The horses were sturdy and familiar with travelling in the snowy conditions, all except Zin’talia who slogged onwards without complaint. Serenion doubled up with Yaserille until they could purchase another horse. They found derelict barns to shelter in overnight, and once, a shallow cave which at least protected them against the vicious wind. Any exposed skin was scoured by the frozen snowflakes swirled by the icy blasts of wind.
The journey took four exhausting days to reach the plains below the sheer cliffs which loomed before them in the early darkness. The lowering clouds threatened yet more snow. They hunkered down as best they could before gratefully brewing a can of coffee over a tiny fire to thaw the extremities before starting again at first light. The following morning, Yaserille waved farewell as she left for Tierne.
Jerrol tucked his scarf tighter across his face and slogged on, Taurillion and Serenion close behind him. They travelled all day, following farm tracks and cutting across frozen fields and streams. They found easier going on a rutted track that Jerrol thought led into the small village of Morstal halfway between the Tower and the Summer Palace. The track sunk below the fields and provided some protection from the icy winds.
Jerrol followed the track down out of the fields and hesitated as a more significant road came into view. He dismounted and dropped to the frozen ground as he heard the echoes of marching feet; not particularly regular marching feet, but feet all the same.
The Sentinals dropped beside him. For tall men, they were light on their feet. Jerrol eased up the side of the bank to peer over the edge, recognising the outskirts of Morstal in the distance. The horizon was covered by heavy grey clouds rolling across the sky. A storm threatened more sleet and snow, and it wasn’t far away. Both he and the troops on the road below would need to find some cover before it hit.
37
Morstal, Elothia
Even though a mounted officer tried to hustle his men along, it was clear that this column of soldiers was in some distress. Several ragged-looking men helped the walking wounded keep up with the main column. Jerrol’s breath caught as a ragged bunch of what looked like Vespirian prisoners stumbled behind. They were chained to a slow horse-drawn wagon, loaded with more wounded, which pulled up by a barn on the edge of town.
It looked like this was the remnants of one of the Elothian hit and run units; one that had managed to capture some trophies from behind the lines. Why were they dragging them all the way back up here? Surely, they weren’t heading for Adeeron? Didn’t they have any forward posts set up?
Jerrol cursed the Elothian generals under his breath. How could they not have supply posts behind the lines with healers and camps for the men to rest and recuperate? How could they start a war whilst being so unprepared? It would take weeks to get these men reorganised and back to the front. He was suddenly glad his men were safe in Retarfu, though he knew if things went badly, they wouldn’t be there for long. Well trained men would be at a premium.
He waited until the slow-moving column pulled up on the outskirts of Morstal. The officer’s sharp voice carried on the night air, and the men began setting up tents in the lea of the barn. The officer dismounted and opened the doors of the reasonably well-kept building. At least the man had some weather sense and some idea of how to prepare for it. He ordered the wagons to be pulled up on the other side of the tents, providing a shelter of sorts.
The wounded were unloaded and carried into the requisitioned barn as chickens burst out of the door, squawking loudly as a couple of men chased after them. Jerrol frowned. They were low on supplies as well, then.
The biting cold began to penetrate his winter clothes as he lay on the frozen ground. Frost sparkled on his gloves as he slithered back down onto the track and began stamping his feet and swinging his arms, trying to ease the stiffness that was creeping over him.
He considered their options. They would not be able to circle Morstal, it was too open, but they couldn’t reach the village without passing through the soldier’s encampment. The approaching storm may help him pass himself off as one of them. They would know their officers, but maybe in the confusion of a storm, they would be able slip by. It all depended on whether they were from the same unit. At this distance, he couldn’t tell.
He crawled up the bank for one last look. Tents were going up fast; it looked like the prisoners were being herded into one of them. Small campfires were tended, glowing beacons in the dim light. The land was frozen. There wasn’t much to burn; enough to boil some water and to make a thin gruel to warm the insides, and then they would be wrapped in their blankets and hunkering down as the approaching storm hit. He wished he could take advantage of the storm to slip passed them, but he knew the blizzards of Elothia; he needed to find somewhere to shelter, else they would be frozen corpses in the morning. He eyed the barn.
“Jerrol, we have to move. We can’t stay here,” Zin’talia murmured.
“I know. We have to wait until the guards turn in.”
Zin’talia shifted beside him. “If we wait much longer the storm will overtake us.”
In the end, they had no choice. As the storm crept closer, the soldiers all battened down, dousing the fires. One sentry ducked into the prisoner’s tent and tied the flap down securely. With no one in sight, Jerrol and the Sentinals rode their horses out of the sunken track and hastened towards the village before the snow hit. They didn’t make it.
The outer tents of the encampment were still some distance ahead of them when icy winds swept across the snowy plains and obscured everything around them. The dizzying snowflakes swirled, disorienting them. They had to dismount, unable to see the ground before them. The howling wind buffeted Jerrol as he blindly staggered forward, until he tripped over a pile of discarded supplies and landed on one of the tent’s guy ropes, pulling the canvas down with him.
Voices rose in protest as Jerrol tried to disentangle himself. The sentry poked his head out, and Serenion knocked him out with a sharp jab of his staff. As Serenion eased the man’s limp body down onto the snow, Jerrol peered into the tent. About to push the unconscious guard inside, he paused when he heard a voice from inside that he thought he recognised.
“Landis?” he called.
Oscar Landis slowly sat up. “Who’s there?” he replied, straining to see in the gloom. His chains clanked, a dull echo as he moved.
“Haven,” Jerrol said, moving further in, knowing it was unlikely that any of the other prisoners would recognise him hooded and with a beard.
Landis gasped. “Commander Haven? What are you doing here? The last report we had said that you were dead.”
“Huh, don’t believe everything you hear. I could ask the same of you. What are you doing so far north?” he asked as he eased off his gloves and patted down the guard for the keys. Finding them, he unlocked the manacles around Landis’ wrists.
“We fell foul of a decoy, got sucked up the valley and cut off. They’ve been dragging us up here for the last three days or more.” Landis struggled to get his stiff fingers to work as Jerrol moved on to his ankles.
“Is anyone injured?”
“Nothing that some warmth and rest wouldn’t sort.”
“What happened to your boots?”
“They take them away every night, make sure we don’t try to run away.”
Jerrol passed the keys on to eager hands and crouched next to Landis. He could just make out the pale face of the man sitting next to him. Jerrol grinned, his teeth gleaming in the dull light. “I think I found your boots outside. They haven’t taken them far.” He leaned out of the tent and brushed the snow off the strange lumps he had tripped over. Sure enough, they were a pile of boots.
“We need to be quick. The storm is passing. I could use your help, but I am short of supplies myself; no food, not enough horses, and no extra weapons.”
“I’m sure we’ll find some, sir. They piled our swords on the wagon. Maybe they’re still there. The storm hit pretty quick; not much time to prepare anything.”
> Jerrol cast an eye over the men; they looked sunken-eyed and exhausted, though they were shedding their manacles fast enough; no one was dawdling. None of them had coats or cloaks. Landis was worst off, having been stripped off his jacket. Jerrol tugged the coat off the unconscious guard and handed it to the grateful Landis. The snow was beginning to thin, but it was still bitterly cold. Landis’ lips were blue, and the rest of the men were not better off.
“Let’s see if we can get you away before the snow eases.” He passed more boots inside and then went to check the wagon. Beneath the snow, he found a cloth-wrapped bundle and distributed the swords as the Vespirians came up behind him out of the gloom.
“At least the snow should cover our tracks,” he said, as Taurillion materialised out of the haze before them, Serenion close behind. Taurillion lifted an eyebrow; a silent question.
“Troops,” Jerrol muttered as he led them away from the village of Morstal continuing south, back the way Landis and his men had already come. It looked like another front was sweeping in behind and would keep the Elothians contained for a little while longer. He needed to get his men under cover if they were going to survive the night.
“Is that an Elothian uniform you’re wearing, Commander Haven?” Landis asked through chattering teeth. His blue eyes glinted with a touch of humour as he eyed Jerrol.
Jerrol grinned. “Captain of the Third Chevron, I’ll have you know.”
“That will be a story to hear,” Landis chuckled as the men muttered behind him passing on the news that it was Commander Haven who had rescued them. They straightened their backs and tried to look more alert.
Jerrol cast an eye at the heavy sky. “We have to find shelter; the front is almost on us. I’m sure there was a farm down here. We’re just not prepared for this weather,” he muttered under his breath, frantically trying to remember where the small farmsteads were on the map.
He struck off down a small track, following an instinct he wasn’t sure was his own, and sure enough, a small grey stone tower loomed ahead of him. He didn’t hesitate before opening the arched wooden door and pushing the men inside. “Up the stairs, don’t stop,” he called urgently as the snow began to fall again and the night closed in around them.
Fourteen men. Jerrol wondered where the rest of the unit was as he followed them up the spiral stairs. His fingers trailed the wall as he rose, the words filling his mind, ‘Welcome to the Tower of Asilirie. Ask and you shall receive. Rest your head, warm your body, replenish all before you leave.’
Jerrol entered the room at the top of the tower. The men were standing awkwardly along the wall, staring at the roaring fire and the strange Sentinals in disbelief. The room was much larger inside than it had appeared outside.
Ask, and you shall receive, he thought hopefully. “Landis, sit by the fire, you’re frozen.” He looked at the men, and chose those with the bluest lips to join the shivering captain. “There should be blankets and furs in here. Ah yes,” he said as he reached for the pile of thick fleeces stacked beside him.
“Wrap these around you; you need to get warm first,” he said, handing them out.
Landis was pushed towards the fire by his men; he was visibly shaking, and they wouldn’t listen to his protests. One side of his thin face was covered in colourful bruises, and his lip was split and swollen. Some of the other men sported similar contusions, though none were seriously injured. As the seats around the wooden table were taken, bowls appeared before them full of a hearty stew. “Eat. The Lady watches,” Jerrol said. Taurillion paused long enough to grab a mug of coffee before heading out on watch. Serenion stood watchful and alert.
Jerrol unfolded his map on the table and called Serenion over. “How far do you think we are from the Summer Palace?”
“A couple of hours, no more. The road follows the valley. To reach the Palace, we will have to cross the river. There are two crossings, one above and one below the palace; both will probably be guarded, but the northern crossing at Kerrit is nearest. The southern crossing is down near Tyrsil, quite a way south. Well,” Serenion paused, “that’s where it used to be.”
“From this map, I’d say it was still pretty much as you remembered. You take point in the morning, Taurillion will help break a trail. We’ll head for the northern crossing, a new unit fresh from Adeeron. That should get us up the approach, at least. Try to get some sleep; you get the early watch.”
“Yes, sir,” Serenion said and turned towards the fire.
The men slowly thawed. Their ragged uniforms steamed as the heat from the fire warmed the air, and full stomachs eased the worst aches. Bedrolls with more blankets appeared on the floor, and gradually, the men relaxed enough to hang their outer clothes up to dry and wrap themselves in the blankets. They were soon asleep.
Landis and Jerrol were the last seated at the wooden table, a bowl of stew before them.
“We give thanks to the Lady for all that we receive,” Jerrol said, before digging in.
“What has happened to you, Commander? I would never have recognised you in that uniform, nor with that beard.”
Jerrol scowled at his stew. “Many things have befallen me, too many to explain, but all will be well in the end.”
“What can we do to help?”
Jerrol stared at Landis bleakly. This unassuming captain had been in the thick of things ever since he had been assigned to help rescue Lady Alyssa from Lord Aaron of Deepwater, Alyssa and Jennery’s predecessor. After that, he and his men had been blooded at the battle with the Ascendants at the King’s Palace in Old Vespers. Since then, they had been on the frontline, defending Deepwater against the Elothians. Landis would be a handy man to have around. At least he looked like he was more comfortable now that his lips were pink, and he had stopped shaking. A blanket was tucked tightly around his narrow shoulders.
“I need to rescue someone from the Summer Palace,” he said.
Landis nodded. “And the plan?”
Jerrol smiled at Landis’ calm acceptance. “We walk up to the front door. Feel like joining the Third Chevron?” He pointed at the clothes hanging on the pegs; the winter uniform of the third chevron.
Landis’ grin widened as he inspected the uniforms. “Where did you get those? And all of this?” His hand indicated the sleeping men bundled in warm furs. Soft snores drifted on the air.
“The Lady Asilirie provides all. Lady Leyandrii’s sister watches over us tonight. Get your men to replenish the wood stock and water in the morning, will you?
“Elothia is fortunate in its Ladies. As you can see, they offer comfort and solace to those who ask, only many have forgotten as the time passes and these Towers are left untended and unseen. Fortunate for us, the Lady Marguerite knows where they all are and guides my feet. But enough of history. What happened to the rest of your men?”
Landis stiffened. “We were ambushed just south of Harstad. Lord Jennery had us guarding the East Bank to make sure they didn’t flank us into Stoneford. They have been driving sorties into the plantations for weeks, but this last one was more determined. I should have known better. They pulled us out of position and had us surrounded before we knew it. And then, instead of driving further in, they pulled back, taking us with them. I’m hoping the others managed to retreat, but the fighting was fierce, even if they didn’t take advantage of it. But why didn’t they? It doesn’t make sense.”
“I think the generals are just toying with us. They are severely undermanned and lack organisation. They have no supply chain behind the front. Look at how far they are taking you inland. All the way back to Adeeron.
“The Ascendants have them on a tight leash, and they are using the units to keep our forces occupied. I believe they are after Stoneford; the Watch Towers, in particular. So once you’ve helped me take the Summer Palace, I need you to report to Lord Jason and tell him so.
“There is a unit of the Third Chevron at Retarfu. Their troops are top-notch, so don’t underestimate them. Birlerion is with them.” He paused as Land
is exclaimed. “I know, don’t ask me how, but he is currently guarding the grand duke against the Ascendants. The second and fourth Chevrons are not so well trained but can bite just as well. The first is on its way to reinforce the front.
“The grand duke has no idea what is going on. He is young, untried, and completely browbeaten by the Ascendants and his generals. We are about to take one of the boots off his neck. Let’s hope it’s enough to help him breathe. If we can give the grand duke room to manoeuvre, he may be able to rein in his army.”
Landis nodded as his pinched face creased into a feral grin. “They won’t know what hit them nor where we came from.”
“Let’s try to keep it that way.”
38
Central Elothia
The next morning, they continued their journey south, following the river embedded in a deep gorge. The track wound along the cliff edge of the narrow river valley until it reached a point where a rockfall blocked their way and a makeshift bridge arched over what was now a rushing torrent. The water roared as it tumbled over the rocks; a white foaming mass that would charge towards Deepwater and smooth into the deep green water of the River Vesp.
“Captain, you can do this. The bridge is sturdy; it’s quite safe,” Taurillion reassured him.
Jerrol’s heart raced as he looked at the sheer drop below. He broke out in a sweat as he hesitated at the edge of the bridge; there were no railings or ropes to guard the edges, just the rough cut timber planks extending over the deep gorge. The tremors built in his limbs, and he drifted a couple of steps away.
Sentinals Justice: Book Three of the Sentinal Series Page 30