* * * * *
Further west and days south, another individual, with much different motives, was on the same quest. Though alone, he had been tormented and attacked. Not by weather or strangers, not even by the wild; the only thing that plagued Gerin was the one thing he could not fight, escape, or run from: his own mind. For the first time in nearly one hundred fifty years of service, Gerin’s loyalty was beginning to crack.
Until now, Gerin had always believed there to be a mutual respect between he and Idimus. The General thought he had earned it. No matter what dubious act the King needed performed, whatever danger or harm those orders may cause, Gerin never questioned him.
He was a soldier, and on the battlefield, such loyalty earned trust. Warriors became dependent on those around them on the same side. Idimus had never spent time in the ranks. The only battle he had ever participated in was the one that earned him the crown. After that, the King had left the fighting to everyone else. At first to Kalinies, then those that he thought would fulfill the prophecy, and finally to Gerin. When he was chosen, Gerin felt as though he had a place in a world that constantly rejected him. He was too grateful, too fearful to ever jeopardize that by not following orders. He was loyal from the first day, and it needled his flesh that Idimus was not. Despite how many times Gerin risked his life in obedience, Idimus had sent him on a quest—perhaps a very dangerous one—and never told him why. Which is not what he expected. Even if Idimus had pushed him to retrieve it and given him no information, it would not be as insulting. Rather, his Liege had manipulated him, played on his honor and pride as a warrior and acted as though this command was to benefit the General only. Gerin was set on the fact that the moment he walked into Kaldus with the weapon, Idimus would wrench it from his grasp. He most likely wouldn’t even allow him to use it for the war, or ever.
As hooves pounded into the dirt, despondence did the same in his head. Suddenly the air seemed to miss his lungs entirely, his whole life had been about serving his King. He knew nothing else. If he was to leave, he knew not where he would go, or even who he would be. And he now found himself terrified, as if the choice was already made. He would lose his rank, his duty, and most of all: his chance at the vengeance that he so desperately sought.
The realization so great and so overwhelming that he had to stop his horse, only remaining there in silence as he looked about frantically, forcing himself to breath. Without an army, it was impossible to face Grahamas. It was likely that he could lure or even challenge the Champion to a one-on-one fight, but that was not enough for him. Gerin wanted to completely destroy Grahamas—body and mind. He wanted to be faster, stronger, and more skilled than him. He wanted to outsmart him on the battlefield. Without an army—the one that Idimus would provide—it would not happen. If he were to confront Idimus, even betray him, he would lose every soldier he had trained so hard.
Gerin pulled in one more hard-earned breath and with it came a very dark thought, an even more macabre realization. In all purposes, he would not have to tell Idimus until it was far too late. The General could do to Idimus exactly what the King had done to him: manipulation. The war he had trained himself all his life for was looming. He could feel it. He could bear, at least for now, swallowing his pride and masking his emotions in front of the King until that fated day. After he defeated Grahamas and destroyed his rebellion, he could simply fade from the battlefield. None would be the wiser. They, possibly, may even think him dead and he could simply disappear.
Gerin sighed, shaking his head as he went to rub his eyes. “This is madness,” he thought to himself. Idimus had been fair—or at least tolerable—until now. His current mistake was no reason to destroy one hundred fifty years of service. It was not his job to question the motives of his King, but simply to follow his orders, even if they weren’t given to him honestly.
As the General started riding again, continuing on towards the mist, the emotion of betrayal continued to scrape at his mind. For a fleeting moment, he had wondered why he had not seen any of this before, a feeling that grew stronger the closer Sayassa drew.
In A Time Of Darkness Page 86
