Haladras (19 page)

EIGHTEEN

S
KYLAR RACED TOWARD
the rocks
below with terrifying speed. The cold air rushing by made his eyes water. What
had happened? His mind and body were in a state of shock. It took several
seconds before he could register it all.

Fly!

Grim’s plea reverberated in his brain.

Grim.

Something snapped inside him. He activated the thrusters on
his jetwing, pulling upward, straining against the intense force of his falling
body.

Still he sped toward the rapidly approaching rocks.

He torqued the throttle.

Come on!
He gritted his teeth and pulled harder.

Slowly...slowly...his downward path began arching outward.

He pulled harder.

The rocks grew closer.

Outward...outward.

Closer...closer.

Outward...outward...

Up!

Swooping skywards, he aimed straight from the cliff’s edge,
straight back to Grim. A sudden explosion split the air. A shower of rocks and
sand rained down on him.

“Grim!” he cried out.

Skylar’s rapidly beating heart stopped when he reached the
brink. Heaps of stone and rocks covered the spot where the fighting had
occurred. Among the rubble, three bodies lay half buried, lifeless. Quickly,
Skylar alighted, stumbled over the rocks, and clambered his way to where Grim
was. He could only distinguish his faithful companion by the tan boots and
bronzed arms that protruded unnaturally from the heap of rock. Frantically, he
tore at the debris, desperately trying to free his friend.

He hoped beyond hope that beneath the pile Grim would still
be alive—only injured, unconscious. When at last he uncovered Grim’s face, his
tiny flame of hope flickered and went out. Grim was dead.

Dead.

Grim is dead.

The words reverberated endlessly within the empty cavity
where once his brain resided.

Dead.

The words had no meaning to him. Nothing did.

Grim is dead.

How could any words make sense? How could anything make
sense?

Grim is dead.

How could Grim be dead?

After a time, he forced himself to get up, to do something.
Still delirious, he began building an improvised burial mound with the same
stones which had crushed Grim’s body. Hypnotically, mechanically, he piled the
stones, one on top of the other, each time glimpsing Grim’s battered face and
feeling a jolt of pain. Each stone grew heavier and heavier, as if something
didn’t want Grim buried, as if each stone buried a part of himself. When at
last he set the final stone, covering Grim’s face forever, his legs gave way.
He collapsed to his knees. All at once, everything flooded upon him. Every
moment of his brief friendship with Grim replayed with agonizing clarity in his
mind; Grim’s loyalty; Grim’s kindness; Grim’s willingness to give his life to
protect him; “My prince....my prince....my prince,” he heard Grim’s voice as if
Grim were speaking to him from the grave. Everything flooded. Haladras; uncle;
Rasbus; the docks; Kindor; home; home...home...home.

Tears came streaming down his face.

When Skylar came to, darkness surrounded him. Night had
fallen. Whether sleep had overtaken him or his brain had overloaded and slipped
out of consciousness he could not tell. He looked up. Grim’s grave lay before
him, dark and riddled with shadows.

Dead.

Still Dead.

Grim had not risen from his rocky grave while Skylar wept
like a child. Why should he hope for a miracle? Why should he hope? Who would
hear?

Skylar took Grim’s sword in his hands. The blade had
survived the blast with only a few nicks. Grim’s words came back to him:
I
am your blade, my prince.

And so you were,
thought Skylar. Better than any man
deserves.

Laying the sword across Grim’s burial mound, he stood and
looked down into Horned Vale. It lay quiet and still, bathed in silvery
moonlight, unaware of the tragedy that had befallen a few wanderlust souls. Far
off, the lights of Dura Cragis glimmered like anemic stars. The city where
perhaps lay the lifeless body of Barryman. How many men would lose their lives
for his sake? And why? Why should his life be counted more than any other’s?

The moon glowed brightly. Skylar had not seen Fenorra’s moon
since he came to that accursed planet. Its soft white luminance dulled the edge
of darkness around him. The stars, too, were out, burning in the black heavens
like a million sun-struck diamonds. A song, whether carried on the wind or
rising merely from his mind he could not tell, filled his ears. He knew it at
once.

It was Grim’s song, of Elydar.

The song went on, seemingly of its own accord, as if Grim
himself were singing it from his grave. When it finished, Skylar sighed and
returned his gaze heavenward at the stars.

“I hope you find Elydar, Grim,” he said hoarsely. “If anyone
deserves to enter the Spirit King’s realm, it is you.”

And for a moment the thought brought him comfort. Only for a
moment, until the stomach-wrenching pain of loss returned with full force. He
was alone now. Utterly lost and alone. Not a soul in the universe knew where he
was. Where were Lasseter, Krom and Endrick? Would it matter if he found them?

He could not stay on that mountain—he refused to. Of that,
at least, he felt certain. Never mind the darkness, or his uncertainty of the
way. What way? Where was he going?
I should never have come here.

He turned resolutely and began picking his way across the
rubble-strewn path toward the other side that would lead him down from that
ill-fated mountain. The rocks crunched beneath his weight, loose stones
challenged his footing. But he soon made his way and set his boots upon a
smoother surface. Looking back one last time, he bid his friend farewell.

“Goodbye, Grim. It is my fault you are dead. I am sorry.”

A single tear drop fell from his eye and gripped his cheek.
Skylar, heart heavy with grief, set off on the moonlit path down the mountain.

The pathway down proved less perilous than the one he and
Grim had ascended. It was much wider and surprisingly clear in the gray
moonlight. Though, little difference any of it made to Skylar. Neither cold nor
hunger, fatigue nor peril roused the slightest response from his numb senses.
He felt like a roving corpse.

When he finally reached the bottom of the mountain, he was
only half aware of it. The terrain no longer led him downward. Trees began to
appear in denser groves. Giant boulders and rock formations jutted up from the
ground, like eerie creatures in the dark.

Though still insensible to his weariness, he saw no reason
to continue walking now that he had descended the mountain. He began to search
for shelter for the night. Little did it matter where, so long as it was dark
and forsaken.

He laced his way among the clusters of towering boulders,
searching for a small grotto or recess where he could sleep. If he could find
sleep. Restlessness and nightmares no doubt awaited him. Could it be worse than
the waking nightmare that haunted him even as he walked under the moonlight?

He rounded a bend immersed in shadows. A sudden movement
awakened his dull senses. Before he could react, a strong hand stifled his
mouth. An arm strangled his neck and pulled him against his unseen assailant.

“Do not cry out or I shall knock you senseless,” whispered a
hurried voice in his ear. “Tell me who you are and what your business is. But
keep your voice down. Do you understand?”

Skylar nodded his head the best he could under the man’s firm
hold. The large hand slowly uncovered his mouth. Convinced Skylar would not
yell, the attacker jerked Skylar around to face him. A tall hooded figure stood
before him. Skylar’s own hood was drawn back.

“Skylar?” said the man. “How did you...come, lad. Let us not
tarry in the open.”

The man was Krom. Skylar could not mistake the voice.

Laying a hand on Skylar’s back, Krom ushered him deeper into
the shadows.

“Watch your head,” said Krom.

Before him, the dark surface of a stone barred his way. From
its base a black arch rose and peaked just above the ground. An opening.
Crouching low, he inched his way through the opening, feeling the ceiling at
his head as he went. A short distance into the rock, the ceiling broke away and
Skylar stood up. Krom slipped in behind him.

The enclosure was a sort of roofless cave, a hollowed out
stone that opened up to the sky some meters above their heads. The stars beamed
down through the aperture. Two other figures occupied this improvised hideout.
Lasseter and Endrick. The dim green glow of a phosphorescent torch suddenly
illuminated the companion’s faces. Krom moved nearer to Skylar, holding the
torch in his right hand.

“You are lucky to be alive, lad,” said Krom. There was heavy
reproach in his tone and manner. “You should never have run off like that.”

He paused, his eyes fixed on the young prince. Skylar
remained quiet. He had nothing to say.

“We saw your signal,” said Endrick. “That’s just the sort of
thing Grim would do. What did you do with him, anyway? Ran off to fight
Morvath, likely.”

It was the moment he had dread; the reason he wished they
had never found him. How could he tell them what had happened?

Silence lingered until it suffocated. “Well?” said Krom, a
touch of impatience in his voice. “What’s the matter?”

There was no point prolonging the task any longer. It
wouldn’t make it any easier. Skylar met Krom’s gaze without letting his eyes
falter. Trying to be a hero had gotten him into this mess, but he refused to be
a coward now.

“Grim is dead,” he said.

The words felt awkward coming from his tongue. He
immediately wished he could pull them back, to erase their reality. Far too
late. Nothing could fix what was broken now. The words, however clumsily
delivered, had their effect. Krom scarcely batted an eyelash at the news. Too
proud to show grief. Yet it was there. It pained Skylar all the more to see him
holding it in.

When no one else spoke, Skylar began recounting all the
events that had transpired since he stole away from their camp two nights
before. He talked, uninterrupted, for nearly an hour, holding nothing back. He
told of Grim’s imprisonment and release; of the new governor; of Morvath; of
Gyle and Lothor, sent to follow Grim; of Barryman; of their escape and journey
around the valley; of their trek up to the mountain pass and encounter with
Morvath’s servants; of how Grim tossed him over the cliff; of finding him dead.

At last, when he’d finished, the heavy silence fell once
more.

Krom lifted it.

“A hand charge. He always carried one. I’ve tried to get him
not to. He always insisted he would never use it unless there was no other
choice.”

“You think Grim caused the explosion?” said Skylar “Why
would he—”

“Of course he set if off,” responded Krom curtly. “Don’t you
realize? He threw you off the cliff so he could detonate it. He must have
thought he couldn’t defeat Lothor and Gyle on his own—especially if they were
going to use Morvath’s weaponry. So, he sacrificed himself to kill them. They
would have hounded you to the end of the galaxy had he not.”

“But—”

Skylar broke off. Grim throwing him, telling him to fly...it
all made sense now. The weight of that realization overwhelmed him. He felt he
could not speak.

“And had you stayed with us,” said Krom coldly, “had you
listened, Grim might yet be alive.”

Skylar bowed his head.

“I know that. And I am sorry. I know that he was like a son
to you. No one shall lose his life on my account ever again.”

He turned to his uncle.

“Lasseter, I wish to go home. I want no more part of this
running and hiding. I am no prince. No heir to the throne. This is not my life.
All I want is to go back to Haladras.”

“Fool!” boomed Krom’s voice. “Do you think Morvath will let
you go back to your old life, now that he knows of your existence?”

“I don’t care about Morvath. Let him come after me. He can
have my word: the throne is Tarus’. I want nothing to do with it.”

Krom’s tone dampened, his expression somber.

“It would have broken Grim’s heart to hear you speak thus.”

Skylar felt a hot surge of anger.

“Grim is dead because of me and the demented, aimless
mission you’re all so fixated on! I want it over. It’s not worth the
cost—whatever the gain may be.”

Krom’s voice returned, biting and cold.

“Grim did not die so that you could become a mere commoner,
a mindless, self-serving boy. He died so that you could become king. King! If
you’re not willing to accept who you are, it would have been better for you to
die than Grim. For at least he possessed a noble heart.”

Krom’s words pierced him to the core and boiled his blood
all in the same instant. He couldn’t bear it any longer. Without a word, Skylar
rushed from the shelter of their hideout, slipping into the darkness of the
night.

He ran a short distance before stumbling over a rock and
hitting the ground. For a while he laid there, unmoving. He was unhurt. He
didn’t get up. What was there for him to get up for?

“I’ve never known you to give up so easily,” said a voice
behind him.

“Nothing about this has been easy,” replied Skylar to the
man he’d called uncle for his whole life.

“No. And it will in all probability yet get harder. Nothing
worthwhile comes without a price.”

“I don’t want it, though. Oh, why did you bring me into
this, Uncle?”

Skylar’s face was out of the dirt now, staring into the
luminous green eyes of that man who had been a near father to him. He suddenly
felt young, like a little boy crying for his mother.