Haladras

Eleven

Endrick had indeed told the truth about the paquas. Only time seemed to pass more slowly than the trees around them. They had ridden the entire day, stopping only briefly at midday to water the paquas and eat a small repast.

Skylar's backside was sore from the saddle, his back ached from sitting all day, and his heart yearned for answers to the questions in his mind. Could all this be real? Krom had told him they were heading north to seek help from the Mauwik. But who the Mauwik were and why they needed their help, he didn't know. And part of him did not want to know.

Finally nightfall came and Krom called a halt for the day. Skylar dismounted with great relief. After an unsatisfying dinner, Skylar laid out his bed cloth and fell into a restless sleep, dreaming of Kendyl, the docks, Kindor, his mother.

The next day they came to a village. Before entering Krom warned Skylar to remain inconspicuous.

"The soldiers out here are unlikely to bother anyone traveling north," he explained. "None travel north by this road but for traders and lowly merchants. Still, do not let your mind be at ease. These soldiers can be as unscrupulous as their master. Be wary."

With these last words of caution, the little band of travelers fell into silence, their paquas plodding lazily along.

Skylar had not expected to see much of interest in the village. More than once, Lasseter had taken him to visit smaller mining units on Haladras. They were always unimpressive, sparse; scarcely more than small clusters of simple dwelling houses. Yet even this exposure failed to prepare him for the scene which met his eyes.

The merchant shops and dwelling houses were in a state of total disrepair. Broken windows, roofs riddled with holes, missing panels, and sagging doors plagued most of the buildings. Here and there, charred remains of a building burned to the ground left heart-rending gaps in the row of dilapidated structures.

"Work of the soldiers," whispered Grim, who had ridden up next to him. "Try not to stare too much."

Skylar nodded and did his best to avoid appearing so deliberate in his observations. He couldn't let off looking, though; it astonished him to see such poverty. The people of the village, if it could be possible, looked in worse condition than their buildings. More lifeless than the wretched souls he'd seen in Amrahdel, these people were badly marred with broken legs or arms, bandaged heads, bloody feet or bruised faces. The men were particularly battered. And they seemed fewer in number.

Skylar watched the people pass by with horror and pity. It felt as if an awful dream were sweeping over him.

As they neared the far edge of the village, Skylar noticed a young maiden, about his own age, walking swiftly along the muddy street side. Though her clothes were ragged and torn, her face stained with dirt, she possessed a certain beauty which could not be blighted.

His eyes followed her as she went along. He detected from the way she walked that she was afraid of something. But he couldn't see anything that should inspire fear in her.

Suddenly, from out of a narrow alleyway, a soldier emerged. His eyes were fixed on the damsel, his face contorted like a hungry animal's.

"Come 'ere my pretty wench," he called out to her, his voice coarse and menacing.

The poor girl did not even turn to look, but quickened her pace to a run. The soldier bounded after her with long powerful strides. In a moment he was upon her and snatched up her wrist in his hand. Thrashing and screaming, the girl struggled desperately to free herself. Like a vice, his hand stayed clamped onto her wrist. The soldier raised his free hand and brought a heavy fist down across her face, sending an awful wail, like the howling of a beaten dog, from her bloody lips.