Thanks for your support all. I'm devoted to short, episodic chapters. It's easier for me to write that way. Mercatur tries his hand at being a connaisseur.

Beneath Minas Mellon

Spring

Haedorial

Standing in a large chamber, full of rotten wooden racks, Haedorial looked around. "Now that we have a bit of time to sit and think, I think it was a bad idea to not bring along any of our men-at-arms," said the bard as he sipped from a bottle that had been on the wine rack in the basement of Tiras Formen.

"Well, we made a mistake," retorted Valandil with a sigh. "I didn't think that anything could be living down here."

Haedorial nodded slowly. "We're safe for the moment, except for our two poor workmen," he said, looking at the remaining two men in red shirts. "Look here, now, I've found the most delightful cognac. It must be over three thousand years old."

Mercatur accepted the bottle and took a frothy swig. "I dunno, ale from the Starry Crown is just as good," he said with a shrug.

"Oh, of course it is to you. What would you know about Númenorean cognac?"

"About as much as you know about fighting demons."

"Point taken…. However, my good mercenary, I do have a tome that I brought with us and I have been thinking upon the visions that I have had since our visit to the Barrow Downs. I didn't have time to read the tome prior to our descent, but it has notes written in the hand of Prince Braegil that talk about a beast in the water. It seemed that he had enough soldiers to frighten it away. As a learned scholar, the prince speculates that the totems are indeed religious in nature and belong to a people called the Beffraen."

"Beffraen?" asked Firiel.

The bard nodded to her with a smile. "Ah yes, the Beffraen…. Legend has it that they are the original inhabitants of Cardolan and are related to the Woses. It is said that they have the gift of night sight. Apparently, they are rather primitive and were nearly annihilated by the Númenoreans in the Second Age."

"Well, they probably won't take too kindly to any Dúnedain then," said Valandil, looking at Firiel and then back at Haedorial.

"I guess I'm fine here then," joked the mercenary, hinting at his mixed blood.

Valandil made a wry smile. "Regardless, we should continue on to Aldarion's House. Hopefully, we can get to the surface there and call for help."

The two workers had discovered a series of large drainage pipes that led away from the wine cellar. Haedorial carefully rolled the bottle of cognac into a blanket as he followed Valandil to the pipes. "It smells like more seawater in there."

The knight motioned for the workers to enter and he looked back at the tunnel to Minas Mellon. "If I'm correct, we're getting closer to the water. Haedorial, you go up with the men. Mercatur and I will guard the rear in case that thing comes back."

The bard nodded and stepped into the huge pipes followed by Firiel. His feet sloshed in several inches of brackish water and he held his lamp ahead to light the way. The pipe soon began to slope downward and Haedorial heard Valandil say, "We need to hurry. I think that thing has broken through our barricade."

Haedorial picked up his pace, pushing against the two workers. "Quickly, quickly," he kept repeating as the sound of distant snarls echoed down the pipes. The water in the pipes quickly became choked with mud and vegetation and Haedorial struggled to move ahead. "Why are we stopping?" he said irritably when the workers came to a sudden halt.

"We can't go no further," one man said.

"Wait, there's a way down. I can see a ladder," said the other.

The bard pointed his light into the pipe and the rusty ladder became more visible. "Down…always further down," he said dejectedly as brown sludge poured into the hole. The two workers grunted and one put his foot on the top rung.

"Seems stable," he said and climbed down to a landing where more muddy water awaited him. "It keeps going further down, but the light gives out. I'll wait here."

The second man began his descent and then shouts came from the rear. Haedorial heard the twang of a bow and knew it must be Firiel, firing at something.

Snarls and hisses echoed in the pipes along with the sloshing of feet. The second man scrambled onto the landing and Haedorial reached out to grab the rungs. Rust peeled off in his hands and the acrid odor filled his nostrils. He reached the landing to the sound of fighting. The bow twanged a couple more times and then Firiel swung herself onto the ladder.

"Haedorial, make room!" she called as she climbed lower. The bard backed the workers into what looked like a flooded commode. Murky water was knee deep and shaky lights bounced off of the mire and rippled on the walls. He could hear Mercatur hacking with his axe and the shrieks and hisses of the rat beast.

"It's not a demon…I don't think it's a demon," Haedorial whispered to himself. "I don't know why. It must be the inspiration I'm getting from the tome I read. That's it!"

"What are you mumbling about?" Firiel asked as she stepped onto the landing. She drew her bow and knocked an arrow on the string. "Hold your lantern up the pipe," she told him.

Haedorial turned the lamp upward as Valandil began to descend and Mercutur's curses grew louder. Halfway down the ladder, one of the rungs snapped and Valandil slipped, handing by one hand. His torch fell into the abyss, passing Firiel and tumbled into shadow. At that moment, one of the workers cried out in pain and fear. Haedorial looked back into the dark.

Dear Varda, we're done for. We're getting it from both sides.

"Valandil!" Firiel yelled and began to sling her bow.

The knight waved her off. "No, keep covering. Mercatur is coming down," he called and his foot found another rung. The bard could see this was true – Mercatur appeared at the top of the pipe and took a mighty swing, connecting with something soft and fleshy. There was a shriek and then the man grasped the rungs and began sliding down.

Valandil leapt a few feet down to the landing and piled into Haedorial. The two crashed into the muddy water as the twang of the bow sounded out. The knight sloshed back to his feet and drew his sword. "We're only slowing that thing down. It keeps healing."

The bow fired again and an arrow pierced the chest of the rat beast, which was hidden in the dim light. It plucked the shaft from its flesh and hurled it into the abyss with a snarl. Then, it was gone.

Mercatur stepped onto the landing with a deep sigh. "The damn thing bit me," he said, holding his left arm. Blood seeped through the links of the thick chainmail that covered his limb.

Firiel took a look. "I'll wrap that up as soon as we move away from here. I think your armor took most of the injury." She began to remove the herbal pouch that she kept with her at all times.

Haedorial began to get a bad feeling. He stepped away from the landing and pointed his lantern into the next room. The two workers were there and one was pulling a long needle from his foot.

"It's a damn sea urchin," the injured man said with a curse. He yanked the black needle from his foot with a grimace.

Haedorial sighed. Whew, it was nothing. Just a sea urchin. Thank the Valar we all made it here safely. I wonder what was bothering me so much earlier. Wait…the Nurga…it's not a demon. It's a lycanthrope…and Mercatur was bitten.