Finn completed his circuits and then ran up to join the men and dropped. He started his set of pushups, focused on the alignment of his body and the smooth motion, soothing in its way, as his body remembered the exercise. His heart rate increased as he reached his rhythm, and he continued counting, enjoying the activity.
He was aware of Krell, who had paused beside him, until he moved off to the obstacle course, keeping an eye on Finn, making sure he didn’t stop. He kept the men working until he released them to eat and wash. Finn forced himself to eat the disgusting bowl of fish soup that they were offered and chewed the hard bread before collapsing into his narrow bed. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
The next day, apart from a brief pause for more tepid fish soup for lunch, they trained and sparred. Krell paired the men off and had them spar one pair at a time. The first four were acceptable, and he sent them off to practice. The second four were dismal, hadn’t a clue, so he sent them off with his parade sergeant for basic training.
The last two were interesting; the latest recruits from the press gangs. Centa OneOne and Centa OneTwo knew how to fight. They were well matched, Centa OneOne’s strength versus the Centa OneTwo’s speed.
“Where did you learn to fight?” Krell asked.
Owen and Finn flicked a glance at each other before Owen spoke up. “I spent two years in the customs guards. Got basic training there.”
“And you?”
Finn shrugged. “I must have been taught the disciplines when I was younger. I don’t remember who taught me.”
Krell inspected him, and slowly nodded. “Well, that’s fortunate then, isn’t it?” he grinned wickedly in anticipation. “Did you complete all the disciplines?”
“I believe so, sir.”
“Right,” he looked over at the group who were desultorily sparring, throwing annoyed glances over at Finn and Owen. “Centa One to six over here,” he shouted. The Centas trotted over immediately. “One versus OneTwo,” he instructed, “the rest of you circle.”
Finn sighed. Centa One was twice his weight and pleased to have the opportunity to show off his skills. Flattening Finn looked to be high on his list. Centa One beckoned Finn forward, grinning with anticipation.
Finn circled slowly, his sword raised in front of him. Centa One flicked his blade at Finn’s sword, teasing a response. Finn ignored him and continued to circle. He waited until Centa One lost patience and struck. In response to the man’s minute shift in balance, Finn spun, and when Centa One’s sword came down, he was no longer there. Centa One staggered cursing, and they went through the same motion over and over. Centa One began to taunt him. “Too afraid to fight?” His swings were getting wilder and less controlled as his anger took over until Finn finally engaged and disarmed his opponent in one smooth move.
Centa One gasped, furious, but dropped his eyes as Krell strode forward. “What does that tell you?” he asked, handing Centa One his sword. Centa One was silent, and Krell looked around the equally silent men. “Never underestimate your opponent,” he said. “Centa Six, step up.”
The man who had silently escorted him to the infirmary the previous day stepped forward. He no longer wore a splint. The men jeered as he stepped into the ring.
He stood in front of Finn and waited.
“Commence,” Krell commanded. Centa Six dropped into a familiar stance, and Finn responded. Centa Six smiled in acknowledgement, and the two men smoothly went through the movements, each a mirror of the other.
“Halt,” Krell snapped. He stood in front of Centa Six. “Since when did you have the disciplines?” he snarled.
Centa Six shrugged. “It’s amazing what you can learn on the streets,” he replied in his soft voice. Krell struck him across the face, and Centa Six rocked back but held his position. “Be very careful, Centa Six. You could be back in that cell with one word.”
“Yes, sir,” Centa Six said, his voice emotionless as the men laughed at him. Finn observed him. There was no reaction on his face, just acceptance.
“Right, pair off.” Krell crossed his arms. “You all just saw the disarm, now you try it,” he said. “I hope you were watching.”
Finn circled Centa Two.
“How did you do it?” Centa Two asked in an undertone.
Finn looked across at him. He seemed in earnest. “It’s about doing the unexpected,” he said as he continued to circle, “and patience,” he added with a slight smile.
He moved suddenly, forcing his blade down the side of his opponents, and with a twist, the blade went flying.
Centa Two stood frowning at him. “How did you do that? Show me.”
“Pick up your sword, then,” Finn said, raising his blade again. He looked across as Centa OneOne disarmed his opponent in a more traditional manner, using brute force.
Finn demonstrated the disarm, aware of the others watching, and allowed Centa Two to disarm him. Finn saw Centa Six allow himself to be defeated, his partner oblivious to the fact that the man could have killed him where he stood. Finn wondered where he was from.
Centa Two grinned. “Again,” he said. And so it continued, sparring and swapping partners until Krell called time. “One chime:, wash and eat, then report to the ring,” he rapped, glaring at Centa Six, and then strode out of the arena without looking back.
After lunch, they trained all afternoon until they were told to gather around the ring, where they nervously looked at each other, though Finn thought Centa Six looked resigned. He soon saw why. Centa Six was called forward. He stood still as his left arm was strapped to his side, and then he was giving a training sword. Centa Six stood waiting, his face expressionless.
“Why did they strap his arm?” Finn asked the man next to him.
“Just watch,” the man chuckled.
Krell pushed two men into the ring, and Centa Six flicked his sword up immediately, dropping into a defensive stance. Krell barked at the men, and they reluctantly approached Centa Six. He dealt with them without changing his expression, and they lay groaning on the ground.
“See, even with one arm, he’s a beast. Unbeatable one on one. They make him fight with one arm, so he doesn’t kill them. They’ve lost too many men to him.”
Krell pushed more men into the ring, and Centa Six stiffened as he caught the shine of steel. Finn hissed; these were no training swords. Centa Six had no chance. He put up a resistance for longer than Finn would have thought possible, but the men finally co-ordinated themselves in a rush and he went down beneath them. Krell called a halt, and the men stood.
Centa Six lay bleeding into the sawdust. He was silent and grey with pain, a sword still impaled his stomach. His hand gripped the blade, keeping it still, which explained why his opponent hadn’t yanked it back out again. Finn noticed the other blades were lined with red, and the men were congratulating each other.
Krell approached and gripped the sword. “Maybe you will be more careful in future,” he said, drawing the blade out. Centa Six paled even further and clamped his hand over the wound; ruby red blood welled, rich and vibrant against his shaking fingers. Krell snapped an order, and he was dragged away. Krell stared after him, and then seeing the men watching, dismissed them to the stables for evening duties.
23
Deepwater Watch, Vespiri
Alyssa scowled at the papers on her desk. The amount of paperwork it took to run a Watch was astonishing. The previous lord had left it in chaos, with poorly trained militia and badly organised defences. They had spent the last four months changing that.
Denirion, her Watch Sentinal, said it was much improved. At least that was something. She twisted in her seat and stared out the window down towards the lake and the two graceful sentinal trees standing beside it. She smiled as a gentle hum buzzed in the back of her mind. The sentinals were watching.
Ari popped into view above her, squawking as he flapped his wings and landed with a thud on top of the papers on her desk. Alyssa huffed and stroked his furry head. “Aren’t you fortu
nate those papers were not important?” she murmured, sliding her hand down his fur, and pulling the message out of the tube on his back.
She scanned the note and wrinkled her nose. “Go find Lea and Tagerill for me, and then return. You need to take this message on to Jason and the king.”
Ari chittered and then popped out of sight as Alyssa copied the message into her journal. She ran her finger down the page, then sighed. Rising, she strode over to the large painting hanging on the wall, depicting a scenic view of the lakes that gave her Watch its name.
Releasing the catch at the bottom of the painting and pulling a cord at the side, she stood back as the canvas rolled up, revealing a map beneath it. Niallerion’s gadgets were useful, she mused, as she scanned the detailed map of the Elothian borders. Checking the note in her hand, she moved a pin in the map marking the chevron’s locations according to Taelia.
Taelia, Niallerion and Marianille were a potent team. Troop updates arrived almost everyday. She wondered how they were finding everything out and what risks they were taking. The news they had sent today was concerning. Even she could see that the forces were massing on the plains below the Summer palace, across the borders from Stoneford.
Her husband, Lea, had said that they would be after the Watch Towers, and it seemed he was correct. The Elothians had their sights on the passes. Even though the Deepwater river valley was the easier egress into Vespiri, it was a longer journey, and from their actions it seemed they had a healthy respect for Deepwater’s defences. Alyssa felt a glow of pride. They had worked hard to restore her Watch. Especially since Lea and Tagerill had bloodied the noses of a few Elothian scouting patrols.
Her face relaxed as the sound of her husband’s heavy footsteps preceded his arrival into her office, closely followed by the tall red-haired Sentinal who was now his trusted lieutenant. Alyssa was thankful the day Tagerill had relocated to Deepwater, even if it was only because he had been seriously injured when they had retrieved the Watch from the previous lord, Aaron. She was quite sure they would not have been so prepared without him.
“Taelia’s message arrived,” Alyssa said without preamble, indicating to the map and stepping back. “They are swinging towards Stoneford.”
The two men filled her office. Broad shouldered and muscular, they made her feel dainty in comparison, especially as they both towered over her. Tagerill wore the silvery green uniform of the Lady’s guards, the trim ensemble moulding to his body and casting him as ‘other’; a reminder of his ancient past. The huge broadsword on his back was proof enough of his strength. Alyssa couldn’t lift it. Even the air sharpened when he was present; a sign of his excessive energy, according to his brother, Birlerion.
Tagerill traced the front line on the map. “They are foolish,” he muttered. “They will be exposed all the way across the plains to Stoneford.”
“They must be desperate,” Jennery replied, peering over his shoulder.
“At least it gives us time to reinforce the trenches before they realise they won’t get far,” Tagerill said, his hand sweeping down to their own border. “They’ll have no choice once they’ve battered themselves against the mountains for a while.”
Jennery chuckled. “Let them. Stoneford will contain them.”
“As long as we prevent them from sweeping in from behind,” Tagerill said, his deep voice determined.
Alyssa leaned against her desk as her husband’s face fell. His eyes narrowed as she watched and then he straightened and looked at her. “Anything else in the report?” he asked.
Alyssa nodded, suddenly reluctant to share the rest. “They have word of Birlerion.” She hesitated as Tagerill stiffened, and she patted his arm. “I’m sorry Tagerill, it’s not good. The Ascendants have him at Adeeron, and he has been severely tortured by all accounts.”
Tagerill hissed. “At least we know he does live,” he said, squaring his jaw.
Alyssa frowned. “But you’ve always said he lived. You said you could feel him.”
“The feeling has been muted, barely recognisable; more of a hope. At least we know he’s alive and where he is. We can go and get him.”
Alyssa shook her head. “Adeeron is deep in the heartlands. No one knows its actual location, only that it is in the very north of the country.”
“We are not leaving him in their hands any longer than we have to,” Tagerill said, his expression hardening.
“We won’t,” Jennery said, gripping his arm. “Believe me, we won’t. But we need to co-ordinate with the king first. We can’t leave our borders exposed.”
A gamut of emotions chased across Tagerill’s face as he swayed, as if buffeted by the need to move. Alyssa winced at his expression; she knew how close Tagerill was to his youngest brother. Tagerill had been hanging onto the belief that they would be able to rescue Birlerion. It was the only thing keeping him sane as he threw himself into preparing the Watch for war.
“Please Tage, don’t undo all our hard work. We need you here,” Jennery said, his voice carefully neutral.
Exhaling, Tagerill stared at the map and then at Jennery. He nodded once. “In that case, I need to speak to Landis. He needs to reposition his men; our east flank is going to take the brunt of any force the Elothians send our way.”
Alyssa’s office felt suddenly empty as Tagerill left. Jennery stared after him for a moment and then rubbed a hand over his face as he sagged. “Was there anything else?” he asked, and Alyssa cupped his worn face. He looked tired. They hadn’t once stopped with their training, reorganisation, or planning. It was endless, and it was taking its toll.
“You and Tagerill will join us for dinner tonight,” Alyssa said. “Don’t argue,” she added as he opened his mouth. “We haven’t sat down together all week. Landis can cope for one evening. My mother is complaining that she’s forgotten what Tagerill looks like.”
A puff of laughter escaped Jennery’s mouth.
Alyssa smoothed her fingers over his cheeks. “Hugh misses you, as do I. We need to take the time while we can. Once the fighting starts …” Alyssa ended on a sigh and tugged his rugged face towards her so she could kiss him.
24
Adeeron, Elothia
The following day, Finn was horrified to see Centa Six returned to the barracks. His movements were slow and careful, pain etched on his haggard face. He eased on to his bed, tense and stiff and holding his side as he lay down.
Finn approached him with a glass of water.
“Try it,” Centa Six murmured, his eyes still closed.
Finn exhaled. Was Centa Six that suspicious of everyone? Had others tried to attack him? He had enough faded bruising for it to be plausible. “It’s water.”
Centa Six opened his eyes.
“Why aren’t you in the infirmary?”
“I’m not worth the price of a bed,” Centa Six replied, closing his eyes again. Finn observed the rents in his uniform, red-rimmed with blood; proof that he had taken more than one wound. He placed the water next to the man and left him alone.
The next morning, Finn watched Centa Six struggle to rise. He strode across the room and offered a supporting hand. “They are not expecting you to return to training, are they?”
“If I don’t, they will just repeat it until I’m dead. Maybe it’s time.” Centa Six swayed, and Finn tightened his grip. He helped him change out of his bloody clothes, his horror growing at the sight of the blood-soaked bandages.
“They did stitch them, didn’t they?”
“Yeah.”
“Lay back down. I’ll bring you some food.”
“Don’t bother; not hungry. Just some more water if you wouldn’t mind.” Centa Six closed his eyes, but by the crease on his brow, Finn could see he wasn’t comfortable. His face was tinged with grey and strained.
“You’d think you’d get used to pain, but you never do,” the man said, his voice so low Finn had to strain to hear it. “I suppose it’s a sign you are still alive.”
Finn was relieved to see t
hat Krell had, for once, realised that the man was barely standing and sent him back to the barracks. He worked the rest of the unit harder to compensate for his moment of compassion. The men returned to the barracks groaning and bruised, more interested in their own woes than the silent man in the bed at the end of the room.
Finn paused beside Centa Six. It looked like he had only just made it to the bed; he was laying on top and not tucked in as he should have been if someone had been caring for him. His usually pale face was flushed, and he didn’t stir when Finn felt his skin. He was burning up.
Finn cursed under his breath. Couldn’t they see they were throwing away the best fighter they had? He found his way back to the infirmary and reported Centa Six’s condition.
The Healer shrugged. “I warned them, but they wouldn’t listen.”
“He’s our best fighter; we can’t afford to lose him,” Finn argued.
“Some would prefer it,” the healer replied. “Give him this, diluted in a glass of water. One sachet per night. It will knock him out. You’ll have to keep an eye on him. It’s all I can offer, and you’d better not let anyone catch you.”
“Can I take some fresh bandages?”
The healer stared at him and wordlessly handed him the bandages and another sachet. “Treat the wounds with the powder before you rewrap them.”
That night, after everyone had fallen asleep, Finn woke Owen. “Hush, don’t wake the others. I need your help.”
Owen complained under his breath. “Do you know what time it is? Krell is going to work us just as hard tomorrow until we’re back to full strength.”
“Then help me help him,” Finn said, stopping beside Centa Six.
Owen stood the other side. “Are you mad? He’ll knife us if we touch him.”
Sentinals Justice: Book Three of the Sentinal Series Page 18