Chapter Twenty-five

K erric watched the sunset from the ramparts, occasionally noting movement in the distance while listening for footsteps. Crau knew he was here, though Miisov hid the statues. Could he make Crau forget having seen Kerric? A loud crack sounded once the last of the sun's rays kissed the earth, stone releasing Kerric from his prison. Dare he hope to see his men tonight?

Crack, crack, crack! echoed down the wall as, one by one, Kerric's men appeared once more in human form.

Kerric grabbed them, hugging them all in turn. His men. Alive and well.

A formidable fighting force. The men lifted the swords Miisov had granted them before the curse, flexing their muscles. They appeared exactly the same as when Kerric last saw them. All sported silver hair and eyes like Kerric, in varying shades.

"The curse is broken?" Malcolm asked.

"It appears." But at what cost to Miisov? "Unfortunately, not permanently if we fail in our mission tonight."

Malcolm snapped to attention. Kerric couldn't miss some of the men simply flexing their fingers before their faces, much as he'd done when he first returned to flesh. "What is our mission?"

"To put King Lothan's younger son on the throne." Maybe his men hadn't heard all the plans he'd discussed with them, or they hadn't been as aware in gargoyle form as Kerric.

Malcolm's mouth dropped open. "The boy yet lives? But we saw his body!"

"Thank all the gods who've ever existed, he is alive, though my heart breaks for whoever took his place beneath the sword. His sister also lives. Bain wished to have Princess… I mean, Queen Lessa of Anilitk and her sons killed to clear the succession, and he doesn't know that Prince Eron is hiding in plain sight in the castle."

Georgi groaned. "They made her marry that old toad? The poor lass."

"That ends tonight," Kerric assured him. "She's arranged with the kings of other lands to send troops to help secure Prince Eron's position. Tonight, we must subdue Bain, our treacherous Commander Crau, and any loyal to them. If we want to remain men at sunrise, we have to defeat them tonight and return Lothan's line to the throne. Are you with me?"

Malcolm smirked. Gods, how Kerric had missed that smirk. "I'd kill Crau just for being a steaming pile of cow shit. The mission is a bonus."

"I believe we'll find our targets in the great hall at tonight's ball." Kerric counted out three men. "Go to the dungeon exit." He pointed out three more. "Approach along the back wall. The rest of you go with Malcolm. King Lothan has died, but we're still the king's guard. The rightful king."

Kerric's heart broke at how few men remained. So many dead. Bain must answer for every one.

Kerric slapped Malcolm on the shoulder. Damnation, it was good to see the man. "Lead them in shadows, with stealth. We have the element of surprise. Crau knows about me, but not the rest of you. Once in the ballroom, surround Bain's location. Our uniforms aren't too out of date and shouldn't be questioned by the servants. Many were hired for the occasion and don't normally work here. I'll meet you there."

He took the stairs two at a time, then skirted in the shadows to avoid being seen until he slipped into the secret passageway to Eron's chambers, ever watchful. He slowly opened the door to Eron's sitting room.

A sword came at his face. Kerric deflected.

"No! Kene! He's a friend," Eron cried.

A tall man dressed all in black halted his attack mid-motion, swiveling his gaze back and forth between Eron and Kerric.

Queen Lessa stood to the side, dressed in a simple green tunic, breeches, and boots. Her dark braid wrapped around her head, held in place by hair clasps. He'd be sorely mistaken if Bain expected her in elegant finery at his ball. She looked so much like the warrior queens of legend, their likenesses woven into tapestries throughout the castle.

Eron stepped forward, also dressed in black—his typical highwayman garb. He wore a sheathed sword Kerric recognized as having been Dafron's. How suitable for Eron to use his brother's sword to avenge the family.

"Kene," Eron said. "This is Kerric, captain of the king's guard."

Kene eyed Kerric up and down. "I… I remember you. You haven't aged, but your hair is now silver."

"Elzabai?" Looking closer, Kerric realized the man in black was indeed Miisov's daughter, who had been gone for so long. They put their swords away and clasped each other.

Elzabai! Dafron's love in the castle once more, where she'd sworn she'd never be again.

Kene stepped away. "Prince Eron and Princess… I mean, Queen Lessa, insist they don't need a guard, but I say they do."

Kerric's heart nearly missed a beat. "Don't need a guard?" He shot Eron a fiery glare. "We've come too far to risk the two of you now. Kene and I will be with you. Where is Miisov?"

Queen Lessa answered though she looked more like a highwayman than a queen. She still appeared quite regal. "He's speaking to the commanders of the combined forces who are waiting to storm the gates."

"Are we maintaining the same plan?"

"Yes," Kene gave a curt nod. "The royal offspring will confront Bain and Crau at the ball. Father said he broke the curse for now. Are your men available and in place?"

"They are."

"Good. Soldiers loyal to King Lothan are where we need them to keep the nobles in check. Once the fighting starts, they'll be held in the great hall. If they cooperate, no one gets hurt." Kene checked the knives at her waist, back, and boots. She wore a glowing stone around her neck. A talisman or charm of some kind? Finally, she tied on a mask and pulled up the hood on her tunic, concealing her shining hair. She extracted another glowing stone on a leather thong from her pocket, which she handed to Kerric. "You might need this."

"Some have a reckoning coming," Queen Lessa said, hand on an Alturan sword—smaller than what the guards used, but not less deadly.

"That they do, Your Majesty, that they do," Kene agreed. "But first, we must ensure Bain isn't killed in the gardens. The deed must happen at the ball so his murder can't be blamed on Lessa."

Eron strode across the floor and flung open the hidden doorway. Kene took a lantern from a nearby table and, sword in her other hand, led the way. Queen Lessa followed behind Kene. With loyal men replacing Crau's at the door, no one would know Eron wasn't inside the room.

Kerric stepped outside to address them. "Stay here until we've had time to get away, then report to the great hall."

Eron stopped Kerric with a hand on his arm, then pulled him in for a kiss. "For luck."

Kerric took another lantern and followed Eron, stopping to close the door.

Their bootheels clattered on the steps, but they'd need to muffle every sound soon. They emerged from the servants' stairwell, moving steadily down.

They came out near the kitchens, bustling now as servants entered and exited, serving the king's guests. They paid no attention to the armed warriors in their midst. Perhaps Miisov had worked a bit of concealment magic. Or maybe Kene had, though she'd sworn she'd never be a mage. That had been before she'd lost Dafron.

They moved from the servants' corridors to a secondary hallway, devoid of people at this time of evening. Whether by design or chance, who could say?

Kerric's heart rate increased as they approached the great hall. Music and laughter hung heavy in the air, a counterpoint for the horror to come.

Kene led the way to what Kerric remembered as a storeroom. There, they all donned armor and helms. At first glance, they would appear to be any of Bain's guards if no one considered Lessa's small stature.

Ready at last, they marched in formation out an exit used by kitchen staff, another group of soldiers on patrol. They drew near the meeting place. Four guards eyed them warily, nodded, and then marched off. Kerric, Kene, Lessa, and Eron took their places, close enough to make out Bain's arrogant bark and Crau's superior sneer in the garden.

The crisp air stung Kerric's nose, and fluffy snow began to fall. He reveled in the ability to feel cold when he hadn't for so many seasons.

"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 relied on 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.

Crau breathed hard, thrusts and parries growing sloppy. Kerric showed no mercy. He pressed his attack, amazed Crau lasted this long.

He wouldn't hold on for much longer. Crau fought like a man unused to such exertion while Kerric carried out the movements he'd practiced repeatedly during his time as a guard, working his way up to captain. Many an hour he'd spent as a stone gargoyle, fantasizing this very moment, down to each thrust.

"Stop!" Crau leaned against the stable door, gasping for breath. Despite the chill in the air, sweat beaded on his brow. "I can give you your wildest dreams. I can make you a count or a duke once we depose Bain. What is it you want most in the world?"

"Something you cannot give," Kerric growled from between gritted teeth.

"What is that? I can give you anything."

"You cannot give me back my twelve summers, my fallen men, or being there for my mother. My king and prince, my friends, my dignity." So many good people died because of this man. Kerric took aim, the world slowing down, every moment etching into his memory. He brought his weapon down. Crau raised his blade in defense. Kerric's blow ripped away Crau's sword. Crau's eyes and mouth went wide.

He fell to his knees, shoulders bowed. Defeated.

Kerric didn't allow him a chance to plead or lie. "For your many crimes, I stand in judgment of our divine Ibrus. I deliver his justice." Kerric brought his sword down in a killing blow. Lightning lit the sky, and thunder shook the earth while fat snowflakes fell.

Ibrus bore witness to Kerric's vengeance.