"My lord please reconsider…"
Said the small man dressed in bright golden robes; his hair was a deep ruddy color and aside from the blue of his eyes his face was aflame with freckles that were heightened by the deep dark tan that offset his once former pale skin. He followed the King of Gondor down a long, marble tiled corridor that glistened in the bright sunlight of spring's new coming, they strode down the corridor side by side as they left the great wide hall of lords into the King's throne room.
The royal complex of Osgiliath straddled the river Anduin and was laid out like a great cross with the great domed throne room of the King in the center that sat perched on a small island in the midst of the river. The Western corridor was part of a bridge that led to the great marketplace of Osgiliath, which lined the great Avenue of the Sun, a road that cut the city in two from the great golden Eastern Doors in the city gates to the mighty Western doors made of the finest silver and mithril. At the market one could buy elvish steel, fabrics, and wine from Thranduil's realm in the north; people could also buy furs and gold from the North, brought down the river by tall blonde merchants in strange garb who spoke a strange and foreign tongue. To the East of the throne room another corridor passed over a bridge that ended where another marketplace along the Avenue of the Sun stood. In this marketplace the citizens of Gondor could buy spices, ivories and hire servants from Harad that were brought from the south through the ports of Umbar and the Harad Road that led east to Khavul; there were also sold boats made by the folk of Mithlond and elvish craftsmen from Edhellond. The House of the Lords of Gondor was in actuality two large chambers built upon both sides of the great river before the great marketplaces, with a great bridge connecting them at the throne room and palace of the king int eh midst of the river. The western house was for the ancient lords of Northern and Western Gondor and the Eastern house was made for the newer Southern and Eastern provinces of Gondor. Below and surrounding the domed throne room of the king, straddling the mighty bridge and the Avenue of the Sun was the King's own private residence. The royal palace contained the great grain houses where food and tribute were stored and taxes collected.
As the two men crossed through the Northward corridor that led to the throne room, the small man, the vassal of Umbar, sped up his gait to try to keep up with the tall king who still retained a great deal of Numenorean blood within him.
"This is not up for discussion Lord Hadreth…The lands to the south of you do not belong to Gondor according to the treaty signed with the Council and Queen of Khavul; your settlers must either move northward to Harondor or Eastward into far Harad. Any further movement south beyond the river Khund and you will be violating that treaty which has kept peace in these lands for nearly half a century."
"But my lord...the River Khund has moved northward in the past few rainy seasons and several of my people are angry that Khavul has taken land that once belonged to them! Ask your surveyors and they are well aware that the river has moved!"
"What do you wish me to do Hadreth?…Cease the flow of the river or make it retain its shape? Yes these past few years the river has moved northward, but when the treaty was signed the river was further North than it is now…according to my own surveyors the river is merely returning to the place it once was when the treaty was signed…Move your people northward."
"My lord your people are chafing as it is…there is no more room in Gondor to contain them. Meanwhile the Queen of Khavul has been expanding her lands."
This took the King by surprise, he turned toward the short red-haired nobleman before him,
"What do you mean?"
"My informants and merchants have told me, that while Gondor is restrained by the borders of this treaty, Khavul is spreading its influence to a much wider space…Now the lands south of the Ayab Mamuk pay tribute to the Queen of Khavul in service for her protection of their merchants…The Khand of the Eastern ocean now have become part of the Great Council and have given her armed ships…Make no mistake my King Hyarmendacil, the encroachment upon my lands, upon the lands of Umbar, is but one move toward…toward creating an empire that stretches from sea to sea, one not ruled by the calm hand of a Gondorian King, but by the chaotic council of the East."
, shaking his head King Hyarmendacil said,
"I find it hard to believe that Queen Ashthera would so willingly do such a thing…The treaty clearly states that no attack upon Gondor is to come from the East. You are being paranoid Hadreth…the Queen of the East has ever been a valiant ally; why only a few years ago she sent to us the leaders of four Khand pirate bands that had been ransacking our ships as they made their way to the Eastern Ports of Khand – this move I am sure cost her much clout with her Eastern partners but she did so in accordance with our treaty. We have nothing to fear from the Queen of the East…But if it will assuage your fears I myself shall go into the East and speak with the Queen about the expansion of her lands…perhaps our treaty does need to be more specific about the lands East of the River Khavul."
He turned to face the throne room where he would hear representatives from the different areas of the city and their demands, complaints and receive tribute from the protectorate kingdoms along the Northern Anduin, just south of Taur na Fuin, Greenwood the great. Hadreth wrung his hands in frustration and turned to leave when a dark, shadowy figure came suddenly up from behind him,
"Our king seems to well enamoured with the Queen of the East does he not?"
The tall almost sinewy Lord of Anfalas stepped into the light of the noon day sun that streamed into the throne room from the large crystal windows placed up high in the tall steeple. His skin was taught and pale, almost like the skin of a newly shed snake; he smiled wryly and placed his hand softly upon Hadreth's shoulders.
"I share your worry too Hadreth…Our king is blinded by that time he spent among the Eastern barbarians and it will bring his people to ruin; he forgets to trust in his own people, in the might and nobility of Gondor and Numenor."
Hadreth snorted and together they left the throne room, Calamadril, the Lord of Anfalas coming into step behind him. Hadreth looked up at his companion and said,
"But what can we do to prove to him of the danger of their expansion? Surely you see it as well as I? More and more of the grain that feeds this city comes from the river valleys of Khavul and there is nothing to protect us from starvation if the Queen of that cursed city should decide to cut us off. With but one flick of her staff, she could starve us all and need not send an armed force…and our King would no doubt sell the kingdom to her the first moment he can."
Calamadril simply nodded his head at this; they had now come to the bridge that connected the Eastern chambers of the Lords of Gondor, there many lords and noblemen of Gondor and even northern Eridador and Arnor walked to and fro speaking about matters of state. The two leaned upon the railing of the bridge that glittered with pearls and looked southward along the river Anduin; the great bridge they stood upon allowed ships to pass north to south and vice-versa beneath their feet. Calamadril sighed and said to Hadreth,
"My greater worry comes from something more than a simple threat of grain…No my earnest friend the invasion from the East has already begun! Look to the Avenue of the Sun…what do you see?"
Hadreth looked eastward along the bridge and saw the market place of Osgiliath before him. Many tall tent-like structures were erected and the sounds of many voices seemed to echo out from that place which lined the main road of the city; the hazy spring afternoon seemed heavy with their sights and sounds.
"I see the Market…what of it?"
"Look beyond it you fool! Beyond the market toward the Gate of the Shepherds."
Hadreth looked eastwardly along the paved Avenue of the Sun which ran through the city from east to west and passed directly through the royal complex. His eyes hovered over the avenue until he came to the Eastern most edge of the city where the great wall that circled the eastern half of the city stood. In the middle of it a tall arched opening was built and great golden doors were made; this door was where the Harad road ended in its long path through the southern desert from Khavul, the amber city. Beyond the wall lay the forest of Ithilien and the Mountains of Shadow loomed in the distance to the West. Calamadril spoke as his companion looked Eastward,
"There do you see it? Right within the very gates of this city they make their home…The merchants of Khavul and the Harad fresh come from their long journeys from their desert homes. They have made the Eastern corridor their home and have taken up the tenements there…It has even come to the point where one cannot hear Westron spoken in the Eastern Corridor of this city, much less the high tongue of our people or the more ancient Sindarin or Quenya…No my friend there they speak the cruel babble tongue of the East and fill the streets of our city with their spawn."
Hadreth saw then what Calamadril meant, for in the Easter corridor, where once stood the hamlets and barns of the city's shepherds now stood crowded apartment-like structures built with clay bricks and thatched roofs rather than the blue tile or tin roofs of Gondorian homes made of grey or white stone. These places were not strewn with dirt or dilapidated but stood in stark contrast to the rather uniform white stone that the rest of the city was cut from. He had never passed by that part of the city before because unlike other travelers from the South and East, who mainly used the Harad road which ended at the Gate of the Shepherds, Hadreth took a boat from the havens of Umbar and sailed up the river through the Southern gate and up to the chambers of the Lords of Gondor.
"How could they be taking over this city? It seems like they are spreading!"
He said with horror and Calamadril laid his hand heavily upon his shoulder as though to calm him,
"Everyday our lord does not wish to see the cruel machinations of the East is another day we begin to lose ground on our Osgiliath…in our nation. The king must see the error of trusting the barbarians of the East…we must find a way for him to see that given the chance they will try to take the throne from him…and our nation from us."
Several weeks would pass before Ciryaher Hyarmendacil would take the journey to the East to speak with the Queen of Khavul and the Council of the East; upon this journey he took his son and wife and his two grandchildren, whom he hoped to show the vastness of the kingdom that they stood to inherit and the people who lived in it. The King left his steward Beleg upon the seat in Osgiliath and took a greatly decorated barge down the river Anduin; this ship was made upon the bones of his old war ship which he sailed to conquer the city of Umbar and wrest it from the clutches of Khamul, the shadow of the East. Yet now it was like a palace that floated upon the water for the sail glittered as though it were wrought and woven with pure gold and the beams glistened in the light of the sun. The great oars were the width of ancient maple and oak and as they beat the crashing waves they made the sound of thunder as they passed. When they arrived at the port of Umbar, Hadreth the vassal of the southern province greeted them kindly and gave them lodgings in his own home, which was richly decorated in the style of Osgiliath and built of white alabaster stone. It stood in stark contrast to the city around it that was built with hazel clay and brick and had terra cotta tiled roofs or roofs made of thatched dry wood or grass covered in pitch and clay.
The king stayed for two days listening to the merchant guilds and wealthy traders of Umbar and visiting with the Haradrim dignitaries who led the Western tribesmen of Far Harad. Then he and Alcarin alone took two white horses and with a lightly guarded caravan went out the city gates and journeyed till they met the Great Harad road. The road was paved with white stone and the mile markers were made of granite; every few miles a small well was erected and guarded by two Gondorian soldiers. Yet soon they came to where Gondor ended and where the lands of Khavul began. The raids upon the caravans had ceased since Ciryaher ordered an exploration of the bands that came from Umbar; several gangs and marauders were brought to court in Osgiliath. Even the magistrate's son, who was a Lieutenant of the Guard of Umbar, was brought in for trial for he had long made truce with the raiding bands and offered them sanctuary. Since then the raiding along the Gondorian stretch of the Harad road had ended and the section along the road to Khavul was guarded by Hamadjon and Ayab-Mamuk warriors. Once they had passed the borders the king ordered his men to head to the nearest Oasis and set up camp while he and Alcarin spoke with the Hamadjon dignitaries that held guard near the border crossing.
"Well my son, the time has now come for you to venture into the east and see what Kings are truly made of."
The youth wiped the sweat from his face and took a swig from his water skin,
"Could we not order the Queen to meet us in Umbar? It seems unbecoming for a king as powerful as you to travel in this… wasteland."
"When you become king you will understand…Being a king means commanding respect but it also means giving it in…"
The king's voice was silenced by a sudden swish of air and he let out a moan as an arrow embedded itself in his chest, near his right shoulder. The wound was not mortal yet it was poisoned and he made to draw out his sword as his vision became blurry and hazed. He called out to his son, yet the young man cried out for the guards and sped his horse in that direction, away from his wounded father. Several of the Gondorian guard heard the cries of the young prince and raced to their king's aid. Four there were that rode to succor their king their bright shining armor and long swords drawn in valiant defense, yet their race was short lived for from the sand dunes came cruel men dressed in black and their arrows were quick and as deadly as their steeds. The four guards were quickly shot in the most vulnerable parts of their armor and their horses were caught in sand traps laid about the side of the road. Laughing the cruel men approached as the king swung his sword weakly,
"Back you devils…I am king of Gondor…con...conqueror of the East…"
Yet his horse, before it could run was laid low by a spear thrown from the high sand dunes that surrounded the road. The steed's short life ended and it fell with great weight upon the king of Gondor, whose last memories was of cruel laughter and shadows surrounding him, towering over him and blotting out the sun.
When Ciryaher awoke the world was in utter darkness, he had no recollection of where he was or how long he had been asleep, all he knew was that he was not yet dead, though his ribs and sides ached with the soreness and fragility of bruising. His senses slowly returned to him as he felt the rough fabric of the blindfold scratch against his eyelids, it smelled of blood and urine and something else he did not want to think about. He tried to stand but his arms and legs were tightly bound, roughly pinching him were the knots of a heavy rope; his face fell flat in his struggle against gritty earth that was still warm to the touch- he was still in the wild desert that much he knew. He smelled cooked meat and could feel the warmth of a hearth fire to his right, he turned to face that direction but suddenly felt a tightening of a chain around his neck. He choked and spat as the chain was pulled tight and a slow burning laughter came from somewhere next to him,
"So…you have awakened?"
The voice said to him in Alamb-Harad, the voice was gritty and coarse, which was not uncommon in the desert lands, yet it was also scarred by something. The guard walked up to the bound king and flipped him onto his back,
"We thought you took too much poison…it would be a pity to extract a ransom for a dead man."
Again the guard laughed,
"Who are you?"
Asked the king, he noticed how detached and slow his words came out of him mouth and how hard he had to labor to speak, the poison was still affecting him and every move he made was a struggle.
"I would not move my king, it only makes the poison work harder and faster…the more you struggle…well eventually your heart will give out on you too soon…Oh and by the way, the Queen sends her regards."
A swift kick rolled the king onto his stomach and the pain was not as horrid as it should be,; a fortunate side effect of the poison no doubt as it seemed to numb his muscles. The man laughed again and knelt beside the king taking the his chin in his hand,
"Your son was easy to capture…he squeeled like a pig when I gutted him!"
Ciryaher's mind began to race and the image of his own son bleeding upon the sand made him want to rip the guard's throat open with his bare hands, he made to curse at the guard but quickly a bit of some sort was placed over his mouth and he futilely screamed against it. He felt his body lifted from the ground and he was dragged or forced to walk, he could not quite discern which, into what felt like the open air. He could feel the fire against his legs and the soft cool breeze of the desert upon his chin, which made his cheeks and neck erupt in a flurry of goosebumps and caused his hair to stand on end. He heard other laughter coming from around him and his captors took in his visage. Immediately the blindfold was taken off as his eyes squinted in the new light of the fire; once his eyes became used to the light he was greeted with a horrifying and grotesque scene. Impaled upon spits four of his guards hung, their entrails sliced from their abdomen and their armor lay in a shimmering and shining heap upon the floor. The men surrounding him were dressed in black robes and garb, their faces covered by scarves that were full of holes and tattered edges. They wore gauntlets around their wrists that shimmered gold in the firelight; he could not yet tell the insignia that was written upon it, yet he felt that his guard had spikes upon his for they rammed into the small of his back causing immense pain and sending him to his knees. Heavy laughter followed as they jeered and mocked him, they spoke a strange dialect of Alamb-Harad, one that he had never before heard. From what he could understand they called him King and spat upon him with something sounding like the word for Donkey. They slapped him and punched him, kicked him in his ribs, causing him to double over in pain; yet finally, their leader, he supposed for he wore a bright red and gold sash about his face, stood and motioned for them to stop. In broken Alamb-Harad he said,
"Enough! He must make it to Khavul to kneel before the Queen in one piece; Gondor will not pay the ransom with him dead."
Ciryaher looked up at the leader, his cruel eyes gleaming back at him, their fierce hazel hue glimmering red in the fire light. His skin was pale as snow and burnt pink in the corners. Coughing and gasping the King stood on his knees and said,
"Tell me your name stranger…so that I might know the name of the man whose throat I shall slit."
The leader laughed and struck the king upon the cheek causing him to fall down on his side. The leader placed his foot harshly upon the king's throat,
"Hassashasin, my king…that is the only name you need call me by."
Ciryaher though, was stronger than he let on and once his senses returned to him he kicked high and knocked the leader forward tripping him into the blazing fire. The laughter ceased as the others stood in amazement; Ciryaher rolled into a ball and being surprisingly limber for a man of his age he threaded his legs between his arms allowing them to come to the front. While he did this the guards leapt into the fire rolling their leader out of it, his robes dancing with flame engulfing him as he screamed in agony. Others looked to the prisoner who leapt up to his feet and began to run away from the campfire. They drew their swords and immediately gave chase, the fine grains of sand kicking up as each foot sunk into the warm dry desert terrain. The king only went a few feet before his captors overtook him, for he was still weak from the effects of the poison and his ribs were severely cracked from his beating. One swift scout, no larger than a young boy leapt on top of him and brought him harshly to the ground, winding a leather whip around his neck. Ciryaher's tongue stuck out and as he attempted to breathe, his mouth was filled with sand. The others came and grabbed him by his legs binding them as though he were a deer caught on a hunt. Still he struggled to be free, his hands bound and pinned beneath his body. His captors laughed as they bound his feet, spitting upon his face; one grabbed a hold of the curls of his brown hair and stuffed his face into the ground forcing the king's mouth to fill with sand. The young man opened his mouth to say some joke to his compatriots, but his voice was silenced. Instead a throaty gurgle came out and when his fellow guards looked to him they found a red feathered arrow sticking out of his throat.
They stood to fight but it was a quick death for them, whooping calls like feral cats came from the sand dunes surrounding them and dark shapes leapt out of the shadows around them. Many armed warriors descended upon them and like a pride of lionesses they slew the men with shimmering silver axes and swords before they even had a chance to raise their swords. Cries of pain and death came from far off as the King was rolled onto his back, he saw five dark shapes standing over him holding bright shining weapons, yet that was the last that he saw for his body succumbed to the poison and he knew no more.