Chapter 23
Rightness of Action
.
Two days later, Nag Kath saddled Charlo and trotted south along the river. He was a bell out of town when a rider approached from his right. The man was not visibly armed and did not close at attack speed. Nag Kath left his weapons in plain sight. It was the father, or the man posing as the father, of the little girl. He said with no trace of malice, "Good morning sir. A pleasant day for a ride."
"I hope so."
"If you will follow me." He turned his shaggy horse around and Nag Kath nosed Charlo the same way. The fellow said, "Thank you for your patience. I am Verdracht. Cities are not the right place for new friendships, yes?"
Nag Kath agreed, "I see the wisdom of that, too many ears. I am called Nag Kath."
"Well, Nag Kath, we have a half-day's ride ahead of us. I can be charming or quiet, your choice."
"Let us start with charming." Verdracht? It seemed a harsh northern name despite the man's pleasing olive complexion. His Westron was heavily accented but easily understood. What else he or his friends understood about Nag Kath was uncertain. Northern Easterlings knew quite a bit. The changeling had probably gotten more of them killed than any man in thirty years. Down here, the greased palms of the empire had a shorter reach. In their time, they warred more with northern clans than anyone outside their own disputed borders.
There was the issue of sorcery. Whoever had created the illusion in the compound was more powerful than him. Nag Kath had to fight the temptation to impress with childish tricks. What mattered was that he had been invited to a council. How that went depended on whose side they thought he was on.
Verdracht talked about the land, the crops, the beauty and virtue of the women (presumably excluding those calling from the balconies) and everything else a visitor could want to know about the "Nose of Gathod" reaching into the Rhûn. He was less sanguine about troops, political alliances and Orlo. Nag Kath liked him. Optimism has a way of showing itself on a long, dull ride. Two hours west they reached a ridge of low hills emerging from the grasslands. Dry creeks, and occasionally wet ones, grooved the soil up the grade. There were no other hoof prints.
In the same inoffensive tone as he used describing dicing dens, Verdracht told Nag Kath he could go no further without wearing a hood over his eyes. The Easterling tossed him a tightly woven sack and Nag Kath put it on. They rose for an hour and descended for another, crossing a creek with enough water for the horses to drink. The Elf could tell from sun angles that much of the trip had been in a circle. In the late afternoon they stopped and men came forward. Verdracht called, "You can take the mask off."
.
_~ / ~ / ~ / ~ / ~-_
.
They had reached a village about a quarter of the way down the western side of the ridge. Twelve buildings surrounded a large common hall in the center. There was water from a stream and the hills were noticeably greener than on the way here. Both of them dismounted and led their horses to the second largest building.
Inside, Verdracht nodded to several men on his way to a room with the door wide open. He said, "Wait here." and stepped inside. Nag Kath stayed about five minutes until his guide looked around the door jam and said, "Come in."
Three men sat around a table that would hold eight. None were younger than their forties, one, who might be of Khand, older yet. Verdracht showed him to the furthest chair from any of them and shut the door behind him as he left.
All three men were wearing flowing tan robes a bit like Orlo's with hoods that could be drawn over their heads at need. The man at the center said slowly in heavily accented Westron, "We understand you are interested in right living."
Nag Kath replied, "I am, sir."
"And why would a northerner want to learn about quaint southern superstitions?"
"Right living is appropriate for all men."
The fellow folded his fingers together on the table and continued, "I could not agree more. But we would know the reason for your coming."
"I am concerned about less quaint superstitions, and I believe you are as well."
The man to the right said, "Northerners cannot be bothered with pleasantries." There was no trace of humor in his grim face.
The questioner grimaced and said, "I beg your pardon young man. You have ridden long and we have not even offered you tea. I hope you understand this is irregular."
The Elf earnestly said, "I do, sir, though, perhaps, an opportunity."
A plainly dressed woman entered through a back door with a large pot of tea and mugs on a tray. She came to Nag Kath first to give him his choice of mugs and poured for him. Then she took the tray around the table, a custom to show guests the drink was untainted. After she left, all four of them took a sip. Nag Kath did not sense any false sweetness. The Elf supposed these people had not heard anything accurate about him, if anything at all, so he offered the opening exchange, "Sirs, my name is Nag Kath. My purpose is to discover if those who call themselves Visitors have sorceries at their call of if they simply claim it to exhort their servants."
The man who seemed from Khand was from Khand and spoke for the first time, "That would seem daunting for a single warrior."
"My work is known. I am advisor to high kings, most recently your own. It is one of many stories."
The men's faces showed years of discipline, but attracting the Bror's attention was never a good idea. The man in the middle said cautiously, "I would hear that story first."
"Two years ago I rode to him with counsel to destroy his brother's infantry on the soil of Rhûn rather than let Frûnzar open old wounds across the river. If the Bror wasn't already despised by the Visitors, he is now. I assisted with his Excellency's diplomatic overtures in Dale. A month ago I called in the favor by asking his leave to inquire about the Visitors."
The Khandian still thought this a young man's self-absorption, "Counselor to kings on subjects of sorcery, you say. Great claims require great proofs."
It was still not time for cheap tricks. Nag Kath responded, "I am known in Gondor and Dale." He smiled, "Most accounts are embellished. Riders to either, or even to Riavod, can confirm my claims. I will remain in the safety of your aerie while you judge my veracity."
That seemed fair. The men knew they did not have to go that far.
.
Verdracht took Nag Kath to one of the smaller buildings and said he would collect him shortly for dinner. His room was not a cell but it was spare. He had stayed in worse. Nothing had been confiscated so he hung his bow and scabbard on a peg and found his cleanest clothes.
The reason for not taking the blonde stranger directly to the dining hall was so Verdracht could inform a merchant already there that the Ghurate (council) wanted a word. The trader walked outside to the large building and presented himself without ceremony. The man on the right smiled and said, "Prestigir, you are much in Gondor, yes?"
"I have long traded along the Anduin, sometimes in Osgiliath, occasionally in Minas Tirith, sir."
"What do you know of a man called Nag Kath?"
Prestigir thought a moment. The right-living trader was not given to exaggeration. "He is the man who built the water pipe from the mountains to Osgiliath, a great work against plagues. Tell is; he is an Elvish sorcerer from Orthanc. My brother worked on the pipe and said he was kindly and healed sickness among the distressed. His statue is a short, bearded workman."
The middle man said grimly, "That is not our usual impression of Elves."
Prestigir grinned, "I think the artist made a mistake. Ünorigir said he seemed a tall, beardless youth until you read his eyes. I have never seen him, sirs."
The Khandian asked quietly, "Does his reputation suggest he might favor our cause?"
"I should think so, Ghur Distral, though he has enemies. Tales told; he put the arrow through Frûnzal himself. I do not put much stock in campfire stories."
They talked for a few more minutes. The three looked at each other and the man on the right said, "Thank you. Go enjoy your supper."
.
_~ / ~ / ~ / ~ / ~-_
.
Nag Kath did not enjoy his. A large bite of something he hadn't tried before proved to be pepper sauce. He scurried out the door and put his head in the stream. When he could feel his tongue again, he went back to the mess room and saw that diners smeared tiny dabs of the substance on other foods. Appetite gone, he looked around the hall. There were twenty-eight men and women eating, some with children. An earlier wave had come and gone.
When he returned to his chair there was a man enjoying stew across from his abandoned plate. The fellow smiled. Nag Kath wasn't sure he could still smile but he moved his face enough to manage; 'hello'. His neighbor nodded and said a blessing in the Rhûnic tongue before putting spoon to bowl. The Elf tried the un-peppered greens and found he could still chew.
That evening the tables were moved to the side and there was a service that reminded Nag Kath of wedding vows in the west with a little Elf-keeper story-telling to boot. Men rose to declaim, some reading, some reciting from memory. A few told new stories. They were all in Rhûnic or further languages he did not understand. The faces were interesting. Were they like the Valarans? Nag Kath stayed for the whole program since there would be no waking rest while his mouth throbbed. When they broke, a man in the garb of an Ithilien river trader gave him a long, thoughtful look before finding his bed.
The next morning his mouth was recovered. He still wasn't hungry so he saw to Charlo's accommodations. The horse was among a dozen. There were no individual stalls. Animals could come into a barn or stay in the paddock. During the day, two lads led them out to graze in the first grass Nag Kath had seen in weeks. Their windward side of this ridge stole every drop of water High Valar Manwë brought east. Two small dogs kept sheep from straying.
His minders did not seem to mind him wandering so he had a closer look at the buildings without going in. Most were apartments, like the ones he owned in Dale. Families were given space according to their size. They had central tables but meals were almost always held in the dining hall just like Gandalf's Orthanc. Nag Kath chuckled thinking all such kitchens must have a Rosas rapping the knuckles of untimely diners.
The view was from the ridge of the 'Nose', a peninsula jutting into the sea between the harbors of Mistrand and Lest to the west. From an eagle's eye, the formation was more like a fist with the thumb raised. Of course, only ill-bred company would use that comparison. He had gone better than half way around the Rhûn and was fairly close to Gondor again, albeit a very unclaimed area of Aragorn's domain. Peoples of those lands spoke only Rhûnish and looked east for kinship. This was close to Mordor too. Nag Kath wondered when his quest would bring him to the deepest dark.
.
_~ / ~ / ~ / ~ / ~-_
.
Verdracht found the Elf washing in a stream out of common view and sat along the bank. The man put a stalk of long-grass in his teeth and waited. After Nag Kath dressed he was told, "The Ghurs would like a word."
The three were arrayed in the same chairs and same clothes, probably the same mugs. Without far-speaking they could not have vetted his contentions so Nag Kath thought this might be another probe. That was of no moment. Being immortal, he had more time than they did. The middle man opened with, "We may have underestimated you, young man. Are you Kath of the Water?"
Ohhh. Kath of the Wargs too. "I have been called that in the tongues of men."
"Very well. We will dispense with idle chat. What do you know of Orlo?"
"Precious little. I met a man who called himself Orlo on my first trip to Kugavod. We were both in the Bror's custody, he as a hostage against a family debt and me while his Excellency confirmed his brother's forces were massing on the Celduin. We had three pleasurable days together in a walled garden speaking much of his Gelansor observances."
Without changing his conversational tone he added, "It was all in a haze of sorcery. The pretty garden was really a dirt field. Walls in my mind had fallen centuries before. It took me a year to pull the threads of that spell. But the conversations were real. He set the hook and I followed the line to this place."
The man in the center took in every word. "Nag Kath, my name is Vrenstides. To my left is Grandol Zoldan and this is Amedies Distral. You are among those who seek right living. Only small groups are known to each other. I am sure you can appreciate that. Would you mind telling me more of your new friend?"
Nag Kath held up a finger to beg their indulgence while he rummaged through his satchel, producing the picture of Orlo sitting on the stoop drinking tea. It was an excellent rendition of the man's face, even if the background was poor. Distral was close enough for the Elf to slide the paper across the polished table. The Khandian's face was completely still, registering neither concern nor recognition. But there was something. He passed it to Vrenstides. Zoldan got it last. None of the men spoke.
While they considered the drawing, Nag Kath added, "He said he tried to remember his verses rather than writing new ones so Those Named could find him. He also said he was there while the Bror settled accounts with his brother-in-law, the Khan of Mistrand. I later found the Khan died without heirs and there was no debt.
Still holding the sketch, Zoldan asked, "Did this person say where he was from, Mr. Kath?"
"He said he built fishing boats in Mistrand for long years before retiring. That was where I looked and where you found me. He also said his wife was dead and a married daughter lived elsewhere."
When the three men were silent, Nag Kath said, "Then, there is this." He pulled the rock tracing and passed that to the Khandian. "I interrogated a Visitor on the battlefield. Before he died, he told me it was how I could praise his men to the dark lord."
Zoldan had not gotten the sheet but he knew what it was. Barely above a whisper, "A Visitor willingly told you this?"
"Not willingly."
Vrenstides preemptively said, "We will have to consider this, Nag Kath."
It was time for them to share. In his Elf-Lord voice he spoke, "Then consider this also. I have come to learn if these Visitors, or anyone else, can summon dark powers. They are out there. I slew a minion of the Witch-King seeking to escape his living death. If right-living opposes the return of darkness, you have my sword. In exchange, I must learn everything about them … and a good deal about you, though I will not ask who others are or how to find them. Take as long as you need."
Two riders left the next morning on a long journey.
.
_~ / ~ / ~ / ~ / ~-_
.
Late that afternoon he was called to a smaller room with just Vrenstides and Zoldan standing by the door. Both bowed for the first time. Zoldan said, "Your offer is accepted. We have much to learn."
There was a pattern to Nag Kath's outrageous statements to high councils. They always needed to ruminate and despite the answer, they generally had no idea what to do with him. The Ghurate moved more quickly.
His first order of business was asking about archives. He needed someone to explain those runes and the history of such symbols. The archives were a pair of men, one about fifty and the other nearing seventy. There was no written tradition among these people, damning proof if caught by any of a dozen enemies. The younger man was nearly blind from birth and was taught the skill of long, precise storytelling. He had earned his meals traveling the vast distances between what passed for towns but was now here and welcome for as long as he liked. Most of his stories had been for entertainment and he would localize them to please the crowd. Now he concentrated on the right-living tracks that had been so dangerous to even speak.
The older man was a Lorist; their version of a Scholar. He had read archives in undisclosed locations but spoke very little of the common tongue. Ghur Distral took Nag Kath to meet them and told them the blonde's emersion was of the first moment. It would take both men, one to read the texts and say them, the other to translate into Westron. As far as they knew, no one here spoke any Elvish tongues.
.
No one anyplace these men had been knew the runes' origins, Pultic possibly? Easterlings were an ancient people who had warred with and on both Morgoth and Sauron since the First Age. Without written lore, official history was what the ruling warlord said it was. Loresayers of the past thought the runes no older than the first time Sauron seized Mordor in the early Third Age.
The runes were read from top to bottom starting with the right-hand column. And they were not letters in the Elvish form. There was no writing here at the time. These were the symbols for their version of the Valar and Maiar. In the entire pantheon, some were missing and others added. Orlo said as much since the original imaginings of Eru had not contemplated dry lands or enhanced servants of darkness. Sauron's servants were powers unto themselves.
The inscription was a homily adopted by the first Wainriders as a battle prayer. The riders were a scourge to Gondor generations after the Great Plague, some two thousand years after the runes first appeared. The symbols on the rock were probably recently chiseled for junior Visitors in the field. The army would have had several operatives and certainly one with the cavalry as advisor to Frûnzal, not known as a life-long adept. In essence, the inscription said;
.
The strong and patient embrace the darkness
in taking their due from the weak
.
That did not sound motivational to Nag Kath but something was probably lost in translation. He was also no great believer in the invincibility of the Maiar, having met a few.
To his real purpose, Nag Kath asked if these Visitors actually did use sorcery. The younger man, Cirszal, saw well enough to look at Brestegir. Getting the confirmation he needed, Cirszal began reciting a poem that had been told through generations of people like him for an age. It was a tale of darkness and power, a frightening, bleak story of savage lords near the back of Mordor. This was not a poem he told for groats in taverns.
The man translated that into pidgin Westron after every verse. Not used to stopping, Cirszal regained his footing and continued in voice more grim than his own. There were wells of power for those strong enough and ruthless enough to draw. They led their peoples to victory against the soft, womanish men of the west, men who disdained them and said they deserved the barren lands left to them by their failure. These were powers conferred by Sauron and even older and more terrible humors. At any time, men were called to darkness as payment for this gift.
Cirszal finished half an hour later. He repeated key phrases many times to keep the meter and pacing of the poem. Nag Kath had heard that before. Precise story-telling held to exact forms so the Sayer could remember all of the verses and keep the audience attentive. Brestegir had heard it many times. Cirszal was a master and the best in his long experience. Cirszal smiled knowing he had done it justice and nearly drained his own cold tea after not drinking through his performance.
.
Brestegir then began another more hopeful, melodic poem of their folk. It started with loss, constant loss. When times were bleak, no dark Lord or summoning gave surcease. There was only taking. But men and women stayed home more than they raided and were left empty inside. It could be many lives of men before they were called to fight or leave or survive through famine and plague. They had only that moment at any time in life.
Cirszal took the next verse of the same poem in a higher voice. He sang that no greatness could be made of any but small things. And that in waiting for greatness, whether it ever came, men and women should hold true to their families and friends, for in them was greatness also.
Brestegir sang the last verse in a pleasing baritone. In Catanard, the hero had the higher pitch and the villain the low. These were both hopeful. The man sang of care but also of vigilance. Darkness feared them because they disdained it. They must remember that which was said and done because it was their strength through time immeasurable. But even the longest time was made of moments and each of those must be lived correctly.
When they finished they both looked pleased. This was lore that was appreciated among them. Nag Kath asked if he could come again because there was so much he hoped to learn. They would be glad of his company. As he left, several of the people Nag Kath recognized from dinner arrived. Brestegir and Cirszal were teachers and it was time for a lesson. The Elf thanked them and walked into the sun.
Nag Kath went back every morning for a week. They seemed to know nothing practical about sorcery but he was fascinated by the teachings and history of the eastern world. It was a big place. Folk here had little to do with peoples south of Mordor and only occasionally from lower Khand or places western men did not even name. In return, he told them of Gondor and Dale, leaving out the personal parts. On the third meeting he brought the pictures of Orlo and the dark Elf. Brestegir was like the three elders in that he looked very closely as if there was something familiar about Orlo but finally shook his head.
.
Nag Kath was learning quickly but needed more practical information about the lay of the land. A partial answer came when the merchant from the Anduin was whittling a tent peg near an outdoor fire pit. The Elf wandered by and greeted him. He greeted everyone, having never been introduced to the group as a whole. This one answered back in what was called Westron-of-the-road. "Good afternoon, sir. I see you are an adept of lore."
The Elf said, "I am, though new to it and unready. I am Nag Kath, at your service."
"Prestigir, at your service, sir. I cannot help but think I have seen you in my travels."
Nag Kath said, "It is possible, I have been much in Gondor and Dale."
As if suddenly remembering, "Ah, were you associated with the aqueduct?"
"Yes, I did design work."
The man knew he did considerably more than that. "I fear your likeness at the fountain does not do you justice."
That brought a huge grin, "He represents the men we lost. The city carved my name instead. I do not mind. Plain folk should be honored as well."
The merchant finished sharpening the peg and tossed it with two others for his next trip. He may have brought things here but there was nothing to take back. That he stayed meant he was more than a peddler.
This village was a place of learning and rest. About half of the residents lived here year-round, farming and caring for the grounds. The others were those who shared lore of right-living in their travels and came here for replenishment. The merchant said, "Forgive me, Nag Kath, but you are not the usual man come for guidance."
"No, I do not blend in a crowd. I come to discover if the claims of those known as the Visitors can be made manifest. There are those among us who hope that is not so."
That was more direct than eastern men usually spoke. And Prestigir had heard more camp gossip about this creature than he shared with the Ghurate, that he was capable of magic and great killing, possibly a former dark servant himself. He found it hard to assign such things to this beardless one. As inconspicuously as possible, he looked into the blonde's eyes and saw nothing sinister. Prestigir had plenty of topics he could innocently drop. "My brother worked on the aqueduct, in the second and third years."
Nag Kath smiled again. "Yes, that was when we were trying to discover what could be done by men of our age. Such a thing had not been attempted since the early Stewards. When the waters of the Morgul Vale were finally safe, it was right to replace the bog water of fever season. It seems to work. Folk still get sick but not like they did."
Prestigir paid a compliment, "In keeping with our humble retreat, you said there was rightness in the work."
The Elf thought just a moment and said, "Yes, it was a right thing, for the people who live or live better, for children to come, for doing something better than we have done, yes. And do not forget bringing all manner of peoples together for common purpose." Again, the grin, "I think the Dwarves are my favorite."
In what was becoming genuine interest, Prestigir asked, "What brings you to Yhammâs Fruhir? This cannot be your steady road."
The tall Elf gathered his arms around his knees and simply said, "I was invited. Alas, I cannot say who offered. And you, sir? You seem prepared to leave."
"That is uncertain. I look forward to speaking with you until then."
.
_~ / ~ / ~ / ~ / ~-_
.
Prestigir's uncertain leaving depended on his next conversation with the three Ghurs. This might be more important than spreading right-living along the river.
"Hello, Prestigir. This can only be about the pale one."
"It is indeed, Master Distral. I think will continue my lessons here for a while."
"I see. Yes, further learning is honored among the wise. Are there things to discuss with the council?"
"If that is convenient."
The Khandian fingered his thin beard and said, "The others are right here. Let us ask their thoughts." The two walked into Vrenstides's office where the two men were having tea. Prestigir's presence meant information.
The merchant began; "Sirs, I just had an off-hand conversation with your guest. He is exactly who I thought. There is considerable more that I cannot confirm, but it is mostly from men who do not stretch their yarns overmuch." Prestigir took the men's silence as assent. "A story that no one gave much heed was that the creature was one of the Uruk-orcs of the White Hand. He was transformed to Elvish form in the reckoning. I am not sure I believe it either.
"What I have on good authority is that he was the silver wind who slew Taneûl's troop on the Dwarf Road all those years ago. That would make him a very dangerous man, despite his youthful appearance. He shot Taneûl himself from a hundred and twenty paces as the Richtren proclaimed Visitor wardings over the slain. He spitted Frûnzar riding at a gallop from eighty."
The Ghurate, and every other man in Rhûn had heard the story of a specter sweeping through rogue Balchoth mercenaries, the first of those seeking to preserve dark ways against the parochial rule of Telantish. In an instant, half of them were dismembered to the moan of Khalki and the swoosh of a hundred swords. One survivor repented his wickedness and was a friend to their order. He told them many times as the telling eased his horror. Now, it seemed the assassin of both leaders was among them.
Distral repeated, "Prestigir thought to extend his studies before returning to the world."
Zoldan nodded, "Please do so, but nothing too obvious."
.
_~ / ~ / ~ / ~ / ~-_
.
The three Ghurs remained seated after Prestigir left. Zoldan considered options; "If he will not stay until the messengers return, our options are thin. By all accounts, we cannot stop him. We are a place of rest and learning. This is properly a matter for the southern council.
Vrenstides interjected, "I agree, but we may need to act. This may be very good for us but there is always the chance he is not what he seems. If he must leave, perhaps we send him to Gûshand and they can inform the council."
Distral gathered his robes in the chair and smiled before saying, "We flatter ourselves, old friends. We succeed in the absence of dark lords. Were one to rise, his minions would squash us like gureeq grubs. Let the Kath stay as long as he likes and then we send him closer."
Vrenstides interjected, "Do you suppose he is the one ... the one said to replace Orlo in the flesh?" The others didn't answer.
.
Prestigir had much the same conversation with himself. The merchant was, among other things, a merchant. That meant earning more than his costs by convincing people how much they needed his wares. Nag Kath seemed to be enjoying himself with the Lorists. He was not anxious. He had not even leered at the widow Nienzal, whose husband was called to his ancestors much too soon. The merchant decided he would attend children's tutoring, returning to fundamentals, he would say.
Neither the Ghurate nor Prestigir had any problems with the outlander guest. The merchant told Nag Kath that messengers had been sent to friends further south and would be at least a month in returning. The Elf should stay here until then. The Elf understood their reasoning and readily agreed
Ghur Distral persuaded Teüchir (Scholar) Harmolu to privately tutor their unusual guest in Plainstongue. It was an amalgam of northern Pultic and southern Apysaic speech with a good measure of Westron nouns, because they had more things to name. It had evolved to half Variag (Khandian). Sauron's Black Speech was impenetrable for any of his peoples. Even the orcs had to truncate it. Southrons and northern Easterlings had little in common but when they had to work together, they needed a language to make themselves understood, if not appreciated.
Prestigir had more practical experience with the pidgin tongue so he attended most lessons. The Elf brought his satchel and pad, writing notes based on sounds in Sindarin which had more harsh and guttural tones than Westron. As in everything he tried to learn, he made progress. Even so, after the second day he said, "I was told that all languages came from old Elvish. I confess I cannot see the resemblance. Is it that without writing, every generation makes small changes until the way is lost?"
Harmolu agreed, "And each village. In times without strife, they stay to themselves. It is only in war or trade that outsiders must converse."
After four days, Nag Kath asked a question of the merchant, "Please tell me of the Visitors. Until I came to Dorwinion, I had never heard the name."
Prestigir was sure that was a safe subject so he started as if for a long tale, "They believe in power. Those who have power take what they want, until someone with more takes it for himself. We think first of armies but it is the same when a man takes another's woman against her will or abuses his neighbors. Children raised thusly know no better.
"They are usually the remnants of favored troops of Sauron, Easterlings to the north, among my people of southern Rhûn and fierce warriors below Mordor. They got better food, weapons, even horses. But it put them in the front line to their destruction. Now they think they should still be chosen and the rest of us think not. They try to summon another dark leader for their cruelty."
Nag Kath shook his head slowly, "I said I did not know of them, but I know all. That was how I was spawned and raised."
So, he was an Uruk-hai! What invisible hand made him this?!
The Elf continued, "It was not until I learned caring and love that I could understand cruelty. In their absence, life is merely enduring. A man must be miserable indeed to think those days are better."
"Why did you go to the Bror, Nag Kath?"
"It was not planned." The Elf grinned, "There were reports of orc incursions along the northern border of Dale. I offered to scout on my way to visit my family along the Redwater. It seems agents of Frûnzar offered them spoils along the river to keep Dalish and Dwarvish militias looking north.
"The crop was failing so I bribed the orcs with food to stay home. Small groups of Easterling cavalry were noticed along the river as well. It was not until I reached Dorwinion that I knew it was a feint and that the thrust was coming for the vinelands. The pretender's forces had not crossed so I went to the Bror, told him of his brother's perfidy and explained western lords would hold him accountable if Easterling troops attacked.
"Dulgov dealt with the infantry on his soil. The cavalry made it to Gondor but rode into a trap." Nag Kath thought a moment before saying, "I convinced a dying Visitor to tell me how to praise his men to the dark ones. He told me where he hid the stone."
The Elf said it as if describing the weather. Right-living men were among his Excellency's troops attacking Frûnzal's infantry. They all heard of the tormented Gvordling. Prestigir strained to keep his feelings even. He must jolly this strange creature for the good of all, but his stomach turned at what was done to even a bitter foe.
.
_~ / ~ / ~ / ~ / ~-_
.
The next three weeks passed pleasantly. The Elf-creature learned enough Plainstongue to order in a tavern. The two Lorists enjoyed telling him stories and songs of their travels. He practiced archery, leaving no doubt he shot the Usurper.
After a month there was no word from the messengers and yet the Elf was not chafing to leave. Some mornings he would go watch the dogs nip the heels of wayward sheep to the whistles of two teenagers. He visited Charlo often and rode him bareback to assure his hosts he would not leave without his belongings and weapons. He did press on matters of sorcery, eventually getting an admission that there was some in their order. The messengers had been sent to inform those folk. There was also knowledge in the most unlikely place. Nag Kath asked Harmolu, "Honored teacher, I was told that Visitors do not eat fish that live on the bottom of the lake. Is that so?"
"The learned man smiled, "They will if they must, but they disdain it when thin fish or meat can be had. The bearded fish thrive on decayed things. Some men would not have the fish's dinner pass to themselves."
"But this does not bother your people?"
"I do not care for those fish either, but some men have no choice. There are many fish in the sea. Most waters have all kinds. But in Mistrand, mud from the river discourages the red and blue fish, leaving mostly the bearded-fish. To catch the others, a man must afford a boat."
Dim light dawned, "And those born to favor should reap the harvest of boats as is their due?"
With a wink, "You understand these things quickly, young man. Here and in other lands as well."
"Honored teacher, is there special praise or lore about men who build these boats or catch deep fish?"
"The maker of boats is considered a rare craftsman. They must curve something straight to keep fishermen afloat. The man who does that poorly does not do it long."
Nag Kath walked back to his room. Had he noticed, his hand was stroking his chin. Was the break between those who were glad Sauron was gone and those who wanted him back as simple as what kind of fish they thought they deserved? Probably not. The Haradrim had likely never even seen a fish. Now, what fish were found in the Nûrnen Sea in the black of Mordor?
.
After six weeks the messengers had not returned. That concerned all who knew because of both the towering guest and that the two men were beloved of their company. Nag Kath asked to speak to the Ghurate.
"We can imagine why you have come. Must you leave now?"
"I should. If you can direct me to a place where those more like me can decide my coming, I would be in your debt."
"Travel to the steppes and from there to Lhûg. Prestigir has a map but there are roads the whole way. You must go alone. The men who would take you have not returned. Pray for them. There is an inn called the Khruevesta on the river. You will attract attention. The day after you arrive, pay for your meal with this coin." Verdracht walked around the table and handed Nag Kath what seemed like an ordinary groat. He dropped it in an empty vest pocket.
That afternoon he said his goodbyes. Prestigir would return to the Great River. The Elf would remember this place fondly.