Page 10 of Immortal Sentry

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know!”

Crack!A thin trickle of blood oozed from the most recent lash. Anthone whimpered.

Crau struck with the whip again and again until he stopped asking questions and merely beat poor Anthone, screaming in rage. If only Kerric could get free and perform a daring rescue! The bastard guards laughed with each strike of the whip. They’d pay. One day, they’d all pay for beating an innocent man.

Anthone now slumped against the stake, held upright only by his chained arms. His agonized cries carried on the wind.

Kerric could do nothing but watch helplessly as Anthone’s moans grew fainter, then stopped altogether.

Crau flung the bloodied whip into the mud and stalked off. His soldiers fell in behind him. One by one, all spectators silently fled. No one helped the dying man.

Kerric recalled Anthone, stretched out in bed, offering his body with no reservation. His brilliant smile, his sinful mouth. He’d been a baron’s younger son. A caring soul with soft hands. Gentle, but he’d given his life for the prince. Kerric would bet amonth’s wages on Anthone knowing Prince Eron’s whereabouts. Yet he hadn’t told.

Noble until the end. He’d deserved so much better. Kerric had never grown too close, knowing Anthone desired a rich, powerful lover. Still, he’d loved Anthone, even if more as a friend than anything else.

Kerric cried though he was only able to do so in his mind.

The sun rose, the sun set. Rain fell. Sun shone. Damnable birds shat on Kerric’s head. Still, he stood watch over the ramparts. King’s Lothan’s standard no longer flapped in the breeze over Hisar Castle, replaced by a disgusting parody of the rightful king’s banner.

Bain, the puppet of the king of Anilitk, with vile Jaidia as his queen, who wouldn’t give him an heir despite his wildest dreams.

Kerric’s vantage point gave him a clear view of the comings and goings of the castle folk. Bain often visited a mistress in the village whose belly swelled with child. Maybe the queen’s inability to give Lothan a son hadn’t been Lothan’s fault after all.

At least last night offered some entertainment. Kerric tracked a well-appointed coach as it traveled the circuitous route through the forest to the castle. How foolish for the nobleman to so embellish his coach. He might as well seek out robbers himself.

Ah, there. A figure all in black, creeping toward the road. What diversion would he try this time? Fallen tree? A riderless horse? Or perhaps he felt bold this evening and would simply stand in the road.

So graceful, this robber. He didn’t move like a desperate man but performed, every action a step in a well-rehearsed dance. None could stand against him. He’d hit hard and fast, then be gone; horse hobbled a short distance away.

Were he not a statue, were his rightful king still on the throne, Kerric would pursue this brigand from the kingdom. As things stood, highway robbery provided a respite from the everyday monotony.

North. The highwayman always headed north. Typical bandits ran every which way, with no true plan other than to steal and live to tell the tale, and few were bold enough to attempt thievery this close to the castle. This bandit, though. There was an artistry about him. Who was he? Was he known to Kerric? Perhaps he’d been displaced and had become desperate, or was someone loyal to King Lothan who retaliated against the false king.

Kerric would have gladly joined him.

The carriage slowed around a tricky curve. The figure in black stepped out into the middle of the road, as calm as you please. If only Kerric could hear the conversation at this range. What words did the highwayman speak?Stand and deliver?Or something crasser?

Oh, Kerric hoped for crass.

The carriage slowed and stopped. Ah, the hunter had caught its prey, likely some wealthy noble who could give all he carried with him and still not make a dent in his coffers.

But wait! A smaller figure in black launched from a tree branch. How had Kerric not noticed a second bandit? The figure landed gracefully on the carriage’s roof, then slipped through the window. Bold creature.

How Kerric longed to be with the bandits or anywhere other than stuck on this rampart serving a sentence for a crime he didn’t commit. Or perhaps he did, for not somehow knowing of the coming storm and preparing.

What wouldn’t he do to be free of this burden, to travel the countryside taking from the rich?

The highwaymen abandoned the carriage, darting into the woods. Kerric tracked their progress to a stream, where the tree cover grew too thick to see through, even with the enhanced sight granted by the curse. The carriage remained still. Yes, the creative brigands likely tied the driver and passengers loosely. By the time they freed themselves, the bandits would be long gone. At least they only stole. This particular bandit didn’t seem to molest young ladies or torture the men.

The larger one didn’t, at any rate. Who was the smaller one?

Footsteps sounded behind him. How odd. Only periodic patrols came here. After all, Kerric and his fourteen men were the sentries tasked with keeping watch for all eternity, though now unable to defend the castle he’d vowed to protect.

The advancing footsteps weren’t hard-heeled boots like the guards wore. Ashuffle, shuffle, tapof slippers and staff warned Kerric who approached.

Mage Miisov stopped a short distance away. “I know you likely curse my name, Captain Kerric, but this was the only chance I could give you. I knocked you out during the final battle to keep you and the rest of your men from dying. You’re needed alive. However, Bain demanded that you be punished.” He stepped closer still until they were face to face. Face to snout. Whatever. “I don’t enjoy serving this mad king, for my loyalty is still to King Lothan, but if I leave, I won’t be here to avenge the true king and his family. I am as bound to this accursed pile of stone as you.”

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