Jerrol stood back and frowned. “I don’t know how to wake him.”
Birlerion closed his eyes and embraced the tree. “You told me it was time.”
“No, I didn’t, you told me.”
“Semantics, it’s time. Tell him to wake up.”
Jerrol scowled at the tree. “It’s not that simple,” he said as he laid his hand on the tree. The image came back into focus and Jerrol spoke. “Versillion, it’s time to wake.”
The image flickered and then faded again.
Birlerion pushed himself off the trunk and frowned up at the leaves. “Lazy sod.” He squinted at the tree. “Versill, I’ll tell Pa you’re skiving off again.”
There was no response.
Jerrol shrugged. “We’ll try again when we come back; we don’t have time now. We need to go and meet Lord Hugh.”
Birlerion reluctantly left the sentinal and followed Jerrol around the lake and back up to the house.
Their horses were brought round and, running a soft hand down Zin’talia’s neck, Jerrol gathered her reins and hauled himself into the saddle. Birlerion gave Versillion’s sentinal one last wistful glance and then swung himself up on his horse and followed.
Chapter 17
Deepwater Watch
They were just joining the Deepwater road, intending to turn towards the manor house, when Zin’talia suddenly bounded forward. Jerrol leapt from his saddle as she skidded to halt before a silver-gowned woman standing beside the road. “Taelia! What are you doing here?”
Taelia smiled up at him, cupping his cheek in her hand. “There is no time, you must hurry. The Lord Captain requires your help.” She shifted her gaze to the Sentinal. “Ready your bow, Birlerion. He has been betrayed.”
Jerrol stared at her, bewildered. “What are you talking about, and how did you get here?” He ran a hand through his hair. “And how do you know Birlerion?”
“It doesn’t matter, the Lady bids you hurry.” Taelia pushed him away. “Go!”
Birlerion unsheathed his bow at her word, raising his head, listening intently. “Captain, this way.” As Birlerion led the way, the racket of clashing swords drew them off the road. They pushed through a screen of scrub and conifers and came to a horrified halt on the edge of an open field.
Jerrol surveyed the carnage before them. Too few men in the colours of Greenswatch fought a defensive line hampered by protecting two positions, split by their attackers and weakened accordingly. Their discipline held the attackers at bay, but the sheer numbers threatened to overwhelm them. Broken bodies lay across the field in a deadly trail of death and destruction, bandits and Greenswatch alike.
Apart from the clash of swords, the fighting was eerily silent, with men focused on their immediate need: to stay alive and protect their lord. Jerrol’s eyes narrowed; how could Lord Hugh be so outnumbered?
Birlerion nocked an arrow and moved closer, picking his targets. Men fell in swathes, and Jerrol gaped at him. His aim was lethal and efficient, his face cold and intent.
In no time he ran out of arrows, and he discarded his bow. He charged his horse straight into the melee, and men scattered. He whirled his horse in front of the suddenly howling men and swung his sword.
Jerrol veered around the battle at the cries of surprise and plunged into the second, smaller clump of men, hacking his way through the barrier of ill-kempt ruffians taking down the well-trained soldiers of Greenswatch.
His sword flickered as Zin’talia barged men aside. His unexpected arrival galvanised the soldiers into a new attack, renewed belief strengthening their arms. The line flexed as the sickening sound of a hammer hitting flesh preceded a physical groan of despair from Lord Hugh’s men.
Jerrol spun, but he was too late. Lord Hugh was down. The bandit raised his hammer for another blow and the standard-bearer, screaming in grief, rammed the point of his standard into the man’s throat and wrenched it back out. A rush of scarlet blood spurted all over the Greenswatch banner.
The bandit twisted in a final continuation of his move as he drove his hammer into the slight young man frozen in horror before him. The young man stumbled back, senseless. As he collapsed onto the churned-up grass, he drove the pole into the soft dirt; the bloodied standard leant at a drunken angle above him.
Jerrol dragged his eyes from the sight and knelt beside Lord Hugh, checking for a pulse; there wasn’t one. He scanned the battlefield. Birlerion was grounded. He was swinging something around his head, and in quick succession three men dropped, their eyes staring fixedly up at the sky. A fourth staggered and Jerrol ran him through before he could recover. Spinning, he sliced his sword across the stunned man’s stomach, before pausing to survey the scene as the man thudded to the ground.
He spotted the hub of the soldier’s defence. A young girl lay sprawled among the bodies. Her auburn curls were a vivid contrast to the green uniforms around her.
Jerrol hurried to her side. It looked like the girl had taken a brutal fall. She was surrounded by fallen soldiers in her Watch colours. He squatted beside her, reached out to check her pulse and then cursed, snatching back his hand as the burn zinged through his blood. She was a direct descendant of the Greenswatch. The black and white Arifel, Lin, popped into view and chittered excitedly.
He stared at the girl; she looked very young and vulnerable. Could she be hosting the Guardianship? When her father fell, the Lady’s blessing must have gone somewhere. The girl would have been the nearest acceptable vessel, but it was unheard of for a female to take the Watch Guardianship; there would be questions about that later, he was sure.
If she had, then she was in even more danger. Those trying to eradicate the Lady wouldn’t hesitate to kill her too. Lin landed on the girl and crooned.
“Hush,” he soothed Lin. “I know, but let’s keep that quiet for now.” Lin meeped in agreement.
He whistled and Birlerion looked up from retrieving his arrows, though most were shattered. “We need to go. We
