Chapter 2
A century later
As Drexley opened his eyes, he briefly considered doing something that was an anathema to his sentinel sensibilities—pulling the covers over his head and spending the day in bed.
Since hiding was not an option, Drexley rose to wash and dress.
It was impossible to ignore his surroundings. Drexley lived in the lap of luxury.
The realm Adney had created was an enormous castle filled with riches and everything they needed to survive the last centuries of the necromancer’s life. Adney was a scholar and pushed his magic as far as possible. An army of skeletons cleaned, cooked, and did every other chore imaginable.
Drexley’s bedchamber was richly appointed. It was a far cry from the tiny cell he’d called home for so long. And while Drexley could roam through Adney’s castle without barriers, much like Drexley’s previous home, it was a cage.
Adney was kind and encouraged Drexley to indulge in his love of reading in the magnificent library on the first floor of the castle.
Every book Adney had ever purchased had been recreated in his personal realm, which meant Drexley still had plenty of tomes to enrich his mind.
Meals were enjoyable as Adney loved to discuss and debate the things Drexley learned.
A deep and abiding friendship had formed between necromancer and sentinel. For many years, Drexley had reveled in his enriched existence. Then Adney had started making suggestions. He’d questioned why Drexley kept his hair in disarray. With a shrug, Drexley had told him it was easier to ignore it.
So, Adney had ordered Drexley to sit as the necromancer trimmed it.
The second demand had followed once Adney was finished—Drexley was to keep it combed and tidy.
Drexley had been so uncomfortable being touched that he’d barely registered his annoyance at the commands.
But his frustration had grown as he had to fix his stupid hair several times a day to accommodate his training schedule.
Mentioning that had been the worst mistake of Drexley’s life.
Adney had issued a directive that altered everything.
Drexley could no longer train. Gone was the one thing that brought Drexley unparalleled joy and cleared his mind.
But as Adney had pointed out later, it left him more hours of the day to read.
Drexley was enormously fond of books, but he had not minded carving out time for his training. Unfortunately, Adney did not ask his opinion. The one benefit Drexley found was that he did not have to change out of the fussy wardrobe Adney had insisted he wear constantly.
Drexley’s uniform had disappeared shortly afterward.
Next came the suggestion that Drexley grow a beard.
Adney had one and thought it was the height of sophistication.
Unsure of his own thoughts about facial hair, Drexley had hesitated in the conversation, and it had become an order.
Now Drexley had a neat goatee and mustache.
It was impossible for Drexley to grow a full beard, and Adney complained about it regularly.
The clothes and the way Drexley looked were minor things.
But what vexed Drexley was the way his choices were made for him.
Pointing that out to Adney had complicated the situation further.
Drexley’s necromancer had insisted that sentinels were created to serve and it was Drexley’s duty to want the same things as Adney.
Was that true? Were the sentinels innately inferior to magickind like necromancers? The only other sentinel Drexley knew was back at the compound. And Drexley was forbidden to return. Adney insisted that the sentinels had no leader despite Drexley calmly explaining Alaric’s existence.
To Adney, Alaric was nothing but a disgraced sentinel betraying the necromancers by putting himself in a position of authority. Drexley’s explanation that Alaric would never do such a thing had resulted in the order to end the discussion immediately.
It was perplexing and fundamentally confusing to have a dear friend who could decide things for Drexley without paying attention to his input.
But Drexley had to trust that Adney knew far more about the world than him.
Drexley had spent his life prior to meeting Adney in a cage, giving the necromancer the advantage of experience.
He tugged on his clothes after washing and acknowledged that the issue ultimately was his own.
Adney deserved his trust. The necromancer was over two thousand years old and had experienced much.
He could even recall the world before sentinels were created.
So, who was Drexley to think he knew better than Adney about anything?
What was wrong with Drexley? He continued to have complicated feelings about losing his choices despite someone with vastly more knowledge than him helping him out by deciding for him.
Feeling horrible for questioning Adney, Drexley grabbed the lone thing that set him apart from necromancers, and with the whisper of a magical word his glowing daggers hovered near his waist. They were ornaments now, and Drexley missed the feel of them in his palms as he trained, but whatever threat had taken Adney’s son had no clue where to find them in the necromancer’s secret realm.
Danger was nowhere, which was a relief.
Drexley left his bedchamber behind and with swift, sure steps found Adney waiting for him in the dining hall.
“Good morning, Drexley, did you sleep well?” Adney asked with a bright smile. The necromancer was always pleased to see Drexley, and it reminded the sentinel that their friendship was important to them both.
“I did,” Drexley replied. As a sentinel, it was impossible to lie, but Drexley had slept soundly.
It was when he woke that his thoughts remained trapped in a vicious cycle, leaving him confused and riddled with guilt for resenting Adney’s orders.
Adney had offered him everything, and Drexley should’ve been nothing but grateful. “How did you sleep?”
“Exceedingly well. I woke full of wondrous ideas. I recalled an old tome of stories I stumbled upon as a young man, full of dragons and other enchanted creatures. Of course, it was written long before we knew such things to be real, but I thought you might find it enjoyable. You have such a love of fantasy.”
Drexley’s grin was genuine as a skeleton set a plate full of food in front of him.
Squelching the persistent need to thank the skeleton—as Adney had told him it was unnecessary to show the creatures any gratitude—Drexley plucked his fork from the table.
“I will hunt for it after our meal; it sounds a lovely tome.”
“I have an idea of where to find it. Near the bottom of the shelves, I should think, since it would have been near the start of my collection. I created this realm as a young man and would often come here to think. A good choice given the danger that eventually found my son. But no one can find us here.”
“Yes, I was thinking something similar as I headed here this morning. It relieves me to think of the last century of peace.”
“Which is why I think we are ready to discuss my second idea.”
Drexley swallowed a delicious bite of sausage and smiled. “It will be hard to top a fantasy book, but I am eager to hear what else you have planned for our day.”
“I was thinking about weapons.”
“What need do we have of them? As you mentioned, we are safe here.”
“Yet you carry a pair of daggers with you from morning until nightfall.”
Alarm filled Drexley, and he glanced at Adney. The necromancer’s gray gaze was filled with determination. “Yes, but I am a sentinel, and every sentinel carries his weapons with him.”
“How many sentinels have you met?”
“One,” Drexley answered, though Adney already knew everything about Drexley’s unremarkable past.
“And we already know him to be a man who does not instill trust. How can a sentinel lack a necromancer? We created you. It is our duty to guide you and your behavior. Rumors abound about a sentinel who murdered their own necromancer. How do you know it was not this Alaric?”
“You said yourself it was a rumor,” Drexley pointed out, his throat dry.
The last thing he wanted to do was start his day fighting with Adney.
And he was worried. Why was Adney bringing up his daggers?
They were an essential part of Drexley. Nearly an extension of his limbs despite the many years that had passed since Drexley was last allowed to wield them in training.
They were the final integral thing that defined him as a sentinel.
“Had you not told me about this displaced sentinel masquerading as a leader, I would have continued to believe those stories to be a fable without proof. But it is far too coincidental that such a story exists while a sentinel mysteriously without a necromancer lords his way through the castle created for your people.”
“I find it difficult to believe that any sentinel could act in such a dishonorable way.”
Adney smiled. “Of course you do. You are the quintessential gentleman. You are educated, well-groomed, and the best example of your people. Every sentinel should aspire to be exactly like you. It is too bad we cannot start a reform school for sentinels, but I fear the danger should we leave my realm.”
“You believe I am the best example of my people?” Drexley asked, surprised by the compliment.
“Absolutely. Perhaps if our former leaders hadn’t been so short-sighted at the creation of your people, they would have presented sentinels to the world with your skills instead of dropping cloaked vagrants into our laps.”
“What I find strange is that I cannot recall our initial meeting.”
Adney’s gaze narrowed. “Your lack of recollection raises my suspicions further. It is a magical realm. You have seen what wonders I have created with sorcery. I do not know the full origin story of the sentinels. Our former rulers were rumored to be horrible people. They must be responsible for the place where you were kept. It was just days after we met that you disappeared, so they would have noticed if someone had interfered and built you a home. Why do sentinels have such poor memories? As we have discussed before, I believe it must be a spell. Was this something Alaric orchestrated with the help of a necromancer he later killed?”
“I do not know,” Drexley replied. So little was known about the origins of his people, and Adney had never issued any kind words about the former rulers, Faustus and Domitia.
Which was odd since Adney had nothing but praise for the current Arch Lich, Chander Daray.
Adney spoke of him with awe in his voice.
The first Fate-chosen ruler of the necromancers now led his people and the Council of Sorcery.
Arch Lich Daray had brought prosperity to the entire magical world.
And according to the tales Alaric had told Drexley, the Arch Lich had two sentinels and kept one with him constantly.
They had been the lone sentinels—until Drexley—to spend some of their lives outside of the compound.
Drexley wondered if they were like him or had stuck to wearing uniforms and hiding under cloaks.
“Well, that place and its mysteries are for someone else to solve. We are safe here, and this is where we will remain. Let us return to the important topic of weapons. They are unnecessary. There is no need for you to keep two daggers at your sides constantly.”
Drexley closed his eyes briefly and swallowed thickly.
Setting his fork down since he’d lost his appetite, he could already feel the mixture of emotions in him brewing uncomfortably again as he fought between who he was and the man his dear friend Adney believed he should be.
But Drexley had no choice. He could acquiesce or Adney would make it an order.
It was easier if Drexley did not make it into a fight.
“I could keep my weapons stowed if you prefer,” Drexley offered, though he hated the thought of it.
“Remove your poison and hand them to me,” Adney stated in an order Drexley could not refuse.
He stood and plucked the weapons from his sides.
His gaze landed on the letters of his own name Alaric had burned magically into the blades.
Although the sentinel hadn’t explained why, Alaric had insisted on doing so.
Perhaps Adney had reason to be suspicious of the man after all.
Drexley removed the poison, and the green glow around the sharp daggers disappeared. Flicking them around, Drexley handed them to Adney hilt first. Adney took the weapons, and Drexley’s mouth fell open in horror as Adney cast a spell and destroyed the blades.
“There, that issue is taken care of,” Adney said, bustling toward the door as if nothing important had occurred. “Should we find that book for you now?”
Unable to find his tongue to speak any words, Drexley nodded and resisted the urge to weep or scream in fury. Adney was correct that a century of peace had passed, but what was a sentinel without daggers?
A gentleman. With enough education, eventually a scholar.
And according to Adney, that should be the true purpose of the sentinels.
A race of men who fit into the world of necromancers instead of unkempt assassins ready to murder for the joy of it.
Torn between what Adney wanted and the urges in his soul for training, Drexley followed the necromancer to the library with leaden feet.
Perhaps what Drexley needed most to do was remind himself that he was the epitome of a sentinel to his necromancer.
Adney considered him to be the model of the future and wished for every sentinel to mirror his life.
It was the sentinels who were living in the past and sticking with what the horrid Faustus and Domitia had wanted for them.
If a sentinel wanted to honor their necromancer and the current Arch Lich, they needed to be like Drexley. Instead of using weapons, Drexley was training his mind and enriching his existence.
He hoped if he repeated those words to himself often enough that someday he would believe them.