No, it couldn’t be true. It was all myth and legends.
His unsanctioned foray into the warehouse district of Old Vespers raised more questions than answers. If the Chancellor was involved in smuggling goods across Vespiri, then they were in more trouble than he had realised. According to the notebook he had found, the Chancellor was colluding with a network of influential individuals.
Rising before sixth chime, he showered and dressed in the grey and black of a King’s Ranger. The only visible sign of his overnight excursion were his reddened knuckles, and a slight bruise discolouring his right cheek. At least they could be explained easily enough. Everyone gained bruises in the sparring ring.
Commander Nikols was in his office when Jerrol arrived. Nikols was a career soldier; he had risen through the ranks uninterrupted and had been tenured as the Commander of the King’s Rangers, and Jerrol’s commanding officer, for the last seven years. He was a large man, towering over Jerrol’s slight stature, and twice as wide.
He was also intelligent. Jerrol respected the sharp mind that sat behind the piercing brown eyes that saw through every ragtag, desperate excuse. He could cut through bull faster than any commander Jerrol knew. Nikols was a staunch supporter of the Lady and Jerrol trusted him.
Nikols’ brow darkened as Jerrol reported. He glared at Jerrol as he took the notebook he offered him. Jerrol knew the names, having memorised them during his sleepless hours. He stiffened under Nikols’ inspection and knew his nondescript appearance, slight build and brown hair belied his competency. After all, he had been on Isseran’s detail because he was tenacious and discreet. The tenacious piece was the part that got him in trouble, and that usually meant trouble for Nikols.
Nikols flipped through the notebook. “This doesn’t tell us much. It certainly wasn’t worth drawing Isseran’s attention to you any more than it already is. You’re not supposed to be anywhere near him.”
“I didn’t expect him to be there, sir. I left him in the arms of his latest floozy. He should have been there for the night.”
Nikols glanced up from the notebook and Jerrol winced.
“If the Chancellor is at the root of our recent troubles, then we have no choice but to go to the King,” Jerrol said, watching his commander. “If these people are his supporters, then most of the administration is corrupted.”
“If you can get through the Crown Prince first. He guards his father’s peace with a tenacity equal to yours.”
“Depends if the King wants it guarded so,” Jerrol said, considering the astute monarch who ruled their kingdom. He didn’t think the King would accept his son’s scheming for long.
“Unless he says otherwise, that is what we have to accept.” Nikols glared at Jerrol in warning. “Do not offend the Prince, Haven. Your life will become much more difficult if you do. You think Isseran is a pain? Kharel would be ten times worse.”
“But it’s not like the King to allow others to speak for him,” Jerrol argued.
Nikols shrugged. “It’s time the Prince was more involved, and I expect Benedict is preparing him for the throne.”
“Still, it doesn’t seem right to me.”
“Good job it’s not down to you, isn’t it? Leave this with me. I’ll see if I can get an audience with the Prince. Keep your head down. You’re supposed to be off Isseran’s rotation, so stay away from him. Let’s not rile him any more than necessary. Keep to the barracks.” Nikols stood and leant on his desk. “Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Jerrol saluted and left the office. He didn’t think arguing would get him anywhere. He knew Isseran was up to no good – look at his attempts to lose Jerrol. If he didn’t have anything to hide, he wouldn’t try so hard. His turning up at the warehouse, which was totally unexpected, sealed it for Jerrol. He wondered why Nikols wasn’t so sure.
The days passed, and Jerrol kept to the barracks, leaving once to visit the Lady’s temple to apologise for fighting in her gardens. When he arrived, a young man was kneeling before the altar and Jerrol halted in surprise. The white marble was shimmering; it solidified as he watched, and soft voices drifted on the air.
“Dearest Birlerion, please, be a diversion, protect him.”
“But my Lady...” The man broke off as he looked around, aware of someone behind him. He rose in one fluid motion, turning back to bow towards the altar. He turned away, keeping his eyes downcast, and left the temple, but Jerrol recognised him even without his bow strapped to his back. The glimpse of silver eyes and the archaic uniform – those were distinctive.
“Hey, wait.” Jerrol ran after him, but he had disappeared. The gardens were empty. Returning to the temple, Jerrol knelt before the Lady’s altar. He stared at the lifelike statue of a young woman, standing barefoot by a stream surrounded by flowers. The Lady Leyandrii, the deity who helped create the world of Remargaren.
The white marble gleamed in the soft light of the temple, the statue shimmered, and the flowers rustled, giving off a heady scent.
“You are late, my Captain.”
Jerrol stiffened, glancing around the empty temple, and his stomach fluttered as he stared at the statue. “Late?”
“Events quicken, and we are unprepared.”
He swayed, grappling with her words. “Unprepared for what?”
“The forgotten stir. It is time.”
Jerrol braced a hand on the stone step. What was going on? He flicked another glance around him and back to the statue. “The forgotten?”
“They wait patiently, my Captain.”
“Who does?”
A tinkling laugh filled the air. “Who do you think?” The shimmering statue solidified, and the laugh faded. The statue gleamed in the subdued light, watching him.
Jerrol rose, staring about him wildly, his heart thrumming in his chest. He backed away from the altar and
