Sterday, 20th of Wedmath, Year 1417 Shire-reckoning
Somewhere in the Enedwaith
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| Nar's Peak |
It was dark. My chest was seared with pain. I coughed and wretched. Every fiber of my being shook with freezing cold. I could hear nothing and see nothing -- the only sense available to me was pain, and it seemed to well up from my frozen heart and spread to every extremity. I felt myself being lifted, but I knew nothing of what was happening to me.
Blackness took me once more.
When I opened my eyes again I shut them straightaway. The brightness hurt. I slowly became aware that I was no longer violently shivering and in fact a gentle warmth was stealing over me. I moved slightly and felt the rough scratch of wool against my skin.
A blanket.
And the brightness I saw, that must have been fire.
With an effort, I forced my eyes to open again. I made sure to look away from the source of the light and, ever so slowly, my eyes began to adjust. Through the blur, I gradually recognized my surroundings: I was lying down in the little cave we had discovered what must have been days ago. It was night, and the light of the campfire was flickering off the stone. Then I heard the soft patter of rain and the gentle roll of thunder. A storm. I suddenly realized that my companions must have somehow rescued me from the raging river and brought me back to our camp. I wondered how long ago that must have been; I must have very nearly died in those foaming waters.
"What day is it?" I breathed, trusting one of my friends was nearby.
"It is Sterday, Padryc," said Gaelira's voice from nearby. "I am overjoyed to hear you speak. Do not try to --"
"Sterday?" I echoed. I rolled myself over to face her, but sharp pains fired down my back and I quickly gave up the effort.
"Ow!" I groaned. "You mean I have been lying here a week?"
"No," said Gaelira, and she re-positioned herself in front of me. "It is Sterday the 20th of Wedmath; that is to say, it is tomorrow. To be more precise, it is five hours since we retrieved you from the river, which happened at roughly the third hour before midnight, now two hours past."
"You can't be serious!" I said, but I was too weak to put much emphasis behind my words. "Just five hours! What on earth happened? And why do I feel as if a boulder has landed on my chest?"
"You really ought to rest," the she-Elf admonished me, "But I will tell you what transpired so that your mind will be at ease and you can focus on recovering."
I felt my head clearing a little as Gaelira scooted closer to me. It was rather cramped in that small space, but I allowed myself to enjoy what felt at the time like relative safety.
"You may recall that I had gone ahead to try and find a spot where we could cross the river last night," Gaelira said. "I found what I sought and was headed back when I heard the sounds of fighting. I made haste, but I came with caution, for I knew not what had happened. When I finally reached this spot, I saw from a distance Minasse and Drodie battling Izarrair with great ferocity. I hurried to come to their aid, though I knew I would be of little help what with my wounded arm. The thunder and lightning was still fierce at that time, but Izarrair must have seen me coming for he cried that The Elf-witch will not save you, or something to that effect. Then he delivered a spinning kick to Drodie's face which knocked him unconscious and engaged Minasse spear-to-spear (for he had taken one from the Dunlendings they had defeated earlier). The battle continued as I sped forward, but then Izarrair disarmed our friend and used his shield to drive Minasse backward off his feet! My heart leaped into my throat -- Minasse was weaponless, Drodie was senseless, and of you I could see no sign. I raced on as fast as I could, but already Izarrair was closing in for the kill. Then suddenly inspiration struck: I drew my family sword, called to Minasse, and flung the weapon at him with all my might! He caught the handle, rolled out of the way of Izarrair's attack, then delivered a driving thrust into his shoulder. Izarrair withdrew, badly wounded, and fled from us without so much as a parting insult."
"Then you must have really dealt him a solid blow," I said with as much enthusiasm as my aching body could muster. "Well done! But what happened next?"
"Minasse was hale and Drodie, despite having a rather sore head, was otherwise unharmed," Gaelira went on. "I took the Dwarf and we went in search of you immediately. We had to outrun the swift current and pick our way west among the rocks near the waterfall, but we soon found you washed up on the bank. You had no outward signs of life, but Drodie surprised me then: he rolled you over and delivered several pounding thumps to your chest and back, at which point you began coughing and spitting up large amounts of water. Eventually it became clear you would live, though you were chilled to the marrow, so we brought you here. The rain finally came as we were carrying you to this spot, but fortunately the storm turned out to be much less powerful than it had appeared last evening."
"And where did Minasse go? And what happened to --" I froze in terror. Where was Nephyn? Before my eyes flashed the horrific sights I had seen of Izarrair's spear driving into her torso while her screams echoed in my ears. I suddenly felt as if the two large stone slabs that formed our little refuge had collapsed and crushed me beneath them. Gaelira must have read these thoughts in my face because she quickly reached out a calming hand and laid it on my forehead.
"She has not passed, little Halfling," she said. "She is here with us, though she will not recognize you for the time being -- we had to use some of your more potent drugs to calm her. Look."
I turned myself over to see despite the pain. There was Drodie sitting just outside the cave and I wondered for a moment why he was exposing himself to the rain, but I quickly saw the reason. Nephyn lay on the ground just behind me and Minasse was at her head. Between myself and the huntress being prostrate, our little haven had no more room for the Dwarf, but just then I had eyes only for Nephyn; she was asleep or unconscious while Minasse was working on her left shoulder. Her entire upper body was covered in bloody rags and her skin seemed very pale to me. Then I realized that Minasse was sewing: he was stitching closed a nasty-looking and very deep wound which had been driven into her upper shoulder. In spite of the gruesome visage, I knew right away that she was not mortally wounded for the gash was far too high to have pierced her heart or even a lung, although from the mess it was clearly still a grave injury.
"She will be fine once Minasse has finished tending her," Gaelira said, seeming to read my thoughts a second time. "When we were finally able to come to her aid she had lost a great deal of blood and we feared the worst. But Minasse told me the tale of how you saved her life."
"I...?"
"You stabbed Izarrair with the dagger of Mallacai just as he was preparing to deliver a death-blow," said Minasse as he continued his work. "That caused his stroke to go wide, into the shoulder and not into the vitals. She has suffered a fractured bone in the shoulder here and, as Gaelira said, she had lost much blood ere we could reach her, but she will live. What she needs now is rest -- as do you."
"And what of Izarrair?" I asked, ignoring Minasse's advice. "Was that the end of him?"
"I do not know," said Gaelira with a sad shake of her head. "We did not pursue him, of course, and it would have been useless to try once the rain had come in any case. I suspect he recruited a handful of malcontents from the nearby village with a promise of coin then trailed us, waiting for his opportunity to strike. With Lagodir and Ancthas headed south and myself very foolishly having gone to scout ahead, we presented Izarrair with just the opening he desired. We should all the grateful things turned out no worse than they did."
"Let us hope your words do not prove ill-fated, Gaelira," said Minasse suddenly. "What do you make of this?" The High Elf had withdrawn something from Nephyn's shoulder and washed it clean in a small basin of rain-water he kept nearby. He held it up for us to see -- the thing glinted and flickered in the firelight as though it were glass, but its surface was black and highly polished. I gasped as I recognized a portion of the spear-head wielded by Izarrair.
"Good heavens!" I exclaimed, "What a dreadful thing that is! You don't suppose...?" My mind was racing with all manner of wild ideas about poisoned blades, and worse; the sorts of tales one hears did not bear repeating. But Gaelira shook her head as she examined it.
"No, Padryc, I do not think this weapon was tainted in any way," she said slowly. "I feel no aura of evil about this shard, nor has Nephyn shown any signs of poisoning. But the nature of the blade intrigues me: it is not iron, nor is it steel."
"Not since the First Age have I seen its likeness," said Minasse grimly. "It is obsidian. The favoured captains of Angband might be seen carrying obsidian weapons when they raided the borders of Doriath in the winter."
"And what does that mean?" I asked. I had never so much as heard of obsidian before.
"Obsidian, Padryc," said Gaelira, "Is not generally effective in a weapon for it is too brittle in its natural state. However, when refined properly and with great skill, it can create cutting edges of extreme sharpness, if not precision. This is not overly surprising to me since obsidian weapons have been seen among the forces of the Enemy since the Elder Days -- however, they are quite rare. They are not easy to craft and were typically only given to those high in their masters' favours. Moreover, obsidian can only be formed in areas of extreme heat. It was said the Dwarves had developed methods for its creation, but they never practised the art overmuch, for they bore no love toward the dark and sullen colour. Outside of their smithies, then, the only place one might find obsidian -- certainly the only place one would find it occurring naturally -- would be in the wake of an active volcano. And there are certainly none of those in the North of Middle-earth."
"You mean," I started, "You don't mean..."
"I think we can safely assume," Gaelira said quietly, "That this weapon came from Mordor." There was a low and ominous rumble of thunder somewhere off in the distance.
"Then it seems we have had a narrower shave than we first realized," said Drodie from outside where he had sat, unnoticed, all this time.
"My thoughts exactly," said Gaelira as she leaned back against the stone, "And we are all quite fortunate to still be here. Izarrair may have called Amarthiel his mistress, but he did not come here from the North -- from Angmar. And there is something else which troubles me: no matter how long I puzzle on it, Padryc, I cannot make out why he would be so interested in you. I mean no offence, of course," she added, "But quite aside from the obviousness of the higher bounty for your capture, we saw that Izarrair was willing to fight two opponents with one hand in order that you should remain his captive."
"No offence taken," I assured her, "But unfortunately I've not the slightest idea myself."
"You are certain there is nothing?" she persisted, and I was rather taken aback by the earnestness in her voice. There was almost an accusatory insistence, as though as I was deliberately withholding useful information from her. "Nothing at all?"
"Absolutely not!" I replied, and I can't deny that the second time I was feeling slightly offended. "Unless ol' Izzy is truly desperate to get his hands on the world's best recipe for blueberry turnover -- because I promise you that's all I possess worth having -- then he's definitely got the wrong hobbit!"
"I wonder?" mused Gaelira. "Perhaps he does have the wrong hobbit? Perhaps he thinks you are someone else? But why would any Halfling be of interest to Mordor? Ah, it must remain a mystery for now, I suppose. In the meantime, we should all get some rest -- tomorrow may prove to be a trying day."
"How so?" I asked.
"Nar's Peak," she said. "It is a tall mountain just north-east of our current position and it is there I expect to find Zudrugund, the ancient Dwarf-library of old. Assuming the weather clears, we must make our way up that mountain in order to reach the library, and the path is not a short one."
"Won't that be too strenuous for poor Neph?" I said, "She looks in a terrible state."
"We shall see," was the only answer I got. I took that to mean the conversation was ended, so I promptly curled up and tried to go back to sleep. I positioned myself so that I could see Nephyn, though, and I kept watch over her for quite a while as Minasse carefully cleaned and dressed her shoulder. Once or twice she muttered something inaudible as she slept and each time it happened I confess I jumped a little with excitement at hearing her speak, but soon this ceased to occur and I knew she was very soundly asleep indeed. It wasn't long before I joined her myself, lulled into forgetfulness by the soft tinkling of raindrops on Drodie's armour as he kept watch at the entrance to our campsite. The lightning would still occasionally tear across the sky and thunder would rattle the ground on which we slept, but there, huddled together around our little fire, we persisted. The storm had burst upon us, but by some miracle we had survived it.
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