Page 16 of Immortal Sentry

“You take care, young lordling,” Simona murmured while filling Eron’s water glass. “Life would be dull indeed without your and Kene’s exploits to keep me entertained.”

Eron gave her the grin and wink combination that had won him the favor of many a lad—and a few lasses—in the past. “I always have, always will.”

Simona cuffed his shoulder. “Don’t be practicing your wiles on me, you charmer.” More gray smattered her hair than at their first meeting, and she now walked with a shuffle, but kindness still shone in her eyes when she looked upon Eron or Kene. He didn’t let the grandmotherly countenance fool him. She could be ruthless when necessary, yet loyal to a fault.

Eron finished his meal and returned to the stables, bringing an apple for Rhedos. “Here you go, you fabulous bit of horseflesh.” The horse munched the apple while Eron brought out his tack.

Kene and her gelding occupied the next stall, though anyone who saw her in her black breeches, boots, and tunic might have thought her a man unless they saw her braid, currently affixed to her head with pins and covered with the hood of her cloak. She slipped into the role of Lord Night so easily that sometimes she confused even Eron. “Are you ready, boy?”

Eron flashed a grin through the slats in the stalls. “As ever, milord.” All these seasons together, she still occasionally called him boy. Reminding him of the difference in their ages?

Kene snorted in response, leading her horse from the stall. Eron joined her a few minutes later, mounted and ready to go. The horses were of a deep coloring with no easily identifiable markings, the kind of horse no one paid attention to. Though Rhedos might look like an ordinary horse, he had undergone training by the best horsemen and women available.

“Shall we go relieve a wealthy fool of his purse?” Kene asked with an amused smile. “I believe the villagers will need to replenish their supplies by winter.”

“Yes, let’s.” Eron clicked his tongue, setting Rhedos into motion. His pulse raced in anticipation of the hunt.

Eron pulled Rhedos abreast of Kene’s mount, staring up at an imposing castle that seemed vaguely familiar. They seldom ventured this far south without reason, and they’d never come solely to rob nobles. They always had other business nearby to provide an alibi.

“What are those?” Eron pointed toward the castle.

Kene blocked Rhedos, speaking in bored tones that belied the anticipation Eron knew she felt. “What, exactly?”

“Those large winged things.”

“Ah, boy, remember the stories I once told you in the evenings about the cursed guards, forever destined to act as castle sentries in order to atone for their failures?”

Tales to fill a winter’s evening. Nothing more. “Those aren’t real men,” Eron scoffed. “They can’t be. They’re some kind of beastly statue.”

Kene clapped a hand on Eron’s shoulder. “You are correct. Theyusedto be men.”

Shivers raced up Eron’s spine. “You’re telling me true? They were men?”

Kene clucked her tongue, urging her horse faster. “Yes. Cursed by a powerful mage.”

“They have to stay that way forever?” Eron couldn’t imagine being confined to one place. Even staying on Kene’s estate for more than a few ten-days made his skin itch. Of course, he also didn’t truly believe a mage turned men to stone. He’d heard stories of mages, but Kene changed the subject whenever heasked about them, leading Eron to believe she didn’t believe in them either. Strange she’d mention one now. Then again, she somehow conjured mage light.

Kene continued the story as they rode. “Legend says that when a true heir of the royal family once again sits on the Hisar throne, the cursed guards will have an opportunity to redeem themselves. They’ll be his or her champions. But I wouldn’t put too much trust in the mage. A spell of that magnitude might be difficult to control. Now, quiet. We’re near the road.”

Eron went through the motions of hobbling Rhedos, sneaking through the trees, and climbing a tall oak, all while images flashed in his mind of champions, gargoyles, and battles. He stopped. Battle. What was it about a battle that made his heart stutter?

Kene shielded her eyes from the sun with one hand, peering up into the tree.

Eron poised to jump. They’d done this a hundred times. He nodded his readiness.

Kene disappeared into the brush to wait for their prey. Many wealthy lords came this way of late, offering who knew what in exchange for wealth and power. Many arrived at the castle less wealthy and fully aware of how unpowerful they were by the time they reached the castle gates. If they valued their treasures, they should have paid for guards—one or two wouldn’t necessarily have deterred Kene, but they would have given her pause.

Eron’s vantage point gave him a clearer view of the castle. Something seemed so familiar about the place, but he and Kene had never been there that he recalled. He’d only seen the place from a fair distance, and he’d never paid much attention during their previous trips.

The statue on the tallest spire caught his attention. Was that gargoyle looking at him? Chills ran down Eron’s spine. Surely not.

The squeak of carriage wheels brought his attention back to the here and now. So close. Glimpses of the red carriage with bright gold trim Eron had attended at the stables showed through the trees.

He balanced on his perch, slipping a mask over his face. It occurred to him he now looked much like Kene had the day they’d met—a man all in black.

A highwayman. A highwayman, or woman, rather, who’d saved Eron’s life.

The clop of hooves grew closer.

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