Part Sixteen
A sharp tap at the door heralded the entrance of Mistress Tarmanil bearing an enormous platter which she settled on the sideboard. At her heels was a kitchen boy balancing a large pitcher and several cups. Unlike the housekeeper, who continued to deny the Haradrim the honor of her recognition, the boy gawked openly at the red robed man seated in the chair opposite Master Gemthir. As the pitcher tipped dangerously in the boy's hands, Tarmanil snapped her fingers to recall him to his task.
"Set it there, Borthond," she said briskly, directing a frown at muddy boots and paws. Rolfe and Estev scrambled to their feet and the other boys shifted uncomfortably; but the housekeeper said only, "Will that be all, sir?'
"Yes, thank you," responded Gemthir with a patient smile.
Tarmanil bobbed a curtsey and shoving the kitchen boy before her moved toward the still open door.
"On second thought..." The housekeeper paused mid step when the tutor spoke again. "Please send Borthond to inform the boys' families that they are dining with me and will be home by the seventh bell?"
Gemthir hesitated, then rose and went to his desk. He scribbled a hasty note, then sealed it and held it out to the kitchen boy.
Speaking softly, he said, "Deliver this to Esiwmas of Rohan rather than the other message. Do you understand, Borthond?"
The boy smiled broadly and tucked the message into this belt. "Yes, sir. Trader Esiwmas receives the note and the others are told the boys dine with you."
"Off you go then," Master Gemthir said, then maneuvered the housekeeper through the door and closed it firmly.
Jesse and Dog, noses twitching, leaned against the legs of their boys and stared up beseechingly. Ferlan, his nose atwitch as well, strained to identify the contents of the platter and wondered if the others could hear the growling of his stomach.
As the tutor returned to his seat, Shaymur asked, "What happens now, sir?" He pointed to the medallion and the dagger.
The resilience of youth again astonished the tutor. Even presented with a tool of evil designed by the Dark Lord, the boy was capable of focusing on the practicalities.
"A question that will receive much thought, Shaymur, but one with which you boys need not trouble yourselves. If you are all in agreement, I will undertake to arrange matters with the phazgân. After all, that is my task as your representative."
"And the other things too? The ransom for the armband, I mean," said Ferlan, shifting to avoid another jab from Curthan.
"Most certainly. If the House of Tharan does not wish to redeem the medallions or the silver chain, there are alternate buyers available."
Rolfe, dark eyes solemn, said, "We didn't know what that knife was or we would not have kept it secret."
"We didn't want my brother to take it," Ferlan explained. "But now that he knows about it," an accusing glance was aimed at Master Gemthir, "he'll expect a lot of money."
"You shall be most richly compensated, young sirs, for the return of the Blade of Nuphar ," Ahmose replied.
Reassured, Ferlan subsided and directed another longing gaze at the platter on the sideboard. It had been a long time since lunch.
"You don't sell things like that," Karston protested. "It just causes trouble."
Curthan and Rolfe nodded in agreement. Ferlan sighed; he had known they would find a way to be noble and just give the stuff away. At least, they would still get something for the armband.
"What is to be done now that the blade has been recovered?" Shaymur asked as he watched Estev's fists began to clench and unclench.
"My master, as is his right as Phazgân of the House of Tharan, means to destroy it."
Estev bit down on his lip to hold back a loud "no".
"Has anyone tried before?" asked Karston. "I mean ..."
"Yes, young sir, many times." Ahmose replied solemnly. "None have survived the attempt which is why my master has taken the task upon himself. Our hope is that with the defeat of the Dark One, the blade's powers will be diminished and a less demanding means may be found to destroy it forever."
Though the question of what would happen if this hope proved fruitless filled their minds, none spoke the words aloud. For a thought once spoken takes on a life of its own.
His gaze upon the dark dagger of Nuphar, Ahmose again felt the icy fingers of dread. What power did it still possess? Did its failure to claim the minds and hearts of the young Rohirrim and the Gondorian scholar mean that it was no longer a threat? No, that he did not believe. Too much evil had been done because of this blade for him to accept that.
A sharp tap at the door heralded the entrance of Mistress Tarmanil bearing an enormous platter which she settled on the sideboard. At her heels was a kitchen boy balancing a large pitcher and several cups. Unlike the housekeeper, who continued to deny the Haradrim the honor of her recognition, the boy gawked openly at the red robed man seated in the chair opposite Master Gemthir. As the pitcher tipped dangerously in the boy's hands, Tarmanil snapped her fingers to recall him to his task.
"Set it there, Borthond," she said briskly, directing a frown at muddy boots and paws. Rolfe and Estev scrambled to their feet and the other boys shifted uncomfortably; but the housekeeper said only, "Will that be all, sir?'
"Yes, thank you," responded Gemthir with a patient smile.
Tarmanil bobbed a curtsey and shoving the kitchen boy before her moved toward the still open door.
"On second thought..." The housekeeper paused mid step when the tutor spoke again. "Please send Borthond to inform the boys' families that they are dining with me and will be home by the seventh bell?"
Gemthir hesitated, then rose and went to his desk. He scribbled a hasty note, then sealed it and held it out to the kitchen boy.
Speaking softly, he said, "Deliver this to Esiwmas of Rohan rather than the other message. Do you understand, Borthond?"
The boy smiled broadly and tucked the message into this belt. "Yes, sir. Trader Esiwmas receives the note and the others are told the boys dine with you."
"Off you go then," Master Gemthir said, then maneuvered the housekeeper through the door and closed it firmly.
Jesse and Dog, noses twitching, leaned against the legs of their boys and stared up beseechingly. Ferlan, his nose atwitch as well, strained to identify the contents of the platter and wondered if the others could hear the growling of his stomach.
As the tutor returned to his seat, Shaymur asked, "What happens now, sir?" He pointed to the medallion and the dagger.
The resilience of youth again astonished the tutor. Even presented with a tool of evil designed by the Dark Lord, the boy was capable of focusing on the practicalities.
"A question that will receive much thought, Shaymur, but one with which you boys need not trouble yourselves. If you are all in agreement, I will undertake to arrange matters with the phazgân. After all, that is my task as your representative."
"And the other things too? The ransom for the armband, I mean," said Ferlan, shifting to avoid another jab from Curthan.
"Most certainly. If the House of Tharan does not wish to redeem the medallions or the silver chain, there are alternate buyers available."
Rolfe, dark eyes solemn, said, "We didn't know what that knife was or we would not have kept it secret."
"We didn't want my brother to take it," Ferlan explained. "But now that he knows about it," an accusing glance was aimed at Master Gemthir, "he'll expect a lot of money."
"You shall be most richly compensated, young sirs, for the return of the Blade of Nuphar ," Ahmose replied.
Reassured, Ferlan subsided and directed another longing gaze at the platter on the sideboard. It had been a long time since lunch.
"You don't sell things like that," Karston protested. "It just causes trouble."
Curthan and Rolfe nodded in agreement. Ferlan sighed; he had known they would find a way to be noble and just give the stuff away. At least, they would still get something for the armband.
"What is to be done now that the blade has been recovered?" Shaymur asked as he watched Estev's fists began to clench and unclench.
"My master, as is his right as Phazgân of the House of Tharan, means to destroy it."
Estev bit down on his lip to hold back a loud "no".
"Has anyone tried before?" asked Karston. "I mean ..."
"Yes, young sir, many times." Ahmose replied solemnly. "None have survived the attempt which is why my master has taken the task upon himself. Our hope is that with the defeat of the Dark One, the blade's powers will be diminished and a less demanding means may be found to destroy it forever."
Though the question of what would happen if this hope proved fruitless filled their minds, none spoke the words aloud. For a thought once spoken takes on a life of its own.
His gaze upon the dark dagger of Nuphar, Ahmose again felt the icy fingers of dread. What power did it still possess? Did its failure to claim the minds and hearts of the young Rohirrim and the Gondorian scholar mean that it was no longer a threat? No, that he did not believe. Too much evil had been done because of this blade for him to accept that.