Xanderian and Cyndwin sat uncomfortably beneath the patchwork shelter of a lean-to, deep in the heart of sunless Angmar. At their back was a cave that had once been the home of far fouler things then its current inhabitant, the half-mad healer woman known to many in Rohan and elsewhere as The Silken Witch.
The witch herself, her thick reddish hair tied away from her sweaty brow in a loose braid, carefully ladled a thin soup into earthen wear cups, passing the first to the young Shieldmaiden. Her face was neither young nor old, but seamed by hardship and time. Cyndwin stared at her, fascinated for a moment, then peered down into the murky soup and took a sip. Her time thus far traveling beside Xanderian had taught her not to question where food might hail from nor how or what it once was. When you have it, eat it…nothing else mattered. Fortunately, this pottage wasn’t half bad, if oddly spiced. She took another long sip as her Elleth companion refused the second cup offered to her. With a shrug the witch gulped Xanderian’s portion down hungrily, clearly keeping to the same rules as Cyndwin.
As she wiped her lips on the dusty sleeve of her robe, the strange woman sighed and smiled, her expression causing years to seem to fall away from her round, weathered form. “So you have come seeking Hilda at last, though you be not who I had foreseen…yet now as I look at you, I feel the weight of a task upon you…so you have come in the stead of the sister child, now grown to womanhood?”
Xanderian nodded gently…keeping one ear cocked for the sound of approaching foes. She did not fully trust this situation, nor did she fully trust Tara the Silken Witch.
The woman smiled and brushed her red hair back further while she refilled her cup, pausing to take a long sip before continuing. “Don’t worry first born of the blessed valley, even without the might of Vilya we here are safe enough indeed until the twisted guard in Carn Dum changes at the false breaking of the Dawn. This is time enough for sweet rest…and for thrice told tales. High above us in the tower of Carn Dum sits Donark the Paymaster, Donark of the Vaults, perched like the spiders he commands, staring down at us yet not seeing, yet perhaps he is listening to the tale I spin, perhaps he will spin it himself in the days to come. Your youthful quarry, Hildawyn of Thornhope, journeyed far through green fragrant field and arid blasted plain in search of me, poor Tara, but find me she did not. Yet in her desperate search she came under the very eye of Donark, and he in his humor allowed her to wander unmolested. Hunger had long ago begun to gnaw at her and thirst to parch her, and her difficult journey through the lands of the Trev Gallorg had left her finally unarmed and defenseless, so she sought what shelter she could…the very tower of Carn Dum itself.”
Cyndwin shook her blonde head in disbelief. “I do not understand. If this Donark is all that you and Rian say he is, why did he allow her to come to the very heart of the evil of Angmar in safety, why did he not send his minions to slay her without a moment’s thought or remorse? After all, was she not but a simple daughter of the Riddermark, without name or station, even as I am? I would expect no mercy from the servants of shadow.”
The witch chuckled. “Even a monster such as the Vault-keeper is prey to the weakness of all men…curiosity and the draw of the fair flower. She attracted his gem like eye and held it until he wondered what this stripling girl might want of the mighty and great such as himself and his Master. When he granted her audience and heard her intent he did as he was wont to do and struck a bargain, false though it was, and there his trap snapped shut.”
The Elleth sighed softly, looking into the small fire. “She wished to exchange herself for the soul of Theoden King, seduced by legend and bold song into thinking such a trade was in the power of the Paymaster of Angmar and his Brazen Scales. She sought to save her village by saving their King, though it was a foolish errand.”
“The first born speaks truly and has guessed her witless yet noble purpose,” The Silken Witch leaned forward over her cooking pot, the steam wreathing her like the very flames of Mt. Doom as her voice grew shrill and piercing, sending a chill down Cyndwin’s spine. “Donark of Angmar took her bargain and laid her soul upon the scale, yet he had not the soul of Theoden King in his counting house despite his careful half truths and veiled promises…so he cast gold upon the ground, a wergild for her kin to bear away if they had the courage to claim it, and laid her soul amongst his treasures by power of the Scales. He knew, in his blackened, twisted heart, that one day that trinket would be of value to him or another, and therefore worthy of hoarding. So does the fair Hilda languish in despair, played a trick by the Trickster of Carn Dum.”
The Shieldmaiden blanched, her sense of justice outraged as she rose to her feet, her voice gaining force as she raised her fist into the air. “That is terrible…that poor child must be freed even if the walls of Carn Dum need be pulled down to do it!”
Xanderian reached up, and gently drew Cyndwin back down into her spot by the fire. “What do you propose then that we do as you clearly had a plan awaiting the arrival of her rescuers, Tara of Agarnaith?”
The Silken Witch laughed. “Truly the Huntress sees far to look into the past of my birth, but that bears not upon this moment. My plan is simple…we must offer the Paymaster a new bargain to overturn this foul deed, we must journey to Carn Dum and face the Brazen Scales, but we will not know what profit he will demand until we are already in his grasp. Are you still game to roll these dice, Daughters of sunlight and moonshade?”
Xanderian sighed, remembering Ynna of the Broken String and her desperate plea that her new found friends might save her sister, her faith and sorrow mixed together in a single tear…and nodded. “We have come this far…it is time to face Donark and see this matter to its end...besides which, he has knowledge of his servant, the foul dwarf called Mans of Kheledul which I require.” Cyndwin nodded emphatically, her sooty face the very picture of determination.
The Witch nodded and poured the last of the soup into the fire. “So be it then…at dawn we go to dicker with the Paymaster for a child’s soul.”
