Sterday, 29th of Afterlithe, Year 1417 Shire-reckoning
Maur Tulhau, Somewhere in the Land of Enedwaith
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| A hobbit-house in Maur Tulhau |
Our Company had made camp well outside of bowshot from the walls of the Algraig settlement of Lhanuch in the midst of the Enedwaith -- in fact, we had pitched our tents in a small copse of trees off the eastern side of the Great North Road, so it was a good ten-minute walk to its gate. Having agreed to not bed down among the suspicious natives, we decided it was best to keep a respectful distance. I, for one, was perfectly happy with the arrangements given the welcome we had so far received in that land.
It was after midnight. Dark clouds had suddenly rose up from the West and thunder rumbled ominously in the hills, but it sounded to still be some ways off. I had been tossing and turning in my blankets for hours, unable to sleep: the wind had risen again and howled in the rocky crevices of the plains while the tree-branches above us creaked and groaned as they were tossed about.
Finally, I could stand the din no longer. As I rose and began to walk about, I saw Lagodir was asleep (ever since the destruction of Guloth in Rivendell I had noticed he could sleep through anything) while Gaelira was perched partway up a tree as she observed the gathering storm.
"I think I could do with a quick stroll," I called to her, nearly shouting to be heard over the noise of the weather.
"You ought to be sleeping," she answered me.
"And who could sleep through this gale? Aside from him, that is," I deadpanned with a motion toward Lagodir. "I just need to move about, is all. I promise I won't go far."
"Nor alone," said Nephyn, who was suddenly beside me.
"And I might as well go with you two, too." It was Drodie. His head was bare of helm, but he wore still his armour and his axe was at his belt. "By the by, that's two as in the number, and too as in..."
"Yes, yes, we know what you meant," I said. "Well! It appears I've gathered myself a merry little troop. Still, I can't deny I'd be happy for the company. And that's company as in..."
"Oh, stop it!" Nephyn chuckled, "Or we'll never be off before the rain comes. Lead the way, Master Hobbit."
"And do not wander far!" Gaelira warned us. "Nor too near the gates of the village. Their eyes are not unwatchful, though perhaps you cannot tell from here."
We promised to do as she instructed, then I led the three of us away from our camp. I wasn't going anywhere in particular, but for whatever reason my feet took me westward, across the Road, and north of Lhanuch. We could see the bridge of the Araniant not far to the north on our right, and we decided to follow the river's southern bank a-ways to see where it might lead. After a short walk, we discovered ourselves overlooking an enchanting pool, fed by several thin waterfalls which fell into it from the nearby streams. That water had a secluded and tranquil feeling, so I lingered there and my friends remained with me. As we milled aimlessly about the place, we found an interesting obelisk planted into the hillside. Drodie was particularly fascinated by it.
"This would be a Dwarf-marker, sure as I live and breathe," he said. "You could never mistake the craftsmanship for aught else."
"That is true, certainly, but what does it signify?" asked Nephyn. "The pool is lovely, but it hardly seems the sort of thing that Durin's Folk would feel it necessary to memorialize."
"Ah, but that is where your lack of knowledge concerning the lore of my people shows itself," Drodie replied. "And this is not even very ancient lore: like as not what we see here marks part of the journey of the Dwarves of Erebor as they fled the desolation of Smaug and made their way to the Blue Mountains. It was told that hardship along that journey drove them far off the Great East Road, and they came to the Ered Luin by hard paths through strange lands that few have traveled."
"Well, that's a fitting description of this place, right enough," I said with a grimace. There was a silence as I looked out over the calm water, into the West.
"Aye, we've not exactly gotten the royal treatment here," Drodie agreed. "Still, seeing this gives me hope: it reminds me of Erebor that was lost to my kin, the long trials we endured to start a new life in the West, and the sacrifices made to regain the Lonely Mountain. Seeing this marker is like seeing a little piece of home and my heritage."
"Yes," I said quietly, but I did not turn my gaze.
"Padryc," came Nephyn's voice, "Are you really here due to lack of sleep?" I sighed.
"I miss the Shire," I said after a pause. "It's not that I want to turn away from you all, but... well, it's been a long time. And it's not even that, really, when I get down to it. This land... It's so, so different from anything I've seen before. I've always felt a bit out of place -- any hobbit would with everywhere we've been -- but I've never felt so... like such an outsider before now."
"Not even among the Elves in Rivendell?" she asked me.
"Yes, to be honest," I answered. "At least, I never felt unwelcome even if it was a bit awkward. I think that, at the barest bottom, I'm really truly homesick for the first time in a long, long while. Still, I'm sure this all sounds like nonsense to you, Neph, what with everything you've been through: you've never really been welcome anywhere you've lived or journeyed your entire life. I'm sure you'll tell me to tough it up, and you'd be right to do so."
"No," she said, and her face was solemn. "It's true, I've never really belonged anywhere, at least not yet, but why should I begrudge you the fact that you have? Feelings of loss can only come when one has something worth losing, but I am happy that you can still find what your heart will miss from time to time. Perhaps, one day, I too will have a home -- and the privilege to yearn for it."
"Aye, you cannot have one without the other," said Drodie. "Fifty-score, six, and thirty years it has been since Durin's Folk fled the halls of Khazad-dum, my friend, yet even now its memory lives in our songs and in our stories. Great anguish was wrought by the loss -- even still we feel it -- but that would never have been, were it not so dear to us."
'You're both right, of course," I said. "Besides, we must do whatever we can to clear up this mystery surrounding Luean and what befell him in Eregion. As melancholy as I might be, I feel I must at least see that through."
"You speak for me as well," said Nephyn with a smile. "But come! We should return to camp before the others start to worry -- I do not think they would forgive us if they had to come searching afield on a night such as this is shaping up to be."
The three of us made our way back the way we came and returned quickly to the copse of trees. As we arrived, lightnings began to crease the sky while the wind howled more fiercely than ever. We saw Lagodir was now awake and peering off into the East. There was no sign of Gaelira.
"Greetings, Lagodir," said Nephyn as we approached. "Where is Gaelira? And why do you watch that way when the storm approaches from behind?" asked Nephyn.
"Because I need not watch for the known dangers," answered Lagodir, his back still to us, "But for the unknown ones."
Curious, we followed his gaze. Some distance off we descried a dark and hulking shape which slowly became larger as it drew near. After a time, I saw it was a lone figure atop a horse, and both were arrayed in sable. The apparition's garb was soiled and ragged, but here and there I caught the glimpse of steel rings (as of chain mail) and I saw many spikes of iron protruding from his pauldrons, cannons, and couters. His face we could not see: it was hidden behind a grotesque mask of horns which gave him a monstrous look, but for all that I could see it was in the shape of a Man. His mount sauntered to within about twenty feet of our Company and halted, his eyeless mask betraying no thought or emotion.
"Hold, traveler!" Nephyn called to the towering shadow. "We are but a wandering company and wish for no quarrel. What is your business in this land?" The horseman halted, but made no sign or sound.
"Speak!" Lagodir shouted above the din of the weather. The horse swayed and flicked its tail, but still we received no answer. I cowered behind Drodie as the others drew their weapons. Only then did the masked figure give answer. His voice was sneeringly soft yet rough as iron, but it was indeed a Man and no Orc or wraith which stood before us.
"Ah, Elladan's Outriders -- erstwhile heroes of Eriador! I expected to find you sooner or later since word of your passage runs like a plague wherever you pass. My mistress told me you were arrogant, but even I did not think you were foolish enough to so brazenly declare yourselves with your filthy white cloaks."
"We have no fear of you or whomever holds your leash, slave," said Lagodir, "Fouler foes have we faced and bested than the likes of you."
"Is that so?" scoffed the horseman. "Such is not the tale as I've heard it. What of Brullug in Sarnur? Defeated, from what I understand, by a female out of the frozen North. Mordirith? Overthrown by the machinations of Guloth the Weakling. Guloth? Supplicated himself to my mistress before he was destroyed. Surely you don't think to count yourselves among those who threw down Thaurlach? Anyone could claim as much when they have an army in front of them as you did. Even Bleakwind the drake lives, though wounded, in the wastes of the Ram Duath. Ha! Some warriors. What do I see before me? Lagodir of Gondor I know already, for he was once our guest in Minas Morgul. That imbecile Guloth permitted you to depart our hospitality for his own ends, so be assured the fate he suffered was a mercy compared with what his ambition had purchased him in the Dark Tower. And this dark-skinned waif must be your servant-girl. I trust she keeps you warm on cold nights such as this, friend Lagodir -- such has long been the way among your fallen and decadent people, has it not? Debasing your once-noble lineage out of a desperate hope to propagate your seed?"
"Silence, cur!" Lagodir shouted as he raised his sword. "I'll not listen to more of your perversity!"
"Oh, I think you will," returned the horseman with a cruel laugh. "You know as well as I that your arm is weakened after its many trials, valiant Sergeant-at-Arms. Still, you have your companions, don't you? Behold: Drodie of the Mountains! Famous throughout the land for being quick at the elbow and slow of the mind! And cowering behind him I see his rat-footed Dwarf-servant. But dear me! It seems that, in your stupidity, you have misplaced your Firstborn-witch. Or perhaps she is hiding? That would be in keeping with the wont of her kind. What a merry little band!" He laughed again and reached for something hanging at his saddle. He held it up, and I could see it was a wickedly barbed spear, the blade forged of some dark metal. His mount took two steps forward, eager for battle, but the horseman checked its advance.
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to end your sad, overwrought tale here and now," he continued, menacingly. "Fortunately for you, however, there are more important matters to which I must attend. My mistress, Amarthiel, sends you this word of greeting: I have what it is you seek, and I await your pleasure to retrieve it. Guloth was nearly your doom, yet I am vastly more powerful; Even your pathetic 'victory' over him has only served to further my own designs. Face me, or die like the cowards you truly are."
"Amarthiel's threats do not frighten us," said Nephyn as she raised her bow, "Nor do the caterwaulings of her nameless thralls."
"Nameless?" the horseman echoed, and I could tell from his voice that he smiled behind his mask. "Did I fail to introduce myself properly? How careless of me! I am the Captain of Ered Lithui, Warden of Udun, Lieutenant of Carn Dum and Enforcer of Amarthiel -- I am Izarrair!"
"Never heard of him," Drodie growled. "Long on titles, short on deeds, I'll warrant, unless you'd like to hop your pointy-hatted self down here and prove otherwise."
"Soon enough, though it looks to be a long way down indeed, my stunted friend," Izarrair replied. "Know this: Amarthiel has plans for each of you, and so do I. I truly hope none of you meets their end before I finish my business and return to destroy you all myself. From the look of it, though, I would do well to hurry. I suspect the Dwarf-rat or the dark-skinned whelp will be dead ere I find you again, and so I take my leave. Fare-thee-poorly, my heroes."
With that, Izarrair spurred his mount right at us and we leaped aside in order to avoid being run down. The horse and rider quickly charged off toward Lhanuch, vanishing into the storm. Lightning ripped across the sky, thunder roared in the distance, and at last the rain came streaming down.
"What nerve!" I cried as I drug myself out of the mud-puddle in which I had landed. "First Inar and now this black chap -- for Heaven's sake, is there anyone left in all the West-lands of Middle-earth who's not hunting us down?!"
"Stooge of Amarthiel and thrall of Mordor," grunted Drodie. "I had always wished to be world-renowned as a Dwarfling, but this isn't quite what I had in mind."
"Indeed! Our success and notoriety throughout Eriador has come with a price, it seems," said Lagodir. "Still, we must not be discouraged -- the Enemy thrives on extinguishing hope among his adversaries, for only then is his victory truly achievable. I wish Gaelira were here; perhaps she could tell us more about this Man Izarrair. She said she would return within the hour, and that is now nearly up."
Gaelira did return shortly, as it happened, with her cloak raised over her head to try and ward off the rain. We hailed her as soon as she was within sight and she hastened to meet us, sensing that something was amiss.
"Greetings, friends," she said as she entered our campsite and shook the rain-water out of her hood.
"Yes, how d'ye do," I said mockingly. "Now, where the devil have you been?!"
"I only went to scout a path which, according to the maps I brought with me from Imladris, is supposed to lead to a fabled library somewhere up in the mountains surrounding Thror's Comb," Gaelira replied. "Why? Has something happened in the short time I was away?"
"I should say so!" I exclaimed, then the four of us proceeded to recount for her the entire episode with the dark horseman. She had never heard the name Izarrair before, and she had us tell her the entire story a second time, then asked us all several pointed questions about the encounter. She seemed particularly interested in what he thought of me, and had me repeat his exact words over and over.
"Are you getting some kind of twisted enjoyment out of his insults?" I finally asked her. "What is the point of my telling you this again and again?"
"I think," the she-Elf answered, "This Izarrair had never seen a hobbit before. I could be wrong, of course, but it seems plain to me that he did not quite know how to characterize you, and somehow I think this might be important."
"Well, I wouldn't expect his sort to know decent, respectable folk from a swine's slopping-trough," I sniffed, "Not if it would earn him a mountain of gold! But why should that be important?"
"Be that as it may," interrupted Lagodir, "This encounter has proven beyond doubt that we must take to concealment at once. We have been far too careless up to now."
"I agree," said Gaelira, who left my last question unanswered. "Furthermore, we must shun the road, though I fear doing so will slow our progress. Still, that cannot be helped, given tonight's events."
"And where, then, shall we go?" asked Drodie as he wrung the water from his beard.
"The maps of the Enedwaith I saw in Rivendell were largely incomplete and of little use," the she-Elf replied, "But I remember there was a forest in the west of this land, the Mournshaws, which may suit our purposes: it is broad and trackless, yet it seemed to me a way did exist to continue southward into Dunland, if we can find it."
"Mournshaws?" I repeated. "Oh, well, that doesn't sound ominous at all! Let's be off then, shall we?"
"There is a range of tall hills between us and that forest," Gaelira went on. "If memory serves, we will need to backtrack some distance and try to find a way leading west off the main road. Gather your things -- we shall waste no time."
"Oh, you...?" I stammered, "I was only joking. You really mean to set out at once? In this abominable weather?"
"I do," she replied. "It would be unwise for us to linger here a moment longer, and we are all in for a wet night, whether we are awake or not."
I couldn't argue with her logic and the Company was ready to move in two wiggles of a hobbit's toes. That was the most wretched night I could remember in a long while as we trudged northward, back over the Araniant, retracing our steps. The darkness and the terrible visibility made finding Gaelira's westward track nearly impossible, and it was some time before we finally found what we were looking for. Eventually, though, we sighted a muddy path which led west and very quickly began to climb up into the hills. It was shrouded in trees on both sides and very soon the wind and rain were lessened by their presence so that our situation became considerably less miserable.
Over time our path became a bit more well defined, but it also began forking repeatedly. Our choices were mostly to either continue west or to turn northward, but Gaelira consistently kept us on the westerly track, always keeping the rushing river to our left. After a while the way leveled off and the rain ceased, so our going became easier, but the trees also began closing in upon us and I started to feel rather confined. This continued for some while until, just when I thought I couldn't stand it any longer, we reached a clearing. The river still ran to our left, but just ahead it was shallow enough to ford and one leg of the path turned south while the other went north. Ahead of us, the track vanished into the grass and the forest was wild and overgrown.
"I think we have come far enough into the trees," said Gaelira.
"What now?" asked Lagodir. "Shall we take yonder southward road?"
"No," said Gaelira. "Not yet: Let us turn north and look for a spot to rest. That would be less expected, were anyone to be hunting for us in these woods."
By this time it was nearing foredawn and I wasn't sure how much further I could go before falling asleep on my feet, but I walked doggedly on behind my companions. The path north led into a labyrinth of hills and gorges, such that we were soon quite lost. All five of us tried to navigate those ravines in an attempt to shake off any pursuit, but the place was such a confusing maze of ditches, hedges, hills, and dells that very soon we were unable to find the way by which we had come. If anyone was tracking us in those woods, they would certainly have had a time of it! The soft light of day was growing in the East and we had just decided we would turn south and continue that way by any means possible when we suddenly heard the most incredible thing.
It was a flute. No one could have mistaken it for anything else, though there was a very bird-like piping quality about it. Someone was playing a spritely tune in welcome of the dawn! Without a word the five of us crept carefully through the underbrush in search of the musician, and it was not long before we had found him.
If I was surprised to hear a flute play in that wild and untamed forest, I was far more surprised by what I saw then. There, lounging on a hillock with his back to us (for we happened to approach from behind him) near a deep cleft in the rocky hillside was a little figure. He wore a wide-brimmed straw hat, rustic clothing, and no shoes. And there was thick, brown and curly hair upon his feet.
"It can't be!" I blurted out, heedless of giving us away. Instantly the piping stopped and the little figure jumped up, whirled around to face us, and whipped out a crude little stone dagger.
"Who's there?" he called. His face was rough and dirty, but it was round and kindly nonetheless, though just then it was also filled with fear. He spoke the Common Tongue, however he had the most peculiar accent I had ever heard in my life.
"We're friends," I called to him as I walked forward, hands up and palms outward in token of peace. "Just travelers who have lost our way in these lovely hills, and we'd be ever so grateful if you could point us toward the southward road. We'll just continue on our way and leave you be, although..." Here I peered closely at him and smiled. "I never thought to see hobbits in this land! A joyous meeting this is! Padryc Pemberton, very pleased to make your acquaintance!" And I bowed low, then proceeded to introduce my companions.
"'These be strange names ye give," replied the little fellow. "An' what's all this late 'bout hobbits? We be holbyltan here. Rhus am I, Rhus Cornchuthur, and ye've found yer way to the village of Maur Tulhau." Here, he pointed to the cleft in the hills through which (I now perceived) led a faint dirt path. "We hain't ne'er be trustin' of duvodiad -- Outsiders, that is -- but ye don' bear the look a' evil folk ter me. Ye're welcome to visit if'n yer o' mind, but I'll ask that ye present yerselves to th' mayor straight'way. Ye'll find Iolo up the path, near the village centre, I reckon. Now, yer pardon, but 'tis me duty to honour the Huntsman at the rise o' the Sun."
We entered the rock-cleft and left Rhus to continue his piping, though he eyed us suspiciously as we passed. Once through, we saw the path became straighter and more well-used. Then, after brushing aside some enormous ferns, we beheld a truly magnificent sight.
We were in a beautiful gorge through which ran the road we were on. It climbed over small bridges of stone, wound down among the rocks, then rose back again all the way up the hillside. And everywhere it went it passed by the most curious little houses and gardens. Hobbit-houses! A few were holes, not terribly different from Shire-holes, but the majority were actual low houses, all of wood or brick or delved right into the rock-wall. One could almost believe one had suddenly been transported away to some remote corner of the Shire, except here the gardens were all overgrown -- as if the foliage in this land was uncommonly large in its natural state -- and also several of the houses had more than a single storey, which would be quite unusual in my homeland.
"Look!" I cried as we passed one of the houses. "Look there! Why, shave my toes and call me an Elf, that's a field of pipe-weed, that is! And look! They are hanging it to dry and packing it in barrels for smoking later!"
"Why, so it is," remarked Nephyn, "Getting a bit over-excited, aren't we, Pad? Or have you smoked through your entire supply already?"
"No, no, you don't understand," I said. "The vaguest histories of hobbit-lore say my people traveled into the West of Middle-earth many, many years ago, but we did not settle the Shire itself until the year 1601, at which time the Shire-reckoning began. It had always been said that our ancestors brought pipe-weed with them on that journey, though it was used primarily for aromatic or medicinal purposes at the time. It wasn't for another thousand years and more when our tales say Tobold Hornblower first invented the art of smoking the stuff -- long after the migration was complete. Quite aside from the fact that these folk must be distant relations of Shire-hobbits (those as never completed the journey, I suppose), this proves that the art of smoking made its way back across the leagues of Eriador if they have learned of it here! Truly fascinating! I shall have to be sure and write it all down tonight; at last my journal shall have real historical significance!"
"I'm gratified to know our trials and efforts have not been in vain," smiled Lagodir, "If only to ensure the lineage of what in my country we call the westmansweed is thoroughly documented for posterity."
The denizens of Maur Tulhau shied away from us as we walked through their fair village. Not that I was surprised: from the look of things, I should have said they were a very isolated people indeed. Once we reached Iolo Brachtu (the mayor) in the centre of town, however, I learned that their stand-offishness could be attributed to more than just the oddity of seeing five outlandish travelers striding through their town in the light of a fair morning.
Izarrair had been there ahead of us. At least, if it wasn't him then there must be two of him, for the description we got from the mayor of the terrible Man which paid them a visit not hours before could be no one else. According to their account, he had threatened them at the points of his spear and javelin to tell him all they knew about hobbits and the Shire, and also whether they had seen any trace of some strange creeping frog-like creature for which Izarrair had no name. But the people of Maur Tulhau, though frightened, resisted him. And in any case they did not have the information he sought, at least not knowingly, for they call themselves holbytlan, not hobbits, and they knew nothing of the Shire. When they said this to Izarrair he cursed their uselessness, warned they should pray he never have cause to come there again, and bolted away into the forest like a raging fire.
"My people deal seldom with the Big Folk of any land," Iolo said to us, "But never before had we seen anything like that one. We will never submit, though we have not the strength to defeat him should he return, I think. You five feel quite different. I will allow you to remain here for the space of one day, if you wish it, but then I will demand that you begone: we know nothing of what goes on outside this forest nor do we wish to, and I will not have strangers bringing danger to my people."
We agreed to this request (or demand) full-willing, since it was sound and certainly justified. Once word of this arrangement went about, the inhabitants were much more accepting of us, but none of them would ask us to stay in their houses. It wouldn't have done much good anyway, as none but myself (and possibly Drodie) could even fit into their homes, but we preferred to remain together and so camped out-of-doors once more.
I am lying now in my blankets with the others around a fire near the well at the centre of town. Of all the things I thought I might see on my journeys I had never expected this! I just hope we have not endangered these kind folk and that Izarrair leaves them alone; it turns out our steps are being dogged, and not just by Inar and his lackeys. Perhaps Gaelira's wager that we will lose any pursuit in the dense forest of the Mournshaws will prove effective, but the fact that at least one of our pursuers has already passed this way doesn't bode well.
P.S. The name the Man gave us for himself he pronounced EEZ-are-ire, but my spelling of it is only a guess based on how it sounded in my ears. Neither I nor any of my companions were certain as to what tongue might have held its origins, so I may modify it later if I should acquire more information.
P.P.S. I also learned through discussion with one of the natives that Maur Tulhau translates into the Common Speech roughly as 'large hole' or 'great digging.' I find this captivating since that is the same (general) translation of Michel Delving, the chief settlement of the Shire. I wish I could spend more time among these, my distant kin but, alas, it simply isn't possible under the circumstances.
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