Arda, The Borders of Harad, The Grand Numenor city of Umbar: T.A. 3016
Weddings were a happy thing, right? That's what her mother had implied anyway when she'd been a little girl. Alright so there were realities beyond that, marriages were a contract above all else. And the higher up you climbed in society, the less the individual feelings of both parties counted, she wasn't stupid. Around the time she had hit six and her father had begun to interview potential suitors for her hand, she'd figured out that any fantasy she might have had of love sick poets, or dashing pirate kings were stupid. Her hand would go to who had the most land, or the richest, or even just to who was politically the most suitable for her father at the time.
And yet…marriage should still be a happy thing, she still expected that, even if it was in a different way than child her would have envisioned. A beautiful dress and shinning gold arm-bands emblazoned with the symbols of her people, those were happy things. Her father's smile, her mother's laugh, her little brother stuffing himself silly on sweet meats – those were happy things. And maybe in time, even if she could not find love with her husband, there was still her children. She would love her children.
And that was still true…wasn't it?
Yes, yes, it must still be true.
Even if her father was dead, his head resting and rotting atop the buy pikes of his former keep.
Even if her mother had been ripped from her and chained to a man even worse than the one her daughter was about to be married to.
Even if her little brother's head had been dashed across the steps, and his body not even given a funeral.
Yes, despite all that, despite the fact that her future husband was at least thirty years older than her, and her father's enemy – there would still be children, surely, she could still love those.
So, what if…if her husband looked at her all throughout their wedding feast as if she was a piece of dirt, or worse yet one of those soldiers heads his lot so loved placing on their walls and battlements. It didn't matter, nothing they did mattered anymore. The food was nice, the meat was sweet, and the wine…well wine was the best of all. It made it all hurt a little less, perhaps in her marriage she would become a drunk. Perhaps she would use her husband's gold to search out and claim all the greatest liquors this mortal land had to offer.
Then again, maybe she would just sleep her life away.
Yes, that would be much less taxing.
Suddenly a voice woke her from sleep.
'My lady Akallabêth*,' says the soldier in blue. 'How are you enjoying your wedding day?'
It was not a cruel question, by either tone or wording, and yet just by its mere existence she found herself hating its speaker. Still a question had been posed and an answer was needed.
'Just fine, Akunosh**. Just fine.'
Arda, Near Harad, The Grand city of Umbar : T.A. 3002
What happens to a movement, a cult, an army when it's general has been slain? Or at least eaten whole by a giant sea creature? You would think it would end wouldn't you, after all the Wizard had basically been his army's king for as long as it had existed – which granted was only a couple of years, but still.
And to be fair it very nearly did.
No one could truly believe what they had just seen at first, even the soldiers who had watched the creature devour their beloved leader had not truly believed their own eyes. I mean who would. Giant turtles eating wizards, that was just peasant talk. And maybe if it had happened somewhere else, say in the middle of one of their gruelling marches – the kind the songs and histories never spoke about, but always happened between every victory. Perhaps if they had been stranded halfway between conquests, then yes, the blue army of the Wizard would have very likely disbanded. It's foot soldiers lost to the sand, and the arms of their enemies' women. And the generals, well the lucky among them would have run back their various scattered homelands; the others, well someone had to pay for the Wizard's men.
But it hadn't happened like that – no the wizard had been eaten on the docks of the Numenor city of Umbar, in the middle of a successful siege of the city. So, there was plenty of distractions that might take a young soldiers fancy in the sacking of a city; for propriety's sake the narrative won't describe such things in morbid detail. Instead, we shall just assume the reader can already picture the theft, and other more unpleasant activities an invading army takes part in while their leaders' eyes are lifted to more vital matters of state.
Even then, those rich and powerful generals of men might have called it off – this whole jewel provoked crusade of theirs – for without the wizard where was even the semblance of hope that they might one day catch even a glimpse of those mighty Silmarils. Maybe if they had broken down those gates themselves, instead of the lord of the city lowering them in some form of defeat. And maybe if the people behind that gate hadn't been starving and weak, able to put up some form of fight. But that was not the way that this story went, and everything had been so easy – granted they'd used up a large amount of their own supplies just sitting here in front of the gates for months upon months, maybe even a year it was difficult to say. But still, once the gate was down – the blue army might have just as well strolled in, with how weak their enemy was now.
They had taken the city of Umbar, that grand moment to the days of Numenor – and once you've done something like that, well what's the point in stopping anymore.
None, or at least there wasn't for Captain Hereblod.
Hereblod had been born of the men of Rohan, a fact that was clearly illustrated by his long blond locks, his sharp blue eyes and the horse skin helmet that he refused to take off no matter what the situation. However, it was somewhat less illustrated by his general character – it wasn't that he was a coward, or even a traitor, he was not Grima Wormtounge. In fact, on the surface, he was the ideal man of Rohan: he was a great horseman, a mighty warrior, a leader of men, except none of these heroic qualities were used for a heroic purpose. When Captain Hereblod set out to fight his enemies, it was not the armies of the dark lord that he set his sword against but rather cities that had angered his lord wizard.
Which were usually filled with an alarming number of unarmed women and children – this mattered very little to Hereblod. They were his enemies and as a proud man of Rohan, he must destroy his enemies no matter what their sob story was. After all, what kind of warrior, what kind of man would he be if he let his general's enemies go unpunished.
A certainty of rightness in one's cause can be helpful when that cause is truly just; it gives one focus and purpose, it was somewhat less helpful when one's cause is finding a giant shiny bauble for the insane wizard who you somehow see as a father figure. Perhaps if he had stayed in his own land, where such certainty is useful when fighting actual evil, and its poor enslaved minions, but this is not that land – and it's debateable that a man such as Captain Hereblod would have found any joy in a truly righteous cause.
After all, truly righteous causes did not fill one's coffers, they did not build one's fame outside of pretty songs for the history books, and certainly didn't really give you power. Not in the way that Hereblod craved; the structures were too entrenched in royalty and noble blood. As fourth cousin twice removed to the new king of Rohan, he had the blood but the best a lad like Hereblod could have achieved at home was riding in his distant cousins shadow and that had never been enough for the likes of Hereblod.
The Blue Wizard had given him a cause to fight for, riches beyond even the King of Gondor's fantasies and such power over his fellow man, that sometimes it made him weep just to think about it. And now it was going to end just because the wizard just so happened to be eaten by a giant turtle. No, no, it would not end like this. They had conquered the city of Umbar. Who knows where they could go next; the entire of the Eastern lands of Middle earth could be theirs? Then what was to stop them from taking the southern lands too, and then well, why not the north and the West too. The Army of the Blue Wizard would rule all; and everything, everything would be as it surely was always meant to. Perfectly ordered, perfectly structured, his perfect life and they were so close all they had to do was reach it and take it and the world would be theirs.
He just had to convince the others.
Arda, Near Harad, The Grand city of Umbar : T.A. 3021
Akallabêth's husband was not particular interested in her at all; this was what she concluded finally after the third night sleeping in his large, ornately decorated bed by herself, not a particularly bad thing. Her mother had not had time to warn her what a wedding night would really be like. And yet during the years of Akallabêth's long engagement – while her to be of an age where she would not instantly die in childbirth – she'd managed to piece together some semblance of an idea that there would be pain involved. A lot of pain, and if she were very lucky it wouldn't last long. So, after her wedding feast was over, and the wine had been drunk she'd climbed into that golden shining bed and had waited for her husband to join her, and the pain to start.
But he never showed up, she lied in that bed all night long, much too afraid to sleep at all; and he never came to bed.
Now it was the five years since her wedding, and technically speaking the wedding night had still yet to happen at all. If this was what it was like being married to the General, then maybe life would not be so terrible at all. Her days were not so terrible after all, dresses and pretty things around her ankles and wrists were provided every morning and well, the food was good. Really, if her nights were to be left alone then all she had to do to have a completely contented life as a wife was not think about what was keeping the general from her bed.
Don't think about the horrors of the blue army.
The Villages, the towns, the cities that they burned to the ground. Don't think about the children they've left orphaned, if they haven't buried them. Don't think about the slaves outside her door, their eyes down cast and their backs littered with the scars of their beating. Don't think about the fall of Khand, or Harried, and don't ever think about Umbar.
Yes, if she could just forget it all, live like a little fool in this palace of luxury and quiet nights, then maybe she could be happy. But Akallabêth knew really, that she would never be that person. She may have not been inside its walls since she was six, she may have been raised to be a political bride of a general she never saw anymore, but she would always be a daughter of Umbar. Like her mother before her, she would always be Haradrim.
And it was that fact more than any fear of the nights when her husband was not so busy which made her decided to do it that day of all days. Which made her done those all-peasant rages, puddled her hair under an old wrap that made her look more boy than woman, and made her run.
Arda, Near Harad, The Grand city of Umbar: T.A. 3002
It was a debate of some great ruckus, whether or not to kill the lord of the city or merely imprison him and ransom him off to some well-off cousin. That was obviously what they would do to his wife and children, why shouldn't they squeeze some more treasure out of their conquest before they burnt the city to the ground and went home. However, there were some dissenting voices amongst the collective generals and captains.
The loudest, and some would say the most obnoxious of these was the voice of one Captain Hereblod, formally of Rohan.
'We cannot release the prisoner, what kind of message is that sending to all those who would oppose us?'
Cried the voice of the young captain, breaking in desperation as many of his elders and superiors rolled their eyes.
'Hush Hereblod,' said General Böri, the only one of the collective men that had actually held the title before the disappearance of their revealed leader. 'Have you done enough looting for today, is your thirst for treasure never quenched?'
Hereblod, tried not to growl at that – because that was a bit rich coming from a man that had literally dropped everything in his life to search for a magical jewel he had never even heard before the Wizard had shown it to him in a dream. There were a lot of stories like that amongst the higher officers of the Wizard's army, it was something Hereblod had never quite understood. He was motivated by riches, power, and purpose, all good worldly reasons to sack multiple cities – but some of these officers were just Fanatics. True believers in the wonder of the Silmaril.
It was honestly a bit distasteful, if the captain was to be honest to himself. Still, could be useful for his purpose. General Böri – an Easterling man, if Hereblod remembered correctly – was still talking, he liked to do that and for the most part the Wizard had been happy to let his second command chatter away to others, pretending he had any real power next to the greatness of the Wizard.
'The decision of the prisoner can be left for now, my soldiers. He's not dying anytime soon; the true question we must ask ourselves is what is to be done now that our leader has passed.'
Around the room there were murmurs of concern., and Hereblod let himself sink back into his seat. Yes, yes, he might be able to use this discussion. Next to him a voice rose, and Captain Malbeth, formerly of Gondor – and the biggest prig Hereblod had ever yet met, spoke then his voice high and proud just like all his kin.
'I think what we should really discuss is whether our Wizard is dead at all.'
Some random voice amongst the crowd, that Hereblod did not care to identify, cried out that of course their wizard was dead. They had all seen him be consumed by the monster.
'Yes, Yes,' said Malbeth in his usual condescending tone. 'This monster many of the men saw, but the men are halfwits. Tired, hungry, over worked halfwits. Who's to say they saw anything at all, perhaps they were just misled. Some child, or angry women convinced them there was a beast waiting for them in the water and when our Wizard disappeared – as I will remind you gentlemen, he likes to do every now and then – they convinced themselves he was eaten by this strange beast.'
It was a reasonable and well thought out argument, concluded Hereblod, with more than a little rage that he hadn't made it himself. But then again, General Böri was a fanatic, and fanatics generally didn't like to have their assessments questioned.
'I will not have you speak of our men so Captain Malbeth; they risk their lives every day in pursuit of our goal. You do well to remember that sacrifice, and that you owe them not only your respect, but your allegiance.'
Fanatics, they really were just insane at the end of the day.
'Fine,' sighed Malbeth, as if even he in his pomposity knew that it was pointless to argue the point with General Böri. 'But my point still stands, even if he was swallowed whole by this mysterious turtle, who's to say he is really dead. This is a wizard we are talking about people, and more importantly he is our wizard. He always comes back to us.'
There was a murmur of assent to this, after all even the most sceptical could not doubt that the Wizard had powers far beyond the reach of mortal men. Not, as it turned out, even Böri.
'Fine, but I do not see how this is entirely relevant to our situation, the fact still remains that he will be gone for some time. – and we must plan our next moves accordingly.'
'It matters General,' said the man of Gondor. 'Because in one outcome he will eventually return to us, and in the other he will not. In one outcome we will have to push through our grief and decide on our cause without him. Who among us will have the stones to not only keep sieging cities in search for our gem, like you general, but continue to reign over the Wizard's territories if the Wizard will never return to us? Will you General, are to be our king now?'
Böri's eyes seethed with rage, and he looked like he was ready to leap across the table and slap Malbeth right across the face. Perhaps even catch Hereblod on his way there too. But then something froze on his face, and he looked slightly thoughtful.
'And if the Wizard is not dead…'
Malbeth smiled at that.
'Then all we have to do is keep things going until he returns to us.'
'And how,' said the general slowly. ''Do you intend for us to do that?'
And at that, Malbeth smiled like a man who had just been given everything he had ever wanted. And then he told them his plan and Hereblod, well he couldn't say it was clever, but it was just stupid enough to be genius.
Arda, Near Harad, The Grand city of Umbar: T.A. 3021
No one had spotted Akallabêth – or, she corrected herself no one had spotted the ragged stable boy climbing down from lady Akallabêth's room. Of course, such invisibility would not last her entire life, eventually even the lowest of the low will be seen. That was a fact that not even her disguises would hide her from; she must think of a new name, a new voice, a new life. She must become the stable boy, the vagabond, the soldier of fortune. She must become it all, or the last of her father's line would surely die with him.
Her feet hit the ground, and she gritted her teeth against the pain of it, she had never truly had strong bones – but now, not even shoes would protect her. But there was no time to feel the ever-shattered ligament of her foot. She had to run, or at least hobble to cover before the servant boy was spotted where he should not have been.
Keep going, keep going, don't think about the pain. Don't think about the pain. Don't think about what they will do once they find out you're gone. Don't think about the guards they will slaughter for their sloppiness in letting you escape. Don't think about the handmaidens they will throw from the towers. Eventually they would have done that anyway, this isn't your fault, this isn't your fault.
The cobbles felt hot under her feet, hot and burning like the eyes of the wizard. The wizard who affricated her and the general's marriage, the wizard who even now that he was no doubt hundreds of thousand miles away deep within his lair in the Red Mountains, still over everything that her people did. He was the soil and they only his hand.
Must keep running, must keep running. It's a good philosophy for soon she is past the courtyard of her prison, and almost to the gate. Almost to freedom and the long stretch of the road in front of her. But almost is a world that rarely pops in stories with happy endings. There is a yell from behind her, from behind the stable boy's back – it is the sound of the disappearance of the Lady Akallabêth being discovered. She should ignore it, it's nothing to do with her anymore, she opens the latch on the gate and stepped out into the vast openness of the deserts before her. Yes, dear reader, that is what she should have done – but 'should have dones' don't make for much of a story.
For less than a second Akallabêth turned back, but sometimes that's all that's needed for things to go very, very wrong.
Arda, Near Harad, The Grand city of Umbar: T.A. 3021
Things had not gone very, very wrong for Hereblod; he refused to admit that. He was fine in the way his life had turned out, he didn't feel like a faker trapped within a lie that could at any minute unravel and plunge everything he had ever worked for, or strived for into undesirable decay and chaos. Nope, that was not his life, his life was just fine.
I mean who cares if the robes itched, and he still had to die his beard grey he was doing fine just fine. So long as he looked the part no one would or half suspect a thing. As far as the soldiers knew, the swallowing of the great turtle-thing had been temporary, and now their great and wise wizard leader was back amongst them once more. Ready to lead them to new and even great adventures.
Who cares if it was all a lie?
Who care if it had been years and the great wizard had not even delivered a passing hint that he was going to come back to them. After all, so long as he kept the costume on, possibly for the rest of his life, no one beside himself, Malbeth and Böri needed to know. There had been others there at their meeting but over the years most of them had met with some horrible, and yet strangely convenient fates. Until finally, there were only the two Generals left – Böri of course, he was like one of those camels that just kept walking despite the fact that water hadn't been spotted in months, he would never die. And of course, there was General Malbeth, who rather fittingly had taken to flying a banner with vultures when he rode out to battle as his personal symbol. Sometime Hereblod would picture all the ways that Malbeth could die, horrible ways, terrifying ways, and for that brief flash of a moment he would be happy again.
But such things were never meant to be, and Malbeth would never die, evil never did.
And Hereblod, well Hereblod would remain at his post, dressed in a wizard hat and wizard robe and never use his real name again. Just like any good soldier would.
Arda, Near Harad, The Grand city of Umbar: T.A. 3021
Turns out noble guards are surprisingly fast when they've been made to look like a fool. They had caught her, and they didn't even seem remotely surprised or in any way fooled by her disguise. It was, well the kindest word for it would be humiliating, but then there were a lot better descriptive words in Haradrim language for the mixture of terror, pain, and horror that she was feeling right at this moment. The writer would tell the reader these words, but the rating would never survive.
They dragged her along the courtyard of the palace, her hat dissuaded and her long hair making a convenient handle. They dragged her past the servants trembling in the kitchen, then dragged her past her cousins sombre in their handmaid gowns and finally they dragged her all the way up those hundred flights of stairs; until finally they reached the great black wood doors. Akallabêth didn't understand why they were stopping here of all places, the wizard wasn't here, he was away, torturing the Dwarves of the Red Mountains. Right? Yes, yes that was what her handmaidens had told her, so it must be true for they had never a reason to lie to her. Well, maybe they did now, but not before her escape, never before.
'Open the doors!' Screamed the guard that was holding her hair. The two young boys that were guarding the doors looked down at her, at the woman dressed in rags, and then up at their seething superior.
'Did you hear me whelps?' Screamed the man. 'I said open the door.' Both boys jumped at that, the younger of the two even dropped his spear and let it clatter unnoticed to the floor as he raced to unlatch those great black wood doors and swung them open. Then there was more dragging, and hair pulling and screaming and just a brief moment, a wonderful second of a year, Akallabêth thought she would pass out then. Crumple to the floor and know nothing more until the punishment was over. Her body would ache true, and she'd be covered in bruises and scars, but at least she wouldn't remember it.
But this is not that world, and when they throw her to the floor in front of that man's chair, she is entirely awake.
Arda, Near Harad, The Grand city of Umbar: T.A. 3021
It should be noted that Hereblod is not a complete monster; he is very close to being one of course, certainly by the reader's cultural standards but there are some lines he will not cross. Mostly because as the stand in for the wizard, they are forbidden to him now. For instance, he cannot seduce his soldiers' wives anymore, he used to love to do that. He cannot go out with the soldiers and pillage a town, steal its jewels, its wealth for himself. It would not be dignified for a wizard to do such things., Malbeth had informed him once. Although where the arrogant Gondor man had gained such insight into the conduct of a wizard, the Rohan man would never know.
He was not however, a rapist.
Perhaps in the readers time this is a bare minimum for what is required to be a good man, but in the time that Hereblod lived, such things were a little more accepted; at least if they happened on the battlefield, or more likely in the marriage bed. But Hereblod had never done it, really it was the only barely commendable thing about him at this point in the decoy's life. But the fact still remained was that that was a line that Hereblod would not cross.
So, when the woman dressed all in rags was thrown at his feet, he was more than a little insulted.
'What is the meaning of this?' The fake wizard cried, barely short of foaming at the mouth.
'She tried to run away, my wizard lord.'
A servant wench had tried to run away. And they thought this a worthy enough matter to bring before their presumably beloved leader did, they? He could have been in the middle of a meeting with his generals, he could have been undressed, he could have had an actual willing woman in here. He didn't, and probably never would again if some of the hostile looks the two generals had been given him lately were any indicator. But regardless the guards weren't to know that.
For all of the rest of the days of his life, Hereblod would never be entirely sure if his face had given away his disgust at his men's action, or whether the eldest guard just decide to up and develop telepathy on him. Really at this point in his life either outcome was equally likely. Either way he chose that moment to speak, where any sane man would have shut up under the wizard's wrath.
'It is the Lady Akallabêth, my lord.'
Akallabêth.
Akallabêth.
That name, seemed very familiar.
Who was she?
One of his generals' wives? But which one? Lately Malbeth and Böri had felt rather interchangeable to him. Both loud, obnoxious boars who thought they and only they knew the path their people should follow. One of them had gotten married recently, only a couple of years ago, or was it five?
Well, he supposed it didn't really matter.
They would have the wench killed either way.
Although that still didn't explain why they had chosen to bother him with this little marital spat, this wasn't his wife – he wasn't even allowed to have a wife, let alone anyone else's – so why was this his problem?
'My lord wizard, how shall we punish her?'
It was that same stupid angry guard again, his voice stilted and unsure of itself. It made the fake wizard want to scream, and curse and chop his head off for a change. And maybe, maybe yes…he would do just that. Off with their head, off with all of their heads.
And then a voice, high and constrained, spoke from the fake wizard's left shoulder.
'My Wizard, perhaps the punishment should be delt out by the husband of the accused.'
Hereblod's eyes flicked over to the soldier standing just a little away from Hereblod's mighty chair. Akunosh, one of Böri's men, in fact wasn't he a trusted confidant of the general, no…something closer than that. Much closer, he was a lover, wasn't he? No, can't be right, yes, that must just be gossip. Although if it wasn't and Böri was the wench's husband. That might explain why she ran away. Although why anyone would throw away a perfectly good political marriage over a man as annoying as Akunosh, was a mystery to Hereblod. Still, he'd offered the perfect escape for the false wizard – the wench would be whipped no matter who admonished the punishment, but at least this way Hereblod wouldn't have to watch.
He realised then just how tired he was; of everything, not just this pretence, but of life in general. It was just one long stream of endless challenges to slog through, and then when it was all over and the sword had finally been plunged into your gut, what would you get for all that trouble? Joy? Great riches? Rewards beyond all your wildest dreams? No, not for the likes of the second born. Only death and certainty of nothingness that awaited them past the gates of the mortal world.
It was all rather pointless in the end.
He said none of this to his waiting guards and the stupid cow who had gotten herself caught. In fact, he no longer held the energy within him to speak at all, instead silently conceding to Akunosh's idea, with nothing more than a brief flick of his hand to keep his ironic stamp of approval for the idea.
He was vaguely aware of a tussle then, and the shrill shrieks of protests as she was dragged away by someone, probably the same guard that had dragged her in here by her hair. Probably someone else would have woken up then, would have raised his voice and told the guards to treat their lady with some respect. But the person that would have done that, had never been Hereblod, even when he had the will to care about anything. So, he just sat there in his grand throne and tried to block it all out, the noise, the sights, the smells, he didn't want to experience any of them anymore.
He just wanted to sleep.
Arda, Near Harad, The Grand city of Umbar: T.A. 3021
Akallabêth wanted to scream, and scream, and scream, and yell until either her throat collapsed in on itself or preferably the ears of her captor did. And she would have done that, even if the idea that anyone could scream that loud was more than a little ridiculous – if Lt. Akunosh's hand hadn't been clapped hard over her mouth.
It would be difficult to describe to the reader exactly the level of hate that Akallabêth currently felt for aforementioned lutenin. The closest one could come to was to say that in her mind she imagined that day, so many years ago now when that great Fell Turtle Fastitocalon had risen up out of the waters of her father's harbour and had swallowed the wizard whole. The wizard had come back of course, because he was a wizard and you can't really kill a wizard, everyone knew that. But say if it had not been the wizard standing on that pier, but rather Akunosh. Ah now yes, that was a comforting thought.
'Back to your posts, I'll take her to the General,'
Akunosh's voice is strong and confident, much more so than she'd ever heard it be before, it was usually so obedient and downright meek – although to be fair that could be because he was always speaking to her general husband. Her husband, thoughts of that man sent a cascade of shivers down the length of her whole body. He had never hit her, or punished her before – but then she had never giving him a reason to, at least not a reason like this.
Akunosh grabbed her arm and turned her forcibly down the tunnel to the left – she'd never been to this part of the keep before, it smelled sharply of salt, and fish and that strange rotting kind of weed that you only found in the harbours of her father's home, of her father's grave. It made her want to weep, I mean more than she was doing already. But Akunosh would not let her stop, and when she stumbled, he pulled her on, not even caring if he had to drag her down towards her terrible fate.
But of course, he was her husband's soldier, he lived to please him – what did his wife's feelings matter in that equation.
Suddenly with a finish jerk Akunosh pushed Akallabêth out and into the light at last and she found herself stumbling out onto a very small, very hidden beach. So small in fact that it is barely more than a step of sand before you reach the water, but when you do there stands a boat, hitched to one of the rocks stuck close to the overhanging cave entrance. It's one of those places that smugglers used, she remembered them from her mother's stories when she was a little girl. But they hadn't been used in years, not since the siege, and the blue army took over.
Suddenly Akunosh shoved her aside as he walked, or rather stepped, across the beach and down to the small, rickety boat. He threw something down inside it; it looked a bit like a cross between a satchel and saddle bags. Once he secured, whatever it was inside the boat, he stood up again and fixed Akallabêth with a soft, almost beseeching look.
'Get in the boat my lady.'
He said his voice rough with an emotion that she couldn't quite place, it wasn't pity, and yet she did not think it was anger and surely, yes, surely it could not be fear. She realized then that he was holding something out to her, an oar, it was an oar. In a daze of shock, she took it, and let him lead her to the boat – where she sat down and finally heard what he had been repeating over, and over to her.
'Don't stop rowing until you see the turtle mountain islands, do you understand me my lady? If you stop before then, the wizard will catch you and he will kill you, so head my words and don't stop rowing north until you hit the turtle mountain islands. And when you do, show the people there this,' and he takes something from around his neck then. It's a pendent, round and gold coloured, it had been hidden by his uniform but she could see it now, and as she held it, she realised then that it wasn't a circular pendant at all but rather it was the shape of an animal. A turtle…no, something more special than that. It was the shape of a turtle fish.
In utter shock her head snapped up to stare at Akunosh, as he hissed at her.
'Go! Go now, before they realise you are not where you were meant to be.'
And so, for the first time in her entire life, Akallabêth did exactly what she was told.
* The Turtle Fish Cometh
**Nightmares in the Dark