Haladras

by Michael M. Farnsworth

  An unexpected thud, followed by a throaty groan, made Skylar look up from his toiling. Lying on the ground, limbs splayed out in every direction, was the other soldier. The soldier Skylar was helping laughed at his comrade and muttered something incomprehensible.

  “Get on with it,” he blurt out between slurred mumbling.

  Skylar finally managed to remove the upper portion of the soldier’s suit. With a groan of his own, he realized what a challenge the lower half of the suit would be. Before he could begin the odious task, however, the soldier fell back onto the ground and almost immediately commenced snoring raucously.

  Skylar froze. If the soldier just stayed asleep, he could escape. Quietly, he turned and tiptoed away. A few meters away from the unconscious soldiers, he halted. An idea came into his mind. A sly smile crossed his lips. Glancing around to ensure he wasn’t being watched, he returned to the soldier and, as gently as possible, worked to finish the job of removing the suit.

  Skylar felt clumsy and uncomfortable in the armored suit. It did not fit him well. But it would have to do. He labored under the weight of it, climbing the countless steps at the citadel’s foot, attempting to appear as confident and official as he could muster.

  A black-tinted visor and helmet, which the drunken soldier had cast to the street, disguised his face. He also carried the soldier’s blaster. Except for his awkward gait and the jetwing hanging from his belt, he looked indistinguishable from the other soldiers. Though he might have been wise to hide his jetwing in the alleyway where he hid his clothes, he could not bring himself to leave it behind.

  Perspiration seeped profusely from his skin by the time he gained the top of the stairs. Heavy stone doors, flanked by two guards stood before him. Tentatively, he advanced toward the doors, hoping the guards would let him pass without interrogation or having to divulge some password he didn’t know.

  “It’s about time you showed up,” said the rightmost guard. “I was beginning to think we would have to stand here all night. Here’s the keycard for the doors.”

  The guard held out a thin, rectangular object. Skylar took it, and fumbled to keep from dropping it with his oversized glove protecting his hands.

  “Enjoy the night,” said the guard mockingly, then started down the steps.

  “What’s this!” called out the second guard. “What about me? There were supposed to be two of you. Where’s the other guard?”

  “Uh,” stammered Skylar, trying to make his voice sound deeper than it was. “I haven’t seen him.”

  “Haven’t seen him!” The guard threw his arms up. “Where is that lazily—”

  “No doubt he’ll be along soon,” said the first guard, still on the steps. “Come on. That fellow can handle things until the other arrives. Come on.”

  The second guard looked around, as if to check if anyone was watching.

  “Alright then,” he said.

  Skylar watched the two soldiers as they descended the stairs and then vanished into the city.

  That was much too easy.

  Taking the keycard, he located a thin vertical slot on the side of the door and inserted it. With surprising speed, the two stone doors parted. Skylar stepped inside, and the doors closed swiftly behind him.

  He stood in a huge open hall with polished stone floors and high ceiling. Another stairway stood at the far end of the hall, granting access to an upper-level walkway which ran the four walls of the room. Only a few dim lights provided visibility in the whole hall, so that it was almost as dark inside as the night outside.

  Skylar neither saw nor heard any sign of other people. Nor did he see any clear direction to begin his search for Grim. Numerous corridors led from the hall in all directions, with no indication as to where they led.

  “Which way to go?” said Skylar to himself, as he surveyed his surroundings. He feared standing there too long. If anyone saw him, he wanted to appear as though he were about some important business. “If only there were a map of this place...”

  No sooner had the words escaped his lips than a monotone voice sounded in his ear.

  “Activating map. Current location: Dura Cragis Citadel, entrance hall, level one.”

  The inner visor of his helmet illuminated with the soft green glow of a map projected on the right-side of his field of vision. A tiny red dot blinked on one portion of it. He guessed the dot indicated his position in the building. A few other dots came to life, scattered about the projection: other guards, most likely.

  “Where are the holding cells?” asked Skylar.

  “Holding cells,” repeated the voice.

  The projected map moved up and another illuminated below it. “Lower level,” read the label of the second map. A rectangular section of it flashed white. Then a thin dotted line traced a path for him to follow. It led to what appeared to be stairs.

  Ensuring that no guards showed along the route, he set off down the second corridor to his left. He walked as swiftly as he dared, which felt painfully slow, as he attempted to minimize the echo of his boots on the stone floor. As yet, no other guards appeared anywhere near him on the map. Still, he wished to avoid attracting any of their attention. Though dressed as a soldier, he had no legitimate excuse for his presence there.

  After several turns down other corridors, he finally came to a dark, narrow stairwell leading down. He checked the map again. Still clear. He descended the stairs.

  There were no guards on duty around the holding cells. Either some careless soldier was slacking off, or else it was considered unnecessary. Four cells comprised the entire prison unit of the citadel. Doubtless a larger prison or dungeon existed elsewhere in the city for extended imprisonment.

  Grim sat on a stone bed, his head bent low. Three solid stone walls and one of glass fifteen centimeters in thickness comprised his cramped cell. The other three cells were empty. Grim did not look up as Skylar approached.

  Skylar immediately went to work searching for means to open Grim’s cell. He found nothing. No hinges, seams, or anything to indicate how to get in. He ran his gloved hand along the portion of the stone separating Grim’s cell from the next. It was perfectly smooth. No hidden keypads or key slots. Nothing. How do you—

  An idea suddenly came to him.

  “Open cell number one,” he said aloud.

  “Opening cell number one,” responded the voice in his helmet.

  The entire glass wall of the far cell from Grim’s slid up into the ceiling.

  “Close cell number one,” he ordered. “Open cell number four.”

  The voice repeated the command. Immediately Grim’s glass wall retracted into the ceiling. For the first time, Grim looked up, but all he saw was an imperial soldier standing at the threshold.

  “Are you just going to sit there,” said Skylar, “Or do you want to leave?”

  Grim regarded him quizzically.

  “Who are you?”

  Skylar tore off the helmet.

  “Skylar! What are you doing here?” Grim’s entire being was full of astonishment and concern.

  “I came to save my friend, of course. Now come on, let’s leave here while we can.”

  Grim was on his feet in an instant, striding out of the cell.

  “You should not have come,” said Grim as swiftly they made their way toward the stairwell. “You have put yourself in grave danger.”

  Skylar only partially heard Grim. His thoughts were busy considering their escape from the citadel. Had the real guards finally appeared for duty at the gates? Would they think anything of Grim leaving with another soldier? Other Guards...

  Just before they mounted the stairs, Skylar paused.

  “Wait,” he said, stuffing his head back into his helmet. He scanned the map, and found the red dot that indicated his location. He gasped. There were three other dots heading directly for the stairwell from the first level.

  “What is it?”

  “Guards are heading for the stairs. We must hide.”

  Skylar whirled
around, looking for a hiding place.

  “And where will you hide with that locator in your suit?” Grim had Skylar by the arm and was moving him back toward the holding cell. “You must put me back in the cell and pretend to be my guard.”

  “Back!” said Skylar.

  “Yes, my prince. Hurry.”

  Skylar hated the idea of putting his liberated friend back in the cell. He knew Grim was right, though. There was no other option.

  Letting go of Skylar’s arm, Grim dashed into cell number four, and resumed his previous pose on the stone bed.

  “Close cell number four,” commanded Skylar.

  The glass wall slid back into place, trapping in Grim just as before. Loud clanking footsteps began to echo from the stairwell. Skylar turned in time to see several pairs of armored boots descending the steps. He took his blaster in both hands and straightened his stance, attempting to appear like a guard on duty. The three soldiers reached the bottom of the stairwell and marched forward, official purpose powering every rigid step.

  Against hope, Skylar prayed they were on some other errand, anything but orders related to Grim.

  “Walk past. Walk past,” Skylar repeated under his breath, like one casting a spell.

  It was no use. The three guards were walking directly toward him, toward Grim’s cell.

  “What are you doing down here?” demanded the foremost guard. Unlike any of the guards Skylar had encountered, this one wore a suit striped with three red lines around the upper arm. A mark of higher rank. “Forgotten, most likely. Just as you seem to have forgotten how to salute your superiors.”

  “Oh,” stammered Skylar, who fumbled with his blaster before bringing his right arm across his chest in salute. “Sorry, Sir.”

  “I asked you what your business was down here, soldier,” growled the officer, planting himself uncomfortably close to Skylar.

  “Guarding the prisoner, sir.”

  “By whose orders?” hissed the officer.

  “Uh, Captain…” Skylar hesitated, hunting his brain for a name that sounded reasonable. “Captain—”

  “Oh, never mind,” snapped the officer. “Whoever it was he knew what he was doing. This prisoner needs about as much guarding as our army needs incompetents like you. Get out of my way.”

  The officer shouldered Skylar aside, then issued the voice command to open Grim’s cell. “You two,” he said, signaling to the guards standing behind him. “Bring the prisoner with us.”

  The guards hustled into the cell, their suits clanking with their swift movement. They grabbed Grim by the arms and hauled him up and out of the cell. Grim put up no resistance, but came along calmly, head held high. He did not look at Skylar when he passed. Skylar wished he had. A nod, a wink, a raised eyebrow—anything. Some kind of a sign that Grim had a plan to get away.

  “You will follow us,” ordered the officer to Skylar. “I don’t want you to go sneaking off to guard something else which needs no guarding.”

  Obediently, Skylar fell in behind Grim and the guards. The officer then led them up the stairs.

  Suddenly an idea struck him. It was too easy. No possible way it could fail. They would be rid of the guards and the snarly officer. Then he and Grim could make a run for it. Surely they could reach the citadel’s front steps before any other guard discovered the bodies. It was too easy.

  Skylar gripped the blaster in his hands, these thoughts swirling in his mind. There were only three. He could shoot all three before any of them knew what was happening. All he had to do was shoot.

  He hesitated. Could he kill three men? If he didn’t, they might kill Grim. He had seen the wickedness the king’s soldiers were capable of. Did they not deserve death? Were they not all serving a king that had betrayed and killed his parents?

  Skylar lifted the blaster and leveled it at the first guard.

  Could he do it? Should he do it? Thoughts began to pour in. Perhaps these men have families: wives and hungry little children. They, at least, have parents of their own; friends; people who care about them. No one is that evil. Is it the soldiers’ fault they serve a traitorous king? Can they know what he really is? Can I kill another man?

  Grim. I must save Grim.

  He put his finger to the trigger.

  It is a weapon only of evil. The words of Krom suddenly entered his mind. They struck with great force.

  Slowly, he lowered the accursed weapon and bowed his head.

  I can’t do it.

  He was only vaguely aware that they had halted in front of a door. The officer inserted a keycard into a slot near the door and the door slid open. All five entered and the door closed ominously behind them.

  FIFTEEN

  THE ROOM’S DARKNESS was only surpassed by the night sky looming outside the tall, slit-like windows. Those same windows commanded a view of the frightened city below. A heavy coldness permeated the room, as if the air were made of the same lifeless stone as the walls and floor. The room, narrow and long, stretched before them like the Devil’s Throat on Haladras. At the end of the room, in front of the windows, sitting behind an enormous ebony desk, was a man who reminded Skylar of a desert weasel.

  The man looked up from his desk to scrutinize the captive with his beady eyes, which were set between a nose so long and pointed it might have served for a weapon.

  “What is it, Sergeant?” said the man with a voice full of impatience.

  “This is the captive, Lord Governor,” answered the officer, sounding so humble that it made Skylar smile. “You requested we bring him to you.”

  “Let him come forward, then.”

  The sergeant motioned with his hand, and the guards on either side of Grim roughly hurried him to the governor’s desk. They planted him just in front of the desk before retreating to the sides of the room.

  The governor studied Grim for a few moments before asking, “What is your name?”

  “I am called Grim,” came the proud reply.

  “Grim. That is all? Only Grim?” The governor’s voice bore an edge of mockery.

  “Grim Galloway, if it pleases you, Governor.” Grim’s voice was neither harsh nor kind, but perfectly matter-of-fact, as though he spoke to no one of any importance.

  “It does not please me,” was the governor’s sour response. “You have entered my city with the appearance of a vagrant. Yet you carry a noble blade of steel. A knight’s blade, if I’m not mistaken. From whom did you steal it?”

  Grim stood tall and erect, with all the dignity of a king. And when he spoke, his words were the clear incontestable words of truth. “It is none but my own. Given me by King Athylian himself.”

  The mention of Athylian’s name seemed to hit the governor in the chest. He rocked back in his chair.

  “Athylian!” he cried. “How can that be? I demand that you tell me your true name.”

  “I have had other names in the past. But I claim them no longer. Grim is my name.”

  “Impudence!” squealed the governor, rising from his chair glaring at Grim with a menacing scowl. “You shall—”

  There was a sudden stirring from a corner of the room at the governor’s side. He paused in mid-sentence and turned his head in that direction. The deep shadow that obscured the corner seemed to be moving, growing, until it was standing next to the governor. The governor whispered something to it and the thing hissed back. It was then that Skylar realized that the shadow was actually a man—or something like man. There was insufficient light to tell. It wore a dark hooded cloak and its face was but a tiny abyss of blackness.

  Whatever it was, the governor paled and cowered under its shadow. Despite his evident discomfort with the strange being, the governor managed to maintain a semblance of composure, nodding obsequiously to some secret instruction.

  Then the shadow withdrew back into its corner and the shaken governor, mopping his bald head with a handkerchief, returned his attention to Grim.

  “I have reconsidered the matter,” he said. “Maintain your anonymi
ty, if that is your wish. You are free to go, but I warn you not to tarry in my city. My guards shall put your sword back in your possession and see you to the gates of the citadel. Sergeant.”

  He flicked his hand, like a man shooing a fly. In response, the sergeant pointed to one of the guards.

  “See the prisoner to the gates.”

  Grim was roughly escorted out of the room, while Skylar remained behind, unable to leave without dismissal. As he wondered how he was going to extricate himself from this unexpected turn of events, a voice like the sound of air freezing faintly disturbed the silence.

  “Follow him,” it hissed.

  A moment later, two other shadows emerged from the opposite corner, floated across the room, and vanished through the door.

  * * *

  He must warn Grim. Whoever—or whatever—those things were, they made Skylar’s stomach form a knot just to think of them lurking close behind Grim. But where had he gone? How long Skylar had to stand guard in the governor’s office, he did not know. Hours. The surly sergeant had finally had enough and sent Skylar back to the barracks.

  Once outside the citadel, and out of sight of the guards at the gate, Skylar turned down a side street and backtracked to where he had deposited his clothes. He soon found the alleyway, but saw no sign of the soldiers he’d left passed out in the street. Skylar smiled to himself as he thought about the soldier explaining to his superior why his suit was missing.

  Quickly, Skylar shed the heavy armor and dumped it behind a metal bin in the alley. Perhaps the soldier would come back to look for it in the morning. Then he donned his clothes, wrapped his cloak around his body, and set off toward the city gates.

  The full weight of exhaustion from lack of sleep bore down on him as he walked. If he hadn’t felt such an urgent need to find Grim, he would have fallen asleep on the street.

  He knew nowhere else to go but back. If Grim were still within the city walls, he had no way to know where. He might hunt for days. And what of the two shadows stalking Grim? Skylar shivered at the thought, and increased his stride. He simply must find Grim.