THE LOW WHISPERED voice of Grim roused Skylar after only a few unsatisfying hours of sleep.

"Awake, my prince. The time is come for our escape."

Skylar groaned and wished that he had awakened somewhere far from where he was. Somewhere warm, where no one was trying to harm him. Despite his body's protest for more rest, Skylar quickly got out of bed and dressed himself.

Barryman waited outside their door, lantern in hand. None of them spoke as the innkeeper led them downstairs. Even the wooden floorboards and stair steps, sensing the gravity of their plight, kept the silence and refused to creak or moan. In the kitchen, Barryman set his lantern upon a table.

The boy, Harold, suddenly appeared. He and the innkeeper went to work removing tiles from the floor. They worked swiftly and methodically, as though they'd performed this routine a hundred times before. When they had finished, a hole in the floor, little wider around than Grim, revealed a series of short wooden planks. These Barryman removed.

Nothing but gaping blackness lay beneath the planks, its depth unknown.

"It's easy to lose your way once you're down there. These catacombs crawl beneath the city like a spider's web. Just keep heading south and you should come to an outlet."

Barryman handed the lantern to Skylar.

"Don't break this―unless you want to spend the rest of your short life wandering around in the darkness down there," he said, perhaps jokingly, but Skylar did not think it funny.

Harold brought over a rope, which he fastened around a wooden column and fed the other end down the hole. He held the rope up for Skylar to take hold of.

"Maybe you ought to carry the lantern," said Skylar, handing the precious light to Grim.

Barryman chuckled and would surely have boomed with laughter were the need for silence not so dire.

"Are you certain you will be alright?" said Grim to the jolly innkeeper.

"Of course! I'll cook those two weasels in my stew if they try to come in here."

He smiled and laughed again. Yet even in this dim lantern light, his smile could not hide the fearful look in his eyes, or how he wiped his hands nervously on his apron. Skylar did not know whether Grim noticed this too, but he feared for this kindly innkeeper and prayed him safe.

Grim descended the rope first, nimbly handling it in one hand while the other held the lantern.

The distance to the bottom proved less than Skylar imagined. Seven meters―perhaps fewer. Skylar took hold of the rope and made his way down, though less skillfully than Grim.

"Farewell, little prince," whispered Barryman as Skylar's head slowly disappeared into the hole. "Our hope, our salvation."

A strong scent of decay and age hung in the thick air. It struggled to squeeze through Skylar's nostrils, choked his lungs, and filled his mouth with an acrid taste. Pale walls, ceiling and floor stretched out before them in either direction as far as the dismal lantern light dared to shine. At sporadic intervals, dark openings in the walls led off to some never-ending tunnel.

The path Grim led them along bent and twisted as much as a snake's body. Despite its serpentine path and constant forks in the tunnel, Grim pressed onward as one who navigated those catacombs daily.

"Do you think Barryman will be alright?" asked Skylar after a time.

Grim made no immediate reply, leading on with his sure stride.

"I pray he will," came his response at last. It did nothing to ease Skylar's mind about the matter. "Our trouble now―assuming we make it out of these tunnels―is keeping the others away from the city."

A sudden pang of guilt made Skylar cringe. He'd almost entirely forgotten about the others.

"They have surely discovered your absence by now," Grim went on. "That they will suspect you came to rescue me, I feel certain. Krom is a fair enough tracker. Though, in the dark he will have little chance of detecting your trail. They will wait to act until first light, unless I guess incorrectly. That gives us some time, though little."

That was the last of their conversation until they came to what appeared a dead end. For once, Grim did not immedi-ately know what to do. He hesitated; put his hands on the wall barring their way and felt along its surface. Unsatisfied, he held up the lantern higher and scanned the whole wall.

There was no turning left or right. Their tunnel simply ended, leaving them with only one option: to go back the way they had come.

Grim paused his inspection of the wall and set down the lantern. Wordlessly, he bowed his head and seemed to fall into a state of meditation. His eyes were closed, his face taut. For several minutes he remained thus, leaving Skylar to wonder how they would find their way out. Barryman's jest suddenly became more prophetic than the innkeeper had intended. And it was all Skylar's fault. Grim would not have had to come this way, Barryman would not be in danger if only he'd not tried to be the hero.

At last, Grim awoke from his meditation, the confusion and uncertainty in his face now replaced by calm certitude.

"We've come the wrong way," he said. "I made a wrong turn some time back. We are under the southeastern corner of the city. We shall need to backtrack. Come, my prince, let us hope my folly shall not cost us too dearly."

By the time they had backtracked and found the tunnel which Grim believed was the correct one, considerable time had elapsed. Skylar began to long for fresh air and the brightness of daylight. The more time they spent in those tunnels, the narrower they seemed to grow and the less certain their escape appeared.

They did come at last to the end of the second tunnel. This time the wall which barred the way looked different. At the base of the wall a large round stone protruded out from the flat surface, as though it had crashed into the wall and gotten lodged half way through.

Immediately, Grim began prying at the stone with his hands. Skylar crouched down to help. In vain they struggled to free the stone. It refused to budge.

"This is futile," said Grim, halting his efforts. "The stone mocks us."

"If only I still had that soldier's blaster..." said Skylar wistfully.

"No need for wicked implements. Perhaps the stone will yield to steel."

Grim pushed aside the folds of his cloak and drew out the broadsword from its scabbard. As he did, the metal rang softly through the cave like the clear high-pitched note of a bell. Taking the sword in both hands, Grim worked the blade between the stone and the wall, and pressed his weight against the sword's hilt. But the stone remained unperturbed.

Once again, Skylar doubled his effort with Grim's. The pair struggled for several minutes; Skylar pulling at the stone with his bloodied fingers, Grim straining against his sword.

A rasping sound escaped from the stone. The two pressed and pulled with increased force. Minutely, the stone moved. They strained harder. Again, the stone budged. Then again.

A gap was now visible. With a final heave, Grim and Skylar forced the stone out of the hole and onto the cave floor, where it fell over with an echoing thud.

"Well," said Grim, sheathing his sword, "Barryman certainly forgot to mention how difficult that would be. Though, I dare say Barryman could eat that stone for breakfast."

Skylar laughed. It was the first joke he'd ever heard Grim make. He felt relieved to laugh. In spite of all their peril, laughing somehow made it all vanish―if but for a moment.

The hole in the wall was plenty wide enough for them to crawl through. Skylar had expected the distance between the inside wall and the outside world to be no more than a meter. However, the hole proved to be a tunnel it its own right, extending several meters before opening out in the predawn light.

They stood on a narrow landing, just above the level of the valley. The city gates were east of them. The thin mist from the night before had thickened and grown so that the entire valley lay sleeping beneath its cold blanket of bedewed air. It was yet dark, but not as dark as the night. Morning drew nigh.

"We've come too late," said Grim, his breath forming a white vapor in the chilly air. "We dare not cross the open vale by the road now."

"But it is still dark," argued Skylar, "and the fog will hide us."

"Indeed, my prince. But for how long? The light of morning grows by the minute. And that fog shall burn away under the sun.

"No, we cannot make it to the others today. We shall have to try and signal them, and hope to meet them on the other side of the mountains. I cannot be sure of Krom's intentions. I don't think any had considered the possibility of Orphlyus' death. To Arsolon, in the western province, we shall make our journey. Lord Denovyn is our last hope so long as we're trapped on Fenorra. Some ten leagues lay before us out of this valley. How long from here to Arsolon, I do not know. Weeks―no doubt.

"Come; let us move from view of any unfriendly eyes."

By midmorning Grim's prediction proved true; the gray fog resting in the valley and the layer of gray clouds above evaporated under the sun's rays. Skylar felt glad of the change. Yet the sun's appearance did little to comfort him. It was a pale sun, set in a washed out blue sky. And though it brought light, a steady northern wind kept its warmth at bay.

The two travelers skirted the vale, keeping just inside the mountains, where thick growths of trees, large boulders, and hillocks shielded them from anyone attempting to descry them from afar. Grim also hoped that the rocky foothills would make their trail difficult to follow.

"Although, I doubt it will make it impossible for any servant of Morvath," admitted Grim. "If they possess the power to sniff us out like an animal hunting its prey, I would not be surprised."

Shortly after setting off from Dura Cragis, once safely out of view, Grim had stopped them. He quickly set to work collecting small twigs and branches. These he laid in a pile on a flat boulder, then lit them with a fire charge. No sooner was the faggot crackling in the consuming flames, than Grim untied a tiny small leather pouch from his belt and emptied its contents onto the fire. Instantly, the flames extinguished, replaced by a thick billow of green smoke, which floated higher and higher into the air.

Despite the wind's effort, the puff of smoke remained intact until it had risen high overhead, where it slowly dispersed into the air.

"Too risky to send a transmission," said Grim. "Morvath's servants will be spying the airwaves. Our smoke signal just may escape their notice, or their interest. Let us hope our companions see it."

They did not rest at noon to eat. Grim urged them to keep moving at a rapid pace.

"I will feel better once we've rid ourselves of this valley," said Grim, as they walked. "It does not bode well for us so long as we remain here."

"I, too, will be glad to be out of it. I don't like it. Though, I can't say why. There's something dark about it...lonely."

"It has not always been so," said Grim in a voice that sounded as if he were speaking to himself. "I've been in this valley many times. I know it well. A pleasant place it used to be―full of life. Yet life seems gone out of it. Morvath's presence here has done more than inspire fear into the people of Dura Cragis. Even the rocks, trees, and animals sense the evil."

The wind whipped up. Skylar shuddered and drew his cloak tighter around his body.

They walked until well after nightfall. To Skylar the night with its deep shadows felt more menacing than ever, as if every rock or tree hid some malignant creature, waiting to fall upon them as they passed. An eerie howl floated through the air and made Skylar halt in his tracks. The frightful sound was rejoined by two more howls.

"Vangre wolves," said Grim in a low tone. "It would be wise to stop here for the night. A fire should keep them away."

Despite the blazing fire which they built in short order, the howling of the Vangre wolves persisted. They could even be heard tracing the perimeter of their campsite, rustling through the brush and plodding lightly on the ground.

"Are you not afraid of an attack?" questioned Skylar.

Grim sat on the ground near the glowing fire, his back resting against a mighty tree trunk.

"You have no need to fear, my prince," he said calmly. "They shall come no closer. They fear the fire too much."

"All the same," said Skylar, "I wish I had a sword like yours."

A faint smile broke on Grim's face. "I am your sword, my prince."

This he said with such confidence and conviction that Skylar felt more at ease. He sat down by the crackling fire. Questions which he'd been saving suddenly rushed to his head.

"Grim, that sword you carry... you told the governor that King Athylian, my father, gave it to you. You knew my father well, then?"

Grim's gaze remained fixed on the fire as Skylar finished his question. As Grim began to speak, he maintained that pose.

"Your father gave me that when I was but a year or two younger than yourself. A gift for my birthday, and a kind of promise that I should join the order of his royal knights when I came of age. His knights were called the Keepers of the Kingdom. They preserved the peace and fought against the enemies of the empire. I had longed to be one ever since I was old enough to understand what they were. My father was one of them."

"You father was one of Athylian's knights?" said Skylar in amazement.

Grim nodded.

"Where is he now?"

"My father is dead."

"Oh," replied Skylar quietly, feeling uncomfortable for bringing up a painful topic. "I'm sorry. I―"

"Not long after your father gifted me this sword," Grim went on, easing Skylar's feeling of awkwardness. "Tarus betrayed him. When Tarus crowned himself king, he began secretly eliminating all of the Keepers."

"What! Why would he do that? Didn't they serve him?"

"One who steals a crown thinks of little else but how to keep it. Being a traitor and murderer, he believed all around him were likewise traitors and murderers. He did not trust the Keepers. He saw them as a threat to his power. And so he began striking them down through Morvath. My father was one of the first to fall victim."

"Are they all dead, then?"

"No. Some realized what was happening and went into hiding. Now they rove throughout the empire, helping victims of injustice wherever they can. Krom was one who escaped."

Skylar looked up quickly at Grim, but he did not speak. Krom? Skylar's reaction spoke for him. Grim answered with a nod of his head.

"When my father was murdered, Krom...adopted me, you could say. I've been with him ever since. He's like a father to me. I owe my swordsmanship skills to his diligence and patience in instructing me. But all that time we were waiting for you. Waiting for the chance to serve the true heir to the throne."

Silence fell over the conversation. Skylar turned his gaze back to the dancing fire, his thoughts far away. Grim stood and went to get another log for the fire. The sparks and ash rose into the air in a spiraling column of red, orange and white.

"Have I earned your trust, my prince?" said Grim.

Skylar looked up, startled by the question. Grim's eyes were fixed on him, an expression of complete earnestness on his face. "Do you trust me?" he repeated.

"Of course, Grim."

"Then you must promise to obey whatever I tell you until you have safely rejoined the others."

"But Grim―"

"I implore you, my prince. I cannot be sure of your safety unless I have your promise of obedience."

Nothing in Grim's insistence or tone brought comfort to Skylar. Grim hadn't said until we have safely rejoined the others. Skylar wished to speak of something else. Grim would not back down on this, though. Of that he felt certain. It was almost as if Grim knew something he wasn't telling Skylar.

Reluctantly, and with a sinking feeling in his stomach, Skylar nodded his head. "I trust you, Grim. I will do whatever you tell me."

Grim's expression relaxed. "Thank you. You should sleep now. We have quite a long journey on the morrow. I shall take the first watch."