Part Thirteen:
Bowing gracefully in solemn greeting, the red robed man respectfully hid his amusement as the boys stared in open-mouthed astonishment. Until this moment none, save Shaymur, had ever been this close to a living Haradrim and wide eyed they took in every detail. Taller than many men of the South, he was equal to Master Gemthir in height, and though nearly as slender as the master he possessed the wiry strength of a warrior. His shining black hair hung in plaits to his shoulders and soft leather boots, dyed red to match his robes, reached to his knees. Most noteworthy, to the boys, was the golden medallion gleaming upon his breast.
"How do you know?" asked Estev recovering his voice. "You haven't even looked at it up close."
Tilting his head, Ahmose replied gently, "But I have."
The boys regarded the man uncertainly. Taking advantage of their confused silence, Gemthir ushered them into the side room, and dismissed Mistress Tarmanil with the directive to bring suitable refreshments in half an hour.
Seating the boys upon three benches pulled to form a semicircle and ordering their canine companions into silence, Gemthir indicated the Southron. "Ahmose is a representative of Karif Phazgân of the House of Tharan."
Karston leaned toward Rolfe and whispered, "What's a phazgân?"
"It means, young sir, that my master is the leader of our House," replied Ahmose.
"What did you mean, sir," Rolfe asked, "that you've seen the armband before? Before it was lost in battle?"
"It is a treasure of the House of Tharan." Ahmose settled once more into his chair and turned to Master Gemthir. "One might presume these are your clients."
"One might," the tutor answered dryly.
After the boys had given their names, Gemthir added, "Rolfe and Estev are the sons of Esiwmas of Rohan and my students. They and their friends have been clearing a field of debris. I was engaged to represent them when they chanced upon some items of value."
Ferlan opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it shut when Curthan's elbow dug sharply into his ribs.
Shaymur rolled the armband thoughtfully between his fingers, then looked up to meet Ahmose's dark eyes. "It belongs to you."
"As an heirloom of my House, it belongs to all who are of my clan."
"But it was lost, right?" exclaimed Ferlan anxiously. He could guess the direction of Shaymur's thoughts. "And we found it!"
"Don't get so excited, little man," said Curthan soothingly. "Master Gemthir will sort it all out properly."
Six sets of eyes fastened on the tutor who said placidly, "If Master Ahmose will be kind enough to give us all the particulars, I will certainly attempt to negotiate a solution that will prove profitable to all involved."
The slow blinking of the Southron's dark eyes was the only discernible indication of uneasiness at being the new focus for the boys' intense gaze. A lifting of one eyebrow acknowledged the man's appreciation of Gemthir's subtle handling of the situation.
"My master, Karif Phazgân, has learned of your discoveries and has sent me to ascertain their credibility."
The boys shifted restlessly at this statement until Shaymur shook his head before saying, "We just found the armband, so you must mean the dagger."
"Yes, young master," agreed Ahmose.
"How will you," Shaymur paused, then repeated the man's phrasing, "determine its credibility?"
"In many ways. Primarily by the insignia inscribed upon the blade."
Before the boys could launch into a full description of the knife, Gemthir asked, "And what would that be?"
Ahmose bent his head in thought. His master had given him leave to use his own discretion. However, if the eventual outcome did not meet the phazgân's approval, the consequences would prove harsh. Raising his head, he studied those before him. Gemthir's reputation had already received the scrutiny of his master, and the name of Esiwmas of Rohan was not unknown. But who were these others? What clans did they hold allegiance too? Releasing a long held breath, the Southron cast his fate upon the winds.
"For many lives of men, the people of the South and those of the North have warred with each other. With the casting down of the Dark Lord, there is a breath of hope that our peoples might make lasting peace. To that goal, I will speak." Ahmose's voice slipped into the sing-song cadence of a gifted storyteller. "Long ago, before the time of my father's father's father, a messenger appeared before Nuphar Phazgân of the House of Tharan. Pleasing to the eye and gentle to the ear, he spoke of the might of his lord and how all who joined with him in battle against those of the North would be well rewarded with both riches and power."
"It was Sauron," whispered Ferlan, then squirmed as black eyes fixed upon him.
"Nay, little master, not the Dark One himself, but a man who chose to believe the lies of the Enemy and sought to tempt others along the same path." Ahmose sighed. "To the sorrow of my House, the ears of the phazgân were open to him. Vows were made that have been redeemed time and again over the long years with the blood of our warriors. Vows from which there was no hope of honorable release save death."
"Thus it was that tied by our ancient vows, spurred by a carefully nurtured hatred for the men of the North, and driven by fear of the Dark One and his lieutenants, great numbers marched to a battle from which they did not return. The men of Gondor and Rohan are fierce and victory was theirs that day."
Amongst the boys sidelong glances were exchanged. Here was one once numbered among the enemy. How should they react? Feelings of pride in their kith and kin who had fought in the battles warred with a desire to understand this man who clearly mourned for the warriors of his clan.
"But what about the dagger?" said Estev suddenly.
"And the armband?" added Karston.
A golden earring shimmered in the light as Ahmose leaned forward and held a hand out toward Shaymur. Only after receiving a nod from Master Gemthir did the boy release the bronze ornament.
"Here is the serpent of Harad," the dark man laid a slim finger on the center of the band. "The jeweled eyes show that it is the property of a lord of the Twenty Houses. Rubies, the stones of fire, are worn only by the leader of a House."
"And it's coiled to the right too!" exclaimed Ferlan.
White teeth flashed in a quick smile. "Ah, scholars you are."
"Not me," said the farm lad quickly. "Rolfe showed us that on one of the medall... ouch, would you stop that!"
Curthan frowned down at the smaller boy. "You talk too much, Ferlan."
Ferlan rubbed his ribs and glared, but closed his mouth tightly when his friend nudged him again.
Turning a blind eye to the exchange, Ahmose pointed to the rune on the serpent's right. "Here, the emblem of the House of Tharan." Moving to the left, the man pointed to another rune. "And here is the symbol of Hamzah to whom the armband was gifted."
Rolfe noted that the second was the very one they had determined was identical to that upon the dagger and that the first matched with those on the three medallions. Glancing at Master Gemthir, he raised one eyebrow inquiringly and received a slight nod in return.
"Who gave it to him?" asked Estev, relieved that the serpent on the bronze ring had not exhibited any tendency to move. "The Dark Lord?"
The Southron laughed softly. "Nay, young sir, it was a gift from the Kâthuphazgân to mark the day Hamzah became head of our clan many lifetimes ago. It has been passed on to each leader since that time."
"Until now," stated Shaymur bluntly.
"Until now," agreed Ahmose. "The eldest brother of my master wore it when he marched north to answer the command of the Dark Lord. His name will be sung no more in the roll of the phazgâns."
The opening notes of the "The Mounds of Mundburg"sounded in his mind as Estev asked, "Why not?"
Ahmose tilted his head inquiringly.
"Why won't his name be sung in the rolls?" the boy clarified.
"Ah, forgive me for not understanding." Dark fingers rubbed the smooth surface of the armband. "It is the way of my people that those whose death is not in victory are named no longer."
"That's stupid," Estev replied, drawing agreeing nods from his companions.
"Estev," chided Master Gemthir. "Calling potential buyers rude names is not the most profitable tacit."
"I'm sorry," the Rohirrim lad mumbled. "But they fought well, my father says. Why shouldn't their names be remembered by someone?"
Ahmose drew back, only honesty and curiosity shone in the strange blue eyes of the boy; but how did one begin to explain a custom that had always been? One that he had never questioned before.
"Since you won't name him, does that mean you don't want the armband back?" Ferlan broke the silence and slid to the edge of the bench to avoid Curthan's elbow.
Grasping the opportunity to avoid a response to Estev's question, Ahmose answered, "I cannot say as my master must first be consulted."
"Certainly," said Master Gemthir, quelling any further comments from the boys with a hard look. "After all, it was not the armband which brought you here."
The Southron said simply, "No." He held the jeweled band out to Shaymur, who accepted it and passed it on to the tutor.
After examining the marks Ahmose had pointed out, Gemthir said, "I believe you had requested to see the dagger and other artifacts the boys had retrieved from the fields."
Six intent gazes fastened again upon the Haradrim: three with pleased excitement, two with quiet regard, and one with dismay that was quickly hidden. Dread wrapped icy fingers about Ahmose's heart at the glimpse of such an emotion haunting the eyes of one so young. Had the fears of his master come to pass?
"I am ordered to place myself at your direction and assist you in the proper identification of the items the young ones have returned from the field."
A lift of his eyebrows indicated Gemthir's understanding of the subtle game of words they were playing. "Your assistance would be of great value. Why does Karif of the House of Tharan send such a gift?"
Mindful of the tutor's mention of paying for consultations with his colleagues, Rolfe and Shaymur exchanged glances. Gifts of significant worth always carried obligations.
"In the interest of allowing the newly planted peace between our peoples time to grow."
The six pairs of eyes watching this exchange blinked and six heads turned as one toward Gemthir. As he nodded, the boys relaxed, pleased with themselves for having the foresight to engage the tutor as their representative.
"If there is any special significance to any item the boys have discovered, I trust you will make it known."
The Southron's eyes flicked to the face of the younger Rohirrim. Such a revelation might prove already too late.
"As Karif Phazgân has ordered," Ahmose said touching his forehead and bowing his head.
Accepting that he would get no other response from the man, Gemthir tucked the armband into his robes, drew a key from his right sleeve and passed it to Rolfe. "The small chest on the third shelf."
Rolfe rose, stepped carefully around Dog's front paws and crossed the room to the indicated shelf. Inserting the key, he lifted the brass bound lid and asked, "Everything or just the dagger?"
"The dagger and one medallion should be sufficient for now," replied the tutor gathering the teacups and remaining cakes onto the tray. "Estev, if you would be so kind as to carry this to the sideboard."
"Yes, sir."
The black and white herd dog lifted his head and whined as Estev stood, but remained in his place beside the boy's bench in obedience to a quiet, "Stay, Jesse."
Master Gemthir took a black velvet cloth from a shallow drawer and covered the battered top of the low table. Accepting the artifacts from Rolfe with a nod of thanks, he waited until the two boys had returned to their seats before placing the golden medallion upon the cloth. With eager anticipation the boys leaned forward barely breathing, their eyes moving from the shining badge to the unreadable dark face.
Bowing gracefully in solemn greeting, the red robed man respectfully hid his amusement as the boys stared in open-mouthed astonishment. Until this moment none, save Shaymur, had ever been this close to a living Haradrim and wide eyed they took in every detail. Taller than many men of the South, he was equal to Master Gemthir in height, and though nearly as slender as the master he possessed the wiry strength of a warrior. His shining black hair hung in plaits to his shoulders and soft leather boots, dyed red to match his robes, reached to his knees. Most noteworthy, to the boys, was the golden medallion gleaming upon his breast.
"How do you know?" asked Estev recovering his voice. "You haven't even looked at it up close."
Tilting his head, Ahmose replied gently, "But I have."
The boys regarded the man uncertainly. Taking advantage of their confused silence, Gemthir ushered them into the side room, and dismissed Mistress Tarmanil with the directive to bring suitable refreshments in half an hour.
Seating the boys upon three benches pulled to form a semicircle and ordering their canine companions into silence, Gemthir indicated the Southron. "Ahmose is a representative of Karif Phazgân of the House of Tharan."
Karston leaned toward Rolfe and whispered, "What's a phazgân?"
"It means, young sir, that my master is the leader of our House," replied Ahmose.
"What did you mean, sir," Rolfe asked, "that you've seen the armband before? Before it was lost in battle?"
"It is a treasure of the House of Tharan." Ahmose settled once more into his chair and turned to Master Gemthir. "One might presume these are your clients."
"One might," the tutor answered dryly.
After the boys had given their names, Gemthir added, "Rolfe and Estev are the sons of Esiwmas of Rohan and my students. They and their friends have been clearing a field of debris. I was engaged to represent them when they chanced upon some items of value."
Ferlan opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it shut when Curthan's elbow dug sharply into his ribs.
Shaymur rolled the armband thoughtfully between his fingers, then looked up to meet Ahmose's dark eyes. "It belongs to you."
"As an heirloom of my House, it belongs to all who are of my clan."
"But it was lost, right?" exclaimed Ferlan anxiously. He could guess the direction of Shaymur's thoughts. "And we found it!"
"Don't get so excited, little man," said Curthan soothingly. "Master Gemthir will sort it all out properly."
Six sets of eyes fastened on the tutor who said placidly, "If Master Ahmose will be kind enough to give us all the particulars, I will certainly attempt to negotiate a solution that will prove profitable to all involved."
The slow blinking of the Southron's dark eyes was the only discernible indication of uneasiness at being the new focus for the boys' intense gaze. A lifting of one eyebrow acknowledged the man's appreciation of Gemthir's subtle handling of the situation.
"My master, Karif Phazgân, has learned of your discoveries and has sent me to ascertain their credibility."
The boys shifted restlessly at this statement until Shaymur shook his head before saying, "We just found the armband, so you must mean the dagger."
"Yes, young master," agreed Ahmose.
"How will you," Shaymur paused, then repeated the man's phrasing, "determine its credibility?"
"In many ways. Primarily by the insignia inscribed upon the blade."
Before the boys could launch into a full description of the knife, Gemthir asked, "And what would that be?"
Ahmose bent his head in thought. His master had given him leave to use his own discretion. However, if the eventual outcome did not meet the phazgân's approval, the consequences would prove harsh. Raising his head, he studied those before him. Gemthir's reputation had already received the scrutiny of his master, and the name of Esiwmas of Rohan was not unknown. But who were these others? What clans did they hold allegiance too? Releasing a long held breath, the Southron cast his fate upon the winds.
"For many lives of men, the people of the South and those of the North have warred with each other. With the casting down of the Dark Lord, there is a breath of hope that our peoples might make lasting peace. To that goal, I will speak." Ahmose's voice slipped into the sing-song cadence of a gifted storyteller. "Long ago, before the time of my father's father's father, a messenger appeared before Nuphar Phazgân of the House of Tharan. Pleasing to the eye and gentle to the ear, he spoke of the might of his lord and how all who joined with him in battle against those of the North would be well rewarded with both riches and power."
"It was Sauron," whispered Ferlan, then squirmed as black eyes fixed upon him.
"Nay, little master, not the Dark One himself, but a man who chose to believe the lies of the Enemy and sought to tempt others along the same path." Ahmose sighed. "To the sorrow of my House, the ears of the phazgân were open to him. Vows were made that have been redeemed time and again over the long years with the blood of our warriors. Vows from which there was no hope of honorable release save death."
"Thus it was that tied by our ancient vows, spurred by a carefully nurtured hatred for the men of the North, and driven by fear of the Dark One and his lieutenants, great numbers marched to a battle from which they did not return. The men of Gondor and Rohan are fierce and victory was theirs that day."
Amongst the boys sidelong glances were exchanged. Here was one once numbered among the enemy. How should they react? Feelings of pride in their kith and kin who had fought in the battles warred with a desire to understand this man who clearly mourned for the warriors of his clan.
"But what about the dagger?" said Estev suddenly.
"And the armband?" added Karston.
A golden earring shimmered in the light as Ahmose leaned forward and held a hand out toward Shaymur. Only after receiving a nod from Master Gemthir did the boy release the bronze ornament.
"Here is the serpent of Harad," the dark man laid a slim finger on the center of the band. "The jeweled eyes show that it is the property of a lord of the Twenty Houses. Rubies, the stones of fire, are worn only by the leader of a House."
"And it's coiled to the right too!" exclaimed Ferlan.
White teeth flashed in a quick smile. "Ah, scholars you are."
"Not me," said the farm lad quickly. "Rolfe showed us that on one of the medall... ouch, would you stop that!"
Curthan frowned down at the smaller boy. "You talk too much, Ferlan."
Ferlan rubbed his ribs and glared, but closed his mouth tightly when his friend nudged him again.
Turning a blind eye to the exchange, Ahmose pointed to the rune on the serpent's right. "Here, the emblem of the House of Tharan." Moving to the left, the man pointed to another rune. "And here is the symbol of Hamzah to whom the armband was gifted."
Rolfe noted that the second was the very one they had determined was identical to that upon the dagger and that the first matched with those on the three medallions. Glancing at Master Gemthir, he raised one eyebrow inquiringly and received a slight nod in return.
"Who gave it to him?" asked Estev, relieved that the serpent on the bronze ring had not exhibited any tendency to move. "The Dark Lord?"
The Southron laughed softly. "Nay, young sir, it was a gift from the Kâthuphazgân to mark the day Hamzah became head of our clan many lifetimes ago. It has been passed on to each leader since that time."
"Until now," stated Shaymur bluntly.
"Until now," agreed Ahmose. "The eldest brother of my master wore it when he marched north to answer the command of the Dark Lord. His name will be sung no more in the roll of the phazgâns."
The opening notes of the "The Mounds of Mundburg"sounded in his mind as Estev asked, "Why not?"
Ahmose tilted his head inquiringly.
"Why won't his name be sung in the rolls?" the boy clarified.
"Ah, forgive me for not understanding." Dark fingers rubbed the smooth surface of the armband. "It is the way of my people that those whose death is not in victory are named no longer."
"That's stupid," Estev replied, drawing agreeing nods from his companions.
"Estev," chided Master Gemthir. "Calling potential buyers rude names is not the most profitable tacit."
"I'm sorry," the Rohirrim lad mumbled. "But they fought well, my father says. Why shouldn't their names be remembered by someone?"
Ahmose drew back, only honesty and curiosity shone in the strange blue eyes of the boy; but how did one begin to explain a custom that had always been? One that he had never questioned before.
"Since you won't name him, does that mean you don't want the armband back?" Ferlan broke the silence and slid to the edge of the bench to avoid Curthan's elbow.
Grasping the opportunity to avoid a response to Estev's question, Ahmose answered, "I cannot say as my master must first be consulted."
"Certainly," said Master Gemthir, quelling any further comments from the boys with a hard look. "After all, it was not the armband which brought you here."
The Southron said simply, "No." He held the jeweled band out to Shaymur, who accepted it and passed it on to the tutor.
After examining the marks Ahmose had pointed out, Gemthir said, "I believe you had requested to see the dagger and other artifacts the boys had retrieved from the fields."
Six intent gazes fastened again upon the Haradrim: three with pleased excitement, two with quiet regard, and one with dismay that was quickly hidden. Dread wrapped icy fingers about Ahmose's heart at the glimpse of such an emotion haunting the eyes of one so young. Had the fears of his master come to pass?
"I am ordered to place myself at your direction and assist you in the proper identification of the items the young ones have returned from the field."
A lift of his eyebrows indicated Gemthir's understanding of the subtle game of words they were playing. "Your assistance would be of great value. Why does Karif of the House of Tharan send such a gift?"
Mindful of the tutor's mention of paying for consultations with his colleagues, Rolfe and Shaymur exchanged glances. Gifts of significant worth always carried obligations.
"In the interest of allowing the newly planted peace between our peoples time to grow."
The six pairs of eyes watching this exchange blinked and six heads turned as one toward Gemthir. As he nodded, the boys relaxed, pleased with themselves for having the foresight to engage the tutor as their representative.
"If there is any special significance to any item the boys have discovered, I trust you will make it known."
The Southron's eyes flicked to the face of the younger Rohirrim. Such a revelation might prove already too late.
"As Karif Phazgân has ordered," Ahmose said touching his forehead and bowing his head.
Accepting that he would get no other response from the man, Gemthir tucked the armband into his robes, drew a key from his right sleeve and passed it to Rolfe. "The small chest on the third shelf."
Rolfe rose, stepped carefully around Dog's front paws and crossed the room to the indicated shelf. Inserting the key, he lifted the brass bound lid and asked, "Everything or just the dagger?"
"The dagger and one medallion should be sufficient for now," replied the tutor gathering the teacups and remaining cakes onto the tray. "Estev, if you would be so kind as to carry this to the sideboard."
"Yes, sir."
The black and white herd dog lifted his head and whined as Estev stood, but remained in his place beside the boy's bench in obedience to a quiet, "Stay, Jesse."
Master Gemthir took a black velvet cloth from a shallow drawer and covered the battered top of the low table. Accepting the artifacts from Rolfe with a nod of thanks, he waited until the two boys had returned to their seats before placing the golden medallion upon the cloth. With eager anticipation the boys leaned forward barely breathing, their eyes moving from the shining badge to the unreadable dark face.