Gorgoroth (Haladras Trilogy Book 2)

by Michael Karr

  Glancing hurriedly in all directions, and finding it clear, he darted straight for the stairway. He slipped into the welcoming embrace of its almost complete darkness, and ascended the stairs. Though the darkness slowed his going and made him stub his toes more than once, he felt relieved that no torchlight illuminated his way. No torch, no guard.

  The staircase wound around and around. With his mind frantic to escape, he felt like it was taking much too long. He began to worry that he’d somehow taken the wrong stairwell. Was there another he didn’t notice? He shook away the fear. It didn’t matter. It led up, away from the Inferno. That’s all he cared about.

  At last, he reached the door separating the stairwell from the rest of the castle, nearly smacking it with his face. Feeling with his hands, he located the door’s pull and tugged it forcefully. It didn’t budge. The door was locked.

  Of course, it was locked. He chided himself for thinking someone would be so foolish as to leave it gaping wide open, as a courtesy to any slave who might attempt escape.

  For several minutes he simply stood there in the complete darkness, feeling utterly hopeless. What could he do? He could not go back. He could not go forward. If he stayed where he was, it would only be a matter of time before he was discovered. The impasse threatened to overwhelm him. A desire to cast himself onto the stone steps and give up filled him. What more could he do than he’d already done? Where was the victory that his father promised good would always hold over evil?

  He was on the verge of succumbing to these feeling, as well as bodily fatigue when he detected a faint rasping sound, followed by the squeal of rusty metal. A fresh surge of adrenaline snapped is entire body into alertness. The sound had come from the door. Someone was opening it from the other side. In that moment he determined to fight whoever stepped through that portal. He didn’t care how big, or how loaded with weapons, that person might be. This was his only chance to escape. His only chance of survival.

  Crouching on the steps, he waited. He knew he must act quickly, seize the only advantage he might have: surprise.

  A vertical line of sallow light suddenly split the darkness asunder. Slowly, the line grew wider. Features on the stone wall became visible, the outline of the door fully pronounced.

  Skylar waited with bated breath. As yet he couldn’t see the future victim of his attack.

  The door opened wider.

  Skylar readied himself to pounce.

  The door opened wider.

  He could see a hand holding a tallow candle.

  Almost…

  An arm, just past the elbow could now be seen.

  Just another second…

  Seemingly of their own accord, his muscles engaged, his body sprang forward, and he rammed into the figure in the portal. Both he and the figure toppled to the floor. A strangled cry reached his ears. He raises his fist to strike. And then stopped.

  The face staring up at him, the terrified eyes…belonged to a girl.

  For a moment Skylar remained frozen, looking at her, not knowing how to process this unexpected visitor. The girl looked so frightened and pathetic, he couldn’t think of doing anything to harm her. She cowered like one who was accustomed to being hit.

  Skylar scrambled to his feet to get off of the girl, and offered her his hand. She shied away from it.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered hurriedly.

  Still, she wouldn’t take his hand. Instead, he picked up the toppled candle and held it out for her to take. Hesitantly, she reached for it and took it in her trembling hand. Then she stood, still acting as though she expected to be struck at any moment. When she stood, Skylar realized that the girl must be near his same age, possibly older. But her cowering, subservient demeanor, made her seem younger.

  The girl had dark hair and a frail figure. She dressed simply. He guessed she was a servant girl.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” Skylar repeated. “Just please do not tell anyone you saw me. I must get out of here in order to help my friends…if it’s not too late.”

  The girl shook her head violently.

  “I-I won’t t-tell,” she squeaked out.

  “Thank you,” he said, then turned make his escape down the dark passage.

  “Wait,” she called out.

  He paused.

  “The s-slave today,” she stammered, “I need to know…”

  “He was older than me,” said Skylar, believing that she wanted to know about the slave who had been senselessly killed. “Twenty-four, I’d guess. Quite tall. Curly brown hair.”

  A wave of relief flooded the girl’s face.

  Not waiting for a reply, he turned and quietly dashed away. He wondered if the girl would give him away. He suspected she wouldn’t. Not so much to help him, but to avoid getting into trouble herself.

  Backtracking as best he could remember the way he had been brought into the castle, he soon found himself slipping out into the same stableyard. The thick night air felt frigid. An involuntary shiver seized his body. Despite the cold, his heart gladdened at the reprieve from the dank, stale air of the castle dungeon.

  The stableyard appeared deserted. Still, this was not the time for him to grow careless. Keeping close to the inner castle walls, where the shadows lay thickest, he made his way toward the stableyard gate. The gate was closed and locked. This minor obstacle did not deter him. The gate and stableyard walls were not designed to withstand infiltration, but rather to keep the animals, carts, and carriages from theft. He scaled the low wall with little difficulty, and dropped down onto the other side.

  Now the only impediment that stood between him and freedom was the outer wall. He knew attempting to scale it would prove futile. Perhaps if he had a cord and grappling hook. Even if he had these and managed to reach the top, he would still have to face the bottomless chasm on the other side. No, the only way out was through the outer gates and across the bridge.

  With light steps he made is way toward the gate, where he had no doubt at least one sentry would stand on duty. A torch glowed and flickered near a guard house just within the gates. Skylar flattened himself against the wall and slowly moved along it. The corner column, where the wall opened for the gate, jutted out a few centimeters. It partially shielded him from the view of anyone looking down the length of the wall. The shadows, heavy from the contrasting torchlight gave him the most comfort. Still, he wished for darker clothes.

  Reaching the column, he paused and trained his ears in the direction of the guard house. For several minutes he remained motionless. Not a sound but the faint rush of the water far below reached his ears.

  At last, he ventured a glance around the corner. Through the open guardhouse door, he saw the sentry slumped in a chair, his face angled directly at Skylar. With a jerk, Skylar flattened himself back against the wall.

  Had the guard seen him? He paused and listened intently. Still no sound. Surely the sentry must have seen him. Unless he was distracted or…asleep. Skylar had not actually seen the man’s eyes. Shadows covered his face.

  He decided to try another glance. This time he did not immediately pull back. Despite the nerve-wracking endeavor, he held his gaze on the sentry. The sentry didn’t move. Skylar waited longer. Minutes. No movement.

  Breathing a little easier, Skylar moved quietly out from around the column. The sentry must be asleep. He approached the guard house. If an alternate entry for the sentries existed next to the main gate, it would be accessible through the guard house. He hoped the sentry was a sound sleeper. As yet, he heard no snoring.

  He drew closer. The man looked like a stampede of paquas wouldn’t wake him. Then Skylar noticed the blood trickling down the man’s neck.

  Suddenly a rough hand muffled Skylar’s mouth and held him tight.

  Twenty-three

  Skylar didn’t grapple with his unseen assailant. The knife point at this back convinced him it was not worth the risk. Instead, he jerked his head up, freeing
his mouth, then bit down hard on the hand. A howled of pain came from his assailant’s mouth.

  The pressure of the knife on his back disappeared. Skylar took off running.

  “Great Yurik!” he heard from behind him. “You nearly bit my finger off!”

  Skylar halted in his tracks, unbelieving. There was only one person in the universe he knew who used that exclamation. He turned and saw the stout figure to match the voice.

  “Endrick?”

  “What’s left of me,” groaned Endrick. “What you do that for?”

  “Endrick,” said Skylar, still not believing his companion was really there, “what are you doing here?”

  “Getting my fingers chewed off, apparently.”

  “I didn’t know it was you.”

  “And if you had, you would’ve gotten my thumb too? Never mind, if you’re done nibbling on me, we’ve got to get out of here before someone responds to my cry of absolute pain.”

  So saying, Endrick took off toward the guard house. Skylar scarcely had time to respond before his companion disappeared through the portal. Chasing after him, Skylar entered the guard house, skirted the dead guard, and passed through another portal. The portal exited onto a confined landing, connected to the castle’s bridge. Endrick was already racing across the bridge. Skylar sprinted after him.

  He sure runs faster than he looks.

  By the time Skylar caught up to Endrick, he was on the other side of the bridge. Endrick had paused to wait for him.

  “This way,” said Endrick, motioning with his hand away from the main road.

  Wordlessly, Endrick led Skylar through the labyrinthine streets and alleyways of an area so derelict he wondered if anyone lived there. Mired in mud, cramped, strewn with the rubble of collapsing buildings, the streets slowed the companion’s flight to a brisk walk. At last, Endrick stopped in front of a non-descript building and opened its door. Skylar marveled that Endrick could find this place in the darkness, and through such a circuitous route. Then he considered that Endrick might have picked this location at random, never before having laid eyes on it.

  Stepping inside, they plunged into complete darkness.

  “There’s a staircase along the far wall,” whispered Endrick.

  Skylar groped his way through the darkness, trying to follow the murmured sound of Endrick’s footfalls. After a time, he heard the creaking of old wood. He guessed Endrick had started ascending the stairs. Soon after, Skylar’s foot hit something solid. He bit his tongue to suppress the cry of pain in his throat. How many times could he stub his toes in one night? If only he still wore the boots Cartwright had given him. But every last vestige of finer from his brief stint as a court slave had been stripped from him when he returned to the Inferno.With his hand, he discovered a handrail, and slowly began ascending the stairs.

  If ascending stairs in the complete darkness was not sufficiently disconcerting, add to it stairs which swayed and shuddered with every step. Skylar imagined himself crashing through a broken board at any moment. Who knew if he wouldn’t continue crashing down through level after level of stairs before finally hitting some deep subterranean floor?

  Above him, there came a faint tapping sound, followed by a click and a timid infusion of light. Though dim, the light permitted him to see the stairs he was climbing, as well as Endrick, who now stood at the threshold of an apartment. A withered old woman on the other side of the door hastily beckoned for them to enter.

  Once Skylar and Endrick were inside the apartment, the old woman shut and bolted the door. Skylar looked at Endrick inquisitively. Who is this woman? he wanted to say.

  “I’m glad you’re both safely back,” said the old woman, teetering a bit as she turned to face the companions. “It’s not safe out there at night.”

  “I’m sorry for the intrusion,” said Skylar, still wondering who she was and why they were there.

  “No intrusion. Come, warm yourselves by what’s left of the fire. There’s a bit of broth in the cook pot. Ladle yourselves some, you must be hungry.”

  “This one is,” interjected Endrick. “So hungry, he could eat a whole finger.”

  Skylar ignored the comment.

  The old woman wished them a good night, then disappeared into an adjoining room.

  Alone in the small room, Skylar pressed Endrick for answers. Endrick walked over to the fireplace, served himself a cup of broth from an iron kettle, and sat down on a rickety stool. Then he started sipping it slowly. Impatient, Skylar went over to him.

  “Well, aren’t you going to answer me?” he said as forcefully as he could manage while still whispering.

  Endrick took another sip.

  “Your finger food snack might have sated your appetite, but I’m hungry.”

  “Fine.”

  Realizing Endrick was not about to divulge anything until he felt like it, Skylar plopped down into the other stool and waited. Endrick ladled another cup of broth and handed it to Skylar. Despite his eagerness for news, Skylar forced himself to drink the broth. After one sip, he gladly kept going. His body was still starving for nourishment. When at last Endrick finished his broth, he set down his cup and sighed.

  “Still hungry,” he said ruefully. “What I wouldn’t give for a rack of lamb right now or one of Maud’s meat pies.”

  He rubbed his belly tenderly.

  With evident reluctance, Endrick began answering Skylar’s questions. Though, Skylar had to prod him all along the way for more details or to continue the account.

  As Witum predicted, Endrick had been sent to be hunted for sport. The wealthy teryleum baron who purchased slaves simply to amuse himself with hunting them down and killing them in a brutal fashion owned an extensive rocky track of land filled with grottos and dry ravines. On a whim, the baron would send one or two slaves off into his wilderness supplied with nothing but a flask of water and morsel of dried meat. After about an hour’s lead time, the baron and his hunting party would set off in pursuit of the unfortunate slaves. The baron and his men road swift-moving beasts. Beasts which Endrick said were like paquas, “only faster, less hairy, and twice as ugly.” The whole party was led by a pack of mongrel animals, which resembled dogs—with curled front fangs and powerful hindquarters.

  Invariably, the dogs would find the slaves holed up in one of the caves or running like madmen, hoping to outdistance the hunting party. No slave ever escaped capture, and the baron never showed any slave mercy.

  Because Endrick was Ahlderion, the baron expressed particular interest in him. Endrick was to be his prize kill. So, he couldn’t simply kill him in his usual way. He needed a grand story to go with it—how he slew the mighty Ahlderion warrior with his bare hands. A story to entertain his dinner guests. A head to mount in his dining hall and gloat over at every meal.

  The baron, therefore, wasted no time nor expense in planning his moment of glory. Wanting to portray the fight as fair, the baron had commissioned an armor breastplate, helmet, and sword for Endrick. Secretly, however, he instructed the armorsmith to add specific vulnerabilities, weak points, to both the armor and the sword. At a blow of the baron’s sword, at the correct spot, Endrick’s sword would shatter. A thrust of the baron’s sword just below Endrick’s chest, and the armor would split like a flimsy piece of tin metal. These vulnerabilities only the baron and the smith knew about. At least, that was the baron’s intention. He also commissioned a new set of armor for himself. This he instructed the smith to make so strong he would be virtually invulnerable.

  As it turned out, the smith liked to wag his tongue a little too much. It wasn’t long before he had gabbed to the stable master about it, who told the baker’s assistance, who informed the slave keeper, who couldn’t help making a joke of it with Endrick in earshot. The baron apparently wanted to make the battle appear as fair as possible. He vowed to all his friends that he would slay the Ahlderion with his own sword. He spoke proudly of how the brute would be armed and armored just like hims
elf.

  Endrick received this news without much interest. For he had no intention of fighting the baron.

  The day of the great hunt arrived. The baron’s invitations to witness his valorous feat were well received. A full host of gentry arrived at the baron’s estate; men astride their swift mounts, ladies in their carriages. All dressed in finery.

  Lacking creativity, the baron planned to hunt Endrick just as he did every other slave. Only Endrick would be armed and the baron’s audience would not only include those in his employ. The Baron wanted the climax of the hunt to be thrilling. His usual method of letting his mongrel dogs tear a few holes in his slaves before finishing them off with a crossbow was not spectacular enough. This time, the dogs would be called off before they harmed Endrick. Neither would he use his crossbow nor spear. Only his sword and brawn, so he promised.

  Servants would bring tents and chairs to add to the comfort of his guests as they watched the performance. For, of course, the baron would give the “poor slave” a chance to rest, and for the full party to catch up, before proceeding with the battle.

  Under these conditions, Endrick was released into the wild amid a fanfare of cheers. Fully armored, Endrick trotted away, aiming for a particularly rocky region off in the distance. A considerable time later, breathless, and soaked through with perspiration, he found what he was looking for. A deep ravine. Deep enough that a full hunting party would take several hours to find a safe way down it.

  Removing his helmet and breastplate, he heaved both of them down into the chasm. He watched as they eventually clattered down to the bottom of the ravine. Then he stripped off his tunic, wrapped it around a cranium-sized boulder, and rolled it over the edge of the ravine wall at a spot where one might venture to climb down. Next, he tore a piece from the leg of one of his pants and let this loose over the edge. The piece of fabric fluttered down before coming to rest on a rock ledge several meters below.

  Then he went to work digging in the rough soil with the sword, which proved not entirely worthless. For nearly an hour, he dug and scrapped at the hard-packed earth. He dug until he could hear the distant howls of the dogs as they tracked his sent. Soon they would be upon him. Jumping into the hole he’d dug, he began filling it back in, covering his lower body with soil and rocks. When he could no longer cover himself with soil, he moved a large flat-bottomed stone over the rest of the hole, covering his head and upper chest.