In A Time Of Darkness

by Gregory James Knoll

  * * * * *

  Father west, that King sat alone in the dark, without sleep or rest—his mind un-eased by events he had spent so much time trying to control, now spiraling out of it.

  Slowly, demonically, a hand crept over his chest. He went to reach for his sword but found that he could not move. A pulse of poison seeped through the palm and into his torso, weighing him down until he could only blink and breath.

  Another hand crept down and a pair of full lips pressed to his ear, a gentle yet sinister voice creeping in, “Lord Idimus… You and I need to speak.”

  The Faint, Searing Flicker Of Sin

  Gort was the first one to wake up. He always was. He turned, nearly rolling face first into the log he was sleeping behind and started the day off with a grumble. “Damn birds…” He groaned and debated tossing a hammer at the trees, if he could be sure he wouldn’t lose it and then have to go traipsing through the forest to look for it. Eventually, he pulled himself up from the ground, though with as much time as he had spent in a mine before this little venture, the hard soil was a welcome feeling. “Another day, another trek on that blasted pony.” Gort didn’t really mind the travel all that much, or who he was doing it with. He didn’t mind seeing the world, the constant sunshine, the fresh air, or even drinking out of rivers—at least, not as much as he hated riding a horse. If his legs weren’t so short and bulky he would run behind everyone while they rode the blasted beasts.

  He gathered his things together—what little there was—leaving only the frying pan out, moving to the center of the clearing he tugged the flint from his pocket and grabbed the knife that had been placed the night before. He scraped a few dried vines from the log and placed them in the same spot as last night’s fire, dragging the knife along the flint until he saw smoke. He blew and blew until his cheeks felt like they were going to collapse when finally the crackle of embers filled the quiet camp.

  With the fire lit, Gort turned to his right side and pulled out a huge hunk of boar meat and a few eggs, at least enough for everyone. “Frying pan…” he muttered, realizing he had left it behind him. When he turned to look for it, he was met with the same large eyes, furry eyebrows and sniffing he encountered the night before. It was seeming this may become a tradition.

  Eventually he would get used to such things, but today was not that day. And he suffered the same reaction, tumbling back and nearly whirling a hammer at Gnert, but held. He was more worried about keeping himself out of the fire, “Stop doing that…” He glared and grabbed the frying pan, envisioning more than once hitting the Gnome upside the head with it.

  He slung the boar meat and the eggs into the huge metal skillet and stuck it over the fire. He wasn’t a connoisseur or chef by any means, but he got the job done. Since he was the first one up, he felt like it was his duty to make breakfast. And he had yet to receive any complaints.

  It was there he remained, shoving his arm back and forth, waiting for the familiar sound of torched fat hissing. Eventually, Gnert wriggled up and tucked himself right next to the Dwarf. Gort wondered if he knew what was going on, for such a complex creature he had struck him as almost primitive. He was very patient yet he didn’t say much. Actually, in the day they’d been together, no one had heard the Gnome speak. Which made the dwarf curious and he turned his head and stared, intentionally, into those huge beady eyes, “Do ya know how ta talk?”

  The Gnome turned his head curiously and sniffed again, blinked a few times and Gort shrugged, turning back to the fire and assuming that the creature didn’t.

  “I speak quite frequently, when I’ve got something to say Sir Gort.”

  It all blurted out of his mouth so fast that Gort had to take a second to wonder if he’d heard it at all, “Ye do? Then why haven’t ya said anything?”

  “No one has given me anything to answer Sir Gort. You’re too low.”

  The Dwarf looked puzzled as the Gnome reached towards his hand and pulled it up a little bit.

  “You’re too low. You’re holding the frying pan too low and while one could gather that would make the food cook faster, the heat is merely going around the frying pan instead of under it. Which defeats the purpose of a cooking surface, when it’s not the actual surface that’s getting heated, only everything around it.”

  Gort’s mind hollered “WHAT!” His mouth remained silent, and did so intentionally. He could not handle such an outburst being repeated. He simply said thank you, and made it a point not to let the utensil drift down again.

  “Good morning Gort,” Elryia said, holding one hand to her head and trying to mat down her hair. “Boar meat and eggs,” she asked, peering into the frying pan and then to the squatting Gnome and confused Dwarf, both nodding. She stifled a yawn and sat on the ground with her back against the log, “Sounds good to me.”

  One after the other, the companions started to wake up, most of them from the smell. Carsis and Merial woke, sat for a moment, and then went about their daily ritual of picking herbs, leaves, and berries. Jeralyle slowly made his way to the campfire, stretching out and putting his boots on. The Gnome finally left Gort’s side to bounce around Jeralyle for the time. Lanyan sat away from the rest, stringing his bow when the Gnome stopped for a moment to stare at him, watched with an intense curiosity as his little eyes flicked back and forth. When Lanyan had finished Gnert turned back to Jeralyle as if nothing had happened.

  There was silence for a time, while everyone gathered and cleared their heads. When they all had plates, Jer finally broke the silence. “How did everyone sleep?” Nearly all nodded and showed contentment, the Dwarf giving one last fierce glance to the birds. “Good to hear,” he paused for a moment, wondering in his own mind if he was being too intrusive, but realized he may not get another chance. “I mentioned something last night, and I was entirely serious. I would love to know where everyone comes from, but more importantly I wanted to know what you meant when you said rebels against the King.”

  Each exchanged glances, debating answering the question at all. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust the man they now found company with, just that they worried about scaring him off. But Elryia finally mustered past it and chimed in, “Jeralyle, do you ever find yourself unhappy about the way the world is? Do you ever dream of something better?”

  Jeralyle paused for a moment to think about the question, and then looked El straight in the eyes, “I find myself unhappy that I am chastised, imprisoned, and even threatened with death for wearing a certain color. I am bothered by the fact that one day, Idimus may fancy my parents’ land and I will return home to find their village burned to the ground. It terrifies me to think that someone else is in control of who I am and what I do. I’m afraid that my free will may one day cost me my life. Do I ever dream of something better? Yes Elryia, everyday. And all the while, I do not know what I can do about it in the grander scheme of things. I try the best I can, and help those in need but I wonder if it makes a difference.”

  She smiled slightly, turned her eyes towards her companions and then back to the Mage. “We feel the same way, Jeralye. We all have suffered loss, and pain. And we all know that our angst is mirrored throughout this land, and we all feel the need to do something about it. Something on that grand scheme.”

  She tucked her plate away to give the Mage her full attention. “When we found you, we had a temporary home in Tarnel. Now that we’ve been discovered, we obviously cannot return and we’re now forced to put our plan into action.”

  The Mage blinked, obviously trying to soak it in. “Plan?”

  “It’s actually rather simple, yet easier said than done. We plan on building an army, and using it to declare war on Idimus. We plan on freeing the people. However, since willing humans are slim in numbers, are hope is to convince both the elves of Sharia and the dwarves of Mt. Forgas to take up arms and unite. To fight back for their land.”

  The idea was unheard of except to those select few that now sat around the fire. It was not the first time they had shared
their idea, and yet all those before had ended the same way. All worried that Jeralyle would turn towards the hills and run away as fast as he could, as the others before him had. All thought that they would get at least a strange glance, or perhaps even a chuckle out of the young fellow. But he didn’t say a word. He simply took a deep breath, gave a concerned look to each and every one of them, went to say something but held back and finally set his plate down. From there he stood, bowed cordially to them and headed to the edge of camp, where he promptly sat.

  Merial kept an interest in him—as did the rest—but didn’t say anything to him. They imagined they had said enough, and did not want to shock him any further. They only occasionally looked his way, watching as he pulled a small book from his pocket and began reading it; never once looking up.

  He stayed that way for three hours, until the sun was blaring straight down upon them from the middle of the sky. Then, when everyone had wandered off to gather their things, he got up.

  Elryia was off in the distance, tending to her horse when a mage of her own alignment approached slowly.

  “I’d like to come with you.”

  She turned and gave him a curious look.

  “I’m sorry that I responded so strangely. What you said shocked me. Not in the sense that I can’t believe you’re doing it, but in that no one has done it before. It’s unheard of, to tell the truth, but it just may work.”

  The young man bowed his head for a moment, shyness flashing over his face.

  “I’m not a fighter per say, and I know very little offensive magick. But I’m a good healer and a hard worker, if you’ll have me I would like to join you. And Gnert as well.” The little gnome tucked by his side, nodded and grinned to acknowledge his acceptance.

  “We would love to have you Jeralyle—both of you. You seem like a good person and a kind soul.” She held out her hand to seal the deal, and Jeralyle willingly took it. The young woman then used that same hand to scratch Gnert’s head, causing him to thump his foot and nearly pass out.

  “Then it’s settled. Would you like me to tell the others?” He turned to look back at the others, catching most of them staring—Merial especially.

  Elryia just winked, turned back to her horse and looked back at him over her shoulder, “I already did.” The Mage looked puzzled. “They’re fine with it. Come on, we’ve got a horse for you.”

  Jer nodded and followed her to a brown horse with a patch of white on its chest. Jeralyle ran his hand down the mount’s face several times, staring at it inquisitively.

  “Lanyan caught him just this morning. I’m surprised he’s not being more aggressive. He had a heck of a time getting him back. I worried you may need some time with him…but he seems rather calm.”

  Jeralyle smiled, and looked the beast straight in the eyes. “I have a way with animals. This one shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Good.” Elryia first acknowledged Gnert with a glance, then shifted to Gort. “Gort has also agreed to let Gnert use Pony, and for the time being he will ride with me. It can be a little defiant, but I think that’s only because of his prior rider.”

  Jeralyle looked appreciative, but still shook his head. “Thank you, but it won’t be necessary.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Aye, I am.”

  Elryia eyed him suspiciously, wondering what the Gnome would do for a ride, but simply came to the conclusion that he would partner up with Jeralyle. “That is well, then. I will leave you to prepare.” The young woman smiled and dipped gently to him. “I am glad you’re coming with us, Jeralyle.”

  The Mage returned the gesture. “I am glad as well. Thank you for having me.”

  The young woman bowed one final time, and turned to the rest of the group while he watched her walk away, loosing his vision first to the Dwarf who looked leery and grumpy as always, then to Merial who blushed and skittered away, caught staring once more.

  The Mage simply chuckled, then went back to petting his horse, examining his surroundings briefly in search of the Gnome, but he was nowhere to be found.

  Several feet away, Elryia was breaking down her tent when she felt a tiny tug at her shirt. She turned to see a dirty, grinning face staring up at her and she tried not to chuckle. “Yes Gnert? What’s on your mind?” Not realizing that this was the worse possible question to ask a gnome.

  “Plenty Miss Elryia plenty is on my mind. I always have inventions that I’m constantly pontificating in my head, what would work—what wouldn’t. Things of that nature, but I did want to offer my service. One Jeralyle has found quite beneficial is my cleaning up the camp. I’m smart. Very smart Miss Elryia, and I make it impossible to track. So if you would like to be on your way, I will willingly make sure that no evidence is left from our time spent ensconcing here.”

  Elryia went wide-eyed. He didn’t talk that much but when it did finally surface it was like a stampede of wild horses. “I would appreciate that very much Gnert, What…” She debated on asking him something else, but stopped and packed that last of her things.

  The Gnome grinned again and skittered off, tending to his own belongings as everyone finally finished up and rode up to meet her. Elryia turned quickly to Jeralyle as she mounted her steed, “Is he going to be well?”

  “Aye, he’s smart and very thorough. He’ll make sure that no one will find even the slightest trace of us being here.”

  “Yes, but should we just leave him here without a horse? Will he be able to catch up?”

  Jeralyle cracked a smile and nodded, “Oh… He’ll catch up.”

  Elryia wondered about the look, but left it at that. With a shrug, she pushed forward, followed by Lanyan, Carsis, Merial, Jeralyle and finally a grumbling Gort, cursing Pony the entire time.

  They had traveled nearly half the afternoon when Jeralyle gained a bit of speed to catch up to Elryia.

  “May I ask you something?” he said, riding close next to her.

  “Certainly.”

  “Tis not a short answer for the question I have to ask.”

  Elryia smiled and slowed down a bit, “We’ve got a long way to go Jeralyle, I don’t mind.”

  “I’ve never…thought about doing something like this, nor have I really taken the time to gather any information outside of fabricated history books on the King, but in terms of numbers… What are we looking at?”

  Elryia looked bewildered for a moment.

  “The King has soldiers and cavalry yes, hundreds, but I sense that after his experience in trying to execute me in order to capture you, he will no longer send grunts and foot soldiers to do his work. I know he has aides and high ranking officers, though I don’t know how many.”

  Elryia nodded, yet it was not a subject she was all too entirely happy speaking of. Idimus was a coward first and foremost, so he surrounded himself with several warriors, and one very dangerous, very brilliant black wizard.

  “Most notable is perhaps Gerin, you probably remember him.”

  “You don’t forget a face like that.”

  “He’s the General of the King’s army. He’s perhaps the greatest warrior in the land next to the King himself. He’s cold and calculating, and he doesn’t like when his King feels threatened. At least I imagine, since this is the first time anyone has even pondered standing up to him. He’s focused, deranged, and obsessive. I imagine if we are to ever be caught, it would be by him.”

  Jeralyle felt his stomach sour at the thought of that happening again, but he kept listening—eager to learn everything he could.

  “There are the brothers Estophicles and Estechian, both excellent swordsmen, trained under Gerin himself. Estechian is the commanding officer of Idimus’ cavalry. He’s a phenomenal horseman and an excellent tracker, yet he seems to have no forethought, no intuition and he’s often right at Gerin’s side. Outside the battlefield I don’t think he knows how to make a decision on his own. His little brother Estophicles is even less independent, usually mirroring his actions to his older brother or Gerin.�
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  Jeralyle’s eyes narrowed as he tried to soak in all the information given to him.

  “Make no mistake though, Jeralyle. All try to make their King happy, and since I now believe that we are number one on the list of enemies, they will be incredibly driven and dangerous. When you find one, the others will not be far behind. I promise you that.”

  Jeralyle nodded, his eyes shifting as he calculated, but they found her again. “Please. Go on. I wish to know all that you know.”

  Elryia glanced forward at the road ahead and looked back at the Mage, “Kalinies is the one who comes to mind next.” Elryia paused, and something flashed in her eyes that Jeralyle had never seen. He wasn’t sure if it was anger, as it was so hard to tell on such an innocent, beautiful face; but nonetheless something surfaced that was so fierce he thought it best not to dig. “As Gerin is the best swordsman in this land, Kalinies is perhaps the greatest wizard. Heart as black as the robes he dons on his body. He knows very little of war though. While Gerin is off fighting what tiny skirmishes the King may have, Kalinies stays in the kingdom. He is Idimus’ bodyguard and his highest aide. He rarely leaves the King’s side, only when he’s sent on missions that the King would trust to no one else. He’s brilliant, and nearly unstoppable, but I give him no credit and I not impressed by him in the least. Under all his talent, skill, and knowledge he’s nothing but a cold-hearted murderer and stone-skinned advocate of evil.”

  Jeralyle thought he even heard the girl growl low in her throat, and again he saw that twinge turn her angelic face, and thought it best to change the subject. “Anymore I need to know about?”

  “Yes, sadly…others. We have a great war ahead of us Jeralyle and a fight with many outstanding warriors. Tell me, have you ever heard the story of Perticus?”

  Jeralyle pursed his lips. “I’ve heard some things, but I doubt they are more than just legends… I know he is the King’s brother and a wizard, at least of sorts.”

  Elryia let a faint smile drape across her lips, “You may be surprised to hear what you read is most likely true. Perticus is…”

  But she was cut short by a bounding horse with a stern looking Lanyan in the saddle. He charged in front of Elryia and Jeralyle, turned a narrow-eyed glance behind them, holding a finger up to his lips for silence.

  El knew that look and it could mean only one thing: Trouble.

  She waited on the Elf, as she could always rely on his superb hearing, which had gotten them out of more than one sneak attack. “What Lan, what is it?”

  Lanyan merely shook his head and tossed about his golden hair, “I don’t know Elryia. It could be a spell…I’ve never heard anything like it, but its coming up behind us and it’s fast.”

  Elryia turned her horse around as she stared off towards the horizon, where she saw nothing except a billow of dust far off in the distance. No spells made that kind of trail, so it had to be something else. Perhaps it was horses, maybe the cavalry she had spoken of earlier. She knew Idimus would no longer treat her as a joke or an idle threat; she’d known this day was coming, the day where he did everything in his power to try and stop her. “What does it sound like Lanyan?”

  The Elf turned his head and closed his eyes, trying to focus on that sound alone, “It’s… a whirring of sorts, almost like metal clicking.”

  “Armor” Elryia thought to herself and she pushed her horse towards the back of the line, screaming as loud as her angelic voice would allow as she charged through. “Everyone be on your guard!”

  She nearly toppled the others, including Gort who was still struggling to get Pony to do what he said. He turned his complete attention to the girl as they all rode up slowly to get into a more defensive position.

  Elryia saw the dust again, “Damn it,” she muttered. It was coming up too fast for them to hide, and it was still unapparent what it was. They would have to fight, and El would be the first to do so. Instinctually, her hands dropped to her side and her fingers twitched, all the while her full lips moving in rapid succession, speaking in tongues only Jeralyle understood—and even he just barely.

  “Be careful El,” Carsis muttered, tugging a blade from his saddlebag, watching the approaching cloud as they all were.

  Everyone felt the air get cold around them and saw the ice building on Elryia’s fingers. The frost lingered, and each of the companions that had seen this before knew of the pelting ice that would follow, leaving whatever it was battered and confused, long enough for them to close the gap and engage.

  The spell was finalized, gathered in Elryia’s hand, a bright swirling blue mist that jutted against an invisible barrier, seemingly having a destructive mind of its own. Elryia was prepared. Now, it was the waiting that was driving her crazy. The maddening question of what lay before them. Lanyan felt sick to his stomach, Carsis could only think of Merial, and Gort anticipated it—actually liked the feeling. His body tense, the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. Of all the companions, he was the one ready for a fight.

  As was Elryia. That soft, gorgeous face had turned hard, and those darling eyes were narrowed—focused on the task. The others had seen it before, but Jeralyle never had. It was strange; he slowly began to see that under the seemingly gentle smile and caring nature, she was a warrior; a true wizard. She was stern, calculating and patient, and he feared yet was fascinated by how quickly she had managed to call upon such a destructive spell. Even though he sat twenty feet away from her, his teeth began to chatter from the blistering cold.

  Tense seconds passed. They could all hear it now: a bizarre clicking and whirring that almost did sound like a spell, but they still couldn’t place it. Could only watch as the cloud of dust grew closer and closer. It was bearing down on them, and the sun setting in their eyes didn’t help their view in the least. They all anticipated whatever might come, and they stood ready for it. Elryia’s hand reared back, twitching—coiled like a rattlesnake desiring to strike the first visible target.

  A target that finally approached.

  Wearing half of a turtle shell on his head as a helmet was Gnert, riding the strangest contraption any had seen. It was three-wheeled device, much like a lame wagon. One wheel was in front, wide and large with grooves carved along the outer edge for traction. The wheel was held in place by two thick bars connected at its center, extending out on either side were thin, twisting steel pipes with flat pedals on their end that Gnert pushed on furiously, spinning the wheel.

  The rods connecting the wheel angled back for nearly a yard then split left and right, where Gnerts hands were firmly attached. Further back another bar went down where it attached to a horizontal, metal slab, its top covered in a fluffy red velvet where the Gnome sat. Bolted on to the back were two more wheels on opposite sides that spun just as quickly as the front, carved with the same large grooves.

  “What…is it?”

  Yet no one could answer. They could only stare in wonder. The little Gnome didn’t take the time to stop—even though they were all poised to attack—he paid no heed as he passed.

  He only slowed down, turned his head way up towards Elryia and flashed her a huge grin that squinted his eyes and made it seem as though each end of his mouth would knock his turtle-shell helmet right off. After that, he focused ahead, a stern look as he cruised by everyone, flashing grins this way and that.

  He was well past them, creating yet another cloud of dust in front of them when the entire group relaxed in unison, some sharing confused expressions, others bright smiles, but it hit Elryia the hardest.

  Her spell dissipated into nothing once the Gnome had rode by. She took one last look to the now empty horizon behind them and spun her horse around to take the lead, trying her best to maintain that stern composure she had worn up until that point. Yet halfway on her ride back to take the lead, she broke down. Elryia could only imagine the moments leading up that point. The tense look from Lanyan, their sudden rush to organize themselves, and her damaging, dangerous intent towards the unknown target. All of it
to culminate to a furry faced, grinning gnome wearing a turtle shell on his head, riding a defunct wagon past all of them without a care in the world.

  One giggle turned into a chortle, that ruptured out into a maddening, full-fledged laughter that she could not contain. Her head reeled back, her eyes closed as the tears began to well up. Her symphonic, vocal jubilation was all the group could hear now, and they could only watch—worried she had gone mad.

  She convulsed and twisted, bending forward then leaning back against her horse, laying there and writhing; holding her stomach and gasping for air. She was lost in an uncontrolled hysterical bout of the giggles. Every time it stopped, and she had seeming control over it, the image flashed in her mind once more and the entire scene started over again. She didn’t speak, could barely breath, and that atmosphere was enough to make everyone join—if only for a short time.

  The danger of the situation had faded, and it was perhaps relief that had taken hold—and kept it for almost five minutes. Eventually Elryia calmed herself, and all others followed her lead.

  Finally able to breath right, she straightened herself as well as her clothing, tried her best to regain her stoic presence, though still wiping tears from her eyes and making a sour face, desperate to hide the smile and the laughter that she felt rising up again. “Let’s move on!” she said, her voice cracking again as the last reminisce wafted into the air.

  She was still smiling as she led her horse into a trot. Everyone was—all except a very grumpy, confused dwarf. His head flicked back and forth, pointing this direction and that, muttering and sighing. But he never seemed to form a full thought, let alone a complete word; just kept flicking his finger this way and that until his thoughts finally blurted out of his mouth, “What in tha name of all that’s holy was that?!”

  Jeralyle slowed to acknowledge the Dwarf. “It’s what Gnert calls his GOmobile. At first he used to ride with me but it was hard for him, his little legs couldn’t wrap around the horse and more often than not he risked falling off. We tried a tiny pony for him as well, but even that was too large. Eventually, he came up with that, all on a random trip when we encountered a wagon. Quickly, too. It’s how he thinks. Once the idea sparks there’s very little else he’ll focus on until the task his done. The entire thing took him about a week all together, minus the traveling we did to collect the materials. He’s been riding it ever since.”

  Gort’s face twisted and converted, and a bit of respect seemed to flicker in his eyes, but it vanished in an instant.

  “You know, some days, he even outruns me in that thing.” Jeralyle nodded and pushed forward, and the Dwarf again started staring off into the horizon at the now tiny dust cloud given off by the thing’s wheels.

  He merely chuffed, “I still don’t know what on earth I just saw.” He muttered to himself, maybe telling the truth, but he was certainly intrigued.

  On his way back to Elryia, Jeralyle pushed past a stout, strong-riding Carsis with a darling, loving brunette stuck to his back, head against his shoulder blade with her arms around his waist. Then he passed a serene elf, who seemed more in control of his horse than anyone else in the group, riding towards the edge of the road occasionally and pushing his hand out to drag it along the leaves; turning his head up towards the sun and closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, each seeming to calm his soul even further. Jer eased his way up to Elryia, tucking his horse along the side of hers and nodded gently. “I hope it didn’t scare you too badly, I thought that it was him but I didn’t want to take everyone off their guard if it wasn’t.”

  She shrugged it off. “No. It’s well. I’m just glad that I didn’t throw something awful at him. I would have felt awful, and probably scarred him for life.” She chuckled a bit and the Mage joined in the laughter. She narrowed her eyes and stared off, the corner of her mouth perking up again, “That little thing was fast!” She remarked, and Jeralyle only bobbed his head in agreement.

  They paused for a moment, looked at each other then forward again, “So…Perticus?”

  Her memory came back to her, but both only held blank stares and not much energy was given. The mood no longer struck them, and it was obvious that they just wished to enjoy the weather and the ride.

  “It’s several days to Sharia,” she said as she stared off again. “There’s plenty of time to talk about it.” Jeralyle let out a long, relieved breath and pulled his horse back from her a bit. “But I will tell you one thing that is perhaps my strongest concern.” The once relaxed Jerayle tightened his eyes on her. “Though Idimus has been ruler for hundreds of years and has always projected himself as such—I sometimes get the feeling that someone else is pulling the strings…or waiting to. Sometimes his deeds seem not to derive from only one man. His acts seem darker than that of simply a paranoid, corrupted King.”