Here There Be Dragons - RPG

[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.

[Ealasaide]

Airefalas

Having spent most of the day cooped up with Mithadan in the stuffy tent of the Elder that neither of them had yet had the opportunity to meet, by evening Airefalas was feeling restless and out of sorts. He was tired of being under suspicion, under guard, and generally tired of being a prisoner, even if it was for his own good, as he was constantly being reminded that it was. As night fell and the wailing and keening of the night before was replaced by singing, presumably around the funeral bier of the Eagles' fallen leader, Airefalas found himself edging ever closer to the open tent flaps, watching to see what their guards were up to, listening... listening for what? He was not sure, perhaps for anything that would break up the boredom of confinement. All he heard, however, was the occasional low murmur of conversation in the mostly unintelligible tribal dialect. While he could pick up a few stray words here and there that he remembered from the trading dialect that was used up and down the coast, it was not enough to allow him to follow anything with any degree of comprehension.

Finally, as he edged a little too close to the open flaps, Mithadan looked over at him. "I hope you are not planning to go anywhere," he said mildly.

Airefalas shook his head. "Not really. After all, where is there to go?" he answered. A moment later, he added dryly, "...although I might consider drowning myself if there was any water around. This sitting about is interminable."

"Patience, my friend," said Mithadan. "I have a feeling we will be moving soon."

"I hope so. I'm getting to the point where I almost miss my camel."

Remembering the younger man's battles with his recalcitrant camel on the journey there, Mithadan laughed quietly and went back to sharpening his sword, which he had been doing not so much because it needed sharpening, but more as a way to pass the time. "Serious things are afoot," the captain said after a moment. "And our fate may already be more deeply entangled with the fate of these people than we know. I would suggest that you enjoy the rest while you can get it and use the time to learn all you can about what is happening. It may benefit us later."

"Well, I would," answered Airefalas crossly. "If I could make out a bloody word that they're saying. In the meantime, it would do me no end of good just to get out of this confounded tent for a few minutes, at least for a stretch of my legs."

"Why don't you ask the guards if they would mind a little walk around? They are probably as bored as you are. In fact, I might go with you. I should like another word with Aiwendil, if we can locate him." Sheathing his newly honed sword, Mithadan rose to his feet and joined Airefalas at the mouth of the tent. Raising a hand, Airefalas called out to the guards.

As Mithadan had predicted they seemed just as eager for a bit of exercise as the Gondorians were and, within seconds, the group of them had embarked on a leisurely stroll through the darkness between the tents. Since Mithadan had communicated to the guards his desire to find Aiwendil once more, they moved in the general direction of the elderly istar's tent. Arriving, they found the tent empty. Looking around and seeing no indication of where the old fellow or his companion might have gone, the guards walked casually in the direction of a pair of women cooking over a small fire nearby. Airefalas listened idly as a lively conversation ensued between the guards and the women in the tribal dialect, presumably over the whereabouts of the missing guests. Unable to understand more than a word or two, Airefalas turned away, letting his eyes and mind wander, until his gaze fell upon the slight figure of a girl, about twenty paces distant, carrying a pair of full water skins that dangled heavily from a stick across her shoulders. Watching her slow progress, it suddenly occurred to Airefalas that he knew her. It was the same young woman who had been keeping house for them in Fador's tent since their arrival, the one with whom he had had the misunderstanding over the cheese.

Without thinking, Airefalas turned and walked toward her, intending to give her some assistance with the skins. He caught up with her just as she rounded the corner of a large tent, placing them both out of sight of Mithadan and the two guards. Reaching out, he touched her shoulder.

"Hello," he said quietly. Startled, she turned quickly, dropping both the stick and the two skins, sloshing a few ounces of precious water on to the sandy earth. Her dark eyes widened with a combination of alarm and recognition. Stepping back a pace, Airefalas raised his hands, palms outward, to show her that he meant her no harm. Recognizing the gesture, her initial fear evaporated quickly and she smiled, though a bit nervously. To his surprise, she spoke to him in halting and heavily accented Westron.

"You! How you..." she hesitated. "Where..." At a loss for the word she sought, the girl made a comical pantomime of the two armed guards who had been stationed outside of the tent all day. Airefalas grinned.

"Guards? Where are the guards?" he suggested. When she nodded, he gestured behind himself with a quick motion of his head. "Not far. In fact, I thought at least one of them would be right behind me.

"I thought you didn't speak Westron," he added a second later, recalling their earlier communication problems.

She smiled. "Only little bit," she answered carefully, with a matching gesture of her thumb and forefinger. "My father teach. But you..." She took his wrist and tried to push him back in the direction of the guards. "You go back. Very danger here for you. Gourds very anger."

Picturing a pair of angry gourds close on his heels, Airefalas laughed softly. "Guards," he corrected her amiably. "Yes, I imagine they would be angry if they thought I escaped, but it isn't as though I snuck away. I think they know where I am." He pointed to the two water skins she had been attempting to carry. "I was hoping to help you with those."

Stubbornly, she shook her head. "No! You go back. I carry. Guards very anger you gone."

Seeing that she was genuinely concerned, Airefalas gave her a good-natured shrug. "Okay, I go back. But at least tell me your name that I might know what to call you in the future."

At a puzzled look from her, he repeated, "Name?" He tapped his chest. "My name Airefalas. Your name?"

Her face lit up suddenly with understanding. "Latah. My name Latah." She was just going to say something else, when a shout when up from behind Airefalas in the direction of Aiwendil's empty tent, where he had left Mithadan and the two guards. Instantly, Latah's small hand closed again around the Northerner's wrist as she left her water skins and pulled him with her around the corner of the tent and back into the view of the now truly angry guards. Calling out to them in a high, clear voice, she spoke rapidly to them for a moment in her own dialect. Airefalas thought he heard her say something about water. Then one of the guards laughed and shook his head. The other guard sheathed his drawn sword. Smiling, Latah curtsied to Mithadan and, with another quick word to the guards, went back in the direction of her deserted water skins. Just as she was about to turn the corner of the tent, she glanced back. Though it was dark, Airefalas could have sworn there was a mirthful twinkle in her eyes.

"What was that all about?" asked Mithadan as she disappeared from view.

Airefalas shook his head. "Sorry - I thought the everyone saw me go. I was going to help her with some heavy water skins." He changed the subject. "Any word of your friend?"

Mithadan shook his head no, as the four men began the trek back toward their host's tent. "I guess I will have to have my word with him later."

[Child of the 7th Age]

Aiwendil hurried to the edge of camp and then pushed on across the desert towards a hilly ridge located a short distance away where the sentries sometimes maintained a watch. This night the hill was still and empty except for one lone presence he could feel tugging at the fringes of his mind. Yet even this far from the settlment, he could still hear the mournful voices of the Eagles who had massed about the funeral bier to carry out the traditional rituals. Heavily weighed down with grief and longing, their songs echoed through the cool night air, adding a note of sadness to an already somber scene.

Coming to the base of the ridge, Aiwendil glimpsed Ráma about half-way up the slope, half hidden by a massive outcrop of jagged brown boulders; she was staring off vacantly towards the horizon. As Aiwendil began the climb upward, she turned a scowling face in his direction, making it clear that she had neither expected or wanted visitors. The old man ignored the warning and kept climbing until he reached the ledge. Walking closer, he could see that the woman's eyes were rimmed in red but that her face remained distant and blank, a pallid mask giving little hint of the feelings underneath.

"They have sent you to bring me back?" she asked in some surprise.

He turned and shook his head. "No one has sent me. I have come to speak with you on my own." The istar hesitated for a moment gathering his wits, wishing that he had Gandalf's gift with words.

"Old man, you are good at finding people. I had thought to have found a quiet spot where no one could disturb me. I spent all day in camp tending my mother's body while my sister and Thorn went off to speak with the Elders. After Naraika's return, when the shadows lengthened, I went off on my own to think."

"But they will be missing you?" he queried.

"I do not think so. The songs of the first night are always led by the new clan leaders. It is their part to push back the shadows and make certain that my mother departs on her journey."

Aiwendil glanced shyly at Ráma. "It must be hard, standing and waiting, while your sister takes on her new duties."

"I begrudge her nothing....nothing," the young woman responded. There was a quiet certainty in Ráma's voice that did not sound feigned. "It is not even my mother's death that weighs on my head. She is free now. But I made promises to her as she lay dying, and it is my duty to find a way to do what she asked."

For a moment, Ráma hesitated and stared off in the distance. Then she looked back at Aiwendil, "I do not know why, but she said you might help me. Old man, today while I tended the bier and most of the others were inside for their mid-day meal, I saw something in the sky. Something, I had never seen before. There was a great Eagle, larger than any I have seen in these parts. It flew in circles above my mother's body as if wishing her goodbye and then suddenly departed. Do you know anything of this bird, or where he comes from? I must speak with him."

Aiwendil stared down stubbornly at the ground and did not reply.

"Please," Ráma pleaded. "I can tell you do not wish to speak of this, but my request is for my people. Many have suffered at Wyrma's hands, and more will surely die unless we do something to stop it. My mother said these mighty creatures had dealings with our clan in the past and promised to aid us should we ever find ourselves in great peril. She urged me to travel south to the dwelling of an old wisewoman and collect a tallisman of power that I should then present to the Eagle Lord. But even this wisewoman may not know where to find these mighty birds. If you could just take me to this creature, I could ask him for help."

"I cannot." Aiwendil shook his head. "For that was no true Eagle: only an old fellow with some mastery of shapes who wished to honor your mother's memory and bid her farewell. Ráma, you know I have some skill in shifting. That was only me."

The young woman's eyes widened in surprise. "Can you do such things? You must wield great power to be able to take on such form." She glanced at him increduously. "Perhaps you are one of these creatures yourself?"

He said with embarassment, "No, I am sorry. I have some skills in shifting, but it comes and goes. What I did this afternoon, I have not done in years. And whether I would do it again, I am not sure."

"You will not help me then?"

"I did not say that. Only that it will do you no good to track down that bird. But I have thought carefully on what you said earlier today. If you would like my help to retrieve this talisman and journey to the Eagles, I will give it to you. I am still not sure if this is wise. The Eagle Lord and those whom the Eagles serve may have little wish to see me or to listen to anything I say. But I am through with sitting and doing nothing. If my staff or arm can be of any use, you may have them to help you to fill these promises that you made to your mother."

"And now," he added, gathering up his staff and preparing to leave, "I believe I have bothered you enough for one evening. You will want to think more on this. There is one more thing. I believe the Eagle Sorona may have some part to play in all this. I have caught glimpses of her on the edge of my dreams. She has no reason to speak with me kindly after what I said today. Still, she might take more kindly to a request from Ayar's daughter. You may want to ask her to join us. That is, if you would like the two of us to go together." After offering to help, Aiwendil turned and disappeared into the night, leaving Ráma to sit on the slope and mull over the words that had just passed between them.

[Ealasaide]

Nerindel's Post: Korpulfr

It was quite late in the afternoon when Korpulfr finally awoke. Slowly opening his eyes he rose a dusty hand to shield against the glare of the westerning sun. Turning his head he saw the lean form of Tinar tending the dusty gelding he and Hasrim had conscientiously thought to bring for the young wyrmling, two more horses, packed and saddled stood nearby under the cool shade of the rocky overhang. The first a sand coloured gelding was his own mount and the other was the tan steed that Hasrim rode, looking around he suddenly became aware that his cousin was nowhere to be seen. Brushing the fine layer of sand that covered him from head to toe, he rose and headed towards his young friend.

“Any to spare for a parched friend?” he asked jovially seeing that the young Meanwaith was watering the horses.

Tinar’s head turned to greet him with a broad smile, “So you’ve finally decided to join us, I was beginning to think you would sleep the whole day away,” the young man laughed handing him the half filled water skin.

He drank deeply wetting his dry cracked lips, “Where’s Hasrim, you haven’t talked him to death have you?” he grinned handing the skin back to his young companion.

“Talk! I don‘t think he would have heard me even if I did?” Tinar said cocking a bemused eyebrow, “he spent most of the morning deep in thought, muttering to himself as he packed his own and your mount, then a few hours ago he said he was going out to look for fresh water and to scout out the desert movement, movement! I ask you for days I’ve see nothing out here but the sea of sand.” he continued shaking his head.

Kor laughed clapping Tinar on the shoulder, “Ha my friend that’s my cousins way, always thinking ahead and if he was here I am sure he would now be giving you a quick lecture on the unseen dangers of the desert.”

“Then I am glad he is not here,” the young man laughed jovially.

As they waited Hasrim’s return the two men finished making preparations to leave and enjoyed a cold supper of flat bread and salted pork, the conversation remained light and cheery like two young friends simply enjoying each others company with no political or outside influence at work, but as the sun began to sink below the western horizon the talk turned again to the matters at hand and the barely perceivable guardedness of each man returned.

“You must make sure your mother hears of the death of the eagle leader and the arrival of the northerners to their camp, it may all be coincidental but let her know that I will remain to make sure!” Kor said turning to look the young man squarely in the eyes. Tinar paused for a moment then nodded and as Kor turned away the young man asked him if he had any message for his father.

“Just let him know that I am fine and know what I am doing.” he answered after a moments contemplation. Tinar frowned not understanding and Kor shook his head and explained, “He has his grievances with the eagle clan, he still holds them someway responsible for my mothers death and won’t be please to heard that I am here!” he sighed wearily.

“And you?” Tinar asked cautiously, “Do you too think they are at fault?”

“hmm I don’t know… maybe they could have helped or maybe not I really don’t know it all happened so fast… I… only re…..” with a shake of his head Korpulfr stopped talking and got up and began to walk away.

“Where is that cousin of mine it is time we where away from here before we are discovered by outriders!” he said decisively changing the subject and looking out into the distant darkening horizon. But he could not hide from the memory that haunted him, clinging to the branches and safety of the trees as his mother was hauled off dying by the crimson warriors, he swore to himself not long after that day that never again would he hide from those who would attack his people, he would be strong, but still he felt like he had not upheld that promise, hiding in the city of his enemy at the insistence of the very people he wished to protect. With a heavy sigh he walked up to the sandy gelding and lightly scratching the animals ear he re-checked the straps adjusting his pack and the saddle baskets that carried the goods for trade, while he waited for his cousins return.

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

Ealasaide's Post: Fador

As the sun set deep into the western horizon and the singing began around the bier of Ayar, Fador took his place amongst the other elders. Though he carried a small hand drum with him, he neither drummed nor sang along, but sat quietly, listening as the various singers raised their voices in praise of the fallen leader, framing stories from her life and the lives she had touched during the tenure of her leadership in graceful song. Finally, as evening began to edge toward night, he rose from his place and slipped silently away into the darkness. He had not slept in over thirty-six hours and the lack of sleep was beginning to wear at him. He needed to be alone, to collect his thoughts. To plan what to do next. So much had happened between Ayar’s passing, the arrival of the foreigners, and the strangely timed return of the eagle, Sorona, that he hardly knew what to make of it all. He had spent so much of the last night and day in moving back and forth amongst the other elders, smoothing the way for the transfer of power from Ayar to the young people who were to take her place, that he had scarcely had a moment to himself. Now, with nearly everyone occupied by the bier, he finally felt as though he could take a breath of air for himself.

Wrapping his long robe tightly around him, Fador walked swiftly to edge of the camp, where he hesitated, gazing up at the darkening sky. How easy it would be to take to the sky now, to beat his wide wings and leap into the night wind in the shape of a golden eagle. To fly... A grim smile touched his weathered features. It had been too long since he had taken that shape and flown amongst the clouds, caressing the wind with his very fingertips. Why had he let so much time pass? Why had he preferred his other shapes to the one most treasured by the people of his clan? He wondered if it were not guilt at his own anger toward his clan, or failing that, merely stubborn pique. Either way, he suddenly understood that he had let too many days pass. Glancing back in the direction of the bier, he knew that now was not the time to make up for lost time either. Early in the afternoon of that day, around noon, a strange, great eagle had sailed gracefully around the bier twice, calling out a challenge to the winds. He had watched with the same air of awe and curiosity as his maenwaith kin, but had felt no urge to answer the challenge, at least not yet. To take to the air now could perhaps go unnoticed. On the other hand, if it were to be seen as an answer to the great eagle’s challenge - if that’s what it was - that would not do.

He turned and, on conscious impulse, began to walk in the direction the great eagle had flown in its departure. He needed to think, to find an answer to the questions that plagued him of what to do next, how to approach the foreigners, how to use them. Perhaps an answer lay out there among the swaying savannah grasses, perhaps not, but if he could at least find a bit of clarity, it would help. He quickened his step, moving swiftly and deliberately away from the encampment, his mind buried deeply within his own thoughts.

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Nerindel's Post: Hasrim

The quiet sound of leathery wings flapping against the cool evening air echoed in small furry ears as a small heart drummed with each exuberant beat, the ears twitched as the sound of raised voices whispered on the light winds of the Haradwaith desert, murmuring of sadness and of loss. But as the small desert bat drew closer, the sadness melted away to joy and praise bringing a dark and menacing scowl to the creatures dark features. Small beady eyes that should see very little, infact carefully scanned the horizon as the lightly billowing tents of the Eagle encampment drew steadily closer, carefully flying between the many tents avoiding the gaze of the sullen but vigilant outriders and guards the small bat looked for a familiar face.

The actual camp was strangely still, with nearly all the clan gathered at the brier of their fallen leader only the stragglers and those chosen to keep guard still remained, so he flew on following the voices cringing as they praised the wisdom and kindness of their fallen leader. Wisdom! Too live in the past and remain victims of the power and greed of others pfft…. But off course the eagles were never victims, they ran and hid while others died and suffered at the hands of the Haradrim and their dark master! feelings of great hatred and bitterness suddenly filled the small creatures mind and it struggled to hold on to the image at the forefront of it’s mind the one that kept him in the air unrecognised and unnoticed, he perched in a nearby tree and took a deep steadying breath, pulling the image forward once more, reminding himself of the purpose of this visit. Looking out from between the leaves he saw a familiar figure rise and move away from the others. With a wry grin the small bat again leaped into the air following discreetly the dark robed figure.

He stopping to watch as the robed figure hesitated at the edge of the camp, silently witnessing the older mans grim smile as he gazed up at the darkening sky in contemplative thought, but the small bat was forced to move quickly as the robed figure briefly glanced back towards the funeral brier of the woman he had helped to murder! Irony twisted the bats lips into a sly and cruel grin as he wondered if old fool was having doubts or regrets, for he knew it was already too late for the old eagle! for if it was discovered that he was in any way responsible for the death of his leader he would most certainly be cast out if not worse! But to betray Wyrma or her allies would be an even greater folly he had now witnessed how easily and deadly the old Wyrm could strike! As the figure walked on he followed, then when the camp was firmly out of sight he choose to speak.

“The wind whispers of ill tidings a great eagle has fallen and it’s clan stands leaderless!” He squeaked coming close to the Elders ear .

The figure stopped but did not turn, “The winds do indeed speak the truth, but not for long do the eagles remain flightless and without leadership!”

Flying around to come before the older man the bat let go of it’s current form to reveal the middle aged Wolf clan warrior. “Greetings to you Fador, wolf friend!” he said with the customary hand to forehead gesture of his clan his eyes firmly fixed on the older man revealing neither true hostility nor friendship, this man may have his uncles trust but he would reserve that judgement for himself.

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Ealasaide's Post: Fador

A look of annoyance flitted across Fador's face as he raised his hand to his forehead, returning the greeting of the man of the Wolf Clan who suddenly appeared before him, casting off the shape of a bat. "Greetings, wolf," Fador said coolly, studying the man‘s face. He noticed the way the other man's eyes betrayed nothing, neither hostility nor friendship, nor even the respect due to an elder of any clan. What he saw was cool appraisal and icy reserve, as though the man were sizing him up. Judging him. Fador’s dark eyes narrowed. Arrogance.

“It is with surprise that I recognize you, Hasrim,” he said, recovering his composure. “I remember you from your uncle’s house. I hope that my friend, your uncle, is well. But what brings you here to the Eagles at such a time as this? I am not fool enough to think that is mere coincidence.”

A dry flicker of amusement showed behind Hasrim’s eyes for an instant before he answered. “You are very wise indeed,” he said, with the faintest hint of sarcasm touching his voice. “I came on the trail of the northerners, whom I believe you are harboring in your camp. In fact, I know you hold them there.”

“You followed them from Umbar?”

“I did.”

“Then I take it Wyrma has an interest in these men,” said Fador. The annoyance that had spiked up in his heart at the sight of Hasrim began to subside as an idea began to take shape in Fador’s mind. He had left the ceremony at Ayar’s bier in order to seize a few moments to himself, to try to clear his mind of clutter and address the many problems and issues that had confronted him since Ayar’s death. He had been angry when Hasrim had destroyed his solitude, but now Fador felt a new clarity, one that came with decision. If Wyrma wants these men...

One of the matters that had been troubling Fador most had been how to redeem his position in Wyrma’s eyes if it ever came to her attention the way he had nearly botched her assassin’s flawless work by setting fire to Ayar’s tent as the Eagle leader lay dying. If it had not been for that bit of foolishness, Ayar’s death might have been passed off as the result of illness or an unfortunate insect bite. The fire had raised suspicions and thrown the entire Eagle clan into a state of heightened awareness and anger. If only communications with Umbar had been more regular! He might have known that Ayar’s illness had been the work of an assassin and not interfered, but the information had come too late. And, even then, it had not come from Umbar. Perhaps now, the lack of communication with Umbar could work in his favor. Fador knew that he had made a horrible, horrible mistake in setting the fire, which he knew that Wyrma would not let pass unnoticed or unpunished. He also knew that if he wished to maintain favor with the great Wyrm, he would have to do something quickly to eclipse his mistake, something that ordinarily would have won him great favor. If word of his good deed arrived to Wyrma before, or even simultaneously, with word of his mistake, all would not be lost. In fact, Fador had a feeling that not only his ambitions, but his life depended on it.

“Yes, Wyrma does have an interest in these men,” Hasrim was saying. “A great interest. As you well know, her ambitions do not stop at the borders of Umbar.”

“Then tell her,” said Fador, giving the other man a calculated smile which did not reach his eyes. “I will make a gift of them. They will be in her hands before the rising of the new moon.

“I will send them to the walled city, accompanied only by a guide and a few handpicked men. My men will know what to do. If you wish to follow, as apparently are your instructions, I will send word as to the hour of their departure.”

Hasrim delivered a short, leisurely bow. “You are too kind. I shall send word to Wyrma of your gift at once that she may prepare a welcome for them. When do you plan to see them on their way?”

“Perhaps as early as tomorrow night. Or the morning following at the latest. I will see that you are alerted, if you will tell me how to contact you.”

Hasrim gave Fador a long, considering look, as though deciding whether or not this was some sort of treachery or a trap. Finally, coming to a decision, he nodded. “Come to this spot as the sun sets tomorrow. I will be waiting.”

Fador nodded. “It will be done.” He began to make his departure, but stopped as something else occurred to him. There had been other strangers in the Eagle camp in the past few days besides the Gondorians. Was Hasrim aware of them as well? Had he seen, for instance, the two strange maenwaith who had arrived as Ayar lay dying? He suspected them of removing the broken incense pot, which had later turned up in poor Narayad's pack, from the smoking ruin of Ayar's tent. In Fador's opinion, they had been the only ones who could have done such a thing. But how had they known to plant the pot with Narayad? Fador himself could not have chosen a better patsy. Coincidence, perhaps, but upon deeper reflection, it hinted to him of a deeper knowledge of the workings of the Eagle clan than Fador was comfortable with. Who had sent them? And why? Why, indeed... there was also the return of Sorona with all of her dark talk of dreams and visions, death and destruction, which had excited the council of elders so. Why had her arrival coincided so closely with the arrival of the others? Were they working together? Fador paused and looked back at Hasrim.

“There is one more thing I should mention," he said, as though on a casual afterthought. "One of our clan who had married into yours years ago before the Haradrim raids has returned from exile. She is trapped in the shape of an eagle, but seems to have only a sketchy memory of her past.” He paused, watching Hasrim for a reaction. “Her name is Sorona. She arrived as Ayar lay dying and has been filling the ears of whomever will listen with warnings of death to any who embrace the stone city. It seems she has had visions from the Dreamtime.” For the moment, he decided, he would keep the presence of the other two strange maenwaith to himself.

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Nerindel's Post: Hasrim

Hasrim’s eyes studied the eagle elder with mild curiosity as the older man paused in his departure, hesitant as though something more had just come to mind. He waited patiently for Fador to speak, believing with smug satisfaction that he was about to tell him of the strange old man Korpúlfr had seen walking about the eagles camp, but what Fador revelled to him soon wiped that grin from his broad face as shock and utter disbelief filled his mind! Before even Fador had uttered the eagles name he knew of whom he spoke for there had only ever been one union that he knew of between their clans…But how could this be she perished with the others, Korpulfr saw her die…or did he? he thought as he struggled to understand how this could be so. Only once had Korpulfr spoke to him of his mothers death and all that he would say was that he had seen the Haradrim kill her!

“Are you certain that it is really her and not some impostor taking her name, an enemy perhaps wishing to exploit your clans tragic situation!” He asked regaining his composer.

“No I am certain it is her she may be trapped in avian form but her manner is unmistakably that of the daughter of Thoronda” Fador replied “That same annoying ability to hold others with her words !” he thought bitterly as he reassured him that it was indeed her.

Suspicion soon over took Hasrim’s initial surprise, Why here? Why now? And where had she been all these years? His eyes narrowed as he thought on these questions and more . “It is not entirely known to us what became of the Meanwaith that were taken by the Haradrim and until now it was widely believe that they had all perished.” he carefully informed Fador. “But it was rumoured that those captured had been taken not to the city of the corsairs but further north to the dark mountains!” Hasrim did not have to say any more for Fador to realise of the place he spoke and of the dark shadow that had once consumed that land.

“You do not think she is to be trusted?” Fador mused as he too contemplated the timing of her arrival.

“who can say?” Hasrim shrugged, “It maybe that she is indeed having visions from the dreamtime…. But who is to say that there is not some external factor at work, even if she was in the dark land and managed to survive, was it not the northerners and their allies who overthrew it’s dark master….” pausing for a moment he let these thoughts settle in the elders mind before continuing.

“I will inform Wyrma of the eagles return, but I suggest that until you hear otherwise you should keep a close eye on this eagle and discourage any idea’s that she may have about travelling to the city, her presence with all her talk of dreamtime could be unsettling for our allies as well as our enemies. It should be discredited were possible… perhaps finding out where she has been all these years may be of help!” he suggested slyly. “Tomorrow then” Fador grudgingly nodded before finally taking his leave.

Hasrim remained a moment longer the news of Sorona’s return was more troubling that he had let on to Fador, should Korpulfr so much as hear rumour that she was alive he would most certainly look for her, this he could not allow all her talk of danger and doom would ruin everything! No as far as Korpulfr was aware she was dead and that is how it would remain and if she tried to interfere he would just have to deal with her as he did his grandfather! With a last contemptuous look in the direction of the eagle camp he turned, assuming again the form of the small bat and started back towards his own camp to tell his cousin of his advantageous encounter.

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

On the second day the dawn revealed a quiet encampment, the few animals still remaining in the care of the people overseen by handful of bleary-eyed shepherds. But the outriders and guards remained vigilant, keeping close watch on both boundaries and guests after the disappearance of the maenwaith Rôg. The fire that was maintained by the bier, burning so brightly as the Meldakhar’s body had been ceremonially brought out and placed beside it, burned much lower now, but it continued to send plumes of curling smoke upward, joining the sky with the earth, the slumbering life hidden in dead wood and brush escaping to gain the freedom of the air.

Narayad who had sat talking with Surinen throughout the night, watched in silence as the sun climbed into the sky over the tents behind Ayar’s high resting place, with westerly breeze pulling at the light veil covering the leader’s face, and carrying the smoke back toward the encampment. It was the first time he had experienced the death of a leader since living among the Eagles, and he was touched by what had witnessed. From the youngest to the oldest, the people of Narayad’s adopted clan had stayed awake long into the night, taking it in turns to encourage Ayar along her way with impromptu and heartfelt song, until their eyes grew too heavy and they slowly melted away in the night, or else slept where they lay.

But now the sunlight found the maenwaith back among the tents, worn from the outpouring of the night before. As the morning grew brighter, out of necessity the activity also increased, for though it was sorely incongruous to have the sorrow of Ayar’s departure so mingled with the preparation in anticipation of Narika and Thorn’s Union, there was much to do that could not wait until their grief waned.

By the late morning, the twice-burnt remnants of Ayar’s possessions were buried, so that she might not be tempted to linger, weighed down by them, but in the heart of the huddled dwellings, happier tasks were underway. Metal goods where brought out and polished, clothes and camel saddles mended, and the felted cloth of mixed wool, that had been so hurriedly made to replace the tent of the Meldakhar, now was rushed to completion for the new couple. And as the steady thump of turmeric being crushed for the marriage preparations, resounded though out the camp, old Dinsûl was to be found rummaging around among boxes and bins looking to find an old drum, hidden there. He had not been among those to play during the evening, feeling his hands no longer as nimble as in his youth, and indeed himself unworthy. But of the wedding revelry he would surely take part, rejoicing with Surinen at Thorn’s happiness, with no fear that his poor playing would be heard over those more dexterous than he.

*****

That afternoon as Dinsûl repaired the broken drum, Surinen tried to sleep in the shade of his father’s tent, after the end of his watch. But he heard the voice of a child speaking outside, and opening his eyes he saw through the opening young Miri sitting beside his father and pulling at the spiraling grey locks that rest on the back of old man’s neck as he sat bent over the drum. She was busily asking questions as he worked, questions about Ayar, and if the other maenwaith could see the smoke from the fire, and how far away they might be. “Hush little Miri!” Surinen growled from the tent. “Such a sweet voiced cricket you are. There are always maenwaith hidden in the desert, and it is said the owl clan is not far distant. But let me sleep in peace! Go and chirp else where, little one.” Reaching back, Dinsûl patted the air to signal his son to silence; and without looking unfastened the tent flap, letting it fall to, blocking Surinen’s view.

*****

At the Eagle’s outpost, where their sprawling herds ranged among sparse bush in the late afternoon sun, the animals grazed in peace. But as the herdsmen looked to the southeast, facing their backs to the way they had traveled their clan they saw a dark smudge growing larger on the horizon and grew concerned, discussing it among themselves.

*****

When at last Narayad returned from his place by the bier, and had a chance to speak alone with Latah, and on finding from his wife that the first mate of the Gondorian vessel had tried to make himself useful, he took a little more interest in the strangers. Perhaps a foreigner could also do what is right in his own heart, rather than what was expected of him, just as he himself had. And with Fador’s approval, he had arranged that Airefalas be allowed to join them at the fireside in the evening, so that he might find out more about this northerner, who shared his family’s tent. It was not told to either first mate or captain what they had planned.

As the sun slid into the west, Surinen showed up just as Latah finished her work. The outriders withdrew together into a corner of the tent, drinking their coffee while in deep conversation, while Latah attended to the guests. Surinen frowned, looking occasionally to where Airefalas and Mithadan sat, but after a time he smiled shaking his head and clapping the larger maenwaith on this back. Then together Latah, Narayad and Surinen approached the men, who stood up in response. Smiling politely, Latah said taking Airefalas hand, “Please follow,” and seeing that Mithadan was not willing to have him led away, Latah struggled to explain the invitation, the mariners struggled equally hard, to follow just what it was she said. But at a nod from his captain, the man allowed Narayad and his wife to quickly usher him out into the night air. And as Narayad had requested, Surinen stayed back a moment, trying to reassure the captain. “We will be returning this man. Do not worry he will be all right. I, Surinen, and will take very good care of him.” And bowing, he walked backward out of the door, speaking to the guard quickly before running to join the others, already well ahead.

The encampment had grown empty and still, as the eagles gathered slowly by the bier for this second night. The fire was now roaring again, as the people settled around it. Slowly, first one and then the other gave voice to traditional songs they had learned by rote, songs that told of their ancestors. Even the very young told of heroic deeds and tragic tales, recounting the history of their people, to uplift and encourage their clan. Shouts and cheering broke out as each one told of how time and again they had overcome adversity, and laughter too accompanied some tales as they remembered those who had outwitted their enemies. Though it all Surinen tried to translate as best he could so that Airefalas might know of the people that surrounded him. But he often became caught up in the stories, giving incomplete accounts, and their guest turned to Latah to try and find the ending. Narayad smiled his approval, seeing the evident interest this stranger had in their history, and through Surinen, he asked Airefalas of his own people, and of their struggles, nodding as the northerner spoke of the Great War in the northwest when men of different nations had fought along side each other, and how his own leader had been proclaimed king. Narayad explained that the preparation for that conflict also had been much felt in the desert.

As he sat with them, Dinsûl, on hearing Narayad’s remark, began his own song in a thin uneven voice. He sang of the leader Thoronda who had guided them during those times, before the mantle of leadership was passed to Ayar, and Narayad grew noticeably sullen, at the tale. As the old man mentioned again the wolf clan, the outrider asked that his friend not translate this story to the guest and stood up with an apology, saying that it was time to go, for the songs of history were nearing their end and, he had promised Fador, Airefalas should not stay once they were over. All eyes around the campfire turned to them as Narayad led the guest away. And seeing the outrider leave, Dinsûl also grew silent, wondering why Narayad would have gone so soon.

But out of the silence another melody arose as the eagle Sorona, raised her voice, to be the first to assure her cousin Ayar, that they would find their way without her presence, thus beginning the second portion of the ritual for that evening. And with that, the others too turned to singing their farewells to the leader, the elder’s making sure to mention their confidence in Ayar’s choice of Narika and Thorn, and the two of them in turn expressing their faith in the elders.

As the people began to feel the flow of the history that continued on though the Meldakhar had left them, they dispersed into the darkness much earlier than they had the night before.

[piosenniel]

Piosenniel

The ledge on which the little group sat faced west. It was shaded at this time of day, the sun’s light blocked by the foothills behind them. The heat reflected up from the rocky slope as it angled down to the valley was already growing increasingly uncomfortable. Gadi and Haleel both urged the Elf and her companions to make haste. ‘We must reach the valley floor and make for the cover of that small copse of trees there in the narrowing. Some source of water must be there, and there will be shade beneath the thick leaved branches.’

Ayka, too, urged the group to the shelter of the trees, saying she would seek the coolness of her own aerie in the higher reaches of the western range. With a mighty swish of her wings, she leapt into the air from the ledge, beating upwards and across the valley.

Pio glanced up often as they made their final descent to the valley floor, watching the speck grow smaller against the bright blue sky. And losing it altogether as she and her companions entered the dense shade beneath the trees. Baran, grown thirsty in the increasing heat of the day, picked up his pace and was soon motioning for the group to follow. His nose was raised in the heavy, unmoving air of this little forest. ‘Water!’ he rumbled in a deep voice, making his way through the underbrush . . .

~*~

Once the sun had dropped below the jagged rim of the mountains to the west, the companions ventured out from beneath the forest canopy. Their two guides held a whispered conference. And, after much shaking of heads between the two and the pointing of fingers one way and the other, a choice for ascent was reached.

‘This way Mistress,’ said Gadi, taking the lead toward a narrow, and seldom used, it would appear, track up the slope. ‘Watch your step; some of the path has crumbled away. You will need to be quick to jump or scramble across the gap.

Pio followed along behind Gadi, Baran’s footsteps close behind her own. She could not help but chuckle at his occasional commentary on their surroundings. ‘Goats!’ had been his latest word, spoken as Hamar muttered a few well chosen words at the pile of droppings he’d stepped in. ‘Made this track, I’d wager,’ the Skinchanger continued, pausing for a moment to turn and look at the man. ‘Left a calling card for you, I see,’ he went on, his lips twitching with a suppressed laugh. Hamar waved him on in an irritated manner.

Haleel brought up the rear of the single line. His eyes swept often from the track upwards to the clear sky. His lips moved soundlessly in an offering of thanks when his gaze did not encounter the approaching flight of any eagles.

~*~

The companions had nearly made it to the ridgeline that ran along summit of the mountain. The trees and brush had thinned out and there lay a narrow band of bare, rocky formations which signaled the top of their ascent. The climb had been long and slow as they picked their way across the now trackless face of the crest. From their vantage point they surveyed the western descent; it would be slow-going again as they picked their way down to the scrubby grassland abutting the mountains’ foot.

‘We can make camp for the night down here,’ Gadi said, pointing to a small, shallow natural bowl which dipped down from the eastern ridge. Its craggy side was higher on the eastern edge, he went on, and would protect them from the winds drawn in from the sea. Haleel had been busy along the way, gathering wood for the night’s fire. The companions settled in as best they could on the rough, pebbly ground, drawing their cloaks about them in an effort to ward off the cold. The two guides soon had a small cook fire going. Water was boiled for tea, as the cold rations were meted out for supper.

The moon shone bright over the little hollow as the companions settled in to talk for a while and then sleep. Hamar had elected to take the first watch. Pio, her mind too full of thoughts to sleep, had crept up beside him. ‘Once we are down ther,’ Hamar asked, nodding to the desert below, ‘how are we to find Captain Mithadan and Airefalas.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘It looks like a vast ocean itself, this land of sand. So easy for two men to be lost in.’ Pio hunched her shoulders, bringing her cloak more tightly about her. She rocked back and forth a bit on her haunches, her own eyes locked on the moonlit scene below. ‘Mithadan puts great store in the grace of the Valar,’ she murmured aloud, at a loss herself at how this task of finding the two men might be accomplished. ‘Perhaps he has made a plea to them and perhaps they will answer . . .’ Hamar eyed her for a moment then turned back to his own thoughts.

A great sound of wings rushing down through the air broke the quiet of the watch. They beat in a slow forceful way as two large birds descended, talons first to the rim of the hollow. One of them hopped down from the rocky outcropping it had landed on, and walked slowly, toward the two seated figures. Pio was about to stand, when the advancing bird called out to her. It was Ayka, they could now see. The eagle turned her head toward where Gadi lay rolled in his cloak, asleep and Pio went quickly to him, waking him as quietly as she could.

Ayka, too, had given thought to how two small creatures could be found. She had no desire to leave her mountains, she told them, but she had found a younger male, an adventurous sort, whose flights often took him a fair way inland as well as north and south along the foothills of this range. ‘He has agreed to be your eyes from the air,’ Ayka told them. ‘I can’t say whether he will see your mate and his companion, but perhaps he will lead you to someone who has knowledge of them. He has promised to stay with you until you dismiss him.’ Ayka clacked her beak and made a series of twittering noises. The male eagle hopped down from his perch and approached the three companions in a wary manner. He was very different from Ayka. His head, chest, and underbelly were white, his back and wing feathers a darkish grey. His legs were featherless, ending in large, sharp talons.

‘Azar,’ he rasped out to Gadi, giving the man his name. He made a small bobbing motion of his head toward Pio, which she took as a sign of greeting. And she, in turn, bowed toward him from her seated position. A short, sharp series of clacks and twitters ensued between the older eagle and the younger. ‘He will begin to tomorrow, as soon as you reach the flatlands,’ Ayka explained. ‘Look for him to fly ahead of you as he scouts the area to the north. I assume you are going north . . . toward the . . . city?’ the last word she spat out in an irritated manner. ‘He will not go into the city with you, should that be the course you choose. Too many men, no game to be hunted. He’ll land as needed to let you know of any thing of interest he has seen.’ Azar ruffled his wings and spoke once more to Ayka. ‘Should you need to speak with him,’ she went on, ‘wave your sword in the air. He will see it and come to you.’

Pio thanked the older eagle for her help, asking if there were anything she might do for her in return. ‘Send word to me,’ Ayka instructed her, ‘of what is happening beyond the mountains. Tell Azar all you see and hear. He will bring it back to me. Most important to me is any news of the clans . . . the Eagles in particular . . .’ The Elf agreed, saying she would ferret out what she could and send it back with the young eagle. ‘I wish you well, shining one,’ Ayka called out as she launched herself into the black night. ‘May the winds uphold you and you find your mate quickly.’ The two eagles flew off to their places of rest, leaving the companions to ponder what the new day would bring.

At long last, all of the little group settled in for what sleep they could. Except, that is, for Haleel, who lay whimpering quietly to himself beneath his cloak; the word ‘eagle’ escaping his trembling lips now and then . . .