The Circle: The Uniting

by N.D. Bailey

  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 oth
ahs.” 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 Co
zbi 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 the
ir 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.)