"You needn't be afraid," said a voice that lacked any hint of malice. It almost sounded kind. No one else was in the room. Could it have come from Morvath? "I have no desire to harm you," it went on.

The cloaked form of Morvath drew a step closer to Skylar, moving with that same eerie stillness. He paused.

"Calm yourself," he said, soothingly. "I am a friend."

Then he slowly drew back the hood from over his face, and Skylar nearly gasped. How hideous and grotesque a creature Skylar imagined Morvath would be: scarcely human in appearance; with shriveled, gnarled skin, the color of spoiled milk; eyes that burned red with hatred; teeth pointed like fangs; and a nose like an eagle's beak—long and sharp.

No. This was an ordinary-looking man, as frightening to behold as an infant.

Could this be Morvath? Skylar wondered. Perhaps he was some other chief minister to the king. His heart took courage at the prospect. That hope, however, almost instantly died. Who else could it be? Who else could have produced that coldness in his bones? Who else commanded such power and could make a great lord like Denovyn uneasy? There was no doubt. This man was Morvath.

He appeared to be the same age as Lasseter or Krom, with noticeable sprigs of gray mixed with clay-colored hair around the ears. The skin of his face, marred by few wrinkles, was as pale as a corpse's. It blended well with his thin, colorless lips.

Morvath smiled. Not a mirthless smile filled with hatred, but one that—for an instant—drew Skylar in.

"I've been searching a long time for you," said Morvath, as a father might say to a long-lost son. "You've gone to great lengths to evade me. You're a long way from Haladras, Prince Korbyn."

Skylar contemplated playing dumb, acting as if he didn't know who Morvath was talking about. Somehow he knew that it would be useless. Morvath would know he was lying.

"You must forgive my appearance," continued the chief minister. "I'm cursed with poor skin—hypersensitivity to light. For our interview, however, I can bear the exposure.

"You've been told much about me, I'm sure," he went on, clasping his hands behind his back and turning casually toward a painting of Denovyn hanging on the wall. "The king's nefarious advisor? A wicked puppet-master, perhaps? Plotter in the death of Athylian, your father? I've heard them all, Korbyn."

Turning abruptly, he fixed Skylar squarely in the eyes.

"Do I look like such a villain to you?"

The question was so frank and earnest, Skylar was taken aback. He considered it a moment, then answered hesitantly, but truthfully, "No...no you don't."

Morvath smiled faintly and nodded, as if to say thank you.

"I understand your confusion, Korbyn. Those men who have been guarding you from me are, doubtless, honorable men. But even honorable men may be deceived. Knowing who to trust is not always as simple as it seems. A man may get an idea and convince himself of its veracity. He feels in his heart that it is right. And he'll let the entire universe be destroyed if it means defending that one belief."

Morvath took another step closer to Skylar, holding out his hands like a man who has said all that needs to be said.

"You see for yourself that I am not what they accuse me of being. I am not your enemy. I wish only to help you."

He took another step closer. Skylar's emotions raced.

"I can take you away from this nightmare. No more running. No more hiding. No more fear of some imaginary foe. Return with me to Ahlderon. King Tarus shall adopt you. You shall live in the manner fitting to your noble birth. All the comforts the Castle Ahlderon can offer shall be yours."

He stepped closer, his pale blue eyes staring intently into Skylar's, hypnotizing him. Comforts and status and honor Skylar could live without. But his mother...poverty was all she'd ever known. With his wealth, he could help her. She would never have to work again.

What was the right answer?

With one word—a nod, even—he could end all of it. He'd never asked for any of it. Never had he wished to be prince, to be king. For Grim's sake he would not shirk it. If he went with Morvath, he would be prince, and eventually king. No more fighting. No more death...the word echoed in his mind. Death...Grim...

A sudden blazing hot anger consumed his insides.

"You may try to fool me with your smooth talking," said Skylar, his words coming forcefully restrained through his teeth. "But I know what you are. A murderer."

"Murderer!" cried Morvath, taking a step back and putting a hand to his chest. "How have I earned such an abhorrent title? You would be wise not to judge a man without evidence, Korbyn."

"Grim is dead because of you," blurted out Skylar. "If you hadn't sent your men after him, he would still be alive."

Morvath bowed his head and shook it solemnly, completely unaffected by Skylar's seething anger.

"That was most lamentable. I still grieve over that. I never wished such to happen. I only hoped to find you. I can understand why you blame me. But let me remind you, I lost two loyal servants that day."

"You lie," said Skylar icily. "You knew Grim would never let me go without a fight. You ordered Lothor and Gyle to use whatever means to get me."

"Then perhaps you should blame Grim," retorted Morvath. "He was a traitor in the empire."

"No!" shouted Skylar. "Grim was the best man I ever met. He was no traitor."

"I've no question," replied Morvath, "as to his character. Evidently, he was willing to die to defend you. No charlatan or coward would have done likewise. The fact remains, however, that he sought to hide you from the empire. And to what end? To overthrow Tarus at the cost of, perhaps, countless lives?"

Skylar had cooled his anger during Morvath's speech. Now he felt better able to think, to reason.

"If I am the rightful heir to the throne, then wouldn't Tarus and anyone who supports him be traitors? You say Tarus will adopt me. I do not need his adoption. The throne is mine by right."

Neither Morvath's gaze nor his voice faltered.

"Tarus is the crowned King of Ahlderon. It is not such a simple matter to replace the reigning monarch of an entire empire. Had you been discovered alive after your father's death, the situation would be different. Being too young to assume the role of king, Tarus or some other would have been appointed regent until you could be crowned on your eighteenth birthday. Alas, such was not our good fortune."

"You admit, then, that you would oppose me if I tried to take the throne?"

"I," replied Morvath with great dignity, "will follow my king. I am his servant."

"You mean, you will advise him to fight against me and anyone who supports me."

"I have no desire for any more bloodshed. I wish for you to accept my offer. Come with me to Ahlderon."

The chief minister spoke with such sincerity and reason that Skylar's own convictions began to diminish. Could Lasseter, Krom, Endrick...Grim...could they all have been wrong about Morvath? No, they couldn't be. Could they?

Suddenly he remembered the wretched state of the people on Quoryn, and the fear that had stifled the streets of Dura Cragis. This was Morvath's doing.

"I've been to Quoryn. I've seen how your new governor oppresses the people; how the soldiers destroy villages and accost innocent girls in the streets. If this is your vision for the empire, I want nothing to do with it.

Morvath shook his head sympathetically.

"Yes, a few reports of ill conduct among the soldiers have trickled back to me. I condone none of it. Nor does his Majesty, I assure you."

"Then why doesn't he stop it?"

"Easier said than done, my boy. Many of the soldiers are new. They lack the proper discipline of seasoned soldiers. It will come in time. You have my promise of that.

"As to governor Dungrad oppressing the people, you have not seen the matter clearly. The king has a great vision for the empire...for his people. He envisions a kingdom where corruption is rooted up; where inequality is banished; and poverty abolished. That is the future of our empire, Skylar. But the only way it can come to fruition is through increased structure of our government. Lord Braxton and Lord Orphlyus, as well as all the other lords of our empire, possess too much discretionary power within their own realms. The king cannot fully help his people without more direct control over all the affairs of the kingdom.

"Imagine it, Korbyn! The empire shall own all property, redistributed equally among all the people. All shall have jobs, food, and clothing. No man shall be wealthier than another. Crime and corruption shall be dealt with swiftly and efficiently. That's not oppression, my boy. That's freedom from the oppression of greed and strife. Freedom from worry over providing for one's family. Freedom from those who take advantage of others for their own gain. Imagine it!"

Morvath's face was glowing, his eyes on fire. Imperceptibly, he had moved closer to Skylar. Standing before him thus, Morvath looked ten feet tall and as mighty as a war captain arrayed for battle.

Skylar couldn't help but feel awe toward this man, whom he'd been taught to fear. Though one part of him felt uneasy with Morvath's plan, the other felt intrigued by it. It didn't sound evil. It sounded...almost...good. Inequality banished? The sentiment rang true in his mind. Perhaps Lasseter truly had been wrong. Freedom? Morvath, too, spoke of freedom.

Who was right, then? How could he know? Surely the quest for truth was not meant to be so difficult. Why should he have to decide? His thoughts felt heavy and muddled.

Again, the memory of Grim came into his mind. He knew what Grim would have chosen. But, then, Grim was not the sort of man who needed governing. The idea struck him: if all men were like Grim—honorable, selfless, devoted, true—would there be a need for such strict governing—or any governing? Men like Grim do the right thing regardless of personal injury, because that's who they are—not because anyone's forcing them to do it. No amount of laws or enforcement of those laws could ever produce a man like Grim. Beasts of burden may be forced into obedience, but they are still only beasts. Is a man forced into equality and goodness any better?

Few, if any, men were like Grim though. Ordinary men—most men—need governing. Was Morvath's way the best for all?

At last, Skylar made his decision. He didn't know if it was the right answer. He couldn't know. Unlike a mathematical calculation, there was no way of verifying his answer. Only time would tell, perhaps, if he chose aright. How many countless lives would be affected, bruised and damaged, before he knew the truth of it? Everything inside him wanted to believe Morvath, to abandon his quest. Reason told him he ought to. His tired feet and weary body told him he ought to. He opened his mouth to speak. And even as he did so, the words stuck on his tongue, as if the words knew he had chosen incorrectly.

"I cannot join your cause," he stammered out. "I cannot support this vision for the empire. I will not have it. I will fight against it."

Even as he uttered the words, Skylar could scarcely believe his own boldness. But giving voice to his decision solidified it in his heart.

Morvath nodded and smiled. But it was a cold, malevolent smile.

"I'm grieved to hear that, Korbyn. I could have helped you become a powerful ruler one day."

"I don't care about having power, Morvath."

"Perhaps not yet, but all men have an urge for it. They can't help it; it's in their nature.

"By the way," he added, sounding unnervingly casual, "word has reached the king's ears of some civil unrest—sedition even—on your own home planet of Haladras. I had hoped you might be at my side to help resolve the matter. Diplomatic solutions are always preferable to military intervention. Innocent lives are often lost when the latter is resorted to."

"Stay away from Haladras!" shouted Skylar. "The only thing wrong there is the empire stealing food out its people's mouths."

Morvath only chuckled, unmoved. He called for the guards, who entered the room promptly.

"See to it that this young man is locked up," he said. "He's threatened myself and the king. He's a traitor to the empire."

The guards seized him by the arms and began dragging him toward the door.

"Dwell on what I've told you, young man," said Morvath, just before Skylar disappeared behind the door. "I'll visit you tomorrow to see if you've reconsidered."

In a last effort of defiance, Skylar cried out, "Never!"

The great carved doors slammed shut.

The guards moved Skylar swiftly down a side corridor. Adrenalin coursing through his bloodstream, Skylar contemplated attempting an escape. He soon gave up that idea. The guards both carried large blasters.

So much for Denovyn protecting me, thought Skylar bitterly. He wondered where Endrick and Lasseter had gone to. Would they even know what became of him? The guards led him outside. Though the morning had grown brighter, the air was still cold, and he felt as though he were still in Morvath's presence. It took Skylar a moment to realize that they were not outside the capital building, but in one of its courtyards.

There was no sign of anyone around. The only sound was their own footsteps on the cobbled pavement and the click and rattle of the guards' armor. Across the courtyard, a squat, window-less building sat brooding like a storm cloud. High stone walls with solid iron gates rose on their left and right. Skylar was hemmed in on all sides. A few armored transports were parked by the south wall.

Fearful that his chance of escape would vanish once they reached the dark building ahead, Skylar taxed his brain for a plan. Instinctively, his right hand reached for his jetwing, which still hung at it side beneath the cloak he wore. Flying was his only chance of getting away. But how could he divert the guards long enough to get off the ground?

He had little time to think before a shout, followed by a crash from behind, made him jump in alarm. Skylar swirled around just in time to see the two guards crumple to the ground with a groan.

"Knocking my own guards senseless to rescue a prisoner," said Denovyn, as he tossed a steel cudgel to the ground and looked down at the guards. "What is the empire coming to?"

Endrick stood beside the distressed lord, likewise wielding a cudgel.

"They'll thank you one day," said Endrick wryly. "That is, if they ever forgive you. Perhaps it's better you never tell them."

"Where did—" began Skylar, but the roar of a transport coming to life cut him off. He turned to find one of the armored transports coming to a stop just in front of them, the cloaked figure of Lasseter at the controls. The rear hatch of the transport swung open, and Endrick urged Skylar inside. Denovyn came behind and stood at the hatch.

"Good luck, Prince Korbyn," he said, "I shall keep your escape secret from the king's demon as long as possible. But, by all means, make with haste to the port. You shall have my own ship, the Star Hawk at your disposal. Now go! I pray I shall have a chance to serve you as my king one day."

With that, Lord Denovyn closed the hatch and Skylar felt the transport lurch forward, accelerating rapidly as it crashed through the courtyard gates and careened into the streets of Arsolon.

Skylar sat back, and rested his head against the transport's interior, his heart beating fast with the excitement of their escape.

"Well, well, we meet again, Skylar. Thanks to Morvath, you were almost rid of me."

Skylar jerked his head, startled by the familiar voice that undoubtedly did not belong to Endrick.