“D-dink,” the King said.
Jerrol looked up as Birlerion hovered in the doorway. “Bring a glass of brandy in for me, would you?”
Birlerion returned, sloshing the brandy into the glass. He passed it to Jerrol, who was sitting hunched over on the bed. The King observed the tall Sentinal with a slight frown on his face.
Birlerion propped the King up with pillows, mouth pinching at how frail the man felt. He took the heavy crystal glass from Jerrol and wrapped the King’s fingers around it. He helped guide the shaking hand to his mouth. “The palace is secure. Serillion guards the corridor, Fonorion guards the Prince, there were no other Ascendants apart from Isseran,” Birlerion reported, his voice soft.
“Surprising but good news,” Jerrol replied, watching the King. He glanced at the Sentinal. “What was Isseran afraid of?”
“His own shadow, by the looks of it.”
“You went to do something, and it distracted him long enough for me to reach him.”
Birlerion sighed and twisted his wrist. “There is no magic in Remargaren anymore; it didn’t work.”
“The Ascendants have magic. Ari is magic.”
“They must have more crystals. It enhances their skill. Magic is leaking in through the rift in the Veil, enough to awaken but not enough to use. You need to seal it, Captain.”
“What will happen to you if we seal the Veil again?”
“What the Lady wills,” Birlerion said, his eyes bright.
The King managed to swallow a few more mouthfuls before leaning back against his pillows, exhausted. Jerrol took the glass and rested it in his lap, patiently waiting. The King opened his mouth and Jerrol gave him the rest of the brandy; the King watched him intently.
“Tick tock,” the King muttered.
“It should work quite fast, but we don’t have much time.” He took a deep breath. “Sire, the situation is not good.” The King snorted gently in reply.
“I know, but your Kingdom is being attacked from all angles. Prince Kharel is in league with others, the Chancellor for sure, but there seems to be some outside influence coming out of Terolia. They are targeting the Guardians. They may even have instigated it, instead of exposing it for what it is, and they are using it to drive dissension and fear.” King Benedict gripped his hand.
Jerrol continued with his report. “We’ve lost many Guardians, Lord Hugh and Lord Stefan among them. Their sons have not picked up the mantle; the lands lack their Guardians.”
“Tall and Proudies?” the King’s voice rasped.
Jerrol grinned at Birlerion. “The Sentinals are awakening. A few are here with me today; this is Birlerion.” He waved his right hand at Birlerion and paused as the King stared wide-eyed at the Sentinal.
“Your Majesty.” Birlerion ducked his head.
“The Watches are cutting the timber. The Chancellor was hoarding the wood. Something to do with the Elothians,” Jerrol continued. “We discovered there is a group called the Ascendants, and they are using a mind spell called Mentiserium to control your people.”
“By the water, no-eyes washes her hands of knowledge, pick it up,” the King said cryptically.
“You mean the scholars and Taelia especially? They know about the Ascendants?”
The King struggled to push his words out. He crossed his eyes in frustration, which would have been amusing on another day in another life. “T-the ball and chain hold the beginning,” he managed.
Jerrol was sweating, and his leg trembled with a deep ache that drained his energy, but he concentrated on the King. “There is so much knowledge, history that we have lost. I’ll start with the Sentinals and Liliian. She is going to be ecstatic when she realises she has living history in her hand. Prince Kharel discharged me, sire. Accused me of treason and placed a bounty on my head. I’m not supposed to step foot in the city.”
The King glared at Jerrol, paused as he gathered some semblance of clarity and spoke clearly and concisely:
“Do your Duty, Never Falter, Never Fail,
Lady, Land and Liege obey.
All are one, Entwined ascending,
Keeper’s Oath Never Ending.”
Jerrol froze, eyes widening; this was what the King had tried to say that day he was arrested in the throne room. He had reached the third sentence when Prince Kharel had interrupted them. “S-sire?” The words resonated through his body; he knew these words, he knew the oath, but it had never been invoked. Those were the words carved in the wall above the throne in Old Vespers.
“Never Ending,” King Benedict said firmly.
“Lady, Land and Liege obey,” Jerrol repeated. “Keeper’s Oath Never Ending.” He spread his hand across his heart and bent his head before his King. He felt the Oath acknowledge his response and lock into place with a resounding clang in the vaults of the Land that made the ground tremble. The Lady’s response was more visceral, rooted deep within; her presence branched out inside him, entwining them as one. Her greenish hue flared up as a jolt of energy shot through him, and he took a deep breath as he straightened, his eyes luminous in the dim light. The Arifel chittered excitedly as he fluttered around him.
Birlerion watched him in concern. He had thought the Captain was going to pass out, he was so pale, but now he could see both Leyandrii’s and Marguerite’s touch. The Captain was bound thrice, and there would be no escape. He gave a wry smile. The Lady was possessive; she wouldn’t be releasing him any time soon.
The King swallowed reflexively and swallowed again as the blood drained from his face, leaving him a sickly grey; a sheen of sweat glistened on his skin. “Ah.” Jerrol stood and grabbed the bowl.
He placed the bowl in front of the King, just as the King heaved and was violently sick. Birlerion handed Jerrol a towel, and Jerrol gently wiped his face. Birlerion offered more brandy, but the King shook his head. “Tick tock.” Another spasm shuddered through him, and he vomited into the bowl again.
Birlerion left to check the corridor.
Jerrol was loath to leave the King in such poor straits,
