Here There Be Dragons - RPG

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Surinen

The mountains had long since slid below the horizon as the small caravan reached the first well along their route. They were making good time, and Surinen harbored a private hope that perhaps they might catch up to Narayad or at least gain some rumor of him along the way. His friend was only a day's ride ahead, and seeing that the two Gondorians seemed keen on traveling swiftly, Surinen obliged them gladly, guiding them by starlight the first evening when the heat of the day had passed.

And on this, the second day of their journey, Surinen had already begun to forget his initial displeasure at being stiffly reminded by Fador of the duties of his station, and his uncle’s gentle insistence that he serve as guide to their northern visitors. Knowing that he could not prevail over the elder’s wishes, even so that he might not stop to wish Thorn well with the meeting of elders or with his impending marriage, Surinen had followed Fador to the outskirts of the camp where all stood ready, extracting from him a promise to look after his father while he was gone.

But now the outrider felt heartened for it was by happy chance Narayad had seemly taken the same path they now followed. For Surinen found, as he rode, the odd trace of his friend having passed this way ahead of them, but guessed that it was short lived and that his fellow outrider would veer off shortly after reaching this first landmark and water.

Jumping down off his horse, Surinen took the shawl off his head and threw it over his shoulder as he strode over to the well's edge. Circling it once, and finding no dangers at its side, he peered briefly over its low wall to see if any thing unfortunate had fallen in. "It is a good well!" he announced to his traveling companions in their own dialect. "Very clean." And it might have seemed to the foreigners as though a signal had been given, for the three other men of the eagle clan who accompanied them quickly dismounted, and once they had unstrapped their water skins, they set about rapidly filling them and refreshing their horses.

Surinen returned to Mithadan and Airefalas as they too dismounted and stood aside waiting for an opportunity to draw water. Hurrying past Mithadan without a word, Surinen took the water skin from behind the saddle of his horse and handed it to a stout maenwaith who had followed closely behind. The large fellow grinned at the sea captain, revealing a pronounced gap between his front teeth. Surinen turned to fetch Airefalas' water skin also, but found that the tall Gondorian held it ready in his hands, and seemed intent on filling it himself. Politely asking for the skin, Surinen explained, "This is not our well and we can not stay here. Let the others fill this, it is good to let them feel useful." Seeing that the two still seemed to have doubts about surrendering their last skin, the outrider assured them that both their water skins and their horses would be returned to them shortly, when all was ready for them to set out once more. "And while they do this, maybe you will tell me by which way I should lead you," he suggested as he looked toward the horizon that spread out under the westering sun, picturing to himself where in that wide expanse they might next expect to find water.

Airefalas then handed the skin to Surinen, who in turn passed it the other. "I suppose by the most direct way you may know," Mithadan said, as the stout maenwaith bowed slightly and carried away the skins. "If that would be considered advisable," he said turning to the outrider. "There doesn't seem to be much to conceal us other than the darkness, which ever path we choose to take."

"Ah, but I have thought of two ways to go. One would be to head deeper into the desert. It is a longer and much more difficult way, but for you maybe safer." Propounding his thoughts now in a conspiratorial tone, Surinen's dark eyes glittered beneath his brows as he lowered his voice to a whisper. "The other would be to head for a remote village by the sea. There maybe we find a fishing boat to take you home, right under Lord Falasmir's nose." He winked at them, and smiling at his cleverness, waited to see which course they might choose.

But Airefalas looked at Mithadan uncomfortably and to the outrider's chagrin he said, "We are not going home Surinen, not yet." A spike of suspicion arose unbidden in the maenwaith's heart. Maybe these men had come as spies after all, and all their stories would, given time, prove false. Was he then to lead them? Noting Surinen's reaction Airefalas spoke to his captain in a language that sounded to the outrider very much like Westron, but whose words were so confusing the maenwaith could recognize very little of it. After a moment Mithadan nodded.

The captain looked at the other two maenwaith who were still occupied with the horses and then at Surinen, whose open expression had now evaporated. "Surinen," he said slowly. "Didn't your uncle tell you were we were proposing to go?"

The wiry man looked him in the eye, unblinking as he pondered his situation. "No. Fador said only that I should take you where you wanted to go. I thought that you were to return north, and so agreed to this. But if we are not going there, where are we going?"

"Perhaps I should explain our change of plan," Mithadan said. "Before we left the encampment your uncle proposed that it would be useful for us to first go investigate this new city - Wyrma's city," the captain said cautiously. "He said that it may be of help to the Eagles if we can determine its progress and layout. And of course, it might have some value to Minas Tirith as well."

May be helpful? It would be more helpful to give the seat of Wyrma's ambition a very wide berth, Surinen thought as he clucked disapprovingly. "But it is a bad place. They don’t like eagles there," he said, with a sinking heart. He wondered what had he done that his uncle would knowingly send him near the place.

"You have seen it then?"

Surinen snapped out of his reverie. "No, no," he muttered shaking his head. "I have not seen it, but I know where it is. They say it is close to Umbar." The unfortunate truth was that the outrider knew very well where it was. Being a trusted friend of Thorn's carried with it many blessings and curses, and this bit of information was quickly coming to be viewed as one of the latter to Surinen.

"Close to Umbar," Airefalas' sigh echoed with dismay. "Just how close the Umbar, is it?"

"Too close," Surinen said looking up, with the hope that perhaps Airefalas was beginning to understand. "Maybe only two days ride from burnt docks and angry lords. It is not safe for you," he pleaded.

"And to be sure there are messengers traveling between the two cities," Airefalas added, looking back to Mithadan who stood behind him.

"Will you take us there, Surinen?" Mithadan asked the maenwaith directly, "To help your people?"

Surinen felt a surge of misgiving and pride, as if he was being tested, but the Gondorian captain had struck him as sincere. "If Fador said I will take you there, then I will take you. I will not leave you here." With that he turned and walked back to the others.

And sliding into another shape as they set out, a mottled brown dog ran before the horses for many hours, before he tired and again deigned to ride beside the foreigners under the stars.

[piosenniel]

Mithadan

Mithadan pulled his cloak about him as they rode through the night. It was not so much the chill that prompted this movement, as it was the desire for some small measure of privacy. The eyes of the three mounted clan’s men kept much to the sandy track before them, but often their eyes slid to the two northerners, or so it seemed, and their own faces, hidden beneath their shawls, were well concealed by shadow, impossible to read.

Fador’s words were still much in his mind as he rode along. The man had linked the future safety of his own clan with that of the safety of Gondor. From his brief meeting of Wyrma, Mithadan could well believe that she would at some point wish to extend her reach beyond her fellow maenwaith, beyond Umbar itself, northward to areas rich with possibility. And what would stop her and her allied clans? Driven by ambition, greed, whatever the motive, the roused maenwaith would be a powerful, a formidable enemy.

Still, true as the danger might be to Gondor, there was a deeper layer of mistrust which Mithadan felt toward Fador and his sudden eagerness for the aid of himself and Airefalas. Something lay beyond the fervent request for help in dealing with the tactical problems of attacking an established city. He considered the possibility that perhaps he and his companion had been summed up by the Elder and managed, as it were, into agreeing to Fador’s plan. And to what purpose? What hidden plans lay beneath the Elder’s play upon the northerners fear for their own country and people? Fador would certainly be looking out for himself and for his own clan, but in what way?

Twists and turns and possibilities of all sorts tumbled through the captain's head as his horse plodded along.

‘Enough,’ he murmured, shifting in his saddle, drawing back his hood. He’d set his own tasks for this expedition. Determine if Wyrma and her allies did indeed present a threat to Gondor and beyond that see to the possibility of finding a way to return to the north. He laughed grimly, at the daunting thought of attempting to accomplish either one.

Airefalas drew near him, asking if he had spoken. He had caught the captain’s laughter, but no further words. Mithadan chuckled, recalling his companion’s first reaction to Fador and his request. ‘I was thinking of eels, Airefalas,’ he said. ‘Slippery eels and the rocks they hide beneath.’ He grinned at Ariefalas’ bemused expression. ‘And remembering your good advice when we were asked to play our parts in this game.’

‘My advice?’ the younger man prompted.

‘Yes . . . “As long as we play with our eyes open” you said. And that’s what I was doing, keeping my eyes wide open . . .’

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Child of the 7th Age's post: Ráma and Narika

Ráma stood on tiptoe as she slipped the traditional filigree over Narika's brow, carefully centered it, and then stepped back to view her handiwork. The band was fashioned of silver, engraven all around with a medley of birds, beasts and other living creatures of the earth and the heavens. At its apex was an Eagle outlined in tiny jewels with wings and talons extended as if about to pounce on its prey. Thorne would be wearing a similar headpiece. Used only for ceremonial purposes, these treasured bands passed from one clan leader to the next and were said to depict all the true forms that had been granted to the Eagles at the beginning of Arda.

Ráma finished adjusting the long silken veil and spoke to reassure her sister, "You are lovely. Beautiful inside and out. Mother would be so proud."

"But...?" Narika could hear the unspoken reservation underlying her sister's tone.

Ráma's voice quavered as she responded, "Mother is not here. And this is all so different than what we imagined. No time to sew the traditional gowns. No time for the display of the dowries or the days of feasting. You deserve more."

Narika shook her head, "No one can replace mother, and the shadow of war hangs over all our heads. Yet otherwise I am content. I love him, Ráma. I would happily marry in rags. All these years, you and he would ride out together to tend the herds and only, at the very end of the day, would he stride into the tent to bid me an awkward and solemn goodnight. I did not even know how he felt. It was only after he voiced his intentions to mother that I understood the meaning behind his silence."

"I am happy for you," Ráma responded without hesitation. "Once I dreamed and thought it might end differently. But in my heart I knew even then. I am not ready to settle in, not with Thorne or anyone else. I only wish I understood what I am meant to do."

The silence between them hung heavy in the air. Finally, Narika spoke, "You did not listen to what that fool said in front of the Elders, surely? All that was long ago. We have had no time to talk, but Yalisha said that you had mastered another form during the time you spent in Umbar."

"Mastered another form? I would not quite put it in those terms. The forms seem to come and go at their own bidding, and I have little control over them. In any case," she added, "it was not one form, but two."

Narika stirred uneasily and wished she had more time to help her sister. The Elders maintained that, with the exception of the clan leaders, no Eagle could hold onto more than three changes in shape. With Ráma there had been the one unfortunate incident from her past and now these two in Umbar. Clearing her throat, Narika continued, "When things settle, I will certainly help you gain more control over your skills. Perhaps one of those two in Umbar was the Eagle shape?"

"No," responded Ráma tersely. Unwilling to talk about the subject any further, she handed her sister the few paltry blooms that Miri had found at the edge of the waterhole. "It is time for you to go. The whole clan awaits you. With so much sadness and doubt, we all need something to bring hope. Your love and concern for each other is a clear token of that hope." With that Ráma kissed her sister and guided her over towards the spot on the edge of camp where the rest of the clan had already gathered.

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

Hilde Bracegirdle's post: Thorn

It was dark and the heady smell of smoke and incense filled the air when the people gathered again. When the couple had taken there places one by one they approached Thorn and Narika who were standing now apart with their backs to the fire and a small group of clay pots some distance in front of them. After depositing a handful of grain in one or the other of the pots, the members of the Eagle clan filed past them both, offering their blessings. Thorn thanked each in turn. Straight and strong he looked, the fire glinting off the silver band that encircled his brow. He smiled calling each by name, warmly clasping their hands as the flames bathed the familiar faces with an orange cast.

Narika, he knew, stood beside Ráma just as he stood with Yalisha, but the sisters were screened from his view by a grass mat to his right. And as the guests disappeared behind this screen he could hear Narika’s silken voice as she too accepted the blessings of her people. As the last of the assembly found their places in the circle surrounding the fire, his sister left his side to take a small portion of grain from each of the four pots, handing them to their mother, who then rapidly parched them over the glowing embers.

Rolling up the mat that separated the couple, Ráma cast it on the fire, and accepted the small bowl of parched grain that Thorn’s mother offered to her. As the screen blazed briefly, Thorn watched Ráma carry the bowl to where Fador and Barakah now stood by the clay pots. So grave the elders’ faces were. Indeed strange and solemn this gathering seemed, lacking the merriment that normally accompanied a union within the clan. What would Suri say? He knew that his friend, given a half a chance would fill his ears, lecturing him that this was not the proper way to celebrate such joyful moment in his life. And he would have to agree, but it was not to be helped. But searching the crowd, Thorn could not find Surinen, though old Dinsûl sat there with his thin legs crossed under him.

Yalisha touched his elbow and he looked over to where the screen had been. There stood Narika clothed not in the elaborate garments of tradition; yet beautiful she was for her simple dress and handful of bright flowers, like the bloom of the land after rain, and the strength of her spirit shone in her bearing. The thought that he had waited far too long pierced his heart. For now this day would be mixed always with grief and thoughts of war, in memory. Moving to her side she let fall the veil from her face and he took from his sash the necklace he had recast for her so many years ago in Umbar. Laying it about her neck he spoke to her softly as if she were a songbird he did not wish to frighten. ‘I would that we had been bound to one another in better times than this, Narika. How can I ask you and your sister to be happy when you have suffered far more than the rest of us….” He looked out to where Ráma waited alongside Barakah. “It does not matter to me what difficulties we must face so long as we face them together, but know that I will always be sorry to have deprived you of the proper ritual.”

“Do not worry Thorn, I do not require a week’s ritual to learn of your worth.” Narika whispered, smiling as his gaze returned to her. “But as for better times, together now we will work toward them and toward our clan’s survival. And all the more precious will peace seem to us then.”

Thorn’s serious expression softened. “Then let today itself mark the beginning. Let it become a true turning point for our people.” And he took her hand leading her to where Fador and Barakah waited for them.

Narika and Thorn both sat upon their heels opposite the two elders. And between the four of them, Yalisha placed a broad shallow basket with symbols woven into it. She glanced at Fador several times as she adjusted it. Finally the elder nodded, satisfied with its correct placement. After she withdrew, the elders spoke quietly with the couple for several minutes before they began taking it in turns, reciting the same ancient words that had been recited to them when they too had taken a spouse, and to their parents before them. As the clan looked on Barakah began this ancient portion of the ceremony. Taking a handful of millet from one of the pots in her thin knotted hand, she let it spill into the basket drawing a narrow line toward the south. Then uncoiling a long cord she looped it once about their upheld wrists so that the bottom portion of it dragged in the dust, saying,

‘Now you will not feel the heat of midday,
for you will be a shelter each to the other.’

Fador then withdrew barley from another of the pots, and quickly drew another line in the basket, this one very straight, pointing toward the north. Taking up the cord from their outstretched arms he made a second loop a little smaller than the first, as he spoke the next phrase,

'Now you will not feel the cold of darkness,
for you will be as warmth each to the other.'

With rice Barakah traced the third line east, and speaking these words as she made another loop still shorter,

'Now there is no more loneliness,
for you will be companion each to the other.'

Taking wheat from the last of the pots Fador made the final line toward the west. And after making the final loop he took the two ends of the cord and tied them together tightly around their wrists saying,

‘Now you are two persons,
but there is only one life before you.
Go now to enter into the path of your life together.
And as thread is strengthened when intertwined,
may each of you also be strengthened.'

Ráma then put the bowl of parched grain in the center of the basket, and watched as Thorn and her sister, their with the two hands bound, fed each other from it until the small bowl was empty, and the assembly clapped, shouting,

'May your days be long upon the earth!’

Fador spoke again and the crowd quickly quieted, for this was the signal that the end of the ceremony was to come. For it was customary that the newly joined couple should transform themselves into all the shapes at their command, so that they might always recognize each other and be recognized also by their clansmen. For many, especially the children, this was the favorite part of the ceremony, though it sometimes proved long and tiring for the participants. From the least to the greatest creature they would shift forms as the crowd watched. And it could sometimes be amusing when the couple or the animals they became where particularly mismatched.

But Thorn, knowing what to expect, quickly squeezed Narika’s hand before he felt the cord slip from his wrist and he lost hold of her, standing now as a plump sand rat before the people. He struggled to resist the strong urge to run, as he heard the crowd chuckling and as Ráma and Yalisha rushed forward to spread the cord into a circle about them. Waiting for a moment he quickly mastered the rodent’s instincts before moving to the next form, that of a thrush. But he saw that Narika had already accomplished her third, and he immediately let go that shape, moving on to the next. It was only a short while before their list was fully exhausted and two eagles stood side-by-side staring calmly at the assembly with their keen eyes.

When they allowed themselves to slip back into their given form, Thorn felt exhilarated rather than tired. He had missed the strong sense of purpose and freedom he felt in these forms. But it always was the eagle who left the longest lasting imprint. And again the clan clapped as he and Narika caught their breath. Smiling they held hands and as one they made a shallow bow before the people they were to serve. Thorn then caught up the cord in his hand and winding it quickly he presented it to Narika before lifting her chin for a kiss.
************************************************** **************

Latah

Latah arrived after the couple’s guests had been received and the ceremony had begun. Creeping quietly along the edges of the raucous crowd, like a shadow cast by the flickering light, she avoided the notice of any who might call out to her. She did not wish to speak with anyone, but felt distant and strangely guilty. And though it was not the cause of her discomfort she remembered with sadness the last time Fador and Barakah had performed this rite, when she and Narayad knelt before them. She should have been proud, for Narayad had not only shown considerable prowess in the contests of skill leading up to that moment, but also obvious pleasure at being granted her hand. But as she had knelt beside him in her heavy raiment, she had felt empty as if she moved in a dream carrying out what she knew was expected of her. Her feet had been set upon this unexpected path, and so soon Narayad had been sent from the Eagles and her father’s protection. Away from her.

Suddenly she heard a sharp ‘Hsst’ to her right. There was Dinsûl trying to get her attention as he sat in the crowd. She was cheered to see her elderly uncle, and with a smile she threaded her way over to him. “Ah, what a beautiful evening,” she sighed, looking at the faces around her as she tucked her skirts under her and sat beside him, “And so significant too. Even the stars seem to crowd the sky to watch!” she said looking up. “But most of all I am glad that you are here so that we may watch this together.”

“And I am glad that you are as well. I had been looking for you,” Dinsûl replied, pale eyes shining in the dim light. “Where have you been hiding all day?”

In truth, she had thought it better to remain aloof until her father told her it was safe to answer any question regarding the Gondorians, but curiosity had brought her out of her tent, for her father had returned in the afternoon saying Ayar’s daughter was to be married and receive her commission as soon as the sun had set. But Latah’s uncle knew her too well, and she felt self-conscious as she now avoided his glance. “I have not been hiding, but have only kept busy,” she said, hoping he would not ask after the sea captain or his first mate.

“Hmm, busy is it? It is a good thing for you to stay busy now that Narayad is gone, but you have missed much that you should have heard!” Dinsûl said patting her knee to draw her attention back to him again, just as he had done when she was young and easily distracted. “It concerns you my dear girl, just as it concerns all of us,” the old man said looking into her warm eyes.

“Ah but nothing it seems should be of concern to me,” she let escape, looking away as her father tied the cord tightly around Narika’s and Thorn’s wrists. “See, I am here to witness as Narika and Thorn are united and the Eagles are delivered into their care. I have not missed a word.”

“I do not mean this, Latah. The elders have said that we can no longer ignore our troubles with this Wyrm. They have said that for the good of all maenwaith we must rise up against her leadership, especially now. I heard that word has come this afternoon that another leader has been killed by her. Latah, in all my years I have never heard of such a Wrym as this, trickier than a trader from Khand she is!

“Narika and Thorn are planning to leave as soon as they have talked to the Owls. They want to collect the remaining clans that are faithful to the old ways and rebel against Wyrma. Even Ráma is leaving to try to find the Great Eagles, to ask for help and advice.” The news fell heavily on the young woman. Stunned into silence, she hung her head and sat mutely sorting through what her uncle had told her. Cocking his head to one side Dinsûl brushed back the wavy curtain of hair so that he could see her face. “Not everyone was quick to decide, of course, but it is true.”

Latah saw that Dinsûl guessed that her father had neglected to tell her this news and that he was cautious and worried; with Surinen gone the old man had no one to help ease his mind. But Latah did not know what to say to her uncle. Her immediate thought was neither of herself or her people, and as the crowd shouted their wishes to the newly joined couple, her mind was very far away, not wholly grasping what this war would mean to those surrounding her. These conflicts had always been something that had been diligently avoided. All that she could think of was the little caravan making its way slowly across the desert, and the two tall northerners.

“What of Surinen?” she suddenly asked turning to face Dinsûl. “Will they send for him?”

“Oh Suri, Suri!” the old man sighed, visibly distressed. “Where has he gone? Do you know? He did not send me word when he’d be back, only that he’d be gone for quite some time, and I have not heard anyone mention him. But isn’t Narayad also wandering? I have seen bad times before this and he of all people should not be rootless in the days that are coming. No one will risk helping him!”

Narayad! Latah thought. What Dinsûl said was true. Chances were that her husband would not learn quickly enough of the Eagles’ decision or even of the changing nature of the struggle. And it troubled her that she had not thought of it immediately. Latah wanted to unburden her heart and tell Dinsûl all that she knew, but as she looked furtively toward Fador she saw that the ceremony was over. Indeed, as her father was occupied arranging for the contents of the clay pots to be emptied into sacks and removed, Thorn took the importunity to walk over to them.

“Latah! Dinsûl!” Thorn cried as he approached. “I am glad to find you here.” He took both their hands in his, as he had not done before the ceremony. “I have missed Surinen, do either of you know why he has not come? Is he not well?”

Dinsûl’s brow furrowed. “He is as well as usual, I expect. But didn’t you send my son on some errand?” he asked, “For he left the encampment, and I am told he won’t be back for some time.”

“It was not I that sent him,” Thorn assured him. “Why? Where has my friend gone that he can not be here tonight?”

Before Dinsûl could speak, Latah touched the old man’s arm. “It was my father that has sent Suri, to act as guide.”

“Guide?” Thorn echoed. “Who is he guiding and to where?”

Latah took a deep breath. “He has gone to act as guide for the Gondorians, but do not worry, Uncle,” she said placing a gentle hand on Dinsûl’s back. “He is not alone. Yemnya and Zahur have gone with him. I do not know any more than this, but I think that they must be headed north.”

“Heading home, I should think.” Thorn said, “That is good.” And he asked her when they had left. She explained that it was just the day after Narayad had set out.

“Dinsûl, it seems that no one has told either of us about the elder’s decision to send the Gondorians away. But after tonight I should be better able to keep you informed regarding your son’s whereabouts.” Thorn turned to see that the elders were waiting for him, so that the second ceremony might begin. “But if you will excuse me Latah, I see Narika and your father desire my presence.” Looking up, past Thorn, Latah saw her father stood steadily poised watching them, and suddenly she felt ashamed.

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

Child's post:


"Thorn, although time is short, there is something I would share with you." Fador stepped over to the young maenwaith, leading him to a spot a few paces distant where few guests lingered, and then spoke in a lowered voice. "We must start the ceremony. Yet I would be remiss if I did not mention one thing. The times are difficult. It is hard to know what to do. You are brave and hardy, yet still young. I merely want to let you know that I am here to help. If you should need me any time, day or night, do not hesitate to ask for counsel. For my own part, I will do everything I can for you and your wife, to offer advice and support that will bring our clan through this time of trouble. But now it is time for us to begin. Step forward with your wife to assume the leadership of the clan." He turned and smiled encouragingly at Narika who had walked up during the latter part of their conversation.

The young couple made their way over to the embroidered mat in the middle of the gathering on which Barakah had already set out the few simple things that would be used in the naming cermony. On the rug sat a beaker of water, a pearl of great beauty and luminescence, and an ornate dagger with its hilt emblazoned in jewels.

Fador hurried to the front, hastily brushing Barakah to the side, and raised his hand to the assemblage as he asked for silence. "We come now to our final task. Our dear leader Ayar is gone, but she has left us with good counsel. It was her wish that Thorn and Narika should wed, and that these two jointly take on the headship. Narika will protect our customs and lore that we may follow the ways of our ancestors, while Thorn will be the bulwark of our defense, shielding the clan from its enemies. Together, with my assistance and that of the other Elders, these two will make the decisions that must be made in these hard times. Narika, my lady, would you go first?"

Narika walked onto the mat and sat down cross legged. She reached over and picked up the pearl cradling it gently against her body as she intoned the traditional words, "May I guard and protect the traditions of our clan just as I shield this pearl today within the safety of my palm. For like this gem, our traditions once gone can never be replaced. They are part of who we are and, without them, we are but shifting sand."

At that moment Thorn came over and sat beside her, reaching out his hand to lift up the dagger and brandish it before the assembled guests. "May I fulfill your trust in me. I will not take up any weapon lightly, but when danger assails the clan--whether from beast or invader--I will stand true until that danger has passed. And I pledge to do so even at the cost of my life."

Finally, Thorn picked up the cup of water and drank from it, and handed it to Narika who did likewise. For a final time, she spoke: "This cup is filled with water, that which is deemed most precious. For desert dwellers, it represents the boon of life. May Thorn and I make wise decisions that will preserve the life of our clan as well as the lives of all who make up this circle today."

Fador came forward and placed a hand on each of their shoulders, motioning them to rise. Then he turned the couple around to face the crowd, calling out in a firm voice, "What say you then, Eagles, would you confirm the choice that Ayar and the Council have made?"

A loud cry went up from the gathering, a cry of jubilation and hope that rang through the assemblage and thundered out onto the sandy reaches that surrounded the camp. Holding his hands above his head, Fador responded in kind , "It is so ordered then. May Ayar's wish, and that of the Council and the people be honored. Thorn and Narika, you are awarded the headship of the clan. Your fate and that of the Eagles is bound together as one. And may I be the first to share my good wishes."

The Elders crowded in to offer congratulations. Barakah was the first to reach Narika and extended her hand in welcome, "You are our hope, little one, a promise that better times are possible. May that hope find its fulfillment in the coming months and years." Then she turned and hugged Narika and Thorn as the crowd surged forward to offer its wishes and support.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Tinar awoke early; the fire had died down to a faint glow, and he shivered in the chill of the morning air. The sky was beginning to lighten up, almost imperceptibly as yet, but as he looked over to his companions, he could tell that Hasrim’s bedroll was empty. He had disappeared the previous evening without saying why, but he had flown in the direction of the Eagle encampment. Tinar walked to the southern edge of the oasis and peered into the sky so intently that he did not hear the whirr of wings behind him. He jumped in surprise when a familiar but unexpected voice spoke.

“Are you looking for me, little brother? I’m afraid that is the wrong direction!” Kumat sounded amused.

Tinar spun around, more delighted to see his brother’s face than he ever thought he could be. “What are you doing here?” he exclaimed.

“Did you really think our mother would let her youngest disappear without notice and not send out a search party?” Kumat said with a touch of sarcasm.

“I’m not sure it’s whether she cares or just because she needs to keep us all under her control,” Tinar commented with unwonted insight. Kumat looked at him closely; he realized suddenly that the child to which he was accustomed had changed during the past days and weeks since he had last seen him. “Tell me, what is happening at home?” the young man continued.

“Well, the wall is finally growing,” Kumat answered. “Halfr’s soldiers were ordered to help with it; they grumbled, but obeyed.” He lowered his voice, glancing over at Korpulfr’s prostrate form. “I was glad to get away – it feels too much like a cage to me.”

“You were never very good at staying in one place more than necessary,” Tinar laughed softly. “No woman, not even Mother, was able to keep you for long.”

Kumat grinned. “She is wise enough not to try to make me do the same tasks as our elder brothers, but make no mistake about it – she uses me, and she will find ways to use you unless you can free yourself from her web. But not just yet, I think – she has sent me to bring you back.”

Tinar sighed. “It doesn’t look like I’m going anywhere here, so I may as well come back with you, I suppose.” A slight movement in the sky toward the horizon aroused his attention. “If I am not mistaken, that is Hasrim coming back.”

They waited for the black bat to alight and resume his human shape before greeting him, but he interrupted them with hurried words. “We must pack our things and leave immediately,” he exclaimed. “Kor!” he called, striding over to the fire and quickly kicking sand on the remaining ashes.

Within minutes, they had packed their things and were ready to mount their horses. Tinar wondered that Hasrim and Korpulfr hesitated, apparently engaged in a heated debate, though they had lowered their voices and he could not hear what they spoke. Finally they joined the two brothers and Kor said, “Tinar, I’m sorry, but you cannot go with us. You are known to the Gondorians as Wyrma’s son, and Hasrim says that the Eagles are very hostile to all that concerns your mother. They may have influenced the Northerners against you.”

Tinar groaned, protesting. “Just when something finally happens, I have to leave?”

His friend was firm in his verdict, and Kumat agreed with him. “It is better that you come with me; if they are indeed coming to our city, you will be able to get all the excitement you want there. But can you keep up with me, little sparrow?”

Tinar lifted his chin with a hint of his mother’s stubbornness and pride. “Do you think a sparrow would have made it this far?” he retorted. “Take care that you keep up with me!”

“That is good,” said Kor. “We can keep your horse and baggage; then it will look like we have been trading.”

As the horses and their riders left, kicking up dust from the sandy desert ground, two birds arose in flight. Had an observer watched, he would have wondered at the fact that a desert owl and a falcon flew together.

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

The horses were well-rested; Korpulfr and Hasrim made good time. When they arrived at the watering place, there was no sign of the other travellers. Soon Kor was taking care of the animals while the black bat flew southwards to see if Fador’s information had been correct. He did not have to fly far before he saw the cloud of dust and counted five riders. Satisfied, he returned.

It was nearly dusk when they came. A fire was burning, and it smelled of food. They dismounted, glad to stretch their weary limbs. The two strangers who sat at the fire arose and greeted them cordially. Mithadan and Airefalas looked attentively as Korpulfr introduced himself but said nothing. They gratefully accepted the offer of hot coffee to drink, a southern custom they had come to appreciate.

Later, wrapped in their blankets to ward off the chill of the desert night, they spoke softly. “That man was our host for the dinner in Umbar!” Airefalas exclaimed. Mithadan nodded. “Do you think he recognized us?” the first mate continued.

“I’m sure he must have – we don’t look like desert dwellers,” the captain replied. “I wonder why he said nothing – more games?”

Airefalas shivered slightly. “It is possible,” he mused. “Things are getting complicated; I hope we can see our way through clearly enough to survive.”

“As do I,” Mithadan agreed. “The new day will show more – it appears that our new friends travel with us. I wonder, is it only chance that they take the same way at the same time?”

[Ealasaide]

Airefalas

The travelers broke camp well before sunrise and, by the time the sun's rays broke over the eastern horizon, were well underway once more. The Walled City still lay several days' ride distant, yet Airefalas knew that, hour by hour, it grew ever nearer. He wondered what they would find when they got there. He frowned to himself and pulled the head shawl he had taken to wearing closer around his face. A stiff breeze had risen in the night, carrying with it a fine sand that chafed the travelers' exposed skin and covered their clothes, their horses, their packs with a coating of pale dust. With only his eyes exposed, he looked over at Mithadan, who had ridden forward to converse with Korpulfr, the young merchant who had hosted them at a dinner party on the night he and Mithadan had escaped from Umbar. Was it a coincidence that the fellow had shown up to join them now? If so, then what could he hope to gain by pretending not to recognize them? It made Airefalas distrust the fellow's motives. He would be interested in finding out from Mithadan later what they had talked about, if the merchant had continued to feign unfamiliarity with them, or if he had chosen to offer an explanation for his behavior of the night before.

Surinen, their Eagle guide, on the other hand, had made his feelings toward their new companions quite clear. He had spent most of the evening before in the shape of a dog, keeping watch from a spot just outside of camp. He had retaken his human form as they remounted their horses in the morning, but had instantly kicked his horse into a gallop and now rode at a good distance ahead of the rest of the group. Catching Mithadan's attention, Airefalas pointed ahead toward the guide and indicated with a gesture that he intended to ride ahead to join him. Mithadan nodded. Airefalas chupped to his horse and galloped forward, slowing only as his horse drew up alongside Surinen's mount.

Seeing him, Surinen raised his chin in greeting, but said nothing.

Airefalas dropped his head shawl. For a brief instant, he considered making some kind of small talk, but then decided the better of it. He might as well get right to the point.

"So," he said bluntly. "What do you make of our new companions?"

Surinen turned to look at the northerner, then shrugged. "Why ask me? I only take you where you want to go."

This time, Airefalas shrugged. "I trust your opinion. You seem to dislike these men and I would like to know why."

"They are Wolves," said the maenwaith guide rather sullenly, as though that statement would explain everything.

Airefalas made an open gesture with one hand. "Yes? So?"

"The Wolves and the Eagles are no longer of a common mind. The Wolves have thrown in their lot with the Wyrm and are not to be trusted. These men that you and your captain seem to like so much serve the Wyrm." The outrider turned and looked back over his shoulder. "It is no trick of chance that they have joined us. They watch us. They wait."

"Wait for what?"

The outrider faced forward again, and leaned over to speak a quick word in his own dialect to the horse. The animal broke into a trot. For an instant, Airefalas let the distance grow between them, then kicked his own horse into a trot. When he had once more fallen into step beside the outrider, he gave the maenwaith guide a searching look.

"They wait for what?" he asked.

Surinen shrugged again. "For what, for what," he echoed angrily. "What do you think they wait for? They wait for the chance to serve their mistress."

Airefalas reined his horse to halt and watched the retreating back of the outrider as he continued to ride at a fast trot toward the north. Thinking hard, Airefalas turned his horse and rode back in the direction of Mithadan and the others. If the Wolves had not happened upon them by chance, then what Surinen had to say had an ominous ring. He thought of the way Fador had attempted to manage him and Mithadan into making this trip in the first place and a cold knot began to form in the pit of his stomach. Was it possible that Fador had known the Wolves were out there, waiting? If so, then he and Mithadan were walking into a trap. He wondered if Fador’s "kinsmen" were in on the plot as well. He looked past Mithadan to where the two Eagles rode, bringing up the rear of the procession. They traveled with only their eyes exposed, eyes that remained fixed with cold determination upon Mithadan’s back.

They wait for the chance to serve their mistress... Did these men serve Wyrma as well? If so, he and Mithadan were surrounded by enemies, with only Surinen as their ally. But what if Surinen was mistaken? Perhaps the outrider had his own axe to grind with these men. What if the Wolves were not minions of Wyrma? What if Fador’s kinsmen were merely kinsmen and watched Mithadan so closely only to make certain that he came to no harm at the hands of these Wolves, these strangers who had joined them in the dusk on a lonely stretch of sand, where none but jackals might come upon their bones for weeks should anything ill befall them. Airefalas shook his head. So many questions, so many layers of truth and deception. Seeing Mithadan still deep in conversation with the young Wolf merchant, he found himself growing doubly curious as to the content of their conversation. He hoped the Wolf had had a good reason for pretending not to know them.

Sighing, Airefalas squinted up at the high arc of pale blue sky, wishing that such a thing as navigational charts existed for the sea of sand. He had a solid knowledge of the stars in the southern sky, so finding his direction would not be a problem, but he knew nothing of the terrain in the deep desert. The word among sailors was that the open sand could be just a treacherous to the uninitiated as the open sea could be to those unfamiliar with her ways. Nonetheless, he felt a strong inclination toward telling Mithadan that perhaps they would be better off ditching all of their companions and striking out on their own, leaving the maenwaith of all ilks to work out their problems themselves. After all, this coming war that everyone seemed so worked up about was probably just a local squabble, anyway, and would turn out in the end to have very little to do with himself, Mithadan, or Gondor. They should wash their hands of the entire business, he decided grumpily.

Just then, Fador's two kinsmen, who had been bringing up the rear of the procession drew up alongside him. One of them, the stouter of the two, said something guttural and pointed ahead toward the other travelers. Airefalas nodded and rode forward to join the rest of the group, momentarily distracted by a small tug he had felt at the back of his mind, like a hand at the hem of his cloak. Latah. What would happen to her in the event of a war? Did it really matter what became of her? After all, he barely knew her. Besides, she was maenwaith, not to mention another man's wife. Frowning darkly, Airefalas resolved to put her out of his mind, but soon found that the harder he tried to forget her, the more clearly her face and the sound of her voice became defined in his memory. Finally, he had to admit it. At least to him, she did matter. Very much.

[piosenniel]

For the time being, this game will be stashed safely in Elvenhome.

Upon request it can be resurrected for continued play.

~*~ Pio