by N.D. Bailey
At the crack of dawn, Buldar along with Navi, Monguard, Ozni, Skeener, Amase, Nimri, Nuvatian, and Nadora flew north on stelletoes provided by the king to find this ocean.
The bursting shades of marigold lit up the entire sky with a brilliant glow. Resplendent shades of orange and red shimmered upon the Prussian blue ocean creating a magnificent and unmatchable scene that struck awe in each and every one of them. The ocean looked like a crystalized sea of glass shinning in all its glory. The folding waves crashing on the shore produced a soothing melody that sang to Buldar’s heart.
The riders swooped over the shoreline where sea lions, pelicans, and blue footed boobies were gathered. Sand dunes and sea oats decorated the shore. On a clear patch of sand, the riders landed their mounts and climbed off. They stood speechless as they soaked in the awesome view. It was breathtaking. Finally, Buldar spoke.
“It’s even more beautiful than I remembahed.”
Buldar stood there and just stared out at the great blue lit up with heavenly lights. The others shuffled around the beach. He inspected the bird with blue feet, reveled over the big mouths of the pelicans, and gloated over the big bodies and little fins of the sea lions. He couldn’t believe the seals let him pet them. A big turtle crawled back into the ocean. What struck him the most though was the dolphins that appeared off shore leaping as though giddy with joy. Buldar grew so excited he nearly squealed for the other rider to witness this spectacular sight. He was captivated by the majesty of all that he saw.
“I want to sail the seas,” Buldar said, thinking out loud.
Nadora felt it stir her heart too; but not to spend a life at sea. The spectacular beauty of the beach nudged a romantic spark. She felt carefree, something that neither she nor her position had allowed. Watching Nuvatian, his gait, his mannerism, his smile, she wondered if she was wrong. She watched the waves crest and fold. She would have to wait for love to crest her heart and fold her; for now, there was war to make.
Every time they suggested they needed to get back, Buldar would beg them not to go yet. “Just a little bit longah,” he would say. When the time came, the riders practically had to pull Buldar away from the ocean. Once they had successfully gotten him on his mount and began to fly away, Buldar’s head remained turned towards the sea. His face looked as though he could almost cry as he watched his dreams vanish from his sight. All he ever really wanted was to make a life on the rolling waves.
The following morning, everyone rose early to make ready for the journey back to the castle in the Land of Shalahem. While sipping some herbal tea from the balcony adjoined to his room, Nuvatian saw Nadora again going into the horse-stalls. This time she was dressed as a warrior wearing the clothing the king had given her. Finishing up his tea, he walked down to the stalls, telling himself it was to help get things ready for riding out.
He entered the barn and began saddling Valor. Nadora quietly grabbed the reins to her dragon. As she was walking across the barn, her foot hung in a strip of leather dangling from her dragon’s reins. Unexpectedly, she tripped and fell face down; her face landed near a pile of horse manure.
Witnessing her fall, Nuvatian chuckled. Strolling over to where she laid face-down on the ground, Nuvatian stretched out his hand to help her up.
“What are you laughing about?” she growled, herself bearing a smirk.
“You! Here, let me help you up!”
Nadora laughed as herself and took his hand.
“It could have been worse,” he said, pointing to the pile of manure.
Nadora jumped to her feet. As she started to walk off, she tripped again. This time, Nuvatian reached out his hand to steady her. She too reached out to catch herself, and in trying to break her fall, she grabbed hold of his arm.
Pulling her up, he said, “Here, let me take those reins.”
Taking the reins, they found themselves nearly in each other’s arms.
For a moment, it looked as though they might kiss when suddenly Navi came bouncing into the barn. “Mornin’, cronies” he blurted out, just before he realized he had interrupted a romantic moment between the two of them.
Nadora quickly took the reins from Nuvatian. “I said I’ve got them.”
Embarrassed, Navi turned to go back out; it was too late, he had killed the moment. Nuvatian gave him a look that could have killed.
“Sorry! My bad, crony,” Navi whispered to Nuvatian. Then in full voice he continued, “Just thought I would bring Inka and his new gihl friend some breakfast.” Walking into the stall, he found the two dragons sitting on opposite sides, growling at one another.
“Oh, are we having a lover’s quarrel? Looks like it’s in the air! Even dragons can’t get along! You’re in a celestial land, for the love of God.”
Ormandel
No one was in a big hurry to get to the breakfast table and not because they weren’t hungry, they were, just no one was in a rush to leave the beautiful land. They donned their clothes given to them by the king and gathered for breakfast in the stately dining hall.
At the table, Navi sat across from Akiylah. He found her glamorous, her blonde hair alluring. Occasionally he made flirtatious gestures at her, a wink here, and a smile there. She ignored him entirely. There was little conversation around the table; even so, King Justiz seemed unmoved by the disappointed riders.
Having eaten breakfast, the riders beat around the bush getting ready for the long journey to the castle of King Chess, in the Land of Shalahem. King Justiz had his servants provide them with ample provisions for their expedition back. With long faces, the riders strolled out in front of the castle.
“Windsor, when they grow weary remain steadfast,” the king said quietly to the elderly wizard.
“Oh, and give this to Navi,” said the King, handing Windsor a pink wizard-hat, to replace the one with the burnt-out top. He then handed him a purple one but asked Windsor to give him the pink one first, warning him not to give him the purple one too quickly. The immortal king had a sense of humor too. Windsor laughed, appreciating the king’s humor.
“And give this to Monguard,” handing Windsor a warm coat, “and this to Vandorf,” handing him a new satchel, Vandorf’s being worn out, “and this to Nadora,” handing him a bag of rare herbs found only in Shy Kadesh. He gave each one of them something. A servant helped him carry it all. “I got you something too, Windsor.” The king handed him a leather satchel perfect for his scrolls.
Windsor expressed his gratitude to the Immortal King.
Now, as Windsor approached the group, he tossed Navi the new pink hat. Navi curled his lip but then laughed out loud, knowing the king was up to no good. In good humor, he put it on and waved to King Justiz offering a laugh. “I’ll wear it proudly,” yelled Navi, jokingly.
Monguard, Vandorf, and Nadora waved, grateful for the king’s kindness.
Cozbi despised the king, resenting his land, his position, his wealth, and his cowardliness. Now, he felt like he was trying to buy some of the riders off with gifts. That was nothing for him, he was a wealthy king. What did he know about real people? As far as Cozbi was concerned, he felt like the king was a coward. He tossed the gift in his satchel and tried to pretend like he didn’t like it, even though he wondered how the king knew he always wanted to learn how to paint. He had never revealed that private thought, believing painting to be for sissies. Now he had brushes and paints, but he despised them.
As they were mounting their rides, they spotted a man in the distance walking toward them. It was the sketchy outline of a familiar-looking man, wearing chain-mail and bearing a sword. The expanse between them was now closing in. There was a scar across the left side of his face. Taking stock of the old chap, Gilmanza said, “That man is a spitting image of Ormandel.” Everyone looked up and as the man drew closer, the mouths of those who knew him dropped wide open.
Walking up to the speechless group, the man said with a laugh, “It’s good to see ya!
”
“Ormandel?” Windsor asked.
“It can’t be!” Gilmanza said.
“Why can’t it be?” asked Ormandel.
“You’re supposed to be dead, crony!” Navi exclaimed.
“Yes,” Vandorf added. “Dahvan killed you!”
“He did?” asked Ormandel. He was as stunned by the pink strands in Navi’s hair as he was by the news.
“I saw them take you captive to Quadar,” added Gilmanza. “And no one has seen you since.”
“We had your bloody funeral, crony,” Navi said.
“Yes, and I brought you some flowers,” Vandorf confessed.
“Flowers? Flowers are for sissies, mate.” The knight was finding this quite amusing.
“Nothin’ from the earth is for sissies,” Vandorf retaliated.
“You had my funeral?” asked Ormandel.
“Yep, sure did,” Navi replied. “Ya know, they didn’t have your body, so they had one of those—What do you call it?”
“M-m-memorial s-sehvice,” answered Skeener.
“It was beautiful, mate!” Vandorf said. Gilgore rolled his eyes at Vandorf for being so sentimental.
“You had a memorial service for me? Ormandel exclaimed. “Why, I hardly know what to say. I’m glad I couldn’t make it!” His friends all laughed at his reply.
“I wasn’t able to make it, mate,” Binko admitted. “I didn’t hear about it until after the fact. Besides, I was in anothah land. Sorry about that. But I did go to your grave and show my respects when I got back and got wind of the news.”
Ormandel brushed a speck of dirt off his sleeve. “You didn’t come to my funeral?”
“Sorry, mate,” Binko apologized. “I was tryin’ to promote peace among the kingdoms.”
“A lot of good your peace efforts have done,” said the aged knight. “And what do you mean, you visited my grave?”
“They set up a stone for you, crony, since they didn’t have your body to bury you. It’s a real nice one. Maybe we can take you to see it,” Navi said.
Ormandel was now speechless, at the thought of his own tombstone, let alone the thought of them having had a funeral for him.
“Do you always have pink hair?”
Laughter broke out among the riders, Monguard trying hard not to laugh too hard. It was one of his most clever jokes, one that he was proud of.
“You don’t like it?” Navi said, not bothering to explain that he had been the butt end of a joke. He figured he would learn the truth eventually.
Windsor broke the silence. “How did you get out of Quadar?”
“King Justiz. Ever since then, I have taken refuge here in his Kingdom.
At this, Cozbi turned and walked off.
“Unbelievable!” Vandorf said. “Bloody unbelievable!”
“Why didn’t you let us know that you were still alive?” Gilmanza asked.
“It’s complicated. When I awoke, I was here in Shy Kadesh. I didn’t remembah anything for a long time. When things began to come to me, I—well, like I said, it’s complicated.”
Now he turned to another of the riders. “What happened to your head?” he asked Buldar with a snicker.
“I made a new friend,” answered Buldar.
“Well, you can keep that bloody friend as your very own, mate,” said Ormandel, laughing.
Changing the subject again, Gilmanza asked, “So what are your plans?”
“I was hopin’ I could join you lads,” Ormandel said. Seeing Nadora, he quickly corrected himself and added, “and Ma’am.”
“Well, all you need is a beast to ride, mate,” Gilmanza replied.
“But I’m not real sure what we’re going to be doing now. I mean we don’t really have a mission at the moment,” Navi said.
“We can go back and get that bloody sword and bring it to him and then he’ll have to deal with it,” Zorgar said.
Windsor cut his eyes at Zorgar, silencing him. Windsor tried to diffuse the situation. “Grab a mount and join us. King Chess will be shocked to death to see you.” In the back of his mind he was wondering if he was making the right call, after all, he and Gilmanza had said no one else was going to join them. But this was both unpredictable and exceptional. This man’s friendship went back to the aged among them: Windsor, Gilmanza, and Vandorf. Most of the others didn’t know Ormandel, met him a time or two or heard about him through storytelling, a common practice.
A servant brought a well-bred stelleto from the king’s stables and Ormandel mounted the beast, becoming a part of the Circle of Riders.
As they rode back out of the kingdom, the riders went slowly, admiring the exquisite beauty of the land and taking in every last bit they could before having to depart. They rode back through the forest of Redwoods, across the living bridge and down the glittery pathway. Riding across the verdant land garnished with tree-art and exquisite flowers, the riders paused at the top of a hill and looked back at the beauty of the land: the trees, the vines, the flowers, the sparkling riverbeds and trails, and the Guardian Falls against the backdrop of the sunrise on the mountains. It was the most beautiful land they had every beheld. They lingers, soaking it in, wishing they didn’t have to leave.
“Windsor, can we stay?” asked Amase.
“No, son, we’re exiles,” answered the wizard.
With great reluctance, the riders rode under the woven tree canopy and out of the walled city. Looking back one last time, they rode through the guarded ironclad gates and back into the cold snowy mountains. Monguard was thankful for the warm coat, wrapping it tightly around himself and Gilgore was thankful for the new boots as his big feet sank into the deep snow.
They were cold now, in more ways than one.
The Ride Back
There was silence as the riders crossed the snowy mountains, still trying to understand King Justiz’s position. Why would he not ride? Is he afraid of the Sword, or of Darvan? Does he really care about us mortals… about our families and friends? Or does he only care about his kingdom? So many questions without logical answers left them feeling abandoned and discouraged.
Meanwhile, sorrow flooded Windsor’s spirit as he grieved the irretrievable loss of his immortality, and the loss of the deep love between him and Akiylah. Perhaps I am a foolish old man, after all. Heartache. Loneliness. Regret . What could have been? After all, he had still been a young man when he lost his immortality.
He could have at least enjoyed her for as long as the love lasted. He had just never dreamed she would have loved him this long, after he had lost his handsome qualities. She had tried many times to convince him. Now, the time had been spent and both had languished in loneliness, fearful of the pain that love can bring. Knowing what could have been he hurt now more than ever.
When they were nearly halfway across the mountains, somewhere in between the Mountain of Infinity and the Hill of Descent, but having already passed through the Passage of Crossing, the riders spotted a lone dark rider. He immediately fled upon sight of their presence. Windsor knew more had to be present. He sensed a presence, a presence that was much greater that a single rider. He paused and looked over his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Akiylah peering out from behind a tree. “The Immortals,” whispered Ormandel. “They rode down behind us.” No one else spotted them, for the Immortals are so mysterious in all their ways. He heard the thundering hoofs of dark knights speeding away.
By day the riders rode and at night they set up camp and slept. They feasted on the King’s food that he sent for their homeward journey. They didn’t encounter a single dark rider or even a derve or nomed on the journey home. On the third night, Windsor finally got an opportunity to catch up with Ormandel, just the two of them.
“Would you mind helping me gathah some wood, old friend?” Windsor asked him.
“Not at all. Glad to. But you’d bettah be careful who you call old, old man!” He was laughing, but the good-natured ch
allenge remained in his voice. As they gathered small logs and kindling wood, the wizard asked the question that had remained unanswered: “So why didn’t you make contact with me—or someone—to let us know that you were alive?”
The aging knight paused for a moment before responding. “Like I said, it’s complicated,” he began. “I didn’t remembah anything for a long time. Windsor, I didn’t even know who I was! I didn’t even know my own name. King Justiz let me stay in his palace for some time; then, he introduced me to some people who became dear friends. Bits and pieces of things began to come to me, but it was all fragments of the events in Quadar. I remembahed bits and pieces of being tortured and that was all. I was so afraid, for a time I wouldn’t even go outside.”
He paused again, collecting himself after this revelation, then continued. “Later on, I moved into my own house; even then, I wouldn’t leave their house. Here I was in the safest and most fortified land and I was afraid to go outside. What a coward. It was a long time before I began to remembah other things, and when I did I was too afraid to leave Shy Kadesh. That place has been a refuge of healing for me.
“Now, I have no more fear.” He straightened, affirming his recaptured courage. “But when I finally began to feel the fear leaving me, I was too embarrassed to tell you or anyone else that I was alive and that I had simply been too afraid to leave my sanctuary.”
“I am so sorry, Ormandel,” Windsor said gently. “You nevah have to feel embarrassed about being fearful. Few people live through what you lived through. I can only imagine what that does to someone.” He laid a compassionate hand on his friend’s shoulder. “But remembah, where there is no fear, there is no courage. You have always been courageous.”
“Thanks, my friend. It was a long time,” Ormandel admitted, “before I recovered my full memory. In the meantime, I built a life there. King Justiz and the people of Shy Kadesh were so kind to me.”
“Is this your fihst time out of Shy Kadesh?” Windsor asked.
“Yes. But I would rathah you not tell the othahs.”
“As you wish. But are you sure this is a good idea to ride on this mission?” Windsor was clearly concerned, for his friend’s sake, but also for that of the Circle as a whole.
“I have to do this,” Ormandel affirmed. “I know it, and King Justiz knows it. It is time for me to come out of my hiding.” He picked up an armful of logs and headed back to the camp.
They returned with plenty of wood for the fire. After making a nice pile of firewood, Windsor stretched out his staff and lit the pile. Ormandel instinctively backed up, distancing himself from the fire.
Eating the tasty food the king had sent, the riders sat around the campfire, mostly making small talk. No one said a word about the Immortal King, being it was a sensitive subject. Monguard pulled out a piece of wood he had been chiseling on for days in an effort to allay the boredom. He chipped away, putting the finishing touches on a finely sculptured dragon.
Monguard poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down across from Navi. He handed him the wood piece. “Here, this is for you.”
“Thanks, crony. That’s amazing.”
“It’s Inka.”
Sure enough, when Navi looked at it a second time, he realized it was an exact replica.
Everyone was impressed with his craftsmanship.
Vandorf polished boots, sharpened his sword, and trimmed his stubbly beard until he could shave again. Navi had bagged a turkey along the way and was preparing it for roasting.
Ormandel looked at the younger wizard. “Why did you kill that dumb bird? King Justiz sent us out with more than enough food.”
“Oh, you know, we always think we need more, don’t we?” Navi replied. “Plus, the dumb bird flew right into me. It was practically begging to be killed.”
Ormandel leaned over the crackling fire and looked at the dagger Navi was using to cut up the bird. “That’s my daggah!”
“This?” Navi said, holding up the dagger. “Now that you mentioned it, I believe it was yours.”
“Was?” questioned Ormandel.
“You were dead, crony,” Navi explained, the other riders laughing at him.
“You took my daggah!”
“It was a gift. Besides, everyone thought you were dead, crony. It was in a box with things Gilmanza gathahed from a campsite. Every time I use it I think of you, crony, the stories that I have heahd from Windsor and Gilmanza. Why I feel like I know you. It’s a sentimental object that I treasure.”
“Well, I’m not dead now! So give it back.”
“I’ll tell you what, crony; I’ll give you back the daggah if you will clean this bloody bird!”
Ormandel jerked the dagger out of his hand. “I guess that’s a no,” Navi said. “Not quite like Monguard here are you? Giving and kind.” Navi reached into his satchel and pulled out a lesser knife and proceeded to clean the turkey.
“Put a new handle on that one and it’ll be just as good.” Ozni was aiming to accomplish two things: to encourage Navi and to irritate him. He accomplished the second, but failed at the first.
The riders cleaned and cooked the bird, while making more small talk around the fire. After eating, they pulled their covers around them to go to sleep.
Out of the silence, Navi spoke up, “Ya know, crony, I was wondahin’, if somethin’ were to happen to you—say you were to die or somethin’? Not that I would want you to die, I’m just sayin’ if you were to, could I have your daggah?”
Ormandel rolled over and looked at him. Without another word, he turned back around and pulled the covers over his head.
“I guess that’s a no,” Navi whispered to himself, the other riders cracking up at Navi’s comical ways. “I’ll trade you a pink hat for it,” he offered.
“Not on your life. Like the lady said, pink suits you.”
It wasn’t until then that Windsor remembered the purple hat and tossed it to him.
Navi smiled. It was perfect.
Cold temperatures were rolling in, even in the valley. Not wanting to run the mounts too hard and tire them, the riders took their time. Windsor wondered what the purpose was in rounding up these riders without King Justiz riding out with them. It all seemed like a waste of time. But there was little they could do about the situation now.
The full moon came and went. In time, the riders finally reached the City of Sayir.
As they rode along the countryside, a cat, bearing the markings of a true mishap, strayed from out of the trees. Every bristle of hair was missing from its tail. Looking up at the assorted caravan as it passed by, the cat eventually laid its eyes on Navi. At its first glimpse of the purple-braided wizard, the cat’s eyes stretched open wide and glassed over with a wild and frenzied look and then the animal darted off into the woods with a shriek. “I believe that was Mr. Vern’s cat,” Nimri said, laughing. Those riders who knew the history of Navi and the cat with the hairless tail broke into a much needed laugh. The others waited to hear the outrageous blunder and then joined in the laughter.
When they neared the city wall, they veered off down a country road. The dying trees looked lonely, naked, and miserable. The timbers scattered the plot of ground where whitewashed tombstones stood. Windsor led the way, stopping in front of a grave. The tombstone read: Ormandel Silas Thiatir.
A gushing pale washed over Ormandel as he fell flush, realizing that he should be dead, and nearly was. A thousand times over he had wished he would have died; it would have been easier than wrestling with the demons that had haunted him.
Windsor strolled over to a familiar headstone. The name on the stone read: Tilias Windsor Odin.
Windsor touched the stone and took in a deep breath. Ormandel wasn’t the only one ever to have once been believed to be dead.
Betrayal
It was mid-afternoon when the riders reached the castle in Shalahem. The knights atop the wall announced to the King that the riders were
coming down the road to the castle. Hearing the news that they were back, King Chess rushed to greet them all. He was eager to see his long-time friends. Mostly, though, he was eager to see his daughter returning safely. Nadora leapt off Orpah and hugged her father.
The king was immediately puzzled by the unfamiliar faces among the riders. Now approaching the king, Windsor introduced Sagran and Amase. Greeting them kindly, the king took notice of Amase’s peculiar appearance, but before he could comment, he noticed a familiar face and fell speechless for a moment. “You—you look like— well, it’s impossible, but— Ormandel?”
“It is me in the flesh, Sire.”
“But I thought you were dead!”
“Well, I came closer than I evah have before.”
“We—we even had a memorial service for you,” the king exclaimed, as they hugged each other. “That is just bloody amazing!”
“So I heard,” laughed Ormandel. “I wasn’t able to make it. You look good, Sire. We have a lot of catching up to do. I was shocked to find out that this is your daughtah.” He waved his hand toward Nadora.
“Yes,” the king agreed. “A lot has changed since I last saw you.” He hugged his daughter once again, as if still assuring himself she was indeed home, safe and sound. “But tell me, where have you been all this time? And where did my riders come across you?”
“I have been in the Land of Shy Kadesh,” the knight replied. “Forgive me, my friend, for not lettin’ you know I was alive and mostly well. I didn’t remembah anything for a long time. Heck, I had even forgotten my own name. My how time has gotten away from me! Once I recovahed, I just got busy and, well, I suppose I was in no real hurry to leave that beautiful land.”
“Well, I can’t blame you there,” said King Chess. He had heard tales but he had never been there. Now observing that King Justiz was not among the riders, the king inquired regarding his presence.
“He did not ride back with us,” answered Gilmanza.
“What? He did not come? Is he coming in the next day or two?” The king was stunned by this bit of news.
“He said he would catch up with us latah.” Gilmanza was trying to smooth things over.
“If King Justiz doesn’t come,” Chess declared, “then we are doomed to contend with this bloody sword, with no hope of a permanent defeat of Dahvan’s kingdom. We will merely contend like we have always had to contend. He is the only immortal king left. Why would he not come?”
“He said he will catch up.” Windsor was adamant.
Ormandel was quick to respond. “I have been with King Justiz for a long time now. Trust me, he will come.” He now turned to address the riders assembled around him. “I understand that all of you are disappointed, but I also know that he knows more of what is goin’ on than you do.” His voice was calming, almost reassuring to the weary travelers. They stood for a moment speechless taking in his words.
King Chess broke the silence. “Come, all of you must be exhausted! Let’s go to the Hall of Defense and talk, while the chefs make you some supper and the servants freshen up your bedrooms. Ormandel, you have to tell me all about it,” the king said, patting him on the back.
As Navi entered the palace, the king couldn’t help but notice his pink bow and his pink hair. (He had tucked the pink hat away into his bag). “Pink your new favorite color?”
“Funny. Real funny.”
The Circle of Riders walked into the King’s Hall of Defense. In the center of the room was a large round stone table—large enough to seat them all. Around the edges images had been carved of knights in battle on horses and dragons; the muted colors showed the age of this grand table. In the center of its surface was a carved map of the Land of Shalahem, its grooves filled in with gold. The frames of the chairs were of iron, molded in the pattern of a rope, iron intertwined with iron. The seats of the chairs looked like shields. Two imitation iron swords crossed the iron-rope frame to make the backs of the chairs. (Gilgore, of course, had to sit on the floor since his gigantic size swallowed up the chair.)
“Did King Justiz say why he would not come?”
“No,” Windsor replied, “he merely said that he would follow at a latah time.”
Emotions were still running high so few spoke their minds, feeling it inappropriate to say much in front of King Chess about their discrepancies against the Immortal King.
“Are there any recent prophecies that speak of this?”
“No there are no recent prophecies. As we all know, the ancient prophecy we do know of speaks of a time when a great war—one like nevah before or since—will break out. Impostas will arise claiming to be the bearer of the Sword of Powah. That’s really nothing new.”
“It says that a Circle of Ridahs will rise up. It speaks of an immortal king, who will retain the sword but must resist its powah. It does not tell us if he succeeds in resisting it or not, nor does it tell us whether Dahvan is evah defeated. It merely says that if the last immortal king fails, then the human race will be hopelessly locked into a world of tyranny and rule by Dahvan.” Windsor was restating what they all knew, but felt it right to do so, to remind them of what was at stake in this conflict.
Now it was King Chess’s turn to speak to the group. “We must keep this matter private. You have been summoned here to complete the mission as has been prophesied. You have come with a word of declaration. It is only fair that you know that this is the real sword. We alone know of its presence in this castle. The guards don’t even know it is here. Although they guard this room, they do not know for what purpose.” He took the key from Windsor and unlocked the secret door hidden in the wall of the castle, the king pulled out the sword for all to see. As he laid it on the table, a sense of awe fell upon the room. Everyone sat speechless, gazing upon the spectacular sword. The light reflected from the rubies on its hilt danced on the ceiling and the wall.
Cozbi got up from his chair and walked over to the sword. Touching it, he said matter-of-fact, “I don’t get it. It’s just a sword, like any other sword. Its tales are nothin’ more than that—tales, fabricated myths.”
“I assure you that there is nothin’ fabricated about the evil influence of that sword,” said Windsor.
Picking it up, Cozbi held it in his hands, experiencing the power it generated, a tangible electrifying power shot through him, making him feel invincible. He had been longing to touch it again since that rainy night.
“Put it down,” ordered Windsor.
Cozbi’s eyes grew wide, radiating with excitement at the sensation of power the finely crafted sword was generating. Windsor now stood, with his hand on his sword. Navi joined him, hand on his own blade. Suddenly, Cozbi dropped the Sword of Power. Seated near where the sword had fallen, Nimri reached down to pick it up, curious at what Cozbi had experienced. Experiencing its power, a feeling of invincibility and ego-mania, Nimri’s eyes grew wild with excitement. Amase watched their reactions to the sword, and his heart felt fearful and faint.
“Put the sword on the table,” King Chess ordered as Windsor and Navi remained standing with their swords.
Nimri held it, amazed by what he felt. “Nimri, put it down,” Windsor ordered. Sagran who was sitting beside Nimri, reached over and took hold of the sword to force Nimri to put it onto the table. Immediately, that same power rang true, apprehending his mortal soul. He too felt mighty, self-important, and completely invincible. He was mesmerized by the sword. Finally, after a few seconds, but what seemed like forever, he heard his name being called and he felt Nimri tug on the sword. Now, they both reluctantly set the sword on the table.
Amase watched carefully, curious about the power of the sword.
“This is the sword that has caused kingdoms to fall,” the king intoned to them all. “This is the sword that has caused once humble and noble kings to grasp the power and become ruthless and cruel kings. This is the sword that has caused many once-good men to seek to rule the entia
h world. It has caused brothahs to kill brothahs, fathahs to kill sons, and sons to kill their own fathahs. This is the sword that has caused us to lose our immortal states.
“I have personally witnessed its destructive power. This is the sword that we must purpose in our hearts to hate, and to destroy.” The king picked up the sword, feeling its power. He showed no open emotion towards the cunningness of the sword. After locking it back safely away, he handed the key back to Windsor who secretly wished he hadn’t handed him the key.
“The hour grows late. Let us eat and sleep and in the morning we’ll discuss what we should do. I have made arrangements for all of you to sleep here in the palace.”
This said and done, everyone ate supper and turned in for the night—except for one.
