Haladras (24 page)

“Captain, you say six or more of these rogues escaped you?
Add these three and that’s nine or ten men. Nine or ten men against two men and
a boy?” He paused to let the full weight of the question press down upon the captain,
fixing him with his dark eyes and raised brow.

“Captain,” he continued before the captain could form an
excuse, “in the future, I hope you will

exercise better judgment when making your arrests.”

“Yes, my lord,” replied the captain humbly.

“That is all, Captain. You are dismissed.”

Nodding curtly, the captain turned stiffly on his heels,
then strode toward the door.

“And Captain,” added Denovyn, his voice sounding less
severe. The captain paused midstride and cocked his head to one side. “Catch
those bandits and all this will be forgotten.” Again, the captain nodded, then
was gone.

Lord Denovyn then turned his attention to the companions.
His face seemed to have transformed in an instant, from commander to gracious
host. Skylar could see that Denovyn was a powerful leader. He had no desire to
punish the captain, only to reprove him, to hone his sense of justice. Denovyn
was not angry. Anger cannot be dispelled so promptly.

“I offer you my apologies for this arrest,” he said. “The
captain of my guard is a valiant and skilled man. Yet I fear he can be
overzealous at times when arrests are concerned.

“I pride myself on the safety of my streets,” he went on,
slowly making his way round his desk.

He was rather large in stature, and walked with a firm, resolute
gait. In his crisp white jacket, hanging with medals and lined with polished
silver buttons, he looked more a commanding general than a governing lord.

He drew near the companions.

“Ah, but you are wounded,” he said seeing Lasseter and
Endrick’s bloody bandages. “You are all three free to go, but I must insist
that my medics treat your injuries before you depart.”

“You are very gracious, my lord,” replied Lasseter from the
depths of this hood. “Our wounds are not serious and we have lost precious
time.”

“As you wish. Guards, see these three safely on their way.”

Denovyn gave them a brief bow of his bead, then returned to
his desk.

Skylar couldn’t believe his ears. Free to go? And there was
no sign of Morvath anywhere. They would make it to their ship after all. His
fists, which had remained clenched throughout the entire interview finally
relaxed. His heart ceased its heavy pounding.

One of the guards stopped in front of them and indicated
with his hand for them to turn and leave the room. Just before Skylar turned, a
stirring at the far end of the room caught his eye. A flitting of shadow
against the wall. Then a chill. A chill he’d only experienced once before, in
the citadel of Dura Cragis. Skylar caught his breath.

The shadow shifted, morphed, into a solid form. How could it
be? It seemed impossible that in such a bright room anyone, anything, could
hide in the faint shadows undetected. But there it was—the cloaked form of some
being, flowing unnaturally toward Denovyn, as though his feet did not touch the
floor.

Everyone else in the room had likewise frozen, like men
caught under an enchantment. Lord Denovyn cocked his head slightly. The cloaked
figure was evidently whispering something in his ear. Denovyn, though calmer
than the governor of Dura Cragis had appeared, swallowed uncomfortably.

“As you wish, my lord,” Skylar heard Denovyn whisper in
reply. And the dark figure floated back toward the wall. “Hold, guards,”
commanded Denovyn. “The king’s minister has requested a private audience with
the lad.”

Skylar took a step backwards, a wild fear suddenly seizing
him. Lasseter put a hand on his shoulder.

“He is but a boy,” protested Lasseter. “Tarus’ minister can
have no interest in him.”

Denovyn nodded understandingly and came round his desk
again.

“I assure you, the lad will be fine. Come, I shall
personally see that your wounds are cared for. You shan’t have to wait long.”

Skylar felt Lasseter’s hand squeeze tighter on his shoulder,
then release. That was all. Lasseter did not argue further. It was pointless to
do so. Lasseter and Endrick turned and walked slowly out of the office.

As his companions left, Denovyn briefly paused and looked
into Skylar’s face, a face that told him not to be afraid, to stand strong. Yet
for all his comforting, when those doors closed and there was no one between
him and Morvath, Skylar felt only one desire: to run.

TWENTY-THREE

“Y
OU NEEDN’T BE
afraid,” said a
voice that lacked any hint of malice. It almost sounded kind. No one else was
in the room. Could it have come from Morvath? “I have no desire to harm you,”
it went on.

The cloaked form of Morvath drew a step closer to Skylar,
moving with that same eerie stillness. He paused.

“Calm yourself,” he said, soothingly. “I am a friend.”

Then he slowly drew back the hood from over his face, and
Skylar nearly gasped. How hideous and grotesque a creature Skylar imagined
Morvath would be: scarcely human in appearance; with shriveled, gnarled skin,
the color of spoiled milk; eyes that burned red with hatred; teeth pointed like
fangs; and a nose like an eagle’s beak—long and sharp.

No. This was an ordinary-looking man, as frightening to
behold as an infant.

Could this be Morvath?
Skylar wondered. Perhaps he
was some other chief minister to the king. His heart took courage at the
prospect. That hope, however, almost instantly died.
Who else could it be?
Who
else could have produced that coldness in his bones? Who else commanded such
power and could make a great lord like Denovyn uneasy? There was no doubt. This
man was Morvath.

He appeared to be the same age as Lasseter or Krom, with
noticeable sprigs of gray mixed with clay-colored hair around the ears. The
skin of his face, marred by few wrinkles, was as pale as a corpse’s. It blended
well with his thin, colorless lips.

Morvath smiled. Not a mirthless smile filled with hatred,
but one that—for an instant—drew Skylar in.

“I’ve been searching a long time for you,” said Morvath, as
a father might say to a long-lost son. “You’ve gone to great lengths to evade
me. You’re a long way from Haladras, Prince Korbyn.”

Skylar contemplated playing dumb, acting as if he didn’t
know who Morvath was talking about. Somehow he knew that it would be useless.
Morvath would know he was lying.

“You must forgive my appearance,” continued the chief
minister. “I’m cursed with poor skin—hypersensitivity to light. For our
interview, however, I can bear the exposure.

“You’ve been told much about me, I’m sure,” he went on,
clasping his hands behind his back and turning casually toward a painting of
Denovyn hanging on the wall. “The king’s nefarious advisor? A wicked
puppet-master, perhaps? Plotter in the death of Athylian, your father? I’ve
heard them all, Korbyn.”

Turning abruptly, he fixed Skylar squarely in the eyes.

“Do I look like such a villain to you?”

The question was so frank and earnest, Skylar was taken
aback. He considered it a moment, then answered hesitantly, but truthfully,
“No…no you don’t.”

Morvath smiled faintly and nodded, as if to say thank you.

“I understand your confusion, Korbyn. Those men who have
been guarding you from me are, doubtless, honorable men. But even honorable men
may be deceived. Knowing who to trust is not always as simple as it seems. A
man may get an idea and convince himself of its veracity. He
feels
in
his heart that it is right. And he’ll let the entire universe be destroyed if
it means defending that one belief.”

Morvath took another step closer to Skylar, holding out his
hands like a man who has said all that needs to be said.

“You see for yourself that I am not what they accuse me of
being. I am not your enemy. I wish only to help you.”

He took another step closer. Skylar’s emotions raced.

“I can take you away from this nightmare. No more running.
No more hiding. No more fear of some imaginary foe. Return with me to Ahlderon.
King Tarus shall adopt you. You shall live in the manner fitting to your noble
birth. All the comforts the Castle Ahlderon can offer shall be yours.”

He stepped closer, his pale blue eyes staring intently into
Skylar’s, hypnotizing him. Comforts and status and honor Skylar could live
without. But his mother…poverty was all she’d ever known. With his wealth, he
could help her. She would never have to work again.

What was the right answer?

With one word—a nod, even—he could end all of it. He’d never
asked for any of it. Never had he wished to be prince, to be king. For Grim’s
sake he would not shirk it. If he went with Morvath, he would be prince, and
eventually king. No more fighting. No more death...the word echoed in his mind.
Death...Grim...

A sudden blazing hot anger consumed his insides.

“You may try to fool me with your smooth talking,” said
Skylar, his words coming forcefully restrained through his teeth. “But I know
what you are. A murderer.”

“Murderer!” cried Morvath, taking a step back and putting a
hand to his chest. “How have I earned such an abhorrent title? You would be
wise not to judge a man without evidence, Korbyn.”

“Grim is dead because of you,” blurted out Skylar. “If you
hadn’t sent your men after him, he would still be alive.”

Morvath bowed his head and shook it solemnly, completely
unaffected by Skylar’s seething anger.

“That was most lamentable. I still grieve over that. I never
wished such to happen. I only hoped to find you. I can understand why you blame
me. But let me remind you, I lost two loyal servants that day.”

“You lie,” said Skylar icily. “You knew Grim would never let
me go without a fight. You ordered Lothor and Gyle to use whatever means to get
me.”

“Then perhaps you should blame Grim,” retorted Morvath. “He
was a traitor in the empire.”

“No!” shouted Skylar. “Grim was the best man I ever met. He
was no traitor.”

“I’ve no question,” replied Morvath, “as to his character.
Evidently, he was willing to die to defend you. No charlatan or coward would
have done likewise. The fact remains, however, that he sought to hide you from
the empire. And to what end? To overthrow Tarus at the cost of, perhaps,
countless lives?”

Skylar had cooled his anger during Morvath’s speech. Now he
felt better able to think, to reason.

“If I am the rightful heir to the throne, then wouldn’t
Tarus and
anyone
who supports him be traitors? You say Tarus will adopt
me. I do not need his adoption. The throne is mine by right.”

Neither Morvath’s gaze nor his voice faltered.

“Tarus is the crowned King of Ahlderon. It is not such a
simple matter to replace the reigning monarch of an entire empire. Had you been
discovered alive after your father’s death, the situation would be different.
Being too young to assume the role of king, Tarus or some other would have been
appointed regent until you could be crowned on your eighteenth birthday. Alas,
such was not our good fortune.”

“You admit, then, that you would oppose me if I tried to
take the throne?”

“I,” replied Morvath with great dignity, “will follow my
king. I am his servant.”

“You mean, you will advise him to fight against me and
anyone who supports me.”

“I have no desire for any more bloodshed. I wish for you to
accept my offer. Come with me to Ahlderon.”

The chief minister spoke with such sincerity and reason that
Skylar’s own convictions began to diminish. Could Lasseter, Krom,
Endrick...Grim...could they all have been wrong about Morvath? No, they couldn’t
be. Could they?

Suddenly he remembered the wretched state of the people on
Quoryn, and the fear that had stifled the streets of Dura Cragis. This was
Morvath’s doing.

“I’ve been to Quoryn. I’ve seen how your new governor
oppresses the people; how the soldiers destroy villages and accost innocent
girls in the streets. If this is your vision for the empire, I want nothing to
do with it.

Morvath shook his head sympathetically.

“Yes, a few reports of ill conduct among the soldiers have
trickled back to me. I condone none of it. Nor does his Majesty, I assure you.”

“Then why doesn’t he stop it?”

“Easier said than done, my boy. Many of the soldiers are
new. They lack the proper discipline of seasoned soldiers. It will come in
time. You have my promise of that.

“As to governor Dungrad oppressing the people, you have not
seen the matter clearly. The king has a great vision for the empire...for his
people. He envisions a kingdom where corruption is rooted up; where inequality
is banished; and poverty abolished. That is the future of our empire, Skylar.
But the only way it can come to fruition is through increased structure of our
government. Lord Braxton and Lord Orphlyus, as well as all the other lords of
our empire, possess too much discretionary power within their own realms. The
king cannot fully help his people without more direct control over all the
affairs of the kingdom.

“Imagine it, Korbyn! The empire shall own all property,
redistributed equally among all the people. All shall have jobs, food, and
clothing. No man shall be wealthier than another. Crime and corruption shall be
dealt with swiftly and efficiently. That’s not oppression, my boy. That’s
freedom from the oppression of greed and strife. Freedom from worry over
providing for one’s family. Freedom from those who take advantage of others for
their own gain. Imagine it!”

Morvath’s face was glowing, his eyes on fire. Imperceptibly,
he had moved closer to Skylar. Standing before him thus, Morvath looked ten
feet tall and as mighty as a war captain arrayed for battle.

Skylar couldn’t help but feel awe toward this man, whom he’d
been taught to fear. Though one part of him felt uneasy with Morvath’s plan,
the other felt intrigued by it. It didn’t sound evil. It
sounded...almost...good. Inequality banished? The sentiment rang true in his
mind. Perhaps Lasseter truly had been wrong. Freedom? Morvath, too, spoke of
freedom.

Who was right, then? How could he know? Surely the quest for
truth was not meant to be so difficult. Why should he have to decide? His thoughts
felt heavy and muddled.

Again, the memory of Grim came into his mind. He knew what
Grim would have chosen. But, then, Grim was not the sort of man who needed
governing. The idea struck him: if all men were like Grim—honorable, selfless,
devoted, true—would there be a need for such strict governing—or any governing?
Men like Grim do the right thing regardless of personal injury, because that’s
who they are—not because anyone’s forcing them to do it. No amount of laws or
enforcement of those laws could ever produce a man like Grim. Beasts of burden
may be forced into obedience, but they are still only beasts. Is a man forced
into equality and goodness any better?

Few, if any, men were like Grim though. Ordinary men—most
men—need governing. Was Morvath’s way the best for all?

At last, Skylar made his decision. He didn’t know if it was
the right answer. He couldn’t know.
Unlike a mathematical calculation, there was no way of verifying his
answer. Only time would tell, perhaps, if he chose aright. How many countless
lives would be affected, bruised and damaged, before he knew the truth of it?
Everything inside him wanted to believe Morvath, to abandon his quest. Reason
told him he ought to. His tired feet and weary body told him he ought to. He
opened his mouth to speak. And even as he did so, the words stuck on his
tongue, as if the words knew he had chosen incorrectly.

“I cannot join your cause,” he stammered out. “I cannot
support this vision for the empire. I will not have it. I will fight against
it.”

Even as he uttered the words, Skylar could scarcely believe
his own boldness. But giving voice to his decision solidified it in his heart.

Morvath nodded and smiled. But it was a cold, malevolent
smile.

“I’m grieved to hear that, Korbyn. I could have helped you
become a powerful ruler one day.”

“I don’t care about having power, Morvath.”

“Perhaps not yet, but all men have an urge for it. They
can’t help it; it’s in their nature.

“By the way,” he added, sounding unnervingly casual, “word
has reached the king’s ears of some civil unrest—sedition even—on your own home
planet of Haladras. I had hoped you might be at my side to help resolve the
matter. Diplomatic solutions are always preferable to military intervention.
Innocent lives are often lost when the latter is resorted to.”

“Stay away from Haladras!” shouted Skylar. “The only thing
wrong there is the empire stealing food out its people’s mouths.”

Morvath only chuckled, unmoved. He called for the guards,
who entered the room promptly.

“See to it that this young man is locked up,” he said. “He’s
threatened myself and the king. He’s a traitor to the empire.”

The guards seized him by the arms and began dragging him
toward the door.

“Dwell on what I’ve told you, young man,” said Morvath, just
before Skylar disappeared behind the door. “I’ll visit you tomorrow to see if
you’ve reconsidered.”

In a last effort of defiance, Skylar cried out, “Never!”

The great carved doors slammed shut.

The guards moved Skylar swiftly down a side corridor.
Adrenalin coursing through his bloodstream, Skylar contemplated attempting an
escape. He soon gave up that idea. The guards both carried large blasters.

So much for Denovyn protecting me,
thought Skylar
bitterly. He wondered where Endrick and Lasseter had gone to. Would they even
know what became of him? The guards led him outside. Though the morning had
grown brighter, the air was still cold, and he felt as though he were still in
Morvath’s presence. It took Skylar a moment to realize that they were not
outside the capital building, but in one of its courtyards.

There was no sign of anyone around. The only sound was their
own footsteps on the cobbled pavement and the click and rattle of the guards’
armor. Across the courtyard, a squat, window-less building sat brooding like a
storm cloud. High stone walls with solid iron gates rose on their left and
right. Skylar was hemmed in on all sides. A few armored transports were parked
by the south wall.