by N.D. Bailey
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.
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.