Haladras

Twenty-seven

Sleep taunted Skylar all night. He tossed and turned miserably, his thoughts raging with the battle yet to be fought.

When morning finally arrived, he welcomed it—an escape from his overwrought imagination. Could today's outcome possibly be worse than what I imagined last night? he wondered. Perhaps there would be no battle, after all. Perhaps Morvath would see for himself that Athylian was alive and flee in terror. No. It would never happen. Blood would be spilt. Skylar knew it. But whose? He closed his eyes and prayed with an aching heart that Haladrian lives would be spared; that those he cared about would be spared; his own life sacrificed, if need be.

Unlike the other troops, he spent the night at his home in the Gorge, not at the encampment. He knew it very well might be his last time at home, his last chance to see his mother. Lasseter had approved it, provided Endrick stay with him.

"I wish you wouldn't fight today, Sky," she said as he prepared to say farewell. "You're still so young. Let those with more experience go to war."

"And watch them risk their lives and be slaughtered by our enemy, while I sit idle and safe at home? No, Mother, that I cannot do. This is my battle. None of this would have happened if not for me."

She bowed her head briefly, almost like a reproached child. But when she looked back up, her eyes, though still forlorn, bore a touch of pride. Skylar felt a tinge of guilt, too. His mother knew their prospects of victory were grim. Utter annihilation was their likely fate. Complete and utter. How could a mother not tremble to send her son into such a battle?

"You are right," she said, her voice quavering slightly. "It was wrong of me to ask. You are no longer just my little Sky. You are the prince."

A few tears escaped her eyes and drifted down her cheeks. It pained him to see his mother cry. Gently, he put his arms around her and hugged her as she slowly regained composure. At last, he broke his embrace. The time had come. She forced a smile.

"This is why Lasseter wouldn't let me say goodbye the first time. Do be careful out there, today."

"I will, Mother."

With that, Skylar and Endrick departed.

The desert seemed unnervingly tranquil as they sped along in the small two-seater. The early morning light cast a golden hue on all it touched, already warm. In a few short hours, the desert sand would bake under its gaze, while roiling under the heat of battle.

Endrick maintained a nearly one-sided conversation, preserving his usual candid viewpoint. Skylar felt no desire to talk. His thoughts were as heavy as his heart; both felt like lead. Something terrible awaited him. He could feel it.

"I suspect I'll lose an arm today," said Endrick with indifference.

"That's not funny," replied Skylar.

"...Or maybe two," Endrick went on. "Good thing I've only got the two. Of course, they might also get my legs."

"Or your head," snapped Skylar. "Are you trying to cheer me up? Because it's not working."

"Cheer?" Endrick let out a brief laugh. "No, there's little to be cheery about in war."

"Several legions, Endrick. We have scarcely one. How are we supposed to defeat so many soldiers?"

"One soldier at a time, Skylar...one soldier at a time."

That was all he said. It was one of the few serious remarks Skylar had ever heard Endrick make.

They arrived at the encampment as the troops were just beginning to assemble. The thud of marching boots, all out of time, and the shout of infantry sergeants' commands filled the quiet morning air. Far off, in the west, the dark shapes of the empire's ships blighted the blue sky, like small thunderclouds. Their ships would not be permitted to dock at Cloud Harbor. They would have to deploy their troops from drop hatches as the ships hovered above the desert sand.