Page 3 of Immortal Sentry

The stiffness eased from Hentri’s shoulders. “Oh, Hig… My brother lived here. He left it to me, but I had no use for a woodcutter’s cottage.” Hentri shrugged. “I suppose I do now. I’m trying to make the place look like you and me been living herefor a while. Which, if anyone asks, we have. You’re my brother’s boy, Edry. When he died, I came from Altura to care for you and stayed.”

“Why would you stay? Altura is warm no matter the season. It gets cold here.” Made little sense to Eron. He’d avoid the cold if he could.

“That it does, lad. That it does.”

Sunlight streamed through the door, lighting Hentri’s face. Eron had never noticed the deep lines on the stable master’s face or the gray shooting through his otherwise dark hair and beard. Wait. Stable master? No. Uncle.

“Why do I need a different name? Do I have a family? Where are they?” And why couldn’t Eron remember properly? He at least remembered his name was actually Eron, not Edry.

“Hentri is a common name among my people. No one would look twice at me. I am your Uncle Hentri, and I’ll protect you. That’s all you need to know. Now it’s time to get up.” His attempt at a smile fell short. “We’re working men, now. I’ll heat you some of last night’s stew. In time, we’ll get chickens and a cow. Or at least buy milk and eggs from a nearby farm. For now, we must make do.”

“What’s going to happen to me?” And why did Eron feel alone in the world as though he’d once had everything and it suddenly vanished?

“I hope that after things settle at the castle, I can find a better situation for you.” Hentri crossed the room and squatted before Eron, taking Eron’s chin in one large, callused hand. “Only if it’s safe. I swore to take care of you, and I will die before I break my oath. I brought a few bags of grain, potatoes, and dried meat. I’ve enough money saved to get what else we might need. Until I tell you otherwise, we’re Hentri and Edry, woodcutters. If King Selin’s men come, hide in the bushes until they leave. It’s better for you not to be seen.”

“King Selin? Why?”

Hentri rose slowly to his feet. “He’s always hated your family, and he would hurt you if he could.”

“Why? What have I done to him?”

“You’ve done nothing, lad. Greed blinds men to innocence.”

“Would he hurt you?”

Hentri replied matter-of-factly. “He would kill me.”

Eron vaguely remembered the name King Selin but had never met the man—or had he? Sitting on a makeshift pallet, though, he swore King Selin would one day pay.

And dearly.

Eron heard the soldiers talking long before they arrived at the cottage and knew they weren’t local from their clipped accents.

He remained hidden in the trees as Hentri had instructed but crept closer to overhear anything said. He spotted royal livery. Were the soldiers here to kill him? Though he distinguished murmuring and bouts of soldiers’ laughter, Eron couldn’t make out any words, given their thick accents. He crept closer still, peeking out from behind the edge of the cottage.

“I’m a woodcutter. Been here at least sixteen seasons,” Hentri said, voice unwavering. He stood with an ax slung over one shoulder. To anyone who didn’t know him, he probably appeared casual. Eron noticed the muscles bunched in his massive arms.

“I dunno,” the leering man on a horse snapped in reply. “Some ‘un said they done seen an auld man with a big horse and a boy about ten summers old leavin’ th’ castle grounds. I see an auld man, and I seen me a big horse, but I don’t see me no boy.”

“And I’m telling you, I’ve never set foot near Hisar castle.”

The man dropped from his horse, hand on his sword hilt. “How d'ya know I was talkin’ ‘bout Hisar Castle?”

Hentri paused a moment before he replied, “Word gets around, even this far out. I was told a battle had happened there.” His voice held the slightest hint of a waver.

The soldier drew his sword. Before Eron could move, he brought the blade down. Hentri blocked the blow with his ax, then swung with all his might. The soldier screamed, falling to his knees. He dropped his sword and clutched his middle. “Kill him!” the man screamed, blood turning his teeth red.

The other four soldiers sprang from their horses, falling on Hentri as one. He dropped, blood spouting from his neck and arm.

No! Not Uncle Hentri! Eron sucked in a breath to scream.

A gloved hand slapped over his mouth. “Cry out, and you’re dead,” a low voice murmured.

Chapter Two

Kerric watched from Castle Hisar’s ramparts, a sense of doom growing with every passing moment. Line after line of enemy soldiers descended the nearby hills, all draped in the red and green of neighboring Anilitk. King Lothan Eritrescue’s advisors had sent urgent messages to his allies. They’d never arrive in time.

What if someone killed the messengers before they could reach help? How many of the king’s loyal soldiers, Kerric’s comrades, now lay dead on the battlefield, sacrificed to a lost cause?

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