Shadow of the West

[Firefoot]

Siamak nodded, thinking. "It sounds so. It is almost as if she were writing the letter in a reply, based on information we already have..." In a flash of insight, he clarified, "You were with her, right, when Khamul proposed? What were you talking about before he came?"

"The Emissary. She said he was... evil." It was clear that Gjeelea had made the same connection as he.

"Perhaps, then, the Emissary and his following are the evil-doers she mentions? We will need to make sure, but I think Arshalous is trying to tell us she is on your - our - side." He smiled slightly and handed the letter back to Gjeelea. "Let's hope. She will have power in her position as queen. She may be of help."

"If she has the courage," commented Zamara, almost to herself.

All of us will need that, thought Siamak. But he said, "Yes, that will have to be proven. But for now, we will have to find out if she is with us, if that was truly what she meant to imply. I think we should also look for allies elsewhere - I will talk to General Morgôs - but tomorrow, or maybe it is today now. The night is growing old. But now - Gjeelea, you told Morashk that you would be staying at the palace, and that will probably be common knowledge before long. But, you, Priestess, you called your temple quarters little more than a prison. So am I correct that you do not wish to return there? I am sure we could find someplace that you could - stay."

[Amanaduial the archer]

Hide, you mean, Zamara replied silently, her lip curling slightly. But what other choice did she have? Stay, hide, it was all one: one must what one must, that was what she had always been taught; and what she must do now, whether she liked it or not, was hide.

But Zamara had also been taught that no matter how dark the situation seemed, there is always another choice, another path that can be taken, however shrouded. The darkness that crept over the kingdom allowed little light to fall now on the choices of even the highest nobles, and Arshalous had, it seemed to Zamara, leapt to the one choice that she probably felt she was forced to make; but even in times so dark, a shred of light still crept through from the cracks in th floor of the heavens, a shred of light that illuminated Zamara's ultimate choice - and Arshalous's. I will not hide forever...

The Priestess nodded, showing no sign of her inner turmoil, although at the mention of her house-arrest, she couldn't help but glance anxiously out of the window. "I do not think I could return there if I wanted; no doubt it would 'sorcery' could be the explanation for my escape, and just another reason to condemn me. Maybe escaping seems to have made things worse, but I could not have stayed a minute longer..." she shuddered slightly, remembering the Emissary's cold, relentless grip on her arm as he forced her to her knees, effectively forced her to bow to him. Shaking away the memory, Zamara nodded to Siamak, a shadow of a smile gracing her expression. "My thanks, Prince Siamak, Princess Gjeelea." She extended her grace to the princess not out of diplomacy, but for the change that seemed to have come about in the woman: a new strength, but also a quietness. A fear that even Gjeelea could not entirely hide. She must have married Korak after all, Zamara noted resignedly as she spied the gold band on the princess's finger. And for the first time in how many hundred years, the marriage must have been performed in the Temple of Rae... A sudden, more frightening thought came to Zamara, and she started slightly at it.

"The gods..." Zamara looked anxiously at the royal siblings. "He really did have them destroyed, did he not?"

Gjeelea looked shaken at the wording used by the Priestess. "The emissary effectively closed the temples, and the Temple of Rae was transformed into a temple for the...the new God." Here she glanced sharply at Zamara, as if unsure of how the Priestess would take this, then seeing Zamara's simple, impassive expression, she continued quickly, "But I would not say he has 'destroyed' Rhais or Rae..."

"Destroy the worshippers and you destroy the gods," Zamara replied softly. Looking down, she sighed softly, closing her eyes for a moment as she shook her head. The snake had told her mockingly one day of the downfall of the old gods; had told her that the people now shunned her petty, false gods, to worship the true One... She had ignored him, had shut her ears to his laughter and mockery, waving it aside as false. But now to find the truth in the statement? Zamara squeezed her eyes tightly shut, then looked up again at Gjeelea, bright eyed. "And the name of this one god?"

"His name...his name is Morgoth."

"Morion...i yára úmëa..."

The words slipped from Zamara's lips so softly that they were like a mere whisper of wind, softer than the glimmering of a distant star - distant as the voice of a faraway god. Both the prince and princess felt a shiver up the back of their necks as they watched the Priestess gazing out of the window. As if fearing to break a spell, Gjeelea replied almost in a whisper, "What did you say?"

Zamara looked around suddenly, as if awoken from a dream, and blinked. Shaking her head, she frowned slightly. "I..nothing. It does not matter." Shaking off the strange, creeping feeling at the back of her neck, Zamara blinked a few more times and turned to the children together, opening her mouth to speak, before something outside the door creaked: nothing more than a rogue floorboard, but nonetheless the sound made all three jump and Zamara almost bolted for the doorway again. Feeling foolish, Zamara gave a small, nervous smile despite the tension, and turned to Siamak again. "Your majesty, you were saying something about a hiding place? Have you anywhere in mind?"

[alaklondewen]

In the course of several months, life had changed dramatically for the General’s wife. Before the fateful day of Beckah’s death, Arlomë had been a respected and active member of Pashtian society. Now she rarely left her estate unless absolutely necessary, and then, only in the heart of the day, when the disgusting Orc soldiers did less harm and the Elves in Kanak were treated with slightly more respect than after the instated curfues. Her faithful mornings spent in the temple of Rhais were no more as the goddess’ worshipers had been forced from the temple and threatened if they were to praise her in public. Arlomë, with her son’s aid, built a small alter in the North-east corner of the home, where the Elf now performed her daily meditation and prayer.

Then…there was Morgôs. Arlomë had watched her husband deteriorate into a shadow of his former stature. She did what she could to keep him physically healthy, but something else what eating away at him and he would not let her in to help him as she may. She had strength…enough for both of them (so she thought), but he would have to open up to her. He did not speak of it often, but she knew it hurt him to be placed in an ornamental position, filling out papers instead of using his wit and instinct to lead men on the battlefield.

Yes, her world was changed. The elf reflected as she closed her eyes tightly and let the warm evening breeze lift her hair loosely from her shoulders before it continued around the garden swaying the long tree branches and making their leaves dance. So much had happened, and more was to come. She knew not which way fate would move, but something was going to come to pass that would change the course of her life and those that were close to her. She could feel it in her bones.

[Firefoot]

Siamak thought for a moment before responding. Zamara’s hiding place would have to be somewhere that could be easily accessed without causing suspicion, yet it could not be anyplace where people, servants or nobles, regularly went. He was thinking that it also ought to have more than one exit, so that she would not be trapped should her location be discovered. She had to be able to escape. Tricky requirements... then he had it. It was so absurdly simple, he almost laughed: who would think to hide Zamara in a guest’s chambers? Not very many were currently being used; few people visited the palace nowadays. As for exits, he now recalled the old servants’ entrances which led into nearly all the rooms in the palace - his own chambers had one. They were unused now, and had been unused for any conventional purposes for several generations now.

“Yes,” he said. “I know of a place. I can take you there now, if you like.” Zamara agreed and she and Gjeelea both made for the door.

“No, not that way,” said Siamak, heading into the room where Zamara had previously hid. “This way.” Remembering Nadda in the entry room, he called for her to come as well. After all, the fewer the people who knew the better, and someone would need to bring Zamara meals and such.

Looking slightly puzzled, the three women followed him to the inobtrusive door, designed to blend in with the room. He tried the door; it creaked softly as it was opened. “The old servants’ entrance,” Siamak explained for Zamara’s benefit. “It’s not really in use anymore.” After they filed through, he shut the door to, leaving it slightly ajar so that it would not be hard to find. He took a moment to orient himself. He had only been back here a handful of times, and not once in several years. Left goes towards Khamul’s rooms... right towards the guest rooms, and then a dead end. Right it is.

The passageway was plain, unlike the richly decorated hallways that were more commonly used. The walls were plain stone, and several doors lined them until the way turned out of sight. He concentrated on the number of doors they passed, trying with mild difficulty to remember where each led. Finally, he stopped. If he was correct, the room was about the same distance away from his and Gjeelea’s apartments. Out of the way, but not completely obscure in location. The door opened with more trouble than the one in his own rooms had, but it squeaked less.

It was exactly the type of place he had wanted: these rooms would not be used by any prominant palace guest, so they were smaller, but certainly they were a finer place than one would normally think to hide an accused traitor. Here, the servant’s door opened directly into the bedroom, so the two entrances to the room were not visible to each other.

“What do you think?” he asked. “You have two exits - three, if you count the window - though I doubt anyone will look for you here.”

[Orofaniel]

"The garden is not the same, is it mother?"

The whispering did not affect his mother; she stood there, steady as a rock, but Evrathol knew she was feeling weaker than in her earlier days.

Months had passed since the death of Queen Bekah. Evrathol remembered it like it had been yesterday. His eyes had seen much throughout his long immortal life, but the events of that day that he had witnessed would stay with him forever. He could remember how the Emissary had come to his mother's gardens. The cold and ruthless man that had disturbed the peace in Pashtia had been standing here, on this very spot. Evrathol shivered by the thought of it.

It was Evrathol's suspicion that the Emissary had killed Queen Bekah with his own hands that had been the greatest terror of them all. But how could he prove it? Evrathol was not to keen to go against the Emissary and his men alone. He knew he would not be strong enough to do so. But why hadn't Morgos, the general, taken more responsibility? He wondered what role the Princess and the Prince played in all this. Where they still mourning, perhaps, he wondered. The questions regarding the future of Pashtia tormented him, for he had no answers. He knew little of what was really going on in the Palace as he had not been there after the Queen's death. However, he had no wish of going there, because he was afraid the sight of it would weaken his hopes for a new and better Pashtia.

Oh, these ill events that has taken place in Pashtia...." Evrathol sighed. Indeed, many ill events had taken place.

He looked at his mother. She was grave and paler than usual. His mother had been devastated after the Priestess Zamara had withdrawn from her duties, and apparently gone mad. The Temple that had been a place for peace and quiet and his mother had used this as a place to collect her thoughts. Now however, she had arranged a small alter in her own home with Evrathol’s help. Nevertheless, Evrathol knew it was not the same.

"No, the gardens are different, I'm afraid," Arlomë then said quietly.

"But Mother, your plants....they need to be looked after," Evrathol said softly. "Many of them have already withered and died...Will you not see to the few that are left?" Evrathol continued. Arlomë remained quiet. "I have tried to look after them for you, but I do not share your knowledge and wisdom. Please, you must not let all of them wither. You used to..."

"That time has passed, son," Arlomë then interrupted. "The Pashtia we knew before is fading away…withering....But I feel that something is going to change. I do not know what it is. Do you feel it?"

Evrathol looked at her, amazed by her last words. His mother hadn’t been so enthusiastic about anything in a long time. However, he still sensed weariness in her voice. "I do not know what I feel. I just know that this Pashtia is nothing like it used to be - the evry same thing you are saying, in other words. It cannot continue like this. We must do something. Like we said we would do after the death of the Queen. Remember? Remember my suspicion?”

"Speak naught of it, son, because I dare not remember it. But please, let us speak with your father. He knows more about the events inside the place, don't you think?"

[Amanaduial the archer]

Zamara looked in astonishment around the room, clean, airy and devoid of black: more pleasant than her own quarters had been in several months, since her imposed withdrawal. She almost laughed, her face splitting into a grin as she turned back to Siamak and nodded enthusiastically, approving. "It is perfect, your majesty - more than perfect." She laughed, but the joyful sound was muted so as not to attract attention; a joy snuffed and muted for fear, as all now seemed to be in Pashtia. "Thank you, Siamak, thank you indeed."

The prince smiled back graciously and gave a stiff little nod to the Priestess before he turned to Nadda. "You will be in charge of the High Priestess's welfare; see that she has her meals on time and the like - but do it absolutely secretly, do you understand me?" Nadda shrunk a little before Siamak's direct, commanding tone, but nodded. "Of course, sir. But...but so many of the servants follow the old ways still-" she blurted out.

"I know, and their time to help shall come," Zamara answered swiftly. Nadda seemed about to say something before her manners when speaking to noblemen caught up with her and she shut her mouth sharply as if slightly mortified with her speaking out of turn. Zamara smiled to her and took the servant girl's hands. "Your time shall come, Nadda; but you must be patient. Do not mention my coming here to anyone, anyone at all. Only Reafin knows other than you - it must stay that way, alright? It must." Her words were urgent, but she managed to keep her desperation out of them, coming across as intense but unruffled - she hoped - as she held the girl's hands tightly in her own. Nadda nodded quickly, her eyes saucer-wide. Zamara smiled and let go, leaving Siamak to dismiss her. As the servant girl scurried away through the labyrinth of tunnels that Siamak had illuminated to them, Zamara took a deep sigh and looked around her 'new room'. As she did so, she suddenly felt such a swell of gratitude that was only matched by her weariness, and she stifled a yawn as she turned back to the royal children. But before she could speak, Gjeelea stepped in. "No more talk for now, Zamara; you must rest. And so must we, brother," she added, turning to Siamak. The prince gave her a slightly curious look but it was well masked. "You will be sleeping in the palace tonight, Gjeelea?"

The princess nodded. "I would not disturb my husband at this time," she replied, the words stiff as if they sounded false in her mouth. "I will return in the morning."

Siamak did not comment. After both her and Gjeelea had bid her good night and departed, Zamara turned back into her room and, without further ado, crossed the room to the bed and lay, exhausted with the night's adventures. The crisp, cool white covers felt exquisite against her skin as she slipped out of her thick dark cloak and then, after a moment's thoughts, out of the white robes, but even as she tried to relax in this haven, her mind kept working. Had her vanishing trick been noticed by Pashtia's 'occupiers' yet? If not, it would not be long before it was - and then what? Her trial was already a postponed death sentence, she had no doubt, and once it was found that she had mysteriously escaped and vanished into the night without a trace - why, it would no doubt simply harden the evidence in the minds of her enemies. And she seemed to have so many enemies now.

Closing her eyes tightly, Zamara sighed deeply, feeling suddenly sadness rather than anger against the city that had turned its back on her. Since the Emissary's arrival...or was it? It seemed that everything had gone downhill from there, since the building of the new temple and the death of Queen Bekah, but was it then that things had started? Maybe her downfall had begun before then and the Emissary was merely a catalyst; had her time simply come, the time for the old gods to fall?

No. No, she knew it could not be true. There were followers still, those who would stand behind her even now - Reafin, the servant who had even this night risked his job - her very life - in getting her into the palace rather than calling the patrols upon her. And the royal children - they went against their father and plotted his downfall for her safety and for the ways of life that she stood to uphold, as they themselves did. They were not moving on on the side of the Snake, corrupted as Faroz had been; they were making a stand, quietly, oh so quietly - but even the smallest whisper can make a change, even the smallest grain of rice can tip the balance. And indeed, Zamara wondered about the warmth which Gjeelea's tone had almost had when she had spoken to Siamak - it was not something that had been there before. Were things changing even at that level? In times of trouble, such small differences were all that it took to shift the pebbles, the boulders, the mountains. And to destroy the corruption of the Snake and his strange, mysterious 'one god', mountains would have to be shifted. Maybe...maybe even now, when all seemed dark, the light could yet be found, the candle yet illuminated.

There was hope for the West yet. As long as human decency strove to prevail over the darkness and unfeeling politics of those who didn't care for the state they governed; as long as there were some with backbone; as long as one voice could stand to raise another, another, another; as soon as a thousand voices stood to make a stand, brought about by one pebble shifting in the landslide... as long as faith, courage and hope remained, there was hope for the West yet.

Checking the door was locked, just in case, Zamara closed her eyes and went to sleep with the voice of a kindly goddess echoing in her thoughts.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The sun rose red, spilling light across the parched fields like blood and spilling onto the sands of the desert which soaked it up, taking it into itself and preparing to unleash it later as a scalding heat that burnt the very air. In the Palace, Khamûl awoke from his nightmares of black, nameless things clawing at him, and of the echoing Voice that raged against him. He came to consciousness quickly, as he always did, but as he opened his eyes it was as though some vestige of his night’s visions remained with him, for against the light of the archway which lead to the balcony he thought, for the briefest sliver of time, that he saw a pale form. It was shaped as his wife had been, and it was as a cool cloud of silver before the angry red of dawn. It seemed for a moment as though the figure raised its hand to him, but then the morning wind came in through the arch and blew the form away into shadow. There was a sound just below hearing very much like a sigh, and Khamûl felt a touch upon his neck – firm, and not malicious, but neither comforting nor tender. It was as though the shade that passed by him were trying to tell him something. He held on to the thought and placed his own hand at his neck where he had felt the touch, and as he did so he felt his throat constrict and tighten. He started up, his breath catching in his throat and for a terrible heartbeat he thought that he beheld the face of his friend Ashnaz bending over him, and he could feel talons ripping at his throat.

But then the vision was gone, to be replaced by the smiling face of his friend. They had taken to sharing the Royal chamber so that Khamûl could benefit from Ashnaz’s presence at all times. At first, the Emissary had slept upon a low pallet beside the King’s bed, but the mattress was large and there was room upon it for several men, and so the Emissary had made up his bedroll upon it with the King. This had not seemed at all strange or alien to the King, although he did still take care that none of the servants would see it.

They arose, and took their breakfast, and as the sun rose and lost some of its crimson, the King’s mood improved. They ate in silence, but still they conversed with one another through their inner eyes. It was how Khamûl had come to think of the Ring; for he saw it in his mind now at all times as a burning wheel which gazed at him with command and love. From it he could see the mind of Ashnaz and as they took their food they exchanged their night’s dreams. As usual, Ashnaz’s were of far lands of green landscapes, well-ordered and governed with might fortresses and many peoples working toward one goal, one god and one future. Over these lands there ruled the one lord, benevolent and careful with the peoples he commanded, and they worshipped him for his greater wisdom and might. These visions calmed Khamuûl, and with the help of his friend he brushed from his mind the memory of the terrifying vision of his wife that had come to him with the dawn.

Their meal was interrupted by a frantic messenger who was shown in by the orc guards. The man’s face was filled with loathing for the creatures who had escorted him, and he was trembling with terror…of what, Khamûl could not imagine. “Majesty,” he began shakily, “I have come from the quarters of the High Priestess…” he caught the look in the Emissary’s eye, “I mean, of the former High Priestess Zamara.” He paused there.

“Very well,” the King snapped, “and what news have you of the withch?”

“She…she is gone, my King.”

“Gone! How, where what do you mean?” the King raged. He was terrified by the news, for it had come as a surprise. The Ring had given him such powers of sight, that he had convinced himself that there could be no more surprises for him, but as he cast his mind forth he realised that over Zamara there was some kind of mist hiding her from his view. He grew frantic, pacing about the room and he cast his mind to his children, holding the Ring now in his hand so tightly that its gem bit into his fingers drawing blood, but they too were gone – disappeared behind a veil of fog much like that which he had seen at his window this morning. And at the idea there was a touch at his throat once more, and his breath caught. He whirled about locking his eyes with Ashnaz but the look in his friend’s face came like a blow, for instead of calm confidence he saw that he too was confounded by something. They opened their minds to one another and it became clear in an instant that neither of them could see as clearly or as far as they had the night before.

“Find her!” the King cried to the soldier. “Scour the city for her. Spare no house or building – she must be found! I have been lenient so far, too lenient, in allowing her trial to wait for so long, but no more. As soon as she is brought before me in chains I shall pronounce her doom!” The soldier rushed from the room with the orcs grinning at his heels like dogs.

Ashnaz placed a hand upon the King’s shoulder to calm his rage. “You are right, of course, my friend to be enraged. But do not proceed so hastily. The witch has many deluded followers in the City and she cannot be brought to justice without offending them. Let it be known abroad that she is mad; she has clearly run away from her caretakers in a fit of wildness that can only present a danger to herself and to those who might help her out of a misguided pity. Let the people know this, and it will be easier to pass the judgement against her that we know she deserves.”

Panting with the effect of his emotion the King placed his hand upon the Emissary’s own. “You are right, my friend, of course. As always, you are wise and right. Let it be so known.” But the Emissary did not depart right away. “There is more you wish to discuss?”

“Yes, Khamûl, it is the Elves.”

“The Elves?” he asked. “What have they to do with this? Do you suspect them of having aided Zamara in her escape?”

“No,” was the slow reply, “but they have ever been the supporters of the old religion – by the accounts of your own archives it was their myths that gave birth to the heresies that Zamara preached. It is likely that they will resent her being brought to heel. You have already seen how they openly speak out against your orcs. There have even been clashes between Elves and orcs. For their own safety, then, as much as for the safety of your throne, do you not think it wise to bring them where they can be looked after?”

“You have often spoken of such a plan. What do you mean by it?”

“Let there be a special part of the City set aside for the Elves. Have them brought there where they can live apart from Pashtian society and have their culture without it endangering the beliefs of your people. There, too, we can keep them under guard in case their resentment against the orcs leads them to violence.”

“You speak truth, my friend. Let that be done as well. But,” he added after a thought, “let the General Morgôs remain at the Palace where I may keep an eye upon him. He will be a useful tool for me in this. No doubt the other Elves will resent being displaced, and it may assuage them somewhat to see that their most noble hero remains at my side. Have the orcs bring his family to the Palace as well. We shall keep them all here…as our guests.”

The Emissary bowed. “Majesty, I will see that this is all done.”