* * * * *
“Are you sure about Samsun?” Grahamas’ skepticism surfaced, for the first time. Over the year, Graham had noticed subtle changes in his old friend. The Samsun he knew, the real Samsun, was stern and confident; he was as much a leader as Graham had been. They were friends—brothers. Now, Samsun was unsure and questioning. Every detail needed to be revealed, every choice explained. Grahamas felt more like his mentor now.
He had believed, at first, that Samsun had lost his way much like Grahamas once did. Now it seemed as though he sought this information perhaps to relay it to another source, possibly Idimus. But that failed to add up. They had deceived the King on numerous occasions, and Samsun had been with him for nearly all. If he had been revealing information, Grahamas and the others would not have been so successful. They surely would have been ambushed or caught by now. It wasn’t to say that Samsun was not informing anyone, just not Idimus. Again, the worry that someone else was pulling the strings entered into Grahamas’ mind.
“Champion?” Ristalln asked, easing him back to reality. “Did you hear me?” Graham shook his head. “I told you that I was sure.”
With a turn of his head, he looked at the Knight. “How?”
Ristalln, with a genuine wave of sadness, bowed as he spoke, “Because we buried him. Tallvas and I.”
Graham turned down as well, saying a prayer for his fallen comrade. “His death… Was it noble?”
“Aye. It was.”
Grahamas let his head hang for a time, “Good…” he whispered. Wishing to dismiss such thoughts, he changed the subject. “So you have been well then?”
Ristalln shrugged slightly, “Bored, if I’m to answer honestly. Tallvas and I separated about fifty years ago after we finished hiding your armor. I agreed to stay near Highlace in case you returned. Tallvas settled down in Quiv. I went to his wedding and we stayed in touch, but since then I’ve simply waited. I wonder what ever happened to Tallvas though…”
Graham chuckled then focused on Jeralyle. “Want an example of the magickal, fated world we live in?” Ristalln quirked. “That… Is his grandson.”
The Knight blinked, several times. “Truly? Jeralyle?” Graham nodded his head and Ristalln shook his in shock. “I knew he had kids, but I never would have imagined running into his grandson by chance.”
As if he could sense them talking about him, he rode up slowly, thinking now was a good time to interject. “Graham, can I ask you something?” The Champion accepted, then wondered just how many times Jeralyle would start a conversation out like that. “I overheard your discussion with a woman outside of Sharia about El… Is she well?”
Graham made eye contact with the Mage, “Aye. I believe…hope so.”
“What happened?” Ristalln asked directly of Graham.
“Elryia acted as though she was possessed when we were attacked by Kalinies. She was speaking in a voice not her own, hovering. After she simply fainted. I’ve never seen anyone else encounter something like that.”
Ristalln turned his eyes towards the road, “That happened to you once,” he stated, almost casually.
“What?!” Jeralyle chimed in, peering around Grahamas.
“Granted, you didn’t float or speak in a strange voice, but I thought you were possessed. It was during the Dragon crusades. You don’t recall?”
Grahamas had opted to forget that part of his life, but it was still there. “I remember…” he said in a soft tone.
Jeralyle watched with curiosity, then focused solely on Ristalln, “Possessed?”
The Knight lifted his gaze to Graham, then back to Jer—wondering if he should say anything.
“You can tell him,” Grahamas said idly.
Ristalln shrugged and turned back to Jeralyle. “It’s a long story,” he warned but that only made the Mage more eager. The Knight took a breath and thought, wondering where to begin. “Do you know that dragons exist Jeralyle?” The Mage shook his head, eyes wide the entire time. “They do. During the times of Highlace, they were far more abundant and they had a relationship with all other living creatures. But it wasn’t always that way. During the first few years of my service with the kingdom—when I was still a squire—dragons were different. They burned villages, attacked livestock, and terrorized virtually everything they could. Against his better judgment, Reiskin ordered that they be destroyed. He then gave the task to the only person he trusted to accomplish it: Grahamas.”
“You hunted dragons?!” Jeralyle exclaimed towards Grahamas.
“Aye. A few of them.”
Ristalln scoffed, “A few? We spent years on that campaign,” he said, first to Grahamas and then facing Jer. “We hunted every kind. About a year in, we had chased a rather large and incredibly fast white dragon to the edge of a lumber town, Covon, far south of here. Do you remember Grahamas?”
The Champion nodded slowly, “Aye. I will always remember that day.”
“As will I. We followed the dragon and watched him fly into the forest. Yet, when we entered there was nothing. Only workers and villagers. It looked like he had vanished.”
“So what did you do?” Jer asked, leaning forward on his horse.
“Hid within Covon and watched the forest, waiting to see if he came out of hiding.”
Jeralyle perked even more, “Did he?”
“In a sense. We were…approached by an older man while we surveyed. He started asking us questions: who we were, why we were there, what we were hunting. That sort of thing.”
Grahamas could not help but chuckle, prompting a glare from Ristalln. A curious gaze from the Mage flicked between the two, wondering what was so amusing, “So who was he? And what happened to the dragon?”
Now Grahamas roared with laughter, “We were talking to him.”
“What?”
Ristalln’s face soured, “Jeralyle. Did you know dragons have the ability to disguise themselves as humans?” he asked, more rhetorically than anything.
Gasping, Jer muttered, “No…”
“Neither did we. But they can. Fast enough so that a Champion and his squire entering the forest minutes later would never know.” Ristalln’s chuckle was half-hearted, “The sneaky thing walked right past us when we were looking for him.”
“Did he attack?”
Ristalln shook his head, “He actually came to us because he didn’t want us to attack him. When we started the campaign we believed that all dragons were the cause. It turned out, however, that it was only the black—corrupted and brainwashed by an evil leader. The others were just as terrorized by them as humans. They were tainting a noble and revered race. However, it was against their code to kill their own, even if they acted out of line. So this dragon, which we later learned was named Nallar, made a deal with us. If we agreed to stop hunting the others and destroy only the black, the root of both races’ problem, then he would grant a favor to both of us.”
Jeralyle smirked, “A favor? That’s it?”
Graham looked back at the Mage, “A favor from a powerful dragon is an incredibly valuable thing.”
“Aye,” Ristalln chimed in, “Have you used yours Graham?”
The Champion nodded, “Several days ago, oddly enough. Asked him to take a friend’s family to Davaina. You?”
“A few years ago,” he chuckled, “I wanted to know what it was like to fly.”
Graham turned abruptly, “You used your favor and had Nallar take you flying?” Ristalln chuckled and nodded, “Was it worth it?”
“Entirely.”
Grahamas scowled but laughed all the same. They fought for two years and nearly died several times to earn that favor, and Ristalln had used it to thrill seek. He had always been like that, the first to rush into battle—always on the front line. Grahamas was not surprised in the least that he had used his favor for such a thing. It did, however indicate to Graham that there was no deception from Ristalln. He came across as the same Knight the Champion knew long ago.
“So you obviously killed all of the
m if you earned the favor?” Jeralyle guessed.
“Aye, but it wasn’t easy. Black dragons are fierce, maniacal creatures and quite devious. It took us years to find their leader and we had to work our way to him by killing the rest. His name was Nwour and he was evil in every sense. He sought to rid the world of every other species, all so his dragons could roam free.”
“Where did you find him?”
“In Kaldus, coincidentally. A black dragon hidden amongst the rocks blends in almost perfectly, and he ambushed us both. I thought for sure he was going to kill us. He almost killed Grahamas. Nwour caught him from behind and cracked his tail against his spine. That was the first time I had ever seen him knocked down.” Ristalln turned towards Graham, “He was laying on the ground and the dragon drove one long, black, jagged claw down towards his chest.”
Jeralyle wore the same gaze—unblinking and attentive, “What happened?”
Ristalln sought the memory before he continued. “Something to this day I am not able to explain. As the nail came down, Grahamas reached up with both hands faster than I’ve ever seen him move—faster than I’ve ever seen anyone move—and he latched onto the claw.” Ristalln’s eyes narrowed as he recalled the story, somewhat reflecting Jeralyle’s look of amazement. “And he held the entire foot still, then shoved it away like it was nothing. He had this look in his eyes, cold and almost empty. As I said earlier, like he was possessed. But Elryia’s experience sounded almost calm, Graham’s was complete rage. I’ve not seen or heard anything like that since then.”
“Did he kill Nwour?”
Ristalln looked up, then quickly to Grahamas, “He beat him to death with his bare hands. A dragon…” He chuckled slightly, but more out of shock than amusement.
Jeralyle, for the first time, lacked words or question—too stunned to even form a sentence.
“I was in a coma for two weeks after that,” Grahamas said, “That’s why I worried so about Elryia when it happened to her.”
Finally Jeralyle spoke up, “And you still don’t know what happened to you or why?”
Graham shook his head, “What happened—no. Why? No clue. I blacked out when it happened.”
“And Elryia?”
“No idea there either.”
Ristalln let his gaze fall upon the Champion, “I haven’t met the girl yet, but even I see you two are connected—deeper than you may know if such a strange situation has happened to you both.”
“Aye.” Graham could think of nothing else to say, or at least wanted to admit. But he knew that anyone who spent more than a day with him would see his true feelings.
Before Ristalln could draw further on his comment, Jeralyle pried in. “You mentioned kinds of dragons earlier. There are more than just black and white?” It was an obvious subject change. Perhaps his mind truly went that fast, or possibly he saw Grahamas growing uncomfortable and chose to save him. Either way, the Champion was thankful.
“Several.” Graham stated. “Blue, red, purple, green. Even gold.”
“That’s a myth!” Ristalln bit, slowing to glare at the Champion.
“There’s truth in every story, Knight.”
Jeralyle flicked between them, almost able to see the growing tension. “What is…what about gold?” He stammered.
Grahamas cleared his throat. “There’s a legend…”
“Fable.” Ristalln interjected.
“Legend,” Grahamas argued back, holding him with a stern face. “That in the world’s darkest hour a Dragon will rise from the furthest corner of the land to free it from tyranny. One with claws so sharp that no defense can stand them. One with speed so great none see it move. It appears as only a golden flash before evil, then that evil falls.”
“See?” Ristalln leaned to Jeralyle, trying to get the Mage to side with him. “Who would believe such a thing?”
“It was one of my favorite stories growing up.”
“Aye, but who else?”
“All others I’ve told.” Until now, though, it had only been one. A certain, captivating blonde woman with dazzling blue eyes. Who even now, was stealing away the Champion’s thoughts and prayers that she was well, in desperate need to get back to her. Shameful he left her alone in the first place. And deep within his soul a rage burned, for he and those that had deceived him. Once more chastising himself for allowing it through, but he used it to remind him he needed to be vigilant. It was more than simply watching his back, or finding a safe place to sleep. He needed to study and know everyone who was or would come into his group.
Ristalln had proven himself up to this point, had given several indications—both verbal and non—that he was the same man Graham had known, but Samsun had done so as well. It was almost impeccable, but not perfect. And as the Champion tumbled through memories of the last year, he realized that he had asked Sam many things and he had answered, but they were replies that could have been found in books, or from someone who simply lived in Highlace—as far fetched as that seemed. Graham, in that entire year, had not asked Samsun anything specific, something that only he would have known.
Though it pained him to be so untrustworthy, it was a moral imperative. Only, he would not ask it directly. He would bait Ristalln, in hopes that he would give the response Grahamas was after. And that, at least, brought him a little joy.
When the Knight had turned his back, Graham motioned for Jeralyle to ride closer, but not so much that Ristalln would be out of earshot. When the eager Mage was between the two, Graham’s deception began, speaking to Jer as if he truly wished to only relay a story. “Do not let his cynical nature taint you, Jer. One day I will prove the existence of the Gold Dragon. I promise.”
“You can’t prove a myth.” Ristalln whispered, mostly to his horse as he believed that the only thing to side with him.
“Aye, I agree. That’s why I’ll prove it.”
Ristalln yanked on the reins, bringing his mount to a stop, turning aggressively on Graham. “Your hearing is as good as ever, old friend.” He chuffed, realizing he was caught. “Why are you so adamant it exists?”
Grahamas stopped as well, leaning forward slightly to let his intent stare sink in. “Why are you so certain it does not?”
Ristalln’s mouth contorted, one half opened the other remained closed as if what he wanted to say was forcing its way out and he was desperate to keep it in. “Well, but you first.”
Graham nodded and turned the once blazing stare soft and to the sky, pondering how to respond. “Probably for the reason you do not believe in it. It’s so rare, so magickal even in our world, that it seems almost impossible. Like a dream. But in that, it represents what we should all seek. That which we believe to be unattainable. I simply know, because anything is possible.” Graham faced Ristalln, who almost seemed unimpressed but in his peripheral, he caught glimpse of an inquisitive, knowing smile passing over Jeralyle’s face. “Now, friend. Tell me why you do not.”
Ristalln shrugged, turned his horse and kept riding as though no argument had ever occurred. “Never really thought about it. I just do it because I know it irritates you.” He smiled, though one that went unseen.
And upon his face, Grahamas wore the same expression. That response was almost perfect, and so very typical of the man but a lingering doubt still held in the Champion’s mind. He needed something definitive. Thankfully, the Knight was leading him right where he was desperate to go. “I suppose then, we only have one choice.”
The Knight’s body stiffened and tensed, he slowed his horse to almost a crawl. “I suppose…” he began, his voice a bit deeper and dramatic than before. The same demeanor he always had when a challenge was presented “you are right.” He turned slowly, locking his eyes on Grahamas. “Do you still have it?”
The corners of the Champion’s mouth protruded, not to answer Ristalln but because he received exactly what he wanted. “Aye. It’s with the one we ride to.”
“Good. Then we will settle this once and for all.”
�
��Aye.”
A once jostled gaze between Graham and Ristalln now settled on the Champion, the tone from Jeralyle a bit higher than usual, marking his confusion. “Still have what? Did I miss something?”
Ristalln bowed cordially and widened his eyes, and obvious release for Graham to take over. In acceptance, Graham nodded back. “Kingdoms. We’re talking about Kingdoms.” The Mage looked even more confused than before. “Patience, my curious friend. When we have returned and settled what we need to, I will show you. But for now, I will simply say it’s a game.”
Though he was not happy about it, and it showed on his face, Jer accepted, leading his horse on and pulling the diary from his cloak in some futile hope he would find the answer there.
Moments passed, Ristalln and Graham giving one last knowing look to each other. Maybe the Knight knew what the Champion was doing all along. After all, no one knew him better. But if so, he said not a word and Grahamas slipped back a bit further, a wave of relief treading through his mind. That was enough for him, and his thoughts could now return to that blue eyed, gentle soul and his desire to see her safe.
In A Time Of Darkness Page 52