The Mythical Emblems of Gragodon – Volume 1

By Venkataraman Gopalakrishnan

The realms of living beings are no longer the same as what we are used to seeing. Far into the future, our Earth has undergone one cataclysmic upheaval after another such that the past civilizations of human beings and their cities lie buried deep in its crust. What remains is the bare earth, the seas and vast lands, devoid of any monumental buildings or skyscrapers to speak of.
In this medieval setting, a new breed of humans inhabit the world with other evolved life-forms – such as the ferocious lion-like citizens of Regnadea, the brawny Bezgrodh of the sandy plains, winged Gleidera of the Orvidean kingdom, warrior maidens from the realm of Solma, powerful Sorcerers who think nothing of bringing forth weapons of destruction, and an intelligent race of people dwelling deep under the ocean, just to name a few.
A struggle for supreme power ensues, which results in the famed but long-forgotten mystical Gragodonian emblems being recalled from their secret alcoves across the seven realms of living beings. To counteract the forces of the Gragodonian emblems, other mystical powers, which look set to overpower the cause of the good peoples, are also set in motion.
In this volatile backdrop, three young kings from the northern kingdoms of Lamiras, Meldovia and Varnosia are secretly charged with the task of battling the perpetrators of unwholesome intentions. These perpetrators, also endowed with immense mystical might, look set to unleash their unique brand of justice upon the common peoples of the world.
Unexpectedly, danger stalks the three princes at the very outset. The royal comrades are none the wiser about the true identity of their nemesis and the price of their ignorance proves costly indeed. Will any or all of them fall by the wayside, in their quest to overcome the evil of the times?
This is a story about Courage. It is about Perseverance. It is about Friendships and Loyalty. It is also about Love. It is about overcoming the obstacles and chall

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9789810781118

Book preview

Prologue

The Mythical Emblems of Gragodon

Volume 1

The crash of wrist bangles on the hard floor caused the lone woman to jerk her head towards the direction of the sound, whilst longish ears strained to follow the high-pitched thuds as they faded into the background. Sitting on the edge of a solitary bed in a small cottage, amongst the several others dotting the farming village of Len Lufern, Eva had been absently fingering the cluster of bangles on her wrist.

The noise had disturbed the quiet of her reminiscences of the long years of fruitless searching, the times of loneliness and the days when silence could only be savoured during the wee hours of the morning. And although the canopy of white hair and furrowed countenance attested to advanced years, the prominent wrinkles on her forehead and arms had not been visible moments earlier.

Thirty-five years had passed since Eva and her scrawny son of ten summers left their homeland, with nothing more than a bundle of worn-out clothes to last for the longest journey of their lives. The horse-driven carriage bearing them forward became more like a second home, sheltering them against the sun, wind and rain. It was a journey that took them from one kingdom to another, across a thousand miles of land and sea.

When the horse could not continue with the demands of its unenviable task, Eva set it free and trudged the long distances on foot, the boy treading the hardy paths with as much resolve as he could muster. Occasionally, a passing wagon stopped to give a welcome respite from the ardours of their weary trail. In this manner, the pair of them stayed glued to their path, seeking the mysterious goal of their wanderings with many a sigh and conviction.

The day eventually arrived when they set foot upon the shores of a distant realm, Lamiras – the destination of Eva’s overly long trail. Weeks later, she chanced upon a commune of farmers whose penchant for minding their own business caught her attention and also brought a knowing smile to her lips. Their roving feet finally found a place to take firm root when the unassuming village folk of Len Lufern accepted Eva’s simple tale of woe and welcomed her into their fold.

She, in return, expressed her gratitude by helping the womenfolk of the village whenever occasions presented themselves. Months passed and Eva settled into a simple routine. A patch of greenery near her dwelling returned a harvest of potatoes and cabbages every other month, which she collected with the village womenfolk. The farming commune at Len Lufern sold their produce at the local marketplace in exchange for the simpler necessities of life.

The joy of Eva’s life proved short-lived when, one evening, after a year of her arrival at the village of Len Lufern, her lanky but handsome child failed to return from his daily wanderings into the nearby woods. Eva’s panic-stricken cries brought the neighbours to her door. Their search ended when they espied the lone mule, which her son usually rode upon, standing at the rim of an overhanging cliff. The boy must have fallen into the dark chasm of the deep undergrowth, the villager folk surmised. It was the last they ever saw of the quiet child, so like his mother with her quaint mannerisms. The grief of a lonesome woman endeared Eva more towards the hardy village folk.

The passing years saw a trickling of newcomers sink root into Len Lufern, whilst some of the more disenchanted citizenry succumbed to the wandering-itch, seeking their fortunes across the greener pastures of the seemingly faint horizon. These occasional arrivals brought along their own picturesque habits and added to previously unknown modes of speech and dress though, in time, they too came to follow the traditions of the common folk.

The more elderly ones stayed put and, when the time came, passed on into the Great Void at the end of their long sojourn in the world of living beings. All in all, the way of life in Len Lufern was as colourful as it could possibly be, especially during the evenings when her sturdy citizens gathered at the village inn to savour the fruits of their exertions.

Today, Eva did not join the crowd of villagers at the inn. She had chosen to stay home in the company of her thoughts. Dinner was some leftover bread with a larger serving of stewed mutton. Eva loved the aroma of mutton broth as it came to a boil. Like on previous occasions when she chose to be alone, her memories pursued the road of her mysterious past, especially the words of her beloved father whose promptings eventually led her to leave her ancestral home on a mission of vengeance. Many a dawn saw her in the throes of some wild nightmare, for her dreams seldom gave her the occasion to enjoy the bliss of sleep.

At the fireside, the burnt wood glowed brighter, fuelled no doubt by the proximity of the fallen bangles onto the stone floor. With slow probing fingers, Eva knelt on all fours, peering at the intricately carved surface of one particular ornament. It had rolled straight into the fireplace and came to rest against a smouldering ember.

Oh! My … my … soft words came forth from feeble lips. Eva prodded the black embers with a wooden ladle whilst dancing flames grazed the sides of the dark heirloom. She had endured much to get hold of this one and only gem of a bangle. She had absolutely no intention of letting the fire eat away at her long years of sustained exertions.

This was not the kind of ornament worn by the common folk of Len Lufern. Neither was it given to royal personages of the kingdom to be adorned with such a treasure as the one she bore on her forearm. Her bangle was worth more than the treasures of a king – certainly more than the lives of the people in this small hamlet. A comforting thought came to her mind then. Not a soul in this nook of the kingdom knew the dark secrets of her treasured ornament.

Moments after she had secured the bangle back onto her wrist, Eva continued to reflect on her varied but adventure-filled past. The years had rolled by after she left the comforts of a lordly life to undertake the perilous journey towards the kingdom of Lamiras. Again, sharp eyes riveted to the black ornament adorning her wrist. The flames had not scarred the bangle, not even a wee bit, though it was warm to the touch. The powers of its dark forging were certainly far more resilient than those of any ordinary fire. And as usual, the memory of her father’s wavering voice returned to remind her of the promise she had given, all those long years ago, in the Forest of Ordun.

There was then the second group of peoples called the Followers". They just wanted to be left alone by themselves, away from the mainstream of everyday life. As long as they were allowed to live their lives according to their own designs, the peace was preserved with the Peoples of Peace. The laws of the times, established for the purpose of safety and convenience, did not inspire the Followers. If any of the laws were sidestepped or overlooked, it would not have made the least difference to them.

The third group was a minority, a distinctive minority which lived by the one and only rule of survival – the instinct for self-preservation. These were the bane of the social order of those times. They came into the world, neither to serve their fellow beings nor to follow the rules of the day. These belligerent people imagined, with a sense of righteous belief, that their place in the world was determined by the powers above. The necessities of life were theirs for the taking and the citizens of the land lived to serve them with the bounty of their exertions. They took by force what was not theirs and sought to impose their will upon the Peoples of Peace and the Followers. To them, the name Destroyers was given."

Her father’s august face often broke into heightened anger whenever the Destroyer race was mentioned. And he would continue in the same vein, pouring out his feelings over their misdeeds throughout the ages of life on the planet. He had committed to memory the teachings of his ancient race through the years he lived in their mesmerizingly strange realm.

Over the centuries, fewer still remembered the time when the five Emblems of Gragodon first came into being. After the passing of many generations of men, the knowledge of these treasured Emblems faded from memory. Those who believed in the ancient Lore of the Sorcerers rarely mentioned them. They were bound to silence by a sacred oath.

And why did it become a secret, father? Eva had asked.

Lest the Destroyers seized the magical treasures and employed them for their own selfish ends! It would have destroyed the world forever!

Eva had often wondered about that particular term. She did not like the label attached to the last group of peoples, for she surmised they themselves were little different from the infamous Destroyer race. It was indeed a pity her father never realized he too possessed the same frame of mind as the Destroyer folk. Although born into the race of Sorcerers, a people famed for their knowledge and skill in the mystical arts of the spirit realm, his innate greed had often come to the fore and he used the skills of his art to get at whatever he needed to satisfy his cravings of the moment.

Aren’t you a Destroyer too, my father? she had asked innocently in one of her thought-provoking moments, eager to engage him in conversation and reassure her loving parent that she had listened to his every word.

I do not belong to that despicable race, Eva! Tormari had thundered.

When his fiery temper had calmed enough for the narration to continue, as it usually did after some hours, Tormari’s voice took on a gentler tone.

I only want what truly belongs to us, my child. That deceitful thief-of-a-king from Belgond stole our most prized treasure–one worth more than you can ever imagine. I never had reason to believe that he would take advantage of your old man just to satisfy his lust for power. He will pay dearly… with his life if need be!

Tormari would often cuddle the little girl after his raging outbursts, letting her know that his anger was not targeted at his own doting offspring and, more importantly, nothing more should be mentioned of them, even as he continued with his fascinating tales.

"The priceless Gragodonian Emblems were a mystery to those unlearned in the ways of the ancient days. They were thought to be kept at secret spots across the realms of living beings. I pondered long over the whereabouts of the five treasures, but never knew where to start the search. The few who wielded power, the Protectors of the Emblems, learnt to keep their knowledge secret and move along with the times. Nothing untoward happened to give even a hint of suspicion as to the whereabouts, let alone the existence, of those magical treasures.

It was not surprising that whenever the world experienced turmoil and destruction on a vast scale, the Protectors of the Emblems covertly gathered themselves in their separate lands and stayed in hiding, becoming invisible to prying eyes, so to speak. The signs of the times were only too apparent and the aftermaths of those devastating occurrences largely predictable. The events of those times came to be chronicled in parchments and stored away in the most secret of recesses, known only to a trusted few."

Yet her father also had a softer side to his outbursts, especially when it came to the subject of children, though she was the only offspring of her parent’s union. The tales he shared were full of the pranks of boys and girls of his own forgotten age. He revealed a deep-seated love for his daughter, having raised her by himself for the better part of her memorable years.

I have but few longings, my dearest Eva, and you must help your father realize them. We have to regain our possessions and come into our own. You must …

His meaning was clear and the words made a deep impression upon her young mind. Those were the times when she had someone to snuggle up to and love. Yes, she slowly came to realize her part in the bigger scheme of things. She had sacrificed a life of plenty in her own realm to live amongst the enemy, an enemy who would pay dearly for the injustices committed against her father. It was the one reason she had continued with her solitary struggle, living the life of a recluse, just as her father had done for the greater part of his life. Their trail was not for the weak-willed village folk who dwelt in the cosy hamlet of Len Lufern.

Eva stared away into the approaching darkness. She had waited for an overly long period of time, expecting tidings of victory from the young lad whom she had nurtured all the years of her stay in Lami…

Unknown to the lone occupant of the cottage, a calm bearing had stolen over the hunched form. Eva had already nodded off to sleep even as the words of her dear father lingered amidst the shadows of a distant memory.

Chapter 1

Anamarias

The wind blew gently across the plains. In its path, stood a lone horseman admiring the splendour of Nature’s majestic sculpturing upon the sand and rocky boulders spread out before him.

A welcome breeze caressed Anamarias’ face and a smile broke upon the previously stern expression. It was a face given to smiling in a wholesome way and it reflected a thirst for adventure. Rugged features peered from below a bounty of reddish-brown hair, tied into a ponytail at the back. His ears slanted upwards and nearly reached the top of his head – the distinctive mark of an inhabitant of Lamiras. Neither the citizens of Meldovia nor Varnosia, the neighbouring kingdoms, sported such outlandish features. A scar made its way from the corner of one eye to the middle of his left cheek. A high forehead and set jaws completed the strong and piercing look

The muscles on his taut neck blended with his tall frame as it strained against his tightly stretched upper garment. Tanned skin stood prominent against the yellow background – what with Anamarias being outdoors for most of the sun-drenched hours of the day. A long bow lay strung across his broad chest while a sheaf of arrows rested in their quiver at the left side of his saddle. At his waist, covered by a loincloth of rich cotton, a magnificent sword rested in its scabbard, kept in place by an equally worn-out belt.

Bare arms revealed the presence of a wrist-tome – a circular piece of black metal he wore around his left wrist. Numerical runes divided the wrist-tome into equal portions of time. A white needle centred on the wrist-tome moved round the black metal even as the night passed into a new morning and evening merged with the night. During the night, the turning needle glowed bright, allowing its wearer to ascertain the hours to sunlight with certainty.

Mindful of the need to adorn himself with a well-endowed frame at the age of fourteen years while out on his first hunting expedition, Anamarias had watched with bated breath the battle between the warriors of the castle and the stronger lizard-like creatures from the kingdom of Solma. Though it had taken its toll, the tenacity of the human spirit eventually overcame their physically stronger adversaries. He would not ever end up unable to defend himself against a bigger foe. Thus Anamarias took the bold step to venture into the wooded terrain surrounding the castle at Lamiras. Initially accompanied by his royal companions, gradually Anamarias preferred to ride out towards the many nooks and corners of the kingdom all by himself. There was something there in the wilderness that tugged at his heart. Each of his forays kept him longer in the woodland territory and he spent less time with his doting kin and courtly duties. His adventures, as he liked to term them, toughened his body and mind like no other exertion could. Yet the same wanderings made his parents worry for his safety because strange beasts were known to inhabit the deeper parts of the wooded country. He was their only child and the apple of their eye.

With the passing years, Anamarias’ love for adventure eventually overcame his fear of the unknown. The terrified boy of fourteen summers had grown into a tall and arresting man – two hundred pounds of muscle built on a six-foot-and-two-inch frame. Like the adventurous deeds of his youthful years, he now sat straddled upon an equally statuesque-looking horse.

Cyclone was its name. A fitting name it was for a mare, pure white from head to tail, except for a noticeable patch of black on the forehead, just above and between its eyes. Standing six-and-a-half feet in height, she moved with the agility of a swift wind. Horse and rider made a picturesque team, reminding the casual onlooker of a forgotten grandeur when a race of sturdier people inhabited the realm.

Anamarias had first beheld the animal at a horse fair some years earlier. While interested buyers haggled for the available horses being traded, the price for Cyclone was a deposit of fifteen silver coins and the skill of its rider to hold on to his seat for a mere five minutes. The rider who succeeded in the attempt would get the horse as his prize. Anamarias had watched while yet another rider fell off his seat. Each time a rider got unseated he could attempt another claim at the prize upon payment of the required number of coins. Many a sorry buyer had already lost heavily to the horse trader as they attempted to master that wild steed. None of the challengers had managed to stay seated for more than two minutes.

It proved to be a winning strategy for the horse trader to make a tidy sum of money. Having convinced its previous owner to part with it for a paltry sum, he had himself attempted to master the horse. The number of falls he eventually suffered convinced him of the worth of profiting himself from its untamed spirit.

It was Anamarias’ turn to try his luck with the horse. He felt the nervousness and mounting anger of the animal from his first touch of its flank. As Anamarias seated himself on the saddle, the horse stood as still as a rock. In the blink of an eye, Anamarias suddenly found himself in the grip of a raging whirlpool. The young man had never come across so violent and stubborn an animal. It took all of his physical and mental stamina to stay seated upon the saddle. The battle seemed to go on for a lifetime, though it was no more than a minute before Anamarias felt his feet leave the stirrups and he was thrown into the air. The ground came to meet him a shade faster and he lay panting, a thin streak of red coursing down his lip.

The decision was made. This was the horse he wanted and he would overcome its stubborn spirit no matter what it took. An overly tenacious streak governed its heart and was the only reason it had held its own against the previous would-be buyers. Dusting his clothes, Anamarias paid the horse trader for his second attempt. This time he managed to cling on for three of the longest minutes he had experienced, before landing heavily again on already-sore buttocks.

Anamarias was riled by then. The cheering crowd that had encouraged him on just a moment before was now jeering loudly at him. He could not ignore the humiliation any longer. Picking himself up, he strode forth towards the horse trader, who gave Anamarias a condescending look as the latter handed over the third set of silver coins. There was no turning back from the wild animal. Anamarias realized that the trick was to keep the horse’s head held high, away from its shadow on the ground. The struggle between brawn and brain started all over again and the accompanying encouragement from the watching crowd came out loud and clear.

Three short minutes passed while the horse trader glanced towards his wrist-tome. Things were not moving according to the way they usually did. Carefully approaching the pouncing horse, he squeezed his fingers over one muscled buttock. A neigh of pain emerged from the horse’s throat and in a fit of rage it fled into a frenzied gallop.

Anamarias swayed his arms helplessly at this turn of events. He tried everything he had learnt in his years of riding horses to stop the charging animal, but failed miserably in his attempts. It was approaching a tract of land that he recognized as an obstacle to his immediate task. To his horror, they were charging headlong into the Continuum – a stretch of main highway built ages ago by the Elders of their ancient race.

A rider within the Continuum covered three times the distance than one outside of it at the end of a given time. Strangely enough, the horse managed to keep its footing and raced onwards, with the rider still on its back. Images of the outer surroundings whizzed by Anamarias like in a dream, though they looked real enough. The horse kept up the pace for a good five minutes, hoping to dislodge its rider and be rid of the stubborn weight once and for all. But Anamarias remained steadfast in his grip and clung on to its neck despite every jolt in its stride. He had ridden many a horse before but never one, this wild. On its part, the horse bucked repeatedly and did everything it knew – and more – to unsaddle the devil of a human clinging on to it.

Just as suddenly, the horse stopped its wild motions and stood still, flaring its nostrils in anger. Anamarias lost his balance but managed just in time to stop himself from falling to the hard ground, his arms still clinging on to its neck. He waited for the horse’s next trick. It did not pay to lower his guard against such a wild animal. Three long minutes passed and still it did not move. It had finally met her match.

When Anamarias rode back to claim his prize, there were frowns on the faces of the not-so-enthusiastic crowd of onlookers, and the darkest look came from the horse trader himself. Bereft of his royal attire there was none to recognize Anamarias for the prince that he was, for he almost always rode the lonesome trail to adventure.

Although triumphant over the animal, he had to win its admiration before it submitted to his beck and call. The ensuing months of riding, coaxing, talking and caring passed quickly. By then, a special bond had been forged between the pair. Anamarias understood the yearning of its wild heart for he himself lived a carefree life. Whenever he was back at the castle, the horse would roam freely across the surrounding woodlands. Horse and man came to respect each other in a bond of trust and friendship. In recognition of its wild nature, coupled with the effort and time he took to master its wild spirit, Anamarias christened the horse Cyclone. From then on, Cyclone answered only to Anamarias’ piercing whistles.

Anamarias gazed at the bare plains ahead of him. There was not a soul in sight. Only boulders, the ever-present sand and some desert vegetation inhabited this part of the country – sparse was the word. His wanderings often brought him to the desert region – the place they called the Dunelands, which was nothing like the hustle and bustle of life in the capital.

The ten-day ride from the castle was worth all his exertions because he looked forward to hunting the desert fox. The animal blended well with the desert sand and finding one was a challenge he readily accepted. At times, his exertions were not enough to make out the shimmer of movement among the sands. The times his arrows found their mark were those when he moved fast to claim his prize, for hyenas and desert eagles also roamed the lonely trails.

The queen of the realm, his doting mother, would have preferred a setting closer to home, or her castle itself, for a more accommodating terrain where he could take a dip in the cleansing pool or be with comrades who mattered, or even ride on hunting expeditions in the safety of numbers. To her way of reasoning, the castle was the perfect spot to engage his thoughts.

He was different from the children of the other nobles, Anamarias supposed. Though he did not mind the comforts of the castle, the thirst for the outdoors, for adventure, for challenges and the urge to inquire and search for answers ran deep in his veins. The years of living a sheltered life was reason enough to brave the unknown wilds. Riding through the Continuum also enabled him to cover a greater part of the country within a shorter time.

He often wondered about the strange passageway extending over a large part of the seven lands of living beings, which they called the Continuum. An outer wall of transparent fabric graced its sides, clearly visible from the distance. The walls on both sides of the passageway curved upwards into a dome-like structure at a height of about twenty-five feet from the ground, indicating its limits had been reached. The width of the passageway stretched to more than three hundred feet to allow for the easy movement of larger humans and animal herds. The inside trail had smoothed itself out with the passage of time and sand covered its entire stretch.

Stray stones and rocky outcroppings no longer posed a threat to those who availed themselves of it. The main highways were normally the start and outlet points, though smaller roads and streets made up the rest of the Continuum.

Depending on the pace one moved through it, the surrounding land moved as quickly, backwards. It took some getting used to for both beast and man when they entered and exited the Continuum, and the likelihood of skids and accidents was high if one was not careful enough. Many a commoner and beast carried the wounds of injury on their bodies, caused by the sudden change in the pace of movement as they entered and exited the Continuum.

Anamarias enjoyed a good song. Songs were often sung by their warriors as well as by the householder folk. Every child in Lamiras was taught to sing songs of courage, love, passion and beauty – a pastime passed down from the time of Lamir the Mighty. One who could not put into song the beauty of the occasion usually became the subject of derision amongst his peers. Songs were, after all, written to be sung when the occasion called for the expression of sentiment. There was no better way to remember the ways of their ancestors than by adding musical notes to those memories. It was also a fun way to make the characters of their songs come alive and all who heard the tunes stood lost in rumination of the past ages of glory. The citizens of Lamiras also appreciated a fine song at the start of battle, during a betrothal ceremony or even just for the sake of song.

And in this setting, devoid of human habitation, a well-liked song of Lamiras came to Anamarias’ lips. He sang the notes in no more than just a whisper. It was a song which told the story of the happenings of days, few had occasion to remember.

Across the battlefield he rode,

Astride a horse of equal mould,

To join friend and neighbour,

Against the might of fear,

Hail mighty Lamir, hail to thee,

Your strength and valour plain to see,

Mighty One, if not for thy victorious Staff,

Great Mondilozar would have had the last laugh,

When the likes of Evil came forth,

You showed the way of deliverance,

When tenfold trouble approached our shores,

One stroke of your sword made the difference.

La la li li la la la la li li

La la li li la la la la li …

As the whispered song trailed off into an uneasy silence, both man and beast stood perfectly still, faintly aware of the approach of intruders. In one swift, cat-like stride, Anamarias dismounted from the saddle and put his ears to the ground. He remained motionless for some moments. Slowly, his lips widened into a smile as he got up and guided Cyclone towards the boulder of rock just ahead. In the silence of the passing moments, Anamarias waited for his pursuers to show themselves.

Minutes passed. True enough, two horses came into view with their dust-covered riders on their saddles. One had an unshaven bearing with untidy clothes to match while the other looked prim and proper in every way despite the dust on his tall frame. Anamarias recognized the approaching riders because they were all from Len Lamir, the capital city of Lamiras.

The shame of it all! complained the unkempt horseman, Irah. Imagine the heir of Lamiras needing to be attended to like an innocent child, at this age and time.

He was only a year older than Anamarias. For a big man, big in terms of his waist, Irah managed to stay on his horse most of the time. His favourite pastime was to savour the delicacies of the palate, especially those of the meaty kind. His comrades enticed him with such temptations whenever they sought his company on their somewhat reprehensible doings.

Irah was foolish enough to accommodate them for, to his way of reckoning, when one of the three got into trouble with the elderly nobles at the castle, the other two were also made to share in the shame of their despicable deeds. Yet he had his good habits as well. Despite his voracious demeanour, Irah always ensured that his horse, Doof, stayed amply fed. The bond between man and beast was evident – one taking care of the other in a somewhat mutually dependent kind of attachment.

Daasarpias smiled. Of the same age as Irah, he relished the deep friendship between Anamarias, Irah and himself. They were more like brothers than friends. It was a blessing he treasured - their penchant for getting one another into trouble with their elders had kept them together more times than could be counted on the fingers of both hands.

Daasarpias liked to be admired for his good looks, always on the lookout for a dashing lass to spend time with. His only failing was his inability to reject the advances of the young women, beautiful or otherwise, who longed for an endearing glance from him. Just the same, trouble seemed to plague his amorous ways, for he tended to shower his romantic attentions on more than one maiden at a time. The more the merrier was his motto. His liaisons usually ended in fights between the womenfolk as soon as one of them learnt of another, in the same relationship with him. This train of events inevitably led him to seek out a new face, over whom to shower his attentions.

We will seek him out sooner than you think, Irah. We may even sneak up on him and win our bet, said Daasarpias with a grin. Remember, he is a year younger to us. We are one year ahead of him. A year is long enough for intelligence to bloom. We will win this time.

Yet the Fates did not favour them kindly, for, soon thereafter, a hoarse voice accosted them from the rear.

Halt! You are surrounded! Set aside your arms. One false move and you will pay with your life!

The men froze instantaneously, their eyes taking in the lay of the land. Dilemma was written upon their countenance for they were both expert in reading the ground. Neither had been aware nor heard their assailant as he lay in wait. It seemed like they had walked into a trap, though Irah was the first to recover from the indignity of being taken unawares.

Why do you not give us a chance to catch you unprepared, Marias? Irah called back, laughter coming from thick lips as the men dismounted from their saddles without the slightest need for caution.

Anamarias bounded over to them, his face splitting into a broad grin as he beheld the two persons for whom, apart from his aged parents, he would gladly give his life.

You are a sight for sore eyes! Here I was, taking in the sights of wonderful Nature and thinking about how much better it would have been if the two of you had also joined me on this long adventure from the castle. The next thing I know, you are truly here with me. Is this a miracle or am I just imagining you to be here?

Ten days all alone in this wilderness can make you see things that are not actually there, Irah said, adding to the mystery of the moment.

Not if the mirage also speaks to you, Anamarias added. Now that we are together, let’s make for Len Mira, the coastal town at our northern border.

Not this time, Marias, Daasarpias said.

It’s just another two-day ride away, Anamarias persisted and bounded up astride Cyclone. "Been ages since