Skylar felt utterly stunned.

"You think I'm the missing prince?" he stammered out. "That's impossible. My mother's very much alive. Nor is she a queen―I'm sure of that. My father died before I was even born. And he was a miner."

Krom deflected Skylar's challenges with a mere shake of his head.

"Prince Korbyn Ducädese thou art. Dahra Lancewright, though she is as much a mother as anyone could be, is not the woman who gave you life. Nor was your father a miner, but Athylian himself. That man whom you call uncle is no uncle to you, but the same man-servant who saved your life and brought you to Haladras."

Despite the galvanized conviction in Krom's voice, Skylar refused to believe him. The man was an utter stranger. Lasseter may have trusted these strange men. That did not mean Skylar ought to. Perhaps they had duped his uncle.

"My uncle..." replied Skylar emphatically, "if he is not my uncle, why is it that we look so much alike?"

"As I said, Lasseter was also a bodyguard to Athylian―to your father. He was appointed to the position because of his physical likeness to Athylian. He is no clone of Athylian, mind you. Anyone who knew the king could easily distinguish which was king and which was servant. But from a distance, one might easily mistake one for the other."

Skylar frowned. A man-servant and bodyguard who looked like King Athylian had taken him as an infant to Haladras to escape the wicked King Tarus? It all sounded too far-fetched.

"Why do you think the Trackers attacked you as they did?" asked Krom, obviously reading the doubts in Skylar's face. "Those were Morvath's machines."

"They made a mistake," insisted Skylar. "Besides, if Tarus believes the prince dead, why would he send out the Trackers?"

Krom nodded, understanding the sense in the question.

"For nearly a decade, Tarus lived without knowledge of your existence. During those years, we kept a close eye on Tarus. It so happened that one night one of the king's advisors got himself drunk. He was one of those commissioned with me. He was at a tavern making merry with a few friends when the subject of Athylian came up.

"'How I miss the days of Athylian,' said one. 'Aye,' said another, 'and curse those murder'n Tors for taken him from us.'

"Then the first added, 'And for taking our Queen, the little princess and tiny prince. Poor little ones. They might have been great like their father.'

"'Aye, poor little prince,' said the advisor absently. 'We couldn't even find his body to give him a proper burial.'

"A hush quickly fell over the tavern. All eyes stared at the advisor. Despite his drunken state, he realized his blunder and attempted to correct it. 'That is,' he said, 'we only found part of the body.' But it was no use. The secret had been let loose.

"Within two days, Morvath's ears heard the news from one of his special servants. The advisor was summoned before the king and made to confess all, before being executed. With devilish cunning, Morvath's servants tracked down all who were in the tavern that night and killed them. The rest of the original commission―excepting myself―he executed, as well. Then he set out to find you. He has been looking ever since."

Skylar sat, taking it all in. How could he believe such a tale?

"How could the Trackers know I'm the prince? There's no proof of it."

Krom chuckled quietly. "They sampled your blood. Did you not notice a prick on your skin shortly before they overtook you?"

"Yes, but―"

"They matched your chromosome signature to your parents. Morvath and Tarus now have no doubt about your existence. They will stop at nothing to find you."

"And," he added grimly, "you do not want them to find you."

Skylar furrowed his brows and shook his head. He couldn't believe it. He refused to believe it. How could everything he knew about himself be wrong?

"What about my mother, then? If she is not my mother, who is she? How is it she knows nothing of this?"

"She is the same woman who you have always known. Her husband did die before you were born. A miner he was, but not your father. Your mother was pregnant with her first child when he died. But that child did not live more than a few hours. Lasseter, searching for someone to care for you, heard of your mother's loss, and sought her out. To her he offered the chance to be a mother. A chance she might never have again. She took it.

"To avoid gossip among those who knew your mother, Lasseter took you and your mother to Kaladra, where he assumed the role of your uncle and she of your mother. Few know better than she what your true identity is, and that one day you would likely leave her."

"Why is it," Skylar began, exasperation rising in his voice, "that she never told me of this before? Lasseter never said anything either."

"The less you knew...the less anyone knew about your existence, the safer you were. Secrets are best kept by those who do not know any.

"I know this is difficult for you to accept, Skylar," he continued. "Lasseter will validate what I've told you on the morrow. Rest now, we rise early. We must journey to Allega. Lord Rowvan, your grandfather, shall grant you protection and safe hiding. He's yet unaware that you are still alive."

Skylar was roused from his fitful sleep by a hand on his shoulder and a far-off voice speaking to him.

"Wake, my prince."

Skylar groaned and forced his weary eyes to crack open. He saw only gray shapes, unfocused.

"We must be off," came the voice again, less distant this time. Skylar's eyes flickered opened and shut several times before he realized where he was. He groaned again, realizing the nightmare from the previous day was real. He looked up at the dark figure hunched over him. Though the light of dawn had yet to vanquish the night, he recognized the figure as the man his uncle had called Grim Galloway.

"There's a morsel of bread on the table for you," he said in a low voice, "and some water. Hasten to eat it. We depart presently."

Skylar glanced around the room. Krom sat at the table, his hands clasped around a mug, his gaze far-off. Endrick stooped in a corner, preparing a pack. He saw no sign of Lasseter. Heeding Grim's instructions, Skylar went to the table and began eating the scanty meal.

"We must leave the city gates at first light," said Krom once Skylar had finished his meal. "Until we are out of Amrahdel you are in great danger. The king's soldiers prowl the streets like starving wolves. Once out of the city, we shall head north to the Gray Forest to seek the aid of the Mauwik."

Skylar listened to Krom as one in a trance, hearing but not comprehending. He made no reply. Skylar was vaguely aware, then, of footsteps sounding on the hollow floor behind him. Then a familiar voice brought him fully from his morning daze.

"Does he know?" asked his uncle.

"All," replied Krom. "Though how much he believes is another matter."

Skylar felt the firm, calloused hand of his uncle grip his shoulder. He looked up imploringly at this man whom he thought he knew since his childhood, whom he'd treated like a father.

"How can all this be true?" asked Skylar, almost pleadingly. "Krom tells me I'm Athylian's son. That the woman I call mother is not truly my mother. And that you're not my real uncle. Tell me there's some mistake."

Lasseter stared down at him with his penetrating green eyes. There was sadness in them as he shook his head.

"There's no mistake, Skylar. I'm not your uncle. And your mother...not the woman who gave you birth."

Truth had dealt Skylar a heavy blow when he first heard it from Krom's lips. Coming from Lasseter, however, nearly caused tears to well in his eyes. He felt deceived, lied to, abandoned, alone. He wanted to see his mother. She would not feed him this pack of lies. She would not―

Skylar put his head into his hands, and wished for the nightmare to end.

He had no choice but to follow Krom and his companions. Where else could he go?

The early dawn air felt cold and harsh as the companions quietly stepped out into the sleeping streets. Skylar shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around his body. The clouds above hung low and heavy, like a gray cloak over the sky. The dwelling houses and buildings, constructed of wood weathered with age, were equally gray. Small puddles of water riddled the muddy streets, which looked gray in the faint light of morning.

They walked along silently, the hoods of their cloaks masking their faces. Krom led the small band as they navigated the narrow streets of Amrahdel. More than once they passed a soldier or two on the street. Of these, however, all were heavily drunken and passed out, collapsed against a wall or lying on the ground. These inebriated soldiers were the only signs of life they saw until they drew closer to the city gates.

Gradually, people began filling the streets, all walking in the same direction as Skylar and his new companions. The people showed little more life than the unconscious soldiers. They trudged onward, heads bent low, shoulders hunched under the weight of gray sacks or rusted farming tools. Their faces were as gray and haggard as the threadbare clothes about their frail bodies. A few mud-spattered carts, pulled by bedraggled beasts with shaggy gray hair, matted and blotched with mud, joined the crowd and pressed mutely toward the gates.

"We shall split up in the crowd," whispered Grim, who had come up quietly beside him. "Try to stay toward the center. Keep your face covered and shoulders hunched. Once through the gate, continue walking with the crowd. We shall regroup once out of sight."

So saying, Grim fell back behind him, and the companions―including Lasseter―gradually drifted apart until they were indistinguishable from the other lifeless forms walking mechanically onward. Skylar suddenly felt very alone.

Hunching his shoulders, he gravitated near the middle of the street, where he followed behind one of the gray corpses. Ahead, the throng thickened as the people funneled through the city gates. Soon, Skylar entered that funnel. Gray figures began pressing uncomfortably close to him. Forced to slow his pace to a mere shuffle by the mass of bodies in front of him, Skylar felt all the more nervous as he came near to the sentries.

Two armed and alert sentries stood at either side of the gates, watching the lifeless figures pass by with scornful glances. Skylar increased the hunch in his shoulders and endeavored to appear as downtrodden as those around him. Though he wished not to believe Krom's story or that his life was in peril, something about the look of these sentries made him not want anything to do with them.

From the depths of this hood, Skylar watched the sentry at his left with the corner of this eye. Despite the dense pack of people pressed around him, he felt as conspicuous as a man with a target strapped to his forehead.

The throng slowed to an agonizing pace. Skylar suffocated. He longed to be free of the walking corpses, to be past the guards. His heart froze for an instant. The sentry on his right had fixed his narrow eyes on Skylar and held them there as Skylar inched his way forward. He tried to stay calm, to stay as zombie-like as he could.

Perhaps he's glaring at the man next to me, he tried to console himself.

But no sooner had he thought so, than the sentry shouted, "Oi! You there. Halt, I say."

Skylar froze mid-step. The mute bodies around him did likewise, looking about with utter confusion, terror filling their red-rimmed eyes. The sentry stepped out from his post and forced his way through the throng, pushing over those in his way like they were no more than dried reeds. Not knowing what to do, Skylar stood where he was, expecting at any second to either be shoved aside or arrested.

The man beside him fell to the ground with a piteous moan. The sentry advanced and took Skylar by the arm, spinning him so that he faced the sentry's grimy face.

"You don't look like you're from around here," he said, disdain edging his voice. "Who are you? What's your business? Remove that hood of yours."

The sentry made as if to do it himself. He stopped short. A sudden commotion broke out behind them. Both Skylar and the sentry turned to see what the matter was. Skylar's eyes grew wide. One of the shaggy-haired animals was careening straight toward them, its wooden cart swaying and bouncing wildly in its wake. The crowd had sprung to life, throwing themselves out of the path of the charging beast. With a mere second to react, Skylar dove to the side of the street just as the beast and cart barged through where he and the sentry had stood.

The sentry had also dived to the earth, but was instantly on his feet again, chasing after the runaway cart. Indignant at having nearly been run over, he seemed intent on seeking vengeance on the frightened animal.

Somewhat shakily, Skylar rose to his feet and attempted to clean off some of the mud which now caked his clothes.

"Leave it," whispered a deep voice beside him, as a firm hand took his arm and urged him forward. "Now you'll blend in better. Let us be gone from here. The sentry will likely return soon."

Though he did not look to confirm, he thought he recognized the man's voice as that of Grim's.

The two hastened onwards as best they could while staying hidden among the dissipating crowd. Once they reached a safe distance from Amrahdel, Grim broke off from the road and headed straight toward the woods.

"Did you frighten that animal to distract the sentry?" asked Skylar, when he deemed it safe to speak.

"Perhaps," replied Grim.

"Well, that was quick thinking. I don't know what I would have done."

"He would not have harmed you," said Grim. "His life would have been forfeit."

Skylar did not respond. He didn't know what to say. The forest wall stood a hundred meters in front of them. Grim kept a much swifter pace now.

"Those people in the city," began Skylar. "Where were they going? I've never seen such poverty before."

"They go to work the fields," said Grim, almost sighing as the words left his mouth. "They are the product of our king's greed. Tarus has lain heavy taxes upon all who work the land. This he did through his new governor and under the pretense of sustaining the soldiers meant to protect the people. In reality, those soldiers are nothing more than slave drivers.

"All who cannot pay the heavy taxes have their lands seized from them. Yet they still are forced to work it, driven by ruthless taskmasters. Such is the condition of these poor souls. From morn until eventide, they must toil in fields that were once their own or else be thrown into prison."

"But why don't the people here stand up against the governor? Surely the people of Quoryn see the injustice and cruelty in it."

"Some do, but they are too cowardly to say aught against their king. Others try in vain to deceive themselves that nothing is amiss, that these poor wretches deserve their punishment. Of these, most enjoy worldly wealth. The higher taxes burden the wealthy little and from the misfortunes of the impoverished they glut themselves.

"The corruption does not end there. In the towns and villages, out of scrutiny's eye, the king's soldiers commit all manner of depravity among the village folk: plundering houses, burning farmsteads, assaulting men who seem too haughty, ravishing their wives and daughters."

"Things are not so on Haladras," insisted Skylar. "How can they be so different here? Are we not all under the same king?"

"In time Haladras will be gripped as mercilessly as Quoryn. Unless someone stands against Tarus, the empire will be crushed by the iron fist of tyranny...unless someone, my prince."

Grim's voice died away and the pair stepped into the shroud of the forest.