by N.D. Bailey
"Tolkien meets C. S. Lewis somewhere between Mordor and the wardrobe."-Steve Trinward, editor.
This book is dedicated to people all over the world who suffer from injustices.
“Let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream” (Amos 5:24).
The Circle:
Book I: The Uniting
By N. D. Bailey
Copyright 2012 N. D. Bailey
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 - Shilly Shally Road
Chapter 2 - Harvest Celebration
Chapter 3 - A Mysterious Knight
Chapter 4 - A Meeting at the Castle
Chapter 5 - One Dark Night
Chapter 6 - A Story to Tell
Chapter 7 - Returning to the Castle
Chapter 8 - A Discovery
Chapter 9 - An Ancient Prophecy
Chapter 10 - The Land of the Gommits
Chapter 11 - Monguard the Waddi
Chapter 12 - The Shovi: Land of the Earthdwellers
Chapter 13 - The Land of the Himps
Chapter 14 - Skin Deep
Chapter 15 - The Wise and the Green
Chapter 16 - Elves and Sorbs
Chapter 17 - The Forest of Mirth
Chapter 18 - Liberation
Chapter 19 - A Score to Settle
Chapter 20 - A Night in a Cave
Chapter 21 - Over the Snowy Mountains
Chapter 22 - Vikings
Chapter 23 - The Tomb of Murdorf
Chapter 24 - Jimmy
Chapter 25 - Wet Wood
Chapter 26 - The Passage of Crossing
Chapter 27 - Shy Kadesh
Chapter 28 - Love Hurts
Chapter 29- Ormandel
Chapter 30- The Ride Back
Chapter 31 - Betrayal
Chapter 32- The Search Begins
Chapter 33 - Talking, Taunting, and Dreaming
Chapter 34 - Gadilrod
Chapter 35 - The Potter
Chapter 36 - Discouragement
Chapter 37 - Norssod
Chapter 38 - Darvan
Chapter 39 - Randorin
Chapter 40 - The Immortals
Chapter 41 - Painful Memories
Chapter 42 - Norgidian and the Apothecary
Chapter 43 - Darfin
Chapter 44 - Saying Goodbye
Chapter 45 - Windsor's Words of Wisdom
Chapter 46 - The Summit
Appendix: Character Outline
About the Author
First, I thank God who graced me with this story while I was flat on my back. This story gave me hope during a desperate time of suffering. Thank you for entrusting this story to me. Now, I give it back to you and pray that you bless others with it. A special thanks to my mother who allowed me to bounce my ideas off of her. You encouraged me not to give up. I thank my step-father who takes such good care of my mother. Thanks to my sister who read the first rough draft. I know it was rough, that's why they call it a rough draft. I cannot offer enough appreciation to Ted and Judy Gee for "adopting" me when I was in the thongs of death undergoing that painful process called higher education. Since you treat me like one of your own kids, I'll send you the bill I racked up. Just kidding. You're friendship is priceless. A special thanks to Steve Trinward for his painstaking editorial work. Your careful eye and brilliant advice helped improve this work. I also offer a special thank-you to my friend, Judy Buck who has stuck by me. You are few and far between. I also thank Dr. Satish Cudappah and his team for helping me in my battle with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. You're the best doctor in the whole world in my eyes. Kelly, your compassion and care is immeasurable. I want to thank Tammy Hall for her amazing artistic work on the cover design.
Shilly Shally Ford
Finding the cursed sword of Darvan was most unexpected. It ruining his life, well that he should have expected since ruining lives is what it has always done. But it leading up to global war and the end of all things as they knew it--well that he never expected since he was not acquainted with the ancient prophecies. And the finding of the sword at Shilly Shally Ford as being noteworthy, this he had not a clue about either.
The jubilant sound of singing reverberated across the mountainous ridges that decorated the vast region of the Land of Shalahem. The strong male voice echoed in an alto pitch, giving melody to a landscape worthy of such music. This was the rhapsodic song that could be heard resounding across the land:
I pledge myself to be courageous, strong, and brave,
To protect our citizens from the evil way.
I will fight for my country, my king, and my God
Stand with my brothers like two peas in a pod
For this is the pledge and the song of the knight.
To walk with integrity in the kingdom of the light
Standing for the truth, doing what’s right
When our kingdom is threatened we fight, fight, fight
A knight must demonstrate compassion and nobility
Carrying his sword in honor, truth, and humility
Lending a hand to those in need
Defending the Kingdom against the evil seed.
For this is the pledge and the song of the knight.
To walk with integrity in the kingdom of the light
Standing for the truth, doing what’s right
When our kingdom is threatened we fight, fight, fight
Pip sang with zeal as he skipped along the dirt path in a mirthful manner, his unkempt amber hair bouncing in synch to the beat of his song and the wind blowing on his freckled face.
Pip dreamed of becoming a knight but was yet to get accepted into the school. The last time he applied he was too young. Now, his ambitions of leisure were far greater than his disciplines in the nobility of knighthood. As a result, Pip had temporarily settled on the order of knights that stuck strictly to acts of goodwill rather than acts of gallantry in combat—which, according to most interpretations, was no order of knighthood at all. But Pip had not given up yet, for in a few weeks, he would be applying again for the school of knights, hoping to muster up the discipline required for such lofty ambitions.
Strictly speaking, this humanitarian order was a far cry from knighthood. In truth, the order was formed out of community need, and a title had been given simply to entice volunteers. Most true knights, as well as other more prestigious people, snubbed their noses at the idea of a hospitable order of knighthood, failing to recognize the efforts of peace as being at least equal to those of combat. Although this order of knighthood was mocked by many, most people liked Pip. Being well-known for his jovial and generous ways, Pip was well received by even the most inimical persons.
Pip, absorbed in gaiety, was unaware of the presence of four bulging eyeballs peering through the thick of the forest, scouting Pip’s every move. Red spider-veins in the whites of their wide eyes pulsated with mischief as they devised a plan against him, spurred only by their own boredom and innate wickedness. It was two nomeds, nefarious creatures to the very center of their core, inherently and unredeemably wicked.
Thin sprigs of hair stood out, randomly scattered across their heads, insufficient to conceal the raised purplish-red veins beneath their ghostly skin. Their veins jutted out over their bodies beneath their delicate skin like a road map for the blind. Although small in stature, hardly reaching three feet, nomeds were vicious creatures capable of the most brutal of crimes. They were also logical creatures, able to plan and plot, and to make rational, although wicked, decisions.
Their preying eyes followed Pip, tracking him as they dashed through the forest, attempting to get far ahead of the lad. Their skinny legs glided swiftly and their long toes turned the dir
t along the path. They scurried along, using their hands that dangled to the ground to increase their speed.
Reaching the fork in the road at Shilly Shally Ford, one snarled to the other, “Let’s have some fun with this guy.”
“What do you suggest?”
“The swamp.” He divulged his sharp dun teeth. Scheming and plotting evil was natural for them. They loved it; they lived for it. It was in their blood.
“Then his blood will be mingled with the dirt,” said the other, his voice growing louder with increasing enthusiasm.
“Shhhh! You idiot, he will hear us,” said the other nomed peering out from the woods.
Although Pip’s sense of hearing was engaged in his own noisemaking, the screech dimly reached his ear. He hushed and decreased his gait to a slow and uncertain walk as he surveyed his surroundings. Suddenly, the sound of an eagle pierced the blue skyline and became visible overhead.
“An eagle. I knew I heahd somethin’,” Pip said to himself returning to his skipping and singing.
Scurrying further ahead and turning the corner at the fork in the road, the first one hunkered down behind the brush at the edge of the path and waited. The second nomed followed on his heels. The two now watched Pip as he approached the fork in the road at Shilly Shally Ford.
“For this is the pledge and the song of the knight,” he sang.
Hunkered down low, the two nomeds darted out from the woods towards Pip.
“To walk with integrity in the kingdom of the liiiggghhhtt.” Pip hardly knew what hit him as he slid down the ledge of the cliff and splashed into a swampy lagoon.
“Blasted! Well, nab a noose! Blasted!” he said, trying to stand up. “What sort of critter was that?” Peeping between some blades of swamp grass Pip didn’t see anything and concluded that whatever it was it must have run off.
“Rats, I’m all wet!” Grabbing a sturdy- looking vine that hung on the edge of the water, he tried to pull himself up. Just as he began to gain some leverage the shoot broke, and Pip fell backward into the water making another splash.
“Blasted vine,” he said, trying to haul himself through the mud and up the embankment. “Oouch,” he yelped as something sharp sliced his hand. Blood pooled up on the surface of his skin and ran down the tip of his forefinger. Pulling out a wet handkerchief from his back pocket, Pip one-handedly tied the cloth around his hand, tightening it by pulling one corner with his crooked teeth.
Now, Pip was curious to find out what had caused this injury. Digging through the mud, Pip pulled out a sharp steel sword with a unique handle, decorated with diamond shaped ruby stones surrounding an emblazoned diadem inlaid with gold. It was an exquisite sword, truly the work of a master craftsman.
“What a beauty you are.” He washed away the mud so he could get a better look at this fine piece of antiquity. As he gripped its handle, the sword seemed to radiate with power, making Pip feel strong and invincible.
“A new sword. I’ve been wantin’ me a new sword,” Pip soliloquized.
The two nomeds peered through the trees trying to see what Pip was doing, curious that he had not yet come up the embankment. From where they were, all they could see was the top of his muddy head.
Standing in waist-deep murky water, Pip swung the sword to the left and then to the right. It didn’t take long for him to realize that this sword was unique, as it generated power and seemed to almost call him by name.
Then it struck him. “Ahhh! I know what you… I’ve heahd tales ’bout you.” He whispered in a voice with overtones of both mystery and suspense.
Still deep in mud, Pip washed the remainder of the soil away from the weapon, and then stood there, staring at the sword in disbelief. Finally, he came to his senses, realizing he was still standing in the swamp. He started to pull himself up the slippery embankment, but only slid backwards, getting wet all over again.
Thrusting his left hand into the mud to try to stop his fall, Pip felt something beneath the mire. After regaining his steadiness, he noticed a glint of white. He reached down and pulled at the object. To his horror a skeletal hand popped out of the muck. Aghast, he jerked, and forgetting to let go of the hand, he pulled the torso of the corpse out of the mud. Screaming in terror, he stared into the frozen face of the grim remains of a stiff corpse, some bone exposed.
Hysterical, Pip dropped the sword and managed to scramble up the embankment. Frantic and scared, he was intending to run as fast as he could to the city, when suddenly, he felt the power of the sword reach at his immortal soul. It was as if the sword had a magnetic pull upon him, enticing him and even claiming him as its possessor. Pip tugged at a tuft of hair on his head as he wrestled with what he should do. His thoughts took on every option: Leave the sword and pretend you nevah laid eyes upon it. No, go back and get it; it’s yours! But what if the legends be true? Yeah, but even if they are, I’m diffant. I will get into the school of the knights and be the best knight evah.
With some reluctance, Pip climbed back down the embankment. Cringing at the corpse, he picked up the sword, and immediately a surge of power rushed through him. He held the sword in his hand and swung it cautiously. As he felt its power, caution turned to confidence. Suddenly, he recalled in his mind some of the ancient tales he had heard, tales of its prior possessors and how they ruled ruthlessly with it. Fear began to mount up in Pip’s heart.
“I don’t want to become like them,” he whispered. “I must bury it back where I found it, and forget that I evah laid eyes upon it.” He began to push the sword into the mud, but the sword seemed to protest, and a jolt of power shot through his body, arousing confidence, and subsiding all fears.
“I’m diffant from the othahs,” reasoned Pip. “I can use it for the good of humanity. That’s it. I can make somethin’ good out of it,” he whispered to himself. Looking around, he dug the sword out of the mud, washed it, drew it close to himself, and scrambled back up the embankment.
As Pip surfaced, the two nomeds were peering through the trees to see what had been occupying their prey. Seeing Pip bearing a sword, they both studied it, trying to get a better look at it. The sunlight captured the sparkles of the rubies and they danced in the tree limbs.
“It’s the Sword of Darvan,” hissed one. The pair had merely been looking to have some mischievous entertainment at Pip’s expense. Finding the Sword of Darvan was an unforeseen contingency in their mischievous plot of games.
“It’s just as the ancient prophesy says.” The nomed repeated the prophecy with a wily rasp to his voice:
O land of Shalahem,
That seeks to be redeemed.
You sought for peace,
But instead found a sword,
At the fork in the road,
At Shilly Shally Ford.
Now your way of peace,
Has come to an end;
With division among you,
How will you defend?
Your kingdom divided,
Will not stand,
And you will be no more,
In this land.
Down, down you will fall,
The quest for power,
Will fool you all.
For the Sword of Darvan,
Will create discord;
And you will cut your throats,
With your own swords.
