“They were so proud of us,” Birlerion whispered, the grief evident in his voice. “To lose all of us would have destroyed them; we were such a tight-knit family. Tagerill would have it we were all tied together, woven tightly, that’s why they would never let you go. If only they had known where we were, it might have eased their grief.”
Jerrol looked back at the pages and away from the pain in his eyes. There were oblique references to Guardians, though not specific names or locations, loremasters, councillors, temple leaders. His eyes caught on the word descendant. Descendant? He focused on the page and reread it more slowly.
The Ascendants had descendants. There was a record of a descendant visiting the Greenswatch over a thousand years ago; the descendant had been proud of his heritage, had demanded his due. The people of the Lady’s land owed him for the tragic loss of his ancestors. He had searched for something, though there was no record of what he had been looking for nor of him finding it. He had left another descendant in his wake. The birth of his child was recorded, though there was no mention of whether the child’s father ever returned. The Ascendants had descendants, and the descendants had descendants. He wondered how strong the belief was that they could find a way to bring their ancestors back.
Jerrol leaned back in his chair and stretched his aching shoulders. He had found the thread he needed. Making a note of the name of the child on a scrap of paper, he skimmed through the book, searching for further descendants. He found an unbroken line to the date that the King’s census, currently out of his reach, took over two hundred years ago and the records stopped.
Jerrol closed the book and turned down the lamp. He would leave it for Garrick to return to the right place. Leaving the records room, he returned to the foyer by the grand staircase. Birlerion must have gotten bored and found his own entertainment. Jerrol hoped his homecoming wasn’t too painful.
The manor house was still calm and quiet. Lord Hugh and his retinue had not yet returned, even though the day had progressed. He had been searching for two or three hours.
There was a clatter of hooves, and a black horse came to a skidding halt. A small boy slid off the mud-splashed horse and clutched the stirrup to hold himself up as his legs trembled with the effort.
Garrick came striding out of another part of the building. “Norris! What are you doing here? Why aren’t you with Lord Hugh?”
“Sir, Lord Hugh bade me give you this, hand it to you and no one else, sir.” Norris pulled a twisted screw of paper from his jerkin and held it out. “It’s taken me all day to get here. He said I wasn’t to be seen, by anyone!”
Jerrol wondered what would have made Hugh so ultra-careful and shivered as a sense of foreboding flashed through him. He joined Garrick.
Garrick dismissed Norris and led the way into his office, gesturing for Jerrol to follow. He sat heavily frowning as he read. He sighed and tossed the paper to Jerrol. “The boy didn’t take up the mantle; Deepwater has no Guardian. We need to look at our protocols and protect the land. This does not bode well. Deepwater will sicken, and she will affect our borders.” Garrick looked sick himself. “This could be the start of the end,” he said. “Hugh is concerned that Simeon will not pick up the mantle, either. There is a groundswell of sentiment in support of the councils. The councils’ word is gaining more weight than the King. The younger generation is more susceptible to new ideas. The protocols are the precautions to defend from the inside, salvage what we can.”
“I’m travelling to visit Lord Jason at Stoneford and Councillor Torsion in Velmouth. Do you want me to take any message with me?” Jerrol asked.
“I’ll get the protocols written up immediately. Lord Hugh mentioned that the Lords of East Watch and Marchwood were expected at the confirmation so they will have them. If you could take a copy to Lord Jason for me, and please keep it discreet as in the wrong hands we would be undone, that would be a great help, and much sooner than I could get a rider there.”
“We’ll cut cross-country and pick up the Deepwater road so I should meet Lord Hugh on the way.”
Garrick paused. “I would spare you a troop to take with you to meet Lord Hugh, but Master Simeon took a guard with him, and I can’t leave the Watch undefended.”
“Birlerion and I will be fine. I’ll go get the horses saddled and find him.”
“He walked down to the home Sentinal, round the back.”
Jerrol grimaced; of course he had. “If I could impose, we left a friend with Silene. Could one of your lads take him a message for me?”
“Use my desk. I need to find a scribe.” Garrick left, paper in hand.
In a surprisingly short time, Garrick was handing Jerrol a fair copy of Hugh’s orders, which he tucked away in his pocket. Jerrol thought Garrick might have written them out himself. He gave his message to Garrick, advising Jennery to bring all their things and meet them at the keep at Stoneford.
He walked around the mansion in search of Birlerion and found him leaning against the graceful sentinal near the lake.
“It’s Versillion.” Birlerion’s face was haunted. “I wish they had known.”
Jerrol placed a hand on the trunk. The bark warmed beneath his palm, and he saw a broad-shouldered, red-headed man, a broadsword across his back. Versillion, the second eldest son of Greens who had become a Sentinal. The
