Chapter 67

Village of the Shamed

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From Arnost to Celeborn and Galadriel's haven of Thornost was one hundred and twenty leagues as the crow flies. The roads weren't quite that straight but they were always in magnificent condition. Nag Kath did not think he had a straight errand. He needed to see the army and he wanted a look at the lordless area on Meliath's way to the mountain gardhs.

As it happened, he got them more-or-less in line. Forty of those leagues were still in Naitë Mélamar. There were a few inns but he spent nights outdoors, even in the rain. Three days out, and merely thirty miles from the border, he found a large encampment of at least one thousand foot ohtars. No one seemed especially worried that a mounted, well-dressed Quendu should be here. He smiled and nodded the way an out-of-uniform officer would to let the lads know he was one of the team.

Unlike the ragtag armies of Middle-earth, even grunts have uniforms and metal armor in Aman. From watching lapels in Arnost, he could tell that one in five troops were regular army and the rest militia. And unlike Middle-earth, the farmers pressed into service didn't whine while their crops rotted. Many of the shields had swans as the primary emblem or had them painted discretely near the district pattern.

What Nag Kath really wanted was a sergeant. He found one who had already dismissed his trainees and was making sure the cooks knew their business. Doing his best impersonation of a Lieutenant, Nag Kath called, "Whipping them into shape, Sarn't?"

"Aye sir."

"Can they swim?"

"At need, sir. Let us hope it does not come to that."

The lordly Elf grinned, "Yes, dry boots squeak less."

"Right you are, sir."

The tall one on a fine horse became graver. "What news of the lordless lands? I go there now."

"We have been keeping well away."

"Have they eyes on the border?"

"We discourage that, sir."

"Then we are in good hands. You will hear this soon enough but there is a new broom sweeping clean in Arnost. Lord Talifür is now chancellor with all powers. He is much taken with swans."

Sergeants usually don't care much for politics. They want to keep their men alive. Sarge asked gravely, "General Tonjum?"

"I have no news there as I am just away. Be vigilant. Are there other columns ahead?"

"The Fallai under Cadielv is just north and west."

The officer considered that a moment. "And the others?"

The Sergeant was speaking out-of-school but explained, "Generals Feanath and Vengar are northeast."

The young one said, "As they should be. I go straight. Wish me luck, Sarn't."

"May the Valar protect you sir." Nag Kath was sure the Sarn't did not know which of those Ainur he was fighting for.

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Two days later Nag Kath came to what he supposed was a border. Since those on the other side did not defend it, it was a line on his homemade map. Now in his oldest clothes, he took Shultö at barely more than a walk so he didn't ride into Naitë pickets. There was a stone marker on the road that must date to when these lands had lords. Two hours later he came to a hamlet of farms. It would be dark in a few hours so he asked a lad of forty where he could lay his bedroll.

The fellow eyed him suspiciously and said that was a question for the elders. Nag Kath had other questions for the elders too, but he would be cautious. For now, he wanted shelter from clouds rolling in over the mountains. The grain crops were in. People were picking fruits and vegetables to dry or boil in glazed clay jars to seal with beeswax.

The 'lad' walked wordlessly beside the horse until they reached the largest building in the village, no more than a modest home. Nag Kath dismounted and tied the horse to a porch rail. Two older farmers walked out to continue the silence. Affable Nag Kath said, "Good day, sirs. I was hoping to find a roof between me and those rain clouds."

One of them growled, "We'll see. From whence do you hail?"

"Orthanc."

"Never heard of it."

"It is a small place."

The other said, "You come from the swan troops."

"I passed them two days east."

The changeling did not say he was with them or against them. There was no telling where these border farmers' sympathies lay. If this lot did nothing but scowl, Lembas would serve. When they had been quiet too long he said, "If none here take coin for dry straw and a meal, I will be on my way."

No one spoke. He rode west and got a good soaking. As the rain beat down, he thought their taciturn demeanor might dissuade travelers but surliness would not work against the Sergeant's stout lads. There was nothing but a graded road between them and a thousand troops. That would not improve by the following summer either. Naitë foragers would eat next year's crops on their way by. Maybe the noble Elves did not murder or rob civilians like Wildmen. That was a big maybe.

~o~

There were more villages as he moved from the plains to very pretty hilly country that was still flat enough in places to divert streams to the fields. It was perfect pastureland too. There were no horses but the villagers had a few cows, sheep and goats along with the usual barnyard fowl. There would be game in those forests too, much like Ithilien with a mix of leaf and needle trees. They were well away from the road so he trotted over to a stream coming out of a thick copse. Just out of habit, he tested it.

Four days after passing the marker, he came to a larger village, town almost, at a crossroads from one of several bridges over the Athradduin. There were no inns but folk here weren't bashful about taking in a traveler for a meal. It might be that people coming up from Farnëmar weren't as nasty as the Naitë brutes. A farmer agreed to put him up for less than his smallest denomination so he got the loft and the first ale at a pub that could have come from the Shire, except for being twice as tall.

It was some sort of local holiday. Dinner was stew. Nag Kath ate the vegetables and tried the local ale. Elves don't drink much but it will go to their heads. They also don't have to go home and sleep. Later on, a few of the town squires were holding forth on everything that had happened in Dailiu since, well, who knows?

It was too good an opportunity to pass-up so he asked as innocently as possible, "Forgive me good folk. Does this road continue on to Penethornost?"

There was deafening quiet for a few moments. Then a woman beautiful enough to start a fight between men in any tavern across the sea said, "It gets close, but you have to take the northern fork when you hit the river. Follow the north bank of the river and you will see the markers."

One bold soul countered, "Nay, take a day off the trip and cut north tomorrow. It is a lesser track but it avoids those southern bogs."

The Quenda considered that, "Never been that way, but that is how dear Calistuil goes. Either way will serve you well."

Nag Kath cried, "Splendid!" He tossed down another silver and exclaimed, "This is a hearty brew you make here!"

It was too. For the rest of the night, he got as much information as he could remember about battles and where the Naitë sent scouts and that the Lady of Thornost had come to visit and blessed their orchard which bore better than before! They sang quite a bit too. Even he was a little thick in the morning. Alcohol will put Elves into genuine sleep, as evidenced by the great Bilbo's escape from the Elven Halls. Those Dwarves didn't ride to the lake in turnip barrels.

After waving goodbye, he decided to take the first path north for a look at the hill passes in the thick forest further up the Naitë border. Surefooted Shultö was comfortable on a trail but it was still slower going when they started climbing. At the end of the day came another valley with another village also celebrating a forgotten legend. They had more answers and a brew that might pass for Rohan Red.

For three days after cutting north he traveled along a spine of hills. It was not much of a barrier, but there was no reason to march troops over them when a few days further north was level ground.

The next day brought reckoning. The low ridge of hills flattened for five miles before rising again. To his left the ground opened into valleys. He turned Shultö west into one of the rolling gaps, dropping his mouth in a combination of shock, dread and realization. This was the valley in the mirror of Galadriel, exactly as he remembered and drew it all those years ago. There was the little rivulet with meadows to either side, grasses now and flowers in the spring. Rather than go down, he took Shultö at a gallop to the eastern ridge and stared into Naitë. If they were coming, this was the first place to break cover from behind those pleasant hills and drive west into the contested lands. It was bleak and rocky on the eastern side with an abandoned militia camp. Meliath had attacked further north on the actual border between Naitë and Galadriel's Elves. When he came next, it would be here.

After scouting Meliath's likely route, he was back at the rivulet and followed it to a stream making its way to the river dividing Thornost. He checked the water twice before letting thirsty Shultö drink. The horse had no trouble sleeping that night but rest would not come to Nag Kath. He sat, as he often did, with his arms around his knees listening to the night-birds.

~o~

With the dawn, the Elf took Eniece's earring box from Shultö's oat bag and walked where the sun first shone on the slight southern slope. With a stick he chopped the soil loose, added a pinch of dirt from Emyn Vierald and carefully covered his little gureeq seed, wetting it with water from the stream.

He sat and watched it the entire day. It was a magic seed, it might grow. The grain was the essence of Orlo after he was completely spent reviving Nag Kath, a last labor to destroy the Witch-stone. It would grow someday. What mattered was that this was the right time and the right place. The Elf never believed in fate. He still didn't. He did believe that with experience and courage, decisions became easier. This was the easiest he had ever made. He stayed another night. Nothing grew.

Nag Kath's powers were increasing. He felt the surge from the south the night the sorcerer returned and again when he changed bodies. Each time he touched power, he absorbed some. Nag Kath was here because he brought tools no one else had. It was time to try a new one. At high night, he walked to where he could see the foothills of Penethornost and thought as a call to Galadriel. He said simply; "War is coming. Home in five days." He heard nothing back. If it didn't work, he was no worse.

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The lordless lands taught one more lesson. By late afternoon, he came to another village that would be right about the intersection of the contested lands, Naitë and Thornost. Northwest was Galadriel and Celeborn's city. This village was not full of friendly Hobbit-Elves. They looked at him coolly. Farmers; yes, but with a dollop of soldier too. They had a tavern with a hitch post so he tied Shultö and walked inside. Conversation stopped and started again. He sat at an empty table until the barman waved him up to order. Dinner would be another hour. They did have a passable tan ale. He got one and walked back to his chair.

With dinner came diners who all eyed him up and down before taking their usual seats except for three fellows whose table he had appropriated. After they stood there long enough he said, "I won't bite."

That was good enough and they sat down to some sort of Elvish stew. There was no escaping stew. When cookie in the Halls of Mandos rang the dinner-bell, the souls knew what they would get. Nag Kath had a bowl and ate the vegetables. In a lull of local conversation, one of his table guests asked, "Where you heading, young Quendu?"

"I make for Thornost."

Another asked, "Where you from?"

"I was just in Arnost."

That was more information than they wanted to know until another pint passed the gullet. The third said, "Not many are the folk who ply that route."

Nag Kath figured they had no special sympathies for Naitë so he replied, "I wasn't appreciated. My wife is in Thornost and I am counting the miles until I see her again."

The same Elf asked, "You a soldier?"

"Here, no. Elsewhere, often. How far am I from the border?"

The first diner answered, "Naitë, twenty miles east. Penethornost, fifteen miles northwest."

The second fellow had a livid scar down his left cheek, a blade wound that should have healed on an Elf but had not been stitched in time, if at all. Elvish flesh joins where it touches but will not align by itself. The soldier, and he had to be a soldier, noticed Nag Kath's attention and said, "Fell on a plow."

"I've got a few I'll carry to the grave. Soldiers get their share."

That was the last comment until Nag Kath ordered another pitcher with the toast, "To the victorious dead!"

The farmers were taken aback with that stock phrase but they raised their mugs and sipped silently. He hit a nerve. Nag Kath hunched-over his mug to ask, "What is this place?"

The third fellow said softly, "We are the shamed. You toasted the victorious dead. We were defeated and yet live."

Nag Kath empathized, "I once released spirits of men who did not answer their lord's call and were imprisoned in gaols of rock for thousands of years. They finally proved their courage and joined their ancestors in honor. Let our next toast be to them." He raised his mug again and sipped the light ale.

They drank that more readily. Free beer was not enough of an obligation to confess; but the third Elf wanted to get this off his shoulders. "We were the Aelius Company of Colonel Iothano's third brigade. The general, full of confidence, marched us into Galadriel's veterans. They knew us for the greenbottoms we were and flanked us at a pinch-point. Three companies were already through. One fled north and was captured. The center stood and was slain. We ran like scalded dogs into the contested lands and were only chased to the border."

He began to tear and had to blow his nose but he soldiered on. "There was no going back. Better they thought us dead than disgraced. Iothano was taken prisoner with most of his men and exchanged for the promise that Naitë would mind its own business."

He finally started crying. Everyone else in the room was on the edge of their chair. The second Elf continued the story for him. "We came here and were taken in by the citizens of this place, given food and shelter, treated like we did not deserve to be marched into a trap and unmanned. We worked hard. Some of us married. We made it green. Now it is our home. If that makes us people you would not break bread with, be on your way."

Nag Kath considered his mug before saying, "I am the last survivor of nine thousand, captured and imprisoned as the war was lost by the worst general ever created. I have spent my entire life paying for that. So no, friend, I will break bread with you." He took a long pull and put the mug down in the ring of sweat.

Others pulled their chairs so that the small table had a six Elves around it and that many more standing behind them. Thirty-eight of sixty soldiers survived the assault and seventy-mile hike from the battleground into these foothills. The bulk of Naitë Mélamar's forces fled behind their border at nearly a dead run but were not pursued. These soldiers knew Meliath personally executed several top officers, including Iothano, so great was his rage. The general who ordered the attack was still a general. Life was cruel.

~o~

Nag Kath was in no hurry to leave the next day. Had he a line and hooks, he could have caught all the trout he wanted. They were no smarter than in Dunland. One of the Elves who stood in the background the night before sat in the grass next to him. He was silent for the longest time but there was still communication. Finally the Quendu cleared his throat to say, "It is not as bad as we said. Sometimes it feels good to clear the air. This is Attëa Súlë. Here we grow food and live in peace, a better life than we had before. I hope it can continue forever."

The changeling did not want to shatter his hope, but if last night was for honesty, so was the dawn, "It will not last another year. Meliath is now in thrall to a dark lord. He is already training his host for an assault on Thornost through the valley just to your south. They come next summer. If he wins, he will never leave, and he will never forgive. Lindareth supports across the Athradduin bridges directly to up to Galadriel's haven. How they divide the spoils depends on who gets there first.

"I leave to tell the lords of the mountains. It is a desperate situation but I am a warrior and warriors fight. What will the Aelius Company do?"

The former ohtar asked, "You are sure?"

"I have foreseen it. Tell the thirty-eight that honor still awaits them. You have a land worth defending. I leave that to you."

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