Chapter Ten

K erric stood in his usual position, staring out over the forest. Over the seasons, he'd watched the two highwaymen as the smaller one grew larger, surpassing the other. Had he been a child when Kerric first spotted him? He appeared a man full grown now.

Rumors spread by passing guards spoke of the king hosting nobles soon. Perhaps Kerric would see the highwaymen again. Anything for a break in his tedious monotony. As easily as the man in black moved, climbing trees, dropping on a carriage, he must be fit under his dark clothing.

Kerric whiled away time imagining the face behind the mask. Would the man be beautiful? Well, since Kerric stood no chance of meeting him, he'd imagine a strong nose, high cheekbones, penetrating dark eyes, and long, wavy hair. He'd have been aroused by the image if he'd been able.

Two sets of approaching footsteps snapped him from his fantasy.

"I needed to speak to you, Mage," Bain's high-pitched voice said. "There are problems perhaps you can solve."

"I am listening." No mistaking Miisov's low rumble. "What problems, Your Majesty?"

"My queen has yet to give me legitimate heirs. I hear whisperings that some nobles would replace me with my great niece, Lessa, or her issue." He snorted in disgust. "As if the people might accept a queen leading them."

"Those rumors have not reached my ears," Miisov said calmly. A highly unlikely turn of events. Miisov would know if a mouse dropped a breadcrumb in the scullery. At least ten women came to mind who'd do a far better job at ruling than Bain. Actually, any woman would. Other monarchies were led by queens, after all.

"I have sent assassins to take care of the matter. None have succeeded. The last insisted on gold being paid in advance. My spies tell me he's been caught and killed. I cannot allow Lessa and her sons to take my place."

Assassins! Bain sent assassins after King Lothan's daughter? Rage boiled inside Kerric. If he were free from this stone prison, he'd tear Bain apart with his bare hands.

Miisov sounded far calmer than Kerric could've managed. "Tell me, Your Majesty. How are your current diplomatic relations with Estia?"

"Estia? Ha! They are a treacherous people. I'd destroy them all if I could, but my advisors say the other kingdoms will only be sympathetic if I attack for good reason."

"What if I can give you that reason?" Miisov sounded slightly amused, much like he had before calmly declaring checkmate during a chess game.

"Do not speak to me in riddles, Mage."

"There is a highwayman who haunts the area who speaks Estian like a noble-born. Aren't you planning a ball for King Selin and his queen?"

Highwayman? Kerric's highwayman?

"Yes. I'd hoped to get better assassins."

"She'll surely have increased her guards with the past failed attempts. Not just anyone will do. Another noble would have reason to approach her at one of your banquets or balls, do the deed, and be gone. If they take him for an Estian noble…" Miisov let the words trail off.

What was Miisov suggesting? Had he fallen to Bain's influence?

"A nobleman, you say?" Bain failed to hide his interest. "How can a highwayman play the role of a noble?"

"I do not know his complete origins, but I believe he might be the younger son, raised in a noble household. Who knows how Estians treat their young?" Miisov snorted derisively.

There was no mistaking the satisfaction in Miisov's words at having gotten Bain to take the bait.

"How will we capture this highwayman? I'm told he's eluded capture thus far."

"That," Miisov said, "you can leave to me."

Kerric watched as the two highwaymen approached their normal ambush spot. They never hunted here so soon after a successful raid.

Miisov had returned that day to give Kerric details about a certain outraged duke and his pretty little plaything, who hadn't seemed nearly as outraged at being robbed by the legendary Lord and Lordling Night.

The Nights were back, but one of them left with both horses. What was going on? Where was the younger highwayman Kerric had come to think of as his?

If Kerric could but move.

Soft footfalls approached from behind. "It all begins now," Miisov murmured, nearly too soft to hear. "So many seasons of planning are coming to fruition. You will play a big role, my dear captain." He might have slapped Kerric's shoulder, but stone couldn't feel.

Miisov remained beside Kerric, saying nothing, merely watching the thick trees.

A touch of mischief crept into Miisov's tone. "I might have arranged for the guards to apprehend our thief. Oh, you can't fool me. I know you watch him. For more reasons than you currently know."

What, by all the holy ones, were those ominous words supposed to mean? The sun lowered in the sky, the day fading. Then, a dozen or more horses' hooves pounded along the winding road to the castle—Bastard Crau heading the line.

"I'd like to strike Crau from his horse," Miisov said conversationally, giving voice to Kerric's thoughts. "I might be suspected if he suddenly fell for no apparent reason. Ah, but the temptation is there every moment of every day."

So, Miisov didn't like Crau either.

Miisov mused, "It's taken twelve summers, but the usurper finally trusts me enough not to have me followed all the time, even including me in his vile schemes. Which is good, considering I'm actively planning his overthrow. Oh, don't worry, no one could hear me even if they stood a mere foot away. Silencing spells. Handy tools."

Miisov planned to overthrow Bain?

The company down below grew closer. Was that a cart? The soldiers' horses made the skinny nag pulling the cart look positively decrepit. Something lay inside the cart. A man?

A man in black. Kerric's insides would have jolted if they could at the memory of another cart and three lifeless bodies.

"Ah, I see our guest of honor has arrived. Time to get busy." Miisov strolled away without another word. Was he chortling?

Our guest. The highwayman?

The sun set behind the horizon. Night fell. Lights shone from the windows of houses, rebuilt since the battle decimated the previous town so long ago. All Kerric could do was watch and wait. He could hurl himself to the ground, but he owed it to his men to keep going until all hope had been lost.

A snapping sound jerked him upright. Wait! Did he move? Did he actually move? Tiny shards of something clattered to the roof. Kerric stumbled, nearly falling. What?

He ran his hands over his face. His hands! He had hands! And a face. And his sword at his hip. He glanced around. None of the other statues appeared to be moving. He shoved a piece of the material that had fallen from him into his pocket for later inspection and crossed the distance to his men.

When he turned back, all the broken shards were gone. Thrusting his hand into his pocket, he found the piece he'd saved had disappeared, too. Strange. So strange.

Timmons remained encased in stone, as did Malcolm, Kerric's second in command. Georgi remained. The contingent once contained twenty-five men. Eleven besides Kerric now stood in the full moonlight. Kerric would mourn the fallen later since he could determine now who'd been lost. They all appeared as fearsome beasts, all with wings either folded or furled.

But he knew each one.

"Men," Kerric told them. "I believe you can hear me. If so, know that I'm free. I don't know how, but I am. I'll find a way to free you, too. Hold on."

He looked out at the night. Funny, he'd had much better vision as a statue, maybe because of the curse that destined him to watch and stand guard forever.

Or until a rightful heir to King Lothan arrived. Wasn't that a term of the curse? Was it a soldier of Lothan's line who'd entered the castle? Or the man in black?

Kerric hid in the shadows while a sentry passed, not seeming to notice the missing gargoyle, and he set off down the servants' stairs. First stop? The kitchens. From what he'd seen, the style of uniform he'd been cursed in hadn't changed much to the untrained eye. There were differences, but a scullery maid might not notice.

He'd been filthy when cursed, clothes torn and blood-stained. Now, they were as pristine as when he'd first put them on.

He pocketed his captain's bars. Best to pretend to be just another guard if caught—which he didn't intend to happen. He peered around a corner. A round-faced woman carried a tray through the kitchen and out the door, leaving him alone. Time for Kerric to get what he needed and be gone before anyone else entered.

He slipped in. A rat scuttled across the floor, seemingly unafraid. Potatoes rotted on a sideboard. What happened to Mrs. Harper and the pristine kitchen of Kerric's memory? Regardless, now wasn't the time to be choosy.

Ah, the woman had left out cheese and bread. Saliva filled Kerric‘s mouth. He shoved a bite of cheese between his teeth. Heavenly after so long. He followed with a bite of bread and then filled a cup from a nearby bucket in the same place where the old cook kept drinking water for the staff. He downed the cupful, then another, then another.

The cook might soon return.

He wrapped more bread and cheese into a cloth that he secured at his waist, filled the cup once more, and slipped from the room, keeping to corridors normally unused during the evening hours—at least in Kerric's time. Though some of his gargoyle sight had dimmed, he still saw more than he recalled being able to the last time he'd roamed these passageways in the dark, with only the occasional lantern lighting the way.

Where should he go? Look for the highwayman, or find Miisov?

He heard boot heels on the stone floor, and ducked into an alcove hidden from view behind a curtain. He'd kissed a young lord here during a ball once. Whatever became of the man? His family likely married him off to the noble lady of their choice, and he currently raised a new generation of nobles.

The footsteps grew closer. Whoever passed by had no concept or no need of stealth.

A commander's uniform.

Crau. But why wear a uniform? Wasn't he a duke now?

But there he was, in all his gutless glory. Kerric could easily step out into the hallway, strangle the bastard, and leave his body undiscovered until morning.

No. Crau kept secrets. Until Kerric discovered those secrets and how he could benefit from them, he'd keep the mangy cur alive.

Kerric waited for Crau's footfalls to fade before stepping out from behind the curtain. Where was Crau going? Better yet, where had he been? Kerric crept down the corridor in the direction Crau had come from, away from the areas normally seen by noble guests and staff, to the oldest section of the castle, which had once been little more than a keep. A place only guards went, and never in Kerric's recent memory—now seasons-old, of course. For all he knew, Crau and his men used the cells below the castle regularly these days.

A guard sat on the floor outside the entrance to the lower level, arms on his knees, head on his arms. He let out a loud snore—which Kerric heard as permission to pass. Technically, Kerric outranked the man, though he didn't know this particular sergeant. The man had likely been a small child the last time Kerric came here.

There must be a prisoner here. The man in black? Had they beaten him? Left him to die in a cell? Kerric would have never allowed such during his time here, but he'd heard of new cruelty from his perch on the rooftop—cruelty King Lothan had despised.

The hinges didn't so much as squeak when Kerric pulled the panel open and slipped through, though the heavy wooden door showed the pocks of time.

No one came running. Kerric slipped farther inside. Two lanterns sat on a low stool near the door. Another hung a few yards down the corridor, out of sight of anyone entering.

Kerric crept along the wall to the third lantern, moving slowly and keeping to the wall to avoid giving himself away if another guard patrolled. He slowly dimmed the glow to avoid notice. Without keys, he couldn't free the thief, even if he wanted to. But he needed to see, to know why this man fascinated him so.

And why he'd apparently caught Crau's interest as well.

He heard no shuffling, no mumbled curses but followed the marks on the floor where dust had been disturbed. Someone had been dragged here.

Kerric must be on the right track. He followed the marks to a barred door and remained in the shadows, watching a lone figure keeping to the back wall of the cell. The guards hadn't even given the thief a light. Likely no food or water either.

However much Kerric longed to make a meal of the stolen food, the thief might need nourishment more.

Kerric's eyes adjusted more the longer he waited until he could make out a face, arms, and long, dark hair. He held the lantern aloft, getting a better look.

Oh, dear Goddess. It couldn't be.

The image of Crown Prince Dafron stood inside the cell.