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Aiwendil:
By mid-morning, after several hours of rolling forward over the sandy trail, the caravan halted in a spot near a watering hole. This oasis boasted a small stand of date palms that offered some promise of shade and comfort from the hot rays of the sun. Word of the traders’ arrival spread mysteriously through the desert to the nomads who pastured their herds nearby, making use of the waterhole in the early morning and evening. Two tribesmen in flowing robes seated astride a pair of camels quickly made their appearance at the campfire where a light meal was being served. They brought several bundles of fine wool fleece along with many addax hides and horns.
Aiwendil watched in fascination as the two parties bargained back and forth until they settled on what would be a fair exchange for the goods in question. He had never been very good at such practical things. After the men had shaken hands and bowed over the agreement, they sat down under the trees to trade news and share a bite to eat. Catching a glimpse of a pair of desert larks on the other end of the encampment, the istar excused himself and went off to have a closer look. He could see the tan birds hidden behind the patches of scraggly brown grass that grew underneath the palms. They pecked about looking for seeds, intermittently talking to each other.
Aiwnedil listened for a minute and was surprised to discover that he understood their language. He could not remember the last time that had happened. He walked over towards the birds and, not wishing to appear rude, gently knelt down to extend a hand of friendship and assure them he meant no harm. They showed no fear of him. Just ahead in the grass was a tiny nest sheltered within a ring of decorative pebbles. There were four speckled eggs in the center of the nest. Aiwendil smiled broadly.
The male bird seemed quite upset about something that had nothing to do with his own presence. The male chirped over at the female in an urgent, pleading tone. Aiwendil sat and listened to the conversation. Although no real words were exchanged, the wizard had no trouble understanding what was being said.
“This place isn’t safe anymore. Let’s hope the little ones peck their way out and we can be off.”
“You’re sure you saw him?”
“Aye. I was flying inland not far from here. Some fellows were digging a water hole. And there he was, the hood pulled low over his face. There were more of the two-legged ones with tents. He went towards them. May Gwaihir help them all! He is an evil wraith. And if he came once, he will come again. It is always so. Who knows if even this is a safe place?”
“Do you know his name?” Aiwendil interrupted. “That which he uses among his kind?”
“I do not know what he goes by among the two-leggeds. But the creatures of the sand call him ‘Shadow of Death’. Wherever he goes, death follows.” The female lark hopped forward and hovered protectively over her small nest.
Then the two birds retreated deeper into the grasses and refused to talk or show themselves. Glancing back over his shoulder, Aiwendil viewed the stooping form of Róg standing perfectly still no more than ten paces distant.
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