The Circle: The Uniting

by N.D. Bailey

  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 an
d 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 Zilg
ar, 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 wer
e 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.