Gorgoroth (Haladras Trilogy Book 2)

by Michael Karr

  The gatekeeper quizzed Endrick and Skylar on the whereabouts of the usual delivery men. Endrick semi-fabricated a story about the pair recovering after getting attacked while making a different delivery a few days ago. After declaring that he’d heard nothing of the attack, the gatekeeper shook his head and let them enter, with instructions to go around back to where the kitchen was.

  Skylar’s stomach knotted as they drove along the gravel lane, which looped around the front of the mansion. What if they were too late? They passed stone-carved statues of men in full military regalia, astride noble mounts, swords outstretched. Generals of Gorgoroth’s past, Skylar imagined. As the lane brought them closer to the front entrance of the mansion, with its sweeping steps and tall colonnade, another lane broke off to the right. Endrick steered the cart to the right and followed the lane around to the back of the mansion.

  They passed several servants as they went. A gardener trimming a massive hedge shaped like the point of a spear, a groom leading a beast like the ones depicted in stone toward the stables, a coachman cleaning the outside of a carriage. None of them paid Skylar and Endrick any attention.

  “Let’s hope these fellows are this indifferent when we make our escape. If we make an escape, at all,” muttered Endrick.

  Endrick brought the cart around to the back. A section of the building jutted out and was topped with several smokestacks. An open door, surrounded by a cluster of wooden casks told them this must be the kitchen. Reining in the beasts, Endrick brought the cart to a stop near the door.

  The pair climbed down from the cart and approached the doorway.

  “Should we just walk in like we’re supposed to be here?” said Endrick.

  “We are supposed to be here,” said Skylar. “We have the delivery.”

  “Right.”

  They stepped onto the threshold. The heavy scents of a busy kitchen filled Skylar’s nostrils. Food was the last thing on his mind, though. His eyes darted about, quickly locking on a huddle of men around a table. They were arguing making excessive gestures at something on the table. That something on table grabbed his attention. At first, his brain failed to process the form it was seeing. Then he registered a pair of feet, a hand, a bald head, a face. Skylar’s blood ran cold. It was Grüny’s body.

  Twenty-five

  Rolander woke with a start. He blinked, trying to wipe away the inky blackness which surrounded him. Somewhere beyond the door to his chamber, repeated shouts reverberated through the castle walls. He sat up and listened. Who was shouting and why? The voices were too garbled for him to make sense of what they were saying.

  The tramp of heavy footfall rose then quickly fell away just outside his door.

  Throwing back his sheet and coverlet, he scrambled out of bed. Taking no time to turn on his lamp, he stumbled through the shadows to his wardrobe. Grabbing his robe, he hurriedly wrapped it around his body, then headed for the door. Before he had taken even two steps, the door burst open, spilling green light into his chamber. Within the doorway, silhouetted against the light, his tangled hair and beard like brambles growing from his head, stood Jonobar. A look of supreme urgency wrinkled the tutor’s face.

  “Good, you are dressed,” he said. “Come with me.”

  Without a word of explanation, Jonobar left the doorway. Rolander trotted after his tutor, catching up to him in the hallway.

  “What is happening, Professor?” asked Rolander.

  “The castle is under attack,” replied Jonobar, while keeping his rapid pace.

  “Attack! By whom? What’s happened to the others...to Krom and Skylar’s mother?”

  “Both taken care of.”

  A detachment of armed soldiers clattered past them and disappeared down a side corridor. Shouts of commands rang out, followed by the sharp report of blaster fire. Rolander’s heart beat with ferocity inside his chest. Was this really happening? A strange buzzing suddenly filled the air. Then a swarm of black specks emerged from the same corridor the soldiers had just entered. Bees? Rolander wondered.

  Careening around the corner, the buzzing specks headed straight for Rolander and Jonobar.

  “This way,” said Jonobar, thrusting open a side portal and passed through it.

  Rolander quickly followed, slamming the door shut behind. The boom resounded off the narrow walls around them. Rolander let out an exhale of relief and checked his surroundings. They were in one of the many service passages running throughout the castle. Rolander had taken great delight in exploring all of them when he first came to live at Castle Ahlderon. Of late, he seldom used them, preferring instead to stay in his quarters and study or work on his…hand!

  “Professor,” said Rolander desperately, “I’ve forgotten my hand. I must return for it.”

  The mechanical hand was nearing its final stages of completion. Now his obsession, he felt losing it would be more devastating than the loss of his original hand. He scolded himself for being so absentminded about it.

  “Leave it,” said Jonobar. “I promise you it will come to no harm.”

  “But Professor—”

  “Leave it!”

  Jonobar’ eyes flashed with a fire, which vaporized Rolander’s words before they left his mouth. For several seconds, Jonobar held his withering gaze, daring Rolander to speak again. Rolander shrank with fear. He had never seen his even-tempered tutor look so severe before. Seeing Rolander intended to obey, Jonobar flicked the skirt of his robe, turned, then swiftly glided down the narrow passage. Rolander followed silently behind.

  Jonobar led Rolander down a spiral stairwell. Down two levels, they exited the service passage and came out into one of the main castle corridors.

  Rolander gasped in horror. Bodies lay scattered about the floor. Soldiers mostly, but some servants too. Though he saw no sign of injury, their bodies were so unnaturally twisted and their faces frozen with pain, that he knew they must be dead. Still, he had to ask—to know—despite Jonobar’s warning to keep quiet.

  “Are they dead?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

  “Yes,” replied Jonobar without a backward glance. “The Trackers got them.”

  “Trackers? In the castle? They don’t kill people, though.”

  “These do.”

  Jonobar sailed down the corridor with not so much as a downward glance at the bodies. Rolander tried to keep up. His legs felt wobbly, though. His whole body felt slow, like he was trying to walk knee-deep in mud. For all his desire not to see the bodies, to make them disappear, he couldn’t help but look at the faces as he went. Some of them he recognized. Guards he’d seen posted outside the royal throne room when Krom held court, a maid who often changed his bedclothes and brought him tea during his study hours; one of the cooks, Maud. She’d always been kind to him, trying to sneak him treats when he first arrived at the castle.

  Who did this and why? He suddenly remembered Skylar’s mother again. Was she really safe? Perhaps Jonobar was taking him to where she was.

  Without registering where they were heading, Skylar followed Jonobar around more corners, through portals, and down more passages. At last, they came to a place in the castle Rolander knew only vaguely.

  The doorway to the castle’s control room stood ajar. A solitary guard lay sprawled on the floor in front of it. Stepping over the body, Jonobar entered the control room. To Rolander, the idea of stepping over a dead body seemed irreverent. Instead he cautiously reached down with a trembling hand to check the man’s pulse. Dead. Rolander wanted to hurl.

  Carefully, he stepped around the body and slipped through the open portal into the control room. He straightened out and took a deep breath. Quickly he realized, that he’d made it past the dead guard, only to be greeted by two more. Their lifeless bodies slumped over the control panel at the opposite end of the room. A high-pitched ringing sound pulsated, filling the room with its eerie cry. Numerous red dots flashed on a dark screen above the controls.

  Jonobar approached the c
ontrol board, pushed aside one of the bodies, and sat down. Like one who had spent years in the control room, Jonobar commenced turning dials, flipping switches, and coding in commands on the keypad.

  Rolander drew closer to his tutor, watching silently. The red lights continued to flash on the screen. Were those ships?

  Jonobar grabbed the transmitter. After punching in a few numbers, he spoke into the receiver. “Night Shade to Alpha Leader, do you copy?”

  Jonobar waited, listening.

  The receiver hissed and cracked with static. No response.

  “This is Night Shade calling Alpha Leader, do you copy?”

  More static

  Night Shade? Alpha Leader? Rolander wondered who Jonobar could possibly be trying to contact. Someone to help?

  Suddenly a voice blared through the static.

  “This is Alpha Leader. Go ahead.”

  Jonobar brought the receiver back to his mouth.

  “All systems disabled. I repeat, all systems disabled.”

  “Copy. Over and out.”

  Jonobar clicked off the transmitter. The hissing died. Then he stood up and turned around.

  “Come Rolander, we shall have company soon.”

  Twenty-six

  Part of Skylar wished the soldiers had shot Endrick and him on the spot. He didn’t know what the empress would do with them, but he knew it wouldn’t be merciful. Already the blaster wound in his back had inflicted severe pain, and the throbbing showed no sign of letting up. Endrick’s legs were of no use to him. And his face showed that he, too, was suffering.

  The soldiers promptly arrested the injured pair and took them into one of the outpost buildings for questioning. Despite Endrick’s legs, the soldiers handled him roughly, dragging his stout bulk when his legs failed him. They were brought into a sparse room, with a desk, a few chairs, and an assortment of charts pinned to the back wall. For several tense minutes, they stood there.

  “I don’t suppose you’d let a man with broken legs sit in one of those chairs?” said Endrick.

  He grunted as one of the soldiers struck him in reply.

  Skylar clenched his fists at his side. If there were anything he could have done or said to help his friend…

  The stamp of boots sounded outside the room. An officer burst through the side door, his face red and his stride stiff. He walked right up to Endrick and stared him down.

  “Are these the two miscreants wreaking havoc on my landing field?” he demanded, speaking through Endrick.

  “Yes, commander.”

  He struck Endrick across the face with the back of his hand. Then came over and did the same to Skylar. The blow momentarily blinded Skylar. His ears rang with the sting of it. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.

  “If I didn’t need answers from you two, I’d tear out your tongues with my own hands,” he growled.

  He turned his back to them abruptly.

  “Who is on the ship, and where are they going?” he continued.

  Neither Skylar nor Endrick responded. The commander whirled around, his face livid.

  “I said, who’s on the ship!” He lifted his arm again to strike Skylar.

  Skylar tried but failed to keep from flinching. He closed his eyes and waited.

  The blow didn’t come. Tentatively, he opened his eyes again. When he did the commander’s expression had transformed. The commander was looking at him, studying him intently. After a moment, he broke off his gaze and marched over to his desk, where he retrieved a letter and examined it.

  He looked back at Skylar, his eyes narrowed.

  “You’re Ahlderion, aren’t you?” he said. Skylar swallowed, but remained silent.

  “Aren’t you!” he shouted.

  Seeing Skylar’s intent to remain tight-lipped, the commander signaled to one of his men. Skylar turned just in time to see one of the soldiers take a cudgel and strike it across Endrick’s leg.

  The howl of pain which escaped Endrick’s mouth could have made even the hardest heart bleed.

  “Leave him alone!” plead Skylar, fighting to break free of the men who held him bound so he could help Endrick. “I’ll talk. Just let him be.”

  The commander held up his hand for his men to halt any further abuse of Endrick.

  “I am Ahlderion,” said Skylar with a sighed. “I’m the one you’re looking for.”

  The commander gave a triumphant sneer.

  “Prepare a transport,” he said. “Immediately.”

  No doubt as to where the transport was bound or for whom it was intended existed in Skylar’s mind. He berated himself for not being quick-witted enough to handle the commander’s interrogation. Even now, he wished he could collect himself to form a plan of escape. If nothing else, a way to save Endrick. But the jabbing pain in his back addled his brain and weakened his resolve to continue fighting.

  They arrived at the empress’ stronghold within a quarter of an hour. They might have arrived sooner, had their original transport not broken down before it left the landing the field gates. The commander, more than eager to claim his reward from the empress, cast maledictions at everything in sight until another transport arrived.

  The castle stood as foreboding as ever. As the transport rumbled across the narrow bridge, all his nightmares of the place overcame him. In spite of the insulated suit he still wore, a shiver ran through him.

  Inside, the soldiers hauled him up the stairs, while four of them dragged Endrick. Under his breath, Skylar maligned them for handling him so roughly. Skylar’s own wound, though still throbbing, was likely nothing compared to what Endrick endured.

  Up seven flights of stairs, they were made to climb. Skylar remembered well the seventh floor. He knew precisely where the soldiers were taking them. Two sentries flanked the door to the apartment. A sign that someone of consequence was within. Though the thought of meeting the empress face-to-face made his blood run cold, he felt some comfort to have Endrick at his side. Little difference it would make in the end, though. A dismal death awaited them both.

  The soldiers brought them into a study. Skylar knew it well. It was the same study where he had discovered General Karíknof’s letter and the plans for building a Tracker. The chamber was as dim as Skylar remembered. A thin pall hung in the air from the torch smoke. Why the empress still employed this antiquated source of light, he didn’t understand. Nor did he truly care. He wished the cloud were thicker. That it might shroud them from the figure who loomed behind the desk.

  If possible, she looked more menacing sitting there, staring coldly at them. Like a huntress, waiting for the right moment to spring up and drive her fangs into the neck of her prey.

  The commander approached the desk and bowed on one knee.

  “Your Imperial Majesty,” he said. “I have captured these two criminals. The boy claims to be the one for whom you are searching.”

  Eyes still transfixed on Skylar, the empress rose, like a storm cloud swelling. This act was no sign of deference for Skylar’s royal birth, but a show of power. Her iron black hair fell loosely about her shoulders, and she wore only an unadorned scarlet robe.

  “You are dismissed, Commander,” she said curtly, her gaze unmoved from Skylar. “And your men, too.”

  The commander rose and made an about-face. Skylar thought he detected a hint of sourness on his face. No doubt he expected some show of gratitude from the empress. With a gesture of his head, he signaled to his men to release their captives and follow him.

  The guards holding Endrick didn’t care that he couldn’t stand on his own. They dumped him where he stood. Skylar caught Endrick under the arm before he collapsed to the floor, but struggled under Endrick’s weight to keep from collapsing himself.

  “So, this is the little prince who ought to have been dead years ago,” said the empress, wholly ignoring Skylar’s efforts to aid his companion.

  “Guard!” she hollered.

  Behind him, Skylar hea
rd the door to the study open and boots sound on the stone door.

  “Fetch my daughter,” commanded the empress. “And Rizain, as well.”

  “They should be here to meet our honored guest,” she said, turning back on Skylar with an unsettling smile.

  With that same smile disfiguring her face, she came around from behind her desk, drawing nearer to Skylar. Her height at that proximity produced its full effect. Skylar cowered instinctively.

  “What do you think of your sister?” she said. “Isn’t she marvelous? Beautiful, tall, powerful, cunning, and an eternal enemy of Ahlderon.” She let out a wicked laugh. “Are you not ever so glad that you found her?” She laughed again.

  “She’s mad,” muttered Endrick under his breath.

  Skylar shifted his weight, still fighting to keep Endrick upright. He wished the empress would, at least, acknowledge his companion’s debilitated state. Though he wished to open his mouth, to petition any small accommodation for Endrick, he knew it would futile. Out of spite for his audacity to make such a request, the empress might break Endrick’s arm—or worse. No, Endrick was better off without Skylar calling attention to him.

  Within minutes, the princess and Rizain Du Kava entered the study.

  “Good,” said the empress. “Your sister is here. Together at long last.”

  She let out another laugh of derision.

  The princess walked over and stood near her mother. She regarded Skylar as he might look upon Morvath, if he ever saw that fiend again.

  “Don’t be dower, little prince,” said the empress with feigned politeness.

  She’s enjoying this chance to gloat over her victory a little too much, he thought.

  “At least you won’t have to watch the destruction of your kingdom. I’d rather hoped you’d get to watch our grand invasion. But having you here simplifies things for us.”

  “Ahlderon will never fall to you!” cried Skylar.