The Missing Sentinel (D’Vaire, #45)

Chapter 1

Home of the sentinels

The darkening of his vision told Ducarius that his necromancer, Gautselin, was summoning him.

It should have filled him with happiness.

As a sentinel, he was an honorable man who wanted to serve the sorcerer connected to his soul.

But sentinels could not refuse any order given to them by their necromancer, and Ducarius had done many vile things thanks to his inability to make his own decisions.

Since Ducarius could not avoid his visit with Gautselin, he pulled his dark gray cloak over his head and stood still as the ground disappeared beneath his sturdy boots. The second Ducarius finished teleporting, he heard Gautselin’s hoarse chuckle.

“Ducarius! My favored sentinel. How good it is to see you today.”

The words were oily, and Ducarius easily detected the lies beneath the man’s words. Even without his sentinel ability to filter out untruths, Ducarius would have known Gautselin was being dishonest.

Ducarius’s people lived in a magical compound far removed from the land where necromancers roamed.

It was unlikely Gautselin had encountered any other sentinels.

Ducarius lived among his people and had only met one other sentinel.

His name was Alaric, and he ruled the sentinels.

Alaric was a kind man with intense glowing green eyes, who never failed to visit Ducarius and ask about his welfare.

Not once did he comment on the state of Ducarius or ask what he’d done to change his flesh to bones.

“What order do you wish to give me today?” Ducarius asked, not bothering to waste a moment on idle chitchat with the necromancer who’d forced him to murder hundreds of people.

“Eager as always to know who is next to bleed over your blades,” Gautselin replied and moved across the room. With his hood covering so much of his skeletal face, Ducarius could not see the man. Nor did he want to.

“I must do as I am ordered.” Ducarius kept his voice level and wondered why he bothered to bottle his rage.

He detested being at the mercy of his necromancer and wished the man would leave Ducarius alone in his cell at the sentinel compound instead of making him take the lives of innocent folk who had the misfortune of crossing Gautselin’s path.

“Do you know that when we first met, I had a pinch of guilt about asking you to draw your weapons against my enemy? But thankfully I soon realized it was a waste of emotion. You are a sentinel. A race created specifically to answer to necromancers. Elite assassins designed for a singular purpose. No doubt you enjoy using your skills. Tell me, Ducarius, do you take pleasure as their blood wets your poisoned blades?”

Ducarius curled his bony fists and resisted the urge to scream that his flesh would not have been ripped away if he wanted to obey Gautselin’s orders.

It was news to Ducarius that Gautselin ever had a thought about someone besides himself.

Although he rarely went into detail about why he wanted Ducarius to murder someone, Gautselin occasionally bragged about sentencing someone to death for nothing more than a cross look or terse word.

Gautselin was a vain, spoiled man who wanted to have his way and be adored by everyone he met.

Ducarius could barely stomach him, and it filled the sentinel with sadness that he had such abhorrent feelings for the man connected to his soul.

Sentinels were created to serve necromancers, and it was an honor to do his job, but Ducarius also privately wondered if every sorcerer was as despicable as Gautselin.

“I must do as I am ordered,” Ducarius repeated dispassionately as his rage boiled.

“Play modest if you wish, Ducarius, but I see you for the monster that you are,” Gautselin taunted. “It must be torture on the days I do not summon you. Do you walk around your home eagerly awaiting your next kill?”

Ducarius thought of his tiny cell and the many hours he spent inside it.

The only time he left was to go to a training room where he fought against a magical version of himself, which he enjoyed immensely.

A far different emotion filled him when he was summoned away from his home since Gautselin was the lone person with the power to drag him out of the cage.

“I am no monster. As a sentinel, I am honor bound to obey your orders,” Ducarius said.

He did not bother explaining anything about his home as he doubted Gautselin cared.

And Ducarius preferred to keep to himself.

Despite the soul connection between sentinel and necromancer, Ducarius did not consider Gautselin a friend.

Gautselin cackled. “If you wish to deny the truth about yourself, I will not argue further. If I were in your dark boots and had gleefully murdered countless people, I would not want anyone to know the pleasure I took in each death either. It can be our little secret.”

Gritting his teeth together, Ducarius wondered how long he would be forced to stand there listening to Gautselin prattle.

He desperately wanted the necromancer to get on with his order so Ducarius could complete the repugnant task.

Then he would spend the rest of the day trying to scrub the horror of his actions from his mind.

“Have nothing to say, do you?” Gautselin asked.

The necromancer sighed heavily when Ducarius remained silent.

“Very well. I will not keep you from your fun any longer. It is my neighbor to the north who must die. Since childhood, we have been friends, but he raised his voice to me yesterday. He accused me of taking wood from his forests and crops from his fields. As a friend, I assumed he would want me to take what I needed, but apparently, I am nothing more than a spoiled, selfish man. Such harsh words cannot be tolerated. It is time for his son to manage the man’s lands.

Hopefully, he will be accommodating and intelligent enough to understand how vital I am to this countryside. ”

Furious that he was being ordered to kill a man Gautselin had stolen from, Ducarius said nothing.

He pivoted and headed out of Gautselin’s home to complete the detestable task he could not refuse.

As he strode away, Ducarius wondered whether—if Gautselin’s orders continued—even his bones would dissolve someday in protest over the way he was being mistreated.

Ducarius vowed that if he was turned into a ghost, he’d commit his existence to haunting Gautselin and ensure the man went mad with terror.

Perhaps Gautselin was right, and underneath his honor, Ducarius was a monster after all.

∞∞∞

1507 AD

Home of the sentinels

Drexley sat in his small room at the compound and wondered what to do with the hours remaining until he would lay his head upon his pillow for rest. Centuries had passed since his existence began, and although he had met his necromancer, Adney Blackwell, once when the man turned eighteen to fully bind the connection between their souls, Drexley had not seen him again.

The only person Drexley encountered was the intense leader of the sentinels, Alaric.

Although Alaric was kind and appeared genuinely interested in Drexley’s well-being, their conversations were brief.

It was the lone disruption in Drexley’s boring and sad routine.

Drexley was lonely and plagued with doubts.

His purpose was to faithfully serve Adney and perform whatever duties the necromancer ordered.

But so much time had passed that Drexley could not recall the features of the man’s face.

Had Drexley disappointed Adney at their meeting?

Without knowing it, had Drexley impugned his honor and that of his people?

Such thoughts besieged Drexley often, and misery weighed down his soul.

A heavy sigh escaped Drexley. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall behind him.

Gray surrounded him. Everything in his confined cell was the same morose color.

Even the sky through the tiny barred windows in the training room was steely.

Was everywhere so gloomy? Drexley wished he had stored details about Adney’s home, but the memories had slipped away countless decades ago.

His thoughts stuck in an endless cycle of dejection and worry, Drexley nearly missed the dimming of his vision.

A smile crossed his face, and he hopped to his feet as he used the bit of magic at his disposal to summon his cloak and whip it over his clothes.

The voluminous fabric hid the blades covered in glowing green poison hovering close to his hips.

The ground disappeared beneath his boots as Drexley was finally summoned to Adney’s side once again.

It took seconds for the spell to complete, and Drexley bowed his head in a subtle nod.

There was little for him to see with his hood on, but the carpet beneath his feet was colorful despite the gray threads included in the intricate pattern.

“Good evening,” a tremulous voice said.

“I am honored to carry out whatever order you wish to give,” Drexley stated, eager to oblige.

“I apologize, but what is your name? I cannot recall.”

“I am Drexley.”

“Drexley. Yes, that rings a distant bell. I require your protection.”

Drexley did not blame his necromancer for failing to remember his name; centuries had passed since their first meeting.

So many that Drexley could not know the exact number, but that did not matter now.

Adney wanted his protection, and it was Drexley’s honor to provide it to the best of his abilities.

Although sentinels were assassins, Drexley believed himself to be a protector too.

“I will aid you. Is danger currently present?”

“No. At least, I do not think—”

“I apologize for the interruption, Lord Blackwell, but I have finished packing the last of your belongings. What else would you have me gather?” a female voice asked.

“Just the things in my study remain. They are on the desk. Everything else is already in place.”

“Very well, I will gather them, Lord Blackwell.”

The door closed behind her.

“I apologize, Lord Blackwell; I was unaware that you were titled. I hope I did not offend by dropping formalities without your permission.”

“Worry not, Drexley. I do not have a title. But my dear housekeeper is elven and, for some reason, insists on giving me honorifics I do not deserve. I assume it is part of her culture, but she has not explained further.”

Relieved that he had not insulted the necromancer, Drexley relaxed slightly as his curiosity grew about his current mission to protect Adney. “You are taking a trip? Am I to guard you until your departure?”

“Have a seat, Drexley, so I can explain my current circumstances.” Drexley moved swiftly to plant himself in the closest chair.

Adney sat opposite him and heaved a sigh.

“I have an unknown foe. One who has already taken the life of my only son. It is imperative for me to disappear so I am not the next victim of whoever wants to wipe out the Blackwell name. To that end, I am retreating to a magical realm I created in my youth. My parents were horrible people, and I needed an escape. Never could I have imagined that someday that realm would become my permanent home. Since the death of my son, I have strengthened the realm with every ounce of magic inside me. Everyone here will believe I have died, and my housekeeper will inherit my assets. I require you to join me to ensure that I do not die.”

Drexley’s brow creased as he processed Adney’s words. Although much of what the necromancer said was the truth, Drexley sensed some deceit in his words. But he refused to question a terrified man grieving for his child.

“I am sorry for your loss. It would be my pleasure to protect you as long as it is necessary.”

“What a relief. Despite the awful rumors about sentinels, I had to trust someone, and the lone friend I have left is my dear housekeeper.”

Once again, questions flooded Drexley’s mind, and he wanted to demand answers about anyone spreading tales about his people, but that was not why he had been summoned.

Perhaps in time, Drexley could uncover the mystery himself.

Or prove to Adney the only gossip that should reach the ears of necromancers about sentinels was that they are an honorable race of men devoted to carrying out their duties admirably.