This page hosted by
Get your own Free Home PageEast of Amon Ereb, F.A., 17 years after the Dagor Bragollach
The rider stopped his frenzied march. The heavy war-horse exhaled large clouds of hot air and stroke the hooves on the frozen ground, complaining for a brief moment. In front of them the fast Gelion chanted its might, now joined by the first melted snows from the Ered Luin. Cold mists were swelling over the great river and the trees beyond. A freezing blow lifted the rider's colorful cloak and reached deep inside the tall elf, producing metallic sounds on his rich armour. The warrior shivered and so did his mount. Worried, he beat gently on the horse's neck with his silver gauntlet, "Hold, my friend. Hold. On the other side lays our destination, the Realm of the Seven Rivers. You will have all the food and heat you desire.". Another cold breeze was born and the elf spurred his powerful war-horse once more...
***
Southern Belegaer, T.A. 2958
"Eargull, drop the sail. Now!", cried the bad tempered captain.
"It's stuck, sir.", shouted back the young Corsair, fighting with the canvas
in a very precarious position.
"Damn this... nobles.", cursed Margus Bloodeye to his crew amusement.
The unskilled man in the main mast blushed with anger, his hand reaching for
a fine steel dagger.
"Watch out your grip, young Eargull! Or you'll serve a... noble meal to the
N'gurth!", shouted Bansahli, one of the Haradrim sailors. Among the remaining
crew burst an amused roar.
The eyes of the young Corsair threw spears of rage but they broke apart as
they met Bansahli's laugh. He blushed even more as he had to loose his hold
from the dagger's hilt when a small wave crashed against the vessel's hull.
Another sea-seasoned Haradrim shouted, "You're right Bansahli! Look, the
N'gurth will also have a Hot meal... A nice red pepper! Ah! Ah! Ah!". Now all
sailors in the boat, even the captain, were grinning at the boy, laughing and
mocking his temper.
This was too much for the young Corsair. In a fast movement, he drew his dagger
and threw it at the fat Bansahli. A sudden silence felt on the deck as the
sailor went down, a dagger clenched between his neck and shoulder. While the
man grasped for life, the dagger got lose from its prey and flew up to the
boy's hand to the even greater bewilderment of the crew.
The cold whim of Margus watched impassively his sailor agonize. Slowly, he turned his eyes up and stared the frightened boy. "Bring him down, Algarah.", he ordered, his eyes fixed on the boy's.
As the broad sailor climbed effortlessly the rope ladder, Eargull panicked and threw himself into the sea. "The fool!", shouted the captain. "Stop the boat! Get him! Quick, you lazy jackasses!".
His orders were rapidly followed, but the last rays of the setting sun were already leaving the dark sail, that trimmed when the ship's bow turned against the wind.
Half an hour slipped away while the Harad vessel unfruitful searched the
waters for the Corsair.
"He must have broken his neck. The bastard!", ranted Margus.
"Captain, we must proceed. The night is falling. We can't loose the tide or
everything can be put to risk!", called Algarah.
"Arhgh! Damned the Fool and his aristocrat father! Now, he will chase me!
He will want my head served at his golden table!", despaired Margus.
"Now, capt'n, this is a risky trip, right?", smirked Algarah.
Margus gave a blank stare to his aide. Then, more calm, he wrinkled back.
"You'll make it so, won't you my loyal friend?"
***
An arrow burst from the white foliage and struck the ground in front of the big war-horse. The rider used all his skill to restrain the intelligent creature while drawing his broadsword. From its blade, runes glimmered in the dark and projected the colours of the moon on every tree trunk. A sudden quietude held for a long time. Behind his full helmet, the Sindar warrior waited his doom.
Suddenly, a slim elf dressed in white and grays appeared from above, shortly
followed by three others. The horse traced back a few steps, while the rider
held his weapon high.
"Withhold your moon weapon, Warrior of Fate!", the slim archer said.
"Who challenges the way of Turglin, envoy of Elu Thingol?"
"Cuthalion I am, captain of the Frontier Owls. I'm sorry to delay you, my
Lord, but you ride like a ghost."
"Warrior of Fate indeed, as Fate is my master. But not a ghost, yet. I am on
the most urgent quest for Barad Nimdol and I will make it with or without the
help of the sons of Lenwe."
"The Lady of the Woods is aware of your quest, Lord Turglin. She saw your
needs and sent us. Come, we will lead you..."
***
"Damned, that vicious bastard!", repeated once more the sun beaten captain.
From his watching position on the prow a sailor called out, "Rocks ahead,
captain!".
"Half starboard, Khunfah, then align to the Scyrus star", ordered Margus
quickly.
The seasoned wheelman followed efficiently his captain's orders. The fast
Harad ship gave a small screech when the maneuver stressed its hull. Fearful
eyes looked to the captain, but his stillness appeased them.
"We lost too much time with the boy.", expressed Algarah, "We cannot
overcome the rocks in the night, capt'n. Better to drop anchor and wait for
the next tide, I say."
"Do it as I order, Al!", busted furiously Margus, "And I order you to give a
hand on the prow and test your lookout skills."
Algarah, didn’t like his captain's mood a bit and even less his unexpected
dismissal as the second in command, but he just looked blankly at Margus.
"NOW!", shouted Margus, closing the distance to Algarah and grasping the hilt
of his curved blade.
Fuming, the Haradrim sailor turned his back at the captain and strode through the frightened crew to his new post, mumbling to himself. "First he calls me loyal friend, then this! Just wait, old rascal!".
"Low waters!", cried the prow lookout as Algarah joined him.
"Fold sails! Men to the rows!"
A frenzied activity urged from the crew.
"Can we make through?", cried the captain to the prow lookout.
"For now, sir", shouted back the sailor, "but not if we linger."
"Can you see the Island?", asked Margus to the mast lookout.
"No sir, it's too dark but there's fog to the south, sir."
We must be near, thought Margus. "Head for the fog, Khunfah!".
"We will strand there captain! It's too shallow!", cried back the prow lookout.
"Just look for a corridor!", ordered Margus. "There is one...", he added.
***
Turglin pushed the double mithril doors that opened without effort or sound,
giving way to the highest room of the Barad Nimdol, the Tower of the White
Head. In the center of the round chamber he saw an elven child, seated and
bounded in deep concentration with his arms stretched to the open windows.
As the doors closed at the rear of the newcomers, a breeze left the trees
below, crossed the windows and thrust an invisible fist against the small
spring that laid behind the child. Thousands of little perfect crystals fell
on his long hair, making him raise both hands high above it.
"Meneldor", whispered Cuthalion to the Sindar warrior.
The young elf clapped his hands and a sound of breaking wood was heard...
***
The hull ranted.
Margus had been using the waves to jump over the higher reefs, but the
tide was getting dangerously low. Still, no land could be perceived in
such a dense misty night. The crew had been muttering for some time about
their captain's sanity. Algarah rose, alarmed but also tired of his position
at the prow and still mad at the captain. "Captain, we'll strand here! Turn
around and head for the corridor again. It will be morning in two hours. We
can try again with full light, tomorrow."
"Get to your post, Algarah! We missed the end of the corridor because you
behave like a sleeping dog! There's nothing we can do now. But we are near,
I'm sure!"
"Near? So why don't they send us the beacon tower's signal? Damn you! We're
lost, and we'll sink.", cried back the broad Haradrim.
"Not if you get to your post, you son of a desert viper!"
The captain's cold eyes caught the faintest signs of mutiny among the crew.
The situation was getting out of hand. They should have arrived, he was
sure. They had to. But the fool Algarah had a point. Why didn't they send
the signal? They knew they were coming tonight...
Distressed, the prow lookout watched the verbal fight between the two men.
The ship became blind for a moment. But it was enough. The next wave brought
a big crack to the vessel's hull. Among the shattering planks, loose cargo
and screaming sailors, a bewildered captain shouted ignored orders.
***
Meneldor burst out silent words, and a peaceful stare emerged from his young
face. Turglin started to step towards the boy but Cuthalion stopped him.
"He won't awake. And he does not know it..."
The warrior gave a thoughtful look at the archer guard, but said nothing.
A strange song could be heard in distance, but the elves found the language
strange and the tune displeasing.
Suddenly the young stood up and turned around. His eyes spread the terror
that filled his being. The clear sound of steps on sand filled the room.
Meneldor drop senseless and the sounds faded away...
***
Algarah pushed himself up on the beach. The morning was well grown. The sun was shinning in a cloudless sky over the land, but to the sea a misty ring veiled the beach from any vessel. The Haradrim was ragged, alone and completely exhaust. He seated on a rock for some time, wandering about his situation. Then, he fell asleep.
Much later he awoke with a sudden shiver. The day was almost done, the
temperature falling quickly. The sailor stood up and noticed a wheel track
for the first time.
"I must be near!", he said aloud, "The capt'n was right!".
He climbed quickly a large rock, his heart pounding hard. On the top he
eagerly scanned around. Tall, heavy trees surrounded completely the beach
and grew for great expansions of green, as far as he could see. Only a few
scattered brown hills broke the luxurious setting, but far to the south he
watched the setting sun touch the side of a great mountain and turning
it aflame. The reddish tone expanded over the trees and his gaze traveled
eastwards. Then, he saw it clearly. Yes, it was the beacon tower, with a
flag playing with the faint wind, he was sure. The southron danced all his
way down, while chanting a Haradrim song of courage and hope. He gave a big
last jump from the rock and fell over, still laughing. As he rose his face
from the white sand he saw a pair of boots in front of him. He looked up,
completely bewildered.
"It can't be!", his eyes went wide with the pressure of a despaired scream
that started to take form under his dry tongue.
"NOOO!", he released it...
Back...
Get your own Free Home Page