by N.D. Bailey
It was dark outside when they reached the Land of the Himps. They rode past numerous wooden houses built atop the trees and stopped in front of a smaller rickety one. They climbed the wooden steps and rapped on the door. No answer came from within.
“Rap, rap, rap,” they knocked again, but there was still no answer. Assuming he was probably in the fields working late, they went around back but did not see him, so they waited.
After waiting an hour, Cozbi spoke up. “I think we should go on without him. We are wasting time just sitting here.”
“We are not going to leave without him,” Gilmanza answered, taking his rightful position as leader.
“Well, we might be waiting all…” began Cozbi.
“We are not goin’ anywhere!” Navi said, interrupting him in mid-sentence. “We will wait right here until Ozni gets home. Understand, scamp?”
As the riders waited, they watched the sky grow darker as the moon hid behind the clouds. “What if he has gone somewhere and is not coming back for a while?” asked Cozbi again, growing impatient after the continued delay.
“We wait until he gets here,” Navi answered, giving him a cold stare.
“You know, we passed a little local watering trough for the horses, why don’t I take them to get some water,” Monguard said, seeking to defuse the situation.
“Good idea, crony. I’ll help you.” Standing and taking hold of Inka’s reins, Navi limped off with Monguard and the mounts, using his staff as a walking device.
With the light from Navi’s orb, they found the watering trough. The horses, along with the stelleto and dragon, began to drink, while Monguard and Navi made small talk with each other. Suddenly there was a noise. “Shhh!” interrupted Monguard, trying to listen as his head made a jerk to the side. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” asked Navi.
“Shhhh! Listen!” Monguard said, having a keen sense of hearing. Just in the background you could hear the sound of whispering, mingled with a hideous laughter.
“Come on,” said Navi, “let’s get back!” He began limping back toward the others. As they were approaching the others, they heard a ruckus coming from around the corner of the house. Startled, Gilmanza and Cozbi leapt to their feet and pulled out their swords. Monguard pulled his dagger from his sheath and Navi raised his staff, balancing on one leg. He was ready to use his power just as soon as he knew what was coming at them. One of the horses jumped back, startled by the noise, now spooking the other mounts.
Suddenly, two cats raced around the corner. The noise startled Inka, too. Arching his back, the dragon breathed a burst of fire, barely missing the second cat and catching the fence post ablaze.
“Well, scamps!” Navi said with a smile. “We nearly had roasted cat for dinnah,”
The sound of the ruckus stirred someone inside. Much to the surprise of the riders, the door of the house sprang open, and there stood a peculiar looking man in his drawers and tee shirt. It was Ozni.
Ozni was a Himp and all Himps have facial features that are sort of goatish-like. Their ears flop over and they have narrow faces with goat-like features and a goat-like beard. The rest of them, however, are humanoid.
“Ozni! Crony! Your home!” Navi cried. “Don’t you tell me you’ve been inside this entire time!”
“Uuuhhh, yeah,” Ozni said, as he reached for a bucket of water to pour on his burning fencepost. With bare feet, he climbed down the steps from his tree house and poured the water over the fire, putting out the blaze. On his way back up the steps a splinter snagged his foot. “Oouch,” he winced, reaching down to yank the splinter out.
He turned to his visitors, “What are you tryin’ to do, anyway, Buhn my house down?”
“Not at all, crony” said Navi. “We just saw a cat and thought we might have it for dinnah.”
“Aahhh,” grumbled Ozni as he called for his pet cat. “Kitty, kitty, kitty,” he called out, rubbing his goatish beard.
“We’ve been out here for a long time?” scolded Cozbi.
“You should have knocked,” Ozni answered.
“We did.”
“You should have knocked harder.” Ozni shot the man a silencing glare.
Noticing Ozni’s sleepy looking eyes, Gilmanza asked, “Did we wake you?”
“I wasn’t feelin’ well so I took me a little nap. Guess I overslept,” he said, ushering them inside his home. Picking up his cat to calm her, he noticed the edges of her tale were singed. He looked at Navi with great irritation.
“Sorry about that, mate,” Navi said. “Your cat scared my dragon. Nothin’ to worry about there, crony, he doesn’t eat meat, except for dried lizard and salamander. Of course, there is a first time for everything.”
“Yeah, he might not eat my cat but he sure did almost burn her alive,” snapped Ozni. “Good thing he didn’t. I would hate to have to kill me a dragon.”
“And I would hate to have to kill me a Himp,” Navi said, hobbling up the stairs and inside the cozy home. Ozni closed the door behind him.
“So, what brings yaw this way?” Ozni asked, halfway laughing at Navi.
“A mission,” Navi explained.
“A mission?”
“Ozni, the Sword of Dahvan is among us again,” Gilmanza said.
“How can you be sure?” Ozni suddenly became serious and alert.
“We found it,” Navi said, sitting on the floor and leaning against a strong tree that shot through the floor of his house built as one with the forest. “It’s in a safe place,” he added.
“Is there anywhere truly safe for the sword?” asked Ozni.
Interrupted by a noise outside, Navi stumbled over to the door, carrying his sword in his hand and his leg behind him. He peered out the window. “Nomeds. Monguard and I heard them when we were watering the horses.”
“Is that what got a hold of your leg there, mate?” asked Ozni, noticing the blood- soaked bandage and red stained pants.
“Sure is. My favorite riding pants too.”
“Here, let’s get that fixed up. I’ll heat up some water,” Ozni said.
“Thanks, crony.” They quickly returned to the matter at hand. “One more thing about that sword,” he said. “It was found at Shilly Shally Ford.”
“Shilly Shally Ford!” Ozni was fully awake now, being a possessor of this private knowledge. “Are you sure of this?”
“Yeah! We’re pretty sure the man who found it is telling the truth,” answered Gilmanza. “He had no idea of the significance of the location.”
“This is it then, mate,” Ozni said, scratching his wooly goatish head. His long scratchy hair curled up down his back, but the front he kept short, finding it annoying when it falls into his face. “We are headed for the last great battle. I—I hardly know what to say,”
After cleaning Navi’s wound, the riders talked for a while over a slab of roasted beef and fresh vegetables from the garden; then, they began to grow tired. “Let’s get a good night sleep and we’ll get an early staht in the mornin,” said Ozni. He pulled out blankets for everyone and added more wood to the fire.
At dawn Navi awoke, with extreme pain in his leg. Even so, he did not allow that to impair his mischievous nature. Navi limped over and nudged Ozni awake. The two of them dug through Monguard’s riding bag and pulled out some smelly ointment he had mixed up for a wound his horse had, one he received on his rear just days before, and put it in Monguard’s right hand that lay open by his side. Taking a feather, they tickled his nose. Feeling the irritation of the feather on his nose, Monguard swiped his face with his right hand, smearing the ointment onto his face, and rudely waking himself up. Navi and Ozni roared with laughter. Gilmanza and Cozbi joined in the fun, having been mere spectators.
“Aaaahhh!” moaned Monguard. “Funny! Real funny,” he added. Taking a whiff, Monguard caught the fragrance, “That’s gross! That’s the cream I put on my horses butt.” The roar of laughter that erupted could have raise
d the ceiling. “Your time will come, my friend. You know what they say about paybacks!” Navi wasn’t worried about it. Monguard wasn’t the mischievous type, or so he thought. He was a quiet and polite individual, the kind who brushes off offenses instead of keeping a record.
After a scrumptious breakfast and gathering their belongings, the riders strapped their swords to their sides and rode east, toward the Land of the Elves. As they passed Ozni’s garden, Navi noticed it was full of weeds. This was uncharacteristic of Ozni. Navi, like Windsor, couldn’t help but mentally inspect each person, searching for any clue that might signal that selecting them was a mistake. He pondered the prophecy of Zur: ‘Choose carefully, lest a betrayer be among them.’ Ozni never allows a single weed to remain in his garden. Has he changed? Maybe he isn’t well? Have we selected carefully enough?
Skin Deep
The herd of wild horses gave a feel of freedom and beauty to the plains as the riders in the east galloped through them. Navi, Gilmanza, and Monguard’s long hair tangled in the wind. The horses among them whinnied, as though they envied the freedom of the wild horses.
Approaching the edge of the forest, Navi pointed to a greenish slime tainting the edges of a cluster of leaves. “Derves,” he noted. The riders drew their swords, and looked upward. High up in the trees were a group of derves looking down over them. The little three-foot-tall creatures leapt from tree to tree following them. Cohorts to Darvan, the wicked critters were never up to any good. Their brown skin and bald heads nearly blended into the trees. Navi could see their beady eyes watching their every move. Their eyes were stained a dirty-yellow color as though they lived on the juices of tobacco. Because they produced a slimy green secretion through pores in their skin, they often left traces of their presence behind. It tainted the leaves of the trees, the ground, for that matter, anything they touched. Again, Gilmanza ordered Monguard to put on his mail. Obeying the orders, Monguard strapped on his mail; then realized that no one else had put theirs on. But he didn’t say a word.
Trotting through the forest, they could hear the whisperings of the derves. They had been traveling through the forest for some time when they approached the Zeppri River, a large river that winds through the mountains. They steered their beasts into the flowing waters. The river was deep and their horses were immersed nearly up to their backs. The unthreatening waters flowed over the legs of the riders soaking their pant legs. The riders were halfway across the wide river, when suddenly, to their unforeseen contingency, the nomeds made a bold move. They had ensconced themselves in the water just before the riders arrived. Veiny hands emerged from out of the water and grabbed at the legs of the riders, pulling them from their mounts. The riders hardly expected this, for they were only aware of the presence of derves. They never expected nomeds to be hiding beneath the waters.
The nomeds had been anticipating their arrival since they’d seen them enter the forest. Caught by surprise, the riders had no time to consider the matter, only to react according to their own excellent training. Gilmanza swung his sword, cutting the arm of a nomed that had latched onto his leg. Meanwhile, one grabbed Ozni’s foot, nearly pulling him from his horse. With a swift wave of his blade, it fell beneath the water gurgling as it sank. Another grabbed Monguard’s leg and sunk his teeth into his flesh, mingling blood with the water.
As yet another nomed grabbed Cozbi’s foot, he swung his sword just as the nomed was about to pull him off. Cozbi disarmed the vile creature, literally. The veiny hand clamped onto Cozbi’s foot for a few seconds before it fell off. Another nomed crawled atop Cozbi’s horse and dug its claws into his scalp. Cozbi stretched around, trying to get a hold of the devilish creature, but the witty little critter was not within his reach. Navi, hearing Cozbi’s yell, knocked the nomed in the back of the head, with such great force he knocked the eyeballs right out of their sockets, across Cozbi’s lap and into the water. The nomed immediately fell limp and Cozbi slung it off and onto the muddy banks of the river.
Then, another nomed grabbed Monguard’s ankle, this time succeeding in pulling him off his horse. He tugged and pulled at the mail as he sunk beneath the water that had now become a threat. I’m sinking! This metal! I can’t breathe. He fought as much with the metal that he thought was going to be het death of him as he did with the critter that had attacked to him. He held his breath and wrestled both, finally succeeding in choking the life out of the nomed. It was Navi who pulled him up to the surface and saved him from his armor.
Ozni, fighting to stay afloat, was suddenly pulled under the water too. Gilmanza reached down for his hand, but he too got pulled into the water. With his dagger in his hand, Gilmanza rammed it into the back of the skull of one of the nomeds that had pulled him under. Moments later, he quickly ascended for a gasp of air. Ozni, however, had not yet surfaced. Gilmanza dove down into the water in search for him, straining to see through the murky water. In that moment, the water turned blood-red. A few seconds later, Gilmanza and Ozni surfaced together.
Hearing the ruckus at the river, several other nomeds in the forest came running, their fingers and toes turning the dirt, anxious to get in on the fun. The derves in the trees jumped up and down like excited monkeys, being only spectators to the show. The riders were now making their way to the banks and out of the bloody water. As Monguard pulled himself out of the water, the veiny hands of a nomed reached out of the water and grabbed his foot; then, another nomed came up and grabbed his shoulders, yanking him beneath the water. He was an excellent swimmer but the metal garb was sinking him again. Frantic, his friends jumped back in to help him.
Now, another nomed pulled Navi under the water. This prompted Inka to come barreling in, his tail smashing at the nomeds, forcing them to release their grip on Navi. The dragon pushed two more nomeds to the bottom of the river with his tail; then, he stepped on them, squashing them with his foot. Navi made his way towards Inka. “Thanks, friend” he said to his beloved ally.
In that moment, he caught a glimpse of Cozbi standing on the riverbank, a lone watcher over their fates. Navi set his piercing eyes on him, chiding him for his self-centeredness. Suddenly, a nomed sunk his teeth around Navi’s ankle and pulled him under the water. Cozbi hesitated, as the words of the prophecy raced through his mind; then, he dove into the water with his dagger in his hand. Fighting with the nomed, Cozbi ran his dagger through the vile creature’s abdomen. Navi quickly resurfaced, freed once again. Then, Monguard surfaced in the middle of a pool of red water that quickly rushed down stream. In his left hand he clutched the head of a nomed and with his right his dagger. Gilmanza and Ozni dove back into the water to help Navi, who had only partial use of his leg. Cozbi fought back a group of nomeds then hurried to the bank.
When they were all out of the water, Navi yelled from the riverbank, “Fire away, Inka!” Immediately, Inka breathed out rings of fire, causing the water in the river to nearly boil. The nomeds shrieked in pain, their cries piercing the silence of the forest. Sitting on the banks, Gilmanza, Navi, and Cozbi recalled the prophecy Windsor had spoken just before they rode off:
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 their plans,
They have set their snare.
The Circle they would destroy,
If you forget 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.
It had happened just as he had prophesied. More importantly, they ha
d remained an unbroken circle—but only narrowly.
“It looks like they are more than spyin’ eyes,” Navi said, pressing one hand on his thigh and another on his ankle. He tied a fresh rag around both, now looking more like a veteran of war than a wizard.
Monguard, not saying a word, took off the mail that weighed him down and threw it on the ground where he left it. His head was now jerking in succession. He nonchalantly wrapped a rag around his right arm and his leg, both spewing a steady stream of blood.
Their wounds were more than skin deep but at least they were alive.
The riders paused and then rode off, Monguard leaving behind his mail that he found to be nothing more than a nuisance.
Meanwhile, in the west, Windsor was looking through the orb atop his staff. He saw all that had transpired. He was pleased to see that they had remained united.
The Wise and the Green
“Wake up,” Windsor said to Nuvatian, prodding him on the shoulder with his staff. “Coffee is on the table.” Then Windsor gave Nimri a motivating nudge.
Vandorf had been up for hours. Anticipation had given way to restlessness. He had precisely packed everything he needed, each item having its own spot in his saddle bag. Nothing was out of order and everything was clean, not even having a speck of dust.
The riders awoke and began to prepare to ride, donning their gear and packing their bags. Fleece slipped off to another room away from the others to flip his medallion one last time, seeking clarification concerning his decision to ride. The thoughts of possibly dying caused Fleece to have second thoughts.
Tossing his lucky coin, Fleece soliloquized, “If I’m supposed to go then let it land on the image of the dragon and if I’m not supposed to go then let it land on the image of Shalahem.” Tossing his coin into the air, it landed on the dragon. He gripped it with enthusiasm, the confirmation he was hoping for.
“Fleece, come on,” Vandorf shouted from the other room as he put on his polished riding boots and strapped his finely sharpened sword to his side. “And put down that stupid coin.”
Fleece’s mouth dropped in astonishment. “How did he know I was flipping my medallion?” He gathered his belongings and tucked his lucky medallion safely inside his pocket. He had a hunch he would need it along the way.
Now, the Earthdwellers sharply disagreed with all manner of war. So, when the riders rode out the next morning, they received more than a couple of unwelcoming glances. The esoteric community was aware of Vandorf’s controversial views; thus, some in the community out right shunned him. But Vandorf paid them no mind and neither did he hold a grudge. He politely nodded as he rode by knowing in his heart that he was doing what he felt was right. He knew from experience that war was hell and that peace was far greater. But he also knew from experience that sometimes fighting can be a means to self-preservation—and the preservation of others. This knowledge haunted him night and day. It was his once pacifist ways that had reduced his life to what it was: sad and unfulfilling.
He had a reason to fight.
The riders traveled for days without opposition. They crossed into needle leaf forests with rolling hills. Everything was pine-green as though fall had not touched this part of the country. While many trees were losing their leaves, these evergreen pines showed their true color year round. The riders inhaled the fresh scent allowing the pleasant aroma to tickle their nostrils.
By day they made progress through the terrain and by night they set up camp and slept. Routinely, Vandorf polished off the day’s dirt that had accumulated on his boots, wiped clean his gear, sharpened his sword, dusted off his clothes, and picked out his horses feet. It was a compulsion he couldn’t help. He liked cleanliness. He would bathe daily if water were available.
They finally neared the Land of the Giants. It was as they were traveling through that same needle leaf forest that Windsor pulled back on his reins. “We’re not alone. Stick togethah.” They drew their swords and steeled themselves for a battle. They traveled slowly, trying to listen for danger, confident that no surprise would befall them.
“Looks like there are a bunch of derves ahead,” Nuvatian said, pointing to a row of trees tainted with green slime. The green slime was hardly noticeable against the verdant pine trees, but experienced eyes know what to look for. Moments later, they heard the faint whisperings and hideous laughter from the trees above them, hiding in the midst of the foliage. The whispers followed them around every bend, every tree and every winding crook in the trail. Giddy whispers breathed intimidating, defeatist words; the whispers began to get inside their heads:
“The sword is your strength,” whispered one.
“This is far too dangerous; you’re gonna get yourself killed,” said another. Its wily voice sent chills down their spines.
“Why don’t you just use the sword for yourselves,” another advised. “The only way you can succeed is with the Sword of Power.”
It almost made sense if you listened to it long enough and were easily swayed by lies and legends--or if you were hungry for power.
As they plodded along through the forest, they could hear the derves above them, jumping from tree to tree, following them and taunting them with their babbling lies of pessimism: “You’re tired. You should turn back. You know this is a useless mission. Or, you can use the sword for yourself.”
“Yes, use the sword.”
“The sword promises success. Use the sword.” One after another after another taunted them, their persuasive and tempting lies rattled their rational thinking and pure motives. Breathing down their necks, they harassed them with enticing fantasies.
Growing weary of their antagonism, Vandorf nocked his bow, aimed, and shot it into a tree just above Nadora. A piercing shriek rang out and a dirty-green oily substance dripped down from the tree, landing on Nadora’s hand and face—the greenish-blue blood of a derve. Then the derve fell out of the tree, barely missing Nadora.
“Sorry about that, Nadora,” Vandorf apologized, wiping the blood off of her. “I’m just sick of listening to them.”
“I’m tough, I can handle it.” Nuvatian offered her a wide grin. He loved this girl. She wasn’t afraid of anything.
Vandorf nocked his bow again and shot his arrow a second time, hitting another derve. Another high-pitched screech rang out, followed by the sound of the wounded derve running through the forest. Thud. The derve fell down dead, an arrow sticking out of its back.
Now, derves sprang down from the trees on top of the riders, their claws raking at them, ripping at their flesh. With expert prowess Nadora thrust her sword through one that had landed on top of her, sliced open the abdomen of another, then threw her dagger into the backside of a third. Meanwhile, the others held their own, driving their swords through the hellish varmints and popping them with arrows.
It was not until Nadora took serious action that the devilish creatures ran off, almost as one, into the overgrowths of the forest. Coming face-to-face with one of the few varmints bold enough to confront her, she beheaded it, just before it extracted its claws. Still holding the decapitated head, she ranted and raved like a madwoman, as she drove her sword through every single diabolic creature she set eyes on. She cut the head off another derve, grabbed hold of its ear and yelled, “I’ll kill every last one of you!” In a speedy frenzy, they turned and ran for their lives.
A tall almost-red-head screaming with a sword in hand was enough to make almost anyone—or anything for that matter—run away.
She’s even sexy when she’s angry Nuvatian thought. What he would give to grab a handful of those long locks and kiss those luscious lips. The fire in her eyes burned an enticing curiosity within him. He liked a woman with passion. Even with blood pooling up on his arm, Nuvatian could still only think of her.
The riders were bleeding; their flesh was tattered and torn. Sweat dripped from their faces and mingled with their blood. But the riders still rode, and still br
eathed.
Vandorf was first to speak. “If derves are fighting us this boldly, then Dahvan eithah thinks that we have the sword or he is aware that we are rounding up the Circle of Ridahs.”
“Yes. It is probably both,” Windsor agreed. “He is certainly aware of the prophecies. They think we are carryin’ the sword with us.”
The Circle of Riders trotted along through the forest, unaware that just ahead of them, lurking in the trees, were yet another group of derves joined now by the one that had escaped the riders only moments ago. Meanwhile, just below them were the approaching shadowy figures of a band of Riders of Quadar, their capes draped over their shoulders like the black wings of ravens.
“The Circle of Riders is just ahead,” whispered several derves, all eager to be the informative one.
“There’s only six of them,” whispered one.
As the riders neared the last leg of the forest, they heard the sound of hooves pounding the ground. “Get ready, here they come,” Vandorf said. The riders that trusted in armor quickly strapped on their mail.
Windsor was ready for them. Strange words that sounded like gibberish proceeded from Windsor’s lips. In that moment, just as the dark riders rounded the corner of the forest, the horses of the dark riders stopped dead in their tracks. The peculiar words caused the horses to see an illusion of large and dangerous fire-breathing dragons standing face to face with them. Their monstrous heads were twice the size of a normal dragon and their blood-shot eyes dared them to try to come any closer. The eyes of the horses turned wild with terror. They reared kicking their feet at the threatening dragons, and ran off, dumping most of their riders along the way. Now, they became easy kills.
What the riders were unaware of was the second group of riders that rode in from a different direction, riding out from the thick of the forest, their swords drawn and eager to spill blood. Now, hand to hand combat was unavoidable.
Immediately, Windsor chattered out a quick word and power went out from his rod, knocking three dark riders to the ground, leaving them unconscious.
A single rider galloped full speed toward Nuvatian. Nuvatian’s sword clashed as he parried off the rider’s sword, then turned back and cut the rider down, the red blood splattering onto Valor’s black scales. Another dark rider circled around to the backside of Nadora, her bow aimed at a dark rider just ahead of her. His sword raised high, intent on taking her life, when he suddenly arched his back and fell straightaway from his horse. A spinnel was sticking out of his neck. Then, Nuvatian rode up from behind. He was glad he had tucked a few of those handy little weapons in his pack.
Meanwhile, Skeener and Fleece found themselves overwhelmed by riders. Skeener, skilled and experienced, was not moved by their number. But Fleece, skilled but inexperienced, grew faint hearted.
Perhaps I can outrun them, Fleece thought. Then, he turned his horse around and galloped through the forest, away from the riders. A slew of dark riders treaded on his heels, thirsty for blood.
“No, Fleece!” yelled Skeener. Skeener’s yell alerted the others to Fleece’s departure. Turning their horses around, the riders galloped in the direction Fleece had fled in, still engaging the dark riders who pursued them with reprisal, all eager to hold the honor of killing a rider of The Circle. With Vandorf and Nimri leading the way, they raced after Fleece, fighting off dark riders along the way. With superb skill, Nimri proved himself to those who didn’t know him that he was a warrior worthy of riding among them. The smoothness of his parry, the strength of his swing, a watchful eye, and the vigor of his youth made his an asset. Vandorf utilized his homemade weapons while Nadora rode with her bow nocked firing arrow upon arrow, never missing her target.
A dark rider circled around, seeking to cut them off further down the path. Straightaway, the rider of Quadar plunged in front of Vandorf, knocking him off his horse. Fighting his attacker from the ground, the Earthdweller tripped over a rock. Now the rider turned his horse again, aiming to run his sword through Vandorf, who hoped to roll out of the reach of the blade. But there was nowhere to roll, for a large tree was beside him. He reached for his dagger, but it had shifted in the fall. He had run out of options. Suddenly, Skeener rode swiftly by with his sword drawn and cut the rider down to size.
“Thanks mate,” Vandorf said, panting and picking up his sword, before immediately engaging three more riders, and swiftly cutting them down.
The fight led the riders out of the forest and into the clearing. Nadora leapt off her dragon and onto a large rock where she swiftly strung arrows through dark riders one after another. But it was Monguard and Windsor who brought a swift end to the battle. Like a wild man, he leapt here and there with a simple dagger in his hand and brought swift justice to every dark rider within his reach. Windsor, on the other hand, simply spoke two words and the rest of the dark riders fell over dead, becoming stiff corpses almost immediately.
Vandorf had a lesson to teach his pupil, one that he had failed to teach him in training.
“Don’t evah do that again.” Vandorf yelled, raising his voice at Fleece, the front of the boy’s shirt twisted in his fist. “You don’t run off. You got that?” He turned the shirt loose with a shove, and walked into the woods, fuming mad. “I knew he had no business coming.” The boy was humiliated.
It wasn’t so much that Vandorf was angry with the young man as much as he was with himself. The weight of guilt he carried daily for all the blood he already had on his hands bent him over in regret. The last thing he needed was more guilt, more blood, and more failure.
Needing to cool down, Vandorf walked. He chastised himself for putting the boy in harm’s way. He had no doubt of his skill, for he was an excellent swordsman and fighter, it was his inexperience in real war that gave him great concern. Being wise about conserving weapons, he pulled spinnels out of the dead riders. He quickly realized this was more trouble than it was worth since the points had sunk deep into the soft tissue.
Skeener rode to catch Vandorf’s horse which had run back into the forest and down an embankment. Nadora watched him out of the corner of her eye.
“There you are,” whispered Skeener, spying the horse. Suddenly, from behind a tree, a sword swung with great force, smashing him in the chest, breaking his chain-mail, and sinking into his flesh. His sword fell to the ground completely out of reach. With his breath nearly knocked out of him, he struggled for air. His disoriented mind tried to ascertain what was happening, while his wounded body tried to respond, out of a sheer will to live.
Nadora instinctively nocked her bow in the blink of an eye and let loose an arrow that whipped through the air with incredible speed. Skeener opened his eyes to see what had hit him and stared into the rotting face of a dark rider. The sword was in full swing moving rapidly toward his body. Skeener screamed. Sword! Dahk ridah! Death! Hearing the blood chilling cry, the riders raced up the hill. As they approached the top of the hill, they saw the back of a dark rider, his sword raised high in the air. Beneath his brawny arms and his sharp blade lay Skeener, helpless and wounded. Vandorf reached for an arrow from his quiver as Nuvatian was fumbling with his bow, the arrow already in hand. Suddenly, they watched as out of nowhere an arrow pierced through the back of the Rider of Quadar. His mouth gaped open and he fell over on top of Skeener.
Nadora had saved his life. Now those in doubt had gained a new respect for her. She was one of them.
With their hearts racing, the riders ran towards their friend, Skeener.
In that moment, the ground beneath their feet began to tremble. Tiny but discernible vibrations went through their bodies. The riders remained calm, knowing what territory they were in. Then, two giants emerged from over the hill near the rocks where the fighting had taken place. They had heard the commotion while out walking and had run up the hill. Noticing an injured party among the intruders, they kindly volunteered to help.
“Just over these two hills is my land,�
� said one of the giants.
“We will take you to someone who can help,” said the other giant.
“Put him on Orpah,” Nadora suggested, taking charge. But Skeener insisted on riding his own mount.
“We are going to see Gilgore,” Windsor explained.
“I can take you to him,” replied the giant. “Why don’t we go ahead and give him a warning, so he can get things made ready,” said the other giant.
The giants, Windsor, Nimri and Vandorf rode ahead leaving the rest of the gang to ride along with Skeener.
“I wish I were a wizard,” Nimri said, thinking out loud.
“No you don’t,” Windsor said. “A great responsibility comes with such a gift.”
Windsor’s reply gave Nimri sharp consideration to something that he had never considered about wizardry—the awesome responsibility. Now, he wondered what that must be like, after all, Gilmanza had talked much about the great responsibility that came with knighthood. He had a hunch that it was a weightier task that carried enormous accountability.
“Here,” Nuvatian said to Nadora. “Why don’t you ride Valor while I walk Orpah and Skeener’s horse?”
“Well, if you insist,” she replied with a smile. As much as she loved riding her dragon, she was missing riding her stelleto. Springing up on the mount, she gave him his reign and he broke into a brisk trot.
Despite his pain, Skeener winked at Nuvatian. “N-now that’s a f-fair l-la-d-dy, mate,” he whispered, between gasps.
“She’s a princess; I’m a commoner—out of the question.”
“But s-she’s not a tr-traditional p-p-princess. I mean she d-doesn’t act l-like a p-princess!”
“No,” Nuvatian agreed, “she’s a warriah. And that’s not quite the kind of woman I want to marry. I might make her mad and lose my head!” He lied. He would marry her in a heartbeat.
Approaching the top of a mountain, the riders could see beautiful rolling hills below; it was the Land of the Giants. Everything in the city was huge: the buildings were high, the walls were lofty, the doors were tall and the chairs were gigantic. The riders felt like ants in a human’s world.
Arriving at Gilgore’s house, they helped Skeener off Orpah. Gilgore towered over the riders as he warmly greeted them, seeming particularly pleased to see Windsor. Standing behind Gilgore was Gilgore’s wife whom Windsor also warmly greeted. Nuvatian and Vandorf assisted their wounded comrade into the giant’s home.
It was a monstrous house: big rooms, tall ceilings, large furniture. The plates stacked up on a table could hold two days’ worth of food, or at least Fleece thought so, and the cups, at least a day’s worth of liquid.
After examining his split flesh, they concluded that the wound wasn’t too terribly deep, but deep enough for stitches.
Pulling out a very large sewing needle, Gilgore began awkwardly trying to thread it with his huge hands.
Skeener couldn’t help but notice the size of the needle. “Y-you’re not g-goin’ to st-stitch me with th-that b-big n-n-n-eedle, are you?”
“Yep,” Gilgore affirmed holding it between two fingers, thread in the other hand.
“D-don’t you h-have a sm-smallah one?”
“No. We’re giants. Everything here is big. I’m having enough trouble threading this little thing.”
“L-little, wh-what are y-you c-callin’ l-little?” Skeener’s stammer was on overdrive. “Th-that thing’s h-huge!”
Finally accomplishing the task at hand, Gilgore took half a step toward Skeener. “Now, sit still. This will only take a few minutes.”
Looking again at the size of the needle, Skeener jumped off the table. “Y-you’re not st-stitchin’ me w-with th-that!” he cried.
“Quit being such a sissy,” crowed Vandorf, grabbing a pair of scissors to trim a few wild hairs from his short and neatly trimmed beard. He preferred being clean-shaven but without water to shave, he had little choice. So until he had the opportunity for a proper shave, he kept his beard more like a field of even stubbles.
“I have a needle and thread in my bag,” Nadora said, just walking into the door.
Refusing to even look in her direction, Skeener picked up a very large tie rag. “Th-this will d-do the t-trick,” he said, still embarrassed to even look at the princess as he recalled again what he had (or so he thought) said in his besotted condition.
Nadora watched as he began to tie off his rag. “At least let me put some crushed herbs and mambrogin tree root on it,” she offered.
“Where did you get mambrogin root?” Nuvatian was curious since the miracle root wasn’t found in any land except for Shy Kadesh.
“The Immortal King sent the plant along with other gifts when I was born. My fathah planted it and we’ve tended it ever since.”
Still refusing to look at her, Skeener said not a word as he placed a giant size pin into the rag to secure it.
“Fine, suit yourself,” said Nadora.
“Well, you won’t be able to ride for a while,” said Gilgore. Nobody had any argument to this, given how exhausted they all were from their journey and the recent skirmishes with Darvan’s minions.
“You have a razor?” Vandorf finally asked. “I don’t care how big it is. I can’t stand this stubble, and mine is in my bag on my mount.”
Gilgore brought him a razor; it fit the giant’s hands perfectly. Vandorf took one look at the oversized blade and feared he might mutilate himself. “That’s okay, mate, I’ll just get my bag. But soap would be nice, and the biggah the bettah.”
Gilgore showed him to the large bathing room, where Vandorf was delighted to shave and to wash in a huge pail of water, getting himself thoroughly clean. Fortunately, for Vandorf, the well for retrieving water was nearby. He must have changed the water three times.
Because Gilgore had children (three very large children), the riders all piled into one gigantic room. Once they had unloaded their belongings and bedding, they returned to the main hall. Gilgore could not wait any longer, and addressed Windsor. “So, I suppose you have a purpose traveling this far with this group. If you were just coming to say hello, then you would just fly in. What’s this about?”
“The Sword of Dahvan,” said Windsor.
“The Sword of Dahvan! Is that right?” said Gilgore. His giant eyes opened wide with amazement. Rubbing his scruffy head, Gilgore amused himself in thought. Gilgore sat straight up in his gigantic chair.
“Shilly Shally Ford, mate,” said Windsor, opening the scroll to explain the roads significance.
“No way. You’re yanking my leg, mate.”
No one could yank that leg Nimri secretly thought. It would definitely take supernatural ability—some of Windsor’s or Navi’s wizardry stuff.
“Will you ride?” Windsor asked.
“What kind of question is that? Of course I’ll fight that bloody maggot. Who else are we gathering?”
“Headed to Viking country,” said Windsor.
“So, how’d you get this nasty cut?” Gilgore asked suspiciously.
“Dahk Ridahs,” answered Skeener.
“So they’re already on to us,” Gilgore said as a matter of fact.
After a hearty supper and getting acquainted with Gilgore’s large family, the riders found places on the wood floor. They were worn out and fell instantly fast asleep.
Nadora curled up in a corner with a faded blanket. A small oil lamp lit up the other corner of the room, casting a soft glow. Looking up from under the covers, she watched as Nuvatian took off his shirt. The easy light was just enough to conjure up her unexplored romantic appetite. His chest and biceps were muscular, like that of a warrior; they were also warmly inviting, as inviting as the hot springs of Shalahem. She wondered what they would feel like wrapped around her. Strong, safe, and warm, she imagined. His lips. They looked soft and tender. She permitted herself to fantasize for a moment, enjoying dreamy illusions of her mind.
While she was gazing a
t him, he turned around, sensing a watchful eye. Catching her stare, he grinned pleasantly back at her, flattered that she was noticing him. Embarrassed that he had caught her admiring glance, she grinned, and then ducked under the covers. She knew she could easily have him, but she had set up boundaries for herself, boundaries to keep her from becoming distracted.
Shutting out everything from her sight, she now chastised herself for allowing her mind to wonder into a realm unknown. She had duties to the kingdom: politics, a kingdom to run, people to protect, war to make. After sufficiently bridling her mind, she drifted off to sleep.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t control her dreams.
Elves and Sorbs
“What are you doing with that atrocious head?” Monguard asked Ozni, who had tied the head of the nomed he had hacked off to his mount.
“Souvenir.”
“Why do you think you need a souvenir of the head of a nomed?” asked Gilmanza. “It’s not like it’s your fihst.”
“O, but it is my fihst as a ridah in The Circle.”
The riders were wet and tired as they approached the thick walls surrounding the Land of the Elves. Green vines and large-leaf ivy hung over the ramparts that spanned a vast stretch of land. Gilmanza and Navi were immediately recognized by the Elvish nobles, the large protective gates swung open. Towering trees graced the land far and wide. Riding past numerous fancy homes built in the branches of large trees, they finally came to stop in front of one.
Navi, leading the way, or rather, blocking it, hobbled up the steep stairs to a large and elaborate tree house and pounded on the door. “Binko, come forth,” he cried.
The Elf opened the door, astonished to see his old friend, let alone the lot of them. Tall and slender, the man looked important. With a straight and confident posture, he carried himself in a dignified manner. Only his pointed ears marked him as an elf. “You gentlemen look rough,” he said, unable to ignore their disarrayed hair, soiled clothing, or Navi with a rag tied around his wounded thigh and bleeding ankle.
“Thanks, crony,” Navi began. “But you…” He poked at Binko’s tailored clothing and clean face, “you look much too neat for a warrior. Here, let me help you out a bit.” He rubbed his grimy hands on the elf’s smooth face.
“Funny, Navi,” remarked Binko, wiping his cheek.
While everyone made small talk, Ozni went to fetch Darbi, who fortunately lived right next door. With a prank in mind, the Himp tramped down the towering stairs to his mount, grabbed the nomed’s butchered head and scaled back up the stairs and across a wooden bridge. Knocking on Darbi’s door, he waited around the corner. Seconds passed, and Darbi sprang open the door.
Before the Elf had time to even notice who was standing there, the butchered head flew through the door, and would have pelted Darbi in the face if he hadn’t caught it. When he stared into the bulging eyeballs of the decapitated head, he let out a shrill with enough volume to wake the dead.
Gilmanza was just about to make the acquaintances of the two unknown riders, Cozbi and Monguard, to Binko when they heard the piercing cry. The alarmed riders darted out the door with their swords drawn, except for Navi who was in on the whole ordeal from the beginning. With just a few steps down the bridge, they could see Ozni, in a belly aching fit of laughter.
Sore at being the butt of one of his practical jokes, Darbi threw the creepy head back at Ozni, threatening to kill him himself if he ever pulled that prank again. Laughter broke out among the entire group at the almost-cruel trick Ozni had pulled. It did serve to relieve some of the tension they were all feeling.
A bit later, they were all settled into Binko’s house, the head having been thrown out into the wild. “Where did you get that crusty head anyway?” Darbi asked. He was now able to laugh a little about the prank.
“I just cut it off hours ago, crony.” Ozni smiled smugly, still delighted at the success of his prank.
“For real?” Darbi asked. “And is that why you all look so rough?”
“Yep.”
Navi broke in with some practical things. “We have much to tell you,” he began, “but first, can I get some sterile water and clean bandages for these nasty wounds?” As he spoke, he unwrapped the blood soaked bandages from around his thigh and his ankle. Monguard never said a word about his ripped arm and mangled leg that had bled through the rags he had tied around them.
“Of course,” said Binko. “Cinkel,” he said to his beautiful daughter, “bring some hot water, ointment and bandages… and help Navi dress his wounds,” Navi raised his eyebrow with pleasure and grinned.
The Elf did not miss the gesture. “No, you may not court my daughtah,” he shook his finger at Navi. “So don’t even think about it.”
“I didn’t say a word,” replied Navi. “But why is it that no one wants me to court their daughtah?”
“Because we don’t want our grandsons to have green and purple braids in their hair,” said Binko, as Navi mouthed the words along with him. (Even so, that didn’t stop Navi from flirting with her whenever Binko wasn’t looking, shooting the occasional wink here and there.) Navi liked being doctored on by a beautiful woman: her soft hands, the sympathy in her green eyes, her pleasant smell. But Navi knew she wasn’t his type, too young, too ordinary, and too quiet. He wanted one as quirky and original as himself.
It was then that Binko noticed the new fellow, Monguard, and the blood soaked bandage around his biceps and leg. When Binko offered a fresh bandage he asked for fresh water and a needle and thread instead. While everyone chatted, he stitched it up himself without blinking an eye. Binko was impressed, but then again, he had heard of this Monguard fellow.
While Binko was distracted, Navi slyly reached into his satchel he had lugged in and slipped the hand of the nomed that he had cut off back at the river behind Binko, resting it on his shoulder. At first, Binko felt a slight touch and swatted at it. But when he felt the hand move to his neck and the claws begin to close in, Binko let out a deafening scream and leapt off his chair like a mad-man as he raked at the decapitated hand, and slung it across the room. Since Navi and Ozni were the culprits behind this cruel joke, they were the first to double over with laughter. Before long the entire tree house was in stitches, except for Binko who confessed that he nearly wet his pants.
After the practical jokes and a bit more horsing around, the conversation turned serious. Binko ushered them into a private place to talk, one away from the ears of his children. As they sipped on hot spiced Balswick tea, Gilmanza and Navi explained the purpose of their visit to Binko and Darbi. Rubbing his smooth face, Binko sat and listened to them, as they told of the finding of the Sword of Power.
“It was found at Shilly Shally Ford, crony.” Navi jumped in, interrupting Gilmanza. Like a child, he couldn’t help but blurt it out, being the first to share the incredible news with them. He opened the copy he had of Windsor’s scroll and explained its significance. “Not only that,” explained Navi, “Dahk Ridahs have been within the premises of the castle. We fought those dirty mongers and cut them down. Cronies, we came to see if you’ll ride—be a paht of this Circle.”
Gilmanza interjected to correct Navi. “Actually, Darbi, we need you to step up to Binko’s position and keep the Elvish warriors prepared. This news must not be shared, but we need you to be prepared if things get out of hand. If there is anyone’s help we need it would be the Elves. Your unique abilities make the lot of you crucial in times like these.”
“Sure, I can do that,” answered Darbi, not seeming to be sore that he would not be riding.
“Where are we off to?”
“Shy Kadesh.” Navi replied.
“Shy Kadesh! But we can’t get into the immortal kingdom.”
“We’re goin’ to appeal to the king’s graciousness.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. The problem I see is that if they are onto us, dahk riders are going to be all over us, especially if they think we hold t
he sword.” Binko took a sip of his tea trying to wipe the concern from his face.
While the riders discussed the sword, Binko’s and Darbi’s wives fixed supper for them, much pleased to see their old friends. As they gathered around a table to eat, Navi squeezed in next to Cinkel, shooting her a wink as he passed her some bread. (He mostly did this to annoy Binko just for kicks). Binko gave a disapproving glare towards Navi, which was completely ignored. After much talk, a little flirting, and even more food, the riders realized they were again dog-tired and soon drifted off to sleep.
