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Old 04-22-2004, 03:24 PM   #178
Ealasaide
Shadow of Tyrn Gorthad
 
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"We are heading south again," hissed Mithadan. "We must go back."

Airefalas examined a narrow alley which led off to the right. It had an evil smell about it like the backyard to a slaughterhouse and somewhere in the darkness beyond their sight, he could hear snarling as though two dogs were fighting over leftovers. Overall, it did not look promising. He nodded to Mithadan, and the two of them turned and retraced their steps only to round a corner and find their way blocked by three burly Haradrim, each bearing in his hands a spear and a bottle. The bottles were, for the most part, empty.

The Gondorians stopped in their tracks.

“Well, well, well,” said the foremost of the Haradrim. He paused to take long drink from the bottle in his hand. Draining it, he tossed the bottle to one side where it shattered against the stone wall of one of the buildings that lined the narrow street. “What have we here?”

“Foreigners, I’d say,” said the man to the leader’s right. He grinned, exposing his two black teeth. “Prob’ly off’n that Gondorian ship ‘at‘s anchored down the harbor.”

“Got money,” said the third man. “Remember? Got some Gondorian coin offa some o’ them kitties the other day before their captain wouldn’t let ‘em go ashore no more.”

The Leader reached out and flicked Mithadan’s lapel with the point of his spear. “Are you Gondorian kitties?” He asked with an oily grin. Then his eyes hardened. “Give us your packs and your purses.”

Airefalas watched as Mithadan glanced down at the spear point resting against his chest, then shook his head.

“No,” said Mithadan calmly. “I’m afraid we can’t do that.”

“And why not?” asked the Leader, pressing down a little harder with his spear.

“Stick him!” urged Two Teeth from behind.

“We need our things.”

“Well, we need your things, too,” said the Third Man. “You!” he said, turning to Airefalas. “Give us your pack.”

Airefalas shook his head, mentally debating whether he would have time to draw his sword should the bandits attack or if he should look for another weapon. From the corner of his eye, Airefalas’ glance fell on a pile of wood and building materials stacked against the wall to his right. One piece was about the length of his sword and slightly more than two inches thick from the look of it. Airefalas’ eyes narrowed.

A pace ahead of him, Mithadan still argued with the Bandit Leader, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, as overhead the stars moved steadily in their courses across the heavens. Time was passing. Beyond the bandits, Airefalas could see that the way was clear but for a skinny brown dog that nosed around in the shadows near a closed storefront. If they could just get past these bozos, they might actually still make it back to the ship. Mithadan half drew his sword as the Bandit Leader pulled back his spear as though in preparation to strike.

“Stick ‘im! Stick ‘im!” chanted Two Teeth. The sniggering quality of the bandit’s voice grated on Airefalas’ nerves. He hated everything about Umbar so far and this snaggle-toothed idiot seemed to epitomize the entire Umbarian experience for him.

Abruptly, Airefalas patience snapped. “Mithadan! Look!” he barked in a tone of command that he had not used since losing the Amarantha. He pointed down the empty street. “Falasmir’s guards have followed us!”

The others, including Mithadan, all looked, the bandits snapping their heads around as though they half expected a platoon of guards to be standing behind them, swords drawn. Seizing the moment, Airefalas closed his hands around the piece of wood from the woodpile and swung it with all of his strength at the back of the Bandit Leader’s head. The club connected with the man’s skull with a loud whack!. The bandit fell to the earth like a sack of potatoes and didn’t move. Mithadan drew his sword. Holding his spear crossways across his body, Two Teeth charged Airefalas, driving him back against the stone wall. Airefalas saw stars as the back of his head hit the stones. For a few seconds, he grayed out, coming to with the shaft of the bandit’s spear pinning him against the wall and crushing his throat. Struggling to breathe, Airefalas dropped his club, and grabbed the bandit’s spear with both hands. At the same time, he drove violently upward with his knee, one, two, three times in rapid succession, each time connecting with the soft flesh under the bandit’s ribcage. The wind knocked out of him, Two Teeth fell back, gasping. Airefalas wrenched the spear from the bandit’s hands and struck him under the chin with the butt end, then, swinging it around, drove the point home.

Seeing that Mithadan had just slain the third man with his sword, Airefalas dropped to his knees, holding his throat and trying to regain his own breath.

“Are you all right?” asked Mithadan, leaning down beside him.

Airefalas nodded. “Good enough,” he answered hoarsely. Considering the crushing his larynx had just taken, it could be days before his voice returned to normal. Just a little unsteadily, he rose to his feet. “You?”

“Not bad,” said Mithadan, sheathing his sword. “But we have no time to lose.”

Nodding again, Airefalas followed as Mithadan turned and led the way back toward the fork where the roads split to the north and west. This time they took the more northern branch. They had only gone a short distance when the road took a sharp turn to the west. Mithadan stopped and pointed into the sky ahead of them.

“Look,” he said grimly.

Airefalas felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach as he looked in the direction of the harbor. A red glow lit up the sky that had nothing to do with the sun or the arrival of dawn. Saelon had set fire to the docks.

“Do we still have time?” Airefalas asked his captain.

Mithadan shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“I guess there’s one way to find out,” Airefalas murmured. Looking up at the line of rooftops that bordered the narrow street, he took off his pack and unbuckled his sword. “I’ll go up and look.” Having spent nearly his entire life negotiating the riggings of sailing ships, Airefalas could climb like a spider monkey. If there was anyplace for his hands or feet to find purchase, he would be able to pull himself up. Looking around, he chose the easiest-looking climb and moving from doorframe to balcony on up, Airefalas soon stood atop the tiled roof. The house he had chosen had good elevation and, when he turned toward the harbor, Airefalas found he could see everything. With a growing sense of desolation, he called down to Mithadan.

“She’s sailed,” was all he said.

“Is she under pursuit?” Mithadan called back.

Airefalas shook his head. “Not yet. The corsairs at the dock are aflame, but the Star’s abroad and making for open water.”

Mithadan nodded and, with a gesture, summoned his first mate back down again. “Then, I guess we should make for the Cat’s Paw,” he said when Airefalas stood beside him again at street level. “And hope that Ráma is still waiting.”

Putting on his pack and buckling his sword back into place, Airefalas nodded without much enthusiasm. They were still lost, and, so far as he could tell, the street patterns of Umbar made all the sense of old cow paths. Finding the Cat’s Paw on their own would be a clever trick indeed. Even so, it was now their only option.

But this time, luck would be on the side of the Gondorians. Not knowing where else to go, they continued on in the direction they had already been traveling. The farther they went, the more narrow and shabby grew the lane until finally they rounded a gentle turn and stopped in disbelief. There before them, centered on the block of buildings, was a squat and ancient hostelry. Over its door, swung the faded sign of the inn of The Cat’s Paw. Quickening their steps, the two Gondorians made for the door, which they found locked. Mithadan knocked softly.

A few minutes later, they heard the sound of movement behind the closed door, then the soft voice of a woman. “Who is it?”

“Our names are Mithadan and Airefalas,” answered Mithadan. “We are friends of Ráma.”

“You are foreigners,” said the woman, in response to their strange-sounding names.

“Yes,” Mithadan replied. “We are from Gondor. Ráma told us that we might find her here.”

There was a shuffling and scraping as if furniture were being moved, then a key turned in the lock and the door cracked open. “Come inside quickly,” the woman said, stepping back for them to enter.

“Ráma told me you might be coming, but she was unable to wait for you here,” continued the woman once the two men stood before her just inside the small common room. “She left camels for you in the paddock, but you must go at once. It would not be good for you to be found here.”

Airefalas and Mithadan exchanged a troubled glance. Guessing their concern, the woman bit her lip nervously, then went on: “Ráma said that if you still need to meet with her, she will be waiting at the Caves of Herumor, a mile north of the city gates. She will wait there until just after dawn, but only until then.” She touched Mithadan’s arm. “She does even this at great peril to herself, sir. There are evil folk about.”

Mithadan nodded and thanked her warmly. “Then we will not tarry. Show us to the camels, mistress,” he said. “And we will be off at once.”

The innkeeper nodded and led them through to the exit in back that opened onto a small paddock. Inside the paddock sat two camels, both of them saddled and ready to go. She handed each of the two men a full skin of water from just inside the door and then she was gone, the inn’s back door closing and locking behind her. Just outside the gate to the paddock were two sticks the approximate size of riding crops. Mithadan picked them up and handed one to Airefalas. Not quite sure what they were for, Airefalas took what was offered and followed Mithadan into the tiny enclosure. Choosing one of the two camels for himself, Mithadan fastened his water skin to the camel’s saddle and, swinging a leg over the camel’s back, settled comfortably into place. He touched the animal’s shoulder once with the stick, and it lurched to its feet. Riding out of the gate of the paddock, Mithadan turned and looked back only to see Airefalas still standing there, staring at his camel with a look of deep distrust.

“You can ride, can’t you?” asked Mithadan.

Airefalas nodded, still staring at the camel. “I can ride a horse,” he answered crossly. What he didn’t mention to Mithadan was that while he could ride a horse, horsemanship was not one of his strong suits. Seeing as he had spent most of his time at sea, he had not had much opportunity to refine his skills. Camel-jockeying, he was afraid, might prove to be something else entirely.

Guessing Airefalas’ thoughts, Mithadan smiled. “Just pretend it’s a goofy-looking horse.”

As if in response, Airefalas’ camel made a noise that sounded something between a honk and a belch and spat a gooey, tobacco-like substance at Airefalas’ foot. Then it smirked and settled deeper on to its haunches, lowering its long eyelashes at him like a coquettish female. Frowning, Airefalas reached out and tied his water skin to the saddle, but made no move toward mounting.

Finally, Mithadan lost his patience. “Get on the camel,” he snapped. “Now.”

It was an order. Grudgingly, Airefalas cleaned his boot with a handful of straw and threw his leg over the camel’s back, sliding nervously into the saddle.

“You throw me,” he grumbled at the camel. “And I’ll skin you. Make myself a new pair of boots.”

The camel turned its head and gave him a sly look, but when Airefalas touched its shoulder with the riding stick, it rose obediently to its feet. Another touch with the stick and it trotted to where Mithadan waited astride the first camel. They started off at once for the caves. To his surprise, Airefalas found that Mithadan was right. Riding a camel really wasn’t all that different from riding a gangly, long-legged horse. The camels proved remarkably fast as well, delivering them to the Caves of Herumor just as the first fingers of dawn touched the eastern sky.

Following a trail of fresh hoof prints, which they assumed must belong to Ráma’s horse, the Gondorians dismounted under the over-hanging cliff that marked the opening to the complex of caves.
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