Sentinals Justice: Book Three of the Sentinal Series

by Helen Garraway

  “Well, I think the ambassador could have at least reinstated you as a captain,” she said with a laugh, relieved that Jerrol hadn’t been surrounded by strangers all these months.

  Guin’yyfer suddenly stiffened beside her. “Owen? Is that you? What are you doing in a Chevron uniform?”

  “Owen?” Taelia’s head swung around. “Your brother? Owen, have you been with Jerrol all along?”

  Owen frowned at his sister. “And why shouldn’t I be in a Chevron?”

  “Because you always said soldiering was for fools and you had better things to do,” Guin’yyfer replied dryly. “How did they manage to snare you?”

  “I joined at the same time as Finn,” he said, glaring at his sister.

  Yaserille gave a bark of laughter. “You mean you were conscripted.”

  Owen had the grace to blush, and Landis chuckled. “Well, he may have been conscripted, but he is the head of your security now, my lady. He was Captain Finn’s second.”

  “So the grand duke needs to make you a captain, then, Lieutenant Owen?” Taelia suggested.

  “He already did,” Owen responded, rolling his eyes.

  Taelia laughed as she heard the disgust in his voice. “Well, we will leave you to your work, gentlemen. We are off to visit the Lady’s temple. Captain Landis, I truly am glad to know that you and your men are here.”

  “It’s lieutenant, Scholar, just a lieutenant,” Landis replied with a laugh.

  “You know, it’s probably good that we only have one captain,” Guin’yyfer’s voice faded as they walked down the corridor. “At least we know who we are talking about.”

  45

  Grand Duke’s Study, Summer Palace

  Randolf paced in front of Jerrol in agitation. “Benedict has moved to Stoneford bringing reinforcements. A direct response to my army’s posturing. I’ve lost control of my generals, and I don’t know how to stop them.”

  “It’s not completely their fault. The Ascendants have the power to control minds; they persuade people to do what they want. They use Mentiserium, and it is tough to resist without help.” Jerrol looked at the worried man before him. “Who do you trust?”

  Randolf looked at him. “You?”

  Jerrol laughed and gave him a slight bow. “Thank you for your vote of confidence, Your Grace, but who else is amongst your trusted advisors? Who would you promote to general if you had to fill the position?”

  “Apart from Captain Finn? He is sorely missed, you know.” Randolf sighed as he frowned in thought. “I would bring Henrik out of retirement. My father trusted him completely, and he isn’t that old.”

  “Good. Who else?”

  “Maybe transfer the Interior Minister, Janssen. He is a good man and an excellent organiser.”

  “Do it then, Your Grace.”

  “But they’re not going to believe me. The generals have done their warmongering well.”

  “You are the grand duke; explain your rationale. You received an ambassador from King Benedict, offering a peaceful resolution. Any sensible person would prefer that to war. And anyway, if they are as intelligent as you say, they will know that Benedict doesn’t want Elothia.”

  “Why wouldn’t he?”

  Jerrol laughed as the grand duke took offence. “He doesn’t have enough hours in the day to manage the countries he already has, let alone another. He was furious when I annexed Terolia for him.”

  “Why didn’t he give it back then?”

  “Because the Families asked him to honour the accords. They knew they were vulnerable and needed protection. They knew about the Oath.”

  “The Oath?”

  “The King’s Oath. He is bound by the Lady and the Land to protect his people. The Guardians complete the circle and protect Remargaren. The Lady gave us life, and her guardians to protect us. The Land offers us sustenance. The king provides the safety to live our lives.” Jerrol smiled at the grand duke. “Randolf,” he said. “You have Lady Guin’yyfer, Marguerite’s Guardian. She is the link between your rule and the Land; embrace it, understand it. She will guide you well. Propagate the belief in your people and your country will thrive.”

  “But that won’t stop the generals.”

  “Give your people the power to stop them, Your Grace. Position them above the generals. The generals need to be removed; they are lost, but the rest of your army isn’t. A very wise man once said to me that we can’t save everyone, but we should do our best to save the ones that we can.”

  The grand duke stared at him.

  “Trust your instincts, Your Grace. Those you trust will have men and women they trust, your reach will grow, and they will enact your will. You will get your power back, and I am quite sure you won’t let it go again.”

  “By the Lady, you are right. Thank you, Ambassador, for your wise advice.”

  “My pleasure, Your Grace.” Jerrol bowed himself out of the grand duke’s presence and, collecting Birlerion, led him to the library. He turned and waited for Birlerion to shut the door.

  They stared at each other across the room, and Jerrol exhaled. “Birlerion, please forgive me. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

  “Captain, don’t. You don’t have to do this.”

  “Yes, I think I do. You are like a brother to me. You are family. I sometimes forget that I have a responsibility of care as much as you do. I should take more care of you. What you have been through, are still going through, is because of me. You don’t remember me, or what happened to us, yet you act as if I am your Captain. I don’t deserve that.”

  Birlerion sighed and moving away from the door, he spread his hands. “I’m sure Leyandrii had a good reason for all that happened.” He smiled grimly. “I know she never intended us to suffer what we did, but she can’t control everything, much as she would like to.” He cleared his throat. “I believe this is yours,” he said, beginning to unbuckle his sword belt.

  Jerrol grinned and stayed his hand. “I keep losing it. I think you will look after it better than I,” he said. “I think you may make better use of it.”

  Birlerion shook his head, unsheathed and handed the sword to Jerrol. As Jerrol gripped the hilt, a flash of blue light shot down the blade and Birlerion shuddered. He jerked back, releasing the sword and staggered as his memories cascaded into his brain. He gasped for breath as he tried to assimilate them.

  Jerrol leapt to catch him, cushioning Birlerion’s head as he collapsed to the floor. His eyes rolled back in his head. Embracing his friend, Jerrol beseeched the Lady to help her faithful Sentinal. Birlerion had already suffered enough, he didn’t need to lose his family and friends a second time.

  As Birlerion’s eyelids fluttered, Jerrol prayed he would wake in full possession of his memories and able to accept all that had happened. He would not be surprised if Birlerion struggled. Awakening to the knowledge that his family had died three thousand years before was going to be a painful memory.

  Molten silver eyes stared up at him, swirling with a moonlit glow before they settled, and a fleeting expression of anguish and loss was replaced by resigned acceptance.

  “I’m so sorry,” Jerrol whispered as he rocked Birlerion in his arms. His own intense experience of regaining his memories overwhelming him.

  Birlerion cleared his throat. “None of it was your fault,” he said and sat up out of Jerrol’s embrace. He rested his head in his hands for a moment.

  Jerrol rose, observing him in concern. He had no idea how Birlerion would react. “Do you remember being a Sentinal?”

  Birlerion twisted his lips. “I remember everything. It’s giving me a headache.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jerrol said again.

  “For what? You woke me. I should be thanking you.”

  Jerrol gaped at him. “How do you feel? It’s a bit of a shock I know.” He hesitated and then said, “I’m so sorry, Birlerion. If I listened to you, we wouldn’t get into so many scrapes that you have to get us out of.”

  “That’s what I’m here for. I
would prefer to be awake. To be living, experiencing every moment instead of sleeping the centuries away.” Birlerion winced. “Well, maybe not every moment.”

  Running his hands through his hair, Jerrol began pacing across the room. “I’m so used to everyone expecting me to have the answer, to know everything, to be the one making the decisions that I don’t always pay attention when I should.”

  Regaining his feet, Birlerion sat in the nearest chair. He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them again as he said, “You can’t change that, Jerrol. You are the Captain and you must make decisions. You can’t falter, I know that. I also know that you will listen in the end. You are not Guerlaire, thank the Lady, who would never listen to anyone. You don’t need to change, and I know you will listen to me when it matters.”

  “But it was my fault you ended up in Adeeron, and I know there is much more that happened there than you are saying. I saw you there, remember? I saw what they did to you, your injuries.” Jerrol stopped, his throat thick with emotion.

  Birlerion rose and gripped his arm. “It’s over, forgotten. We survived. We move on.”

  “It’s not. I’m sorry Birlerion, it is not in me to leave my men to fight my battles. It was my fault; my error thinking that we could cope without guards. I am to blame.”

  Birlerion’s grip on his arms tightened. “It’s not your fault. You’re not to blame for any of this, not Terolia, not Adeeron, not now. If anything, I failed you. Look what they did to you.”

  Jerrol shifted restlessly. “I put you in that position. You were against impossible odds.”

  “We didn’t know, Jerrol.”

  “We should have known.”

  “Yes, we should have known. We learn from our mistakes. I followed you. I didn’t think that the Ascendants would have taken over the rangers. It is not your fault. You can’t take the blame for everything. You’re overreacting, Jerrol.”

  “I know. But I should have listened to you about Torsion. You were right.”

  “You knew him for a long time; you trusted him. He hid it well.”

  “He was my mentor. He shaped most of my life. With what I now know, I’m amazed I turned out so well. Even from the beginning, he was twisting everything.” Jerrol broke away and sat down, clenching his fingers in his hair.

  He exhaled and looked up. “When I was a kid, I killed a man,” Jerrol said, his voice low. “He was attacking Taelia. I was just trying to protect her; I didn’t mean to kill him. I was trying to stop him.” He faltered and then continued. “The man I killed was her father. Torsion joked about it, you know, said I was a cold-blooded killer, starting young, that I had taken her family from her. I was only a kid.”

  Jerrol paused. “It made me want to learn how to fight so that I would know how not to kill a man. Instead, I learnt how to kill in more ways than I can say.” Jerrol’s voice was devoid of emotion as he continued. “And now I am in a position where I could put even more men and women in harm’s way. And I do. I put you in harm’s way; you could have died, Birlerion.”

  “But I didn’t.”

  There was a moment of silence, and Jerrol closed his eyes. It was broken as Birlerion stirred. “I killed my father,” he said, moving away and staring blindly out the window.

  “What?” Jerrol’s eyes flew open as he hastily suppressed his gasp. The dull light entering through the window leached the colour from Birlerion’s skin. He stood as still as one of Randolf’s marble statues in the halls below them, barely breathing.

  “At Adeeron, it brought it all back. I thought I was back in that time. I remember it as if it was yesterday. My mother died when I was a kid; six or seven, I think. My father took to the bottle, his way of dealing with it, I guess, but he was a vicious drunk, so I ran away. Lived on the streets,” Birlerion said as if it meant nothing, “until Guerlaire found me and sponsored me into the cadets.”

  Jerrol made a soft sound of encouragement just to let Birlerion know he was listening. Birlerion shifted uncomfortably. “I was just skin and bone when I arrived at the garrison. They tried to feed me up. Of course, I just threw it all back up again, not used to it. I’d never seen so much food all at once,” he said with a slight smile; the smile faded. “Serill said I hadn’t been living on the streets; I was dying on the streets. He was right, of course.” Birlerion’s face was stark with memories.

  “There was a faction led by a man called Clary, Dominant Clary, that believed only those with ancient lineage, those with family names should be in the cadets. He always said I wasn’t good enough, no respected family, a gutter rat. My existence seemed to annoy him. The fact that Leyandrii supported me galled him even more, he couldn’t stand it. They tried to get Serill expelled; me, they just tried to kill, even after Warren and Melis formally adopted me into their family.” His face softened. “To have a family that loves you is a blessing.”

  “So Tagerill and Marianille are truly your family,” Jerrol murmured, enlightened.

  Birlerion smiled. “His parents said they adopted me from the first moment they saw me. They always said I was the making of Tage.” He laughed, flushing. Jerrol was glad to see some colour return to his face. The scar bisecting his eyebrow stood out, and Jerrol remembered the ugly wound when he had first seen him at Adeeron.

  “But it wasn’t enough. I was seen as worthless by those who thought they knew better. I got in their way. The Lady accepted me, and that wasn’t right.” He took a deeper breath. “They paid my father to waylay me. He tried to kill me with my own sword. He stabbed me with it whilst they held me down. For money.” His voice was deathly quiet, and Jerrol strained to hear him. “I killed him instead. I thought that made me a cold-blooded killer. Good for nothing. No one would want to know me.” His voice trailed off into silence; his shoulders were stiff, his back rigid. Jerrol saw the gleam of tears in his eyes.

  “But you defended yourself; you had no choice,” Jerrol said, desperate to ease the anguish in his friend’s face. He flexed his aching fingers. He had unconsciously clenched them into a fist.

  Birlerion turned towards him, his eyes bright. “As did you. You were but a child, defending an innocent girl. You did what you had to do. You protected someone who couldn’t protect themselves. It doesn’t make you a cold-blooded killer. It makes you someone prepared to put another’s safety before your own, a Lady’s guard, a Sentinal.”

  Jerrol stared at him for a moment in silence. “It’s a hard lesson to learn,” he said, eventually.

  “I know,” Birlerion replied, turning back to the window.

  He stiffened when Jerrol gripped his shoulder. “Thank you,” Jerrol said, turning Birlerion towards him and gripping his other shoulder. “Maybe we can help each other remember that we are not to blame.” He gave Birlerion a little shake. “I promise I’ll listen. I’ll take more care.”

  Birlerion’s lips twitched. “Just help me keep you alive. That will be enough,” he said, his voice gruff.

  Jerrol embraced him, and Birlerion hugged him back. “Thank you,” Jerrol said as he released him, his colour a little heightened. He offered his sword to Birlerion. “Keep it safe. You’ll make better use of it than I will.”

  Birlerion silently accepted it and Jerrol wasn’t surprised when the sword began to glow in his hands. Birlerion stood staring at the sword and a flicker of blue silhouetted him for a moment and he relaxed as it sank into him, smiling as he accepted the Lady’s blessing.

  Throat tightening, Jerrol watched. It felt like an intrusion, but Jerrol couldn’t tear his gaze away. The raw emotion on Birlerion’s face as the Lady embraced him, tore at his heart. The pain Birlerion had suffered, deprived of the Lady’s love because of him. Jerrol wasn’t sure he would have coped as well as Birlerion had.

  Clearing his throat and hesitant to interrupt the moment, Jerrol said, “We’ll be here for a few days. Take some time, spend it with Marianille. You’re due it. You’re due so much more.”

  Birlerion shook his head. “You need me.”

&nb
sp; “Yes, I will need you. It will get worse before it gets better, so, Birlerion, don’t make me order you. Take the time you can get. We will all need to be at our very best.”

  Birlerion stared at Jerrol before nodding. “You may be right,” he said quietly, before sheathing the sword and turning to look out the window as Jerrol left.

  46

  Lady’s Temple, Summer Palace

  Jerrol went in search of his wife. He traced her to the Lady’s temple and taking a deep breath, entered the vaulted chamber. He sighed as he felt nothing. The Lady wasn’t here. He had a feeling, or at least he hoped, she was still with Birlerion. Dust motes swirled in the beam of light slanted across the small nave as he crossed in front of the altar decorated with white lilies; the gentle perfume permeated the air and eased his spirit. He followed the muffled sound of voices coming from a far corner.

  Stone spiral steps led down. He paused on the steps as Taelia’s voice floated up to him.

  “I’ll tell him tomorrow.”

  “No, Taelia, you have to tell him now; if you don’t, I will.” Yaserille’s voice was determined.

  “Can’t we have one more day? He’s so happy, finally relaxed. We’ve had so little time together.”

  “Taelia, you can’t keep something of this magnitude from him.”

  Guin’yyfer’s voice interrupted them. “But how do you know it refers to Jerrol?”

  Jerrol spoke above them. “Keep what from me?” His heart clenched as Taelia flinched and Yaserille and Guin’yyfer melted away after one look at his face.

  “Sweetheart, keep what from me? You know you can tell me anything.” Jerrol descended the remaining steps as Yaserille dragged Marianille up the stairs and out of earshot. He grasped Taelia’s hands and pulled her into his arms.

  “It’s not fair; why does it always have to be you?” Taelia’s voice was muffled as she pressed her face into his chest.