He shook his head. He was an idiot. What had he expected to happen? Did he really think a man would step out of the tree?
The sentinal stood as it had for the last century and more. Records stated that the temple had been buried beneath the land for nearly three thousand years, and all that time the sentinal had been sheltering it. As the soil was excavated and the temple revealed, the sentinal had slowly straightened, its pointed leaves reaching for the sky. It was one of many sentinals scattered across Remargaren, though the only one in Old Vespers.
Deep in thought, Jerrol paused at the entrance of the Chapterhouse; after a fleeting glance back at the temple, he entered and approached the duty scholar.
“History of the Sentinals? First floor, section twelve. You won’t find much though. No one’s been able to explain them,” the duty scholar said, pointing the way.
Jerrol leaned back in his chair and scrunched his face up. His eyes were sore from trying to decipher the faded text in the oldest document he could find. According to the dusty journal, the Lady Leyandrii had called forth her Sentinals in 1122, and nearly one hundred men and women had responded, committing their lives to her. Then she had dispersed them throughout Remargaren. She had kept an arm at the palace. An arm? He frowned at the unfamiliar term and returned to the parchment, searching for references to an arm.
He stilled as he read the list of twelve strange names that comprised the "arm": the Sentinals posted to the Lady’s Palace. His breath hissed out as he found what he was searching for. The name he had heard for the first time only a few hours earlier. “Birlerion,” he whispered.
As Jerrol returned to the barracks, his mind was spinning. Questions spangled off one another, and there were no ready answers. He wasn’t sure if the Lady had spoken to him, or if he had imagined her and the man. Could a man exist within a tree for three thousand years? And if he could, why had he awoken now? And a more disturbing thought, were there others?
Chapter 2
Rangers Garrison, Old Vespers
It was much later by the time he slept, and early when a tapping woke him from a dream about the Sentinals, the Lady’s Guard. Tall, silver-eyed men and women lost when the Lady banished all magic from the world, immortalised by the silver-trunked trees which had appeared overnight in their place. The Sentinals awaited his command.
A young page in palace livery stood outside his door, a missive in his hand. “Captain Haven? Message for you.”
Jerrol pushed his hair out of his face and flipped open the note. The page waited, trying to suppress a yawn. The King expected his presence in the throne room, immediately. As he dressed, he speculated on why King Benedict of Vespiri was granting an audience at this late hour. The page led him to the dimly lit courtyard, where horses waited patiently in the darkness.
On arrival at the palace, a sleepy groom took his horse, and the page led Jerrol through the silent corridors to the throne room. King Benedict was already seated on his throne when Jerrol arrived, which was unusual. He was also unattended.
Behind the King, engraved in the wall, were the words of the King’s Oath. The oath that bound the King to the Lady and the Land, and the protection of his people. A gleaming mosaic of a sentinal tree and a crescent moon covered the floor.
Jerrol entered and knelt before the King. He bowed his head, waiting for permission to rise. It didn’t come, and he remained kneeling, getting stiffer as the minutes passed. He swallowed; was the King that angry with him? He reported what he found. It was not his fault if it wasn’t what the King wanted to hear.
As he continued to wait, he realised the King was muttering to himself, but he couldn’t make out the words. The mosaic floor began to burn his knee, and he squirmed into a more comfortable position, but it didn’t help.
He hadn’t seen the King for a few weeks; his last report had not been received well, and the King had not been pleased. Discreetly peering up at the King, Jerrol could see those few weeks had not been kind to him. He looked as if he had lost weight, and Jerrol’s frown deepened in concern.
“Do your Duty. Never Falter. Never Fail.”
Jerrol jerked his head up as the first line of the King’s Oath rang around the throne room. He inhaled sharply as the words vibrated in the air. Was the King trying to invoke the Oath?
He stared at the King, noting now how dishevelled he appeared. King Benedict was usually immaculate no matter the hour, but now his shirt was wrinkled, his brown hair looked as if he had dragged his hands through it a few times, and his face was lined and pale. He mumbled under his breath; he seemed agitated and not quite himself.
Jerrol held his breath as King Benedict’s unwavering eyes stared into his. The King rambled about oaths, the King’s Oath in particular. He kept changing topics: he talked about the Watches and his responsibility, and then back round to his Oath before he veered off talking about his concern for the guardians, the tall Sentinal trees that were located across Vespiri. The King struggled with himself, and then he spoke again. “Lady, Land and Liege obey.”
Jerrol gasped out loud, recognising the second line of the oath. The King’s eyes bore into his as he gripped the arms of his throne. He looked, dare Jerrol say it, a bit desperate. The King was rambling about time when he cut himself off and started to speak the
