Haladras (10 page)

“How did you do that?” said Skylar.

“It’s a code. Tug the rope with just the right pattern and
interval, and the prongs retract.”

Lasseter returned the ball and rope to his sack, then
motioned for Skylar to follow. Through the dark, muddy streets, they made their
way deeper into the heart of the city. Keeping to the shadows and alleyways as
much as possible, they passed by the dormant buildings like phantoms in the
night. At last they arrived at the back door of a dwelling, indistinguishable
in the dark from the others around it.

Drawing up close to the weathered door, Lasseter lightly
rapped it with his knuckles. After a moment’s silence, the door creaked open.
Amber light spilled into the street. A man with gray stubble and a stern gaze
stood in the portal. The man fixed his gaze on the cloaked and hooded form of
Lasseter, then on Skylar.

“Is he come?” the man asked in a low tone.

“He is,” replied Lasseter.

NINE

T
HE
MAN NODDED
and beckoned for them to enter. Skylar, following his uncle,
stepped into the dimly-lit abode of the stranger, unsure of what to think of
the cryptic exchange that had just passed. “Is he come?” The man had said, as
if he’d been waiting for Skylar, as if Skylar were someone of consequence.

Behind them, the man closed the creaky door as quietly as
possible. Lasseter pulled the hood back from his face. Skylar did likewise. The
room in which they found themselves was small, sparsely furnished. At one end
of it the embers of a fire long exhausted glowed with their last flicker of
life. Over it hung a rusted kettle. Two cots stood on the old wooden floor just
in front of the hearth. Near the adjacent wall was a man, looking as if he’d
just stood up from the table in front of him.

This other man was tall with powerful arms that bulged from
his jerkin. He looked considerably younger than the other stranger, but bore a
look of wisdom and experience beyond his years. His eyes met Skylar’s. Then
slowly he inclined his head, keeping his eyes fixed on Skylar. The gesture
puzzled Skylar, and he did not know how best to respond.

A third stranger appeared from a back room, stopping at the
threshold of the doorway. He was shorter than the man at the table, but stout
and strong. He too looked younger than the first man. His sable hair was short
and kempt, and matched his eyes, which he likewise fixed on Skylar. Unlike the
other man, this one wore a sour look on his face.

“Is that him?” he said gruffly.

Skylar looked back at his uncle and the man who opened the
door. But they ignored the question.

“What news, old friend?” said the older man to Lasseter.

“The Trackers found him on Haladras,” replied Lasseter
gravely. “I was careless to let them get so close. I should have brought him
here sooner.”

Lasseter shook his head and set his teeth.

“Foolish, indeed,” he continued, “he’s certainly on our
trail now.”

“Yes,” replied the stranger, “but he is safe, for the
present.”

The stranger turned to Skylar. “I’ve waited many long years for
this day. What honor to see you again.”

The man’s eyes, though dark and beset in a scarred, careworn
face, possessed a softness that surprised Skylar. Those eyes seemed to see
something within Skylar that ignited a long-dormant memory.

“I am glad that you are safe,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Skylar. “But, Sir, I’m afraid we’ve never
met before. Nor do I even know why I am here.”

The man’s stone-set mouth cracked into a smile. Lasseter,
too, let out a chuckle.

“This is Krom, a true and faithful friend,” said Lasseter.

Krom solemnly nodded, just as the others had done.

Indicating the man at the table, he said, “This is the
valiant Grim Galloway. A finer swordsman there never was.” He motioned to the
other. “And this stout and stout-hearted fellow is Endrick.”

“I’m pleased to meet all you,” responded Skylar, attempting
to be as courteous as he could, despite his weariness and anxiety over all that
he’d endured in the hours since the Trackers attacked him on Haladras. “Can one
of you explain to me why I am here?”

“I see Lasseter has kept you guessing this whole while,”
replied Krom. “I think the time is ripe for the truth to be revealed to you.
Lasseter, however, is the best one of us to do the telling.”

Skylar turned to his uncle and looked at him expectantly.
But Lasseter merely shook his head and turned away.

“I don’t have the heart to tell it,” said Lasseter. “Krom
shall tell it. I must sleep now.”

Lasseter began walking toward the threshold to the back
room, his boots sounding heavily on the hollow floor. He stopped short of the
threshold, however, and turned back.

“You may trust these men more than your closest friends.
Your life to them is more precious than their own.”

So saying, he left the room, leaving Skylar alone on a
foreign planet with three utter strangers.

Krom walked over to the table and invited Skylar to take a
seat. Despite Skylar’s exhaustion, he felt he couldn’t possibly sleep until he
discovered the reason for the Trackers, and why Lasseter had made him flee
Haladras, and why these men treated with such diffidence. He gladly accepted
the chair, for his legs and feet ached from their journey. Grim offered him
some cheese and a piece of stale bread. These he ate hungrily, but without
relish. When he had finished the meager repast, Krom began to speak. His voice
was deep and full of that subtle magic which enthralls its listeners.

“Your story begins a lifetime ago, on a planet you only know
by name, and with a man whose greatness shall ever be remembered. That place is
Ahlderon and that man was King Athylian, of the House Ducädese.

“Long ago, before Athylian was king, he befriended a boy.
That boy’s name was Tarus. They were both just young lads in those days.
Horseplay, sword fighting, fishing, and running through the forest were all
they lived for. The pair were great friends and were rarely found apart.

“But as boys do, they grew older. No longer did they play as
they had as boys. Still, hunting, sword fighting, and occasionally some fair
damsel brought them together and kept their friendship alive. Increasingly,
however, Athylian’s responsibilities as future king of the empire kept him
preoccupied. Often, Athylian’s father, King Yurik would request his presence
during council sessions, public hearings, or diplomatic affairs, which took him
to some distant part of the empire.

“Whilst the young prince grew in wisdom, learning and
stature, Tarus grew in corruption and vice. It was during one of Athylian’s
extended departures with his father that Tarus, lonely and feeling self-pity,
took up with a new set of friends. This little band of friends possessed few
virtues, but many faults. An indolent group they were, seldom found engaged in
wholesome labor. Pleasure-seekers to the core, they felt most at home in the
tavern than anywhere else. And Tarus quickly sank into their debauchery.

“Tarus endeavored to conceal his newfound friends and way of
life from Athylian. But darkness can never hide from light. Though it broke
Athylian’s heart to see what Tarus was becoming, he refused to abandon his
boyhood companion. Every chance afforded him, Athylian would take Tarus out
hunting, or bring him to the castle to practice fencing.

“On his eighteenth birthday, Athylian began preparations to
enter the University of Strybrn—there to complete his formal education. Fearful
that Tarus would sink to old habits while he was away, Athylian implored his
father to send Tarus with him.

“Knowing something of Tarus’ reputation, King Yurik at first
denied his son’s request. Athylian pressed him, though, expressing his desire to
help his friend. In the end, his father relented, for he saw that his son’s
heart was in the right place. No graver mistake did King Yurik ever make.

“During their first year at the university together the bond
of friendship between Athylian and Tarus seemed to grow strong again. In their
second year, a fellow student by the name of Morvin Athl made repeated
overtures of friendship to the pair. Morvin was a peculiar individual and
Athylian—who could find virtue in any man—distrusted him from the start.

“Tarus, however, was enchanted by Morvin, who possessed a
fine tongue and used much flattery. Tarus kept company with Morvin more and
more. And though this displeased Athylian, never did he confront Tarus about
it, but maintained his unwavering friendship.

“Morvin proved not only to be a gifted speaker, but a
brilliant mind, as well. He excelled in all his classes. In particular,
however, he possessed a gift with machines. Such things he conjured up out of
pieces of metal that his professors marveled at them. Yet despite his talents
and academic excellence, Morvin failed to secure Athylian’s trust. Something in
his manner—his smug, confident smile, his—narrow eyes, made Athylian uneasy.
Then Morvin made a blunder.

“It was in their fourth year. Morvin ranked top in his
class. Indeed, he seemed well positioned to join the few alumni who graduated a
Prime Scholar. Midway through their term, however, one of the professors
happened upon Morvin in one of the laboratories late in the night. The
professor was startled to find anyone up so late, still working. Morvin
explained that he had been struck with an idea for an invention and wanted to
work on it straight away. The professor, of course, believed Morvin. He was the
best student in school.

“Nevertheless, after that incident the professor began to
notice that supplies were unaccountably depleted from the laboratory’s stock
holds. The professor inquired into the matter, but found no satisfactory
explanation. Concerned because of the expensive nature of the supplies, the
professor sought out Morvin, who denied having any knowledge which would
account for the missing supplies.

“The professor’s suspicions against Morvin continued to
mount. But having no substantial evidence to make any accusations, the
professor kept his peace. Instead, he devised a plan to catch the thief.
Realizing the pilfering likely occurred at night, the professor set himself as
guard over the laboratory. Hiding himself behind one of the tapestries, he waited.

“For hours he stood there, sleepy and fatigued from
standing. And just about the time he decided to give up his watch, he heard
someone entering the lab. The professor secretly peered out from behind his
hiding place. The intruder was Morvin.

“Patiently, the professor waited behind the curtain,
straining his ears to make sense of the noises he heard. At last, Morvin left.
Straightway, the professor went to check the supply hold. As certain as the sun
rises on the morrow, more supplies had been taken.

“The professor presented this evidence to the dean of the
university. An inspection of Morvin’s quarters was ordered. The inspection
yielded the discovery of  a myriad of devices and machines—some of which
bore striking resemblance to insects.”

At the mention of mechanical insects the hairs rose on the
back of Skylar’s neck.

Krom continued.

“The dean insisted that a number of these devices be handed
over to the university so that other students or faculty might study them. It
was a high complement. But Morvin did not see it as such. He desired the
devices for his own purposes. Morvin resisted the dean’s request, arguing that
his devices yet needed work; that he himself had yet to learn all he could from
his work. The dean merely waved aside these concerns. But Morvin refused to
yield. He grew angry, almost violent.

“The dean, too, grew angry and promised to expel Morvin from
the university if he did not hand over the devices by the following day, and
issue a formal apology to the faculty and student body himself. Morvin made no
further argument, but stormed out of the dean’s office.

“The following day, Morvin failed to meet the dean’s
demands. And when university officials sought to find him, Morvin was gone, and
his devices too.

“With Morvin out of his life, Athylian seemed to breathe
more easily. Tarus and Athylian’s fifth and final year passed quickly and
uneventfully away.

“After graduation, Tarus and Athylian returned home. The
king invited Tarus to live in the castle and appointed him a junior officer of the
Council for Interplanetary Relations. An appointment which kept young Tarus
more than preoccupied and away from the castle more than not.

“Within a few brief years, however, war erupted between the
Ahlderion Empire and the depraved, bloodthirsty nation of Tor. Both Tarus and
Athylian fought on the battlefront. Many times one saving the other’s life,
only to have the favor reciprocated. The war went well for the empire. (As well
as a war can go.) The Tors were rapidly losing forces and provisions. But then
tragedy struck; King Yurik himself was grievously wounded during one of the
final battles. Soon after, he died.

“The war ended, Athylian, grief stricken over the loss of
his father, commenced his reign. Wanting Tarus always at his side, the young
king appointed him as his second-in-command.

“Athylian, with Tarus at his side, spent the first years of
his reign rebuilding his war-stricken kingdom. Athylian loved his people.
Tirelessly and devotedly he toiled on their behalf. In time, the people came to
love their new king as earnestly as they loved his father. He had earned their
trust. And little by little the kingdom was restored. Not only this, the people
began to thrive and prosper again.

“It was during this time that Tarus, unbeknownst to
Athylian, renewed an old friendship. Morvin Athl had sought out and found
Tarus. Tarus was glad to see his old friend, but knowing Athylian’s dislike for
Morvin, told nothing of it to the king. Little had changed about Morvin. He was
as cunning and brilliant as ever. He had altered his name, nonetheless. It was
a name that matched the true darkness of his soul. Morvath.

“Seldom did Tarus leave the castle or Athylian’s side. But
when the opportunity arose, Tarus visited Morvath. The two would talk long into
the night. They spoke of their time at the university, sharing fond memories.
All the while, Morvath, as insidious as a snake, administered to Tarus the slow
poison that corrupted his soul.

“Little by little, Morvath endeavored to unearth the greed
and avarice buried deep within Tarus’s heart. These vices grew larger and
stronger, until they smothered his virtues. Gone were his true loyalty and love
for Athylian. Gone was the man who would sacrifice his life for the empire. One
thirst now drove him like a whip to a slave’s back. One desire haunted every
waking and sleeping moment of his existence. It festered beneath his skin like
a boil. He craved the crown.