“Let’s go over what we do know,” Dra’Kaedan’s twin, Grand Summoner Dre’Kariston suggested. He sat on the floor near the sofa Dra’Kaedan and Brogan were cuddled on and was flanked on either side by the warlock familiars, Renny and Derwin.
“Okay,” Blodwen agreed, her voice quieter than normal. Dra’Kaedan looked up into his mate’s navy-blue eyes, and Brogan furrowed his brow slightly. For once the pair was on the same page; their family wanted to convince Blodwen to make the right decision, not pressure her.
“Well, we know they were created about two thousand years ago by the Order of the Necromancia and a warlock,” Trystan began, and Dra’Kaedan looked away from his mate’s gorgeous countenance to give his best friend’s mate his full attention. “The Arch Lich and his mate, there isn’t a whole lot of history on them.”
“Arch Lich Faustus and Arch Lich-mate Domitia. They ruled for barely more than a century and died sometime after sentinels were created, but we don’t know how they died,” Dre’Kariston added with a thoughtful frown.
“The Order of Necromancia has meticulous files about everything but these two and sentinels in general. That’s weird,” Duke Brogan D’Vairedraconis threw in and ran his hand over Dra’Kaedan’s blond curls.
“So, they create the sentinels, cast this enormous soul-binding spell that affects all current and future necros, and then they find some flaw and cast another huge-ass spell to send them all to this mysterious place no one can see,” Dra’Kaedan said.
“Right, so they stay there until their first summoning to bind them to their necromancer and then they return if their necro is cut or can’t breathe to unload a can of whoop ass,” Dre’Kariston said.
“Or if their necro decides they have a specific target for them to kill or maim,” Trystan added.
“Which can be dangerous since there are accounts of necros abusing that and using their sentinels to harm the innocent,” Blodwen replied.
“Which we do not have to worry about in your case,” Brogan said. Kind-hearted Blodwen would lend a helping hand to anyone, but no one could imagine her giving an order to hurt or murder someone, despite her love of watching true crime stories on television.
“No way, but it might explain that story I heard when I was a kid about the sentinel that turned on his necromancer and murdered her,” Blodwen said with a shiver. Trystan pulled her closer to his body, and Dra’Kaedan watched as she gripped his arm a bit tighter than before.
“Everybody seems to know that story, but we didn’t find it mentioned in any book,” Dra’Kaedan said.
“So, we cannot add that as a fact,” Trystan said. “It could very well be a fable designed to keep necros from abusing their sentinels, and we all know how rumors fly around. Seriously, there are people who think my dad used to be the Dragon Emperor, which is impossible since that guy was mated, and my dad is clearly not.”
“The fact that the Dragon Emperor had a male mate kind of debunks it too,” Dre’Kariston said.
The room was filled with murmurs of agreement. “Rumors aside, what’s the flaw sentinels have?” Derwin, Dre’Kariston’s familiar, asked.
“No clue, and Arch Lich Chander keeps a sentinel with him all the time, and he hasn’t noticed any flaws. They’re a lot like fallen knights. Essentially, they are the perfect bodyguard,” Trystan said, referring to Arch Lich Chander Daray who was the current necromancer leader and the creator of the resurrected race the Order of the Fallen Knights. Trystan, being half necro and half fallen knight, was an expert on both.
“Why doesn’t the Arch Lich summon both of his at the same time?” Dra’Kaedan’s familiar, Renny, asked.
“He says he only started keeping one with him all the time after the warlocks were believed to be destroyed. He felt bad keeping one and not the other, so he switched between the two. Baxter and Benton became close friends of his, but they are super-competitive, and Chander says they each think they are the best. He told me he’s almost afraid they would kill each other if they were summoned at the same time,” Blodwen answered.
“Do you think the sentinels get lonely when they aren’t with Chander?” Derwin asked.
“I don’t know. I was too afraid to talk to either Baxter or Benton directly,” Blodwen confessed.
“Do we have any idea what life is like at this place?” Dra’Kaedan asked.
“No clue…sentinels have no history books of their own,” Trystan responded.
“I never thought about that. I’m ninety-four. If that place sucks, I’ve kept mine trapped there my whole life,” Blodwen complained with a frown.
“Arch Lich Chander is the only one that keeps a sentinel at his side,” Trystan reminded her.
“So, we might be keeping a whole race of people imprisoned, which makes us as bad as Latarian.” Blodwen’s reference to the woman the entire family considered enemy number one did not please anyone in the room.
“You certainly have nothing in common with that bitch.” Dre’Kariston sneered the last word, and heads began nodding in agreement.
“Still, my sentinel could very well be as unhappy as I was before I came to live here.” Blodwen groaned.
“Well, if he is, there is a way to fix that,” Dra’Kaedan told his best friend.
“Yeah, we could add him to our family,” Derwin threw in.
“Yeah, we thought we’d get new friends by now, but we still don’t have everything ready for the sanctuary. Having a sentinel would be cool,” Renny exclaimed, and Dra’Kaedan couldn’t suppress his smile. The sanctuary was the brainchild of Dra’Kaedan and Blodwen. It would not open until the Court of D’Vaire met all the requirements the Council of Sorcery and Shifters demanded to ensure that all new residents would be accommodated. Since they had to account for all Council races, their giant house was still undergoing the necessary renovations.
“I still can’t believe we had to add the changing room,” Brogan said with a shake of his head.
“I’m telling you, only a mage could have come up with a rule like that. The rest of magickind aren’t a bunch of prudes,” Dre’Kariston proclaimed. Shifters, like the D’Vaire dragons, had no choice but to change from human to beast and back in the nude. Their clothes would never survive the journey. To protect the sensibilities of any magickind that might join them, they added a room to the back of the house where all shifters could shed their clothes and put them back on after shifting back to their human forms.
“It wasn’t mages, though they are a weird bunch. Sorcerers aren’t that prudish. Warlocks used to do many ceremonies naked. It’s for races like the elven who are very modest.” Dra’Kaedan corrected his twin.
“Really? Maybe you should do one of those ceremonies for me later,” Brogan whispered in his ear. Shivering in response, Dra’Kaedan gave his mate a wicked smile full of promise. He was more than willing to get naked for Brogan whenever possible.
“Dude. I can hear you,” Dre’Kariston said and nudged Brogan’s leg with his foot.
Brogan stopped kissing Dra’Kaedan’s ear to smile wryly at Dre’Kariston and asked, “You got a point?”
“Focus, people. Sentinels. Remember?” Dra’Kaedan thought Blodwen sounded annoyed, so he opened his eyes, which had fallen closed while his mate kissed him, and gave her his full attention.
“Does this mean you’re ready?”
“Yeah, I think so, but I want to do it with the whole family here,” Blodwen said.
“You’re going to let him stay with us?” Renny asked. His dark blue eyes, a mirror of Dra’Kaedan’s, pleaded with her to say yes.
“If he wants to, yeah,” Blodwen answered with a shy smile, and Trystan gave her a reassuring squeeze.
“I hope he does; maybe we could put together some information about sentinels on paper,” Trystan replied. Dra’Kaedan could tell Trystan, with his love of history, was chomping at the bit to do that.
“Tonight’s meeting?” Dre’Kariston asked, referring to the weekly gathering their king held.
“Yea
h,” Blodwen said in a voice fraught with nerves.
“Awesome. Let’s go get his room ready,” Renny practically shouted before jumping to his feet and racing out of the room with Derwin hot on his heels. Dra’Kaedan was all for making sure Blodwen’s sentinel was welcomed appropriately, but first, he was going to drag his mate to their bedroom, so he could perform one of his ancient warlock ceremonies.
Chapter 2
“Gavrael, how are you today?”
Gavrael looked up from where he sat on his skinny bed to see his leader, Alaric, at his door. “I am well,” he replied and got to his feet. Alaric continued to peer at him, with his glowing green eyes, through the bars of the locked door.
“You did not finish your meal this evening,” Alaric stated, and Gavrael wondered as he often did how he found the time to keep up with the habits of each sentinel. Alaric visited him regularly and never failed to miss any minor change in his routine. While Gavrael had not met any of the other men that lived in the compound, he knew the building was enormous.
“I do not like peas,” Gavrael commented. In truth, he loathed them, but he usually choked them down anyway. For whatever reason, he couldn’t bring himself to eat them today.
“You have not mentioned this before,” Alaric replied with some surprise in his voice.
“No.”
Alaric continued to stare at him before he gave a short nod of his head. “I will make sure you are not given peas again,” he eventually stated.
Gavrael was grateful he no longer had to worry about them showing up on his food tray. “Thank you.”
“Is there anything else you need?” Alaric asked.
Although he had a mile-long list of things he wished he could change, Gavrael kept silent. “No.”
Alaric gave another nod of his head and promised to check on him again soon. Gavrael returned to his small bed and looked around his room. For the last ninety-four years, which comprised his memory, it had been his. That did not necessarily make him ninety-four-years old; if he had been assigned to a necromancer prior to his current one, his memory would have been wiped. At eighteen, according to tradition, was when a necromancer first summoned their sentinel to solidify the bond between them.
For some reason, Gavrael’s current necromancer had failed to summon him, and that left him unable to perform his duties to protect him or her. While he did not expect to be the kind of sentinel that the Arch Lich’s were, his days would be a lot less monotonous if he had the occasional chance to use some of the skills he diligently worked each day to perfect. The Arch Lich’s sentinels, Baxter and Benton, were legendary. They took turns spending time with the necromancer leader at his home at Council Headquarters—the Arch Lich had even given each man his own bedroom in his condominium. Alaric carried stories of them to Gavrael, and he always enjoyed hearing about the pair.
Gavrael often contemplated what life was like beyond the compound. He could not help but wonder if the world outside was as gray as the place he found himself. The walls, the floor, the bedding, and even Gavrael’s own clothes were the same hue. Outside his tiny space, the décor was similar. The green glowing daggers he wore and the other instruments of death that adorned the walls of the dark building were the rare exceptions.
In the room where he trained was a small window, and the sky outside was just as gloomy and gray as everything else. His meal trays were an array of differing colors, and it vexed Gavrael’s clever mind how food was able to come in so many shades but little else in his environment came close to having that type of variety.
Putting those thoughts aside, he opened a book on advanced dagger techniques and began to read. Gavrael got through a chapter that taught him nothing he did not already know when he felt the room shake. Eyes widening ever so slightly in surprise, he realized the room was fading. He sucked in a quick breath when it occurred to him the room wasn’t about to vanish—he was being pulled out of it. Without a doubt, it was Gavrael’s necromancer finally summoning him.
Waving a hand quickly over his body, he covered himself in his dark gray cloak and nearly smiled; he had been waiting for this day for ninety-four years. Seconds later, he found himself standing outside of the compound for the first time. Instantly, he felt the connection between him and his necromancer snap into place. Through their new link, Gavrael recognized she was female.
From this point forward, Gavrael would be summoned magically if her blood spilled or if she was for any reason unable to breathe. Because he was wearing his hooded cloak, Gavrael was incapable of seeing anything but the floor beneath his dark boots. He was standing on a rug that was a beautiful array of colors, not one of which was gray. Gavrael wanted to see the rest of the room, but he needed to stay focused on why he was here. Sentinels were summoned once to establish the bond and after that, they were called to either injure or kill a selected target.
Since Gavrael never had the initial summoning until now, he could only assume he was here for a specific reason. It was time to perform his duties, but first he needed to know the appropriate way to address his necromancer. “How do you wish to be known?” Gavrael asked from under his hood.
“Uh, you can call me Blodwen.”
“Blodwen, who is my target?” Gavrael asked and hoped whoever it was, they had not inflicted too much pain on her before she had finally called him here.
A startled gasp reached his ears before Gavrael heard Blodwen reply, “Oh, dear. No, there is no target.” Blodwen seemed shocked by his question, but after nine decades, he was not sure what other purpose he could possibly be expected to serve. Gavrael found himself at a loss. Confused, he said nothing, and the silence in the room stretched out. Using his keen senses, he noted Blodwen was not alone. In total, there were twelve heartbeats, and his abilities allowed him to recognize several races. Six dragon shifters, two warlocks and their familiars, his necromancer, and a hybrid of necromancia and something undetermined. It was a strange mix for a single family unit.
Stranger still were the three soul bindings in the room. He knew they were not sentinel bonds, and the connection seemed stronger than his with Blodwen. Gavrael’s own necromancer was one of the people bonded; her soul was tied to the hybrid. Oddly, while Gavrael knew the family unit was ruled by a dragon king, the leaders of the Coven of Warlocks were somehow among the residents. Immediately, Gavrael began to wonder about this strange place and why he was brought there.
The silence was abruptly broken when one of the occupants of what Gavrael could only conclude was a weird house asked, “So, um, what’s your name?”
“Gavrael.”
“Do you always wear that cloak?” another one questioned.
“It is traditional for sentinels to wear a hooded cloak,” Gavrael revealed. It helped conceal his identity and made disappearing into the shadows less conspicuous. A target that did not see you coming was by far easiest to attack.
“Aren’t you able to become invisible like a fallen knight?” Gavrael recognized that the question came from the man Blodwen was bonded to. This man must be quite knowledgeable about races, was the first thing that popped into Gavrael’s mind.
“I am.”
“Okay, then why the cloak?”
Gavrael had no idea what to make of all the questions, but he was happy to supply whatever answers he could. “Necromancers demanded them.” That decree had come well before his memory began. At the moment, he was beginning to wish the practice had never started. It was stifling under his hood, and he wanted to see something besides the beautiful carpet under his boots.
“What for?” Again, Gavrael couldn’t put a name to the questioner, but he did know it was a warlock familiar asking.
“Our duties can cause us to appear skeletal. Necromancers found it unpleasant to look upon,” Gavrael explained after some thought. Some necros turned them into killing machines. As sentinels, they were meant to serve, and if an innocent life was taken, their humanity slowly disintegrated. Their outward appearance reflected that. According to Al
aric, it rarely happened. Gavrael had never asked what became of those it did happen to, and Alaric had not offered any further information on the subject.
“Are you skeletal?” Blodwen asked, and Gavrael found that the fear in her voice made him uncomfortable. He did not like the idea of Blodwen fearing him.
“I am not.”
“So, what do you look like?” To Gavrael, it was a puzzling question. Why would such a thing matter? He was a sentinel. His job was to be a stealthy assassin—his appearance had no impact on his abilities. None of the thousands of books he had read had prepared him for this day and its questions. Gavrael’s duty was to serve his necromancer, and he wanted to please her but was clueless how to proceed. As he could not see himself describing the components of his face, it might be time to lose the heavy hood of his cloak.
Gavrael offered hesitantly, “I could remove my cloak.”
“Great idea,” someone in the room chirped, and Gavrael was in full agreement. He lifted his hands to his hood and slowly pulled it off his head to rest on his shoulders. His eyes immediately went to his necromancer. Blodwen had dark red hair, and her gray eyes were full of concern. She was seated in the lap of the necro hybrid she was bonded with. The hybrid had brown hair and blue eyes that were looking at him curiously behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. It puzzled Gavrael that she sat in the man’s lap. His senses told him she was in perfect health, but perhaps she was somehow unable to sit on her own.
Looking past the pair, he located the dragon king. He had a mix of black and blue hair and blue-black eyes with a thin silver ring around his pupils that showed his rank. A gold ring was visible as well, which was peculiar since Gavrael was taught only the ruler of all dragons had eyes with gold in them. Sitting near the king was the ruler of the warlocks. Like Blodwen, the golden-haired warlock leader sat on the lap of another man, this one a dragon shifter with eyes as dark blue as the Grand Warlock.
Sentinel's Dagger (D'Vaire, Book 2) Page 2