by N.D. Bailey
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.