Gorgoroth (Haladras #2)

TWENTY-NINE

Rolander stared at the pulsating red dots on the control panel.

Company? What kind of company?

Behind him, he heard Jonobar's footsteps fade away as he sailed out of the control room. From somewhere deep within his soul, Rolander felt an impulse to run away, to flee from Jonobar. In his heart he knew he ought to obey that impulse. Reason, if he could collect himself enough to reason, demanded Jonobar's actions be placed under heavy suspicion. At the same time, a different emotion rose in him, challenging that reason. Compulsion. He felt compelled to follow his tutor. Inexplicably drawn in, as if under spell. He ought to fight the urge. Shouldn't he?

As if of their own volition, his feet set the rest of him moving, following irresolutely after the his tutor.

Jonobar partially retraced their route which they had taken to the control room. Rolander tried to do his best to keep his gaze off the floor, off the bodies. He found he couldn't. Just has he failed to resist the invisible pull of his tutor, so too his eyes could not resist the pull of the dead surrounding his feet. They seemed to beckon to him. To plea for help. He wondered how Jonobar walked through them as though they weren't there.

Soon, they reached the main entrance to the castle. Punching a code into the keypad on the wall next to the double doors, Jonobar stepped back and waited expectantly. After a moment, a profound knocking resounded in the entrance hall, echoing down the castle corridors and shaking the walls. The knocking pounded out a regular rhythm as slowly the doors began to separate.

When finally stopped and the mouth of the doors gaped wide, Jonobar still remained silent and fixed to the same spot, waiting. From without, the cool night breeze came coursing in to rejuvenate the stagnate air of the castle. Rolander shivered. The air felt colder than he expected for this time of year. Outside, the dim lights of the castle's entry hall spilled timidly into the darkness, revealing a few meters out into the bailey. Beyond that, the green glow of phosphorescent lamps exposed a haunting scene. Piles of dead soldiers, all cast in the same sickly green. Beyond them, the open gates of the castle.

Rolander realized what Jonobar had done in the control room. He had disarmed the castle's blaster cannons and defense shield, and raised the castle gates. Even now, through the hazy night air Rolander could make out the shadows of approaching figures. As he watched, the number of shadows grew. Gradually, the light from the lamps painted features onto the shadows. First indistinct, but then growing distinguishable. Fear rooted Rolander to the spot, and a cold sweat began collecting on his forehead. He'd only felt like this once before. On the battlefield of Haladras, where he lost his hand. Instinctively, he reached down and grabbed his right forearm protectively. This only reminded him of the mechanical hand he'd left in his quarters. How he longed to fetch it!

By the time the first wave of soldiers reached the open castle doors, Rolander managed to uproot himself enough to keep from getting plowed under their marching boots. These were not Ahlderion soldiers-none which he knew. Their livery did not bear the imperial crest. It looked like no military uniform he had ever seen before.

Like imperial soldiers, these also wore armor about their upper torso. Instead of white, the armor was a black, which seemed to suck in any light which tried to touch it. Their arms were bare, except for thick red bands about their forearms and thin ones about their biceps. A half helmet, with yellow visor covered their head. Equally as dark as their breastplate, the helmets were adorned with a red circle above the forehead, and a stiff yellow plume jutting out above the right ear . This likely served the double purpose of antenna and embellishment. Hung at either side either side of their hips where hostlers, laden with blasters. Each carried a blaster across his chest, hand at the trigger. Not an attack position, but a ready one.