* * * * *
Grahamas had ridden all day and still could not dispel what Lornya had told him earlier. Her being there closed his worries for Elryia and the others. She would risk her own life protecting them if need be and his stress—at least about that—had washed away the moment she agreed to watch after them. But as he continued, he was still uneasy—and it was his own mind that was causing it.
The moment his journey began he realized just how out of touch with the world he had become, and how much of being a warrior he had actually lost. Kalinies, for the third time, had managed to finish his spells before Grahamas was even aware of him. Rhimaldez, despite his intentions, had followed him twice without Grahamas detecting even the slightest hint of him. Now Jeralyle. When he had met the Mage he’d had nothing but a great impression of him. He was a bit outspoken when he wanted to know something and he was still young and headstrong, but he seemed the furthest thing from evil. At least, Graham had thought so.
So did everyone else.
Now, he was mixed within the group, bonding with them and learning who they were. But for what reason? What was he hiding? Questions Grahamas had asked himself time and again since his meeting. Questions he didn’t have the answers to. Not yet. But the most daunting of any, and the only one he did have: how he got passed him in the first place.
For three hundred years, since the fall of Highlace, Grahamas had slipped. He trained his body every day, remaining just as skilled with a blade, just as fast, if not more so than he was. His mind, however, had dulled. He was no longer pitted against other generals in battle, only trying to outsmart the weather. He wasn’t hunting criminals or vagabonds, but rabbits and boars. His situation for those three hundred years did not demand that he maintained his heightened senses, his vast intellect—so he had not called upon it or used it. Now, it was buried deep within his mind. Yet, more upon more of the recent situations he found himself in demanded it.
His last encounter with Kalinies reminded Grahamas that he needed to be the Champion he had been—now. He needed to regain what he lost during those three centuries. Putting himself in danger time and again had made him realize that being a warrior was more than simply speed, knowing how to use a sword. He needed his senses back; his awareness.
Kalinies was crafty, deceitful, and he had a small enough frame to conceal himself in places Graham would never even think to look. That, however, was how Kalinies had hidden from him in the first place. Grahamas had always looked for him—for anything dangerous.
Memories of Tallvas surfaced as he steered towards Highlace. Months after their first lesson, the Duke had brought him here to teach him how to truly hunt. The first thing he learned was never to use his sight. “The mind creates illusions in the eyes. Never trust them.” He remembered Tallvas telling him. The first month they had spent hunting, the Duke would not allow Grahamas to use his eyes once. Instead he forced the Champion to rely on only his ears and nose. It was difficult initially, but he survived that month and over the years after, Grahamas had developed his other senses so well that he could hear heartbeats from yards away—could smell a rose buried in a pile of dung. The Champion eventually refined them so well that he was able to fight with his eyes closed; something even Tallvas was unable to do.
Grahamas needed to tap into that again, needed his skills sharp. Over the past few months, he had learned that he could not trust his eyes. So he closed them as he rode, trying to allow what he had lost to resurface again. For an hour, his ears were overwhelmed with the muddled, dominating sound of Feiron’s hooves pounding into the dirt.
First he was tempted to stop the horse, but he remembered that there were no shortcuts to his return, so he rode faster, his horse’s feet getting heavier as Grahamas tried to discern the different sounds about him. Knowing it wouldn’t be easy; reminding himself he couldn’t lose focus. He closed his eyes tighter and listened harder as he passed by the mountain where he had first begun his quest.
In A Time Of Darkness Page 47
