Perilous Journeys. Shadow Over Rhudaur III

[Hurgon Fernik]

Brochenridge, late afternoon of November 3

“Helmir?” Hurgon asked tentatively.

He didn’t respond. Lately he had taken to ignoring the name Helmir. Sighing Hurgon tried, “My lord Nauremir?”

“Yes, Hurgon?”

“I know you may like to see your home town and everything, umm, but the fact of the matter is …”

“… that the witch you work for has forbidden it, yes?” He looked at Hurgon and smiled almost mockingly.

“She asked me to keep an eye on you. And I don’t work for her, I work for the King, but if his daughter happens to need my help -” Hurgon floundered, trying to defend himself.

“I don’t hold it against you. Whatever you are doing to ruin my life, you’re only doing it for your mistress. I can understand the loyalty of a servant for his mistress-”

“I am not her servant! I am the Royal Painter, and I work for Tarnendur, and believe me, no one hates that evil witch more than me!” Yes, Nauremir’s new tactic of provoking Hurgon was working pretty well.

He leaned forwards persuasively, “You hate her as I do? She makes your life miserable, yes? Then why are you helping her in ruining my life? What hold does she have over you?”

It seemed so silly to just say, “A nameless fear. When I see her cunning eyes and her twitching mouth, I can just feel the evil tainting the air around me, and I can almost see the ground quake with some new level of meanness.”

So Hurgon didn’t reply; he just shrugged.

“Now, Hurgon, how about this? I pretend to go to sleep; you start painting, intently, so that you spare no eyes and ears for me… hmmm? And then when you finally look around, you see a pile of blankets. You run out screaming my name, but it’s too late. She can’t blame you.”

“Well, she could just call me a deaf and blind idiot who deserves to really lose his ears for it…” Hurgon muttered, but he was starting to feel pleasantly rebellious.

“Or I could just give you a light tap on the head and render you unconscious? You can hardly be expected to have won a fight against me.”

“That’s all right,” said Hurgon hastily, “I have a slight headache anyway, wouldn’t want to compound it. I think I’m in the mood for painting.”

“I won’t forget this.” Nauremir almost smiled. “Lend me your cloak, will you? I don’t want to be recognised too early.”

“Yes, of course. Right.”

He watched as Nauremir leaped down and walked away as nonchalantly as he could manage. Then he turned to his canvas. There goes one madman, he thought. And the driver had already left for a drink half an hour ago. Soon the maddest of them all, Gimilbeth in a rage would make an appearance, and who knew if he would ever get the chance to finish the painting again? They were on dry land, the cart was not heaving, so Hurgon frantically dabbed his brush in the paint, and began painting. A few minutes later, he was absorbed and had forgotten his surroundings.

[Gimilbeth]

Brochenridge, evening of November 3

Gimilbeth’s blood turned cold when she beheld a hooded stranger by the door. She was sure it had been Nauremir, escaped from the foolish painter. She berated herself for not setting better guards. Meanwhile, the fugitive had to be apprehended – quietly and effectively. Muttering some excuses about fetching help to get Nauremir’s mother up to her room, she rushed out of the crypt and looked around. There was nobody of note outside, only her two pages. These she sent immediately to search for Nauremir.

She climbed the steep stair to the main court of the fortress where the wagons were parked and most of her men had been waiting. There she spotted the driver of Hurgon’s wagon, the auburn-haired Callon, who walked slowly across the court obviously admiring the Tower. Gimilbeth gripped his sleeve and hissed

“Where is Helmir, Hurgon’s apprentice?”

Startled, the young man bowed to Gimilbeth. “I don’t know, Your Highness – I left him with Hurgon a while ago” he replied.

“Go and find him!” ordered Gimilbeth. “Be careful, he is raving mad and dangerous. Don’t listen to anything he says. Just knock him on the head and bring him back into the wagon.”

Leaving the wide-eyed Callon, Gimilbeth made her way to the second wagon, knowing already what awaited her there. Curse the foolish painter! If Nauremir escaped, he would rue his lenience to the end of his days!

[Caelen]

Cameth Brin, morning of November 3, 1347.

Caelen's eyes opened slowly at first, and then popped wide open as a big smile spread across her face. Eryndil's lecture had not been in vain - today she was going to be really good and think of others!

Caelen's family had always hated these days. There were always tears, and often blood, to be wiped up by the end of these days.

Caelen hurriedly washed her face and attacked her unruly hair. For once, it didn't put up much of a fight, and Caelen took that as a good sign.

Now, where should she start?

"Probably with my room," she thought guiltily, looking at the clothes strewn about. That wasn't right - her mother had tried for years to get her to keep her room clean, and now she would finally take that to heart. She hastily went around the room and put things in their proper places, finishing up by neatly folding Callon's shirt that she placed on her pillow every night since he had left so that she could feel near to him. She closed her eyes and held it to her face, inhaling the familiar scent - horses and brother - and then with a little kiss placed it neatly on the pillow.

Now what next?

Her brow furrowed in concentration as she looked at the shirt as if it had the answer. Callon ... what would make Callon happy? Oh yes, to act like she was married! She had been avoiding the young married women, despite their friendly overtures to her, partly because it felt so awkward to be with them when she knew she was deceiving them, and partly because they were just in entirely another world than the one she was in.

That was it - she would find them and act like one of them. That would make Callon happy,and hopefully make up a little for yesterday ("what would he say when he found out that Daurendil knew their secret?" she wondered guiltily).

She ran out of her room with a rosy blush on her fresh, young face, and then stopped and forced herself to walk, thinking that walking was more matronly. She rounded a corner and found the young married girls enjoying some breakfast together. They greeted her kindly and waved her over to join them. Caelen heaped up a huge plateful of food (being virtuous made one so hungry!) and joined them.

The conversation centered around the one young lady whose time, it was very obvious, was coming any minute now, and of course, labor and delivery horror stories were the order of conversation. The young lady listened with ever-widening eyes as the ladies related their stories with relish. "And I still can't sit down right!" finished one triumphantly, then added to the now visibly pale pregnant lady, "But I'm sure that won't happen to you!"

Caelen reached out and took the young girl's hand, giving it a little squeeze. "My mother always said she had an easy time of it, and you look like you have her build - I bet you'll deliver as quickly as she did!"

The young girl smiled gratefully at Caelen, and Caelen smiled back. Maybe they weren't all so bad after all.

From labor and delivery, the talk turned to actually getting into the state where labor and delivery were necessary. Caelen's fair complexion grew more and more pink as the ladies shared stories and laughter and "Oh, I know what you mean!"'s. She had grown up in a family that bred horses and knew the "how"'s, but she had matured slowly, and the "why's" were still a bit beyond her. She bit her lower lip in embarassment, and after a particularly detailed story, fled the room as quickly as was politely possible.

"Well, I tried, and I'm sure it did some good," she thought, grateful to have finished with the conversation about "all of that stuff" and convinced that she portrayed a married woman to perfection. "But I am NEVER getting married!"

Her cheeks were still hot, and she decided she needed a walk to cool down. Oh wait, she was being good and thinking of others today ... hmmm ... oh! She would walk into town and buy Callon a little present to surprise him when he got back! She smiled happily and ran on light feet towards town, forgetting that matrons weren't supposed to run.

[Caelen]

Cameth Brin, early afternoon of November 3, 1347.

Caelen hadn't had such a wonderful day in a long, long time. On the way to town, she had done as many virtuous acts as she could, whether the people had wanted them or not. Oh, it was so good to be good!

Caelen reached town and started looking around for something that her brother would like. She ended up at the stall of a jewelry merchant, attracted by the beautiful hair pins on display, before she remembered she was getting something for Callon. Shaking her head at this slight lapse of virtue, she carefully scrutinized some pieces for men, finally picking up a lovely dagger inlaid with irridescent abalone, which she had never seen before.

Eryndil had decided to stroll through town and become acquainted with its general layout that morning. He was standing on a corner, inspecting some winter gloves, when he noticed out of the corner of his eye that the men passing by him were not walking like normal men. He looked away from the gloves in order to investigate this strange phenomenon further, and discovered that the men were all walking past him with their heads turned backwards instead of forward. They were clearly gazing at something very interesting behind them.

Eryndil turned his head to see what was causing the commotion, and saw, nicely outlined against the midmorning sun, the very pleasing figure of a lovely girl holding something up to the sun to see it better. He moved forward just a bit to get the sun out of his eyes, and as his gaze swept a little higher, he noticed reddish-colored hair ... could it be ... oh, it was Caelen! She had always been a pretty girl, but today, she looked luminous; her reddish-gold hair framed her fair skin and delicate features like a halo, and the way she was holding up that - what was it, a dagger?! - to the light as she examined it showed off her figure to full advantage. He smiled to himself. "They ARE walking like normal men!" he thought humorously. "They're admiring a pretty girl!"

He watched her for another minute, then put the gloves down, thanked the man selling the gloves and said he might be back a bit later. Then, deftly avoiding another backwards-glancing man, he crossed the street and started walking over to where Caelen was standing, now with an enchanting pout on her face as the seller told her the price of the dagger.

Eryndil had thought that Caelen couldn't possibly get any prettier than she was then, but he was wrong - when she saw him approaching, her face lit up even brighter, and with a joyous cry of "Eryndil! I was hoping I'd see you!" she ran towards him with outstretched hands and a smile on her face that made one admiring onlooker run into the apple seller's cart and knock some of the apples out. But Eryndil didn't notice that - he only had eyes for Caelen now ...

[Hurgon Fernik]

Brochenridge, evening of November 3

There is only so long one can paint while concious of being in mortal danger. It was when Tarniel's face began to assume the characteristic frown of her half-sister that Hurgon decided to abandon it, and look instead to the more urgent task of protecting himself. He was starting to wish now he had let Nauremir hit him over the head; between him and Gimilbeth he knew well who he was more frightened of.

He checked first that his amulet - which hadn't done a very good job so far, but hopefully its magic would be activated now - was secure around his neck. He cleaned up, for the first time in living history, so that Gimilbeth might be protected from the temptation of hurling things at him. He kept a sharp lookout for her, peeking out every now and then. The moment he saw her, the glare on her face burning a path before her, he let out a bewildered wail.

"Helmir! Now where did that scamp go? The beautiful lady Gimilbeth," he couldn't help choking slightly at this point, but sometimes good men need to descend to lies for self-preservation, "made it clear he was not to go anywhere; and I did tell him not to. And, then... why he was sleeping, and I was painting, and woe begone, he must have fled while I was absorbed in painting the Princess Tarniel! Ah, me, what misfortunes have befallen! But, maybe it is not too late and Helmir has just gone for a drink. Yes, I shall retrieve him for the good princess immediately." Delivering which speech in a loud, carrying voice, he turned to get out of his wagon, and found before him a Gimilbeth torn between laughter at possibly the worst acting she had ever seen in her life, and the desire to take off her shoes and whack him soundly on the head with them.

He gave a large fake start, and tried to look guilty. This part was not very hard, as it was his habitual expression around her. Then, the last bit of his carefully crafted speech, "You have caught me out, your highness! My sincerity and devotion to one task you have assigned me has caused me to fail in the other. I think I am no longer qualified to guard Helmir. I myself step down from the task. In fact, when you find him, I shall myself move out of his wagon and-"

She turned away to hide the smile that would appear, despite all, and then reminding herself just how angry she was, she turned back to him. "Do you think I am a fool? I thought he had escaped due to your leniency, the kind of leniency only seen in the blindest of fools, but no... I see you and he have contrived to have him escape! A nice little plan to hoodwink me, was it? I hope you recall the fate of the last unfortunate man who tried to trick me? You must have seen his corpse swinging from the tree yesterday." She smiled painfully and began to gather up steam, and Hurgon decided there was only one way to stop her. Distraction.

He focused on a point behind her shoulders, and opened his mouth several times as if to interrupt her. She finally noticed and said impatiently, "What?"

"Behind you, my lady..." she turned around. There was nothing. "Its gone now. It was there a minute ago!"

"No more of your foolish tricks!" she hissed, "I don't know in which tavern you picked up the reputation of being a good actor, because you-"

"But I assure you, I saw..." he gulped, and thought faster than he had ever done in his life, "a large raven, which was looking directly at you, beckoning you to follow him. Maybe it is a dark portent of some sort. My grandmother used to say-"

"I don't want to know what your grandmother said!" she snapped. But all the same, she was interested. Having grown up on magic all her life, it was hardly unlikely Gimilbeth would not know of all the portents there were to know of. "Besides, how would a raven beckon to me?" Hurgon proceeded to imitate a bird and flapped his imaginary wings at her. Her anger momentarily diverted, returned again, full course.

"You are going to find your little friend, and by whatever means bring him back. He will trust you more than anyone else right now. And when you get back..." she turned on her heel, and walked briskly away, leaving Hurgon to contemplate the various ways that last sentence of hers could have finished. None of them impressed him much, so he dispiritedly began walking to town. At the very least, he would have to put up a show of finding Nauremir.

[Eryndil]

Nov 3, 1347 – mid-morning, Cameth Brin Marketplace

“Eryndil! You’re just the one I wanted to see!” called Caelen, her face lit up so brightly. Eryndil had to think back quickly. He had been in town for nearly two weeks, and this was only the second time he had seen Caelen here – the first being yesterday’s little disaster. Since coming to town, Eryndil and his men had noticed… well, that there were a lot more pretty girls in town than in the woods! But at this moment he thought Caelen outshone them all. He hadn’t remembered thinking her quite THIS pretty before.

“Good morning Caelen” he began with a slight bow as he came before her. “And thank you very much for…” his voice trailed off before he could add, ‘…the gift of all those apples,’ for she had extended her hands to him, her very eyes smiling at him. He took her hands in his and drew them close against his bosom. The mere thought of the apples recalled to his mind the events of the day before – seeing her wild ride, the harsh words he had for her upon her return, and the second incident with the apples, in which she had so completely redeemed herself. She had clearly taken his words to heart, he thought with a further smile.

She had continued looking at him, her eyes first resting upon him briefly, and then looking long into his own. He felt an awkward silence developing and thought to break it. He lowered her hands in his and slowly released them.

“So tell me now, what brings you out here, Caelen?”

“I’m buying something for someone VERY special…” she said, turning her attention at that back to the wares on the carts before her.

“Oh?” said Eryndil. After the apples, surely anything further wasn’t necessary. But still, he was quite flattered. “And before I completely forget, thank…”

“So – why are YOU here?” she interrupted, turning her smile upon him once more and placing a hand upon his forearm. My, she was beautiful! How had he not noticed it before, during their long march after he rescued her and Callon (he REALLY needed to speak with Callon), staying at his parents home, the subsequent trip toward Cameth Brin. Had he just been preoccupied?

“The King has not yet called me to my duties – and I now have enough time and money to purchase the items needed for my new station in life.” ‘A new station that I would gladly share – with a special person.’ But he couldn’t say that to her. Not now… not yet.

There was silence for awhile as Caelen returned to the carts, and he wondered if she had read his thoughts – heard his words not spoken, for a look of contemplation sat upon her brow. Half in expectation, he joined her in sifting through the objects on the cart before them.

Together they sorted through different items. Once or twice, Eryndil would pick something up and look at it, just to see. Sure enough, each time he did, Caelen turned her attention right to it and asked him what he thought of it, or if he liked it.

Finally, she picked up once more the dagger she was looking at when he first saw her there. “Do you think Callon would like this?” she asked excitedly.

“Callon…?” asked Eryndil quizzically.

“Why yes – of course. He’s the one I’m buying something for!” and she turned back to a closer examination of the dagger.

“But I thought…” began Eryndil, and then his perplexity turned to embarrassment. Did she think him silly? Surely she would if she had known what he was thinking. Maybe she DID know, and was dismissing those thoughts.

Eryndil stiffened, his embarrassment now giving way to just a little anger.

“I don’t know… why do we need so many daggers anyway?” he asked.

Caelen looked a little stung, but said nothing. So Eryndil continued, his temperature rising.

“After all, you should not be out here by yourself anyway. It’s just not… proper! Or safe!”

“But I was only…” the joy once in her face had turned to doubt

“It doesn’t matter…” but Eryndil caught himself. This wasn’t going well, but maybe he could salvage it with a little humor. “After all, I wouldn’t want to have to save you again,” he added with a slim smile and a low chuckle.

“Save me again?” yelled Caelen, not at all amused, for her doubt had passed and now quickly gave way to a growing rage. “Is that it? Now that you’ve saved my life I am indebted to you?” She bowed in mock obeisance, “Oh great lord and master, tell me exactly what I must do, now and henceforth…” Then she rose and her voice rose with her, “And from whom now will you save me … HER?” she shouted, pointing at a servant girl carrying two pails of water – the girl stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes wide open in surprise. “Or… must you save me from that peddler there?” Caelen asked, pointing at a man pushing another cart down the street – this fellow just pretended not to hear and continued on his way, minding his own business.

“Now look, Caelen, I just meant that with Callon away…”

“You leave Callon OUT of this! He’s twice the man YOU are. Why HE could have saved me that day, if he had twenty men along with him like you did.”

“Twelve.”

“Huh?”

“I had twelve men, Caelen.”

“WhatEVER! Well… who do you think you are, to tell me what I can or cannot do, where I can or cannot go? I don’t need any more saving… not here! Not ever again!”

She held the dagger forth to the merchant and said to him, with great calm and politeness, “I’ll take this one.” And then more sharply, and sideways, “but don’t bother to wrap it. I’ll just carry it, in case I NEED it! After all, the King’s Men can’t keep this place safe now, can they?”

That last ended with a glaring look at Eryndil, and then a final, “And you… didn’t even bother to thank me for those apples!” Turning in triumph at that, head held high, Caelen stormed off.

‘Caelen! Wait! Stop!’ But he hadn’t said it out loud… only in his head. He watched her go. Would she turn back? He kept watching until she was gone from view. She had never turned back. The merchant she bought the knife from, just shrugged and smirked, “Redheads!” Eryndil gave him an icy stare and walked away.

She was so frustrating! And stubborn! Why wouldn’t she listen to him, when all he cared about was her… safety!? And to think he had once considered her “sensible” – what a laugh!

Eryndil returned to the stall with the gloves. He saw a nice looking pair and picked it up. He looked it over, half-considering it, but his thoughts didn’t stay on the gloves. Suddenly, he threw them back down and stormed off toward home. Any further shopping would have to wait until tomorrow. This other merchant stood watching with his mouth open, not sure what had just happened.

[Wilwarin]

Cameth Brin, 4th november late afternoon.

Wilwarin quietly left her small quarters and the palace. She suppressed a little yawn. By now her body had pretty much adapted to the unnatural rhythm of watching at night, sleeping in the morning and rising again only in the late afternoon. But while her body had adapted, her mind had not quite caught up yet. It still felt strange waking up when the rest of the world had already gone through half a day. Sometimes she woke up with a start, thinking she had overslept and would be late for her duties, only to remember her duties weren’t quite the same anymore.

Wearing a dress felt nearly unnatural as well, having been used by now to the riding clothes she wore on guard-duty and during the exercises. For while Wilwarin no longer had other tasks than to watch over the princesses at night, she was now required to maintain her skill with the blade through exercise, which often took up a good portion of her day-time hours. But not so today.

She hastened her step. She had written her parents to inform them about her new duty and she had calculated a reply should now be waiting for her at the courier’s office. While she had been in Cameth Brin alone for more than a year, she had written often. Sometimes even weekly, if she could find a traveller going there.

She reached the office where the travellers and trade caravans usually dropped off the letters they carried with them. Her calculations turned out correct and she emerged a little later with the long expected letter. She had been fortunate to get it, as it had arrived with the last caravan of the year. They would depart again tomorrow and not return until spring. Her reply would have to be quick as well.

She went back to the palace grounds and looked the letter over. In the left upper-corner of the envelope stood a dwarfish rune, like a stylised butterfly, a symbol only her family would use. When she unfolded the letter, there were two sheets. One from her father and one from her mother, both easily distinguishable by the different handwriting. Her father wrote like he did his accounting: neat and meticulous and seemingly having to account for every deviation. Her mother’s handwriting was rounder and more fluent, and she indulged herself an elegant curl now and then.

Your news caused quite some commotion here! Your brother has boasted that he can probably still beat you with the blade, as he’s the one that taught you how to use it in the first place. Your younger sister is quite jealous. And in exchange she commands you to describe in your next letter in full how your two royal charges look. She’s in particular interested in what princess Odaragariel’s usually wears, for word has it she knows how to appreciate expensive clothes and jewellery. Your sister expects full descriptions, she insist I add, or she won’t like you anymore.

Next followed a short description of the news of her home town. Her sister Finareth would marry in April newt year. The last trade caravan had been successful, although the attacks from highway robbers were becoming more frequent. Her father would probably need to hire more guards for the next journey. Wilwarin also had a new cousin who had been born three weeks go.

Her father’s letter ending with a warning.

We’re proud of you, Wilwarin, for what you have achieved. But be ever wary. Do not get embroiled in politics, for the intrigues at the royal court are no doubt the most fickle and the deadliest. I’d rather try to sell an axe to a dwarf then meddle in politics.

[scribe]

Posted for Serenoli

Hurgon



night of November 3, grounds of Brochenridge

Callon was searching high and low for this Helmir, this alleged lunatic; which, on reflection did not seem so strange as it had done when Gimilbeth first pounced on him. After all, though he had paid little attention to what went on in the wagon, he could hardly help overhearing some of the shouting and cursing that had gone on behind him, and it did not require much stretch of his imagination to know that at least one of the two was not quite right in the head.

His sharp eye caught a man, half-hidden in some shurbs, swigging brandy into himself. Callon's lip twirled in disgust at the abandon with which he was drinking; he went closer, and thought the man looked familiar... and yes, he was quite certain this was one of his two passengers, even though he had never looked at their faces too carefully. And since he had just seen the painter absorbed in his work back at the wagon, this HAD to be that other fellow ....

He circled around the bush, looking for something to knock the man out with. He didn't like that bit, but the Princess had stressed that the man was a lunatic, and she should know. Callon had heard about the unnatural strength of lunatics before, and he certainly didn't want a lunatic on the loose, especially a drunk one! Finding a nice handy rock, he crept up behind the man and hit him - trying to knock him out, but at the same time not hard enough to kill him. The man, already drunk, slumped forward onto his knees. Callon took his bottle away from him and threw it away, and then hauled him bodily to his shoulder, wrinkling his nose at the strong smell of drink floating into his mouth and nose.

As he neared camp, one of the men saw him and approached. He had been talking to Callon just that morning and recognized him. A look of concern stole over his face at the sight of the senseless body.

"Who's that you've got there, Callon?"

"Lady Gimilbeth's orders, for me to bring him back to camp. Apparently he's a lunatic and tried to escape." Tired from all the hauling and panting with the weight, he let the man slide to the ground for a while. His friend leaned over and gave a low whistle.

"Well, well, it's Hurgon the Royal Painter. We always did figure he had a slight crack in his head, and this just confirms it."

"Yes." Callon wiped sweat from his brow. Then the significance of what he had heard sunk in. "Did you say Hurgon? The painter himself?"

"None other."

"Not Helmir the apprentice?"

"Who's Helmir?" that and a frown were all the answer Callon recieved and it was enough to confirm his worst fears. Frantically, he began trying to resucicate Hurgon. A fine lookout for him it would be if it got about that Callon had been beating up harmless, if rather drunk, painters instead of escaped madmen. He looked at his friend.

"We have to wake him up!"

"Well... I guess I could try slapping him a bit." Which he did, sharply a few times, and strange enough, it even worked. Hurgon's eyes opened, out of focus, and he moved his lips. Callon bent to hear what he was so desperately trying to say; it turned out to be a rather rude song. Well, that was probably a good sign.

The two of them dragged him back to his wagon, where after much water, and a few more slaps, Hurgon looked shame-facedly at the two of them and said, "Thank you so much for bringing me back. Sometimes, I do drink too much and keel over, though it hasn't happened recently. I am very ashamed, I assure you, and I thank you again. I was really thirsty, see?"

Callon's friend began laughing, while he himself explained the real situation, amid profuse apologies. Hurgon tutted and wagged an unsteady finger at him, but truth be told, he was not displeased. After all, it gave an iron-clad excuse for him not to go hunting for Helmir, and besides, he could now utilise Callon to go and get him as many drinks as he could carry. With some dinner if possible. And if Gimilbeth frowned, he would be sarcastic at Callon's expense, and occasionally clutch his swollen head in agony. She could hardly call for a hangman then.

[Callon]

Brochenridge, early morning of November 4, 1347

"First, you have to clean the hoof really well so you can look for signs of the infection ... ", and Callon did just that while the Brochenridge stable master watched with interest, and Captain Merendil and Gwindor watched Callon with interest. The horse wasn't watching anything; his long lashes covered his dark, liquid eyes as he relaxed - he was just relieved to have his weight off of his sore foot. He leaned a little more heavily on this thoughtful human, and Callon gave him an elbow in the ribs to make him stand up a little straighter.

"And now you look for a little sensitivity to pressure and possibly some discoloration ... ahh, here's a likely spot ... "

Callon, holding the horse's hoof securely in his strong, experienced hands, tapped a slightly discolored area on the hard tissue on the underside of the hoof with the flat end of his hoof knife. The horse threw its head up and pulled back a bit, his eyes now wide open, but Callon had him securely cross-tied, and the horse relaxed again.

"Now I just pare away gently here until I reach the infection ... doesn't hurt a bit until you reach the pocket ... ", continued Callon, and with deft little twists of the hoof knife, he followed the discoloration down until a final twist of the knife opened up the infected area, and the pus welled out. The horse jerked again, and then relaxed as the painful pressure in the hoof slowly decreased.

"Sometimes the discolorations don't lead anywhere, and you have to try another spot. We lucked out this time - we hit the right spot the first time." The stablemaster grunted his understanding of the procedure, stroking the gelding's flank as he watched the pus drain.

"Now pack the hoof with some clean herbs - peppermint is ideal, it draws things out well - and keep it as clean and dry as possible, then ..."

But Captain Merendil and Gwindor never heard the rest of the follow-up care. They had moved a little farther away so as to speak privately.

"I don't know why the Princess commanded it," said Gwindor, raising his eyebrows at the whims of royalty, "but he's definitely going to be a good man to have along."

Merendil nodded. "My nephew speaks well of him, and I like what I've seen so far. He won't be happy about being gone longer - just married, and a lovely wife, the men say - but we'll make it worth his while."

Gwindor left, and Merendil watched the young auburn-haired horseman finish giving instructions, then reach his hands over his head to stretch the kinks out of his back (working with hooves is hard work on the back!) as the stablemaster led the horse off.

"Callon," called Merendil, and beckoned him over.

"Yes, sir?" replied Callon respectfully. He liked the Captain - he admired how he had insisted on fair treatment for Algeirr, refusing the Princess's first unreasonable demand to hang him. How odd that it had turned out as it had ... Callon's warning to Algeirr had turned out to be all too true ...

"Nice work, son," said Merendil. "You really know horses - I'm sure [name of stablemaster at C Brin] really appreciates your help there."

"Horses are what our family does," replied Callon simply. "We ride before we walk!"

Merendil smiled, then grew serious again as he told Callon that plans had to be changed, and he would be joining the Princess's entourage.

Callon stared at him in disbelief. "But sir, they're not to be back until spring!" he objected. "My wife ... you said ... "

"I know, I know," interrupted Merendil briskly. "But things change - we're adding quite a few more men to the Princess's escort - reports of orcs in the area - and I would feel much better about the Princess if you were one of them, with your knowledge of horses and all. It could come in very handy."

Callon started to object again, but Merendil stopped him with a raised hand and a stern look. "I'm sorry, but you don't have a choice in the matter. The Princess herself requested you. The time will go quickly, and I'll make it well worth it for you - you can send a note to your wife and enclose your extra pay for her to spend in your absence (here he allowed himself a little smile and a wink, as one knowledgeable in the ways of women and money) - we'll get it safely to her. You'll be home again before you know it."

"But ..." started Callon again, and was again interrupted by the Captain.

"The decision is made!" concluded Merendil with finality.

Callon took a deep breath and looked beyond the courtyard into the distance, bright and beckoning in the cold, crisp morning air. Three months ... but she had Arinya, and Eryndil was there now, too. She would be fine ...

He nodded his head in resignation, and left Meryndil to go write his letter to Caelen.

And as he wrote the letter, he thought uneasily that the worst part about this new turn of events was not that Caelen would be left without his protection for three months - the worst part was that he felt so happy about it ...

[Gimilbeth]

Brochenridge, morning of November 4, 1347.

The morning of departure was cold and crisp with watery sunshine and frost on the ground. Gimilbeth descended to the Fortress court with eyes reddish from lack of sleep and threw a withering look at her entourage: her two cheerful pages, a sleepy Nimraen, a guilty–looking somewhat buttered Hurgon and a still bewildered and, for some reason, also guilty–looking Callon the wagon-driver.

There was still no Helmir, despite all their efforts to find him. Last night Gimilbeth sent everyone she could to look for the escaped young man, choosing them carefully among those who hadn’t known him as Nauremir. Finally she went to search for him herself – after sitting through the lengthy dinner in the Feasting Hall and striving to maintain a meaningless, polite conversation with the old Lord of Brochenridge. Now she felt bone tired and thoroughly disgusted.

Men had little gratitude and Nauremir had none whatsoever! Out of kindness of her heart she saved the wretch from a certain, humiliating death, maybe torture at the hands of Hillmen brigands. And instead of being grateful for her gift, he just ran away at the first opportunity. Well, she was done with him. If he got caught, she wouldn’t move a finger to save him again! What an ungrateful, base rascal her kinsman proved to be!

Gimilbeth's escort was waiting – two wagons and forty guards commanded by Gwindor. Last night Merendil proposed her 20 additional men and Gimilbeth gratefully accepted them wondering what exactly moved the gruff Captain to such generosity. But she had to promise to send 20 guards back, once they were safely at Amon Sul.

Lord Ormendur, swathed in a rich mink coat and Captain Merendil said their farewells. The Captain and his remaining eighty men were also ready for departure – back to Cameth Brin. Merendil looked concerned and advised caution once again. “There may be orcs around”, he said to Gwindor and Elvigil, once Gimilbeth was out of earshot. “Keep your eyes open and don’t forget to set guards at night.”

Gwindor nodded and gave the signal for departure.

Once outside the Gates and out of view of the fortress, Gimilbeth motioned for the party to stop, passed the reigns of her mount to Elvigil and crawled into her wagon to sleep.