“‘Before us lies not death, but freedom; freedom from those who would shackle your lives with the chains of oppression and tyranny.’
“He died for freedom, Skylar; for Ahlderon; and, like Grim, died so that you could become king.”
“And how many more must die before that’s realized? How many others lie dead already on the field of battle? I feel numb to think of it.”
“How many more?” repeated Krom. “No man knows the answer. That the sacrifice of the fallen be not in vain...only you can give them that.”
Then Krom turned and walked slowly out of the tent.
The following day, Skylar voluntarily joined in the somber labor of entombing the bodies of the dead. The work, though heart-rending, helped to keep his thoughts from driving him mad. He’d heard the report: five hundred Haladrian soldiers killed. Among the fallen lay Kindor Nightstar—news which shattered his already broken heart; several of his schoolmates, and many of his fellow dock hands from the harbor, were laid to rest as well.
Of the fifteen hundred soldiers yet alive, hundreds more sustained serious injuries. Rolander was one of them. Dr. Beezin had joked with Skylar about losing an appendage. With Rolander there was no joke. Where used to be an arm and five-fingered hand, only a bandaged stub at his forearm remained. It was his right arm, his dominant arm, too.
Though relieved that Rolander did not die in battle, Skylar keenly felt sorrow for Rolander. He struggled to cheer up his old friend. Whereas Rolander had been full of zeal and patriotism, now he lay subdued, reticent, almost glum.
“I promise you,” said Skylar, just before he had left Rolander to rest. “If I ever become king, I’ll bring you to Ahlderon to live with me. You’ll have whatever you want.”
Rolander had not replied.
“Give the little one time,” Dr. Beezin had told him. “His body’s still in shock and his brain’s in denial.”
Despite Dr. Beezin’s reassurance, Skylar couldn’t help but worry about his friend. Rolander’s injury did give him one consolation. It meant that his friend would not fight again. Rolander was safe.
Not wishing to go home—it reminded him too much of his father—he stayed the night at the encampment. He had requested his own tent. Many were readily available now. Endrick insisted on keeping watch outside the entrance of the tent. At first, Skylar refused, but Krom quickly put an end to the debate.
“Either accept Endrick’s offer or have me as your guard.”
Skylar yielded. He felt little desire for quarreling.
And so he lay on a cot in his tent, while Endrick kept guard. Outside, a sea of bright stars sparkled in the night sky, calm and serene. Within, sleep evaded the prince. His thoughts too full, he simply lay awake staring blankly up at the dark ceiling of his tent. Over and over, the same thoughts cycled through his brain: my father’s dead. Kindor’s dead. My sister’s alive. Where is she? Rolander...will he ever be the same? The limbreath...‘use it in you hour of greatest need’. Father...Kindor...Grim...Why?
These thoughts haunted him until sleep finally showed him pity, and he slipped into troubled dreams.
Several hours later, he awoke abruptly, startled out of sleep by nightmares of the battle. A cold sweat coated his skin. He breathed heavily, as if he’d been running. For several moments he laid there, his eyes open, taking deep breaths, allowing his heart to stop pounding. Then slowly he closed his eyes.
Sleep had almost come again when an audible voice gently parted the black curtain of silence.
“It did not have to happen this way,” it said so softly that it might have been uttered by the night air.
Yes despite its softness, Skylar sat bolt upright in his cot, and swept the room with his eyes. In the darkness he saw nothing, only dark shadows.
“You could have saved your father,” said the voice again. “It’s your fault he is dead. Your fault five hundred Haladrians are dead.”
“Who’s there?” said Skylar, his voice quavering. He reached for his sword and held it out in front of himself protectively.
“Do not fear, Prince. You would be dead already had I desired it.”
“Who are you?” demanded Skylar, his voice still a whisper.
His eyes detected a shifting movement among the shadows, so faint he thought his eyes were deceiving him. It was no deception. A shadow was moving nearer and with it grew a coldness which only one being in the galaxy could produce. Morvath.
“What do you want?” growled Skylar between clenched teeth, anger quickly overtaking his fear.
The shadow stepped even nearer, ignoring Skylar’s hostile tone and outstretched sword.
“I come offering what I offered you before. Salvation.”
“All I want from you is for you to go shrivel up and die in some hole.”
“Now, now...” replied Morvath with perfect composure, “you brought this entirely upon yourself. I warned you of the possible consequences. You ignored them. You must learn to own up to your mistakes. A cannon blast may have killed your father, but it was your doing that put him in harm’s way. No one had to die. You made it so.”
“It was your forces who came against ours. You are the true murderer. You should have recognized the authority of my father, King Athylian and surrendered.”
“I was merely doing my duty to the empire. I am bound to her ruler, King Tarus. As for that man being your true father—impossible. Athylian has been dead these fourteen years. I saw his remains.”
“No,” blurted out Skylar. “He was Athylian. I know it.”
“Dreams, my dear prince. Mere fantasy. Wake up from it. Wake up from the whole imaginary world those around you have weaved. Come with me to Ahlderon. Let no one else suffer from your foolishness.”
“Never!” shouted Skylar, raising his sword to strike. At that same instant, Endrick rushed into the tent. Both met with nothing. Morvath had vanished.
TWENTY-NINE
“YOU ARE CERTAIN it was Morvath?” said Krom on the morning following Skylar’s encounter with the black figure in his tent.
“Who else could it have been?” said Skylar. “No, it was none other. I have no doubt.”
“You saw him too?” he said, turning to Endrick.
“Great Yurik, no! I’d have sliced him to bacon strips had I caught that swine.”
“Was there any sign of intrusion? Colonel, did your men sweep the area? He must have left some kind of trace,” said Krom.
“My men made a thorough scan of the area, Sir,” replied the colonel. “Nothing was found.”
Krom turned back to Skylar, a look of doubt evident on his face. Skylar knew what must be passing through everyone’s mind.
“It wasn’t a dream,” said Skylar. “I was as awake as I am now.”
Krom considered Skylar for several moments, rubbed his stubbled chin.
“I don’t know what you saw,” he said after a time. “Men do not appear and vanish without a trace. What more, I cannot fathom how he might have entered Haladras and our encampment undetected. Still, I want Endrick at your side at all times. I will speak to Captain Arturo about tightening our border security.”
That was all Krom had said on the matter. It was obvious no one really believed Morvath had entered their encampment. Skylar himself began to feel less sure of it as the day wore on. Whether it was a dream, an apparition, or Morvath in the flesh, one thing remained unchanged: Morvath’s words had left Skylar doubting.
As much as he hated to admit it, he doubted about the justice of their rebellion. Doubted about his father. What if Morvath was right? The thought made him dizzy, confused. For not the first time since his life had been turned upside-down he distressed over the difficulty of judging what was right.
The next morning, they held a council of war. This time, instead of playing the role of silent observer, Skylar made his voice and thoughts known. No longer could he live in the shadow of others. He must learn to lead.
“I wish to end this conflict as soon as may be,” he said as the c
ouncil deliberated on their next course of action.
“I agree,” added Rasbus. “The sooner, the better.”
“Of that, I advise against,” said the tall regal figure, whom Skylar now knew to be Lord Rowvan of Allega, his grandfather. “The Castle Ahlderon is a mighty fortification. To come against it would be to come against a mountain.”
“Then we will crush the mountain,” boomed Rasbus.
“Not without a great loss to our own forces.”
“And I want to avoid imperiling our troops at all cost,” said Skylar. “Already they have suffered much. What do you suggest, Lord Rowvan?”
“Thank you, Prince Korbyn. My plan is simple. We lay siege to Ahlderon; choke her off from the rest of the empire; block the flow of provisions to her; we starve her until Tarus is forced to send out his army against us in open battle.”
“Yes, but how long will that take?” said Arturo. “Six months? A year? More? Our own troops must be sustained as well. An expensive endeavor. It becomes, then, a battle of endurance and patience. No, we must end this quickly, while our provisions are adequate and the soldiers’ spirits high.”
“Either option has its risks,” added Krom, speaking out for the first time. “Like Lord Rowvan, I feel an attack on the castle is perilous. Yet, I fear what Morvath might contrive should we give him sufficient time.”
“I fear him more than all Tarus’ soldiers combined,” said Skylar.
“We are fighting an army,” said Rasbus, “not a single man. That snake Morvath does not frighten me. Let him send out his mechanical butterflies against us.”
“All very well, my brave fellow,” said Lord Rowvan, “but unless you can attack the castle from the inside out, it is futile.”
Skylar was about to respond when Krom spoke again. “With that, I may be able to help.”
* * *
He hated the idea of leaving Haladras again. At the same time, he felt relieved. Nothing but painful memories seemed to be left for him on the planet he called home. He visited his mother one last time before the ships embarked for Ahlderon.
“I would tell you to be careful, again,” said his mother. “But I don’t think you would listen to me. Endrick told me how you were hurt.”
She hugged him tightly.
“If the busy life of a king permits it,” she said, “try to visit your lonely mother once in a while.”
She said it lightheartedly, but tears were already forming in her eyes.
“I’ll never be too busy for you. But you will not live here if I am ever king, but on Ahlderon, with me.”
She smiled and laughed lightly, as if the idea were nothing but a fairytale.
“Did you ever go talk to that little friend of yours? The one with the pretty red hair?”
Skylar shook his head bitterly.
“There’s still time,” she coaxed.
“Perhaps a little, but what good would it do? Everyone close to me just gets killed or maimed beyond repair. No. She’s better off without me in her life. I only bring trouble.”
* * *
Ahlderon—his home planet, the crowning jewel of the empire, the envy of the galaxy. In all his recent travel, Skylar had not seen any place to compare with it. Its beauty and splendor far exceeded anything he’d ever beheld.
It felt immense, too, full of majesty and power. It made him feel small and insignificant to look at it. His confidence waned.
The heavens above the capital were teeming with transports, merchant ships, jetwinged fliers, two-seaters, shiny speeders, and a hundred other types of crafts he’d never seen before. So many, they might have been clouds against the azure sky. These darted, glided, or hovered above a thousand towering buildings, piercing upwards with their glinting spires or square profiles. The entire city was built around a great hill. Outside the city, verdant rolling hills swept away in all directions; to the north, snowy mountains; to the south, noble forests. Overshadowing the entire scene, atop that green hill rose a mighty fortress, the Castle Ahlderon.
“Welcome home, Skylar,” said Krom who had come to join him at the window. They were traveling in the Luna. Krom, Endrick, Grüny Sykes, Rasbus, and Skylar were traveling ahead of their army. In the Luna they hoped to avoid attention. Seeing the sky filled with ships, Skylar felt reassured that no one would pay them a second thought. A few other merchant shuttles, filled with Haladrian soldiers, were headed to the nearest space-traffic probes on Ahlderon. These were secreted at strategic points on the planet’s surface. Points which Krom knew well. With the probes disabled, their military ships could enter the planet unannounced.
“It doesn’t feel like home,” replied Skylar.
“Don’t worry, it will grow on you quickly. It’s a far more beautiful land than the one you call home.”
Krom almost sounded happy as he spoke. Something Skylar had not detected in this stern man’s countenance before.
“I’d rather live a thousand years on Haladras if I could have my old life back—everyone alive again,” he said softly. Then, “Do you think we can do it? Can we bring down Tarus and his oppressive regime?”
“Evil shall always fall where good men are willing to stand,” answered the old Krom. “The Spirit King shall speed our cause.”
“Just like he did on Haladras? Where was his army of angels?”
The hint of bitterness in Skylar’s voice was not lost on Krom.
“They were there...they were there. Though your eyes may have been blind to them...”
“Then why did they let my father die—the true king? Why did Kindor die and Rolander lose his arm?”
Skylar continued to stare out at the city below. He had not spoken in anger, but as one confused, in despair.
“Death is not a punishment for the just and noble, but the beginning of a life in a realm of all the great kings who have ever lived in our world. Mourn their departure from us. But grieve for them not. They are better off than we, for we must continue the fight.”
Despite Krom’s unsatisfactory answer, Skylar did not reply. He had no heart to pursue it further. So he remained silent, pondering Krom’s words, wishing he could see with his own eyes what had become of his father...of Kindor...of Grim. Absently, he clutched at the tiny leather pouch hanging from his neck beneath his tunic.
“The limbreath,” he said, turning to Krom. “What is it for?”
“Limbreath—a plant with supernatural virtues, some claim. Legend tells it comes from Elydar. Grim spoke to you of Elydar, I believe.”
Skylar nodded solemnly.
“I have not heard anyone speak of limbreath for many, many years. It has ever been rare, much of it counterfeit. Apothecaries used to crave it like a lame bird craves to fly. To most, now, Elydar is naught but a myth, and with it limbreath.”
“But it’s not, is it?”
“No more a myth than you or I. Alas, I cannot tell you what it is for.”
“I’ve heard it will make your breath turn fowl if you put it in your mouth,” interjected Endrick. “Might come in handy if we’re attacked by a hoard of dainty maidens. Make ‘em faint outright.”
Skylar smiled, but insisted that Krom explain himself. Krom either couldn’t or wouldn’t reveal any more than he already knew.
“‘To use in your hour of greatest need,’ as your father said.”
Skylar did not have a chance to reply. Grüny had just announced that they would soon be landing. He took his seat with the others, fastened himself in, and prepared to disembark.
Dark cloaks provided their disguise as they stepped out onto the landing pad of the cramped commercial port nestled within the heart of the city. Grüny, well known among the pilots and port masters, did not attempt to hide his identity, and acted as though he were merely conveying a group of paying customers.
“Priests,” he said gruffly to the port master, as he made some pretense at unloading their luggage. “Just arrived from Kyndoo Yavi. Here to see the king.”
The port master nodded his head and spat on
the ground. “Seems like they oughta be traveling higher class than your old tub of bolts.” He chuckled at his own witty remark.
“What...the Luna? She’s as fit as any ship here.” Then added, as he turned away, “See that she’s taken care of, Jim. No passengers for a day or so. Have some business in town.”
With that, he lumbered off toward the others, empty luggage boxes in hand. Together they made their way across the port and into the terminal, where Grüny deposited the luggage with his passengers.
“I’ll meet you at the ‘Ol Ironclad Tavern, near Crossroads Square within the hour,” he whispered.
Then he pretended to bid them a cold farewell, turned and walked away.
The streets of the city were packed full of bustling traffic. People on foot jammed the edge of the streets. Transports sped by in both directions, mere inches away from the flowing foot traffic. Kids Skylar’s own age zipped by on speeder bikes and jetwings, weaving in and out between the oncoming traffic.
Forced to press themselves against the side of the buildings, the companions laboriously traversed their way up the street. Numerous times an opposing walker shouldered Skylar, sending him staggering backwards and fighting to keep up with the others. How can there be so many people in one city? Skylar wondered. He felt suffocated and feared they would never arrive at their destination.
As they moved along, though, the crowds gradually began to thin. The sun, now setting, left the narrow streets in a darkness which was only relieved by pale phosphorescent lights embedded into the sides of the buildings. Krom led their little procession on in silence, moving swiftly and surely through the labyrinth of streets. Despite the darkness, the streets still seemed busy to Skylar. Nothing like the abandoned streets of Dura Cragis he once navigated alone at night. Speeders and transports still continued to race by in either direction. And street-bound walkers still passed by in small droves.
At last they arrived at an old ramshackle tavern, at the street level of a derelict building. The crooked sign above the door read The ‘Ol Ironclad and bore a faded painting of a sword crossing a shield.
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