Page 31 of Immortal Sentry

Why did Cap invade his dreams? Who was he? A guard, based on his uniform, but with no visible rank. If he wouldn’t release Eron, perhaps Eron could persuade Cap to send a message to Kene.

Eron snorted. What could Kene possibly do? Arm her staff to take on trained guards? Cook wasn’t that formidable. Rolf? Maybe. At least Cap brought food and water, though Kene said abductors sometimes tried to win their prey’s cooperation by acting as a friend as she’d done in the past when she’ddiscovered the plot against King Lothan, though the information had been too late to save the king or crown prince—two people Eron still couldn’t quite believe were his family.

Few sounds came from within the cells. He heard scuttling that might be a rat, but nothing to indicate any other prisoners. Had Cap even been here, or had Eron only dreamed of him?

Wrapping his arms around himself didn’t create any warmth. Eron shivered, blowing into his cupped hands to warm his fingers. Cold. So cold.

Boot heels tapped out a cadence in the corridor, shattering the near quiet, accompanied by keys jangling. Two guards came into sight, one holding a lantern, the other unlocking and opening the door.

“Don’t try anything, thief, or we’ll save his majesty the trouble of hanging you,” one growled.

So, that was why they’d spared Eron thus far. To make a public spectacle of the menace who’d relieved many pompous nobles of coin and jewels. He didn’t regret a thing. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Come on out.”

Eron eased toward the door.

“Raise your hands.”

Eron did. The second guard repaid his obedience by clapping irons on his wrists. “Is this quite necessary?” Eron asked in a bored tone. He yawned for added emphasis.

The second guard snorted. “Rumors in the barracks say you fight like a demon. While I fancy myself a good swordsman, I’ve no desire to test my mettle against a man who once held ten soldiers at bay.” He added, “Lord Night.” Was that a bit of awe in his voice?

Eron didn’t remember exactly how many men he’d fought in his lifetime or how many the actual Lord Night might have defeated. All soldiers appeared the same to a thief except, perhaps, for the pretty ones. However, if the guards wanted toboast of his prowess, Eron wouldn’t dissuade them. “More like twenty, but who’s counting?” Might as well add to the legend.

The first guard waved the lantern in front of him. “Follow me, and don’t try nothing.”

The guard behind Eron held a sword. “Where are we going?” Eron asked. He’d been in worse situations, like the time he’d been caught in a nobleman’s bed and been forced to defend himself—naked—with quick wits and a generous helping of flattery.

“Feel honored, you swine,” the first guard snapped. “Even the highest nobles wait a ten-day for an audience with the king.”

“I’m sure the honor is all his.” Eron lifted his chin into the air at a defiant angle.

Come face to face with the man who’d murdered King Lothan? Eron pretended to stumble and fall, but the less odious of the two guards caught him.

“Easy now,” the guard said, not unkindly. “Take care with those leg shackles. Hey!” The guard tipped Eron’s head up with a fingertip to the chin. “Do I know you? You look familiar.”

This guard appeared middle-aged. Perhaps he’d known Dafron or even Eron. But if he had, he couldn’t have been loyal to King Lothan and remained alive.

Father. Not King Lothan. Perhaps safer to keep a distance in his mind, though. Eron straightened, pulling away from the guard’s finger. “I can assure you, sir, we’ve never met.”

The guard tipped his head to the side. “Still, something about you seems familiar, with that dark hair and those green eyes.”

If the guard saw through the glamor, could others? What had Kene told him? Anyone who wished him harm would see him as someone else—a non-threat. Nice to know the guard didn’t intend harm. Not yet, anyway.

“I have many cousins,” Eron ventured, unsure of the truth of his claim, though some noble families of his acquaintancewere quite prolific with sons and daughters—bastards as well as legitimate offspring. “We resemble each other. Perhaps you’ve met one of them.”

“Perhaps.” The guard continued down the corridor, up too many steps, and emerged into yet another dimly lit corridor. “I wish I could clean you up a bit, but Duke Crau has instructed us to bring you immediately.”

Crau. A duke who’d never have to worry about Eron lolling in his bed. Eron did have taste, after all.

In his dealings as Kene’s apprentice and presumed heir, Eron had come to realize truly powerful men never boasted of their power. They didn’t have to. Braggarts, though, tried to convince others of their importance and station in life as a means of intimidation.

Crau might hold Eron’s life in his hands, but probably not. Crau was too much of a lapdog.

The farther Eron and his guards traveled, the brighter the passageways. Soon, ornate tables lined the walls, holding vases of flowers.

They came upon a set of double doors, guards flanking each side. One nodded to Eron’s escort and opened the lock with a gilded key. What a feeble lock. Given even the simplest blade and a count of three, Eron would have the thing open.

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