[Nerindel]

Korpúlfr

Korpúlfr could only watch impatiently from one of the many entrances to the caves that bordered the northern reaches of the city, as Hasrim studied a series of prints found on the sandy ground within. Tracking was never a skill he had been able to master, in the old days when their clan still wondered the shifting sands of the desert this would have been a major failing on his part. His Grandfather had tried to teach him the old ways before he died, telling him that it was important to respect the balance of nature and the values of all the clans. However, his father had always disagreed arguing that times had changed and so must they.Therefore, he was taught new values, the way of trade and negotiation and trained in the use of weapons that he could use to defend himself and his people. The old ways of life were abandoned and many of the old skills lost, but luckily, for Korpulfr Hasrim had been born in those days when following animal tracks would determine if the clan ate well that season or not, he retained these skills and used them now to try to determine if the northerners had help in escaping and to ascertain the direction they had taken after leaving the labyrinth of caves.

His cousin returned grim faced, “there are many strange signs. However, as far as I can tell the northerners where joined by a third person with a horse and they left by another exit further to the east. Still I can find no sign of Tinar and the tracks from the caves into the desert are long gone, covered completely by the shifting sands.”

Korpúlfr looked out towards the vast expanse of the desert contemplating were the strangers might have gone, then it came to him, “Bakhpusta?” he thought aloud, “They will surely make their way to the kibbutz it is always filled with traders from Harondor who would gladly give them passage north.” Hasrim looked at him for a moment and then frowning said, “That is if they even know to look for it?” He could see the reluctance in the older mans eyes, Bakhpusta was the last trading stop of the desert merchants who choose not to venture into the northlands, but it is also the prime target for bandits and thieves, so he could understand his cousin’s reluctance, even if he did not share it.

“The third person, their new companion knew the complex of caves well enough to lead them out by another route, so he or she must be a guide of some kind. Someone who knows these lands, who will know of Bakhpusta!” he reasoned trying to convince the older man. Still Hasrim remained reluctant, wishing instead to go to the Maenwaith city and see if his father’s scouts had seen the strangers. Korpúlfr shook his head defiantly, “No, Bakhpusta is nearer, if strangers went north someone at the kibbutz would have seen them and if they didn’t,” he continued reading his cousins next question, “it is more likely a trader would have spotted them heading south than any of the scouts from the city!” Hasrim grudgingly nodded his agreement and the two pressed on toward Bakhpusta.

It was just past dusk by the time the large tents of the kibbutz came into view, various animals were being herded in front of prospective buyers, several caravans were lined up displaying their wares. Several campfires were lit, from these could be heard music and laughter. The people of Bakhpusta were not Maenwaith, it was generally said that they were once Haradwaith nomads who herded goats about the desert, but finding the trade good this close to the boarders of the southlands they decided to settle. If this was true Korpúlfr had never discovered it, The Bakhpustans rarely spoke of their past, more interested in listening to the tales that others had to share.

“Look what the desert winds have blown our way, my brothers, if it is not the little raven returned from the big city!” A loud, deep voice laughed. Korpúlfr turned to see the familiar face of the tribe’s leader, Waitimu. Waitimu towered over him at roughly 6ft, his skin was as dark as the night and his dark brown eyes conveyed the wisdom that made him leader of his people. His head was bald except for one dark brown braid that hung from the right side of his head; he was lean but not lacking in strength as Kor had witnessed on their first meeting. Waitimu was the only person outside his own clan that he would call a friend, the tribal leader and his tribe had saved his life, when a caravan he was travelling with was ambushed by bandits.

With a broad grin Korpulfr handed Hasrim his reigns, swung down from his horse and strode forwards to greet is friend, the two men embraced, “It’s good to see you Waitimu,” he laughed.

“And you my friend, but come, tell me what brings you this far north and what news do you bring from the city?” Waitimu grinned guiding him to one of the campfires. As he sat Korpulfr began to tell his friend about the cities northern guests and their explosive leaving gift. Waitimu laughed heartily, “I am pleased to hear that they escaped and at the embarrassment of that great oaf Falasmir no less, I should imagine he was none to pleased.” Waitimu and his people had no respect or love for the city of the corsairs, during the Great War many of his people were made slaves, and forced aboard the corsairs great ships as oar men. Waitimu himself had suffered this fate, rows of brightly coloured beads now hide the burn marks of the shackles, but the scars across his bare arms from whip strokes could still be seen and he was sure they stretched right across his friends back. He knew his friend would be pleased to hear that at least one of the corsairs ships had been destroyed, but even as Waitimu laughed he could see a deep sadness in his dark eyes, he knew as well as his friend that many of the slaves would have also been lost in the blaze. Better, they were dead than remaining slaves to the Corsairs, Kor thought. but he said nothing, he did not need to, each knew the other well enough to know what they were thinking.

Waitimu was the first to break the still silence, “So my friend is your visit business or pleasure?”

“Neither, my friend” he admitted. “The northern Captain, Mithadan and his first mate Airefalas did not escape with their ship and I was wondering if they stopped here looking for passage north.”

Waitimu studied him for a long moment then shook his head, “No, the only northerners we have had here today are the traders from Harondor,” then looking side long at Hasrim and the horses he continued, “ my friend if I didn’t know you better I would think you pursued these men for Falasmir!”

Korpúlfr was taken aback by the suggestion and his face flushed with anger, “I have trade negotiations with them, they are an investment that I wish to protect nothing more!” he snapped.

“Peace, my friend I meant no offence, I know your prejudices and we are of like mind were the Umbarians are concerned, yet you must understand my position. My tribe rely heavily on trade with the men of Harondor and here you are asking questions about north men, fresh from the city and if you will forgive me for saying so, armed like bounty hunters. It could harm the peaceful relations we have with the northerners if they even thought I helped bounty hunters to capture two of their kind,” Waitimu whispered, looking to him for some assurance that he would not bring trouble to his tribe.

“So you have heard something!” Kor grinned, but then seeing the stern deepening frown on his friends face he threw up his hands defensively. “Waitimu, I assure you that I am not here on bequest of Falasmir or any of the Umbarian fools, in fact the bungling oaf is not even aware that the Captain and his first mate did not make their ship. I am searching for the Northerners at the insistence of my own leader to insure that they do not trouble our clan and to guide them back to their own lands.” He hated lying to Waitimu, but on this occasion, it was necessary not only to get the information he required but to insure that no repercussions fell on Waitimu and his tribe.

“Very well,” Waitimu smiled, finally satisfied with his explanation, “I did not lie when I said that they did not pass this way, but I can introduce you to someone who might have seen them.” Waitimu rose and gestured for him to follow explain how the man they were about to meet had spoke of seeing two northerners at one of the watering holes further to the east. Waitimu made the necessary introductions and then excused himself, explaining that he had other matters to attend to. From the off set the desert trader seemed closed and guarded, Korpúlfr explained that he was looking for friends, two northerners who were in the south searching for a missing companion; he gave their names and described each man as he remembered them. The trader regarded him for a moment then nodded, telling him that he had seen the strangers he spoke of.

“Their guide sought to find them passage north, but in the end they went south to see if they could find word of their friend,” the trader told him.

Korpulfr noted that the man was careful not to name the guide or their intended destination, but he did not press the matter instead, he thanked him for his help and returned to find Hasrim.

After explaining to his cousin, what he had discovered the two made plans to set out as soon as the horses were feed and watered. They secured supplies and shared supper with Waitimu and his tribe, before the Bakhpusta leader escorted them to the edge of his Kibbutz. A chill wind blew across the desert and Waitimu laid a concerned hand on his arm. “The wind, it speaks of evil things to come. Be careful that you are not swept along with it, my friend!” Korpúlfr nodded mounting his horse, and then he and Hasrim set off for the oasis the desert trader had described.

Reaching the oasis shortly before dawn Hasrim confirmed that the Gondorians had indeed been there and that they had set out southward. They continued to follow the trail taking it in turns to scout ahead using their shape shifting abilities and stopping only to find shade in the unbearable heat of the afternoonsun. Much to Korpulfr’s frustration there was still no sign of Tinar. But on the evening of the second day Korpúlfr in his wolf form picked up the distinctive salty scent of the Northern sailors, he returned to the camp Hasrim had set for the night and quickly explained that he thought that their quarry was no more that half a day ahead of them. As he finished telling Hasrim that he thought they were heading for the mountains, he got the distinct feeling that he was being watched, he had felt the same feeling before on several occasions over the past few weeks. He turned and as always he saw nothing, he shook his head, he was tired and letting his imagination get the better of him, he supposed. With a tired yawn he sat down to a cold supper of dried figs and stale flat bread, then Hasrim offered to keep the first watch while he got a few hours sleep.

They broke camp just before dawn of the third day and hurried to make some ground on their quarry. However, by midday the incessant heat of the desert forced them to stop and find shade. They found a rocky outcropping that offered substantial shade for both them and the horses, and then they sat down to wait out the afternoon heat.