The master nodded slowly. “As long as you don’t rely on them in the front line of a pitched battle, I think they will manage fine. I have thirty lads in their final year. It would only be another nine months before we graduated them. I intended day placing them soon.”
“Work with my unit commanders on the best placements. They will provide their recommendations by the end of the week. The earlier, the better to be honest,” Jason said as he eased his shoulders. He slowly walked back to his office, suddenly drained.
Tyrone called Jason back to the infirmary that evening. He was waiting for Jason in the outer room, his face grave. “I’m not going to tell you what I think happened. You can question him and see where it goes. I’ll be watching his reactions, and I’ll be ready if necessary.”
Ready for what? Jason thought to himself, but he followed Tyrone into the smaller back room.
Danilesh was sitting up in bed. A guard stood in the corner of the room with a strange expression on his face, a combination of fascination and sympathy.
Jason stood over him, waiting, while Tyrone drew up a chair and sat, making himself comfortable.
“How are you feeling?” Jason asked.
“Much better, sir. I am sorry, I don’t remember what happened. Master Tyrone was telling me I collapsed, but I don’t remember.”
“Don’t worry about it. I am sure it’ll come back later,” Jason reassured him. “How was your leave? You went to visit your parents, didn’t you, in Appletree?”
“Yes,” Danilesh said, a frown creasing his face. “Yes, I did. My brother was home on leave too. He is in the King’s Fourth Cohort over on the borders with Terolia. My mother was ecstatic having us both home. It doesn’t happen very often.”
“Terolia, eh? Does he like it? What did your brother say about it?”
“Oh, the usual, soldiers always complain, sir.” He made a face. “He was eager to go back. He made quite a few friends over there.”
“Did he talk about any friends in particular?”
“I don’t know. He might have. I can’t remember.” Danilesh massaged his temple.
“Was Captain Haven mentioned at all?”
Danilesh reacted as if he had been punched in the chest, gasping for breath as his heart rate spiked. Tyrone leaned forward. “It’s alright, Dani,” he said, “deep breaths, that’s right, you can control it.”
Jason waited patiently as Danilesh got his breathing back under control. Tyrone sat back, and Jason continued.
“I was reading an interesting book yesterday. It was explaining the origin of the Guardians.” Jason paused as Danilesh lurched out of his bed, hands reaching for him. His sheets tangled his legs, and he fell, the spasms prostrating him, and Tyrone had a draught ready to pour down his throat around the piece of wood he had shoved in his mouth.
Jason watched Danilesh as the tremors smoothed out and left the young man exhausted.
“One last thing, Dani, say the Lady’s Oath,” Jason said, watching the immediate subdued reaction, the drug taking the edge off the severity, but there all the same.
“Someone has planted a reaction to keywords in his head,” Tyrone muttered, standing up as his helpers returned Danilesh to the bed. “A bit clumsily, as it doesn’t matter the context, merely the word.”
Jason looked down at semi-conscious Danilesh. “And I am assuming he is a knife at my throat?”
“I’m not sure. It depends if the imperative was for one attempt or to continue until he killed you or died himself. Without knowing the keyword, we’ll never know.”
“Is there any way of reversing it?”
Tyrone shook his head as he gently covered Danilesh with a blanket. “Without the keyword, it is impossible.”
“Who would do such a thing?” Jason demanded – and worst of all, how was he supposed to prevent it from happening to others? Lady help us, he thought desperately; they had no protection against such a threat.
Tyrone straightened up. “One thing, though, you have an easy check for all your men. Get them to recite the Lady’s Oath every morning. You’ll soon know if someone has been affected.”
Chapter 25
Watch Towers, Stoneford Watch
Jerrol worried they had delayed too long explaining the situation to the only councillor in Velmouth not in receipt of one of Fortes’ letters. Councillor Sellins had not believed them, to begin with, and had been horrified when he did. They left him rounding up his wayward councillors and threatening Fortes with whatever foul punishments he could think up.
They travelled as fast as they could to Tower Hamlets, skirting the lake which took up most of the plateau and climbing up through the trees to the towers. Birlerion had been in their hands all night. Jerrol prayed he was still alive.
“Where do you think Saerille will be?” Jerrol asked as he dismounted and handed the reins to Tagerill. He stared up at the dark stone towers as Tagerill led their horses into a copse of trees out of sight. The grey dawn attempted to peep through the brooding, black clouds. The air was dense and moist with promised rain. Skirting the walls, he searched for a way in as Zin’talia complained about being left outside to get wet. Sometimes a Darian was more trouble than she was worth.
“I would recommend we don’t contact her. She will stay hidden. She will come to us when she needs us,” Tagerill said as he followed Jerrol. There was no way in and in the end Tagerill boosted Jerrol up on the wall at the rear as the gate was solidly locked.
Jerrol hovered on top of the wall searching the interior. The cobbled courtyard appeared empty. The buildings were in darkness, and he couldn’t see any sentries on duty. He climbed down
