Monday, 8th of Wedmath, Year 1417 Shire-reckoning
Somewhere in the Starkmoor, Dunland
 |
| The Dunbog |
The light of dawn was only just beginning to creep across the heavens when Minasse roused us. Gaelira had gone on ahead, he said, to scout the road and see if she could find any sign that Enro Smuin had gone that way, so we were meant to march out and meet her on the road. Breakfast consisted of munching biscuits and dried strips of bacon while on the move, much to my dismay. We had been covering so much ground in pursuit of various persons lately that I was beginning to wonder when might be the next time I would get to enjoy a hot meal.
The day was quite hot, as one would expect here in the midst of the summer months, but the mornings where actually pleasant enough, especially since we still had the cover of the trees. The canopy soon gave way, however, and right about the time it would have been most welcome. We passed from under the boughs into a rough land of stone and sand, fully exposed to the heat. I very soon found myself alternately fanning my face with my hat and wearing it (despite it making me hotter and more uncomfortable) in order to keep the Sun from baking my poor scalp.
We had gone maybe four or five miles when we found Gaelira. She was engaged in conversation with a Dunlending Man named Andras who was on his way, he said, from the village of Avardin in the south to Galtrev for trade. It was fortunate that he spoke somewhat of the Common Tongue, and we learned that he had seen a person matching Smuin's description pass south along the road late the previous day. We thanked Andras for his assistance and resumed our journey. Gaelira had little else to report, except that she had noted footprints up and down the dusty road which appeared to have been recently made.
"But there were clearly several different feet present," she told us, "And it is impossible to know whether any of them might have been Smuin fleeing our pursuit."
"Why would he be fleeing at all?" I asked. "Wouldn't he think he had done us in by sending us to our deaths at Iargandir's hands?"
"Certainly not," Gaelira answered crossly. "Were you not paying attention yestereve when Nephyn read his note to us? He believed Iargandir to be nothing more than a local legend, which he used as a false lead to send us astray. There is no reason to think he actually believed Iargandir was real. Of course, such is often the way with mortals: they believe anything outside their personal experience to be imaginary. It is a curious fact that those doomed to spend such a fleeting time on this Earth have arrogantly convinced themselves they understand everything there is to know about it. And then, when they do encounter some 'new' discovery, they invariably ask each other whether all they knew about the world was wrong. A wiser question would be: why were they so convinced that everything they thought they knew about the world was right to begin with?"
I blinked and shut my mouth in a hurry. Apparently the Elf was in no mood to entertain casual inquiries this morning, though I couldn't imagine what had gotten her so agitated. We marched on a good distance further in silence.
Soon the ground began to climb upward. Looking ahead, I could see the rocks rising high above us on either side while our path ran its dusty track between them. The sky was hazy with the heat but a vibrant blue, and not a cloud was in sight.
"Perfect place and time for an ambush," I heard Drodie mutter beside me. I immediately began scanning the hilltops for any sign of a threat, though I saw and heard nothing. I briefly considered asking whether we ought not veer off the road so as to make ourselves less of an obvious target, but I quickly saw the futility of such a suggestion. We would have had to scale the tumbled rock-piles to our west or east if we were to find any path forward off the road itself, and doing so could have been dangerous and would easily have taken hours. Haste demanded we brave the road and take our chances with exposure and attack.
Our pace slowed a bit as we ascended the incline. The sweat rolled down my forehead and soaked my collar, but I trudged doggedly on. By the time we finally cleared the crest I was breathing heavily and my head was spinning, but I did receive a minor reward for my efforts in the form of a stunning view. The road suddenly fell away and ran a winding path southward where it eventually found another Dunlending village (which we supposed must be Avardin) a ways ahead and to our right. To our immediate left and eastward, the rocky landscape piled higher and higher until it was crowned with an impressive set of ruins. Ancient spires rose and seemed to touch the sky itself, but most of the structure had fallen long ago.
"Vaguely Gondorian, I should say, from the look of them," said Lagodir as he shaded his eyes from the Sun. "It is difficult even for my own people to remember that our lands once very nearly met those of Arnor in this part of the world, back when our country was at the height of its power. It was for that reason, in fact, that the Enedwaith got its name: the Middle Country, or the Land Between."
"A small and passing moment in time," said Minasse staidly, though I don't think he meant it as an insult. "You feel an echo, then, of what I myself feel for the loss of my homeland in Eregion. I trust you would see those towers and walls rebuilt, Gondorian?"
"I would see the towers and walls rebuilt in the South Kingdom as it stands now," Lagodir replied. "Osgiliath was once the pride of our realm, and now it lies in ruins as much as those you see before you here. And Minas Ithil, white and fair in the moonlight, was taken by darkness."
"So too shall be the fate of your beloved Tower of Guard, Southron," came a sneering voice, "When my Master brings fire and sword within the walls of your city." Suddenly, a horsed figure strode atop a nearby outcropping, black and threatening even in the full light of noontide.
"Izarrair!" I shouted.
"Well, well. What have we here?" he mocked. "Elladan's freeloading troublemakers. I had hoped you would be fewer, but I see instead that another misguided fool now walks alongside you. I trust your welcome in Dunland has been to your liking?"
"We have no fear of you, lickspittle," said Minasse calmly. "You are a mere shadow of the terrors I have overcome throughout the three Ages of this World."
"Bold words, coming from a race which even now writhes in its death-throes," Izarrair laughed. "But it matters not: go about your business with this sorry group and the Eldar will be one the lesser soon enough. The warriors of Dunland are strong and have no fear of duvodiad, particularly Gondorian cowards. Wouldn't you agree, Lagodir?"
"I have found your countrymen naught but what I already took them for," Largodir replied, "A base and honourless people, more comfortable with hurling threats and insults from a safe distance than backing up their mouths with their swords. I still await the day when you will accept my challenge to prove otherwise."
"In my own time," came Izarrair's answer. "And, once I have humbled the insufferable arrogance that is your trade-mark, I will personally drag you to Mordor on a leash. Of course, this will happen only after flames consume the Riddermark and you watch as Gondor is dismantled stone by stone and its cowering people are put to death. I promise you will live long enough to see this truth come to pass."
"Will you?" Lagodir asked as he drew his blade.
"Ah, always so quick to resort to violence," the horseman snickered. "I have half a mind to simply let your own rage consume you, which would certainly amuse your servant-girl," Here, he turned his face to Nephyn. "Perhaps my mistress can find a use for her, though I would think her too skinny to survive long in the iron mines; the Dwarf might be better suited, if he can manage to avoid tripping over his own beard long enough to make himself useful. And then there is the Halfling." I started as his masked face fell upon me.
"Yes," he said quietly, but with great menace. "I now know your kind, you diminutive rat. I was too hasty before, but I will not make that mistake again. You had best scamper back to your village, little one -- if I come there first you will return only to ash and ruin." I drew my dagger, but made no response. I could tell from his voice that he smiled at me from behind his mask.
"It was most unwise of you to join this Company," he went on, "I shall enjoy seeing your folk given to the chiefs of the tribes of Dunland to be their pets."
There was a sharp twang from behind me: Nephyn had fired an arrow at the horseman. It struck his pauldron and snapped back, foiled. The huntress instantly nocked another shaft.
"Not while I draw breath," she said, the cold fury in her voice sending shivers down my spine. "I fired in anger just now -- I will not miss my mark a second time." Izarrair spurred his horse and turned this way and that, making himself a difficult target.
"I hope you are entertained by the welcome I have prepared," he said. "Especially you, Gaelira; Dunland will be your end." And with that he dashed away eastward at full gallop.
"Good heavens!" I exclaimed. "What do you think he meant about my home? You don't suppose the Shire...?"
"I do not think so," said Gaelira. "He said village. Most likely he means only the village of Maur Tulhau, from whence he believes you must have come. There are many villages in the Shire, and it remains well protected, to say nothing of the many hundreds of miles which lay between us."
"Still, I hope he does nothing terrible to those poor folk in Maur Tulhau," Nephyn said. "They seem hardier than any hobbits I ever knew in the Bree-land, but their ability to resist a true attack would be faint at best."
"Yet we ourselves cannot be everywhere at once," said Minasse. "Let us continue on our road. Fret not, Padryc! If Izarrair had any real power to thwart us, he would have done so by now."
We moved on, but the horseman's threats were not without their effect: from then on it felt like a dark and looming presence followed hard on our heels -- even the bright day seemed to become harsh and bleary as we descended the winding road down from the ridge toward Avardin. Once we were reasonably close to the village, we held a brief council among ourselves. We decided it was worth the risk of entering that place to see if we could learn anything concerning Smuin's whereabouts. As before in Galtrev, we donned our respective disguises and passed within the walls of the settlement.
We found Avardin to be almost as bustling a place as Galtrev, and trade was clearly its mainstay. Merchants of all stripes were loudly hawking their wares while villagers moved to and fro about their own business. There were vendors' stalls everywhere you looked, as well as a sizable field with a sort of raised wooden stage that served as an auction block. There was a large, heavily bearded Dunlending Man calling sales from there who seemed to take a great interest in us, and he beckoned us to him. Once we had joined him in a secluded corner of the marketplace, he introduced himself.
"You speak to Bedwur," he said conspiratorially, as if he expected us to recognize the name. "You are after the duvodiad called Smuin, yes? I hate that sniveling dog -- he comes into Dunland making trade, acting as if he has every right to transact business with us and stealing my customers. Come, you follow me and I will deliver him to you."
We nodded and followed Bedwur as he wove his way through Avardin. He led us down the sandy streets and into a close alleyway somewhere on the western side of town. There were dark doorways on either side and piles of refuse were giving off an offensive reek. I felt a pit open in the bottom of my stomach as I suddenly realized we were in a very tight and enclosed area -- the sort of place you'd want to avoid if you were being hunted. Bedwur led us all the way down to the end of the alley, then turned to us and smiled.
All at once, a dozen Dunlendings leaped out at us from the shadows! They were mostly armed only with clubs and daggers, but we were in such close quarters that it was impossible to properly defend ourselves. One Man grabbed me from behind, lifted me off my feet and thrust a smelly sack over my head. I could hear the others struggling while Bedwur laughed at us.
"Stupid foreigners!" he said. "I may hate Smuin, but at least he is no fool. He traded me your necks for his, and now we'll be rich, right boys?! Remember, the bounty has changed: the Halfling is wanted alive, but the others all get the axe. On second thought, save the dark wench for me! I'll keep her as my share of the take."
There was a terrific row. I could hear flesh punching flesh and all manner of grunts, heaves, and shovings. My arms were being crushed into my ribs, but eventually I managed to land a well-placed kick backwards with the heel of my foot that plunged directly into the midsection of my captor, forcing him to drop me. I pulled the sack off my head and whipped out my dagger. Two Dunlendings withdrew from the fight after I had put holes through their legs!
I looked around, but the close space and my height prevented me from seeing much. Gaelira was grappling with one Man while both fought over control of her staff. Lagodir was engaged in fisticuffs with two more and had already knocked one out cold. Drodie had lowered his head and bowled into the thickest of the ruffians, but he was quickly being subdued by sheer numbers. Nephyn and Minasse, meanwhile, were wrestling with several others. Things were looking grim.
I had just made up my mind to come to Nephyn's aid first when something caught me from behind around the neck and lifted me into the air! I fought to relieve the pressure, but I was slowly having the air choked out of me. From where I dangled, I could see Bedwur's smirking face as he watched our Company being gradually beaten down. I felt a surge of fury raging hot within me, but I was hopelessly overpowered and beginning to lose consciousness.
Just then I heard a shout from behind me followed by the clash of steel! The chokehold my assailant held on me suddenly gave way and I tumbled to the ground. Picking myself up, I saw his head had been cloven in two, and the cause quickly became clear: a strange Man in a mask had come to our aid wielding a bright sword. I watched as he dispatched two more of our attackers with skillful blows, and the tide of the battle began to turn. Bedwur's smirk quickly became a mask of fear, and in moments he called for a retreat. Those of his fellows who were still able to stand fled into the buildings. I looked around in bewilderment.
"Follow me, duvodiad," said our masked saviour. "You cannot stay here."
"Who are you and why should we follow you?" Minasse demanded.
"If you value your freedom you will do as I say," he replied. "The Avardin guards have no interest in protecting the rights of Outsiders. I will take you by safe ways out of the village. Then we will be able to speak in peace."
It seemed we had no choice but to do as the strange Man bade us. Following his lead, we quickly passed up one street and down another. More than once I nearly lost the Company as we bustled and pushed our way through the crowds, but our mysterious leader was careful to ensure we stayed together. Eventually we emerged out the south-end of Avardin and plunged into some thick shrubbery. We crawled through this a short distance, then took a short breather.
"The Sun will soon be setting," the Man said as he scanned the heavens. "We can wait here a brief time, then we will make for that collection of boulders, and then to that copse of trees you see there." We nodded our assent. After we had caught our breath, we followed his lead once more. By that time, we were a good two miles or more from the edge of town and felt it was safe to rest properly.
"I may never forgive myself for falling into such an obvious trap," Gaelira fumed as she tore off her disguise. "How else could Bedwur have known us unless Smuin had described our raiment to him? I am indeed the fool he named me."
"I thought it suspicious at once," said Minasse, "But I considered it possible that word of our pursuit may have found its way to Avardin from Galtrev -- we made no serious effort to conceal our intentions when we returned seeking Smuin, and word seems to travel quickly in this land."
"And once again Smuin has eluded us," I said while gladly removing my fake beard. "He's a slippery fellow, that one. Still, it was worth it to meet such a valiant Man as our new friend here, and I'm plenty eager to learn why he would show such interest in us."
"We see duvodiad in Avardin plenty often," said the Man as we sat and leaned upon the trees. His voice was heavily accented after the manner of the Men of Dunland. "Though not as many as one would find in Galtrev, of course. But even Outsiders know not to trust Bedwur the Auctioneer, which means you must be either complete fools or total strangers in this land."
I was finally able to take a good look at our rescuer. He was of average height, but he was stocky and muscular with a dark skin which made me believe him a Dunlending himself. He wore hide armour (which was common enough to see in that region), but his mantle and cloak were made of rough furs. The sword that hung at the leather belt around his waist was of peculiar design and he bore also a tall shield which he kept slung across his back. His face was, as I had mentioned already, obscured by a strange mask: it covered his entire head except the eyes, and these were deep and dark. He seemed to regard me with a particular interest.
"We are guilty on the second count for certain," Nephyn said to him. "To what do we owe the honour of your acquaintance?"
"By which you no doubt mean: why would I, a complete stranger, risk my life to save yours?" he laughed. "A just question, and one with a simple, if not entirely noble answer -- I hate Bedwur. That walking dung-heap has cheated me and my fellows more times than I care to remember, and I look forward to the day I can repay him in kind. Today, unfortunately, was not that day as I was alone in Avardin when we had our little encounter. If I am able to frustrate any designs of Bedwur's then I count it a score on my end of the wrongs which I begrudge him, but none of this means I owe any kindness to you." This last remark seemed to hold a thinly veiled threat, and I began to wonder whether we hadn't escaped from one villain only to fall right into the hands of another.
"You have our gratitude," said Nephyn, "But our business is not something we wish to discuss with a complete stranger."
"This is my home, duvodiad," came the reply. "Here, you are the strangers. Am I not owed your names, at least, in exchange for saving your necks?"
"We are not answerable to any masked vagabond met by chance upon the road," scoffed Lagodir. "Least of all shall we reveal our purposes to --"
"Peace!" said Minasse with a forcefulness I had never heard in his voice before. The was an uncomfortable pause. "I am called Minasse. This is Gaelira and we are of the Elder Kindred, as you no doubt know already. With us are Nephyn of Bree, Drodie of the Blue Mountains, Padryc, who hails from the Shire, and Lagodir, a chance companion."
"A Gondorian," Lagodir vehemently corrected him. "And I care not at all whether this Man of Dunland knows it, still less whether or not he likes it." There was another pause as the Man met Lagodir's icy stare. Then he reached up and withdrew his mask. He was swarthy with long, dark hair and a short beard. His face had a fierce look, but I saw in it also a certain measure of patience in thought which I had not yet seen among his countrymen.
"I am Ancthas, oath-keeper of the Turch-luth," he said. "I lead a small group of resisters -- freedom-fighters, if you like. I have no doubt your business must be important to bring you here, though I am outnumbered and in no position to demand that you answer me. However, if you will trust me then perhaps I can assist you. But first I must know: whom do you serve?"
"We are Free Folk and serve only those interests which keep our people free," retorted Lagodir hotly. "Whom do you serve? Are you in league with the bulk of your kin which plot war against the West and the South?"
"I, too, serve only my own people," Ancthas replied coolly. "And so we have at least that in common, Gondorian. Unfortunately, few of my people remain: the Turch-luth were all but destroyed in the endless strife between the clans. I lead those few who still survive, holed up in the farthest reaches of the Dunbog -- the one place none would pursue us. I return there now to rejoin my men."
"The Dunbog?" said Gaelira. "Then we travel the same road, noble Ancthas, and we are in sore need of a guide. We seek --"
"Gaelira!" Lagodir objected, but the she-Elf waved him off.
"We seek the one called Edgerin. We have reason to believe he abides now in the Dunbog." The eyes of Ancthas were suddenly lit as if with a dark fire.
"Ah! You seek that one, do you? Then your information is correct: there he is, or was when last I saw him. I suspect you shall find him there still."
"Why do you think so?" I asked.
"Because of the abominations which have come to us out of the swamp," Ancthas answered me. He let his response hang in the air for a moment.
"Abominations?" I echoed.
"Yes. Plague-infested creatures. We think them some manner of Orc, but they are hideous, twisted, and fell to look upon."
"Are not Orcs always hideous, twisted, and fell to look upon?" mocked Lagodir.
"You have not seen them, so I forgive your jest," said Ancthas grimly. "But these abominations, they are unlike anything I have ever seen before. If you are headed into the Dunbog, then I think you will behold them yourselves, and then we shall see what becomes of your tone."
"Where did they come from?" asked Minasse.
"We do not know," he replied. "They have taken over what had been the very last village of the Turch-luth, the Boar-clan, my people, which we called Lhan Colvarn. We had only just managed to make it livable, such as we were able, when the abominations fell upon us. This would have been a little over six months ago. Many were slain, and what few escaped were driven out into the mires. We established Lhan Rhos in the centre of the swamp and have been fighting to reclaim Lhan Colvarn ever since."
"We owe you much for your rescue this day, brave Ancthas," said Gaelira. "Moreover, we rejoice that we draw near to finding Edgerin at last. We will help you to reclaim your home in payment of that debt, in whatever way we can." I thought these were honourable words and true, but Lagodir snorted his disagreement.
"I accept your offer," Ancthas said with a bowed head. "We are not accustomed to welcoming the aid of duvodiad, but our cause is dire: there is some sickness which pervades the very air around Lhan Colvarn these days. It causes my men to quickly fall ill, forcing them to abandon the fight."
"Why was your clan targeted from among all the others?" asked Nephyn. "The endless warring among the tribes is well-known even in my distant home, but I have never heard of anything like this happening before."
"Nor has it, until very recently," Ancthas said. "We were destroyed because we spoke out against the White Hand."
"The White Hand?" said Minasse. "Tell us more of this."
"Have you made it this far into Dunland and not seen them?" he asked. "Perhaps they do not go about everywhere as boldly as they do in the southern reaches -- Men and Orcs and half-orcs bearing the sign of a ghastly White Hand upon a sable field. It is the mark of some higher master which they serve, and they work to unite all the clans of Dunland under their banner. My people refused to be swayed, and we have paid the price for that refusal with our blood. We had thought our near-extermination was enough, but then the abominations appeared like a curse come to life in our midst."
"The White Hand serves a higher master, you say?" said Gaelira. "Have you any idea who that might be?"
"There are many theories," said Ancthas, "But personally I suspect the Wizard Saruman."
"This is outrageous!" Lagodir burst out. "Saruman the White is a true ally to both Gondor and Rohan. It was Beren, the nine and tenth Ruling Steward of Gondor, who gifted him the Key to Orthanc for the very purpose of keeping your people out of our lands. You seek only to sow discord among your enemies, Dunlending!" Ancthas stood to his full height and laid his hand upon his sword-hilt.
"I believe I have earned more respect that this for saving your hides," he said, his teeth set on edge. "But I would fight you all alone rather than stand here and be called false to my very face." Lagodir looked ready to oblige him, but Minasse leaped between the two.
"A thousand pardons, good Ancthas!" He cried. "My companion speaks only out of the long enmity which has festered between your people for many long years. Yet we can see there is suffering enough and to spare among your kin, and we should combine our strength in resisting this evil. I apologize on my friend's behalf." Here, he gave Lagodir a withering glare, but the Gondorian only turned his back and walked off a short distance, alone.
"If what you say is true," Minasse went on, "Then it would be grave news indeed, and our allies would wish to know of it. Saruman is held to be both powerful and deep in the counsels of the Wise. What proof can you give us of your suspicions?"
"Little enough, I fear," Ancthas admitted. "Only that there is no other power anywhere near this region which would stand to benefit from raising the clans against Rohan, seeking war and worse to come. Too many of the tribes readily hearken to such lies, and the White Hand has agents throughout the land, filling their ears with poison. I myself have no patience for this -- I do not believe my kinsmen will ever again inhabit the plains of Rohan while its people endure. I bear no love toward the forgoil, but we will gain nothing through war, only more death and continuation of our long sorrow."
"You speak as one far-sighted," said Gaelira, "And we would be honoured to assist you in whatever way we can. But for now the Moon rises and our Company is in need of rest. I fear we will not be able to follow you if you are resolved to return to your men this night." But Ancthas shook his head.
"The road is still long from here to Lhan Rhos where my people fight the abominations, and the swamp slows any sojourn. No, I will remain with you tonight and tomorrow I will lead you through the fens."
This ended our eventful day, although the tension in our Company continued to reach new heights. Everyone seems to be on edge: I have largely kept to myself since Nephyn has been very withdrawn all evening. The Elves have gone off on their own, speaking together in their soft tongue, while Drodie snores loudly nearby. Ancthas had patrolled the perimeter of camp a while back, but I noticed he steered well away from Lagodir, who still hasn't rejoined us even now that we have a small fire going. Tomorrow may bring a difficult trek through a mucky swamp, but right now it feels like we are becoming mired in something far worse.
No comments:
Post a Comment