Skylar and Endrick approached the castle from the shadows. Its harsh form stood against the blood red sky like a great phantom, with its many amber eyes peering with menace into the darkness. Skylar shivered involuntarily at the sight of it. With every step that drew them closer to it, his confidence diminished. Not solely because of the threatening appearance of the castle. But because of the fresh memory it ignited within him. Fear that he might not escape again gripped him.
Inspite of his fears, he maintained his resolve to go through with his plans. A resolve he could not have matained without Endrick as his side.
The pair were better equipped than when they rescued Grüny. Wenna had been right about the value of the pendant. Endrick and Grüny had managed to sell it for a considerable sum. Sufficient to buy passage on a shuttle bound for Oon Vunda the next morning, with plenty left over to spare. They hadn't needed to sell the matching bracelet. This they saved to sell at another time, if needed. A sizeable portion of what remained from the transaction would be reserved for the purchase of Endrick and Skylar's passage, once that time arrived. Still, there was sufficient to outfit them with new clothes and gear. Each wore thick cloaks, with the cowls pulled over their faces. Hanging from their belts, shielded from view, were long daggers. Endrick also carried a grappling hook and cord-an item which Endrick had insisted they procure.
Between the pair, Skylar carried their most vital accoutrement. At least, so far as their success in stealing into the castle was concerned. Beneath his cloak, under the crook of his right arm, swayed a quarter rundlet of mead. A bribe for the gatekeepers, who they hoped would feel disgruntled at being left out of the festivities, as well as less vigilant because everyone of importance was currently away from the castle, attending the General's feast.
They stalked across the narrow bridge. The distant roar of the river far below them echoed in their ears, masking their footfall. Ahead, two bright torches cast an orange glow about the outer gates. As Endrick and Skylar glided from shadow to torchlight, a shout rang out from the somewhere above.
"Halt! Who trespasses at the castle gate?"
Endrick looked up in the direction of the voice, squinting.
"No one of any consequence," replied Endrick.
"Then get away from here. Unless you want a couple of bolts in your necks."
Endrick raised his hands defensively and took a small step backwards.
"Fine," he said. "We don't want any trouble."
He made as if to turn around. Then added, almost as an afterthought, "We had thought you might be interested in some mead, but..."
Shrugging innocently, Endrick motioned to Skylar for them to depart. Doing his best to act disappointed, Skylar followed Endrick's lead. They'd taken but two steps when the voice called back to them.
"Hold there!"
Endrick stopped and turned back.
After a few moments, the guardhouse door next to the gate creaked open. From its open mouth, two armed sentries strode out, crossbows leveled at the companions.
"What's the talk about mead?" growled one of the sentries.
In response, Skylar pulled back his cloak to reveal the miniaturized cask under his arm. The closest sentry jerked his crossbow at Skylar.
"What've you got there," he demanded.
At the sight of the cask, however, the two men relaxed a little. One of the sentries motioned with his head for the other to investigate. Lowering his weapon, the second sentry moved to follow the order. Unstoppering the cask, the sentry brought his nose up to the hole.
"Smells like the good stuff," he reported to his comrade.
"Let's have a taste," replied the other. "Have you a tap?"
From somewhere within his person, Endrick produced a metal tap and handed it to the guard. Using the butt end of his crossbow, the guard drove the tap into the keystone with one blow. While his comrade held the cask, the one who seemed to be in charge opened the tap enough to let some of the liquid spill over his fingers. He tasted it, mouth twisting up, as he examined the flavor on his tongue. With a satisfied nod, he tasted some more. Then some more.
Handing his crossbow to Endrick, the sentry took a knee, and brought his open mouth underneath the tap.
"What!" cried the other. "You think I'm gonna hold this all night for you?"
"Fine. I was just making sure it weren't drugged."
The sentry rose to his in feet and took back his crossbow.
"What do you two want?"
Endrick shrugged innocently.
"My friend and I were hoping..." he began, letting out an awkward laugh and casting a glance at Skylar. "That is...there's a couple serving wenches that we were hoping...er...to see."
The sentries chuckled knowingly.
"Oh, ho! Is that it?"
The guard holding the cask nudged Skylar with his elbow, the way boys at the Academy on Haladras had often done when they spoke about girls. Those types of conversations had never interested him. Still, he did his best to play along. For his part, he wondered when Endrick became such an excellent actor. If Skylar didn't know any better, he would have believed Endrick did have a sweetheart waiting for him on the other side of that gate.
"So, what're the names of these lucky dames?"
"Names, eh?" said Endrick, scratching the back of his head. "Well...er."
The sentries burst out laughing again.
"Anyone will do, is that it?"
The two laughed heartily, with Endrick joining in, as convincing as he'd been thus far. One of the sentries wiped a tear from his eye.
"Alright, you two can come inside. Just don't cause any trouble, and be out before midnight. And don't tell anyone how you got in."
Nodding vigorously their assent, the companions followed as the gatekeepers led them through the guardhouse entry and out into the open inner bailey. After instructing the companions on where to find the unlocked service entry around the side of the castle, the sentries went back inside to enjoy the gift of mead.
The inside of the castle was not as cold as Skylar remembered. But then, the last time he'd walked its corridors, his clothes were but rags clinging loosely to his frail body. They walked past the wooden door, which opened to the stairwell to the Inferno. He walked quickly past it, wanting nothing whatever to do with that part of the castle.
In the kitchen, they found an intimate huddle of kitchen maids jabbering in low voices around a table, a single candle providing them light. The women turned when they heard the companions enter and shot them cold stares. The women said nothing, though, and soon returned to sipping from their mugs and chattering quietly. The companions followed one of the corridors leading out of the kitchen. As best as Skylar could recall, it was the same through which Cartwright had led them on that day he first saw the Empress of Gorgoroth.
As he hoped, the corridor led them into the wider corridor, which led to the throne room. At the opposite end of the corridor from the throne room they found a stairwell. He didn't know where to look, but he felt that the empress' own apartments was as good a place as any. Unless the empress hated heights, or stairs, only one of the uppermost levels of the castle would be lofty enough for her. And he knew, from his brief exposure to her, that she was far too proud to acknowledge either weakness, much less make accommodations for them.
"So, you want to move as far away from our escape route as possible?" said Endrick, when he told him where he wished to look.
"Isn't that why we brought the grappling hooks and cord?"
"The hook is just for show. The cord is to tie up a crazy prince and drag him out of this castle."
They climbed seven flights of stairs before they found anything which looked promising. At the end of a lengthy corridor, the walls broken away into an open antechamber. At the far end of the antechamber, a pair of double wooden doors stood, flanked by a pair of elaborate iron sconces. A scarlet red flag, bearing the back silhouette of a crossed sword and fisted arm, hung above the door. The Tor's national flag. A few steps led up to the doors. These Skylar mounted.
He found it peculiar that no sentries stood outside these doors. Perhaps, it wasn't the empress' apartment, as he hoped. Or maybe the guards were all on slacker patrol with their mistress gone. Whatever the reason, he expected, at least, that the door would be locked. He tested it. To his surprise, the latch clicked and the door swung ajar. Skylar glanced up at Endrick.
"Not too big on security around here, are they?" he said. "Well, you go inside and have fun nosing around. I'll stay out here and watch for rats."
Drawing out his dagger, Skylar quietly stepped through the portal. Inside, he quickly scanned the chamber for signs of occupancy. He listened, too, in case there was someone in an adjoining chamber. No signs of life. Only an empty chamber. He took a few cautious steps deeper into the chamber.
It was a bedchamber. Spacious, by any standard. A four-poster bed, hung with lace curtains, sat near the middle of the room against the wall. Various articles of furniture-an armoire, chest, wardrobe, and bedside table-were arranged neatly on the far end of the room. On the opposite side of the wall from the bed, was a fireplace, in front of which sat two high-backed armchairs. No fired burned on the hearth. Only a single torch burning in a socket on the wall to his left provided any light within the chamber.
Skylar took the torch from the wall and lit two other torches. The added light dispelled some of the heavier shadows draped about the room, easing Skylar's anxiety slightly. He walked over to a painting on the wall, and held up his torch to it. The orange glow illuminated the stoic face of a woman, with iron-black hair, and a proud figure clothed in a graceful white gown with flared sleeves and billowing skirt. The fine gown could not disguise the one who wore it. Though younger, she was the empress. The portrait stunned Skylar. How could such an exacting ruler dress in anything so delicate? A bespiked dress with steel-plated skirt would suit her better. Yet despite the apparent contradiction, Skylar admitted that she possessed an undeniable beauty.
He moved on. To admire unsettling portraits of the Empress of Gorgoroth was not what he came for. If nothing else, this portrait gave him confidence that this bedchamber must belong to the empress herself. On the bedside table, he found a silver looking glass with handle, a brush, and a sheathed stiletto. In the wardrobe, he found nothing but garments. The armoire, likewise, contained nothing of interest but a few personal-care items, blankets, and various other oddments.
Standing, Skylar turned and surveyed the room. It was then that he took notice of a door at the back corner of the room. Believing he would find nothing of interest in the bedchamber, he decided to investigate. Behind the door he found a room in complete darkness, except for the torch he held in his hand. Shambling into the darkness, he found and lit two other torched in their sconces. The light revealed a smaller chamber whose back wall featured a bookcase extending from the floor to ceiling. In front of the bookcase sat a wide desk and chair. A study. The empress' personal study?
The thought gave Skylar a thrill. Surely something for which he sought lurked within these walls.
He went over to the desk. A small oil lamp rested on the corner. He lit and then deposited his torch in an empty sconce. Numerous parchments and letters lay scattered across the top of the desk, like the first dusting of autumn leaves on Ahlderon. These he quickly perused. Almost immediately, his eyes fell on an unfolded letter, which from its proximity to the chair, might have been the last thing the Empress read at the desk. He picked it up and read.
Your Most Exaltedness,
All is prepared according to thy desires. Ten legions of infantry await thy command to deploy. Another ten legions shall arrive over the coming weeks. The construction of thy new fleet has completed its first phase. Five high-capacity spaceliners, as well as twelve cruisers stand ready at thy disposal. We await your command to commence the invasion.
Thy humble servant,
General Rekkin Karíknof
Ten legions. Invasion. Skylar repeated the words in his mind without fully comprehending. Who did they plan to invade? Even as he thought this, he knew the answer. Who else would the Tors invade with such an army? Frantic for more information, Skylar riffled through the other parchments and letters on the desk. Everything else seemed irrelevant. He shifted through the desk drawers.
In one drawer he found several parchments with drawings. At first, he disregarded them, but one of them caught his attention. On further inspection he realized that these were not mere drawing. They were schematics. He couldn't be sure what the schematics were for, but they looked oddly familiar. Was it plans for some kind of shuttle? The wings looks too...
Skylar's mind reeled. It couldn't be? What was the scale of this thing? The units in the schematics were completely foreign to him. Perplexed, he set the schematics down and turned absently to look at the bookcase, while he thought through the problem. Mostly the bookcase contained books. Skylar had neither time nor interest in inspecting the empress' collection, even if some secret lay buried in their pages. Two of the shelves just behind the desk were dedicated for the display of trinkets and trophies. A short sword, encased in glass; a figurine of a hawk, carved in gold; an old chronometer, with a thick brass bezel.
Then his gaze fell on something no larger than his thumb. The light from the torches and lamp glinted off its silver casing. Skylar leaned in for a closer inspection. His blood ran cold. His fears confirmed. Though he'd only seen its likeness only once before, a long time before on Haladras, he knew what is was without equivocation. The tiny metallic body. The paper thin, silver wings. The beady eyes. This is what the schematics were for: to build one of these creatures. The same often haunted his dreams. But how could this be? Only one man in the universe possessed the knowledge to produce a Tracker. Had the Tors formed an unlikely alliance with Morvath?
Skylar checked his back involuntarily. Was it just his fear, or had the darkness grown thicker in the room, crept closer to him?
He'd stayed too long.
Leaving the bookshelf, he grabbed the letter and schematics from the desk, folded them and stuffed them into his tunic, then briskly strode out of the room. Halfway across the bedchamber, Endrick poked his head through the door.
"What were you doing in there, taking a nap on the bed?"
"No, let's get away from here," replied Skylar, feeling an a supreme urgencyget away from the castle. Alderon was in peril. He must warn Krom. And if indeed Morvath loomed anywhere near or within the castle, he wanted to get away as far as possible. How he ought to have executed the justice Morvath desired when he had the chance!
"Did you learn anything of your sister?" asked Endrick, as they shut the wooden door to the empress' chamber.
"No, but I have intelligence which must be conveyed to Krom. Come, we'll speak of it once we're away from this place."
Together, they nearly sprinted down the length of the corridor. Before they could reach the staircase, however, Endrick held his hand in front of Skylar, listened intently a moment, then pushed him through the nearest door.
"Hide!" said Endrick in a low voice, as he closed the door gently behind them.
Without questioning, Skylar scrambled behind a bed, while Endrick crammed his bulk into a wardrobe in the corner. Skylar's spot was a poor place to hide. But he saw no other option. Whoever Endrick heard coming, he hoped he did no more than glance into this bedchamber, if at all. In all probability the footsteps belonged to a sentry making his rounds.
Skylar waited, listening. After some moments, there was a slight rustling sound just outside the door, followed by the unmistakable clink of a door latch. Skylar caught his breath. Someone was coming inside.
With a futile effort, Skylar attempted to press his body more firmly against the side of the bed, as if to make himself appear as part of the furniture.
The sounds of someone moving about the room increased. Who was it? Did the room belong to the princess? The prospect of meeting her under such circumstances gave him only slightly less fear than meeting Morvath. A girl who could kill a servant so senselessly...he didn't want anything to do with.
He listened as the sounds of movement drew closer. It sounded as if someone was on the bed, or arranging the bedclothes. Skylar held his breath. In his mind, he cursed the maker of the bed for not making space under it for someone to hide. Perhaps this was done intentionally, to protect the sleeper from a nighttime intruder.
Then a figure emerged from the front of the bed into his view. Skylar recognized her instantly as the servant who inadvertently helped him escape the castle. Seeing Skylar, she immediately drew back in alarm, looking as though she might scream or faint.
"Don't be alarmed," he whispered, hastily. "I won't hurt you."
The girl backed away, her dark eyes wide with terror.
Endrick emerged from the wardrobe and blocked the door. She shot a panicked glance from Endrick back to Skylar.
"What do you want?" she let out in a trembling cry.
The poor creature looked like a trapped mouse, who might die from heart failure any moment.
"I'm just trying to find out what happened to my sister," Skylar said, calmly. He didn't need to lie to this girl, and the truth might earn them her sympathy. "I think she may have been taken by the empress years ago. She would have been just a child when she came. Maybe you know something about her?"
* * *
The princess felt she could endure the General's wretched party not a moment longer. The sheer amount of venom in the room was sickening. It was all masked, of course. Hidden beneath layers of trite pleasantries or subtle jabs meant to be humorous. And then there was the outright deception, which came in the form of confessions of undying loyalty. The political wheedlers sickened her the most. Would these cowards not say anything, contrive any lie, to increase their power?
She hated playing the game, pretending to be pleased by a war captain's compliments on her thus-far success in the Trials. She doubted if more than a handful of men could be found in the whole room who didn't wish for her to fail or who wouldn't hesitate, given opportunity, to slit her throat. Her betrothed was among that handful. But he only wanted her to succeed so that he might get access to the throne through her.
Her mother, the empress, played her part remarkably well. With measured precision, she dealt out thickly veiled threats to those she felt lacked sufficient respect for her power. Likewise, she cleverly reminded allies of the benefits they enjoyed from her magnanimity.
The entire charade bored the princess to tears. The only thing of interest which had transpired the whole evening regarded the food. The General's prized entrée-an Ahlderion man-had vanished. From the rumors, she divined that the Ahlderion had been stolen from the General's own kitchen while still alive. The General, of course, was aflame with fury over the matter. The princess felt some relief. She had no desire to glut herself on the flesh of an Ahlderion. An abhorrent practice-much like the ludicrous disposal of a perfectly good servant.
Inside, she still smarted over the killing of the servant. To what end? What did it prove? She felt no more loyal to her power-hungry betrothed and she knew he felt toward her. It was all a show, a farce, a meaningless tradition. It didn't prove anything.
She wondered about the Ahlderion. Not many of their kind ventured into the nation of Tor. Who had stolen him? Surely anyone of power and influence within five hundred kilometers was in attendance at the General's party. And none of them would base themselves to such a petty crime. Did the Ahlderion have friends-other Ahlderions perhaps? She remembered the news that Morvath reported about the prince leaving on a quest to find his missing sister. Could it be?
A smile touched her lips. If nothing else, the idea was amusing.
She stood near a vacant wall in the one of the side lounges stuffed with sofas and armchairs. She ran her hands along the silky fabric about her waist, feeling the tight corset beneath.
I hate these ridiculous gowns! The seamstress must have gone out of her way to make the skirt as cumbersome as possible.
At least they got the color right. Gray. Even if it was a shimmery gray. Better than one of those garish colors the other ladies wore.
She pretended to observe a large painting on the opposite wall. It depicted a battle scene in which a general was leading his troops to victory. Which battle of which war in Gorgoroth's long bloody history it portrayed, she couldn't say. There were too many battles. She doubted if the General himself knew. She didn't care. All she wanted was to be free of this wearisome party and rid herself of her insufferable gown.
"Your face looks as sour as the General's grapes."
Rizain Du Kava appeared next to her as unannounced as if he'd materialized from the floor.
"What would you expect?" she replied, not moving her eyes from the painting. "Haven't I paid my dues?"
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rizain offer a slight nod of assent.
"I could make an excuse for you-if you desired," he said.
"What, that the princess would rather face the flaming tongues again than stay and listen to one more sycophant?"
"Or...that you are still recovering, and need rest and meditation in preparation for your next Trial. You have not yet completed the Trials, I needn't remind you. And until you have, I have the right to dictate your schedule."
He turned and faced her.
"Go, take a pair of bodyguards and return to the castle. I shall make excuse for you to your mother and the General. And your beloved, as well-of course."
The princess shot him a glare that would have withered an ordinary man. Rizain met her gaze with pure indifference. She broke off the gaze and stormed away. It was a jab she could have endured from Rizain alone. Tonight especially. She considered it just payment for the favor he now offered her. To free herself from the party early and return to the castle.