Here There Be Dragons - RPG

[Hilde Bracegirdle]

Surinen

Latah did not speak, but struggled within herself. Surely this Sorona had been through and seen a great deal more than she herself had, but if she loved her son as she said she did, how could she simply leave him to face his fate and then disappear only to return to the eagle clan without first finding if his name was still recited among the wolves. Her son must be close to Surinen’s age by now, if he were still alive and if the tale she told was true. Perhaps she was now a grandmother, and her wisdom needed by him. But Latah worried that even if Sorona truly was the eagle she presented herself to be, what was to say that she had not now been sent back to her native people for some low purpose. She found she did not trust her, and wished that Surinen would not speak so freely.

But Surinen was now thoughtful and silent, digesting what he had heard as he tilted his mug, washing his hand under the small stream of water. The name of Halfr had given him pause, for Dinsûl was not the only one to describe him in despairing terms, but Narayad also had spoken of him when lamenting the course his people had taken. For Narayad had been of the Wolf clan, though now his true name was not called out as a member of its ranks, and by choice he no longer assumed that shape which came naturally to him. He was as dead to them as Surinen’s own sister Mîrya was dead to the eagle clan, having turned his back, no matter how reluctantly on his kin.

“Yes, what has Halfr done!” Surinen sighed, thinking of his friend’s grievances. “Not only this”, he said looking into Sorona’s eyes to see her response to his words, “but he has taken his clan and made them a jewel in the midst of a dragons’ hoard. For his people long ago joined the maenwaith who huddle under the cold wings of Wyrms like hatchlings in need of protection.” And seeing that sadness overtook the bird he moderated his stance, adding that he could not understand why the clan had allowed themselves to be led this way, for they by all accounts were a clever and skilled people, undaunted by hardship.

At this Latah stood up suddenly, and gathering their plates excused herself, taking them outside to clean. Surinen watched as she closed the tent flap behind her, wishing he could follow so that she might unburden her mind to him. For he knew that this conversation touched on matters that she found troubling, especially in light of Narayad’s current standing in the eagle community, and through him, her own.

“Is she all right?” the bird whispered, following his glance.

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

[Ealasaide]

As he made his way through the dark camp back in the direction of his tent, Fador's mind churned. So much had happened over the course of the last several days. There still remained so much to be done, to be seen to, with the passing of Ayar so near at hand. Wyrma’s assassin had done his job well, he thought grimly, coming and going unseen and unheard like a deadly breath of wind. At first Fador, like the others, had believed that the leader of the Eagles had merely taken ill. He had tried to take advantage of her illness with the fire, but now realized that the sabotage of the incense pot had been a mistake. Wyrma’s man had done his job with lethal effectiveness. All he had managed to do, himself, was focus suspicion upon the person of his own daughter, Latah, who was completely innocent. Her husband, Narayad, another innocent, had also fallen under the blanket of suspicion and was being sent away for it. His action had been a grave miscalculation.

“Foolishness,” he muttered. He should have left well enough alone. Not one to dwell upon failures, however, Fador turned his mind ahead to the group awaiting him in his tent. He had offered his hospitality to the two Gondorians, who had arrived in such an untimely fashion, not so much out of generosity as out of the desire to watch them, that he might best ascertain what their intentions were and how he might bend them to his own purposes... if he could bend them. That possibility still remained to be explored. While he had caught a distant glimpse of them earlier in the day and heard many wild rumors, he had yet to meet either of them face to face.

As he neared his tent, Fador saw Latah step through the open flap, carrying an armload of dirty dishes. Catching sight of him, Latah set the dishes down and smiled.

“You return at last!” she exclaimed. “We have kept dinner warm for you.”

Fador smiled back at her, nodding in the direction of their tent. “I hope you have been a good hostess to our guests. I should hate to give our Gondorian friends a bad impression of us.”

“Oh...” Latah glanced nervously over her shoulder. “Unfortunately, they are not here. We only learned at the last moment that they had made their dinner plans elsewhere. I have been a good hostess only to Surinen and one of our long lost kin, Sorona.”

Fador shot a sharp glance through the open flap of the tent. Sorona? He had heard talk among the other elders of the arrival of another supposed stranger, a female, trapped in the form of an eagle. Could it be the same Sorona who had once been one of them and married into the clan of the Wolves? If so, the timing of her return was intriguing. He had thought her dead, killed years ago in the Haradrim raids that had driven the Eagles deep into the south and created the rift between the two clans. Why had she returned? Why now? Catching sight of the stately form of the eagle, he frowned slightly. It was impossible to tell her identity for certain in her current form. The Sorona he had known had not even been capable of taking that form when he last saw her.

He nodded to Latah. “So I see. And where have the Gondorians gone?”

Latah colored slightly and shrugged. “I am afraid I don’t know, but I expect they shall return shortly.”

“Very well, then,” he said patiently, agreeing that he would have to wait to meet the northerners until their return later in the evening. Turning, Fador entered his tent, giving Surinen a courteous nod in passing, but focusing the majority of his attention upon the eagle.

“Greetings, Mistress Eagle,” he said pleasantly. “I am Fador. Welcome to my home. I trust my daughter has taken proper care of you?”

“She has been very kind,” answered the eagle. “I thank you both for your hospitality. I am Sorona.”

“Sorona,” echoed Fador, giving the eagle a long gaze. “I used to know someone by that name a very long time ago,” he said. “She married into another clan and I lost track of her, but that was many years ago.” He smiled. “Allow me to welcome you to our encampment. Do you plan to remain with us long?”

[Nerindel]

Korpúlfr

Kórpulfr sat close to the dying embers of the campfire his blanket pulled tightly about his shoulders to ward off the biting chill of the cold desert night, both his companions were now sleeping soundly their light breathing marked only by the steady rise and fall of their chest against the red glow of the fire light. Korpulfr stared through the flames at Tinar; several days alone in the desert seemed to have matured the young man considerably and calmed his impulsiveness. As he studied the peaceful features of his young friend, he wondered if this change was temporary or if as the elders of his clan believed, Tinar actually possessed the potential to someday take his mother place as head of the clans. Did this boy really possess something that the others of his clan did not?

Wolf blood? The thought came unbidden and in the soft firelight, Tinar’s sharp angular features suddenly bore a frightening resemblance to that of his father, the Raakaharn. Clenching his jaw defiantly, he rose from the fire pulling his blanket tighter as he turned and strode purposefully away from his sleeping companions, angrily he tried to dismiss the cold realisations that filled his mind. However, he could not if Tinar was blood kin to the Rakaaharn then it made sense that the elders would wish to see him as Wyrma’s successor and that their friendship was necessary to form a strong and influential alliance between the two clans.

Shaking his head he realised he was debating the advantages of a lie. Tinar is not wolf blood! He reminded himself. No, he could not believe his father would betray his mother’s memory in such a way, though he could not deny that his father’s behaviour of late was a concern, he took to locking himself in his study for hours on end, and when he did appear he was secretive and evasive. Kor looked back at the sleeping form of Hasrim wondering if his cousin knew any more than he did what was going on in his father mind.

No, he decided thoughtfully, if Hasrim knew anything, he would have told him already. I am being paranoid finding fault in what could only be stress brought on by Wyrma’s demands on my father; he concluded laughing at his own suspicions. “If I’m not careful I’ll begin to sound just like those fools who think that the Wyrm clan have some ulterior motive for uniting the clans!” he whispered shaking his head.

I have to find something to do, to prevent these foolish thought! He thought restlessly, and then looking out over the sandy horizon, he remembered the encampment that they had seen during their earlier scouting of the area. Several hours as the Raven flies! He thought contemplatively. Hasrim seemed to think the Gondorians would be stopping there for the night and although Kor did not doubt his cousin he thought to have a closer look, perhaps he could find something out, like who guided the Gondorians so will through the desert, carefully avoiding until now the other clans!

His mind made up he returned to the camp and gently roused his cousin, “Hmpf! What… What is it, what’s happened?” Hasrim asked sitting up and instinctively reaching for his sword.

“Calm cousin, nothing has happened,” Korpúlfr laughed, laying his hands assuringly on his cousin’s arm.

“Then what do you mean by rousing me before it is my turn for watch,” Hasrim scowled relaxing slightly as he looked up to note the moons position in the clear night sky.

“I am restless cousin, I wake you early that I may go take a closer look at the camp we espied earlier,” he grinned hoping to pacify his older companion.

“Are you sure that is wise?” Hasrim asked his scowl deepening into a concerned frown, “There is any number of clans who would not welcome unwanted guests in the night and we do not know if these are friend or foe!”

“Worry not cousin they won’t even know I am there, I will be back by morning!” he winked, then turning he shifted into his raven form and took to the air, his blanket falling to the ground beside his stunned cousin.

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

Hasrim

Hasrim stared at the fallen blanket for a long moment before rising, his dark, usually complacent eyes narrowing in cold and bitter unrestrained contempt, as he looked out in the direction his cousin had just flown. Angrily he picked up the blanket and violently tossed it aside, if only all things could be so easily cast aside he thought darkly. “Foolish boy!” he hissed through gritted teeth, He would ruin everything if he were captured or killed by a rival clan he chided bitterly, casting a cautionary glance to where Tinar lay, making sure the young Wyrmling was still sleeping.

His initial instinct was to follow Kor and make sure himself that the young wolf cub did not find any trouble, after all this was the task his uncle had assigned him to do. However, staring at Tinar through the orange glow of the fire he knew if something were to happen to him in his absence, his life would not be worth living, Wyrma would see to that! Frustrated he kicked the dry earth beneath his boot, watching it spit and hiss in the warm glow of the fire. He hated not being in control and having to trust that his younger cousin, who was pivotal to all his plans, would stay out of trouble grated him deeply.

He paced contemplating those plan, a play he had so carefully devised and set into motion with the death of his grandfather, he grinned wickedly as he remembered how easy it had been to slip the poison into the old mans drink. He did not die at once off course that would have drawn to much suspicion, especially since the old wolf was having his doubts about Wyrma’s grand plans, but rather he slowly but gradually became ill as if some mysterious sickness plagued him until at last his strength gave out and he finally passed away. Kórpulfr had been so upset he and his grandfather had been close, too close! He conceded bitterly. But he had insured that it was he who had been there to comfort and support his cousin and he who over the years had became his close friend and a trusted family member, Kor trusted him implicitly, even valuing his advise, just as he had planned! A twisted grin framed his dark features as he took satisfaction in his own cunning.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Rama & Miri

Ráma did not move her eyes from Mithadan's face even when Rôg dumped the tray on the ground and Miri scurried forward to retrieve the fruit. The Man from Gondor could be lying or confused, but Ráma did not think so. There was a calm assurance and honesty in both his tone and demeanor that convinced her he was speaking the truth. If he said Bird had mastered five shapes and that one was an Ent and another a dragon, then it must be so.

Ráma was less certain how others in her clan would respond to Mithadan's plea. However softly phrased, his description of Bird implicitly challenged some of the Elders' teachings. She was not sure whether the Man from Gondor even recognized this.

She had apparently been taught things that weren't true. Not all dragons were base and dishonorable. And there was at least one talking, sentient creature whose form had been taken on by a maenwaith . Quickly, her mind made another giant leap. It wasn't only the Ents. In the ancient tales, the wyrms could speak to each other and even with Men. Why had she never made this connection before and recognized that the limits about talking creatures had certain exceptions? She had always accepted what the Elders said about who she was and what she might and might not do. It was not that they had lied to her. They were good Men and Women who knew a great deal more than she did. But they did not know everything.

The Elders had constantly drummed a simple dictum into her head: only clan leaders could take on four shapes; all others, including herself, were restricted to three. The message had been clear: do not squander your forms, or you may find you have none left when it comes time to take your place among the adult Eagles of the clan. You will be one of the dispossessed who harbors an Eagle spirit, but with no physical form in which it may find its expression.

Perhaps, the Elders had been mistaken that day on the beach when they had scolded her. And her own mother had been right to urge her to look for help among the wyrms. Maybe the key to her past as well as the fate of her people lay in accepting the same hard lesson: although goodness never changes, ways of thinking and acting do, and we must master those changes with grace and an honorable heart, just as we master changes in our form.

Impulsively lurching to her knees in front of Mithadan, in full view of her astonished dinner guests, Ráma spoke loudly so all could hear: "Man of Gondor, you say more than you realize. But I believe you. I swear that I will not rest until I help you and Airefalas find this Bird. For your search and mine have become one. Perhaps this Bird was sent to us for reasons we cannot altogether know, perhaps even to lead us to her other Dragon kin who have not forsaken the old ways. Tomorrow, we will speak more on this and see where we will begin this search. For now, it is late, and I would ask you to return to your tents. Say nothing more of this to anyone until I have had a chance to speak with my sister." With that she turned and, beckoning Miri to her side, quickly left the tent.

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


Miri looked up hesitently at her older friend as Ráma took her by the hand and briskly whisked them out of the tent, preparing to take her home. The girl was not certain exactly what to say. So much had happened between her and Rôg, and now Ráma was acting in a way she could not understand.

They stopped for a moment by a large barrel that stood nearby to ladle out two small cups of water. After they had drunk, Ráma threw her head back, looked up at the stars, and began humming a song to herself. Miri could see that she was acting very strangely.

"My mother will be pleased!" Ráma confided. "I know she will be excited to hear about Bird." Perhaps, she mused silently to herself, Ayar will feel better after she's rested and I can speak with her in the morning. As they reached the end of the row and stood in front of the tent belonging to Miri's family, Ráma halted for a moment to speak with the girl, "I wanted to see if Rôg would be willing to help us recruit among the tribes to the south. But so much happened at the end that I never had time. I know you are close friends with him. Perhaps you can tell me. Do you think he would be willing to speak with his clan so that they could help us? Do you know what form his clan takes to defend itself?"

Miri hastily shook her head, looking uncomfortable. "You'll have to ask him. I don't know much about this. Anyways, I'm not sure if he can help. He's going to visit his family."

"The ones he mentioned earlier who are camped south of here."

Miri shook her head, "Not exactly. Some other relatives.....very old ones." She was feelng a bit uncomfortable and hoped Ráma would stop questioning her. "I think his whole clan is going for a visit. They live in some caves on the rim of the northern desert. Not too far from the Sea, I think. Anyways, ask him yourself. He'll only be gone a little while."

At that point Ráma's face blanched. "But that's not possible. There is no place like that in Harad."

Miri shrugged her shoulders, "Well, he never said it was Harad. Maybe it's someplace else."

"Miri, look at me!" Ráma commanded. "I want you to repeat exactly what Rôg said....."

[piosenniel]

Miri

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Estelyn Telcontar]

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

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

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

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

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

“How is this possible?” the ruler exclaimed.

“No one knows,” came the answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Nerindel]

Sorona

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[piosenniel]

Piosenniel

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

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

~*~

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

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