The morning sun was just rising in the East when the riders began to awake. Skeener, still sleeping off his hangover, was snoring loudly. Nuvatian nudged him with his foot in an attempt to wake him, but Skeener didn’t blink an eye. Nuvatian sneezed loudly, but Skeener still didn’t budge. Navi yelled at him, but to no avail. Windsor decided that bolder measures were needed; therefore, he fetched a bucket of cold water and threw it on him.
“What the…?” yelled Skeener. Rudely awakened, he now sat up, moaned, and grabbed his aching head, immediately feeling the effects of the alcohol he had overindulged in the night before. Lying back down into the pool of water, Skeener groaned, “Wh-where am I, and w-who th-threw w-water on me?”
“You’re in your barn,” Nuvatian told him.
“Wh-what are you g-guys d-doin’ here?” he asked, running his hands through his wet hair.
“We came to get you. Orders from the king—we have a mission.”
“A mission?” inquired Skeener, his head clearing a bit.
“We will explain later—after you have sobered up,” said Windsor, gathering a saddle for Skeener’s horse and handing it to Nuvatian.
“W-why am I in my b-barn ins-stead of in my h-house—with my w-wife,” he asked.
“Because we need you alive for the mission” Windsor retorted. “You’re no good to us dead.”
“Ah! Of c-course, g-good p-point,” said Skeener. His speech was slow and dragging, making it even more difficult than usual to understand him. Holding his head, he continued, “My w-wife would k-kill me if she knew I’d been d-drinkin’. Then again, she’ll k-kill me for n-not comin’ h-home. She m-might th-think I’d d-done s-something real b-b-bad.”
“She knows we came for you,” said Windsor. “We’ll make sure she knows that you’re with us and have been all night.”
“Come on, we need to get goin’. You can sobah up along the way,” Nuvatian said, reaching out his hand to help him up.
As he rose slowly to his feet gravity pulled at his stomach. The room felt as though it were spinning. Skeener grabbed his aching head. His face turned pale and he grunted, expressing displeasure in movement in general. Navi reached out to steady him when suddenly he gurgled, standing being disagreeable to his condition. In that moment, he upchucked, spewing vomit all over the wizard. The riders ooed and awed, then roared with laughter—that is, everyone except for Navi.
“S-sorry about that, m-mate,” stuttered Skeener.
“Oh, well, I guess that is what friends are for,” Navi said with some irony. He twitched his lip in irritation and cast his gaze upon the vomit that ran down his shirt. He wiped the vomit that had landed on his hand onto Skeener’s shirt. “I think this belongs to you.”
Suddenly, the door that leads from Skeener’s house to the barn flung open. The rapture of laughter had gotten the attention of Skeener’s wife. “What are yaw doin’ out here!” Looking at her husband’s nauseated expression, and the vomit on Navi’s shirt, she had an idea that he had drank too much the night before. With an accusatory tone, she called him on it. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but you had better get your act together.” Before he could answer her, she snapped, “Stay out all night drinkin’. You’re actin’ ridiculous.” She slammed the door without giving him a chance to respond.
She did have a point. What has gotten into Skeener? Windsor wondered. This is uncharacteristic of him. He occasionally had a beer or two, but it was completely out of his character to have any more than a couple. The last thing Windsor needed was a drunk tagging along. He was not fond of alcohol, having lived long enough to see what is does to people’s lives and to families.
Staggering over to the first spot of water he saw, Skeener rinsed his mouth out with water from the horse-troth.
While Navi cleaned the vomit off his clothing, using the water in the horse-trough outside the barn door, Skeener grabbed his mail jacket he had tucked away in the barn and slung it across his horse. Still feeling nauseated, and his mouth as dry as a desert, he mounted the horse Nuvatian had saddled for him.
Skeener didn’t know what to make of the girl riding with them. So he turned to inquire about her presence among them. “So, we m-must be es-c-corting this l-lady s-somewheres, to ens-sure her s-safety, huh?”
Nadora overheard his stuttering jibber jabber. “Not hardly,” she said, smiling a knowing smile.
Skeener tried to whisper, but his stuttering made him all too audible. “So if th-this is s-such an imp-portant m-mission w-why is there a b-broad with us? Is she g-going to c-cook for us?” Overhearing him, Nadora glared at him then she broke out in laughter.
Gilmanza spoke before she had an opportunity. “No, she is part of our team in this mission,” he said sternly.
“P-part of our t-team?” Skeener was digging the hole deeper, seemingly amused by the whole thing. He whispered to Nuvatian, “Are we g-goin’ to a dance or something?” Nuvatian grinned but said not a word.
“We feel ya,” Nimri whispered.
“Yeah, royalty! They think they can do anything,” Cozbi piped bearing a grin.
Feeling both nauseated and awkward, Skeener dropped back toward the rear, where Navi was. Whispering again, he asked the wizard about the woman.
“That is the princess, Princess Nadora, the King’s daughtah. You … you propositioned her last night, crony!”
“I d-did what?” stuttered Skeener.
“You propositioned her, and then you went on about how good your friends are to you for bringin’ you a princess.”
“N-no, I d-didn’t.” Skeener’s eyes grew wider as he considered the consequences of such impertinence.
Enjoying seeing Skeener squirm under his own words repeated, Navi proceeded to embellish on the story, seeing it as an opportunity to get back at the man for vomiting on him. He leaned toward Skeener and whispered, “You asked her to marry you. And later you took off all your clothes and ran around the field naked, crony. You were a wild man, I tell you!”
Twinge came over Skeener and his mouth dropped open in shame, and then he stuttered, “N-no, I d-didn’t. Yer p-p-pullin my l-leg, mate.”
“No, I’m not. You told her that you were in love with her.”
Skeener put his hand over his mouth, and stammered, “S-surely I d-didn’t.”
“You did,” Navi assured him, then whispered in his ear, “You told her that you were endowed with an ability given by the gods and that no man could love a woman like you could.”
Skeener, now mortified by what Navi said, laid his torso over his horse and moaned, “I c-can’t sh-show my f-face after last n-night. I c-can’t even look at her ag-g-gain. M-maybe I sh-shouldn’t be g-goin’. M-maybe I sh-should go home.”
“It’ll be okay, crony,” Navi said, laughing. “I think she kind of liked it.”
After riding for a while, Skeener inquired about the purpose of their mission to his friend, “So what ex-xactly is this m-mission we are on?”
“The Sword of Dahvan!” whispered Navi. “You are in, aren’t you?”
Raising his torso from his horse’s neck, Skeener was now completely sober again. “The S-sword of D-dahvan? The S-s-sword of D-dahvan! Am I in? Like two v-vultures on the r-rottin flesh of a d-d-dead cow,” he managed.
Embarrassed by what he thought he had said and done the night before, he remained in the back of the group, riding as far away from Nadora as possible. He was humiliated at what he saw as serious transgressions.
As the riders rode down the mountainous terrain, they passed a farmer feeding his sheep and goats, cradled together in one pen. A single pig rooted around in the pen too. Windsor pondered the ancient prophecies and considered the selections they had made. Have we selected carefully? Skeener is acting a bit different; he never gets drunk. Perhaps he has changed.
Monguard, the Waddi
It was early afternoon when the riders reached the bottom of the mountains and the point of
divergence for the two groups. “Well, this is it,” Gilmanza said. “Friend, be strong and alert.”
“And you the same, old friend,” said Windsor.
Positioning their mounts in a circle, the riders drew their steel swords, pointed them toward the center of the circle and tapped the ends of their swords. “Godspeed,” they each said.
Sheathing his sword, Windsor promised, “I will see you at the Tomb of Murdorf.”
“Indeed, the Tomb of Murdorf,” Gilmanza confirmed.
The two groups rode off in their separate directions, Gilmanza’s group riding southeast while Windsor’s group went west.
Gilmanza rode southeast with Navi and Cozbi. They crossed a stream, rode through a broadleaf forest that covered mountainous terrain. It was the following day that they neared the village of the Waddies. All was quiet when suddenly the roar of an animal and the rush of a warrior interrupted their silence. Feet on the run pounded the ground, snapping limbs and frightening birds. First a lion darted across their path, then a lean warrior on the hunt sprinted pass them, leapt off the side of a tree, and sprang onto the retreating lion. Then the sound of a dying animal brought shivers down their spines. Arising from the kill stood a jet back-haired warrior wearing only a loincloth. His high cheek bones and bronze complexion defined him clearly as a Waddi.
He was small in stature with lean muscles, unimpressive looking except for the carcass of a large wild cat that lay dead at his feet, a small dagger the only weapon in his hand. It was Monguard. His body was moist with sweat where he had been running the game. His practice was to chase the game for long periods of time before the kill because he liked the chase. He chased lions and he fought bears. No one could out run Monguard, for he ran like the speed of lightening. As an exceptionally skilled warrior, he literally sprang from the sides of the trees and pounced on his prey.
When discussing who would be among the warriors going on this urgent mission, Monguard was among the first mentioned. His presence was contested by no one who knew him. Although he was a very young man and had never fought in war, his skill was unsurpassable. Deep down he knew there was a higher purpose for his agile ability in fighting. Little did he know that the time had come for his giftedness to be used for the good of humanity.
Greeting Gilmanza and Navi warmly, Monguard inquired into their purpose in Waddi.
“We’ve come to see you, crony.” The wizard and the Waddi had become good friends when Monguard joined him and another Waddi friend on a fishing trip. They hit it off the first time they met.
Gilmanza was acquainted with the young man too, but more so through rumors than anything else. Monguard refused to go to tournaments, believing them to be nothing more than opportunities for showing off. Gilmanza did have the opportunity once to observe his skills. When he was just a young boy, too young to make his own decisions and not mature enough to arrive at his present conclusions, he was in a tournament. Gilmanza was impressed, to say the least, at the boy’s superb ability. He couldn’t wait to see him in action now. His impeccable character was rated as high as his fighting skills.
Their visit to the Waddi was a surprise to Monguard, especially since they had Gilmanza in tow, who Monguard had heard about.
“What do you need with me?” Monguard knew they were there for more than small talk.
Navi leaned forward and whispered, “The Sword of Dahvan has returned.”
Intuition told Monguard that training and conditioning his body was for a higher purpose than catching prey for dinner. He was compelled, like a divine initiative, to beat his body into being the best warrior, capable of living by the sword while his enemies died by the sword. Last man standing was the warrior he trained to be. Now, his instincts, the purpose for his life that he had felt in his bones since childhood, was coming to fruition and he was about to embark upon his destiny in life. A spark of life entered into his eyes, a spark that resonated with a sense of calling.
“Are you asking me to ride?” Monguard asked, making an involuntary and repetitious jerking of his head, an action that had become an annoying part of his being. Some believed that this repetitious jerking was the result of an evil spirit while others believed that he was endowed with powers from the gods that enabled him with a capacity to run, leap, and slay with super abounding ability. Nonetheless, Monguard found it a nuisance and seemed to be constantly reaching within himself to overcome this monkey on his back. He was self-conscience of the stares he received from people and found solitude to be his only remedy of escape from criticisms, mocking, superstitions, and glares. The woods have always been his safe haven, his eureka. There no one made fun of his head movements.
“Yes,” answered Gilmanza. “But I suggest you put on more than that loincloth.”
Monguard smiled and nodded, being a man of few words.
After helping Monguard haul the lion into the village and to the home of his parents, Monguard appeared wearing worn out riding pants.
“You need more than that,” said Gilmanza. Monguard looked puzzled. “We are riding north. You need to pack some warm clothes.”
Finally Monguard appeared with a bag of extra clothes and slung it over his horse, still not wearing a shirt. Gilmanza handed him a coat of mail. He strapped on the mail at the urging of the other riders and straddled his horse, riding bareback with a quiver and bow slung across his back and a dagger at his side. Next, Gilmanza gave him a helmet too, which Monguard looked at as though he hardly knew what to do with it. He resolved to shove the round metal in his sack of clothing and forgetting about it.
“Where’s your sword?” asked Cozbi.
Monguard didn’t answer him, he was too busy fumbling with the ponderous mail. He had never worn mail before and he found it cumbersome. Gilmanza had carried along the extra piece because he had heard through the grapevine that Monguard didn’t own mail. Pawing at the metal on his chest, Monguard raised his arms this way and that trying to see if he could make the clumsy iron more comfortable. The more he picked at it the more his head jerked. But he never complained.
Finally he spoke up. “I don’t see any of you wearing this stuff.”
“It’s not for wearing all the time. Too heavy for that. Just for when we need it. Just wanted to make sure it fit okay.”
Monguard was relieved and eagerly took the weighty metal off and laid it across his mount. One monkey on his back was enough.
The Shovi: Land of the Earthdwellers
The tall grass of the savanna whipped against the mounts of the riders as they rode west, galloping towards their destination in the Shovi. After crossing the plains, they approached the mountains crowded with tall timbers. Then, they came to a wide river they had need of crossing.
“The watah is really high,” said Nadora. “We have had so much rain.”
“Go up the river and let’s cross by the bouldah of Tobiah,” Nimri offered, hoping to find a solution.
“The watah is deepah there. We will have to go downstream in the othah direction, where it is shallowah,” suggested Nadora.
“Yes, but the rivah is wider there,” Nimri said as he kept on riding.
“True, but it is far too deep at Tobiah’s boldah to cross. There is a place just a little ways down-stream that is shallowah.”
Nimri continued to pay her no mind.
“Windsor, say somethin’,” she protested.
“Just let him be wrong,” he whispered. “You can’t tell a young, overconfident whippasnappah anything.”
Resolved to follow Windsor’s advice, Nadora remained silent, even though she knew she was right.
As they rode along the banks, Windsor surveyed the river ahead of them. “Where’s the bouldah?” he asked.
Plodding along, the riders finally saw the boulder lying across the river, the waters rushing over it and overflowing the banks.
“The mud gave way and the bouldah has fallen,” Windsor observed.
“We can’t c
ross here. That watah is raging,” said Nadora.
“No, we can’t cross here,” Nuvatian agreed, and not just because he liked Nadora.
Nimri had an angry look on his face, humiliated because he was proven wrong.
Recollecting how the boulder of Tobiah had received its name, Windsor took the liberty to share its history.
“Many, many yeahs ago there was a warrior, a great knight, named Tobiah. War had broken out—the Mezzarinians, a breed of giants, were tryin’ to take our land. Ridahs of Quadar were also in the land; they of course had prompted the Messarinians to such evil. We could not get the lands united to fight the enemy. Each one wanted to do their own thing; that is, until Tobiah went to each land and somehow convinced them to unite in this war. It has been said that he said nothing that had not already been said. It was merely his presence among the people that made the difference. They respected him and he knew how to lead.
“Anyway, it was a cold January day when Tobiah led a unit of knights across the rivah. Some distance on the othah side, they came upon a village held captive by a large group of Mezzarinians, along with a large group of Ridahs of Quadar. Togethah they had united forces. The people were bein’ held captive in their own village. Tobiah was appalled and within he was filled with anger. ‘Do not fear their numbers,’ he said to his knights, ‘and do not be intimidated by their large stature.’ Then, he rode into the city, making war against them and freeing the captives.
“His small unit crushed the army of oppressors. It was said that Tobiah single handedly struck down four hundred warriors. He fought until the sword in his hand became one with his flesh, frozen in its grip. The unit of knights crushed the army. Those who weren’t crushed turned and ran for their lives.
The knights took wagons abandoned by the enemy, put the children and the injuahed in them, and hooked up the wagons to the horses. They came to this crossing in the rivah when, without warning, they were ambushed by a large group of Mezzarinians. Tobiah ordered his unit to carry the people out of the battle while he alone remained back to fight them. It is said that they looked back and saw Tobiah on top of this bouldah cuttin’ down every enemy that approached him.
“No one knows what happened—Tobiah nevah made it back. When he did not return, the people across the lands wept. This bouldah was named after him because of his bravery. Many lives were saved that day because of his willingness to sacrifice himself.”
“That’s a nice little story,” Nimri cut in, “But how are we goin’ to get across the rivah?”
Aggravated, Windsor stretched out his crooked cane and murmured a couple of words. Immediately, the boulder lifted into mid-air, spun a couple of times and came to rest back upon the banks, the honorable engraving of the face of Tobiah facing the riders. “It is more than a nice little story,” he hissed. “Tobiah was my friend.” With the obstacle removed, the water rushed down the stream.
“The watah is still raging and it’s too deep,” Nadora protested.
“It’s not that bad,” argued Nimri, as he started to ride his horse out into the water, quickly realizing he was wrong.
“I told you.”
“No one asked you!” snapped Nimri.
“Don’t talk to her like that,” Nuvatian said, standing up for her.
“W-who is the l-leader of this p-party, anyw-way? asked Skeener. He turned to Nimri. “I got a f-feelin’ it ain’t y-you!” Nimri was getting off his horse, ready to fight.
All four began to argue.
“Stop your foolish arguing!” snapped Windsor, thunder in his voice. “Is this what you want?” Now lowering his voice, he continued, “Do you want to fail our entire country? Is it that important to you that you be right?”
He turned first to Nimri. “You should have listened to Nadora.” Now, stretching out his cane again, the waters of the river quaked and began to roll back, piling up on both sides like two walls. The riverbed dried up and a path was formed across the river between two walls of water. Nimri had heard of the things that Windsor could do but he had never seen anything like this. The riders rode across the river on dry ground. When they had crossed, Windsor held his staff down and the water returned to its normal flow.
“Trade in your zeal for wisdom,” Windsor whispered to Nimri. “Respect and leadahship come with time; first, you must take a back seat and follow the lead of others. If you can do that, gaining both wisdom and humility, one day others will look to you for advice and leadahship.”
“Yes, sir,” Nimri said, humbly nodding his head, seeming to receive the stern rebuke without malice. “I just thought…well, I’ve crossed here before and it wasn’t like this.”
“Son, the rain changes things. And one more thing,” Windsor whispered. “Just because Nadora is a woman doesn’t mean she is less qualified. She knows a whole lot more than you do. She just might one day be ruling over you, so I would advise treating her with respect.”
“Yes, sir,” Nimri said, feeling the sting of his rebuke. But he took in the wisdom of the wizard’s words.
Not easily letting go of their irritability, the riders rode through the mountains speechless. The sun was beginning to set in the West as they approached the top of the hills of the Shovi, nestled northwest of the beautiful Rhenakah Mountains. The towering peaks of crags and crevices were divided by rivers, foliage and breathtaking beauty. From the peak of the mountain, they could see the expanse of a lake on one side, the streams of sunlight dancing off the still waters.
On the other side, at the edge of the water, was a field decorated with blooming wild flowers. The jagged rocks looked like they were hand crafted, the work of an artist, although they were nothing more than natural formations. They gave texture and character to an already diverse landscape. The valley below looked pleasant, almost serene, as they made their way part way down the hillside, towards the shallow walls of the city hidden by grown up shrubbery and vines. They passed through the gates of the walled city and into the village of the Earthdwellers. There was no shortage of trees because the Earthdwellers do not believe in cutting down trees unless of necessity.
Nestled among the sides and tops of the rolling mountains were round mud-walled huts topped with earthen roofs, green grass springing out of the tops of most. Some Earthdwellers built their homes at the base of the mountains near the lake, being drawn to the water. Their homes appeared to rise biologically, organically, out of the earth. Many of the homes were built as attachments on the sides of mountains and covered in grass. Although they appeared small, most were much larger on the inside because they either descended deeper into the earth or back into the side of a mountain. The outside earthen clay walls of their homes were decorated with artistic engravings and colored pebbles. All were unique and not a single one lacked character.
Dismounting, the riders strolled up to a large oval shaped double door rising out of the earth, knocked, and waited. Two large trees standing near the doorway wrapped their branches around the house. The rusty iron hinges creaked as the inhabitant sprang open the door.
“Windsor, what are you doing, mate?” he exclaimed. “And who is this you have with you?” He knew exactly who she was but was shocked at how she had grown.
“This is Princess Nadora.”
“What a beautiful young lady you have become. While I’ve seen your fathah many times, you I have not seen since—well since you have become such a gorgeous young woman. No wondah your fathah has been keepin’ you in hidin’, Princess!”
“You can leave off that princess stuff, Vandorf,” said Nadora. She remembered Vandorf. He used to help her with her archery when she was young.
“I was planning on it. Come in.” Vandorf pulled his long gray hair into a ponytail as the riders entered his cozy home. A tall and slender man, his ceilings were a perfect fit for Windsor and his pointed hat. He greeted Nuvatian and, said hello to Skeener whom he had met a time or two, but the other kid he didn’t know. He welcomed
him anyway.
Vandorf’s home was simple but spotless; he kept it meticulously clean. Raw wood beams supported the structure of the house. Rock floors greeted them and wood floors extended into much of the house. The walls were half rock and half wood and trunks of trees gave support for tables and ledges. Roots of the trees draped portions of his house, the earthy people not wanting to disturb the land. Being a disciplined individual, he could seem rather stiff and rigid, guided by self-made rules and high standards. In reality, though, he was rather relaxed and at peace, rarely getting his feathers ruffled except when it came to cleanliness or not having a sharp edge to his sword.
His relaxed manner was most evident in his cool, calm and collected approach to handling things. He was a classic over-achiever, but a good man who generally did achieve what he set out to do. Lacking tact, he oftentimes stuck his foot in his mouth. His tongue was sometimes as sharp as his sword; but this didn’t bother him much, for his philosophy was simple: Let the truth lie where it may. He was a loyal friend and very dependable.
Some years earlier, as the land had grown more prosperous, many Earthdwellers had become somewhat materialistic, and had dug out larger homes and decorated in a more modern style. Not Vandorf. He continued to snub the lust for material possessions. He believed in simplicity.
The riders took seats in the wooden chairs in his den. Windsor got right to the point. “Vandorf, we are here on a mission from the King.”
“I know why you’re here,” Vandorf said. “I’ve been expectin’ you. I’ve had dreams about that bloody sword. To tell you the truth, I’ve felt in my bones it was going to surface real soon.” He ran his hands over his smooth-shaven face.
“What sort of dreams?” Windsor asked suspiciously.
“Just dreams that it had surfaced, and we were fightin’ Dahvan and the Ridahs of Quadar again. To tell you the truth, I’ve been wondering what was taking you so long to get here!”
“As usual, you always want everything done fastah,” said Windsor, laughing. “Glad to see you haven’t changed.”
“The Sword of Dahvan?” said a voice from the other room. Vandorf’s face grew down cast as he ran his hands over his face, wishing the young man had not have over heard those words.
“What are you doin’ back here and why didn’t you knock,” asked Vandorf a tad bit angrily.
“I left my saber on your desk. And I, well I just went out the back door that tops the hill so I didn’t figure there was any need to knock. Plus, I figured you would hear me coming down the ladder. So you say the Sword of Dahvan is among us?” asked Fleece, a neighbor and apprentice to Vandorf.
“Look, kid, this doesn’t concern you so you need to get out of here and pretend you didn’t hear a word. And don’t come back unless you knock,” snorted Vandorf; then, he hurled a couple of threats at him as he closed the door behind the lad.
“I sure wish he hadn’t of heard that. That kid will blab sure enough,” said Vandorf. “Word will travel all across the land and we’ll have chaos.”
“Rap. Rap” sounded a knock on the door.
“Who is it,” hollered Vandorf as he opened the door.
“It’s me. I’m back. I knocked,” said Fleece, swinging open the door.
“Oh brother. I told you to get out of here and pretend you didn’t hear a word,” Vandorf scolded.
“Why?” asked Fleece. “You know, I heard what you said about the Sword of Dahvan and I can be of help.”
“And how do you think you can be of help?”
“I can fight. You trained me, Vandorf. I am good with the sword, the saber, and the dagger. I should go too. Plus, I helped you make all those weapons.”
“Fleece, this is a dangerous mission. We will be fightin’ Ridahs of Quadar, derves, nomeds, and probably Dahvan himself.”
“I know that. I would not expect anything less.”
Vandorf pulled Windsor off to the side. “I’m afraid he won’t be able to keep his mouth shut if he stays behind.”
“Is he trustworthy?” Windsor asked, eyeballing Fleece.
“Trustworthy, just superstitious.”
“We’ll take him with us for now since we don’t have the sword with us. When we get back we’ll have the King lock him up until this mess is settled. But keep a close eye on him.”
Vandorf asked Fleece, “Are you prepared to die?”
Tossing a coin around in his pocket, Fleece pulled it out and looked at it.
“Oh, put that bloody coin up, Fleece, and make your own decision.”
Still looking at his coin, Fleece responded, “Yes, yes I am prepared to die if it calls for that.”
“If you don’t mind dying then get your horse. And if you keep up that foolishness, I’ll kill ya myself.”
With great excitement, Fleece ran out the door and all the way home. Vandorf yelled as he ran out, “You had bettah hurry and get back here and if you say anything to anyone you will not ride.”
“I have done, well, shall we say, some preparation work. Come,” Vandorf said, leading them to a back room.
Inside the room, he had some swords, sabers, boot knives, and shields.
“Take a look at this,” Vandorf said as he grabbed up a little flat metal object with six long sharp spikes.
“I call them spinnels.”
Demonstrating it on a tree, the spinnel stuck deep within the wood.
“Well isn’t that nifty, mate. I wish I had thought of that,” said Nuvatian.
“Well, you can’t think of everything—that is why you have me. Take what you need,” said Vandorf. “It’ll be dahk soon, so I suppose you all will be stayin’ here for the night.”
“There’s one more thing about the sword, Vandorf,” said Windsor.
“And what might that be?” Vandorf asked, throwing one of his spinnels, sticking it deep into the tree.
“It was found at Shilly Shally Ford,” informed Windsor, Vandorf being one of the few who knew of its importance.
Vandorf glared up with surprise in his eyes, “Shilly Shally, hu. This is it, mate. This is it!”
The Land of the Himps
Bulging eyeballs, woven with protruding red veins, peered out from behind a tree. A branch snapped amid the dense forest. Navi looked over his shoulder and saw the prying eyes of a nomed among the wild growths of the forest. As he leapt off Inka, the two nomeds turned and ran. He pursued them, dagger in hand, pushing his way through the overgrown thickets of the wilderness. Monguard leapt off his horse and chased after them too but he found himself hindered by the burdensome metal that Gilmanza had exhorted him to put on at the first smidgen of threat. Receiving his commands, he obeyed, even though no one else was putting on their mail. (Gilmanza’s orders to Monguard were just to help him get in the habit of putting the mail on and getting used to its weightiness. He knew it wasn’t necessary at the time).
Suddenly, one of the nomeds got tangled up in a vine of thistles, the sharp thorns pricking its tender skin. Navi had the varmint within his grasp. He grew excited as he reached toward the evil little creature, ready to thrust his blade through it, when suddenly he tripped over a winding vine and fell flat on his face, slinging his dagger among the thistles and weeds of the forest. The nomed wiggled his way out of the thorns and, latching its teeth into Navi’s inner muscular thigh. Shaking its head, it tore through the muscle. The nomed then released its bulldog grip and it scurried off into the forest.
“Aahh,” yelled Navi, as he began to crawl out of the thicket, his hand covering the bite-wound. Inka went wild, rushing towards Navi.
“Navi,” yelled Cozbi. “That thing bit you.”
“Don’t you think I know that,” Navi murmured.
“I told you to leave it alone.”
“Are you okay?” Monguard asked, still fumbling with the metal, now eager to peel it off.
Crawling out of the thickets, Navi clutched his thigh, now spewing a steady stream of blood.
/> “You’ll be okay” Gilmanza said, helping him up.
“Easy for you to say” piped Navi. “The bloody thing didn’t bite you.”
“Did you kill it?” asked Gilmanza.
“Did I kill it? No, the bloody thing latched its teeth into my leg and then ran away. I hate those devils.” He continued to apply pressure on the bite wound, using a rag from his duffle bag. “They sure do have some sharp teeth.”
The riders gathered around Navi to inspect the open wound. The blood had soaked his pants, completely ruining them with both holes and red stains.
“That’s a bad bite. Let me get something to clean it and then we’ll wrap it,” Gilmanza said, walking over to his saddle bag. Returning, he poured a liquid onto the wound. “Oouch!” yelped Navi. Then, he put an herbal ointment on it and Navi got a rag from his bag and wrapped it tightly around the wound.
“What the heck was that?” Cozbi asked.
“It was a nomed,” Gilmanza answered.
“What are nomeds doing in this part of the country?” Cozbi wondered.
“Everything in Quadar is apt to be out—especially in this part of the country. Darvan must have sent them to spy on us,” Gilmanza explained. “That’s the reason we didn’t need to be toting that sword around.”
“You know,” Navi said, “if our assessment of the times at hand is correct, there is a prophecy that speaks of an increase of activity among these types throughout the land. It says that Dahvan will unleash a horde of nomeds and derves, to try to destroy The Circle. If this is the case, he might well know where the sword was found, and realize that this is the approachin’ battle. If these are those times, then we can expect that they will only become a growin’ problem as Dahvan feels more threatened. For now, I would say they are no more than spyin’ eyes; howevah, in time they will likely become more than a nuisance.” He hobbled over to remount Inka who was still trying to sniff the critter out. He had tried to get a taste of the devil himself but failed like the rest of them.