Haladras

Seventeen

When Grim woke Skylar, it was still dark.

"Time to be off, my prince. Morning draws nigh," came the low voice of Grim like a visionless dream.

Skylar yawned and forced his eyes to open.

"Morning?" mumbled Skylar. "But...you were...supposed to wake me...for―"

"You needed your rest more than I. Now come."

It was the same gray, fog ridden morning as yesterday's. The fire no longer burned. Only a pile of ashes and charred logs remained. Yet the smell of it still clung to the air around their campsite. No sign or sound of the Vangre wolves lingered from the night before. In Skylar's mind, however, they were still lurking in the shadows.

Grim handed him a small corn cake from the provisions Barryman had given them. It was nearly frozen from exposure to the night air. Skylar ate it as quickly as he could manage, chased it down with two drafts of icy water, and then set off behind Grim into the fog and mist of another day of flight from his enemies.

By noon they reached the base of the Boldúrin Mountains below the pass that Grim intended for them to cross. The Nape of Sauros, Grim called the narrow pass running between two fearsome swirled peaks, which loomed over the whole vale like the cruel horns of a stone monster. The very look of it made Skylar's confidence falter. Though the pale sun beat upon it, it was as dark as though a storm cloud brooded over it, threatening to unleash its pent up anger.

The trek up the mountain, though grueling at times, proved not too difficult. The pair made steady progress up to the pass, following along a narrow pathway which mostly ran its way along sheer cliffs. At times the path grew so narrow that they were forced to press themselves against the rock face to keep away from the edge. Once, Skylar stepped on a loose rock which broke free under his foot, sending him teetering precariously. Had Grim not grasped his arm, Skylar felt sure he would have plunged to the jagged rocks below.

As they ascended higher that same sense of foreboding grew stronger in his heart. To match it, the winds swept down on them like a wall of ice trying to bar their passage.

Still they pressed on, higher and higher.

Grim, sure-footed and impervious to wind or fatigue saw to it that they made it to the top. Near midafternoon they came within easy reach of the Nape of Sauros. The sight of it cheered Skylar's heavy spirits. Any sense of darkness―and even the winds―lifted. So close. Soon they would be rid of that evil valley.

As they approached the pass, Skylar could see where the path leveled out briefly before disappearing behind a bend, where it doubtless began its descent down the other side of the mountain. His hopes mounted. Just as they attained level ground a figure stepped out from around the bend, blocking their path.

Skylar stepped back, startled by the figure's sudden appearance. Instantly, the dark pall returned. He shivered. The figure, which stood like Death itself before them wore a long cloak of such impenetrable blackness that neither crease nor fold were visible in it. The hood of the cloak was pulled over its head, face hidden. By the coldness chilling his soul, Skylar knew this was one of Morvath's servants.

A second figure stepped out into their path and took his place just behind the other.

"A pleasure to see you again so soon, Grim Galloway," said a voice from within the depths of the hood. The voice had nothing of pleasure in it.

"I'm afraid I cannot reciprocate the complement, Lothor." said Grim calmly.

"Tsk, tsk. Where are your manners? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Your corpulent innkeeper friend wasn't well-mannered either. We taught him a lesson, though."