Page 65 of Immortal Sentry

The power abuses must stop. The leaders Eron planned to meet had known his father and older brother. If Eron had ever met them, he couldn’t recall. Most were older, of his father’s generation. Somehow, Eron must convince them to back his cause. He’d never in his life seen a formal treaty, yet now he must forge several. Thank Gertia for Lessa, who possessed the knowledge and political talent Eron lacked.

He traveled behind Kerric, through twists and turns, finally emerging at the ruin of a stable. Familiarity jolted him. The burned timbers had once housed his horse. This was where he’d visited Hentri and escaped his fate. What had become of Beauty?

The fallen timbers remained, never having been cleared, now covered with a light dusting of snow. In the quiet, Eron swore he heard faint screams from horses and townsfolk as they scrambled to escape the invaders.

Miisov turned to face Eron. “Locals consider this place cursed. I might’ve aided that with a ghostly figure or two. No one comes here, which makes it perfect for our purposes.”

Saddled horses stood at the ready, along with a groom, breath fogging at each exhale. Kene, Miisov, Lessa, and Eroneach mounted a horse. Lessa nodded to the young man who’d delivered their mounts.

The man smiled, pulled up his cloak hood to hide his face, and sank back into the trees.

Kerric rested a hand on the neck of Eron’s mount. “I am sorry, but the curse keeps me here at the castle. I cannot leave. Know that if I could, I’d remain by your side.”

Eron leaned down, placing his gloved palm against Kerric’s cheek. “I know. Wait for me.” The intense heat in Kerric’s eyes made Eron squirm. If not for their audience, Eron would have kissed him.

Kerric stood in the road as Eron and the others took off at a trot, Eron not daring to look back.

They rode single-file in darkness down a well-worn track, tiny balls of mage light illuminating the way. An old stone wall gave way to a towering gate guarded by two men in the blue and gold of Hisar’s military, though the deep blue appeared nearly black in the inky darkness.

The two accepted a purse from Miisov and opened the gates. Eron never trusted loyalty paid for with coin, but no doubt Miisov had added a touch of compulsion to the silver. He looked more haggard tonight than ever. Guilt stung at how Miisov let himself suffer in order to work his magic.

Several miles through thick woods brought them to a clearing. The full moon’s light glinted off something on the far side of the field.

Eron swept his gaze repeatedly over the open ground, hackles rising at his exposed position. Soon enough, his entourage reached the other side. Mounted soldiers met them, wearing colors Eron recognized as belonging to Dillane, Fashkein, and Methus.

The soldiers led Eron’s group through more woods to another clearing set up as a military camp. When they passed the largest tent, the soldiers motioned Eron’s group to stay.

Two soldiers stepped forward, taking their horses' reins. Eron dismounted, stretching out kinks in his back while waiting for Lessa, Kene, and Miisov to join him.

They strode toward the tent, where two guards allowed them inside. Eron kept his hand on his sword hilt.

He stopped inside the tent flap, using every bit of learned skill not to drop his mouth open or otherwise give away his surprise. Three men and one woman sat in chairs, men and women wearing a commander’s rank standing behind them.

The kings and queens came personally? Their regal bearing and signet rings gave them away.

Miisov said, “Prince Eron, allow me to introduce King Anselm of Fashkein, King Rupert of Methus, Queen Rana of Dillane, and Crown Prince Korazn, acting on behalf of his father, King of Votrya. Your Majesties, and Your Highness, please welcome Prince Eron, younger son and heir of King Lothan of Hisar.”

Each dipped their chins in acknowledgment. All but the prince was old enough to have known Eron’s grandfather.

“Let us waste no time,” King Anselm began. “We’ve much to do and little time to do it in.”

Soldiers brought chairs for Eron’s delegation. Eron suddenly wondered at the wisdom of traveling light to avoid detection. If things went wrong, he’d rather have a score of his own soldiers at his back.

“You are correct,” Eron said. “We haven’t much time. King Bain has plans to execute Lessa and her sons, while I believe Duke Crau plots to take the throne for himself.”

King Anselm, who acted as spokesperson, replied, “A fact we can use to our advantage. Tell us truly, are you indeed Price Eron, son of King Lothan?”

“I am, and this is my sister, currently Queen Lessa of Anilitk.”

“Of course he is,” Queen Rana interjected. “He’s the spitting image of his brother.”

King Rupert nodded. “That he is.” Only Korazn remained quiet, keen blue eyes constantly moving from one face to another while he stroked the few scant hairs on his chin.

“Begging your pardon, Queen Lessa, but King Selin is a traitor,” King Anselm spat.

“A fact I’m well aware of.” Lessa filled her words with venom. “And that’s probably his most positive quality. If it weren’t for our sons, I could honestly say he’s never accomplished a good thing in his life.”

King Rupert flashed a grin. “We agree, then, Queen Lessa.”

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