azrudaur

Steora Sweofthand ... you'm a straw headed fool an' no mistake. Iffen Bawde finds out, you'm goin' ter get it hot.

I dursen't seem ter be able ter help myself. See, this Oldgrove up at the brigand's camp, he says ter me 'Come with me m'lass and yer shall have a good dinner, a soft bed an' some warm clothes'.

And so, I did. He has a fine enough mare and so we both rides her, as quick as quick, through the dead fields and down ter the Bridge-town. Now I gets him ter promise that he'll bring me back ter Gyth and Bawde ... an' ...

Summat important must be in this fornost place. Now yer would expect that a dead city - full of bone-men, corpse-walkers and shadow-men wouldn't be full of live 'uns like me an' Gyth an' Bawde. But ...

Me an' Gyth an' Bawde, we come up ter  Bryg Bewiccan - that dead-city, Fornost. That bloody wealas, Araenion, guides us up in ter the dead fields almost ter the gates, further than I bin on my own, to an old tumble down fortress – an' then … he leaves us. Without a by-yer-leave or nothin'... just goes out in ter the mist an' he's gone. Well, I'm buggered if I'm going a-chasin' after him again.

I'm all fer a good tale. But this aeranion goes on an' on ... I dursent understand a third o' what he says. Gyth's eyes are as bright as the sun ... i aint able ter keep mine open. He's spinnin' some nonsense about this fornost. Taint what Gyth heard from her burnt man. I dursen't know what ter think about him and this araenion now.

Makin' me mind up though. Iffen I aint trusted, an' he is being paid by the burnt man... then feh.. iffen I going ter be hung fer a lie then I may as well be hung fer a truth. Iffen the burnt man dursent trust me, then i shant bother being honest.

Know a man's desire and you hold his world.

Deep in my homeland the drowsy heat draws languid resins from the trees, fills herbs with potency. A land  where the drone of the bees in the heat as they fly from flower to flower fills the air with a sonorous temptation to rest, lulling a man to sleep.

At last. I turn the key in the heavy lock, enjoy the sound of the tumblers falling dully. Secure, finally. I have her where I wish her to be.

Here in my silent towers, where the walls are so thick even cries of agony or pleading to the uncaring powers are stiffled and muffled. Where the glamour of her voice and her song cannot weave its bewitching thread into the minds of lesser men. There are many years of life left to me, perhaps beyond my own knowledge. When I am done with the work for my lord of the east, then, she is mine.

She is singing. In all my days I have never heard such. She has been singing for half the day. The first real sounds I have had from her ... and she is singing. As we neared the glooming hills and narrow passes she opened her lips ... and a thread of colour came forth. The sound comingled with the cries of the suprised birds, enticed them to open their throats and join her.

A delightful day. Yes. I rode with the elf maid obedient beside me, and my few men about me. North from the crowded, fetid encampment, out into the hills around the northmens' camp, Esteldin.

I watch her pull up the hood of the cloak that I have given her. Enveloped in its sable folds, clad in the black dress, her face shines softly, the moon in clouds. She has been enclosed in this tent for long enough, it is time to move her to more fitting accomodation.

I pull back the flap of the tent sharply. The first true light for her in many a day. I see her eyes open to receive the starlight, turning her face in yearning before, senses opened, the shock of the scene before her slaps her back to reality.

She sits. Because I tell her to sit. I am a man of passion, and dark humours boil within me now. She is wise to heed my words and do as I command.

I pour two glasses of the finest red that I have. The cut of the glasses deepen and intensify the rich colour of the wine. It is too crude to liken it to the blood of my man that she has caused to be spilt. My man, to me. To her and her ilk, just a Man.What can they know, secure within their timelessness, about what life is? About what life is, to a Man?