Chapter 1
A sharp howl of the winter winds caught Lorniell Kar'sey in the face as she pushed open the heavy doors of Thorin's Hall. The air outside was especially biting that morning, causing the elf to pull her mask up over her nose and tug her hood low. Rather than the usual mellow dance of snowflakes that usually graced northern Ered Luin, the frozen crystals danced wildly in the wind, coming down in frantic swirls that tumbled into the surrounding buildings.
The causeway down to Frerin's Court was strangely bare, as it was usually alive with the bustling of dwarves as they went about their daily tasks. Various supplies were often tossed by one dwarf to the other across the expanse of the large staircase, all while yelling some sort of insult or aggrievance at each other. This morning, however, not a soul was in sight as Lorniell made her way down towards the Court. Even the trees seemed peculiar today, shaking and trembling with each band of wind that hit them, causing the gathered snow to fall in large clumps from their branches.
In the Court, vendor carts had been left abandoned, some knocked over to their side, contents rolling absentmindedly across the stones, pushed onward by the resilient wind. The usual crowds that often gathered in the center of the square were nowhere to be seen, and a feeling of unease began to set over Lorniell. Heaving her pack over her shoulder, she set out toward the guard house in search of an explanation.
She was stopped in her tracks by the gruff call, "Kar'sey!"
Dwalin Longbeard was standing under the awning of the stables, one hand braced at his eyebrows to shield his eyes from the snow. His tone was more strained than usual, and Lorniell hurried toward him, shaking the snow off of her cloak as she reached the cover of the stable.
"What's happened?" she asked, pulling her hood down and letting her long blond hair fall gracefully over her shoulders.
The rising panic was evident in the dwarf's voice now. "You'd best see for yourself." He nodded his head toward the back of the stables, where a long, green curtain had been hung. Hay and grain stuck to the thick fiber of it, but the howling wind outside didn't reach the back of the building enough to move it.
Dwalin sighed heavily and pulled the curtain back just enough for Lorniell to step through. There were rows of makeshift cots laid out over the hay, all inhabited by dwarves who lay in the darkness, some moaning in pain or solemnly still. The smell of disease and rotting flesh was rancid, and flies buzzed about the heads of several of them.
A cold chill crept over Lorniell. Thirteen dwarves in total lay indisposed around her feet, all in various stages of sickness. Two were retching in a corner, sweat shining in beads on their foreheads, while others looked on, propped up against the stable walls with their heads tilted back in defeat. Others still lay on their sides, clutching at their stomachs or shivering, while the remainder lay eerily still.
Dwalin dropped the curtain quickly and jerked Lorniell's arm to pull her eyes away from the horrid sight.
"All of them are sick...dying." he said, his voice cracking at the last word. "We've tried every medicine and drought we have, but nothing helps."
Lorniell's brow furrowed. "I'll send for Maegamel. Elvish medicine will help."
Dwalin scoffed. "After not returning word for the past three years? Unlikely that the Elves of Celondim will help."
They both stood silent for the moment, save for the quiet echoing of a guttural cough behind the curtain.
"They're my people. And I don't know what happened to them. How am I supposed to help them if I don't know what made them ill?"
Dwalin's voice was quiet, almost a whisper. The fear of losing his kinsman was sharp in his eyes as he sighed, hanging his head defeatedly.
Lorniell placed a slender hand on his shoulder as a sign of comfort. "We'll find out how this happened." she said assuredly, slightly shaking Dwalin's shoulder.
"Have you seen my brother?" Skilled in Elvish medicine and the enchantments of old, Lonndir would be the best person to turn to for assistance.
Dwalin nodded. "He's already out looking for answers. Said he'd be wayside by the lake."
Lorniell nodded her consent, and after offering her promises to figure out the mysterious sickness, set out to find her brother.
The wind had picked up, and the sun began its descent downward through the cloudy sky. The snow was thick and powdery underfoot as Lorniell trudged through the once-barren embankment leading to the lake. In the distance, her elf-eyes caught sight of a hooded figure moving about down below, bending down to examine something and then scurrying to another part of the lake to repeat the process.
"Lonndir!" she called out, holding her hand above her head to signal to him. The hooded figure turned in her direction, returning the gesture.
"Mae g'ovannen!" her brother's deep voice rang loudly across the space between them as he offered his welcome.
Lonndir had traded his signature silver robes in favor of a deep brown tunic and breeches, and a hooded cloak to shield him from the unrelenting winds.
"So, you have spoken to Dwalin." he said, sighing deeply. "This is troubling."
"Have you found anything?" Lorniell asked, gesturing to the clumps that surrounded the edge of the lake.
"I am afraid so, and it is ill news at that. Tell me, what do you make of this dirt?" Lonndir aimed his staff at one of the clumps and Lorniell eyed him warily before bending down to examine it.
The same feeling that she had in the stables came over her again, but stronger. She could almost hear the whispers that were rumored to dance in the darkness as she leaned in closer to the ground.
"Something is wrong," she said, her voice low and quiet, and she turned to look at Lonndir.
He nodded in response. "I have sensed the same feeling as you."
Lorniell's ears caught a rustling of leaves in the distance. She hushed Lonndir and two pairs of eyes snapped to the evergreens that surrounded the western side of the lake. The pair crept along the frozen shore as the rustling grew louder and more erratic. The footsteps were too heavy and frequent to be any dwarf or man, but the intensity of them was strange for them to be coming from one of the woodland creatures.
Suddenly, with a great heave, a brown bear pushed through the wall of branches and yowled loudly. Its skin was matted and patchy, and its ribs were visible through its fur. As it swung its great head around, smelling for an unsuspecting rabbit or fox to devour, its gaunt face became more visible. Its snout was sunken in, and there was nothing but bone and fur on its face, as its eyes looked as though they might pop out of its head at any time.
Lonndir silently nocked an arrow to his bow, pulled back, and let it fly across the icy lake. His aim struck true, and the ghastly bear gave a mangled cry as it fell down onto the snow.
Lonndir gracefully swung himself out of the snowbank and quickly trotted across the lake's edge to where the creature lay still. Crumpling his face in disgust, he yanked his mask up over his nose before bending down to look more closely at the bear. He stayed but a moment longer before returning to Lorniell, shaking his head.
"Its flesh was rancid," he said, his slender eyebrows creasing together in frustration. "It smelled as though it had been dead for weeks."
Lorniell glanced across the lake at the bear, and then to the strange mounds of soil that were scattered across the edge.
"If there's something that's affecting both the creatures and the dwarves, it's likely a resource they're both using. And given that they are both on the lake…" she ventured, hoping Lonndir would catch where she was going with her theory.
He nodded his head slowly. "If someone wanted to reach the Longbeards, the best way to do so would be tampering with the lake...poison."
Lonndir's voice was steely with the last word, his jaw locked and hard.
"And if there's someone who wants revenge on the Longbeards, there is one candidate that stands out in particular."
Would the bitter former residents of the Hall truly go so far as to poison the Longbeards? Without their former leader's cunning malice, an attack seemed unlikely, but the shiftiness of Skorgim's clan could not be overlooked.
With ice in her voice and steel in her heart, Lorniell uttered the one word that struck fear into the souls of the Longbeards like none other. "Dourhands."