Page 1 of Immortal Sentry

Chapter One

“Prince Eron! Prince Eron!” A hand roughly shook Eron’s shoulder. “Wake up, Your Highness!”

“Wha…” Eron blinked sleep from his eyes and peered up at the dark figure looming over him. This wasn’t a mere servant or governess. No, his tutor, Master Anthone, stared at him wide-eyed, holding a lantern aloft to drive back the darkness. Anthone’s tunic rode up on one side. His hair stood every which way. Eron had never seen him less than perfect before.

Screams came from the outside. The acrid scent of smoke hit Eron’s nose. He tumbled out of bed, sprinted to the window, and threw open the shutter. Flames flickered outside the courtyard walls. People ran in all directions. A mounted soldier struck down a woman holding a child. She fell in a heap. No one stopped to help her. Why wouldn’t anyone stop?

“Come, Prince Eron!” Master Anthone clasped Eron’s hand, pulling him away. “Put on your slippers. We must go.” Eventhough they were alone, Anthone kept his voice to a husky whisper.

Eron hurried to comply. The sun hadn’t yet risen. Master Anthone clutched Eron’s hand, guiding him not to the schoolroom but to the servants’ staircase.

“I’m not allowed to play there,” Eron protested. Father would be cross with him for using the servants’ stairs.They’re busy, son. You mustn’t get in their way.

Master Anthone’s breath came in harsh pants. “You are today. You must come with me. Now!”

The screams grew closer, now coming from the corridors. Was some hideous monster attacking the castle, like Eron had heard about in stories the maids told him?

“What’s going on?” He knuckled one eye. Anthone paused, setting the lantern on the top step. He yanked Eron’s nightshirt off, dug in a bag left on the steps, and removed a pair of trousers and a homespun shirt. “Those aren’t mine.”

Worry creased Master Anthone’s brow. “Please, Prince Eron. You must do as I say. And you must hurry. No questions. Now is not the time.”

Eron did as told, donning ratty clothing and pushing his feet into worn boots while his heart pounded a frantic beat. He’d never seen Master Anthone so agitated. Eron’s toe stuck out of a hole in one boot. He shoved his discarded nightshirt and slippers into the bag, willfully defying all his sister’s lectures on royal deportment.

He clung tightly to his tutor’s hand while navigating the hidden staircase down. Quiet in here, except for the tap, tap, tap of their boot heels echoing in the circular turret. No screaming or clangs of metal against metal, though the lantern cast horrifying shadows against the walls. “Where are we going?” Eron whispered, feeling the tension keeping Anthone’s shoulders tight.

“To the stables.”

The stables. Eron loved the stables, though he usually wore riding clothes and had his mount brought around to the courtyard. The noise coming from outside might spook his horse.

Going to his favorite place kept Eron quiet. They reached the bottom of the narrow stairs, and Anthone opened the door. Lumpy bags sat by the wall, one spilling potatoes onto the floor. They were in the cellar. Another place Father forbade Eron from playing.

But where he played anyway.

Anthone charged through the room, still clutching Eron’s hand, and ducked behind a rack holding salt pork. Spices tickled Eron’s nose.

They went on and on, down one unfamiliar passage and up another. At last, Anthone opened the door to the outside. Frightened whinnies filled the air, along with the scent of burning wood and something Eron couldn’t name.

Anthone lifted Eron into his arms and darted across the gardens to the stables.

Hentri, the burly stable master, stood with his hands on his hips. “About bloody time!” He eyed Eron up and down, hard gaze softening as he pulled out a knife. Eron flinched. Hentri lifted Eron’s hair in rough fingers, hacking at the waves. Inky strands drifted to the ground. “Such a shame to cut your lovely dark hair. So like your mother’s.”

Why, then, was Hentri cutting it?

Hentri stepped back, assessing his handiwork. “There. Better, but too clean.” He rubbed a handful of dusty straw over Eron’s head. Eron sneezed.

Anthone crouched on one knee, placing Eron on the dirt floor. He set the lantern aside and hugged Eron. Father didn’t like for Eron to hug the servants, but he did anyway. Hugs were nice.

Anthone let go, rearing back to take Eron’s shoulders in his hands. “Go with Master Hentri,” he said with the same seriousness normally used for lessons. His voice came out choked. “Don’t look back. Your name is Edry now. Go!” Anthone rose and slunk back into the shadows.

“Anthone!”

“No time for that!” Master Hentri lifted Eron up, placing him in the worn saddle of an older horse the family never used for riding. Heavy packs were strapped behind the saddle. “Let’s go. If anyone questions us, remain silent. Do you understand? You must pretend you can’t speak, no matter what they ask you. Not a word. Can you do that?” He flung a cloak over Eron’s shoulders. “Lift the hood. We mustn’t let anyone get a good look at you.”

Eron’s heart pounded. Where were they going? Where was Father? Dafron? Lessa?

Hentri led the horse away from the main castle entrance, dozens of fires providing light. Men and women fled past them, eyes wide, some clutching crying children. “Where are they going?” Eron asked.

“The lucky ones might make Methus by nightfall.”

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