Here There Be Dragons - RPG

[Child of the 7th Age]

Word of Ayar’s illness sped swiftly about the camp. Already, a number of maenwaith had hurriedly set aside their dinner platters and mugs, running outside to gather near firepits whose earlier inviting flames had now burnt down to the ground, leaving piles of sullen ash. Some spoke in hushed tones, trying to offer comfort and hope. Several had walked over to the pavilion where Ayar and her daughters were staying, anxious to hear news about their leader. Yet this time, most deemed it unlikely that any remedy would be found to battle the poison in Ayar’s blood.

Inside the shadowed tent, all was quiet, except for the harsh rasping sound the woman made as she strained to draw each breath. Drifting in and out of consciousness, Ayar thrashed about amid her bedclothes, waves of pain mirrored in the taut grimace of her face. The Elders arrived last and stood near the rear of the chamber. They would remain there until Ayar’s keen spirit managed to break the bonds of her now useless body. Then, the oldest of the group would step through the door and proclaim that the Eagles would honor their fallen leader with four days of ritual and reflection.

Sometime tomorrow, the Circle of Elders would again meet to announce who would take over leadership of the clan. Thankfully, all seemed to be in agreement on this important point. In times like these, the clan could not afford to bicker or to delay the naming, even though the formal ceremonies and ritual joining, man to woman , and each to clan, would not take place until the Eagles had offered their final goodbyes to Ayar.

Yalisha stood near Ayar’s pillow, grimacing in frustration at her own inability to dampen the onslaught of searing pain. Narika sat stiffly beside the bed, her mother’s clenched fist cradled between her two hands. Ráma crouched on the floor near the foot of the pallet, her expression one of deep worry mingled with anger. Thorn stood close behind his wife-to-be.

One time, the sentry excused himself to go and check on those assembled outside. Curtly responding to a few nervous onlookers who stood nearest the door and who begged for some word , he cursed under his breath, “Not even a dog should die this way. The Eagles must make whoever did this pay!”

The hours inched by as a candle on the table burned low and then gutted. The first hint of dawn was visible in the distance: the sun embracing the earth as it rose, extending its soft radiance over the vast expanse of white sand that totally encircled the camp. Somewhere, a cock crowed to herald the beginning of a new day. Ayar’s body shuddered more violently than before but then came to rest. Her breath continued in slow, jagged peaks: one gasp, then another, and finally no more.

Yalisha placed a gentle hand on Ayar’s brow and gazed into the familiar face, which already looked different in death. Then she stood up and bowed, saying the traditional words to the Elders, “The end has come. Our beloved Ayar has put aside her human form. We must say our goodbyes, that she may fly to the craggy peaks, which gave birth to our clan…..”

Hearing this pronouncement, Ráma walked up beside her mother's still form and dropped to one knee to place a kiss on her cheek. Tomorrow, everything would be prescribed by ritual; tonight, each could honor the woman in a way of their own choosing. Narika came over and slipped an arm around her sister's waist. The two girls tipped their heads on each others' shoulders. Outside the keening of the tribe had begun.

[Nerindel]

Korpulfr circles the eagle camp

Kórpulfr’s dark feathery form glided silently on the cooling air currents of the desert night sky, his two beady eyes blinking sharply as the low burning camp fires of the desert camp came into view, banking right he noiselessly swept past the billowing tents to come into the encampment from behind were the fires were less. Getting closer he was surprised to see so many of the camps inhabitants still awake and about. Cautiously prompted by his mild curiosity he followed several of the clansmen to one of the many camp fires, making sure to keep to the shadows and out of the dying light of the glowing embers that would betray his presence. Both men and women, young and old stood together in small groups comforting and consoling each other, Someone has died or is dying, someone important, he thought realising that the whole camp seemed to be gathered. A gentle softness and sympathy for these people cross his hard dark eyes as he remembered the time of grieving for his mother and the others of his clan who died or went missing after the Haradim raids, he was only young but the pain and grief was the same for everyone and for a moment he thought of leaving them to their sorrow.

But as he circled again he caught the tall forms of his Quarry standing before one of the tents a little way from the gathering mourners, their young guide was not with them instead the hunched form of a wizened old man and a little desert man stood quietly beside them as all four seemed to be watching the events transpiring within this camp with sadness and a measure of apprehension. More strangers ! Korpulfr thought as he silently landed atop a nearby tent, his eyes narrowing in contemplation as he studied the old man, who was this stranger and how is it he comes to be in the this camp at the same time as his Gondorian friends? Suspicion echoed in his mind, He watched as Mithadan turned and spoke with the old man, he could not heard what they said but could see clearly by the sea captains stance and the slight gesturing movements of his head that the old man was someone he respected, the two men then shook hands and Mithadan and Airefalas moved away from the tent.

It was only then that Korpulfr noticed that the men had not been alone, two armed desert men stepped out of the shadows of the tent and followed. “So they have evaded one guard only to find another!” he mused ironically wondering what they had done or who they had offended to warrant such display of distrust. Or perhaps they are but the misfortunate victims of unhappy coincidence and bad timing? he thought looking back towards the people gathered around the camp fires. As he looked back things that he had not noticed before began to stand out in his mind markings and designs on certain tents, even faces lighted by the soft glow of the dying fires, brought strange feelings of familiarity that he could not explain. like a distant memory too old and faded to recall.

This familiarity brought with it a strange sense of foreboding, an unwelcome feeling that the events of the past few day had transpired to bring him here and at this particular time, the flight of the Gondorians, Tinar’s disappearance, the strange eagle, and now this camp all seemed too coincidental. This skin crawled and his feathers ruffled he felt like the intruder that he was and he did not like it, a cock crowed and as dawn slowly approached Korpulfr leaped into the air and left the camp behind.


~*~*~*~*~

Hasrim was still waiting for him as he returned to camp, taking his mannish form he sat down heavily beside his cousin. “Well!” Hasrim prompted when his cousin remained silent. Kor was still dwelling on his strange sense of familiarity and did not hear his cousins words until he felt his a concerned hand on his shoulder.

“Are you all right, is something wrong cousin?” Hasrim was asking him with a concerned frown.

“Uh… no I am alright, it just..” he began hesitantly.

“Just what?” Hasrim pressed concernedly. “Were the Gondorian’s not there!”

“Yes they were there, and another stranger is with them an old man,” he answered absently.

“Then what is it cousin, what is it that troubles you?” Harsim went on.

“That camp, somehow seemed familiar to me,” he confided in his cousin going on to tell him in detail the marking that incited this familiarity and describing the faces that stood out in the crowd. “Someone was dying in that camp someone important if my eyes did not deceive me and it all seemed somehow wrong!” he finished with a heavy sigh.

His cousin rose shaking his head, “This is bad Kor, we must leave!” he said sullenly after a few moments. Korpulfr frowned not understanding.

“We have stumbled into a hornets nest and must leave before they swarm!” his cousin went on to caution.

“What are you talking about !” Korpulfr yelled in frustration waking the sleeping form of Tinar.

“We have found The Eagle clan’s encampment, it is too dangerous for us to stay here we will not be welcomed!” Hasrim explained moving to his horse to make preparations to leave.

“My mothers clan?” Kor mouthed wordlessly, as Tinar stared wide eyed trying to figure out what was going on.

“If this is your mothers clan then why would you not be welcomed?” Tinar asked breaking the sullen silence.

“Yes why would I not be welcomed!” Korpulfr added staring at the broad shoulders of his cousin.

“You know why!” Hasrim answered turning back to his cousin, “Remind me!” he replied broodily.

“They abandoned us, turned their back on all but their own clan, isolating themselves, refusing to accept the friendship and protection a united clan offered.” But even as Hasrim spoke Korpulfr was reminded of the last time he had seen his mothers Cousin. It was a gathering of the clans, she had secretly come to his fathers tent he remembered over hearing her beg him to reconsider, but what he was to reconsider he did not know. His father had refused and a heated argument had ensued ending with his father threatening the Eagles leader telling her that she would regret taking up her uncles treacherous beliefs.

A frightening thought flash though his mind and he stood up levelling his gaze with his cousin, “Hasrim tell me that my fathers hand has no part in what is going on down there.” Hasrim frowned as if truly puzzled by his cousins words, “What are you asking?” he asked uncertainly.

“Hasrim tell me that my father has not acted on old grudges and is not responsible for who ever is dying down there!” he pressed impatiently.

“No!” Hasrim lied smoothly, “Your father would never…” Kor sighed visibly with relief, “I’m sorry Hasrim, I just had a terrible thought, foolish I know, there is no way my father can even know this camps location.” he said shaking his head.

“Then what are we going to do now?” Tinar asked attempting to break the silent tension that followed.

“Hasrim is right,” Kor said after a moments thought. “We will not be welcomed, you even less so this clan is openly opposed to your mothers plans.”

“Then I can change my name, they needn’t know I am from any clan!” Tinar protested.

“You forget the Gondorian’s my friend, they already have our names. On hindsight a foolish mistake on my part, but unavoidable on yours, I do not doubt that this clan will know all the children of the woman they perceive an enemy. You are less safe here than we are!” Kor patiently counselled the young wyrmling.

Tinar reluctantly nodded conceding his friends misgivings, “Then what are we to do?” he sighed.

“The Gondorians are escorted everywhere by armed sentries, and with a death in the clan it will be several days before their fates are decided, they’re not going anywhere soon. Once I have rested we will return to Wyrma and report what we have discovered, it has been almost a week she will be worried about you,” he smiled thoughtfully.

“But someone should remain in case the Gondorians escape these captors as well!” Hasrim said coming up beside them. Kor looked out in the direction of the camp and nodded. “Yes perhaps you are right I can’t help feeling that these strangers are dangerous, I will stay and keep an eye on them.” he contemplatively answered.

“No!” Hasrim protested. Bemused by his cousins sudden protest Kor turned to face him.

“All I mean is that I should stay, I am not needed elsewhere.” He was quick to explained.

“No, cousin I need you look after Tinar and let my father know what is going on.” He smiled sympathetically believing his cousin to be concerned with his well being.

“But you can do these things!” Hasrim protested, “It makes more sense for me to stay.”

“I can’t explain this cousin, but I don’t trust these Gondorians and I intend to find out what they are up to.” he said levelling his eyes with his cousin‘s, Hasrim studied him thoughtfully then nodded reluctantly.

“I need to rest, both of you eat and make ready to leave, by evening you both will return to Wyrma and inform her of what we have found!" Korpulfr said then returning to his un-slept in bedroll he lay down and drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

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

Hasrim


Hasrim’s outward expression remained the usual unreadable blank canvas that betrayed nothing, As he watched his cousin lay down to rest. But inside he was reeling! It seemed his young cousin was developing a conscious, or at least a doubt, that he had failed to prepare for and now the young man was determined to stay out here letting that doubt feaster and infect him and the fact that Kor had also questioned him openly in front of Tinar grated at him. He could ill afford to loss his cousins trust not now, not when they were so close…But that Kor still did not trust the Gondorians was the only consolation in this unfortunate turn of events.

As he rolled up his bedding and securely strapped it to his horse he silently contemplated how he could turn these events to his advantage. The slight vestiges of a sly grin escaped his lips as he remembered his uncle telling him that not all of the eagles were their enemies, there was one he said who was sympathetic to their cause and would help if he thought it to his advantage! And even as Hasrim sat down to eat the cold breakfast young Tinar had prepared his thoughts cunningly turned to how he could use this information to his advantage and how he could slip away to speak with this friend amongst traitors, without rousing the suspicions of his cousin or the young wyrmling!

[piosenniel]

Piosenniel

I had forgotten how the heat lingers even after the sun has fallen . . .

Pio wrung out the plain cotton handkerchief she’d dipped in the pitcher of water on her nightstand and hung it loosely round the back of her neck. The cabin window was swung wide open and the breeze that riffled through her short locks was hot off the southern mountains, bringing no relief. She was in the midst of packing for the trip inland when a soft knock pulled her from the latest study of the last few piles she had heaped on her bed.

‘Come,’ she called out, not turning from her sorting. She planned to travel as lightly as she could. Much of her things she had brought with her would be stowed away in the trunk that stood at the foot of her bed. Loose, light clothes in the style of the desert peoples were her choice for the journey – breeches, tunics, her old, soft boots; a woven aba robe, plain colored to keep off the heat. Her blade in its plain leather sheath, of course, her knives, and pushed into the inner pocket of the robe, a thin, wire garrote. A number of coins, all of Umbarian mintage, she’d gotten from Faragaer were secreted about her clothing, and a small pouch for show would hang at her belt. Last came her worn leather shoulder pack; its pockets and compartments already haphazardly packed with all manner of necessary items.

‘You’re not taking this are you?’ Hamar had come up beside her, in his hands a large tome he’d stumbled over as he entered. ‘An Elvish doorstop of some sort,’ he asked with a grin, placing the thick, purple leather covered book on a nearby chair. ‘And an expensive one,’ he went on, his finger running over the gilt edging of the pages. ‘What’s the title?’ he asked pointing at the Elvish script embossed in gold on the front cover.

‘It is a book from the library at Rivendell. An Elvish copy of one an old friend of mine penned. It is taking me a while to read and digest it.’ She picked it up and spoke the title for him:

~*~ Frodo - Callo var Alasaila ~*~

‘It is only a rough translation from the Westron she wrote it in originally. She had a certain way with words. Not all of them translated directly, much to the chagrin of the Elven scholars who worked on it.

‘I recognize the name,' he ventured. ‘Frodo’, of course . . . it is the Frodo . . . yes? But what does the rest of it mean?’

Pio shook her head, smiling as she wrapped the book in a scarf and placed it in the wooden chest. ‘Well, “Callo var” is “Hero or” and I am afraid “Alasaila” was one of those make-do translations.’

‘Make do for what?’

‘ “Chump” .’

The lid of the wooden chest closed with a thunk; the brass bolt teeth of the inset lock finding their way into the tumblers. Pio sat down with a satisfied sigh on the chest top. ‘Best we leave the discussion of literature for a later time.’ She surveyed the clothes Hamar had on with a critical eye. ‘Are you packed and ready to move,’ she asked. ‘We will be leaving within the hour, or so Faragaer assures me. I am going now to see that Baran has gotten together what he will need. What say we meet on deck in a short while? A last glass of wine with the Captain and we should be off.’

Pio shouldered her pack and herded the man out the door. With a last look round the room, she stepped out into the passageway, shutting the door firmly behind her.

[piosenniel]

Rôg

There had been no rest for the clan that night. Rôg had risen before first light, wanting to make his way to the small rise of sandstone rock that stood to the east of the camp. Miri had showed him this place earlier in his stay; it was where the little lizards she liked crawled in and out of the crevices and chased after the dark beetles that skittered away at their approach.

His guard had risen from his place before the tent door when he’d first peeked his head out. The man’s eyes were bloodshot, rimmed in red from his rubbing of them, and the tracks of tears on his dusty cheeks were still evident despite his attempts to hold them back. Rôg knelt down, his hand on the younger man’s forearm.

‘Do not trouble yourself about me today, little brother. There will be no thought of escape or any ill-doing by me.’ He cocked his head at the low keening from one of the nearby tents. ‘This is the day the water is set at the tent’s door. And there will be need of hands to make the bier. Your family will want you with them when the meldakhar is placed for her final resting.’ The man looked up at him, duty and want warring on his features. ‘Go to your family, my friend. There will be no trouble from this tent.’ He smiled gently at the young man and stood up, offering him a hand as he did so. ‘I cannot go with you,’ he said again softly. ‘That would not seem proper. Take your leave for the day and come back late this night to check on me, if you wish. Face the west as the flames reach up and wish her spirit to soar up on them. I will remain close by camp and out of the way – over on those rocks just to the east.’

Saying good-bye in my own way . . . he added silently to himself, as the weary man nodded gratefully at him and made his way to his family’s tent.

[Ealasaide]

Fador

As dawn broke over the Eagle camp, Fador left his tent to join the other Elders in the tent of Mumtaz, who was second only to Fador himself in the hierarchy of leadership amongst the elders. Ordinarily, Fador would have insisted that such an important gathering be held in his own tent, but the presence of his guests, the two Gondorian men, rendered it impossible to meet there. Tribal matters should never be discussed before the eyes and ears of strangers, particularly not at such a critical time. A muscle twitched below Fador’s left eye as he moved silently through the waking camp. Accompanied by the persistent keening and wailing of the official mourners, he had spent most of the night moving from the tent of one elder to the next, talking to each one, making the final arrangements for the smooth transition of power from Ayar to the new chosen two. Now he was tired, and, in his exhaustion, the bitterness that had festered within him for years at being passed over for leadership of the clan in favor of Ayar threatened to boil over into open resentment. He took a deep breath and glanced up at the morning light that was beginning to stretch its silver tendrils across the eastern sky toward the shadows of the grieving camp. He must keep his anger hidden.

"Children!" he muttered in spite of himself. With so much at stake, they were handing the leadership of the clan over to what seemed to him a pair of children, untested and untried children. It was sheer folly. The Eagles needed an elder to lead them, someone with the wisdom and experience that could come only with time. Angrily, he clinched his jaw. He felt almost as though history was repeating itself and he was being snubbed again, but Fador could say nothing about it, show no opposition. After all, had not the Eagles always chosen their leaders from the ranks of the young? As an elder, he knew that he must swallow his pride and uphold ancient tradition, but it rankled greatly. His time would come, he reminded himself. For the moment, however, his resentment would just have to roil unseen in the pit of his stomach.

Passing a young woman who nodded to him with tears in her eyes, Fador nodded back, concealing his thoughts masterfully behind a mask of compassion.

"Is it true, uncle?" the girl asked in disbelief, using the title uncle merely as a term of respect . "I can't believe the Meldakher has really gone."

Fador nodded. "Yes, Salihah," he answered, careful to call her by name. Though he did not know her well, he believed her to be a friend of his daughter, and the granddaughter of one the other elders, though he could not remember for certain which one. "Ayar has indeed departed her human form. It is now time to grieve her and say your good-byes. She will soon be ready to begin her final flight."

"Yes, uncle," Salihah murmured, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

Fador watched as she turned and slipped away between the shadows of the tents, thinking to himself, yes, Ayar is indeed gone. And may she stay that way, he added on bitter afterthought.

Arriving at Mumtaz’s tent, Fador opened the flap to find that he had timed his entrance perfectly. The others had already assembled and sat in a loose circle around a low brass table that bore a pot of tea, a collection of small clay cups, and an unlit incense pot. A place had been left open for him at the top of the circle, with the supplies laid out at his right hand that he might light the incense and bring the meeting to order. Mumtaz, the owner of the tent, sat to his right, while the place to his left was occupied by Barakah, a tiny, sparrow-like woman. By far the eldest of their number in terms of years, she had a mane of thick white hair that flowed down her back like water and bright, nearly black eyes that missed very little. Beside her sat Hadya, Mumtaz’s sister and the youngest of the assembled elders. It would be her job to pour the tea once the incense pot had been lit and the meeting was under way. Placing his palms together, Fador gave a shallow bow of respect first to Mumtaz and then to Barakah and Hadya. When they had responded in kind, he took his place between them at the top of the circle, his eyes moving evenly from face to face around the rest of the small assembly. Once his eyes had completed the circuit, he nodded to the dozen or so of them as a group. When they had nodded in response, acknowledging his position of leadership, Fador turned and lit the incense pot. Hadya rose and began to pour the tea.

Accepting the first mug of tea from Hadya, Fador began to speak. "It is with great sadness that we meet on this gray dawn. As we all well know, the Meldakher, our beloved Ayar, was taken from us in the night. Her spirit will soon take to the sky for flight into the west." He paused, watching as Hadya continued to place the traditional cups of tea into the hands of the other elders. "It is our task now to decide who shall succeed her as leader of the Eagle Clan."

A soft murmur of voices rippled through the assembly. Fador waited until it had died down, then continued, "It was Ayar's wish that she be followed in leadership by her daughter Narika and Thorn, Narika's husband-to-be."

At this, Barakah spoke up in a voice that was soft yet clear as a bell. "If this is Ayar's wish, then I believe we should honor her choice. She has led us well these many years. I trust in her judgment."

Across from Barakah, Dakarai, a dour old fellow with a full white beard, nodded his agreement. "Yes," he said firmly. "I, too, believe that we should honor Ayar's wishes. I know these young people. They are level-headed and strong. They will lead us well in these difficult times."

"They should be married first..." muttered an unidentifed voice.

"Yes," Fador interjected. "The marriage will take place immediately following the conclusion of Ayar's rite of passage. If we agree to pass the mantle of leadership to them, as Ayar suggested, it shall be to them as husband and wife."

Hadya, who had finished serving the tea and returned to her seat beside Barakah, cleared her throat. "If we... if we don't follow Ayar's last wishes," she said nervously. "We could choose a leader from amongst ourselves, perhaps, an elder... someone we know will have the wisdom to carry us through these rough times. To... to... to lead us into the future with certainty." As she concluded, she cast a significant glance at Fador. He smiled inwardly, though his outward expression remained impassive. Hadya had harbored a fondness for him ever since she was a small child. Truth be known, she had secretly been his mistress for years, both before and after the death of her own husband. She could always be counted upon to be his most staunch ally and supporter, but now he sensed she was in danger of revealing too much of his ambition. He recognized the fact that he had been careless to express his innermost thoughts to her, telling himself that he must be more prudent henceforth. It was far too dangerous at this stage for his ideas to become the topic of open debate.

"Our tradition has always been to choose our leaders from amongst the young," he answered blandly, side-stepping her implications.

"Perhaps it is time to break with tradition," said Harith, another elder, in a quavering treble. Once an accomplished trader, he had interacted much with the outside world over the years and even spent some time in his youth working in the markets of Umbar. Now bent and nearly toothless, he spent most of his time on a mat in front of his tent, playing dice and other games of chance with whomever would be so foolish as to take him on. He cheated like a bandit. "Perhaps it is time that we bid farewell to our isolation, as well. I hear talk of a great maenwaith city the Dragons are building not too far distant. Would it be such a bad thing to trade with this city? To embrace its existence?"

Barakah shook her white head. "I have a feeling that that would be very dangerous, dear Harith."

Again following Barakah's lead, Dakarai agreed. "Tradition is what defines us, Harith. It makes us who we are." He sunk his chin deep into his beard. "To reject tradition would be to embrace our destruction. I vote that we do as Ayar wished and install Thorn and Narika at once. I have spoken with them at great length over time. They understand what is required to protect our people from the evils of the outside world."

Mumtaz, who, by some trick of nature, was exceedingly fat, shifted his bulk and gave Dakarai a thorny look. "We could learn much and greatly expand our base of trade if we do not reject contact with the outside world. Consider these men from Gondor, for example. Think what we could accomplish if we were to have friends in such a place as Minas Tirith! Our new leader must have the foresight to recognize opportunity when it presents itself. And the strength to pursue it for our clan's greater good."

Dakarai answered hotly. "Is your memory so short, Mumtaz, that you forget what the outside world has meant to us in the past? We have learned naught but death and destruction from those who inhabit the world beyond our desert. I, for one, have not forgotten the raids that tore so many maenwaith children from the very arms of their parents." He crossed his arms across his chest with an air of finality. "I will never forget. Our survival hinges upon our continued isolation."

Beside him, Harith ticked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "The cities, my friend," he quavered. "The cities hold the key to the future."

"Hush," snapped Dakarai. "You are an idiot."

Smiling serenely, Barakah raised a frail, dark hand into the air. "And what have these issues to do with whether or not we choose Thorn and Narika to lead us?" she asked quietly. "These are not matters for this assembly to decide, isolation or contact. We meet here today not to determine our place in the world. We meet to select our new leader." She turned toward Fador. "Is this not so?"

"It is," he answered calmly. "Let us stop our petty bickering. But, Mistress Barakah," he added with a polite incline of his head toward Mumtaz and Dakarai. "It is also true that whoever we choose as our leaders will ultimately determine our place in the world. Is that not so?"

Barakah leaned back on her cushion, her bright, dark eyes looking deeply into Fador's out of her sharp-featured little raisin of a face. "Yes, you speak truth as well," she answered. "But I have yet to hear any genuine objection - " Hadya colored slightly " - to the selection of Thorn and Narika as our leaders. Is that not our purpose here? Have they not been taught and trained by Ayar for the very purpose of leading their people through fair and treacherous times alike? That is the question that should concern us today, nothing else."

Fador nodded, feeling as though Barakah's deepset brown eyes could see through his carefully cultivated objectivity, as though through a glass, to the roiling anger within. Just a tiny sparrow of a creature, the old crone, as he preferred to think of her, was deceptively powerful within the clan and would bear watching over the days and weeks to come. Perhaps a drop of poison in her tea would not be misplaced. She was old. Few would suspect any evil. With her gone, Dakarai could easily be brought around to a more reasonable way of thinking, and Fador's words of counsel to Thorn and Narika could arrive nearly without contradiction from the ranks of the remaining elders. His influence would be substantial. He turned a solemn gaze toward Barakah.

"Nor have I," he said gravely. He let his eyes wander from face to face around the circle of seated elders. "Is it then the decision of this assembly that we pass the burden of leadership that Ayar carried so gracefully and so well for lo these many years on to her daughter, Narika, and to Narika's husband, Thorn, to be carried equally between them?"

"It is," said Barakah firmly.

"Yes," agreed Hadya, dropping her eyes.

Fador listened as each of the elders, one by one, agreed to the installation of Narika and Thorn as the new leaders of the clan. "Then so it shall be," he said as the last voice fell silent. "The ceremony shall take place three days hence, immediately following the wedding. In the days between now and that time, our people know well that this counsel may be looked to for guidance if we are needed. My tent flaps shall be closed to no one." He then reached out and upended what was left of his tea into the incense pot, dousing the fire and bringing the formal meeting to a close.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Thorn

It had been a long night, and tiring. Ráma had, as tradition dictated, set a vessel of water, at the door of the tent, so Ayar could find water should she require it on her last journey. And Thorn now sat, his back to a tent pole watching Narika and his mother as they quietly went through bags and boxes, gathering the things needed for the funeral rites. He was aware of numbness, a unexpected feeling, as if the foundation under him had bee suddenly whisked away and he now stood upon uneven ground. Even the encampment seemed slightly different to him now, leaderless. It was an unsettlingly familiar perception, one that had not descended on him since the head of his own family had died.

Yalisha, noticing him awake, came over to her brother and crouching down, looked into his face. “Thorn, try to sleep,” she counseled. “You have much you will have to do today, and need to find rest now, before the others arrive, and the elders share their decision.”

Her face was sincere, and Thorn wished he could follow her advice, but he could not. Sleep had eluded him. He glanced aside to the body of Ayar, the color gone from her flesh. She was so still now, so unlike herself. “I can not sleep peacefully.” He said turning back to his sister. “And neither can I ignore what has happened to the very heart of our people, in our own encampment. It was not her choosing to leave us, sister, but she has been ushered out of our presence at the orders of woman who would call herself the leader of us all.”

You are right, brother. But still, though it has come to this point too soon, Ayar had confidence in us. Do not forget that. In her wisdom, she was not alarmed by this sudden departure, for her daughters are grown now and her people also mature. Had she not taken great pains to teach us to rely on ourselves? We are strong, Thorn. Do not be troubled, we will to resist the Wyrm, and will not be cowed into submission to her will.”

Thorn smiled weakly at his sister, “Yes, we are strong, Yalisha, but it is not enough. But just as this poison entered the Ayar’s body at one small point and overcome her strength, so I’m am worried that there is a poison at work among us. When I was in Umbar and learned that some plot was planned against us I flew to warn our people, only to find that I had arrived too late. No assassin could have come across our encampment so fast. Even if it had been one of the maenwaith, he could not have found us, a small people in this vast country.” He averted his eyes. “At first I thought perhaps one of the newcomers may have something to do with this, but now I have come to feel one of our own people has betrayed us.”

“Narayad?” Yalisha whispered softly, studying her brother’s face..

“Yes, he would seem be the likely one, and as an outrider, could easily pass information. But he would not do this, and has no love for the Wyrma or her ways. But still I have asked that he leave, for his own good as well as the clan’s. We will see what happens after that. But we must be vigilant. Wyrma has struck us a blow, and we do not know if she might have other plans underway against us.”

“She has struck a heavy blow, but she has not crippled us. Do not be downcast, Thorn, you are tired. If there is a poison among us, it need not be lethal. We can overcome it. But now rest, so that you might have strength to help both Narika and your people.”

“I will be strong for Narika and the people, sister,” Thorn said rising from the dark corner. “But do not ask me to sleep.” Walking away from her and toward the tent opening, he stopped at his mother’s side. “I am going to see to the brier,” he told her. “Send for me if you see that Narika or Ráma are dispirited, and I will return immediately.” Shooting a quick glance at Yalisha, he lifted the tent flap and was gone.

[Nerindel]

Sorona

As the silvery threads of dawn stretched out across the eastern horizon of the desert sands Sorona’s rose her dark bloodshot eyes to greet it’s gentle light, as had become her custom since escaping the darkness of Barad-dur. “With dawn comes the light and hope to chase away the shadowy darkness of even our darkest night!” The gentle whisper of an old friends words echoed through her mind, giving her what little comfort it could. But as she lowered her gaze the flap to her cousins tent parted and Rama stepped forth, her honeyed complexion streaked with silvery tears. She watched as the young woman knelt, setting down a small ornate pot she carefully held in her trembling hands. A vessel of water with which to quench the thirst of death before journeying unto the west, She thought, vaguely recalling the rituals of her people. Rama rose and for a brief moment the two eagle women’s eyes meet each betraying the depth of their grief and that same sense of empty loss that came with the parting of a loved one. Sorona lowered her head respectfully, then Rama slowly turned and quietly slipped back inside.

With seemingly inconsolable sorrow Sorona closed her eyes, but no peace was there in even this simple act, instead the vision that haunted her dreams returned, more vivid and no less violent than before. The death of Ayar and the rumours and suspicions surrounding Wyrma and her people now gave credence to that which in her heart she had hoped was only a nightmare, a punishment for her boldness and over curiosity! “What is it you what me to do?” She whispered to the light west winds, but there was no reply only the fading horrors of the dream and a renewed sense of urgency! Suddenly she knew what she must do, turning sharply she hurried to the tent of her hosts. No matter what doubt she felt towards Fador he was an elder and it was to the elders that she now must speak if the portent of her dream was to be averted!

Reaching Fador’s tent, her guard startled out of his own grief by her sudden departure and struggling to keep up with her nearly walked right into her as she stopped suddenly. Latah, Fadors daughter sat at the entrance, the soft keening and gentle shaking of her lithe frame betraying her grieving. Pity more than sympathy stopped Sorona as she watched the young woman mourn the passing of their leader, how many more times would the eagles mourn the loss of loved ones before this new chapter in their history passed unto memory? She thought with a deep and sorrowful sigh, then turning to her guard and looking him over she gestured to a red handkerchief protruding from his pocket. Shaking it out he handed it to her. Nodding her thanks she took it gently in her beak and hopped over to where the young woman sat.


With a gentle nudge of her head she offered the young woman the handkerchief, Latah looked up and slowly took the offered handkerchief with a slight nod of thanks. “The spirits of our ancestors will look after Ayar now and guide her unto the west were she will know eternal peace!” Sorona whispered, absently turning her gaze west as a small part of her heart secretly envied her cousin that rest.

“Latah, I must speak with your father! Is he inside?” she asked as gently as possible but making no attempt to hide the underlying urgency in her voice as she turned back to face the young woman.

“No,” the young woman sniffed, “He takes Counsel with the other Elders and will not be disturbed.”

“Where?” Sorona pressed. Latah paused staring at the eagle reluctant to say more, Sorona’s eyes softened as her gaze levelled with the young woman. “It is important that I speak with your father and the elders of this clan, even more so now this sorrow has befallen. What I have to say may be important not only to this clan but to all Maenwaith!” she gently pressed. Latah paused for a moment longer then told Sorona where her father could be found. Thanking the young woman Sorona turned and headed for the tent Latah had described, her guard following close behind.

Reaching the tent Latah had informed her belonged to the elder Mumtaz, she was stopped at the entrance by another young woman who suddenly stepped in front of her, “You can not go in there the Elders are gathered!” she said staring down at the eagle with a slightly bemused frown.

“Yes, I know and I must be permitted to speak with them” Sorona pressed attempting to move round the young woman, only to be stopped by the firm hand of her guard. “You do not understand outsiders are not permitted while the Elders take counsel, you may speak with them after!” he said in a firm voice, giving the young woman an apologetic nod.

“No! it is you who do not understand, an outsider I may be, but eagle Maenwaith I am and with the Elders I must now speak!” she said gently nipping her guard hand and with wings gently flapping she pushed past the young woman careful not to do her injury.

Inside the heads of the Elders turned to set eyes on the eagle that disturbed the end of their meeting, “I’m sorry, I tried to tell …her” A shaken Salihah apologised.

“Sorona!” Fador frowned as he rose from the head of the table. Hushed whisperings past through the assembly as she stepped forward, her gaze steadily studying the faces of each Elder in turn as she looked around the gathered assembly. Several faces stood out in her fractured memory but none more so than the old frail looking woman who sat to Fador’s left side, her dark eyes studied her intently. A flame of memory lit her eyes as the scrutinizing look of the woman seemed all to familiar and as she held the woman’s gaze she remembered long debates by firelight regarding Sorona’s views of the outside world and the stern warnings the Elder would press upon her but she believed that despite their differences they were once friends, but that would not help her now for what she was to say would not hold well with any of the elders, if even they believed her.

“Forgive me this rude intrusion,” she said turning back to Fador and bowing low in respect, “But I must have the counsel of the Elders!” she added lifting her head.

“Counsel is always given to those of our people who ask!” Barakah answered keeping her voice even and her gaze level, “but you come to us a stranger and un-revealed!” she added gesturing the form Sorona held too.

“How are we to know you are not some spy of the Wyrm clan sent to make sure her evil has come to pass!” another added pressing his palms firmly upon the table. He was of medium height and build and of hard-faced countenance, suspicion burning in his dark eyes and his lips thinning within the white beard that framed his aged face as he steadily met her gaze.

“My name is Sorona, Daughter of Thoronda, cousin to Ayar and my first loyalty is to the clan of my birth. Yea it is also true that by Marriage I too owe loyalty to the clan of the wolf and some of you will ask why it is that I come here and not to the place of my husband and son and more still will ask where it is I have been these many years and why it has taken so long for me to return hither to the place of my birth. All these questions and more I will answer, but first I implore you to hear what I have to say ” she beseeched them.

Fador again took his seat looking at Sorona contemplatively as another ripple of mutterings swept through the assembly. The flap to the tent again opened stilling the elders once more into silence as Nakira and Thorn entered, “We came as soon as we were told!” Thorn said warily eyeing the eagle that had disturbed the counsel of their Elders.

Fador nodded and gestured for the others to make room for Nakira and Thorn, “Sorona has something she wishes to share with us, “ he informed them, “And I must admit that she did express to me before her desire to be permitted to speak with the elders and the leaders of our clan. I told her that it would take time to arrange, but it seems that what she has to say can not wait,” he finished gesturing for Sorona to speak.

Sorona nodded her head in thanks and began to speak. “For some time now a vision of great foreboding has troubled my dreams. I admit at first I did not see it’s import and thought it only a punishment. For I once sought to look upon something that I had been afore warned was not permitted. I angered the great spirits of the world who set air and water against me too thrust me back from looking to far into the west, leaving only this dream as a reminder of my folly. But the more I tried to dismiss the content of my dream the more vivid it became until it finally brought me here and I believe to this exact time.”

Sorona pause for a moment looking in turn at each face wondering how they would take what she was about to say, stopping last with Nakira. The young Daughter of Ayar , sat patiently waiting for her to continue, the light of wisdom shone in her eyes like her mother before her and Sorona smiled wanly suddenly seeing why they would choose this child to lead them and hoping that she indeed had the wisdom and hidden strengths of her mother, then taking a deep breath she continued.

“In this vision a great city raises from the very sands of the desert floor and before its gates a fierce and horrifying battle ensues. At first the combatants of this battle were not clear to me but since returning to the lands of my kin and hearing of their troubles the vision has become more and more clear in my mind. I see now that it is men who battle amongst themselves! but not any men it is Maenwaith and over all a dark shadow looms that it fills my heart with such dread, but what or who this shadow is not shown to me. I fear for all our people and now I offer what I can to help in what ever course of action you pose to avert this travesty from ever occurring.” Then finishing she again bowed respectfully and awaited the deliberations of her kinsmen.