That face, contained predominately in the eyes, showed fear. They looked upon a valley that was turning more and more into a desolate wasteland. The scenery no longer carried the lush green and brown colors, only a dismal gray as they traveled into the night. The rocks were no longer smooth and sporadic—accentuating the land—they now seemed to protect it, with jagged, pointed edges everywhere Elryia cast her vision. They ruptured out of the earth in obtuse angles, twisted and hooked, all of them a jet black, with random streaks of silver and red that highlighted their edges, like demonic fingers reaching up from the earth. The further they traveled, the more abundant they became, eventually swallowing up the entire land, almost as though the land reflected their dismal attitude. Elryia did not know what time it was, but wondered if the sun could even shine in a place like this.
An expression that once reflected terror now cast dread. A terrible realization set in. It had been hours, maybe even half of the night that they had traveled—everyone was tired and weary—yet she hadn’t seen one sign of Graham. That could only mean one thing: he did not know they had been captured. More than likely he had gained ground to be the first to Sharia, but that was still a day away from where they had been caught. Tomorrow may find Graham waiting, rather than making his way here. Although she did not know what depravities would occur at Idimus’ castle, she feared that a day may be just too long.
She had since stopped talking; everyone had. Elryia was no longer able to speak of the very things they were about to face and no other subject seemed suitable. The moment they had entered the dark canyons and spiked landscape, all the energy had left their bodies—as if the land itself had drained it in order to fuel its darkness. Realization finally set in: this was to be their demise. For some this was shattering, they had fought so hard, so valiantly. They had battled for a year or longer, pushing through hardship and turmoil for what they believed in. They weren’t done, they weren’t finished. Now it was ending.
For others, it was just beginning; a new life with a new hope. A life they could earn, where they would no longer be hunted for the robes they chose to wear or the magick they opted to practice. A land where they could feel safe and protected in their homes, no longer tormented by a tyrant king who could take their abode at any moment—for no logical reason. For some the journey was a dream. They were not yet ready to let the dream die.
And for one, there was still a tiny glimmer, a faint flicker of something to look forward to—a very real, though extremely unlikely hope. Somewhere, out beyond the wastelands, in a lush forest he was probably sitting—comfortably watching and biding his time as always; waiting patiently for them to arrive—to make sure that they were safe. But he would never see that, they would never arrive and they were the furthest thing from safe.
Elryia wished she had her magick, if only for a moment. Even for only one spell, so she could send something to him. Blaze the sky with fire or illuminate the night for just an instant, something—some kind of warning, a sign that they were in danger.
Yet she couldn’t. Even if she wasn’t bound, she wondered if she could muster up anything in her state. She was drained; completely and utterly unharmed, but absolutely exhausted. She imagined that was the way Idimus wanted it. If orders had not been given that they weren’t to be harmed, it would have happened already. She knew Kalinies, his sick nature and desire for pain. He would have made it a point to torture each of her companions just to get under her skin. Drogan was no better, twice as mean as the person he protected and half as smart. But he followed orders, they both did. Elryia knew deep down that that Idimus wanted them in one piece when they were brought to him. As cruel and evil as Drogan and Kalinies were, she knew that they held not a candle to Idimus; in that category, he truly was King. He would be the one to bring the first ounce of pain to them as well, the last. Kalinies and Drogan would not cast a scratch on a single one, but Idimus most likely never said anything about draining them of all energy.
If that was Kalinies’ goal, he had accomplished it. Elryia could barely move her feet at this point, couldn’t lift her arms and was hardly able to twitch her fingers. Her mouth was dry and she felt her voice—though she hadn’t tried to use it—would give out before she finished speaking. So a spell, even if she weren’t without her magick, would be out of the question. All she had were her thoughts and her prayers.
“Graham, I wish you could hear me. I wish you were here to help us,” As if speaking to him she looked towards the sky—to where she believed he would be, calmly waiting for them, “I need you.”