Chapter 4
THE HOUSES OF HEALING
Firiel rolled sluggishly out of bed. She was still clothed in the tattered tunic and breeches that she had worn during the battle weeks ago. Still dazed, she noticed several sheepish attendants standing nearby.
One stepped forward and spoke, "Lady, we've drawn a bath for you and laid out new clothes."
Firiel blinked and then allowed herself to be led to the steaming tub.
Meanwhile, Valandil, who had already bathed and shaved, looked about with concern as the ward attendants scurried about the vastly overcrowded hospital. Designed to hold a maximum of one hundred and fifty, the wards were already packing three times as many patients. Conditions were awful: huge roaches scurried about and blood pooled on the floor. Moans and shrieks could be heard everywhere.
Nearby, Mercatur was tossing a dagger into an elegant wooden table. The mercenary stood up and declared, "I'm restless. I'm going out." With that he slung his axe and left the house. Mercatur felt lost during peacetime, it made him edgy and irritable. He had spent the morning braiding his brown hair and beard to appear even more barbaric. Now he was in a bad mood and someone was going to pay for it.
Wandering the streets of Tharbad, Mercatur was accosted by a vile stench floating on the easterly wind. He quickly recalled an old Rhudauran saying, "When the smell is really bad, there's trouble to be had." Grinning broadly, he turned in that direction. Soon, he found himself on the docks. Fishing boats had been coming in all morning and some of the catch had begun to spoil. Mercatur spied a tavern nearby, packed with sailors. The weathered wooden sign read, 'Sign of the Orc's Head'. Undoing the leather retaining thongs on his scabbards he said, "This is the place for me."
xoxoxoxoxoxo
Back at the Houses of Healing, Firiel began to feel like her old self again after the pungent herb bath. It had seemed like years since she had been the Lady of the House. It was time to resume that role, she thought to herself as she combed her short blonde hair. She then dressed in a plain brown robe, the attire of a healer, and then left the room. Firiel was totally unprepared for the den of misery that greeted her as she stepped out into the ward. Patients lay in the hall, blocking the passageway. The wars were over, but the battle was just beginning. Regaining her composure, she flung on her brown cloak and knelt down at the first patient in the hall, calling to a young, female attendant, "Kaile, I need hot water, two doses of Arlan leaf, and my sack. Go quickly." Firiel immersed herself in her work, tending to the patients one by one until the daylight had run out.
The attendants, covered in perspiration, smiled quietly to one another...The Healer had indeed returned.
By dusk, Firiel slumped against the corridor wall, exhausted. By the look of the House and the condition of the patients, things would get worse before they got better. Several of the sick were showing signs of the plague: high fever; swollen glands; ravenous thirst. This worried her: If the plague were to get loose in the city, thousands could die. It could spell the end for the entire Kingdom.
Just then, Kaile roused her. "Firiel, we're nearly out of food. The last shipment was commandeered by the Army. I'm afraid we won't be able to feed everyone."
Firiel just nodded and replied quietly, "Do what you can. Feed the weakest first." The Healer knew her staff were very competent, but they couldn't function on their own and there were only four of them. They were completely overwhelmed.
Kaile and the other three gathered the meager loaves of bread and pots of soup. Valandil lit a fire in the hearth to begin preparing the meal. It was going to be a long, hungry night.
Just then, there was a knock at the door. Kaile wrapped herself in a stained white cloak and then opened the door. There were two women standing there, one old and one young, both pulling a cart. The younger one was clad in a gray dress with a green cloak. Her eyes were iron gray and her raven hair was tied in a ponytail. She stepped inside and spoke, "We are the humble daughter of a food merchant who wishes to donate meals for the sick and injured. Please accept our gift and our help."
Firiel nodded and the attendants ran outside to bring in the cart. It was loaded with game, loaves of bread, meats, and cheeses. The aroma was so wonderful that Firiel nearly passed out. The two visitors immediately began passing out plates and cups to staff and patient alike. Valandil jumped in to help and soon all were well fed.
When the unexpected feast had been consumed, all present gave thanks to the mysterious benefactors. Soon, questions were asked concerning the origin of the two women. Firiel, finding new strength, spoke out, "We are most grateful for your timely charity. May I ask who your family is so that we may send a token of thanks?"
The young woman appeared nervous and avoided Firiel's gaze. She replied nervously, "We are... Nel, and this is our companion... Anna. Our family desires no token of gratitude. The knowledge of our having made a difference is enough." With that the young woman rose and put on her coat. Turning to the crowd she spoke again, "We must return home now before nightfall, but please expect us again in the future... good evening."
Then, just as suddenly as they had come, they departed. Kaile and the rest of the staff murmured quietly in curiosity, venturing several guesses about the identity of the pair. Valandil was merely happy to have a full stomach. He had lost nearly twenty pounds since the war and was beginning to look gaunt. Firiel was, however, still worried. Always realistic, she knew that this source of food was unreliable and that money would be needed to ensure a steady stream of supplies.
THE SIGN OF THE ORC'S HEAD
"Say it! The King of Gondor is a custard pastry and your mother is a hamster!" Mercatur yelled as he ran a Gondorian sailor's head through a bar table. The sailor fell over with a thud, blood running down his forehead. Several other men lay unconscious nearby in pools of spilt beer and ale. The more cautious patrons hid behind the bar and under tables. The mercenary had been caught cheating in 'bones', a popular card game. Furious at having been confronted, he proceeded to lose his temper and trash the bar and any who got in his way. When the dust had settled, Mercatur looked at the damage he had wrought and scratched his bearded chin. He stooped over a prone sailor and pulled out a wallet which he threw at the obese proprietress, Bereth the Fat. As the coins struck her head, he laughed out loud, "For your trouble." With that he took his 'winnings' and left. Enough fun for one night he thought.
THE STREETS OF THARBAD
Puffing heavily, Anariel ran to keep up with the Princess as she skipped down the corridor to her chamber. "Your Highness, I cannot believe you talked me into helping you... Oh, my... Nimhir will be furious... You could catch a cold... We could have been robbed..." Anariel wailed pitifully.
Turning suddenly, the still smiling Nirnadel raised her finger, silencing the maidservant. "We were not robbed, We did not catch a cold, and Nimhir will never know because we will not tell him."
Anariel "Hrmpf'd" quietly to herself, but noticed Nirnadel munching a biscuit as she skipped along. Maybe this wasn't such a bad thing after all.
THE KING'S HOUSE
In front of the delicately carved doors to Nirnadel's chambers, two soldiers sat playing cards. These men were part of the Royal Body Guard and had been left behind to watch the Princess during the war. Only eight were left out of what had once been a proud force to be reckoned with. Along with the highly touted regiment called the Raggers they were the most feared warriors in the land. The eight warriors had become despondent over news of the destruction of their unit and the death of their King. Feeling that they had been left behind to guard an insignificant little brat while their brothers died as warriors added to the already low morale of the guards. Unfortunately, they had not yet realized that they had been spared for another purpose.
Nirnadel stood over the two guards for several moments before they noticed. When they realized who she was they dropped their cards clumsily and leapt up to attention. One of the guards blurted out, "Your Highness, forgive us...we did not see you...er...how did you get out of your room, Your Highness?"
Nirnadel gave her meanest look. "Baranor, you and your men have grown soft. You call yourselves Royal Body Guards? My father would laugh." With that she kicked over their cards, entered her chamber, and slammed the door behind her. She stood next to the door for a moment to listen to the quiet cursing of the guards. They didn't hide the fact that they disliked her and she didn't hide the fact that she enjoyed tormenting them.
She snickered to herself and walked over to the empty iron platters that held food only a few hours ago. "Uncle will be so pleased," she said out loud as she leapt into bed.
THE COURTHOUSE – Narbeleth 1409
As Minister of Justice, Eärdil's job was becoming increasingly unmanageable as the influx of refugees grew daily. His staff of 20 constables, while adequate prior to the war, was now in desperate straits. Petty theft and minor property damage had now become murder, smuggling, slavery, and banditry in three short months. Vicious crimes were now becoming a daily occurrence. Eärdil was furious to hear rumors that some of his staff had begun to accept bribes. If so, he thought, they would wish they had never been born. On the streets, however, fear gripped the city. The face of Tharbad was changing.
The law needs to be enforced if the city is to survive, reasoned Eärdil, who was a tall, pure-blooded Dunadan. He had been the King's Minister for 16 years and had risen to this rank through unfailing and incorruptible service. He had expected no less from his constables for so long. Sitting behind his massive teak desk, he reviewed yet another crime report. This one was concerning a food riot in the shanty town. Three constables arrived at the scene of the riot and elected not to intervene. At first Eärdil was outraged and moved to summon the three constables, but he then realized that his men were ill equipped and badly outnumbered. They would just have been injured or worse, and Eärdil could not afford to lose even a single man. Minastan, the Mayor, promised Eärdil more men, but that was a month ago and no one had yet arrived. Eärdil refused to deputize any citizens as he did not want his force diluted by amateurs. Pondering the problem, Eärdil realized four things: this year's crop had been decimated by the war, food prices were skyrocketing, winter was just around the corner, and that more riots were inevitable.
THE HOUSES OF HEALING
When dawn broke, new patients were huddled at the door of the Houses of Healing. Firiel rushed to open the door. Kaile and Valandil carried in the sick. Conversing with some of the patients in the hall, Firiel developed a worried expression. She pulled Kaile aside and said softly, "It's the plague, I'm sure of it." Kaile nodded in understanding. Firiel continued, "Tell no one yet or there will be a panic. Take these bags and distribute the medicine. It'll slow the progress of the disease." The Healer took a dozen silk bags from her cabinet and handed them to Kaile. The young attendant rushed quickly to the wards to administer the medicine.
Firiel had noticed that the supplies in the healing cabinet were getting very low. Journeying to the country side to gather herbs and medicines was out of the question with the Kingdom in unrest. With the absence of a highway patrol, wolves and bandits roamed free over the hills. Besides, Firiel could never leave her patients long enough to make the search worthwhile. She would have to go to the Alchemist for supplies. Right now, gold was cheaper than time.
Valandil approached. "Firiel, you need rest. You've not slept in two days. Except for rare visits by the two women, you don't eat. When were they last here? Three days ago I think. How will you be a healer if you become a patient?"
Eyes bleary and weak from fatigue and hunger, Firiel nodded slowly. "Yes, but I have one more thing to do. I must go to the Alchemist." It pained Valandil to see her in this state. He had become fond of her since they met in the battle of Tyrn Gorthad.
Firiel retrieved two large sacks of gold coins from her drawer and slung them over her shoulder. Without another thought she walked out of the house and on to the Rath Ohtari, or Warrior's road. Valandil moved to join her, but she turned back and said, "No, I'll be right back. Wait here." With that she continued down the road. Valandil said nothing and returned to his room to brood.
The Alchemist's establishment was clear across the south side of town heading east. It was still morning and traffic slowed movement on the road to a crawl. Patiently, Firiel carried the heavy sacks through the street. After half an hour of slow walking with the heavy coins, she began to tire quickly. She sat down on a sidewalk and set her sacks beside her.
She thought to herself, I only need a minute to rest. I'll be there shortly. Suddenly someone grabbed her.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
At the Houses of Healing, Kaile found Valandil brooding over a cup of soup in the kitchen. He was wearing a soft robe, but had his weapon tucked in his belt. Valandil was a muscular warrior and she found him quite attractive. The brown-haired girl sidled up to him and placing her hand on his shoulder she asked in a soft voice, "What's wrong Valandil?"
The tall soldier took a sip from his cup and then set it down. "It's Firiel... I'm worried. She doesn't sleep or eat. Her whole life is wrapped up in the House of Healing."
Kaile nodded. "I'm worried too. She gave me a job when I had nothing and now we can't help her." The young attendant poured herself a cup of the hot soup.
Valandil replied blankly, "She's a remarkable woman."
Kaile offered Valandil a chair which he accepted. Sitting down, he drank the rest of the soup in his cup. Slowly, she moved around behind Valandil and began massaging his neck. He inhaled the sweet perfume she had worn for the occasion. Kaile looked around a few times and then asked, "By the way, where is Firiel?" hoping she would be away on the ward for a while.
Valandil shrugged. "She went to the Alchemist's to buy supplies. She said she'd be right back."
Kaile stepped back as if struck. She blinked and then screamed, "You… you let her go alone? You idiot, she'll never make it!" Kaile shoved Valandil out of the way and frantically searched for a kitchen knife. She seized a meat cleaver from a drawer and then bolted for the door. Confused, Valandil sprinted after her. Unbeknownst to Valandil, in his absence the streets of Tharbad had become a dangerous place.
THE STREETS OF THARBAD
A stocky Dunnish thug with a scraggly beard hauled Firiel up by her golden hair while a dirty teen scooped up the sacks of gold. Firiel screamed, "Let me go! Help!" She was awestruck that someone would attack her in the middle of the street in broad daylight. What was gong on? She flailed and kicked, but the thug gripped her tightly around the neck with his filthy hands.
"No one's going to help you, missy. The constables are in our pocket." Drawing his hand axe, he looked around and continued, yelling, "And innocent bystanders don't want to get hurt!" He was right. Passersby were giving them a wide berth, just going about their business. Even a City Constable stood by and watched helplessly.
Firiel shrieked, "You cowards! What's happened to our city?"
The thug chuckled evilly and dragged the screaming Healer around a corner. In a gruff voice he told the teen, "Boy, take the sacks away. I'll rejoin you later." The dirty boy stood motionless for a moment. Striking the boy on the head the thug yelled, "I said go you punk, or I'll beat you senseless!" With that the teen ran off with the gold flinging two coins to the Constable as he passed.
Firiel cried out, "NO, that money is to help the sick..."
The thug threw her against the wall and she staggered under the impact. Again he chuckled. "Don't worry, we'll put it to good use." With that he unbuckled his belt.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Near panic, Kaile began grabbing people at random and asking if they had seen the Healer. None responded positively until she spotted a constable waving people on past a side street. With Valandil in trail she forcefully grabbed the constable, "Have you seen a blonde woman with two sacks on this street?" The constable looked about and then pointed around the corner. Kaile got a sick feeling in her stomach and sprinted in that direction. The constable then slipped into the crowd and disappeared.
Kaile let out a terrible yell when she saw Firiel struggling with the Dunnish thug. The man turned as she rushed at him and struck her full in the face with his gloved fist. Dropping her cleaver, Kaile collapsed to the ground.
Snickering, the thug turned back to Firiel and said, "Looks like I'll have seconds today." He moved toward Firiel again, but was interrupted by another voice. He turned to see Valandil standing there, sword drawn. The thug laughed again. "Boy, you'd better leave now while you still have your head 'cause I'll cut it off when I'm done with you."
Without responding, Valandil leapt forward with an overhead strike. The thug drew his cutlass and stepped back parrying. Valandil continued the assault driving the thug back to the wall. Thrusting forward, he sliced the thug across the nose.
The thug snarled and hollered, "You worthless rat, I'll make you eat your bowels!" With that, Valandil beat the thug's blade downward and with his upstroke slashed the man deep in his side. The thug gurgled blood and fell against the wall. Valandil then pierced him through the heart. Kaile, who had begun to stir, wiped the blood from her nose and mouth. She saw the thug dying on the ground and rage took her. She leapt upon his broken body and began tearing at his face. Valandil ran to Firiel.
She grabbed him, saying weakly, "The gold... you must get the gold..." and pointed in the direction that the youth had run. Valandil hesitated, not wanting to leave the women alone, but Firiel's insistence forced him on.
As he sprinted down the alley he could hear Firiel sobbing, "It's all my fault..."
Valandil bashed in doors and threw trash cans over in his rage as he searched for the boy, but after fifteen minutes he realized the gold would never be seen again. Three hundred gold crowns were now in the hands of thieves and scum, never to be spent on medicine. Bellowing in anger Valandil sunk his bloodied blade into a wooden fence. With a push he yanked the sword out and returned to the alley. Kaile sat there cradling Firiel who was unconscious.
Valandil sat next to the broken corpse and said in a monotone, "I couldn't find him."
Kaile turned on him. "This is all your fault! This never would have happened if you had gone with her! You bastard!"
Guilt wracked Valandil, thinking her to be right. Kaile rose and with great difficulty slung Firiel over her shoulder. Seething, she spat at Valandil, "We're going home. You're no longer welcome." With that she began carrying Firiel home as she had with many patients before.
Valandil sat unmoving for some time before anyone approached him. A large figure clad in chainmail sat on the other side of the corpse. "Nice work, soldier boy," the figure said. It was Mercatur. The mercenary held up the dead thug. Examining the scratch wounds on the body and the face he commented, "Maybe you had a little help."
Valandil replied quietly, "He was already dead."
Mercatur threw the body back down. "Oh, well my original comment stands then."
Suddenly, the soldier stood up and shouted, "This is an outrage. A crime like this committed in broad daylight. I'm going to the Minister himself!" With that, Valandil stormed out of the alley.
Before the soldier could depart, Mercatur drew his axe and picked up the corpse by its hair. Valandil turned. "What are you doing?"
The mercenary severed the thug's head with one stroke and commented, "Hey, there might be a reward you know. They can add it to the thirteen silver they owe me. Hey, you'll thank me later."
Valandil grunted in disgust and pressed on to the Tharbad Court and Prison.
THE CITY JAIL
The city jailer, Mardil, sat at his small desk picking his nose. He was a man of little learning and intellect, but he was immensely strong, as well as immensely fat. A veteran of the wars against Arthedain, it was said he threw a horse into the charge of Arthedan spearmen saving his commander. As a reward, he was given a post in the city with an increase in pay (It was the commander's favorite horse, and despite being grateful he wanted Mardil as far away as possible in the future). The jail itself was rapidly becoming full with many of the once empty cells now packed with three to four occupants apiece. The recently (relatively) peaceful prison was currently a den of noise, hollering, yelling, banging, and other ghastly sounds echoing down the halls. Fortunately, Mardil's hearing was also lacking and he was generally unbothered by the din.
The massive jailer's attention was currently drawn to two men being escorted to his desk by a guard. Mardil twirled the hair of his graying beard and without looking up, asked blandly, "What do you men want?"
Valandil blurted out, "We want to see the Minister of Justice... there's just been a robbery!"
The rotund man, looking disinterested, replied, "So."
Valandil's face began to redden. "What do you mean, so? A woman was just robbed on the street in the middle of the day in front of a crowd of people and you just say, 'so'... And another thing, your constable just stood around and did nothing! Look you... I want to see the Minister, now!"
Mardil rummaged around in his desk drawer for half a minute while Valandil stood there fuming. Several roaches scampered out of the drawer before he found what he was looking for. He pulled a sheet of paper out and began writing with a quill. "Okay, Mister Hothead, give me your statement."
Valandil grimaced. "I don't want to give you my statement, I want to talk to the Minister."
Mardil sighed. "The Minister is not here. He'll get your statement tomorrow."
Valandil was about to say something else when Mercatur pulled him back. "I'll handle this," he said with a grin. The armored mercenary moved up to the desk and very politely stated, "My friend wants to see the Minister. Maybe you can tell us where he is?"
Mardil shook his head. "Nope. You'll just have to wait until tomorrow."
With a mighty stroke, Mercatur hewed the desk in two with his axe. Mardil fell sprawling to the floor, ink spilling all over him. The growling mercenary stood over the jailer with his foot on the man's face. "Perhaps I didn't make myself clear..." he said, tossing the wrapped head next to Mardil.
THE COURTHOUSE
A constable at the courthouse approached the two men and declared, "The Minister will see you now."
Rising, Valandil shook his head. "Mercenary, I don't understand. How can you go around cutting and smashing everything in sight? You just can't do these sorts of things?"
Mercatur laughed as he walked beside Valandil. "It gets results doesn't it... I mean, aren't we walking in to see the Minister?"
The soldier shrugged noncommittally. "I suppose you're right."
Mercatur patted him on the back. "You see, I grew up in Rhudaur, which as you well know, is nothing but a den of thieves, murderers, and vile creatures. Fine words and written parchment were not things that could keep you alive there." As he showed Valandil his axe, he said with conviction, "this gets results."
The constable opened the door and introduced the two to Eärdil, the Minister. He was dressed not in the stately gray and gold trimmed robes of office, but in a chainmail shirt more suited to a patrolman. Eärdil was slightly annoyed at his jailer for sending these two directly to him (Mardil neglected to inform him of the circumstances of the visit and Eärdil thought these men were just here to whine). Valandil thought that the Minister looked very ragged. He approached and bowed. "Sir, I know this is an unexpected intrusion, but something terrible has transpired. Please allow me to tell my story."
Though tired and busy, Eärdil nodded. "Very well, but what are your names first."
Valandil spoke, "I am Valandil, a sergeant in the Royal Army. This is Mercatur, a mercenary."
Eärdil listened patiently to Valandil's tale. Though often caught up in the procedure of law, he truly wanted to help people and protect the public. When the soldier spoke of the constable who had ignored Firiel's cries for help and accepted gold, Eärdil lost control.
Twenty minutes later all twenty constables were assembled in the courthouse. A decade and a half of law enforcement ethics and principles were rapidly coming apart for the Minister. He began to think about his studies in Criminal Justice at the University, which revolved around Ranek, the Minister back in 1217. In desperation, he hired undisciplined deputies, which included a powerful brute named Dardan of Tyrn Gorthad. During that year, Dardan lead a force, which terrorized criminals and exercised no mercy. By Yüle of 1217, crime was only a minor problem. Eärdil shuddered as he remembered both the lessons and the paintings of Dardan, which hung in Cardolan's esteemed Military Academy. Could he allow himself to throw away the lifetime of discipline and enlightenment which he stood for?
Eärdil spoke briefly with Valandil and then called the constables to attention. He strode up to the constable whom Valandil had pointed out and with one brutal stroke of his broad sword clove the man's head in two.
Horrified gasps issued from the gathered constables. Before anyone could speak, Eärdil held his bloody sword high and shouted, "This man failed in his duty to the citizens of Tharbad! His transgression was unforgivable! He stood by and ignored a woman attacked in the street while accepting gold from thieves. This will be the result of all future actions of a similar nature. Dismissed!" With that he wiped his blade on a cloth and stormed out of the courthouse.