The Circle: The Uniting

By N.D. Bailey

"Tolkien meets C.S. Lewis somewhere between Mordor and the wardrobe"-Steve Trinward. When a cursed sword turns up in Shalahem, the fulfillment of a stream of ancient prophecies is set in order. A motley crew of riders is formed. Their mission is to take the sword to the Immortal King that he might destroy the evil ruler, Darvan, a king cursed by the Immortal King years ago when he sought to usurp his throne. Only an Immortal king holds the power to kill Darvan and there remains only one immortal king. But an ancient prophecy has foretold of a betrayer among the close knit group, one who wants the sword of power for himself because the sword renders its possessor undefeatable and offers him standing among Darvan's ranks. Their journey takes them to far reaching places and they discover that the evil king has been busy at work oppressing villages and cities with his dark knights, men cursed with the rotting of their flesh. Now, they must also try to become deliverers to these oppressed people. Their mission is a dangerous journey and the dark riders and other evil presences of Darvan's kingdom complicate their mission. a rider is taken captive, it becomes apparent that they will have to go to Quadar, the land of Darvan, a dark and cursed land. As frustrations arise among the group, so do tensions. But for their mission to be successful, they must work together. An ancient prophecy also spoke of one arising who becomes a keeper of the sword, a task no one would want because the sword has a persuasive pull to it, a destructive power. In the midst of the conflict, there is a budding romance...and another lost to a mortal condition. A story filled with quirky characters including knights, a princes warrior, wizards, giants, vikings, Earthdwellers, sorbs, and more. The ultimate story of good vs evil. Strong characterization. Epic in every way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: N.D. Bailey
• Release date: Mar 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476194370

N.D. Bailey

N.D. Bailey is a native to middle Tennessee and enjoys traveling and scuba diving.

Book preview

Tolkien meets C. S. Lewis somewhere between Mordor and the wardrobe.-Steve Trinward, editor.

This book is dedicated to people all over the world who suffer from injustices.

Let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream (Amos 5:24).

The Circle:

Book I: The Uniting

By N. D. Bailey

Copyright 2012 N. D. Bailey

Smashwords Edition

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - Shilly Shally Road

Chapter 2 - Harvest Celebration

Chapter 3 - A Mysterious Knight

Chapter 4 - A Meeting at the Castle

Chapter 5 - One Dark Night

Chapter 6 - A Story to Tell

Chapter 7 - Returning to the Castle

Chapter 8 - A Discovery

Chapter 9 - An Ancient Prophecy

Chapter 10 - The Land of the Gommits

Chapter 11 - Monguard the Waddi

Chapter 12 - The Shovi: Land of the Earthdwellers

Chapter 13 - The Land of the Himps

Chapter 14 - Skin Deep

Chapter 15 - The Wise and the Green

Chapter 16 - Elves and Sorbs

Chapter 17 - The Forest of Mirth

Chapter 18 - Liberation

Chapter 19 - A Score to Settle

Chapter 20 - A Night in a Cave

Chapter 21 - Over the Snowy Mountains

Chapter 22 - Vikings

Chapter 23 - The Tomb of Murdorf

Chapter 24 - Jimmy

Chapter 25 - Wet Wood

Chapter 26 - The Passage of Crossing

Chapter 27 - Shy Kadesh

Chapter 28 - Love Hurts

Chapter 29- Ormandel

Chapter 30- The Ride Back

Chapter 31 - Betrayal

Chapter 32- The Search Begins

Chapter 33 - Talking, Taunting, and Dreaming

Chapter 34 - Gadilrod

Chapter 35 - The Potter

Chapter 36 - Discouragement

Chapter 37 - Norssod

Chapter 38 - Darvan

Chapter 39 - Randorin

Chapter 40 - The Immortals

Chapter 41 - Painful Memories

Chapter 42 - Norgidian and the Apothecary

Chapter 43 - Darfin

Chapter 44 - Saying Goodbye

Chapter 45 - Windsor's Words of Wisdom

Chapter 46 - The Summit

Appendix: Character Outline

About the Author

First, I thank God who graced me with this story while I was flat on my back. This story gave me hope during a desperate time of suffering. Thank you for entrusting this story to me. Now, I give it back to you and pray that you bless others with it. A special thanks to my mother who allowed me to bounce my ideas off of her. You encouraged me not to give up. I thank my step-father who takes such good care of my mother. Thanks to my sister who read the first rough draft. I know it was rough, that's why they call it a rough draft. I cannot offer enough appreciation to Ted and Judy Gee for adopting me when I was in the thongs of death undergoing that painful process called higher education. Since you treat me like one of your own kids, I'll send you the bill I racked up. Just kidding. You're friendship is priceless. A special thanks to Steve Trinward for his painstaking editorial work. Your careful eye and brilliant advice helped improve this work. I also offer a special thank-you to my friend, Judy Buck who has stuck by me. You are few and far between. I also thank Dr. Satish Cudappah and his team for helping me in my battle with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. You're the best doctor in the whole world in my eyes. Kelly, your compassion and care is immeasurable. I want to thank Tammy Hall for her amazing artistic work on the cover design.

Shilly Shally Ford

Finding the cursed sword of Darvan was most unexpected. It ruining his life, well that he should have expected since ruining lives is what it has always done. But it leading up to global war and the end of all things as they knew it--well that he never expected since he was not acquainted with the ancient prophecies. And the finding of the sword at Shilly Shally Ford as being noteworthy, this he had not a clue about either.

The jubilant sound of singing reverberated across the mountainous ridges that decorated the vast region of the Land of Shalahem. The strong male voice echoed in an alto pitch, giving melody to a landscape worthy of such music. This was the rhapsodic song that could be heard resounding across the land:

I pledge myself to be courageous, strong, and brave,

To protect our citizens from the evil way.

I will fight for my country, my king, and my God

Stand with my brothers like two peas in a pod

For this is the pledge and the song of the knight.

To walk with integrity in the kingdom of the light

Standing for the truth, doing what’s right

When our kingdom is threatened we fight, fight, fight

A knight must demonstrate compassion and nobility

Carrying his sword in honor, truth, and humility

Lending a hand to those in need

Defending the Kingdom against the evil seed.

For this is the pledge and the song of the knight.

To walk with integrity in the kingdom of the light

Standing for the truth, doing what’s right

When our kingdom is threatened we fight, fight, fight

Pip sang with zeal as he skipped along the dirt path in a mirthful manner, his unkempt amber hair bouncing in synch to the beat of his song and the wind blowing on his freckled face.

Pip dreamed of becoming a knight but was yet to get accepted into the school. The last time he applied he was too young. Now, his ambitions of leisure were far greater than his disciplines in the nobility of knighthood. As a result, Pip had temporarily settled on the order of knights that stuck strictly to acts of goodwill rather than acts of gallantry in combat—which, according to most interpretations, was no order of knighthood at all. But Pip had not given up yet, for in a few weeks, he would be applying again for the school of knights, hoping to muster up the discipline required for such lofty ambitions.

Strictly speaking, this humanitarian order was a far cry from knighthood. In truth, the order was formed out of community need, and a title had been given simply to entice volunteers. Most true knights, as well as other more prestigious people, snubbed their noses at the idea of a hospitable order of knighthood, failing to recognize the efforts of peace as being at least equal to those of combat. Although this order of knighthood was mocked by many, most people liked Pip. Being well-known for his jovial and generous ways, Pip was well received by even the most inimical persons.

Pip, absorbed in gaiety, was unaware of the presence of four bulging eyeballs peering through the thick of the forest, scouting Pip’s every move. Red spider-veins in the whites of their wide eyes pulsated with mischief as they devised a plan against him, spurred only by their own boredom and innate wickedness. It was two nomeds, nefarious creatures to the very center of their core, inherently and unredeemably wicked.

Thin sprigs of hair stood out, randomly scattered across their heads, insufficient to conceal the raised purplish-red veins beneath their ghostly skin. Their veins jutted out over their bodies beneath their delicate skin like a road map for the blind. Although small in stature, hardly reaching three feet, nomeds were vicious creatures capable of the most brutal of crimes. They were also logical creatures, able to plan and plot, and to make rational, although wicked, decisions.

Their preying eyes followed Pip, tracking him as they dashed through the forest, attempting to get far ahead of the lad. Their skinny legs glided swiftly and their long toes turned the dirt along the path. They scurried along, using their hands that dangled to the ground to increase their speed.

Reaching the fork in the road at Shilly Shally Ford, one snarled to the other, Let’s have some fun with this guy.

What do you suggest?

The swamp. He divulged his sharp dun teeth. Scheming and plotting evil was natural for them. They loved it; they lived for it. It was in their blood.

Then his blood will be mingled with the dirt, said the other, his voice growing louder with increasing enthusiasm.

Shhhh! You idiot, he will hear us, said the other nomed peering out from the woods.

Although Pip’s sense of hearing was engaged in his own noisemaking, the screech dimly reached his ear. He hushed and decreased his gait to a slow and uncertain walk as he surveyed his surroundings. Suddenly, the sound of an eagle pierced the blue skyline and became visible overhead.

An eagle. I knew I heahd somethin’, Pip said to himself returning to his skipping and singing.

Scurrying further ahead and turning the corner at the fork in the road, the first one hunkered down behind the brush at the edge of the path and waited. The second nomed followed on his heels. The two now watched Pip as he approached the fork in the road at Shilly Shally Ford.

For this is the pledge and the song of the knight, he sang.

Hunkered down low, the two nomeds darted out from the woods towards Pip.

To walk with integrity in the kingdom of the liiiggghhhtt. Pip hardly knew what hit him as he slid down the ledge of the cliff and splashed into a swampy lagoon.

Blasted! Well, nab a noose! Blasted! he said, trying to stand up. What sort of critter was that? Peeping between some blades of swamp grass Pip didn’t see anything and concluded that whatever it was it must have run off.

Rats, I’m all wet! Grabbing a sturdy- looking vine that hung on the edge of the water, he tried to pull himself up. Just as he began to gain some leverage the shoot broke, and Pip fell backward into the water making another splash.

Blasted vine, he said, trying to haul himself through the mud and up the embankment. Oouch, he yelped as something sharp sliced his hand. Blood pooled up on the surface of his skin and ran down the tip of his forefinger. Pulling out a wet handkerchief from his back pocket, Pip one-handedly tied the cloth around his hand, tightening it by pulling one corner with his crooked teeth.

Now, Pip was curious to find out what had caused this injury. Digging through the mud, Pip pulled out a sharp steel sword with a unique handle, decorated with diamond shaped ruby stones surrounding an emblazoned diadem inlaid with gold. It was an exquisite sword, truly the work of a master craftsman.

What a beauty you are. He washed away the mud so he could get a better look at this fine piece of antiquity. As he gripped its handle, the sword seemed to radiate with power, making Pip feel strong and invincible.

A new sword. I’ve been wantin’ me a new sword, Pip soliloquized.

The two nomeds peered through the trees trying to see what Pip was doing, curious that he had not yet come up the embankment. From where they were, all they could see was the top of his muddy head.

Standing in waist-deep murky water, Pip swung the sword to the left and then to the right. It didn’t take long for him to realize that this sword was unique, as it generated power and seemed to almost call him by name.

Then it struck him. Ahhh! I know what you… I’ve heahd tales ’bout you. He whispered in a voice with overtones of both mystery and suspense.

Still deep in mud, Pip washed the remainder of the soil away from the weapon, and then stood there, staring at the sword in disbelief. Finally, he came to his senses, realizing he was still standing in the swamp. He started to pull himself up the slippery embankment, but only slid backwards, getting wet all over again.

Thrusting his left hand into the mud to try to stop his fall, Pip felt something beneath the mire. After regaining his steadiness, he noticed a glint of white. He reached down and pulled at the object. To his horror a skeletal hand popped out of the muck. Aghast, he jerked, and forgetting to let go of the hand, he pulled the torso of the corpse out of the mud. Screaming in terror, he stared into the frozen face of the grim remains of a stiff corpse, some bone exposed.

Hysterical, Pip dropped the sword and managed to scramble up the embankment. Frantic and scared, he was intending to run as fast as he could to the city, when suddenly, he felt the power of the sword reach at his immortal soul. It was as if the sword had a magnetic pull upon him, enticing him and even claiming him as its possessor. Pip tugged at a tuft of hair on his head as he wrestled with what he should do. His thoughts took on every option: Leave the sword and pretend you nevah laid eyes upon it. No, go back and get it; it’s yours! But what if the legends be true? Yeah, but even if they are, I’m diffant. I will get into the school of the knights and be the best knight evah.

With some reluctance, Pip climbed back down the embankment. Cringing at the corpse, he picked up the sword, and immediately a surge of power rushed through him. He held the sword in his hand and swung it cautiously. As he felt its power, caution turned to confidence. Suddenly, he recalled in his mind some of the ancient tales he had heard, tales of its prior possessors and how they ruled ruthlessly with it. Fear began to mount up in Pip’s heart.

I don’t want to become like them, he whispered. I must bury it back where I found it, and forget that I evah laid eyes upon it. He began to push the sword into the mud, but the sword seemed to protest, and a jolt of power shot through his body, arousing confidence, and subsiding all fears.

I’m diffant from the othahs, reasoned Pip. I can use it for the good of humanity. That’s it. I can make somethin’ good out of it, he whispered to himself. Looking around, he dug the sword out of the mud, washed it, drew it close to himself, and scrambled back up the embankment.

As Pip surfaced, the two nomeds were peering through the trees to see what had been occupying their prey. Seeing Pip bearing a sword, they both studied it, trying to get a better look at it. The sunlight captured the sparkles of the rubies and they danced in the tree limbs.

It’s the Sword of Darvan, hissed one. The pair had merely been looking to have some mischievous entertainment at Pip’s expense. Finding the Sword of Darvan was an unforeseen contingency in their mischievous plot of games.

It’s just as the ancient prophesy says. The nomed repeated the prophecy with a wily rasp to his voice:

O land of Shalahem,

That seeks to be redeemed.

You sought for peace,

But instead found a sword,

At the fork in the road,

At Shilly Shally Ford.

Now your way of peace,

Has come to an end;

With division among you,

How will you defend?

Your kingdom divided,

Will not stand,

And you will be no more,

In this land.

Down, down you will fall,

The quest for power,

Will fool you all.

For the Sword of Darvan,

Will create discord;

And you will cut your throats,

With your own swords.

Meanwhile Pip, wet and muddy, trotted jubilantly down the path, his feet and sandals now covered in mud.

Now I’ll be the best knight in all the Land of Shalahem. Everyone will hear of me.

All the while the two nomeds watched as Pip carried the sword down Shilly Shally Ford and continued his jubilant song.

For this is the pledge and the song of the knight:

To walk with integrity in the kingdom of the light.

Standing for the truth, and doing what’s right,

When our kingdom is threatened, we fight, fight, fight.

Like fool’s gold in a scholar’s pocket, Pip clutched the sword close to his chest in complete awareness of the atrocious tales associated with the sword. He refused, however, to believe the sword to be anything less than a spectacular find.

Harvest Celebration

Clang! Clang! Clang! The steel swords rang loud as they echoed throughout the valley below. The knights of the City of Sayir were practicing their swordsmanship at the most prestigious school for knighthood in all the land. The school was located on a mountain overlooking the city, a citadel hovering over a noble land

A stone pavement jetting out from the adjoining building near the edge of a cliff was the instructor’s ideal place of practice, except when winter weather moved in, in which case, they would go indoors to a spacious room adjacent the cobblestone pavement. Large columns lined the arena, supporting a flat roof connected to the building, which provided a spacious area for outside practice, sheltering them from the rains that blew in from time to time.

The towering trees below were taking on their iridescent array of colors as fall approached. The green leaves were turning orange, red and yellow, and the wild flowers blossomed all across the mountains. The sun shimmered brightly on the stone structures nestled in the valley below. The citizens of Sayir were gleefully making preparations for the festivities of the week, the celebration of their yearly harvest, a five-day festival. This was a big event because many of the diverse citizens from across the Land of Shalahem would travel to Sayir to join in the harvest festival.

Atop the mountain, Nimri’s sword swung low toward Cozbi’s knees. Cozbi swung hard and fast, blocking the blow with his own sword and parrying it up toward Nimri’s left side. Cozbi then came in with a straight jab, thrusting toward Nimri’s neck. Nimri stepped back, his footwork unconsciously precise, and blocked the attack with his sword. Nimri then attempted to step behind Cozbi to make a killer attack, but Cozbi was far too skilled, as he parried his sword, blocking it.

You’re gonna have to do bettah than that, mate, he said with confidence.

Ah, But you haven’t put me out yet, mate, Nimri retorted, as he brandished his weapon for another go.

I’m just waitin’ on you to get tired. If I put you out too quickly, then I won’t have anyone to practice with besides Nuvatian and Gilmanza. No one else around here is a challenge, mate, Cozbi said truthfully, but showing his arrogance.

I wouldn’t be so self-assured if I were you.

Well, there is a reason that you and I are usually paired up, Cozbi acknowledged. We are the best in the class.

A bit arrogant too, mate.

Nothin' wrong with acknowledging your talents.

Back and forth they continued, skillfully sparring and not missing a beat, like the rhythm of a good Sayirian folksong. Beneath their mail their tired bodies were moistened with sweat. A small collective pool had gathered in their lower backs, like liquid gold poured into a mold. Their garments beneath their armor were wringing wet, not a stitch of dry fabric could be found. The noise of their swords was merely another clang among the many swords and shields, reverberating throughout the mountain range like a melody that sang of national pride and security to its citizens below.

The bell rang loud and Gilmanza, the chief instructor of the school, held up his right hand. A scar marring his arm and hand gave weighty testimony of a man of many wars.

Attention! Bond your swords noble knights.

In haste, the student body of knights lined up shoulder-to-shoulder and in rows at Gilmanza’s command. In one synchronized accord, they placed their steel swords in their sheaths, marched their right feet on the ground, then their left, and placed their arms to their sides.

A gentle wind blew Gilmanza’a long gray hair as he stood in front of his students and the sun shone down on his back, casting a shadow across his face and camouflaging his wrinkles. He was a man of many life-experiences: he was ancient and he had led Shalahem into more than a few successful battles. Although a veteran of many wars, he was a gentle man; perhaps time’s effect had softened the once rough edges. With every stroke a cut above the rest, he had been fortunate enough to escape death. Despite his age, he was as nimble as the young lads he trained.

Nuvatian, an accomplished knight and assistant to Gilmanza, stood to Gilmanza’s right. For a moment, all that could be heard was the heavy breathing of the knights as they tried to draw breath.

At ease, my noble knights, Gilmanza said, scratching his face beneath his long gray beard. Straightaway, the knights pulled off their helmets and held them beneath their left arms. Pools of sweat rolled from their heads and down their faces and dripped onto the stone pavement.

"You have all practiced long and hard. Your expertise is made evident in the skill by which you use your swords. Even so, the skill of the sword is not all there is to knighthood. Remembah, a sword is no more powerful than the one who swings it; it is no more a weapon of defense than the man who bears it; it has no more heart than the one who possesses it; it has no more nobility than the man who uses it for noble purposes. Knighthood is not all about skill; it is also about charactah. It is about honor.

Always remembah, he concluded, it is the charactah of the knight that gives honor to the sword. Arrogance does not befit a knight—so bear it with humility. Aggression does not befit a knight—so walk in peace. And fear does not befit a knight—so remain steadfast and courageous. Go in peace.

After they had bowed toward Gilmanza and Nuvatian, the class of sword-masters was dismissed.

What say ye nobles we meet up at sunset for the celebration tonight? Cozbi suggested to Nuvatian and Nimri, as he ran a towel over his wet dark blond hair.

That sounds good to me, answered Nuvatian. Sweat ran across his dimples as he searched for a towel.

How about an hour before sunset and we’ll play Triple B? suggested Nimri.

You’re on, answered Cozbi.

Nuvatian agreed, grinning at his friends as he ran his hands through his long hair.

Be sure to bring your sistah, Nimri yelled to Nuvatian.

Watch it! I wouldn’t want to have to huht you, mate.

Ah! Come on! Wouldn’t you rathah her be with a nice and handsome man like myself—a trusted friend at that?

You have a point, but she’s still my sistah. Nuvatian threw his hand up at a comrade. Then he continued, I think she likes you too, mate. She asked me about you the othah day.

Yes! exclaimed Nimri, slinging his sweaty towel in the air. I’ll see you and your sistah tonight, mate.

The sun shone down on Nuvatian’s sweaty olive skin, casting sheen on his muscular frame as he strolled across the stone pavement toward his horse. He seemed to be a man who had it all: personality, looks, skill, and strength. His dreamy sable-brown eyes decorated with dark eyebrows were like the detailed work of an embroiderer, crafted with the most skilled of hands. His sometimes rugged appearance did him no harm; in fact, he wore the look all too well. Even so, he did not flaunt his physique; he was far more interested in his duty to his country. Perhaps this was due in part to his high standards of integrity as well as the fact that he had had his tender heart broken once before.

But women were still high on his list, just had yet to find the gal of his dreams.

Although friends with Cozbi and Nimri, in fact the three had been best of friends since childhood, he was far more mature and took his duties to the kingdom with great seriousness. Because he had been eager to learn from his superiors, he sat among the elite councilmen of the king.

Nimri and Cozbi did not fall far behind Nuvatian, either in good looks or in swordsmanship. As with all fighting knights, Nimri and Cozbi were well-shaped, and strong. Nimri, although a nice guy overall, had a tendency to be a little over-confident, sometimes even a bit arrogant, but his arrogance was for the most part reserved and usually only showed itself as it pertained to his opinionated beliefs and his excellent skill with the sword.

Cozbi was well-disciplined in his training, always striving to be better. If he could wear accolades, he would display everyone where they could be seen. He was a charismatic fellow, and popular with the people, so much so that some believe him half capable of charming a snake into submission. Nuvatian, Nimri, and Cozbi were long-time friends; like hobbies, same career path, and loyalty characterized their friendship-bond.

The setting sun cast a beautiful array of orange and pink hues across the sky. Dressed in the colorful apparel typical of such celebrations, people had begun to gather on the hillside with their musical instruments. As the sun slowly vanished and the hillside populated with people, the comfortable night air became fragrant with the aroma of apple pies, grilled meats, and baked delicacies.

Pumpkins, melons, and various kinds of squash adorned the hillside on lorries as a witness to their fruitful season. Dried gourds painted in fantastic colors by the children were streamed at various places along the hillside. Bales of hay had been stacked along the stone wall that wrapped itself around the spacious and convivial lot. Strategically placed torches lit up the hillside, casting eerie shadows along the outskirts of the forest and giving form to the darkness. Shadows danced along with the celebration, as though telling a story of a time when darkness first collided with light, a time when celebration was far removed from the kingdom.

Yes! Five! said Nuvatian. Nuvatian, Nimri and Cozbi were high with emotions in their game of Triple B, booing and jeering over every move. Triple B stood for betrayal, betrothal, and bloodshed. The game was played with a single die and a drawn-out board resembling an ancient and complicated map. The winner was the one who successfully reached the castle with the rescued girl.

Nuvatian’s time to roll came again and he rolled a six, just what was needed to gain the betrothal. Yes! he cried in triumph. I told you I would get the gihl.

Yes, but the quest for you is dependent upon you keepin’ her, and makin’ it to the castle, Nimri reminded him. You staht well but a man must not boast puttin’ on his ahma. He should reserve all such boastin’ for when he takes it off. He flipped his dark hair away from his face as he picked up the die.

Nimri and Cozbi were now tied. Nimri rolled a five. Cozbi rolled and the die landed on two. Yes, Nimri exclaimed.

At last! I got the sword. My sword may take your fair lady away there, mate, Nimri said to Nuvatian.

Like you said, one should reserve all such boastin’ for when he takes off his ahmah, said Nuvatian, laughing.

Cozbi, you’re the betrayer, the other two mocked.

You laugh now, but you won’t be laughin’ when I betray you.

They continued rolling the die and moving their game-pieces along the game board, trying to win the fair lady and make it to the castle. The most enjoyable experience about playing Triple B was that each time it told a different story of betrayal, betrothal, and bloodshed.

Music and dancing, eating and laughing had broken out on the hillside as the grand festivities escalated. The sound of music filled the air while the scent of traditional Shalaham delicacies drifted for miles, teasing the nostrils as far as the wind carried the pleasant aroma. Citizens of Shalahem had come from all over the land. A few came from the wider areas of Shalahem: the Earthdwellers who live southwest in the hills of the Shovi, a hand full of Elves from the northeast, tall and slender people with pointed elvish ears, and a few Waddies from the south came too.

Some Gommits, who live in the rural southland, came. Gommits are rather odd-looking creatures. Their big mouths could chew threw just about anything. Their flexible ears are peculiar, folding over like earmuffs on the sides of their heads. But it is their large floppy cheeks that stand out as most unusual, large enough to easily store a cantaloupe in each side.

From the southeast regions came a handful of country folks, known as Himps. Himps sort of resemble a coalescence of a goat and a human with their goatish teeth, beady eyes, floppy ears and wiry hair, much like steel wool. The rest of their bodies are humanoid. Wearing overalls and simple clothing, these cowboys and cowgals are known as generally hard workers, plowing and planting, watering and weeding.

A tall and lanky old man donning a pointed hat moved through the diverse crowd, his sights set upon the three men playing their game. He eyed them, finding the best angle to sneak upon them.

Ahhhhh, I’ll take your fair lady now, mate, Nimri said to Nuvatian.

That fair lady is not nearly as fair as the one I see coming through the gateway, said the old man with long silver hair and elongated gray beard standing behind them.

Windsor! they shouted. You made it! We’re so glad you’re here!

Windsor was the top wizard throughout the land, a rather tacit individual and a man of few but worthy words. He was a very ancient wizard, even older than his dear friend, Gilmanza. He was from a generation that preceded the dire effects of the curse upon humanity, and he alone was left from that generation, the others long since having shed this mortal coil; he was the only one left who knew life as an immortal, except for the immortals living in the only kingdom untouched by the curse. Nonetheless, he was mortal although some doubted if he would ever die.

Windor’s tall slender build was topped off with a sable-brown wizard’s hat. Across his left cheek he bore a scar, partially hidden by his long gray beard, a visible reminder of betrayal from long ago. He also sported a long scar across his chest and another across his left hand, also marks from conflicts long-past. He had seen more than his fair share of tragedy and war.

Taking in Windsor’s reference of a fair lady, Nimri’s eyes gazed over Windsor’s shoulder, immediately spotting Nuvatian’s sister through the crowd.

Speaking of fair ladies… Nuvatian reminded them, laying out the redemption money to buy back the fair lady in their competitive board game.

Ah, man, that’s not fair, said Cozbi.

Rolling the die, he landed a six. Moving him and his fair lady six spaces, Nuvatian landed his game piece on the castle. Leaning back in a relaxed position he said, What says you to that, mate?

You can have your wooden fair lady, mate, Nimri said, dropping the die. I’m goin’ aftah the real deal. Rising to his feet, he sauntered toward Nuvatian’s sister, pushing his way through the crowd of people.

Well, crony, looks like he rolled a six, which gives him enough points to kill you with his sword, you betrayah you, Nuvatian said to Cozbi. And I know you don’t have enough money to buy yourself life, he added.

Cozbi stuck out his bottom lip in a playful manner, looking slightly displeased at the outcome of their little game. They laughed and made room for Windsor, happy to see a revered friend.

Suddenly, the voice of a woman calling out for Nuvatian resounded through the crowd. It was a young woman with a crush on Nuvatian—a crush that was not reciprocated.

Snickering, Nimri shuffled out of the woman’s way, giving her a bird’s eye view of Nuvatian’s surprised face. Hearing his name above the noise of the crowd, Nuvatian looked up and spotted the pesky woman. Aahhh, I think it’s time for me to turn in, mates, he muttered. Aware of the young woman’s infatuation of the man, his friends laughed heartily. Pushing and shoving her way across the populated hillside, she yelled his name over and over, but Nuvatian slipped through the crowd, ducking as he ran, using every person he could find as a hiding post, until finally he reached the edge of the masses where the dark street to home lay before him.

Nuvatian turned the corner at the Knights Armory and Dragon Reigns Store in a near run. The red sign with black letters hung from a silver chain that captured the light of the moon. As he accelerated around the corner, he ran smack into someone, knocking the individual to the ground.

Aaaahhhh! yelped a woman. Brute beast! She uttered the words under her breath.

Oh, excuse me! Let me help you.

Through the shimmering of the moonlight, Nuvatian caught a glimpse of the delicate face of the individual he had knocked down, and instantly lost all words. Her long dark-brown hair with subtle auburn highlights, dark-olive complexion, and vibrant green eyes made him weak in the knees. He was utterly embarrassed that he had just plowed over the most beautiful of all women in the kingdom: the princess.

Please, accept my apologies, princess, Nuvatian said, helping her up. As she got steady on her feet, she got a better look at her ‘brute beast’ and quickly saw him as no beast at all but a rather handsome man, a man she recognized as the noble knight Nuvatian. Even so, she did not let that silence her but for a moment.

What do you think you’re doing, running like that? she scolded. Simply mindless! Running a corner, and never minding who you might plow over in your empty pursuit of swiftness.

Awestruck by her beauty, Nuvatian struggled to get out the right words, Ple- Please do accept my apologies, Princess Nadora. I was in a hurry.

Obviously! she said brushing off her black jacket with the jade trim. The tailored jacket was cut to accentuate her petite and shapely form. Black riding pants covered her legs, like black velvet over the muscular frame of a panther.

She pulled off her riding coat to brush off the lingering dirt, revealing the arms of a well-conditioned body. The silver studs around her collar and the studded leather belt around her waist gave her a fashionable touch of royal toughness. While many women were stuck in the tradition of long dresses, this princess refused to be molded by ancient practices, paving her own way towards her identity as a woman. Even as she was dusting off her jacket and railing at him, Nuvatian couldn’t help but notice the particles of dirt on her well-rounded bottom.

You have… he began, unable to get a word in edgewise.

What were you thinking running like that?

I do apologize, princess.

Very well, then, apology accepted.

You have… Nuvatian tried again to point out her soiled yet delectable posterior.

Next time, watch where you’re going! the princess concluded, putting her well- dusted jacket back over her shoulders.

Yes, my lady. He reached down and picked up a black and silver brooch that had fallen from the princess’s royal raiment; it depicted chivalry in the finest of art. I believe this is yours, Nuvatian said looking into her hazel eyes.

Yes! she replied, her tone now softened. Thank you.

Disrupting the conversation was the persistent sound of a woman’s voice in the near distance, still yelling, Nuvatian! Nuvatian!

He took advantage of the distraction. Now, if you will excuse me. And please don’t mention that you saw me. Nuvatian bowed politely as he turned to find a hiding place from the annoying woman, and took his leave of the princess. He sauntered down the road a bit and then stepped behind a building in order to hide from his determined pursuer. The princess sashayed off, unaware that her bottom was still covered in dirt. Having cooled off a bit, she looked back at Nuvatian and then smiled as the woman approached her.

Princess, have you seen a man coming this way?

Well, I have seen several men come this way. I doubt if I would know what sort of man you speak of. She snickered as she walked off.

Of course. My apologies. The woman hurried down the road, not giving up easily on her search.

Taking one last look back at the princess, Nuvatian admired her backside as equally as the front. Of all people to run ovah, why did I have to run over the Princess—the Princess! My God, she's fine he muttered to himself as he made a gesture towards heaven as though he were thanking God for creating beautiful women.

The night’s festivities eventually died down and the lights went out all over the Land of Shalahem. The city was now still and quiet. All the while, Pip was in his home, entertaining himself with the intriguing power of his new sword. With both hands wrapped around the sword, he practiced against an imaginary opponent, daydreaming of becoming venerated as an accomplished swordsman. He dreamed of becoming powerful, somebody respected and esteemed among the heroes of the world. Thoroughly obsessed with his dazzling new toy, he had completely forgotten about the festivities. The sword made him feel strong and confident, yet also vengeful, superior and powerfully charged with authority.

Something he had never felt in his life.

The night air was crisp as the second night of festivities got under way. The sound of folk music mingled with the boisterous noise of laughter as the people of Shalahem danced frolicsome to the music. Others continued to indulge themselves in the delicacies while still others engaged in social intercourse. Nuvatian, Cozbi, Nimri and Windsor sat atop a stone wall, watching the dancing and conversing among themselves.

All of a sudden, an array of luminous blue lights sprang from the edge of the forest, gathered around a circle of children, and spiraled up from the ground, rotating like a tornado decorated with lights. Then a group of red, yellow and green lights did the same, creating a resplendent iridescent work of art in the night sky. Synchronized to the music, the clusters of red, green, yellow, and blue lights created images of a dog, a flower, a whale, and lastly, a dragon. All eyes looked up, especially the wide-eyes of the children, who were in awe of the fantastic pictures in the sky. Then, as quickly as they had appeared, the lights scattered out in every direction, some falling to the ground. A burst of orange-yellow fire shot up into the sky, as another small flame began to fall toward the ground, right into the center of the mass of people.

Uuuhhooo! whimpered the culprit with a reprehensible look on his face. With wide eyes, everyone began to run in every direction. The fire shot to the ground and, to the good fortunes of the instigator, the flame landed in the fire pit where some men had been trying to ignite the fire to roast a pig. Much obliged, the men nodded their heads with approval and then laughed, pleased that they now had fire.

Out of the darkness emerged a rather odd-looking fellow wearing a purple wizard’s hat and a purple cloth around his head. Two colored braids hung down the right side of his head—one green, the other purple. Braids and beads also hung randomly throughout his hair. His brown staff, riding boots, and riding pants added a touch of earthy tone, neutralizing his love for purple. It was Navi, the wizard.

A rather quirky character, some might call him ‘hip’—a wizard for the new generation. His short stubby brown beard gave him a rugged look, belying his youth. And to his offbeat character, he walked with a sort of bounce to his step as though he had springs in his shoes. However quirky some might perceive him, he was a man of integrity, respected as well as one who had been a prophetic voice in the land for some years. Many young ladies found him a rather handsome man; even so, he was a confirmed bachelor, ever on the prowl for a good woman, just for now.

Good to see ya, mate, Nuvatian addressed the young wizard.

You too, crony, replied Navi in a sharp Sayirian accent.

Windsor broke into their pleasantries with a growl. How many times do I have to tell you not to use wizardry for entatainment? He tapped his crooked staff on the ground.

Until your last breath, Navi answered lightheartedly.

Apparently so. Do you really think it is appropriate to use the lightnin’ bugs for entatainment? You change their color just for pleasure; not to mention, you make them sickly dizzy from spinnin’ them like that. Just as Windsor said this, a green lightning firebug fell right where they all sat, flapping around in a drunken stupor.

Don’t be such a rigor. Even God delights in the joy on children’s faces.

Yes, well, your little flash of fire you shot out at the end could have injahed someone, Windsor argued.

I had everything undah control, Navi said, pointing to the fire pit. They couldn’t light the fire, so I thought I would help them out a bit, he laughed, as he twitched his upper lip—an idiosyncrasy he had when he was not telling the truth in its entirety, or when someone was annoying him.

Huh! I call it luck, Windsor said.

Navi turned his attention to the children that were looking toward him and still laughing with the excitement of the lightning bugs. Windsor crossed his eyes with candid irritation and then sighed in disgust, showing his aggravation.

Remembah when you tried to help me catch Mr. Vern’s cat and you accidently scorched its tail? asked Nimri, laughing. Cozbi and Nuvatian, recalling the event, added to his snickering. Nimri began imitating the cat’s terrorized facial expressions, provoking even more laughter. Navi jerked his head to the side, desperately gesturing to Nimri to be