Haladras (17 page)

“I’m sorry to have brought this trouble upon you, Barryman,”
said Grim. “I had little other choice. I only hope they will not suspect you as
a conspirator.”

“Bah!” exclaimed Barryman. “I won’t hear of it. I’d burn
down my own inn if I thought it would help our little prince here. I’d do
anything for a son of Athylian. Anything to defy that tyrannous so-called king
of ours. Do you see what he’s done to Dura Cragis? Orphlyus is dead. Our
beloved Orphlyus. A great leader. Lover of his people. I’ve no doubt Tarus is
behind it.

“The new governor brought in the king’s soldiers. They swarm
our streets like drunken beetles, doing naught but putting fear into our
peoples’ heart. Did you see the streets? Do you see my supper hall? The people
fear to leave their homes at night. No, Grim. You honor me.

“To get you two out of here undetected, leave it to Ol’
Barryman.”

“How’s that, my good Barryman?” asked Grim.

The round innkeeper smiled and raised his eyebrows.

“There’s another way out of this inn other than through
doors or windows.”

SIXTEEN

T
HE LOW WHISPERED
voice of Grim
roused Skylar after only a few unsatisfying hours of sleep.

“Awake, my prince. The time is come for our escape.”

Skylar groaned and wished that he had awakened somewhere far
from where he was. Somewhere warm, where no one was trying to harm him. Despite
his body’s protest for more rest, Skylar quickly got out of bed and dressed
himself.

Barryman waited outside their door, lantern in hand. None of
them spoke as the innkeeper led them downstairs. Even the wooden floorboards
and stair steps, sensing the gravity of their plight, kept the silence and
refused to creak or moan. In the kitchen, Barryman set his lantern upon a
table.

The boy, Harold, suddenly appeared. He and the innkeeper
went to work removing tiles from the floor. They worked swiftly and methodically,
as though they’d performed this routine a hundred times before. When they had
finished, a hole in the floor, little wider around than Grim, revealed a series
of short wooden planks. These Barryman removed.

Nothing but gaping blackness lay beneath the planks, its
depth unknown.

“It’s easy to lose your way once you’re down there. These
catacombs crawl beneath the city like a spider’s web. Just keep heading south
and you should come to an outlet.”

Barryman handed the lantern to Skylar.

“Don’t break this—unless you want to spend the rest of your
short life wandering around in the darkness down there,” he said, perhaps
jokingly, but Skylar did not think it funny.

Harold brought over a rope, which he fastened around a
wooden column and fed the other end down the hole. He held the rope up for
Skylar to take hold of.

“Maybe you ought to carry the lantern,” said Skylar, handing
the precious light to Grim.

Barryman chuckled and would surely have boomed with laughter
were the need for silence not so dire.

“Are you certain you will be alright?” said Grim to the
jolly innkeeper.

“Of course! I’ll cook those two weasels in my stew if they
try to come in here.”

He smiled and laughed again. Yet even in this dim lantern
light, his smile could not hide the fearful look in his eyes, or how he wiped
his hands nervously on his apron. Skylar did not know whether Grim noticed this
too, but he feared for this kindly innkeeper and prayed him safe.

Grim descended the rope first, nimbly handling it in one hand
while the other held the lantern.

The distance to the bottom proved less than Skylar imagined.
Seven meters—perhaps fewer. Skylar took hold of the rope and made his way down,
though less skillfully than Grim.

“Farewell, little prince,” whispered Barryman as Skylar’s
head slowly disappeared into the hole. “Our hope, our salvation.”

A strong scent of decay and age hung in the thick air. It
struggled to squeeze through Skylar’s nostrils, choked his lungs, and filled
his mouth with an acrid taste. Pale walls, ceiling and floor stretched out
before them in either direction as far as the dismal lantern light dared to
shine. At sporadic intervals, dark openings in the walls led off to some
never-ending tunnel.

The path Grim led them along bent and twisted as much as a
snake’s body. Despite its serpentine path and constant forks in the tunnel,
Grim pressed onward as one who navigated those catacombs daily.

“Do you think Barryman will be alright?” asked Skylar after
a time.

Grim made no immediate reply, leading on with his sure
stride.

“I pray he will,” came his response at last. It did nothing
to ease Skylar’s mind about the matter. “Our trouble now—assuming we make it
out of these tunnels—is keeping the others away from the city.”

A sudden pang of guilt made Skylar cringe. He’d almost
entirely forgotten about the others.

“They have surely discovered your absence by now,” Grim went
on. “That they will suspect you came to rescue me, I feel certain. Krom is a
fair enough tracker. Though, in the dark he will have little chance of
detecting your trail. They will wait to act until first light, unless I guess
incorrectly. That gives us some time, though little.”

That was the last of their conversation until they came to
what appeared a dead end. For once, Grim did not immediately know what to do.
He hesitated; put his hands on the wall barring their way and felt along its
surface. Unsatisfied, he held up the lantern higher and scanned the whole wall.

There was no turning left or right. Their tunnel simply
ended, leaving them with only one option: to go back the way they had come.

Grim paused his inspection of the wall and set down the
lantern. Wordlessly, he bowed his head and seemed to fall into a state of
meditation. His eyes were closed, his face taut. For several minutes he
remained thus, leaving Skylar to wonder how they would find their way out.
Barryman’s jest suddenly became more prophetic than the innkeeper had intended.
And it was all Skylar’s fault. Grim would not have had to come this way,
Barryman would not be in danger if only he’d not tried to be the hero.

At last, Grim awoke from his meditation, the confusion and
uncertainty in his face now replaced by calm certitude.

“We’ve come the wrong way,” he said. “I made a wrong turn
some time back. We are under the southeastern corner of the city. We shall need
to backtrack. Come, my prince, let us hope my folly shall not cost us too
dearly.”

By the time they had backtracked and found the tunnel which
Grim believed was the correct one, considerable time had elapsed. Skylar began
to long for fresh air and the brightness of daylight. The more time they spent
in those tunnels, the narrower they seemed to grow and the less certain their
escape appeared.

They did come at last to the end of the second tunnel. This
time the wall which barred the way looked different. At the base of the wall a
large round stone protruded out from the flat surface, as though it had crashed
into the wall and gotten lodged half way through.

Immediately, Grim began prying at the stone with his hands.
Skylar crouched down to help. In vain they struggled to free the stone. It
refused to budge.

“This is futile,” said Grim, halting his efforts. “The stone
mocks us.”

“If only I still had that soldier’s blaster...” said Skylar
wistfully.

“No need for wicked implements. Perhaps the stone will yield
to steel.”

Grim pushed aside the folds of his cloak and drew out the
broadsword from its scabbard. As he did, the metal rang softly through the cave
like the clear high-pitched note of a bell. Taking the sword in both hands,
Grim worked the blade between the stone and the wall, and pressed his weight
against the sword’s hilt. But the stone remained unperturbed.

Once again, Skylar doubled his effort with Grim’s. The pair
struggled for several minutes; Skylar pulling at the stone with his bloodied
fingers, Grim straining against his sword.

A rasping sound escaped from the stone. The two pressed and
pulled with increased force. Minutely, the stone moved. They strained harder.
Again, the stone budged. Then again.

A gap was now visible. With a final heave, Grim and Skylar
forced the stone out of the hole and onto the cave floor, where it fell over
with an echoing
thud
.

“Well,” said Grim, sheathing his sword, “Barryman certainly
forgot to mention how difficult that would be. Though, I dare say Barryman
could eat that stone for breakfast.”

Skylar laughed. It was the first joke he’d ever heard Grim
make. He felt relieved to laugh. In spite of all their peril, laughing somehow
made it all vanish—if but for a moment.

The hole in the wall was plenty wide enough for them to
crawl through. Skylar had expected the distance between the inside wall and the
outside world to be no more than a meter. However, the hole proved to be a
tunnel it its own right, extending several meters before opening out in the
predawn light.

They stood on a narrow landing, just above the level of the
valley. The city gates were east of them. The thin mist from the night before
had thickened and grown so that the entire valley lay sleeping beneath its cold
blanket of bedewed air. It was yet dark, but not as dark as the night. Morning
drew nigh.

“We’ve come too late,” said Grim, his breath forming a white
vapor in the chilly air. “We dare not cross the open vale by the road now.”

“But it is still dark,” argued Skylar, “and the fog will
hide us.”

“Indeed, my prince. But for how long? The light of morning
grows by the minute. And that fog shall burn away under the sun.

“No, we cannot make it to the others today. We shall have to
try and signal them, and hope to meet them on the other side of the mountains.
I cannot be sure of Krom’s intentions. I don’t think any had considered the
possibility of Orphlyus’ death. To Arsolon, in the western province, we shall
make our journey. Lord Denovyn is our last hope so long as we’re trapped on
Fenorra. Some ten leagues lay before us out of this valley. How long from here
to Arsolon, I do not know. Weeks—no doubt.

“Come; let us move from view of any unfriendly eyes.”

 By mid-morning Grim’s prediction proved true; the gray
fog resting in the valley and the layer of gray clouds above evaporated under
the sun’s rays. Skylar felt glad of the change. Yet the sun’s appearance did
little to comfort him. It was a pale sun, set in a washed out blue sky. And though
it brought light, a steady northern wind kept its warmth at bay.

The two travelers skirted the vale, keeping just inside the
mountains, where thick growths of trees, large boulders, and hillocks shielded
them from anyone attempting to descry them from afar. Grim also hoped that the
rocky foothills would make their trail difficult to follow.

“Although, I doubt it will make it impossible for any
servant of Morvath,” admitted Grim. “If they possess the power to sniff us out
like an animal hunting its prey, I would not be surprised.”

Shortly after setting off from Dura Cragis, once safely out
of view, Grim had stopped them. He quickly set to work collecting small twigs
and branches. These he laid in a pile on a flat boulder, then lit them with a
fire charge. No sooner was the faggot crackling in the consuming flames, than
Grim untied a tiny small leather pouch from his belt and emptied its contents
onto the fire. Instantly, the flames extinguished, replaced by a thick billow
of green smoke, which floated higher and higher into the air.

Despite the wind’s effort, the puff of smoke remained intact
until it had risen high overhead, where it slowly dispersed into the air.

“Too risky to send a transmission,” said Grim. “Morvath's
servants will be spying the airwaves. Our smoke signal just may escape their
notice, or their interest. Let us hope our companions see it.”

They did not rest at noon to eat. Grim urged them to keep
moving at a rapid pace.

“I will feel better once we’ve rid ourselves of this
valley,” said Grim, as they walked. “It does not bode well for us so long as we
remain here.”

“I, too, will be glad to be out of it. I don’t like it.
Though, I can’t say why. There’s something dark about it...lonely.”

“It has not always been so,” said Grim in a voice that
sounded as if he were speaking to himself. “I’ve been in this valley many
times. I know it well. A pleasant place it used to be—full of life. Yet life
seems gone out of it. Morvath’s presence here has done more than inspire fear
into the people of Dura Cragis. Even the rocks, trees, and animals sense the
evil.”

The wind whipped up. Skylar shuddered and drew his cloak
tighter around his body.

They walked until well after nightfall. To Skylar the night
with its deep shadows felt more menacing than ever, as if every rock or tree
hid some malignant creature, waiting to fall upon them as they passed. An eerie
howl floated through the air and made Skylar halt in his tracks. The frightful
sound was rejoined by two more howls.

“Vangre wolves,” said Grim in a low tone. “It would be wise
to stop here for the night. A fire should keep them away.”

Despite the blazing fire which they built in short order,
the howling of the Vangre wolves persisted. They could even be heard tracing
the perimeter of their campsite, rustling through the brush and plodding
lightly on the ground.

“Are you not afraid of an attack?” questioned Skylar.

Grim sat on the ground near the glowing fire, his back
resting against a mighty tree trunk.

“You have no need to fear, my prince,” he said calmly. “They
shall come no closer. They fear the fire too much.”

“All the same,” said Skylar, “I wish I had a sword like
yours.”

A faint smile broke on Grim’s face. “I am your sword, my
prince.”

This he said with such confidence and conviction that Skylar
felt more at ease. He sat down by the crackling fire. Questions which he’d been
saving suddenly rushed to his head.

“Grim, that sword you carry... you told the governor that
King Athylian, my father, gave it to you. You knew my father well, then?”

Grim’s gaze remained fixed on the fire as Skylar finished
his question. As Grim began to speak, he maintained that pose.

“Your father gave me that when I was but a year or two
younger than yourself. A gift for my birthday, and a kind of promise that I
should join the order of his royal knights when I came of age. His knights were
called the Keepers of the Kingdom. They preserved the peace and fought against
the enemies of the empire. I had longed to be one ever since I was old enough
to understand what they were. My father was one of them.”

“You father was one of Athylian’s knights?” said Skylar in
amazement.

Grim nodded.

“Where is he now?”

“My father is dead.”

“Oh,” replied Skylar quietly, feeling uncomfortable for
bringing up a painful topic. “I’m sorry. I—”