»The Valar gazed down upon our world that their song had made
and they arranged a great competition to the honors of Ilúvatar.
Everyone should create something, that now inhabit and adorn
the land and the seas of our world. The winner should be the one
who could show the finest and most original of all creations.
Manwë designed the skies and his wife Elbereth the night and
stars after their thoughts and imaginations, Ulmo took care of the
oceans, while Aulë and Yavanna worked together on the mountains
and great forests.
But for Melkor there seemed to be no place among the others and
no one of the gods intended to work with him. So chose the god to
retreat to his own hall of craft, where he turned to designs that bore
his disappointment awoken through his siblings.
For a long time the Valar were drowned in their doing, made from earth,
water, fire and air the most curious landscapes and creatures that
would live long time in peace.«
- Legend about The Making of the World
Angmar, southern hills, Wogoca (formerly Hill-beast ruins), Early Spring in the Late Third Age
Thoughtfully did Pashtak turn and flip over the beige-colored piece of cloth, that he had found in the burial chamber, in his hand. The weak smell of rot, that had spread to the beginning from the linen was now gone.
The investigator with the stout posture, the brown fur and the big yellow eyes had at first assumed, the scent would come from the dead, but more and more he remembered a very interesting peculiarity that he had noticed on another occasion - on a living person, who sat in the town's gathering just one place away from him.
With that, his theory was underpinned that the woman Fórkuta had something to do with the flesh robbery on the corpses. Pashtak did not believe that the widow would sneak down into the grave late at night only to honor her passed away husband and cried for him. That did not fit her.
That left the murders to his thoughts that must have been committed by someone else and that occurred always to a cultic date in honor to Morgoth and his servants. Three of such dates had passed already without that anyone had noticed something. At least, not in Wogoca.
The young town was in the dire need to lift the mystery about these murders, for the brittle peace that had been established about a year ago by Hillmen and Hillbeasts was lying in danger now. Some of the more bright Hillbeasts had realized that service to the Iron Crown would bring them only a leash at their back and a sword infront of them. So they had gone off with their tribes and families and arranged a so far rather peaceful live with some of the Hillmen of Angmar.
Now that it was not clear whether Man or beasts committed the murders, the factions began to heat up and threatened to boil soon over.
And so the Investigator had decided, to listen about in the towns of the Hillmen that lay close to Wogoca. With Aughaire, he wanted to begin.
That decision had led to long disputes with his mate Shui, who saw him already dangling on the rope or over the town's walls, hung by enraged Hillmen. To enhance his bad luck even, did Pashtak possess a stature that was not quite made to move unseen or unnoticed among the townsmen. Nevertheless, he had to dare it, if he wanted to see his theory about the murders confirmed.
With the beginning of a new day he made his way and marched through the last remains of the melting snow. About him it was gurgling and dripping; the melted water ran in small rivers through constructed pipes and was led into the ground and wells, without causing damage. In that way, the dried moor on which Wogoca had been risen would not receive more water than it was necessary. The return of the mosquito-swarms and a new outbreak of swamp-fever the inhabitants sought to prevent hence.
Until the evening he overcame the half of the journey and rested at the edge of a parting of ways, in the protection of a tree. He made a fire and took out the cooked meat that the worried Shui had given to him. Hungrily he heated it shortly and then bit with his sharp teeth into the piece. Busy with chewing he pondered on the question what made human flesh so special that one had to eat it. He did not want to try it, for the fear was in his mind, that he could, like some of his brethren that still served the Iron Crown, find a liking on it.
Thoughtfully he ate the rest of his rations. As he was still not quite satisfied with his hunger, he caught without much effort a careless snow-rabbit and roasted it over the open flames. His hunting instincts were still of use to him, although the convenient life in Wogoca had let him become a little sluggish. As he was too hungry to wait anymore, he began to eat on the half-cooked prey. Dark gravy ran down his chin.
A single rider closed in, in the late evening's twilight and reined back his horse as he saw the shine of the fire.
»Forgive, could you tell me ...« The man, who made the impression of being a messenger, wanted to ask for the way and recoiled startled, as he recognized, what he had before him. His eyes hung on the blood in the snow, the left hand fell down on the hilt of his sword.
Pashtak wanted to respond something and opened his mouth. Between the tipped teeth hung still the remains of the rabbit.
The horse, startled by the own scent of the Investigator made a quick side-step. With great effort, the rider was able to hold himself in the saddle. »Damn beast«, he cursed and galloped down the street.
»I hope you meant your nag«, Pashtak called after him and jumped to his feet. With one hand he wiped the dark red liquid from his lips and fur. Why that did fit very well, he was fretting about himself. The stupid beast sits in the snow and feasts. At the same he found that the reaction of the unknown man had been inappropriate. »I am just as good as you!« May some Maneaters get him.
The night passed without any further events, only sometimes rolled and rumbled carriages past his resting place, that obviously wanted to go to the market of the town to offer their wares.
At dawn, as Pashtak made his way, one of the coachmen addressed him politely, asked where he wanted to go and offered to take him the rest of the way. Thankful and surprised did Pashtak accept the lift and sat soon between rocking and jumping pickled cucumber barrels, from which covers rose a penetrating smell.
Aughaire, that he looked upon from a small hill out, seemed in the shine of the afternoon's sun a bit larger than Wogoca. The thick walls, that were quite impressive proved to him, how much the Hillmen had feared his kind and probably still feared. No contracts and dispute settlements or even friendships could change that. Too long had the Hillmen made hunt on his kind and were in return killed by his brethren.
The guards did not cause the investigator any trouble as he went to enter Aughaire. From the gate out he wanted to go by foot in order to get a better view over the settlement.
His randomized way led him through streets and alleys, past townsfolk that either ignored him or regarded him with distrusting looks. A few years ago, he surely would not have been let through the gate.
Finally, he came past a house, by which sight a shudder was going through his body. It was a half-timber house; at the lowest beam, the owner the brought on the skulls of his brethren. The heads of the larger »Never-sated« were just as well nailed to the wood as other Hillbeasts.
Pashtak's steps became slower. In the almost unspeakable sight lay a fascination that he would not ward off.
How long he stood there and stared on the white bones, he did not know. At some point, the door opened. A strong man with a battered chain mail and a sword around his hip stepped out, saw the investigator and hesitated.
Pashtak smelled the adrenaline, that was pumped through the veins of the man and the aggression that was suddenly surrounding him. If now an attack would follow, he would not be surprised. After several moments, the body of the man relaxed. He spit out into the alley und regarded estimating the face of the investigator, only to point then at the wall of his house. His index-finger showed to the right.
»Your sort is hanging over there«, he called scornfully over to him. »And even more would hang there would it go after my will.« Under laughter he marched down the street.
Pashtak shuddered and walked into the opposite direction. What would they say if we would cover Wogoca's streets with their skulls, instead of stones?
In the end, he found the quarter of the guards and entered. At the end of a long corridor sat enthroned a clerk infront of a slightly risen disk, the feet on the console and snored. To the right and left were two doors.
Loudless, the investigator snuck forward to the man. »Excuse me, are you the commander?«
The man in the grey light armor was startled and looked searchingly around. The stout shape of the hillbeast made it impossible for him to find the visitor at first. Only as Pashtak repeated his question, the surprised clerk recognized him.
»If it's about the matter to report any complaints about insults, harassment or other violation of the peace agreement, then you are right by me«, he droned out his seemingly, by heart learned and with little dedication said line, drew the writing quill and took a new piece of parchment out of his desk. »Kind and place of the incident?«
»No, no, you misunderstand me«, Pashtak explained friendly and tried to smile as well as he could, without showing off his sharp teeth too much. »I am Investigator Pashtak from the town council of Wogoca and have traveled to Aughaire to investigate.«
»Well, can that be?« Amused did the clerk put the writing utensils aside, put his elbows on the table and looked down on his visitor from his risen position. »So you are an investigator, little beast. What are you looking for then. Your mother?«
A growling escaped Pashtak's throat. »A murderer. Or several.«
»Are you allowed to do that alone already?«, the man continued to amuse himself over the creature. »Murderers are evil, evil people, that only wait to get an opportunity to hurt a little creature like you.« He laughed, until tears were running down his cheeks. »And now run home.«
»Are you done?«, did Pashtak inquire.
»With you? Yes.« In all his calmness the clerk was putting his polished boots back on the table. »Get lost, already.«
The powerful clawed hands of the investigator grabbed around the leg of the table and broke it into two with an unexpected ease. The console lost its balance, moved to the side and pulled the clerk along. Man and table disappeared loud rumbling behind it, one boot of the loudly cursing man protruded out of the chaos into the air. Sheets flew about and the ink vial threw its content against the wall, the light armor and on the ground.
Quickly Pashtak lay the leg of the table of the ground, there the door next to him opened. Another uniformed man appeared, whose face did not seem to be amused at all. »What is going on here?«
»Are you the captain? I am investigator Pashtak from the town's council of Wogoca and journeyed to Aughaire to accelerate my investigations. It is about murder.« Now he had the feeling to be suddenly very sovereign and important, to which the exemplar of a typical man seemed a little over his head.
»I am captain Magodan. Do you carry any form of legitimation with you?«, the man wanted to know and reached out with his open hand. Pashtak took out the charter, looked over to the other clerk, who dug himself a way out of the chaos under heavy groaning, and handed it to the captain. He nodded shortly. »Come into my chamber«, he beckoned and let him go first. »I have to explain a few things here first. Be patient one moment.«
The investigator made himself in the poorly decorated room at home. A pot with tea was bubbling quietly.
What Magodan was talking about with the clerk, he did so very quietly. A little bit disappointed Pashtak took a seat and waited.
The captain returned. »You take a tea?«, he offered his guest.
»No, thank you«, Pashtak declined. »I do not go well with these strong brews. I prefer the raw herbs.«
»As you wish. I would like to apologize for the behavior of my clerk. He is a townsman, who grew up here and unlike me, he has still his problems to acknowledge the new situation.« Magodan, a man around his thirties with a thick mustache and short hair took a sip from his cup. »Then begin your story, Investigator«, he asked him.
Pashtak began to trust the still young captain and explained him his theories of the ritual murders, where he did not dare to mention the number of one-hundred-thirty-three deaths. »As nothing happened in our town three times already, I wonder, if the murderers did not choose a new place to do their ill deeds«, he closed.
»It is always the same with the brood. One will never be able to rot out all those who are unreasonable. But we can at least thwart their plans. With your help.« The captain regarded the investigator through the smoke of his tea. »I wished my men would have just a spark of your criminal sense«, he said acknowledging. »You put a great deal of effort into this all, I am sure.« Carefully he put the cup down and sought through his documents. »I take the reports of all the guards together and mark them if something strange strikes my eye.« He gave Pashtak the folder. »As I do not know for what I should be looking, I will let you look for yourself. But to say it right from the beginning, nothing overly strange has been reported to me lately.«
The reports were scurrying past Pashtak's eyes. Without knowing for what he was looking exactly, he heaved the questionable days forth and back. The captain was right, he found nothing what appeared to be fishy on the first look. Then I will try it on the second, he decided and examined the wording of each sentence, what took some time.
»You can read, I take it?«, the captain inquired after some moments carefully. »If I shall read something for you, just tell me.«
The investigator smiled. »No, thank you. I can read, count and speak.«
The man appeared to be embarrassed. »I did not want to offend. I just thought ...« Helplessly he raised the shoulders.
»You must know, you are at all the third person who treats somewhat normal outside of Wogoca.« He closed the folder with the reports. »The first was a dwarf from the eastern mountain, the second a coachman. I see it as a certain improve that the captain of Aughaire would like to read something for me now. I thank you for the friendly offer. It does not need to be unpleasant for you to ask. Many of my kind would be delighted of it.« With a loud clap, the folder landed on the table. »What is that actual for a house that adorns itself with the skulls of the dead?«
»Oh, that is the former collection point«, the captain explained, who seemed to stumble from one delicate topic to the next. »The head house. It is from the time in which each head of a ... in which there was still bounty.« In haste he took a sip of his tea. »You should not cross paths with Dokalush, the former leader of the collection point. Through the peace with some of the Hillbeasts, he has lost a great deal of his clients.«
»I already had the pleasure«, Pashtak spread his arms, »and I am still alive, as you see.«
»When will be the next date?«, Magodan asked. »I would like to prepare my men, so that they are especially warily during the night, but without giving them too much information. A sect, that worships Morgoth and his creations would just come in right for a few idiots who are against the peace with Wogoca. And it may not yet be clear to some, but we all profit from our teamwork against the Iron Crown. Hence I would not like to see the old distrust set aflame again. We will deal with the problem in our way, investigator, agreed?« He offered him the hand.
Pashtak accepted carefully, he did not want to hurt the skin of the man with his claws. »I will be looking where I can stay, captain. And tell your men, that they should be careful today already. We might have something incoming.«
»Good. I will let carrier pigeons fly to the other towns to warn the guards also there, in case this sect should be striking elsewhere.« Magodan brought his »college« to the door of the quarters. »If you like to hear my recommendation, take the Winehouse as inn to stay. Give the host my greetings and you shall not have any problems. Just go down the street and then to the right at the third alley.«
The investigator thanked the man and walked out, his backpack thrown over the shoulder.
A few steps away from the Winehouse, he noticed a house which windows were tightly shut. The brought on shield told him that it was the residence of a merchant, It would not have been striking him, would the windows of the ground level be shut, that everything was barred, made him wonder.
Inside the Winehouse, the host met him with friendliness and so he went to inquire about the reason for the complete isolation.
»I do not wonder a bit«, the host said freely. »He is already since three weeks on his journey and will probably seek to sell his goods in the far south.«
»And the messengers he has given free for that time?«, Pashtak asked on. »He will hardly make any coin, if he holds the shop closed.«
The owner of the Winehouse thought for a moment. »If I think right, I have not seen any of his people for quite some time. They must accompany him.« He led his guest up the narrow stairs and into a small room. »He might have a big fish to catch, then, eh? Do you still need something?«
If just not an even bigger fish gulped him already. That is the ideal hideout for the murderers. Centered and no one has any suspicions, Pashtak thought and registered with great satisfaction that with the merchant's house, he would maybe get lucky to find the murderers. »Only the faintly steamed brain of a child, seasoned with a bit lard and onions«, he ordered deadly serious. »You know the strange outlandishness of my kin.«
»I will see what I can do. Good that you did not order any virgin-blood. That's just gone out«, the host answered dry and walked out.
Now it was Pashtak's turn to be surprised by someone's hardened humor.
Heart-Land of Mithlond, Close to Falathlorn, Sanctum of the Circle, Early Spring in the Late Third Age
A faint sigh escaped the stunted figure, the hands laid on the small belly and the fingers interwoven, as the carriage rolled deliberately towards its destination. The dwarf blinked against the sun-light that fell on his face. Beneath the white beard and the bushy eyebrows lay a landscape of folds and large rings under his eyes were the evidence to sleepless nights. I wonder who can sleep by all that shaking.
Almsteinn was old, even by the standards of his people, but still well in shape. The first part of his travel from the Halls of Thorin to Gondamon he had made on a pony, until his back demanded its prize and he had required to travel on by carriage.
Blasted age, he thought and regarded the gnarled stick that leaned against the seat next to him. He used it since a few years now. Without it, he had troubles to walk over the day, as his own battle-wound on his leg seemed always eager to mock him.
Finally the vessel was rolling away beneath the large bow gate, that was the entrance to the sanctum of the Circle; Almsteinn's destination.
He had been here before, but it still fascinated him in a strange way. It was a place where the architectures of the cultures of Middle-Earth came together.
In the early years of the Second Age the buildings had been risen by the Elves who had gotten the help of the Dwarves, the masters of stone. But also man of Númenór had come here and had aided the course, so that all three people had left their marks on the sanctum. Surely, it did not longer hold the same splendor as several thousand years back, but nevertheless, Almsteinn was left in awe.
Before him rose up a dome of white marble, under which the Elves had met for their ceremonies and their rituals. Within there also stood the stature of each Vala that still remained inside the borders of this world, and it was said, that all these figurines surrounded a still picture of Ilúvatar.
But if that was true, no one could say for certainty, for only members of the Circle it was allowed to enter this particular chamber of myth.
Bow-pathways that began at the socket of the dome and led down to the great plaza, that the carriage crossed now, gave the dome the effect of levitating just over the ground.
Next to it stood the tower. Almsteinn had to lay his head into his neck to look to its top, that seemed to reached even over the clouds. But also that was a clever illusion. In his young years, he had always believed that the tower reached up so far, but today he knew that it was not even half as high as it appeared.
It was due to the surrounding landscape, Almsteinn guessed. If everything is flat and going down towards the ocean, then even a lantern-post is incredible high.
It mattered not to the dwarf that he knew about the illusion and tricks of the architecture, he still felt a little bit of humbleness and recognition rising in his heart. He knew about the hardship of such craftsmanship and could not do else but pay his due respects.
A bit smaller and less impressive fell out the six-sided building that aligned itself with the tower. It appeared more plain and had fallen of all the three structures into the worst state and probably deserved the most improvement. The dome missed only a bit care, the tower stood as proud as thousands of years ago.
Then the carriage stopped. A bit clumsy, Almsteinn climbed out, grabbed his walking stick and hobbled over to the coach dwarf.
»Wait here, will you? It doubt it will take very long. And do not pick any fights with the Elves. They all know some sorcery here and they let your ears grow long before you know«, said Almsteinn to the much younger Dwarf who had led the pony-carriage all the way from Gondamon.
The warning seemed to bear fruits instantly, for the young Dwarf gulped heavily and nodded, then looked around cautiously.
Almsteinn turned around and headed for the entrance of the tower. On his way, he had to snort about his jest: It was true, the Elves here studied the old lore and knew of powers that remained a mystery to Mankind in this age, but to let the ears of a Dwarf grow, that they could not. The old Almsteinn shrugged still amused his shoulder. It was quite fine with him to leave the coacher a bit intimidated. It would keep him out of trouble.
Deeply breathing he climbed the stairs to the gate, that were not designed for the legs of a stunted being like him. With raised eyebrows, the Elven guards with their long spears looked down on him.
Another illusion, Almsteinn thought. They would not need their spears here. The tower however was only to be entered by the higher standing students or when someone was requested, else it served only for the members of the Circle.
While some Elves stood now about the carriage and wondered about the curious arrival to the sanctum, the old Dwarf faced the guards.
»My name is Almsteinn of the Longbeards. I requested a meeting with Indur Cirionar, the Just and Lhûthindë, the Merciful«, he said and a strong tone lay in his voice, that was leaving no space to argue. Not all of his youth had died.
A moment later, the Elves had opened the gate and the Dwarf was striding into the tower.
Nothing could have disturbed her concentration. Absolutely nothing would have been able to penetrate the very veil that she had laid about her thoughts as her finger tips were striding over the old and brittle parchment and her eyes were following the tengwar symbols.
Nothing but one voice.
»Dwarf«, said a high-pitched voice that sounded far distant and skewed through her concentration. »Dwarf. Comes«, she heard the repitition and with a long sigh, she loosened herself from the ancient text.
The blue of her aura untied every connection with the old parchment, which took a few moments in which the voice became more and more urgent.
At last Lhûthindë opened her eyes, though to her surprise she looked in two shimmering globes, each with a dark circle inside. »Mischief!«, she called startled. The Hefad-Dal had awoken her from her trance and had snuck up before her until the tip of his flat nose touched hers and his huge eyes were set like a mirror before her.
»Did I not tell you to remain quiet when I work? I think next time I need to go again into the library and leave you here alone, hm?«
The furred animal muttered at her words and played the insulted, but that never was holding for long. While Lhûthindë began to order her documents, Mischief had climbed already unto her shoulder and arranged the hood of the Elf's robe so that his long tail could rest in it like in a pocket.
»Now what did you want?«, she asked him.
»Dwarf comes.«
His answer seemed to irritate the young Elf for a moment. Dwarf?, she thought. What Dwarf could he mean? Her hand stroked over the white-golden hair that would not lie today as she wished it to and while Lhûthindë thought feverishly about what the Hefad-Dal meant, she felt how her thoughts began to overtake themselves again.
Since a few weeks she had brought her mind more and more often to a state of ease. Cirionar had showed her how to do it, and how important it was, because the members of the Circle often had to remember so much and listen at the very same time, that it even hit the boundary of an elvish mind.
But now she had read a very complex text from the first age, that had proven itself to be more cryptic than she had expected. Most of the faded letters, Lhûthindë was forced to conjecture, while at the same time, a sense had to somehow be formed out of, the in riddles written accounts.
Initially the newest member of the Circle had planned to bring the scroll to Isilmewen, to gain the aid of her friend, but then she was taken by curiosity. With Mischief's disruption, she missed the opportunity to meditate on what she had read and to internalize it.
Suddenly it knocked on her door.
Mischief jumped on the bed in the middle of the room and Lhûthindë hurried over to open. It was one of the servants that Cirionar had employed to keep the tower in shape for possible visitors. The Elf greeted her friendly and excused himself. »Lhûthindë, there is a Dwarf waiting in the lower levels and requested to see you and the Indur. He said, he was granted already per letter and his name was Almsteinn.«
By those words, it fell like scales from her eyes. The Dwarf! The folk of the Halls of Thorin had requested the aid of the Mithdirith not long ago in a matter with goblins that had fallen into their lands from Rath Teraig out. Cirionar was the adviser of Curugirion, next to his other duties and so the Circle was almost always somehow involved. And the Dwarves send now one of their own scholar to converse with the sages of the Elves.
»Tell him, that I will be there in a moment«, Lhûthindë said and pushed the door shut, what appeared to her a bit unfriendly towards the servant, but it was a necessary sacrifice, for she had to hurry. It was not good to let one's visitor wait.
In a new best time she changed her white robe into a new and cleaner one, that was not covered with hair of Mischief's fur and then she hurried down the stairs of the towers.
Her boots left a rhythmic and fast clapping echo, until she had reached the last quarter of the way. That was, when Lhûthindë slowed down and came now quite deliberately down the steps. That bit of dignity she wanted to keep.
As she came around the last turn into the entrance hall, she could espy the visitor.
The dwarf was visibly old and it was a wonder that he did not fall over his white beard. Folds adorned his face. His stunted shape was emphasized by the hunched over position in that he stood and leaned on his stick. He wore expensive and fine looking garments, but even more was the Elf amazed by the bright green aura that surrounded her guest.
Lhûthindë stood before him and performed the ceremonial greeting, shaping with her hands the petal of an Alfirin flower.
The dwarf responded by shaping an anvil.
»I welcome you here in the sanctum of the Circle. My name is Lhûthindë Laurenar. I hope that your journey was not too hard and that you were treated well by my kinfolk on the way.«
»I thank you for the kind words, Lhûthindë. You make your byname, The Merciful, all honor already. I am Almsteinn of the Longbeards and it is curious that I meet you exactly first of the so far four members of the Circle«, he responded and offered her a warm smile, or at least it looked like it to Lhûthindë. His lips were almost entirely covered by the beard.
»I am afraid, you must explain yourself further, Almsteinn.«
The old dwarf chuckled deeply, warmly. »I expected to meet Cirionar, the Just or Isilmewen, the Fierce, but how interesting to meet the newest and moreover the youngest member of the Circle. I followed your progress when you were still in Master Lávarsindel's care, you must know. It is a great burden of responsibility and a time consuming one moreover, even for those who are immortal.«
Lhûthindë felt how warmth shot into her cheeks. She noticed no taunt and no condescendence in his voice. It rather seemed as if his words were a subtle encouragement and a quiet congratulation to her.
»I always try to keep my sustained efforts up«, she said, that Almsteinn considered with a slow nod.
»Will Cirionar join us in a moment?«
Lhûthindë shook her head. »I am afraid that the Indur is not here at the current time«, the young Elf responded and pointed the dwarf politely to follow her. Together they walked through the hall, that seemed inside to be much longer than the tower was actually. They were accompanied with the rhythmic »plock!« of Almsteinn's walking stick as it hit the marble floor. »As you know, a Lord of the Dwarves came into Falathlorn to speak with Curugirion of the Mithdirith. Naturally, the Hirgonui asked Cirionar to stand by him as his adviser.«
Almsteinn's nose flared up for a second. »Ah, yes yes. That Lord is Asudrom. Good fella and strong willed. He got a lot of experience. But surely also some begrudgers for plotting so openly with Elves.« He looked up to her. »No offense.«
Lhûthindë smiled disarmingly. »Is that the reason why you wanted to speak with us? You fear some uproar among the folk of the Dwarves?«
»Nah. Some will mutter and maybe some will shout, but in the end they must see that it is wiser to have friends than enemies. The Elves are a welcome aid to us and we should all do well to bury the old enmities.« He made a short break and scooped up some breath. »The reason why I came all the way here, is some worrying news. I guess you also hold contacts to Perdór?«
Lhûthindë nodded. Now she was really struck with curiosity. If the gondorian lord of spies was being named, things were bound to become interesting.
»Then I guess the messenger he send to me was faster than yours«, Almsteinn said and drew an opened envelope from the pocket of his brocade jacket. »I fear that our not so beloved neighbors in Angmar become active again.«
He gave the paper to her and Lhûthindë took it with a thanks, drew the letter out and let her eyes fly over the lines. It was a list of new sighted Orc settlements in the heart of Angmar and reinforced patrols about the border. Aughaire, Wogoca and the other towns of Hillmen that had united under an association of cities was still standing and had only minor problems to report.
By now, both the Elf and the Dwarf had stopped.
»That is nothing terribly formidable, Master Almsteinn«, Lhûthindë said after a few moments and gave the dwarf his letter and envelope back. »But I see your point. They move and what moves is not dead and could eventually strike at us.«
»Exactly«, mumbled the Dwarf. »And it will hardly matter if this information reaches the Mithdirith or not.«
For one moment, she looked at him flabbergasted. But before she could say something, he continued.
»Do not misunderstand me. I will make sure that this information will be brought everywhere where it needs to go. But I doubt that the Mithdirith will take action. Neither will the Dwarves. We are all terribly undermanned and have more direct, closer matters to face, namely the Goblins of Rath Teraig for now. And even if we had the strength and the time, then we would never succeed in advance so far into their lands and do anything about them. We are bound to wait and let Angmar do its first action. We follow behind.«
Only with regret, Lhûthindë had to admit that Almsteinn was right about what he said. And nevertheless, she could not wait and sit there until something happened. Her ambition had awoken.
»I know that you just arrived, but I propose that we travel to Thamas Lorn and support the troops there. And tell Cirionar of what you brought into knowledge through Perdór.«
Almsteinn agreed instantly. »My carriage still stands outside.«
»Good! Then let me gather just a few things and we meet before the tower. Who knows, in the end it may be Angmar's doing what stirs there in Rath Teraig and by destroying it we strike them the harder. Or Cirionar, Curugirion and Lord Asudrom know more already.«
Delighted she found that the old Dwarf smiled at her. »Lávarsindel did right to leave you in his place.«
