(These events take place after The Linhir Ripper - Part 11 and The Linhir Ripper - Silver Dreams...Xan's Humble Chronicler)
The ride in haste up the coast of Belfalas had already been long and exhausting for both Xanderian and Calidis, responding to the urgent summons of Rian’s sister Xanderlif to join the rest of the company in Linhir.
The fishing town of Linhir was still some leagues away when the pair paused at a roadside Inn, a convenience for travelers nestled invitingly near the wide Post Road. They saw to their own horses in the clean, well appointed stables, both too exhausted to bother to call for the Inn’s grooms and were soon standing before the broad oaken door of the Inn itself.
Calidis looked up and read the painted sign hanging above the door from two solid brass chains. “Yesterday’s Rest…I am not sure if that sounds inviting or melancholy.”
Xanderian shrugged softly. “Whichever, we simply cannot ride longer right now, and the chill wind heralds a storm blowing in though the full moon shines clear. A meal and a warm fire as we assess the weather, then we can continue on through the night.”
Calidis Nighteye nodded and pushed the door open. Within, several cheery fires burned and bright music was eagerly if not expertly played by a harpist. Locals drank and laughed, moving between tables freely to greet friends. Both Xanderian and Calidis smiled at the atmosphere, their eyes meeting in relief at finding such a pleasant haven and quickly found a table near one of the fires, stepping over several happy children playing in the warmth of the inn.
A serving maid soon brought them hot cider and fresh bread and cakes, before moving off to bear platters heavy with rich food to heartier appetites. The cider and the warmth, as well as their recent anxiety, soon worked their whiles on both of the two as they dozed in the booth, hand in hand….until both woke with a start.
The air was colder now, a thin layer of frost across the table. The fires were out, the common room now deserted…save for themselves and a man who had seated himself at their table.
He was powerfully built, large for the local folk, and from his short, dark hair and grey eye was clearly not of Gondor. He leaned back in his chair, smoking a pipe which served to cast light upon his face, and cast light upon the sigil of the Unsealed, a circle crossed by three lines, etched beneath his left eye.
As they came fully awake, both Xanderian and Calidis reached for weapons, but the man's voice stilled their hands. “Gently, first born…I mean you no harm. I am not here to fight, but to talk. Your fame precedes you both. Xanderian of Belfalas, the Monk of Osgiliath and her sworn companion, Calidis Merifindiel, Spectre of the Gwaith. I have no desire to face either of you as a foe, especially when I have come to….parlay.”
Xanderian sneered, but rested her hands on the table before her, one hand still holding that of Calidis. “Parlay? I have never heard that the Guild of the Unsealed, or any priests of Angmar for that matter, spent time negotiating, and what matter would we have to negotiate?”
The man puffed slowly on his pipe, the smoke seeming to form ghostly forms around him in the moonlight. “I have a task which I must complete and I fear that events are in motion that would….inconvenience me. It is possible that you may misjudge the situation and involve yourself in this affair, which would be…regrettable.”
“If you truly are so concerned, Necromancer, then end your riddles and speak plainly.” Calidis’s black eyes flashed with anger. She did not wish to waste valuable time with the deceptions of Angmar.
“A strange thing for you to demand, Ringsmith, is not your very craft one of deception, as you were trained to it by my Master...as was your father, was he not?” The man smiled, and Calidis nearly rose up out of her seat to slap him, but Xan’s grip on her hand calmed her anger at the mention of her father Aegrod.
Xanderian shook her head. “Enough….what is your name, necromancer, and what is this task you wish to perform in peace?”
The man laughed. “Ah yes, the calm disdain of Xanderian is renown and a joy I wish I had more time to bask in…but we are all busy, are we not. As for me, I am simply a priest, a humble bureaucrat seeing to my tasks, just as you seek to serve your own Masters. There is no need for us to be enemies. I am called Desad, Deacon of the Last Breath and Priest of the Unsealed. The task concerns something which you yourself, Xanderian, have encountered and found distasteful. The Witches of Aughaire. These charlatans and rabble rousers who once crawled throughout Eregion like insects made nearly as much difficulty for your Rangers of the North as they did the Worthy of Angmar. It was once my task to end their impertinence, and I fear that I have been informed of late that my work was not complete.”
Calidis raised her eyebrow and looked at Xanderian who nodded softly and responded, for now not giving away that Finchley’s Grams seemed to have been a Witch at one time, or so Hawke had discovered. “I have had dealings with one of these witches…she betrayed me and my companion in pursuit of her own goals….however from what I had been told she was the last of her Order. You may rest assured then that your task, however vile, was completed.”
Desad sighed dramatically. “Would that it were so…I have heard word that a prophecy has been being repeated by the women of the hillmen, the ignorant Trev as they chip away at their stone spears, that the pitiful Order of Witches may soon gain new life, through the manipulation of those who incorrectly consider them heroines of some kind. It is my concern that you will find yourself ensnared by their lies, despite your experiences.”
“Why should I have any reason to be so, does this not all take place in Angmar and Aughaire, far from the coast of Gondor where we now stand and my own business calls me?” Xanderian was growing uneasy and impatient.
Desad took another long drag on his pipe. “A little bird of your company may be enwrapped in part of this prophecy. If that is so, then if you value their safety you will scorn the other players in this little game. Two sisters, coarse and low-born, called Catalinna and Sablelinna. They tumble headlong into matters they do not understand…you would be wise to step to the side and let them fall unmolested, along with their swain, a Daleman so I am told.”
Calidis frowned. “I know not those names, but neither myself nor Xanderian are likely to step aside and let Angmar prey upon any, no matter how lowly they may be, I fear Deacon that your time has been wasted.”
The man rested his hands on the tabletop and rose. “Perhaps it is so, but remember those names and remember this….it has been foretold, though I cannot recall the exact words, that one of those I have spoken of will betray you, and slay one of your number. More then that, the spirits will not say, but they spoke of it with great relish…it would seem that there are those amongst the dead who harbor ill will towards the both of you, and your haughty sister besides”
“Again you tell us nothing that we do not know…begone Necromancer, we will not bandy words with you any longer….” Xanderian moved to rise, but found she could not, her eye flashing in rage at the man of Angmar.
Desad reached out and caressed Xan’s cheek, both elves frozen where they sat. “Ahhhh…such arrogance, such pride..even now that you have lingered long enough for my glamour to take hold. I remember it well, the arch, condescending attitude you took even towards my master, Lord Donark in his own counting hall above Carn Dum. You and that lateborn child you were traveling with. When matters had run their coarse, and the Brazen Scales had taken their price destroying the Witch, you sought to depart as if you could simply saunter away unscathed from the halls of your mortal enemies. Such insufferable insolence! It was I who was tasked with your doom then, at the behest of Lord Donark and an honored client who wished your humiliation. It was I who weaved the hex of death and degradation that was to strike down your precious Cyndwin…and it was I, the Deacon of the Last Breath, who was stymied and made to pay the price for my failure! Though you were robbed of her, so was she safely spirited away from the delights I had awaiting her by some ancient relic…and oh how I despise you for it.”
As the two stared in helpless anger and fear, Desad reached slowly towards Calidis. “But now I find you with a new companion, so fair and pale, with such a delicious and famous lineage….my patience has been rewarded. What I could not take from you then, I shall take from you now, Kinslayer’s Spawn…for she will make such a beautiful wraith…I will cherish the look on your face as she slays you...”
Desad’s hand reached out, Caldis' skin crawling at the very possibility of his touch, and he would have wrapped his strong fingers around Calidis’s throat save for a sudden blue flash which forced his claw-like hand away, burning with a pale blue fire. The Necromancer howled in rage and pain, staring in horror at Xanderian. The fragment of the crystal Hastaina which Calidis wore about her throat was chipped from the same gem that had saved Calidis in Carn Dum and locked her away safely for a year. “AGAIN? This ancient toy stands at odds with me! One day, first born, you will be alone, without your trinkets and your tricks and your companions and you will beg me to make your suffering brief…..remember my words, the Witchfire is DEAD..leave it in its grave or you will regret it!”
A flash of light and icy cold and Desad, the Deacon of the Last Breath was gone and both of the two elves could move again. They rose and reached for their weapons, but the man of Angmar was gone as if he had never been there…yet so was the cozy inn. Around them were only burnt out ruins, the bones of harpist and patrons mingled in the ashes, the walls falling inward, the roof already destroyed. Where children had played when first they arrived, now a small pile of burnt skulls spoke of an untimely end. Still, the life of the forest had already overtaken much of the ruins, new life sprouting from the embers of death, moonlight surrounding all.
On the scorched table before them rested their plates which had once seemed so inviting, filled now with rotting remnants of cake and teeming with maggots. With a noise of disgust, Xan dashed them away. “This was all an illusion of Desad’s, the people who we saw but the shades of those who had perished here long years past, brought back briefly in a cruel game….we must go, we are overlate already.”
Calidis put a hand on Xanderian’s arm and gestured up towards the absent roof…”My love..look up…whatever aims that foul Necromancer had, however Hastaina at my throat stopped his vengeance once again, he accomplished one terrible victory at least. The moon…it is not the full moon we saw when we entered that door, it now wanes. Time has passed, nearly a week. We have been delayed and now all may be lost!”
Without another word, the two dashed to the abandoned ruins of the fine stables where they had thought they had left their steeds. A few whistles brought the horses back out of the woods where they had fended for themselves quite well, being elven mounts, but neither was fit for a long, hard ride.
Xanderian sighed as she swung up into the saddle. “We must do the best we can…and pray we are not too late…Elbereth give us speed.” However, in their souls they could feel that something terrible had happened with their absence, and that new wheels were already turning.
