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Old 04-12-2004, 06:36 AM   #159
Ealasaide
Shadow of Tyrn Gorthad
 
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As the evening progressed at the home of Korpulfr, Airefalas found himself remaining silent, for the most part merely listening to and observing the company around him. Although the food was quite good, he ate and drank lightly, only enough to be polite, not wishing to be sodden with heavy food and drink when he and Mithadan later made their move toward freedom. Surprisingly, the portion of conversation he found most interesting was the bit in which Mithadan told about his friend Bird, who had once sailed with him on the Star. Remembering his earlier impression that Mithadan had been concealing a secondary purpose in coming to Umbar in the first place and remembering his captain's lack of surprise at the shapechanging abilities of their friend Ráma, he felt certain that he had not only been correct in his impression, but also that he now knew what that secondary purpose was. Mithadan was using their little trading mission to search for his friend.

While the idea barely caused Airefalas to raise an eyebrow in reaction - had it been himself in a similar situation, he might have done the same thing - he found himself wondering why Mithadan had chosen to confide this information to this particular group of individuals. Their hosts seemed to tense noticeably as long as the subject of shapeshifting dominated the conversation, only to relax once the topic moved on to that of trade or the availability of certain goods needed in Umbar that might be obtained in the future from Gondor. That did cause him to raise an eyebrow. He noticed, too, the way that Mithadan carefully omitted any mention of Ráma. Obviously, Airefalas decided, there was more happening here than he fully understood. With that in mind, he also decided that he could best serve himself, his captain, and the situation by keeping his mouth shut. He would find out what he could from Mithadan later, provided they found the opportunity to talk.

Finally, as Mithadan rose and with a wide yawn began to take their leave of their hosts, Airefalas rose as well. As casually as possible, he picked up his bag and, reaching inside, checked by touch that the knives they had secreted inside were still there. Satisfied that they were, he gave an almost imperceptible nod to Mithadan as Korpulfr escorted them to the door.

Airefalas listened quietly as Mithadan and Korpulfr continued to chat amiably, even as he and Mithadan retrieved their swords from where they had left them at the door and buckled them into place. Then, as they were leaving, Airefalas bowed politely to their host, thanking him for his hospitality.

On an afterthought, he added, “Good fortune be yours in the days to come.” It still troubled him that the merchant could be endangered by the timing of his and Mithadan’s planned escape. Korpulfr had thus far shown the two of them nothing but kindness and courtesy. Airefalas wished no ill to befall him or his house as a result.

The Umbarian merchant merely nodded in polite response. “And be yours,” he answered, but any further remark he might have made was cut short by the intrusion of Seft, Mahat, and the other guards from the palace.

“Yes, and be all of ours as well,” grumbled Seft. “It’s about time we were heading back to the palace. The hour grows late.”

Airefalas glanced up at the cloudless night sky, his gray-green eyes idly cataloguing the many constellations of stars that littered the heavens above them. “Oh, it’s early yet,” he said amiably, remembering the instructions Mithadan had communicated to him earlier. “Seeing as we’re so close, I thought we might take a turn around the markets before going back.”

“It’s out of the question,” answered the guard. “The markets are far too dangerous at night for foreigners such as yourselves.”

“But that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” asked Airefalas. “I should think that four of you would be quite ample to protect us from anyone who might wish us ill. Besides, we‘re armed ourselves, you know, which makes six of us altogether. That should be more than enough swords between us to fend off anything short of a small mob.”

“What’s too dangerous?” asked Mithadan, joining the conversation late after bidding Korpulfr a final good evening and seeing the doors to his house closed behind him.

“Your friend here wishes to go to the markets,” explained the guard. “I’ve tried to explain to him that while the markets are not safe during the day, at night they are treacherous. It would not be wise to venture in at this time of night.”

Mithadan laughed. “Oh, poppycock! I think it’s a capital idea. I’d very much like to walk off some of this dinner before retiring for the night. Besides, Airefalas is right. We have more than enough swords between the lot of us to keep any troublemakers at bay.”

The guards exchanged disgruntled glances between the four of them, clearly trying to decide if they had the authority to veto the plan outright. In watching them, Airefalas noticed that two of them, his old friend Raal for one and another whose name he did not know, seemed to have taken generous advantage of the spirits Mithadan had had sent out to them. Though they tried to mask it, both seemed at least three sheets to the wind. The other two seemed a little flushed but otherwise well in control. Airefalas grinned at them pleasantly, then shrugged and fell into step behind him as Mithadan began to walk purposefully in the direction of the markets. The discussion ended by Mithadan’s abrupt departure, the guards followed, grumbling, at their heels.

Jogging a few paces to catch up, Airefalas fell into step beside Mithadan. “Two of them are quite drunk,” he said softly in Quenyan. “They can be dealt with fairly easily. The other two may present a problem.”

Mithadan nodded. “I noticed that as well,” he answered, also in Quenyan. “We must watch for an opportunity and seize it.”

Airefalas nodded.

Upon arrival in the marketplace, the Gondorians found the atmosphere in the night market much changed from the daytime. Most of the day’s vendors of dry goods and wares had closed their booths and gone only to be replaced by all manner of food and wine vendors. Open fires burned at intervals up and down the rows as street performers took charge of nearly every street corner, wowing the mostly male and mostly drunken crowds with amazing feats of acrobatics, fire-eating, and sword-swallowing. The smell of spice and roasting meat filled the air. Looking around, Airefalas smiled to himself. The potential for chaos was boundless. No wonder the guards had been leery of coming here.

Falling back slightly from Mithadan’s side, Airefalas soon found himself walking beside Raal, his drinking companion of the day before. He noticed with amusement that Raal now walked with a slight weave. They had not gone far when Airefalas paused before a booth where a young woman danced to the accompaniment of a pipe and a dumbek, his curiosity piqued not merely by the beauty and grace of the dancer but more by the image of the cobra she bore tattooed on her bare stomach. In the flickering firelight, the snake seemed to twist and slide with a sinuous movement of its own. Raal stopped beside him, also staring at the figure of the girl. Seeing them, the dancer beckoned to them to come closer with shapely arms that were bare but for dozens of jangling silver bracelets and a single upper arm band in the shape of a coiled snake. The ruby-colored eyes of the snake flashed in the firelight. When neither Airefalas nor Raal made any move to enter the booth, she danced toward them, her slender hips twitching gracefully to the beat of the drum.

She stopped before Airefalas, her delicate hands reaching out and closing around the hilt of his sword. Fighting the sudden urge just to let her have it, Airefalas smiled and shook his head. He removed her hands from his sword and pressed a gold coin into her palm instead. The dancer fluttered her long eyelashes at him in thanks and slid the coin into her spangled belt. Then, with a swirl of skirts and brown skin, she moved on to Raal. Before the inebriated guard could react, she reached out and pulled his sword from its scabbard. The blade flashed red and gold in the firelight. All Raal could manage was a surprised, “Hey!” as she spun away from him, the sword held high above her head.

As the guard took a step toward her, two men appeared out of the shadows to bar his way, daggers drawn. Airefalas watched as they positioned themselves between Raal and the dancer, who swayed enticingly just beyond his reach, his sword balanced on its edge across the top of her beautiful head. As much as Airefalas would have liked to see how this little tableau played itself out, he knew enough to recognize an opportunity when he saw one. Mithadan and the remaining three guards had already moved on into the market. If he could lose Raal here, that would leave only three guards rather than four for him and Mithadan to contend with later. He turned and slipped away into the crowd.

Catching up again with the others, it was a few minutes before Seft turned on him angrily. “Where’s Raal?” he demanded.

Feigning surprise, Airefalas turned and looked back in the direction from whence he had come. “He’s not here?” He paused, then shook his head in bewilderment. “I was watching one of the dancers. I thought he was behind me when I left.”

“Well, he’s not,” answered the guard.

“What dancer?” asked Mahat, rounding on him as well. “Where did you leave him?”

Airefalas shrugged. “I don’t know. It was the snake lady. She had a snake tattooed on her stomach.”

The two guards exchanged a look.

“Jazeera Badu,” said Mahat grimly.

Seft added for the benefit of the Gondorians, “It is said that she bewitches the unwary then leaves their bones to bleach in the desert.”

“The wary, too,” murmured Airefalas under his breath, remembering the fleeting temptation he had felt to give her whatever she wanted.

“Perhaps you should send someone back for Raal,” suggested Mithadan helpfully.

Seft nodded and with a gesture dispatched Mahat back into the crowd. “We wait here,” he said to Mithadan and Airefalas. Mithadan nodded agreeably, but as soon as Mahat had vanished from view, he wandered across the street into the tent of a food vendor. Airefalas followed. The vendor grinned at them broadly and gestured to a deep cooking pot suspended on a tripod over a low fire.

“A true delicacy,” he exclaimed, pointing down into the pot. “Steamed in nothing but water and cayenne.”

Curious, Airefalas leaned forward and looked down into the pot. His stomach lurched as he realized that it contained nothing but hundreds of steamed black scorpions. Perhaps if I were starving... he thought to himself. He smiled at the vendor and shook his head. Just then he felt a light touch on his sleeve.

“Now!” said Mithadan sharply into his ear.

Turning, Airefalas saw that the fourth guard, the one whose name they didn’t know and who along with Raal had had a bit too much to drink, had chosen that moment to be violently sick in the street. Seft looked on with an expression of profound disgust. When Airefalas turned back toward Mithadan, it was just in time to see him disappear through a slit in the side curtain of the vendor’s tent. Moving quickly, Airefalas followed. By the time the two of them had rounded the back of the vendor’s tent and could spare a glance back into the street, they saw that Seft had already noticed them missing. He cuffed the other guard angrily upside the head and strode swiftly across to the scorpion man’s tent. They didn’t have much time.

Last edited by Ealasaide; 04-13-2004 at 11:08 AM.
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