WARLORDS OF GONDOR

Scrying Reach

In the autumn of year 1639 of the Third Age of the world, a great storm wracked the oceans around
the cape of Andrast. In the storm two ships were caught, an elegant red vessel of the north, named
Elkin, and her pursuer, a sleek black craft of the south, the Blackness. Both craft ground on a wide
beach and were torn apart by the waves. Their goods and the bodies of their crews were spewed
upon the shore, but a few people lived.

Three young travelers from the Elkin, Thorgrim of the Eothraim, the Woodman Thegliorond, and
the Riverman Sevineye rowed the noble Lady they served ashore by night, and barely survived the
violent beaching. From the Blackness, the Pelaic traveler Caede escaped his imprisonment by the
pirates and was washed ashore still clinging to a barrel, and the crewman and fugitive Muradun
came ashore with the pirate leaders, only to be set upon and felled. As a calm misty morning
dawned, all five encountered each other as they searched the wreckage on the beach, hungry for
food and water. The northerners were by instinct suspicious to the southerners, and their hands
went to their blades, yet they found they could indeed communicate in the common speech, and
weary as they were, a kind of truce ruled. It was cemented when the pirate leaders returned and
tried to kill the survivors; together, the five slew the attackers.

Sevineye said that his Lady had arranged for another of her ships to follow in several days time,
and if it came by it could take them from that beach. It was a forlorn place, and this seemed the best
chance. In the meantime, they sought shelter, and the northerners, especially the Riverman, thought
their Lady still alive and wished to find her. Through the mist had been spotted a strange pinnacle
of rock further along the coast, rising seamlessly from sweeping cliffs. Some of them insisted it was
a tower of some kind – to the others it looked entirely natural. Still, they made their way through
the scrub to that place, and doing so found other tracks in the sand that they bethought to be the
Lady’s.

What followed was a strange interlude and afterward stood grey and ill-remembered in their
minds. They no longer tell of their coming to the little doorway of that great rock, of the welcome of
the doorman and his eight kin, all quiet robed men who spoke the common tongue like an old book
and who you did not notice til you looked right at them. Of the name of the place, Scrying Reach,
they do not mention, nor of its strange interior of many uneven chambers, dark libraries and
cloisters, the awful hall of dark carvings. And the great tapestry, shown to them by the men, who
seemed to think it was for that which the company had come; the tapestry from which came dull
vibrations and strange rumours. They rarely mention how they came to find the passages below

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Scrying Reach, spiraled down into the dark and slew some scrambling lizard thing which bit at
them, and how they then found the nine diseased bodies in the nine coffins, and so knew the nature
of the robed men. And, profitless, left that place, not to return.

The beach and scrub was their shelter, and they built a bonfire and eventually the ship did come.
The captain was shocked and suspicious about what had happened, and would not take them to
any haven, but would bear them only to the mainland of the cape of Andrast – for as they had
suspected they were now on an island off the cape.

Haerlond

They were borne to a miserable hamlet called Haerlond, overlooking a poor anchorage amongst the
cliffs of Andrast. The place was rundown and inhabited by a small number of fisher folk who spoke
strangely and showed no interest in the travelers. Taking an empty house, they took counsel. All
wished to go to Gondor, which they generally knew was east of where they were. They were able to
learn of a grand citadel further up the coast, Tharagrondost, and decided they would go so far
together.

Tharagrond

The journey was on foot, for horses could not be obtained in Haerlond. It was arduous. They
followed the Gondor Highway for six days by the coast. As they toiled they knew each other better.
They had to match pace as they marched through the day, they had to make and break camp
together, they had to consider the path when the road faded.

So it was that one afternoon they saw distant twin towers raised in the haze ahead. As the blue
water of a rocky cove curved into view, they beheld a solid hold of grey stone upon the cliffs at
water’s edge, its sloping walls surrounded by gardens and an outer wall. From the peak flew the
emblem of a black tower on a blue field. A party of men wearing this insignia met the group. They
were tall and dark and fit, and spoke with an accent that reminded Muradun of Umbar. They were
hospitable, and offered free lodging within an outhouse beyond the walls. Here the group was
comfortable and were appointed an elderly servant.

The palace was Tharagrond, an ancient place. They were part of the realm of Gondor, yet proudly
independent with their own prince and fief, and there were no other civilized men living on
Andrast. Parties of men on fine horses were seen riding by in rich clothing to the hunt, yelling in a
strange language. Sometimes ladies walked in the gardens or beyond the walls, but little attention
was paid to the group.

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Enquiring after employment, they were dealt with by the lieutenant, Sakalazim. After some days
they were offered the opportunity to deal with bandits upon the road eastwards. Sakalazim
mentioned that they were a threat to the gold supplies from Tharagrond’s mine when they were
transported by land. Agreeing, the group were permitted horses and a single cart, with seven gold
pieces and more money if they could provide proof of how many bandits they had killed along with
a sealed letter from Tharagrond at the next Gondorian authority they found.

Corsairs

Along that lonely coastline they met no soul, until the second day they saw men toiling to dig a pit
in the road. Unperceived, the company attacked. One of the men fell, the other was followed to a
camp where he tried to ambush the company with some others. But the company fought back the
ambush, led by Caede and Muradun, and prevailed in a desparate fight.

The dead, it seemed, were supplied by ship. They must have been those whom Sakalazim referred
to as the Corsairs of Umbar. There was a landing point and a boat at the base of nearby cliffs. Some
gold nuggets and other loot was claimed, as were the hands of the bandits to prove the deed.

The rest of the journey was as uneventful as the cost was featureless. Stopping in a fishing hamlet
one night for relief from a rainstorm, the five then reached the fortress of Farwatch, which stood at
the tip of a southward promontory. It was a strange and sprawling structure. The black flag with its
white tree, seven stars and crown was the first sign that the company were entering Gondor. The
place was clean and freshened by the sea wind, and the garrison wore immaculate armour and had
a noble bearing. Travelworn and dirty, the group presented the Tharagrond letter and were granted
some nights of abode, as well as payment for the bandits. Some members of the group came to
blows when they split the gains, yet they reclined that night in comfort, clean, secure, paid and fed.
This was Gondor.

Annulond

Their wanderings were far from over. Randir, captain of Farwatch, advised they strike northward
along the estuary of the river Lefnui to find the town of Annulond. After several more days on the
road, passing lonely beacon towers and two villages, the company crossed a long stone bridge over
the Lefnui and entered Annulond. It was a large settlement of several thousands of people –
artisans, craftsmen, transient herders and a few merchants willing to brave the roads. It had
cottages and huddled houses surrounding a wooden fort on a mound. This was their first
civilization for weeks. To the northern men it was a good enough place, and the locals did not speak
the Common tongue so strangely as those of the coast. For the southerners it compared poorly to
the jeweled cities of the south. For all this though, it was yet a foreign realm.

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The plague was everywhere to be seen; deserted houses, overgrown weeds pushing on the town all
around, the broad graveyards, scars on faces and hands, the stink of the disinfectant vinegar, and
the suspicion, fear, and paranoia of gazes cast upon the travelers.

In one of the inns, the Black Groper, they found lodging. A fair was being held, and the taproom of
the inn was filled with traders and folk from the lands around, taking the occasion to turn aside
memories of the plague. In the crowds the party could see there were two types of folk – the
ordinary townsfolk in jerkins and bodices, and the wild-looking men with long hair and
moustaches, little embellished but for tattoos and heavy bronze jewelry. There were some big men
by the fireplace, Northmen to the eye. Deep in their mead, one rose to challenge a quiet black-clad
man. A blade was raised but the north man was dead by the other’s bare hand. Many fled the inn,
the man and his friends disappearing, the Northmen too shocked to seek vengeance. When the
Gondorian sergeant of the town arrived, the travelers were briefly questioned.

They spent some days enjoying the distractions of the fair. The chief attraction was the sparring
ground. Thorgrim and Thegliorond came through best, Caede and Sevineye were humiliated. They
sold loot and spent the gold, eating and drinking, and sometimes talking with some of the local
folk. They learnt more of the land, which was a province of Gondor called Anfalas. There were
many rumours of revolt amongst people of the wilds, those of the Clans. Some of the best and most
forbidding opponents on the sparring ground were Clansmen, and they boasted of war between a
Clan called Dalben and another called Melingar.

There was a black tent at the fair, occupied by a quiet and clean people who likewise dressed all in
black – the very same as those from the inn. These were the Followers of the Orb. The southerner
Muradûn had some talk with them, and one of their women provided some healing for the bruises
of the sparring ground.

The group was yet directionless and lost as to what they might do. Already they had banded to use
their swords together as mercenaries, and it seemed a good enough way to pay their way to the
cities of Gondor. The Followers of the Orb required escorts for a journey to the lands of Clan
Melingar. But Thorgrim and Teg had met an impressive man called Ruel upon the sparring ground.
He was gathering a Free Company to travel to the northern mountains to escort shipments from the
mines. Securing places for the other three of the company, they elected to go with this Ruel.

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Ruel’s Free Company

The five sold their cart and saddled the horses they had purchased at the fair. The Free Company
was a patchwork of Clansmen, young and inexperienced townsmen, some hardy veterans, and ex-
soldiers. Everyone took care of himself. A boy called Letherbarrow soon befriended them.

They traveled not north toward the mountains but east a ways. After two days the travelers again
felt what it was like to shed blood and take a life. Ruel led the Free Company in a quick assault
upon a lonely ruin where bandits were holed up. He said they were sheep-stealers and ravagers of
women. The fighting was quick and dirty. The five joined a flank assault on some bandits concealed
behind a wall, rushing up a slope in the face of bow fire to take them had-to-hand. Afterwards the
Company feasted.

They turned north, and the days became rhythmic and each man of the Company found who were
his friends and whom he would avoid. Some days later they foiled an ambush laid by lawless
Clansmen at a wooded ford. Muradûn and Thorgrim and Teg rode in the vanguard to spring the
trap, and were hard pressed as they retreated as planned by Ruel. The fight was grim but Ruel
rallied the Company brilliantly. One man of the Company was lost. Meanwhile, other men of the
Company had gone around and torched the village from which the Clansmen came.

Thence they rode northeast; entering a wood that Ruel said was a hide for many bandits in these
times. Camping by night in a broad river vale, firelight was spotted across the vale and Ruel offered
gold to any man to bring him the head of a bandit from those encampments. Muradûn, Teg and
Thorgrim went into the night, but found the camps were mere travelers. Some Clansmen of the
Company had slain one of the camper’s sentries, and Thorgrim and Muradûn argued and fought
with these men. Outnumbered, they were rescued by the twins Roth and Jake, warriors of the Free
Company they had befriended. The gold was forfeit and the Clansmen disappeared.

The next day was hot and the Company was targeted by hidden archers. Ruel split the Company,
and the five tracked down and slew four brigands in the woods. Later, as Ruel led them against a
bandit hold, the five acted as a diversionary group and were attacked by five mounted men.
Retreating into the trees, they forced the men to dismount and were then able to have the upper
hand. It was bloody going, and Caede was lucky to survive a spear thrust.

Claiming some loot from the bandit’s lair, Ruel’s Free Company left the wood and tracked
westwards over open hill country. The five spent the night alone in a small wood they were
exploring late one day after being delegated advance scouts, and the next day met the fury of Ruel
as a result. The following day they encountered a troop of thirteen mounted Gondorian troopers
upon a hillside. The men were a fine and fearsome sight, although their captain was a stooping

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man, crow-like under black cape and black-winged helm. They were told this man was named
Malachi. He had some words with Ruel, this Malachi. Ruel appeared angered and frustrated, while
the Gondorian hunched calmly in the saddle. Then they rode away.

The Free Company changed course then, and late in the day as a rainstorm was gathering they
came upon a palisaded village upon a double hill; a Clan village. Ruel raised a hand to halt the
Company. Gathering the men, he told them this was a place that aided and succored the vile
warbands of Clan Dalben. It must simply be wiped away he said. Take away the homes and kin of
the warbands to eliminate them. He told them of the scourge of the warbands upon the once
peaceful lands, and soon the whole Free Company had loosened their weapons and were eager to
go forward. Teg argued though, and it seemed almost Ruel would strike him. Then as the Company
advanced up the hill, only Sevineye and Muradûn went on.

As the rain began to fall screams rose from within the village walls. Sevineye never entered the
gates. Only Muradûn saw what happened within, but even he rode back soon, and argued with
Sevineye. The Company was victorious, but two of its young warriors lay dead alongside the
women and children and old men of the village. Ruel had allowed no hand to be laid on the
women. It was the sword for all.

It was two days later that the outriders of the Free Company reported large Clan warbands ahead
and behind. A defensible site was found and camp made. That night, some of the five standing
watch overheard Ruel talking of making for some fords and reaching Clan Melingar. The forces
around, it seemed, were of the Clan Dalben.

The Message

The next day the surrounding Clansmen seemed to have swelled their numbers. The Company
waited, and Ruel looked trapped. Late in the day it was decided; messengers would be sent for help
to the Gondorians. Two would be sent, and for protection each would be carried by a group. The
five were chosen as one group. They were handed a scroll tube to carry to Brom, the Reeve of
Northwest Anfalas, at his garrison of Northmarch fifty miles northwest. The party accepted readily
the chance to escape. They had heard something of this Brom back at Annulond.

As daylight began to fade, they rode. They headed for forest cover a mile away, passing close to the
Dalben host. Soon after the other messengers would leave.

They had hoped the Clansmen would ignore such a small group, but instead they found themselves
driving their mounts across open ground with mounted Clansmen galloping behind. They made
the forest, which was thick and slowed them down. The pursuit did not fail and in the falling dark

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they heard the woods behind alive with war cries. After two miles the horses had tired and there
was little light left - they had to seek a hiding place. Inside a broad curve in the track a deep and
dark vale opened. They led their mounts down and hid far down in a gully within the vale. Soaked
with sweat and moist foliage, they waited. The Clansmen came, and seemed familiar with the place.
They streamed into the vale with torches and began searching. The party tensed and felt for their
weapons. Thorgrim’s hand met something on the earth – a sword of some form. The searchers drew
closer.

Then a scream cut the air, a scream of agony. The vale became a bowl of horror. The travelers saw a
huge shadow, flailing about and massacring the fleeing Clansmen. In terror they flew. Desperately
they took their horses back toward the path, but it was so dark, it seemed the creature was close.
They didn’t dare look back, but as they mounted heard the grunt behind. Recklessly they hustled
their mounts along that forest track, though the beasts needed no urging. Was that a thudding
behind, or merely their panicked heartbeats?

They made open ground and kept galloping by the moonlight. Eventually they stopped and rested
in shocked silence. They had cracked their scroll tube – it turned out to be empty. Together it
dawned on the party that Ruel had used them as a mere decoy, the other group must have borne
the only actual message.

Malachi

After such events, they passed an uneasy and haunted night. They set off south under crystal
sunlight the next day. Beside the highway they encountered a strange monument; a statue of four
Clans people holding a great stone block upon their shoulders. Upon the block stood another statue,
this a soldier of Gondor. A plaque was engraved with a map, and declared the boundaries of the
territory of Brom, Reeve of Northwest Anfalas.

Later in the day they spotted a distant troop of horsemen. The troop moved to intercept, and they
saw it was Malachi and his patrol. Halting, Malachi drew forth a scroll and read a formal warning
to all travelers to leave the region, for conflict seemed imminent. Then he seemed to recognize them
and asked of Ruel and the Company. The five told him what they knew, including of the empty
scroll tube. Then he suddenly announced they were under arrest for their actions whilst with the
Free Company. They were confused - they had witnessed Malachi and Ruel conferring days earlier,
surely they were allies?

There was no escape however as one of the soldiers attached heavy steel rings to the right wrist of
each man. Malachi said these marked them as enemies of Gondor, and could not be cut or undone,
being made of a high steel. Out of earshot of the troops, Malachi explained that he knew this act

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was not just or fair. But he had done it to shift a burden from himself to them. They were bound
now to fulfill a task; they were to find a sword. The sword was an ancient and legendary artifact of
the Clans, a symbol of unity and power. Were it to fall into the hands of the Clans, then they would
certainly rise as one against Gondor and the bloodshed would be great. But if it were found and
delivered to the Reeve Brom, then it could be wielded to make peace. If it were not found, then
some kind of revolt by some Clans was still likely, and Gondor was not now strong in Anfalas.

Find it, said Malachi, and deliver it to Brom. If they approached Northmarch with the sword they
would be allowed to leave free of the criminal binds.

But before he turned away, Malachi said one more thing. He told the five that there was a decision
to be made, one he had now passed to them and was glad to be free of. Get the sword, and ask
yourselves what you will do. Brood on it, for what you do from now on is on your consciences, not mine.
He said this with some satisfaction. As for the sword, he told them only that it had last been known
in the possession of one who had dwelt in a forest just north of where they stood.

Resting alone on the banks of the river Lefnui, the party was at a loss as to what to do. But Thorgrim
announced he believed he already had the weapon, and showed them the rusty old broadsword
with decorated iron handle that he had found on the forest floor the previous night. He spoke of
how he had dreamed during the night of battle at the head of an army of Clansmen, and awoken to
find the blade on his cheek.

The travelers could only accept this as truth, although they were all distrustful of such mysteries.

They discussed their action. Thorgrim believed Malachi’s decision was of whom to give the sword
to. Muradûn believed that Malachi had been afraid to give the sword to Brom because of some
consequence, but this conflicted with his loyalty to the Reeve. They determined to seek audience
with Brom and understand the man’s intentions. Next day they buried the sword and made for
Northmarch, which was close. Along the banks of the river Lefnui they found a place a wharf
guarded by a soldier. They were ferried across the river and met by a small escort. No move was
made against them despite the steel bands. They went along a straight path through low forest, and
then Northmarch was visible like a grey monument in the rain.

They were blindfolded and led on a long confusing trail through cool passages an curved stairways.
Eventually they were served a meal in an enclosed chamber, and then blindfolded led to another
chamber to await the Reeve. They noticed the room was a workshop of some kind, and found a saw
with which they could cut their bonds.

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A man entered the room. He introduced himself as the armourer, Hendun. He apologized that
Brom could not see them at that time. The five put to this man all that the lieutenant Malachi had
done to them. To their surprise, he offered no aid, and no judgment. He merely repeated that it
must be important for them to follow the task assigned, and feared what would happen were the
weapon not passed to Brom.

Dimissed, they returned blindfolded to the path and crossed the river. Frustrated and angry, they
determined to seek out those leaders of the Clans who may wish to possess the sword. Retrieving
the blade, they rode north and in a poor hamlet gained directions to a gathering of the Clans where
chieftains may be found. The gathering lay eastwards, at a ford across the Lefnui near a town called
Annogwain.

Wolves and Wierdness

The strange forest into which the Clansmen of Dalben had pursued them lay in their path, so they
skirted north to follow the riverbank. The weather cleared and that day and the next were good. On
the second day they were making their evening camp when they heard a distant howling. Wolves,
such as they had often heard in Anfalas. But the howls were heard again, closer. The horses became
agitated, and then the howls were closer again and more numerous. Hurriedly they packed, and as
they re-mounted heard the pack near in the thin woods. They made for the river and were pursued
all the way. They again had to ride recklessly upon terrified mounts, trying hard to stay in the
saddle. When they reached the river they were strung out. There at the edge of the water they stood
and fought as the wolves poured from the darkness. Teg and Sevineye almost fell under tooth and
claw but were pulled to safety in deeper water by their friends, who dragged an old raft into the
river and used it to cross with the horses swimming. Thorgrim did well fighting from his horse.

In darkness they crawled from amongst the mangroves on the opposite bank and found the land
rose thinly forested. They sought shelter as it began to rain and the wind rose. Gaining a hilltop,
they could discern upon the lands far ahead distant torch lights wetly glimmering, marching across
the landscape like a huge worm, and heard drums and horns. Going down slope, they found an old
tree-hut for shelter.

Their sleep that night was disturbed by noises in the trees around. As they all awoke, something
landed on the roof of the hut. There was a scratching sound as though the thing outside was trying
to break in. A rasping voice demanded “the sword! Give me the sword!” in strange Westron.
Muradûn thrust his sword through chinks and his blade met metal. But then the thing seemed to
go.

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Descending later to the ground to check the horses, Thorgrim suddenly took a stick and drew a
large man figure in the dirt, adding features with rocks and sticks. Sevineye and Muradûn sensed it
was ill and felt sickened. They halted Thorgrim and destroyed the image. Thorgrim awoke as from
a swoon, knowing nothing.

The Parley

Continuing in the morning, the travelers were surprised to find another river blocking their path,
and then realised that they were upon an island in the Lefnui. They found and old causeway by
which they may cross. Continuing in hill-country, they met with a party of druids of Melingar,
mostly half-naked and tatooed. With them were the warrior twins Roth and Jake. There humour
was gone. They were maimed, one eyeless, one earless. This was done by Dalben upon whom they
swore vengeance, but also they were bitter at Gondor for not aiding them when they were captured
in Ruel’s company. The head druid of this group talked with the party via a girl translator, and
showed particular interest in the story of the previous night upon the island. He brushed off the
party’s questions with talk of “an old one”. He invited them to accompany him to the gathering at
the fords.

Arriving at the gathering, the travellers were provided with their own tent. The location was a wide
ford across a broad stretch of the river Lefnui. Camped on the north side was Melingar, on the
south Dalben. The place was packed with warriors of each Clan and silent druids. All awaited the
commencement of talks between the chiefs. Wandering around, the party purchased some goods
from merchants and encountered Siabod of the Orb cult. He said he came to observe matters and
see the universe resolving. Otherwise he was not friendly. Deciding to seek out the druid,
Muradûn met him in a dark and incense-filled tent. He was wily and evasive in talk, giving away
little but learning more from Muradûn of the sword and their journey. In this he was greatly
interested.

Hearing that there were troops of Gondor in attendance, the travellers sought out these also. At a
white tent at the edge of the Melingar camp, they were able to have some talk with a sergeant called
Nimegil. He was cynical, dismissive of the Clansmen but wary of their might of arms. So isolated in
this foreign land, he placed much faith in the reeve Brom. Brom was a great general of the wars
with the Easterlings, he says. He wrote a text of warfare and was a formidable scholar. After the
Great Plague had emptied Anfalas of civilised men and returned it to the superstitions of the Clans,
it was Brom who led the Gondorian force to re-take the province and re-light the lantern of Gondor.
In bitter fighting he drove the Clansmen from the coasts of the dark land into the hills and
highlands. They surrendered and made treaties of peace with Gondor as he advanced. Nimegil
shuddered as he told of the shreiks and curses of the druids as the Gondorians forced a crossing of
the river Lefnui. In three nights of evil fighting, Brom finally re-claimed the keep of Northmarch for

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his seat, and the wildest Clansmen and druids took refuge from his vengeance, forced to lurk in the
vales of the surrounding mountains or deepest woods of Melingar.

They asked him of the sword. He knew of it and its significance for the Clansmen, but had no
reverence for it as the Clanners seemed to. For Nimegil had seen Brom himself draw the old blade
from the ancient elm tree - the Deeping Tree - in darkest Melingar which had held it for centuries,
in fulfilment of the lore that only the rightful bearer of the sceptre-blade could withdraw it. And
Brom had laughed, and the druids who saw it quailed. But Brom carried not the blade after that,
and the tidings of the deed were not born forth. Nimegil eyed them as if challenging them to tell
this tale to the druids.

The talks were held the following day. Gen-Gannemon, high king of Melingar, and Caratacus chief
of Dalben faced each other on open ground. The druid girl translated as the chiefs greeted and then
argued. They discussed the matter of Ruel and his free company. Caratacus said Ruel was
Melingarian and acted for Melingar against Dalben. Gen-Gannemon denied it. This went on long,
until both agreed that Ruel was Meligarian but his men were not, so therefore Ruel acted on his
own whim. The day ended.

By evening some of the party climbed the steep hill behind the Melingar camp. It was strange, being
made by the hands of men of stone blocks. At the summit was a great bell, guarded by warriors.
Later at the edge of the camp they passed a dishevelled and wild-eyed druid. As they passed, he
droned a verse:

Ware the worm which wakes

In Melingar, in deepest dream
It comes, our lusts to slake.
Hand invisible, eye unseen,
Crawl and slither and creep unclean.

Ware the worm which walks

In Melingar, by Druids lore
Our innocence it stalks.
With venging tooth and bitter claw,
To lead the dark and bring the war.

See bright stormbringer!

Lone alchemist from afar,
Our doom bell’s dawnringer,
Who melts the dark from ’tween the stars

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And crafts black gold in Melingar.

Upon the second day of talks Caratacus stated that if Ruel was not acting for Melingar then he must
have been acting for Gondor, so Melingar must ally with Dalben to rise against Gondor in Anfalas.
Gen-Gannemon must agree to attack Gondor or be attacked. Soon an impasse was reached; the
discussions broke down.

Tension was high. The party was nervous of the druids, fearing that they knew too much now of
what they bore. Plans of escape were discussed, to float down river until the forests were reached
and a raft could be constructed. But plan making was interrupted by a tide of excitement through
the camps as a prisoner was brought to the fords in a caged wagon. It was Ruel. He was bound and
incoherant. He babbled and muttered as some of the Clan warriors found sport in hurling river-
rocks and dung at him. Drawing closer the travellers alone understood his rasped Westron

Why have you forsaken me Brom? I was ever your good servant in all things. From the very beginning I was
your agent, your eyes in Melingar, your claw at Northmarch............Always faithful! And then.....your lure
for the worm! But am I to be so easily forgot? I shall tell all to the druids, I know their darkest tongues, a
thousand feet shall dance on your grave!

No, No, forgive me Brom, Reeve of Men.......I did not err.....lies. I took no pleasure, no, no thirst for blood,
every drop spilled spilt on my soul too. Forgive me, I thought only of your word..........and I was not of the
worm, I hoped only to see it, be by your side and see it......

They were able to do nothing for him now.

The Taking of Thegliorond

They found their injured companion Thegliorond was missing from the tent. There were tracks,
several people had entered the tent. But then a mighty horn blast quietened all thought before panic
washed over the whole camp. It was Orcagna, the wagon-born war horn of Melingar. All was chaos
as warrior and druid, Melingar and Dalben, decamped in minutes and take to their horses or heels,
all flowing north and west into Melingar. News reached the travellers - the druids of Melingar had
found the sword and were making for the Deeping tree, there to anoint the high king of all Clans.
The party soon mounted and followed the flow of men. They saw only one who was not headed to
the Deeping tree - Siabod. With great tremors in his voice -he declared he was riding to Northmarch
to take council with the leader of the Dark Orb.

The party took to the saddle and followed the stream of Clanners unrelentingly. Through the night
they overtook many of them. By day they entered a wood that soon became hilly. They saw fewer

12
and fewer others until they were alone and could find no tracks. Weary, they pressed on with
frustration, and by night spotted a campfire. Approaching on foot, the party found a camp of
people being terrorised by several warriors. The people they recognised as Orb followers; the
warriors were the three Northmen seen in Annulond weeks ago, along with two others, Clansmen.
They remembered how Siabod had struck down one of their comrades then. But he was absent
now. Spreading out around the clearing, the four launched an attack that surprised the warriors.
One of the Northmen was drunk and was taken easily. The others were distracted with taunts and
terrified by sudden attacks from the dark. The last man took heel into the woods.

Some of the people expressed gratitude, and even offered to let the party lie with their women. But
most seemed terrified of something, despite the passing of the threat from the northmen. One man
with a young daughter babbled warnings about ‘the worm’, although he seemed to be no madman.
Others talked of coming war with relish, saying how in strife the light of the Orb burns bright -
showing the light and the shadows more clearly. Despite this unsettling strangeness, the travellers
cooked there and camped with them. In the morning they saw off the Orbii and their cart, bound
southwards.

The Deeping Tree

They knew their objective, the Deeping Tree. The Orb followers had given them directions, and that
evening they found the landmarks that showed they were close. Cautiously climbing a slope they
saw through the woods on the other side that there was a great bowl-shaped vale, and within were
camped some thousands of Clansmen. They felt sure their friend was there.

As dark fell Muradûn and Thorgrim did what they could to make themselves resemble Clansmen,
and attempted to enter the great camp. The sentries were lax, but there were too many campfires
and they had to turn back near the edge. The party retreated to settle on the other side of the slope.

Come morning, Caede had new information for them all. By some means, of which he was evasive
and the rest were uncomfortable to know, he had entered that camp and at its centre found the
great growth of the Deeping Tree. Within the tree, amongst gaps between its many trunks, their
companion Thegliorond was chained. But even with this intelligence, they were unable to resolve
how to affect a rescue. But as they finally prepared for some kind of assault, they spotted a man
nearby in the woods, an archer stalking swiftly. They hailed him, and realised he was a Gondorian
soldier, and seemed very young. He would stop but a moment, and almost shot at them. He said he
was of the Young Guard, and something of a mission. As he headed for the Clan camp, they
realised some Gondorian attack was to take place.

13
From the lip of the vale they watched. On the opposite side a wedge of Gondorian troops advanced
suddenly into the Clan encampment. The Clansmen were terrified and unprepared, many fell and
others flew. Arrows came from the hidden archers as the Gondorians charged onwards. But the
numbers were overwhelming, and some Clansmen had their weapons and organised a line. But
already the party were taking advantage of the chaos. Unharmed they made for the tree. When
close they were surprised to see more soldiers of Gondor ahead – Malachi’s men, with Malachi
leading them. They had come from a passage below the tree. The party quickly found and freed
Teg. He was now lucid and insisted they take also a Clannish girl who was captive with him. They
went to escape by the way Malachi had come. Malachi was marshalling his men and preparing to
aid the other dwindling force.

He shouted at them. “I know you have the sword; the passage leads to the river Nimthond where
there are canoes, ride downstream to Northmarch. Give the sword to Brom, and ensure he is seen to
wield it.” Then Malachi and his men charged toward the Clan hordes.

The group dropped through the hole beneath the Deeping Tree to the passageway. The passage
followed a stream. After ten minutes they saw the end and the river beyond. But outside waited a
clutch of Clansmen and a hawkish druid. Speed was essential, so the party attacked suddenly and
recklessly. Teg fought bitterly, Sevineye went down for some moments to a harsh blow, saved only
by his helm, and Muradûn was almost maimed by his own great blade. The Clansmen all fell, but
the worst was this; a Clansman leapt behind the group and suddenly and savagely felled the girl.
Teg had said her name was Tenblumendel. He held her corpse, and the others had to make him
leave with them.

Across an arching narrow stone bridge the canoes were beached. One was adequate, and as they
pushed off to be grabbed by the current, more warriors arrived at the opposite bank.

Northmarch

The river Nimthond flowed swift and cold and took them rapidly onwards, with little effort by
themselves. They rested in the canoe amid the peace of the waters and wilderness, and camped that
night upon the western bank, hidden away from Melingar across the river. They had lost almost all
their rations with their horses, and so went hungry. Sevineye found some berries the next morning,
but that was the best they could scratch from the land.

The next afternoon they spotted three men upon the riverbank – it seemed like a druid and two men
with bows. The men raised their bows, but the party confused them with shouted greetings in a
Clan tongue and paddled swiftly by.

14
By dusk they spotted a light ahead and the unmistakeable thrust of the tower of Northmarch from
the landscape. Here the Nimthond merged with a great bend of the river Lefnui, and Northmarch
commanded the fork. Before the fork, part of the Nimthond was channelled off to water the tower,
and in this stream they beached the canoe and proceeded upon foot.

The tower was mostly darkened, and there was little light left in the day to perceive it clearly. It
stood high and proud upon a raised rocky mound, and its stonework was ancient and in poor state.
Behind it, attached like a child was a lower oblong structure. Strangely, from the top at the front of
the tower grew forth a great tree, stark and leafless.

The outer defence was an encircling ditch and earthen wall. The party walked up fearing no danger,
but were shocked to see two corpses rotting on stakes at the gap in the wall beside flaming torches.
They had both been druids by their look.

They rapped upon the iron gateway but were met only by echoes. They shouted but there was no
answer. Around the tower there was no light, although they thought they glimpsed a shadow upon
the parapet. Determined to make entry and bring matters to closure, they found an opening where
water rushed from beneath the tower. There was an old gate, but the lock was easily broken. As
they entered, they heard behind somewhere a snickering laughter, and hurried in.

Caede still had a torch, and he led them around the tight stinking sewer passages beneath
Northmarch, knee-deep in water. They hunted through the darkness for some portal through to the
main tower, all the time wary of what was behind. Eventually they found a wooden hatch in the
ceiling, and got it open after dislodging the bar with a blade. As they scrambled through, they heard
the gate through which they had entered creaking open.

Emerging into a round stone chamber, they hurried down a single passage to another chamber, this
one with a hatch of iron in its ceiling. They hammered upon it. Scrapes were heard from down the
passages behind, they hollered more desperately.

Some mechanism was wound, and a man bearing a lantern opened the portal a little. He was a
Gondorian trooper. Alarmed, he asked them who they were and how they came to be below
Northmarch. But for the group there was no time for such talk, and upon their very demands they
were let through that hatch into the tower proper. They were surrounded by the swords of
unarmoured troopers, in some small chamber of pipes and machinery. As the iron hatch was re-
locked, a man who said he was the Sergeant Sathapon demanded to know their business.

15
They stood forth and declared they had a gift for Brom and tidings from Malachi. Sathapon was
distrustful. Neither did he listen to the word of the travellers that there was something loose in the
under levels.

The five were escorted through clean white-lit passages to a darkened courtyard that was like a
deep shaft at the tower’s centre. Here they waited outside, seeing for the first time lights and signs
of movement in the inward-facing windows above.

They waited a long time, but as it grew cold they were re-admitted to the tower’s innards. Circled
by his guards again, Sathopon told them that Brom thanked them for bringing the message and
extended the hospitality of Gondor to them. He would see them on the morrow to receive the
message. Meanwhile they were granted a room upon the eighth level of Northmarch (this place had
eleven levels to their knowledge).

With a single guardsman, the five tramped the winding dim stairwell to the eighth level. These men
whom they were amongst were a curious troop. By appearance they were regular, often tall, but
none of heavy build. Once they were maybe fair youths, but all were past that stage, and lessons
and memories were marked upon each face. Quiet toward the visitors, yet it seemed the troopers
knew each other so well that there was little need of words amongst them. They were bedecked in
gear of marvellous manufacture, functional but elegant; bright mail, soft leathers and fine weaves.

Their escort did not take them right away to any quarters, but brought them to a strange and dim
gallery on an upper level. The place was filled with tapestries and paintings and statues.

“Behold”, said the guardsman, “Brom has asked you be shown the arts of the realm of Gondor.”

In those works around them was a whole history that the travellers could not guess at. There were
heroes and gods and strange misshapen things, huge castles and angry seas. Deeds of warfare, of
trade, of building, and of scholarship. The guardsman pointed out and explained numerous works.
Many had a morbid theme, and he mentioned the plague. Some were stunningly lifelike, others
abstract and mysterious. The style was highly achieved.

Then they turned to a darkened alcove, and all nearly leapt back for fear. There stood a hunched
and hideous form, a nightmare glaring from the dark. But it did not stir, and they realised this was
some monstrous exhibit.

“Behold. An orc”, said the guardsman, “from the east”.

16
All had heard first-hand stories of these creatures, but none had beheld them in life. This creature
was preserved in death, rigidly staring over great fangs, clad in rough skins and worked leather
armour, a great spear in one paw.

They turned away from that place, their skin prickling, and were shown to an elegantly furnished
chamber. The comforts of mattresses and fine linen were welcome after many days in the wild, and
marvellously hot water flowed from an arrangement of pipes in the adjoining bath chamber.
Finally, there was also food to satisfy their two-day hunger. Although they feared the coming of the
enraged Clans and had yet to warn Brom, still they slept well that night.

The next day was bright, and through the narrow portals in the thick walls the travellers beheld a
wide vista of the surrounding lands. East was the river Lefnui and the fork with the Nimthond,
with the rolling Dalben hills beyond; where they had roamed with Ruel. West the land was rough
and scrubby, and miles off rose to bleak snowy peaks. In some places the thin smoke of fires rose
into the morning air, and they wondered who was lurking in the wilderness.

They took breakfast delivered by a guardsman, unarmed yet still intimidating. Teg was
strengthening, but was still sullen and quiet. The group grew impatient to see Brom, conscious as
they were of the approaching Clans. They looked around for someone to approach, but the halls of
their level were quiet and empty.

But presently Sathopon himself came to take them to Brom. Leaving behind all weapons but the
sword, he led them to the highest level but one, and rapped upon a plain iron door. A voice within
bid them enter. Sathapon opened the door for them but waited outside.

The chamber was strange indeed. Wide, it was almost choked with wood - a network of roots, tree
roots which came through the stone and a broad window. The travellers remembered the strange
sight of the tree growing from the fore of the tower the night before. They coiled and entwined
grotesquely through the room, blocking the light. With difficulty, they made their way to an
adjoining chamber. The roots shifted and creaked.

The next chamber was plain; a high casement opened onto the east, and through it could be seen the
broad Lefnui flowing and a vista of northwest Anfalas, and cool morning air flowed through the
place. Some decorations were on the walls, carvings and exotic hangings.

From a table piled with scrolls and volumes rose a man to meet them. He was in the gear of a high
captain of Gondor, rich white and black silks and crafted armour. Tall he stood, and his face was
rough and square and not young, his hair short, dark and grey-flecked. But his eyes burned as they
rested on each of the travellers, taking in their strange appearance.

17
“Welcome, I am Brom, Reeve of Northwest Anfalas”.

They greeted him in turn, eyeing suspiciously this man they had heard of.

“I hear you bear a message for me.”

“That is right, we have a message from Malachi, whom we saw two days since,” announced
Muradûn, and then he went on to tell Brom of the urgent events. The Clans had joined, believing
their hallowed sword had been found. He told of how the Clans had made for the Deeping Tree in
Melingar, and had there been attacked by Malachi in desperation and bravery, and of the demise of
Malachi and his troop. And Muradûn was angry as he spoke, remembering how he and his
companions had been ill-used in the whole saga, and having little patience to tarry further.

Lastly he gave the warning to Brom. “The Clans are marching now, to over run this place and all
your kind. They will soon arrive.”

Brom gazed a long moment at the stone floor. Dismay had struck his face at the news of the fate of
Malachi, but now it seemed a peaceful hame came over him.

He thanked them then for bearing the news. As payment, he said he would grant each of them a
boon from Northmarch’s stores, where they would find many weapons and other gear. Meanwhile,
Brom said that Northmarch would prepare for the onslaught of the Clansmen. He invited them to
join in the defence, and promised further payment.

One last question he asked them. The sword of the Clansmen – had they seen it themselves, did
Malachi have definite word of it?

So at this time they brought out the sword, which til then they had concealed. Muradun spoke.

“Malachi instructed us to deliver this to you – it is the very sword of the Clansmen. He said to give
it to you, and ensure you were seen to bear it. “ Surprise came into Brom’s eyes as the sword was
presented to him, and he hesitated to take it. It belonged to the Clans he said. But the others pressed
him and said the sword could be used to make peace. Reluctantly, Brom took the sword from them.

They were eager to get away from Northmarch before the Clansmen approached, and had no
thought of staying to help the garrison. They were more eager though to claim their payment, but
were made to wait long whilst it was arranged. The sun climbed high before they were summoned
to the store chamber at the base of the tower. There were (shields and short swords and bows and

18
spears…?). They each claimed two items. They wished greatly for horses, but Northmarch had none
to spare.

The travellers gathered their gear and made ready to leave. But then shouts rang through the
corridors of Northmarch, and there was a mighty horn blast from the top of the tower. There was
the sound of many troops running to their posts. The companions ran to a portal and discovered the
source of the alarm. Clansmen could be seen approaching, fast riders sweeping down from the
north. The party thought to make a dash to reach the river and take a small boat from there, but
already the enemy drew too close. The outriders reached the bridge across the Nimthond and
swarmed across, milling around beyond the outer earth wall of Northmarch. The travellers cursed,
realising they were trapped here.

The greater force of the Clansmen was approaching, whilst Brom’s men kept the riders at a distance
with the threat of bowshot. All the battlements and portals were manned, and the company offered
their arms now to the garrison. Sathopon was yet abrupt toward them, but he was grateful for what
help could be mustered and assigned them to a station at the fore of the tower, where above the
gate there was a small battlement which projected from the walls like a balcony. There they stood
with their favoured missiles in their grip, amid the solid quiet of the Gondorian soldiers.

The day grew long, and the Clansmen massed on both sides of the Nimthond. There force was
disorganised, but they were many and they were fierce. They shouted at the tower and clashed their
weapons, ran around out of bow range. The company recognised the shapes of the dread druids
lurking in the ranks.

As the threat of immediate attack had passed, part of the garrison had now stood down from their
posts. Evening fell, and the first stars were kindled. As the five returned to their post, a horrible
scream was heard close by. It was within the tower, above somewhere. Soldiers were running and
many deserted their posts. There was chaos that moment; such was the horror of the sound.
Cautious, the travellers decided there was safety where they were, but the word soon came: a
trooper was dead in a corridor of the level above, his body slashed open and his blood upon the
stones.

A hunt for the killer was already raised, and there was talk of a Clan fanatic and druids. A dark
brooding fell upon the tower, and some suspicious glances were cast at the five travellers. The
surety of the garrison troops was hurt. Shouts echoed through the passages as the search
progressed, but nothing materialised.

The evening deepened to night. The search for the killer was closed – guards were now posted
within as well as at the defences. The company continued to man their battlement, and saw the fires

19
of the Clansmen and heard their chants through the darkness. The company was quiet – only Teg
sometimes muttered to himself.

But the fires were dim and the night was old when a sound broke the watch of the company. It was
the gate of Northmarch below their battlement grating open. Looking in surprise, they made out a
horseman ride out below. Beside him was a man on foot. One of them spoke, and they recognised
the voice of Sathopon, “Ensure the sword is handed over – this is the word of Brom”. When the
other replied, they realised in surprise that it was Siabod of the Orb followers, “Fear not, I hear the
word of Brom”.

Sathopon returned within, and Siabod began to ride out. Grasping what was to happen, it was
Muradun who acted. He rushed from the battlement to the gateway below, and halted Siabod with
a cry. He had quick words with the man, knowing by now his weaknesses, and convinced him to
surrender the sword to Muradun. Then he took it through the gateway and bounded up one of the
tower’s stairwells.

In anger he made for the chamber of Brom, determined to return the sword that they had
unwillingly borne here at such risk. Upon an upper level he stumbled over something, and found to
his disgust a disembowelled soldier upon the stair.

Pausing not, he stormed into the chambers of Brom. The captain was surprised but not alarmed at
the intrusion.

Muradun thrust the sword upon him, insisting he take it. In giving the sword to the Clans, he said,
there would be war, and Northmarch would be first to be attacked.

Brom did not take the blade.

Calmly, he said there would be war, there must be war; this was as he had planned. Northmarch
meanwhile would hold out, and his men would be secure. He would not sacrifice his men.

The words confirmed suspicions of Muradun and the others. Muradun remembered Malachi, and
repeated to Brom the man’s last words to them, ensure he is seen to wield it.

Brom was pained at the mention of Malachi, and he said Malachi was misguided. Malachi, he said,
was a great captain, but he had not seen what Brom had seen, had never known what Brom had
known, so he would not follow Brom’s word.

20
He stepped closer to Muradun, began to explain. You have seen slaughter, he said, you have ridden
with Ruel I know. He asked Muradun, have you ever wondered how men do this to each other?
Have you not felt there was something behind it?

“I long wondered at how the world could be so cruel, and how men could be so to each other – the
powerful and corrupt, the slaughter, the plague. Then I went to serve on the eastern borders of the
realm. That place is isolated, the tribesmen live in darkness and savagery, and often we deal with
them in equal savagery. And close to there is a wide land, empty but very ancient – and if you even
rode upon its marches you could feel there was something had stirred there once in the world,
something which was nothing but evil. I had some adventures there, but I shall not tell their tale
now. Suffice, I began to realise; there is a face for the evil we do and which is done unto us.”

He smiled at Muradun. “ Have you ever been harried by a wolf in the forest – it follows always, but
if you turn to find it, it disappears, always to return and steal your supplies, or the lone child, or
even the unarmed man. But I think it is more akin to a worm – lurking and gnawing at the world.”

“You are a Southerner, but you may have heard of the realm of Angmar far away which is ever at
war with the men of Arthedain. I have heard it said that the kings of the realm are all one man –
surviving for centuries – a Witch King who is evil itself. You see, mayhaps the worm can be coaxed
into the open where the conditions are such – where there is the grounding of evil, so evil will show
its face. I would see that face.”

“This place is an edge of a corner of the realm of Gondor. The people are ignorant, the ways of the
Clans are uncivilised and the druids deal in darkness. With this sword to rouse them, let them make
their wars, and let me see what will come of it.”

The passion of this stony man was provoking, but Muradun knew what to say in answer. He told of
the experience of the company on the island in Lefnui – when they had slept in the tree-hut and
been disturbed by some creature without, and its words of the sword and the talk by the Melingar
druids after of “Old Ones” upon the island. Brom listened keenly. Then Muradun spoke of hearing
that same laughter the night before as they entered Northmarch, and his fear that the thing had
come within.

Brom was apprehensive, “Then the revelation is close. The avatar is come already.”

“It is slaughtering your men”, said Muradun, “I came across another in the stairwell coming here.”

21
Brom’s face was struck by dismay. “The murders!” The realisation came to him, and sorrow
crushed him before Muradun’s gaze, “My men are not to suffer for this, it should not fall on
them…..” His surety was stripped away. Lost for words, he slumped into a chair.

Muradun presented the sword to him once more, telling him with this he could make peace, and
maybe then save the garrison from whatever had come. Still stunned, Brom took it this time.

“I shall show the sword at dawn”, he said.

Muradun returned to his companions with some of the garrison who had pursued him to Brom’s
chamber but had been ordered to wait outside by the captain. The newest slaughter had been
discovered. No search was raised this time; instead the garrison troopers remained close to each
other.

The company reunited, a fresh cry went through the tower. Abandon the defences, the garrison was
to retreat to the rooftop. Duly it was so, in cautious groups the soldiers of north western Anfalas
trooped to the rooftop of Northmarch. The five travellers joined them, and upon the crumbling
battlements they stood and watched the stars. Sathopon commanded the soldiers; Brom did not
come as yet.

The remainder of the night was long and strange, but the eastern sky greyed eventually. The
soldiers stood like statues, awaiting their captain. The company continued to watch warily the dark
openings of the stairwells. The sky lightened further and the Clansmen could be seen stirring, a
drumming began. Presently Sathopon sent messengers to bring Brom.

The wait was long and the messengers did not return. The worst was feared. The Clansmen were
marshalling in the open, and the sun would soon come. Sathopon was calling for more messengers
when suddenly Brom came on to the roof.

Slow he walked, and there was blood on his boots. He seemed to bear a burden, or a great pain. The
five recognised the sword in his hand, and he held it before him as his troops made way. He
stepped up onto the eastern battlement, and from there climbed on to the trunk of the old tree
growing from the stone just below. Had earlier told the company that this was of a seed of the
Deeping Tree, so they knew its meaning. He stood there, high above the land, with the grey light on
his face. The Clansmen saw the figure; the warriors shook their weapons below, boldly advancing
toward the Gondorian tower.

There was a long pause. The sun began to break the horizon. The light burned on Brom and flashed
on the raised sword. As the sun rose free he plunged that blade deep into the old trunk with both

22
hands. There was a scream from the druids below, and with ease Brom withdrew the sword and
held it aloft once more.

Silence fell, and Brom remounted the battlement. But as he did so there was a scraping sound
behind the men on the roof, and a whisper of laughter. All turned, and from one of the stairwells
rushed a shadow untouched by the morning sun. They saw no shape, just a blur and an impression
of angled limbs. The thing skipped across the space and disappeared into the shadows of a small
chamber standing on a corner of the battlements, an old belfry. The stout soldiers of Gondor
recoiled in horror, but Brom took control. He thrust the sword upon Sathopon, and ordered him to
take all the men from the roof and to go parley with the Clansmen. The men were silent, as Brom
turned and drew his own weapon. He went to the belfry, and with a look of awe on his face began
to mount its steps.

Sathopon quickly ordered the men from that place, and they went willingly, for they did not wish
to behold what would happen. The company saw Brom enter that place before they left, and
suddenly Thegliorond broke free from them. With no farewell he too rushed to the belfry, and they
were too scared to stop him, and sensed it was something he wished.

They gathered what they needed from their chamber, and rushed for the gate of Northmarch. None
spoke to them or stopped them, and when they were free of the tower they saw a troop of the
garrison had already ridden out to the Clansmen, lead by Sathopon with the sword. They saw Clan
chieftains kneeling and weapons laid low, but did not pause to watch the new events of north west
Anfalas. Sevineye suggested the river, and at the Lefnui they found a boat tied which would serve
well enough. They stowed their gear and pushed off into the smooth waters.

The Stolen Bride

A day later upon the river the small boat grew leaky, and the company stopped to make a
temporary repair. As they were doing so, there rode past on the track by the river a man and
woman, well clad in robes and with the look of Dunedain. They haled the party and stopped to
exchange news. They said their names were Annië and Methror. The pair were much interested in
the news of Brom and goings on at Northmarch and with the Clans. As the company told them
what had passed, the man and woman frequently exchanged earnest words in a language the others
could not understand. As they went to leave, the woman looked with interest at each man,
particularly Sevineye, who looked greatly troubled. She told them to take care. The two rode off in
haste, for the north.

23
They stopped at the town of Adavalinde and found a carpenter who made good the repairs. Two
more nights upon the river brought them to Annulond, and on the way they passed the great
Gondorian caste of Reavehold upon the north bank of the river.

Annulond’s docks were a bustle when they arrived, for there was a ship in at the sea docks. She was
of good size, named Farseas, and was sailing to the city of Lond Ernil. The city seemed an attractive
destination for the party. From the mate the company found the price of passage - which was more
expensive with grog and slops - but if they could crew and serve to protect the ship it was
somewhat cheaper. There was need of this, for there was talk that the Corsairs were upon the seas,
attacking ships and coastal villages. Few folk were choosing to take ship to go east to the cities,
preferring the long way by road.

The company found lodging at the Black Groper inn, where they had stayed in their last visit,
weeks before. The town was emptier now, and winter was descending. The innkeeper spoke of
many rumours from the north of war between the Clans, and said he allowed no Clansman past his
threshold now. Meanwhile the company were considering buying horses to get them to Lond Ernil.
Few horses were available, such being the demand from those travellers who insisted going by
road. The innkeeper gave them a contact that had four to sell, but the price was steep and Thorgrim
perceived that two of the beasts had an ill step for riding.

The company decided to risk the wave road, and returned to the docks to speak with Sulimo,
captain of the Farseas. They got a cheaper price for the passage, and decided to sail with the ship on
the morrow. In the meantime, they busied themselves with spending their silvers and coppers on
good solid food and ale, and in purchasing clothes and gear to replace the much which had been
lost or worn. There was no great range of craftsmen in Annulond though, so only mundane and
simple things were to be had.

They turned up at the docks at second bell of the next day. But news had come from the coasts;
Corsairs had been seen around the Lefnui estuary, the beacon fires were lit upon the warning
towers up and down the shore. So Sulimo had determined that the Farseas would not sail for some
days yet.

The party were now impatient to be off. The comforts and opportunity of a proper city were
beckoning, so they decided that they would take horse to Lond Ernil. So they purchased the four
beasts they had seen, and found and repurchased their old cart to be pulled by the ill-steppers. Thus
they set out upon the Gondor Highway.

The road followed the coasts, taking them south on the Lefnui estuary to the sea, then northeast up
the long coast of Anfalas. The weather turned grey and cool and remained so. The road was fair,

24
and with the cart they had a more comfortable passage than usual. Almost five days they were on
the road. The way took them past the town of Annodrun, and the lonely castles of Blackberg,
Lomost and Earost. At Earost they spent the night at a simple traveller’s way house outside the
walls. Otherwise they passed only fishing villages and some watchtowers strung upon the coast, all
with their beacons alight in warning. They passed none on the road till the last day.

So by the falling of the last day the road had taken them a ways inland along the Celgalen river, to
the town of Serelond. It was an orderly place of straight and planned streets, good wood and stone
houses often of two stories, some with grassy gardens. It had a wide dock on the river where many
barges and boats were tied, having brought loads of wool down from the herding lands to the
north. The main way ran by the docks, and here was the Horn and Hoof inn, where the company
took lodging. The next day they rested and brought more gear, and enquired of the distance from
Serelond to Lond Ernil, and whether there were any ships from here to that city. It seemed that
ships rarely came upriver to Serelond, but downstream on the other bank the town of Lond Galen
was frequented by many captains.

Early the next morning they breakfasted in the taproom of the Horn and Hoof. A stranger came in,
cloaked and hooded and stumbling with weariness. He did not look up or remove his hood, but
only slumped at the bar and drank a draught. Meanwhile, a group of men entered the inn, led by a
man in the uniform of a Gondorian soldier. The men were lightly armed, apparently some troop of
militia. They respectfully demanded to know the names and business of the party, for they said
there were spies of the Corsairs abroad. But suddenly the man at the bar spoke up for them, and as
he looked up they recognised him as Letherbarrow, the boy who had journeyed with them in Ruel’s
Free Company. The militia accepted his explanation, and moved on.

Letherbarrow was overjoyed to meet the men of the company again, although it had only been a
matter of weeks <continuity - he didn’t ask about Teg>. He looked tired and stressed, but he
laughed and purchased a round of drinks. He asked how they had fared since leaving Ruel’s
Company, and explained how he had got away by riding off on Ruel’s horse during the distraction
of the party’s escape. He said he had decided that the adventuring and mercenary life was not for
him. So he had returned home, which was almost a day’s ride from here, in the Pinnath Gelin, the
Green Hills.

But after the telling of tales had died down, Letherbarrow looked downcast, and explained why it
was so fortuitous for him to meet the party on this morn. He had ridden all night from his home, to
seek help here in Serelond. The girl he loved and with whom he planned to marry had gone missing
the evening before. Her family were blaming it on Letherbarrow, who they disliked, and were
threatening consequences. If she were not returned by tomorrow morning, they would lay a bond
on him with the magistrate. He had to find her, Letherbarrow exclaimed. Quite apart from the

25
punishment, he worried about Melia (for this was her name). He had a good idea of how to start
looking for her, but he could not search for her himself as Melia’s family might be looking for him.

This he asked of the party: to ride with him this day to his home, to attempt to find Melia and then
return her to her home before sunrise the next day. He said he had little he could offer in return.

Nonetheless, the party agreed to help their friend. Letherbarrow said that if they rode swift they
would make his home by midday. They left the cart for now at the inn, and had to take the two
hard-stepping horses to ride.

They rode hard northwards on a road. Their going was indeed swift, and eventually Letherbarrow
led them from the road into grassy hill country that became progressively rougher. Soon they
dismounted in a small vale. Here, Letherbarrow said, they were close to his home land of Yavetum.
Yavetum was not a town, but an area of rough grassy hills scattered with many homesteads and
farms. They must leave their horses here, for no horses were allowed in the region for fear of
damaging the precious grasses. From here they would set off to find Melia, whilst Letherbarrow
himself rode around to the north to conceal himself near his home for the day. But first he explained
how he thought Melia might be found.

She had been seen before sundown the previous day talking to a stranger with a cart, near one of
the four gates that led to one of the four roads that led from the area. Which one was unknown, for
the news was from an unsteady old crone who could see much of what went on in Yavetum from a
tower on a hill, the Telling Tower, using her magical Telling Scope. Letherbarrow thought that if
they could find which gate Melia had been closest to at the end of the day, they would know which
road to ride down to find her, for surely a cart could not move as fast as they could.

Melia had spent yesterday wandering the hills with her four prize gold horn sheep. In this she
always had a pattern, travelling between the many orchards and fruit groves that dotted the area.
Always she would leave home with some fruit, and after some two hours would stop at one of the
closer fruit groves to eat. There she would pick more fruit, before moving onto her next stop to eat
it. She would move through some four fruit groves in the day, whichever ones took her fancy.
Letherbarrow thought that if they could find which she had been to, they would know which gate
she had been close to when she finished. To do this though, they must find at each location the
seeds of the fruit she had carried from her last stop. Letherbarrow could tell them she had set off
yesterday carrying pears. He gave them a map of Yavetum with all the fruit groves marked.

One other thing he told them. To narrow the area they could search at each location, it was best if
they could find the place where Melia had actually grazed her gold horn sheep. All four of the
sheep, had different favourite spots to graze, among hilltops, shady spots, and watersides.

26
Letherbarrow could not remember exactly what each sheep favoured, but he could remember some
scraps that Melia had told him.

Of the four sheep, Inga, Atta, Nelda, and Kanta; Inga liked shade, another did not; Atta loved
hilltops; Nelda disliked hilltops; Kanta disliked what Atta liked, but was indifferent to what Nelda
liked; Nelda liked what Inga disliked. Each sheep, said Letherbarrow, liked one spot, disliked
another, and was indifferent to the third.

Letherbarrow left to conceal himself for the day on hills near his home, with an agreement to meet
the party on the north road after sundown. The four puzzled a while over what he had said. They
worked out soon enough the riddle of the sheep, although Sevineye for one showed little interest in
the matter. Studying Letherbarrow’s crude map, they deliberated on which fruit grove to visit first.
They had only half a day to find all the places Melia had visited on the previous day, traversing
everywhere on foot.

They chose the place ‘Bran’s Cherries’ as the likeliest starting point, being one of the places close
enough to Melia’s family’s house for her to have visited first. They left the horses tied as best they
could in a treeless vale, and chose to run to Bran’s place. They hoofed it over the rough grassy land,
sticking to the valleys as Letherbarrow had advised them to avoid being seen as much as they
might. It took some time to reach the place, and they skirted around where Letherbarrow’s map
showed Melia’s home.

At Bran’s Cherries they found a shady spot that seemed the likeliest place to search for signs of
Melia, according to what her sheep favoured. There was a cottage nearby, and Caede went to
enquire of the farmer whilst the others searched the ground. It did not take them long to find
orange peel in the grass. Meanwhile, a man - no doubt Bran - had answered the door at the cottage.
He was uneasy at the strangers, but did say he had seen Melia the previous day. He said she had
gathered cherries, but he had a blight so there were only enough for her to eat, and she said another
farmer had asked her to get some cherries. But when Caede asked further - such as when Melia had
visited - the farmer grew angry and came out with a huge dog; Caede bravely stood his ground
before the slavering beast but the farmer was by now beyond reason.

They knew where to go next, and made as fast as they may southwards to where the map marked
Owen’s Oranges. Here was another shady place, and this time Thorgrim went to the nearby cottage
as the others searched. The farmer was friendly enough, but no, he said he had been inside all the
previous day so he hadn’t seen Melia. He said she was a nice girl, and mentioned how she often
brought apples for his goat to eat; although the goat was not fussy and would eat anything.
Meanwhile, the others found nothing, and the goat watched them disinterestedly.

27
The party were in quandary. The afternoon was drawing on, and they only knew one definite place
where Melia had been yesterday. They jogged north along the stream, reaching a pretty plum
orchard, Tarcil’s. The farmer Tarcil was chopping wood, and said neither he nor his good woman
had seen Melia. The search of the ground was also fruitless.

The information narrowed the selection of places Melia may have visited in addition to Owen’s
Oranges and Bran’s Cherries. But time only allowed visiting one more place, and they could see that
would not narrow the choice to a single road. So in any case, the party trotted back westward, past
Bran’s Cherries until they eventually reached the Cherry Grove of Firkin. They found a gaunt man
practicing archery. Bow in hand, Firkin told them his wife had seen Melia the day before, but no he
didn’t know what time, and his wife was off now picking flowers. He knew Melia had wanted some
cherries for another farmer who had asked for them. Searching carefully the grass away from the
grove, the party found a clutch of cherry stones.

They were as yet unsure whether Melia had finished her day here at Firkin’s, or had continued
north to the Elder Pears or south to the Royal Plum Grove. Therefore they did not know whether
she may have made off up the north or west roads. Alas there was no time, for soon they were to
meet Letherbarrow upon the north road. Making a quick plan, they hurried northward to the road,
and as darkness was falling they met Letherbarrow. He was mounted and had brought two horses
with him. Disappointed that they were not sure which road to search, nevertheless Letherbarrow
agreed to the plan: Letherbarrow would ride up the north road, with Sevineye and Caede sharing a
horse. Meanwhile, Thorgrim and Muradun would take another horse to the west.

After some two hours tedious and uncomfortable riding north, Letherbarrow, Caede, and Sevineye
made out a campfire near the road. Eagerly Letherbarrow led the way to investigate. It turned out
to be a small group of sheepherders from the north, coming south. Asked whether they had seen a
girl upon the road, they said they had seen none for a day. Realising Melia had not come with this
way; the three turned their horses toward the west road.

A short time later out on the west road, Thorgrim and Muradun also beheld a fire. Before drawing
close, Muradun dismounted and stalked up on foot. Riding up openly, Thorgrim found a campfire
with a fat bearded man and a young woman. Drawn up nearby was a cart and horse. The man was
singing songs and the woman was laughing along.

The fat man showed some initial suspicion as the stranger came out of the darkness, as any sensible
man does on the road. But soon enough they were exchanging talk. The man was Watkin, a
wandering Barber Surgeon. He insisted Thorgrim purchase some of his wondrous physik, which
cured anything (including plague), and of which Watkin had a large supply in the cart. Meanwhile,
it was obvious the girl was Melia. She seemed somewhat foolish to Thorgrim. He said he had come

28
to call her back to Letherbarrow. At first she was dismissive, insisting she had decided to leave
home to see the world. Watkin was good-humoured, and didn’t seem to take the girl too seriously.
He entertained them with a display of juggling. But as the talk went on between the two men Melia
took exception to being talked about like a fool and an item. She stomped away from the fire
moodily. Muradun, watching from the dark, slunk forwards and made low ghoulish calls. Terrified,
the girl ran back to the fire. Whilst Watkin called her a fool, Muradun crept around behind the cart,
and rattled the bottles of physik and made some more calls. Now even Watkin was somewhat
rattled. Melia now insisted she wanted to return home. Watkin was quite happy for Thorgrim to
take the girl away on his horse. As the night swallowed them, Muradun reassured Watkin by
showing himself briefly, and then followed on foot.

They met Letherbarrow and the others upon the road. After the reunion of the lovers, Letherbarrow
swore he was in the debt of the party. He offered them his horse – Ruel’s fine white mounts - in
payment. Considering the poor state of their own, the party accepted. They returned to where they
had left their horses that day, only to find two missing. The next morning though, Letherbarrow
came to farewell them, and delivered his promised beast.

Attack of the Corsairs

The party returned to Serelond through the rest of the night, and took rest through most of the next
day.

A cargo of horses had arrived whilst they were away, driven up from the east my some merchant
canny to needs in Anfalas in these days. They were stabled in a warehouse by the waterfront, near
the inn. Eager that each man should have a mount, Muradun, and Thorgrim went to look over the
beasts. There was a good number, and they found a handful to their liking. They watched them
step and trot, and under Thorgrim’s astute eye chose three, throwing their cart into the bargain for
the merchant. This left them with five horses, of which one – one of those from Annulond with a
poor riding gait - could serve as packhorse.

In the evening the word was passed through the town; many corsair ships had been spotted near
the coast, there was fear of raids even this far up river. The militia had been sent out of town to
investigate an incident to the south. The people of Serelond were warned to be wary for spies and
signals. They remembered the previous evening an ugly hooded stranger had slunk past them
outside the inn, leaving a stinking waft behind. All men - including travellers – were ordered to go
armed. The atmosphere was tense.

It was the next evening; Caede, Muradun and Thorgrim were taking their ease in the taproom of the
Horn and Hoof, whilst Sevineye strolled upon the riverfront outside. They heard a few shouts

29
outside, like news being passed around. Sevineye came in; there was a ship approaching up the
river, and it appeared to be the Farseas from Annulond. The group hurried to the docks, where
many of the Serelond townspeople were gathering. Although the light was fading, the ship loomed
clear in mid-river – and it was the Farseas. But she was much changed. One of the masts was a
splintered stump, a few rags of sail flapped amongst a mess of rigging. Her planks were scarred,
her railings broken in many places. Painfully she was rowed towards the docks against the current.

People were talking loudly, speculating on what had befallen her. But all knew it could only be the
dreaded Corsairs. The party stood silent, suspicious. They could see two men upon the afterdeck of
the Farseas, but did not recognize them as the captain Sulimo they had met in Annulond, nor his
first mate. They remembered there were no soldiers or militia in Serelond, and noted how many
armed men were around them.

The ship pulled up to a wooden wharf that projected from the stone-built docks. Five townsmen
went to help tie her up as ropes were cast out. Muradun had already stepped out onto the wharf.
His instincts aroused, he considered trying to prevent the ship docking, but did nothing for the
moment.

But suddenly there was a flash of movement on the foredeck – a flame was exposed, flaring in the
gloom. And even as people looked, there was a thunk and the flame screamed through the air,
burying itself in the side of a nearby warehouse.

The people screamed and ran at that arbalest shot. They realized the truth of the ship, and at the
same moment a rush of men appeared at its side and leapt down to the wharf. The five townsmen
had no chance, falling under hacking blades. People were fleeing the dock in every direction,
panicking. Muradun turned and raced back up the wharf. The rest of the party stood their ground,
minds racing, gathering their wits. There were over a dozen raiders, and who knew how many
more yet aboard. Only a handful of armed townsmen were around, and they had stepped back,
ready to flee at any moment.

The party moved quickly to the defense. The wharf was a good seven feet below the dock, and the
attackers could only get up on a short stairway. There were barrels around, and these Thorgrim and
Sevineye shoved together to block the stair, but not before Muradun had leapt up. Muradun
grabbed someone and ordered him to ring the town bell to raise the alarm.

There was a small gantry overhanging the wharf, and Caede had swung it back so the raiders could
not use the rope to mount the dock. They realized one of the barrels contained oil, and quickly
began smashing it open to spill upon the stairs. Needing flame, Caede sprinted to the warehouse to
pull the flaming arbalest bolt from the wall.

30
Then in an instant the raiders came running up the stair. The blood of the townsmen was on their
scimitars, and little else did they bear - no shield, no armor. Simple sailor clothing was all they had,
and in their sun burned faces was the lust for pillage. Black braids swung on the necks as they came
rushing, yelling as one.

As the first men dashed up, Muradun put his shoulder to some stacked boxes. They crashed down,
grazing one man and then cracking the neck of another. The raiders behind were surprised but
paused not. Thorgrim and Sevineye met the first man at the top of the stair. Striking out from
behind their rough defense they stemmed the tide a second.

But Caede returned already with the great arbalest bolt flaming in his hand. He cast it down, and
the oil on the stair burst into flame. Most of the men coming up the stair fell back shouting.
Thorgrim was dealt a bloody slash to the forearm by the scimitar of the raider at the top of the stair.
Caede turned his sword to aid Sevineye and felled the man. But two more came up to escape the
flames, shouting in blood lust and fury, recklessly eager to break through their opposers. Muradun
tried to topple more crates upon them, but made only a glancing blow. Caede and Sevineye met
them, parrying scimitar-strokes with their shields.

But there was a new danger. They noticed men at the arbalest on the ship, training the dread
machine upon them. Caede yelled to the townsmen who were around with bows, trying to marshall
them. At first they were still to scared, but then came forward under at his command and fired
upon the ship. One of the men at the arbalest fell away, but not before a great bolt had come
whooshing through the air, to harmlessly skip along the stone of the dock.

Muradun now drew his long blade and, crouching behind the boxes, sneaked toward the fighting
raiders. Too late a raider saw the big sword flashing upwards. The body slumped down the stair,
and blood-drops fizzled in the fires.

But the fires were already dying and the many at the foot of the stair were not idle. One, his blade in
his teeth, tried to jump high onto the stair from the side, but slipped on the debris and fell back.
Others were pushing forward barrels to mount the dock or trying to climb directly. Caede left the
melee and dashed around to prevent any making the top.

Muradun stepped around the barrels and struck down the last raider as he traded blows with
Sevineye. Caede crouched in waiting for the men climbing the wall, wary of the arbalest that was
again being reloaded. A hand appeared over the edge of the dock, groping for a hold. Caede
stepped forth and swung down his long sword as though chopping wood. The raider fell back
screaming, the forearm still clinging to the stones.

31
Mayhap his screams destroyed the courage of the others. Already five of their number down, they
realized they were lost. The raiders turned and dashed back for the ship, scrambling aboard and
casting off. The party stayed crouched behind what cover they could find, afraid of the arbalest. The
townsmen fired again and again at the ship at their urging, and Muradun took up a bow, but to no
avail. The old Farseas pulled back into the current of the river and rowed downstream quickly,
disappearing in the darkness.

The warning bell was ringing in the town now, but the news traveled that the immediate danger
was passed. Townsmen returned to the docks area to survey the scene, and those who had seen
what had happened told of what the four strangers had done. Many men came forward and
thanked them, amazed that the Corsairs raiders had not even left the wharf, and the town was
untouched. The bell stopped ringing, some order returned and the town’s people set watches. The
four wiped their weapons and returned to the Horn and Hoof, only Caede pausing to gather up the
steel scimitars of the fallen.

The innkeeper treated them with free mead and a large meal, and Thorgrim’s wound was properly
tended and bound. The militia had returned from out of the town, and the captain came to see the
party. He said he had heard of their deeds, and thanked them. He said the militia had been tricked
into leaving Serelond. Muradun remembered how the militia had previously questioned them, and
asked if they may have a letter of safe passage so they may pass without suspicion falling again on
them. The militia captain said it would be arranged with the mayor on the morrow.

The Merry Man of Marshmouth

A Tale of Shipwreck

The next morning the four of them packed and left the inn. They rode to the halls of the mayor of
Serelond, and were greeted on the way by many people. The mayor received them in a chamber
and, after asking their names, bestowed the letter that pledged that they were friends of Gondor
and were granted all safe passage through the province of Anfalas.

Riding out of town, they heard someone behind hailing them. A stout sandy-haired man in red silks
came riding after, breathing heavily. He introduced himself as the merchant Erkonil, and asked to
talk with the company, insisting they return with him to the inn. He had, he said, a need for
assistance such as they might provide. They were reluctant to pause again, having just started on
the road for Lond Ernil. Nevertheless, they grudgingly agreed to hear him out.

32
Feeling foolish back at the Horn and Hoof, they allowed Erkonil to furnish them with drinks whilst
they listened to his story. He said he had heard all of what they had done the night before, and
needed some stout lads to retrieve something of his. He was indirect at first, but then came out with
his tale.

Six weeks ago it was – there was a late moon. I was in a fine mood; I’d just visited Pelagir. Fine city that is,
well fine. You should see the streets, the wares in the shops. Ahh! The shining towers, and the waterfront at
sunset - all the beautiful ladies promenading past the great ships. Nothing like this backwater, hah! Anfalas
they would say, what land is that? But I tell you, I brought a fine house there, and I ought to be quitting this
place in the spring. But first…. well anyway.

We was ten days from Pelagir, past Lond Ernil and we were soon to turn into the Celgalen to make Serelond.
Last night of the voyage, I was walking the decks. Good winds but very dark it was, but I had seen a beacon
burning out in the darkness, so I knew the captain was probably navigating by that. There was this distant
wailing I thought. But I had just gone into my cabin, when crack! A scraping and groaning like you never did
hear. Save me but I never want to hear such a screaming and hollering as I heard then. Anyway, so we had
struck the coast, but only the beach, not rocks. Still, many was bad hurt by that strike, and I pitched from my
cot and got this scratch. But the ship was groaning and shaking, the surf was pulling us apart! People was
running everywhere, all for themselves, I don’t know where the captain was. The ship was done for, they was
jumping into the water. Well, I took what I couldn’t do without and kissed my charm and jumped too. Half
near drowned, but the water picked me up and somehow I made the beach. Some others made it as well, I could
hear them rather than see them.

Well I thought I was safe. But save me, the worst was yet to come. Suddenly I heard this kind of moaning,
wailing sound, dreadful it was, like a strange song. And I heard screams, and splashes in the water like, and
sounds like things being hit. That’s when I realised something was striking the people down around me. Well I
ran up that beach, ran for all I could, and I heard more awful sounds behind, I swear people was dying. I ran
past the beach, and kept going. The moon was rising so I could see. It was sandy still, and I could hear that
wild wailing song and see shadows behind me. Well I was so scared, I just kept going, and maybe after a mile
or so I found this little village. I could see it in the moonlight. There was no lights, it was deserted, and all the
streets were full of water and mud. Well I was sure the things was still behind me, and even though the place
felt evil I looked for somewhere to hide. I got into this one house easily, and found it had a cellar underneath. It
was awful dark and wet and horrible, but I hid there and didn’t make a sound. I heard splashings and that
awful song coming and going, but eventually all was quiet. Well I was petrified, so I didn’t dare move until I
could see some more. So I got out of there before sunrise. The village and the land were all marshy, but I found
a kind of causeway. So, I got away alright, kept running and running.

Only thing is, I was so scared I left something behind in that cellar. It was a chest, small like this. That’s
right, it had gold in it. But more, there is something else in there far more valuable to me, although not much
good to anyone else. So, I wants you to get it for me.

33
I dunno what chased us, Plague Ghosts or the souls of lost sailors, I’m not hiding nothing fro you. I wouldn’t
go back there for love nor gold, but you look like brave men and you’ll get all the gold in the chest, plus more
when I get it.

I’ve tried speaking to the magistrates and lieutenants in Lond Galen and here, but with the Corsairs around
they are all busy, and Elendil knows there are few enough of them since the Plague. But I’ve done some
looking around and found out about the place where the ship grounded. The village was once called
Marshmouth, but the Plague emptied the place, and the sea has broken through into the low land and flooded
the ruins. Strange thing is, two other ships have struck there in the last year. No one survived. Anyroad, there
is an inn down there apparently, so you’ll find some folk. And there is a beacon tower. Apparently a Sergeant
of the Coast mans it, a good man I hear. I remember seeing the tower in the morning, but I thought it was
deserted, it looked half-wrecked.

Erkonil stroked his reddish beard and looked at them expectantly. His voice had trembled during
parts of the story, and the company was confidant it was at least partly true. They asked him more
of what was in the chest that may be more valuable to him than gold. He was reluctant to say, but
then whispered that it was no more than a piece of paper. It was a license for him to establish
himself in Pelagir, in Pelagir where the trade was much richer and the people so much more refined
than the bumpkins of Anfalas.

He let them alone to discuss amongst themselves. The gold the merchant offered was no small sum,
but Muradun argued they should continue their path to Lond Ernil. They had had enough
disruptions he said, and he appeared suspicious of the merchant’s story. But Sevineye and Caede
argued strongly that they would need the gold, especially for a city such as Lond Ernil. Erkonil had
passed them a map printed on silk, and it showed that this place Marshmouth was not far from
Serelond and Lond Galen. This at least tempered Muradun’s dissatisfactions somewhat, and he
acceded to the task.

Erkonil was glad at their choice. He gave them the directions to Marshmouth, telling how to find
the old inn there where they might stay. It was on a section of old highway that had been
abandoned as the waters of the ocean came in.

Having made their choice, they were eager to have the job over with and the gold in their purses.
They arranged to meet Erkonil in Lond Galen in three days, and set off.

The Inn

34
They journeyed only half a day. From Serelond they went north to the bridge over the river
Celgalen, and hence made south by the river. As the road left the river, they passed the town of
Lond Galen, many stone buildings jumbled on a slope by the river. The highway took them
eastwards, across flat and grassy land. Then they came to the fork where the old highway left the
newer road. The place was scrubby, and an old wooden sign half-hidden by the fork pointed down
the old road; in faded letters it said The Merry Man Inn.

Following that old road, the grass around became spiky and thin. The scrub was twisted and
brown, and a wind grew from the south, rich with the fetid tang of foul waters. The soil was sandy,
and often patches of mud and bog broke the road. Limpid pools and marshes were scattered
around, and they grew larger and multiplied until the land was almost inundated. In several places
they had to ride their horses around these pools where they cut off the road.

A fresh saltiness in the wind now told them the ocean was close. The waters fell behind, now there
was mostly sand, and it blew harsh against the horses’ legs. They could see something upon the flat
by the road – a building. This must be the inn, The Merry Man.

Odd it was. As they rode closer, they saw it was three stories, with the bottom one wider and
rounded, so it was like a wooden house built on top of an upturned boat. The building was bright
red but ramshackle, it stuck up from those colourless flats like a scarecrow in a field. Behind it
huddled stables and outbuildings. Strangely, a wooden beam rose vertically above the rood at one
side, topped with a lookout or some such. They could make out that someone was up there.

Reaching the place, the company drew up outside. Above the low doorway a wooden sign swung
in the wind, painted garishly with the grinning face of a man.

There was some commotion, it came from the lookout above them. In the basket suspended at the
top of the beam a small and bearded figure was flapping its arms and yelling.

A man appeared and untied a rope that kept the basket suspended. Lowered to the ground, the
figure struggled out. He was tiny and quite repulsive, mostly bald with a beard to the waist, and
bare-chested but for a big belt with what looked to be a brace of throwing knives. They knew it for a
dwarf, although all of them had rarely encountered these folk.

He introduced himself as Quig, Quig the dwarf and sea-dwarf, the only sea dwarf there was. He
held a metal tube, through which they had seen him gazing from on high, and asked what he had
been looking at. The sea he said, he had been looking at the beautiful sea, for he was a sea-dwarf.

35
He welcomed them; he seemed a lively fellow, but was hard to get news from. But then a man
appeared from within. He limped toward them on a wooden leg. He was dark-haired and bearded;
he smiled broadly and opened his arms.

“Welcome, welcome. Welcome to The Merry Man.”

His voice boomed and seemed full of laughter. He smiled on the company as he bade welcome
again and again. He asked their names and welcomed each. He made it seem they had been waiting
for them to arrive and had lain on a rich reception. They assumed travelers must be rare along here.

His name was Wil Tark. As he greeted them a woman appeared, slender and pleasing to the eye.
Wil introduced her as Jirel. She greeted each of the company gracefully, and at Wil’s bidding took
their mounts as he ushered the company into the inn.

The company stepped down in to the main room of The Merry Man. It was hardly a typical
taproom. In the light from the grimy windows they saw the walls and low ceiling were hung with
many bright silks, and their were silken cushions strewn around on some of the benches and a
couch in one corner. Heavy beams crossed the ceiling. The strange dwarf Quig guided them up a
narrow stair at the rear, to where a long room on the next floor with a sea-facing window was to be
their quarters. The whole place was creaky and had a cobbled-together feel, but they had little
chance to pause and look around, for Wil Tark and Quig were insisting they come down and take
their ease, but first they checked the stabling of the horses outside. There was only one other beast
in the stables, a donkey.

Wil Tark, Quig and the woman Jirel bustled around as the company sat in the taproom –where they
indeed seemed to be the only guests – and were served tankards of a good ale. They noticed the
people wore good garments, silks and velvet, and had no shortage of jewelry and trinkets on their
fingers, necks, and ears. They exchanged many questions with their hosts. Whence they came, what
was their business. The company were not bothered to be too secretive of their purpose here, and in
their talk let the keepers of The Merry Man know they came to retrieve something from the village
of Marshmouth.

Food was brought for them, a range of meats and fruits and bread. But the meat was salted, the fruit
was dried or preserved, and the bread was hard.

Outside the wind blew the sand against the windows. They learnt from their hosts that there were
indeed few travelers in these parts now, but Wil Tark was vague about how they kept the inn going.
But he spoke gladly of how they were soon to leave this place, he and Jirel who was obviously his
lover. To the company’s questions, they told something of the old village of Marshmouth, how it

36
had been scourged by the plague and then flooded by the ocean; and they confirmed what Erkonil
had said, that three ships had been wrecked on the nearby beach. But they warned the company not
to go near Marshmouth, for with the inundation of the waters it was not only mostly sunk, but also
surrounded by deadly quicksands. They seemed quite insistent that the company not attempt the
venture.

During this eating and talking, two other men had taken a table in the taproom. They were lightly
and ordinarily clad, but also had silver chains and rings. When the attention of Wil and Quig and
Jirel relaxed, Muradun slipped over to talk with the two men. They were taciturn, but gave their
names, Garth and Lans. Muradun found they were locals and knew a way across the quicksands to
Marshmouth. With offer of silver, he convinced them to guide the party across the sands on the
morrow.

Muradun then removed himself to the room upstairs. Jirel, accompanied by Quig on a three-
stringed fiddle of fine metal, treated the rest of the company to song. Her voice was rich and her
singing was fair. Wil watched her closely from a couch, and even joined in twice with a small
trilling flute. Mostly she sang love ballads, but also bawdy tales of village girls. Quig, his spirits
heightened with ale, gave a display of his prowess with his throwing knives, hurling them smartly
into a wooden target upon the wall. He then told them the tale of how Wil had lost his leg in a duel
when he was a privateer captain. The company had already heard that Wil had been a privateer in
the service of Gondor, and had glimpsed bitterness in the man when he mentioned the realm yet
owed him a payout for his service.

Sevineye retired for the night, followed soon by the last two. The window rattling in the wind
awakened them in the early morning. Their hosts were awake to serve them a breakfast much like
the meal of the night before. It seemed Wil Tark knew of the arrangement with Garth and Lans.
Although he still warned them against going to Marshmouth, nevertheless he did not try and stop
them.

As they ate Caede noticed a figure pass the window of the inn; instantly he recognised it for the
man who had brushed past them in Serelond before the Corsair attack. Wil noticed his alarm, for
they had sensed ill about that man, and Caede told all what he had seen. But Wil told them he was
one of his own servants, by name of Crabweed. Mostly he spent his time in the coastal watch tower,
helping the Gondorian sergeant of the coasts who was now old, but often he also went to Serelond
or Lond Galen for supplies.

Breakfasted, they found Garth and Lans already waiting outside, each carrying a stick and little
else. Without ceremony they set off behind the guides. The morning was somewhat misty, and they

37
set off across the bare sands with little idea of where they were headed. From the map given them
by Erkonil, Marshmouth they knew to be very close, only the quicksands were a barrier.

Before long Garth and Lans halted, and said that here was the edge of the quicksands. The men of
the company could notice almost no change in the sand, it was still blank but for small tufted plants
here and there. Warned to stay close to the guides, they made forward. The two men twisted and
across the sands, in response to signs or markings invisible to the company. Sometimes they paused
and prodded the surface with their sticks before proceeding. The company worried about returning
again, and thought of leaving some marking for the trail, but could not think how.

The guides indicated they had reached the end of the quicksands. Through the thinned mist they
saw still water ahead, and rows of shabby wooden houses poking from the surface - Marshmouth.
The sound of the sea was much louder now. In each direction, the scene disappeared into a silvery
margin of mist and water and sand.

The Sunken Village

The company made the guides agree to wait there for their return from the village. They decided to
enter the village in twos. Obviously Marshmouth had not been much even when it was still
inhabited. There were about thirty buildings, all of wood, only a couple of more than one level.
Half of them were deeply sunk halfway to the roofs, for the rest the waters washed about just above
street level. The company could see the houses were once brightly painted, but now were faded
and badly worn.

Caede and Sevineye waded through the north side of the hamlet, whilst Muradun and Thorgrim
searched the south. They went from house to house, looking for the marking that Erkonil said he
had left upon the door of the house where he had taken refuge. Muradun and Thorgrim were
content to look only at the doors, whilst Caede and Sevineye would often enter the houses and
search for a stair down to a cellar, or something of interest amongst the rotting rubbish.

Muradun and Thorgrim peered into the open door of a two-storey house, but saw only watery
darkness. They left it for the next place. Suddenly they heard a splosh behind them. They stopped.
There was a soft gurgle, and a then a churning. They turned; the sounds came from the open
doorway. As they watched, the water rippled and wallowed, and then the water at the doorway
erupted in a knot of turbulence, and even as they watched it surged toward them. But already they
had perceived a refuge near; a stair to a balcony upon the building beside them. They leapt to it as
the rushing of water filled their ears, and were splashed by foul water as they scrambled upwards.

38
There in the frothing waters there flailed serpent-like tentacles, thick as branches and leprous green.
They writhed into the air, raising sheets of spray, then slapped back into the water. Muradun and
Thorgrim saw the whole of the thing – a hideous creature, the worming tentacles joined to a
cankerous body – long and tapered, but lumpen and covered in growths. An animal such as they
had never seen, some deep-born monster dredged up from dim depths. The thing propelled itself
through the waters below the balcony, watching them malevolently with tiny black eyes.

Caede and Sevineye had heard the noises, and came splashing the corner of a house opposite.
Muradun shouted a warning, and Caede and Sevineye took refuge on a balcony of that house.
Sevineye gazed with scarce-hidden abhorrence at the thing. “Grennigish!” he uttered, and told
Caede this was how the Rivermen, named such creatures, but they were only creatures of legend
and child’s story, and he never thought to find one. Caede, his sword drawn, asked then how they
may be hurt, but Sevineye had no counsel.

So for a moment the four were marooned upon the two balconies, whilst the thing wallowed
between them, flopping and flaying in the shallow waters of the village of Marshmouth. But
Muradun was already readying his length of rope, remembering what tricks and crafts he had
learned. Impatient, he would have the creature, and would not be trapped here by it.

He contrived to tie a loop in one end of the rope, and, standing upon the stair, swung it and hurled
it out toward the water-thing. The others saw immediately he was trying to harness the thing, and
knew it was folly. The loop flopped harmlessly in the water near the monster’s head as it swam its
disgusting strokes. Muradun hauled the rope in, and swung and hurled once more. The loop sailed
through the air, and maybe it caught the eye of the monster, for the head lurched upward, lifting
clear of the water a moment, as if to bat the irritation away. But the loop landed clear on the
misshapen cone and slipped about its girth. The thing heaved back into the water, and the rope
came tight even as Muradun and Thorgrim pulled fast.

There was no time to marvel at Muradun’s rope feat, for he and Thorgrim were barely able to
constrain the thing as it thrashed against its bond. It swam and rolled, straining in fury against the
rope, but was held firm and unable to break free.

Caede now saw a chance. He descended into the waters and waded toward the thing, sword and
shield held out cautiously. He drew close, and was ware of the stink of the monster. The thing saw
him and was yet more angered, and it strained to get to him, but Muradun and Thorgrim held it on
the rope. Caede saw an opening. He ducked in and hacked at the tentacles, but they moved fast; his
blade did not bite. An arm curled out, Caede crouched behind his shield, but it darted low,
grappled his legs and hurled him back into the water.

39
Caede was winded but unhurt. Sevineye, hesitating behind, helped him up. The thing thrashed
again but could not reach the men. Muradun and Thorgrim still held the rope firm, but they could
not be sure of holding it. Muradun tried to tie the rope off on the stair, but it slipped in Thorgrim's
grip and Muradun had to take hold once more. Now Caede readied himself to attack the thing
again, and this time he told Sevineye to make for the stair behind whilst the monster was distracted.
He waded forward, bravely striking at the tentacles, but again they were too fast. This time though
he was ready for the creature's counter, and took the slippery blows on his shield. Meanwhile
Sevineye was moving behind it, but suddenly it was aware of him as he was almost at the stair, and
only with a last lunge did he make it to safety as the waters heaved behind him.

Muradun bid Sevineye lend his grip as he made the end fast about a beam of the stair. They hauled
again on the rope, and the monster was restrained to a narrow distance from the house, but its fury
at the bonds was even greater than before. Thorgrim, Muradun and Sevineye retreated upwards to
the balcony, as the thing came in close and the loathsome arms writhed in the air and slapped at the
balcony edge. Caede, soaked but not disheartened, darted in again as the thing looked elsewhere.
Striking twice, he smote a tentacle to limpness before retreating once more.

With the monster dragged so close they knew it was vulnerable, but they needed to secure the rope
again to free their hands. As Thorgrim gripped the line, Sevineye tried to make the knot, the both
defended by Muradun. The arms swayed and waved upwards, their evil tips groping over the
balcony edge for the three men. Muradun swung and hacked and tried as best he may to parry the
serpentine attackers. They were many, and strange to fight, and once the blade slipped in his grip.
Sevineye was batted by one blubbery limb, and abandoned in disgust his attempt to tie off the rope.
Then another arm snaked up and wrapped itself about Thorgrim's arm as he held the rope.
Thorgrim was stout and did not quail, and Muradun swung mightily to hack it deep, and Thorgrim
was free.

They gave up trying to secure the rope, and the thing slowly sunk back into the water. Caede had
made more blows against the monster as it flayed at his companions, now bearing also a flaming
torch – for Sevineye had shouted that sea-things hated flame. Each time Caede darted in to strike
quickly before retiring beyond its reach, and the monster now oozed brown stuff from its wounds.

They needed a surer way to strike it. Muradun took the axe of Sevineye, and hacked the railings of
the balcony into long poles. Then they jumped into the waters beyond the reach of the thing, and
worked quickly to shape points onto the poles. Thorgrim and Muradun took up the longer pole
together, and Sevineye took the shorter, to which he bound also another torch.

The four of them now circled the monster. It glided a moment through the water, the arms barely
waving; the tiny eyes scrutinized them with malevolence. Then suddenly it turned and grasped for

40
them, and they saw a moment the horrible jagged mouth within the tentacles. Thorgrim and
Muradun thrust their lance forward together, again and again as the thing thrashed before them. It
could not reach them, the rope yet held it. Caede went grimly in once more with his sword, and
Sevineye behind struck with his flaming lance. Many thrusts and strikes went astray, the monster
lurched and flailed and the waters foamed and spray filled their eyes. But brown blood was drawn,
a gash opened in the body, Caede’s sword slashed an arm. Then as the thing was turned away,
Sevineye thrust home his lance. Brown erupted as the great head was pierced, and the flame sizzled
the deep-born flesh. The thing jerked and went still of a sudden, and all its arms were limp.

They waited not, anxious lest there be more of the creatures lurking. All was still, save the crying of
the sea birds and ever-present crashing of the waves from across the sands. Continuing their search
for the house named by Erkonil, they found in the south of Marshmouth a place with a cross
scratched upon the door. It was locked, and breaking in they found the floor was not underwater,
for the house stood in the mud. As Thorgrim waited outside, they saw that surely as Erkonil had
told there was a stair leading down, and Caede went ahead with a torch. The stair creaked, and
Caede noticed the fourth stair was cracked and dangerous, and warned Sevineye who came behind.
Below there was a dim cellar, mostly inundated with water, and with walls of stone that had
collapsed in one corner. They were greatly wary of anything which might lie in wait within the dark
waters of the cellar, and they spent much time peering into the corners by the torchlight, and called
down Muradun, who still bore a pole, and probed the waters til they were sure they were alone.

They had seen the glint of gold under the water in the corner where the stone had collapsed. Caede
and Muradun waded into the cold murk and felt for Erkonil’s chest. The rockfall was heavy, but
Caede’s hand found touch with a smooth panel of wood – it seemed perhaps the end of the chest,
but it was locked under the heavy stones. Sevineye suddenly urged them to come back – he said the
waters were rising, the tide must be flowing. The water was indeed higher about their chests. They
continued to struggle to free the chest, but realized it would require much work for the two of them,
and Sevineye continued to hector them. So they left the cellar as the waters gurgled and swirled
higher.

Outside they could see the tide flowing through the village, the salt waters washing across the mud.
The four of them made back through the houses to the edge of the sands, where Garth and Lans
would be waiting. But the two men were gone. There was none to lead them back through the quick
sands; the way was closed. They cursed, but there was no time to wax furious, for the waters lapped
their legs where before there had been only mud. They remembered the causeway that led across
the waters from the other side of the village – it was their best escape, and they waded back across
the village. The causeway was of slats upon bleached wooden piles, and stood some feet clear of the
water. By the time they reached it they were trying to walk in waist-deep ocean. The silvery waters

41
were ripped by the tidal flows; the party was not sure the causeway itself may not be covered, so
they strode along it at a good pace.

The causeway led out across the open flat waters, where presumably there had once been dry land
before the area of Marshmouth was flooded. A light rain came down upon them as they went,
adding to the misery of their wet clothes and the lingering smell of the water thing. As they paced
along the causeway, they noticed in the water signs of shipwreck – spars sticking from the water,
tangled with ropes and old sailcloth, and fragments of wood floating. It was as they drew close to
an island crossed by the causeway that they found something more alarming in the water; a body. It
was a man in simple linen clothing, his waist tied with a rope belt, floating face down. In the man’s
back was a single slit – a knife wound perhaps.

The Sergeant of the Coasts

They passed over the island, which was sandy and grown with coarse grass. Ahead over a further
stretch of the waters they could see the small coastal watchtower that Erkonil had mentioned. It was
a mile or so away, and the waters were still running in from the mouth. They made it safe to the end
of the causeway, and waded through the marshes at the edge of the waters, toward the tower.

There was a man there in the marshes, crouching with a fishing line. He stood as the party
approached. It was the man they had seen in Serelond, and whom Caede thought he had seen that
morning at the Merry Man. Wil Tark had said his name was Crabweed, and that he often spent time
at the watchtower.

“What now is this from the waters? Fish? Or food of fish?” Crabweed fixed them with a curled grin,
eyeing their bedraggled state. He spoke like an old woman. He wore a stained brown cape, with a
hood tight on his skull, showing only his shiny pink features.

They greeted him warily, and said they sought to come to the tower. They didn’t wish for talk with
this one, and indeed their speech was cut short, for another came striding out over the wet ground.
It was a tall man, hard of eye and with firm-set jaw, and in the high helm and white cape of the
forces of Gondor.

He halted and looked at each of them. “I am Barahin, Coastal Sergeant of Gondor. Who are you
who come to this place? I will have your names and the names of your fathers, or you shall go no
further!”

The party willingly gave up their names to this man. Close to, they realized he was old and nearly
white-haired, although still firm of frame. He relaxed a little, but looked at them without welcome,

42
and said, ”I had not expected you so soon, nor to see northern men in your ranks. Where is your
captain?”

This speech confused the party. They professed they had no captain, but were come from Serelond
upon an errand. They asked if they may have rest and help with their task, and told briefly of the
meeting with the creature in Marshmouth. Caede remembered the letter from the Mayor of
Serelond, and urged Muradun to show it to Barahin. He took it and read, and a shadow of
confusion passed over his face as he looked at them once more. Then he said that, as friends of
Gondor, they were welcome to rest themselves here.

Barahin ushered them back to the watchtower. Crabweed came squelching behind, silent and
watchful. The tower was a leaning and decrepit round stone structure, with an iron basket upon its
top for the burning of beacon fires. It seemed to have three levels. Meanwhile, water was seeping
around their feet, the tide still flowing in.

Barahin escorted them into the tower, to the second floor. There was a stove there, and a table at
which they sat. Barahin brought victuals from the lower floor, while Crabweed hovered around,
and looking out of the narrow windows they could see the silver waters surrounding the land about
the tower.

As they ate Barahin asked them about their reason for being here, whilst they in turn asked him
about the hereabouts. They told him they were here for the treasured chest of Erkonil, and that they
meant to return to the village to retrieve it when the tide withdrew. He told them the tide would
ebb before sundown, but advised them not to venture near Marshmouth, and abandon the task and
return to Serelond.

Crabweed had been listening closely, but now excused himself in a slithering manner, saying he
had an urgent errand to attend to, and must be gone ere the waters surrounded the tower. The
party could see that Barahin felt for the other no affection. When Barahin had made to sit at the full
table, he had made Crabweed vacate a seat with a burning glare.

Crabweed gone and the air refreshed, Barahin now asked them by what deed they had come by the
letter of passage. They told of the fight with the Corsairs upon the docks at Serelond, and the old
man’s eyes lit with approval, glinting hard at their words of the battle. He said that for their deeds
they deserved better fare than this, and brought out a flagon of good wine - pouring carefully a
beaker for each man – as well as an excellent hard cheese.

They tried to learn more of Marshmouth from him, but even though he was now warmer toward
them, still his tongue was guarded and they sensed he withheld much. Of the shipwrecks, he would

43
say only that they were grievous, but inexplicable. Of their sighting of Crabweed in Serelond, he
could only say that the man ran errands frequently and brought provisions in the town. But when
they brought up The Merry Man and Wil Tark, Barahin’s hand slipped at the loaf he was cutting,
the knife clattering upon the table. Still he said he never went to the inn, and knew little of its folk.

Yet Barahin did tell them of how he came to be in the place. As a young man proud to serve Gondor
he had settled here with his wife, when it had been a good place. But the Plague had come, his wife
had been taken and Marshmouth abandoned. The waters had broken through and inundated the
low lands, and his fair daughter had gone away. Now there was only he and the waters, and the
tending of the beacon fire.

The four adventurers waited in the tower through that day for the waters to recede. Barahin urged
them once and again not to return to Marshmouth, and he spoke with weight and concern, as one
fighting man may counsel another. Still they were not to be dissuaded, and asked of him only once
thing: a shovel.

The tide ebbed in the afternoon, and as the sun sunk low the way back to the causeway was
passable again. Barahin saw them off, and handed over one thing which he said may help them in
the darkness. It was a powder, which he said if ignited would burn very brightly and hot but very
brief. He gave them also a fresh flint and steel for this. As he handed these things over, something
dropped from his tunic – a gold locket, with a picture within. He snatched it up quickly, but already
they had recognized the picture - a woman; Jirel.

Quickly now they returned to Marshmouth as the darkness closed in. As they strode along the
causeway, they saw the light of torches on the other side of the island, but decided to ignore them
and finish their task. In the village they found again the house with the cellar, and went back into
the cold waters to rescue Erkonil’s chest. Working together, and with the shovel, they made quick
work of it. The cracked chest had no small sum of gold and silver within, and they shared it out
amongst themselves - finally some payment for the travails of Marshmouth, although not all of
them valued gold equally. From the chest they also retrieved the letter of Erkonil; it was there just
as he had told, and was still good despite the soaking.

They made to return right away to the tower. A way back to the inn and their belongings could be
found later. They saw no torchlights in the darkness this time as they crossed the causeway, but
ahead now there was a bright beacon flame kindled upon the watchtower, and its flicker was
reflected eerily upon all the waters and slime of Marshmouth. It was as they were passing they
island again that they first became aware of something else however – distant upon the wind, a
faint keening above the sound of the waves. They knew not what the sound was, but it seemed to
come from ahead. Nevertheless they continued; for caution Muradun dropped back from the group

44
and followed in darkness. The sound grew, yet was beguilingly indistinct – sometimes it seemed as
a woman’s voice, other times more unearthly.

As they neared the end of that wooden path, they knew something lay in wait for them. The sound
came keen out of the dark ahead, rising and falling but never fading. Still they determined the
tower was their only refuge. They reached the end of the causeway, and thought to skirt
northwards around whatever was ahead. Quickly they made over the darkened marsh ground,
hunting through the darkness. The song of the dark wove around them, almost seductively
reaching for the four adventurers. Still they fled, but suddenly they realized the sound was now
ahead of them once more. They pulled up a moment, looked about, and one of them gasped to
break for the tower and be done. So they ran, sprinting straight for the burning beacon. In the dark
on the soft ground they often stumbled, and were separated. Then Sevineye and Caede, falling
behind, realized they were not alone – there were other feet in the dark. Somewhere, drawing close,
a horde of pursuers running, feet pattering upon the mud. So still the party ran, but the many feet
drew around, and though they had evaded it the song still quivered in the air.

But then the sudden ringing of a bell, clear and heavy from the tower, split those sounds. A voice -
Barahins- called from the tower, “Ship! Ship hoy off the rocks! Ship hoy!” The song died and did not
return, and they heard briefly the pursuers melting into the night. Sevineye though heard one
coming through the dark; he hissed a warning, but it was Caede. They were alone.

Coming to the tower once more, Barahin let them in. He was alone, Crabweed was not to be seen.
The old man was undoubtedly glad to see the four of them, and showed them the same formal
courtesies. He went to fetch them food once more, but they were impatient with questions: of the
strange singing, the night-running pursuers, this ship he had spotted…and Jirel, what of Jirel, his
daughter?

Barahin was grave, but would not answer their question until he had served the food at the table.
Then he looked on them, and there was pain and hope alight in his eyes. He said they deserved to
be told truth, and there was now naught reason to speak otherwise. He told them that Jirel was
indeed his daughter, his loved daughter. She was the lover of Wil Tark, who with his band of men
would lure ships by night to founder upon the beach, and there would murder and take the
plunder. And Tark had fallen in with Corsairs of Umbar, they it were who had now come by ship,
and they were to take Wil Tark and Jirel away come morning.

The news maybe did not shock them, but they were beguiled by Barahin’s passivity, this man of
Gondor, a sergeant in the service of the realm. Now, they said, the Corsairs and the scum of the
Merry Man must be halted; a reckoning should be made. They could ride to Lond Galen and rouse
the captains of that town to the conspiracy. Barahin said it was too far. They could challenge the

45
plunderers and murderers themselves. Barahin said they were too many. The four adventurers
were anxious not to stay in the tower and let events pass, but Barahin sat and shook his head, trying
to convince them, and maybe himself. Let them go, he said, and there would be no more troubles
here. Let his daughter escape elsewhere, there would be no more black deeds here, and he could be
let alone, an old man and the sea.

Caede and Muradun were angered by his inaction, and Caede would shame him to action. But he
seemed to have collapsed, this sergeant of Gondor who had challenged them that day, into a
despairing old man. But before their interrogations he did bring forth news. He told of how Wil
Tark and his gang had captured from one of the wrecked ships a southern girl, and she was greatly
desired by the Corsairs. Tark held her prisoner to give to his allies on the morrow. Barahin told
them she was held amid the marsh, in the wrecked hulk of one of the ships, and told them just
where it lay. With this news, they maybe had something to bargain to regain their horses and gear
from the Merry Man.

They saw no gain from staying longer here in the tower with Barahin. With little discussion they left
for the wrecked hulk, to find the prisoner and do what may. Outside the night was empty, they
were unchallenged as yet again they walked the causeway over the sluggish waters of
Marshmouth. The wreck was upon the north side of the isle, and they divided themselves as they
crossed the isle, approaching where they thought the wreck lay from different directions. All was
deep dark, and they bore no flame, but creeping forwards they saw flickerings of torchlight, framed
as if by a window. They went forward, passing from grass to mud. Caede and Muradun
approached with painful caution, straining eyes and ears, stopping always when some sound
disturbed them. So they sensed eventually the bulk of the wrecked ship before them, and found a
shattered hole in its side. In they crept, stealing through darkness and found a ladder and a way aft.
There they realized was the light. As they made aft there was suddenly the sounds of voices,
shouting, two people. Quig, the dwarf, was one. He was abusing and threatening the other, and
suddenly there was the sound of feet and a man came running from aft on the opposite gangway,
pursued by Quig who hurled a knife. It missed, sticking the wood as the man escaped to the
forecastle and over the side. Quig did not halt, but followed his fellow, sputtering in anger. It
seemed they had a dispute over dice.

Thorgrim and Sevineye saw the man and Quig leave the wreck from where the crouched in the
darkness without. Thorgrim was eager to follow Quig and deal a reward, but Sevineye restrained
him. Instead they entered the ship up the ladder the dwarf had used. They rejoined with the others,
and together they cautiously made for the light at the rear of the ship. There were no more sounds,
and the cabins they found empty, but for the rearmost, where glowed the light. It was a great cabin,
with a lantern overturned upon the deck. There were boxes and chests stacked around, and sitting

46
bound and gagged, staring at them defiantly, was a girl. She had short straight dark hair and
burning dark eyes. Here was their prisoner.

They removed her gag, and she was able to speak. She was a southerner, and spoke in the tongue of
the Harad, which Muradun and Caede understood, although it was not their own. At first she spat
at them in anger, taking the four to be in league with her captors. Muradun and Caede slowly
assured her this was not so, and found her name, Shamalanna. What was the interest of the Corsairs
in her, they could not find from her speech, but it was something to do with a great book that was
with her. It was a massive heavy bound tome, covered in peeling leather and etched with archaic
script. Sevineye was able to read it, saying it was named The Book of Chains. When they cut her
bonds, she grasped the book protectively – although whether to protect herself or the tome, they
could not tell.

Shamalanna insisted to the southerners that she was merely come to Gondor to make a life, and it
was yet a strange place to her. This maybe struck a chord with Muradun and Caede. Furthermore,
when she found they were bound for Lond Ernil, she said she also wished to go to that city. No
longer so spiky, she now wished them to take her away with them. The four still did not know how
they would end matters – they wished to regain their mounts and possessions from the inn, but
were not prepared to bargain with the girl. They thought maybe to bargain with the book, but
Shamalanna acted as though they were trying to take her child. Also they had something new to
think on – here they had found the treasure trove of Will Tark and his merry men. There was coin in
the hundreds, gold, silver, bronze, a fortune for farmer, merchant, or even nobleman. Yet to take all
would need horses to carry at the least, and time to load. If they went to challenge or bargain now
with the denizens of The Merry Man, there would be little chance of returning here once more to
claim the plunder. And in any case, Quig or another may return at any moment. Caede was most in
favour of claiming the coin, and Sevineye looked at it with repressed hunger, yet even he thought
so much gold may drag them to their deaths. All took then what they may, but for Caede each coin
he touched reminded him how much he was losing.

They left the wreck, Shamalanna among them. The southern girl was obviously no stranger to going
in stealth by night, and she was almost lost against the dark in her supple black clothes. The tide
was out far enough to allow them to pass over the muds direct toward the inn. The gained the
sandy ground, and passed north of the quick sands. No soul did they see or hear, but only the
sighing of the ocean. They saw the lights of The Merry Man from some distance, and approached
with care. They meant to regain their horses and be done. The possessions within would be lost,
and Muradun felt sore disappointment to give up the book of warfare he had brought from
Northmarch, knowing he was losing the chance to unlock some of the mystery of Brom.

47
Caede and Muradun went ahead alone to fetch the horses. The stables, which stood alone behind
the ramshackle inn, were darkened and barely touched by the dim light from the windows of the
inn. They could hear music within, but there was no one around here. The horses were still there,
apparently well and still with saddle and bridle. Caede and Muradun each crept into a stall to untie
the beasts.

But then they heard a door opening, and both crouched down in the dark of the stalls. From the
back door of The Merry Man a figure appeared, closing the door and making to the stables on with
padded step. They huddled into the shadows below the stable doors, and heard a voice muttering
“Good horses……good horses, shall we take you too, take from here?” They could not understand
all the words, but it was Crabweed, and they sensed his smell. Their weapons were ready.
Crabweed passed along the stalls, muttering and licking his lips. He came to where Muradun was.
Crabweed chuckled, and reach over to stroke the horse. Muradan knelt with muscles bunched. He
saw the arm above. His sword swept up, a clean stroke. Crabweed breathed in surprise as his arm
was hacked, but as he screamed Muradun was already grabbing him, dragging him into the stall
and holding his face to the straw until the body was limp.

Caede and Muradun remained quiet a moment, and heard another open the door of the inn. It was
Quig, and he peered out a while and shouted for Crabweed, but then closed the door and returned
inside. Hurriedly they untied the horses and led them back to their companions.

They all saddled and mounted. The gold still waited in the wreck, but the men of The Merry Man
may soon be aware of them, and the tide would soon flow again. So they turned their horses’ heads
toward the old coastal road, and left Marshmouth.

The Road to Lond Ernil

Lond Galen

The party made Lond Galen in the early hours, passing down a dark tree-lined avenue to a
darkened gatehouse. There was actually no gate, and no wall, but a man appeared who seemed to
be a gatekeeper of sorts, and pointed them toward a nearby inn after looking them up and down.
The innkeeper bustled around with a candle, not perturbed by the state of the five travelers.

By daylight they found Lond Galen was a busy, comfortable town. It lay upon a rise on the bank of
the Celgalen River, where the river widened toward the sea. The most part of the town looked west
over the waters, and to the east the town flowed into smallholdings and broken woodland. The
streets were filled with simple traders and craftsmen, some larger merchants, fisher folk and

48
farmers and sailors, as well as some well dressed officials and nobles. The party blended in fairly
easily, and found all they needed as they busied themselves with sundry matters; buying clothes to
replace the garb made filthy in Marshmouth (Sevineye found himself an embroidered tunic of deep
red), and finding good food for their bellies. There was a market upon a broad stone stair running
down to the wharfs, and here Muradun tried unsuccessfully to buy some poison to sweeten his
sword edge.

They picked up the news of the place. Word of the Corsair attack at Serelond was rippling through
the town, heightening the fear of a raid here. Lond Galen had no wall and was closer to the ocean
than Serelond – a ripe target. Some sense of security was brought by the number of soldiers of
Gondor about the town, as well as stout yeomen called down from the Green Hills – men in green
caps with brawny arms from drawing their longbows. Still, they heard also that there was a steady
flow of people out of Lond Galen and Anfalas these days, heading for better fortunes in Lond Ernil
and the east. This was due to the Plague as well as the Corsairs, and as in any place there were
many abandoned and boarded-up dwellings about Lond Galen.

In the main square of the town the army was recruiting. A barrel-chested officer called for young
men to place their symbol on a scroll, expounding loudly on the adventure and travel, the steady
pay and pride of serving in Gondor’s armies. Muradun listened for a few minutes with interest.
They also heard there were mercenary soldiers in town, recruiting a band for a journey to the north.

In all this Shamalanna stayed close to the party, or rather close to Muradun, for he was become her
translator in all things – both of the language and the ways of Gondor. She wandered with wide-
eyes and a mixture of curiosity and wariness, mixed with episodes of suspicion and delight. She still
clutched the book to herself always. The first night in Lond Galen Caede had questioned whether
they ought sleep without keeping a watch on Shamalanna, for how could they be sure she was
trustworthy. They did not take the trouble in the end.

That second night they dined well in the best inn of Lond Galen, The Brewery. There before a great
window looking over the sunset upon the Celgalen estuary they indulged their gold on quail and
other fine meats, drinking Belfalas wine and the inn’s own ale from silvered cups, and spilling it
onto a tiled floor. They talked and mulled over their doings and their road, and each spoke of how
their hearts turned at times to their homelands, of which most often was Caede, and rarest was
Sevineye. Amongst the other diners were some of those mercenaries, taking a feast. Caede went to
talk with them with typical boldness. After paying for drinks for all, he learned from the leader – a
man of the north named Garwhiní – that they were taking ship soon for the northern city of
Tharbad. From there they reckoned it easy to find good employ in northern wars, and he talked of
everlasting struggle in the north, and a monarch he named the Witch-King who was its source.

49
Later that eve, after their gorging, Sevineye reminded all that the matter of The Merry Man
remained yet unconcluded, for they had not advised the Lords of this place of the threat, or at least
the crimes, of Marshmouth. The party cared not greatly now, for surely Wil Tark and his band
would already have escaped with the Corsairs. Thorgrim still seemed riled though that no
vengeance had been made, and Sevineye argued a case that they ought cover themselves lest any
twisted tale of the party’s involvement be told by Barahin or by any from The Merry Man who may
remain. Hence the next day Sevineye and Thorgrim made to the hall of the Squire of Lond Galen.
They were admitted into grand chambers and waited awkwardly, until a robed official who named
himself as Bregor took their names and heard their suit. They then had to tell it again whilst a scribe
took it down, to careful questioning by Bregor. He was concerned at the news, and had been aware
of the missing ships, but he was also pre-occupied with other concerns: the raid on Serelond not the
least. He said that a party would be sent to Marshmouth to investigate. He was not satisfied when
Thorgrim said he and his companions would soon leave Lond Galen, but did not take steps to
detain them in the town

At midday they awaited Erkonil in the Gatehouse inn as arranged, and he proved true to his word.
He arrived and paid them their dues, receiving gladly and with gleaming eyes the letter they had
retrieved from the chest in Marshmouth. He asked them in a low voice what had befallen – were
there ghosts on the sands? They settled his fears, but did not tell much of what had truly happened.

Erkonil was readying to leave for the eastern cities in a weeks time. The party discussed providing
him escort, but decided they would rather be away sooner. That evening they sealed the end of
their arrangement with the merchant with a meal at The Brewery once more, although this time the
lamb was preferred to quail. At the table they asked him of Lond Ernil, and he waxed lyrical on the
characters of the cities of Gondor – Minas Anor in the north was a fortress for the officials and the
army; Minas Ithil was the place for scholars, artists, and all learning and romance; Pelargir for
which he was bound was the home of all trade, of seamen and faces from a thousand lands, and
also the greatest den for such scoundrels as there were in the realm; and Lond Ernil had something
of each of the other cities, but was a jewel in her own right. A great Prince, who was wise and
benevolent, ruled her, and was said to talk often with elvish-folk. His rule extended beyond Lond
Ernil, to all Dor-en-Ernil, the Lands of the Prince, which was a great part of Gondor, but still in
league to the King.

Other questions they asked of Erkonil. Caede asked of finding enchanted weapons to purchase in
Lond Ernil, to which he got a strange look as reply; Shamalanna asked of one lord of the city named
Angrod, but Erkonil did not know of the fellow.

The Road

50
Their business concluded, they left Lond Galen the following day, tarrying only to purchase a horse
to bear Shamalanna, for she still wished to accompany them to Lond Ernil. The road – the Gondor
Highway – was good and paved, though parts were in bad need of repair. It took them through
rolling open lands some miles from the sea. Upon the road were some other travelers – traders with
goods upon horses, merchant’s wains, and families emigrating eastwards, transporting their goods
with them. The first night the party spent in the open, and the next in a hamlet by a bridge. On the
third day they rode through the fishing village of Iantras, and spent the night in another hamlet,
before staying the fourth night in the town of Rondalph.

In The Navigator inn at Rondalph they were befriended by a group of traveling players, most
particularly by their light-hearted headman Orleg, who seemed most taken with Shamalanna, to her
bemusement. After kicking up some tunes on their instruments, they settled by the fire to tell some
bits of old tales. Fair and whimsical or dim dark they were, and at the climax of a story in the halls
of a dark king, Shamalanna gave a start at the utterance of the name ‘Morgoth’.

Thenceforth the road left the coast, and the traffic thickened further. Messengers flew past them,
upon groomed brown horses, their blue cloaks flying. One stopped to beg a drink of water, and had
brief words with the party. He asked them if they were bound for Edhellond. When they said they
did not know such a place, he excused himself, and said it was a town and port of elves not far, and
that he thought by their look they may be headed that way. Very few folk ever went to the elf-
haven, he said, but you could catch a far glimpse from further up the road. After he had galloped
off, Sevineye said he thought it not good for men to mix with elves, for such he had heard in his
own country, which was near elf-lands. Caede and Muradun had little knowledge of anything
elvish, but when Muradun had translated for her Shamalanna said they were best to stay away.

The next day they passed some southward forks in the road, which may have led to Edhellond, and
looking south could see a times stretches of green wood, and maybe the shine of white dwellings.
The country in any case was become changed now. They were leaving Anfalas, and there were now
cropped fields about instead of just the herd-pastures they had been passing for weeks. There were
more homesteads and hamlets, and some tended hedgerows, and the stretches of wood seemed less
wild. Fewer of the people on the road and inns seemed the rough trappers and hunters and
vagabonds seen in Anfalas, and more were local farmers and tradesmen about their daily business.

So in the middle of the seventh day from Lond Galen they reached the junction of two broad rivers,
the Morthond, or Blackroot in Westron, and the Ringlo. In the fork stood a busy, ordered town,
which was Glanhir, a healthy trade centre. They were ferried across Morthond upon a barge to the
docks of Glanhir, and climbed to the top of the town, where they chose a high inn named The White
Tree to be their lodging.

51
Drama in Glanhir
They rested a while in Glanhir and enjoyed the sights and sounds of a prosperous Gondorian town.

In the inn a strange thing happened. The group was drinking in the taproom and hearing the news
of the place – the chief piece was off the escape of a feared convict - when a well-dressed, bearded
man introduced himself as Mahal, a trader in fine crafts. In flattering manner, he addressed
Shamalanna, speaking in another tongue, but in words obviously meant to ingratiate himself with
the girl. To the party’s surprise, Shamalanna then laughed and made a reply in the same tongue.
The man looked a little embarrassed and explained himself in Westron. It seemed he had taken
Shamalanna for an elven maiden, and – honoured and surprised to find such a one here – had
welcomed her in the elven language. But he then continued talking to her in that speech, and both
seemed content to ignore Shamalanna’s companions.

It was in that night that their rest in the inn was disturbed. It was Muradun who awoke first. Two
intruders had come in at their room’s window. In the struggle that followed the whole party was
roused (only Sevineye did not rise). One of the thieves was brought down and knocked out under a
blanket, receiving a good few kicks from Muradun; the other made off out a window, and carrying
some of the party’s belongings. Thorgrim and Caede gave chase after the other – Caede making
down the thieves’ rope from the window – but the burglar disappeared into Glanhir’s alleys. The
town’s guardsmen, when they arrived, could not offer any aid but to drag off the unconscious first
thief.

The next day Sevineye grew ill; he blamed it upon a gruel he had lunched on by the docks.
Muradun brought to him a healer, whom he had already sought out for learning in herb lore. The
healer advised it would pass with rest, but it delayed their departure for Lond Ernil.

The others were impatient to leave. Then to their surprise, Shamalanna then declared to Muradun
that she was leaving separately for Lond Ernil; the man she had met the previous night – a dealer in
fine crafts – was following that road, and she would ride with him. None of the party tried to stop
her, and were hardly positioned to offer advice on the risks of taking up with strangers. So the
Haradan girl left them in Glanhir, and they shrugged their shoulders and awaited their
companion’s return to health.

But though she left them, they were not freed from wondering about the nature of this beautiful
black-clad traveller from the south who had been amongst them. For by night a sack was thrown at
the feet of the keeper of The White Tree as he was closing up the inn. It turned out to be the
belongings stolen from the party by the thief of the night before. They reclaimed their gear and
trinkets with satisfaction, but then found something strange to them. A piece of parchment, folded,

52
yellowed, it had seen many miles by the look of it, and belonged to none of them. Upon it was
written in a crabbed but careful hand:

Break upon the anvil

Theif wrong-handed
Merchant of petty loves
Champion of lusts
Abandoner of kin
Follow father into darkness

By Bauglir, by Grond
By the Wizard and the Lady
Angrod into Darkness
Break upon the anvil
Angrod unto torment
Break upon the anvil

Knife in shadow
Choke by night
In the city of the craven princeling
At the yearsend

Their suspicions were raised. Angrod; this was the name Shamalanna had spoken before, a lord of
Lond Ernil whom she was seeking. This woman whom they had helped into Gondor was planning
ill against one of its sons, of this they were sure. They determined to ride at once for the city of
Lond Ernil, find Shamalanna or alert this lord Angrod.

Come next morning, Sevineye was gaining strength, but too weak to ride. But no matter, he said,
for he declared he wished to go his own for a while, spend time alone in the realm. He had spoken
to bargemen on the docks, and he thought to join a barge going up river on the Ringlo for some
days and feel again the pace of a river and work a riverboat. He pledged to meet up again with
Caede, Muradun, and Thorgrim in Lond Ernil three days after the new year, at whatever place
sailors gathered in that city.

The others felt this strange, but let Sevineye go his way. They saddled and made off, south to Lond
Ernil.

Ride to Lond Ernil

53
They rode hard, and such was the quality of the paved road – The Gondorian Way – that they
reached the city of Lond Ernil the next day.

The road took them into Dor-en-Ernil, the Lands of the Prince. They went south by the banks of the
River Morthond, which swelled broad as it neared the sea. They passed many villages and hamlets,
and saw manors and even a great castle in the distance. The sun was high, the road thronged with
folk; traders with their goods, artisans and farmers making between the villages.

Another type of man the three outlanders noticed upon the roads, men who were strange in their
way, often well clad and sometimes armed. Forbidding men of far stern gaze, yet who never struck
the party with fear or threat. These were no rogues or mercenaries as were found in Anfalas and the
further regions; no, the party knew many of these to be pure Dunedain, for if nothing else they
reminded them of Brom. They were nobles perhaps - for some went with ladies untouchable and
beautiful in their finery - or officials of the realm, or just men whose learning and experience
sundered them from others (for this the young travellers knew: there is much in the world of which
glad farmers and merchants would never dream). These men lent the land a greater sense of
strength and safety than any of the fortifications or cosy towns on the wayside. In any case, the
party themselves rode unregarded.

In the afternoon bony, honey-coloured mountains reared above the fertile farm country, much of
which was still fallow for the winter cropping. They reached the ocean by sunset, and saw the sun
sink into the waters, glinting on something far off down the coast, glints full of warmth and
promise.

The party lodged in an inn in a busy road town. They asked the keeper of the place about this Lord
Angrod, the one they must seek to avert the threat from Shamalanna. The innkeeper and his wife
had nothing but scorn for the man and his house, the House Umarth. Apparently Angrod of
Umarth did not live a honourable life, but dwelt in debauchery, disgrace, and neglect of his duties.
The three chewed their broiled duck with bemusement.

The House Umarth

The Gates of the City
A fresh winter wind blew through the rocky peaks of Belfalas. Upon a road winding amidst the
hills many travellers were passing to and fro the nearby city and haven of Lond Ernil. Amongst
these travellers were three who spurred their horses impatiently, strangers to the land. The first a
tall man with light hair and great frame wrapped in a chain shirt, who gauged each person who
passed, eyeing off any soldier or armed man; the next of golden skin and fairer face, his loose
clothing blowing about him, heedlessly lost in his own thoughts for the moment, and a last,
younger and of smaller build, but of quiet prideful gaze, which some coming the other way might

54
mistake for haughtiness. Their clothing was a mixture of the fine and the worn, like weary
wanderlings recently come into riches, and their gear was diverse and numerous.

These were Thorgrim of the Eothraim, Caede of Pel, and Muradun of Sirayn. They were indeed
riding for Lond Ernil. For some weeks they had sought it as their goal, but now they also had
another mission: to save one of the lords of the city. This was their second day of riding, and they
were sure they would soon see the gates of the city.

But the road ahead was soon blocked by a host of folk – travellers all bound for Lond Ernil. It
seemed that entering the gates took time, and the line moved forward only slowly. A man and a
boy behind struck up talk with the four foreigners; the man was Arminas, an officer of Castle
Amrunaur in the mountains of central Dor-en-Ernil. His son Rumil was bound to take the entrance
tests for the Squires College in Lond Ernil, where – if he were found worthy - he could have the best
education for a commoner in the realm in the ways of arms and lore.

As they inched forward, another road branched off the narrow valley they were following, into a
ravine between rock walls, but none of the assembled people went that way. Arminas though told
the party to follow him, and led them along the track into the ravine. He explained that this was an
alternate, defensible route kept in case the city was ever attacked. Its use was open only to men of
Gondor’s army, like himself.

The way was close and dim despite the sunny day, but then widened a little. Suddenly there was a
wall across the path, damming the whole ravine. A high flat wall of smooth grey stone blocks, with
a great gateway opening before them. The gate itself somehow seemed also of stone, fluted and
curved. Grey steel helms of guardsmen topped the wall. The three outlanders instinctively pulled
up their horses, thinking by what right should they gain entry to such a portal. But Arminas led
them onward through the forbidding gateway, his soldier’s gear and a nod and word with a
guardsman granting him passage. The party and the boy Rumil eyed the wall in wonder as they
passed through. The guards peered down at them, silent, and the newcomers saw their helms were
formed like the faces of snarling beasts at the front, and their mail was like wrappings of grey
gravel.

“That was the Gate of Stone,” said Arminas.

What manner of place were they coming to, the travellers thought.

A little further on, and there was another wall with gateway standing open. It looked shadowy and
treacherous, like a thicket of thorns hidden in the canyon.

55
“The Gate of Writhen Iron”, Arminas announced.

The wall was indeed of iron – iron bars driven into the ground and rising like a many-picketed
fence, all interwoven and wrought like trees, the top like a grove of spears. On the parapet were
strange sentinels, figures in black mantles and mail, their faces like fierce birds. The wall rang dully
under their boots. But again Arminas passed confidently through, and one of the guards, his bird-
visor raised, waved them onward.

The top of the canyon widened, and it grew less dim on the pathway.

“There is one more gate,” announced Arminas, “the Gate of Mist.”

But already they saw the pale barrier ahead. It curved down from the cliffs on either side, and there
were high treacherous stairs there leading to the ridge-tops. The wall was all of white marble, but
inlaid with runes and fretwork in silver. The parapet was a silver trellis, and there was a cohort of
archers in sweeping white and blue coats and bright helms shaped like swans, and they were
smiling.

The Gates all behind them, the rock walls fell away on either side, and the travellers could see a
fiercesomely blue ocean right before them. The path turned, a strong breeze hit them full in the
face, and there suddenly was the city before them.

“Behold! Lond Ernil, the Haven of the Prince!” said Arminas.

What they saw was a mountain, massive before them. It was a great peninsula of rock heaving up
from the waters, its sides mounted with tier upon tier of crowding houses, halls, spires and terraces,
climbing up the slopes to soaring towers and domes with banners floating in the sea air. Between
the swarming buildings were thatches of green gardens and great scarps of naked rock. At the foot
of the slopes pale piers stretched into the water, their embrace forming three great harbours, the
wharfs tied with ships of trade and of war and fleets of fisher’s boats.

The five of them paused on their mounts, stared at the city for a while. At the peak of the peninsula
was a walled white citadel, and from its towers a blue banner with a white swan beat at the sky.
They had not suspected such a place existed.

Arminas led them on. The track wound round the cliff top above the sea, and joined again the main
road into Lond Ernil where it passed through a strongly fortified gate in the wall stretched across
the narrow neck of the peninsula. The wall and gate were solid and massive, but not so strange as
the three through which they had just passed. Before the wall was a grassy place where people

56
were awaiting entry to the city, and others were leaving in a steady stream. There were some
markets, and rows of wooden stables, for horses were not practical in the steep ways of the city.

The party sold their horses there and then at the animal market. It seemed better than to pay for
their upkeep in the stables, and they were confident that their days of weary wandering were over
for the moment. With some excitement they squeezed into the crowds under the arches of the gates,
Arminas and Rumil still there to guide them.

It was decreed that no man, other than the city guard, soldiers and the servants of nobles, were to
bear a weapon within the city other than a knife no more than a hand in length. All other weapons
could be kept in the Gatehouse by a system of tokens. In exchange for their numerous weaponry
the travellers each received a half-round wooden token that could be presented upon leaving the
city in order to regain the gear, the claim being proven by the fit of the token to its mating half kept
in the Gatehouse. They also payed the one copper piece toll levied on each man, beast, or wheel
entering the city.

Through the Gates and they were on a road running on the crest of the peninsula all the way to the
citadel half a mile away. Amid the throngs of folk Arminas and Rumil bid goodbye, but they
agreed to meet again that evening at The Green Bough inn – which Arminas said was frequented by
sailors and the most likely place to meet their friend Sevineye.

From the road they took long broad stairways down to the city streets. From the stairs they saw the
lay of Lond Ernil. It was all founded on the north side of the peninsula, where there were three
great bays in the rock, and before each bay was a broad harbour on the waters. In each bay were
three levels, from the water-side to half-way up the slopes. The levels were separated by great
retaining walls pierced with gates and stairs. Between the bays in the rock were great spurs, barren
but for some hardy trees, but mounted by the city’s pastel towers, domed or spired in blue and
copper and white.

But when they descended finally into the streets of the city they found a whole other world. Stone
houses and terraces crowded over steep cobbled or paved streets that were broken up constantly
with stairs and ramps. People were everywhere; women leaning out of windows, pedlars shouting
their wares, wealthy townsmen strolling, artisans and labourers and errand-runners, guardsmen
walking in step, children weaving through the crowds. There were shops, from tiny cobbler’s stalls
or holes-in-the-wall selling pies to grand chandleries behind many-paned windows. They would
turn a corner and find a cobbled square with a fountain where young women talked and trailed
their hands in the waters, or an unexpected sun-warmed terrace overlooking the grand sweep of the
waters and the tiled roofs of the next levels. There were narrow culverts of flowing waters dividing
everything in their rush down to the sea. The buildings were startlingly tall; four, six, eight floors

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tall; the city seemed to exist in the vertical. There were balconies and little stairs, archways and
small bridges running across gaps, and windows everywhere. Lond Ernil seemed riddled with
alleyways and hidden courts and gardens and other secret places, but nowhere seemed dark or
treacherous, no lair of cutpurse or cutthroat. And through all these spaces between stone and stone,
cliff and tree, the ocean air flowed cleansing and sweet, fresh with winter.

<More on the dunedain>

First Day in the Haven

They found the inn they had been recommended to stay by Arminas, the “”. It was at the waterfront
level of the easternmost of the three bays, an area known- according to Arminas- as Green Side.
The inn was high, and the only rooms on the top floor. Staying in Lond Ernil would require strong
legs, that much was already clear. Upon the city stairs and steep streets they already noticed
porters bent under all manner of loads, huffing their way up the slopes, their leg muscles gnarled
from the punishing work. However, the inn was also well-appointed and a cut above what they
were accustomed to.

In the quiet civility of the taproom they asked the innkeeper about this Angrod of Umarth. He gave
them a sour look, but was able to tell them where this lord kept his home in the city. At a place
called the Amber Town, which was the second level of the westernmost bay, above the War
Harbour. The travellers were quickly learning that men of Lond Ernil reckoned location according
to named ‘towns’: White Town, Great Town, Old Town, Gate Town, and the others, as well as by
the names of the three harbours: the War, Trade, and Working harbours.

They spent some time exploring around the streets, and found the drinking hall and inn called the
Green Bough, a place near the docks where many sailors gathered and Arminas had suggested
would be the best place to meet Sevineye. There they left a message with the innkeeper for when
their companion returned.

The docks and the lower parts of the city were busy commercial places. Goods were carted around
for the ships and warehouses; there were noisy shipyards, a dozen drinking halls and dives, high
houses of the Guilds of Merchants, Navigators, and others, a busy moneychanger’s hall, and many
good places to eat cheaply.

Eventually the party made their way to the house of Angrod of Umarth. The Amber Town was a
fine district, full of grand mansions of the wealthier citizens. High square buildings in marble and
granite stood behind trim gardens and gates. They looked over the War Harbour and the ocean bay
beyond, many of their faces grown over with ivy. The Umarth house was three stories high, narrow

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and in pale marble. The garden looked overgrown through the locked iron gate. There was a small
gatehouse, and the three interrupted the dishevelled gatekeeper as he was brewing his lunch. He
told them none was currently living in the house – the Lord Angrod was away at a mansion by the
sea south of Lond Ernil. However, he also told of Angrod’s sister Marya, who served in a healing
house in the Night Town. She was a good woman and hard working for the city’s poor, and much
regarded by the best folk. They remembered the name of the healing house and determined to visit
Mayra of Umarth.

They realised there was no entry to be had to the empty house, but as they eyed it one thought he
saw movement in a window, a face? They left the gatekeeper in peace, but resolved to return.

Mansion by Night
Evening fell across the winding ways of Lond Ernil, and the city quietened. Once the streets had
emptied of the flow of merry seamen, message runners, theatre audiences, and lovers, the two
southerners and tall northerner stepped from their inn. They passed through from the lower levels
back up to the Amber Town. The Umarth house loomed pale in the moonlight, its windows giving
out a deeper darkness to the night. As the three were bethinking their entrance, there was a squeal
and a clunk, the gate nudging the gatepost in the breeze. It was open. There was no sign of the
gatekeep, and the house looked deserted.

With customary caution, learnt in wilder places of Middle-earth, they stole to the closed door.
Unlocked, it was of good make and opened without sound. Within was a circular hall, lit faintly by
some entrance of the moonlight. The three peered in for some time, but no sound was heard;
nothing stirred in the house of Umarth. They crept in, the hall was wide and was as high as the
house, and from an aperture in its crowning dome the light entered. The floor was a huge mosaic of
a lone tree. A stair wound up the circumference of the hall, leading to two galleries at each floor of
the house. Down here, doors led off to the sides. The hall was a mystical and eerie place, and they
wondered how the rest of the house would be.

They were about to investigate the doors to the side when a slight scraping sound was heard from
above. It was from one of the doors off the galleries. Silently, Muradun made up the stair to the
gallery. Thorgrim started behind him, Caede remained below, his eyes on the side doors.

Muradun’s dagger blade glinted murderously in the moonlight as he made for the door. It was half
open, and dark within. Muradun peered. There was a hiss of indrawn breath. Muradun ducked and
raised his blade instinctively. Something whirred over him. A figure was before him, it stepped half
from the dark. Muradun made forwards with his dagger raised, but he saw the next knife coming at
him and dodged awkwardly. It lodged in the wall. Thorgrim could not get past Muradun, and now
there were two figures emerging from the door. The outlanders could not close with them without

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running through more of the flying blades. One clattered on the marble beside Caede, and he
stepped under the shelter of the gallery. Thorgrim and Muradun backed down the stairs under the
vigorous assault. With their assailants on the heights, and with only knives to aid them and no
shields, the party were at a disadvantage. They had a shouted exchange and then made up their
minds. They fled through the door, and left the gate of the manse swinging in the breeze.

Marya

The next day Caede, Muradun and Thorgrim made their way to the Night Town. They were
unharmed, if bewildered at the events of last night and annoyed at their outcome. Night Town was
the district at the other end of the city, crowded by the docks under the shade of the last great spur
of rock, known for its poverty compared to the rest of Lond Ernil, and for its houses of ill-repute
which the Prince tolerated to exist here and nowhere else. It was not far from their lodgings. They
found the healing house, and as they waited for Marya of Umarth to appear they eyed the poor folk
and toiling healers and servants about them.

Marya was a proud-looking copper-haired woman with a tired beauty. She looked unimpressed at
the sight of the three outlanders, more so when they mentioned Angrod as they introduced
themselves and their purpose. She told them she had not time for Angrod or his games, and she
talked of him with bitterness. Although they tried to press their case, tried to tell of the found letter
and the threat to Angrod, she was barely impressed, obviously thinking of them as rogues
associated with her brother. Especially she made mention of some ‘masquerade’ in which Angrod
was participating in the coming days, and thought the three were part of this. Although they were
bereft of their weapons here, she obviously took them for armsmen, and clearly had no respect or
liking for such.

Yet some of their earnest words, most especially from Muradun, made some impression upon
Marya. After hearing them out, she pondered a moment. Then she said she resolved to test them,
see if they were more than just sword-carrying oafs. She was to go that night to the gardens of the
Prince upon the summit of the peninsula, there to pick the healing flower iiiii that only opened by
moonlight. They must meet her in the Gardens by night, there to help her gather the flowers;
apparently she would give them more credit if they proved they could stoop to such an unmanly
task.

So, as the moon rose over the emptying streets of Lond Ernil, the three made their way up the
stairways to the crest of the peninsula. They went with a lantern, as was required of all who went
by night in the city. On sloping grounds outside the mighty walls of the citadel of the Prince were
the great terraced gardens of the city. Great trees nestled around lawn swathes and beds of flowers
from across Middle-earth, sheltering all from the sea winds that scoured the top of the Lond Ernil

60
rock. From this height the black ocean was all around for leagues, and they could even see glimmers
of light on the distant shores of Anfalas over the waters. The huge dome of all Middle-earth’s stars
hung over them. Muradun, Caede, and Thorgrim made their way under the trees, and found
themselves in the dark and silver fragrant world of the Prince’s gardens. They waited on one of the
tiers of lawn as agreed with Marya, and presently they indeed saw her approaching, pale in the
moonlight.

She welcomed them stiffly, and showed them the flowers and how to pick them, which was simple
enough. They divided then, and set themselves to the task. For some time they went silently amid
the grasses of the Gardens, picking the white iii flowers. Muradun stayed near Marya; Thorgrim
and Caede grazed elsewhere.

Consult papers

The guard left after Marya’s reassurances. She showed little shock at what had happened, but they
sensed her outrage. But she told them now, Angrod must indeed be in danger, and was virtually
unprotected at his mansion south of Lond Ernil. News of the masquerade he was to hold had
already passed through the city, so it would not be hard for any assassins to know where to look for
him. Proudly, she asked the three if they would ride to Angrod’s mansion and seek to warn him if
they may. They agreed readily.

The Masquerade

The very next morning they left Lond Ernil. They cursed having sold their horses so eagerly days
before, and hastily bought and equipped some new nags in the markets outside the gates. They
were strapped again with their weapons, regained from the gatehouse lock-ups upon presentation
of their tokens. Then they rode forth.

Angrod’s place was most of a day’s ride south of the city. The road was good but tortuous, for it
wound over the steep rocky hill country besides the ocean. This coast of Belfalas was a harsh but
beautiful place, pale crags and arid hilltops, with little greenery but for thorny bushes and hardy
cyprus trees, and occasional fruit or olive groves around manors and villas. Needling rocks and
reefs lay off the coasts; it would not be a good place to sail inshore.

Angrod’s mansion they recognised from Marya’s directions when they reached it. It lay right
beside the waters of a small gulf, the house itself down a slope from the road and hidden from view
by a wall and gardens. Today was to be the day of the masquerade, and the three outlanders saw
immediately that much strangeness was going on. Crowds were milling outside the gates, people
in strange costumes and colours, masked, robed, or half dis-robed. Hawkers shouted and sold

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costumes and sweets from small carts, a musician was piping gaily, grooms were leading away
horses as more guests arrived, and strong perfumes and incenses hung in the air. Sometimes
persons broke from the throng and would pass into the gates, but not before they had paused to say
something to two red-robed women who stood by the gates.

In the melee of laughter and commerce only one stood out; a man of serious visage, pacing about at
the edge of the crowds, eyeing the gathering with grim unrest. There was a sword on his belt and a
hauberk showed under his coat, and they thought his features were of a foreign slant. They
approached him, and greeted him. He was suspicious and dour, but gave his name, which was
Stalad. He spoke with an accent they had not heard, but vaguely similar to Thorgrim’s. Stalad was
the chief retainer of the Lord Angrod, and it was obvious he liked not at all that all these people
were passing so freely into his lord’s house, but was powerless to stop it. Seeing their opportunity,
the travellers told Stalad of the threat to Angrod, and of their sending by Marya Umarth. Stalad
listened without expression, but then questioned them further. There was a crack in his impassivity
which showed his concern was raised. He agreed to allow the party to pass into the house – armed
– to protect Angrod.

First they purchased there some costumes from the hawkers, flowing robes which covered all
together with ugly masks. Then they passed back into the woods, led by Stalad, and there tied the
horses and arrayed themselves in the costumes with their weapons hid. Then they passed back to
the gates, and went in. Marya had already told them the password to use – “in the lady’s parlour” -
and the red-robed women let them in without challenge.

Within those manorial walls was a dark and swirling hedonism. Figures rushed past them, dancing
and circling, groups huddled and conversed through their masks, couples were in the shadows.
There were leering goblin-faces and bearded red-cheeked dwarves, long-faced elves and
moustached southrons, robes and mock-armour and floating silks. The gates had led them into a
square walled garden, the house squatting below it. They paused to gather their wits in this
strangest of places, their hackles raised but no threat visible amongst the reeling grotesques and
indecent embraces. What manner of man was this Angrod? What manner of lord?

Making swift counsel, it was agreed that Muradun would stay within the garden whilst the others
entered the halls. So Thorgrim and Caede continued to the house, the retainer Stalad alongside
them.

Thorgrim and Caede were carried into the house in a flow of bodies, surrounded by shouts and
laughter and perfumes. Suddenly from the darkened gardens they were within a bright-lit entrance
hall, and then carried further into a huge main hall. Their eyes hurt beneath the arrays of
chandeliers; their senses were overwhelmed in whorls of colour and movement. People flew this

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way and that in a great circling dance around the hall, driven by the music of pipers and fiddlers.
At the centre of the rings, in the middle of the hall, was a gaudy throne-like chair. There,
surrounded by lounging dancing girls on an array of cushions, sat a young man. He had a wine
cup in one hand, the other was stroking the girl on his lap who twirled fingers through his dark
shoulder-shorn hair. Thorgrim and Caede stared through their masks; this was their man, so much
was clear, if only because of his square features, like the Dunedain they had seen before. This was
the Lord Angrod.

Thorgrim stayed amongst the crowds at the edges of the hall whilst Caede made his way through
the dancers toward the centre. There he sat uncomfortably on the cushions and tried to watch
Angrod. Thorgrim stood still amongst the people, also watching, his eyes wandering around the
hall for any sign of threat. Stalad had gone patrolling elsewhere about the hall. A woman and then
a costume dwarf bothered Thorgrim. He allowed himself a proffered glass of wine, but remained
vigilant.

Amid all that noise and movement, they watched. They watched the figure of debauchment at the
centre of the hall; they watched the crazed revellers, but no threat could be seen.

Outside in the shadowy garden, Muradun quietly joined the edge of a group of talkers. Looking
about him, he noticed something that raised his suspicions. There was one standing alone who was
holding something – a book. It was Shamalanna, he knew it must be, the book was unmistakeable,
and whom else would carry such a thing at the Masquerade?

Muradun moved to her and spoke to her. She admitted her identity, but swore she meant no harm
to Angrod. She explained how she had known of Angrod in Umbar, and had loved him from afar.
This book was something he greatly desired, she said, and he had sworn an oath to grant any wish
to whomever would return it to him. She said Muradun was correct in believing there was a threat
to Angrod, but it came not from her. That was why she had been in a hurry to reach Lond Ernil.
The note they had found was not hers – she had retrieved it in Umbar from those who would harm
Angrod. She had come here both to protect him and because of her love for him.

Muradun was surprised by this admission; the tale was far from his expectation. Nevertheless he
decided to trust her for the moment. Muradun and Shamalanna entered the hall together.

Different groups in the hall vied to perform dances before Angrod. A party they had noticed of
men in black capes, with one small hunched man among them on a chain pulled by the other, now
offered a performance as well. But they requested that Angrod repair elsewhere for the
performance. Intrigued, the lord led his entourage of girls and dandies from the main hall to a
smaller, adjoining one. Muradun, Caede, Thorgrim, Shamalanna and Stalad all made sure to follow.

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Angrod was seated in this new room, and the dark-costumed group assembled before him in a
formation. There was a tense moment as all waited the beginning of this dance. The leader raised
his arms beneath the robes, and then…. he leapt at Angrod, a blade revealed in his fist, wicked
sharp! Angrod barely started up, would have been skewed but for the speed of Muradun.
Muradun’s sword flashed up and sliced down. The man stumbled down, but already the smaller
stunted one was leaping forward. Its mask was off, but an even more nightmare face stared out at
them; greenish, snarling fangs and snout: an orc! The people in the room shrieked and fled. The
thing had a blade, it leapt forward. Caede met it first, his sword came down on the sinewy wrist;
the thing writhed on the floor.

The danger ended. In the chaos, Shamalanna had calmly knifed the third man. But commotion still
spread through the crowds, and they started to flee with their horses and servants into the night,
even when it was clear there was no more danger and Lord Angrod was unhurt. The house
emptied.

The young lord now looked about him at his bare halls, sober and stunned. Eventually, only Stalad,
Shamalanna, and the three outlanders were left. Eyeing the corpses of the intruders, Angrod
thanked all of the four newcomers, and asked who they were. Stalad further vouched for the three,
and Muradun for Shamalanna.

They stayed then, that night, in that grand house by the sea. The wind rattled huge windows all
night, and the candles sputtered and gave out, leaving huge shadows throughout the chambers of
Umarth. The young lord led them to a lower hall with a fire, and they talked. The three told
Angrod of the letter they had found with the threat on his life, and of their meeting with Marya and
then of the attempt on her life at the Gardens of the Prince.

Lord Angrod listened gravely. The change in him was striking. From king of debauchery, he was
now pensive and contemplative, weighty of thought and sharp of speech. But he was yet uneasy.

With the mention of the letter, Shamalanna must needs speak up and tell her part of the story. This,
then, was another shock to the Lord of Umarth. She spoke of her origin in Umbar, how she had
known of him there, but also of his enemies, and had obtained this proof of threat to him, and come
all the way from Umbar to warn him.

But then she also revealed the book, that book she had carried close to her all the time they had
known her. Angrod visibly recoiled at the sight of it; she rushed to allay his shock.

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This was the Book of Chains. Years before, Angrod had sought for it in the city of Umbar. He had
made enemies then amongst the darker forces of the city, but had failed to find the Book. He had
sworn an oath, that whomsoever should bring the book to him, he would grant any two wishes
within his power.

Shamallana had brought him the book, now she claimed one such wish. As she had told Muradun,
she declared her love for Lord Angrod, love formed from afar in Umbar. She asked that he should
make her his wife.

The poor lord was almost overcome with the shocks of this night. He announced they may talk
again by daylight. The dark house was checked for threat before all retired.

In the Service of Umarth

Come daylight, the house by the waters was less forbidding. The three newcomers stayed for the
moment and enjoyed its comforts, as though they had business there. It was already late in the
morning before they saw Angrod once more. He was sobered and alert. He thanked them again for
saving him, and said he wished to offer payment for the deed. He led them to a vault beneath the
halls, and there they had a choice of marvellous weapons and gear. There were other riches there as
well. Angrod watched them carefully, then asked how it was that they stood amongst such wealth,
but made no move to take it by force from the lone undefended lord. They declared themselves to
be honourable men, not given to stealing from any but the deserving. Suddenly then, Angrod said
that he wished to hire them, to take employ their services for the House of Umarth, to have them as
his retainers. Caede and Thorgrim and Muradun soon agreed, for serving a lord of these lands had
already occurred to them as gainful trade.

Angrod also announced that he had decided he had to grant the request of Shamalanna; in bearing
the book to him, this was the only honourable thing he could do. So, he would marry the girl.

Preparations were made to leave for Lond Ernil. There the marriage would be arranged, and
Angrod would see to the safety of Marya, whilst the outlanders would seek Sevineye’s return. The
three of them were kitted out by Stalad with the trappings necessary for a retainer of a Lord of
Belfalas, including surcoats, shields, and a pennant, all in a deep orange, and emblazoned in
evening blue with the arms of Umarth, which was simply a mighty square hammer. Suddenly, they
found themselves under oath, in receipt of a stipend, and responsible for the life of this Angrod and
the honour of the House Umarth.

They travelled to Lond Ernil by boat; Angrod had a boat docked by the house, and a small crew he
could call upon. The journey was three days, north up the spectacular rocky coasts of Belfalas,

65
finally rounding the mighty pinnacle of the city of Lond Ernil. As they entered the enclosed
working harbour from the north, the sight of the city from down on the waters again amazed them.
Angrod, now their lord, looked with an uneasy pride at the towers of the Prince’s citadel.

In the city they stayed in the house of Angrod in the Amber Town, where they had previously
visited and been attacked. They were wary in entering the place, and searched it well. It was
comfortably lodgings.

Angrod visited Marya, to ensure her safety and bring her his news. Meanwhile Caede, Thorgrim
and Murudan visited the Green Bough inn by the docks, looking for Sevineye. The agreement had
been to meet wherever sailors typically stayed, and this was the place known for that on the Lond
Ernil docks. He was not there, and no news of him was to be gained from the innkeeper.

The three of them and Stalad accompanied Angrod on a visit to the tower of the Seers of Lond Ernil.
Here he had task to perform which was appointed to be fulfilled prior to his marriage. They waited
in the courtyard of the place, where the square of sky above seemed to stretch and move, until the
seers brought a small box to Angrod from within. He examined its contents without showing them
to the others, and seemed happy. By his tale, this thing had been left with the seers for safekeeping
by his mother, not to be retrieved until he was betrothed.

Arrangements were made for some of the entertainments and good thing required for the
ceremony, meanwhile Angrod had one greater task to perform; he must see the Prince of Dor-en-
Ernil to formally request the permission to marry. Whether this was common to all nobles of the
Lands of the Prince, or just peculiar to the House Umarth, the outlanders did not learn. Whilst their
lord disappeared on this mission, they had some leisure time to examine the goods of Lond Ernil’s
many merchants and shops, but always some remained in the house in the Amber Town to ensure
Marya and Shamalanna were well warded.

Hunters of Umarth
Angrod secured the blessing of the Prince. There was yet another task to be fulfilled before the
wedding may take place, indeed more of a rite. This was a hunt, a hunt for a boar in the woods of
central Belfalas. The boar had to be slain by Angrod to bring fortune to the marriage. The
Dunedain were not, as a rule, superstitious folk, but this seemed to be a symbolic and ceremonial
act.

Horses were procured, with great boar spears and other gear, and professional hunters and beaters
were hired outside the city. The whole group swelled to almost thirty strong. They left the city at
dawn one morning, bound for the region of _____, where Angrod had permission to carry out the
hunt on the Prince’s land. They encamped for two nights en route, passing east through the dry

66
sharp peaks around Lond Ernil, then through vales of homesteads and manors, to a turfed upland
amongst the larger mountains. Here in the fork of two mountain streams a trim forest nestled,
several miles square.

The hunters of Umarth entered the forest of a morning, after laying out their tactics. Teams of men
with hounds went out first, to sniff out one of the wood’s boars and drive it toward the hunters.
The hunters waited tensely for two hours in the morning mist until the hounds were heard baying
in the distance. Closer they drew, a line driving their quarry forth. The hunters readied their
formations. They were in four groups, one each led by Angrod, Caede, Thorgrim, and Muradun.
They would need to enclose the beast and draw it out for a kill with bow or spear. Angrod though
had to make the killing strike.

The hounds were close; the undergrowth stirred and rustled as something heavy rushed toward the
hunters. There was a shout from Angrod, and his team marshalled forward in the centre, spears
held ready and beaters ready to raise a cry to turn the boar’s charge. The outlanders roused their
teams. Now there was a flash of tusk, a bristling flank, and boar came hurtling toward Angrod’s
men. The beaters raised a cacophony and the boar swerved away, turning toward where the other
teams were already enclosing around the sides. The teams formed a rough circle, with the handful
of riders on the outer ready for the pursuit should the pig break through. The circle was yet very
wide, and the boar rushed around from one side to the other at will, often not visible until close
amongst the trunks and undergrowth. Each leader rallied his men as the tusked creature thundered
their way, and then would try to encourage them forwards when it swerved. It was hard work, the
men often preferred to keep distance from the thing, and for long it had much ground amid the
circle, over which to rove and hide. The boar came close to spear points many times, but took no
hurt. Then, it ran towards Thorgrim’s team; the men quailed back, but Thorgrim cursed them with a
cry and they stood their ground. The thing showed itself, charged down on them but then turned at
the last moment. In a second it was bearing down on Caede’s team. His men were already starting
forwards, and the pig turned quick from the cries. About face, it headed straight for Angrod’s men.
But Muradun upon his mount had his bow ready; the ugly thing dashed past his front and he had a
clear shot, even as it bore down furiously right toward the young lord. The bow twanged, the
arrow lodged, the boar somersaulted twice and came to rest, kicking. Angrod took his thick spear
in both hands, raising it over the huge thing, and he thrust into its ribs. The prize was claimed, the
pig lay still.

They rested and cooled their blood after the hard work and fear of the hunt and kill. The carcass
was butchered, some of it cooked that day, some salted and stored both for the House and for the
hired men. Then they returned to the city as they had come. The men were paid off, the deed
notified to the Prince, and in the house in the Amber Town Shamallana dined of the meat with her
husband-to-be.

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