Chapter 48

Dol Hamoth, Tovennen

The ruins were full to bursting. Full of former slaves (shocked silent and passive, thank Mahal), youngsters running the gamut of arrogant and angry to timid and uncertain, crones who'd served willingly (and not) in Caeldor's nursery, their wee charges (Nori had never changed so many nappies in his life), women freed from the accursed Den, and (of course) Nori's band of heroes, most of which were stunned to find they'd survived the day to watch the sun set once again.

Nori had escaped the crush o' bodies, desperate for a bit of quiet, and stood upon a terraced roof, leaning against a dusty stone banister adorning its perimeter. He puffed upon the last of the pipeweed he'd procured in the Shire many months before and stared out across the jungle oasis filling the valley below.

Mahal, but the day had been one for the storybooks. And then some.

He snorted. When the Company recounted their tale for the scribes, none would believe it. 'Twas the type of nonsense Bofur would concoct for a good laugh.

Which begged the question, just where was the fool? Where were Dori and Bifur? Nori had told his niece not to fret, but with each day's passage without word, Nori could not shake the suspicion that his brother and friends had run into a bit more difficulty than they would chew.

The question was what. And where.

Nori was determined to find answers to both of the questions…once he assured himself of his niece's wellbeing. He worried for the missing dwarves, aye, but it was a formless worry backed by naught but their absence. With Saldís, he knew exactly what he feared.

Her name was Akhora, and she shared his niece's skin. For Saldis to confess her struggle to Finnin as she had disturbed him greatly, for it revealed just how serious she took the threat. He'd be following after her as soon as he could.

I'll not fail you, Umral.

A sound prodded Nori to twist about, his hip resting against the banister. Lord Hlein and Thannor stepped out onto the terrace, Thannor limping along with a leery glance underfoot. The roof looked deplorable, but she'd hold, Nori believed.

The dwarf lord nodded his greeting before breathing deeply and rubbing his forehead. "Mahal bless me, those children are a right mess. Convinced of their innate superiority, they are, and no two ways about it."

Thannor nodded tiredly. "Though your idea seems to have borne some fruit."

At that, Hlein snickered, and Nori's curiosity was pricked. "Did I miss something, lads?"

"That ye did, Master Nori. That ye did." Hlein smiled like the cat with a mouthful o' the prized canary.

"Lord Hlein asked Kyri and Ragan to clear some space of rubble," Thannor explained. "The two proceeded to lift fallen slabs of rock bigger than a man and carry them across the length of the hall."

"We'll be needing the floor space for more pallets," Hlein averred mildly.

Nori snorted. "Impressed, were they?"

"Never seen so many dangling jaws in my life," Hlein informed him. "Coupled with the dressing down delivered by young Glivin for daring to speak disrespectfully of his brothers, we may have gained an hour or two of peace."

Hlein's thumbs tucked into his leather belt. "That lad will be heading home with Ragan if I'm any judge, and Thorin's Hall will be fortunate to have him. That's one fine warrior in the making if you can knock some o' the Númenórean foolishness from him."

Aye. Nori nodded his agreement, unsurprised at Hlein's conclusion. Nori, too, had seen the way that lad responded to Ragan, and from the ex-thief's observations, the bond went both ways.

"That won't be the last of the Novices' outbursts," Thannor commented. With ginger care, the Ranger stepped to Nori's right. After setting one hand upon the railing, Thannor peered over the edge. "So, gentlemen. Caeldor has fallen. How are we to proceed?"

"I expect you will head out after your son," Hlein commented.

Thannor inclined his head. "Before the sun rises."

Hlein nodded, hands folding over his white beard. "No help for it. We'll need to divide our efforts once more."

Nori exhaled a long stream of smoke with a nod. "Aye. I'm guessing you Rangers will wish to send word to your chieftain." After receiving Thannor's affirmative, Nori abruptly stated, "We need to move these folks to Umbar."

"Umbar?" Thannor's head canted to one side, his expression unsurprised but questioning.

"A few hard facts, lads. We've not the food for all the souls now filling Dol Hamoth. This wee cleft is bonny, but she's smaller than the valley Caeldor possessed. Not enough game to be found and scarce enough water."

"You answer a dilemma I've been pondering myself, Master Nori," Thannor said slowly. "As you say, we don't have the provisions here, and Caeldor's is buried beneath an avalanche of stone. The longer we wait to move the children and women, the weaker they will grow from lack of sustenance."

Nori twirled his pipe once. "Aye, and all those nice provisions are just sitting there, collecting dust and flies in Umbar's warehouses. Quite the bounty, let me tell you."

"What were you doing in the other warehouses?" Hlein asked. "Sightseeing?"

"Just looking." Nori feigned insult. Then with a sniff, "Not like that bunch o' murdering pirates will have any use for their contents where they've gone."

"Find anything worth mentioning?" Hlein asked with sudden interest.

Nori shrugged. "The food, of course." A short pause. A small grin. "A couple rugs and silks that would liven up my quarters in Thorin's Hall. Oh, and the spices." He snapped his fingers. "Bombur would have my hide if we left those behind for the vermin."

"Should we make a list?" Thannor asked dryly.

Nori ignored the sarcasm. "Aye. For all the grief Umbar has caused, I say we let Prince Imrahil's people know what treasures are awaiting for them as compensation. Minus a few trinkets as a finder's fee."

"Of course," Thannor said low laugh. 'Twas good to see, for the Ranger had been grim.

Not that Nori didn't well understand why. Thannor and his kinsmen had dressed Barhador's body for burial, they had, but they'd not put him in the ground. All hoped a way was found to return Barhador to his home of Esteldin to rest.

Each member of the Black Company had taken his turn saying his farewells. Nori knew he wasn't the only dwarf to shed tears for the man. Barhador had been a great-hearted soul, and by Durin, he'd not be letting the man's sacrifice be forgotten.

Nori returned to business. "I'm also thinking it'd be good to have some distance between our charges and Caeldor in case any come sniffing for explanations. Umbar's empty…"

"…we hope…" Hlein muttered.

Nori acknowledged that with a grunt. "And like I said, when the Black Vengeance hauled off those pirates, a good store of food was left behind…and ale," he added with a wink. Then more somberly, "I don't see as we have much choice. We cannot sit here watchin' our supplies dwindle. There's also the chance that if we send for Imrahil and his fine ships to take the children north, mayhap we can learn the fate o' my kinsmen."

Thannor stroked his beardless chin, eyes intent and mind a-working. "The Corsairs at Pelargir could return. We cannot discount that danger."

Nori shrugged. "I'm thinking the lassies from the Den can deal with pirates. Especially with Novices like Glivin and Zobi to back 'em up."

Hlein rubbed the back of his neck. Meeting Nori's gaze from beneath lowered eyebrows, the older dwarf said, "Medlinor and Kai are not up to such a journey."

'Twas true enough. Kai's survival had stunned them all. The lad was not out of danger, not by a long shot with the way his body had gone into shock, but if their healer had aught to say about it, her love would survive.

If not, if Kai dared do a fool thing like die on her, Nori harbored a suspicion that lass would find a way to storm Mandos's Halls to give that dwarf a piece of her mind.

"They cannot be left undefended," Thannor said.

No, they couldn't. But neither could those heading to Umbar. Though sympathetic to the females from the Den, Nori couldn't help but view them with suspicion. Aye, their purposes aligned…for now…but they'd been molded in the same forge as the others. He'd not see one o' them in charge of the Novices.

Not willingly. "We need some o' ours going to Umbar."

"I'll go," Hlein said softly. From the hard note in his eyes, Nori suspected Hlein harbored the same doubts as himself, and it gave him comfort to know the warrior would be overseeing things in Umbar.

"Take Thalon with you," Thannor interjected. "Those ribs of his will survive the trip to Umbar, but he's not up for a rushed flight north."

"Might as well send Ragan, too," Nori added. "If he rides north in search o' the Gray Company, I'm thinking we'll have Glivin and his growing pack o' admirers sneaking off to follow him. Better put him with the Novices in Umbar where Glivin's influence will work for us."

Thannor drummed fingers upon the banister. "Goira remains here with Kai and Medlinor until more help arrives." Then he groaned, sagging against the rail. "The heavily pregnant women will need to remain. And the newborn babes."

Nori felt a groan coming on himself. No doubt about it, Caeldor defeated or not, the Company still needed the aid Dís was off asking for. "I'll write a missive to Dís, and we'd all best hope the messenger bird our Blue Wizard chatted with is of a mind to heed the wizard's request and not simply fly home."

"In the meantime," Hlein said, "Kyri will stay here with his brother and Goira."

"I'll leave Glinor as well. Between the three of them, they should be safe so long as they are not discovered by the enemy," Thannor said.

And if they are found, it's the tunnels for all o' them, and pray to Mahal Dís arrives in time to save them.

"That's that. So who does that leave to journey north?" Hlein asked.

"I go alone," Thannor said softly.

Nori began to argue, but the Ranger cut him off. "I travel alone. Besides…" The Ranger's body stiffened. He leaned over the rail. Then after swearing beneath his breath, the Ranger spun back around. "Finnin is departing."

What? Nori dropped his pipe, then slapped out burning embers as they fell onto his chest.

Aye, and Nori knew what the lad intended. He'd play the prisoner again.

By Mahal, he was glad the lad acted when Nori was not yet free to do so. I'll be a day or two behind you, he told Finnin's retreating back, watching as the warrior nudged his emala towards the single access point into the canyon.

Nori's lips curved. Saldís was not going to be happy.

Thannon sighed. "I'll send Anuon after him."

"You think he'll return?" Nori asked with heavy skepticism.

"No," Thannor said. "But at least one of us can pretend to have recaptured him en route back to Mordor."


Rippling Sands, Far Harad

Saldís surveyed the scene as Novices set up camp. For the first time in her memory, Caeldor's trainees went through the motions of unsaddling and hobbling their emala, relieving themselves, preparing their evening meals and pallets upon which to sleep…in pairs. Aye, some did so stony of face, their displeasure easily read, but by Durin, they did not test her. None left his partner's side.

It had been a long day. The morning had been busy as Saldís had paired the Novices together and set them through their paces—with instructions not to wound their partners. Remembering her suppositions in Thorin's Hall, she'd laid down strict rules. Sparring was to test one another, to find weakness in order to strengthen one another, not an opportunity to humiliate a foe to bolster one's own ego.

Tapping fingers against her thigh, she breathed deeply and decided she was well pleased with the progress of the day. She'd been firm with her Novices, but she'd also been fair. Their loyalty would not be secured after one day, but by the seven dwarf fathers, she'd net that prize and never abuse it.

A pivot on one foot returned her to her emala. Unbuckling the saddle's dozen latches took a few minutes. Once that was hefted from the happier bird's back and set aside, she led the animal to an area from which it could forage, driving a stake into a firm patch of dirt and tying its lead rope to it. The large bird wasted no time in pecking underfoot, seeking anything edible.

She next dragged Erynor from his own emala. With brisk motions, she prodded him to a seat upon the baked ground, hobbled his legs by virtue of tying them tightly together—this land of windswept, compacted dirt lacked so much as a single tree to tie him to—and tended his bird.

Only then did she turn her attention to her evening meal. There was little dry foliage to be found, so she dug into her precious reserves of kindling in order to cook her food.

It was as she sitting cross-legged on the ground, chewing a porridge of lentils and corn, that Ne-Hilliz joined her. Erynor watched from hooded eyes not two yards away.

She'd feed him after she finished her own meal. To do otherwise, placing him first, would elicit too much curiosity. Too much question.

"Ib-Akhora," Hilliz greeted.

Saldís finished chewing, measuring his mood. The small fire she'd built to her left illuminated his face and eyes, and if she had to label him this night, she would say he was reflective. "What can I do for you, Ne-Hilliz?"

He tossed a scowl Erynor's way before dropping to a squat before her. "You're right," he said abruptly. "What you said this morning. We are divided. Ar-Aemazia was wise to recognize it and implement a plan to change it."

That…was unusual, she thought. Númenóreans did not congratulate one another for being correct. Testing her way, she said, "I'm glad our plans meet with your approval."

A flash of frustration crossed his face, and one hand fisted.

Saldís set aside her meal. "I've never been one to mince words, Ne-Hilliz, and my time away has only increased my disdain for games. Speak plainly."

His dark eyes narrowed, then he nodded shortly. "I'm saying, Ib-Akhora, that you have my sword. I see what you do, and as the Novices have partners to watch each other's backs, you'll have me." He thumped his chest with one hand.

With that stunning proclamation, Hilliz rose and walked away, head high and shoulders tight.

Saldís's eyes slid helplessly to Erynor and found him equally wide-eyed. Not for the first time, frustration crashed over her. Berúthiel's twisted cats, the Khazâd among the Black Company should have taught their Rangers Iglishmêk. She dared not speak with the Brother openly—it would be pure folly—but she dearly wished to communicate with him.

Instead, she picked up her meal and resumed eating as if naught had happened. Calmly, while her mind raced, chasing this new rabbit down every path it fled.

Hilliz, she feared, suddenly viewed her as a crusader among their people, a woman who would lead the way to a stronger Caeldor. Having him watching her back was helpful, she'd admit that—Mahris, she suspected, was going to break Saldís's rules at some point, so having Hilliz on her side if she had to kill the other woman was to her benefit.

But little did she need his eyes depriving her of any chance to speak more openly to Novices.

Akhora was ominously silent, but Saldís sensed satisfaction radiating from that other side of herself. Satisfaction and calculation.


South Ithilien, Gondor

Bifur watched from beneath lowered eyebrows as Valkthor kicked up stones, scowling at his Corsair escorts while pacing back and forth before the campfire he'd denied the men permission to build. Valkthor, he thought, didn't much care to be overruled.

If he had to bet, Bifur would place all his markers on the fact that Valkthor was running low on those wee vials of blood so necessary to his magics.

Or mayhap the cretin knows full well he has need yet of these pirates. Best not to assume, Bifur concluded. Valkthor was dangerous, and a wise dwarf would not lose sight of that or underestimate him.

Their party had traveled two nights through without stopping for more than relieving themselves, a sip of water, and a bite to eat. More'n fifty hours had passed since they'd departed Pelargir, and Bifur wondered how Dori was faring.

How all his friends fared. Where, he fretted, was his Saldís now? Was she safe with her uncle Nori? Had Thannor saved her from the Haradrim? More, how fared his Gêdul's spirit? What damage had the abuse done her caused?

By Durin, he hated that she might need him more'n ever and he was not there. Nay, there was naught he could have done, but it tasted like failure on his tongue, and in Bifur's mind, he'd done too much of that.

With a sigh, he let the matter go. At the moment, his hands were tied. In more ways than one.

Instead, he drank in his surroundings. The land around them was a rich one, full of rolling green hills, scattered groves, and blankets of wildflowers—a far cry from what they'd be entering at this journey's end. Truly, this land brought to mind the Shire, and how he longed to return to the peace of Brockenborings, when Saldís had laughed and almost drawn that sword of hers in defense of her family.

Bifur readjusted his seat, hands bound with sisal and lashed to his ankles. Instantly, Valkthor's attention flew his way.

As if I could burst free and wing my way to freedom. Aye, the sisal was little challenge to a dwarf's strength, but Valkthor's magics and his escort were mite different a matter.

Ignoring Valkthor's scrutiny, Bifur looked to his cousin who was similarly trussed up some six yards away. Now, Bifur was no mind-reader, but he knew his cousin, and Bofur's mind was whirling as he took note of all around him. Truly, if Bofur was of a mind, Bifur suspected his cousin could eventually win free.

But Bofur wouldn't. They'd had a heated debate in Iglishmêk, they had, and the argument had turned angry. Bifur wanted his beloved cousin safe, and Bofur refused to be parted from him. Neither would budge, and both had left the altercation bristling and frustrated.

A sentiment that seemed foolish in hindsight. A wiggle of the fingers as if to loosen them up, and Bofur's eyes slid his way. *I'm a right fool, Cousin. I should not have spoken to you as I did.*

Bofur's eyes narrowed a wee bit. *Aye.*

By Mahal. Bifur's lips twitched. *I'm thankful for you. As you say, we do this together.*

And there flashed Bofur's grin. *Do you suppose there is any good ale to be had in Mordor?*


Forsaken Flats, Far Harad

Dís dismounted her emala with a grunt, tired to her bones and, aye, a bit wide-eyed as well. Two days of travel, and the trio had covered countless miles—much more than she'd dared to dream. Truly, she'd never seen the like or even heard rumor of it from Gandalf. If the Blue Wizard's magic held, and their party's progress remained steady, she imagined they be reaching the Bleeding Swamps in another five days. Mayhap six on the outside.

And then the fun begins. The emala, she suspected, would balk at entering that cesspool. She'd never laid eyes on it herself, but tales had been handed down. Miserable tales of blood-sucking swarms of insects, creatures that lurked in the red waters that struck without warning, and a foul stench that permeated the air so strongly, one could taste it.

The party quietly tended to their tired birds, tying them on long ropes that permitted the birds to scavenge at will. They next set up camp within the birds' range—the birds might prefer root vegetables, seeds, and other plants, but they'd gobble up a snake if one happened by. That was a boon Dís would not turn her nose up at, not in these vermin-infested lands.

"Tell me, Wizard," Dís broached once the three were seated and their meal of the day—a mixture of jerky, nuts, and wizened, shriveled fruit—consumed, "I've never heard of our Gray Wizard traveling with this speed. Is this ability of yours common to all wizards?"

Pallando rolled the staff he rested across his lap, his lips pursed. After a low hum, he said in his soft voice, "There are five us. Four chosen by the Valar themselves." A brief smile. "And me. I, you see, refused to allow my friend to venture into danger without me at his side."

Dís's eyebrows winged upwards.

"To answer your question, no. Your Gray Wizard does not possess this skill," he answered. With head cocked to one side, he said, "What do you know of us? What do you know of our origins?"

Dís shared a glance with Dár before answering, "Nothing."

Pallando hummed in the back of his throat. "We were chosen by our individual patron Valar. Your Gray Wizard answers to Lord Manwë himself, and like his lord, Mithrandir's gifts lie with the winds. He speaks to the birds, the butterflies and the moths, and they heed him." Then, almost to himself, "I've often wondered if his friendship with the Eagles endured these many years."

"It has," Dís answered. Dwalin had often recounted the tale of being rescued by the Eagles at Gandalf's behest.

Pallando hummed again. "The Brown Wizard is Lady Yavanna's. His heart will always long for the wild places, for forests and green."

"And yourself?" Dár asked.

A fleeting smile, there and gone as the wizard rose to his feet. "Alatar and I? We belong to Oromë." With that he walked to a patch of dirt and lay down, nudging his hat over his eyes.

The Huntsman.

But he had other names, too: Lord of Forests and Great Rider.


Harad Road, Near Harad

Berenor listened.

It was all he could do with a blindfold over his eyes, gag between his lips, hands bound behind his back, and ankles tied so tightly it cut off the circulation to his feet. A swarm of pin-like prickles buzzed through his soles, a persistent annoyance that no amount of toe wiggling relieved.

He ached. None of The Brothers had escaped the Black Númenóreans' tender mercies, and he shuddered each time the memory of Aemazia's attentions returned to him. Using his evil magics, the man had inflicted pain unlike anything Berenor had ever imagined, and if asked before his capture, he'd have sworn he had an active imagination.

His body had few marks, yet the pain persisted, deep and disconcerting. Berenor felt defiled from having such black and pervasive evilness doing things inside his body. The horror of it haunted him.

Terror had dug its pernicious claws into him, and he wondered if it would ever let loose. Berenor had been raised with stories of his forefathers and the Dark Lord. Now, he truly understood the nightmare that Mordor threatened to unleash, the absolute terror all of Middle Earth would suffer should the Black Company fail and Mordor succeed in its war.

As empty, formless hours passed, Berenor tried to banish his own inner demons with other worries. Calenor. Erynor. Berenor knew Calenor was in the same condition as he: gagged and blinded. Erynor, he'd overheard, had been sent to Mordor, too, but by another route with Saldís.

The relief he'd experienced when he'd learned that had almost reduced him to tears. His cousin was strong, and she was dangerous. Erynor, he figured, had the best chance of The Brothers to survive the path ahead.

But who, he begged Eru to know, had been the Ranger to die in Caeldor? Who had they lost?