Haladras

Twenty

                  

In vain, Skylar struggled to free himself from his unseen captor. Many hands seemed to be holding his arms. His legs were free, though. And he made good use of them, kicking blindly in the darkness. Several kicks with his booted foot made contact. Shouts of protest erupted from behind him.

"Hey!" shouted one.

"Stop that!" yelled another.

"Tie up his feet," rejoined yet another.

A cold object slid in beneath Skylar's chin.

"Stop struggling or we'll slit your throat," hissed a surly voice in his ear.

He froze.

"That's better."

The sound of scuffling had ceased now. Skylar wondered if his companions were unharmed. Then an orange glow from a torch flame infused the scene. The faces of a dozen or more rough men became visible. Lasseter, Krom and Endrick were as equally guarded as Skylar, with two or three of these men holding them fast.

The mens' faces were heavily scarred and dark with dirt and soot. All wore unkempt beards and long hair, though a few used bands tied across their forehead to keep their hair back. Glints of yellow from earrings and gold chains reflected in the torchlight. No uniform described their dress; they wore an eclectic array of clothing. There were patchwork tunics worn beneath leather jackets or jerkins; threadbare cloaks of various earth tones; one very large ruffian wore only pants and a blaster strapped to his back; another wore a robe of an intricate pattern. All were armed to their teeth with daggers, dirks, clubs and blasters.

"Who are's ya?" demanded the man holding the torch, his voice grating the air like a knife blade on stone.

The man with the torch was looking at Krom when he spoke. But Krom did not reply.

"Well?" said the man, holding the torch to Krom's face. "I asked you a question."

"Who we are is no concern of yours," replied Krom calmly.

"Ah!" exclaimed the ruffian man. "No concern of mine, is it? And I suppose it's no concern of mine where's you be going to?"

"We are traveling to Arsolon, if you must know."

"Merely traveling, is it? Funny route you've chosen. I'm sure the boss would love to hear this story."

"Come on, boys" he said as he whipped around and motioned with his torch for his cohorts to follow. Skylar's captors jerked him to the side and forcibly ushered him behind his companions and the rest of the ruffians.

Though only the torch of the lead ruffian lighted their way, Skylar could see much of the cavern in which this band of men apparently lived. Scattered all about were cots, bed rolls, hammocks, and various other makeshift beds. A long table of sorts, constructed of wooden crates and shabbily fastened planks, ran the middle of the stone floor. The smelly remnants of countless meals, old and new, lay piled on the table; stacks of bones, overturned goblet and jugs, broken plates, knives embedded in loaves of moldy bread. A large beady-eyed rat stood on the table top, nibbling a potato peel. It glanced up curiously as they passed and bore its razor sharp teeth in defense of its spoils.

Their captors led them out of this main chamber into a tunnel. A few dark portals along the tunnel led to other chambers or tunnels. At the end of the tunnel, they entered another, smaller chamber.

It was a better-lit chamber than the other, with several torches glowing from sconces on the blackened walls. A tidier chamber, too, with a real bed, clothed in a fine down quilt and many feather pillows. Next to this stood an oak wardrobe and desk. The subject of principle interest in that subterranean chamber was a figure, lazily reposed on a throne carved into the far wall. Before this lounging figure, the companions were made to stand.