It was a beautiful day.
He brought his gaze back to Var’geris, who hadn’t moved.
“Var’geris. Look at yourself, see what you are doing.” He cleared his throat as his voice wavered.
“I know what I’m doing. If she is your heart, then you’ll do anything to save her, won’t you?” He shifted his grip and Taelia teetered on her toes, her hands gripping Var’geris’ arm.
Jerrol stilled as the gleam of a knife rested against Taelia’s pale skin. The world fell silent, not a breath of wind; even the trees were still, waiting expectantly.
Var’geris shattered the silence as he burst into laughter, his broad shoulders shaking. The knife pressed deeper, lined with red. “Your face!” Var’geris laughed louder. “If you could only see yourself; such fear, such determination, such indecision. You must know the outcome today can only go one way. You know you will do what I say. Inside,” his voice dropped, cold and serious, as he pointed the reddened knife towards the tower.
The guards pushed Jerrol towards the small wooden door at the base of the tower, and he reached for the black iron ring. It tingled under his hand, and the door opened smoothly. He was confronted by deep stone steps leading up in a spiral and downwards into shadow.
“Up,” Var’geris commanded from behind him. “Wait here. Make sure no one disturbs us,” he said to the guards as he followed with Taelia still in his grasp.
Jerrol rested his hand on the wall as he climbed the steep steps. Narrow windows relieved the darkness. His fingers trailing over the wall felt indentations and grooves; the wall was engraved. As he climbed, the words filled his mind.
Welcome to the Tower of Teranna. The Mother blesses you and all of Remargaren. Ask and you will receive.
Jerrol reached the end of the stairs and entered the room. There was no roof. It was open to the skies. He turned and watched Var’geris enter behind him, moving further into the room as he saw the blood running down Taelia’s neck. He swallowed against the fear that coursed through him. The room was empty but for a chair in the corner and a coil of rope on the floor.
“Kneel,” Var’geris commanded.
Jerrol knelt.
“What do you hope to achieve by this, Var’geris? No one needs to get hurt,” Jerrol said as Var’geris came towards him. He struggled to stay still, his instincts driving him to launch himself at Var’geris’ neck, but the knife was still biting into Taelia’s throat, and he stayed where he was.
“Tie his arms behind him,” Var’geris instructed Taelia, shifting the blade as he moved her behind Jerrol. Taelia’s fingers trembled as she tugged Jerrol’s arms behind him. Jerrol gripped her hand as Taelia struggled with the rope; her fingers were cold, so very cold.
Var’geris moved Taelia into Jerrol’s view. Her expression was determined, her jaw firm as if she was gritting her teeth. She was trying to work her fingers under his arm but he tightened his grip and she hung on to him to keep her balance.
“Now what?”
“You know what. Shred the Veil,” Var’geris said, his voice calm and reasonable.
“You know I can’t.”
“Not even to save her life?”
Jerrol eased his shoulders as his mind raced. Taelia had done her job too well. His heart rate rocketed as he fumbled the slender hair clip she had slipped into his palm and rotating it, he levered it open. Who would have known he would be the one in need, instead of her. He was just glad he had given her the hair clip in the first place. He began to saw at the rope.
“The Lady no longer sits at my shoulder,” he said as he glanced up at the blue sky. The criss-cross of the grid tracing the air above him made his words a lie, and he began to sweat. “How did you find this place?”
“We’ve had plenty of time to search. We knew there had to be such a tower to the Lady here in Elothia; after all, it was once all one, as it will be again.” Var’geris’ eyes glittered. He looked down at Jerrol. “Shred it or the girl dies.”
Jerrol strained to snap the rope as the knife bit deeper into Taelia’s neck. Ruby red blood ran down her pale skin, the metallic tang sharp in the air. Her back was arched unnaturally against the tall man’s chest.
“Is this your idea? Where did Tor’asion go? I’m surprised he’s not here to finish the job.” Jerrol taunted the Ascendant, his voice so sharp it should cut the ropes binding him. Taelia waited.
“Attacking you will not work. Your threshold for pain is quite surprising. If you can withstand mutilation, thumping you a bit isn’t going to make that much difference, is it? But challenge your protective streak and what do you get? So, I found your weakness. Shred the veil. I won’t ask again.” Var’geris shifted the blade against Taelia’s throat, the cold steel biting her skin as he drew it across her neck. Taelia flinched and hissed through her gritted teeth. She struggled against his hold, but the Ascendants grip was like a vice.
Taelia sucked her breath in as the Ascendant repeated the action. Her neck was coated in red, stark against her paling skin, the cloying scent of her blood filled his nose. The blade scored her skin for a third time and Taelia gripped Var’geris’ arm and tried to twist out of his grip.
“Stop,” Jerrol gasped. “Just stop.” The agony of each bite of the knife was like it scored his own skin. He couldn’t keep his anguish out of his voice, and he knew Taelia would hear it. He made his decision as more blood ran down her throat and soaked into her robe.
“Shred it.”
Jerrol gave Var’geris a vicious glare, he would make him pay for this, but he kept his voice soft as he spoke. “Taelia, all will be well,” he said as he reached for the Veil and ripped it apart.
“Jerrol, no,” Taelia shouted. She took a deep breath and stamped on the side of Var’geris’ foot, he flinched and she dropped her body, all her dead weight pulling the Ascendant off balance and she pushed hard as they careened into the wall behind them. Var’geris loosened his grip in surprise and Taelia squirmed away. Jerrol tossed the rope aside and barged into Var’geris.
Taelia rolled out of the way, desperately scrabbling for a weapon as Jerrol and Var’geris grappled on the floor. The chair skittered away as they rolled into it. Taelia followed the sound and, grabbing the chair, hovered, trying to discern who was who.
“Now,” Jerrol grunted as Var’geris heaved his body above Jerrol’s and Taelia smashed the chair down as hard as she could.
Var’geris roared and spun, his knife skimming the air and across her exposed side. Taelia staggered away from the knife’s bite as Jerrol cried out. “No!” He desperately wrapped the rope around Var’geris’ neck, trying to get a purchase as the larger man struggled beneath him. Var’geris snarled and twisted, forcing Jerrol to release the rope.
They rolled near Taelia as she swayed and then crumpled to the floor, her robes reddening with horrific speed. Var’geris rose, his knife poised, and Jerrol launched himself at him, gripping his wrist, forcing it down. He twisted Var’geris’ wrist and came up with the knife, and in one smooth thrust, buried it in Var’geris’ rib cage. He tried to pull the knife back out but it was stuck hard.
Var’geris howled in agony and curled in on himself as Jerrol scuttled over to Taelia on all fours, his chest heaving desperately as he gathered her in his arms. He pressed his hand hard against the wound, trying to stem the flow of blood, begging the Lady, Marguerite, anyone, for help, but the blood seeped around his hand in a never-ending draining of life.
“Taelia,” he whispered as he rocked her in his arms. “I am so sorry. I should never have brought you to Elothia.”
Taelia stared up at him, her blood-stained hand reaching for his face as the light faded from her brilliant eyes.
50
Stoneford Front, Vespiri
King Benedict stared out over the battlefield and scowled. Their east flank was guarded by the Stanton mountains and gave some protection to the Watch Towers from the north. The threat would come from the north-west, but there was no sign of it yet.
The ope
n plain was a killing field. Although Jason had reassured him that they had a few surprises ready, he was not convinced it would be enough. They had no fallback position. The battlefield was open all the way to Stoneford itself. There was no protection.
Jennery was already engaged in the Vesp valley, trying to block advances from the north-west through the open river plain. Reports had already started to arrive. They were holding, but for how long? The Elothians had to begin advancing soon, especially if they expected to take the Watch Towers. They had to neutralise Stoneford first; it was the only way to gain access.
He stopped frowning at the horizon as Fonorion appeared beside him. “We have movement on the west flank, Your Majesty. We need to move to the rear.”
“I need to see what is happening,” the king protested.
Fonorion shook his head. “We are too exposed. There is no point making you a needless target. We can’t afford to put you at risk.”
“The men need to see me.”
“They do not need to see you fall,” Fonorion said. “They have seen you. They know you are here, and they will fight to their deaths for you. Let that be enough.” Fonorion was determined.
“Any word from Commander Haven?”
“Not yet. Birlerion and Yaserille will find him, Your Majesty.”
“I shouldn’t have agreed to it,” King Benedict said, staring past Fonorion.
Fonorion shrugged. “You use the tools you have. It was the only thing you could do. We have to fight them on all fronts; we can’t let them destroy our world.”
“I know, I just wish … never mind, where are you taking me?”
“Stoneford for now, Your Majesty.”
Fonorion led the king back down from the plateau and behind the lines of soldiers waiting to advance. Sentinals were strategically positioned throughout the ranks, and many a soldier had surreptitiously inspected the tall, heavily armed men and women and straightened in pride to be standing beside such warriors. Surely, the Lady was with them. Archers were positioned behind hastily dug earth mounds, ready to fire swathes of lethal arrows.
Fonorion nodded to Adilion, standing beside the reserves, trying to hold the men together. He kept the king moving. If he decided to stay there would be little Fonorion could do about it except grit his teeth and try to defend him.
Tower of Teranna, Elothia
Birlerion veered into the stables and saddled Zin’talia. The images of the Tower of Teranna tumbled in his mind, giving him an idea. Leading Zin’talia through the courtyard and out of the main gate, he met Yaserille nervously pacing near the waystone.
“Hurry up, Birlerion. I thought you were behind me.”
Birlerion’s eyebrows rose. “Where were you intending on going? There is no waystone near Teranna.”
Yaserille froze, the blood draining from her face. “I never thought …”
“Yet,” Birlerion finished as he drew the Captain’s sword. Flickers of blue light traced the blade and it hummed in Birlerion’s hand.
“You can create waystones?” Yaserille asked, backing away from the shining sword.
“It seems so.” Birlerion gripped the sword tighter and swirled it above his head, concentrating on the sparks of energy pooling around the tip. He pictured the Tower of Teranna and commanded the waystone to coalesce outside the grey stone walls. Staggering as the energy released him, Birlerion inhaled as a rich ringing chime called to him.
“Did it work?” Yaserille asked, wringing her hands
“Sounds like it,” he replied. Leading Zin’talia towards the waystone, he reached out and clasped Yaserille’s arm. “Let’s see shall we?” he said with an impish grin and stepped into the waystone before she could release her squawk of protest.
They appeared outside the ruins of a grey stone tower guarded by two soldiers who gaped at them. It must have seemed like they manifested out of thin air, Birlerion supposed, but it gave Yaserille enough time to rush them.
Zin’talia’s concerned voice filled his head. “Hurry, Jerrol believes Taelia is dead. He won’t listen to me. He is blocking me out.”
“Keep trying,” he replied as he raced into the tower, Yaserille having drawn both guards away from the wooden door. He braced himself against the wall as the tower trembled and understood Zin’talia’s concern.
Birlerion stumbled into the chamber and his heart quailed at so much blood. His glance took in the dark mound lying to one side as he skidded onto his knees beside Jerrol, who was numbly rocking back and forth, tears streaming down his face.
“Jerrol?” Birlerion tried to ease his grip on Taelia, but Jerrol tightened his embrace and began keening. “Jerrol, let me see her.”
“It’s all my fault,” Jerrol moaned, his eyes wide with fear, his face bruised and strained. Birlerion hissed his breath out at the sight of him. He was battered and bloody, his clothes torn. Taelia was bleeding out in his arms, the red stain on her robes spreading as he watched.
“No, it isn’t. Let go of her.”
“Never,” he hissed, folding over Taelia.
“It will be your fault if you don’t let me see to her,” Birlerion snapped as the building began to tremble. “Control your emotions, Jerrol. Now is not the time. If you don’t control yourself, you will collapse this tower.” Birlerion glanced around in concern and then down back at Taelia.
“If not now, when?” Jerrol asked, anguish in his voice, his face drenched in tears.
“When she is actually dead,” Birlerion replied, his voice cutting.
Jerrol relaxed his grip in shock. “What?”
“She’s still bleeding; we need to staunch the wound. Help me.” Birlerion tugged Taelia out of Jerrol’s nerveless grasp.
“What?” Jerrol said again, an expression of hope warring with despair on his face.
“She’s not dead, you idiot.”
“Var’geris stabbed her.”
Birlerion concentrated on padding the wound. “Looks like he sliced her, not stabbed.”
Jerrol smoothed Taelia’s curls off her pale face. “But she’s so cold.”
“Shock, I expect,” Birlerion muttered, shrugging out of his jacket and covering Taelia. “Keep her warm. Yaserille will be here soon.”
“But the baby,” Jerrol began, as he clasped Taelia close.
“Don’t even go there,” Birlerion said, gripping his shoulder. “One step at a time. Let’s help Taelia; she will look after the baby.”
Birlerion gently cupped Taelia’s face, “Taelia, can you hear me?” Her eyes fluttered open and closed again. “Taelia, I need you to walk to Marianille.”
“What?” Jerrol jerked upright.
“We need to get her to a healer. The fastest way is for her to transition herself.”
“Transition?”
“Yes, that’s what she’s been doing. Leyandrii used to do it. She could transfer people from one place to another. Leyandrii had Guerlaire create the waystones as she wasn’t always available. The Ascendants have developed a version of it, they’ve figured out how to transfer themselves. It’s all based on the same core magic.”
Jerrol stared at him. “Can you do it?”
Birlerion huffed out a laugh and shook his head. “Taelia!”
Taelia stirred in Jerrol’s arms. “Sweetheart?” Jerrol whispered. “I need you to find Marianille.”
Taelia stared up at him, her eyes glazed with pain and confusion, and he kissed her. “Love? You need to go to Marianille; she will help you.” Taelia blinked, her eyes clearing.
“Jerrol? Are you alright?” She cupped his face and he turned his head so he could kiss her palm.
“I’m fine. I’m so sorry Tali. I never meant for you to get hurt. This is my fault.” He rested his face in her palm and tried not to weep.
Taelia laughed and then winced. “Always blaming yourself,” she whispered.
Jerrol grimaced. “Do you think you can transition to Marianille? That would be the quickest way for you to reach help.”
“Transition?”
“That walking through air thing you do.”
“What about you?”
“I need to clear up here.”
“I suppose so. Can you help me stand?” She gritted her teeth as Jerrol helped her upright and she leaned against him. “I don’t think I can take you with me.”
“Concentrate on yourself. Birlerion and I will use the waystone.” Jerrol held her until she began to shimmer and she disappeared.
Birlerion glanced out the narrow slit in the wall and saw Yaserille dragging the guards’ bodies aside. Zin’talia watched her with interest, her ears pointed forward. Turning back to the room, he approached the silent mound by the wall. Reluctantly, Birlerion used his foot to roll Var’geris over onto his back. He had died angry, his mouth was drawn back in a hideous grin. Grimacing, he knelt and searched the body. The knife was well and truly lodged under his breastbone and wouldn’t budge. Jerrol had driven it with such anger, Birlerion was surprised it hadn’t come out the other side.
Removing a wad of papers from an inside pocket, he took his findings back to a table that had appeared in the centre of the room. Two chairs sat beside it and a glass fronted lantern sat on top. He turned up the wick on the lantern and thanked the Mother.
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Jerrol said, as he joined him, his voice tinged with exhaustion.
“No,” Birlerion agreed.
“I should have shredded the Veil when he first demanded it, and this would never have happened.”
“You don’t know that,” Birlerion replied, skimming the documents. He unfolded a map and inspected it. “Ah,” he murmured. “Here we are, Oprimere.” He pushed the map towards Jerrol, but Jerrol ignored it.
“I saw the way in. I could have done what he asked. Why did I wait?”
“It wouldn’t have stopped him.”
“I waited too long,” Jerrol said, looking up. His face was stiff, his eyes cold.
Sentinals Justice: Book Three of the Sentinal Series Page 39