Mithrandir wiped the sweat from his brow, the heat of the Southern lands caused him to assent to the shaving of his beard and the cutting of his hair, the profound effect of which was to make him look like a scared white and gray cat perched upon the body of an old man wearing gray robes. The boy who cut his hair and beard was shivering the whole time, not from cold but from fear. The Day before the forces of Ciryaher, King of Gondor, were ambushed as they passed through a sea of high dunes, which were twice the height of a man. The battle went ill and they lost several men before the old wizard sent flames and flashes of light upon the attackers. He had not wanted to use his abilities so openly especially since his regiment was supposed to be entering the Harad Empire stealthily, but the only way to get out of the trap was back the way they came and that way was blocked by scouts from the dark kingdom of Khand, who had been alerted of their presence no doubt by the Easterlings. Though Sauron had gone, his followers were not too interested in giving up the power they held in the southern lands, a power they controlled through merciless tyranny.
The old wizard beckoned his men to sit now in the shade of a small mountain which over looked the desert they had just crossed. He looked westward and saw a faint glimmer on the horizon, no larger than the size of a child's thumb - that was the Sea of Rhun which they had passed almost 12 years ago. The journey to the East should have only taken 6 months from the onset of the war at the shortest, but at the King's counselors' insistence the entire force of Gondor's army marched into the Eastern desert, in a full-on attack at the Haradhrim. The lack of water was the first enemy they could not beat, many men died on the road, turned back, or lost their way as they hallucinated of springs and waterfalls where there were only sand dunes and dead remnants of clay villages and the dried up skeletons of rivers. The horses they brought died of heat exhaustion or went mad with thirst.
Upon reaching the famed city of Khamul the army of Gondor was greeted by a vast army of black robed men, wielding crescent shaped swords, axes, and spears and shouting cruel curses upon them. And they rode the men of the west down without a thought; the heavy steel armor of Gondor crushing the soldiers as horse hooves trampled them into their steel-forged coffins, burying them in the sand. The young King was gravely wounded in that battle and it took great effort to escape from the defeat and into friendlier lands nearer the coast. This was the first year of the war, 1015 years after the Last Battle was fought in the lands of Mordor and Sauron was defeated. Now a mere 14 years later Ciryaher began his quest again, having replenished Gondor's armies and regained support for the war he began long ago. This time he did not march full on into Harad but sent scouting parties into the Southern Empire.
Some from the North through the Eastern road of the ancient dwarves of Beleriand and others from the southern road, first going by ship and landing in the newly reclaimed port city of Umbar. Mithrandir was sent with the Northern regiments since he had had dealing with the Dwarves of Khazad-dum and learned much of their own trade with the Eastern remnant of their people. Saruman was sent Southward and operated his regiments from the port city. The two wizards had become generals in King Ciryaher's army after they rescued the king from certain death after the disaster of the Plain of Fire, nigh on 14 years ago. The fortunate youth ceased listening to his father's counselors and instead learned to listen to his own wisdom- revealing to be an adept strategist as well as warrior.
Mithrandir's memories flittered back into the present as thunder clouds began to roll over them, the men rejoiced at the chance of rain. But the old wizard knew different, this was a trick of the desert, for these storms smelled of water and but only promised fire, ash and lightning, and deposited their rain further away in the mountains. He ordered his men to seek shelter and sent scouts to the other bands of the regiment to take care. He wrapped himself in his old grey robes and huddled beneath an overhang of red rock as crackling bolts of lightning descended and danced upon the sandy soil.
He measured the distances in his mind, he and his regiment would reach the Mountains in three days- there they should find water and some game according to King Kilimazur's maps. In the mountains, if luck held them close they should find the gathered forces of Ciryaher who had entered the desert a year before them. They had not heard any news from him in almost 11 months and Mithrandir began to worry that Gondor would be left without a king and more importantly without an heir.
The next night after the storm the full moon peered over the mountain tops as Mithrandir led his regiment into the first roots and foothills of the Orocarni. The silver light of the moon shone off the soil and colored the ground in a deep blood-red, not an entirely welcoming hue. At any moment the men looked up into the rocks around him and expected archers to fire upon them and end their lives. Mithrandir's ears pricked up and said in aged voice to the captain at his side,
"Draw your sword Captain Lothgal, I fear we may need it near the end of this night."
The stern captian looked at the stars and said,
"How are we sure this is the path King Ciryaher has taken, his scout's message was cryptic at best and then we have heard nothing for almost a year, he could have been ambushed in this very land."
"I think if the Shadow of the East had slain the last King of Gondor he would have made that fact readily clear…No my boy, I think at worst your king is only a captive, and at best a fugitive, that should explain the reasoning behind the fall in communication."
The captain chortled,
"I know your heart yearns to make me feel better Mithrandir, but your words are far from being worthy to complete the mission the heart sent them on."
Mithrandir laughed at himself and looked at the captain; the boy of 20 years smiled back at him, his black eyes glistening in the moonlight. He had become Captain only two days prior when the previous captain succumbed to the wounds he suffered in the ambush. And yet in those two days he had shown himself to be a capable leader and the men took to him well, despite his age.
"Narmacil…"
He began to speak when suddenly the whispering twang of two arrows being shot into the air broke the eerie silence of the night and soon the regiment was surrounded by a bright, burning circle of flames. Into another trap they had walked, Mithrandir cursed himself for having smelled the distinct smell of brimstone and not registering that it could be a trap. He immediately raised his staff and the fire whined and twisted as he sought to control it. He could hear shouts in a foreign language being yelled out and the sound of feet running toward them. He shouted out, in the elvish tongue in case the enemy understood the Common tongue,
"Tangado heid Dunedain! Dagor na vedui or ammen"
Hold your positions Men of the West! War is at last upon us!
Beyond the fire the old wizard could see the figures gathering; like the Harad they held crescent shaped swords that glimmered cool and silver in the fire light and they dressed in sable garments. Yet their hair hung heavily over their shoulders, whereas the Harad tended to keep it short or completely shorn. They also wore gray masks over their faces rather than the bright crimson ones; furthermore when they heard him shout they stopped where they were and looked about them. Immediately they shouted in their tongue and started backing away from the fire. A voice clearly rang out in the crackling of the flames.
"Kha-le! Kha-le Teshashi! Ki'opa atli!"
Immediately water was thrown on a portion of the circle and opened a gap in the circle of flame. A tall figure stood where the gap was and walked through the opening, holding his hands up. Mithrandir could feel a piercing gaze and though the figure was covered in rags the heat of the flames did not affect him. His dark black hair was tightly wound in a braid down his back and the robes he wore were not black but in fact gray, and were richly embroidered. The figure laughed and said in clear Sindarin,
"Gwenwin in enniath, Mithrandir. Sedho mellyn nin, nuitho i-megil!"
It has been many long years Mithrandir. Settle my friends, lower your swords!
Upon hearing the voice the men of Gondor lowered their weapons, and Mithrandir looked quixotically at the stranger and guessed who lay beyond the mask,
"Aran Ciryaher?"
The figure laughed, and the laughter was strange and yet familiar, it was as though the voice had known long years of weariness and yet no longer wore them like a heavy cloak. It was a free laughter, a more open one,
" U-nan Aran edain Mithrandir… dan telinnant ania athra ammen"
I am not the King of Men, Mithrandir, but he came by us long ago
The figure removed the scarf wound about his face and revealed a darkened face which shimmered brilliantly in the flame, like bronze or burnished amber. There was no mistaking the expression or the features, for his gray eyes glistened in the silver moonlight and fiercely shone out with hidden hues of blue and green. A deep purple scar graced the right side of his face, in the shape of a sickle, and the leaf-shaped points of his ears revealed themselves beside his sable hair, which shimmered with jewels and stars upon its surface.
Mithrandir, the Istar, looked upon the changed figure of Uial Celebrin and stood in awe; he did not carry himself with the grace of an elf any more but with the weight of a man. His face smiled and the glint of wrinkles could be seen, ever so faintly, at the edges of his eyes and mouth. In appearance to the untrained eyes of mortals the elf looked no older than 25 yet to the eyes of Mithrandir, he looked aged, as though a light had left him and no longer made him look flawless as the others of his kind. Mithrandir stood still while the elf embraced him. Mithrandir smiled and said,
"How…how are you alive?"
"By luck and effort my friend, as all others who live in this land, I live by luck and effort."
With a nod of his head the elf ordered the rest of the flames put out and when the smoke from the circle was still rising from the ground, he led the band of Gondorians into a dark cave nearby. The other cloaked men of the East silently redrew the circle of sulfur and repaired the ground so that the tracks of the heavy foot soldiers could not be seen by even the Eagles of Manwe. Silently the elf led them into the cave and the eyes of dozens of cloaked figures watched them guardedly. The smell of fresh water filled the Western men's noses and they salivated for the first time in weeks. The elf bid them to sit in the circle with Mithrandir beside him; a boy dressed in blue robes brought him an urn of water, out of which stuck a reed. The urn was large but no other cups were brought to the travelers, and the elf dipped the reed into the urn and the soldiers of the west could hear the gentle plopping sounds of water swishing around the clay urn. This was torture to them but they waited patiently as they were within a nest of Eastern men, with one wizard and apparently and unexpectedly an elf of the West.
"These people are famous for their hospitality Mithrandir, but your war has made them skittish about the West. They do not share their water lightly anymore, with men of pale alabaster skin, or in your case, red, blistered skin. It is more precious to them than silver or gold. You must prove yourself worthy of their trust."
"And how do we do that?"
The elf smiled and brought the reed to him mouth; he wrapped his parched lips and tongue around the reed and sucked the small droplets of water from the rod slowly rivulets of water ran down his cheek and neck and the lump in his throat danced with the effort. He placed the reed back in the urn and handed it to Mithrandir saying in a whisper,
"Observe and learn…and hope your men can do the same."
Slowly the urn was passed around from soldier to soldier; the reed held no water whatsoever but merely became wet with the precious element. Some of the soldiers sucked what they could and passed it on to their comrades as Celebrin had done. Others, the captains, lieutenants and other noble men stuck the straw in the urn and used it to suck gulps of water down their throat. Once the urn had returned to the elf, he dropped the remaining water onto the ground.
One Lieutenant cried out in anger,
"You fool! That could have served us all well until our thirst was quenched!"
A grey-robed Eastern man, cursed and raised his hand to beat the offending officer, however with a strong look in his eye the elf stopped him and rose to his feet. He then said,
"Ishta k'aapi tan Kontorri"
The Gondorians were asked to get up on their feet and taken out of the cave- as this was done a few were sorted out and taken to chambers in the back of the cave. The rest were forced out of the cave and told to sit outside beneath the stars, and were given nothing else. Uial stopped Mithrandir, who looked puzzled, and said,
"It is a pity that some could not be patient, they must wait to know the hospitality of the desert peoples."
"You mean they get nothing? After crossing the desert without water for days and food for more than that?"
The heat and exhaustion of the day had begun to get to Mithrandir and he lowered his eyes waving off the anger; the elf looked at him with pity and said,
"What are these people to do? Give their water to every stranger that passes by, be he friend or foe? They are different from the men of the West my friend, water and freedom are sacred to them and must be treated with respect. The officers in their thirst gulped down the water without a care for the person next to him or even how much water was in the urn or if it could quench the thirst of all of them. So they must wait outside."
"And what of the others?"
The elf smiled and escorted Mithrandir to the dark recesses of the cave. There the wizard was greeted by small lanterns which dimly lit the inside of the cave; they made several turns and the silence turned to a loud din. They came to a large chamber in the cave, lit with several lanterns and a hearth and there sat many more grey-robed men and several green and blue robed women and youth. They sat in circles alongside many of the other Gondorians and passed around plates topped with nuts, dried fruits, cured meats, cheeses and breads with hard crusts. In the far corner of the chamber stood a well from which women in blue drew water and poured into clay urns. The Gondorians were given towels, clothing and a bucket of water and sent to a makeshift shower, which was screened off from the common room by white sheets. They emerged cleansed and wearing gray clothes similar to what the men wore outside, only less martial in nature. These clothes were gently embroidered with strange characters and figures and were made of light cotton. The armor of the Gondorians was taken and placed in a heap beside the entrance to the common room. Mithrandir looked at the elf who patted the old man upon the shoulder and handed him towels, clothing and washing water saying only,
"Sleep well Mithrandir, you are now under the protection of the peoples of the 7 Nations of the Red Mountains. No enemy shall find you, because no enemy knows we are here."
The elf walked back toward the dark area of the cave where the armor was kept and he strode out to the outside of the cave where the disgruntled Gondorian officers and noblemen sat outside the entrance. In clear Sindarin he told them to sleep beneath the stars until morning and sung to them a song of the West, playing it softly upon an Eastern harp, which was made with strings taught over the shell of a tortoise. They would have complained or argued, or fought, but they knew they had walked into unknown lands and were they to lay any hand upon the elf an arrow was sure to hit them from the darkness. So they tightened their belts and lay upon the cold ground, wondering what treatment their comrades and general were getting inside, hoping it was worse off than theirs. The song the elf sang was of the Elder Days, and their minds were calmed and their hunger forgotten enough to allow them to sleep. That night many of them dreamed of flowing rivers and cold soothing rains.
The next day the blazing sun shone out from the top of the mountains and the elf called them to wake up. He gathered all the Gondorians together and told them to prepare for a march. Mithrandir stood, reenergized and well rested as did a few other of the Gondorians, yet they kept silent about what they had experienced in the recesses of the cave.
On foot they travelled long throughout the day, winding through paths in the red mountain lands, and the scenery around repeated itself becoming monotonous and unrecognizable. Mithrandir walked alongside the elf but they did not speak for to speak in that land was to cause your mouth to dry sooner. They broke for lunch after they had climbed a hill and took shelter beneath a large rotten tree, near where a river used to run. As the elf drank from a small skin of water Mithrandir walked toward him and said,
"This land is desolate yet, it is clear it was once green and fertile, what happened?"
"That no elf can tell you Mithrandir, but the elders say that this land was once the land of many rivers, and the soil gave many crops, vegetation and supported great herds of beasts, both wild and domestic… Then the Dark Lord came and damned the rivers; he built large aqueducts beneath the land and fed his dark city and its growingly dependent subjects. The great sea dwindled and faded, leaving behind the great desert. Trees died and the forests of the red Mountains died away or were taken to build the City, Khahalazhul… Yes that is their name for it, the City of Khamul, Khahalazhul, which means in the tongue of the Harad, City of the Black Teeth. "
The old wizard looked at the desolate land around them and looked at the hidden path on which they now walked,
"Where are you taking us?"
"To your king Mithrandir, he walked by this way nigh on a year ago and came upon our cave, the one you had just past. He was taken captive and questioned, though none knew the tongue he spoke. They sent for me and I came not but a few months ago and sat with him for many days; this is how I knew you were coming and so set a watch along the paths to the mountain. He did not trust me at first until I revealed to him that I was born in Beleriand and was once a member of the courts of the Sindar."
"Is he safe?"
"As safe as he can be Mithrandir, he resides as a captive of the People of the Crow, yet there they treat him well, yet for their safety they keep him from contacting his people and from his men who are scattered among the other tribes. They await sentencing from the other chieftains of the 7 Nations. I shall not go into too much detail, for all shall be revealed to you soon enough."
The elf stood and started their march again; they walked again beyond sundown stopping only a little to allow them time to eat what provisions they took from cave. As they walked the elf sang a low song in a strange tongue, it guided his foot falls and soon the rest of the regiment were following his pace, sometimes slow and methodical and at other times quick and longer of stride. When the crescent moon was seen in the East again and Earendil burned in the west over the setting sun, the elf came to a halt and sent out a whistle. From the red rock appeared more people from the east, their skin as dark as pitch and their eyes black as night. Their tightly-curled tresses were tied high upon their head in a bun. They were dressed head to toe in shades of red, rust and scarlet and they wore gold jewelry about their necks and upon their waists they wore rows and rows of gold coins. They wore loin cloths and knee high boots made of died doe skin and not much else. A large man among them, whose dark hair was piled high upon his head and yet still hung down to his shoulders, stood tall over the elf and placed his hand on his shoulder; with a smile he spoke the tongue of the Southern men, which many in Gondor had heard before.
"N'tapa Getscuital! Koychu napti ngku."
Welcome friend Getscuital! We have been expecting you!
He ushered them into another cave, this one hidden by a large creosote bush and was basically accessible through a hole in the ground. The hole turned out to be an exhaust hole in the ceiling of the cave roof and a long rope descended down to a large hall beneath the earth. The Gondorians were again sat in the circle and another urn was brought to the tall man whom the elf called Ngkaymu. Instead of a reed the urn was brought with a small cup and the black man, having dipped the cup into the urn, brought out a golden hued drink and placed the cup on the elf's lips, tipping the liquid into his awaiting mouth. After this was done he handed the elf the urn and signaled for him to do the same. And so the urn was passed around with the person receiving it giving water to the person next to him. A few Gondorian noble men who were sitting beside their servants were unaccustomed to serving and spilled the drink onto the ground, for which a switch was beaten upon their hands. The Great big black chieftain laughed and said something to the elf which caused him to laugh, filling the great round room with the sound of bells.
When it had been completed the big black man stood and clapped his hands, suddenly young men of lighter skin entered carrying salted pork meat and flattened bread. The meal filled the room with a rustic, almost charred smell, but to the awaiting Gondorians it smelled heavenly. The elf motioned the Gondorians to lay on their sides as they ate and whenever they reached into the center for food they were to give that food to their neighbor, as they had done with the water. This elicited silent scoffs from the noblemen but hunger and thirst had been an apt teacher and so kept their mouths silent. That night they slept in a circle resting their heads upon their comrades for no pillows or blankets were given to them. The elf climbed the rope to the starry sky above them and found Mithrandir smoking a pipe and mending his grey robes.
"Ngkaymu likes you, Mithrandir, he thinks you are funny."
"I was not intending to be humorous Uial, or should I call you by your new name Getscuital."
The elf sighed,
"I have many names among these people, so many in fact that I do not know who I am unless they speak my name."
"And Getscuital means you are who?"
"It is a name of one of their gods, a wind god who brings both water and death."
"Such a strange name, how many others do you have?"
The elf looked at the stars,
"Roughly 10, some are like Getscuital and derived from divine beings; and others are formed from the observations of my actions. Do not look at me so Mithrandir! I do not enjoy being referred to as similar to or in likeness of a god but you shall see, when they observe your talents they will find a name for you as well. For me my only claim to divinity is my long life and eternal youth, I cannot control the flames or even cause the water to fall from the heavens."
Mithrandir smoked his pipe and sent oblong circles into the air,
"I did not know the Southron men were allies of yours. They have long been allies of Sauron, I find it odd for you to trust them so."
"There is much in this land you do not understand; enemies can be friends in disguise, and there are those in the south and far-east who have no love for the Dark Shadow, because they remember his cruelty. Ngkaymu and his men are of the Ayab-Mamuk, the Shepards of the Mumakil, a culture that spans the Southern deserts and the Jungles of the unknown subcontinent, taking with it almost over 60 languages, or so it is said. Do not be so eager to trust in Gondorian scholarship, for they see the world as they desire to see it, made of two kinds of men, Numenorean and Barabarian. When you have lived here as long as I have you shall know that not all Barbarians are savages, and not all Numenoreans civil."
The elf stood from where he sat and descended the rope again, leaving Mithrandir to finger his cropped beard and twist it in his hands. The elf had changed much in appearance it seems, but inside he was still a hurt Moriquendi who raged against the station he was placed in by the Noldorin. And perhaps he was right…since he began journeying in the Lands of Men and elves, Mithrandir Olorin had seen much that surprised him and most of it was unlooked for.