[Lalwendë]

Hiding behind a bank of snow while waiting for the elves, Tarn hunkered down and pulled the white fur he wore tighter about his head to keep out the bitter wind. It howled wearily and insistently, and he well knew the power of its cold bite, but it was also music to his ears. It spoke of the endless empty expanse of space and time that surrounded the bay, his home. It was a comforting sound to him; when he heard it he knew he was in a place he could understand, and unlike some of the Corsairs, who were uneasy, he was still and quiet. Thynne crouched beside him, as still as his master; he too felt the music of the wailing wind and knew the comfort the sound could bring to a lonely hunter. Both of them held weapons ready; Tarn had his harpoon and a knife to hand, and one of the Corsairs had given Thynne a staff.

Earlier, Thynne had sat with Tarn while they ate breakfast and listened to the plans of the Captain. He had felt a little scared when the Captain warned them to be on their guard and prepared to fight. Scuffling with other boys was one thing, but he had never dared to fight with a full grown man or elf. Daring to whisper a question, he had asked "Tarn, have you ever killed a man?" Tarn had been surprised at the question, but he had not wanted to answer it. "What do you think?" he said enigmatically, without any further explanation. He had never killed another man in a fight; he had hurt a few, enough so that they would defer to him, but he had never knowingly killed a man, it had never been necessary. This was a fact he chose to keep to himself; that other people’s gossip and guessing about him helped his reputation, was something he was very aware of.

Tarn was feeling a tingle of excitement at seeing the elves again. They had not been so easy to observe during the expedition to the caves. He wanted to see just what these creatures that his grandfather had so distrusted were really like. More than that, he was curious just what it was about them that was driving the deep hatred of the Corsairs. He suspected it was something to do with pride and status; it was akin to his dislike of the superior attitude of the Lossoth elders. From what he knew, these elves were high and mighty, and he thought they must have held great store in the fact that while they did not age and wither, the men around them were not so lucky. He could appreciate how it would hurt the pride of the Corsairs if these disdainful creatures got to the treasure first, and he clutched his harpoon tighter.

***

The elves approached the ice with extreme caution. Tarn noted that they had roped themselves together for safety and were anchored on the shoreline. He saw the Lossoth helping them and wondered whether the manoeuvre had been an idea of the elves or of his kin. It was something which hunting parties would do often, usually when up on the glaciers which were particularly treacherous. He was so cautious of ice himself that he would never have attempted to venture onto any ice sheet without first testing it for safety; he thought that roping gave false confidence and was sure that a mishap would soon occur. He had seen the water which surged underneath that ice and he felt sure that even the strongest of men could not fight the current. If they were hoping to haul anyone out of there then the hope might be misplaced.


Tarn was struck by how calm the elves appeared, and how easily they moved. Compared to the Lossoth they all looked very young, and their faces were fair, and he began to wonder how much experience they would have of fighting, but then he remembered that his grandfather had told him that all elves looked young, even the old ones. Tarn's long-sighted eyes picked out the weapons they were carrying, which looked well crafted, and he almost blanched, but then noting how slightly built these elves were, he sneered a little, pulled his leather gloves tighter and cracked his knuckles. As long as he kept away from the Lossoth, he thought, he would walk through any fighting completely unscathed. The Lossoth who went across the ice with them were not as well equipped, and they were all shorter than Tarn, but he knew well how tenacious any of the Lossoth could be in a fight.

Tarn was full of disdain for the Lossoth who followed the elves, thinking they had been coerced into this. He felt superior thinking he had made a conscious choice to be here, that it was his choice to offer help to the Corsairs, as he had no Lossoth elders to answer to. He knew he could just get up and leave now, but something held him all the same. Whether it was the thrill of the chase, the intrigue or the sense of satisfaction he gained from being with these strange southerners, he could not say, but for the first time in many long years he was working as part of a group again.

All eyes were keenly trained on the activity out on the ice. Some of the Corsairs were even smirking, but all felt impatient to see what would be the results of their work. Tarn saw that Marreth was following everything with the eyes of an eagle. He seemed to be suffering from the cold less than the other Corsairs, and as Tarn watched, he realised that it was grim determination which held him there, and it would be this determination which would see the treasure in Corsair hands whatever it took.