The knock on the door was insistent, demanding. Radawen slipped a robe over her nightgown and went to open it. It was the innkeeper. Radawen frowned.
”What time is it?” she asked. ”I was just about to go to sleep.”
”It’s late”, said the innkeeper. ”I’m sorry. But the rider from Minas Tirith insisted that it was urgent and that the letter should be delivered to you without delay, day or night!”
The innkeeper handed Radawen a scrolled parchment. Radawen took it and slammed the door shut in front of the innkeeper. She went to sit on the bed, broke the seal and read the letter quickly. It was from Aranuir.
After she had read the message she sat for a while on her messy bed, frozen with fear. Then she got up and went to check the lock on her door. She put on her traveling clothes and brushed her hair.
What was she doing? She was not going to flee into the night like Aranuir suggested… or was she? Aranuir had managed to scare her properly. The letter and the fact that Maegon, the chief healer of the Hall of the Gentle Hand had been found dead earlier today, murdered. Stabbed to death. The rumor had it that Maegon was wearing Romenstar’s blue robes when his body was found.
What the hell was going on in Imloth Melui?
They are in Imloth Melui, they must know where you live and they are coming for you… Radawen felt chilled by fear. Maegon’s death made Aranuir’s claims convincing. Somebody was definitely killing people around Romenstar. First Martun, now Maegon. Would it be her turn to die next?
Should she go to Delioron with this, ask for his help?
No, she decided. Delioron was not involved in any of this and Radawen would not make him involved in her own mess and put his life at risk too. But what should she do?
Aranuir. He knew what was going on. He had promised to explain everything to her when they met face to face in Minas Tirith. She would go there and demand answers. Tonight, as he had begged her to do in his letter. She would ride all night and be in Minas Tirith in the morning.
What would Delioron think when he woke up and found that she had left without a word?
It did not matter, Radawen decided. She would not put Delioron in danger, it was not his problem to begin with. She would solve this mess herself and find him later, explain everything to him when the danger was over.
Radawen took her saddlebags and all her money and left everything else behind.
It was quiet in the hall. She walked along the marble floor to the front door. She opened the door and cautiously looked around in the warm, clear night. Full moon basked Imloth Melui in it’s silvery light.
It was darker in front of the guesthouse than it was in the square and the Lord’s Arm bridge. But it was empty and desolate and she would see from afar, if… if somebody was following her.
The only sounds were the wind sighing and the river rushing as she walked to the square. She glanced behind her shoulder at the guesthouse. There was nothing there.
Radawen climbed the sloping street to the Lord’s Arm bridge. When she reached the western arch she glanced over her shoulder again.
There was a dark silhouette standing by the reflecting pool. A man in a dark gray cloak. He seemed to be staring straight at Radawen.
She started crossing the bridge, walking faster now. When she was halfway across the bridge she glanced back again, but did not see the gray-cloaked figure anymore. He had slipped into the shadows somewhere.
Radawen kept walking towards the other end of the bridge. Don’t look back, she thought, but stopped to look anyway.
What she saw froze her for a second. The gray-cloaked figure was running on the bridge towards her, holding something in his right hand. Something sharp and nasty that reflected the light of the moon.
Radawen started running as fast as she could. She was running for her life. Fear gripped her throat. She wanted to scream, but she was too out of breath. She ran through the road and down the hillside along the steep stairs, then turned right and again right from a crossing until she came to the square with the stables.
But before she reached the stables another shape stepped out of the shadows, blocking her way. Another cloaked and hooded figure. Radawen turned and darted to the only way still open to her. She was running along the unlit, out of the way path down the eastern riverbank. Her pursuers followed on her heels. They ran surprisingly fast for such big men.
Radawen stumbled onto a person sleeping on the grass and fell down.
”Hey!” a grouchy male voice growled. ”What the…?”
”Guards!” Radawen hissed, scrambled up to her feet and started running again. The crowd of drunkards who had been sleeping in the bushes started getting up quickly to avoid trouble with the night guards. The cloaked pursuers crashed onto them, pushed them aside and kept running after Radawen who had now reached the eastern arch of the Lord’s Arm again.
Radawen’s lungs were on fire, her heart pounded like it was about to burst. She had no choice now. She had to return to the guesthouse. She had to ask Delioron to hide her in his room.
She ran up the stairs to the front door of the guesthouse and turned to look back. The pursuers had stopped fifty feet away. She could see them both very clearly in the moonlight. The gray-cloaked figure was a very tall man with big hands.
Radawen scampered into the plain, dimly lit marble hall. A moment later the two hooded men pushed through the door after her. Radawen dived into the doorway in the back of the hall, turned right and ran along the corridor. Suddenly one of the doors opened before her.
It was Delioron. He was standing at the doorway, barefoot, wearing only his trousers.
”Two men”, Radawen cried as she rushed past him into the room. ”Chasing me…”
”Get inside!” Delioron’s voice was low and expressionless. He shut the door and locked it.
”Delioron, I didn’t want to get you mixed up in…”
”Be quiet, Radawen.” Delioron’s voice sounded distracted, although it was still flat, harsh and low.
”I got a letter from Aranuir…”
”You can tell me all about it later”, Delioron said in a softer voice, ear pressed against the door. ”And don’t be afraid anymore.”
They could both hear the footsteps in the corridor through the thin walls. Delioron glanced at Radawen. His face was cold, shaped by eternal winter, lines criss-crossing around his gray eyes.
He went to the closet, took out a bag and pulled something out of it. Radawen saw that it was a dagger, a sharp, dreadful thing with a blackened blade. The dagger was both beautiful and ugly at the same time, a tool skillfully crafted for one single purpose: murder.
Radawen’s back slumped against the wall. Her world collapsed around her when she realized Delioron was not at all what he had told her. Her entire world suddenly exploded into one big betrayal. Everyone she knew and cared about had lied to her and betrayed her. Everyone she thought she knew, she corrected herself. The world had gone insane. Nothing was what it seemed, nothing could be trusted.
They could hear the men in the corridor turning handles and pushing doors. After a while somebody turned the handle of their door as well and shook it. Delioron lifted a finger to his mouth.
”What is the meaning of this? Can’t you let people sleep? It’s the middle of the night!”
”Hey, what are those guys doing? They have knives, look, that one has a knife…”
Muffled sounds. Running feet. Slamming doors.
”Burglars! Burglars in the guesthouse!”
”Why, I’ve never seen anything like…”
”I’m sure it was no knife…”
”What’s the ruckus here? I’m trying to sleep!”
”Burglars! Burglars in the guesthouse!”
”What? What did you say?”
Delioron lowered his hand slowly. After the silence had lasted for a while more he put the dagger back in the bag. He looked at Radawen. She was leaning on the wall, hands pressed against the wall behind her. She was trembling. She was staring at Delioron, eyes filled with dread.
I feel nothing, Delioron thought, but it was not quite true. He could feel the numbing coldness spreading into his body like paralyzing venom again. He did not know what to say.
So he did not need to betray Radawen after all. Not any more than he already had.
