Page 69 of Immortal Sentry

“Your Majesty,” an out of breath Miisov shouted. “You must come with me to the great hall immediately. Troops approach the castle. We must warn your guests.”

Kerric could almost imagine the scene from his perch, torches gleaming in the darkness, drawing ever closer.

Bain shot to his feet from the bench he’d been sitting on. “What? My sentries have reported no such thing.”

“Your sentries have been compromised,” Miisov assured him. By Miisov himself, actually. “Come, we must get you to safety. Guards!”

Kene, Kerric, Lessa, and Eron stepped forward, taking up protective positions around the king and Crau. With Miisov guiding the way, they moved to the great hall.

Nobles poured into the hall in various states of dressing for the festivities, while early arrivals were likely well on their way to drunk by now. Guards lined the walls. Kerric made eye contact with each of his men, who were hidden within the company.

“Noble guests of King Bain,” Crau announced. “We are under attack.”

Gasps went up, followed by screams. Many turned to flee the room, only to find their path cut off by guards.

“Calm yourselves!” Crau shouted to be heard above the din. “Rest assured. You are safe. King Bain has the finest soldiers in all of Ala. We will dispatch these rogues in short order. Until then, this is the safest place for you.” He drew the people away from the king, uttering empty platitudes.

Only Lessa, Kerric, Kene, Miisov, and Eron remained in a corner with the king.

“Who dares attack me?” Bain shouted, as arrogant as ever.

“I’ve seen banners of Estia, Methus, Votrya, and Fashkein, for certain, Your Majesty.” Miisov kept his voice calm. “It has been ages in the making, sire, but you are accused of killing King Lothan and his sons and claiming the throne for yourself, though you have no blood right to do so.”

Bain growled. “What are you going on about, you old fool?”

Miisov straightened his stooped shoulders. “The time has come to return the throne to the rightful line.”

“There is no rightful line but me.” Bain twisted his lips into a sneer, making his haggard face appear even more sinister than usual. “The last of King Lothan’s issue die tonight, if they haven’t already.”

Lessa removed her helm. “You’re wrong, Uncle Bain. Like you always have been. Next time you blackmail an assassin, be sure it’s not my own dear brother.”

“Your brother? Your brothers are dead.” Yet the fear in Bain’s eyes spoke of uncertainty.

Eron removed his helmet, holding himself tall, every inch King Lothan and Queen Salcha’s son, though many in this room likely didn’t see his true self. Kerric had never felt such pride in the man the child had become. Eron stepped forward. Now was not the time to falter or entertain self-doubts, not with the fate of many in his hands. “In the name of King Lothan Eritrescue,” he said, “I declare you a traitor worthy of a traitor’s fate.”

Bain grabbed a guard’s sword from unresisting hands. “If you want the kingdom, whelp, take it from me. The kingdom will not accept you. They’re loyal to me. They’ll never follow a lowly thief.”

Eron watched and waited. Bain gave away too many tells. Eron attacked, his sword clanging against Bain’s tentatively at first, letting Bain underestimate him and allowing him to identify Bain’s weaknesses. Bain appeared well-trained, but he reliedon taught motions, never having individualized his own district fighting style. He’d likely never fought an actual foe in his life.

Something Eron had undoubtedly done. Crau charged for the exit behind the king’s dais. Kerric stalked behind him. Yes, time to get the bastard alone. No one could interfere. Crau belonged to Kerric.

Eron had matters well in hand, so Kerric chased Crau down the hallway into the gardens, his armor and slushy snow slowing him, but not by much. Where was the pathetic coward going?

The stables. Before Crau could open the stable doors, Kerric descended like a vengeful beast. “Crau! Face me.”

Crau spun, drawing his sword, cocky grin not nearly as confident as he likely intended.

Kerric shifted the mage light Kene had given him, allowing it to hang on his chest. Not a bright light, but giving off enough illumination for what Kerric intended. “Like Bain is condemned for his actions, so are you. Our Lord Ibrus doesn’t like traitors. You’ve betrayed your king, your men, and your honor. What more is there for a soldier to live for?”

Though snow gathered on the ground, lightning streaked the sky. Ibrus coming for vengeance.

“For gold and power, you twit! I gave the better part of my life to King Lothan. For what? A commander’s position, consulted only on matters of security and war. I’ve guarded unworthy nobles whose only saving grace was their birth. They lived in palaces while I slept on the ground too many nights.” Crau’s face was an eerie specter in the low light. “Why serve them when I could join them? They were never my equals. They were and are beneath me.” He held his sword at the ready. “You’ve never beaten me before, and you won’t now.”

“We shall see, won’t we?” Crau had once been a powerful fighter, but he’d let his body go. Running from the ball had left him winded. He’d be no match for a soldier in prime condition.

Kerric attacked ruthlessly, again and again, the clash of steel a song he’d often danced to. He judged and countered Crau’s every move, familiar with the former commander’s fighting style.

Step by step, Kerric pushed Crau back toward the stables. Crau could do nothing but fend off Kerric’s blows, never gaining ground. Their swords rang together, sending up sparks where metal struck metal. The blows reverberated up Kerric’s arm.

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