The Circle: The Reversal

By N.D. Bailey

Book Three in the series. The chosen one, Amase, must bear the cursed blade, a power greater that the young man expected. With the young man's whereabouts in question and the whereabouts of the cursed blade unknown, some wonder if he too has betrayed them. The Circle of Riders now must ride to find the bearer of the sword. The world is at war and dangers lie around every corner. Armies fight for land and power and the earth is rising up for vengeance against the oppression it too has suffered. Windsor ponders the ancient texts and now comes to understandings in things that have baffled him. He knows his death is imminent but as events begin to come to a close of history, Windsor is surprised by the revelations of the texts. Lord Raqua lives and Darvan, with his charismatic puppet-king has gained the allegiance of kingdoms of the world, a vast following that will fight against the rest of the world. Among the growing opposition and the end of time drawing near, the riders find Amase in an unlikely place and the Immortal King must now take the cursed blade and fulfill the prophecies of long ago. The outcome of The Great War will decide the future of the world. Who will stand to the end in their loyalties amongst such great evil in the world? It is a clash between good and evil like no other, and this clash will determine who will be the eternal king.

• Language: English
• Publisher: N.D. Bailey
• Release date: Sep 7, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311040381

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. There is hope.

I saw heaven standing open and there before me was a white horse, whose rider is called Faithful and True. With justice he judges and makes war. His eyes are like blazing fire, and on his head are many crowns. He has a name written on him that no one knows but he himself. He is dressed in a robe dipped in blood, and his name is the Word of God. The armies of heaven were following him, riding on white horses and dressed in fine linen, white and clean. Out of his mouth comes a sharp sword with which to strike down the nations. ‘He will rule them with an iron scepter.’ He treads the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God Almighty. On his robe and on his thigh he has this name written: King of Kings and Lord of Lords (Revelation 19:11-16).

The Circle:

Book III: The Reversal

By N. D. Bailey

Copyright 2012 N. D. Bailey

Smashwords Edition

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - Amase

Chapter 2 - Resurrection

Chapter 3 - Business and Pleasure

Chapter 4 - Madness in the City

Chapter 5 - Buried

Chapter 6 - The Human Condition

Chapter 7 - Trouble

Chapter 8 - A Wanna Be

Chapter 9 - The Witch of Norgidian

Chapter 10 - Windsor Goes Down Under

Chapter 11 - War Tactics

Chapter 12 - Blackmail

Chapter 13 - Globe-Trotting

Chapter 14 - Vangar

Chapter 15 - Paradise Blues

Chapter 16 - Prophecies of a Madman

Chapter 17 - Salt and Pepper

Chapter 18 - Blue Birds

Chapter 19 - Times are a Changin’

Chapter 20 - Big Nose Blues

Chapter 21 - A Seer and the Circle

Chapter 22 - Rowdy Friends

Chapter 23 - Unhinged

Chapter 24 - Attitude Adjustments

Chapter 25 - Master of Deception

Chapter 26 - Ooh That Smell

Chapter 27 - War Pigs and Devils

Chapter 28 - Nature in Harmony

Chapter 29 - Bye Bye Blackbirds

Chapter 30 - The Serpent and the Sword

Chapter 31 - Tattletales

Chapter 32 - Twenty-One

Chapter 33 - Tour Guide

Chapter 34 - Temptation

Chapter 35 - Welcome to the Jungle

Chapter 36 - Ancient Ruins

Chapter 37 - Walnut Trees

Chapter 38 - Giants and Ghosts

Chapter 39 - Dung, Devils, Fleas, and Curses

Chapter 40 - Ambush

Chapter 41 - Tree Huggers

Chapter 42 - Ecological Hope

Chapter 43 - Unity

Chapter 44 - The Eagle

Chapter 45 - Brother Nature

Chapter 46 - Village of Death

Chapter 47 - Thermal Blues

Chapter 48 - Goodbye Blue Sky

Chapter 49 - Cliff

Chapter 50 - The Circle

Chapter 51 - Friends

Chapter 52 - Trust

Chapter 53 - The King

Chapter 54 - Tragedy

Chapter 55 - Goodbye

Chapter 56 - To the End

Chapter 57 - I Am

Chapter 58 - Pomp and Pride

Chapter 59 - The Great War

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Amase

The early dawn broke upon Amase as he ran through the sodden forest panting, sopping wet to the skin. His clothes were heavy with moisture. With one hand gripping his side and the other clutching the Sword of Power, he ran with much excitability, looking over his shoulder fearful of a pursuing enemy. He was winded and apprehensive about where to run to when he finally stopped in front of a large and aged fallen tree.

Amase brushed his right hand through his wringing wet hair as he sat down on the trunk of the fallen tree. He grasped his side and winced beneath the stabbing pain. Pulling his hand away from the cut, blood poured out of the wound. His clothing was stained blood red, mingling with the rain water. Removing his hand from the open gash, he ran his hand across the razor sharp edge of the cursed sword.

What am I to do with it, he whispered, gazing at the sparkling rubies on the hilt as he breathed a despairing sigh. He beheld the crisp edge of the blade, the very sword that had pierced his side. There was little strength in him to marvel at its spectacular beauty or even its power since he felt his life ebbing away. Looking at his side, he could see that the wound was deep and from the blood on his clothing that it was worse than he originally thought. Standing up to take off his mail and the shirt beneath it so he could rip his undershirt and tie it around his bleeding wound, Amase felt the blood rush to his head. Feeling faint, he aimed to sit back down when suddenly, his vision grew blurry and everything turned black. Then, he collapsed to the ground.

With a steady stream of blood flowing from his side, Amase lay on the ground, his life dwindling away. The trees bowed above him, offering shade to his lifeless body. His blood mingled with the soil of the earth, a drink offering for the ground, more blood from the edge of that cursed blade. His pale face mirrored the paleness of death.

As he lay unconscious, vibrations stirred in the earth beneath him. The quivers increased to an upheaval as dirt flew into the air and a cloud of dust enveloped his motionless body. When the dust finally settled, a short, plump, hairy creature appeared. He stood on two feet but his shaggy corded hair resembled that of an animal. His legs were short, toes were large, and his feet flat. Hardly standing half the size of a man, the creature stuck his long fat nose in Amase’s face and poked at Amase with his finger.

Amase moaned under the faintness of his fading body. With effort, he forced one eye open. The blur had not gone away and was now accompanied by a swirling sensation and circling darkness. He wasn’t certain of the reality of what he thought he was looking at. But he had never seen a creature of this sort before.

Wincing in pain, Amase closed his eyes, too tired to get his hand to his face to wipe the dust out of his eyes. Unaware of Amase’s sensitivity to the dust, the creature shook its fur, sending even more dirt into the air. Amase coughed and wheezed as a cloud of dust engulfed him. Then, he fell unconscious again.

When the dust finally settled, the arradora stepped closer to the man, spotting the pool of blood first, then the sword. The hairy creature grabbed the sword, its rubies dancing on the ground. He looked at it and then tossed it into the hole in the ground from which he had emerged. Then, he grabbed Amase by the foot and dragged him towards the hole. Entering the tunnel, the creature towed Amase into the earth through the hole, over the dirt, rock, and tree roots. Next, he spun the dirt around again until the hole was closed at the surface of the ground.

Amase was beneath the ground, enclosed in the darkness of the earth, buried in the heart of the earth.

Resurrection

Darvan laid his prized possession, Cozbi, the one he referred to as Raqua, upon the operating table. The lifeless form was limp and void of breath, a grave disappointment for such a promising prospect for Darvan’s mission. The fire had licked up his flesh, charring his smooth complexion. Blisters bubbled beneath his skin and like so much in Quadar, he looked like a cursed individual, resembling the land he had chosen to dwell in. Blood smeared the front of his clothing. Grabbing the stained garment, Darvan ripped it away from his body revealing the broad gash through his gut. It went straight through, slicing vital organs. He looked into his pale face and stared at death with rancor. Wide-open dead cold eyes looked back at him. But Darvan had not lost all hope, not yet anyway. For this was a man promised by the prophets, his prophets, or so he believed.

In an exaggerated effort to redeem hope, Darvan set out orders to restore the man. His team of surgeons went to work on the man. While they worked on Raqua, Darvan barked his orders to Dero and his other trusted officials, Get me that sword! Now! Grabbing up one of his generals by the throat, Darvan squeezed his neck until the man nearly passed out. In the meantime, fashion one that looks exactly like it and tell no man that we lost it. No one is to know that we have lost the sword. This is a disgrace.

Darvan stood outside the glass paneled room and watched as they sliced open Raqua’s chest and pulled out his heart and sat it on the table. There was no beat, no life. The man was dead, a stiffening corpse overtaken by the shadows of death. Then they put within the man a new heart, the heart of a small dragon. It beat in his chest, giving hope, offering life. Next, the surgeons reconstructed his scarred face. They made eyes like eagles and gave him a face of smooth complexion. Then, Darvan touched Raqua’s head and restored his hair, making hair grow where only scars were. Still, there was no life to the human form.

Outside, a multitude of nations gathered. They cheered for their hero, shouting Raqua, over and over. Darvan had his lifeless body carried onto the balcony to be viewed by all. Dead silence. A hush fell over those gathered from across the nations. Witnesses emerged that confirmed his death. The crowd grew silent, hope dissipated, fear mounted. But before the crowd, Darvan proved himself a man of supernatural power. Leaning over Raqua, he breathed upon him and life entered the dead man.

Raqua! Raqua! shouted the crowd. The noise was like music to Darvan’s ears, for he knew he had won the support of many nations through his puppet king. But nothing was as much of a pleasant sound as the sound of Raqua stirring to life. Pride filled his heart and hope rose to new levels. It had worked and Darvan thought himself the cleverest of all.

The game was on and this was to be his finest hour. Now was the time to unleash on the world all of his being, all that his kingdom stood for. He was a man of guile, charisma, and power and now the world would know just how powerful he is. He was pulling out his best troops, those reserved for this historical event. He would crush all who stood up against him. Darvan would hold nothing back.

Raqua stood, weak, but he stood nonetheless. Servants had dressed him to the hilt in black elegant robes for his burial, unsuspecting that he would be greeting his cheering crowd. He was dressed like a man of power and importance, intimidating to all who beheld him.

Robed in authority, Darvan stood confidently on the balcony that overlooked the crowd. The crowd cheered, then fell silent, anxious to hear what Darvan had to say. Darvan spoke of the oppression of his kingdom by the Immortal King, portraying himself as a social victim. He played upon the emotions of his crowd, pointing to his land cursed by that wicked Immortal as just one example of injustices against him. He rewrote history, portraying himself as a saint of a man. He spoke smooth words of his desire for the unity of the kingdoms and of his master-piece-creation, Raqua. He quoted his prophets, the ones who predicted the downfall of the immortals and the rise of Darvan’s kingdom through the one they referred to as The Loyal One. His clever speech drew his audience in, blinding them by his manipulation as he spoke of a single and prosperous kingdom inundated with benefits. Then, he gave them what they wanted. I give you Raqua.

Cozbi held up his hand, greeting his cheering crowd with a raised sword, an imitation of the Sword of Darvan. His appearance was stunning and for a moment brought silence to the crowd. His eyes were now piercing, almost magical, his hair darker. He said nothing and didn’t need to, for the crowds cheered at his very presence, throwing their support behind the miracle of life that stood before them. His countenance was confident, his body looked strong, and his appearance bold and intimidating. He was a miracle, a work of Darvan’s creation.

Raqua has been born again, announced Darvan.

And so he had. Life had re-entered the man who was unworthy of its gift.

Business and Pleasure

The banging of hammers and the crashing of rocks could be heard for miles across the city of Sayir as the men of the city began to clean up the wreckage from war. Debris was scattered abroad around the areas immediately surrounding the walls of the southern side of the city as well as other areas where attacking armies were pounding away at the towering walls.

Navi opened one eye and suddenly realizing that he was late for a meeting at the castle. Staggering up from the covers tossed in the floor beside Inka where he had slept, Navi stepped over a pair of ratty looking pants, boots, and a scroll; then, he tripped over the edge of the covers and fell flat on his face. Beside Inka lay the dragon that Pantika had ridden upon. Curled up next to the dragon laid Pantika and Marci. Stumbling about his room, Navi hurriedly put on his boots, braided his green braid, then his purple braid, grabbed his purple wizard hat, sword, and staff. In a jippy he was ready to go.

Inka, let’s ride, yelled Navi as he swung open the large door he had built especially for the beast.

Pantika and Marci stirred at the sound of Navi’s voice; then, they turned back over and went back to sleep.

Hastening up the corridors of the castle towards the meeting room, Navi peeled off his riding gloves and stuck them in his pocket. He could see that the door was wide open and no doubt, the other riders would give him lip about being late.

In the king’s meeting room, the Circle of Riders sat in the iron chairs around the large round stone table waiting on Navi. (Except for Gilgore who sat on the floor in the corner trying to convince the king that he should be more like King Justiz by having a chair worthy of a giant). They waited on Navi with as much patience as a group of warriors could muster up. Finally, Navi came bursting through the door. As soon as he graced through the door, they started in on him.

`bout time, snapped Zilgar.

You’re late, mate, said Nuvatian.

So I am.

It’s rude you know, said Vandorf, straight forward as usual.

So it is, remarked Navi.

He’s stayin’ out all night with his gihl, Monguard whispered to Gilmanza. Two gihls livin’ with him is makin’ him a bit irresponsible wouldn’t you say, mate

They’re stayin’ at his house, Gilmanza whispered disapprovingly.

Overhearing them, Windsor curled up his eyebrow, frowning on the indiscretion.

Navi, are you sure about this kid? asked the king. That he is the bearer of the sword prophesied in Scripture?

Of course I’m sure. Are you questionin’ my prophetic ability?

No, no, no, Navi, I just want to make sure that we’re not being betrayed yet again, assured the king.

I tell you that while everyone was sleepin’, the statue of Murdorf glowed with a bright light and Amase walked over and stood in front of it. Then, the bloody statue spoke to him and told him that he was chosen to beah the swohd for a season. I saw it with my own two eyes, crony. When I first set eyes on that kid I recognized that he had a destiny, a mission. Pulling a scroll of ancient prophecies out of his satchel, Navi rolled through the scroll to the familiar passage that Windsor had read aloud at the beginning of their mission.

A bearer of the sword will arise who will bear the burden of it until it is placed in the hands of the Immortal King. His origins are of an ancient people, a people of long ago. He will carry the sword into the canvas of the earth into dark portals and cursed byways, himself bearing the burden of the curse that pierced his side.

It says that ‘his origins are of an ancient people, a people of long ago. Amase is an Awnee, a people believed to not be in existence; they were annihilated many yeahs ago, wiped from the face of the earth. He fits the description and the statue of Murdorf confihmed it.

Windsor questioned Navi, Why didn’t you tell me about the statue when it happened?

I figuhed you knew who he was without me tellin’ you.

I had my suspicions. I was just hopin’ I was wrong.

Why were you hopin’ to be wrong, Sagran asked, concerned for the role his son was now playing.

Not wanting to tell the father of the predicted fate of the bearer of the sword, Windsor was less than direct with him, Because it means that we really are at the crossroads of time. The Great War. The consummation of all that has been prophesied. It is both excitin’ and troublin’. Windsor and Navi knew that danger was predicted for this bearer of the sword but neither wanted to level with the boy’s father.

Some had trouble believing in the talking statue but only Zorgar challenged Navi. A talkin’ statue? What kind of herb did you eat?

I know what I saw and I don’t care if you believe me or not, Navi said, matter of fact.

I thought he was a peculiar looking fellow, but I know little of Awnees, the king said.

What does the prophet mean when he speaks of his side bein’ pierced? Sagran inquired, naturally concerned for his son.

The question unnerved Windsor who knew of other prophecies, one that he understood as speaking of the bearer of the sword’s death. He sorted through the words in his mind, trying to find a way to dodge the conversation all together.

Windsor? Sagran said, What does the prophet mean?

Mulling it over, Windsor spoke, hoping the words would come out right. Some say that he will be injuhed by the swohd, while othahs suggest that it merely speaks of a mortal who has been touched by the cuhse just like the rest of us.

So which do you believe it is? Sagran inquired, not letting Windsor off the hook too easily.

I believe the prophecy speaks of a physical injury, Windsor said, leveling with him.

Silence fell upon Sagran as he mulled over the thought of his son being injured. Then he asked Windsor another question. Will he live?

I don’t know, Windsor answered, remaining silent on the other text that suggests the boy will be killed.

So you dropped him off at the edge of the woods and told him to run and not come back until he knew it was safe, the king asked Navi, seeking clarity.

How was I to know that the city was not goin’ to fall? asked Navi.

Well, you are a prophet, a wizard you know, said the king.

There you go again. Don’t you hate that? Navi asked, looking at Windsor. Windsor chuckled, understanding Navi completely. Navi relaxed in his chair but fumbled with the braids in his hair, twirling them around his finger as though he had his mind on something else.

Okay, so you can’t know everything. But I suppose, Amase will be coming back into the city in the next day or two. In the meantime, I want the forest searched for the lad. Search until you find him. In two days we will honor our dead. I want all of you from Sayir present. That means Windsor, Navi, Nimri, Nuvation, and Gilmanza, of course.

What is the total of knights killed, Gilmanza inquired.

We don’t know yet.

Speculations and rumors are flying all over the city about the sword. People are unnerved so be careful because speculations are flying around about each of you too. Watch your back and each other’s. At the ceremony I will try to calm the city of these rising rumors.

Following the king’s orders, the riders mounted their beasts and began to search the woodlands, combing every inch of the ground and scouring the region with a bird’s eye view. But it was on the ground that the first trace of him was found, a single drop of blood, then another, and another. They followed the droplets of blood to a tree trunk where they found a patch of blood. The trail ended there. But there had been a war and the blood could have been anyone’s, so some reasoned. They dismissed it and continued searching. They explored all directions but found no trace of the boy. At the first sign of dusk, they gave up the search and hoped for the best. But Windsor could not shake the thoughts of the blood they had found on the log, and neither could anyone else.

Tuckered out, everyone was aching for some rest so they called it the night, putting their hope in the promises of the prophets, concluding that if he was indeed the one promised then he must live on to fulfill his destiny. They had nothing else to hope in but words of ecstatic speech spoken ages ago.

On the second day the riders joined the city in a ceremony for the dead. The knights, including Nuvatian and Nimri, were donned in full array, uniforms with a touch of class and an edge of orderly discipline. Gilmanza, as the instructor of the school and an honorable knight, was dressed even sharper. Windsor and Navi were dressed appropriately for two wizards. The others from the group attended the ceremony too since they were present in the city. But it was Nadora that looked the most stunning.

The ceremony was held outside. A large platform housed those who spoke as well as other important people in the kingdom. Nadora sat upon the platform arrayed in elegance. She always knew how to dress for the occasion. She had seen queens dressed in more fabric that the palace’s windows and she refused to look like she was wearing a curtain. Modest, yet her attractive attire drove people towards her, not away. She knew how to dress with class and not solely for power. She reflected her people’s princess mentality in her wardrobe as well as in her personality. Having been a thrust behind the organizing of programs to help the people of her city, she was well loved in the kingdom. She was also loved by Nuvatian who couldn’t take his eyes off of her. And she couldn’t help but notice him standing in his admirable knight uniform, unlike the more common clothing he wore while they were out in the field. She was smitten whether she wanted to admit it or not.

She eyeballed him observing his gentlemanly manners and the honor by which others greeted him. Standing behind her, Windsor noticed her watching him.

He’s a good man, Windsor said, knowing he might be sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.

Yes, he is, Nadora answered, having a gut feeling she was going to get one of those fatherly lectures from the wise old wizard.

Might I give you some advice based on experience?

Of course, Windsor.

Don’t grow old alone.

The advice surprised her. She had always considered Windsor a strong man who didn’t need someone, one that she had looked up to and found his life, his discipline, a model to live by.

But I thought you were content being by yourself. I always thought that made you who you are.

O my dear Nadora, if only you knew the regret. Life is hahd enough on its own; but havin’ someone who loves you, someone to come home to, can make life pleasurable on the wohst of days. Don’t grow old alone, he said again. Give him a chance.

Nadora nodded and thanked him, weighing heavily upon his words.

Gilmanza was among those chosen to speak. But of course it was the king’s speech that took center stage. The king commended the city and the noble knights for their bravery. Rallying the community together, he praised them for their courage to take their stand against the enemy and he exhorted them concerning their resilience to rebuild the city. He spoke of the honor, duty, and strength in the face of danger as representative of the character of all knights of Shalahem. He honored the dead, encouraged the city, and strengthened the resolve of the kingdom, but the cursed sword he never mentioned although many had seen Raqua raise a sword that looked like the distrusted blade. The king remained mum on the issue.

The ceremony was brief but the burials went on for days. They had fared well in comparison to the corpses of the enemies scattered outside the walls. The dead of the enemy they gathered together and burned because there were not enough grave diggers to bury them all. The city mourned for their friends and families and they pulled together and stood as one in both mourning and in rebuilding the walls. Reconstruction began immediately, knowing that their broken walls left them vulnerable.

Following the ceremony, crowds of people smothered around Princess Nadora. As they pushed in around the popular princess, her eyes lost sight of Nuvatian. She was struck although she was reluctant to admit it, and now she second guessed her resolve to reign as a single queen and she pondered the concept of having it all. But the people called her out of her deep thinking and back into the realm of the present reality.

Back at the palace, Nadora stood outside a terrace that overlooked the front of the castle lawn. The setting sun burst forth into brilliant shades of orange and purple casting the towering mountains into silhouettes of beauty and grace. She weighed in on her life--her values and goals. Now having been to the dark and dreadful land of Quadar, she was more resolved than ever to fight for her people--for sunrises and sunset, for freedom, and liberty, for all that she knew was right and good. She also weighed in on Windsor’s advice. Nuvatian is of like mind, she thought.

There she is--in the terrace. She is so beautiful. Nuvatian was astride his mount walking up the pathway that led to the palace when he spied her. She was still wearing the elegant garment that she had on at the ceremony. The sun glistened upon her hourglass figure, framing her body and showing off all of her best features.

As Nadora gazed off into the sunset, the sound of a horse nearby awakened her out of her daydream. Coming around the bend was a horse and she immediately recognized its rider as Nuvatian. Nuvatian leapt off his horse and leading it by the reigns, stopped beneath the terrace, looking up at the princess. They smiled at each other, knowingly.

Would you care to join me, she invited.

Would love to, he answered smiling.

The attendant politely took his horse and Nuvatian walked inside the palace and climbed the winding staircase to the top and followed the corridor around to the balcony where she stood. They stood beside each other looking out, neither one saying a word. It was Nuvatian who broke the silence looking at her. I nearly forgot what you look like dressed like a woman. Stunning.

He hardly got the last word out when Nadora drew him close. Their lips met, taking in each other, their hearts pounded and their arms caressed each other. The aroma of a man. The aroma of a woman. Their scents were alluring and dazzling to the senses. Although they were each attracted to the other, it was now far deeper than physical. They had been around each other day in and day out and had come to know each other. It was now about their individual beings--who they were as people and the character they had demonstrated on a daily basis. Nadora knew the kind of man Nuvation was--that he was a man of integrity. And Nuvatian knew that Nadora was a woman of both compassion and strength, a woman who stood for what she believed to be right. The physical attraction was an added bonus.

They were lost in each other, lost in love, lost in the moment. Their hearts swelled for the other. All the problems of the kingdom disappeared momentarily. It was as if no one else in the world existed. But that feeling was brief.

Nuvatian, what are you doing kissing my daughter? the king asked, reprimanding him.

They were caught red handed. Nuvatian was stumped for words, his tongue already occupied and his mind numb with giddy emotions.

He wasn’t kissing me, fathah, I was kissing him, Nadora said, poised and composed.

Stunned by his daughter’s forwardness, the king walked off, trying to conceal the smirk that was coming across his face. He knew Nuvatian to be a good man or he would not be among the teachers of knights or among the riders on this prestigious mission. But he was not of royal birth. He was a commoner and not the sort of man the king had in mind for his daughter. But the wise king also knew that royalty wasn’t all that mattered. He would rather her marry a commoner who loved her than a king who mistreated her.

So, this is what you want? Nuvatian asked, making sure.

Kissing you? she asked, knowing full well that he implied more than that. If it weren’t then I wouldn’t have done it.

Madness in the City

Navi awoke inhaling the pleasant smell of breakfast being cooked over a wood stove. He especially liked the smell of bacon which stood out among the other scents. As he walked into the kitchen, he noticed pancake batter splattered on the countertop and a broken egg on the floor.

Well, at least they got some of each in the skillet, Navi said to himself.

Good morning. Marci and I thought we would cook some breakfast. You’re just in time, said Pantika, bubbling over with joy. Sit right here.

Navi sat down and the two women spread the table with breakfast food. Navi began to devour the food. Tasting the pancakes, Navi turned his nose up and said, What’s in these?

Herbs; one that increases brain function and another that gives you energy, said Pantika. Here, try this one. I added blueberries to this batch.

Oh, remarked Navi, snarling his nose as he reached for the maple syrup. After saturating his pancakes with more syrup, he tasted them and approved now that the taste was disguised by the sugary syrup. Next, he reached for the bacon. It was cooked just the way he liked it.

Navi looked across the table and starred at Marci whose face was on the wood table beside her plate; she was fast asleep. Strands of her flaming red curly hair hung in her plate, thinly coating strands of hair with molasses and scrambled eggs.

Marci, said Navi. Marci, he said again, this time tapping the table.

Marci looked up in a confused state. Oh, did I fall asleep? she asked.

Navi devoured the breakfast and sipped his coffee enjoying the special treatment he was receiving from the women.

Do you have family in Norgidian? Nuvatian asked, wanting to learn more about the girls."

No. We moved there to staht our businesses aftah our pahents died.

I’m so sorry. How did your pahents die?

Our mothah died of fevah and our fathah died in war.

Sounds like you two have had your share of hahd times, Navi said. Looking up at Marci, Navi was surprised to see that she had fallen asleep again, her hair hanging in her plate of food. Does she do this often? asked Navi.

She hates mornings. It takes her a while to wake up, said Pantika.

Rising from the table, Navi raising Marci’s head as she slept on. He gently placed her head back down on the table out of her plate of food. I’m gonna search the area for Amase again and then meet the othahs in town said Navi.

Oh, here, I made you some lunch, said Pantika, smiling as she handed him a bag.

What is it? Navi asked.

Toad meat with pulverized ginkgo root garnished with wild mushrooms and a slice of goat cheese on two slices of bread, said Pantika, smiling. Handing him a tankard, she said, Don’t forget your drink.

Navi snarled his nose and said, Thanks. And what might this be?

Freshly squeezed grapes, apple juice, hedge apple juice, ginseng, and a secret ingredient.

Well, that’s very nice, said Navi, taking the not so palatable food from her.

Here’s a stein of watah also, she added.

Navi yelled for Inka, offering him a handful of dried lizard, mounted the dragon and flew towards the outskirts of the