Gorgoroth (Haladras Trilogy Book 2)

by Michael Karr

  The dining hall was livelier than Skylar expected, especially as he recalled the old hag’s threat to throw out any troublemakers. The food tasted good enough, he supposed. Endrick showed no signs of disapproval. After two weeks on rations of dried meat and biscuits, Endrick ate everything placed in front of him without a second thought.

  But Skylar was not interested in the food. He found himself constantly stealing glances at Kendyl, who sat, eating her meal in silence. It was a silence that puzzled him. She didn’t look mad or disappointed, as he expected. Rather, her mind seemed far away, dwelling on something of importance. He supposed she must be thinking of home. Perhaps now that it was clear she was going home, she began to realize who much she missed it. Part of him wished he were going back, too. Part of him knew he might never make it back.

  “Good news,” said Grüny, when he returned, “there’s a passenger vessel, bound for Quoryn leaving tomorrow morning. And our little stowaway will be on it.”

  Kendyl looked up at him, but made no remark.

  “Did you talk with the captain?” asked Skylar. “Is he trustworthy?”

  “No, I didn’t. The way these passenger vessels are managed, you never know who’ll be the captain. Like as not, there are a dozen captains employed by the shipowner, and several ships in operation. Any of the captains could be called upon to command any of the ships. But, as I mentioned before, it’s in the ship owners’ best interest to employ good captains. Their reputation—and consequently, their revenue stream—is at stake.”

  “What hour in the morning?”

  “First light—0800, standard time.”

  Skylar glanced at Kendyl and caught her gaze. He expected her to look away, but she didn't. He felt his pulse quicken. She was so beautiful. There was something in those eyes. A secret for him to unlock. It was if they were trying to tell him something, yet hold it back at the same time. For a moment he feared that if she asked him to let her stay, he wouldn’t be able to say no. But she said nothing.

  “Tomorrow, then,” murmured Skylar, forcing himself to break away from her gaze. “Tomorrow.”

  The next morning dawned dark and cold. Only a sickly yellow hue in the sky provided any discernible difference between night and morning.

  Skylar tugged his hood tighter about his face, attempting to block out the frigid air. For the hundredth time, he turned to make sure Kendyl was beside him, that she hadn't run off or been abducted by some figure lurking in the darkness. A sense of relief, mingled with something he couldn't quite describe, filled him each time he saw the skull cap and robe.

  The port was busier than Skylar expected to find it for so early in the morning. Though, in reality, the hour was not so early. Only the lack of light made it feel like the pre-dawn hours on Ahlderon.

  Grüny led them along the myriad of gangplanks running between the ships, cargo freights, and passenger vessels. On both sides of them, the ships’ hulls rose up like giant steel walls. All around the clank metal, the hiss of steam, and the shouts of officers giving commands swirled through the cold air. They found Kendyl’s vessel, the Star Gazer, surrounded by a throng of people all waiting to embark. Most of the crowd consisted of women and children, intermingled here and there with the occasional adult male. Some looked to be husbands come to bid their little families farewell, or to entreat them one last time to stay. Others bore the look of merchant or businessman, with upturned noses at the ragged crowd. Two other figures caught Skylar’s attention in particular. Guards. Armed and flanking the gangplank leading into the shuttle. Good, he thought. There would be at least two guards onboard. He hoped more were already on the ship.

  The ship itself looked as it had been built inside out. Except for lines of its narrow windows, not a smooth, flat surface could be seen on its exterior.

  “Well, this is it,” said Grüny, halting and turning around to face them. “This is where we part ways with the stowaway.”

  Then he walked over and waited by an anchor point, away from the crowd.

  “If you ask me, you’re getting the best deal out of all this,” muttered Endrick near Kendyl’s ear, then turned and went to wait with Grüny.

  For a moment, Skylar just stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to say.

  “Don’t forget about the blaster we gave you,” he said, like a captain giving orders to his troops.

  She looked down at the spot where the weapon lay concealed beneath her robe. She had worn the disguise without any argument. A pleasant surprise for Skylar that morning. In fact, she'd been remarkably docile since dinner the previous night. Not a word of complaint or defiance. She didn't even appear sad. Perhaps she had come to realize the prudence in the decision.

  “Do you have any questions?” he asked stiffly.

  She shook her head.

  “Goodbye, then,”

  Be careful. Ever so careful.

  Then she turned and entered the crowd which was funneling onto the gangplank. Skylar stood and watched the gray skull cap as it bobbed and weaved closer to the ship. Then it disappeared from sight. A pit formed at formed at the bottom of his stomach the moment it went out of view.

  Reluctantly, he turned his back on the shuttle with its throng of passengers, and walked over to Endrick and Grüny.

  “Good, she’s gone,” said Grüny. “Now we can get on with business.”

  Secretly, he wished to wait until the ship departed before they left the docks. Skylar knew this would only infuriate Grüny. Kendyl was on the ship. Safe, on the ship. Waiting around to watch the ship take off into the sky would not change that. Or so he tried to convince himself.

  The three remaining companions spent the rest of the day acquiring any provisions they felt they would need on Gorgoroth. In particular, weapons and garments. Both proved easy enough to procure. Weapons vendors, specializing in Tor weaponry, sold their goods out of carts in the street markets. To Skylar’s surprise, most of these weapons were not some form of blaster. Bladed, spikes, and clubbed implements comprised almost the lot of them.

  Grüny explained that the blaster was relatively new to the nation of Tor. Until recently, most blasters found on Gorgoroth were smuggled from Ahlderon. Now there were Tor factories which produced them, but of a lower quality than the Ahlderion version. Still, only the wealthy and soldiers of the empress carry them. But most Tors prefer the more primitive weapons. Being a proud people, they value man’s ability to kill by hand.

  So, they bought a lethal-looking mace for Grüny, a staff with hidden, retractable spikes on either end for Endrick, and a short sword, with spiked pommel for Skylar.

  “These as a distraction,” said Grüny, when they found themselves in an uncrowded part of the street. “Our real weapons will remain concealed.”

  “Why is it that I get the oversized darning needle?” said Endrick, looking with displeasure at the black rod in his hand.

  The garments they found differed only subtly from what they already wore. The black cloaks were of a coarser fabric than their own paqua-hair cloaks. The pants were made of smooth animal hide. The boots had laces all the way up to the upper calf. The soles felt less solid, like walking unshod on a rug laid over rocks. Instead of a light tunic, a sort of leather jerkin, like the one Endrick typically wore, only with nothing under it. Except for the boots, Skylar found the garments uncomfortable, and felt glad they didn’t need to wear them until they actually reached Gorgoroth.

  After purchasing their garments, weapons and a few other oddments, they returned to the inn to eat and rest. Skylar found idle hours difficult to endure. All he could think about was Kendyl. Was she safe? Had he done the right thing?

  Night finally arrived. With it came a drowsiness that helped him fall into an uneasy slumber.

  The next morning, they breakfasted, packed their provisions, then made their way to the rug shop. The under-height shopkeeper treated them as if they were complete strangers. Again, Grüny and the shopkeeper performed the same cryptic exchang
e of words. Again, the shopkeeper led them surreptitiously to the back of the shop.

  Tanks sat waiting for them with an open bottle of liquor on the table in front of him. He smiled at them, that same malignant smile.

  Skylar fixed his eyes on the bottle.

  Great! So he’ll pilot the ship drunk.

  “Right on time, gentlemen,” he said. “All ready to go?”

  “As you see,” replied Grüny.

  “Good.”

  A sudden snap came from their right, followed by a flood of blackness. Before Skylar knew what was happening, rough hands seized him from behind.

  Eleven

  The Hishram Gauntlet. Of all the Trials she must face, this one frightened the princess more than any other. It made her blood run cold to think of it. But the princess of Gorgoroth could neither entertain nor speak of fear. So, she beat her serving wench to cope, before trying to calm her mind through meditation.

  She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing, and waited for her mind to reach its heightened subconscious state. It never came. Her thoughts felt shackled by her emotions, unable to escape. She imagined herself already at the Trial, her twenty-four floggers, with their lashing tongues of fire, waiting with stone-faced menace She imagined standing at the brink of the stone chasm, waiting. Waiting for her—

  The sound of footfall outside her portal disrupted her vain meditation attempts. She knew it was Master Rizain before she even opened her eyes. Though he could have crept up to her as silently as a candle flame, he intentionally made his presence known. Not wishing to let her eyes give her anxiety away, she kept them closed.

  “Stop trying to fool me,” he said dispassionately. “I can see the tension in your muscles from here. You haven’t been meditating.”

  The princess opened her eyes and met his cold stare, but said nothing.

  “You fear the gauntlet,” he said, taking a few steps into her chamber. “You ought to fear it. You will need that fear to stay alive. But you must not permit that fear to take control. Else your fears come true.”

  The princess nodded slowly.

  “There’s nothing before you that you have not done in training. You possess every skill you need. Whatever happens today, you must stay imperturbably focused on getting through. Whatever happens, stay focused.”

  With that, Rizain turned and strode out of her chamber, leaving her to consider her situation.

  Stay focused. Easy to say when you don’t have the flaming tongues lashing out at you.

  Hours later, the princess sat in her carriage as the Trial procession inched its way towards the secret location of the Hishram Gauntlet. This time no drunken crowd would watch her complete the Trial. No mad cries would rend the air with every move she made. Only her mother, the Trial Council, and Rizain du Kava would watch in mute indifference as she faced the Gauntlet alone.

  This time there would be no opponent to outwit. The gauntlet does not think, cannot be outmaneuvered. The battle, as Rizain had told her, must be fought and won in her mind. Neither force, nor speed, nor anger could defeat it. She must maintain perfect control of her faculties. Absolute control.

  The carriage came to a halt. Vaguely, she was aware of the click of the door as it opened and Rizain ushering her out. Beneath her feet, dried earth and rocks crunched faintly. She had paid no attention to where the carriage had taken them. They were far outside the city, but in what direction, she did not know. She lifted her gaze. At her feet, a wide stone staircase stood before her. It led, it seemed, into the heart of a canyon wall.

  Slowly, the empress led the company up the stone stairs. With each step she took the, princess allowed herself to slip back to reality. Allowed her adrenaline to flow, her heart to pump freely, preparing her muscles to perform at their optimal capacity.

  As her feet brought her nearer to the top of the stairs, nearer to her fate, she studied in her mind everything Rizain had taught her about the Gauntlet. In a few moments she would see the course she would face, constructed in secret specifically for her, for this one test, never to be used again.

  The empress reached the summit of the staircase, at which point she slowly began to descend down the other side on a set of stairs which the princess could not see. Soon, the princess reached the same point where her mother had just been and saw what lay in store for her.

  Directly in front of her, a few steps led down to a platform. All was rough-hewn of the same ruddy stone. The platform extended out a few meters before meeting with the mouth of a profound chasm. Splitting in two and running the sides of the chasm, the platform became a ledge on which lined the twenty-four stoic men—the floggers—twelve on each side. All wielding the hated flaming tongue. All masked with iron helmets. Between this fearsome row of floggers gaped the chasm some five meters wide. Running through the middle of it all was the track. An ill-named file of stone columns rising up from the chasm’s dark abyss0 and ending so that their tops ran level with the platform. These columns, just a half-meter wide, would serve as her only footing as she passed through the Gauntlet. The distance between each one varied so that no two sets of columns boasted an equal standing.

  Her Trial consisted of crossing the track, whilst the Gauntlet masters lashed at her with their flaming tongues. A trivial task. She could dash across that track and suffer not a single tongue sting. But not as she must cross today. No help from her eyes could she receive. For she must go blindfold.

  This is what she feared. She would rather face the Gauntlet with one leg than without her sight. Though her hearing could warn her of a lashing tongue coming toward her, none of her senses could truly aide her in leaping to the next column. She must rely on muscle memory alone. If she leapt too far or too short, miscalculated her trajectory, she would most certainly perish. But she knew—her muscles knew—the distances well. She had practiced this exercise hundreds of times in training. 121.5cm, 150cm, 137.4cm…Every track must space out its columns exactly the same. She rehearsed the distances in her mind, then took in the track’s path.

  Though the columns were always spaced the same distance apart, no rule required the columns to run a straight course. Indeed, this one snaked randomly from the first to the last column. She must commit the course to memory before the Trial began. This new data, as well as the distances, she must remember exactly as she traversed the Gauntlet. To forget the angle for the next jump, the distance to jump, meant certain death. All this she must do whilst blindfolded. All while those cruel tongues of fire lashed at her.

  Only two rules governed the floggers: they could not intentionally strike her head, for it might kill her, and each master could only strike once. But he might strike at any time. In mid-leap, on touchdown, on take off—whenever he pleased. The skilled ones—the ruthless ones—would wait for the moment when her legs shot her into the air, but before her legs fully extended, before she left contact with the platform. In that moment, she would be most vulnerable. Such an expertly-timed strike could cause her to hesitate at a crucial moment, with a fatal result.

  The empress walked to the edge of the platform, then turned to face the company.

  “Here the Princess Shahra Hira Minka shall prove herself by facing the Hishram Gauntlet.”

  She spread her arms out wide, as if to encompass the whole Gauntlet behind her. Then she recited the rules of the Trial.

  “As with all the Trials,” she went on, “the princess may abandon at any time, and forfeit her title.”

  The empress fixed her eyes on the princess with not a hint of motherly affection in them.

  “Does the princess wish to forfeit now?”

  The princess would give none of that company the satisfaction of seeing her hesitate, detect the slightest hint of fear in her. She lifted her chin proudly.

  “I do not forfeit,” she said in a loud and clear voice., her answer echoing with the depths of the chasm.

  “Very well,” replied the empress. “Rizain Du Kava, as her trainer, it is your r
ight to inspect the track for strict compliance with the regulations of the Hishram Gauntlet. Please, come forward and do so now.”

  Rizain stepped forward and bowed curtly at the waste. Then he proceeded to perform the tedious task of measuring the distance between each column. This he did using a marked pole, and with the aid of a servant. After each measurement, Rizain called out the reading and the Trial Council verified it. The process went slowly. Rizain took no pains to expedite the measurements. The princess knew he did so for her. Not only to ensure her safety but to grant her sufficient time to memorize the layout of the track.

  Even before Rizain began his inspection, the princess slipped into a deep state of focus. Her mind sent her body leaping from column to column, trained her muscles to turn the number of degrees she estimated either left or right. As with the distances, no room for error existed. She must learn the winding of the track or fall to her death. She stood on column six, judged the angle for the next jump. Twenty-three degrees, she estimated. Then sprang to the next. Even in her mind, she could feel the stone touch the tip of her boot as she came safely down onto column seven. Her estimates must be nearly perfect, she would have little time to try and adjust her alignment on each column. A slight error in estimate would compound with every jump until she leaped in entirely the wrong direction.

  After a near hour, Rizain returned from his meticulous inspection. He declared to the empress that he found the track to be compliant. The empress nodded solemnly before dismissing Razain.

  “The time has arrived for the princess to come forward and prove herself against the Hishram Gauntlet.”

  The empress turned and pointed to the spot where the princess must stand to commence the Gauntlet. The princess stared at the spot as if it were a wild beast waiting to pounce on her at any moment. Lifting her head, she approached the spot at the edge of the chasm. Though her steps were slow, she made sure to force confidence into every stride. She would not let her fear show. She would not let it control her.