Haladras (18 page)

“Not long after your father gifted me this sword,” Grim went
on, easing Skylar’s feeling of awkwardness. “Tarus betrayed him. When Tarus
crowned himself king, he began secretly eliminating all of the Keepers.”

“What! Why would he do that? Didn’t they serve him?”

“One who steals a crown thinks of little else but how to
keep it. Being a traitor and murderer, he believed all around him were likewise
traitors and murderers. He did not trust the Keepers. He saw them as a threat
to his power. And so he began striking them down through Morvath. My father was
one of the first to fall victim.”

“Are they all dead, then?”

“No. Some realized what was happening and went into hiding.
Now they rove throughout the empire, helping victims of injustice wherever they
can. Krom was one who escaped.”

Skylar looked up quickly at Grim, but he did not speak.
Krom?
Skylar’s reaction spoke for him. Grim answered with a nod of his head.

“When my father was murdered, Krom…adopted me, you could
say. I’ve been with him ever since. He’s like a father to me. I owe my
swordsmanship skills to his diligence and patience in instructing me. But all
that time we were waiting for you. Waiting for the chance to serve the true
heir to the throne.”

Silence fell over the conversation. Skylar turned his gaze
back to the dancing fire, his thoughts far away. Grim stood and went to get
another log for the fire. The sparks and ash rose into the air in a spiraling
column of red, orange and white.

“Have I earned your trust, my prince?” said Grim.

Skylar looked up, startled by the question. Grim’s eyes were
fixed on him, an expression of complete earnestness on his face. “Do you trust
me?” he repeated.

“Of course, Grim.”

“Then you must promise to obey whatever I tell you until you
have safely rejoined the others.”

“But Grim—”

“I implore you, my prince. I cannot be sure of your safety
unless I have your promise of obedience.”

Nothing in Grim’s insistence or tone brought comfort to
Skylar. Grim hadn’t said until
we
have safely rejoined the others.
Skylar wished to speak of something else. Grim would not back down on this,
though. Of that he felt certain. It was almost as if Grim knew something he
wasn’t telling Skylar.

Reluctantly, and with a sinking feeling in his stomach,
Skylar nodded his head. “I trust you, Grim. I will do whatever you tell me.”

Grim’s expression relaxed. “Thank you. You should sleep now.
We have quite a long journey on the morrow. I shall take the first watch.”

SEVENTEEN

W
HEN GRIM WOKE
Skylar, it was
still dark.

“Time to be off, my prince. Morning draws nigh,” came the
low voice of Grim like a visionless dream.

Skylar yawned and forced his eyes to open.

“Morning?” mumbled Skylar. “But...you were...supposed to
wake me...for—”

“You needed your rest more than I. Now come.”

It was the same gray, fog ridden morning as yesterday’s. The
fire no longer burned. Only a pile of ashes and charred logs remained. Yet the
smell of it still clung to the air around their campsite. No sign or sound of
the Vangre wolves lingered from the night before. In Skylar’s mind, however,
they were still lurking in the shadows.

Grim handed him a small corn cake from the provisions
Barryman had given them. It was nearly frozen from exposure to the night air.
Skylar ate it as quickly as he could manage, chased it down with two drafts of
icy water, and then set off behind Grim into the fog and mist of another day of
flight from his enemies.

By noon they reached the base of the Boldúrin Mountains
below the pass that Grim intended for them to cross. The Nape of Sauros, Grim
called the narrow pass running between two fearsome swirled peaks, which loomed
over the whole vale like the cruel horns of a stone monster. The very look of
it made Skylar’s confidence falter. Though the pale sun beat upon it, it was as
dark as though a storm cloud brooded over it, threatening to unleash its pent
up anger.

The trek up the mountain, though grueling at times, proved
not too difficult. The pair made steady progress up to the pass, following
along a narrow pathway which mostly ran its way along sheer cliffs. At times
the path grew so narrow that they were forced to press themselves against the
rock face to keep away from the edge. Once, Skylar stepped on a loose rock
which broke free under his foot, sending him teetering precariously. Had Grim
not grasped his arm, Skylar felt sure he would have plunged to the jagged rocks
below.

As they ascended higher that same sense of foreboding grew
stronger in his heart. To match it, the winds swept down on them like a wall of
ice trying to bar their passage.

Still they pressed on, higher and higher.

Grim, sure-footed and impervious to wind or fatigue saw to
it that they made it to the top. Near midafternoon they came within easy reach
of the Nape of Sauros. The sight of it cheered Skylar’s heavy spirits. Any
sense of darkness—and even the winds—lifted. So close. Soon they would be rid
of that evil valley.

As they approached the pass, Skylar could see where the path
leveled out briefly before disappearing behind a bend, where it doubtless began
its descent down the other side of the mountain. His hopes mounted. Just as
they attained level ground a figure stepped out from around the bend, blocking
their path.

Skylar stepped back, startled by the figure’s sudden
appearance. Instantly, the dark pall returned. He shivered. The figure, which
stood like Death itself before them wore a long cloak of such impenetrable
blackness that neither crease nor fold were visible in it. The hood of the
cloak was pulled over its head, face hidden. By the coldness chilling his soul,
Skylar knew this was one of Morvath’s servants.

A second figure stepped out into their path and took his
place just behind the other.

“A pleasure to see you again so soon, Grim Galloway,” said a
voice from within the depths of the hood. The voice had nothing of pleasure in
it.

“I’m afraid I cannot reciprocate the complement, Lothor.”
said Grim calmly.

“Tsk, tsk. Where are your manners? I suppose I shouldn’t be
surprised. Your corpulent innkeeper friend wasn’t well-mannered either. We taught
him a lesson, though.”

“Let us pass, Lothor. You have no business with me. And I
have none with any servant of Morvath.”

“Morvath?” replied Lothor with feigned indignation. “We
serve King Tarus.” He drew himself up to his full height.

“Tarus is no better than a tyrant. He serves himself, not
his people”

“Careful, careful, Grim. Those are treasonous words.”

“Yet I am no traitor. I serve the empire.”

“Then we have no quarrel. Besides,” said Lothor as he and
his companion drew back their hoods. “We’re not interested in you. Your young
friend is who we want.”

Two pale blue eyes bored into Skylar’s. A look of intense,
unwholesome hunger was in those eyes, like a starved animal fixed on its prey.
Lothor licked his thin upper lip.

Skylar took another step back. Despite his fear, he couldn’t
help but notice how normal Lothor and his companion appeared. Save for their
pale skin and Lothor’s unnaturally white hair, only their eyes—their cold,
lightless, eyes—betrayed their true nature.

“He is my page,” said Grim coldly, stepping between Skylar
and Lothor. “He’s no concern of yours.”

“Page, is it?” sneered Lothor. “What do you think of that,
Gyle? Grim Galloway, the titleless knight claims to have a page. He looks to me
more a prince than a page.”

“He does indeed,” responded Lothor’s companion, menacingly.

Unexpectedly, Grim shed his gray cloak, letting it fall to
the ground and unsheathed his sword. In response, both Lothor and Gyle did
likewise.

“Try to take him at your peril,” said Grim, raising his
sword high and charging to meet Lothor’s blade. A crash of steel rang out sharp
and clear.

For several seconds, Skylar stood frozen to the spot. What
could he do? He had no sword or weapon of any kind. Yet he had to help Grim.
He, too, threw off his cloak and went to work searching for some form of
weapon: a rock, a staff, his jetwing—something.

Meanwhile, Grim fought with a prowess that far exceeded
Skylar’s expectations. Like a whirlwind he seemed, parrying blows and sword
thrusts from his two assailants, whilst delivering fiercely in return. His
strikes were like strokes of lightning, blindingly fast and unexpected. Yet for
all his ability, he was but one man against two. Lothor and Gyle were powerful
swordsmen as well.

How long they fought, Skylar could not guess. Hours it felt,
so tense were his nerves and every muscle in his body. His attempts to aid Grim
had been unsuccessful. Of the rocks he found handy, none was large enough to do
anyone much harm. Had he found one, he would have feared to employ it; Grim for
all his swift movement, made sure to keep himself positioned between the
servants of Morvath and himself.

Then suddenly the fight turned. Grim blocked a blow from
Gyle then knocked him sprawling to the ground. Fast as a blast of fire, Grim whirled
around to meet the downward stroke of Lothor’s sword, but did not raise his
sword to meet it. Dodging to one side, Lothor’s blade struck the ground,
sending its master staggering forward.

It was a fatal mistake. Lothor knew it.

Grim stepped forcefully onto Lothor’s sword, wrenching it
from Lothor’s grasp, then struck him across the face with this hilt of his
sword. A crack of bone and a howl from Lothor filled the air.

Lothor stumbled back, like a drunken man. Grim had him. He
was a dead man. But Grim did not strike. Taking advantage of Lothor’s temporary
disorientation, Grim rushed upon him from behind and brought the sword to
Lothor’s neck.

“Drop your sword or your companion’s life is forfeit!” cried
Grim.

Gyle, who had just recovered from Grim’s blow and regained
his feet, froze. With a look of scorn, Gyle cast his sword to the ground, where
it clattered and clinked.

“Alright, Grim,” he said, “you win the sword play. But
swords are for ninnies, anyway.”

Gyle reached into the breast of his black tunic and drew out
a small metallic device. Smiling victoriously, he pointed the glinting device
directly at Grim.

“I prefer using this,” he gloated. “Much simpler. Now, as
you’ll be no use to your page if you’re dead, kindly release Lothor.”

Grim stared at the blaster. Then he looked at Skylar. An
expression, half apologetic, half resigned flashed across the strong features
of this face. It pained Skylar to see it. Slowly, Grim moved the blade away
from Lothor’s neck, backed away, then tossed his sword to the ground.

In a moment, Lothor had the sword in his hands, with the tip
at Grim’s throat.

“You always were a fool, Grim Galloway. You should have
killed me when you had the chance.”

“You are the fool, Lothor,” replied Grim, without the
slightest hint of fear in his voice. “I pity you. You are so blinded by the
blackness of your own deeds. Can you not see that Morvath will destroy the
Empire? Strip its people of their freedom; enslave them to the whims of a
craven king?”

“I care nothing for the people,” said Lothor. He spat on the
ground. “They mean nothing to me. The weak deserve what they get. Morvath
rewards strength and loyalty. If you offered him yours, he might spare your
life.”

“A thousand deaths would be more welcome than any gift from
Morvath.”

“So perhaps you shall receive. Enough of this!” Lothor
turned to Gyle. “Do the test. I wish to be sure he is the one.”

Gyle nodded and produced an object shaped like a phial. He
approached Skylar, wearing that same mocking smile.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I just need a little blood,” He
pressed an invisible button that released a needle point from the end of the
phial. Instinctively Skylar drew back, edging himself closer to the brink.

“Grab him!” ordered Lothor. “Keep him away from that edge.
Morvath will feed our flesh to the ravens if the boy is—”

Lothor suddenly broke off, for in the moment he had turned
his attention to Gyle, Grim knocked the sword from his throat and threw his
full weight into Lothor’s chest, sending him toppling to the ground. Gyle,
ignoring Skylar, turned and took aim at Grim’s back. Acting so quickly he
surprised himself, Skylar kicked the blaster from Gyle’s hand.

“Ah!” Gyle cursed and brought his fist up. “You little brat.
I’ll teach you to meddle.”

Gyle struck Skylar across the face with a blow that made his
ears ring and his eyes see scarlet. He fell to the ground.

Gyle bothered with Skylar no further, but went straight for
the blaster. Grim was upon him before he reached it. The two began grappling on
the ground.

“Fly, Skylar! Fly!” shouted the strained voice of Grim, as
he struggled against Gyle. “Remember your promise...”

Skylar reached his hand for his jetwing and decoupled the
two thrusters. He hesitated. How could he leave Grim?

“Fly! Fly!” pleaded Grim in desperation.

Lothor, having recovered and regained his feet, made
straight for the uncertain prince. Skylar felt rooted to the spot.

No!
asserted Skylar in his mind.
I won’t leave.
Let them take me. If only it saves Grim...

He remained motionless whilst the livid face of Lothor drew
nearer. A cry, like that of a man straining to move a mountain, escaped from
between Grim’s clenched teeth. Skylar turned in time to see Gyle’s back hit the
ground a full two meters from Grim, who was already on his feet, running full
sprint. He blindsided Lothor, knocking him out of the way, but did not stop.
With one powerful movement, Grim lifted Skylar off the ground and hurled him
headlong over the cliff’s edge.

“Fly!”