Perilous Journeys. Shadow Over Rhudaur III

[Daurendil]

"She'll be interested. Trust me." With that, Odaragariel's spun around and ran out of the room.

Now, now... that sounded almost ominous... Daurendil stood gaping at the door till Odare's running footfalls died away. Why did she behave so strangely? Sure, girls always reacted oddly, but up to this moment he thought Odare to be an exception. Was he wrong? Daurendil suppressed the urge to scratch his head. He got used to consider Odare one of his closest friends, along with Nauremir, always eager to share a hasardous adventure or some fun. What was wrong with her now? Could she be... what a crazy thought ...jealous?

Oh, how he wished to have Ol' Naure back! Nauremir, ten years Daurendil's senior, always had answers to difficult questions, especially those concerning women. Were he here, he could have told him how to placate Odare and what to do with this wondrous creature with the hair the color of sunrise! He craved to hold her in his arms and to wipe away the tears from her rosy cheeks, to feel again the silkiness of her tresses ...But how to approach her now? And why had she been crying anyway? What was all that about "not being good at lying"?

Utterly at a loss, he turned to the Elf. "I... I am sorry, Arinya, could you please tell me what this all was about?"

[Callon]

On the road south of Cameth Brin, afternoon of November 2, 1347

"Hail, Master! Isn't it a fine day?"

Callon turned his head towards the man who was hailing him, grateful for some friendly and coherent conversation (not much was to be hoped for from the painter or his assistant, apparently!) and then froze in disbelief. The blood drained from his face as he stared at the man who had led the attack on them on the road. But - but - this was the Hillman merchant ... No! It was the man! It had to be - he couldn't be mistaken! That face was burned into his memory, and apparently this was just another deception the despicable scoundrel was playing...

Callon made a swift grab for the reins, but the momentary confusion he had experienced over the man's identity gave Algeirr the time he needed to evade Callon's grasp. He spurred his horse away from the wagon as Callon yelled out, half-standing in the wagon and pointing vehemently towards Algeirr, "Stop him! STOP him!! He's a thief and a murderer!"

[Arinya]

"I'm not quite sure what's going on myself," answered Arinya with a rueful little smile at Daurendil, followed by a warning look at Caelen.

But Caelen had the bit firmly between her teeth and was not about to lose the chance at horses and freedom to ride. Everyone would understand, anyway ...

"No, Arinya, Prince Daurendil has the right to know the truth," she said firmly. Arinya, who was unsure of the right course to take, anyway, let Caelen go ahead - it was her life, after all...

Caelen looked up at Daurendil and put on the expression that had usually worked wonders with her father and brother (silly men!)

"My lord, my family has lived for many years in the green valleys of Sir Methed in the west of your kingdom. We loved the land and our horses," she likes horses! thought Daurendil happily, "and lived in harmony together under the blue skies of our creator. But the times changed in this last year, and evil has grown and has not been checked, and our ancestral home was burned to the ground in what we think was an intentional attack on us. Of our family, only my brother and myself escaped from the ruins." Caelen had begun her story with a bit of artiface to win her point, but her grief at this point was sincere.

"Many of our horses survived, and we thought we could return to our lands and rebuild in a few years after the land had recovered, but ..." Here Caelen paused, not quite sure how to word the next part.

"Go on," encouraged Daurendil, with visions of himself and Caelen riding off into the sunset in the back of his head.

"There was a man who wanted to marry me - a terrible, uncouth, unlearned, brute of a man! - and we found out just in time that he was planning to take me by force, and we fled."

Daurendil shook his head sympathetically, visions of Broggha in his head.

"On the road, we were attacked by some vagabond ruffians, and they ... they ... we were vastly outnumbered, and shot my brother's horse out from under him. My brother valiantly tried to hold them off and give me a chance to ride away, but they were hurting him, and I just couldn't leave ..."

She bit her lip and blinked back some tears that had sprung into her eyes. Daurendil watched her, fascinated.

"I tried to ride them down, but they caught me, and ... and mistreated me," she said quietly, blushing, unsure of how to describe what had happened to her to this prince, and now not so sure that telling him her story was the best move, horses or not!

"The villians!" exclaimed Daurendil, taking her hands and leading her over to the window seat and making her sit down, retaining her hands in his. "Come, take some fresh air for a moment - this must be very distressing for you!" he said. It seemed so easy and natural to help her.

Caelen took a deep breath and continued - too late to turn back now. She finished with a description of how Eryndil and his men had saved them, and how they had decided to come to Cameth Brin, and her brother's last-second decision to pass her off as his expectant wife in order to protect her. Daurendil listened in amazement - here he came to Arinya's chambers for a simple ride, and now he was landed in yet another complicated situation! But this one was so different ...

Caelen finished up with how she had met Arinya and had accidentally betrayed her secret. "And that's what Arinya meant when she told me not to ride because of my "condition" - she was just trying to keep up the secret. But I thought you should know, my lord," she finished artlessly, looking at him with trustful eyes. This man seemed nice, like her brother, and she was used to men looking after her.

The room grew silent as Caelen and Arinya waited for his response.

[Algeirr]

On the road south of Cameth Brin, afternoon of November 2, 1347

"Stop him! STOP him!! He's a thief and a murderer!"

In panic, Algeirr galloped along the road toward the head of the column. This way he had to face fewer men, as in front of the wagons were only Gimilbeth, Merendil and the knights of their entourage. But the cries of the Tark had alerted those in front, so when Algeirr passed the first wagon he was confronted by a chain of mounted knights with drawn swords. The road was barred...

He turned his horse around in desperation, but the soldiers from behind the wagons were almost upon him as well. There was the only escape left - into the woods away from the road. The dark fur trees on both sides stood dense and ominous, leaving no clear path. Algeirr rolled from his saddle and dived into the forest in a shower of needles, tearing his way through the heavy branches. He was followed by curses and cries and the sound of snapping twigs and branches. He hardly made a dozen steps, when someone grabbed him from behind. Algeirr kicked, but a heavy weight descended on his shoulders, pulling him down. A strong hand got hold of his hair and shoved his face hard into the forest floor. A heavy boot connected with his ribs and he ceased to struggle.

"Lead him here!" came Captain Merendil's order from the road. In a moment Algeirr found himself on his belly disturbingly close to the front hooves of the Captain's war stallion.

He raised his scratched, bleeding face and asked artfully feigning indignation. "Why were you hunting me? I did no wrong! I only came up for a chat when this wagon driver attacked me. He must be raving mad... I only tried to save my life!"

[Daurendil]

Arinya's room in Cameth Brin Palace. November 2, 1347


Ahh those eyes... Daurendil felt drowning in their clear gray depths...So innocent, so trusting. Well, he was not a man to betray such trust! He mastered the deepest masculine voice he was capable of and said. "Oh, fair Lady, your secret is safe with me! I swear by Eru - I will not reveal it to anyone that lives.". With that he brought Caelen's fingers to his mouth and kissed them - with much more fervor that the custom permitted. But Caelen was likely unfamiliar with courtly manners, as she did not seem offended.

Emboldened by her compliance, he looked into her face and grinned. "And now, Caelen (for may I call you Caelen?), let us be off for this hunt. Do you have suitable clothes?

At her enthusiastic nod he sprang to his feet and pulled her to the door. "Then go and put them on. We shall be waiting for you in the court." He bowed to Arinya and made his way out of the Palace whistling in excitement.

[Pizbur Ashuk]

Orc Camp, November 2

"I don't like it, Pizbur Ashûk. I don't like it at all!" Durbûrz muttered dourly and then bit into the rabbit carcass, neatly severing one of its hind legs. For a moment, he sat looking in fascination at the bloody stump, before tearing chunks of flesh off with his teeth.

"Quit your grousing, Durbûrz, or you'll be missing that one good eye you have left!" The powerful orc leader glared down at the smaller orc, who was sitting amongst the other orcs on a long, felled log by the fire.

"Sorry, Pizbur. I suppose I'm just a little over eager. It seems we've been sitting here for centuries waiting." Durbûrz was terrified of Pizbur Ashûk. He had to admit, though, that the Pizbur was an outstanding officer and had led them out of many a tight spot. It wasn't for someone like Durbûrz to question an officer, but he was restless, eager for some action, and this waiting was getting on his nerves.

"Durbûrz, the hunting's good here. You can't say you've ever gone hungry since we've been camping in this location, can you?" He listened for Durbûrz' deferential "Yes, sir," and smiled, displaying his massive tushes of which he was so proud. "Corporal, we ain't never seen such easy duty, and when we get to the work of kidnapping the Rhudaurian princess, it is all going to be a matter of child's play!

"Now, men, listen to me!" He turned to the whole company of orcs and captured their instant attention. "I am going to go over this whole operation again... the more you keep something in your mind, the fresher it will be."

All the men's' attention on him, Pizbur Ashûk spoke louder, so everyone could hear him:

"...Now, men, as you know, there's good cover on both sides of the road. When we see the signal, we attack... We want to get this over with quickly. Broggha's dispatch rider promised that there would be some good booty in this for us if we do it right. Remember! No survivors to tell the tale! We are to take everything, even the horses! The princess' entire entourage will just 'disappear.' Any questions?"

One of the orcs stood up. "Yes, sir, I have a question. You say that Algeirr, Broggha's man, will provide a distraction for us?"

"Aye, Private. When he feels the time is ripe to attack, he will ride his horse to the side of the road and pretend that the beast has a loose shoe. While he is disrupting the column, we strike. Any more questions?"

"Only one, sir," the speaker replied. "The Princess Gimilbeth... I understand she is not to be spoiled. But what about any jewelry she has? Can we 'relieve' her of it?"

"No, you fool! Everything is to remain intact, and I do mean everything, so keep your filthy paws off the woman! She is considered to be quite a prize in the North! The King wants her just as she is!"

The other orc's face fell. "Not even a little fondling? If there's no bruising or cutting, how is anyone to know?"

"You idiot! Are you deaf? I said not to touch!" Moving quickly to the other orc, he grabbed him around the waist, squeezing him close in a fierce grasp. "Do you like hugging and kissing?" his raspy voice hissed in the other's face. "Want a little lovin'? I'll give you a little 'hug!'"

"No, Pizbur, no! You're breaking my ribs!" the other orc screamed as Ashûk's massive arms tightened, threatening to crush the breath out of him. "Just a little lovin', private," Ashûk laughed as he felt a rib in the other's chest give. Lifting him up over his head, Ashûk threw the subordinate across the campfire. The other orc came crashing down, nearly missing two warriors sitting near the fire.

Not even breathing hard, the massive orc stood back and challenged any other complainers, but there were none. "Let that be a lesson to you other leeches! I demand obedience and death to any who don't give it!"

Durbûrz, thankful that he wasn't the brunt of Ashûk's fury, stood up. "Sir, I have a question."

"What is it?" Ashûk turned to him, a scowl on his face.

"The officers? What about them? Are we allowed any sport? What about the corpse of Nauremir?"

"We will take the most important officers for questioning on the trail. Nauremir? We can eat him. His body is unimportant."

"Sir, what if his body was pickled like the tarks like to do? I ain't ever eaten a corpse filled with pickling fluid," a grinning Durbûrz commented.

"Jarl Broggha thinks Princess Gimilbeth tried to play a little joke on us and that the man is still alive. But if he is really dead and has been pickled, just think of the pickling fluid as extra flavoring," Pizbur Ashûk guffawed.

[Agannalo]

Shedun Pass on the road to Angmar, at the northern border of Rhudaur, evening of November 2, 1347.

Agannalo's journey North was proving dull and uneventful. Once past the populated lands around Penmorva, he hardly saw anyone. The houses he passed stood empty and abandoned, often nothing remained but the burned-down remnants. The previous day he passed through what had once been a thriving town, but now was a pile of ruins. Orc work, obviously - he even caught the remaining stench of the brutes hanging in the stale air.

The search of the gardens in the burned town left him with some half-frozen apples - he collected as many as he could find, but that was hardly enough to keep the Gray going. "How low have I fallen!" he thought bitterly. It was fortunate that no one could see the former elegant courtier from Armenelos and the Dark Lord's High Nazgul rummaging about around the piles of dry autumn leaves in a dirty backyard. Agannalo fervently hoped that once in Angmar, he would find where to buy some more oats for his horse. The fodder supply he had in his saddlebags was running low and soon the old Gray would be starving.

Water, at least, was abundant: Agannalo lost count of the rivers and streams he had to cross. Each time he needed time to boost his courage to enter the running water - it was really enervating to travel through a country where people neglected to build bridges!

But on an on he went and the rocky ridge separating Rhudaur from Angmar drew closer and closer. Soon the road started its winding climb to the Shedun Pass, meandering between outcrops of red rock. The firs on the slopes gave way to gnarled pines.

Agannalo rode on musing darkly on his sad fate when he heard a faint whistle coming from ahead and above him. The whistle was so low and far away that mortal ears could have hardly caught it, but the nazgul's keen senses alerted him of the danger. He checked that his sword hilt was well within easy reach and the harp was firmly attached to the saddle, then shrugged his shoulders and continued further into the gathering evening gloom.

He was not in the least surprised when, after a sharp bend of the road, he found a freshly hewed pine solidly blocking the path. No one seemed to be around, but the smell of unwashed human flesh all around was overwhelming. Agannalo remained head bent, immobile on his horse, listening to the rustle of needles and the stealthy footsteps of a dozen men surrounding him.

***

The band of border outlaws counted fourteen men - mostly from Hillmen stock, but there were also two Dunlandings and even one Lossoth scout. The scout returned half an hour ago reporting a lone traveler on the road - a Tark with a harp, a traveling minstrel by the looks of him. A minstrel would be poor catch, but it was better than nothing. Lately, with winter approaching, the travelers had become few, and those who still used the road mostly went in big groups and often hired mercenary soldiers in Pennmorva or Shedun to take them over the dangerous Shedun Pass. After hearing the scout's report, Ulfr, the leader, gave a low whistle to alert the rest of the group and the trap was set.

The outlaws waited, their unease growing... The weak light of the northern day gave way to a misty evening. The silence was heavy, growing weightier with each passing moment, accentuated by the clip-clop of the approaching hooves. The cold felt unusually biting and the very air seemed dark with sickly mist clinging tenuously to the ground.

Here is the prey - a tall hooded rider, swathed in a dark cloak. Overruling his sense of foreboding, Ulfr gave a low whistle and the hidden bandits scurried down to the blocked roadbed and surrounded the traveler. Ulfr got hold of the reins and brought the end of his gleaming broadsword to the victim's chest, wondering at the man's immobility.

"Now, Tark, let us have a look at your money bag. I hope it will prove heavy enough to satisfy us " he growled, trying to see the other's face concealed in the depths of the dark hood.

There was no reply, no movement. Exasperated and not a little frightened, Ulfr pressed his sword harder into the stranger's chest. Then the figure moved. The gloved hands slowly rose and laid back the hood. Ulfr gasped and staggered back a few steps, not believing his own eyes. There was only darkness and pale gleam as if of eyes where the head should have been. But he hardly had time to process what he saw as at this moment a terrible cry rent the air - a shrill and high-pitched wail, full of evil and malice unfathomable.

Darkness descended on bodies and minds, heavy, cold and stifling. Unable to move, unable to breath, unable to think, the outlaws crouched blindly on the ground with only one feeling left to them - abject terror. In the darkness someone moaned, someone cried like a baby. There were other sounds - the ring of steel and the whistling of the blade as it arced through the air toward the necks of kneeling men.

***

Fourteen heads... the features of each face forever contorted in horror. Agannalo stacked the severed heads in a small neat pyramid on an outcrop of rock near the road. Not very impressive - after some battles he had seen piles of heads almost reaching the sky. "Pity there were so few men..." he mused, looking at his handiwork critically. Sighing, he mounted the Gray and went on - North, always North.

[Callon]

On the road south of Cameth Brin, afternoon of November 2, 1347

"Why were you hunting me? I did no wrong! I only came up for a chat when this wagon driver attacked me. He must be raving mad... I only tried to save my life!"

Captain Merendil's left eyebrow rose expressively. The men who knew him grinned. "Then why did you run from my men, who would have defended you from this "mad" wagon driver?" he asked with a tinge of irony in his voice, dismounting to get a better look at the man. "Stop!" he commanded as Algeirr started to answer. "We will have everyone here who is involved in this before we talk further. Let him up, but keep a good hold on him so he won't be tempted to seek the "safety" of the wilderness again," he added to the soldier holding Algeirr down.

Algeirr got up and started dusting himself off with the air of someone who has been greatly wronged but will be reasonable about it. He took a quick look at the Captain and was dismayed at the look he got back - Algeirr was used to fights where his side held all the advantages, and he didn't like his odds here at all ...

A look from Captain Merendil stopped Callon, who came running up, wanting nothing more but to get at Algeirr in a fair fight. With a great effort, Callon stopped, breathing hard, and bowed his head in a gesture of respect and obedience, contenting himself with catching his breath instead of his enemy, since he could see that Algeirr was now securely guarded by the soldiers. The time would come - he could be patient ... He looked at Algeirr with anger and contempt, and his hands balled into fists.

A young guardsman, a nephew of Captain Merendil, came running up to Callon and put his hand on his shoulder in a gesture of support. Callon looked at him gratefully and then turned back to stare at Algeirr with hate in his eyes.

Captain Merendil's other eyebrow rose. This was a curious situation ... his instinct was to believe the young Dunedain over the Hillman, but he must force himself to be fair. And his first duty was to the Princess. He remounted his stallion and called to his men, "Guard these two well - I will ride to the Princess and inform her of the situation, and see what she wishes to do."

[Algeirr]

Algeirr waited breathlessly for the Princess to appear. What a fool he had been to panic and to bolt like this... But, even so, it was his word against the Tark's. That is, if only they wouldn't search him.... The emerald necklace concealed in his breast pocket seemed to burn his skin. The thought of losing it was as unbearable as the thought of his own death.

Here she was at last.. the dreaded Witch, looking lordly indeed. Gimilbeth was seated on a high lady's side-saddle, her magnificent fur mantle spread all over the stallion's flanks and back and hanging half-way down to the ground. She narrowed her piercing eyes at Algeirr as if he were a rare species of a particularly disgusting insect. Then the ruby lips curled in a cruel smile

"Ahh... so you have caught a spy. Hang him and let us ride on."

Algeirr gasped, not believing his ears. There was an uneasy silence. Captain Merendil frowned in annoyance and protested.

"With all due respect, my Lady, we can't do that. He may be a Hillman, but he still has the right to a fair trial. Let the driver state his accusations and let this man defend himself."

Gimilbeth shrugged her shoulders and replied icily "We are wasting our time, Captain".

But Merendil was a stubborn man, veteran of many wars, gruff but just. Pointedly ignoring the Princess, he gestured to the young wagon driver and asked in his harsh, booming voice.

"Speak up, man... uhm, Callon, isn't it? Do you know this Hillman named Algeirr? Why do you call him a thief and a murderer? What proof do you have?"

[Callon]

"Proof? You want proof?!?!" shouted Callon. "Just go to the Northern Kingdom website, at northernkingdom.proboards98.com, and read the 16th post of the RPG "Runnings"!

Gimilbeth whipped out her IBook, booted up, and typed feverishly as Algeirr waited, sweating bullets.

"Darn remote connections," she muttered to herself, moving her stallion a little further away from the ridge.

Minutes later, the company moved on, as Algeirr's body swung lifeless from a dead tree.