“But not to sacrifice his life for mine. He’s already taken a beating for me, and now this.”
“If that’s what it takes.” Tagerill bent over Birlerion, staunching the deep puncture wound in his stomach and a slice down his arm that would not stop bleeding. He needed his Sentinal. This was an injury he would not recover from overnight.
Tagerill glowered as he padded and bound the wounds as tightly as he could with the cleaning cloths Jerrol found. His hands shook as he worked; he was reminded of Clary’s last attempt to kill his brother.
They had nearly succeeded that time and would have if it hadn’t been for Leyandrii. He took a deep breath, tenderly brushing the hair off his brother’s bruised face; they would not be losing him this time either. Between them, they carried Birlerion out to the wagon that was pulled up beside the gate.
Birlerion groaned as he regained consciousness. He hissed through his teeth and opened his eyes. “What happened?”
“You got in the way of a sword, you idiot; didn’t you learn anything in the sparring ring?” Tagerill growled. He spun, expecting a new threat as the guards who had been off duty pounded on the locked door of their barracks. The pounding reassured him they were still contained.
“You prefer I let him skewer the Captain?”
“It would be better if none of us got skewered,” Jerrol said over his shoulder as he hurried to unbar the gate and swing it open. He was unsurprised to see Zin’talia and Tagerill’s horse waiting outside. Zin’talia was particularly wild-eyed, and he took precious minutes to reassure her before he pulled her into the traces and harnessed her up.
Tagerill climbed up beside Birlerion and rested his brother’s head in his lap, flipping a blanket over him. “Why didn’t you wait on the steps for us?”
“I saw Clary,” Birlerion replied, his voice low and filled with pain.
“Birlerion, you know that’s not possible. You are imagining things.”
“I saw him. He was older, a bit thinner, but he had that same arrogant expression.”
Tagerill wiped the sweat off Birlerion’s face. His skin was clammy: shock setting in. He piled a few more blankets on him and hugged him tightly. He wasn’t really surprised Birlerion had acted if he thought he had seen Clary; after all, for him, the attempt on his life wasn’t all that long ago. “It couldn’t have been Clary, Birlerion. The Lady took all the Ascendants with her,” Tagerill said, hugging his brother. Tagerill continued to chastise his brother as Jerrol harnessed the other horse next to Zin’talia and without wasting any time climbed up on the wagon and set off.
It took them two days to reach the keep at Stoneford, Birlerion dozing in Tagerill’s or Jerrol’s lap as they took turns to drive the wagon, only stopping to rest the horses. Lin appeared, meeping in concern as she crouched on Birlerion’s chest. Her green eyes were huge, watching Birlerion’s greying face intently.
The wagon clattered into the well-lit courtyard as darkness was falling on the second day. Lin flitted on ahead to rouse the keep, and Tagerill relaxed as the newly familiar walls rose around him. Jerrol jumped down from the wagon as Jason strode into the courtyard, Lin chittering above his head. Jason followed Jerrol around the back of the wagon and began shouting instructions to his guards. “What happened?” he asked, climbing up beside Tagerill.
Tagerill winced. “We met with a slight problem at the towers,” he said as Tyrone arrived with stretchers. He glanced at Chryllion as he hovered beside the wagon. “They are using Mentiserium,” Tagerill said, his face bleak.
Chryllion’s face paled. “I thought that practice was banned.”
“Not anymore. They were trying to enspell Birlerion.”
Chryllion stared at the semi-conscious Sentinal. “I take it they didn’t succeed.”
Tagerill grimaced. “No. But we found the Ascendants, and they are searching for the Captain.” He turned to Tyrone. “I staunched his wounds as best I could, but he’s lost a lot of blood. They need stitching. Once he’s stabilised, my Sentinal can help with healing him.”
Tyrone nodded absently as he transferred Birlerion to the stretcher. He looked at Jerrol. “What about you?”
“I’ll be fine, just a few bruises.”
Tyrone scowled at him. “I’ll be the judge of that; bring him too.” His attention returned to Birlerion, and he hustled his helpers inside.
Tagerill jumped down and herded Jerrol before him. “A Velmouth councillor ambushed Birlerion. We tracked him up to the towers where they were trying to enspell him. They enspelled a whole unit of Rangers, and they attacked us.” Tagerill grimaced at Jason. “I don’t think the Captain is taking it too well.”
“That would be an understatement,” Jason said as he led the Sentinals into the infirmary. “We’ve had a spate of illnesses, and the number is growing. Men are behaving irrationally, trying to disrupt the keep. I’m glad you’re back, even if it is in such dire straits. I wish Bryce would return as well. We are getting short on men we can trust.” Jason shook his head. “It’s like a plague slowly spreading over the whole garrison.”
Tagerill looked around the infirmary with new eyes, as he noticed that all the beds were occupied by sleeping men.
“And these are not all; we’ve had to conscript one of the barracks as well,” Jason continued.
“It’s not an illness as such,” Tagerill said. “It’s a mind spell. The Ascendants are trying to brainwash everyone, remove free will. Most of the Velmouth council is affected. We will need to send some men up to Velmouth to help them remove the spell.”
“I’ve seen a form of this mesmerising before, but not on this scale,” Tyrone growled as he came out of the back room, wiping his hands. “You, over here.” He pointed at Jerrol who, with a martyred sigh, sat on the bed Tyrone pointed to.
“How is Birlerion?” Jerrol asked.
“That is not the first stomach wound he’s suffered. He’s close-mouthed about it.
