Part Eighteen
If one had been of a mind to delight in absurdities, the tableau within the narrow room would have afforded much humor. An ulbar of the House of Tharan held at bay by a ragtag group of boys, a thin stick of a scholar and two canines of indeterminate breeding. The unpardonable desire to howl with laughter was held in check by the proximity of the ancient blade with its evil history and by the quiet figure who now held all of their futures in his young hands.
"Your brother is already taken. By his own lips, he thrice claimed the Blade of Nuphar for his own, and it answered his call. None who stand within this room can say differently." A slim brown hand gestured toward Master Gemthir and the other boys. "Speak to your brother, young one. See if it is not as I have said."
Dog offered Rolfe a comforting lick as he knelt beside Estev's quiet figure, while Jesse lifted his head and pleaded for his boy. Though Rolfe gave the dogs murmured reassurances, for all his stubborn defiance, he had little confidence that Estev would emerge unharmed. The pale blue eyes remained closed, though one could see his lips move and hear the soft cadence of Rohirrim words. Rolfe strained to understand, but could make out only a word or two. And no word that he spoke received a reply.
Sitting back on his heels, Rolfe sighed, "He's calling for his mother and father."
"Your brother is strong. He fights the blade even yet," Ahmose replied softly from the chair he had retaken.
"His father should be here soon." Master Gemthir gestured toward the window where the afternoon light was fading. "The note Borthond took requested Trader Esiwmas to come as quickly as possible."
"There is no time to lose." The Southron's voice was firm. "Even now the voice of the knife works upon him as water washes away sand. If we are to call upon the young one's honor, we must do so before it is overwhelmed."
"You know little of the Rohirrim, sir, if you believe their honor can be overwhelmed," the tutor responded as the boys glared at this insult.
Ahmose tipped his head. "I cast no slur and speak only from my knowledge of the blade. If time were not so precious, I would ask that we send for my master as he has the greater knowledge; but I fear delay."
At Estev's side, Rolfe watched with sinking heart as the younger boy moaned and twisted in an effort to escape the voices only he now heard. How much longer could he hold out? The Haradrim had not told the full story of this blade, yet Rolfe had witnessed enough atrocities during and after the War to know that he had no desire to watch as his brother became a tool for this remnant of evil. Better to be dead, than to accept such a fate. To fight to the end, that was the Rohirrim way.
Rolfe tipped his head upward. His young face had hardened and revealed the man he would someday become. "What must we do?"
The Haradrim pressed his fingers to his forehead in salute, then murmured softly in his own tongue before saying, "Speak to him. Remind him as you did before of the agreement made amongst you." Ahmose indicated the four boys standing guard about their friend. "Of the dishonor if he forsakes that pledge."
"No, Rolfe," Master Gemthir interrupted. "Speak not only about the bargain you boys made, but also of those things that helped him to withstand this evil thus far. His family and his friends. He has been deceived. Your job is to help him look beneath the lies and see the truth."
Rolfe settled beside Estev and began to speak, first in Westron, then gradually switching to an occasionally stumbling Rohirric. He talked for what seemed ages, speaking first of the hunt for the dagger and the other objects they had found and what would be done with them. Later he began to tell of the family in Rohan. Simple tales of everyday events. It was not until Rolfe was speaking of their older brother, Esdav, and the trip they had taken to the spring in the hills that Estev gave any indication that he was listening.
"I remember," the younger boy whispered, eyes still closed. "Esdav ate all the food, and we went hungry. Sort of like taking Ferlan on a picnic." He opened one eye and waved in the farm lad's direction, then winced. "It hurts."
Concern tightened Rolfe's voice. "What does?"
"My head." Estev lifted a hand and pressed it against his forehead. "When I try to think of something good, it buzzes like hornets."
"You've got to keep trying though." Rolfe sought desperately for a new topic. "Remember the hornets in the tree by the river?"
A shadow of a smile flitted across the younger boy's face. "Mud. Mother put mud on all the stings. We looked like speckled lizards."
The description drew a nervous laugh from the boys shifting uncertainly around them.
"Like that one sunning on the rock the other day. Dog tried to catch it," reminded Curthan, reaching down to pat the canine's head. "But he only chased it up Ferlan's trouser leg."
"Had to take them off to get the blasted thing out," muttered Ferlan as the others grinned at the memory.
"Dog caught the tail." Estev paled and grimaced, but went on talking. "Jesse doesn't try to catch them. He likes better odds."
Hearing his name, Jesse nudged Estev's hand and received a lethargic pat. "Good dog. He tried to stop me, you know? So did Dog. But I wouldn't listen to them."
Master Gemthir leaned forward in his chair. Would the animals' devotion to the boy prove to be a factor in the battle Estev now fought?
"Tried to stop what?"
"Me. From touching it. Every time I went to look at it, they tried to keep me away."
"Intelligent animals."
"It whispered to me sometimes. Usually when I touched it. It didn't talk so loud then." Squeezing his eyes shut, his face tight with pain, Estev pleaded. "I wish it would stop. How do I make it stop?"
Unable to answer, Rolfe appealed to Ahmose who replied, "To silence the voice of evil, you must thrice reject its claim over you."
Eyes still closed, Estev raised his eyebrows and attempted a grin. "That doesn't sound difficult, so it probably is. But I do want it to stop, I can't hear the music any more."
"Music?" Rolfe asked.
"That day when Curthan danced," Estev swallowed and dug his fingers into Jesse's fur. "After that, I kept hearing that music. It made the voice stop sometimes."
Shaymur patted the younger boy's arm. "Maybe Karston can play it now."
"I don't know. It wasn't something memorized," the baker boy protested. "It just happened. Listening to the wind in the grass."
"Try," urged Curthan.
"Yes, lad, do," encouraged Gemthir.
As he drew his recorder from his pocket, Karston licked his lips and rubbed his forehead with his sleeve again. He blew a series of notes, shook his head and frowned.
"No, that wasn't it."
Closing his eyes, Karston tapped out a rhythm with his foot before lifting the recorder again. At first the melody stumbled and stuttered, providing only momentary glimpses of water flowing or leaves floating. Then, the music gathered the thin breeze fluttering the curtains at the open window and began to weave a tapestry of spring: dew drops sparkling in the early morning, yellow daisies dancing in the meadow, and through it all a strand of bright sunshine.
As the tune swirled to an end, Estev sighed deeply and sank back against Dog's solid form. "Better. I can think now."
Grasping Rolfe's hand with his right hand and threading the left through the fur at Jesse's neck, the boy opened his eyes. "Sarantha likes to say, 'Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.' I really should have listened to her." Putting aside his humor, Estev said quietly, "Rolfe, you will tell Father that I listened to him? Make certain that he knows I kept my word."
The glint of tears shone until Rolfe brushed them aside with a sleeve to say firmly, "You will tell him yourself, Estev. He'll be here soon. Just hold on until then."
"I don't dare wait." Shrugging his shoulders, he fixed the blade with a narrow eyed gaze and inhaled deeply.
In a clear voice that echoed from the corners of the stone room, he said, "I, Estev son of Esiwmas of the Deeping Stream, renounce my claim to the Blade of Nuphar."
An ear-piercing whine filled the room; and all, save Estev and Rolfe, clapped their hands over their ears. Dog moaned and shivered, pressing his bulk against Rolfe's side.
Sweat beaded on his forehead and swallowing convulsively to maintain control of his roiling stomach, the young Rohirrim forced out the words, "I renounce my claim."
Rolfe's face contorted with pain as the bones in his hand fractured under the strength of Estev's white knuckled grip while Jesse yipped and cowered. Upon the low table, the serpent's dance began once more as the dagger darkened to the shade of long dried blood. Ferlan and Karston dropped to their knees as the blade's whining hiss wound up to a crescendo of agonizing sound.
"Once more, young master." The golden medallion upon his neck swung in a hypnotizing arc as the man leaned forward.
Bright blood dripped from Estev's lip and sinews stood out along his neck as he struggled to utter the final words. Harsh and guttural, spoken from between teeth clenched against the pain that drove into his brain like a spear, the words came out in tortured gasps.
"No. No. I don't want it."
The words spoken, the boy's body arched bowlike, then collapsed motionless between his two supports.
Slit eyed against the pain, Gemthir watched tiny cracks form upon the Blade of Nuphar. The dogs lifted their heads and howled as the cracks lengthened. The serpent writhed futilely beneath a haze of crisscrossing lines as with the sharp snap of breaking ice the blade shattered while the copper and iron bands bound upon the hilt twisted as if held to the smith's fire.
Silence echoed from the stone walls, and all gazed in numb disbelief at the splintered remains.
From somewhere outside the window came the sound of a robin insistently chirping, and those within the room considered how bizarre was the contrast between such ordinary birdsong and the events which had just occurred.
"Is it over?" Ferlan jerked at the loudness of his voice.
"Aye, little master." The Southron bowed his head solemnly and touched the medallion upon his breast. "Your friend has triumphed over the ancient evil. My House will be forever in your debt."
All eyes turned then to the group huddled upon the floor. The two dogs pressed against their masters. Shaymur sat supporting Rolfe who, with tears staining his cheeks, brushed a blond strand from Estev's forehead.
If one had been of a mind to delight in absurdities, the tableau within the narrow room would have afforded much humor. An ulbar of the House of Tharan held at bay by a ragtag group of boys, a thin stick of a scholar and two canines of indeterminate breeding. The unpardonable desire to howl with laughter was held in check by the proximity of the ancient blade with its evil history and by the quiet figure who now held all of their futures in his young hands.
"Your brother is already taken. By his own lips, he thrice claimed the Blade of Nuphar for his own, and it answered his call. None who stand within this room can say differently." A slim brown hand gestured toward Master Gemthir and the other boys. "Speak to your brother, young one. See if it is not as I have said."
Dog offered Rolfe a comforting lick as he knelt beside Estev's quiet figure, while Jesse lifted his head and pleaded for his boy. Though Rolfe gave the dogs murmured reassurances, for all his stubborn defiance, he had little confidence that Estev would emerge unharmed. The pale blue eyes remained closed, though one could see his lips move and hear the soft cadence of Rohirrim words. Rolfe strained to understand, but could make out only a word or two. And no word that he spoke received a reply.
Sitting back on his heels, Rolfe sighed, "He's calling for his mother and father."
"Your brother is strong. He fights the blade even yet," Ahmose replied softly from the chair he had retaken.
"His father should be here soon." Master Gemthir gestured toward the window where the afternoon light was fading. "The note Borthond took requested Trader Esiwmas to come as quickly as possible."
"There is no time to lose." The Southron's voice was firm. "Even now the voice of the knife works upon him as water washes away sand. If we are to call upon the young one's honor, we must do so before it is overwhelmed."
"You know little of the Rohirrim, sir, if you believe their honor can be overwhelmed," the tutor responded as the boys glared at this insult.
Ahmose tipped his head. "I cast no slur and speak only from my knowledge of the blade. If time were not so precious, I would ask that we send for my master as he has the greater knowledge; but I fear delay."
At Estev's side, Rolfe watched with sinking heart as the younger boy moaned and twisted in an effort to escape the voices only he now heard. How much longer could he hold out? The Haradrim had not told the full story of this blade, yet Rolfe had witnessed enough atrocities during and after the War to know that he had no desire to watch as his brother became a tool for this remnant of evil. Better to be dead, than to accept such a fate. To fight to the end, that was the Rohirrim way.
Rolfe tipped his head upward. His young face had hardened and revealed the man he would someday become. "What must we do?"
The Haradrim pressed his fingers to his forehead in salute, then murmured softly in his own tongue before saying, "Speak to him. Remind him as you did before of the agreement made amongst you." Ahmose indicated the four boys standing guard about their friend. "Of the dishonor if he forsakes that pledge."
"No, Rolfe," Master Gemthir interrupted. "Speak not only about the bargain you boys made, but also of those things that helped him to withstand this evil thus far. His family and his friends. He has been deceived. Your job is to help him look beneath the lies and see the truth."
Rolfe settled beside Estev and began to speak, first in Westron, then gradually switching to an occasionally stumbling Rohirric. He talked for what seemed ages, speaking first of the hunt for the dagger and the other objects they had found and what would be done with them. Later he began to tell of the family in Rohan. Simple tales of everyday events. It was not until Rolfe was speaking of their older brother, Esdav, and the trip they had taken to the spring in the hills that Estev gave any indication that he was listening.
"I remember," the younger boy whispered, eyes still closed. "Esdav ate all the food, and we went hungry. Sort of like taking Ferlan on a picnic." He opened one eye and waved in the farm lad's direction, then winced. "It hurts."
Concern tightened Rolfe's voice. "What does?"
"My head." Estev lifted a hand and pressed it against his forehead. "When I try to think of something good, it buzzes like hornets."
"You've got to keep trying though." Rolfe sought desperately for a new topic. "Remember the hornets in the tree by the river?"
A shadow of a smile flitted across the younger boy's face. "Mud. Mother put mud on all the stings. We looked like speckled lizards."
The description drew a nervous laugh from the boys shifting uncertainly around them.
"Like that one sunning on the rock the other day. Dog tried to catch it," reminded Curthan, reaching down to pat the canine's head. "But he only chased it up Ferlan's trouser leg."
"Had to take them off to get the blasted thing out," muttered Ferlan as the others grinned at the memory.
"Dog caught the tail." Estev paled and grimaced, but went on talking. "Jesse doesn't try to catch them. He likes better odds."
Hearing his name, Jesse nudged Estev's hand and received a lethargic pat. "Good dog. He tried to stop me, you know? So did Dog. But I wouldn't listen to them."
Master Gemthir leaned forward in his chair. Would the animals' devotion to the boy prove to be a factor in the battle Estev now fought?
"Tried to stop what?"
"Me. From touching it. Every time I went to look at it, they tried to keep me away."
"Intelligent animals."
"It whispered to me sometimes. Usually when I touched it. It didn't talk so loud then." Squeezing his eyes shut, his face tight with pain, Estev pleaded. "I wish it would stop. How do I make it stop?"
Unable to answer, Rolfe appealed to Ahmose who replied, "To silence the voice of evil, you must thrice reject its claim over you."
Eyes still closed, Estev raised his eyebrows and attempted a grin. "That doesn't sound difficult, so it probably is. But I do want it to stop, I can't hear the music any more."
"Music?" Rolfe asked.
"That day when Curthan danced," Estev swallowed and dug his fingers into Jesse's fur. "After that, I kept hearing that music. It made the voice stop sometimes."
Shaymur patted the younger boy's arm. "Maybe Karston can play it now."
"I don't know. It wasn't something memorized," the baker boy protested. "It just happened. Listening to the wind in the grass."
"Try," urged Curthan.
"Yes, lad, do," encouraged Gemthir.
As he drew his recorder from his pocket, Karston licked his lips and rubbed his forehead with his sleeve again. He blew a series of notes, shook his head and frowned.
"No, that wasn't it."
Closing his eyes, Karston tapped out a rhythm with his foot before lifting the recorder again. At first the melody stumbled and stuttered, providing only momentary glimpses of water flowing or leaves floating. Then, the music gathered the thin breeze fluttering the curtains at the open window and began to weave a tapestry of spring: dew drops sparkling in the early morning, yellow daisies dancing in the meadow, and through it all a strand of bright sunshine.
As the tune swirled to an end, Estev sighed deeply and sank back against Dog's solid form. "Better. I can think now."
Grasping Rolfe's hand with his right hand and threading the left through the fur at Jesse's neck, the boy opened his eyes. "Sarantha likes to say, 'Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.' I really should have listened to her." Putting aside his humor, Estev said quietly, "Rolfe, you will tell Father that I listened to him? Make certain that he knows I kept my word."
The glint of tears shone until Rolfe brushed them aside with a sleeve to say firmly, "You will tell him yourself, Estev. He'll be here soon. Just hold on until then."
"I don't dare wait." Shrugging his shoulders, he fixed the blade with a narrow eyed gaze and inhaled deeply.
In a clear voice that echoed from the corners of the stone room, he said, "I, Estev son of Esiwmas of the Deeping Stream, renounce my claim to the Blade of Nuphar."
An ear-piercing whine filled the room; and all, save Estev and Rolfe, clapped their hands over their ears. Dog moaned and shivered, pressing his bulk against Rolfe's side.
Sweat beaded on his forehead and swallowing convulsively to maintain control of his roiling stomach, the young Rohirrim forced out the words, "I renounce my claim."
Rolfe's face contorted with pain as the bones in his hand fractured under the strength of Estev's white knuckled grip while Jesse yipped and cowered. Upon the low table, the serpent's dance began once more as the dagger darkened to the shade of long dried blood. Ferlan and Karston dropped to their knees as the blade's whining hiss wound up to a crescendo of agonizing sound.
"Once more, young master." The golden medallion upon his neck swung in a hypnotizing arc as the man leaned forward.
Bright blood dripped from Estev's lip and sinews stood out along his neck as he struggled to utter the final words. Harsh and guttural, spoken from between teeth clenched against the pain that drove into his brain like a spear, the words came out in tortured gasps.
"No. No. I don't want it."
The words spoken, the boy's body arched bowlike, then collapsed motionless between his two supports.
Slit eyed against the pain, Gemthir watched tiny cracks form upon the Blade of Nuphar. The dogs lifted their heads and howled as the cracks lengthened. The serpent writhed futilely beneath a haze of crisscrossing lines as with the sharp snap of breaking ice the blade shattered while the copper and iron bands bound upon the hilt twisted as if held to the smith's fire.
Silence echoed from the stone walls, and all gazed in numb disbelief at the splintered remains.
From somewhere outside the window came the sound of a robin insistently chirping, and those within the room considered how bizarre was the contrast between such ordinary birdsong and the events which had just occurred.
"Is it over?" Ferlan jerked at the loudness of his voice.
"Aye, little master." The Southron bowed his head solemnly and touched the medallion upon his breast. "Your friend has triumphed over the ancient evil. My House will be forever in your debt."
All eyes turned then to the group huddled upon the floor. The two dogs pressed against their masters. Shaymur sat supporting Rolfe who, with tears staining his cheeks, brushed a blond strand from Estev's forehead.