THE

SWORD
OF
DOBBOR
JOHN BAXTER

Prologue
In the time just after the last of the dragons had disappeared from
sight, and the tales of many bold heroes fighting the battles of good
against evil across the lands, many stories were told of great deeds
being done by equally great men.
Sometimes however, the real heroes were not remembered by
who they were, or by their birthright, but by what they did. Not the
great bold knights in shining armour, but the ordinary people, the
farmers, the tailors, the blacksmiths, the gentle folk of the lands,
who somehow seemed to summon up something from somewhere
to help them achieve a lot more for the people around them than
any Lord, Knight or even King could ever do.
One such story comes from a land far away, where the discovery
of an object from long in the past would dictate the future of the
people of the land, a secret that had been so well hidden that it was
only by an accident of nature that the item was found, and so began
the work to solve the puzzle that would slowly start to reveal itself.

Chapter One
The tiniest particles of light reflected from its once shiny surface,
light rarely permeating that far into the cave, in fact this
insignificant looking, but precious article had not been bathed in any
light of any kind for centuries, remaining tucked away in a cleft in
the rear wall of the innermost cavern, hidden from view.
Placed there by a real King so very long ago, in an effort to
remove it from falling into the wrong hands, and then the cave
entrance collapsed over the access so that, with the passage of time
its location and its reputation would become lost and forgotten,
hidden from the eyes of mankind forever. Here it had lain,
undisturbed for over 400 years, this long slim gem encrusted carbon
steel sword that had not rusted or degraded in any way from the
dampness of the cave, as a normal one would have, the gold
scabbard protecting the blade from harm.
This sword was no ordinary sword. No, this one was very special,
forged in the heat of the volcano at the very heart of the same
mountain in which it now lay hidden. A little known old wives tale
told the story of the blade being struck by a master Wizard, and
honed to the sharpest possible edges, an edge that would not dent,
or mark when struck by another sword. The Wizard had found that
by adding the charcoal and firestones to the steel, it came out
lighter and harder, but he had to use the heat from the volcanic core
itself to get the temperature high enough to craft it. He added a
little red powder to the final mix, to allow the final edge to be
perfect, he then cast it with great care and cooled it in white sand,
which had to be polished off in the final phase.
Many months of hard work had gone into this sword, and then the
scabbard, made from solid gold, with precious stones set into it to
match those in the handle of the sword, and finally the inlay on the
scabbard itself. When complete it would be fit for a King.
His King.
The weapon was made ready to present to his King for his
upcoming birthday, coming complete with its own bejewelled and
etched golden scabbard. A real treasure, a real work of art.
However, somewhere between the cave of this Wizard, and
arriving at the hall of the King, the sword mysteriously disappeared,
taken by person or persons unknown.
From this time onwards, more than likely by coincidence, the
Kingdom suffered blow after blow of defeats from invaders across its

borders, all of the attacks were said to have been led by some
heathen warrior using a kind of magic sword, a weapon that made
him invincible.
From these unconnected stories, a legend was born. The sword
stolen from the Wizard, became an unbeatable magic sword that
made the bearer impervious to harm, somehow being blended with
some really good swordsmen, and the created legend grew and
grew, getting more and more mystical every time it was told.
Sometime later, the grandson of the King to whom the sword
rightfully belonged, he himself now being the exiled ruler of these
lands, set out to find this current unbeatable warrior, being a very
well trained swordsman in his own right, and attempt to trounce this
warrior, which he eventually and easily did, as the current holder
was not as good a swordsman as any of his predecessors, and so
the exiled king was able to take the sword back easily, proving that
the sword itself had nothing to do with any magical powers, it was
down to the skill of the user. A fine blade, lightweight, balanced and
beautiful to look at, but no special powers.
Despite this achievement of regaining the lost sword and bringing
it back to the rightful family for whom it had been made, the sword
still attracted the unwanted attention of the wrong people, and
many attempts were made to try to steal it, the legend now holding
stronger than the truth, so in an effort to stop this fascination with
the sword, the exile King decided to place the sword where no-one
could find it, and in the passage of time the legend would become a
mere myth, the myth would have no evidence, and would then
become folklore, and finally forgotten, the blade itself would rust
and crumble out of existence , and then all would be well once again
in the Kingdom.
Under the cover of darkness, he, together with some of his most
trusted men, climbed to the cave of the current Wizard, and
returned the sword to its birthplace, hiding it in a small crevice at
the very back of the inner cave, where it could slowly rust and fall
apart, leaving it beyond recognition. He removed the current Wizard
from his home, and then sealed off the cave by bringing down the
overhang of rock above the entrance, assuming that should have
been the sword taken care of forever.
It was just over 400 years later, a small eruption from the volcano
high in the mountain, followed by an earthquake and the
aftershocks that followed, moved the now vegetation covered rocks
from the entrance, which opened up the cave entrance again.
People from the homestead nearby in the valley had had no idea
that this cave had existed in the mountainside, and were surprised
to find it there at all.

Chapter Two
Algard entered the cave, very steadily, watching where he was
putting his feet. The quake had made the ground in the cave a little
uneven, and there were objects lying on the floor from the
overturned table and benches that lay broken across the room.
Bron, the son of Algard, followed him in just as slowly, not having
seen anything like this before in all of his sixteen years. He too
watched very carefully where he was placing his feet, moving the oil
filled lantern around to try to see and obstacles that could make
them slip or fall.
Algard went to the left of the cave, and Bron to the right, both of
them checking out the benches built into the cave walls for any
indication as to its previous use. There were definite signs of
occupation at some time in the past as there were wooden cups and
plates, together with pestles and the mortars to go with them. Large
earthenware jars stood in racks, most of them labelled with
symbols, though some were in old script handwriting, with the
contents from some of them that were tipped over by the quake, on
the floor, their contents scattered.
Over to one side, at the back of this cave, an small opening led to
an inner cavern, one which contained a cot bed, with the rough cloth
blankets still on it, though luckily the owner was not present, and
some clothing set out in small piles.
Whoever had lived here had been a very organised person, even
sectioning the dirty laundry. Every item was labelled in the outer
cave, and everything was neat and tidy in both the outer and inner
chambers.
Some old leather bound volumes were stacked up in one corner,
and Bron opened one to see what they may contain, and cast some
clue on who had lived here, but they were full of mystical symbols,
diagrams and equations, and at first glance, offered little in the way
of information as to the tenant.
Algard returned with two of the saddlebags from the side of the
donkey waiting outside, and loaded these books into the bags so he
could study them later at home.
The rest of the objects found there could be found in almost any
house or home. There were tables and chairs, a hearth in the corner
blackened from use, a small amount of chopped wood still remaining
by the side of the vent, and a general feel of a person having lived
here at some time.
They both agreed that this seemed to have been the home of a
hermit, or someone of the recluse kind who lived alone as there was
only one bed in the inner chamber, but he or she must have had
visitors on a regular basis, as there were chairs and tables in the
outer chamber.

They both moved into the inner chamber to see if they could find
anything that would yield more clues as to the previous occupant of
this basic dwelling.
The bed had been made, and the tallow candles mounted around
the walls were all in good order, with lots of length of wick to burn.
Though quite sparse of furnishings in this inner cave, it still seemed
a lot smaller than the outer one, so possibly the idea was not to
crowd the room with furnishings in the first place. They lit the
candles, and they still worked.
Once illuminated, they could see evidence that a number of
objects had been removed from this inner chamber, the drag marks
on the floor, and impressions of a lot of feet, all making a deeper
impression going out than coming in. Whoever had been in here,
they left, with a lot of help, in a hurry.
That was when Algard saw a glint of a reflection of light from the
rear wall, and thinking it may be a mirror of some kind, chose to
ignore it till after they had had a chance to look at the other items
within the caves first, to try to establish not only who lived here but
when and also why. It was only after everything else had been
looked at that Algard walked to the rear wall, and found the cleft,
pulling out a very dusty and limestone coated scabbard, with a sort
of dirty handled sword in it.
This must have been the occupants security, thought Algard as
he turned it over in his hands, Though it wouldnt do much damage
as it is too light to do any serious damage, and its a long way from
the bed. Still, well have a look at it.
They loaded the donkey with what they had been able to find that
may be of use so far, and set out on their long journey back down
the mountainside to their home in the valley below, a secluded
place to live, but ideal for rearing sheep.
Algard and his family were the only people living in this whole
valley, and had been for as long as anyone could remember, he
himself taking over from his father in the sheep rearing business,
and in turn, his father from his father before that, generation on
generation or so they had been told.

Chapter Three
I think these are the work of an Alchemist, said Algard, sitting at
the table in his homestead, the leather bound books spread out in
front of him, the flickering flames of the two reading candles casting
their eerie light on the pages from the other side of the table,

They all seem to be using symbols for ingredients, but I do not

think they are recipes.
His wife, Findew, looked up from her darning and mending with a
slight smile on her face, and his daughter, Antella, tending the large
hanging pan of broth on the fire in the hearth, looked at him with
amusement too.
Dont think any of that lot would be edible, said Findew,
Looking at the writing, it looks like the old ways, the secret
symbols and all that
Algard looked at her sternly and said,
Now lets not start all that again!
Findew remained quiet at her husbands request, but she knew
the last time they had a discussion on this subject, she had proved a
point, and he was still smarting from the defeat, and that was years
ago.
A few years before, down in the village at the end of the valley,
while they were attending the market, a stranger came and was
trying to tell everybody he was a soothsayer, a reader of palms, and
trying to extort money from those who believed that sort of stuff. He
had set up a small tent at the end of the other stalls, to do his
readings in, and on the outside of the tent, hanging around the
outer walls were these same symbols, drawn on small wooden
boards.
This mystic, as he described himself, had said they were runes,
and the symbols came from people who had studied the old ways,
the Wizards and the Magi of long ago. He said he had been smiled
upon by fate, and had been taught these ways, the ways of the
old mystics so he could read the future, with the help of a pack of
something like tarot cards, and silver coin donations.
None of the villagers believed him, so he made very little money
from that sales pitch, and was only able to sell objects that he
described as artefacts, which were to the people here, nothing but
pretty little ornaments and trinkets. However, still in the back of
their minds, as they could not be sure, they still feared him, just in
case he could cause them untold grief.
He only attended this market once, and was never seen again.
Findew never forgot those symbols on the boards; as to her they
seemed familiar at the time, as they are now, and she felt that no
good would come of it.
In the meantime, the son, Bron was out in the workshop, trying to
see if he could clean up the sword a little, as it may fetch a decent
price at a market one day.
The sword itself was stuck fast in the scabbard, held there by
years of limewater passing over it, turning it into something
resembling a stalagmite with shiny stones on the top. He knew that
he could use lemon juice or vinegar to free it, but he did not want
either of the solvents to damage the metal, so he remained,
watching the lime scale fizz, and to monitor the progress of it, trying

to pull out the sword every few minutes, and reapplying more
vinegar each time.
After about two hours of gentle persuasion, the sword came out of
the scabbard, and stunned Bron with its blade, which was in almost
mint condition.
The blade was so smooth, almost perfection, so high a polish it
reflected everything around it, like a piece of glass mirror would,
and the etchings in the blade itself were a pure work of art. The
reflections of the flickering lights from the candles and lamps around
him gave the impression the whole room was bathed in fire.
He placed it to one side, and then started to work on the
scabbard, which was a lot heavier than the sword itself, and within
about an hour, he had removed most of the limestone coating
without damaging the metal itself. He had no idea that he was
working with solid gold. Hed heard of it, but had never seen it
before.
By the end of the evening, he had cleaned and oiled the sword,
restored now to its former glory, and placed it in its gleaming
scabbard, carrying it back to the house and into his room, ready to
show the family the fruits of his labour after supper tomorrow.
Tonight, they had to be in bed early, as there was sheep to round up
for market.

Chapter Four
Findew slept uneasily, tossing and turning most of the night with
the thoughts of these books being in their house, moving about in
the bed but trying not to disturb Algard as he was going to have a
busy day finding and rounding up sheep that were fit enough to go
to market later in the week. Lamb was fetching a good price too at
the moment, so they didnt want to miss an opportunity to swell the
coffers a little while they were able to. Her baking skills would be
used later in the week too, as would the cheeses in the store.
As the sun came up, she arose from the bed, pulled on her gown,
and went to the kitchen, putting the next batch of peat on the fire
with some wood, both gathered the evening before, and stoked it
back to life from its overnight slumbers too. These two men of hers
would need a hearty meal before they went out onto the fells for the
morning roundup.
She crossed over from the kitchen to the water pump just outside
of the door and filled a large cooking pot with water, then hung it
over the fire to boil, and while she was waiting for the water, she cut
slices of homemade bread, thickened them with butter, and put
them in the shoulder bags, together with the slices of mutton, for
the boys to take with them in case they didnt get back for lunch. It
was not unusual for them to be out till it was almost dark, just to get
the right animals into the pens.

By now, Antella was also up, and she busied herself helping to
prepare breakfast, making the herbal tea for the men, and the
porridge made of whole grain that would set them up for the day,
stoking the fire to heat the oven next to the hearth, as today would
be bread making day too.
Algard got out of bed, dressed and went to the pump, washing his
face, closely followed by Bron, who also now was wearing a good
covering of hair on his chin. The two of them set about collecting the
coats and waterproof cloaks, and their hats from the workshop, plus
any other pieces of equipment they thought they might need, like a
couple of lanterns should they be late back, and then went in for
breakfast.
The usual banter around the table seemed a little strained today,
as Findew was not in a mood for idle conversation.
Algard sensed that something is wrong, and asked,
What is troubling you my dear, you seem a little tired?
Findew looked at her husband with her slightly reddened eyes
from lack of sleep and said,
I am still not happy about these books being here in our house.
The old ways have always spelt trouble, and there is no way of
knowing that these will not do the same.
Algard looked at her with sympathy. He knew a little of her fear of
the old ways, but in all their years of marriage, he had never asked
for details.
If it bothers you that they are in here, I will move them to the
workshop and put them in the big chest at the back before we go,
so they are out of your way.
Findew still thought it was not enough, but she had to agree with
her husband for the time being. They were, after all, only books, and
very well looked after books at that, and maybe he could be right
about their inability to hurt anyone. Perhaps she was letting her
imagination and suspicions of these old ways blur her vision of
what they really were. Leather bound volumes. Nothing more than
that.
Algard was as good as his word, and took the large books to the
workshop, putting them into the big wooden chest which stood on
the floor, and then slid the bolt through the hasp to keep the lid
down. They would be safe in there.
The two shepherds then put on their outdoor clothing, gathered
up their bags and packs, and left for the roundup up on the hillsides.
The weather was good today, and neither of them saw any problems
that would delay them till dark.
As they were seen off, Findew went inside and closed the door,
then started to clear away the breakfast dishes, Antella carried the
water drawn from the pump and placed it over the fire to boil, this
time for cleaning and also the laundry.
Both the women worked all of the morning cleaning, tidying,
washing, and preparing the ingredients for the main meal for when
the men returned.

They took a small break to eat a light lunch of mutton with the
fresh bread, baked today by Antella, and chatted about women
things, Antella was eager to learn how to run a household, as
someday she would be expected to do so.
Suddenly, Findew stopped talking mid-sentence and went deathly
white, looking straight ahead in a sort of glazed, fixed stare.
Antella was straight to her side,
What ails you mother, you look like death. Are you not feeling
well?
At first, Findew didnt answer, she just sat staring into middle
distance, her face as white as fine porcelain china, the colour
completely drained from her face.
After a few seconds, she blinked and very slowly the colour
returned to her face. Antella didnt push for an answer; she knew it
would be better to wait.
After a few minutes she spoke again to her mother,
Are you felling better mother? said Antella, Ill get you some
water
Findew sat a few moments longer, and then took the water from
her daughter. Another few moments passed, and then Findew looked
straight into the eyes of Antella and said,
I now know why I fear the old ways, I have remembered
something from my past I wished I had forgotten, something my
mind had chosen to bury.

Chapter Five
The two women sat at the table, Findew visibly shaking from her
experience, Antella sitting quietly and waiting, like a dutiful
daughter would, for her mother to recover before giving any
explanation.
Findew steadied herself, took a deep breath and began,
As you know, I am not of these parts, and that I was born, and
lived all of my early life, in a land a long way from here. My parents
were both from that part of the lands and so knew that they
belonged there with their kin, with both of my pairs of grandparents
living in the area at one time too.
My first six years were happy, I lived like every child did at that
age, not a care in the world. My days were long, and I was content.

My father worked hard and provided for us all very well, and we
were never without the essentials of life.
Things were going well for the family, until my grandmother fell
ill with a mystery illness, of a kind that the healers had never seen
before, and it wasnt long before my grandfather also succumbed to
it. They lay in their beds shivering with a really high fever, eating
little, and drinking even less. This was not good as they were
sweating all of the moisture out of their bodies, and were becoming
dehydrated.
Most of the older people in the villages were also struck down by
this illness, and, of course, the hags and scandalmongers were
putting it about that this illness was brought upon us by some
unknown and unseen black magic force, and it was striking us down
because we had turned our back on the old ways, so we were
being punished.
Some of the Elders in the village started to believe these
ridiculous stories, and sent out to find anyone with knowledge of
these black arts, to come and lift this so called curse from the
population.
All this did was bring the wrong kind of people into our village
and the surrounding area, charlatans in the main, who took it upon
themselves to appoint themselves to power, and strip all of the
assets of the villagers as payment for a spell to protect their
dwellings. If the spell didnt work, then it meant that the price paid
was not high enough to appease the bringer of the curse, and had to
be re-cast with a higher price tally.
They chanted and danced, and wore decorated cloaks of black
and silver to perform these rituals for the people, who, in their
ignorance, knew no better. It was a form of blackmail and extortion
from the poor peasants.
Needless to say, some of the sick people still died of this
disease, whether the house was under a spell or not, so the
patience of the people started to wear a little thin, and these
soothsayers were starting to realise that they had been found out as
the fakes they were. All except one.
Formad was a large man, stood over six feet high, with broad
shoulders to match. His hands were the size of those of a farm
worker, but bore no calluses on them; his fingers clean of any dirt
that a labourer would have bore. He walked with his back straight,
and his head held high, striding throughout the village, doing more
of the work of a healer than that of a Magi, calling into some of the
houses of the sick, and administering potions and poultices as
needed.
Over a period of a couple of days, the elderly visited by Formad
started to recover slowly, though unfortunately, not all of them, but
well over half of them survived the epidemic.
The other Magi, who were in essence, all crooks, took a dislike to
this man, though because of his very size and strength, they didnt

tackle him head on, only the whispers behind his back. This didnt
seem to worry him unduly.
By the time the epidemic had passed, Formad had saved a lot of
the elder people, including my grandparents, and for that deed, we
owed him a huge debt of gratitude, as did a number of others in the
neighbourhood. He would not accept anything for his good deeds,
saying that his food and lodging was more than enough in the way
of payment.
He did, however make reference to this flock of charlatans
brought here by the lure of money. They all professed of knowing
the old ways and yet none of them produced anything resembling
a result from their mysticism. He warned of the dangers of the old
ways in the wrong hands, showing a huge mark burned into the
flesh of his back, and a number of smaller ones on his arms and
legs, each symbol of a distinct pattern and shape.
These were burned into his body because he wished to follow
the white path with his knowledge of apothecary and associated
learnings, and for that, seen as a betrayal of the old ways, his
peers physically branded him with the very symbols of their
followings. This purging by brand had only been executed in the last
two weeks.
Can you imagine me, as an impressionable six year old, coming
face to face with a giant man, covered in bright red burn marks,
standing almost naked in the village square. I was terrified and
horrified at the same time. It took me years to put those images to
the back of my mind and to never recall them again, until now.
It almost came back to me when I saw the written symbols in the
books your father brought in yesterday. I knew I had seen those
symbols before. Then, just now, it all came back to me. They were
exactly the same symbols I had seen burned into that mans poor
flesh, an image that had haunted me for years afterwards.
Antella sat facing her mother, a glimmer of understanding on her
face. She spoke,
So, what happened to this man, Formad?
My parents set about bathing and cleaning his wounds, using the
powders from his box, and he healed very well, though his skin will
always bear the marks of the symbols branded in. The Magi group to
whom he had belonged made sure that no other Magis would allow
him into their covens. He was a betrayer
What had he done? asked Antella,
Findew replied, He told a young couple which herb would help
their skin problems instead of administering it to them, ready made
up as a balm, at a price.

Chapter Six

Algard and Bron were back home by mid afternoon, and with
them, a few good, well-fattened sheep. They had also found
pregnant ewes, so they brought them in too, the lambs would be
born in the sheds, and the excess milk used for the cheeses. Some
of the lambs would be sent to market when ready, the others would
become the breeding stock. The two men were happy with their
days work.
Once they had put all of their outdoor clothing, boots, and
weatherproofs away, they entered the house to the smell of a stew
cooking over the fire. A rabbit stew, with the vegetables to go with
it.
They all ate together, and the conversation was light and
pleasant until Findew told of her recall of the shock she had seen
when she was six. She recounted the whole story to the men this
time, and Algard told her he could now understand why these books
being in the house would bother her.
At this, Bron remembered that he had something to show, and
went to the bedroom to retrieve it, returning a moment later. He
handed the gleaming sword and scabbard to Algard and asked,
What do you think of that?
Algard was speechless as he drew the blade from the scabbard
and held it out in front of him, looking along the length of the blade,
checking that the blade was true, and without bends or marks of
use. It seemed perfect. The jewels in the handle sparkled in their
different colours as the light coming in from the outside caused a
prism effect through the gems and onto the walls and ceiling of the
house, the blade also itself reflecting everything around it.
He rose from the table, and walked to the door, taking it outside
for a better look, and in the rays of the setting sun, the jewels
sparkled even more, in a real rainbow of colours. This sword was
very well made, and it was made for someone very special. The
jewels alone would be worth a fortune.
Back inside, he placed the sword on the table, and checked out
the scabbard, with its embedded jewels too, and they also shone
with their inside fires, whites, blues, reds, greens, purples, with so
many different hues and shades of each colour, with each stone cut
to perfection. He realised then that the scabbard was made from
pure gold too. Whoever had owned this magnificent weapon must
have been very rich indeed, and he could not recall ever having
heard on anyone in the whole of these lands as ever being that rich.
They had here, in their house, a very expensive and valuable
treasure, which they had found hidden in the back of a cave that
until a couple of days ago no one knew existed. They had no idea, to
whom it had belonged to, or why it was made and importantly, who
and why it was hidden where Algard had found it?
Even Findew was getting a little excited about this little mystery,
and the thoughts of the cash value of this sword could make them
all comfortable for life.
Algard however, was thinking on different lines. Safer ones.

It had been hidden for a reason, and if it suddenly got around that
they had it, other people, and perhaps not nice people at that, might
suddenly become interested. Perhaps it might be safer to say
nothing about it, and hide it in the workshop and not mention its
existence to anyone until they could find out more about it.
He had a feeling that the answers could be found in the leather
books, currently in the wooden chest, and perhaps if he studied
them, he might be able to make sense of the narrative.
He picked up the sword and scabbard, and started towards the
workshop, to put the sword in the chest, and bring back the books.
He swung the sword about as if fighting, and brought it up to the
salute position in front of his body. With a big flash, Algard lay on the
ground unconscious.

Chapter Seven
Bron had helped to carry his father back into the house and
placed him in a large chair, and while Findew and Antella looked
after him till he fully regained consciousness, he picked up the
sword which was still lying where it had been dropped outside, and
put it in the scabbard for safety, and took it to the workshop placing
it in the chest with the books.
When he got back to the house, his father was muttering and
seemed to be arguing with himself, but his body was not physically
moving. After a few moments, he went quiet, and his eyes opened.
Are you all right Algard? asked Findew as she rubbed his brow
with a damp cloth. Algard looked at her, for a moment, and then a
flicker of recognition came across his face. He gave a big sigh,
I am fine my wife, I am fine, he replied, though he didnt
physically look as if he was fine, A little shaken, and I feel confused,
but I am fine, really.
Antella came over with a hot herbal tea, and gave it to her father,
who took it with a smile.
I have no idea what happened outside, or why, but I had a
strange dream, almost like a vision, it seemed so real. I had to think
hard to recognise you when I came back to consciousness, and
remember where I am just now, and not where I thought I was.
He stared into the flames of the fire in the hearth, a thoughtful
expression on his face, as he tried to make sense of these weird

images inside his head. So vivid, yet so confusing. It didnt make

sense, or didnt seem to.
I suppose it will fade away as we have our meals, and by
tomorrow, it will all be forgotten, and Ill be right as rain again.
Findew started to lay the table, and Antella sorted out the cups of
herbal tea to go with the meal.
The rest of the evening went almost the same as every other
evening on these farms, the newborn lambs with their mothers had
to be fed and watered, and the excess milk drawn for cheeses,
ready for market. Repairs to the house and furnishings, making new
stools, and padding them so they could sit by the fire in the colder
nights, sheepskin rugs to cure, and lots of other little chores to keep
the household running.
By nightfall, everything was done, and clean and tidy. The lamps
were lit, and the wood for the next day brought in ready for use in
the morning.
While the women busied themselves repairing the clothing, and
making up new ones, Algard went to the workshop, retrieved the
books, and brought them back to the house. Something inside his
head was troubling him, and he somehow knew the answer would lie
in these volumes, somewhere.
He expected some resistance from Findew when he brought them
in, but she said nothing and carried on with the darning, so, he
placed two lamps on the table, and opened up the second one of
the books he had brought from the cave, leaning over the table so
he could see the markings of symbols or script better.
This book was handwritten in a script he had never seen before.
He could read, as he had been taught by his father to read, and he
made sure Bron was taught too, together with Antella, so they would
never be at a disadvantage in their future lives.
Findew had been taught her native tongue by her parents, in the
native language of her homelands, so, Algard had taught her the
language for here when they first married, something she picked up
very quickly.
As all of the family were literate, they were able to understand
written instructions, agreements, bills of sale, and the many
handouts given at the market to advertise goods and services
available that day, and the notices posted on the town board, from
house hunting to wanted posters for criminals. They were all good at
their maths too, and always checked their change when buying from
certain stalls.
Algard placed his chair next to the table and sat down, looking at
the carefully written script to see if he could make any sense of it,
and he managed to recognise what could be two or three words but
little more. He looked up at Findew,
The only words I understand are, flight, arrow and serf, all of the
others seem totally wrong to me.

He tried to speak the words phonetically from the first paragraph

as best he could, and Findew looked at him hard, and then began
recited the next few words, finishing off the sentence.
You know this tongue? Algard asked.
No, she replied. I know the phrase. It comes from a very old
chant, which was supposed to be sung by ancient warriors before
battle. The song speaks of death and duty, and for the good of the
King and country. We learned it in our kindergarten type of school.
Do you have any idea where this song came from, and any detail
of when they used to sing it? he asked.
No, only that it is supposed to have originated from these land
and not ours, and it comes from a very, very long time ago, I have
not heard that song since I was about eight years old, and my great,
great grandparents knew it. It is said that it was written just before a
great battle to help boost morale of the soldiers.
Algard though for a second, and started to hum a tune from in his
head.
Yes, thats the song, said Findew, But how do you know it?
Algard looked at her and said, Its the song that I heard in the
vision when I fainted. I could hear singing, and drums, and trumpets.
They were playing this song!

Chapter Eight
Findew rose from her position in front of the fire and moved to
join her husband at the table. She too was starting to become
curious about the meanings of the contents of these books, though
still very wary of the reputation that era held.
Algard moved the book so they could share the light, to read the
pages.
At first, it seemed to be mere gibberish, the words meaning
nothing, till Findew looked at the phrasing and the syntax of the old
words, and applied her own old language to it, hoping that perhaps
they may follow the same or similar pattern, having shared some of
the same roots. Certain words in the script became discernable and,
as she found them, Algard wrote them down, with the correct gaps
in between, to try to break its code. Progress was painfully slow.
After about two hours, they didnt have a dozen words on their
list, and nothing to indicate the subject of the writings.
Maybe they needed to look at it another way.
Findew looked at Algard and asked,
What can you remember of your dream or vision when you were
knocked out? You said it felt real. Can you describe it?
Algard thought for a moment, trying to make some kind of sense
from the images he had imagined, but they seemed to be all mixed
up, with no continuity about them.

I cannot. he said with resignation in his voice, It was a series of

pictures, one after the other, in rapid succession, without any
explanation as to how they link.
Findew grabbed some parchment paper, gave him a piece of
charcoal, and told him to draw each one, one at a time, as best he
could remember them, and they would see what came from that.
Antella would help, as she was a good artist.
Well start with the first one, he said, and started to describe
what scene he had seen in his mind in as much detail as he could,
and Antella asked questions to get the light and shade effects right.
Over the next hour or so, they had completed the first picture,
and a dark foreboding picture it was.
Bron had come in from working in the workshop, and they all tried
to make sense out of this drawing. They could make out a face, the
right side half hidden by a black cloak, in the foreground, and
darkness for most of the background. This figure was leaning
forward towards the viewer, an expression of terror on the visible
part of his face. Just behind this figure, was something else, Algards
description of this figure was a little vague, but he said it was
accurate to what he had seen or imagined.
Bron looked at it from a distance, and commented,
He looks like he is being chased, escaping from something, but it
seems whatever he is running from has caught him. The facial
expression shows not only fear, but resignation.
They all studied this new angle to view it from, and agreed that,
as Algard did not know or see what followed, they would have to
assume this man was being hounded. Who or why would have to
remain a mystery until more parts of the vision could be sketched
and interpreted.
As they went off to their respective beds, they all knew they had a
little mystery on their hands, most of the parts as yet to play out.
Algard said there were another six or seven images still in his head,
and the noises too that he had heard, none of which had faded yet,
fixed inside till they could draw them.
They had a little time tomorrow where they could spend some
time drawing a few more, and possibly making more sense out of
them, but the next day was market day, and they had to make their
living, so everything would have to wait till after that.
That night, the sky was clear and bright, the stars clearly visible
overhead, and only a quarter moon.
However, the ground was covered in about 2 inches of mist,
which surrounded the farmhouse and farmyard in a large circle,
ceasing when it got to the perimeter of the outer rails of the
farmyard. The ewes and lambs in the sheds were very quiet tonight,
unusually quiet.
The whole valley was silent.

Chapter Nine
As usual, Findew was first up, closely followed by Antella, the two
women running through their daily routine, as they had been doing
since Antella was old enough to help. The men could lie a little
longer as their work today was based mainly on the farm itself,
shearing and preparing lambs and sheep for the market tomorrow,
packing the churned cheeses as well as the mature ones, and the
eggs from the hens around the back would be easily collected and
added to the box already almost full from the previous days
production.
The cart was already standing inside the barn, Bron having
worked on it yesterday in readiness, the wheels greased, and the
limbers and leathers worked and oiled.
By early afternoon, there would be fleeces, and cages of live
sheep and lambs made ready for loading on this huge cart, as, to
get to market on time they would have to leave well before sunrise.
This gave them the time they had set aside for trying to draw
more images of the vision Algard had had, so, after eating the
afternoon meal, they all sat round the table ready to sketch a much
as possible.
By early evening, they had another three, all of which seemed
dark in their subject. The first one was a leafless tree, seen as
though the sun was behind it, though the light wasnt as bright a
light as the sun, and hanging from the tree was what looked like a
man, but not a beggar or criminal. This man wore robes, but not
those of a priest or holy man; these were of silver and gold. In the
background, once again in shadow, was an unusual shaped hill, or
rock outcrop.
The second picture was a depiction of a pile of naked, thin,
bodies, all lying as though they were thrown on top of each other,
their pale skin shining in this strange luminescence that seemed to
illuminate all of the images. Lots of people were carrying the bodies
to the pile. Algard said that when he saw this he could hear
screams, and smell burning wood, almost hearing the cracking of
the branches as they were thrown onto the fire, and yet he saw no
flames or the light from a fire either.
The third had the greatest mystery of the drawings so far, as it
depicted a small cone, with symbols on it, on the ground, shadows
of people running behind the viewer of the scene, the shadows
being cast onto the carts, the well, and the buildings in front of the
viewer. They were able to work out that the viewer was lying on the
ground, possibly hiding from what was going on. Algard said he
could smell flesh burning; hear cries, even those of babies, and lots
of raised voices, voices that spoke in a tongue he could not
understand.

They had to call a halt to the drawings as the time was getting
late, and the two men had to be up and away early in the morning.
As the two men left to go to their beds, the two women cast
another look at the drawings done so far to see if they could put any
interpretation on them, looking at them from a female perspective.
Only one of them seemed to explain what was going on, and that
was the hanging tree. The victim could be seen, but no other person
was present, but the victim was hanged. The other two were more
vague and it was not immediately evident what was going on.
They could all sleep on it, and see what a fresh pair of eyes would
be able to eke out after a good sleep.
If the market sales went well, the men would be back just before
dusk, and they may be able to try again, all together.
That night, the mists returned, and so did the almost total silence.

Chapter Ten
By the time the men were up and off to market, Findew walked to
the grain store ready to make the flour for the bread later today,
when the men returned.
As it was not quite daylight yet, she took a lantern to alert the
thieving mice of her approach and give them a chance to scatter
before she got to the grain bin itself.
She opened the bin, and all of the grain was there, exactly as it
had been loaded a couple of days ago, the small bags intact, no
tears or holes bitten in. She hoped the mice had all moved out, but
she knew they would return when they were hungry.
Back in the house, she set the bags of grain to one side; ready for
Antella to grind when she got up. It was too early for her to rouse
her yet; there was nothing to do, other than set the fire blazing
again.
While she sat in front of it, she picked up the drawings from last
night and studied them again, slowly, trying to see if she could
make any sense of them. She started with the most obvious one,
the hanging. Whoever this man was, he had been important, but,
judging by the way he was killed, not important any more.
The second looked like genocide, or ethnic cleansing. The bodies
were of all ages and both sexes, and were been added to the pile at
an alarming rate.
The third seemed to be witnessed through the eyes of a dying
man, lying on his side on the ground, unable to move. It seemed to
link to the activity in the previous picture, but without a point of
reference it was impossible to say.

With the heat of the fire, and the rising early for the men to be
sent on their way, Findew fell asleep in the chair, dreaming of her
homeland, and her childhood.
Antella, who had risen at her usual time, got ready and came out
to the kitchen, awakened her from her deep slumber. Findew sat up
with a start, a little unsure of her location.
As the day wore on, the preparations for the retuning men from
the market were well in hand, the bread made, the cleaning done,
and the stores tidied ready to take the supplies that would be
returning with Algard and Bron.
While busying herself around the house, something was niggling
in Findews mind. She couldnt say what it was but something wasnt
right. She had seen something, and she could not remember what.
No time to dwell on it though as the men arrived back, after being
highly successful in their trade today.
The grain was stored in the grain bins, the meat hung in the meat
locker, still too fresh to eat yet, only killed this morning. Cloth and
materials were taken into the house and placed for the women to
look at and see what they could make with this big pile of mixed
plain and patterned material. The lamb had sold well, and now they
had money too, for the next few days.
The meal, now ready, was served, and they all ate heartily,
enjoying the fruits of their labours.
As the women cleared away, Bron went out into the workshop to
repair some of the metalwork on the harness that had come away
with the extra weight of the cart on the way back. The horse was
fine; a Shire could pull a lot more than the cart could hold.
Algard picked up the pictures again and looked at them again,
flicking through them one by one, to see if he could remember
anything he might have missed the first time, but they were still a
mystery.
He picked up one of the drawings and his charcoal and made a
small alteration to it, held it away from his eyes, altered a little
more, then declared it was right.
He held it out for Findew to look at, and she saw it was the
hanging man picture. At first, she couldnt see the alteration Algard
had made, and then she spotted the outcrop in the background. He
had changed the shape of the outline very slightly, adding a peak
that lay at an odd angle.
Findew looked at Algard,
Are you sure that is the scene of the hanging you witnessed in
that vision?
Algard looked at the picture again, checked it by looking over the
details then replied,
Yes, that is the place, as best as I can remember and draw it.
Why do you ask?
Findew stared at him, and then picked up the picture, looking at it
again.
I know this place. I have been there before.

Chapter Eleven
Algard seemed shocked at this revelation from Findew.
You think you know where this place is? he asked, looking
deeply into her eyes for any flicker of self-doubt.
I do, she replied, I have been there before. I cannot
remember the tree, but I remember the outcrop behind it. It was the
unusual shape that caught my eye as a youngster. Unfortunately I
was too young to remember where it actually is.
Algard gave a sigh, then asked,
You said it was from your childhood, so would it be somewhere in
the ancestral lands of yours, somewhere close to where you lived as
a child?
No, I dont think so. We had to travel for a long way from my
homeland, and this was not our destination, only formed part of the
route.
He, once again, looked at the drawing again, and tried to get as
much detail from his vision as he could, looking for roads, track
ways, anything that would show that people could pass this way, but
no, nothing.
Findew busied herself tidying around while Algard sat, looking at
the other drawings, and comparing them with his visions for more
details. The Chased Man was as accurate as he could remember it,
as was the now amended Hanging Man. The other two, of the heap
of bodies, and the Cremation Picture with the viewer possibly dying
were a lot more complicated; he could not summon any further
detail, as he could not remember any.
He asked Findew another question,
When you travelled to this place, or rode passed it, can you
remember where you were going to, or coming back from, and why
was the journey made?
Findew thought for a second, pausing from the chores, trying to
see if she could pick out any of this information, but it was twenty
eight years ago, and little things like that at the age of six were not
important enough to make a mental note of.
She shook her head, and replied,
I can remember nothing of the trip or why, but I think my
mother will know as it was she who took me, along with other family
members. Perhaps we should ask her.
Algard thought for a moment. Was it worth disrupting the running
of the farm just on a whim? Antella could do all of the household
duties in Findews absence, and the two men would carry on as
normal, but it was a long way for Findew to travel, back to her
homelands. It would take her over a week to get there on
horseback, and she would be travelling alone. Was this all worth it?

They sat for a while, more or less in silence, both thinking about
the conversation, and knowing full well if Findew went to her
mothers, it would be dangerous for her alone.
Findew spoke first,
Why dont I take Bron with me? He can be my guide and
protector, and you and Antella can manage here while we are away.
He hasnt seen his grandmother since she came here over ten years
ago, and she will get a shock when she sees how big and strong a
man he has grown into.
Algard thought for a moment. The upheaval in their daily lives
would be an inconvenience, but not of any great consequence, so, it
seemed a good idea, not just for Findew to find out more about
these strange visions or drawings, plus the origin of the sword, but
also it would put her mind at rest that her mother was still fine, and
it would be nice for them to see each other again after so long.
If she disguised her visit as calling to see her mother, then people
would be less suspicious of her asking questions. It made sense.
Then I think you should go and visit your mother to see how she
is, and all of the rest of your family, and you should take Bron for
security and company.
She smiled a knowing smile and said,
Perhaps I should take those charcoal drawings and see if
anybody can help me with the interpretation too.
This time it was Algards turn to smile.

Chapter Twelve
Three days later, Findew and Bron were saddled up, and loaded
for their journey to the land of the Bronze Skinned people, the land
from which Findew had originated. She was bronze skinned in her
appearance, slim and wiry in stature, and held her head proud as
she walked. A little of this could be seen in both Bron and Antella,
neither taking after their fathers pale skin tone.
The travel plans had been discussed at great length, Algard
insisting they take the well-travelled roads, and not to attempt any
shortcuts, paths that could put them in harms way, and to avoid
strangers in case they were not friendly. Findew had to explain that
once they were in the land of the Bronze People, she would be
treated as one of their own returning, so he must not worry himself.
Once she had arrived safely she would release one of the birds she
had kept in a bamboo cage in her packs with a message to say they
were there, and another to say when they were leaving to come
back.
Algard feared for them a little, but he knew that Bron would not
let anything happen to his mother on the way there, and Findew
herself could take down a grown man if she needed to.

They all stood outside of the house at dawn, and Findew said her
goodbyes, and mounted her horse. Bron did the same, telling Algard
quietly that he would look after her for him, something that made
Algard smile. They rode out through the break in the low walling that
marked out the farmhouse land, which served as a gate, and
followed the path all the way to the village.
Passing straight through, as at this time in the morning there
were very few people up and about so no real reason to stop, and
they had planned to buy any needs they may find they require, a
little further into the journey.
Once off the hillsides and through the village, they were on a vast
plain, where they could ride at a gallop if need be, but Findew said
they should set a steady pace, still moving at quite a pace though,
as this would help the horses to be able to last the whole journey
over the week or so without harming them.
They were in the centre of the plain when the sun reached its
peak at around midday, and stopped for a short while at the
roadside, even the horses taking a break, and Findew had said their
first overnight stop would be at an inn, in a small village nestled in
the foothills of the mountains then only visible to them on the
horizon, and if they made good time, they could get a good rest for
the dawn start again in the morning for the next section.
They arrived at the inn long before dusk, sorted out the stabling
for the horses and paid the charges, then arranged the rooms and
the food for themselves, before taking it in turns to use the bath to
soak away the aches and pains of riding a horse all day. They ached
in muscles they had forgotten they had.
Supper came, wholesome and well cooked, and a lot of it,
together with flagons of ale brewed by the landlord himself, the
water around here was not very clean to drink, as it picked up
impurities from the mountains behind, impurities that could lay you
low for days, and in real pain.
With the fresh air they had been in all day, they felt weary, and so
retired to their rooms and made everything ready for the next part
of the journey, riding up onto the high plain, a sort of plateau that
stretched for a hundred miles or so, enclosed by the peaks of the
mountains that surrounded it. They needed to cross a large corner
of that to the next night stop.
They both slept well, the ample food and the ale doing their work.

Chapter Thirteen
Once Findew and Bron had left, Antella set about clearing things
away, and Algard went off to check the sheep in the nearer
pastures, where they had brought them to the other day. He had to
make sure that any ewes giving or about to give birth would be

moved to the pens in the farmyard where he could keep an eye on

them.
The fells were beautiful at this time on a morning, the sun rising
above the peaks and drying the deposited dew from the luscious
grass.
This grass was a short variety and suited sheep as opposed to
larger animals like cows, and so he never had to undergo a land
dispute with the beef and cows milk producers, as their herds could
not feed on this short stubbly grass, so he was more of less left to
his own devices in the whole valley. He collected beef and cows milk
from the market when he needed any, and sometimes cheese,
though they made a kind of feta cheese from the sheep milk
anyway, selling that at the market.
Antella fed and checked the hens looking for any eggs that had
been laid today, and sorted out the chicks that had been bred to
replace the older hens in time, the others to the fattening pens and
eventually to market
All in all, they managed without Findew and Bron, everything
done and checked by mid afternoon.
Antella started to do the evening meal preparation so Algard went
into the workshop as he had blades to sharpen and oil from the
recent shearing, and the scythe blade to set and sharpen for the hay
cutting.
He started to wonder about the sword that they had discovered in
the cave, and whether it also could do with the blade honing up a
little, so, once all of the working blades were done using his
whetstone, he went to the chest, moved the books over, and picked
out the sword.
Taking it from its scabbard he placed the scabbard down on the
bench, and then examined the edges of the blade properly,
something he had not done so far.
They were razor sharp, and not so much as a rust spot anywhere
along the edges or the blade. It appeared as though the steel edge
ended before the blade did, as if there were some invisible coating
along the very edge itself. It seemed as though it had never been
used, but wear on the handle bindings indicated that it had been, at
some time, and judging by the amount of wear, quite a lot too.
He placed the blade flat along the bench and looked closely at the
markings that were engraved and embossed along its length,
studying the artistic craftsmanship that had been used to create
such an object using his glass-magnifying lens.
He turned it over and looked at the other side, which was equally
well crafted, the symbols being identical as the first side he had
looked at. The markings were symbols, and none of them were
repeated along the length, only opposite each other on each side of
the blade.
Its reflective properties were amazing, as, not only did the
polished surface of the blade act like a high-class mirror, but also
the engraved notches made when engraving it were angled and also

polished so as to reflect light in all directions. In sunlight, this would

reflect rays of light off in many different directions, and it would
appear frightening to an opponent. The bearer would appear to be
holding a sword of fire in his hands. Perhaps that was why it was
made.
His inspection complete, he picked up the sword, and took it
outside, to test the light reflections in the setting sun. He could see
the patterns reflected onto the ground from the various symbols, all
jumbled together, so he raised the sword up to see if they spread
out and could be seen better.
The next thing he remembers was Antella holding his head up,
and giving him a drink of water, telling him to take it easy, as he
appeared to have passed out again.
Algard knew he had not passed out, for in his head were more
new images, dark, sinister images, hauntingly real.
After a while of gaining his composure, he stood up, picked up the
sword and took it into the workshop, placed it in the scabbard, then
into the chest. It was now becoming too dangerous to touch until
Findew and Bron came back with more information
That night, another four sketches were drawn around the table,
and that night, the strange circle of mist surrounded the farmyard

Chapter Fourteen
At the crack of dawn on their second day, Findew and Bron ate a
hearty breakfast in the inn while the stable boy readied the horses
for their next part of the journey.
Their packs were put back onto their mounts, and they bid their
host a farewell, and turned towards the pass leading to the high
plain.
This first part of the journey had to be taken quite slowly, as the
ground underfoot was uneven, and the way blocked with many
obstacles left from a glacier retreat millions of years ago. This
caused their track to meander quite a bit around and between the
boulders on the long upward slope, which meant that when they
arrived at the plains above, most of the morning would have already
gone. They were not alone in their travels as they met a number of
travellers coming the other way at regular intervals, who were able
to advise them as to the state of the track ahead of them,
something they reciprocated to these other travellers, every little
snippet of information helping them to make good time on the
journey.
They stopped for a short rest, both for them to eat, and the
horses to feed and drink, high up on these plains. The air seemed
crystal clear, and it was possible to see for many miles, in any
direction. The ground was uneven with many small outcrops here
and there, some up to about six feet tall, the only level area being
the track, worn down and compressed by countless hooves over the

years, which, if it rained, turned the track to mud. It was also a bad
place to be caught out on a night, as the temperatures dropped
below freezing at this time of year, evident by the snow capping on
the mountain peaks surrounding them.
On they travelled, at quite a pace again as the conditions were
dry, as the travellers going the other way had said, the sun creating
quite a bit of heat through the thin air, and not a cloud in the sky to
give a little respite from it.
By mid afternoon, they had to pause again for the horses, and sat
at the trackside, eating a little bread and cheese, still fresh from
inside the saddlebags, and the conversation turned to the reason for
their journey.
Bron knew very little about the culture from which his mother had
originally come from, or even how she and his father met, gleaning
only snippets here and there in the table conversations at
mealtimes, but not understanding anything of the whole culture
itself. He was hoping this trip would broaden his horizons a little, and
let him see a part of the world that contained half of his heritage. He
was becoming happier as the journey went on.
Findew however was not. The closer she got to her homeland,
the more she dreaded the questions she was to ask and to whom.
Would it upset any of her people that she was asking them? Would it
open any old wounds she was unaware of? She would have to be
very careful how and to whom she asked these questions of. If
anyone was waiting for word of the sword or the books turning up,
they could accidentally reveal that they had them, and then their
whole family could be in danger.
Back into the saddle, and they set off again, across the high plain.
The temperatures were now a little lower so the horses were more
comfortable to move at speed, but it was still dusk before they
made the town at the other side, and their resting place for the
night.
Once again, they settled the horses into the stables first, and
arranged their accommodation second, together with their food.
As with the earlier inn, the food was wholesome and plentiful,
though the ale was of a lighter colour and taste. According to
Findew, it was all to do with the local recipe, and the further they
travelled, the lighter the ale would become, and the spicier the food
would taste. There would still be plenty of it, but it would be a little
different to what he was used to.
This ale seemed more potent than the previous inn, or perhaps it
was the full belly again, but they both slept like babies. They would
know when it was time to get up, as the temperature would rise as
the sun came up.

Chapter Fifteen

At sun up, Findew had already saddled the horses, and slipped on
the saddlebags while Bron collected hay and water for the horses
during the day, and ale for themselves, plus, made sure the extra
needs were moved to the top so they could get to them easily. They
put on white cloaks over their light clothing, as this part of the
journey was almost a desert, featureless, hot, and unforgiving.
There had been many a traveller who had fallen foul of this part
of the journey, having not carried enough supplies to cover an
overnight stop out on the sands if they were caught in a sandstorm
or other natural occurrence, and had not carried a tent for shelter
too. Findew had been taught from being very young to respect
nature, and be ready for anything it may throw at you.
With the sun appearing as a half disc on the horizon, they set off,
trying to make as much progress as they could till the heat of the
day slowed them almost to a stop.
For those who knew this land, there were waterholes dotted
around, small springs where the pressure on the water in the
underground caverns, caused by water pushing down through the
rock of the mountains, forcing it to the surface through small
fissures, and Findew knew this land well, and she wanted to try to
make a particular one by the time the sun was getting overhead, as
this oasis had shade too to give the horses a break from the sun too.
They made it, and joined travellers going the other way, in resting
from the heat, watering the horses, and giving them some sweet
hay to munch on while they sat in the shade.
One of these travellers realised that Findew was of Bronze
Skinned origin, and enquired the reason for the making of the
journey.
Findew could not decide whether this was a real enquiry or some
question to gather useful information, so she used her cover story
that she and Bron were going to see her mother in the Bronze
Skinned Land, as word had reached them that she was a little
poorly, so they were travelling to see her and help her get well
again, and see the relations as Bron had not seen them since he was
a child. Antella was never mentioned.
The conversations held by the travellers were mainly about
commerce, as most of the travellers were traders in different goods
and chattels, but both Findew and Bron listened for any anomalies in
the words that were spoken. They heard none, but decided to keep
playing safe.
By mid afternoon, the heat was going down, so they all said their
farewells and went off in the direction Findew and Bron had come
from. For competitors in the market place, they seemed too friendly
with each other.
Findew and Bron continued on their way, knowing that by dusk, a
small village would be the next nightly stop, and their progress was
accelerated quite a lot as the heat subsided.
They arrived in good time, stabling the horses, and then to the
inn, to sort out their rooms and food.

Poor Bron had never known heat like the heat found on the desert
plain, and had caught the sun on parts of his arms, lower legs and
ankles, and it was now starting to burn, especially next to a heat
source like the fire in the inn as the night got cold.
Findew was amused by all of this, watching the young man
whimper like a child as she applied a kind of local yoghurt to his red
skin. He needed to learn a greater respect for the sun, even though
he worked in it all day, at home it was nowhere near as intense.
After they had eaten, and Bron trying to anesthetise his skin with
the help of lots of ale, they retired for the night. Tomorrow it started
to get easier.
Findew lay for a while, listening to the whimpering coming from
next-door, and thought that this would be a lesson learned for him.

Chapter Sixteen
For the next five days, they kept up the same routine, crossing
the distances, and staying at the inns on a night.
They bought new food stock, and fluids too, together with more
hay and feed for their horses.
The landscape changed dramatically over these few days, the
first two producing huge and almost level plains, massive croplands
as far as the eye could see in both directions. Here was the heart of
the cereal producers for the whole known lands and beyond, a very
profitable market it was too. Very little of these areas were livestock
or poultry.
On the third day they climbed again, higher and higher, and
another plain to cross. Bron made sure he was well covered this
time, having learned his lesson with the sunshine and the heat.
The fourth day saw them going through a mountain pass, and at
the other side, the language changed to the native tongue of his
mother, much to Brons confusion, and then the decent from the
mountain ranges began, the temperatures getting warmer as they
travelled on downwards to their final night of sleeping in inns. This
landscape seemed to be like a semi desert, a few shrubs, a few
plants, but no grass, so Bron thought it would be no good to try to
rear sheep on.
On the eighth day since they began their journey, Findew and
Bron arrived at the ancestral village of Findew and her people, to be
given something like a heroes welcome, with Anxy, Findews mother,
and Brons grandmother in the front of the queue to greet them. The
whole village had heard of their arrival and old friends and families,
some of whom had been born since Findews last visit came to see
her and her son.

There were many hugs, kisses and greetings, which went on for
almost an hour, Bron thinking he had shaken more hands here than
he had in his whole life before, and then things started to settle
down, most of the people making plans to catch up with the news
and gossip over the next few days while she was here.
Tonight she should spend time with her mother and near family,
and giving Bron a chance to meet his relatives he never knew, so, a
family party was held in their honour, real meat, and a wine was
offered to the daughter of the tribes return to her roots.
Most of the rest of the evening was spent with the women
catching up, and Bron trying to get his head around this strange
tongue, and having a lot of difficulty with it, having to use his
mother as an interpreter. Not good when all of the maidens of the
village are more than interested in you, and you had no idea what
they were saying to each other. He could only blush, as he was too
embarrassed to ask for a translation from his mother. She had heard
them, and just smiled. She would tell him later.
Anxy was a perfect host, and made sure that the celebration kept
up its momentum, and kept the nosey neighbours at bay too, as
they would only like to know other peoples business.
By bedtime, both Findew and Bron, exhausted from the journey,
bade their goodnights and went to bed, Findew in her old room, and
Bron in the guest room.
Findew knew she had a lot to do over the next few days, and do it
without raising suspicion, and that would be the difficult part. She
will see what the next day will bring.

Chapter Seventeen
For the next day or so, Findew and Bron visited whom they
needed to visit from a social obligation, avoiding any long-term
friendships at the moment, and stayed with the casual
conversations about life in general. This should hold off anyone
digging any deeper as to her sudden unannounced appearance in
the village, just a social visit, nothing more.
Anxy knew different though, and could sense something in her
daughter, either by her manner or her movement, so in the privacy
of her home, she decided to tackle Findew and see what the real
reason for the visit was.
How goes it with Algard? Are you two still living together in
love?
Of course we are! Findew replied, There is nothing wrong with
our marriage and I could not be happier.
Something troubles you, I can see it, and I thought it may be
problems at home. However I seem to be wrong.
Findew smiled at this, she has never been able to put one over on
her mother since the day she was born.

You are not wrong mother, I do have a problem to sort out, but it
is to do with something a long, long time ago, and I must ask for
your total silence outside these walls.
Anxy gave her a strange look, as if the problem was even greater
than she had first thought, but she nodded.
Findew began by asking if she could remember where the odd
shaped outcrop was, and where they were going when they passed
it. She pulled out the drawing Algard and Antella had made, and
gave it to her.
The sight of the hanging man threw her a little, but she studied it
for a few seconds, and replied,
Yes, I remember this place. Very little grows there, and the soil is
of dust.
Your father was an Elder at the time, and you were only about
six years old or so. We had to go to a meeting of Elders and Leaders
of the known lands, in an effort to cease some petty squabbling that
had been going on for many years in different areas, the politics I do
not know about.
I remember that I had to take you with us as there was no one
who I could leave you with for such a long time, we were expected
to be away for weeks.
Yes, I remember this place, but the tree and the body were not
there.
Findew spoke, and asked,
So where in The Bronze Peoples land is this outcrop, as we need
to find it again.
Oh no, the outcrop is not in our lands, she replied, It is in your
land, about ten or fifteen miles from where you now live, near the
far end of the next valley to yours!
Anxy continued,
Why do you need to know its whereabouts?
Findew told the story of the finding of the sword, and the books,
then the passing out of Algard, and the visions, plus the writing of
the old ways in the books. She produced the rest of the drawings
to show Anxy.
Anxy studied them for a while, trying to see if she could make
sense out of them, but had to admit defeat. Other than the hanging
man picture, she was as baffled as her daughter.
Then Findew asked,
You know the song we used to sing in our small school, the one
about the brave battle, with the words we do not understand, but
they sound right?
Yes I do, replied Anxy.
Well these drawings, the sword, the books, and the hanging at
the outcrop all have something to do with that. Can you shed any
light on it?
Anxy looked again at the picture and shook her head, replying,
I cannot, but I think I know someone who can. There is an old
man lives on the edge of our village. People think he is crazy as he

studies history, and we suspect, alchemy too. I cannot remember his

name, and he rarely leaves his house.

Chapter Eighteen
The next day, Anxy, Findew and Bron set off to see if they could
meet with this old man, but they had to do it discreetly, as the last
thing they needed was an entourage, so Anxy had said they were
visiting a sick distant relative over the other side, she herself
peeling off back into the main part of the village, leaving Findew and
Bron to do the last bit alone.
Finding the residence they were looking for was easy. It was
broken down, ramshackle, and about ready to fall down. The roof
looked like it leaked, the walls were full of small holes and only half
of the chimney remained. There was smoke coming out of the
remaining part, so they had to assume that this old man was at
home.
Looking around to make sure no-one was watching, Findew and
Bron approached the wooden door, Findew knocking on it gently
Nothing happened, so she knocked a little harder.
They heard a sound from inside, a shuffling sound, and then a
voice spoke,
Who knocks at my door?
It is I, Findew, daughter of Anxy, here with my son Bron. I wish to
speak with you.
The voice spoke again,
But I have no wish to speak with you, so go.
Findew was not that easily put off,
But sir, it is a matter of great importance about which I need to
speak with you.
The voice almost boomed this time,
And what makes you think that anything you say will be of the
slightest interest to me?
Findew replied,
I need to discuss the old ways with you. I need some
information.
There was a short pause before the reply came,
Then ask those excuses for mystics who abide in the village as
they will be able to tell you everything you need to know. Now go,
and leave me in peace, for I have work to do.
Findew stood in silence for a while, Bron standing beside her,
looking at each other. It seemed a shame to have come this far and
to be stopped here.
Findew had an idea. She turned to the door, and knocked again.
The voice inside demanded,
Who knocks at my door?

It is I, Findew again. I have travelled for eight days to come and

ask you for an answer to a question. Could you not at least give me
that?
Another short pause, before the voice spoke,
So pestering woman, ask your question, and be gone, so I may
get on with my work.
Findew steeled herself, last chance, and asked,
Tell me sir, what you know of the hanging of a King?
A silence fell for over a minute. Findew repeated the question and
awaited the answer.
The door slowly opened, to reveal the tall figure of Formad, the
real wise man.

Chapter Nineteen
Formad stood at the door staring straight into Findews eyes, a
puzzled expression on his weathered countenance, his wispy white
beard and long white moustache which appeared to be of one,
gently moving in the slight breeze. To Findew he seemed the same,
as he had looked those twenty-eight years before.
Why do you think that a King may have been hanged? he
began, not taking his eyes of the expressions on Findews face,
Or that I should know something of it?
Findew was not going to be intimidated into revealing all of her
knowledge, but at the same time she had to guard the words in her
disclosure, to protect her family.
I know a King was hanged, for I possess a picture of it.
She passed the drawing that Algard and Antella had drawn back
in their homestead, and Formad took it from her. His eyes betrayed
little, but Formad could see a flicker of recognition, it was there and
gone as quickly as that.
And, pray tell me, how did you come by this picture, his eyes
watching every muscle in Findews face for any sign of emotional
betrayal, a sign of lying.
My husband had a vision, and he drew it, she replied, looking
straight back at him.
Forgive my curiosity young woman, but how did your husband
receive this vision? His gaze intensified.
Alas, of that I cannot speak of out here as there could be people
listening, and the information you ask for could put my family in
danger.
Formad thought for a moment, then stepped to one side, allowing
Findew and Bron access to his house, waiving them in.
Please, do enter, as your story intrigues me, and you are right,
there are many scallywags walking our streets nowadays.

Formad and Bron entered the house, expecting the inside to be as

ramshackle as the outside, but it was light and airy, and warm too.
The furnishings were like new, and everything was in pristine
condition. He bade them to sit at the table.
Bron must have had his mouth hanging open as Formad saw this
and commented,
Forgive the deception, but I keep the outer shell of the house
looking decidedly run down, so as to hide the real house, on which I
have worked for many years.
He produced a large jug of what seemed like lemonade, and gave
out beakers, pouring them ready to start the conversation.
You say your husband had a vision about a hanging. How did the
vision come to him? Was it in his sleep, or did he hear about it from
someone else?
Findew took a sip of the drink to lubricate her parched throat and
replied,
He found some objects, very old objects, and it was while
handling one of these that he collapsed and fell to the floor. I was
very frightened, thinking that some horrible thing had befallen him,
but, after a short while he was fine.
And did he only see one picture, for example, the hanging at the
tree? Formad was watching her face intently again.
No, he saw others.
Findew reached into the backpack and took out the other pictures
she had with her, and passed them to Formad.
He took one look at them, this time his eyes reacted by opening
wider as he stared at them, a sort of recognition sweeping across his
face. He spent a few seconds on each, before passing them back.
Can I ask, from where did you travel to come here on this
occasion, by that I mean from which land?
Findew replied and gave the name of the land where she and
Algard lived, and added her recently gleaned information that the
tree shown in the picture and used in the hanging was about fifteen
miles from her home.
Formad sat for a while, staring into middle distance, then turned
to Findew and asked,
You need not answer this if you do not trust me, but was one of
the objects a sword? Jewel encrusted, gold scabbard, from the back
of a cave?
Findew need not have answered as Brons face gave it all away. He
could not understand how this mystic would know these things.
Formad spoke again,
So, the Sword of Dobbor has returned among us, to haunt us
once more.
He fell silent, as if in contemplation. Findew looked at Bron, and
he looked back. What or who was Dobbor? There were many
questions that needed to be asked, but before she could start,
Formad spoke again,

Tell me young woman, were there any books, large leather

bound books at the same place the sword was found?
It was Bron, who answered,
Yes sire, it was I who carried them out to the donkey.
Formad looked at him, and then said,
Good, they are safe. I will need those back, as they are mine.
Findew started to speak, but Formad raised his hand to stop her.
He continued,
You are not the only people with a secret. You see I am over five
hundred years old.

Chapter Twenty
Findew and Bron sat for a moment, trying to grasp the
significance of the last statement.
Five hundred years old. No one she knew had ever gone over
sixty, most living till about fifty-five, but five hundred!
You see why now I avoid contact with people. They all die, and
Im still here, this creates suspicions, so it is better to live as a
recluse
If you are five hundred years old, then you will know what the
history is behind this sword, the hanging King, and the other
drawings.
Alas my dear lady, I unfortunately do, and it was from a long
time ago, a unhappy time in the history of Dobbor, and the
kingdoms.
Both Findew and Bron, sat, both puzzled as to what was coming
next.
Formad sat back in his chair and spoke,
Well, I suppose the story would come out at sometime but I
thought it had all been dealt with and forgotten. This means that the
work of the Sword must still be, as yet incomplete.
He looked a little puzzled himself at this point.
It was Findew and Bron who were the more puzzled about it all.
Findew spoke,
That means that if you are of this great age, you would know of
the old ways, something for which I remember as a very young girl
you were branded for betraying your Magi power to the masses.
Formad pulled up both sleeves to show the scars of the symbols,
still clear to be seen, burned deep into his skin.
It was my mother and grandmother who tended your wounds
when you first came here, during the great sickness.
I remember you now, said Formad, The little girl with the boys
hair, short and black.

Findew smiled at that. Her father used to crop her hair so that if
anyone saw her when she was out alone; they would think she was
a boy and ignore her till she was old enough to fend for herself.
Formad, thought for a moment, then spoke again,
It is perhaps as a result of your families kindness to me that I
think I owe it to you to reveal the story, though some would describe
it as a great legend, of a kingdom that existed over four hundred
years ago, a kingdom that had many problems, but, I am getting
ahead of myself.
He walked over to one of the benches set against a wall, and
picked up a large leather bound book, similar to the ones that Algard
and Bron had found in the cave, and carried it back to the table,
placing it where they all could see.
He opened it at a page near the centre, and showed his guests a
drawing, a sketch really, and it was almost identical to that of the
hanging man picture in Findews possession.
This event really happened. This King was hanged by some of his
own treacherous nobles, treasonous vermin they were, who wanted
to usurp the lands and the wealth, and to gain power over the
people.
He turned the page, and there was the drawing of the pile of
bodies, exactly as Algard had drawn it at home.
These villains set about killing everybody who had knowledge of
the king or his kingdom, so it would appear to never have existed in
history, and they could pillage the assets to their hearts content.
They forgot about the Sword of Dobbor, a special weapon, which
became an avenging weapon over time. I know the Sword very well,
for it was I who made it!

Chapter Twenty-One
This information stunned the two of them. They had no idea that
they were in the company of the very Wizard who had crafted this
sword.
Formad could see the expressions on their faces, and so
continued,
Perhaps it will be easier if I started at the beginning and
explained what really happened all those years ago.
He sat for a moment, and then looked at the darkening sky
outside.
Perhaps it might be better to start again tomorrow, then I will
have had time to prepare, and it would give you time to take in and
understand what you have learned so far.
He looked at Bron and said,
For I have found so many times in the past, and I mean no
disrespect, but the zeal of youth can sometimes cloud the
judgement of the facts, distorting what is into what is required.

Findew though for a moment and asked,

If this sword was from so long ago, and it caused some kind of
trouble, then why was it not totally destroyed instead of hidden?
Formad raises an eyebrow at this question, and smiled.
You are very astute young lady, so I will answer this.
There are two answers as to its continuing existence. The first
answer I require is that the sword was hidden just in case it was
ever needed again, to do what it had in the past, though this was
deemed unlikely that anything like that could or would ever happen
again, and so far, has not.
But the second, and perhaps the most important reason is that it
cannot be destroyed. It is made of metal so hard and so resistant,
with a coating thinner than the wing of a butterfly of a special
glasslike substance, it was made this way so that neither heat nor
use could ever blunt the edge, or dull the shine upon it. The gems
that are set into it permanently and cannot be removed.
Then why, pray tell me, asked Findew, Why does the sword
smite down my husband every time he holds it up? Is it bewitched
or cursed in some way?
Formad thought for a moment then replied,
The sword has a memory, and, all I can think of is that every
time your husband holds the sword in the en-guard position, it gives
him the memories it holds within.
The sword itself is not dangerous, but it can influence things
around it, and the only memories it holds are from long, long ago.
Findew and Bron made their way back to the house of Anxy, going
many different ways to avoid being followed, arriving back at the
house before it was dark.
Did you see the old man? Anxy asked. Did you get some of the
answers you were seeking?
Many more than I expected, and I still have a lot more to learn,
replied Findew, Thats why we must return tomorrow for a little
more information.
Anxy looked up from the cooking pot and said,
Could you make your own way there tomorrow, as the gossipers
are here, and I dont think you need them around?
Findew thought that would be wise, just as not revealing the
identity of the old man or his origins to Anxy and should be kept
between her and Bron for the moment.
She had a lot to dwell on as she lay in bed that night, but was
happier now she knew that Algard would suffer no permanent harm
from the sword visions.

Chapter Twenty-Two
Findew looked at the array of books and maps laid out on the
table in Formads house. Old books, all leather bound, and old maps,
most of which were drawn in great detail, on parchment.

Bron was looking at the maps, standing over the table; Findew
was seated just in front of him and to one side, Formad at the
opposite side of the table, standing, with a long pointer in his hand.
They had arrived a little earlier, having skirted most of the village
dwellings, watching for the same faces showing in the people
around them. They appeared not to have been followed.
Formad had welcomed them, and they got ready to start the long
history lesson, which was to follow.
This was the Kingdom of Dobbor.
He moved his pointer around an area on one of the maps,
Here the border with the lands of the Lords, and here, indicating
an area lower on the map, the higher lands running to the south.
The tree where the King was hanged is located, he bent over to
make sure he indicated the position correctly the position right,
placed the end of the pointer on a spot, and said, Here.
Both Findew and Bron looked at the position pointed out to them.
If this was the hanging tree location, that would put their own valley
inside the Kingdom of Dobbor. In fact a huge area of the land around
where they lived, with all of the other villages too, would have then
fallen in the ancient area of land being indicated.
Findew asked,
But what happened to Dobbor? Why have we never seen or
heard of it?
All in good time, replied Formad, First we must look at what
happened there all those years ago, and then all will become clear.
They settled back in their seats, ready to hear what had
happened to this vanished kingdom and its entire population.
I must go back to the reign of King Heptron first, the king for
whom the sword was originally commissioned. He was a good king,
and a wise and noble man. He had enemies, like everyone else, but
he was loved and revered by his subjects.
There was to be held, a great celebration for the 40th birthday of
King Heptron, and many of the subjects set about making gifts to
give to their beloved ruler, as a token of their loyalty. I myself as a
leading member of the Magi brotherhood, also set about making a
present for him, a very unique and special present.
The sword was cast in the fires that rage below the shell of the
mountain where my cave was, as it needed much greater heat than
any blacksmith forge could generate. Once completed, the original
idea was for the sword to hang on the wall in the Great Hall of the
king, in pride of place, for all to see, marvel, and admire.
When it was finally finished, it was packed in oilskins and into a
wooden crate ready to deliver to Heptron at the palace, but it never
arrived there. We can only assume that the courier was
unfortunately set upon by thieves along the roadside, and killed.
The sword then vanished from sight for a while; I suspect the
thieves were trying to melt it down for the precious metal and the
stones, but without success, and would therefore only have gained
any spoils from their efforts if it were sold as a single item, as a

complete sword, and one as good as this one would be difficult to

sell without detection. Remember the kings men were still out
looking for it.
Somehow, the sword found its way to another land, where it
would be lesser known, and the new buyer, being out of sight of the
rulers of Dobbor, tried to create a myth and even a legend using it,
to try to inspire their failing troops, this being more of an exercise in
morale boosting than anything remotely factual.
From that time on, the Kingdom of Dobbor had one setback after
another. King Heptron fell ill and remained so for a number of years.
The weather was not too kind to the farmers, the hail cutting down
the wheat where it stood in the fields, and flooding destroying the
root crops, with drought every other year.
The people started to think that their troubles had something to
do with magic and perhaps the old ways were to blame, and then
with the coincidental theft of the sword a few years before, they put
the two facts together as one when no real link existed.
The gossip grew and grew throughout the kingdom, and word of
their fear of the sword reached the ears of some of the lords and
barons from the surrounding lands, who already possessed
expansive tracts of land outside of the kingdom, and paying only
peppercorn taxes to the king for their income from them. Their
greed drove them to try to keep it all, and were still greedy for more
income too.
If to possess this sword was a way to undermine and demoralise
the confidence of the people in the kingdom, it was a weapon worth
having. This could be used as an aid to the downfall of Heptrons
kingdom.
So, the lords and barons had a council of war, sent out spies, and
were able to track down the sword, killing its current keeper, and
returning to their own rented lands with this talisman, then began to
make their plans to overthrow the king and destroy his rule.
In the many skirmishes that took place along the borders over
the next year or so, the people of Dobbor were able to keep out the
invaders, but, eventually, under relentless pressure from a huge
combined force of the usurpers, they eventually caved in.
It was a sad day for the whole of Dobbor, as the young prince,
Stenal, son of Heptron, and heir to the throne was killed by the very
sword that had been destined for his fathers wall, his head removed
from his body at one stroke. This effectively demoralised a lot of the
defending troops, and so began the slow, but total genocide of the
people of Dobbor, the lords and barons, with their men
systematically destroying everything in their path, on their way to
the palace with King Heptron in it.
Nothing, and no one was spared. Every peasant were put to the
sword, and their bodies piled up and eventually burned on great
pyres, the light from which could be seen for miles, and the smell
never forgotten by those who lived to remember it, one of which you
can see depicted in one of the pictures your husband drew. The

person who held the sword at that time must have physically been
there for the sword to make a memory of it happening.
Formad paused for a moment, as if recalling the horror of the
whole thing, and began feeling a little remorse at the memories he
was recounting. It must have been terrible for him.
That night they stormed the castle, dragging Heptron from his
bed, and took him to the place of the strange rock, a place said to
be haunted by devils who they hoped would take his soul to Hell,
they sat him on a horse, blindfolded, with a noose around his neck,
and hung him there, without any form of trial or defence.
It was a sad day for us all. All of us who remained that is. The
sword must have been there too, for the picture of a memory.
Formads voice tailed off, and he sat in silence, his eyes moist with
tears, looking at the floor as his memory relived the events he was
so vividly describing.
There was still one thing I had yet to do.

Chapter Twenty-Three
Findew and Bron made some herbal tea for them all, while
Formad regained his composure, sufficiently enough to carry on.
The recollections seemed to have taken it out of him a little, so
Findew decided not to push for any answers just yet, and decided to
allow him to finish the story first, then she would ask the questions
she needed to later.
After this little break, and they were all settled down again,
Findew asked,
You said that you knew you had one more thing to do. Could you
tell us that?
Formad looked at here, smiled, and continued,
Earlier I mentioned Heptron as the king, as his son and heir
Stenal, who was killed in the border wars. What I havent mentioned
yet is that Stenal had a wife Heara, a lovely quiet young lady from a
good well bred family. She was seen as an ideal future queen of the
land by all of the subjects of the kingdom.
What I also havent mentioned is that they had a son, Drantik,
who was at that time only about 8 years old, and he had now
become the King of Dobbor by accession, and therefore in real
danger from these marauders.
I knew I had to get Heara and Drantik out of the kingdom and
away as soon as possible, so I spirited them away from the castle
under cover of darkness, and brought them all of the way to here, to
your lands, as far as possible out of harms way.
No-one from Dobbor would look for them here, as they would
never have made it to here without help, and there were fewer and

fewer loyal subjects by the minute. Either way I laid a false trail
saying we had travelled in the opposite direction, and then we had
to flee the tortured land. Neither of them witnessed the death of
Heptron.
I knew your people existed here in this land as I had heard the
stories of the merchants and traders telling of a gentle folk,
hundreds of miles to the south, who had bronze coloured skin. They
had their own language and culture, so Heara and Drantik would be
safe, hidden from the Dobbor spies too.
While they were living here, they blended into the culture,
Drantik picking up the language easily, then taught it to his mother
with the help of an old battle song used in Dobbor, singing it in both
languages to help the learning process.
Findew looked a little shocked,
So thats why we were taught the ancient battle song in the
tongue of the old ways when we were at our kindergarten class! It
was brought here by Heara and Drantik!
That is correct. A lot of the local children liked the tune and, once
the words were translated, sang it regularly. Over time though, it
was only sung in the tongue of the old ways, as the translated
version died out. The words fitted the music better.
Findew decided it was time to start to ask questions on this early
part of the history lesson, to make sure she understood it
thoroughly. She began,
So, how long did Heara and Drantik remain here in my
homeland? Did they ever return to their own land?
Formad thought for a moment then replied,
Drantik did, but only when he was in his thirties. That way the
people would not recognise him as the king, and expose him to even
more danger. Heara did not; she remained here till she died. Her
grave lies over in the woods outside of the village, as she loved
those woods. She said that trees around her made her think she was
safe.
Findew looked at Formad and asked another question,
So, why did Drantik go back, knowing his life would be in
danger? Was this not too great a risk?
Formad replied,
He did not want to return to his ancestral home, he had to return
there, and it all had a lot to do with the Sword of Dobbor.

Chapter Twenty-Four
They sat for a moment, taking the time to reflect on the history
revealed so far, and Findew made a little bite for everyone to eat.

It was by now well into the afternoon, and they had not realised
the passing of the time, until their stomachs started to make the
grumbling sounds.
Even the ordinary peasant workers in the fields stopped to eat at
about halfway through their day, so the three of them did the same.
While they were eating, and by way of changing the subject, as
Formad was getting visibly upset again, Findew told him about her
family, their farm, Algard, Antella, their little house, and their
beautiful valley.
To her surprise he could describe the landscape with accuracy,
though the little streams had eroded the banks and appeared to
have moved about a little over the years, but the general
topography remained the same, after all, his cave had been at the
head of that valley.
After their lunch break, they all returned to their positions around
the maps and books on the table, and Findew was first to ask the
question,
So, why did Drantik return to the land of Dobbor, knowing he
would be in mortal danger if he were recognised?
Formad started his explanation again,
Drantik had a vision, a strange vision that he must return to his
homeland, find the sword, take it from the person who possessed it,
and hide it where it would never be found.
At first, he was a little worried about leaving his mother alone
here in this land, on the off chance he may be killed while he was
away, but she assured him that she would be fine, so, at the first
possible opportunity, the two of us, in disguise of course, returned to
the land that once was the kingdom of Dobbor.
The sight that met our eyes after the eight days of our travel
saddened our hearts. The people, those who were left, I can only
describe as soulless. Their faces bore no emotions, and there was no
laughter or song heard anywhere in the land.
The castle that had been his home had been stripped of all of its
stone, the foundations gone, and the earth beneath levelled and
grassed over, and then the moat filled in. It was as if it had never
been there. This broke his heart.
As we were using the inns, and travelling as traders, we could
not discuss things in the open, so had to sneak off to secret hiding
places to discuss our next move, and the only one safe enough, was
my old cave, which I believe you have found?
Bron nodded. Formad carried on,
Drantik had no idea who would be loyal or who would betray him
for a bag of silver, so we had to work quickly and quietly, gradually
gleaning the information as to the whereabouts of the Sword of
Dobbor, listening to gossip, and tittle tattle, anything that could be a
clue as to where we might find it.
While we were searching, we did find a few men still loyal to the
crown, and this made it a little easier for us, as we could spread out
and intensify our search.

Within about two weeks, we at last received a good lead as to

where to look for the sword, and we knew that the sword could not
be used to hurt Drantik, so it fell on him to retrieve it when we found
its location. This he did very easily, without a blow being struck. The
holder raised the sword to start to fight with Drantik, and it burned
his hands, causing him to drop it on the ground. He turned and ran
away, the scabbard detaching itself from the holders belt, burning
through the leather, and falling to the ground also.
We knew what we had to do, and so we did it straight away,
without question.
We went to my old cave, and Drantik placed the sword in a cleft
at the back of the inner cave, away from view, and I hid my books of
formulae and the Magi incantations relating to the sword and its
manufacture also inside the cave, then we brought down the rock
above the entrance so it would never be found again.
We returned here, with the loyal men and families, and they
lived out their days in peace.
At this point Formad stood up, and started to pace the floor.
Findew looked at him, then asked,
So, what ails you that the king hid the sword, and you hid the
books in your old cave? Until now they have never been found
Formad had a look of resignation on his face, and replied,
You asked me earlier why we didnt destroy the sword and I told
you that it would lie in rest until it was needed again.
It appears that it has sent you, to get me, as it is needed again.
Tomorrow we must journey back to your house together, into
what was once Dobbor, and with all possible haste. It appears there
is some unfinished business the sword requires that I must take care
of, and it must be urgent, or it would not have shook the mountain.

Chapter Twenty-Five
Findew was the last to mount her horse, with Bron and a
disguised Formad waiting to one side. She had said her farewells to
her mother and family, and waived to her many cousins who had
come to see her off.
At daybreak, they had packed up the food and water they would
need for the journey back into the saddle bags on the horses,
Formad having a larger load than they did, but needed by him when
they got back to the farm.
She released the messenger bird to tell Algard they were on their
way, and would have a guest with them, though not naming who in
case the bird was intercepted, so Algard would presume his mother

in law was on her way too, as anyone else reading the message
would think.
All the way back, even at the inns, Formad was very reserved. He
said very little, and he stayed in his room most of the nights after
they had eaten. He wasnt quiet though, as Bron had heard him
pacing about during the night, the occasional mutter coming from
his room.
While they were travelling though it was different. He told them
both stories of his many travels throughout many foreign lands, and
meeting many different people and cultures.
He told of a tribe who lived on the ice islands way off to the north,
and one that lived in a desert way off to the south, some in
mountains, and some on plains, and his many interesting tales
seemed to make the long days go quickly, though, as soon as they
arrived at an inn, he would more or less hide himself away, so as not
to be recognised by anyone, as he had not changed in appearance
for over 400 years.
Findew and Bron used the time to discuss what they had learned
of this mysterious Magi, and his story of the Kingdom of Dobbor.
First the old king, Heptron, and then the son killed in battle who
would have been King Stenal, and finally the grandson king, Drantik,
all of whom lived and ruled or would have ruled a kingdom so long
ago that did not now exist. They discussed the sword, and its story,
and the myths and legends surrounding it, making it a prime target
for thieves, which meant that Algard and Antella could be in danger,
should word of its resurfacing from oblivion become common
knowledge. They knew Algard would not be silly enough to tell
anyone of his findings, or visions, and he and Antella would carry on
about their business as normal.
On the last day of the travel, as they reached the foot of their
valley, and skirted the village to avoid prying eyes, carrying on
along the old track towards the farm. Formad was pointing out
where the original cottages used to stand, back in the days of the
kingdom, and, up to their left hand side, and about halfway up the
hillside, the plateau that formed a level grazing area on the
otherwise steep hillside, where Algard liked to graze his sheep, was
where the castle used to stand. Bron made a mental note to have a
look at some time in the future, just to see what he could find.
They rode through the gate of the house, and Algard and Antella
came out to greet them, showing surprise, but not annoyance, at
seeing Formad. Algard took the horses straight to the stable, and
Bron was told to show Formad to the small outbuilding kept for
guests, a small, but well prepared set of rooms in a log cabin. The
fire had already been lit, as they assumed it would be Anxy that
would be arriving with Findew and Bron.
Gathering together in the farmhouse, around the table, Findew
introduced Formad, and then told the story as she had been told it
by Formad, he himself only needing to add the slightest details as

Findew had a very good memory for detail, Algard waiting till the
end of the whole saga before asking any questions.
He started with an obvious one to Formad,
How is it then that we have never found any trace of this
kingdom of which you speak, this Dobbor? We have walked these
hills for many years and have found no trace of any of these places
you speak of or signs of any people ever being here.
Formad looked at Algard with a smile, and said,
The lords and barons had made thorough plans and then made
very sure that they were executed to the letter so that nothing, and
I mean nothing, remained. With the passage of time, the land itself
and the vegetation would overgrow and bury or destroy what little
was left. People were brought in from the outside lands to farm the
area, speaking the language that is now used here and not the
original tongue of the old ways, and of course these new people
had no idea or memory of the kingdom ever being here. All traces of
the original tribes of Dobbor were systematically wiped out.
To be able to complete this story, and to find out why the sword
has summoned me here at this point in time, I need my books,
which I believe you have, and the sword itself, which I understand
you also have. I had escaped with Heara and Drantik before these
happenings occurred, so am as much in the dark as you are.
Algard stood up, saying, I shall get them for you, and went out
to the box in the workshop, returning moments later with the leather
bound books, and the sword itself. He placed them on the table, in
front of Formad, the eyes of the Magi again filling up with tears from
memories that were being brought back by the sight of these relics.
He reached for the sword, drew it from the scabbard, and said,
Now I will show you what is so special about the Sword of
Dobbor.

Chapter Twenty-Six
Formad held the sword in the salute position, as in the en garde
salute with both hands, uttering some kind of incantation in some
words of the old ways as he turned the blade over and over, and
moving it gently from side to side. The blade slowly began to glow,
the light emitting from it projecting across the room and illuminating
the walls of the farmhouse with spots and lines of light, all being
produced by the refracting notches and etchings on the blade. As
Formad started to move the blade in a certain pattern, these
individual images came together to form pictures, projected onto
the rear wall of the room. It could be seen clearly now, as if they
were present at the happening, the whole sequence of the king,
Heptron, being hung, the rope placed around his neck, the horse
made to gallop away, and his final struggles as life left him. Formad
spoke,

Like I said, the sword has a memory, one of which I have been
able to get it to show us, and it no doubt it has many more to show.
As you did not know how to retrieve the moving images from its
memory, the sword could only plant single, powerful images in your
head, which it did, hoping you would try to find someone who could
reveal the whole image or images retained, that being its maker.
This you have also done.
Algard spoke, softly but with a little concern,
So, are any of my family in any danger from this sword?
Formad shook his head,
No you are not, and you were never in any danger from the
sword. The sword knows the difference between friend and foe, light
and dark, good and evil. It can sometimes control the environment
around itself to protect its friends from harm or detection, as I
myself have hidden in the mists it has generated around us to avoid
the barons men.
It has many powers, some are quite spectacular, but none of
them would harm you or any of your family.
Bron was by now bursting with curiosity so asked,
Can it protect you from all harm, like dragons, and goblins?
Formad laughed at his naivety,
Dragons and goblins do not, and have never, existed, except in
the minds of man. They were invented by the people in power to
keep the peasant masses under control and in one place, as there is
only one better weapon than fear, and that is fear of fear.
Understanding now flooded across the faces of the family. The
answers given made sense to them, and if Formad was really over
400 years old, he would have gained a lot of knowledge about these
things in his lifetime. Algard spoke,
So, do you have any idea why the sword wanted you here. Do
you think you are, or maybe going on some kind of quest?
Formad frowned in thought, then replied,
I think not. I think there is some unfinished business here that
Drantik has missed, and the sword has contacted me to finish it. To
find out what this could be, I need to wait till the sun is in the sky
tomorrow, expose the sword to it, as the sword takes its power from
the sun, for it has been in the dark for a long time. I also need to
refresh my memory on the incantations which will be needed later,
from my books too.
Algard spoke,
Do you think you will need our help?
Formad smiled again and answered,
I do not know that yet, but by tomorrow, I may be able to answer
that. In the meantime I will take the books, and the sword to my
rooms for tonight, and see what I can find out.
He stood up from the table, picked up the sword and put it back
into its scabbard, Bron picking up the books for him, and then
helping him over to his cabin with them.

Algard was pleased to see Findew returned safely, as she was as

pleased to see him, and they exchanged their own stories of what
happened to each over the weeks they had been apart, like two old
gossips.
As the moon rose high in the sky, none of them saw the mists
that surrounded the farmhouse and the yard, or noticed the silence
that was all around them.

Chapter Twenty-Seven
Formad spent most of the day in his lodgings, so Algard and Bron
went about their normal chores with the sheep, and Findew and
Antella with the chores of the household. It seemed on the surface
to be like any other day on their farm, an impression they wanted to
uphold.
Only one visitor came up to see them, at around midday, and he
was only here to collect eggs and cheese to sell on his stall at the
market two villages over, on the next day. He always paid a good
price, so Algard seemed to tolerate him coming to his home, as he
never usually had a good word for some of these rip off merchants.
This person asked a fair price for the goods on his stalls. Findew had
him all sorted within a few minutes, and the money changed hands.
After he left, and the boys had returned from their morning work,
they sat around the table for a midday meal, not a very common
thing as the boys would usually spend all day out there on the
hillsides, either rounding up, or checking up on their many flocks.
Today was a little different. They wanted to see if Formad had
made any progress in his research. He joined them at lunch.
Not much yet, Im afraid, he said as he broke the crust on the
fresh baked bread, I have remembered the words I will need, the
books were of great help, but the sword is in a very discharged
state, and I cannot proceed with my investigations until it reaches
somewhere near its full power. However with food like this, I will be
fully charged in no time.
Findew and Antella smiled at this compliment. It wasnt often they
had guests, and it was nice to feel appreciated for their hard work.
The afternoon was spent on the chores again, though closer to
home this time, blades to sharpen, sheep to shear, fleeces to card
and spin, all time taking and back breaking work, but financially
worth it in the end.
By early evening, the work was done, and the evening meal was
laid ready to eat. They all sat round the table, just as Formad came
in, with one of his books, and the sword and scabbard. He seemed
excited.
They ate their meal and spoke of normal household chatter as to
how their day had gone, and what they had managed to get done so
far. It seemed hard to imagine that Formad was trying to keep

himself calm and collected, yet bursting to tell more of the history of
Dobbor.
When the dishes had been cleared, washed and away, then the
room tidied up again, they all gathered around the table once more,
this time Formad placing his book in front of him.
He opened it a few pages in from the beginning, at a place
marked with a piece of ribbon. Everyone else sat and waited for him
to speak, all other conversation stopping or fading out, and
everybody looking towards the great Magi.
He sat, in silence for a moment or two, looking at each of the
other four around the table, cleared his throat, and began to speak,
I have spent the day reading up on my notes and incantations so
that I can access the stored memories held within the very heart of
the sword, and waited for the sword to get its energy from the sun.
This it has now completed.
He pulled the sword from the scabbard and laid it on the table in
front of them. It shone as if it was a highly polished mirror, but it still
seemed the same as it had been.
The stone set in the end of the handle was an amber colour,
showing that it was lacking in power, now if you look, it is blood
red.
He pointed to the jewel in the end of the handle, and it was now a
rich ruby red colour, sparkling as the lights in the kitchen were
playing on its many facets.
I had hoped to get all of the information together before I came
here tonight, but the sword took longer to replenish its power than I
thought it would, so, I will explain what I have so far, and then we
will look into the sword for the rest together.
Everyone looked at each other, a slight nod, but no words spoken.
They trusted Formad, as he had been made to trust them.
The books allowed me to ask the sword for some sketchy details
without hindering its refilling of its energy, so I was able to see the
events that we have all already seen individual pictures of,
implanted in our heads by the sword itself, and I think we can take
them as being correct, and move on, as to revisit old ground will
only take time, and I feel that time is not on our side.
Suffice is to say, we know about the hanging of King Heptron,
and the total annihilation of the people of this kingdom, cruelly and
brutally.
He picked up the sword, muttered some more unknown words,
and the blade started to glow like a fire starts to blaze when the air
is allowed in.
Once again, the moving pictures projected onto the rear wall of
the room, and they watched as people were mown down and
trampled by horses, decapitated with swords held by horsemen as
they ran, babies skewered on pike staffs, the last pushing the one
before further and further along the pole. They could hear the
screams of the people, they could see burning people running out of
burning houses, they could see so many people running for their

lives only to have them ended by mercenaries coming in the other

way.
Findew and Antella sat weeping, Algard and Bron both sat with a
lump in their throat. They knew that they could not help these
people, as this happened a long, long time ago. What upset them
was this display of Mans inhumanity to Man. The sheer cruelty of it
all, the waste, and for what?
What could possibly be the reason for such an act, what could
possibly be worth the lives of these hundreds and hundreds of
souls?
The sword stopped projecting, and Formad, as sad as the others
were at what he had seen, spoke,
That is as far as I have been able to get, and I apologise for
upsetting you as I had no knowledge of the severity of the acts we
have just witnessed, as this is the first time I myself have seen
them.
As to why we are all here together, I know not, but within the
next day or so, I hope to have many more answers, as the sword
reveals more of the conflicts.
Formad rose from the table, picked up the sword, and sheathed it,
closed the book, then tucked both under his arm, and left for his
lodgings without a further word.
Algard looked at Findew, whose eyes like those of Antella, were
still red from the tears shed by these poor people of old, and he had
to swallow himself, fighting back tears of his own.
They had seen a lot tonight, perhaps too much, and it will stay in
their memory for a long time to come, but what else are they going
to be privy to?
That will have to wait till tomorrow.

Chapter Twenty-Eight
The next day was almost a bit of an anticlimax; though they all
still felt the effects of the sad images they had witnessed the night
before, those haunted faces, the screams, and the feeling of
uselessness in not being able to do anything about it.
The chores were all done, but they seemed to lack enthusiasm for
the tasks at hand, merely going through the motions, completing
one and quietly moving to the next, with little or no conversation.
By mid afternoon, their mood seemed to have picked up a little,
as Algard had been down to the village and picked up a piece of
pork hock for their evening meal, and Findew and Antella had then
soaked out the preserving salt, and then into the pot to boil. For this
kind of treat, it had to be fresh vegetables to go with it, picked from
their vegetable plot.

By the time of the serving of the evening meal, all four of them,
plus Formad, were seated, and watching Algard slice huge pieces
from the joint, and place on the plates, passing the plate to each to
pile their plates high with the trimmings too. They seemed to draw
comfort from all being together, and dining on such good food made
it a complete pleasure.
Bron had noticed that Formad had neither the books nor the
sword with him, and after the dishes were cleaned and cleared, he
asked,
I see you have not brought the books or the sword with you.
Does that mean you have not discovered any more of this sad
story?
Formad looked at Bron, with a wry smile, and answered,
On the contrary, I have found out a great deal today, my findings
I intend to share with you when all is ready to do so.
Algard looked at everyone, then said,
I think we are all eager to hear what you have found out today.
Formad knew this already and was expecting that reply, so smiled
briefly,
Then I shall begin, and I think you will find this extremely
interesting, not just to me but to all of us.
I have watched the many atrocities shown by the sword, which
continued from our last viewing, all similar in content to what we
were shown last night and equally distressing, these happenings, for
want of a better word, being executed in the various parts of the
kingdom. What I was trying to work out was who could possibly be
the bearer of the sword? It had to be someone high up in the ranks
as the sword was never used, that I could see, as a weapon, but it
was present at many of the routs, and indeed many other things
too.
This prompted me to believe the bearer could only have been
either one of the lords or one of the barons as it was present at most
of the major occurrences in the past history.
There is one vision from the sword that had puzzled me at first.
I have watched it many times to try to see if I can understand not
just what they are doing but also why they were taking the time to
do it? They were at the castle of Heptron, pulling down the stones
one by one, and taking them away by loading them into carts. There
were huge numbers of people involved, as every single stone was
removed, one by one. What puzzled me was what followed. They
then set about looking under or at, or into, any crevice, hole or
indentation found after each stone was moved. It looked to me like
they were searching for something, and it could not be the sword as
they already had that.
This lead me to believe that the lords and barons knew
something was hidden in the castle that was either extremely
valuable, or could harm their position in some way, and they wanted
whatever it was moved out and into their own protection.

Heptron had been a very wealthy king, and it is possible they

were searching for his treasure, though I never knew of him having
a room or place to put a treasure into, and I was at the palace
regularly, so I discounted the treasure theory.
The only other theory I could come up with from what I had seen
was that there must be some kind of document or talisman that
could prove the birthright beyond any doubt that Drantik or his heirs
were the rightful King of Dobbor. This could have hurt the lords and
barons claims to the lands if such a document or artefact were to
ever turn up.
From what I have been able to deduce from the following visions,
they found nothing, and eventually left, the place wiped off the face
of the earth, but the sword is telling me that it wants us, as in
Algard, Bron, and myself, to go to the site of the castle, and recover
this ourselves, using the sword for guidance.
It appears my good people, that we are now going on that quest
you wanted!

Chapter Twenty-Nine
The horses were made ready for the travel, as were the riders.
The foodstuffs and the liquids were all packed into the saddlebags
then put onto the backs of the horses. As it was only just breaking
dawn, the three travellers were well dressed against the chill of the
morning, but knew that soon would come the heat of the day, and
the outer clothing could be removed. It was easier to remove
clothing when it got hot than it was to require clothing you did not
have when it got cold.
They rode out from the farm and headed up onto the hillside,
hoping their early morning departure would protect them from any
prying eyes that may be wandering the valley during the day. The
sight of Algard and Bron riding the hillsides would not raise any
suspicions, but travelling with a stranger, this just might make
people curious, and that is something they did not want at this time.
By mid morning they were up on the plateau, which, while level in
relation to the surrounding hills, was not totally flat or featureless, a
few lumps and bumps here and there.
Its total area was only about a half mile long, by about half a mile
wide, making it a sort of square shape, the access slopes onto the
plateau being quite steep, except for the one little track they used
when they were herding the sheep up onto it, which wound up the
hill from the direction of the bottom of the valley, and onto the
plateau itself. This was the route they used to get up there this time,
but Formad was confused about it all.
This is not, or should I say was not, the entrance to the castle.
This is different.

He rode to the other end of the plateau and looked down into the
valley bottom.
This is where the moat, and the castle entrance used to be.
He pointed to a spot on the ground where there was no
undulations to be seen.
This is or was, the gate.
Algard and Bron just looked at each other, and shrugged. They
could see nothing at all of what Formad was describing. To them, it
was prime grassland, ideal for sheep.
The old man dismounted and wandered a little here, and then a
little there, making announcements of what parts of the castle had
been where, as if he were trying to get his bearings. They still saw
nothing but grass, but dismounted anyway.
He took the sword from the bag on the horse, withdrew it from
the scabbard, and watched the blade as it came into contact with
the daylight.
The midmorning sunbeams struck the blade, and the reflecting
rays started to dance around on the grassy surface, then coming
together in a band of light about three feet wide, the top rising up to
about ten feet or so, to create a three dimensional picture of parts
of walls, and rooms, sculptured in three foot slices, and made in
golden light. These walls they could walk through. It was very
unnerving but they were seeing the castle exactly as it had stood all
those years ago. The kitchens, the guardroom, the servants
quarters, all became visible in three feet wide slices from this
amazing image. By moving the sword, they could find their way
around.
We need to find the throne room, said Formad, for what I think
we seek will be there, or in that area.
They made their way across the grassy plain, seeing golden
images of walls, and rooms as they went, Formad guiding them
through this three dimensional map in various shades of golden
light.
After quite a while of searching, Formad stopped, looked around a
little, and then with the aid of the sword, declared that they were
indeed at the entrance to what had been the throne room itself, and
it was up to the sword to guide their hands from here, as Formad
knew no more. He knew the room, but not what the sword wanted
them in the room for.
As Formad approached the position of where the throne would
have stood, the beams coming from the sword started to merge into
one focussed beam, eventually becoming one single narrow beam of
light, a beam that seemed to highlight a particular spot on the
ground.
Formad asked Algard to get one of the metal posts from the pack
on one of the horses, and push it into the ground where the beam
struck the grass surface.
Algard did as he was requested, and placed the steel spike where
the beam touched the grass, so Formad could then sheath the

sword away from possible detection from anyone drawn to the

golden lights.
He managed to push the spike down about three inches before it
would go no further. He had hit stone, bedrock.
Whatever they were seeking, lay under here.

Chapter Thirty
The three of them spent the first hour stripping back the turf,
which with this short, tight, densely packed rooted grass was very
difficult to do, as it would not divide up with the spades because of
its density. Formad was told to stop after a short while, his age was
starting to tell on him, and the younger men carried on.
The stone they had originally hit, that which seemed to be
bedrock, once the soil had been moved back, turned out to be
clearly a slab, and a large one, which according to Formad was the
slab that had originally held the throne upon it.
They cleared as much from this slab as they could, but found
nothing unusual, just a large slab of floor. No edge, and no corners
so far.
Formad stood looking at the slab from a few feet away, and then
walked to the centre of it. He spoke,
Look here, on the floor, he pointed at a small brown mark only
barely visible on the stone, This would be the anchor point for the
throne itself, and here, and here.
He picked out the four feint marks, holes almost, that would have
held the iron pegs that went through the legs of the throne to hold it
in position. The pegs themselves had rusted away, and only the rust
stains remained on the slab.
This was still enough for Formad to work with. He got to his knees
and very carefully felt his way between the four peg marks,
explaining that if Heptron did have anything to hide, the best place
to hide it would be under the throne.
Could whatever it was have been attached to the underside of
the throne, say in a pouch or box? asked Algard. Formad replied,
It would not have been safe there, as spies were always
watching the royal court and if they saw anything being put under
the throne, they would have found it.
He looked around the edges of the small area they had dug, and
asked,
Would you mind digging a little more in that direction, at right
angles to the way we have dug so far. Just a couple of feet?
Algard and Bron started to slice back the turf in the direction
Formad had requested, and it was only a matter of moments before
Formad halted them.

Look here, he said, And here. Can you see them? The brown
marks I suspected would be here. That Heptron was a very clever
fellow!
Algard and Bron stepped back to see if they could see what
Formad seemed to think he had found, but, once again, could see
nothing. It just appeared to be more of the slab.
We need now to strip back a little in the opposite direction, just a
few inches I think, and we will find what we are looking for.
Formad looked at the blank stares of the men, and started to
explain,
You see those second marks, we have just uncovered?
Algard and Bron nodded, but they still didnt understand Formads
excitement.
Those are the marks of hinges. Heptron had the throne hinged
so he could tilt it backwards. We must now try to find out why he
needed to be able to tilt the whole throne to enable access to
something. Thats why we need to go a little further forward to look
for locks, pins, and catches, any sign of rusted metal we can find.
Heptron didnt have his throne hinged unless he had something
very important to hide.
The two men started to take off the turf from the other side of the
slab, and sure enough, within a foot or so, they had come across
marks of rusted metal. They cleared the loose soil from the marks,
and Formad moved in to look.
At first, nothing seemed to answer any of the questions, until
Bron looked at the patterns of the rusty lined holes in the floor, and
stuck his thumb and two of his fingers in them. It was as he
withdrew his fingers, he gripped the three together. The section of
the whole stone moved upwards as he gripped it, the huge weight of
it being counterbalanced somewhere unseen, till it reached an angle
of about forty-five degrees.
Beneath it, and running off into the darkness below, was a
staircase.

Chapter Thirty-One
Algard was first with the question,
How is it that we found those holes and yet these lords and
barons did not?
Formad was making his way to get some of the torches from the
horses when turned and answered the question,
When this was originally used as the throne room, all of the
metal used in the base of the throne would be shiny and bright,
usually made of silver. These pins would have been made of steel to
take the weight of the tilting stone, as silver would have buckled. So
would have to be polished, like silver to appear to be special

decoration. We only saw it now because it had rusted the metal keys
out of the holes.
Formad lit the torch he had in his hand and one other, passing it
to Algard. He spoke,
I would like Bron to stand guard while we enter this chamber. If
he could make a sort of circle using himself and the horses, that
would suffice, I think.
Bron nodded. He didnt like the idea of fighting off the assumed
thousands of insects that would be in that hole, all waiting for him to
enter so they could attack him, so, he was more than happy to be
the lookout.
Algard spoke to Formad,
What do you think we will find down there?
I have no idea until we find whatever it is
Formad removed the sword from the scabbard once again, and
then, torch held high, descended these steps, slowly at first, and
then stopped before he made the bottom.
This chamber is only a couple of feet square, and I dont think
two of us will fit in together. However, the sword has shown me what
I seek.
He came back out onto the plateau, carrying a wooden box in his
hand, a plain parquetry style of interlocking strips of wood. As he
emerged, he instructed Bron to lower the slab slowly and carefully.
The box was placed, unopened, in one of the saddlebags, and the
sword returned to its scabbard and placed out of sight on the horse
too.
For the next hour, the three of them worked hard covering up the
slab and surrounding edges thrown up by the tilting of the slab. The
landscape was returned to as near as they could make it, to the way
it had been, all of the turf replaced. With this amount of undulation
around, it would soon heal and blend. Their curiosity of the contents
of the box were overwhelming at times, but they knew they were
out in the open, and it would be easy for prying eyes to watch them
from a distance. The less people knew about this the better, for all
of their safety.
By late afternoon, they had returned to the farmhouse, the horses
were taken care of, and the evening meal was being prepared. The
rescued box was placed on the table, something the girls were a
little wary of, till Algard told them of where they had found it.
Formad took the sword back to his lodgings to hide it, and came
straight back, this time holding one of his books under his arm.
As if expecting something to happen, they all gathered around the
table again, as they had done so many times before.
Formad looked at the box, trying to work out how it opened. It
had a lock, but not one he had seen before, and there was no holes
or entrance point for a key. While the others took it in turn to look at
the box, they all remarked it was quite heavy for such a small item.
They tried turning it over and over, but no sign of a way in was
found. Formad opened his book, and started to read sections of it to

himself. The others just looked at the box, standing in the centre of
the table.
Got it! said Formad, I knew I had written something about this
a long, long time ago, and now I remember it.
He picked up the box, placed his fingers at different points on the
end and edge of what was assumed to be the lid, and pressed all
five digits at the same time. With a click, the lid unlocked.
Formad reached in and had to use both hands to lift out the
contents, a dome shaped object covered in a thick white cloth. He
placed it on the table, and then removed the cloth from the top.
The sight that met their eye was not expected, as, under the cloth
was a golden, jewel-encrusted crown, the centre of which, behind
the outer ring, rose up in a dome shape to a point. The whole of this
dome and the outer ring was covered in semi precious stones of
many different colours, which sparkled in the limited light inside the
house. It looked as if it would be worth a lot of money.
Formad spoke,
My friends, may I introduce you to the item that once adorned
the heads of the many kings who came and went in the long history
of our kingdom, May I introduce to you, the real Crown of Dobbor.
Algard, Findew, Bron and Antella sat in silence and wonder. Not a
word was spoken.

Chapter Thirty-Two
After the crown was placed back in its box, and placed under the
table out of sight for now, they all sat together around the table for
the evening meal, discussing the discovery of the sword, and now
the crown. Once again it was left to Formad to fill in the gaps in the
story.
When Heptron was not on official duties of the state, he wore a
simple crown, a circular one with four crests, one in each corner so
to speak, the crests being the shield designs, and flags of the four
lands making up the kingdom of Dobbor, linking each of the lands
symbolically, from all sides, in one ruler. This was the crown that
was worn by Heptron when we saw the hanging in the vision from
the sword.
In their haste to hang him, they either forgot, or thought of
coming back later for the State Crown, the real crown signifying the
Head of State.
Very few people, perhaps two or three in total knew of its
whereabouts, even I did not, and in their haste to capture the king,
they must have killed the only people who knew where it was kept.
A mistake on their part.
Formad paused for a moment to take a sip of water.
Bron was first to ask a question,

If they had found the crown, what difference would it have made
to what we have today? We knew nothing of a king or a kingdom,
and never did, till now.
For the first time since they had met him, Formad started to show
a little anger at this question, however, he thought for a moment
before replying, as this young man would really have no idea of past
happenings, and should be allowed the benefit of the doubt. He
spoke,
I am sorry, but I almost lost control of myself there for a
moment. Bron, you are right. To you and your family here, it would
have made little or no difference today, but to the families who gave
their lives all those years ago, it would have meant a lot.
To me, the kingdom still lives, and the people in it are as real as
you or me, its just that time has moved on, and left them behind.
The Crown of Dobbor is one item that, if an heir is ever found,
that person can be, and will be, declared the King.
If a usurper wore it, he would be known as a false king, as
happened to one of the lords who took the small crown from the
head of Heptron after his death. That lord died within days of putting
it on, the crown was then deemed to be cursed, so was sent to be
melted down for its gold.
This was why the lords and barons of the time wanted to destroy
the Crown, as it held the power to proclaim, without question, a new
King, which they did not want. They were so terrified of it turning up,
they took a whole castle to pieces stone by stone to find it, and, as
they failed, they assumed anyone else looking for it would also fail
This collection of scum did not know of the swords ability to
remember things, as it was stolen before what should have been a
novelty for amusement was shown to the King on his birthday. Noone knew, except me, as I had made it.
I would like to hide the Crown on your workshop if I may, for
safekeeping, till I can find out more. No one would look for a crown
in a homestead workshop, no offense intended
Algard nodded, and they all agreed.
Formad spoke again,
There is another part of our little quest still to do, and once again
I would like for you, Algard, and you Bron, to accompany me to the
head of the next valley, and to the location of the hanging tree.
Both Algard and Bron nodded their acceptance.
I will explain something which I am puzzled about, but I think we
will find the answer with the help of the sword again.
When Heptron was dragged from the throne room, and taken to
the hanging tree, he would still have been wearing the Seal of
Dobbor, a gold ring with the four shields making up the pattern,
used for giving Royal Assent to the laws, taxes and punishments etc
of the official documents of the Kingdom.
Once again, the lords and the barons would not like this to be
found either, but Heptron was a clever man, as you have seen with
the hinged throne already.

I think that, at some point, just before the horse was made to
run, and the king hanged, he hid somewhere somehow, or just
threw away, the Seal, without being seen, so it would not be found
on him, and therefore assumed to be still at the castle.
So tomorrow, I would like to go to the hanging tree location, and
see if we can find it, with the help of the sword. That is, hopefully
that the sword saw what the guards did not.
They broke up for the evening, and made ready for bed.
Algard and Bron were getting quite used to roaming around and
seeing strange new things, but Findew and Antella, were left to run
the house. Findew did not mind, it had been her place to keep house
since the day she was married, but she was starting to get a little
uneasy with all of the collecting of these artefacts, and the danger it
could put them in if word got out they were there. She had bad
dreams that night.

Chapter Thirty-Three
As they had on the previous day, the men folk together with
Formad left the house at dawn, once again to avoid the detection of
their leaving.
Today, they followed the high ridges of the head of their valley,
and into the head of the adjoining valley, passing down it carefully,
as they were no longer on their land, but land deemed to be
common, so could meet with anyone at any time as they travelled.
The grass in this valley grew longer than that of their own, so it
was ideal for beef and milk production, and the dairy herdsmen
would be very suspicious of a sheep farmer appearing on their
feeding lands. However they didnt encounter anyone as they
travelled, other than the cows.
As they rounded a bend in the track on their way towards one of
the distant villages, before them was this very unusual rock
formation that had been so easily recognised in the visions and
drawings, the unusual angle at which the rocks seemed to stick out
and up to the right from the main rock outcrop. All of them felt a
little tingle when they saw it in reality, as the images from the sword
were perfectly accurate as to the shape of the stones.
One thing, one very important thing was missing from the reality
that was in the pictures.
The tree.
They dismounted and walked to where they thought the tree
would have been, but there was no evidence that a tree had ever
stood there. It seems that this tree also fell foul of the lords and
barons plans, and was also destroyed in the wipeout.
Algard started to feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up, a
sure sign that he felt all was not as it seemed here, a reaction

shared by Bron. Even Formad was starting to be very wary as he

slowly paced the area in front of him.
In the vision, the tree stood over to the left of a clearing of mud
and dirt, the grass worn off by years of use, a full circle of brown
among the green.
There was no circle of brown; there was no tree, only the grass
covering everything including the gaps in the outcrops of rocks that
had not yet been worn away by the erosion effects of the rains and
frosts.
Algard and Bron dismounted and waited for instructions from
Formad. The landscape had changed so much over the years that
this was going to be difficult for him to orientate. Difficult, but not
impossible, after all, they had the sword.
Formad had returned to Dobbor with Drantik once in the past, and
only rarely alone after that, but he had never visited this place
where his king had been murdered, and his emotions were starting
to get the better of him. He started to chant in the words of the old
ways, and stomp about, almost in a temper as if trying to exorcise a
ghost.
Algard placed a hand on the old mans shoulder, in part to calm
him down, but in part to find out what really ailed him.
I know that you are upset Formad, but I cannot understand why
you are acting this way?
Formad stopped his chanting tirade, and looked at Algard,
My King was killed here, and I grieve for him, but I have no
knowledge of his final resting place, his grave.
Was he buried as a King, or was he mixed with the bodies of the
people murdered by these assassins? I do not know.
Algard looked into Formads face and replied,
I have no knowledge of these kings, your kings, or their past, but
it will not help us to work out what really happened if you allow
emotion to cloud your vision. What happened, happened, and it was
a long time ago. There is nothing we can do to alter the past. We
can only try to unearth the truth for the future.
Formad stopped his quiet rhythmic chanting, and seemed to
respond to Algards words,
I am sorry for this outburst, and, you are correct. I am allowing
my pent up emotions to surface at the wrong time, but I have lived
with the knowledge of this horror hanging for over four hundred
years, and to be here now. His voice tailed off.
Algard saw that Formad needed strength to guide him, so said,
Is it not then time we put the sword to work?
It was as if a light had been turned on in Formads head when he
heard this, and turned to walk to his horse for the sword. As he
walked he thought, yes, the sword.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Formad returned with the sword and scabbard. If there had ever
been a tree here, then the sword would show it in golden light, as it
had done to the walls and doors of the castle.
They made a thorough check, to make sure no one was about
watching them, before Formad pulled the sword from the scabbard.
Immediately, the sword started to shine in the daylight, producing
the three-foot wide beam as it had done at the castle, and Formad
went to work.
Scanning the area where they thought the tree had been drew a
blank. There was no sign of any tree here, or any other item visible
in the drawings or visions.
Formad looked disappointed at this, and looked around for other
possible sites.
Algard spoke,
Perhaps we have the scale wrong, perhaps the tree was much
bigger than we first thought, the bough that was used to hang the
king could be the bottom bough of many such boughs and branches.
If that was the case then the tree would have stood much further
back that way.
He pointed a few feet back along the path.
Formads eyes regained their sparkle as he thought of this
possibility, and moved further away from the outcrop, waving the
reflection from the blade of the sword gently from side to side as he
walked, to try to pick up any sign of the echoes from the past of this
tree. He had not gone far before he picked up the golden image of a
tree, from the roots up to the start of the branches. He also saw, in
the golden image, King Heptrons image hanging from the bough
above his head. This started to really upset him, as it did Algard and
Bron.
They had to sit him down and take the sword from him till he was
able to settle himself down a little. There was no hurry, they now
knew where the tree had been, and the sword would reveal the
secret of the ground soon enough, so they could give the old man a
little time to get over the shock of the vision.
After about ten minutes or so, Formad stated he was ready to go
on, and to continue their search for the Seal, and, in a macabre way,
the image of the murdered king was in a way helpful, as they were
able to see that the kings hands had been tied behind his back prior
to the hanging, which would have made it impossible for him to
throw the ring any distance at all. This indicated that he would have
had to either drop it, or flick it into a hiding place, and it would need
to be a good one, and not much time to choose.
Formad took the sword, lifted the tip skyward again, and the
golden beams danced about in the light, the three-foot beam
forming again.
The sword guided them back to the outcrop and the boulders
around its base, the beam starting to become even more focussed

onto a point near one of the blocks of stones. By the time they got
there, the beam was only about an inch wide, and quite intense
Algard moved to look at the place indicated, and found soil with
grass on it in a small cleft in the rocks. He pulled out the grass sod,
to reveal a small crevice between the two stones, also filled with
soil. The beam from the sword was definitely marking this small
crevice, so he dug out a little of the soil, and then the rest of it fell
inwards into a small hole. He could just manage to get two of his
fingers into the opening, and within a few seconds, he pulled out his
hand, and on the end of one of his fingers, a ring, a grubby gold
ring, the Seal of Dobbor. He pulled it off and handed it to a very
happy Formad.
It appears that they sat Heptron on these rocks while they
prepared the noose on the tree, and he was able to drop the Seal
into the hole behind him. Clever man.
With the Seal safely hidden in the garments of Formad, and the
sword in its scabbard wrapped up in cloth and strapped onto the
horse, the three of them mounted up, and rode, slowly and steadily,
as if taking in the scenery, back into their own valley, even
meandering a little to confuse anyone who might be watching, as
Formad had said he felt at times as though eyes were on them from
afar.
Once into the safety of the homestead, Algard and Bron were able
to relax a little, Formad went straight to his lodging to check out and
clean up the seal.
When Bron told of what they had done and what they had found
to Findew and Antella, they were a little shocked and frightened
about the image of the hanging body taking the three of them by
surprise.
They went to bed that night wondering what treats Formad would
have in store for them over the next few days.

Chapter Thirty-Five
The next day was the normal market day, and the men needed to
go into the village to sell their goods so they could buy items they
could not produce themselves. Findew and Antella had spent the
previous day doing the preparations and the packing of the cart
ready, the eggs packed to protect them from breaking, the mutton
and lamb meat hanging from racks, both jobs time consuming, and
the other awkward stuff to load too. This was something they always
did the day before market, as the men would have normally been
out on the hillsides all day looking for and rounding up the sheep.
The carthorses were placed in their limbers, and the last of the
fresh produce, after rinsing in the water from the well, put in the
baskets on the back of the cart.

Just as they made ready to move off, Formad came walking

towards then, dressed in beggars robes, and looking very dirty. His
wispy white beard added to the overall effect and if they had not
known who he was they would more than likely has challenged him
as to what he was doing here. He spoke quite frankly,
I need to get to the village and move among the people
unnoticed, so, could I ask you to drop me off just before you go into
the village on your way to the market, and collect me outside of the
village on your way back?
There are people I need to find and speak to as a matter of
urgency, in secret of course, away from prying eyes and ears,
families of old friends of mine with whom I need to consult.
I promise I will not bring any attention to any of you here on the
farm, as I will not mention any of you in the discussions, and, if all
goes well, I may be able to find out a lot more information about the
past without revealing what we already know.
Algard nodded, and Formad hid himself in the back among the
produce. This idea made sense, even though it might be suicidal if
his questioning went to the wrong ears, but he trusted the
judgement of this wise old man, as Formad had never let them down
in the past.
Out of the little gate they went, appearing to anyone watching to
be just another market day, and the sale of goods as normal.
They followed the track down to the village, winding their way
between the ever-widening gap in the hills at each side of them, the
track following the old run off water stream down through the valley.
The two of them kept their conversation to farm subjects, and
workloads, as there were now people about, heading to the market
to buy produce for themselves, sometimes walking alongside the
cart.
Just before they entered the outskirts of the village, Bron looked
down, and saw this dirty old beggar walking alongside the cart, so
he warned him to stay away from the cart, and not to try to steal
from them or there would be trouble. Formad smiled, and peeled
away from them.
The market was busy today, as the livestock market was being
held at the same time. Most of the animals for sale today were
cattle, both dairy and beef, and lots of game and poultry. Algard
more or less had the monopoly on sheep, and he was not selling any
live animals today. On odd occasions, a sheep farmer from a few
villages away would bring a ram or a couple of pregnant ewes for
Algard, as he would do for this other farmer, therefore spreading the
gene pool of the flocks, but not today.
It was meat sales day, with sheep milk cheese, similar to a goats
feta, sheepskin hides to make the thick clothing worn by a lot of the
farmers out on the hills in the winter, and of course, wool, as a
fleece or spun into yarn ready to knit up.
The stall set, and the trading began. Both Algard and Bron worked
the stall most of the day, and this occupied their minds by making a

living from their produce, to let them forget about the sword, the
ring and all of the bits and pieces evidently still to come, and
concentrate on the sale of their goods, and the buying of their own
requirements, flour, leather, salt, lamp and cooking oils, checking
the huge list written up by Findew the night before to make sure
they had everything that was on it.
The day seemed to pass very quickly as the meat brought in by
Algard was popular among the villages and it was cheaper to buy
than the beef, so it was sold out quite early in the day. By the time
they had sold their goods, or most of them, and loaded what they
had bought for the return, it was time to make their way home
before it got too dark.
Bron set about finishing the loading the stall boards and the
covers, and then the poles ready to leave, while Algard stripped it
piece by piece, and as they put the last canopy and cover cloths
onto the cart, there was Formad, lying on the floor in the back
already. The cloths were thrown over the top of him, the back of the
cart then hinged up and closed and bolted.
After saying their farewells for another week or so to their many
friends and neighbours, they set out for home, their cart full of their
bought goods, and one old wizard.
They arrived back at their house before dark and set about
unloading the purchases into their places in the cold store and
pantry next to the house. Formad vanished quickly into his lodging,
to change and clean up after his little fact-finding mission. Findew
stood checking the goods to see that the men had bought what she
had said they needed, and they were in luck as they had. Antella set
the places for the evening meal for them all.
Gathered around the table that night, the four of them, together
with Formad, ate the meal with relish. Fresh air always gave people
an appetite so the food was eaten quite quickly.
Algard and Bron told the girls of the gossip they had heard in the
village, and of course the occasional piece of juicy scandal cropping
up among it all, this amusing Findew when she heard of some of the
goings on of her not to distant neighbours. Everything seemed so
normal and peaceful again.
Formad then spoke of his day,
I have found one of the people I was seeking, and I will be
returning to the village again, alone this time, tomorrow, and might
have to stay there for a while. If I do, could you lock away the sword
and the seal, together with my books, in your large wooden chest in
your workshop till everything is ready?
Tell no-one they are there, and leave them there, locked away,
till I return, for, if something happens to me, or I am found out, then
the usurpers will know that the sword has come back to Dobbor and
they will come looking for it. Look what happened to the old
villagers and the castle. It could happen again if they feel
threatened.

The sword and the seal, together with my books are of no

danger to you at all, it is the greed of the lords and barons of today
that are the danger.
I know that I can trust you, and that is why they are being left
here. The sword can protect you from inside the chest, and keep you
safe from harm.
I will leave early in the morning, long before any of you will be
up, so I will see you when I return, hopefully with good news, later in
the day, perhaps later in the week, depending on the outcome of
the meetings.
Everybody went to bed that night a little puzzled at all of this, the
wizard starting to do some cloak and dagger investigations, but they
knew that Formad would know exactly what he was doing, so they
left it at that, for now.

Chapter Thirty-Six
True to his word, by the time Algard awoke the next morning,
Formad had already gone, and the sword, the seal, and the books
were left in the wooden chest, which Algard then securely bolted
and locked. He even placed a large box of tools on top, and other
various items stacked on it too.
They knew that for the next few days, they had to be just a sheep
farmer and his family, getting on with rearing, brand painting the
flocks with colours for their ages, and killing and skinning any of the
ewes who were too old to breed from.
Bron rode out to bring in the flocks from the high hills, and then
Algard released more flocks from the pens to replace them, so they
could feed on the lush, but short grass. By rotating them, they were
able to monitor which ewes went to the ram, and how the first year
lambs were doing, having by now been weaned.
Lambing was still a major part of their lives, though the lambing
season had passed some time ago. This was where the new stock
came from for them to sell the old as meat, or as lamb itself, and
this continuous building of the stock took up quite a bit of their time,
so, in a way they were pleased they could now spend some time
catching up.
The routine of farming was re-established again for the day at
least.
Just before dark, Formad returned, and joined them for the
evening meal. He had lots to tell them.
As they cleared away the plates and dishes after the meal, they
all sat waiting for the news he had gathered.
He started to explain what he had been able to find out,
When I went with you to the village yesterday, I went in search
of a man. Not difficult you would think.

This man, I did not know, and he did not know me, but he would
know OF me.
I had to be very careful about who I asked in the village, as a
beggar asking for a particular person could raise suspicion, so I sat
on a corner and waited till I heard the family name mentioned. I
then followed the person to his home.
Knocking on the door, he answered, took one look at me and
started to tell me to go away, till I uttered the words he should know
of from the old ways. These words, he will have been told, would
introduce a total stranger as a close friend. He would hear these
words allowing him to recognise the stranger, the words having
been taught to him by his father and grandfather, and from the
generations before that.
At first he was unsure, but eventually, he understood, and invited
me in.
The mans name is Avilad, and he is a direct descendant from the
people of the old kingdom. I had to search him out as he is my first
point of contact.
He told me of many things that I did not know about, the stories
told to him by his parents, handed down for generations, and the
prophecy that someday, someone dressed as a beggar would come
to ask for these stories, and he must tell them word for word, as he
had been taught.
It appears that not all of the loyal subjects from the kingdom of
Dobbor were killed. A lot of them living on the outskirts of the
kingdom received word of what was happening so ran away, some
southward to the land of the Bronze Skinned people, and some ran
and hid in the northern lands where the lords and barons had come
from, thinking that that would be the last place they would think of
looking for them, and it worked.
Once these lords and barons had completed their genocide of
the people of the kingdom, they moved their own people from their
own lands into what had been Dobbor, so these escapees were able
to move back to their home, but speaking only the new language
while in the open, and using the language of the old ways when in
private, and it worked. They got their lands back, but had to pretend
they were only tenants, and paying hugely inflated rents to live
there.
This story, and others like it, have been memorised and handed
down by word of mouth for over 400 years, in the knowledge that
one day, the kingdom would return.
It is because of these stories and these people, that I must go
away for a few weeks, to not only investigate further but also to
understand what these people have been told about their heritage
and past, and their future too.
I hope, when I next sit here at your table, I will be able to reveal
all that I have found out, and also all that I already know too. I must
now take my leave, and sleep, for it is yet another early start
tomorrow for me.

He stood up, and went to his lodgings.

Algard looked at Findew, and said,
Whod have thought it, a sort of secret society here in our
village? Well, I never!
This was cause for quiet amusement during the rest of the
evening before bed, and they all slept well too. They could get on
with their life. No further quests for the time being.

Chapter Thirty-Seven
Sure enough, Formad had been as good as his word, and had left
under cover of darkness, hiding any link he had with the family in
the farm, for their safety.
He travelled to the house of Avilad, who was waiting for him to
arrive. Together they left the village before anyone was about to see
them leave.
Life on the farm returned back to normal, and within a few days,
the old routines were firmly back in place, with Findew running the
house with her usual precision, and Antella learning all of this from
the best.
Algard and Bron were able to gather in some of the sheep, and
send out more of the sheep on their rotation, and even had time to
turn over and till some more of the land next to the house to make
an even bigger vegetable growing area. Their produce in this soil
had a nicer taste according to the villagers; so, it was an ideal time
to expand the garden.
The occasional visit of the trader, on his way to the distant
markets, gave a little variation to their day, but other than that, life
seemed to settle down for the first time in a few months, but it was
during one of these visits from that trader which set off the alarm
bells in Algards head.
After Algard and Bron had helped him load his cart with the fresh
meat and vegetables he had bought, he started to tell them of a
rumour he had heard on his travels over in the area of the northern
lands of the lords and barons. According to his source, though not a
very reliable one, but still a good gossip, there were rumblings in the
castles and fortified houses of these self-promoting vampires that a
great leader, at least seven feet tall, and very muscular indeed, a
man mountain no less, together with his huge army are going to rise
up from the grave, and slaughter every one of them in their beds as
revenge for what their families had done in the past.
This trader knew nothing of what the ancestors of the lord and
barons had done in the past when he was asked, and they found out

he had no knowledge of the existence of a kingdom, let alone one

called Dobbor, so it would appear that the people who did know, as
in the lords and barons, would now be suspecting certain items from
their ancestral history to have reappeared in the present.
Not wanting to give anything away, Algard asked,
If it comes to war, do you think it will come this far south, into
these quiet valleys?
The trader, always wanting to show off what he considered to be
his superior knowledge replied,
I dont think so. There is nothing to gain from taking these lands,
only farming. These masters will be looking for bold leaders of men,
captains in fact, and those kind of leaders are perhaps, around here,
in very short supply
Algard had to try very hard not to hit this arrogant selfopinionated person, but made a mental note to increase his prices
for his goods considerably the next time he called.
Even Findew found insult in those remarks. Leaders are forged
from circumstance, not from birth, something she had been taught a
long time ago.
After the trader had gone, the four of them were having evening
meal together, discussing the implications of what this traveller had
said.
It seems that somehow, these lords and barons had found out
about the spreading of the belief of the return of the Kingdom Of
Dobbor, and would have to start to react to this possible challenge
immediately, to try to nip it in the bud, and it would have to be
brutally done to retain their merciless control. When Algard had
asked the trader how far south he thought they might come
anyway, the trader had said they would not, showing his knowledge
was very small about these things, but Algard himself believed that
they would most certainly come back to where the whole thing had
started, first to the land that was once the Kingdom Of Dobbor, and
then to the to the very spot where the castle had once stood, a
place which was in his valley.
It was impossible to know what the present lords knew about
what the past lords had done, unless it had been written down
somewhere, some chronicle or another, but they must know
something, and as Formad had said, if they feel their lifestyle
threatened in any way, they will react.
For his family preservation and safety, they must appear to be
nothing but simple farming folk, scratching a living off the land, not
just to these new people who were going to arrive in the area soon,
but even to their long term friends.
For the next few weeks, nothing unusual happened, they carried
on doing what they had always done, though there was a visible
increase in the number of soldiers in the market place on market
day, watching, checking, asking questions, but nothing seemed to
come of it.

Algard and Bron had seen a military presence at the plateau, but
carried on moving and rotating their flocks as they had always done,
around the hillsides. No one had, as yet, asked questions so they
kept it that way.
The military commander called and asked it they had seen any
strangers on their property of late, and Algard assured him they had
seen no strangers, other than the trader, for months. They seemed
interested in this trader as he travelled around the area unhindered,
and could be a secret messenger, and up to no good. Algard agreed,
saying that he was foretelling of a war and vengeance on one of his
recent visits. As the soldiers left, thanking them for their help, the
family thought that this arrogant trader was about to get his
comeuppance.

Chapter Thirty-Eight
Time moved on, the seasons changed, and before long the winter
snows had set in, falling to a depth that totally cut off the farm from
the outside world.
To save losing any pregnant ewes, and long before the first flake
of snow had fallen, Algard and Bron had brought all of the flocks into
the partially covered pens at the back of the house, though made
sure that the different flocks could not see each other from their
pens, as they would bleat at each other all night long.
The winter crops had been sewn in the garden ready. The trader
never called at this time of year as he would not have been able to
get up the valley, so they had no idea whether he was still a free
man, of tucked up in some dungeon or another, spouting off his
arrogance to a stone wall.
While they had plenty of lamb and mutton to eat, and their grain
store was brimming, it was the other meats, like game or rabbit and
hare they missed a little. They kept chickens, but more for eggs than
flesh, but they knew that come the spring, they would soon be
enjoying the taste of fresh pork instead of the strips of salted pork
they had in the store.
Algard had always thought himself to be a lucky man. He had a
brilliant, organised wife, a son who once shown, could turn his hand
to anything, and a daughter that would make some young man a
fantastic wife and housekeeper. Their team worked very well, in
particular this year when the sales of their autumn market stock
brought the best prices, and the costs of their own requirements
went to a real low. They were able to fill the larders and cold stores
to the brim with their winter food, and the food for the animals as
well.
Timber had been collected and chopped, and into a dry store for
use in the heating and cooking, and more wood was always being

collected from the woods at the head of the valley all throughout the
winter and dried for use.
It was still a busy time for them.
A little bit of hunting was also a means to supplement their diet,
and both Algard and Bron were good archers, so were able to catch
the odd rabbit or hare up from their burrow to feed on the tufted
grass under the trees in the wood. This year, there were plenty to go
at, so, the pelts were put to good use as snowshoes and boots, as
they were a bit small to make into coats. That would have taken
most of the winter to do.
The long nights were occupied mending, fixing, and preparing
tools or arrows for use, all of this was done inside the house, in the
warmth, so the workshop was closed up and shuttered, after the
required tools had been brought to the house, to keep the carts,
leathers, saddles, limbers, and the horse brasses clean and dry, and
the many nails and hammers too. The log cabin used by guests, like
Formad, was stripped of any bedding and lighting, and also locked
up for the winter. If the roofs of both held under the weight of the
falling snow, there was no reason to enter either of them till the
spring.
As the spring came, slowly at first, but gradually getting warmer,
they were able to start the planting of the crops for summer in the
expanded garden plots, and count the lambs being born at a huge
rate and almost continuously at this time of the year. This year there
was not one stillborn lamb, even in the multiple births, a fact that
made Algard very happy indeed.
With the loss of the snows in the lower valley, people were on the
move again, though not necessarily locals, and Bron had found
tracks going up to and coming down from the plateau, hoof prints,
and quite a number of them. It would only be a matter of time
before these soldier people got up to this end of the valley, and
started to ask questions. It was not as long as they thought, for very
early the next day, the knock came on their door, not so much a
knock, but more a heavy rap with the heel of a sword.

Chapter Thirty-Nine
Algard got out of bed, pulled on a robe, and opened the door. The
sun was only just rising, but he thought it would be best not to
antagonise these thugs in case they were in a bad mood.
As the six soldiers walked in, Algard threw a couple of logs on the
fire to warm up the room. Findew appeared, and put a pot of water
onto the fire to boil for herbal tea.
The Captain of this party spoke first, in a clipped and forceful way,
Mr Sheep Herder, I understand that you know of, he paused to
cough, and Algards heart went into his mouth awaiting the next

sentence, which could be the death sentence, the Captain

continued,
I understand you know of a path from this valley to the next, a
path which we can travel using the head of the valley. Is this so?
Algard had by now had time to recover from what had been a
shock, and he nodded, replying,
I know of this path, though I do not know whether it will be
passable as yet in what remains of the snow on the higher ground,
but, yes, I know of this path.
The Captain spoke, once again, more like an order than a request,
And do you know of a rock outcrop of a strange shape near the
head of that valley/
Algard had to think very carefully of his next answer in case they
would suspect that he knew it because he had been seen there
recently,
He replied,
I know of these rocks, its the Devils land, haunted by the souls
who never made it to heaven. Did you know?
The Captain cut him off there.
I want you to take us there, as soon as possible, for we have
been ordered to go to this place at all possible haste.
Then Gentlemen, if you allow me to put on my outer garments
and saddle my horse, I will show you. Please have a cup of herbal
tea to warm your bones, as the chilling winds will still be crossing
the tracks along the heads of the valleys.
Algard got ready, Bron wanted to go too, but he persuaded him to
remain here with his mother, to protect them from other soldiers
who may also come to the farm in his absence.
Finally he was ready, saddle bags loaded with food for himself,
and the soldiers mounted up, following him up the gentle slopes,
heading up towards the valley head, the slopes getting steeper the
further up they went.
On the tops of the ridges, snow was still lying, but not too deep
for horses to be walking on. It was the track beneath the snow that
could not be seen, so Algard had to dismount, and walk with his
horse, feeling the ground beneath his feet with a stick, to stay on
the track, the soldiers following in his and his horses footprints.
Eventually after about an hour, they were on the descent into the
adjacent valley, and the snow vanished, leaving only mud and water
in the track. The going was still slow, but Algard was playing it safe,
hoping one of them might let slip the reason for this journey, but
they either didnt know, or were playing their cards close to their
chests. He could wait.
They reached the part of the road where it bends to the left, and
Algard knowing what was coming around that turn, stopped short,
speaking to the Captain,
I fear I can go no further, for this is the haunted lands of which
you spoke. The rocks you seek are around that corner, but I dare not
go with you as I fear for my very soul.

Superstitious fool! said the Captain,

I have no need for you to go any further, but you must remain
here with one of my men till we return.
Algard nodded, and appeared to look frightened.
The Captain rode on with the rest of his men, one of them
remaining with Algard, and they disappeared around the corner.
Algard dismounted, and walked to a flat rock over to the left,
I will sit here and wait for the Captains return.
The soldier did the same, sitting next to Algard on the rock.
Algard took a small pack of cheese and bread from this saddlebag,
and started to eat it. He knew the soldier would be hungry, and this
could be the very thing to make him think Algard was a friend. He
held it out to the soldier,
Would you like some?

Chapter Forty
The two of them sat eating the cheese and bread, listening to
orders being barked out from around the corner by the Captain to
his men. It sounded very much like a search was going on, though
Algard could not see them from where he sat. He decided to push
his luck a little with his guard,
Your Captain seems to know what hes all about. Hes got the
men all working together as a team anyway.
The soldier nodded in agreement. Algard continued,
And it sounds like they are tearing the place apart. They should
be very careful as they could awaken the demons who are supposed
to live here, and their souls taken straight to hell.
The soldier started to look a little more uncomfortable. Algard
kept working this man with his voice,
Lucky you are the one out here, in a safe place, with me then. Id
hate to have to clean up around there if they get whatever they are
trying to do in there wrong.
Algard took another bite of cheese, and muttered,
What can they be looking for here anyway, its a desolate spot,
and no one has come here for years because its haunted, unless its
the demons themselves they are looking for, perhaps capture them
in little jars, and keep them to terrify people with!
I know what it is! They have come for the bones of the dead
people, who lost their souls, and going to use them for black
magic!
By now the soldier was starting to look a lot more frightened as
well, but Algard let the conversation hang in the air for a moment
before adding,
Must be something really big to risk all of the souls of all of the
soldiers for.

No, not really, said the soldier, as if it were unimportant,

Its very small so I have been told, some artefact like a necklace
and chain. Evidently someone is supposed to have dropped it here
years ago.
Algard now knew what they knew, but they did not know the
physical form that the seal took. They were in the dark. He turned to
the soldier and said,
Well, I hope they find it so we can get out of this forsaken place,
and soon.
They had to sit there for the next two hours or so, waiting and
waiting, with the occasional visit from the Captain to make sure that
they were still there, but other than that, it was just small talk with
the soldier, Algard making sure that, if the soldier was questioned
about him, he would say that Algard was a simple farmer and no
more.
After a noisy final flurry from around the corner, the Captain and
his men came back, on their horses, their uniforms mudded and
grubby from digging about in the soft ground, their faces specked
with dirt.
Algard led them back a little quicker this time, following their own
prints from the way there, over the heads of the valleys, and down
into his own. He was getting a little concerned as it was starting to
get late, and he did not want the soldiers to stay overnight in the
barns at his farm, so, as he travelled down from the hills, he hoped
they wouldnt see the farm, and would carry on all the way to the
village.
He looked towards where his farm would come into view, but it
wasnt there, only a thick ground mist covering the valley floor, so
Algard was forced to stay on the upper tracks till they were almost
at the plateau before coming down into the valley bottom, and
shortly after that, the village came into sight.
The Captain thanked him for his help, and he and his men rode
off, satisfied that Algard was of no risk so leaving him to find his own
way home.
Algard used what was left of the daylight to get home, as fast as
he could, as he didnt want to get caught up in a thick valley mist,
and have darkness too. It seemed a strange time of year for mists,
as it was still a little too cold to make the moisture rise from the
ground in any great amount, but the sun had been out all day, so
perhaps, here in the valley it may have been warm enough.
He arrived home without encountering any of the residues of the
mists, sorted out his horse, and entered the house.
He recounted what the soldiers had done, and what he had found
out about what they were searching for, and the fact that they had
to bypass the farm on their way to the village because of the thick
mists lying in the valley.
Findew looked at Algard with a strange expression on her face, as
if he was crazy and said,

Mists, what mists? We have had nothing but bright sunshine all
day today. Your eyes are bad, or you must have imagined it.
Algard remembered what Formad had said about the sword
protecting them from inside the box, by changing the environment
around itself and its friends. He had said himself that he had hidden
more than once in the mists created to avoid an enemy.
They didnt see from inside the house that the mist had returned
and surrounded the land around the farmhouse, to avoid any
detection of the farm being there, all night. Silence too.

Chapter Forty-One
Life at the farm moved along at its normal pace, and the rides
to the market to trade goods resumed, enabling Algard and Bron to
collect any gossip that was being passed about since the snow cut
them off. They saw this as an education.
More of whose wife has ran off with whose husband, and a lot of
things like babies being born, and people dying. The usual social
intercourse that made up the life in a community like this one.
Algard was more interested in any gossip about battles or war
that might be developing in the north, and at first, there was
nothing, but as the weeks went on, snippets of information were
filtering through about a lot of people from the lords and barons
families being struck down by a mysterious illness, an illness that
only affected the elderly at first, but spread very quickly.
When Algard told this news to Findew, she remembered the first
time she met Formad, and the reason he had come to their village,
not long after he was banished from the Magi, and branded, and his
success in finding a cure. He helped all of the villagers survive, but
vanished soon afterwards. Could he have something to do with this
plague? Was it of his doing?
They had to let the answer to that question remain unanswered
for the time being, and carried on doing what they normally did.
On every market day, more news from the north was being
passed on, as people from the battlefields were fleeing the
onslaught of this deadly disease, and some had made it as far as
the villages in the area. Algard needed to find out what he could
from them, without the presence of any of the deserting soldiers
also running, but they could be planted so they could be spies too,
and see what steps he needed to take to protect Findew, Bron and
Antella.
As usual, the tongues flowed more freely in the ale houses, so,
with Bron working the stall, Algard positioned himself to hear what
was said when the locals started to ask questions, that way, he
himself would not be seen to be involved in any way.

There had been great fighting in the northlands, with a lot of the
lords and their helpers, the barons, being killed, either beheaded or
hung. The soldiers could not stand against this army, as it was not
an army, as they knew an army to be. This one was never seen, or
heard. It was as if ghosts were passing among the people, striking
down their enemy without a noise or witness. Guards who now
patrolled in groups of three for safety, their job was still to protect
the castles and fortifications of the remaining lords and barons, were
still being struck down regardless of where and with who,
noiselessly, and then symbolically stacked on top of each other.
The remaining lords and barons had been told in their history
lessons of the meaning of this symbolism, and were now really
starting to fear for themselves and their positions of power. They
decided that it would make better sense if they used what was left
of their men for their defence and not to go out and try to attack
something they could not see, in the hope that the hidden enemy
would become exposed if they came to where these soldiers would
be waiting for them. A good cowardly logic. These lords and barons
were soft compared to their ancestors.
Algard heaved a sigh of relief, as the fighting would not escalate
into these valleys, but remain in the north, unless the lords and
barons came here for the final battle. This was where it had all
began over 400 years ago. Perhaps that was the whole idea in the
first place, to get the rebels to run into a corner, and trap them like
rats. The corner would have to be the plateau on which the old
castle had stood.
Algard only wished he knew more then he could guess less.
Time will tell.

Chapter Forty-Two
To try and tell what happened over the next few months, would
be a blur of many unconnected snippets, coming from everywhere
across the lands, much the same as what had already being told of.
Death and destruction in an almighty battle.
The autumn came, followed by the snows of winter, cutting off
Algard and his family from any communication with the outside
world once again, and, even though this kind of weather was an
inconvenience, it also meant that should any battles come their
way, nothing could get through to them up on the hills, so they felt
safe in their cocoon of snow.
Spring came early and the snows began to melt.
One morning, bright and early and totally unannounced, Formad
appeared at the door of the farm, looking very well indeed, and this
time wearing the purple robes of a Magi. What a greeting he
received from them all for his return, as they showed they were very
pleased to see him again, and to know he was still in good health.

He sat at the table, in the seat where he had always sat when he
stayed here, and asked for lots of herbal tea, as he was going to be
here a little while. The family did not mind that in the least, and
Findew was about to go and set up the log cabin for him but he said
he would not be here overnight, and neither would they.
Does this mean we are in danger? asked Algard.
No, replied Formad, But there is something for you all to see
later today.
First however I must tell you of what has been done over the last
two years or so since I was last here, and I think you will find this
interesting.
They all took their seats around the table, as they had done when
he stayed here the last time, and waited for his story.
I went from here, and met with Avilad in the village, and we
travelled to the northlands to meet other people there. Within
twelve months we were six hundred strong.
Every one of these people were direct descendants of the loyal
subjects who had lived in the Kingdom of Dobbor, and most of them
had been taught by their parents, the meeting words in the tongue
of the old ways, and then taught a story of a secret prophecy that
some day, down the generations, a great wizard would come from
the past and lead them back to their lands and their freedom, both
snatched brutally from their ancestors over 400 years ago.
They had no idea where these lands were or what name it had
held, and once they had been told of the actions of the ancestors of
the present lords and barons, they became quite angry, starting to
wish for brutal and bloody revenge.
I told them this was not the way, and I used one of the lords and
barons weapons against them, a weapon I had managed to defeat in
your home village, he nodded towards Findew,
I set about infecting them with the same disease they had tried
to spread over the southern lands over twenty five years ago when
they had heard a weak unproven rumour that loyal supporters of the
crown still existed in that land.
Needless to say, they knew that this disease had come back to
haunt them, and assumed that someone in one of the castles had
released it by accident. What they also knew was they had no cure.
I, on the other hand had not only a cure but a defence against it
too, which was given to all of the loyal subjects before the disease
was released.
Their numbers were decimated, as the old ancestors of Dobbor
had been, and were dying at an alarming rate.
The lords and barons may have been able to hide behind a wall,
or a block of soldiers to protect them from an army, but this disease
was a different kind of army, and got them too, and now only two of
the lords remain alive.
All of the families spawned from the stolen wealth of the
usurpers taken from the lands of Dobbor faced a judgement, the
ones who profited by the fall of the kingdom, most of them in fact,

are now dead, those who did not profit are still alive but in prison for
the time being, their allegiance to be decided at a later date.
The disease has now been neutralised in the northlands, and
neither the disease nor the people should present any further
problem to us from now, as we cured only those who turned against
the lords and barons.
Since then, the loyal subjects have done much research into
their own past, and I was able to tell them which of the five Houses
of Dobbor they belonged to, and what their family shield looks like.
To complete this task, and give them back their stolen family
names, I need my books for the Words, the sword for Guidance, and
the seal for the Law, and finally, the Crown for the King, and I
request your help once again.
We must ride to the old plateau where the old castle used to
stand. The loyal families will all meet there. We must go now, all of
us.

Chapter Forty-Three
Algard went into his workshop, moved the tools from the lid of the
box, unlocked it, and took out the items Formad had requested. Bron
in the meantime had saddled up their four horses, as Formad had
brought one with him, and Findew, being organised as ever, filled
saddlebags with food and water for their day. They may not be
going far, but they may be out all day, so, she was making sure they
were ready.
The journey to the plateau only took them about half an hour, as
the ground was firm, and the horses were well rested, and the first
thing they saw was the new access ramp on the farm side of the
plateau instead of the village side. It had been made exactly where
the original had been all those years before. As they reached the
top, another sight met their eyes. Large groups of tents were
erected in the four corners of a square, and another in the centre, all
bearing the different shield designs on the flags and bunting
hanging from them. It reminded Findew of a carnival.
Formad led them straight into the middle tent, and bade them to
sit around the table, while he opened his books. He started to
explain,
I have kept a record in the latest books, the ones I brought with
me from the Bronze Skinned Land, and now I can put this together
with the ancient books to tell me the pedigree of all of the people
out there today. They need to be given back their identity, and it is
my duty as the Magi and Scribe, the record keeper to the crown to
do so.
Algard spoke,
So, what would you like us to do to help?

I need you, Algard to stand on my left, and hold the sword when
we go out there and I start to reveal the family names, and you Bron
to put the seal on this red cushion and stand on my right, opposite
your father, holding it for all to see. These items are the proof that
what I speak of is true, for they are the true symbols of the Kingdom
of Dobbor. The Crown can remain in here for the time being
Algard picked up the sword, and Bron placed the ring on the red
cushion that was on the table, ready to go out onto the dais, which
had been set up for the purpose.
What shall we do? asked Findew, thinking of her and Antella.
Formad smiled and replied,
Your task will come in a moment, just stay in here for now. Have
some cheese. I will ask you to bring out the Crown when the first
order of business is done.
Formad strode out onto the dais, his purple robes flowing in the
wind, and the crowd fell silent, the people starting to move towards
the central area so they could hear everything that was said. A big
gasp went up as Algard walked onto the dais with the sword, and
another when Bron walked on with the seal.
Formad began by introducing the Sword of Dobbor, and asking
Algard to unsheathe it, something he was a little wary to do in case
it shocked him again, but he did it without question. The sunlight
caught the blade and rays of golden light reflected all around the
plateau, bringing gasps and whistles from the crowd. For the first
time, Algard could feel the real power in the sword coursing through
him
Formad then asked Bron to raise and show the Seal of Dobbor to
the people, so he picked the ring up from the cushion and held it for
the people to see. It also started to shine in the light of the sword,
projecting the four shield patterns onto the ground in front of them.
Formad had both the Guidance, and the Law of Dobbor.
For the next half hour or so, Formad read off the current family
names, and then connected them with their old family names and
the Royal Houses their families belonged to. He asked those families
who could be connected easily with their ancestors to go to the tent
with their Shield pattern flags on it for the time being, that way, he
could work out the less obvious ones remaining as he went, as some
families cross matched, and inter married, so he had to explain their
tree in a little more detail. The major individual details for all of the
families would come later, but for now, their roots, group and their
House would be sufficient.
He then turned to the two men, shackled in a prison cart to one
side of the dais,
Here, we have the descendants of the vile creatures, the
remaining lords, who took away your heritage, your lands, and the
lives of your forefathers so they could have money and power. The
new ruler of Dobbor will soon rectify this, for I have also kept a
record of the Royal Bloodline

A sudden gasp, then a hush fell on the crowd, and everybody

moved back to the central area to be able to hear him again.
Formad took a deep breath, and prepared himself for doing what
he had been waiting and preparing to do for over 400 years.

Chapter Forty-Four
The faces of the people were all turned upwards towards Formad
as he prepared to speak to the people, and prove beyond any doubt
he had the records of the bloodline, the true succession to the
Throne of the Kingdom of Dobbor. He spoke, in a loud clear voice,
When Queen Heara, and her son Drantik were forced to leave
these lands after the hanging of their husband and father, King
Heptron, they were taken into hiding by me personally to the land of
the Bronze Skinned People, a gentle knowledgeable people to the
far south of here, and the good Queen Heara saw out her days
there, grieving for her husband in peace, her grave is still there to
this day.
Drantik grew up there, learning the ways of the locals as well as
knowing his heritage, which had to remain a secret for his own
safety. He heard of the lords and barons using the sword as a
method of controlling the people through legend and myths, so he
returned here in disguise, coming only to recapture the sword, and
hide it from the world until the time was right. The sword itself
would determine when that would be.
Once this deed was done, both Drantik and I returned to the
village where his mother had died in the land of the Bronze Skinned
People, and he remained there till his own death.
What is not generally known by anyone outside of the family is
that Drantik took a wife, a local girl, and they themselves had a
family. I remained near the village living and working as a healer to
document the Royal Bloodlines in all of their following issues,
tracking the heir to the throne of Dobbor through the male
bloodline, as it would always have been done.
I think the representatives of these lords and barons got wind of
this and sent alchemists into the Bronze Skinned Peoples lands, to
find this line and cut it. However they could find no trace of any one
individual, the line was kept well hidden, so they set out to infect
the whole area with a nasty disease, hoping that it would kill the
Heir along with all of the other people living there. They even stayed
there saying they were healers to make sure the disease did its job
Fortunately I was able to stop them, and the disease, something
for which I paid dearly, he rolled up his sleeves and showed the
scars branded in them for the betrayal of the Magi code. The crowd
gasped.

They did not succeed in their plot, and when the people started
to recover, they had to flee
Formad turned to Bron and asked him to fetch his mother and
sister out with the Crown, which he did.
Formad took the box from Findew and gave it to Antella to hold
while he lifted out the Crown of Dobbor, and showed it to the crowd.
A huge cheer went up at the appearance of the Ceremonial Crown,
something the lords and barons had hunted for centuries to find.
Holding the crown aloft, he almost started to shout the following
words,
The Royal Bloodline for a King of Dobbor ended with the death of
a man recently, and his wife is not of the Royal Blood, so could not
be Queen. However, they had children to carry on the line, and
therefore the Heir to the Throne of Dobbor, falls on their daughter,
giving Dobbor their first real Royal Queen for 400 years.
The mother of whom I speak, and cannot be the queen, is still in
the land of the Bronze Skinned People, and her name is Anxy.
He turned to Findew, looked at her straight in the eye, placed the
Ceremonial Crown on her head and said in a whisper to her,
This is one secret I am really pleased I can reveal, and then
turned to the crowd,
Loyal subjects of Dobbor, I give you your Queen, Daughter of
Anxy, I give you Queen Findew
The whole crowd fell silent and went down on one knee together,
bowing their heads in respect. Hidden trumpeters sounded a fanfare
from somewhere over to the right. The whole family stood there,
totally shocked! The crowd erupted.
Formad turned his attention to the ring on the cushion in front of
Bron, picked it up and placed it on the finger of Findew, who was
visibly shaking by now, not fully taking in what was going on, and
then he took the sword from Algard, and passed it to Findew. She
looked puzzled and shook her head as a sort of question.
He instructed Algard to go down on one knee, and he told Findew
she must make her husband a Knight of the Realm, the first of many
to come. Bron would now be a full Prince, and heir to the throne,
Antella, a real princess, something beyond her wildest dreams for
one so young.
As they all stood together, in the cheering and the noise, Formad
leaned over and whispered into Findews ear, pointing at the two
prisoners,
As the Queen, its up to you what we do with these fellows now.
She smiled.
John Baxter 2013