Terror of the Shadow

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Laban's body fell out of the open cockpit of the bullet craft and onto the hard sand, still too tired to care about getting up and moving out of the deadly light of the sun. The numbness of pure exhaustion still surrounded him. The adrenaline that had surged through his blood had dissipated, and the following crash had hit him hard. His muscles had become as limp and as useless as wet paper.

He heard footsteps scurrying through the sand toward him. They stopped just next to him, and Laban heard three distinct clicks. He opened his eyes and looked up, straight down the barrels of three charged energy-staffs.

"Don't move," one masked man said to Laban. He made a signal to his comrades, and the other two walked up to Laban, grabbed him under his arms and pulled him to his feet. Quickly finding that he couldn't stand, they each slung an arm over their shoulders, carrying his weight between the two of them.

"Thank you..." Laban managed to mumble over his parched tongue.

"Don't thank us yet, traitor," the man said.

Traitor? What was going on? He wasn't a traitor. If anything, he should be treated like their savior. He had just destroyed Ithtar's War'ack army. Ithtar himself was probably bleeding out from his gunshot wound if he wasn't already dead. Even if the bleeding had stopped, there was no way that infection wouldn't overcome him and kill him within days—a week, at the very most. The threat had been eliminated. The Malkuth would not be fighting any war.

These were the thoughts that ran through Laban's mind, at least. The men that had begun to escort him back towards the gates of Ura-chan evidently held a different opinion. They had taken a rope and lashed his arms together very uncomfortably behind his back. The way that he was being dragged along and the feeling of the metal barrel of the leader's energy-staff jabbing into his back made him think he was back in that War'ack cave, wandering towards the pit that was meant to be his tomb.

"I don't know what's going on," Laban protested, trying to wrestle his arms free of the ropes. "You've got the wrong person. I haven't done anything wrong. Just let me go."

"We won't be letting you go," the leader said. "I have my orders to bring you to the Council. You can explain everything to them when we get inside. For now, keep your mouth shut."

Laban squirmed again, hoping the ropes might slip and loosen. A fiery pain went through his body, starting in his back and shooting through his body before dissipating through his legs and into the ground. His muscles spasmed and he dropped to his knees. His captor must have shocked him with his energy-staff.

"Trust me. That wasn't the highest setting," the man said. "Now get up. We've gotta keep moving."

The men pulled Laban back up to his feet. Threatening him with another shock, the man thrust the end his energy-staff into Laban's spine, compelling him to walk forward. Laban had a few choice words that he wanted to say to these people, but this time he held his tongue.

The long walk from the main gate to the Library of the Elders seemed to take hours. Every eye in the crowded streets was on him as he was paraded by, bound like a common criminal. Even though his captors had not removed the mask from Laban's face, he knew by the people's faces and whisperings to their friends that they knew exactly who he was. He had been something of a celebrity in Ura-chan. Now apparently he was an outlaw.

"Thank you, gentlemen, for your service," Nairaiah said, approaching them as they walked up to the Library. "I will take him from here and show him to the Elders."

She greeted them all individually before excusing them. She never once looked directly at Laban. Her voice and demeanor still showed the same placid calmness as they always had, but now there was something thrown over the top of it all, like a thin note of sadness in an otherwise happy song.