Chapter 22

Bounty of the Rhûn

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Since the Bror blessed his trip, Nag Kath decided against investigating who wasn't eating whisker-fish that night. The next morning he wolfed a quick breakfast and rode Charlo to the palace entrance where four riders were waiting. He nodded to the one who looked most senior. The man barked something in their tongue and they climbed in the saddle.

They were on the shaggy horses of the Agasha Dag. The beasts were bigger than ponies but not the size of western heavy cavalry. The riders themselves were on the lean side and lightly armored with lances. Helmets with local symbols covered their dark, braided hair. Two had Easterling short-arc bows over their backs and capped-quivers lashed behind the saddles. All four had short, curved swords. Other than arms they traveled light. Nag Kath assumed they would commandeer anything else they wanted along the way.

No one said a word until they were well past the main gate heading east towards the turn to the southern coast. The Elf thought he had better take the measure of the men. Most likely they were there to keep him from exploring. But it was also possible they might see trouble along the road. If so, he wanted to find out how they would deploy before it happened. Of course, they might be there to feed him to the Stoor fish.

Nag Kath looked over to the leader and said, "Nice horse, Sergeant. He is well trained."

The man was trapped. He could refuse to answer anything about their route, himself or Rhûn, but horsemen have to talk about their horses. "He is of Agasha Dag, a noble breed." The speech was hard to understand through the accent but he did speak some Westron.

"Oh, we'll be riding by there. I have heard your farms are superb."

The rider seethed. This silly blonde man had tricked him into revealing their breeding grounds. On the other hand, he had paid his Bror and the horse under him a compliment. A response was required. "Thank you. We are proud of them."

That was as much as Nag Kath needed to know just now. The other men were trying to see if the arrows in his quiver were the same kind pulled from the Usurper. They weren't. These were Gondor arrows. The Elvish scabbard got some attention too. They would all know this man had a hand in quashing the invasion. They probably did not know that he was the silver wind thirty years before.

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Vegad wasn't able to supply much information about the terrain east and south of the capital. The road was fair. Only soldiers rode. A party returning to Kugavod stopped to chat in their language with no special deference given to his escort. These four would be some of the Bror's best, outfitted to seem ordinary. Occasional wagons were pulled by goats or donkeys but almost everyone they saw was on foot.

After a few hours they stopped to water the horses at clear brook running into the sea. The Rhûn itself was slightly salty. You could drink it but it did not satisfy. Nag Kath climbed off his horse to get a drink himself. The men didn't seem to mind but stayed in their saddles. Had they seen his hand they might have noticed a hint of silver.

There were no inns. Rough villages along the road were either single homes or larger group dwellings with the occasional blacksmith or barn. The few people out stared at him but never at the soldiers. Shortly after lunchtime, not that they ate, they saw the first organized horse farms. Fields were divided into paddocks and grazing areas based on the age, sex and use of the animals. Further inland he could see them being trained, youngsters individually and older horses in formation.

Nag Kath glanced but seemed uninterested. Easterlings did not understand that horse training in his lands was no secret at all. What he wanted to know was how Frûnzar stole four hundred of them under the noses of anyone watching and got them to the other side of the sea. He would have had a lot of help, help that was probably staring at the blonde rider right now.

Occasionally the Elf would ask a safe question and get a safe reply from the one man. The others did not speak in his or any other tongue. Nearing dusk they reached an outpost with a corral and low, block building. There was another like-sized party heading north that had already arrived and claimed their bunks. No one relinquished their cots when Nag Kath's group came and the men conversed as equals. They all stared at the Elf but kept busy starting a fire for an evening meal.

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Stew! Always stew! In this case, horse stew. Nag Kath ate some of the carrots in the pot but relied on Lembas for sustenance. With enough time he probably could have pulled in a few fish from the bank.

The second day was a repeat of the first. A spit of land into the Rhûn had a small fishing village with both row and sailing boats. Nag Kath signaled the escort to hold as he inspected the catch. They all pulled up without comment. The fisherman in the boat was both gratified and frightened. Why would soldiers with a stranger wonder about his catch? It wasn't a very good day, either. The man and his son beamed in pride as the blonde fellow chose a red jouchar and a bottom-feeder with whiskers. The price for such fine fish, just caught, was but a half-groat, certainly worth more!

It had been a long time since Nag Kath had carried individual coppers. He handed the man a fiver as his son gutted the catch. There was no possibility the fisherman could make change. Easterlings usually traded for goods. The fisherman was still trying to decide what to do when the blonde man told the son to wrap the two fish in a wet cloth and seemed to ignore getting his four groats back. Was this possible? Did the soldiers see the fiver and plan to return for their cut? The deal was done and the five riders left the dazed fisherman squeezing the coin until his knuckles were white.

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From there they passed more horse farms and more mounted patrols. A party of twelve looked green. Both cavalry and mounts learned at the same speed. Their boots might have been worn at the siege of Erebor. Another dozen men approached from the south. This lot was more experienced. Their leader had the swagger of an officer and demanded to know their business. His Sergeant must have calmly told the Lieutenant who he worked for. Rank still mattered but this officer was out here in the hinterland. The capital Sergeant had the power, and they both knew it.

The half-troop made another way-station before dark. Like the other, troopers were already here. There were no cots at this one. You laid your bedroll inside. Now for the experiment; one of the troopers from another unit was starting a fire for horse stew. Nag Kath wandered over and handed him the two fish. The fellow unrolled the cloth and looked at them. Smiling up at the tall stranger with surprisingly good teeth, he quickly skinned them for the pot.

Two men, both from troops heading north, either weren't hungry or picked at their dinner the way Nag Kath usually did. They weren't pleased either and stole glances at each other or the blonde man (a prisoner?) on the sly. Everyone else cleaned their bowls and later played a dice game that seemed to have no rules. No one approached him after lights-out.

With luck, day three would take them to Kelepar. This was the best grain-land on the trip. Nearing the city, there were more pastures with mares nursing foals. One of his trooper's stallions was romantic but Charlo did not react.

The Bror was as good as his word. Nag Kath never got the sense his escort meant him harm. Making the city meant fording the fair-sized Fela Dotomok River. There was a ferry-boat for people and goods but it could not handle horses. The men knew right where to cross for the best footing and only had to swim about eighty feet. It was a warm day and they would be dry soon. The Sergeant told Nag Kath that he was now on his own and bowed a soldier's bow before whistling-up his men for an evening of more horse-stew.

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The Elf looked around and thought this was a nice little place. There wasn't much to do but he had better get used to that. The inn was a single-story affair that had a crowd of merchants on the porch. Nag Kath walked Charlo to the post. Everyone stared but they didn't scowl. He nodded with a smile and hoped someone inside spoke the common-speech. Nag Kath couldn't have been the first man not from here because the woman at what he took to be the desk smiled and said, "Good afternoon, best of sirs. What can our humble inn offer such a distinguished gentleman?"

He said slowly, "Thank you. I would like lodging and stabling for a night, perhaps longer."

"Excellent. I have a room towards the back, very quiet."

Nag Kath decided if it was full of bugs he would rent it anyway and rest on his bedroll. The room was actually nice. Again, not scrupulously clean, but un-infested with an oiled-paper window that let in light. As in Kugavod, a full complement of sons saw to Charlo after Nag Kath got his bags. They had never seen a horse that had already shed his winter coat this early, and so tall!

After placing a strong confusion ward on his bags, he walked back out to the small main room and for the first time saw that wine, not ale, was the drink of choice. This wasn't Dorwinion, but vines on this side of the sea produced as good a wine as most places other than Dorwinion. The Elf thought they could sell this if they could get it to market. It made him think of Orlo the boatwright. The right winds could push the right vessel across this little sea.

One of the attractions of Kelepar was large trout, nearly as big as on the Dusenorn, that lived and died on the Agasha and its tributaries. The flesh was bright pink. He found a tavern that baked them with gureeq loaves and roots like a potato but sweeter. With such fare, there were no whisker-fish offered. And it was cheap. The room was two groats including dinner. They could make change.

Nag Kath was in no hurry. In the morning he wandered around the city which might have two thousand people and counting. It was not walled so the population spilled onto the main road and followed the south bank of the river. There was a road on the north bank too but they had to ford because there were only the beginnings of a settlement when it reached the mouth. The Elf mused that Gondorans would have built a bridge by now. Here, it was someone else's problem.

The market was bustling. Men and women both carried large bales on their backs with another band around their forehead for balance. Well before harvest, most goods were cloth or leatherworks. There were horses too. Farms on this side of the river sold to the military but they were not run by the military. People always stopped to look at the out-of-place stranger but quickly returned to haggling. Nearer the sea were fish mongers waiting for the afternoon catch. They still had a few from yesterday lifelessly staring at those who didn't mind a little extra flavor to save money.

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A bit further downriver Nag Kath reached a place where boats were being built or repaired. Lumber from a pit saw upstream was floated down to be shaped or bent into twelve-foot fishing boats that could either be sailed or rowed. It was much like the shipyard on the Anduin mouth. Workmen carefully laminated thinner boards around a curved form and then pegged them with wooden dowels. For some reason, Nag Kath always worried about them springing back like a wheel rim but they used a wood that would retain its new shape when boiled.

He spent several hours sitting near the docks and sketching the craft. That drew an assortment of interested folk, mostly children, who giggled and chatted in their own tongue. As usual, he drew sketches of them to awe! One shoeless little girl was sure her picture was worth gold and ran home before anyone could take it away.

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Nag Kath spent several days wandering and drawing. Adults were suspicious but no one followed him, and he made a point of being obvious. No one seemed dazed near his room either. The only trouble came as he was saddling to leave. Another troop of soldiers, coming from the south, wanted to know his business here.

The Elf respectfully said he was on his way to Mistrand which did not serve the squad leader's purpose of finding if the blonde man should be questioned or detained. He could have produced the Bror's signet ring whenever he wanted but being invited to the local headquarters was probably a better way to learn than drawing sailboats. Through hand-signs the westerling was to come with him and they all rode back a block from his inn to a squat, brown building with troopers loitering on the porch.

The man's soldiers waited while he took the Elf inside to the duty officer. They spoke in their tongue and occasional looks at the placid stranger and then the desk man said, "Why are you doing in Kelepar?"

"I am traveling to Mistrand, officer. Is there trouble on the route?"

The man's eyebrows furrowed deciphering that and he said, "These are not your lands."

Pretending not to understand he said, "Yes, I am leaving here to go to Mistrand."

"Mistrand, Kelepar, they are not your lands."

"Then I should be on my way."

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The man stood to not an imposing height and shouted something in their tongue. Soldiers appeared on either side of the Elf. "You will answer to the Furjar!" The four of them walked down the hall to what they were surprised to find was an empty office. Easterlings don't generally have offices so this must be the high fellow of Kelepar, a Khan, perhaps? The desk man would not be put-off. He said gruffly, "You wait here!" and stamped out of the room to enquire about the boss. Nag Kath and the two guards stood there for almost half a bell until the desk man returned with a well-dressed civilian who sat down at his own desk and apprised the tall detainee before saying, "I was told you are here without leave."

While they were waiting, Nag Kath slipped the ring on his little finger, the only one it would fit. He put his knuckles on the desk and said softly, "I am sure there is some mistake."

The man was about to utter something officious when he saw the ring. He turned to the desk officer and said in their language what could only be; 'I'll take it from here.' The desk man waved the guards out self-importantly leaving only Nag Kath and the Furgar who sat patiently. Whoever this strange man was, he had an emissary ring.

Nag Kath said, "Thank you, good sir. I was just leaving for Mistrand. I hope this has not inconvenienced you."

"Not at all. I am sorry for the misunderstanding."

The Elf could be magnanimous, "They were just doing their duty."

The official asked, "May I be of assistance?"

Nag Kath was of two minds and decided not to discuss his search. Vegad said there was no telling where high Visitors hid. And even though this man represented his Excellency, patriotic Easterlings would have been proud if the Usurper had created a new dynasty in the hated Gondoran province across the sea. The Elf bowed graciously and said, "No thank you, good sir. I am just passing through."

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A light day's ride hugging the coast took Nag Kath to the fishing village of Rhunea. Most of the rivers flowing into the inland sea had sizeable bays. This town was the last point on open water before the road followed the long inlet to the Súrûbeki River. The terrain below the Agasha was getting dryer. Farms here used a clever system of ditches coming from streams in the foothills to the east as tributaries grew fewer. As usual, people stared but no one bothered him. Troops were less plentiful too.

There was one tavern with a fish stew. He slept outside. From there it took another four days of comfortable riding to reach the regional capital of Mistrand. The land became increasingly tan. There were no horse farms and the only row crops were gureeq grain or hardy strains of peas and lentils. The people who lived here were all within half a mile of the sea on on tributaries.

Orlo described the Súrûbeki River as; 'an unlovely brown ditch'. It wasn't that bad as that but it was not the crisp, refreshing water of the north. Near town it flowed through a flood plain that was also equipped with ditches to water fields and short, stunted trees bearing olives or nuts. The city had the remnants of a wall that must have fallen well before the last age. From a distance, Nag Kath put it at two thousand souls including both sides of the river. Most of that was on the western bank so they forded a mile upstream at obvious shallows with only one deep channel to swim.

In his entire experience, from hamlets to cities, there was a certain industry of northern men that revolved around cold, fallow winters. Here there was warm and hot. Crops still had their seasons, but there wasn't a time when people bundled in every rag they owned sitting around their stove. Most ovens were outside so the home wouldn't be unbearable while cooking.

Nag Kath walked Charlo along the entire length of the coastline and then back up the river after learning it was the most prosperous part of town. There were three inns. He started with the one that had horse posts in front. The innkeeper reminded him of Tanlath in Edoras with thin, oiled hair carefully placed across a pink scalp. He was short and round with a bushy moustache and shaved the rest intermittently. The Elf would find that most men here went to barbers for that service rather than doing it themselves.

Mistrand must see occasional travelers from common-tongued lands because the man said understandably, "Welcome to the Kellesh Thand! How can we assist such a lordly sir?"

"Thank you. I seek accommodation for myself and my horse. I expect to be here a week, perhaps more."

"Then you have come to the very place! My family has our own stable for horses where we feed to them true grass hay! Does sir have other requirements?"

"No, just a clean room, on the north side if you have one." That would get the least afternoon sun.

The man rubbed his hands, "I may just have one available. Please follow me."

It took him about twice as many steps as Nag Kath but down a hall were four rooms with stout doors. The innkeeper pushed the second one inwards and gestured for the guest to inspect. It was clean with a bed that was almost long enough and a lattice window of oiled paper that could be opened from the inside. It would serve.

After seeing the blonde guest had no questions or objections, the little man said, "I am embarrassed to say the room and boarding for your animal will be three Gondor groats per night but am pleased to say that for a week it is only eighteen." That was probably double what someone who knew this road paid but Nag Kath was not one to quibble for real grass hay. He counted out coppers rather than show silver and followed the innkeeper to the front.

Somewhat unusually, the runner/helper at the Kellesh Thand was a lass of about fifteen. Fortunate in many things, Mr. Cuaranger's wife had borne him four baby girls and they did what lads did at most places. This girl must take after her mother because she was already taller than her beaming da. She took Charlo to the stall while a girl about two years younger dragged his satchel.

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Another thing that was different than most of northern Middle-earth was that guests registered and their presence was reported to the city authorities. Taxes were partially based on business and it also kept the guardi appraised of strangers in case anything went missing during their stay. There was a book of the cheapest paper to state one's name and home. Most were filled-in by a single hand, probably the innkeeper's, for guests who were unlettered. Nag Solvanth wrote he was from Isengard.

Mr. Cuaranger, adapted from Churangdir, also owned the restaurant next door where honored patrons had their choice of fish or pork tonight! His brother was the cook. Dinner was only an hour away, judging by the sun, so Nag Kath took a stroll and returned to join the first seating. He had his choice of fish too. One was the red school-fish and the other was a bottom-fish at half the price. There were trout in the Súrûbeki but fish in the bay were easier to catch.

It was still good and he was learning to appreciate the rough-grain loaves served in most of Rhûn. The restaurant was not a pub and closed when the food ran out so Nag Kath walked back into town and explored in plain sight. There were no bells. He figured it would be light until the niner in Minas Tirith.

Men did not seem to drink much here. There were wine bars, some served ale too, but many folk had their limit early and then switched to tea with pipes of the local leaf. Places where drinks were served later generally had gambling of some sort like the dice game the troopers played with a variety of side bets. Every so often, the keeper of the pit would roll the different-colored dice eight times to show folk that they had not been weighted to favor one symbol. Nag Kath had never won playing Dukks for toothpicks so he stayed away from games of chance.

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The next day he strolled to the boat-works after gureeq porridge. Logs of harder trees from this river and softer timbers barged from Kelepar kept dozens of half-naked men and lads shouting and dashing about. Some sang in unison even though they worked on different boats.

Nag Kath came because of the empty compound in Kugavod. Orlo said he worked here. There must have been powerful sorcery to trick him into seeing walls and gardens that were never there. Nag Kath had also discovered what bothered him about his sketches. One time he remembered Orlo grasping a porch roof support to help him rise. Another time he pushed off the boards. He had drawn them both ways without noticing the discrepancy. That was what he saw at the time. The abandoned shack had no porch at all.

The Elf sat on a rock and started sketching men attaching a mast on a fifteen-foot boat. It took a few of them to place it in the slot and step it to the right pitch. It was a good picture. He was also there to draw attention. Sooner or later, someone would come by and start a conversation. It was later, but finally a man who seemed a supervisor of some sort walked towards town and wasn't too bashful to look over Nag Kath's shoulder. The artist asked him, "What kind of boat is that?"

The man held up a finger and shouted to a fellow on deck in their own tongue. The nut-brown man spoke to a lad for a moment and then strode towards the Elf and supervisor. The two men spoke again and the new fellow said cheerfully, "Yes, I am speak you." The first man continued towards town.

To make it easy, Nag Kath changed his question to, "Are these boats to catch fish." Then he pantomimed a swimming red jouchar."

"Yes. Jouchar, hakûn, Stoor, yes."

The Elf did a little fishing of his own, "Did Orlo make boats?"

The Boatwright grinned again and said, "Orlo much here, yes, for all." One of the laborers at the dock whistled and the man nodded before walking back to his mast.

There seemed to be five different crews making or maintaining boats. The next day he found another rock at the other end of the yard and started drawing. At lunch time, a stout woman and two youngsters brought a basket that got the immediate attention of three men and two lads working on the largest vessel. The woman was not happy that her rock had been appropriated by this pale, lanky stranger and started to protest when one of the children saw the picture of their da pegging and called everyone to see.

They gathered round as the men sat for lunch and in their tongue decided this was a fine thing indeed. A man who might well be the father of the other two was last to arrive. Nag Kath smiled and asked, "The hull is near done, yes?"

The older fellow looked back the boat and replied, "We must chink the seams first."

"Ahhh, I know little about making boats."

The man accepted something wrapped in flatbread from the frowning woman and took a bite before saying, "We always learn something new. Water wants to find its way in. It is patient."

The two younger men chatted with the lads and children leaving the woman waiting with her basket until the foreigner relinquished her picnic rock. The older man talked with Nag Kath in tolerable Westron. When the food was almost gone Nag Kath tried again, "Did Orlo make boats."

"Orlo does all things."

The Elf thought he had better be more direct, "I am seeking Orlo."

"All men of good heart seek Orlo."

"I am sorry. I thought he was a man."

The builder chuckled before saying, "Someone's parents thought highly of their babe. Or a man thinks highly of himself. Orlo is the spirit of 'right living', one of the Tschurans of Those Named."

This was not where the Elf thought the conversation would go but he really shouldn't have expectations given how he had been fooled the first time. As if embarrassed for butchering their language he said sheepishly, "I must have misunderstood. He was a short fellow, about so high, with no hair. He said he was from here but that might have been some time ago."

It was time to work. The man smiled thinly and wished him well. Nag Kath gave the children the sketch of their menfolk, tipped his brow to the woman who was still scowling and meandered towards the city offices. If the guardi had questions, they knew where to find him. There were no door guards since there was nothing to steal. Stealing in Mistrand mostly happened from inside this building.

He walked in the door and asked the first man he saw if anyone spoke his language. That took a conference of everyone in the room but a man next door was produced and walked over. The Elf told him, "I am visiting and wanted to pay my respects to the Khan."

"No Khan now. He dead three years."

"I am sorry to hear that. Who sees to your proud home now?"

"Fuhrvad is Deloth now."

Nag Kath used his most ingratiating smile, "I can pay my respects to the Deloth."

The man shook his head and said, "He go to Dilgul. Two week, sorry, two weeks to come back."

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The Elf thanked the man for his courtesy and took the long way back to the inn. There was an unclaimed chair on the porch so he put his hat on his knee and retrieved his notebook from the satchel. The rune descriptions from Scholar Vientis were folded inside. One of the symbols not carved in the Visitor's stone was Chôlar; being of balance and choice. Was that what the old man meant? Ulorö was another name Vientis unearthed. Orlo in an eastern tongue? The boat-wright wasn't there to convert stray Elves from Gondor. Someone knew Nag Kath was more than he seemed.

Tonight's stew was mutton. Nag Kath walked half a block down and found another restaurant with men, only ever men, smoking and eating fish. He took a table and ordered. This place sold whisker-fish. That was not his favorite any more than Rosscranith's, but anything was better than sheep.

He was followed back to the inn. The man either wasn't very good or the real shadow was already ahead knowing his route. Nag Kath did not have his sword. Only soldiers carried them. Turning a corner he slipped into "The Fast" and crossed the street into darkness. Moments later, a man dressed in everyday clothes stopped on the corner and realized his quarry was gone. Not seeming very concerned, he walked back the way he came. The tail became the tailed.

The fellow went to a tavern that had wine and dice. There would be no blending-in, he being the only six and a half foot Elf in Mistrand that season. Nag Kath stood in another dark place among the many and watched the door. His follower emerged an hour later not appearing any the worse for wine and turned towards a residential district four blocks from the river. A door opened as he walked on the porch. The home was modest but cheerful and had a small flower garden, many of them blossoms that only open at night.

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It was reasonable to think the man would try to regain the scent at Nag Kath's inn the next morning. Nag Kath would meet him on the way. The shortcut was an alley between two small buildings.

"Huhhh?!" A white hand pulled the man by the collar into shadow.

The Elf asked, "Can I help you with something?"

"Do not squeeze. I am no enemy." Nag Kath put him down but said nothing. The fellow caught his breath and said, "You seek Orlo?"

"I do."

"Have fish again tonight at Harlubra. Leave by turning right and walk slowly."

"Harlubra?"

"Upriver from your inn."

They left in different directions.

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Harlubra was more a grocery than restaurant. Nag Kath went in at what he thought was the local dinnertime and ordered the only thing they served. The other diners looked at him before resuming their conversations. The fish was probably tasty but he wasn't there for the meal. After a decent interval, he handed the server two groats and stretched before making the door and casually turning east. Shops here did not have windows so there was no pretending to examine merchandise. Most vendors worked from their porches into the street except during rare rainstorms. Shops were where they stored their goods and lived.

It was still light. A small girl had gotten too far ahead of her parents and the woman rushed forward to collect her before she ran into the tall westerling coming the other way. The mother held her in her arms and said barely loud enough to be heard, "We must be careful, dearest. Not all can come where we go."

Her husband caught up a few moments later and they continued the way Nag Kath had come. The Elf kept going and looped around the block behind the couple. The woman and child went into a home and the man kept walking towards the market, to every eye ready for an evening of wine and pipe-weed. He entered a building and walked out the back to meet the waiting Nag Kath. Wordlessly they criss-crossed a few blocks and entered an unlit home.

Inside there were oil lamps unable to penetrate reed coverings over the oiled-paper windows. There were two other men sitting at the other end of the room. After the door shut, one said, "So, you seek Orlo?"

"Orlo seems to be many things."

The same man; "Your seeking is far from your home."

"And has been life-long."

The voice, he couldn't tell whose, asked, "This Orlo of many things, what part brought you here?"

"I am prepared to tell you much. May I sit?" The figure nodded from inside his hooded robe. Nag Kath's guide showed him a chair and sat in the one beside it. Comfortable, the Elf told of meeting the elderly man in the Bror's hospitality and some of their conversations. Then he added, "There was strong sorcery, gentle and not malign. My coming here cannot be a complete surprise."

The man who had not spoken said, "Claiming knowledge of powers is for men who have lost their reason, or who seek to further their own ends."

"I have met both. If this was an invitation, I am here. If not, I journey south two days hence. I am no danger to those I have met and I will not go anywhere I have already been."

The first hooded man mulled that for a moment and said, "We will consider your words. This gentleman will see you out."

Nag Kath and his guide stood and left the house. At the first intersection towards the inn, the man turned and walked into the night.

Nothing happened for two days. The artist sketched the interesting mix of people; some with the black, braided hair of the northern easterlings and an increasing percentage of smaller, darker men who kept both hair and beards fairly short. Part of that was therapy. He drew the sinister Elf from the mirror distorted and his sketches from the compound were poor as well. Drawing magic seemed an obvious 'tell' from natural surroundings – perhaps a bellwether if he was being influenced. The innkeeper's smallest girl had a low fever. Nag Kath removed it when no one was looking. There was not much of interest in the market. Women in a wide range of sizes called from balconies offering to slake his every desire. He doubted that.