* * * * *
For the first time since Hensah, Grahamas’ eyes opened of their own volition. Though it was still hours before the sun came up he knew he would not be able to sleep, nor would he need to. He had not been this rested in a long time, his mind actively trying to determine why. It was only when he smelled the gentle scent of lavenders and roses, leaned back to catch a glimpse of fiery locks did he remember her caress on his head. Though he would not wake her to verify, he imagined Lornya had given him the same gift she did when they were reunited.
Of which he was thankful for, as he was now coherent to enough to enjoy the soft, peaceful breathing pressing loyally against his side. He was fine to spend the next two hours lying right there, simply in bliss. But before he could, he cranked his neck in an awkward angle, simply to gaze upon the Goddess, silently thank her and wish her the same serenity. Only, he found she was sleeping alone.
He pushed further to certify, trying desperately not to stir El, but tension caught him. With a better view, he could now confirm: Ristalln was nowhere to be seen. Desperate, he slid as cautiously as possible from the arm draped over his chest, gathered his wits and sat. He allowed a breath, then reached down to gather his sword, and like the Knight, it was gone. Frantic, he scanned the campsite, fearing an ambush. He first looked to Gort, still sprawled out as he had been when he fell asleep, both Gnert and his hammers tucked at his feet. On he moved to Lanyan, finding the Elf to be in the same condition—weapon untouched.
“So then what’s going on?” He thought, until a small but very plausible idea struck him. It was not an enemy that stole his sword, but a friend. Silently, slowly, he stood casting his gaze first North, South and finally East, catching the tiny hint of a full head of blonde hair and tanned forehead in his sight.
“You’re awake.” He heard, knowing it was no more than a whisper but enough for him.
Also knowing he would never hear the retort, Graham pushed through the prone companions, passed the flowers and thirty yards down the trail to confront the waiting Knight. “Aye,” he stated when finally at a distance to communicate properly “as are you.”
Though the Knight looked weary, he smiled and shrugged it off. “Have been for quite some time. You know me. I’m too energetic to sleep for long.” It was a lie, of course. He would never tell his old friend and leader that he couldn’t sleep due to nerves, that he was just as worried for the journey Graham was to undergo as Elryia.
“So then it was you who took my blade.”
The Knight looked somewhat sheepish, but let his gaze fall to the ground none the less.
Graham followed it and as predicted, there, in the ground his sword was stuck. And when the Champion looked back up, Rist was holding out his own in exchange.
“I had almost forgot, and was sure you had.”
“I remember every challenge placed. I was simply waiting for the right moment.” This time, Ristalln spoke the truth. Since he had known Graham an undeclared ritual existed between the two. When one was set to journey without the other, be they gone for days, weeks or even years, as a send off—or a way to say goodbye without uttering the actual words—the other would challenge them. A very valid attempt to document one final memory, as neither knew when the other would return.
Graham considered casting it off. “Now?”
“Aye, it’s perfect. No one is awake. No distractions, no pressure. Just two friends settling an argument.”
With a nod, the Champion reached out and took the waiting sword, only to throw it down point first.
Had anyone else been awake, they for certain would have thought the two sleep walking or even crazy, but to Grahamas The True and Ristalln The Valliant such was tradition. An age-old method used in Highlace, and quite possibly before, of proposing and accepting a duel. It mattered not that it would only be in a game, the rite remained. “Ready to settle this?” The Knight proposed.
“Without question.” The Champion bowed cordially.
“Good.” Rist held stern and solemn as he returned the gesture, but smiled energetically immediately after, too care free to keep the charade up any longer. Graham laughed along with him, suddenly realizing—again—how much he missed his old friend. “Do you have it?” He asked, patting his friend on the arm and leading him away.
“Aye. It was in El’s bag when…” Shock portrayed on Graham’s face. “Jeralyle.”
“He’s fine. I let he and Mare rest a couple hours ago.”
“I promised to show him the game.”
Ristalln motioned. “Let’s go find him, then. I would actually prefer a witness who can verify your defeat.”
Trying not to let his disbelief emanate, Graham turned quickly. “If you can manage it.”
Ristalln held his tongue as he followed Graham back to the temporary shelter, on the very edge Jeralyle sleeping soundly with Merial tucked at his waist.
The Champion allowed him a few more moments of rest and he pushed through the saddlebag wrapped around Whispering Thunder. From it, he pulled a lush, blemish-less velvet bag nearly two feet in length and width, to be followed by a second, this one almost formless—resembling a coin purse in shape.
“Jer…” Ristalln stated as light as he could. “Jeralyle.”
The young Mage opened one sleepy eye, then another. “Rist…Graham? What is it? Danger?”
A gentle hand from the Knight extended to ease him. “Not quite, though you are about to witness one of the greatest battles Eldonia has ever seen.”
Still groggy, Jer wore that same curious expression that he was slowly becoming known for.
“Kingdom.” Graham pressed. “Do you still wish to see it played?”
“Aye!” He said, almost screamed, seemingly oblivious to the young woman using him as a bedroll. “Oh…” He winched, trying eagerly to hid his blush, worming like an anxious, clumsy snake to free himself. When he laid her down, then verified that she would not rouse, he stood to join the other two.
“Where?” Graham asked, surveying the surroundings.
“I imagine” Ristalln replied “behind the flowers. We need at least some semblance of peace.”
“Aye.” Was all Graham muttered before making it so, taking two velvet bags and a twitterpated Mage in tow.
Ristalln was the first to settle, behind the fragrant barrier yet nearly twenty feet away. “Save from waking anyone else up.” He marked as he sat, a devious smile playing on his lips. “No telling what kind of reaction you’re to have when you lose.”
No response came from the Champion. He only motioned for Jeralye to sit, then found his place across from Ristalln. It was only when he began untying the strings of the first bag—the larger, symmetrical one—did he speak again. “This, Jeralyle, is Kingdom. A game played fervently in the times of Highlace, both by royalty and peasants, children and adults.” Graham finished with the string and pulled lightly to loosen the bag’s opening. “When the game was at its height, all manners of boards and pieces were used. Those with little money fashioned their own from wood and hard work. Others made them out of marble, ivory and even gold. Those with stature or magick could design their own, and imbue it with certain…properties.”
The Mage leaned in a little bit, still waiting for Grahamas to remove what he imagined to be the board. “Properties?”
“Patience, my young friend. I’ll go over all that.” He stated, finally granting Jer’s silent request. And from the bag Grahamas pulled a rectangular board, nearly two feet long. The base, one inch thick, was comprised entirely of gold. Two of the sides were flat, a strange symbol directly in the middle. Unknown to Jeralyle, it was the Highlyian word for which the game was named, “Kingdom.” On the adjacent side a carving of a thin woman, eyes closed, lying vertically along the edge. The detail was immaculate, from the lashes on her eyes, the lined lips and the serene look she wore on her face. Feathered wings extended from her back and wrapped securely around her body, her arms crossed in the middle of her che
st. Those as well with such incredible detail, each feather, each line within had been documented. Long flowing hair, every strand extended above her head, wisping and teasing one corner, the other grazed by the long hem of her dress, inches passed her feet. The fourth and final side depicted a large-framed man, each muscle defined and protruding out from the backdrop. As the woman, his eyes were closed and his body was protected by a set of wings. However, his were sharp, leathery and grotesque, pointed at the tip and end—resembling those of a dragon. In place of hair, horns grew from his forehead, pressing against one edge almost defiantly. At his feet, a long tail, forked at the end so that his image took up the entire length. “Two sides, one light” Graham directed to the woman “one dark” and then to the man. “Which side, Valiant?” The Champion asked, averting his attention.
“Dark, as always.” Ristalln smiled as Graham turned it towards him and set it down.
Jeralyle lost connection with the designs surrounding the edge and focused instead on the face of the board. It was ivory of the purest form, at least from what he could tell, the entirety of it separated into inch squares, defined by smooth, flawless lines carved directly into the material. Jer took the moment allowed to him by Graham and counted. Twenty-four high and twelve across. Directly down the middle was one solid line, this like the edges gold, all the way along the board.
“This,” Graham began “was the original board from which the game derived.”
“You’ve held onto it that long?” Jeralyle gasped, still admiring the detail put forth.
“Aye. This board is quite special. When we start playing, you’ll know why.” Graham folded the first velvet bag neatly and moved on to the second. He searched for a moment but from it pulled a tiny object, no higher than an inch, white in color. Like the edges, this one meticulously chiseled to resemble a small castle—four towers, each with turrets raised from the base, a fifth and final one directly in the middle stood taller than the rest. Each brick in the wall had been lined, each bar on the portcullis carved. “Had you seen Highlace, you would recognize this castle as Daleforn.” Jeralyle absent-mindedly nodded, never taking his eyes off the structure.
Grahamas returned to the bag and retrieved a second castle, this one black and almost the exact opposite of the white. This one dingy and confined. No turrets just guard towers; no architectural marvels, simply four walls and one spire right in the middle. Jeralyle knew it was foolish to think it, but immediately he was reminded of Kaldus, even though this was centuries before.
“Now,” Graham eased, drawing the Mage’s attention up “the rules. The object of the game is to capture the opposing castle.” He held up his own for emphasis. “It can be placed anywhere on the board, so long as it’s within the boundaries of your alignment, marked by the gold line.” The Champion pointed, his fingers directing Jeralyle’s eyes. “Remember what I said about properties?” The Mage responded with a sharp flick of his head. “Watch.” Once the statement was uttered, Graham hovered his castle over the far left corner of the board. The moment he set it down, the five blocks surrounding it hummed and a soft blue light radiated, spires glinted well above the actual piece, only to fade and shrink. Once they completely dissipated, the once white sections now reflected a dark blue.
Jeralyle’s face went from intrigued to confused, but before he could speak his question the Champion chimed in, knowing such was on its way. “The castle is now protected, and that plays into the rules of Kingdom as a whole. Ristalln, if you would?”
The Knight nodded yet never looked up from the board, finally settling on the back row, middle square. Once placed, as it had with Graham’s, the area surrounding the castle blazed, the squares color changed, though his a crimson red.
Grahamas took that opportunity to remove the remaining pieces from the bag, sixteen in total—half white, half black. But they weren’t pieces at all, rather three inch high blocks as wide as the squares themselves. “These are the players. You have a King, a Queen, A Beast, Cavalry, Knight, Wizard, Scout and Soldier.”
Jer only looked confused. “They look the same to me.”
“They’re supposed to.” Grahamas chuckled. “Your opponent doesn’t know which piece is what until later in the game.” That was all it took, and Jeralyle was completely enthralled—hanging on every word the Champion spoke. “Now, we each take turns placing them on the board.” Graham nodded to Ristalln, the Knight succeeding with one of his own. “The player who was challenged lays first claim.” Graham began by picking up one white block, a second and finally a third, scanning the bottom of each until he found what he was looking for and placed it against the left edge, in front of the castle on the other side of the blue square. Ristalln responded by placing one of his black squares—the first one he picked up—directly in front of that. “You never learn do you?” Grahamas eyed the Knight but he only retaliated with his cheeky grin.
“Can he do that?” The Mage marked, surveying both of them before going back to the board.
“Aye. Unlike the castle a piece can be placed anywhere during the first round.”
“How many are there?”
“Kingdom is divided into three phases: the placement phase, battle phase and capture phase.” Between speaking, Grahamas found and placed another part, this one adjourning the castle’s right blue wall, back edge. “Once each piece is on the board and the players accept the games begin. The shroud is removed and the class is revealed. Each have their own unique skills, which I’ll go over later but for now, the rules of battle. Any pieces of opposing teams that are touching will enter into a duel. The winner is determined by rank. Only a King can defeat a Queen and anything below her, A Beast can’t best a Queen but can topple the Cavalry, and so on down the line.”
“What happens if you have two corresponding ranks facing off?”
“That is determined” Ristalln stated, once again placing his piece directly in front of the one Graham had “by the winner of the next closest battle. For example, say what I just placed was a soldier and Graham’s as well. As these two original pieces are the closest, their outcome would be the deciding factor. If I had a Cavalry and Graham a Knight, he would lend his strength to my soldier and the Champion would lose both.”
“That, mind you” Graham uttered amidst placing his third piece so that its bottom left corner was touching the castle’s top right “is the only way to remove a King from play. So long as it’s a King on the opposite end.”
Jeralyle inched closer to the board as Ristalln committed the same act of challenging Graham head on a third time. “And if there are two or even three other battles within the same range?”
It was a valid question, seeing as that situation may soon play out, but Grahamas could only chuckle. “Thinking like a true wizard. Imagine it in terms of numbers. The King eight, Queen seven and so on. The highest total wins. Understand?”
Jer’s mouth said “Yes” but his face failed to match the sentiment.
“It will make more sense if you see it happen, and the way this is looking you will.” Graham placed his forth piece flush against the left side, seventh row up, and fetched Ristalln a half glare—one marked with disappointment when he placed yet another piece in front of his. “How many times do I need to tell you that Kingdom is about defense and strategy, not brute force? Make the enemy come to you.”
The Knight responded with a laugh. “As many as you like, I will never listen.”
“It seems more a game of chance.” Jeralyle marked, resisting the urge to peek at one of the already placed pieces.
“You would think so” came the reply from Ristalln “but somehow Graham remains here as he does the real battlefield: undefeated. Even against Savados, the man who invented it.”
“How?”
“The same as it would be for real. It’s about preparation and the ability to read your enemy, all the while deceiving them. Anticipating their moves so you can establish a suitable counter. You waste energy attacking constantly. I
t’s better to let the enemy burn theirs, use their own momentum against them to create an opening.”
Grahamas smiled, pulling at his lip with his finger while he studied the man sitting opposite him. Silence for a long time between the two until the Champion finally moved, staring at the bottom of his fifth white block then setting it down directly in front of Ristalln’s Castle.
The Knight, obviously insulted by Graham doing exactly what he was told not to, held off, rethinking his strategy—or at least make it seem like he was.
Jeralyle took advantage of the silence, using it to learn more about a game that was slowly beginning to take hold of him. “Can two or more pieces attack a single one at the same time?”
Shaking his head, Ristalln leaned in and placed his fifth block on Graham’s side, six up and seven over from Graham’s castle. “No. Only one piece can battle another, and nothing can go unoccupied.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning…” Ristalln began, watching the Champion place the sixth directly behind his fifth “anything on the board must be met with the opposing color. Nothing can be left alone.”
Jeralyle nodded, watching Ristalln place his sixth on the back edge left side, next to his own castle, then Graham—after a moment of studying—picking the second of his remaining two in an effort to cut Rist off.
The Knight responded by balancing everything, placed his seventh in front of Graham’s fifth, the one threatening his castle.
Grahamas didn’t utter a word, his eyes never wavered. If that was what he intended, it surely didn’t show on his face. If that was what he feared, no emotion came for that either. The Champion’s final piece would find place on Ristalln’s side two spaces to the left of Rist’s sixth, and behind it Ristalln would place his final player.
The Champion surveyed the board before turning his eyes to Ristalln, the Knight doing the exact same thing. “Aye?”
Rist held for one long breath, then finally nodded. “Aye.”
Jeralyle never took his eyes off. “Now what?”
“Now…”Graham whispered, dragging his finger along the golden edge of the board “the battle begins. Each character has special abilities as well, limitations. The King…” the Champion began, reaching out to remove the shroud of the very first piece he had placed. Beneath it a carving of a broad, stoic looking man with a distinguished beard, great jeweled crown and sword held in front, tip facing the ground “and the Queen are the only ones who can capture the opposing castle.” Graham removed the second he had placed, leaving behind a strong, thin woman with hair well passed her back, a crown similar to that of the man’s, her elegant hand reaching out for something. “Which means if a player loses both King and Queen, the game is over. No matter if the castle is taken or not. I’ll go over the Beast in a moment. The Knight” this piece an armored, fearsome statue, holding a huge sword well above his head, a determined strike imminent “protects the King. Do you recall what I said about evenly matched pieces?” The Mage nodded fervently. “If a King is placed in that situation with a Knight in range as the deciding factor, the Knight is allowed an additional attack. What was once four becomes eight.”
Ristalln winced, though tried not to let it show. “The only way a Knight can topple a Queen.”
The Champion wore a smile, one that could almost be described as cruel and taunting. “Is that how it’s going to play out, Valiant?”
Rist only hung his head and began to reveal what he had placed on the board. “No…” He muttered, going with the first piece—his Queen—and the exact opposite of Graham’s. Her crown torn; broken. A scowl as opposed to an elegant smile on her face, turning away as though she wished to hide.
“King takes Queen. That’s one lost old friend.”
Ristalln snarled, more at the board though it was prompted by Grahamas. “Another…” he stated, trying not to make it seem like a whimper. The second—that which faced Graham’s Queen—Ristalln’s Knight: a dingy, unkempt warrior with a wild, frantic look in his eyes, was no more. “And third.” However, Rist actually seemed happy of this one, a dark figure, cloaked from head to toe, his bony hands twisted and contorted in front of him.
The Champion smiled along with his opponent. “Well played…” He whispered, then directed his stare to young Jeralyle.
“I don’t…understand.” The Mage began. “He just lost another piece. How was that well played?”
Graham pressed Jer’s attention to Ristalln, as he began—not-so-humbly—removing his pieces off the board. After he took his fallen Queen, as it had when the castle was placed, the squares around Graham’s King flared a bright blue, the surrounding five blocks turning the same color as the wall. “When a battle is fought,” Graham stated while Ristalln removed his defeated Knight, prompting the same reaction “the victor claims the territory. Or rather, the nine squares surrounding them. All except in the Wizard’s case.” Graham motioned towards the third and final, Ristalln already removing it. But in its wake, the surrounding squares around his hollow grave flared red, leaving the very corner of Graham’s castle closed off by a wall of crimson. A lake of fire amidst a gentle ocean. “Upon his dying breath, he claims the territory surrounding him. If you play it right, he can trap anyone to a certain section of the board—even the King.”
“The colored line can’t be crossed?” Jeralyle asked, tracing his finger over the newly tinted board, prompting a slap from Ristalln.
“No, “Graham glared at the over-aggressive Knight. “The territory has to be freed, meaning a player must remain stationary against the wall for three turns.”
“Three turns for what?”
“Patience.” Graham eased, though he could see the young man growing more anxious by the moment.
“It’s really possible to trap the King?”
“Quite easily, actually.”
“Graham…” Ristalln bade, a dreadful thought suddenly entering his head, only to be ignored. “You didn’t…” Still no answer. “Tell me…you didn’t.”
“Aye.” Was all he said and reached far across the board to Ristalln’s side to first piece he placed on the left of his castle to reveal his Wizard—robbed like the other, but this one stern and clean, holding a mysterious but welcoming posture. “He’s facing your King, is he not?” Rist bowed, as though already defeated, and revealed to Grahamas his vile, scarred piece with the shattered crown. “Tell me you at least opted for one of your stronger pieces to battle my Beast.” The moment he stated it, Graham unleashed his third ranked that which was two spaces left of Ristalln’s King, a large, thin dragon curling as he rose, his head angling down to spit fire on anything below.
“Cavalry.” Was all Ristalln could say, removing the black obstruction, a man upon horseback underneath, armed with a small crossbow.
“Shame.” Graham muttered, his voice lacking its usual sincerity as Ristalln removed his Cavalry, Graham his Wizard. Eighteen squares in total were captured leaving only one, that which the King occupied, free.
Jeralyle surveyed for a moment, allowing all that he had learned to sink in. By his count Grahamas still had his own Cavalry somewhere on the board as well a Soldier and Scout. Ristalln, a Beast, Soldier and Scout. Ristalln’s Beast—a deformed creature with massive wings and broken horns—was stationed directly in front of Ristalln’s castle, and destroyed Graham’s Cavalry, a young, defined Elf carrying a bow.
“Since we won’t see it play out, now that both are gone, the Cavalry is the only player on the board that can free a territory in two turns, not three.” Graham stated, moving back to his own area, first to the left side, his piece directly in front of the King and revealed his scout—a well-dressed older gentleman, his eyes intricately carved to show the intense look in his gaze. That was matched against Ristalln’s Soldier—a troll with a battered, chewed club in one hand; sword in the other. After Grahamas had claimed his final territory with that victory, he moved on, his humble, plain man resembling a farmer more than a warrior—direc
tly in the middle of his own field—lost to Ristalln’s masked, deceptive looking Scout.
With all battles fought, Jeralyle once again turned to Grahamas, captivated yet curious how the game would be settled.
“As it was with the battle, each class has its own ability. The King and Queen are the only ones who can capture the castle, but Queen can move six spaces at a time, the King only three.” And so Grahams did, moving her two over and four up to avoid the wall created by Ristalln’s Wizard.
“So she’s integral to winning.” The moment he said it, Jeralyle regretted it, casting an apologetic expression to Ristalln.
“Aye.” The Knight muttered, still trying to determine a way out of this mess, starting by moving his Beast all the way back to his Kingdom, tucking it on the outside corner where the two blue walls met.
“I must admit, that was one lesson Ristalln held on to. He’s always been protective of his Beast, as that can move anywhere on the board, and though we can no longer do battle, the more pieces you have the better, as each can help you reclaim lost territories. It now becomes somewhat of a race.” Graham charged his Queen, six spaces forward this time, towards the opposite side. He half expected another question, but when he looked at Jeralyle, he saw that the Mage was only watching the board, both for what would happen and what could. A strategy was echoing in his eyes, and as most practitioners of magick do, he was devising countless courses and outcomes.
Ristalln raced his Scout back across the board to lend support to King and Beast, directly in line with Graham’s Queen, blazing across another six spaces, Ristalln could only move five. “It’s over, Rist. I’m sorry.” Though the Champion taunted, Ristalln remained vigil and crept his Scout along another five, then another after Graham moved his Queen once to the right and up the remaining number, preparing to meet Ristalln’s castle head on—each now dead even.
With Graham’s turn beginning, the board illuminated in random places. The three blocks in front of the Beast and three to its right returned to the milky white color it originally had been, freeing Ristalln’s King, but the last move put Grahamas’ Queen directly in front of the castle’s crimson wall.
It was over, but Ristalln—brave as ever—still moved his King over one and down two, face to face with the winged creature that had freed him.
Without ever shifting his eyes away from the board, Graham waved his hand, relinquishing his turn. No other move would benefit him, so he settled on being patient.
On Ristalln charged, now two behind the Beast.
As foolish as his attempt may seem, Jeralyle was still puzzled. “Can he even still win?”
Graham scanned that board, counting the spaces left, then looked into the eyes of his friend. “A King can destroy the protective wall around the castle in one turn and claim it on the second.” Again, he dismissed his turn. “Even with that, though, it isn’t possible.”
The Mage now seemed more annoyed than inquisitive, his brow shifting uncomfortably—perhaps anxious to see the game at its end. “Why not just forfeit then? What’s the point of continuing if there’s no chance of winning?”
The Champion paused. Such a question, at another time, would have prompted dozens of answers from Graham. He could have told the impressionable young man that no matter how grim things may appear there is always hope—however slight. Could have expressed how the end goal is not nearly as important as the grand effort given to achieve it. True could have even reminded him that no one ever truly fails, so long as they do not quit. The opportunity was there for him to say all those things. In a way he had, with a knowing smile given to the young man, while they both watched the Knight charge on. So Grahamas instead used that opening, that lull, to describe his best friend—a man with an unyielding sense of bravery, passion and fearlessness—the only way he knew how. “For Ristalln it isn’t about winning. It never has been.”
“So then what?”
“It’s about having a noble death.”
Though the Knight’s eyes looked sad at yet another loss, the very corners of his mouth gravitated, and he pushed his piece onward, committed to the act Grahamas had predicted. Ristalln moved again, Grahamas opted out. Ristalln teased the gold line marking the middle; the wall in front of the castle gleamed and then extinguished allowing Grahamas to move his Queen directly to its doors. For three more turns Ristalln would charge, on his final he would move over to liberate the Queen’s empty wall. Grahamas would pass, but on the fourth, the entire board radiated a blue light, this one stronger, beams jutting out from the edges, expanding then breathing back in and dying down. When they had, the entire set returned to normal. No more walls; no more colors.
Grahamas nodded to the Knight, hanging his head, on a battle well fought and went to remove his pieces when Ristalln snatched his hand, shaking it gently.
“Well done, True.” He began. “I claim you the victor and will readily admit to the existence of The Gold Dragon.” He squeezed a bit tighter, pulling the Champion in. “On one condition. You tell me how?”
“How what?”
“How you manage to beat me every time, know what I’m going to do and what I’ve placed even before I do.”
“Truth…” Rist nodded. “You have a facial expression for every piece. I’ve simply known you long enough to tell which is which.”
Ristalln held, and though he didn’t actually voice how impressed he was that one could identify him so well, nor even thought it possible, he held a much higher regard for Grahamas. How envious he was of someone who could strategize so. That had never been his style. He took every battle head on, disregarding or never even considering the outcome. That was not to say, though, he was not overly impressed by those who could. And Graham was far greater than any he had ever met, and for a moment was proud to know such a man. Immediately, though, he dismissed it, turned towards the East and the golden glow that was growing brighter by the minute. “Well, I suppose I should return. I would hate to leave a certain red haired Goddess distraught that she did not wake up next to me.” But he smiled and bowed to Grahamas all the same.
Grahamas returned the gesture, readily accepting the help Jeralyle offered to put the game back together.
“So…what are your impressions?” Grahamas asked amidst returning the blocks.
Jer still looked bewildered and almost speechless. “I think that I could spend a lifetime and more with the game and still never master it.”
Graham didn’t respond, only stared at the still inquisitive look on the Mage, swearing—if only for a brief moment—he saw a stronger connection to Tallvas in him than he ever had.
“I suppose I should get back to Merial.” However, he looked somewhat disappointed that the game had ended.
He had bowed to Grahamas, headed the other direction before the Champion called out to him. When he shifted, Graham was holding the board in one hand the pieces in the other. “You and I will play, when I return. So for now, I want you to take this and practice.”
“Truly?” Jer gasped, reaching out to accept the gift.
“Aye.” He handed them over. “Only, do not start with Elryia. She’s come close to beating me several times.”
“I won’t. Thank you, Grahamas.” He clutched the two velvet bags as a young child would with a new toy, smiling one last time before turning and rushing off to wake Merial.
With a deep, genuine laugh Grahamas as well faced the sunset Ristalln saw, wondering for a moment what the day would truly bring; what wonders and dangers he would see inside Sayassa.
In A Time Of Darkness Page 95