Haladras (32 page)

“Welcome, Sir Krometheus,” said Morvath. “You pay me a great
honor by your presence.”

Krom did not respond.

“Guards,” he went on, unperturbed, “did you search the
captives?”

“Yes, m’Lord.”

“What did you find? Bring it here.”

Several guards came forward. On Morvath’s desk they laid the
companions’ swords, rope, grappling hooks, daggers, and a tiny black cube that made
Skylar catch his breath. He prayed with all his might that Morvath would
overlook it, ignore it. His heart sank. For Morvath immediately fixed his eyes
on the box and seized it with relish.

“Ah,” he said triumphantly, “here is what I needed.” He
examined the tiny box for several moments. “More sophisticated than I gave you
credit for, Krometheus. It certainly simplifies matters for me. Shall we invite
your little warriors to the castle?”

“No!” blurted our Skylar. “There’s no need to do that.”

“Oh, but there is, there is,” replied Morvath.

It was no use imploring. Morvath would not be dissuaded—not
until Skylar gave him what he wanted. And that he could not do. So Skylar could
only watch in horror as Morvath opened the little box, activated the transmitter
that sent the all-clear to Arturo, and then ordered his general to prepare
their troops for an attack on the castle.

“I’m afraid I cannot permit you to participate in the
fighting,” said Morvath, sounding unapologetic. “You shall, however, be
permitted watch from my balcony. I’m sure you’ll not want to miss it.”

Skylar clenched his fists, but remained silent.

Two hours later, they stood on Morvath’s balcony,
overlooking the whole grim scene. Ten thousand lightly armed soldiers against a
heavily armed stone fortress. Somehow Krom had succeeded in disarming the high
tower’s cannons. The others—Skylar chided himself—were fully operational,
causing destruction wherever they struck. Before the battle had commenced,
Skylar had hoped Arturo or Rowvan would recognize the trap and call off their
troops. Even now, as they fought in vain against their enemies, he prayed they
would retreat. Skylar knew his hope was for naught. Arturo would not back down.

“You can make the killing stop, you know?” said Morvath
quietly beside him. “All you have to do is pledge your allegiance to Tarus, and
you can make it stop, you can save what lives remain, save your friends who
stand behind you.”

Skylar gripped the stone parapet so hard his eyes began to
water. It was over. They had lost. He had failed his father. Would it not be
right to make the pledge and save innocent blood? Why must everyone die
fighting for what they’ll never gain? Why must it be up to him?”

For a long agonizing moment, his brain and heart waged a war
fiercer than the one before his eyes. His reply, when it finally came, took all
his strength to give.

“I will never join you,” he said haltingly.

“Then you sentence them all to death.”

Skylar made no reply. He felt numb. He wished death would
relieve him of his weighty burden.

“Let us be done with this, then,” replied Morvath, as if he
spoke of quitting a game of cards. “The empire cannot have peace with these
rebels running about.”

Vaguely, Skylar noticed Morvath signal to one of his
servants. A minute later, the servant returned and handed an object to his
master. Morvath took it, held it above his head and let it go.

“You see that, Skylar?” said the chief minister, pointing in
the air just in front of him. Skylar looked. He saw a metal sphere the size of
a human head, with four handles attached to its horizontal circumference. It
was suspended in the air by the aid of four mechanical creatures, with
clamp-like claws, four independent propellers and large black eyes. “That is a
percussion bomb. My little automatons are going to drop it in the midst of your
army. Not a soul of them will survive it.”

He gave a signal with the node of his head, and the bomb
slowly hovered forward, the propellers whirring rhythmically.

“You can stop it, Skylar,” coaxed Morvath. “You have the
power to call it back. Just swear your allegiance—”

Before Morvath could finish, Skylar had made his decision.
He saw no other option. Without a second thought, he sprang onto the parapet,
leapt into the air and caught hold of the floating bomb just before it flew out
of reach.

The sudden additional weight of his body pulled the bomb and
the automatons swiftly downward. With surprising power, the automatons
counteracted his weight and stopped their descent. His legs still swinging,
Skylar struggled with one hand to unclench the claws of one of the automatons.
It came free with a jerk that sent the whole thing falling again. He
repositioned his hands and worked on the second. The enraged curses of Morvath
rained down on him, but he scarcely heard them.

The third came free. It was falling now, slowly, but
falling. Straining, he grasped at the last claw.

Almost...there...

With a jolt, the claw snapped open.

Skylar’s hands broke free.

Instantly, gravity seized Skylar and the bomb.

Both plummeted toward the earth.

There was absolutely nothing to save him. No jetwing. No
rope. Nothing. Yet he felt as calm as a star-filled sky. The bomb would land
just within the castle walls, destroying half the enemy’s forces. The walls
would be destroyed, as well. Arturo’s troops would storm the castle.
Another—his grandfather, perhaps—would become king.Victory and peace at last.

He closed his eyes and smiled at the thought.

A flash of thought, a voice, suddenly interrupted his blissful
moment. “Use the limbreath,” it said. It was not his own thought or voice. The
instructions of his dying father returned to him. “...in your hour of greatest
need.” Obediently, he worked to get at the limbreath. With the air rushing past
him, he fought to remove the leather pouch from around his neck. A sudden sense
of urgency now consumed him. Yanking hard, he wrested the pouch free, reached
his fingers inside, and brought out the dried petals. Assailed by the wind,
half of it broke off and vanished into powder. Quickly, Skylar jammed the bit
that remained into the side of his mouth and swallowed hard.

He looked down. The bailey was just below, swarming with
imperial soldiers, all oblivious to their danger. The bomb, he saw, would
impact before he did. Any second...

Closer.

Closer.

Impact.

A violent ripple, a shock wave, burst from the spot, rushing
outward, surging toward him. Within the ripple, a dark gray mass, a void grew
like a storm cloud erupting to life out of nothing. Stone walls shattered into
dust. Men dissolved into ashes. Skylar was next. He did not fear it.

A sudden blinding white light struck his eyes, enveloped
him. Weightlessness, a feeling of utter freedom, surged through his body. No
longer did he feel the sense of falling.

The winds abated. A perfect calmness prevailed.

So, this is what death feels like
, he thought.
Why
do so many fear it?

Then the brightness began to dim, or his eyes to grow used
to it, and the whole battle reappeared before him. He was still in the air,
moving, but not falling. Yet he sensed movement, his body was speeding through
the air, past the crumpled castle walls, out over the battlefield. Below him,
the battled raged. But there was something more than soldiers on the field.
Everywhere he looked, he saw flashes of light darting about amid the fray. They
moved like lightning. He gazed in wonder. For an ephemeral moment he thought he
saw the form of a man in one of the lights, but then it was gone.

He became aware that he was nearing the ground. He sensed
his feet touching the ground. The din of the battle assaulted his ears. The
weight of his limbs returned. The calm and the light dispersed. Haladrian
soldiers rushed by him. Their battle cries rang in his ears. A hand grabbed his
shoulder and spun him around. And he found himself looking into the eyes of
Lord Rowvan, his grandfather.

THIRTY-ONE

T
HE HALADRIAN AND
Allegan armies
swept over what remained of Tarus’ forces. Those who didn’t surrender or flee
in terror fell before their swords like wheat to a scythe. Within minutes, they
had stormed the castle, pouring in through the huge gap where the walls had
stood, and seized control of that mighty fortress. Skylar had joined the
fighting, once his grandfather finished marveling over his sudden appearance on
the battlefield. Skylar could not explain it. He did not try to.

Once they gained control of the castle, Captain Arturo and
Lord Rowvan urged Skylar to seek out Tarus and force him to give up the crown.

“It’s all that’s left to be done,” said Lord Rowvan.

“Not before I find my companions. Krom, Rasbus and Grüny are
held captive. I want them free before anything else. And I want Dr. Beezin sent
for. Just in case…”

His voice trailed off. Fear gripped him. Fear that if he
gave voice to his one spark of hope—hope that Endrick had not been killed—it
would only bring despair.

They found his companions locked in Morvath’s chamber,
unguarded and still shackled. Both Rasbus and Grüny stared at him as if they
were seeing a ghost.

“You can’t be alive!” said Rasbus. “We saw you plunge right
into that explosion. No one could have survived it.”

Skylar did not answer. He did not have an explanation for
what happened—not one he understood. He looked at Krom for help.

“The limbreath,” he said with certainty. “You used it, didn’t
you?”

Skylar nodded.

“It was well done,” he said, looking on Skylar with
approval.

Rasbus and Grüny still looked confused.

“Come,” said Skylar, “we must find Endrick.”

They found Endrick in the castle’s overcrowded infirmary.
Nurses and medics rushed to and fro, trying to keep up with the constant influx
of wounded soldiers. The sight was pitiful. Everywhere were half-conscious and
unconscious bodies, with severed arms and legs, bloodied faces, bandaged heads
and torsos. Moans and cries of pain crowded the air.

Endrick’s eyes were closed, his body pale.

“Is he...” Skylar did not have the heart to finish the
question.

Dr. Beezin laid a hand on Endrick’s chest and stuck his ear
next to Endrick’s mouth. Skylar felt as if his heart would seize up and die before
the doctor finished his diagnosis.

“No, not dead,” replied the doctor. “Very nearly, but not
dead. I shall do what I can for him.”

“You must restore him to health. I could not bear his loss
after I’ve lost so many.”

“All I know to do, my prince, shall be done for him. You
have my promise. In the meantime, I suggest you take a bath. You all smell
horrendously foul.”

Skylar smirked, remembering the sewer and the abandoned
cloak. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“It is time,” said Krom.

With a bow of his head and a final glance at Endrick, he
turned to leave the infirmary. Though his heart yearned to stay by Endrick’s
side, his duty called him on one final mission.

No one tried to stop them as they burst into the court.
Captain Arturo had insisted on bringing a full company of soldiers to escort
Skylar and his companions. Tarus’ guards put up a moderate show of defending
their king. But it was only a show. Skylar passed through straight to the
throne steps without even lifting his sword. Tarus’ men-at-arms simply parted
the way for him—not out of fear, but a reverence for him who they deemed more
worthy of the throne.

The courtiers cowered, pressed themselves to the edges of
the hall, and stared at Skylar in awed silence.

Tarus broke the silence.

“Welcome, Prince Korbyn. My heart rejoices to see you alive
and well.”

Skylar mounted the broad marble steps that led to the high
platform where sat the false king on his throne. Slowly, Skylar ascended. Each
step echoing profoundly through the silent hall. Each step made Tarus shrink in
fear.

Beside the throne, Morvath stood, his eyes burning with
hatred, his mouth gaping in wonder. Skylar laughed within at what he must be
thinking.

Gaining the top of the steps, Skylar approached the throne
and halted a sword’s length away.

“I am alive—no thanks to your chief minister,” said Skylar
bitterly.

“Chief Minister Morvath assures me he did all in his power
to bring you safely to Ahlderon.”

Tarus’ eyes looked weary, like one who has not slept soundly
for a long time. No doubt this day had haunted him since he first learned of
Skylar’s existence. Indeed, he looked older than he was—aged by the incessant
burden of his own guilt. Yet behind it all, Skylar thought he perceived the
noble countenance of the man who had won so many hearts, including his own
father’s.

“Your chief minister,” said Skylar, “has done naught but
attempt to lure me into his snares—to poison me with lies and half-truths. The
blood of hundreds is on your hands and his.”

With a racing pulse and mounting anger, Skylar raised his
sword and leveled it at Tarus.”

Tarus forced a meager smile and swallowed hard.

“You cannot kill me,” he said without conviction. “I am
king—Lord Protector of Ahlderon.”

Tarus unexpectedly rose to his feet and stood proudly. Skylar
held his ground.

“I charge you with high treason,” said Skylar. “With
plotting and planning the assassination of my father, King Athylian Ducädese,
stealing the crown, and laying unjust burdens on the people of the empire. The
penalty for your crimes is death—for you and your conspirator. Unless any man
here will vouch for you...”

The false king shrank back and cast his gaze in all
directions, his eyes fearful and pleading. Yet none came forward to vouch for
him. Skylar squirmed at such a pathetic sight.

“Cowards!” cried Tarus. “All of you, cowards and liars!”

Skylar drew closer and put the sword to Tarus’ neck. Sheer
terror filled the man’s eyes.

“This is absurd!” he squawked. “He’s but a boy. Will
somebody not stop him? I am your king. Obey me!”

None replied.

“Korbyn,” he began to plead, “your father...he was like a
brother to me. How can you—”

“Kill you? Just as you killed him, and my mother—and would
have killed me.”

Skylar pressed the point of his sword into Tarus’ throat. A
trickle of scarlet blood ran onto the blade. From Tarus’ lips a low cry
escaped. His eyes looked wild, crazed. Skylar held the sword fast.

“You deserve to die,” he said hoarsely. “Those who are dead
at your hands did not. You deserve to die.”

Slowly, he let down his sword.

“I will not do it. I have had enough of death. Let the
dungeon be your punishment—the only one to comfort you, your poison-tongued
chief minister.”

He turned to Arturo. “See that these two traitors are locked
up and guarded well.”

Arturo motioned to a few of his soldiers, who sprang to
carry out the orders. Stunned, Tarus did not speak or resist arrest. Neither
did Morvath put up a fight, but merely smiled insidiously at Skylar as he was
jerked away. When the two captives were gone, Skylar felt a hand on his
shoulder. Krom’s voice spoke gently.

“It is the end, my prince. It is the end...for now.”

In that moment, all the strength in Skylar’s body seeped
away. He sank to his knees, trembling and sobbing uncontrollably.

*  
*   *

True to his word, Skylar brought his mother to live in the
castle with him. She agreed to come only after much persuasion, for she had
always lived a simple, quiet life. Nevertheless, she came, and all called her
queen mother. And she acquitted herself well of that title, treating all with
the grace, dignity, and kindness of a true queen. And all loved her.

Rolander, too, he brought to live with him at Ahlderon. The
freckled-faced boy’s somber mood had changed little since losing his arm in the
battle on Haladras. But a few weeks of breathing the sweet Ahlderion air;
exploring the castle’s endless corridors, secret passages and towers; and
especially studying in the royal library helped to improve his disposition.

Skylar spent most of his time in those first few weeks and
months of his reign rebuilding all that Tarus had destroyed, restoring that
which was unjustly taken. He removed Tarus’s governors from power and restored
the Lordship. The Council of Lords once again convened. By their wise council
and approval, Skylar appointed a regent to manage the affairs of state in his
stead until he reached the age of eighteen. Skylar chose Krom, who accepted the
position reluctantly. He had first asked his grandfather. But the Lord Rowvan
of Allega could not be persuaded to leave his people. Viceroy Aberforce was
stripped of his title and office, and Arturo was appointed in his stead.

Krom’s regency proved a great relief to Skylar. Being so
inexperienced, Skylar felt inadequate to bear the full burden of the kingship.

Skylar sent messengers throughout the empire proclaiming his
desire to find any of his father’s former knights. Seven, aside from Krom, were
found. Endrick fully recovered from his wounds. For his valorous acts and
loyalty to the empire, Endrick was knighted and became First Knight of Ahlderon.

Skylar restored the Keepers of the Kingdom and charged them
to seek out others who might be worthy to join their order, and to ensure
justice and peace throughout the kingdom.

All was as well as it could be in Skylar’s life. Though
tiring, he took great joy in serving his people. Yet despite the peace in his
kingdom, his mind was often uneasy. It was during an unusually quiet afternoon
in the castle, he and Krom had been discussing the financial affairs of the
empire, when Skylar cast his eyes out the nearest casement window and grew
pensive.

“Sometimes I wonder why I’m still alive,” he said, still
looking out the window. “Why Morvath’s compression bomb didn’t vaporize me. Why
my body doesn’t lay splattered on the castle grounds.”

“You know as well as I that the limbreath saved you,” said
Krom.

Skylar turned to Krom. “Yes, but how? How could it do
something like that? Surely the limbreath cannot possess such great power and
none know about it.”

“The power of the limbreath, I believe, is not so much in
the thing itself, but in the place it’s linked to.”

“To Elydar,” whispered Skylar. The recollection of that
mysterious planet was still painful to him.

Krom nodded solemnly.

“What precisely, happened when you called on the aid of the
limbreath, I cannot say. But of this much I feel certain, that had you given
less of yourself than you did, the limbreath would not have worked. Willingly,
you sacrificed yourself for those you loved and those you led. More than that
no man can give. By so doing, Skylar, you unlocked the full power of the
limbreath, the power of Elydar, of the Spirit King. For that reason, few there
are who know what it can do.”

Skylar leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. For
several minutes neither one spoke.

“My father knew,” said Skylar, at last. “He knew I would
need it. His last gift to me...he might have used it for himself.”

He rubbed his eyes, fighting back the tears.

“I owe him a debt of gratitude beyond what I can repay. To both
my father and Grim. But such as I can, I will repay them. For both, I will
assume the throne when my time comes. For my father, I will discover what
became of my sister.

“I think about her often, you know?” he said, returning his
gaze out the casement window. “I wonder what she’s doing. Is she a prisoner in
some forsaken dungeon? A commoner, unaware of her noble birthright? Showered
with wealth and privilege? Is she even alive?

“I wish I could answer those questions.”

“Have you no idea where she might be?”

“I too believed her dead, Skylar. Your father never spoke of
this to me. We found the burnt remains of a child among the ashes with your
mother. The size matched your sister’s exactly. I do not know whose remains
they were, if not hers. With the Tors involved, any depravity is possible. If
they truly kidnapped her, I do not wish to imagine for what purpose.”

Skylar grew quiet for a few moments, studying Krom’s face.

“I must try to find out what’s become of her. And I must do
it before my eighteenth birthday.”

“As your regent, I must advise against such a reckless
mission. You are needed here.”

“And as my friend, how would you advise me?”

The trace of a smile touched Krom’s lips.

“I only wish I might go with you.”

There was a sudden loud rap at the portal. The captain of
the guards entered, his face flushed.

“Begging your pardon, your majesty, your excellency—”

“Yes, what is it?” asked Krom with a hint of impatience.
That captain swallowed.

“I...regret to report...that the prisoner...Morvath has
escaped.”