Sentinals Justice: Book Three of the Sentinal Series

by Helen Garraway

  “No he won’t, he’s ill. He needs help, and he’s too heavy for me to manage on my own. Help me give him this.” Finn waved the glass and leaned over Centa Six. Owen cautiously slipped his arm under the man’s shoulders; the heat radiating off him made Owen clamp his lips tight. Finn dribbled the liquid into his mouth, and the man gulped desperately. “Hold him,” Finn said before dashing away to get more water. Unsurprisingly, the man was dehydrated. He returned and helped him drink.

  “We need to change his bandages.”

  “What? You’ve got to be kidding me,” Owen protested, dropping his voice at Finn’s glare.

  “No. Help me unwrap them.” It took them all night. Owen’s grumbles were silenced at the sight of the angry-looking wounds. Finn gently bathed them, patted them dry, and sprinkled the white powder over them, and between them, they carefully rewrapped his torso in bandages. The man slept through it all. The healer had been right. His face was smooth, the creases of pain soothed by whatever had been in the sachet. They tucked him in tight and thankfully found their beds.

  The next morning, Krell stood looking down at the feverish man, his lips clamped tight, and left him there. The cadets groaned as he put them through their paces. Finn returned to the barracks at every opportunity, trying to cool Centa Six down, forcing water down his throat.

  “Don’t.” Finn froze as Centa Six spoke. “Captain, don’t. You shouldn’t be … I’m so sorry. I failed you. They were too many; I couldn’t hold them.”

  “Hush,” Finn replied, realising the feverish man was rambling.

  “They were after you. I had to stop them.”

  “I know, and you did, you did fine, now sleep.”

  “I couldn’t stop them. They kept coming …” his anguished voice faded away.

  Finn stood over him. The creases of pain were back, his cheeks sunken and grey. The man before him was suffering, but there was nothing else he could do. He didn’t question why he felt the need to do anything.

  “Sleep,” he soothed and returned to his duties.

  The days blended into weeks. Centa Six made an unexpected recovery and resumed his place in the unit. One of silent resignation as he was consistently belittled or ignored. The unit coalesced into a team of competent soldiers. Finn enjoyed the evening chores in the stables but never grew to like the staple diet of fish soup. The glutinous bowl of fish bones was just unappetising. He ignored the taunts from Owen, who couldn’t believe an Elothian could dislike fish, though Finn wondered some days whether he was truly an Elothian. It didn’t feel quite right, nor did his beard, but then he had no memory of who he was, so he couldn’t say why.

  Centa Six remained remote; an outsider even within the team, though by far and away, the most skilled swordsman. The day they were given a bow and arrow and stood in front of a target, Centa Six blew everyone away. Even his most ardent tormentors were silenced. The instructor had immediately drafted him as an assistant; he didn’t need the practice.

  Finn followed Centa Six’s soft instructions, advising how to compensate for his lack of fingers without pause. His calm voice was soothing, and Finn relaxed for the first time in weeks, comforted by his voice behind his shoulder. His arrows hit the target, and Centa Six sent him off to collect them, moving on to the next man.

  Finn watched Centa Six discreetly, unable to ignore him. He searched him out wherever he was. He was far too young to be conscripted or to have suffered all that he had gone through. Old scars marked his skin; his recent stomach wound had not been his first.

  He had a quiet strength about him, and men deferred to him, not only because of his deadly skills but because of his inherent authority. Finn couldn’t understand why those in power were the only ones who couldn’t see it. Then he realised Centa Six was a different person, docile and submissive when any person of authority was present.

  He listened with interest and growing horror as the other men gossiped about him; about how he had been dragged in severely beaten and repeatedly tortured until he had submitted. Submitted to what they weren’t quite sure, but whatever it was it hadn’t affected his fighting ability. He obeyed every command without protest, seemingly docile, but threaten him and you’d better be ready to back it up. Everyone walked very carefully around Centa Six.

  Finn felt some affinity with him. Owen had been clear that Finn had been recovering from a beating when he had been dragged out of the inn in central Elothia. Finn had no idea why, or how he had got there or where he was going. Maybe the memory loss was a side effect from that? All he knew was that he felt an aching loss in his chest, only he didn’t know why. Maybe all he needed was time. His bruises had faded like Centa Six’s, after all.

  25

  Cells, Grand Duke's Palace, Retarfu, Elothia

  Taelia sat on the floor and ran her fingers down the stone wall. She had gradually worked her way through all the dank cells in the lower level, struggling to concentrate as she imagined the pain and fear that must have seeped into the stone floors.

  She wondered which one Jerrol had been incarcerated in and what had happened to him. After her initial shock, she had realised that he wasn’t dead. She knew it deep inside, and nothing anyone could say would make her change her mind. She had stopped protesting. As Marianille said, it was probably better that they believed he was dead.

  Jerrol had asked her to wait, so she would wait. While she was waiting, she would complete the work that the grand duke had requested, though she now knew that the grand duke hadn’t asked for her presence. He knew nothing about her or her work and had shown no interest in her findings. But it was a good excuse to delay her departure. King Benedict could send demands for her to return, but until she had finished her search, she had a legitimate reason to stay.

  “Marianille,” she said, drawing the Sentinal’s attention to the lower portion of the wall. “Can you see what this is?”

  Marianille knelt beside her and placed a piece of paper over the area, rubbing a charcoal stick over it. She frowned. “It’s a tree.”

  “Like the Lady’s symbol in the Chapterhouse or the Watch Towers?”

  “Not the same, though very similar. The roots reach deep into the ground and spread far wider than the branches.”

  Taelia’s sensitive fingers fluttered over the symbol. “Finally! I was beginning to think there would be nothing here.”

  “We need to stop. It’s getting dark, and you are supposed to be attending the dinner tonight with Torsion.”

  Taelia sighed as she heard the bitter undertone in Marianille’s voice. “I know you don’t like it, but it’s the only way for us to keep an eye on them all. It’s surprising how people who know you are blind tend to forget that you can still hear perfectly well.”

  “He thinks you are his intended. You need to be careful, Taelia. He won’t take rejection well.”

  “When Jerrol returns, he will deal with him. Don’t worry so.”

  “The Captain asked me to protect you. Taelia, each time you are with him, you are at risk. You don’t see his face; you don’t realise how manipulative he is.”

  “I trust the Lady. She will protect me.”

  “She didn’t protect Jerrol or Birlerion,” Marianille said, her voice sharp enough to cut.

  “Marianille!” Taelia was shocked. Was she criticising the Lady?

  “She is not all-powerful anymore, Taelia. She cannot intervene in this world as She once could. She can only work through us, and if I am not with you, then there is nothing She can do.”

  “Marianille,” Taelia gripped her arm. “Jerrol is alive. I promise you. He will return soon, you’ll see.”

  She heard Marianille rub a hand over her face and tightened her grip. “I swear, Jerrol and Birlerion are alive. I know it is hard to believe. To suffer the constant scrutiny. Pretending to be something you are not is exhausting.” Taelia twisted her lips. “And I’m not making it any easier, but we need to know what the Ascendants are planning and Torsion is our best option.”

  Mar
ianille hissed her breath out. “If it’s not you, it’s Niallerion. Overnight he seems to think he had become some super spy. After his run in with Selvia, I thought he would be more careful, but instead, I expect him to get caught red-handed any day now.”

  “We are under siege, but not for much longer,” Taelia promised. “I know you are worried about Birlerion. I worry for Jerrol.” Taelia blushed, but said it anyway, Marianille needed to hear it. “He leaves an aching gap my heart, as does Birlerion. But they will return to us.”

  Marianille stirred. “It’s getting dark. We should return to your rooms. You won’t have time to change,” she said.

  “Very well. Let me gather my papers,” Taelia said, accepting the conversation was over. She followed Marianille up the stone stairs and out into the frigid evening air. Raising her face, soft snowflakes kissed her skin. “More snow,” Taelia breathed, her breath pluming in the frosty air. It had snowed every day since Jerrol had disappeared. Somehow, she doubted it would stop until he returned.

  Adeeron, Elothia

  As the weeks turned into months, the recruits were regrouped into units and given their names back as they were promoted out of the grunts to corporals and then lieutenants, and for some, rushed through the officer’s program. Those who preferred to shave were given razors, though Finn had gotten used to his beard now. They began preparing to relieve the unit of the Third Chevron currently on duty at Retarfu. They went on sorties into the surrounding areas, commanding units and getting to know the men and their strengths. Finn mapped the terrain instinctively as he covered it.

  Finn was out with Owen and his unit on patrol, cursing the biting wind that cut across the plains to the west of Adeeron, and trying to muffle his face against the sharp pieces of ice trying to burrow into his skin. Surviving the weather looked to be more of an issue than surviving the training.

  Barking a command, Finn led his men towards what looked like a cave in the limestone ridge that rose along the western edge of the plains. He gasped out orders as the howling wind dropped and they could finally hear themselves speak. “Set up camp, two-hour rotation. Make sure you have full gear on whilst on watch,” he ordered as they entered the cave. His men jumped to and soon had a fire burning and snow melting in a bucket.

  He was straining to study his map in the dim light when he was interrupted. “Lieutenant.” Corporal Denning offered a battered tin mug. It was steaming in the cold air. Finn smiled briefly at the broad-shouldered soldier as he took it. “Thank you,” he said, taking a sip. It was a bitter chicory drink that the troops relied on. Rumour said it made them more virile, but the wit in the army said they needed it to escape the hot-blooded Elothian girls.

  Finn sighed as he leaned back against the rock wall. He couldn’t understand why the grand duke was attacking Vespiri when his troops were understrength and ill-equipped. He was throwing away the lifeblood of his country. His current unit wouldn’t last an hour against the rangers or Jennery’s men. He stilled and turned the name over in his head. Jennery. Who was he and how did he know him?

  “Come to me, and I will tell you,” a soft voice murmured. “You are late again, Captain. It seems to be a trait, though my sister did warn me,” the voice chuckled.

  Finn looked around the cave. Owen had gone to relieve the watchman and his men were in various stages of relaxation, making the most of the opportunity to sleep, all except Centa Six or Private Birler as he was now called, who had sat up abruptly and was searching the cavern. Finn did not understand why the man was never promoted above a private. If there was ever officer material, he was it.

  He glanced around again. No one was else paying him any attention. Was this a side effect of his memory loss?

  “I’m not a captain. Who are you?”

  “Come to me at Leyarne and I will tell you all,” the voice breathed in his ear. She was young, that much he could tell.

  “Leyarne?”

  He frowned down at his map. He couldn’t see anywhere marked with the name Leyarne. Well, all he had to do was survive this patrol and he would be going to Retarfu. Finally returning to civilisation. He felt a tremble under his feet and looked around him. Birler had reached out to steady himself against the wall and met Finn’s eyes across the cavern. No one else had noticed anything amiss.

  He closed his eyes. Maybe he was just going mad. He sensed a presence next to him and opened them again.

  “Lieutenant Finn, is everything alright?” Birler was crouched beside him.

  “Of course, why wouldn’t it be?”

  Birler shrugged. “Just a feeling.” He hesitated a moment and then stood and buttoned up his jacket, pulled on his gloves and left to take the next watch.

  Folding his map, Finn moved over to sit by the fire, absently watching as one of his men stirred a pan of liquid. More fish soup. “So, who knows this area well?” he asked as he stretched his legs out.

  “Erik, maybe, but there’s not much around here, to be honest, sir,” the soup stirrer said.

  “There’s a bloody great ridge stretching across the horizon. I would have said that’s something,” Finn said with a grin.

  “That’s why there’s not much here, sir. You can’t climb it. It’s not called the Unworthy Man’s Drop for nothin’, you know. You have to go around it, and that’s miles in either direction. These plains are empty.”

  “The Unworthy Man’s Drop? Sounds like there should be a story to go with that,” Finn said comfortably. His nose twitched. That was not fish soup. “What are you cooking?” he asked, sitting upright.

  Corporal Denning grinned as he ran his hands through his straggly blond hair. “Knowing your dislike of fish, sir, we managed to scrounge a scrag of goat; so it’s goat soup, sir. More soup than goat, but it sure smells good.” He sighed and rubbed his pointed nose.

  “Where did you get it from?” Finn asked as he leaned forward, inhaling deeply. He was touched that they had made such an effort for him.

  “Best you don’t know, sir,” Denning said with a grin.

  “Don’t you go getting into trouble for me,” Finn said, shifting to get more comfortable on the rocky floor.

  “No, sir, we won’t. It’s a treat for all of us.” Denning started pouring the soup into tin mugs; as he’d said, it was more liquid than lumps. He handed the first mug to Finn.

  Finn communed with his mug, inhaling the fragrance as his mouth watered in anticipation. He sipped the steaming liquid with caution and relaxed as the warmth spread through his body. His men changed watch around him and he shuffled over to make room for a private relieved from standing duty. The cold air rolled off him as he spread his hands towards the fire. “It seems even more bitter out there than usual,” the private said as he took a mug and cupped his hands around it.

  Finn grunted in agreement. “Only fools like us come out here.”

  “Didn’t used to be like this; it never used to freeze south of the ridge. The ridge protected us, and this was all grasslands when I was a kid. Herds of cattle grazed these plains; rich grass. Now, everything perishes.”

  Finn watched him as he loosened his fur-lined hood. His short brown hair was plastered to his temples, the frost melting slowly in the meagre heat of the cave. The private was one of his youngest men. “When you were a kid? That wasn’t that long ago.”

  The men laughed, and Denning stretched his hand out to ruffle the youngster’s hair.

  “Gerroff! I ain’t no kid.”

  “No, that you are not,” Finn soothed. “So tell us why the ridge is called the ‘Unworthy Man’s Drop’. You must know the story.”

  The boy shrugged. “It’s just tall tales; it’s not true.” He pushed his damp hair off his face, leaving it sticking up in tufts.

  “Well, we haven’t got anything better to do, so why don’t you tell us anyway?”

  “Go on, Erik, tell us. I’ll give you another mug of soup,” Denning offered.

  Erik grinned acceptance and wrinkled his nose. His cheeks were red from the cold, and h
e rubbed his face vigorously after he handed his empty mug to Denning. “Well, it dates back to the Lady and her guardians. It’s said that one of the Lady’s sisters became the Guardian of Land. No one’s quite sure how or why, but it happened around the time when they all left.”

  “When she broke, what was it called? The Bloodstone?” Finn asked.

  Erik shrugged. “No one knows. No Bloodstone in this story. They all suddenly upped and left; never came back. Left Elothia under the rule of the first Grand Duke. That was thousands of years ago. But the Lady of the Land stayed. Well, she didn’t have much choice; she was the land, after all.” He paused to take the mug back from Denning and breathed in the steam before continuing. “She was young and beautiful with long auburn hair the colour of rich copper, and brilliant blue eyes the colour of the sky. She had a tinkling laugh that lifted your spirits.”

  “And she was called Marguerite,” Finn said slowly as her face crystallised before him. The name rolled off his tongue even though moments before he would have said he didn’t know who she was.

  “That’s right, sir,” Erik nodded. “They say she used to dance across these plains barefoot, encouraging the ground to thaw and the crops to grow.”

  “I doubt she’s done that for a long time,” Denning grunted morosely.

  Erik laughed. “She’d lose her toes if she tried to do it now, but you’re right, she used to banish winter and welcome spring. But no one’s seen her for centuries, and our winters are getting worse, and spring never seems to arrive anymore.”

  “People saw her?”

  “So it’s said. Marguerite used to live above the ridge, waiting for her guardians to arrive.”

  “But they didn’t arrive?” Finn asked.]

  “A few did in the beginning, but there was a period of upheaval; a backlash or something. No one’s sure, but the land was torn. It rose on one side and dropped on the other. I think back then it would have been easier to reach her, but that ridge out there is what is left of it after centuries of freezing weather and snow. Only the worthy could climb to her tower, and no one can climb that ridge today.”