Firiel was sipping morning tea in the common lounge contemplating the return of Mercatur. She wondered, Where is Valandi? What has happened?
Mercatur was going into shock when she was roused by Jonu. He would laugh weakly and mumble incoherently. She stopped the bleeding, but he had lost a lot of blood and his injuries were serious. He was now sleeping soundly in one of the wards on the third floor. She felt he would recover, but he would surely be on his back for a while. Kaile was in a dark mood with the return of the Mercenary. She stomped about silently, cleaning out bedpans and folding sheets. Jonu and some of the other attendants swept the halls and laundered the linens.
Firiel's mind wandered to other concerns, The Plague is still hitting the city hard and supplies are still low despite Nel's constant charity. The loss of the gold could still be felt keenly here and she still had not released herself from blame. She twirled her long golden hair, contemplating her situation for a few more moments before downing her tea and donning her Healer's Robe.
There was a knock on the door, which was answered by Jonu. Valandil stood there in a chainmail shirt. He was dirty and had obviously been in a fight. His gloves were stained by dried blood as was his undershirt. His black hair was unkempt and the sleepiness in his eyes was clearly evident. Seeing Jonu he grunted, "I've come to see Mercatur, how is he doing?"
Jonu turned away saying snidely, "You'll have to ask him."
Without expression, Valandil entered, closing the door behind him. Seeing Firiel he declared, "I'll not stay long. I just came to see how he is."
Without looking up she replied, "He's on the third floor, room two." Valandil grunted again and proceeded up the stairs.
Seeing Mercatur unconscious he wrote a message detailing all that had occurred. He left it on a table next to the bed and turned to go. Seeing an adolescent girl attending the room he spoke, "Take good care of my friend." He smiled weakly and headed back to Eärdil's home.
The meal at Eärdil's home was magnificent. The food shortage had forced the Minister's staff to be creative. The Minister used his rations for a week to provide this breakfast. A part of him identified with the food smugglers who could enjoy excellent meals all the time, but he was the law and could not afford not to set an example. Valandil tore through the eggs and sausage and several glasses of fruit juice imported from the southern hirdoms. Eärdil gave Valandil a large sack of coins as his promised reward. "I do not have to worry about you not giving Mercatur his share. However, if the roles were reversed..." the Minister joked, provoking laughter from Valandil.
The two sat and talked until noon. The Minister was interested in hearing about Valandil's exploits in the war and his adventures about town. Valandil spoke about his frustration with Firiel and the loss of the money. He revealed his promise to give his share of the money to the Houses of Healing. Eärdil was very impressed. "Valandil, I have need of a warrior with your bravery and honesty. Those are rare traits to come by these days. How would you feel about accepting a commission in the City Guard? The pay is decent, but the hours are long and hard," he asked.
"Minister, I would have to think on it and right now I am unable to think until I have had some sleep," Valandil answered groggily.
"Fair enough. Take some time... and good luck with your situation," Eärdil added, showing Valandil to the door. The soldier trudged slowly back to his flat and the moment his head touch the pillow he was asleep.
SOMEWHERE IN CARDOLAN
Lintehen stood in an intense light facing a figure shrouded in darkness. He fidgeted nervously and sweat beaded down his face. He was a thin man with leathery skin from years on the sea. His sailor's garb was soaked with perspiration and he fanned himself with his hand to stay cool. Two men in masks and dark cloaks stood behind him holding his arms.
"Fool, how did you allow this to happen?" spoke the figure.
Lintehen's hands shook. He answered tremulously, "Uh, sir... I uh... Hallas was to blame, he allowed the guards to see his records... ummm, I was away... I had nothing to do with it... I swear."
The figure shrugged, then motioned Lintehen closer. The men in the masks pushed the sailor forward. Lintehen shied away, repulsed by the figure. Out of the shadows a hand in a black glove reached out and grasped Lintehen by the tunic.
"You were still part of his organization. Failure is intolerable! Take him to the mines, he'll make fine snaga for the orcs," the figure shoved Lintehen back into the waiting arms of the masked men. They held him tight and dragged him out through the door. Lintehen's wailing could be heard for some time before he was out of earshot.
THE HOUSES OF HEALING
Haedorial the Bard had arrived when Kaile and Jonu were setting the table in the lounge. The House's finest pewter settings came out for the occasion. The dining table was covered in an elaborate red and yellow cloth, a gift from Firiel's grandmother, an elf from Lindon. Jonu greeted the Bard and sat him at the table with a glass of wine. Haedorial gladly accepted.
"Thank you dear boy, I could certainly use one of these. It's quite cold out you know," he said and then took a sip and marveled at the taste and texture. "Magnificent! May I see the label?" he inquired. Jonu brought him the bottle and cork. Haedorial inspected the label and smiled. "From the King's own vineyards. A fine year too." He set the bottle down and took another sip, relishing the taste.
Kaile brought out the platters of food. It was meager fare, but times were hard. Firiel, who had prepared the meal, went upstairs to change. Jonu sat at the table, entranced by Haedorial's stories.
It was shortly after Firiel had come downstairs when a knock was heard at the door. Jonu rushed to open it. Nel was there, dressed in a fine tunic and breeches. Her boots were of doe skin with fur lining. She had pulled her raven hair back and tied it in a ponytail. She was radiant as she stepped into the light and the gasps of all could be heard.
No one gasped louder than Haedorial whose expression was one of awe.
Kaile ushered Nel in and sat her at the head of the table. Firiel, who sat at the other end, spoke, "Welcome Nel, we wanted to thank you for your kindness and we have a guest whose life you saved by your actions. May I introduce Haedorial the Bard." Turning to Haedorial she continued, "This is Nel, our honored guest." Nel extended her hand to Haedorial who was seated next to her. He took her hand and kissed it gently. A look of recognition was in his eyes.
Nel smiled nervously. "Have We met you before, sir?"
"Er...not exactly...um...no we haven't," he replied. Though true, he had performed at several Royal functions in happier times. Kaile and Jonu began serving the meal.
Firiel smiled warmly. "We have not entertained since before the war and these table settings have not been out of the attic since the turn of the century. However, I won't bore you with my plate stories. Haedorial, please explain to Nel your story."
Haedorial turned to Nel and told her the tale of his scuffle outside the gate and how he was beaten to within an inch of his life. "Two strangers took the risk of saving me and carrying me here. I was dying and healing herbs were very scarce and only your charity saved my life."
Nel was flush with pride and blushing furiously. Nimhir was wrong, she thought. She needed to be directly involved in the Kingdom. There could be no other way.
The meal was most entertaining thanks to Haedorial. He told tales of Gil Galad, the Elven King of Old and of far off Gondor. Jonu was enthralled. He couldn't wait to grow up so he could see the world for himself. Finally, when it was getting late, Nel bade farewell to everyone and thanked them for the dinner. She departed into the darkness as she had arrived.
When several minutes had passed, Kaile grabbed Haedorial impatiently. "Well?"
Haedorial looked slowly back to her. "Young lady, you are not going to believe this."
ELSEWHERE IN THARBAD – Girithron 1409
Three men entered the shop of Nomrel the Cartwright as the heavyset man was repairing a wheel for carriage of the Jewler's Guild. The men, two tall and one small were cloaked and hooded. They stood behind Nomrel for some time before he noticed them. The balding cartwright gasped in surprise when he saw them.
"Hoa... You men scared me. Why didn't you just ring the bell? What can I do for you?" he asked, shaking off the surprise.
One of the tall ones stepped forward. He reeked of alcohol as he spoke, "We are the Gurth Rodyn. We have noticed that this is a very dangerous neighborhood. We'd like to offer you some protection."
Nomrel pinched up his face. "What do you mean? This is quite a safe neighborhood."
"No it isn't. Bad things can happen to people who are unprotected. If you donate a small weekly sum of goods or gold, we can be persuaded to make sure nothing happens to your shop," the tall one spoke again.
Nomrel laughed heartily. "You men are insane, get out of here."
The tall one smirked. "All right, we'll see. Soon, you'll beg to have us protect you." With that the three departed.
Nomrel shrugged. "I can't believe the gall...and on the week before Yüle," he declared and then went back to repairing that tire.
THE HOUSES OF HEALING
Kaile's mouth hung open for several minutes. Firiel and Jonu were too stunned to speak. Haedorial nodded. "I saw Her Highness at a Royal Tournament two years ago. King Ostoher was holding his annual joust and I was a player at the festivities. We were doing 'Dardan the tragic warlord and..."
Firiel interrupted him. "Never mind that. What about Nel?"
Haedorial nodded. "Apologies good Firiel. Her name is Nirnadel, daughter of Ostoher and Crown Princess of the Kingdom of Cardolan. All these lands are being held for her by Nimhir the Regent and Chancellor of the Realm until her majority when she will be coronated at the Royal Palace of Thalion."
Haedorial's audience blinked. This was unbelievable, the future sovereign of Cardolan running about like an errand girl.
Firiel shook her head. "This can't be. Haedorial, could you be wrong?"
Haedorial sniffed in mock offense. "Madam, I am a bard. I pride myself on knowing who is who and what is what. Have you noticed the quality of her clothing? First rate. How about her accent? Most definitely royal...the best tutors...access to the finest books. How about the way in which she refers to herself as 'We'...the Royal 'We'?"
Kaile bit her lip. "Well, I'll be damned," she said softly.
ELSEWHERE IN THARBAD
"The shoes will be delivered on time, as usual," Ibal said automatically to the Gondorian page standing before him. The adolescent nodded and paid Ibal twelve gold coins; a large sum. Ibal, the exclusive contractor of footwear for the Gondorian Embassy, put the gold in his safe box. He thought to himself that the winter of 1409 1410 wouldn't be so disastrous after all.
As the page departed, two tall men and one small one entered his shop. One of the tall ones picked up a shoe and strode toward Ibal. The conservative shoe craftsman looked up and smiled. "May I help you?"
AT OTHER SHOPSSerinde the designer collapsed to the ground, trembling. Tears flowed from her eyes. She rubbed her head where the small man had struck her with a stick. A lump began to rise. "Such an outrage!" she screamed. Only after several of her finest fabrics were torn to shreds did she pay the men some silver. They left, cackling to themselves.
Findegil the merchant groaned. His hand was bruised by the small man. The two tall ones held him while the small one stomped his hand with a boot. They had gone, but not before they got Findegil's 'elven cloak'.
Later that week, Barkwell's Tannery and Leather shop was burned to the ground. Word got out that this was an example of the disasters that would befall 'unprotected' merchants.
Nomrel's mood was very different when the three men returned the following week. The two tall ones approached while the small one stood watch. One of the tall ones spoke quietly to the other, "Merwai, don't forget the speech now." Nomrel just managed to overhear this and kept it in his memory.
After Merwai had made the group's demands, Nomrel nodded grimly. He handed the man a bag of ten silver coins. The men left and Nomrel returned to his work.
VALANDIL'S FLATValandil felt renewed after a week of rest. As it was midweek, he wanted to stretch his legs around town, shopping at the various markets. He also wanted to check on Mercatur. On his way to the Houses of Healing he was approached by a well-dressed, heavyset man. The man appeared nervous, biting his lower lip.
"Excuse me, young man. Ummm...I heard of your success with the smugglers... Er...can I buy you a drink?" the man blurted out. Valandil was taken aback. He became suspicious thinking that smugglers might want to take revenge on him. Seeing Valandil's suspicion the man continued, "Er... I am Nomrel the Cartwright...Umm, maybe you know me... my father built the coronation carriage of King Minalcar a century ago?...Um, no? Well, I need your help. Please, please follow me."
Valandil nodded, now a little curious. He followed Nomrel into the King's Crown Tavern, vigilant against a possible ambush, Nomrel requested a secluded booth and soon the two were seated in a private room. Valandil sat after the merchant. He scanned the booth and kept his hand under his cloak where he kept a small dagger. A wise precaution he learned from Mercatur. Some hot tea was served to ease the chill. Nomrel warmed his hands on the tea cup, blowing across the liquid.
Valandil looked up. "I'm listening," he said quietly.
Nomrel nodded and cleared his throat. "Several shopkeepers in the central district, including myself, have recently been contacted by a group of ruffians who call themselves the Gurth Rodyn. They have demanded weekly payments of money or goods in return for 'protecting' our shops. At first, I did not take these demands seriously. Then, Barkwell's Tannery and Leather Shop was burned down as an example. The gang told me they would return on Orgillion (Saturday) for their payment. I will not continue to pay such extortion, but I have no wish to lose my shop either. If you can find and eliminate these blackguards before their next visit, I will gladly pay you fifty percent of the money they are demanding. I've heard of your deeds. You and your mercenary friend have a reputation for getting the job done. What do you say? Please, I am desperate."
Valandil was a little disturbed at 'having a reputation' as well as still harboring some suspicion. He leaned back considering the offer. Eärdil might be interested in this information. He decided to play along and see where it might lead.
If Nomrel is honest, so much the better. Valandil nodded and the two men shook hands.
"What can you tell me?" Valandil asked. Nomrel sipped more tea and scratched his balding head. He then related the incident at his shop while Valandil quietly nodded.
When Nomrel had finished, he summoned the servant and ordered some bread and cheese. When the servant left he continued, "I know of five other shops that have been visited: The Mithril Crown, Herbs of Quality, Ibal's Shoes, Findegil's, and Serende's Originals. I think some of these shops may already be paying out protection." Valandil nodded understanding.
Nomrel spoke again. "The gang appears early. Three men, two tall and one small, all cloaked and hooded. One of the tall ones talks... I heard his name... Merwai, yes that's it. He reeked of alcohol too. The other two..."
At that moment the servant arrived with the plate of bread and cheese. He left a bowl of condiments also: mustard, corn relish, and a creamy spread that was the specialty ofthe house. Nomrel thanked the young man and tipped him a copper coin. When the servant had departed, the merchant looked Valandil square in the eyes and asked, "Will you help me? I sense you to be a good man. I will give you ten gold coins today. Forty more will follow if you agree."
"Why not go to the town garrison?" Valandil countered.
"They mean well, but frankly, they are so understaffed I can't rely on them. Besides, I heard rumors that many of them were corrupt." Nomrel answered.
Valandil remembered the execution of the corrupt constable by Eärdil. "The Minister of the King's Justice is a true man. He executed a corrupt official before my very eyes. I think he can be trusted."
Nomrel shook his head. "That may be true, but what of his staff? My shop could be ashes before they get around to me. Please, consider my offer." Valandil was still uncomfortable with vigilantism, but agreed to think it over. Nomrel insisted that he take the ten gold coins with him and that they meet back at the King's Crown tomorrow at the same time.
THE HOUSES OF HEALING
Mercatur was finally up and very mean tempered. He sulked in his bed quietly eating the meal the nurse had brought. Except for bringing his meals and changing his bandages, she avoided him. He felt weak and very sore and had still not read the note nor counted the money from Valandil. Finishing his last crumb, he grabbed a stick and reached over to close the curtains, blocking out the sunlight.
THE COURTHOUSE
"Minister, I need to speak with you about a matter of great importance," Valandil said to Eärdil entering his office.
The Minister was dressed immaculately as usual. He was going over the Constabulary's budget. He looked up and smiled warmly at Valandil, motioning him in. "All this paperwork. I miss getting out into the field with my constables. We have no scribe now you know, and I have to do all of this myself."
Valandil sat and put Nomrel's bag of gold coins on the teak desk. "Sir, I was approached by a merchant named Nomrel, who states that he is being threatened. He gave me these coins as an incentive to help him. I knew it would be best to bring this to your attention."
Eärdil nodded. "That was good thinking. We cannot have vigilantes running around. We need to coordinate our efforts if we are to succeed in overcoming this wave of crime."
Valandil felt good at hearing these words. "What can we do?" he asked.
"I'd like to take this money and hire some willing men. These men will assist you in your first investigation. You will have a wide latitude of action in closing this case. I trust your judgment. I can get you six men by tomorrow. You may personally interview each one and choose the ones to your liking. Tell Nomrel that you will take the job, but let him think you are acting on your own. We need to keep this on a low profile," Eärdil stated, drawing up a form to procure more men. "I hate to use outside funds, but we really have little choice."
Valandil rose and thanked the Minister. He was glad to be back in charge of something. It seemed his life was going nowhere since the war and now this gave him a ray of hope.
That afternoon, Valandil headed south to the Houses of Healing to check on Mercatur. The Mercenary was in a foul mood, but seeing Valandil brightened him somewhat.
"It's awfully dark in here," Valandil noted, checking the curtains.
Mercatur nodded, grunting.
"Did you get the payment?" Valandil added. Mercatur grunted again, pointing to the unopened brown sack on the table. Valandil sensed the Mercenary's depression. "We've got another job. It should pay pretty well."
Mercatur shook his head. "...not interested. I think I'll hang here for awhile."
"So, you do talk," shot Valandil. Mercatur sat motionless. Valandil pulled out ten of his own gold coins from his purse. "Here's your half of our first days pay," he lied. He tossed the coins next to the sack. "Meet me tomorrow at the King's Crown Tavern at nine in the morning so you can earn this money." With that, he left.
Mercatur groaned, rolling out of bed. He walked over to the table and stacked the coins. Ten light golden coins with the image of Ostoher on one side and ram's head on the reverse. Shaking the bag of unopened coins in his hand he pondered for a bit. Setting the bag down, he pulled off the musty patient's robe he had been wearing and put on his wool tunic and pants. Picking up his axe, he strode over to the window and opened the curtain.
THE KING'S CROWN TAVERN - 9:00 AM – Girithron 1409
Valandil sat at one of the booths, eyeing the timepiece that sat on the mantle above the fireplace. The owner of the tavern, Elgwain Grelive had just brought a baked ham and some bread to Valandil, and the aroma brought rumbles to his stomach. Out of the corner of his eye, Valandil saw Nomrel enter the tavern. Nomrel spotted Valandil and waved. Valandil searched around for Mercatur, but was disappointed. The cartwright sat down at the booth and slid in. Valandil took a gulp of mead and passed some of the ham to Nomrel. The older man thanked him and ordered his own beverage from Elgwain.
Valandil spoke, "You have my services. It appears that I'll be acting alone..."
"Don't speak so fast," a familiar voice spoke. Mercatur slid in next to Nomrel and grabbed a hunk of ham.
Valandil nearly jumped out of his chair in excitement. He caught himself and continued, "Sorry. Let me introduce my partner, Mercatur. He's the muscle behind the operation."
Nomrel sighed in relief. "This bodes well. If you like, I will allow you to set up at my shop. You can see first hand the group's operation. As I said before, their spokesman is Merwai and he reeked of alcohol.
Mercatur put down his ham and his eyes got big. "Merwai?" he asked.
Valandil cocked an eyebrow. "You know him?"
Mercatur stroked his brown beard. "Why, that little bastard. He's just a two-bit drunk from the Orc's Head. How'd he get hooked up into this sophisticated an operation?"
Nomrel nodded. "I came to the right men. As I promised, here is the forty gold on top of the ten I gave you before." He slid a velvet bag, heavy with gold toward Valandil, who counted twenty to Mercatur.
The merchant downed the last of his ale and stood up. "I will return to my shop. You may come by any time." With that, he departed.
Valandil and Mercatur also stood to leave. They bumped into each other briefly and Valandil felt a new weight in his pocket. Reaching in, he felt thirty gold coins in a sack. He turned to Mercatur. "What's this?"
Mercatur hefted his axe and smiled. "So, you gave me half of our first days pay, huh? Well, this mercenary wants to actually earn it." Leading the way out of the tavern he added, "By the way, thanks. It was getting dark in that room."
AROUND THARBAD
Valandil and Mercatur walked into the Mithril Crown, a beautiful shop stocked with exquisite jewels. The shop's owner, Irimon, approached the two with a rather haughty expression. He was dressed in fine silk robes and adorned with some of his precious jewels. In a high voice he asked, "What do you two want?"
"Sir, we've heard about the problems you've been having and we want to help," said Valandil.
Irimon raised his nose and commanded, "I do not know what you are talking about and if you do not leave now, I will call the constable."
Valandil was about to counter, but Mercatur grabbed him and pulled him out of the shop. "What was that for?" Valandil asked.
Mercatur shrugged. "He's a weenie. It's not worth it. Let's go to the next shop."
At the shop, Herbs of Quality, Valandil and Mercatur browsed around the unusual herbs for a time before the owner, Aladil came out.
"Excuse me. Are you the owner?" asked Valandil.
Aladil smiled. "Why yes. How may I help you?"
"Sir, we've been told by a friend that you have recently been threatened by some group. We have been sent to help," Valandil told him.
Aladil became obviously frightened. "I...I... don't know what you are talking about."
Mercatur stepped forward. "Look, we're not the bad guys. We would just like to keep an eye on your shop. No cost to you."
Aladil nodded slowly. "That would be alright." Valandil nodded, and then he and Mercatur left as Aladil wiped the perspiration from his face and sat down.
Ibal, the owner of Ibal's Shoes on the South Bank confirmed the group's threats against him. He also confirmed Nomrel's description of their operation. "Is there anything else you can tell us?" asked Valandil.
Ibal thought for a moment. "Well, I think there was a fourth hooded man on the roof across the street just before the three came in the shop," he stated.
Mercatur stepped in. "I would like to set up an ambush in your shop. Would you be willing to let us do that?"
Ibal looked concerned. "There are only two of you."
Valandil nodded, but countered, "Sir, we are veterans of the war against Angmar. I even shot an arrow at Rogrog, the Warlord."
Ibal stepped back, impressed. "Rogrog? Well... um.. alright. Just let me know when."
Mercatur nodded. "Thanks. We'll get them."
Serinde, the owner of Serinde's Originals was also helpful. The attractive designer agreed to purchase supplies for the two and also felt certain that the short one of the group was a dwarf.
"A dwarf?" exclaimed Mercatur. He continued, "This is bad. I hate dwarves. They're tough little buggers. I can see now how Merwai got up the stuff to do this. I'll bet the dwarf is behind this." Valandil calmed him down and they thanked Serinde for her assistance.
Later, Valandil took the gold that was allocated for manpower and hired six able-bodied men and women. He stationed them at Serinde's and Nomrel's. Serinde was kind enough to outfit Valandil's hirelings with weapons and armor.
IBAL'S SHOES
Early one chilly morning, Valandil and Mercatur sat behind a closed kiosk on the Rath Romen, or Romen Road in front of Ibal's Shoes. They could see Ibal pacing nervously in the shop through the frosty window. Mercatur motioned for Ibal to sit and he did so. Their vantage point offered a view of the entire road and of the rooftops opposite the shop. Little did they know someone else was watching them.
Valandil and Mercatur were not disappointed. A hooded figure with a composite bow made his way across the tiled rooftops opposite the shop. Mercatur nodded. "That's my target. You get at least one of them in the shop." Valandil nodded in turn. A few minutes later, the three bagmen arrived and went into the shop. Valandil drew his long bow and notched one of the arrows that were given to him by Serinde.
Mercatur cocked his trusty crossbow.
Ibal could be seen inside handing money to one of the tall bagmen. Then the three turned to leave the shop.
Valandil tapped Mercatur's shoulder. "This is it." The three walked out of the shop and Mercatur fired a bolt into the chest of the man on the roof. The bolt sunk in up to the feathers and the man fell forward with a thud, dropping his bow into the street. Valandil shot an arrow into the small figure, but it broke with a clang. Mercatur laid his cross bow down and flung out his axe as Valandil drew his broadsword. The three bagmen, breath visible in the cold morning, also drew their weapons and threw off their hoods.
Merwai stared down Mercatur and sneered, "So big man, want to dance?"
The mercenary shot back, "Anytime, punk. Anytime." The dwarf was now revealed in dwarven-forged armor with a beautiful steel hammer and dwarven shield.
Valandil looked at the finely forged weapons of the dwarf and commented, "Oh boy." Ibal slammed his door shut and barred the windows. The icy streets were also rapidly cleared.
Merwai and the other tall Dunlending man warily circled Mercatur. Merwai occasionally feinted with his broadsword, but Mercatur stood, unblinking. The other man was more passive.
"Is that all you got?" Mercatur sneered.
On queue, Merwai and the other man lunged forward. Mercatur beat their swords down and swung his axe at the other man clad in soft leather armor. He brought his shield up and caught Mercatur's blow, but in the process his shield was split. He backed up and discarded the shield.
Merwai went back into a defensive stance. "Orcare, you alright?"
Orcare, steam rising from his body, wiped the sweat from his brow with his now free hand. "Yeah. This guy's dead meat."
The dwarf put on a fantastic display of hammer twirls and mock attacks. He clearly outclassed Valandil. Bravely, Valandil strode forward, head behind his shield. As Valandil began probing the dwarf's defenses, the armored runt launched a vicious assault. Raining blows down upon Valandil, his hammer appeared to be a blurry wheel, spinning furiously. Valandil warded off the blows with his shield, but could not even mount any attack through the ferocity of the hammer blows. Valandil's shield was soon dented and crushed in several areas. Valandil's arm was also quickly becoming numb. Under the assault, he steadily retreated backward toward the kiosk from which he had emerged with Mercatur.
Mercatur had problems of his own. He had managed to strike Orcare twice, causing a slight gash across the bandit's shoulder, but he too was being driven back toward the kiosk. The mercenary grabbed at several potted plants on the side of the road and hurled them at his two attackers to no avail. Alone, the two were no match for Mercatur, but they worked together and both wielded good weapons.
Growing concerned, the mercenary picked up another pot and threw it at Merwai, connecting with his face. Merwai grunted and fell to one knee. The mercenary took the opportunity to lunge forward and cut Orcare with his axe. The axe bit deeply into Orcare's side. Blood spurted out from the soft leather armor and Orcare fell to both knees. Orcare dropped his short sword and grabbed onto Mercatur's axe. Blood flowed from his nose and mouth. The angry mercenary gave him a kick in the face and Orcare fell backward, but took the axe with him.
Shaking his head, Merwai wiped the blood from his face. Seeing the situation, he rushed the now disarmed Mercatur, who quickly drew a dagger and parried. Merwai body checked Mercatur, who staggered back, crashing into the wooden kiosk. Flowers and plants fell down around him, showering him with dirt.
Valandil saw his comrade crash against the kiosk, but had desperate problems of his own. His shield was now useless and he tossed it away. The dwarf feinted high and then stuck low, hammering Valandil on the thigh. Valandil clocked the dwarf with his fist sending him back a step. The stunned soldier limped around the kiosk to catch his breath, but his left leg was entirely numb and sweaty steam rolled off of his body.
Mercatur threw a handful of dirt into Merwai's face, blinding him temporarily. As he was about to tackle Merwai, a bolt of fire hit the bandit. The bolt burst into flames sending sparks everywhere. Merwai was engulfed for a second and let out a howl that echoed down the street. The bandit's clothes caught flame and he fell to the ground batting at his shirt and face. Mercatur fell upon him, grabbing the burning shirt and plunged his dagger into Merwai's throat twice.
Valandil turned to see the dwarf rounding the kiosk. He could not out run the dwarf in his condition and swung desperately at the little guy. The dwarf easily parried, but just then a 'boom' was heard and then a howl. The dwarf hesitated and stepped back. Looking around the corner, the armored runt saw Mercatur finish Merwai off.
Just then, the dwarf lit up with electrical energy as if hit by a lightning bolt. The tough bandit jolted in spasms as electricity ran over his body. When the energy had dissipated, smoke rolled off of his armor. The dwarf shook his head and with a grunt and ran down the street. Valandil attempted to pursue, but his leg collapsed fro under him. Mercatur did not even see the dwarf depart.
As Valandil attempted to rise, he looked to see a hand outstretched. A Dunadan woman of stern beauty stood there, dressed in a blue robe with a blue cap over her brown hair. Valandil accepted the hand and the woman spoke, "It appeared that you were in grave trouble. I am Silmarien. We have been watching over you for some time and have a stake in your success. Your friends will be along shortly." Having spoken, Silmarien vanished into thin air. Valandil blinked. He sat down and scratched his head. The image of Silmarien's face and the wyvern symbol on her cap were etched into his memory.
Moments later, Firiel and three other men ran down the street. Firiel saw Valandil and Mercatur sitting in the road with three bodies, one of which was smoldering. She ran to Valandil and hugged him. "Are you all right? A strange woman appeared and told me you were in grave danger." Two of the other men tended to Mercatur, while the third drew a bow and scanned the area. That man was dressed in fine chainmail armor and wore a forest green cloak. His features were finely chiseled, accented by a sharp black goatee.
Firiel pulled off Valandil's armor and placed a pungent herbal pack on his left thigh. The smell alone brought tears to Valandil's eyes. Mercatur stood, shaking off the two attendants. "Come on! The runt's getting away."
The armored man held up his gloved hand. "Don't worry. I can track that dwarf. It looks like he headed toward the Menatar Road."
Valandil also stood, feeling much better. He looked at Firiel. "I'm sorry. I was such a hothead. You've always been there for me."
Firiel hugged him again. "It's alright. We need to stick together during these times."
Mercatur shook his head slowly, pulling at his beard. "Alright, break it up. We got a dwarf to hunt."
The armored man was already heading up the road toward the Bank of Cardolan. He motioned to Mercatur. "He went north across the bridge." The mercenary followed quickly with Valandil limping along behind. Firiel and her two assistants brought up the rear. At the Ryncaras Tharbad or bridge gate, Valandil caught Mercatur. The huge, stone gate structure towered over the waters of the river Gwathlo, shadowing the group.
Valandil got Mercatur's attention. "Hey, did you see that woman back there at Ibal's? She was some kind of wizard or something."
Firiel chimed in. "She came to the Houses of Healing, too. She had some kind of lizard symbol on her cap."
Valandil corrected her. "It was a bronze wyvern."
Mercatur stopped suddenly and his brown eyes widened. "A bronze wyvern? That's the symbol of House Rhudainor of Rhudaur. They're all dead. I was there at the tower Tirthon when they all died. You must be mistaken." Valandil and Firiel looked at each other, wondering what had shaken Mercatur so much. The armored man waved the group up, urging them to hurry.
Firiel motioned to the man. "We're coming Amrith."
Valandil queried, "Who is he?"
"That's my cousin Amrith. He's the best ranger in all of Cardolan."
"I didn't know you had a cousin?"
"You didn't ask," she replied playfully.
Amrith turned left at the Rath Annún or Annun Road. He quickly began walking toward the docks. As they neared the docks, Amrith stopped and surveyed the area. As the group caught up, he knelt down on the road. "Sorry I haven't introduced myself, Amrith of the King's Rangers. I've been with Tardegil's men fighting those bastard Cultirith near the border. I got word that my cousin Firiel had been attacked in the streets, so I took my leave to return to the big city. I can see that things have gone downhill." Mercatur was about to speak when Amrith rose and pointed to an abandoned warehouse on the docks.
15