Chapter 24
Khand
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His first two days took him southeast. The Sûrûbeki was clearer upstream of the Mistrand delta. He followed that for another day and then forded into what were called the horseplains of southern Rhûn. The eastern bank was a little greener than the east side of the 'Nose.' Folk were tending sheep and fields of gureeq. He expected the stares but in these lands, soldiers were the ones to avoid so farmers kept farming. The Ghurs had said as much.
The road would have been hard in a cart but it was fine for a horseman. It was hot in the afternoons. Charlo did well at a comfortable pace with just enough streams along the way. Nag Kath was given a leather bag that was cleverly sewn to hold water as long as you kept the seams upright. It held enough for three days which Prestigir said was plenty to refill at streams.
They reached the Temple of Lôkuthor on the second day. There were no such structures in the west. Grand buildings were often built in honor of those past but always intended to be used by those living. This was a building dedicated to a spirit where people came for blessings or interventions, said to somehow bring those spirits closer than their own homes. There was a village surrounding it and no one had claimed it for their own, so the old protections still warded against trespassing. Nag Kath did not have enough plainstongue to ask who Lôkuthor was but he did manage to order a dinner of grain and a new green.
In the morning he walked through the temple with the feeling powers had stayed here before. Powers always leave a trace. For good or bad he could not say. Just east of town was a crossroads leading either south or continuing east. As the crow flies south would be faster but the terrain was rougher and water less common. There weren't a lot of horses on the horseplains. It was much like eastern Rohan with enough grass and weeds to feed flocks of hardy sheep. The only horses he saw were pulling carts or under troopers. One troop did ask his business but waved him on with no threat.
Water was getting more plentiful with rivulets snaking from rising ground on the steppe. Three days after the temple they crossed a creek that was stirrup high and fully forty feet across. It was colder than further west. It had a few fish that had not learned the difference between real bugs and hooks tied with string. That made for a welcome break after Lembas and gureeq porridge. He caught enough to last two days. Water here generally flowed north to the Rhûn drainage. Prestigir had recommended he follow the eastern fork of this river rather than take the road. It was not difficult ground and the grazing was better.
The land was neither pretty nor dull and except for a few areas of loose rock, they made good time. Five days of that landed them in an actual town of perhaps four hundred souls. It had an inn to serve wayfarers from the intersection of the road back towards Mordor, one north to eastern Rhûn and his path almost due south. This was about the ill-defined border between Rhûn and Khand. Most people spoke Variag, the Khandian tongue.
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And there were travelers, mostly men walking loaded mounts. Wares were made rather than grown since anywhere you went had the same crops. There were tinkers, smiths, men selling weavings from his intended destination. One old man and his grandson sold fine threads in different colors for embroidery. There was also a healer with a stock of herbs and ointments for pains. With her remedies she also kneaded muscles with her powerful hands to remove soreness. Nag Kath tried that for a groat. His muscles seldom hurt very long but it seemed a new sort of healing to him. Skeptics might think she was hawking other physical comforts but Khandian men favor women smaller than them.
He stayed here a couple days, mainly to rest a split in one of Charlo's hooves. It wasn't necessary but neither was making it worse wandering the back of beyond. The inn had beds stuffed with some sort of straw that was quite soft so Nag Kath even slept a little after being pummeled by the stout healer. He was refreshed the next day. To pass the time, Nag Kath drew children's pictures for them to keep. Usually their mothers or grandmothers watched with a mixture of uncertainty and enjoyment. The blonde man seemed safe enough and this was the most exciting thing their little ones had seen in some time.
As luck would have it, they had enjoyment two days running. The next night featured entertainment that attracted townsmen and many from surrounding hamlets to watch players sing, dance and reenact historical events. It was a third-cousin to Catanard. Well into the presentation, Nag Kath realized the players represented local gods, demons and creatures in-between. Some were grim and solemn. Others were mischievous sprites or comical people caught in the great-ones' wiles. Music was played on pipes and drums or little steel plates made from armor that rang at different pitches. Like low Catanard, the audience cheered or hissed the characters which only made their antics funnier.
The show was done in something else he hadn't seen. A side of hill had collapsed years before creating about two-thirds of a bowl at a good angle for people to sit. Most brought blankets. The bottom of the bowl had been flattened to serve as the stage. Men in gray carried brightly painted screens representing nature or indoor backdrops. There was quite an array of color for a place that seemed so tan.
Nag Kath was starting to notice men and women looked more like each other the further he got from the Anduin. Most had smooth, olive or light brown skin. Men were not heavily bearded. That favored the women whose eyes were always dark brown with carefully plucked eyebrows. Both men and women of stature wore bracelets of what looked like silver, sometimes with garish colored stones. Many wore hats of long cloth that could serve as masks if high winds blew stinging sand. Two women gave him long looks but they did so firmly gripped by their husbands. That was fine. He had work to do.
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The southern route from here would stay on the river the whole way. It had a fish that wasn't quite a trout but tasted close enough. He enjoyed those, cooked in his Trum Dreng skillet, until they made the regional capital of Tuarcmindon. Charlo's hoof was still a concern so they stopped with plans for another two days at an inn near a farrier. Nag Kath had learned some horse-words and the blacksmith knew a little Westron. The man knew horseshoes too and pulled a nail he thought was too close to the break.
It was lucky that the Elf had made it this far through formerly enemy territory without incident. Nag Kath helped by not staying out after men had time to drink much and he left the women alone. Sometimes even that is not enough. He ate at a place serving nothing stronger than tea with dinner. Walking out the door, three young bucks in ordinary clothes but wearing the lapel gorgets of Broric cavalry started jeering at the oversized blond foreigner. He smiled and played ignorant before walking the other direction.
The catcalls grew uglier. If he ran, he would be chased. If he used 'The Fast', a lot of people would see it, the same for a confusion spell. Reasoning would not help in a different tongue. These lads were spoiling for a fight. He turned as the three approached. Either they were not expecting him to stand or they were deciding how to throw the first punch. All three carried swords and he had his. If they touched theirs, they would die.
The shortest of three short men stepped closer and proclaimed something that probably insulted his mother and his complexion. Nag Kath did not even blink. The fellow thought he would try again a step nearer and was instantly on his backside with blood pouring from his nose. The other two didn't see the punch but threw themselves at the stranger catching the same right fist across both jaws. They would be out for hours. The Elf smiled and pulled the lead assailant to his feet. The move included a very small confusion spell. Nag Kath put his arm around the man, maybe still a boy, and walked towards his inn like they were best friends. Butchering an already butchered tongue he asked, "What's your troop?"
Doubly confused, the fellow took a few moments to speak but then spilled, "Actum's Third Horse."
"Fine unit. Brave men all."
"Umhummm."
"How many of you are there?" His Plainstongue was not that good. He tried again, "Many men?"
"Two and twenty."
"Proud men. Go help friends. Not remember."
The trooper meandered back towards a small crowd gathered around two of Actum's Third. Between the drink, the punch and the spell, he would have a sore head tomorrow. The innkeeper, like most innkeepers, had better language skills than the soldiers. He said the company was billeted east of the large paddock. Nag Kath spent his time near the river.
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From here it was a nine or ten day ride to Lhûg. He did see other militia troopers. This might be their training season if they worked like Dale or Gondor. Farmers pulled grain in earlier than in the west. The river valley kept him from seeing very far to either direction but this was quite fertile. Along with the grain were plots of cucumbers and marrow-roots. There were gourds that people baked or stuffed with other foods. There was ko-ton too. That was prized in the west because it made such fine, soft clothing. He bought a bolt hoping someone might replace the garments that months of travel were thinning. And the women kept getting better looking. They had not yet followed the latest Gondoran fashion of exposing their forearms, but what he could see was appealing.
It had been a while.
_~ / ~ / ~ / ~ / ~-_
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On the 3rd of July he reached the city of Lhûg. It was the confluence of two rivers from east and west forming the stretch he had traveled. Officially in Khand, there might be as many as five-thousand citizens of the local Khan whose residence was away from the river to the east. There was a strong Rhûnic influence too. At the purer ends of their scales, the difference in appearance was striking, but quite a few folk showed both bloods and spoke either tongue interchangeably. Now aware of the quality of fish, he wandered on foot through a busy market looking at dead eyes staring back. There were whisker-fish and others as well. He asked the price, the first phrase he learned, and found them all about the same.
Having him pay with a special coin at a known place was more obvious than Nag Kath liked. They couldn't get him, but conspirators burned with hot irons would divulge. Maybe it was a man who washed the plates or delivered vegetables. The innkeeper would certainly handle the money though. The Elf acted distracted and asked about a shop he ambled by. He wasn't to pass the groat until tomorrow so he explored. Three soldiers like the ones further north sauntered towards him. They looked at the oddity and returned to their conversation.
Dinner tonight was a fish stew with something resembling ale made from gureeq and millet. It could not possibly be good … until it was. The brew was lighter than those of the west with less alcohol but it tasted fine and went well with dinner. Since there were no Dwarves to drink with, he just had one.
The next day he saw another healer who kneaded muscles as her primary labor. This one was poured in the same mold as the first. When she was done abusing Nag Kath's back he felt a little dizzy but it passed. She spoke a bit of Westron and told him that this was a time-honored service passed from mistress to adept over ten years of apprenticeship further south. They needed to be strong and they also needed to learn the points causing pain or where blood was not running true. She assured him his blood was fine. That was worth two groats.
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It was time to spend the coin. The inn was serving lamb stew tonight. There was no getting out of it. Carrots and greens were identifiable. They served the same ale as the other place. He laid the groat on the edge of the table but the server never claimed it. After the lamb chunks were long cold, he caught the maid's attention and pointed at the groat. She smiled and said, "No, he pay." When she turned to point at his benefactor, the table was empty.
Nag Kath smiled back and said, "You keep." That was for her, not her employer. The coin was gone faster than 'the fast'.
Outside there was a breeze, not enough to need the cloth face mask but some folk had their robe-hoods up. He did not own a robe and only wore a hat when traveling. He pulled it down to stay on. His room was upstairs so if no one approached him shortly, he would see if they had invited themselves in. The confusion spell on his bags might help them answer questions.
Nobody came. Nobody was upstairs. The next move was theirs. He went into a soft rest and thought about the play two weeks ago.
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Up with the sun, Nag Kath had a look at Charlo's hoof. It was fine. There was a small cane cylinder tied in his mane. Soothing his horse he combed it into his fingers. Other than a sleeping stable-boy no one was here so he opened the note and was instructed to ride west after settling his affairs at the inn. He paid in advance so that was no more than collecting his bags.
This was the unused road, there not being much commerce with eastern Mordor. Nag Kath wondered if this was where fine spectacle glass was melted. There seemed no place to hide if you wanted to surprise a rider here. That meant there was. He kept Charlo at barely more than a walk along the stream. After half an hour, he checked the water for humors and let the horse drink.
The man was quiet. Nag Kath heard him before a human would but this was no Northman trampling his way through briars. A short, slight fellow of local complexion walked up to the road above the bank and said, "A lovely day. Do you have coin for me?"
"I don't give money to every rough lad who asks."
"I only need one groat."
Sorry, I gave it to the maid."
"A coin like many others. I am sure it was well spent."
Nag Kath walked Charlo up the bank and bowed to the man whose own horse was tied fifty paces away. The fellow looked up at the Elf and said, "Come, we have no small distance ahead."
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Unlike the chatty Verdracht, his guide did not say another word for an hour. The scenery was much the same, horselands with no horses, patches of green were here and there but they were not farmed. Nag Kath wondered if the rain in these streams was new since Mordor changed hands. There was game; small deer that kept their distance.
The guide finally said, "We will ford here. They crossed to the middle of the same river and walked upstream several hundred feet before picking their way up a spill of shale chips that left no tracks. From there they rounded a hill bearing east into a secluded valley created by one of the streams feeding the river beside their route. It could not be seen from the road. The age of spying crows must be over.
The place looked much like Yhammâs Fruhir but twice the size. There was a large hall, several squat buildings and a dozen dormitories or apartments following the contour of the slope. Both horses were tied in front of one of the larger administrative buildings and the men walked in as they removed their gloves.
"Wait here, please."
Nag Kath did. There was a young woman who looked like she could have wrestled both of his muscle healers with one hand. She gave him a placid look but said nothing.
Another Khandi came out of a hall and bowed before silently gesturing for the Elf to follow. Four doors down they entered a modest room with a dining table and eight chairs. The walls had hangings and tapestries a bit like those of Minas Tirith but they were hunting or nature scenes rather than battles and Lords. Moments after he arrived, a last Ghur dressed in darker brown clothes followed behind them and shut the door.
The man in dark said, "I am sorry you did not hear back, Mr. Kath. The messengers were ill and delayed. You may have passed them on your way here." This man's speech had the lilting quality ascribed to Khand but his Westron was good.
The man who showed him in added, "It was unfortunate you were not here to help. They are fine now." This man's accent was unplaceable, much like folks said of the Elf's until he worked around his orcish inflections.
In his normal voice Nag Kath soothed, "The Ghurs were concerned. I am glad they are healed."
Brown said, "The messengers told us you would be staying in Yhammâs Fruhir for at least a month. I hope your visit was profitable."
Like his interview there, no one introduced himself but they were affable. Nag Kath thought of them as Mr. Tan and Mr. Brown. A man brought tea for all but did not offer mug choosing. This was the true Telandrin. He would get some for Mr. Tallazh! In answer, "I learned a great deal about this part of the world, and of things past."
"Ahhh," said Mr. Tan. "We come to that. Would you mind telling us why you are here?"
"No, but perhaps some introductions are in order. I am Nag Kath. I do not know what you know of me but I am no secret anymore."
Mr. Brown said, "We know of you, Nag Kath. I am Khilestu. My associate is Choran Zielthir. You might describe us as the soldiers of right-living.
It would be hard to stop thinking of him as Mr. Tan but Zielthir added, "Rhûn certainly knows of you. Thought I grieve for mothers and wives, our position has improved. We hope you have leisure to stay here and taste different fruit of the same tree."
"My time is yours."
Their time did not start now so Nag Kath took Charlo to the stable and followed his guide to deposit his bags in a larger and more comfortable room than his last, housed in one of the dormitory buildings. It had a small glass window facing north. Dinner was much the same as in Rhûn as well with a mess hall serving men, women and even more children in two waves. The red sauce earned his respect.
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Everyday Khandians seldom come in thick sizes. Absent the dark lord, some eventually ate their way to plump but it took work. In the long history of here and five hundred miles in any direction, bodies learned to live with less. No sooner had he thought that than a man favoring northern Rhûn with a braided beard and tight vest reached a paw over in western fashion. "Name's Tolvern, Richas Tolvern. Welcome to Hanvas Tûr."
An equally hearty voice returned, "Nag Kath, good to meet you."
The fellow broke his fresh loaf and dipped it in some sort of stew. "Are you here for the Recitations?"
"I hope I have not missed them."
"Nay, don't start until Wednesday, though you would not know it for all the people practicing. Gelansor is but once a year!"
Nag Kath had forgotten about that. Yes, the time is right. Two years ago he was listening to Orlo fondly remembering his wife's affections after three days of celibacy. He hadn't forgotten why he was here or how to innocently extract information. "I hope to meet some old friends as well. Tomorrow I shall explore."
"Good! You do that." Nothing came of the probe but they talked amiably for the rest of the meal and looked forward to meeting in due course. There was still good light when the later meal shift filtered in so Nag Kath took his constitutional walk and surveyed the grounds. Both right-living retreats had no military defense. If they were attacked, they would fight on open ground. Those days might be over but raiders would not need dark lords to steal horses. There would be other defenses.
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_~ / ~ / ~ / ~ / ~-_
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His waking rest was more peaceful than usual. There was a calm here that helped thoughts glance away effortlessly. One day he might even discuss this with a real Elf. It lasted longer than usual too, almost four hours if he read the night correctly. Insects were singing in full voice. There must be a pond because frogs were giving them a run for their money.
He opened his eyes with the sun and dressed. This time, he did not lay a spell on his bags. Sure enough, there was a pond, two of them actually, one feeding the other. Romantic frogs jumped in the water when he walked around the bank.
He froze. A duu crow (crebain) in a short tree preened itself waiting for opportunity. Nag Kath watched it motionlessly for five minutes. A woman walking by was about to say good morning but the northerling looked so intent she held her tongue. The bird did not seem interested in larger goings-on. After his feathers were in order, he stared below the branches and eventually floated down for some morsel. Quarry bagged, he flew off to the north.
So, they lived. Perhaps no one had the power to draw them to his will. Or if anyone did, they did not use crows. Mr. Tan approached as the crow was flying away and said, "They are just birds now. Come, it is story-time."
There were four men and the large woman from the office in the meeting room. Cold tea was already in several pitchers. People helped themselves and sat where they liked. Like in Yhammâs Fruhir, these were not formal, lordly gatherings. They were plain folk who had shown skill and wisdom. Nag Kath took a seat near the end after pouring a mug.
Khilestu spoke after everyone was settled, "Sirs and ma'am, this is Nag Kath who was sent to us from Rhûn. There he spent six weeks learning of our order and wishes to help. He has also seen service. Who of us knows of him?"
Only one man nodded. The woman had hot tea and it was finally cool enough to take a long, satisfying pull. She asked, "What do you know of us, Nag Kath?"
"I learned some fundamentals from a man in Kugavod two years ago and as Khilestu said, I visited Yhammâs Fruhir, learning your ways for six weeks. I favor them and wish you all success, but I am come to discover if the Visitors are capable of congress with remnants of the Dark Lord.
"Before I ramble on, may I ask what know you of remaining sorceries in western lands?"
"A handsome younger man in modest dress said, "I, for one, am not conversant with such tales. For long lives, folk in the east were only told what our masters wanted us to believe. Since then, we have had other concerns." There was general head nodding in agreement.
Nag Kath said, "I will try to be brief but this may take days." He smiled, "This is not sacred lore. Ask questions, offer opinions and disagree at any time." He gathered himself, "I am probably of Saruman's blood. It saved me in what you call the reckoning and gave me minor sorcerous powers. I was also schooled, too briefly, by Gandalf ere he departed and Radagast to a smaller degree." Blank looks had him add, "They were wizards, Those Named." That seemed to help, "I can heal like the women who pull ailments and poisons."
"There are large burials of Angmar and Dunnish warriors scattered throughout the west, thousands of men. It is said, and I believe, that they are undead and wait for their revenge when called forth. Now, here is where it becomes uncertain. These wraiths and wights were cursed to this state by the Witch-King of Angmar, largely during his service to Sauron. He is dead. His ring was destroyed, but these spirits remain. I killed one two years ago trying to reach us. There are other powers, neither foul nor fair, that await summoning. That must never happen."
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An older man, bald but with long hair around the sides that was woven into his beard said softly, "I know of such things, but my friends do not know of the wizards. I rode with Falmür near the Gap when Dunlending militias joined us against Helm's Deep before the final war. Nothing came of the engagement but they told stories of fell graves in the south of their lands that no man of reason would visit. If Nag Kath believes it, I do as well."
Nag Kath took advantage of their silence to continue, "I believe I was invited to your service, though I can find no one to confirm that this was not an invention of my confusion. I encouraged the Bror to stop his brother from invading the west. He would not let me leave before he found, and thankfully destroyed, most of Frûnzal's infantry. I was held in confinement where I met a man who called himself Orlo." The Elf paused to gauge reactions. Seeing none he continued, "We were in each other's company for three of eleven days and he told me much of Gelansor and the views of right-living. He was retired from building fishing boats and held hostage against a family debt.
"Again, I can not seem to give you a plain story; the garden in which we stayed did not exist. When I returned I found an abandoned horse ring. The walls were in ruins. I drew sketches of Orlo's hut with a porch and rails that had not been there for centuries." That got a response. "Here is a drawing I made of Orlo."
Nag Kath passed the picture around the table. They all had the same reaction, a long look followed by no recognition. The young woman was to the Elf's right and got the picture last. She gave it the same study but something stuck. Nag Kath would remember that.
"It would have taken power to create that glamour, power greater than mine. I did not sense malice. I returned to service in the west but there were enough things wrong in my mind to draw me back. It was a test as well. I needed the wit and courage to return. Perhaps I flatter myself, but I know enough of confusion spells to know I was taken like a greenbottom in the marketplace. I would dearly like to meet this fellow again."
Mr. Tan observed, "You are here for more than that, though."
"Yes Ghur Zielthur. Orlo, the man, may help me keep fell spirits from rising again. I am here to discover if the people you call the Visitors have any real power or they are trading on past glory to exhort ordinary armies."
The last man to speak was the one who had heard of him but had little common-tongue. Nag Kath recognized this as the speech of the Haradrim from experience on the aqueduct. He spoke gently but his voice was resonant and vital. "I heard tell of you from the water. You healed our sick and praised our labor." The man spoke quietly to the young man briefly for translation and continued, "You have destroyed an army to the north. In my lands there are many young men who tire of farming and toil without notice." He stopped to speak to his neighbor again. No one filled the pause.
Finally, the younger man spoke for him. "Harad is fertile in sons. A man is judged by his family and sons. There is the next army."
Satisfied it had been said the old man finished, "You are counsel to Elessar. Many will seek your death."
If any expected that to dissuade him, Nag Kath smiled and said, "I fear so. While I am here, I need to know how to confound these Visitors in their nest."
Mr. Brown wanted to speak with his people and thanked the Elf for coming. Gelansor started in two days so decisions would have to wait.
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Nag Kath left the room wondering just how much they knew about either the apparition of Orlo or the Visitors. The old boy knew more than the others. This would all have to be done with finesse. These people were on his side. Things always revealed themselves. He was more Elvish than he knew.
That afternoon the powerful woman saw him sitting by the pond and joined him. For such a large figure she sat gracefully and said, "I am a healer also. Perhaps we can discuss that while you stay. I am Nenwûla of the Viersh."
"I am honored Nenwûla of the Viersh. Anything I can learn to help those in need is welcome. Are you of the school of kneading soreness from the body?"
She said, "I am, though with herbs and the occasional drawing. We were not appreciated here so there are few."
Nag Kath told her of the good and bad in his experience. "Your talent in body kneading, how does that ease distress?"
She brightened, "We call it Fanzhic. I do not know for immortals such as yourself, but for men and women, tension and waste builds in muscles and organs. This loosens them so they can be expelled. Certain nerves and veins can also be constricted. Learning takes so long because we must not harm attempting relief."
She cocked her head, "You said your service was more of drawing."
He smiled, "Yes, that is probably the same as women like you. I am not very good. Remedies take me time to recover. Wise healers teased me that I do not know my limits. Alas, I had more practice than I should have liked with the fevers of Osgiliath. I have some skill in birthing."
She giggled, "Men usually do not offer such care. It makes them nervous."
"Men fear what they cannot control. They bluster for excuses but the bringing of life belongs to women. Now, what recitals will you share?"
"Recitations are said alone Nag Kath."
"Oh, for some reason I thought they were aloud."
"You are thinking of the men practicing. They compete in fellowship to improve. Women practice theirs alone, though, I suspect some may assist each other privately. I have a good memory and the texts are quite short."
Nag Kath tried to keep the amusement off his face. "My imaginary friend said he tried to remember his but sometimes needed to review. He also said that younger men would write their own - that some deeds have yet to pass."
Nenwûla paused with concern but regained her humor saying, "He must have been teasing. It would be silly to rewrite that which is known."
Nag Kath walked back to his room thinking; 'that old devil!'
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_~ / ~ / ~ / ~ / ~-_
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Nag Kath lay with his hands behind his head trying to remember every word of the old boat-wright. There were nuances layered on others. He had a good memory too but it was getting stale. His education began in earnest when a man stood at the jamb of his open door. People here were soldiers of right-living. This man was a soldier anywhere. He said in rough Westron, "Let us speak."
The Elf slipped into his boots and followed him to the pond. The fellow looked about thirty, so too young for the ring war. He was taller than most of these short people and had scars on both hands and under his chin that the short beard could not hide. He was an officer, no error.
The man said without preamble, "I am Shelturn. I was instructed to explain how the Visitors fight."
Shelturn veered off the path and walked to a stone table with benches on either side for outdoor eating. They sat across from each other. The Elf got the impression that his instructor was not entirely pleased with his errand. It might be that tough men of the wilds did not like or like being seen with pretty men. Shelturn asked, "What do you know of their soldiery?"
"Nothing. My only experience was with a camp preacher. Nothing about him said he could swing a sword."
"That is what we call a Ghorandul. The Rhûns call them Gvordlings. They are sent to exhort existing troops."
Nag Kath said, "Well let me ask you this; Frûnzar had about fifteen hundred foot soldiers ready to cross and another four hundred cavalry fording above to secure the landing. How many of these Ghoranduls would have been there?"
That was a more soldierly question than Shelturn was expecting from the pale girl/man. He had been told nothing of the blood on those elegant hands. It deserved a considered answer, "Five to ten, plus the Richtren officer near the general."
The Elf mulled that and said, "I think that one died, else the other men would have turned on him after the defeat. The one I spoke with had been conditioned with sorcery."
Now that this northern creature had earned some grudging respect, they spoke for an hour about structure, weapons, tactics and quickening. It seems the Visitors had army units of their own as well as training counselors and spies for distant warlords.
Nag Kath was completely ignorant about these lands after the One Ring. In the west, stragglers of enemy powers were efficiently killed or brought to terms, like in Dunland. The northern Easterlings were a model of organization since the new Bror brought enough men back to secure the population.
But inside Mordor and two hundred miles around the open end of the mountains, the slaughter was worse than the war. After thousands of years of abuse and oppression, released slaves, dirt-farmers and survivors fell on each other and returning orcs like wargs for what little was left. It was only in the last ten years that warlords came to grudging accommodation over borders and water. It was a hard life, perfect for an order to cultivate the selfish ambitions of men who had always taken what they wanted.
Nag Kath asked Shelturn, "Where is their lair and how do I destroy it?"
The soldier became haughty, "That is not for your pale ears."
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The Elf stared at him for a moment. He was naturally patient. He had been so in Rhûn and here too. But it was time to dispense with his farm-boy charm and state matters in terms they could understand. Shelturn gasped and tried to wrench invisible hands from his throat. An instant later he was flung headlong into the smaller pond. Nag Kath left him submerged for half a minute and then hauled him back at his feet, a combination of Flor's lover and the fish-wight spells.
In his best Elf Lord voice, "Tell me where or next time I leave you under." He was not a hairless pleasure boy. And if these people had sorceries of their own, they could explain those at the same time.
All Shelturn got out at first was pond water. Then he managed, "I will speak to the Ghurate." With such dignity as he could muster, the soldier rose and squished back to the buildings.
Nag Kath skipped dinner. At the end of the day, Mr. Brown poked his head in the open door. "We never had a choice, did we?"
"No."
"Let us get through Gelansor. Then we will talk." He started to leave and returned to say, "Thank you."