Here There Be Dragons - RPG

[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 . . .

[piosenniel]

Hilde Bracegirdle's post - Thorn

The place picked for Ayar's bier lay in a shallow depression within sight of camp. It was a quiet spot, protected from the wind by a small rise, yet one that afforded a full view to the westering sun. Already a large pile of dry and weathered poles stood ready, and many men were scattered between the camp and this collection, carrying yet more. No one had asked them to bring these things; they simply brought them of their own accord. Whatever they found they could spare, they set there, to be used in the construction.

Thorn was upon the growing structure; working with two others who had volunteered to lash together the last resting place of the Meldakhar among her people, when he saw that an armed man ran from the camp toward them. Shouting in a rapid tongue, the man dodged past those who bore heavy burdens, and the children who gathered dry grass and branches, as he told of a strange eagle forcing its way past the guard outside Mumtaz's tent, intent upon speaking to the gathering of elders there.

Swinging down off the bier to meet the guard, and after a brief exchange, Thorn found that all was well, and that this eagle had something of great import that she felt a need to share immediately. And he found that Narika was already there, when he rushed back the camp to see what this might be. She stood speaking with one of the guards posted, for she too had been called to the tent of Mumtaz, the elder. Without a word he drew back the tent flap, so that they might enter the assembly together. The tent was orderly, and the body of elders grew quiet as they came in. All was as it should be, but there standing poised before the group, a large bird stood, silhouetted against a shaft of light that slanted down from the roof vents, falling brightly onto the table of brass all were gathered around. The fragrance of incense still hung heavily in the air. "We came as soon as we were told," Thorn said eying the eagle warily, as he moved to the spot where, at Fador direction, a place was made for them within the ring of elders.

When they were well seated upon the floor, opposite the table from him, Fador proceeded, explaining that they were just ready to hear what this eagle, Sorona, was eager to relate. Noting the name, Thorn glanced briefly to Barakah, who patiently awaiting the message. And Amalik, a thin and quiet member of the group with an equally thin beard, seeing that the younger man’s eyes searched the faces around him, leaned over, so that his lips were near Thorn’s ear. "This is the lost daughter of Thoronda, who has come seeking the counsel of the elders," he heard the man whisper. Nodding his understanding, Thorn too turned his attention to her, wondering that she should choose to present herself before them in this aspect. But soon he was taken up by her words, and found her vision both strange and troubling.

Sorona ended with a deep bow of respect, extending an offer of help. A murmur arose as the elders spoke to one another discussing what she had told them. Thorn took the opportunity to question Amalik, speaking behind the back of his hand. “Is this truly the same Sorona who was given into the wolf clan? Or could it be that this woman only claims her name, as Dakarai suggests, and is actually a spy or perhaps comes to draw us more peacefully within Wyrma’s grasp.”

“She possesses the same turn of phase, and despite her form, her manner speaks much of the young woman she was, as well as of her father. I do not doubt that it is Sorona, though she has changed greatly. But having said this, she is no longer one of us, but of the wolf clan, and that gives me pause.” Thorn nodded again, looking down at the floor as he listened.

“We have heard rumor of this new city,” Mumtaz spoke, his deep voice rising above the others. “But it does not mean it is the city of your vision. Perhaps it was Umbar you saw, for that town is known to be dangerous.”

“It was not before the gates of the port, that this battle took place, but those of another walled city, and with a great loss of life,” Sorona said. “Can you not see that this is a warning to us all? Surely we must do what we can to stem this and without delay!”

Fador then spoke, “We do not interfere in the business of those of us who have chosen to leave our traditional ways.”

“And we prefer they not interfere with us, but if they would wage war among themselves, whose side are we to be on?” Hadya added, looking around to all the elders. “How could we hope to stop what we cannot understand?”

“Perhaps there is no need to take sides, indeed our odds would be better if we did not,” Harith interjected. “This is what you mean, if I am not mistaken?” he said addressing Sorona, who nodded to him in return.

“But what if in trying to avert this thing we are the ones to bring it about?” Thorn mused. “We are not much loved by that city’s founder.”

Barakah also gazed at the eagle thoughtfully. “Though it may appear so, Sorona,” she finally said, “we have not abandoned our fellow maenwaith. But it is our belief that to hold any in this unnatural cage Wyrma is building, will led to death. It is inevitable, though by what means it arrives I cannot say. And yet some clans will still choose to live within those confines, thinking they will prosper. We have tried to dissuade some of those who would go, and with some success. This has always been our strategy, but of greater concern to me is the shadow you speak of.”

[piosenniel]

Ealasaide's post - Fador & the Elders

Maintaining his silence, Fador watched as Mumtaz shook his head. "While we have always put great trust in guidance that comes to us from the Dreamtime," said Mumtaz, choosing his words carefully as he addressed the assembly. "How do we know that this is even a real city that Sorona speaks of? For all we know, this city and the shadow alike could be merely symbolic. Or memory intertwined with fear."

The eagle shook her head. A touch of frustration, almost desperation, crept into her voice as she replied: "It is not memory or fear. It is a warning. I beg that you heed it."

Barakah nodded sagely. "A warning from the Dreamtime should never be taken lightly, Mumtaz. If Sorona says that it is a warning, then I am inclined to believe her.” The white-haired woman glanced around the troubled faces of the assembly, her gaze finally settling on Narika’s fair countenance. “We have seen the signs of approaching evil already in the slaying of our beloved Ayar. While I have no proof, I believe Wyrma and her city somehow to be behind it. We must flee into the deep desert to save ourselves and all that we hold dear.” Her gaze slid smoothly over to catch the eyes of Thorn, who nodded his understanding, though he did not speak either in support of her or against her.

“And leave the other clans to fall subject to Wyrma’s machinations?” asked Fador. “We saw what happened to the Wolf clan when we did not go to their assistance at the time of the Haradrim raids. Shall we flee again and leave the others to their fates?”

Across from him, the eagle’s feathers ruffled tensely.

Dakarai frowned through his beard. “You know that is not what Barakah proposes. I think she means that all of those who oppose Wyrma’s city should move quickly out of her reach.”

“Her reach is very long,” said Fador. “She has already demonstrated that much, if she is indeed behind the slaying of Ayar. If that is the case, then how far should we flee? And for how long? If she is truly behind this evil, she will hunt us. We cannot hide forever.”

“Yet we should not rush into war,” said Barakah. “Nor should we embrace a city that would be nothing more than a prison to us. No, what I propose is that we flee deeper into the desert for the moment, only until we can determine what is really happening and who our allies are. When we know these things, only then can we take the proper action to avoid the horrors of Sorona‘s vision.”

“How do we determine who our allies even are?” demanded Mumtaz.

“Perhaps we should not flee,” said Harith. “Perhaps we should stay and send outriders to the other clans, see what they think of this city, if any of their people have had visions. If this thing is really so evil, why should a vision come only to Sorona? Surely the Guardians of the Dreamtime would warn more than just one.”

Fador nodded. “Elder Harith speaks wisely. What I propose is this: We concentrate now on bidding farewell to our dead and seeing that the marriage of Thorn and Narika takes place as planned.” He looked from face to face.

“Each of us,” he said, “Goes from this place to think and mull over Sorona’s warnings separately. We will see what the Guardians of the Dreamtime have to tell us separately, if anything. Then, in three day’s time, when we meet again to pass the mantle of leadership from Ayar to Narika and Thorn, we will decide what action to take. We will decide then how to determine our allies and whether we stay or flee. Agreed?”

A general murmur of agreement rippled through the tent as the elders, the two young leaders, and Sorona all stirred to depart. Spreading her wings, Sorona hopped to where Fador stood.

“Do not take these warnings lightly. I beg you,” she said softly. “The danger is dire and it is growing.”

Fador gave her a considering stare, then smiled gravely. “I take nothing lightly,” he reassured her. While he lent his voice a comforting tone, Fador’s thoughts were anything but comfortable. He indeed took nothing lightly, the eagle’s warning least lightly of all, but not for the reasons he would have the others believe. Already his mind whirled, trying to determine how he might turn the eagle’s dream and the accompanying fear to his own advantage. It was not something he had planned on having to deal with, but surely he could find some angle, some advantage hidden therein.

The eagle hesitated for a brief instant, then folded her wings. “It is all I can ask,” she said with something almost akin to resignation.

Fador nodded and watched as she moved away, wondering if she knew something more or if she had shared with them all that there was to share. Only time would tell.

[piosenniel]

Rog

Rôg spent the whole of the day at the rocky outcropping a ways from the perimeter of the camp. Now the sun was dropping and soon people would be eating their evening meal. Miri had gone back to her family, they would have a quick meal, she had told him then gather about Ayar’s bier and sing to her. She tried one more time to entice him to come with her. He had only smiled gently at her saying he could not.

Aiwendil would soon be coming back to the tent, he thought, if he were not already there. Dinner should be seen to . . . by me, of course, he grinned. As he walked back into camp and toward the tent, he chuckled at a sudden image of the old fellow. Aiwendil, his nose caught in the leaves of some old book, or better yet gazing out at the great ‘V’ of honking swans that passed overhead in the evening above the fens of Swanfleet . . . his right hand held a long wooden spoon with which he pointed out the various birds . . . and behind him, over the small cooking fire, dinner was charring without notice in the pan.

He had just reached the tent when his young guard came puffing up, hastily put on scabbard flapping against his leg as he ran. ‘Still here,’ said Rôg, reaching into the tent and pulling out the bucket of water and its ladle. ‘And no trouble for you to take care of,’ he went on, handing the man a drink. ‘You know – I’m just going to make the evening meal for Aiwendil and myself. You’re more than welcome to stay.’ He crouched down by the small pile of wood to the side of the tent‘s entryway and picked up enough for a small little cooking fire. In the midst of stacking the dried grasses and wood, Rôg looked over at the guard who had crouched down across the small pit and was using the flint to help get the fire started. ‘I had heard there would be the singing for Ayar tonight.’ Rôg said, not looking up from the little fire as he fanned it. He heard the guard shift across from him. ‘I will not be going, but there is no reason you should not. There will be no problem from me tonight.’ He placed the cooking pot on the rocks round the low burning fire and poured a little oil into the bottom. ‘You should go to your family’s tent,’ he said, stirring the chunks of onion and the few pieces of goat he’d been given by one of the families that day. He heard the young man stand up, and he nodded at him without looking up from his cooking. ‘Go on, then.’

In the space of an hour the little pot of stew was done. Rôg set it to the side of the fire to keep warm, while he baked a few pieces of flatbread to go with it. Those he wrapped in cloth and set them atop the flat lid of the stewpot. He sat back on the mat just outside his tent, waiting for Aiwendil to come. As the sun dropped lower, and the old man had not yet appeared, Rôg grew restless. He banked the fire, pushing the little dinner close up to the coals. From his pack inside the tent he pulled out his small notebook, his ink, and quill.

~*~

Have left dinner for you, warming by the fire.
Take your warm cloak with you tonight to the singing.
The night, I think, will prove chilly.

Have gone to be with my family and clan.
My little traveling bag is stowed at the back of the tent for now.

Miri has agreed to look in you and fetch whatever you may need.
There are some sweets you can dole out to her (and yourself, of course!)
in the side pocket of my pack.

Take care, my friend!

-- Rôg

~*~

The note he placed on Aiwendil’s sleeping mat, tucked halfway beneath a corner of the old man’s cloak he had folded and put there as a gentle reminder. Rôg stepped to the center of the tent and leapt up . . . out the opened entryway flew a small brown bat, heading south . . .

[piosenniel]

Child's post

Aiwendil awoke with a start and sat upright, staring off into the shadows. The glare of the mid-day sun had vanished, replaced by a sky that was dusky grey with the first stars of evening visible overhead. For a single instant, the old man forgot why he was sitting here and what had happened earlier in the day. Then he glanced down and spied a lone grayish brown feather of considerable length half buried in the sand. The istar bent down to retrieve it and tucked the plume well under his belt as a silent reminder of the pledge he had made that afternoon.

Aiwendil turned and trotted towards the lights of camp, anxious to hurry back and talk to Rôg. Cutting through the tangle of tents and maenwaith , he overheard snatches of conversation between friends and family who were gathered near the funeral bier. People spoke of Ayar’s warmth and kindness and how much she was already missed. They also railed against the villain who had done this thing and exchanged puzzled whispers about Sorona’s dream and what it might mean to the clan.

Several onlookers mentioned a rumor that a Great Eagle had been spotted at mid-day, tracing majestic circles high over the camp at a time when most maenwaith were inside eating their noon meal or resting from the heat of the day. Only a few had actually seen the great bird, and many who had not argued that these others were wholly mistaken: it was nothing more than an illusion brought on by grief or an over lengthy stay in the sun. Yet some disagreed and said that the Eagle was a positive portent for the struggle yet to come.

Aiwendil cringed a bit when he heard this part of the discussion. Lengthening his strides, he soon arrived at the tent, which was set back a ways from the main bustle of the camp. He pushed aside the flap and walked inside. Inviting odors coming from a small stewpot on the coals greeted him, but his companion Rôg was nowhere nearby. Nor did he see the guard who usually stayed somewhere in the vicinity of the tent. Aiwendil bent down to retrieve his heavy cloak that had somehow come to be sitting on a mat in the middle of the floor. To his surprise, a piece of parchment fluttered out of its folds, revealing a short note written in a scholar’s neat script. He picked it up and read.

Some minutes later, the istar set down the note and sighed. He had known for some time that Rôg planned to leave. Despite the young man’s reticence to speak too openly, he could clearly read it in his restless eyes. Something was bothering Rôg, and it was not something that Aiwendil knew how to fix. The istar hoped that his friend would be able to find his answer by returning back to his family and clan.

Still, he knew he would miss him even more than he cared to admit. Aiwendil had managed on his own many times before and had usually sought solace by seeking out the companionship of birds and beasts. This time, though, his thoughts were quite different. His fingers strayed to the grey and brown feather hidden underneath his belt. The istar let his mind drift out over the camp and tried to pinpoint the one person he most needed to see. He glimpsed her standing off by herself perched on a rock and peering up at the stars. Aiwendil buried the last of the smoldering coals under a handful of sand and then hastily sprang to his feet. His cloak lay tossed on the floor, his dinner untouched and forgotten, as he left the tent and went off in search of Ráma.

[piosenniel]

Piosenniel and Ayka, the old Eagle

All she’d really wanted to do was have a look at those interesting specks creeping along the ledge across the valley. It was not often men came in from the sea that way. Some great need must drive them, she thought . . . that, or blessed ignorance of all the carefully planted tales whispered among the merchants that ill fortune struck those who ventured across the little valley. She chuckled, remembering a merchant and his sons some time ago, who’d wandered into the northern tip of the vale. Beneath the dark olive tones of their skin, she’d seen them blanch a whitish hue. They had fallen on their knees heads tucked under their cloaks, babbling how they meant no harm; they were lost; if only they would be allowed to live they would come here no more. She chuckled again recalling how they’d collapsed from fear when she spoke to them. All she had wanted was some news from beyond the crags and the little valley, but they were beyond reason at his point and had run in panic back to where they’d entered the valley. ‘May as well give them the full treatment,’ she had concluded, as she flew after them screeching high in the air then diving down to rake their bare heads slightly with her talons.

Now here had come some travelers into her home once again. And again there was gibbering and the coverings of heads as she drew near. Save for that tall slender figure who’d stepped forward to the rock’s edge. Ayka hovered in midair as the person reached out to soothe her with her thoughts. Digging deep in her long memory, she recalled having heard of this. A scrap of an old story from the beginning times came to her. The Shining Ones, they had been able to do this. Ayka dared a question in her own tongue, but the figure on the ledge seemed perplexed for a moment, not understanding the words used. The person’s next thoughts nearly sent the eagle tumbling from her flight. Formally phrased and from an old tongue once common to her people. Curiosity won out over her wariness as the eagle dove toward the ledge.

~*~

‘Oh stop your blubbering, you brainless sandbug!’

Ayka sidled over to one of the guides, Haleel, after she’d landed. Unfolding a wing, she thumped him hard on his back. A fearful eye peeked out from beneath his cloak as the man strove to keep his whimpering under control. He squeaked as her yellow eye peered steadily at him and she clacked her beak in disgust. ‘What sort of men does the desert produce now? Get out here, O brave son of the sands. This one here,’ she said cocking her head at the Elf, ‘doesn’t understand what I’m saying. Can you translate?’ She tapped one foot on the rock. ‘Or are you as thick headed as she?’ she muttered.

A few incoherent phrases escaped the Haleel’s trembling lips. Pio knelt down by him and spoke quietly. ‘I think she will see us safely to the other side if you will help me speak with her.’ The man only whimpered in response to her, his eyes large with fear. The other fellow, Gadi, crept over to where the Elf knelt. ‘She is using the southern trader’s tongue.’ He dared an apprehensive look at the eagle, whose eye was now fixed on him. Gadi’s gaze swung back to Pio. ‘This was the fastest route back from where your ship had anchored, Mistress. We intended to cross the valley at its northern most point avoiding their section of the mountains altogether.’ He nodded toward Ayka. ‘I am only explaining this to you, Mistress,’ he went on in his most supplicating manner, ‘because my brother and I were not expecting to be set upon by the eagles.’ He paused, choosing his words carefully. ‘It is an extra task we are now undertaking. Would you not say so, Mistress?’

‘Ah, Gadi, I see your reasoning.’ Pio suppressed a smile. She pulled out her pouch of coins and fished in it, picking out two gold coins. ‘This should more than cover your assistance in helping me speak to the eagle.’ He held the coins in the palm of his hand, considering if he could make the case for a little more. A glance at the Elf’s set features, and at the eagle who had followed the exchange, decided him that he should not push the case further.

Names were exchanged first. And Pio, dredging her memory for how Ayka had referred to her in a following question, said ‘yes’, she was one of the Shining Ones. It was mostly the eagle who asked the questions – where have you come from; why are you here; where are you bound, and, most curiously, how is it that you come to know those old words?

Ayka listened intently to the Elf’s answers, surprised that one of the maenwaith had chosen to travel so widely outside her clan. She asked what clan did Bird belong to, but Pio only shook her head, saying her friend did not know any of her background; that she had come south to seek answers, and had lost touch with her friends in the north. Talk turned then to the search for Mithadan and Airefalas. Ayka approved the Elf’s desire to see to her mate’s safety and did not think it odd that a female should be set on this pursuit. Eagles she told Pio mate for life; both male and female will fight with beak and talon for the wellbeing of their own. Unfortunately she went on, not a great deal of news from outside the valley came to them. So, she had heard no news of northern men traveling in the south or of their captivity.

Pio, for her part, was apologetic that she had no news of happenings west of the mountain range. ‘I know only of the increased hostilities the King in Umbar has shown to the representatives sent to open trade with him from the King in the North.’ She mulled over all she had heard from the crew who had brought back The Star. ‘And not a word did I hear of skinchangers, or rather maenwaith as you term them.’

At this point, Gadi plucked at the Elf’s sleeve. ‘Mistress! My brother and I and our family trade up and down the length of those hills, on the desert side, all the way to the Corsair city sometimes. The clans sometime come to the little trading fairs where we lay out our wares. We have heard things.’ He looked expectantly at Pio before offering any details.

‘Two gold coins is enough, Master Trader!’ came the Elf’s reply. ‘And aside from that, it is Ayka who request the information. You will need to treat with her for payment.’ Gadi sneaked a look toward the eagle, then sighed. He was sure he would not come out ahead should he seek to barter his information.

‘Now, I don’t know much,’ he began. ‘The clans are tight mouthed around us outside traders.’ He paused translating for Pio what he was saying. He went on saying that during this past trading season, it seemed that certain of the clans had kept away even more than usual from the little trading fairs. ‘We saw none of the Bush Lizards, or the Gemsbok.’ He stopped to speak to his brother. ‘Only once did we trade with the Jackals and the Eagles not at all.’ Ayka looked hard at him, rasping out specific questions concerning that last clan. ‘As I said,’ he went on, ‘we did not see the Eagles. We asked, too, as they favor our basketry, and we had brought many in the designs they seem to like. There were hints they were withdrawing to places of safety, though we got no details why.’ Ayka ruffled her feathers in irritation.

From beneath his cape, Gadi’s brother spoke up, his voice still edged with great apprehension. ‘We heard other, darker rumours brother. Tell her of the great market place in the Havens.’ Gadi sat back for a moment, thinking how best to present those little half-heard bits and pieces of information one hears when others are blind to your presence.

Again, he said, many of the desert clans did not come to last great fair. And most of those clans who did come in for trade were the ones who live in the city. Ayka snorted at the mention of ‘city’. What did he mean by this – that they live in the city? The Havens, Gadi went on, a number of clans cluster within it, he explained, and more on the fringes of it. No, not the Eagle clan, as far as he knew, he said. Nor those others he had mentioned. His next words set her feathers on edge.

‘The clans in the city seem more casual around us traders. There are hints of big plans in the wind. Smug talk how those who are not in favor of whatever these grand designs are will be “taken care of” . . . Nothing specific . . . their lips are as tight as any if they catch us listening.’ His brother whispered something else to him. ‘Sometimes we hear things, too, from the Corsairs who come to trade with us. Little hints of how the Haradrim are forming new alliances. The Northmen will not have them long under their boot heels, things like that. We usually just ignore them, brave talk from the conquered and nothing else. But there was a certain energy about the last marketplace we attended there.’ He bowed his head a little as he finished speaking. ‘That is all we know . . . nothing solid really . . . just feelings we have picked up.’

‘Taken care of!’ the eagle muttered, shifting uneasily on the rocky ledge. She wanted to ask what action the clan leaders were taking, but she knew the traders would have no knowledge of this. And where was the Eagle Clan in all of this, she wondered. Who had allowed all this to happen?

The two brothers were silent now. Gadi had finished explaining to Pio what he had told Ayka. The Elf sat back on her haunches wondering, herself, at the variety of forces that seemed to have come together in an uneasy, and most likely, volatile mix. There were unknown factors that would bear upon her recovery of Mithadan and Airefalas. And now she began to wonder how Bird might factor, if at all, into this situation.