Here There Be Dragons - RPG

[Ealasaide]

Nerindel's Post: Korpulfr

It was quite late in the afternoon when Korpulfr finally awoke. Slowly opening his eyes he rose a dusty hand to shield against the glare of the westerning sun. Turning his head he saw the lean form of Tinar tending the dusty gelding he and Hasrim had conscientiously thought to bring for the young wyrmling, two more horses, packed and saddled stood nearby under the cool shade of the rocky overhang. The first a sand coloured gelding was his own mount and the other was the tan steed that Hasrim rode, looking around he suddenly became aware that his cousin was nowhere to be seen. Brushing the fine layer of sand that covered him from head to toe, he rose and headed towards his young friend.

“Any to spare for a parched friend?” he asked jovially seeing that the young Meanwaith was watering the horses.

Tinar’s head turned to greet him with a broad smile, “So you’ve finally decided to join us, I was beginning to think you would sleep the whole day away,” the young man laughed handing him the half filled water skin.

He drank deeply wetting his dry cracked lips, “Where’s Hasrim, you haven’t talked him to death have you?” he grinned handing the skin back to his young companion.

“Talk! I don‘t think he would have heard me even if I did?” Tinar said cocking a bemused eyebrow, “he spent most of the morning deep in thought, muttering to himself as he packed his own and your mount, then a few hours ago he said he was going out to look for fresh water and to scout out the desert movement, movement! I ask you for days I’ve see nothing out here but the sea of sand.” he continued shaking his head.

Kor laughed clapping Tinar on the shoulder, “Ha my friend that’s my cousins way, always thinking ahead and if he was here I am sure he would now be giving you a quick lecture on the unseen dangers of the desert.”

“Then I am glad he is not here,” the young man laughed jovially.

As they waited Hasrim’s return the two men finished making preparations to leave and enjoyed a cold supper of flat bread and salted pork, the conversation remained light and cheery like two young friends simply enjoying each others company with no political or outside influence at work, but as the sun began to sink below the western horizon the talk turned again to the matters at hand and the barely perceivable guardedness of each man returned.

“You must make sure your mother hears of the death of the eagle leader and the arrival of the northerners to their camp, it may all be coincidental but let her know that I will remain to make sure!” Kor said turning to look the young man squarely in the eyes. Tinar paused for a moment then nodded and as Kor turned away the young man asked him if he had any message for his father.

“Just let him know that I am fine and know what I am doing.” he answered after a moments contemplation. Tinar frowned not understanding and Kor shook his head and explained, “He has his grievances with the eagle clan, he still holds them someway responsible for my mothers death and won’t be please to heard that I am here!” he sighed wearily.

“And you?” Tinar asked cautiously, “Do you too think they are at fault?”

“hmm I don’t know… maybe they could have helped or maybe not I really don’t know it all happened so fast… I… only re…..” with a shake of his head Korpulfr stopped talking and got up and began to walk away.

“Where is that cousin of mine it is time we where away from here before we are discovered by outriders!” he said decisively changing the subject and looking out into the distant darkening horizon. But he could not hide from the memory that haunted him, clinging to the branches and safety of the trees as his mother was hauled off dying by the crimson warriors, he swore to himself not long after that day that never again would he hide from those who would attack his people, he would be strong, but still he felt like he had not upheld that promise, hiding in the city of his enemy at the insistence of the very people he wished to protect. With a heavy sigh he walked up to the sandy gelding and lightly scratching the animals ear he re-checked the straps adjusting his pack and the saddle baskets that carried the goods for trade, while he waited for his cousins return.

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

Ealasaide's Post: Fador

As the sun set deep into the western horizon and the singing began around the bier of Ayar, Fador took his place amongst the other elders. Though he carried a small hand drum with him, he neither drummed nor sang along, but sat quietly, listening as the various singers raised their voices in praise of the fallen leader, framing stories from her life and the lives she had touched during the tenure of her leadership in graceful song. Finally, as evening began to edge toward night, he rose from his place and slipped silently away into the darkness. He had not slept in over thirty-six hours and the lack of sleep was beginning to wear at him. He needed to be alone, to collect his thoughts. To plan what to do next. So much had happened between Ayar’s passing, the arrival of the foreigners, and the strangely timed return of the eagle, Sorona, that he hardly knew what to make of it all. He had spent so much of the last night and day in moving back and forth amongst the other elders, smoothing the way for the transfer of power from Ayar to the young people who were to take her place, that he had scarcely had a moment to himself. Now, with nearly everyone occupied by the bier, he finally felt as though he could take a breath of air for himself.

Wrapping his long robe tightly around him, Fador walked swiftly to edge of the camp, where he hesitated, gazing up at the darkening sky. How easy it would be to take to the sky now, to beat his wide wings and leap into the night wind in the shape of a golden eagle. To fly... A grim smile touched his weathered features. It had been too long since he had taken that shape and flown amongst the clouds, caressing the wind with his very fingertips. Why had he let so much time pass? Why had he preferred his other shapes to the one most treasured by the people of his clan? He wondered if it were not guilt at his own anger toward his clan, or failing that, merely stubborn pique. Either way, he suddenly understood that he had let too many days pass. Glancing back in the direction of the bier, he knew that now was not the time to make up for lost time either. Early in the afternoon of that day, around noon, a strange, great eagle had sailed gracefully around the bier twice, calling out a challenge to the winds. He had watched with the same air of awe and curiosity as his maenwaith kin, but had felt no urge to answer the challenge, at least not yet. To take to the air now could perhaps go unnoticed. On the other hand, if it were to be seen as an answer to the great eagle’s challenge - if that’s what it was - that would not do.

He turned and, on conscious impulse, began to walk in the direction the great eagle had flown in its departure. He needed to think, to find an answer to the questions that plagued him of what to do next, how to approach the foreigners, how to use them. Perhaps an answer lay out there among the swaying savannah grasses, perhaps not, but if he could at least find a bit of clarity, it would help. He quickened his step, moving swiftly and deliberately away from the encampment, his mind buried deeply within his own thoughts.

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

Nerindel's Post: Hasrim

The quiet sound of leathery wings flapping against the cool evening air echoed in small furry ears as a small heart drummed with each exuberant beat, the ears twitched as the sound of raised voices whispered on the light winds of the Haradwaith desert, murmuring of sadness and of loss. But as the small desert bat drew closer, the sadness melted away to joy and praise bringing a dark and menacing scowl to the creatures dark features. Small beady eyes that should see very little, infact carefully scanned the horizon as the lightly billowing tents of the Eagle encampment drew steadily closer, carefully flying between the many tents avoiding the gaze of the sullen but vigilant outriders and guards the small bat looked for a familiar face.

The actual camp was strangely still, with nearly all the clan gathered at the brier of their fallen leader only the stragglers and those chosen to keep guard still remained, so he flew on following the voices cringing as they praised the wisdom and kindness of their fallen leader. Wisdom! Too live in the past and remain victims of the power and greed of others pfft…. But off course the eagles were never victims, they ran and hid while others died and suffered at the hands of the Haradrim and their dark master! feelings of great hatred and bitterness suddenly filled the small creatures mind and it struggled to hold on to the image at the forefront of it’s mind the one that kept him in the air unrecognised and unnoticed, he perched in a nearby tree and took a deep steadying breath, pulling the image forward once more, reminding himself of the purpose of this visit. Looking out from between the leaves he saw a familiar figure rise and move away from the others. With a wry grin the small bat again leaped into the air following discreetly the dark robed figure.

He stopping to watch as the robed figure hesitated at the edge of the camp, silently witnessing the older mans grim smile as he gazed up at the darkening sky in contemplative thought, but the small bat was forced to move quickly as the robed figure briefly glanced back towards the funeral brier of the woman he had helped to murder! Irony twisted the bats lips into a sly and cruel grin as he wondered if old fool was having doubts or regrets, for he knew it was already too late for the old eagle! for if it was discovered that he was in any way responsible for the death of his leader he would most certainly be cast out if not worse! But to betray Wyrma or her allies would be an even greater folly he had now witnessed how easily and deadly the old Wyrm could strike! As the figure walked on he followed, then when the camp was firmly out of sight he choose to speak.

“The wind whispers of ill tidings a great eagle has fallen and it’s clan stands leaderless!” He squeaked coming close to the Elders ear .

The figure stopped but did not turn, “The winds do indeed speak the truth, but not for long do the eagles remain flightless and without leadership!”

Flying around to come before the older man the bat let go of it’s current form to reveal the middle aged Wolf clan warrior. “Greetings to you Fador, wolf friend!” he said with the customary hand to forehead gesture of his clan his eyes firmly fixed on the older man revealing neither true hostility nor friendship, this man may have his uncles trust but he would reserve that judgement for himself.

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

Ealasaide's Post: Fador

A look of annoyance flitted across Fador's face as he raised his hand to his forehead, returning the greeting of the man of the Wolf Clan who suddenly appeared before him, casting off the shape of a bat. "Greetings, wolf," Fador said coolly, studying the man‘s face. He noticed the way the other man's eyes betrayed nothing, neither hostility nor friendship, nor even the respect due to an elder of any clan. What he saw was cool appraisal and icy reserve, as though the man were sizing him up. Judging him. Fador’s dark eyes narrowed. Arrogance.

“It is with surprise that I recognize you, Hasrim,” he said, recovering his composure. “I remember you from your uncle’s house. I hope that my friend, your uncle, is well. But what brings you here to the Eagles at such a time as this? I am not fool enough to think that is mere coincidence.”

A dry flicker of amusement showed behind Hasrim’s eyes for an instant before he answered. “You are very wise indeed,” he said, with the faintest hint of sarcasm touching his voice. “I came on the trail of the northerners, whom I believe you are harboring in your camp. In fact, I know you hold them there.”

“You followed them from Umbar?”

“I did.”

“Then I take it Wyrma has an interest in these men,” said Fador. The annoyance that had spiked up in his heart at the sight of Hasrim began to subside as an idea began to take shape in Fador’s mind. He had left the ceremony at Ayar’s bier in order to seize a few moments to himself, to try to clear his mind of clutter and address the many problems and issues that had confronted him since Ayar’s death. He had been angry when Hasrim had destroyed his solitude, but now Fador felt a new clarity, one that came with decision. If Wyrma wants these men...

One of the matters that had been troubling Fador most had been how to redeem his position in Wyrma’s eyes if it ever came to her attention the way he had nearly botched her assassin’s flawless work by setting fire to Ayar’s tent as the Eagle leader lay dying. If it had not been for that bit of foolishness, Ayar’s death might have been passed off as the result of illness or an unfortunate insect bite. The fire had raised suspicions and thrown the entire Eagle clan into a state of heightened awareness and anger. If only communications with Umbar had been more regular! He might have known that Ayar’s illness had been the work of an assassin and not interfered, but the information had come too late. And, even then, it had not come from Umbar. Perhaps now, the lack of communication with Umbar could work in his favor. Fador knew that he had made a horrible, horrible mistake in setting the fire, which he knew that Wyrma would not let pass unnoticed or unpunished. He also knew that if he wished to maintain favor with the great Wyrm, he would have to do something quickly to eclipse his mistake, something that ordinarily would have won him great favor. If word of his good deed arrived to Wyrma before, or even simultaneously, with word of his mistake, all would not be lost. In fact, Fador had a feeling that not only his ambitions, but his life depended on it.

“Yes, Wyrma does have an interest in these men,” Hasrim was saying. “A great interest. As you well know, her ambitions do not stop at the borders of Umbar.”

“Then tell her,” said Fador, giving the other man a calculated smile which did not reach his eyes. “I will make a gift of them. They will be in her hands before the rising of the new moon.

“I will send them to the walled city, accompanied only by a guide and a few handpicked men. My men will know what to do. If you wish to follow, as apparently are your instructions, I will send word as to the hour of their departure.”

Hasrim delivered a short, leisurely bow. “You are too kind. I shall send word to Wyrma of your gift at once that she may prepare a welcome for them. When do you plan to see them on their way?”

“Perhaps as early as tomorrow night. Or the morning following at the latest. I will see that you are alerted, if you will tell me how to contact you.”

Hasrim gave Fador a long, considering look, as though deciding whether or not this was some sort of treachery or a trap. Finally, coming to a decision, he nodded. “Come to this spot as the sun sets tomorrow. I will be waiting.”

Fador nodded. “It will be done.” He began to make his departure, but stopped as something else occurred to him. There had been other strangers in the Eagle camp in the past few days besides the Gondorians. Was Hasrim aware of them as well? Had he seen, for instance, the two strange maenwaith who had arrived as Ayar lay dying? He suspected them of removing the broken incense pot, which had later turned up in poor Narayad's pack, from the smoking ruin of Ayar's tent. In Fador's opinion, they had been the only ones who could have done such a thing. But how had they known to plant the pot with Narayad? Fador himself could not have chosen a better patsy. Coincidence, perhaps, but upon deeper reflection, it hinted to him of a deeper knowledge of the workings of the Eagle clan than Fador was comfortable with. Who had sent them? And why? Why, indeed... there was also the return of Sorona with all of her dark talk of dreams and visions, death and destruction, which had excited the council of elders so. Why had her arrival coincided so closely with the arrival of the others? Were they working together? Fador paused and looked back at Hasrim.

“There is one more thing I should mention," he said, as though on a casual afterthought. "One of our clan who had married into yours years ago before the Haradrim raids has returned from exile. She is trapped in the shape of an eagle, but seems to have only a sketchy memory of her past.” He paused, watching Hasrim for a reaction. “Her name is Sorona. She arrived as Ayar lay dying and has been filling the ears of whomever will listen with warnings of death to any who embrace the stone city. It seems she has had visions from the Dreamtime.” For the moment, he decided, he would keep the presence of the other two strange maenwaith to himself.

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Nerindel's Post: Hasrim

Hasrim’s eyes studied the eagle elder with mild curiosity as the older man paused in his departure, hesitant as though something more had just come to mind. He waited patiently for Fador to speak, believing with smug satisfaction that he was about to tell him of the strange old man Korpúlfr had seen walking about the eagles camp, but what Fador revelled to him soon wiped that grin from his broad face as shock and utter disbelief filled his mind! Before even Fador had uttered the eagles name he knew of whom he spoke for there had only ever been one union that he knew of between their clans…But how could this be she perished with the others, Korpulfr saw her die…or did he? he thought as he struggled to understand how this could be so. Only once had Korpulfr spoke to him of his mothers death and all that he would say was that he had seen the Haradrim kill her!

“Are you certain that it is really her and not some impostor taking her name, an enemy perhaps wishing to exploit your clans tragic situation!” He asked regaining his composer.

“No I am certain it is her she may be trapped in avian form but her manner is unmistakably that of the daughter of Thoronda” Fador replied “That same annoying ability to hold others with her words !” he thought bitterly as he reassured him that it was indeed her.

Suspicion soon over took Hasrim’s initial surprise, Why here? Why now? And where had she been all these years? His eyes narrowed as he thought on these questions and more . “It is not entirely known to us what became of the Meanwaith that were taken by the Haradrim and until now it was widely believe that they had all perished.” he carefully informed Fador. “But it was rumoured that those captured had been taken not to the city of the corsairs but further north to the dark mountains!” Hasrim did not have to say any more for Fador to realise of the place he spoke and of the dark shadow that had once consumed that land.

“You do not think she is to be trusted?” Fador mused as he too contemplated the timing of her arrival.

“who can say?” Hasrim shrugged, “It maybe that she is indeed having visions from the dreamtime…. But who is to say that there is not some external factor at work, even if she was in the dark land and managed to survive, was it not the northerners and their allies who overthrew it’s dark master….” pausing for a moment he let these thoughts settle in the elders mind before continuing.

“I will inform Wyrma of the eagles return, but I suggest that until you hear otherwise you should keep a close eye on this eagle and discourage any idea’s that she may have about travelling to the city, her presence with all her talk of dreamtime could be unsettling for our allies as well as our enemies. It should be discredited were possible… perhaps finding out where she has been all these years may be of help!” he suggested slyly. “Tomorrow then” Fador grudgingly nodded before finally taking his leave.

Hasrim remained a moment longer the news of Sorona’s return was more troubling that he had let on to Fador, should Korpulfr so much as hear rumour that she was alive he would most certainly look for her, this he could not allow all her talk of danger and doom would ruin everything! No as far as Korpulfr was aware she was dead and that is how it would remain and if she tried to interfere he would just have to deal with her as he did his grandfather! With a last contemptuous look in the direction of the eagle camp he turned, assuming again the form of the small bat and started back towards his own camp to tell his cousin of his advantageous encounter.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

On the second day the dawn revealed a quiet encampment, the few animals still remaining in the care of the people overseen by handful of bleary-eyed shepherds. But the outriders and guards remained vigilant, keeping close watch on both boundaries and guests after the disappearance of the maenwaith Rôg. The fire that was maintained by the bier, burning so brightly as the Meldakhar’s body had been ceremonially brought out and placed beside it, burned much lower now, but it continued to send plumes of curling smoke upward, joining the sky with the earth, the slumbering life hidden in dead wood and brush escaping to gain the freedom of the air.

Narayad who had sat talking with Surinen throughout the night, watched in silence as the sun climbed into the sky over the tents behind Ayar’s high resting place, with westerly breeze pulling at the light veil covering the leader’s face, and carrying the smoke back toward the encampment. It was the first time he had experienced the death of a leader since living among the Eagles, and he was touched by what had witnessed. From the youngest to the oldest, the people of Narayad’s adopted clan had stayed awake long into the night, taking it in turns to encourage Ayar along her way with impromptu and heartfelt song, until their eyes grew too heavy and they slowly melted away in the night, or else slept where they lay.

But now the sunlight found the maenwaith back among the tents, worn from the outpouring of the night before. As the morning grew brighter, out of necessity the activity also increased, for though it was sorely incongruous to have the sorrow of Ayar’s departure so mingled with the preparation in anticipation of Narika and Thorn’s Union, there was much to do that could not wait until their grief waned.

By the late morning, the twice-burnt remnants of Ayar’s possessions were buried, so that she might not be tempted to linger, weighed down by them, but in the heart of the huddled dwellings, happier tasks were underway. Metal goods where brought out and polished, clothes and camel saddles mended, and the felted cloth of mixed wool, that had been so hurriedly made to replace the tent of the Meldakhar, now was rushed to completion for the new couple. And as the steady thump of turmeric being crushed for the marriage preparations, resounded though out the camp, old Dinsûl was to be found rummaging around among boxes and bins looking to find an old drum, hidden there. He had not been among those to play during the evening, feeling his hands no longer as nimble as in his youth, and indeed himself unworthy. But of the wedding revelry he would surely take part, rejoicing with Surinen at Thorn’s happiness, with no fear that his poor playing would be heard over those more dexterous than he.

*****

That afternoon as Dinsûl repaired the broken drum, Surinen tried to sleep in the shade of his father’s tent, after the end of his watch. But he heard the voice of a child speaking outside, and opening his eyes he saw through the opening young Miri sitting beside his father and pulling at the spiraling grey locks that rest on the back of old man’s neck as he sat bent over the drum. She was busily asking questions as he worked, questions about Ayar, and if the other maenwaith could see the smoke from the fire, and how far away they might be. “Hush little Miri!” Surinen growled from the tent. “Such a sweet voiced cricket you are. There are always maenwaith hidden in the desert, and it is said the owl clan is not far distant. But let me sleep in peace! Go and chirp else where, little one.” Reaching back, Dinsûl patted the air to signal his son to silence; and without looking unfastened the tent flap, letting it fall to, blocking Surinen’s view.

*****

At the Eagle’s outpost, where their sprawling herds ranged among sparse bush in the late afternoon sun, the animals grazed in peace. But as the herdsmen looked to the southeast, facing their backs to the way they had traveled their clan they saw a dark smudge growing larger on the horizon and grew concerned, discussing it among themselves.

*****

When at last Narayad returned from his place by the bier, and had a chance to speak alone with Latah, and on finding from his wife that the first mate of the Gondorian vessel had tried to make himself useful, he took a little more interest in the strangers. Perhaps a foreigner could also do what is right in his own heart, rather than what was expected of him, just as he himself had. And with Fador’s approval, he had arranged that Airefalas be allowed to join them at the fireside in the evening, so that he might find out more about this northerner, who shared his family’s tent. It was not told to either first mate or captain what they had planned.

As the sun slid into the west, Surinen showed up just as Latah finished her work. The outriders withdrew together into a corner of the tent, drinking their coffee while in deep conversation, while Latah attended to the guests. Surinen frowned, looking occasionally to where Airefalas and Mithadan sat, but after a time he smiled shaking his head and clapping the larger maenwaith on this back. Then together Latah, Narayad and Surinen approached the men, who stood up in response. Smiling politely, Latah said taking Airefalas hand, “Please follow,” and seeing that Mithadan was not willing to have him led away, Latah struggled to explain the invitation, the mariners struggled equally hard, to follow just what it was she said. But at a nod from his captain, the man allowed Narayad and his wife to quickly usher him out into the night air. And as Narayad had requested, Surinen stayed back a moment, trying to reassure the captain. “We will be returning this man. Do not worry he will be all right. I, Surinen, and will take very good care of him.” And bowing, he walked backward out of the door, speaking to the guard quickly before running to join the others, already well ahead.

The encampment had grown empty and still, as the eagles gathered slowly by the bier for this second night. The fire was now roaring again, as the people settled around it. Slowly, first one and then the other gave voice to traditional songs they had learned by rote, songs that told of their ancestors. Even the very young told of heroic deeds and tragic tales, recounting the history of their people, to uplift and encourage their clan. Shouts and cheering broke out as each one told of how time and again they had overcome adversity, and laughter too accompanied some tales as they remembered those who had outwitted their enemies. Though it all Surinen tried to translate as best he could so that Airefalas might know of the people that surrounded him. But he often became caught up in the stories, giving incomplete accounts, and their guest turned to Latah to try and find the ending. Narayad smiled his approval, seeing the evident interest this stranger had in their history, and through Surinen, he asked Airefalas of his own people, and of their struggles, nodding as the northerner spoke of the Great War in the northwest when men of different nations had fought along side each other, and how his own leader had been proclaimed king. Narayad explained that the preparation for that conflict also had been much felt in the desert.

As he sat with them, Dinsûl, on hearing Narayad’s remark, began his own song in a thin uneven voice. He sang of the leader Thoronda who had guided them during those times, before the mantle of leadership was passed to Ayar, and Narayad grew noticeably sullen, at the tale. As the old man mentioned again the wolf clan, the outrider asked that his friend not translate this story to the guest and stood up with an apology, saying that it was time to go, for the songs of history were nearing their end and, he had promised Fador, Airefalas should not stay once they were over. All eyes around the campfire turned to them as Narayad led the guest away. And seeing the outrider leave, Dinsûl also grew silent, wondering why Narayad would have gone so soon.

But out of the silence another melody arose as the eagle Sorona, raised her voice, to be the first to assure her cousin Ayar, that they would find their way without her presence, thus beginning the second portion of the ritual for that evening. And with that, the others too turned to singing their farewells to the leader, the elder’s making sure to mention their confidence in Ayar’s choice of Narika and Thorn, and the two of them in turn expressing their faith in the elders.

As the people began to feel the flow of the history that continued on though the Meldakhar had left them, they dispersed into the darkness much earlier than they had the night before.

[piosenniel]

Piosenniel

The ledge on which the little group sat faced west. It was shaded at this time of day, the sun’s light blocked by the foothills behind them. The heat reflected up from the rocky slope as it angled down to the valley was already growing increasingly uncomfortable. Gadi and Haleel both urged the Elf and her companions to make haste. ‘We must reach the valley floor and make for the cover of that small copse of trees there in the narrowing. Some source of water must be there, and there will be shade beneath the thick leaved branches.’

Ayka, too, urged the group to the shelter of the trees, saying she would seek the coolness of her own aerie in the higher reaches of the western range. With a mighty swish of her wings, she leapt into the air from the ledge, beating upwards and across the valley.

Pio glanced up often as they made their final descent to the valley floor, watching the speck grow smaller against the bright blue sky. And losing it altogether as she and her companions entered the dense shade beneath the trees. Baran, grown thirsty in the increasing heat of the day, picked up his pace and was soon motioning for the group to follow. His nose was raised in the heavy, unmoving air of this little forest. ‘Water!’ he rumbled in a deep voice, making his way through the underbrush . . .

~*~

Once the sun had dropped below the jagged rim of the mountains to the west, the companions ventured out from beneath the forest canopy. Their two guides held a whispered conference. And, after much shaking of heads between the two and the pointing of fingers one way and the other, a choice for ascent was reached.

‘This way Mistress,’ said Gadi, taking the lead toward a narrow, and seldom used, it would appear, track up the slope. ‘Watch your step; some of the path has crumbled away. You will need to be quick to jump or scramble across the gap.

Pio followed along behind Gadi, Baran’s footsteps close behind her own. She could not help but chuckle at his occasional commentary on their surroundings. ‘Goats!’ had been his latest word, spoken as Hamar muttered a few well chosen words at the pile of droppings he’d stepped in. ‘Made this track, I’d wager,’ the Skinchanger continued, pausing for a moment to turn and look at the man. ‘Left a calling card for you, I see,’ he went on, his lips twitching with a suppressed laugh. Hamar waved him on in an irritated manner.

Haleel brought up the rear of the single line. His eyes swept often from the track upwards to the clear sky. His lips moved soundlessly in an offering of thanks when his gaze did not encounter the approaching flight of any eagles.

~*~

The companions had nearly made it to the ridgeline that ran along summit of the mountain. The trees and brush had thinned out and there lay a narrow band of bare, rocky formations which signaled the top of their ascent. The climb had been long and slow as they picked their way across the now trackless face of the crest. From their vantage point they surveyed the western descent; it would be slow-going again as they picked their way down to the scrubby grassland abutting the mountains’ foot.

‘We can make camp for the night down here,’ Gadi said, pointing to a small, shallow natural bowl which dipped down from the eastern ridge. Its craggy side was higher on the eastern edge, he went on, and would protect them from the winds drawn in from the sea. Haleel had been busy along the way, gathering wood for the night’s fire. The companions settled in as best they could on the rough, pebbly ground, drawing their cloaks about them in an effort to ward off the cold. The two guides soon had a small cook fire going. Water was boiled for tea, as the cold rations were meted out for supper.

The moon shone bright over the little hollow as the companions settled in to talk for a while and then sleep. Hamar had elected to take the first watch. Pio, her mind too full of thoughts to sleep, had crept up beside him. ‘Once we are down ther,’ Hamar asked, nodding to the desert below, ‘how are we to find Captain Mithadan and Airefalas.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘It looks like a vast ocean itself, this land of sand. So easy for two men to be lost in.’ Pio hunched her shoulders, bringing her cloak more tightly about her. She rocked back and forth a bit on her haunches, her own eyes locked on the moonlit scene below. ‘Mithadan puts great store in the grace of the Valar,’ she murmured aloud, at a loss herself at how this task of finding the two men might be accomplished. ‘Perhaps he has made a plea to them and perhaps they will answer . . .’ Hamar eyed her for a moment then turned back to his own thoughts.

A great sound of wings rushing down through the air broke the quiet of the watch. They beat in a slow forceful way as two large birds descended, talons first to the rim of the hollow. One of them hopped down from the rocky outcropping it had landed on, and walked slowly, toward the two seated figures. Pio was about to stand, when the advancing bird called out to her. It was Ayka, they could now see. The eagle turned her head toward where Gadi lay rolled in his cloak, asleep and Pio went quickly to him, waking him as quietly as she could.

Ayka, too, had given thought to how two small creatures could be found. She had no desire to leave her mountains, she told them, but she had found a younger male, an adventurous sort, whose flights often took him a fair way inland as well as north and south along the foothills of this range. ‘He has agreed to be your eyes from the air,’ Ayka told them. ‘I can’t say whether he will see your mate and his companion, but perhaps he will lead you to someone who has knowledge of them. He has promised to stay with you until you dismiss him.’ Ayka clacked her beak and made a series of twittering noises. The male eagle hopped down from his perch and approached the three companions in a wary manner. He was very different from Ayka. His head, chest, and underbelly were white, his back and wing feathers a darkish grey. His legs were featherless, ending in large, sharp talons.

‘Azar,’ he rasped out to Gadi, giving the man his name. He made a small bobbing motion of his head toward Pio, which she took as a sign of greeting. And she, in turn, bowed toward him from her seated position. A short, sharp series of clacks and twitters ensued between the older eagle and the younger. ‘He will begin to tomorrow, as soon as you reach the flatlands,’ Ayka explained. ‘Look for him to fly ahead of you as he scouts the area to the north. I assume you are going north . . . toward the . . . city?’ the last word she spat out in an irritated manner. ‘He will not go into the city with you, should that be the course you choose. Too many men, no game to be hunted. He’ll land as needed to let you know of any thing of interest he has seen.’ Azar ruffled his wings and spoke once more to Ayka. ‘Should you need to speak with him,’ she went on, ‘wave your sword in the air. He will see it and come to you.’

Pio thanked the older eagle for her help, asking if there were anything she might do for her in return. ‘Send word to me,’ Ayka instructed her, ‘of what is happening beyond the mountains. Tell Azar all you see and hear. He will bring it back to me. Most important to me is any news of the clans . . . the Eagles in particular . . .’ The Elf agreed, saying she would ferret out what she could and send it back with the young eagle. ‘I wish you well, shining one,’ Ayka called out as she launched herself into the black night. ‘May the winds uphold you and you find your mate quickly.’ The two eagles flew off to their places of rest, leaving the companions to ponder what the new day would bring.

At long last, all of the little group settled in for what sleep they could. Except, that is, for Haleel, who lay whimpering quietly to himself beneath his cloak; the word ‘eagle’ escaping his trembling lips now and then . . .

[piosenniel]

Rôg . . . at home

Safe in the arms of my family . . . protected by my clan . . .

The thought slid through his mind again and again, yet it brought him no comfort. There at the cooking fire, their heads bent together, his sister and mother were just putting the final touches on the evening’s meal, laughing at some small joke that one had told the other. Their faces, shiny with sweat from the nearness of the cook-fire, looked up at him and smiled, drawing him into their little circle. A moment later and the circle enlarged. His father had quit his axe making for the day and come to their tent. In a familiar gesture from his youth, Abâr had ruffled his son’s hair as he passed him, calling out to his daughter Daira his timeworn jest. ‘Smells good today!’ he said grinning. ‘Not a trace of smoke and cinders!’

How often had this small ritual occurred, he wondered to himself, and how long would it be given the grace to continue?

His thoughts flew back to the Eagle encampment, to Ayar’s tent. The family and clan’s sorrow as their leader lay ill, dying. Their grief at her death. Aiwendil’s description of what was taking place among the maenwaith came back to him, as did the whispered fears of little Miri. How many others had been killed, would be killed, so that the Wyrm Clan’s schemes might go forward? And when would that Wyrm’s eyes widen their view, seeking the last remnants of resistance? Some of his clan might fall to the hired slayers before the alarm could be raised.

At his earlier meeting with his clan-leader he had broached the subject of what was happening in the north. Îbal had listened patiently, nodding as he took in the information. Silence followed the telling as the clan leader considered his reply. ‘I’m sorry it has come to this for our cousins,’ he began. ‘But the safety of our own clan comes first for me, as it should for you.’ Rôg opened his mouth to speak further, but Îbal cut him off with a gesture. ‘You have told me that the few of our clan you were able to seek out have been given the word to return to our homeland. Even now they will be traveling to the desert and steppes of the northeast with their families. The Old Ones will be there to welcome them, but we should soon hasten there ourselves. The Shadow has lifted. There is no longer need for us to hide here. We are Zadan n’Yo, The House of the Gift. That we are together and will soon be free to follow our own ways is enough.’ His clan leader had made his final judgment on the matter, and Rôg kept silent, though his thoughts protested what had been said. He had bowed, his expression neutral, and taken his leave.

~*~

Supper was done, the dishes and pots washed and stowed away until called into service again. Rôg hung the cloth he had used to dry them on one of the tent’s ropes and hunkered down beside his sister to enjoy a mug of tea. Daira poured one for herself and then for him. Knowing his sweet-tooth, she pushed the pot of honey near him. For a space of time, only the clink of his spoon against the sides of the mug filled the space between them. His sister spoke quietly, leaning her shoulder against his, asking what it was that troubled him.

Rôg watched the steam rise from his mug as he collected his thoughts. ‘I’ve only shared this with the clan leader,’ he began. Daira’s brow furrowed at this beginning, wondering what was so secret that he had not shared it with them first. ‘The clan in the north that I stayed with for a few days – great trouble is looming over them.’ Daira nodded slowly as if she understood. ‘Men!’ she spat out. ‘They are after them for something aren’t they?’ she asked, her brown eyes wide. ‘They should get far away from that mannish place. No good ever came from trying to fit in or treat with such creatures.’

‘It’s not Men they have to be afraid of, sister mine. It is the others of their own kind, our kind, who hunt them down and seek to kill them.’ Daira’s brow puckered further and she shook her head violently. ‘It’s true. I have seen it with my own eyes and heard it from their lips,’ he went on, sitting his untouched mug down by his knee.

Daira listened as he told the story of the clan leader and the suspicions of who had poisoned her. He spoke of the things Aiwendil and the Eagle clansmen had told him of the Wyrms and their plans for a city; how many of their cousins in the north believed it better to comply rather than be killed.

‘Killed?’ Daira’s face had paled at his words; she could barely comprehend what he spoke of.

‘Many believe she will hunt with a vengeance those who resist, and eliminate them all. She is a greedy one, or so I’ve come to think of her from what I’ve heard.’ He raised his head and looked about at the families gathered round their little fires. ‘Who can say when she will turn her cold eyes toward our little clan, and pursue us.’ Daira shivered and drew up against him, laying her cheek against his.

‘The Old Ones should hear of this. You must go to them for counsel.’ Rôg nodded his head, saying that once the clan had returned to its home, he would seek them out. His sister, in turn, shook her head ‘no’ at this.

‘No. Much as I want you to stay with us, I think you should go sooner than that. Tonight, in fact. Take advantage of the cover of darkness.’ ‘I’ll tell some story to mother and father . . .’ she said, already considering how she might put it to them that Rôg would be gone for a few days . . .

[Nerindel]

Halfr- slipping from reality!

Walking briskly along the streets of the new city, past a myriad of half built buildings and billowing canvas tents Halfr shook his head. The work was progressing far too slowly they needed more workers already he had been forced to dispatch a whole unit of his guards to aid in the construction of Wyrma’s main headquarters. hmm palace more like he thought with another shake of his head. He pictured the ambitious woman’s reaction when her son informed her of the slow progress, with still no word of Tinar and the northerners that escaped Umbar her patience was growing thin. He too was anxious for news of his own son and the others that travelled with him, more than a week had passed and still there was no word from any of them, he considered more than once dispatching a party to look for them but the city was at a tenuous stage and every warrior was needed to insure it survived its infancy undiscovered.

As he reached the steps to Wyrma’s temporary headquarters he had again assured himself the that blood of the wolf clan was strong among them, both Korpulfr and Hasrim were able warriors and could look after themselves, even young Tinar had proven himself more than once to be quite capable with a sword if need be. A look of self satisfaction curled his lips as he walked down the long corridor to the temporary counsel chambers in Wyrma’s quarters, he had trained them all well and they would return when they had something to return with!

Pushing open the doors to the counsel chambers he confidently stepped inside. The room was almost circular in shape with a wide dais to the far side of the room upon which Wyrma sat with her husband to the left of her and her sons either side, around the room sat the leaders of each clan and those chosen by Wyrma to make up her personal counsel, to which he was part and now walked up to take his place among them. Once he was seated Wyrma rose to call the counsel to attention, he listened idly as the various leaders and counsel members made their reports to their leader. A goblet of dark red wine was poured for him and he rolled the goblet in his hands as idly as he listened, sipping slowly at the spicy fruity red until Wyrma addressed him directly.

“Halfr! What news do your scouts report?”

carefully setting down the goblet he rose to his feet, clearing his throat before he began. “Scouts have reported increased activity coming to and from the corsairs city, as expected after the northerners destruction of the docks” he began stolidly. “Our people within the city have also reported increased security at both the docks and around the city in general, It looks like Lord Falasmir maybe expecting hostility from the north!” he finished with a grin of irony.

“Yes and the traders in the city have also informed us of an increase in taxes to cover the expenses of repairs to the docks and there is rumour also that he plans to use the peoples taxes to fund the building of several new ships and the training of more soldiers to his army!” Wyrma’s eldest son Walat put in raising to his feet. Wyrma nodded but did not look at her son she still held her powerful gaze locked with him and he knew what answers she would be looking for next.

“No word has yet been heard of your son and his companions, but I assure you he is in the best of company, I have no doubt that they are only being over thorough in their task and will return soon with news of the northerners,” he answered confidently saving the astute leader from having to ask. She nodded and as he took his seat she moved on to the next issue, the meeting went on for several hours with the wyrm leaders patience growing increasingly thin as expected. Halfr’s goblet was filled twice more before he suddenly began to feel drowsy, he shook his head trying to clear his thoughts as images from his past flashed before his eyes, horrific scenes of battle and death, the mutilated bodies of women and young children decaying in the desert sands. He closed his eyes tight to block out the harrowing memories, but a firm hand on his shoulder made him jump and as he opened his eyes he realise the meeting had finished and everyone had already left.

“Is something wrong ?” Wyrma asked, but Halfr heard not the gravely voice of the Wyrm leader instead he heard a soft warm voice that he had not heard in such a long time, slowly raising his head he looked into the eyes of his leader, but again he saw not the aged face of Wyrma, but the youthful and gentle smile of his eagle wife. Slowly he reached out a hand to touch her face but stopped, firmly shaking his head and struggling to his feet knocking over the goblet of red wine, not noticing the powdery substance that laced the bottom.

“This is not real!” he muttered raising his hand to his forehead, “It’s just the illness, not real, she’s dead the Haradrim killed her!” he went on stumbling to get away from the image he believed was just in his head, seeing the door he turn desperate to get to his room and take the medication Asrim had assured him would stave this madness.

“I’m not dead my love I am here!” the voice called gently after him. He paused for a moment wanting it to be true, “No you died!” he said firmly shaking his head to stave of the madness threatening to consume him.

“Did you find my body my love? I am alive and I miss you so!” the soft voice replied as he again made for the door. He paused again, No they never did find her body, oh spirits preserve could it really be true? he could feel the warmth of her breath on his neck as she came up behind him slowly turning he finally gave into his madness and dropped to his knees sobbing, “I tried to find you…but Korpulfr and the others I had to keep them s….”

“Shh It’s alright, everything will be alright now, we will keep them all safe!” the voice whispered softly as he felt gentle arms wrap around him.

On a small ledge below the high windows of the counsel room a horrified weaver spider sat watching events unfolding below. The Raakaharn, the strong and stolid leader of the wolf clan reduced to that of a sniffling child before the great Wyrm, sudden terror wrecked the small weaver and it scuttled quickly through a small crack in the woodwork, then once outside it leaped into the air changing into the form of a red kite and hurried as fast as his wings could carry him towards Umbar and his brother to tell him what he had just witnessed.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Wyrma felt a rush of elation. Though she had hoped to gain some advantage by using the drug that countered Hasrim’s medication, she had not thought that it would work so quickly. How fortunate that his madness caused him to see his deceased wife in her, and that at a time when they were alone together! Her thoughts worked feverishly to find a message that she could implant in his crazed mind before she sent him back to his quarters. She must not go too far, or he would break down completely.

“You must help me to fulfil my dream, my dear spouse,” she said softly. “Bring all the Maenwaith together and protect them. Those who resist do not know of their danger and must be made to come against their will, of need be. Hurry, for there may be another attack sooner than you think. But now you need rest – come to your rooms with me.”

He allowed himself to be led by her to a guest room; she called one of his men to bring his personal servant to care for him, then turned and walked briskly to her own room. As so often when she thought and made plans, she paced the floor restlessly. Flying away as she longed to do was out of the question at the moment. She had to make use of Halfr’s situation while he was susceptible to her influence. Yet she no longer wished to wait for messages from scouts as to the whereabouts of her youngest son. Decisively, she rang the bell on her desk and informed Elsta that she wished to see Kumat immediately.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

Tinar gazed at the southern horizon; he had stopped counting the times he had looked, hoping to see some movement that would signal a change. But both sky and desert remained empty, and he sighed impatiently. How long would they sit on this tiny island of dusty green inmidst the barren brown wasteland? He no longer asked Kor and Hasrim for explanations; he could tell that they knew more than they were willing to tell him.

One of them was with him constantly; when he asked if he could not fly to the Eagle encampment with them, thy had curtly replied that it was much too dangerous. “But can we not then ride back north to our home?” he had pleaded. He had hoped for adventure, but there was little to be had here, at least for him, and anything seemed better than just sitting and waiting.

“Not yet,” Kor had answered, looking at him sharply, then admonishing, “and don’t even think of flying away by yourself again. Have you any idea what your mother would do to us if we let you come to harm?”

Crestfallen, he nodded submissively. He had heard enough whisperings to know that Wyrma was merciless with those who made mistakes. As her youngest, he was treated with a little more leniency than others, but he did not wish to test her patience, whether for himself or for his friends.

And so he waited, pacing the oasis to pass the hours and to keep his body strong and supple. He no longer needed to heed his surroundings; by now he knew every stone, every half-parched blade of wild grass, and the exact position of the shade of each scraggly tree at every time of the day. For much of the time, he was lost in thought, reflecting on the happenings of the past weeks and months. He pondered the irreconcilable positions of his mother’s politics and the rebellious actions of tribes like the Eagles. He remembered how cooped up he had felt in the Umbarian city and the exhilaration of flying free over the desert. He recalled the open, friendly faces of the Northerners, comparing them to the closed, wary expressions of many of his own people. With a new-found feeling of responsibility, he wondered what he would do if he were to lead them.

Finally another long day was over; the darkness fell, and though they sat at the fire for awhile, there was little talk. It seemed they had exhausted their store of conversation, and they did not care to talk only for the sake of hearing their own voices. Tinar was thankful for the weariness that soon enabled him to fall into the deep sleep of youth.

[piosenniel]

Rôg . . . in the place where the Elders live

That night and all the following day found him far to the east, over the sea, following the coastline in the distance. North he flew, above the scudding clouds when he could, avoiding the eyes of men. Only one small boy, out fishing in the early light of day with his grandfather in their longboat, spied him as he passed. Rôg could see the child’s wide-opened eyes and the grin of surprise when he dipped his head to him as he slipped into the cover of a cloud bank.

The range of tall, jagged peaks to the west signaled he had reached his destination, and with a glad heart he turned toward them. Beyond them, he knew, would lay the older range, now standing here and there like broken rows of ragged teeth. Red in color, their slopes caught the westering sun and flamed up for a brief space of time each day with its living light. Great cliffs honeycombed with caves stood high above the stretches of sandy dunes; themselves giving way to the broad stony plains that ran between the arms of the rocky mountains and the foothills. He circled once taking it in . . . the scatterings of low-growing grasses – needlegrass and bridlegrass, thick about the rims of the salty ponds. The randomly strewn scrubby brush in shades of greys – sages and saltworts. Here and there he could see where the prankish winds picked up the sandy dust of the plains and set it dancing in little whirling cones.

Save for its dryness it was vastly different from the southern deserts. Stories passed down through the years spoke of it as once being an inland sea. Then changes had come, the lands broke and shifted; the waters of the sea had dried up. Life had adapted to the foods available and the sparse sources of moisture – small springs in the lower regions of the craggy mountains, snow in the higher elevations during the winter season . . . buzzards and eagles and smaller birds; fox, desert-bear, snow leopards, and lynx; red deer and mountain sheep; wild donkeys, wild horses. And even small things prospered in their own way . . . lizards, and desert mice, and butterflies.

Rôg dropped down in a lazy, tightening circle to a place he recalled from his younger years. A small gravelly pond still gathered beneath a rocky ledge, fed by a trickling freshet from the mountains. He could refresh himself, then set off to find the Elders. Or just let them find me . . . he thought to himself as his feet touched the ground. ‘They’ve probably already seen me, anyway,’ he chuckled to himself, his eyes sweeping the darkened openings to the caves that riddled the cliffs . . .