* * * * *
Graham was hoping—praying that he would not be too late. He had spent hours tracking them, following the footsteps. He was possessed. Blind to everything else. Even as the land around him began to change, the soft grass turning into hard mountains, he paid little attention. If they were still traveling, his task would be much easier. Those chances were slim at best, but it was still possible. Kaldus was not meant as a holding cell, it wasn’t built for prisoners—at least not criminals. It was strictly meant as a sanctuary. Nothing more than a massive stone shield simply used to protect its leader from the world.
If luck prevailed—or even existed—they were moving beyond Kaldus and on to the heart of Idimus’ kingdom: Roane. It was where Gerin made his home—as well as his army’s—tucked well beyond Kaldus, perhaps a day or so out; it was better suited to hold prisoners of such a high caliber. There an entire army could guard them, rather than fifty soldiers, a Captain, a Minotaur and a twisted spell caster. If they had gone to Roane, he could have closed the gap; caught the captors before they arrived. From the tracks, fifteen to twenty soldiers were escorting them, but he would much rather attack them out in the open.
It was only when he saw the footprints heading towards, rather than trailing off, from Kaldus did his fears come to life.
He stopped, long before the castle came into view, before anyone in it could spot him. Samsun approached behind him, a dreaded tone in his whispering voice, “So you were right that something happened to them.” Graham could only nod, wishing against everything that he wasn’t.
“Any ideas?”
Graham’s instincts were to charge in, uncaring of himself or what he would have to go through to get her back. Only that he did. But his mind told him that what his heart ordered was foolish, and he dismissed the rash scheme. He then took a moment, thought long and hard for, shifting his eyes from the tower, to the sky, the moat, and then finally to Sam. Then, almost as if all his problems had been solved, a slight grin grew on his face, “I have one, but I’m almost assured you won’t like it.”
Through Deception Shall They Be Saved
Sam grunted, “This is never going to work.”
“It will, now hold still,” Graham moved around Samsun so swiftly the larger man could barely tell what he was doing; but he was sure that this wasn’t the best of ideas.
“We just have to make it across the moat, after that it should be easy.”
Sam merely snorted, wondering how he got himself into these things.
They had backtracked slightly, returning to the edge of the plains—where they had access to more resources than in the black, desolate land around Kaldus.
Graham spent nearly an hour on Samsun trying to finish so they could return before the day came full on. If they didn’t make it in time his plan wouldn’t work. He broke off two branches from a nearby tree, wrapped them with twine and tied them so tight to the larger man’s head they stuck straight out and nearly cut off his circulation. He removed his shirt completely and tore his pants, then dumped nearly every drop of water from his flask onto the road and slung each ounce of the mud it created onto Sam’s skin and face. When he was finished, Samsun slightly resembled Drogan…slightly. It was still dark though, and that darkness may play to their advantage.
“Finished,” Graham said, taking one last look at him before holding his hands out, “Now, let me have your robes.”
Sam groaned, almost refusing but he knew if he shook his head two things would happen: one, Graham would be quite unhappy and two, his horns may fall off, making Graham even more angry. So he knelt, not opposing just yet, and reached into his bag while trying to keep his head as straight as possible. He retrieved the robes, the ones he wore when he practiced magick, but held onto them for a moment. “On one condition…” Graham narrowed his eyes as Sam continued, “You tell me why.”
Graham took them, seeming almost agitated, “Why what?”
“Why we’re going to all this trouble. Why after so three-hundred years you decide to fight now. Why…”
Graham cut him short, “You know why.”
Again, Samsun almost shook his head but stopped, “So then why don’t you tell her how you feel? Why don’t you tell her that you lo…”
Graham would not let him finish, “You got your one question.” He tugged the robe over his body in a rush. They were much too big for him, but that was exactly what he wanted. They covered his face completely and concealed his frame, which was much larger than Kalinies’. “Ready?”
Sam nodded, however small, watching Graham tuck a small piece of paper into the pocket of his pants before closing the robes.
“And if this doesn’t work?”
Graham smirked as he walked by, “Then I hope you know how to swim and that you’re not too tired afterwards to fight.” Sam snorted and Graham looked back, ‘Remember, we just have to get across. The tower guards can’t see the door from their perch—it’s too far in. We just need to convince the boatman.” Sam accepted and continued forward, not speaking again until they had made the short trek back to Kaldus, “And what about my mouth?”
Graham realized that the man had a very valid point. “Think your old hands can muster up enough magick to thicken this fog?”
Sam glared, bringing the axe up in front of his face, bowing his head and chanting softly as the jewel between the blades started to glow. With every whisper, the fog around them began to rise, becoming denser, until it hovered just below Graham’s chin. He faced Samsun. All that he could see were eyes upon brown skin and two broken tree branches that looked like horns. “This may actually work. Just keep your head down,” he muttered, checking him one last time. When he was satisfied he could do no more he let out a long, deep breath before pressing on.
When they reached the moat’s edge, Graham felt his heart begin to race. “The moment of decision.” He whispered, focusing on the boatman. Agonizing moments turned into torturous minutes yet he was still unaware of their presence. His eyes tossed back and forth beneath the hood, “Should I signal him?” Graham wondered, but even that he worried would give them away. “How would Kalinies signal?” he started thinking, he didn’t know any magick and Kalinies seemed like the type that wouldn’t just wave. He was deep in thought when a loud, heavy snort came from Samsun and jarred him out of his quandary. Immediately the boatman jumped, faced their direction, and shoved off the shore with haste. “What was that?” Graham whispered, gazing straight ahead.
Samsun shrugged lightly, “Seemed like a good way to get his attention.”
Graham raised his shoulders slightly. “It was…”
Both waited patiently for the boatman, though it didn’t take him long. The man was pushing the raft as hard as he could, as if his very life depended on it. In Idimus’ kingdom, it probably did.
He slammed into the bank with such disregard it almost knocked him right off. He held the stick down to keep the raft steady as the two slowly crept forward, Samsun especially, trying his best not to break the fog and reveal his face. Graham took one soft step onto the raft and placed his attention on the guards in both of the towers. Neither of them moved an inch, or even seemed like they were paying attention, but Graham was far from breathing easy.
Behind him, Samsun stepped hard onto the raft, again letting out a snort and an angry chuff as he approached. Graham twitched, almost chastising him for drawing so much attention, but his antics did just the opposite; the boatman, anxious and fearful, would not even make eye contact with either of them. He only muttered quietly, “Sorry lords, I didn’t see you. I don’t remember you leaving,” he kept his gaze from them, pushing the raft back twice as fast as he had brought it over, even with the heavy weight on it.
Graham tried his best not to chuckle; Sam was a lot smarter than he gave him credit for. He eyed the man, hoping the speed of the raft was not forcing the fog to dissipate from around them. He didn’t worry so much about the boatman now, rather the two guards atop the towers; his attention
given solely to them, watching each survey the land rather than the raft. From there his sight flicked to the door, where two other Kremises were standing guard diligently.
The boat skimmed quickly across the water, but the time seemed as though it was not even passing in Graham’s own head, his eyes twisting nervously between all three possible threats. The more minutes that elapsed, the closer they got to the shore, but the easier it would be for them to be spotted. With no warning, Graham was jarred out of his thought by the rocking of the raft as it tucked its way to the other side. He stepped off quickly and approached the door, well out of view from the two tower guards. And there, everything started to fall apart.
The fog that had shrouded them disappeared long before it got to the door, leaving them no viable option for a sneak attack. Graham crept towards the entrance, but worried the two guards would notice he was twice the size of Kalinies long before he got close.
To make matters worse, the boatman’s anxiety faded, prompting his memory to return.
“Wait.” He gasped.” You didn’t leave!” He shifted to motion the guards, but never made it. Graham jerked around to cut him off, but a massive, muddy hand clamped over his mouth, and a huge muscular arm wrapped fully around his torso.
The two door guards saw the struggle and reacted. The one closest to Graham stalked forward towards Sam, the other Kremis looked up as though it would alert the tower.
Graham sidestepped towards to the wall to draw away from the tower’s view. Mid-stride he yanked the cloak of his body then reached behind his back to draw both sword and dagger—so quickly it all happened before his foot hit the ground.
The close guard lunged at Graham, sword tip aimed at his chest.
His left sword hand flicked down in an arc and deflected the blow away. The blade went wide, and as the guard staggered forward Graham stepped up and to the right, to get his body around the oncoming creature.
The second guard had his head raised, his mouth open and was one breath away from screeching to the arches above him.
Yet one breath was too fatal a time frame for a swordsman as fast as Graham. While his left hand pushed the first guard down, his right set out in one fluid motion—from reaching behind his back, circling around and extending out in front of him. His fingers stretched, his grip released and the dagger spun around, straight into the exposed throat of the further guard before his voice could be used.
The closest made the untrained mistake of watching the exchange and in that second it took for the blade to cross, Graham took two paces, drove his shoulder into the already tripping guard and helped him finish his descent. The moment his back hit, his front was struck with a searing pain in the chest, Graham pinning him to the ground with his long sword. The guard went to scream but the life wavered out of his eyes before anything came to the surface.
Silence.
Graham allowed a heartbeat to pass, and then two before he craned his neck up. “Do you think they heard us?”
Sam took a moment’s pause. “No. They would have started firing if they had. Still,” he stated, dragging the body of the unconscious boatman to the wall “best to be safe.
Graham followed Samsun’s lead, putting the guard’s body next to the other. “So, I guess it worked” he muttered as Sam tugged the horns from his head and wiped his face as best he could.
As Samsun drew closer, Grahamas bent to pick up and return the borrowed robes. From there, they both headed to the door. The larger man tugged on the heavy metal handle several time before he gave up, “Barricaded. Any more ideas?”
Graham pushed around him, examining the wood door and its hinges.
“What are you going to do?” Sam questioned, watching Graham survey the door.
“Knock.” Graham uttered.
Sam was tempted to stop him but Graham simply winked, tapping lightly up and down along the door until he hit an area that didn’t sound hollow. Sam watched curiously as Graham pulled his sword back out and pushed the tip between two boards in the door about three inches from where he knocked. He slid one of his feet back, keeping the other forward, “This is going to ruin the blade.” He grunted and put all of his weight forward. Graham pushed and strained but nothing happened.
Samsun cleared his throat, then put a massive hand on Graham’s shoulder to cast him gently aside. Once he was clear, the larger man wrapped both hands around the handle and—with seeming ease—shoved it through the door. The crack and screech produced caused both to wince, and Samsun looked at Graham with a curious expression. “Now what?”
In the same fashion Sam had earlier, Graham put his hand on the others shoulder and escorted him out of the way. With a wink, he put both hands on the top of the handle and shoved down. The handle lowered as the blade on the other side rose, and each heard the barricade pop out of its slots and resonate a hollow thud on the other side.
Sam took another minute, “How do you know there isn’t anyone on the other side?”
Graham shook his head, “I don’t. I figure they would have opened the door and stopped us if there were.”
With a nudge, the door slid open. Satisfied, Graham pulled it shut and ripped his sword out. Sword still in hand, he pressed it back—this time long enough to get through. “Of course, they could have seen that and immediately left to alert the other guards,” Graham said with a shrug and casual grin, but Samsun was unable to see, causing a little part of him to panic.
“And what if they have?!” Samsun whispered harshly, racing through the door and barricading it behind them.
“Nearly every guard that occupies Kaldus is protecting Idimus’ tower. The front, the staircase; all are strewn about making it almost impossible to reach only him. The castle’s entrance usually remains unwatched, but it’s a maze of twisting corridors and hallways that go nowhere.” Graham began slowly creeping down the first tunnel, sword drawn and eyes straight ahead, “There’s very few actual rooms. The holding cell is in the basement and guards’ quarters are where we came in. But the majority of it is empty rooms and dead ends.”
“Prepared for this have we?” he teased.
“Everyday Samsun,” he muttered in response, creeping forward. Graham halted at the end of the corridor leading to the larger room, checking each side before moving on.
“Know how to get there?” Graham shook his head. “So then how are we going to find them?”
Graham didn’t answer, at least not right away; he just continued to the second tunnel. When he reached the end and was faced with three decisions, he tugged a tiny round object from his pocket, stepping in front of the first tunnel and kneeling down. “Basement,” was all that he revealed, and when the marble started to roll slowly he picked it up, placing it on the ground in front of each of the other doorways. Both times it remained stationary. So Graham chose the first, “If it goes down, it’s the tunnel that we want.”
Onward they went and every corridor they came across, he crouched and placed the marble in front of it, checking to make sure that it was sloping, even a little. Then he would test the others to make sure they didn’t. It was methodical; it was lengthy, especially when there were five—even six—options in front of him. But compared to the time it would have taken to check every one, this was the simplest thing he could think of. When Graham and Samsun came to the final corridor—the last piece of the puzzle—they found that all three tunnels descended and a flaw in the plan surfaced.
“Now what?” Sam bade as Graham tucked the marble back into his pocket.
“I really wish you would stop asking me that,” Graham growled. He took a step back, flicking his eyes back and forth over each archway, trying to form a plan. “These tunnels could go on for a mile,” he muttered, more to himself than his companion. Graham was ready to start at the beginning and headed towards the first arch, but stopped and turned towards the second.
“What? What is it?” Sam queried, and Graham held a finger up to quiet him.
Samsun couldn’t hear it, but Graham
had better ears than him, and he could discern a beautiful voice, singing and humming, drifting down the hall. Again acting as though he was possessed, Graham started walking down the hall, finger still raised.
As they progressed, the singing got louder—even to the point where Sam could hear it. “Is that…Is that El?”
Graham nodded as he continued on, “Amazing, isn’t she?”
“…Aye,” Sam followed, acting as if he, too, was in a trance.
The light from the dungeon began leaking into the cavern as Graham stalked up to the doorway, trying to get a view of the room without actually entering. He pressed hard against the right side until the first Kremis crossed by him. Sam was on the left, eyeing the prisoners before turning his view to Graham. The lighter man motioned to himself then to the guards; Samsun nodded that he understood. Graham then pointed to Sam, his eyes, then finally behind himself towards the prisoners. Again, a nod.
Graham drew both of his blades from their sheaths, flicked his head and charged in. Sam followed, going in the opposite direction. The Kremises turned—not yet on their guard—as they thought it was Rhimaldez. That allowed Graham to get a jump on one, burying his blade in its stomach and tugging it out quickly as the other four approached him. Graham was far too quick though, and he was able to get a second launch from his sword while they were still a good distance away.
This strike, however, didn’t enter a guard but rather went behind one. Graham caught the edge of the key ring that hung on the wall, clipping it so that it tumbled on to the flat side of his blade. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the keys sailing across the room, right into the waiting hand of Samsun, who tried several until he found the one that would unlock the door.
The four Kremises slowed, drew their swords and were now making their way around Graham. Four simple guards would be no challenge for the skilled warrior, but he worried that one may get away from him and out the door. Then, he would have fifty more to deal with. One advanced on him, then another. The other two, much to his dismay, headed for Samsun. The door was open, but he had yet to free anyone from their binds. “Sam, watch your back!” yelled Graham, raising his left hand with his knuckles towards his face as he blocked a blade that came down at his chest. His right hand came up to catch another in the guard of his dagger, turning his wrist and flinging it to the side.
The other two guards warily approached Samsun, who now turned his back to El and the group. The large man held his axe, edge towards the ground with the flat side facing the two soldiers in an attempt to hold them at bay. “Graham, we’ve got a problem,” he hollered to the man, who was batting and twisting both swords away, eagerly awaiting an opening. “I found the key to the door, but none for the handcuffs.”
“Buy some time and release Elryia, she’ll free the rest,” was the response that he got.
They were all tucked behind Sam and crammed in the cage, “Buy time…” he muttered as he began to get an idea.
The two guards that battled with Graham had taken a more unified approach than when the fight first began. Each chopped inwards, hoping to catch Graham in the mid-section. He parried down, arcing his weapons towards the ground. His arms pushed out from the inside and he caught both blades and deflected them. The guards weapons were turned away and sent wide, but both brought them up and around Grahams hanging arms to plunge directly at his chest.
Samsun took advantage of the other’s cautious approach and left his axe idle, waiting patiently for them to get closer. They jerked, but Sam still waited. At the last moment, when each guard had raised their weapon to strike, he shoved his arms forward forcefully. One guard took the blow on his chest from the face of the axe while the other took it from Samsun’s fist and both were hurled against the bars with incredible force.
The other two tried to focus, but the moment they heard their fellow soldiers shriek, their attention was drawn away, if only for a second. But it was long enough for Graham to end it. As his blades pointed towards the ground and the guard’s aimed at his chest, he spun his wrists up to whirl his arsenal at a ninety-degree angle, catching the oncoming outer edges of the two swords before him. This time however, the weapons in front of his chest fanned upwards towards the ceiling rather than the ground. With one final move Graham turned his wrists down halfway from his previous motion, his weapons following suit as he pushed his arms forward and both blades found their way into the guards’ chests. Before either of his enemies hit the ground he moved and was on the two Samsun had shoved. One of the guards was unconscious and the other was lying there, harmless, a blade now pressed to its neck—courtesy of Graham.
With the guard secure his eyes turned towards Elryia, holding her cuffed hands towards Samsun while he tried to figure out how to free her. “Samsun, watch the door,” Graham ordered eyes narrowed at the Kremis before him, “and the guard.”
Nodding, Sam left the cage and took a hold of the sword as Graham moved swiftly towards the holding cell. Though all eyes—some suspicious—were on him, he turned a soft gaze towards Elryia. “Are you well?” he asked, taking her hands gently in his. She assured him with a look mixed of relief and compassion, gratefulness and love washed over her young face. “Are you sure?” he questioned again, reaching up and brushing the hair out of her face. She leaned into the hand and turned her head to the side. For a moment he held, but took her face in both palms and looked her straight in the eyes, “I’m sorry…”
Elryia disagreed immediately and raised her hands to one of his, “No Graham, it wasn’t your fault. I…”
She was interrupted by the anxious, eager Samsun, “I hate to be rude but we’re not exactly guests here!” He barked, still clutching the sword pinned against the guard’s neck.
“Hold still,” Graham muttered as he snapped back to reality and tugged an object from his pocket. He flipped Elryia’s wrists towards the ceiling and with a small, thin wire began picking the lock. A blink later the runic handcuffs clunked to the floor and he reached up to her neck, his fingers brushing her skin. Her gaze expanded and she swallowed hard; Graham didn’t seem to notice. It was only another moment before she was completely free.
He looked along the line of companions, knowing they didn’t have time to pick all the locks but would need all the hands they could get. Elryia read his expression and almost his mind “Graham, I’ll help.” She shifted to the others and Lanyan stuck his hands out at Graham, eyeing him but not saying a word. No one did. They wanted to get out of there, he was helping them do that and Elryia seemed to trust him. That was all they needed to know.
Graham had freed Lanyan and moved on to Jeralyle while Elryia worked on Gort, holding the chain between the manacles within her fingers. She closed her eyes and began chanting “Nayasta Sadama” softly, a cold crept out her palm and into the chain. Frost splintered and crawled across the steel from the opening on either end of her palm. Elryia released Gort’s chain and took Gnert’s, “Pull your hands apart Gort,” she said as the same frost began flowing over Gnert’s chain. Gort gave a tug and the sound of glass shattering filled the room. Once hardened metal now became fragile crumbling links that snowed onto the floor. His hands were still cuffed, but at least he could wield his arms freely. “It will do,” she informed Graham, who had moved on to Carsis. She gave Gnert a reassuring look as she squeezed the frozen chains, turning them to dust in her fingertips. Between Elryia and Graham everyone was free in less than two minutes, and were filing out of the cell.
Graham, tucking the lock pick back in his pocket, moved towards Samsun and took his sword back. “You lead Samsun. When you get to the first hallway wait for me. I need to take care of something.” The man accepted, not quite understanding but doing what he was asked, leading the newly freed companions down the hallway.
Now the last in the room, Graham forced the sword into the guard’s neck and glared, “Stand up.” The Kremis obeyed and Graham walked him around slowly, moving the blade from his throat to his back. He forced the creature to turn towards th
e cell and gave him a light push. “In,” he ordered.. The Kremis—again—obeyed, moving all the way to the back of the cage alone. But he was soon to have company as Graham threw the other guards, dead or unconscious, in with him. With the key still stuck in the hole, he slammed the door, locked it, then broke the key off, tossing the ring to the corner of the room.
One hand tucked his sword away, the other dug in his pocket. With defiance, he pulled out a piece of paper—a sealed note with the King’s name on the front and tossed it on top of the bodies, “When your King comes to get you out, make sure he reads that.” And with that, Graham left, racing down the hallway to join the others.
It was much quicker getting back up than it was coming down. Graham made it a point to remember exactly how they had gotten down here in order to allow a quick escape. Graham was leading, followed by Elryia, then Lanyan, Jeralyle, Carsis, Merial, Gort, and Gnert. Samsun was well behind them due to his size, leaving a huge gap. He knew the way, but his pace decreased even further when he saw a small, frail black figure twist its way out of the shadows and start stalking the last in line.
The team poured out of the tunnel and into the guard’s chambers. Graham was about to burst through the archway but Elryia, with surprising strength, yanked him back. “Watch it Graham!” she barked. The instant she pulled him away, the entire doorway flared and a massive wall of fire shimmered violently, cascading down from the top like a molten waterfall—evaporating once it hit the ground.
“How did you…” Graham trailed off, focused on the flames.
“I…I felt it,” Elryia replied, with more of a question in her voice than Graham had in his. Her eyes sharpened and she whipped her head, then her whole body towards the door they had just left. Blonde hair swung and tossed about as she moved. Those blue eyes, usually warm and inviting, now turned hard and cold. The fire wasn’t a trap; it was a spell. Now Elryia locked on the caster, who was making his way out of the shadows.
A thin, pale hand was the first thing to drift out, the fingers upon it dancing wildly. Inch by inch more of him surfaced from the darkness, though his heart bathed in it. His body crept, robes dragging along the ground hiding his feet as they hovered inches above the floor. His pale hand continued to flicker, his arm twisting in an obscure manner, head turned awkwardly—almost horizontal to the side. One arm raised as one dropped, then reversed, each drifting up and down in a rhythmic motion like silk in the wind. His body swayed strangely, almost hypnotically as the air around them began to grow warm, then unbearably hot.
Graham tucked close to Elryia and gripped the back of her arm, whispering harshly “El, end this. Only you can, “ he pulled away to give her room, “only you should.”
Her hand fell, fingers twitched. The cold grew in her palm, but the confidence wasn’t in her eyes. It wasn’t in her heart. She froze. Somewhere between her capture, her struggle and in being helpless she had lost faith in herself. She no longer believed that she could beat him. Her hatred for him existed, stronger than ever, but now she lacked the conviction.
Whatever Kalinies was casting, it was dangerous. Graham almost asked her again, but when he looked at her he could see the doubt billowing from her eyes, the questioning look blazing across her face. So he bit his tongue and reached out, twisting his fingers within hers and squeezing her hand, preparing to endure the spell with her.
Graham instinctively stepped in front of Elryia and prepared to close his eyes to shield them from the impending flash when Kalinies stopped moving. Though if he had he would have missed Kalinies drop to the ground—unconscious. Samsun walked up behind him, the handle of his axe sticking out; Sam raised the axe preparing to strike again, this time with the lethal end.
“Samsun, no.” Graham said, sliding his hand into Elryia’s. “Leave him. His time will come, but not today. We’re safe.”
“Not…quite…yet.” Behind them, from the other tunnel, came a voice.
Graham groaned and released El’s hand. “What now?” he muttered, turning and half-expecting to come face-to-face with Drogan. But it was Perticus’ other successful creation, Rhimaldez.
“Damn,“ Graham muttered, turning to those he had just rescued. “Everyone stay behind me. Sam, make sure that no one comes through the other end.” Graham pulled his sword from its sheath and took a deep breath. Coming here, this was one fight he wanted to avoid at all costs.
Rhimaldez smiled slightly and removed the spear from his back. The handle was black with gold runic symbols etched all the way to the end, which was fitted with a small, golden orb. The blade itself was black like the handle, with incredibly large, serrated edges—eight in total. And finally, a long golden ribbon was tied at the bottom of the head, the very end of it long enough to brush against the stone floor.
It glinted once, a long searing shine that ran down the entire weapon from head to end, and Graham could not take his eyes off it. Unlike other weapons, this one he knew. “Wind Chaser…” he whispered—part in awe, part regret.
“So you’ve heard of it…” Rhimaldez replied, holding it in front of himself, not quite ready to use it.
Graham blinked. He heard of it. Nearly every warrior, alive or dead, had. Exact details on it were sketchy, and the blade held as many rumors about its origins as it did sharp edges. It was forged long before Idimus rule and some said even prior to the dozens of Kings that he reigned after. Though it could never be proven, it was considered that Wind Chaser was one of the weapons made during the primary war fought for control of their world—the spear being on the side of light. Others argued that it existed even before that, and it was simply found by the first humans to walk the land. Though riddled with mystery, it was known that the weapon held great power. When used, it became an extension of the person who wielded it and despite their skill each one became a master. It was much lighter than steel should be, much sharper than almost any weapon forged and few ever even saw it move it was so fast.
A twinge of curiosity surfaced in Graham, wondering for a brief moment where Rhimaldez found such an incredible weapon. But the query was fleeting. Graham was more concerned with keeping the weapon out of his torso than where it came from.
Before this, Rhimaldez was dangerous. Graham knew he was fast—perhaps even as fast as Gerin—and with such a legendary weapon aiding him, he would be twice as deadly.
But deep down, that was not what made Graham leery about facing him—what would have made him avoid this fight if he had any choice.
Had it been Drogan, as Graham first thought, it would have been easy for him—would have had no qualms about ending his life here and now. Prior to his change, Drogan was a tax collector and a very violent enforcer for Idimus. He brought pain and misery to anyone he came in contact with, and after years of service he volunteered for Perticus’ experiments to gain power and status. The change allowed him to invoke even more fear from his victims, and it turned his body into a deadly weapon—one he used to end innocent lives. Person or creature, Graham would have been happy to rid the world of his presence.
Graham studied Rhimaldez as well and knew he was the furthest thing from violent. Rhimaldez was a farmer, with a wife and a child. One who did nothing wrong except defend his land and his family when a group of soldiers got bored and hungry. They used Rhimaldez’ farm as a source of entertainment and food, and he killed them to protect his loved ones. Yet in the eyes of the King, killing soldiers was inexcusable, even if they were in the wrong. When Rhimaldez was captured, instead of an immediate execution, he was handed over to Perticus first. People often died from his experiments, and Idimus saw it as a fitting punishment. Rhimaldez, however, lived and became a very balanced, very dangerous creature. After years of torture and intimidation, Rhimaldez eventually became loyal only to the King and had served him ever since.
Regardless, he was still a human—one with a family and Graham would not kill him. He refused to. He would have to hold back, and since he was certain that Rhimaldez would not share the same sentiment, that
made this situation far worse.
He, now, didn’t see any other choice. There was only one way out and Rhimaldez was standing in front of it, and any moment a guard may come out of the door or down the hall and see the situation, alerting the others. Graham didn’t have the time to establish an alternative. He would have to end this, with as little violence as possible.
He started by pressing forward, trying to form a plan—one that would leave them both unharmed. Rhimaldez wrapped his fingers tightly around the spear, the wood squeaking beneath his grip. His right hand released, left still holding Wind Chaser, extending it out and poking towards Graham’s right shoulder.
Graham tugged it back and down, the tip of the spear grazing by. Barely, however, and the blade sliced into the fabric of his shirt. Apparently the Captain wasn’t going to give him any time to think about it. Rhimaldez, as though taunting him, tapped him on the shoulder with the head of the spear and smiled.
His anger spiked. He still wasn’t going to kill him but was now finding it easier to not have such a conscience about hurting him. Graham raised his hand, using the tips of his fingers to push the spear away, lunging forward with his left hand—the sword striking as well—towards Rhimaldez’s ribcage. The jab was slow and with little force, meant more to distract than to hurt him.
Rhimaldez used the momentum of his spear shoving to the right to bring it back into both hands, raising them up and shoving the horizontal pole against the underside of the blade, deflecting it into the air. Once up, Rhimaldez drove the pole forward, trying to shove it into Graham’s torso, but Graham dropped his hand and forced his palm up against the pole—slowing the advance.
Though the opportunity presented itself Graham didn’t strike again. He was in survival mode. Instead of advancing forward, he stepped back catching Sam and El in the corner of his eye, moving to get out of the way. This had to end quickly. He had no idea if they’d been discovered, and if not how soon it would be until they were.
Rhimaldez pressed this time, using the butt of the pole and aiming for Graham’s ribcage. Graham saw his opportunity, using his right hand to pull the spear to his left side and passed his chest as he stepped to the right. Rhimaldez had put too much force into the blow and lost his footing. Graham moved to the side of him, now lined up with his shoulder as he turned his sword inward raising his hand and bringing the blunt end of the handle down on top of Rhimaldez’s head. Graham had raised the sword and was preparing to do it a second time, but Rhimaldez fell to the ground, laying on the pole of his spear—breathing, but seemingly unconscious. Graham stood shocked for a moment. He didn’t think a light blow like that would have toppled a warrior such as Rhimaldez, seeing as he was cross-bred with an animal that bashed its head into things as a sign of dominance.
The stare lingered for a long moment and his face quirked. It was only when the others began moving again did Graham focus on the task at hand. The others ran right passed him, but Elryia stood by his side. “That was too easy, El. Be on your guard.” He suggested.
He took her hand and was preparing to leave, but she drew him back with a request: “Graham…wait.” He held, watching as she knelt down to Rhimaldez, running her fingers over the small wound on top of his head and muttering an incantation. Light and fire flashed from her fingertips and the small cut sealed, leaving only a tiny amount of blood on his white fur.
Graham locked his fingers in hers again and raced towards the door, neither of them noticing Rhimaldez’s eyes open, nor hearing his soft words as he lay on the ground: “Safe journey Elryia. Go in peace.”
Sam was first and he shoved the door open with both hands, holding it with one and waving them through with the other. Everyone trampled out onto the grass, remaining there for a moment. Graham looked at Samsun who was glancing up at the towers, “And them?” he questioned.
Graham shook his head, not quite sure; then he looked at the raft without a boatman—large enough to hold them all at one time. Graham smiled and turned to Sam, “How long can you hold your breath Samsun?” he grinned.
Sam was almost opposed to the idea, Gort even more so—as dwarves hated the water—but one by one they knelt down and slid into the water, trying to stay as out of view as possible. One of the Kremises spotted them, however, and started screeching to the others. “Hold your breath everyone!” Graham ordered, all of the companions taking a deep breath and swimming under the raft. Sam took the middle, lifting it as best he could as they swam forward, each one in the group making a conscious effort to keep their heads above water but under the raft. The guards fired their bows, and several thunks could be heard on the top of a platform, but not one risked going through it. The onslaught continued until they were halfway out, and Graham knew they didn’t stop firing because of the distance, but rather decided to gather more guards.
It was a long struggle to the other side, when they made it, they crawled out and back onto the land, rushing away out of view and back towards the jagged rocks of Kaldus, eventually—hopefully—into the open scenery of Doren Valley. They were tired and weary, but an hour was spent on a relentless run before they felt safe enough even to take a breath. All others took a moment to rest, except Lanyan who turned his eyes towards Graham—looking skeptical and slightly angry. Samsun and Elryia came to the side of Graham, while the other companions stood behind Lanyan, a few of them wearing his same expression.
“I want to know, right now, who you are.” Lanyan blurted, his voice sounding slightly perturbed. “You were there in Tarnel and I know you were with us the other night, chasing the guards off. And now you’ve risked your life to rescue us again. Who… are you?” Lanyan sounded a bit calmer, but the demanding tone was still present.
Graham looked between Sam and Elryia, then finally towards Lanyan, demonstrating somewhat of a defeat. “I suppose I owe you that.” He commented, knowing eventually this would come. He knew when they were captured and it was up to him to rescue them, the time for secrets had passed. Not because of this, however, but from the moment Graham laid that note in the prison cell for the King.
In A Time Of Darkness Page 17