Torsion followed him. He grabbed his arm, staring at the tall Sentinals in concern. “Jerrol, who are these people? How do you know you can trust them?”
“The Lady claims them, that’s why. I’ll introduce them later; I haven’t time now, you are going to love it.”
Torsion hung onto his arm. “Jerrol, it’s not safe, wait for the King’s Guards. You need support. You can’t do this on your own.”
“I’m not on my own.”
“Violence is not the way. People will get hurt.” Torsion scowled at the enormous swords carried by the Sentinals.
Birlerion stepped forward, giving Torsion a close inspection, his face intent. “Captain,” he began, and Jerrol cut him off.
“Not now.” Jerrol hesitated as he stared at Torsion. “People have already been hurt, this can’t be allowed to continue. The King is at risk; we have to help him.”
“You think you are some big hero, always racing to the rescue. You are only making it worse.” Torsion glared at Birlerion and Birlerion glared back.
Jerrol stared at him, wondering if Torsion had been affected when he was at the Watch Towers. “How am I making it worse? You know it’s my job to protect the King and protect him I will.”
Darllion broke through the tension. “Captain, Birlerion here doesn’t miss. And a Kirshan assassin is good sport, don’t you think?” he asked with an evil grin.
Birlerion’s face was intent. “It would be my pleasure, Captain,” he said, holding Torsion’s eyes.
Jerrol looked at them incredulously. “Sport?” Darllion and Birlerion exchanged grins. Each to their own, he supposed, but Kirshan assassins should not be disregarded lightly. If the Sentinals were familiar with them from three thousand years ago, maybe they hadn’t been so formidable back then. “You’ll be able to pick them out?”
“Piece of cake,” Birlerion replied. “They’ll be so focused on you they won’t see me.”
Jerrol choked a little on that, but he let it ride. He trusted the Sentinals implicitly. “Very well. I’m going to lead them away from the Chapterhouse and up to the palace. Darllion, bring the horses in and bar the gate behind us. Protect these people. Birlerion, do what you need to.”
“Captain, another force approaches from the west,” Serillion’s low voice interrupted him from above.
Torsion looked up at the blond-haired Sentinal on the wall in dismay. They were everywhere.
“Could you tell their colours?” Jerrol reached for Zin’talia’s reins, ignoring her mumbled complaints of being left with strangers, even if they were the Lady’s.
“The standard is the crown and crossed swords, sir.”
Jerrol breathed a sigh of relief. “Is Lieutenant Jennery with them?”
“Can’t see him, sir.”
“Wait before you engage; hopefully, they are our reinforcements, and they will turn on the Chancellor’s men. If not, retreat and meet us at the palace at sunup. Understood? Do not engage if both forces unite.”
“Understood, Captain,” Darllion said, crisply saluting and turning away to deploy his meagre troops.
“Tagerill, Birlerion, with me.” Jerrol swung himself up into the saddle. He gave Torsion a strained smile. “I said I wasn’t on my own,” he said, and he rode Zin’talia out of the back gates and swung behind the Chapterhouse.
Chapter 36
Old Vespers
Jerrol took the back streets and approached the deserted warehouses that had sprung up under the Chancellor’s tenure. He glanced at them as he passed; what could he be storing so far inland? Something to check out later.
They kept moving, through the city streets and on past the stone buildings of the King’s Justice and up the switchback towards the outskirts of the palace gardens. Dark clouds accumulated on the horizon blotting out the sun: a storm in the offing.
Birlerion muttered a quick farewell as he faded into the gloom.
Tagerill and Jerrol didn’t slow; they continued up to the high walls which protected a gently shelving garden, which graduated towards the palace in terraces. Torches lit the paths at each junction that led up to the palace building.
There was a low whistle from above them, and Birlerion’s hands flickered. Tagerill translated. “Four coming our way from the east, two patrolling the side gardens.”
“Good, watch out for additional patrols; let’s get over this wall and deal,” Jerrol said as he balanced on Zin’talia’s back before levering himself up and over the wall.
The soft thud of his landing was covered by a low thrum and a heavy thump. “One down,” Tagerill whispered as he skirted the flower beds and led the way up the slope.
Jerrol heard another thrum and saw a man falter before sliding down off the wall to land in a heap. A black shape launched out of the shadows at Jerrol, and Tagerill blocked the brutal overhead swing with his broadsword, which he had unsheathed in moments.
Jerrol flicked one of his daggers at an approaching guard. The guard dropped as Jerrol turned back towards another oncoming shadow as more of the Chancellor’s men came charging around the side of the palace. Behind him he heard Tagerill engaging with the Chancellor’s patrol, having dispatched his opponent, the clash of swords loud in the half-light.
The assassin circled Jerrol as the air vibrated with the passage of arrows overhead, dropping guards around them. Jerrol raised his sword and advanced, forcing the assassin to engage. He drove him back across the flower beds towards Birlerion’s arrows and paused, satisfied, as the man gurgled as an arrow protruded out of his neck. He signalled his thanks and turned to help Tagerill, the torches flickering as guards passed before them.
The palace guards faltered and fell back as a unit of King’s Rangers entered the gardens. They hesitated, glancing warily at each other before laying their swords on the ground and holding their hands in the air. Tagerill cocked at eyebrow at Jerrol. “They give up too easily. Where’s the sport in that?”
“Be thankful. We don’t want to kill more men than we have to. Once these men were loyal to the King.”
“Then they should be executed for treason,” he said, scowling at them in disgust. The guards cowered before him.
Jennery
