* * * * *
Elryia and the others walked in, kneeling before the council a second time, then standing.
“You made a very good point Elryia,” Rasonius began, prompting a smile and a bow from the young woman. “But points do not win wars. If you are truly intent to win back your freedom, nothing short of ripping Idimus from his throne will grant you that.” Again, he leaned forward, “The council has agreed that if you show potential—convince the dwarves, gather the humans, find a suitable, safe place to train an army of that size—we will aid you.”
Elryia almost raised her hands and cheered—as did the others—but she held still, “Thank you, my Lord.”
“Furthermore…” Rasonius began, but was interrupted by a set of heavy footsteps entering the chamber. The council turned first, then the group.
Lanyan faced left, catching a glimpse of Elryia. Seeing her light up as she did, he gathered whom they belonged to even before he saw him.
“Grahamas…” Elryia whispered, half excited and half in shock. She wanted to reach out and embrace him as he approached, but she resisted because of the council.
He pressed through the group, smiling at Elryia and running his hand down her arm. He bowed gently to Samsun, smiling on the surface—rage searing his mind and hammering his adrenaline underneath. The time would come for that, well out of the council’s way, so he simply knelt.
“Rise, Grahamas,” and all on the companions’ side were shocked. He knew his name. The King took a moment, seeing the way Lanyan and others accepted him and pieced it together, “This is your group?”
Graham stood, “Aye.”
“Lanyan said nothing. If he had, my decision would have come faster.”
“I asked him not to. I knew my presence or knowledge of such would influence your decision and I wanted Elryia to convince you on her own.”
The King looked between the two, “She did.”
“I knew so, before I even entered the chamber,” he smiled and tossed her a quick wink, causing a blush and an averted gaze from the young woman.
Rasonius looked confused for a moment, “Then… If you did not come to speak for your group, why for?”
Grahamas, still brightened at Elryia and proud of her, looked quickly to the Elven king, “I apologize for the abrupt intrusion, but an urgent matter has arisen that requires I speak with them.”
Rasonius’ gaze turned from the council to the group, “I believe we have reached a suitable agreement.” Elryia nodded quickly to him. “If there is nothing else to discuss, then we can adjourn,” He looked up, but no response from the group or the council, “So be it. Elryia, I look forward to hearing from you. Take care of Lanyan.”
Elryia kept her soft expression, “Thank you, your Highness—for everything. I promise that I will.”
“Grahamas, it was good seeing you after so long.”
“You as well, Lord Rasonius.”
Interest all around piqued, the group knelt quietly one last time and then made their way from the chamber. The moment his foot hit the outside marble, Elryia was ready to unload a plethora of questions upon him. Lanyan beat her to it. “How do you know Rasonius?”
Grahamas laughed as he approached the steps, eyes adjusting from the focused sun. “I actually taught him how to ride a horse many, many years ago. I spent a long time hiding in this forest and I’ve come to know a lot of elves, even ones that grow up to be king.”
Lanyan was quiet after that, seeming satisfied.
Elryia, however, was not. “Graham…” she strolled up to him, “What is so urgent? Should I be worried?”
Grahamas took a moment to scan his surroundings. They were still not far enough away. He took a breath, then his search continued—this time for Ristalln. Although, if the Knight was as talented now as he was during the times of Highlace, Graham would never see him. With Samsun following so close, Grahamas couldn’t tell her the truth—not yet. So he blurted out the first thing he could think of, “It’s Jeralyle.”
“He left two nights ago. You’ve seen him?”
Graham nodded, feeling sick for having to lie but it was necessary. Regardless, he had not laid out any deceptions yet. “He trailed me after I left actually. He’s waiting for us in the clearing.” And then he was silent.
Elryia still had questions but Grahamas seemed anxious, so she restrained.
As did the rest of the group, all trying their hardest to keep up with him. They had made it away from one clearing and were being led to another. Little was said in over an hour, only brief talk about Rasonius and the agreement they had come to. Finally, the group entered into where Elryia and the others had slept the night before, and the moment Grahamas set foot, he stopped. This area was suitable, but he knew not if Ristalln and Jeralyle were with him so he waited. Several indirect signs were given to try and draw him out while the rest of the group waited behind.
“I’m with you Grahamas,” came a very soft whisper from the trees, only loud enough for Graham and Lanyan to hear. But before the Elf could react, Grahamas did. He spun around and grabbed Samsun by his shirt, then yanked him forward and threw him in the dirt. Sam hit the ground and tumbled hard. His mouth expressed an exorbitant amount of pain, yet he still managed to get to his hands and knees; preparing to get up until he felt the pinch of a cold blade against his neck. “Move… Die,” growled Grahamas.
“Grahamas, what are…” but the steel dug harder, cutting off his sentence.
“I’m only going to ask you this once. You deceive me…and your life is over. Who are you?”
A slow, sick smile crept across his face, “I’m Samsun…”
Grahamas almost crushed it into his throat, but a soft voice behind him stopped his advance, “Grahamas, what’s going on?”
The Champion kept both eyes on the man but tilted his head slightly, “He’s not who he says he is.”
“How do you know?” She asked, drawing even closer to him.
“Yes, Grahamas. How do you know?” Elryia’s question was valid, but Samsun had almost a sick connotation—as though he was antagonizing the man when he asked—and sly undertone. A challenging look of defiance that he’d had since the beginning still stained his face.
Grahamas, turning his full attention to the man and seeing the look, could no longer hold back. He brought his left leg up and crashed a hard boot into Samsun’s face. The man spun and landed on his back, blood pouring out the side of his mouth.
“When I first met you, it was said that Ristalln died,” Grahamas snarled as he approached, the sword finding the other unscathed side of the imposter’s neck. On cue, Ristalln exited from the trees, walking up to stare down at Samsun. “Ristalln,” he looked over at the man quickly to demonstrate to everyone who he was, “tells me that Samsun died.”
And the man, even with a sword piercing his flesh, chuckled—then laughed.
“What is so amusing?” Grahamas growled
“Two things. One: amazement. I am amazed that a man who remained undefeated on the battlefield for hundreds of years took this long to piece it together.” He breathed slowly—heavily—and then whistled before Grahamas could do anything about it. “And second: irony. I find it ironic that you discovered it now, when it was all about to be revealed…regardless.”
Grahamas’ attention diverted now to the rustling brush of the clearing’s edge and Samsun found the opportunity to pull away. The tip of the Champion’s blade sunk into the dirt, eyes frozen on the outer forest.
One by one shadowed figures broke from the thick leaves and heavy branches of Sharia forest: Gerin, Estechian, Drogan, and Kalinies. Followed, finally, by Idimus. The King was in the same armor the last time Grahamas saw him. Jet black, huge teethed edges like a giant saw blade. The helmet was the most depraved, modeled after a human skull with two massive, thick horns twisting out from the top and pointing forward. “Hello…Champion,” came an echoed, diluted voice from inside.
In A Time Of Darkness Page 57
