Nag Kath

by Gelansor

This is a sequel to The Lord of the Rings following a released prisoner at the beginning of the Fourth Age. He has to adapt to changes in his world and in himself as Middle-earth copes with life after the dark lords. All chapters have been loaded as of 2/9/2020. Reviews welcome. Thanks for looking, sh

22. Chapter 22 An Invitation

Chapter 22

An Invitation

The next section relies largely on the map called; Khand Topo.

Im gur period com/gallery/jHPlDU8

~o~

This belonged to him. For his first life of men, Nag Kath either followed paths laid before him or reacted to what he found.

There were sorceries in the east. There might be answers there too. The stone of the Easterlings had less to do with it that he originally thought. It might be a talisman of an ancient. It could have been carved last year. It might mean absolutely nothing. But there was that feeling. Then there was the old man in Kugavod. He was of those lands, closer even than the current Bror, and yet had a much different view of life. Orlo sought the light. And his dead brother-in-law didn't owe money. The miserly Bror saw the chance to fleece a blonde greenbottom and took it.

There was curiosity also. Why had an area under relentless pressure from Sauron for millennia been so hapless in the last war? The closer allies were to Mordor, the better their soldiery except northeastern Khand and the former Balchoth Khanates which were thinly represented on the Pelennor. That did not apply to northern Easterlings who are near cousins to Northmen and fight because they always fight.

Nag Kath put the rest of the winter to use. He had Charlo's saddle and tack fitted to hide an assortment of Florin and nippers. He would keep money in his clothes too so horse or apparel could be lost. In late March he hiked to the seventh to tell King Aragorn his intentions. If the King wondered at his purpose, he kept it to himself. Aragorn had been to the deep south as a ranger but not far east. The Lord wondered if he had done enough for the changeling, given all the Elf had done for free peoples. Nag Kath felt the other way; that the King had given him his freedom, something that could never be repaid.

Mr. Tallazh consulted on more practical matters. He among everyone Nag Kath knew had been to Khand. For many hours they drank tea of that land and discussed what people did and wore and thought and feared. Tallazh taught him a few words and phrases along with explaining many different ways not to offend them. One never really said what they meant. You asked questions they could avoid. Direct praise should be deflected with self-deprecation. They had a tearful goodbye two years ago so that had all been said.

Goodbyes were said to everyone else in good time. The day before he left in early April he had lunch at a restaurant on the fifth with Tal and Ardatha. They had become great friends with similar outlooks. Neither woman questioned his need to go. They dearly wished he wouldn't.

~o~

Nag Kath made for the Brown Lands, following his own waterway to the original crossroads where he met the Prince and King a decade before. From there he turned due north along the northern Ephel Düath towards Morannon.

Other than scouting water sources along the range, he had not traveled further north than crossing the Entwash on his first trip years ago. The forest was rich and healthy but showed pockets where it still struggled. Trees were yellow or stunted. Nag Kath climbed off Charlo several times to test the water. Most streams ran clean but one gave him the slightest sense of taint. He wrote a note in Sindarin to the aqueduct office and asked the next trader he saw to deliver it.

He would see the Dead Marshes. No man would willingly walk into this swamp even if it wasn't filled with corpses. This was sorcery too, sorcery that had not relented even with the destruction of Sauron and the exodus of wizards and Elves. Thousands of orcs and men and Elves were killed or driven here to die early in the Third Age.

The first casualty he found seemed a Hillman or orc. The next was an Elf lying face up. Nag Kath was not sure how long he stood looking into the blank expression that still conveyed anger and loss. Before he left he sampled the water. His talent was measuring living forces. This was a gray cloud of living death, unable to dissolve and feed something better than the rank water plants choking the banks. He hoped the Elf had found his way to the Halls of Mandos even if the corpse might never decay.

The huge Black Gate loomed to his right but he pressed into Dagorlad. If the marshes were dead water, this was dead land. There were even more bones barely under the surface. Charlo had matured over the time they had been together but he showed some of his old anxiety tramping over this terrible place. Running usually calmed the horse and leaving fast was fine with his master.

~o~

Dagorlad gave way to the Brown Lands which seemed lush in comparison. Traveling in a straight line, Nag Kath saw why it was so hard for Gondor to stay in touch with Dorwinion. Trade had to take the long way around this miserable patch. The water was drinkable. Nag Kath had to let Charlo graze a long time for enough greens to go with his oats.

It seemed to take forever but the Wilderland eventually gave way to a small mountain range to the east just on the coast of the Sea of Rhûn. The peaks were high enough that rain on this side of them drained west and turned north to the Celduin. Streams were clean and broad enough for edible fish. After Lembas and grit in his teeth for two weeks, they tasted sublime. Mountains became hills and within another day he was in the wine country.

Nag Kath drew a few pictures after breakfast. Dorwinion grew many crops so vineyards were interspersed with wheat, barley, vegetables and the gureeq grain that needed less water. They took a leisurely pace due east along the Brilthen creek to the town of Minas Falath. This was the main Gondoran outpost until last year when people realized they were more likely to be invaded by Easterlings than grapes. Even with the command moved to Riavod, Nag Kath was instantly recognized by soldiers who arrived from here just in time to back the line at the ford. They insisted on toasting their victory!

Who could refuse? Nag Kath stayed a week enjoying the hospitality and swimming further than anyone on shore was comfortable watching. He was here for information and this was the last stretch of the trip where people had been on his side. Here and for twenty miles north were where successful farmers and merchants had coastal homes. Their holdings were beautiful too, but isolated, so they gathered here between harvest and planting to rub elbows with their own kind.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

After the long rest, they made their way up the coast on a good road and reached Riavod three days later. This town had not fared as well. Bodies in the Celduin had fouled the river-mouth and sickened many townsmen. The large sturn-fish eventually cleaned the bones. Sturn were normally prized delicacies but no one who could afford different would eat them until this spring. Whisker-fish ate whatever was on the bottom of the lake too.

Nag Kath found the Marshal's office and tied Charlo outside. Lieutenant Fendülas was now a full Captain and just returning from lunch with the mayor when the Elf arrived. They shook hands as brothers-in-war. New toasts were arranged. He would rather have kept riding but these people risked and saved their lives with their courage. They deserved to remember and be remembered.

Nag Kath's main reason for coming was to talk with Vegad Druhamel. It stood to reason the young man would reap the benefits of choosing the right side plus his nipper's worth of capital. Vegad was much up in the world and it took the Elf most of the day to find his new home. A girl of about thirteen opened the door when he knocked. Hillilea was the official greeter since their home was also where Vegad assisted traders on the blossoming route to the Kingdom of Rhûn. The changeling had not met her before and leaned down to say, "I am Nag Kath and I would like a word with your esteemed brother."

In a pleasing east/west accent she said, "Please come in, best sir. I will inquire if he is available." She did not recognize his name and forgot it when she told her brother of the guest. Vegad told her he was busy and she asked if the sir could come back tomorrow. Nag Kath leaned over again and asked her to remind the businessman of burning sand. She had been back in the office only a moment when he heard the 'screeep' of chair legs across the wooden floor followed by hurrying feet. Vegad rounded the hall and bowed. The Elf returned the bow and the two men shook hands in the western style.

"You have returned to your glory, Kath of the Kelduash!"

How long would that linger? "Thank you Vegad. It seems you are doing well."

"Yes, thank you. Dorwinens trust me to represent their cases fairly to those bringing or buying goods from the east. Other agents do not enjoy the same references. Please, come, sit. A one-eyed woman brought a tray of tea that also seemed a blend of near and far. Vegad thanked her so either he was becoming more western or the woman was more than a servant.

Vegad leaned back in his chair and asked, "Are you visiting your family in the Buhrs?"

"No, they moved to Minas Tirith." Less conversationally, "I purpose to revisit his Excellency."

That was not the horror it was the first time but it was still curious since Nag Kath was not trading grain or sheep. Vegad was a sharp young man and should suspect that this was diplomatic, or something deeper. "The road is improved. Returning soldiers of the Usurper volunteered to help smooth it for travelers."

"Is the ford easier?"

"There is no need. Take the ferry. Is his Excellency expecting you?"

Vegad had no position with the government of the Easterlings. They had their own people, none of whom were dock-rats from Riavod. His bread was buttered by Dorwinen and traders from further north. Nag Kath said, "It will be a surprise. I usually am."

Vegad agreed. The sorcerer was full of surprises. Nag Kath continued, "After paying my respects, I plan to visit Kelepar and then Mistrand before turning east."

That was a surprise. "You will need to ask your host for leave. Between Kugavod and Kelepar lies the best land in Rhûn. The horses you shared with your peoples were raised there. Unless sanctioned, and probably escorted, you will not be allowed. Forgive me my friend, why Mistrand? It is a sizeable town as they go in the Bror's lands but no great place. Kelepar is at the south end of desirable."

The Elf said in his long-story voice, "You told me that your family had no great love of the Visitors. Others feel the same. I would like to find if they are in league with those who once made them supreme or simply clinging to memories. Mistrand may inform."

Vegad grinned an eastern grin and said, "You are strange, but you are strong, so I will tell you. My father owned a vegetable stall in Rhûbar, just this side of the capital. Visitors threatened merchants and farmers with violence if they did not acknowledge their primacy. Father paid the squeeze but a neighbor reported my family for burning candles on Gelansor. Two days later, Visitors caned him. For years after, his back would crack and bleed from the scars. The Visitors were scourged by the old Bror for worse than that, but then there was drought so we moved here to sell vegetables until father died."

Nag Kath knew he was right to come here. "Tell me of the Visitors."

Vegad held his chin, the mark of a wise man, before saying, "The ones in the streets are rogue militias, coarse and unlettered. Some believe in coming darkness. Some do it for the food. They are humorless men in either event.

"Since those are the only ones I know, I must tell you what I have been told. Visitors believe that their suffering in the wastes gives them the purity to demand service from those of us who work for our supper. Against their lofty claims, at no time have the sands south of Mordor truly mattered. Visitors yearn for the best of those days, such as they were. Elsewhere, folk who have gotten used to eating every day quickly forget the dignity of hardship."

The Elf got to the heart, "Who are their leaders?"

"I cannot say. They do not show themselves. Bror's and wars come and go but they survive."

It was time for a question he thought he knew but needed scope, "Vegad, do you know if there are those organized against the Visitors?"

"Calling them organized would be charitable, but those who follow the ways of Gelansor do not support the Visitors' views. That comes in summer. Watch for lights at night."

~o~

The young girl politely interrupted. She did not know that the tall white man was the father of their bounty and her job was to make guests welcome. Another had just arrived. Nag Kath had just one last question, "How might I recognize one, either to be safe or for more information?"

I am not sure, but it is said they disdain the flesh of fish that swim on the sea bottom, the ones with faces like cats. Visitors claim those creatures eat foul things and so, are themselves, foul. I do not care for them either."

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

After three days as the toast of Riavod, Nag Kath booked passage across the harbor on a flat-bottomed vessel with both sail and oars that could travel both directions. Now that there was some trade between the empires, Nag Kath did not get the astonished stares he did before the battle. People still gawked but with his hair covering his ears, folk had finally stopped wondering if he was an Elf, because everyone knew the Elves had left.

There was only one road and the returning prisoners had not repaired it. It was safer to run Charlo alongside rather than in the dried wagon ruts. They still made good time riding southeast along the coast to skirt a range of steep hills almost reaching the sea. They reached as far as the tip jutting into the water when night closed-in. More of the same got them to Kugavod four days later.

Along the way, local militias stared but largely kept to themselves. Within a day of the capital, the mounted troops were the Bror's best. Easterling soldiers wore much the same clothing as the rest of the people. Very few soldiers, even in Gondor, had uniforms like palace guards. Garments were often newer, but only the badges or armor gave them away.

~o~

Three hours from Kugavod, he was stopped and questioned by twelve riders who looked a bit bored. And like bored, ill-tempered soldiers everywhere, they pretended not to understand his common-speech. Nag Kath had none of their language but was tolerant letting the sergeant try to be intimidating. Questions from these men would have scared locals witless. When he had had enough, Nag Kath said, "I am riding to speak with your Bror. Perhaps you can give me your name, esteemed sergeant, so I can tell him why he had to wait."

That squeezed the Sarge's tender parts. If the blonde pretty-boy was bluffing, the soldier could be ridiculed high and low for his deference. If he wasn't, the Bror was not known for forgiveness. The sergeant had been given an assignment in the other direction so he detached two troopers to escort the pale one back to the palace with orders to see what happened.

The two men spoke no Westron at all so they all galloped wordlessly to the closed city gates after fording a fair river. The corporal on the wall was in a bad mood too and he questioned the soldiers about returning alone. It took another five minutes until they convinced the gate guards they had been ordered to deliver the strange one and to open the dougsh door. Once in, they rode to the smaller gate of the royal compound.

It seemed to Nag Kath that citizens of Rhûn did not assume responsibility. You knew your place, commanding those beneath you with impunity and toadying to those above. At the smaller gate, a functionary in robes was finally found and brought to assess the uninvited petitioner for his Excellency. This one did speak tolerable Westron and said he would inform the chamberlain shortly.

Duty done, the two troopers reported to their barracks since the company they left would be a day's ride away. No one was responsible for the Elf so when the functionary did not return in two hours, he led Charlo towards what looked like the market area of town hoping to find an inn.

~o~

His luck was in. Civilians spoke more of the common-tongue than soldiers who were largely from the hill-country behind the capital. There was an inn that catered to merchants. It was not clean but not infested either and was probably as nice a place as he would find. After paying for his room and hay for Charlo, he had the innkeeper send a runner to the palace door notifying the chamberlain where he was. It was past dinner time but market stalls sold spiced lentils wrapped in flatbread that weren't half bad.

Nag Kath nibbled Lembas for breakfast and waited for his summons. By eleven, he guessed because there were no bells, he wandered up to the roof of the two-story building and surveyed the city. Gazing east along the river, plains and forests looked quite fertile. Vegad said this was the best land in the area. Hills climbed gradually producing enough drainage to feed crops. In a land of brown, the Agasha Dag fed the nation and produced its gentry. By noon he decided to take a stroll through the business district of the capital. His innkeeper assigned the youngest of several sons to stay with him. The lad looked no more than ten but in this place, childhood was not wasted on youth.

The Elf figured the city might hold four thousand souls, perhaps five hundred of those were soldiers. What had happened to the population of Middle-earth? Lore spoke of great hosts in battles from here to Linden. What did they eat? There might be more people staring up in the Dead Marshes than living between here and there.

The capital was a mix of people but on balance, they looked more southern than Northman. Most men did not have the bushy beards of colder climes. Their skin was tan, perhaps with a hint of olive. That certainly favored the women here with the added appeal of not being wrapped from head-to-toe in coarse woolens like simple folk of the west. They stared. He smiled.

The high-street ran from west to east and was intersected with lanes wide enough to run a cart through comfortably. There were balconies on most of the second-stories with lines to dry clothes. Most residential doors were open trying to circulate air. It was not hot yet but it would be in a month.

The lad was not there as a guide. Nag Kath wasn't sure what he was doing since if the palace called, they would both be out and about. Maybe if he turned down the wrong street the boy would tell him. There was also the issue of the Bror. He might not even be here. Everyone involved in getting him here and announcing him had done their job but it wouldn't be anyone's responsibility to tell him if His Excellency was three hundred miles away. No matter. He would loiter around the place for a few days and then slip south.

When in doubt; bribe. The Elf was not hungry but when he saw a stall selling treats made from sweet beets, he walked over and bought a small sack. A bench near a fountain was the perfect place to sit. Nag Kath slowly unwrapped one of the morsels and tantalizingly put the snack on his tongue, savoring it in ecstasy. The second took even longer. His little shadow was nearly drooling when Nag Kath gestured for him to sit on the bench and gave him one of the pink-colored treats.

"Do you speak the common-tongue?"

"Small amount, yes, best of possible sirs."

"Good lad. Which do you like, the pink or the tan ones?" The little boy shrugged with a smile. These were decisions he had never made. Nag Kath gave him a tan treat. "Now, I like fish. Do you know what fish is?"

"Yes. They swim and are eat."

The Elf nodded in approval, "Very good. I like the big red fish. Do you know which ones those are?" The boy shook his head. Nat Kath started to unwrap another of the sweets and made a fuss of not being able to extract it from the paper. That took nearly a minute. He dropped it in his mouth and gave the boy a pink treat. Pulling his pad from the satchel he drew one of the red fish that swam together near the surface. Then he drew a whisker-fish. He showed the two pictures to the boy and said he like the first one but not the second. Did the young man know places where the cat-faced fish were not served?

He would get nothing from the youngster, who had probably never eaten a meal not made in his mother's kitchen. It was worth a try. He gave the kid another treat and made his way further east. There was a small, walled area that looked a lot like where he had been kept waiting for the Bror on his first trip. Just for something to do, they made their there and began walking around it. One end had collapsed many years before. Stepping over the rocks they entered the very courtyard he had been detained. There were four sheds equally spaced around the oval perimeter, long disused with no doors, no roofs on two of them. There was no garden. There never had been a garden.

None of this was apparent to the little boy fixed on the shrinking sack of sweets. Nag Kath tossed him another as he gazed in wonder at what was probably a horse-drilling arena for long dead Brors. The remains of the wall above the break was almost like a flight of stairs. The Elf carefully climbed to the top of the wall and looked around. This was the only structure of its type. The palace was where he remembered it. A year ago this seemed to be much closer to the palace walls. It obviously wasn't. Anyone from town could walk in here either through the door-less gate or the collapsed east side. In one last confirmation of being fooled, Nag Kath went to Orlo's hut. It was empty but for large hungry spiders.

Nag Kath started through a hole in the wall at a meandering path towards the city when the boy said, "No, best sir. We go to there." He pointed the way they had come. It earned him the last treat.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

There was still no word from the palace. It could wait. The Elf thought he might slip out in the night after decent folk were tucked away. Approaching the dinner hour, two soldiers in livery came to the inn and asked for him. Nag Kath left everything where it was under a heavy confusion spell and bowed to the palace men. One said in tolerable Westron, "His Excellency will see you now."

He was led down the same series of corridors except at the end when the guards brought him to a large room adjacent to a smaller room divided by iron bars. Bror Dulgov stood ten feet to his side of the bars in the other room and accepted a deep bow from the Elf.

The rightful ruler of the land would not be within striking distance of this creature. Men of the west knew that Nag Kath had slain Easterling mercenaries trespassing in the Buhrs. The Easterlings themselves knew how he did it. In their absolute and remorseless world, Khalki, Lord who punishes the impure, was a savage wind who destroyed the unrighteous in fire and blood. One of the troopers from Dale told him what these men feared. And that's what they got.

The Dwarf-road slaughter would have reached the young Bror's ears. Dulgov was then and now the enemy of that rogue element. But that didn't mean the baby-faced boy behind the barrier would discriminate. The man said, "Welcome back, Nag Kath. Your coming was unannounced."

"Your pardon, Excellency. This is nothing so dire as my last visit. I hope I have not inconvenienced you."

"Thank you for you kindness to my son. He could have left Dale with seven wives."

Nag Kath was gracious, "You are welcome. He is a fine young man and represented your Excellency with distinction."

"I am glad to hear your visit is not perilous. What can I do for you?"

The Elf thought the Bror might be willing to dispense with the usual flowery preambles. "It pertains to the conversation I had with Prince Voranush. With your permission, I was hoping to turn south and thence towards Khand in search of our common enemies, Lord Bror."

That was a cleft stick for the man and both knew it. It would mean giving the creature a look at the breadbasket of the empire. But this one had talents that might root-out the Visitors, Visitors who for countless generations had made life miserable for the rightful rulers of Rhûn. His grandfather, Tespish, continued the alliance with Sauron and accepted orcs and spies in the bargain. Even then, the Visitors had schemed for the dark lord and their own purposes. His father Telantish had enjoyed personally flaying Visitors in salt when the survivors straggled back from Erebor, leaving Tespish's and his brother Boramn's heads moldering on pikes outside the gates.

He would allow the quest, but he had conditions, "I will arrange an escort of honor to accompany you as far as Kelepar. Is tomorrow convenient?"

"I am grateful, Your Excellency. I may be some time, but I will either return to tell you of my inquiries or send a letter. May I ask if there is a symbol or token of your exalted position that I may use so that the letter will reach you?"

The Bror commanded, "Approach."

As Nag Kath was walking to the grate, a robed man nodded twice and scurried off towards a large table in front of the only window in the room. Returning, he placed something small in the Bror's large hand.

The ruler considered it and said gravely, "This is a signet of my emissary. A letter sealed in wax and delivered to any soldier in my realm will find its way to me. I warn you though; you use this at my sufferance. Misuse has consequences." The Bror handed the ring back to the robed man who reached between the bars to give it to Nag Kath.

The Elf said, "Thank you, Excellency. It will only be used at the end of need."

Dulgov considered that, "A small thing. You helped me remove a thorn in my toe." The Lord of Rhûn turned and walked into the shadows.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

Since the Bror blessed his trip, Nag Kath decided against investigating who wasn't eating whisker-fish that night. The next morning he ate a quick breakfast and rode Charlo to the palace entrance where four riders were waiting. He nodded to the one who looked most senior. The man barked something in their tongue and they climbed in the saddle.

They were on the shaggy horses of the Agasha Dag. The beasts were bigger than ponies but not the size of western heavy cavalry. The riders themselves were on the lean side and lightly armored with lances. Two had Easterling short-arc bows over their backs and capped-quivers lashed behind the saddles. All four had short, curved swords. Other than arms they traveled light. Nag Kath assumed they would commandeer anything else they wanted along the way.

No one said a word until they were well past the main gate heading east towards the turn to the southern coast. The Elf thought he had better take the measure of the men. Most likely they were there to keep him from exploring. But it was also possible they might see trouble along the road. If so, he wanted to find out how they would deploy before it happened. Of course, they might be there to feed him to the Stoor fish.

Nag Kath looked over to the leader and said, "Nice horse, Sergeant. He is well trained."

The man was trapped. He could refuse to answer anything about their route, himself or Rhûn but horsemen have to talk about their horses. "He is of Agasha Dag, a noble breed." The speech was hard to understand through the accent but he did speak some Westron.

"Oh, we'll be riding by there. I have heard your farms are superb."

The rider seethed. This silly blonde man had tricked him into revealing their breeding grounds. On the other hand, he had paid his Bror and the horse under him a compliment. A response was required. "Thank you. We are proud of them."

That was as much as Nag Kath needed to know just now. The other men were trying to see if the arrows in his quiver were the same kind pulled from the Usurper. They weren't. These were Gondor arrows. The Elvish scabbard got some attention too. They would all know this man had a hand in quashing the invasion. They probably did not know that he was the silver wind thirty years before.

~o~

Vegad wasn't able to supply much information about the terrain east and south of the capital. The road was fair. Only soldiers rode. A party returning to Kugavod stopped to chat in their language with no special deference given to his escort. These would be some of the Bror's best, outfitted to seem ordinary. Occasional wagons were pulled by ponies or donkey's but almost everyone they saw was on foot.

After a few hours they stopped to water the horses at clear brook running into the sea. The Rhûn itself was slightly salty. You could drink it but it did not satisfy. Nag Kath climbed off his horse to get a drink himself. The men didn't seem to mind but stayed in their saddles. Had they seen his hand they might have noticed a hint of silver.

There were no inns. Rough villages along the road were either single homes or larger group dwellings with the occasional blacksmith or barn. The few people out stared at him but never at the soldiers. Shortly after lunchtime, not that they ate, they saw the first organized horse farms. Fields were divided into paddocks and grazing areas based on the age, sex and use of the animals. Further inland he could see them being trained, youngsters individually and older horses in formation.

Nag Kath glanced but seemed uninterested. Easterlings did not understand that horse training in his lands was no secret at all. What he wanted to know was how Frûnzar stole four hundred of them under the noses of anyone watching and got them to the other side of the sea. He would have had a lot of help, help that was probably glowering at the blonde rider right now.

Occasionally the Elf would ask a safe question and get a safe reply from the one man. The others did not speak in his or any other tongue. Nearing dusk they reached an outpost with a corral and low, wooden building. There was another like-sized party heading north that had already arrived and claimed their bunks. No one relinquished their cots when Nag Kath's group came and the men conversed as equals. They all glanced at the Elf but kept busy starting a fire for an evening meal.

Stew! Always stew! In this case, horse stew. Nag Kath ate some of the carrots in the pot but relied on Lembas for sustenance. With enough time he probably could have pulled in a few fish from the bank.

~o~

The second day was a repeat of the first. A spit of land into the Rhûn had a small fishing village with both row and sailing boats. Nag Kath signaled the escort to hold-up as he inspected the catch. They all pulled up without comment. The man in the boat was both gratified and frightened. Why would soldiers with a stranger wonder about his catch? It wasn't a very good day, either. The man and his son beamed in pride as the blonde fellow chose a red jouchar and a bottom-feeder with whiskers. The price for such fine fish, just caught, was but a single groat, certainly worth more!

It had been a long time since Nag Kath had carried individual coppers. He handed the man a fiver. There was no possibility the fisherman could make change. Easterlings usually traded for goods. The fisherman was still trying to decide what to do when the blonde man told the son to wrap the two fish in a wet cloth and seemed to ignore getting his four groats back. Was this possible? Did the soldiers see the fiver and plan to return for their cut? The deal was done and the five riders left the dazed fisherman squeezing the coin until his knuckles were white.

From there they passed more horse farms and more mounted patrols. A party of twelve looked green. Both cavalry and mounts learned at the same speed. Their boots might have been worn at the siege of Erebor. Another dozen men approached from the south. This lot was more experienced. Their leader had the swagger of an officer and demanded to know their business. His Sergeant must have calmly told the Lieutenant who he worked for. Rank still mattered but this officer was out here in the hinterland. The Sergeant had the power, and they both knew it.

The half-troop made another way-station before dark. Like the other, troopers were already here. There were no cots at this one. You laid your bedroll inside. Now for the experiment; one of the troopers from another unit was starting a fire for horse stew. Nag Kath wandered over and handed him the two fish. The fellow unrolled the cloth and looked at them. Gazing up at the tall stranger he smiled with surprisingly good teeth and gutted them for the pot.

Two men, both from troops heading north, either weren't hungry or picked at their dinner the way Nag Kath usually did. They weren't pleased either and stole glimpses at each other or the blonde man (a prisoner?) on the sly. Everyone else cleaned their bowls and afterwards played a dice game that seemed to have no rules. No one approached him after lights-out.

With luck, day three would take them to Kelepar. This was the best grain-land on the trip. Nearing the city, there were more pastures with mares nursing foals. One of his trooper's stallions was romantic but Charlo did not react.

The Bror was as good as his word. Nag Kath never got the sense his escort meant him harm. Making the city meant fording the fair-sized Fela Dotomok River. There was a ferry for people and goods but it could not handle horses. The men knew right where to cross for the best footing and only had to swim about fifty feet. It was a warm day and they would be dry soon. The Sergeant told Nag Kath that he was now on his own and bowed a soldier's bow before whistling-up his men for an evening of more horse-stew.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

The Elf looked around and thought this was a nice little place. There wasn't much to do but he had better get used to that. The inn was a single-story affair that had a crowd of merchants on the porch. Nag Kath walked Charlo to the post. Everyone stared but they didn't scowl. He nodded with a smile and hoped someone inside spoke the common-speech. Nag Kath couldn't have been the first man not from here because the woman at what he took to be the desk smiled and said, "Good afternoon, best of sirs. What can our humble inn offer such a distinguished gentleman?"

He said slowly, "Thank you. I would like lodging and stabling for a night, perhaps longer."

"Excellent. I have a room towards the back, very quiet."

Nag Kath decided if it was full of bugs he would rent it anyway and rest on his bedroll. The room was actually nice. Again, not scrupulously clean, but un-infested with an oiled-paper window that let in light. As in Kugavod, a full complement of sons saw to Charlo after Nag Kath got his bags. They had never seen a horse that had already shed his winter coat this early, and so tall!

After placing a strong confusion ward on his bags, he walked back out to the small main room and for the first time saw that wine, not ale, was the drink of choice. This wasn't Dorwinion, but vines on this side of the sea produced as good a wine as most places other than Dorwinion. The Elf thought they could sell this if they could get it to market. It made him think of Orlo the boatwright. The right winds could push the right vessel across this little sea.

One of the attractions of Kelepar was large trout, nearly as big as on the Dusenorn, that lived and died on the Agasha and its tributaries. The flesh was bright pink. He found a tavern that baked them with gureeq loaves and roots like a potato but sweeter. With such fare, there were no whisker-fish offered. And it was cheap. The room was a fiver and dinner was two groats. They could make change.

Nag Kath was in no hurry. In the morning he wandered around the city which might have two thousand people. It was not walled so the population spilled onto the main road and one following the south bank of the river. There was a road on the north bank too but they had to ford because there was only the beginnings of a settlement when it reached the mouth. The Elf mused that Gondorans would have built a bridge by now. Here, it was someone else's problem.

The market was bustling. Men and women both carried large bales on their backs with another band around their forehead for balance. Well before harvest, most goods were cloth or leatherworks. There were horses too. Farms on this side of the river sold to the military but they were not run by the military. People always stopped to look at the out-of-place stranger but quickly returned to haggling. Nearer the sea were fish mongers waiting for the afternoon catch. They still had a few from yesterday lifelessly staring at those who didn't mind a little extra flavor to save money.

~o~

A bit further downriver Nag Kath reached a place where boats were being built or repaired. Lumber from a pit saw upstream was floated down to be shaped or bent into twelve-foot fishing boats that could either be sailed or rowed. It was much like the shipyards on the Anduin mouth. Workmen carefully laminated thinner boards around a curved form and then pegged them with wooden dowels. For some reason, Nag Kath always worried about them springing back like a wheel rim but they used a wood that would retain its new shape when boiled.

He spent several hours sitting near the docks and sketching the craft. That drew an assortment of interested folk, mostly children, who giggled and chatted in their own tongue. As usual, he drew sketches for them to overall amazement. One shoeless little girl was sure her picture was worth gold and ran home before anyone could take it away.

Nag Kath spent several days wandering and drawing. Adults were suspicious but no one followed him, and he made a point of being obvious. No one seemed dazed near his room either. The only trouble came as he was saddling to leave. Another troop of soldiers, coming from the south, wanted to know his business here.

The Elf respectfully said he was on his way to Mistrand which did not serve the squad leader's purpose of finding if the blonde man should be questioned or detained. He could have produced the Bror's signet ring whenever he wanted but being invited to the local headquarters was probably a better way to learn than drawing sailboats. Through hand-signs the westerling was to come with him and they all rode back a block from his inn to a squat, brown building with troopers loitering on the porch.

The man's soldiers waited while he took the Elf inside to the duty officer. They spoke in their tongue and occasional looks at the placid stranger and then the desk man said, "Why are you doing in Kelepar?"

"I am traveling to Mistrand, officer. Is there trouble on the route?"

The man's eyebrows furrowed deciphering that and he said, "These are not your lands."

Pretending not to understand he said, "Yes, I am leaving here to go to Mistrand."

"Mistrand, Kelepar, they are not your lands."

"Then I should be on my way."

~o~

The man stood to not an imposing height and shouted something in their tongue. Two soldiers appeared on either side of the Elf. "You will answer to the Furjar!" The four of them walked down the hall to what they were surprised to find was an empty office. Easterlings don't generally have offices so this must be the high fellow of Kelepar, a Khan, perhaps? The desk man would not be put-off. He said gruffly, "You wait here!" and stamped out of the room to enquire about the boss. Nag Kath and the two guards stood there for almost half a bell until the desk man returned with a well-dressed civilian who sat down at his own desk and apprised the tall detainee before saying, "I was told you are here without leave."

While they were waiting, Nag Kath slipped the ring on his little finger, the only one it would fit. He put his knuckles on the desk and said softly, "I am sure there is some mistake."

The man was about to utter something officious when he saw the ring. He turned to the desk officer and said in their language what could only be; 'I'll take it from here.' The desk man waved the guards out self-importantly leaving only Nag Kath and the Furgar who sat patiently. Whoever this strange man was, he had an emissary ring.

Nag Kath said, "Thank you, good sir. I was just leaving for Mistrand. I hope this has not inconvenienced you."

"Not at all. I am sorry for the misunderstanding."

The Elf could be magnanimous, "They were just doing their duty."

The official asked, "May I be of assistance?"

Nag Kath was of two minds and decided not to discuss his search. Vegad had said there was no telling where high Visitors hid. And even though this man represented his Excellency, patriotic Easterlings would have been proud if the Usurper had created a new dynasty in the hated Gondoran province across the sea. The Elf bowed graciously and said, "No thank you, good sir. I am just passing through."

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

A light day's ride hugging the coast took Nag Kath to the fishing village of Rhunea. Most of the rivers flowing into the inland sea had sizeable bays. This town was the last point on open water before the road followed the long inlet to the Súrûbeki River. The terrain below the Agasha was getting dryer. Farms here used a clever system of ditches coming from streams in the foothills to the east as tributaries grew fewer. As usual, people stared but no one bothered him. Troops were less plentiful too.

There was one tavern with a fish stew. He slept outside. From there it took another four days of comfortable riding to reach the regional capital of Mistrand. The land became increasingly tan. There were no horse farms and the only row crops were strains of the gureeq grain and a hardy strain of pea or lentils. The people who lived here were all within half a mile of the sea.

Orlo described the Súrûbeki River as; 'an unlovely brown ditch'. It wasn't that bad as that but it was not the crisp, refreshing water of the north. Near town it flowed through a flood plain that was also equipped with ditches to water fields or short, stunted trees bearing olives or nuts. The city had the remnants of a wall that must have fallen well before the last age. From a distance, Nag Kath put it at two thousand souls including both sides of the river. Most of that was on the western bank so they forded a mile upstream at obvious shallows with only one deep channel to swim.

In his entire experience, from hamlets to cities, there was a certain feel to the industry of northern men that revolved around cold, fallow winters. Here there was warm and hot. Crops still had their seasons but there wasn't a time when people bundled in every rag they owned sat around their stove. Most stoves were outside so the home wouldn't be unbearable while cooking.

Nag Kath walked Charlo along the entire length of the coastline and then back up the river after learning it was the most prosperous part of town. There were three inns. He started with the one that had horse posts in front. The innkeeper reminded him of Tanlath in Edoras with thin, oiled hair carefully placed across a pink scalp. He was short and round with a bushy moustache and shaved the rest intermittently. The Elf would find that most men here went to barbers for that service rather than doing it themselves.

Mistrand must see occasional travelers from common-tongue lands because the man said understandably, "Welcome to the Kellesh Thand! How can we assist such a lordly sir?"

"Thank you. I seek accommodation for myself and my horse. I expect to be here a week, perhaps more."

"Then you have come to the very place! My family has our own stable for horses where we feed to them true grass hay. Does sir have other requirements?"

"No, just a clean room, on the north side if you have one." That would get the least afternoon sun.

The man rubbed his hands, "I may just have one available. Please follow me."

It took him about twice as many steps as Nag Kath but down a hall were four rooms with stout doors. The innkeeper pushed the second one inwards and gestured for the guest to inspect. It was clean with a bed that was almost long enough and a lattice window of oiled paper that could be opened from the inside. It would serve.

After seeing the blonde guest had no questions or objections, the little man said, "I am embarrassed to say the room and boarding for your animal will be seven Gondor groats per night but am pleased to say that for a week it is only six." That was probably double what someone who knew this road paid but Nag Kath was not one to quibble for real grass hay. He counted out coppers rather than show silver and followed the innkeeper to the front.

Somewhat unusually, the runner/helper at the Kellesh Thand was a girl of about fifteen. Fortunate in many things, Mr. Cuaranger's wife had borne him four baby girls and they did what lads did at most places. This girl must take after her mother because she was already taller than her beaming da. She took Charlo to the stall while a girl about two years younger dragged his satchel.

~o~

Another thing that was different than most of northern Middle-earth was that guests registered and their presence was reported to the city authorities. Taxes were partially based on business and it also kept the guardi appraised of strangers in case anything went missing during their stay. There was a book of the cheapest paper to state one's name and home. Most were filled-in by a single hand, probably the innkeeper's, for guests who were unlettered. Nag Solvanth wrote he was from Isengard.

Mr. Cuaranger also owned the restaurant next door where honored patrons had their choice of fish or pork tonight! His brother was the cook. Dinner was only an hour away, judging by the sun, so Nag Kath took a stroll and returned to join the first seating. He had his choice of fish too. One was the red school-fish and the other was a bottom-fish at half the price. There were few trout in the Súrûbeki, just smaller versions of the same fish in the bay.

It was still good and he was learning to appreciate the rough-grain loaves served in most of Rhûn. The restaurant was not a pub and closed when the food ran out so Nag Kath walked back into town and explored in plain sight. There were no bells. He figured it would be light until the niner in Minas Tirith.

Men did not seem to drink much here. There were wine bars, some served ale too, but many folk had their limit early and then switched to tea with pipes of the local leaf. Places where drinks were served later generally had gambling of some sort like the dice game the troopers played with a variety of side bets. Every so often, the keeper of the pit would roll the dice eight times to show folk that they had not been weighted to favor one number. Nag Kath had never won playing Dukks for toothpicks so he stayed away from games of chance.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

The next day he strolled to the boat-works after gureeq porridge. Logs of harder trees from this river and softer timbers barged from Kelepar kept dozens of half-naked men and lads shouting and dashing about. Some sang in unison even though they worked on different boats.

Nag Kath was here because of the empty compound in Kugavod. Orlo said he worked here. There must have been powerful sorcery to trick him into seeing walls and silent gardeners tending plants that were never there. Nag Kath had also discovered what bothered him about his sketches. One time he remembered Orlo grasping a porch roof support to help him rise. Another time he pushed off the boards. He had drawn them both ways without noticing the discrepancy. That was what he saw at the time. The abandoned feed shack had no porch at all.

The Elf sat on a rock and started sketching men attaching a mast on a fifteen-foot boat. It took a few of them to place it in the slot and step it to the right pitch. It was a good picture. He was also there to draw attention. Sooner or later, someone would come by and start a conversation. It was later, but finally a man who seemed a supervisor of some sort walked towards town and wasn't too bashful to look over Nag Kath's shoulder. The artist asked him, "What kind of boat is that?"

The man held up a finger and shouted to a fellow on deck in their own tongue. The nut-brown man spoke to a lad for a moment and then strode towards the Elf and supervisor. The two men spoke again for a moment and the new fellow said cheerfully, "Yes, I am speak you." The first man continued towards town.

To make it easy, Nag Kath changed his question to, "Are these boats to catch fish." Then he pantomimed a swimming red jouchar."

"Yes. Jouchar, hakûn, Stoor, yes."

The Elf did a little fishing of his own, "Did Orlo make boats?"

The Boatwright grinned again and said, "Orlo much here, yes, for all." One of the laborers at the dock whistled and the man nodded before walking back to his mast.

There seemed to be five different crews making or maintaining boats. The next day he found another rock at the far end of the yard and started drawing. At lunch time, a stout woman and two youngsters brought a basket that got the immediate attention of three men and two lads working on the largest vessel. The woman was not happy that her place had been appropriated by this pale, lanky stranger and started to protest when one of the children saw the picture of their da pegging and called everyone to see.

They gathered round as the men arrived for lunch and in their tongue decided this was a fine thing indeed. A man who might well be the father of the other two was last to arrive. Nag Kath smiled and asked, "The hull is near done, yes?"

The older fellow looked back the boat and replied, "We must chink the seams first."

"Ahhh, I know little about making boats."

The man accepted something wrapped in flatbread from the frowning woman and took a bite before saying, "We always learn something new. Water wants to find its way in. It is patient."

The two younger men chatted with the lads and children leaving the woman waiting with her basket until the stranger relinquished her picnic rock. The older man talked with Nag Kath in tolerable Westron. When the food was almost gone Nag Kath tried again, "Did Orlo make boats."

"Orlo informs all things."

The Elf thought he had better be more direct, "I am seeking Orlo."

"All men of good heart seek Orlo."

"I am sorry. I thought he was a man."

The builder chuckled before saying, "Someone's parents thought highly of their babe. Or a man thinks highly of himself. Orlo is the spirit of 'right living', one of the Tschurans of Those Named."

This was not where the Elf thought the conversation would go but he really shouldn't have expectations given how he had been fooled the first time. As if embarrassed for butchered their language he said sheepishly, "I must have misunderstood. He was a short fellow, about so high, with no hair and a short gray beard. He said he was from here but that might have been some time ago."

It was time to work. The man gave a thin smile and wished him well. Nag Kath gave the children the sketch of their menfolk, tipped his brow to the woman who was still scowling and meandered towards the city offices. If the guardi had questions, they knew where to find him. There were no door guards since there was nothing to steal. Stealing in Mistrand mostly happened from inside this building.

He walked in the door and asked the first man he saw if anyone spoke his language. That took a conference of everyone in the room but a man next door was produced and walked over. The Elf told him, "I am visiting and wanted to pay my respects to the Khan."

"No Khan now. He dead three years."

"I am sorry to hear that. Who sees to your proud home now?"

"Fuhrvad is Deloth now."

Nag Kath used his most ingratiating smile, "I can pay my respects to the Deloth."

The man shook his head and said, "He go to Dilgul. Two week, sorry, two weeks to come back."

The Elf thanked the man for his courtesy and took the long way back to the inn. There was an unclaimed chair on the porch so he put his hat on his knee and retrieved his notebook from the satchel. The rune descriptions from Scholar Vientis were folded inside. One of the symbols not carved in the Visitor's stone was Chôlar; being of balance and choice. Was that what the old man meant? He wasn't there to convert stray Elves from Gondor. Someone knew Nag Kath was more than he seemed. And someone else in the palace helped.

Tonight's stew was mutton. Nag Kath walked half a block down and found another restaurant with men, only ever men, smoking and eating fish. He took a table and ordered. This place sold whisker-fish. That was not his favorite any more than Rosscranith's, but anything was better than sheep.

He was followed back to the inn. The man either wasn't very good or the real shadow was already ahead knowing his route. Nag Kath did not have his sword. Most men did not carry them. Turning a corner he slipped into "The Fast" and crossed the street into darkness. Moments later, a man dressed in everyday clothes stopped on the corner and realized his quarry was gone. Not seeming concerned, he walked back the way he came. The tail became the tailed.

The changeling followed him to a tavern that had wine and dice. There would be no blending-in, he being the only six and a half foot Elf in Mistrand that season. Nag Kath stood in another dark place among the many and watched the door. His follower emerged an hour later not appearing any the worse for wine and turned towards a residential district four blocks from the river. A door opened as he walked on the porch. The home was modest but cheerful and had a small flower garden, many of which with blossoms that only open at night.

~o~

It was reasonable to think the man would try to regain the scent at Nag Kath's inn the next morning. Nag Kath would meet him on the way. The shortcut was an alley between two small buildings.

"Huhhh?!" A white hand pulled the man by the collar into shadow.

The Elf asked, "Can I help you with something?"

"Do not squeeze. I am no enemy." Nag Kath put him down but said nothing. The fellow caught his breath and said, "You seek Orlo?"

"I do."

"Have fish again tonight at Harlubra. Leave by turning right and walk slowly."

"Harlubra?"

"Upriver from your inn."

They left in different directions.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

Harlubra was more a grocery than restaurant. Nag Kath went in at what he thought was the local dinnertime and ordered the only thing they served. The other diners looked at him before resuming their conversations. The fish was probably tasty but he wasn't there for the meal. After a decent interval, he handed the server two groats and stretched before making the door and casually turning east. Shops here did not have windows so there was no pretending to examine merchandise. Most vendors worked from their porches into the street except during rare rainstorms. Shops were where they stored their goods.

It was still light. A small girl had gotten too far ahead of her parents and the woman rushed forward to collect her before she ran into the tall man coming the other way. The mother held her in her arms and said barely loud enough to be heard, "We must be careful, dearest. Not all can come where we go."

Her husband caught up a few moments later and they continued the way Nag Kath had come. The Elf kept going and looped around the block behind the couple. The woman and child went into a home and the man kept walking towards the market, to every eye ready for an evening of wine and pipe-weed. He entered a building and walked out the back to meet the waiting Nag Kath. Wordlessly they criss-crossed a few blocks and entered an unlit home.

Inside there were oil lamps unable to penetrate reed coverings over the oiled-paper windows. There were two other men sitting at the other end of the room. After the door shut, one said, "So, you seek Orlo?"

"Orlo seems to be many things."

The same man; "Your seeking is far from your home."

"And has been life-long."

The voice, he couldn't tell whose, asked, "This Orlo of many things, what part brought you here?"

"I am prepared to tell you much. May I sit?" The figure nodded from inside his hooded robe. Nag Kath's guide showed him a chair and sat in the one next to it. Comfortable, the Elf told of meeting the elderly man in the Bror's hospitality and some of their conversations. Then he added, "There was strong sorcery, gentle and not malign. My coming here cannot be a complete surprise."

The man who had not spoken said, "Claiming knowledge of powers is for men who have lost their reason, or who seek to further their own ends."

"I have met both. If this was an invitation, I am here. If not, I journey south two days hence. I am no danger to those I have met and I will not go anywhere I have already been."

The first hooded man mulled that for a moment and said, "We will consider your words. This gentleman will see you out."

Nag Kath and his guide stood and left the house. At the first intersection towards the inn, the man turned and walked into the night.

Nothing happened for two days. The innkeeper's smallest girl had a low fever. Nag Kath removed it when no one was looking. There was not much of interest in the market. Women in a wide range of sizes called from balconies offering to slake his every desire. He doubted that.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

Two days later, Nag Kath saddled Charlo and trotted south along the river. He was a bell out of town when a rider approached from his right. The man was not visibly armed and did not close at attack speed. Nag Kath did not reach for either weapon. It was the father, or the man posing as the father, of the little girl. He said with no trace of malice, "Good morning sir. A pleasant day for a ride."

"I hope so."

"If you will follow me." He turned his shaggy horse around and Nag Kath nosed Charlo the same way. The fellow said, "Thank you for your patience. I am Verdracht. Cities are not the right place for new friendships, yes?"

Nag Kath agreed, "I see the wisdom of that, too many ears. I am called Nag Kath."

"Well, Nag Kath, we have a half-day's ride ahead of us. I can be charming or quiet, your choice."

"Let us start with charming." Verdracht? It seemed a harsh northern name despite the man's pleasing olive complexion. His Westron was heavily accented but easily understood. What else he or his friends understood about Nag Kath was uncertain. Northern Easterlings knew quite a bit. He had probably gotten more of them killed than any man in thirty years. Down here, the greased palms of the empire had a shorter reach. In their time, they warred more with northern clans than anyone outside their own disputed borders.

There was the issue of sorcery. Whoever had created the illusion in the compound was more powerful than him. Nag Kath had to fight the temptation to impress with childish tricks. What mattered was that he had been invited to a council. How that went depended on whose side they thought he was on.

Verdracht talked about the land, the crops, the beauty and virtue of the women (presumably excluding those calling from the balconies) and everything else a visitor could want to know about the "Nose of Gathod" reaching into the Rhûn. He was less sanguine about troops, political alliances and Orlo. Nag Kath liked him. Optimism has a way of showing itself on a long, dull ride. Two hours later they reached a ridge of low hills emerging from the grasslands. Dry creeks, and occasionally wet ones, cut the soil up the grade. There were no other hoof prints.

In the same inoffensive tone as he used describing dicing dens, Verdracht told Nag Kath he could go no further without wearing a hood over his eyes. The Easterling tossed him a tightly woven sack and Nag Kath put it on. They rose for half a bell and descended for another, crossing a creek with enough water for the horses to drink. In the late afternoon they stopped and men came forward. Verdracht called, "You can take the mask off."

~o~

They had reached a village about a quarter of the way down the western side of the ridge. Twelve buildings surrounded a large common hall in the center. There was water from a stream and the hills were noticeably greener than on the way here. Both of them dismounted and led their horses to the second largest building.

Inside, Verdracht nodded to several men on his way to a room with the door wide open. He said, "Wait here." and stepped inside. Nag Kath stayed about five minutes until his guide looked around the door jam and said, "Come in."

Three men sat around a table that would hold eight. None were younger than their forties, one, who might be of Khand, older yet. Verdracht showed him to the furthest chair from any of them and shut the door behind him as he left.

All three men were wearing flowing tan robes over normal dress with hoods that could be drawn over their heads at need. The man at the center said slowly in heavily accented Westron, "We understand you are interested in right living."

Nag Kath replied, "I am, sir."

"And why would a northerner want to learn about quaint southern superstitions?"

"Right living is appropriate for all men."

The fellow folded his fingers together on the table and continued, "I could not agree more. But we would know the reason for your coming."

"I am concerned about less quaint superstitions, and I believe you are as well."

The man to the right said, "Northerners cannot be bothered with pleasantries." There was no trace of humor in his grim face.

The questioner grimaced and said, "I beg your pardon young man. You have ridden long and we have not even offered you tea. I hope you understand this is irregular."

The Elf earnestly said, "I do, sir, though, perhaps, an opportunity."

A plainly dressed woman entered through a back door with a large pot of tea and mugs on a tray. She came to Nag Kath first to give him his choice of mugs and poured for him. Then she took the tray around the table, a custom to show guests the drink was untainted. After she left, all four of them took a sip. Nag Kath not sense any false sweetness. The Elf supposed these people had not heard anything accurate about him, if anything at all, so he offered the opening exchange, "Sirs, my name is Nag Kath. My purpose is to discover if those who call themselves Visitors have sorceries at their call of if they simply claim it to exhort their servants."

The man who seemed from Khand was from Khand and spoke for the first time, "That would seem daunting for a single warrior."

"My work is known. I am advisor to high kings, most recently your own. It is one of many stories."

The men's faces showed years of discipline, but attracting the Bror's attention was never a good idea. The man in the middle said cautiously, "I would hear that story first."

"Two years ago I rode to him with counsel to destroy his brother's infantry on the soil of Rhûn rather than let Frûnzar open old wounds across the river. If the Bror wasn't already despised by the Visitors, he is now. I assisted with his Excellency's diplomatic overtures in Dale. A month ago I called in the favor by asking his leave to inquire about the Visitors."

The Khandian still thought this a young man's self-absorption, "Counselor to kings on subjects of sorcery, you say. Great claims require great proofs."

Undaunted, Nag Kath responded, "I am known in Gondor and Dale." He smiled, "Most accounts are embellished. Riders to either, or even to Riavod, can confirm my claims. I will remain in the safety of your aerie while you judge my veracity."

That seemed fair. The men knew they did not have to go that far.

~o~

Verdracht took Nag Kath to one of the smaller buildings and said he would collect him shortly for dinner. His room was not a cell but it was spare. He had stayed in worse. Nothing had been confiscated so he hung his bow and scabbard on a peg and found his cleanest clothes.

The reason for not taking the blonde stranger directly to the dining hall was so Verdracht could inform a merchant already there that the Ghurate (council) wanted a word. The fellow walked outside to the large building and presented himself without ceremony. The man on the right smiled and said, "Prestigir, you are much in Gondor, yes?"

"I have long traded along the Anduin, sometimes in Osgiliath, occasionally in Minas Tirith, sir."

"What do you know of a man called Nag Kath?"

Prestigir thought a moment. The right-living trader was not given to exaggeration. "He is the man who built the water pipe from the mountains to Osgiliath, a great work against plagues. Tell is; he is an Elvish sorcerer from Orthanc. My brother worked on the pipe and said he was kindly and healed sickness among the distressed. His statue is a short, bearded workman."

The middle man said grimly, "That is not our usual impression of Elves."

Prestigir grinned, "I think the artist made a mistake. Ünorigir said he seemed a tall, beardless youth until you read his eyes. I have never seen him, sirs."

The Khandian asked quietly, "Does his reputation suggest he might favor our cause?"

"I should think so, Ghur Distral, though he has enemies. Tales told; he put the arrow through Frûnzal himself. I do not put much stock in campfire stories."

They talked for a few more minutes. The three looked at each other and the man on the right said, "Thank you. Go enjoy your supper."

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

Nag Kath did not enjoy his. A large bite of something he hadn't tried before proved to be pepper sauce. He scurried out the door and put his head in the stream. When he could feel his tongue again, he went back to the mess room and saw that diners put tiny dabs of the substance on other foods. Appetite gone, he looked around the hall. There were eighteen men and women eating, some with children. An earlier wave had come and gone.

When he returned to his chair there was a man enjoying stew across from his abandoned plate. The fellow smiled. Nag Kath wasn't sure he could still smile but he moved his face enough to manage 'hello'. His neighbor nodded and said a blessing in the Rhûnic tongue before putting spoon to bowl. The Elf tried the un-peppered greens and found he could still chew.

That evening the tables were moved to the side and there was a service that reminded Nag Kath of wedding vows in the west with a little Elf-keeper story-telling to boot. Men rose to declaim, some reading, some reciting from memory. A few told new stories. They were all in Rhûnic or further languages he did not understand. The faces were interesting. Were they like the Valarans? Nag Kath stayed for the whole program since there would be no waking rest while his mouth throbbed. When they broke, a man in the garb of an Ithilien trader gave him a long, thoughtful look before finding his bed.

The next morning his mouth was recovered. He still wasn't hungry so he saw to Charlo's accommodations. The horse was among a dozen. There were no individual stalls. Animals could come into a barn or stay in the paddock. During the day, two lads led them out to graze in the first grass Nag Kath had seen in weeks. Their windward side of this ridge stole every drop of water Manwë brought east. Two small dogs kept sheep from straying.

His minders did not seem to mind him wandering so he had a closer look at the buildings without going in. Most were apartments, like the ones he owned in Dale. Families were given space according to their size. They had central tables but meals were almost always held in the dining hall just like Gandalf's Orthanc. Nag Kath chuckled thinking all such kitchens must have a Rosas rapping the knuckles of untimely diners.

The view was from the ridge of the 'Nose', a peninsula jutting into the sea between the harbors of Mistrand and Lest to the west. From an eagle's eye, the formation was more like a fist with the thumb raised. Of course, only low company would use that comparison. He had gone better than half way around the Rhûn and was fairly close to Gondor again, albeit a very unclaimed area of Aragorn's domain. Peoples of those lands spoke only Rhûnish and looked east for kinship. This was close to Mordor too. Nag Kath wondered when his quest would bring him to the deepest dark.

~o~

Verdracht found the Elf washing in a stream out of common view and sat along the bank. The man put a stalk of long-grass in his teeth and waited. After Nag Kath put his shirt on he was told, "The Ghurs would like a word."

The three were arrayed in the same chairs and same clothes, probably the same mugs. Without far-speaking they could not have vetted his contentions so Nag Kath thought this might be another probe. That was of no moment. Being immortal, he had more time than they did. The middle man opened with, "We may have underestimated you, young man. Are you Kath of the Water?"

Ohhh. Kath of the Wargs too. "I have been called that in the tongues of men."

"Very well. We will dispense with idle chat. What do you know of Orlo?"

"Precious little. I met a man who called himself Orlo on my first trip to Kugavod. We were both in the Bror's custody, he as a hostage against a family debt and me while his Excellency confirmed his brother's forces were massing on the Celduin. We had three pleasurable days together in a walled garden speaking much of his Gelansor observances."

Without changing his conversational tone he added, "It was all in a haze of sorcery. The pretty garden was really a dirt field. Walls in my mind had fallen centuries before. It took me a year to pull the threads of that spell. But the conversations were real. He set the hook and I followed the line to this place."

The man in the center took in every word. "Nag Kath, my name is Vrenstides. To my left is Grandol Zoldan and this is Amedies Distral. You are among those who seek right living. Only small groups are known to each other. I am sure you can appreciate that. Would you mind telling me more of your new friend?"

Nag Kath held up a finger to beg their indulgence while he rummaged through his satchel, producing the picture of Orlo sitting on the stoop drinking tea. Distral was close enough to slide the paper across the polished table. The Khandian's face was completely still, register neither concern nor recognition. But there was something. He passed it to Vrenstides. Zoldan got it last. None of the men spoke.

While they considered the drawing, Nag Kath said, "He said he tried to remember his verses rather than writing new ones so Those Named could find him. He also said he was there while the Bror settled accounts with his brother-in-law, the Khan of Mistrand. I later found the Khan died and there was no debt.

Still holding the sketch, Zoldan asked, "Did this person say where he was from, Mr. Kath?"

"He said he built fishing boats in Mistrand for long years before retiring. That was where I looked and where you found me. He also said his wife was dead and a married daughter lived elsewhere."

When the three men were silent, Nag Kath said, "Then, there is this." He pulled the rock tracing and passed that to the Khandian. "I interrogated a Visitor on the battlefield. Before he died, he told me it was how I could praise his men to the dark lord."

Zoldan had not gotten the sheet but he knew what it was. "A Visitor willingly told you this?!"

"Not willingly."

Vrenstides preemptively said, "We will have to consider this, Nag Kath."

It was time for them to share. In his Elf-Lord voice he spoke, "Then consider this also. I have come to learn if these Visitors, or anyone else, can summon dark powers. They are out there. I slew a minion of the Witch-King seeking to escape his living death. If right living opposes the return of darkness, you have my sword. In exchange, I must everything about them … and a good deal about you, though I will not ask who others are or how to find them. Take as long as you need."

Two riders left the next morning on a long journey.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

It did not take long. Late that afternoon he was called to a smaller room with just Vrenstides and Zoldan standing by the door. Both bowed for the first time. Zoldan said, "Your offer is accepted. We have much to learn."

There was a pattern to his outrageous statements to high councils. They always needed to ruminate and despite the answer, they generally had no idea what to do with him. The Ghurate moved more quickly.

Nag Kath's first order of business was asking about archives. He needed someone to explain those runes and the history of such symbols. The archives were a pair of men, one about fifty and the other nearing seventy. There was no written tradition among these people, damning proof if caught by any of a dozen enemies. The younger man was nearly blind from birth and had been taught the skill of long, precise storytelling. He had earned his coppers traveling the vast distances between what passed for towns but was now here and welcome for as long as he liked. Most of his stories had been for entertainment and he would localize them to please the crowd. Now he concentrated on the right-living tracks that had been so dangerous to even speak.

The older man was their version of a Scholar, one of several. He had read archives in undisclosed locations but spoke very little of the common tongue. Ghur Distral took Nag Kath to meet them and told them the blonde's emersion was of the first moment. It would take both men, one to read the marks and say them, the other to translate into Westron. As far as they knew, no one here spoke any Elvish tongues.

~o~

No one anyplace these men had been knew how old the runes were, Pultic possibly? Easterlings were an ancient people who had warred with and on both Morgoth and Sauron since the First Age. Without written lore, your history was what the ruling warlord said it was. Loresayers of the past thought the runes no older than first time Sauron seized Mordor in the early second age.

The runes were read from top to bottom starting with the right-hand column. And they were not letters in the Elvish form. There was no writing here at the time. These were the symbols for their version of the Valar and Maiar. In the entire pantheon, some were missing and others added. Orlo said as much since the original imaginings of Eru had not contemplated dry lands or enhanced servants of darkness.

The runes themselves were not known but the inscription was a homily adopted by the first Wainriders as a battle prayer. The riders were a scourge to Gondor generations after the Great Plague, some two thousand years after the runes first appeared. The symbols on the rock were probably recently chiseled for junior Visitors in the field. The army would have had several and certainly one with the cavalry as advisor to the Frûnzal, not known as a life-long adept. In essence, the inscription said;

The strong and patient embrace the darkness

in taking their due from the weak

That did not sound motivational to Nag Kath but something was probably lost in translation. He was also no great believer in the invincibility of the Maiar, having met a few.

To his real purpose, Nag Kath asked if these Visitors actually did use sorcery. The younger man, Cirszal, saw well enough to look at Brestegir. Getting the confirmation he needed, Cirszal began reciting a poem that had been told through generations of people like him for an age. It was a tale of darkness and power, a frightening, bleak story of savage lords near the back of Mordor. The Sayer stopped a few times to regain his cadence. This was not a poem he told for groats in taverns.

The man translated that into pidgin Westron after every verse. Not used to stopping, Cirszal regained his footing and continued in voice more grim than his own. There were wells of power for those strong enough and ruthless enough to draw. They lead their peoples to victory against the soft, womanish men of the west, men who disdained them and said they deserved the barren lands left to them by their failure. These were powers conferred by Sauron and even older and more terrible humors. At any time, men were called to darkness in payment for this gift.

Cirszal finished half an hour later. He repeated key phrases many times to keep the meter and pacing of the poem. Nag Kath had heard that before. Precise story-telling held to exact forms so the Sayer could remember all of the verses and keep the audience attentive. Brestegir had heard it many times. Cirszal was a master and the best in his long experience. Cirszal smiled knowing he had done it justice and nearly drained his own cold tea after not drinking through his performance.

Brestegir then began another more hopeful, melodic poem of their folk. It started with loss, constant loss. When times were bleak, no dark Lord or summoning gave surcease. There was only taking. But men and women stayed home more than they raided and were left empty inside. It could be many lives of men before they were called to fight or leave or survive through famine and plague. They had only that moment at any time in life.

Cirszal took the next verse of the same poem in a higher voice. He sang that no greatness could be made of any but small things. And that in waiting for greatness, whether it ever came, men and women should hold true to their families and friends, for in them was greatness also.

Brestegir sang the last verse in a pleasing baritone. In Catanard, the hero had the higher pitch and the villain the low. These were both hopeful. The man sang of care but also of vigilance. Darkness feared them because they disdained it. They must remember that which was said and done because it was their strength through time immeasurable. But even the longest time was made of moments and each of those must be lived correctly.

When they finished they both looked pleased. This was lore that was appreciated among them. Nag Kath understood none of it but asked if he could come again because there was so much he hoped to learn. They would be glad of his company. As he left, several of the people Nag Kath recognized from dinner arrived. Brestegir and Cirszal were teachers and it was time for a lesson. The Elf thanked them and walked into the sun.

Nag Kath went back every morning for a week. They seemed to know nothing practical about sorcery but he was fascinated by the teachings and history of the eastern world. It was a big place. Folk here had little to do with peoples south of Mordor and only occasionally from lower Khand or places western men did not even name. In return, he told them of Gondor and Dale, leaving out the personal parts. On the third meeting he brought the pictures or Orlo and the dark Elf. Brestegir was like the three elders in that he looked very closely as if there was something familiar about Orlo but finally shook his head.

~o~

Nag Kath was learning quickly but needed more practical information about the lay of the land. A partial answer came when the merchant from the Anduin was whittling a tent peg near an outdoor fire pit. The Elf wandered by and greeted him. He greeted everyone, having never been introduced to the group as a whole. This one answered back in what was called Westron-of-the-road. "Good afternoon, sir. I see you are an adept of lore."

The Elf said, "I am, though I fear new to it and unready. I am Nag Kath, at your service."

"Prestigir, at your service, sir. I cannot help but think I have seen you in my travels."

Nag Kath said, "It is possible, I have been much in Gondor and Dale."

As if suddenly remembering, "Ah, were you associated with the aqueduct?"

"Yes, I did design work."

The man knew he did considerably more than that. "I fear your likeness at the fountain does not do you justice."

That brought a huge grin, "He represents the men we lost. The city carved my name instead. I do not mind. Plain folk should be honored as well."

The merchant finished sharpening the peg and tossed it with two others for his next trip. He may have brought things here but there was nothing to take back. That he stayed meant he was more than a peddler.

This village was a place of learning and rest. About half of the residents lived here year-round and maintained it. The others were those who shared lore of right-living in their travels and came here for replenishment. The merchant said, "Forgive me, Nag Kath, but you are not the usual man come for guidance."

"No, I do not blend in a crowd. I come to discover if the claims of those known as the Visitors can be made manifest. There are those among us who hope that is not so."

That was more direct than eastern men usually spoke. And Prestigir had heard more camp gossip about this creature than he shared with the Ghurate, that he was capable of magic and great killing, possibly a former dark servant himself. He found it hard to assign such things to this beardless one. As inconspicuously as possible, he looked into the blonde's eyes and saw nothing sinister. Prestigir had plenty of topics he could innocently drop. "My brother worked on the aqueduct. In the second and third years."

Nag Kath smiled again. "Yes, that was when we were trying to discover what could be done by men of our age. Such a thing had not been attempted since the early Stewards. When the waters of the Morgul Vale were finally safe, it was right to replace the bog water of fever season. It seems to work. Folk still get sick but not like they did."

Prestigir paid a compliment, "In keeping with our humble retreat, you said there was rightness in the work."

The Elf thought just a moment and said, "Yes, it was a right thing, for the people who live or live better, for children to come, for doing something better than we have done, yes. And do not forget bringing all manner of peoples together for common purpose." Again, the grin, "I think the Dwarves are my favorite."

In what was becoming genuine interest, Prestigir asked, "What brings you to Yhammâs Fruhir? This cannot be your steady road?"

The tall Elf gathered his arms around his knees and simply said, "I was invited. Alas, I cannot say who offered. And you, sir? You seem prepared to leave."

"That is uncertain. I look forward to speaking with you until then."

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

Prestigir's leaving was uncertain because he asked for a word with the three Ghurs. This might be more important than spreading right-living along the river.

"Hello, Prestigir. This can only be about the pale one."

"It is indeed, Master Distral. I think will continue my lessons here for a while."

"I see. Yes, further learning is honored among the wise. Are there things to discuss with the council?"

"If that is convenient."

The Khandian fingered his thin beard and said, "The others are right here. Let us ask their thoughts." The two walked into Vrenstides's office where the two men were having tea. Prestigir's presence meant information.

The merchant began; "Sirs, I just had an off-hand conversation with your guest. He is exactly who I thought. There is considerable more that I cannot confirm, but it is mostly from men who do not stretch their yarns overmuch." Prestigir took the men's silence as assent. "A story that no one gave much heed was that the creature was one of the Uruk-orcs of the White Hand. He was transformed to Elvish form in the reckoning. I am not sure I believe it either.

"What I have on good authority is that he was the silver wind who slew Taneûl's troop on the Dwarf Road all those years ago. That would make him a very dangerous man, despite his youthful appearance. He shot Taneûl himself as the officer proclaimed Visitor wardings over the slain from a hundred and twenty paces. He spitted Frûnzar riding at a gallop from eighty."

The Ghurate, and every other man in Rhûn had heard the story of a specter sweeping through rogue Balchoth mercenaries, the first of those seeking to preserve dark ways against the parochial rule of Telantish. In an instant, half of them were dismembered to the moan of Festram and the swoosh of a hundred swords. One survivor repented his wickedness and was a friend to their order. He told them many times as the telling eased his horror.

Distral repeated, "Prestigir thought to extend his studies before returning to the world."

Zoldan said, "Please do so, but nothing too obvious."

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

The three Ghurs remained seated after Prestigir left. Zoldan considered options; "If he will not stay until the messengers return, our options are thin. By all accounts, we cannot stop him. We are a place of rest and learning. This is properly a matter for the central council.

Vrenstides interjected, "I agree, but we may need to act. This seems to be very good for us but there is always the chance he is not what he seems. If he must leave, perhaps we send him to Gûshand and they can inform the council."

Distral gathered his robes in the chair and smiled before saying, "We flatter ourselves, old friends. We succeed in the absence of dark lords. Were one to rise, his minions would squash us like gureeq grubs. Let the Kath stay as long as he likes and then we send him closer."

Prestigir had much the same conversation with himself. The merchant was, among many things, a merchant. That meant earning more than his costs by convincing people how much they needed his wares. Nag Kath seemed to be enjoying himself with the Lorists. He was not anxious. He had not even leered at the widow Nienzal, whose husband was called to his ancestors much too soon. The merchant decided he would attend children's tutoring; returning to fundamentals, he said.

Neither the Ghurate nor Prestigir had any problems with the outlander guest. The merchant told Nag Kath that messengers had been sent to friends further south and would be at least a month in returning. The Elf should stay here until then. The Elf understood their reasoning and readily agreed

Ghur Distral persuaded Teüchir (Scholar) Harmolu to privately tutor their unusual guest in Plainstongue. It was an amalgam of northern Pultic and southern Apysaic speech with a good measure of Westron nouns, because they had more things to name. It had evolved to half Variag (Khandian). Sauron's Black Speech was impenetrable for any of his peoples. Even the orcs had to truncate it. Southrons and northern Easterlings had little in common but when they had to work together, they needed a language to make themselves understood, if not appreciated.

Prestigir had more practical experience with the pidgin tongue so he attended most lessons. The Elf brought his satchel and pad, writing notes based on sounds in Sindarin which had more harsh and guttural tones than Westron. As in everything he tried to learn, he made progress. Even so, after the second day he said, "I was told that all languages came from old Elvish. I confess I cannot see the resemblance. Is it that without writing, every generation makes small changes until the way is lost?"

Harmolu agreed, "And each village. In times without strife, they stay to themselves. It is only in war or trade that outsiders must converse."

After four days, Nag Kath asked a question of the merchant, "Please tell me of the Visitors. Until I came to Dorwinion, I had never heard the name."

Prestigir was sure that was a safe subject so he started as if for a long tale, "They believe in power. Those who have power take what they want, until someone with more takes it for himself. We think first of armies but it is the same when a man takes another's woman against her will or abuses his neighbors. Children raised thusly know no better.

"They are usually the remnants of favored troops of Sauron, Easterlings to the north, among my people of southern Rhûn and fierce warriors below Mordor. They got better food, weapons, even horses. But it put them in the front line to their destruction. Now they think they should still be chosen and the rest of us think not. They try to summon another dark leader for their cruelty."

Nag Kath shook his head slowly, "I said I did not know of them, but I know all. That was how I was spawned and raised."

So, he was an Uruk-hai! What invisible hand made him this?!

The Elf continued, "It was not until I learned caring and love that I could understand cruelty. In their absence, life is merely enduring. A man must be miserable indeed to think those days are better."

"Why did you go to the Bror, Nag Kath?"

"It was not planned." The Elf grinned, "There were reports of orc incursions along the northern border of Dale. I offered to scout on my way to visit my family along the Redwater. It seems agents of Frûnzar offered them spoils along the river to keep Dalish and Dwarvish militias looking north.

"The crop was failing so I bribed the orcs with food to stay home. Small groups of Easterling cavalry were noticed along the river as well. It was not until I reached Dorwinion that I knew it was a feint and that the thrust was coming for the vinelands. The pretender's forces had not crossed so I went to the Bror, told him of his brother's perfidy and explained western lords would hold him accountable if Easterling troops attacked.

"Dulgov dealt with the infantry on his soil. The cavalry made it to Gondor but rode into a trap." Nag Kath thought a moment before saying, "I convinced a dying Visitor to tell me how to praise his men to the dark ones. He told me where he hid the stone."

The Elf said it as if describing the weather. Right-living men were among his Excellency's troops attacking Frûnzal's infantry. They all heard of the tormented Gvordling. Prestigir strained to keep his feelings even. He must jolly this strange creature for the good of all, but his stomach turned at what was done to even a bitter foe. He only nodded.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

The next three weeks passed pleasantly. The Elf-creature learned enough Plainstongue to order in a tavern. The two Lorists enjoyed telling him stories and songs of their travels. He practiced archery, leaving no doubt who shot the Usurper.

After a month there was no word from the messengers and yet the Elf was not chafing to leave. Some mornings he would go watch the dogs nip the heels of wayward sheep to the whistles of two teenagers. He visited Charlo often and rode him bareback to assure his hosts he would not leave without his belongings and weapons. He did press on matters of sorcery, eventually getting an admission that there was some in their order. The messengers had been sent to inform those folk. There was also knowledge in the most unlikely place. Nag Kath asked Harmolu, "Honored teacher, I was told that Visitors do not eat fish that live on the bottom of the lake. Is that so?"

"The learned man smiled and said, "They will if they must, but they disdain it when thin fish or meat can be had. The bearded fish thrive on decayed things. Some men would not have the fish's dinner pass to themselves."

"But this does not bother your people?"

"I do not care for those fish either, but some men have no choice. There are many fish in the sea. Most waters have all kinds. But in Mistrand, mud from the river discourages the red and blue fish, leaving mostly the bearded-fish. To catch the others, a man must afford a boat."

Dim light dawned, "And those born to favor should reap the harvest of boats as is their due?"

With a wink, "You understand these things quickly, young man. Here and in other lands as well."

"Honored teacher, is there special praise or lore about men who build these boats or catch deep fish?"

"The maker of boats is considered a rare craftsman. They must curve something straight to keep fishermen and traders both afloat. The man who does that poorly does not do it long."

Nag Kath walked back to his room. Had he noticed, his hand was stroking his chin. Was the break between those who were glad Sauron was gone and those who wanted him back as simple as what kind of fish they thought they deserved? Probably not. The Haradrim had likely never even seen a fish. Now, what fish were found in the Nûrnen?

~o~

After six weeks the messengers had not returned. That concerned all who knew because of both the towering guest and the two men were beloved of their company. Nag Kath asked to speak to the Ghurate.

"We can imagine why you have come. Must you leave now?"

"I should. If you can direct me to a place where those more like me can decide my coming, I would be in your debt."

"Travel to the steppes and from there to Lhûg. Prestigir has a map but there are roads the whole way. You must go alone. The men who would take you have not returned. Pray for them. There is an inn called the Khruevesta on the river. You will attract attention. The day after you arrive, pay for your meal with this coin." Verdracht walked around the table and handed Nag Kath what seemed like an ordinary groat. He dropped it in an empty vest pocket.

That afternoon he said his goodbyes. Prestigir would return to the Great River. The Elf would remember this place fondly.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~