“‘The truth, when you finally chase it down is almost always far worse than your darkest visions and fears.’ — Hunter S. Thompson
3015, Month of Narbeleth: City of Dol Amroth
Ahmo forced herself to enjoy another in a series of receptions. The fare was superb, of course but did little to reduce her obvious ennui as she sat bolt upright in her exquisite red gown doing her best to channel frustration into displays of scintillating wit.
Each carefully constucted attempt by Imrahil's spy chief to discern her purpose in the city was dextrously deflected with a verbal parry.
It was easy to conceal her purpose because she herself did not yet know it. As far as she knew, she may have no real reason to be here at all. A calculated deception play requiring her to be seen here might be going on. After her most recent exploit, she had obviously come to the attenton of one of Sauron's chief lieutenants, known colloquially as the Bane of Rhun. Whose province of action she had meddled very directly in.
She had very little idea how exactly the Lord of Mordor and self styled King of Middle Earth dressed down an underling who had failed so spectacularly. But she had brought about the ruination of a long standing scheme to insert a monarch trained to Mordor's service onto the throne of a lynchpin client kingdom once friendly to Dale. The Bane of Rhun had met his end, albeit temporarily. The keeper of his ring would design a new housing, though by the evidence they had collected in Dakat showed there was nothing of the original man left within the suit of armor Medlinor had destroyed so thoroughly with his ballista.
Whatever might become of the Ulairi, it had her name and that would be mulled over at the top of Barad Dur.
Whatever this operation was or wasn't, she was certainly getting a chance to sharpen her rhetorical claws while she took up space at the high table of Imrahil's magnificent palace.
Her very vague cover was a search for the trail of the lost Mithrellas, ancestor of the Prince. Her reputation as a scholar was no secret here in the cosmopolitan city so her obscure errand
was little questioned. So it was not a great surprise when a young lady with dusky skin and large soulful brown eyes and the thick black hair common to the coastal people of Gondor drew near and flashed a modest ring with a distinctive cabochon. Her eye discerned within a sigil she knew well. Morinehtar of the Istari. She slouched a bit in her chair, affecting to be weary at last after four hours at table. She felt a slender bit of folded parchment disappear into her compressed and ample cleavage and the young lady had disappeared into the crowd of footmen and servants who had been bustling about the ruins of the great feast.
After another last silver cup of wine, she made her way alone to her guest room and retrieved the note. Unfolding it with care, she saw it said merely; “You will surely discover more about the object of your search in the library.”
So it was that on the morrow, she bathed and arrayed herself in tights and a snug fitting doublet and velvet jacket concealing a long fighting knife. The warm winds of Harad were pushing the chill of the White Mountains back and while winter in Belfalas was quite pleasant, fog was frequently known to slip down to the shore along with an early morning chill.
She wore soft doeskin slippers which masked her footfalls in the high marble halls of the library. At the early hour, she was quite solitary as she made her way to the section on regional history and collected a stack of thick volumes on Edhellond and settled onto a thickly upholstered armchair with her little trove.
Idly looking through the pages, she found herself vaguely more educated about the story of the Sindarin enclave. According the local tradition, a number of elves dwelt still in caves along the coast, though to what end at this point she could form no guess. Sentiment, perhaps. For the same reason she and some other old veterans kept the hot spring spa in Eregion. Perhaps there was a discovery to be made here, thought she. But then like her spa, perhaps it was someone's private hedonic hideaway.
Her ear caught the distant clicking of soft heels on the tile floor and she looked up to see the dark girl approach, wink meaningfully and nod. Ahmo rose to follow, Together they wended through the halls and galleries unseen until the girl halted before a bust of Narmacil and turned to face Ahmo at last. Her face was marred by a faded scar down her right cheek. “You discerned my tokens?” she asked.
“At once,” Ahmo rejoined “That sigil is known to me. You recognize my own?” Ahmo stared into the girl's eyes until the other flinched in open discomfort at what she saw hidden in Ahmo's bright green pupils.
“You bear the mark of murder, Laicamirill.”
“Then let's dispense with the formality,” Ahmo continued in the pleasant tones of one who was hoping to discuss news of old friends.
“I am Sindelea, or Sindaleth of Dol Amroth as you like, Lady Laicamiril. You will be unsrurprised to learn that my Master requests your assistance in the recovery of something of inestimable value in the days ahead.
“I find myself unmployed at present,” Ahmo answered, “You said Sindelea first, so that it the name you prefer.”
“I was told you would be restless and eager to be of help.”
“Your master knows me well. What is this something and who do I need to kll to retrieve it?”
“A portolan made by Anardil Tar Aldarion himself,” Sindelea replied readily.
“There are newer collections of charts,” Ahmo flatly aswered. “And one of our people was along on some of his voyages. Those charts are all in the archival collections of Elrond Halfelven.”
“So you say,” continued Sindelea, casting her gaze now out the window at the steadily dissipating fog which clung to the high rocks which sheltered the harbor. “But what we seek is more than a four thousand year old collection of old charts. The lineage of the Prince has been called into question in certain quarters. The portolan includes the original manuscript of the True Relation: The Tale Of Nimrodel and Amroth”
“I can't imagine why,” Ahmo said through a sarcastic smile. “Every scholar knows that the story of Mithrellas is a convenient and transparent fiction.”
“Wether it be a fable or no is not something I may pronounce upon with any authority,” Sindelea answered in measured tones. “There were two lines of issue from Galador. Gilmith, the sister disappears from all records. We only have a single fragmentary mention of a sister.
“Why fragmentary?” Ahmo asked, warming to the mystery at last. “No one cared about the sister?”
“There was a fire in the library when it was newly built. Long ago by the reckoning of men. Presumably records are held in more safety in Rivendell?”
Ahmo shrugged. “We make multiple copies of everything that is not held to be secret. I myself have made 8 copies of a four hundred page treatise on the insects of Eriador.”
Sindelea laughed mirthfully at this. “And folk wonder what you do with all the time you have.”
“In truth it is not wasted,” Ahmo answered. “Well not much of it,” she revised. “But what do you suppose the wizard wants me for? Translation?”
“The Numenoreans made many copies as well, dear Laicamiril,” Sindellea said, shifting her gaze to the hall behind. The morning had faded and soon, visitors would begin to filter into the library's halls. “Eight hundred years ago, when the Gondorian's wicked kindred resumed control of the city of Umbar and began their raiding, what records there were were removed from our use.”
“All that time and no one had a copy brought from Umbar to Dol Amroth?” Ahmo was incredulous.
“Curious, is it not?” Sindellea was warming to this elf, whose easy familiarity with one of the more obscure corners of the Numenorean exilic saga was striking. “Almost as though it were purposefully kept from the records. The lineage of Kastamir suffers no such obfuscation.”
“So Morinehtar believes there is a true recording of the provenance of Gilmith and Galador?”
“He believes only you could find such a thing and successfully retrieve it.”
“Any idea where to find such a thing? I've never in my sweet short life been to Umbar. Can you get me a map?”
“I have done better. A living map in the form of one of our spies. And we have discovered where the records from those days were moved to.”
“Moved?”
“There seems to have been some concern in those early days that Gondor would retake the city.”
“Considering who we're talking about, I'm surprised they didn't just send it all up a chimney. Herumor took a ring from Sauron. What did he care for lineages?”
“We may be sure they looked closely for any lore which might help sew division in Gondor,” Sindellea answered. Ahmo nodded. The point was well taken. What state such records might be in now and of what practical use they could serve now that Sauron had seized Minas Ithil and was obviously intent on bringing Gondor to heel through brute force she could not fathom. What deeper game might Morinehtar be playing here, she asked herself. “I”ll do what I can. First I'll need a ship and time to assemble my team.”
“This was anticipated,” the dark skin woman answered.”A trusted mariner awaits at Lond Galen. He can wait till the next moon's waxing.”
“I'll do it,” Ahmo answered with a nod. This was simply too interesting to pass up. All the same, she couldn't help feel she was working a part in a grander scheme. She knew a few things about how the seven went about things.
The two ladies parted company, taking separate paths out into the brisk day. Ahmo returned to her rented rooms
Catching a packet ship to Minas Tirith was an easy matter and the sea was easy and in a day and a half she had reached the White City, riding on a wagon with a dozen hogsheads of mediocre wine and clad as a commoner in butternut homespun skirts and a linen blouse, her head covered in the puffy pie shaped hat the common girls of Lebennin favored.
She stood mutely, looking as uninteresting as possible as the wagon was looked over by guardsmen under the massive gate with its immense doors yawnng wide for the two way flood of commerce.
Once within the city, she detached into the crowds and worked her way rightward and moved unnoticed through the throngs until she finally reached the unassuming door upon which hung a wind chime fashioned to look like a half dozen bronze oak leaves which rang merrily in the warm southern breeze. After a polite tapping of the knocker, a familiar face appeared surmounting a slender frame clad in pale green robes. Big blue eyes and plush lips. The golden hair common to those with Vanya blood. Or Sylvan. But this one was no forest sprite.
“I seek Asmalinde Penyalie.”
The other's eyes widened. “How did you find me here?” She gasped.
“Well you told me where you would be!” Ahmo rejoined with a melodic giggle.
“I suppose I did. You're the one called Ahmo?”
Ahmo nodded, adding in the tone of gentle correction, “Laicamiril.”
“Aiya! I remember now. Elrond's library.”
Ahmo nodded. “The matter of the missing book on Prince Imrahil ,” she added. Provoking Asmalinde to nod sadly. “A most valuable record. Sorrily now lost to us.”
“What if I told you there was another copy?”
The blonde's doe eyes widened and flashed sapphire. “How came you by this knowledge?”
Ahmo walked boldly into the apartment. The late morning sun of Gondor's winter was setting the little interior garden alight as it bathed the voluminous golden nasturtiums. Spy upon any lady elf in the garden and you'll find Kementari, they once said. The riot of life seemed unplanned. A riot of life. But to the eyes of one who perceived it, the pattern was unmistakable as it was subtle. The seven stars of Calacirya delineated in nasturtiums, jasmine and bluebell. Ahmo took a breath.
“No matter where fate or doom takes us, the expression of the sublime is unavoidable,” Ahmo ventured.
“It it so kind you should say it. Now what was this about that lost book?”
Family Jewels, Part the Second - A Saucerful of Secrets
Asmalinde procured the obligatory cup of tea for Ahmo and herself and together they sat in the exquisite little garden, the mood buoyed by the cascade of color.
“A True Relation: The Tale Of Nimrodel and Amroth.” I remember during your convalescence you came to Elrond's library asking after it.
Asmalinde's big eyes twinkled at the memory. “We looked everywhere!.”
“And asked everyone. The vault where the most sacred archives. I have access to everything and we found it nowhere,” Ahmo finished, popping an orange slice into her grinning mouth.
“I recall Elrond's dismay,” Asmalinde went on. “He seemed to know more about it than he let on.”
Ahmo nodded. “Now I have sought you out for two reasons; first I need your help procuring an original copy of this volume; second it long intrigued me why you-of all people- came looking for this book in particular.”
“When I returned to myself out of the dark spell, I lingered about the halls of the house in convalescence, I chanced to hear the lay sung in the courtyard by a beautiful man with striking eyes and golden hair. The story made my heart ache with both sadness and wonder. 'What happened?' I asked this minstrel.
'No one knows for certain,' said he. “Mayhap the master of the house knows some rumor I do not.”
Elrond told me there was a book in his library wherein the first written version of that song was set by a bard who had known Nimrodel herself but who had gone West over the Ocean. He had written the true tale as he recalled it. At some point, it was sewn into a book of sea charts”
Ahmo perked up at this. A lazy bumblebee hummed loudly and settled on her shoulder as she sipped her tea and listened as Asmalinde continued, “When you said you recalled the book but had never looked at it, knowing the song by heart, I was dismayed. What were these manuscript notes by this mysterious companion? What had become of them?”
Ahmo set her cup on the little table between them, “It's been a thousand years. If you ask around, the muddled story that gets repeated is that they were 'separated' in the White Mountains. By what no one seems to know. The circumstances around that are very confused and nonsensical. The White Mountains are not known for orcs of trolls. A group led by a worthy such as Amroth would be unlikely to find trouble they could not easily overcome. Why they did not simply take the more direct route through Gondor is a question you won't be first to have pondered.”
Asmalinde's big eyes narrowed suspiciously. “When I asked in Imladris, everyone agreed it was a most curious mystery but no one could direct me to anyone who was there. Perhaps they all just left together to Aman?” Ahmo tilted her head as she poured out the last of the tea betwixt them.
“That's what I always assumed. It's the reasonable course. But the matter has suddenly become important outside the discourse in the Hall of Fire,” Ahmo replied. “I am glad that you had told me you'd be here, delving into the mystery. Naturally, you've come up dry?”
Asmalinde nodded. “A few texts repeat the rumor that Imrazor and Mithrellas fell suddenly in love.”
“I had heard this,” Asmalinde mused. “But supposedly Mithrellas bore him two children and then...”
“ran away,” Ahmo continued drily. “Most unlike an elf, Sylvan or not. My own guess is the entire tale was fabricated to lend an air of otherworldly authenticity to the line of Imrazor. After all, who could challenge the story?”
Asmalinde touched her dainty chin with a long forefinger and mused. “So you say there is another record?”
Ahmo sipped, nodding as she did. “Descendants of those Numenoreans loyal to the fallen Pharazon had fortified themselves in a city near Harad. The original manuscript is in an old portolan.-a compendium of nautical charts-The Portolan of Imrazor.”
“Umbar?” Asmalinde offered.”
“Pecisely so,” the green eyed elf nodded. “The city has changed hands more than once. Its treasures are now under the dominon of the Dark Lord.”
“I suppose in order to fulfill my appointed quest, I ought to help if I may.” Asmalinde's reply was couched as a clear offer.”
“I'd be honored if you would, friend. I've arranged a ship and a good fellowship. We'll be dropped off near Umbar and brought out after a pre-arranged signal.
“I decided to take this on. I suppose I ought to see the job through.”
The two crept out of Minas Tirith the next morning in that velvety moment before dawn to get on a small vessel carrying horses back to Dol Amroth..
II. Just give me a fast ship
The Dolorous Maid was a low slung dromon of 80 oars. Long, with a shallow draft for a vessel its size, it was built for speed and secrecy and was popular amongst the corsairs of Harad. Gondor's innovation was square rigged sails on 2 masts as well as a lateen, alllowing for maximum speed and manouvrability. Difficult to spot at a distance, it could slip into narrow inlets, marshlands and quays.
Gollantz, its skipper was garrulous and pleasant. The team, being Ahmo, Grimhawk the mysterious hunter, Sindellea, the elven knight Hrangach, Asmalinde and 8 swarthy and hard looking men handpicked by Sindellea were not required to work the ship, but they all seemed quite game to pitch in and Ahmo had long experience as a navigatrix. Saving him much time. Few women of Gondor took to the sea, but it was by no means unheard of, so their presence prowling purposefully on the deck brought a sense of ease to a crew who were for the most part used to smuggling forays to avoid duties on good brought from Eriador or Harad. The remainder of Ahmo's troupe took turns at various menial chores. Which also stood them in good stead with the crew.
Whatever the true purpose of this peculiar band, it was not to send him and his men to the gallows for avoidance of King's Customs and Excise or to the dungeons of Imrahil's spy master.
He had never taken elves aboard before. He had always thought they were some forgotten and semi-mythical people who dwelt atop a mountain he's never heard of,. But now he had three of them. Two fetching ladies, Ahmo and Asmalnde, who he kept referring to as 'Asma Lynn' and a man, Hrangach, who his companions referred to as 'Meddy' who seemed content to smoke rolls of some fragrant plant and act as watch on the high mast. These elves seemed to be particularly far-sighted and Gollantz's concern they'd be caught unawares by corsairs lessened considerably.
“The winds are with us, friend,” ventured Gollantz, his bright eyes exuding optimism.
Ahmo looked over her shoulder. “Last I checked our progress we had got further south than we had thought likely,” he continued, prompting the elf to shift her position, allowing him space on the bench behind the wheel where the helmsman stood to his task, steering the vessel through the calm sea toward the gathering darkness of their second night at sea since creeping out of the cove outside the fishing village west of Dol Amroth to avoid curious eyes.
As shadows turned the gray rolling waves to dun, it seemed to them they were rushing over liquid slate as they continued to speak. “Sindelea told me your people are canny and often strange. But ye're helpful as can be. It seems fortune favors us. Elves must be good luck at sea.”
Ahmo smiled wanly at this. “We all make our own luck, I like to believe. But it does seem that the lord of waters approves of our venture. I have many years' experience, though the last time I sailed so close to Harondor was on the Nürwing as navigator for Thangiriel.” At this, Asma Lynn appeared, sitting against the rail on a voluminous coil of hemp rope.
“Last minute planning?” she asked.
“Our sponsor told me nothing of your group. A very peculiar band indeed,” Gollantz ventured bravely.
Asma shrugged but Ahmo offered up an answer,
“We are to spy out the defenses of Umbar. Word came to His Highness Imrahil that a new series of outer works were being prepared and that a war-fleet was abuilding.”
Gollantz frowned. “Why send such peculiar lot to spy out something like that?” he asked in his turn. “I've been in and out of Umbar three times last year with coffee, lapis and...other delights,” he ventured, frowning at the possibly self incriminating innuendo.
But Ahmo only laughed, sounding delightfully like a scandalized teenage girl at her first cotillion. Gollantz was prompted to pursue the line, taking a different tack.
“They've been building up a war fleet, right as rain,” he stated, as flat fact. “Not content to raid anymore, I reckon. It's sure they mean war. Word is the dark land in the east is in league with them. They're pressing Gondor hard. Every time we put in at Dol Amroth, we expect to be pressed into service as picket boats,” he said “And that's why we been makin' ourselves right scarce. If you follow.”
“I'm tracking,” Ahmo replied. At this, Sindellea sat herself down on he other rail. Suddenly Gollantz felt outflanked by these two otherworldly women.
Ahmo continued in a level tone, looking at the others. “We'll have to let you in on something so you can be of better help. Imrahil's spymaster believes his entire spy ring has been turned. We're to gather precise report. I reckon that they'll build a new spy network entirely.”
Gollantz buttoned his jacket over his broad bronzed chest. Clearly a seduction of the sandy haired elf was not in the offing. “And I will earn a casque of silver sneaking them into Harandor. For now I hope you get your information and make it back to our rendezvous. Umbar is no place for fair skinned outsiders, my dear elf.”
“It's also a place women traditionally go about veiled unless they are accompanied by a male relative,” Sindellea chimed in.
“Or a Numenorean,” added Gollantz, nodding. “How good is your knowledge of the local dialect of Aduni?” he continued.
“That is my task,” Sindellea answered with a note of finality that further discussion of such details was not welcome. Her last contribution to the exchange was a phrase none but Gollantz could comprehend and he simply shrugged and nodded acquiescence.
Now that he'd pried so insistently into their business and been stiff-armed, he simply parked himself against the rail, drew his knees up and took time to look up at the stars. He felt the elf lean against him. He had already worn himself out for the day and was ready for his ration of rum and a well-earnt flop on his little bunk in his tiny compartment.
The captain felt the first chill night breeze replace the days' heat as stars began their first twinkling over the eastern horizon. The elf lady seemed to have dozed off against his shoulder, so he just let himself sleep where he was. The ship continuing to knife though the pleasantly rolling seas. As he drifted in a dream filled with silver swans and a multitude of porpoises, he felt completely at ease. This was entirely too easy.
Ten days and eleven nights passed until Meddy shouted out he spotted land at nearly first light. The sails were quickly trimmed and the crew took to the benches to row the rest of the way. Gollantz recognizd the headland they'd come within sight of. Meddy's description left no dobt they were right where the captain had set his course for.
“A tall tower. There's a mirror at the top,” he shouted down.
“That's Ras Ruays,” Gollantz told Ahmo and Asma, who had called their band to assemble once the work of stepping the mast was done. “A watch tower for Umbar. By foredawn on the morrow, I'll have us in a cove I know. Imrahil in't the only one who hangs smugglers you know. Umbar has always been at war with Gondor. But I know every inlet and cove and beach on the coast of Harondor.”
As the day wore on, the crew pulled at the oars and sang. Gollantz was afraid he'd be scandalized by their choice of songs, but the elves either didn't mind the bawdy ones or else couldn't make out the lyrics through the thick the burr of Lebennin's varietal of Westron. Ahmo held a huddle on the after deck with her band. Afterward, as the crew sang away under the heat of the southern sun, Gollantz hoped his part in this scheme would be made more clear.
A whole new set of problems
Changing course by night, the Dolorous Maid slipped into a narrow cove sheltered by black jutting rocks. The task of spinning a ship of that length around and backing it into the was not easy, but before the brutal southern sun had reached its apogee, they had managed it and the group were rewarded by an extra ration of wine and a chance to bathe in the fresh cool waters of the little stream. Mindful of their dignity, Asmalinde, Sindellea and Ahmo afterward clothed themselves in loose linen robes and sat under a broad canopy on the after deck with Gollantz. Grimhearth and Hrangach joined the ladies.
Ahmo turned sideways in her hammock and asked Sindellea who was limbering up. “Now at last you can reveal to us your knowledge of the whereabouts of this lost book everyone feels can shake the foundations of Gondor? And your plan for securing it.”
The dark woman stretched her arms languidly, yawned and nodded. “It's in a little keep with the other things they moved. Our man didn't know it would be something we'd want or he'd have snaffled it then and it'd hardly have been noticed. He did provide us a list, though so we can be reasonably certain it's there and in what vault it will be.”
“You hope,” Ahmo answered in tones dry as the air.
“We must all hope. But we also take no undue risks without measuring them,” Sindellea said, popping a date between her plush lips.
Sometime before dawn, as a dim luminescence began to strive with the mastery of the stars to shine light upon the scrublands of Harandor, Sindellea summoned Ahmo and the raiding company to a hilltop that soared high above the dry plain to the north and east, gesturing broadly as she spoke. “As you may surmise, to the east just this side of that line of hills is the great highway the Numenoreans caused to be made in that elder time. Old as it is, it's been regularly maintained. When Gondor's control over Ithilien was lost, Sauron's orcs kept it. Now men in his service do it.
“We will make for the road, camping for two nights in the hills just beyond. I know this country well. There are regular patrols on the road, but they are not sharp eyed as elves, so we have an advantage there.
“And this castle where they moved all the records?” Ahmo asked, anticipating where the briefing was headed. “I had hoped to look the place over before making our move.”
Sindellea smoothly continued on with a hint of impatience, “There will be two crossroads towns before we would reach Umbar itself. At the first is Castle Kalmat. This is where our book is to be found.”
“You have someone inside?” Hrangach asked as Sindelleth scratched out a large square on the ground in the dusty red soil.
“Naturally,” she replied. Ahmo frowned skeptically but said nothing.
Grim frowned. “This building. It's Gondorian?” Sindelleth nodded once “The only buildings Sauron has added since his return are in Umbar. And much further south. You'd recognize them right away. The castle of Kalmat is a stadia on each face at the ground level. It was built a thousand years ago as a place of refuge for settlers from nomad raids. It is two stadia high with battlements at the top and small watch towers set at each corner. Atop it is a beacon mirror. I'm told it was damaged in a storm and has not been repaired. Sauron doesn't fear raids from the desert and so that is how we will approach.”
Grim was unsatisfied. “The interior plan. Can you sketch it out? What to you know about it?”
Sind erased the earlier map with a sideways swipe of her boot and began drawing out a square. “We're most interested in the inner keep. It can be entered through a good stout door in front up a short stair. There's are arrow slits situated along each wall but they are more for shooting at anyone on the wall. Visibility of the ground is limited. The top of the inner keep is a gently peaked tiled roof surrounding a central tower. That's where the storm damaged signal mirror is to be found.”
Ahmo spoke up, studying the drawing “Once we make the curtain wall do you propose getting inside? Approaching by grapple again?”
“That part will be easier. The doors are usually just left open and unguarded.”
“That's convenient but what if the routine has changed since you brought your agent in?
Sindellea frowned for the first time. “I gave that some careful thought because surprises are always to be expected. The tile roof on the central keep affords no purchase for grappels but the shooting slits are wide enough to catch a hook if you throw it right.”
“What if you don't? We can't carry bows with us.”
“Don't worry over that, Laicamiril,” Grim rumbled. “It'll be launched perfectly. I'll do it if you cannot.”
Sindellea replied quickly as Ahmo appeared ready to give icy reply. “It should be manageable by any of us. I could do it by the description. But it will get us to the tile roof, which can be climbed easily enough. The challenge there is keeping quiet. There are glass windows looking out from this tower. If the need arises we can slip in that way.”
Grim spoke again. “And the book? Once within how do we find that?”
“Taking the best case, once in the front door, the vault is reached by a door immediately to the left of the entry. There are other vaults where various valuables are stored away. If forced to enter from above, then you'll know what door to seek.”
Ahmo spoke in dry even tones. “Your plan is good and your information better than we might have expected. I've dropped into darker places with less to go on. We'll soon know.”
The Break-in
The long roundabout march to the old Gondorian fortress of Kalmat was uneventful, though gruelling from a stifling desert heat.
. They rested mostly by day, acclimatizing themselves to operating at night, when it was cooler. Sindellea also explained that the scorpions that were attracted to body warmth of sleepers on the ground tended to hide from predatory birds and obscenely large black hornets during the day and the plague of clouds of vicious biting flies were kept at bay with the linen burnoose they all wore in the fashion of the desert peoples while they slept in hammocks in groves of Juniper.
Thus it was that they at last left the vicinity of the road, having seen not a single soul upon it and followed Sin through a draw until the parapet of the fortress could be seen through a screen of hornbeam and acacia. The team gathered round Sin and made plans to study the number and manner of the guards upon the walls. Sindellea told them her spy, to avoid attracting attention had had little time to pay any mind to the defenses save for the fact no orcs had ever been seen in the place.
This proved as true as they could discern. For the whole day and next evening they studied the castle from as close as they dared. It was determined that the guards were fairly alert and there was usually one along any given facing by day and two by night. The watchtowers in the corners seemed to be a different matter. No tenant was ever observed using any of them. The elves studied them closely with practiced eye and subtle magic, discerning no dark sorcery, such as Sauron's servants employed in some places to sound an alarm upon a hostile approach.
They decided ultimately that the best opportunity to get inside was when the daily delivery was made. Each morning, a wagon lumbered up to the big square gate. After a thorough inspection it was admitted within. It was observed that while the wagon was inside being loaded or unloaded, the guards on the wall, normally very attentive to their duty tended to congregate and converse while smoking from pipes. Presumably supervision was relaxed during these visits. They decided, that though it was clear light of day, that this might be the best time for a small group of them to slip over the wall. The idea they could get the whole team inside and seize the place while they searched for the book and then fled back through the desert to the rendezvous point was discarded. Hrangach would lead the others in a distractive raid on the town, setting some fires and stealing some horses and riding off to the ship just after nightfall. It was hoped this would provide sufficient cover for Ahmo, Asmalinde and Sindellea to get back out of the castle.
And so, as dawn lit up the southern skies with a cheery orange that illuminated little whispy clouds, Asmalinde and Ahmo, who had taken up stations at the very base of the wall received the signal from observers of the front gate. At once they used short horsebows to shoot up grapples. Sindellea and Grim made the fast dash and followed the nimble elves up the silk cords, knotted for easier grip. None of them wore much in the way of armor, though Asmalinde wore a mithril corselet beneath her blouse. Grim had been convinced to leave his big axe in favor of a short skeggax for close-in fighting. The rest wore their swords on their backs. Ahmo had her throwing knives and Asmalinde had quipped that she hoped she would not be required to use them and thus require them to listen to her complain of the expense of having new ones made all the way back to Gondor. Hrangach and the others of the company kept watch on the wall until their four burglars reached the parapet and disappeared over it.
Over the Top
Ahmo climbed rapidly up the silk, reeling in knot by knot. Grabbing a crenellation, she hauled herself onto a broad parapet. The guard was turning her way as she dropped silently into the courtyard that separated the wall from the inner keep. Asmalinde? The blonde seemed to be hesitating. She had seen the guard, no doubt. Sindellea and Grim would be immediately behind. There was the sound of horses sputtering. A voice called out. From her vantage, she could not make out the guard. But straightaway, the others dropped like spiders beside her on their cords of silk.
Disaster averted, Sindellea slipped behind the building, followed by the others. By the sounds of clattering hooves, shouts and creaking gate, the supply wagon was leaving once more.
Sind motioned as she saw the guard looking outward once more. Now was their chance. Sindellea dashed quiet as a mouse in a granary to the corner. Motioned. Round they all swung. They were inside.
The interior was built in an ancient style of Numenor. Two millenia or more. A high ceiling over a long central chamber set with ornate doors of exotic woods. A lack of windows kept out most of the heat. As they dashed into the first door on the left, Ahmo noticed an open passage opposite the main door. The stair up into the upper stories. The door had been shut so Ahmo shut it behind her again as she brought up the rear.
And that's when things began to go off-plan. Sindaleth dashed round the corner into the vault and straightaway there was a thump, a clatter, and a groan. Asmalinde caught herself in time to prevent herself tumbling over the jumble of books on the floor. Or the pair of struggling figures amongst it. Sindelea had her left hand over an unfortunate flunky's mouth. Her right slit his throat in a single motion of her wicked curved knife. Blood sprayed straight into her face in a jet but she held her left hand in place until the last struggle ceased. Grim's foot slammed onto the other's back, pinning the wretch to the floor, wherepon he brained the man with a single blow of the axe. This lightning response was just long enough for another servant to appear from some internal storage space. Ahmo launched one of her knives, catching him in the forehead and the man went down with a dull thump. Another armload of books filled the floor with antique parchment and vellum. Probably all priceless.
“Shit!” Grimhawk hissed, flicking gore from his axe. “What next?”
As if to answer, feet could be heard trudging down the stair behind them.
“Sarbo! Calder? Hurry up with those books. The Master will be back before the next watch. If those volumes are not in his study I'll be flogged and you'll be dead! What are you two doing down here?” Before the old man could speak another word, Ahmo had him in a head lock under her left shoulder. Going limp with fright, he was whisked round the corner into the room where his bewhiskered and prunish face was suddenly being scowled at by three angry women and a silver bearded man who's flaring nostrils and glaring eyes did not bode well for his continued tenure in office.
“The Portolan of Imrazor” Sindelea growled. “Fetch it quick. Or die.”
“Should I fetch so much as a cup of water for you, I shall die anyway. Slay me now and be quick if thou hast mercy.”
Ahmo back squeezed the man's neck tighter, prompting a cough. “Seems you have a choice of deaths then. Where's that book? Bring it to us and I'll make it clean. Otherwise, my big friend here will truss you up and you can see what your masters have in store.” Grim clashed the flat of his axe to the nearby wall as Ahmo relaxed her grip and caught the old man as he regained his footing. “You are too late! The book you seek is in the governor's own library now,” he croaked triumphantly. Ahmo back handed him, sending him spinning to the floor. “Where is that? Quickly.”
The librarian rolled half over and produced a gleaming black iron knife from the folds of his robes. Before Ahmo could react, he drew it across his bare forearm. “Poison,” he hissed and winced at the sting of it. Ahmo kicked the dagger from his hand but he was already in a delirium of agony, writhing out his brief death spasms on the bloody floor.
“Governor!?” Ahmo asked them rhetorically, but she looked to Sindelea.
Sindaleth frowned, “The governor of the library. The town has no governor as such.”
Ahmo was wide eyed. “So now we have to get upstairs?”
“It's that or flee now. You make the choice. Your men outside will be making their distraction very soon.
Ahmo considered only half a moment. “Disguise! their robes.”
They got the point. The three women donned librarians robes. Ahmo's were obviously sticky with blood, so it was quickly determined she would go in the middle, with Sindaleth taking the lead and Asmalinde bringing up the rear. There was simply no disguising Grim, big as he was, so it was determined that if the coast were clear, he would hide in the back courtyard until they all made their break. If there were guards in the main hall, they would cut their way out immediately.
Emerging into the main hall once more, Sindaleth motioned it was clear. They really didn't know which door led to the tower's upper floors, but intuition guided Sin and they all quickly bustled up he stair behind her as she went up and up. This seemed correct.
Rounding a bend, they were not astonished to hear horns braying in the distance. Hrangach was making his raid on the stable. The tension was such that the stair seemed endless until, peeking round a bend, they saw a last bit of passage. Some arrow slits to their right provided a glimpse of the sunlit brightness outside. At the end of the passage a man stood guard armed with a spear. Expression anxious, he turned with a start as Sindaleth rounded the corner, producing a book from under her robes, as though offering it up to the guard.
“Where are the others? They said they had three more armloads.”
Sindelea tossed the book sidelong, shouting “Catch!” The guard, acting on instinct brought his arm up to catch the flying book. The assassin's other hand flicked outward and a dagger caught the back of the guard's right forearm. His spear clattered to the floor.
Grim had barreled round the corner just behind, splitting the guard's head with the thrown axe. The quartet piled quickly into the door. The round room occupying the tower's topmost floor was brightly lit by sunlight streaming through the heavy stained glass windows.
The center was occupied by a big round table surrounded by heavy chairs and covered with stacks of books, ink pots, looking glasses and open sheets of pre cut vellum. For a moment, Sindellea thought she may as well have stepped through a door back to Dol Amroth, so familiarly Gondorian was the interior. Her reverie was broken by the braying of horns outside. The distraction! Time's up!
Cast back into the moment, Sindaleth, Ahmo and Asmalinde scrambled about the big table, looking over books while Grim stood with his retrieved axe at the doorway.
“Here it is!” declared Asmalinde, waving a thin volume in her hand. Sindellea opened a sack and the elf popped it inside. Ahmo turned quickly and Sindellea thrust the precious book of aristocratic secrets into the empty rucksack and sealed the straps tightly.
Together they donned the robes of the library custodians once more and dashed back down the stairs. Peeking out the door, Sindellea could see the hall was empty. The distraction seemed to have had the desired effect. On her signal they all ran out through the heavy doors and into the brightly lit courtyard where a cloud of dust raised by a handful of mounted guards heading out the open gate obscured their emergence. The gate shut as they did, forcing them to scamper up the cut stone stairway to the parapet. The guards on the wall were now all fixed intently on a dust cloud below where a number of mounted men were leading a herd of horses. To the rendezvous point. Ahmo sprang forward, her sword flashing as she cut down the nearest sentry, his body tumbling over the wall into the packed dirt below. Suddenly the others caught the motion but Grimhawk and Asmalinde had already got most of the way down their rope on the other side. Sindellea was halfway and Ahmo came over and down last as the other three guards scambled to reach them.
The others were mounted already as Ahmo hauled herself onto a bareback horse. Hrangach led them pell mell back the way they'd come into the scrub of the Harandor outback.
They fled due east then turned south at dusk. There was no sign of any pursuit. When It was dark, they led the horses on foot, repeating their earlier pattern, resting a bit at dawn as they slipped past patrols in the dray arroyos.
On the third night as they meandered through a gulch, Asmalinde stopped. She and Ahmo felt a sharp pang of anxiety. The others wondered as blades sprung into their hands. Hrangach readied his bow.
Sindellea looked in worried wonder at the canopy of stars.
Hrangach pointed upward and to the south “There. We are being watched. I thought I felt something of it over the sea on the last morning but the presence of a Nazgul is now unmistakable.” A tiny shadow could be seen by the elves passing over the stars.
“Sauron's champions. How's it flying up there?” Asked Grim.
“They can't fly. They have to ride something,” Sindellea answered, still gazing upward.
“Well that's helpful to know. Like what? A big bat or something?” Grim kept on.
Laicamiril frowned. She had been caught by surprise before by her nemesis. But she had anticipated trouble and prepared accordingly. “Sort of. If you saw it close up, you'd have right busy work for your axe, I'll wager.”
“I fear no beast, but the Nazgul I know too much of.
“I wonder how much trouble I caused his master,” Ahmo mused. “Well nothing for it but to ride straight for the ship. He may recall that getting too close can be fatal. Sindellea- how much time would we have if that wraith alerted the garrisons to the south that morning?”
Sindellea mused “None. There is a town of Harad five days' ride south. They are in service to our enemy, but they can only muster a hundred warriors.”
“More than us, but not by much,” Asmalinde rejoined. “What about ships?”
“Sindelleth looked pained. “If that thing had spotted us on the last morning inward, they'd be arriving shortly with good winds. The winds have all been southerly since, so...”
“So let's stop talking and start running,” Ahmo said with stark decision.
They eschewed stealth for speed, riding quick as they could by night, the elves with their star sight leading the way. At dawn, they rode at a trot the last leg of the journey.
Watching the sky as they went under the hot golden sun, the elves saw no more trace of the Bane of Rhun above them and before long, the ragged hills that sheltered their hidden cove rose before them. Before the gloaming, the raiding party, all alive and unharmed met the sentries and Captain Gollantz. The sea dog had seen to the disposition of the horses. A tribal nomad was on hand to take them. They felt reasonably sure they would not be betrayed, as the horses were branded with the sigil of the Black Numenoreans, which meant a swift and harsh punishment to a thief.
Before midday, the Doleful Maid had rowed out of the cove and hoisted all sails and rode a fortuitous southeaster that pushed them over foamy green-grey till the masts strained.
The elves took their turn at watch upon the platform atop the mainmast. A distant speck was seen. Ahmo climbed aloft. “Three triremes. They can hang more sail than us so if we both have the wind, they'll gain very slowly. If we lose this fair wind...”
Gollantz agreed it was probably a coastal vessel. Well suited for battle en masse fast with 3 masts and 3 rows of oarsmen but ill made for open an ocean pursuit. “Steady on, then. West-Northwest with the wind. They will reckon us to make a run north straight for Gondor. I know how to lead them a merry chase. Should the wind dial change, I'll reconsider. Putting a few dozen leagues of open ocean between us and the Corsairs is more important now than seeing the fleshpots of Pelargir soon. We've provender and water for two months at sea.”
“Especially if they've guessed our purpose in visiting,” Added Ahmo, looking pinch faced. Asmalinde put her arm round the other elleth and gave Ahmo a tight side hug.
“What's wrong? We got away clean. No one died save some of Sauron's lackeys. Surely that does not displease you?”
“I lost two knives. Thy cost me days to hammer out just so,” Ahmo replied. As though in answer, Asmalinde produced the two knives and tucked them with comical tenderness and care in Ahmo's coat pocket, explaining in a merry tone, “I Found 'em for you. One is bent though- I had to wrench it out of the librarian's thick skull.”
Ahmo's mood seemed to lighten despite her best effort to maintain a studied seriousness. Asmalinde gave her a loud, firm slap on the backside, provoking an involuntary laugh.
“I”m tired. Have a look at that book and see if it looks right. I'm having a nap.”
“Well earnt, Laicamiril. I'm glad I could get you to smile,” Asmalinde rejoined as she opened up Ahmo's rucksack and withdrew the book they had risked so much to obtain. It's once supple leather cover now a dark rust brown and cracked with age. The spine was lettered with gold leaf, much of which had worn away. As the ship pitched and rolled gently and the ship's mast and spars creaked with the scented wind's steady breath, her delicate fingers turned though the papyrus sheets at an increasngly frantic pace. She shook her head in something like anger and closed the little volume with a heavy snort of anger.
Sindeleth sat beside her on the foredeck. “Do you see the answer yet? Or will It require a cypher? One we must recover from Barad Dur?” she asked. Her sarcasm was coated with easy jocularity, but Asmalinde bristled all the same, handing the book to Sindaleth.
“It might as well be,” Sindaleth breathed, staring wide-eyed at the pages as she flipped through them. “We all risked our lives to retrieve this. But we are no a step further in sorting out the mystery.” Sindaleth turned the book over, looking at the spine, unadorned, save for three adamants set into the leather.
The two of them examined page after page together in silence until at last Hrangach loomed over them. “Find anything?”
Sindaleth's eyes flicked upward. “As far as we can see, this is exactly what it appears- an old portalan compiled from Numenorean charts drawn up before the downfall,” she said, laying out a large map of a land unfamiliar to the elf, who now sat with them. “There are 40 pages written in some completely gibberish code. This is in no known language.”
“The rest is just maps,” Hrangach said, eyes scanning. “I've been to sea many times but never commanded a ship. Maybe there's something occulted,” he suggested. “Something hidden within the text...these little pictures,” he continued, placing a forefinger on a fanciful drawing of what was presumably a stylized whale. Whatever it was had ram's horns and fins.
“That or someone was led a wild chase,” Asmalinde offered tartly. Sindaleth looked reflexively offended for a moment.
“The Blue Wizard has never sent me on an unnecessary errand. The answer is here somewhere. We just have not the wisdom or the power to see it unaided.” She got up with a curt growl and stalked after to the ship's wheel where the dandy captain was supervising the pilot.
Asmalinde looked unconvinced. “Now it's my turn to need rest,” she said. “This is making my head ache,” she muttered and went below to their assigned berths.
Morning found Sindaleth at the prow in the early hour as a fain glow began washing out the stars on the southeastern horizon in that dreamtime when pale dawn resolved into dim day as the flaming eye strained to arise in the east, still caged behind the ebon ramparts of night. Ahmo sat beside her, offering a cup of tea and the two women exchanged smiles.
“Anything?” Ahmo asked. Sindaleth's head half turned once. “None of us could guess what this book of maps and annotation had to do with Dol Amroth's prince regnant. It's more a mystery now than when I found you.”
“Hidden script?'
“I held several pages up to candlelight. If there was an unseen ink, there would have been some trace of pressure upon the parchment. The pages not dealing with navigation are undecipherable. Unless it's some sorcery that hides it. And I went through the various means I know of.”
Ahmo braced as the bow slammed down mid sip. Disaster averted, she spoke on.
“I took a look again just now. I've piloted ships on Belegaer. I swore one time I beheld Tol Eressea before the way was changed. I've drawn charts and copied them by the hundreds. I went page by page through that thing and there are two that just don't fit.”
Sindelleth's features registered relief. Someone else was taking up the burden of this thing. She had dreaded appearing at last before Morinehtar and confessing total ignorance. She felt suddenly the lead that had caused her to seek Laicamiril had certainly come from a source higher than the wizard. “What have you found?” she asked.
Ahmo could almost feel Sindelleth's heart beat quicken.
“I learned the art of sailing from the Teleri in a remote time. When I dwelt in Aman and was a very young girl. If you know the tale of Feanor, you must recall that before the sundering there was great friendship between the Teleri and the Noldor.”
Sindelelleth only nodded affirmation. The tale was well known to her, being steeped in the lore of the eldar. “They taught you the art of sailing?”
“And much more beside. Astrology and astronomy. Later- much later, dwelling in Lindon I had cause to take to the seas yet again. My husband and I undertook many journeys for Cirdan to find the contours of the changed world. We drew charts also for the men of Numenor.”
Ahmo's face brightened and in her green eyes, Sindelleth discerned there a sadness she saw often in the countenenance of the eldar.
“What do you see in these charts?” she asked the elf.
“All the maps are drawn out by Numenoreans according to the reckonings they used in the days of their might. All but two.”
“What of these two?” Sindelleth asked, prompting further revalation.
“Two there are made using reckonings and in the style of the Teleri of ages long past,” Ahmo replied, finishing her tea.
“So you're suggesting they were copies of very ancient maps?” Sindelleth nearly shouted, her excitement building. Now they were getting under the hide of this mystery at last.
Ahmo turned, the sun breaching the horizon line of the east, casting a sudden brifht glow on her fair skin. As in Dol Amroth, she was caught by those emerald eyes and found her gaze caught by something at once tantalizing and terrifying. The elf broke the spell and began walking away. “Come see,” she said simply.
When Ahmo entered the little compartment the women shared, Asmalinde was pouring the chamberpot out the window. “Good timing, ladies,” the peeved elf scowled.
Ahmo dipped her head. “Sorry. I had an epiphany.”
“If you discover good manners, do let me know,” Asma grimaced, settling onto her hammock, adjustng her underclothes. “What revalation was worth you barging in here?” the scholar snapped.
Ahmo took up the book and set it on an upended box, finding a sought after page in the middle. The three of them were looking over what seeme to be an empty expanse of sea with smattering of islands when Hrangach appeared at the door.
“Doesn't anyone have any manners?!” Asmalinde stormed. “Get out, you!” The door shut quickly.
“Come back,” Ahmo shouted over the sudden bustle outside as the crew began to line up for their morning meal on deck.
Hrangach, champion of Thranduil peeked sheepishly in once more.
“Come in. And sit with your back to the door,” Ahmo commanded.
As the big blonde warrior settled himself into his role as door block, Ahmo began to speak.
“I cannot claim to be superior in navigation to any but I am versed in techniques from the very beginning forward. The bulk of these charts utilize systems devised by Cirdan the Mariner and adapted broadly in Numenor. This chart you see before you now however, was drawn using measurements employed by the Teleri of Valinor.”
Asmalinde and Sindelleth suddenly looked closer.
“I see there is an additional scale here,” Asmalinde pointed out.
“That was the tell,” Ahmo answered. “To allow it to be utilized by someone unfamiliar wih the more ancient techniques. “Those charts are in a different hand as well. I'm not at all familiar with book-bindery. Asmalinde?”
Asmalinde Turned the big book around, peering at it various ways. “I can see it's been taken apart more than once. Someone slipped these two pages in at some point...wait!”
The quartet sat in silence as Asmalinde retrieved a long thin knife used for the cleaning of ifngernails and slipped it into the spine. Ahmo frowned subtly, hoping nothing valuable would be ruined but Asmalinde pulled free a long strip of brass. Nine runes of the kirth were stamped into it. “What have we here?” she asked, laying it on the book.
Each of them looked closely.
Sindelleth spoke up first, “It's referring to these,” she said, picking up the bit of metal and using it to indicate identical runic marks on the margins. She turned the book around “the first one indicates west. That is the cardinal point to the elves,” she added needlessly.
“the others all line up now- The chart was put in upside-down. So the north is this way. When we taught the Numenoreans how to navigate using the lodestone, the maps were oriented northward. The elves always oriented the top to west.”
The elves nodded appreciation of what was obvious to them. Clearly the mortal woman was well versed in elder lore. She had been wisely chosen for her role.
Hrangach spoke up, rumbling, “Well where do you suppose these islands are?”
At this, Ahmo spoke up, looking at the bit of brass. “There are 8 runes left after orienting the map properly by the guide mark. This island here- I can't place it from memory. Asmalinde?”
Asmalinde looked the chart over. “These lines show declination from the lodestone's meaurement of north. This changes for reasons we don' quite understands. Extrapolating from memory, my best guess is that this land is meant to be near to Tol Eressea.”
Sindelleth's gasp was audible. “The mystery deepens. I must get this to Morinehtar.”
Ahmo shrugged. “Well. Let's go then. Where is he?”
The Gondorian looked distinctly uncomfortable replying. “I can't tell you.”
“Then how can we go?”
Sindelleth sighed and stood up, bracing suddenly as the ship lurched. She nudged Hrangach's thigh with her toe and he scooted aside so the woman could slip through the door.
Asmalinde lay herself in her hammock. “Did we just put our lives in extreme danger for nothing?”
Ahmo shook her head once. “Not quite nothing. And yet our hands are still empty. I'm starting to see the outlines of a very old scheme indeed here.”
“I can see Sauron's interest. Yet this book languished in the possession of his serviles for centuries. If it was so important to some plan, why was it not taken long ago to Barad Dur?” Asmalinde asked rhetorically.
“We often do not realize the key to some problem is right under our gaze,” Ahmo suggested. This book disappeared from archival collections in both Imladris and Minas Tirith. Why? How?” Ahmo came back.
Asmalinde traced the line of her plush lips with a bright pink tongue, flipping through the thick sheaf of maps, her feet crossed at the ankles as she stretched in the hammock. “And why is there no proper book? The volume I recall was a slim one but it was a narrative with some illustrations and two maps- I can't say they were exactly these, though they look familiar.” The ship began to roll a bit and Asmalinde swung lazily from side to side.
Ahmo got up off her perch and went out onto the deck, spotting Sind on the foredeck, She made her way across the gently pitching deck and as Hrangach climbed the rigging to the mainmast for a look around,
“What do you propose now? We got the book Morinehtar wanted. We don't know how to get it to him. We seem to be at an impasse.”
“I'll take it to him in person,” Sindelleth tried.
“Not a chance. I'll take it myself.”
“What are you going to do with it?” Sind protested.
“Get to that island,” Ahmo cut in. “There's something. Or some one there the Blue Wizard wants. Wants enough to bring me into the matter. “I'm not accustomed to being manipulated.”
“We'll go together then,” Sindelleth's pained expression spoke louder than the bow crashing through foam spackled gray waves.
“How much do you know about all this?” Ahmo asked at last.
“In truth, no more than you.”
“That's unlikely.” Ahmo's tone remained level. Loud enough only to be heard up close.
“Who Prince Imrahil's ancestors may be wouldn't concern one of the Istari.”
It was now Sindelleth's turn to be indignant. “How are you so certain of that?”
Ahmo rounded on her in an eyeblink. “Because they're all long dead,” she shot back. Then she blinked and her posture relaxed.
“Are they?” Sindelleth insinuated.
“Maybe they don't have any,” Ahmo suggested, warming to this new trail.
“Apart from Imrazor perhaps.”
“Stop sandbagging me. Where's Morinehtar?” Ahmo asked with a new urgency.
“We'd have to turn back. Into the teeth of any pursuers,” Sindeleth answered with a heightened look of pained frustration. “These people will never allow it,” she said, looking over the bustle on the deck. The theft of the book from under Sauron's vigilance had been bloodless but it was clear that there was now a formidable squadron of war galleys behind them.
“They might if there were no pursuit,” Ahmo mused aloud, throwing up a hand as a blast of sea spray washed over them on the foredeck.
“They're not likely to give up. Not after we humiliated them so.
“I wasn't thinking of fighting them.”
“What then?” she asked.
“We'll make a decision in the morning. For now I've work to do.”
As evening's dark curtain overtook the speeding ship, Ahmo borrowed some herbs from the surgeon's locker and quietly disappeared with a scowling Asmalinde into the group cabin with a bowl of water.
Before dawn, Ahmo roused Gollantz who blew a shrill horn to sound the call to prepare for bad weather. The crew and the pack of adventurers bustled frantically stowing gear and loose objects. The wind had picked up and a gale was threatening from the northeast with a vast storm front. Gollantz cursed under is breath. “Confound this unseasonal head wind. I hope we can lose them in the dark! They'll be in as much trouble as we.”
“Some consolation in that. Hard to board us in a storm.”
“Wider beam- they'll be more stable but I doubt they'll get close enough to try. I'm going to drive right through them.”
Ahmo seemed unpurturbed by the proposed desperate gambit, despite uncomprehending stares from the mercenaries. The crew knew the ship's master well enough to trust he could manage to get them- or most of them- through alive and free. That or they'd all die together and join Ulu's* vast navy.
A mass of cumulus blotted out the stars completely, plunging them into damp satin darkness where the only light was swaying lanterns and occasional flashes of lightning. The wind, from a pleasant light hiss grew within moments to a shrieking howl through the masts prompting Coynel to order the sails trimmed. Ahmo grabbed the wheel from the helmsman and steered the ship about, now heading precisely back where they'd come. The vessel pitched violently to starboard and the hapless passengers feared they'd capsize. Asmalinde gripped the after railing in terror. The two closest Corsairs rode the great waves uneasily, attempting to close on the fast approaching blockade runner.
Sturdily built, their speed relied on oarsmen who could not row the colossal swells of an open ocean gale. As the two bows closed like jaws on their prey, a dart flashed from the Dolorous Maid. Grim's bow claimed the steersman on one of the war galleys. Hrangach missed his own shot at the other But now Ahmo's task was made easier and the Maid pulled rapidly to starboard, evading the attempted ramming and smashing the bank of oars on the corsair's port side, hurling screaming galley slaves about the below decks.
Clear of the enemy attempt to hem them in, the Maid's sails strained from the nor'easter, rocketing them up and over wave after mountainous wave amidst nearly vertical sheets of lashing, stinging rain. Somewhere below decks, Asmalinde hung grimly onto a hammock and vomited voluminously. Somewhere else, Hrangach clung to the platform of the observation nest on the mainmast and hoped the mast wouldn't snap as the topsail tore loose from the barque's hull and flapped madly like an injured bird's wing, battering the poor elf. Somewhere forward, Grim watched his axe slide off into the hungry gray sea. Somewhere still further, Sindelleth threw a rope's loose end off the stern for an unfortunate seamn=an to try for. The man was never seen again.
A faint sound of splintering wood could be made out above the wind's mad roar. The raging chaos ensued for long enough that Ahmo lost sight of the lanterns on the Corsairs. The Maid had doused all lights even before their abrupt change of course. Though the nor'easter continued pushing them toward the Harad coast at a fast clip, the horrifying swells subsided as a brightness in the east could be made out.
Ahmo held the course, for the helmsman had been swept over the side. Captain Gollantz took the wheel as the proud sun rent the last remnants of the storm away. Careful search of the horizon yielded no trace of pursuers.
“Strange,” Hrangach offered upon lighting happily on the deck. “Not a trace of any other ship in any direction. It's as though something dragged them down.”
“The path is clear, then, “ interjected a confused Gollantz. “And the wind favors us still. Why did you turn us about in the storm?”
Ahmo noted Asmalinde who was hauling herself on deck, looking a whiter shade of pale. “I need you to drop us off again in the cove,” she answered glibly.
Gollantz was appalled. “You test your luck hard, woman. Don't test mine too. I was paid for one smuggling errand. Not two. And it was only chance that sent us a gale to get away.”
“Chance? Can you be sure?”
Gollantz blinked “Don't speak of sorcery on this ship or I'll confine you below decks.”
“Sorcery? Who said anything about sorcery? Asmalinde looked at the deck as though hoping for a crack to appear as a distraction. ” Ahmo frowned, striding toward the foredeck. “I've given the course. You'll be shut of us then for good. And what's more, you'll find yourself well compensated. A thousand gold marks. I'll draw up a letter with my sigil and instructions how to collect. Meanwhile, just get us there. Then go where you will.”
Gollantz could only grumble under his breath about elfin witchery.
Eye of Eärendil
Ahmo had Gollantz drop them off on a beach by night a bit south of where the cove they'd sheltered in before. Using that spot again seemed a bit mad even for the imperious elf. A headland sheltered them from any observation. Ahmo, Asmalinde, Sindeleth, Hrangach, and Grimhawk waded ashore from the ship's boat and started by foot into the interior. Sleeping by day once more, they travelled two days by night, Sindeleth navigating by the stars. A rocky arroyo hid a cave where a spring allowed them to refill their water skins and wash for the first time in a a turning of the moon. The cool darkness was a balm after the unforgiving heat of the Harad desert.
Sindellea woke them. She had made contact with friendly locals. It turned out all the desert people were friendly after a fashion. Umbar was an ill famed and hated place to be avoided-a place that snared the unwitting and dragooned them into soldiery. The elves were utterly unknown to them and the three accompanying Sindellea had to graciously endure many gawp-mouth stares, coursely framed proposals for marriage and occasional unwanted pinching of pointy ears and round bums.
The desert folk, dusky and wiry like Sindellea passed them from settlement to settlement north and east across the dense-packed stoney desert floor under a series of moonlight nights until they reached the foot of the Ered Glamhoth at the western edge of the lands named Khand. Here, the stark desert gave way somewhat to a steppe country which was only marginally less hospitable.
The mountains were their goal and their guide quickly found a hidden path up.
Two days of gradual ascent took them into a high plateau which faced south. They made camp here with the desert spread out before them in an endless bronze expanse of sand and rock spreading southward as far as the elves could see with the sea on the right side.
“Last little climb up,” Sindelleth ventured when they rose and broke their camp.
“This is Mordor. Yet there is no watch upon these bleak ramparts,” Asmalinde ventured as they made their way up steps rounded by millenia of weather, use or both.
“Sauron is certain of his mastery of Umbar and his servants' vigilance, as you have seen it focused upon the approach from the sea. If that fellow Gollantz gets back to Gondor the tale of our adventure will reach Barad Dur in short order, ”Ahmo mused as she followed their guide closely, keenly aware of the book she carried. Something seemed familiar about this place to her. A dream-walk perhaps. Though they were now high above the bleak desert, the heat remained, though the mountains all about the narrow defile up which they labored offered shade and occasional streama carried a trickle of fresh water.
“Here!” At last we are here,” Sindelleth announced as they reached a height within which a narrow cave mouth was set, a rocky shelf strewn with boulders and talus spread like an apron about it.
Grimhawk frowned, peering into the black cave. “Did anyone bring a lamp?”
Ahmo drew out her ancient sword and spoke a spell whereupon the blade glowed brightly, illuminating the way ahead. “So he lives in here?,” she asked, sniffing the cool, damp air of the lava shaft cavern that seemed entirely natural, yet also fit to purpose despite the thick packed sand floor.
“Yes and no. The great wonders of Middle Earth have faded or been destroyed but this place has endured since before ever your grandsire rached Valinor, Laicamiril”
“I see no sign this rock was ever worked. By what power was this place made?” Hrangach asked.
“By the same power that shapes the lands upon we walk in dreams.”
Hrangach's set jaw betrayed his disatisfaction with the answer. “Poetry aside, this is not the work of elves or dwarves.”
The light of Ahmo's sword illumined a seam in the rock as the passage narrowed to the point they had to sidle forward. Sindelleth asked Ahmo for the sword and slid the point of it in the seam whereupon a faint crackle could be heard in the close air and where once a wall of otherwise featureless stone had marked the end of the passage, two doors of polished bronze swing inward. Revealed to their sight, by Sindelleth's art or the power of the ancient sword Ahmo could not tell. But the way forward was now clear as the bright sky outside lit the way ahead.
Following Sindelleth and Laicamiril, Asmalinde, Grim and Medlinor made their way within a spacious hexagonal chamber of gleaming black basalt, polished by some unguessable art by unknowable hands. Rich tapestries hung on either side and at the very opposite end was a collonaded peristyle framing a view to the north which awoke a sense of wonder even in the two ancient eves who could discern beauty in the commonplace. It was then she recalled old crazy Rhavanielle describing this place as a house of refuge on the edge of nightmare.
“This is the Eye of Eärendil,” Ahmo said decisively, remembering at last.
“You recall your lessons well,” Sindelleth answered. And indeed at that moment, the dusk revealed Eärendil, brightly shining star shining its greeting to Isil, guardian of the night above the distant haze over Gorgoroth, far to the north.
“Attend then another lesson,” intoned a melifluous voice. Sharp eyed elves took note of the smoke of small silver brazier resolving itself into the form of a man who, though old, was hale and strong. Sindelleth bowed as the figure became solid before them on the polished alabaster floor, strewn with richly woven carpets and pillows round a small table set for tea.
“My Lord,” she said. Asmalinde and Ahmo bowed with her. Medlinor and Grim dropped to one knee as though greeting a wise and ancient king. The old man's beard was white but neatly trimmed, like snow round a chimney in winter. His eyes a dark brown like the desert people but set strangely like the peoples of the distant east.
“You bring visitors here,” said Morinehtar. “You know this is unwise.”
“The hiril Laicamiril would not surrender the book, my lord.”
The wizard had already set his eyes upon Ahmo and at last he spoke. “You must guess then, why we sent you to find this book. My apprentice bent all her efforts to divine its location and your mistress sent us to you to retrieve it at last.”
“You know much that is hidden,” Ahmo answered. There was no menace in the wizard's eyes or manner, yet his power was palpable to the elves.
“I know who you are. I know what you are. And I know the manner of your leaving Aman,” he answered.
Ahmo's fair face turned bright red with a sudden shame and anger which Asmalinde, standing near, did not miss, though she spoke not.
“You're not entirely the enigma you think, daughter of Grestiel. Remember you were known well at Alqualonde as a child who loved the sea.”
Ahmo's face set hard with inner restraint. Morinehtar placed a broad, gentle hand upon her shoulder. “Many died that day as blood was shed in anger in a sacred place of shelter. But you did not command it and I discern in your heart that you would have had it otherwise.”
Sindelleth knew enough of the ancient tale to guess the meaning of the wizard's words and empathically intuited the meaning behind the flaw in the elf's eyes. Murderess. Kinslayer.
This meant little to the mortals. The elves knew her well for centuries. Morinehtar's aside was calculated to produce the reaction that it did. Sindelleth found this a bit cruel but Morinehtar was capricious at times.
“If you know so much, why did you want the book of charts with its obscure appended volume?” Ahmo groused, rising to verbal riposte. “You've put many lives in danger to discover something which, by rights should have remained in legend. So what if Imrahil's forebear dwells on some obscure island? Would your neighbor gain anything from the knowledge?” she grumbled, looking north toward Barad Dur, obscured by a great distance and the volcanic nimbus of Orodruin.
“You've worked out the code, then? You've saved us all a good deal of time,” the wizard said happily. His countenance brightened and Ahmo forgot the earlier barb. Funny how time never cured wounds of the heart. It just froze them for later, she thought briefly.
“The answer was hidden within the book itself,” Asmalinde interjected. The narrative seems gibberish but the book contained a hidden key to seemingly innocuous chart. The book I saw in Imladris was utterly different. It was just the obscure script and strange pictures.”
Morinehtar gestured for them to sit round the low table “Be at ease, you've been through much to be here,” he said as he clapped his hands loudly. A troop of monkeys appeared with polished tea service, each cup accented with sprigs of fresh mint. Once they had poured for all, they disappeared in single file out a side door. Grim was unfazed as he had supped with Grimbeorn in faroff Rhovannion and strange little hairy men were no more peculiar than a brace of serving hounds.
“The map is no object then. You have exceeded my every hope,” Morinehtar said between sips, looking about the table.
Ahmo recongnized the tea as some impossibly exotic leaf from the distant east. The kind of thing she had occasionally procured for Elrond's table.
“The question now is the additional text and the absurd illustrations,” Asmalinde chimed in. Her spirits seemed bouyed by the company and the place. “We've all looked closely and millenia of scholarship yields no answers. The script seems utterly invented without any kinship to any I've ever seen. Even the lands across the eastern deserts. These pictures detail plants I've never seen catalogued anywhere. No in Middle Earth. Not in Aman. Not in any known botanical treatise.”
Ahmo laughed, adding, “The nude ladies in their baths is an additional layer of mystery and endlessly funny.”
Asmalinde, prone to being scandalized joined in laughing as Ahmo turned to that page. A number of nude women in little baths arrayed in a circle about a goat. The women all had an extended forefinger touching a heptagonal star which hovered over them. Several pages were given over to variations on this schema. In the last, which had a dragon in the center one of the women wore a regal crown. The women were portrayed fully nude. Ahmo laughed merrily as she turned the pages and many more such drawings passed before their eyes.
Sindelleth asked “Do you see, my lord, anything that lesser eyes may not see?”
“Nay, my friend,” It is no script I can decipher and I am travelled widely. It seems to me that you must go to this place if you would unravel more of the mystery.”
Ahmo's mirth was unabated by this suggestion. “I know you speak not in jest, Morinehtar. But we have sent our ship away and are far from friendly ports.”
“Ahmo speaks truly,” Sindelleth added, pouring more tea all round. “We shall have to find our way back to Gondor before any expedition might be kitted out. And whatever we do, we should move quickly. The Enemy's chief captains likely know about our adventures on his back stoop by now.”
“Question now is how do we get back to Gondor?”
Grim laughed, drinking wine. “Steal a slave ship, I reckon.”
Medlinor rolled his eyes. “Don't give her any ideas.”
Asmalinde raised a brow slightly, looking to Sindelleth. “So how do you get back and forth?” a touch of suspicion coloring her voice.
“I have always come and gone alone. Though once I flew.”
“You flew?” Asmalinde laughed. “On a great eagle? One of Gandalf's friends?”
At this, Morinehtar took his turn chuckling. “Not quite. There is a creature that dwells in the land of Nurn and in the east in some places. It gets confused with dragons for it is akin to them,” he explained with a hint of annoyance.
“Dragons!” Asmalinde exclaimed incredulousy. “If Sauron could call upon such things our problems multiply manyfold!”
“Not dragons as you know them,” the wizard breezily replied. “I said- akin to dragons. Do you suppose that the dark lord in elder times created dragons out of thin air? Psh!” Morinehtar waved a hand in a gesture of exasperation.
“What wonder have you to show us?” Ahmo asked. “That will bear us out of danger without trudging past the enemy's armies?”
Sindeleth, whose knowing and self satisfied smile had been turned northward, interrupted the exchange. “Behold!”
In the sky appeared all at once, a number of huge avian forms. Wing, membranous like bats bore scaley bodies from which projected long writhing necks at the end of which were wolfish heads. The effect was altogether too much for Asmalinde who drew her sword.
Morinehtar shouted at her “Put that up, dear. You've nothing to fear. They are beasts like any other. Think of them as horses to bear you to safety.”
Ahmo wondered at the creatures. Grim and Hrangach, who'd seemed instincively inclined to react as Asmalinde had laughed at the wizard's chastisement of the elf. They had both seen one of these things bear a Nazgul in the east and Hrangach had killed one with a war engine.
Asmalinde recovered her poise quickly, letting the point of her sword dip before sheathing it. The beasts, croaking like huge crows landed on the long porch and Sindeleth beckoned. “Come now! Don't make me saddle them all by myself!”
Morinehtar bade Asmalinde seat herself at the table again and copy out the maps they would need to reach the strange island. Which, looking at the loathsome scaly beasts, she was happy to do. A perilous tramp through Harad seemed almost preferable, but she knew Ahmo would never pass up the opportunity for a new experience.
The five creatures duly saddled, Asmalinde finished her drawings and stowed them in a leather bag round her shoulder. Sindeleth took some time to explain how the beasts were to be guided but also that hers would lead and the others follow. They need to no more than hang on unless some misfortune befell.
A little practice ensued, after which, they all filled themselves with savory meats, dates and other delicacies and, led by Sindeleth, rose one by one into the early afternoon sky.
Ahmo imagined flying this way in the bright sun would blind the enemy's servants.
They ascended to a great height and by the time the sun was touching the western rim of the world, they could make out the glimmer of the great river Anduin like a stream of molten silver far below. Home! Or something close enough even for wanderers like them.
