Haladras (23 page)

Lasseter led them to a far booth, in the corner. A few
merrymakers glanced at them as they passed. But mostly the crowd ignored the
two strangers with cowled faces. A dark-haired waitress with rosy skin came to
their booth.

“What’s your pleasure this evening, my shrouded strangers?”
she said, smiling impishly. She was the first woman Skylar had seen for what
felt like months. Though obviously younger, with her long hair pulled back and
her warm smile beaming down at him, she reminded him of his own mother. Her
very look and manner seemed to exude that nurturing kindness of which all
females seem naturally disposed. Suddenly he felt much younger than he had
since their adventures began.

Hesitantly, Skylar pulled back the hood from his face.

“Ah, there is a face under there,” she exclaimed. “And a
lad, too. You look far away from home, lamb. What brings you to my inn on such
a cold night?”

He paused awkwardly, like he had when Kendyl had first
talked to him, but this time for a different reason. He looked to Lasseter for
help.

“We’ll need food and lodging for the night,” said Lasseter,
entirely ignoring the waitress’ question. “We have two other companions who
will join us later. They will be dining with us.”

“As you wish, gentlemen,” she replied, as she winked and
smiled at Skylar. Then she turned and sailed off to the kitchen.

Within a quarter of an hour, she returned with arms
brimming. Dexterously, she laid out the meal in front of them. Roast mutton,
rabbit stew, mincemeat pie, fried potatoes, aged cheese, ramsberry pudding,
butter and bread. A veritable feast to Skylar’s eyes.

“If you get hungry for more, lamb,” said the waitress as she
place her hand on her hip and cocked it to one side, “there’s a slice of
Boldúrin pie with you name on it in the kitchen.”

“Thank you,” stammered Skylar, as she shuffled back to the
kitchen, long skirt swaying like reeds in the wind.

“I think you have an admirer,” said Lasseter when she was
gone.

Skylar’s face flushed.

“She’s too old,” said Skylar unconvincingly. “Besides, she
reminds me of being back home, with mother.”

He paused, staring blankly down at the table, strewn with
the hot supper.

“I wonder how she is,” he said at last.

“Doubtless she misses you, perhaps more than you can know.
But she is safe, I believe. You can console yourself in that regard.”

Skylar only nodded. Not for anything would he wish for her
to be put in danger. He wondered if he would ever see her again; if it would
ever be safe enough; if he would ever stop running.

“I was foolish to think that I could go back. What if
Morvath had tried to get to me through her?”

“Yes, that could have very well happened. Morvath would—”

Lasseter cut off. A sudden commotion toward the front of the
tavern had caught his attention. Skylar turned round to see a man with gray
hair swarmed by twenty or more people, his arms gesticulating wildly and high
voice shouting.

“I tell you, I saw them,” he asserted. “First I hears
them—buzzing quietly—then I sees them. A hundred…two hundred. Then a prick on
me neck. Right here. See? Then they’re gone. They’re here, I tell ya. Here in
Arsolon.”

Mad shouts of incredulity followed, but Skylar heard no
more. He turned back to Lasseter, fear in his eyes.

“Ill tidings,” was all his uncle replied.

No more than an hour passed before Endrick appeared back at
the inn. His face was ashen and his eyes looked troubled as he sat down next to
Skylar in the booth. In a low anxious voice he said, “Morvath...he’s in the
city.”

TWENTY-TWO

“Y
OU ARE CERTAIN
he is here?”
said Lasseter, concern apparent in his voice. “Where did you see him?”

“I didn’t see him,” said Endrick, shuddering. “Brrr, I’m glad
of that. I saw his ship in the hangar. There was no mistaking it. The thing
looks as menacing as its master.”

“Indeed,” replied Lasseter, rubbing his short beard
meditatively, “One of the citizens was in here earlier raving about the
trackers. He claims he was stung right here in Arsolon.”

“The trackers, too!”

“Did you secure a ship?”

Endrick nodded. “If you can call it a ship. But I suppose it
will have to do.”

“Let us pray Krom is passenger on it come the morrow.”

“If he isn’t,” replied Endrick, “I’m eating his breakfast.”

The three companions went to bed that night without word or
sign from Krom. Skylar found it difficult to sleep; his mind swirled with
thoughts of Morvath, the dreaded mechanical insects, and his concern for Krom.
The number of his companions was dwindling. First Grim. Now Krom. Could Krom be
dead, too? The possibility haunted him. Only after several hours of lying on
his cot, did he finally fall into a fitful sleep.

The next morning, he awoke feeling as anxious and unrested
as he had before he fell asleep. Still no sign of Krom. Silently, as if in
observance of Krom’s death, the three remaining companions packed their
belongings, ate a hurried breakfast, and set off on foot for the port.

“It’s just on the southern edge of the city,” said Endrick.
“We’ll be there shortly.”

It was news that both comforted and distressed Skylar. For
at every turn he expected—he hoped—to see Krom. And at any second he expected
to hear that awful buzzing of the Trackers coming after him.

They had not been walking long when Lasseter whispered from
behind, “we are being followed. Increase you speed, but do not run or look
back.”

Endrick and Skylar obeyed these orders. Skylar’s didn’t
think his legs could walk any faster. Yet it felt as if they were moving in slow
motion.
If only we all had jetwings.

“They are getting closer.” warned Lasseter. “Faster.”

Calves burnings, Skylar forced his legs to increase their
stride. Who could be following them? Could it be Morvath? Perhaps more of his
special servants? The thought chilled his bones quicker than the frosty morning
air.

They rounded a corner and Skylar saw the port come into
view. They could make it. It seemed within arm’s reach, and yet unreachable. He
wanted to run. Closer, closer they came.

Suddenly, from out of a side alley, the shapes of
half-a-dozen men stepped out into the street, barring their way. Endrick moved
to go around them, but the men spread out like the jaws of a trap to catch
them. The companions halted.

“Kindly let us pass,” said Endrick forcefully. “We have much
haste this morning.”

More footsteps sounded in Skylar’s ear from behind. Whoever
had been following the companions had caught up. They were surrounded and
outnumbered severely.

“We’ll let you pass just as soon as you give us what we want,”
said one who appeared to be their leader. “It wasn’t courteous of you to snub
my hospitality last night and injure my men.”

Skylar started.

The man drew back his hood to reveal his face. Madrick.

The leader of thieves sneered at the companions triumphantly,
his dark eyes full of malice.

“What then? Did you think I would not find you? I am not so
easily duped.”

Then he added, noticing Krom’s absence. “You have lost one.
But it is no matter.”

“Let us pass, Madrick,” demanded Lasseter, his voice filled
with authority. “You have no quarrel with us.”

Madrick’s eyes narrowed, the sides of his mouth turned up in
a malignant smile.

“You are right. I seek no quarrel—only the boy. Give him up,
and you two may go free.”

Lasseter moved protectively in front of Skylar.

“The boy is of no consequence. Let him alone.”

“No consequence? Oh, I think you will find there is one who
disagrees with that. One with power is searching for a lad like this one. A
handsome reward he’s offered, and even favors from the empire.”

“Do not be a fool,” said Lasseter coldly. “Do you believe
Morvath will lavish favors and blessing upon the heads of outlaws? He may
sustain you now, but in the end your death shall come to you at his command.”

“I’ll take my chances. Now, give us the boy or you’ll meet
your own deaths.”

In one swift motion Lasseter swept back the folds of his
cloak, drew out his sword, thrust out, and stopped just before piercing
Madrick’s throat.

“On your own death, Madrick,” growled Lasseter with a
passion Skylar never beheld in his uncle.

Madrick struck at Lasseter’s blade with his forearm just as
Lasseter drove it forward. The sword tore his skin, but missed its mark.
Hunched and clasping his throat with his hand, Madrick scurried to safety away
from Lasseter.

“Get down!” shouted Lasseter to Skylar as he and Endrick
transformed into two lethal blades twirling like whirwinds in the air. The two
bandits closest to Lasseter and Endrick went down before they could lift their
weapons. The others moved quickly, though. Two of Madrick’s band leapt upon
Endrick. One grabbed him from behind while the other slashed his arm with a
dagger. Endrick cried out in pain, but managed to knock his assailant across
the face with the pommel of his sword.

Skylar moved to attack the bandit on Endrick’s back. Several
strong hands seized him as he did so, pulling him away from his companions. He
fought furiously, but to no avail. Madrick was shouting orders.

“The boy—get the boy!”

They were dragging Skylar away. All he could do was watch
helplessly as Lasseter and Endrick fought the bandits, outnumbered,
three-to-one. They fought boldly, but they were clearly out matched.

Lasseter knocked one bandit to the ground, then countered
the attacks of the other two, striking a blow that felled another dead. It was
then that Lasseter looked up to discover Skylar being dragged away. In
desperation, he pounded at his last standing opponent with such a wild fury
that the bandit went flying to the dirt. Then Lasseter turned and bounded after
Skylar. No sooner had he taken two strides than the third bandit sprang forward
from the ground and buried the blade of his dagger into the back of Lasseter’s
lower leg. With an anguished cry, Lasseter collapsed to his knees, but swiftly
twisted round, and brought his elbow crashing into the bandit’s nose. Lasseter
attempted to regain his feet; again his leg faltered and gave out. Emboldened
by Lasseter’s wound, the bandit charged at him, knocking him flat on the
ground. Then he raised his dagger to strike.

“No!” cried Skylar.

It was useless. There was nothing he could do. The world
seemed to move in slow motion, the planets and stars in the galaxy all
revolving around the blood-stained tip of that blade.

Suddenly the bandit cried out and fell over, dead.

“Halt! Drop your weapons” commanded a loud voice.

Skylar looked up. City guards! A whole troop of them came
storming onto the scene, blasters in arms, their bright armor glinting in the
early morning light. At the sight of the soldiers Madrick and his men scattered
like frightened rats into the alleyways and side streets. Skylar’s captors
instantly let go of his arms and he hit the ground hard. Several soldiers
dashed past him in close pursuit of the bandits.

Lasseter, Endrick and Skylar were all arrested. Three men
lay dead upon the dusty streets of Arsolon. The captain of the guards would not
hear of letting anyone involved go free.

“You shall present your case before Lord Denovyn. Save your
pleas for him.”

The guards shackled the companions’ hands and then ushered
them into the back of an armored transport meant for prisoners.

Both Lasseter and Endrick were wounded and bleeding badly.
As best he could with his shackled hands, Lasseter tore off a piece of cloth
from the hem of his tunic and pressed it firmly against Endrick’s arm.

“Don’t bother about me,” said Endrick. “Never liked that arm
much, anyway.”

It was a weak protest and Lasseter ignored it, for the wound
was deep.

“We need to staunch the bleeding. Later we’ll worry about
applying medicines and dressing it.”

“If there is a later,” replied Endrick sourly. “These guards
are taking us directly to where we don’t want to go: to Morvath.”

“Very likely.”

“To Morvath!” cried Skylar. “Then why didn’t we try to escape
the guards? We’ve come all this way just to be caught at the last moment.”

“Skylar,” said Lasseter calmly, “there was no other option
for us. Still, all hope is not lost. Denovyn is yet alive and in command of the
city; you heard the guard speak of him. We must hope he is still a friend to
our cause.”

“A friend?” said Skylar dubiously. “If he were a friend,
Krom would be with us now.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps, not. I’m inclined to believe Morvath’s
presence has more to do with Krom’s absence than anything Denovyn might have
done. Alas, we cannot know. Our hope lies in this: if Denovyn is loyal to you,
he will not permit any harm to come to you in his domain. Morvath will not dare
to oppose him, for news of it would spread throughout the people, raising calamity
and possibly rebellion among them. No, I believe Morvath possesses less power
here than you might expect.”

Lasseter leaned forward in his seat and stared at Skylar
grimly.

“His power lies in your own weakness, my boy. He will try to
win you over. He will try to make you join him. And if you do not have the
truth firmly rooted in your heart, he shall have you without ever lifting a
finger.”

Skylar swallowed hard. The mere mention of Morvath’s name
made his nape hairs stiffen. How would it be to stand alone in Morvath’s
presence?

Shortly thereafter the transport came to a halt. The guards
filed the companions out of the transport’s rear holding cell. They were at the
foot of a broad staircase leading up to a stone building, which stretched to
the left and right of them for several blocks. Except for large glass windows
running along the front, the building was unadorned.

Spurred along at blaster-point, the companions mounted the
steps, passed under an archway, and entered through two prodigious wooden doors.
Doors which gaped open like the jaws to the underworld, waiting hungrily to
swallow them whole. For through those doors, Morvath—the very Devil
himself—lurked inside, hiding within some dark corner, wringing his hands in
anticipation. Skylar suddenly felt grateful that it was morning. Facing Morvath
at night seemed all the more terrifying.

The doorway led to a lengthy hallway with a high ceiling and
burnished wood floors. Paintings, hung at even intervals, decorated the walls.
All of them portrayed the bust or full figure of some noble-looking man.
Previous lords of the providence, no doubt. Their faces were all grim and
solemn, as if they knew the fate that awaited him. Numerous doors, too, lined
both sides of the hall. Doors from which at any moment Morvath might spring
upon him.

The hallway emptied into a great hall, with numerous
corridors extending out on both their right and left sides. Colorful banners
and flags of state hung from the protracted ceiling. Straight down the hall
they were taken, until they halted at the far wall. Before them stood a pair of
double doors. They were of that same wood as the floors and on each of its six
panels was carved the shape of a single sun.

The leader of the guards rapped on the door with the great
bronze knocker, then opened the rightmost door and stepped inside. Endrick gave
Skylar a look that seemed to say, “let’s hope they don’t wish to see us.”
Skylar hoped it would be so. A minute later, the officer returned, signaled
curtly to his men, and Skylar found himself being pushed through the doorway.

Floor-to-ceiling windows ran the length of the wall at their
left. Their curtains drawn back, the morning light streamed in brightly. Yet
despite the brightness, Skylar shivered with cold. This room felt colder than
the air outside. He thought of the citadel on Dura Cragis.

At the end of the room stood a man behind a finely carved
desk, which matched the doors. He was looking with fixed attention at Skylar.
The man possessed a proud, noble bearing that no commoner could imitate. Yet in
his eyes there was a look of truth and honor.

“These are the ones disrupting the peace of my city streets,
Captain?” asked the man. “These three? Two men and a boy committing violence
among my citizens?” his tone was incredulous.

“There were others, Lord Denovyn,” stammered the captain.
“Half-a-dozen, or more, Sir. They fled the scene when we came upon them. My men
are rounding them up now, my lord. They won’t escape.”

“And these three, Captain...they did not try to flee?”

“No, my lord. They came peacefully.”

“Yet you believe they are to blame for the violence?”

The captain shifted uncomfortably, his rigid stance
momentarily breaking. Denovyn’s questions were casting a shadow of a doubt on
the captain’s judgment.

“My lord,” continued the captain, obviously struggling to
choose his words carefully. “There are three dead. And these two have swords.”

“Who are those which are slain?”

“We have not identified them. But they appear to be no more
than bandits. Like those who fled from us.”

“Likely of those accursed thieves who have plagued my city
for nigh a year. You there—”

Denovyn pointed his forefinger at Endrick.

“Tell me, Sir, were any of these slain men companions of
yours?”

“No, my lord, they were not.”

“Thank you.”

Denovyn inclined his head respectfully to Endrick.