Here There Be Dragons - RPG

[piosenniel]

Miri

‘I don’t remember exactly what he said,’ Miri said, screwing her mouth up in consternation. ‘I thought he said one thing earlier today and before, too. But then he lied tonight. When that man from up north was speaking; he just flat out lied.’ Miri’s little hands were on her hips as she spoke, her speech perplexed and angry at the same time.

‘Perhaps you misunderstood,’ began Rama, wondering if the girl would come round to answering her question.

‘No! I didn’t!’ Miri said shaking her head fiercely. ‘Because I asked him and he said he did . . . but not to me.’ She glanced up sharply at Rama wondering if she should tell her that the reason he lied was to keep Rama from telling him he was crazy and what he said just couldn’t be true, as her sister Narika had already done. Her child’s understanding of friendship clamped her lips tight on revealing anything Rôg had told her previously about changing shapes. Though he hadn’t asked her to do so, she didn’t want her friend made fun of or scolded for saying things that others disapproved of. In her child’s way she understood quite well how sometimes you had to keep things hidden away because the grownups just wouldn’t understand.

Miri narrowed her eyes, sliding them away from Rama. It was obvious that Rama was not going away until she had something from Miri. Well. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to tell her about his visit to his clan . . . she reasoned, knowing that he had shared the information freely with her and with the old fellow he traveled with.

‘Rôg arranged for his old friend to stay with our Clan,’ she began hesitantly, hoping Rama would not start questioning her on each point. ‘He’s going away for a week’s time, I think. He promised his mami and da that he would visit with them when he came south. And his Clan leader, he is supposed to talk to him about something, too.’ She looked up hopefully, making sure Rama was following along. ‘Anyways . . . his clan is down south at the end of our mountains right now. They make things, you know, and bring them round to the marketplaces . . . he told me his own family made the . . .’

An ahem! from Rama and the raising of one of her friend’s eyebrows reminded Miri to stay on track.

‘Anyways,’ she began again, ‘they don’t really live down at the end of the mountains. They’ve just been staying there for a while . . . until all the bad things were over. Now they’ll be going back to their real home . . . the desert, way up north, by the eastern sea where their Elders are waiting for them.’ Miri clapped her hands together and smiled. ‘Oh, I’ll bet those red mountains are so pretty! He told me they were. They’re right on the edge of the desert . . . and they have caves in them, Rama. That’s where their Elders have been staying . . .’ She saw the confused look on Rama’s face. ‘Well, not all of them. Some of them stay in the desert camp with the rest of the clan . . .’

Rama shook her head in disbelief. ‘Oh, Miri, it sounds as if your friend has woven you a tale of moonbeams on spider webs.’ She smiled down at her little friend. ‘He’s pulling your leg,’ she said gently, reaching out to put her arm round the girl’s shoulders. 'There's no desert up there and even if there were, there's no way Rôg could go and come back so quickly.' She smiled sympathetically at her little friend. 'You must have known he was jesting . . .'

Miri pulled away, indignant at being talked to as if she were a baby! ‘Hmmmph!’ she snorted . . . ‘Since you think it’s all stories, I won’t even bother you with the dropped melons and the dra . . .’

Their attentions were caught at that moment by a an out of breath voice calling out Rama’s name. The young woman and the girl turned to watch as one of the night guards from Ayar’s tent came running toward them. His face was pale, and grim, and his breathing was labored from his exertions. At first, it was difficult to understand him, and Rama laid a hand on his arm, asking him to slow down a bit and speak in a clearer manner. As he did so, her own face paled, and she clutched Miri’s hand so hard that the little girl cried out.

Others of the clan had drawn near; their voices saddened and fearful at the news the guard had brought. One of the women reached out for Miri, saying that she would see her to her parents’ tent. Another put her shawl about about Rama’s shoulders and pushed her in the direction of the messenger. ‘Go,’ she said to the young woman. ‘Your sister has summoned you.’

The small group watched as the guard and Rama hastened to Ayar’s tent. Then, the whispers began; the soft calling out to those still in their tents spread outward in rippling sighs, bringing the awaited but unwelcome news.

The meldakhar is dying . . . Ayar . . . it is Ayar . . . her light is fading . . .

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Night had fallen over the Havens of Umbar. The harbour area seemed deserted, save for the light and noise of raucous laughs and rowdy singing that came from the port’s most popular tavern. News had spread that a generous patron was providing free drinks, and though that was no longer the case, the men stayed on. Even the guards who normally patrolled the streets had joined the throng; there were no ships to guard, they thought, so there could be no harm in taking some time off. It was better than shivering in the cold desert night.

Thus no one observed the shadows that flitted through the darkness silently. Some carried large burdens on their backs, others had tied theirs to poles which they carried between them. They dared not use carts; even if the wheels had been well oiled, the uneven streets would have caused them to rumble discernably. They slipped into a small back street that seemingly ended at the city wall, but a gate swung open when they approached it. Outside, wagons waited to be loaded. One after another disappeared into the night.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

“The harbour is what?” Falasmir roared. He sat bolt upright in his luxurious bed, his blankets scattered in his rage at being awakened early in the morning.

“It has been razed,” a soldier repeated, cringing slightly at a distance he hoped was safe. “The stone buildings that were not destroyed by the fire have disappeared overnight.”

“How is this possible?” the ruler exclaimed.

“No one knows,” came the answer.

“I want to see it immediately,” Falasmir demanded.

Though it took some time, what with his servants bustling about with his robes and other necessary items of clothing, and the necessity of strengthening himself with food and drink, he was in his sedan chair sooner than could have been expected. The carriers, panting and sweating, went at a fast pace, and before long he was gazing incredibly at the remains of Umbar’s once powerful centre of naval strength.

Galandor, riding a tall, well-built black horse, bowed down deferentially to speak to him. “My lord, what do you wish us to do on your behalf?”

For once, the ruler of Umbar was speechless. Without the harbour, what was his city? No ships, no military prowess, no trade, no income, only a skeleton of its former glory.

“If I may offer a suggestion,” Galandor began, a bit too diffidently, though no one noticed, “I would say that we use the small port on the coast south of us for a time. It may be easier to enlarge it than to rebuild this one, at least for now. Later, when we have regained our strength, we shall avenge ourselves on Gondor for this affront.”

Falasmir was only too glad to blame his foe for everything, though it was hardly logical that the northern kingdom should have had anything to do with the night’s destruction. He nodded his approval weakly and waved his carriers to turn and bring him back to the palace.

[Nerindel]

Sorona

“It has been a trying time for us all here. For you too, if it has been so long since you have been in these parts. You must have travelled a great distance to find your desert home. But do not worry, we will be here tomorrow also, and the Haradrim will not carry you away again from this place.”

Sorona turned her gaze from the tent opening to study her young host, noting the thoughtfulness in his gaze, his words surprised her but she was grateful for them none the less. “Yes it has been long, too long I think and the distance great, more than mere measured distance has been crossed to bring me home to these lands. A cold dose of guilt and a premonition of danger are the whips that now drive my course,” she admitted with a wistful smile. “I thank you for your assurances, Surinen but I do not fear the Haradrim they are but tools, instruments to what ever master they follow, a discorded symphony. It is not the workers I fear but the task masters who hold their leash and if Wyrma has managed to grasp even but one of these leads then I think we all have something to fear!” Sorona warned sadly shaking her head.

“That the wolf clan are part of what ever goes on here grieves me terribly, you are right they were a clever and skilled people, but they were also wise and held much honour and integrity that I do not understand this course they have chosen.” she went on sullenly.

“But my place is here, with my clan, I see that now I am here and have heard what troubles our people. I will speak with Ayar’s Daughters and the elders of the clan as soon as it can be arranged!” She told Surinen with an added hint of urgency.

Surinen nodded but before he could speak, the flap to the tent opened and an older Maenwaith entered, Surinen rose respectfully and the man gave him a courteous nod in return, but his attention seemed focused on his guest. “Greetings, Mistress Eagle. I am Fador. Welcome to my home. I trust my daughter has taken proper care of you?” The older man greeted pleasantly.

Sorona started at the name it was Familiar to her, “She has been very kind,” she answered studying his face trying to pull from her clouded memory how she knew this maenwaith. “I thank you both for your hospitality. I am Sorona.” she ended hoping that if she knew him he might remember her.

“Sorona,” Fador Echoed, giving her a long gaze. “I used to know someone by that name a very long time ago,” he said pleasantly. “She married into another clan and I lost track of her, but that was many years ago.” He smiled.

Yes, that is I! Sorona wanted to cry out, but something deep within made her pause, a doubt that made Fador’s pleasant smile seem false and well rehearsed. Something about his losing track of her did not seem right nor match what Surinen had just told her.

“Allow me to welcome you to our encampment. Do you plan to remain with us long?” Fador continued, in that same pleasant voice that now made Sorona wary.

She nodded her head in thanks to Fador’s welcome, but now felt uncomfortable. There was something about him from her past that she could not place and she felt guilt at the distrust that rose from within her. She had just shared a meal in his home with his family and he welcomed her respectfully in to the clan, but she could not shift the feeling that they had known each other better than Fador was letting on.

“I am not sure how long I will be staying,” she answered noncommittally.

“Sorona was just requesting uncle that she be allowed to speak with Narika, and the elders of the clan, but now that you are here perhaps you would be better placed to present her request?” Surinen said joining in the conversation.

Sorona glanced at him briefly then turned her attention back to Fador, off course! Had not Surinen earlier told her that Latah’s father was an elder of this clan? But even remembering this did not settle her unrest?

“Indeed,” Fador smiled pleasantly. “But to what purpose do I say you request this council?” he asked.

“Tell them that I carry a warning that must be heard!” Sorona said simply after a moments pause.

“A meeting may not be possible at once the Meldakhar is dying and is not expected to last the night her daughters will be sore put to leave her side for any reason,” Fador replied shaking his head sadly. “Perhaps if you convey your message to me I can pass it on to Narika?” he suggested.

“No, this message I must deliver myself, I think this is why this task was appointed me!” she sighed resignedly, “I owe my people that much,” she muttered softly to herself. “Even if I must wait till morning,” she finished eyeing Fador to see if he would still object.

“Very well I will speak with Narika first thing in the morning, now come both of you speak with me while I eat.” Fador replied.

Sorona again nodded her thanks, “But if you will excuse me I think I will get some fresh air, I am not so accustom to the enclosed spaces of homes as I once was,” she smiled. Surinen rose and Sorona turned to him, “do not worry my young friend I have no intention of flying off until my warning is delivered, I am sure you and your uncle have much to discuss and the guards outside your door will ensure that I keep to my word,” she patiently reassured him.

The young man looked to his uncle who simply nodded that it was alright, then after bidding her a good night he sat back down. Sorona left knowing that she would have to return and that the uncomfortable feeling she felt around Fador would remain.

“Well gentlemen do you fancy a walk?” she smiled turning to the two guards who dutifully stood either side the tents entrance, they looked at each other but said nothing following behind her as she walked through the camp gathering her thoughts and wrestling with her fears.

With a heavy heart, she stopped and looked up at the night sky. “Oh Lanirsule I wish you were here I could use your wisdom and guidance just about now, my old friend.” she sighed heavily, staring up at the stars, smiling as the constellation Soron, after which she was named came into view. Aguila - the Eagle it as sometimes called in distant lands, she took comfort in its appearance, a sign that she was making the right decision!

“Ah Soron! You know it is said that the eagle guides and protects us, I like to think that this is true especially in such troubled times don’t you?” A soft voice whispered beside her. She turned to see a young woman a little older than Rama staring up at the stars, in her hands she held a small wooden bucket filled with fresh water close to her chest and the delicate aroma of assorted herbs surrounded her.

“Yes I believe the ancestors guide the stars to help us find our way,” Sorona smiled, watching as the young woman gazed thoughtfully at the stars.

“Yes,” the young woman whispered lowering her eyes and turning them towards a nearby tent. Seeing the young woman’s sadness, she guessed the tent was that of her Cousin and that this young woman must be one of her healers. “Then it is true, she is dying and there is no cure,” she whispered sadly.

“You know the Meldakhar,” the young woman asked sympathetically, turning back to face her.

“Yes,” she nodded. “We were once very close and I regret deeply not returning sooner!” she sighed wistfully.

The Young woman looked between Sorona, her guards and the tent of her leader biting her lip nervously as she debated some decision. “It will grieve you to know that the Meldakhar is close to casting off her mortal form,” the young woman whispered after only a moment’s pause. “She is no longer conscious and I do not know if she can hear, but I can take you to see her if you like?”

“Yes I should like that very much,” Sorona answered appreciatively “But I do not wish to bring you any trouble,” she added thoughtfully. The young woman merely smiled as if any doubt she had was now abated, then moving off she spoke with her guards. Sorona could see by the looks both guards cast her that they did not approve of the young woman’s decision, but after only a few moments they reluctantly conceded and the young woman returned gesturing for her to follow.

Reaching the entrance to her cousins tent Sorona paused and glanced back at her guards, “Are you sure you will not get into any trouble over this?” she asked still concerned.

“Any trouble that comes of this is my own making and I will deal with any consequence. You are a friend of the Meldakhar and if rumours are to be believed you have been away for some time, I know that if the Meldakhar was awake and able to speak she would not have turned a friend away. The others will see this with time!” the young woman said with a firm but gentle assurance, Sorona nodded then taking a deep breath followed the young woman inside.

In the soft flickering light of the tents, oil lamps Sorona saw the still form of her old friend; she was surprised to see that they were alone. Rama is speaking with our other guests and Nakira has left for a moment to speak with my brother Thorn the young woman whispered softly as she moved towards to her leader. She lifted the damp cloth from Ayar’s brow and soaking it in the fresh water she had brought; she rang it out and gently replaced it on her leader’s brow.

“Her fever seems to be breaking!” The young woman sighed as Sorona drew nearer.

“Is that not a good thing?” Sorona asked as she stared at the deathly pallor of her cousin.

“Normally I would say yes, but not this time!” She sighed sadly “That the fever is breaking can only mean that the body is giving up or losing the fight for life, her spirit will soon break free of it mortal bonds to fly free with those of our ancestors,” the young woman informed her sorrowfully. “She was a wise and well loved leader her passing will be a sore loss for our people.” The young woman whispered turning away that she could not see the tear that ran down her soft cheek.

“I will give you a few moments alone, my name is Yalisha, if you need anything or you notice any change call me at notice, I will just be outside.” Sorona thanked the young woman again, and then turned with regret and sorrow on her dear friend.

“I’m so sorry Cousin,” she whispered tearfully, “I should have returned sooner, when the dreams first began, perhaps I could have prevented this!” she lamented looking on the silent form of her cousin. “No I should have returned long before that, but I was a coward, I hid from my fears. Lanirsule told me I would regret my choice not to return!” she sighed.

Stretching out her wing she gently placed it upon her cousin’s hand, she could not feel the deathly chill upon them and as she stared at the feathers, she found herself wishing for the first time in nearly eighteen years that there were a hand there that she might take her friends hand and squeeze it in her own.

“So you did become Leader! Did I not say it would be so,” she laughed weakly “I finally managed to take the eagle form and you were right as always, it found me and when I was most in need.” she smiled remembering her impatience at not being able to take the form of their ancestors and Ayars patience and gentle reassurances .

“I think Cousin that it is my turn to tell you a tale, in fact I think it is long over due!” she smiled wanly moving a straying lock from her cousin’s pale but peaceful face.

The desert sands shifted lazily across the dunes the woman and children of the Wolf clan eagerly awaited the return of fathers, husbands and sons. The hunt had lasted three days and the hunters where expected home by nightfall. Children rein-acted the bravery of their bothers and fathers while the women prepared to welcome their men home with a hearty meal.

A dark and ominous cloud of whirling sand rose up on the horizon against mornings light, at first it was believed that the hunters had return home early, but the cloud was to thick and moving too fast to be that of Audulfr and his pack. A panic ran through the camp! I did my best to take control, sending Freya to warn my father and the eagles of the approaching danger, then I organised the wolf clan an bid them to make for the forest where I believed we could hide out these attackers.

But their numbers were great and they came fast splitting us up, killing those who dared to resist. I took up my little raven and ran for the safety of the woods, hoping that the others would find their way. But as I fled several riders pursued me, I could not hope to out run them so I took out my dagger to save my son from this horror. But when it came to it I could not free him from his mortal bond, I hid him in the high branches of a tree and drew of our attackers , I would have rather died myself that take my own child’s life!

Sorona paused recalling the young man in the desert and the sea captains recollection of his name, “And it worked Ayar, he still lives!” she smiled thankfully. But, sighed as she continued.

I took the form of the clan I married into and lead the Haradrim warriors away from my son, the last thing I remember was a sharp pain to my side, then I awoke on the back of a Haradrims wagon. But as soon as I awoke, I was hauled from the wagon and chained with others of our people, not only the wolf clan. Oh, Ayar they were mostly children!

We were marched not to Umbar but further north in to a dark and baron land filled with ash and fire, with creatures just too vile and unspeakable to mention. Then he came….Sorona closed her eyes and shook violently at the thought of the Dark Lord of Mordor. He had no form and took no recognisable shape but he and been in her head and her thoughts and even after he was vanquished by his foes a dark chill remained on her heart. He forced the young ones to take forms of his choosing, perverting them to his own design. As for myself and the others we given but one choice serve or die, I thought I could save them and escape our prison if I could just stay alive, so I worked the dark forges stealing what I could to help keep my people as I came to see them alive. Somehow, he discovered that I could take more forms than the others, something I thought only you and I knew I must not have been careful enough after that he wanted me to do other tasks.

He wanted me to spy on his enemies and this I did to keep my people alive, but it did not stop there one day he ordered me to kill one of the young captains of Gondor. I went but seeing the young man fiercely fighting the foul creatures of Mordor to protect and defend his people I could not do it I returned and defiantly refused to do his bidding any longer. I bracing myself for the blow of his wrath I was sure would come, but it did not instead I was pushed to my knees by unseen hands and my head held that I could only look forward. Oh, Cousin they brought out the youngest of our people and lined them before me, the smell of oil reached my nose before my eyes could make out the glistening fluid under their little feet, No! I cried out futile pleading with something that had no compassion or heart, The children’s eyes shone with fear, silently pleading for my help I struggled against my unseen captors as the oil was lit, Their screams, their was nothing I could do Their scream Cousin remain with me always no matter how much I try to forget.

After that I was his and did what ever he bid hating him and myself, longing for death! However, there were still others. I continued to smuggle them food, healing aids but I was broken, and lost all hope of escape, there was an elder with us a man. I no longer remember his name or his clan but he was kind and tried hard to give me hope or so I thought, He kept saying it would not be long, that they would all be free! One day he asked me to bring him a flower he said, it had healing properties and he said it would help them to escape this place; I was so deep in the depths of my despair I did not know what he meant. Nevertheless, I brought him his plant and several days later, I discovered what he had meant!

They were all dead, they would rather brake their mortal bonds than suffer anymore torment in their dark prison, they did what I could not! I fled in fear and disgust Saurons hound close at my heels it was then that this form found me at last allowing me to escape my dark prison. Wounded I made it to the mountains far in the north lands, were I was saved from the death that I longed to take me, by an ancient friendship and the old man who now walks among your clan. They nursed me back to health, but I could not return to the lands of my people with the knowledge of the horrors I had witnesses the grief was too painful so I locked it away and tried to forget. Sorona finished tears streaming down her feathered face.

“I am so glad you will not have to witness your peoples pain Cousin. I do not know why I was sent back, but I promise you cousin that I will not fail our people again and if I can help prevent this madness I will, this I swear to you!” she whispered tearfully, laying her feathered head on her cousins chest in a last gesture of goodbye.

The soft rhythmic thump of the woman’s heart slowed and Sorona bolted up in fear and panic, “Yalisha!” she called fearfully, the young woman rush into the tent, “help her!” Sorona cried knowing it was futile, Yalisha knelt beside the Meldkhar for and second then sullenly moved to the guards ordering them to find Ayars Daughters. Tears fell freely as she moved back out of the tent to allow the eagles to attend their dying leader, but she could not bring herself to leave completely so she stood frozen in her grief watching the silent shadows of movement through the tents opening. Presently the sound of approaching feet caused her to turn and with great sorrow and much sympathy, she watched as a young woman, much in likeness to Rama approached comforted and supported by a comely looking maenwaith man, who she could only assume was Yalisha’s brother. Rama joined them and together they slipped silently into the tent followed closely by two of the clan’s elders.

“So young they seem to bear such burdens,” she quietly murmured as the tents flap fell closed behind them. “Farewell cousin, may the spirits of our Ancestors guide you safely on this your final journey,” she whispered tearfully, then raising her eyes upwards it seemed to her that Soron twinkled that little bit brighter a fitting epitaph to a wise and dear friend. As a cool breeze blew around the tents ruffling, her feathers she stood alone a silent witness to the ending of her Cousins chapter in their clan’s history!

[piosenniel]

The Sandpiper/Star puts in to the coast at last . . . a way inland is found . . .

A fair span of hours passed as The Sandpiper pulled further out to sea. ‘Is this necessary,’ asked Pio watching the shoreline fade in the west. ‘It is, m’lady,’ rejoined Hamar as he gave an order to let out more sail. The breezes grew stronger as they turned away from the coast, a useful fact which he hoped would make less the additional time incurred for this necessary change in course. ‘There are far more vessels in the waters just off the Bay of Umbar than is usual. And many of them are bound south, it seems, along the coast. It be the case that some might be Falasmir’s ships, I’d prefer we not be pulled over and inquiries made.’

~*~

It was nearing first light as they tacked in toward the coastal waters once more. The small bay just south of Umbar was nearing, and it was there they were to meet Faragaer’s ship, The Scuppered Gull. ‘Take us back out, sir!’ cried Hamar to the Helmsman; the great wheel turned and they sailed westward again, then south once more. A great flock of Corsair ships lay at anchor in the confines of the small cove, bobbing on the sheltered waters - dark threats of warbirds ready to take wing. ‘What are they doing there?’ asked one of the crew who had come to bow. Pio glanced at him, and then to Hamar. ‘I can’t really say,’ the man answered, taking in both the Elf and the crew member who had asked the question. He put his spyglass to his eye and scanned the ships. ‘I will say, I can’t see The Gull’s pennant among them. He must have sailed further down the coastline.’

‘He and I had discussed that previously,’ Pio nodded, sending the crewman to her quarters to retrieve her map case. ‘The original captain of The Sandpiper had dealings far south of Umbar’s port,’ she said as the sailor handed the pack over to her. She pulled out the old ship’s log and thumbed through until she had found the map she wanted. ‘See here,’ she went on, her finger sliding past the drawing of the cove they’d just passed. ‘There is another small inlet here just south of where we were to meet, and still a third one further down. Not often used, so the Captain wrote – rocky shoals forbid a close approach to the shore. But there is enough leeway for longboats to maneuver in and out. And here,’ she tapped on the chart where some blobs of ink had been left. ‘These are part of the original rocky headland that lost its mooring to the coastline and now stand like tall, little island rockeries. Ships that moor to the south side of them cannot be seen from the north or the seaward side. We can find Faragaer there, it is what he and I had agreed on.’ That is unless he and his crew and ship have not been seized altogether and hauled in to Umbar’s docks! she thought grimly to herself.

~*~

The Sandpiper headed landward after a number of hours sailing south. The rockeries were there as the journal had said, great swarms of seabirds roosting on their barren caps and ledges. The ship headed further south than the islets as it headed in. Pio and Hamar stood at the ’Piper’s rail, their eyes straining to see the The Gull.

‘A ship lies moored there,’ cried Pio, pointing as they just cleared the protective screen of that blocked their view from the open waters. Hamar brought the spyglass to his eye and fiddled with the focus. ‘It’s The Gull, he said with a sigh of relief. I can see the welcome banner snapping in the breeze.’

~*~

Soon the two ships were at anchor near each other. Pio and Hamar rowed across the other ship speak with Faragaer. He had had no word, either, of why the Umbarian ships were docked outside the bay. ‘And no desire to sail in and ask either,’ he laughed. ‘As did you, we made our way further south, as far from prying eyes as we might.’

‘What of a passage way in for myself?’ Pio asked, eager to be on the trail of the missing men. ‘How shall we go about that?’

Faragaer laughed again, urging her to take a seat on one of the crates on deck, as he had. ‘I’ve already seen to that,’ he said, motioning for Hamar to be seated also. ‘We’ve been here a number of days already, good mistress. Haladan sent his man in as soon as we’d got here. There are always little trading parties crawling cross the hills here . . . like ants, especially this time of year. For a fee, a generous one, I might add, we persuaded a small group of basket and woven mat makers to take you with them. They’re heading east, over that small gap in the coastal hills. They’ll travel north, visiting the tribes they trade with. They have no news of any men from the north,’ he added, ‘but with luck you may find some hint of where the Captain and his First Mate are being held.’ Faragaer tapped his fingers on the edge of the crate, avoiding a look at the Elf’s face . . . holding back the thought he did not wish to share with her – that perhaps the trail would prove sorrowful at the end.

He was startled into looking at her as her hand crept over his and stilled the nervous tapping of his fingers. ‘He is not dead, yet, Faragaer. I do know this.’ Pio withdrew her grasp and rubbed the back of her neck. ‘Nor will he be if I can find him.’

‘Tonight, then,’ said Farager, a tense sort of relief evident in his voice. ‘The tribesmen will come down the strand and take you with them.’ ‘Myself and Baran,’ she corrected him. ‘I will pay for his passage, also.’

‘And I, also,’ said Hamar, cutting her off before she could object. ‘The King wishes it so, Mistress. He has given me certain funds for what is necessary. I am to represent him in this matter. He was quite firm about his orders to me. He will not be gainsaid in this, I was to tell you . . . should you object.’

Faragaer looked from one to the other. ‘Poor man,’ he thought. ‘I can already see the considering look she gives him. Best he stay on his toes if he means to keep up with her, I think.’ He called for a bottle of wine to defuse the situation.

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Hilde Bracegirdle's post

After the eagle left, Surinen sat down again. Initially confused that Sorona, who had stated her place to be with her clan, had then so soon after told Fador she did not know how long she would remain with them. Perhaps the old eagle did not wish to take their acceptance for granted. But these concerns were quickly crowded out of the outrider’s wandering mind by the sobering thought that the Meldakhar was leaving them. Though there had never been much hope for her recovery, he had not yet been able to grasp that there could ever be another to lead his clan. It had always been so, since he could remember, her quiet strength guiding the eagles through many years, and of course leagues upon leagues through the desert. But if she were to leave them then she must have good cause, and have also confidence that her clan possessed the fortitude to continue without her.

Surinen looked up to see Latah approaching, Fador’s meal in her hand. “Ah, daughter,” the older man was saying, as the outrider focused his attention on them. “Maybe you would sit with us and tell us of your day. Mine unfortunately, has been an active one and regret that I have neglected my responsibility as host, burdening you with our guests. Tell me what has transpired in my home since this morning when I left.” He rested his chin on steepled fingers, genuinely interested in what she might say. “Surely, there is much I can learn from your young and unprejudiced eye.”

But Latah, settling herself down at his bidding, simply replied “Please Father, have your food and tell us of yourself, for I have nothing to say other than what you have no doubt already heard.” She avoided Fador’s, opening the box of warmed bread and placing two folded pieces on her father’s plate. “What are the elders saying?”

Surinen could not believe his cousin’s remarks. Surely she had not forgotten all the excitement that had surrounded her father’s tent today…the guards… the dagger. “But what of Ráma’s knife?” Surinen ventured, looking questioningly at Latah before addressing her father. “I doubt that the elders have heard that the younger one…”

“The first mate,” Latah reminded her cousin, gently.

“Yes, the first mate,” the outrider continued turning to Fador. “For some reason he had Ráma’s knife, and we were trying to figure out why that might be,” he explained watching the elder with great expectation that Fador might find this observation significant.

“Really Suri, you are making too much of it. See here Father, I have the dagger now and will return it to Ráma once I meet her. This man Suri speaks of did not seem see in it any special significance, and nor I think should my cousin!” she said shaking her head.

“I suppose the one to answer your suspicions then would be Ráma herself,” Fador counseled the young man, quite unruffled by Surinen’s revelation. “But I would not trouble yourself, Suri, for if he had taken it from her, would he be so careless to openly leave it here? No, I think not. So then, putting the matter aside, have they behaved honorably? Or have I to entertain undesirable company?”

“Truly, I have heard no complaints, and have none myself,” Latah smiled, watching her father finish his meal. “I think that we are blessed with guests of good temperament.”

“Good then, I am glad to hear it. We shall make them feel at home, won’t we?” Fador encouraged his daughter.

“Still Uncle,” the young man interrupted. “I would feel better if Narayad would be here also. I do not like Latah to be alone with such men. Perhaps he might be allowed to act as guard?” Surinen suggested, his voice ending in a lilt of deference.

“Narayad, yes well, perhaps for a while we might convince him to stay with his wife,” the elder said passing his plate to his daughter, and standing to leave again. “But alas, Thorn has expressed other plans. I have spoken with him a little while ago, and he would sent Narayad on a journey, so he tells me, until the suspicion of him fades.” Surinen was stunned into silence. It did not make sense to him. Thorn had always supported Narayad’s decision to live among the eagles.

“He’s is sending him away?” Latah echoed, clutching the plate. “And my husband has agreed to this?”

“Yes daughter, he has, though I also do not understand it myself. But Thorn has mentioned that if his absence grows to be an extended one, he would have you sent also, so that you might be with your husband. Let us hope that this does not become the case, and that we can soon convince the people to have faith in Narayad once more.”

“But were will he go?” Surinen asked, troubled by this news. “Where could he possibly go?”

“I do not know, Suri,” Fador admitted thoughtfully. “We must find out from him if he has some idea where he might go, for Thorn has said that he has left that decision up to him. But now I must take leave of you both, to join the others at Ayar’s side.” Seeing the two in mute bewilderment, Fador hesitated, turning again to them before leaving. “Do not worry, I will speak with Narayad to see if he is sure of this, and will speak on his behalf with who ever I must. Perhaps we might yet sway this decision.” And with that he left the tent once more.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Word of Ayar’s illness sped swiftly about the camp. Already, a number of maenwaith had hurriedly set aside their dinner platters and mugs, running outside to gather near firepits whose earlier inviting flames had now burnt down to the ground, leaving piles of sullen ash. Some spoke in hushed tones, trying to offer comfort and hope. Several had walked over to the pavilion where Ayar and her daughters were staying, anxious to hear news about their leader. Yet this time, most deemed it unlikely that any remedy would be found to battle the poison in Ayar’s blood.

Inside the shadowed tent, all was quiet, except for the harsh rasping sound the woman made as she strained to draw each breath. Drifting in and out of consciousness, Ayar thrashed about amid her bedclothes, waves of pain mirrored in the taut grimace of her face. The Elders arrived last and stood near the rear of the chamber. They would remain there until Ayar’s keen spirit managed to break the bonds of her now useless body. Then, the oldest of the group would step through the door and proclaim that the Eagles would honor their fallen leader with four days of ritual and reflection.

Sometime tomorrow, the Circle of Elders would again meet to announce who would take over leadership of the clan. Thankfully, all seemed to be in agreement on this important point. In times like these, the clan could not afford to bicker or to delay the naming, even though the formal ceremonies and ritual joining, man to woman , and each to clan, would not take place until the Eagles had offered their final goodbyes to Ayar.

Yalisha stood near Ayar’s pillow, grimacing in frustration at her own inability to dampen the onslaught of searing pain. Narika sat stiffly beside the bed, her mother’s clenched fist cradled between her two hands. Ráma crouched on the floor near the foot of the pallet, her expression one of deep worry mingled with anger. Thorn stood close behind his wife-to-be.

One time, the sentry excused himself to go and check on those assembled outside. Curtly responding to a few nervous onlookers who stood nearest the door and who begged for some word , he cursed under his breath, “Not even a dog should die this way. The Eagles must make whoever did this pay!”

The hours inched by as a candle on the table burned low and then gutted. The first hint of dawn was visible in the distance: the sun embracing the earth as it rose, extending its soft radiance over the vast expanse of white sand that totally encircled the camp. Somewhere, a cock crowed to herald the beginning of a new day. Ayar’s body shuddered more violently than before but then came to rest. Her breath continued in slow, jagged peaks: one gasp, then another, and finally no more.

Yalisha placed a gentle hand on Ayar’s brow and gazed into the familiar face, which already looked different in death. Then she stood up and bowed, saying the traditional words to the Elders, “The end has come. Our beloved Ayar has put aside her human form. We must say our goodbyes, that she may fly to the craggy peaks, which gave birth to our clan…..”

Hearing this pronouncement, Ráma walked up beside her mother's still form and dropped to one knee to place a kiss on her cheek. Tomorrow, everything would be prescribed by ritual; tonight, each could honor the woman in a way of their own choosing. Narika came over and slipped an arm around her sister's waist. The two girls tipped their heads on each others' shoulders. Outside the keening of the tribe had begun.

[Nerindel]

Korpulfr circles the eagle camp

Kórpulfr’s dark feathery form glided silently on the cooling air currents of the desert night sky, his two beady eyes blinking sharply as the low burning camp fires of the desert camp came into view, banking right he noiselessly swept past the billowing tents to come into the encampment from behind were the fires were less. Getting closer he was surprised to see so many of the camps inhabitants still awake and about. Cautiously prompted by his mild curiosity he followed several of the clansmen to one of the many camp fires, making sure to keep to the shadows and out of the dying light of the glowing embers that would betray his presence. Both men and women, young and old stood together in small groups comforting and consoling each other, Someone has died or is dying, someone important, he thought realising that the whole camp seemed to be gathered. A gentle softness and sympathy for these people cross his hard dark eyes as he remembered the time of grieving for his mother and the others of his clan who died or went missing after the Haradim raids, he was only young but the pain and grief was the same for everyone and for a moment he thought of leaving them to their sorrow.

But as he circled again he caught the tall forms of his Quarry standing before one of the tents a little way from the gathering mourners, their young guide was not with them instead the hunched form of a wizened old man and a little desert man stood quietly beside them as all four seemed to be watching the events transpiring within this camp with sadness and a measure of apprehension. More strangers ! Korpulfr thought as he silently landed atop a nearby tent, his eyes narrowing in contemplation as he studied the old man, who was this stranger and how is it he comes to be in the this camp at the same time as his Gondorian friends? Suspicion echoed in his mind, He watched as Mithadan turned and spoke with the old man, he could not heard what they said but could see clearly by the sea captains stance and the slight gesturing movements of his head that the old man was someone he respected, the two men then shook hands and Mithadan and Airefalas moved away from the tent.

It was only then that Korpulfr noticed that the men had not been alone, two armed desert men stepped out of the shadows of the tent and followed. “So they have evaded one guard only to find another!” he mused ironically wondering what they had done or who they had offended to warrant such display of distrust. Or perhaps they are but the misfortunate victims of unhappy coincidence and bad timing? he thought looking back towards the people gathered around the camp fires. As he looked back things that he had not noticed before began to stand out in his mind markings and designs on certain tents, even faces lighted by the soft glow of the dying fires, brought strange feelings of familiarity that he could not explain. like a distant memory too old and faded to recall.

This familiarity brought with it a strange sense of foreboding, an unwelcome feeling that the events of the past few day had transpired to bring him here and at this particular time, the flight of the Gondorians, Tinar’s disappearance, the strange eagle, and now this camp all seemed too coincidental. This skin crawled and his feathers ruffled he felt like the intruder that he was and he did not like it, a cock crowed and as dawn slowly approached Korpulfr leaped into the air and left the camp behind.


~*~*~*~*~

Hasrim was still waiting for him as he returned to camp, taking his mannish form he sat down heavily beside his cousin. “Well!” Hasrim prompted when his cousin remained silent. Kor was still dwelling on his strange sense of familiarity and did not hear his cousins words until he felt his a concerned hand on his shoulder.

“Are you all right, is something wrong cousin?” Hasrim was asking him with a concerned frown.

“Uh… no I am alright, it just..” he began hesitantly.

“Just what?” Hasrim pressed concernedly. “Were the Gondorian’s not there!”

“Yes they were there, and another stranger is with them an old man,” he answered absently.

“Then what is it cousin, what is it that troubles you?” Harsim went on.

“That camp, somehow seemed familiar to me,” he confided in his cousin going on to tell him in detail the marking that incited this familiarity and describing the faces that stood out in the crowd. “Someone was dying in that camp someone important if my eyes did not deceive me and it all seemed somehow wrong!” he finished with a heavy sigh.

His cousin rose shaking his head, “This is bad Kor, we must leave!” he said sullenly after a few moments. Korpulfr frowned not understanding.

“We have stumbled into a hornets nest and must leave before they swarm!” his cousin went on to caution.

“What are you talking about !” Korpulfr yelled in frustration waking the sleeping form of Tinar.

“We have found The Eagle clan’s encampment, it is too dangerous for us to stay here we will not be welcomed!” Hasrim explained moving to his horse to make preparations to leave.

“My mothers clan?” Kor mouthed wordlessly, as Tinar stared wide eyed trying to figure out what was going on.

“If this is your mothers clan then why would you not be welcomed?” Tinar asked breaking the sullen silence.

“Yes why would I not be welcomed!” Korpulfr added staring at the broad shoulders of his cousin.

“You know why!” Hasrim answered turning back to his cousin, “Remind me!” he replied broodily.

“They abandoned us, turned their back on all but their own clan, isolating themselves, refusing to accept the friendship and protection a united clan offered.” But even as Hasrim spoke Korpulfr was reminded of the last time he had seen his mothers Cousin. It was a gathering of the clans, she had secretly come to his fathers tent he remembered over hearing her beg him to reconsider, but what he was to reconsider he did not know. His father had refused and a heated argument had ensued ending with his father threatening the Eagles leader telling her that she would regret taking up her uncles treacherous beliefs.

A frightening thought flash though his mind and he stood up levelling his gaze with his cousin, “Hasrim tell me that my fathers hand has no part in what is going on down there.” Hasrim frowned as if truly puzzled by his cousins words, “What are you asking?” he asked uncertainly.

“Hasrim tell me that my father has not acted on old grudges and is not responsible for who ever is dying down there!” he pressed impatiently.

“No!” Hasrim lied smoothly, “Your father would never…” Kor sighed visibly with relief, “I’m sorry Hasrim, I just had a terrible thought, foolish I know, there is no way my father can even know this camps location.” he said shaking his head.

“Then what are we going to do now?” Tinar asked attempting to break the silent tension that followed.

“Hasrim is right,” Kor said after a moments thought. “We will not be welcomed, you even less so this clan is openly opposed to your mothers plans.”

“Then I can change my name, they needn’t know I am from any clan!” Tinar protested.

“You forget the Gondorian’s my friend, they already have our names. On hindsight a foolish mistake on my part, but unavoidable on yours, I do not doubt that this clan will know all the children of the woman they perceive an enemy. You are less safe here than we are!” Kor patiently counselled the young wyrmling.

Tinar reluctantly nodded conceding his friends misgivings, “Then what are we to do?” he sighed.

“The Gondorians are escorted everywhere by armed sentries, and with a death in the clan it will be several days before their fates are decided, they’re not going anywhere soon. Once I have rested we will return to Wyrma and report what we have discovered, it has been almost a week she will be worried about you,” he smiled thoughtfully.

“But someone should remain in case the Gondorians escape these captors as well!” Hasrim said coming up beside them. Kor looked out in the direction of the camp and nodded. “Yes perhaps you are right I can’t help feeling that these strangers are dangerous, I will stay and keep an eye on them.” he contemplatively answered.

“No!” Hasrim protested. Bemused by his cousins sudden protest Kor turned to face him.

“All I mean is that I should stay, I am not needed elsewhere.” He was quick to explained.

“No, cousin I need you look after Tinar and let my father know what is going on.” He smiled sympathetically believing his cousin to be concerned with his well being.

“But you can do these things!” Hasrim protested, “It makes more sense for me to stay.”

“I can’t explain this cousin, but I don’t trust these Gondorians and I intend to find out what they are up to.” he said levelling his eyes with his cousin‘s, Hasrim studied him thoughtfully then nodded reluctantly.

“I need to rest, both of you eat and make ready to leave, by evening you both will return to Wyrma and inform her of what we have found!" Korpulfr said then returning to his un-slept in bedroll he lay down and drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

********************************

Hasrim


Hasrim’s outward expression remained the usual unreadable blank canvas that betrayed nothing, As he watched his cousin lay down to rest. But inside he was reeling! It seemed his young cousin was developing a conscious, or at least a doubt, that he had failed to prepare for and now the young man was determined to stay out here letting that doubt feaster and infect him and the fact that Kor had also questioned him openly in front of Tinar grated at him. He could ill afford to loss his cousins trust not now, not when they were so close…But that Kor still did not trust the Gondorians was the only consolation in this unfortunate turn of events.

As he rolled up his bedding and securely strapped it to his horse he silently contemplated how he could turn these events to his advantage. The slight vestiges of a sly grin escaped his lips as he remembered his uncle telling him that not all of the eagles were their enemies, there was one he said who was sympathetic to their cause and would help if he thought it to his advantage! And even as Hasrim sat down to eat the cold breakfast young Tinar had prepared his thoughts cunningly turned to how he could use this information to his advantage and how he could slip away to speak with this friend amongst traitors, without rousing the suspicions of his cousin or the young wyrmling!

[piosenniel]

Piosenniel

I had forgotten how the heat lingers even after the sun has fallen . . .

Pio wrung out the plain cotton handkerchief she’d dipped in the pitcher of water on her nightstand and hung it loosely round the back of her neck. The cabin window was swung wide open and the breeze that riffled through her short locks was hot off the southern mountains, bringing no relief. She was in the midst of packing for the trip inland when a soft knock pulled her from the latest study of the last few piles she had heaped on her bed.

‘Come,’ she called out, not turning from her sorting. She planned to travel as lightly as she could. Much of her things she had brought with her would be stowed away in the trunk that stood at the foot of her bed. Loose, light clothes in the style of the desert peoples were her choice for the journey – breeches, tunics, her old, soft boots; a woven aba robe, plain colored to keep off the heat. Her blade in its plain leather sheath, of course, her knives, and pushed into the inner pocket of the robe, a thin, wire garrote. A number of coins, all of Umbarian mintage, she’d gotten from Faragaer were secreted about her clothing, and a small pouch for show would hang at her belt. Last came her worn leather shoulder pack; its pockets and compartments already haphazardly packed with all manner of necessary items.

‘You’re not taking this are you?’ Hamar had come up beside her, in his hands a large tome he’d stumbled over as he entered. ‘An Elvish doorstop of some sort,’ he asked with a grin, placing the thick, purple leather covered book on a nearby chair. ‘And an expensive one,’ he went on, his finger running over the gilt edging of the pages. ‘What’s the title?’ he asked pointing at the Elvish script embossed in gold on the front cover.

‘It is a book from the library at Rivendell. An Elvish copy of one an old friend of mine penned. It is taking me a while to read and digest it.’ She picked it up and spoke the title for him:

~*~ Frodo - Callo var Alasaila ~*~

‘It is only a rough translation from the Westron she wrote it in originally. She had a certain way with words. Not all of them translated directly, much to the chagrin of the Elven scholars who worked on it.

‘I recognize the name,' he ventured. ‘Frodo’, of course . . . it is the Frodo . . . yes? But what does the rest of it mean?’

Pio shook her head, smiling as she wrapped the book in a scarf and placed it in the wooden chest. ‘Well, “Callo var” is “Hero or” and I am afraid “Alasaila” was one of those make-do translations.’

‘Make do for what?’

‘ “Chump” .’

The lid of the wooden chest closed with a thunk; the brass bolt teeth of the inset lock finding their way into the tumblers. Pio sat down with a satisfied sigh on the chest top. ‘Best we leave the discussion of literature for a later time.’ She surveyed the clothes Hamar had on with a critical eye. ‘Are you packed and ready to move,’ she asked. ‘We will be leaving within the hour, or so Faragaer assures me. I am going now to see that Baran has gotten together what he will need. What say we meet on deck in a short while? A last glass of wine with the Captain and we should be off.’

Pio shouldered her pack and herded the man out the door. With a last look round the room, she stepped out into the passageway, shutting the door firmly behind her.

[piosenniel]

Piosenniel

The southern skies proved cooperative that night. Low lying clouds, threatening storm, scudded thickly over the water. Thin bands of moonlight shone weakly on the waters of the shallow cove, passing eerily over the longboat with its five occupants. It was still hot, closely hot, as if the clouds pushed down the heat against the water and the land for spite. The prow of the boat scraped up on the narrow shingle of sand strewn along this small section of the foothills. Hamar and the two sailors from the ship, who had come to take the boat back, jumped into the midcalf surf and hauled the craft securely onto the sand. Pio and Baran joined them on the little beach, packs in hand.

Pio handed Hamar’s pack to him and nodded with her chin up to a darkened cleft some ways up the nearest rise. ‘There’s our signal,’ she whispered, motioning for the sailor nearest the prow to blink the shuttered lantern there back in response. The return signal, two blinks of the boat’s light, was answered in turn, then the lantern above went dark. A short time later two well armed men came warily forth from the dark piling of boulders that marked where the sand met the earth of the foothills. Their boots skittered slightly on the loose dry sand and small pebbles as they came to a halt, waiting for one of the party to approach. Hamar stepped forward, halted almost before his advancing foot hit the ground, by a firm grip on his forearm from the Elf. A few short sharp words were exchanged before he stepped back, allowing her to make contact with the men.

~*~

Several hours later found them at the crest of the foothills. The clouds had cleared a little and they could see in the distance the small drop to a narrow valley and across it the steep climb once again to a way through the mountains. Their two guides asked if they might want to take a brief rest, their eyes gauging the fitness of the three strangers. ‘No rest. We have urgent business beyond the craggy peaks. Those who wait for us require that we move forward with all speed.’

The two guides bowed slightly, acknowledging her words, then took up their positions before and behind the three. Taking a quick look about on the moonlit scree, the man in front motioned the three to keep close. A small caution to watch their footing followed . . . then silence, punctuated only by the clatter of small pebbles as they made their way to the valley floor . . .

[Mithadan]

A brisk breeze carried particles of sand and grit through the air. To Baran, it seemed that most of the dust lodged itself in his beard and hair. He scratched at his chin and growled an oath under his breath. The night air had been soothing at first, but as the heat rose, he became increasingly uncomfortable. "How can men live in places such as this?" he muttered under his breath. As they moved away from the sea, the land grew increasingly barren and had an unsavory look, at least to the Beorning. But at least they were no longer at sea.

The trip down the river Anduin demonstrated quickly that Baran possessed not seafaring skills of any sort. After several abortive attempts to assist the sailors with the rigging and the sails, baran had been relegated to lesser duties, such as mopping the deck (the crew had insisted upon calling it "swabbing") and moving the heavy stones in the cargo holds to adjust the ballast. But soon even these simple duties were beyond him. For they emerged from the mouths of the Anduin and took to the seas in their journey south.

The sea! He recalled the Elves of Rivendell singing songs about the sea. It had sounded exciting and romantic to the Beorning. But once they had taken to the waves, Baran began to feel strange. It was as if his eyes could not focus properly and his feet would not stay steady beneath him. He felt as if there was constant motion, challanging his sense of balance... and soon his balance lost. Worse yet, his balance was soon followed by his lunch... and his dinner... and the next morning's breakfast.

"Fix your eyes on a set point on the horizon," advised one of the sailors as Baran had staggered by on his way to the rail. "Breathe steadily and deeply. It will pass." But it did not. Baran spent days on end doing little but leaning on (or over) the rail or lying in his darkened cabin with his forearm over his eyes. He had little to drink but water and less to eat. Piosenniel became concerned that he would be little more than a weakling and a burden when they reached land. She did not have to worry long.

One evening, he staggered down the hall outside the kitchen (they insisted on calling it the "galley") when a sailor had stopped him with a cup of beer in his hand. "No sea legs, eh?" the sailor cackled. "Well make sure you steer clear of my cabin. Wouldn't want you to have to clean more than you already have to." Baran had stopped in his tracks and growled beep in his throat, his eyes fixing on the sailor. "Whew," his tormentor continued with a wave of his hand. "Stay clear of me as well. You smell worse than the harbor at low tide..." Faragaer had happened by at just that moment, to the sailor's good fortune, for Baran had grasped him by his collar and lifted him into the air.

"Please," laughed Faragaer. "If you don't like my crewman, please don't harm him. We may have need of him someday if only for shark's bait." He glared at the flailing crewman as Baran dropped him none too gently to the deck. "Come!" Faragaer continued. "I will try and help." He escorted Baran into the galley and sat him at a table. The crewmen nearby slid away, seeing the color of the Beorning's face. But Faragaer tore off a crust of bread and handed it to Baran. "Bread only," he warned. "No butter or honey and no meats, at least for now. Chew slowly and thoroughly and wash it down with water." Baran looked dubious, but nibbled at the bread. "That's right," said Faragaer. "Now look at my face as you eat. Look at nothing else." The Beorning chewed and swallowed. For a moment, he seemed to turn green, but then he took another bite and chewed grimly.

The remainder of the trip had not been as bad, but Baran stayed below decks most of the time, shunning the sight of the constantly moving waves. When they reached their anchorage and the skiffs were lowered, he was the first aboard. He had crawled up onto the shore and laid down on the ground with his arms spread wide. "Thank the Valar..." he said and many other blessings besides. That night he had eaten like.... well, like a bear, until Piosenniel warned him not to empty their packs on his first night ashore. "Ashore," he liked the sound of that word....

[piosenniel]

Rôg

From his seat on the rocky rise, Rôg looked back toward the Eagle camp and imagined the smoke rising from the fire that would be lit near Ayar’s bier. He had only witnessed the death rituals for one of his own clan leaders, and this is how it had been for him. He could see the bier being built. Precious scraps of wood were stacked one upon the other, pieces criss-crossing one another to form a high, rectangular structure. At home, he recalled the children had been sent out with one or two adult members of the clan . . . to gather the dried sweetgrass and sage in baskets. They had stuffed it into the hollow places between the layers of wood to make the smoke from the fire thicker and more fragrant. He wondered if that were a custom among the Eagles or was it something once again peculiar to his own clan.

‘Hey!’ came the familiar voice, piping up from beneath the lip of the outcropping. ‘I’m coming up, too. Move over and make room for me.’ Miri’s little face peeked up over the rocky edge. Her hands and fingers found purchase on the uneven surface, and with a minimum of effort she hove her torso up onto the surface followed quickly by her legs. Rôg looked at her expectantly, wondering aloud why she was not with her family. ‘I’ve come to look at the lizards,’ was all she would say, a set look on her face.

‘Lizards it is then,’ said Rôg, scooting over and patting the now vacant space beside him.

~*~

They both sat quietly for a long time, their backs resting comfortably against the sun warmed rock. The lizards sensing no movement from the still forms crawled over their legs and poked in and out of pockets and sleeves and folds. It was Miri who moved first, scattering the skittish lizards off her legs. They raced away from the two, disappearing over the side of the rock, as Miri snuggled in closer to Rôg.

‘It’s very sad, isn’t it?’ Rôg’s quiet words were more a comment than a question that required an answer. He could feel Miri rocking a little beside him, and saw the slight nod of her head.

‘Where will she go when they light the fire?’ she asked, picking up a number of the small pebbles that dotted the rocky surface. She skipped them off the rock’s top as she waited for his answer.

‘I don’t know,’ he said, drawing his knees up near his chest and putting his arms around them for support. ‘What do you think?’

Miri chewed on the side of her lip for a moment, sliding her eyes up to Rôg’s face to gauge if he were really listening or if he might laugh at her answer. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘I think she really does fly up . . . on the smoke.’ She scuffed her foot back and forth on the sandstone surface as she thought further on it. ‘That’s what eagles do. They fly up on the winds. That’s what Ayar would do.’

‘That sounds as if it could be true, little one. I cannot say it isn’t so.’

‘There is something, though,’ she said in a whisper. Rôg waited for her to go on. ‘The bad things can’t follow her there, can they? They’ve gone away, right? They won’t come to get us next, will they?’ Rôg said ‘no’, that everything would be alright. The new clan leader and the elders would see to it. No bad things would follow Ayar or come to bother the rest of Miri’s clan.

Miri, her mind now somewhat resolved on this issue, turned the conversation to other topics. Her Mami was making something special for supper; would he come and eat with them. He declined, saying that he needed to make the evening meal for Aiwendil. Well, then, she asked would he come to the gathering tonight. They would be singing for Ayar when the sun goes down, her mother had said.

Rôg smiled at her wheedling, then shook his head ‘no’. ‘Remember I told you I would be leaving . . . to see my own family?’

‘Not already,’ she complained screwing up her face in a frown. ‘Tonight? Not tonight!’

‘Yes, tonight,’ he said, laughing at her grumbling. ‘I promised the young man who’s guarding me I would be in my tent when he came to check on me. And I intend to be. Then I’ll send him to the clan gathering and the singing. Once he’s gone, I’m leaving as I said.’

‘Oh, all right!’ she gave in, with a mildly dramatic sigh. Her chin was cupped in the palms of her hands, elbows resting on her knees as she sat cross-legged. ‘But remember, you promised to come back . . .’

[Child of the 7th Age]

Aiwendil had made his way to the funeral bier to pay his respects to Ayar. Already, members of the Eagle clan were congregating in large numbers, some talking with family and friends while others quietly wept.

Those maenwaith coming to mourn passed by Aiwendil with barely a nod. He seemed to be no more than an old man leaning heavily on his stick, an outsider whose presence was tolerated by Narika only because of his skill with herbs. Now that Ayar had died and the clan was certain to go to war, he would surely be encouraged to leave. Nor did these meenwaith suspect how close the istar had become with Ayar in recent days, how the old man treasured those brief conversations, or the influence she still held over his mind even in death.

Aiwendil was sure that Ayar would find peace. She was a good and decent woman who had tried to do the right thing all her life. He would miss her, but it was her task now to journey down another road, one where he could not travel. The plight of the Eagles worried him more, that and the fact he had made a sacred promise to a dying woman that could not be ignored. Only a short while before, he had heard the news about Sorona. She had rushed into the Elders’ meeting eager to relate her vision: a dream of death and warfare, of maenwaith battling maenwaith under a darkly shadowed sky. He felt deeply ashamed and humbled. Sorona had first come to him pleading for assistance with her dream, but he had turned her away, even though he had instinctively understood that her strange vision had surely been a signal sent from the distant West.

Just moments afterwards, he had declined to share with Rama what he actually knew of the Great Eagles. Uncomfortable and reluctant to stir up memories that carried bitter lessons, he had parried her questions with a polite reserve and flatly refused to help her in the search. Was this how he honored his pledge to Ayar? And what of his promise to Manwe that he had put off for so long?

Unable to sit quietly in one spot any longer, the istar stood up and rushed out of camp, moving more swiftly than he’d done in years. Aiwendil sprinted across the stark, flat sands until he had left the encampment entirely behind him. Suddenly, he dropped his staff, and stared upward at the clouds. His arms flailed at his side until he was airborne on great lofty wings: an Eagle of the sky, but one vastly larger than any that had been seen by the maenwaith for many, many years. All caution thrown aside, he spun around and veered back towards the camp, bellowing out a challenge to the stars that lay hidden behind the veil of day. He solemnly circled the funeral bier two times to salute the passing of a gracious lady. Drumming through his head was a single refrain: I will honor my promise, Ayar. And, perhaps too, the words I spoke in the gardens of Yavanna so many years ago.

Exhausted and spent by his efforts, the Eagle ascended once more and then plummetted towards the earth, collapsing in a heap upon the sandy ridge some ways out from the camp. If anyone had chanced by in the hours that followed, they would have glimpsed only a frail old man who was asleep; he still clutched his staff close to his body, his head tucked within the folds of his cloak. But inside everything had changed.

[piosenniel]

Piosenniel

The moonlight did not hold. Clouds off shore were pulled in over the foothills by the rising temperatures as night inched toward day. Their guides called a halt when they were almost to the valley floor. ‘They way is too difficult without light; too many places where loose stone waits to throw the reckless walker from the unmarked path. We can rest here for a few hours,’ he went on, lighting the small candle lantern he’d pulled from his pack. The five travelers settled in on the small rocky ledge they’d been traversing, pulling their cloaks about them in the chilly breezes. One of the guides passed round a small skin of water. Hamar pulled a packet of thin, hard waybread from his pack and handed it about.

~*~

The time just before sunrise was quiet, with only the skitter of pebbles down the face of the hill as the travelers shifted, seeking comfort, on their rocky resting place. Baran had stayed awake during this enforced pause in their descent as had Pio. He was a massive presence beside her, impatient she thought to be on his way. She could hear him sniffing the air appreciatively, sorting out she supposed any familiar scents in the area and taking in those new to him. She smiled at the image his great presence conjured up and could almost imagine his inquisitive bear ears swiveling about to capture the night’s then faint sounds.

Just before first light, when the darkness seemed to her a little paler, a single voice slashed through the sky, echoing across the valley from the mountains. A series of sharp, insistent screams rang in the higher air, and others took up the call. Both guides had now been roused from their doze, and peered into the lightening sky. ‘Eagles,’ one of them said in response to the Elf’s question about the sound. ‘They are claiming their home and the sky that surrounds it. Every morning they do this, though none that I know would dare dispute them. Look there!’

Across the valley a small dark speck flew high in the air. It rode the rising thermals in lazy looking glides, head cocked to watch the land below. Its flight was purposed, though, as they discovered, watching it glide closer and closer to where their little group now stood. Its gaze soon fixed on them, gauging their intent it seemed. ‘Sit down,’ their guides urged in whispering tones. ‘Sit down. She will see we mean no harm.’ Hamar crouched down, his eyes on the nearing bird. ‘How do you know that bird is female?’ he asked. ‘Because she is so large,’ came the guide’s hasty reply. ‘A male would be somewhat smaller.’ There was an irritated tsk! as the Elf stood back up, her attention now fixed on the eagle.

Pio ignored the pulls at her robe and the pleas that she sit back down. There was something odd about that bird, something oddly familiar, as she had reached out gently to assure it they meant no harm. It was no ordinary bird’s mind with its quick darting thoughts and concerns. There was a high level of awareness and a stream of conscious thought that told her the bird was speaking to herself, considering on different levels who these intruders might be. The Elf sensed a question from the bird, who now hovered near the group as she glided in a small spiral. Pio shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. She could not understand what the bird wanted to know. Narrowing her eyes, she reached into her memory for something Cami had once told her, or something she had read in her old friend’s diary.

There it is! she thought to herself. The eagle turned abruptly at the far end of its glide. The whump of its wings against the air grew louder as it moved nearer. Old words of greeting were sent out, ones that Bird had gifted to Cami long ago, spoken silently now by the Elf. ‘If you ever meet another skinchanger, speak this in greeting. It will let them know you are a friend.’

The eagle screeched loudly, extending its talons forward as it swooped toward the group on the ledge, wings beating hard to guide its rapid descent. Pio stood still as the bird drew near. From behind her she could hear the gibbering of the two guides, huddled now beneath their cloaks and a few choice imprecations directed her way from Hamar . . .