“Binko!” Gilmanza’s cry sounded urgent. He yelled again and this time the cry put fire under their rears. Buldar and Binko ran out of the courtyard and into the back lot of the palace guard. Navi, on the other hand, limped behind them, the dragons in tow. Leaving the two now cooperative beasts under a tree, he hobbled behind Binko and Buldar into a dreadfully dark underground cell.
A hint of light coming from Gilmanza’s torch broke the darkness of the stairwell as they followed him down. The steep stairs called for caution. Cozbi followed after them, his sword dripped in fresh blood. Spotting another torch in the corner of the stairwell, Cozbi snatched it up and borrowed a light from Gilmanza. An unforgiving foul stench greeted them. It was a far cry from the smell of dead salamanders.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs the glow uncovered darkness, casting light on the relics of objects of pure and undiluted evil. It was a prime example of how far humanity had sunk from primordial sin, how corrupt the human condition could sink a man greedy for power, filled with hate, depraved of conscience. The subjects of this sin were not only examples of a depraved nature, but a sick mind. They themselves were in bondage to a force they had offered themselves to, and they were, in a sense, worse off than their victims because they were in darkness from within.
To see more clearly, Navi held up his orb and his eyes adjusted to the dimness. He stood there speechless. Cozbi uttered a single word: “Unbelievable!”
Monguard now wondered into the chamber of death. “My God” was all he could utter.
They noticed Buldar’s fried hair but no one said anything because the scene before them took precedents.
Inside the dank dungeon, the casting sheen illuminated human bodies wrapped in chains; they looked frightfully inhuman. Their ghastly and cadaverous forms lay chained in the obscurity of their underground tombs. Barbaric fetters ignominiously grasped their feet and unforgiving chains clutched their arms restraining them to the cold and unyielding walls, confining them to a slow death. Their pale faces were frozen in a glare and starkly frightful and their hollow eyes lay open wide like an icon welcoming the god of death.
The riders stood motionless, appalled at the shocking display of pitiless cruelty before their eyes. A shameful display of twisted human forms testified to just how low humankind is capable of sinking. Gilmanza had seen more than his share of what a malignant soul was capable of, a curse for living so long.
With reservation, they inched close to the frail corpses. At first they had qualms about touching them, but they knew they needed to check those who looked like they might hold a breath of life in them. Their hearts pounded as they reached out to check for improbable signs of life. To the touch, the thin layers of clammy flesh were stone cold.
The light of the torches flickered and Sagran held his breath. He hoped his wife was still alive but the evidence before him made his heart sink. Nadine. Now, he began to frantically check from person to person to see if any of these models of death resembled his wife. He called out her name. They watched him turn into a madman.
Yanking the torch out of Cozbi’s hand, Sagran moved up to one of the decomposing corpses. He shone the light in his face. A worm crawled out of the decaying cartilage of his nose. Sagran felt his body betray him, going limp, he fell to the ground. Binko and Navi rushed to his aid and helped him up. Not giving him an option, they drug him up the stairs and into fresher air. Her name left his lips as they towed him unwillingly up the steps. Then there was silence again.
It was in the silence that a faint sound of breathing gave way to the possibility of life. The sign of life came from the back wall; it was raspy and sounded like a ghost of a possibility to ward off death.
Holding out the sticks of fire, they approached the whisper of life. The glow unveiled the faces of two women side by side, frail and dirty, but alive. Their breathing was rattled with death and their bodies were imbrued with dirt and dried blood, their eyes sunken and their complexions ashen. The chains bound them to life but restrained them from living.
Indignation boiled in Gilmanza’s blood as he raised a hatchet and broke the chains that bound them. The heavy iron fell to the ground. Buldar and Monguard picked the two ravished life-forms up and gently carried their frail bodies up the stairs and out of the cell. The bodies bore the marks of harsh and inhumane beatings. They could only speculate at what these women had endured.
As they carried the women out of the vault, light from the overcast sky revealed a discernible face to Sagran, who had been outside pitching a fit to go back inside the dungeon.
No, it cannot be! This cannot be happening. “Nadine?” whispered Sagran. In that moment, he suddenly realized that one of these ghastly figures was his beloved wife. He broke loose from Binko and Navi and ran.
“Nadine! Nadine!” he shouted. As they laid her body on the ground, he fell down beside her. With emotions no longer pent-up, he bent over her lifeless body and cried. Dried blood was caked on the side of her mouth, her clothes. The lines on her face looked like valleys, canyons filled with grief. He wanted to embrace her, but he could not; it would cause her too much pain. Although bleeding, dirty, and thin like a skinned green scallion, she was at least alive, just barely.
“I’m so sorry, Nadine!” Tears streamed down him face. He felt a need to explain to her what happened the night of their planned escape. “I didn’t mean for things to turn out the way they did. I meant for all three of us to escape. I saw you coming up the hillside to meet us when that guard grabbed you. I wanted to go down there and kill them, but— but I couldn’t—for Amase’s sake. There were just too many of them. I’m so sorry, Nadine. I should have nevah planned this.” Sagran lamented, wailing over his wife.
Friends began to gather around him, neighbors he considered family.
He stroked her head as someone brought water. Sagran dripped tiny droplets onto her lips but she did not respond. Her eyes seemed affixed; she stared, but never blinked. She stared as though frozen in time, her eyes not even bothered by the sun. It was then that they realized that darkness had overtaken her sight; she was blind. What means were used to blind her they did not know.
Just yards away, stood Amase. He cut the chains from the wrist that bound one of his own people; then he surveyed the village. It was then that he saw his father kneeling down beside someone on the ground with the riders and friends hovered around them. He saw his father kneeling beside someone. Then he saw him wipe the tears.
Mothah.
In that moment, he sprinted across the village, pushing desperate villagers to the side. He ran up behind the Circle of Riders, Binko stepped aside. It was only then that Amase got a glimpse of the woman’s face that he called mother.
“Mama, Mama!” His heart raced. The riders respectfully stepped aside to let the young man through to the only parents he had ever know. With buckling knees, Amase fell to the ground, joining his father beside her. He held her fragile hand. Her labored breathing turned to a death-rattle.
Kissing her on the cheek, Sagran sobbed, as his beloved wife drew her last breath. Holding his wife tenderly, Sagran regretted that he had even planned the escape to begin with. His face twisted with remorse as he wet the ground with his tears. He had loved her to the end and now his life had changed and was changing. It would never be the same again, with his freedom or without.
“Mama, Mama! Don’t die!” Amase wept openly, allowing himself to feel the pain at last. He cried, unable to hold back the tears of his broken heart. He squeezed her hand again, wishing she could hear him say, “I love you,” one last time. The words left his lips unconsciously.
He always wondered what would have become of him had they not stumbled upon him. In his heart he knew where he would be: dead. But he also had a gut feeling, perhaps intuition, that them finding him was no accident. It was meant to be, there was a higher purpose.
After many tears, Sagran laid his wife’s
lifeless body on the ground. He stood up slowly and purposefully. Gripping the hilt of his sword, he extracted it from his sheath and planted it firmly in the ground. “A fireplace is meant for a fire, as hell is meant for a son of hell.” New lines formed across his face, lines of anger, revenge. “One who is a conqueror of the poor is like a man who cages a baby gorilla; while it is a simple task that merits little strength, he should watch his back, because when it grows up it will strike back with a deadly blow.”
In that moment, Sagran fulminated, plotting revenge. His face was flushed and wrenched with rage as he screamed from the top of his lungs. Tightening his grip on the hilt, he jerked the sword from the ground. Mad as a hornet, he went on the warpath, slaying the sightless heathens as they groped around his village.
He spotted an Awshak warrior wandering aimlessly around in a blind panic. He was swinging his sword wildly as he staggered, hoping to defend himself.
Sagran ran full speed ahead and struck the man’s sword. The blade flew out of the man’s trembling hands. Snatching the man by his hair, he yelled at him. “See what you have done? Do you see what you’ve done? We are poor people who wohk the land and mind our own business. You have crushed us all—all for the love of powah! Don’t you see?”
Raising his eyes, he noticed another warrior near him. He was swinging his sword just as wildly as the other man. He shoved the second man to the ground and slammed his sword against the blade, knocking it from his hand. He would deal with him later.
Clutching the first warrior by the throat, Sagran yelled, “Of course you don’t see. You didn’t see when you could see. A heaht as pitch-black as yours nevah sees light, nevah feels remorse, nevah has a conscience of pity toward othahs. I wondah if light evah reaches into hell, or remorse is evah learned in hell.” He thrust his sword through the man.
Mouth agape, the man’s glossy eyes stared vacantly back with no understanding. He wrapped his hands around the cold sword that had warmed his heart. Losing grip on his sharp blade, the man fell limp to the ground.
Now turning toward the other Awshak, Sagran plunged his sword into his torso. As he gazed into the stony face of the dying man, he had something he wanted to say to him too. “How does it feel to be on the other side? Just remembah one thing: justice! This is justice.” Thrusting the man backward, he watched him fall to the ground.
He went on a war path, but only momentarily. His sword drew out the blood of wicked men. Then it was over. He stopped. Now, feeling empty but somehow a little sated, Sagran stood still in a daze.
Amase walked over to him, planted his hand firmly on his father’s shoulder. That didn’t do much good, did it?”
“No, I guess not.”
“They are blind and offer us no threat now. Leave them to their dahkness. There suffering will be greatah that way.”
“Come on, Sagran,” said Navi, patting him on the shoulder. “Let’s go get you some watah, crony.”
Gilmanza walked back into the deplorable compartment, glanced around at the leathery corpses. As he turned to leave, the corner of his eye caught a glimpse of the bobble of a head in the shadows of darkness. Approaching the suspected figure, the light revealed a man, sitting down and leaning against a wall where his bonds held him prisoner. He was no longer able to hold up his head. Another head could be seen leaning against him.
Holding up his torch, Gilmanza could see that the other figure appeared to be a young boy with his head against the other’s shoulder. It was cold and stiff. He assumed it was likely the corpse of a son leaning on his father. Gilmanza shattered the chains of the older man and carried his lifeless body out and placed him carefully on the ground. Clenching his eyes shut, the man winced at the first sign of light. (Although they tried to nurse him back to life, he too would eventually die, sharing the fate of his beloved son).
Having left Amase with a group of his people, Navi weighed in on a vindictive idea. Observing some Awshaks groping about in their anopsia, revenge stirred within his bones. Rubbing his stubbly face, he ignored his conscience and proceeded with his devilish plan.
Approaching a group of Awshaks, he pretended himself to be an agent of good. “Here, let me help you.” Inside, he stirred with what he reclassified as justifiable reprisal. “Follow me and I will lead you to the palace guards’ housing.” Naively, the ill-discerning warriors began to follow him blindly.
Coaxing them along with a deceptive voice of kindness, Navi led them to the dank and dark cell. “Just follow my voice. Right this way.”
Cozbi, Binko, Buldar, and Ozni plaudit the idea and quickly became accomplices.
“What are you doing?” The men protested the moment they smelt the vile stench of death. Forcing the men down, Navi and Cozbi chained their wrists in the barbaric iron contraptions they had designed for the peasant people. “You like chainin’ people and lettin’ them rot? Let’s see how you like it, you sorry fools!”
“Go to hell,” replied one of them.
Navi punched the man in the face. “This is hell! But I’m only a visitah. I hope your stay is wohse than those you forced here.” Navi didn’t feel guilty as he walked out of the cell. The lives they had taken no one could give life back.
“Enjoy your stay,” Cozbi echoed. He enjoying taunting them and marveled in the feeling the indisputable power he held over them. He lingered behind for the sheer pleasure of it.
“The accommodation has everything you need. A pail of watah ovah here.” He tapped the edge of a metal pail the man was clearly unable to reach. “Toilet conveniently beneath you and a bed right where you sit.” He was clearly enjoying his position of superiority over someone for a change.
“You can’t leave us here like this. We were only following orders.”
Cozbi punched the man for the fun of it. “Well now you can follow my ordahs. Rot in hell.” The experience was empowering and Cozbi loved it. Before he left, he gave the man one last swift kick.
The group of riders stood under a tree, discussing how much time they could give to these simple people to help them get reestablished. Navi, Binko, Buldar, Ozni were walking toward them to join them. Navi held the reigns of the invading king’s stelleto and Inka and his new found friend followed close behind. In his hand he peered through his orb.
Navi could see in his orb that Skeener had been injured, and that they were held up for a day or so in the Land of the Giants until Skeener was well enough to ride. (It was fortunate that, even though they couldn’t speak to one another through their orbs, the wizards could at least see what was happening with each other.) He knew they had some time to play with. Not only because of Skeener’s injury; for the riders in the West would be traveling to Viking country, a journey consisting of harsh climate and steep mountains.
They joined the others and decided to stay a few days and help the refugees.
“Why do you have that dumb dragon with you anyway?” Buldar made sure to stay clear of the dangerous creature.
“I can’t just leave her. Besides, Inka likes her.”
“Well you can’t bring it along. There’s no one to rider her.”
“She doesn’t need anyone. She’s following Inka wherevah he goes.” Navi pulled his half-burned hat out of his pocket and stuck it on his head.
“What happened to your hat, Navi?” Monguard laughed at the burned out remains. Everyone else joined in offering them some much-needed relief of the accumulated tension.
Navi puckered his lips as he took it off again and held it in his hands. “I’m lucky this scamp of a dragon didn’t make me a pile of ashes, crony!”
Now getting a whiff of Binko, Gilmanza wrinkled his nose. “What the heck is that smell on you? You smell like something dead.” His odor had gone unnoticed because of the horrific smell of the dungeon and the commotion happening around them.
“Navi about got me killed with that stupid dragon.” Binko eyeballed Navi.
“T
hose dragons think you smell good,” Buldar said, noticing them following him. “Do you know that if you bathe in vinegah it’ll get rid of that odor?”
Binko passed by him then stopped to ask a reasonable question. “And what might I use then to get rid of the smell of vinegah?”
“It’ll wear off,” Ozni assured him. “Just keep your distance, mate.”
“Or one of these dragon’s might think he is a giant pickled salamandah, and eat him,” laughed Buldar.
The riders had immediately noticed Buldar’s hair when he walked back to join them in the dungeon but due to the crisis of the moment, no one had bothered inquiring. Now they had the chance to find out.
“By the way, what the heck happened to your hair, mate?” Ozni asked, roaring with laughter, as the other riders joining in.
“Navi and Bink nearly killed me too with that bloody dragon.” The riders made sport of him, teasing him about his giant bald spot.
“That won’t wash off like the smell of dead fish,” Ozni said laughing. “But in time it’ll grow back.” He couldn’t resist giving his bald head a rub with his knuckles.
As inappropriate as the laughter might have seemed under the conditions of such human suffering, the riders needed a diversion from the grave conditions they had just beheld. Meanwhile, just ahead of them would be days filled with wearisome efforts to restore health, food and dignity back to this simple community that had suffered so wrongfully.
They would offer them all they could in the short time they had.
A Score to Settle
Lachrymose, Sagran’s weary body hung over his wife. He held her, wishing he could breathe life back into her mortal body. Laying her limp torso back on the ground, he stood and wiped the tears off his face. He would have to move on. He walked over to where the circle of riders stood. “I want to ride with you, my son and me!”
Gilmanza was quite emphatic. “You’re angry, and rightly so, but that does not mean that you should ride with us. We’re on a mission from the king. The ridahs of this mission have been chosen.” He walked off to deal with other matters, considering the issue closed.
Understanding all too well the pain of losing a wife, Ozni patted him on the shoulder and tried to console him. “My wife died a few years ago.” He could still see her in his mind: her long brown wooly hair and brown eyes. “I know it’s tough.” Sagran just looked at him, but seemed to welcome the support.
Over the next nine days, the riders did what they could to console the grieving, bury the dead, rid the camp of the remaining invading warriors, and help establish some order in the camp. The men of the village who were able assisted the riders in digging graves, giving the deceased a proper burial. Sagran buried his beloved wife under the large ash tree where they had their first kiss years before.
The riders assisted in resurrecting the village. They secured the food left by the Awshaks, burned the dead Awshak warriors, gathered weapons for the village people, and doctored the sick. Ozni and Sagran became good friends, finding a common ground in their losses.
On the tenth day, the riders said goodbye to their new friends.
“May I ask, where are you going and what is this mission?” Sagran was curious.
“We are going to the Land of Shy Kadesh,” Gilmanza answered, not wanting to give up too much.
“Shy Kadesh!” exclaimed Sagran. “I didn’t think the immortals allowed anyone into their land anymore.”
“We have no choice but to try,” explained Gilmanza. “If he refuses to see us then we will simply send a message and be on our way.”
“I overheahd some of the guards discussing a group of ridahs when I was in the forest hidin’. I assume they meant you. I also heard them say that the Ridahs of Quadar were going to be thick in that area out lookin’ for you. You must go North over the Mountain of Piaza and avoid that area altogether.”
“We have to meet some friends and fellow riders at the Tomb of Murdorf,” explained Gilmanza.
“I can show you a diffant way,” Sagran offered. “You will still have to go through the Forest of Mambre, but it is a much smaller forest and the Ridahs of Quadar are not expecting you to go that way. Let me ride with you. Dahvan and I have a little history—I have an old score to settle with him myself.”
“We all have a little score to settle with him,” said Buldar. “What’s yours?”
“Years ago,” Sagran began, “when I was just a boy, warriors in cahoots with dahk ridahs took over our village. They ransacked our village and murdahed many of my people. We were reduced to slavery, our feet were shackled and our hands were forced to wohk until they bled.
“The Ridahs of Quadar came to the outskihts of the village where my family was living. Their strategy was to beat us down first and then to offah us a way out. They offahed us hope if we would become one of them. Of course it was a false hope.
“Anyway, I had been workin’ in the fields, and was walkin’ home when I saw the dahk ridahs. I hid behind a tree and watched as they murdahed my family. My parents said they would die slaves before they would join forces with their evil wohks. The ridah answered, ‘Then so it will be. Your wish is granted!’ And right there, they murdahed my parents and seven of my siblings in our backyard. But one… one brothah, Nacah, chose to follow the Ridahs of Quadar. From behind that tree, I watched as my brothah rode off with them.
“He was given a black horse like there’s and a robe, and he rode off with them. I yelled out, ‘No Nacah! Don’t do this! Don’t go with them!’ I know he heahd me, because he looked back and then rode off with them anyway. I know he only joined them out of feah. Several other boys joined too.
“After this, there was much confusion in the village. I saw it as a chance to escape. So I ran away and lived in a cave, just ovah those mountains.” He pointed to the mountains rising east of them. “My village then was on the othah side of that mountain.” He turned to point to anothah mountain.
“Latah, I began to hunt in various pahts of the area; that’s why I know this land so well. I fought wild animals with the sling and bow I made. Then, one day I was wandahin’ in the forest, I heahd a girl screamin’. I ran to see what was the mattah. Two men had her, my wife I mean. I killed them and took her back to her family. When they found out I was livin’ in the forest, they insisted that I come to their village and live. That is how I ended up here.
“I fell in love with Nadine and latah married her. Her people took me in as one of them. But since I lived in the forest for a season of my life, I know this land very well. I can help you get to where you are goin’, without goin’ through the Forest of Mirth.” He looked at them with hope.
“Have you seen your brothah since then?” asked Buldar.
“Long aftahwahds I saw him in the forest. I was out there huntin’, when a single ridah rode up on a black horse; his black-hooded coat clearly identified what he was. I heahd a noise behind me and when I looked up, I caught a glimpse of his face. It had turned partially dahk and looked like it was startin’ to rot. But I recognized him. I called out his name, and he stood there for what seemed like a long time just lookin’ at me, as if he were tryin’ to remembah me. Then he rode off.”
Sagran paused for a moment, and then continued, “You know, at one time, my brothah and I were best friends. But a change slowly occurred in him while we were enslaved. He grew angry, and bittah. He would say things about wishin’ he had powah to rule. I would remind him that as bad as our plight was, it was still bettah to be the slave than to be the slave driver. At least our heahts weren’t black. I encouraged him to believe that it would not always be like this, that one day we would be free. I guess I nevah convinced him.
“Anyway, after that, I vowed that I would fight the powahs of dahkness until my last breath, and I would raise my family accordin’ to the values of the immortals. And now—with Nadine gone—I must fight! My brothah was so deceived. The Kingdom of Shy Kadesh is immor
tal because dahkness has not penetrated its walls or its people. It is the dahkness that has brought destruction, and I have vowed to fight that dahkness.”
He turned again to Gilmanza and the rest of the riders. “I want to ride with you—me and my son. I can take you to a cave on the side of the mountain not far from here.”
“I know which cave you speak of,” said Gilmanza.
“How do you know of it?” asked Sagran.
“He’s old… very old,” blurted Navi.
Gilmanza raised his eyebrow and narrowed his eyes at Navi.
“How old are you?” Amase asked.
“I have no idea,” Gilmanza said. “I’ve seen hundreds of moons. But I’m still younger than old Windsor!”
“Who’s Windsor?” asked Sagran.
“He’s a friend of ours. He remembahs the lands when they were immortal.”
“You’re joking!” Sagran was clearly impressed. “That’s thousands of moons ago. I didn’t think anyone was still living who knew the land before it lost its immortality—except for the Immortals themselves. But, wait, I have heard legends about a man, a wizahd; but I thought they were just that—legends.”
“Well, there are a few legends associated with Windsor, but I assure you that there is plenty of truth to many of them.” Gilmanza had made up his mind. “You’ll be meeting Windsor soon.”
“I will?”
“If you’re goin’ to ride with us, then you will meet him at the Tomb of Murdorf.”
“You mean we can ride with you?” said Sagran, his voice growing excited.
Sagran’s story and his genuineness had convinced the old warrior. “Let’s ride,” he said, tossing each of them a sword.
“So is Windsor a wizahd too?” Amase asked Navi.
“Sure is,” Navi said. “Here is a splendid dragon for one and an elegant stelleto cleaned and polished for the othah.”
Buldar rolled his eyes. He had a sneaky suspicion that he was going to have to contend with that beast a little longer than he had hoped.
Amase quickly claimed the dragon for himself, having a love for the creatures. “I will call her Zephlin.”
Excitement and a sense of purpose energized them. A long awaited feeling of destiny was being freshly stirred up, something that had been branded in their consciences. The daily grind had nearly stripped them of purpose, but now, they saw a flicker of possibility.
Sagran and his son now donned chain-mail they found in the camp. They packed a bedroll apiece, bows and arrows; then, they rode off with the riders. They didn’t know what their mission was exactly, but they followed their hearts. Without fully understanding the prophetic background of this group, they became riders of The Circle.
A Night in a Cave
It was nightfall when the riders reached the cave. Beams of light shone through the trees, dappling their faces as they gathered wood for a comforting fire. Inka did the honors of lighting the woodpile at the entrance of the cave. Hungry, the riders fire-roasted a pheasant and a turkey they had bagged along the way.
“So you lived in this cave?” Ozni wanted to strike up further conversation with his new friend, Sagran.
“Yes! Yes I did. This cave goes back real far into rocky mountains. I don’t think I evah explored it all.” He shared some stories of his experiences from long ago and talked much about his late wife. It was obvious that he adored her.
The riders became more acquainted with Sagran and Amase, soon embracing them as friends, as well as fellow riders. By the time they had devoured their supper they had also put aside their reservation about inviting them onto their team. They found them likeable and genuine.
Intuitive vibrations still stirred within Navi. Those eyes. There was something about them; something about him. He knew the two of them belonged with them. He just didn’t know why. Yet.
After much talking and more eating, they all grew tired and slowly drifted off to sleep.
Sagran stood outside, peering into the obscurity of the woodland. The thick fog covering the ground made it difficult to see in the breaking dawn of the morning. Out of the mist, a sketchy form, an indiscernible figure, appeared over the hills, riding swiftly towards him. A shiny steel sword above the rider’s head came into view as he rapidly approached. Galloping on a black horse, the cape of the dark rider grappled in the wind.
Now he could tell that it was a dark knight, a Quadarist bent on evil.
Sagran drew his sword. Both of his hands gripped the hilt with a mixture of confidence and fear. The heavy breathing of the dark rider and the sound of the horse’s hooves were the only discernible noises. But all Sagran could hear was his own heart pounding.
The dark rider looked as though he were hell bent on running him over. Suddenly, when he was right on top of him, he stopped, bringing his mount to a standstill directly in front of Sagran.
Eye-to-eye they stared each other down. Sagran repositioned his sweaty hands, anticipating his next move; he expecting a fight. As he studied this dark rider, he noted the eyes, so familiar. At first sight, the dark rider looked like every other dark rider: he was dark, decaying, and direful, capable of putting the fear of God in any soul. Sagran felt his blood run cold. But those eyes he had seen before.
Then it occurred to him.
“Nacah, is that you?” he asked, scrutinizing the dark figure. He lowered his sword. “It’s me, Sagran, your brothah. You can come back now. You don’t have to stay on the side of the dahk ridahs. You can come home and get a fresh staht.”
The dark rider lowered his sword. They silently fixed their eyes upon each other. Recollection stirred up memories, brother to brother, times of youth, years of bonding. Just when Sagran thought his brother was coming back to him, the dark rider raised his sword high above his head, and nudged his horse into a full run. Before he knew what was happening, the rider’s piercing blade penetrated his neck and his blood spilled onto the ground.
“Hhhgguuuu!” Sagran gasped to breathe as he sat up. He clutched his hands around his neck expecting to feel blood, surprised that his head was still attached. He realized it was only a dream, a nightmare that haunted him from time to time. He wiped away the sweat that had formed on his forehead leaving a clammy feeling. Pondering the dream and wondered if his brother was capable of killing him. Next, he wondered if his brother was capable of leaving the evil. Would he know me if he saw me? Perhaps, Sagran thought.
The sound of a rustling within the cave broke his meditation. He rose and looked around, but everything fell quiet. Lying back down, he fell back into a restless sleep.
From the back of the cave, a gurgling grunt rumbled in the darkness as it moved toward the mouth of the den. The closed in walls amplified the growl making it sound like a monster. Somnolent, Sagran awoke again.
Sitting up and looking around in a state of confusion and sleepiness, he stared into the black hole of the cave. Then he heard the definitive and intimidating growl.
“Wake up! Somethin’s in here!” He excitedly and abruptly shook those who slept near him.
What? Am I dreaming? Navi wondered what was happening as a hand jolted his body. He sat up instinctive with his sword raised. Most of the riders awoke instinctively from their somnolence in similar fashion: sword or dagger in hand ready to fight.
The light of the moon gave way to four beady eyes approaching them in the darkness of the cave.
Derves? Nomeds? The eyes didn’t look like those creatures. Grabbing their swords, they jumped to their feet, and then slowly backed their way out of the cave, their swords held out in front of them for protection. As they backed into the spacious outdoors, the rays of the moonlight glimmered upon the mouth of the cave, and two large black bears strolled toward them.
“Run!” Navi said in a screeching whisper, his vocal cords frozen with fear. The Circle of Riders hurried to their beasts and sloppily mounted them. “What about our bedrolls and things?” Amase asked.
br /> “Well if you want to fight the beahs for your bedroll, you go right ahead, crony. As for me, I don't want it that bad!”
The whole crew waited at a safe distance for the bears to leave the cave. Finally, the bears strolled away from the cave, likely their choice for hiding away in the imminent winter.
“Come on,” Amase said, tugging on Navi’s arm.
“Well, run along!” Navi shewed the boy away. “I’ll stand guard and watch and make sure those bears don’t come back.”
“You’re a wizahd, and you’re scared?”
“I’m not scared,” Navi replied, almost too quickly. “I just thought it would be bettah if I stood guard for you— and watched for those beahs.”
“Like I said, you’re scared.”
“Am not!”
“Then prove it by goin’ down there,” challenged Amase.
“I don’t have to prove anything.”
Amase grabbed Navi by his shirt and tugged at it, as he trod down the embankment toward the cave, pulling Navi along with him. “You don’t have to pull on my shiht, scamp.”
When the Circle of Riders reached the cave again, they quickly rolled up their bedrolls and gathered their belongings. As they were putting the last of their belongings onto their mounts, a roar was heard from behind them.
They were back.
Looking over their shoulders they saw a large bear, standing on its hind legs beneath the rays of the moon, offering up a contentious growl. It looked as though it was ready to try to defend its territory, or at least put fear in them.
“Time to go,” said Navi, rushing to mount Inka. The others leapt onto their beasts and all rode swiftly away, wasting no time.