(Public gossip)
MALIK, a well known champion of that arena has come forth to make public a challenge to Vain, the reported abductor of Farielle from Seaward Tower. Malik has called out the infamous fellow, challenging him to a duel of arms before the eyes of the Square, with the victor to claim possession of the hapless Gondorian captive!
One wonders what both Seaward and Farside will make of this, when none of their brave cadre of Corsairs have stepped forth to make so bold a challenge as this associate of Desert Tower. Either way, it is said that Malik has Lojrul's backing in this message to Vain - will the notorious assassin take up the challenge?
...
(Sent from Vain to Lojrul)
The letter is plain, and the seal black showing the outline of a blood drop.
Once opened the letter is straight forward.
Sending a dog after me then? The Man Malik is a fool to think I'll answer such a summons. That idiot aside, I have something you may find useful, if the whispers of your vying for lordship are true.
The Gondorian woman.
I'll be releasing her into the desert, once I am finished with her, and upon such time you, LORD Lojrul, will have opportunity to relieve her of the men 'escorting her' and return her to Umbar to your glory and the praise of the lords of Umbar.
Of course I expect compensation for my part in your honor.
V."
...
(In the Hidden Room)
The day has turned and gone. By private, secret ways, the two men who stand guard this night are come to the small, windowless room. A single lamp burns, and the smaller of the two sits on a chair, leaning back against the wall. On the cot across the room, a girl lies in restless slumber, and he watches her, brooding.
The larger of the men sits across the room, hunched upon a stool far to small for his broad-shouldered frame. He busies himself by whetting a small knife against a well-worn stone with a relentless whine of steel, with which his breathing has long since fallen in time.
Until he rises with a start, with all the tension of a cobra striking out, and paces toward the door identified by a thin thread of light that outlines it. "Where's the relief? I've been on watch going on three days," he hisses in frustration without much apparent care for the girl's sleep.
The other man only shrugs, his eyes fixed on Farielle. She moves her head uneasily, tossing out an arm, and crying out, before sinking again into a heavier sleep. "You don't want to watch no more, you can always just go, y'know," he says, without looking away. "I'll stay an' 'watch' her."
More seriously, "Should be soon. Reckon's time for her to eat a bit again."
The large man, Massai, sniffs derisively as he slides a wooden plank roughly away from a small peephole in the door. There is nothing to see but starlight, though even that seems brighter in a room so dark. "Boss says it's safer in here off the streets. Thinks one of us is gonna get caught." A moment's consideration passes, and he closes the slat again. "But I swear, if this goes on much longer..." His gruff voice trails off into some silent threat.
"What do we got for her?" he asks though, the time remembered. "There's not much of the drug left."
"Don' think she needs much. Look." He nods towards the bed. "She's still seein' stuff. He said Fyal's bringin' her some fancy stuff again.."
"Why's he gotta go wasting all that food?" Massai grumbles, perpetually impatient and discontented. "She hardly eats none of it if we don't make her. We got some bread left. Maybe some broth. Don't see how that won't do." Again he paces across the room, and the fumbling sound of tin follows. "Wake her up, will you?"
A grin is his answer and the smaller man stands up, crossing to the cot, bending over the girl and shaking her. "Wake up, pretty," he croons. "Time for breakfast."
Farielle starts at his touch, her eyes - the pupils widely dilated - staring into the face so close to hers. Instinctively, she shrinks away. "Now, that ain't nice," the man says, his voice heavy with mock disappointment. "Here we is, bringing you something t'eat and you go and act like that." He shakes his head sadly, and pulls the blanket off the bed, staring openly at her slender figure.
"Just go, he says!" the large guard mutters to no one, echoing some of his associate's earlier words. "You'd watch her, alright. I ain't letting that be put on me." With this, he thrusts a plate of rather stale bread into the smaller man's view of the girl. "Broth's coming. But like you said, looks like she don't need much." Dark eyes narrow on Farielle in a far different manner before he turns back to the table, turning the key on the oil lamp to allow a little more light.
Yodral takes the plate without looking at it and holds it out to the girl. "There now, aren't you hungry? Have a bit to eat."
Farielle has scooted away from him, up against the wall. Her eyes drop to the plate and she shakes her head a little, and swallows. "Thirsty," she whispers. She flinches at nothing, and fixes her eyes on the plate, refusing to look around.
There is a languid sloshing of liquid and a strange sound like glass, then Massai prowls back toward Farielle with a tin cup dwarfed in his hand. "Course you are," he sneers, putting the cup on a small stool beside the girl's cot. "But you want more than this, you got to get something in your stomach first." A few oily droplets float atop a weak broth that doesn't appear hot enough to steam.
The cup appears in the corner of her vision, and Farielle looks towards it, mistrustfully. But impelled by thirst, she edges around the other man - who doesn't move, making her reach past him to get the broth - and drinks it.
"Now the bread." Yodral pushes the plate at her, until she takes the stale bread and breaks a piece off. "Eat," he growls as she hesitates.
Massai watches her drink with mistrust in his own eyes as well, cutting a tall and imposing shadow behind Yodral. "Don't folk eat bread in your puny city?" he adds with more ire than jest. Snatching the cup back from her bedside, the man takes a waterskin in his other hand, waiting with a pointed stare for Farielle to finish.
The girl's hand trembles and she looks at the two men hopelessly, then back down at the bread. Slowly, piece by piece, she eats it; though it seems she nearly chokes to swallow.
With an impatient sigh, Massai refills the tin cup with water this time, though with a shimmer of yellow oil yet on its surface. "Weren't so hard," he grumbles to himself, reclaiming his seat along the wall with heavy boots kicked up on the table's edge.
Farielle is so thirsty. Without thought, she takes the cup, draining it, and then holding it as if it might refill itself. "More?" she asks, the whisper rusty and disused. She has spoken hardly at all the last three weeks; it is hard to remember how.
...
(Landfall in Harad)
Lominzil stood at the prow of the ship, watching. They had come for him at night, rousting him out of an uneasy sleep, and giving him only time to pick up his small bag of provisions.
It was still dark out, though the eastern sky was greying towards dawn, and the ship, painted black, and with black sails, was all but invisible. But ahead of him, the squire could see a vague shape that must be land. Silently, the men furled the sails, and slid the anchor out. Someone touched his arm and he turned to see a small boat being readied.
As they ran the boat against the shore, Lominzil leaped out.
"We'll be here," one of the Draugrim said softly. "When you return, wait. We will tell the men to look for you, and to shelter you if you make it this far."
Lominzil couldn't tell by his voice if he expected him to make it this far or not. He rather thought not. But he nodded, and whispered, "Thank you, sir," and turned away. He didn't watch the Black Swan depart.
Behind a sand-dune, he stripped and buried his clothes; checked and hid his supply of walnut juice to dye his skin. A pair of sandals and a dirty, patched robe - it was a simple man of the desert who walked south, not a Squire of the Order of the Swan.
...
(Main Docks of Umbar)
The docks continue, but here too, the docks remain mostly empty, as most of the merchant ships and private yachts have fled the city in search for food and safety. From here you see that the wall surrounding the bay has two entrances that allow ships in-one under the causeway to the northwest and another to the north on the other side of the island/military complex. A high, arched causeway leads northward to the island in the bay.
The sun has set. The tide is in, and ships bob gently at their moorings, casting tall shadows on the glassy sea. Lights line the dockway, but only a few sailors coming to or fro from their vessels are here. That, and a raggedy girl with a staff, who twirls a ribbon (it is too dark to see the color) in her hand.
A boy, still more ragged, darts out onto the docks, looking around him. Then he sees the girl and prances up to her. "Hey," he says, by way of greeting. "You never come."
Nisrin is seated on a fishy-smelling barrel; she takes out a roll of bread with oily sardines sandwiched within, breaks it in two and gives one to the boy. "Sorry," she mumbles ruefully. "I thought I lost you ... and now other people might know! What would they do if they found a girl poking about in those buildings?"
Jarad takes the bread and crams a bite into his mouth. Indistinctly, he says, "Dunno. Run fash!" Swallowing audibly, he gives the girl a conspiratorial grin. "I din't tell 'em ever'thing," he assures her. "An' did you see? He gimme a whole penny!" This, he says much more quietly. He is not such a fool as to brag of wealth where anyone might hear! Regretfully, he tells Nisrin, "I never saw her though, that woman. Just heard some fellers talkin' bout her. You want t'know that, too?"
"Yes," says the girl incredulously. "Anything about her would be nice. But if you have told other people already ..." She sounds hurt. "Tell me, please."
"Not ever'thing," he says hurriedly. "An' you din't say don't tell no one f'I heard anything, only f'I seen her. An' I din't." Having thus squared his conscience, he proceeds to regale her with the full tale - still spoken quietly and with an eye to possible eavesdroppers.
"I saw these fellers, see? So I hid. Din't want 'em t'see me. Only they stopped almost standin' right on top! I'm tellin' you, I was some scared! But I could hear 'em, easy." He pauses to finish his bread and fish. "One of 'em says, 'how's the whiteskin?' An' th'other says, "She's fine. You got anything to eat?" An' the first one says, yeah, and give 'im some of them hot rolls with meat in. An' then he said as how he din't like riskin' his neck, and she ought t'be dead, an' th'other says he din't think it was fair the boss wouldn' let 'em have no fun, an' did he think she were white all over like that?"
"An' then they laughed some, an' said was time they were gettin' on, an' left. I - I was gonna try an' follow 'em, but..." The boy shifts uneasily. "Well, they went differnt ways, so I couldn't've done both, an'... I din't want t'get too close. So I don' know where they went."
The girl takes a bite of the sardine sandwich, crossing her knees. "This was in that alley in Sangahyando? Was it many days ago?"
Jarad nods, looking up at her hopefully. "That what you want t'know? I come an' put up th'ribbon soon's I could, after."
"Yes," she replies, her thoughts unsure. "What about when I saw you last? I tried to find you, but Lord Khaan had his men take you by the arm." She tilts her head suspiciously, teasing. "You were not trying to pick his pocket?"
"Not me! I ain't so dumb as that!" Jarad avows. "They was askin' same as you. Did anybody see that woman."
"Well, if it is Khaan," says Nisrin slowly, "I suppose that is all right. We would not want the whole of Umbar in search for my friend! She is easily frightened, and many would use her for their own means."
"Oh." Jarad considers this. "What happened to 'er anyways? She run away an' get lost or something?"
"Something like that," says the girl, shrugging. "Have you had friends who were taken away and never seen again? That is what happened to her, except I wish to find her first."
A shadow crosses the boy's face. "Oh," he says again, more quietly still. Wistfully, "You want t'bring her back then? Wish... wish't I coulda done that..."
Nisrin shakes her head. "See how easily they caught you! These are dangerous men. If you should face any of those men you heard, run! Think of your own life; you are fast and yet young."
Jarad nods, his young face still wistful. "M'brother," he says. "Woke up one day an' he was gone. I wisht I was big enough t'find 'im, like you lookin' for your friend." Then the irrepressibly cheeky grin crosses his face again. "I hide real good, an' run fast too!"
Nisrin smiles and reaches to put a hand on the child's shoulder. "One day I woke up and I found a brother," she tells him. "Although he is quite frightening."
Her hood turns to the moored vessels. "Have you been watching the ships?"
The boy nods again. "Went..." he starts to say, then stops uncertainly. "Y'think I could be a corsair, really? When I'm big?"
Nisrin considers him for a moment. "Yes, I think you can," she says encouragingly. "What is your name?"
"Jarad. I'm nearly 9." The boy stretches, to make himself look taller. And thus older.
"Very well," says the girl, smiling earnestly, "I shall tell all the Captains I know that Jarad is swift as a sea-swallow, keen as an owl, and fell as a hawk." After a moment, she adds, "After some decent feeding."
The boy squirms with embarrassed pleasure, and bounces up. "Hope you find her," he says earnestly.
"Thank you," the girl says absently, reaching out to ruffle his hair. She then rises and limps towards the war docks.