He punched Jerrol hard in the stomach, followed by a swift uppercut, which snapped Jerrol’s head back against the guard’s chest. Ain’uncer reached around and unbuckled Jerrol’s sword belt before snapping his fingers. The guards dragged the gasping Jerrol over to the reclining chair, strapping him securely in place.

  “You’ve been hiding artefacts. Does Torsion know?” Ain’uncer inspected Jerrol’s sword. “Where did you find your sword, Haven?”

  Jerrol gritted his teeth. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “You know I can’t resist. Let’s try it the easy way, first.” Ain’uncer smiled, his eyes bright, almost feverish in expectation.

  “What have you done to Torsion?” Jerrol asked, desperately searching the room for inspiration. He flexed his mouth; his jaw was swelling.

  “Torsion? Why, nothing. He’ll be disappointed in you, though. I heard he tried to warn you; you should have listened. So, just for form’s sake, and the sake of your friendship, shred the Veil. Now.”

  Jerrol stared at him. “Now, why would I want to do that?”

  “Because I asked nicely, and it will save so much pain and anguish.”

  “Why don’t you do it yourself?”

  Ain’uncer’s frown was fleeting. “It is not one of my gifts. Fortunate for you, I have other gifts. You will listen to my voice. That’s all you need to do, listen to me. You feel yourself relaxing, the warmth is flowing through your body as your muscles ease, one by one. It is time to rest, all you need to do is listen to my voice.”

  Jerrol fought the weight dragging at his limbs. Tagerill had said thinking of the Lady protected you. “Lady, help me. I beseech you, help me.” He pictured Leyandrii’s face, the brilliant green eyes that sparkled with life, the golden tresses of hair that glinted with sunshine. He thought of Birlerion’s steadfast love and Serillion’s quiet adoration. Both effortlessly embraced her legacy and brought her to life.


  Leyandrii’s green gaze sharpened and the heaviness dispersed as she wrapped her arms around him.

  “You want to shred the Veil; you know it is the right thing to do. Shred it now, Jerrol.” Ain’uncer voice crooned above him.

  “Never,” Jerrol replied.

  Ain’uncer broke off his chant and grabbed Jerrol’s hair, yanking his head back and exposing his throat. His blade ran across the vulnerable skin. “Are you sure? You are in no position to resist.”

  Jerrol tried not to swallow against the cold of the blade.

  “You must, you know you must. You can’t resist my voice; you have to shred the Veil. It is the only thing you need to do. It is your purpose. Reach for the Veil, yes, you know you must, reach now, that’s right.”

  “No,” Jerrol whispered, his thoughts skittering in all directions. He latched onto one. Birlerion would save him. He would come to his rescue. He knew he would.

  “You must, it’s the only way to protect your friends. That is what you do. Protect others. Don’t put them at risk. Shred the Veil, now!” Ain’uncer’s breath was hot against his clammy cheek.

  Jerrol strained against the leather straps.

  “Listen to my voice. You must do as I say. It makes you feel good, it makes you feel fulfilled. You are doing what you should. You…” His voice trailed off as the clash of steel echoed up the stairs.

  “No,” Jerrol said, his voice strengthening.

  “See what’s happening,” Ain’uncer hissed at the guards. He stared down at Jerrol. “There is no escape. You will do what I tell you one way or the other. Why make it difficult? You do not need to suffer, nor does anyone else. If you shred the Veil, all will be safe.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Of course, you can. If you don’t, you’ll regret it, I promise you.” Ain’uncer’s voice hardened. “You will shred the Veil now.”

  Jerrol’s breath whooshed out as Ain’uncer punched him in the side.

  “No,” he wheezed.

  Ain’uncer paced around him. “You are being stubborn for no reason. It won’t save anyone.” He took a deep breath and began again. “Focus on my voice, Jerrol. It is the only thing you want do. You want to listen to my voice; it is all you want to listen to. It is wrapping you in a feeling of security… the warmth is flushing through your veins… heating your skin… you are floating as you listen to my voice… floating and calm. All you can hear is my voice, all you know is my voice, you must do what my voice tells you to do. You must shred the Veil. Reach, Jerrol, reach for the Veil and rip it apart. You want to destroy it. You have no other purpose.”

  Jerrol writhed in the chair, trying to resist his voice. It was insidious, and it curled around his mind, suborning his thoughts. A pair of green eyes pierced him and the compulsions dissipated and he clung to the Lady as Ain’uncer cursed.

  “You will regret your decision. You are a fool and you will break in the end, and for what? Anguish and despair.” Ain’uncer ran his knife down Jerrol’s right hand, pausing at the little finger. “Which is it to be? Left or right?”

  Jerrol resisted the urge to clench his fingers and began to sweat. He was in no shape for torture; weak, battered, heart-broken. He wasn’t sure he had the strength to fight. Jerrol stared up at Ain’uncer, sweat running down his face.

  “Worried?” Ain’uncer hovered over him, a dark shadow blocking what dim light there was in the room.

  “Why should I be?” Jerrol hissed. “You’re a lousy Ascendant.”

  Ain’uncer’s face went blank before an expression of pure rage stiffened him. “I have gifts you’ve never dreamed of; gifts of persuasion.” He paused, frowning at Jerrol before continuing. “Gifts you wouldn’t understand.” He pressed the blade into Jerrol’s skin above the joint of his little finger. “Shred the veil, now!”

  Jerrol flinched as the blade bit. A cold shiver trembled through him as he stared at the stranger hovering over him. The face grinned maniacally, and a thought rushed through Jerrol’s mind; the man was mad. He was going to do it, and a shaft of scalding hot pain ran up his arm and exploded in his brain.

  He groaned in shock as his vision wavered, bright sparks popping in front of his eyes. His stomach cramped as he tried to process the pain. His hand throbbed; he couldn’t move it. He tried to calm his ragged breathing. His heartbeat thumped loud in his chest as he tried to control his panic.

  “Shred the veil,” Ain’uncer whispered close to his ear. Jerrol jerked and the Ascendant smiled, running his tongue over his lips. He moved the knife to the next finger.

  Jerrol tried to swallow. His mouth was dry. Sweat ran down his face; he was burning up and yet he was so cold. Bile rose and he swallowed. He strained against the straps, but they were leather and unyielding.

  “Is that your answer?” Ain’uncer’s voice hissed beside him and the knife bit.

  Jerrol screamed in agony and the room wavered.

  Jerrol came too, blinking water out of his eyes and gasping for breath. His hand was on fire and the sensation consumed his mind. Ain’uncer gripped his hair and raised his face. He spoke, demanding that he do something, but he couldn’t make sense of it. All that rattled around his head was the fact that Serillion had died; a gentle soul with a love of history and the Lady, and he, the Lady’s Captain, had not been able to save him. Serillion’s sacrifice blended with the fire consuming him. His head lolled as drops of blood splashed on the floor, a red so bright it seemed to glow; the only splash of colour in his greying vision.

  A disembodied voice spoke above him and Jerrol frowned, trying to identify it. “What are you doing? Are you crazy? I told you, there’s no point torturing him. This isn’t working. It’s taking too long. You know we have to leave, move on. You! Wrap his hand; we need him alive.”

  Jerrol concentrated on breathing in and breathing out; just breathing. The simple function of breathing calmed his disjointed thoughts. Pain engulfed him as someone touched his mutilated hand, wrapping it in something; he felt faint, ill. He opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. The grid lines engraved in the ceiling began to glow. Jerrol thought about Serillion and the pain of his death shattered his thread of concentration. His heart stuttered. He breathed.

  He was still alive and he had murder in his heart.

  Torsion spoke above him. “You awake, old man? Here, drink this; it will help with the pain.” He forced Jerrol’s mouth open and poured in a liquid that Jerrol recognized as a pain-relieving draught. He choked it down, though it would be useless against the pain and the fire consuming him.

  “Hold on. I’ll get you out. What’s going on? The noise that Sentinal is making; he’s fighting the King’s Rangers. I told you he couldn’t be trusted; he’s helping them.” Torsion fumbled with the straps, stiffening as he heard something behind him.

  “Tor’asion, what are you doing here? That Sentinal is causing problems. Deal with him.” Ain’uncer’s voice cut through Jerrol’s confusion.

  “Torsion?” The room blurred, and Jerrol struggled to concentrate.

  When his vision refocused, Ain’uncer stood over him, watching him with concern. “Why couldn’t you just do as you were told? None of this was necessary,” he complained. “You made me do it, and now look at you; it’s your own fault. You’ve lost one Sentinal. The rangers are dispatching the other. I know all about Birlerion, much more than you. Such a distinctive name. But you’ve missed your opportunity, and now he’s dead, and I have to do something that will hurt you even more, and it’s all your fault.”

  Birlerion’s defence faltered as Jerrol’s scream scythed through him. First Serillion; his loss echoed through him, and he pushed it away; he would grieve later. Where there should be a hum of connection there was only emptiness and sorrow and now the Captain. He was failing in his duty. His breath came in gasps as he tried to fend off another charge by the King’s Rangers. None had got past him into the Tower and yet the Captain was being attacked. There had to be a better way.

  The air pulsed for a moment an
d, instinctively, he drew it in and then threw it out, knocking the remaining guards to the floor, leaving them as inanimate heaps in the dust. He turned to run up the tower stairs and was confronted by a tall, dark-haired Ascendant, rushing him. He took a step back and gasped as the shock of recognition, along with the Ascendant’s strike, travelled up his arm.

  “You,” Birlerion snarled.

  “You will yield,” the Ascendant spat, following the strike with another, forcing the exhausted Sentinal out into the courtyard.

  “Never,” Birlerion gasped, desperately calling Ari.

  “Then it’s time for you to die.” And Torsion attacked.

  41

  Watch Towers

  Ain’uncer stood to his full height, spread his arms and started chanting. Jerrol tried to ignore the words, but they kept caressing his mind, silky soft and beguiling. He stared at the ceiling and rapidly blinked as it began to shimmer; it made him feel queasy. He thought he saw Ari appear then disappear, but he wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating. He didn’t feel right. Ain’uncer’s voice grew firmer, more confident, as the ceiling coalesced into what could have been a mirror; it was so smooth and precise.

  Ain’uncer hovered over him. “You will shred the veil now or she will die.”

  Jerrol gasped and strained at his straps, stoking the simmering fire in his right hand. The mirror shimmered into a dim picture of a young girl in silvery robes stumbling perilously close to a dark river, trembling hands outstretched.

  Taelia.

  “What have you done to her?”

  “Nothing yet, but it’s simple. I can lead her out of that dangerous cavern or I can leave her there in the dark to die,” Ain’uncer replied.

  Jerrol writhed in the chair. “She’s a scholar! She wouldn’t harm anyone.”