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Old 04-21-2004, 11:44 AM   #175
Child of the 7th Age
Spirit of the Lonely Star
 
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Aiwendil:

Aiwendil hastily snatched up his staff, sprinting towards the crack at the rear of the tent where Rôg had pushed his way to the outside just a minute before. The istar had slipped half-way through the opening when a large contingent of maenwaith surged forward, angrily shouting as they shoved him to the side. Several of these Men, carrying buckets of water, were racing forward to extinguish the flames. Others remained outside the tent, reinforcing the phalanx of armed guards who by now had completely surrounded Rôg.

Aiwendil found himself hurtling to the side and landed in the middle of a puddle of water barely inches away from where the fire had started. The force of the fall left him dazed and confused. The istar could feel a sharp object jabbing unmercifully in his back. Even in the confined space, he managed to wriggle it out from behind him and have a closer look. It was the incense pot that had started the fire. Aiwendil turned the object over, scratching his head in puzzlement, and then tucked it beneath the folds of his robe where no one could see it.

Those fighting the fire paid little attention to the befuddled old Man who seemed unable to sit up straight. Bucket after bucket of water was carried in and hurled onto the flames until the floor of the tent was a muddy morass. Narika and Ayar's tent had been destroyed as well as most of the things in it, but at least the fire had not spread to the rest of the encampment.

Shortly thereafter, two of the maenwaith stomped forward and yanked Aiwendil to his feet, half-dragging him to a canvas lean-to that had been hastily constructed beside a small cooking fire. The guard dumped him unceremoniously on the ground. To his enormous relief, Aiwendil saw that Rôg had already been conveyed to the same spot. He looked tired and disheveled but was definitely in one piece.

The Man backed away with suspicion in his eyes. "The Lady Narika wishes to speak with you," Then he sidled up to Rôg and muttered under his breath, "And if either of you harm her in any way, I will split your heads in two." With that, the guard clutched his sword menacingly and backed away as Narika stepped forward.

The young woman lost no time in making her displeasure known. Her initial words were sharp and with little warmth. "Part of me wishes that I could send you out in the desert with no food or water. We want no strangers here, especially ones that bring trouble in their wake." At this point she stared at Rôg and sighed, "But I will respect my mother's wishes. She apparently believes you were trying to help her. You will stay here under guard until I say otherwise."

Narika seemed ready to turn away, but then hesitated and glanced at Aiwendil, asking in a probing manner, "What did you do to her that she suddenly awoke? Is the sickness leaving her body?"

Aiwendil sadly shook his head, "Lady, I wish I could say so, but it is not to be. Your mother has been poisoned and there is no way that I can stop the drug from doing its deadly work. I merely used some remedies to push back the pain and let her speak with you. She will rest easy, but the end will not be far off. I truly wish I had other news."

Narika frowned, "You are not the first to say this to me. And I thank you that my mother now sleeps without pain. Still, I wonder if her awakening is for the best. I think she understands what is happening. That is a strange thing to say, but the wise ones of our people often sense when their time has come."

"I do not doubt it," Aiwendil nodded and bowed. "But those who have such wisdom often have the grace to deal with such things."

"Perhaps. In any case, before this is over," Narika continued, again staring at Rôg, "you may wish you had never come here. Battling the blaze has exhausted what little water we had. The hole itself has run dry, and yet I hesitate to move the clan when my mother is so ill. Sometimes, I think we should have let the fire burn itself out. Nothing is more precisous than water." She shrugged her shoulders and began to walk away, her mind absorbed by the dilemma of how to provide for so many people in the clan. Aiwendil stared after her but said nothing as an idea began slowly taking shape within his mind.

***************************************

"Rôg,.....psst.....Rôg," Aiwendil put his finger to his mouth and gave a quiet "shush", pointing to the guard who was lightly dozing. He pulled the pot out from under the voluminous folds of his robe and nodded, "I wanted you to look at this." The old Man inched closer to the fire, cradling the pot gengerly between his hands. "Incense pots like this always have a latched grate to prevent the cinders from falling out. I couldn't understand why this one didn't. It's probably nothing. But I wanted you to see it....."

Last edited by Child of the 7th Age; 04-24-2004 at 10:55 PM.
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