Haladras (16 page)

“I came to save my friend, of course. Now come on, let’s
leave here while we can.”

Grim was on his feet in an instant, striding out of the
cell.

“You should not have come,” said Grim as swiftly they made
their way toward the stairwell. “You have put yourself in grave danger.”

Skylar only partially heard Grim. His thoughts were busy considering
their escape from the citadel. Had the real guards finally appeared for duty at
the gates? Would they think anything of Grim leaving with another soldier?
Other
Guards...

Just before they mounted the stairs, Skylar paused.

“Wait,” he said, stuffing his head back into his helmet. He
scanned the map, and found the red dot that indicated his location. He gasped.
There were three other dots heading directly for the stairwell from the first
level.

“What is it?”

“Guards are heading for the stairs. We must hide.”

Skylar whirled around, looking for a hiding place.

“And where will you hide with that locator in your suit?”
Grim had Skylar by the arm and was moving him back toward the holding cell.
“You must put me back in the cell and pretend to be my guard.”

“Back!” said Skylar.

“Yes, my prince. Hurry.”

Skylar hated the idea of putting his liberated friend back
in the cell. He knew Grim was right, though. There was no other option.

Letting go of Skylar’s arm, Grim dashed into cell number
four, and resumed his previous pose on the stone bed.

“Close cell number four,” commanded Skylar.

The glass wall slid back into place, trapping in Grim just
as before. Loud clanking footsteps began to echo from the stairwell. Skylar
turned in time to see several pairs of armored boots descending the steps. He
took his blaster in both hands and straightened his stance, attempting to
appear like a guard on duty. The three soldiers reached the bottom of the
stairwell and marched forward, official purpose powering every rigid step.

Against hope, Skylar prayed they were on some other errand,
anything but orders related to Grim.

“Walk past. Walk past,” Skylar repeated under his breath,
like one casting a spell.

It was no use. The three guards were walking directly toward
him, toward Grim’s cell.

“What are you doing down here?” demanded the foremost guard.
Unlike any of the guards Skylar had encountered, this one wore a suit striped
with three red lines around the upper arm. A mark of higher rank. “Forgotten,
most likely. Just as you seem to have forgotten how to salute your superiors.”

“Oh,” stammered Skylar, who fumbled with his blaster before
bringing his right arm across his chest in salute. “Sorry, Sir.”

“I asked you what your business was down here, soldier,”
growled the officer, planting himself uncomfortably close to Skylar.

“Guarding the prisoner, sir.”

“By whose orders?” hissed the officer.

“Uh, Captain…” Skylar hesitated, hunting his brain for a
name that sounded reasonable. “Captain—”

“Oh, never mind,” snapped the officer. “Whoever it was he
knew what he was doing. This prisoner needs about as much guarding as our army
needs incompetents like you. Get out of my way.”

The officer shouldered Skylar aside, then issued the voice
command to open Grim’s cell. “You two,” he said, signaling to the guards
standing behind him. “Bring the prisoner with us.”

The guards hustled into the cell, their suits clanking with
their swift movement. They grabbed Grim by the arms and hauled him up and out
of the cell. Grim put up no resistance, but came along calmly, head held high.
He did not look at Skylar when he passed. Skylar wished he had. A nod, a wink,
a raised eyebrow—anything. Some kind of a sign that Grim had a plan to get
away.

“You will follow us,” ordered the officer to Skylar. “I
don’t want you to go sneaking off to guard something else which needs no
guarding.”

Obediently, Skylar fell in behind Grim and the guards. The
officer then led them up the stairs.

Suddenly an idea struck him. It was too easy. No possible
way it could fail. They would be rid of the guards and the snarly officer. Then
he and Grim could make a run for it. Surely they could reach the citadel’s
front steps before any other guard discovered the bodies. It was too easy.

Skylar gripped the blaster in his hands, these thoughts
swirling in his mind. There were only three. He could shoot all three before
any of them knew what was happening. All he had to do was shoot.

He hesitated. Could he kill three men? If he didn’t, they might
kill Grim. He had seen the wickedness the king’s soldiers were capable of. Did
they not deserve death? Were they not all serving a king that had betrayed and
killed his parents?

Skylar lifted the blaster and leveled it at the first guard.

Could he do it?
Should
he do it? Thoughts began to
pour in. Perhaps these men have families: wives and hungry little children.
They, at least, have parents of their own; friends; people who care about them.
No one is that evil. Is it the soldiers’ fault they serve a traitorous king?
Can they know what he really is?
Can I kill another man?

Grim. I must save Grim.

He put his finger to the trigger.

It is a weapon only of evil
. The words of Krom
suddenly entered his mind. They struck with great force.

Slowly, he lowered the accursed weapon and bowed his head.

I can’t do it.

He was only vaguely aware that they had halted in front of a
door. The officer inserted a keycard into a slot near the door and the door
slid open. All five entered and the door closed ominously behind them.

FIFTEEN

T
HE ROOM’S DARKNESS
was only
surpassed by the night sky looming outside the tall, slit-like windows. Those
same windows commanded a view of the frightened city below. A heavy coldness
permeated the room, as if the air were made of the same lifeless stone as the
walls and floor. The room, narrow and long, stretched before them like the
Devil’s Throat on Haladras. At the end of the room, in front of the windows,
sitting behind an enormous ebony desk, was a man who reminded Skylar of a desert
weasel.

The man looked up from his desk to scrutinize the captive
with his beady eyes, which were set between a nose so long and pointed it might
have served for a weapon.

“What is it, Sergeant?” said the man with a voice full of
impatience.

“This is the captive, Lord Governor,” answered the officer,
sounding so humble that it made Skylar smile. “You requested we bring him to
you.”

“Let him come forward, then.”

The sergeant motioned with his hand, and the guards on
either side of Grim roughly hurried him to the governor’s desk. They planted
him just in front of the desk before retreating to the sides of the room.

The governor studied Grim for a few moments before asking,
“What is your name?”

“I am called Grim,” came the proud reply.

“Grim. That is all? Only Grim?” The governor’s voice bore an
edge of mockery.

“Grim Galloway, if it pleases you, Governor.” Grim’s voice
was neither harsh nor kind, but perfectly matter-of-fact, as though he spoke to
no one of any importance.

“It does not please me,” was the governor’s sour response.
“You have entered my city with the appearance of a vagrant. Yet you carry a
noble blade of steel. A knight’s blade, if I’m not mistaken. From whom did you
steal it?”

Grim stood tall and erect, with all the dignity of a king.
And when he spoke, his words were the clear incontestable words of truth. “It
is none but my own. Given me by King Athylian himself.”

The mention of Athylian’s name seemed to hit the governor in
the chest. He rocked back in his chair.

“Athylian!” he cried. “How can that be? I demand that you
tell me your true name.”

“I have had other names in the past. But I claim them no
longer. Grim is my name.”

“Impudence!” squealed the governor, rising from his chair
glaring at Grim with a menacing scowl. “You shall—”

There was a sudden stirring from a corner of the room at the
governor’s side. He paused in mid-sentence and turned his head in that
direction. The deep shadow that obscured the corner seemed to be moving,
growing, until it was standing next to the governor. The governor whispered
something to it and the thing hissed back. It was then that Skylar realized
that the shadow was actually a man—or something like man. There was
insufficient light to tell. It wore a dark hooded cloak and its face was but a
tiny abyss of blackness.

Whatever it was, the governor paled and cowered under its
shadow. Despite his evident discomfort with the strange being, the governor
managed to maintain a semblance of composure, nodding obsequiously to some
secret instruction.

Then the shadow withdrew back into its corner and the shaken
governor, mopping his bald head with a handkerchief, returned his attention to
Grim.

“I have reconsidered the matter,” he said. “Maintain your
anonymity, if that is your wish. You are free to go, but I warn you not to
tarry in my city. My guards shall put your sword back in your possession and
see you to the gates of the citadel. Sergeant.”

He flicked his hand, like a man shooing a fly. In response,
the sergeant pointed to one of the guards.

“See the prisoner to the gates.”

Grim was roughly escorted out of the room, while Skylar
remained behind, unable to leave without dismissal. As he wondered how he was
going to extricate himself from this unexpected turn of events, a voice like
the sound of air freezing faintly disturbed the silence.

“Follow him,” it hissed.

A moment later, two other shadows emerged from the opposite
corner, floated across the room, and vanished through the door.

*  
*   *

He must warn Grim. Whoever—or whatever—those things were,
they made Skylar’s stomach form a knot just to think of them lurking close
behind Grim. But where had he gone? How long Skylar had to stand guard in the
governor’s office, he did not know. Hours. The surly sergeant had finally had
enough and sent Skylar back to the barracks.

Once outside the citadel, and out of sight of the guards at
the gate, Skylar turned down a side street and backtracked to where he had
deposited his clothes. He soon found the alleyway, but saw no sign of the
soldiers he’d left passed out in the street. Skylar smiled to himself as he
thought about the soldier explaining to his superior why his suit was missing.

Quickly, Skylar shed the heavy armor and dumped it behind a
metal bin in the alley. Perhaps the soldier would come back to look for it in
the morning. Then he donned his clothes, wrapped his cloak around his body, and
set off toward the city gates.

The full weight of exhaustion from lack of sleep bore down
on him as he walked. If he hadn’t felt such an urgent need to find Grim, he
would have fallen asleep on the street.

He knew nowhere else to go but back. If Grim were still
within the city walls, he had no way to know where. He might hunt for days. And
what of the two shadows stalking Grim? Skylar shivered at the thought, and increased
his stride. He simply must find Grim.

For all his desire, though, he struggled to keep up a strong
pace. He had not slept since the night before their encounter with the Mauwik.
How long ago that seemed.

Footfall sounded on the street behind him. Skylar’s senses
quickened at the sound. Another soldier? The footfall was too light. Who then?
The black shadows? Not wanting to find out, he turned down a side street and
disappeared into the shadows. A voice made him hesitate.

“Sir...Sir,” it called out as loud as it dared. It was
almost the voice of a child.

Whirling around, Skylar found a small figure running up to
him, arm upraised, waving. As the figure came closer, Skylar saw that it was a
boy, several years younger than himself. He was breathing heavily, but spoke as
quickly as he could.

“Please, Sir,” he said in a mere whisper. “I’m to have you
follow me.”

“Follow you? Who are you? Who gave you instructions to fetch
me?”

“Please, Sir,” pleaded the boy, as though his life depended
on Skylar, “you must come. He who bid me fetch you says that you are looking
for him.”

Grim?
Skylar considered the possibility, then warily
said, “Take me to him.”

The boy led Skylar through such a maze of streets and
alleyways that he began to grow suspicious. Where was this little urchin taking
him? And why the circuitous route? After a dizzying number of turns, Skylar
felt certain they were merely tracing circles around the city.

“Where is this man of yours?” asked Skylar at last. But the
boy only replied, “Please, Sir,” and motioned for him to keep following.

Finally the boy stopped at an alleyway door. He gently
tapped on the door several times. After several seconds, the door creaked open.
No light spilled out into the alley. Only a subtle difference between shades of
blackness indicated the door was open. A large figure loomed before them.

“Well done,” whispered the man in the doorway as he motioned
them inside.

“Please, Sir,” said the boy. “Inside, here...”

Skylar was beginning to feel the boy didn’t know how to say
anything else. He took a deep breath, as if about to dive under water, and
stepped inside.

A scent of rotten apples, cooked onions, and old potatoes
all mingled into a stagnant air touched his nose. Behind him, the door creaked softly
closed. The large shadow which had stood in the portal clattered about in the
darkness, muttering something under his breath.

“Here it be,” came a deep voice.

A sudden glow of light flickered to life just in front of
him. Where the large shadow had been, a ruddy-faced man with the stature of a
bear now stood holding a phosphorescent lantern. The man beamed down at Skylar
with a broad smile and eyes brighter than the thin lantern light. A
grease-stained apron covered his chest and protruding belly, and his sleeves
where rolled up to his dimpled elbows.

“This is a capital day,” said the bear. “I never thought my
eyes should look upon this visage.”

The man stretched out his arms. And Skylar feared the man
would swallow him with a hug. Instead, he let his arms fall to his sides and
his smile departed.

“The time for celebration is not yet come,” he said with
considerable gravity. “Evil lurks at the doorstep as we speak. Come, your
companion awaits you.”

The man motioned with the lantern for Skylar to follow. They
passed through a cramped scullery, brimming all over with tottering piles of
pots and pans, soup bowls and mugs; then a dingy kitchen, likewise strewn with
cookware. A large crock roasted over a small cook fire at the opposite end.
From the sputtering crock drifted the aroma of a stew that set Skylar’s mouth
watering. They walked out of the kitchen and into a dining hall, furnished with
scattered tables and chairs. A meager fire blazed in a fireplace. Yet despite
its size, Skylar felt warmer at the mere sight of it.

“This way, young master,” said his large guide.

They mounted a narrow stone stairwell running along the wall
and which led them to a sort of mezzanine. Several rows of private booths lined
the walls. His guide showed him to one toward the rear. He pulled back the
curtain for Skylar to enter. Skylar halted, he caught his breath. Inside sat a
dark figure.

“Grim!” he shouted in relief. “How did you—”

Grim held up a finger for him to be quiet.

“Not so loud, my prince,” spoke Grim softly. “We are not as
safe as it may seem.”

Skylar sat down opposite from Grim and the guide pulled the
booth’s curtain closed. Only a short tallow candle illuminated the interior of
the booth. It provided sufficient light to see Grim’s face–composed as ever.

“Grim,” said Skylar as hushed yet earnestly as he could,
“there are two men—two things—following you. I don’t know where they are, but I
saw them leave the governor’s office.”

“I know,” replied Grim. “That’s why I could not come to you
myself. I only hope they did not see and suspect you when Harold brought you
here. I think not. They have no reason to believe I’m not alone in the city.
But I think they hope I will lead them to you. Skylar, they are servants of
Morvath.”

The tiny candle flame shriveled at the sound of the name.
Skylar felt something cold creep over his body. Grim nodded knowingly.

“What’s more, Morvath himself sent them. It was he who told
the governor to let me free. Did you see how the governor cowered in his
presence? I admit I too was frightened. For I feared he might discover you,
sniff you out somehow. What agony he would suffer if he knew that the object of
his hunting stood within his grasp!

“Skylar, you should not have come. He could have taken you.
He controls the governor. No one would oppose him. No one would ever have
known. What has become of Lord Orphlyus, I do not know. I fear Morvath is at
the root of it. Orthunk said well, ‘these are dark times.’”

“But what about Morvath’s servants?” said Skylar. “Where are
they?”

“Lurking outside. They followed me to the inn. But they will
not enter, I think. I have little doubt that they wish to avoid detection. No,
they will bide their time and follow me when I leave. Were I alone, I would
lead them as far away from you as there is space in the galaxy. But I cannot
let them follow me with you. Yet I dare not let you journey back alone.”

“I’m not leaving you,” said Skylar warmly. “We can fight
Morvath’s servants. Give me a sword, any weapon. I’m not afraid to face them.”

Even as he spoke these words his heart trembled in his
chest. Grim smiled faintly.

“I do not question your valor, my prince. But I will only
face those two in combat if I must. Much less endanger you. Therein lies our
difficulty, how to evade these cunning servants of Morvath?”

Skylar dropped his head, clenched his fists.

“Little use I’ve been to you,” he said bitterly. “I came
hoping to save you. Yet all I’ve managed to do is create more problems for
you.”

Grim did not gainsay him, but only looked at him with eyes
neither meant to console nor reprove.

“My prince,” he said after some time, “to none is given what
would have been. There is naught for us to do but keep steady to our course.”

Just then, the curtain to their booth was drawn aside and
the corpulent form of the innkeeper stood before them. A steaming bowl of
savory stew and a tall mug occupied a tray in his massive hands. That same grin
beamed down at him, shaming the candle light.

“For you, lad,” he said, placing the tray down in front of
Skylar. “The house’s finest stew.”

Skylar looked at the bowl, hunger immediately panging his
empty stomach. He eagerly grabbed for his spoon, then looked up at Grim. Grim
held up his hand.

“Please, eat. Barryman has already taken care of me.”

Not needing a second invitation, Skylar commenced devouring
the stew with a voracious appetite. As he did, Barryman took a seat at the
booth next to Grim. The wooden bench moaned and creaked beneath his ponderous
weight. The table shook, nearly spilling Skylar’s meal.

“They are still out there—the hungry wolves!” said Barryman
in a near whisper. “I sent Harold on another errand. Told him to scout out the
situation. The best he could without drawing suspicion to himself. Good one
that Harold be. He said he saw no one, but that he felt as if someone was watching.
If that’s not enough for you, he spied thermal sensors in the street and back
alley. You won’t be sneaking out either way without them being alerted of it.
Even if you climbed out a window.”