Deli stopped for a moment to gather his strength before he began climbing the stairs leading to the second floor of Lord Naíf’s Palace. There were only fifteen stairs, but somehow climbing them felt like a disproportionately arduous effort to the aging champion.
On top of the stairs there were two massive double doors made of iron and a rope hanging from the roof by the doors. Deli pulled the rope. The doors made clanking sounds as they slowly opened before him. Deli stepped into a cold entry hall. The floor of the hall was covered with stained red carpet. Two guards were standing on either side of another set of double doors on the other side of the hall. The guards looked exactly like every other guard Deli had ever seen. He walked over to them.
”Lord Naíf has summoned me”, he said to the guards.
”You are expected”, said the guard to his right. ”Step right in.”
Deli stared at the guard with his old, sad eyes. Sadness had been a part of him for so long he had grown accustomed to it. Sadness was like an old friend who drinks too much or talks too much or insists on reciting poems at awkward moments. If Deli had allowed himself to have any friends, he would have been exactly that kind of friend.
Deli sighed, pulled the doors open and stepped into the large audience chamber. Huge stone columns bordered the stone floor on either side of the chamber. On the back of the chamber four steps rose to the dais where Lord Naíf sat on his stone throne between two huge dwarf statues carved into the wall behind the throne. The stonework in the audience chamber was outstanding, but everything was old and in disrepair.
Deli was almost 200 years old, which was a very old age for a champion. It was a very old age for a dwarf who still wanted to be a champion. His shoulders were slumped, his face wan and drawn. His ginger mustache curled up fiercely above his red beard. The mustache was at odds with the anxious expression of his face. There was something mocking always present in his clear blue eyes. His voice was thin and high-pitched. His appearance and voice made him seem more like a lovable and absent-minded lore-master, not the fierce and indomitable warrior he had been in his youth.
Gusty wind howled outside the walls of Zigil-jâbal. Rain lurked inside the gray, brooding clouds hanging above the settlement. The audience chamber was chilly. It was never pleasant to see Lord Naíf in a cold day.
Deli walked across the floor, ascended the stairs to the dais and bowed before Naíf.
”At your service, my Lord”, he said. ”And your family’s.”
”I’m glad to see you”, Naíf said. ”I am in need of your service.”
Deli was surprised. He had come to Zigil-jâbal four years ago from Thorin’s Halls in Ered Luin. He had been the Captain of the Guard there until that dreadful day when he had made a terrible mistake while leading a squad of dwarves to raid the goblin camp at Orodost. His squad had been ambushed by the goblins because Deli had made a grave error of judgment. Only few of them had been able to run from the ambush with their lives. Dwalin had not blamed Deli for the disaster, but Deli had known that he was the one responsible for the deaths of his kin. They were dead because Deli had lost his nerve, because he had become too old and too slow to lead dwarves into battle. He had become useless for the only ambition he had ever had in life. In shame he had resigned from his duties as the Captain of the Guard and left Ered Luin in self-imposed exile. When he had arrived in Zigil-jâbal four years ago he had told Lord Naíf of his shame and that his only desire was to live in peace and servitude for the rest of his life. For four years he had been a simple miner of ore in the mines of Zigil-jâbal. Lord Naíf had never asked anything of him before now.
”As you well know, Garrison Commander Wirlun unexplainedly disappeared three weeks ago”, Lord Naíf said. ”Nobody knows what happened to him or where he could have gone, but there has been rumors. A guard called Dwormur had been heard raving drunkenly in the Old Alehouse something about Wirlun, lore-master Gulim and Glunri, my chief advisor. As Dwormur was one of the last dwarves to see Wirlun before his disappearance, I summoned him to this chamber to explain himself. He had a strange tale to tell.”
Not a hair of Deli’s beard twitched as he listened to the Lord of Zigil-jâbal talk. Naíf had intense blue eyes and his white hair was parted in the middle. There was something so cold about Lord Naíf that Deli felt like the chill of the audience chamber was not caused just by the winter season.
”Go on, my Lord.”
”Dwormur claimed that he had overheard a discussion between Glunri and Gulim from his guard post a couple of days before Wirlun disappeared. Glunri and Gulim had been standing too far for him to make out most of what they said, except for two things: ’Thráin of the Durin’s Folk is alive’ and ’Amon Hen’, uttered by advisor Glunri. Dwormur went to report it to Commander Wirlun because evidently Wirlun had been interested in Glunri’s doings for some reason. Early in the next morning lore-master Gulim leaves Zigil-jâbal with a pony packed for a long trip, leaving not a word to anyone about where he was going or why. According to Wirlun’s adjutant, Frimron, Glunri came to visit Wirlun later that morning, but he didn’t know why. That same day Wirlun’s cousin Kimrin, a messenger and a metalsmith, also leaves Zigil-jâbal without a word. Two days later Wirlun disappears without a trace. Now what do you make of that?”
”A genuine puzzle”, Deli mused. ”Seems to me like you should have a word with advisor Glunri, my Lord.”
”Exactly my thought”, Naíf nodded. ”And I did. But Glunri claimed that Dwormur had misheard what he said to Gulim. He claimed that Gulim had been planning a trip to Minas Tirith to learn more about the Longbeard King Thráin II and the War of the Dwarves and Orcs, and that Glunri had suggested that he should also try to visit the Argonath and the old ruins at Amon Hen if he had the chance.”
”So that’s where Gulim went then? To Minas Tirith?”
”According to Glunri, yes. But it does seem odd that Gulim would only tell Glunri about his plans and then leave like a thief in the night, without telling anyone.”
”And what did Glunri have to say about Wirlun?”
”Nothing. He claimed it was just a routine visit, and that he was just as baffled about Wirlun’s disappearance as the rest of us.”
”And does that strike like an honest answer to you, my Lord?” Deli asked in his soft, almost timid voice.
Naíf frowned. ”Of course not. I’m not dumb, you know. I know that my chief advisor is up to something – something he doesn’t want me, the Lord of Zigil-jâbal, to know about. And I don’t like it at all.”
”That it understandable, my Lord. And what do you want me to do about it?”
”I’m not really sure what I want to do about it. I don’t want to rush into anything before I have a better picture of what is going on. I need more information.”
”You want me to travel to Amon Hen”, Deli said, suddenly understanding.
”Yes.” The Lord of Zigil-jâbal leaned forward with his hands on his knees. ”Something is going on. My chief advisor is up to something and wants to keep me in the dark about it. And I want to know what that something is. So I will play dumb for now. Let Glunri think I’m the fool he seems to believe me to be. But at the same time I will keep my eyes and ears open, and so far my only clue is Amon Hen. Travel to Amon Hen to see what is there. If something is going on, find out what it is and then report back to me. Can you do this for me, Deli?”
”I can, my Lord. I will go to Amon Hen.” Deli’s voice was still soft, but now it carried a hint of the same razor sharpness it used to possess before the goblin ambush at Orodost had shattered his confidence in himself.
”Good.” Lord Naíf smiled breezily. ”I am sure my confidence in your abilities will not be misplaced. I have heard many tales of your heroic deeds in Ered Luin.”
From the glory days of my youth, Deli thought. He said nothing, but bowed to Lord Naíf.
”Good luck then”, Naíf said. ”May the blessing of Aulë go with you on your journey.”
”Thank you, my Lord”, Deli said, turned and descended the stairs of the dais.
