The next day they awoke with a start and the black men ushered them quickly up the rope ladder; almost resorting to smoking them out. When the Gondorians had all exited the mouth they saw that a large rock was placed over the opening sealing the black Southron men in. The elf saw their faces and said to Mithrandir,
"The entrance to the cave is changed every night; the Ayab-Mamuk do this to prevent the enemy from noticing any patterns in their movements. The hall you saw below is one of several hidden throughout these lands and a great labyrinth is carved under the mountains so that they can move across it without being seen."
Narmacil the young captain asked, haltingly,
"Why could we not travel through these caves? It would be easier and we would have much more energy without the sun beating upon us."
"Because young one, the labyrinth does not lead to where we are going, but south to the Plain of Fire, and that is where we do NOT want to go," said the elf matter-of-factly and he strode off uphill toward the East, "Come, we have two more day's marches before we reach the land of the Crow, where your King resides."
The land began to change a little as they marched, as they got higher and higher into the outskirts of the Orocarni the weather became drier and yet cooler, the wind did not burn as much and the mountains began to be placed behind them, when before they merely towered in the vague distance. A few small trees could be seen on the top of the mountains, their wiry frames blowing in the upper airs and the soil became redder, though less blood like and more akin to the color of a pomegranate or rust. The sun reached the zenith of the sky when they stopped again. Mithrandir looked upon his men and saw the weariness in their faces; he then looked up at the elf and said,
"The sun is their enemy here, could we not make the journey slower, or at least stop more often,"
"We shall travel as speed requires us, Mithrandir, if your men are tired it is because they carry around that heavy armor like a second skin. Tell them to shed it, it will be no protection for them if we are met by the forces of Khamul, this land requires speed and agility, not force of arms."
The elf stalked away to the top of the hill and Mithrandir wondered if he had been this demanding as an elf or if the self-imposed exile made him irritable. The old man smiled in his own way, knowing the elf's harsh words to be emphasizing the need for haste. In a bold move he told his men to bury their armor in the sand or to remove the large pieces of sandstone and bury their armor under that. Most obeyed his command and strapped themselves in leather jerkins over their mail which were usually worn under the armor, their helmets were placed inside their breastplates and buried; they kept their gauntlets, which were heavily marked with lineages and family history.
The march began again and the journey became more pleasant as the men were relieved to no longer have to carry their heavy armor. They walked now at double pace and a few, Narmacil the captain was one, even kept pace with the elf and asked him many questions concerning the East. A few questions he answered and others he said only,
"You shall know the answer to the question, when the question is answered."
Patting them on the shoulder and doubling his stride. They covered much more land now and the hills began to be rocky instead of sandy and their foot falls were met with firm ground and no longer sinking into the soft, burning, sand. As the sun left the sky, the heat radiated from the ground and swept away the evening chill. The waning moon hovered over them when out of the darkness a figure stood in their way. The figure was slender but muscled and by the shadow's stance they could tell it was prepared for battle. A large double-bladed axe shimmered in the moon light but a cowl covered the figure's face. In a deep voice it said,
"Echeta erdha hepitelous, Pheobon… hoi Amadzones khalo-soridzhon teysh Bashilisaythous"
The figure bent its head and fell to one knee; the cowl it was wearing pulled back revealing a long train of braided hair, black as night and wavy in parts where the braid had come undone; using the axe as a staff the figure raised its head and showed a face almost as flawless as the elf's, the gentle contours of the chin and lips belied the appearance of a youth and soon it came to the Gondorian's minds that before them knelt not a slender man, or elf, but a woman in battle regalia. A leather jerkin tight about her chest and her muscled arms and legs jutting gracefully out of a tunic, which was worn over a scarlet skirt slit down the middle, revealing her boots and linen pants. Her appearance was stoic and unadorned and even her belt was devoid of heraldry or her face of the embellishments that Numenorean women were used to putting upon their faces. Yet when she rose to her feet she firmly held the double-edged axe and pointed it at the Gondorians, causing those closest to her to shrink back a little, it was clear she had control of the weapon, despite her slight frame.
She spoke some words to the elf and sounded angry, though respectful. To Mithrandir it was wholly strange, for the elf, who once commanded himself with authority, seemed now more humble and spoke softly with the woman. She listened and leaned on the axe, crouching near his mouth to hear him. They spoke for several minutes and slowly the Gondorians realized they were surrounded by shadowy figures, each one with a bow and arrow ready to be raised and fired. The woman looked at them finally, scoffed and nodded, waving off her compatriots; the elf came back to them and said firmly,
"Remove your weapons, lay them on the ground -- all of them - do it quickly now!"
He removed his bow and a sword, which they had never noticed, upon the ground the curved edge pointed toward him- its red scabbard glistened scarlet in the moonlight. He even removed a dagger that was tucked into his boots. The other Gondorians did as they were commanded and stood apart from their weapons; even Mithrandir laid his swords upon the ground, yet kept his staff close to him, leaning heavily on it. The woman's stern gaze went to him and she pointed with her chin at the old man; one of the shadowy figures held out her hand to the old man beckoning him to relinquish his staff. Mithrandir looked to the elf who only nodded, telling him to give them his staff. He relinquished it and stood tall, causing the woman to walk backward in awe as he seemed to grow higher than the trees, if there were in fact trees there. The woman nodded and the other shadowy figures picked up the weapons and walked away, with groans and complaints coming from the Gondorians, to which the elf held up his hand,
"Now comes the last test Dunedain; we are entering the lands of the Hamadjon, a land of fierce warriors who do not allow men to walk armed as if they are going to war. The only condition so that you are to be allowed to walk through this land and emerge in the land of the Crow is that you walk through it without sword or bow, it was good of you to leave your armor behind for such an act is an act of war and they would have shot you on sight. Trust in me and these, our allies, you will not be harmed while you respect my commands."
The elf nodded at the woman and she turned upon her heel and led them higher into the mountains; the hike was arduous, steep and short, for they climbed a sheer rock face and came upon a small village overlooking the Plain below. The village consisted of round, circular shelters which supported domed roofs made of tapestry, hide and fabric. The Gondorians were separated and taken to different shelters, roughly five per shelter. Mithrandir, the elf, Narmacil and two other soldiers were escorted to the central tent where the woman, who had met them on the road, sat upon a richly designed scarlet rug and removed her jerkin. Her breasts seemed to topple out of their leather prison and hung spritely in her tunic. She motioned for them to get comfortable and unbraided her hair, which took a long while.
A servant brought water and a basin to them and he smiled weakly as they met his eyes; he had a rather large nose and smooth face as well, save for the closely cropped beard, and when they were done washing he placed the water bowl upon the ground and then returned to his place by the entrance sitting upon his heels and tending to the hearth from where a meal was being prepared.
When their host had finished with her hair she spoke in the common tongue though with a heavy accent,
"I am sorry, Old Father, that we had to remove your staff from you, but we know of your kind and know that a staff, even in the hands of old men, can be just as dangerous as a sword."
Mithrandir looked at the woman, though the look of shock left his face, already he had seen many wondrous and varied things in these new lands and the unlooked for surprised him little. Drying his hands he said,
"You are astute to be cautious about me, my lady, but who are you? Our guide neglected to introduce you to us when we approached"
He glanced sideways at the elf who sat perfectly still, his legs crossed staring into the distance.
"My name is Hipholuta, daughter of Kazmira, daughter of Penthishulea, and so on to the beginning of my race and I am Chieftain of my people. Our queen is the Goddess Ashthera, who lives among the Utashtegu and it is by her will that you now live."
The servant brought forth steaming plates of food which he placed in the center of the six people, again there was round flat bread but also some fish and other dishes which were ripe with a vinegary smell. There was a long silence as the food sizzled and cooled; Hipholuta placed her axe at her left side and began to eat with her right hand. Narmacil was the first to speak and asked,
"Where have my men been taken? Why have our arms been removed from us, yet you are allowed to keep yours?"
The woman looked to the elf and said smiling, smugly,
"You truly did not warn them of us did you Pheobon?"
The elf smiled and said plainly,
"What would have been the best thing to say? Would it have been adequate?"
Hipholuta pointed at Narmacil and said,
"Your weapons will be returned to you- as for your men they are eating with my generals and enjoying the company of the Hamadzon, as such as they are given. I keep my weapon man-child because it suits me and these are our lands...by our will are you even allowed this far in, alive."
Narmacil would have said more but was cut off by the elf who spoke tenderly,
"Your husband makes excellent food Hipholuta, you did well in choosing him"
The woman looked at the apparent servant and smiled, she said playfully
"I would have wanted one with less hair, but we cannot choose the ones who shall be our mates."
Narmacil said shocked,
"The servant is your husband?"
"My name is Hipherom, and I am not a servant."
Said the man as he placed an urn of wine before them his chin caressed by Hipholuta tenderly. Narmacil furrowed his brow and accepted the glass of wine offered him. Mithrandir asked then, as a way to remove the tension,
"How is it that you speak the Common Tongue, we have not yet heard any Eastern People speak it."
Hipholuta took a drink of her wine and fingered a grape in her hand,
"We are not of the Eastern People, Old Father, my race was born on the shores of the Western sea, in the lands you now call Lebennin and Harondor. My forebear Khalipha, was chieftain when the Men of the Sea arrived and built the city of Umbar. We lived at peace with the Men of the Sea until the dark shadow came from the Bulcanosh, the fire mountain where the Dark God lived. At that time it is said by the Grandmothers that we left our homelands and began our lives as nomads, sending our men into your cities to trade. From this we have learned this Common Tongue you speak of, though here the common tongue is Alamb-Harad, and you will do well to learn it if you are to survive these lands."
She flicked the grape seed away from her and then motioned to her husband, who brought their guests pillows and blankets. They spoke more into the night about the movements of the Harad and the Khand, and what the council of elders would decide, concerning the fate of Ciryaher, who was held prisoner. Mithrandir could hardly tell whether Hipholuta was in favor of releasing and aiding Ciryaher or condemning him to death, she seemed highly favorable to both fates. He wondered what chance or fate brought these strange and divergent peoples together; the Ayab-Mamuk, the Hamadzon, the Uteashtegu, and the mysterious Crow. Right now they seemed content to preserve their own sovereignty from Khamul's power, yet the old Istar wondered, would they dare consent to aiding the Gondorians in their war. He slept that night, his hands folded over his chest, with fingers intertwined; hearing the soft breathing coming from Hipholuta's bed, and there glistening in the moon light that peaked through the shelter's entry way, lay Deama, the axe ready at the Chieftain's hand. He did not understand this form of hospitality, where he felt as though he were held as prisoner and yet respected- not once did she refrain from calling him Old Father, he thought to himself as he drifted off to sleep.
The next morning Hipholuta and her soldiers were nowhere to be seen, the elf saying that they went to secure their borders and prepare for the council that was soon to take place. The men of the makeshift village had washed their clothes and prepared food for the Gondorians, they also lay their newly polished and sharpened weapons upon the rocky ground, shining coolly in the bright morning sun. Hipherom, Hipholuta's husband, spoke in a clear western tongue,
"Our Chieftain Lady Hipholuta has judged that it is safe to allow you to pass through the rest of Hamadzon land, to the land of the Crow, with your arms. She has also instructed me to guide you to the Land of the Crow and Pheobon shall return now to his own lands. We shall travel on the edge of a creek so prepare your skins for when we leave it there will be no more water for the rest of the day. I will also instruct you to do no harm to any stag or hind you see, for they are sacred to us."
With that he took up a walking stick and slung a heavy pack over his shoulder; his youthful frame carrying the weight gingerly upon his shoulders. The elf bowed to the men and pulled Mithrandir aside,
"The land of the Crow is less than a day's march from here but Hipherom shall lead you through other winding paths; it is crucial, when you reach a land of standing rocks, to tell you men to keep their arms hidden, for the Crow and the other tribes will be watching you and judging your movements. I shall see you in a few days, for when the council meets there will be much to decide. When you arrive in the place Hipherom takes you ask for Dhraloku, he will know that I have sent you and will give you hospitality. Navear Mithrandir, and may our next greeting be in more peaceful times."
The old Istar nodded and placed his hands upon the elf's now bent shoulders,
"Thank you for your help Master Uial, it has been most welcome and greatly appreciated."
The elf smiled and looked to the sky,
"Uial… it has been so long since I have been called that name, I wonder if it still is my name."
The elf bowed his head and then walked back into Hipholuta's tent. Mithrandir caught up with the rest of his regiment and whispered among his men the instructions the elf had given them, so that by mid day when they reached the land of the standing rocks their swords, bows and arrows were buried within confines of their packs. Hipherom would speak to none of them save Naramcil who was very young and deemed worthy to carry on a conversation with him. He told him of the ways of Numenorean women and how they adorned themselves or flirted with the soldiers, the idea of which Hipherom found humorously ridiculous, and he wondered aloud why Gondorian men would desire such women. They become engrossed in a heated argument when a bird call echoed from afar, causing Hipherom to pause and drop his walking stick.
Mithrandir felt an unease come about him and felt as though a thousand eyes were upon him, he looked to the left and to the right and saw nothing out of the ordinary, but it felt cold beneath the hot summer sun and his bones rattled and chilled. He raised his staff and closed his eyes, he sensed him near, the dreaded lord of the Eastern lands; an odd mist surrounded them and the sun was dimmed in that hour. The Gondorians began to quake as Hipherom shouted,
"Flee, flee for your lives! Foes…"
He would have continued but a black arrow pierced his neck and silenced him forever. Wild whooping sounds came from around them and dark figures leapt from the rock around them, arrows whisped through the air and a great shadow loomed over them, Khamul, Lord of the East stood in their path and he held a great axe in his hand. His shrill cry went through the air and all was silent.
"Welcome, sons of the West…to my kingdom!"