Copyright © 2020 by Helen Garraway
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without express written permission of the author.
Published by Jerven Publishing
Cover by Jeff Brown Graphics
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organisations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used it. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
eBook ISBN: 978-1-8381559-0-2
Print ISBN: 978-1-8381559-1-9
Hardback: 978-1-8381559-2-6
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First Edition
For my Mum
Margaret
I miss you every day
Contents
1. Lady’s Temple Gardens, Old Vespers
2. Rangers Garrison, Old Vespers
3. Old Vespers
4. Greenswatch
5. Marchwood Watch
6. Greenswatch
7. The Grove, Greenswatch
8. Black Hen, Greenswatch
9. Black Hen, Greenswatch
10. The Grove, Greenswatch
11. Chapterhouse, Old Vespers
12. Deepwater Watch
13. Greenswatch
14. Chapterhouse, Old Vespers
15. Greenswatch
16. Chapterhouse, Old Vespers
17. Deepwater Watch
18. Stoneford Watch
19. Stoneford Keep, Stoneford Watch
20. Stoneford Keep, Stoneford Watch
21. Stoneford Keep, Stoneford Watch
22. Stoneford Keep, Stoneford Watch
23. Velmouth, Stoneford Watch
24. Stoneford Keep, Stoneford Watch
25. Watch Towers, Stoneford Watch
26. Greenswatch
27. Greenswatch
28. Watch Towers, Stoneford Watch
29. Stoneford Watch
30. Greenswatch
31. Greenswatch
32. Greenswatch
33. Greenswatch
34. Old Vespers
35. Chapterhouse, Old Vespers
36. Old Vespers
37. New Vespers
38. Old Vespers
Acknowledgements
Letter from the Author
Chapter 1
Lady’s Temple Gardens, Old Vespers
The sword missed his nose by an inch, if that. A momentary relief as solid steel thunked into the ground and Jerrol jerked back like a snake about to strike and then slithered away, inhaling the scent of soggy grass, dirt and roses. Roses? His brow wrinkled in confusion as he scuttled away and regained his feet. Backing towards the tall sentinal tree arching over the Lady’s temple, he strained to see his assailants.
He leaned against the trunk as he scanned the gardens. He would have to apologise later; staying alive was more important than the sanctity of the temple gardens. There were three guards, large and brutal: Chancellor’s men eager to deliver him up more dead than alive.
The complaint of him snooping around the Chancellor’s business would be enough to get him placed on report, if not demoted. He wasn’t supposed to be near Chancellor Isseran, let alone follow him.
Gritting his teeth, Jerrol considered his options. He couldn’t kill them, not on the Lady’s soil, yet he couldn’t let them report back, either. The satin-smooth bark of the tree beneath his fingers warmed for a moment as he hesitated. The image of a tall, black-haired man stood before him. This apparition wore a silvery green high-necked uniform that glimmered in the swirling mist. He was striking to look at, unnaturally pale, with distinctive features and straight, black eyebrows over silver eyes that gleamed in the dim light.
Jerrol gaped at him, unable to stop staring. It wasn’t possible. Lady help him, it wasn’t possible, was it? He recoiled as the man spoke, taking a step back.
“Captain? Is it time?” the man asked, his silver eyes burning bright.
He was young – younger than he was, Jerrol thought. Yet his expression was grave. There was a sense of a burden understood and accepted, of experience over youth. He had a sword strapped to his hip and a bow across his back, and he looked like he knew how to use them.
Jerrol frowned. “Time?” he asked, and the image faded. He took a deep, steadying breath and turned into one of the guards rushing him. Blocking the blow, he spun towards his attacker instead of away. Deep grunts and the thwack of punches broke the silence of the garden. Jerrol twisted out of the man’s grip and drew his knife.
He hesitated, remembering he was on the Lady’s ground, and instead landed a punch that dropped the man as he retreated. More men arrived, crowding the gate. Jerrol flinched as something buzzed by him, and one of the men grunted in pain and fell back. Audible thuds followed, and the men jinked back from the gate.
Jerrol took the opportunity to fade into the night, circling the temple and up towards the justice buildings. The tower chimed another hour. The sky was beginning to lighten to a steel grey. If he didn’t return to the barracks soon, it would be evident to everyone that he had been out that night.
Keeping to the shadows, he made for the rear wall of the garrison. The small pack still nestled at the foot of the oak tree where he had hidden it. Assessing the height, he pulled the grappling hook out and slung it over the wall. The soft clank was loud in the quiet night air. He pulled it tight and was over before anyone noticed him; gathering up his rope, he dropped to the ground behind the stables.
Jerrol reached his room undetected; as a captain of the King’s Rangers, he rated his own place. Sometimes he missed the camaraderie of the shared sleeping quarters but not on nights like this, when he was returning from an unsanctioned venture, battered and bruised.
He dropped his bag in the corner and lit the lantern with the candle he had picked up from the hallway. Fishing the notebook out of his pocket, he shed his clothes, lay down on the bed with an exhausted sigh and began flipping through the pages. His fingers slowed as he realised it was the Chancellor’s handwriting. He recognised the looping tails Isseran used. A list of names and words. Nothing else, nothing to explain what they meant. Most of the names in the book were known to him, a scattering of administrators, lords and courtiers, as well as high-ranking officers from both the Rangers and the King’s Justice.
He snapped the notebook shut and lay frowning in thought as the sky lightened. Had he seen a man in the sentinal? Legend said that Lady Leyandrii’s Sentinals, her personal guards, had all vanished with her when she sundered the Bloodstone and brought down the Veil nearly three
