In A Time Of Darkness
Gregory James Knoll
Original Cover Art/Painting By Paul Knoll
Final Cover Design By Kyle Stepp
The Whispers Of Beginning Decay
It was in the darkness that he sat, and in the darkness that he lived—for only there could he find peace. A morbid, shrouded world of his own creation was the only place where he would not fear the unknown: the brutality of chances. For three hundred years he had struggled and fought to rob the world of everything. He had stifled and suppressed the people, ripped their knowledge away from them and even rewrote their history; all to bury the one thing that could tear him from the throne he obsessed over: hope. For in hope, the people may realize they lay under a tyrant’s boot. They may discover that his grip was wrapped around the throat of each and every one of them, draining them of breath and strangling their life. They may discover the desire to fight back. As of yet, they never did. They simply bent to his will as he had ordered them to, and they followed—almost willingly. Their determination was gone. The people were never eager to fight for a better life because he’d fought so hard to make them forget it was possible.
But things change…that was the only tradition anyone could be sure of.
A hand tightened on his armrest, gripped so tightly that his knuckles turned even paler than usual. The thought, the change, dug deep into his brain and no matter where he went in his chamber, he could not escape it. So he no longer bothered, only pushed himself harder into his throne, unmoving, gaze finding a blank corner and focusing on it; his eyes twitching rapidly, almost like the wheels of his mind had been cast out into the orbs. There was something rising. A threat that forced him to think of nothing else for hours, perhaps even days; a rebellion that was growing in strength and numbers with each passing day. The harder he tried to discourage it and kill it, the more defiant it became. This King had feared for his throne every day since he claimed it, but it had all been paranoia up to this point. Now it was real. And that fact pierced him deeper than any sword ever could. Toil and struggle against it all he may, he could not avoid it. The King could not even bring himself to understand it.
“Three hundred years…” he muttered, trying and failing to come to terms with why, after so long, a fire of hope had been ignited in the land. “Why now?” It was a horrid question, one that could only be asked of himself through gritted teeth. One he would answer only in the deepest recesses of his mind, where no one else would hear. His time had come to an end. He feared it since the first day he claimed the title and now three centuries later, it had caught up to him. As hard as he tried to avoid it, he could not. Tonight was the first night King Idimus legitimately saw his kingdom slipping away. A realization that paralyzed his body, all the while driving his mind into an abyss of terror and delusions. From that surfaced bizarre motives and cruel decisions, both against the people he led and those that served him. He saw fit to take out his aggression on anyone that dared to come near him, be it friend or foe. His guards, and even his advisors, were slowly becoming leery. Every hand that dared to turn the knob of his door shook. Every pair of eyes that would stare into his sanctum would never once look upon him. And if they had even the tiniest shred of news anything but wonderful, it would be said past trembling lips. They knew. They would never tell him, but they certainly knew. The kingdom was falling, and its ruler’s mind was crumbling. In response some fled. Others struggled. If nothing came of this at least he would know who was loyal to him and who needed to be…
His thoughts shifted when he heard the knock, eyes followed the tiny line of light that crept across his floor as a weary hand pushed the door open ever so gently, “Sire?” came a shaky tone.
He didn’t answer; there was no point to do such. He only gazed at the visitor before shifting his eyes back to the corner that had so readily kept his attention.
“Your General has returned Sire, and wishes to speak with you,” the guard informed and, with a nod from the King, fled twice as fast as he had entered. Seconds later, the same scenario—though the knock came much more confident and the door was opened and closed in an instant. The Lord didn’t bother to look up. Such swift actions and precise movements could only come from his undefeated General, Gerin.
“Greetings, my Lord.” He spoke, but oddly they were words heard in the King’s head. Through the room, there was only silence. As with all conversations, the General communicated to him telepathically.
“I do not wish greetings Gerin, I wish to hear news.” He said, his eyes finally averting to the shadowy pair that stared out at him from the dark.
A voice echoed in the King’s mind, “The rumors are true Sire…A white mage, or one who claims to be such. Traveling just outside of Tarnel.”
The King scoffed, the tone in his voice mock admiration. “He’s a brave fellow, is he not? Wearing forbidden clothing, boasting of long since dead titles. Tell me, did he seem fitting?”
“I believed as you did, Sire, that the Duke was merely stirring up already jumpy ranks; or perhaps trying to make a name for himself. It was my impression he had dressed some charlatan up in white robes only for the sake of bragging.”
“Aye, so then you saw him?”
The eyes shifted down, and then back up in a quick motion. He was either nodding, or ashamed.
“And what did this white mage tell you?” He laughed slightly. Perhaps as easily as Gerin could push his words into other minds, he could pull things out. Obtain things without anyone ever knowing—a talent Gerin used to take advantage of nearly everyone he came in contact with.
“Nothing Sire.”
The King sat up, eyes jolted but his body seemed too weary to do the same, “Nothing? His mind spoke nothing to you?”
“Nay Sire…few are able to block my…abilities. He was one of them. I believe he truly is what he claims.”
“Can you be sure?” An inquisitive look passed over his face, his body leaning further in his chair.
“Yes Sire. He had a companion…” the voice chuckled slightly, “a gnome of all things…thousands of images running through his rambling mind. All of them an obvious tribute to this man, Jeralyle, to his magick.”
“Then it is true...” The King paused, considering the repercussions such a thing may have. “How many know of this?”
“Few, my Lord. I have done my best to quiet the situation before it got out of hand and made it known to the Duke what would occur if he let slip the information.”
It was an assurance, but not one the King would settle with. He had no trust to give. “He and his rat are to be executed. Two days from now. Save from anything getting worse.”
The figure shifted, but not from fear. “I already ordered it Sire…” With that he moved towards the door, although he had more news he feared to speak of.
“Going somewhere?” The King muttered, a skeptical eye falling on the General.
“There is something else Sire. Or perhaps better put, someone else—Elryia. Elryia and her group reside in the same town.”
Sitting in such a heavy throne and with nothing nearby to throw, the King could only snarl, spit, and curse for what seemed like five minutes. It was that name that struck fear in him, that boiled over his hatred and laid at the root of his problems was the girl attached to it. Yet once his fit subsided, laughter befit the King as though insanity had finally corrupted him. “Good, that’s good.” He chuckled, eyes flicking back and forth, “you are to return to Tarnel, Gerin, and oversee this execution.”
“Sire?” The General was not one to question his orders, but he was a man of specifics.
“I want you not to keep this is a secret. In fact, the opposite.
Make a spectacle of it…invite the townspeople. Stretch the word out to all ears until they reach Elryia’s own.”
Gerin nodded, catching on. “And she will come to save him.”
“Aye. Her good heart will afford her nothing else. It’s there you will set a trap.” The eyes flicked back to the General, the seriousness of his words forced recognition by the narrowing of his eyes, “I do not want you to leave the prison, or even the cell once word has gotten out. Take anything, or anyone you wish. Do not return to me until you have her head, and the heads of her followers.”
“I will take Estophicles and several of our highest guards, but I assure you she will fall to me.” The man marked, moving out the door.
Such a statement was typical of the General’s pride, but it mattered little to him who actually took Elryia’s life, so long as it was done. The King waived him off, unsure and uncaring if he had actually seen it. By the time he looked back up, the swift warrior was gone.
Again the King found himself in silence, yet now his madness dulled down. Elryia would soon be nothing but an irritating memory. To the window he crept, as though sneaking up on an enemy in this very room. “Oh Elryia, where do you come from?” He stalked his way up, gazing towards the darkened skies. “Why do you walk about my land doing whatever it is you choose?” His eyes hardened, grip tightened until he pushed off the sill and back to his throne. “Make no mistake child, Lord Idimus shall prevail.”