Chapter 2

HERALDS OF THE STORM

"You can't be serious! The Flaming Eye? No threats have come from the Land of Shadow for centuries, since Gorthû was defeated, and his armies disbanded!" Sihaya exclaimed.

Nariel silenced her with a gesture. "For three millennia. Hence, if you don't want to wreak havoc in the entire sietch, keep quiet!"

The warrior ran a hand over her worried face. "Bahsis fears that the sietch may be in danger. He claims that our people are no longer what they used to be, that we have softened."

"You haven't fought a war in a long time," asserted the blacksmith. "For ages, whenever a threat arose in the East, you moved away. This is the reason you have ended up here, in the Great Desert, from your homeland in Rhûn."

Sihaya surveyed the sandy plain before her, where many rows of tents stood, artfully arranged.

To the west of the camp, a massive cliff stood out, dotted with caves. These too had been made inhabitable, as the number of the tribe's inhabitants had grown over the years, and it had been ninety years since the last exodus.

Almost five hundred people and a good number of horses and cattle.

Swarthy Men, Haradrims, merchants from the eastern lands. For many years, the Ihaggaren had thrived, keeping away from the feuds of the West that repeatedly threatened to annihilate them. Maintaining a neutral attitude had been their salvation and had ensured them that they could continue trading with Umbar, Khand and Rhûn, especially livestock, rare materials from the desert and weapons. The Ihaggaren were well renowned for their warfare skills and assets.

Legends said that they were the ones who brought the knowledge of silvered steel to the east, having learned how to work it directly from the Elves, during the Great Union.

Others told of how they had learned to harness fire, directly from the demons that haunted the world, when it was still young. And others spoke of how they valiantly opposed the cursed king of the Far East, heir of a long line of traitors, who had sold his soul to the Flaming Eye, condemning his people to servitude.

Sihaya had often considered them fairy tales crafted to scare disobedient children. But during the long hours of patrol, she herself had seen and heard unusual things. Marauders sneaking around, stories of entire villages vanishing into thin air, and slave markets full of prisoners. Voices of a nameless fear, beyond the Mountains of Shadow. And her people, once strong and feared, were no longer what they once were: famine, struggles, the harshness of the desert, had suffocated their spirit.

"My friend, I think my father must be informed," said the warrior princess in a heavy voice. "Only he has the power to command a new exodus, and he must have the support of his council."

Nariel nodded. "I agree. But it must be done with due manners and proper timing. We can't rush into his tent, during his feast, screaming nonsense. He would not appreciate it."

She reflected for a moment. "It would be wise to alert your brothers, too."

Sihaya gave her a puzzled look. "You know that with Bahsis I can reason, but Dris is too young to understand, and with Mezyan everything becomes a problem."

Valar save me from Men and their futile pride.

The blacksmith snorted. "I thought you and Mezyan had solved-"

"How, if that idiot is just looking for a fight? Do I always have to watch my back and worry that sooner or later he will challenge me in the pit, and slit my throat?" Sihaya snapped. "He considers himself a great strategist, instead he is just an arrogant, and if we didn't share my father's blood, I would have already accommodated that bastard."

Nariel rolled her eyes. She did not have the patience to endure that.

"Calling him a bastard with the clear intention of belittling him is a habit I would expect from a Gondorian, and not from the Amìra and future Raìssa of the last free tribe in the East. Alya is the chieftain's concubine, a kind woman, and Dris's mother, too. She does not deserve your disrespect."

"I don't despise her, nor Dris! Mezyan is the only problem, as I do not tolerate his attitude and-"

"He is your brother, Sihaya! For once, you could be the one to take the first step and settle the differences. But if you want to continue your personal campaign against the bastards, then don't talk to me, since I am one!" Nariel snapped angrily.

With the gift for the Raìs tightly in her hand, she strode resolutely towards the large tent in the centre of the camp.

The sudden outburst left the princess baffled.

It took her a few moments to think locally and realize she had gone too far.

Great.

She had not seen her friend for months and had already managed to offend her twice in a matter of minutes.

"Nariel, wait!" the girl called, hurrying after her.

"I'm sorry, I exaggerated... again. You are the only person with whom I can freely talk about how I feel!"

Her other gave no sign of having heard her.

"Nariel, please don't be mad at me, I need you there, father will kill me for my stunt in the arena…"

Her plead met silence. She continued to trot behind the taller figure, insisting.

"I promise I will no longer disturb you, I will no longer borrow anything from your forge without your permission, but please, don't be angry with me, Haldamìrie..."

The blacksmith turned abruptly. "I highly doubt you can keep any of your promises, my pestiferous little rat. And do not call me that name! You know I hate it."

Despite the imperious tone, the look betrayed a certain amusement.

Sihaya shook her head. "But it's such a beautiful name... and at least you listened to me! And I'm not a rat!"

"You should tell old Amergiw, you made him lose a lot of money today." said Nariel, barely stifling a laugh.

"That old man... Ah, forget it! You're not mad at me anymore, are you?"

Nariel nodded. "I'm not, my friend, for it is hard to be mad at you. Forgive my bad attitude. I am very tired, and I get easily irritated."

"Are your nightmares back?"

The blacksmith peered at the princess. Despite her young age and the apparent childishness of certain attitudes, Sihaya had a sharp mind and could hardly hide anything from her. Perhaps that was also why she was so fond of her.

"The truth is, they never left." murmured Nariel. "I hoped that with this trip my spirit would find some peace but, indeed, my dreams have gotten even worse."

Sihaya jumped at her side and squeezed her arm, concerned. "Then you should talk to Morinehtar."

An icy glare silenced her. "No."

"But you need help, last time you didn't sleep for weeks!"

"I don't intend to deal with that charlatan more than strictly necessary. Once and for all, don't stick your nose into my affairs."

The blacksmith's peremptory tone did not allow for replies.

Fortunately for her, the discussion ended there, as they had arrived in front of a sumptuous ahakit.

Two soldiers were armed with a yklwa, a type of short spear that with the kris constituted the traditional weapon set of the Ihaggaren warriors, guarded the entrance to the large tent where the Raìs resided.

When they recognized Sihaya, they immediately jumped to attention and bowed deeply, bringing their right fist to the left shoulder.

"Amìra, you have come. Your father is waiting for you."

The warrior rolled her eyes. She trained and patrolled regularly with these men, a little older than her, and her formality was tight on her.

"Ikken, Rehhu, you know it's not necessary-"

The two guards looked at her in horror.

"Amìra, we would never allow ourselves to be disrespectful." whispered Rehhu, who was the taller of the two. Short braids of black hair stuck out from under the turban.

Ikken, who had a slight hint of a beard and was stockier, hastened to nod deferentially.

The latter noticed Nariel next to the princess and made a small bow.

"Master blacksmith. It is an honour to have you back with us. Shall I announce you, too?"

Nariel nodded. The Ihaggaren were extremely attached to their titles and had a rigid ceremonial.

She patted Sihaya on the shoulder. "Come on, my friend. You faced undawu in the desert. Your father couldn't be worse than a lion." she whispered as one of the guards lifted the heavy flaps of the curtain.

The ahakit was spacious and cool, despite the blistering heat of the afternoon.

Precious rugs covered the floor, and several cushions lined the edges, providing a comfortable seat. Inlaid tables held numerous dishes filled with every delicacy.

There was plenty of water, which was considered one of the tribe's riches, as well as various spirits and wines. In the middle, there was a brazier, currently off, which was usually lit in the evening.

The centre of the tent was in fact provided with a large circular hole, to let the smoke out.

Sitting on a small but luxurious seat made of ebony and mûmakil tusks, the Raìs Barur delightedly entertained his guests.

A man in his forties, he had a slightly dark complexion and the black hair and eyes typical of his people. He sported several bracelets and rings, and a striking silver steel necklace bearing the symbol of the tribe: in a red shield, a rampant desert fox topped with three stars.

His hair was gathered in traditional braids, also adorned with beads and pearls from the Eastern Sea. Beside him sat Bahsis and, to Sihaya's chagrin, Mezyan.

The guests, about a dozen or so, were envoys from the south, richly dressed in silk, or from Khand, recognizable by the conspicuous marks that coloured their skin. Some musicians had been hired for the occasion, and the atmosphere was pleasantly enlivened by the sound of flutes, drums and castanets.

A few women sat aside chatting amiably, including Alya, mother of Mezyan and Dris, and Sihaya's stepmother. The girl wondered what that scene would have been like with her mother present. Unfortunately, the woman had died giving birth to Bahsis, and the princess had very few memories of her.

Concubinage was not uncommon among the Ihaggaren, but there could only be one wife. However, women were usually free to choose their mate, without too many family issues. The Raìs had never wanted to remarry out of respect for the memory of his late wife, the beloved Raìssa Tayma, and Alya had never raised objections. She had loved Barur's children indiscriminately.

"I can't deny that." Sihaya murmured to herself, entering the tent.

She winked at Bahsis, who gave her a broad smile, and caught Mezyan's scowl.

Bright Lady of the Stars, please give me strength.

"Here finally comes my precious daughter and heir, who today has made me a proud father, fighting victoriously against one of my best warriors!"

Barur's mighty voice filled the ahakit. Many joined in with applause and cheers.

Sihaya hid the surprise on her face by bowing respectfully. She had expected a reprimand for taking part in the challenge without permission.

"Come, Sihaya, my desert's spring, and sit by my side." Barur waved broadly and pointed to a pillow to her right, exactly next to Mezyan.

Something suggested that not even the Queen of the Stars could save her from that situation.

A throat cleared behind her.

"You're making him wait. Don't be a coward."

Sihaya looked incredulous at Nariel, who answered her with an eloquent look.

Straightening her back, the princess took a step forward. "I thank you, Raìs, for your words. This victory belongs to you. I also bring good news, since our esteemed blacksmith has returned from her long journey."

Sihaya nodded at Nariel and went to sit in her place.

"Father, thank you for this honour," she said, taking a seat.

Barur smiled and leaned slightly towards her daughter. "Do not think that you have escaped the little chat that will follow, in due course, about your respect for the rules, my daughter."

Sihaya gave him a sheepish look.

"In any case, I appreciated the lesson you gave to Zzahi. Disrespecting an opponent can be costly. There is no room for arrogance among my guards." Barur whispered, so softly that the warrior princess thought she had heard wrong. But her father's attention had already returned to her guests.

"Insolent brat." muttered a male voice beside her.

Sihaya exhaled deeply. "And good afternoon to you, Mezyan."

The stepbrother glared at her with his unsettling eyes. While Bahsis and her shared many common traits, with Mezyan the difference was evident, especially in the colour of the eyes. Where Easterlings usually wee dark-eyed, his irises were green as emeralds; Dris shared a similar appearance. They inherited the look from Alya, who was said to have Númenórean blood.

Mezyan and Sihaya were born a few moons apart, and the girl was the eldest of Barur's progeny.

Although they grew up together, the dislike was mutual. She was a free spirit, little inclined to the rules, while the other was duty personified.

"You always do what you want, there is not a single time that you do what you are told! Yet, you brawled in the pit today. You disgrace this family."

Mezyan's voice was low and sharp. Sihaya felt the anger grow.

"And here is our great vizier, ready to dispense unsolicited advice. Save it for our father -"

"Enough, you two!" Bahsis's head peeked out from behind the ebony throne. Despite being younger, it was not uncommon for him to be the peacemaker. "Don't embarrass me or our father."

Before the two half-brothers could retaliate, Barur's voice was heard loud and clear.

"Master blacksmith! Your absence from the sietch has been long, and we have missed you. What news do you bring from your travels?"

Nariel bowed politely.

"The sietch is my home, Raìs. It has been for a long time, and it will always be. I travelled south, to Far Harad, and there are many things I wish to tell you, but they can wait a more suited moment." She exchanged a quick glance with Sihaya, "But I don't want to steal time from your other guests. Please, allow me to give you a present to celebrate your reign."

Barur smiled benevolently. "Come forth, heval. I'm curious to see what treasure you brought me, this time."

Nariel advanced towards the throne, knelt and held out the wrapping of fabrics to the Raìs.

Intrigued, Barur began to undo the numerous knots. Many onlookers craned their necks to be able to get a glimpse.

With a final tug, the sword was revealed, curious murmurs filled the tent. The leather sheath had been dyed a dark red, the colour of desert dawn, and was decorated with silvery motifs of dunes and flowers, such as the hilt. Murmurs of wonder spread through the air, but when the Raìs drew the sword, silence fell.

The straight blade was completely black, shiny like onyx.

"Sweet Mother of fruits, the myths tell the truth! This is iron that fell from heaven!" Barur exclaimed in amazement.

Nariel nodded in satisfaction. "Beyond the Last Oasis, where the sea of dunes meets dense forests full of water, there is a place where the earth is torn by immense craters. The men who live there say that one day, many aeons ago, the sky cried fire when the world was torn apart by the Great Collapse. Even today, you can find this metal from the stars, if you know where to look. I was lucky enough to meet an old man still able to find and work it. Now, this knowledge will not be lost."

Despite the blackness of the metal, a delicate incision covered the blade from tip to hilt: a snake around whose coils wound some words engraved in Tengwar, the elven script, since Bòrian did not have an alphabet.

The sword shone as a mirror and was sharp as a razor. And it was light, much lighter than Easterlings sabers, the Raìs noted, testing its weight.

Barur, speechless, gazed at the sword for a long time.

"What is her name, master blacksmith? I expect such a marvel to have an appropriate one."

Nariel raised her head proudly. "The name of this sword, in my native language, is Erumetuilë, the desert's spring. May it be a source of hope for your people."

From her seat, Sihaya looked at her friend with emotion, as she herself bore that name. The desert's spring was the Ihaggaren long-awaited promise, a place and time of everlasting peace.

That the legends told.

Barur stood up, his face beaming. "Get up, heval. You have honoured me with this gift. May it be a harbinger of hope. Now, sit down at my table, and join us in this moment of joy. We will talk later."

Nariel got up and greeted the Raìs again, before heading to some loose cushions not far from Sihaya.

Shortly thereafter, the princess joined her.

"You have an innate talent!" Sihaya commented smiling, handing her a cup of spiced wine.

Nariel shrugged, loosening the veil of her tagelmust so she could drink. A delicate face, with a fair complexion, amid which stood out bright grey eyes, appeared.

"Don't overdo it" was her timid reply "I had good teachers, but I still have a lot to learn."

If only there was someone left who could teach me properly.

Sihaya shook her head. "My friend, you are too modest. I have already told you, when someone gives you a compliment, accept it and don't grumble."

The conversation went on happily, further cheered by the arrival of little Dris.

At eight years old, the child was a wave of joy and an inexhaustible source of questions. Accompanying him were his inseparable pets: two desert foxes, in this part of the world known as fennecs, named Mizar and Dubhe.

Nariel serenely contemplated her surroundings. It had been a long time since she had had a moment of peace, and she had missed that colourful, lively family a lot.

The afternoon passed merrily and, with the hottest hours of the day now behind them, the number of guests had grown.

"Master blacksmith, Are there any dragons in Far Harad?"

Dris, with his little voice and sweet little face, was a lovely kid. Still considered too small to learn to fight, he retained a naive tenderness. A rare flower, in a society as harsh as that of the Ihaggaren.

Sihaya sighed loudly. "For the hundredth time, no. You can't keep asking the same question over and over, poor Nariel will be tired of answering."

The blacksmith waved her hand. "Don't worry. I like to chat, especially after the loneliness of the past few weeks. Anyway, my dear little man, there are no dragons in the desert. In my opinion, it is too hot, even for them!"

Dris's emerald eyes lit up. "Really? Oh, I would really like to see one. Have you ever met a dragon?"

Sihaya put a hand over her eyes. "And there he goes again... Dris, why don't you go out and play now that it's cooler? Even your fennecs look bored, you could take them for a stroll."

The two pestiferous little foxes were busy rolling and scuffling on the carpet.

The princess wanted to prevent her friend from getting sick again. She was aware that many things from Nariel's past were taboo, and she did not like to talk about her personal history.

The blacksmith became thoughtful. "Um, a dragon, you ask? Yes, I've seen one, a long, long… long time ago. He was an ugly, wingless lizard called Glaurung. But he wasn't just any dragon, as he was known as the Father of Dragons."

Dris gaped at her. "Really? Was it big? Did it breathe fire?"

The two girls laughed. Nariel made the child sit on his lap.

"Yes, yes, and yes. Oh, my goodness, yes. Even if he could not fly, his form darkened the sky, and his jaws unleashed a storm of flames. But force in battle was not the only power that monster knew. He brought many under his sway with the binding power of his serpent eye and hypnotic Dragon Spell."

It was as simple as repeating a fairy tale heard so many times.

A tale told by the old wives to appease the children.

"And did you fight him?"

Her grey eyes drifted away. "No, my little sun. Seeing it was enough for me."

If I look back, I am lost.

"But you fought valiantly side by side with my great-great-great-great" the kid took a deep breath, "great-grandmother Amalya, didn't you? That's why you are the heval!"

"Yes... we fought side by side, and I saved her life. My kin had intervened at the last moment and, even if the battle was lost, we found ourselves fighting for retreat. Bòr and his sons they had been slayed, but Amalya and her daughters Faroula and Ghanima were still battling fiercely, avenging their loved ones." Nariel said, with a lump in her throat.

"And you killed Ulfwarth, son of Ulfang the traitor, before they exterminated all the people of Bòr?"

Sighing, Nariel stroked Dris's curly hair. "So it is, little one. Ulfang had sworn to exterminate all the men of the East who had dared to ally with the Firstborn against Morgoth."

As she pronounced that name, her voice trembled, and a shiver ran down Sihaya's spine.

For an instant, the light in the tent seemed to waver. But Dris, taken by the story, did not seem to notice.

"You saved the Raìssa and the whole tribe! Amalya was grateful and recognised you as heval, for her debt of life. What about your kin? They must have been proud of your deeds!" inquired the kid.

A sad smile crossed the blacksmith's face. "Sorry to disappoint your expectations, little one, but it didn't turn out that way. I was in trouble, and they were all angry with me because the King didn't want me to take part in that battle."

A pair of blue eyes, framed by long golden hair, stared at her.

Disappointment. An angry expression on a beautifully featured face.

Riding a white war horse, his shiny armour adorned with a golden sun on the chest and stained with black blood.

"You were ordered to remain safe in the City!"

A stab in the heart. An infinite pain. The weight of those memories was unbearable.

If I look back, I am lost.

A small hand caressed her face.

"My lady, are you fine?" Two big, green eyes peered at her carefully. Only then Nariel felt the tears streaming down her face. Quickly, she wiped them away. Sihaya wanted to scold her little brother's curiosity, but the blacksmith stopped her with a silent gesture.

"Just a bit of sadness, my little sun." Nariel answered, placing a kiss on the head "Nothing that a little tea can't erase."

Sihaya took a silver jug full of peppermint tea from the closest table and filled three cups. The drink was served piping hot, and was considered a great remedy for everything, from heatstroke to fever, to broken hearts.

After a few minutes of silence, the three started to chat amiably again, but never returned to the prior subject.

The comings and goings had never stopped, and the Raìs showed no signs of weariness.

The sun was quietly setting over the dunes. From the large red-hot stones placed outside the great tent came an exquisite scent of roasted meat and pita, a kind of flat bread. Some servants dragged a heavy wooden table into the centre of the tent. Silver plates and cups, flasks of spiced wine and big trays loaded with food greeted the hungry guests.

Suddenly, the flaps of the curtain were abruptly pushed aside. Without waiting to be announced, two men advanced resolutely to the table where Barur sat, in the company of his guests and his family. They both wore heavy, full plated armours and their studded leather boots had upturned toes. Their head were covered with reddish scarves, while under their left arms they sported two similar domed helmets made of many metal plates riveted together.

Terrified, Dris took refuge in his mother's arms.

Sihaya noticed that they had not left their weapons outside the tent, as was dictated by the rules of hospitality.

"Greetings Barur, son of Bòrund, descendant of Bòr and great Raìs of the Ihaggaren." The man's voice was harsh but clear.

Due to the numerous and different dialects spoken by the peoples of the East, the linguistic meeting point remained the so-called Westron, a language derived from Adûnaic, the ancient language of Númenor.

The inflection of the two newcomers was strong and made it quite difficult to distinguish the origin to an unaccustomed ear. However, Barur and a few others, including Nariel and Sihaya, who had been trained from childhood to become a chieftain, recognized the Soelâsi's accent.

Hiding the surprise, the Raìs replied kindly to the greeting, although the large axes carried by the strange duo did not suggest any cordiality.

"Foreigners from afar, welcome to my humble abode," he said in a neutral tone. "To what do I owe the visit of two Wômaw emissaries?"

The two men exchanged furtive glances.

"Noble Raìs, we come to you in this age of change, with valuable advice," proclaimed the one who had greeted Barur as they entered.

"Tell me your names, men from the Far East, and then I will judge whether your advice will be of any use to me."

"Of course, my lord. My partner is Kustig. He does not speak this language. I am Yumruk, general of Khamûl the Black Easterling, and a faithful vassal of Gorthû."

Originating from the Wômawas Drûs in the Far East, the Wômaw were infamous for being barbaric warmongers as well as descendants of those Swarthy Men who betrayed their allies in the First Age. Finding two in one's tent, so far from their territories, was a terrible omen.

The rules of good hospitality unfortunately did not allow him to throw them out in the dust. Not yet.

The matter was so delicate that it required the utmost diplomacy. Barur pointed to the large table that was being set in front of the throne.

"Please, be my guests." said Barur. "Meet my concubine, lady Alya; Sihaya, my firstborn and future Raìssa; and my sons: our vizier, Mezyan; Bahsis, captain of my guards; and young Dris. All my guests are members of the Ihaggaren assembly. Feel free to speak openly."

Two cushions were promptly added, and the two warriors settled down calmly, but without relinquishing their weapons. From their side of the table, Sihaya and Nariel watched them suspiciously.

"I have an awful feeling," Sihaya muttered, biting into a piece of bread.

"Me too." Replied tensely the blacksmith. "Your father has just welcomed two poisonous snakes."

Mezyan, sitting across from the girls, leaned forward with the excuse of skewering a piece of meat with his kris.

"To speak ill of our guests is a sign of rudeness." He muttered.

"Certainly, vizier. My apologies." Nariel replied calmly "However, I invite you to keep that dagger ready not only for the next course. Just in case things get bad."

The dinner went on quietly for a while, lulled by the low chatter and the clink of cutlery. However, everyone was anxiously waiting to know the reason for the visit of the two men, and the previously cheerful atmosphere had become tense.

Barur seemed to ignore that nervousness. After taking a sip of wine, he eyed the Wômaw. "Go on, Yumruk. What brings you in my lands?"

The man threw the bone he had just finished stripping into the plate, a wolfish grin plastered on his face.

"There was a time when our tribes were united, and together embarked on a long journey west, towards what today are the drowned wastes. Differences of opinion caused our paths to split."

Sihaya nearly choked on a sip of wine.

Nariel gestured for her to be quiet, but she too had picked up on the Easterling's ironic choice of words.

The betrayal of an alliance is now reduced to a mere difference of opinion? Interesting.

"But, as I like to say, what has been has been," Yumruk continued undaunted. "On this glorious day you are given the opportunity to forge once again the ancient bonds and reunite with the blood of your blood and fight under one single banner."

The lord of the Ihaggaren scoffed. "You speak of things that once were, man of the Far East. You speak of promises, of bonds, of blood. You speak of fighting, as if we were at war."

The emissary shook his head, a thin smile on his lips. "Aren't you too, Raìs? The ancient glories have disappeared. You barely survive here, among the sands, unable to expand your trade with the North and West, because those usurpers prevent you."

Some nods of agreement were seen among the guests present in the tent.

"We are not at war with the Men of the West," Barur growled through gritted teeth.

"Isn't it true, Raìs, that Gondor forbids you from trading with the villages on their southern border? And isn't it also true that some of your caravans have been attacked by soldiers on whose breastplates the White Tree shone?"

Sihaya squeezed Nariel's hand hard. She would not be able to hold back much longer.

"And what about the Haradrim, caged like animals and sold as slaves in the markets of the City of Corsairs? Do you ignore, then, that the main buyers are Gondorians?" urged the easterling, in a thunderous voice.

"Slavery in the West has not been practiced since the days of the last Kings of Nùmenor," Bahsis piqued in, tired of all that drama.

In response, the Wômaw warrior chuckled.

"My young, spoiled prince. Can you say with certainty, you who only know ease, that slaves no longer exist? No matter how mongrelized their blood is, Gondorians are still descendants of the Númenóreans, at least in their barbaric tradition."

One of the guests, a wealthy merchant who traded with Khand, discreetly cleared his throat.

"This man speaks the truth, my lords. My travels to the tribes of the Variags have become dangerous in the last years. The clans in the north are constantly pillaged by Gondor."

"With all due respect, sir," Sihaya snapped, jumping to her feet, "the Variags of Khand are certainly not known to be peaceful people. For as long as our fathers' fathers remember, Khand has opposed Gondor."

Barur shot her an incinerating look. "Sit down, daughter. Do not talk about things you don't know."

Sihaya bowed her head ashamed and sank back into her pillow.

The man from the Far East licked his lips, amusement in his dark eyes. He seemed to have been waiting for that moment.

"No, Raìs. The princess is partly right. Khand at least defends its territories. You let yourself be frightened and run away."

Sihaya looked at him sideways. "I didn't mean that at all, stranger. None of us have ever attempted to restore relations with the White City. If we chose a diplomatic approach-"

Mezyan leaned in and shook his head.

"It is useless to try. Four months ago, I accompanied a caravan to Harondor. They were headed to one of the border villages. We knew there were soldiers of Gondor stationed there. We sent a small party to parley, but they were threatened to be shot down by archers before they could even talk. The same thing happened on two other occasions. Gondorians are not interested in a diplomatic approach."

Triumphant, the black Easterling spread his arms. "And it is precisely for this reason that we have been sent here! Can't you see it, Raìs? You call yourselves the last free men of the East, but you are not even free to trade your goods!" he exclaimed, with a mad light in his eyes. "I am here, to offer you in the name of my Lord, the freedom you long for! Join his armies and the magnanimous Lord of Gifts will reward you! Open your borders, you will no longer have to fear any raids. With your silver-steel weapons and arcane arts and our numbers, we Men of the East will rule the world!"

An exalted shouting rose in the hall. Discontent, intolerance, hatred. The air was saturated with an unhealthy desire for revenge.

For a long time, the Ihaggaren had endured in silence, while the West proliferated.

Wasn't it true that Gondor had prevented them from accessing the waters of the Great River when famine struck the sietch? And what of the old friends of the White City, those horse lords who had often pushed into the desert, raiding foals to reinvigorate their herds?

How much more blood of the Men of the East had yet to be shed with impunity?

The sound of a cup violently banged on a table echoed in the tent.

"How can you be so stupid to believe that Sauron will grant you what you want? Are you willing to be drawn into a war that does not belong to you, for what?"

Nariel's voice rose clear above all the others.

Upon hearing that, the Easterlings' hands ran to their axes.

"How dare you, a pathetic insect, pronounce his name so lightly?" hissed the emissary.

The blacksmith looked at him defiantly. "I heard your Master's name before many of your ancestors were conceived, Easterling. And I know for a fact that his name means death!"

"Your race has no power here," spat the man, "I would gladly kill you if by doing so I did not break the sacred bond of hospitality."

"You can always try, mortal, and join Ulfang and his sons in the grave." Nariel replied venomously.

"THATS ENOUGH!"

Barur's shout shook the entire structure.

Nariel glared at the emissary.

"I ask your forgiveness, Raìs, but-"

"Out."

The chieftain's peremptory order caught her off guard.

"What?"

"You may go, master blacksmith. Your services are no longer needed for this evening."

Incredulous, Nariel tried to object. "Raìs, an alliance with them is madness. Already in the past-"

"You forget your place."

"It's right here, in this tent." Protested her vehemently, "I'm part of this sietch, and I have always paid the price of water. It's my right and duty to speak up."

The Raìs was adamant.

"When I need your advice for a sword or for shoeing my horse, I will ask you, master blacksmith. But we are talking about a war and this is not your place. You do not know me or the things I do. Do not dare to presume. You have not earned the right. Get out of my sight."

Outraged, Nariel cast one last hateful look at the two Easterlings before striding out of the tent.

Sihaya, who until then had watched helplessly at the scene, found her voice.

"Was it really necessary to treat her like that?"

"I do not intend to discuss this now." Barur's tone did not allow for replies.

Mezyan filled the Rais's cup with wine.

"Father, perhaps we should consider this proposal. Maybe a change is what this world needs." he asserted.

Sihaya did not bother hiding her contempt for her half-brother.

"And would you like to barter us as if we were cattle? I would like to remind you that the Ihaggaren have always maintained neutrality."

"Our people are suffering, sister. If you were not blinded by your ignorance, you would have realized that we will not be able to survive much longer and moving is not solution! Where would you want to go? Further south, to die beyond the dunes? Or would you like to come to terms with the White City? Do it, and we'll wait for them to send your head back with their regards."

Mezyan scowled at her, as if challenging her to dispute his version of the events.

Beside him, his mother Alya cradled little Dris who, despite the ruckus, had fallen asleep.

She used to listen in silence, and rarely intervened in political matters. However, in that situation she could not refrain from trying to calm the spirits.

"We are all worried about the fate of the sietch, son. You and your brothers have been given the task of advising the Raìs, not sowing further discord."

Yumruk, who until then had been watching in amusement, intervened. "I find your concern for the fate of your people… admirable. But our time is running out, and my Master demands an answer."

His voice was suddenly cold. Beside him, his taciturn companion absently stroked the handle of his axe.

"We don't have enough men to fight a war against the West," said Bahsis blatantly.

Mezyan snorted with disdain. "And we are not in a position to waste such an opportunity."

"Did I ask you, boys? None of you is Raìs, yet. I didn't come here to deal with brats."

"Indeed, Easterling. You are here to deal with me, and I guarantee you that no one will dare to interfere from now on."

A grin flashed across Yumruk's face. "You are a wise man, Raìs. With you by our side -"

"Do not put words in my mouth." Barur announced crisply. "Your armies will be granted passage across the tribe lands, freely. You will be welcome to drink from our wells as no one will be left to thirst in the desert. But we will keep our neutrality, as we always have."

Yumruk's eyes narrowed. "Do you dare to refuse this alliance?"

"I am doing what is right for my people. It is the duty of a leader." The Raìs shot a quick glance at Sihaya. "A war with Gondor would be the end of us. However, you can tell your Master that the Ihaggaren will not get in the way."

A sudden chill permeated the air in the tent, although outside the heat of the day had not yet disappeared. Nobody dared to breathe.

After several tense moments, the Easterling who had never uttered a word until then, Kustig, suddenly stood up and spoke in a grave voice.

"Thluk sha za. Ulu draugub ûr armaukat."

Barur lifted his chin. "That language is not welcome here. Whatever your friend said, whether it is a threat or not, I will not change my mind. This is not our war."

"So be it." Yumruk said. "I will report your decision to my Master. My friend just wished you a reign as lasting as the wisdom you had shown today. But, let me tell you one last thing, Raìs. A side should always be taken. Even if it's the wrong side."

At that insult Bahsis jumped to his feet. "Are you calling my father a coward?"

"No, my young prince. Mine is just a suggestion. You should learn to rule. It's something none of your ancestors learned."

With a quick bow, which sounded more like a mockery, the two Wômaw warriors left the tent.

Long minutes of silence followed. Barur contemplated the wine in his cup for a long time. In the light of the brazier, it looked like blood.

"You have disappointed me. All of you. I thought I had raised good successors, but you have proved that you are just brats."

"Father, I don't think it was a wise choice to deal with them." Sihaya muttered. "You talked about neutrality. You showed our weakness. You always told me to bow to no one... yet what did you do today? You guaranteed them passage to our lands!"

The Raìs violently slammed the goblet on the table. Wine spilled everywhere.

"So, now you know how to rule, do you? Do you presume to tell me what I have done wrong, daughter?"

The warrior princess clenched her fists. "We should have chased them away before they even spoke! Since when we have stooped to haggle with those who have always been our enemies?!"

Bahsis was nodding in approval, but the others guest would not meet her eye; none of them save Mezyan, who glared at her.

The vizier spoke bitterly: "When you talk about facing an enemy, you must also consider that you have an army in order to do so!"

"They are at war with the West. And we are exactly in the middle. Do you really believe that Gorthû cares about our fate? He just wants our weapons, our war chariots and our arcane arts. We would receive neither food nor any safe land. We would only be pawns in his hands! "

"And what do you suggest, an alliance with Gondor? With those men who tried to invade the desert, to bend the East to their control? Those men who have always treated us as inferior?"

"No, I will not ally with the Men of the West, as they do not trust us." Sihaya replied. She looked straight at her father. "I beg you, Raìs: command an exodus. Secure the sietch and send out your emissaries. We desperately need allies and a safe passage out of this desert. I remind you that once the Ihaggaren had sworn allegiance to the-"

"Enough." Barur looked at his children with contempt. "Mezyan, submitting to Gorthû means putting us in chains and, as long as I'm alive, you can be sure this won't happen. You still have a lot to learn."

The boy's green eyes flared with anger, but he bowed his head in silence.

"Bahsis, I have made you captain and I have entrusted you with my army... but you are not yet capable of making a single decision on your own. You side with the strongest voice, and you never speak for yourself. How can you believe that men will ever listen to such a feeble leader? "

"I am sorry, Raìs." Bahsis murmured in shame.

Barur gave no sign of hearing those apologies. He turned his fiery gaze, filled with disappointment, on Sihaya. "You are my eldest daughter, the future Raìssa of the sietch. But you are not ready. You behave like a fool, and today you gave me another confirmation. After the last famine, our stocks have dwindled considerably, and our livestock still suffer. No, I will not command an exodus to send us to die in the desert, which is the only place left where we could hide. No one has ever dared to attack us openly, have you forgotten that? Even Gorthû chose to send his ambassadors instead of invading us. He will not dare to turn the Haradrim or the Easterlings against us, as he knows he would suffer heavy losses."

"Father, I beg you to reconsider-"

"Do you think you are Amalya the Fearless, and that you can go ask the elves for help? Tell me, daughter, have you ever wondered why your friend has lived with us for so long? I also heard her tales when I was a child and, I am sorry to disappoint you, but the elves abandoned us. They left us to burn and drown in Beleriand, just as they left her behind. We are alone."

Sihaya closed her eyes, feeling tears press out beneath the lids. She fought the trembling, the ragged pulse, the uneven breathing, the sweating of the palms. She would not waste precious water by starting to cry.

Presently, she said, "Times have changed, Father. We will never know if we are truly alone if we never step out of the sietch."

"You are to be Raìssa when I am gone, girl. You will hold the lives of five hundred people in your hands, and they will depend on your choices." Barur said, his voice full of sorrow. "But if it is the fate of the Ihaggaren to have a leader so weak to be duped by reveries, then it is a dark fate indeed. From now on, your right to speak in this assembly is revoked until you prove yourself worthy. You may go, all of you."

Fighting against the tears, Sihaya stormed out of the tent, shortly followed by the two brothers. Each of them sought refuge in solitude.

Alya, who as always had watched without interfering, touched Barur's arm. Little Dris, unaware of everything, slept happily at her side.

"They will learn, in time. Trust them."

The Raìs took her hand and kissed it. "My sweetheart, I'm afraid we have little time left. But this is something only the Lord of the Eagles and the Great Judge may know."

With those words, he gestured to the musicians and the feast resumed as if nothing had happened.

Quick footsteps echoed on the steps crudely carved into the rock. Part of the sietch was in a large rock mass consisting of a myriad of caves. The caves proved to be providential to shelter from the frequent sandstorms and guarded, in the deepest levels, a substantial reserve of water. Several Ihaggaren preferred the greater solidity of those cave dwellings, called yali, to tents.

Still smoking with rage, Nariel hurried through the maze of tunnels, hoping that no one would stop her.

Her yali, which also housed a small forge, was located at one of the high levels of the cliff, in a spacious cave, divided into several rooms.

On the way, she passed a couple of returning soldiers from the patrol who shot her a sleepy look, but no one disturbed her. Once safe in the privacy of her yali, Nariel angrily slammed the door behind her. Anger boiled in her veins.

Not only had she been prevented from reacting to the threats from those filthy traitors, but Barur had also kicked her out of the assembly. As a member of the sietch, it was her right to speak.

Paying the price of water meant making oneself useful to the tribe in some way, contributing to its needs, and this gave the right to take part in the assembly. Children and, usually, foreigners were not allowed: the former until the end of their fifteenth winter, while the latter had to prove that they had a thorough knowledge of the Ihaggaren, in order to earn the right.

And she, even though she was not an Easterling, had earned the title of heval long ago, and had never broken the bargain.

Still smoldering with rage, Nariel locked herself in her bedroom.

The light of Isil, the Moon, filtered clear through a circular window carved into the rock, and illuminated a small, sparsely furnished room.

The bed, a straw mattress carefully placed on an iron frame, was placed under the window. At the foot of the bed was a small wooden trunk, on which lay a leather backpack and some battered books. In one corner, there was a small table surmounted by a mirror and a chair, also made of metal. Another small room, hidden by a wooden partition, constituted a small but functional bathroom. Most of the yali was occupied by the largest room, her forge.

Nariel had been absent for several months but noticed that someone had been careful to keep the environment clean. Sihaya, without a doubt.

Valar bless that girl.

She dropped into the chair with a weary sigh. With mechanical gestures she untied the knot that held her turban, and long hair of an almost silvery white, gathered in complicated braids, fell to the middle of her back. Gray eyes cautiously studied the reflection in the mirror. The signs of her fatigue were evident on her ivory complexion. A thin scar glittered above the left eyebrow along the hairline. A memory of her first defeat, when she still could not fight.

The harsh words of the Raìs echoed in Nariel's mind for a long time. Her hands covered the pointed ears, in a feeble attempt to silence that voice.

"You are not one of us. This is not where you belong."

For the umpteenth time, in six thousand long years, the elf found herself dealing with her loneliness.

A Barlog did not eat me, don't worry! It took a little longer than expected, but I'm happy with how this chapter came out.

Small note: I did not put the translation in Black Speech in the text because none of those present understood it, but for completeness the Easterling said: "Enough with this. They will pay for their treason."

Thanks for your precious lessons!

The next chapter is already work in progress, so stay tuned!

Comments, opinions, opinions are always welcome!

Best regards,

Cryo