The men led the elves through the twisting rocky cleft, making greater haste than ever. Parnard leaned forward precariously to look ahead, the iron chains linking his hands and feet rattling as small stones slid under his feet. Rough hands reached out and pulled him along the dark pass until they reached a clearing with a few scrawny pine trees beside a distinct group of large rocks. Recognizing the appointed meeting place, First Mate Balkumagan ordered the men to halt. “Here we shall rest and await Captain Naraal,” he told them. “Bustle around lively, boys, and ease yourselves before we continue our little jaunt.”
Parnard was pushed down on one of the boulders to sit beside Danel, his manacles clinking, and he watched the men draw out their rations. One of the Umbarrim idly twirled a dagger a short distance away, seemingly bored. The irascible Breelander known as Burrwood was lying dead beside the road several miles back: he had foolishly challenged the leader of the men over some minor slight; now Balkumagan had possession of his sword Steel-Thorn. Parnard heaved out a long frustrated sigh.
“I know, Cousin,” whispered Danel, looking sorrowfully at her friend, and trying to comfort him said, “but your bruises have already faded.” Although she, too, was unkempt and bespattered with mud, she had fared far better than he.
“Where are the others?” he whispered back. “You said you saw Estarfin. I could not hear what was happening, stuffed in the back of the cave as I was.”
“The Corsair Balkumagan wanted them to see that we were alive. He spoke with your brother."
Parnard started in surprise. “My brother - ?” he began slowly. “Culufinnel is with Estarfin and Yrill?”
Danel nodded. “He looked very angry.”
At first Parnard seemed at a loss for words, then he wailed out, “Oh! no! Now he will lord this over me, too!”
“Shut it, elf!” yelled the Archet man Rusworth. “We don't need any o’ yer yammerin’ ‘bout stuffin’ nonsense.”
Once the man's attention was again elsewhere, Danel whispered, “I saw Estarfin at a distance. I doubt he saw me - he was too busy killing Hillmen.”
Parnard frowned and put his head in his hands. “How could these men have escaped them?”
“Yrill was there. She is swift with a bow, but not fast enough to slay all of the men that surrounded us, I suppose.”
This answer did not satisfy Parnard in the least, but he decided that there must be a good reason for the Noldor failing to rescue them at that time: they were, after all, the wisest of Elves. Yet something else weighed upon his mind. “Who do you think planned all this?” he asked her.
“Perhaps the Umbarrim, not those Breelanders,” she answered, and no longer caring to keep her voice low, said, “I take that Jexson for a fool.”
Jexson whirled around at hearing his name. “What’s that ye say, witch? Fool enough ter burn ye home down, ter slay yer friend, ter drag ye an’ the High Lord inter Angmar fer a gran’ reward! I seen ‘im, yer demon-elf. He be no bigger than me an’ be dead once I get me hands on him, an’ that’s a fact.”
Parnard glowered at the burly man. “A grand reward? Hmpf! We shall see how you are well rewarded.” Then he scowled as fiercely as he could, and demanded food and drink.
“Pretty near starved out, eh? One bad turn deserves another,” said Rusworth.
Balkumagan walked over to Pharazagar and speaking Black Adûnaic said, “We must do something about these fools before we reach Lady Zairaphel. We have the two elves; we do not need this gang of misfits any longer,” and laid a hand on the hilt of Steel-Thorn.
“Do so only if it is the will of our King,” said Pharazagar. It was not like his friend to be so agitated.
“Alright, brother, as the King wishes,” he replied. “But my blood runs fire and my hand itches to get hold of him - “ and he indicated Jexson with a meaningful look, then took a deep breath. “Keep your disagreements to yourselves until the job is done,” he told the Breelanders.
“The High Lord needs food and drink,” pressed Danel. “Are we to be presented to your Masters in a decrepit state?” Then she whispered to Parnard, “These men seem eager for a fight.”
To which Parnard replied, “Of course they are, it is their nature. Along a haunted road we travel to an unhappy land, plump full of wickedness - hark! Their voices are rising like the maelstrom. Bloodshed is on the wind, I can smell it.”
“Yes, bloodshed comes this way. Death stalks you now,” she told their captors, “unless you hearken to wisdom.”
Rising up from his rock, Parnard called out, “It is not too late to turn back and save yourselves. Perhaps you have families. They will wonder why you do not return. You will ne’er see them again, alas!” Then he made the biggest sigh yet, looking miserable on their behalf. A few of the men glanced around, and he saw fear in their faces.
“Your headless, handless, footless gutted bodies will lie rotting in Angmar,” said Danel.
“But not for long, Cousin Danel,” continued Parnard, warming up to the subject. “The spirits of the Enemy will inhabit their corpses, and these will rise up and wander without purpose in the ash-pits - although I do not know how that can be managed without feet -”
“Think you can stand against one who slaughtered thousands of your kind in battle?” Danel cut in.
Jexson’s booming laughter echoed through the mountain pass, and he drew out Sarphir to hold the sword high in triumph.
“Look at how that mortal gloats and brandishes your sword,” Parnard said to Danel in disgust.
“But Cousin, does he have Sarphir, or does Sarphir have him?”
“Ha! It is too much sword for him to handle.”
“Arrogant man, you would do well to return that weapon to me,” Danel told Jexson.
“Nothin' o’ the sort,” he said, and waved the sword around in long sweeping motions.
“Careful there, Boss,” said Rusworth. “Maybe give the sword t’ me ter look after -”
“The High Lord demands food and drink!” Parnard yelled out.
“Enough!” roared Balkumagan. “Put down the sword, idiot! Tempers are already frayed.”
“Yes, Jexson, put down the sword and have a nice, long drink of cool delicious water,” said Danel with a smile.
“What d’ye know about that?” cried he, and leaping forward, knocked Parnard to the ground as he tried to grab Danel’s throat.
Balkumagan drew Steel-Thorn from its scabbard. “Touch her and you are dead!” he said. Pharazagar rushed up, his great sword shining golden in the firelight.
Jexson backed away. “It is her doing, I tell you. Witch! Ask Wolfrun, he knows about these creatures.”
Parnard coughed up ash, then unleashed a colorful string of Sindarin invectives until he ran out of curses. “What are you men doing? First you say you will grant safety, then you threaten and harass us!”
“Nay, High Lord. You are quite safe with us,” soothed Pharazagar in a light, waggish manner, and patting dust off the Wood-elf's armor, helped him to his feet.
“Something is amiss here,” Balkumagan told his friend in Black Adûnaic. It was as if the men were poisoned on bad liquor. “Go await Captain Naraal at the mouth of the pass.” Then he turned to face the hulking Breelander and said, “Jexson! Know that I will fight you anytime you wish, but our orders come first. Now away with you!”
“Pfft! Yer nothin’ ter me. But I want me reward, and I want ter meet those who want these elves so damn bad.” Jexson glared at Balkumagan for a moment, then stalked away to stand by his fellow Breelanders.
Danel said to the Umbari shipwright, “Balkumagan, you have my trust more than any other man here; if you know, can you speak of what awaits us? Where do you take us?”
The man hesitated and looked uncertain.
“Well? What do you want with us?”
“King Thranduil gives food, albeit plain fare, to his prisoners,” complained Parnard. “Would that these Men were half as wise as his little finger.”
“My Masters will like to speak with you, or pry some knowledge from you,” Balkumagan speculated, for he had no idea what was intended for the two elves. “There is one who dwells in Angmar until he is ready to reveal himself. Strong, learned, and of the noblest blood, he is the true King, the true heir of Castamir.”
“Ah,” said Parnard brightly, for the name of Castamir the Usurper meant nothing to him, “perhaps he wishes for the wisdom of the Elves, and wants our counsel?”
“Bring a wineskin, and some meat and bread,” Balkumagan said to Rusworth, and his look told the Archet man that he would kill him on the spot if he refused the order.
As Parnard ate and drank, Danel said, “You spoke of your people, Balkumagan. Tell us more about this new King, and what he wishes.”
“My captain, Naraal, has served him for some time, and I trust Naraal with my life. Our orders are to see you two brought safely to the house of the Lady.”
“Who is this ‘lady’-?” said Parnard, pausing in his chewing.
“Lady Zairaphel, the King’s aunt who raised him, is a most learned and skillful woman. But, well -” Balkumagan hesitated again. He decided to just say it. “She is the leader of a powerful group of women fervently dedicated to serving Sauron.” His face was bland as he uttered the dreadful name of their order, and he saw how the elves blanched. Not liking Danel’s worried expression he threw caution to the wind and said, “Look, I do not like what I have been tasked to do -”
“Then do not do it,” she said.
“- but I am a man of honour, and must do as I am commanded. You see, I was born into a family without honour, surrounded by folk who would sell their own children for a purse of gold. It took years to build my reputation and make my name worth something; if I disobey my captain, what am I? It is he who I serve, though, not the Dark Lord.”
“It seems to me that your Captain Naraal is intent on dragging us to our doom,” said Parnard, and drank up the wine like ale, until the wineskin was completely drained.
“I hope not, for I find no ill in either one of you.” His gaze lingered on Danel as he said it.
“The ham was tough and salty, and the wine was not very good, raw and harsh, like your men’s tempers. Have you any more?” said Parnard.
“I shall go look,” answered Balkumagan, and quickly left, for the Breelanders were quarreling again, and he had to put a stop to it.
“Squabbling over acorns, no doubt,” observed Parnard.
“It is the swords’ doing, Cousin. They are not meant for mortal hands.”
“Oh? So Estarfin still protects us, even though he is -”
“Well, well,” said a commanding voice. “What have we here?”
The elves turned to see a tall, well-armoured man with dusky skin and long dirty-blonde hair twisted into braids, and immediately recognized him as another Umbari. The newcomer looked appraisingly at Danel. “You are as lovely as ever, but what happened to your beautiful hair?” he said.
Parnard rose to his feet, his anger returning at this latest indecency. “You are not worthy to mention Lady Danel’s hair!” he snapped.
Danel gazed at the man as if he were nothing but a slug on the ground. “I am Carnifindë Istanis of Thargelion. Who, and what, pray, are you?”
“I am Naraal, now Captain, but soon to be Fleet Commander. I have the authority and goodwill of our King - and you must be the High Lord Parnard.”
“Yes, it is I,” said the Wood-elf, giving the man a cold, hard stare, and tried to look as noble as he could, despite his wretched circumstances.
“Well, forgive me for this rudeness, but I am more interested in talking to Lady Carnifindë. Long have I watched you from afar,” he said to Danel, and then he bowed low, offering his arm, and said, “Come, let us step a little away from these others so that you may get to know me better. You will be treated with all honour, I promise you.”
“No, Danel!” cried Parnard.
I know what I am doing: do not interfere, said the warning look in her grey eyes. He sat back, open-mouthed, as the man led her away.
