Holding her breath, the huntress pulled herself up the last few feet of the tower, keeping low and silent, her dark cloak blending into the night and the black stone under her. Pulling herself carefully to the edge of the ruined tower, she found the best vantage point. The menacing torches of Kheledul sparkled below, upriver along the Lune, like fireflies...or souls burning in torment. Many torches, burning both within the walls of the fortress and outside them, in makeshift camps to house the pavilions of the visitors. Laying prone atop the Wardspire, there was no chance any of the Dourhand sentries might detect her from this distance despite their vigilance, but the entire Port was laid bare before her elven eyes.
A ship bearing the pennants of Angmar had just docked among the stone jetties of the Port, and men and crates and cages were being rapidly unloaded. Even from this distance Xanderian could hear the cracks of whips and the cries of the laborers as they struggled with their burdens. At the prow, three men in the blood colored robes of Angmar stood expectantly, having just arrived, all wearing the gold and steel chest pieces of lords of the Iron Crown. They were being greeted by two Dourhand who scurried on board, both clearly dwarves of rank by their jeweled cloaks and the collared slaves kneeling dockside to serve them.
Xanderian let her sharp eyes take in the intricate banners along the sloop's mast, the eldritch markings along the sails, reading and decoding the complex sigils and heraldry of the servants of the enemy and the Hosts of Angmar. "He is called Urech, a senior necromancer serving under Donark's Guild of the Unsealed..." she whispered to herself. "He will report back to the Master of the Guild, who will report to Donark the Paymaster himself. Not horrible...but not good. Angmar is indeed very interested in these matters....yet there is something else...signs that are older, stronger than any scrawl of Carn Dum."
As she watched, the group at the prow seemed to be speaking in hushed tones, at times looking back nervously to the cabin built on the sloop's stern. In due time, the reason for their concern, and the strange markings, became clear as stepping from the small cabin was a hooded figure, obscured but curvaceous and feminine save for the clawed paws jutting out at an odd angle beneath her black robes.
Xanderian nodded to herself. "Of course, a Blackwing Blood-witch. A princess of the Merrevail, traveling under the protective signs of the Stained Queen herself. So Lomiphell was indeed correct...at least some element of this plan can be traced back to Seregost and Lhaereth the Stained. The Gurzyul sent an agent to ensure all goes as she desires."
A second and third small ship were already moving into the port along the Lune, likely bearing more combatants or observers. No doubt more were expected considering the number of slaves standing ready on the docks. In the hills around the fortress she could count the pennants of at least half dozen Dourhand lords, already assembled with their retainers. Llhosa, Jarti the Blind, Gregor of the Northlands...others she did not recognize.
She pulled herself up to sit cross legged on the top of Wardspire, just listening to the sea, the cries of seabirds and the beat of the oars bearing her foes closer, trying to think. She had never seen the Dourhand assemble like this in the long century in which she and Xandilif had hunted the vile slavers. What exactly was going on here?
Looking back, her eyes sought the famed Spire of Kheledul, a place of power long before Thorin rose up this port and then lost it. There it was, lit up by numerous torches and surrounded by both Dourhand and men of Angmar, who seemed hard at work upon something. Pillars of stone and crystal were being assembled out of iron-bound crates then carefully arranged around the spire....but for what?
Xanderian rolled onto her back again, staring up at the stars for answers, thinking to herself. "This is not about two girls kidnaped for profit or bounty, this isn't even about revenge for damaged pride any longer. What IS it about and why does it seem so important? "
A distant voice brought her out of her troubled thoughts...near the base of the Wardspire, several Dourhand sentries were pointing upwards towards her and preparing crossbows. They shouldn't be patrolling so far from the fortress, why were they here? Looking back towards the port, she spied the Morroval princess now resting on the dock, looking back at her. Even from this distance, their eyes met with pure malice and the figure seemed to smirk beneath her hood, then nodded to her darkly. That was how they knew.
Gathering Heartbreaker, Xanderian rose up as a crossbow bolt raced towards her, shifting slightly so that it sailed harmlessly past, then swayed a bit to avoid a second one as well. More sentries were scaling the hills near the tower as she cast off her cloak and leapt gracefully from the spire, diving downwards towards the Lune. She sliced into the icy water like a blade, plunging into depths and was well beyond the approaching ships before she broke the surface again, swimming towards the far shore.
She would have much to report to her comrades over mulled wine tonight.
