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

45. Chapter 45 Scholarship

Chapter 45

Scholarship

~o~

It was time to go. Eniecia cried. Her grand-da was going to a strange and dangerous land again after having been here for half of the last sixty years. She knew he must, and she wished he could always be with her. He gave his love to everyone and was off on the Cloud Stream to Pelargir. This time he honored Phylless and Helien before taking the ferry north.

Nemren was ten or eleven with good years left. He was Lossarnach, which put him a step ahead of whoever was chasing. Nat Kath traveled light. He had clothes, foul-weather gear, weapons, a month's worth of a fair Lembas copy and money, some in his pocket, some sewn into his saddle pad. There were diamonds too. Full and empty water skins were ready for dry crossings. He always had his art tube.

Reyaldar said he would mind the store. Tumfred said the same on his way out. Secret things were hidden. There was no reason to look back. Nag Kath followed the same path he did with returning Chûr to Khand until veering up the side of the Rhûn. The western men were the same, trying to bring in the grapes for their fine Dorwinion wines. The Elf did not stop to relive old battles until he reached Riavod. He was just another traveler.

~o~

Vegad Druhamel would know the pulse of Northern Rhûn as well as anyone, certainly as well as anyone who was likely to tell him. Asking in the better Easterling districts in three languages would find him if he was still alive. Nag Kath took rooms in his own name at the Sea Breeze Inn, not much changed in sixty-three years. He sat in one of the rocking chairs facing the water.

The next morning a young man very like Vegad had been before the Celduin asked for him at the desk. The clerk said he was on the sea porch. The fellow knew better than to walk through the inn and circled around in the sand.

"Your pardon, best of sirs." It was said in good common-speech. "I was hoping you might be interested in a small charm, certain to bring the best of all possible luck."

Nag Kath put his sketchbook down and said, "I am always interested in the best of luck. Your charm must be potent indeed."

"Certainly, very reliable."

"It takes one with luck to transfer luck. Do you know such a person?"

"Several, best of sirs. Do you seek one in particular?"

The Elf switched to Rhûnic, "One must be very discerning, on both sides of the transaction. Would not a wise man agree?"

"I am sure he would."

"In the event you know such a man, please tell him Nag Kath has come to take the breezes of Riavod once more. The wise man can decide which way those breezes blow."

The fellow rose and bowed saying, "Should I meet such an esteemed person, I would tell him just that."

~o~

The old man was sitting near the source of his fortune in the sand by the water's edge. What was left of his hair was white. Vegad never had much of a beard. Nag Kath sat next to him and gazed at the gray water, "Thank you for coming, old friend."

"How is it you never aged?"

"Eating my greens."

The man replied, "Then I shall follow your example. I hope your life has been good."

"I have to say so. I have flocks of great grandchildren who are having babies of their own. I count my self fortunate."

Vegad said, "I have a few myself, though not so old. You met one. How is it I can help?"

"I am following cold trails, starting in the uncertain capital of Kugavod."

Kugavod was the winter capital of the Rhûn nation. Bror Hughlan would probably be back there by now. Western relations with this vast country had never been completely smooth. After diplomacy when Nag Kath and Vegad first met, affairs were better, but every third, hurried generation, for reasons they could not explain themselves, the rulers of this land decided they needed to invest the Brown Lands. Aragorn had to assemble an army fifty years ago. The local Dorwinion forces with help from Rohirrim auxiliaries and Dalish militias killed the last probe-in-strength to a man.

Vegad began softly, "Uncertain, yes, but better than fair. This year's harvest was good, on both sides of the land." That mattered because the more warlike clans were on the western side, closest to here and Dale. The two Easterling factions only shared when there was plenty and the more traditional elite had the better land.

Vegad was thoughtful, "Hughlan is old. They like their comfort when they get old. His half-brother tried to raise a force to retake the lands south of the sea until he walked into a knife. I count the merchants. This season saw fewer than usual but more than last."

Nag Kath held his chin, "Any trouble with the soldiers demanding more than their due?"

"Of course. But only the small troops away from Kugavad. Once you are close, you still need cause and to grease a few palms. Coming back they leave you alone because you carry things the Bror wants sold. So; no different than ever."

"How is this new Bror fixed for horses?"

"He has a few, but they are not waiting for someone to take them. We see them here occasionally. Every time they have too many horses, they get killed."

"I know."

Vegad looked at the small waves lapping the small stones. "I am glad I do not oppose you."

Nag Kath said, "There is one more thing you can help me with. If I need to make an arrangement with the old Bror, what does he want most?"

Druhamel thought a moment and said, "He is greedy, but they all are. He has four sons of three women. The oldest is said to be arrogant and slow-of-wit, ideal for some Brors, not so good for others. The third has support in the countryside. I hear Hughlan wishes that would go away, that he would live forever to keep them from fighting over his body. Not even you can cure that."

The Elf watched the same little waves, "Yes, that is beyond my powers. I follow the prophet's clues. They take me that way again. Tell me, Vegad, do you think the Bror would be interested in one of these?"

Nag Kath took a diamond from his pocket and handed it to the clever trader.

The old man's eyes were still good enough to see what it was. He smiled, "I am certain of it. Men of those lands have always been poor. When they are poor and angry, they take." Vegad began to hand it back.

"Why don't you keep that one for me? Your grandson agreed wise men consider things carefully."

"You exceed yourself, best of sirs."

"It is my good fortune."

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

The old workman left the back palace gate early today. Tall for their kind, long years of toil had stooped him with a noticeable limp, eyes fixed on the dirt under his next step. He carried a small shovel and broom with water skins and a bag of fried fish and potatoes for his lunch. No one noticed. No one cared. Every hundred paces he would rest and shift the tools, sometimes taking a sip of water. The compound was not the direction Kugavad was growing, not that it grew much in any direction. Kelepar was where one made his name these days.

Now, what was he looking for? With nobody near, he walked upright, slowly circling the oval from the inside out with his palms down, hoping to feel something that shouldn't be there. Two hours yielded nothing. He paid special attention to where the imaginary gardeners tended the imaginary garden, just dirt and hardy weeds.

With a deep sigh, he climbed the most stable-looking wall and sat on the edge hoping a change of angle would instruct. What was this place? It seemed like a course where the Wain Riders were said to race chariots here except it was a quarter of that size and had no seats. And those four little huts around the rim would have protruded on the track.

He climbed down and carried the tools to his own hut, the best of the four with the remnants of wooden top-sills. Nothing sinister here. There were slate shards scattered in the dirt. He walked to the eastern hut. It had a slate floor at one time. Perhaps the originals were 'borrowed' for projects elsewhere.

Anyone the Bror had spying would report he was quite mad. The Elf scooped the dirt floor inside his hut until he hit stone about six inches down. This also had a hard floor but it was now just bits of the same dull slate around the edges and soft dirt in the middle.

In for a groat, in for a Florin. He walked to the short dimension across the compound and started digging in Orlo's hut, the worst of the four with three bare walls just above head-height. It had a floor too, only this one went all the way across. The hut was only about eight feet square but it still took half a bell to shovel half a foot of hard dirt off the middle.

Orlo, you clever man!

Nag Kath collected the broom and a water sack. He brushed the floor as bare as it he could to discover a circle inlaid in the middle about three feet across with the three symbols of Orlo face down, only not covered with the originals like the Pelargir temple. As he poured water over the slates, black and green tendrils of malice snaked into the air and evaporated. There was a small cartouche fitted in the grout. The Elf cleaned that thoroughly and copied it in his notebook before gently prying it up, the whole time thinking; 'couldn't you have just told me?!'

No, he wasn't ready then. It took this long for a reason. The cartouche symbol was new and did not combine elements he had seen before. No demons crawled out. Hopefully the Ghurates would know more.

After a long drink and several bites of Lembas, he took the shovel to the fourth hut. That floor had been torn apart too, probably from the bottom up. The last piece of business was to dump the dirt back on Orlo's floor including some slate chips from the other huts. Nag Kath left the shovel and broom against a workman's fence on the way back to town.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

The original plan was to bribe the Bror for whatever he couldn't sneak out. There was no sneaking this. Nag Kath would leave quietly, but now he needed to tell the retreats to keep one more eye on the crude mosaic, and anyone who seemed interested.

The road to Kelepar was the same. This was the breadbasket of the Rhûn with fertile fields stretching until useful forests started with clean useable water on most of the northeast corner of the lake. The horse farms looked the same too but the horses were a bit less hairy. People stared at his. They stared at him. He saw three half-troops, their standard patrol formation of six headed by a corporal. All three asked his business. One Corporal got shirty and forgot his name for a few hours.

The Visitors should be behind Nag Kath, but for the rest of his life, he could compare the price of whisker-fish versus any other fish on sale. Bottom-fish were always cheaper, now because of the taste. Orlo's 'unlovely brown ditch', the Súrûbeki, was fairly low and he forded with enough time to watch the shipwrights for an hour before finding an inn.

~o~

With the dawn the Elf made east for the retreat of Yhammâs Fruhir. He rested at the proper crossing after a Kath Bath and making a smoky fire for tea. No cautions fellow travelers happened by to chat about their destination. Listracht told him both retreats were doing well, even after the more recent aggression of an unlamented local satrap. Could it be they weren't so concerned about security? He finished his tea and crossed the stream heading north on the Nose of Gathod.

The Elf was noticed when he crested the ridge to the beautiful windward valley sweeping down towards the region of Lest. A rider at the administration building, perhaps the man who should have been loitering near the creek, jumped on a horse and fair flew up the hill to the waiting rider. There was no pretending this was a farm. When he arrived, he asked firmly but not aggressively in Rhûnic, "What brings you here, friend?"

The blonde traveler said, "I was hoping for lessons in right-living, friend."

The man nodded and turned his horse. Tying both mounts on the same rail, they walked in. The Righter asked the stranger his name and was told, "I am called Nag Kath."

The man bore his eyes in a moment and nodded before speaking to a woman at a small desk outside the council room door and then going inside. Not a minute later, a big man in the familiar tan robe, this one much the better for wear than the Ghurs of fifty years ago, walked out and appraised the new arrival, "Please sir, come with me."

Inside was an older man wearing a tan over-robe writing in a small notebook at the conference table. He looked up and smiled but returned to finish an entry before closing the book and having a sip of tea. The larger Ghur smiled and said to have a seat and he took one too.

The older man smiled saying, "Your name is known and honored here. My name is Ouvouldo and my learned colleague here is Dorxom Frier. We hope you can take your rest here."

"I hope to, but first I have tidings; some good, some not."

Frier said, "Let us start with the good."

They knew of the mithril band already. Nag Kath added, "It was destroyed, melted by the Dwarves in my presence. It brought considerable value and I brought some for here and Hanvas Tur to further your labors."

Ouvouldo smiled and said, "Splendid. I doubt there are any more of those devices on this side of the Great River."

Frier added, "Good news indeed, and the other?"

Nag Kath took a piece of paper out of his pocket and slid it over to Ouvouldo. The man suddenly remembered hospitality and poured his guest a mug of cold tea from the pitcher on the table. Frier looked at the picture and the map on the other side.

As he did, the Elf said, "Many years too late, I discovered another of Orlo's clues. The imaginary garden in my mind also houses a warded demon pit, like the one in Pelargir. There was another of the sorcerer's secrets as well."

Ouvouldo looked at the paper then admitted, "Your exploits are required reading for higher office, but it has been a while since I wrapped my sorry brain around them."

~o~

Nag Kath gave them the tale of the troll pit, probably the most accurate version of the dozens that swirled at the time. In closing he took the fiver out of his pocket and placed the bottom of the design on the table so it would spin the right way. Both men saw the pattern of the huts but they meant nothing without having seen the compound.

The Elf continued, "The other three huts also had creatures that broke up through the bottom in times well past. Those were not warded. The fourth was this circle mosaic, about three feet across, in the center of the hut. I cannot but think the Righters of the day meant it to stay there."

Ouvouldo frowned in concentration before saying, "I know the troll hole was quite large, bigger than this table. This one is small. Does that mean whatever resides there is that size?"

Nag Kath said, "A good question, Ghur Ouvouldo. I wondered myself. I think not. If whoever enclosed the trolls knew what they were, they would have all day to lay the stones. I think whoever did this used a handheld spell against something that could rise at any hour. There is no telling the size of what looks up at that instruction. A powerful sorcerer had to do that, perhaps Orlo himself."

Frier said, "Forgive me, Mr. Kath, old as I am, I am still too new to this world to imagine such craft. Our kind has always imagined Orlo as a symbol, rather than a man."

"He is spirit, I believe. His puzzles for me have been confounding but took almost no physical presence to provide. I wonder if he was stronger long ago." Nag Kath took the cartouche from his pocket and said, "Then; there is this. It is not part of the ward but finely inlaid in the mosaic, I think done before in detail and added with the rough stones. I have not seen its like."

Both men looked and shook their heads before handing it back. Frier expanded, "Since your last visit, our retreat has become more a place of learning and soul. Hanvas Tur in Khand has the 'eyes' and has grown more than us. We see men like the incorrigible Mr. Listracht from time to time but they report to the south retreat or a more clandestine base in your lands. One of them will know who watches the Bror."

The Elf said, "I thought as much, but since you are closest to Kugavod, I wanted to tell you first."

Ouvouldo said, "Thank you, Mr. Kath. There are those who would dig whatever is in there out to vex the Balchoth. In the end, they would only harm the sort of folk who need our help."

Nag Kath had considered that too. "A noble thought, sir. I hope we don't have to wake it ourselves."

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

There were about a hundred people here now. At its fullest, the retreat didn't see one hundred fifty people at a time. Those who came here tended to stay longer than in the south where there was more healing and practical knowledge. This place was more of soul and mind. As they had before, and maybe always had, there were resident Lorists and Sayers. They had just ended the afternoon meetings and people were drifting to their cabins or barracks to prepare for the evening meal. Nag Kath put Nemren up and washed his hands in the stream to join the early diners in the mess hall. He sat next to a young family whose children kept trying to see his ears. Groats were found behind theirs which was powerful magic to their wide eyes.

The evening saying was a reading from the Book of Khantu, an early Righter who taught widely. Like most of them, he came to a bad end, but his stories survived. It was said in old Rhûnic so the Elf only caught about half of it. Most people in the southern Rhûn spoke Khandian fluently. It was the common-tongue of the east.

A full Ghurate was called for tomorrow morning after breaking the fast. At light, Nag Kath wandered to the pasture below the campus and watched the dogs chase the sheep. They had to be the smartest dogs in the world. Admittedly, their charges weren't that sharp, but the small dogs could move dozens of the creatures according to the herder's commands almost the way each bird in a flock will change direction at the same time. After porridge he made for the large building and met four of five other Ghurs who were very interested in troll wards.

Nag Kath was always impressed with their comportment. Proud men of the west would sometimes use councils to show their oratory or make opposing cases to impress. These folk said their minds but never seemed to lose their temper. They knew about the mithril band. Now that it was destroyed, they put it further from their minds.

For a moment Nag Kath thought even the remote possibility of Morgoth would send shivers down their backs before he realized that these folk had no lore of his misdeeds. Until the last hundred years, they hardly knew any lore at all. Part of their work now was finding surviving pieces to better understand their past. They were not afraid of it. They just wanted to know.

The Elf presented twenty Florin as a gift from the mithril conversion. It seemed paltry compared to the potential value of the stones but it was a several years of operating money here. One woman said they must not let that go to their heads. No recognized the cartouche.

With nothing to do about the warding pit except keep it to themselves, the meeting broke well before the lunch bell in the west. Easterlings don't eat organized lunches unless it is a mid-day bite during hard work. As he promised himself, Nag Kath went to listen to the Poet Sayer in the afternoon class.

Blind, as was the custom but not required, the man sang in a high, clear voice of fears overcome with patience and love. This was a very old poem done in the traditional rhythmic style of Khand. In the west, he may have been accompanied by a light drummer or tuned cymbals. These were long, on the order of half a bell, and the audience was stock still. Instead of clapping like after entertainment, everyone said; 'Ohhhh' and let it fade. Other readings and saying they clapped like back home.

The organized classes were held after breakfast and early afternoon but there were others in-between for discussions and song and amateur entertainment. New since the last time were a few musicians trying to adapt more westerly instruments to the songs of the region, a work in progress.

~o~

On his third day, Nag Kath was pressed into a story. He adapted the Lúthien and Beren narrative into Khandian. In retrospect, it was not an especially right-living saga, but people were pleased and he promised to do one of the Elf-keeper tales too. As always, probably for as long as he drew breath, someone wanted to hear about the troll swarm on the river. The Mordor story never got old either since that was the end of the modern Visitors. In large part, the Ghurates had to reinvent themselves after Nulvanash took the plunge.

~o~

A pleasant week came and went before the long road to Lhûg. It was about four hundred miles as the crow flies, and Mordor had lots of crows. Original roads gave the mouth of Mordor a wide berth and there were only original roads here now. There was more drinking water than his first trip. With a fleet horse and no trouble with militias, Nag Kath made the turn from Lhûg west to Hanvas Tur.

This time he also waited for a competent stranger to see him waiting and talk about the weather. Again; he drank his tea alone, but he did respect the tradition of walking his horse upstream fifty paces and leaving the other bank on a slide of shale chips so as to not leave prints. From there it was up to the ridge.

Nag Kath was intercepted before reaching sight of the retreat but at that point on a well-worn trail, there was no pretending traveler didn't know where he were going. The man said nothing, turning his horse around and leading the tall rider to the Ghurate.

The place was indeed bigger. There was a third large building and dozens of bungalows down the south slope. Both men tied their horses to the rail in front of the headquarters and walked up the steps. Other than a coat of paint ten years ago, these rooms were the same. Instead of a Ghur walking out, he got a sizeable fellow who looked a deal more Easterling Northman than Khandian. He put his hands on his hips and said in a low, no-nonsense voice, "Welcome to Hanvas Tur." He grinned, "I fear you taught Listracht bad habits!"

"Failure to supervise adequately, I fear."

"I had the same failings. My name is Ghuldieg. The Ghurs are in a meeting. I think they would like to hear from you."

They walked into the council room. Everyone stared. Nag Kath said sheepishly, "Please, complete your regular business. What I have will wait."

Only their security man had been told who this was. One of the other Ghurs said in exacting tones, "You had better explain yourself."

"I am Nag Kath and I bring tidings from the north."

Listracht described the Elf only six years before but no one in this world imagined people not aging. The first visit of Nag Kath was sixty three years ago. Even a young man then would be doddering now. They all knew who he was and, to a much lesser extent, what he was. But seeing him in the flesh still strained credulity. The changeling did not know it, but some considered him an avatar of Orlo, or even Orlo himself, long promised to complete the work. No one had ever said that to him and he would have thought it a coincidence, though, in retrospect, he had been useful.

The head Ghur, not the eldest by a fair margin, greeted him warmly, "Welcome back. Please be seated, Nag Kath. I think our other business is what can wait."

The Elf gave them basically the same story he did in Yhammâs Fruhir saving the warding pit for after the mithril. He knew Ghuldieg was the head of their 'eyes' and they would speak again. People had intelligent questions that took nearly a bell in this the first of what was sure to be several discussions. As they broke, two of the Ghurs and the Eyes stayed behind. The Elf helped himself to cold tea and sat back against the wall. The head Ghur smiled and commented, "Listracht said you were a handful."

"I cannot seem to escape the man. His stories were said to try the patience of calm souls on the Nose of Gathod."

The head Ghur was Proberies and the other, older man was Findulas. Nag Kath gave him the eyebrow and the man admitted, "My parents had Elvish ambitions for me."

Proberies got down to cases, "You found a beast under the Bror's nose, long hidden and waiting for a signal. Why do you suppose?"

The Elf had a pull of very good tea and said, "This is pure supposition and I hope to learn more, but the only lore we heard in the west was of the armies sent there. People here fought themselves at least as much. If this was one of the Witch-King's traps, perhaps it was there if Rhûn became hostile to their other forces."

Findulas said, "You are a man of the world Nag Kath. What is your advice?"

"I have given that long thought, gentlemen. Let me settle some accounting first. Here is a purse with twenty gold Florin; your stake in the mithril hoard. Do with it as you like. I recommend you send a Florin up to your operative in Kugavod. I do not know who owns the property, but in that town, it can be had. If anyone wants to build or starts digging where he shouldn't, that should be enough cash to buy it through intermediaries, that or put a heavy stone monument on top honoring Timalen the Fierce."

Proberies wondered aloud, "Timalen is not known to us, a warrior?"

"A wise man of my youth."

Findulas asked, "What would trigger such a fell call?"

"In Pelargir it was just digging up the stones, but I am sure there is a spell to overcome the ward. I don't know it and didn't try. But your person up there should have a pry bar handy. This war isn't quite over."

That took the Ghurs back a bit. Ghuldieg considered it neutrally. Findulas asked, "Nag Kath, does that not risk terrible harm to the people of Kugavod?"

"Certainly, sir, but that compound is less than half a mile from the palace in an area of other ruins. If whatever is down there makes for town, it reaches the Bror first. I am sure that is by design. I am also sure the Brors have never known, else they would order it violated when they were safely in their summer capital."

Ghuldieg took charge, "Best of sirs, let me consider this with Nag Kath and we will report back promptly."

Proberies agreed. It sat there for at least a thousand years. Hopefully it would sit there forever more. Ghuldieg and Nag Kath walked out together. After a minute, the Righter said, "Got bad news about Listracht. He turned his knee a year ago. I took him off the road and he is now Eyes in Lhûg. He can get around, but his traveling days are through."

The Elf looked ahead before saying, "There are worse fates, and he is a man who can amuse himself in all positions."

"I would have liked to see you two work together in the land of Thân zîrân. Maybe we should put his statue over the pit!"

Nag Kath gave close to his fullest grin, "Statues are not always the honor intended." Before the Righter could ask what he meant, the Elf added, "Let us talk tomorrow. I would like to visit the healers." They waved off and the Elf continued to the small area of the campus where people went for care.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

Sitting on a stool in front of the second building was a woman who looked like she bent horseshoes with her hands. Nag Kath walked up with a bow and said, "Your pardon, miss, are you of the Viersh?"

In a voice that took no prisoners she replied, "Nûrad, though Viersh is honored as well."

"I have come to learn of Nenwûla of the Viersh. We knew each other some years ago."

The woman looked at the beardless face and thought not that many years. She rose nearly as wide as tall saying, "This way."

Nenwûla was inside knitting. She was nearing ninety and almost blind so she did not recognize the stranger in the dark room until he said, "Greetings Nenwûla. It is Nag Kath."

"Nag … oh yes. How nice of you to come."

The Elf had caused her a great deal of stress with pressure to use her healing talents for nefarious, if justified, purposes. She was well past that now and secretly delighted in knowing her magic caused the Visitors' horses to become incontinent before the battle. Her husband died ten years ago, at a good age in his own time. She waited here to join him beyond the Easterling notion of the circle and advised others if asked. The new woman stood ready to twist the tall man double if he troubled the revered practitioner. Nenwûla could not see her but knew her mind and said, "Ventuub, this is Nag Kath. He is a healer also, a healer of induction and much honored."

That was different. The woman bowed. If Nenwûla respected him, she did too. They spoke for nearly an hour, especially about the Elf's back. Nenwûla knead it several times when Nag Kath returned Chûr. The Elf decided he would have the two women straighten it again since it still hurt sometimes after a long day's ride.

"Honored Nenwûla, are there others like me here?"

"No, she died some years back. Greshules is very wise in the use of herbs and food. She works with Ventuub often.

Ventuub offered, "There is said a woman of Lhûg if you go there." She did not mention Chûr.

~o~

The old healer was tiring so he said he would see them soon and wandered over to the pond where he dunked Shelturn his first time here. That forced the Ghurs to take action leading to the collapse of the Assured. It was one of the few times he did a public display of his powers to make a point. His charming personality only went so far. As before, there was a duu crow in the tree hanging over the water. He had almost stopped thinking of them as spies.

Over the next few days, nothing much came of the ward pit. Letting sleeping dogs lie was sound policy. Maybe the cartouche in the mosaic would offer solutions. No one recognized it here either. Orlo certainly set heads spinning.

The Elf took in several of the Sayings, though he never quite developed a taste for Variag singing. The pitches didn't divide evenly. They didn't have lusty ballads or sailors' shanties so the music wasn't intrusive. After a couple days he went back to see if the healers could realign his back. Nenwûla remembered every bone she had ever felt and walked Ventuub through. The younger woman was an expert in her own right. Dear Nenwûla kept her humorous secret and let Ventuub discover for herself that the young man would make his spine shine silver.

He went back again three days later. Nenwûla was asleep. At her age, long, deep rest was hard to find. They let her stay in her room and Ventuub did the healing. After he left the first time, Nenwûla told her successor that the Elf, and that was what he was, had encouraged her to open her heart to a supportive man leading to her great joy. If the revered healer said he was a fine fellow, he was.

After his session, they talked quite some time about Nûrad. It lay east of Khand separated by the imposing Ered Harmul Mountains running north/south as far as the lands of the Swertings. Some of the tallest peaks were at the northern tip with permanent snow caps plainly visible two hundred miles due south.

The school of their craft was located on the southeastern shore of Lake Nennûrad, fed by those northern peaks. Any official of Khand would tell you those lands were of the greater Khaganate, but you couldn't prove that by anyone who lived below the River Kól. They paid no taxes to the Khagan. That was the final word on who owned what.

Geography wasn't Ventuub's best subject but she said the strong river humped-up into Khand towards Lhûg and right back down again making another lake. From there it snaked east until meeting a like-sized river flowing southeast. From the way she described the mountains, the country sounded a bit like the shape of Dale. Further south than her village, the soft fabric cotton was grown that was more comfortable than the local linen or wool.

Fierce, terrible warriors came from deep in the heart of that land. For all their claims of independence, the Nûradi here were largely Khandian stock. Further down they were a different sort of men. She said those troops were just behind the Haradrim when the Elessar's fell ghost army slaughtered them to a man. Could he imagine such an evil force?

Yes, yes he could.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

The old Scholar's school was much the better for fifty years of haphazard repairs, no halfers deciding what color to paint the trim in Lhûg! Nag Kath pounded the heel of his palm into the door several times. From inside he heard, "What do you want?! People are trying to sleep!"

"Collecting for the Dol Amroth Flower Guild."

Elf ears heard the sounds of rustling and dragging until the door opened wide with the bleary-eyed Righter squinting in the sun. "By the hanging … come in, come in." Listracht gave him a very un-Khandian hug and showed his guest to the couch. He limped over to the kitchen for the last two mugs of last night's tea before sitting in a chair with a padded stool in front for his right leg.

"Good to see you, Nag. Are you just in?"

I was in Hanvas for a week. They told me where to find you."

Listracht had a pull of very strong tea and said, "You always said you would be back. I am sure there is a reason."

Nag Kath gave him a very detailed version of events, starting with the warded pit. The Righter shifted his weight before asking another question and winced. "Bloody knee, wasn't even my fault."

"Did you have the ladies in Hanvas look at that?"

"Of course. They told me to build the muscles around it. I said I would."

His personal physician said, "Better let me have a look."

After more tea, Listracht shook his head, "No way. Not after those saddle sores. This is sure to hurt."

He knew he was stalling. The Elf would look, it would hurt and those lily-white hands were the best chance the man had to walk half-normally. While he savored his last few moments, Nag Kath picked-up List's brace. It was the same sort of contraption Eomander used in Orthanc with two pivoting lengths of steel on both sides of the leg with belts looped through them to secure it in place. He put it back on the floor.

Listracht capitulated. The Elf knelt by the stool and rolled the man's pant leg past the knee. Gentle probes yielded a chorus of whines and squeaks. "Stop wiggling, Righter."

This was going to hurt so Nag Kath put a local pain block on the knee and dug his fingers in deeper. It wasn't bone. One of the sinews holding top and bottom was torn and another was stretched. The healer stimulated the stretched sinew to bring it closer. Then he tried to reattach the broken end. That failed. If he could do it at all, it would take two months.

When Nag Kath stood up, his patient slipped a worm-wool sleeve over his knee and went through the lengthy process of attaching the brace. That done; he said, "Let's eat."

~o~

They walked half a block to one of the places Listracht gathered information around the city. At this his local tavern, he dressed as he usually did. Others got better attire. They ordered fried fish and ale. When the mugs arrived, Listracht asked, "How long does that silver last?"

"Half a bell. Do it again too soon and the next is half that."

"Hughmmm. So, what happened to the mithril."

"I took it to Erebor and they melted it. Remind me to tell you about that when we get back to the school. For any chance to right your knee, it will take two months of healing, every third day."

"Dougsh, Nag. What did I ever do to you?"

"We'll leave that for the moment."

"Is this Elvish healing?"

"A little, but an Elf's injuries would heal themselves in a splint. This is mine from the wizards.

The Righter had a long draft of his weak, local ale and said, "You didn't describe that lot as over-gentle."

"Not that they shared with me. Now what do you make of this?" Nag Kath handed him the cartouche.

"Nûrad. At least this inner band is." He traced the one with the back of his fingernail like the temple attendant had done for Melkor's glyph in Bozisha.

Nag Kath shook his head and smiled even in the gravity of the situation, "It was grouted into the beast ward in Kugavod."

"Nag, why couldn't the old man have just told you instead of making you ride the world chasing these ill-favored hints?" He got the waiter's attention for another ale.

"I don't think he could. When we met, I didn't even know he came to me in a glamour. He couldn't know if I was on the right side or had enough talent to help. This was a series of tests, ones that I am passing slowly and poorly. And I wonder that he doesn't have the power he had. Holding whatever is down there would take great skill but now he uses the barest of hints. I have to go. Who do we have in that land?"

The pain spell was ending. Listracht answered tersely, "They aren't in our guild!"

Nag Kath reached across to his hand, "Finish your drink. I'll get my horse.

~o~

Back at the school the Righter said, "Nag, I'm sorry. I …"

"Forget it. Do you want me to do what I can for that leg?"

"Yeah, if you are not in a hurry."

"It took me sixty years to find it. Sixty days won't hurt. I can find more about the place. The healer's tale in Hanvas was that they came to a bad end."

Listracht was more comfortable with his leg up. "I was to remind you of something."

"Oh, yes." Nag Kath dug in a secret pocket and produced six small and a pair of medium-sized diamonds. He put them in the Righter's palm.

Listracht took his half-spectacles out of his shirt pocket and looked closely finally asking without looking up, "Are these what I think they are?"

"Elf diamonds. I got them for the mithril."

The Righter kept looking and said, "A lordly exchange. I have no concept of what they are worth." He handed them back.

"You misunderstand, old friend. That is your share."

Listracht stammered slightly, "I cannot accept these. Aren't we supposed to be poor and righteous?"

"You'll have to take that up with the Ghurs. Did you keep any of the gold?"

The Righter smiled sheepishly, "A little."

"There! It hasn't killed you yet." Nag Kath suspected he had more than a little if he wasn't paying fifteen groats a month to have someone cooking and cleaning here. The Elf would see to that engagement himself. He would also see if he could design a leg brace that didn't weigh as much as a plow. Standing he said, "I am going to see Chûr."

"He lives at his ma's old house. Lunch was too short to tell you Shelturn died when I thought he might and Idgshtok the same year. The men of Mordor were not made for dotage. Five kids, all counted."

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

Nag Kath knew Chûr wasn't a Righter in the strict sense but one never takes security for granted. He watched the house for watchers from both sides before knocking on the back door. A servant was expecting groceries so when the tall delivery boy had no basket she demanded his business."

"I am here to see esteemed Vanteg Chûr, ma'am"

She shut the door and locked it. No one of standing used the back door.

A minute later, Chûr opened it wide and beamed, "Come in my friend. Come in!" The maid was still suspicious. He told her, "This is an honored guest. We will need another plate at the high meal."

The former Visitor showed him to the same main room he remembered so well and made him comfortable. "Oh it is good to see you. No doubt you have seen Listracht. We visit once a month or so."

"I was just there."

Vanteg Chur was almost eighty. His full head of long hair was brilliant white and combed straight back. Still fit and handsome, he had a good life. A part of that life walked downstairs. They were right, she did look like him. Shaindre was taller than the petite Chûran but cut from the same bolt. Nag Kath rose and bowed, knowing that was a western custom. Here, only ladies bowed. She joined them for tea brought out by the suspicious maid.

Nag Kath said, "Tell me of your life."

"Well, I had a small stake …" he winked "… and that became a trading business, mostly here but sometimes into the old Nûrnen lands." A pause to let the Elf know his wife, like most wives of businessmen, was not involved in day-to-day decisions. He continued, "I did modestly well and retired fifteen years ago to be with mother and enjoy sunrises with my lovely Shaindre. As the Righter has certainly told you, we have two daughters who have two daughters each."

Listracht had, said they were beauties. Two of the grandchildren were married and the others of the right age. Shaindre said sweetly but firmly, "You will meet one daughter and her two tonight if my husband has correctly invited you to join us for the evening meal."

Chûr told the maid to get more food, which qualified as an invitation in Nag Kath's book. They spoke quite a while, leaving Mordor and the Ghurates out. The man added, "My healing abilities were hard to control, like others in the family, it was said. I lost one patient and maimed another so what little I've done is healing stomach aches.

"Oh, Nag Kath, one of our runners to the west was the trader Ureano. It seems his business there became tenuous." The Elf recalled him well. He wasn't an evil man and he was competent. Competence is underrated.

~o~

As promised, daughter Chûreth and granddaughters Chievon and Denaldra came about the six-bell. And yes, they might be the Queen Nepthat's of the eastern world. Nag Kath was explained as an old trading partner come to visit for a few months, buying things to take north. These were the two unmarried lasses. Their father was attending to things near the village where Idschtok lived but they would meet during the tall man's stay. Nag Kath escorted the ladies six houses over after dinner and walked back to the school where Listracht was looking through old notes.

~o~

The next day started the work. The Elf designed two new braces; one to be completely rigid during the healing and another to replace the makeshift clanker that announced the Righter's approach. The first was just a simple woven reed sleeve with a small bend at the knee. Listracht would enjoy burning this in two months. The other was made from the cheapest sword Nag Kath could find. The smith would have to bore holes for the pivot and slots for the bands but thin steel was much lighter. The bands themselves would borrow from his bow with bent horn laminations to hold the shape of the leg instead of straps cutting into the flesh. Thin leather around them would be supple and support the buckles. It was hard to explain in any language but pictures told the story for the craftsmen he engaged. He also got a stiff brass wire to scratch inside the reed sleeve or it would be pure torture.

Next he went to a service in a better part of Lhûg to hire a daytime cook/housekeeper at Chûreth's recommendation. It was run by a woman who was all smiles until Nag Kath told her the address. A servant would be provided at 18 groats a month, payable in advance. He paid a silver for three. She would be there tomorrow. Nag Kath told Listracht as soon as he got back to the school so the Righter could hide his money, jewels and probably a few other things no one else needed to see.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

Had he not offered to heal Listracht's leg, Nag Kath would have bulled-off to Nûrad seeking answers by himself. The adherents of Orlo might have been a force of arms when men warded the pits, but after Sauron, and especially after the fall of the Visitors, they had become a society of individual freedom in a world that had never seen its like. Field men like Listracht were closer to warriors at need. They were few and not troops. Working against such overwhelming powers for all those years had taught them stealth and patience. Two months here would give him to time to ask questions about the mysterious place to the southeast dividing into at least two lines of inquiry; one was the lore that might lead to either Righters or dark servants. The other was what to expect along the way.

Study would have to wait. A Mrs. Puluogh reported the next morning. A stout, matronly woman with grown children, she was perfect to keep the leering Righter behaved. She would not run out of things to clean. Both the lame and pretty men had eaten so she organized pails and mops and rags to remove two generations of grime from the school. Her work was strictly inside but a friend of her son-in-law would paint the outside the make the two-horse stable presentable for a few more groats.

At lunch-hour in the west, Mrs. Puluogh took her basket to the market for dinner fixings. That was the chance to perform the demon-raising healing on Listracht's knee. On this the third session, Nag Kath applied the sorcery trying to graft the sinew back in place. Making it stick took more of him than he expected. He might sleep an hour those nights.

"So, another week or two and I'm fine?"

"Two months, that's if it works at all. I've never done this before."

"What?!"

"Two months."

"Couldn't you find a better looking cook?"

"Don't you like her cooking?"

Listracht could tell he would get nothing he wanted from this exchange. In his rigid splint he had to use a pair of crutches to get around which limited him to a nearby tavern where he was known by his real name. The pattern was to ask what he was interested in and buy ale or wine for those who knew. He drank less than it appeared, sometimes telling the barman to water his wine on physician's orders.

List was on the couch with his leg up snaking the wire down the reed splint to scratch. It was a life-saver. Mrs. Pulough was washing the area behind the food preparation counter, first brushing off the grease then wiping and rinsing. She worked slowly but did not complain. This should be a long engagement. The stove was outside and her lad would get to that when he showed.

Nag Kath brought Listracht a fresh tea and sat next to him on the chair. He did not use the couch since the extra weight shifted the invalid's leg painfully. He asked, "Any tidings of Nûradi scholars?"

"That quarry is better hunted with wine."

Nag Kath wondered, "What about the Khan?"

That was a mouthful and they both knew it. Khan Sumen-Doth inherited this district cleanly from his father. It was a good one. He got a 'taste' of every transaction, exchange and inheritance which was the most important work of his administration. A portion of that went to Ûbésêsh which was the most important thing the anointed Khagan's men did. Sumen-Doth's military needs were about average. There were no credible threats from the east. To the north, whenever expansionist Brors wanted empire, they rode west to get their noses bloodied by Elessar. The Khan had the option of sending troops to or money for more serious threats to the Khaganate along the southeastern Swerting border. He sent cash.

The man was said to have an impressive library. The scholar who engaged them for the Mordor commission was a consultant. It might be useful but they had learned in the capital that high lords often burned or hid unflattering records leaving large gaps in the history. That was done occasionally in the west too, but as a rule, no matter how bad the last king was, lore was not destroyed. They wrote less and it could be lost in wars or fires or molding in neglected basements. The Elves and the Black Numenoreans treasured their records. In the latter case that said a lot since they had thousands of years of decline to chronicle.

Another difference between east and west was that here; professional scribes kept track of events fairly carefully. Scholars of those records would discuss them to the end of their days, but it was always source material. In the west, lore was always kept by amateurs, often long after events. What made it different was that people like Barahir would compile those remembrances and analyze them in writing. That added another bias to the lore but could be very helpful in following how a people got from here to there. Nag Kath hoped Barahir could copy the Red Book so it would live on.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

Now; about the Khan: It was Righter policy to avoid any dealings with the authorities. They paid their taxes, caused no trouble and got none in exchange. That said; with the destruction of the ring and the Visitors a generation later, the retreats were now in the non-political business of healing.

Listracht and the few like him were as close as they had to soldiers. Nag Kath, on the other hand, was more mercenary and had no visible connection to the pacifist schools in the hinterland. Still, Hanvas Tur was in Khan Sumen-Doth's territory so they minded their manners. All that had been discussed by the Elf and Listracht many times. The largest threat to right-living was political interference. The second largest was hidden beast-pits whose inhabitants might have instructions to cause old antagonists as much trouble as possible. That fell to the soldiers and they decided that the fictitious scholar ruse had been honed to an art. They would have a look in that library. Ancient Righters might have left footprints.

Nag Kath could not simply walk to the palace and say he wanted to read through the files. He had to be invited, and invited for something other than his true intention. Using his same alias, junior trader Solvanth approached a business known to work closely with the palace and asked for a few minutes of Mr. Chanbhough's time to discuss a matter of mutual benefit. The steward told him to wait and went down a corridor to tell his boss. The man was back out a few minutes later saying Chanbhough was with someone else but should be free shortly. Shortly was more like half a bell but he was offered tea in the meantime.

~o~

The businessman was as pictured in the adventure books Ectilla drew in Minas Tirith for children. Obese, sumptuously clothed and inscrutable, he sat on a cushion of more southerly Khand. Nag Kath approached and bowed before a wave of the man's hand had him sit on an equally comfortable pillow.

Usually these people have elaborate rituals to begin a conversation but Chanbhough politely started with business, "I was told you have a need my humble office can serve, Mr. Solvansh. Please, tell me how we can assist."

"Thank you for seeing me, best of sirs. I am a trader of the north. My father's partner and I came here but missed a man we were supposed to meet. Our part of the bargain is an item that will need a cultured buyer. We understand they regard you highly."

The businessman sipped his tea from a small, glazed cup and asked, "May I ask the nature of this item, honored sir?"

A real merchant might hem and haw or offer descriptions of things held elsewhere. Not Nag Solvanth. He reached in his pocket and handed Chanbhough one of the smaller diamonds. Anticipating difficulty, he added, "Please, sir, use my fire-glass." The Elf showed the man how to hold it near his eye and handed that to him as well.

Chanbhough adjusted the diamond and his viewing-stone a little and then looked for quite some time. He closed his fist around it and said, "I see your concern."

It was more than finding a buyer. Someone could get the same any business day of the week for two Florin at Mr. Hellistar's jewelry in the White City. The problem here was that it was indivisible. No one could publicly own this if the Khan didn't have one as well. If the Khan owned one, the Khagan would need one too. In their lack, gold would have to make up the difference and nobody but the Khagan would get what they wanted. If the junior trader was planning to exchange this with a local, hopefully a man who would pay taxes to the appropriate authorities, that was different. That cut potential buyers to as many people as the merchant had fingers on his fat hand.

Chanbhough asked softly, "I do not suppose your trading firm has more of these, Mr. Solvansh?"

"One, perhaps, but they may become a stock in trade. Northern Dwarves fashioned these for the Elves. Now that the firstborn are gone, the Dwarves are willing to part with some to former adversaries. My father's partners are negotiating for their larger stones next season. They are certainly easier to bring here than iron goods."

Smaller stones now, larger ones later, all handled through the discreet trading firm of Chanbhough Kultan; this had potential. The man said, "I will make enquiries, young sir. Are you in haste?"

In a Rhûnic drawl his guest chuckled, "I fear not. My father's esteemed partner injured his leg so we will be here a month, maybe two. While he rests I hope to indulge my passion for ancient lore. It is said treasures of your honored people are long kept here. I gave your steward my card if we can be of service."

"Then we will be in touch, Mr. Solvanth." The merchant handed him the diamond. The fire-glass was in the other hand and he pulled it back and forth in his vision with a genuine smile. Handing that back as well, the young trader said, "Please, best of sirs, that is also one of our trade goods. I hope you will keep that for your courtesy to examine other items of benefit to your house. I look forward to seeing you again."

~o~

Chanbhough had to think about this. Maybe one more? One for him, one for the Khan and the Khan could make his excuses to the Highest of Lords waiting for gems worthy of imperial adornment, with a commission on the latter to his own humble trading house next season. The Rhûn seemed authentic and the diamond was real. He had seen diamonds before. His wife had a very small one but not prepared with flat surfaces to reflect light. Chanbhough would look at hers again through the astonishing fire-glass.

The merchant wondered what this would cost in the near-term. He decided it didn't matter. These were the opportunities men put themselves in a position to earn and he had done that over every decision for forty years. After a couple days of not appearing too eager, a man of his firm would knock at the door written on the card.

Mr. Solvanth missed the representative of Chanbhough Kultan by half a bell. The young man was a clerk at the firm and seemed very savvy. He wanted to know if the gentlemen could meet with his employer again to discuss subtleties of their unique proposition at his place of business. The lamed Mr. Ionzul pleaded his indisposition but Mr. Solvanth could certainly represent the firm in all decisions. The important thing was that the clerk saw they were in a genuine, and now modestly clean, trading post. The following morning at the Rhûnic ten-bell was propitious.

Nag Kath was shown in with no waiting. Tea was ready. Looking at the portly merchant, the Elf wondered if he had moved. Chanbhough went through more formalities before business. His man reported they were as they said with horses stabled, a servant and facilities for storing inventory. Chanbhough decided whatever arrangement they made, he must include the Khan. Too many people may have learned of that diamond. The Rhûns seemed discreet, but their first intended buyer was unknown. After forms were observed, the man asked, "Did you discover any more of those lovely gems, Mr. Solvanth?"

What he got was unexpected and solved most of his problems. The young man replied, "Another buyer was unable to complete the transaction so I have two available."

Chandhough did not like being the first one to talk money but it fell to him. "May I ask the cash price for such jewels?

"In the White City they sell for two Florin. Since my firm believes we can return with others, I will sell you both for three Florin which would allow you to make a gift to persons who appreciate the future." With a knowing head-tilt, "Would that meet the case?"

It was too good. There could be no dickering. The merchant would do no worse than break even unless he kept one for his daughter's dowry, the Khan would get his tax and favor later business that would fall to in the broad lap of Chanbhough Kultan, Mr. Kultan having already joined his ancestors.

When faced with such success, a little honesty is appropriate. "That is a generous proposal, young sir. I accept on behalf of my house and other esteemed people."

~o~

It was time to get what Nag Kath came for. "In view of those who benefit, would it be possible to look in esteemed libraries for my interest in lore. I confess; forced idleness in my uncle's company is not for all hours of the day."

A diamond for a look in the Khan's library? That would be easily arranged. The merchant said, "I will personally speak to esteemed persons about such a visit, best of sirs."

He would too. Even with the fire-stone, the merchant could not tell the difference between the two stones. The trader was given three new Aragorn Florin from the strong-box. Mr. Chandhough sent a note to the Khan's personal secretary asking for the privilege to bow before the man with good tidings.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

It took eleven days until the same clerk from Mr. Chanbhough came by to say that arrangements had been made for Mr. Solvanth to present himself at the palace tomorrow at the local three-bell. They hadn't given up, but Nag Kath was prepared to leave either way.

The palace of Lhûg is an impressive edifice. He had avoided it on previous visits. There were two front gates, one for the Khan's use and the other for the vast administrative offices that served the huge Khanate. A rear gate handled deliveries and messengers coming and going at all hours.

It was in a white enclosure with ten foot walls. They were not very thick. In a land of artillery, they would not last a half bell. Guards were sober and clean. He showed the men at the administrative gate his pass and he was told politely to climb the steps and present himself to a Mr. Kennambur.

Mr. Kennambur had to be summoned but he walked as fast as a man well in his sixties could with dignity. Both bowed as equals and the little fellow took his charge down a series of corridors to the back of the wing. Kennambur was the librarian of a nice facility. There was a room with real eastern windows holding six tables that could seat between four and eight men, always men in this land. One had six fellows quietly discussing what scholars talk about.

This room opened to a larger space with no windows. It had rows of shelves for the archives of the Khanate. It was not dark but it did protect the paper from sun. The rooms were clean and smelled considerably better than the papers in Minas Tirith. There was a lad of perhaps fifteen who helped guests needing volumes brought or returned to the table. Nothing was allowed to leave. No smoking or eating was permitted.

Mr. Kennibur's desk was where he could keep an eye on both rooms. The man had simply been told that a guest of his Excellency was granted permission to research. There did not seem to be a time limit. After making the Lord's favored foreigner comfortable, the librarian asked, "How we can assist, best of sirs?"

Given the structure here, he would have to be specific. In more halting Khandian than before, Mr. Solvanth answered, "I am interested in lore of ancient Nûrad, before it was included in the Great Khagan's beneficence."

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

As with the national archives in Ûbésêsh, all records were divided by the four Heavens; art, history, religion and celestial observation. There was considerable overlap and scholars specific to each did not always see eye-to-eye. Religion was the greatest of them. When in doubt, decisions fell to that discipline since the Khan or Khagan was the arbiter.

This was clearly history. Normally, Kennibur would have his lad go fetch a few volumes but Nag Kath got the sense he wanted something other to do than listen or intervene with the grim men around table three. The fellow walked behind the inner counter and brought back one book and a folio of loose-leaf papers. With a slight sideways nod, Nag Kath joined him at the furthest table from the scholars.

~o~

Kennambur opened the book first and said, "These are writings of Vembran and his son, Vembranic in the year eighteen forty." Nag Kath converted that to about eleven hundred of the third age. "He was scribe to Khagan Gor-Jellamb during the battles where our glorious troops took the low passes and beset the blasphemers below their northern deserts. I warn you, this may not be easy to read if you are unfamiliar with our older tongue. Ariestu over there can help if I am not available." He had a glance at the scholars. They were quiet now ... but they were scholars.

Kennambur closed that and opened the top of the finely-crafted folio box. It was loose sheets of different sizes and colors. The man looked at Nag Kath's hands and quietly called his aide who brought a pair of gloves made of fine, soft fabric. The fingers would have been much too long for anyone else in the room but they fit nicely. There would be no sweat or dirt on the Khan's archives.

"Sir, these are accounts of a hundred years later when a deputation was sent in force to receive the Cheyan tribute. They were required to pay money, food, arms and men at the call of both the Khagan and the dark servants."

It was time for an innocent question, "I cannot imagine that was popular."

"You imagine correctly. In the deputation were men of his Excellency and men, if you could call them that, in the Angmarach's service. Servants of power, sorcerers with wolves or other fell creatures to enforce compliance. I expect they got what they came for."

The man was about to say something when two men at the far table raised their voices. Was the esteemed colleague suggesting that Upahndur rather than Toushagid first suggested the reordering of the humors?! Kennibur excused himself to see if he could keep them civilized. Nag Kath sorted through the papers.

It was slow going. He read Khandian well, but like most languages, two thousand years of little changes took concentration. The writer was a deputy to the Khagan's man, part aide, part scribe. At least his handwriting was good. It described their progress through the middle of three passes leading from the old Khandian Capital Khand-Amu to a large city in Chey, an empire in southern Nûrad, a hundred leagues east of the pass.

With them were twelve servants of Sauron. Two of them were sorcerers; one to tell the truth of answers, one to insist on them. Nag Kath knew the type. The others were soldiers, grim, silent and watchful. Deputy Asbouth's cortege was larger since this was supposed to have at least the trappings of a state visit. They had eighty mounted spearmen protecting his Ambassador along with an assortment of purse, tax and military experts to be sure the levies were paid scrupulously.

The call was for two thousand infantry with arms and provisions to march north of Mordor and support horse and chariot riders from those plains. Nag Kath had seen some of them staring up in anger from a foot below stinking bog water. What was most telling early was the ability to draw two thousand men from the population without emptying the city. Unlike the chariot riders, they women and children stayed at home.

Kennambur was still speaking with the scholars. Nag Kath flipped though the pages specifically looking for anything about the Yvsuldor or those who opposed them. The Deputy was recording his Lord's business but that included recruitment. Halfway back were a sketch and map of the city, both well done. Nag Kath put it at the size of Pelargir but with only a main river along the eastern edge. There were no trees.

It wasn't until three pages from the end that their soldiers were pressed into service to help the dark Visitors deal with agitators who poisoned two of the dark ones. The ruler of the city ordered his men to find the guilty as well. A number of people were put to the question but nothing came of it. In a rare moment away from the purity of the mission, the Deputy wrote that other acts of treason had been committed in secret over the years. Examples were made, probably not of anyone responsible, and they withdrew; the Khagan's men to the west and the Yvsuldor's conscripts tramping north.

The scholars had not come to blows so Kennambur was back when Nag Kath opened the book. There was not much here. Like it's counterparts in the west, it was mostly grand pronouncements about great lords and noble deeds but not the distances between drinking water. The Righters were not mentioned. That made sense since there was no one Orlo would have favored in that squabble.

The librarian sensed his guest was greatly impressed by the collection he worked so hard to present. That was prelude to the tall man saying, "I hope you settled the scholars."

"Never. They are religious men and always right."

"Are there scholars of this lore, Mr. Kennambur?"

The man smiled looking at the far table, "Not with the same strong views. A Mr. Nenambuul comes in time and again. His interest is more hobby, but the man is a courteous guest."

"I cannot thank you enough, Mr. Kennambur. Where should I seek Mr. Nennambuul?"

"He lives in Bech Ghel, short street, blue door, I think."

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

Nag Kath walked directly over. The lane was only eight houses on either side between a market street and other homes a block away. It was a nice neighborhood of smaller, well-kept homes. None of the doors were blue so he knocked on the most recently painted and was directed two houses down. That door was opened by a bright-eyed lad of about eleven The Elf greeted him and said he was looking for Mr. Nenambuul. The boy wasted no time on protocol and shouted over his shoulder, "Uncle, someone to see you."

He was reinforced by a man of about sixty wearing slippers and a comfortable light robe over trousers and a shirt. What was left of his hair was sticking sideways as if he had been sleeping. Nag Kath said, "Your pardon, sir, Librarian Kennambur suggest you might help me in my studies."

The fellow grinned broadly and asked, "How is the old rascal?"

"He was settling disputes with a table of religious men but seemed hale."

"We can ask no more. Come in. Tea?"

"Yes, thank you. I am Nag Solvanth." The nephew was sent for refreshments and Nenambuul ushered the Elf into a small room, made smaller by haphazard stacks of books and papers.

Nennambuul said, "Nice of him to send you. I warn you, my views are not always favored by those of greater learning." A way of saying they might not always be in accord with the palace.

Solvanth smiled, "I had asked about old Nûrad and was given to understand not all records were to hand."

"That's one way of putting it. May I ask your interest, young man."

That was a question the Elf would rather have come later. This man was not in the Khan's service. He watched his tongue, but not out of devotion. He had to protect himself. The room showed no symbols of personal gods or Valar. Did he take in relatives or was it the other way around?

~o~

A clue came when a woman brought tea. She had been attractive but had the sort of face that absorbed every disappointment. There was no wedding band. The woman gave Nag Kath a forced smile and left without introduction. So; he took them in, a good and honest man but probably open to paid consulting. Nag Kath answered, "Sir, I am interested in anything I can find about Nûrad; history, culture, war, anything, particularly politics."

Nenambuul considered that with emotion. His tea was too hot so he put it on the table and said, "That is a long list. You do not appear to be of those people."

"I am of northern stock, honored sir."

"I thought as much. My archives are modest." He waved his hand at the papers. "That is an area of study I enjoy."

Nag Kath's tea was too hot too. He said over the steam, "I should make plain that your counsel need not be purely donated."

"What did you have in mind, Mr. Solvanth?"

"If you could make your self available for consultation over the next month, would you consider a quarter Florin insulting?"

The Dukks face could only hold so long. Nenambuul chuckled, "I have been insulted far worse for far less, Mr. Solvanth."

The man was expecting a drawn-out negotiation over when and how that would be paid. What he got was the blonde man laying down a nipper. And just like Captain Penandoth, the scholar looked at it closely. Then he slowly mouthed, "Your favor with the authorities matters in this, best of sirs."

"I have just done the Khan a service. He sent me to the librarian and he sent me here, unofficially."

Nenambuul slid the coin into an inside vest pocket and asked, "Where should these discussions occur?"

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

Listracht was sleeping when Nag Kath got there, a good sign that today's healing was not too painful. When the Righter woke, the Elf mentioned, "Got a guest coming tomorrow. Do you know a Mr. Nenambuul?"

"Can't say I do."

"He is a scholar on Nûrad. I'll go get him after we break our fasts."

~o~

Nenambuul was at his door with a belly full of porridge and a satchel when Nag Kath arrived to bring him to the school. A fifteen minute walk was longer for a few wrong turns to see if anyone else made the same mistakes. Mrs. Puluogh was leaving with her basket when they walked in the open door.

The Righter and Elf had prepared excuses and names for most possibilities, but not this one. Nenambuul stared for a moment and cried, "Listracht, you old devil! I heard you were lamed."

"Hello Artur!" That was as much as he would say until Nag Kath salvaged the situation.

Nenambuul solved that, "How could you be this pretty man's uncle?"

Listracht said affably, "It is a title of respect. Sit down. Nephew, can you bring your father's favored partner some tea?" His mug was full, "Er, hot tea."

While serving, the Elf thought he needed to simplify. He conspired to bribe the Khan on an elaborate and expensive pretext to see the library. Then he was sent to the Nûradi expert who was on a first-name basis with the resident Righter! Evidently, not on a last-name basis.

Listracht was savoring this. "Nephew, how did you meet my old friend?"

The Elf doled the mugs around the low table. "Mr. Nenambuul has agreed to help me in my studies of ancient lore, best of sirs."

The Righter struck a theatrical pose, "Lore? I thought you studied ways of counting, Artur."

"That pays the bills, Listracht." He looked at the tall Rhûn wondering what about dusty old Nûrad was worth a dented King.

The Elf was going to let one of them mention Listracht's contribution to fair Lhûg. When they didn't, he smiled his simple-nephew smile and beamed, "More than lore, Uncle Listracht. Mr. Nenambuul is an acknowledged scholar of our ancient ancestors."

The Righter took a sip and held the mug in his lap so he didn't have to reach so far again. That put things in perspective. With avuncular indulgence, and against the likelihood that their guest's pocket was fuller than this time yesterday, Listracht chuckled, "Are you on that again? I should not complain. Your father never gave up his interest." To the scholar, "I am curious as well.

Nephew Nag asked, "Is there any word as to when you can work again, Uncle Listracht?"

The Righter was about to say; 'You're asking me?' then realized the nature of the question. "Ah, work. It might be months before I am able to travel again. By now, Brothar will have taken all of the Kelepar contracts. You will have to win them back for us, young man!" That was a fiction created if the Khan had questions since they could not rely on mobility.

Nenambuul was still a risk. Listracht's claim to be traveling merchant was thin since he had been here for a year, not that the scholar knew when he came and went. Pretending to be half of what they were seemed harmless, but the Righters were more dangerous than ordinary cut-throats to the wrong throats.

~o~

The scholar did not sense the tension and said, "Well, young man, you have engaged me to tell you what I know about ancient Nûrad, including Chey, I suppose." He looked over saying, "That is a broad subject."

"Sir, I meant all but I am specifically interested in two things, starting with recruiting armies to serve Sauron going back two thousand years … Uncle, more tea?"

Listracht shook his head. Nenambuul answered, "This is from what little Khand has kept. There is more in Ûbésêsh. When the dark lord's servants came to demand armies, it did not end regional squabbles. Often times, great hosts would battle among themselves if one group did not want to serve since the weaker army was usually assigned poor battle positions when they went west. Chey was a great power here in constantly rivalry with Khand. They lost more of those fights than they won and were diminished. In the last war, their descendants were forced into the center column behind the huge beasts and reserve orcs. Then it was said a terrible wind of rotten ghosts blew through them, killing every man while a number of Khandians and Swertings to either flank fled and survived."

The invalid kept the thread alive, "A fell wind of ghosts? What sorcery did the Elessar possess?"

"No one knows. By then, the land was Nûrad. The Cheyans were long gone a thousand years ago. The Khagan, in his wisdom, oversaw their protection."

Youthful Solvanth was rapt, "I have heard of the terrible ghost plague. My other interest is those who spoke against dark service."

Nenambuul knitted his brows and asked, "You mean like the right-livers west of the city?"

Listracht pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger as if having eaten a frozen treat too quickly. The Elf only took a moment to react, "They still exist?!"

Nenambuul said helpfully, "Sing songs and heal hurts. Listracht, you ought to see what they can do for that game leg."

The bald merchant mumbled, "I'd better do something."

Young Solvanth jumped in, "I do not know what singing will do, but yes, I am interested if there were those who tried to oppose the dark ones, or slow them down, at least."

Nenambuul considered that while the Righter massaged his nose and replied, "There was a force that encouraged people to flee or refuse. As you can imagine, that did not bring favor from the servants; terrible wolves and sorcerers and orcs; they were. The Nazgûl were said to come when armies were needed. I suppose some people escaped."

Listracht's head-ache seemed better, "A hard business; fight and die or refuse and die. How did these people make themselves known?"

The scholar chuckled, "Before my time. Servants were said to burn anything that carried their glyph."

Solvanth, ever the dutiful junior partner, exclaimed, "See uncle, a sign like the dark one's sigil."

"Do not go crashing into the bushes, young man. We do not know if they rallied behind a lord or just shrunk from duty."

The young trader would not be dissuaded, "Do you suppose it was the same as found among the Wain-riders?"

This was one of Nenambuul's passions too and he was genuinely curious, "What sigil is this, Mr. Solvanth?"

~o~

The Elf went to a modest pile of books, bringing one open to a symbol of Orlo he drew last week. Reverentially the trader said, "This was discovered among those who fled to the cold north. Their village was slaughtered in retribution. But they survived and returned. My father is now among those ancestors. He tried to understand but ran out of time, as men must. I carry his torch."

The scholar had a hard look and said, "I do not recognize it, perhaps the mark of Stámo?"

Nag Kath murmured, "Orlo?"

"No, sorry, I said Stámo, a sorcerer. I do not know if he encouraged folk to escape or not. He would be about the right time though."

Listracht offered, "Did you show Artur your da's cartouche?"

"No uncle, I completely forgot." Nag Kath handed Nemambuul the ward-pit token. The scholar looked at it for a minute and said, "I am afraid I have raised your hopes unreasonably. This inside symbol is Chey, Nûrad now. But this is the water. This shows Lake Nennûrad, on the border, at the base of those beautiful mountains you can see from the other side of the street."

Listracht decided it was time for a little Catanard. He shifted and groaned piteously. Nag Kath looked over and cried, "Uncle, you are unwell!"

"I must give this knee more ease than the rest of my body is willing. Is it too early for ale?"

His solicitous nephew compromised, "We make exceptions in your distress, but we are out and Mrs. Puluogh does not know to get more, even if she could carry it. Shall I fetch some?"

"If you wouldn't mind, dear boy. Artur, this must be a short meeting but next time we will have an ale!"

~o~

When the man was gone, Nag Kath flopped in a chair and sighed enough to fill a sail. Listracht finished his tea, knowing his partner had some explaining to do. The Elf took a long pull of his neglected mug and said, "Librarian sent me to him as the unofficial expert on Nûrad, Chey it was then. You know him from counting. I paid him. How much does he know about you?"

"Same as everyone else. I was a trader. Now I'm an injured trader. I am known to drink and chase women but never get much of either. Hanvas is no secret. He didn't seem to put us together. Face facts, nephew, sometimes we need friends. You are about to go into a sausage stuffer. Now, what about that ale?"

His nephew smiled, "We might have a little left after all. Nag Kath took Listracht's tea mug to the demi-cask.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

Three days later, Nag Kath knocked on the scholar's door. Listracht was right. Monsters were waiting to crawl out of the ground in who-knew how many places. They needed friends. Nenambuul welcomed him inside and gave his nephew five groats if his mother would take him for sweets. It would buy a lot of sweets. Cold tea was waiting. The scholar smiled grimly, "That was an impressive performance. Can you tell me what this is about, young man?"

Nag Kath leaned forward so his elbows were on his knees saying softly, "I find and destroy remnants of the dark lord's empire. People have known me by different names over the years. This summer I found a warded pit like the one in Pelargir many years ago. Have you heard of that?"

"Same year I was born."

The cartouche I showed you was grouted into the mosaic. I seek other clues of the sorcerer who left it for me, said to oppose Sauron for many centuries. He is known further north as Orlo."

"You are Kath?"

"I am."

"What is Listracht's interest in this?"

"The same as mine. His knee really is broken. When I go south, I am the last soldier. The right-livers are now of caring and lore."

Nenambuul had no faith in the powers that failed this land so miserably. He had heard stories of great evil in the west but after a century, they had yet to return for vengeance. His wife was dead. His niece had no one but her son and they would inherit a nipper more than last week. If this Kath creature was living history and had not slain him, he could see it manifest. The scholar said, "The cartouche was from about the time you asked, no newer than fifteen hundred years ago. Like now; people were nomadic but there was one large city where the rivers meet."

Nag Kath reached in his satchel and produced the copy of the Deputy's drawing. Nenambuul had seen it before in the Khan's library. Almost to himself he said, "Unhumm. I want to call you young man. You are not, are you?"

That got his first Nag-Kath grin, "Younger than the rest of my kind."

"I will call you young man because I am an old man and set in my ways. What do you seek?"

"I am never sure, but likely artifacts of the Witch-King of Angmar, possibly called the Angmarach or Ar-Balkumagân, a Numenorean King of the Second Age. He was leader of the nine, Sauron's most powerful servant and likely the one who enforced the lord's will here in the east."

"You must forgive me, Mr. Solvanth Kath. You are from a place that knows our history. We do not. The nine were the Nazgûl?"

"They were, all dead now. But the leader left behind bits of his own power that were not doused when the Ring was unmade. Like swords left in a nursery, they wait for the wrong hand to gain strength."

"The Ring I know of. When these are destroyed, what then?"

"I will go home to my family."

Nenambuul was fascinated, "The Valar?"

That got a real laugh. "No, I have mortal families, on the order of twenty five great, great grandchildren. I must lose them, but they are dear when I can share their lives. I have been married three times and enjoy that state." Nag Kath shifted in his chair, "You said the Orlo symbol reminded you of another. May I have a look at that?"

It was the scholar's time to laugh, "I fear not. I barely remember that from when I had limitless time and my father had limitless money."

"When you did, did you study it carefully?"

Unsure, Nenambuul ventured, "Yes, for hours."

"Do you trust me at all?"

Nenambuul said cautiously, "A little."

"I would like to take you back to that memory and help you recapture the image. It is not dangerous, or even unpleasant. But it is not of this world either."

The scholar asked, "Will this take days?"

"A quarter-bell unless we find something else."

"What do you need, Solvanth Kath?"

"Please roll up your right sleeve." That done, the Elf knelt in front of the man and put one hand on his head and his other on the open wrist. "Please, gently think back to that image."

~o~

Nenambuul did his best. His wrist glowed yellow against silver and his face the same. He had no sense of time but only a few moments later, Nag Kath released the spell. The scholar had a heightened sense of color and remembered the image as if it was an hour ago. Nag Kath had him describe it in detail and drew it with numerous corrections. A quarter-bell after that it was a good representation.

Scholar Nenambuul said, "I must say, that was … new."

"Probably enjoyable, unless you are taken to a bad time. If you are curious, this is what Orlo looked like to me." He handed the scholar the sketch. "He is different to all, a much more powerful sorcerer than me." The image had exactly the same reaction as everyone else. The Elf added, "People are sure they know him and then can't recall why."

Nag Kath slipped the two papers into his satchel and said, "That is as much as I can ask but I will be here tending the old reprobate for another month. In the furtherance of your own interests, we know a few things you haven't heard yet. I hope you will join us for the promised ale."

"I will come to your trading post two nights hence with a few bits and pieces we didn't get to."

~o~

When he got home, Listracht called from the couch, "I hope you didn't kill him. He knows how to calculate Dukks odds."

"He is coming for dinner the night after tomorrow."

"Good."

~o~

Mrs. Puluogh made dinner and left for the evening. The place was finally clean. Nenambuul arrived as she was a block towards her home. Listracht was sitting where he always was and did not stand to bow. The scholar had his satchel.

Dinner lasted three hours. They talked about Thân zîrân. Listracht told an outlandish story corrupted from Shelturn's telling of Mordor which Nag Kath made clearer, if not believable. The Elf tried to steer away from magic and the retreats but eventually Nenambuul asked, "Now what about the place up in the western hills?"

Nag Kath had to leave that up to Listracht and learned something himself. The man was always sober, despite appearances. He answered, "I was called to right-living after I soldiered for the Bror, the last who got men killed. I learned of places where folk were instructed not to take what was not theirs, that life was better that way. It offered me succor after having slain and taken and not given. When I need reminding, I return and listen to wise counsel and am healed." He looked at Nag Kath and added, "It is something quite apart from my friend's journey."

The scholar considered that carefully. Nag Kath walked him home against bad light and footpads.

~o~

The Righter's leg was healing, even if he could not try it. The Elf stubbornly stuck to his schedule. Nenambuul came weekly, learning far more about his own world than he could from anyone here. The symbol he drew was more complex that the simple Orlo glyph but if one filled in the gaps between some of the lines, it formed the same rune. The Righters got the impression Nenambuul might like to visit the retreat, perhaps with a long-suffering niece.

Two months were finally over. Listracht's new brace was better. He would always have to wear it. He would also have to do as the healers said and strengthen his leg to match the good leg. He might. It was up to him now.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~