[Ealasaide]

Naiore

Naiore’s fingers tightened around the hilt of her drawn dagger as she faded back into the undergrowth. She had sensed Vanwe, Léspheria, and the ranger well before she had heard their actual voices. As Menecin turned his head toward the sound of their approach, she had weighed the option of rushing in to finish him, but decided in the last instant that there was not time. Even a slight struggle on his part would have held her there long enough for Vanwe and the others to reach them. Knowing that if they found her she would be captured, she had then seized the opportunity to escape while Menecin looked the other way. A burning rage raked over her as she slid silently into the trees.

"Another betrayal!" she hissed. First Toby, then Avanill, and now Vanwe had turned against her, one after the other, all of them traitors. Toby and Avanill, well, that could be expected; termites, the both of them. But Vanwe! Naiore had never believed for a moment that Vanwe would fail her. But she had. And, not only that, Vanwe had caused Naiore herself to fail in her only objective in coming to Imladris at all. Because of Vanwe, Menecin still lived. Naiore took in a deep breath, her slender hands still trembling with rage. She was unaccustomed to failure and had no intention of making a habit of it. Still, she could not believe that she had been so wrong about her own daughter. She had been so sure of Vanwe, so sure of her own success when she had set her plan into motion that failure had seemed inconceivable, yet the inconceivable had come to pass. Someone else must have had a hand in it. Nonetheless, Naiore had never been one to dwell on failures. There would be other plans, other chances. Already, her mind raced ahead into the future.

Slowing her pace, Naiore turned and let her gray eyes scan the forest around and behind her, her ears listening for any sound of pursuit. There was none, only the soft chirp of birds and a murmur of distant voices moving away from her, as Vanwe, Menecin, and the others retreated back in the direction of the buildings. Naiore reached out with her mind, touching each of their minds in turn. She sensed strong emotions flowing from all of them, yet each one stood clearly and distinctly separate from each of the others: Menecin, Vanwe, the ranger, Léspheria. Cousin. Interfering meddler. Perhaps she was the real reason that Naiore’s plans had failed, managing somehow to undo a mother’s careful work. The Ravener’s eyes narrowed slightly.

They would pay. All of them. Maybe not today or even tomorrow, but the time would come when she would have another chance at them. She could be patient. For the moment, however, she knew that she must concentrate on her escape. Barrold Ferny awaited her on the ridge above the elven refuge with travel supplies and the bounty hunter’s gray horse. She must retrieve her own pack and her two curved swords from where she had hidden them in the forest, then rejoin Ferny on the ridge. From there, they would make their escape. Once she knew that she was free of pursuers, then she could begin to think about circling back to renew her efforts against Vanwe and Menecin. After all, this time, she had come so close.

As serenity once again began to settle over Naiore’s fair features, a slight frown creased her brow. Ferny, her one loyal and remaining ally, expected nothing less than Vanwe as his reward. She had promised him at least that, but now, with this latest betrayal, it did not appear as though she would be able to deliver. Her frown faded to an expression of cool neutrality as she flicked a stray braid back over her shoulder. It was an inconvenience, that was all. She should have known better than to make such a promise, but the one advantage to a scoundrel like Ferny was that he would not be particular about his reward just so long as he was well paid. She would see to it that he was. For the moment, however, he would still have to make do with the mithril book covers he had taken from the home of the slain ranger, Tallas.

With renewed calm and confidence, Naiore arrived at the place where she had hidden her belongings. She was relieved to find them undisturbed, precisely as she had left them. She smiled to herself and bent down to pick up her pack, but went instantly motionless as the sound of softly rustling leaves arrested her attention. Straightening, she reached out with her mind. Was it Vanwe - Menecin, perhaps - coming to find her, after all? Judging by the sound, it was only one individual, and that person was not taking any particular care to conceal his or her approach. Whoever it was seemed completely unaware of her presence and moved with no attempt at stealth. Touching the stranger’s mind, Naiore realized at once that it was neither her daughter nor her former lover who moved with such careless and heedless energy along the nearby path. She could sense in the stranger great turmoil and unhappiness, but no malice or fear. Naiore relaxed.

Judging herself safe for the moment, she bent once more and finished the task of securing her pack and her swords to her person. Straightening once more, she looked in the direction the stranger had gone, her curiosity piqued by the question of who might be roaming about the woods alone when there very well could still be orcs about. It wasn’t an orc. She could tell that by the quality of the creature’s mind. But who was it? Moving stealthily, she followed a course that would eventually intercept the stranger’s path. The silken garrote twisted between her fingers. Reaching the point of intersection well ahead of the stranger, Naiore concealed herself around a bend and waited. Her starlit eyes watched the path with interest.

When the stranger finally did appear, a chilling smile danced across Naiore’s beautiful face. “Perhaps you can be of use to me,” she murmured as the slender figure of the southern woman she had seen on the stairs came into view. “Aren’t you the bounty hunter’s lady?” Falling into silence once more, she waited until the southern woman had passed, then Naiore moved in swiftly behind her, dropping the silken garrote around the unsuspecting woman’s throat. Pulling it tight, she forced the woman first to her knees, then the ground. As the woman’s fingers scrabbled helplessly at the tightening garrote, Naiore placed her leatherclad knee between the woman’s shoulder blades, pinning her to the earth. She bent down, placing her lips next to her captive’s ear.

“Do you value your life?” she asked coolly. The woman stopped struggling, but Naiore felt a wave of fear wash over her from the consciousness of the downed woman. Naiore tightened the garrote. “Do you?”

The southern woman nodded, struggling for breath.

“Then do not move a muscle.” When the woman nodded again, Naiore transferred both ends of the silken garrote into one hand and pulled a short length of rope from a side pocket on her pack with the other. When she was certain that the southern woman was well under her control, she released the garrote and bound the woman’s wrists tightly behind her back. Leaning forward, Naiore spoke to her again.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked. “Some call me the Lady of the Swan.”

The southern woman nodded. “I know who you are...” she gasped into the moss and dry leaves that carpeted the forest floor.

“Good.” Naiore smiled. “Then you know that I would just as soon kill you as look at you. The only reason you still breathe is that you may be of use to me. Are you not my old friend Kaldir’s ladylove?”

The woman said nothing, but her spine stiffened under Naiore’s weight which gave the Ravener all of the answer she required. “I thought as much,” continued Naiore. “Benia, isn’t it?”

“How - ?”

“You would be surprised at the things I know,” Naiore answered. She unwound the garrote from the southern woman’s throat and put it away, drawing her dagger in its place. Rising, Naiore took a firm grip on Benia’s thick black braid and the back of her neck with her free hand and, with surprising strength, hauled the semi-conscious woman to her feet. Pushing her ahead of her, Naiore forced her to walk. “Move quickly,” she ordered, maintaining her grip on the back of Benia’s neck. “Remember that I hold a dagger to your back. If you attempt to get away or even if you fall, it will find its mark. Walk.”

Benia said nothing, but stumbled forward at Naiore’s bidding. Moving in this way, with Naiore half-guiding and half-pushing Benia along by an iron grip to the back of her neck, they arrived very quickly at the base of Naiore’s hidden pathway out of the valley. There Naiore paused. Reaching around to Benia’s face, the Ravener closed her fingers around the fine silver chain that the southern woman wore across her cheekbone and gave it a firm tug. The chain snapped at either end, falling limply into Naiore’s hand. Smiling confidently, Naiore dropped it in the center of the path.

“We must make sure your lover finds you,” she said. “He and I have some unfinished business.”

“He will bring others with him,” Benia responded, twisting in Naiore‘s grip. Her amber eyes flashed with anger and, Naiore noticed with interest, fear. For herself? Or for the bounty hunter? “And they will kill you.”

Naiore laughed her silvery laugh. “I see that you do not know him as well as I do. Kaldir will come alone, and, when he does, you and I will be waiting.” She pushed the southern woman forward and upward along the steep path.

Behind them, the spangled chain sparkled in the grass at the base of the path, like a trace of dew touched by the morning sunlight.