

"Tolkien meets C. S. Lewis somewhere between Mordor and the wardrobe."-Steve Trinward, editor.

This book is dedicated to people all over the world who suffer from injustices.

"Let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream" (Amos 5:24).

### The Circle:

### Book I: The Uniting

### By N. D. Bailey

Copyright 2012 N. D. Bailey

Smashwords Edition

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - Shilly Shally Road

Chapter 2 - Harvest Celebration

Chapter 3 - A Mysterious Knight

Chapter 4 - A Meeting at the Castle

Chapter 5 - One Dark Night

Chapter 6 - A Story to Tell

Chapter 7 - Returning to the Castle

Chapter 8 - A Discovery

Chapter 9 - An Ancient Prophecy

Chapter 10 - The Land of the Gommits

Chapter 11 - Monguard the Waddi

Chapter 12 - The Shovi: Land of the Earthdwellers

Chapter 13 - The Land of the Himps

Chapter 14 - Skin Deep

Chapter 15 - The Wise and the Green

Chapter 16 - Elves and Sorbs

Chapter 17 - The Forest of Mirth

Chapter 18 - Liberation

Chapter 19 - A Score to Settle

Chapter 20 - A Night in a Cave

Chapter 21 - Over the Snowy Mountains

Chapter 22 - Vikings

Chapter 23 - The Tomb of Murdorf

Chapter 24 - Jimmy

Chapter 25 - Wet Wood

Chapter 26 - The Passage of Crossing

Chapter 27 - Shy Kadesh

Chapter 28 - Love Hurts

Chapter 29- Ormandel

Chapter 30- The Ride Back

Chapter 31 - Betrayal

Chapter 32- The Search Begins

Chapter 33 - Talking, Taunting, and Dreaming

Chapter 34 - Gadilrod

Chapter 35 - The Potter

Chapter 36 - Discouragement

Chapter 37 - Norssod

Chapter 38 - Darvan

Chapter 39 - Randorin

Chapter 40 - The Immortals

Chapter 41 - Painful Memories

Chapter 42 - Norgidian and the Apothecary

Chapter 43 - Darfin

Chapter 44 - Saying Goodbye

Chapter 45 - Windsor's Words of Wisdom

Chapter 46 - The Summit

Appendix: Character Outline

About the Author

First, I thank God who graced me with this story while I was flat on my back. This story gave me hope during a desperate time of suffering. Thank you for entrusting this story to me. Now, I give it back to you and pray that you bless others with it. A special thanks to my mother who allowed me to bounce my ideas off of her. You encouraged me not to give up. I thank my step-father who takes such good care of my mother. Thanks to my sister who read the first rough draft. I know it was rough, that's why they call it a rough draft. I cannot offer enough appreciation to Ted and Judy Gee for "adopting" me when I was in the thongs of death undergoing that painful process called higher education. Since you treat me like one of your own kids, I'll send you the bill I racked up. Just kidding. You're friendship is priceless. A special thanks to Steve Trinward for his painstaking editorial work. Your careful eye and brilliant advice helped improve this work. I also offer a special thank-you to my friend, Judy Buck who has stuck by me. You are few and far between. I also thank Dr. Satish Cudappah and his team for helping me in my battle with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. You're the best doctor in the whole world in my eyes. Kelly, your compassion and care is immeasurable. I want to thank Tammy Hall for her amazing artistic work on the cover design.

Shilly Shally Ford

Finding the cursed sword of Darvan was most unexpected. It ruining his life, well that he should have expected since ruining lives is what it has always done. But it leading up to global war and the end of all things as they knew it--well that he never expected since he was not acquainted with the ancient prophecies. And the finding of the sword at Shilly Shally Ford as being noteworthy, this he had not a clue about either.

The jubilant sound of singing reverberated across the mountainous ridges that decorated the vast region of the Land of Shalahem. The strong male voice echoed in an alto pitch, giving melody to a landscape worthy of such music. This was the rhapsodic song that could be heard resounding across the land:

I pledge myself to be courageous, strong, and brave,

To protect our citizens from the evil way.

I will fight for my country, my king, and my God

Stand with my brothers like two peas in a pod

For this is the pledge and the song of the knight.

To walk with integrity in the kingdom of the light

Standing for the truth, doing what's right

When our kingdom is threatened we fight, fight, fight

A knight must demonstrate compassion and nobility

Carrying his sword in honor, truth, and humility

Lending a hand to those in need

Defending the Kingdom against the evil seed.

For this is the pledge and the song of the knight.

To walk with integrity in the kingdom of the light

Standing for the truth, doing what's right

When our kingdom is threatened we fight, fight, fight

Pip sang with zeal as he skipped along the dirt path in a mirthful manner, his unkempt amber hair bouncing in synch to the beat of his song and the wind blowing on his freckled face.

Pip dreamed of becoming a knight but was yet to get accepted into the school. The last time he applied he was too young. Now, his ambitions of leisure were far greater than his disciplines in the nobility of knighthood. As a result, Pip had temporarily settled on the order of knights that stuck strictly to acts of goodwill rather than acts of gallantry in combat—which, according to most interpretations, was no order of knighthood at all. But Pip had not given up yet, for in a few weeks, he would be applying again for the school of knights, hoping to muster up the discipline required for such lofty ambitions.

Strictly speaking, this humanitarian order was a far cry from knighthood. In truth, the order was formed out of community need, and a title had been given simply to entice volunteers. Most true knights, as well as other more prestigious people, snubbed their noses at the idea of a hospitable order of knighthood, failing to recognize the efforts of peace as being at least equal to those of combat. Although this order of knighthood was mocked by many, most people liked Pip. Being well-known for his jovial and generous ways, Pip was well received by even the most inimical persons.

Pip, absorbed in gaiety, was unaware of the presence of four bulging eyeballs peering through the thick of the forest, scouting Pip's every move. Red spider-veins in the whites of their wide eyes pulsated with mischief as they devised a plan against him, spurred only by their own boredom and innate wickedness. It was two nomeds, nefarious creatures to the very center of their core, inherently and unredeemably wicked.

Thin sprigs of hair stood out, randomly scattered across their heads, insufficient to conceal the raised purplish-red veins beneath their ghostly skin. Their veins jutted out over their bodies beneath their delicate skin like a road map for the blind. Although small in stature, hardly reaching three feet, nomeds were vicious creatures capable of the most brutal of crimes. They were also logical creatures, able to plan and plot, and to make rational, although wicked, decisions.

Their preying eyes followed Pip, tracking him as they dashed through the forest, attempting to get far ahead of the lad. Their skinny legs glided swiftly and their long toes turned the dirt along the path. They scurried along, using their hands that dangled to the ground to increase their speed.

Reaching the fork in the road at Shilly Shally Ford, one snarled to the other, "Let's have some fun with this guy."

"What do you suggest?"

"The swamp." He divulged his sharp dun teeth. Scheming and plotting evil was natural for them. They loved it; they lived for it. It was in their blood.

"Then his blood will be mingled with the dirt," said the other, his voice growing louder with increasing enthusiasm.

"Shhhh! You idiot, he will hear us," said the other nomed peering out from the woods.

Although Pip's sense of hearing was engaged in his own noisemaking, the screech dimly reached his ear. He hushed and decreased his gait to a slow and uncertain walk as he surveyed his surroundings. Suddenly, the sound of an eagle pierced the blue skyline and became visible overhead.

"An eagle. I knew I heahd somethin'," Pip said to himself returning to his skipping and singing.

Scurrying further ahead and turning the corner at the fork in the road, the first one hunkered down behind the brush at the edge of the path and waited. The second nomed followed on his heels. The two now watched Pip as he approached the fork in the road at Shilly Shally Ford.

"For this is the pledge and the song of the knight," he sang.

Hunkered down low, the two nomeds darted out from the woods towards Pip.

"To walk with integrity in the kingdom of the liiiggghhhtt." Pip hardly knew what hit him as he slid down the ledge of the cliff and splashed into a swampy lagoon.

"Blasted! Well, nab a noose! Blasted!" he said, trying to stand up. "What sort of critter was that?" Peeping between some blades of swamp grass Pip didn't see anything and concluded that whatever it was it must have run off.

"Rats, I'm all wet!" Grabbing a sturdy- looking vine that hung on the edge of the water, he tried to pull himself up. Just as he began to gain some leverage the shoot broke, and Pip fell backward into the water making another splash.

"Blasted vine," he said, trying to haul himself through the mud and up the embankment. "Oouch," he yelped as something sharp sliced his hand. Blood pooled up on the surface of his skin and ran down the tip of his forefinger. Pulling out a wet handkerchief from his back pocket, Pip one-handedly tied the cloth around his hand, tightening it by pulling one corner with his crooked teeth.

Now, Pip was curious to find out what had caused this injury. Digging through the mud, Pip pulled out a sharp steel sword with a unique handle, decorated with diamond shaped ruby stones surrounding an emblazoned diadem inlaid with gold. It was an exquisite sword, truly the work of a master craftsman.

"What a beauty you are." He washed away the mud so he could get a better look at this fine piece of antiquity. As he gripped its handle, the sword seemed to radiate with power, making Pip feel strong and invincible.

"A new sword. I've been wantin' me a new sword," Pip soliloquized.

The two nomeds peered through the trees trying to see what Pip was doing, curious that he had not yet come up the embankment. From where they were, all they could see was the top of his muddy head.

Standing in waist-deep murky water, Pip swung the sword to the left and then to the right. It didn't take long for him to realize that this sword was unique, as it generated power and seemed to almost call him by name.

Then it struck him. "Ahhh! I know what you... I've heahd tales 'bout you." He whispered in a voice with overtones of both mystery and suspense.

Still deep in mud, Pip washed the remainder of the soil away from the weapon, and then stood there, staring at the sword in disbelief. Finally, he came to his senses, realizing he was still standing in the swamp. He started to pull himself up the slippery embankment, but only slid backwards, getting wet all over again.

Thrusting his left hand into the mud to try to stop his fall, Pip felt something beneath the mire. After regaining his steadiness, he noticed a glint of white. He reached down and pulled at the object. To his horror a skeletal hand popped out of the muck. Aghast, he jerked, and forgetting to let go of the hand, he pulled the torso of the corpse out of the mud. Screaming in terror, he stared into the frozen face of the grim remains of a stiff corpse, some bone exposed.

Hysterical, Pip dropped the sword and managed to scramble up the embankment. Frantic and scared, he was intending to run as fast as he could to the city, when suddenly, he felt the power of the sword reach at his immortal soul. It was as if the sword had a magnetic pull upon him, enticing him and even claiming him as its possessor. Pip tugged at a tuft of hair on his head as he wrestled with what he should do. His thoughts took on every option: _Leave the sword and pretend you nevah laid eyes upon it. No, go back and get it; it's yours! But what if the legends be true? Yeah, but even if they are, I'm diffant. I will get into the school of the knights and be the best knight evah_.

With some reluctance, Pip climbed back down the embankment. Cringing at the corpse, he picked up the sword, and immediately a surge of power rushed through him. He held the sword in his hand and swung it cautiously. As he felt its power, caution turned to confidence. Suddenly, he recalled in his mind some of the ancient tales he had heard, tales of its prior possessors and how they ruled ruthlessly with it. Fear began to mount up in Pip's heart.

"I don't want to become like them," he whispered. "I must bury it back where I found it, and forget that I evah laid eyes upon it." He began to push the sword into the mud, but the sword seemed to protest, and a jolt of power shot through his body, arousing confidence, and subsiding all fears.

"I'm diffant from the othahs," reasoned Pip. "I can use it for the good of humanity. That's it. I can make somethin' good out of it," he whispered to himself. Looking around, he dug the sword out of the mud, washed it, drew it close to himself, and scrambled back up the embankment.

As Pip surfaced, the two nomeds were peering through the trees to see what had been occupying their prey. Seeing Pip bearing a sword, they both studied it, trying to get a better look at it. The sunlight captured the sparkles of the rubies and they danced in the tree limbs.

"It's the Sword of Darvan," hissed one. The pair had merely been looking to have some mischievous entertainment at Pip's expense. Finding the Sword of Darvan was an unforeseen contingency in their mischievous plot of games.

"It's just as the ancient prophesy says." The nomed repeated the prophecy with a wily rasp to his voice:

O land of Shalahem,

That seeks to be redeemed.

You sought for peace,

But instead found a sword,

At the fork in the road,

At Shilly Shally Ford.

Now your way of peace,

Has come to an end;

With division among you,

How will you defend?

Your kingdom divided,

Will not stand,

And you will be no more,

In this land.

Down, down you will fall,

The quest for power,

Will fool you all.

For the Sword of Darvan,

Will create discord;

And you will cut your throats,

With your own swords.

Meanwhile Pip, wet and muddy, trotted jubilantly down the path, his feet and sandals now covered in mud.

"Now I'll be the best knight in all the Land of Shalahem. Everyone will hear of me."

All the while the two nomeds watched as Pip carried the sword down Shilly Shally Ford and continued his jubilant song.

For this is the pledge and the song of the knight:

To walk with integrity in the kingdom of the light.

Standing for the truth, and doing what's right,

When our kingdom is threatened, we fight, fight, fight.

Like fool's gold in a scholar's pocket, Pip clutched the sword close to his chest in complete awareness of the atrocious tales associated with the sword. He refused, however, to believe the sword to be anything less than a spectacular find.

Harvest Celebration

Clang! Clang! Clang! The steel swords rang loud as they echoed throughout the valley below. The knights of the City of Sayir were practicing their swordsmanship at the most prestigious school for knighthood in all the land. The school was located on a mountain overlooking the city, a citadel hovering over a noble land

A stone pavement jetting out from the adjoining building near the edge of a cliff was the instructor's ideal place of practice, except when winter weather moved in, in which case, they would go indoors to a spacious room adjacent the cobblestone pavement. Large columns lined the arena, supporting a flat roof connected to the building, which provided a spacious area for outside practice, sheltering them from the rains that blew in from time to time.

The towering trees below were taking on their iridescent array of colors as fall approached. The green leaves were turning orange, red and yellow, and the wild flowers blossomed all across the mountains. The sun shimmered brightly on the stone structures nestled in the valley below. The citizens of Sayir were gleefully making preparations for the festivities of the week, the celebration of their yearly harvest, a five-day festival. This was a big event because many of the diverse citizens from across the Land of Shalahem would travel to Sayir to join in the harvest festival.

Atop the mountain, Nimri's sword swung low toward Cozbi's knees. Cozbi swung hard and fast, blocking the blow with his own sword and parrying it up toward Nimri's left side. Cozbi then came in with a straight jab, thrusting toward Nimri's neck. Nimri stepped back, his footwork unconsciously precise, and blocked the attack with his sword. Nimri then attempted to step behind Cozbi to make a killer attack, but Cozbi was far too skilled, as he parried his sword, blocking it.

"You're gonna have to do bettah than that, mate," he said with confidence.

"Ah, But you haven't put me out yet, mate," Nimri retorted, as he brandished his weapon for another go.

"I'm just waitin' on you to get tired. If I put you out too quickly, then I won't have anyone to practice with besides Nuvatian and Gilmanza. No one else around here is a challenge, mate," Cozbi said truthfully, but showing his arrogance.

"I wouldn't be so self-assured if I were you."

"Well, there is a reason that you and I are usually paired up," Cozbi acknowledged. "We are the best in the class."

"A bit arrogant too, mate."

"Nothin' wrong with acknowledging your talents."

Back and forth they continued, skillfully sparring and not missing a beat, like the rhythm of a good Sayirian folksong. Beneath their mail their tired bodies were moistened with sweat. A small collective pool had gathered in their lower backs, like liquid gold poured into a mold. Their garments beneath their armor were wringing wet, not a stitch of dry fabric could be found. The noise of their swords was merely another clang among the many swords and shields, reverberating throughout the mountain range like a melody that sang of national pride and security to its citizens below.

The bell rang loud and Gilmanza, the chief instructor of the school, held up his right hand. A scar marring his arm and hand gave weighty testimony of a man of many wars.

"Attention! Bond your swords noble knights."

In haste, the student body of knights lined up shoulder-to-shoulder and in rows at Gilmanza's command. In one synchronized accord, they placed their steel swords in their sheaths, marched their right feet on the ground, then their left, and placed their arms to their sides.

A gentle wind blew Gilmanza'a long gray hair as he stood in front of his students and the sun shone down on his back, casting a shadow across his face and camouflaging his wrinkles. He was a man of many life-experiences: he was ancient and he had led Shalahem into more than a few successful battles. Although a veteran of many wars, he was a gentle man; perhaps time's effect had softened the once rough edges. With every stroke a cut above the rest, he had been fortunate enough to escape death. Despite his age, he was as nimble as the young lads he trained.

Nuvatian, an accomplished knight and assistant to Gilmanza, stood to Gilmanza's right. For a moment, all that could be heard was the heavy breathing of the knights as they tried to draw breath.

"At ease, my noble knights," Gilmanza said, scratching his face beneath his long gray beard. Straightaway, the knights pulled off their helmets and held them beneath their left arms. Pools of sweat rolled from their heads and down their faces and dripped onto the stone pavement.

"You have all practiced long and hard. Your expertise is made evident in the skill by which you use your swords. Even so, the skill of the sword is not all there is to knighthood. Remembah, a sword is no more powerful than the one who swings it; it is no more a weapon of defense than the man who bears it; it has no more heart than the one who possesses it; it has no more nobility than the man who uses it for noble purposes. Knighthood is not all about skill; it is also about charactah. It is about honor.

"Always remembah," he concluded, "it is the charactah of the knight that gives honor to the sword. Arrogance does not befit a knight—so bear it with humility. Aggression does not befit a knight—so walk in peace. And fear does not befit a knight—so remain steadfast and courageous. Go in peace."

After they had bowed toward Gilmanza and Nuvatian, the class of sword-masters was dismissed.

"What say ye nobles we meet up at sunset for the celebration tonight?" Cozbi suggested to Nuvatian and Nimri, as he ran a towel over his wet dark blond hair.

"That sounds good to me," answered Nuvatian. Sweat ran across his dimples as he searched for a towel.

"How about an hour before sunset and we'll play Triple B?" suggested Nimri.

"You're on," answered Cozbi.

Nuvatian agreed, grinning at his friends as he ran his hands through his long hair.

"Be sure to bring your sistah," Nimri yelled to Nuvatian.

"Watch it! I wouldn't want to have to huht you, mate."

"Ah! Come on! Wouldn't you rathah her be with a nice and handsome man like myself—a trusted friend at that?"

"You have a point, but she's still my sistah." Nuvatian threw his hand up at a comrade. Then he continued, "I think she likes you too, mate. She asked me about you the othah day."

"Yes!" exclaimed Nimri, slinging his sweaty towel in the air. "I'll see you and your sistah tonight, mate."

The sun shone down on Nuvatian's sweaty olive skin, casting sheen on his muscular frame as he strolled across the stone pavement toward his horse. He seemed to be a man who had it all: personality, looks, skill, and strength. His dreamy sable-brown eyes decorated with dark eyebrows were like the detailed work of an embroiderer, crafted with the most skilled of hands. His sometimes rugged appearance did him no harm; in fact, he wore the look all too well. Even so, he did not flaunt his physique; he was far more interested in his duty to his country. Perhaps this was due in part to his high standards of integrity as well as the fact that he had had his tender heart broken once before.

But women were still high on his list, just had yet to find the gal of his dreams.

Although friends with Cozbi and Nimri, in fact the three had been best of friends since childhood, he was far more mature and took his duties to the kingdom with great seriousness. Because he had been eager to learn from his superiors, he sat among the elite councilmen of the king.

Nimri and Cozbi did not fall far behind Nuvatian, either in good looks or in swordsmanship. As with all fighting knights, Nimri and Cozbi were well-shaped, and strong. Nimri, although a nice guy overall, had a tendency to be a little over-confident, sometimes even a bit arrogant, but his arrogance was for the most part reserved and usually only showed itself as it pertained to his opinionated beliefs and his excellent skill with the sword.

Cozbi was well-disciplined in his training, always striving to be better. If he could wear accolades, he would display everyone where they could be seen. He was a charismatic fellow, and popular with the people, so much so that some believe him half capable of charming a snake into submission. Nuvatian, Nimri, and Cozbi were long-time friends; like hobbies, same career path, and loyalty characterized their friendship-bond.

The setting sun cast a beautiful array of orange and pink hues across the sky. Dressed in the colorful apparel typical of such celebrations, people had begun to gather on the hillside with their musical instruments. As the sun slowly vanished and the hillside populated with people, the comfortable night air became fragrant with the aroma of apple pies, grilled meats, and baked delicacies.

Pumpkins, melons, and various kinds of squash adorned the hillside on lorries as a witness to their fruitful season. Dried gourds painted in fantastic colors by the children were streamed at various places along the hillside. Bales of hay had been stacked along the stone wall that wrapped itself around the spacious and convivial lot. Strategically placed torches lit up the hillside, casting eerie shadows along the outskirts of the forest and giving form to the darkness. Shadows danced along with the celebration, as though telling a story of a time when darkness first collided with light, a time when celebration was far removed from the kingdom.

"Yes! Five!" said Nuvatian. Nuvatian, Nimri and Cozbi were high with emotions in their game of Triple B, booing and jeering over every move. Triple B stood for betrayal, betrothal, and bloodshed. The game was played with a single die and a drawn-out board resembling an ancient and complicated map. The winner was the one who successfully reached the castle with the rescued girl.

Nuvatian's time to roll came again and he rolled a six, just what was needed to gain the betrothal. "Yes!" he cried in triumph. "I told you I would get the gihl."

"Yes, but the quest for you is dependent upon you keepin' her, and makin' it to the castle," Nimri reminded him. "You staht well but a man must not boast puttin' on his ahma. He should reserve all such boastin' for when he takes it off." He flipped his dark hair away from his face as he picked up the die.

Nimri and Cozbi were now tied. Nimri rolled a five. Cozbi rolled and the die landed on two. "Yes," Nimri exclaimed.

"At last! I got the sword. My sword may take your fair lady away there, mate," Nimri said to Nuvatian.

"Like you said, one should reserve all such boastin' for when he takes off his ahmah," said Nuvatian, laughing.

"Cozbi, you're the betrayer," the other two mocked.

"You laugh now, but you won't be laughin' when I betray you."

They continued rolling the die and moving their game-pieces along the game board, trying to win the fair lady and make it to the castle. The most enjoyable experience about playing Triple B was that each time it told a different story of betrayal, betrothal, and bloodshed.

Music and dancing, eating and laughing had broken out on the hillside as the grand festivities escalated. The sound of music filled the air while the scent of traditional Shalaham delicacies drifted for miles, teasing the nostrils as far as the wind carried the pleasant aroma. Citizens of Shalahem had come from all over the land. A few came from the wider areas of Shalahem: the Earthdwellers who live southwest in the hills of the Shovi, a hand full of Elves from the northeast, tall and slender people with pointed elvish ears, and a few Waddies from the south came too.

Some Gommits, who live in the rural southland, came. Gommits are rather odd-looking creatures. Their big mouths could chew threw just about anything. Their flexible ears are peculiar, folding over like earmuffs on the sides of their heads. But it is their large floppy cheeks that stand out as most unusual, large enough to easily store a cantaloupe in each side.

From the southeast regions came a handful of country folks, known as Himps. Himps sort of resemble a coalescence of a goat and a human with their goatish teeth, beady eyes, floppy ears and wiry hair, much like steel wool. The rest of their bodies are humanoid. Wearing overalls and simple clothing, these cowboys and cowgals are known as generally hard workers, plowing and planting, watering and weeding.

A tall and lanky old man donning a pointed hat moved through the diverse crowd, his sights set upon the three men playing their game. He eyed them, finding the best angle to sneak upon them.

"Ahhhhh, I'll take your fair lady now, mate," Nimri said to Nuvatian.

"That fair lady is not nearly as fair as the one I see coming through the gateway," said the old man with long silver hair and elongated gray beard standing behind them.

"Windsor!" they shouted. "You made it! We're so glad you're here!"

Windsor was the top wizard throughout the land, a rather tacit individual and a man of few but worthy words. He was a very ancient wizard, even older than his dear friend, Gilmanza. He was from a generation that preceded the dire effects of the curse upon humanity, and he alone was left from that generation, the others long since having shed this mortal coil; he was the only one left who knew life as an immortal, except for the immortals living in the only kingdom untouched by the curse. Nonetheless, he was mortal although some doubted if he would ever die.

Windor's tall slender build was topped off with a sable-brown wizard's hat. Across his left cheek he bore a scar, partially hidden by his long gray beard, a visible reminder of betrayal from long ago. He also sported a long scar across his chest and another across his left hand, also marks from conflicts long-past. He had seen more than his fair share of tragedy and war.

Taking in Windsor's reference of a fair lady, Nimri's eyes gazed over Windsor's shoulder, immediately spotting Nuvatian's sister through the crowd.

"Speaking of fair ladies..." Nuvatian reminded them, laying out the redemption money to buy back the fair lady in their competitive board game.

"Ah, man, that's not fair," said Cozbi.

Rolling the die, he landed a six. Moving him and his fair lady six spaces, Nuvatian landed his game piece on the castle. Leaning back in a relaxed position he said, "What says you to that, mate?"

"You can have your wooden fair lady, mate," Nimri said, dropping the die. "I'm goin' aftah the real deal." Rising to his feet, he sauntered toward Nuvatian's sister, pushing his way through the crowd of people.

"Well, crony, looks like he rolled a six, which gives him enough points to kill you with his sword, you betrayah you," Nuvatian said to Cozbi. "And I know you don't have enough money to buy yourself life," he added.

Cozbi stuck out his bottom lip in a playful manner, looking slightly displeased at the outcome of their little game. They laughed and made room for Windsor, happy to see a revered friend.

Suddenly, the voice of a woman calling out for Nuvatian resounded through the crowd. It was a young woman with a crush on Nuvatian—a crush that was not reciprocated.

Snickering, Nimri shuffled out of the woman's way, giving her a bird's eye view of Nuvatian's surprised face. Hearing his name above the noise of the crowd, Nuvatian looked up and spotted the pesky woman. "Aahhh, I think it's time for me to turn in, mates," he muttered. Aware of the young woman's infatuation of the man, his friends laughed heartily. Pushing and shoving her way across the populated hillside, she yelled his name over and over, but Nuvatian slipped through the crowd, ducking as he ran, using every person he could find as a hiding post, until finally he reached the edge of the masses where the dark street to home lay before him.

Nuvatian turned the corner at the Knights Armory and Dragon Reigns Store in a near run. The red sign with black letters hung from a silver chain that captured the light of the moon. As he accelerated around the corner, he ran smack into someone, knocking the individual to the ground.

"Aaaahhhh!" yelped a woman. "Brute beast!" She uttered the words under her breath.

"Oh, excuse me! Let me help you."

Through the shimmering of the moonlight, Nuvatian caught a glimpse of the delicate face of the individual he had knocked down, and instantly lost all words. Her long dark-brown hair with subtle auburn highlights, dark-olive complexion, and vibrant green eyes made him weak in the knees. He was utterly embarrassed that he had just plowed over the most beautiful of all women in the kingdom: the princess.

"Please, accept my apologies, princess," Nuvatian said, helping her up. As she got steady on her feet, she got a better look at her 'brute beast' and quickly saw him as no beast at all but a rather handsome man, a man she recognized as the noble knight Nuvatian. Even so, she did not let that silence her but for a moment.

"What do you think you're doing, running like that?" she scolded. "Simply mindless! Running a corner, and never minding who you might plow over in your empty pursuit of swiftness."

Awestruck by her beauty, Nuvatian struggled to get out the right words, "Ple- Please do accept my apologies, Princess Nadora. I was in a hurry."

"Obviously!" she said brushing off her black jacket with the jade trim. The tailored jacket was cut to accentuate her petite and shapely form. Black riding pants covered her legs, like black velvet over the muscular frame of a panther.

She pulled off her riding coat to brush off the lingering dirt, revealing the arms of a well-conditioned body. The silver studs around her collar and the studded leather belt around her waist gave her a fashionable touch of royal toughness. While many women were stuck in the tradition of long dresses, this princess refused to be molded by ancient practices, paving her own way towards her identity as a woman. Even as she was dusting off her jacket and railing at him, Nuvatian couldn't help but notice the particles of dirt on her well-rounded bottom.

"You have..." he began, unable to get a word in edgewise.

"What were you thinking running like that?"

"I do apologize, princess."

"Very well, then, apology accepted."

"You have..." Nuvatian tried again to point out her soiled yet delectable posterior.

"Next time, watch where you're going!" the princess concluded, putting her well- dusted jacket back over her shoulders.

"Yes, my lady." He reached down and picked up a black and silver brooch that had fallen from the princess's royal raiment; it depicted chivalry in the finest of art. "I believe this is yours," Nuvatian said looking into her hazel eyes.

"Yes!" she replied, her tone now softened. "Thank you."

Disrupting the conversation was the persistent sound of a woman's voice in the near distance, still yelling, "Nuvatian! Nuvatian! "

He took advantage of the distraction. "Now, if you will excuse me. And please don't mention that you saw me." Nuvatian bowed politely as he turned to find a hiding place from the annoying woman, and took his leave of the princess. He sauntered down the road a bit and then stepped behind a building in order to hide from his determined pursuer. The princess sashayed off, unaware that her bottom was still covered in dirt. Having cooled off a bit, she looked back at Nuvatian and then smiled as the woman approached her.

"Princess, have you seen a man coming this way?"

"Well, I have seen several men come this way. I doubt if I would know what sort of man you speak of." She snickered as she walked off.

"Of course. My apologies." The woman hurried down the road, not giving up easily on her search.

Taking one last look back at the princess, Nuvatian admired her backside as equally as the front. "Of all people to run ovah, why did I have to run over the Princess—the Princess! My God, she's fine" he muttered to himself as he made a gesture towards heaven as though he were thanking God for creating beautiful women.

The night's festivities eventually died down and the lights went out all over the Land of Shalahem. The city was now still and quiet. All the while, Pip was in his home, entertaining himself with the intriguing power of his new sword. With both hands wrapped around the sword, he practiced against an imaginary opponent, daydreaming of becoming venerated as an accomplished swordsman. He dreamed of becoming powerful, somebody respected and esteemed among the heroes of the world. Thoroughly obsessed with his dazzling new toy, he had completely forgotten about the festivities. The sword made him feel strong and confident, yet also vengeful, superior and powerfully charged with authority.

Something he had never felt in his life.

The night air was crisp as the second night of festivities got under way. The sound of folk music mingled with the boisterous noise of laughter as the people of Shalahem danced frolicsome to the music. Others continued to indulge themselves in the delicacies while still others engaged in social intercourse. Nuvatian, Cozbi, Nimri and Windsor sat atop a stone wall, watching the dancing and conversing among themselves.

All of a sudden, an array of luminous blue lights sprang from the edge of the forest, gathered around a circle of children, and spiraled up from the ground, rotating like a tornado decorated with lights. Then a group of red, yellow and green lights did the same, creating a resplendent iridescent work of art in the night sky. Synchronized to the music, the clusters of red, green, yellow, and blue lights created images of a dog, a flower, a whale, and lastly, a dragon. All eyes looked up, especially the wide-eyes of the children, who were in awe of the fantastic pictures in the sky. Then, as quickly as they had appeared, the lights scattered out in every direction, some falling to the ground. A burst of orange-yellow fire shot up into the sky, as another small flame began to fall toward the ground, right into the center of the mass of people.

"Uuuhhooo!" whimpered the culprit with a reprehensible look on his face. With wide eyes, everyone began to run in every direction. The fire shot to the ground and, to the good fortunes of the instigator, the flame landed in the fire pit where some men had been trying to ignite the fire to roast a pig. Much obliged, the men nodded their heads with approval and then laughed, pleased that they now had fire.

Out of the darkness emerged a rather odd-looking fellow wearing a purple wizard's hat and a purple cloth around his head. Two colored braids hung down the right side of his head—one green, the other purple. Braids and beads also hung randomly throughout his hair. His brown staff, riding boots, and riding pants added a touch of earthy tone, neutralizing his love for purple. It was Navi, the wizard.

A rather quirky character, some might call him 'hip'—a wizard for the new generation. His short stubby brown beard gave him a rugged look, belying his youth. And to his offbeat character, he walked with a sort of bounce to his step as though he had springs in his shoes. However quirky some might perceive him, he was a man of integrity, respected as well as one who had been a prophetic voice in the land for some years. Many young ladies found him a rather handsome man; even so, he was a confirmed bachelor, ever on the prowl for a good woman, just for now.

"Good to see ya, mate," Nuvatian addressed the young wizard.

"You too, crony," replied Navi in a sharp Sayirian accent.

Windsor broke into their pleasantries with a growl. "How many times do I have to tell you not to use wizardry for entatainment?" He tapped his crooked staff on the ground.

"Until your last breath," Navi answered lightheartedly.

"Apparently so. Do you really think it is appropriate to use the lightnin' bugs for entatainment? You change their color just for pleasure; not to mention, you make them sickly dizzy from spinnin' them like that." Just as Windsor said this, a green lightning firebug fell right where they all sat, flapping around in a drunken stupor.

"Don't be such a rigor. Even God delights in the joy on children's faces."

"Yes, well, your little flash of fire you shot out at the end could have injahed someone," Windsor argued.

"I had everything undah control," Navi said, pointing to the fire pit. "They couldn't light the fire, so I thought I would help them out a bit," he laughed, as he twitched his upper lip—an idiosyncrasy he had when he was not telling the truth in its entirety, or when someone was annoying him.

"Huh! I call it luck," Windsor said.

Navi turned his attention to the children that were looking toward him and still laughing with the excitement of the lightning bugs. Windsor crossed his eyes with candid irritation and then sighed in disgust, showing his aggravation.

"Remembah when you tried to help me catch Mr. Vern's cat and you accidently scorched its tail?" asked Nimri, laughing. Cozbi and Nuvatian, recalling the event, added to his snickering. Nimri began imitating the cat's terrorized facial expressions, provoking even more laughter. Navi jerked his head to the side, desperately gesturing to Nimri to be quiet, but the young knight continued to rattle on about the disastrous cat story. Windsor cocked his head, set his piercing eyes upon Navi and grunted in disapproval. Navi looked away, pretending not to see his mentor's chastising eye. Then Navi gave Nimri his own stern eye, still trying to convince him to shut up.

Ignoring Navi, Nimri rattled on between the chortles. "When it finally ran off, its tail was still singed clean of all hair! Now, every time it sees Navi or me it runs away as fast as it can! Its tail still doesn't have any hair." Nimri concluded, his belly aching with laughter.

"Thanks... scamp!" whispered Navi, with obvious annoyance.

"Oops," Nimri said offering canned laughter as an option. Meanwhile, Nuvatian and Cozbi were attempting to curb their own laughter, but the more they tried the harder it was to keep a lid on it.

Windsor had listened to the tale with growing agitation. "You must not abuse the call and gifts you have been given! They should be treated with respect."

Ignoring Windsor, Cozbi chimed in, exposing another of Navi's pranks. "Remembah the time you were tryin' to impress that gihl?—oh, what was her name? Anyway, whatevah it was, you were on top of the wall practicin' your sword-forms with an imaginary opponent, and you..." Cozbi told the story through broken speech and bursts of snorting laughter. Navi was again trying to silence him without using physical restraints. "You grabbed your staff and shot out a burst of powah that knocked you down and made you fall off the wall. When you finally sat up your hat was crushed and you were covered in mud. Needless to say you failed to impress the gihl. She was laughing as hahd at you as I was!"

The entire group was in stitches again, except for Windsor, who only smirked through his stony and wrinkled face. Navi alone found no comedy in Cozbi's version of humor. "I was not tryin' to impress her," he protested. "You're laughin' and I almost broke my neck in an honest session of practice."

"Honest session of practice," said Nimri. "Yeah, right!"

Enjoying the belly-aching laughter at Navi's expense, Nuvatian picked up the round, telling more stories of Navi's humiliating moments.

"One time when Navi and I were outside a pub there was this gihl he had a crush on and this bully was teasin' her." He had no more luck telling the story without amusing himself than Cozbi had. "Navi decided he would play hero so he stretched out his staff and sent a whirl of mud intended for the face of the bully but the bully moved and it smacked the gihl covering her completely in mud. The gihl walked ova to Navi and slapped him as hard as she could!" Nuvatian roared with laughter, the others joining in.

The night air thick with the aromas of festivity awakened Pip's senses, reminding him of the celebration as he opened his door to catch a breath of fresh air after toying for hours with his new sword. The smell of food called to him, so he tucked his sword into its sheath and buried it beneath a lightweight riding coat. With his hand on the hilt of his sword, the boy entered the gateway to the city. He was trying to stay inconspicuous, skulking along the edges of the festivities, but his efforts failed him.

"Hey, there's Pip," said one of his pals.

"Come over here and eat with us," said another. Reluctantly, Pip accepted the offer and gathered with his friends to eat. He fumbled with his sword, repeatedly fondling it, unable to keep his hands away. He grinned with excitement over the surging strength he felt with each touch, unable to control his enthusiasm. His friends found him distracted, not acting like his normal self.

After scarfing down his food, he rose and then shuffled through the crowd with a sly smirk across his face as he made his way out of the celebration. He strolled past the wall that Windsor and the others were perched upon. He then made his way down a dark street, his right hand petting the sword strapped to his side, as he gibbered about his great delight in his new-found sword.

As he rounded a corner, two men, snakes, were leaning against a wall. They had a reputation for causing trouble and if all their deeds were known, they would be hung from the gallows. Pip was not ignorant of some of their misdeeds; in fact, he had stumbled upon them in the very act of violating a young woman he knew well. The two men had threatened to kill Pip if he told of their damnable sin. Just to the left of them was a torch, dimly lighting the unpopulated road. As Pip's shadowy figure became clear to the two men, they immediately began to scoff at him, insulting him.

"Lookie there, it's the goody knight who couldn't make it as a real knight," mocked one of the men, laughing.

"Oh, look, Randolf, he's even carrying a sword," the other sneered. "You want us to show you how to use that?" The man pulled his sword from its sheath and placed the tip of the blade at Pip's throat reminding him of his obligation to remain silent.

"I think we should just go ahead and end him; then we won't have to worry about him blabbing his mouth just in case he makes it into the school. You know how those daisies think when they gain a few skills."

As they slurred their insults his way and threatened him with death, buried agitation began to arise within Pip's chest, an agitation he thought he had brushed aside and outgrown. Coming face to face with Pip, the man shoved him and waved his big sword around. As Pip stroked the sword at his right side, agitation turned to fiery anger, and he gained confidence as well as a lust for revenge. An unfamiliar fire coiled inside. His breathing grew heavy as the anger turned to rage and his face turned flaming red with vengeance. Pip hardly knew what was happening, for he had usually brushed off such immaturity, but in a state of perplexing wrath, he swiped the sword from its sheath.

"Oh look, the little water boy has pulled his sword," mocked one of the men.

"You might as well put that back where you got it, Boy!" jeered the other, waving his sword around in Pip's face. "You might huht yourself with it, since you don't know how to use it!" His sword poking at Pip's belly, the ruffian offered words as sharp as his sword.

In a flash of rage, Pip crossed blades with the man who was now growing more aggressive. The duel ended quickly, as Pip knocked the sword from his hand and thrust the Sword of Darvan across the man's abdomen, spilling his guts into the streets. As the man fell in his own blood, his eyes gaped with disbelief. Stunned, the other man frantically drew his sword. Pip was as surprised as he was and felt near faint from the sight of blood. It was Pip's first time to see blood spill out of a man like that. He shuttered, but only for a moment.

As he clutched the sword, the dizziness was replaced with confidence.

"Day aftah day, I have listened to you threaten me," Pip said evenly, turning to face towards the other man with sword well at hand. "Well, no more. What do you have to say now? Now that a swohd is placed at your throat like you have done to me. What? Do you have nothin' to say?" Pip was yelling now, poking the tip of the Sword of Darvan against the man's chest.

Flickering shadows from the torch divulged a twisted face of rage that now confronted the terror-stricken hardened criminal. He man's hand trembled as he stared into the angry eyes of a madman. The man of ill deeds was baffled at what had made Pip snap, and now he tried to soothe the irate swordsman. "Pip, ya see, I w-was only playing. Come on, let's call a truce, Pal." His words trembled nearly as much as his body. "We can be friends, and I will nevah tell anyone. I'll even help you get rid of his body." Not convinced of quick compliance, the man extended his sword.

"Don't try to pacify me, Pete. I'm no fool." Pip raised his sword. "You deserve death-- and hell!"

It was then that Pete noticed the rubies on the handle of the sword. "The Sword of Dahvan," he whispered, as he stared into the contorted face of rage. "It's true, the rumors, they're all true." Suddenly, Pip thrust the sword through the man's body. It wasn't as bad the second time.

Now, pulling his sword from the man's abdomen, Pip hurried down the dark street running past two passersby locked arm in arm on their way to the celebration. Just moments later, they discovered the two men lying in their own blood. Their screams were drowned out by the merrymaking of the festivities.

The young woman ran to the outskirts of the festivities, where her screams were heard by a few leaning against a wall, observing the partying. Among them were Windsor, Nuvatian, Navi, Cozbi, Nimri and Gilmanza. A crowd began to gather around the bodies. Windsor, Gilmanza, and Navi rushed ahead of them and pressed their way through to the infamous dying man, the other one already being dead. As blood pooled out of the man's mouth, he muttered the fatal words, "The Sword of Dahvan."

"The Sword of Dahvan?" repeated Windsor, looking up at Gilmanza.

"Are you sure?" asked Windsor, seeking clarity.

"Sword of Dahvan," he whispered again.

"Who?" asked Gilmanza, "Who has the sword?"

With a gurgling noise, the man's body fell limp.

Windsor and the others pushed their way out of the crowd that had gathered around the bodies and walked over to the edge of the wall where they had been watching the splendor of the kingdom at peace, each now knowing that their peaceful kingdom was about to be shaken.

"The Sword of Dahvan!" said Nimri.

"Sshhh!" Navi, Windsor and Gilmanza hissed in unison.

"Why do you tell me to shhh?"

"Because this must remain quiet," Windsor admonished. "No one else heahd what he said as he was dying, except us. We tell the king and no one else."

"Why?" asked Nimri.

Gilmanza spoke first. "Do you know what will happen if news of this spreads? Some, eager for powah will seek it out, othahs will refuse to leave their homes, and othahs are just too immature for such knowledge. There will be uttah chaos."

"I have heard many legends of the Sword of Powah," whispered Cozbi.

"Legends? They are far more than legends," said Windsor, placing his hand on the orb of his staff and leaning forward attentively. Visible tension rose up among the many wrinkles that mapped his forehead. Concern surged in his eyes. This wasn't his first encounter with the sword. He was familiar with it and its destructive ways, more than he wanted to admit. He knew its past, he knew its future. He was familiar with the prophecies, some of which he knew through personal ecstatic experiences, some he wished he could forget.

As they stood there gazing across the crowded hillside where the news of a murder had not yet disturbed the merrymaking, another scene was unfolding on the opposite side of the hill. A Himp and a Gommit had begun shouting at each other, though no one could understand what had sparked such an outburst.

"It looks like you have two old worn out shoes on the sides of your head," the Gommit told a Himp. "An ear mite wouldn't dare crawl in those ugly floppin' masses of sour flesh. And what have you been gnawin' on with those obtrusive pieces of rocks in your mouth? Oh, excuse me; I think those are supposed to be teeth."

"Well, your cheeks are so fat you could churn butter," replied the Himp. "But your breath is so bad it would poison it."

Angrily, the Gommit spewed out all the chewed-up apples and nuts he had stored in his mighty cheeks—a large quantity indeed—right in the himp's face. In a rage, the Himp threw down his glass of sweet herbal tea and charged at the Gommit, surprisingly knocking him back. The Gommit regained his balance and grabbed the Himp by the truffle of fur on his head, pushing him back across a table of food, collapsing the table. Four himps now jumped on the Gommit, forcing him to the ground. Before long, the entire side of the hill had burst into a raucous uproar, although many of them had any idea what they were fighting about.

"See what I mean?" said Gilmanza.

With a look of dread on his stony face, Windsor muttered, "The Sword of Dahvan! So, we will meet again. Come, let's go tell the king."

All the while, Pip had inconspicuously snuck out of the crowd and skulked to the edge of the woods. Hiding behind a cluster of fig trees, he embraced the sword as he watched the uproar. Now seeking to justify his actions, he conversed with himself, mouthing the reasons as to why the two men deserved to die, and trying to relieve his guilty conscience. He rehearsed the sins and misdeeds of the two outlaws and replayed in his mind the events that had transpired. They deserved what they got.

Beneath the shimmering of the soft moonbeams, captivated by the seducing power of the sword, Pip held the sword close to his chest and stroked it, as he wondered about the atrocious tales associated with the Sword of Power.

A Mysterious Knight

It was just before dawn when King Chess Japhia arose. He had one thing on his mind: the cursed Sword of Darvan. It had kept him up most of the night. He had searched through the ancient prophecies and it haunted him in the few precious moments of sleep that he managed to sink into. Its history, the legends, the blood it had spilled and the power it possessed, the sword was a threat to his kingdom and to the world.

Before he sat down for breakfast, he sent out his messenger. It was imminent that a council be arranged with Windsor, Navi, Gilmanza, Nuvatian, and Cozbi and Nimri, the latter two only because they were with Windsor and the others when the news was revealed.

The messengers hastened, riding out with the kings sealed messages, one for each of the men.

Nuvatian received the message and wasted no time, unless one was to count the slow sipping of two cups of coffee. After sucking down his morning brew, he mounted his favorite black stallion, Rebel, and rode down the cobblestone street. The early morning fog had long since lifted and the streets were bustling with people. He rode out of the city and toward the castle along a wooded path. Admiring the turning of the fall leaves, Nuvatian didn't get in a hurry. He knew he was right on schedule.

It was as he was traveling within the proximity of the castle that he heard the distinct sound of movement just beyond the trees. Bringing Rebel to a halt, Nuvatian listened intently and then slowly dismounted. He led the horse to a nearby patch of lush green grass and stepped beyond the trees of the forest, being careful to not make any noise. Pushing back the branches, he saw a knight in armor. Though unlike the mail armor of the Knights of Shalahem, this knight was clad in plated armor with a small knight engraved on each shoulder, and the grooves outlined in ruby-red. The back bore the image of a dragon. _What sort of armor is this? What sort of knight is this?_

Nuvatian had left his mail at home, not thinking he might have need of it. All he had with him was his helmet and steel sword. He had only brought the old helmet along to give to Cozbi sense he had mentioned his being a little tight on his head. He was clearly at a disadvantage. Now, donning the helmet and drawing his sword, he approached with prudence, well aware that discord was coming alive in the land. The knight sat on a large fallen tree, his back facing Nuvatian. He walked softly, intending to sneak up on the armored man. As he neared the knight, Nuvatian stepped on a stick. It snapped, alerting the knight of his presence. With sword drawn, the knight jumped to his feet and began swinging his sword at Nuvatian. A duel of exceptional swordsmanship began.

Parrying sword-thrusts and swinging back and forth, the two exchanged blows, each blocking and deflecting with superb skill. Nuvatian quickly realized this knight was as skilled with the sword as he was. Back and forth they exchanged blades, swinging and blocking, their feet stepping in as skilled a fashion as the swinging of their blades. Nuvatian did not want to kill the knight, since he knew not who he was. His intention was to disarm his adversary. But he was at a grave disadvantage possessing no armor against a knight fully garnished in metal. If the opportunity came for a deadly blow he would take it. The weight of the armor was sure to wear out this knight, and then Nuvatian would have the advantage.

"Who are you, and where are you from?" he demanded, still engaging the mysterious knight's blade.

The knight did not respond but rather moved in with greater force toward Nuvatian. Nuvatian deflected his opponent's sword-thrust, narrowly escaping being hit. The wind of the blade could be felt upon his bare neck. The knight stepped in close, their blades now locked together. Then, the knight kicked Nuvatian in the shin, grabbed his neck and swept his feet out from under him, taking him to the ground and sending his sword flying into the air. The knight put the tip of his sword to Nuvatian's neck and stood over him in triumph.

His breathing was hard, his pulse racing. He couldn't die like this, not knowing the face of his killer. Thinking quickly, Nuvatian swept his right leg across the planted foot of the knight, knocking the knight to the ground and his sword among the ever growing weeds. The tin clanged together noisily. Nuvatian leapt to his feet and tackled the knight, now gaining the advantage. Wrestling the knight to the ground, Nuvatian suddenly realized that this knight was rather nimble, for a boot knife was now placed directly at his unprotected groin. Peering down at the location of the blade, Nuvatian abruptly halted his attack.

_The frame of this knight looks... different_ , he thought.

Reaching his hand up to the knight's helmet, he pulled it off, unloosing the long warm-brown hair of none other than Princess Nadora. The sweat beading on her forehead shone like liquid diamonds on her beautiful olive complexion. Her lips were stern and unsmiling.

Breathing heavy, Nuvatian whispered, "Oh brother! I'll never hear the end of this."

She reached over and pulled off his helmet.

"You, you're Nuvatian, the knight who plowed ovah me the othah night," Nadora crowed sharply. "So that wasn't enough, huh? Now you have to try to spear me with your sword?"

"I thought you might be a threat to the kingdom. Your suit of ahmah doesn't look like ours!"

"So that makes me a threat?" Pressing the blade in a little further to his groin, she said playfully, "It is a good thing that I am in a good mood today."

"I'd hate to see what you're like when you're in a bad mood," he said, taking a long hared look at the sword at his groin. "I'll neva hear the end of this," Nuvatian whispered again.

"What? That you got beat by a woman?" she said, withdrawing the blade and pushing him off her. Losing his balance, he landed on his back. Looking up, she stood over him, her blade now at his neck.

"Do you give?" she asked smiling.

"Not on my life," said Nuvatian, reaching for his sword.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," she said, swatting his hand with her blade.

"Aren't you a wee bit old to be playin' dress up?" Nuvatian laughed at his own joke but the princess narrowed her eyebrows finding no humor in his words. "What are you doing dressed like a knight?" he demanded.

"I AM a knight," she answered defiantly.

"Where did you get that atrocious thing? It looks like you've been prowling around in your grandfathah's attic."

"It's a suit from long ago and remains in my family. I was just trying it on for size."

"So I was right, you have been prowling around in grandfathah's closet and you are playin' dress up."

"Nevah mind where I got it. Do you give?"

He refused to answer. Silence.

"What are you doing on the castle grounds?" She prodded him with the tip of her sword, teasing him.

"What am I always doing on castle grounds? Going to see your fathah. Or at least I was, until some... some...."

Seeing him stumped for words, she interjected, "Woman?"

"Whatevah!" said Nuvatian, looking off to the side as if he were searching for something. Curious at his sideways stare, the princess looked to see what had captured his gaze. When she did, he swung his leg, knocking her feet out from under her. Jumping to his feet, he then grabbed his sword, and turned around to draw it on her, seeking to redeem a little of the male ego she had ripped from him. As quickly as he moved, it still wasn't swift enough, for although she had fallen, she hung on to her blade, rolled onto her back, and pointed her blade to his chest before he could stand aright with his sword.

"You just can't let it go, can you," the Princess chortled.

"I have a meeting with the king and because of you I am going to be late!"

"Well, I think I can get you excused for your tardiness." She sheathed her sword and stretched out her hand offering for Nuvatian to help her to her feet.

"Would this meetin' be in regards to last night's events? More specifically, to the Sword of Darvan? "

"Maybe." Nuvatian was uncommitted.

"Hmm, I suppose if you are goin' to see my fathah I should escort you."

"If you are goin' that way then that will be fine." He smiled at her, offering a flirtatious grin. _My God, she's gorgeous_ , he thought. He couldn't decide if he was more impressed with her sexy long legs or her tumbling curls of auburn-brown hair. Her hourglass figure. Her voluptuous breast. One thing he was certain of: that armor sure didn't help. It covered every curve and every inch of that smooth soft skin. He decided it was a sin to cover up a body like that in a plate of steel, or anything else for that matter. For now, the hair would just have to do.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone that I beat you." She whistled and called out "Valor!"

"You did not beat me," protested Nuvatian. "I was merely being careful not to huht you since I knew not who you were."

"Of course."

Around the corner came a beautiful stelleto. Its shiny ebony scales glistened in the sun. As the mare pranced, its thick mane and long black hair covering its hooves danced in the breeze. The horselike creature spread its wings as though it were showing off its magnificent beauty. Stelletoes were as rare as dragons and more graceful than swans. Their strength, natural armor plates, and ability to fly made them excellent mounts for war; for this reason, they were nearly extinct, only existing in large numbers in the land of the Immortals.

_Now that's a fit match_ , thought Nuvatian as the creature approached. He summoned Rebel and mounted the horse, but only after he had watched her climb aboard her own mount. She kicked and clawed, the armor too cumbersome for the task. Nuvatian couldn't resist the urge: he gave her a shove up by the bottom.

"How dare you! That's not yours to touch." Her hot temper flared, kicking up her heel at him.

"Darlin', can't feel a thing through steel."

"Yes, well I hope you enjoyed it because that's not only the firmest butt you'll evah feel but it will be the last time you touch my butt, you got that."

"Yes mam, princess. Just trying to be a gentleman and help you up on your mount."

"Humm!"

All he could think was she needed to lose that steel; it covered up her well-rounded bottom, her sexy long legs, everything.

Now on her mount, her temper soothed. "I know a shortcut to the castle." She turned Valor toward the east and tapped her heels into his side.

Cantering through the forest with Nadora leading the way, they alternately ducked their heads under branches and leapt over fallen limbs. The verdant trees and blossoming flowers looked as though they had been manicured, although they were nothing more than wild forest growths. As they came upon one fallen tree, Nuvatian, following directly behind the Princess, leaned forward in his saddle, preparing for the jump. Suddenly, Rebel stumbled and Nuvatian flew over his head and over the jump too and crashed to the ground. Nuvatian moaned in pain as he lay face down in the dirt.

Hearing the commotion, Nadora turned Valor around and trotted back to where Nuvatian was laying. She smirked but Nuvatian didn't know it.

"Oohhh! Are you okay?" Nadora asked, slowing her mount down and jumping off.

"Yes! I'm here—in the dirt." Nadora attempted to help him up, but his wounded pride forced him to leap to his feet, ignoring the pain. His male ego had suffered enough for one day.

Nadora ran her hand down Rebel's leg, noticing the tenderness.

"He has sprained his ankle. We're going to have to walk from here. Good thing the castle is just beyond the trees."

Although Nuvatian regretted his faithful horse injuring its ankle, he did enjoy spending the extra time with the beautiful princess, even if she was dressed like a tin man.

A Meeting at the Castle

Towering above large oak trees stood the slate-colored castle. It looked tall and impenetrable, an edifice of both strength and beauty. The fortified castle sat magnificently on a mountain just above the City of Sayir. In the background stood mountains, their peaks reaching into the clouds as though competing to ascend to higher places. A lofty wall of hewed stone climbed around it. Above the wall were multiple turrets topped with impressive spires that reached to the heaven like a cathedral of praise, bringing symmetry to its background. Battlements surrounded the castle on all sides, offering a watchful eye in every direction and leaving plenty of room for noble knights to shoot their arrows.

The large ironclad gates set in the fortified wall could only be opened by the armed guards who manned them. As Nadora and Nuvatian approached, the knights and squires quickly opened the gates, giving them immediate access onto the castle premises.

"Nuvatian's horse has injured its front leg," Nadora said to one of the knights. "Lead it to the stables and call for the stable keepah to examine it."

"Certainly, Princess Nadora."

"How many times must I tell you, you do not have to call me 'Princess'?"

"I know I do not have to," he said with a bow, "I choose to, Madam."

Approaching the castle, Nadora escorted Nuvatian into the castle.

"You know the way," she said, smiling. Nuvatian was a regular at the palace and knew which chamber the meeting was being held in.

Nuvatian rushed up the winding staircase and down a long corridor to the door of the meeting room where Gilmanza, Windsor, Navi, Cozbi and Nimri sat waiting. The solid oak door was open and light shone through the windows illuminating the soft pearl color of the walls. Heavy russet drapes, embellished with soft amber cords, hung framing the large rectangular windows.

"You're late, crony!" scolded Navi.

"Hu...uh! Let's just say I got held up a bit, mate."

"Close the door," the king said politely.

Nuvatian closed the door and took his seat.

The king began immediately. "I have been up all night, gentlemen, reading the Chronicles of Grand Knight Zandar, the Chronicles of King Zer, and the words of the ancient Prophets, including your ancient prophecies Windsor and your more recent ones Navi. All my readings lead to one conclusion: this sword must be found and its final destination carried out. Furthermore, we must find out where the sword turned up and how it came into our land. The safety and future of our country—of our lands and all the lands far and wide—are at stake. Unless this sword is found and its final destiny carried out, we will all be destroyed. We must find that bloody Sword!"

"How do you know this really is the Sword of Dahvan?" Nimri asked.

"We don't," answered Gilmanza. "But we have no choice but to take Pete's word for it."

"How does this Pete guy know what the sword looks like? How credible is this Pete?" Nimri asked.

"Credible?" Gilmanza answered. "Well, he does have a point. It is Pete, after all, and he does have a history of causing trouble. His actions have been reprehensible. One of the most ignoble and arrogant men I know. It would be just like him to claim defeat by a sword cursed with great powah."

"There are more than a few people who would like to see him dead and he is arrogant enough to claim his death might be caused by an undefeatable sword," Navi said.

"Howevah, the look in his eyes was, well, one of horrah. He looked as though he had seen something truly terrifying," Gilmanza said.

"Yes, there was that look in his eyes," Windsor remarked, though he was deep in thought. "I have seen that look before."

"Of course there was horror in his eyes. I mean, for cryin' out loud, the scoundrel was dying." Nimri leaned back in his chair laughing at his own wisdom.

"Something happened back there," Nuvation concluded. "He got a good enough look at the sword to believe that it is the Sword of Dahvan. We would be foolish to brush his statement aside." Everyone nodded in agreement, and there was silence for a moment.

Nimri was next to speak. "Where shall we begin lookin' and what shall we do with it when we find it?"

"I say we search every home and turn up every rock until we find the bloody thing!" Cozbi spoke with passion and enthusiasm, seeming eager to demonstrate his value among them.

"We can't go out here and cause a ruckus by searching people's homes," the King admonished. "We mustn't advertise that we suspect the sword is even within our land.

"As for where to look, I know not what to tell you. The possessah of it was at the celebration last night, but nearly half the kingdom was there. Just keep your eyes open for anyone or anything suspicious. He will make himself known eventually, but not until he is confident that he is powerful enough to subdue the people. He will begin his conquest on the outskihts of the city in smaller areas, building himself an army. In addition, he will gathah the Ridahs of Quadar around him, and he will begin to recruit others, building Darvan's kingdom."

The King took a deep breath and addressed the larger question regarding their strategy. "As far as what to do with the Sword of Darvan if you find it, well, do not try to retrieve it on your own, and do not seek it out alone. You must work in pairs, so as not to succumb to the deceptive power of the sword. And remember not to engage him who holds it now; he is undefeatable with that sword. You will have to try another method.

"When you retrieve it," he concluded, "bring it immediately to the palace. That will be all for now. Godspeed and keep your eyes open for any peculiar behavior."

As the group walked out of the meeting room, their serious faces expressed concern for the well-being of the empire, except for Nuvatian who had his mind on other things. Walking down the corridors of the castle, he found himself glancing through the open doors, hoping that he might see her without all that metal covering even if it were but a glance.

"What are you doing," the king asked, noticing Nuvatian peering into each room they passed by.

"N-nothing," Nuvatian answered, with a slight stammer. "I've just nevah noticed the décor of some of these rooms." All eyes glared at him suspiciously.

"It doesn't lean too favorable for a man to be preoccupied with décor, especially when such grievous matters are at stake," Navi said.

No one believed him. They all knew he was looking for the princess.

As they walked out of the castle and onto the grounds, Nimri broke the somber silence. "Is there anything else we should know?"

"As a matter of fact there is," Windsor replied. "We must be unified and we must strive to remain unified."

"What do you mean? That is merely one of the marks of knighthood."

Gilmanza stepped into the conversation. "Many years ago a man named Zandar founded the order of the knights. He trained us to fight against darkness and to protect our citizens. Oh how I do miss him."

Shaking his head and rubbing his long gray beard, he continued, "Even though we fought, we were divided. The more we became divided, the more powerful Dahvan's kingdom became. We were our own enemy because we fought amongst ourselves. We soon realized that the Sword of Dahvan was the root of our trouble." He immediately stopped talking when he heard a noise from behind them. "Princess Nadora, how do you do?" he asked, smiling.

Nuvatian came to attention, looking in her direction with nervous satisfaction. He took in her shapely form now freed from the burdensome chastity suit. It was nearly a cure for a man's lust and would be if it weren't for a man's hearty imagination. But his imagination wasn't as extensive and creative as the enchanting creature that stood before him. He couldn't possibly dream of a woman that astounding.

"You are welcome to stay for lunch," the king offered.

"Thank you, but we must be getting back."

"Very well, thank you. And you, Gilmanza?"

"All the same."

Nadora turned, smiled at Nuvatian, and said, "The stable keeper examined your horse. He has a sprain, but he should be bettah in a few days. He wrapped his leg and will check on it every few hours. He recommends that you leave him here for the night."

"How shall I get home?" asked Nuvatian. "Or shall I just spend the night here?" he asked, grinning at her.

"O, you're definitely going home," the king said, with a knowing look. He could sense the energy between his daughter and this brash knight.

Nadora stepped in quickly. "Fathah told me to give you one of our mounts in the stable until your horse's ankle heals. Come and you may see your horse and choose anothah from among the royal mounts--so you can go home."

"If I must," replied Nuvatian, unable to take his eyes off her.

"You must, sir; indeed, you must," she said firmly.

"Must indeed," her father said scowling, condemning the lusty eye of the knight.

Nuvatian took note of the indigo shirt open in the front with a black shirt underneath. Her black riding pants molded her petite figure. It was unusual to see a woman wearing such alluring clothing. The knight liked it.

Gilmanza spoke, "Well, I believe we need to be going, don't you think, Windsor?" He grinned at Nuvatian's awkwardness toward Nadora.

"Yes, yes," Windsor agreed.

The King tried to dissuade them. "Oh, why don't you two hang around a little while? I would like to teach you a new board game I made up. I call it "chess"—named after me, of course!"

"We would love to, but I think we need to get back," Windsor said. "Maybe some other time."

"Yes," Gilmanza added, "I have a young knight I must meet with shortly at one of the schools in town. I will stay there tonight."

"We need to get back for the celebrations tonight," Cozbi said.

"If there is a celebration tonight," Windsor noted.

"What do you mean?"

"Few will show up after last night's incident," Windsor predicted. "Fear will keep many inside. Plus, storms are coming. That will certainly ruin the festivities."

"Ummm... you guys go ahead," Nuvatian said to Cozbi and Nimri. Men know how to read each other. They got it and left Nuvatian to making furrows. They reasoned that she would be a tough one to woo, a prestigious woman made wise by education and tough–girl training.

"Okay. We will see you two tonight," Nimri said, smirking at Nuvatian's obvious crush on the princess.

Windsor and Gilmanza waved goodbye, mounted their steeds and rode off together toward the City of Sayir. Nimri and Cozbi rode together, their minds pondering the many questions they had about the legends of the sword. Nuvatian, however, followed Nadora to the stable, walking a step behind her, admiring her rear-end. Firm and well-toned, it didn't even bounce when she walked.

"That's my boy," Nuvatian said, rubbing Rebel's neck. "You'll be bettah in a few days."

"Since your horse is a stallion, I thought you might like this one," Nadora said, leading a black and white Gypsy Vanner out of a stall. His yellowish-orange eyes were jewels, topaz surrounding a ring of onyx.

"He's beautiful!"

"Take him for a ride and see what you think." Nadora grabbed a saddle.

"Here, let me do that." Ever the gentleman, Nuvatian, stepped forward to help her. Taking the saddle from her, he tossed it over the stallion.

Laying down his helmet, Nuvatian mounted the horse, gathered the reins in his hands and very lightly touched the horse in the side. The animal moved out at a brisk trot, seeming to have springs beneath his hooves. Squeezing his reins, the stallion came to an immediate halt, just as Nadora appeared bareback on a gorgeous one herself, its long feathers gracing the ground.

"What do you think?" she asked. "Is he smooth enough for you?"

"Perfect," Nuvatian replied.

"There are plenty more breeds to choose from if you want to try anothah."

"No, I think he will do."

"Well then, perhaps you should get acquainted with him," she said flirtatiously, tossing her unmanageable hair to the side as she sank her heels into her horse.

Nuvatian nudged his own horse and the two rode out of the walled grounds, down a trail to the base of the mountains where flatter land awaited them.

Now over the rough terrain, they galloped through the plateau of golden meadows, the verdant craggy hills towering ahead of them. It was warm and pleasant, a perfect day for a pleasure ride.

As they galloped across the fields, Nadora's long wavy hair swept out unruly behind her, tangles weaving their way into her tresses. She was a natural rider, seeming to be as one with her mount. She rode in synch with her horse, signs of a very talented and experienced rider.

They descended into the pastureland where the river flows. Laughing, they stopped at the water's edge to allow the horses to catch their wind and have a drink.

"I hear you are quiet the archah. Who did you learn from?" Nuvatian asked, dismounting.

"Mostly from my fathah and some from Gilmanza and others. When I was five my fathah had a little bow and arrow made for me. My mothah was mortified. She thought I should be all lady. I suppose my fathah always wanted a son. Less than a year aftah my fathah gave me that bow my mothah died. Since I was his only child, my fathah was pleased that I had an interest in the politics and military aspects of the kingdom."

Nuvatian struggled to pay attention to what she was saying. _Those lips. And thank God she took off that armor._

"Aftah my mothah died," she continued, "my fathah didn't know what to do with me other than to teach me what he knows." As she spoke, she was admiring Nuvatian's rugged but handsome appearance: the stubbly hair on his otherwise smooth, dark brown face, the dark eyes and dark wavy hair, each in turn captured her attention. "I was all my fathah had, and he was all I had. We became very close. We often spent time sword fighting, riding horses, discussing politics and shooting archery togethah." Nadora leaned against a tree, relaxing a little more. "Aftah my fathah saw that he was thoroughly making me into a tom boy he had some of the wives of the men on his court take me undah their wing. I didn't like it because I wanted to be with me fathah shooting arrows or riding horses. I think they got more than they bargained for when they offered to take on the task."

"How so?" He loved watching her talk. _Her lips._ They were full and inviting, welcoming, no summoning, his. At least that was his perspective on her puckers.

"I don't mean that I was defiant or anything. Just at times I suppose I had an attitude. Once some boy called me a stuck up king's daughtah and I got into a fight with him. The women accused me of picking a fight."

"Pick a fight, you say? In that case, I should stand down."

"Or stand up!" Nadora said smiling, her hand teasingly going to her sword.

"So did you whoop him?"

"I don't remembah. We just scuffled. It was no big deal."

"That was such a tragedy when your mothah died. She would be proud of you," Nuvatian offered, running his hand across the back of her hair. _Finally._ He got to touch it.

"Thanks for saying that," Nadora said. There was a moment, but then she turned away to her horse. She looked up at the dark clouds rising from the east as she mounted. "We should be getting back. It will be dahk soon and it looks like we might get some rain. I wouldn't want you to ride home in the rain?"

"I don't mind. I won't melt."

She turned her horse and said over her shoulder, "Plus, your girl-friend will be wondering where you are." She then galloped off, leaving Nuvatian behind.

"What makes you think I have a gihl friend?" asked Nuvatian, trying to catch up with her. Her inquisitiveness assured Nuvatian that she was interested. Now he was making progress.

The two raced across the fields laughing as they rode competitively toward the barn, the sun already going down behind the dark clouds that hung in the sky. They laughed and played, riding through the spacious pasture. Finally, they rode up to the barn.

Nadora jumped off her horse and fetched Nuvatian's helmet, the one he brought for Nimri but proved to be too uncomfortable his head.

"Come back when you can ride again," she said, handing him his belongings and looking into his deep brown eyes. Putting on his helmet, Nuvatian took one more look at the princess etching her into his mind and then rode across the castle grounds, vanishing into the trees. The sun was setting in the west and dark thunderclouds were forming in the sky as though they would overtake the sunset, imprisoning it in darkness. The sky now showed signs of an imminent storm.

One Dark Night

As Nuvatian rode along the path through the dense forest, the dark clouds covered the sun and night enveloped him on every side. Even the moon was swallowed up by the darkness of the storm, extinguishing its faint light. Howling winds brought sheets of rain, penetrating his clothing. His wet garments quickly became weighty and miserable. The thrashing of the wind caused limbs from the trees to slap violently against each other as the gale winds blew loose branches onto the ground.

He moved slowly, hunkering down over the horse's neck in a futile attempt to shield himself from the brutal force of the wind. The rain beat down on his metal helmet, sending riddles of vibrations noisily into his head. It was driving him crazy so he pulled it off and attached it to his saddle, trying to remember why he had brought it in the first place. The rain saturated his long hair making it a sloppy mess. He fought with the wind, pushing his mop out of his face, but the gust was persistent in battering him. Out of necessity, he squint his eyes in the darkness, straining to see the muddy path. His horse plodded along the path, instinct telling it how to place its feet.

As Nuvatian looked up trying to discern his location, streaks of lightning lit up the sky. The burst of light revealed the sketchy silhouette of a horse and a rider in a field just beyond the trees. Thunderbolts brightened the sky again, this time disclosing the sketchy form of a horse rearing and the rider's cape flapping in the wind. _Dark ridahs. This close to the castle. This close to Sayir. Impossible!_ Now he knew that the sword used to kill the two fellows at the festival was indeed the cursed sword. As he heeled his horse, the lightning flashed once again. Now he could see the horse carrying the dark knight galloping towards him, a silver blade triumphantly raised above the rider's head in an eagerness to shed blood.

Nuvatian's heart began to beat faster as he goaded his horse into a full run down the dark, water-soaked path. With his right hand, he pulled his sword from his sheath and held it in anticipation for a fight. Streaks of fire lit up the sky again. This time he could see the shadowy silhouettes of a host of horses, the coats of their riders whipping in the wind. How many there were, he could not tell. Behind him he could hear the muddled sound of hooves pounding the ground. His breathing became heavy with urgency and his right hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. Although his horse was galloping against the wind, it ran with velocity, its nostrils flaring fiercely.

Nuvatian knew it was not much further until he reached the city, a fortress of safety. He was thinking he might be able to outrun them when suddenly, from among the trees just ahead of him, two more dark riders shot out from the stacked up timbers that lined the pathway, charging at him with their swords shining under the bolts of light, their dark capes grappling with the wind.

Nuvatian galloped by, swinging his sword and striking it against the blade of one of the ratfinks. He couldn't see their faces because the dark hood and the black night camouflaged them. But he didn't have time to wonder if the legends were true because another rider raced swiftly to his side, swinging his sword. Nuvatian skillfully blocked it and thrust his sword through the rider's body. Suddenly, another dark rider emerged from the tree line. _How many are there?_ As the rider thrust his sword at Nuvatian's chest, Nuvatian blocked the deadly blow and jabbed his own sword under the rider's arm, perforating his side. The dark rider slumped over his horse and fell to the soggy ground, his blood now mingled with the muddy water.

A cluster of hellions were upon him, the pounding of their hoofs proving that they were closing in. If it weren't for the wind and rain, Nuvatian thought he might could feel them breathing down his neck they were so close.

Nuvatian could see dim lights ahead. _Almost there_ , he prayed. As he raced for the sanctuary of the city one more dark rider sprang up from out of nowhere, their horses now locked in a battle for speed. Mud splattered in every direction as the horses galloped shoulder to shoulder. Lightning flashed and Nuvatian stared into the face of the dead. Nuvatian winced as he beheld flesh that looked as though it was decomposing, bones nearly visible and eye sockets hollow. The unnatural distortion reminded Nuvatian that these were cursed men, dying even while they lived. He flinched at the grotesque appearance of the face that stared back at him. _So it's not just a legend._

As the dark rider swung his sword, Nuvatian swerved his horse to the right and parried with his own blade, blocking the deadly blow. With as much skill as Nuvatian demonstrated, the dark rider's blade still had enough force behind it to slice Nuvatian's arm. Unbearable pain shot through his arm, causing a momentary loss of coordination. Fumbling with his sword, Nuvatian wrapped his hand around the hilt with a death grip. _Pain,_ he reminded himself, was _just an impulse to be ignored_. Swerving his horse toward the left, Nuvatian thrust his sword into the dark rider, the dark blood splattered onto Nuvatian's horse.

The dim lights of the city were in sight _. Go, Go, we're almost there._ Digging his heels into the stallion, Nuvatian raced toward the city. Slowly, the thundering hooves faded. Finally, he reached the city, its torches giving light to the dark night. _Thank God!_ He sighed with relief as he entered into the safety of the city.

Looking over his shoulder he could see the Stygian silhouettes against the backdrop of the darkened sky, lit only by skittish flashes of lightning. Fierce and arrogant, they eyeballed Nuvatian with a thirst for blood, as their horses pranced beneath the sporadic flashes of bold thunderbolts. The rain washed away the blood on his sword, as well as the blood that had sprayed the flanks of the king's horse.

The crowd that had attempted to celebrate on the hillside had been driven back by the violent winds and rain saturating the lands. It was now still and quiet outside, except for the rumbling thunder and the pattering of the rain. Nuvatian wondered how much longer the land would remain peaceful. Most of all, he wondered who in the city had come to possess the cursed sword and brought this trouble upon them.

Nuvatian put the king's horse in the stall. "Thanks for a hard run, friend," he whispered as he patted the stallion on the side, his own fresh blood still running down his arm. He climbed the stairs and opened the door to his home, anxious for dry clothes and hot coffee. The cut on his arm demanded first priority. He took a couple of swigs of whisky and then pulled out a needle and some thread. Twelve stitches ought to do it he thought. The excruciating pain of the piercing needle called for a few more swigs of the liquor. He wasn't a drinking man but he kept it on hand for times like these. He was nearly right though. The cut took fourteen stitches, spread out and not neatly done. He wrapped a bandage around it and took one last swig of whiskey. Then he peeled off the wet clothes, put on dry ones and sat down with a cup of hot coffee.

As he slowly warmed up, he pondered the day's events. Then, realizing he was bone-tired, he crawled beneath the warm quilts and fell into a restless sleep.

A Story to Tell

Nuvatian eagerly rolled out of bed at the crack of dawn, having had very little sleep. His eagerness was only because he had news to tell, important information to send to the king. His arm ached with excruciating pain. As he changed his bandage, he realized that he had done a shoddy job stitching up the cut. But he wrapped it tightly and hoped for the best.

The rain had stopped but dark clouds remained, hanging over the quiet City of Sayir. After dressing, he hurried down to the horse-stalls on the first floor of his house. _No time for coffee_. The house was made of granite stone, finely crafted with character and grace. The two- and three-story homes were adjoined to one another, one residence to the right, another to the left.

Although the front of the homes was crafted with diversity, the floor plans were nearly the same. Beneath the homes, on what would be the first floor, were the stables for their horses and a large storage room for carriages, saddles and such. There was an additional entryway at the front of each house, with steps leading directly into the home, bypassing the stables. Behind the homes were pastures for the horses and livestock.

Anxious to inform Navi, Cozbi, Nimri, Gilmanza and Windsor of the happenings the night before, Nuvatian skipped breakfast all together, threw a saddle on the king's horse, and rode off, this time donned in mail, prepared for anything. A dense fog blanketed the land and dew covered the ground. The cloudy sky showed few signs of withholding its moisture, though for the time being it was restraining itself. As he rode through the streets all was still and quiet, not a soul was stirring.

Nuvatian stopped in front of a house that looked a lot like his except the rock work was less fancy than what garnished his house. He sprang off his horse and knocked on the front door, but there was no answer. "Nimri," he called out as he pounded the door. Still no answer. He walked to the house next door. It too looked similar, only the rock was a slightly different color, hues of blue-gray. He knocked and yelled, "Cozbi!" He picked up a small pebble and tossed it at an upstairs window, pelting the pane with the small stone. He picked up another pebble and tossed it at the same window, then another, and another. The fourth pebble he tossed harder, this time breaking the glass.

"Ooopps!" muttered Nuvatian. Peering out the broken window was a crusty-eyed Cozbi, his hair standing straight up on one side of his head. Puzzled, he rubbed his eyes, trying to focus on the annoying subject below.

"What are you doing breakin' my window, mate?"

"You wouldn't answer your door."

Cozbi now walked down the steps and opened the front door of his house. His striped pajamas were wrinkled and a button was missing on his night shirt. "Ya'd bettah have a good reason for breaking my window and waking me up at the crack of dawn.

Nuvatian interrupted, "Oh, it's good alright." Letting himself in, Nuvatian recalled the events of the previous night.

"What? Ridahs of Quadar! You've got to be kiddin'."

"Hurry up and get dressed," Nuvatian said, turning towards the door.

"Where are you goin'?"

"To wake up Nimri."

"You gonna throw a bouldah through his window like you did mine?"

"If that's what it takes."

After much pounding, Nimri finally stumbled to the door with one eye opened and one shut.

"Get dressed," Nuvatian ordered staring at Nimri in his underwear.

"Good morning to you too," Nimri said, not exactly jumping at the order. But the minute Nuvatian explained Nimri's eyes sprang wide-opened. Coffee first. Nimri strolled over to make some coffee.

"Don't even think about it, mate. Just get dressed." Nuvatian knew exactly what he was thinking. Reluctantly, Nimri obeyed his biting command and threw on some clothes.

Nimri and Cozbi saddled their horses and rode off down the foggy streets still wanting for people. The cobble-stone streets turned into dirt roads, winding roads that led to the middle of nowhere. Then they took a narrow trail down a cul-de-sac. A squirrel raced up a tree toting its early morning snack, an acorn, in its mouth. Twines of grape vine rolled around a fence and up a post, providing privacy for an already secluded spot. At the end of the cul-de-sac stood a charming home built of hewed stone.

Nuvatian rapped on the door; but again got no answer. He knocked again a little louder. He waited. Then, he bumped it again, a little harder. Finally, Navi stumbled to the door rubbing his bleary eyes, another man trying to discern reality from the land of dreams. Running his hand over his ruffled hair, Navi forced open one sleepy eye as he sprung open the door. His green and purple braids had been taken down and mingled wildly with the rest of his hair. Standing silent in his dragon-printed pajamas, he tried to wet his dry mouth with saliva, to muster up a word or two. "Hey, crony," he slurred. "Come in."

Staggering over to a chair, he sat, motioning with his head for Nuvatian to relax as well. Caught by surprise at Navi's childish looking pajamas, Nuvatian giggled.

"What, you've never seen dragon pajamas before?" Navi asked. "My grandmothah made them for me."

"What? When you were ten?" cracked Nuvatian. "Or did she forget that you're a grown man now? Or at least a replica in form of a grown man."

"Whatevah are you doin' wearing that ridiculous mail," Navi asked. Navi disliked mail, believing it to slow the warrior down and wear him out. But Nuvatian was already familiar with Navi's ways. Navi held an advantage that Nuvatian didn't possess—he was a wizard. Mail would only cramp his style and his reputation.

"Ridahs of Quadar are in Sayir," answered Nuvatian bluntly.

"What?" exclaimed Navi. His eyes grew wide, suddenly becoming alert. "How do you know of this?" he continued, as he moved toward the back of the house, motioning for Nuvatian to follow him.

They walked into a room, where Inka lay snoring on the floor. The pad and pillow that lay beside him indicated that Navi had slept there. Inka was a Salfir dragon, a small and tamable version of the species. They were one of the only plant-eating dragons in existence, but make no mistake, they were no less furious than other dragons; in fact, they were fiercely loyal to their riders, a trait missing from other dragon-breeds. Although their main diet consisted of plants they would also eat dried lizards or salamanders. Inka's violet-blue scales and yellow eyes made him suitable for Navi, who was a huge fan of the color purple. He was a pretty little dragon with exquisite features. Together they made a formidable team and were devoted friends.

"When did you build this room onto your house?"

"It's the same room. I just expanded it and I widened the door because Inka was getting too fat to get through. The big doors swing up like this." Navi demonstrated the door. "Go on, get going." Navi prodded Inka, providing a bit of encouragement for him to get moving. In a slumber, the dragon arose, stretched, and strolled outside.

"So your dragon sleeps inside with you?" Nuvatian was a bit surprised.

"Yes, as a mattah of fact he does. You got a problem with that, crony?"

"No, no," cracked Nuvatian. "But we've gotta get you a gihl, mate,"

Inka growled at Nuvatian, as though he understood too well what he was saying.

"Easy, Inka. I don't mean anythin' offensive now," Nuvatian said, tossing him a piece of dried lizard from out of Navi's jar into the yard.

Navi lowered the door shut.

Nuvatian now followed Navi, still trying to explain the events of the previous night. As the young wizard went into his bedroom, he shut the door behind him, almost slamming it into Nuvatian's face.

Nuvatian talked through the door while Navi changed clothes and began getting ready to ride. "I was comin' home from the castle last night in the rain when I saw a ridah under the lightnin' of the sky. He pursued me and othahs joined him."

"How many?" asked Navi.

"Don't know, but there were several," he answered. "I cut down two or three and then out ran the othahs."

Navi came out of his room wearing brown riding pants, brown leather riding boots, his purple rag around his head, and his purple and green strands neatly braided. In his hand was his dull-purple wizard hat. In a quick moment, he had changed from his childish clothing, settled his ruffled hair, and gotten a sparkle in his eyes. He grabbed his sword and strapped it to his side, then grabbed a few apples sitting on the countertop. Then, he shoved them inside his bag he had swung over his shoulder.

"That was quick. How did you do that so fast?"

"I'm a wizard, remembah?" Navi said, laughing. "Let's go," he said, tossing Nuvatian a red apple, while chomping into one himself.

Navi and Nuvatian walked outside, chewing on their apples. "Morning, scamps," said Navi, tossing Nimri and Cozbi an apple apiece. He leaped onto Inka, and the dragon shifted his weight, sending him toppling over the other side and onto the ground. To his misfortunes, he was unable to hold onto his apple. Inka gobbled it up though. Nuvatian, Cozbi, and Nimri roared at Navi lying face down in the dirt.

"You moody bloody dragon," Navi said, twitching his eye and curling his upper lip. Now jumping to his feet, he pulled two more large red apples from his bag he had tossed over his shoulder and fed one to Inka, reserving the other one for himself. "I was goin' to give it to you anyway. I ought not to now, you bloody little demon you. I don't like mornings any more than you do."

Navi remounted Inka. "Let's ride, cronies!" he cried, straightening his hat while trying to gain his balance. His lips were still puckered in irritation at his dragon.

The four rode up a mountain lined with colorful trees, then along the path that led to the military training school. Fetching Gilmanza was essential. He was, after all, not only on the king's court, but was the grand sword master and leader overseeing all the training of men with swords. He also supervised much of the training in martial arts, making sure that those who became warriors were equipped to meet the demands of the tasks. Gilmanza lived on the premises, a benefit for one so esteemed. He had his own living quarters, eloquently designed for one who was a personal friend of the king.

When they arrived, he was sipping on herbal tea on the balcony overlooking the valley.

"Morning, crony," Navi said, strolling through the gate that led onto the stone patio.

"Well, what brings you four out here this early? Please, have a seat. Would you like some hot tea?"

"No thanks," Nuvatian answered politely.

"Don't mind if I do, crony. Do you have some balswick tea?"

"I can make some," Gilmanza answered, rising to do so.

Cozbi and Nimri chimed in, themselves desiring a cup of the delicious brew. Nuvatian's glowering stare called them back to the importance of their purpose. "We don't have time for sipping tea. Dahk ridahs are near the city. I saw them last night."

"Dahk ridahs," Gilmanza repeated. His eyes looked as though they were conjuring up memories of an age that had come to pass, times of long ago. He sat down his tea and walked inside. Minutes later, he appeared geared up and ready to ride. Gilmanza mounted his shiny strawberry roan stelleto sprinkled with hues of copper, a magnificently marked creature, and joined them.

They rode down the mountain, the fog having lifted, and veered off to the left, down a dirt path shaded with many trees and garnished with rocks. A squirrel sat on a nearby branch watching their arrival, as though finding them a source of entertainment. Amid a circle of trees lay a small stone house of ordinary design. It had a rustic look. A broken wooden rail lay across the side of the porch. Though the day was not cold, as most would measure, a stream of smoke came from the chimney. The riders tied up their mounts and rapped on the door. In just a couple of seconds, the door sprang open, as if anticipating their arrival.

"Come in, come in," said Windsor. His long silver hair hung down over his shoulders, and a puff of smoke rose from his long and slender pipe. He said not another word but sat down in his hand-carved rocking chair near the fireplace, motioning for his guests to sit down in the chairs near him. Beside the rocking chair stood a small oak table and on the table was an opened scroll of ancient prophecies.

"We must...," Nuvatian started to speak but was silenced as Windsor waved his hand, motioning him to quit talking. He stroked his steel beard as though deep in thought. Behind him was a shelf filled with scrolls, parchments bound together as books, and dusty sheets of papyrus.

They all sat speechless for a few moments, as Windsor puffed on his pipe, blowing a series of smoke rings. He picked up a tattered piece of parchment with writing on it and placed it in the inside pocket of the jacket beside him.

Gilmanza finally broke the silence. "Dahk ridahs, they are here, in the outskihts of Sayir."

"Yes, I know," Windsor said, taking a sip of his steaming coffee.

"You know? How do you know?" asked Nuvatian.

"I saw one last night."

"Where?"

"Down my road. I was standing on the front porch just after dahk, before the storm began. Just as the rain began, I was about to go in. It was then that I saw him."

"A Ridah of Quadar?" Nuvatian asked.

"Yeah."

"What happened?"

"Nothin'."

"Nothin'?" questioned Cozbi.

"He eyed me and I eyed him back." His thoughts were clear but his mind seemed to be in ages past. "Then he drew his sword and waved it at me, just before he rode off on his black horse." He looked over at Gilmanza.

"Why didn't you go out there and cut him bloody down?" Nimri asked enthusiastically.

Windsor blew a smoke ring and looked at him. "In time, you will trade in some of your zeal for wisdom, at least I hope." This silenced Nimri, at least for now.

"Why do you suppose he rode off, as opposed to tryin' to fight you?" asked Nuvatian.

"Because he just wanted me to know that he is here," Windsor said. He stood up and picked up his sword sitting on the mantle. "And so am I." His stroked his cheek that bore the scar. "So am I." Then, he strapped the steel sword to his side.

"Who was he?" Nuvatian inquired.

"Let's just say, an old acquaintance." He picked up his pipe and took a long draw from it. Gilmanza studied him. He knew who the rider was too. "But tell me, how is it that you have learned that dahk ridahs are in Sayir?"

"I encountahed a group of them last night as I was ridin' home from the castle. They pursued me. I cut down three but I could not tell how many there were, so I thought it best to try to out run them."

"Smaht choice. " Windsor blew smoke rings casually, not allowing himself to hurry. He put on his riding boots, finished sipping his coffee, and grabbed his riding jacket and gear. Then he picked up the scroll, along with two others, and tucked them away in his brown leather satchel. After a long pause and a few more puffs on his pipe, he walked over to the door, opened it, and yelled, "Moridar!" Almost instantly, a small blue and gold dragon dropped right in front of his house; it too was a Salfir.

"Hey there, Moridar." Navi patted the dragon and pulled a piece of dried lizard meat from his bag. Moridar ate it with delight and licked his hand for more.

"To the king, mates?" Windsor asked, mounting his dragon.

"Yes, to the king," Gilmanza answered. They rode off on the next step in their quest.

Returning to the Castle

The six riders rode out of the city toward the castle along the same path from which Nuvatian had barely escaped with his life the night before. As they winded down the road that led from the city to the castle, they could see the three slain riders lying in the mud; one lay on his back, his decomposing face frozen in the terrors of death. Nimri and Cozbi got their first look at the reality of the curse upon the dark riders. It stunned them to face the truth. Tales came right out of the pages of the parchment but some had written the curse off as fable, stories that they had read. Now they knew. Both wondered how such a truth could become doubted when proof existed and when men, such as Windsor and Gilmanza, along with a host of others, some of whom they were soon to meet, had witnessed the evidence of the curse.

"Why do some men say that it is only fable? The curse of the dahk ridahs I mean?" Cozbi asked, staring at their perforated faces and skeletal hands.

"Because the truth is too fearful for some to accept," Gilmanza answered.

Just overhead in the sky, vultures had gathered. They circled the corpses, not caring that their souls were cursed. It was their flesh that they wanted.

Now they began the ascent up the side of the mountain, following the trail to the castle. They were almost there.

Upon reaching the castle, the riders were quickly let through the large ironclad gates by the two squires who immediately recognized them.

"What have we here?" King Chess asked as he entered the room, his royal garb much more practical than many kings. "The guard said you have some urgent news for me?" The king ushered them to a private room.

"Yes, my lord," explained Nuvatian. "Last night, as I was ridin' home from the castle, I encountahed Ridahs of Quadar, right outside of Sayir and not too far from the castle."

"Riders of Quadar, here in Sayir? And you say a little ways from the castle? That is very bold."

"That is correct, Sire."

"Darvan is already onto the sword. We don't need any of this information to spread throughout the community, because it will cause widespread panic."

"Gilmanza, we need to put more knights on the watch towers and we need all the knights on duty; however, do not mention the purpose of their watch—no one outside of those who already have knowledge of this should know. It will only cause the quest for that damn sword to be perpetuated. This information is to remain classified and confidential."

"I will order more knights on duty here, my lord," said Gilmanza.

"Find the sword, then bring it to me," the king repeated his instructions from the night before. "If you discovah who has the sword, do not try to take it yourself. You will not be able to defeat him. You know the power it gives to the one who possesses it, and you know the power it has to possess you, turning even good men into tyrannical rulers. Godspeed." The king only added the comment for the benefit of the younger knights who had little knowledge and no experience with the sword. They weren't dancing around fairytales anymore.

"Shouldn't the possessah be killed?" Cozbi asked.

"No, by no means," the king admonished. "He might have come across it by accident and not known what to do with it. He might not be a threat yet. If the sword can be taken without harming anyone, then that is what we must do."

"But anyone who possesses the sword is treacherous..." began Cozbi, before being cut off by the sharp eyes of Windsor.

"I hope that age gives you wisdom and retards your hastening to rash judgment," the old wizard said.

"But he has already killed two men," explained Cozbi.

"Yes, but it was Randolf and Pete, who have a history of trouble. The possessah of the sword might have merely defended himself," Gilmanza said.

Navi listened, his feet propped upon the king's table and his hat tilted shadowing his face. "I suppose then that if you end up with it momentarily," he said to Cozbi, "I should do the right thing and shoot an arrow through you, even if you haven't succumbed to its tempting vices."

"Well of course not," Cozbi cried. "But I thought it held powahs to corrupt even the noblest of men."

"Yes, it does. But that doesn't mean that its powahs cannot be withstood. Besides, for some it corrupts almost immediately because they are already tainted with a lust for prestige, others are more slowly corrupted because deep down they want to do what is right," Windsor explained.

"Bearing the sword doesn't make one evil; succumbing to its devices makes one evil," warned Navi. "Rushin' to judgment only brings swift judgment upon yourself, scamp!"

There wasn't much more to say at the moment, the king still mulling things over in his head. What was would have to be until they found the sword. They needed a plan.

The seven men walked up the long and decorated corridors of the castle to the spiral staircase. They stood in front of the pane, making soft conversation. An octagonal window framed the view of the princess outside. She stood beneath a large oak tree brushing one of her horses. As the men paused on the stairwell discussing the pulse of the kingdom, Nuvatian was apprehended by the view outside. The princess's fine equestrian clothing complimented her curvy frame even from a distance. He watched her as she brushed her horse with such care, her untamed hair blowing in the wind. The clothes suited her perfectly.

The king, having thinking things through, issued his orders. "We will put say about seventy extra knights on duty guarding the castle. You know if they were that close to the castle, perhaps the person with the sword lives nearby. Maybe they were in the area seeking out the possessah in order to make him their leader. Make a list of all who live within the area where you first saw the riders," he concluded. He then noticed Nuvatian staring out the window. "Nuvatian!" he said sharply, hoping to get his attention.

Hearing his name, Nuvatian snapped back to the task at hand. "Excuse me, my Lord, what did you say?"

"I was saying that perhaps the riders were so close to the castle because they were scouting out the possessah of the sword. Perhaps he lives nearby. Therefore, I suggested that after lunch we make a list of everyone who lives nearby where you spotted the dark riders and that you six scout out this area. Now, what do you think?"

"Yes, Yes! Certainly!" Nuvatian agreed, trying to look at the king instead at the sublime view outside. "I think you have a point there. I will get right on it, my Lord. Be assuahed, we will not rest until the Sword of Dahvan is found." Taking leave, Nuvatian retreated down the stairs.

"I don't know why people insist on building homes outside of the city wall, anyway," fumed the king.

"City life is stifling," Windsor noted. "They know they can have more land outside the walls of the city. Windsor's response came with a definitive answer since he lived outside of the city walls himself. "Besides," he continued, "you're not within the walls of the city yourself."

"Yes, yes, but I sit on a mountain overlooking the city, with iron gates and a wall around me. That's much different than being open prey in the spacious land. You, well you are pretty safe, being a wizard and all. But I will say, who evah of my ancestahs built the castle outside of the city ought to be shot. The king belongs with his people. That's beside the point, I suppose. I have the utmost confidence in all of you. I know I have the most skilled and trusted men for this job. The chefs will have lunch prepared for us in a few hours. After lunch, we will map out the area and discuss further plans."

The king seemed convinced that all would be well. As he saw Cozbi and Nimri already beginning to walk down the stairs, he hollered after them, "Lunch, will be served after a while so don't go far."

Nodding his head, Nuvatian turned and walked off. The king, Gilmanza, Windsor and Navi stood looking out the window where his gaze had been.

"I think he is struck by the beauty of your daughtah," Gilmanza said with a chuckle.

"Who isn't?" Navi rubbed his scruffy chin, checking her out himself.

"Yes, I think you are right. Well, he is a fine man and a man with good taste in women I must say, even if she is my daughtah," King Chess said, laughing and rubbing his brown stubbly beard. "However, perhaps that is a greater task before him than is the Sword of Dahvan."

"Why do you say that?" asked Windsor.

"That daughtah of mine is of a very independent spirit. I guess I'm partially to blame for that. When her mothah died, some of the palace staff suggested that I send her off to be properly raised by women. I was not about to do that; she was all I had.

"But I didn't know what to do with a girl. I did the best I could, but I suppose I raised her more like a boy. I didn't know what to do with her, so I taught her what I know: the sword, the bow, martial arts, fishing, riding horses and all the politics of the kingdom. I even taught her how to craft a sword. She can craft a finer sword than anyone I know—well, except for you and Gilmanza. Thank God that some women did step in and teach her the things that I wasn't capable of teaching her. You know girl things like how to dress like a lady and such or she would have no idea what it is to be a woman. Not that she dresses all that much like a lady, at least she knows how to when the occasion calls for it.

"Why, that girl is so independent she cleans the hooves of her horses, refusing to let the stable keepers do it. I made her do that as a child, because I wanted her to learn responsibility and not to think she is too good for simple tasks," explained the king. "She is a strong woman and a bit temperamental. She keeps her heart guarded." He sighed, examining the situation. "He has his hands full if he thinks he is going to win her ovah. He is in for a real bullfight."

"Well, I think you did an exceptional job raising her," Windsor said, patting the king on the shoulder.

"I hope so," the king said, smiling. "I sure do hope so. I think she is a fine woman. You know, she can speak more languages than I can," added the king, glancing out the window at his daughter. "But I neva taught her about love."

"I would be glad to volunteer my services and teach your daughtah all about romantic love, my Lord," Navi said bearing a grin.

Harrumphing before he spoke, the king turned toward Navi with his hand on his sword and said levelly, "If you so much as touch my daughtah, I will cut you into pieces."

Navi's eyes grew wide, about to protest the king's insults.

"Nothing against you personally, Navi," the king assured him. "You are, after all, a prophet. I just don't want my grandson running around with purple and green braids in his hair. So you can forget about courting my daughter."

Navi tousled his colored braids away from his face and laughed, letting the insult roll off him.

"You have taught her about love, the love of a fathah. Romantic love begins with knowing healthy love—and that is what you have given her," Windsor said, pretending the young wizard had never steered them away from the original conversation. "Romantic love picks up there and is not anything that a parent can teach. I mean, think about it, did your parents teach you about romantic love?"

"You have a point," said the king. "You know, don't you? She thinks she is going to ride with you."

"Let her," Gilmanza said. "Windsor and I will keep a close eye on her. And I'm sure Nuvatian won't take his off her. She might not have the strength of a man but she has the sharpest archery skills of anyone I know. She has a gift you know."

"I'd be glad to keep an eye on her," murmured Navi.

"Do you really think I should let her?" asked the king, ignoring Navi.

"She has a gift you know," Windsor said echoing Gilmanza. "Need I remind you that when she was but an infant I told you she would be like a delicate pearl among warriahs and that she would be gifted with the pulling of a string. It is probably best if you send her with your blessing."

"Yes, well I had hoped that you meant the strings of a harp. She just seems so fragile and –well delicate."

"I also told you that she would be your only child and would be more precious to you than ten sons. She would perform her duties to the kingdom more efficiently than any son you could have had and that she would play a key role in the unfolding of major events." The king listened patiently to the voice of the prophet, remembering the words like they were yesterday. "You must not interfere with what is to be or I feah, my friend, that you will be removed from your post."

The alarming words of the wizard brought him back to his senses, though his heart could never be pried away with the desire to pull his daughter close and shelter her.

Meanwhile, Nuvatian had walked down to the tree where Nadora was grooming her horse. "You told me to come back when I could ride again," he said, approaching the princess from behind.

Looking over her left shoulder, she replied, "Well then, let's ride."

He stepped beside her and petted her horse. "Actually, I'm not here to ride." Shifting his focus from the horse to her iridescent eyes (now taking on a brighter color green than he had ever noticed), Nuvatian ran his hand across her windblown hair while explaining his presence at the castle. "Last night Ridahs of Quadar pursued me."

"Ridahs of Quadar? Within Sayir?" Her voice was calm as she adjusted the bow strapped to her back and brushed his hair away from her face. She had just finished shooting only moments before.

"Not far from the castle," he continued. "I could not tell how many there were. Nadora, I know you are an exceptionally skilled archah, but please be careful. I would feel bettah if you would stay on castle grounds. We are assigning extra knights to the castle grounds to secure the safety of all in the palace while we search for who has the Sword of Dahvan."

"Stay on castle grounds?" She was indignant. "And what makes you think that I will not be among those searching for the Sword of Darvan?"

"You're the princess. You are royalty and your life must be guarded and treated as such. You are the only heir."

"Because I am royalty, I have an even greatah responsibility to my country and my people. If I die serving my country, then so be it; I will have done what is right."

"But it's not your place to do the work of the knights."

"I AM a knight!" She was steaming mad as she mounted her horse.

"I just don't want anything to happen to you."

"I stand no more chance of being injahed than do you. In fact, you stand a bettah chance at being injahed than I do, according to the little match we had the othah day," she crowed.

"Oh, you really think you beat me. I was taking it easy on you because I didn't want to huht someone I was uncertain about."

"Oh really! So you let me put my sword to your neck and to your groin? Somehow I have trouble believing that," she snapped.

"You were wearing full ahmah."

"It wouldn't have mattered." She took up the reigns and spurred her horse.

As she kicked her horse into a full run, her father, still looking out the window and talking with Windsor and Gilmanza, murmured, "See what I mean?"

"Yes, I see what you mean," laughed Windsor. "I don't think you're going to have to worry about her. I think she can handle herself when it comes to young men."

"Yes, it's him I'm worried about," said the king.

Windsor laughed. "Perhaps she will soften over time."

"She's just like I was when I was young—stubborn," the king said, sighing. Then changing the subject he offered, "Well, what about I teach you three my new board game, Chess?"

"Well, we don't have anything bettah to do while we wait on lunch, do we, Gilmanza?"

"Can't think of anything. Let's play."

Angry by what Nadora had said, Nuvatian watched her ride off, and then mocked her words in a falsetto voice: "I stand no more chance of being injahed than do you. In fact, you stand a bettah chance at being injahed than I do, accordin' to the little match we had the othah day.' Princesses! They're always so bloody arrogant," he muttered as he walked toward the barn to check on his horse's ankle.

The next couple of weeks were frustrating as the riders searched throughout the land for the sword. They remained constantly alert, keeping their eyes open for any sign of the whereabouts of the sword, yet, they were silent, not wanting to stir up more trouble for the kingdom. All they could do was hope that a sure sign would point them to the possessor of the sword. But no sign came. They could only wonder if the possessor had already joined the dark riders. They knew that the dark riders were aware of the sword's presence because they were in the kingdom.

The riders were anxious, as was the king, who remained constantly informed. Their search was difficult due to the inconspicuous nature of it. They had to look as though they weren't looking. They kept their focus within the scope of the area mentioned in the meeting hall, but always remained on aware even in the city.

After no luck at all, the riders returned to the castle to reevaluate the situation. It was pouring rain when the riders arrived. They knew that everything hinged on this sword and on the Immortal King fulfilling his mission faithfully. They wondered if they should go ahead and inform him of the presence of the sword. Perhaps the immortals could help them find the sword.

"Why don't we just tell him that the bloody thing has turned up in our kingdom and they can come search for it themselves," suggested Nimri.

"I don't think he is all that anxious to see the thing," King Chess commented.

"But if the fate of the world depends on him and the sword he should be. He has a responsibility," Cozbi injected.

"Yes, but he's not too fond of that sword. I'm not saying that he would neglect his responsibility. I was just hoping that we would not have to trouble him until we had found it. Perhaps that is what we should do," replied King Chess, mulling over in his mind what would be the wisest thing to do.

"We can't get into Shy Kadesh. No mortal may enter the Land of the Immortals anymore, let alone see the king," Gilmanza replied.

"It is our responsibility to find the sword, not the Immortals. It is in our kingdom, not theirs," Windsor said.

Growing familiar with the sword, Pip practiced his forms. Although they were poorly executed, they were powerful and effective. He had landed a trump card with this find. This sword wasn't dependent upon long hours of training. It made the worst of swordsman into a master. It was as if the sword itself possessed the ability of a gifted teacher. Pip had never been this good. He was climbing the walls with excitement. In his mind, he visualized himself as king of the mountain. His finest hour was ahead of him. He was on the verge of becoming somebody—someone that history would remember.

A Discovery

The rain clattered on the roof of the palace courtyard and water dripped off the verdant ivies, philodendrons, and large cane trees that graced the edges of the courtyard. The clap of the thunder contended with the clatter of steel swords for possession of the air waves, as the latter clashed against each other under the covered courtyard where Nadora and a skilled knight practiced.

Having spent the day in discussing the Sword of Power and making a list of residents within the proximity of the castle walls and the outskirts of the city, King Chess, Windsor, Navi, Gilmanza, Nuvatian, Nimri and Cozbi walked out of the castle onto the covered patio where Nadora and her sparring-partner were practicing. Her petite but muscular frame flowed with graceful form, demonstrating compact power mixed with finesse.

The natural light of the sun was fading and night was creeping upon them. The oil fueled lamps had been lit by the servants; the courtyard glowed with soft light. The dimness enhanced her finer features; her smooth skin, fiery eyes, and auburn hues in her hair.

"Bring the gentlemen their rides," King Chess ordered to a guard.

"I wish I could tell you that I will have knights on the castle grounds tonight, but it is already late. But I will send them to the castle grounds in the morning," Gilmanza affirmed.

Mounting their horses, they spoke a few last words. Nuvatian looked once more toward Princess Nadora as she skillfully blocked her opponent's sword, parrying it to the left. As he turned to ride off, Nadora glanced in his direction, inadvertently giving her opponent an opportunity. Suddenly, her assailant's sword smashed into her right hand, knocking her sword free and giving him the undisputable victory.

"What are you doin'?" scolded her trainer. "I just killed you because you were not focusing. You cannot allow distractions to divert your attention!"

Nuvatian, witnessing her defeat and scolding, snickered with just enough pitch that Nadora could hear him. Then he and the others turned their mounts around and rode off into the rain.

Nadora, now humiliated and angered, picked up her sword and flew into a revengeful and skillful swordfight with her pretend adversary, forcing him back into the wall. Being backed into a corner, he blocked her next blow, ran under her sword and moved quickly away from her.

Pulling off his helmet, he brought a swift end to their practice. "That will be enough for today." He shook his head at her aggression. Her father, observing from a distance, shook his own head and chuckled, her spirit reminding him of himself in his younger days.

The six warriors rode along the water soaked road, their horses splashing a muddy mixture into the air. The rain pelted the riders, soaking their clothing, making them cumbersome and heavy. The faint light of the moon faded away and darkness enveloped them. Like a thief robbing nature of its precious jewel, a cloud hid the moon, stealing the riders of its guiding light. Windsor and Navi rubbed the orbs on their staffs, giving them a measure of light.

Meanwhile, crow-colored horses blended in with the black night. Their riders became as one with the darkness. The shade choice was a sacrament of their conversion and the garments mandatory wardrobe.

Dark riders of Quadar gathered around Pip's house that sat just off the muddy path. They circled his house for one reason: to call him forth to be their leader. They knew he held the sword; therefore, he held the position.

Inside, Pip trembled with fear. He had hidden the sword, yet it still summoned him. _The sword, it's mine, all mine. I found it!_ It had given him what he always wanted: ability, self-confidence, the possibility for advancement and respect. But as much as he longed for those things, he feared them, the sword more than anything. He was acquainted with the stories but now those tantalizing tales were becoming real life and sweeping him into its drama. The problem was that every tale he had read ended in tragedy.

His breath was strained by anxiety as he peered out his window. _Dahk ridahs_. Gripped with terror, Pip ran his hands through his red hair and wrung them, feeling qualms with his lustful desire for the sword. _What shall I do? What shall I do?_ He thought to himself as he paced the floor. Meanwhile, his lips kept murmuring _,_ "The sword, I have the sword of powah. Take it up. Be a leader." Good and evil were warring inside the young knight's head—inside his very soul. He longed to be brave, bold, and courageous, traits he had never possessed. The sword gave him the power and confidence he had longed for. But the legends drove caution into his innate desire. Peering out the window again, he breathed heavily. "I can't do this," he said out loud. "I wish I'd nevah found this bloody sword."

Trembling, Pip walked over and knelt beside his bed. Lifting a rug that lay in front of him, he opened a secret door built into the floor of his bedroom. He reached inside and touched the sword again. A jolt of power resurrected his confidence. _"Pip! Pip! You are the leader! We will lead together."_ The sword seemed to whisper to him. Sweat beaded up on his forehead, as the two voices inside him competed for his soul. His caution was thrown to the wind by the power he felt by a simple touch of the sword.

_No! he thought, I mustn't. But if I don't I'm doomed to death._ He knew enough of the legends to know that anyone with the sword in his possession and refused to join the Riders of Quadar would be killed. And there was only one kind of death for such a person: the Sword of Power itself would be used to decapitate his head. At least that is what he had always been told.

Picking up the sword, Pip held it close to his chest. His eyes grew wide with excitement. The pupils dilated and his face became somewhat distorted as he stroked the sword. _Yes, yes, this is my sword,_ he half-thought and half-dreamed. _I have all power to rule._ He imagined himself a powerful ruler, esteemed by the grand, celebrated by the masses, feared by all. He would be somebody now.

A robed rider dismounted his horse, his black cape snapping in the wind. With his hand on the handle of his sword, he walked up the steps of Pip's porch and placed his skeletal black hand laced with decaying flesh onto the doorknob.

The warriors strained their eyes, trying to see the path. A rod of lightning flashed in the sky, revealing the silhouette of a single rider, his cape snapping with the force of the wind. In the distance, they could see Pip's house, encircled by Riders of Quadar.

Pulling their swords from their sheaths, the six men rode into the dim light. The sound of pounding hooves signaled the immediacy of battle. The lightning flashed again, unveiling a large group of riders nearly upon them. They were clearly outnumbered.

With fierceness the dark riders broke through the tree line and pounced upon the riders. The beating rain caused Windsor to drop his staff. Crossing blades, they fought a blind fight against the black creatures. Gilmanza deflected the sword of a dark rider and then quickly plunged his sword through the abdomen of the depraved knight. Another was upon him, but he gave that dark rider no time to put his sword in motion. He fell dead swiftly.

Nuvatian, forced into a defensive battle with two dark riders, deflected their swords and then steered his horse away from them, quickly turning back to an offensive position, cutting one across the back and the other across the abdomen. The thunderbolt lit up the sky again and a dark skeletal looking face stared Windsor in the eyes, just as Windsor deflected the incoming blow, plunging his sword through the evil rider's heart. As he pulled his sword from the heart of the devilish creature, a vile odor filled the air; it was the stench of decomposing flesh.

Nimri and Cozbi were in the heat of battle, each proving they were equipped for war, a vital addition to the team. _So it's not just a legend_. These newbies had only heard the tales but they held up in the face of evil proudly. They used their swords efficiently, thrusting them through a dark rider, one a piece. Cozbi hurled his horse toward another dark rider as it approached him, parried the strike and cut down the rider as easily as if he were slicing butter. Nimri dropped another at the turn of his horse. Navi quickly put down two more as though it were second nature. In a moment the battle was over and the dark riders were scattered to the ground in death, their blood mingling with the muddy water. Their dark faces looked not only grotesquely evil, but also deeply empty.

A black horse that had fallen during the fight jumped up and ran off into the darkness, now free from its hellish master. All fell quiet with the exception of the beating of the rain and the heavy breathing of the mounts.

"Those ridahs were around Pip's house. We have to go see if he's okay," said Nuvatian.

"Those ridahs were around his house for a reason." Windsor leapt off Moridar to retrieve his staff.

The riders turned their mounts around and raced toward Pip's house. Not a single Rider of Quadar could be spotted under the bolts that lit up the sky. Even so, the path was lined with the trees of the forest giving opportunity for a surprise attack. With suspicion, they peered to the left and the right trying to see into the black night. Even with the orbs it was a hopeless cause, for the night was too black to see much ahead without the disclosing flashes that periodically lit up the sky.

Suddenly there emerged from the obscurity of the woods another group of dark riders. They pounced upon them, eager to rid the earth of their influence. But unlike before, Navi and Windsor were prepared. With his staff stretched out, Navi proclaimed, "Ridahs of Quadar, may your decaying flesh freeze..."

Before he could finish the curse his staff was knocked from his hand by a Rider of Quadar, who plunged his sword, cutting close to Navi's head. Navi dodged the edge of the blade. Then Navi surged the sword toward the back of the rider's head, laying open his skull.

With his sword in one hand fighting a rider and his staff in another hand, Windsor finished what Navi had begun:

"Ridahs of Quadar, may your decaying flesh freeze,

Disintegrate and blow away with the breeze."

Immediately, each of the Riders of Quadar turned to frozen ice, their angry and empty faces becoming frozen in time: ice sculptures of the devil in human form. The swords Gilmanza and Navi had plunged into the riders were frozen within them, impossible to retract at that instant. Then, as suddenly as they had frozen, these glaciers of evil fell apart, disintegrating into particles as fine as powder and blowing away on the wind. Their black capes, clothing and swords fell to the ground. They were like vapors that quickly evaporated. Their black horses sped away free, from the tyranny of their evil masters. One reared just before it fled, as though eager to explore its newfound freedom.

"Why didn't you two do that sooner?" Cozbi asked looking down at Navi who was retrieving his staff and the swords of the dark riders that had fallen to the ground.

"We don't possess the powah to do what we want. Besides, we must be careful not to do too much or it can kill us" explained Windsor.

"Who do you think we are? Gods?" piped Navi. "I can see how so many people think I am perfect, but I'm really not. Close, but not quite," He laughed heartily, releasing the tension of his body all at once.

All was quiet as they drew near Pip's house. The front door of his little gray wooden house was ajar. The riders wondered in turn: Had Pip followed them to become their leader? Had they killed him? Or had they taken him away into Quadar to torture him into becoming one of them. If so and he refuses, then death would become a certain fate."

They walked into the pitch-black house. The only lights were the orbs on Windsor's and Navi's staffs. "Ggggrrhhhh! came the sound of something scraping the floor, followed by a yelp of pain.

"Ooouucchhh! Blasted!" yelped Navi bumping his shin on a tipped over coffee table that lay in the entryway of the door. "I didn't see that blasted table," he said in a faint whisper.

"Let's split up," whispered Gilmanza. "Windsor and I will go left, you two go right. Nimri and Cozbi, you guahd the entrance to make sure no one comes or goes."

"Guahd the entrance," repeated Cozbi, resenting the seemingly triviality of the task.

"Relax, we'll see plenty more action," Navi said reassuringly. "Then you'll wish you were just guahding a door."

Walking softly, they began searching Pip's house. Windsor and Gilmanza crept into the bedroom, guided by the faint light of Windsor's orb. Navi and Nuvatian stealthily slunk into his spare room where a spider web transfixed itself to Navi's face. Straining their eyes to see in the dim light, they clutched their swords in anticipation. The floor creaked with each step.

On the other side of the house, Windsor and Gilmanza walked warily into the suspiciously dark room, their minds mulling over what they might find. A noise in the dark alerted them. Suddenly, there was a screeching sound and something leapt from the dresser. _Dahk ridahs. Swords_. Windsor and Gilmanza gaped with alarm and made ready their swords in defense. Windsor held up his staff to see what was there. Nuvatian and Navi turned to rush to their aid. The spider web adhered to Navi's face again and he ran into the coffee table a second time, banging his shin in the exact same spot. Yelping in pain, he rushed into the other room.

"Ppppprrrrr,"

"It's a cat," Windsor said reaching down to pet it.

"Blasted cat!" murmured Navi. "I hate cats. I should tuhn the bloody thing into a frog."

They were all huddled in the back bedroom, the excitement having wooed them. It was then that Navi noticed in the faint light of his orb, a shoe string sticking out from beneath a bundle of loose hay. Navi set his foot down in the dead center and pressed hard.

"Aaaahhh!" shrieked the person stowed away beneath the hay. Navi yelled too, startled that someone was actually beneath that itchy stuff. His instinct had been right. Pip's head sprang up in an instant. Realizing it was Navi, Pip asked, "What are you doin' here?"

"Pip? Is that you," asked Nuvatian as the young man shook off the itchy bedding. "Are you okay, crony?" Navi asked, holding his orb so he could see.

"Of course, of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Ridahs of Quadar were outside your home," Windsor said.

"They were? What were Ridahs of Quadar doing outside my home?"

"Oh, you just roll around in you bedding for fun?" Navi said. "We know you have the sword, scamp!"

"What sword. I don't know what you're talkin' about."

"Where is the sword?" Gilmanza asked.

"What sword?" Pip acted innocent, playing the fool.

"You know what sword we speak of," replied Cozbi. He and Nimri had left their posts by the door, not wanting to miss a thing.

"Pip, that bloody sword will destroy you," Windsor sternly warned, "either by taking your head or by turning you into something evil, one who will eventually be betrayed, murdered, and condemned." Softening his voice, the wizard continued. "Pip, we are trying to protect you from going down that dreaded road that will ultimately lead to destruction."

"Aaahh, you want the sword for yourselves," Pip retorted. "Well, you can't have it. It's mine, all mine!" Agitation stirred in his belly and his eyes grew wild with excitement. His face twisted with covetous desire as he claimed lordship over the sword.

"Pip, we don't want the bloody sword for ouhselves," Nuvatian insisted. "You know what has to be done with it. You are goin' to ruin your life with that bloody thing—and a lot of othah people's lives too!"

"You won't own the sword, the sword will own you," Windsor said.

Nimri tried next. "Pip, you are the best of the noble knights. You have more compassion than any of them. I don't want to see you destroy yourself."

"You really care about me?" asked Pip. There was a glimmer of hope behind the distorted pupils of his eyes.

"Of course we do," Cozbi said, reassuring him.

"Well now, with that little storybook moment of affirmative affection taken care of, now where is the blasted sword, scamp?" asked Navi.

Pip stood there silently.

"Well then, I suppose if you are not willing to give it up," Navi warned, "we will have no othah option than to cut off your bloody head and search your house ourselves until we find the bloody sword."

"Yeah, you should lose your head anyway, for murdering those two men," Cozbi said.

"I didn't murdah anyone," Pip said angrily.

Navi looked at Cozbi through the orb of his staff. "I thought you two were supposed to be guahding the door."

Cozbi resented being the low man on the totem pole.

"I was defending myself," Pip cried out in his defense. "They pulled their swords on me fihst. You must believe me." His face was growing angry again.

"We know they have a history of causing trouble," Gilmanza said. "Just tell us where the sword is and everything will be okay."

"I didn't mean to find the sword." Pip said, coming back around to himself. He was shaking now. "It found me. I just... once my eyes saw it...once my hands touched it, I just couldn't put it back. It—it made me feel like I've nevah felt before." He pointed toward the secret hiding-place in the floor of the room. "It is here!" Pulling back the knotty blue rug, he lifted the wood plank out of the floor. Inside was the steel Sword of Power, radiating with formidable energy.

The five stared at the sword, arrested by its presence and sensing its stimulating energy. It gripped at the very soul of each man, calling to his ego, exhorting him that he was invincible and powerful, daring him to take it up.

Pip reached down to take hold of the handle of the sword, his eyes widened and his face grew flush. He felt himself lapsing, the sword gripping his very soul stirring up a fire in his belly. _My sword_. _It's mine_. Oh how he loved how that sword made him feel. Lightning flashed, revealing the excitement in his eyes, his face becoming almost contorted. He suddenly couldn't wait to touch it. As the young man touched the sword, Windsor caught a glimpse of his face through the light of his orb. In a rush to prevent a disaster, Windsor grabbed Pip's hand.

"Gilmanza, perhaps you should carry the sword."

"Me? I don't want to carry the sword. Why don't you carry it?"

"No!" Windsor almost shouted. "I will not touch the bloody thing." Windsor had experienced more than his fair share of that cursed metal. It was a part of his history that he was glad few remembered.

"Well then Navi or Nuvatian can carry it," Gilmanza said.

"What? No, I'm not going to carry it. I'm already acquainted with powah and don't need any temptations for more," Navi said, rushing to disqualify himself.

"I don't want to carry it either," Nuvatian argued. "I have enough temptation on my plate right now." He was speaking of the king's daughter that was driving him crazy.

"Well then, I guess I will have to carry it," Pip said, reaching his hand toward the sword.

"Don't even think about touching that sword," commanded Windsor.

"Someone just pick up the bloody thing and let's go," Nimri said, himself too afraid to touch it. "Windsor, you're a wizard, just pick it up."

"No!" he shouted again. Anger echoed in his voice.

"Then who's goin' to carry it?" Nimri asked.

"I will carry it." Cozbi was, still standing beside Navi, having ignored his words of reproach.

Stepping up to the storage area, he slowly reached his hand down to the sword and touched its handle. Feeling its power, Cozbi pulled his hand away. The darkness of the night hid the fearful look on his face as Navi's orb grew dim. He reached his hand back between the planks of wood in the floor. This time he took hold of the sword and lifted it cautiously out of its hiding place. He felt its strengthening power.

"I object!" cried Pip, backsliding again at the sight of it. "That is my sword. You can't just come into a man's house and take his possessions!"

"Well, we are now, aren't we, scamp," laughed Navi.

With wild eyes, Pip violently protested, "That is my sword... mine! Give it back to me!" His voice was loud and angry as he reached his hand out forcefully toward Cozbi, raking his claws down his arm.

Without the sword, Pip was no real match. In a split second, Pip was face down on the ground. A simple wrist lock and throw put him flat on the ground. Nuvatian pinned him firmly. "Now listen. We can do this the hahd way or the easy way. It's your choice."

Pip finally settled down and they let him up, but Nuvatian kept his arm locked behind him while he escorted him out to the mounts. Gaining his composure, Pip cooperated. But he had one more card to play. "What if we used the sword against the Ridahs of Quadar, and against Dahvan?" he offered. "We could use the powah of the sword for good instead of evil." He was desperate not to lose control, and tried to din this new idea into the heads of the riders.

"The sword cannot be used for good," Windsor declared. "It knows no good. It is a cuhsed sword." Turning to Pip he continued, "You are coming with us. You can ride with Navi."

"Thanks a lot," Navi said sarcastically.

It wasn't until they were outside beside the mounts that Nuvatian turned him loose. Pip slung one leg over Inka and relaxed.

As they prepared to ride, Cozbi sheathed the Sword of Darvan and strapped it to his horse's saddle. The riders mounted their horses and rode in the direction of the king's castle. The rain was still steadily beating down, making a rhapsodic noise. All the while, Cozbi could feel the radiating power of the sword pulling at his ego. The thrill in his eyes was hidden by the darkness of the night.

An Ancient Prophecy

The events of the night led the riders back to the castle. As they approached the wall, the vigilant knights scattered across the turrets and battlements strung their bows. An array of knights and squires stood strong bearing their swords. From the distance, Windsor called out, "It is us. Windsor, Gilmanza, Navi and the othahs." They approached cautiously, Windsor holding up his orb that they might see his face. The light was dim from a distance.

With a dart of fire, a sharp shooting warrior lit the fire box that stood beside the riders. These gridded boxes were erected on large rock pillars. Inside were wide torches fueled by oil. With a precise shot of a fiery dart, the box lit up the area around it. The sudden combustible torch startled Pip, thinking for a moment that he had been shot. The light gave proof to their identity. Windsor's white beard and long hair were sure signs of the wizard himself. They had not a clue who the chubby guy was but since he was with them, they let him in. All the knights stood prepared just in case the enemy advanced from behind them.

"It is urgent that we see the king immediately," Windsor said, offering no other explanation.

With no further questions asked, the squire sent word to the king and opened the large iron clad doors. These ancient fittings screeched with a loud pitch.

Guards rode ahead of the riders, escorting them onto the castle grounds while other knights walked ahead to inform the king of their presence. The riders dismounted their horses, stelletoes, and dragons, while Cozbi untied the sheath holding the Sword of Power. Clutching the hilt of the sword in his right hand and the blade in his left, he waivered as the sword sent a surge of power through him. He felt invigorated, swayed by a power greater than himself. His healthy ego swelled without any contributions of his own. It was a high. He didn't want to let it go.

"Here, wrap it in this," Nuvatian said, handing Cozbi his wet riding jacket. Cozbi hesitated; then, with one more stern word from Nuvatian, wrapped the sword in the jacket, carrying it under his arm. Navi and Windsor donned their wizard hats, the only semi-dry clothing they had tucked away in their travel bags.

As Navi walked into the castle his brown riding boots squeaked with each bouncy step he took. Since he couldn't stand still, the squeaking never stopped. Neither did the gushing impulses of omnipotence that soared through Cozbi as he held onto that cursed sword.

Inside his chambers the king's face was flushed with sleepiness as he smoothed his hands over his pajamas. He had hoped to go to bed early and catch some extra sleep. "Rap, Rap, Rap," was the noise on his chamber door. This was the second tap on his door. The first informed him of their arrival.

"Sire, which meeting room do you want to meet them in?"

"Just put them in the rotundity," answered the king, as he began to peel off his night clothes and put on more appropriate attire. "I will be with them shortly.

Wearing ordinary clothing, the king hurriedly walked down the corridors of the castle and into the meeting room where Gilmanza, Windsor, Navi, Nuvatian, Nimri, Cozbi and Pip sat waiting.

"So, my friends, what brings you back here at this hour?" asked the king. "And who is this you have with you?

"This is Pip, one of the knights of the noble order of hospitable service," said Gilmanza.

Nuvatian stood up and took the bundle from Cozbi. The high he was experiencing was immediately gone. He felt a sudden low come over him and an emptiness take up residence within. Unwrapping the Sword of Darvan, Nuvatian laid it on the table quickly, hardly giving it time to put its spell on him. Nonetheless, he felt the sway on his soul.

The round table was tiled with mosaic art, depicting a historically victorious battle. Its muted colors complimented the stone walls of the room. The large drapes were brick-red with gold threads woven throughout, typical of royal taste. The uniquely stone crafted torches on the walls gave a poor reflection of light to the room allowing only dim visibility. Under the light, the rubies on the handle of the sword illuminated the room, casting diamond shapes onto the walls and the ceiling. The red drapes enhanced the red rubies creating dancing shadows of a more brilliant color red than the rubies themselves.

The riders stared in bewilderment at the beauty of the Sword of Power, its energy creating an atmosphere of wonder and mystique. It seized their attention and conjured up enticing sensations. For a moment, silence filled the room as they all stared at the Sword of Darvan. The ruby jewels of its hilt dazzled diamond-shaped images across the walls that danced a spellbinding dance, nearly hypnotizing them. It's very presence charmed the group. But King Chess seemed unimpressed by the sword.

As though coming out of a trance, Navi remembered the bloody and cruel history of the sword. He recognized its influence for what it was, deceptive and evil. "Cursed be the Sword of Dahvan," he pronounced. Chafed by the cunning attraction of the crafted metal, he stood up indigent and pointed his staff at the Sword of Darvan. Its power shot back and there was conflict between the two forces; it was a powerful struggle between good and evil. As the forces contended for predominance, Navi's feet were elevated off the ground, and the power of the sword slammed him into the wall. The steel sword now lifted off the table, levitating in the air for a few seconds, then returned to its place. Navi crashed to the floor, and as he hit the ground a large picture ornamenting the castle room fell on his head, bending his wizard hat and hitting him in the head.

Windsor picked up the picture. "Your zeal is admirable, Navi, but the sword cannot be defeated by zeal."

"Yeah! I know," Navi said with some resignation.

"Then why'd you do it?"

"It just seemed like a good idea at the time, crony," replied Navi, straightening his crooked hat.

"So where did you find the sword?" the king asked.

"This is our culprit," Windsor said. Standing up behind Pip's chair, Windsor grabbed Pip by his wavy unmanageable hair and lifted him out of his seat.

"As we were riding back," explained Nuvatian, "we encountahed Ridahs of Quadar. They were near Pip's house. They began to pursue us and a group cut us off the path. We killed them and rode to Pip's house, because we thought he might be in danger. And there we found the bloody sword."

Now King Chess turned to Pip. "And where did you get the sword, Son?"

Windsor let go of the lad's hair and returned to his seat directly across from him. Tugging awkwardly on his ear, Pip explained how he came about finding the Sword of Power. "I was walkin' down the path when something ran across the road and knocked me down an embankment and into a swamp below. As I was tryin' to climb out, my hand was piehced by something sharp. I dug it out to see what it was, and found this sword."

"Did you realize what sort of sword this was?" asked the king.

"Not at first; howevah latah I began to realize that this was a unique sword."

"What road were you traveling down," Windsor asked. He leaned forward, eyeballing Pip. He had an inkling of an idea but he had to hear Pip say it.

"Shilly Shally Ford," Pip answered, rubbing his hands across his freckled face.

When Pip said Shilly Shally Ford Windsor, Navi, and Gilmanza became more attentive, leaning forward in their seats. Observing each other's reactions across the room, each acknowledging their understanding of what Pip had just said.

Windsor ran his hand across his silver beard. _Just as I suspected,_ he thought. Clearing his throat, Windsor confirmed, "Shilly Shally Ford! Are you certain of this, Pip?"

"Yes, I am certain of this. I know where I was traveling'. Why? What is so important about where I found it?"

"I just wanted to make sure I understood you correctly." This was not the time to divulge the significance of this news, not to this young innocent lad.

"Why didn't you bring the sword to me instead of keeping it for yourself," asked King Chess.

"I just couldn't let go of it," Pip proclaimed. "It made me feel so good, so skilled." His eyes grew wide, even without the sword in his hand. He spoke with enthusiasm as he rambled on and on about the sword. He couldn't shut up about it. Now that it was out of his possession, he felt enervated.

The king interrupted the young knight. "Well, I believe we need to put this sword in a locked place. We need to put Pip in a safe place too, like out of the reach of the sword and the Ridahs of Quadar." He reached out his hand toward the sword, hesitated, and then boldly picked it up. Immediately, the sword radiated with warmth. He felt its power burn within him. "Hu!" sighed the king, more irritated with the sword's cunning ways than fascinated by it.

With the keys that hung from his garments, he unlocked a secret lock built into the ecru stone wall behind a picture on the wall and placed the sword in the secret chamber, locking its steel door behind it.

Pip's tired eyes grew wide with protest as King Chess locked up the Sword of Power. Objecting, he leapt to his feet and snarled, "That is my sword. I found it. It's mine, all mine!" His voice rose as he continued, "You can't have it. It's mine! You stole it from me. Give it back!" There was now rage in his eyes.

"Pip, sit down," King Chess said in a calm but stern voice.

"Don't patronize me," Pip snarled. "I'm not going to sit down. I want my sword."

Discerning that this could easily get out of hand, King Chess walked out of the room momentarily, returning with a pair of handcuffs. Pip had become wild now, and was trying to fight their attempts to restrain him. But his efforts to resist were futile. In a short time they had him cuffed and gagged. The last thing they needed was him rambling on about the sword to everyone in the castle.

"It is not because you found the sword that you are going to the dungeon," the king told him. "It is because it has gained entrance into your heart. It is for your own good that you are going to the dungeon. One day you will thank me." Two squires escorted him out of the room, with Pip still putting up a fight. "Keep him gagged," the king ordered.

They waited until he had left the room, then Windsor said to the others. "So, Shilly Shally Ford, huh?"

"What is so important about that?" asked Nimri.

Windsor spoke first, "There is an ancient prophecy that says the sword would be found at Shilly Shally Ford." He didn't tell them that it was a prediction he had made. His authorship of it was irrelevant; he had proved himself a true prophet on more than one occasion. Pulling a scroll from the inside of his brown riding satchel, he laid it on the table, opened it and fumbled with it scrolling this way and then that way until he found the spot he was looking for. The clouds parted and a beam from the moon shone through the window lighting the pages. He began to read:

O Land of Shalahem,

That seeks to be redeemed.

You sought for peace,

But instead found a sword.

At the fork in the road,

At Shilly Shally Ford.

Now your way of peace,

Has come to an end.

With division among you,

How will you defend?

A kingdom divided,

Cannot stand,

It will be no more,

In this land.

Down, down, you will fall,

The quest for powah,

Will fool you all.

For the Sword of Darvan,

Will create discord.

And you will cut your throats,

With your own swords.

Unless there arises,

A circle of riders,

That will carry the sword,

To the immortal fighter.

Rolling the scroll further, Windsor picked up the reading from another passage:

Through Darvan's heart,

The sword must penetrate.

And into the fires of Quadar,

Both must precipitate,

The failure to fulfill,

This mission of redemption,

Will result in an endless rule

Of evil without remission.

Taking out another scroll, Windsor laid it on top of the other and rolled through it. His eyes set upon the words he was searching for; then, Windsor read the words of the ancient scroll "The prophet says:

After years of its misplacement, the Sword of Darvan is found. A battle wages to the end. Cries echo across the land. War, famine, and death stain the land. Lives are lost; blood is spilled; the soil is red. A Circle is formed; choose carefully this Circle, lest a betrayer be among them. One immortal king, the last of all immortal kings, bears the burden of the sword. The immortal king rides across the land, a land home to dahkness, a land home to evil, a land home to Darvan. He rides bent on conquest; a task of great obstacles. Sweat rolls down his face as the temptation of the sword tempts his soul. If he fails, evil will forever rule. There arises a betrayer, a betrayer to The Circle, a betrayer of good. Oppression, cruelty, and evil are increasing and will rule the land if the immortal king fails. All hope of redemption will forever be lost. But ahead, in the haze of the hills, I see The Immortal Rider, bent on conquest and I see an army following, thus says the prophet of God.

"Why were we not told about the prophecy at Shilly Shally?" Cozbi asked.

"Because when the prophecy was made, power hungry people gathahed at Shilly Shally looking for the swohd. They went on quest along the road to find the sword. So I became mum about the location of its finding."

"If Pip found the Sword of Dahvan at Shilly Shally Ford then the prophecies are bein' fulfilled as we speak. The prophet speaks of an immortal king. There is only one immortal king left—King Japhia Cervanius Justiz. This is the beginning of the fulfillment of the last great battle," said Gilmanza.

"So in order for Dahvan to be permanently defeated," Cozbi asked, seeking clarity, "his Sword of Powah must be plunged into his heart by an immortal king, and he must be thrown into the fires of Quadar with his sword through his heart. Right?"

"Yes, that is correct," answered Windsor.

"Why can't one of the other immortals destroy him?"

"Because they do not have the authority," Nuvatian replied. "Only a king has the authority to destroy him."

"How is it that you know so much about this?" Nimri asked Nuvatian sincerely. "I mean I have heard bits and pieces."

Pointing his finger at Navi, Nuvatian explained, "I've had more than my fair share of fishing banks and horse rides with him."

Windsor ushered the riders to silence, as he read from another passage of prophecy from a scroll, one authored by himself:

A bearer of the Sword will arise who will bear the burden of it

until it is placed in the hands of the Immortal King.

His origins are of an ancient days, a people of long ago.

He will carry the Sword into the canvas of the earth into dark portals

and cursed byways, himself bearing the burden of the curse that pierced him.

"So there is someone who is going to arise who will carry the sword?" asked Cozbi.

"Yes, that is correct," answered Windsor.

"So what is all this about "canvas of the earth and dark portals?" Cozbi inquired, still seeking understanding.

"It's a metaphor that describes the temptation of the sword upon mortal souls," answered Windsor, believing himself to have answered correctly.

Now Nimri chimed in. "So who is this Circle of Ridahs?"

Silence fell upon the room as they all looked at each other. After a good while, Navi spoke up. "It looks like we have our work cut out for us, cronies. I've dreamed of this day," he added smiling as he pulled an apple out of his bag and sank his teeth into it.

"We must gathah the most noble of ridahs and ride to the Land of Shy Kadesh," Windsor added. "According to the prophecy, now is the time. The prophet said we must choose carefully."

Energized by the new information, the riders gathered around the table with their mugs filled with streaming coffee. Gilmanza and Windsor puffed on their long slender pipes as the riders discussed who should make up The Circle. Numerous names were thrown around, most of whom Nimri and Cozbi were unfamiliar with and some of whom Nuvatian had only heard of. The decisions were easily made as the most skilled and loyal warriors were chosen. Some of those chosen had ridden in previous wars with Windsor and Gilmanza. They had a reputation for courage, honor, and highly skilled in warfare, like none other in the land.

"You will need to split up," said the king. "Windsor, Nuvatian and Nimri must go first to the West to the Shovi of the Earthdwellers and get Vandorf. Then you go further west to the Land of the Giants, to get Gilgore. Then it's to the North to the Vikings for Zorgar and Zilgar. Gilmanza, Navi and Cozbi will go south to the Waddies to get Monguard. Then go east to the Land of the Himps and get Ozni, then northeast to the Elves for Binko and let his brother, Darbi, know so he can have the Elves ready to go if we need them. He won't whispah a word to anyone but if we need the Elves he will commission them. Then go into the Valley of the Sorbs to get Buldar. You'll all meet up at the Tomb of Murdorf. Whoever gets there first, wait for the othahs. Then you go further north to the Land of Shy Kadesh and inform King Justiz."

"But first, all of you will ride togethah south to get Skeener, since you all have to go that way anyway," the king continued, as though the Kadesh issue were merely an obstacle awaiting solution. "From there you can split off into two groups. The larger the groups, the safer you'll be. After you have rounded everyone up, come back here. May God be with us," he added, as he ran his hands through his wild hair. It still stood on end from his being awakened in the middle of the night.

"Oh, and by the way," he added, turning to Gilmanza, "since you're stayin here tonight, I will send one of the squires in the morning with a notice that extra knights be placed on duty at the castle. I also ask that all knights be on duty in case the situation arises for such forces."

"Yes, Sire."

"For these... these will be the Circle of Ridahs—and we will be victorious," King Chess concluded, standing and putting his hand on the round stone table, chiseled with the images that celebrated victory.

"What about Shy Kadesh?" Nimri asked. "I mean how are we going to get in?"

"Our only option: appeal to the graciousness of the Immortal King. Windsor, you have some pull, use it."

A lump formed in Windsor's throat. He swallowed hard, hoping it would go away.

"For now, it is still night. Sleep a few hours while you can," he added. "I will have the servants and squires prepare necessities for your journey."

Anticipating riding out in a few hours, the riders tossed and turned. Unable to sleep, they finally decided to get up and prepare for the mission: sharpening blades, checking bowstrings, filling quivers, gathering a few blankets, and packing smaller items that might be needed. They made sure everything was in order.

Shortly after dawn, they dined with the king—perhaps for the last time and certainly for a long time. The table was filled with juicy fruits, soups, breads, pastries and meats. The riders stuffed themselves, knowing that they might not get another meal that hearty for a good while. While they breakfasted, the servants prepared their beasts for riding and packed food, while the squires gathered arrows, extra bowstrings and bows, and other small weaponry.

After breakfast, the six carried their belongings to their mounts and secured their bags to their saddles. (The dragons did not have saddles, of course.). As Nuvatian was leaving the palace, Nadora appeared astride her dragon, Orpah, leading her stelleto, Valor. Across Orpah were two bags, a mail jacket, and a helmet. On her back was strapped a quiver full of arrows.

"Your horse's leg is some better but the stable keepah thinks it best if he stays off of it a little while longer. Plus, the more flying beasts we have the bettah. You may ride Valor. Her natural protective armor will keep her safe."

"Thank you, Princess Nadora."

"You can leave off that princess stuff," she told him with a grin.

As Nuvatian was securing his bags to Valor, Nadora spoke to her father about the mission. "We will gathah the othas and King Justiz and be back soon."

Her insinuations of riding with them raised objections from both Nimri and Cozbi. "What do you mean by 'We'? You're not riding with us," Cozbi cried.

"She is ridin'." Windsor mounted his dragon, ignoring the twinge of conscience he had about her riding on such a dangerous mission.

"What? A woman ridin' with us?" It was Nimri's turn to object.

"It is fah too dangerous for a woman to ride along," Cozbi added. "We will likely encountah Ridahs of Quadar. We haven't time to protect a woman"

"Who said I need protecting?"

Nuvatian merely smiled, as he was not about to object, having engaged with her in swordsmanship. Had it not been for that prior experience with her in battle, he probably would have fallen into the same folly. However, he knew that the issue at hand was not one of propriety, but of ability.

He was glad she was riding. Now the scenery would be greatly improved.

Navi didn't mind either, he found her entertaining, both on the eyes and her bold personality.

As Gilmanza mounted his strawberry roan stelleto, he settled the issue. "She is ridin' with us. She is just as capable. She is the sharpest archah I have evah met and her skill is needed on this mission. I have privately trained her since she was a small child. We intentionally failed to mention her last night, because it was too late to get into this trivial child's play with you then. It was a given among the rest of us that she was indeed going to ride. I don't know what I am sayin' all this for. I don't need to explain myself to you. She's riding!"

Nadora raised her eyebrow in confidence and giggled a girlish giggle.

"I just hope she can cook," Cozbi muttered to Nimri, just loud enough for Nadora to hear. "She can come if she cooks for us."

Nadora raised her eyebrow again, and then murmured, just loud enough for his hearing, "Ffghhh! I'll cook you over an open fire if you keep it up. And you would probably agree that I am a bettah fightah than I am a cook." Joining the group, she held her head high and squared her shoulders as she slung her bow across her back. As she rode past Cozbi and Nimri she raised her eyebrow and cocked her head to one side once more, just to make certain that the sagacity of her riding with them and the confidence of her attitude were both comprehended. Then she smiled a gigantic smile.

Leaning over Inka, Navi whispered to the king with a grin, "I'll keep my eye on her."

With a grin wider than Navi's, the king rubbed the hilt of his sword that dangled at his side. "No you won't," he whispered back. "You'll be going in the opposite direction."

Curling his lip, Navi straightened his hat and smiled a mischievous and disappointing smile. The king walked up to Windsor and inconspicuously placed a key in his hand. It was the key to the safe that housed the Sword of Power. "This is the only key." Windsor reluctantly took the keys and tucked it inside his satchel. He aimed to forget that he held it.

"What about the sword?" Nimri asked, unaware that the king gave the key to Windsor. "Aren't we taking the sword to King Justiz?"

"That sword is deplorable to him. You will nevah get into his kingdom with it. You are merely to inform him of its whereabouts and he will muster his army and ride here to get it. He declared that it would never set foot in his kingdom. Besides it is safer here than with a handful of warriors, even experienced warriors. It would be a magnet for evil."

Just as they were about to ride off, the wind blew and Windsor held back his gray head. He raised his crooked staff in the air and declared with authority:

At the river's edge,

They sit and wait;

Like a fish unaware,

Of the fisherman's bait.

Under the watahs the trap will be set,

One is in danger;

All will get wet.

They have made their plans,

They have set their snare.

The Circle they will destroy,

If you forget that each is a pair.

Your unity will be tested,

Only as a circle will you survive

If you all stick together,

At the river they will be boiled alive.

This is but one attack,

In a series of events.

If the circle is broken,

All will suffer the consequence.

Silence fell upon the riders as the alarming words of the prophecy shook their souls. The words left every heart searching and wondering what lay ahead of them as individuals—but most of all as a circle—a circle upon which the Kingdom of Shalahem depended; more importantly, a circle that could determine the fate of the world.

Finally, they heeled their beasts and rode through the ironclad gates and down the dirt path that lay before the castle.

The Land of the Gommits

The riders were as silent as the tombs as they trotted down the windy path, the words of the prophecies troubling their minds as they realized themselves to be the subjects spoken of in voices from the past. They knew these were troubling times and that wars lay just ahead of them. Ages upon ages of world history, ancient ecstatic utterances, events set in motion long ago were all leading up to the present age, the fulfillment of prophecies uttered in antiquity, and the culmination to all history, a time of great fear, iniquity, and world war.

From a distance, they could see vultures feasting on the carrion of the Riders of Quadar. Their red heads bobbed at the dead as though they were feasting on a delicacy. Riding past the decaying bodies, the remains stunk with a foul odor. The black decaying flesh was exposed, their teeth were brown and dingy, and their eyes were stained a dirty yellow. They looked as though they had been dead for weeks.

They rode away from Sayir, across the plains and hills and into the rocky mountains. It was a pleasant day, and the sun was shining bright and a gentle breeze was blowing. Cooler temperatures descended upon them as they climbed upward, but it was still bearable. The mountainous terrain slowed them down a little with its curvy roads and rocky terrain.

After a full day of riding, they neared the Trees of Jaiyr just outside the land of the Gommits. It was evening.

Riding to Skeener's home, they knocked on the sturdy wooden door. "Comin," a woman hollered from within. Then she sprang open the door.

"Hello, Mikel. Is Skeener around?" Nuvatian got right to the point.

His wife was most welcoming. "Oh, Nuvatian! Windsor! Oh my, and Navi too!" She threw her arms around them and gave them a big hug. "Good to see yaw! Come on in. Yaw lookin' for Skeener I suppose."

"Is he here?" asked Windsor, stepping inside.

"I'm sorry, Windsor, he's not."

"Do you know where we can find him?" Nuvatian asked.

"Try the pub."

"Are yaw goin' somewhere?"

"I'm afraid so. Mission on orders of the king," answered Windsor.

"I guess I'm stuck with this mess a bit longer. Skeener decided to add another room to the house months ago and quit half way through it. Well, I guess I can live with it," she said smiling. "Why don't you fellahs scold him for me and tell him to finish this up. Maybe he'll listen to yaw."

"I've nevah known him to not finish something," Windsor observed.

"He's been acting strange lately. Irresponsible. Going to the pub and drinking. Probably what he needs is something like this with you boys."

"I like irresponsible. Sounds like I wouldn't mind hanging out with Skeener more often," Navi chimed. He received a cold look from both Gilmanza and Windsor.

"Maybe we can help. He'll be gone a while. Probably, just what he needs to settle that restless spirit," Gilmanza said.

"Thanks," Nuvatian said, as Skeener's wife waved goodbye and turned her attention back onto her children who were now pulling on her clothes.

They strolled around the streets, walking in the direction of the pub. Nearing the local pub, they could hear music playing. As they got closer, they could hear the stirrings of a ruckus. They entered the smoke-filled tavern cautiously, just as a man was being hurled over a dining table and onto the floor. Dishes broke and women screamed. The pub filled with laughter at the unfortunate drunk.

"I'll have another pig's foot," shouted one man to the waitress, his large jaws already full of food.

"I'll have another beer," slurred another, already inebriated.

"I don't see him anywhere," Gilmanza said, scanning the room.

As they turned to leave, two men fell over the balcony and crashed onto a table, landing on the ground in front of Windsor. "Inebriated fools," Windsor grunted under his breath. Taking a second glance at them, Windsor recognized one of those drunken idiots as Skeener.

Windsor held out his staff toward Skeener. Looking up and seeing the wizard, Skeener shouted, "W-Windsor!" Grabbing Windsor's staff, he helped himself to his feet just as the other guy was about to take another swing at him. Suddenly, to their surprise, the man drew a blank face, someone's foot slammed into the back of his knee-joints, folding his knees, and a beer bottle shattered across his head. The man fell to the ground face-first. Behind him stood Nadora, holding the broken bottle she had smashed across the back of his head. Nuvatian nodded to her, smiled and laughed. From across the bar, Nadora could hear catcalls and whistling directed at her.

"N-uvatian! N-avi! So what br-ings yaw to the cou-n-try?" Skeener's speech was slurred, making him even more difficult to understand than his usual stutter.

Windsor and Nuvatian grabbed the drunken man and pulled him toward them, just as a large Gommit with brawny arms rushed his way, a fist drawn back. As they shoved Skeener out of the way, Navi reared back and punched the man square in the face, burying his fist into the man's fat jaws. "Ouch!" moaned Navi, gripping his knuckles. The punch didn't move the man. Rearing his fist back, the man swung a drunken haymaker punch. Navi stepped across the man, soft blocked the punch, the redneck's momentum now working against him, and with his left hand, stepped under his arm and threw the man. The man tumbled completely over and landed on his back. Navi didn't bother pinning him to the ground. He figured the guy was smarter than that. When the man stood back up, Navi side kicked the man square in the knee cap, taking him groaning in pain to the floor again.

While attempting to get Skeener out of the pub, the riders were pulled into the fight. Fat jaws flopped this way and that way as brute Gommits punched and ducked and ducked and punched. Cozbi and Nimri looked at each other, grinned and jumped in like two kids in a candy store. Now was their opportunity to try out their martial arts skills on real opponents.

Cozbi blocked the first punch and rolled the guys elbow straight to his face, then he slammed him face down on the floor. A spinning heel kick served Nimri well, knocking what little sense his opponent had out of him.

Navi decided to take a more passive approach now, standing back in a corner as he watched the others brawling across the pub. Windsor threw a punch at one brute sending him to the floor, but another man came up behind him and wrapped his arms tightly around the wizard. Windsor kicked his heel up to his groin, raked his leg with his boot and grabbed the man by his head sending his flying over him and landing sprawled out on the floor. During the commotion, Windsor was knocked against the wall by another man half out of his mind. Windsor threw a punch and laid the man out cold.

"That looks like that huht, crony!" Seeing a chair fly through the air toward him, Navi ducked, barely missing the heavy wood.

"Why are you just standing there? Do something!" Windsor said to Navi as he took a swing at another assailant.

"I'm enjoying watching the fight," Navi said chuckling. "It's rathah entahtaining." Just then a drunken Gommit crashed into his side, knocking Navi to the floor and bending his purple wizard hat. "That does it!" Pushing the drunk off of him, Navi pounced to his feet as the man staggered trying to get back onto his. As Navi was straightening out his hat, the big guy stood up and reared back his fist to punch Navi. Ducking to miss the fat fist, Navi stood back up and when the bawled up fist came at him the second time, Navi X-blocked the punch, caught his wrist with a twist, stepped under his arm and to the side and threw the man. This time, the man didn't get up. He lay there batting his eyes and moaning trying to figure out exactly what happened. Navi could have broken his wrist or his elbow but he didn't want to do physical damage, only ego damage. The guy was easy to throw since he was so loosened up with alcohol. Navi straightened his hat and jumped back into the fight, enjoying the fun.

"Co-me on, ol-d man," one drunken fool shot off at the mouth aiming his poison at Gilmanza. "Bet ya c-can't even f-ight."

_Old man! I'll show you old man._ As he came closer, Gilmanza calmly threw three light punches along the same nerve line, three point knock-out, and the drunk fell to the floor. "Looks like you're the one who can't fight."

Next, a drunken bully grabbed Nadora around the waist from behind. He had plans for this broad. The brute was quite surprised when she grabbed him by his wrist, twisted it, heeled him in the groin, then grabbed his head and threw him right over her and onto the floor. When she looked up she caught the eye of Nuvatian. He had been watching her and his grin indicated that he liked what he saw. Even in violence he found her sexy. She moved with such finesse. There was fluidity in every twist and turn she made. He knew he would have to move carefully with this lioness.

Weary of fighting these oversized drunks, Windsor stuck out his crooked cane and muttered a couple of jumbled-up words. Instantly, an inebriated fool elevated off the ground and began spinning wildly in the air, drawing the attention of every drunk in the bar. As Windsor pulled his staff down, the drunk crashed onto the floor.

"Woh, a wizahd!" slurred one beer guzzling reveler.

"That sure was easier," muttered Windsor, putting his brown wizard hat back on his silver head. Now, that they had earned the respect of everyone in the bar, Windsor and his crew made their way to the door without any further opposition, Skeener in tow, walking in a drunken stagger.

Skeener threw his arms around Windsor and Navi. "It's s-so g-good to s-s-see yaw," he stuttered. Grabbing Nuvatian in a headlock, he rubbed his head with his knuckles. "Wh-what've y-you been up t-to, ol' f-f-friend?"

"It's good to see you too, mate," Nuvatian admitted, "Even if you are drunk."

As they strolled toward Skeener's house, Skeener noticed Nadora. W-wher'd this hot b-babe come from? Wow, y-yaw r-really d-did miss m-me—bringin' me a p-pretty thing l-like her." Skeener was laughing at his own words. "You're one h-hot b-babe. Let me g-guess, you're in l-love with me already."

"Okay, Skeener, let's go get some coffee," Nuvatian interrupted, attempting to keep his besotted friend from further embarrassing himself.

"Skeener, that's the princess, King Chess's daughtah," whispered Nimri.

"The K-king's d-daughter! A p-prin-c-cess! You guys are the b-best, bringin' me a p-princess. Man, I love you g-guys." Then Skeener fell flat on his face.

"Great!" said Nuvatian. "Now how are we going to get him home?"

Having failed at trying to get Skeener conscious enough to walk home, four of the riders each grabbed a limb and moved his dead weight. He was a big guy so they mostly drug him. Towing him to the barn, they spent the night in the hay among the smelly barn animals. Pulling hay out of the loft, they padded the dirt floors, taking advantage of some cushioning. (This was terribly unfortunate for Nuvatian who spent most of the night sneezing.)

The morning sun was just rising in the East when the riders began to awake. Skeener, still sleeping off his hangover, was snoring loudly. Nuvatian nudged him with his foot in an attempt to wake him, but Skeener didn't blink an eye. Nuvatian sneezed loudly, but Skeener still didn't budge. Navi yelled at him, but to no avail. Windsor decided that bolder measures were needed; therefore, he fetched a bucket of cold water and threw it on him.

"What the...?" yelled Skeener. Rudely awakened, he now sat up, moaned, and grabbed his aching head, immediately feeling the effects of the alcohol he had overindulged in the night before. Lying back down into the pool of water, Skeener groaned, "Wh-where am I, and w-who th-threw w-water on me?"

"You're in your barn," Nuvatian told him.

"Wh-what are you g-guys d-doin' here?" he asked, running his hands through his wet hair.

"We came to get you. Orders from the king—we have a mission."

"A mission?" inquired Skeener, his head clearing a bit.

"We will explain later—after you have sobered up," said Windsor, gathering a saddle for Skeener's horse and handing it to Nuvatian.

"W-why am I in my b-barn ins-stead of in my h-house—with my w-wife," he asked.

"Because we need you alive for the mission" Windsor retorted. "You're no good to us dead."

"Ah! Of c-course, g-good p-point," said Skeener. His speech was slow and dragging, making it even more difficult than usual to understand him. Holding his head, he continued, "My w-wife would k-kill me if she knew I'd been d-drinkin'. Then again, she'll k-kill me for n-not comin' h-home. She m-might th-think I'd d-done s-something real b-b-bad."

"She knows we came for you," said Windsor. "We'll make sure she knows that you're with us and have been all night."

"Come on, we need to get goin'. You can sobah up along the way," Nuvatian said, reaching out his hand to help him up.
As he rose slowly to his feet gravity pulled at his stomach. The room felt as though it were spinning. Skeener grabbed his aching head. His face turned pale and he grunted, expressing displeasure in movement in general. Navi reached out to steady him when suddenly he gurgled, standing being disagreeable to his condition. In that moment, he upchucked, spewing vomit all over the wizard. The riders ooed and awed, then roared with laughter—that is, everyone except for Navi.

"S-sorry about that, m-mate," stuttered Skeener.

"Oh, well, I guess that is what friends are for," Navi said with some irony. He twitched his lip in irritation and cast his gaze upon the vomit that ran down his shirt. He wiped the vomit that had landed on his hand onto Skeener's shirt. "I think this belongs to you."

Suddenly, the door that leads from Skeener's house to the barn flung open. The rapture of laughter had gotten the attention of Skeener's wife. "What are yaw doin' out here!" Looking at her husband's nauseated expression, and the vomit on Navi's shirt, she had an idea that he had drank too much the night before. With an accusatory tone, she called him on it. "I don't know what's gotten into you lately, but you had better get your act together." Before he could answer her, she snapped, "Stay out all night drinkin'. You're actin' ridiculous." She slammed the door without giving him a chance to respond.

She did have a point. _What has gotten into Skeener_? Windsor wondered. _This is uncharacteristic of him._ He occasionally had a beer or two, but it was completely out of his character to have any more than a couple. The last thing Windsor needed was a drunk tagging along. He was not fond of alcohol, having lived long enough to see what is does to people's lives and to families.

Staggering over to the first spot of water he saw, Skeener rinsed his mouth out with water from the horse-troth.

While Navi cleaned the vomit off his clothing, using the water in the horse-trough outside the barn door, Skeener grabbed his mail jacket he had tucked away in the barn and slung it across his horse. Still feeling nauseated, and his mouth as dry as a desert, he mounted the horse Nuvatian had saddled for him.

Skeener didn't know what to make of the girl riding with them. So he turned to inquire about her presence among them. "So, we m-must be es-c-corting this l-lady s-somewheres, to ens-sure her s-safety, huh?"

Nadora overheard his stuttering jibber jabber. "Not hardly," she said, smiling a knowing smile.

Skeener tried to whisper, but his stuttering made him all too audible. "So if th-this is s-such an imp-portant m-mission w-why is there a b-broad with us? Is she g-going to c-cook for us?" Overhearing him, Nadora glared at him then she broke out in laughter.

Gilmanza spoke before she had an opportunity. "No, she is part of our team in this mission," he said sternly.

"P-part of our t-team?" Skeener was digging the hole deeper, seemingly amused by the whole thing. He whispered to Nuvatian, "Are we g-goin' to a dance or something?" Nuvatian grinned but said not a word.

"We feel ya," Nimri whispered.

"Yeah, royalty! They think they can do anything," Cozbi piped bearing a grin.

Feeling both nauseated and awkward, Skeener dropped back toward the rear, where Navi was. Whispering again, he asked the wizard about the woman.

"That is the princess, Princess Nadora, the King's daughtah. You ... you propositioned her last night, crony!"

"I d-did what?" stuttered Skeener.

"You propositioned her, and then you went on about how good your friends are to you for bringin' you a princess."

"N-no, I d-didn't." Skeener's eyes grew wider as he considered the consequences of such impertinence.

Enjoying seeing Skeener squirm under his own words repeated, Navi proceeded to embellish on the story, seeing it as an opportunity to get back at the man for vomiting on him. He leaned toward Skeener and whispered, "You asked her to marry you. And later you took off all your clothes and ran around the field naked, crony. You were a wild man, I tell you!"

Twinge came over Skeener and his mouth dropped open in shame, and then he stuttered, "N-no, I d-didn't. Yer p-p-pullin my l-leg, mate."

"No, I'm not. You told her that you were in love with her."

Skeener put his hand over his mouth, and stammered, "S-surely I d-didn't."

"You did," Navi assured him, then whispered in his ear, "You told her that you were endowed with an ability given by the gods and that no man could love a woman like you could."

Skeener, now mortified by what Navi said, laid his torso over his horse and moaned, "I c-can't sh-show my f-face after last n-night. I c-can't even look at her ag-g-gain. M-maybe I sh-shouldn't be g-goin'. M-maybe I sh-should go home."

"It'll be okay, crony," Navi said, laughing. "I think she kind of liked it."

After riding for a while, Skeener inquired about the purpose of their mission to his friend, "So what ex-xactly is this m-mission we are on?"

"The Sword of Dahvan!" whispered Navi. "You are in, aren't you?"

Raising his torso from his horse's neck, Skeener was now completely sober again. "The S-sword of D-dahvan? The S-s-sword of D-dahvan! Am I in? Like two v-vultures on the r-rottin flesh of a d-d-dead cow," he managed.

Embarrassed by what he thought he had said and done the night before, he remained in the back of the group, riding as far away from Nadora as possible. He was humiliated at what he saw as serious transgressions.

As the riders rode down the mountainous terrain, they passed a farmer feeding his sheep and goats, cradled together in one pen. A single pig rooted around in the pen too. Windsor pondered the ancient prophecies and considered the selections they had made. _Have we selected carefully? Skeener is acting a bit different; he never gets drunk. Perhaps he has changed._

Monguard, the Waddi

It was early afternoon when the riders reached the bottom of the mountains and the point of divergence for the two groups. "Well, this is it," Gilmanza said. "Friend, be strong and alert."

"And you the same, old friend," said Windsor.

Positioning their mounts in a circle, the riders drew their steel swords, pointed them toward the center of the circle and tapped the ends of their swords. "Godspeed," they each said.

Sheathing his sword, Windsor promised, "I will see you at the Tomb of Murdorf."

"Indeed, the Tomb of Murdorf," Gilmanza confirmed.

The two groups rode off in their separate directions, Gilmanza's group riding southeast while Windsor's group went west.

Gilmanza rode southeast with Navi and Cozbi. They crossed a stream, rode through a broadleaf forest that covered mountainous terrain. It was the following day that they neared the village of the Waddies. All was quiet when suddenly the roar of an animal and the rush of a warrior interrupted their silence. Feet on the run pounded the ground, snapping limbs and frightening birds. First a lion darted across their path, then a lean warrior on the hunt sprinted pass them, leapt off the side of a tree, and sprang onto the retreating lion. Then the sound of a dying animal brought shivers down their spines. Arising from the kill stood a jet back-haired warrior wearing only a loincloth. His high cheek bones and bronze complexion defined him clearly as a Waddi.

He was small in stature with lean muscles, unimpressive looking except for the carcass of a large wild cat that lay dead at his feet, a small dagger the only weapon in his hand. It was Monguard. His body was moist with sweat where he had been running the game. His practice was to chase the game for long periods of time before the kill because he liked the chase. He chased lions and he fought bears. No one could out run Monguard, for he ran like the speed of lightening. As an exceptionally skilled warrior, he literally sprang from the sides of the trees and pounced on his prey.

When discussing who would be among the warriors going on this urgent mission, Monguard was among the first mentioned. His presence was contested by no one who knew him. Although he was a very young man and had never fought in war, his skill was unsurpassable. Deep down he knew there was a higher purpose for his agile ability in fighting. Little did he know that the time had come for his giftedness to be used for the good of humanity.

Greeting Gilmanza and Navi warmly, Monguard inquired into their purpose in Waddi.

"We've come to see you, crony." The wizard and the Waddi had become good friends when Monguard joined him and another Waddi friend on a fishing trip. They hit it off the first time they met.

Gilmanza was acquainted with the young man too, but more so through rumors than anything else. Monguard refused to go to tournaments, believing them to be nothing more than opportunities for showing off. Gilmanza did have the opportunity once to observe his skills. When he was just a young boy, too young to make his own decisions and not mature enough to arrive at his present conclusions, he was in a tournament. Gilmanza was impressed, to say the least, at the boy's superb ability. He couldn't wait to see him in action now. His impeccable character was rated as high as his fighting skills.

Their visit to the Waddi was a surprise to Monguard, especially since they had Gilmanza in tow, who Monguard had heard about.

"What do you need with me?" Monguard knew they were there for more than small talk.

Navi leaned forward and whispered, "The Sword of Dahvan has returned."

Intuition told Monguard that training and conditioning his body was for a higher purpose than catching prey for dinner. He was compelled, like a divine initiative, to beat his body into being the best warrior, capable of living by the sword while his enemies died by the sword. Last man standing was the warrior he trained to be. Now, his instincts, the purpose for his life that he had felt in his bones since childhood, was coming to fruition and he was about to embark upon his destiny in life. A spark of life entered into his eyes, a spark that resonated with a sense of calling.

"Are you asking me to ride?" Monguard asked, making an involuntary and repetitious jerking of his head, an action that had become an annoying part of his being. Some believed that this repetitious jerking was the result of an evil spirit while others believed that he was endowed with powers from the gods that enabled him with a capacity to run, leap, and slay with super abounding ability. Nonetheless, Monguard found it a nuisance and seemed to be constantly reaching within himself to overcome this monkey on his back. He was self-conscience of the stares he received from people and found solitude to be his only remedy of escape from criticisms, mocking, superstitions, and glares. The woods have always been his safe haven, his eureka. There no one made fun of his head movements.

"Yes," answered Gilmanza. "But I suggest you put on more than that loincloth."

Monguard smiled and nodded, being a man of few words.

After helping Monguard haul the lion into the village and to the home of his parents, Monguard appeared wearing worn out riding pants.

"You need more than that," said Gilmanza. Monguard looked puzzled. "We are riding north. You need to pack some warm clothes."

Finally Monguard appeared with a bag of extra clothes and slung it over his horse, still not wearing a shirt. Gilmanza handed him a coat of mail. He strapped on the mail at the urging of the other riders and straddled his horse, riding bareback with a quiver and bow slung across his back and a dagger at his side. Next, Gilmanza gave him a helmet too, which Monguard looked at as though he hardly knew what to do with it. He resolved to shove the round metal in his sack of clothing and forgetting about it.

"Where's your sword?" asked Cozbi.

Monguard didn't answer him, he was too busy fumbling with the ponderous mail. He had never worn mail before and he found it cumbersome. Gilmanza had carried along the extra piece because he had heard through the grapevine that Monguard didn't own mail. Pawing at the metal on his chest, Monguard raised his arms this way and that trying to see if he could make the clumsy iron more comfortable. The more he picked at it the more his head jerked. But he never complained.

Finally he spoke up. "I don't see any of you wearing this stuff."

"It's not for wearing all the time. Too heavy for that. Just for when we need it. Just wanted to make sure it fit okay."

Monguard was relieved and eagerly took the weighty metal off and laid it across his mount. One monkey on his back was enough.

The Shovi: Land of the Earthdwellers

The tall grass of the savanna whipped against the mounts of the riders as they rode west, galloping towards their destination in the Shovi. After crossing the plains, they approached the mountains crowded with tall timbers. Then, they came to a wide river they had need of crossing.

"The watah is really high," said Nadora. "We have had so much rain."

"Go up the river and let's cross by the bouldah of Tobiah," Nimri offered, hoping to find a solution.

"The watah is deepah there. We will have to go downstream in the othah direction, where it is shallowah," suggested Nadora.

"Yes, but the rivah is wider there," Nimri said as he kept on riding.

"True, but it is far too deep at Tobiah's boldah to cross. There is a place just a little ways down-stream that is shallowah."

Nimri continued to pay her no mind.

"Windsor, say somethin'," she protested.

"Just let him be wrong," he whispered. "You can't tell a young, overconfident whippasnappah anything."

Resolved to follow Windsor's advice, Nadora remained silent, even though she knew she was right.

As they rode along the banks, Windsor surveyed the river ahead of them. "Where's the bouldah?" he asked.

Plodding along, the riders finally saw the boulder lying across the river, the waters rushing over it and overflowing the banks.

"The mud gave way and the bouldah has fallen," Windsor observed.

"We can't cross here. That watah is raging," said Nadora.

"No, we can't cross here," Nuvatian agreed, and not just because he liked Nadora.

Nimri had an angry look on his face, humiliated because he was proven wrong.

Recollecting how the boulder of Tobiah had received its name, Windsor took the liberty to share its history.

"Many, many yeahs ago there was a warrior, a great knight, named Tobiah. War had broken out—the Mezzarinians, a breed of giants, were tryin' to take our land. Ridahs of Quadar were also in the land; they of course had prompted the Messarinians to such evil. We could not get the lands united to fight the enemy. Each one wanted to do their own thing; that is, until Tobiah went to each land and somehow convinced them to unite in this war. It has been said that he said nothing that had not already been said. It was merely his presence among the people that made the difference. They respected him and he knew how to lead.

"Anyway, it was a cold January day when Tobiah led a unit of knights across the rivah. Some distance on the othah side, they came upon a village held captive by a large group of Mezzarinians, along with a large group of Ridahs of Quadar. Togethah they had united forces. The people were bein' held captive in their own village. Tobiah was appalled and within he was filled with anger. 'Do not fear their numbers,' he said to his knights, 'and do not be intimidated by their large stature.' Then, he rode into the city, making war against them and freeing the captives.

"His small unit crushed the army of oppressors. It was said that Tobiah single handedly struck down four hundred warriors. He fought until the sword in his hand became one with his flesh, frozen in its grip. The unit of knights crushed the army. Those who weren't crushed turned and ran for their lives.

The knights took wagons abandoned by the enemy, put the children and the injuahed in them, and hooked up the wagons to the horses. They came to this crossing in the rivah when, without warning, they were ambushed by a large group of Mezzarinians. Tobiah ordered his unit to carry the people out of the battle while he alone remained back to fight them. It is said that they looked back and saw Tobiah on top of this bouldah cuttin' down every enemy that approached him.

"No one knows what happened—Tobiah nevah made it back. When he did not return, the people across the lands wept. This bouldah was named after him because of his bravery. Many lives were saved that day because of his willingness to sacrifice himself."

"That's a nice little story," Nimri cut in, "But how are we goin' to get across the rivah?"

Aggravated, Windsor stretched out his crooked cane and murmured a couple of words. Immediately, the boulder lifted into mid-air, spun a couple of times and came to rest back upon the banks, the honorable engraving of the face of Tobiah facing the riders. "It is more than a nice little story," he hissed. "Tobiah was my friend." With the obstacle removed, the water rushed down the stream.

"The watah is still raging and it's too deep," Nadora protested.

"It's not that bad," argued Nimri, as he started to ride his horse out into the water, quickly realizing he was wrong.

"I told you."

"No one asked you!" snapped Nimri.

"Don't talk to her like that," Nuvatian said, standing up for her.

"W-who is the l-leader of this p-party, anyw-way? asked Skeener. He turned to Nimri. "I got a f-feelin' it ain't y-you!" Nimri was getting off his horse, ready to fight.

All four began to argue.

"Stop your foolish arguing!" snapped Windsor, thunder in his voice. "Is this what you want?" Now lowering his voice, he continued, "Do you want to fail our entire country? Is it that important to you that you be right?"

He turned first to Nimri. "You should have listened to Nadora." Now, stretching out his cane again, the waters of the river quaked and began to roll back, piling up on both sides like two walls. The riverbed dried up and a path was formed across the river between two walls of water. Nimri had heard of the things that Windsor could do but he had never seen anything like this. The riders rode across the river on dry ground. When they had crossed, Windsor held his staff down and the water returned to its normal flow.

"Trade in your zeal for wisdom," Windsor whispered to Nimri. "Respect and leadahship come with time; first, you must take a back seat and follow the lead of others. If you can do that, gaining both wisdom and humility, one day others will look to you for advice and leadahship."

"Yes, sir," Nimri said, humbly nodding his head, seeming to receive the stern rebuke without malice. "I just thought...well, I've crossed here before and it wasn't like this."

"Son, the rain changes things. And one more thing," Windsor whispered. "Just because Nadora is a woman doesn't mean she is less qualified. She knows a whole lot more than you do. She just might one day be ruling over you, so I would advise treating her with respect."

"Yes, sir," Nimri said, feeling the sting of his rebuke. But he took in the wisdom of the wizard's words.

Not easily letting go of their irritability, the riders rode through the mountains speechless. The sun was beginning to set in the West as they approached the top of the hills of the Shovi, nestled northwest of the beautiful Rhenakah Mountains. The towering peaks of crags and crevices were divided by rivers, foliage and breathtaking beauty. From the peak of the mountain, they could see the expanse of a lake on one side, the streams of sunlight dancing off the still waters.

On the other side, at the edge of the water, was a field decorated with blooming wild flowers. The jagged rocks looked like they were hand crafted, the work of an artist, although they were nothing more than natural formations. They gave texture and character to an already diverse landscape. The valley below looked pleasant, almost serene, as they made their way part way down the hillside, towards the shallow walls of the city hidden by grown up shrubbery and vines. They passed through the gates of the walled city and into the village of the Earthdwellers. There was no shortage of trees because the Earthdwellers do not believe in cutting down trees unless of necessity.

Nestled among the sides and tops of the rolling mountains were round mud-walled huts topped with earthen roofs, green grass springing out of the tops of most. Some Earthdwellers built their homes at the base of the mountains near the lake, being drawn to the water. Their homes appeared to rise biologically, organically, out of the earth. Many of the homes were built as attachments on the sides of mountains and covered in grass. Although they appeared small, most were much larger on the inside because they either descended deeper into the earth or back into the side of a mountain. The outside earthen clay walls of their homes were decorated with artistic engravings and colored pebbles. All were unique and not a single one lacked character.

Dismounting, the riders strolled up to a large oval shaped double door rising out of the earth, knocked, and waited. Two large trees standing near the doorway wrapped their branches around the house. The rusty iron hinges creaked as the inhabitant sprang open the door.

"Windsor, what are you doing, mate?" he exclaimed. "And who is this you have with you?" He knew exactly who she was but was shocked at how she had grown.

"This is Princess Nadora."

"What a beautiful young lady you have become. While I've seen your fathah many times, you I have not seen since—well since you have become such a gorgeous young woman. No wondah your fathah has been keepin' you in hidin', Princess!"

"You can leave off that princess stuff, Vandorf," said Nadora. She remembered Vandorf. He used to help her with her archery when she was young.

"I was planning on it. Come in." Vandorf pulled his long gray hair into a ponytail as the riders entered his cozy home. A tall and slender man, his ceilings were a perfect fit for Windsor and his pointed hat. He greeted Nuvatian and, said hello to Skeener whom he had met a time or two, but the other kid he didn't know. He welcomed him anyway.

Vandorf's home was simple but spotless; he kept it meticulously clean. Raw wood beams supported the structure of the house. Rock floors greeted them and wood floors extended into much of the house. The walls were half rock and half wood and trunks of trees gave support for tables and ledges. Roots of the trees draped portions of his house, the earthy people not wanting to disturb the land. Being a disciplined individual, he could seem rather stiff and rigid, guided by self-made rules and high standards. In reality, though, he was rather relaxed and at peace, rarely getting his feathers ruffled except when it came to cleanliness or not having a sharp edge to his sword.

His relaxed manner was most evident in his cool, calm and collected approach to handling things. He was a classic over-achiever, but a good man who generally did achieve what he set out to do. Lacking tact, he oftentimes stuck his foot in his mouth. His tongue was sometimes as sharp as his sword; but this didn't bother him much, for his philosophy was simple: Let the truth lie where it may. He was a loyal friend and very dependable.

Some years earlier, as the land had grown more prosperous, many Earthdwellers had become somewhat materialistic, and had dug out larger homes and decorated in a more modern style. Not Vandorf. He continued to snub the lust for material possessions. He believed in simplicity.

The riders took seats in the wooden chairs in his den. Windsor got right to the point. "Vandorf, we are here on a mission from the King."

"I know why you're here," Vandorf said. "I've been expectin' you. I've had dreams about that bloody sword. To tell you the truth, I've felt in my bones it was going to surface real soon." He ran his hands over his smooth-shaven face.

"What sort of dreams?" Windsor asked suspiciously.

"Just dreams that it had surfaced, and we were fightin' Dahvan and the Ridahs of Quadar again. To tell you the truth, I've been wondering what was taking you so long to get here!"

"As usual, you always want everything done fastah," said Windsor, laughing. "Glad to see you haven't changed."

"The Sword of Dahvan?" said a voice from the other room. Vandorf's face grew down cast as he ran his hands over his face, wishing the young man had not have over heard those words.

"What are you doin' back here and why didn't you knock," asked Vandorf a tad bit angrily.

"I left my saber on your desk. And I, well I just went out the back door that tops the hill so I didn't figure there was any need to knock. Plus, I figured you would hear me coming down the ladder. So you say the Sword of Dahvan is among us?" asked Fleece, a neighbor and apprentice to Vandorf.

"Look, kid, this doesn't concern you so you need to get out of here and pretend you didn't hear a word. And don't come back unless you knock," snorted Vandorf; then, he hurled a couple of threats at him as he closed the door behind the lad.

"I sure wish he hadn't of heard that. That kid will blab sure enough," said Vandorf. "Word will travel all across the land and we'll have chaos."

"Rap. Rap" sounded a knock on the door.

"Who is it," hollered Vandorf as he opened the door.

"It's me. I'm back. I knocked," said Fleece, swinging open the door.

"Oh brother. I told you to get out of here and pretend you didn't hear a word," Vandorf scolded.

"Why?" asked Fleece. "You know, I heard what you said about the Sword of Dahvan and I can be of help."

"And how do you think you can be of help?"

"I can fight. You trained me, Vandorf. I am good with the sword, the saber, and the dagger. I should go too. Plus, I helped you make all those weapons."

"Fleece, this is a dangerous mission. We will be fightin' Ridahs of Quadar, derves, nomeds, and probably Dahvan himself."

"I know that. I would not expect anything less."

Vandorf pulled Windsor off to the side. "I'm afraid he won't be able to keep his mouth shut if he stays behind."

"Is he trustworthy?" Windsor asked, eyeballing Fleece.

"Trustworthy, just superstitious."

"We'll take him with us for now since we don't have the sword with us. When we get back we'll have the King lock him up until this mess is settled. But keep a close eye on him."

Vandorf asked Fleece, "Are you prepared to die?"

Tossing a coin around in his pocket, Fleece pulled it out and looked at it.

"Oh, put that bloody coin up, Fleece, and make your own decision."

Still looking at his coin, Fleece responded, "Yes, yes I am prepared to die if it calls for that."

"If you don't mind dying then get your horse. And if you keep up that foolishness, I'll kill ya myself."

With great excitement, Fleece ran out the door and all the way home. Vandorf yelled as he ran out, "You had bettah hurry and get back here and if you say anything to anyone you will not ride."

"I have done, well, shall we say, some preparation work. Come," Vandorf said, leading them to a back room.

Inside the room, he had some swords, sabers, boot knives, and shields.

"Take a look at this," Vandorf said as he grabbed up a little flat metal object with six long sharp spikes.

"I call them spinnels."

Demonstrating it on a tree, the spinnel stuck deep within the wood.

"Well isn't that nifty, mate. I wish I had thought of that," said Nuvatian.

"Well, you can't think of everything—that is why you have me. Take what you need," said Vandorf. "It'll be dahk soon, so I suppose you all will be stayin' here for the night."

"There's one more thing about the sword, Vandorf," said Windsor.

"And what might that be?" Vandorf asked, throwing one of his spinnels, sticking it deep into the tree.

"It was found at Shilly Shally Ford," informed Windsor, Vandorf being one of the few who knew of its importance.

Vandorf glared up with surprise in his eyes, "Shilly Shally, hu. This is it, mate. This is it!"

The Land of the Himps

Bulging eyeballs, woven with protruding red veins, peered out from behind a tree. A branch snapped amid the dense forest. Navi looked over his shoulder and saw the prying eyes of a nomed among the wild growths of the forest. As he leapt off Inka, the two nomeds turned and ran. He pursued them, dagger in hand, pushing his way through the overgrown thickets of the wilderness. Monguard leapt off his horse and chased after them too but he found himself hindered by the burdensome metal that Gilmanza had exhorted him to put on at the first smidgen of threat. Receiving his commands, he obeyed, even though no one else was putting on their mail. (Gilmanza's orders to Monguard were just to help him get in the habit of putting the mail on and getting used to its weightiness. He knew it wasn't necessary at the time).

Suddenly, one of the nomeds got tangled up in a vine of thistles, the sharp thorns pricking its tender skin. Navi had the varmint within his grasp. He grew excited as he reached toward the evil little creature, ready to thrust his blade through it, when suddenly he tripped over a winding vine and fell flat on his face, slinging his dagger among the thistles and weeds of the forest. The nomed wiggled his way out of the thorns and, latching its teeth into Navi's inner muscular thigh. Shaking its head, it tore through the muscle. The nomed then released its bulldog grip and it scurried off into the forest.

"Aahh," yelled Navi, as he began to crawl out of the thicket, his hand covering the bite-wound. Inka went wild, rushing towards Navi.

"Navi," yelled Cozbi. "That thing bit you."

"Don't you think I know that," Navi murmured.

"I told you to leave it alone."

"Are you okay?" Monguard asked, still fumbling with the metal, now eager to peel it off.

Crawling out of the thickets, Navi clutched his thigh, now spewing a steady stream of blood.

"You'll be okay" Gilmanza said, helping him up.

"Easy for you to say" piped Navi. "The bloody thing didn't bite you."

"Did you kill it?" asked Gilmanza.

"Did I kill it? No, the bloody thing latched its teeth into my leg and then ran away. I hate those devils." He continued to apply pressure on the bite wound, using a rag from his duffle bag. "They sure do have some sharp teeth."

The riders gathered around Navi to inspect the open wound. The blood had soaked his pants, completely ruining them with both holes and red stains.

"That's a bad bite. Let me get something to clean it and then we'll wrap it," Gilmanza said, walking over to his saddle bag. Returning, he poured a liquid onto the wound. "Oouch!" yelped Navi. Then, he put an herbal ointment on it and Navi got a rag from his bag and wrapped it tightly around the wound.

"What the heck was that?" Cozbi asked.

"It was a nomed," Gilmanza answered.

"What are nomeds doing in this part of the country?" Cozbi wondered.

"Everything in Quadar is apt to be out—especially in this part of the country. Darvan must have sent them to spy on us," Gilmanza explained. "That's the reason we didn't need to be toting that sword around."

"You know," Navi said, "if our assessment of the times at hand is correct, there is a prophecy that speaks of an increase of activity among these types throughout the land. It says that Dahvan will unleash a horde of nomeds and derves, to try to destroy The Circle. If this is the case, he might well know where the sword was found, and realize that this is the approachin' battle. If these are those times, then we can expect that they will only become a growin' problem as Dahvan feels more threatened. For now, I would say they are no more than spyin' eyes; howevah, in time they will likely become more than a nuisance." He hobbled over to remount Inka who was still trying to sniff the critter out. He had tried to get a taste of the devil himself but failed like the rest of them.

It was dark outside when they reached the Land of the Himps. They rode past numerous wooden houses built atop the trees and stopped in front of a smaller rickety one. They climbed the wooden steps and rapped on the door. No answer came from within.

"Rap, rap, rap," they knocked again, but there was still no answer. Assuming he was probably in the fields working late, they went around back but did not see him, so they waited.

After waiting an hour, Cozbi spoke up. "I think we should go on without him. We are wasting time just sitting here."

"We are not going to leave without him," Gilmanza answered, taking his rightful position as leader.

"Well, we might be waiting all..." began Cozbi.

"We are not goin' anywhere!" Navi said, interrupting him in mid-sentence. "We will wait right here until Ozni gets home. Understand, scamp?"

As the riders waited, they watched the sky grow darker as the moon hid behind the clouds. "What if he has gone somewhere and is not coming back for a while?" asked Cozbi again, growing impatient after the continued delay.

"We wait until he gets here," Navi answered, giving him a cold stare.

"You know, we passed a little local watering trough for the horses, why don't I take them to get some water," Monguard said, seeking to defuse the situation.

"Good idea, crony. I'll help you." Standing and taking hold of Inka's reins, Navi limped off with Monguard and the mounts, using his staff as a walking device.

With the light from Navi's orb, they found the watering trough. The horses, along with the stelleto and dragon, began to drink, while Monguard and Navi made small talk with each other. Suddenly there was a noise. "Shhh!" interrupted Monguard, trying to listen as his head made a jerk to the side. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" asked Navi.

"Shhhh! Listen!" Monguard said, having a keen sense of hearing. Just in the background you could hear the sound of whispering, mingled with a hideous laughter.

"Come on," said Navi, "let's get back!" He began limping back toward the others. As they were approaching the others, they heard a ruckus coming from around the corner of the house. Startled, Gilmanza and Cozbi leapt to their feet and pulled out their swords. Monguard pulled his dagger from his sheath and Navi raised his staff, balancing on one leg. He was ready to use his power just as soon as he knew what was coming at them. One of the horses jumped back, startled by the noise, now spooking the other mounts.

Suddenly, two cats raced around the corner. The noise startled Inka, too. Arching his back, the dragon breathed a burst of fire, barely missing the second cat and catching the fence post ablaze.

"Well, scamps!" Navi said with a smile. "We nearly had roasted cat for dinnah,"

The sound of the ruckus stirred someone inside. Much to the surprise of the riders, the door of the house sprang open, and there stood a peculiar looking man in his drawers and tee shirt. It was Ozni.

Ozni was a Himp and all Himps have facial features that are sort of goatish-like. Their ears flop over and they have narrow faces with goat-like features and a goat-like beard. The rest of them, however, are humanoid.

"Ozni! Crony! Your home!" Navi cried. "Don't you tell me you've been inside this entire time!"

"Uuuhhh, yeah," Ozni said, as he reached for a bucket of water to pour on his burning fencepost. With bare feet, he climbed down the steps from his tree house and poured the water over the fire, putting out the blaze. On his way back up the steps a splinter snagged his foot. "Oouch," he winced, reaching down to yank the splinter out.

He turned to his visitors, "What are you tryin' to do, anyway, Buhn my house down?"

"Not at all, crony" said Navi. "We just saw a cat and thought we might have it for dinnah."

"Aahhh," grumbled Ozni as he called for his pet cat. "Kitty, kitty, kitty," he called out, rubbing his goatish beard.

"We've been out here for a long time?" scolded Cozbi.

"You should have knocked," Ozni answered.

"We did."

"You should have knocked harder." Ozni shot the man a silencing glare.

Noticing Ozni's sleepy looking eyes, Gilmanza asked, "Did we wake you?"

"I wasn't feelin' well so I took me a little nap. Guess I overslept," he said, ushering them inside his home. Picking up his cat to calm her, he noticed the edges of her tale were singed. He looked at Navi with great irritation.

"Sorry about that, mate," Navi said. "Your cat scared my dragon. Nothin' to worry about there, crony, he doesn't eat meat, except for dried lizard and salamander. Of course, there is a first time for everything."

"Yeah, he might not eat my cat but he sure did almost burn her alive," snapped Ozni. "Good thing he didn't. I would hate to have to kill me a dragon."

"And I would hate to have to kill me a Himp," Navi said, hobbling up the stairs and inside the cozy home. Ozni closed the door behind him.

"So, what brings yaw this way?" Ozni asked, halfway laughing at Navi.

"A mission," Navi explained.

"A mission?"

"Ozni, the Sword of Dahvan is among us again," Gilmanza said.

"How can you be sure?" Ozni suddenly became serious and alert.

"We found it," Navi said, sitting on the floor and leaning against a strong tree that shot through the floor of his house built as one with the forest. "It's in a safe place," he added.

"Is there anywhere truly safe for the sword?" asked Ozni.

Interrupted by a noise outside, Navi stumbled over to the door, carrying his sword in his hand and his leg behind him. He peered out the window. "Nomeds. Monguard and I heard them when we were watering the horses."

"Is that what got a hold of your leg there, mate?" asked Ozni, noticing the blood- soaked bandage and red stained pants.

"Sure is. My favorite riding pants too."

"Here, let's get that fixed up. I'll heat up some water," Ozni said.

"Thanks, crony." They quickly returned to the matter at hand. "One more thing about that sword," he said. "It was found at Shilly Shally Ford."

"Shilly Shally Ford!" Ozni was fully awake now, being a possessor of this private knowledge. "Are you sure of this?"

"Yeah! We're pretty sure the man who found it is telling the truth," answered Gilmanza. "He had no idea of the significance of the location."

"This is it then, mate," Ozni said, scratching his wooly goatish head. His long scratchy hair curled up down his back, but the front he kept short, finding it annoying when it falls into his face. "We are headed for the last great battle. I—I hardly know what to say,"

After cleaning Navi's wound, the riders talked for a while over a slab of roasted beef and fresh vegetables from the garden; then, they began to grow tired. "Let's get a good night sleep and we'll get an early staht in the mornin," said Ozni. He pulled out blankets for everyone and added more wood to the fire.

At dawn Navi awoke, with extreme pain in his leg. Even so, he did not allow that to impair his mischievous nature. Navi limped over and nudged Ozni awake. The two of them dug through Monguard's riding bag and pulled out some smelly ointment he had mixed up for a wound his horse had, one he received on his rear just days before, and put it in Monguard's right hand that lay open by his side. Taking a feather, they tickled his nose. Feeling the irritation of the feather on his nose, Monguard swiped his face with his right hand, smearing the ointment onto his face, and rudely waking himself up. Navi and Ozni roared with laughter. Gilmanza and Cozbi joined in the fun, having been mere spectators.

"Aaaahhh!" moaned Monguard. "Funny! Real funny," he added. Taking a whiff, Monguard caught the fragrance, "That's gross! That's the cream I put on my horses butt." The roar of laughter that erupted could have raised the ceiling. "Your time will come, my friend. You know what they say about paybacks!" Navi wasn't worried about it. Monguard wasn't the mischievous type, or so he thought. He was a quiet and polite individual, the kind who brushes off offenses instead of keeping a record.

After a scrumptious breakfast and gathering their belongings, the riders strapped their swords to their sides and rode east, toward the Land of the Elves. As they passed Ozni's garden, Navi noticed it was full of weeds. This was uncharacteristic of Ozni. Navi, like Windsor, couldn't help but mentally inspect each person, searching for any clue that might signal that selecting them was a mistake. He pondered the prophecy of Zur: _'Choose carefully, lest a betrayer be among them.' Ozni never allows a single weed to remain in his garden. Has he changed? Maybe he isn't well? Have we selected carefully enough?_

Skin Deep

The herd of wild horses gave a feel of freedom and beauty to the plains as the riders in the east galloped through them. Navi, Gilmanza, and Monguard's long hair tangled in the wind. The horses among them whinnied, as though they envied the freedom of the wild horses.

Approaching the edge of the forest, Navi pointed to a greenish slime tainting the edges of a cluster of leaves. "Derves," he noted. The riders drew their swords, and looked upward. High up in the trees were a group of derves looking down over them. The little three-foot-tall creatures leapt from tree to tree following them. Cohorts to Darvan, the wicked critters were never up to any good. Their brown skin and bald heads nearly blended into the trees. Navi could see their beady eyes watching their every move. Their eyes were stained a dirty-yellow color as though they lived on the juices of tobacco. Because they produced a slimy green secretion through pores in their skin, they often left traces of their presence behind. It tainted the leaves of the trees, the ground, for that matter, anything they touched. Again, Gilmanza ordered Monguard to put on his mail. Obeying the orders, Monguard strapped on his mail; then realized that no one else had put theirs on. But he didn't say a word.

Trotting through the forest, they could hear the whisperings of the derves. They had been traveling through the forest for some time when they approached the Zeppri River, a large river that winds through the mountains. They steered their beasts into the flowing waters. The river was deep and their horses were immersed nearly up to their backs. The unthreatening waters flowed over the legs of the riders soaking their pant legs. The riders were halfway across the wide river, when suddenly, to their unforeseen contingency, the nomeds made a bold move. They had ensconced themselves in the water just before the riders arrived. Veiny hands emerged from out of the water and grabbed at the legs of the riders, pulling them from their mounts. The riders hardly expected this, for they were only aware of the presence of derves. They never expected nomeds to be hiding beneath the waters.

The nomeds had been anticipating their arrival since they'd seen them enter the forest. Caught by surprise, the riders had no time to consider the matter, only to react according to their own excellent training. Gilmanza swung his sword, cutting the arm of a nomed that had latched onto his leg. Meanwhile, one grabbed Ozni's foot, nearly pulling him from his horse. With a swift wave of his blade, it fell beneath the water gurgling as it sank. Another grabbed Monguard's leg and sunk his teeth into his flesh, mingling blood with the water.

As yet another nomed grabbed Cozbi's foot, he swung his sword just as the nomed was about to pull him off. Cozbi disarmed the vile creature, literally. The veiny hand clamped onto Cozbi's foot for a few seconds before it fell off. Another nomed crawled atop Cozbi's horse and dug its claws into his scalp. Cozbi stretched around, trying to get a hold of the devilish creature, but the witty little critter was not within his reach. Navi, hearing Cozbi's yell, knocked the nomed in the back of the head, with such great force he knocked the eyeballs right out of their sockets, across Cozbi's lap and into the water. The nomed immediately fell limp and Cozbi slung it off and onto the muddy banks of the river.

Then, another nomed grabbed Monguard's ankle, this time succeeding in pulling him off his horse. He tugged and pulled at the mail as he sunk beneath the water that had now become a threat _. I'm sinking! This metal! I can't breathe_. He fought as much with the metal that he thought was going to be het death of him as he did with the critter that had attacked to him. He held his breath and wrestled both, finally succeeding in choking the life out of the nomed. It was Navi who pulled him up to the surface and saved him from his armor.

Ozni, fighting to stay afloat, was suddenly pulled under the water too. Gilmanza reached down for his hand, but he too got pulled into the water. With his dagger in his hand, Gilmanza rammed it into the back of the skull of one of the nomeds that had pulled him under. Moments later, he quickly ascended for a gasp of air. Ozni, however, had not yet surfaced. Gilmanza dove down into the water in search for him, straining to see through the murky water. In that moment, the water turned blood-red. A few seconds later, Gilmanza and Ozni surfaced together.

Hearing the ruckus at the river, several other nomeds in the forest came running, their fingers and toes turning the dirt, anxious to get in on the fun. The derves in the trees jumped up and down like excited monkeys, being only spectators to the show. The riders were now making their way to the banks and out of the bloody water. As Monguard pulled himself out of the water, the veiny hands of a nomed reached out of the water and grabbed his foot; then, another nomed came up and grabbed his shoulders, yanking him beneath the water. He was an excellent swimmer but the metal garb was sinking him again. Frantic, his friends jumped back in to help him.

Now, another nomed pulled Navi under the water. This prompted Inka to come barreling in, his tail smashing at the nomeds, forcing them to release their grip on Navi. The dragon pushed two more nomeds to the bottom of the river with his tail; then, he stepped on them, squashing them with his foot. Navi made his way towards Inka. "Thanks, friend" he said to his beloved ally.

In that moment, he caught a glimpse of Cozbi standing on the riverbank, a lone watcher over their fates. Navi set his piercing eyes on him, chiding him for his self-centeredness. Suddenly, a nomed sunk his teeth around Navi's ankle and pulled him under the water. Cozbi hesitated, as the words of the prophecy raced through his mind; then, he dove into the water with his dagger in his hand. Fighting with the nomed, Cozbi ran his dagger through the vile creature's abdomen. Navi quickly resurfaced, freed once again. Then, Monguard surfaced in the middle of a pool of red water that quickly rushed down stream. In his left hand he clutched the head of a nomed and with his right his dagger. Gilmanza and Ozni dove back into the water to help Navi, who had only partial use of his leg. Cozbi fought back a group of nomeds then hurried to the bank.

When they were all out of the water, Navi yelled from the riverbank, "Fire away, Inka!" Immediately, Inka breathed out rings of fire, causing the water in the river to nearly boil. The nomeds shrieked in pain, their cries piercing the silence of the forest. Sitting on the banks, Gilmanza, Navi, and Cozbi recalled the prophecy Windsor had spoken just before they rode off:

At the river's edge

They sit and wait,

Like a fish unaware,

Of the fisherman's bait.

Under the watahs the trap will be set;

One is in danger,

All will get wet.

They have made their plans,

They have set their snare.

The Circle they would destroy,

If you forget each is a pair.

Your unity will be tested,

Only as a circle will you survive

If you all stick together,

At the river they will be boiled alive.

This is but one attack,

In a series of events.

If the circle is broken,

All will suffer the consequence.

It had happened just as he had prophesied. More importantly, they had remained an unbroken circle—but only narrowly.

"It looks like they are more than spyin' eyes," Navi said, pressing one hand on his thigh and another on his ankle. He tied a fresh rag around both, now looking more like a veteran of war than a wizard.

Monguard, not saying a word, took off the mail that weighed him down and threw it on the ground where he left it. His head was now jerking in succession. He nonchalantly wrapped a rag around his right arm and his leg, both spewing a steady stream of blood.

Their wounds were more than skin deep but at least they were alive.

The riders paused and then rode off, Monguard leaving behind his mail that he found to be nothing more than a nuisance.

Meanwhile, in the west, Windsor was looking through the orb atop his staff. He saw all that had transpired. He was pleased to see that they had remained united.

The Wise and the Green

"Wake up," Windsor said to Nuvatian, prodding him on the shoulder with his staff. "Coffee is on the table." Then Windsor gave Nimri a motivating nudge.

Vandorf had been up for hours. Anticipation had given way to restlessness. He had precisely packed everything he needed, each item having its own spot in his saddle bag. Nothing was out of order and everything was clean, not even having a speck of dust.

The riders awoke and began to prepare to ride, donning their gear and packing their bags. Fleece slipped off to another room away from the others to flip his medallion one last time, seeking clarification concerning his decision to ride. The thoughts of possibly dying caused Fleece to have second thoughts.

Tossing his lucky coin, Fleece soliloquized, "If I'm supposed to go then let it land on the image of the dragon and if I'm not supposed to go then let it land on the image of Shalahem." Tossing his coin into the air, it landed on the dragon. He gripped it with enthusiasm, the confirmation he was hoping for.

"Fleece, come on," Vandorf shouted from the other room as he put on his polished riding boots and strapped his finely sharpened sword to his side. "And put down that stupid coin."

Fleece's mouth dropped in astonishment. "How did he know I was flipping my medallion?" He gathered his belongings and tucked his lucky medallion safely inside his pocket. He had a hunch he would need it along the way.

Now, the Earthdwellers sharply disagreed with all manner of war. So, when the riders rode out the next morning, they received more than a couple of unwelcoming glances. The esoteric community was aware of Vandorf's controversial views; thus, some in the community out right shunned him. But Vandorf paid them no mind and neither did he hold a grudge. He politely nodded as he rode by knowing in his heart that he was doing what he felt was right. He knew from experience that war was hell and that peace was far greater. But he also knew from experience that sometimes fighting can be a means to self-preservation—and the preservation of others. This knowledge haunted him night and day. It was his once pacifist ways that had reduced his life to what it was: sad and unfulfilling.

He had a reason to fight.

The riders traveled for days without opposition. They crossed into needle leaf forests with rolling hills. Everything was pine-green as though fall had not touched this part of the country. While many trees were losing their leaves, these evergreen pines showed their true color year round. The riders inhaled the fresh scent allowing the pleasant aroma to tickle their nostrils.

By day they made progress through the terrain and by night they set up camp and slept. Routinely, Vandorf polished off the day's dirt that had accumulated on his boots, wiped clean his gear, sharpened his sword, dusted off his clothes, and picked out his horses feet. It was a compulsion he couldn't help. He liked cleanliness. He would bathe daily if water were available.

They finally neared the Land of the Giants. It was as they were traveling through that same needle leaf forest that Windsor pulled back on his reins. "We're not alone. Stick togethah." They drew their swords and steeled themselves for a battle. They traveled slowly, trying to listen for danger, confident that no surprise would befall them.

"Looks like there are a bunch of derves ahead," Nuvatian said, pointing to a row of trees tainted with green slime. The green slime was hardly noticeable against the verdant pine trees, but experienced eyes know what to look for. Moments later, they heard the faint whisperings and hideous laughter from the trees above them, hiding in the midst of the foliage. The whispers followed them around every bend, every tree and every winding crook in the trail. Giddy whispers breathed intimidating, defeatist words; the whispers began to get inside their heads:

"The sword is your strength," whispered one.

"This is far too dangerous; you're gonna get yourself killed," said another. Its wily voice sent chills down their spines.

"Why don't you just use the sword for yourselves," another advised. "The only way you can succeed is with the Sword of Power."

It almost made sense if you listened to it long enough and were easily swayed by lies and legends--or if you were hungry for power.

As they plodded along through the forest, they could hear the derves above them, jumping from tree to tree, following them and taunting them with their babbling lies of pessimism: "You're tired. You should turn back. You know this is a useless mission. Or, you can use the sword for yourself."

"Yes, use the sword."

"The sword promises success. Use the sword." One after another after another taunted them, their persuasive and tempting lies rattled their rational thinking and pure motives. Breathing down their necks, they harassed them with enticing fantasies.

Growing weary of their antagonism, Vandorf nocked his bow, aimed, and shot it into a tree just above Nadora. A piercing shriek rang out and a dirty-green oily substance dripped down from the tree, landing on Nadora's hand and face—the greenish-blue blood of a derve. Then the derve fell out of the tree, barely missing Nadora.

"Sorry about that, Nadora," Vandorf apologized, wiping the blood off of her. "I'm just sick of listening to them."

"I'm tough, I can handle it." Nuvatian offered her a wide grin. He loved this girl. She wasn't afraid of anything.

Vandorf nocked his bow again and shot his arrow a second time, hitting another derve. Another high-pitched screech rang out, followed by the sound of the wounded derve running through the forest. Thud. The derve fell down dead, an arrow sticking out of its back.

Now, derves sprang down from the trees on top of the riders, their claws raking at them, ripping at their flesh. With expert prowess Nadora thrust her sword through one that had landed on top of her, sliced open the abdomen of another, then threw her dagger into the backside of a third. Meanwhile, the others held their own, driving their swords through the hellish varmints and popping them with arrows.

It was not until Nadora took serious action that the devilish creatures ran off, almost as one, into the overgrowths of the forest. Coming face-to-face with one of the few varmints bold enough to confront her, she beheaded it, just before it extracted its claws. Still holding the decapitated head, she ranted and raved like a madwoman, as she drove her sword through every single diabolic creature she set eyes on. She cut the head off another derve, grabbed hold of its ear and yelled, "I'll kill every last one of you!" In a speedy frenzy, they turned and ran for their lives.

A tall almost-red-head screaming with a sword in hand was enough to make almost anyone—or anything for that matter—run away.

_She's even sexy when she's angry_ Nuvatian thought. What he would give to grab a handful of those long locks and kiss those luscious lips. The fire in her eyes burned an enticing curiosity within him. He liked a woman with passion. Even with blood pooling up on his arm, Nuvatian could still only think of her.

The riders were bleeding; their flesh was tattered and torn. Sweat dripped from their faces and mingled with their blood. But the riders still rode, and still breathed.

Vandorf was first to speak. "If derves are fighting us this boldly, then Dahvan eithah thinks that we have the sword or he is aware that we are rounding up the Circle of Ridahs."

"Yes. It is probably both," Windsor agreed. "He is certainly aware of the prophecies. They think we are carryin' the sword with us."

The Circle of Riders trotted along through the forest, unaware that just ahead of them, lurking in the trees, were yet another group of derves joined now by the one that had escaped the riders only moments ago. Meanwhile, just below them were the approaching shadowy figures of a band of Riders of Quadar, their capes draped over their shoulders like the black wings of ravens.

"The Circle of Riders is just ahead," whispered several derves, all eager to be the informative one.

"There's only six of them," whispered one.

As the riders neared the last leg of the forest, they heard the sound of hooves pounding the ground. "Get ready, here they come," Vandorf said. The riders that trusted in armor quickly strapped on their mail.

Windsor was ready for them. Strange words that sounded like gibberish proceeded from Windsor's lips. In that moment, just as the dark riders rounded the corner of the forest, the horses of the dark riders stopped dead in their tracks. The peculiar words caused the horses to see an illusion of large and dangerous fire-breathing dragons standing face to face with them. Their monstrous heads were twice the size of a normal dragon and their blood-shot eyes dared them to try to come any closer. The eyes of the horses turned wild with terror. They reared kicking their feet at the threatening dragons, and ran off, dumping most of their riders along the way. Now, they became easy kills.

What the riders were unaware of was the second group of riders that rode in from a different direction, riding out from the thick of the forest, their swords drawn and eager to spill blood. Now, hand to hand combat was unavoidable.

Immediately, Windsor chattered out a quick word and power went out from his rod, knocking three dark riders to the ground, leaving them unconscious.

A single rider galloped full speed toward Nuvatian. Nuvatian's sword clashed as he parried off the rider's sword, then turned back and cut the rider down, the red blood splattering onto Valor's black scales. Another dark rider circled around to the backside of Nadora, her bow aimed at a dark rider just ahead of her. His sword raised high, intent on taking her life, when he suddenly arched his back and fell straightaway from his horse. A spinnel was sticking out of his neck. Then, Nuvatian rode up from behind. He was glad he had tucked a few of those handy little weapons in his pack.

Meanwhile, Skeener and Fleece found themselves overwhelmed by riders. Skeener, skilled and experienced, was not moved by their number. But Fleece, skilled but inexperienced, grew faint hearted.

_Perhaps I can outrun them_ , Fleece thought. Then, he turned his horse around and galloped through the forest, away from the riders. A slew of dark riders treaded on his heels, thirsty for blood.

"No, Fleece!" yelled Skeener. Skeener's yell alerted the others to Fleece's departure. Turning their horses around, the riders galloped in the direction Fleece had fled in, still engaging the dark riders who pursued them with reprisal, all eager to hold the honor of killing a rider of The Circle. With Vandorf and Nimri leading the way, they raced after Fleece, fighting off dark riders along the way. With superb skill, Nimri proved himself to those who didn't know him that he was a warrior worthy of riding among them. The smoothness of his parry, the strength of his swing, a watchful eye, and the vigor of his youth made his an asset. Vandorf utilized his homemade weapons while Nadora rode with her bow nocked firing arrow upon arrow, never missing her target.

A dark rider circled around, seeking to cut them off further down the path. Straightaway, the rider of Quadar plunged in front of Vandorf, knocking him off his horse. Fighting his attacker from the ground, the Earthdweller tripped over a rock. Now the rider turned his horse again, aiming to run his sword through Vandorf, who hoped to roll out of the reach of the blade. But there was nowhere to roll, for a large tree was beside him. He reached for his dagger, but it had shifted in the fall. He had run out of options. Suddenly, Skeener rode swiftly by with his sword drawn and cut the rider down to size.

"Thanks mate," Vandorf said, panting and picking up his sword, before immediately engaging three more riders, and swiftly cutting them down.

The fight led the riders out of the forest and into the clearing. Nadora leapt off her dragon and onto a large rock where she swiftly strung arrows through dark riders one after another. But it was Monguard and Windsor who brought a swift end to the battle. Like a wild man, he leapt here and there with a simple dagger in his hand and brought swift justice to every dark rider within his reach. Windsor, on the other hand, simply spoke two words and the rest of the dark riders fell over dead, becoming stiff corpses almost immediately.

Vandorf had a lesson to teach his pupil, one that he had failed to teach him in training.

"Don't evah do that again." Vandorf yelled, raising his voice at Fleece, the front of the boy's shirt twisted in his fist. "You don't run off. You got that?" He turned the shirt loose with a shove, and walked into the woods, fuming mad. "I knew he had no business coming." The boy was humiliated.

It wasn't so much that Vandorf was angry with the young man as much as he was with himself. The weight of guilt he carried daily for all the blood he already had on his hands bent him over in regret. The last thing he needed was more guilt, more blood, and more failure.

Needing to cool down, Vandorf walked. He chastised himself for putting the boy in harm's way. He had no doubt of his skill, for he was an excellent swordsman and fighter, it was his inexperience in real war that gave him great concern. Being wise about conserving weapons, he pulled spinnels out of the dead riders. He quickly realized this was more trouble than it was worth since the points had sunk deep into the soft tissue.

Skeener rode to catch Vandorf's horse which had run back into the forest and down an embankment. Nadora watched him out of the corner of her eye.

"There you are," whispered Skeener, spying the horse. Suddenly, from behind a tree, a sword swung with great force, smashing him in the chest, breaking his chain-mail, and sinking into his flesh. His sword fell to the ground completely out of reach. With his breath nearly knocked out of him, he struggled for air. His disoriented mind tried to ascertain what was happening, while his wounded body tried to respond, out of a sheer will to live.

Nadora instinctively nocked her bow in the blink of an eye and let loose an arrow that whipped through the air with incredible speed. Skeener opened his eyes to see what had hit him and stared into the rotting face of a dark rider. The sword was in full swing moving rapidly toward his body. Skeener screamed. _Sword! Dahk ridah! Death_! Hearing the blood chilling cry, the riders raced up the hill. As they approached the top of the hill, they saw the back of a dark rider, his sword raised high in the air. Beneath his brawny arms and his sharp blade lay Skeener, helpless and wounded. Vandorf reached for an arrow from his quiver as Nuvatian was fumbling with his bow, the arrow already in hand. Suddenly, they watched as out of nowhere an arrow pierced through the back of the Rider of Quadar. His mouth gaped open and he fell over on top of Skeener.

Nadora had saved his life. Now those in doubt had gained a new respect for her. She was one of them.

With their hearts racing, the riders ran towards their friend, Skeener.

In that moment, the ground beneath their feet began to tremble. Tiny but discernible vibrations went through their bodies. The riders remained calm, knowing what territory they were in. Then, two giants emerged from over the hill near the rocks where the fighting had taken place. They had heard the commotion while out walking and had run up the hill. Noticing an injured party among the intruders, they kindly volunteered to help.

"Just over these two hills is my land," said one of the giants.

"We will take you to someone who can help," said the other giant.

"Put him on Orpah," Nadora suggested, taking charge. But Skeener insisted on riding his own mount.

"We are going to see Gilgore," Windsor explained.

"I can take you to him," replied the giant. "Why don't we go ahead and give him a warning, so he can get things made ready," said the other giant.

The giants, Windsor, Nimri and Vandorf rode ahead leaving the rest of the gang to ride along with Skeener.

"I wish I were a wizard," Nimri said, thinking out loud.

"No you don't," Windsor said. "A great responsibility comes with such a gift."

Windsor's reply gave Nimri sharp consideration to something that he had never considered about wizardry—the awesome responsibility. Now, he wondered what that must be like, after all, Gilmanza had talked much about the great responsibility that came with knighthood. He had a hunch that it was a weightier task that carried enormous accountability.

"Here," Nuvatian said to Nadora. "Why don't you ride Valor while I walk Orpah and Skeener's horse?"

"Well, if you insist," she replied with a smile. As much as she loved riding her dragon, she was missing riding her stelleto. Springing up on the mount, she gave him his reign and he broke into a brisk trot.

Despite his pain, Skeener winked at Nuvatian. "N-now that's a f-fair l-la-d-dy, mate," he whispered, between gasps.

"She's a princess; I'm a commoner—out of the question."

"But s-she's not a tr-traditional p-p-princess. I mean she d-doesn't act l-like a p-princess!"

"No," Nuvatian agreed, "she's a warriah. And that's not quite the kind of woman I want to marry. I might make her mad and lose my head!" He lied. He would marry her in a heartbeat.

Approaching the top of a mountain, the riders could see beautiful rolling hills below; it was the Land of the Giants. Everything in the city was huge: the buildings were high, the walls were lofty, the doors were tall and the chairs were gigantic. The riders felt like ants in a human's world.

Arriving at Gilgore's house, they helped Skeener off Orpah. Gilgore towered over the riders as he warmly greeted them, seeming particularly pleased to see Windsor. Standing behind Gilgore was Gilgore's wife whom Windsor also warmly greeted. Nuvatian and Vandorf assisted their wounded comrade into the giant's home.

It was a monstrous house: big rooms, tall ceilings, large furniture. The plates stacked up on a table could hold two days' worth of food, or at least Fleece thought so, and the cups, at least a day's worth of liquid.

After examining his split flesh, they concluded that the wound wasn't too terribly deep, but deep enough for stitches.

Pulling out a very large sewing needle, Gilgore began awkwardly trying to thread it with his huge hands.

Skeener couldn't help but notice the size of the needle. "Y-you're not g-goin' to st-stitch me with th-that b-big n-n-n-eedle, are you?"

"Yep," Gilgore affirmed holding it between two fingers, thread in the other hand.

"D-don't you h-have a sm-smallah one?"

"No. We're giants. Everything here is big. I'm having enough trouble threading this little thing."

"L-little, wh-what are y-you c-callin' l-little?" Skeener's stammer was on overdrive. "Th-that thing's h-huge!"

Finally accomplishing the task at hand, Gilgore took half a step toward Skeener. "Now, sit still. This will only take a few minutes."

Looking again at the size of the needle, Skeener jumped off the table. "Y-you're not st-stitchin' me w-with th-that!" he cried.

"Quit being such a sissy," crowed Vandorf, grabbing a pair of scissors to trim a few wild hairs from his short and neatly trimmed beard. He preferred being clean-shaven but without water to shave, he had little choice. So until he had the opportunity for a proper shave, he kept his beard more like a field of even stubbles.

"I have a needle and thread in my bag," Nadora said, just walking into the door.

Refusing to even look in her direction, Skeener picked up a very large tie rag. "Th-this will d-do the t-trick," he said, still embarrassed to even look at the princess as he recalled again what he had (or so he thought) said in his besotted condition.

Nadora watched as he began to tie off his rag. "At least let me put some crushed herbs and mambrogin tree root on it," she offered.

"Where did you get mambrogin root?" Nuvatian was curious since the miracle root wasn't found in any land except for Shy Kadesh.

"The Immortal King sent the plant along with other gifts when I was born. My fathah planted it and we've tended it ever since."

Still refusing to look at her, Skeener said not a word as he placed a giant size pin into the rag to secure it.

"Fine, suit yourself," said Nadora.

"Well, you won't be able to ride for a while," said Gilgore. Nobody had any argument to this, given how exhausted they all were from their journey and the recent skirmishes with Darvan's minions.

"You have a razor?" Vandorf finally asked. "I don't care how big it is. I can't stand this stubble, and mine is in my bag on my mount."

Gilgore brought him a razor; it fit the giant's hands perfectly. Vandorf took one look at the oversized blade and feared he might mutilate himself. "That's okay, mate, I'll just get my bag. But soap would be nice, and the biggah the bettah."

Gilgore showed him to the large bathing room, where Vandorf was delighted to shave and to wash in a huge pail of water, getting himself thoroughly clean. Fortunately, for Vandorf, the well for retrieving water was nearby. He must have changed the water three times.

Because Gilgore had children (three very large children), the riders all piled into one gigantic room. Once they had unloaded their belongings and bedding, they returned to the main hall. Gilgore could not wait any longer, and addressed Windsor. "So, I suppose you have a purpose traveling this far with this group. If you were just coming to say hello, then you would just fly in. What's this about?"

"The Sword of Dahvan," said Windsor.

"The Sword of Dahvan! Is that right?" said Gilgore. His giant eyes opened wide with amazement. Rubbing his scruffy head, Gilgore amused himself in thought. Gilgore sat straight up in his gigantic chair.

"Shilly Shally Ford, mate," said Windsor, opening the scroll to explain the roads significance.

"No way. You're yanking my leg, mate."

No one could yank that leg Nimri secretly thought. It would definitely take supernatural ability—some of Windsor's or Navi's wizardry stuff.

"Will you ride?" Windsor asked.

"What kind of question is that? Of course I'll fight that bloody maggot. Who else are we gathering?"

"Headed to Viking country," said Windsor.

"So, how'd you get this nasty cut?" Gilgore asked suspiciously.

"Dahk Ridahs," answered Skeener.

"So they're already on to us," Gilgore said as a matter of fact.

After a hearty supper and getting acquainted with Gilgore's large family, the riders found places on the wood floor. They were worn out and fell instantly fast asleep.

Nadora curled up in a corner with a faded blanket. A small oil lamp lit up the other corner of the room, casting a soft glow. Looking up from under the covers, she watched as Nuvatian took off his shirt. The easy light was just enough to conjure up her unexplored romantic appetite. His chest and biceps were muscular, like that of a warrior; they were also warmly inviting, as inviting as the hot springs of Shalahem. She wondered what they would feel like wrapped around her. _Strong, safe, and warm_ , she imagined. His lips. They looked soft and tender. She permitted herself to fantasize for a moment, enjoying dreamy illusions of her mind.

While she was gazing at him, he turned around, sensing a watchful eye. Catching her stare, he grinned pleasantly back at her, flattered that she was noticing him. Embarrassed that he had caught her admiring glance, she grinned, and then ducked under the covers. She knew she could easily have him, but she had set up boundaries for herself, boundaries to keep her from becoming distracted.

Shutting out everything from her sight, she now chastised herself for allowing her mind to wonder into a realm unknown. She had duties to the kingdom: politics, a kingdom to run, people to protect, war to make. After sufficiently bridling her mind, she drifted off to sleep.

Unfortunately, she couldn't control her dreams.

Elves and Sorbs

"What are you doing with that atrocious head?" Monguard asked Ozni, who had tied the head of the nomed he had hacked off to his mount.

"Souvenir."

"Why do you think you need a souvenir of the head of a nomed?" asked Gilmanza. "It's not like it's your fihst."

"O, but it is my fihst as a ridah in The Circle."

The riders were wet and tired as they approached the thick walls surrounding the Land of the Elves. Green vines and large-leaf ivy hung over the ramparts that spanned a vast stretch of land. Gilmanza and Navi were immediately recognized by the Elvish nobles, the large protective gates swung open. Towering trees graced the land far and wide. Riding past numerous fancy homes built in the branches of large trees, they finally came to stop in front of one.

Navi, leading the way, or rather, blocking it, hobbled up the steep stairs to a large and elaborate tree house and pounded on the door. "Binko, come forth," he cried.

The Elf opened the door, astonished to see his old friend, let alone the lot of them. Tall and slender, the man looked important. With a straight and confident posture, he carried himself in a dignified manner. Only his pointed ears marked him as an elf. "You gentlemen look rough," he said, unable to ignore their disarrayed hair, soiled clothing, or Navi with a rag tied around his wounded thigh and bleeding ankle.

"Thanks, crony," Navi began. "But you..." He poked at Binko's tailored clothing and clean face, "you look much too neat for a warrior. Here, let me help you out a bit." He rubbed his grimy hands on the elf's smooth face.

"Funny, Navi," remarked Binko, wiping his cheek.

While everyone made small talk, Ozni went to fetch Darbi, who fortunately lived right next door. With a prank in mind, the Himp tramped down the towering stairs to his mount, grabbed the nomed's butchered head and scaled back up the stairs and across a wooden bridge. Knocking on Darbi's door, he waited around the corner. Seconds passed, and Darbi sprang open the door.

Before the Elf had time to even notice who was standing there, the butchered head flew through the door, and would have pelted Darbi in the face if he hadn't caught it. When he stared into the bulging eyeballs of the decapitated head, he let out a shrill with enough volume to wake the dead.

Gilmanza was just about to make the acquaintances of the two unknown riders, Cozbi and Monguard, to Binko when they heard the piercing cry. The alarmed riders darted out the door with their swords drawn, except for Navi who was in on the whole ordeal from the beginning. With just a few steps down the bridge, they could see Ozni, in a belly aching fit of laughter.

Sore at being the butt of one of his practical jokes, Darbi threw the creepy head back at Ozni, threatening to kill him himself if he ever pulled that prank again. Laughter broke out among the entire group at the almost-cruel trick Ozni had pulled. It did serve to relieve some of the tension they were all feeling.

A bit later, they were all settled into Binko's house, the head having been thrown out into the wild. "Where did you get that crusty head anyway?" Darbi asked. He was now able to laugh a little about the prank.

"I just cut it off hours ago, crony." Ozni smiled smugly, still delighted at the success of his prank.

"For real?" Darbi asked. "And is that why you all look so rough?"

"Yep."

Navi broke in with some practical things. "We have much to tell you," he began, "but first, can I get some sterile water and clean bandages for these nasty wounds?" As he spoke, he unwrapped the blood soaked bandages from around his thigh and his ankle. Monguard never said a word about his ripped arm and mangled leg that had bled through the rags he had tied around them.

"Of course," said Binko. "Cinkel," he said to his beautiful daughter, "bring some hot water, ointment and bandages... and help Navi dress his wounds," Navi raised his eyebrow with pleasure and grinned.

The Elf did not miss the gesture. "No, you may not court my daughtah," he shook his finger at Navi. "So don't even think about it."

"I didn't say a word," replied Navi. "But why is it that no one wants me to court their daughtah?"

"Because we don't want our grandsons to have green and purple braids in their hair," said Binko, as Navi mouthed the words along with him. (Even so, that didn't stop Navi from flirting with her whenever Binko wasn't looking, shooting the occasional wink here and there.) Navi liked being doctored on by a beautiful woman: her soft hands, the sympathy in her green eyes, her pleasant smell. But Navi knew she wasn't his type, too young, too ordinary, and too quiet. He wanted one as quirky and original as himself.

It was then that Binko noticed the new fellow, Monguard, and the blood soaked bandage around his biceps and leg. When Binko offered a fresh bandage he asked for fresh water and a needle and thread instead. While everyone chatted, he stitched it up himself without blinking an eye. Binko was impressed, but then again, he had heard of this Monguard fellow.

While Binko was distracted, Navi slyly reached into his satchel he had lugged in and slipped the hand of the nomed that he had cut off back at the river behind Binko, resting it on his shoulder. At first, Binko felt a slight touch and swatted at it. But when he felt the hand move to his neck and the claws begin to close in, Binko let out a deafening scream and leapt off his chair like a mad-man as he raked at the decapitated hand, and slung it across the room. Since Navi and Ozni were the culprits behind this cruel joke, they were the first to double over with laughter. Before long the entire tree house was in stitches, except for Binko who confessed that he nearly wet his pants.

After the practical jokes and a bit more horsing around, the conversation turned serious. Binko ushered them into a private place to talk, one away from the ears of his children. As they sipped on hot spiced Balswick tea, Gilmanza and Navi explained the purpose of their visit to Binko and Darbi. Rubbing his smooth face, Binko sat and listened to them, as they told of the finding of the Sword of Power.

"It was found at Shilly Shally Ford, crony." Navi jumped in, interrupting Gilmanza. Like a child, he couldn't help but blurt it out, being the first to share the incredible news with them. He opened the copy he had of Windsor's scroll and explained its significance. "Not only that," explained Navi, "Dahk Ridahs have been within the premises of the castle. We fought those dirty mongers and cut them down. Cronies, we came to see if you'll ride—be a paht of this Circle."

Gilmanza interjected to correct Navi. "Actually, Darbi, we need you to step up to Binko's position and keep the Elvish warriors prepared. This news must not be shared, but we need you to be prepared if things get out of hand. If there is anyone's help we need it would be the Elves. Your unique abilities make the lot of you crucial in times like these."

"Sure, I can do that," answered Darbi, not seeming to be sore that he would not be riding.

"Where are we off to?"

"Shy Kadesh." Navi replied.

"Shy Kadesh! But we can't get into the immortal kingdom."

"We're goin' to appeal to the king's graciousness."

"That shouldn't be a problem. The problem I see is that if they are onto us, dahk riders are going to be all over us, especially if they think we hold the sword." Binko took a sip of his tea trying to wipe the concern from his face.

While the riders discussed the sword, Binko's and Darbi's wives fixed supper for them, much pleased to see their old friends. As they gathered around a table to eat, Navi squeezed in next to Cinkel, shooting her a wink as he passed her some bread. (He mostly did this to annoy Binko just for kicks). Binko gave a disapproving glare towards Navi, which was completely ignored. After much talk, a little flirting, and even more food, the riders realized they were again dog-tired and soon drifted off to sleep.

At first light, Binko arose and began preparing for the mission, strapping on his riding boots and sword. Going to the stable behind his tree house, Binko brushed his winged zebra, a unique beast indigenous only to this region and ridden only by the Elves.

Elves ride zebras; but, they are not ordinary zebras. Not only were these zebras a bit larger than traditional ones, but they had gorgeous wings, giving them the capability to soar smoothly through the air. In addition, they had the peculiar ability to become nearly completely transparent at will, with only a faint glimmering image trailing for the keen naked eye to see. The Elf and anything the Elf touched that didn't touch the ground would also become invisible, but only if the rider was an Elf; if the rider was not an elf, then only the zebra became invisible. But not all elves rode these extraordinary zebras; for they were indeed rare; thus, they were reserved for the Elvish elite and the Elvish military. This was the unique ability Gilmanza had spoken of earlier.

Gilmanza was glad to have Binko along. He was reliable, trustworthy, and experienced.

The men ate a hearty breakfast, strapped on their swords and then mounted their beasts. The Circle of Riders rode out of the wall of the city and through the surrounding forest without opposition. They reached the Land of the Sorbs about two days later.

The riders rode down a crooked dirt road, tangles of ivy and weeds wove their way up the timbers. In a lonely cul-de-sac, they dismounted in front of a strange looking site: a ship stuck in the middle of a forest.

"What in the world is this?" Nuvatian stared at the oddity of a ship built on the ground.

"It's a ship," Monguard answered.

"No, it's not a ship," Navi said, correcting them. "It's his house that looks like a ship."

"You've got to be kidding me." Cozbi looked up at the big boat. "Why does he live in a ship when there's not a speck of water in sight?"

"He always wanted to live near the ocean," Binko explained.

"Been drawn to the great blue since he was a child and got his fihst peek at it." Seeming to understand him, Gilmanza smiled.

"So why doesn't he move there?" Cozbi inquired.

"Because his family is here," Binko explained. "He says that one day he is going to move, but he's talked about it forevah."

"Well, at least he closed it in and put a door on it." Cozbi looked the ship over. "Nice streamlines. He knows what he's doing.

"I think it's cool." Navi climbing the steps and rasping on the door.

Just as he was about to knock a second time, a voice boomed from just above them. "What brings you spine backs here?" asked a man standing on the deck of his ship-house. Two small horns protruding from the man's head, a certain characteristic of a Sorb. There was a time when Sorbs tried to conceal their little horns because they were targeted, deemed as evil. But that has been many moons ago during the time of their ancestors. Now, they don't try to hide them.

"Lookin' for you, crony." Navi smiled fingering the nautical rope that graced the door frame.

"Well open the door and come on up."

Inside, the house was as cozy as any other house. The place was tidy and garnished with tasteful nautical décor: An oil lamp and a couple of large sea shells sat on a handcrafted wooden table carved with a map of far off places that seamen might use. Two ocean-blue metal oil lamps graced a mantel edged with timeworn rope. It was simple, not overdone.

There weren't any signs of derangement and Cozbi was glad for that because he was a bit curious. There weren't any ropes hanging from the ceiling that a wanna-be-sailor might swing from when he became delusional. There weren't dead fish lying around or nets. He was surprisingly welcoming and, from what Cozbi could tell, was in his right mind.

Monguard rubbed his hand over the wood, taking in the texture and examining the seam lines. He could tell that the man took pride in his ability to build things with precision. He liked the nautical décor too, finding it gave the home appropriate character.

Gilmanza explained everything to the man, Buldar, and, wasting no time, he made ready to ride.

Judging by outward appearances, Buldar didn't look like a very bright individual but he was, in fact, an erudite, having a sheer love for learning. He had the heart of a teacher, eager to share the wealth of knowledge that he had acquired. Around his head, he wore a cloth to keep his curly out-of-control hair out of his eyes. He didn't know it, but when he pushed his hair back, it made his big nose look even bigger. But he could never hide his horns, not completely, and it was a good thing he didn't want to.

Having crossed the plains, the riders reached the Forest of Ibea. At the edge of the forest, the slimy residue of the derves coated some leaves alerting the riders to their presence. As they rode through the forest, the redundant whispers of the derves sent chills down their spines, becoming an irritating noise in their heads that only brought more confusion to their sensibilities.

The derves continued to whisper chilling temptations and discouragements: "Use the sword for yourself. It will make you powerful."

"You're never gonna make it; Riders of Quadar will kill you! The only way is to use the sword."

"The sword will give you everything you've evah wanted."

They were driving Cozbi crazy so he covered his ears in an attempt to shut them out. He even tried to hum to drown out their noise making.

"What are you doin'?" Buldar asked.

"I'm tryin' to drown them out."

"Well stop it. You're humming is more of a nuisance than is their rattling of the tongue, mate." Buldar didn't want to be rude, but he knew this was going to be a long journey if this guy kept this up. _Who does this guy think he is? And what is up with this other guy, twitching and all._

"For real, crony. You're way out of tune." Navi laughed out loud, trying to ease the tension everyone was feeling.

Cozbi quit humming but he still tried to cover his ears.

Some of the devilish creatures found humor in confusing them by giving conflicting directions: "Go left" from one side, while another whispered, and "Go right." Some whispered words that would send them further off-course: "Go over the mountain to the east." Before long, they all took revelry in whispering various directions and mocking them.

The Ibea Forest was a forest of some size; one could easily get turned around and end up far off course. But Buldar and Binko knew this forest well; yet, even they seemed to be confused. As the day progressed, the whispers of the derves were wracking their nerves, addling their common sense. Confused, the riders grew less and less sure of their way through the forest; one would suggest this way, another that way. The one thing they all agreed on was that it would be best to get out of the forest before nightfall which was now quickly descending upon them.

The negative and confusing whispers of the derves got closer, growing louder, perplexing the sanity of their minds. Confounded and confused, nothing looked recognizable now in spite of their knowledge of the forest.

"To the left," whispered one.

"To the right," whispered another.

As the daylight grew fainter, so also did the riders' collective patience. Growing frustrated at their uncertain course in the forest, their excitability increased as twilight encroached upon them.

"It's this way," insisted Buldar.

"No, it's this way," Binko argued.

Gilmanza suggested yet another way, while Navi pointed to another. Riding aimlessly in their addled state, the riders braced themselves, anticipating the creatures pouncing upon them at any moment.

"Well, it won't be the fihst time we've been in this situation and it won't be the last." Navi's odd way of trying to encourage everyone didn't work.

"Oh, shut up, Navi!" Buldar said, teasing. Last time I was in this situation, those bloody things ripped me to shreds."

"I was just trying to be optimistic," Navi said, rubbing his orb for light.

"It's easy to be optimistic when you're a wizard." Buldar looked over his shoulder at Navi clutching his staff.

"For real," injected Binko.

"Don't give me any lip, Binko. All you have to do is nudge that black and white thing there and they won't be able to see you, or you can fly out. Me, I'll have to fight my way out or die." Buldar grimaced at their unique abilities and his ordinary humanism. "So you know what you can do with your bloody optimism."

"Ah, but you forget that there is a wizard in your midst. If you are nice to me, I'll spare you."

"Last time you fed me that line of bull you let them rip me to bloody shreds, before your inspiration, so you call it, came forth!" Buldar was livid. "I'll nevah undastand that about you wizards. You're kind of like an undisciplined dog: part of the time you're useful, othah times you're nothing but a damn nuisance." His irritability was giving way gradually to laughter, as the thought of teasing Navi grew in its appeal.

"Relax," we'll be out of here soon," Monguard encouraged.

"We can't be too far off course," Ozni said, offering hope. "We'll eventually figure it out."

"Is anything a big deal to you?" asked Buldar.

"You have to learn to take it all in stride, crony," said Ozni, answering for Ozni.

The faint whispers were no longer so faint; they moved in closer, hovering in the trees just above the riders.

"Left, go left, through the trees, and it will lead you out."

"The sword is not evil. That is a legend. You don't believe everything you hear do you."

"Yes, it can be used for good. You're not like others. The sword will get you what you want: peace, happiness, fame. Use it."

Wandering aimlessly around the forest, they felt the darkness closing in on them. The hideous laughter of the derves began to echo in the shadows as they taunted the riders, continuing to confuse them about their whereabouts within the forest and driving into their minds the suggestion that they put the Sword of Power to use, assuming that it is in their presence. They were saying this because they wanted to see if they actually had it. Then, they would know. Each was eager to spur one into temptation, into failure, into destruction. For them, it was a competition among themselves: which one could persuade them, which one of them could destroy them by making them destroy themselves. That offered the most entertaining, when they destroyed themselves merely by listening to the lies.

It gave them joy to witness their success at creating such crafty destruction.

Suddenly, Buldar spoke up with authority. "Here," he cried out, "it's this way! Look, the three crooked trees! I know where we are!" Three distinctly crooked trees had suddenly given him clarity amid their babbling and induced confusion. Weaving in and out among the tall timbers, the riders now sped away through the forest following Buldar who led the way. The derves chased after them, some swinging from the tall timbers like monkeys, their mocking laughter following like the sounds of a madhouse.

With the darkness overtaking them, the riders rode furiously, trying to get out of the woodland before being overtaken by the devilish derves. Binko faded away along with his zebra, making it impossible for the derves to see him well enough to pounce on him.

As they neared the edge of the forest, derves jump from the trees. Navi stretched out his staff and murmured a couple of words. As the words left his lips, a force hit the derves that sent them sailing through mid-air, knocking them flat on their faces to the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, Navi saw a derve leaping from the tree with his eye set on Buldar. He murmured a word and lowered his staff. From the encroaching darkness, the derve landed on Buldar's back and raked its claws down his spine. Buldar, refusing to wince with the pain, thrust his sword beneath his arm and into the derve. Spewing blood, the hellish little monster fell to the ground.

As soon as the riders escaped the forest, night swallowed up the day; it quickly became pitch dark, and now Navi's orb was their only source of light. The blood running down Buldar's back could not be seen, only felt by the tickle that ran down behind his shirt.

"I suppose I am the only one with a scratch." Buldar arched his back, curious at how far the monster got its nails sunk in.

"We got off pretty lucky, thanks to me," said Navi, tooting his own horn.

"Hu! Smells like someone can't take a little criticism."

"Give and take, mate, give and take," remarked Navi, laughing.

"You temperamental wizards."

They rode on, toward the plains and away from the forest. Riding deeper into the plains, the riders made camp. Building a fire, they pulled their blankets from their bags, shrouded them over their shoulders tightly, and warmed themselves by the crackling fire. Tired from a long day, they each drifted off to sleep, their swords lying with them under the blankets.

In the late hour of the night, when all were deep in sleep, a group of five derves peered into the camp. The small flames of the fire danced across their squirrelly faces as they snooped around trying to discover if the sword was among them. Approaching the camp, they stood over the riders, gawking at them, even prodding at their swords. Feeling something on his arm, Navi swatted at it and rolled back over, never even opening his eyes. Suddenly, he felt a presence. The presence of evil entered his consciousness. Opening his eyes he came face to face with a derve poking at his sword. Navi screamed like a girl. With a shriek that startled even the coyotes of the prairie, the derves leapt onto the riders, digging their claws into portions of unprotected skin.

The riders instinctively tried to defend themselves with their covers, while also reaching for their swords. Gilmanza and Monguard grabbed their blades first and quickly cut down the derves attacking them, their green blood spraying the blankets.

Seeing one about to jump on Navi, Buldar refrained from killing it; instead, he watched it jump on the wizard's back, halfway enjoying watching him squirm, before Navi finally grabbed it by the throat, threw it to the ground and thrust the point of his boot knife into its belly.

"I saw that" remarked Navi, as he wiped off the blood pooling up on his arm and wrapped it with a clean rag.

"A certain wise wizard I know once gave me some good advice. He said, 'Give and take, mate, give and take'." Buldar laughed, enjoying repeating Navi's words back to him. "So I've tried to live by that rule ever' since."

"You bloody Sorbs are just so ornery, scamp." Navi twitched his upper lip, showing his disapproval; then, he wiped the blood off his back.

Being bone-tired, the riders fell quickly back to sleep. It wasn't long before Ozni was snoring again. The dim light of the moon shone upon their obscure campsite in the open plains of the tall prairie grass.

For now, only shadows stalked the night.

The Forest of Mirth

Early morning dew glistened on the tall blades of the prairie grass as the dawning sun rose up over the peaks of high reaching mountains in the East. One by one the riders reluctantly rolled out of their dew soiled blankets, moaning under their breaths as the sun shone upon their faces, but it was absent of its warmth as the chill in the air overtook it.

With warrior arms, Monguard rammed an arrow through a bird and stuck it over a fire. He had risen early to catch breakfast.

After their morning coffee, they rolled up their bedrolls. Navi languished under the covers because of the pain in his thigh and ankle. Binko and Ozni sipped on freshly brewed coffee, while Gilmanza puffed on his long and slender pipe. Cozbi sat on a log by himself near the smoldering fire.

"Navi, are you okay?" asked Binko.

Navi moaned, just enough for Binko to know he was at least alive, then spoke with some effort. "I feel like I've been f-fighting monsters, and one of them bit a chunk of flesh out of my thigh and nearly bit my ankle off." His voice grew a little stronger now. "Oh, wait! Maybe that's because I HAVE been fighting monsters, and one DID try to take my leg off." He was laughing a little now.

Ozni and Buldar helped Navi up. He moaned with every move, especially when he put weight on his injured leg.

"I made you some hot Balswick Tea," Buldar said to Navi.

"Fantastic. That is just what I need to get goin' this mornin'."

Ozni handed him the cup of spicy tea and Navi took a big swig. The bitter taste jolted him awake as he immediately spewed it out of his mouth. "Ahhh, that's nasty."

The group of riders roared with laughter at the gag, all knowing full well what Buldar was up to.

"A man should nevah seek revenge, but he should always take the opportunity to give back what a man has earned," Buldar said with a chuckle. "Don't worry. They say a bittah herb comes out much bettah than it goes in, mate." The riders roared with laughter as Navi dumped the cup of bitter tea onto the ground.

Buldar poured Navi a cup of steaming coffee. The Wizard and Sorb both laughed now, as they playfully taunted each other with empty threats of revenge.

"Here, I'll roll up your bedroll, mate," volunteered Ozni, "while you drink your coffee."

"Thanks, crony." Navi hobbled to where the other riders sat sipping on their cups of hot brew.

"You're such a sissy," said Buldar, still taunting Navi. "I got a plug taken out of my back too, but you don't see anyone rolling up my bedroll. Monguard got bit but he hadn't said a word about it." Monguard acted like he hadn't heard a word they said.

"You call that a plug. You got a little scratch. This, now this is a plug," Navi said, pointing to his leg. He pulled off the bandage, knowing it desperately needed to be changed. The wound was deep, red, and raw. The constant rubbing of riding had made raw flesh, expanding every puncture made in the skin by the nomed's teeth. Everyone knew that a nomed bite was worse than the bite of a derve; they had larger teeth.

"Navi, that's gross." Buldar leaned over, wincing at the gap of flesh. He washed it off, put some herbal powder Gilmanza gave him on it and wrapped it back up.

After a sloppy breakfast of bread and fowl, the riders mounted their beasts. They rode north across the savanna and into the mountainous terrain of the Forest of Mirth. Rising into mountainous tundra carpeted with timbers and tapestries of wildflowers, they crossed a series of rocky rivulets and ravines. Forced to accommodate Navi, they rode slower than usual; even so, Navi still lingered behind due to the throbbing pain in his thigh, now being agitated again by all the riding. Inka's scales usually didn't bother him but he couldn't find a comfortable position on the dragon without his wound getting rubbed raw.

"Come on, sissy!" Buldar remarked, teasing him mercilessly. "It's nothin' but a flesh wound!"

"I'll sissy you in a minute," said Navi, twitching his upper lip. "Momma's boy."

"Hey, panty wearer, why don't you just... you know, do one of your poofshapoof thingamajigs?" laughed Buldar, knowing that Navi could take it.

"I think I will," Navi snarled, "on you—turn you into a toad or something. Or perhaps a pile of horse dung would be more suitable."

The two picked and teased, Ozni egging them on.

Riding through the pathless terrain, the group navigated their way over chiseled peaks of limestone. Then they passed through a stream of fresh spring water gilded by the rays of the sun. The riders were casually trotting along when suddenly they came upon a brittle skeleton leaning against a rock, its hands folded across its lap. Dingy brown moss hung from the trees, grazing the top of the cracked skull of the human remains. Stopping to look at the skeleton and each other, the riders hushed, but continued at a slow and assiduous amble.

Advancing across the stream of water, they noticed a dead derve; its green blood stained the rock it had died upon. Another derve lay near, its head lay open. Two more derves were within close proximity, their abdomens slashed open and entrails spilled to the ground.

"Someone's been in a fight with these devils." Binko wondered why he had said what was most obvious.

"Great! If it killed derves then it's not with them, so who's it with?" Cozbi wondered out loud. "Are they with us?"

"It'll be all right, crony," Navi assured him. "You have me in your midst."

"A lot of good that's done us." Cozbi pulled his sword, steeling himself for what might be ahead of them. "`Bout as good as you were with that poor cat." Cozbi laughed, Navi getting the butt of all the jokes.

Interrupting this senseless exchanging of words was the sound of a falling rock shattering on the limestone floor. It sounded as though it were coming from the shady mouth of a small cliff overhang on the opposite side of the stream. A hollow space set back inside the cliff provided just enough room for shelter.

Dismounting, Gilmanza motioned for Buldar, Ozni, Monguard, and Binko to come with him. "Navi, you and Cozbi stay back with the mounts." Cozbi sighed as he grabbed the reins of the mounts. "Somebody has to."

Cozbi sat down on a rock and waited and watched. He felt out of place because he didn't know the other men at all. His skills seemed to go unnoticed. He resented staying behind and not feeling like he was a significant part of the team.

Paying Gilmanza no mind, Navi insisted on hobbling along with them. Now, Cozbi really stewed with resentment. Using his staff as a walking stick, he stubbornly followed behind them, twitching his lip with each step. With swords drawn, they crept toward the darkened entrance of the recess in the side of the giant boulder. Heavy foliage hung over the nearly secret cavity. The redundant dripping of water off the leaves enticed them and crowded their listening ears with meaningless noise. They listened for breathing, movement, anything. Hovering at the side of the entrance, they waited, hearts beating at the dark mystery of the forest.

Gilmanza nodded his head and the six leapt in front of the mouth of the recess, their steel swords drawn, rough and ready for a fight. Between the crevices of two rocks in the cavern like recess of the cliff were two people—at least they looked like two people, at first glance. In their hands were sharpened spears carved from wood of the forest. River water dripped from the rocks above them onto their greasy heads as they peered out from the rock they hid behind. A dark pug-nose jutted above the stone, and two dark deep-set eyes stared back at them—eyes with a certain aura about them: mysterious, yet peaceful.

Coming out from behind the rocks, the riders observed that these were solvent, their clothing wet, dirty and torn. It was then that they noticed that the younger one looked nothing like the other; he was rather sheepish in appearance—or was it goatish? One thing was irrefutable, he wasn't a Himp. His face was less like that of a human than Ozni's. His pug nose looked a lot like something from the animal kingdom too. His animal-ears were folded over like earmuffs, and his hairline in the front came down almost to his eyebrows. His teeth were straight and pretty, not crooked like Ozni's.

A tuft of fur-like tangled curls was jumbled up on his head, much like the wool of a sheep, except for the one-inch bold span that ran around his ears, as his natural hairline. This furry thick lump of wool-like hair hung just past his neck in the back and was a burnt-brown shade, nearly the same color as his shirt—that is, what was left of his tattered clothing. His body was humanoid except for his cleft feet which, although flat like a human's, had two nubs instead of five toes spanning the foot. The soles of his feet were solid like a hoof, not fleshly like a human's. He had dirty scattered sprigs of curly hair that stood on end, scattered all over his body, except for his face. It was sort of odd how the body hair grew, randomly, here and there. The fellow with him looked like any other human being, except for the claw marks from the derves that scarred his arms, legs, back and face.

The riders looked critically at both of them, especially the younger one with the weird facial features. His sheep-like- characteristics made him appear unimpressive, except for his big eyes, which were captivating: they seemed strong, yet innocent; discerning, yet gracious. They were most unlike the weak eyes of a sheep or goat. The riders studied him, through eerie silence and awkward stares. Then they stared at his peculiar feet.

"What business do you have here?" asked the older one, his wooden spear pointed at Navi's belly-button.

"Our business is none of your business, crony." Navi couldn't take his eyes off the younger one, particularly his eyes, which struck Navi as peculiar. They held him mesmerized, with a certain aura. There was something deep and profound in those eyes.

He stared at him to the point of embarrassment. "You, you... there's somethin' about you, a destiny, a certain task is at hand for you!"

Navi could feel it, the ecstatic moving through his spirit. He couldn't put his finger on it exactly, but the young man was destined for a mission, called to an assignment. He had a feeling they had not stumbled across these chaps for no reason.

"I know not what you speak of," said the young man.

Gilmanza was the next to notice something, putting his finger on one mysterious fact about the boy. "You, you're an Awnee. I knew not that Awnees still existed. Why, I thought them to be annihilated, wiped plumb off the face of the earth! In fact, I'm sure of it."

The Awnee looked at Gilmanza, "I have no idea. What's an Awnee and how do you know that I am one?"

"He's old—real old," said Navi.

"I thought I told you to stay with the mounts." Gilmanza crossed his eyes at Navi.

"I always knew I was different. I mean I've nevah seen anothah like myself."

"That's because there are none like you."

"Then how am I here?"

"That's a good question."

"We are passing through," Binko explained, seeking to get to the root of their presence in the woods. He figured they could stand there and chat about where in the world this boy came from for moons. "What are you doing out here all alone? It is terribly dangerous. I see you have had a run in with a few derves."

"Yes, we have had more than a few disagreements with those devils." answered the older fellow.

"We live out here," answered the younger one.

"How long have you been living out here?" Gilmanza inquired.

"My son and I have lived in a cave near here for two moons now," answered the older one. "And as far as it being dangerous, well, it's not any more dangerous than being undah the powah of the Awshaks."

"The Awshaks?" asked Gilmanza, "What do you mean, 'under the powah of the Awshaks?'"

"Where have you been?" asked the elder. "They have taken over our village and oppressed my people for many moons now.

My name is Sagran and this is my son, Amase. My son and I..."

"I don't mean to be rude," Navi interrupted, "but how is he your son? He's an Awnee and, well in case you haven't notices... you're not." Navi wanted to know more about this odd fellow, as did the rest of the crew.

"My wife and I found him. One day we were walkin' in these woods and heard the cry of a baby. He was all alone. We are all he knows. Our village has been overtaken by Awshaks. My wife..." He paused to settle his quaking voice. "She was caught tryin' to escape—tryin' to meet us in the forest. It's all my fault. I'm the one who suggested we run. Now, I can't bear to think what they have done to her." Sagran fought to hold off the tears that were forming in the corner of his eyes. "I know they... they..." He stopped mid-sentence and could not bring himself to speak another word of what they had likely done to his wife.

After a while, he gathered himself and continued. "These skeletons you have passed in this forest are the remains of my people who attempted to escape. My people have been reduced to nothing. They have raped our women and reduced us to slaves. Come, let me show you my people—my village. Can I ride with one of you?"

"Certainly," answered Gilmanza.

"Did you know that the Awshaks were originally from Bardora and migrated to the land they now possess when their king went on a murderous rampage?" asked Buldar.

"No, I don't believe I knew that," Sagran answered and thought to himself that he really didn't care about irrelevant histories.

"Yeah, their king, King Raugh, lost his mind and began to purge his kingdom of all subjects he believed were after his throne—which in his sick mind was everyone.

"I don't think he wants to hear a history of the Awshaks," Gilmanza said, politely silencing him. Buldar took it all in stride, unoffended by Gilmanza's soft rebuke.

Walking back to their mounts, Sagran and Amase noticed Navi hobbling and occasionally grunting in pain, noisily lamenting over his wounded leg.

"What happened?" asked Sagran.

"A nomed bit my leg."

"A nomed! Those nasty things carry diseases. I sure hope you didn't catch anything from it."

"Thanks for the encouragement, crony. Me too."

"You know," Buldar stepped in, rubbing his goatee, "they say that whiskey and honey are the best things for a nomed-bite. Then, you should apply some mambrogin tree-root. Of course mambrogin tree root will heal anything. But only grow in Shy Kadesh."

"I'll take my chances," Navi said.

"Don't you have a sword, mate?" asked Amase. He didn't notice that Navi held one in hand just moments ago since there were several pointed at him and neither did he notice that one hung around his waist.

"Ahhhhh!" Buldar and Ozni roared with laughter. The new kid had insulted Navi without even meaning too.

Navi rolled his eyebrow at Amase and Buldar. "What do you think I had pointed at you just then?"

"Didn't notice yours particularly. There were several in my face."

"Well, don't you see one hanging around my waist?"

"Can I ride the dragon?" Amase asked. Navi agreed, the kid was after all rather chipper about seeing the scaly beast. He happily leapt onto Inka behind Navi, while Sagran rode with Cozbi. They traveled north, through the tree-filled woods trekking up the craggy cliffs to the timberline of the ridge of a cliff. As they dismounted, Sagran said, "Be very quiet. Look over the edge of the rocks into the Valley of Mirth."

Peering over the jagged rocks, they could see below a simple town—small, yet fortified, and in the clutches of a strong and brutal people. The riders noted that the walls of the town were not very tall in comparison to more noble walls, but they were thick, with stone mortared to stone. Within the fortified town were frail-looking men, women and children, rails of flesh and bone, poorly nourished on bread, water and rice, all working under forced-labor. Their feet were shackled and their bodies dirty. Some bore marks across their backs where they had been beaten.

Brute Awshak warriors ruled with a rod of iron. The crack of the whip kept them in line, doing exactly as they were told. They overpowered them and strapped them to a life of ruthless oppression. More than occasionally, an unforgiving whip plowed into the back of a captive peasant. The slaves looked worn out and dirty, bent over. Premature wrinkles shone on their faces in the folds of pain and misery. They had been stripped of their dignity, robbed of freedom.

"Our people have lost hope," said Amase. "We have no comfort except each other; no dignity except the dignity we can rememah; no future but the future we dream about; no life except through death."

"What say ye, cronies, we do a little liberating?" Navi pulled his sword from his sheath. "Now we'll see how much of a nuisance we wizards are." He crossed his eyes at Buldar and laughed . "Let's ride, cronies, let's ride!"

Liberation

"Can you fight? Are you good with a sword?" Gilmanza asked their new found friends.

"Who do you think killed those derves in the forest?" Sagran answered.

"You...you don't look like much," Navi said, noticing Amase's scrawny arms.

"You don't look like much yourself," Amase answered.

"That's good," Cozbi laughed. "Guess he told you."

"I like you, kid," Ozni chuckled. "Catch!" He tossed Amase a sword and Cozbi passed one off to Sagran. Monguard didn't know they had extra swords and he didn't think to ask. Scanning the saddle bags and sheaths, he didn't spot one. But there was no shortage of swords in the camp below.

"But we can't take on all of them," Amase said. "What's your plan?"

"Let me make this easy, cronies." Navi stretched out his staff, pointing it at the burg nestled below. "Personally, I'm not up to much of a fight." Then, he said:

"Mistreatment and oppression you surely hate

Let their cruelty come to an end and let blindness be their fate."

Immediately, the onerous warriors fell sightless, their daylight turned to darkness; it was a darkness blacker than the dead of night could ever offer. Even shadows evaded them. They were stone-blind.

All across the village Awshak warriors frantically grabbed their eyes, groping about desperately trying to feel their way around. Bumptious fighters fell to the ground shouting hysterically and crying out "I can't see." They quickly discovered from the outcry of their friends that they were not alone in their new carbon world. And worst of all, they couldn't see to fight back. Now, their world was as black as their hearts.

At first the slaves did not know what was happening. Accustomed to being beaten for pausing from their work, most just kept on working.

"You're a wizard!" Amase said with excitement.

Navi smiled at him. "What did you think this was for?" He held up his staff.

"For walking," Amase answered truthfully.

"What do you think this orb is for?"

"To make you look important," blurted Amase. "So, if you're a real wizard, you don't have to know how to use a sword."

"I know how to use a sword, scamp." Navi rolled his eyes again and pushed his purple bandana higher on his head. Gilmanza and Ozni just chuckled. The boy seemed so innocent, not intentionally meaning to harass Navi.

Buldar roared with laughter. "I've been trying to teach him, but he can't seem to catch on."

"Watch and learn, crony. Watch and learn." Navi gripped his sword and gathered his reigns.

"I wish I were a wizard," Cozbi said, thinking how cool it would be to be able to do supernatural things.

"Everyone wants to be a wizard but no one considers the cost and the responsibility." Navi's words were heavy, emphasizing the risk of liability.

Cozbi, like Nimri, had never considered the responsibility but he was certain that he could handle it.

It was then that Gilmanza noticed that Monguard wasn't wearing his mail. "Monguard, where's your mail?"

"Back at the rivah?"

Navi smiled, he understood him. "Let's ride, cronies." Digging his heels into Inka, the dragon responded immediately, rushing out to take the lead of the other mounts.

As the riders began to ride down the hillside toward the ramparts, Navi stretched out his staff. His words flowed effortlessly as inspiration took over:

Let the ground shake

Let the walls quake

To the ground let them break.

Straightaway, the ground began to quiver. The horses went wild and flying creatures

flapped their wings eager to leave the shaking earth.

"Easy," the riders said, almost in unison, trying to steady their beasts.

Gilmanza glared at Navi. "Couldn't you have come up with something bettah—like specifying that only the ground shake at the walls, or that the walls just crumble on their own?"

With confidence, Navi merely raised his eyebrow, pursed his lip, and grinned as he watched the walls crumble to the earth and the watch tower extirpated to the ground, burying Awshak guards beneath the granite rubble. Ozni roared with laughter, almost enjoying Gilmanza's frustration with Navi. "It's good to have a wizard along."

"Let's roll," Navi said, as they rode through the debris, their mounts carefully stepping to get across the fallen rocks.

Mayhem broke out in the village as the walls fell. Bedazzled Awshaks groped about in hysteria, inveigled first by Darvan and second by Navi. At first the slaves thought there had been an earthquake. Most froze at first; but then they saw opportunity was awaiting them. When they saw the team of riders riding into their village and their intent to free them, they too joined in the fight by turning tools into weapon and cuffs into chocking devices. Although none of the riders had actually killed any of the barbaric warriors, only broke the chains of the peasants.

Monguard snagged a well-honed sword off of a blind warrior and laid claim to it. Now, he had a sword of his own, his being left behind in his rush to ride out with them.

Dust turned up as the riders rode through the village. Eager for justice, they shattered the chains that bound the colony, liberating them from the cruel tyranny of this bilious people. As the links fell from their weak bodies, their faces shone of renewed hope, possibility for attaining life again. With revenge boiling in their blood, the captives took hold of whatever weapons they could and rose up against the now sightless Awshaks, seeking reprisal. The now free men stole the enemies' swords and obtained swift revenge. For once they were on top carrying the banner of victor. They now held the position of advantage. And they enjoyed it. Yet Gilmanza advised them to leave them in their blind state, a life of punishment and hard lessons for such a people was better than death. Besides, kindness could change them, or so Gilmanza believed.

Women sought refuge from the brutes and the bloodshed as they hunkered down behind mounds of crumbled stone and standing buildings. There was disorder and confusion. Instinct drove mothers to run through the dismay searching for their children. Livestock ran in a panic, themselves trying to escape becoming a victim of bloodshed.

Slowly they began to listen to the old man and his comrades and the emancipated people put down their weapons. Many of the onerous warriors groped about trying to survive, hoping to die.

Blood was shed that day but a village of peasants—a village of people—was set free. The village lay in ruin but the people rose free—dismayed, but free. With eyes glazed with perplexity and disbelief, the people began to search for their family, the people who made them who they were, the people they loved.

With food being essential for the restoration of these near starving captives, Navi, and Binko set out in search of the food cellars. In the meantime, Sagran led Gilmanza and Buldar to an underground cell, a place he hoped to find his wife. He crossed his fingers that he would find her alive.

They ambled over the village, studying the sad human forms that better resembled beanpoles. Sagran passed familiar friends and beloved neighbors, a community that accepted him as one of their own. He reached out, took their hands and squeezed. It was enough to communicate reassurance and compassion.

The underground stairwell was concealed behind the housing of the palace guards of the Awshak headquarters. The cell had been a storm shelter for the community. The metal door was slammed shut and the grass was worn out around it. Sagran held his breath before he lifted the handle.

After much prowling about, Navi and Binko stumbled upon the magistrates horse stables. "Nothing impressive," remarked Navi. Horses looked well fed and robust. The noise of a ruckus behind the barn grabbed their attention, their curiosity demanding that they explore it. They walked around the back of a cobblestone courtyard behind the stables. To their astonishment, and Navi's pleasure, they found a magnificent Sarif dragon marked in hues of blue-gray chained in the courtyard. The dragon was the same species of the ones Windsor, Navi and Princess Nadora rode.

The heavy chains wrapped around all four legs and draped over its scaly body. The thick links were firmly planted in the ground with eight pegs hammered into the cobblestone and set with fresh mortar. This set up had obviously been instigated by the invaders since the mortar was yet to be stained by age. The dragon couldn't move. She too was a victim of the invader's tyrannical compulsions, stripped of her dignity as a created being, designed to freely soar the heavens in graceful strength and beauty, a creature of divine design.

Such cruelties, as witnessed in this camp, Navi thought, were not only a sin against the person or creature, but a sacrilege against its creator. He considered creation a sacrament, a work of divine art to be respected and revered. With ease he envisioned the world as a canvas and God as the artist, shaping, creating, and designing a vast and intricate web of life with diversity and splendor. He imagined that God smiled when the sun danced across the hue of colors that decorated a dragon when it soared through the sky at dusk or when a whale breached the seas and leapt into the air. He wondered if it were an act of worship offered up intentionally to its creator.

Creation was good, Navi was certain of that. It was the mortal flaw of sin that had robbed God of his perfect artistry. He wondered what the world was like when all were immortal and everything was in its original beauty. But this was all he knew, a world flawed by humanity.

The dragon scowled at them with an accusative glare. Its yellow eyes burned with pent up anger, not pleased to be committed to chains. "Wow!" Navi cried. "Would you look at the beauty of this dragon, crony! And in chains? Those good-for-nothin' scamps!"

"Be careful," Binko warned, as Navi began to slowly approach the dragon.

"Oh, it's friendly," Navi assured him. "I have a way with dragons."

"If you're so sure it's friendly, then why are you walking so slow towards it?" Navi ignored him and cautiously crept toward the dragon. He spoke softly to her, reassuring her that he meant her no harm.

"We're here to free you, my scaly little friend." The dragon now showed signs of agitation. It snorted and then set its piercing golden eyes upon Navi with qualms of mistrust. Navi sensed vibrations of threat, so he began to slowly back away. A mistrustful glare, a sway of his robust body, the low gurgle in his throat, it was all signs that the dragon was about to blow. Suddenly, the dragon breathed a deep breath. Navi had an idea what this dragon was thinking and he dove to the ground. Soaring flames rolled above his head. He felt the heat of the tongue of fire above him. He narrowly escaped the lick of flames.

In hastening to avoid being roasted, Navi banged his injured leg. Now, he gripped his leg in pain and moaned. But the smell of smoking cloth made him shift his attention. He suddenly became aware that smoke was pouring from his head. He reached up to feel the top of his purple wizard hat, but found it burnt out, its edges black and crisp, leaving his head exposed.

Binko roared with belly-aching laughter. "I thought you said you had a way with dragons."

"Well now, that wasn't very nice." Navi turned back towards the dragon. "It looks like you and me are not getting off to a good start, scamp!"

"Maybe you should try a different approach," Binko suggested, unable to curb his laughing.

"And what might you suggest, Bink?"

"I don't know. Maybe you should turn it into a mouse our something."

"Or..." Navi was thinking, "I have a bettah idea, Bink. I think you should try to befriend her while I try to break the chains." Reaching into his pouch, Navi pulled out a piece of dried lizard. "Ahha. You can feed her this!"

"Oh no." Binko argued, "I'm not going near that bloody dragon."

"Yes you are, Bink. Come on. You can do this." Navi was enjoying this all too much. "I thought you liked dragons."

"Only dead ones."

"Bink, you have a way with animals."

"No I don't."

Navi poured the pressure on and eventually Binko caved. He agreed to attempt to befriend the dragon with the dried lizard meat only on the condition that if it tried to toast them alive again he wouldn't nag him anymore about the beast. Navi agreed.

Approaching the beast, with his hand open, the Elf found the dragon becoming curiously friendly. Binko crept close enough to allow the dragon to eat from his jittery hand. Once the small morsel was gone, however, the dragon immediately became agitated; a lust for more of the leathery meat brought her alive, snorting and huffing.

"Lookout, Bink!" Navi warned him at the first sign that the dragon might explode.

Binko ran and dove headlong toward the barn door, narrowly clearing the lick of the flame. He missed the flames entirely but he didn't miss the dragon's feeding trough; he landed in a bin of dead salamanders and small lizards. The reptiles stunk to high heavens.

"Uuuaach!" Binko moaned.

Navi chortled, reveling in Binko's misfortune.

"It's not funny," Binko protested.

"That's it, Bink! That's it!" Navi tried to talk through jutted streams of laughter. Binko looked ridiculous. "You discovered her food supply. You stink," Navi said.

Binko pulled himself out of the barrel of dragon food, walked over to Navi and shook his body, splattering the smelly liquid onto the wizard. Pay back for coercing him into this.

"Aah, scamp!" Navi said, only half-serious. "Now I am going to have to feed you to the dragon. If you taste anything like you smell she will devour you."

He changed tactics. "Ahh, mate, I've got it! Nothing can win our fair lady's heaht more than a smelly barrel of dead reptiles." Holding his nose, Navi wrangled Binko into helping him again. If Binko didn't consider Navi such a good friend he never would have let him talk him into this deadly arrangement.

Scooting the trough of salamanders and lizards over to the dragon, they quickly befriended the beast. She licked her lips and dove in. They patted her and talked softly as the dragon happily feasted on the smelly appetizers. She ate like she hadn't eaten in days.

"Now, while she's eating, let's get these chains off of her."

"Get the chains off?" Binko inquired. He had heard Navi state his intent earlier but he not considered the cost of a free and angry fire-breathing dragon.

"Well, I am not just gonna leave her here." Using the tools Navi discovered behind the shed door, they worked the chains, prying, cutting, and unwrapping. "You know, there's very few dragons left in the wohld and we need to help them repopulate."

"Personally, I think the wohld is a bettah place without them." Binko arm-wrestled the chain, working it off the dragon's front leg. "Wow! She sure is hungry. I hope we're not makin' a mistake by takin' these chains off!"

"Not at all, Bink. We just need to keep reassurin' her that we're not gonna hahm her." He addressed the dragon again. "You're a pretty girl. I think Inka might take a real liking to you!" He watched as the dragon finished off the bucket of smelly salamanders and lizards. She licked her chops, her long tongue extending over her mouth. "I sure hope we have won the fair lady's heart with this quiet disgustin' food."

Looking over his shoulder at Binko, he had some concern. "I wouldn't stand to close if I were you. She might think you're an overgrown lizard, since you smell like one."

"Real funny, Navi."

Petting her on the side, they stepped back to a safe distance to see what her reaction would be. She seemed to be calming down now that she had been wooed with food and it looked as though she might show herself to be trustworthy and friendly.

Suddenly, from around the corner, Buldar rushed in. (It was unclear who was startled more, the dragon or Buldar.) Struck with fear, the dragon breathed a burst of hot fire. Having had some practice, Navi and Binko were quick to dive to safety. Buldar, on the other hand, was just lucky enough that the sight of the agitated dragon scared the wits out of him, for he hit the ground just in the nick of time and the flames soared over his head. It was the odor of singed hair that told him he had lost a few strands; it was the new awareness of the wind that told him he lost more than a few strands. The stench of scorched hair mingled in the air with the reeking smell of dead reptiles.

Scared half to death, he leapt to his feet and bolted back around the corner, offering a wall of rock for protection against the fiery beast. The sound of mocking filled the air. When he glanced up Binko and Navi were doubled over, taking advantage of his misfortune.

Reaching up to pat the back of his head, Buldar could feel nothing but stubble left from where most of his hair had once been. His head looked mangled, long in the front and none in the back. To add to the mood, Navi pointed out that even his horns were scorched a little.

Buldar saw no humor in what he weighed as a near death experience.

"What are you two doin' back here with that blasted dragon? It just about killed me!" Buldar was chafed with irritation. "I have no hair. That bloody dragon burnt off my hair!"

"I think that is a great look, crony!" Navi smirked. "Stylish, very stylish!"

"Oh, shut up." He had an idea how absurd he must look. He wanted to ring Navi's neck but he maintained his cool, remembering that there was much at stake and a higher purpose than his hair.

"Win some, lose some, crony. Looks like you lost some." Navi was laughing hysterically at this point.

"I was looking for you two," Buldar said, ignoring Navi's joke. "You know, you left me holdin' your bloody dragon. Inka knows your smell; he led me here. Personally though, I think you two smell pretty much alike."

"That's it, mate, that's it! Nothin' can win our fair lady's heaht like a handsome suitor wooing her into submission. A little matchmaking ought to calm our fiery little friend down. Where is Inka?"

"Just the othah side of the gate." Buldar pointed at the dragon standing within their sight. "I don't know why you don't just use that darn wand of yours and either kill it or tame it."

"How many times do I have to tell you: we can't just do any and every little thing we want. Go get Inka, crony." Navi was glad the dragon was still restrained; otherwise, they might be toast.

In a couple of minutes, Buldar strolled around the corner with Inka, leading him by his reigns. The other dragon immediately perked up.

At first, it didn't seem like a very good idea. The two dragons growled at each other, sizing one another up. After sniffing and getting introduced, they calmed down and slowly warmed up to each other. With the dragon thoroughly distracted, Navi finished wrestling with the chains. His emancipation of the beast was complete; he only hoped it was kind to its liberator.

It wasn't long before she willingly strolled off with Inka, and Navi, Buldar and Binko trailing behind, happy to have only lost trivial things, namely, a hat, some hair, and personal hygiene.

"Binko!" Gilmanza's cry sounded urgent. He yelled again and this time the cry put fire under their rears. Buldar and Binko ran out of the courtyard and into the back lot of the palace guard. Navi, on the other hand, limped behind them, the dragons in tow. Leaving the two now cooperative beasts under a tree, he hobbled behind Binko and Buldar into a dreadfully dark underground cell.

A hint of light coming from Gilmanza's torch broke the darkness of the stairwell as they followed him down. The steep stairs called for caution. Cozbi followed after them, his sword dripped in fresh blood. Spotting another torch in the corner of the stairwell, Cozbi snatched it up and borrowed a light from Gilmanza. An unforgiving foul stench greeted them. It was a far cry from the smell of dead salamanders.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs the glow uncovered darkness, casting light on the relics of objects of pure and undiluted evil. It was a prime example of how far humanity had sunk from primordial sin, how corrupt the human condition could sink a man greedy for power, filled with hate, depraved of conscience. The subjects of this sin were not only examples of a depraved nature, but a sick mind. They themselves were in bondage to a force they had offered themselves to, and they were, in a sense, worse off than their victims because they were in darkness from within.

To see more clearly, Navi held up his orb and his eyes adjusted to the dimness. He stood there speechless. Cozbi uttered a single word: "Unbelievable!"

Monguard now wondered into the chamber of death. "My God" was all he could utter.

They noticed Buldar's fried hair but no one said anything because the scene before them took precedents.

Inside the dank dungeon, the casting sheen illuminated human bodies wrapped in chains; they looked frightfully inhuman. Their ghastly and cadaverous forms lay chained in the obscurity of their underground tombs. Barbaric fetters ignominiously grasped their feet and unforgiving chains clutched their arms restraining them to the cold and unyielding walls, confining them to a slow death. Their pale faces were frozen in a glare and starkly frightful and their hollow eyes lay open wide like an icon welcoming the god of death.

The riders stood motionless, appalled at the shocking display of pitiless cruelty before their eyes. A shameful display of twisted human forms testified to just how low humankind is capable of sinking. Gilmanza had seen more than his share of what a malignant soul was capable of, a curse for living so long.

With reservation, they inched close to the frail corpses. At first they had qualms about touching them, but they knew they needed to check those who looked like they might hold a breath of life in them. Their hearts pounded as they reached out to check for improbable signs of life. To the touch, the thin layers of clammy flesh were stone cold.

The light of the torches flickered and Sagran held his breath. He hoped his wife was still alive but the evidence before him made his heart sink. _Nadine._ Now, he began to frantically check from person to person to see if any of these models of death resembled his wife. He called out her name. They watched him turn into a madman.

Yanking the torch out of Cozbi's hand, Sagran moved up to one of the decomposing corpses. He shone the light in his face. A worm crawled out of the decaying cartilage of his nose. Sagran felt his body betray him, going limp, he fell to the ground. Binko and Navi rushed to his aid and helped him up. Not giving him an option, they drug him up the stairs and into fresher air. Her name left his lips as they towed him unwillingly up the steps. Then there was silence again.

It was in the silence that a faint sound of breathing gave way to the possibility of life. The sign of life came from the back wall; it was raspy and sounded like a ghost of a possibility to ward off death.

Holding out the sticks of fire, they approached the whisper of life. The glow unveiled the faces of two women side by side, frail and dirty, but alive. Their breathing was rattled with death and their bodies were imbrued with dirt and dried blood, their eyes sunken and their complexions ashen. The chains bound them to life but restrained them from living.

Indignation boiled in Gilmanza's blood as he raised a hatchet and broke the chains that bound them. The heavy iron fell to the ground. Buldar and Monguard picked the two ravished life-forms up and gently carried their frail bodies up the stairs and out of the cell. The bodies bore the marks of harsh and inhumane beatings. They could only speculate at what these women had endured.

As they carried the women out of the vault, light from the overcast sky revealed a discernible face to Sagran, who had been outside pitching a fit to go back inside the dungeon.

_No, it cannot be! This cannot be happening_. "Nadine?" whispered Sagran. In that moment, he suddenly realized that one of these ghastly figures was his beloved wife. He broke loose from Binko and Navi and ran.

"Nadine! Nadine!" he shouted. As they laid her body on the ground, he fell down beside her. With emotions no longer pent-up, he bent over her lifeless body and cried. Dried blood was caked on the side of her mouth, her clothes. The lines on her face looked like valleys, canyons filled with grief. He wanted to embrace her, but he could not; it would cause her too much pain. Although bleeding, dirty, and thin like a skinned green scallion, she was at least alive, just barely.

"I'm so sorry, Nadine!" Tears streamed down him face. He felt a need to explain to her what happened the night of their planned escape. "I didn't mean for things to turn out the way they did. I meant for all three of us to escape. I saw you coming up the hillside to meet us when that guard grabbed you. I wanted to go down there and kill them, but— but I couldn't—for Amase's sake. There were just too many of them. I'm so sorry, Nadine. I should have nevah planned this." Sagran lamented, wailing over his wife.

Friends began to gather around him, neighbors he considered family.

He stroked her head as someone brought water. Sagran dripped tiny droplets onto her lips but she did not respond. Her eyes seemed affixed; she stared, but never blinked. She stared as though frozen in time, her eyes not even bothered by the sun. It was then that they realized that darkness had overtaken her sight; she was blind. What means were used to blind her they did not know.

Just yards away, stood Amase. He cut the chains from the wrist that bound one of his own people; then he surveyed the village. It was then that he saw his father kneeling down beside someone on the ground with the riders and friends hovered around them. He saw his father kneeling beside someone. Then he saw him wipe the tears.

Mothah.

In that moment, he sprinted across the village, pushing desperate villagers to the side. He ran up behind the Circle of Riders, Binko stepped aside. It was only then that Amase got a glimpse of the woman's face that he called mother.

"Mama, Mama!" His heart raced. The riders respectfully stepped aside to let the young man through to the only parents he had ever know. With buckling knees, Amase fell to the ground, joining his father beside her. He held her fragile hand. Her labored breathing turned to a death-rattle.

Kissing her on the cheek, Sagran sobbed, as his beloved wife drew her last breath. Holding his wife tenderly, Sagran regretted that he had even planned the escape to begin with. His face twisted with remorse as he wet the ground with his tears. He had loved her to the end and now his life had changed and was changing. It would never be the same again, with his freedom or without.

"Mama, Mama! Don't die!" Amase wept openly, allowing himself to feel the pain at last. He cried, unable to hold back the tears of his broken heart. He squeezed her hand again, wishing she could hear him say, "I love you," one last time. The words left his lips unconsciously.

He always wondered what would have become of him had they not stumbled upon him. In his heart he knew where he would be: dead. But he also had a gut feeling, perhaps intuition, that them finding him was no accident. It was meant to be, there was a higher purpose.

After many tears, Sagran laid his wife's lifeless body on the ground. He stood up slowly and purposefully. Gripping the hilt of his sword, he extracted it from his sheath and planted it firmly in the ground. "A fireplace is meant for a fire, as hell is meant for a son of hell." New lines formed across his face, lines of anger, revenge. "One who is a conqueror of the poor is like a man who cages a baby gorilla; while it is a simple task that merits little strength, he should watch his back, because when it grows up it will strike back with a deadly blow."

In that moment, Sagran fulminated, plotting revenge. His face was flushed and wrenched with rage as he screamed from the top of his lungs. Tightening his grip on the hilt, he jerked the sword from the ground. Mad as a hornet, he went on the warpath, slaying the sightless heathens as they groped around his village.

He spotted an Awshak warrior wandering aimlessly around in a blind panic. He was swinging his sword wildly as he staggered, hoping to defend himself.

Sagran ran full speed ahead and struck the man's sword. The blade flew out of the man's trembling hands. Snatching the man by his hair, he yelled at him. "See what you have done? Do you see what you've done? We are poor people who wohk the land and mind our own business. You have crushed us all—all for the love of powah! Don't you see?"

Raising his eyes, he noticed another warrior near him. He was swinging his sword just as wildly as the other man. He shoved the second man to the ground and slammed his sword against the blade, knocking it from his hand. He would deal with him later.

Clutching the first warrior by the throat, Sagran yelled, "Of course you don't see. You didn't see when you could see. A heaht as pitch-black as yours nevah sees light, nevah feels remorse, nevah has a conscience of pity toward othahs. I wondah if light evah reaches into hell, or remorse is evah learned in hell." He thrust his sword through the man.

Mouth agape, the man's glossy eyes stared vacantly back with no understanding. He wrapped his hands around the cold sword that had warmed his heart. Losing grip on his sharp blade, the man fell limp to the ground.

Now turning toward the other Awshak, Sagran plunged his sword into his torso. As he gazed into the stony face of the dying man, he had something he wanted to say to him too. "How does it feel to be on the other side? Just remembah one thing: justice! This is justice." Thrusting the man backward, he watched him fall to the ground.

He went on a war path, but only momentarily. His sword drew out the blood of wicked men. Then it was over. He stopped. Now, feeling empty but somehow a little sated, Sagran stood still in a daze.

Amase walked over to him, planted his hand firmly on his father's shoulder. That didn't do much good, did it?"

"No, I guess not."

"They are blind and offer us no threat now. Leave them to their dahkness. There suffering will be greatah that way."

"Come on, Sagran," said Navi, patting him on the shoulder. "Let's go get you some watah, crony."

Gilmanza walked back into the deplorable compartment, glanced around at the leathery corpses. As he turned to leave, the corner of his eye caught a glimpse of the bobble of a head in the shadows of darkness. Approaching the suspected figure, the light revealed a man, sitting down and leaning against a wall where his bonds held him prisoner. He was no longer able to hold up his head. Another head could be seen leaning against him.

Holding up his torch, Gilmanza could see that the other figure appeared to be a young boy with his head against the other's shoulder. It was cold and stiff. He assumed it was likely the corpse of a son leaning on his father. Gilmanza shattered the chains of the older man and carried his lifeless body out and placed him carefully on the ground. Clenching his eyes shut, the man winced at the first sign of light. (Although they tried to nurse him back to life, he too would eventually die, sharing the fate of his beloved son).

Having left Amase with a group of his people, Navi weighed in on a vindictive idea. Observing some Awshaks groping about in their anopsia, revenge stirred within his bones. Rubbing his stubbly face, he ignored his conscience and proceeded with his devilish plan.

Approaching a group of Awshaks, he pretended himself to be an agent of good. "Here, let me help you." Inside, he stirred with what he reclassified as justifiable reprisal. "Follow me and I will lead you to the palace guards' housing." Naively, the ill-discerning warriors began to follow him blindly.

Coaxing them along with a deceptive voice of kindness, Navi led them to the dank and dark cell. "Just follow my voice. Right this way."

Cozbi, Binko, Buldar, and Ozni plaudit the idea and quickly became accomplices.

"What are you doing?" The men protested the moment they smelt the vile stench of death. Forcing the men down, Navi and Cozbi chained their wrists in the barbaric iron contraptions they had designed for the peasant people. "You like chainin' people and lettin' them rot? Let's see how you like it, you sorry fools!"

"Go to hell," replied one of them.

Navi punched the man in the face. "This is hell! But I'm only a visitah. I hope your stay is wohse than those you forced here." Navi didn't feel guilty as he walked out of the cell. The lives they had taken no one could give life back.

"Enjoy your stay," Cozbi echoed. He enjoying taunting them and marveled in the feeling the indisputable power he held over them. He lingered behind for the sheer pleasure of it.

"The accommodation has everything you need. A pail of watah ovah here." He tapped the edge of a metal pail the man was clearly unable to reach. "Toilet conveniently beneath you and a bed right where you sit." He was clearly enjoying his position of superiority over someone for a change.

"You can't leave us here like this. We were only following orders."

Cozbi punched the man for the fun of it. "Well now you can follow my ordahs. Rot in hell." The experience was empowering and Cozbi loved it. Before he left, he gave the man one last swift kick.

The group of riders stood under a tree, discussing how much time they could give to these simple people to help them get reestablished. Navi, Binko, Buldar, Ozni were walking toward them to join them. Navi held the reigns of the invading king's stelleto and Inka and his new found friend followed close behind. In his hand he peered through his orb.

Navi could see in his orb that Skeener had been injured, and that they were held up for a day or so in the Land of the Giants until Skeener was well enough to ride. (It was fortunate that, even though they couldn't speak to one another through their orbs, the wizards could at least see what was happening with each other.) He knew they had some time to play with. Not only because of Skeener's injury; for the riders in the West would be traveling to Viking country, a journey consisting of harsh climate and steep mountains.

They joined the others and decided to stay a few days and help the refugees.

"Why do you have that dumb dragon with you anyway?" Buldar made sure to stay clear of the dangerous creature.

"I can't just leave her. Besides, Inka likes her."

"Well you can't bring it along. There's no one to rider her."

"She doesn't need anyone. She's following Inka wherevah he goes." Navi pulled his half-burned hat out of his pocket and stuck it on his head.

"What happened to your hat, Navi?" Monguard laughed at the burned out remains. Everyone else joined in offering them some much-needed relief of the accumulated tension.

Navi puckered his lips as he took it off again and held it in his hands. "I'm lucky this scamp of a dragon didn't make me a pile of ashes, crony!"

Now getting a whiff of Binko, Gilmanza wrinkled his nose. "What the heck is that smell on you? You smell like something dead." His odor had gone unnoticed because of the horrific smell of the dungeon and the commotion happening around them.

"Navi about got me killed with that stupid dragon." Binko eyeballed Navi.

"Those dragons think you smell good," Buldar said, noticing them following him. "Do you know that if you bathe in vinegah it'll get rid of that odor?"

Binko passed by him then stopped to ask a reasonable question. "And what might I use then to get rid of the smell of vinegah?"

"It'll wear off," Ozni assured him. "Just keep your distance, mate."

"Or one of these dragon's might think he is a giant pickled salamandah, and eat him," laughed Buldar.

The riders had immediately noticed Buldar's hair when he walked back to join them in the dungeon but due to the crisis of the moment, no one had bothered inquiring. Now they had the chance to find out.

"By the way, what the heck happened to your hair, mate?" Ozni asked, roaring with laughter, as the other riders joining in.

"Navi and Bink nearly killed me too with that bloody dragon." The riders made sport of him, teasing him about his giant bald spot.

"That won't wash off like the smell of dead fish," Ozni said laughing. "But in time it'll grow back." He couldn't resist giving his bald head a rub with his knuckles.

As inappropriate as the laughter might have seemed under the conditions of such human suffering, the riders needed a diversion from the grave conditions they had just beheld. Meanwhile, just ahead of them would be days filled with wearisome efforts to restore health, food and dignity back to this simple community that had suffered so wrongfully.

They would offer them all they could in the short time they had.

A Score to Settle

Lachrymose, Sagran's weary body hung over his wife. He held her, wishing he could breathe life back into her mortal body. Laying her limp torso back on the ground, he stood and wiped the tears off his face. He would have to move on. He walked over to where the circle of riders stood. "I want to ride with you, my son and me!"

Gilmanza was quite emphatic. "You're angry, and rightly so, but that does not mean that you should ride with us. We're on a mission from the king. The ridahs of this mission have been chosen." He walked off to deal with other matters, considering the issue closed.

Understanding all too well the pain of losing a wife, Ozni patted him on the shoulder and tried to console him. "My wife died a few years ago." He could still see her in his mind: her long brown wooly hair and brown eyes. "I know it's tough." Sagran just looked at him, but seemed to welcome the support.

Over the next nine days, the riders did what they could to console the grieving, bury the dead, rid the camp of the remaining invading warriors, and help establish some order in the camp. The men of the village who were able assisted the riders in digging graves, giving the deceased a proper burial. Sagran buried his beloved wife under the large ash tree where they had their first kiss years before.

The riders assisted in resurrecting the village. They secured the food left by the Awshaks, burned the dead Awshak warriors, gathered weapons for the village people, and doctored the sick. Ozni and Sagran became good friends, finding a common ground in their losses.

On the tenth day, the riders said goodbye to their new friends.

"May I ask, where are you going and what is this mission?" Sagran was curious.

"We are going to the Land of Shy Kadesh," Gilmanza answered, not wanting to give up too much.

"Shy Kadesh!" exclaimed Sagran. "I didn't think the immortals allowed anyone into their land anymore."

"We have no choice but to try," explained Gilmanza. "If he refuses to see us then we will simply send a message and be on our way."

"I overheahd some of the guards discussing a group of ridahs when I was in the forest hidin'. I assume they meant you. I also heard them say that the Ridahs of Quadar were going to be thick in that area out lookin' for you. You must go North over the Mountain of Piaza and avoid that area altogether."

"We have to meet some friends and fellow riders at the Tomb of Murdorf," explained Gilmanza.

"I can show you a diffant way," Sagran offered. "You will still have to go through the Forest of Mambre, but it is a much smaller forest and the Ridahs of Quadar are not expecting you to go that way. Let me ride with you. Dahvan and I have a little history—I have an old score to settle with him myself."

"We all have a little score to settle with him," said Buldar. "What's yours?"

"Years ago," Sagran began, "when I was just a boy, warriors in cahoots with dahk ridahs took over our village. They ransacked our village and murdahed many of my people. We were reduced to slavery, our feet were shackled and our hands were forced to wohk until they bled.

"The Ridahs of Quadar came to the outskihts of the village where my family was living. Their strategy was to beat us down first and then to offah us a way out. They offahed us hope if we would become one of them. Of course it was a false hope.

"Anyway, I had been workin' in the fields, and was walkin' home when I saw the dahk ridahs. I hid behind a tree and watched as they murdahed my family. My parents said they would die slaves before they would join forces with their evil wohks. The ridah answered, 'Then so it will be. Your wish is granted!' And right there, they murdahed my parents and seven of my siblings in our backyard. But one... one brothah, Nacah, chose to follow the Ridahs of Quadar. From behind that tree, I watched as my brothah rode off with them.

"He was given a black horse like there's and a robe, and he rode off with them. I yelled out, 'No Nacah! Don't do this! Don't go with them!' I know he heahd me, because he looked back and then rode off with them anyway. I know he only joined them out of feah. Several other boys joined too.

"After this, there was much confusion in the village. I saw it as a chance to escape. So I ran away and lived in a cave, just ovah those mountains." He pointed to the mountains rising east of them. "My village then was on the othah side of that mountain." He turned to point to anothah mountain.

"Latah, I began to hunt in various pahts of the area; that's why I know this land so well. I fought wild animals with the sling and bow I made. Then, one day I was wandahin' in the forest, I heahd a girl screamin'. I ran to see what was the mattah. Two men had her, my wife I mean. I killed them and took her back to her family. When they found out I was livin' in the forest, they insisted that I come to their village and live. That is how I ended up here.

"I fell in love with Nadine and latah married her. Her people took me in as one of them. But since I lived in the forest for a season of my life, I know this land very well. I can help you get to where you are goin', without goin' through the Forest of Mirth." He looked at them with hope.

"Have you seen your brothah since then?" asked Buldar.

"Long aftahwahds I saw him in the forest. I was out there huntin', when a single ridah rode up on a black horse; his black-hooded coat clearly identified what he was. I heahd a noise behind me and when I looked up, I caught a glimpse of his face. It had turned partially dahk and looked like it was startin' to rot. But I recognized him. I called out his name, and he stood there for what seemed like a long time just lookin' at me, as if he were tryin' to remembah me. Then he rode off."

Sagran paused for a moment, and then continued, "You know, at one time, my brothah and I were best friends. But a change slowly occurred in him while we were enslaved. He grew angry, and bittah. He would say things about wishin' he had powah to rule. I would remind him that as bad as our plight was, it was still bettah to be the slave than to be the slave driver. At least our heahts weren't black. I encouraged him to believe that it would not always be like this, that one day we would be free. I guess I nevah convinced him.

"Anyway, after that, I vowed that I would fight the powahs of dahkness until my last breath, and I would raise my family accordin' to the values of the immortals. And now—with Nadine gone—I must fight! My brothah was so deceived. The Kingdom of Shy Kadesh is immortal because dahkness has not penetrated its walls or its people. It is the dahkness that has brought destruction, and I have vowed to fight that dahkness."

He turned again to Gilmanza and the rest of the riders. "I want to ride with you—me and my son. I can take you to a cave on the side of the mountain not far from here."

"I know which cave you speak of," said Gilmanza.

"How do you know of it?" asked Sagran.

"He's old... very old," blurted Navi.

Gilmanza raised his eyebrow and narrowed his eyes at Navi.

"How old are you?" Amase asked.

"I have no idea," Gilmanza said. "I've seen hundreds of moons. But I'm still younger than old Windsor!"

"Who's Windsor?" asked Sagran.

"He's a friend of ours. He remembahs the lands when they were immortal."

"You're joking!" Sagran was clearly impressed. "That's thousands of moons ago. I didn't think anyone was still living who knew the land before it lost its immortality—except for the Immortals themselves. But, wait, I have heard legends about a man, a wizahd; but I thought they were just that—legends."

"Well, there are a few legends associated with Windsor, but I assure you that there is plenty of truth to many of them." Gilmanza had made up his mind. "You'll be meeting Windsor soon."

"I will?"

"If you're goin' to ride with us, then you will meet him at the Tomb of Murdorf."

"You mean we can ride with you?" said Sagran, his voice growing excited.

Sagran's story and his genuineness had convinced the old warrior. "Let's ride," he said, tossing each of them a sword.

"So is Windsor a wizahd too?" Amase asked Navi.

"Sure is," Navi said. "Here is a splendid dragon for one and an elegant stelleto cleaned and polished for the othah."

Buldar rolled his eyes. He had a sneaky suspicion that he was going to have to contend with that beast a little longer than he had hoped.

Amase quickly claimed the dragon for himself, having a love for the creatures. "I will call her Zephlin."

Excitement and a sense of purpose energized them. A long awaited feeling of destiny was being freshly stirred up, something that had been branded in their consciences. The daily grind had nearly stripped them of purpose, but now, they saw a flicker of possibility.

Sagran and his son now donned chain-mail they found in the camp. They packed a bedroll apiece, bows and arrows; then, they rode off with the riders. They didn't know what their mission was exactly, but they followed their hearts. Without fully understanding the prophetic background of this group, they became riders of The Circle.

A Night in a Cave

It was nightfall when the riders reached the cave. Beams of light shone through the trees, dappling their faces as they gathered wood for a comforting fire. Inka did the honors of lighting the woodpile at the entrance of the cave. Hungry, the riders fire-roasted a pheasant and a turkey they had bagged along the way.

"So you lived in this cave?" Ozni wanted to strike up further conversation with his new friend, Sagran.

"Yes! Yes I did. This cave goes back real far into rocky mountains. I don't think I evah explored it all." He shared some stories of his experiences from long ago and talked much about his late wife. It was obvious that he adored her.

The riders became more acquainted with Sagran and Amase, soon embracing them as friends, as well as fellow riders. By the time they had devoured their supper they had also put aside their reservation about inviting them onto their team. They found them likeable and genuine.

Intuitive vibrations still stirred within Navi. _Those eyes. There was something about them; something about him._ He knew the two of them belonged with them. He just didn't know why. Yet.

After much talking and more eating, they all grew tired and slowly drifted off to sleep.

Sagran stood outside, peering into the obscurity of the woodland. The thick fog covering the ground made it difficult to see in the breaking dawn of the morning. Out of the mist, a sketchy form, an indiscernible figure, appeared over the hills, riding swiftly towards him. A shiny steel sword above the rider's head came into view as he rapidly approached. Galloping on a black horse, the cape of the dark rider grappled in the wind.

Now he could tell that it was a dark knight, a Quadarist bent on evil.

Sagran drew his sword. Both of his hands gripped the hilt with a mixture of confidence and fear. The heavy breathing of the dark rider and the sound of the horse's hooves were the only discernible noises. But all Sagran could hear was his own heart pounding.

The dark rider looked as though he were hell bent on running him over. Suddenly, when he was right on top of him, he stopped, bringing his mount to a standstill directly in front of Sagran.

Eye-to-eye they stared each other down. Sagran repositioned his sweaty hands, anticipating his next move; he expecting a fight. As he studied this dark rider, he noted the eyes, so familiar. At first sight, the dark rider looked like every other dark rider: he was dark, decaying, and direful, capable of putting the fear of God in any soul. Sagran felt his blood run cold. But those eyes he had seen before.

Then it occurred to him.

" _Nacah, is that you?" he asked, scrutinizing the dark figure. He lowered his sword. "It's me, Sagran, your brothah. You can come back now. You don't have to stay on the side of the dahk ridahs. You can come home and get a fresh staht."_

The dark rider lowered his sword. They silently fixed their eyes upon each other. Recollection stirred up memories, brother to brother, times of youth, years of bonding. Just when Sagran thought his brother was coming back to him, the dark rider raised his sword high above his head, and nudged his horse into a full run. Before he knew what was happening, the rider's piercing blade penetrated his neck and his blood spilled onto the ground.

"Hhhgguuuu!" Sagran gasped to breathe as he sat up. He clutched his hands around his neck expecting to feel blood, surprised that his head was still attached. He realized it was only a dream, a nightmare that haunted him from time to time. He wiped away the sweat that had formed on his forehead leaving a clammy feeling. Pondering the dream and wondered if his brother was capable of killing him. Next, he wondered if his brother was capable of leaving the evil. _Would he know me if he saw me?_ _Perhaps_ , Sagran thought.

The sound of a rustling within the cave broke his meditation. He rose and looked around, but everything fell quiet. Lying back down, he fell back into a restless sleep.

From the back of the cave, a gurgling grunt rumbled in the darkness as it moved toward the mouth of the den. The closed in walls amplified the growl making it sound like a monster. Somnolent, Sagran awoke again.

Sitting up and looking around in a state of confusion and sleepiness, he stared into the black hole of the cave. Then he heard the definitive and intimidating growl.

"Wake up! Somethin's in here!" He excitedly and abruptly shook those who slept near him.

_What? Am I dreaming?_ Navi wondered what was happening as a hand jolted his body. He sat up instinctive with his sword raised. Most of the riders awoke instinctively from their somnolence in similar fashion: sword or dagger in hand ready to fight.

The light of the moon gave way to four beady eyes approaching them in the darkness of the cave.

_Derves? Nomeds?_ The eyes didn't look like those creatures. Grabbing their swords, they jumped to their feet, and then slowly backed their way out of the cave, their swords held out in front of them for protection. As they backed into the spacious outdoors, the rays of the moonlight glimmered upon the mouth of the cave, and two large black bears strolled toward them.

"Run!" Navi said in a screeching whisper, his vocal cords frozen with fear. The Circle of Riders hurried to their beasts and sloppily mounted them. "What about our bedrolls and things?" Amase asked.

"Well if you want to fight the beahs for your bedroll, you go right ahead, crony. As for me, I don't want it that bad!"

The whole crew waited at a safe distance for the bears to leave the cave. Finally, the bears strolled away from the cave, likely their choice for hiding away in the imminent winter.

"Come on," Amase said, tugging on Navi's arm.

"Well, run along!" Navi shewed the boy away. "I'll stand guard and watch and make sure those bears don't come back."

"You're a wizahd, and you're scared?"

"I'm not scared," Navi replied, almost too quickly. "I just thought it would be bettah if I stood guard for you— and watched for those beahs."

"Like I said, you're scared."

"Am not!"

"Then prove it by goin' down there," challenged Amase.

"I don't have to prove anything."

Amase grabbed Navi by his shirt and tugged at it, as he trod down the embankment toward the cave, pulling Navi along with him. "You don't have to pull on my shiht, scamp."

When the Circle of Riders reached the cave again, they quickly rolled up their bedrolls and gathered their belongings. As they were putting the last of their belongings onto their mounts, a roar was heard from behind them.

They were back.

Looking over their shoulders they saw a large bear, standing on its hind legs beneath the rays of the moon, offering up a contentious growl. It looked as though it was ready to try to defend its territory, or at least put fear in them.

"Time to go," said Navi, rushing to mount Inka. The others leapt onto their beasts and all rode swiftly away, wasting no time.

Their only source of light for the next while was Navi's orb until the break of dawn. They rode free from opposition, reaching the Forest of Mambre in the mid afternoon. Northern winds brought in a chill but their jackets sufficed to break the wind.

It was as they broke through the mid-way point of the second mountain that they ran into a problem. Just up ahead, the shadowy figures of a band of dark riders crested the hill; it was a small group but opposition was imminent.

The dark riders heeled their horses and sprang into action eager to shed blood. With their swords drawn, the Circle of Riders dug their heels into their mounts, not slowing down to reconsider or count the consequences. Even though they were outnumbered four to one, they converged to fight.

With pugnacity, the Circle of Riders crossed blades with the dark riders, the sound of combat testifying to the harsh reality of the makings of further conflict as foretold by the ancient prophets. The sharp blade swung close to Monguard, but with expertise, he sprang off the side of a tree and onto the horse of a dark rider, plunging his dagger through his tender skin. Once his feet hit the ground, he sprang like a lion onto another dark rider. Ducking first to miss the edge of his blade, he rammed his dagger into his abdomen.

Amase and Sagran proved to be assets demonstrating proficiency with their blades. They carried their load, bringing a swift end to the threat before them. They proved to have a keen eye as well as a swift hand, able to assess the battlefield, both their allies and enemies, and fight at the same time. They were naturals.

The dark riders were quickly being reduced to size, but the battle wasn't over yet. Cozbi and a dark rider ran side by side through the forest, their blades swinging as they rode through the pathless terrain, both dodging the trees while fighting. As Cozbi moved in for the kill, his horse tripped over an upturned root and he toppled over the head of his horse. When he hit the ground, his sword fell from his hand and tumbled down an embankment, far out of his reach.

His weapon was lost and he lay vulnerable.

Stunned by the fall, he sat up scanning the area for his sword. He spotted it far out of reach down between the rocks. Then, he saw out of the corner of his eye the blurry outline of the dark rider. His horse pranced directly in front of him coming into full view, ego spilling over. Cozbi looked at his sword and back at the rider. He braced himself, knowing full well that this was it: he was about to die!

He feared death.

Deep black unfeeling eyes stared into his fearful eyes, reading him. It seemed as though they were staring into his soul. _Death. This is it. Let it be quick._ Cozbi felt as though his heart was going to leap out of his chest. He covered his head and sank meekly to the ground, anticipating the biting chill of death. After an eternal moment, he raised his head and gazed into the shocking eyes of the dark rider once again, only closer. The face was black, with decaying flesh hanging from its skeletal structure. Even his lips had withered. The rider's stare communicated as clearly as words. Their eyes remained locked, and they seemed to understand one another somehow without a single word being spoken. Then, nodding his head, the rider paused. Cozbi nodded his own head, agreeing to the terms. The rider turned and galloped away. Cozbi's life was spared.

His life had flashed before him, but now he had it back.

Frozen in fear, Cozbi remained motionless for what seemed like forever, in reality, only moments. It felt as though everything had come to a standstill except for his racing heart. The silence was only broken by the sound of Gilmanza calling out his name. "Cozbi! Cozbi!" The sound of his name brought him back to reality, back into the land of the living. He quickly slid down the embankment, got his sword, climbed back up, and boarded his horse that had faithfully strolled over to him and rode out to meet him. He remained mum about what had transpired in the forest; yet his pale face and peculiar mannerism told on him.

"You okay?" Gilmanza asked.

"Yeah!"

"Are you sure?" Gilmanza continued prodding him. He could read the fear in his eyes and the chill in his voice. "You look like you've seen a ghost!"

"I'm fine," said Cozbi, his tone less than convincing. Riding out, they now met the others, who also sensed something was wrong with their comrade.

"What's wrong?" Navi inquired.

"Nothin's wrong!" snapped Cozbi, edgy and irritable. Shaken by the encounter, Cozbi rode silently, meditating on what he had happened and glad to still have his head.

Over the Snowy Mountains

"I can r-ride—s-s-slowly, b-but I can r-ride!" Skeener was insistent, despite having had only a couple days of recuperation. While Gilmanza's group was just getting started helping Sagran's village, Windsor's crew had decided to pack their belongings and head out.

"All right, but we will have to ride slow," insisted Windsor, weary of battling Skeener's nagging persistence. "Nadora, can Skeener ride Orpah? That way, if we have any trouble, he can fly out of the battle."

"That will be fine."

"I'm n-not g-gonna ride that d-dragon." Skeener protested.

"Why not?" asked Windsor.

"C-cause I want to ride my own horse!"

"There is nothing to be scared of, Skeener." Nadora moved the creature closer, and finally convinced the nearly trembling man to pet Orpah. From there, it was a short process to get him up and atop the back of the beast. Skeener held in the moans that wanted to involuntarily belch out of his mouth from the pain he felt. Instead, he twisted his face in all sorts of contortions trying to hold on to his manhood. She thought it was her persuasive skills that convinced him, but it had more to do with Skeener's desire to escape the awkwardness he still felt around her that made him shut up and shimmy up onto the dragon.

Gilgore legged it, no beast being large enough for the massive body of the giant.

Knowing the journey was a trek of many days through a harsh wintery climate, the riders loaded Skeener's horse with extra supplies. The ones loading up the horse never considered what Nadora was going to ride. Nuvatian saw the opportunity and jumped at it. "You can ride with me." He was eager and most glad to volunteer.

_Body, legs—wrapped around me, loose hair_ , it all sounded great to Nuvatian. He prayed, _"God help me!"_

Nadora mounted Valor and wrapped her arms around Nuvatian's waist. Her hair tumbled over his shoulder when she leapt aboard. Nuvatian wanted to grab her by that unmanageable mess of a mane and lock lips with her. But he resisted. He had never felt such a tempting pull from a woman.

Nadora compressed her arms around him tighter than called for. She wanted to feel every muscle, every move he made. She resisted nestling her head into his flowing hair, although she wanted to. But she grabbed hold of her thoughts and reminded herself that a man was not in her plans; she would never marry.

The eight rode north across the green valley and into the needle leaf hills. After a couple of days of riding, they could see beyond the horizon the snowcapped mountains. They looked like gigantic crystals made by the gods.

The air grew cooler as they ascended into a world of glistening wonder. The riders stopped to pull out their warmer clothing and bundled themselves in furs and wools. They were still freezing, but they plowed through. As evening approached, colder air descended rapidly upon them, nearly taking their breath away. Now, Nadora gave in to her desires, pressing her head into his hair as she tried to shelter her face from the cold. It served as a good excuse. He smelt like a man, the way a man ought to smell: rough, rugged, and worn.

If it weren't for that wooly scarf, Nuvatian could have felt her breath on his neck. As much as he would have liked that, he was glad for the chastity fleece. He had standards and he had to remind himself of them often.

At night they stopped to rest, making camp along the banks of a rushing river. Making spears out of wood they dug out from the snow, they caught some fish and prepared them. The fire was cozy so they nestled close to the warming flames.

Vandorf pulled out his sword and began to methodically sharpen the blade, next he wiped down his boots and gear and cleaned out his mounts hoofs. Everything had to be in order or it would drive him nuts.

Fleece sharpened his sword too, but only because he had nothing else to do. Vandorf's quirky ways had not yet rubbed off on the man. Not that his mentor didn't try.

As they sat around the crackling fire, Nadora noticed Skeener was holding his chest, and that his complexion was pale and sickly.

"Skeener, are you all right?"

"I'll be fine," Skeener assured her, his words incongruous with the sound of his voice.

Leaning toward him, she noticed beads of sweat pooling up on his forehead.

Nadora walked over and sat down beside him. "You don't look so good." Fetching her bag of supplies, she convinced Skeener to let her look at the wound. He gritted his teeth together as she slowly pulled off the rag tied around his torn flesh.

"I know you don't like me, but you must trust me with this. You must let me treat this and stitch it."

"Who s-s-said I d-didn't l-l-like you?" His voice quivered with pain as he spoke, making his natural stutter even more prominent.

"Well, no one had to tell me. It's rather obvious."

"I l-l-ike you v-v-very m-much," he gasped and stammered all at once. "I j-just don't und-der-s-stand why a w-woman wants to f-fight like a m-man!"

"Ooouuch!" He squealed, as she poked around at the wound.

Nadora's voice was calm and cool. "It's not because I want to fight. I have an obligation to my country as a leader. I fight for my country, and for the citizens of my country. I fight the enemy to make the world a bettah place, so that people will have freedom and not live under tyranny. That is the only reason I fight. I fight for the same reason you fight."

"Well, I c-can't a-argue with w-what you s-say. You s-saved my l-life. But to t-tell you the t-truth I am so ash-shamed of what I d-did and s-said the othah n-night when I had a l-little too m-much to d-drink." Skeener humbly lowered his head. Humiliation bled into his eyes.

Nadora was astonished. "You mean you're acting like this because you told a woman she was attractive?"

"No. Y-you kn-now w-why." Skeener was still working with false information.

"No, please explain." Nadora was determined to fish out of him what his deal was with her. "What exactly do you mean?"

"I am s-so emb-barrassed for t-taking off my c-clothes and r-running around n-naked," whispered Skeener, blushing with shame. "I h-hope you can f-forgive me."

"What?" Nadora squealed; her voice rose. "Who told you that you ran around naked?"

"I didn't?" The realization removed the stutter for a moment.

"No, you didn't," she laughed.

He sighed with relief, some of his self-respect finding redemption. "When I see N-navi again, I'm g-gonna w-whip him."

The riders burst into laughter when they heard Nadora belt out Skeener's words. He was trying to be discrete about it but Navi's practical joke had already run through the grapevine. Everyone knew about the lie except for Skeener, Nadora and the new additions to the group after they picked up Skeener. But when they learned of the joke, they laughed just as hard.

Now, Nadora could observe the wound with a lot less tension. It was red and oozing around the edges.

Pulling something from her bag, she began to apply a series of concoctions. She applied a tree-sap oil derived from the Frijias Tree found only in the Land of Shy Kadesh; then there was a healing herb known as rabdinzna, which she mixed with crushed mambrogin tree root. It too came from the Land of the Immortals. The ointment stung as Nadora applied it to the infected wound. Finally, she wrapped it in strips of clean linen, moistened with a combination of rum and healing herbs. "In the morning," she advised him, "I will clean your wound and reapply the herbs. Then I will stitch it."

Gritting his teeth in pain, Skeener thanked her.

"Let me guess, gifts from the Immortal King?" Nuvatian observed the herbs she was working with.

"Yes, as a mattah a fact they are. They gave my father several herbs along with other things when I was born."

The riders ate the flaking fish they had cooked, drew close to the fire and began to drift off to sleep. Only Nuvatian and Nadora were still awake; Nuvation wrestling with his demon of lust, Nadora with her astute vow she made to maidenhood and politics.

Nadora sat down on her bedroll which lay next to Nuvatian's. (He had thrown his bedroll beside hers just to be near her. But she didn't mind, she just wasn't as good with men as she was with weapons).

"I had no idea that you knew so much about the healing herbs."

"Well, any knowledge I have must be credited to my grandfathah who studied herbs and their healing abilities. He showed me many herbs and their healing benefits."

"I can see that you have taken aftah him." Nuvatian spoke softly. He observed her face, sharp lines, high cheekbones, smooth complexion. He wanted to reach out and touch her, hold her, kiss her. "You are no less a remarkable woman as he was a remarkable man." He gazed into her eyes, attempting to make a connection with her. _And those lips. Those perfectly shaped lips._

"Remarkable?" she replied, deflecting the compliment. "I'm not so sure of that. Privileged? Indeed. I was born into a privileged family, unlike so many poor souls in this world and I try to do good things with that privilege _." God, he is a magnificent creature,_ she thought. That wavy hair and muscle bound body had her hormones turning; but, she was a strong woman, she could resist. Celibacy had never been a questionable decision for her. If she wanted a man he would be her choice, but she didn't want one. She reminded herself of this.

"Why are you riding out here...?" Nuvatian persisted. "Like Skeener said, why does a woman want to fight when she can live a comfortable life? This is not expected of you."

"My privileged birth has given me the best education, as well as anything I want in life. I have tried to use my privileged position to gain skills that will be beneficial to people, especially those who are hurting. My grandfathah used to tell me: Princess—that is what he used to call me—Princess, your beauty will fade, as also will your possessions. But how you treat othas will never fade, it will be engraved in time, forevah to be remembahed. You are privileged and though you can use your time to fancy yourself, I suggest, my princess that you use your time instead to gain skills that will bettah the citizens of our kingdom. He used to say (she lowered her voice to imitate a man's): You can be a palace princess or a peoples' princess. Of course he always encouraged me toward the noblah of the two.

"I know that women are built differently than men," she concluded. "We are naturally not as strong." She used the opportunity to touch his biceps. They felt as strong and secure as she imagine. She couldn't help but wonder what they would feel like embracing her. When she used her imagination, she had a pretty good idea. "I know this is not for every woman, but this... this is my destiny! Being a warrior does not make me less of a woman; but being a princess makes me more responsible for the future of the next generation."

Stunned by her response, Nuvatian looked into her eyes. "You are as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside." He saw that this woman had substance. There was something deeper to her than most women he had met.

Nuvatian gently stroked his hand along the side of her face, caressingly. Nadora felt all of her strength leave her. She felt weakened by the warm touch of his hand and the strength of the arm that came to rest on her shoulder. She suddenly became aware that her heart was pounding with every whisper of his skin against hers. She didn't like feeling weak or out of control. Awkwardness set in. She felt the need to gain control of her emotions.

Just then, Skeener moaned in pain. She saw a way of escape. Pulling her head back, she patted him on the shoulder, then leapt to her feet and pretended to be mindful of Skeener, knowing full well that there was little else that she could do for him. He had to ride out the pain.

She liked Nuvatian but she was uncomfortable with romance. As a king's daughter, her life had been so guarded in some respects, boys was foremost at the top of the list of things she was guarded against. Swords, arrows, and wild horses she was accustomed to, but men she was clueless about.

Nuvatian was no dummy; he knew she was bailing on him. Skeener didn't need her. Tired and frustrated, he lay down and pulled his blanket over his head. Beneath his breath, Nuvatian murmured a complaint against her and sighed. Next time I'm just going to grab that wild hair of hers and kiss her, he reasoned.

Not everyone was asleep as the two suspected. Windsor, who was camping near Nuvatian, had heard what transpired between them. With his own head tucked under the covers, he grinned and chuckled quietly, bemused by Nadora's unyielding ways, and her self-control.

The sun rose the next morning, but it offered little comfort from the frigid air. Rising early, Nadora cleaned Skeener's wound and reapplied the healing herbs. Then, she put some stitches in to help promote healing and prevent further damage. They bagged their belongings and made ready to ride. She helped him up onto Orpah and the riders rode north into the mountainous regions.

Once again, Nadora rode behind Nuvatian, her arms wrapped around his waist. Their near-kiss the night before was not spoken of. The energy, however, was felt by both of them.

The morning sun glistened on the blanket of snow that buried this polar region. Streams of light danced magically across the slithers of crystallized diamonds, but it didn't bring a hint of warmth. The cold was nipping at their toes, impenitent at his merciless ways. A steady stream of snow began to shower down on them, making them one with the masterpiece.

They scaled the monoliths dressed as a majestic cathedral of ice and snow. As they ascended the white-mountains, the snow became deeper and the temperatures grew much colder. Icicles hung from the snow-covered trees like pellucid jewels, pearls dangling from a goddess, and ridges formed in the spires of rocks looking much like crystallized works of artistic breathtaking wonder, such that they might cause even deity to stand in awe. The howling wind took their breath away as it blew forcefully, snow blinding them all. Trekking up the mountains, their mounts instinctively placed their feet on the snowy ground, though unable to see where they were going.

Nadora buried her head into Nuvatian's back, seeking shelter from the harsh wind. She wished she were in warmer climate but she reminded herself that suffering for the kingdom was worth it. Her role as leader required sacrifices and she was determined to be the best and most effective leader possible. For the kingdom; for the people, she told herself.

By the fifth day traveling, they had ascended high into a celestial sphere clothed in limpid diamonds. Evergreen needle leaf trees covered the mountains but not a speck of green could be seen. It was a canopy of white. The landscape was rich with elegance, like a sanctum where the gods might congregate. Their ride was slow and the terrain was rough as the snow continued to heap upon them. Snow blinded, they went on instinct, trusting Windsor to keep them on course. Their fingers were now thoroughly numb, so were their toes and noses, their faces chapped by the winds.

Fleece fumbled with his lucky medallion, checking it to make sure they were going in the right direction. He didn't want to get lost in this frozen tundra. According to his coin, they were on course. He was relieved.

"I'm freezing," Nadora said to Nuvatian, her arms wrapped tightly around his waist and her head hunkered down behind him, shielding herself from the wind. She had grown rather comfortable with her arms around him, and within the secret places of her heart she was fully enjoying the closeness they had forged, but she refused to admit it.

Vikings

After eleven days enduring the biting frosty elements, hope arose as the riders approached the summit of the mountain. The view was magnificent, a marvelous work of art. Over the cliff lay the lucid icescapes of the fjords, the glassy blue ocean gelid with glaciers. The fjords opened up into the icy sea, visible from where they stood. The noble glaciers rose out of the ocean, their ice caps reaching into the heavens. Mountains of sculpted ice, slick and shiny like glass, shimmered with hues of blue.

The riders didn't get in a hurry, they took it all in. The awe-inspiring view made them almost forget that they were freezing. They were thankful that the snow had let up, wasn't blinding now.

Peeping out of their furs and wraps, the riders gazed at the frozen tundra spellbound by its spectacular beauty. The snow covered mountains that lay across the vast ocean bay were crispy white in the arching sky. At the cliffs edge, the mountain plummeted below; it was a straight drop into the icy waters of the great blue yonder.

Riding their mounts across the crystallized mountain peak, the riders could see smoke arising in the milky atmosphere; it was smoke ascending from the chimneys of the Vikings. The riders were relieved that the village was in sight.

At first sight, the village looked empty, all inhabitants tucked away inside their cozy homes trying to escape the biting cold of the harsh winter typical of this region. Then they heard voices, deep and rough. They guided their beasts in the direction of the booming voices in the midst of the trees. Finally, they spotted a cluster of men dressed like Eskimos cutting down a tree. Among them were the brothers they had come looking for: Zilgar and Zorgar. Windsor recognized them because they were the only two that didn't have hats on and their wild hair set them apart from the others.

The Vikings stared at the strange arrivals, curious at who would be coming into the village during the onset of winter. The trek up the mountains was an event in and of itself, but in a blizzard, it was quite an accomplishment. They immediately noticed that a wooly covered giant was among them. It was not until the riders were nearly upon them and Windsor spoke that the Vikings realized they knew at least one of them.

"Well, smoke a haystack!"

"Would you look at what the snow has blown in?" said Zorgar, going over to greet them.

"What brings you moth-eaten' villains our way?" asked Zorgar, shaking the snow from his long and scraggly hair.

"Oh! Uhhh... Sorry, mam, I didn't see you back there!" Zorgar noticed the pretty girl when she leapt off her mount. She was nestled in so tight that she looked as one with Nuvation hunkered down behind him.

He was curious about the girl so he leaning toward Windsor to inquire, seeking to be discreet "Whatcha got a fair lady like that ridin' with ya for?" He smiled, showing his brown stained teeth and absence of one or two on the right.

"This is Princess Nadora."

"Princess! My pleasure, mam." The two brothers spoke at once, bowing their heads to show respect.

"Pleased to meet you too, but you can leave off that princess stuff." She prided herself in shunning her position, always seeking to be approachable and reputed as down to earth, level eyed with her people.

Zilgar couldn't help but notice that Skeener was moving slower than normal as he tried to slide off the dragon. "What's that mattah with you there, mate? You don't look so good."

As Nimri and Fleece helped Skeener down from his mount, Nadora filled him in. "He took a cut to his chest. It looks good. He's probably just stiff from the ride more than anything. Is there somewhere warm where he can rest? "

"A cut to the chest! What happened, Skeener?" asked Zilgar. Concerned, he walked over beside him.

"R-ran into s-some R-ridahs of Q-quadar," Skeener whispered between clenched teeth. He quickly placed his finger over his mouth to caution him to keep quiet and not disclose the information to their Viking buddies who were now approaching.

"Ridahs of Quadar!" Zilgar couldn't help repeating the words, but he did so at a whisper.

"Shhh."

Nadora had some whispering of her own to do. "What's up with their hair?"

"They're bald," Nuvatian said hushed. "They hated being bald; so, they cut the hair off of a mammoth and made themselves hair. Zilgar corded the fur and had it sewed into his scalp—that's why his hair looks different from Zorgar's. Zorgar just left his shaggy and had it sewed in like that. They're wild-looking, but they are fine men, and great fightahs."

"They're wild lookin' alright."

"Yaw look terrible! My old hound dog looks better. Heck, Zilgar almost looks as good as yaw do, and he looks about as ugly as can be." Zorgar thought his wise crack was funny but Zilgar thought otherwise. Throwing his brother a friendly punch in the shoulder, Zilgar tossed out a few insulting words of his own. Zorgar punched him back.

"Yaw come on to the house," Zorgar said. "We'll finish discussing this there. Man, yaw are just plain mangy-lookin'."

"Mangy? He hasn't looked at himself lately, has he?" whispered Nadora, taking Valor's reigns from Nuvatian.

Vandorf shook off the snow that had accumulated on his boots. "I can't wait to get out of these wet clothes and get cleaned up."

Zilgar and Zorgar led the way walking beside Windsor and Nuvatian. Since Nadora had dropped back with Skeener, the two brothers had the opportunity to ask some questions of their own. Zilgar shot first. "Mate, what's the girl comin' for? "

"And what is she carrying that sword for?" Zorgar added. "It's biggah than she is!"

"She is the best archah in the kingdom," Windsor patiently explained. "And that sword she knows how to swing. Not bad for a gihl eithah."

"She has proved herself and has earned our respect," added Nuvatian rather icy.

"Ah, kind of sensitive about the gihl, I see." Zorgar looked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. "A man can see why. She's a looker."

Since Zorgar lived alone, they went to his house so they could discuss their purpose for riding without the curious ears of others. He pushed open the heavy cedar door to his log house and welcomed his unexpected guest.

The house was a mess. An old ragged-tooth saw sat in the middle of the mud-stained floor, and three shabby chairs were strewed around the den. Nadora sat down in a hard chair trying to not show her repulsion.

"This place looks like a pigsty!" Vandorf said, not caring if he offended Zorgar.

Gilgore followed, hunkering down, turning sideways to get through the door of Zorgar's house. Once in, he nearly took up the entirety of one room by stretching out across the floor.

"Well, there's othah rooms." Zorgar stepped over Gilgore's large leg.

Having found a place for Skeener to lie down, Nadora prepared a warm herbal healing drink with mambrogin root and mulled rum, rum she borrowed from the Vikings. She held it to his lips as he sipped it down, grimacing at the combination of flavors.

The riders slowly thawed as they sat close to the fire. Weary from their long journey over such daunting landscape and harsh climate, they settled back to relax. It was good to be in the warmth of a house, even if it was a dirty one.

Vandorf was insistent about getting the accumulated dirt off his aching body.

"So, where can I get cleaned up?" Vandorf inquired as he shook the remainder of the snow from his ponytail.

"Rivah's frozen," Zorgar explained. "It's impossible to get watah right now for bathin'. We barely have enough for drinkin' to get us through the wintah."

"For the love of God!" Vandorf exclaimed. "Your rivah is always frozen! You mean to tell me that I can't wash off? No wondah you people always smell." He thought he had whispered the last statement, but all could hear it.

Pulling his coat around him, he paraded across the room, grabbed a bucket sitting by the door, and stepped outside onto the slippery porch and scooped up a bucket of snow from the yard. Setting it beside the fire, he watched as it slowly turned to a little puddle of warm water. He added buckets of snow until he had accumulated a sufficient amount of water to wash off with.

As he now began to strip down to his drawers, Nadora, growing increasingly embarrassed, got up and swiftly walked to another room. Grabbing a rag and some lye soap, Vandorf scrubbed down, not leaving a spot unwashed. He even gave his head a dip. When the water got dirty, he persuaded others to retrieve more snow. In all, he changed the water four times. Afterwards, he cleaned all of his gear, not leaving a trace of dirt.

Now that he and all his gear were clean, he felt better.

"You're the cleanest Earthdwellah I've evah met." Zorgar said, fetching the last pail of snow for him.

"Well, just because I live in the earth doesn't mean I want to carry it around with me. You should try to wash some of that stuff off you sometime!" Zorgar stepped outside to get more wood for the dying fire. "The mammoth you borrowed that hair from might appreciate it if you kept it a little bettah. God only knows what's crawling round in there." The Viking didn't hear Vandorf's last statement. Good thing too. That might have been fighting words for Zorgar. The man is sensitive about his hair.

Stepping outside onto the sheet of ice, Zorgar slipped and almost fell. He caught himself by grabbing the wobbly porch railing. The sight of his near-fall produced a much-needed laugh for the riders. Now recalling the ancient prophecy, Windsor gave careful consideration to their selection of riders. He hoped they had made a wise selection.

When Zorgar returned with the wood, Windsor wasted no time in getting to the point. "It's the Sword of Dahvan. It has been found at Shilly Shally Ford," opening the scroll to explain the roads significance. Will you two ride?"

"Of course we'll ride." Zorgar was still holding a hand full of wood. "Where are we off to?" asked Zilgar.

"Shy Kadesh," answered Windsor carefully, as though he were expecting the usual objection.

"Sky Kadesh," Gilgore echoed. In the same breath Zilgar and Zorgar exclaimed the same thing: "You didn't say we were goin' to Shy Kadesh."

"You didn't ask." Windsor carefully drew a long puff from his pipe and sat back relaxed.

"Can we get into the Immortal Kingdom?" Zorgar took a seat opposite the fire, the closest ones already occupied.

"We may be exiles," said Windsor. "But I am certain he will hear us."

Sleep came swiftly for everyone except for Windsor. Nervous vibrations kept him awake. Because he bore the brunt of the responsibility of their selection for the riders, he sat up going over in his mind each person chosen for the team.

The Tomb of Murdorf

It was twilight when the riders in the east reached the Tomb of Murdorf. The twisted face of a man stricken with terror was carved in stone, his hands stretched out in a futile attempt to defend himself. The statue stood erect upon the Hill of Descent. Darkness quickly fell upon the hill and the clouds wrapped around the full moon like a snug coat. A billow of haze rolled across the sky, snuffing out the twinkling of the stars. It was pitch-dark.

Navi held the torch in front of the statue. Flames danced in the lines of anxiety that etched his face. You could see the dread of death in Murdorf's eyes.

"This is where it all began," Navi said, looking up at the statue.

"This is where what all began?" asked Amase. The older riders proceeded to tell the tale, each adding their own set of details.

Navi began. "This is where the Swohd of Dahvan was deceptively given to an immortal king by Dahvan."

"Dahvan was once a dignitary in the Kingdom of Shy Kadesh," Gilmanza explained. "He was a trusted official and friend of King Justiz. Aftah yeahs of servin' second in rank, Dahvan became hungry for powah and attempted to assassinate King Justiz. He made a swohd, the first evah crafted. "

"How could he assassinate the king, when the king was immortal" asked Cozbi. He was aware of some of the story, but not all the fine points.

Navi jumped in. "Ahh! The quest for powah defies all logic. Its appetite for control, powah and fame seeks only personal satisfaction. The thirst for powah surpasses all reason."

Cozbi wondered if there was more to the story. _Why would he try to kill the Immortal King if it couldn't be done? Perhaps it could be done and that was what the king feared?_ Cozbi wasn't sure but he kept his thoughts to himself, turning them over in his head.

"Dahvan's quest for powah knew no logic," Gilmanza continued. "He tried to seize the throne, but of course King Justiz discovahed his plot—though not before he had deceived a small numbah of othahs with his trickery and deceit, winnin' their favor through flattery and a show of self-importance. The king brought everyone involved in the mattah to swift judgment, castin' them out of the Kingdom of Shy Kadesh. He then placed a curse on his swohd."
Navi butted in to repeat the curse as told by tradition.

Cursed be Dahvan,

And his sword.

For he sought powah,

Above his lord.

Cuhsed be the Sword of Dahvan,

That rose up to kill.

May all who accept it,

Gain a corrupt will.

Their people will die,

And lose their immortality.

They will degenerate,

And decline in morality.

May their bodies, souls, and spirits,

Become empty and bare.

Unable to find rest,

Trapped in despair.

From generation to generation,

Their sin innate.

Their likeness only,

Can they propagate.

But Dahvan himself,

Will nevah perish.

Because the love of powah,

Was what his heart relished.

Trapped between life and death,

In appearance you will be defaced.

Unable to rule,

You will be a disgrace.

This sword in your heaht

Driven by an immortal king who is upright

You will then be destroyed,

And death will become your plight.

Navi took up the story now himself. "Angry at those who had betrayed him, King Justiz put a cuhse on all of those who fell into cahoots with Dahvan. I bet those bloody little cursed derves and nomeds sure do regret teamin' up with Dahvan. They have been small and ugly ever since. Kind of like Monguard here." Navi laughed and elbowed his friend.

"Watch it," said Monguard, poking Navi with the end of an arrow he was fumbling with in the dirt. He put down the arrow and reached for his knife and a piece of wood to work. The story was turning his creative juices.

Gilmanza ignored them, and stepped in now to finish the tale. "For many yeahs Dahvan tried to deceive someone into taking the Sword of Powah, that he might propagate his evil." Finally, the dark one convinced a young king named Tepshar-Cevor, whom they called Temp, to take the sword. Tepshar was a weak man. Dahvan lied to him. He told him his brother, Murdorf, was seeking to take his throne, and that the sword would make him more powerful. With this sword, he said, Tepshar could not be defeated, but would hold all powah to rule the world. Tepshar took up the sword, unaware of the powahs it possessed. When he took it with wicked intent and acted upon that wickedness, it caused everyone within his kingdom to lose their conditions of immortality. Soon, the sword had possessed Tepshar's very heaht. He sought to destroy the brothah he now despised.

"One day, he brought a new horse out and insisted that his brothah Murdorf go ridin' with him. The horse was a rare beauty, which made it impossible for Murdorf to turn him down. While they were out in the fields ridin', Tepshar ran the Sword of Dahvan through his brother. Murdorf became the fihst person to evah die. And that single act caused every immortal man in his kingdom to become mortal.

"The evil of the Sword of Dahvan was now alive and well among the inhabitants of humanity, and many there were who sought aftah its spellbinding powah. Tepshar, the willing possessah of the sword, was now possessed by the sword and became Dahvan's puppet-king. He began to rule ruthlessly, becoming a tyrant with delusions of deity, demanding the allegiance and worship of the people. Men were forced into slavery and exploited for his personal, political, and financial success." Gilmanza had pretty much talked himself hoarse and glanced around the room for another voice.

Buldar took up the tale, eager to share more intricate details of the swords history. "One day, Hanbri, a king in the southwest, desihad the Sword of Powah for himself. He poisoned Tepshar, who did not die, but merely lay unconscious for two days. Hanbri stole the sword, taking it to his own kingdom. He became a ruthless tyrant, just as Tepshar had been. He too brought the curse upon his subjects who then became mortal. When Tepshar awoke, he was ill for many days. When he recuperated, he hunted the sword until it drove him mad.

"As the sword passed down into the hands of kings, and each became obsessed with it, one by one entire kingdoms became mortal and their kings turned to tyrants, ruling over their people and enslaving them. Greed grew in their heahts as they horded up more fortunes and more harems. It was finally discovahed that wherevah the sword dwelled, evil was more prevalent. People turned from good to evil almost overnight, gaining corrupt wills, just as the curse proclaimed. Some even chose to follow Dahvan directly, becoming dahk riders themselves.

"Each time a kingdom fell to mortal conditions their offspring entered the world as mortal men just as the curse prophesied. Some mortals then chose to follow aftah Dahvan. It was only then that they became aware that King Justiz had cursed those who chose to follow him that they would become like Dahvan except for his immortal condition. He had cursed them with a sentence of living death, while yet remaining alive. That is why their flesh rots while still upon their bones; they are dying while yet still living."

"The Ridahs of Quadar?" Monguard asked as he whittled on a piece of wood with his pocket knife.

Ozni stepped in now. "Yeah. Some dahk ridahs were immortals who joined Dahvan at the beginning of his rebellion, while othahs are those who chose after their mortal condition to follow him, and have fallen undah the curse. Those ones used to be mortal men just like us."

"But I thought the nomeds and derves were the cursed souls that joined Dahvan in the initial rebellion," Sagran said. He, too, knew bits and pieces of the legend.

"They are. But you see the curse took on many diffant forms," Ozni explained. "Some took the form of nomeds, othahs, derves, still othahs, dahk ridahs. It's the beauty of the complexity of being immortal and having such powah, mate! But you are right, all derves and nomeds were immortals when they fell undah the curse. Now, even their offspring are cursed.

"Now I know it looks like Buldar fell under that curse too but he didn't, he's just plain ugly." Ozni couldn't resist a little humor at Buldar's expense. Everyone laughed.

"Watch it wool head." Buldar was fortunate to be sitting beside the Himp so he scruffled his knuckles across his goatish head.

"You just wish right now that you could own the title wool head." Laughter broke out at Buldar's scorched head.

Ozni continued, "But whatever effect the curse took, those who choose to follow Dahvan since the break from King Justiz have all fallen under the curse. They were once men, now they are cursed dying men, even while they live! They are all nomeds, derves, or dahk ridahs."

"Once it was learned across the lands of the curse King Justiz had put upon the Sword of Powah," Buldar continued, as if never interrupted, "there was understanding why entire kingdoms were losing their immortality. Then it was learned of the prophecy about an immortal king thrusting the sword into the heaht of Dahvan."

Binko chimed in, aware of the details of the legend but choosing to remain silent until now. "Good kings began to seek the sword, thinking they could put an end to Dahvan with it. But every king who got his hands on that bloody sword yielded to its evil, becoming conquered by it instead of conquering it. After all, it is a cursed sword!

"So, here we are today with only one kingdom remaining immortal and only one king who can destroy Darvan. If King Justiz fails, we are forevah doomed to the tyranny of Dahvan."

"King Justiz won't fail, Buldar proclaimed. "He's got what othahs lacked."

Amase was still puzzled. "Whatever happened to Tepshar."

"The bloody scamp became so obsessed with tryin' to get that bloody sword back, it drove him practically insane," Navi said, glancing over at the hunk of wood Monguard was carving away at. "He murdered many in his court. In the end, he drove his own sword, the one he had since considered useless, through his own heart." He mimicked a sword going through his heart, his eyes rolling backwards into his head and pretended to be dying. "Quest for powah will drive you bloody crazy!"

"So what became of the sword then?" asked Amase.

Buldar, ever the pedant, began to give a timeline of the history of kings and the sword, adding far more detail than the story required. "After Hanbri, the sword ended up south in the Land of Monghora, where civil war quickly broke out. Rakiyl then killed Hanbri; he poisoned him; then, while he was unconscious, he ran the Sword of Dahvan through his heart. By now, everyone had discovahed that whoevah fights with the Sword of Dahvan was unbeatable. At first they thought that they could not die but then it was discovahed there was no truth in that. He just can't be beat with the powah of that sword. Sword for sword—the Sword of Dahvan will win every time."

"Anyway, Rakiyl stole the sword and took over villages, oppressin' the people and forcin' them into slavery. Then King Dangar killed Rakiyl and took the sword back to his land, the Land of Mitorah where he oppressed the Mitorahians."

"I don't think he expected a history of every king," Gilmanza said, gently. He could see where this was going.

"Oh, right, right. Sorry, I get carried away."

"Anyway," Buldar began again, "the sword has passed from hand to hand through various people who have sought powah to rule the world. Who can say all the hands that have taken up that sword?"

"What about King Chess?" asked Cozbi, sounding alarmed. "Has he evah attempted to seize the sword? And how did the sword come to Shalahem, and cause our own loss of immortality?"

"Well now, to answer your first question," Gilmanza explained, "King Chess himself has nevah sought the powah of the sword. He entered into the kingship as a mortal, anyway. But many, many years ago, some great, great, great—I don't know how many greats exactly—grandfathah, King Happi Japhia, was king. He was a kind and gentle man until he seized the sword, overcome by the temptation, whereby it ruled him and he became a tyrant, so we lost our immortality. He even murdahed some of his own sons so that they would not be a threat to his kingdom,"

Binko added his own bit. "Some kings have deceived themselves, thinking that they would rule with justice and not lord it over the people. But they failed to understand that the sword is cursed. That can't be changed."

"It's been ages upon ages without the Sword of Dahvan within our land, cronies! Now it's back." Navi chimed in, having complete confidence in the Immortal King. "Life has been so sweet. But it will be sweeter still when King Justiz runs that sword through him." I can hardly wait for that dirty scamp to get what he deserves." There were a few hearty "Amens!" from the others.

"But what if he too succumbs to the sword's powah? I mean why should we expect him to do somethin' that no one else has been able to do?" Seemed like a reasonable question to Cozbi who wasn't holding as much confidence in the Immortal King in light of the history of other immortal kings.

There was silence for a moment. Everyone knew that the question was valid. Finally, Gilmanza spoke up, "He is the only one we have to believe in."

After a lengthy pause, Sagran felt compelled to find out another detail. "If you don't mind me askin'," he offered, "where did you find the Sword of Powah?"

"A Knight of the Hospitable Ordah found it at the fork at Shilly Shally Road" answered Gilmanza. "It was in a pond, with a corpse gripping it."

"Shilly Shally Ford!" blurted Amase. "Isn't there a prophecy about that?" the boy not hearing a word circulating among the riders who were trying to keep them out of the dark until they knew their character better.

"Yes." Navi answered, looking suspiciously at Amase. "But how is it that you know of this prophesy?" Only the prophets had access to the scrolls and only kings and friends of prophets have access to their wisdom." Many that rode with them knew of this prophecy because they had been long time friends of the wizards. Amase would have had access to neither having lived in a remote village. Sure, many legends and stories had ran their course in time but knowledge of this nature was not broadcasted.

"I don't know."

Navi eyeballed the boy, curious and uncertain about him in every way.

"But that can't be!" Sagran cried, himself being oblivious to the prophecy of Shilly Shally Ford. "When King Arga of the Awshaks charged into our village, he held up the Sword of Powah, showin' it to us! He carried it everywhere he went; in fact, he had it just the othah day."

"That's impossible" Gilmanza affirmed. "We have the Sword of Dahvan locked up in a safe place."

"No, I saw it," Sagran insisted.

"But did you touch it?" asked Navi.

"Well, of course not."

"He obviously had a fake," said Navi, offering a simple explanation.

"But..."

"Were there evah any Ridahs of Quadar with him?" asked Gilmanza, determined to put this tale to rest.

"No! There were nevah any dahk ridahs in our village this last time."

"If it were the genuine Sword of Dahvan," Gilmanza declared, "then Ridahs of Quadar would have been in your village in droves. I have seen a blue million imitations from people who lust aftah powah, desiring to lord it ovah the weak."

"You mean my wife and friends died ovah a fake Sword of Powah?" Sagran asked somberly.

There was silence for a moment; then, Navi gently spoke up. "You know, the ancient prophecy said that there would appear imposters, claimin' to possess the Sword of Powah."

Ozni sought to comfort his friend. "Anyone can use any unique looking sword, or even craft one to look like it, but there is only one Sword of Powah. Even without the Sword of Powah, your village could not have put down those warriors without some outside help."

"Neighbahing villages would have helped," Sagran said. "If not, at least we would have died fightin'."

"Don't be too hard on yourself," Binko said gently. "Even if you had known, there were far too many of them. There was nothing you could have done, Sagran."

"How do you know that you have the real Sword?" asked Sagran.

"Because we witnessed its powah'" said Navi.

"You mean there really is a powah that can be felt?" Monguard asked as he kept whittling away at his wood that was starting to take shape now. The riders nodded their heads, almost as one, assuring him that the Sword of Power indeed did possess a real and tangible power. "To tell you the truth, I have often wondahed if there's really any truth to that sword; I mean, perhaps it's all legends."

"Me too," Sagran said, wide eyes taking it all in.

"No, crony, it's for real," Navi answered. "It may sound like something from a fairy-tale, but it's true. I've experienced it. Even Windsor had a run-in with the sword in his youth. Dahvan tried to deceive him into takin' the Sword of Powah, tellin' him that he would rule over all people with this sword. He told Windsor the sword had powah far above any Windsor had evah known."

"What did Windsor do?" Cozbi was curious even though he knew where Windsor stood.

"He told that bloody scamp where he could go. That's what Windsor did."

Monguard was still not fully convinced. "So there really is a powah to that sword aftah all? What is it like?" he asked.

"Windsor experienced his own battle of temptation with that sword. He held it in his very own hands, and felt its powah radiate. He told me it felt as though the sword was callin' to him, tellin' him how powerful he was, and indeed, making him feel powahful. He said the powah he felt from that sword scared him, and he threw it back at him and fled, vowin' never to come that close to temptation again.

"Dahvan became angry, and the two engaged in a long and exhaustin' duel. At one point, Dahvan forced him to the ground and placed the Sword of Powah in Windsor's hands, making him experience once again the powah of the sword, and hopin' to tempt him into desirin' it. But Windsor resisted it all."

"That must have been very difficult." Sagran was clearly impressed. He held admiration for the wizard. "I can't wait to meet him."

"If King Arga was claiming to have the Sword of Powah," Binko said, "then he must have been exposed to it or seen it." He was thinking out loud, drawing conclusions as he went.

Gilmanza was following Binko's line of thinking. "When Pip found the Sword, there was a corpse with it."

Binko began putting two and two together. "My guess is that the dead man, who evah he was, must have been in King Arga's presence at some point, and one of them had it, while the unfortunate corpse was the winnah of the grand prize. How he died would be interesting to find out, since the possessah of the Sword is unbeatable sword for sword."

"Well, we know where it is right now and that's what mattahs most. It's gettin' late. We should rest up," Gilmanza said.

As they finally rolled over to get some sleep, Cozbi had one more question. "Whatevah happened to King Chess's great, great, great...whatevah grandfathah?"

Navi answered him. "The king's son was faced with a terrible decision: he had to kill him or be killed; so he killed him. The king had gone bloody-mad and tried to kill him. It was a true tragedy for the royal family, crony. King Chess hates that sword."

After so much talk about the Sword of Darvan, the riders gathered close to the fire, bundled under their blankets, and drifted off to sleep.

Awakened by beams of a glowing light, Amase sat up, sword in his hand and frightened. A glowing light shimmered, casting light upon him. Wrapping his blanket around himself to shield himself from the cold, he stood up and crept over to observe the statue of Murdurf; it was radiating with amber light. The light was warming and welcoming. As he stood in front of the statue, he heard a masculine voice calling to him majestically:

"Amase! Amase! Listen to what I tell you. You have not become a part of this circle by accident. You were destined to be a rider in The Circle. You have been chosen to bear the burden of the sword for a season. You will bear the responsibility of getting it back into the hands of King Justiz. It will be your burden to bear and yours alone. It will be your responsibility to resist its power; for that is why you were given the name Amase, you will be the burden-bearer. If you fail, you will rule mankind under its power, but know this, mankind will be destroyed, and so will you. My blood cries out for justice and for peace. When the time comes; and you will know when that time is, take up the sword, and stand firm. Stand firm, Amase. Stand firm!"

The light of the statue now dissipated, and the darkness of the night overtook Amase as he pulled the blanket tightly around himself, shielding himself from the cold wind. _I'm too young. Too unskilled. Too unlearned. Too small._ "But I cannot," he protested, trying not to speak too loudly. "Wait! Come back! I-I cannot do it!" But there was only silence as he protested the mysterious calling from the statue.

But not everyone was asleep. The light awakened Navi too. But he didn't move, didn't say a word. Closing his eyes again, Navi thought back to when he had first met Amase, recalling the prophetic instinct he felt of a certain destiny about him. Now he knew, as the words of the ancient prophet resounded in his head:

A bearer of the Sword will arise, who will bear the burden of it until it is placed in the hands of the Immortal King. His origins are of an ancient days, a people of long ago. He will carry the Sword into the canvas of the earth, into dark portals and cursed byways, himself bearing the burden of the curse that pierced his side.

Jimmy

When the riders stepped outside, their feet sank beneath the accumulated snow. Their boots were hardly tall enough to avoid being over-topped by the drifts. The smell of fresh-cut cedar trees filled the chilly air, lingering still from the fresh cuts of the day before. They all inhaled the pleasant aroma as they walked through the winter wonderland towards their beasts. They were glad that it had quit snowing and the sun was trying to peep through. But there was no hope of the snow melting; it was still freezing.

As Zilgar opened the door to leave, he released the bellowing voice of his wife. "There's not enough firewood cut for the wintah!" Zilgar scurried out the door, trying to conceal the fight he and his wife were having. Seeking to disguise the argument, he yelled back at the closed door, "I love you too, dear!"

Zilgar, Windsor, and Nuvatian met up outside his door and started to walk off to meet the others at the barn when, from what seemed out of nowhere, a cooking-pot smacked Zilgar in the back of the head. Grabbing his head, he just kept walking, without even a quick glance back. He knew where it came from and who had thrown it.

"Not enough firewood?" His male ego wanted to teach her a thing or two. "There's enough wood there for three wintahs!" He continued walking, never looking back.

"You could at least act like you're not that eager to leave!" His wife yelled, her voice breaking up with emotion. "What if you don't come back?"

At the sound of her cracking voice, Zilgar stopped dead in his tracks and turned back towards his wife. All of a sudden his ego didn't matter anymore. She had humiliated him in front of his friends, but he knew she was more fearful than angry. It really wasn't about the firewood. He walked back over to her, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her. She wept. "It's going to be a long and cold wintah without you," she said.

Zilgar held her tight and then kissed her goodbye. "I'm not eager to leave. There's nowhere I'd rather be than here with you and the children. But this is an important mission, things I can't tell. I'm doing this for you and for the future of our children. I love you so much." He kissed her again and gave her a reassuring hug. He wanted to tell her that he would be back, but this sort of mission was uncertain in light of the forth telling words of the ancients that spoke of great wars. If they were indeed this circle of riders spoken of in prophecies of long ago, then he wondered if this simple mission might turn into something bigger. He hoped for the best, the simplest.

A herd of little Vikings ran around in the snow, throwing snowballs and tumbling in the flaky mounds. Boys bombed each other with the biggest balls of snow they could lift and little girls almost got lost beneath the sprawling white carpet. It was far too deep for making snow angels. Chains of smoke rose up from the chimneys in a feeble effort to stay warm.

"Bye fathah." Little Vikings said in succession as Zilgar grabbed them one by one and gave them a big hug. There must have been one for every year he and his wife had been married.

"Mind your mothah," he said sternly.

When they reached the barn, they found Zorgar brushing his mammoth. He had already brushed Zilgar's mammoth's coat; its wooly fur draped the ground. These mammoths had longer fur than some. Their large tusk bowed up towards their heads. Mighty mammoths were by far the most practical mounts for the Vikings in this harsh polar climate.

They buckled their gear around their strong necks and shimmied up the towering beast by clutching onto their tapestry of hair

After exchanging a few words, the expanding group set out towards the Tomb of Murdorf. But first, they paused and took one last look over the great fjords.

Pearly mountains glistened with hues of orange beneath the bursting sunrise. The fiery ball of light rose in the East, casting its brilliant lights upon the waters, mountains, and glaciers. The mighty floating ice caps sparkled like topaz set in a ring of sapphire. Light sprang up as though it were bellowing out good tidings to their quest. The sublime beauty was almost blinding to look at. But they looked anyway, taking in the majesty of the moment.

Treading a path down the Ibea Mountains, they passed a white fox seeking an early morning meal; it practically blended in with its environment. Three beavers played at the edge of a frozen river. In the distance, a pack of wolves could be seen, searching for food in the blanket of snow.

Their route was different than that taken on their way to the village; now, they traveled east, making new tracks.

Nadora was now on her own mount and Nuvatian missed having her arms wrapped around him. Not only because he liked having her near him, but now his backside was exposed and he could feel the wind.

The snowbound mountains made the terrain challenging and the journey slow. Their bodies quickly grew bitterly cold, their fingers numb as they slowly trudged over the difficult glaciated terrain, wind-gales blowing against their faces. They traveled all day in the freezing temperatures, hunkering down between the shoulders of their mounts in a futile attempt to find a hint of warmth. The day was long and miserable. Gilgore's large body plowed through the woodland, his head and shoulders knocking snow from the icy limbs of the sculptured trees, showering the ground with an ample supply of snow. His big feet crushed dead bushes hidden beneath the colossal piles of crystalized powder.

The sun faded in and out and at times it looked like it might snow again, but for now, the sky saw fit to hold onto its frozen moisture. As they rode, they kept a sharp eye for game to bag, something tasty to roast over the fire.

When night drew near, the riders cleared a parcel of land in the snow (with a little help from their fire-breathing friends) and made camp. They gathered wood and made a small fire. It wasn't long before Gilgore began to complain about the size of the fire and insisted on making it bigger. "I can't even warm my hands, it's so small," complained Gilgore. Gathering more wood, he made a giant size fire, more suitable for warming his over-sized body.

Huddling close to the gigantic fire, the riders roasted a couple of geese they had bagged along the way. Gilgore gnawed the geese down to the bone, wishing he had a couple more to go along with it. After eating, they crowded their bedrolls nearly atop one another, trying to no avail to get warm. Silence blanketed the icebound highlands, with the exception of the crackling of the fire and the occasional howling of wolves. After tossing and turning a bit, the riders fell fast asleep.

They awoke at the crack of dawn, covered in snow and shivering, but remarkably, the fire was still simmering. With chattering teeth, they gathered their belongings and trudged once more across the snow-bound mountains. They were hungry, but that would have to wait until they could find something worth killing.

The journey over the Ibeas was difficult. The travel was cumbersome and the climate harsh. Their fingers and toes remained stiff like the arthritic frozen fingers of the trees and their cheeks red and chapped. Food was scarce, but they did bag enough to keep them going. They wished for a moose, and almost had it, but Zilgar missed the shot when the buck darted away.

Three days into the ride, Gilgore heard a noise, just beyond the snow drenched trees. Stopping, he listened. He heard it again. He clearly was not mistaken; it came from within the forest, not from any of the travelers with him.

"Shhh. Did you hear that?" Gilgore asked.

The other riders stopped. Some heard it and some didn't.

"It's probably just a branch breaking from the weight of the snow," Nadora said.

Fleece flipped his lucky medallion. "Something's out there."

Vandorf rolled his eyes at him and bit his tongue, trying not to say anything.

Ignoring the noise, the riders traveled on. But Gilgore couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching them. He looked over his shoulder left and right, doing a retake every time he thought he heard something, but he never spotted anything unusual. The nagging notion remained with him throughout the day and into the night.

The next day, they were riding along the banks of a frozen river, hunkered down over their beasts and bundled up in their coats of fur in a feeble effort to get warm. A peculiar noise nagged Gilgore, his hearing a little keener than the others. Before long others began to wonder if Gilgore was on to something. Looking over his shoulder, Gilgore caught a glimpse of something moving beyond the frosty decorated trees.

"Hey, there's something out there. It's following us."

"Come on, Gilgore. It's probably just a wolf or somethin'," Vandorf said. "There's not much more that could survive out here except an animal."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right."

"No, there's somethin' out there," Fleece assured them, still flipping his medallion in his pocket and getting a consistent reading every time. Vandorf ignored him once again, but his patience was wearing thin.

Seizing the moment to play on Gilgore's jumpy nerves, Zilgar just couldn't help himself—it seemed the perfect opportunity for a practical joke, especially with the snowdrift that had formed alongside the base of the rocky cliffs they were riding past.

Inconspicuously falling behind the riders, Zilgar suddenly toppled out of his saddle and into a mound of snow that completely buried him.

"Ahhhhh! Ahhhh! Get it off! Get it off!" He screamed like he was dying.

Stupefied, the riders turned back trying to figure out what was happening. Instinctively, they grabbed their swords and rushed to Zilgar's aid. Zilgar yelled and gasped for his life beneath the lump of powder. By now a ruckus had been stirred up as the riders raised their voices.

"Zilgar."

"What's happening?"

Gilgore moved in close, prepared to dive into the snow when suddenly, Zilgar arose from the snow laughing hysterically. "It's a snow elf," he yelled laughing. His beard, mangy hair, and long eyebrows captured the snow, refusing to let go of any of it. It took a moment for the riders to realize that Zilgar was up to no good. As Zilgar fell over, rolling with laughter, Gilgore, livid with anger, stepped back to reevaluate the situation, stunned that it had been nothing more than a practical joke. When he stepped back, his foot crushed through the snow and settled on Zilgar's hand, pinning it between his foot and the ground.

"Ahhhhhhhhh!" yelled Zilgar, this time for real. But no one believed him. "You're on my fingers." Zilgar finally convincing Gilgore and he lifted his heavy foot. Kindling with irritation, he gave Zilgar a look that could have killed.

Now, Zilgar wasn't the one laughing. He held his hand and then tried to shake out the pain. Then, before Zilgar had a chance to jump up, Gilgore wrapped his brawny arms around a tree and shook it, burying Zilgar in the mountain of snow. He left him to dig his own self out.

"Could we rest for just a short while as dumb butt here digs himself out?" asked Gilgore.

"Sure," answered Windsor. "Let's walk ahead around these rocks to the edge of the rivah."

Gilgore found a seat on the icy rocks, resting from his long travel on foot. He was still furious with Zilgar, not finding any humor in the joke. Gilgore and Windsor both pulled out their pipes and stuffed them with tobacco. Nadora trudged through the snow to lead Orpah over to the frozen river so that the dragon could thaw the solid waters with the heat of her fire so all the beasts could drink. Vandorf walked with her, making polite conversation, some political in nature. He could tell that Nadora was well-trained in the politics of the kingdom and that she had a keen sense of its history. He had the suspicion that there weren't many subjects that he could breach that she didn't know something about.

Nimri felt somewhat out of place, sitting alongside the other riders, who obviously had long-term friendships. He sat silently, taking Windsor's advice and trying to glean from the wisdom of the others. Feeling most comfortable around his best friend, Nuvatian, Nimri usually stuck fairly close to him.

"Why don't we go ahead and sit up camp here for the night. It's a bit early but we and our mounts could use the rest," Windsor suggested.

"Looks like as good a spot as any," Nimri said. "I'll staht gathahing fire wood."

Eager to please, Fleece began to gather kindling too, reaching beneath the snow whenever he saw anything that looked remotely like a piece of wood. As he strolled about searching for anything that would burn, he heard a noise, a rustling in the woods. He looked over his shoulder, this way and then that way, but he didn't see anyone. A nagging notion that someone was watching him formed in his gut. He looked around again, but no one was there, neither did he spot any tracks in the snow.

With his arms full of timber, he carried it back to the campsite. Nimri gathered a few logs along the edge of the river and together they had a worthy pile. But Gilgore didn't think so. He brought a few more just to make sure the fire was big enough. Then, Orpah gushed out a series of blasting fire that dried up the moisture of the branches and created warming ambers of fire.

It was as Gilgore and Windsor were sitting around the fire puffing on their pipes, Fleece, Skeener, and Nuvatian chatting, that a mangy monster-like giant crept out of the snowbound forest. It was the warmth of the fire that drew him out. When the riders noticed him, it scared them half to death.

He stood tall, and his long hair and long beard were like ice sculptures dangling from his head and face. His huge feet flattened everything in his path as he stumbled toward them. Even Gilgore was taken aback at the appearance of the giant. At first sight, Gilgore dropped his large pipe on his arm, knocking out the hot tobacco and burning himself. Startled by the monstrous giant, Nadora and Vandorf stepped back several steps onto the frozen river now softened by the blast of fire delivered by the dragons. The thawing ice cracked beneath their feet, and they plunged into the glacial waters. The bitter cold waters took their breath away; it was heart-stopping cold.

As the monster came curiously near them, Gilgore stood up and stepped towards it. Nuvatian put his hand on Nadora's bow just in case and Zilgar reached for his sword. When the monster saw Gilgore stand up it froze. It stared at the giant, grunting as he sized him up. They could see sorrow in his eyes. Now, the giant looked threatened, but the sadness in his eyes never left. He starred at the fire and at them as though he wished to join them. After a few moments, he turned and ran away into the woods leaving behind huge footprints in the snow.

With the monster gone, their attention turned to Nadora and Vandorf, who were trembling in the frigid waters. They clung to an ice-covered rock at the edge of the river, paralyzed with cold, their hands nearly froze to the rock. Gilgore dragged Vandorf out of the arctic waters, while Windsor and Nuvatian fetched Nadora by her stone-cold shoulders and lifted her out of the ice box, leaving their gloves stuck to the ice.

"Hurry, get them over to the fiha!" yelled Windsor.

The riders carried their frostbitten bodies to the edge of the fire. Their lips were blue with cold and their bodies shuddered with the icy wet clothes now stiff from the arctic air. Ice-droplets had formed on Vandorf's ponytail. The cold made it hard to breath. Like a pair of ice sculptures, the two stood motionless, now one with the glaciated background.

Nuvatian pulled dry clothing from their bags, fearful that they might perish from cold. "You need to change clothes," he said, handing both of them dry clothing. "Do you need some help?" He asked Nadora, smiling.

Rolling her freezing eyes at him, she snatched her clothes from his arms, with her club-like hands. "I think I can manage." Her teeth chattered as she tried to speak.

The heat was beginning to help. The giants stood with their coats up in the air and their backs turned to provide a make-shift privacy curtain for Nadora as she clumsily changed her clothes.

Shuffling his icy extremities, Vandorf joined her by the fire where the two slowly thawed out like melting glaciers. Gilgore threw his enormous fur coat around them to help warm them. Soon, they were both warmed up once again, courtesy of the giant and the dragons.

As night fell, the riders sat around the bonfire, Windsor, Gilgore and Vandorf puffing on their pipes. The heat of the fire licked the water from the wet clothes and drenched boots that hung beside it. Vandorf, perturbed that his boots had gotten soaking wet, frequently felt of them, anxious for them to dry out so he could polish them. Under the moonlight, the riders looked up to see the giant monster, sitting on a large rock watching them.

"I told you I saw somethin'," Gilgore said.

"Me too," Fleece injected. Vandorf gave Fleece a look that could have killed.

"This is goin' to be a hell of a long trip," Vandorf said with a sigh of disgust.

"Who is he?" Nadora asked, granting personhood to the creature.

"His name is Jimmy," Gilgore replied, taking a greedy draw on his pipe. "He was a normal giant once; then, he lost his mind. It was aftah the war, with Dahvan and his hordes of Quadar. Jimmy just was nevah the same aftah that," Gilgore explained.

"You mean you knew him?" Nuvatian asked.

"Oh yes. Grew up with him. Nice enough fellow; that is, until the war. I don't know what happened. He was captuhed and no one knows exactly what he went through, but he retuhned home all crazy-like. He couldn't handle civilization so he ran off into the mountains. Some say that Dahvan cuhsed him, othahs that he is possessed by an evil spirit, while othahs say that he just lost his mind from the torture he endured. Occasionally he is spotted. Pitiful it is. To tell you the truth, I plumb forgot about him. Figured he was dead by now."

"I wouldn't want to run across him alone," said Zilgar who had heard the stories, but had never met Jimmy before until now. "Some say he's hahmless; but, othahs tell stories of him biting people's heads off."

"Biting people's heads off?" Nadora gasped at the thought of it.

"Oh, that's just a tall tale," Gilgore said. "I don't think he is capable of huhting anyone. Personally, I think he was so mistreated and the war so horrible that he just couldn't be with othahs anymore, so he retreated to these woods. I look at him and see a sad and lonely man life has abused. He's tried to escape by running away, but he can't run away from himself or his past no matter how hahd he tries."

"Perhaps we should try to help him," Nadora offered, always compassionate for those in need.

"In what way?" Vandorf considered it as he sharpened his sword between long drags on his pipe.

"Maybe we could try to befriend him and offer him the warmth of our fire," suggested Nadora. "Look at him. He looks so sad and cold. Miserable and lonely."

"Would you like to be the one to walk ovah there and ask him if he would care to join us?" Zilgar asked, laughing.

Nadora opened her mouth and then closed I without saying a word. After a moment, she dropped the blanket she had wrapped around her, stood up and squared her shoulders.

"Nadora, don't go ovah there!" Nuvatian cried. "Zilgar didn't mean that as a challenge."

"No, No, not at all. I was just saying that I—I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Nadora started to walk slowly toward the giant.

"She's bloody crazy!" Nimri couldn't believe the boldness of this gal.

"Nadora! What are you doin'? Get back ovah here!" Nuvatian had risen now, and was walking along beside her trying to convince her of the insanity in this.

"Go back ovah there. I know what I'm doin' and if you follow me, you will just mess it up." He tried further, arguing, persuading, but finally grew frustrated at her usual hardheadedness. He stopped dead in his tracks and watched as Nadora approached the giant. She came to a standstill a short distance from him. From there, she extended an invitation. "Come, join us! You are welcome to sit around our fire and get warm." She motioned for him to follow her.

The giant looked strangely at her, turning his head to one side as though he didn't understand her. He grunted, seemingly threatened by her.

"Come, come join us," she repeated. "Come on. You can get warmed up by the fire." She waved her hands, motioning for him to follow her.

The giant stood up and grunted at Nadora. She stepped back. The giant stepped toward her. She felt her heart race and thought she felt tremors in the earth beneath her with each step he made. She really didn't know what the giant would do.

As they watched from around the fire, Nuvatian and Zilgar both stood up and placed their hands on their swords.

"Wait!" Gilgore cried out. "Sit down, let's see what he does. If he stahts to look threatening, I'll take care of him."

Nadora motioned again for the giant to follow her, walking backwards step by step back to the fire. The giant lumbered behind her. Gazing suspiciously at them, Jimmy slowly moved toward the riders, then hesitated, before sitting on the ground beside them.

Stretching out her hands to the fire, Nadora spoke to him. "It's warm. Feels good, doesn't it?"

Jimmy grunted and stretched his hands to the fire, mimicking her. There was an awkward silence; then, all began to talk quietly among themselves. Jimmy seemed to be enjoyed both the fire and their company. The smile on his face proved that this was a better moment than many he had experienced in his lifetime. But he was still a bit jumpy. At one point, Windsor got up to get some tobacco out of his bag. Startled, the giant jumped, immediately standing on the defensive.

"It's all right," Windsor assured him. "I'm just gettin' somethin' out of my bag." He slowly opened his bag and extracted the tobacco. As he sat back down, Jimmy relaxed again. Shortly, the ice that hung from the giant's beard and long matted hair began to melt, forming a pool of water beneath the icy monster as he thawed. He even seemed to be warming up to them.

Sitting down, he looked like he could drift off to sleep any minute now.

Now Gilgore tried to communicate. "Jimmy... you're Jimmy, aren't you?"

The giant's sleepy eyes looked at Gilgore as though he didn't quite understand him, but he seemed to recognize the name "Jimmy."

"I remembah you. Your fathah was Drengo," Gilgore said. The giant didn't say anything but the look in his eyes told Gilgore that he was right.

"You and your people lived near my family. My fathah and your fathah were friends," Gilgore explained. The giant grinned, showing his rotting teeth.

The warmth of the heat began to comfort the giant and before long he slumped over and nodded off into a hypnotic sleep. His dirty head hung down with his raggedy clothes. Before long, he was snoring. The riders talked freely about their mission knowing that he wasn't hearing a word they said. He slept for a while but woke up when he heard one of the riders stand up and laugh out loud. He was half between the land of dreams and reality when he heard the word "Darvan." Now, he was fully awake.

"Dahvan is going to be on his toes if he knows where the sword was found," Nuvatian said.

Hearing the name 'Darvan', Jimmy's countenance changed, his face becoming twisted with fear. "Darvan," he grunted. "Darvan!" he cried out, his voice rising each time he repeated the words. Standing up, he now yelled it. "Darvan." The giant's face grew fierce. He stepped back, wrapped his large hands around one of the small timbers and began to shake the tree, shouting Darvan's name over and over. Snow fell as if a storm had blown in. He shook the tree until its roots began to pop. "Darvan! Darvan!" he yelled, and then he ran away through the woods.

The riders sat frozen in fright. They had watched him go from a sleeping giant to an angry madman. They were unsure what the giant would do next. With the monster gone, they spoke about how they pitied him and wondered what Darvan had done to him.

"Poor lad," Vandorf said, getting more tobacco for his pipe.

"I wish there were somethin' we could do for him," said Zilgar.

"Me, too," said Gilgore, with resignation.

"There is," Windsor reminded them. "We can get the Sword of Powah to King Justiz and help him permanently defeat Dahvan."

"Yeah, you're right," Vandorf agreed. "I suppose all we can do is get retribution for the poor fellow."

"Maybe then we can come up here and help him. You know, spend enough time with him that he trusts us and then take him back to your land," Nadora said to Gilgore, offering a solution. "No one should have to live like he's living."

Fleece agreed. But he wanted a quicker solution to the problem. "That might be a long time. I hate to think of the poor guy stayin' out here that much longer. Isn't there somethin' we can do to help him now?"

"I don't know, why don't you flip that silly coin of yours and see what it suggests." Vandorf couldn't keep a lid on it any longer. Fleece just ignored him, even offered him a smile.

"He's lived out here for yeahs now. There's nothing we can do right now for him," Windsor said. "We can't bring a man like that on a mission like this."

In a short time, the riders snuggled near the fire and drifted off to sleep. The drama of the day had exhausted them.

When they awoke in the morning, they could see the scruffy giant sitting curiously on the same rock he'd been sitting on the night before. He had been watching them all night. As they sipped on their coffee they spoke further about the peculiar giant.

Vandorf polished his damp boots as he sipped his morning brew, then cringed as he stuck one foot into his freezing cold and still wet boot. The Circle of Riders began to make ready for their ride, bundling up their blankets and gathering their belongings. They mounted their beasts and continued their journey towards the Tomb of Murdorf.

As they rode over the mountains, they occasionally spotted Jimmy. He followed them at a safe distance across the Ibea Mountains. His beard and hair again took the shape of an ice sculpture. He looked cold and lonely. A miserable soul lost in a complicated world, lost within himself.

The legs of the mounts rose and fell with effort as they trudged through dense blankets of snow. The hallowed sanctuary of the gods was losing its appeal quickly for the riders. They wondered if their frozen fingers and toes would ever thaw out.

When they descended down the back side of a mountain, they spotted the river again. The ever winding water shot off in many directions over the mountains. Their course had taken them momentarily away from it. Now they had need of crossing it. As their mounts tread down the snowbound mountain, Orpah stumbled. When she did, a small pouch that hung from her garments and carried Nadora's personal belongings fell to the ground. Unaware that the bag had fallen, she continued to ride down the mountain, following the others.

As they approached the river, they dismounted to stretch their aching legs, while their mounts sucked up the water from the cold watering hole. They too drank the frigid liquid. It was then that Nadora noticed something was missing. "Oh no, I have lost my pouch with all my things in it."

"Is there anything important in it?" Nuvatian asked, turning in his saddle to look at her.

"It has the herbs, some bandages and my hairbrush," she answered. "I had it a few minutes ago. I bet it fell off when Orpah stumbled. Do you mind holding her reins while I go check?"

"Not at all. Do you want me to come with you?"

"Na, it was just up the hill a little piece. I'll be right back."

Nadora trudged up the hill through the snow and around the trees where she saw in the near distance the bright red pouch in the snow where Orpah had stumbled. "Ah there it is," she whispered to herself. She picked it up and headed back down the mountain. Suddenly, Jimmy appeared from among a thicket of trees. He was covered in white and nearly blended in with his surroundings like a snowman on the prowl.

"Jimmy, back up and let me by." Nadora spoke calmly, not wanting to stir up violence in the giant.

He grunted a lamenting grumble and then took one giant step toward her.

Frightened, Nadora pulled a dagger from its sheath holstered at her right ankle. "Jimmy, don't come any closer," she warned.

Ignoring her, Jimmy made another giant step towards her. His eyes were set on her. He made another giant step towards her. She was now only an arm's length away for the giant.

"I'm warning you," Nadora said, holding her weapon of choice up.

Jimmy wasn't intimidated by her or her dagger. In fact, it made him angry. His sad eyes turned to stone. She had done it, exactly what she was trying not to do. Then, he reached for her. Nadora armed herself, stretching out the dagger, not wanting to draw her sword. She didn't want to hurt him, only protect herself.

At the sight of the dagger now stretched out in a threatening manner, Jimmy's eyes fell only upon the dagger. With one blow of the back of his hand, the dagger flew out of her hands. Nadora screamed bloody murder as Jimmy picked her up and threw her over his shoulder like a prisoner. "Put me down!" she demanded, punching him in the back.

The circle of riders heard Nadora screaming and raced up the hill. Once at the top, they could see Jimmy carrying Nadora over his shoulder. Gilgore hurried after him; his large feet plowed down the little thickets of the forest buried beneath the blizzard of snow.

"Jimmy, put me down!" demanded Nadora. Pulling a dagger from its sheath around her waist, Nadora said it again, "Jimmy put me down. You can't just come and take me."

Although he could see Gilgore in hot pursuit of him, Jimmy was unaware that Nadora now had a dagger in her hand. He focused more on the chase and keeping his game.

"I don't want to do this." Raising the dagger, she stabbed it in the back of his hand and pulled it back out. Jimmy yelled in pain and opened his hand. He knocked the blade out of her hand. He released his grip on her enough for her to throw in a thumb lock, twisting it powerfully and then she dug two fingers into the pressure points in his neck just behind his ear.

He wrestled to keep her. But now, she had enough control. She didn't want to hurt him so she slapped both hand across his ears and knife handed him to the throat, hitting him right in the most sensitive pressure points. Now, she toppled over his shoulder and dropped to the ground. She threw in a kick to the back of his knee, folding them like paper. Then, she grabbed her dagger and stood to run, shoving it quickly into her ankle sheath.

In a rush to escape the frighten giant, her feet got tangled. Falling in the slippery mountain of snow, she tumbled down the mountain, hitting a couple of trees on the way down. She came to rest against a timber about midway down the slope. Jimmy shook his head, trying to get his coordination together. Then, he stood up and shook the blood that ran from his hand, spotting the snow with speckles of crimson.

Gilgore and Nuvatian rushed to Nadora's aid. The other riders rushed up the snowy hillside behind them. Jimmy turned to go get Nadora, but when he saw Gilgore, he just stood there, a sad expression on his face.

"Nadora!" shouted Nuvatian. He ran through the snow to where Nadora lay against a tree, and knelt beside her. Her head was bleeding and her face was scratched up from the bark of the tree. "Are you all right," he asked, brushing her hair from her face with his hand.

"Yes," she said weakly. "Oh, my head!" She reached to feel the bump on her forehead and her hand came away with blood on it.

"Let me help you up," offered Nuvatian. As he helped her to her feet, she quickly noticed that she had sprung her ankle. "Aw, I think I twisted it as I fell down the mountain," she said.

"Here, let me help you down the mountain." He was already deeply regretting that he had let her go—as if he could have stopped her, anyway.

Looking back up at Jimmy, Nadora watched him as he held his wounded hand. "Go talk to him and see if he can understand you," she said to Gilgore.

"What! Are you crazy!" snapped Gilgore. "And what exactly would you like for me to tell him? That he can't just come and carry a woman away on his shoulder, just because he likes her?"

"Just go try to talk to him," said Nadora. "See if we can bandage up his hand. I feel bad for him."

"And are you goin' to feel bad for me if he kills me?" Gilgore couldn't believe she was asking this of him.

"Oh, he's not going to hurt you," said Nadora. "Just try it. If he stahts to hurt you Zorgar will have your back."

"Thanks a lot. I get nominated for the darndest things." Zorgar looked down at her and shook his head. Nadora laughed and then winced at the pain in her head and foot.

Gilgore walked carefully toward Jimmy, slowly and non-threatening. Jimmy began to back up.

"It's all right," Gilgore said soothingly. "I'm not going to huht you." He took another step forward. "Does your hand huht?"

Frightened, Jimmy turned and ran up the hill, Gilgore walked back towards Nadora. "It's no use. He's not goin' to let me near him."

"Here, let me try," Nadora said.

"What?" snapped Nuvatian. This was now beyond his tolerance. "You're not goin' up there! You've sprung your ankle, and cut your head! Besides, you're the one he wants!"

"I know," she insisted, "but maybe I can talk to him and wrap his hand if you'll watch my back." She rose to her feet, her forehead dripping blood in a couple of places, from where she had hit the tree.

"For a smaht woman, you sure can come up with some dumb ideas." Nuvatian was hoping the insult would bring her to her senses.

"I agree with Nuvatian. That's crazy," said Nimri. "He could have killed you. We already know you are brave; you don't have to prove anything else to us."

"I'm not trying to prove anything to you. He's hurt and we can't leave him like that."

"Absolutely insane." Windsor felt compelled to offer his take on her irrational thinking.

"You're a wizard," she said. "If he stahts to look like he's going to huht me, then surely you can do something—make the snow overcome him or something!" She began to hobble up the snowy mountain.

"She's a lunatic," said Fleece, admiring her courage.

"You can say that again." Vandorf wanted to stop her, but he knew what it was to be stopped by others opinions. He decided he would keep a watchful eye and see how this plays out. Surely the giant was smart enough not to do something foolish with the whole crew standing there now.

Keeping a distance the entire Circle followed Nadora up the mountain (except for Fleece, whom Vandorf ordered to stay with the mounts). On her way up she picked up her pouch. As she neared the top, Jimmy stood tall, yet timid; it appeared that a twinge of remorse had sprung into his soul. As she approached, he looked beyond her at the Circle of Riders. Then, he turned and ran.

"Wait!" yelled Nadora. "Don't go." Jimmy paused and looked back at her. "I didn't mean to huht you. Let me wrap your hand." Jimmy looked at her stupidly as she cautiously approached him. The Circle of Riders spied from a distance, inching their way closer to her.

"Let me wrap your hand." Nadora pointed to his hand that still ran with fresh blood. He held out his hand as she approached him. She wondered if they were right: maybe this was crazy. She felt bad for hurting him and wanted to make it up to him. She could only imagine how much pain he had endured in life to drive him into the woods.

She opened her bag as he stood quietly and awkwardly. Nervous vibrations went through her as she took his gigantic hand into hers. They shook ever so slightly as she began to dab the open wound with some mambrogin root. She looked up at his face, hoping to find him calm, and was relieved that he was. She wrapped his hand with a clean strip of linen. The Circle of Riders looked on with uneasiness and readiness, just in case.

After wrapping Jimmy's hand, Nadora turned to walk off. Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed her arm. With fear in her eyes, she pulled back; then relaxed when she saw the tenderness in his eyes. The gang was about to spring into action when she put up her hand, signaling for them to stop.

"You're pretty," muttered Jimmy, though with poor articulation.

"Thank you," replied Nadora. She paused for a moment and then said simply, "I hope that when all of this is over we can help you. I have to go." She turned to walk off, this time, he didn't stop her. Looking back over her shoulder, she took one more look at Jimmy. His icy hair and beard hung with frost, and his eyes looked deeply sad and troubled. He wore loneliness like a garment of clothes.

She hobbled down the mountain, picked up the other dagger and tucked it back in her boot, and joined the other riders. Nuvatian met her part way in order to help her down the mountain. Nadora held his hand tightly as the two slowly descended the slippery cliff. Looking up again, Nadora watched Jimmy as he turned and ran off into his freezing and isolated wilderness.

When they reached the river's edge, Nuvatian rolled up her pant-leg. "Let's take a look at that ankle." He pulled out a boot-knife. "What have you got down here? How did you sprain your ankle with the boot knife against it? It looks like it would have supported your ankle."

"It's the othah one," Nadora said sweetly.

"Oh," remarked Nuvatian, pulling her pant-leg back down.

"You don't have any othah shahp objects I should know about, do you?" he asked playfully, winking at her.

"Well, actually..." Nadora began, as he pulled up the other cuff, only to discover another boot-knife, this one strapped high on her calf. "You sure are one fully loaded lady!" he remarked. "You have another on your side with your sword?" She smiled innocently.

After her ankle had been wrapped, and her head-wound patched, the Circle of Riders mounted their beasts and rode down the mountain.

Every now and then, they spotted Jimmy following them from a distance. He looked like he was lonelier than ever.

A few days later, they got over the snowy mountains, glad to be where they could thaw out a bit. They crossed over another mountain and into the valley where the temperatures were much warmer, especially with the afternoon sun now shining.

"It looks like we have lost Jimmy," Nadora said, looking over her shoulder one last time.

"Yes," Gilgore agreed, "they say he doesn't leave the Ibea Mountains. He might come into portions of the forest below, but I'm sure he doesn't go into the plains because he would feel vulnerable. Its people he's most afraid of."

As darkness approached, they reached the open plains. They rode on, with the light of Windsor's orb and a couple of torches, expunging a sliver of darkness.

Meanwhile, the riders in the East sat at the Tomb of Murdorf, waiting and wondering. Navi gazed into his orb, but all he could see was that the Western half of the Circle was still traveling. He was unable to tell where in the world they were.

Wet Wood

It was pitch dark and crickets were chirping as the riders in the East sat around the campfire speechless, tearing the flame-cooked antelope with their teeth. They were hungry and were fortunate to have bagged a game so tasty.

In the near distance, they heard the sound of hooves pounding the ground. Tossing the antelope to the side, the men jumped to their feet and pulled their swords from their sheaths. In the flickering of the fire, the riders waited to see who was approaching. They hoped it was the riders from the West. The shifting glimmer of the flames confirmed it. Windsor and Nuvatian's faces were disclosed through the flickering light of the torches and the light of Windsor's orb.

"Cronies, are we glad to see you!" Navi stood with a wobble.

Gilmanza watched as Nuvatian helped Nadora dismount. He knew the man was eaten up with affection for her. In the background he heard Skeener moan under his breath. His moan came more from his sore buttocks and stiffness than his chest. Not to say that his chest didn't still have some tenderness, but it was just about healed, thanks to the marvelous wonders of the mambrogin root and Frijias tree root.

The riders quickly gathered around, anxious to see each other and swap stories. Under the shifting flames, Gilmanza could see a bandage on Nadora's forehead. "Nadora! Are you injuhed?"

"I'm fine!" she assured him. "I just got scratched up a little and sprained my ankle."

"A few scratches?" he questioned her. "I'm more concerned about that head than I am that ankle."

"Trust me, she has a hard head. I don't think you have to worry about the outside wound as much as the inside where she has a boring hole." Nuvatian didn't mean it as an insult, but the evil eye she gave him indicated that she received it as one.

Meanwhile, Buldar, Ozni, Monguard, and Binko had also walked over to see how badly Skeener's injuries were. Navi hobbled behind them. The wound on the inside of his leg had nearly healed while they were in Sagran and Amase's village, but when they started riding again, the new and tender skin got rubbed nearly raw again.

Cozbi put his sword back down and watched the fire, staring as it hissed at the wood. He had been in deep thought and returned into himself.

"What about me?" Navi said. "Aren't you even a little bit curious as to why I'm limping?" He addressed this to Windsor and Nuvatian. Even with his loud mouth, they simply ignored him.

"We had a little run in with a giant," explained Vandorf.

"A giant? " Gilmanza declared. "Sounds like we have some stories to exchange."

Windsor noticed the unfamiliar faces among them and whispered to Gilmanza, inquiring about them. Gilmanza explained how they came to ride with them but Windsor didn't seem pleased with virtual strangers riding on such an important mission. Gilmanza then turned the tables and asked about the unfamiliar Earthdweller, Fleece. Windsor was dumbfounded to give an answer. "You're right, I'm just as guilty. That's it though, no one else can ride."

Noticing Navi hobbling, Nuvatian finally asked, "So what happened to your leg?"

"I thought you would nevah notice," Navi said with a sigh. "A nomed bit me, crony!"

"You're such a wimp," Buldar teased him. "A nomed bit me too, but I'm not cryin' over it!" Always the optimist, Ozni patted him on the shoulder, "You'll be fine, mate."

"That's not the same one that bit you way back at that rivah is it?" They knew about it only because Windsor had seen it all happen through his orb. (Orbs can be tricky. And it takes power away from the wizard when he uses it in communication. For that reason, they chose to conserve their energy and only touch base on occasion).

"That should be healed by now."

"Inside of my thigh, crony. Every time I ride I rub it raw. It was almost healed back at that village."

"You need some crushed mambrogin root and Frijias tree root put on that, Navi," Nadora advised.

"We saw that Skeener was injuhad across the chest." Gilmanza was eager to find out how bad the injury was. "How are you doin'?"

"I'm fine," answered Skeener, with a little perkiness to his voice.

"What I want to know is what in the world happened to your hat?" Windsor asked Navi still trying to wear the burned out thing occasionally, like now around the campfire. Navi laughed, finding the whole thing a bit humorous.

"Hhuuu! Let's just say that Inka has a new friend." He pointed to Zephlin, Amase's dragon.

"Speaking of friends," Binko quickly injected, "This is Sagran and Amase. They have proven to be great assets."

"Pleased to meet you." Windsor lied.

"No, we are pleased to meet you. We have heard much about you through the yeahs."

"Don't believe everything you hear," warned Windsor. "People like to make much out of nothin', you know." His words slowed when Amase turned around. His dark eyes shone with a hint of mystery and a great deal of nobility. His sheepish face was unusual but not unmistakable for a man of many years such as Windsor. He shifted his gaze towards the boy's bare hoof-like feet just to be sure. "You're an Awnee," he said with surprise. "I thought the Awnee people had been annihilated many yeahs ago. In fact, I'm sure of it. Where did you come from?" Something told him there was a purpose in this lad.

"I don't know," Amase answered truthfully. "My fathah found me in the woods when I was but a lad."

"In the woods? Huh! Do you know where you came from or who your parents were?"

"No, I've nevah seen anothah like me."

"That's because there are none like you," Windsor declared. "Your people have been wiped out for generations. But you don't look all that old. Gad, what is that smell?" he asked, the stink finally breaking into his concentration. It wasn't as though they had just noticed it, they smelt the stench when they all gathered around, but everyone was too busy greeting each other to say anything. The riders from the east burst into laughter as one.

Navi pulled Windsor off to the side and whispered, "The boy knows of the ancient prophecies. He knows of Shilly Shally Ford."

"How can that be?" Windsor asked, puzzled.

"I don't know. But I will be keeping a shahp eye on him."

Standing behind Binko, Gilgore took a whiff of the fetid smell arising from the elf's body. "Phew! You smell almost wohse than Zilgar's feet!" Again, the riders laughed as Zilgar playfully whacked Gilgore on the head.

"Navi about got me killed with that bloody dragon," complained Binko. He had given his clothes a good scrub back in the village, but the smell was not entirely gone. To make things worse, the inside of his boots got soaked in the dead fish. That was where much of the odor was coming from. With each passing day the smell changed, finally settling on a sour fishy odor.

The riders who didn't know one another were introduced and others got reacquainted. Fleece didn't know hardly any of them. Nimri and Cozbi were young and new. Monguard didn't know hardly anyone, but some had heard of him.

"I smell food," Zorgar finally said.

"I'm starved," his brother added.

"M-me too," Skeener said, licking his chops.

With enthusiasm for food and fellowship, the riders gathered around the fire. Cozbi was glad to have his closest friends, Nimri and Nuvatian around him again. They joined him on the log next to the fire. Monguard resumed his place beside the fire, picked up the piece of wood he had been whittling, the same he had been working on for the pass few nights. It was beginning to take definite shape.

Some of the riders were curious about his head occasionally jerking but now was not the time to point it out or ask questions.

Sitting around the blazing fire the riders swapped stories. Some were funny and some not so much. They rolled with laughter about the prank that Navi pulled on Skeener and Skeener threatened to pay him back for that one. Ozni and Navi's prank on Binko and Darbi had them in stitches. Buldar had shoved a hat on his head after his incident with the dragon so none of the riders in the west were aware of his strange hair do. He shoved the front of his hair up under the hat so it would help hide the absence of hair that failed to hang down in the back. They compared notes of their encounters with Darvan's hordes of hell as they called them. Soon, however, their subject shifted to the Tomb of Murdorf.

"The Tomb of Murdorf!" Vandorf pulled his boots off and started polishing them as they sat in front of the sculpted tomb. "Poor fella! Muhdahed by his own brothah!"

"The paramount of all stories of betrayal. Unfortunately, one that continues to repeat itself," Binko chimed in.

Gilgore agreed. "After he killed his brothah he felt no remorse. In fact, it has been said that he laughed at him, even tauntin' him as he pierced him with the sword. He supposedly laughed as he cut off his brothah's head and mounted it to a stake."

They continued to discuss the Tomb for a little longer, until silence fell upon the campsite. With full bellies, everyone realized they were dead-tired from their respective journeys.

But vibrations of inspiration were stirring in Navi's belly. The wizard had to reveal what he knew.

Playing in the fire with his sword, Navi knocked a glowing ember out of the pile. He then poured a large amount of water on the single log. "The fire continues to burn," he noted, "even though one log is removed and its light extinguished, as long as the othahs remain lit and remain in a pile togethah."

He had the floor now, every ear turned towards the prophet.

He poured more water on the fire, extinguishing its light altogether. It was now pitch-dark, a darkness that could almost be felt. It was a darkness that called into question the very presence of another around the circle. They reached out their hands to touch each other, to remind themselves they were not alone, that someone was still sitting beside them. Navi stretched out his staff and relit the fire, miraculously drying out the moisture that had been poured over the wood. Then, with his staff, he reignited a flame.

Gilgore, his long legs nearly reaching the flames, kicked the other log back into the fire.

Navi kicked it back out. "Leave it there, it does not belong." He raised his voice now to address the whole group. "There is one among us who does not belong." He paused for a moment, and then continued, "Here, let me show you." He picked up the log that had been saturated with water and placed it on the fire; the fire immediately began to dim, its energy dying. He knocked it back out, and the fire quickly regained its flame.

"There is one among us who does not belong; he is wet wood. We must leave him. He has already made up his mind. He seeks the sword for his own powah. There is dahkness and there is light, but there is nothin in between. You betray us all as well as yourself. You know who you are."

There was dead silence. The only noise now was the chirping of crickets. No one moved a muscle. Each rider sat wondering who the wet wood was. Everyone, that is, except the one who had made up his mind. He knew what he wanted. His heart lusted for that sword, to feel its power, to be looked up to by everyone. He craved it, yearned for it, dreamed of it. The power. The position. The wealth. All that it offered, he wanted.

Windsor put his hands over his face. He regretted that they had allowed these extras to ride with them. Suddenly, as they pondered Navi's prophecy, a falling star shot across the sky, its light now ceasing to be. The riders wondered who among them was like the falling star that would cease to shine. The prophecy had even put a sobering damper on Ozni who always had an optimistic word. But now he sat with nothing to say.

There was dead silence as the younger wizard got up to turn in for the night. His words set a suspicious mood, especially concerning the newer arrivals to their group. Vandorf wondered if he should have allowed Fleece to come, while many of the riders of the East were having qualms regarding their decision to let Sagran and Amase ride; after all, they hardly knew either of them. The riders who had gathered their group from the West were also skeptical about them. Each rider was silent, pretending he did not see the person beside him. No one knew who they could trust.

From what they knew, experientially unfortunately, about the innate corrupt soul of man and the enticing pull the sword has to arouse ambitious and sinful desires in their fragile and finite being, everyone was a potential threat. The hope for primordial harmony was lost the moment lust for position was cultivated in Darvan's heart and acted upon. The evil propagated to all humanity corrupted them to the core of their being, now marking all humanity with a condition, a bend in their souls, for evil. Even women were not exempt, for there had been women in history who were pulled into the influence of the sword's promising and enchanting ways. They too sought to rule. And they too lost the battle with the cursed blade.

Windsor had seen friends succumb to the temptation of the sword, mighty kings fall, good kings, even wizards who already possessed power gain a lust for more power. The divine initiated utterances and supernatural power became words and works of darkness in their hands. No, no one could be trusted. Windsor couldn't even trust himself.

Tired, the riders slid into their bedrolls, the words of the prophecy accusing them, doubting others, suspecting one and then another. No one looked around, no one acknowledged the person beside them, too afraid to place trust in anyone. The only exceptions were Nuvatian and Nadora, who could not help but affirm the other's presence, even as they tried to close their eyes and sleep.

Monguard sat his piece of work beside him as he lay down. The fire cast its light upon the little statue of Murdorf, an exact replica of the crafted stone.

The Passage of Crossing

The Tomb of Murdorf faded in and out with the gleaming rays of yellow in the early morning sunrise. Murdorf's frightful face was incongruous with the warming and sparkling rays of the sun. Moments later, clouds rolled across the sun and the rays were gone.

Waking early, ahead of the others, Windsor, Gilmanza, Vandorf, Navi and Binko sat discussing which route would be the safest and swiftest to Shy Kadesh. Monguard joined them just as the coffee was ready.

They noticed his finished piece of art and marveled at the precision. After much amazement at Monguard's talent, the men settled down into their more serious discussion.

"There is only one way into the city," Windsor said. "It is walled and heavily fortified. There is only one gateway. I say we go straight toward the gateway through the Passage of Crossing. I'm sure we are going to meet some opposition. They will try to prevent us from going to the Immortals."

"We could go northeast over the mountains and then travel east," suggested Binko. "That will at least get us around much opposition until we travel back west." After pondering on the matter a bit more, he conceded, "Then again, that's a lot of extra travelin' that will only wear us out."

Fleece, overhearing their conversation, was tossing his medallion. Entering the discourse, he offered his opinion. "I think we should go straight, meetin' the opposition head-on."

Raising one eyebrow at Fleece, Vandorf chided the young man. "Ya mean your stupid medallion happened to land on the side that you chose for going straight into the opposition. Your foolish superstition is gettin' on my nehves. So, around the opposition it is!" Vandorf had no intention of catering to the boy's superstitions.

Navi stepped in now. "Actually, he has a point. If we go around, then we will just be weary when we do meet the opposition. Although we're likely to find less opposition that way, the opposition is inevitable. We might as well meet it straight on," said Navi.

"I think that's a bettah choice, too," said Gilmanza. "There's really no way to avoid it."

"We can take them," Fleece said confidently. The young knight was beginning to feel more comfortable with the group, a genuine part.

"Then north it is," said Windsor.

By now everyone was up and sipping coffee.

"Did you know that an earthquake caused that split in the mountain?" Buldar informed, eager to enlighten them.

"Huh," said Windsor, half acknowledging him. Buldar continued to ramble about some earthquake and some legend about the split being caused by King Justiz when he was angry at Darvan. The legend told a fantastic tale of King Justiz splitting the mount in half with his rage for Darvan. Buldar finally concluded that the legend was absurd and that the earthquake was the cause of the split in the mountain. He rattled off everything he knew about earthquakes.

Windsor had heard it all but he never chimed in to share his knowledge of the events.

Bedrolls were rolled up and the coffee was gone. It was time to mount up.

"If you're wearing mail, now would be a good time to put it on," Windsor said, certain of opposition. Most of them though opted to wait until it was deemed more necessary, like when they got into the mountains.

"Cronies, let's ride!" said Navi, picking up his statue of Murdorf that Monguard had made him.

As Buldar was folding his bedroll, his hat fell off. It was then that Windsor noticed the back of his head. The night before, he had slept with the hat on with all his hair in the front tucked up under it. "What happened to the back of your hair?"

"That bloody dragon like to have killed me!" Buldar sputtered, reaching for his hat. "Navi just had to rescue the blasted thing." Laughter permeated the campsite, as those who had traveled in the West now took a peak at Buldar's head.

"I can make you some hair out of my mammoth," Zilgar offered, rolling with laughter.

"No thanks, it will grow back soon enough." The riders still laughed as they prepared for the next step in the journey.

"Ah, mate, you can have hair like mine," said Zorgar.

"No thanks," Buldar said quickly, laughing at the Viking's peculiar head-covering. "Looks like a dog's been bedding in that stuff."

Nadora could hardly walk; she was stiff and sore from the day before. Holding her side, she limped to join the others. When they said something she down-played it, not wanting to show any sign of weakness.

When Nadora started to climb onto Orpah, Nuvatian offered to help her but she declined. She wasn't in the mood for catering to his ego or his lust. Nonetheless, he watched her squirm her bottom around until she finally tucked it away on her mount.

Although there was a touch of humor that morning, the mood of the day had been set by the prophecy the night before, and each rider harbored deep suspicions. As they galloped past the image of Murdorf, none could resist taking one last glimpse at the haunting face. Silence now defined their ride as mystique that has set in from the prophecy remained in the forefront of their thoughts.

Although Monguard's head twitching was subtle, it nevertheless did not go unnoticed. While most wondered about him silently, the Viking brothers and the Sorb made their inquiries in turn to Windsor and Navi who had no explanation.

"That's just how he is," Navi answered.

On the fifth morning, just before dawn, Monguard arose to seek his revenge on Navi. It was time for his payback for the prank back at Ozni's house. Monguard never forgot, but he knew how to wait patiently until the return of the prank was unsuspecting. He had spotted some red berries just before they had ascended into the mountains. Pulling them, he stowed them away in his bag. Now, he warmed them over the smoldering remains of the fire and pressed them into a paste. He knew just how to get the thick paste to the color he desired: a bright pink. Next, he painted the wood of Navi's bow pink, dyed some feathers he had snagged from a foul a few days back the same girlish color. He attached the pink feathers to his bow. Then, he painted a smiley face on the back of his riding jacket. He made sure that he placed it back where it was and turned the jacket to where the pinkish looking face would not be noticed. Next he couldn't resist running a few strands of pink through Navi's hair with what was left of the pink paste.

When morning dawned, the riders ate and geared up. Whispers had circulated not to say anything to Navi about the pink streaks in his hair. The giggles were hard to control though. Navi slung on his jacket without noticing the face, exactly what Monguard had hoped for. But he of course immediately noticed his bow now painted a faggish pink. Now he knew why everyone was laughing, or so he thought.

"Ozni," Navi yelled, certain that he was the culprit. "Real funny. That's just real funny, scamp."

Bellowing laughter broke out in the camp. Finding the joke to be so brilliant, Ozni never denied it and Navi never suspected Monguard. His quiet demeanor kept him from the eye of suspicion.

None of the riders knew who had pulled the prank but no one coughed up the secret that Navi was wearing a smile on his back or gay-like hair. Every so often one of them would slip out a chuckle, but Navi thought it was his pink bow they were still laughing about. There was nothing he could do to change the color. He was now stuck with a girls bow. He offered to swap with Nadora but she refused, declaring it to be too girlish for her.

That same afternoon, riding north, they traveled through the low lands, crossed the Hill of Descent, the first mountain in the range of the Great Divide

"Legend has it that this hill is where Darvan landed when King Justiz threw him out of the Land of Shy Kadesh. That would mean that the Immortal King would have thrown him over the entire mountain range," Amase said.

"Legends, they grow with time," Windsor reminded the young lad.

"Another legend says that this is the mountain where Murdorf was murdered by his brother," Ozni injected. The last speculation rang with more truth. The Hill of Descent climbed high in the sky with spires that reached to the heavens. "They say that when the moon is full the mountain looks like Murdorf's face."

"The range that this mountain is a part of, The Great Divide, was named for the barrier it creates between the lofty mountains that are home to the Immortals and the mortal lands below. The manifold legends associated with the mountains are as tall and lofty as the mountains themselves," Buldar explained.

At sunset of the twelfth day they stopped to camp atop one of the mountains, the sheltering cliffs being safer than the mountainous regions they were about to embark upon.

The next morning, they rode into the chilly mountains. The higher they climbed the cooler the temperature became. In fact, it became downright freezing. Accumulative snow carved a crystal cathedral out of the mountains that showcased a work of art that was out of this world. Icicles glistened from the trees like diamonds on display.

Monguard was hardly dressed for the climate change but he never complained or even looked as though he were cold. But the riders knew he had to be freezing. After much insisting, Monguard finally accepted a coat from Ozni.

"Why would anyone want to live up here in this cold?" Cozbi asked. "I would rather be mortal and live in nice weather than live forevah in this freezing cold."

Windsor overheard him and grinned but didn't say a word.

Ascending one of the three mountains that bordered the Immortal Land, a smudge of fresh green slime discolored the glistening white snow, evidence of derves.

They descended a steep cliff, then began crossing through the Passage of Crossings, a natural passageway between two sheets of solid rocks that protruded out from the lofty monoliths. This was the split that Buldar had talked so much about. It was rather peculiar, as if the towering mountain had been slit right in half and separated. The jagged edges looked like they would fit right back together perfectly if they were moved. It was a narrow stretch, with just enough room for the dragons and mammoths to pass through comfortably. The legends told of this passageway were likely as numerous as the ones associated with the Hill of Descent.

This natural passageway spared them from having to climb over the steep mountains that would have been impossible for the beasts of burden to climb.

Single-file, they hiked between the boulders, trying to ignore both Buldar's running travelogue and Fleece's superstitions. The lad was becoming increasingly excited with the prospect of seeing the Land of Shy Kadesh, a marvelous land he had heard so many wondrous stories about.

Suddenly, as they came upon the halfway point of the long and narrow passageway, the rocks began to move, closing in on them from both sides. Windsor stretched out his crooked staff and both hands, holding the massive boulders back by his power as the riders heeled their mounts into a run. Navi stretched his own staff toward one boulder and Windsor turned his to the other. Each held back a side, as the others drew their swords and sped swiftly toward the end of the passage. The winged creatures became a bundle of nerves as they flapped their wings excitably but could not get any wind beneath them to fly.

"Run!" shouted Navi. "Get out from between the rocks!"

Suddenly, Dero, an evil wizard of Darvan and one that Windsor knew better than he wished, appeared, standing on top of one of the boulders. His cold eyes stewed with callousness, his long silver hair signaled age, but his preoccupation with Windsor suggested that these two wizards had history.

Looking down at the riders, he jeered at them, reveling that he had them right where he wanted them. There was no way he was going to let them escape from the now deadly passageway. It was closing in on them and the Passage of Crossing was becoming a monolith of demise.

"Dero!" Windsor's tone suggested a bitter and long history. "I knew you would eventually come crawling out of your hole."

Seeking a way out of the closing walls, the riders raced to get through the limestone portal. Suddenly, Riders of Quadar stepped into view, trapping the Circle of Riders between the large rocks that continued to inch in on them. Zephlin, Amase's dragon, grew agitated. Amase tried to calm him, since if he breathed fire it would set the riders in front of him ablaze. The zebra, sensing the presence of danger, became a vaporous image, nearly invisible to the naked eye, transforming Binko into the vaporous world as well. But like the stelletoes and the dragons, it couldn't get its wings spread.

Windsor and Navi were now holding back the rocks, resisting the evil force that pressed from the opposite side of the great monoliths. Inka roared ferociously.

Unexpectedly, the force of power resulted in an explosion of a portion of the hallway-like-boulder sending fragments of rock flying through the air. Dero bolted unwillingly into the sky with the shattered debris. Rocks crumbed, some falling inside the passageway. But now there was enough room for the wingspan of the flying mounts and they took to the sky. The riders charged ahead down the passageway, and sprang out from the rubble and began fighting the Riders of Quadar that had populated the area.

The faint image of Binko on his flying zebra darted this way and that way among the trees, shooting arrows through the air, and sometimes swinging his sword, cutting dark riders down to size. Nomeds and derves came running through the forest, excited to see the fighting.

Supernatural warfare began as Windsor stretched out his staff, lifting Dero off the ground and knocking him against a rock. He pinned him to the monstrous wall high in the air. With his back pressed against the boulder, Dero fought to lift his wrist, eventually succeeding at pointed his own staff toward Windsor.

Windsor was now suspended in mid-air, trapped by the force of Dero's powers. The efficiency of the evil wizard's energy forced Windsor back, broadsiding the mountainside where he was now bound. Spotting the predicament Windsor was in, Navi stretched out his staff toward Dero, sending him into a spiral rotation. Dero's power was lifted from Windsor, who dropped suddenly and swiftly toward the ground. Windsor lost his grip on his staff as both plummeted towards the ground. Navi now turned his staff from Dero to Windsor.

With Navi's power now directed towards saving Windsor, he broke the deadly fall and reduced it to nothing more than a bump. Dero curbed his fall with his own powers. He crashed to the ground receiving no injuries and immediately sprang to his feet. Now, spotting Navi, Dero stretched his staff toward the wizard and thrust him against the rocks. The rocky walls of the mountain side began to tremble. Dero was aiming to bury Navi beneath the weight of the collapsed side of the mountain, leaving him for dead in the rumble. But his plan was thwarted when Windsor exercised the power within, holding back the rocks.

The wizards were in a powerful fight, one powerful force against another. They warred with powers that they did not own; the powers they possessed were gifts that came with responsibility, Dero having chosen to misuse the powers he had been given.

Navi now leapt out from between the rocks and together with Windsor turned his staff toward Dero again.

Between them they elevated the evil wizard back into the air and slammed him against the mountain, knocking him unconscious.

Now the two wizards had an opportunity to scan the situation below. A larger group of Riders of Quadar had now appeared from the thick of the forest. They seemed to just keep coming, as scores of dark riders now swarmed the region. To make matters worse, these dark riders were wearing mail, putting them on equal footing with the Circle of Riders when it comes to protection. Derves gathered into the trees above, jumping up and down with excitement. The four dragons—Moridar, Inka, Orpah and Zephlin—all breathed gusts of flame, being threatened by their evil presence.

While Windsor and Navi became preoccupied with the legion of dark riders streaming onto the mountain side, Dero began to regain his consciousness. Still lying down, he spotted Windsor and Navi and stretched his staff out toward the rocks just above their heads. Suddenly, large rocks lifted off the ground and flew straightway towards the two wizards. Windsor and Navi stretched out their staffs to the rocks just in time. Then Dero used his power to make rocks fly in every direction. Navi stepped up to keep them from hitting their fellow riders. One barely missed Gilgore. Windsor now used his power to force the rocks towards Dero, one nearly crushing him to the ground. Dero fell backwards out of Windsor's sight. He leapt back onto his feet and plotted his next move.

Being surefooted, as well as having the edge of invisibility, Binko was an irreplaceable asset. If a rider was overwhelmed by sheer numbers, he served like a secret weapon, going in and taking out the enemy completely unseen. The dark riders never even saw him coming.

Nuvatian was one of those he rescued that day. Swarmed by dark riders, he was skillfully taking them on, holding his own. He dropped several to the ground with a grand example of his excellent swordsmanship. But from behind him, as he cut through the abdomen of one dark rider, another appeared, with sword raised, its razor edge eager for his blood. Just as that dark rider started to swing his blade, an arrow grounded itself between his eyes, and he toppled to the ground. Within a matter of moments, the arrows from the Elf and Nuvatian's blade combined to drop the horde of devilish dark riders that had surrounded the knight. Binko now became momentarily fully visible on his magical zebra, giving Nuvatian a thumb's up.

Monguard was the most impressive. He moved like a lion, leaping and killing his prey with finesse and speed. He leapt off the sides of rocks and trees like it was an intrinsic quality of the human species. In the brevity of a moment without a sword to combat, Gilmanza observed Monguard. He was amazed. He had never seen a man fight like this man. For that matter, he had never seen a man move like this man. _We would really be in trouble if he got ahold of the Sword of Powah._ Then, three swords eager to shed blood were upon Gilmanza and his thoughts and instincts switched to self-preservation.

When the Viking brothers and the Sorb witnessed Monguard in action they too concluded that he must be possessed with either a god or a devil. They only hoped that it was the former. The Sword of Power would be even worse in the hands of a man of his skill.

Gilmanza cut down three riders and paused. He scanned the scene hoping to get a glimpse of Amase and Sagran—and he did. He wondered where they had learned their superb skills; not everyone could fight like them. Although they seemed sincere, he was now even more concerned, hoping their motives were pure. _I will keep a watchful eye on them. Then, just like before, swords were upon him._

The mail proved to be of no use when it came up against Gilgore. Gilgore plucked Riders of Quadar off their horses and threw them across the ridge of rocks. The impact of the throws killed most of them instantly. His large body tore through the woods and his giant sword did grave damage. In one instance, Gilgore snatched a sword from a dark rider and plunged it through him. As he continued to war around the dying Quadarist, the evil rider rolled his dagger edge up right where Gilgore was placing his gigantic foot. The sharp edge sliced clear through his animal skin boot and into his tough skin. The giant roared in pain. Next, he snatched up the rider and slung him clear into the top of a large tree.

Gilmanza was effectively fighting off nearly a dozen riders with a master's skill. In a short time, all of them lay dead on the ground. However, by now the riders were growing weary of the seemingly endless string of dark riders that continued to flood the hills, emerging from the thick of the trees. A swarm of dark riders encircled Amase, Monguard's hand got cut, and one sword broke through Sagran's chain-mail, cutting his side. Cozbi was nearly killed, sparred only when Vandorf threw a dagger at a dark rider whose sword was moving in the direction of Cozbi's chest.

With fluidity and skill taught only by a master swordsman, Fleece demonstrated that he had earned the right to fight with the most elite warriors in the world. When Vandorf got a glimpse of him in action he was proud of the young man. He never folded under pressure, the thing that worried Vandorf the most. But the boy was growing tired and Vandorf knew that is when mistakes happen.

Things turned worse when Windsor looked up across the horizon and saw the blackness moving towards them. The sky was crawling with dark riders astride fierce dragons. Now, it appeared that the situation could not get much worse. Windsor would have to think of something quick. But Dero was up and at his mischief again, thrusting Windsor back on the cliff he stood upon; but Windsor resisted and his power fought back against Dero, the forces meeting in the middle causing wind to whip up. Finally, Dero fell backwards. But he wasn't finished yet.

At that moment, two derves jumped down onto Nadora, unseating her from Orpah and knocking her bow from her hand. When she looked up, she saw a Rider of Quadar on his black horse, a few feet away galloping toward her. His grisly face looked starkly hollow, his eyes desolate and unremorseful. His horse snorted and its nostrils flared. Because her bow was out of reach, she reached into her boot to get her dagger, but found it had slipped down inside the boot. She stared at the double edge blade that seemed eager to take her life. Her natural instinct was to freeze even though she told herself to roll. He charged. Just as she was about to roll, perhaps a little too late, an arrow from out of nowhere shot through the dark rider and he fell limp over his horse. Nadora grabbed her bow and leapt to her feet. She had no idea where the arrow had come from.

Just then, the fortunes of the riders took a turn for the good. From out of nowhere arrows flew through the air, piercing the ranks of the Quadarist. With precision and speed, they shot through the forest popping dark knight and dropping them to the ground. The dark riders quickly began to scatter, making a furious escape.

Looking beyond the trees, Nadora saw a powerful-looking female rider, mounted on a white polished stelleto with a host of riders behind her. Her complexion was fair, and her long straight golden hair blew behind her as she rode. The appearance of the riders seemed almost angelic. They were well-built physically, and they fought with incredible strength and skill.

Now, Nadora knew that she was the one who had saved her life.

In the air, Windsor could see an army of white stelletoes bearing immortals. They covered the ground and the sky. Above the snowcapped peaks, soaring in the thick atmosphere, was a show, a standoff, between good and evil, as dark beasts circled the high peak of one mountain and Immortals on white stelletoes circled another. It was crystal clear who belonged to which side and who stood for who.

On one side, dark heavy wings resonating with the mystery of iniquity scarred the sky with its evil intent. Above the other mountain peak, angelic white wings of the stelletoes spread enormously across the sky mystifying the dark beasts and disclosing the mystery of their threatening ways. They held an astonishing presence. Each group winged it around in circles until intimidation mounted.

Soon, the dark riders left one by one, the older and more experienced riders flying away first.

Dero was among the last to leave, giving it one more last go at Windsor and Navi before he flew off. He had already mounted his dragon, eager to get away from the Immortals. With his staff stretched out, a gust of power shot out towards Navi, slinging him into a tail spin and nearly over the cliff. Navi held on for dear life, his staff fallen to the ground below.

Then, he summoned one of the dragons, calling it forth to unleash its fiery breath onto Windsor. Strange words came out of his mouth and the dragon mounted the sky with a wide wingspan, making a direct flight towards Windsor who now stood atop a cliff. It shot through the open sky, creating a gulf of wind with its mighty wings. It plunged over the peak of a mountain and did a nose-dive descent upon Windsor. As it dove, it opened its mouth, the gust of fire coiled in the back of its throat.

Spotting the beast, Windsor stretched out his staff and murmured unintelligible words. The roaring force that proceeded from his staff nearly took him back, but none the less, he stood, his silver hair blowing in every direction from the chaotic wind from the turbulence created by the endowment of his special gift of wizardry.

The might power that went forth from his staff brought the great dragon to a halt in midair, although his mighty wings continued to flap. His mouth was open but the force of the air squelched its ability to thrust fire from its lips. The dragon hacked, its mouth still wide opened, as it was forced back by the power conjured by the great seer.

Fuming with anger, Dero shouted a warning to Navi and Windsor that he would meet them again, and soon. The defeated dragon spun and high tailed it out, a white stelleto on its heels. Seconds later, there was not a trace of a single dark rider or any other creature associated with Darvan. All had fled swiftly at the presence of the Immortals.

Windsor had little power left, but what he had, he executed on Navi. With his staff extended, he lifted Navi from the cliff and planted his feet safely on flat ground. Navi snagged his staff and joined the others. With little left to give, Windsor had to leg it down from the high place.

In all, the battle had not lasted long, although it felt like a day.

The golden-haired lady approached now, and spoke. "King Justiz heard there were some friends of his coming to see him. He sent us to see that you arrive safely." She appeared to be leading the unit. She looked at Windsor and smiled, her refined facial features imparting an air of strength to complement her beauty. Her light-colored clothing shone brightly against the shimmering white stelleto she rode astride.

"Navi responded first. "We are sure glad to see you." Then, with a hint of flirtation, he asked, "And your name is?"

"My name is Akiylah," she answered, eyeing Windsor. He was of course looking back at her.

"Would that be Miss. or Mrs. Akiylah?" Navi continued.

Laughing, but offering no further response, she turned her mount around toward the Land of Shy Kadesh. "I like your pink bow," she said snickering.

"Thank you. I'll trade ya."

"No thanks. The color suits you very well."

"It's borrowed," Navi lied, not wanting to admit that it was his and not wanting to go into detail about the prank.

"I'm sure it is. I'm not real sure about that hair though."

"Why does everyone have to pick on my hair," Navi said, thinking that she was talking about his green and purple braids. There was much snickering but no one was willing to ruin the gag.

"A bit late, aren't you?" Vandorf asked, wiping blood from a cut on his arm.

"No, I am right on time," Akiylah said.

"What is a woman doin' leadin' this group of warriors?" Cozbi whispered to Nimri.

"I don't know." The issue was dead to Nimri now. He was clearly impressed with Nadora and this woman sure didn't seem like one easily intimidated.

"Well, a woman has no business out here in the battlefield. She should be home cooking or somethin'," snapped Cozbi.

Nadora, riding in front of them, heard their whispers. Looking back at them, she raised her eyebrow and cocked her head to the side. Passing by a branch that was in her way, she grabbed it and held on to it. Cozbi was still looking at Nimri, rolling his eyes and spewing off about the discrepancies of a woman warrior. Just then, Nadora let go of the branch; it swung back, whipping Cozbi in the face.

"Aaahhh!" he whimpered. Looking back, she raised her eyebrow again; then, with a triumphant laugh, she dug her heels into her mount and rode ahead.

"She really is a great archah," Nimri said, nodding his head toward Nadora. "In fact, I've nevah seen a woman like her."

"Humph!" Cozbi sneered.

Back at the front of the line, Akiylah was still speaking. "Some among you are injured," she noted, first noticing the steady stream of blood that poured from Gilgore's foot he was attempting to hobble on and then Sagran.

"Oh, it's not that bad," said Sagran, holding a cloth drenched in blood.

"It looks bad to me. Let me see it."

As she removed the cloth, blood poured out of the wound. Akiylah touched the wound and it immediately closed up. It didn't even leave a scar.

"Amazin'! How'd you do that?" Sagran asked.

She now went about, touching each injured rider. Instantly, each was healed as wounds grew together, not even leaving a sign of injury. Gilgore's foot and Nadora's ankle were instantly healed by a single touch from this mysterious lady. But she couldn't salvage Gilgore's shoe and the snow was freezing on his bare feet.

Meanwhile, Gilmanza wished to press the matter at hand. "We appeal to the graciousness of the Immortal King," he began. "We have need of seeing him."

"I know why you have come," Akiylah answered. "He sent us to bring you safely into his kingdom." The riders looked at each other with relief, knowing that they were going to see the king.

Navi interrupted. "While you're on this healing spree, you think you might could make this raw place bettah? A nomed bit me and all this riding just keeps it raw," Navi explained, offering a wide smile.

When she touched Navi's thigh, he smiled at her. "You have a soft touch," he said. Akiylah just laughed, but Windsor rolled his eyes. As she looked up at Windsor, their eyes caught and they smiled at each other.

They sallied forth for the palace now free of the opposition that was delaying them. As they rode along, Windsor ruminated on the days when he had once been immortal. It was so long ago, but now being around the immortals made him remember what life had once been like. He secretly longed for the days when he was invincible and had no fear of death. He recalled the power he had possessed, power to heal, power to fight and power to overcome. The Elves could become nearly invisible on their magical zebras, but the immortals could become invisible at will, without the magic of anything outside their own eternal selves.

Most of all, Windsor remembered the days of eternal youthfulness, love and happiness. As he rode along, reflecting on days gone by, he unconsciously turned the ring on his finger, fumbling with it. He almost dreaded going into the land of the immortals now, because he knew he would have to leave, something he didn't want to do. But he was no longer an immortal, and thus would not be allowed to stay permanently. He was mortal now, and he was old too; he knew that one day, he would die.

Shy Kadesh

Led by the Immortal Riders, the Circle of Riders ascended the towering mountain, the Mountain of Infinity (or so the mortals called it). It was the last of the great mountains in the Great Divide. They rode throughout the day, climbing its snow-capped peaks.

It was evening when they reached the top, home to the enormous and unbreachable walls of the Land of the Immortals. Cozbi and Nimri wondered why in the world they would want to live in this freezing tundra.

Following their escort, they rode along the edges of the elaborate city-walls. The walls encircled the entire land; no other land had walls like these. The walls of other lands merely encompassed the city, not all of the land, and none compared to these in strength or beauty. Every ten yards of wall, there was an engraved image of a strapping knight, the detailed work of a master craftsman. Between each carved knight were chiseled olive branches, intertwined with ram's horns. The large steel gates were themselves crafted with many twists and turns. From a distance, the winding steel created the image of the head of a lion.

A large stone-crafted chariot pulled by several stelletoes stood on each side of the steel gates. The stelletoes pulling the chariots stood outside of the walls, carved in a full run and appearing as though they pulled the walls and all that was within them. Their nostrils flared, their muscular bodies were well-defined, and their eyes were full of strength. Fleece ran his hand across the side of one of the stone horses. Monguard held the magnificent sculpture in awe. He wanted to remember it, to carve it in his next sculpture. The walls and gates alone were very impressive, but the statue made it exquisite.

A strong tower hosted a group of immortal knights at the gate. Behind the steel gates was another gate made of a rare wood as solid as steel. At the sight of the riders, the unconquerable gates were raised and they were allowed passage into the city.

"I heahd that this giant wall was built in a day," Buldar said to one immortal. "Is that true?"

The immortal smiled but did not answer Buldar.

The riders who had never been to Shy Kadesh before (only Windsor and Gilmanza had visited the land) were shocked when they entered the gates of the city. To begin with, there was a sudden climate-change as the cold temperatures of the snow-capped mountains suddenly vanished, and the riders rode into a tropical paradise. The temperature was always pleasant in Shy Kadesh. It was never too cold or too hot, simply pleasant. The flowers were always in bloom and the grass was always green. The trees grew tall, the ivy large; philodendrons grew both ways, and the air always smelt fresh.

Gigantic mushrooms speckled with hues of color stood in clusters beneath the skyward trees. Philodendrons and large ivy streamed down the sides of cliffs. Rainbow Eucalyptus trees and a rare variety of Eucalyptus trees gave the land a delicious aroma. Clove trees with huge buds stood tall across the land. Enormous Gerber Daisies of fantastic colors grew wild, seemingly everywhere. Light blue forget-me-nots grew in clusters. There were tulips and mums growing at the same time. Small white flowers softened up the rainbow of colors. A faint mist from the many waterfalls kept the land and air freshly moist. The serene beauty of it all was breathtaking.

When they walked through the gates, they found themselves riding beneath a canopy of braided trees. Arching the trail that led into the kingdom were two lines of braided trees, grafted together at the tops. Their trunks were sturdy, their branches intertwined and braided together, creating a long arched canopy as though giving a spectacular welcoming to everyone who entered their land. Ivy with soft white flowers streamed across the grafted canopy. Not one weed was seen in all the land.

When they rode out from under the intertwined trees, they stood with mouths agape. Some of the riders stared in disbelief at the overgrown Sandalwood and Ginkgo trees, their branches reaching into the blue sky. An assortment of trees of fantastic shapes and sizes captured their amazement. The flowers, the green pasture, the colors, the waterfalls, it was all breathtaking.

The welcoming canopy was not the only grafted landscaping design they would encounter. These artistic designs of tall trees grafted and braided together amazed the riders. A large group of trees were planted in a circle and joined to create a durable support structure for swinging. Swings made from rope and a wood plank seat hung from the trees; children were swinging and laughing. Near the swings was a tree grafted in the shape of a huge sailboat; it looked as though it could set sail at any moment. Children were climbing the boat and swinging from the ropes of the sail.

In the distance, antelope ran across the hills and kangaroos jumped through the meadows. Elephants roamed free without the threat of poachers, and giraffes ate foliage from the limbs of the trees. Further in the distance, the riders could see and hear the wondrous Guardian Falls, thundering down over an eight-hundred foot drop, with puissance and beauty. The falls spanned across the ridges of mountains wider than they were tall.

They traveled down a dirt pathway that gave way to sneaky suspicions that there was more to this path than dirt and rock. The ground shimmered with sparkles of crystal like slivers, capturing the rays of the sun, and cast illuminations of glory.

The path led them through the growths of the forest where the Redwoods grow. The sound of a raging river signaled to the riders that water was nearby. As they came nigh to the river, they beheld the most spectacular bridge. Wide and strong, it was made of living trees grafted together, forming a sturdy passageway with side rails, shaded by the enormous Redwoods. The riders marveled at such magnificence. As they rode over the sturdy bridge, glittery sparkles shimmered in the riverbed bellow, increasing their suspicions that, like the dirt pathway, there was also more to this riverbed than mere rock and dirt.

Riding through the rolling hills, the riders caught glimpses of the colossal castle looming in the distance, its towering spires reaching into the heavens. As they closed the distance, the castle grew more spectacular, its lofty towers numerous and its symmetry approaching perfection. The entire land was simply enchanting and awe-inspiring.

As they approached the last hill, they could now see a mighty fortress reaching to the heavens, its icy-blue towers like ice peaks on a frozen glacier. This looked more like a place for gods to congregate.

They were silent as they rode down the path that led to the enormous castle. Its premises were adorned with a variety of tree-art. There were twelve trees woven together, creating an organic work of art that looked like a woven basket. The inside of the tree was hollow and the branches met at the top, pruned and shaped to perfection. A vine with small purple flowers climbed partway up one side of the basketlike tree. Another tree resembled a spiral staircase, whereby one could climb the steps of the trunk and relax in its branches, the tops woven into hammock-like contraptions.

The outside of the castle was made of pearl-white stone and garnished with bluish stones bordering the windows and trim. In front of the palace were two large fountains. Large Eucalyptus trees stood by the side and a gentle breeze blew their pleasant aroma toward the riders. The riders took deep breaths, enjoying the pleasant fragrance.

Coming within a stone's throw away from the spectacular castle, Akiylah led the riders beneath a gracefully chiseled stone crafted archway and into a gorgeous courtyard. The riders dismounted and left their animals with the stable keepers. The army of Immortals stayed positioned until the riders unseated, and then they rode off. As they entered the castle, they were once again awestruck, its magnificence was intimidating.

As they waited for the king in the anteroom, they admired the mosaic floors, the gold drapes edged with tassels, and the exquisite water fountains. His castle was well-lit and airy, with many windows—not dark and dank like most castles. It was far more stately and welcoming than any built.

From around the corner, King Justiz Japhia Cervanius appeared. An aura of importance and wisdom accompanied him, his royal presence being grander than all the kings of the earth. Everyone took notice when he entered the room. Even so, he was not arrogant or self-imposed; rather, he was kind, charitable and quick to inquire of the well-being of his guests. His youthful and handsome appearance in no way diminished his authoritative presence. His vibrant green eyes radiated with life and his smile demonstrated a welcoming spirit.

At first sight of him, the riders fell to one knee and bowed their heads, showing respect for the Immortal King. King Japhia Cervanius Justiz acknowledged their show of respect but showed no signs of ego. His face beaming with joy, he acknowledged each one of them by name. This stunned many of them who wondered how he knew them by name. Windsor, on the other hand knew the acquaintances of King Justiz well, reaching as far back as the days when he himself was an Immortal. Gilmanza also knew him well.

Nadora was surprised though that he knew her by name, assuming that he paid no mind to mortal kings and their doings.

"It is so good to see you," King Justiz said. Noticing Navi's burnt-out purple hat, the King chuckled, and began with the younger wizard, "Don't you think it's about time for a new top, Navi?"

"Aahhh, I made a new friend," Navi replied. "Some friends are easia to make than othahs, my Lord."

"Yes, well, we will see if we can't do something about that hat, or perhaps about that friend," King Justiz answered, laughing.

"So, is pink you're new favorite color?" the king asked, a gigantic smirk across his face. Navi wondered how he knew about his bow since he had left it on his mount. He still didn't know that his hair had pink running through it. He assumed that someone must have told him about the bow since he seemed to know everything else.

"Not exactly. That's another friend that you can do something about if you don't mind, my Lord." Navi glared down the line of friends, setting his piercing eyes on Ozni. Ozni laughed, wishing he had been that clever.

The king laughed too, catching on that Navi had been the victim of a practical joke.

"You wouldn't by any chance know who turned my bow pink would you?"

"Well, I think I would be more concerned about the hair if I were you." Now Navi was curious, but people who didn't know him always made comments about his hair.

"I like being different," Navi chimed.

"Yes, I see." The king smirked. Now he directed his attention to another. Monguard, I have heard what a great warrior you have become."

"Thank you, my Lord," Monguard answered, his head twitching as he stood in the presence of this mighty king, himself bearing a smirk as he stood next to Navi and his pink hair. He wanted to pat himself on the back for this long-lasting prank.

"I bet you like to have frozen out in these mountains," the king said.

"I'm good, Sire. Thank you for your concern."

"Would you like some more berries?"

A shocked look came over Monguard's face but he couldn't hold back the smirk. "No, Sire. But thank you for the offer." How did he know? Monguard wondered.

"And who do we have here? If it isn't Princess Nadora. It is so good to see you.

"Thank you, my Lord. It is good to finally meet you, Sire."

"How is your father?"

"He is well, my Lord," she answered.

"You have grown into such a courageous woman of many talents and skills."

"Thank you, my Lord."

"And Nuvatian, so good to see you." Nuvatian was now impressed with more than the awe-inspiring beauty of the land. _Wow! This king is really on top of things. He knows our names._ "Quiet a fight on your hands I see." The king said it with a smirk. Nuvatian had an idea he was talking more about his personal life than about the wars on the battlefield. "You are strong and have what it takes."

"Skeener, good to see you."

"Thank you, Sire."

"What happened to your hair?" King Justiz asked Buldar, noticing his burnt-out head.

"Navi's friend, Sire."

"Well, with friends like that, who needs any enemies?"

"If you would like, tomorrow morning you can take one of the flying mounts, along with anyone else who might want to join you, and fly to the coast."

"The coast, Sire?"

"The ocean. It's just north of here."

"Really? You mean I get to see the ocean?"

"If you would like."

Buldar was ecstatic. A beaming smile filled his face that no one could have wiped off.

Coming to Binko, the King turned his nose up at the odor. Binko was quick to apologize. "Navi's friend got me, too, Sire!"

"I see. Well, it looks like we need to do something about Navi's friend," laughed the king.

Now coming to Amase, King Justiz nodded his head and smiled tenderly. "Amase, you look well and strong." Amase was floored that he knew his name, assuming that the others had met him before. The king leaned in, almost whispering, assuring the lad, "You won't do it alone."

"Won't do what alone?" Sagran whispered, looking around for an answer.

"Strong?" Navi sneered, pointing to Amase's not-so-impressive bicep. Squeezing Amase's arm, he repeated, "Strong? Looks rather scrawny to me." Amase playfully turned his nose up and laughed. He didn't have big bulging arms, but they weren't spaghetti arms either.

When the king came to Windsor he hugged him as though he were an old friend. "You've chosen well," he whispered, reassuring the wizard's deep concerns.

King Justiz continued to go around to each rider, making some acknowledgements of each one in turn. Then he stepped back and addressed them all. "I know you did not travel this far for small talk. I am also sure you are hungry. Come, let's get you all cleaned up—especially you, Binko!" The riders laughed. "And let's do something about Navi's friend," he chuckled.

"I will have a change of clothing for each of you, new clothes acceptable for your journey. New boots too, especially you Binko and you Gilgore. I have made arrangements for all of you to stay here for the night."

"You have giant size boots?" Gilgore was impressed. The king grinned.

"We are much obliged," Windsor said, bowing once again.

The king smiled and led the riders down a hall, past his immense throne-room.

Peeping into the room as they passed, they could see a throne of gold, with steps leading up to it. It was elegant but not gaudy. The mosaic-tiled floors were embellished with crushed pearls, their design also celebrating the kingdom. The ecru stone walls were carved into a woven design of intricate detail, as though they had been finely crocheted. The refined elegance of the walls was the work of the most excellent stone craftsmen, inspiring and delicate at the same time. What was unusual about the feel of this castle was that it felt breezy, not stuffy like most castles; it smelt fresh, not stale.

Leading them to the far corner of the castle, the King showed them to the bathing areas. Within the palace there were private bathing rooms, fed by the hot springs that piped warm water right into the palace. The king stood stately as the riders passed by him to get cleaned up. As Navi passed by the king noticed the pink smiley face decorating the back of his jacket. A big smirk came across his face, finding the jokester to be very clever in deed.

It was not until after Navi was cleaning up that he got a glimmer of the hair through a shinned piece of metal in the bathing house. He felt like he had scrubbed his head a thousand times but all the pink did was fade. After he gave up, and put on the clothes the king provided, he picked up his dirty clothes. That's when he noticed the smiley face on his jacket. This too could not be undone, although he scrub it, it would not come out.

He had a sneaky suspicion who was behind this little prank. _Berries hu._ He wondered how the Immortal King knew about this. He didn't know Monguard was such a prankster. Navi would get him back— _all in time_ he thought.

When Navi walked out of the bathing area, he had a surprise awaiting him. A new riding jacket hung outside the door. A note was pinned to it that read: Navi. Navi smiled and slid it on. It was not only brown like he wanted but it was the most comfortable and best he had ever owned.

The private bathing areas were magnificent with columns that reached to the ceilings, elaborate stone work of an excellent masonry, and tumbling vines thriving among the moisture. Sheer curtains laced with gold threads strung down wall and fountains ran down other walls. The areas were clean and fragrant with fresh cut lavender standing in a large vase, while thick cotton towels sat on a stone- crafted stand. Vandorf was excited that he was going to get to bathe and even more excited when he saw the cleanliness and exquisite bathing areas fit for a king.

"I could get used to this," he said smiling.

Upon completion of their baths, the riders were given fine clothing to wear as well as a set of new clothing suitable for their travels. Nadora was given a beautiful dress suitable for a princess and another set of clothes suited for a warrior. The riders were amazed when she walked in wearing the elegant dress. Most had never seen her dressed like a lady until now. Their mouths hung agape at her exquisite beauty. Now, Nuvatian knew he was in love.

Entering the large banquet hall, the riders observed the artistic detail given to the room. The walls were decorated with mosaic art, celebrating the peace of the kingdom, the harvesting of crops and enchanting beauty of Shy Kadesh.

Hand-carved rock sconces holding precious jewels captured the natural light; the precious stones magically danced on the ceiling like the lights of the aurora.

Gilgore thought he had died and gone to heaven when a large chair was brought in that actually fit his bulky body. Servants dressed in fine apparel waited on them, seemingly happy to do so. In fact, it struck Nadora as odd. She had noticed numerous servants buzzing around, happily waiting on them and the king. She only wished that their servants were this willing.

Navi sat next to Akiylah, who had joined them. An impressive array of food was spread across the elongated table. The smell alone wetted the appetite of the hungry riders; they were starving. After giving thanks they were not shy, but grabbed at the food, anxious to fill their bellies. Windsor, however, ate very little, picking at his food more than anything. Akiylah often looked up at him with eyes of sympathy. He was quiet and his renowned strength seemed to have left him.

Buldar leaned over to Binko. "Thank God, you smell bettah, mate," he said.

"Yeah, well, it's gonna take a while for that hair to grow back, mate." They both laughed.

There was small talk, storytelling, and reminiscing around the table. The riders expressed their appreciation for the king's generosity and their new clothes. They were amazed at the king's ability to know what each rider liked and his estimation of their sizes.

After supper, King Justiz led the riders into a spacious room, where they sat at a large octagonal table of crafted stone, animals of all sorts chiseled into the tabletop. The table's edges were inlaid with gems.

"I know why you have come," the king began. "The Sword of Darvan has been found and you have come to ask me to ride." Standing up and walking around the table, he continued. "Since Darvan has had power, the plight of humanity has been a tragic one filled with violence and pain." He laid his hand upon Sagran and Amase. Then, he began again, "suffering and oppression," touching others as he passed, "...hatred, sickness and death." He placed his hand on Vandorf and Ozni. Vandorf didn't even look up. "I know that I am the only one who can completely and permanently defeat Darvan. Even so, however, now is not the time for me to make my move. You must ride on for now. I—I will catch up with you at a later time."

Silence fell upon the room. Shocked by his remark, a bombardment of thoughts went through the riders' minds: _Our trip up here was in vain. Our defeat is sealed. How dare he! Coward. Has betrayed us all. He doesn't even care._

Now, Vandorf looked at him, but only for a moment. Then, he put his head back down and didn't say a word or even look up again.

Rapidly trying to process what King Justiz had just spoken, Nadora broke the silence, speaking out of her frustration, "What?" she cried out. "What do you mean you're not going to ride with us? We have risked our lives to ride up here to inform you. My fathah has the sword in his possession in Shalahem."

"I don't need informing," King Justiz replied curtly. "I am much aware of what is going on politically."

"But we have ridden this fah," protested Nimri.

"You coward. You don't know how to be a king. You sit up here in your little fairy-tale land playing royalty," Cozbi accused. "You are weak!"

In the midst of all these expressions of outcry and anger, Windsor pushed his chair back, stood up and stretched out his arms. "It is as you say, King Justiz. Please excuse our expressions of momentary frustrations brought on by our fatigue. We trust that you have our best interest in mind." His words stilled the room. "Thank you for receiving us and for your generous hospitality," he added.

"You are most welcome," King Justiz said. "I hope you enjoy a season of rest in my land."

"Thank you, my Lord," answered Windsor.

"Best interest," Cozbi burst out. Then he proceeded to chide the king. "You should have done somethin' about this yeahs ago."

"Cozbi," Windsor said, shocked by his outburst.

"He doesn't have our best interest in mind," Cozbi said standing to his feet. "If he did he would take that sword and put an end to this. Just because he's immortal doesn't make him bettah."

Windsor interrupted, rebuking Cozbi for his disrespect.

Gilmanza now stood up and rebuked the knight who spoke so disdainfully. "Sit down," he commanded. "I will not have a knight under my command speak with such disrespect."

Angry, Cozbi stormed out of the room.

Eyeing Amase, King Justiz said, "I trust that the sword will be in good hands." Navi alone had understanding into the words of the king.

As the riders left the table, their discouragement mingled with a growing anger. Some felt King Justiz was simply abandoning them. To them, it appeared that King Justiz just wasn't interested in things outside of his celestial-like kingdom.

Fuming with anger, Windsor and Gilmanza caught up to Cozbi. "That is no way to speak to a king—an immortal king at that!" Windsor spoke with reproof.

Gilmanza bore down harder. "You know nothing of knighthood—of honor, nobility, and respect. And I will not have a knight undah my command behave in such a mannah as this."

"King or no king, shouldn't I have the right to speak my mind?" argued Cozbi.

"You do not have the right to be disrespectful," Gilmanza countered. "There are many things that you do not undahstand about the Immortals."

"Just because they are immortal doesn't give them the right to neglect their responsibility," Cozbi snapped. "We should have brought him the bloody sword and let him deal with it; then, it would be his to deal with, whether he likes it or not."

"You speak foolishly," Windsor said, sternly.

"Foolish? I speak with truth and zeal." Cozbi was not willing to let this drop without a fight. "Anyone can see that he is avoiding his responsibility, and that he doesn't care about the rest of the wohld. He's not suffering. He's not hungry. He's not sick or dying. As long as he sits here in his celestial kingdom, untouched by the things the rest of us are touched by, he will never care." Cozbi was giving Windsor an earful.

"Windsor is right, you speak the words of a fool," Gilmanza said. "He has fought alongside us in numerous battles, even those when no one else would fight with us. You've heard of these, the ones where we were outnumbered, and victory looked impossible. Have you not listened to the words of our forefathers of the mighty acts the Immortals have done in our behalf? With their help, we have been victorious.

"It's fairy-tales, stories embellished throughout the years," Cozbi said. "Sure, he fought in battles long ago, but how long has it been? What mattahs anyway isn't what he did then; it's what he's doing now."

"You don't know anything. He has rushed to our side in battle," he continued, his anger growing. "He has delivered us and at times has fed our poor. He has done more than you will eva know; but then again, you're too proud to evah take my word for it!"

They parted ways, the issue far from being resolved.

"He'll learn," Ozni said laughing, as he came up alongside Windsor and Gilmanza patting him on the shoulder, having overheard the tail end of their heated words.

"He'll learn alright when we get back and I strip him of his rank in knighthood," Gilmanza said, matter of fact.

Emotions ran high. Some felt abandoned, others forgotten; some wrestled with their demons, others, regrets of long ago.

Love Hurts

With the full moon shimmering in his countenance, Windsor sat outside alone by the soothing waters of a fountain. The reflections of the waters showed his age, his gray beard, silver hair, and wrinkled face. He sat silently, in deep thought and inner reflection. His face appeared sad and lonely as though he were remembering days gone by. From among the immaculate gardens, Akiylah quietly entered the courtyard and gazed at him from a distance. Windsor was unaware of her presence.

Walking softly up to the fountain, she approached the wizard from behind.

"Like a unique and treasured pearl, discovered after having been lost at sea, are you to me." Akiylah spoke softly as she placed her hand on his shoulder.

Standing and facing her, he put his hand on her moonlit cheek. "My dear, dear Akiylah. Your beauty is nevah fadin', just like that pearl that you speak of. But me, I am as far gone and as unattractive as the oysta that bore it."

"You were my heart's attraction, Windsor, and my heart has no place for another. I told you then that it mattered not to me that you lost your immortal state. And now, it still doesn't matter. My heart still beats for you. I still see you as the young, vibrant, and handsome man you were then. This skin is not what I fell in love with. It is the man within the skin that I fell in love with, and that love has not changed." She spoke in a slow, purposeful and tender voice, touching the side of his face, her ring capturing the rays of the moonlight.

Windsor was not willing to let this lie. "I love you too much," he said, "for you to spend your time with an old geezah—one who will grow old, even oldah than I am now and, eventually, will die. It is not fair to you. My days are now numbahed, the past is now gone, the present is quickly becoming my history, and the grave is my very near future." He ran his hand through his long silver hair.

He looked into her eyes and admired her beauty. "You will always be my love—my only love. But you, you have an etehnity of opportunities to fall in love with someone who has not lost his immortal state—someone who will nevah grow old and die."

"Eternities upon eternities could never find one for me as you, Windsor." She leaned in to brush his cheek. "I anticipate the day that Darvan is destroyed, when the old will become young again and the dead will be alive again— and I and you can be together, forever and ever."

"Oh how much I have dreamed of that myself, Akiylah! But as I have looked at my reflection and witnessed my friends gone by way of the grave, I have feared that I too would die and thousands of years would pass by before Dahvan would be destroyed. Then one day, I would be made alive again—young again—and finally we could be togethah for etehnity." He paused, looking off towards the moon. "But I always feahed that then I would discovah that you had found anothah love—a true love for all etehnity."

"As long as it takes, I will wait." Akiylah gripped his hand. "I have waited this long on you, you stubborn fool!"

Windsor was still not accepting this. "Akiylah, look at me!" his voice rose in agitation. "How can you still feel that way? Just look at me. I'm— well, I'm old! Ancient, almost!" _Wasted years,_ he thought. _Just wasted years. Years without love._

She took his head in her hands, turning it to hers. Her blonde hair fell over her shoulder grazing his body. "That is not you, Windsor." she gazed into his dark tearful eyes. "The skin that you are trapped within is not the man I fell in love with. The man I fell in love with is in here." She patted his chest, and felt his heartbeat. "This is the man I fell in love with. And that will never change!" She took his hand into hers.

"You're still wearin' the ring I made you."

"I've never taken it off."

As they held hands, the moon lit both of their rings, casting soft light upon the matching pair.

"I told you I would never leave, even if you grew old," said Akiylah. "Why couldn't you believe me?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "I guess I thought it would be easiah to nevha really have you, than to have you and then lose you to anothah."

"Even though you freeded me, there has never been another. Just because you lost your immortality should not change our love. We cannot change our hearts, Windsor."

_Old fool. I am nothing but an old fool,_ Windsor thought to himself.

While Windsor and Akiylah were sitting by the water fountain, Nadora had strolled to the stables, to sit with Orpah and Valor. Because she had been raised to be a strong woman, she often found it difficult to share her true feelings—except among her animals, where she could find solace telling them the secrets of her heart.

Carrying a lantern, she strolled across the manicured lawn to the stables. She breathed in the fragrance of the Eucalyptus trees as she passed by. Nuvatian watched from a balcony as she leisurely crossed the lawn. She was now wearing the princess garments given her by the king. She looked like a woman, a beautiful woman, instead of a warrior. It surprised him that she carried herself with as much grace as any woman he had ever seen, despite being a girl-warrior. He felt compelled to follow her.

Now, wearing the fine clothing King Justiz had given her, Nadora sat on the hay-scattered barn floor among the wood chips and dirt, talking to Orpah and Valor. "King Justiz is not going to ride," she moaned. "It just doesn't make sense. We have the bloody sword, but he's not going to take it. Oh, my fathah is going to be so disappointed!"

As she shared these thoughts with the beasts, Nuvatian walked into the stable.

"Nadora," he called, as he entered.

"In here," she replied.

Entering the stall where she was, he said quickly, but with some trepidation, "I-I saw you come down here. I just wanted to make sure you're all right."

She had walked there with such elegance, but now she sat on the barn floor among the hay, her robe-like dress wadded between her legs. She looked nothing like a princess now. To Nuvatian, even this pose could not ruin the charm and grace he saw in her.

"I'm okay," she replied, "just disappointed, like everyone else. Why would King Justiz not agree to ride? Why is he avoiding taking his responsibility?" She looked to Nuvatian for some insight.

"I don't know. Perhaps he's not yet ready to take on the temptation of the sword."

"We should have brought the bloody thing with us," her voice razor sharp, "and just left it with him. Then he would have been stuck with it."

"Yes, but we didn't consider that he might not come with us. It seemed more logical to leave it locked up in your fathah's castle, than to risk travelin' with it."

"I think we should go back," she growled, "and get the bloody sword and bring it to King Justiz."

"Well, we can't make any rash decisions. We'll see what your fathah says."

"My fathah is goin' to be furious!"

"I know, I know," said Nuvatian, grabbing her hand, to help her to her feet. "But we know that the ancient prophecies speak of events yet to come that involve an immortal king. Perhaps King Justiz knows things that we don't. We must trust that."

"Perhaps," she conceded. "It would just be easia if he would explain it to us."

He looked upon her sprawled out in the hay. Her hair hung loose over her shoulders; she twisted a lock around her finger. Her lips curved even with disappointment in her eyes. He could get lost in her beauty; but now, it wasn't just her beauty that had snagged him, it was her. He admired her strength and courage, her gentleness, and the way she didn't flaunt her intelligence or her position. She was most unlike-royalty and her down-to-earth ways had grabbed his heart as much as her beauty had captured his eyes.

The king was right: he had a fight on his hands—a fight within. But it was more than lust.

Nuvatian changed the subject. Affection surfaced in his voice. "You have hay all ovah your robe—or dress, whatevah it is!" He squatted on the ground and brushed some of the hay off the garment. "Whatevah it is called, it's very pretty—almost as pretty as you!" He ran his hand across her long hair.

Caught by surprise, Nadora did not know what to say. She dusted off the rest of the hay, remained silent.

Nuvatian softly touched the side of her face, lifted her head, and looked into her hazel eyes. Lost for words himself, he just looked at her.

Nadora broke the silence. "Well, I—I think I need to clean out Valor's hooves. She fumbled awkwardly with the straw beneath her feet.

"Of course you do," Nuvatian sighed. Sensing the awkwardness of the moment, Nuvatian opted to plop down in the hay across from her and lend his ear to her. "It looks like you are dressed for the occasion." He laughed, getting a smirk out of her too. "Besides, the Immortals already took care of our mounts. They did everything."

Nadora was much more comfortable with him when he was just a friend. _But that hair. Those lips. Those dimples_. He was the most gorgeous man she had ever laid eyes on but it just all felt so awkward. Besides, she reminded herself, men usually have one thing in mind, and she had the matters of the kingdom in her mind. No, there was no room for a man in her life. She decided she should settle the matter.

"I can't go there, Nuvatian. You're an attractive man and I like you as a friend; but, I will be inheriting this kingdom. This is my purpose in life, not marriage and children."

"Why can't you have both. Besides, who will inherit the kingdom aftah you if you don't have children?"

"There are cousins. Look, I can't do both and if I have to choose, I choose the kingdom."

"You can have both," Nuvatian insisted, brushing his hand across her cheek. "I will help you."

"Like I said, I can't do this." Nadora stood up and brushed off her dress. She put her hand on Nuvatian's hair and kissed his head. "Not right now. Not as I am right now."

Then, she walked away.

Inside she was fighting her own war. She held up high expectations for herself, achievement took precedence over romance; after all, achievement seemed easier, more natural to her. Achievement brought rewards, she wasn't too sure about romance; from her observation it seemed to satisfy temporarily but often turned messy.

She was a warrior and one day she would be queen. She didn't know if there was room for the role of wife and mother on her plate too. She didn't know if there was room in her heart to love a kingdom and love a man too; she didn't think there was room to make war and love at the same time.

When the riders turned down the silk sheets of their beds, the aroma of Jasmine greeted them. Their sleep was sweet and recuperative. Even Gilgore slept pleasantly in the large guest room made just for giants, beds that actually fit. But Buldar was so excited at seeing the ocean that he didn't sleep a wink.

At the crack of dawn, Buldar along with Navi, Monguard, Ozni, Skeener, Amase, Nimri, Nuvatian, and Nadora flew north on stelletoes provided by the king to find this ocean.

The bursting shades of marigold lit up the entire sky with a brilliant glow. Resplendent shades of orange and red shimmered upon the Prussian blue ocean creating a magnificent and unmatchable scene that struck awe in each and every one of them. The ocean looked like a crystalized sea of glass shinning in all its glory. The folding waves crashing on the shore produced a soothing melody that sang to Buldar's heart.

The riders swooped over the shoreline where sea lions, pelicans, and blue footed boobies were gathered. Sand dunes and sea oats decorated the shore. On a clear patch of sand, the riders landed their mounts and climbed off. They stood speechless as they soaked in the awesome view. It was breathtaking. Finally, Buldar spoke.

"It's even more beautiful than I remembahed."

Buldar stood there and just stared out at the great blue lit up with heavenly lights. The others shuffled around the beach. He inspected the bird with blue feet, reveled over the big mouths of the pelicans, and gloated over the big bodies and little fins of the sea lions. He couldn't believe the seals let him pet them. A big turtle crawled back into the ocean. What struck him the most though was the dolphins that appeared off shore leaping as though giddy with joy. Buldar grew so excited he nearly squealed for the other rider to witness this spectacular sight. He was captivated by the majesty of all that he saw.

"I want to sail the seas," Buldar said, thinking out loud.

Nadora felt it stir her heart too; but not to spend a life at sea. The spectacular beauty of the beach nudged a romantic spark. She felt carefree, something that neither she nor her position had allowed. Watching Nuvatian, his gait, his mannerism, his smile, she wondered if she was wrong. She watched the waves crest and fold. She would have to wait for love to crest her heart and fold her; for now, there was war to make.

Every time they suggested they needed to get back, Buldar would beg them not to go yet. "Just a little bit longah," he would say. When the time came, the riders practically had to pull Buldar away from the ocean. Once they had successfully gotten him on his mount and began to fly away, Buldar's head remained turned towards the sea. His face looked as though he could almost cry as he watched his dreams vanish from his sight. All he ever really wanted was to make a life on the rolling waves.

The following morning, everyone rose early to make ready for the journey back to the castle in the Land of Shalahem. While sipping some herbal tea from the balcony adjoined to his room, Nuvatian saw Nadora again going into the horse-stalls. This time she was dressed as a warrior wearing the clothing the king had given her. Finishing up his tea, he walked down to the stalls, telling himself it was to help get things ready for riding out.

He entered the barn and began saddling Valor. Nadora quietly grabbed the reins to her dragon. As she was walking across the barn, her foot hung in a strip of leather dangling from her dragon's reins. Unexpectedly, she tripped and fell face down; her face landed near a pile of horse manure.

Witnessing her fall, Nuvatian chuckled. Strolling over to where she laid face-down on the ground, Nuvatian stretched out his hand to help her up.

"What are you laughing about?" she growled, herself bearing a smirk.

"You! Here, let me help you up!"

Nadora laughed as herself and took his hand.

"It could have been worse," he said, pointing to the pile of manure.

Nadora jumped to her feet. As she started to walk off, she tripped again. This time, Nuvatian reached out his hand to steady her. She too reached out to catch herself, and in trying to break her fall, she grabbed hold of his arm.

Pulling her up, he said, "Here, let me take those reins."

Taking the reins, they found themselves nearly in each other's arms.

For a moment, it looked as though they might kiss when suddenly Navi came bouncing into the barn. "Mornin', cronies" he blurted out, just before he realized he had interrupted a romantic moment between the two of them.

Nadora quickly took the reins from Nuvatian. "I said I've got them."

Embarrassed, Navi turned to go back out; it was too late, he had killed the moment. Nuvatian gave him a look that could have killed.

"Sorry! My bad, crony," Navi whispered to Nuvatian. Then in full voice he continued, "Just thought I would bring Inka and his new gihl friend some breakfast." Walking into the stall, he found the two dragons sitting on opposite sides, growling at one another.

"Oh, are we having a lover's quarrel? Looks like it's in the air! Even dragons can't get along! You're in a celestial land, for the love of God."

Ormandel

No one was in a big hurry to get to the breakfast table and not because they weren't hungry, they were, just no one was in a rush to leave the beautiful land. They donned their clothes given to them by the king and gathered for breakfast in the stately dining hall.

At the table, Navi sat across from Akiylah. He found her glamorous, her blonde hair alluring. Occasionally he made flirtatious gestures at her, a wink here, and a smile there. She ignored him entirely. There was little conversation around the table; even so, King Justiz seemed unmoved by the disappointed riders.

Having eaten breakfast, the riders beat around the bush getting ready for the long journey to the castle of King Chess, in the Land of Shalahem. King Justiz had his servants provide them with ample provisions for their expedition back. With long faces, the riders strolled out in front of the castle.

"Windsor, when they grow weary remain steadfast," the king said quietly to the elderly wizard.

"Oh, and give this to Navi," said the King, handing Windsor a pink wizard-hat, to replace the one with the burnt-out top. He then handed him a purple one but asked Windsor to give him the pink one first, warning him not to give him the purple one too quickly. The immortal king had a sense of humor too. Windsor laughed, appreciating the king's humor.

"And give this to Monguard," handing Windsor a warm coat, "and this to Vandorf," handing him a new satchel, Vandorf's being worn out, "and this to Nadora," handing him a bag of rare herbs found only in Shy Kadesh. He gave each one of them something. A servant helped him carry it all. "I got you something too, Windsor." The king handed him a leather satchel perfect for his scrolls.

Windsor expressed his gratitude to the Immortal King.

Now, as Windsor approached the group, he tossed Navi the new pink hat. Navi curled his lip but then laughed out loud, knowing the king was up to no good. In good humor, he put it on and waved to King Justiz offering a laugh. "I'll wear it proudly," yelled Navi, jokingly.

Monguard, Vandorf, and Nadora waved, grateful for the king's kindness.

Cozbi despised the king, resenting his land, his position, his wealth, and his cowardliness. Now, he felt like he was trying to buy some of the riders off with gifts. That was nothing for him, he was a wealthy king. What did he know about real people? As far as Cozbi was concerned, he felt like the king was a coward. He tossed the gift in his satchel and tried to pretend like he didn't like it, even though he wondered how the king knew he always wanted to learn how to paint. He had never revealed that private thought, believing painting to be for sissies. Now he had brushes and paints, but he despised them.

As they were mounting their rides, they spotted a man in the distance walking toward them. It was the sketchy outline of a familiar-looking man, wearing chain-mail and bearing a sword. The expanse between them was now closing in. There was a scar across the left side of his face. Taking stock of the old chap, Gilmanza said, "That man is a spitting image of Ormandel." Everyone looked up and as the man drew closer, the mouths of those who knew him dropped wide open.

Walking up to the speechless group, the man said with a laugh, "It's good to see ya!"

"Ormandel?" Windsor asked.

"It can't be!" Gilmanza said.

"Why can't it be?" asked Ormandel.

"You're supposed to be dead, crony!" Navi exclaimed.

"Yes," Vandorf added. "Dahvan killed you!"

"He did?" asked Ormandel. He was as stunned by the pink strands in Navi's hair as he was by the news.

"I saw them take you captive to Quadar," added Gilmanza. "And no one has seen you since."

"We had your bloody funeral, crony," Navi said.

"Yes, and I brought you some flowers," Vandorf confessed.

"Flowers? Flowers are for sissies, mate." The knight was finding this quite amusing.

"Nothin' from the earth is for sissies," Vandorf retaliated.

"You had my funeral?" asked Ormandel.

"Yep, sure did," Navi replied. "Ya know, they didn't have your body, so they had one of those—What do you call it?"

"M-m-memorial s-sehvice," answered Skeener.

"It was beautiful, mate!" Vandorf said. Gilgore rolled his eyes at Vandorf for being so sentimental.

"You had a memorial service for me? Ormandel exclaimed. "Why, I hardly know what to say. I'm glad I couldn't make it!" His friends all laughed at his reply.

"I wasn't able to make it, mate," Binko admitted. "I didn't hear about it until after the fact. Besides, I was in anothah land. Sorry about that. But I did go to your grave and show my respects when I got back and got wind of the news."

Ormandel brushed a speck of dirt off his sleeve. "You didn't come to my funeral?"

"Sorry, mate," Binko apologized. "I was tryin' to promote peace among the kingdoms."

"A lot of good your peace efforts have done," said the aged knight. "And what do you mean, you visited my grave?"

"They set up a stone for you, crony, since they didn't have your body to bury you. It's a real nice one. Maybe we can take you to see it," Navi said.

Ormandel was now speechless, at the thought of his own tombstone, let alone the thought of them having had a funeral for him.

"Do you always have pink hair?"

Laughter broke out among the riders, Monguard trying hard not to laugh too hard. It was one of his most clever jokes, one that he was proud of.

"You don't like it?" Navi said, not bothering to explain that he had been the butt end of a joke. He figured he would learn the truth eventually.

Windsor broke the silence. "How did you get out of Quadar?"

"King Justiz. Ever since then, I have taken refuge here in his Kingdom.

At this, Cozbi turned and walked off.

"Unbelievable!" Vandorf said. "Bloody unbelievable!"

"Why didn't you let us know that you were still alive?" Gilmanza asked.

"It's complicated. When I awoke, I was here in Shy Kadesh. I didn't remembah anything for a long time. When things began to come to me, I—well, like I said, it's complicated."

Now he turned to another of the riders. "What happened to your head?" he asked Buldar with a snicker.

"I made a new friend," answered Buldar.

"Well, you can keep that bloody friend as your very own, mate," said Ormandel, laughing.

Changing the subject again, Gilmanza asked, "So what are your plans?"

"I was hopin' I could join you lads," Ormandel said. Seeing Nadora, he quickly corrected himself and added, "and Ma'am."

"Well, all you need is a beast to ride, mate," Gilmanza replied.

"But I'm not real sure what we're going to be doing now. I mean we don't really have a mission at the moment," Navi said.

"We can go back and get that bloody sword and bring it to him and then he'll have to deal with it," Zorgar said.

Windsor cut his eyes at Zorgar, silencing him. Windsor tried to diffuse the situation. "Grab a mount and join us. King Chess will be shocked to death to see you." In the back of his mind he was wondering if he was making the right call, after all, he and Gilmanza had said no one else was going to join them. But this was both unpredictable and exceptional. This man's friendship went back to the aged among them: Windsor, Gilmanza, and Vandorf. Most of the others didn't know Ormandel, met him a time or two or heard about him through storytelling, a common practice.

A servant brought a well-bred stelleto from the king's stables and Ormandel mounted the beast, becoming a part of the Circle of Riders.

As they rode back out of the kingdom, the riders went slowly, admiring the exquisite beauty of the land and taking in every last bit they could before having to depart. They rode back through the forest of Redwoods, across the living bridge and down the glittery pathway. Riding across the verdant land garnished with tree-art and exquisite flowers, the riders paused at the top of a hill and looked back at the beauty of the land: the trees, the vines, the flowers, the sparkling riverbeds and trails, and the Guardian Falls against the backdrop of the sunrise on the mountains. It was the most beautiful land they had every beheld. They lingers, soaking it in, wishing they didn't have to leave.

"Windsor, can we stay?" asked Amase.

"No, son, we're exiles," answered the wizard.

With great reluctance, the riders rode under the woven tree canopy and out of the walled city. Looking back one last time, they rode through the guarded ironclad gates and back into the cold snowy mountains. Monguard was thankful for the warm coat, wrapping it tightly around himself and Gilgore was thankful for the new boots as his big feet sank into the deep snow.

They were cold now, in more ways than one.

The Ride Back

There was silence as the riders crossed the snowy mountains, still trying to understand King Justiz's position. _Why would he not ride? Is he afraid of the Sword, or of Darvan? Does he really care about us mortals... about our families and friends? Or does he only care about his kingdom?_ So many questions without logical answers left them feeling abandoned and discouraged.

Meanwhile, sorrow flooded Windsor's spirit as he grieved the irretrievable loss of his immortality, and the loss of the deep love between him and Akiylah. _Perhaps I am a foolish old man, after all_. Heartache. Loneliness. Regret . What could have been? After all, he had still been a young man when he lost his immortality.

He could have at least enjoyed her for as long as the love lasted. He had just never dreamed she would have loved him this long, after he had lost his handsome qualities. She had tried many times to convince him. Now, the time had been spent and both had languished in loneliness, fearful of the pain that love can bring. Knowing what could have been he hurt now more than ever.

When they were nearly halfway across the mountains, somewhere in between the Mountain of Infinity and the Hill of Descent, but having already passed through the Passage of Crossing, the riders spotted a lone dark rider. He immediately fled upon sight of their presence. Windsor knew more had to be present. He sensed a presence, a presence that was much greater that a single rider. He paused and looked over his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Akiylah peering out from behind a tree. "The Immortals," whispered Ormandel. "They rode down behind us." No one else spotted them, for the Immortals are so mysterious in all their ways. He heard the thundering hoofs of dark knights speeding away.

By day the riders rode and at night they set up camp and slept. They feasted on the King's food that he sent for their homeward journey. They didn't encounter a single dark rider or even a derve or nomed on the journey home. On the third night, Windsor finally got an opportunity to catch up with Ormandel, just the two of them.

"Would you mind helping me gathah some wood, old friend?" Windsor asked him.

"Not at all. Glad to. But you'd bettah be careful who you call old, old man!" He was laughing, but the good-natured challenge remained in his voice. As they gathered small logs and kindling wood, the wizard asked the question that had remained unanswered: "So why didn't you make contact with me—or someone—to let us know that you were alive?"

The aging knight paused for a moment before responding. "Like I said, it's complicated," he began. "I didn't remembah anything for a long time. Windsor, I didn't even know who I was! I didn't even know my own name. King Justiz let me stay in his palace for some time; then, he introduced me to some people who became dear friends. Bits and pieces of things began to come to me, but it was all fragments of the events in Quadar. I remembahed bits and pieces of being tortured and that was all. I was so afraid, for a time I wouldn't even go outside."

He paused again, collecting himself after this revelation, then continued. "Later on, I moved into my own house; even then, I wouldn't leave their house. Here I was in the safest and most fortified land and I was afraid to go outside. What a coward. It was a long time before I began to remembah other things, and when I did I was too afraid to leave Shy Kadesh. That place has been a refuge of healing for me.

"Now, I have no more fear." He straightened, affirming his recaptured courage. "But when I finally began to feel the fear leaving me, I was too embarrassed to tell you or anyone else that I was alive and that I had simply been too afraid to leave my sanctuary."

"I am so sorry, Ormandel," Windsor said gently. "You nevah have to feel embarrassed about being fearful. Few people live through what you lived through. I can only imagine what that does to someone." He laid a compassionate hand on his friend's shoulder. "But remembah, where there is no fear, there is no courage. You have always been courageous."

"Thanks, my friend. It was a long time," Ormandel admitted, "before I recovered my full memory. In the meantime, I built a life there. King Justiz and the people of Shy Kadesh were so kind to me."

"Is this your fihst time out of Shy Kadesh?" Windsor asked.

"Yes. But I would rathah you not tell the othahs."

"As you wish. But are you sure this is a good idea to ride on this mission?" Windsor was clearly concerned, for his friend's sake, but also for that of the Circle as a whole.

"I have to do this," Ormandel affirmed. "I know it, and King Justiz knows it. It is time for me to come out of my hiding." He picked up an armful of logs and headed back to the camp.

They returned with plenty of wood for the fire. After making a nice pile of firewood, Windsor stretched out his staff and lit the pile. Ormandel instinctively backed up, distancing himself from the fire.

Eating the tasty food the king had sent, the riders sat around the campfire, mostly making small talk. No one said a word about the Immortal King, being it was a sensitive subject. Monguard pulled out a piece of wood he had been chiseling on for days in an effort to allay the boredom. He chipped away, putting the finishing touches on a finely sculptured dragon.

Monguard poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down across from Navi. He handed him the wood piece. "Here, this is for you."

"Thanks, crony. That's amazing."

"It's Inka."

Sure enough, when Navi looked at it a second time, he realized it was an exact replica.

Everyone was impressed with his craftsmanship.

Vandorf polished boots, sharpened his sword, and trimmed his stubbly beard until he could shave again. Navi had bagged a turkey along the way and was preparing it for roasting.

Ormandel looked at the younger wizard. "Why did you kill that dumb bird? King Justiz sent us out with more than enough food."

"Oh, you know, we always think we need more, don't we?" Navi replied. "Plus, the dumb bird flew right into me. It was practically begging to be killed."

Ormandel leaned over the crackling fire and looked at the dagger Navi was using to cut up the bird. "That's my daggah!"

"This?" Navi said, holding up the dagger. "Now that you mentioned it, I believe it was yours."

"Was?" questioned Ormandel.

"You were dead, crony," Navi explained, the other riders laughing at him.

"You took my daggah!"

"It was a gift. Besides, everyone thought you were dead, crony. It was in a box with things Gilmanza gathahed from a campsite. Every time I use it I think of you, crony, the stories that I have heahd from Windsor and Gilmanza. Why I feel like I know you. It's a sentimental object that I treasure."

"Well, I'm not dead now! So give it back."

"I'll tell you what, crony; I'll give you back the daggah if you will clean this bloody bird!"

Ormandel jerked the dagger out of his hand. "I guess that's a no," Navi said. "Not quite like Monguard here are you? Giving and kind." Navi reached into his satchel and pulled out a lesser knife and proceeded to clean the turkey.

"Put a new handle on that one and it'll be just as good." Ozni was aiming to accomplish two things: to encourage Navi and to irritate him. He accomplished the second, but failed at the first.

The riders cleaned and cooked the bird, while making more small talk around the fire. After eating, they pulled their covers around them to go to sleep.

Out of the silence, Navi spoke up, "Ya know, crony, I was wondahin', if somethin' were to happen to you—say you were to die or somethin'? Not that I would want you to die, I'm just sayin' if you were to, could I have your daggah?"

Ormandel rolled over and looked at him. Without another word, he turned back around and pulled the covers over his head.

"I guess that's a no," Navi whispered to himself, the other riders cracking up at Navi's comical ways. "I'll trade you a pink hat for it," he offered.

"Not on your life. Like the lady said, pink suits you."

It wasn't until then that Windsor remembered the purple hat and tossed it to him.

Navi smiled. It was perfect.

Cold temperatures were rolling in, even in the valley. Not wanting to run the mounts too hard and tire them, the riders took their time. Windsor wondered what the purpose was in rounding up these riders without King Justiz riding out with them. It all seemed like a waste of time. But there was little they could do about the situation now.

The full moon came and went. In time, the riders finally reached the City of Sayir.

As they rode along the countryside, a cat, bearing the markings of a true mishap, strayed from out of the trees. Every bristle of hair was missing from its tail. Looking up at the assorted caravan as it passed by, the cat eventually laid its eyes on Navi. At its first glimpse of the purple-braided wizard, the cat's eyes stretched open wide and glassed over with a wild and frenzied look and then the animal darted off into the woods with a shriek. "I believe that was Mr. Vern's cat," Nimri said, laughing. Those riders who knew the history of Navi and the cat with the hairless tail broke into a much needed laugh. The others waited to hear the outrageous blunder and then joined in the laughter.

When they neared the city wall, they veered off down a country road. The dying trees looked lonely, naked, and miserable. The timbers scattered the plot of ground where whitewashed tombstones stood. Windsor led the way, stopping in front of a grave. The tombstone read: Ormandel Silas Thiatir.

A gushing pale washed over Ormandel as he fell flush, realizing that he should be dead, and nearly was. A thousand times over he had wished he would have died; it would have been easier than wrestling with the demons that had haunted him.

Windsor strolled over to a familiar headstone. The name on the stone read: Tilias Windsor Odin.

Windsor touched the stone and took in a deep breath. Ormandel wasn't the only one ever to have once been believed to be dead.

Betrayal

It was mid-afternoon when the riders reached the castle in Shalahem. The knights atop the wall announced to the King that the riders were coming down the road to the castle. Hearing the news that they were back, King Chess rushed to greet them all. He was eager to see his long-time friends. Mostly, though, he was eager to see his daughter returning safely. Nadora leapt off Orpah and hugged her father.

The king was immediately puzzled by the unfamiliar faces among the riders. Now approaching the king, Windsor introduced Sagran and Amase. Greeting them kindly, the king took notice of Amase's peculiar appearance, but before he could comment, he noticed a familiar face and fell speechless for a moment. "You—you look like— well, it's impossible, but— Ormandel?"

"It is me in the flesh, Sire."

"But I thought you were dead!"

"Well, I came closer than I evah have before."

"We—we even had a memorial service for you," the king exclaimed, as they hugged each other. "That is just bloody amazing!"

"So I heard," laughed Ormandel. "I wasn't able to make it. You look good, Sire. We have a lot of catching up to do. I was shocked to find out that this is your daughtah." He waved his hand toward Nadora.

"Yes," the king agreed. "A lot has changed since I last saw you." He hugged his daughter once again, as if still assuring himself she was indeed home, safe and sound. "But tell me, where have you been all this time? And where did my riders come across you?"

"I have been in the Land of Shy Kadesh," the knight replied. "Forgive me, my friend, for not lettin' you know I was alive and mostly well. I didn't remembah anything for a long time. Heck, I had even forgotten my own name. My how time has gotten away from me! Once I recovahed, I just got busy and, well, I suppose I was in no real hurry to leave that beautiful land."

"Well, I can't blame you there," said King Chess. He had heard tales but he had never been there. Now observing that King Justiz was not among the riders, the king inquired regarding his presence.

"He did not ride back with us," answered Gilmanza.

"What? He did not come? Is he coming in the next day or two?" The king was stunned by this bit of news.

"He said he would catch up with us latah." Gilmanza was trying to smooth things over.

"If King Justiz doesn't come," Chess declared, "then we are doomed to contend with this bloody sword, with no hope of a permanent defeat of Dahvan's kingdom. We will merely contend like we have always had to contend. He is the only immortal king left. Why would he not come?"

"He said he will catch up." Windsor was adamant.

Ormandel was quick to respond. "I have been with King Justiz for a long time now. Trust me, he will come." He now turned to address the riders assembled around him. "I understand that all of you are disappointed, but I also know that he knows more of what is goin' on than you do." His voice was calming, almost reassuring to the weary travelers. They stood for a moment speechless taking in his words.

King Chess broke the silence. "Come, all of you must be exhausted! Let's go to the Hall of Defense and talk, while the chefs make you some supper and the servants freshen up your bedrooms. Ormandel, you have to tell me all about it," the king said, patting him on the back.

As Navi entered the palace, the king couldn't help but notice his pink bow and his pink hair. (He had tucked the pink hat away into his bag). "Pink your new favorite color?"

"Funny. Real funny."

The Circle of Riders walked into the King's Hall of Defense. In the center of the room was a large round stone table—large enough to seat them all. Around the edges images had been carved of knights in battle on horses and dragons; the muted colors showed the age of this grand table. In the center of its surface was a carved map of the Land of Shalahem, its grooves filled in with gold. The frames of the chairs were of iron, molded in the pattern of a rope, iron intertwined with iron. The seats of the chairs looked like shields. Two imitation iron swords crossed the iron-rope frame to make the backs of the chairs. (Gilgore, of course, had to sit on the floor since his gigantic size swallowed up the chair.)

"Did King Justiz say why he would not come?"

"No," Windsor replied, "he merely said that he would follow at a latah time."

Emotions were still running high so few spoke their minds, feeling it inappropriate to say much in front of King Chess about their discrepancies against the Immortal King.

"Are there any recent prophecies that speak of this?"

"No there are no recent prophecies. As we all know, the ancient prophecy we do know of speaks of a time when a great war—one like nevah before or since—will break out. Impostas will arise claiming to be the bearer of the Sword of Powah. That's really nothing new."

"It says that a Circle of Ridahs will rise up. It speaks of an immortal king, who will retain the sword but must resist its powah. It does not tell us if he succeeds in resisting it or not, nor does it tell us whether Dahvan is evah defeated. It merely says that if the last immortal king fails, then the human race will be hopelessly locked into a world of tyranny and rule by Dahvan." Windsor was restating what they all knew, but felt it right to do so, to remind them of what was at stake in this conflict.

Now it was King Chess's turn to speak to the group. "We must keep this matter private. You have been summoned here to complete the mission as has been prophesied. You have come with a word of declaration. It is only fair that you know that this is the real sword. We alone know of its presence in this castle. The guards don't even know it is here. Although they guard this room, they do not know for what purpose." He took the key from Windsor and unlocked the secret door hidden in the wall of the castle, the king pulled out the sword for all to see. As he laid it on the table, a sense of awe fell upon the room. Everyone sat speechless, gazing upon the spectacular sword. The light reflected from the rubies on its hilt danced on the ceiling and the wall.

Cozbi got up from his chair and walked over to the sword. Touching it, he said matter-of-fact, "I don't get it. It's just a sword, like any other sword. Its tales are nothin' more than that—tales, fabricated myths."

"I assure you that there is nothin' fabricated about the evil influence of that sword," said Windsor.

Picking it up, Cozbi held it in his hands, experiencing the power it generated, a tangible electrifying power shot through him, making him feel invincible. He had been longing to touch it again since that rainy night.

"Put it down," ordered Windsor.

Cozbi's eyes grew wide, radiating with excitement at the sensation of power the finely crafted sword was generating. Windsor now stood, with his hand on his sword. Navi joined him, hand on his own blade. Suddenly, Cozbi dropped the Sword of Power. Seated near where the sword had fallen, Nimri reached down to pick it up, curious at what Cozbi had experienced. Experiencing its power, a feeling of invincibility and ego-mania, Nimri's eyes grew wild with excitement. Amase watched their reactions to the sword, and his heart felt fearful and faint.

"Put the sword on the table," King Chess ordered as Windsor and Navi remained standing with their swords.

Nimri held it, amazed by what he felt. "Nimri, put it down," Windsor ordered. Sagran who was sitting beside Nimri, reached over and took hold of the sword to force Nimri to put it onto the table. Immediately, that same power rang true, apprehending his mortal soul. He too felt mighty, self-important, and completely invincible. He was mesmerized by the sword. Finally, after a few seconds, but what seemed like forever, he heard his name being called and he felt Nimri tug on the sword. Now, they both reluctantly set the sword on the table.

Amase watched carefully, curious about the power of the sword.

"This is the sword that has caused kingdoms to fall," the king intoned to them all. "This is the sword that has caused once humble and noble kings to grasp the power and become ruthless and cruel kings. This is the sword that has caused many once-good men to seek to rule the entiah world. It has caused brothahs to kill brothahs, fathahs to kill sons, and sons to kill their own fathahs. This is the sword that has caused us to lose our immortal states.

"I have personally witnessed its destructive power. This is the sword that we must purpose in our hearts to hate, and to destroy." The king picked up the sword, feeling its power. He showed no open emotion towards the cunningness of the sword. After locking it back safely away, he handed the key back to Windsor who secretly wished he hadn't handed him the key.

"The hour grows late. Let us eat and sleep and in the morning we'll discuss what we should do. I have made arrangements for all of you to sleep here in the palace."

This said and done, everyone ate supper and turned in for the night—except for one.

During the night, while all were sound asleep, a figure robed in black walked softly down the halls of the castle. He entered Windsor's room. The old wizard was fast asleep. He rummaged through his satchel, retrieving the key. Then, he quietly climbed the stairs. Seeing a guard by the door, he smiled and approached him coming across as though in need of his guidance. Lending him assistance, the knight left himself vulnerable, and the dark figure thrust his sword through the trusting but deceived guard.

With the stolen key, he opened the door, slid the murdered guard into the room, and shut the door behind him. The culprit unlocked the lock to the security casing that housed the Sword of Power.

His eyes grew wild as he stared at the sword. Touching the rubies on its handle, and running his hand down the edge of the blade, he felt the sword grip his soul like a vice, stirring the latent sin within him.

He would have sold his soul to the devil if he had to if it meant that he could have that sword.

Mesmerized by the power of the sword, he continued to stroke it, pleased by how it made him feel: strong, brave, important, and indestructible. He whispered to the sword. "You're such a beautiful sword. I doubted your powah until I touched you. But now I know and you are forevah mine!"

He grabbed the sword and ran from the palace. Mounting a black high-spirited horse, he fled the castle, riding fast and hard down the path. Riders of Quadar were lurking in the forest waiting for him. Their decaying faces were only partly hidden by the black hoods on their capes. Galloping along the outer realm of the castle property, his appetite wetted for power and his ego primed with lust to rule, he rode down the path past the dark riders. Holding the Sword of Power tight in his right hand, he waved it victoriously above his head. The Riders of Quadar rode out and joined him, falling in behind as he led the way, declaring himself the new possessor of the sword and the new ruler, having been called and chosen for the position.

But he didn't go unnoticed. A set of eyes witnessed it all. Now, this one set out to follow the culprit.

The Search Begins

A knock on the king's chamber door came before the crack of dawn while the king was still in bed.

"We have a problem in the dungeon." The guard opened the door and entered the king's chamber at his permission. A lesser guard followed.

"What sort of problem?" The king sat up on the side of his bed and rubbed his eyes.

"Pip has escaped."

"What do you mean? How did he escape?"

"We believe he nabbed the key from a guard last night as he was changing his pot out."

Enraged, the king spewed belligerent remarks at the knight. "What kind of idiots do I have guarding the dungeon? How can someone steal his key without his knowledge of it, when all he was doing was changing his pot? How bloody long does it take to change someone's pot? What kind of dullard moron is guarding the dungeon, and gets his key swiped?"

"Actually, I saw the guard playin' cards with Pip," said the guard accompanying the dungeon master. The dungeon master elbowed the guard.

"What? What? Playing cards?" The king was irate. "Since when did a guard's duties include playing cards?"

As he was ranting over Pip's escape, two other guards entered the room abruptly and in a panic. "Claudius is dead, Sire, killed with a sword," said one, "and the door to the security chamber has been broken into."

"What?" He was now fully awake. _The Sword! O God, please tell me someone hasn't taken the sword!_ He brushed through the guards and ran for the Hall of Defense. All four of the guards followed on his heels.

They rushed into the room and found the man, Claudius, a deep wound in his chest where a sword had been thrust. His body lay in a pool of blood. Stepping over the body, the king brushed his eyes up to the safety chamber that housed the sword. The door stood wide open. When he looked inside, his suspicions were proven correct: the sword was gone. _The sword! The sword is gone_! He whispered the words almost audibly.

The guard saw the look on his face, "Is somethin' missin', Sire?"

"Yes, yes!" the King replied. "Wake our guests. Tell them to go to the dining hall. And take Claudius downstairs, that we might prepare him for a proper burial. Oh, and lock up that dumb guard who played cards with Pip. I will deal with him later. He has cost us much harm— much, much harm!"

He reached for the door. "And clean up this bloody mess as quickly as possible." He slammed the door behind him.

A rude awakening befell the riders as a rasp on the door called them forth and barked orders for them to go to the dining hall. Obediently, they pried their bodies out of bed and dressed.

There was much commotion for such a dark hour and all were wondering what was going on. As Nuvatian walked down the corridor, he spotted a friend, a knight.

"What's going on?"

"There's been a muhdah."

"A muhdah? Where?"

"Here. Last night."

Alarm shot through Nuvatian's mind. A member of the circle? The king? Nadora? He felt his heart pounding in his chest. O know, the sword. His mind was racing. "Who?" he finally asked.

"Claudius, the knight."

Nuvatian wasn't sure why that was significant but he ran to the dining hall, eager for more information. His first thought was that a dark rider had killed him. Perhaps he was guarding on the battlement and was shot with an arrow.

"What's going on?" Nimri asked him, meeting him in the hallway in a half run.

"Claudius, the knight, was murdered last night."

Nimri was shocked and ran hurried alongside Nuvatian to the meeting.

When they got to the dining hall, about half had heard the news and the other half was eager to know what all the commotion was about; but, they all quickly got informed. Windsor and Gilmanza held the inside scoop.

An early morning rush had been put on breakfast preparations so some food was already on the table. Spotting the grub, they grabbed and began eating as they awaited the king.

The king entered, face flush and red with anger. He barked a command for everyone except for the riders to leave the room. This was a private matter for trusted ears only. After the doors were shut, he explained the events from the night before.

"After killing the guard, Pip stole the sword," he concluded. "Apparently, he was more of a threat than I had thought. Eat your breakfast and then ride out in search for him. What you do with Pip is up to you; just bring back the Sword of Dahvan. "

A spying ear pulled away from the door of the dining hall. A smile arched his face. He had heard everything.

There was little talk among themselves. The riders were shocked and disappointed at the news. Now, they had lost a colleague, a fellow knight, and the prize possession. They wondered how much worse it could get: the Immortal King refused to ride and now they had lost the sword. But experience told them that it could get much worse; ancient prophecies told them that it would get much worse. There would be war—that much they knew. They braced themselves now as they wondered what was ahead of them. But they anticipated retrieving the sword quickly, that much encouraged them.

Halfway through breakfast, someone noticed Cozbi's seat was empty. "Where is Cozbi?"

"He probably fell back asleep. I'll go get him." Nimri pushed back his chair and rushed out of the dining hall and up the palace stairs.

Nimri rapped on the door and waited. "Cozbi! Cozbi! Wake up, you slugabed!" There was no answer so he opened the door. Cozbi wasn't there, but his belongings were: his bag and bed clothes. But, his sword was gone.

Nimri returned to the dining room and explained the assumption of his friend's whereabouts. "He wasn't in his room. He's probably in the toilet chamber. He'll be here shortly." The riders accepted this, finished their breakfast and began discussing where to begin searching for Pip.

Cozbi's plate sat vacant, still awaiting his arrival at the breakfast table. Navi stood up from the table and chuckled. "Cozbi must be having some serious issues this morning." The riders had a short laugh at Cozbi's expense, glad to have something to laugh about in spite of the bad news.

Everyone began quick preparations to ride out. Nimri and Nuvatian went to check on Cozbi, certain he was in the toilet chambers. Not finding him there, they returned to his room, but he wasn't there, either. They then went back to the dining hall assuming that perhaps they had strolled down different hallways and missed each other, but Cozbi wasn't in the dining hall either.

"I bet he's at the bahn getting a jump on things," Nuvatian said. "Probably couldn't sleep." But he was now concerned for his friend. There had already been one murder.

By now, just about all the riders had made it to the barn. They were scurrying around, preparing their beasts for their ride and loading up extra supplies.

"We can't find Cozbi," Nimri said.

"Where've you looked?" Navi asked.

"We've looked everywhere."

"He'll turn up," Ozni remarked.

"Yes, but we want him alive. What if somethin' has happened to him?" His best friend, Nimri, was obviously concerned.

Looking around the barn, Navi opened the door to the stable where Cozbi stabled his horse.

"Looks like he's gotten a bit of a head staht, crony." Swinging open the stall door beside that one, Navi found another empty stall. "One of the king's horses is missing too," he noted, beginning to see cause for concern.

Gilmanza wanted answers.

Various scenarios of the event of the night before were in the making.

"M-maybe C-Cozbi h-heard the c-com-motion last n-night, and he w-went up st-stairs to ch-check it out. M-maybe he f-found the knight k-killed and s-saw Pip, and so he r-rode aftah him on the k-king's mount," suggested Skeener.

"I'd say that could be," Windsor said. "But if that's the case, then where is he now?" There was reason to be concerned now that something sinister had played out. If Cozbi rode after him and has yet to return, they pondered if Pip had killed him too like he did Pete and Randolf.

Nimri didn't want to think about it.

Another suggestion arose. "What if Nimri stole the sword? What if he's the betrayah."

Nimri stuck up for his friend right away. "Cozbi wouldn't do that. He doesn't care anything about that sword."

Nadora rode up in front of the barn on Orpah, herself donned in her chain-mail. Now the discussion took a new turn.

Windsor shot an inquisitive look at the king. He wondered how his friend was going to react to this.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you mean, what am I doing?"

"Nadora, I don't know how to tell you this," her father explained, "but I only intended for you to ride in the rounding up of the riders. I nevah expected this. I—I don't think you should ride this time."

"What do you mean?" She was irate. "Of course I'm riding! I'm riding, and we're goin' to bring back the Sword of Dahvan. This is what you trained me for, fathah!"

"I didn't train you to be a warrior," he said curtly. "I trained you to run a kingdom."

"And that includes war!"

"But a kingdom is not built solely on war."

"But now the kingdom is at war, so I am at war."

"Nadora, I didn't teach you to fight so that you could be a warrior. I taught you to fight because I didn't know anything else. I didn't know what to do with a gihl. All I knew I taught you: the sword, the bow, horse riding—and yes, fighting! I did this with you because I didn't know anything else. I didn't know how to sew and knit and dress for balls. I never meant to make you into a warrior. For heaven's sake—you're a princess!"

"No fathah, I'm a warrior," she asserted. "Whether you meant for me to be or not, I AM a knight. I thought this was what you wanted!" Her mouth opened without words now, as though she were stunned at her father's disapproval of her fighting.

"You're not going," snapped the king, having exhausted both logic and patience. "I forbid you to go!"

"Well, I refuse your forbiddin'." Her horse pranced in front of the barn. Holding the reign steady, she looked at her father. "She will be a delicate pearl among warriors and will be gifted with the pulling of a string. She will perform her duties more efficiently than any son you could have had and she will play a key role in the unfolding of major events." She quoted a second but similar prophecy Windsor had spoken to her father about her when she was merely an infant:

"A child shall be born, an only child. She will be a delicate pearl among warriors, gifted with the pulling of a string. A diplomat, she will perform her duties more efficiently than any son and will be more precious to you than ten. Her place in history will be unique, ushering in the reversal of things to come. Courageous as a lion, gentle as a fawn, wise as an eagle, shrewd as a fox, a matron of the kingdom. You will be her strength and she will be the strength of the kingdom."

"How do you know that?" Her father had never shared this information with her.

"I read it. You wrote it down. Do you think that by sheltering me or keeping words of the wizards from me that I will not fulfill my purpose?"

"I...I only wanted to protect you, Nadora. You're all I have."

"You can't protect me, fathah. I must do what I feel is in my heart. One day, I won't have you and I will be queen. But today, today I am a warrior." She turned her mount towards the gates and rode off.

"We'll look out for her," Gilmanza assured him, returning to the group. "She has proven to be very valuable to us. She is the best ahchah in the kingdom."

The king was disconsolate. "I don't think I could live with myself if something happened to her."

Putting his hand on his shoulder, Windsor said simply, "We'll all look out for her." Navi urged it on, assuring the king that he would keep a sharp eye on her. Navi patted the king on the shoulder, enjoying watching him squirm. King Chess gave him a sharp eye of reproof.

"The guard manning the door said that two people rode out last night He didn't get a good look at either, both were in a rush and called for the door to be opened." Gilmanza so much as figured that but he hoped they could tell him who left first.

Nuvatian mounted Valor, Nadora's stelleto, recognizing the added value of a flying beast. Gilmanza leapt atop his stelleto. "Come on!" he cried. "There's no time to waste. We must catch up with him. Ridahs of Quadar will soon be all ovah him—if they aren't already."

King Chess watched helplessly, as Nadora rode out of the gate and down the dirt road.

They had not gotten far from the castle, when along the path in the midst of the tree line they spotted a sword, the blade still holding onto its blood. Nimri and Nuvatian recognized it, assured them that it was Cozbi's.

"Search around the trees here," Gilmanza ordered. He feared they might find Cozbi's body in pieces."

It only took a few steps behind the trees for them to discover a body. Blood pooled on the ground from a single stab wound to the abdomen. His face was twisted in both the agony and surprise of death. This knight had finally met his match. In his hand, was the torn piece of a black cape.

Now things were looking clearer.

"Cozbi must have chased aftah Pip and ran into trouble along here," Nimri offered. "He must have ran into a dahk ridah here aftah he had killed the king's man. " Nimri paused to take a closer look. "There's a few blood drops going in this direction." Nimri followed the trail. "But it ends here."

"Dahk ridahs must have taken Cozbi captive," Nuvatian concluded.

Concern forced wrinkles into Ormandel's forehead. "Bettah the poor lad had died now, here, than latah with them." His words silenced everyone, but just for a moment.

"B-ut why w-would they t-take him and not j-ust kill him?" Skeener wondered aloud.

"Information," Gilmanza answered.

Another scenario was offered. "What if Cozbi stole the Sword of Powah and killed this knight because he challenged him for the sword and Cozbi left his sword behind in exchange for the sword of powah?"

"Cozbi wouldn't have done that," Nimri argued vehemently. "You're trying to make him out to be a betrayer and I've known him my whole life."

"I-I'm just saying..." Buldar said.

"No, you're accusing. Maybe you're the betrayah," Nimri said.

"We can speculate all day," Windsor said, bringing a hault to words that could turn into a fight. "Wait right here." Windsor turned Moridar around and flew back to the castle to inform the king of the news."

"I will call for a search of the premises, just in case he got away wounded." The king didn't want to say the words, hinting that he might have wondered off and died. But the most reasonable conclusion was that Cozbi had been injured and taken captive, a worse fate than death. "Just find the sword."

Moridar soared through the air and dropped down alongside the other riders.

Nadora had a plan. "Windsor, Gilmanza, Navi, Amase, and Nuvatian and I will take the dragons by air," she said, looking at Nuvatian. "Binko and the rest of you on the ground. We can cover more area like that."

"Good idea," said Nuvatian.

"You stay on the ground with them, just in case your group needs to relay a message to us," Nadora said to Binko.

First, the mounts circled the immediate area where the attack took place, hoping to find Cozbi alive. But they turned up nothing.

"The king is sending out squads to search the area. We will let them do this and we will focus on finding Pip."

Gilgore peered over the landscape, but could see no one in the near distance. Feeling certain Pip would have ridden south, likely toward Quadar in the southwest, the riders rode south, anticipating veering southwest later after searching the southern regions first.

Having searched for three days with no luck, the Circle of Riders entered a nearby town called Meznos in the far south of Shalahem. Tired and hungry, they found a local pub where they could eat some supper. Gilgore couldn't get through the narrow door, so he had to sit outside, the pub itself being too small for him.

"The whole dang world is too small," complained Gilgore. He was disappointed that he couldn't go inside with his friends.

The others walked into the smoke-filled pub, dimly lit and crowded with patrons. They pushed three tables together at the back of the bar. Vandorf, Windsor and Gilmanza saw some friends of theirs and spoke to them briefly; then, they sat down with the others. The pub was noisy; people were talking and laughing, some getting boisterous from too much booze. A couple of men were arm- wrestling at one side of the room.

Skeener ordered a beer and immediately guzzled it. Windsor watched with concern and gave a disapproving glare. The last thing he wanted to deal with was a drunk.

The riders had just gotten their food and were about to dig in when Navi caught the glimpse of a man, his back side resembling Pip. Throwing the chicken leg he held in his hand onto his plate, he said, "There's Pip." He jumped out of his seat and rushed out the door, the riders following behind him. Binko grabbed a piece of grilled antelope on the way out, while Zilgar and Zorgar each grabbed a lizard meatball.

"Why is it when I hang out with Windsor, Navi and Nuvatian my meals always get interrupted?" Zilgar grumbled as he talked with his mouth full.

"I was wondering the same thing." Zorgar shoved the meatball into his mouth.

Navi ran out the door, and spotted him, a glimpse of that wavy red hair as he darted around the building with his head held down. He ran and jumped on the man, knocking him to the ground and landing on top of him. Stunned, the man yelled and whopped Navi in the head with a skillet he had in his hands, knocking him nearly senseless. Cooked food flew out of the pan and Navi's new purple hat folded in half and fell in the dirt. The wizard rolled off the man and to the ground, landing onto his back. He was only semi-conscious. The man reared his foot back and kicked him in the gut.

Gilgore stood there stupidly for a moment, confused as to what was going on. Just as the little man was about to hit Navi in the head again, he looked up and nearly trembled at the sight of the giant standing over him. Gilgore grabbed the man with his bare hand, wrapping it around his neck and head. Just in the nick of time, the other riders appeared around the corner.

The man began to shake and nearly started to cry. "Please don't hurt me, I'm just the cook! I was takin' this food out to a cat and her kittens that are in the hay around the corner. If it's food you want, I will cook whatevah you want. Whatevah you want, I'll give it to you."

"Everything's okay." Windsor spoke calmly, defusing the situation. "Gilgore, don't hurt the man!"

Vandorf stepped forward to help the man up. "My apologies," he offered, "Our friend thought you were someone else!"

"Well, he should try being sure before he attacks someone," said the cook, dusting himself off.

"He's crazy!" Ozni spoke up, circling his finger around Navi's head. "He's just bloody crazy, and we have to keep a close watch on him. We apologize. He just got away from us. Things just don't turn right up here, you know."

"Crazy? You can say that again. Try putting him on a leash!" The man stared at Navi's wild hair and drew further conclusions.

"Yes, Sir; we'll give that a try, Sir," Windsor said. It appeared they had managed to appease the cook without further conflict.

They couldn't help but laugh at the whipped wizard. Starry-eyed and dazed, Navi gripped his head, stammering insensible words.

"Maybe that knocked some sense into him. Probably just what he needed," Ozni said, laughing.

"You said something about some kittens," inquired Gilgore.

"Yuh, in the hay in those stalls."

"Can I see them?" Windsor rolled his eyes at his friend.

"Well, you're not going to hurt them, are you?" The cook was still wary. "I heard stories about you giants, biting heads off of goats and all kinds of stuff. I'll cook you whatevah you want, but please don't hurt the kittens and their mothah."

Gilgore opened his big mouth, showing his teeth, and roared.

The cook took one look at him, dropped his skillet and ran back inside.

"Stupid people. Where do such tall tales come from?" Evil stories about the giants angered Gilgore. He walked around back to a pile of hay, sat on the ground and held a single tiny kitten in the palm of one gigantic hand. Before long, all the little kittens were crawling all over him. Gilgore giggled, playing with them like a little child.

A dark dragon swooped down and planted his feet on solid ground, others along with it, bearing the warriors who rode them. A dark rider dismounted and greeted a large group of riders. From the middle of the group emerged one upon a black stallion, bearing the cursed sword. Dismounting their beasts, they gathered around him, the dark knights bowed to the ground. The warrior bearing the sword lifted it high into the air and a roar of celebration rose to the heavens. Then, the celebrated warrior was offered a dragon and was joined with a group of dragon riders and he was quickly whisked away.

Later, the man shrouded in black was escorted over a strange land and into a dark palace. He entered a throne room, overdone with gold. The man sitting on the throne was robed in a brocaded black robe, fancier than any he had seen in the kingdom. One could tell that he liked fine things in spite of his poor taste.

The man, feeling uncertain and vulnerable, even with the Sword of Power gripped tightly in his hand, knelt before the throne, hoping to find acceptance. He always longed to be noticed for his abilities and to be recognized as a leader, to be somebody, someone superior to his peers.

Stained fingernails rasped the gold chair and a grin of pleasure took over his face. "You have made a good choice," he spoke with precise articulation. "I am pleased with you. Now, you will be great for my names sake-and yours," said Darvan.

Talking, Taunting, and Dreaming

Carrying Navi to the inn just above the pub, the riders left him with a bag of ice and went back down to the bar to eat. Shortly after that, Nimri, Nuvatian, Monguard, Skeener and Binko came in. The six of them had to share a room.

"How's your head." Binko looked at the knot that had formed on his forehead. It was the size of an egg.

"It huhts. How'd ya think if feels?" Navi rubbed his hand over the bump.

"If I h-had a h-ead like that, it w-ould h-urt too." Skeener laughed at his own joke. He was getting a little loud because he had guzzled one too many beers at the bar.

"Funny, scamp! Everybody has to be a bloody comedian around here."

"Here's your food." Nuvatian handed over what he'd left uneaten prior to chasing down the cook, which was nearly all of it, minus a bite or two.

"I could have sworn that guy was Pip," Navi said. "He was a spittin' image of him from a distance."

"He looked just like him," Nuvatian said with a smirk, "except that Pip's about a head taller, the cook's hair's more brown than red, and he's much larger." He shook his head at Navi. "At the rate you're going, you should staht leaning a bit more on those powahs of yours."

"You should have seen your face, mate. You were like," Nimri paused, making faces, imitating Navi's look when he got smacked with the pan. "Your face looked as frightened as that bloody cat when you scorched its tail."

After a few more laughs at Navi's expense, the discussion changed.

"Navi," Nimri asked seriously, "do you think Cozbi's alive?"

"I think so. I hope so."

"I'm worried about him."

"We all are." Nuvatian patted him on the back. While the three had become best friends, he knew that Cozbi and Nimri's friendship went even further back into childhood.

The sudden change in the atmosphere was immediate and now Nimri wished he hadn't mentioned it. Now, he sought to change the subject again, hoping for a diversion from the depressing mood. His choice of subject matter only worsened the situation, but he couldn't stop thinking about it all. "Navi, who do you think the betrayah is? I mean, you said the othah night that the one had already made up his mind. You knew that much."

"Don't know," Navi said, holding a block of ice wrapped in a cloth to his head with his left hand while eating with his right. "Quit trying to figure it out, and worry about yourself."

"The Sword of Powah is compellin'," said Nuvatian, pulling off his boots. "It's hard to believe—to think that anyone of us would betray our friends. Right now, we can't speculate. We just need to find Pip and get the sword from him and get Cozbi back."

"How do we do that?"

"I don't know."

"My head huhts," said Nimri, accrediting it to thinking too much.

"Yours?" Navi cried out, "Try gettin' hit in the head with a skillet!" The riders laughed again.

"If I h-had a h-ead that looked like th-at it would hu-rt too," Skeener said.
"You already used that joke, Skeener. It's only funny the first time," Navi reminded him.

"O, I forgot."

"How many times have you been hit in that knotty head of yours?" Binko asked Skeener.

"A b-bunch."

"Oh Lord," Navi began his mock-prayer, "please see fit in your abundant graciousness to leave me with common sense and sensibility and that I don't end up like my good friend Skeener here."

"Amen," said Skeener, instinctively and sincerely bowing his head to pray when he saw Navi do so. "Sh-shouldn't you have p-prayed for Pip, and Co-Cozbi— and our m-mission?"

"Oh, brothah, you're worse than I thought," Navi murmured under his breath.

Seeking to change the subject, Skeener turned to Nimri. "Ya kn-know, N-Nimri, I kn-now you don't m-much like P-Princess Nad-dora, but she is a r-really nice w-woman! And a r-really g-good f-fightah."

"I like her," Nimri admitted. "She's nice, and she is an awesome archah—for a girl! I just don't think a woman should fight. It creates a burden on us men, because we have to worry about her safety."

"Princess Nadora is an excellent archah and she is capable with the sword only disadvantaged in strength," Binko added.

"She's not bad for a girl, mate. Actually, bettah than most men," Navi offered. "And like you said, she's definitely a beauty. She'll probably make someone a good woman one day. Don't you think so, crony?" He looked at Nuvatian, tossing him a peanut in the shell.

"Yuh, I'd be goin' for that, mate," Nimri said.

"I th-think N-Nuvatian is l-lovest-struck," laughed Skeener.

"Go to sleep, Skeener," Nuvatian said, his head buried in his pillow. "She's just a silly princess."

"N-Nuvatian and N-Nadora, N-Nuv-vatian and N-Nad-dora," chanted Skeener, laughing at his childish taunt.

"She's just a silly princess," Nuvatian repeated, throwing his pillow and hitting him in the face.

"Well then, crony, if you're not interested, I'll sure take her!" Navi said. "After all, she does like dragons."

"Oh, you'll take her, all right!" Nuvatian rolled forward in his bedding. "I'd like to see that."

"I'll woo her until she can't resist me, crony," Navi said, bearing a mischievous smirk.

"Good luck," Nuvatian said, rolling over once again to get some sleep.

"We'll just see then, scamp. That is if you have no claim on her."

"I have no claim. Like I said, good luck." Nuvatian knew Navi wouldn't get anywhere with her, just as he hadn't.

"Well then, watch and learn, crony, watch and learn."

Skeener laughed and resumed his silly taunting, "N-Nuvatian and N-Nadora ..."

Picking up his boot at the side of his bed, Nuvatian threw it at Skeener, hitting him in the head.

"Ouch!" Skeener yelped.

"Go to sleep!" demanded Nuvatian.

"Nuvatian and N-Nadora," he taunted one more time, just to get the last word in.

Nuvatian threw his other boot. "She's a conceited princess only interested in becoming a queen."

Outside the door, Nadora was listening as they taunted Nuvatian. She snickered—until she heard his final words.

There was a knock at the door. "Rap, Rap, Rap!" Skeener quickly stopped his teasing. "Who is it?"

"It's me, Nadora," she answered, "The silly conceited princess."

Everyone in the room became suddenly quiet. Nuvatian gave Skeener a look that would have killed a lesser man. "I'm gonna kill you," he silently mouthed at Skeener. Now embarrassed, he pulled the covers over his head, not wanting to look at her after what he had said. _Me and my big mouth._

"Well, are you goin' to answer me or not? May I come in?"

"I g-guess s-so," stammered Skeener.

"You guess?" replied Nadora.

"Yes, yes, of course you may come in, Nadora!" Binko responded. "We weren't expecting you!"

"Obviously!"

Opening the door for her, the Elf welcomed her in. His dignified manner called respect back into the room. "What can we do for you?"

"I need somewhere to sleep." She stood poised, shoulders squared, knowing who she was and what her mission was. Men taunting her wasn't about to divert her away from her life's purpose. Besides, she wasn't easily offended. "There are only two rooms. Not much room left in the barn with the mounts. Buldar joined Gilgore out there. Windsor said there might be an extra cot in here."

"Oh, yes, of course. Welcome. Make yourself comfortable." There weren't any extra cots, but Binko gladly gave up his and slept on the floor.

She counted the cots and quickly realized that there weren't any extras. She began to make a pad on the floor, but Binko refused to let her, insisting that she take the cot. He finally resorted to a fib in order to give her the cot. "I sleep bettah on the floor anyway. Back problems."

"Thank you." Nadora looked toward Nuvatian, his head hidden under the covers in shame.

"Where have you been?" Binko asked, attempting to keep things light. "We suspected you were staying with Windsor and them."

"I was in the stalls with Orpah and Valor, wiping them down and cleaning their hoofs."

"Well, there's a cot. Do you need an extra blanket?"

"Yes, please." Binko got down an extra blanket from a shelf and placed it on her cot.

Navi reached out and touched an apple with his staff, turning it into a blooming rose. Taking it in his hand, while juggling a bowl of desert and the chunk of ice (now half-melted) from his head, he ambled playfully over to Nadora's cot and sat on the edge holding the ice to his head again, while trying to be smooth. He knew she had heard the conversation so he figured what the heck—he might as well have some fun with it.

"A flowah for a princess," he offered, holding out the flower. "A far cry from the expression of beauty, elegance, and grace found in such an extraordinary princess." He held out the bowl. "And here is some desert to go with it, a meager symbol of your sweetness!"

Smiling, Nadora said coyly, "Do you possibly think that I could be so easily wooed, with sweets and flowahs?"

"Not at all," Navi said. "But a man has to begin somewhere and frankly, I think this is the beginning to a lasting relationship. Hey, you gotta give a man a chance! But if that's how you feel, then I'll just have both for myself!" He pushed the fork loaded with sugar into his mouth. "Mmm! That's good!"

"Get off my bed!" laughed Nadora, nudging him with her foot.

"Suit yourself!" He playfully wandered back over to his cot with his cobbler, his flower, and his ice-block.

Nadora took off her boots and then threw one at Nuvatian, still huddled under the covers, feigning sleep. Embarrassed, he never even looked up. She lay on the bed and then pulled the covers around her head. Looking up once more at Nuvatian, hiding under the covers, she snickered. "Fool!" She whispered the words to herself. "He knows bettah."

Blowing out the two lit oil lamps in the room, the riders now quickly slipped off to sleep, the drama seemingly over for the night. Nuvatian lay there awake, regretting that he had called her "silly" or "conceited," and embarrassed that she heard Skeener taunting him.

The landscape was drab; the land parched and dry. The firmament was gray and a dense fog had settled on the ground. Nimri and Cozbi rode their horses, laughing and joking, while navigating their way through the foggy parched terrain. Nimri, hearing a sound in the distance, looked away, trying to see what was beyond the dense fog. Turning back toward Cozbi, Nimri could no longer see him. "Cozbi," he said. There was no response.

" _Cozbi!" This time he shouted it. Again there was no response. With growing concern, he pulled his sword from its sheath, and shouted for Cozbi once again. Still there was no response. He now became fearful for his friend, and called his name, over and over._

" _Come on, Cozbi, this isn't funny! Say somethin'!" He strained his eyes, attempting to pierce the dense fog._

In the distance, amid the fog, the pounding of horse's hooves could be heard, thundering against the ground, approaching rapidly. Nimri's heart thumped, fearing for his life and Cozbi's, as well. He lifted his sword, prepared to meet an enemy shrouded in darkness. From out of the dense fog emerged a dark figure caped in black, his sword high above his head, an angry warrior relentlessly bent on conquest. As the dark figure approached, his face became visible.

" _Cozbi," Nimri squealed. "What are you doing?" His blade fell to his side, as though he were a warrior refusing to fight._

The dark horse approached him straight on, before merging to his left side. His blade held high, the rider came at Nimri's throat, in a homicidal rage, devoid of motive but profoundly clear of his brutal intent to kill.

As the blade struck Nimri's neck, he awoke in hysteria, his clothing and pillow wet with perspiration. His gasping awakened the others. Nimri assured them he had merely had a bad dream. After the others resumed their slumber, he rose and walked to the window.

The thought that Cozbi might be being tortured and all the talk about who the betrayer was had merged together into a nightmare. Looking out at the starlit sky and pondering the present situation, he saw a falling star jolting through the darkness. The nightmare caused him to pause and wonder: What if Cozbi had fallen to the power of the sword, crashing down from the nobility of character he had portrayed all of his life.

Nimri shuddered to think that his best friend might have sunk so low or could sink so low and become so depraved. His spirits sunk further as he considered the potential truth: if Cozbi had taken the sword, with the intent of joining the Riders of Quadar and becoming ruler over the world, then his dear friend was now his sworn enemy, an enemy they were seeking to destroy. This he concluded was a worse fate than the previous possibility, that Cozbi was a prisoner of Darvan, being tortured for information about them, the riders.

Surely this was all only a bad dream, no more real than the one he had just had. But he couldn't wake up from the demons that haunted him. He had felt the power that emerged from that sword. He knew why someone would want it.

Gadilrod

The next morning, Gilgore awoke with two furry little kittens curled up on his chest, two around his head and neck, another two curled up at his armpit, and the mother nestled beside him.

"Hi there, you little fuzz ball!" whispered Gilgore with a childish and giddy voice. "Come to daddy!" Before long, they were crawling all over him.

Overhearing his friend, Buldar, who had also slept in the barn, rolled his eyes and sighed.

After breakfast (and pulling Gilgore away from his new family) the riders resumed their search for the cursed sword. After traveling all day, they entered into the Land of Miradot, mainly lowlands with scattered villages of peasants with the exception of the single walled city in the central region.

They rode by day and slept around the campfire by night. Windsor couldn't help but notice that Ormandel always distanced himself from the campfire and that he always slept with his sword unsheathed and in his hand. He had his suspicions why. It was probably for the same reasons that he slept between his mount and trusted riders, never allowing his backside to be vulnerable.

As they rode through Miradot, they felt a gnawing sensation: someone or something was following them. After scanning the area on their flying dragons but never spotting a soul, they simply dismissed the nagging notion.

For a dozen days or more, the Circle of Riders searched for a clue; but, to no avail. Even the Riders of Quadar seemed to have vanished. The days were long, even somewhat boring given the potential that every turn held the possibility for opposition. The first several days the weather was clear and the ride pleasant, but by the third week dark clouds had overtaken the sky, and a stinging rain fell steadily.

Near the end of those boring days of constant riding, they were passing near the lone City of Gadilrod, in central Miradot. Storm clouds remained in the sky, and the rain poured from the heavens. Water stood in puddles on the ground, splashing the riders as they rode across the terrain, the hooves of their beasts sinking deeper and deeper into the mud. Gilgore's gigantic feet sunk down into the mire making it difficult for the giant to retrieve his feet. Travel was sluggish and toilsome. The riders were bedraggled and tired. The rain beating on their helmets echoed in their heads like an endless stream of repetitious music of no discernible tune.

"Let us remain in Gadilrod until the rain stops," Gilmanza suggested. "We cannot travel in this, the feet of the horses and dragons are sinking in this blasted mud. I know they need to rest."

"You read my own thoughts," Windsor said.

"Mine, too," Vandorf said, snorting. "This mud is all over me, my boots and gear. I can't stand it!"

"You're the most fickle Earthdwellah for cleanliness that I know," Navi said, accusing him.

"Like I said, I live in the earth, but I don't like wearin' it!"

"He's finicky about everything," Fleece revealed. This news was a far cry from being a new revelation. "You should try training undah him. He's ruthless for perfection."

"One day you'll thank me," Vandorf said to Fleece.

Riding into the walled city of Gadilrod, they found the people friendly; some nodded their heads at them as they rode down the stone road. Understandably, some looked at them with suspicion at the number of riders in their group, coupled with their motley overall appearance. The very presence of giants among them caused uneasiness for some, while the mangy-looking Vikings provoked curiosity and even some suspicions. Others suspected such a diverse crew could only be up to no good.

The riders strolled down the streets and stopped in front of the first promising water-hole they found for a bite to eat and to escape the rain for a time. The sign hanging outside the first pub read simply, "Wesley's Pub."

As they entered, people stared at them, curious about what such an assortment of characters was doing in their city. The riders pushed a couple of tables together in the back and squeezed in. Gilgore hunkered down and managed to get through the double door but the floor was the only thing large enough to hold him; so he waited outside. The life of a giant was always difficult, outside of their city where everything is constructed to fit their big body frames. He had learned to cope but didn't care much for life outside his city walls where everything only fit normal size people.

After placing their orders, talk was incidental among the riders. Skeener nursed his whiskey under the watchful eye of Windsor. From the other side of the pub, an older gentleman, partially bald, with gray hair and a wooden leg, and a young boy at his side stared at them. Finally, the man rose and walked toward them. As he stumped over to the table, he squint his eyes at Windsor. "Windsor! I thought that was you! I just needed to get a little closer to make sure. My eyesight isn't what it used to be!"

"Fletcher?" Windsor stood and shook the man's hand. "I haven't seen you in so long! I am sure you remembah Gilmanza and Vandorf. I was wondahing why you were staring so hard at me. I thought your eyes were going to bug out of your head!"

Looking closer at the assembled riders, the man exclaimed, "Well, slap a dragon silly! My eyes have gotten so bad I didn't recognize you two. Good to see ya!" He turned back to the elderly wizard. "Windsor, you haven't changed a bit!"

"Well, you can only get so wrinkled and ugly!"

"Good to know there's really a limit, I suppose," Fletcher said, innocently. Windsor narrowed his eyes, not comforted by his words at all.

Fletcher looked Ormandel over. "Ya look like someone I know."

"That's because you do," Windsor said. "That's Ormandel!"

"Ormandel? I thought you were dead,"

"So did everyone else," the knight replied. "Personally, though, I'm glad I knew nothing about it. They tell me that they had me a funeral."

"Well, sorry to say, friend, but I missed that one."

"That's okay, I missed it too," Ormandel said, roaring with laughter. "Yeah, it's a real sobering thing to stare at your own tombstone."

Now seeing the little boy pulling on the man's shirt, Nadora asked about the boy. "Who is this little man you have with you?"

"This is my grandson, Tazer," Fletcher answered.

Now having his grandfather's attention, Tazer had a question of his own to ask. "Is this the wizard you tell me stories about, Grandpa?"

"Yes, as a mattah of fact it is."

"You tell him stories about me?" asked Windsor.

"Yes, yes. I tell him about our many yeahs we fought togethah and about your powah of wizardry and the many things you did," Fletcher replied. "My, that has been such a long time ago. I can hardly remembah much—but I tell him what I can remembah."

"Grandpa," said little Tazer, "is he really the oldest man alive? He looks really old but is he the OLDEST?"

Laughter broke out around the table, and even Windsor laughed.

"Yes, well, I haven't always been this old," he explained to the boy. "He tells the truth, I am the oldest man alive. I am the only one left who still remembahs when we were all immortal!"

"You're amazing," Tazer said, excitement in his voice.

"I might have... maybe embellished the stories a bit," Fletcher admitted.

Windsor smiled. He was use to that.

"Yes, we were actually fairly young back then," Vandorf said, remembering days gone by.

"Speak for yourself." Windsor said. "It's been a many days gone by since I was young."

"I'm hearing ya, mate!" Gilmanza agreed.

"Yeah, that was the good old days," Fletcher said. "So what brings you and this group of ridahs this way?"

"Oh, we're just goin' on a ride," Windsor answered, almost too quickly. "You know, gettin' togethah with old friends."

"Gettin' togethah with friends? Now you know I'm not that naive, Windsor. I know you're on a mission of some sort. Come on, tell me." Fletcher leaned forward, conspiratorially.

"Well, we're just scoutin' out someone for the king," Windsor explained, still trying not to disclose too much information. "It's nothin' all that important, we just had extra people wanting to ride, that's all."

"Ahh, I know there's more to it than that," Fletcher persisted. Leaning closer, he whispered, "I can feel it. I can feel in my bones that somethin' is going down. So the othah night I went out roamin'. The moon was full, castin' light so I could see. I saw them, Ridahs of Quadar, out in a large number. I was on foot so I hid behind the trees. I even saw a ridah bearin' the Sword of Dahvan, waving it in the air, celebrating its powah.

"I know I can't ride again. My days have come and gone. Don't get me wrong, I'm still swift as a lion with my sword, but..." He paused for a moment, then continued, "I'm not so swift with this wooden leg, you know!" It was clear he was longing for the return of the days gone by, the days of his youthfulness and vibrant strength, now no more than a distant memory, fading away into oblivion.

"I'm so sorry about your leg, friend," Windsor offered. "Ya saved my life that day." He looked at the young grandson. "Your grandfathah is a hero. He tells you stories about me, but you should heahr the stories about him. He saved my life; that's how he lost his leg."

"Really?" The boy was eager to hear this story. "Grandpa, why haven't you evah told me about that?"

"I don't like to talk about that," Fletcher said, deflecting the question. "You and Gilmanza then pulled me out of the battle and saved me," he injected, turning toward both of them.

"You wouldn't have lost your leg," Windsor pointed out, "had you not run across into the thick of the battle to save my hide!"

"That was a difficult battle that day, indeed," Gilmanza said, "but we won it."

"Fletcher, why don't you stay a while and eat with us?" Windsor invited.

"Oh, I suppose I need to get goin'. Wouldn't want to impose." Deep down he wanted to pull up a chair and stay a while.

"Ya don't have anywhere you need to be, old man," Vandorf said. "Sit with us."

Laughing, Fletcher agreed. Those riders who did not previously know him got acquainted, while the others got caught up with their old friend as they ate and reminisced about bygone days. Occasionally, Fletcher would look across the table at Amase, finding his eyes almost impossible to ignore. But Amase remained quiet as usual, sometimes even seeming a bit shy around strangers. He found Monguard to be a peculiar character too with his jiggy head, but he didn't call attention to it.

After some time wandering through the past, it was Vandorf who brought the discussion back to the present. "So you say you saw this ridah bearin' the sword?" he asked. "What did he look like?"

"It was too dark to tell." Fletcher took a sip of his steaming coffee. "Plus, he had on the black-hooded robe. But I know he had the Sword of Dahvan. Its ruby stones danced in the moonlight, and the dark ridahs were gathahed all around him."

They discussed this for a little longer, before Windsor changed the subject, lest it veer too closely to the actual purpose of their mission.

The riders spent the rest of the meal discussing what they were all doing now with their lives, leaving out only the current ride itself. As they picked up their stuff and got ready to leave, Windsor cautioned his old friend, "Don't mention to anyone what you saw the othah night. Ya know too well the chaos it creates."

"Once in The Circle, always in The Circle," Fletcher said with a broad smile. In years past, when they had ridden in such a group some referred to themselves as The Circle, often with nothing more than a general reference being somewhat lighthearted about it, others assuming that the events of prophecy were upon them, even when in fact they were not.

As they parted, Fletcher's grandson tugged on Windsor's jacket, "Mr. Wizard, can I touch your staff?"

"My staff?" Windsor searching for words. "Certainly, but my staff is just going to feel like any othah piece of wood."

The child touched the wood staff, seemingly disappointed that the wizard was right. "Can I shake your hand?" the child asked.

"Certainly," Windsor said, reached out his hand to shake the boy's hand. "But it's your grandfathah's hand you want to be shakin'," Windsor said.

"Well," said the boy, "I nevah met a real wizard before. Or the oldest man alive!" The riders laughed heartily again. The boy seemed more impressed with his age than with his position as a wizard.

Fletcher's acquaintance with Windsor and the riders set the minds' of the people in the pub at ease. As they left the pub, people seemed more friendly, smiling and nodding their heads politely toward them. As they walked through the door of the pub, a friendly gentleman greeted them. Suddenly, he noticed Fletcher in the midst of the motley crew. "Fletcher," he cried out, "how are ya? Are these some friends of yours?"

Shaking his hand and patting him on the back, Fletcher greeted his friend and introduced him to the Circle of Riders, "This is my friend, Dorso. He's a worker of leather. Owns a business in town. If you need anything—bridles, saddles, or just a belt—he can set you up!" The riders greeted him and chatted for a few moments before Dorso went inside the pub.

Standing on the covered porch outside the pub, Fletcher invited some of them to stay at his house, not having enough room for all of the riders in the inn. After finding his house to be not far from the pub, the group agreed that Windsor, Gilmanza, Vandorf, Ormandel, Binko and Buldar would stay at his house , Gilgore in his barn, while the remainder would stay at Wesley's Inn adjoining the pub. Anxious to get cleaned up, the riders rode to their places of rest for the night. Vandorf was particularly anxious to clean himself as well as his gear, always compulsive about cleanliness and order.

The next day, those sleeping at the inn rested most of the day, only going out to the adjoining pub for food. The people there were friendly and the riders enjoyed socializing with them and playing darts. Fletcher told his friends at the pub stories of the days he had fought alongside the likes of Windsor, Gilmanza, Vandorf, and Ormandel, often embellishing the stories a little bit. The days went by, as the riders rested and waited for the rain to let up so they could resume their journey.

One night, several riders were at the pub, shooting darts in a friendly match between them and some locals. Some of the local young ladies sat admiring Nuvatian, flirting whenever the occasion gave way. Sitting across the room, one of the young ladies stared at him, all too often getting up and walking past him, hoping to gain his attention. When this failed, she moved her seat, closing in on the men near the dartboard. Her black hair was put up on her head, with some ringlets hanging down. Making herself entirely obvious to Nuvatian, she made direct eye-contact. He acted as though he might be interested.

Noticing the woman's flirtations, as well as Nuvatian's responses, Nadora became annoyed by the pesky woman, jealous of the attention he was giving the girl. Navi couldn't help but play it up a bit, trying to pretend that Nadora was with him just to annoy her.

While Nadora was shooting darts with the men, she stepped closer to Nuvatian, and occasionally eyeballed the woman, shooting her a stern look, hoping to get her to back off. Nuvatian, now well aware of her reaction to the other girl, basked in the jealous greenery; it seemed to confirm that she did indeed like him. Even though he didn't find the woman particularly attractive, he now and then flirted back, just to see what Nadora would do.

On another night, again while playing darts, a couple of local men sat sipping their beer and gawking at Nadora. They took note that she didn't appear to be with any of the travelers in particular. As she flung her darts in the company of the other riders, two men sat at the bar, drinking and watching her every move. Their scruffy whiskers and body odor testified to their unconscious attitudes toward hygiene. The more they drank the louder and more obnoxious they became, provocatively vocalizing their attraction for Nadora, occasionally making cat calls at her. Nuvatian and Nimri both grew irritated at their lack of respect for her, and walked over to the pair, politely asking them to leave her alone, or leave the place. Even the bartender called them down.

Contumacious, the two drunks became belligerent and antagonistic, looking to stir up a fight. One of them rose from his seat and shoved Nuvatian. "What are you gonna do about it?" The other man threw a punch at Nimri. Blocked his hand, Nimri hit him, once in the stomach and again in the face. Punching him one last time, he fell helplessly on the floor.

His bedraggled friend then pulled a knife and turned toward Nuvatian. Holding it like a dagger in his right hand, he charged, thrusting the blade at his face. Stepping slightly to the side, Nuvatian crossed his arms and blocked the knife, parried the man's hand and threw him to the ground, while taking the knife from his hand all in a single motion. The sot lay on the floor, stunned and still trying to figure out what had happened.

The other Riders of the Circle stood aside, seemingly enjoying the fight. Wesley, the owner of the pub, picked one of them off the floor. Vandorf couldn't resist socking the loudmouth, laying him out one more time. Following his mentor, Fleece threw in a punch for good measure. Wesley picked him up again and threw him out the door while one of Wesley's friends snagged the other guy and tossed him out behind the other. Humbled, neither man tried to reenter the pub.

After all the excitement, the riders went to their rooms while Nadora went to the barn behind the inn to check on the beasts. Typically Gilgore stay in the barn but he had decided to go gallivanting around Gadilrod to familiarize himself with the city and had not returned yet. On her way out of the stalls, one of the two drunks was lurking behind the door, waiting for her. (He had already observed that she routinely checked on the mounts before turning in for the night).

Unaware, she came out of the barn, right into the grasp of this bilious drunk. Grabbing her by the arm, he pulled her toward himself. Nadora, with one hand under his elbow and the other on his wrist, shoved his elbow straight into his face, locked her hand around his arm, and slammed his face into the ground; she then jerked back with force, yanking his shoulder back, and out of its socket. Then she gave him a swift kick of the foot directly in the side.

The man's yowl now drew the attention of some coming out of the pub. Hearing the commotion, Wesley the pub owner ran out the back door of the pub to the barn, following the sound of the man's ceaseless hollering. Wesley was stunned and rather amused to find the same drunk he had thrown out of his place, now pinned to the ground by the woman.

Wesley roared with laughter. "Ya skunk-butt drunk, that'll teach ya not to mess with the women. I have had it with you!" Nadora let the man up, holding his wrist in a locked position, and then she threw him into the street.

During the night, the rumors circulated about "this lady kicking some sod's backside." By morning the tales were bigger than life, and Nadora was well-esteemed as a master in the art of fighting. When the young lady who had been flirting with Nuvatian got wind of what had happened, she ceased coming to the pub for the remainder of their stay.

The next morning, Nadora was not with the other riders when they went to get breakfast at the pub, having slept in instead since she actually got her own room in this inn. When the riders entered the pub, the talk was running at high speed.

"That is some lady you got ridin' with you," Wesley said.

"Yes, she's a fine lady," answered Nuvatian.

"I hear she like to have killed that one last night," a man said at the bar.

"She like to have killed who?" asked Navi, bewildered as to what the man spoke of.

"That drunk that attacked her at the bahn."

"W-what drunk?" Skeener stammered, holding his own pounding head. "W-what at-t-tack at the b-barn?"

"Oh, you mates had gone to your rooms," said Wesley. "I can't believe you didn't hear the commotion! Well, let me fill you in. Last night she went out to the bahn, and one of those guys was out there, one of them I threw out last night, and he attacked her. She 'bout ripped his arm off, then she laid him out. His shouldah's out of place, perhaps even broke, as well as his arm. She broke his ribs too, and I don't know what else she did to him. He couldn't walk when he left. She socked him good. I bet he won't evah mess with a woman again. He'll at least think twice about it!"

"I'll k-k-kill him if she d-didn't." Skeener fat cheeks turned red with anger. That's the p-princess!" He pounded his large fist on the bar, gripping his head with the other hand.

"Princess! The pub owner sounded surprised.

"Y-yeah, she's the pr-pr-rincess of Sh-ah-a-lahem."

"Well that makes the story even bettah."

Nuvatian ran up the stairs to her room. He pounded on her door. Inside, all was quiet; when suddenly, he heard something like furniture scraping the floor and something dropping on the ground and breaking. He kicked the door twice, the door flung open on the second kick. Barging into the room, he stood stupidly. Nadora stood by her bed, her hair messed, her eyes only partially open, wearing her gown imprinted with a knitted dragon. Nuvatian was shocked and embarrassed as he stood there in her room, having burst in on her in her night clothes. He was even more shocked that she was wearing dragon-printed ones. On the floor by the nightstand was a broken clay pitcher, the pottery shattered in pieces.

"I was just making sure you were all right," he said, somewhat awkwardly.

Nadora just looked at him, stunned, without a word, her eyes barely open.

"Sorry, I didn't mean... Umm, nice pajamas." He was nearly speechless. "I just heard what happened last night!"

"Last night?" She rubbed her eyes trying to wake up.

Now totally humiliated, he tried to make amends. "My apologies. The pub-owner said one of those drunks attacked you last night. And when I heard the furniture move, and the jar break, I thought someone was in here now!"

Nadora rubbed her eyes and tugged at her dragon gown, but didn't respond.

"He said you almost killed the man!"

"Aahhh!" Nadora was amused. "I didn't almost kill him. I just put his shouldah off its joint." She laughed again.

"That's the reason we didn't want you to stay by yourself at night."

Just then, the other riders came barging into her room.

"Oh sure, just come on in everyone." Walking to the door, she saw some people in the hallway. "Yaw want to come on in here, too?"

"Sorry, princess," whispered a couple of the riders.

"Ooh, I have pajamas with dragons on them, too," Navi crooned. "See? Dragon pajamas aren't just for kids, crony!" He turned to Nuvatian and nudged him. "And you laughed at mine." Nuvatian really didn't have anything to say now as he stared at a now thoroughly knowing Nadora. She raised both eyebrows and gave him that look that says, "You just lost a point!"

"A-are you gg-oin' to eat b-breakfast with us?" Skeener was hoping she would. He had grown to like Nadora and was thoroughly convinced that she was a warrior in her own right.

"Yes, I will be down in a few minutes," Nadora answered, eyeballing Nuvatian. "After I change from my DRAGON pajamas." Navi grinned, finding it hilarious.

Going back down to the pub, the men joined some of the friends they had made. Shortly, Nadora joined them for a hearty meal.

Throughout the day Wesley told the story of the princess who had beaten up the maleficent drunk, embellishing it more and more each time. The riders and Wesley formed a strong bond of friendship and they were always glad to make a new friend—but they didn't dare disclose the purpose of their mission.

They weren't about to make that mistake again.

The Potter

The water splashed upon Moridar's legs as Windsor traveled down the stone paved road alone in the rain, the others having decided to stay in and rest for the day. He needed to be alone, to think. Besides, it would be nice to explore the city, for it had been many years since he had visited Gadilrod.

Traveling down the road, he saw an old and faded white and green sign advertising a pottery shop. He had always enjoyed watching the art of pottery, finding it relaxing to his mind. Tying up his dragon, he walked into the studio.

At first, Windsor couldn't see a thing as he entered the dimly lit building. The only light in the studio was what shone through the window, a small one without curtains or shades. After his eyes adjusted to the faint light, he began to observe numerous pieces of eye-catching pottery, shelved and marketed for a purchaser of these finely crafted commodities. Some pieces were small, some larger, some etched with various designs and some painted; none of them were alike.

Windsor walked into the room and saw the potter at his right in an open side room where he was working his clay. The old gray-haired man looked to be immersed in his work, forming and shaping the clay. Lying beside the basin of the wheel was a large brown dog with shaggy hair; it seemed friendly, wagging its tail. The potter never looked up, keeping his eyes on the clay. Spying a rickety wood seat to his right, Windsor sat down and observed the potter's craftsmanship. Not wishing to disturb the man, he remained silent.

In the dim light, Windsor watched as the slim potter fashioned the mound of pliable clay on his wheel. He observed the potter pressing his hands into the center of the clay, working it as it spun around on the wheel, forming a center to the lump. Dipping his hands in a tub of water, the potter cupped his hands and then pushed the clay in and then he pressed his finger in the center and pulled it back out again. He did this three or four times, the clay now pliable and free from air bubbles.

Next, he moistened his hands again and placed them on the outside of the clay, smoothing its surface as it spun round and round on the wheel. A slight mist of clayish water flew from the wheel, splattering onto the potter's dirty apron and the stained wood floor. The potter never took his eyes off the clay. His hands lightly embraced the clay causing it to take on the desired shape. Occasionally, he would wipe his hands on his apron.

Soon, the lump of clay was becoming a vessel, a cultural and stylish container, representative of the finest of art. Perfecting the inside, the potter worked the sides, smoothing them as his hands moved from bottom to top. Next, he smoothed the outside again and put a lip around the top of what was now clearly a pot. As Windsor observed him, the potter gave it some unique detail, branding it with its very own identity.

Having finished, the potter stopped his wheel. With his head still bent down, he spoke for the first time: "Old man, many are your life experiences, but beware of using your past for reference to your future decisions. Beware, death is chasing aftah you!"

"It doesn't take a prophet to see that I am an old man with many life experiences, and that death is closing in on me."

The slender old potter looked up from his wheel. He looked directly at Windsor with a blank stare, black holes bound to the shadows of darkness. Windsor was taken back. One eye was a hole of flesh where his left eye once had been. The other eye was glassed over, as though it had been painted with a thick coat of glaze. Windsor, stunned to see that the potter was blind, was now shaken by the old man's words. _Death. Soon? God knows I'm old enough, but._ Windsor's mind drifted off, wondering how he was going to die.

The potter felt for his cane and took hold of it. Rising, he walked toward a shelf of pottery. Picking up a finished clay jar sitting on a shelf labeled "for sell," he spoke again. "Beware of an old friend. He might be the death of a dear friend, if not you yourself."

He intentionally dropped the piece. The pot shattered at his feet. The noise frightened the dog and it skittishly darted to the other side of the room. Shards of pottery scattered across the floor. The potter said again, "Beware ." Then the potter looked directly at him as though he knew right where Windsor stood and his exact height so that he looked at his eyes. "Don't take it to heaht," he continued. "Know that it is a rash decision."

"How can I prevent this friend, as you call him, from hahming anothah?" Windsor asked.

"The great gift of freewill is sometimes a great curse when in the clutches of temptation and fear. Prevent it? A narrow margin lies between his sword and anothah. It is a mattah of going right or left."

"And my death?" inquired Windsor.

"Inevitable," said the blind prophet.

His dog now returned to his spot beside the wheel.

Shaken by these words from a blind old potter, Windsor stood silently for a moment. He absorbed the words. Then, he laid a coin down beside the wheel and hastily walked out the door.

As he rode back to Fletcher's home, he pondered the words of the old potter, as well as the past events, and how Fletcher had risked his life to save his. _I am surrounded by many old friends. I have friends who go way back. Which one would betray me?_

He continued to weigh possibilities, as the conversation within his head went on. _Don't take it to heart! Well, why would I, I ought to be used to this by now. It's not like I haven't been betrayed before._ He rubbed the scar across his face. _Is this just anothah reference to the betrayer already spoken of? Is this a separate betrayal? He said something about another. So is one of my friend's lives on the line too?_ Windsor didn't have the answers, but he knew if he didn't get a revelation of it he would find out the meaning in time. In time, that much was for sure.

Now he murmured some of the thoughts out loud: "Am I supposed to treat them all as a threat of betrayal? He must be speaking of Fletcher. But why would Fletcher betray us? Maybe he blames me for his leg."

"No, it's that bloody sword."

After two weeks in Gadilrod, the rain finally stopped and the sun shone through, drying up the water and drying out the mud. Their stay in Gadilrod had been refreshing. They had gotten some much needed rest and made some new friends, including Wesley and Dorso. In addition, Windsor, Gilmanza, and Vandorf had been reacquainted with Fletcher. But Windsor wondered if that had been a mistake.

On the third day after the rain had stopped, the riders rode out, but not before eating one last breakfast at Wesley's Pub. Dorso came by, and gave each of the riders a little leather coin-pouch bearing an emblem he and Fletcher had designed especially for the Circle of Riders. Wesley served them breakfast on the house, and the riders said goodbye to the friends they had made at Gadilrod.

As they left the city, Windsor was still giving weighty thought to the potter's disturbing prophecy.

He hated the thought of dying.

Discouragement

It was now the dead of winter and there was still no sign of the sword. Luckily for the riders, they were traveling in the southern regions where the climate is less harsh. They probed every corner of the vast land, searching for Pip and Cozbi. But it was to no avail; it was as though they had fallen off the face of the earth. They sunk deeper into lassitude with each passing day, riding through rain, occasionally gales of wind and even hail.

Tired. Miserable. Useless.

The riders also grew accustomed to the sense that someone—or something—was following them; but the gnawing feelings dissipated with time.

Ozni remained optimistic, trying to keep their spirits alive. The veteran warriors, Windsor, Gilmanza, and Vandorf expected nothing less than this, for they knew this would be a long and difficult mission.

Monguard still got away with playing practical jokes without becoming suspect. Once, in the middle of the night, he stuck Vandorf's freshly polished boots in a pile of dragon dung. Navi was blamed for the mischievous prank. No matter how much he denied it, Vandorf doubted his innocents in the matter. Navi suspected Monguard again and was plotting his revenge.

It was common knowledge that the further southwest they traveled, the closer they got to Quadar, the thicker the droves of derves became. They had traveled this long journey without spotting a single one, but now a group environed them, following them from tree limb to tree limb. The nasty little vermins kept a safe distance away from Gilgore, whose head towered into the trees. The smart ones ran away immediately upon eyeing them; the ones that didn't run got their necks wrung if either of the giants got hold of them. For whatever reason, they were not attacking them, but the riders had to constantly remain on guard.

Their biggest nuisance was their annoying and discouraging whispers.

The mood remained heavy. These negative notions were spurred on, of course, by the mendacious murmurs of the derves, urging them to turn back and abandon their quest:

"This is useless. You'll nevah find the sword. Turn back," one breathy voice told them.

"You didn't really think you were going to make a difference did you," whispered another. "Even King Justiz knew he couldn't make a difference—that's why he didn't ride—and you certainly can't without him."

"People really don't care about the sacrifice and effort you are making; you really should just go back home."

"Just turn back. The Immortal King didn't ride with you. He even knows it is useless. He doesn't care about the mortals. It's useless"

"There's nothing more you can do. Life is short, go have some fun."

The redundant whispers reverberated in the riders' heads. The breathy words seeped into their consciences like poison in an underground stream. They breathed lies, uttered curses of defeat, talking a blue streak of dissuasive words. Ignoring them was almost impossible. The whispers were persistent and relentless, like a babbling fool that prattles enough that he finally gets his way.

Behind every tree was a word of discouragement, above them, to the side of them, in front of them, they could not escape. Their only strategy against these taunting devils, other than killing them, was to continue to tell themselves the opposite of what these lying quidnuncs said. That daunting task became more difficult as the riders grew more disheartened and weary.

The leeching whispers had begun to suck the life out of them and sometimes confused them. It was more than a mild irritation; it had caused great tumult.

They wanted to quit.

Suffering from exhaustion, the riders grew discouraged; some even secretly began wishing they could end their search and go back home. Windsor, Ozni and Monguard seemed immune to this, or so the others thought, but they weren't. Windsor was seasoned in their devilish ways. Ozni hummed sometimes and whistled, sometimes with a smile on his face, even when they were sloshing through mud. When anyone said something about the creatures, he always reminded them that it was all lies and to just ignore them. "You know that we, have a critical role in these present events and we must stay focused on the mission and remind ourselves of the truth."

When Monguard got tired of riding or discouraged in spirit, he leapt off his mount, passed the reigns onto Navi and sprinted through the woods, leaping off trees and rocks. His head jerked occasionally, but it never interfered with his ability, in fact, some wondered if it didn't help. His agile movements and speed continued to amaze Gilmanza, and everyone else for that matter. But Monguard knew he had need of staying limber, for a fight could spring upon them from around any river bend or tree. This was a way of reminding himself of his purpose and training his mind to stay focused. He also simply needed to shake off the discouragement, the lies, because he was not immune to their poisonous words. No one was.

Their taunting got under Vandorf's skin. He was growing fighting mad. He was tired and frustrated and was longing to get the dirt off his body. He chafed at the lies. At one point, in an irascible rage, the Earthdweller pulled out several of his throwing spinnels, peered up into the trees above him, and threw several of them, all of them sinking into their intended targets. "Bloody little infernal insidious hell-born incubi!" he shouted, throwing several of the spinnels. The spinnels penetrated the thin skin of the targeted derves. They shrieked with ear-piercing cries and then fell to the ground.

Now a hornet's nest was stirred up as a horde of derves leapt from the trees, landing on the heads and backs of the riders and their beasts. The mounts were startled, rearing and running to get away from the devils. The zebra and stelletoes flapped their wings and the dragons growled.

Some riders were thrown from their mounts, others slung their swords skillfully, but wildly, at the creatures that had leapt onto their backs. Fleece did as he was efficiently trained to do by his grand mentor and sliced through derves like butter. Monguard was unmoved, leaping as effectively as the nimble creatures that were upon him. Before long he had them in a chase, perceiving that they were no match for this wild-man.

Buldar, growing as irritated at the derves as Vandorf, saw it as a great opportunity to release his frustration with the devils. He vented, ramming his sword through as many as he could catch. When a pack jumped onto Ormandel, Zilgar, and Binko, He was glad to yank them off their back and slay them. Unfortunately, not before their sharp claws dug into their skin.

Gilgore grabbed derves from the tops of the trees and pitched them wildly across the overgrowths of the forest. He yanked derves off the other riders, grabbing the creatures by their necks and slamming them to the ground, sometimes even stomping them beneath his huge feet. He impaled one on the jagged edge of a broken tree-limb. The green blood of the derve ran down the tree trunk. When he swung his giant-size sword, it cut them in half.

Windsor silenced the now chaotic scene with a few rambling sounding words that sent the derves flying through the air supernaturally. Those few who managed to escape ran off in every direction. The high pitched screams echoed through the forest as they fled for their lives.

Only one derve remained and it was between Nadora's hands being shaken to death. Frustrated and furious, she had grabbed a single derve separated from the pack. She had it in her grasp. It was as though the pent-up rage was flooding out of her. Wrapping her fingers around its neck, she slammed it to the ground, got atop it and began choking it and violently shaking its body. As she did so, she shouted childish words at it. She ranted on, disregarding all proper conduct or bearing for a princess.

"That's one cool maiden, there, crony," Navi said, nudging Nuvatian in the arm. Nuvatian thought so too, but he didn't want to let on, she had shot him down in the barn in Shy Kadesh and was not too keen on taking another chance just yet.

"You won't think so, when she gets a hold of you like that, mate!"

Finally, she arose, slung the derve into the woods, letting it go free. But the derve was lifeless and as limp as a rag doll.

Finally cooling down, Nadora could hear the snickers of some of the riders. Slowly turning her head, she looked over her shoulder and saw all the riders gawking at her. Cocking her head up and tossing her hair to one side, she raised her eyebrow and muttered, "Oh," at their attending presence.

"I think the princess has a little pent up anger there," Vandorf whispered.

"No more than you." A smirk washed across Windsor's face. "What was that, 'Infernal insidious hell-born incubi?'"

"An expression my father used to use for derves," Vandorf chuckled.

Meanwhile another conversation was started. "How is it that nothin' seems to bothah you?" Zilgar asked Ozni. "I mean you nevah seem to get frustrated. Monguard seems to be the same way," Zilgar observed.

"You have to train yourself to stay focused on the mission, without focusing on the inconveniences along the way," Ozni explained. "You can't change things by worrying about them." Ozni paused to let that sink in, before he continued. "And try to enjoy every moment in life that you can. I might not enjoy everything about this situation, but I am enjoying the company. And if I get to where your company gets lousy then I will try to enjoy the scenery. If I can't do that, then I'll appreciate the fact that I am getting to serve for the good of humanity, that I am alive and well." He took a breath, as if simply enjoying the fresh air and being alive. "When it gets too bad, as it has in war, I resolve myself to what will be, and knowin' I have lived with integrity and I will die with integrity."

"Good philosophy," Zilgar said.

"I wish I were a wizahd," Nimri said. "It must be so cool to be able to do that."

"Why would you want to be a wizahd," Amase said. "There is a great responsibility that comes with such a great gift."

With eyes wide open, Windsor looked at Amase. His profound wisdom amazed Windsor. Not to mention, Windsor had said those very words to Nimri when they were in the west gathering riders before they had met Amase.

Windsor had met many people in his life who desired his giftedness, but almost no one who understood the responsibility that comes with such a gift, especially when it came to the young.

Windsor was impressed with this lad.

Nimri felt like a fool for shaming himself twice now.

The riders mounted their beasts and continued their endless search. Fortunately, no one had sustained more than a few scratches from this encounter. Stopping at a nearby river, they let their beasts drink some water, while they all cleaned up from the battle, washing off the blood, both of derves and their own. Vandorf was quick to let down his hair, rub some soap on it and rinse, and sling it back into a ponytail. He then proceeded to yank off his clothes down to his underpants and scrub his body from head to toe.

How he wished he could wash his clothes.

Ormandel took off his shirt. One of the derves had jumped on his back and dug its nails into his flesh. The devil had raked its claws down his back leaving a rut for each claw.

The riders were laughing and teasing Nadora about her juvenile behavior until they saw Ormandel's bare back. The atmosphere changed instantly. The revelry ceased and the merry making turned quiet and solemn, even awkward.

Deep scars marred the warrior's back and chest. Some looked like burn-marks; others bore the distinct markings caused by the plowing of a whip.

Noticing the sudden shift in mood, Ormandel realized they were staring at him. He felt uncomfortable being the center of attention. He looked over his shoulder and knew he had to say something. He was quick to reassure them. "It's all right. I know it looks bad, but at least I'm alive."

"What was it like in there?" Nadora asked, with a tone of compassion to her voice.

"It was hell."

Norssod

The rain had ceased and there were no derves breathing down their necks now, but the discouragement was still alive and present.

The pine needles of the forest gave off a fresh smell. They inhaled the pleasantries of the fragrance. The timbers were tall and the trees close. The riders wove their way through the mass of trees traveling southwest.

It was just before noon when they heard the sound of hooves beating the ground. It had been ages since they had encountered dark riders of Quadar. Anticipating a threat, the riders pulled out their swords, their hearts beating faster as they steeled themselves for combat. But they hoped they would go unnoticed.

In the distance, Gilgore could see a large company of dark riders, their capes snapping in the crisp wind. He ducked, but it was too late. The dark riders raced toward them, not intimidated by the hulking giant. The Circle of Riders goaded their beasts, awakening them into a run. The horses galloped to battle, their nostrils flaring.

The sound of steel against steel resounded in the otherwise quiet forest. Gilgore yanked some of the attackers from their horses and threw them to the ground like sacks of potatoes. His prodigious sword was no match for their little pieces of toy steel.

Meanwhile, Binko secretly chased down dark riders and thrust his invisible sword through them. They never saw him coming.

The fight was on and everyone was deep in blood.

As Windsor withdrew his sword from a Quadarist, he looked up to see a dark rider eyeballing him. The glare signaled that this one might have a personal score to settle. The dark rider dug his heels into his black horse and charged toward the aging wizard. Windsor crossed blades, not intimidated by his countenance. It was the moment that their blade touched that Windsor noticed the blade of the dark rider: it was forged of a reddish-silver metal. It had an air of antiquity, forged from a rare metal. It's him!

Fire coiled in Windsor's eyes.

Windsor knew too well who this dark rider was; it was the same rider, and the same blade, he had seen that rainy night, the same night that Nuvatian had encountered the dark riders while riding home from the castle. He knew the blade and he knew the rider. He knew him so very well. He knew the blade even better, because it had once belonged to him. Now crossing swords, they warred, as if forgetting there were others in the battle. They warred with personal passion, a vengeance, as their pent-up aggression toward one another found release at last.

With fierceness, Windsor and the dark rider parried and clashed against one another, swinging their swords with power and skill. Their mounts danced nervously around the fight, obeying every pull of the reigns and every heel in the side. Suddenly, during the heat of the up-close-and-personal fight, the dark rider knocked the aged wizard from his dragon, and his sword fell to the side out of his reach. When Windsor hit the ground, the force nearly took his breath away. The dark rider now turned his black horse around and raced towards the fallen wizard, his sword stretched out. The wizard's heart pulsated as the thundering hooves of the horse rapidly approached him. _So this is it. This is how I'm going to die._ The potter's word's passed in his mind.

No way! Not by him.

Thinking quickly, he rolled out of the way of the charging attacker. Then, he grabbed the dagger from the sheath on his left side. When the familiar rider turned to charge a second time, Windsor threw the dagger, piercing the rider's left shoulder. Squirming, the dark rider arched his back in pain. Looking down at Windsor, he pulled the dagger from his shoulder, and threw it back at his enemy. The wizard rolled again, avoiding the dagger, but not altogether, for it grazed the left side of his arm tearing his tender flesh. With his sword now in sight, Windsor rolled to it, took it up and jumped to his feet.

Engrossed in the fight, it was not until now that the dark rider became aware that many of the Quadarist ranks lay on the ground, dead, while many others were beginning to flee. Standing still, he glared at Windsor, ignoring his own wound. His dark cape flowed in the wind like the wings of a raven. He held the unusual sword high above his head. With one last defiant look, the dark rider sped away into the woods, though not without his horse rearing on its heels.

Gilmanza, Vandorf, and Ormandel looked at Windsor as the dark rider rode off through the thick of the forest. They also knew the rider, and the history between the two.

Windsor ran his hand across his face, touching the scar he bore on his left cheek.

The Riders of the Circle walked across the bodies of the fallen dark riders. "When we reach Norssod we'll rest up a bit," Windsor said, trying to redirect the conversation away from the questions he knew they would raise. His efforts worked and no one brought up the mysterious dark rider and the rival between the two.

As night approached, they made camp. Monguard whittled, Vandorf polished, and Ormandel positioned himself between a barrier of trusted friends and the fire, making sure he wasn't left near the outside of the ring or too close to the flames that licked up old wounds.

In the morning they continued their journey, riding southwest into the Land of Dothor. They aimed to ride to the first city, Norssod. "We should make it to Norssod by late-aftanoon" Windsor said. "We can stay there and rest up a couple of days and get a few supplies."

As predicted, they arrived at Norssod that afternoon. The walls of the city were tall and fortified. Eight imposing knights in full mail stood at the gates. Several more stood just inside the city walls in the towers. Their morions were of beaded iron, giving a beardlike look to the face-cover and they wore black gloves.

As the riders approached the city, the steel men opposed them, barring them from entry. They said not a word. A man stepped forward to inquire as to their business in the city. He was garbed in a navy uniform with buttons on the sleeves and draped with a navy cape. He bore a sword in one hand.

"We are merely passing through," answered Windsor. "And we need an inn for a night." There was silence. A long stare followed. One of the steel-clad guards lowered his sword. The others then did the same. The ironclad gates screeched as the guards opened them. "You have a day," said the man in the navy uniform.

Entering the city, the riders couldn't help but notice the numerous knights in full gear in the streets among the populous, all wearing morions that covered their faces. In fact, it seemed there were more knights in the streets than there were civilians. Their presence was striking: bold, menacing and shrouded in mystery.

They stood as though they belonged to the city, as though they owned it.

The few locals walking the sparsely populated streets appeared unnatural, strangely secretive and even intimidated. They walked quickly, their heads down, rushing to get to wherever they were going. It seemed most peculiar to the riders. The city was large, with finely stoned streets and stone houses, and seemed to be progressive and well-populated, judging by the standards of the buildings.

Upon entering an inn, they were surprised to see two steel-suited guards standing beside the entrance. The mysterious guards spoke not a word, but stood as though they were deaf and dumb. Behind the counter of the pub was a rather jittery looking fellow. He was frail and thin, and he nervously popped his knuckles. The pub was scarce with people for such a bustling city.

"We need some rooms," Windsor said.

"Certainly," answered the attendant, fidgeting with things behind the counter. He looked at the riders, and then at the knights in steel. Back and forth, he diverted his attention between the two groups. Whenever a knight looked toward the pub owner, he quickly looked down at the floor and cracked his knuckles.

The pub only had two rooms, they took them both. The riders put their mounts in the stalls adjoining the inn and then went to a pub down the road hoping it would have a different atmosphere. As they entered the pub, they immediately noticed another set of guards standing inside the door on each side. These too remained silent, without a word to the riders. The atmosphere was unnatural. The locals were cold, rude, secretive, and unwilling to look anyone in the eyes. Finding this most uncomfortable, the Circle of Riders ate quickly and left, Skeener guzzling his liquor.

"Well, this is a pleasant experience," Nadora said, sarcastically.

"Really, what is up with this city?" Fleece whispered.

"Maybe they have seen Ridahs of Quadar, and are on the protective front," suggested Binko.

"O, we won't be here long anyway." Ozni was trying to see the positive side.

"Y-yeah," stuttered Skeener, "m-maybe they have g-guards st-stationed ev-ryw-where be-because they kn-ow someth-thin' is goin' on." He spoke loudly and Windsor observed that he had drank too much. He hushed him and gave him a corrective glare.

"Whatever it is," whispered Zorgar. "I don't want to hang around here long."

"Me neither," Sagran said.

"What do you think it is?" Amase asked Windsor.

"Nothing good." Windsor sensed something sinister in the whole of things.

"Don't worry, we'll be out of here tomorrow," Ozni said, smiling.

"Why are we whisperin'?" asked Buldar.

"Because if we're caught speakin' aloud, we might go to jail for a capital crime, crony!" A good dinner had put a spring back in Navi's step, even if the environment hadn't.

"We'll head out tomorrow." Windsor's voice was subdued; he was in deep thought. "In five to seven days we will be at Randora; if we need to, we can stay there for three or four days."

Worn out from all the riding, the riders returned to the inn to sleep, eager to get an early start in the morning and leave this dreadful place. The group split up, half staying in one room and the other half in the other room. A coin was flipped to see who would get the bunks. Luckily, everyone was used to the hard ground, so no one complained if they were out of luck. Gilgore of course slept in the barn, accustomed to not fitting anywhere in this little world.

At the crack of dawn everyone crawled out of bed, Skeener a bit slower than the rest. He complained of an aching head and tried to blame it on something other than his alcohol intake. Windsor gave him that corrective glare once again but said not a word.

"Before we head out," Navi announced. "I want to get my sword shahpened."

"Me, too," Zilgar agreed.

"N-now that you m-mention it," Skeener said, "I th-think I will, too!"

"Well, heck, I guess I will as well," said Vandorf.

"Your sword is always shahp, crony" said Navi.

"Yeah, but it can nevah be too shahp, mate!" Vandorf felt the edge. "Besides, they have bettah equipment for shahpening."

"I'm comin', too," said Buldar.

Fleece decided to tag along, figuring that it wouldn't hurt if his sword were honed a bit too.

The six of them walked to a local blacksmith, just down the road from the inn. They were not surprised to find two more steel-clads standing there with their swords at their sides. An elderly gentleman attended them.

"Hello, mate," Navi said, bouncing through the door. "We just want to get our swords shahpened."

Pausing a moment, the gentleman looked at the guards and responded hesitantly, "I... I don't shahpen swords."

"What do you mean, you don't shahpen swords?" Navi inquired.

"I only do fahm equipment."

"You're a blacksmith, aren't you?" asked Buldar.

"Of course I am. But I don't do swords."

"I've nevah heahd of a blacksmith that doesn't shahpen swords," said Vandorf.

"If you can shahpen fahm equipment," Zilgar added, somewhat angry by now, "then you can shahpen our swords!"

"I'm sorry, but I don't do swords," answered the blacksmith, looking again at the guards. The two guards now pulled out their swords, showing blades finely honed.

Putting up his hands as though in surrender, Navi said, "Hardly worth fightin' ovah." He stared the lads down wanting to swipe his blade and rip them open just to see what's beneath all that steel. Navi motioned for them to sheath their swords. "They're shahp enough. We'll be leavin'."

"Leavin'?" Zilgar wasn't ready to leave. He was just getting warmed up. "But I want my bloody sword shahpened." His temper was getting the best of him.

"Oh, look, it's time to go!" The wizard grabbed the irate Viking by the shirt-collar and began dragging him towards the door. The angry Viking ranted and raved as the others drug him out the door.

As Navi turned to step out, the guard placed his sword in front of the wizard.

Putting his hands up to his shoulders again, Navi tried conversation. "That's a shahp sword. May I ask where you got it shahpened, mate?"

The two guards now stepped forward. One grunted beneath his morion, the other placed the pointed tip of his sword at Navi's neck.

"That's okay, I don't need to know, after all. Now that I think about it, I think my sword is shahp enough, don't you, cronies?" He looked over at his friends. "In fact, I think we'll be goin' now." Backing up, Navi now shot out the door, with the rest of the riders, dragging Zilgar with them, still cussing and fussing.

As they walked away from the shop, Navi looked back to see if they were being pursued. "Well, this sure is a friendly little town," he said, sarcastically.

"I saw anothah blacksmith shop down the road. Let's give it a try." Vandorf was trying to put his finger on the peculiarity of this city. But they were outsiders and things had obviously been shady in this part of the country. They needed to find someone who would talk, but that didn't look like that was going to happen, at least not while they were grouped together in this motley band.

They strolled down the road to the other blacksmith shop. Upon entering, they were not surprised to see a guard standing outside the shop. A hefty man with a freckled face attended them. Now, the guard stepped inside and one of his buddies joined him.

"Good day, crony!" Navi began again. "We need our swords shahpened."

"I... I don't shahpen swords," the man protested.

Vandorf tried being nice. "Look, mate, we are only passin' through, and in a bit of a hurry, so if you could just shahpen our swords, we will be out of your hair for good."

"I'm sorry," said the smithy. "I can't help you."

Hearing the metal foot of the guard move, Navi saw it was time to take their leave. "I guess we will be goin' then, mate!" he said cheerfully. "Thanks for your help, or rather lack thereof."

Zilgar wasn't letting it go that easily. "Look, mate," he said, "we're in a hurry, to get out of this God-forsaken city. So, what you say, mate, that I dull my sword on you and then shahpen it myself on your equipment?" The Viking's fiery temper was clearly getting the best of him. The two guards both pulled their swords from their sheaths and stepped towards him.

"Don't pay any attention to him," Navi intervened. "He didn't mean it. My friend here is emotionally unstable, completely deranged. War drove him out of his mind and fits of vertigo have further weakened his unstable condition." He dragged Zilgar toward the door, with the other riders following.

Once outside, he tore into the Viking. "What are you doing, trying to get us killed?"

"I want my sword shahpened!" Zilgar protested.

"Your sword is shahp enough. It's not worth getting us killed over, crony."

"Come on let's go," Vandorf said. "I'll shahpen your swords."

Navi didn't say a word but his countenance showed that he had an inkling of an idea. Vandorf had his suspicions too as to what was going on. Fleece, on the other hand, was trying to figure it out by flipping his medallion.

Arriving back at the inn, Navi whispered to Windsor what had happened and both gathered there was about to be trouble. The riders mounted their rides and headed down the main road towards the ironclad gates. As they approached the gate, the metal-wrapped guards eagerly uncrossed their swords, opened the ironclad gates and willingly let them leave the city.

They seemed anxious to get rid of them.

No one else passed through the gates, only the riders. The knights, decked in their metal, lined the entrance to the city and repositioned their swords. Windsor sighed with relief. Glancing over his shoulder, he thought he saw a faint image peering out from behind the trees. It looked like Akiylah He blinked his eyes and it was gone.

Perhaps it was only his imagination.

Darvan

Dirty long fingernails rasped the arm of the gaudy chair, a poor replica of a king's throne. Shrouded in a black brocaded cloak, the dark figure sat stone-faced, impatiently awaiting news, and anxious to issue more commanding orders. His face was the shade of death, a becoming color for one so cruel. Much like the soil of the land, it was chiseled and cracked, like one too familiar with its curse. His stealthy eyes studied a map of the lands of the world as he schemed and plotted his next sly move. Suddenly the door sprang open and his eyes lifted up from the charts. The Stone Age face of the kingly imposter turned toward the door, as a dark rider of some distinguishable clout entered the room.

"My Lord Darvan, there has been an unfortunate mishap concerning the Circle of Riders."

"A mishap?" He hissed, ruffling the map that sat before him. "What sort of mishap?"

"My Lord, it would appear that the Circle of Riders came into Norssod and—well sir—they let them out of the city!"

"What?" shouted Darvan, visibly angry at this disappointing news. "Let them out of the city? How could they be so stupid?" He sprang to his feet, nearly tearing his map in the process.

"My Lord, it appears that there were Immortals spotted outside the walls, and they thought it best to apprehend them at a more convenient time, when they are more vulnerable.

"Vulnerable? What do they think can be any more vulnerable than having them trapped inside a city?" Darvan shouted, his face twisted with rage.

"Yes, my Lord. I don't know what they were thinking."

"I want them dead! Do you hear me? Dead!" Darvan screamed, gritting his teeth.

"Yes, my Lord, I will..." began the shrewd dark rider.

"No, I will go, and make sure that this doesn't happen again!" Darvan angrily stormed out of the room, cursing under his breath. "Damn idiots. Do I have to take care of everything? What kind of fools and imbeciles do I have working for me?" As he passed by the informant, he turned and stopped. "And you—I just wish I had some responsible men around here!" He slammed the door behind him. Continuing to curse under his breath, he stormed out of his dark castle atop the barren hill in the desolate wasteland of Quadar. He mounted his reliable, yet temperamental dragon. Cutting through the sky, he set his sights upon Norssod, eager to reprimand those who had failed to carry out his specific orders.

Randorin

They had been traveling for days and now the wind howled, ushering in a gushing rainfall upon the surrounding lowlands of the south. Soaked and tired, the riders trudged along. Fortunately, the rain was brief and the sun soon emerged from its hiding place behind the dark clouds. As they rode through the obscure regions in the southwest, they came across numerous horse-tracks descending into the lowlands.

"Horse tracks." Gilmanza spotted them immediately. Those who wore mail stopped and strapped it on and everyone drew their swords from their sheaths, braced themselves. The tracks were traveling in both directions but primarily in the same direction as the riders.

As they approached the plains of the lowlands, they heard a noise echoing across the mountains surrounding them. Steering their beasts in the direction they perceived the sound to be coming from, they rode to investigate. In the distance the riders could see a simple but large village. The homes were made of wood and the defense wall was shallow, not large and fortified like that of the large cities. A portion of the shoddily built wall had crumbled in ruin. Standing just outside the barrier was a group of yokels repairing the wall. They were not alone—the village was crawling with Riders of Quadar. In fact he wondered why a small village required so many dark riders. The working peasants were depressingly filthy and their skeletal frames testified that they were under fed. Windsor and Gilmanza identified it as the rural village of Randorin, inhabited mostly by simple country folks.

From the elevation of the mountain, the riders could see within the village Riders of Quadar robed in black in command. They only had one purpose for being in a village: to take the people captive, brutally enslaving them in a complex web of drudgery and servitude, stealing their wills, and crushing them under a lust for power and domination. Windsor observed that there were a few dark riders astride graquitorases, large lizardlike beasts, bearing an organic suit of armor, tongues of fiery poison, and a mean spirit. Bearing tails nearly as long as their nasty disposition, they were hard to train and hard to kill.

Windsor and Gilmanza knew how these dark riders worked: they gained control of smaller and more rural villages, and then they took the larger cities. It gave the dark riders confidence and provided a means to expand their troops by recruiting men who didn't want to be enslaved. Joining their forces gave them a way out, which was really no way out at all.

Sagran and Amase shuddered as they recalled their own village under similar conditions.

"Binko, take a ride," Windsor said. Binko nudged his zebra and the winged beast lifted off the ground and became a vapor. The winged creature soared over the open lowlands undetectable as Binko scoured the village taking in every detail. The small village was heavily populated with dark riders. Their very presence left a heavy and evil presence in the air. It was a presence that could be felt. The naked eye testified to the sense of the evil presence as Binko beheld captive peasants hewing stones into a perfectly smooth rock suitable for a king. Binko scoured the entire area and then landed his mount back on the hillside where he filled the others in on the details of his visual review.

Buldar stepped towards the edge of the cliff to get a better view from the vantage point of the high altitude, a large loose rock slid out from under his feet taking Buldar with it. Skeener barely escaped sliding down the mountain too. Buldar slid half way down the rocky mountain side nearly causing an avalanche of rocks to follow. The crashing noise of the skidding rocks did not go unnoticed by the horde of dark riders, and neither did the Circle of Riders. They spotted them immediately among the rubble.

Thinking quickly, Windsor, astride Moridar, took to the air. As he mounted the sky, he muttered a curse, a curse he knew in the days of his immortality. He knew the risk before the words left his mouth; but, it was a death he was willing to accept. After all, he would rather die nobly.

Dahk ridahs turn hard in the bones

Let them dry up and turn to stones

But the new recruits let this curse bypass

Let the deception become as clear as glass

This curse would take a moment to go into effect. The riders would have to fight, at least for now.

Windsor fell limp over Moridar's neck, the curse being more than his mortal body could take.

The Riders of the Circle barged into the village through the broken down wall while the riders on mounts flew over the village of peasants showering the dark riders with arrows. The attack was not sudden like they had hoped and the fight did not come easily. Utter chaos broke out in the camp as villagers ran for their lives.

Gilmanza was retracting his sword from one angry warrior when two Quadarist ran up behind him, their swords lifted to cut him down. Turning his sword back under his armpit, Gilmanza plunged it into the heart of one of the men. Then, he grabbed a dagger from his boot and thrust it into the abdomen of the other. As he withdrew his sword from the first rider, blackish blood poured out, and a stench like sour rotten fish filled the air. He didn't even have time to wrinkle his nose at the smell before a host of dark riders were all over him.

Dirty blood mingled with the dust of the ground as each rider carried his own weight, even Fleece, the most inexperienced of the riders proved himself that day. It was evident that he had been trained by one of the best swords masters in all the lands. Monguard went through the camp like a windstorm, leaving a path of destruction behind him. Arrows showered down from the heavens as Nadora and Binko rode the sky.

But in spite of their skill, there were just too many dark riders to handle. Things turned from bad to worse for Nuvatian when he found himself face to face with a poisoned tongue lizard. He dodged the deadly whip of his tongue and tried to retreat, running as fast as his legs could carry him. The tongue lashed out against him, his venomous flesh licking up the dust behind him. He spotted a building and dashed towards it, his heart drumming to the beat of his escalating anxiety as the tongue nearly flogged him. He raced towards the door and reached to spring it open, the beast right on his tail, spanking at him. He felt his heart leap into his chest as he pulled at the door and discovered that it wouldn't open. He looked over his shoulder and turned around. Now, he was face to face with the monster, its poisonous tongue waving at him.

Standing his ground and prepared to fight unto death, Nuvatian took a fighting stance. Suddenly, an arrow shot through the sky and hit the beast in one of the few spots it bore no armor, its anus. The lizard roared and spanked his tongue at Nuvatian, refusing to die without taking its prey with it. With keen reflexes sharper than the lizard's tongue, Nuvatian grabbed the lizard by its tongue and thrust his sword into its belly. The tongue thrashed on the ground and then fell still as the beast moaned and fell down as another arrow pierced it in face. Nuvatian looked in the sky and spotted Nadora pulling back her bow and offering a smile, the wind dancing through her hair.

Now, the curse began to take effect. Within the marrow of the dark riders, bones began to dry up, their liquid blood began to turn solid. They began to move slowly, giving the circle of riders the advantage as they sliced through them. Then, they turned to gray stone. Across the village, stone statues stood like sculptured warriors and dead men lay on the ground like well-crafted pieces of art. Their decaying faces were trapped forever in grave images of dying men who once lived while dead. They were frozen in a battle forever, locked in the manner in which they had spent their lives: cultivating destruction.

Frozen in time, some bore the pain of death, others the glory of a skillful swing of their sword, still others hardened in quivers of rage, a life spent up in resentment and hate, the emptiness in their eyes captured forever. The turbulence of a soul gone wrong, a lie that led them into a walk of violence and passions unquenchable. They sought to break the rules, debunk the virtues of love, peace, and community, and now, they were stones of war and hate forever, just as their hearts had turned to stone ages ago.

But the new recruits stood in awe as they witnessed dark riders, the original rebels who joined Darvan in the beginning, turn to stone. Dropping their swords, they now had a new perspective. But these men didn't belong to this village. New recruits begin their conditioning among people they don't know, strangers, so not to convolute the heart now being vitiated with evil.

Some of the riders lost their swords that day as they became a piece of the masterpieces of stone. But they found new ones scattered by the fallen.

The battle was over. Now there was need to help the hurting.

Everyone turned to freeing the poor peasants—except for Navi.

When Navi saw the dark riders turn to stone, he realized what Windsor had done. He could feel the blood rushing to his head. His eyes searched the sky and he spotted Moridar ripping through the sky blowing smoke. Navi rushed to his aid, being fully aware that the proportion of the miracle was more than the wizard's body could bear.

Sensing the danger his beloved comrade was in, Moridar twisted and turned in the sky, helpless to bring him back to life.

Landing among the tall timbers of the mountains that surrounded the valley, Moridar let out a disheartened roar. He shifted his weight as though anxiety had borne down on him. The dragon mounted the sky as though on a mission, bellowing as he cut through the heavens.

At last, Moridar spotted Inka through the haze. The dragon knew Navi and drew towards him. Navi spotted him too and hastened to meet him. As the dragons met, Navi guided Inka right up next to Moridar, their wings nearly touching. Navi knew this was risky, but he had to get to Windsor. Every second counted. _Don't you die on me, old man._ Although they held differing philosophies concerning some of the practices of wizardry, Navi could not bear to think of not having Windsor around. Windsor had always been.

Steadying himself, Navi leapt onto Moridar's back. A waft of wind from Moridar's wing hit Navi with such force that he lost his balance. Falling, Navi grasped for the scales of the dragon. The lashing of the wind beat on his face. Clinching his eyes, Navi could not see a thing. Moridar whipped his tail around, giving Navi the leverage he needed to gain his stability and climb back upon the dragon's back.

Now, Navi was completely mindful of Windsor and the critical situation he was in. Pulling on Windsor's shoulders, Navi raised his head and shouted his name. Windsor was out cold. Navi knew what he had to do—and he wasn't sure if it would even work, or that it wouldn't kill him too. But Navi knew he was willing to die for his friend.

With his own staff, Navi touched Windsor. In a gibberish tongue, Navi spoke words accompanied with authority. Power came out of him. Navi felt weak and the world around him began to spin; then, he began to slip in and out of consciousness. He knew he too was going to die.

The claws of the dragons reached for the cliff that lay before them just as Navi lost all consciousness.

The riders were amazed at the rock men that now stood before them. They knew it had to have been Windsor but they didn't see him anywhere and neither could they find Navi. They turned their attention to the people.

The scene before them was nothing more than a village of rag tags all used up by their enemies. Dirty and withered, they looked like broken people, no hope in their eyes. They were now free, but it had yet to show in their eyes. It was clear that they were wondering what these people wanted with them.

It was Gilmanza who first became concerned for Windsor and Navi when he couldn't find them anywhere. He knew they would both be right in the midst of the action and they weren't. He also knew that this powerful display of magic could be deadly for his friend. So he mounted his stelleto and scoped out the area from the vantage point of the sky. With a seemingly endless supply of energy and strength, his stelleto mounted the open air with ease.

After making a single pass along the tree-lines of the adjoining mountains, Gilmanza spotted the dragons. He knew something was wrong. Neither Windsor nor Navi were moving.

The stelleto had hardly landed on the cliff when Gilmanza leapt off it. Windsor and Navi were both laid over Moridar's torso and both dragons were visibly agitated. He checked on Windsor first. His eyes were closed and his mouth partially opened. Seeing no signs of life, he shook him and called out his name. But Windsor was lifeless. He sat his friend's body on the ground and shook his again. The only signs that emerged were signs of death. Anxiety raced through his body but he had no time yet to feel the grief. Denial overshadowed it. He couldn't believe Windsor was dead.

Relief flooded his soul when he saw his hand move.

"Windsor," Gilmanza said, shaking him.

Finally, Windsor came to. He was limp, trembling with weakness and unable to speak.

"Just lay back down, my friend. I'm gonna check on Navi."

Gilmanza grabbed Navi off Inka and placed him on the ground. He was dead weight; luckily, he was not a big man. He shook his failing body but got nothing in return. There was not a hint of life in the wizard. His face was the shade of death, unflattering for one once so full of life.

As Windsor began to emerge out of his languishing state, he remembered what had happened. It was foggy but slowly, it became clear. He heard Gilmanza call out Navi's name. He looked over at his friend and it now became most obvious: Navi had risked his life for him.

Navi.

Gilmanza knew all the ropes of the wizards so he had an idea of what had happened too: that Navi used his power to prevent Windsor from dying, a true act of self-sacrifice. Mustering up a measure of strength, Windsor rose up to his knees and saw that Navi was lifeless. His wrinkled face suddenly took on even more wrinkles as a look of the utmost concern washed his face flush.

Gilmanza shook him; but, Navi didn't respond. Then, hope arose as Navi gasped in a breath of life.

Eager to make sure that Navi was going to be okay, Gilmanza sat him straight up and put the rim of his water container to his lips. After a swig of water, Navi lay back down, worn out from the power that had moved through his body.

"Thanks," Windsor said to Navi, leaning over his friend, both still on the ground.

Navi nodded, too tired to say anything. A hint of anger boiled in his blood for the aged wizard. _Why had he done that?_ He knew this was too many dark riders for a curse of that magnitude. Didn't he know that they needed him, his leadership, his skills, his wisdom. He sat there gathering his thoughts along with his strength. He would deal with this later, just the two of them he told himself. But he just couldn't convince himself to wait. He mustered up the energy and lit into Windsor.

Grabbing his shirt collar, Navi pulled the aged wizard down to his level and gave him a piece of his mind. "What'd you do that for? You knew that was too much powah and too many dahk ridahs. What are you doin? Beggin for death?" He turned his collar loose and shoved him back and Navi fell back to the ground.

Windsor was certain that this would be his moment, his moment of passing, when he felt the power arise within him to perform the miracle. It seemed like a great and noble way to die, even though he knew that the blind potter indicated a different scenario. Now, death seemed to preoccupy his thinking like never before. And so did the concern of yet another friend betraying him and another one dying in front of him. He didn't know who to trust.

Concerned for his friends, Binko joined them on the cliff. When Navi gathered his strength, he and Gilmanza helped him and Windsor up. Navi climbed aboard Inka and flew off the cliff, too weak to hardly stay on his mount but too angry to stay back at the cliff.

Meanwhile, the riders below were thankful to have one of the most powerful wizards with them because, like the dark riders they met at the Passage of Crossing, these riders were wearing mail. This was not totally unusual, but it signaled to the experienced riders that things had escalated, Darvan was prepared for war.

The riders had begun to explore the village when Gilmanza, Binko, Windsor, and Navi joined them. Although they were worn out, they found strength in the desperate needs of the people. They would rest at nightfall.

The people had been conditioned towards fear; they had experienced it. Now, they wondered what these riders wanted. They watched as the riders reached out to them, offering to help them, loosening them from their chains and touching their grimy hands.

But while others in the camp remained reserved and timid, a woman burst through the crowd and ran up to Windsor, recognizing him as one of their rescuers. She babbled something and pulled Windsor through the dusty village to a tall building bearing no windows. Windsor pulled on the doors. They did not budge, they were bolted.

A scraggly looking man of the village pointed to a dead Rider of Quadar lying near the door and pointed to the lock. Windsor figured out his charades: the man held the key to the door, but the key the man held would have turned to stone with the man. But the minute the thought passed through Windsor's mind, he noticed the key hanging beside the door.

He picked it up and turned the key.

Immediately, they were greeted by a horrible smell: the stench of decaying flesh. He rubbed his orb for light as the Circle of Riders entered the tall opaque building. The dim light of Windsor's orb lighted upon a horror unseen by mankind. Strung from the tops of the walls were the frail forms of people shrouded in dirt, darkness and steel pods. Chains wrapped around their torsos and limbs, like steel threads of some cocoon, but the metamorphoses of these captives were not pretty: their flesh laced their bones, thin and frail. They were more like mummies, skeletons, wrapped in grave clothes of iron.

The disrespect for human life hung in the dancing shadows of death before them like cow-meat in a cellar. The ghastly, ashen faces peered from their caskets of chains. Their black eyes were sunken into their skeletal heads. Windsor had seen it before. Gilmanza, Ormandel, and Vandorf too. He was tired of looking at death—especially death like this. There was no way to get used to this kind of dying.

Windsor knew what to look for. To the left of the door, leaning against the wall, was a large bucket of water and a long pole with a sponge attached at one end. The obvious use was to provide water, to keep the victims alive longer, thus lengthening their torment.

The riders were speechless. Sagran walked out of the chamber pushing back the tears, as he thought of his wife dying in a similar way. Amase stood in the face of the horror, his heart swelling with emotion. He considered the words of the statue. _I must succeed._ He had been given a divine assignment and the thought of such a task weighed heavily upon him, especially in light of the human suffering before him. _I must, for the sake of these people—for the sake of everyone!_

Breaking the silence was the subtle sound of labored breathing coming from one of the bodies wrapped in its crypt of chains. The snuffling noise was more of a death-rattle.

The riders listened carefully as they tried to discern which victim was still breathing. Standing beneath a distorted face sticking out from the metal mortuary, Nimri, discerned the victim of life. "Here! It is here!" Rising on tiptoes and reaching up to the ceiling, Gilgore cut the chains of the woman, and then sat her gently on the ground.

"Get some water," Nuvatian shouted. As they were holding her head and giving her some water, the rattling whisper of another woman could be heard above them."

Standing up, Binko walked toward the back wall and through the shifting shadows of death, he could see a woman, who looked like an apparition from hell. Her face was stained with dried blood and dirt. She too was shrouded in steel grave clothes, suspended from the ceiling and dangling in mid-air. Beneath the dirt, her complexion looked murky and pale. Her eyes were sunken and fixated into a solemn stare. She was unable to move her head and she seemed to be staring into darkness, seeing absolutely nothing.

As Gilgore approached her to cut the chains, the shadows of the light shone upon her face, revealing her haggard form. Startled, Gilgore jumped back in shock. Her eyes were fixated and a thick film gathered over her irises. Gathering his composure, the giant cut the chains and tenderly placed her on the ground, where Nuvatian, Nimri and Ozni knelt with the other rescued victim.

"What are you all...," were the words coming out of Nadora's mouth as she walked into the community coffin. When she saw the two women, she gasped and couldn't say another word.

"Get some fresh water," Nuvatian ordered. Nadora backed out of the dark chamber and ran to get some water. Returning with two containers she handed Amase one of them. Raising a cup to the lips of one of the women, he fell benumbed as he stared into her milky eyes. They were solid-white, her hair thin, and her skin cold and clammy. After a brief pause, a well of emotions sprang up that knotted his stomach. He placed the water to the woman's lips, but she could not swallow. A lump now settled in Amase's throat.

Binko and Nimri, kneeling beside the women, looked across at Ormandel and Amase. They noticed the expressions on their faces were those of deep compassion mingled with anger. They wondered what they were thinking.

Several of the other riders noticed them huddled together within the door of the building. Curious, one by one, they stepped into this sepulcher. Appalled by what they saw, they walked out in silence, searching for an explanation.

Suddenly, the shout of a woman broke the solitude. "Kineah! Kineah!" A woman ran to them and fell on the ground in front on the smaller of the two frail girls. She threw her arms around the fragile and lifeless human form. The woman sobbed. "This is my daughter."

Another woman came running in, with a young man beside her. "Dalmera!" She shouted and threw herself onto the other woman, bellowing out sounds of mourning. The young man with tears streaming down his face knelt down beside the skeletal figure. Grasping her bony hand, he called her by the name he knew her as: "Mother." Then, he laid his head across her ribs. With his head across her chest and his hand in hers, she quietly took her last breath. Looking into the woman's white eyes, her son wept and gently placed his fingers on her lids and closed her eyes. A few hours later, the other woman died too.

The riders helped bury one of the women on the side of a hill. Her son recollected the good- ole-days when his family was happy. The deep sadness of the young man could be felt by them all as he wept over the loss of his beloved mother. They buried the other woman in the community cemetery near the village.

Frail inhabitants of the village began to gather inside the building. Loud cries penetrated the solitude. Some wrapped their arms around the corpses of those they loved; others could only stand there in shock, unable to shed a tear as the fear and horror gripped them. Everyone knew everyone and emotions were running high. "Get them out of there," Windsor ordered, as the riders came up the hill from exploring the village.

Nuvatian and Nimri immediately began to usher the people out. "You don't want to see your loved ones like that," Nimri said, encouraging them to leave. The next day, the riders set fire to the building. They memorialized each victim by announcing their names one by one. Then, they sent up prayers to comfort the survivors.

Plundering the quarters of the Riders of Quadar, the riders retrieved more than enough food and weapons for the villagers. Everything they did now they did working around the dark riders that Windsor had turned to stone. Over the next few days, the riders cleansed their wounds, doctored them, and helped them regain their strength.

Besides the hewing of stone, a bluish glassy liquid was being heated over pits of fire for purification. There were multiple pots and workers of this trade. Once all the purities were extracted, the liquid was poured into molds shaped like bricks. A large quantity was stashed at various locations in the village. Curious about the compound and the bricks, several riders investigated the unknown substance.

"Aren't they pretty?" Navi commented.

Windsor rolled his eyes and sighed as though he could care less about the "prettiness" of a brick and giving the impression that Navi had said something out of place.

"What?" Navi asked. "They are pretty."

Although they were unable to discern what the unknown compound was, they did have to agree with Navi: these were very pretty rocks. They were glassy, yet not lacking in strength or durability. They tried to break them using a variety of iron tools, but all attempts proved futile. A young man approached, having the inside scoop. "It is made from a liquid," he disclosed to them, "one found deep within the regions of Quadar."

"How do you know this," Binko asked.

"I overheard one of the dahk riders talking about it. Dahvan wants to use these in his castle he's going to build when he takes over the world. At least that is his plan."

"Oh, I've read that there are strange substances in the earth of Quadar," Buldar said, ever the scholar.

Windsor and Gilmanza were well aware of this fact too, but they had never seen this particular substance. It did, however, remind Windsor of one he was familiar with in the Land of the Immortals only it had a reddish tint. The same red of his sword. The one stolen by the dark rider.

"That explains why there were so many dahk riders here," Windsor said.

"Well, he's not goin' to be needin' these," Navi said, "since he's not going to take ovah the world. Howevah, I have a fantastic idea."

Navi conferred with Monguard and three days later Monguard handed over a wood figure. Flying outside the village and into the mountains, Navi set the sculpture atop the tallest mountain he could find. Having regained his strength, he thought he could do it. Stretching out his staff, he mumbled a couple of words and instantly, the sculpture became enlarged, towering on top of the mountain. Then, he stretched out his staff toward the multiple buckets of the blue stuff, lighting fires beneath them. In a short time, the solid substance had turned to liquid. Stretching out his staff again to a bucket, the bucket lifted off the ground and traveled in mid-air to the statue; then, he dumped it over the wood carving. He did this until the statue was fully covered in the glassy, bluish-gray substance. From the village, the people could barely see it; even so, they rejoiced at the finished product: a large statue of King Justiz.

It was the perfect insult to Darvan.

It wasn't until afterwards that someone came up with the idea of making arrows out of the substance. So with the remainder of the substance, arrows were formed. They were remarkably strong, unbendable. Smooth, glassy, and fancy, they were almost too pretty to be thought of as weapons of war. Now they had a hearty supply of arrows. And Navi took care of that pink bow by coating it in the fancy blue chemical. Now, he had the most impressive looking bow of them all.

"There now, a nice little message for Dahvan!" Navi proclaimed triumphantly.

Furious, a woman stormed toward Navi, ranting and raving about the statue of King Justiz. "Are you the one that did this?" She raised her voice, not caring who heard her. "Where is he? Where is he? He could have prevented this!" She punched Navi repeatedly in the chest, as she began to insult King Justiz. "If he really cared about us, he would have done somethin' about Dahvan long ago. Instead, he sits back and does absolutely nothing, while we suffer. It is clear, he doesn't care about us. Yet, here you go and make some statue to him."

"I understand, mum, how you feel." Navi was trying to explain to the woman while at the same time, trying to defend himself against her blows.

"Understand? Understand? You couldn't possibly understand how I feel." She shouted and kept on hitting the wizard. "Have you evah lost a child? Have you evah watched the son you bore ride off with dahk riders and ruin his life by becoming one of them? These young men you freed here from the dark riders aren't our men. They belong to another village. Our young men have been carried off somewhere else. Have you evah watched your friends and family become cruelly oppressed and enslaved? Have you evah been raped? Of course you haven't; so, don't tell me you understand!" Tears streamed down her face. "I wish I had nevah been born," she muttered as she collapsed to the ground, weeping. Tremors of grief raced down her tired and aching body.

Fleece and Nimri helped the woman up and escorted her to somewhere more private. Nadora brought her a cup of broth and sat down beside her. "Sounds like you have had a tough time," Nadora said, not knowing what else to say. The woman wept a river of tears as the princess hugged her, attempting to comfort her as she came to grips with her indescribable losses. The woman had no idea that she was the Princess of Shalahem and they never would have guessed it by her warrior wardrobe and the tender way she embraced the dirty people.

"I've nevah known the sort of losses that you have experienced. They are irretrievable and it's okay to be angry."

"Thank you," the woman whispered.

After she had dried up most of her tears, Windsor patted her on the shoulder. "Don't lose faith in King Justiz," he said tenderly. "He is a man of his word. Remembah that what has occurred here is the work of Dahvan and his dahk ridahs, not of the Immortals."

"You're that wizahd I've heard about."

"Yes, I am a wizahd."

"Is there hope?" she asked tenderly. "I mean real hope—not just optimism."

Ormandel was standing beside Windsor. Her question sent shivers down him of days when he had asked himself the same question. He recoiled at the idea of identifying with her pain.

"Hope is grounded in trust—trust for what one holds to be truth. Optimism is grounded in a notion of belief in a bettah tomorrow. So, you tell me, is there hope?"

Wiping her tears, the woman nodded her head. "It just feels so hopeless. Many of our young men, even some of the older ones, left. They think they have found freedom by becoming a dahk rider. That is how Dahvan is building his army; he crushes us and then gives our young men a way out by joining his forces."

Windsor, Gilmanza and Nadora lent their ears to her and their hearts; then, they join the other riders. There was nothing they could do for her to bring them back. It was a choice they had to make.

Vandorf walked off, needing to get away from all the sadness.

Having strengthened the community and made numerous friends, the riders said goodbye and departed. Windsor felt good that the community had been delivered but he knew that there were fractions among the riders and they were, for the most part, people of strong opinions.

They rode out of the village and up the hillside and looked over their shoulders at the peasants, their village, the stones of dark riders forever enshrined in warfare stood all across the land. The oppressed and the oppressors remained together, only now unthreatening, the stones of tyranny standing as a visible reminder to the darkness that began this plight into evil and the depth that humanity could sink. But it would also forever remind generations to come of the day they were delivered from cruel bondage, a testimony of a remarkable shift in their history.

As they rode across the rocky ground, Windsor's mind was haunted with the images of the woman's fixated white eyes running through his mind and the cruel manner in which these people died. He couldn't help but wonder how he was going to leave this world.

Windsor pondered the words of the blind potter. _What on earth did he mean?_

There was a disquieting silence as they all sat around a campfire, with their bedrolls stretched out. The full moon shone upon the new statue of King Justiz, reflecting its brilliant blue colors. Around the campfire, Monguard worked a piece of wood. Vandorf's obsessions now took on throwing his dagger in the ground repeatedly as he distanced himself from the others. Fleece sharpened his sword, Vandorf beginning to rub off on his pupil.

It was Zorgar who broke the silence, venting his frustration. "Why did you do that when he wouldn't even ride with us?" he asked, with some anger in his voice.

"He said he will catch up with us latah," Navi explained.

"Later is a little too late for some of these people," Zorgar said in protest.

"He's not here now," Gilgore said. "And how late is he goin' to be, anyway?"

"While we're out here fightin' Dahvan's forces, trying to get the Sword of Powah back and these people are sufferin', King Justiz is sitting in his little celestial kingdom," Vandorf said, throwing the dagger into the ground. There was something much more bothering Vandorf and Windsor and Gilmanza knew what it was. It wasn't King Justiz at all; he was only a target for temporary accusation to voice past pain.

"It's not for you to make that judgment. This is our mission and we need to tend to our own doings and let King Justiz tend to his," Gilmanza advised, stately rebuking Vandorf.

Gritting his teeth, Vandorf pulled his knife out of the ground and walked off into the woods toting his dagger. He needed to get away.

"The Immortals weren't there when we needed them this time neither when I was a kid," Sagran said, voicing his frustration. "Couldn't they have prevented this tragedy?"

"What do you expect? For them to be everywhere they are needed in order to make your little world and everybody else's little world pehfect?" Ozni chimed in.

"Yeah, it's not up to him to run everyone else's kingdom," Nadora said, offering an opinion from someone who knows something about running a kingdom.

Now, the argument got even more heated as people began to talk—or rather argue—over each other.

"Whose side are you on?" Zilgar asked Zorgar, a challenge in his voice.

"Oh, excuse me, Mr. All-knowing!" blasted Zorgar. "Did you not see what I saw, or did you have your head stuck up your anus, as usual?" Their argument rose above the voices of the others. Zilgar now shoved Zorgar, and Zorgar shoved him back. Clearly a brawl was brewing between the two brothers.

Now, everyone had an opinion and they all had the urge to shout it aloud. Yelling at one another, they all fought to be heard. Windsor sat and watched the eruption. Monguard looked as though he were tuning them out as he worked his knife over a piece of wood, putting the finishing touches on a well-crafted model of the statue that greeted them in Shy Kadesh. His head jerked a little bit as though their arguing was making him nervous.

Fleece didn't really have a strong opinion. He flipped his medallion seeking clarity on the Immortal Kings position as well as his own. In times like these, he doubted if he should have ridden at all. But his found comfort in his coin which always seemed to give him the right answer.

"You think you're so smart," snapped Zilgar, rearing his fist back. "I'm gonna..." He began just before he punched Zorgar. Now Zorgar wrapped his brawny arms around his brother's head and put him in a headlock. Skeener jumped into the fight and Buldar followed.

Amase sat silent throughout the turmoil, taking it all in.

Raising his staff, Windsor was moved with power to put an end to all of this. Wanting to get their attention, a bolt of power shot out from his staff making a loud noise.

"That's enough!" Windsor snapped, striking Zorgar with the end of his staff. "You speak with the folly of simpletons! Are you that easily swayed? I can see that I did not choose as wisely as I ought to have for the members of this Circle." Now irritated, he knocked the tobacco out of his long slender pipe and crawled into his bedroll. He was tuckered out.

"What's our plan, anyway?" Buldar asked with a snarl, more pissed off that they didn't seem to have one.

"Plan?" Windsor said. "We ride until we find the bloody sword, that's our plan. If it takes us to the outskihts of Quadar then so be it."

"We're not goin' into Quadar are we?" Buldar protested, familiar with the legends that no one who doesn't belong to Quadar and enters Quadar alive, leaves Quadar alive. Ormandel's escape from Quadar was nothing short of a miracle.

"We can't just leave Cozbi there," Nimri protested. "They have taken him and we have to go get him."

Now, another argument was brewing.

"We can't go into Quadar," Buldar protested. "That will be the death of us all. Bettah to sacrifice one instead of the whole lot."

"Sacrifice? You don't know anything about sacrifice." Nimri stood up and shoved Buldar. "If it were you, you would feel differently." Buldar shoved Nimri back. Nuvatian jumped in, taking Nimri's side, as did Ozni while Gilgore took Buldar's side.

This time, Navi was determined to handle the situation; but, when he raised his staff Gilmanza's booming voice settled the matter. "Shut up! All of you." Windsor had leapt up too, about to yell just like Gilmanza. "I'm sick of your childish antics. Now carry your sword like a warrior or leave. A knight makes sacrifices and that is part of why he is noble."

Binko now stood up. "Your arguing is only destructive to our unity. We Elves, we nevah leave anyone behind alive, and we try not to leave our dead behind if we can help it." Binko spoke with the articulation of a statesman, a man of authority and experience. "Each of us has been carefully chosen for this mission; thus, we should be mature enough to rise up to the occasion and give out what has been given to us to give. Loyalty sometimes calls for obedience in mattahs that we wish not to undertake, but I am confident that each of you are willin' to make sacrifices for the bettahment of your family, your friends, your county, and your world."

His words silenced the lot of them. One by one, they shut up and sat down. Not a word was spoken as they rolled out their bedrolls around the circle of fire.

As he lay shifting trying to get comfortable, Windsor rolled over onto a key that dangled from his side. He suddenly realized that he had ridden off with the key to the building. It didn't matter though because the building had been burned. But the key reminded him of another key, one he had received from the king, the one to the secret place that housed the Sword of Power.

Sitting up, he opened his satchel and dug down deep. He searched in every pocket but he didn't find the key. It was missing. Someone had stolen the key. The key had to have been swiped in King Chess's castle. There was only one suspect at hand. Now Windsor knew how the powerful sword had gotten into the wrong hands. He felt to blame. He should have kept the key on his body and in a safer place.

He, of all people, knew better. But he lay back down and didn't say a word about it.

"So are we going into Quadar?" Buldar asked?

"God help us if we do," Windsor said, rolling over and pulling his covers over his head. His troubled mind kept him awake all night.

The Immortal

The summer rain ceased for a couple of days, but then began falling again, gently yet steadily. It was summer and the riders were dreading the scorching temperatures. As they rode along, several of them again felt that nagging notion that someone was following them. They never saw anyone, so they dismissed it. The rain gently pelted the leaves, making an unending clatter. A touch of fog had settled lightly upon the ground, decreasing their visibility.

Tensions remained high. They dripped in disappointment and fatigue. Speaking was only done when necessary and practical jokes were out of the question.

Bringing Inka to a stop, Navi put up his hand, waving for the others to stop. In the near distance, the sound of thundering hooves drumming the ground alerted them they had company. "Ridahs of Quadar," Windsor whispered. With so much activity, Windsor knew they were at least in the right vicinity.

They geared up, preparing to fight.

The clamor of the hooves thundered in the distance. This was no small group of Quadarists, dark riders of Darvan. Snapping on their mail and helmets and pulling swords from their sheaths, the Circle of Riders quietly spread out. From behind the trees of the forest, Gilgore could see the vast army of dark riders. They were too numerous for them to attempt to take on directly. Their wisest tactic would be to remain hidden, thus avoiding a conflict altogether. Gilgore hunkered down on the ground, hoping to somehow conceal his massive body below the dense fog. As the Riders of Quadar passed by them some distance away, Moridar, sensing their presence, snorted and growled. "Shhhh," whispered Windsor. Derves lurked in the trees, above where Quadarists were passing, a couple of the dark riders astride graquitorases, creatures Windsor despised.

"The Circle of Riders!" The devils whispered, eager to expose them. They jumped up and down in the trees, excited at handing out information. "The Circle of Riders!" they whispered in succession, each eager to be the talebearer. Taking heed of their utterances, the Riders of Quadar, pulled back on their reins, reduced their speed, and listened carefully to what the derves had to say. As they galloped in the direction of the Circle of Riders, Moridar roared, sensing their threatening presence.

"Oh, great, here they come!" Windsor wished they could just avoid them.

Seeing that a clash was now unavoidable, the Circle of Riders mentally steeled themselves for the inevitable battle. As the dark riders came closer, they dug their heels into their mounts and rode out fiercely, clutching their swords with tight fists. Swords crossed, steel against steel, ringing loudly throughout the forest.

With expertise, Nadora took out one of the graquitorases immediately, putting an arrow through its eye and sinking it into its head. The graquitorase roared in pain and fell to the ground, sending its rider over its head. Easy to expunge, Nadora sunk an arrow into the dark rider as he scrambled to get to his feet.

Monguard raced in, eager to fight for what he believed in. Fleece fought with skill beneath that of his mentor but still far better than most knights. After all, his mentor was Vandorf, a veteran of war and a man meticulous for perfection. Gilgore towered over the vast army, yanking dark riders from their horses as rapidly as he could and driving his giant sword into the devils. Binko and his zebra became indiscernible to the naked eye, his sword cut down riders with a single stroke. The sheer numbers of the attackers were overwhelming.

It was in the heat of the battle that the riders came face to face with some young men, their faces smooth, free from the shady hues that occurs with times in the dark forces. They knew that these young men were new recruits, likely from the village of Randorin. Amase crossed blades with such a man.

"You're new," Amase said, blocking the deadly blow. "Tuhn back while you still can. This isn't the way to go." Amase blocked the deadly blows as he tried to convince the young lad. His eyes captured the young warrior, holding him in a gripping and convincing stare that bone into the lads' soul. "Are you from Randorin? We just delivered your village. It's free now."

The young warrior stopped fighting. "You freed my village?"

"Yes. They lie to you. Fight against the evil, don't join them."

Suddenly, a strong dark rider bearing the face of one of experience pushed the boy to the ground and stood face to face with Amase.

Finding himself surrounded by dark riders, Amase fought them with fierceness, dropping them like flies. In the midst of the chaos, two dark riders smashed their swords into him simultaneously, unseating him. Pain swept across his chest. He fell face-down, but rolled and rolled until he ended face-up. Dazed and confused, the young man tried to clear his head and regain his strength. He opened his eyes. Now he starred into the monstrous face of a dark rider, sword clutched tightly in his right hand.

In that moment, the dark rider that stood above Amase fell dead, face-down atop him, a sword having cut him down to size. Shoving the dark rider off, Amase stared at the boy warrior in dark clothes bearing a blade graced in the blood of a dark rider.

Then, Amase realized that his mail had broken. It was then that he saw the streaks of red, flowing through his tattered shirt. He knew he had been cut but starring into the face of a dark rider holding a double-edged sword caused Amase to forget about the flesh wound. He wasn't sure what this boy was going to do now.

The dark riders never even saw the sting of death coming upon them, until it was too late. They were surprised by the fight they had on their hands; after all, it was just a small group of riders. Arrows flew out of nowhere dropping them like flies. The first one taking out the second graquitorase that had now become an immediate threat to Nimri, having him backed into a corner, with both beast and rider threatening his life. With the arrow through the roaring mouth of the beast, Nimri easily blocked the blade of the dark rider and followed through with a cut across his back, cutting him down to size.

Noticing Amase lying on the ground holding his chest, Sagran raced over to the lad, nearly sliding in the mud as he approached. The gash looked deep at first glance, which caused them great alarm.

Meanwhile, arrows were still flying in every direction, ripping into the dark riders as they spun their mounts and high-tailed it out of there. Curious about the unexpected relief, the riders looked deep into the thick of the forest, but again saw no one. How did we fight off all those riders? Where were all those arrows coming from? The questions persisted, and suspicions began to form, but no one said a word. Windsor had his sneaky suspicions.

A black cape flapped against the tree, signaling that not every dark rider had rushed to safety. It snapped in the wind in spite of being weighed down with rainwater. Navi swung his sword as he stepped from the other side, now coming face to face with the dark rider. Trembling, the warrior dropped his sword and buried his head into his hands.

"Look at me," Navi commanded.

The dark rider raised his head and the smooth skin of the boy looked Navi in the eyes shamefully.

"You're just a boy, a new recruit."

"Please don't kill me."

"I'm not gonna kill you. When did you join them?"

"When our village was taken and they brought hard times on us. I realize now that it was a mistake."

"Yes, but what do you want now?"

"I want to live. I want to go home. My friend said you rescued our village. Is that true?"

"I don't know. What is your village?"

"Randorin."

"Yes, we delivered them the othah day. But who is your friend?"

A boy emerged from beneath the dead body of a dark rider, hiding beneath his black robe. It was the boy that Amase challenged to change his position and leave the dark riders. Another young warrior crawled out from his hole too. There were three, three boys who realized that they were making a mistake.

Now, Navi appeared with the three dark riders robed in black. Swords instinctively came out; then, they realized that these were young warriors, likely realizing their mistake and now changing their position.

There was silence. They young boys looked at the riders and then at Amase who held his bleeding side. They stared at the Awnee trying to figure out what he was. His eyes apprehended them, holding them in a decisive clutch of persuasion and conviction. Then, the boy who had cut down the dark rider that charged at Amase threw down his sword and began to peel off his dark wardrobe. The other two boys followed him, peeling off their black clothes.

"Go home," Windsor said. "Go home."

"Yes sir." The three boys darted off into the woods, leaving behind their swords and their black clothes.

Now becoming aware that Amase had been injured, the riders hustled to his side.

"Amase, are you okay?" Ozni asked, inspecting the open wound. Nadora immediately began threading a needle, that she might stitch his torn flesh. As she began to do the deed, she found the wound was not as deep at it had first appeared.

"This is not as bad as I thought," she said. She went ahead and put a few stitches in. Amase gritted his teeth and winced under the pain. Moments later, his wound was properly closed. Nimri reached down his hand and Amase took it. Leaping to his feet, Amase insisted that it was nothing more than a scratch, refusing to be treated like a kid.

Gathering their reins in their hands, many of the riders now looked curiously at the blood bath on the ground and all the fallen dark riders. Some looked inquisitively into the forest wondering if they had some help. But they saw no one.

The stench of the decaying flesh of the Riders of Quadar filled the air.

"Let's get out of here," Vandorf said, holding his nose. "Perhaps we can find a river and get cleaned up." The rain was making an irksome racket on their steel heads; so, many of them pulled them off. They couldn't hear a thing coming with those helmets on.

Windsor sensed something, or someone. He scanned the treed forest but didn't see anything. Turning back to look into the depths of the forest one last time, Windsor spotted someone stepping out from behind a tree. Fog covered the ground, making it difficult to discern the figure. He stopped and stared. Then he caught a glimpse of blonde hair against the dark tree side—it was indeed Akiylah. He admired her beauty. His heart ached with love for her _. I am an old fool._

There was someone following them, after all: the immortals. (Or so he thought. It truth, it was only one). It had not been his imagination. Surely that was what he saw at Norssod. King Justiz had not abandoned them. An Immoral was behind them, watching their backs and secretly waging war against the enemy. He caught only a quick glimpse of her, and then she vanished into the fog.

"Windsor," Nuvatian shouted, noticing his delay. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing."

"Did you see someone."

"No, no one," Windsor answered. He now proceeded, though, with a smile on his face. It was the first in a long time.

Painful Memories

Waiting on the antelope to roast, the riders sat in solemnity. The fire was warm, but their spirits were cold. They were tired, and frustrated that they had not yet retrieved the Sword of Darvan. Images of the tyranny they had witnessed tarnished their restfulness. Tensions remained high among them.

Some of the riders lay on their backs and watched the stars; others gazed at the roasting antelope, as though hypnotized by the flickering flame. Amase lay on his back, drifting in and out of consciousness, weary from fighting demons and aching with pain from his injury. The bruising from the weight of the sword caused him nearly as much pain than did the cut itself. The contusion went deep into the tissue and bone.

When the antelope was done, they eagerly ate, tearing the meat off the bone with their teeth. The crickets chirped, giving clattering noise to the otherwise quiet night. Searching questions rolled around in many of their heads. _Where are we riding to? How long before we find that dumb sword? What are we going to do with it when we do find it? Is Cozbi still alive? But there was one question that turned around in most of their hearts: Why didn't King Justiz ride out with us?_

Windsor had both regrets and questions rolling around in his head? _I wish I would have put that key on me instead of in the satchel_. But he knew why he hadn't tucked the key in a pocket in his clothing—he really hoped to forget about it least he fall under the spell of temptation _. I wish I had of woken up when he snuck into my room. And what was that potter talking about?_

Skeener spoke up, asking what many of them were wondering. "W-why didn't K-king J-justiz r-ride?"

This was still a sore subject among some of the riders.

After a lengthy pause, Binko responded. "He too has a kingdom to run."

"That is not good enough," Zorgar grumbled, his mouth full of meat. "We all had things we needed to do."

"He will ride when the time it right," Navi answered, trying to put an end to the subject.

"When the time is right?" Vandorf murmured, throwing the bone he had gnawed to death on the ground. "What is supposed to be the right time?"

"Yes, I agree," Gilgore said. "We're out here bustin' our butts, tryin' to get this bloody sword back, and he's nowhere to be found!"

"He said he'll catch up," Ozni said. When his calming voice went unheard, he returned to his quiet humming, since their company had ceased to be enjoyable.

"The prophecy says that the immortal king will ride," Windsor offered, "so what's your problem? The Circle has a mission, and all we need to be concerned with is fulfilling our mission. The rest is up to the immortal king!" He spoke in a calm but stern voice.

"If he had seen what we just saw, he might be motivated to put a bloody end to Dahvan," said Buldar, throwing his slab of meat aside.

"We just need to stay focused on what we're supposed to do. This discussion distracts our focus," Monguard said, his head jerking a bit as he ripped some meat from the bone he held in his hand.

"But it would be easiah if the Immortals just took care of this since they aren't under the risk of dying like we are," Gilgore said. "This should be their responsibility."

"Why should it just be their responsibility when we are the ones who bear the guilt of our forefathahs?" Monguard said, talking with his mouth full.

"But if he's not going to ride then he ain't doing his paht and we can't kill Dahvan. Only he can do that. So quit defending him," Zorgar said.

"He will ride," Amase said assertively, his words silencing everyone momentarily.

Truthfully, they were more silenced by the fact that he spoke than by the sheer words. Amase never said much.

"How do you know? You don't know anything about him," Zorgar said.

Windsor had been waiting patiently before speaking up. Now was the perfect time to settle some things. "Amase is right. Some of you don't know what you speak of." He paused before continuing, "King Justiz has proven himself to be loyal to us on more than one occasion in times past. You should be cautious with your words of judgment. You use your tongue like a fool uses a sword."

Windsor stroked his beard and inhaled a long draw from his pipe. "He knew."

"K-knew what?" Skeener asked, swallowing his last bite of dinner.

"That we were going to lose the sword the moment of our return."

"H-ow w-would he know that wh-en it hadn't h-happened yet?"

"Their ways are mysterious. He knows things that we don't."

"An immortal king has abilities above even normal immortals." Binko sat erect and stately, confident of the knowledge he spoke about.

Gilmanza nodded in agreement, acknowledging King Justiz's past loyalty too. "What you all forget," he said, "is that the Immortals have knowledge of things that we do not. They know things that we don't know. If he had ridden out with us then we wouldn't have the sword to give to him now. Furthermore, he knows what is expected of him and he will handle it in the right time."

"I suppose you're right," said Buldar, picking back up his slab of meat and tearing at the flesh.

Skeener was unwilling to let it drop there. "It j-just makes me so m-mad to see those p-people s-suffah like th-they have. I can't im-magine dying l-like they did—wr-rapped in ch-chains and s-strung from a c-ceilin' 'til you ev-ventually st-starve to death. I d-don't und-derstand why D-dahvan has not been de-f-feated before now." His agitation made his stuttering even less controllable.

"Human sufferin' became a tragedy when man lost his immortality," Windsor said forcefully, having patiently endured Skeener's long speech. "We are all subject to its hahsh reality, and those of us who have not suffered as much—well, we are fortunate, and perhaps we should do more to relieve the sufferin' of othahs. But it is not the immortals' fault that we suffah," he continued, his voice now calmer, "nor is it King Justiz's fault. At some point in this life, sufferin' touches us all in some degree or anothah. What I am trying to say is this: Do not make the mistake of thinking that just because King Justiz is an Immortal, he is not touched by the sufferin' of the mortals." He was almost tempted to tell all that he knew, but just as in King Justiz's case, it was not the time yet.

"But w-why do in-nocent p-people have to s-suffah?" Skeener jumped in again. "P-people like you!" He pointed at Ormandel. "W-why did you h-have to s-suffah like you d-did?"

Ormandel remained silent, not having a really good answer for why he had suffered. It was a question that had haunted him for years. At times, the hellish memories tormented him. When he slept, his mind frequently replayed the sadistic torture he had undergone. _Fear. Death. Blackness. Lashes. Trembling. Coals of fire. Longing for death. The Sword of Power. Darvan. Hell._ Inescapable memories tortured him—especially while he slept. Fear often gripped him, even during his waking moments, yet he remained silent about this, ashamed of appearing weak, an emotion thought to be ignoble in a knight.

Fleece persisted on Skeener's track. "What was it like—being in Quadar? What did they do to you?"

Ormandel was still silent. This was a subject just too personal and too painful for him to breach.

In the silent darkness, he thought back, seeing the room where they had tortured him. He recalled being put on the rack, his body stretched while red hot iron mini-balls were rolled across his belly, and thin painfully hot needles stabbed into his flesh. The whips that plowed his back. The heat of hell. The taunting of death. He saw himself taken to the infernal fire, as they taunted him with threats not truly so empty. He remembered how the immense heat nearly took his breath away, immediately licking up all the moisture with his body.

Images of beatings haunted him. They had beaten him until his flesh lay open and he stood in a pool of his own blood. He had longed for death, wishing it would take away the pain. He remembered vividly the fires of Quadar as they hung him over them, still taunting and threatening even worse fates. Badgering him with every degrading thought and criticism under the sun, they had made him feel completely worthless.

Flashing through his memory was the time when he was weakened from torment. His flesh was numb with pain. It was then, while he was weak and grasping to hold on to life yet wanting to die that Darvan put the Sword of Power in his hands. Darvan knew full well he could do no harm to him since he was not an immortal king. Holding the cursed Sword in his hands, he heard the lies, telling him his fight was useless because there were no more immortal kings left, lies speaking that Darvan already ruled the entire world, and that every last Immortal King had succumbed to its dark powers.

Etched in his memory was the electrifying power of that sword. A feeling of invisibility flooded his soul even as he lay near death. His only hope at life, or so Darvan tried to make him believe. He had never felt anything like it, before or since.

He felt life flood into his weakened form.

With this sword he would live.

His body was racked with excruciating pain as he stared death in the face. He could only hope that it would come quickly, but it had not come quickly enough. He had wished to die and to do so sooner than later. Death had seemed his only deliverer from pain and affliction—until he had held the Sword of Power. In that moment he wanted to live. He wanted to be on top. He wanted to be in a position where this would never happen to him again.

He wanted to rule.

All of this ran through Ormandel's mind as he sat silently by the fire. Now, gazing into the hot coals of the campfire, as the flames flickered and licked the wood as though it enjoyed consuming it, he said, simply and briefly, "I don't talk about that."

Fleece was not content. "Well, then how did you get out of Quadar?" Vandorf elbowed him on one side, as Gilmanza elbowed him on the other. Fleece squealed, but still wanted an answer. Everyone stopped what they were doing.

"I told you," Ormandel said, standing to leave this inquisition. "King Justiz got me out!" He poured his remaining coffee on the ground. Clearing his throat, he went to his bedroll which was sprawled out between the riders and his mount. He crawled under his covers, pretending to go to sleep, his hand clutching his naked sword. Tears welled up in his eyes as he remembered once again the horrific torment he had experienced. His memory of Quadar was so vivid: the gray firmament and its foul, sulfuric, and musty smell. The large mountain and the rock door that led inside the hollow mountain where the rotunda of torture dwelt. The fear. The pain. It was almost real again.

Lying beneath his cover, with the flames of the fire dancing in the shadows, he replayed in his mind those last moments in Quadar. His body broken and bleeding, they had forced him to hold the Sword of Power in his hands, and its presence called to him, stroking his ego. "You have earned it," it breathed to his spirit . "You deserve it." The mental and emotional torture was now nearly more than he could handle. They knew they had him. They knew that now he would become a rider of Darvan. Tears rolled down his cheeks again, as he reflected back on that excruciatingly agonizing experience.

Then the final moments passed through his mind. The earthquake that shook the ground—no small earthquake, either. It shook everything in Quadar, dislodging the sword completely from his hands. At that moment, while everyone was preoccupied with the shaking, he had jumped up and run. He ran wildly down the corridors of the rotunda of torture, where he had spent seasons in various portions of the facility. The guards of Quadar had chased after him, even as the ground trembled beneath their feet.

Now, lying under the cover with his head burrowed in, he remembered the huge gothic dragons stationed at the exit door. He was running as hard as he could, his body racked with unbearable pain. He wondered now how he had found the physical ability to run, when he'd thought himself incapable of standing. At the time he had just done what had to be done.

When he had reached the door, it swung open and he fell on his face, unable to go another yard. When he came to, he was astride a white stelleto, its silvery mane and tail blowing in the wind. King Justiz was riding on the mount and the army of the Immortals from Shy Kadesh was with him. That was still all he could remember. His next memory was of waking up in Shy Kadesh.

Ormandel wept silently. His heart ached with the sheer memory of his painful suffering, a suffering he had no answers for, a suffering that was unjust. Sometimes he wished he had never regained his memory. At other times, he secretly wished he had died, so he could never have those thoughts again—at least the pain and fears would be completely gone, he reasoned. Haunted by his fears, he finally drifted off to sleep.

Sweat beaded up on his forehead, as the sweltering heat from the fires below scorched his backside. His body was wracked with pain, from the hot needles that pierced it. Crisp flames licked with an appetite for destruction, roaring in the infernal below like a volcano warning of its wrath. Above him danced shadows of the flames, whirling about in some satanic ritual. A voice thundered with laughter in the background.

His hands were now moist with sweat. He worked his wrist, wiggling them, working them through the cuffs that bound him. Boisterous laughter permeated the atmosphere. Grabbing hold of the chains, he swung himself around, attempting to reach the edge. He managed to grab hold of a pillar on the ledge. Looking up, he now beheld a dark and hideous face, laughing at him with sword held high, prepared to cut off his hands. As the sword swung, he took hold of the dark figure's foot and yanked it out from under him, pulling the figure into the thrashing fires below. His face now contorted with a devilish grin, he laughed, a wicked laugh of revenge and power. He picked up the Sword of Power, walked up to Darvan and smiled a devilish smile.

Ormandel awoke with a gasp. His body was moist with sweat, his heart heavy with fear.

Norgidian and the Apothecary

Windsor was sitting on a log, sipping on his morning coffee and thinking. They needed supplies since they used up everything they had while in Randorin. In fact, this was the last of the coffee and how Windsor hated when he didn't have coffee. But coffee was only one thing among many that they needed. And going into a city could be dangerous, that is, if in fact he was right about his assumptions.

If dark riders were the ones occupying the knightly gear then they could get trapped and attacked within the city. Then again, they did let them out of the city of Norssod so perhaps his assumptions were wrong. It is quite possible that Norssod was taking extra precautions if they were aware of some of the activity of the dark riders _. I would take extra precautions if it were my city_. But his gut said that something sinister was going on in Norssod and he knew what it was. _It was only because of the Immortals that we got out of there alive; that is if indeed that is what I saw. But what if they don't follow us to Norgidian? But we're not gettin' anything done like this. Perhaps we could find out somethin' in Norgidian. Two of us will go while the rest wait along the banks of the river. But what if we get in the city and they kill us? What did that prophet mean?_ His thoughts were scattered. He seemed unable to harness them.

With a mug of coffee in hand, Gilmanza joined him. He knew Windsor had a lot on his mind and he knew they needed supplies.

"What do you think? Should we go into Norgidian or not?"

"I don't know," Windsor said aloud, answering both his own question and Gilmanza's. "It could be risky."

"We need some supplies—and some information."

"Yeah, I know. Two of us will go while the rest wait by the river."

Gilmanza paused, taking a swig of his coffee. As long time friends and comrades in war, Gilmanza knew that Windsor was not the sort of person to ride aimlessly around. He liked to get to the bottom of things, find out the secrets and settle matters. He also knew his old friend well enough to know when something was bothering him. He had no idea that it was fear of death, for even Gilmanza thought of Windsor as being practically immortal.

"Sounds like a plan," Gilmanza said. He decided not to breach the subject yet.

The matter was settled. Two of them would ride into Norgidian.

Gilmanza observed Vandorf setting alone on a log sipping a cup of coffee too. He watched him as he threw his dagger into the ground and pulled it out. He threw it in and pulled it out. Again. Again. He took a swig of coffee and threw the dagger again. "It's getting to him."

"Yeah, I've noticed. Memories. Tough to live with sometimes," Windsor said, wishing he didn't have so many.

The next few days were relatively uneventful, aside from the discouraging whispers of the derves lurking in the trees above. Amase rode in discomfort but he gritted his teeth, bearing the pain in silence. Finally, on the third day, as evening was encroaching, the riders reached the river whose banks they aimed to camp out on. They found the perfect spot shielded by lots of rocks. Most importantly, they were eager to drink up and refill their canisters. Vandorf, however, was about as excited about bathing and shaving as some were about drinking the refreshing waters.

The next morning, Windsor arose at the crack of dawn. Having rethought his present decision that two would ride, he changed his mind. He aimed to ride into Norgidian himself because he didn't want to endanger anyone else. He feared death but he was old and reasoned it might as well just be him. He sure didn't want to be responsible for anyone else's death. He carried enough guilt from his years of comrades dying in war.

But to his surprise, Navi was sitting on a rock behind the dragons waiting on him.

"Morning, crony," Navi said.

The sound of Navi's voice startled Windsor.

"When we leavin' out, crony?"

Windsor moaned. "Who said anything about we? And how'd you know I was goin' somewhere?"

"Oh, my dear crony, you forget I'm a wizahd too."

Not wanting to draw attention to themselves, they took horses, borrowing Vandorf's and Ozni's. Windsor had scribbled in the dirt that he was going into the city alone and for them to stay put.

Windsor and Navi came to Norgidian, a fortified and progressive metropolitan city. Approaching the entrance to the high walls, they were not surprised to discover that the gates were closed and a cadre of knights was present and fully outfit standing alongside men donned in uniforms. This city was, after all, in close proximity to Quadar. It would only make since that they were on high alert.

But what caught them by surprise was that the gates were opened freely without badgering questions and they were permitted to stroll through the gates with ease. Windsor began to question his previous suspicions.

What they did find striking was that knights were fully outfitted in armor and were wearing their helmets. The heat of summer was kicking up. They had to be scorching in that gear. They concluded that they were either expecting trouble at any moment or they were hiding something. They had their suspicions and leaned towards the later—and they thought they knew what it was.

After they had passed through the gates, the large doors to the city were quickly shut.

Walking down the stone paved streets, the scene was similar to that at Norssod. The streets were populated with knights adorned in shiny steel. Around the walls of the city was an entourage of stalwart knights. Besides the knights, the streets were scarce again, with only a few civilians nervously going about their business. They saw virtually no women or children. An air of fear hovered over the entire city and the streets were shrouded in secrecy. A sinking pessimistic feeling pervaded over both of them.

The two wizards roamed the streets looking for a friendly face and trying to discern the source of the unsettled feel of this city. They wandered into a saddle shop but found it to be unwelcoming.

Finding a tavern a stone's throw from the saddle shop, the riders entered another tense environment. Hungry, they ordered breakfast. Armored knights stood, watching over the patrons like vultures over prey. The intensity was such that Windsor and Navi ate in silence—along with everyone else in the place. The tavern was devoid of the typical fun spirit: no dart playing, no merrymaking and friendly spirits, and certainly no boisterous laughter. The atmosphere hung thick with an overlay of dread like a black cloud before a storm.

After quickly devouring their food, they high-tailed it out. The guards along the streets stared at them as they rode down the stone pavement. After turning down a few streets, they noticed a stretch in the road, seemingly absent of guards. They also noticed a sign, a gold and jade painted wooden one that read, Pantika's Apothecary. A sweet aroma of potpourri and aromatic fragrances fluttered in the air just outside the door. The two opened the wooden door, carved with a dragon being sprinkled with healing potions by a woman with a wand. Straightaway, the pleasant aromas of the shop awakened their senses of smell.

A petite woman emerged from the back of the shop, holding a black and white long-haired cat. Her patchwork handkerchief skirt of bright colors flowed as she walked. A silver chain draped her skirt like a belt, its extra links dangling at the side. Long dark curly hair flowed down her back and tiny braids were strung throughout it, some along with colorful beads. Around her wrist was the most unusual rustic bracelet of stones set in old looking silver. Her neck was strung with a variety of beads and polished stones, one with a most unique appearance: it looked like a dragon's eye, again set in silver. The dark eyeliner around her eyes and her burnt-ruby lips added to her air of mystique and panache.

"May I... help you," asked the woman, strongly accentuating her words and frequently pausing between them.

"Yes, I would like to sample some of your fragrances," Windsor said, not knowing what else to say.

"Ah, you have a special lady?" asked the woman. Her voice was bubbly and her smile wide.

"Not special like you might think," Windsor replied. "But I am looking for a gift for a special friend of ours."

"Ah, a wo`man of friendship. She smiled a knowing smile.

"Yes," Windsor said, just trying to keep the conversation going. "Actually, a princess."

"A princess? Well then, let me show you my finest."

"Do you have something as fine as you?" Navi asked, flirtatiously. Windsor rolled his eyes at him. _This is hardly the time to try to pick up a woman._

"You, you are for`ward. I like that, a man who knows what he likes and goes aftah it. I...I am Pantika."

"I am pleased, very pleased to meet you, Pantika. I am Navi, and this is Windsor."

_Why did you use our real names?_ Windsor thought.

"Pleased, very pleased to meet you," she replied, sticking her hand out for Navi to kiss, which he gladly did. His eyes never left hers.

She showed Windsor an expensive fragrance. "I could buy a team of horses for less than that."

Is she a princess or not?" scolded Pantika. "Do you cheat her of her wohth?" She showed them a few lesser fragrances, but Windsor was still not satisfied.

"If she is really a prin`cess, you really are goin' to embarrass her!" She picked up another and showed him it, allowing him to smell the aroma. Windsor now selected one and paid her for it.

"He's tight with all things," Navi stepped in. "Me, I know the worth of a woman." He winked at her. Windsor wanted to smack him now.

"Ahh, I bet you do," Pantika said. "Perhaps then you can buy me somethin'! I am wohth a lot."

"I bet you are," he remarked. "So tell me, is that a dragon's eye around your neck?" He changed the subject. His tactic was to work around to the information he needed in a subtle way without her being suspicious that they were seeking enlightment more than possessions.

"Yes, it is. The eye of a deahly depahted friend. I glassed his eye ovah to preserve it and made it into a neck`lace so I could always have a paht of him neah me."

Navi felt a kindred spirit. He decided he could ask this woman some real questions. But before he got the words out of his mouth, Windsor stepped in. "Why are all the steel knights in this town?" He could hardly have cared less about a deceased pet, even if it were a dragon. He had lived long enough to see numerous pets come and go, and had finally decided it was best to live with an expectation of death regarding anything living—even more so, if it were dear to him.

"You are not from around here I see." Pantika moved closer, after glancing over her shoulder to make sure they were alone. "These, these... beasts, they take the city. They flooded the palace and killed our king. They take our freedom and force our women and children to stay behind the close doors and make ordahs of what we do. Some women are forced to work for them; othahs are forced to surrender favors, it you know what I mean. Our men are forced to work for their benefit instead of their families. If we do not obey, they take us and they torture us. Many have been confined to their torturas prisons. My people, they feah for their lives. Norgidian is no longah free like it used to be." Though her words were halting, the fire in her eyes showed her anger at this outrage.

"These men," asked Windsor, "have you seen their faces? Are they... Ridahs of Quadar?"

"I've not seen their faces. But, they are Ridahs of Quadar. I know it; I can feel it. They smell like those demons with their rottenin' flesh."

Navi stepped back into the conversation. "Why are you able to work in business here when we see no othah women in the streets?" He admired a pewter ring as though he were merely making conversation and not so much fishing for information.

"Ahh," she continued, "I make a deal with them. See, they want fragrances and ointments and healing herbs. I am the only one for that in these parts. I am allowed to wohk as long as I make them fragrances and healin' potions. I must make them for free—this is the price for my freedom!

"Ahh, but I deceive them," she said with a glint in her eye. "You see, I am workin' on makin' them a fragrance that will slowly poison them as it seeps through their rottenin' skin." She laughed, with almost a sinister cackle in the tone.

"How long before you finish makin' this potion?" Windsor put the fragrance he had purchased in his satchel.

"Oh, I don't know. I just can't find the right potion."

"Is this possible?" Navi doubted that such a thing could be done.

"Is this possible?" There was almost anger mixed with pride in her voice. "Of course it is possible. I not speak like so if it were not possible. I have already made a love potion. You want to try it?" she said, winking at the younger wizard.

"Well, my dear maiden," Navi said, looking straight into her eyes, "with the beauty you possess, I hardly think you'll need to use that love potion on me."

Windsor rolled his eyes.

"Ahh, I like you." She smiled.

Windsor was still unconvinced. "Why are there no guards placed in the vicinity of your shop?" he demanded.

"I... I don't know," she admitted. "I nevah thought about it. I suppose they don't perceive a woman as a threat."

"You seem to be taking this well. I mean you seem like a strong woman," Navi said, trying to word it in a complimentary way.

"Well, we can't kill Dahvan. And he'll always have ridahs. I know that no mattah what I do, I cannot permanently stop them. We...we must wait for the Immortal King to destroy him. The prophecies say that he will arise you know."

"You are familah with the ancient prophecies?" Navi asked, inquisitively.

"Of course," she said. "I am a smaht woman. I believe this one... this one will accomplish what he sets out to do. If not," she added, "then we all will be damned."

Navi was puzzled that she knew so much.

"Have you seen a blond-headed man?" Windsor was fishing to get the information he needed.

"Ah, the Possessah of the Swohd. Yes, I have seen him. He came in with the ridahs and declared himself lord of the lands. He led them in stormin' the palace and killin' our king. He, he was here, but he left," she concluded. "I have not seen him since."

"So you know what the Sword of Dahvan looks like?" Navi asked.

"Of course I do. I am a wo'man of much learnin'. Ahh," she paused, "and you, I know..., yes, I know who... Are there more ridahs with you?"

The wizards stared at her and refused to answer her, fearing that they had said too much.

"Ahh, yes, you, you are...You are the Circle of Ridahs that are prophesied about. You, this cihcle of ridahs, search for the Sword of Dahvan to give to the Immortal King. But they say the king didn't ride. They say he is fearful. But I don't believe it. I know that he will ride when the time is right."

The wizards didn't answer her. She knew more than a woman of her status ought to know. How did she come by this knowledge? They wondered.

"How do you know this? How do you know who we are?" Windsor asked.

"I have my ways." She refused to say how she had come by this knowledge. I will tell you that I ovah heahd them say something about Norssod and Dahvan was very angry that they let you out of the city," Pantika said. "Are all of you in the city?" she asked.

Now they were put on the spot. Without thinking, Windsor whispered, "No."

Looking up, Windsor now noticed a guard coming their way. "Well, it looks like we must be goin'."

"If they know who you are they will nevah let you out of the city alive."

"We know. That's why we came alone and on horses instead of on our dragons. We didn't want to stand out." Navi wanting to impress her that he had a dragon.

"You have a dragon," she said with excitement. "I love dragons. When this is ovah you must come back and take me for a ride."

"I will be back," whispered Navi. "You intrigue me. And I'll take this ring," he added, handing her a few coins to pay for it.

"Ahh, you...you intrigue me too," she said, taking the coins. "Lay low and come back at dahk and I can help you out of the city. Meet me behind the building," she whispered, spotting a woman approaching the door just before the guard. "I can help you get out of the city without being spotted. Might not have trouble but nevah know. Besides, might help in the future." She knew it would.

As the woman entered the shop, Pantika pretended to be making a normal business transaction and Windsor and Navi played along. The woman's straight dark hair was draped over her shoulders, her eyes were heavily outlined, and her lips were painted. She was an attractive woman, but not nearly as attractive as Pantika. There was something about her that looked harsh.

"You're back," Pantika said politely to the woman. "This is Vandia. I am teachin' her about herbs. She has been with me for many moons now."

"Pleased to meet you," Windsor and Navi said, bowing their heads to her.

"Pleased to meet you too," she replied, though she really didn't look pleased to meet them; in fact, she looked irritated at their presence. Neither of them had a good feeling about the woman.

Windsor and Navi walked out of the door. Seeing their purchase of fragrance and the ring, the guard simply stood by the door and gawked at them.

"Well, that was interesting," Windsor said, "and she was very interesting—in you. In fact, she seems like your kind of gihl. I liked her. Sort of odd, but very pretty. A smart one too!"

"Yeah, she's...she's alright, crony." Navi was for once at a loss for words.

At the first break of night, Windsor and Navi rode behind the building of the apothecary shop toting the necessary supplies they had gathered. They could handle this without her but they wanted to see what sort of scheming this woman was up to. Pantika was already there. She seemed excited about her plot.

"So, how do you plan on gettin' us ovah this wall?" Navi asked, looking up to the heights of it.

"Not ovah, but undah," she said. "Follow me."

Curious, they followed her, now being confident that she could be trusted.

"In times past two tunnels were built: one that led from the king's palace out of the city and anothah for less impressive individuals. I don't know if they know about the one in the palace, but I have been watching and none of the guards have even been near the one in the woods. It is on the outskirts of the city; therefore, no one much even knows it exists."

"How is it that you, of all people, know about it?" Windsor asked, not meaning to insult her.

"Like I said, I know many things."

They traveled by foot, Windsor and Navi leading their mounts inconspicuously towards the outskirts of city life. Their mounts were stacked high with supplies and so were their hands. They didn't get nearly what they needed but they got all they could carry. The darkness gave them the secrecy they needed. Finally, they came upon a patch of ground at a hillside that looked like any others parcel. She felt around the hill trying to discern the edges of the metal hatch.

"The only thing is that it is heavy and might make a lot of noise tryin' to get it up. Probably rusted togethah too."

"Move back." Navi now saw an opportunity to impress her.

Letting the younger wizard take the lead, Windsor smiled, knowing exactly what Navi was going to do.

Navi pulled out his staff he had stowed away under his jacket and stretched it out over the tightly shut up hatchet. Straight way, he murmured a couple of words and the hatch broke loose from its rusty hold and lifted off the ground. The old door came to rest on the ground.

"You're a wizahd," Pantika proclaimed with surprise. "You didn't even need my help did you?"

"Not really, but this kind of information is always handy."

Navi could tell with the light of his orb that the tunnel was broad, big enough for mounts. Navi stepped inside the tunnel and reached out his hand for Pantika to come along. When Windsor noticed what he was doing his face turned stone cold. _No one else can ride with us!_

But before he had a chance to vocalize his discrepancies, Pantika declined.

"No, I can't leave. My sistah is still in the city. I will leave when the time is right and now is not that time."

Feeling relieved that he wasn't going to have to contend with Windsor over this, he nodded.

"Be safe."

"You too."

Navi and Windsor stepped inside the tunnel leading the horses. Navi stretched out his staff and lifted the rusty old door off the ground and placed it back in place. Then, he made the grass and weeds around the seams grow so it would blend in with the rest of the landscape, making it impossible to see.

"We can't rescue every damsel, Navi," Windsor said, rebuking him.

"I know. I just felt like we owed it to her since she helped us."

"I understand. But we can't have a woman riding with us unless she is a warrior like Nadora; otherwise, it is as the others said: a grave burden."

After a short walk through the tunnel, the two came to the end marked also by a large hatch. With his staff, Windsor raised the hatch, the two led their mounts out, and the hatch was lowered back in its place. Again, Windsor made sure to cover their tracks by causing brush and weeds to grow atop it.

Back at the campsite, concerns had risen about their safety. (There were also concerns over who had painted floral designs on Buldar's horns. It was of course Monguard but again, no one suspected him). Vandorf had been the first to discover the message in the dirt. They assumed that Navi had joined them, although the note had not mentioned it. Plots were already underway when Windsor and Navi finally strolled into the camp.

"`Bout time, mate," Ozni said. "We were already plannin' on slinging Monguard ovah the wall aftah you." He was of course only kidding.

"Like your horns, crony." Navi was sure glad that all the pink had faded out of his hair before he met the hot girl on the other side of the wall.

"Shut up." Buldar found little humor in the prank.

"Wait till we tell you what we discovahed, crony."

With a glimmer of light from Windsor's orb, the riders listened as Navi and Windsor told them all that they had learned.

Darfin

The parched land could not be seen beneath the dense fog that had settled above the ground. Dew draped the ground, moistening the thirsty brown grass. Clouds above cast gray shadows over the land, eerie shadows moved about, as though spying with evil intent. They had been traveling for days seeing nothing but a few angry nomeds.

In the density of the fog, noises rumbled: the sound of horses, the sound of laborers, the sound of a whip, the sound of a scream. Another village held captive, the Circle of Riders guessed. We're close to Quadar, so it only makes sense that he would have started here. Those with mail donned it and everyone drew their steel blades quietly. Because of the density of the fog, they had no certainty of the distance between them and the village.

Riding toward the sound of noise, they suddenly found themselves right upon a troop of Riders of Quadar, almost running into them. With blind faith, they swung their swords, executing with precise skill, fighting fiercely and passionately, with images of countless innocent souls etched into their minds. They had a reason to fight and a vengeance to do so.

The dragons took to the air, breathing fire at the Riders of Quadar, while the mammoths led the way on the ground, blazing a path and squashing everything in it. Their mighty tusks took on everything that crossed them. Blood splattered onto Zilgar's cords of hair and long beard, as he swung his sword cutting down a dark rider who had tried to dismount him from his wooly mount. The dim image of Binko on his flying zebras soared just above the fog. They all quickly discovered that the village was crawling with dark riders.

Running through the obscurity of the smoky atmosphere, Monguard hardly knew which direction to spring in. He listened for the sound of the hunt; then, he ran full speed ahead attacking the enemy by the edge of his blade. Behind him was left a trail of dirty blood.

Flying low, Nadora couldn't see a thing. Sinking lower, she finally eyed her enemy. Her arrows darted through the sky, but occasionally she missed, the fog being too much for the mortal eye to see through.

The fog squeezed in around them, making the battlefield nebulous. Each warrior felt alone on the battlefield, not able to eye one another. They moved by instinct, sensing the presence of evil, the nearness of a blade, the direction of the swing. It felt as though the fog was slowing time down, for the battle seemed as though it were never going to end. There was no end in sight because no one knew how many dark warriors there were.

Even the mounts had to rely on instinct. The fog and the noise made them a bit jittery too. And when a dark rider slammed into Ozni, his horse fell to the ground. Ozni tumbled over his head but then quickly leapt to his feet where he quickly discovered he was surrounded by six Riders of Quadar. Swinging his blade with the most excellent of skill, he sliced across the abdomen of one. Ducking to miss an oncoming sword, he then thrust his sword into the abdomen of another.

Now, with only four riders around him, he swung with fluidity, jugating the blow of a sword that just missed his head. The visibility was poor; Ozni was judging predominantly by feel in the dense fog. Parrying a sword to his left, he quickly ducked again, missing the sharp blade. Then, he thrust the sword in his left hand, laying open the thigh of another Quadarist. Parrying with his sword again, he stepped toward another dark rider and swiftly pierced him through. Now sensing the presence of evil behind him, he spun around and cut down the remaining two.

Each rider fought an army of dark warriors. Outnumbered, they fought with verve in pure strength and skill a blind fight.

Then a sound blew in. It was the sound of the wind, the sound of arrows, the sound of warhorses, and the sound of war. Then, hoofs beat the ground in retreat and everything fell silent. It was brief but effective. After a puzzling moment of silence, the riders began to call to one another through the haze, finally moving in closer until they could see one another.

It took them a few minutes to realize that Zorgar was not among them. Zilgar called out his name, speaking into the fog. He felt his chest tighten as fear rose up in his heart. His throat felt like it was closing in on him. He feared the worst.

Then there was a clatter and the sound of voices. Now, through the obscurity of the haze, they discovered a village, its people more downtrodden than any they had yet encountered. It was the home of the Darfinians, another humble, poor and hard-working people. Many of them carried the burden of shackles, their bodies frail, thin and dirty, their clothing torn and filthy, and their faces ghastly. Some were near death.

The simple people had been made slaves in the fields harvesting grains, among the mud, making bricks, and among the mines mining for gems. Most of them wore shackles and looked starved half to death. They were caked in mud and smelt to the high heavens. They needed help but they had their priorities: their own first. They couldn't bear the thought of leaving their friend on the battlefield injured.

"Spread out and search every parcel of ground for Zorgar," Gilmanza commanded.

Starting on one end, the riders walked over every parcel of ground, stepping over the fallen bodies of dark riders. The calling of his name sounded echoic as each rider repetitiously yelled his name. They searched every crack and crevice. Their fears heightened as they searched endlessly but found no trace of Zorgar anywhere. Now Ormandel starred into the fog, its obscurity seemingly transporting him into a darker realm, carrying his thoughts to the nightmare of his own past reality.

Could they have over looked him injured—or worse dead—on the battlefield?

Lighting every torch they could find in the village, the riders searched into the night but still Zorgar was nowhere to be found.

Gathering back at a central location in the village the riders had various ideas and various plans. Ormandel's eyes spoke volumes, having himself been enlightened through past experiences with Darvan. Windsor could only imagine of what he was thinking as the worried look bore ruts in his forehead. Zilgar was nearly beside himself about his brother's whereabouts. He was prepared to ride out right away after the dark riders whom they had now assumed had taken Zorgar, and he was expecting everyone else to play along.

"We can't ride out right now. We can't see a thing," Buldar objected.

"We can see enough. That's my brothah," Zilgar argued, raising his voice.

"We can't see anything. Besides, we can't assume that they've taken him. He might very well be on this battlefield and we need to wait till morn and search again," Buldar tried to explain.

"He ain't on the field. I would know if he's dead."

"What, you some kind of wizahd now?"

Now a shoving match broke out between the two.

Windsor spoke up. "Stop it you two!" He practically yelled it. "This isn't helping. Buldar's right. We can't assume anything and it's too dark to ride tonight. We will stay the night here and search the fields again tomorrow. For now, we need to help these people."

Without an inkling of sleep, the riders turned their attention to the people, showing themselves to be amicable. They cut away their shackles. Immediately, the people cried out for food and Windsor provided. At the first crack of dawn (which wasn't much in this region where fog constantly hovered over the ground), the riders searched the ground over again for Zorgar. They walked over every stretch of ground but still, there was no trace of him.

Zilgar made ready to ride, a bit presumptuous, however, in his assessments.

When Zilgar got wind that they weren't preparing to ride out, he exploded.

"We can't just ride into Quadar and storm the castle. For that mattah we don't even know if he is at the main compound," Windsor tried to reason with Zilgar.

"I can and I will!"

"You'll be burying yourself in a grave then."

"So you just plan on doin' nothin'?"

"Of course not. But we must use wisdom. Quadar is a most dangerous place."

After much arguing, reasoning, and exhorting, Windsor convinced Zilgar to have some patience and to trust him. Reluctantly, he settled down, accepting that there really was nothing that he could do at the moment. The riders settled in to helping the poor peasants. Over the next few days, they fed them, dressed their wounds, and showed them kindness, restoring a small since of dignity back to a broken and degraded people. They searched the village for grains and livestock, anything that they could eat. They found plenty to eat but hardly any had been fed to the enslaved people; instead, it has been stored for the army of dark riders whose bodies demonstrated that they had not deprived themselves a morsel of food.

Each day Zilgar shuffled around over the fog covered grounds continuing to search for his brother. He feared he would find his mangled body, but he never did. He was not alone, others returned to searching, hoping he would turn up. No matter how much they tried to focus on the people, Zorgar remained in the foremost of their thoughts, especially Zilgar's. Now he began to fear that he, like Ormandel had experienced so many years ago, had been captured.

In their probing of the village, the riders stumbled upon a building, tall and slender. It stood on the outskirts of the village. It had a familiar look as the last one that now haunted their minds.

Approaching the building, the Circle of Riders looked at one another, remembering the last doors they had swung open. These, however, were unlocked, so they gave them a pull. Greeted once again by the smell of decaying flesh, they slowly walked into the bone box, carrying two lit torches.

On the ground were the remains of tortured victims of a truly perverse cruelty. Their bodies bore the marks of a very sick master, twisted with pleasure over the suffering of others. Strung from the rafters of the ceiling hung people in crypts of chains, their bodies merely skeletons dotted with flesh. The heavy links draped their bodies like a metal cocoon, a morbid contraption of nurturing death instead of life. These chains of torment had become their sepulcher of rest, but rest looked far removed from their faces. The rusty chain-link tombs incarcerated them until death overtook them.

Against the wall lay the thin shadows of people, their limbs stretched out and strapped by chains to hooks. Nothing remained except carrion wrapped over bones. Shifting shadows moved across the walls, giving the place a haunted feeling. Surely, there were souls still seeking release from this pit of horror.

Sagran's thoughts turned again to his deceased wife, as he wondered once more what she must have gone through. Tears welled up in Amase's gentle but angry eyes.

"Can anyone hear me?" Gilmanza asked, calling out to any survivors. "Is anyone alive?" As they walked around, they listened for anything that might indicate the sound of survival, any rasp, any rattle.

"Check each person," Windsor ordered, holding his staff high for light as he looked back at Sagran and Amase. "Are you two okay?"

"We can only hope to be," Sagran admitted.

"We're fine; they're not," Amase said simply, his voice resounding with compassion. Windsor patted the lad on the shoulder. Nadora ran outside and vomited.

"Are you all right?" Nuvatian placed a hand of concern around her shoulder.

"I will be," she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. "I just don't understand how anyone can do such a thing to someone! The smell alone in there makes me nauseated!"

"I know," he said, squeezing her shoulder. "It's hard to believe that anyone could be that cruel." He was himself finding it hard not to vomit.

Gilgore, began checked each person suspended from the rafters of the building. He found none alive; all were dead.

Looking around the one-horse town, Buldar stumbled upon another building not far away. It was a low built building with no windows. He slowly opened the squeaky door, and cautiously walked down into the room that sunk into the ground. Ozni followed on his heels. Buldar bore a torch for light. In the revealing light, the dirty face of a child looked back at him. Taking a closer look in the shifting shadows, Buldar could see chains around the child's ankles. Looking beyond the child that had captured the first light of the torch, Buldar could see other children in the background. Like the first, their ankles and wrist also bore heavy chains and their faces and hair dirty, grimy with grease and perspiration.

The other riders slowly began to make their way into the room of children. Oddly though, these children looked well fed—dirty, but well fed. Speechless, the riders beheld the children with gaping mouths. Finally, out of the silence, Buldar whispered, "Cut their chains. Take them out and don't let them wander into the other building."

"God above, strike them dead," Ozni prayed, feeling a lust for revenge ignite in his heart towards the wicked ones who did this.

"... and get Nadora," added Buldar.

"Heartless Bastards," murmured Vandorf, having followed Ozni. "I'll fight them to my bloody grave if I have to."

"What can I..." Nadora was saying as she entered the room, and then became utterly speechless as she beheld the sight of the captive children.

"Come with me," Buldar said, taking her by the hand. "Your gentle presence will comfort them." Buldar, Vandorf, Ozni and Nadora now approached the children slowly. Binko, Zilgor, Nimri, Fleece, Skeener, and Monguard followed. "We're not goin' to huht you," Buldar told them quietly. "We're goin' to cut your chains off."

Looking into a little girl's eyes as Buldar cut off her chains; Nadora said sweetly, "You have such beautiful brown eyes. You have the eyes of a princess."

The little girl just stared at her stoically. Attempting to get some emotion out of her, Nadora tried again. "We'll get you cleaned up. What is your name?" The dirty little girl said not a word.

"You have a name, don't you?" she persisted. "My name is Nadora!" The little girl still sat speechless.

"Well then, I guess I will just have to give you a name. How about if I call you Princess?" Nadora bent down and picked up the scared little girl, carrying her through the back door out of the hell of bondage and into the foggy haze.

Binko asked a little boy his name, but the little boy just stared at him too as though he were in a daze. As he cut the chains, Binko comforted the little boy. "We're going to get you out of this mess."

Monguard thought for sure that Buldar's colorful horns would make the children warm right up to him, but he was wrong.

Kneeling down beside another timid-looking boy, Buldar said sweetly, "Everything's gonna be okay. We're here to help you."

Suddenly, the little boy raised his head and raked his nails across the Sorb's face, almost clawing his eyes out. Taken by surprise, Buldar shrieked as he pressed his hand to his face and felt the marks pooling up with blood. Then, he came face to face with the wild-eyed little boy. The stone-cold glare was frightening, sort of fiendish, and the child was indeed grimy. He hissed at Buldar who now backed away frightened at the child. Now, exercising caution, he stepped forward again and cut the chains away. The child jumped on him, digging his claws into him again, and then leapt up and ran out the door.

But the scratches on Buldar's face ran deep.

Trying to momentarily put his brother out of his mind and focus on the needs at hand, Zilgar picked up a scarred little child and held her in his arms. As he was carrying her through the haze he tripped over something on the ground. Falling to the ground, the child fell out of his arms and toppled onto the ground. Zilgar quickly got up and ran over to the child. "Are you huht?" he asked. The child said not a word but looked at him with no emotion.

Going back to see what he had tripped over, Zilgar saw a round wooden top. "I think I found their well," he announced. As he lifted up the top and placed it to one side, an odor arose that took his breath away. Placing the torch down into the pit, he froze. His eyes fell upon a pit filled with twisted corpses.

"Well, what are you just sittin' there for?" Buldar interrogated. Zilgar quickly placed the top back over the hole.

"What is it?" Buldar now demanded to know? He walked over and placed his hand on the top to lift it up.

"Leave it alone!" Zilgar shouted, pushing Buldar away. "Don't open that!" He shouted, shoving him again, his eyes lit up with fury. He was angered by what he saw.

"Don't tell me what to do," Buldar shouted, pushing Zilgar back. The stress had gotten to them. It was getting to the whole group for that matter.

Zilgar shouted, "There's nothin' worth seein' down there, so leave it alone!"

"I'll decide that for myself," Buldar said, raising the roof. Zilgar pushed him back and the two began to fight.

"Hey!" Gilgore said, stepping between them. "Break it up! If Zilgar said there's nothin' worth seein' down there, then there's nothin' worth seeing down there. Understand!" He bent down to look Buldar straight in the face, emphasizing his point. Buldar walked off, mumbling under his breath. He knew he couldn't take on the giant or he might have tried.

Recognizing the familiar looking cap opening into the ground, Windsor and Gilmanza stepped into the situation. "Zilgar is right: There's nothin' worth seein'."

"Where's you're optimism now?" Zilgar growled at Ozni.

"It's trying to put out your pessimism," Ozni said sharply; then, he began to hum a tune.

"What's down there?" Amase asked Windsor.

"They think people are disposable."

"What? People are down there?"

"What's left of them. They throw corpses down there then after a few accumulate, they set fire to them and refill it up in time. I've seen this before."

Bewildered at such madness, Amase stared at Windsor, then at the large round wood top sticking out of the ground. He couldn't imagine such barbarity—and he didn't want to. But he couldn't help but wonder what their lives must have been like. He couldn't bring himself to ponder about their deaths.

As the children began to emerge from the building, mothers ran towards the children, searching for their own. When they found them, they held them and wept. Even the warriors couldn't hold back the tears; some of them wiped their faces regularly, trying to hide their sensitive side.

Meanwhile, some of the riders were cleaning up the children by the river, washing their dirty little bodies and their smelly clothing. Others explored the quarters where the children had been held captive, uncovering a truly deranged system of indoctrination.

"Hey, look at this," Fleece said, holding up a piece of written material.

"It l-ooks like they have been t-teaching the ch-ildren that Dahvan is good and we're b-ad," Skeener said.

"You know," Ozni said, "I think they're killing off the oldah generation and raisin' the youngah ones to follow Dahvan. That is definitely one way for him to build a future ahmy."

"It is obvious from the lack of young men here that many chose to become dahk ridahs." Monguard was quick to notice the lack of young men.

Among the material were scrolls that taught the children to hate, and to live by violence and in loyalty to the king, Darvan. They were being taught that Darvan was the ultimate good and that King Justiz, the Immortals and all who followed them were evil, and should be killed. They were encouraged to disrespect the life of others, to kill and hate those who did not follow Darvan, his prophets and the leader of the riders. The scroll contained words from followers of Darvan who trumped themselves as wizards, prophets, and teachers, the voices with authority and power.

Strict servitude to Darvan was propagated by a rigid set of rules and regulations. Their innocent minds were being corrupted by lies and violent behavior.

"L-et's burn this tr-ash," Skeener said, cracking a smile.

The building of the dead was set on fire along with every scroll and vile thing that aimed at twisting the minds of these children. Water quenched their thirsty lips, food satisfied their empty stomachs, and salve was put on their open wounds. The storehouses of grain were opened and bread was baked over open fires. Windsor settled around a fire with some of the people and fished for information. They didn't seem to know much. But they did confirm that many of their young men had become dark riders.

For several days the riders remained in the village. There was so much that needed to be done for these people. The riders grieved with them, cremated their dead, comforted them, and fed them. They tried to restore some sense of normality but something was missing. Although Nuvatian didn't have children, he even knew what was missing from this camp.

Gathering some children around him, Nuvatian had an idea. "Let's play tag." He playfully tagged one of the children on the shoulder and ran, but the child just stood there and stared at him with a dumb expression. He touched another but that child just sat there with a similar clouded mind, as though Nuvatian weren't even real.

"Don't you know how to play tag?" he asked, and then tried again. "Maybe you don't like tag. What game would you like to play?" But the child did not respond.

"How about we play hide and seek?" It seemed like a good idea to him. "I'll hide while you try to find me!" Still, the children just stood there with bewilderment on their faces.

Observing Nuvatian's unsuccessful attempts, Navi bounced over to the group of children. "Watch this," he said. He juggled three apples, making clownish faces. A couple of the children cracked a little smile, but nothing more; still, it was a sign of hope.

Raising his eyebrow, Nuvatian asked, "How'd you do that, mate?"

"Oh, I suppose I'm just a kid at heaht, crony."

Then he had another idea. "How about we sing a song?" He began singing and dancing, with silly movements. The children began to laugh at his comical dance and his jovial song. Skeener joined in the therapeutic entertainment, dancing and singing in a rambunctious manner, his large cheeks flopped about as he jiggled and jumped. It didn't take long for Nuvatian, Buldar and Fleece too join in.

Sagran and Amase jumped in the fun next. The children by now were laughing and beginning to jump about in a playful way. Gilgore couldn't help himself either; He danced the silly dance and sang the silly jig, as the earth quaked beneath him. In fact, it wasn't long before even Monguard and Ozni and Nimri had joined in, all dancing and singing jubilantly. Ozni's ears bounced as he leapt up and down, completely out of beat with the song that Navi was singing.

Windsor, Gilmanza, Binko, Vandorf and Ormandel sang along with them, laughing at the silly dancing. Before long, the children were wild at play with boisterous laughter. The adults stood back and smiled, others cried, as they watched their children act like children again. Zilgar watched, wondering how they could play and laugh when his brother was missing.

After all the child-like dancing, Monguard played the wild cat while the children tried to hunt him. Playing it up, he roared and growled and leapt and ran like a cat on the prowl, but he always let them catch him. The children laughed at his funny facial expressions and his peculiar twitching.

A small victory had been won here. The riders felt a glimmer of joy at having been able to restore joy to others, especially these little children. Ozni leaned over to Buldar, "Now this is optimism at its best," he whispered. "Optimism doesn't ignore reality; it just tries to make the best out of it!"

Buldar grimaced, then smiled and nodded in agreement. Even he had trouble ignoring the positives in this experience.

Saying Goodbye

Saying goodbye is often so difficult, and this was the case the day the riders had to say goodbye to the humble people of Darfin. As they hugged their newfound friends, one little boy came up to Navi. "Are you a real wizahd?" he asked.

"Yes, I am," Navi said proudly. "Windsor is, too!"

"Would you do something... magic?" the little boy asked.

"Well, I certainly will. Let me see," Navi said as he thought about it. "Ahh," he said. "Watch this." In a barrel nearby were some rotten fruit and vegetables. As he stretched out his staff toward the barrel, the vegetables became solid and round and began to rise up, high into the air. Then they changed, taking on bright colors: purple (Navi's favorite), red, yellow, green, orange and blue. The vegetables grew brighter and brighter until they began to glow; then they began to swirl around in mid-air, faster and faster. The children ooed and awed.

Suddenly, the shells broke open, and doves flew from some of them. Out of the rest came forth a concoction of glowing liquids, that swirled around and around in mid-air. The doves flew down and rested on the shoulders of some of the children, while the glowing liquids formed into a swirling rainbow of brilliant colors.

This funnel of many colors now hovered just above Skeener's head and dropped. The shimmering goo ran down his head and body, covering him in a glowing rainbow of color. The children roared with laughter, holding their stomachs and laughing with belly-aching merriment. Some laughed so hard they fell to the ground. Even the adults laughed, allowing themselves for the first time in a long time to feel truly happy. Skeener stood there, looking foolish covered with multi-colored slime.

"Th-thanks, mate," he stuttered as he wiped his eyes.

"Thank you, crony, for being such a good prop."

"Only for the ch-ildren, mate!" whispered Skeener. "O-thah wise, you w-would have just w-written your death ce-certificate!" Being a good sport, Skeener now laughed with the children and bowed deeply, as though he planned on being part of the show.

"Do something else!" the children shouted.

Then it occurred to Navi that he owed Monguard. He made the rest of the rotten vegetables rise. They turned multiple colors and brightened to near glowing. Then they flew towards Monguard. Monguard knew that payback was upon him. He darted like a gazelle, but the wizard's supernatural power brought acceleration to the streams of colors and splashed them all over the sprinting Waddi. He was completely covered.

He was more fortunate than Navi though, because this would wash out. Navi felt that he still owed him one, one that would have a little more lasting effect.

While Navi was continuing to entertain the children, a little girl named Kisha walked up to Nadora. "Are you really a princess?"

"Yes, I am. I am a princess in the Land of Shalahem.

"When I grow up, I want to be a princess too."

"You do? Well, I think that is a good choice. But why wait until you grow up? Why not become a princess today?"

"Could I?" The girl's eyes were wide. "Could I become a princess?"

"Well, yes," Nadora said. Pulling Navi aside, she asked him to make some flowers grow in a small area of parched land. Stretching out his staff, he waved it, and bright colorful flowers sprang up from the parched land. Then, he returned to entertaining the other children.

Nuvatian watched Nadora as she tied the flowers together, making the little girl a floral crown. She placed it on her head and said, "I, Princess Nadora, Princess of The Land of Shalahem, declare that on this day you, Kisha, are a princess!"

"That's it? I am a princess now?"

"You are Princess Kisha."

Nuvatian admired her way with children. She was unlike any princess he had ever met or heard of. She seemed eager to bring herself down to the real lives of other people and then lift them up. This was perhaps the trait he most admired about her. Now he watched as her long wavy hair draped over the little girl who sat in her lap on the ground.

Looking up, Nadora saw him looking at her. She knew he had been watching, and smiled a courtly smile. There was still a connection that seemed to generate tremendous energy between them. And she admired his courage, wisdom, and mature leadership as much as she did his muscular body.

The little girl jumped up from Nadora's lap and ran to the other little girls in the village. Before long, Nadora was making all the little girls floral crowns, crowning them and declaring them all to be princesses. Nuvatian, seeing all the little girls crowding around her, strolled over to where she was and joined her in making floral crowns for the little girls. He tied the flowers together and gave them to Nadora, all of them wanting her to declare them a princess. She declared each little girl a princess, so that all the little girls became princesses, even if only for a day.

Nadora laughed and seemed pleased that Nuvatian was with her. Picking a flower, he now placed it in her hand and smiled at her. The little girls snickered at their obvious attraction.

Those lips. They called to him.

In the meantime, Navi was still entertaining the boys with his magical ways of wizardry. Even Windsor didn't seem to mind Navi using his powers to entertain the children, something for which he had always criticized the younger wizard. This forced him to reconsider his stricter, more traditional ways.

Navi was doing everything he could think of to make the children laugh: he turned cow patties into bright colors and made flying discs from them; he made the chickens bark and the cows quack; he turned some yellow baby chicks purple, then back to yellow; and he turned his pouch of polished rocks for game playing into bouncing balls and gave them all to the children.

When he grew weary, the children turned to Gilgore for their next source of entertainment. At first, they were intimidated by the giant, but they quickly learned that his heart was the largest parts of his enormous bodies. The children began climbing on Gilgore like they were a couple of jungle gyms.

After a while, the children became brave enough to inquire about riding the dragons, stelletoes, flying zebra and mammoths. Before long, the riders were giving the children flying lessons on the dragons, stelletoes and flying zebra. The less adventuresome ones rode the mammoths. Even the angry little boy that clawed Buldar's face took a ride on a dragon.

Now the day was spent, and the riders had still not left. Darkness was approaching and the Darfinians were hungry for supper. The riders decided to stay one more night, as Navi performed one more miracle: he turned a little bit of cooked beef and a single carrot, a single ear of corn and a potato—all straight from the garden Windsor had magically revived—into a feast for the entire community. The community smiled; but most of all, the children were laughing again. There was hope in the air.

Windsor's Words of Wisdom

The little princess ran up and hugged Nadora. Their floral crowns were still on their heads, although some of the flowers were now bent. Many of the children clutched the colored balls Navi had magically made from his pouch of rocks. Tears rolled down one little girl's cheek as the wizard said goodbye.

"I don't want you to go!"

"I don't want to, either," Navi admitted. "But I have to. Don't worry, I'll be back!" Quickly thinking about how dangerous this mission was, and how children have a way of holding you to your word, he revised his statement. "If everything goes right, I'll be back to see ya. Here, you can have this!" Taking off his pink wizardly hat that the king had given him as a joke, he gave it to the little girl. (He had only put it on to make the kid's laugh).

"Really, I can have your hat?" The little girl put the huge floppy thing onto her tiny head. It almost engulfed her, it was so big.

Many of the other children were teary-eyed too. Some of the little boys clung to Gilgore's legs, wrapping their little arms around his enormous calves. One little boy didn't want to get down from Buldar's shoulders, holding onto his floral colored horns with all his might. The little girls huddled around Nadora, their wilted crowns looking nearly as sad as they were. It was indeed hard to leave these wonderful and brave children.

Saying their final goodbyes with tears in their eyes, the riders vowed they would visit again when the opportunity arose. Without any more delays, they mounted their beasts and rode away, waving goodbye as they disappeared over the hill.

The day was long and the journey weary, darkness was soon upon them. They were now nearing the treacherous land of Quadar. They would have to spend this night in the woodsy mountains—an undesirable misfortune. Everything about Quadar was a misfortune.

Setting up camp in the woods, they made a fire. After eating supper, they sat around the campfire, their swords draw in anticipation for a long night with the demons of the wilderness. The faint whispers of the derves mingled with their hideous laughter. They whispered lies to dampen the spirits of the Circle of Riders. The riders did their best to keep their minds on better things. But everyone wondered about Zorgar.

Skeener looked deep in thought, with his hand on his chin, as he stammered out a question to whoever was willing to listen.

"Evah w-wondah why p-people feel s-such a n-need to c-con-t-trol othahs?"

"I was just sittin' here wonderin' how people can be so cruel to do the things we saw back there," Gilgore said.

Sagran's thoughts turned to his wife, dying at the cruel hands of the Awshaks. He remained silent, as did Amase. But others had their own views to share.

"People like to feel superior to others," Binko said. "Some people think others should conform to their ways, because their ways are the right ways, and the only ways—or so they think! They want people to be like them, because they are uncomfortable with people being different. In reality, they are insecure."

"They're just plain selfish and full of the devil," Vandorf offered, polishing his armor as best he could by the dim light of the fire.

Various riders said various things. After a time, Windsor spoke up. "I can remembah," he began, "when all the lands were immortal. There was peace everywhere—in all the lands, and among all the lands. There was no such thing as war, and the idea of conquering someone else and putting them in chains, did not exist." He took a chance at a little humor. "Back then, even husbands and wives got along!" A few chuckles came forth from among the riders, especially the married ones.

"How I wish it were like that today," Zilgar said, thinking out loud, and perhaps thinking of his wife at home.

"Everyone got along." Windsor continued and the laughter died down. "Giants didn't lord over the Earthdwellahs; Elves didn't attack Sorbs. The Vikings didn't war with anyone; in fact, they were gentle people." He glanced over at Zilgar, who merely grimaced. "There was no war in any of the lands, nor was there any friction among the kingdoms. Wives and husbands didn't stray to othahs. Oh, how disappointed God must be in us today, as we fight and argue among ourselves!

"Then, Dahvan and his cuhsed sword showed up among our lands. Change occurred, as he and his bloody sword propagated division among the kingdoms. People groups began to believe themselves superiah to othahs. People became greedy and covetous, murderous, desirin' the land of their neighbors, as well as their possessions—some even coveted their neighbor's spouse. Kingdoms envied the land of their neighborin' kingdoms. War among the kingdoms broke out.

"Some forced others into servitude and denied them their rights as free people; others simply killed them, because they were different. As each kingdom fell to the powah of the sword, they began to hate other people groups. The Giants learned to hate the Earthdwellahs, the Earthdwellahs hated the Elves, the Elves hated the Giants, the Vikings hated everyone, and everyone hated the Vikings—and that was just within Shalahem."

The faint whispers of the derves had turned to laughter now. Windsor continued, speaking louder over their gratification. "God made humanity free, but men, influenced by Dahvan, of course, have tried to take that gift away. And what is life without freedom? Without freedom, man is already dead to a certain degree—his will is dead. He exists for the choice anothah makes for him, not really living. Freedom is one of the most precious gifts we have. But what is freedom, when we aren't free to love. What is freedom when we hate one anothah and kill? It is nothin'.

"We may be free to make choices, but if those choices involve who to hate, make war, fight and kill, then we are the ones enslaved. Without freedom, man is dead to a degree; but without love, man is dead entirely. Love is the greatest gift given to man. Unfortunately, men hasten to sexual lust and breach the walls of sacrificial love. Men hasten to consent to self-gratification, but begrudgingly indulge themselves in the servitude of others. The world is made wide by war, but small by love. I have fought in so many wars, and I have come to wondah if some of the wars and some of the killin' could have been prevented by simple acts of love."

"But we have to have defense," Nimri interrupted.

"Of course we have to have defense—certainly, the way the land is now. I didn't say every war; I said some wars. I am not naïve. I'm only saying this: we kill and fight, and I wondah where the love is in this world, that's all! If we are honest with ourselves, we too would prefer to be lazy, fat and immoral—it's the great fall of man. But we, the Circle of Riders, have chosen a bettah way: the way of self-sacrifice and righteousness. This should unite us."

"What was it like before the Sword of Dahvan?" Fleece asked. All of this was so new for him.

"Oh, how I must strain my thinking to try to remembah the days before the Sword of Dahvan," Windsor admitted. "Those days were so long ago. They were, well, they were like the Land of the Immortals in Shy Kadesh. All the lands were perfectly beautiful. The people were kind and filled with love. There was no jealousy, no hatred, no greed, no war, no murdah, no such thing as rich and poor, and no one lordin' ovah anothha! It was a good land, and oh the fun we had! Oh, the celebrations! We knew how to celebrate.

"There was freedom, for everyone: Freedom to enjoy life. Freedom to enjoy friends. Freedom to serve God. Freedom to fall in love—true love, I mean. It was a wondahful time!

"Oh how sad it is that those days are gone.

"Freedom is a created ordah and slavery a violation of that ordah. Love is what we all want but remains to be the least thing we give. Humanity is like a woven canvas that is destroyed by a single thread that pulls loose." He took hold of a piece of material. "We pull and pick at that thread until the whole thing has unraveled." He pulled at the thread until it began to unravel to demonstrate his point.

He concluded his speech. "Freedom is what we gave back to the Darfinians, and we should be proud of that. But we gave them something much greatah than freedom—we gave them love! What they choose to do with that freedom is now in their hands. What they choose to do with the love we showed them is up to them, too!" He paused, and then added, "And what we choose to do with our freedom and the love we have, well, that is in our hands, as well. I hate war. Unfortunately, in the land we live in now, it is at times a necessary evil. But how I wish I nevah had to fight a single war!"

"Wh...ere do you th..ink Z..Zorgar is?" Skeener finally asked, voicing the question everyone was silently asking.

No one offered an opinion but everyone turned their eyes upon Ormandel. Ormandel offered no thoughts, judgments, or testimonies but instead tucked himself under his bedroll knowing full well he probably wouldn't sleep a wink.

"So where are we off to? I mean what's our plan?" Fleece asked inquisitively.

"Central Quadar," Windsor answered. "To get Zorgar back."

"And Cozbi too," Nimri said.

Faces fell downcast. No one wanted to go into the heart of Quadar. They only intended to explore the outskirts and spot the traffic of the dark riders, gathering some critical information to the Possessor's whereabouts and plans.

"But no one who entahs Quadar gets out alive," Buldar objected.

Silence befell the camp. "God help us," Windsor murmured.

Without much discussion, the riders drifted off to sleep, their swords beside them. Ormandel's hand clutched his unsheathed sword, hoping to get at least a little bit of shut eye. The fire continued to burn, and the dragons huddled near them. Soon they were snuggled beneath their blankets, shielding themselves from the night air. Fog still hovered over the land.

They had barely gotten to sleep when a horde of derves suddenly leapt from the trees, shrieking and squealing, their claws extracted, ripping at the blankets. Alarmed and disoriented, the riders clutched their swords and began swinging them at the derves. Gilgore leapt up and roared loudly. The derves quickly ran off into the woods, squealing like frightened pigs as they went.

"Bloody little demonic monstahs." Navi slid his sword into its sheath and nudged Inka. "Go get um, crony! Moridar, Zephlin, Orpah." The dragons arose and chased after the wretched creatures, returning moments later. Upon their return, they drew in closer to the riders, their presence now a protective shield.

"Now maybe we can get some sleep," he said, drifting back to his dreams. The riders went back to sleep feeling comforted by both the presence of their dragons and the good deeds they had performed for the Darfinians. But disturbing thoughts haunted them by the uncertainty that lay ahead of them.

The mysterious land of Quadar frightened all of them. They only hoped that all they had heard was indeed nothing more than ghost stories and tall tales.

The Summit

The closer they got to Quadar, the drearier the land became, the grayer the sky, the denser the fog, and the browner the grass. The few leaves that did remain on the trees were brown, dry and crackled. The land was parched. Death seemed to grow indigenously there.

"I found some dandelions, Navi," Nimri said. "Made you some dandelion tea, mate! They're a bit dried out, but perhaps not too bad."

Although barely awake, Navi rolled over. "Dandelion tea! Sounds like it's gonna be a good day!" Sitting up, he took a swig of the brew. Tasting it, though, he spewed it out of his mouth onto the ground. "Oh my word! What in the world did you put in this stuff, scamp? That is nasty! It tastes bittah!"

"We are too far south for dandelion tea," Windsor informed him. "The closer we get to the Land of Quadar, the more diseased everything becomes. Do you smell that?" Windsor sniffed, his nose upturned in the air.

"Yeah." Several of them inhaled the air. "Closer we get, the stronger that stench will become."

"Is it always gray and dreary here?" Amase asked, looking up at the bleak sky.

"Yeah," Windsor answered. "Gets worse as we go."

"Why didn't we ride straight west to Quadar?" Amase asked. "We've gone a long way around, to the northern point of the land."

"Because if we had gone 'straight west' as you say, well, son, we would have had to go right through the Engarda Forest," answered Windsor.

"What's the Engarda Forest?"

"It's an enchanted forest." Vandorf adjusted the items in his saddle bag, making sure everything was in its place and strapped it to his mount.

"That sounds kind of fun," Amase said.

"Fun? He means it's a haunted forest," Navi explained. "There are many tales about the Engarda Forest. You think nomeds and derves are bad. Well, wait till you hear this! They say that the very trees in the forest have been known to reach down and choke the life out of people. They say that their roots are like preying animals. They wrap around people, pull them beneath the earth, and then eat them alive. Ghosts walk the forest, looking for souls to possess.

"In the center of the forest," he continued, as Amase's eyes grew ever widening, "is a large cemetery. Some say those ghosts are the souls from the cemetery and that they wondah the land, othas say they are merely evil spirits, demons you know." He was now enjoying the tale, and let his voice drop to a deeper, more ominous tone. "Some say an evil witch rules the forest, and no one who entahs the forest evah leaves."

Amase saw a hole in this story and sought to use it. "If they neva leave," he asked, "then where do the legends come from?"

Ozni buckled with laughter.

"Ah, I hate smaht lads," Navi said, turning up his lip and chuckling.

"No, you just hate lads that outsmaht you, mate," Ozni said.

"That's not a rare thing to find though, is it, mate?" blurted Zilgar, laughing at his own joke.

"Funny, scamp! Real funny," Navi replied, his ghost story now at an end.

For two more days they rode through the mountains. The landscape grew duller, the firmament grayer, and the whispers of the derves continuously agitated their consciences and discouraged their spirits.

"You're going to die," the hideous voices whispered.

"Darvan is going to kill you."

"Darvan knows you're here."

"Your friend is dead. I saw them kill them." These words were fighting words for Zilgar. But with a strong word from Vandorf, Zilgar let it rest for now.

Their faint whispers peeled away at the riders' hope. They were tired and more discouraged than ever. Nothing seemed to be going right.

They ascended up a large mountain, aiming for its summit that they might break the ridge and descend into more level land. The down pulling limbs of the trees looked as though they were begging for water. Dirt turned up under the feet of the mounts in the cracked soil. Vegetation wasn't altogether dead here, but it was on its way. The higher they ascended up the mount, the more lifeless the land became.

As they approached the summit of the mountain, they heard hooves beating the ground. They donned their mail jackets, drew their swords and listened. It was a large company of Riders of Quadar. The derves in the trees grew excited at the inescapable collide and began to jump up and down like laughing monkeys. The clash was inevitable; there was nowhere to hide this time.

"I told you. Darvan knows you're here!" hissed one.

"Told you so!" They all had some smart remark they wanted to make. Anything to taunt them with.

The Riders of Quadar were running full speed ahead up the opposite side. They crested the ridge the same time the Circle of Riders did. Fog blanketed the summit up to the bridles of the mounts. The blackened faces of the dark riders looked like the dead riding out of hell, their faces hovering just above the fog. With their swords prepped to kill, they charged toward the Circle of Riders, their black capes as always grappling in the wind.

They came to head at the clearing on the summit, rushing in to cross blades and claim the balance of power. The sound of steel against steel bounced across the mountainous region sending an echo of war and violence. Riders of Quadar spilled over onto the crowning of the mount, their numbers rapidly increasing, quickly becoming a multitude. It was hard to tell how many there were because of the fog. Gilgore held an advantage point, having an unclouded view. He yanked dark riders off their horses and threw them over the cliff where they plummeted to their deaths and sliced his gigantic sword through others.

As always, Binko utilized his advantage by becoming one with the fog.

Leaping upon a rock, Nadora let loose a stream of arrows that rarely missed their targets. Vandorf joined her, hurling his metal weapons at them. Like a gazelle, Monguard sprang into action, his blade instantly wet with the blood of the enemy.

As they came to blows, a dragon dropped on the far side of the summit, the rider seemingly eager to make a grand entrance. It was in the heat of the battle that Navi looked up across the open summit and saw a man shrouded in a lavish-looking black cloak sitting astride the dark beast. His face was not clear in the fog, but when the wind shifted so did the fog, a blond strand of hair was revealed sticking out from beneath the black hood. _Is that Cozbi? Have we finally found the sword?_

Nadora, Skeener, and Ozni noticed him too. The three of them began to fight their way toward him. The blond rider smirked, as he watched them fight through the Riders of Quadar that blanketed the summit. He had more than a half-cocked ego. His chilling eyes stared at them with contempt as he arrogantly set his stone-cold face upon them.

Eager to shed blood, he leapt from his dragon and pulled out his sword. The sparkle of red rubies made it crystal clear what sword it was, and it was clearly Cozbi who wielded it. Even in the fog, the rubies danced of mystique, the nature of the beast, alluring and daring to be tried.

Looking at Nadora, with contempt at the very idea that a woman would attempt to take him on, he pushed a couple of his riders out of his way and eagerly rushed in towards her. With one clash against Nadora's sword, her blade flew out of her hands and she fell to the ground. The powerful sword hung just above her head.

"Nadora!" shouted Nuvatian. Sweat ran down his muscular arms as he withdrew his sword from the dark rider and broke into a full run toward her, Navi too trying to drive his way to her.

The rubies danced in the whites of her eyes as the Sword of Power hung dizzily just above her head. Her father's plea replayed in her mind. She should have listened. Now she would send her father's gray head to the grave in despair and the kingdom would go to a cousin, one of lesser abilities.

Suddenly, with the glint of a sparkle of the rubies came an onrush of arrows showering the vaulted gray summit. Not a one missed its target. In a rush to get out of the fight, one of the dark riders yanked Nadora up onto a horse and made way with her.

In that moment, confusion broke out on the summit and Ozni made a rash decision. Cozbi turned to leap upon his mount when Ozni ran forward with his sword, thrusting it toward Cozbi's back, disregarding his ken knowledge of the supernatural skill imparted by the Sword that had come to possess the one who cleaved to it. But Cozbi was nobody's fool. One would have thought he had eyes in the back of his head the way he spun around and blocked Ozni's sword. Then, with a quick thrust of the sword, Ozni fell to the ground. The sword penetrated his chain-mail like butter and his blood spilled to the ground. Gasping for life, his breath was stilled, and his eyes frozen. Wrapping his hands around the sword, his own blood smeared onto his hands. Now pulling his sword from Ozni's abdomen, Cozbi stepped back unmoved.

Ozni grasped at the last straw of his life, and then fell silent.

From the corner of his eye, Nimri caught a glimpse of what was transpiring. As he set his eyes upon Cozbi, Cozbi pulled back his hood, making his identity unquestionable. His face was not yet distorted but Nimri noticed a darksome shadow seeming to lie upon his face, likely not even noticeable to anyone else. With arrogance, Cozbi stared him down, gloating over his now-superior position.

Embittered that his trusted friend had betrayed him, Nimri froze, and his face hardened with a scowl as Cozbi rode off with the rest of his gang, but not before catching a glimpse of Amase out of the corner of his eye. Cozbi twisted in his seat to get a second look at those discerning eyes that stared back at him.

Cozbi signaled to those under his command to nab Amase. He wanted to know more about this kid. They snagged Amase from behind, ripping him off his mount. Akiylah pulled her string ready to let loose the fatal arrow. Instead, she lowered her bow and watched as they made way with Amase in tow.

Navi held up his staff in his left hand as he shielded himself with his sword, but it was useless, he couldn't do both at the same time.

At the opposite side of the summit, near the cliff's edge, the fighting was still winding down. Windsor swung his sword across the abdomen of a lingering dark rider, just as another rider was swinging at him, Windsor ducked, and the sword caught the other Rider of Quadar across the neck; his blood sprayed across Windsor, wetting him thoroughly. Then, the wizard swung at the other rider, catching his blade, knocking the evil rider's sword to the ground.

As Windsor reared his sword back, the dark rider charged at him from amongst the haze, so that the force knocked Windsor clear off his feet and both fell back, plummeting over the rocky cliff and through the fog.

Dark riders scattered. Hoofs pounded the ground making a quick escape. Silence replaced the sound of swords. The derves in the trees jumped up and down in excitement. Two vultures sat in a tree edged with brown crusty leaves, studying their feast below. In a panic, some of the riders ran to Ozni, while others rushed to the edge of the cliff where Windsor had plunged. The Circle of Riders was scattered. Their minds were riddled with pessimism, their hearts crestfallen.

Immortal shadows shifted in the woods. Akiylah ran out of the fog and to the edge of the cliff, but she could see nothing through the murky fog. "Windsor!" she cried out, over and over. Her voice echoed across the valley. There was only silence.

The vaulted gray sky suddenly seemed grayer, and the dull landscape a bit duller.

Thank you for reading The Circle: The Uniting. Coming soon, book two, The Circle: The Curse of Quadar and book three, The Circle: The Reversal. Connect with me at https://www.facebook.com/NdBaileyTheCircle

Your reviews matter to me. I want this story to be the best that it can be that it may be enjoyed far and wide. Connect with me and tell me who your favorite character is.

Appendix

### Character Sketch

**Windsor** is a traditional and ancient wizard. He is believed to be the oldest living mortal, one of the few who recalls life as an immortal, and even rarer, the world before the mortal fall. He is well versed in the ancient prophecies, himself being a contributor of such ecstatic experiences. He is also a grandmaster of the sword. There is much to be learned of this man of many lifetimes of experiences. His dragon's name is Moridar.

**Navi** is a hip wizard, one more receptive to the younger generation. He and Windsor clash at times, often because of Navi's unorthodox practices and his disrespect for tradition. His beloved dragon is Inka and the scales of the dragon suite Navi perfectly with the hues of purple, Navi's favorite color.

**Nuvatian** is a knight of high ranking in the army of Shalahem, a handsome one at that. He serves as an assistant to Gilmanza, the grand sword master and head instructor over all the schools of the knights. Nuvatian is very serious about his duties and serves to the utmost of his ability. His childhood friends are Nimri and Cozbi.

**Nadora** is the daughter of the king of Shalahem, King Chess. Her mother died while she was a young girl, so the king raised her himself the only way he knew how; thus, she is highly skilled in archery, swordsmanship, horse riding, and the politics of the kingdom. She has a strong sense of independence and perceives her privileged position to a call to duty to the kingdom. She holds her weight in swordsmanship and serves as a rider among the men, a stance some among them resent. She too rides a dragon, whose name is Orpah

**Cozbi** is a highly skilled knight of Shalahem and best friends with Nuvatian. He is very competitive and at times a tad bit arrogant.

**Nimri** is a knight of Shalahem and best friends with Cozbi and Nuvatian.

**Gilmanza** is an ancient grandmaster of the sword and the chief instructor of the knights of Shalahem. He is best friends with Windsor

**Skeener** is a Gommit. Large cheeks characterize Gommits. They live in the southern regions of Shalahem. Skeener stutters when he speaks.

**Vandorf** is an Earthdweller. He is tall and thin and often keeps his long hair pulled back in a ponytail. He always believed that the cursed sword of Darvan would resurface during his lifetime and was confident that he would be among the riders who carried out the last and great mission pertaining to the curse. While most Earthdwellers are pacifists, Vandorf, although once one with his fellow townsmen in their anti-war sentiments, embraces war as a necessary evil. He was converted to this belief after tragedy came to his home many years ago.

**Fleece** is an Earthdweller and an apprentice to Vandorf. He was not among the chosen but talked his way into riding. He is superstitious, especially about his lucky medallion, which he relies upon to guide his decision making. Nonetheless, he holds his own in swordsmanship.

**Monguard** is a Waddi and lives in the southern region of Shalahem. He is the most skilled of young men and the most limber. He has a peculiar nervous tick that has given occasion for rumors of a supernatural nature. Around the campfire he like to whittle wood into sculptures.

**Binko** is an Elf. He is tall and thin with dark hair. His brother is Darbi. He rides a flying zebra like creature that has power to become invisible along with the Elf. These magical zebras are rare and are only found among the Elves.

**Buldar** is a Sorb. Sorbs are characterized with two horns on their heads. He is a very intelligent man and loves to share his knowledge. He is from the northeast region of Shalahem.

**Ozni** is a Himp. Although humanoids, Himps are known for their goat like features. He is a widower, a hard worker, and a man that enjoys playing practical jokes.

**Zilgar and Zorgar** are Vikings from the northwestern region of Shalahem. They have mangy hair, poor hygiene, sloppy etiquette, short temperaments. Being that they are brothers doesn't help that much.

**Gilgore** is a giant from the west of Shalahem.

**King Japhia Chess** is the king of Shalahem and Nadora's father.

**King Japhia Cervanius Justiz** is the Immortal King, the only Immortal king remaining.

**Sagran** is Amase's adopted father. He joins the riders after his wife is killed in a raid upon their village.

**Amase** is an Awnee, an extinct people group from ancient days. His facial features are sort of sheepish and he has cleft feet. He is quiet and has a mysterious aura about him.

**Darvan** is the epitome of evil. He rose up against the Immortal King, King Justiz, ages past and caused the downfall of many. King Justiz placed a curse upon him, one that he has been bound to ever since. He resides in Quadar, a once beautiful land now made into a wasteland by his poisonous ways. His followers are the dark riders, warriors who are rotting even while they live.

**Dero** is the evil wizard, a loyal subject of Darvan.

**Ormandel** is an old friend of Windsor and Gilmanza. Years ago he was captured by Darvan during a time of war and was believed to be dead. He was tortured and now suffers repercussions from the traumatic events.

**Akiylah** is an immortal woman and Windsor's lost love.

**Fletcher** is an old friend and comrade of Windsor and Gilmanza.

**Pantika** is an herbalist and owner of an apothecary store in Norgidian.

