((For Daerundros, I hope this chapter will bring you much joy!))
Gondor, Lamedon,
City of Linhir
Late Summer T.A. 3017
The clattering of the silverware had ended within the dining room. Cleanly gnawed duck-bones lay correctly ordered on the plate, the bowls and pots that had been filled up to the edge just an hour ago and had brought the small table with their weight almost down to its knees, were now empty. Only a lonely potato remained as survivor of the dinner on the silver-plate, still untouched, with butter, salt and herbs attractively adorned.
The noble lord Perdór, a leisurely man in his best years, with long, grey curled hair, bushy eyebrows and a curly beard, lowered the message that he had received moments ago.
»He will not have it easy, King Brand.« Carefully he laid the parchment aside, his fore-head took on a deep frown. Apparently sunken in his thoughts he put away the bib that had protected the expensive brocade-jacket from stains.
»You do not have to be a seer to prophecy that.« The scrawny fool at his side tilted his head to each side in a exaggerated manner and his bells on his colorful cap rang up in the most different tones. »I bet my monthly pay that the lords of the East have worked on him so hard that they can cut him down like a tree and exchange him against one of their own.«
»My good Fiorell, that bet you loose.« The noble of Linhir smiled. »You forget, that the line of King Brand's family had always a great advantage against the Easterlings and that one is called Dwarves. The small miners were always on the side of those they were trading with. I do not see any danger that the Kingdom of Dale falls too easily under the sway of Rhûn.«
Fiorell, as ever dressed in a colorful rhombus jersey was just going to respond as Perdór turned to the side and pulled on a thread next to him, ringing a tiny bell.
Seconds later appeared three servants and brought the dessert.
»Ah«, said the lord stretched and rubbed his hands. »Cherry semolina pudding with a sauce of berry compote. Candied fruits with chocolate-creme and«, his eyes were caught by a plate that was yet not freed of its cover, »what is that?«
»A new work of our chocolate-creator, milord«, answered the servant and bowed. »He calls it Warming Wintersun.« Dramatically he removed the cover and gave the look free on a small hill of confection out of dark chocolate.
Perdór fished with glowing eyes one of the comfits from the collection, put it in his mouth and closed expecting his eyes.
The fool knew the ceremony all too well. It would take minutes until his lord would be willing to speak again. So Fiorell waited patiently until the senses of Perdór had returned into reality.
»Delicious«, sighed the lord after a while and opened slowly his eyes. »Too delicious. Half-bitter chocolate with sweet orange liquor, a piece orange and marzipan. It vanishes on your tongue and frees more and more its aroma. This master, no, unreachable artist, to take this man of highest creativity into my service was the idea since long.« He took another from the plate. »Such an enjoyment would be almost worth a war.«
»Then we have finally reached the correct topic«, interrupted the fool the lyrical explanations, while he as well took one of the comfit pieces, placed it in his left cheek and began to munch highly crude on it. »Mh, really not bad.«
Morose did Perdór look over to the jester. »You do not honor the skill of the confectioner at all, lad. You do not celebrate, you stuff.«
»Your guests honor my art and that of my teacher also very seldom, milord«, returned the fool as answer. »How should I then return what I am not given? Remember when Ælbdís showed her tricks and someone tossed a cat at her only to see if she could hold the animal in the air together with the balls she juggled?«
The lord snickered. »But she did it.«
»I am sure she was thankful when the bites and scratches were healed«, grumbled Fiorell. »But I wanted to return actually to the matter of war.«
Perdór dismissed the servant, stood up and walked over to his desk. He opened a drawer with a filigree key, that he wore around his neck and pressed the hidden button in the inside.
With a groan did the long cupboard that stood by the wall, move backwards and gave free a small room. High like three men were books, parchments and letters piled up and ordered precisely after kingdom or region.
From a corner drew the lord a ladder and indicated to Fiorell to climb up to the letter 'R'. »'Rhûn', if you please. Hopp hopp!«
Obedient did the jester follow the order, leapt up the rungs, grabbed the booklet and returned to the earth with a quick backwards jump.
»Here, milord.« He opened the book. »And here are the latest news from the realm, just this morning per pigeon. A wonder the bird did not catch fire by these temperatures. Real hot news, I would say.«
Without minding the commentary, Perdór read the report of the spy who was unknown between the numbers of the rhûnic council-administration and always, when something important occurred, send instantly word to Linhir.
Such vigilant people sat in the numbers of hundred in all lands of Middle-Earth, in governments, guilds, lived undiscovered as craftsman, farmers or nobles.
It had been costing Perdór a lot of time and even more coin to weave from all these scattered threads a thick and strong net, but the effort had paid off. Often reached the word of an important occurrence the lord quicker than the regent of the realm. And this knowledge would be sold - if it lay in Perdór's interest.
The enormous dinner hall was the secret treasure of the noble and only one of many archives. The others were scattered over his palace, were managed only by the most trusted and chosen men, who collected every so small detail and message. Of economy and tributes over taxes and garrisons, power of an army to rumors, all could be found.
A black hole remained however on the map: The most northern lands of the Withered Heath. Perdór did not accomplish in all his life, and although having the Elf Ælbdís as friend, who called that land her home, to have but a single spy there for a longer period of time. They disappeared immediately after they had been sent, never again did he hear of the chosen men and women.
»That looks all like an approaching disaster«, said Perdór after a short break, laid his left arm on his back and walked from one side of the hall to the other. He read the message over and over again. »Why do I get just now knowledge of that?«
»You were busy with the breakfast. And during that you are no good at all for anything.« Fiorell winked, did a handstand and climbed head-under the rungs of the ladder like there was nothing easier on the world.
Having reached the top, he jumped into a crouched position, balanced on one leg on the ladder and began to juggle with three candies. Then he tossed them up into the air and one after the other disappeared in his mouth.
»We could send them to King Brand«, he suggested and gulped audible. »He would be warned and could counter Rhûn's intentions by ...«
»I have never given information away freely and I do not intend to make an exception«, fell the noble into his word. »It does not instantly have to mean war.«
»But what is the meaning then of these many consignments of ore, the increased production of iron, the clearings of woods and the recruitment of volunteers?«
The fool made a pirouette, jumped into the air and returned with the sound of his bells ringing back unto the floor of marble. »Surely with that material they could also make toothpicks with iron tips.«
»Maybe they want to enhance their fleet?«, proposed Perdór not really convinced.
»To sail to Lake-Town and proclaim their toothpick-trade-war, milord? I am the fool of us both, did you forget that?« Mischievously were his dark eyes glowing. Such words he could only allow himself when the two men were alone. And this opportunity he used to the fullest.
»True, true. And that is why I can put you down into the dungeons and you, me not. Here stands something about a delivery of weapons«, the noble tried to return to the topic. »As far as we know did the Elves just defend their northern realm and that without great battles or losses. I would not worry that a new attack upon them would achieve anything. Rhûn appears more desperate in its doing than certain. Why should it then escalate?«
»You do know what happens if you take off the corset girdle from an older woman, do you not, milord?« Fiorell drew air and retracted his belly, only to let it shoot out again. »As long as she wears it, she has a remarkable figure. If you take if off, her body will spread. And like that it will be with the White-Gold haired Elves and King Brand that still hold Rhûn in its form. It will show in time if they can withstand the constant pressure of their enemy or if the last threads and bonds will snap.«
»As always are you a wise fool, good Fiorell«, said Perdór. »I think instead of sending these information off to King Brand, we will send it to our friends in the Withered Heath. To Tobaár.«
Fiorell tried to draw a terrifying grimace and used his fingers to display especially long teeth. »You mean that sinister warrior-king, milord?«
»And activate all of our men and women in Rhûn. Every yet so small movement must be reported. In case the Easterlings plan indeed a greater war-campaign then I want to know where, when and how before they do.«
»I send the next pigeons off on their way immediately.« The jester bowed deeply. »Let us hope that they arrive at their fabled destination without turning into icicles. They say the north is very cold.«
Deepest Forodwaith, north of the Withered Heath,
Coast of the Frozen Sea
Late Summer T.A. 3017
»So, so. These are the feared coasts of the land into the Withered Heath.« Tei-Sal Haïl-er-Ibadan smiled satisfied as he saw the untouched white beach, that appeared in the distance of two miles, like on a painting, before the ships of the rhûnic invasion fleet. »It seems as if no one would care for us. Our scouts were right. The guile to lure their troops to another spot and to attack from the highest north had worked.«
The inviting shore was forming a natural bay of a mile in its width, behind that protruded sharp cliffs into the sky in which broad stairs had been worked. The small stronghold that sat enthroned high above the rocks made an impression as if it had been abandoned long ago. Right and left of the natural harbor were lying enormous rocks.
»May I remind the Tei-Sal friendly that these White-Gold haired Elves are not quite the folk I would describe as gullible«, gave Parai as comment from the background and waved with a handkerchief before his face in order to receive a bit of the cool air. Despite the fact that they were so high in the north like never before, the sun was strong in the summers also in this land. And today she send her rays especially cruelly from the sky and the rhûnic merchant cursed his brocade clothes that had several layers of expensive cloth. But style remained style for him.
»If I remember correctly of the latest messages, then your men have already gotten hot feet, is that not so?«
Ibadan, a browned man around his forties with a broad posture, a bald head and a beardless face turned grimly around to him.
»Lord chairman of the trading-guilds, you are onboard as observer not as advisor. Keep your merchant-wisdom to yourself. If you do not want to fight ...«
»Good grief, Tei-Sal. Do not be so sensitive«, said Parai condescendingly. »Be happy that I care for the well-being of your men. I was there when this Elven-brood demonstrated their power, and that was, in the least said, enough.«
»Do not worry then, their warriors are not in the near«, said the commander. »My fifteen ships will teach them soon enough what it means to face the power of Rhûn.«
»Your fifteen ships will, with all due respect, drown like rocks.« The chairman and diplomate looked by his answer not into the direction of the rhûnic commander, but saw with narrowed eyes towards the beach. He heard the angry grunt. »How do you want to proceed?«
»After our diversion was a success about eight miles to the east of here, the Elves have moved their main-army to that spot. I count with little resistance from this fortress.« Ibadan pointed at the entrance to the bay. »We can, if we maneuver well, bring ten ships to the same time through there and land to the same time. The water is deep enough and on the sand we do not ruin the bows. We must get as quickly as possible to the beach to give the enemy catapults as little time as possible to scupper us. With the remaining five ships we will send arrows and javelins against the stronghold, then we overpower them.«
»Straight forward, huh? How impetuous.« Parai wiped some sweat off his fore-head. »Well, I am really eager to see that happening. Where is the safest place on this ship? I would not like to be hit by a projectile of some sort. Remember, I am the chairman of those people who finance this whole campaign.«
»Who have gotten us so far nothing but the lowest equipment and keep as much coin for themselves as possible, instead of fighting themselves.«
»For that«, answered Parai in the friendliest manner, »we have the feared warriors and commanders of Rhûn, who destroy everything and everyone that stands in their path. Except for a few solitary Elves who shoot with their bow and fly apparently about.« With his arms he went to imitate a bird waving with its wings. »I honestly do not believe a word about these wonder-constructs. Oh, most likely did the Tei-Sal just not want to admit that he fell victim to an outnumbered group of Elves.«
»Tei-Sal Faïs-bar-Lamshadai is one of the best commanders that our realm has«, responded Ibadan, every word with its own note.
»Maybe that is the reason why he does not want to loose his reputation?«, estimated the chairman and began to wave with his arms again. »And because he could not hold to the schedule, we had to improvise, is that not so? I hope this attempt will succeed.« Performing a gesture, one of the sailors brought him a goblet with wine. »How long do you want to wait still, Tei-Sal? If there is someone sitting in the stronghold, he could have since long made his preparations.«
The commander pressed his lips unto one another, but did not answer. He waved to a man standing at the bow of the ship, who gave orders with the help of flags to the other vessels.
Ten ships set to full speed, the oars rose and descended in an unsparingly tact. The sound of whips came from beneath, where the slaves were driven to bring the ships into movement.
Parai had taken himself a telescope and looked attentively to the apparently abandoned fortress. Nothing moved behind the walls, not a single white-golden hair was seen, no alarming smoke wandered into the sky and no dull rumbling that warned them of one of the larger catapults sounded up. Obviously the rhûnic troops were able to deceive the Elves.
Without taking the lens from his eye, the chairman took a sip from his wine. Something dazzling at one of the embrasures appeared suddenly, blinded Parai who had to close his eyes for a moment. After blinking quickly, he sought the spot again and again shot light into his eyes.
»What by ...« He put the telescope down and saw without it over to the stronghold. In irregular intervals did something glisten in the sun.
»Tei-Sal, I wanted ...«
But the commander rose warding his hand. »Spare me from your constant stuck-up prattling. I have to lead an attack and in that I have no need for your questionable hints.« Ibadan left the bridge and the chairman with an open mouth.
»Then not«, muttered Parai peeved and went out of precaution behind the mast, in case the Elves would open fire. While doing so, he made out movement at the left rock at the side of the bay, from which the ships were only eight-hundred steps away.
Again he raised the telescope and discovered the coil of a pulley. The wiggling of the coil had caught his attention, for a firmly strained chain led down the stones and disappeared in the water. Somebody seemed to be doing something.
Parai felt an unwell feeling in his stomach. The conversation that he could hear sounding from the bow was about a sort of flash that one of the archers said to have seen.
»You could have had that much earlier«, mumbled the chairman and made himself much smaller behind the mast. Screaming from the front however let him become curious and he looked carefully out from his cover.
The first ten ships seemed, on the height of the two rocks, to have been colliding with an invisible obstacle. The bows remained in place within a straight line, jerkily all ships had lost their speed. The many-voiced splintering of bursting wood sounded over to them, planks and frames broke. Then the first of the war-ships leaned starboard and began to sink beneath the waves. Soldiers removed their armor and weapons and jumped over board, while from beneath came the desperate screams of those who were chained.
With only little timely distance did the other ships begin to list. There was no doubt, the lower rooms with the slaves filled themselves with water.
Tei-Sal Haïl-er-Ibadan gave order to the remaining ships to stop and to prevent to ram into the sinking vessels.
The oars dived into the water and reduced the speed, before the one or other wooden piece broke beneath the encumbrance. The ropes with which the sails were set, the sailors simply cut, to reef them would have taken too long. Heavy canvas shot down unto the planks and covered many of the soldiers who however, thanks to their helmets and shields remained unharmed.
Indeed did the five remaining ships accomplish to come to stand before the wrecked ones. Criss-cross were the bodies of the ships placed before the invisible barrier. The first survivor began to climb to them aboard.
»There are stakes in the water«, called the lookout down. »I see them clearly. Their iron tips stand barely beneath the surface.«
»Ibadan, why did your scouts not say anything about these stakes?« called Parai over the deck because he did not want to leave his cover.
»Because they were not there then«, shouted the commander back in anger.
The pulley, did it shot through the head of the chairman and he hit himself on the forehead that the sweat was splashing. They raised up the stakes just now. But what comes now?
The remaining ships maneuvered on the order of Ibadan so, that their bow was pointing into direction of the open sea. After the salvage of soldiers and sailors, the device sounded 'tactical retreat'. The Rhûnic soldiers did not seem to care about the drowning slaves however.
A small, strange water-vessel shot towards them, that reminded the chairman of a sledge. On two skids rested a platform and a mast, which sail was filled with wind. At the end of the platform sat a helmsman, two other Elves took care of the canvas and a fourth stood before a number of strange looking crossbows with several muzzles, that was equipped against enemy projectiles with a wooden shield, behind which the archer could seek cover.
Three crossbows with each five muzzles vertical, seven muzzles horizontal, he counted the openings. By all lost coins! We are getting slaughtered like chickens when one of those things shoots!
The agility with which the boat, or whatever it was, made its travel, the chairman had not held for being possible. Like a mosquito bustled about a dog, so likely circled the Elven-vessel around the foremost ship.
Some of the rhûnic archers attempted to shoot at the enemy, but his movements were too jagged, too abrupt as that one could have predefine the course it would take. The water to the left and right of the vessel splashed but none of the Elves was hit.
Then the strange crossbows opened their fire and send one projectile after the other on its journey, in intervals quicker than an eye could blink. After the first twenty arrows, that had caused hardly any damage among the soldiers, did the Elf set loose the entire rest of his projectiles.
Buzzing and whizzing came the rain and brought those to fall who held their hands to those who were still swimming and hoped for aid. This time there was wholesale death and wounded ones. The enemy vessel brought itself out of reach in order to re-load.
Parai wanted to let out a relieved sigh, as suddenly four of these water-vessels came around the rocks and took course on the remains of the rhûnic fleet. Six more came from the other side and the chairman thought that it was time to go.
He jumped down from the bridge unto the deck, went for a run to the hatch that led to the banks of oars and threw himself down into the ship, while outside began a deadly rain of hundreds of thorns.
Confused did the slaves look after the well-clothed man who ran between the seat rows, pushed the supervisor aside and disappeared through the door into the storage room.
Gasping he leaned against the door, tried to catch his breath and began then to put everything what was there of crates, sacks and barrels before the door as barricade. After that he crawled into the smallest corner and covered himself with an empty linen-sack.
You will not find me White-Gold haired ones. You will not.
The White-Gold haired ones found him. Quite quickly actually as Parai had to admit to himself. His attempts to deceive them and also his obstacles and barricade had made no difference. And of course did they identify him by his uniform as one of the leading men.
Two silent Elves in a light leather armor were flanking Parai on his way up. The banks of oars were empty, the chains remained lonely on their places, from outside, the man heard not a single sound.
Arriving on the deck did the chairman see ten warriors who spoke quietly with one another. Their armors had the dark-green color of nightshade. Metal, wooden and leather parts alike were used for these strange and many-jointed protections. They turned their attention right towards him.
»Thou art a man of Rhûn?«, asked one of the fighters unfriendly.
Parai made the obligatory bow and scrape, waved his hat and introduced himself with each rank and name. »To kill me will be of no use. Rather take me captive and demand a ransom«, he ended.
»Merchant, diplomate, chairman and coward«, counted the Elf. »I am Kaàló. It has to be enough for thee to know that I am the commander of the stronghold ye tried to conquer. Ye have lost. And I want, that thee P'araai ...«
»Parai«, corrected the chairman with a sweet-sour smile.
»... to bring word to thy realm how our people answers to assaulters.« The Elf brought the man to the railing and pointed into the bay, which blue water was dyed red.
The once white sand was now likely to a red sponge, everywhere were floating corpses. Through the mixture of water and dead bodies were gliding the small vessels of the Elves, seeking for survivors to grant them the finishing blow.
Stunned did the chairman have to hold himself at the railing, his knees shook and threatened to give in. Countless oarsmen and over two-hundred soldiers per ship were making a dreadful number of dead for which these Elves were responsible for.
»Ye have attacked and we defeated ye.« Kaàló was given a heavy sack. »These are the insignia of all high rhûnic officers. Bring them back and speak of what thou hast seen in the bay. Every attempt to attack Ámmtara will end like this or similar.«
»How«, whispered the chairman, whose voice was full with aversion, »do I come back. Am I supposed to swim?«
»One of our catamarans will bring thee to the east, there where ye have located ye weaker forces as diversion. Thou wilst be brought to the land, the rest thou must walk. Now I will offer thee an even better impression.«
The elvish leader grabbed the chairman and threw him backwards over the railing.
With a scream fell Parai into the red floods and felt the taste of blood in his mouth. The blood of his kinsmen.
Coughing and gasping came he back to the surface, strong arms pulled him aboard of a catamaran. The water that was flowing from his clothes was red. The bag with the insignia was placed next to him.
»Tell of it!«, called Kaàló from the ship, the arms leaning on the railing, while the small vessel began its travel.
