Haladras

Twenty-six

His mother slowly shook her head. "He never told me, no. At times the idea would enter my head. But I never entertained it long. You two always bore such close resemblance..."

She paused, and looked to be considering something.

"Are you disappointed that he's your father?" she said hesitantly.

Skylar felt a slight pang of guilt. The question hit close to home. He sighed.

"Yes, a little, I suppose."

"You expected someone different," she replied, more as a statement than question.

Skylar shrugged.

"I guess...it's just that I've always heard such incredible things about Athylian; how all his people loved him; how he was a great king. Yet, when I think of Lasseter..." his voice trailed off before he finished the thought. His mother knew, though, what those unuttered words were.

"Sky, he was not a great king because he possessed some superhuman power or because he stood as tall as a giant. Athylian was great because he loved his people. He was great because he was good."

Skylar nodded.

"I know...I know. It's just...well, I've not been very kind to him the last few years. In fact, I've been ashamed of his strange behavior. I worried what others would think of me because of him. Now I know he did it to protect me.

"In a way, I'm glad it's him. I don't know that I could call anyone father but him. I'm ashamed for thinking otherwise."

His mother rubbed his arm tenderly.

"Don't be too hard on yourself, Sky. This would be a difficult thing for anyone to accept."

By the afternoon of the next day, the battle preparations were evident everywhere. And over the course of the next several days the signs of war only grew. Many women and small children were transported to smaller mining units far outside Kaladra, where they might escape possible harm from war. Skylar had tried to convince his mother to go with them.

"No, Sky, I won't leave you. If and when the battle happens, I shall serve as a nurse for the wounded."

That had been the end of it.

Infantry units of inexperienced soldiers carrying makeshift weapons and clad in rusty armor arrived almost hourly from all corners of their small planet. Every forge in Haladras sung with the hammers of metal smiths as they pounded out sword after sword on their anvils. They could not make them fast enough. Shields were mass produced, cast from a molten teryleum alloy, capable of deflecting the rays of Morvath's blasters. Ballistic cannons, too, were hastily assembled.

Despite Athylian's distain for blasters, he permitted Haladras' meager arsenal of blasters to be put into action.

A battle encampment had been situated on the outskirts of Kaladra, between the Gorge and Cloud Harbor. There Skylar spent most of his time, receiving instruction from Endrick in the art of sword fighting, learning combat techniques from Arturo's drill sergeants and sitting in war council with his father, Krom, Arturo, and the other newly-appointed war captains.

Athylian looked different now. He had shaven his beard and trimmed his hair. He no longer went about cloaked and hooded. But there was something else, too. Something Skylar had never before noticed in this man he'd called uncle. Skylar didn't know any other way to describe it other than to say that Athylian had a kingly air. Perhaps it had always been there, and Skylar merely had failed to see it beneath his uncle's eccentricities.

The days passed rapidly. The buzz of war increased with each passing one. It was all the kind of thrill and adventure he once dreamed about. Now upon him, it brought him nothing of excitement and anticipation. Instead, dread filled his heart, for he'd seen enough of death to want no part of it. Yet he knew the battle was inevitable. He refused to shrink from it.