The North Road on the Border of Cardolan – Narwain 2nd, 1410

The snow fell lightly as King Araphor and forty Arequain, or Royal Knights, rode south along the North Road. The banners of the kingdom were held high among the men clad in heavy armor upon massive horses. These were among the most elite warriors of the realm, all experienced and selected solely for their skill and abilities. Hooves pounding on the road, they were quickly nearing the border of Cardolan. The landscape was painted a pristine white, with snow covered pines and hills as far as the eye could see. The sound of muffled hoofbeats crunching in the snow added to the wintry setting.

A mile ahead, a group of orcs lay in wait. They were members of the highly mobile Uroth-burm tribe who rode wolves into battle. They had suffered heavily during the 1409 war and could now only scrape together fifty warriors. They had been waiting in the cold for more than a day, and were beginning to lose confidence in the intelligence that they had received.

"Aggh, you can't trust those mystic types. They're all liars and thieves," said one.

"What do you know? You're a liar and thief," shot another.

"That's how I know," responded the first. They started to fight, but the leader pulled them apart.

Gurzug shouted, "You rats. The boss sez we gotta be out here to take out the King; so here we are. I hear we got info from an insider, someone who wants to stop their little trip," he said with a dark chuckle "Well, we're going to stop them and get paid for it." The orcs rattled their scimitars and spears while their wolf mounts snarled.

The North Road

The Arthedan riders continued on for a time before Artos Tarma reined in his horse. He wore a thick, black steel breastplate and a black visored bacinet which was shaped like a bear's head with two sapphires set in the eye sockets. His tabard was woven in black with the symbol of a bear rampant in the middle of seven stars. The rest of the party followed suit as they had all come to trust Tarma's instincts. He was a warrior who had fought in a dozen campaigns and had been victorious in every one. Tarma had stood beside young Araphor in the rear guard at Annuminas and his quick thinking had no doubt saved the young man's life. Artos stood tall in the saddle, his armor glistening in the evening sun.

Araphor walked his horse over to Artos. "What is it? I know that look." Araphor's black scale plate armor bore the circle of seven white, six-pointed stars, emblazoned on the breastplate. He wore a white cloak over the armor that was lined in gray fur. Artos raised his hand, silencing the King. He scanned around, noting inconsistencies in the landscape. Something was out there.

The Uroth-burm were finally rewarded by the soft sound of hoofbeats in the distance. The orcs slobbered with glee: their enemies were approaching. From their hiding spot in the forest, they readied their spears for a charge. The wolves could already smell raw horseflesh. They soon grew into a feral frenzy by the sight of armored men riding through the snow. The men stopped for some reason and began to look around. But that didn't matter. Gurzug snarled, "Slaughter them all. Today, we feast!" Their wolf mounts poured out of the forest with orcs couching their spears. They threw up a huge spray of snow behind them as they charged.

Artos immediately spotted them and pointed at the orcs. "Here they come, lads. To your bows. Shoot for the wolves!" The elite Arthedan knights were superb horse archers and they quickly raised steel composite bows to meet the threat. Tarma's tactical reasoning had placed the orcs at a severe disadvantage. A volley of arrows struck the orc onslaught and fourteen wolves crashed into the snow. Their orc riders tumbled over their bodies. The thick snow slowed the movement of both wolf and horse. This gave the knights time to fire again as they cantered their horses away from the enemy to keep distance. Another volley tore into the attackers and twelve more wolves fell into the snow. Some wolves could be seen writhing in the snow, leaving bloody imprints. Others, pierced with arrows, ran off into the woods. Fallen orcs were also standing up, some trudging forward toward the knights, others fleeing back into the woods. Artos waved his arms and called, "Caracal!" to signal the knights to keep distance and circle around the enemy.

The momentum of the orc charge faltered. Another volley struck the orcs, felling both wolves and riders. Ten more were out of the fight and the remaining orcs wheeled their mounts to flee. Araphor spotted the orc chief fifty feet away and lined him up with his bow. A steel-tipped arrow flew straight into the orc's open mouth. As he fell from the wolf, his followers broke and ran.

"Reform! Reform! Enough for now!" Artos shouted. "Well done lads!"

The orcs would go hungry today.

Araphor was exhilarated after such an easy victory. He would indeed live up to the status of his father. As the knights rode back into a column, the King moved besides Artos. "Lord Tarma, We are…We are concerned that We may have made a mistake by travelling to Cardolan. We cannot shake the words of Malborn the Seer. He showed me the Palantír ere we departed. What We saw…the fat, warty Princess of Cardolan. We cannot unsee that."

Artos sighed, his breath steaming out of his mouth. "I would not put much stock in Malborn, Your Highness. While your father trusted him, I do not. I would advise you to be careful around him."

The Palace of Thalion – Narwain 4th, 1410

Tardegil had heard of the recent events in Tharbad and his mood brightened. Perhaps the Princess and the Chancellor would return to Thalion. With that in mind, he had his men begin to clean the palace and restore the grounds. He had even shaved the perpetual stubble that covered his face.

Suddenly, Talremis the Quartermaster entered. "Captain, there are riders approaching. About forty in number bearing the banner of Arthedain." Tardegil stood up quickly, popping creaky old joints. He gazed out the window seeing the knights approach. Was this Arthedain's attempt to capitalize on Cardolan's weakness? Not if he had any say over that.

The old captain instructed Talremis, "Get the Raggers ready. And tell Amrith to muster the Rangers."

A rider approached the palace holding the banner of truce and the banner of Arthedain. He walked his horse slowly through the snow. He removed his silver helmet and looked the grounds over, seeing the palace set atop a sloped mound made of alabaster and tourmaline with an eight-foot wall surrounding the complex. This was a fairly defensible position. To the shouting of orders, a group of pikemen formed near the wall with weapons pointed in his direction, so he stopped thirty feet in front of them.

"Brave soldiers of Cardolan, we come in peace! I am Artos Tarma of House Tarma and the King's Herald. King Araphor of Arthedain requests an audience with Chancellor Nimhir," he spoke in a loud, clear voice.

Tardegil, now dressed in heavy chainmail, peered over the retaining wall. He recognized the symbol of the bear. He fought that man before. The captain sneered. "Lord Tarma, how do I know that this is not a trick!" he shouted down at the rider. "I have fought you Arthedans and you and I have crossed sword before, Lord Tarma." His hand was on the hilts of his weapon, ready for any deception.

Another rider trotted up beside Tarma, this one in plate armor with the symbol of the tree and stars etched into the breastplate. "Because We, the King of Arthedain, have come personally to show our intentions." The King dismounted and walked forward showing the palms of his hands.

Tardegil motioned to the Raggers. "Lower you weapons men!" He climbed down from the wall and moved past his troops to meet with Araphor. He looked at the young man and nodded. "Very well," he said with a sideways glance, still full of suspicion. "You are welcome here at the palace of Thalion. I must inform you that Nimhir is in Tharbad. I am sorry that your travels must endure another day."

The King replied, "We thank you for your hospitality. If we may rest here for the evening and then continue on the morrow, We would be most grateful." The captain nodded, ushering the Arthedan knights into the palace grounds to stable their horses.

Tardegil grasped one of his rangers by the shoulder. "Tell Amrith to ride to Tharbad as soon as able. He is to tell the Chancellor that the King of Arthedain requests an audience."

The Houses of Healing – Narwain 5th, 1410

The morning revealed a thick layer of snow on the ground around the city and in the streets. Icicles hung from the roof of the Houses of Healing. Firiel rose and yawned. She donned a robe and walked over to a pitcher of water and poured two glasses. "Time to get up. It's getting late," she said sweetly to a form hidden under the quilt in her bed. Valandil pulled the quilt off from over his head and ruffled his dark hair. He blinked several times in the morning sun as Firiel slid back into bed with the two glasses. They thirstily drank the water and set the glasses down.

Valandil took Firiel into his arms. "You shouldn't have gotten dressed so quickly," he said slyly, pulling her robe back off.

The Fortress of Carn Dȗm

In the Witch-King's mountain fortress, some research was taking place. The Lord of Angmar stood at a stone bookshelf while reading a large text. Six guards from his elite Hoerk regiment stood outside the hall, tall men with cruel weapons. Two mages sat at one of the stone desks perusing other volumes. The Sindarin elf, Ulgarin, knelt at the entrance to the hall awaiting judgment from her master. The plot involving the rioters in Tharbad had failed and she shook in unholy terror knowing what awaited her. Cold sweat poured down her face and she gulped hard. She had seen the nearby Hall of Hidden Pains, where victims were horribly tortured in their dreams by the Witch-King or the Angȗlion. This form of pain left no mark on the body, but also left the victims quite insane.

The Witch-King put the text back on the shelf and then turned to his guards. Without a word, he pointed to her with a gloved hand and then curled his finger to summon her. A guard looked down at her. "The Lord of Angmar will see you now," he said without emotion. Without pity. The darkly beautiful elf scurried over to him, prostrating herself at his feet. Flat on the ground, she put her hands together. "Forgive me, lord! My spies in Tharbad told me that they would be successful. It's not my fault. Don't put me in the Hall of Pain, please," she begged, nearly in tears.

The Lord of Angmar appeared not to notice her. He began perusing tomes on his shelf again, barely glancing at her except to walk around her head. In the eons of his existence, he had taken on a different, inhuman, perspective.

"Have you heard of the Master Spell Texts and Rune Books of Annúminas?" he asked no one in particular in his unearthly wraithlike voice that seemed to reverberate in the room.

She blinked, wiping tears from her eyes. She pushed up on her elbows and looked at him. "Uhh, what was that again?" she asked, still shaking. "Lord, I am confused."

"The Master Spell Texts and Rune Books of Annúminas; have you heard of them?" he asked again in a calm monotone. "A simple question."

"Uhhh, no... no I haven't," she replied, still confused.

The Witch-King walked over to another book and pulled it out. "Do not worry overmuch about Tharbad. These things happen. If I killed everyone who failed me, I wouldn't have anyone left. What I want you to do is to contact our man in Arthedain and arrange to acquire the Master Spell Texts and Rune Books of Annúminas. I will send word to Ulduin to help you."

Ulgarin wiped the perspiration from her brow and palms as she rose to her knees. "Thank you. Thank you, great lord."

He turned to her and nodded, his hood over a blank space where his head should be. All she could see were the hint of red eyes. "Go to the Angȗlion. He will have the details on the contact. You will answer to him."

She stood and bowed low. "I will do so, great lord."

As she turned to leave, the Witch-King spoke once more. "I grant you this second chance, but to not make it a habit to fail me. Otherwise, I may have to take more…corrective action."

She froze for a moment and gulped down hard as a chill ran down her spine. She could imagine the screaming coming from the Hall of Hidden Pain and the gibbering husks that emerged. She had once witnessed the Witch-King break a traitorous sorceress, strapped to a rack. During one of her decreasing moments of lucidity, she gibbered like a monkey amid some coherent words. The Witch-King shushed the woman gently, holding her face. In a voice, most kind, he said, "If you don't tell me what you know, I won't kill you." He blew a puff of breath into her face, and she nodded off to sleep. In another minute, she began screaming, bucking her body and straining against the wires that tied her down. The screaming would devolve into insane laughter, weeping and gibberish. A nauseous pit grew in Ulgarin's stomach. This would not happen to her. She hurried down the hall to find the Angȗlion. She would not fail this time.