”Enter!”
The voice was clear and sure of itself. Dwormur opened the door to Garrison Commander Wirlun’s office. Dwormur was nervous. As a simple garrison guard he had never had any reason to meet Commander Wirlun personally before. Only the captains talked directly with the commander.
Commander Wirlun was sitting behind a gigantic desk in a spacious office with unadorned stone walls. The commander looked like a kindly and good-natured dwarf with his portly belly, greying beard and ruddy, rotund face, but looks can be deceiving. It was a well-known fact among the guards that the commander of the garrison of Zigil-jâbal was neither kindly nor particularly good-natured.
Zigil-jâbal was a relatively new dwarven settlement deep within the White Mountains west of Starkhorn, not too far from Dunharrow and Edoras. The town had been founded shortly after Khazad-dûm’s fall. The dwarves who lived there were mainly of the Broadbeams clan, or Landorrim as they were called in Sindarin. The entrance to Zigil-jâbal was well-hidden behind the unapproachable mountain paths of Ered Nimrais, and the dwarves who lived there were secretive and withdrawn from the outside world. Most people in Rohan were not even aware of the presence of the small dwarven settlement so close to Edoras.
”Dwormur, is it?” Wirlun said. Zigil-jâbal was a home to only a few dozen dwarves and everyone knew each other by name. Wirlun, however, was self-conscious of his royal blood and demanded that the guards under his command addressed him as ’Commander’. ”What is it? What is so important you couldn’t talk to the captain first?”
”At your service, Commander! I am sorry to disturb you like this, but my business cannot be told to the captain first. It’s… unofficial.”
”Unofficial?” Wirlun straightened up on his chair and fixed his piercing eyes on Dwormur, raising one eyebrow quizzically. Ruddy color slowly faded from Wirlun’s round, hairy face. ”Is this about advisor Glunri?” he growled.
Wirlun had never trusted Lord Naíf’s closest advisor Glunri. The enmity between Wirlun and Glunri was at least partially borne out of jealousy, for both dwarves had some royal blood in their veins. Glunri was a cousin to the old Landorrim King Onúr, while Wirlun was the second eldest son of Onúr’s sister Beinta. Glunri had emigrated from Thorin’s Hall in Ered Luin in the latter half of the 29th century, while Wirlun had been born and bred in Zigil-jâbal. Lord Naíf of Zigil-jâbal was himself the eldest son of Onúr’s brother Bolvil, and because Onúr had not been able to produce a heir of his own, Naíf was the first in line to become the new King of the Landorrim when the old King Onúr died.
Wirlun had always considered Glunri a devious and scheming character and suspected him of plotting to seize the crown for himself somehow, even though he was so far behind in the line of succession it was very unlikely he could ever realistically make it happen. Wirlun had asked his captains to discreetly spread the word among the guards that there might be a reward for bringing him information about suspicious activities around Glunri.
”Why yes, Commander, in so many words, indeed it is.” Dwormur had a pale face, high cheekbones over thick sandy brown beard and a slightly crooked nose.
”Spit it out then.” Wirlun pushed aside the parchments on the desk as if to make room for Dwormur’s business, whatever it was.
”I was standing on my guard post by the lower gates earlier tonight when I saw two dwarves walking to the alley between the gem trader’s shop and the smithy, very close to where I was standing. I noticed them because they were acting suspiciously, as if they were looking for a spot where they could talk in private. Neither of them seemed to notice me standing in the shadow of the column. I recognized both as they walked past my post. They were advisor Glunri and lore-master Gulim, the old scholar. They were too far for me to overhear the whole conversation, but I did manage to hear two phrases: ’Thráin of the Durin’s Folk is alive’ and ’Amon Hen’.”
Wirlun started. Like most dwarves in Zigil-jâbal he knew the history of the Longbeards and the names of their kings well enough. As far as Wirlun was aware, Durin’s Folk had had two kings named Thráin, and both of them had died a long time ago.
”Are you sure that’s what you heard? ’Thráin?’ Who said that?”
”As sure as I can be, Commander! Advisor Glunri said both things. He did most of the talking. Gulim talked so quietly that I couldn’t make out a word of what he said.”
Wirlun leaned back on his chair and scratched his beard. He did not know much about lore-master Gulim; only that he was a very old dwarf, a veteran to the War of the Dwarves and Orcs and the Battle of Azanulzibar. What on earth could be going on? What was Glunri scheming now?
”Did they spot you?” he asked.
”Uhh… I think they did. Drosom came to change the guard, and Glunri must have seen me standing there then. He gave me that kind of look.”
”Have you told anyone else about this?”
”No. I came to you as soon as I could.”
”Well done”, Wirlun said. ”Let’s keep it that way. Can you keep a secret, Dwormur?”
”Yes, Commander Wirlun. For sure.”
”Good. Let’s keep this between you and me then. You have certainly earned a vacation with full pay.”
”But what could it all mean?” Dwormur asked.
”Probably nothing”, mused Wirlun, who was wondering the same thing. ”Don’t worry about it no more. You did well by coming to me first, Dwormur! I won’t forget it. Off you go now.”
