In A Time Of Darkness

by Gregory James Knoll

  * * * * *

  Grahamas, again, wished that all his armor had been present when he found the gauntlets. He was going to need it.

  Rhimaldez had not made a move, at least not yet. He only stood in the doorway, his massive frame blocking any possible escape route.

  But Grahamas’ mind wasn’t focused on running. The most prominent thought in his head was his concern as to how Rhimaldez was able to find him. There was a chance, however slim, that he—being Captain of the Guard—had followed him all the way from Kaldus, but Samsun had been cautious; overly so. If Rhimaldez had found him he had done so by tracking Grahamas long after their encounter in the castle. And if he had been able to hunt Graham so easily, he would find Elryia and the others with even less effort. Unless, Grahamas was able to finish this fight here, he may do that very thing. And yet, Graham still would not kill him.

  He represented a viable threat, was incredibly dangerous but he was still a man—an innocent one—and Grahamas was not a murderer. Rhimaldez was not a roving executioner like his counterpart Drogan. He was a guardian for Idimus; whatever involvement he had with the King’s enemies was little at best. The few treacherous acts he had committed, he was forcefully persuaded or brainwashed into doing. And once more, Grahamas found himself in a very dangerous quandary.

  Rhimaldez was the first to disrupt the stare down and tugged Wind Chaser from his back, prompting Graham to slide his blade from its sheath, though he wondered what use aside from defense it would provide. Rhimaldez held the spear in one hand, pointing it forward, looking down the length with the blade aimed towards Grahamas.

  “So we meet again Rhimaldez,” Graham spoke, trying to get him talking and keep it that way. If he went on long enough, he may be able to devise a plan.

  “Indeed…Grahamas the True.”

  Graham’s expression widened. He imagined that Idimus had relayed some bit of information to Rhimaldez before he sent him out, but would give him only enough to get the job done. Idimus would certainly not tell him that. It wasn’t necessary and—Grahamas thought—unknown. That name had not been used in centuries. A name Grahamas believed only three people in the world to know, “Where did you hear that?” he muttered, still trying to lengthen the conversation.

  Rhimaldez’s eyes brightened, as did his mouth, “In a very old, very dusty book within the library of Kaldus.”

  Grahamas truly wondered if he was telling the truth, or if he spun a lie, painting over exactly what Idimus had told him. “All those books, I believed destroyed.”

  “Not in Kaldus. There is a wealth of knowledge to be had, tucked far away from the world where it can be horded and used by the King. I’ve learned a lot in my service there, read many stories. But yours, by far, was my favorite. ‘Grahamas the True, named initially for the emblem on his right arm, one that had been with him since birth—the old language’s symbol for the word. Yet, in his later years, he earned it again for his valor, devotion, and honesty; both on the battlefield and off. The book then goes on to describe you. I thought you a myth, but when I saw you in Kaldus, I knew exactly who you were.” Rhimaldez pointed the tip of Wind Chaser at him one last time, then pulled it into both hands and strapped it to his back. “I don’t think I’ll be needing my weapon.”

  Graham scoffed, thinking him egotistical, “You may find it difficult to kill me without it.”

  Rhimaldez roared with laughter, “Kill you?! Ha! Kill someone who went to such an obvious expense to spare my life the first time we fought? Humorous, True. I’m not going to kill you, nor do I want to.” Graham’s emotions ran high now, his task becoming much easier. “However, I am a warrior and I seek vengeance like any other. You rendered me unconscious last we met.” Massive, white hands clenched into equally large, white fists, “I think leaving you the same way is suitable.” Graham felt his emotions sink again.

  With Rhimaldez making the same effort as Graham—that of control—it still may prove to be difficult, but far less. “Let’s not waste time, then.” Graham commented, tucking his sword away and removing the belt from his waist.

  “Certainly.” Rhimaldez smirked, lunging forward with a hook from his right.

  Off guard, Graham could only back pedal to avoid the blow. Yet he wasn’t fast enough, and caught the edge of it on the left side of his chin, his head forced to the right; lucky enough to see Rhimaldez bring his left hand up. Grahamas parried with his right, locking against the Captain’s wrist. Rhimaldez previous blow had swung wide after contact, and Grahamas drove an elbow under the Captain’s arm pushing it towards Rhimaldez’s chest. The Captain yanked his right arm back and down to stop the assault. Grahamas pressed on, his left forearm against Rhimaldez’s right, his hand anchored on the left wrist of the Captain.

  Graham snarled, pushing again, trying to gain ground in the standoff. The Captain shoved right back, but his eyes averted to the window, outside to the empty night. For just a moment Rhimaldez’s mind seemed to be somewhere else; as though he was in a hurry. Rhimaldez broke his left hand free as his focus returned to the task. He reached over with it, aiming for the top of Graham’s head. But the smaller man shifted to the side and the fist scraped by his left arm. Immediately Rhimaldez hooked it in, forcing Graham to flex to block the oncoming blow—digging his heel into the ground to brace himself. Rhimaldez’s eyes flared, obvious frustration starting to wear on him and once more he lost his attention to the blank window. Graham’s left arm was still pressed up against Rhimaldez’s right and he used the distraction to slip free, sliding it around and pushing his hand against the back of Rhimaldez’s head, pulling it down as he brought his knee up towards the Captain’s abdomen—leading him towards it.

  The Captain’s registered the attack—seeming more anxious than ever—blocking the advancing knee with his palm. Once the blow was averted, he twisted his hand so his palm now faced upright, fingers closing into it and a fist came racing up towards Graham’s chin. Graham saw it coming, and had he released Rhimaldez’s head and brought his leg down and back, he could have leaned away from the blow. Instead, he pushed forward even further and took it straight on the chin, staggered and collapsed onto the floor unmoving.

  Rhimaldez faltered as well—if only mentally—for a heartbeat, surprised at how easily the Champion had fallen. He waited another long, agonizing moment to see if Graham would recover. When he did not, the Captain gave a bow Grahamas would not see, turned abruptly and rushed from the room.

  When the heavy footsteps were far enough down the hall, Grahamas slowly opened his eyes. He stood and stretched his mouth open, surprised that Rhimaldez had been so easily duped, and even more so at how hard he hit. The Champion rubbed his jaw as he headed towards the window, sliding it open and jumping out. He sprinted around the back of the inn to see Rhimaldez heading off in the direction Graham had come from earlier.

  The Captain had obviously been distracted by something and Grahamas was willing to take a punch and fake unconsciousness to create the opportunity to find out what it was. He worked his way around the building as he headed down the road, staying close to the edge in case the Captain turned. He was focused on something else entirely and driving hard towards whatever it was.

  Graham did his best to keep up as they continued on, making their way towards the mountain he’d retrieved Hope from. “So much for sleep…” he thought to himself as nearly twenty minutes had passed and still nothing. The further they traveled, the more his curiosity piqued. Whatever possible scenarios Grahamas had concocted—perhaps that Rhimaldez was desperate to return to Kaldus in a timely manner—had been purged from his head. They were traveling in the opposite direction, which created the obvious question: Where were they going?

  Finally, as if Rhimaldez had heard the query in Graham’s head, he stopped and stared at a tiny farm—the one Grahamas had seen on his previous trip by here. “Why is he stopping here?” He wondered to himself as he pushed closer, “And why does he look so sad?” Grahamas gasped as more than one realization tumbled in
to his head.

  This was Rhimaldez’s farm. The Captain of the Guard had not followed him all the way from Kaldus; he had done so from here. He was watching over them from afar and had seen Graham passing by on the road. He wondered how long Rhimaldez had been there, a day or maybe even two. Vigilant and solemn, and in some bizarre way, Graham could relate to that. He knew how it felt to be a protective shadow.

  The Captain remained, then a flicker of a shadow flashed in the window and Rhimaldez fled from the road and rushed into the forest. Grahamas pushed by the farm, prepared to follow, but halted when he passed by the front door and heard a scream come from inside.

  The Determined Caress Of Destiny

  Graham held, wondering if Rhimaldez had heard it and worried he would come rushing back—but he was nowhere to be found. Again, a scream, this one followed by a child crying and a large crash. He now could not sit idly and wait for Rhimaldez to return. He would deal with him when the time came, if it even arose.

  He crossed the twenty paces with haste and checked the door, but it had been locked and was made of thick oak. His chances of breaking it down were slim, so he focused on the window. Normally he tried to avoid such antics, as someone crashing through the glass may cause more alarm than good, but he didn’t see any other options. He stepped back once, then twice before leaping forward. His final thought was hoping they didn’t barricade that as well. With his arms in front of his face and threw himself full on.

  The glass shattered against his weight and he immediately angled his body down, hands hitting the ground first as he tucked and somersaulted, rolling from his hands to his feet, standing as quickly as possible. On his right, Graham saw three soldiers surrounding a table—now resting on its side—and on his left a young woman, a fierce look in her wide, exotic brown eyes standing in front of a crib. In one hand she held a small kitchen knife, wielding it in front of the guards. The other hand was pulling the shoulder length black hair away from her face.

  Two of the three soldiers turned aggressively on Graham. The tallest of them made it to the Champion in two quick strides, but had no idea how fast Grahamas truly was. Before his foot could stand solidly, Grahamas had unsheathed his sword and drove the tip into the man’s chest. Trying to take advantage, the second advancing attacker pushed around his fallen comrade and hacked at Graham’s abdomen. In response, the Champion pulled his sword from the falling soldier and reached across his body to flick the oncoming weapon away. Ignoring Grahamas completely, the third guard reached around the table towards the woman, hoping to use the distraction to his advantage. Graham turned his right hand to deflect another swipe from the second soldier, and in seeing the third still lunging towards the woman, his left hand reached back to grab his dagger, then whipped forward, flinging the blade out and into the third guard’s outstretched arm, tacking both it and the knife to the wall. The soldier screamed in pain and dropped his weapon to clutch at his wrist—then the dagger—trying desperately to pull them free. The middle-guard came a third time, reeling back and arcing a wide blow that hacked down towards Graham’s head. A vibrating, resounding clash echoed after Grahamas moved his blade horizontal to meet the other. Frustrated, the guard pulled back to strike again. With the soldier’s arms high and abdomen exposed, Graham found his opening. Dropping his shoulder and ducking his head, the Champion lunged forward, plowing his collarbone into the attacker’s gut.

  The man’s eyes closed, his breath left his body as he launched backwards, arms and legs flailing in front of him before landing heavily on the floor. Grahamas wasted no time in following, stepping up and towering over him before turning his blade down and driving it forcefully into his chest. The final soldier was still struggling with the dagger and Grahamas held his blade tight to his throat, turning his attention then to the woman. “Are you…?” He had started to ask, but was interrupted by the door behind him crashing open and swinging hard into the wall.

  At first Graham believed it to be more soldiers, and instinctively turned towards the sound, stepping protectively in front of the woman. Instead, it was a wide-eyed, frantic Rhimaldez with Wind Chaser drawn. He instantly feared the woman may scream again at the sight, but she didn’t make a sound—only removed the toddler from its bed, rocking him as she began to move around Grahamas to keep the Captain in her sight. Rhimaldez cast his gaze wildly about the room, taking in the situation. A surge of panic coursed through Graham, worried on how such a thing would look. He feared that he would be seen as the intruder and would have another fight on his hands—one where the Ram wouldn’t stop until he was dead. He opened his mouth to try and explain, but the Captain’s attention was on his wife. Realization set in that he had just exposed himself after spending nearly two years in the shadows—trying to hide—and he charged out as suddenly as he had in.

  Grahamas moved to follow him but a soft, calm voice stopped him, “That…that was my husband wasn’t it?” Graham could only nod, turning his back towards her and sheathing his sword. “It’s odd…but makes sense now. This is not the first time I’ve seen him, but never this close. So much about him is different, but not his eyes.” She looked confused, then utterly heartbroken. “What happened to him?”

  Grahamas remained locked on the soldier. “It’s…complicated, but I assure you it was not his choice.”

  “Are you going after him?”

  “Eventually, aye.”

  “When you find him, will you tell him that I love him? And that it doesn’t matter that he’s like that. I just want him to come home…” Graham nodded and he reached down to remorselessly yank his dagger out of the wall and the guard’s hand, pulling him up by the back of his shirt and facing the door, preparing to lead him out. “Oh…” Graham held, then faced her as she spoke, “Thank you…”

  Grahamas smiled, unable to help it. It had been a long time since he had heard those words coming from a complete stranger. Even longer since he’d felt he’d done something to earn it. He had almost forgotten how inspiring it could be.

  When he left the house, he walked back to the road, dragging the soldier with him. He turned towards Kaldus, then squeezed the guard’s wounded hand—forcing the man to wince. “Now that I’ve got your attention…” Grahamas began before whispering harshly to him, “I want you to return to Kaldus. Do not stop, don’t even slow down.” Graham slid his dagger to the guard’s neck for emphasis, “When you get there I don’t want you to speak to anyone except Idimus himself. I want you to tell him that his dark reign, his days of hurting and controlling people are over. His role as king is going to end very soon and very violently. And I, Grahamas The True, am going to end it. And you tell him you saw this.” Grahamas dropped the dagger and sheathed it, reaching up to his own right arm and ripping his sleeve open—revealing the insignia on his arm and making sure the soldier got a good look at it. He knew that he would not know what it was, but to Idimus, it would make sense. The soldier bobbed his head frantically. “Good, now move.” Grahamas ordered, and the guard didn’t waste a second in doing so.

  Once he was well on his way, Grahamas debated on turning to retrieve the other guards’ bodies, but he first wanted to find Rhimaldez. In this light, he could not see the other man’s massive footprints, so he instead went on instinct, heading the way he hoped Rhimaldez had. He had only walked ten feet when a voice, instead, came from the trees, very close behind him. “True.” Apparently, he would not have to travel far. Grahamas stopped to find a large, white hand extended out to him. Grahamas returned the gesture and shook firmly, “Thank you,” said Rhimaldez humbly.

  Graham bowed, “You’re welcome.” He paused, trying to read the face of the other. “So then you understand what occurred in there?” Rhimaldez nodded his horned head. “Good, because that encounter was not random. That attack was not simply soldiers acting out. Those were tower guards in there; elite. Did you see their uniforms?” Rhimaldez tried to smooth out the snarl that streaked across his face, and his wordless answer was evident. “Then you know that t
hey don’t leave, ever, unless they are ordered to—and they take those orders directly from the King. They were here because he demanded them to be. Most likely because you let us escape, and he won’t execute the Captain of the Guard. There would be dissention within his walls. So he sent three of his best soldiers to kill his Captain’s innocent wife and probably, his helpless child.” Graham believed Rhimaldez would strike him after he said that, but he merely hung his head. “That’s a wonderful King you serve,” Grahamas spat the words, his tone laced with sarcasm.

  “I do not serve him!” Rhimaldez barked.

  “That’s right…” Graham said sincerely, “You’ve been brain washed.” Once the sentence had been uttered, Grahamas saw the holes within it. “But how did you…?”

  “Nor am I that, Champion.”

  Grahamas narrowed his gaze, “Then…Why?”

  Rhimaldez shook his head back and forth, “Strictly to avoid a situation like this—to protect my family. If I left, he would hunt me down and kill me as well as them.”

  “Well it would seem that serving him will no longer suffice to keep him at bay.” The Captain sunk further, then bolted up and began to move. “Where are you going?”

  “To end this!” the Captain snapped as he started to push passed him in the direction of Kaldus, but Graham grabbed his arm.

  “And get yourself killed! You have a family that loves you, one that doesn’t care what Perticus has turned you into.” Rhimaldez pulled against the hand at first, but quickly stopped straining. “This will end, I promise. But you don’t need to risk your life to make it so.”

  Again he was defeated, Grahamas had a point. “I will not kill him, but if I do not continue to serve him, he will surely destroy me and everything I love.” With that, Rhimaldez broke the grip and rushed into the forest. This time, Grahamas wasn’t fast enough to stop him. He followed, but the trees were too dense and the forest far too dark. “Damn,” he muttered to himself; mostly because he let him get away—but also because he was right. He would not be safe if he didn’t return to Kaldus. Now, his family was not either.

  Grahamas huffed, and then turned his back on the forest. He knew Idimus would not relent until his orders were followed through, until Rhimaldez’s wife and son were both dead. The King, of course, would never tell Rhimaldez of his actions. If the Captain was able to play if off—that he had no idea of the events that unfolded here tonight—then he may not be in danger, even though his family was. Grahamas hoped he would be able to do that. And that worry would remain in the back of his mind but right now his only concern was getting the family as far away from here as possible. It would not be long before the soldier he let live returned to Kaldus, and Idimus knew of the failure here tonight. For a moment, he regretted the message he sent.

  With fleeting hope that Rhimaldez would return, Grahamas lingered by the forest. It would spare Graham the difficulty of having to take a woman and child on the road, but his wish was not to be fulfilled. He first debated hiding them away in Hensah, but that would be the first place Idimus would look. Graham ran his fingers through his hair as he tried to think of a safe place to put them. Someplace close in order to avoid too much travel, but knowing anywhere near here they would be found. Idimus would attack every village and burn every farm until they were discovered and he would be thrilled to do it. This only reiterated Grahamas’ reasons for fighting; but it made the problem at hand even worse.

  As though his head hurt, he pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose, wondering how he was going to get them away without the worries of the road but quickly before Idimus had the opportunity to retaliate. Then suddenly, his eyes flashed open as it struck him. An idea. A chance. One that was certainly dangerous, but it may be the only option that he had; he just hoped that it didn’t get him killed.