Here There Be Dragons - RPG

[piosenniel]

Gondor

Pio spent a restless and unhappy night. The house seemed cold without the children . . . too silent without the echoes of their squabbles and their laughter. She dared not reach out to them in her thoughts. Anger and grief ran as twin themes through her mind. They would pick up on that. Leave them to their own happy dreamings she chided herself. They were safe with their aunt and uncle, Rilwen and Gaerion, spending time there while their ammë went on a short journey with Faragaer, she had told them, to finish some small business with a merchant who had asked for assistance.

She had sent for Mithadan’s brother and his wife when first she learned of the Star’s return without her Captain and First Mate. That had been but a day ago. Gaerion had been beside himself with the news. It was Rilwen who had taken him in hand, saying they must do what they could – keep safe his brother’s children until Mithadan’s return with Piosenniel. Pio could read in Rilwen’s face the quickly suppressed fear that perhaps neither would return.

Turning her thoughts from the children, Pio did reach out once more for any trace of Mithadan, casting her thoughts wide, but even her skill could not bridge the distances between them.

Baran watched her as she paced back and forth in the atrium. A bear in a cage, he thought, his eyes following her measured steps. His great brow furrowed when she at last stopped still, her hand going to the back of her neck. Rubbing it to ease the tight muscles there. Her grey eyes seemed clear and bright in the light of the small lamps lit about the area as she looked up at him briefly then focused on something in the distance. With a quick shrug of her shoulders she stood up straight and strode quickly back into the house. Baran thought to follow her in, but in a brief moment she had returned, a battered leather book of some sort in her hand. Motioning for him to come look at it with her, she laid it open on the small table beneath the fig tree. It was the old log of The Sandpiper. Her finger tracing the line of coast from Belfalas to Umbar, she bade him sit down on the bench opposite her.

‘This is how we will proceed,’ she began, in a clear voice . . .

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Tinar awoke with a start as a ray of the setting sun shone on his face. As in the last few days, he had flown ahead of the little group of riders, seeking out the most likely watering spot and resting in human form during the day. Even though it was not likely that other travellers should discover him, he slept restlessly. It would have been very difficult to explain his presence to strangers, alone and without even a beast of burden. Not all who navigated this part of the desert were of his people.

He shivered, though the air was still hot and thick before the evening winds came up to cool it. Something was wrong, though it took him a moment’s reflection to think what it could be. The Gondorians! They should have arrived there by now, if they were headed for this little oasis. He panicked, thinking how large the desert was and how difficult it could be to locate them if they had taken an unexpected turn of direction. Then he shook himself sternly, reminding himself of what he had experienced during the last few days. He had survived, all alone, had achieved a new shape all by himself, and had navigated unknown areas with few problems. He had managed to find water and enough nourishment to keep up his strength and had felt that strength grow from day to day.

Though he felt the loneliness keenly and missed having companions for conversations and for sharing the responsibility of making decisions, he found that he had actually enjoyed these days on his own in the desert. For the first time in his young life, no one was there to tell him what to do – a heady, exhilarating feeling. He revelled in the freedom of movement far from the restrictions of a city more than he could ever have imagined. Spreading the wings of a falcon and rising to greater heights than he had experienced before, soaring on the rising winds, he felt far away from the concerns of daily life and the restraints of court behaviour. He felt slightly guilty over his relief at being away from his powerful mother and her constant planning and scheming. For a moment, he wondered whether her fixed idea of a Maenwaith city was truly the best for her people, but the thought faded as he realized that he had an immediate problem to solve.

Where could the Northerners and their companion be? He drew water from the well, drinking as much as he could before changing to his falcon shape and spreading his wings to rise up on the breeze. The sun would be setting soon; he must find them before dark. He turned to glide in a large circle, northwards and eastwards, swivelling his head to and fro to search for any movement below. He could see no trees, no green that would have given sign of water nearby. The air shimmered with the reflected light of the low sun, creating illusions that tricked his eyes at first glance, but he had learned to look more closely from another angle before believing what he saw.

Finally, when he had almost despaired of finding the ones he sought, or even a refuge for himself, he caught a glimpse of green ahead and, moving toward it, spots that were soon visible as riders when he drew nearer. Three dots, yes, but as he approached he realized that those were not the camels he had been following – there were three horses, and only two riders. Even his sharp eyes could barely discern their shapes in the dusk, but it was too late to make a renewed attempt to find the others. He decided to take a less conspicuous form before circling over their heads as they dismounted from their horses at the watering place.

From his perch in the branches of a scraggly tree, he watched their movements. Their gait seemed strangely familiar, but it was not until one of the men called out to the other that he realized who they were. Of all the voices he had least expected to hear, this one was the most welcome – Korpúlfr! He fluttered down to the ground and, taking a deep breath, changed to his human form. “Kor!” he exclaimed. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Korpúlfr spun around in his tracks, reaching for his sword.

“Peace, peace!” Tinar laughed. “It is I, Tinar! Do not kill a friend – there are not many of them out here in the desert!”

Hasrim, hearing the voices without recognizing Tinar’s, came running, raising the piece of firewood in his hand to ward off the intruder.

“Stop!” Korpúlfr shouted, “It is Tinar!”

Later, as they sat around the fire, having slaked their thirst and stilled their hunger, Tinar answered their questions, though his friend noticed that he was strangely reticent to tell how he had managed to cover such a distance within those few days. Never mind! Kor thought. He will tell me soon enough if he has something on his mind. However, he was aware of a subtle change in the young man; he seemed more thoughtful, less inclined to speak impulsively.

Tinar yawned. He was more tired than he could remember ever having been. He was glad of the bedroll his companions had strapped onto the extra horse. Tonight he could sleep deeply, unafraid. He was among friends.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Surinen

Surinen suggested to Narayad that they play a game to while away the time and to keep his fellow outrider from brooding further over the lost incense pot. The sun had long since grown hot, the air wavering over the land as he gathered a large handful of pebbles. Narayad settled himself down, deftly carving small dimples in the dust in front of the lean-to with his dagger, from time to time the rise and fall of distant conversations breaking the quiet, as the camp returned to life again after the heat of the afternoon. Sitting down cross-legged, facing his friend, Surinen pulled his legs closer to his body and leaned forward distributing the stones among the cups. “You begin,” he told Narayad. But the outrider seemed preoccupied, and sat, the shadow of the lance he had driven into the ground casting a thick line across his knee.

“As you wish,” Narayad replied, shifting the pebbles quickly, and looking up again to check the old man who watched them disinterestedly, from under the shade of the lean-to.

Surinen followed Narayad gaze, noting that Narayad made no hurry to return to the game after Surinen had played out his turn. “Again,” he said, looking back to his opponent and rapping his knee sharply, with the back of his hand. “Relax, I will help you watch.”

“Like you watched the other? No, I think I had better keep my eye and this one,” Narayad said a smile growing on his face.

Surinen scowled at the barb. “But I had no idea he would try that,” he said in an injured tone, pulling his shawl over his darkly tousled head with one hand. “Miri, that curious scamp! The little thing had better take Kron’s advice and forget all about the strange words Rôg spoke, or she will have the Elders descending upon her tent, and they will keep her from the other children.”

“Yes, as though she had some sickness. It is a shame,” Narayad murmured, looking at the game.

Surinen reached out to take the stones there before him, but stopped, having caught sight of the old man shaking his hoary head ‘no’ under the shelter of felted wool. Slowly shifting his strategy, the outrider took those from a neighboring hole, earning a nod of approval from their ‘guest’.

“Perhaps, you would like to play, old man?” Narayad said sarcastically, without looking up. Surinen grinned broadly carefully enunciating each syllable as he translated into common tongue. When the invitation was not accepted immediately, Surinen waved the man over patting the ground next to him.

“Two minds against your perceptive eye! A more even chance don’t you think?” he said. Narayad shot him a withering look; resting his hand on the end of his lance as the old fellow sidled forward, out from under the shade. Squinting in the bright sun, he stretched briefly and took up a position leaning on his staff over looking the two outriders who sat in the dust, playing with stones, and as the game progressed Surinen consulted the old man continually. “Ah see! We have won!” he announced within a few turns, clearing most of the stones off the ground.

Standing up Surinen clapped the old man’ the back, thanking him profusely. He did not often win against Narayad, and was determined to enjoy it. But as he stood beaming, and Narayad moved to stand up also, three brothers arrived, and Surinen saw they were sons of one of the elders. “We have prepared a place for the visitors,” the eldest and stoutest said. “Quickly, let us move them there, before the children again wander the camp.”

“We have only this one with us, the other Kron has taken to speak with Narika and Thorn,” Narayad replied brushing himself off. “Should I wait and bring him to you when he has finished?”

“No come with us, we can send word to Kron were he should be taken.”

Surinen turned to the wizened guest, trying his best to explain that he was being moved and that Rôg would join him shortly, but growing impatient with the speech they did not understand, the others hurried him along. Quickly grabbing Narayad’s pack, Surinen rushed to follow, but feeling as much as hearing a heavy thump behind him, he turned to see a round incense pot lying on its side directly behind his right foot.

The younger of the elder’s sons bend down and retrieved it, looking it over carefully. “The missing incense burner?” he said eying Narayad. “What is it doing in your pack?”

“I do not know,” the outrider said mystified. “I did know it to be there.”

[Child of the 7th Age]

Nerindel's post for Sorona:

From her perch in a tall leafy palm, Sorona had watched the three travellers with great interest. She had ascertained that Rama was trying to gain passage north for her two companions, but that changed after the timely intervention of one of the northerners as the maenwaith found herself face to face with an ill-tempered viper. She had almost laughed aloud when the young woman had then offered the edible meaty coils of the serpent to her bemused rescuer. She liked this young one and hoped she would be able to get to know her better. However as the three companions sat down to eat under the shade offered by the line of palms, the Northerners removed their head scarves and she saw with surprise and a measure of curiosity that it was the same two men who had been guests of the raven haired merchant the night before. She had no idea what this meant or indeed if it meant anything but out of caution she decided to keep her distance, at least until she had the opportunity to think things through.

As the three companions waited out the afternoon heat Sorona listened to their conversations, mostly they discussed the soup the Northerner had made and asked general question about the desert and what other dangers they might face. However, Sorona’s interest was not in what they discussed but the language they spoke, she knew that at some point she would have to speak to Ráma or at least the elders of the Maenwaith’s clan and the garbled mixture of languages that had tumbled from her mouth when speaking to Ráma before just would not do! All three seemed to communicate using a variation of the common tongue she had heard widely used in the north, but Ráma had spoken a different language back at the cave, one that she recognised and understood, but had not heard in a long time. She had learned many languages over the years, but had never put them to much use; she focused on trying to isolate the one that would best suit her needs and now that seemed to be the common tongue, listening to their conversations made it easier for her to recall the words and sounds.

As the arid afternoon gave way to the cool of early evening, the travellers remounted and set off southward. She followed discreetly, still trying to recall the words she would need to communicate with the people she followed. The first day's travel was largely uneventful, but she had realised that Rama had been right: the constantly shifting sands of the desert were open and inviting, but also comfortingly familiar. Several times, she lost herself, soaring and gliding through the deserts warm air currents, free and unburdened, and then she would remember the dream and go back to following the three travellers.

But on that first night in the desert and for the first time in months, she did not dream of the city in the sand or of the dark pits of Mordor and her terrible experiences there. Instead, her dreams were of a small girl with dark hair and gold flecked brown eyes. She sat on the shoulders of a middle-aged man her arms out stretched pretending to fly as the man the girl’s father, ran bare foot across the golden sands. “One day my daughter you will be able to really fly like the eagles!” His smile was warm and filled with love.

The girl again this time older, she is with an older woman her name is being called, she is presented before the elders of her village, her father sits among then pride shining in his eyes, the girl then takes the form of a beautiful eagle. “Welcome Eagle Sister!” the elders smile together.

The girl is now a young woman and again she is before the Elders, this time a young man is at her side and they stare deeply into each other’s eyes. “Wolf brother and Eagle sister, bind themselves together as one. May their love and union strengthen the bonds between our clans?” The young man kisses the young woman tenderly.

Sorona woke to the second day with tears in her eyes realising that the young girl in her dreams was her or had been her a long time ago, before… she shook the thought away: she did not what to go back there, to the dark places in her mind where pain and darkness dwelled. Instead, she held on to the memories of her dreams, and continued to follow Ráma and her companions as the changed direction, and headed west.

Once the three companions had camped for the night on the second day, Sorona left and went in search of food; she caught several Jerboas and a lizard and was about to swoop down on an unsuspecting elephant shrew when something startled it and it scurried away. Annoyed that it got away she circled to see whom or what had frightened it away. A large adult male wolf padded across the dunes, its silvery grey back shining in the clear desert moonlight. Its cinnamon head bent to the sands, it was looking for something, but not food for it ignored any desert wildlife it came across, but it had the scent of something she thought as she watched it move through the dunes. She followed the beautiful creature with inquisitive curiosity, her eyes narrowing as she realised the wolf followed the path Rama and the Gondorians had travelled the previous day. It went some way and then sniffing the night air, it turned and went back in the direction it had just come. She followed silently, curious as to the creature’s strange behaviour.

Several hours later as the first light of dawn breached the dark horizon she saw a small camp, three horses and a man, his features hidden by a dark blue head scarf, that covered his head and face so that only his eyes could be seen. As the Wolf approached the camp, its shape shifted to that of a young man slightly shorter in stature than the other man and as he turned towards the other man, she gasped. It was the young merchant from the city he was a shape shifter like Rama. Was that why she was drawn to him and why his presence in the city had felt so wrong? These questions and many more assailed her as she flew back towards Rama, she was torn between telling the young woman about the two city merchants followed them and the strange protectiveness she felt for the young raven-haired man. She did not know what was going on so she decided that when she caught up to the others she would speak with Rama and perhaps things would become clearer.

It was the afternoon of the third day before she caught up to the Maenwaith woman and her companions; they were stopped by an old deserted well to rest their mounts and to quench their thirst. Sorona circled once and with a quiet squeal she swooped down to land gracefully before Rama, Her sharp eyes took in the surprised reflexive instincts of the northerners as their hands went to hilts, but she ignored them and turned to Rama.

“I would speak with you Desert sister,” she said in the common tongue dipping her head, recalling some ways of the desert people.

“I apologise for before, it has been a long time since I have had the need to speak with anyone and I fear the knowledge of the languages I have accumulated over the years got a little muddled, but I have had time to sort through them and now I think we need to speak.” Rama nodded but said nothing waiting for her to continue.

“A few things puzzle me and I hoped that you could help me to understand, I’m sure you have questions of your own and I will try to answer them if I can.”

“I will help if I can,” Rama answered.

“The first is the presence of maenwaith in the city of the dark men, a whole household, mostly merchants do you know why this is so? Then there is the lack of sightings of clan camps on our journey? And your friends, my memory is not as it was, but it is not common for… our people to travel with strangers?” she gave the two men a sideways glance but did not for now tell the woman that she had see these two men with the maenwaith she spoke of and that two of those merchants now followed them. Instead, she waited to hear what answers Rama offered her or if the men themselves would speak of the raven-haired merchant.



Child's post for Ráma:

Ráma stared at Sorona with a troubled expression on her face. The query about her two traveling companions was not wholly unexpected. In difficult times, maenwaith generally avoided the company of outsiders, especially when journeying deep into the desert to reach the safety of their clan.

Still, Sorona’s other comments had startled her. Why had the Eagle heard nothing of the large contingent of maenwaith who gathered in the city not merely to engage in trade but as active supporters of Wyrma and her grandiose plans? Their presence was common knowledge even to the youngest of her people. And why did Sorona still cling stubbornly to her Eagle shape rather than taking on her natural human form? Perhaps, the Gondorians made the maenwaith nervous, yet she did not fear to talk in front of them and reveal the fact that she was a great deal more than a simple beast.

A cautionary voice whispered inside Ráma’s head. If she confronted the Eagle directly with so many probing questions, the woman was likely to fly off and never return. For some reason Ráma did not entirely understand, she definitely did not want that to happen. There was a sadness in Sorona’s eyes as if the woman was missing a piece of her past and, without that piece, nothing else made any sense. Ráma could instinctively understand that. Moreover, she sensed a certain reticence on Sorona’s part, born not of fear but nervousness, as if she was unused to conversing with her own kind. She decided to tread softly and ask her mother or sister about this stranger once she arrived back at the clan.

For now she answered in a respectful tone, gesturing towards Mithadan and Airefalas who stood nearby. “These two are Gondorians. They are friends to the Eagle clan. They search for another maenwaith , a woman who is dear to them. They spoke the ancient words of friendship to me, so I am taking them to our clan to see if we can help.” Ráma stopped for a moment to introduce the men, and was pleased to note that their fingers were no longer curled tightly about their sword hilts and that they each stopped to make a courteous bow to acknowledge Sorona's presence.

“As to your other queries….perhaps you have been away from these parts for some time? I do not know the particular maenwaith you saw, but the Dragon clan and its leader Wyrma have gathered followers in the city. Many of these have forsaken the traditional maenwaith ways and choose to make their home inside that walled prison, working on various tasks that Wyrma assigns to them.”

Sorona said nothing but stared in disbelief as Ráma continued her explanation, “The missing tribes are no different. They have left the desert and follow Wyrma: some out of fear, others actually support her plans. And it is not only in Umbar that they live…” Ráma’s voice trailed off as she stared towards the north envisioning a cold grim shadow rising upward from the desert sand. “Wyrma builds her own fortified city north and west of here. She herds many clans inside its gates. I have heard my mother say that Wyrma’s real dream is not merely to rival Lord Falasmir, but one day to wield power so great that she could humble the mighty city of Minas Tirith. I do not know how she could do such a thing, but I do not doubt that she would try.” At this point, Ráma glanced briefly towards Mithadan and Airefalas and shrugged her shoulders to emphasize the point that there was little she could do to stop any of this.

[Ealasaide]

Airefalas listened quietly to the words of Westron that passed between the two shape changers, not entirely certain as to whether he and Mithadan were intended to be party to the conversation or not. He had bowed politely when introduced to the eagle, but then taken a few steps back so as not to intrude when he realized that the eagle had not been introduced to them. Their introduction to her, he realized, was done less out of social nicety than it was out of a need to set the newcomer at ease. Bearing that in mind, he retreated a short distance away to wait while the two shape changers spoke.

Curiosity, though, made him listen to what passed between them, and what he heard surprised him. For some reason, he had been under the impression that shape changers were rare, with only a few individuals scattered about here and there on their own. It was eye-opening to hear Ráma and the eagle speak of the shape changers in such numbers especially since he had not known they existed at all prior to his meeting with Ráma just a few days earlier.

"That's what I get for spending so much time at sea," he murmured to himself. "Miss all sorts of things."

Mithadan shot him a sharp glance, his face grim as he continued listening to Ráma's soft voice.

Airefalas quickly bit his tongue and resumed listening himself, realizing that if he did not pay attention, he could miss even more.

"Wyrma builds her own fortified city north and west of here," said Ráma. "She herds many clans inside its gates. I have heard my mother say that Wyrma's real dream is not merely to rival Lord Falasmir, but one day to wield power so great that she could humble the mighty city of Minas Tirith. I do not know how she could do such a thing, but I do not doubt that she would try." As she finished, Ráma cast a glance in the direction of the two Gondorians, shrugging as though to say that there was little she could do to stop such an eventuality.

Mithadan and Airefalas exchanged a look, then Mithadan nodded, a slight smile touching the corners of his mouth. “I do not know how she could do such a thing either, but I guarantee that she will encounter much stronger opposition than she expects, otherwise she would recognize such wild ambition as the folly that it is.”

Ráma gave him a long, considering stare, then merely shrugged again. “Folly, perhaps, but Wyrma is not one who should be taken lightly, nor are her ambitions.”

“You mentioned that she is of the Dragon clan,” Airefalas interjected quietly. “Pardon my ignorance on the nature of your folk, but does this mean that this Wyrma can take on the shape of a dragon?”

Ráma hesitated for a fraction of a second, her gold-flecked eyes lingering for an instant on his green ones, then she shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said abruptly. “Perhaps I have said too much.” She turned and said something softly in her own dialect to the waiting eagle, then turned back toward him and Mithadan.

“There is much happening amongst my people that concerns them very much but, as yet, has very little to do with you and yours,” she explained. “I have allowed you to accompany me to my clan’s encampment so that you may seek your lost friend, but I must ask you not to pry into our affairs. My people are distrustful of strangers in normal times, but to have strangers such as yourselves poking about our camp now, when times are troubled, asking questions about our business would lead to much anger and suspicion.”

Airefalas nodded politely. “I understand, my lady, and offer my word that once we reach the encampment I shall mind my own business absolutely,” he promised. “But I do think that we are entitled to a bit more information now when there is no one around to upset but you, us, and the Eagle. It is hardly fair of you to mention a threat to our homeland - which by your own words, should not be taken lightly - then to turn around and tell us it’s none of our concern. It is our concern. We have a right to know what foe it is who threatens us.”

Ráma hesitated again, thinking, then nodded. “Yes,” she admitted slowly. “It is your concern, but it is of much more immediate concern to us. Please know that Wyrma is a powerful and dangerous individual. You would not want her for an enemy, but please do not press me just now for any more information than that.”

Airefalas opened his mouth to do just that, when he was stayed by Mithadan’s hand on his arm. He waited silently as Mithadan addressed Ráma.

“Wyrma...” said Mithadan. “She was the rather imposing woman who walked beside Lord Falasmir at the reception in Umbar, was she not?”

“She was,” answered Ráma.

“What position does she hold at Falasmir’s court?”

“To my knowledge, she is merely an advisor, but she uses him to consolidate her own power. When the time comes, if it is her whim, he will fall.”

“I see.” Mithadan nodded. He thanked Ráma for her candor, then watched as she excused herself and moved several paces away to exchange a few final words in privacy with the eagle. The conversation complete, the eagle spread her wings and took once more to the sky. A few minutes after that Ráma and the two northerners were once more mounted, Ráma on her horse, the Gondorians on their camels, riding southward. By Ráma’s estimation, they would arrive in the Eagle encampment within roughly two hours, which would be none too soon for Airefalas. His camel had a pronounced ornery streak and seemed, at best, only half-trained. The sooner he could put some distance between himself and the stubborn creature the better.

But the camel was not the primary concern on Airefalas’ mind. He spent most of the remainder of the journey mulling over all that he had heard and learned during the brief visit from the Eagle, both of the shape changers in general and of the building threat to his own homeland. Was it as serious as Ráma would have them believe? She seemed a level-headed enough individual, not at all the sort to go about spreading breathless and groundless rumor. Yet, on the other hand, it all seemed so far-fetched to him... a colony of shape changers threatening the sovereignty of Minas Tirith? Of Gondor? Oh, surely not. But if this Wyrma person and her followers could change into Dragons, well, that might be a considerable worry, even for Minas Tirith.

He looked over at Mithadan who rode beside him, also deep in thought. A thousand questions raced through his head, but he voiced none of them, his gaze shifting next toward Ráma, who, as usual, rode some distance ahead of him and Mithadan. How much did the girl really know? Ultimately, that was the question, but he had given his word not to pry, so his questions would have to remain unanswered for the time being. Sighing, Airefalas resolved to honor his word to Ráma and not ask too many questions upon arrival into her people’s encampment, but there was nothing to stop him from watching or listening. He had a feeling that there was much more happening and much more at stake than he could imagine.

Having finally exhausted that topic after an hour or so, he let his mind wander in the direction of Minas Tirith, wondering if the Lonely Star had made it back to port. He wondered, too, if his family or Isabel had been notified that he had not returned with the ship. Idly, he tried to imagine how they had reacted. His brother, Avarlond, probably wouldn’t even look up from his ledgers when he heard the news, but Isabel would miss him. For all her game-playing and capriciousness, she had a soft heart and, he believed, she was truly fond of him. Her father, on the other hand...

Airefalas frowned, thinking of the visit Isabel’s father had paid on him shortly before he had sailed with the Star. It had been an awkward conversation at best, her father using the excuse of the Amarantha fiasco to postpone Airefalas’ impending wedding to Isabel on the basis that Airefalas’ prospects were now too unstable. Until Airefalas could prove himself capable of providing for her, Isabel’s father had said at first, the ceremony could not take place, but the conversation had not ended there. Isabel’s father had gone on to pronounce the engagement over. It would be up to Airefalas to break the engagement formally upon his return from Umbar. If he refused, Isabel’s father would do it himself. Remembering, Airefalas felt a flush of frustration and anger. He wondered how the old man would respond when he heard that Airefalas had not returned at all. Probably with joy and smug satisfaction that he had been proven right after all. To Airefalas, the worst part about it was that, just as with the Amarantha, there was nothing he could have done to make things turn out differently. Well, he would get back eventually...

Just then, ahead of them, Ráma let loose with a joyous shout. Airefalas had been so absorbed in stewing about his impossible situation back home that he had failed to notice the large grouping of tents that had come into view as they crested a steep rise. Ráma urged her horse into a quick burst of speed, widening the distance between herself and the two Gondorians. When a pair tribesmen appeared from the shadow of one of the tents, waving to her, she slowed, turning her horse in their direction. She reached them just outside the fringes of the encampment, where she dismounted. The men pointed toward Airefalas and Mithadan, who still approached, holding their camels to a walk. Ráma gestured toward them as well, and though they were still outside hearing range, Airefalas could see that she was speaking rapidly. By the time the camels drew up behind her, several other tribesmen and women had joined the first two. The conversation, which was being carried out in the tribal dialect, sounded tense.

Exchanging a signal between the two of them, Mithadan and Airefalas both made their camels kneel and dismounted. Careful to keep their hands away from their weapons, they went to stand a short distance behind Ráma. Finally, she turned to them and gestured for them to follow as she moved on into the camp, leaving both her horse and the camels in the care of a young tribesman. The rest of the tribesmen and women followed Ráma and the two strangers into the camp, arguing loudly amongst themselves.

"Much has happened here since I had last had word," Ráma said to them in the common speech as quietly as possible above the din of the group that followed them. "There are people I need to see." She stopped in front of a large tent. "You wait here until I return," she told them, gesturing toward the open tent flap. "For your own safety, please do not wander off. I will be back as quickly as possible."

[piosenniel]

Gondor

Two days before The Star sails south

‘I am sorry Saelon, but neither you nor any of the crew will be sailing south with us.’

Pio did not look up from her charts as she answered the man’s questions. And Saelon, for his part, well understood that she would not be moved on this point. There was too much chance that one of them might be recognized as crew members from that escaped ship from Gondor. He tried one more tack, though he knew it was futile.

‘We can stay below, Mistress. Out of sight. Hidden until we are needed.’ She could hear the pleading in his voice, knew that he and the others wished to make sure the safety of their captain and first mate. But she remained unmoved.

‘I would have you stay here, Saelon. Captain Tavar will have need of you.’

‘Captain Tavar, ma’am?’ Saelon’s brow furrowed as he started to ask another question.

‘Enough, please. There is work to be done. The Star must be refitted . . . redone to match this drawing I have here.’

Saelon’s eyes went wide at the picture.

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Previously . . . a few days after The Star returns . . .

Once the plan was clear in her mind, Pio spilled it out in a rush of words to Baran. She did not care that he did not understand it; she only wanted to hear herself speak it out loud. The sound of her own voice making points in the silence of the kitchen finalized her consideration. Baran was left to his own devices as she pulled her cloak from the peg by the door when she had finished and rushed into the deepening evening.

Sinda’s hooves clip-clopped down the narrow dirt path that in turn led to the lane which wound itself round farmer’s fields to the Great River. A careful horse, and one appreciative of the welfare of his lanky legs, he would not increase his speed. His ears twitched at the sound of his rider’s voice and burned at the stream of invective she hurled forth, bent low over his withers. He knew where they were going; she had laid the image in his mind. He intended for them both to arrive safely. And no well turned phrase from her earlier and rougher days would make him hasten any faster.

Faragaer was busy with the last of some shipment a late arriving merchant had brought to the docks. Crates had to be moved in the hold of The Scuppered Gull, and the bottles of wine the merchant had brought, nestled in straw in their small wooden boxes, secured safely for transport to Dol Amroth. He and his First Mate, Haladan, were below deck, discussing the logistics of placing the fragile and costly items when an urgent voiced hailed them from above. One of the crew hailed them from the top of the companion-way, then led Pio down to speak with them.

Faragaer had previously offered the services of himself and his crew should they be needed, and he was prepared to make good on it. The Gull would accompany The Star, to the small cove south of Umbar’s Bay. ‘You know you cannot take your crew with you on The Star. They’ll be looking for crewmembers from the ship that got away from them. And I should think that most of your crew was well known from their “stay” at the port of Umbar. Someone may recognize them.’

‘Yes . . . I had time to think on that on my way here. Once we are done here, I am bound for Captain Tavar’s ship. A number of them have sailed on The Star in previous years. I am hoping that Tavar and I can work something out. He should be doing his short runs north. My crew can sign on for him until The Star returns with her Captain and First mate.’ Haladan nodded his head at this, saying he and Captain Faragaer had spoken with Tavar. He was willing to assist in any way he could. His crew was a good one, Haladan himself had sailed with them a number of years ago. And The Star’s crew would be fine to man The Windrunner . . .

‘The crew is one thing,’ said Faragaer, breaking in on Haladan’s comments, ‘but what about The Star herself? She’s as recognizable as any sailor on her to the Corsairs, don’t you think?’

‘Only if she looks like The Star,’ the Elf replied.

[Nerindel]

Sorona

Sorona stared in disbelief as Rama explained about Wyrma and the dragon clan and their gathering of the Maenwaith people into the cities, as irony would have it, it actually pained her to know that these Maenwaith had forsaken their traditional ways. While she had exiled herself from her people she did not believe that she had entirely abandoned their ways and she could not bring herself to believe that all the Maenwaith within the city had either, there had to be another explanation! Rama then went on to tell her that many of these city Maenwaith worked on tasks that Wyrma set for them. A momentary flash of anger crossed her gold-flecked eyes, as she wondered if this Wyrma was not forcing her people into the position they now found themselves. Memories of the tasks she had been set during her imprisonment in the dark land returned to her and her eyes filled with a new fear, would Rama regard her with the same disgust that now showed in her eyes as she spoke of the choices of these Maenwaith. As if reading some of her thoughts Rama went on to explain that the missing tribes had left the desert to follow Wyrma, some out of fear, others actually supporting her plans.

“And it is not only in Umbar they live…” As the young woman’s voice trailed off, Sorona followed her gaze northward, a cold chill settled on her heart as Rama spoke of the Wryma’s fortified city. the young Maenwaith’s words finally giving credence that the vision she had borne for so long was more than a dream it was a warning, one that she was meant to deliver, but to who and why? To Rama? But she and her people seemed to know of this threat already so to what purpose was she sent to them. As she struggled with these questions, Rama conveyed to her the full extent of Wyrma ambitions.

At the revelation that Wyrma’s ambitions stretched as far as the city of Minas Tirith, the two Gondorians who up until now had remained silent now found their voices and the one who had been introduced to her a Mithadan brushed very idea off as folly insisting that any threat to the city would be meet with strong opposition. Sorona admired his faith and the strength of his words, but feared that he underestimated the threat that this Maenwaith and her followers posed to them. A direct confrontation would indeed be folly against so strong an opponent, but Sorona knew there were other, more devious ways in which a Maenwaith could bring about the fall of a city. Without its people, even knowing it was happening until it was too late. Nausea swept over her as she remembered why she knew this was so, she tore her eyes away from the two men afraid that they would see her guilt and question it.

As she stared at the sand beneath her talons, the second Gondorian, Airefalas spoke, quietly asking Rama if Wyrma being of the dragon clan meant that she could take on that form, Sorona looked up at Rama waiting to see how the young Maenwaith would answer. The slight hesitation was all the answer she needed and in that instant she believed that the dark shadow in her dream must be this Wyrma, Rama did not answer the young mans concern but abruptly apologised saying that she had spoken too much already.

“These are troubled times and we must be mindful even among those who may be friends.” Rama softly explained using her clan dialect as she conveyed the warning, Sorona nodded her understanding and continued to listen as Rama again address ed her two companions, answering the questions Mithadan posed regarding Wyrma’s position at the Umbarian Lords court. When they had finished Rama excused herself and they exchanged a few more words in private. Rama shared with her a little about her clan explaining that when Wyrma began herding the clans into the city, her mother, the clan’s leader had moved them further south hoping to escape Wyrma and her ambitions. Sorona was slightly taken aback that Rama would choose to share this with her, she had naturally assumed that she had been included in the young Maenwaiths earlier warnings after all she was now just as much a stranger in these lands and to her people as the two Gondorian men. But, Rama was opening up to her, trying to gain her trust and as the young woman continued to speak, she could see unspoken questions reflected in her soft brown eyes. Questions she was not sure she could answer even if Rama asked them; a weary sigh escaped her beak and Rama pause to look at her, concern framing her soft face.

“I am as much a stranger to these lands and its people as our Gondorian friends, “she sighed regretfully, glancing in their direction. “Much of who and what I am was lost long ago,” she pause momentarily as the regret and sorrow of that loss washed over her anew, but she forced herself to continue. “Memories of my past slowly return to me, blocked out by deep sorrow and fear, but now opening, out of need and necessity, you may find this hard to believe but it was a dream that brought me here. At first, I ignored it believing it no more than a bad dream a vision borne on the storm from whence it came. But lately the visions have became more vivid and intense, its warning more urgent. Not until this day did I realise it’s importance, I still do know why I was chosen, but I do know that what this dream portrays must be told, but I will not speak of it here,” she whispered looking about her as if she half expected to catch something watching them, but there was nothing.

Rama stared at her silently trying to digest this new information, who was this eagle and what warning did she carry? But she did not press her, instead she nodded her head understanding that revealing even the smallest part of herself brought some deep pain or regret to the eagle.

“We will leave as soon as we can and should arrive at the encampment within two hours.” Rama said after awhile, Sorona nodded appreciatively thankful that the young Maenwaith did not press her for more than she was able or willing to give. Then spreading her wings she flew up into the air and after a few minutes followed the three riders to the eagle encampment.