An encouraging author's note: Things do get better, eventually. Honest.
The third day after the theft of Farielle. Those sent in pursuit have returned, having lost their trail, and after reporting to the Tower Lady of their failure, Eruphel is back to square one. Its early morning, and the sun is barely risen. The bodies of the slain lie in a row, bundled up in burlap and ready for burial. Thankfully, the air is cool, which is helping to preserve them a little. But they do not have long. The lady of the tower stands in the courtyard, surveying the dead. What she wishes is that she could be debriefing the dead. But they say nothing.
Dirt-stained, sweaty, and covered in dust, Khaan is one of those now returning in frustration from the search-but such is the urgency of this mission that he does not stop to clean his uniform before reporting to the Tower Lady, whom he now approaches. "My Lady," Khaan calls, approaching, "I have found someone who says he is a witness."
The witness bows awkwardly. His clothes are those of a poor man, simple and patched - but clean. Mostly. His fingers are gnarled and stained. "Lady," he repeats, and looks uncertainly at Khaan.
Eruphel turns, her face grim with anger and aggravation. She wears softer clothing these days, no doubt a result of her "delicate condition," which still doesn't show, but she still conducts herself with crisp movements and regal bearing. "Sergeant Khaan," she greets formally, yet gruffly, inclining her head next to the assumed witness. "Ah...I see. You may then be one of the best chances the tower has of recovering the girl, other than my esteemed sister-by-marriage. What is your name?"
"Speak when the Lady addresses you!" Khaan snaps at the man, reaching a hand out to pull him forward to stand beside him. "And you are to tell her your story when she asks."
"Serran, Lady." The man stumbles forward at the yank, and hurries on, looking anxiously from Khaan to Eruphel. "I heard screaming. And saw these men running out the gates. Was..." His dark, lined face twists with an effort of memory. "... seven or eight of them. Carrying some girl, screeching fit to wake the dead."
"I don't doubt that." Eruphel says, smiling at Khaan for his enthusiasm. "So you were in the garden, when it happened? Or here?" She turns her head to look at the garden, then turns toward the gate, trying to imagine the details.
This time Khaan just glares at Serran in expectation of an answer.
"No, Lady, outside." Serran jerks his head towards the gates. "Going home. I hid." If he flushes at this admission, his face is too dark to show it - and hiding is probably why he is still alive.
Eruphel's mouth opens wide, and she ah's softly, smiling graciously. But still, her face is pained. "And which direction did they go, from the gate?" Then she turns to the Sergeant. "And then your report, Khaan. You look...tired."
"That way." The man points and volunteers a little more information. "Biggest man I ever saw, him as was carrying her. Had a hood on. And the other fellow, he wore a mask, with red on it, like blood splashed all over."
Khaan coughs and frowns and then looks to Eruphel, saying, "I apologize for the poor information but he was the only one I could find. There are tracks into and out of a pond-smaller tracks and then larger tracks of a man's boots. A very large man. I understand that Lord Eron's sister was wounded? Has she been questioned? Oh, and the Gondor woman's heron is still here."
"I am impressed you found him at all, Sergeant." Eruphel muses softly. "And if this is the best you could find, then it is no wonder that your trail died quickly. I want you to work on the assumption that she is still within the city. Where better to hide a person than among a great many people. And we should pay a visit to the Dark Citadel." She sighs, shaking her head. "That will be tricky. And yes, I believe Nisrin was wounded. She has not yet been questioned." Eruphel paces back and forth a few steps, then stops and turns to Khaan. "The heron? Too bad it is not a dog that could now sniff her out. I will ask around, about it. Meanwhile, you have done your duty well. Go get cleaned up, and rest. You're more useful to me fresh, Sergeant."
"Yes, Lady," Khaan salutes. He looks to Serran, about to say something-but changes his mind and walks briskly to the barracks instead.
Uncertain if he should stay or go, Serran hesitates, glancing towards the gate, then back at the lady. "Lady - do you need me more?" he asks finally.
Eruphel nods at Khaan, tilting her head a little as she watches Khaan retreat. Then she turns to Serran and asks curtly, "What tower are you affiliated with?" Her tone seems to append an unspoken 'before this', but she waits for a moment for the answer, looking the man up and down for his dirtiness.
"Ah, Flame Tower, Lady." Serran bobs his head again, his retreat halted.
Eruphel nods, and pulls from her pocket a gold coin. "I will pay this to you," she says, holding out the coin. It is quite a bit of money, by the standards of most. "And I will pay one of these to your tower for you to remain in Seaward till we get this resolved. A retainer, if you will."
Serran's eyes widen and he stares at the money - quite possibly more than he has ever had in his possession at once - "Y-yes, Lady," he stammers. "If - if my lord permits." He doesn't yet reach for the coin, though he can't tear his eyes from it, opening his mouth as if to say something more, and then shutting it again.
Eruphel hands him the coin, pressing it into his palm and curling his fingers around it for him. "Keep it. I will deal with your Lord and make it right. Now, I want you to get cleaned up as well. Use some of that coin for new clothes. Or, if you do not want to spend it, we can find livery of blue." She smiles a little meanly, certain the man will not accept the offer of clothing.
"Thank you, Lady." Serran bows, clutching the coin. "Clothes, yes." He turns and scurries towards the gate, opening his hand once to see if it is really true, and then hiding the coin somewhere in his faded garments.
...
Pain. There was nothing but pain. The ropes that cut into her arms and legs had hurt the most, at first, but now the aching of those bruises were lost in the greater agony of muscles forced to stillness. Farielle could no longer remember how long she had been here. She was tied to a chair, she knew that. Sometimes, she was untied and strapped to a bed. The change in position was both an exquisite relief and an anguish of its own.
Sometimes, she slept, drifting in and out of pain-filled dreams. Sometimes, she was given water to drink, hard bits of bread were thrust into her mouth. She chewed automatically. Everything was dark. A cloth was tied over her eyes, but she thought it was dark beyond it as well. There was no sound. She never knew if someone was in the room with her or not, or when a waterskin or glass would be held to her mouth and her head tipped roughly back. All she could do was try to swallow and not choke. Water ran down her face and neck, soaking her dress.
And then the whispers began.
She had caught words in the beginning. Had understood them, known what they meant. But no longer. Now it was just an intermittent static, lost in the greater noise of screaming muscles. She tried to focus, tried to hear the words again. Anything, anything to take her mind away. She thought she heard 'Lord Alphros', but she wasn't sure. Her thoughts unravelled and spun away into fire. She was unravelling.
When the man came, she wasn't aware of it, until he was untying her. She sagged into his arms, unable to hold herself upright. He held her, carried her to the bed and let her lie there, unbound. Slowly, through the passage of several ages, the pain ebbed. Farielle felt fingers in her hair; the cloth about her eyes was gone. She blinked, tentatively, and for the first time in she had no idea how long, saw a dim shape moving in the dark room. She lifted a hand to her eyes, hissing in a long breath as she tried not to cry out. Were her eyes really open? Blinking a few more times, she decided they must be.
"Hush," came a quiet voice. "They must not know. Don't make a sound. I've brought you something to eat." He helped her to sit up, supporting her while handing her a piece of cheese.
Farielle tasted it hesitantly, but at the first explosion of flavor on her tongue, she devoured it. He gave her another piece, and then some sort of roasted meat. She had never tasted anything so good in all her life. A piece of bread, soft and good, spread with another kind of cheese. The man held a cup to her mouth, helped her to drink. It was just water, with a strange metallic flavor to it, but it tasted as good as the cheese had a few minutes ago.
"Who... " she started to ask, but felt his fingers on her mouth, quieting her.
In her ear, he murmured, "My name is Arthadin. I have come from your family. We must find out what these men want, so that we can get you home to them."
"Home?" Farielle repeated, her voice so soft it was barely a breath. She fixed her eyes on his face, searching for reassurance. For proof. Could it be true? She wanted desperately to believe him, but she was afraid to.
But he nodded, smiling. She was warm where he held her against his side, one arm behind her back, supporting her. He even smelled nice, she thought, inconsequentially.
In the same, soft voice, he whispered, "You mustn't say anything. I do not think anyone suspects me, but I dare not be caught. I will come again. Be brave and do whatever they tell you." He stood up, and she swayed a little as his support was withdrawn.
"Lie down. It will be a while before anyone comes; you can sleep comfortably until then." He waited.
Farielle could see from the faint gleam of his teeth that he was smiling down at her. Was he telling the truth? She couldn't tell. At last, she lay down stiffly, forcing herself not to whimper as he moved towards her, but he only drew the thin blanket up over her shoulders, and then backed away into the darkness. She thought she saw him sit down, but something moved in a corner and her eyes flicked towards it.
...
Among the detritus of the city - beggars, cripples, thieves and more - there is a new inhabitant. Of indeterminate gender, stooped and limping, wrapped in a ragged robe, head veiled. He - she - it drifts along the streets, stopping now and then to stare blankly at a wall, or a section of street; or to thrust a hand out to beg a penny or hunk of bread.
Jarad, curious as all small boys are, followed it along the street, squatting down when it stopped to stare, jumping up to run after when it started up again. Slowly, winding their ways through alleys and side-streets, they criss-crossed the city. The sun sank lower, and Jarad, bored, was watching a beetle crawl along a brick, when he realized they were all alone.
Wide-eyed, he began to back away, but the figure drew its filthy cloth from about its head, revealing a young woman who grinned at him and held one finger up to her lips for silence. From fear to excitement in but a moment, Jarad's eyes sparkled eagerly and he came towards her.
"What're you doing?" he whispered.
She ignored his question, asking one of her own. "Are you hungry?" She held out a roll to him. There wasn't any mold on it, and it looked soft, not dried into a crust. "I bet you know these streets better than anybody else... have you seen anyone strange lately? Men? Or a woman, with skin white like bones?"
Jarad snatched for the bread, cramming it into his mouth, and shook his head. When he had gulped it down, "Bones?" he asked, still whispering. "Is she sick or something?"
"Or something. Look, I want you to listen for me, all right? If you see her, or hear anyone talking about her, come and tell me. You can find me at the docks; if I'm not there, put this ribbon in the hole in the last post down. I'll know it's you, and come. And if you see her, don't tell anyone else." She held out a blue ribbon to him.
"What'd she do? Did she run away?"
"No, but she's lost, and I'm trying to find her. If you hear anything about her, I'll pay you."
"How much?" Jarad demanded. Bragging, he added, "I know all this place. There ain't been nobody strange around. Less they come at night or something."
"A penny. And fish. It's better than just bread."
The boy nodded again, a serious look settling on his small face. He spat into his hand and held it out to seal the bargain.
Nisrin spat into her own and clasped his smaller hand. As he darted off, she drew the cloth about her face again, and headed for a different section of Umbar. Street boys heard and saw almost everything; if they had heard anything of Farielle, she would hear it too.