Chapter 3
Sam, Mayor of Hobbiton, opened the mailbox in front of Bag End and pulled out a thick sheaf of letters, so many that corners caught on the edge of the opening and three were inadvertently left behind, requiring the use his other hand to reach in and scoop them up.
He bent, looking inside with one eye to see if any had been left behind.
"Hello…" he said, reaching in for one last small, pumpkin-colored envelope addressed to his daughter Elanor. Then he nudged the little door closed and stood back to put the sheaf of paper into some order.
"And a good stack of work this will be," he observed out loud. After a little more shuffling, he tucked the letters under his elbow and looked up. The Shire in early November was a wonder of red and orange leaves. The morning air carried the pleasant scent of second-breakfast cookfires, and in the gardens below Bag End, he could see the many-colored hats of hobbit lads and lasses harvesting summer squashes and string beans.
He'd just been to his own garden, as a matter of fact, and as he turned to the round front door of the beautiful hobbit hole he called home, Sam stooped to grab the handle of Rosie's kitchen basket, freshly full of green beans, autumn shallots, and some fine red potatoes. Hands full, he shouldered his way through the door.
Rosie and the children were out at the morning market, and Bag End was unusually quiet.
For once.
This won't last for long, he thought, setting the garden basket on the kitchen table, dropping Elanor's pumpkin-colored letter (it was from young Salvia Marish, likely an invitation) into the cherrywood box in the hall, and then took himself to the study. He further sorted the letters as he went, absently sitting in his new chair (a gift from Pippin) and set a batch of "wait until later" letters aside as he continued sorting.
One plain letter was addressed simply to "Mayor, Hobbiton" from Leufroy Frogbank, Esq., Crickhall.
"Mr. Frogbank, is it?" he said aloud, quickly setting all the other envelopes on the desk with the others and nudging the whole pile aside to clear his blotter.
This letter, of course, was the most important one disguised as if it were the least important one.
Leufroy Frogbank from Crickhall (all completely fictitious) was the name any member of the freshly formed Annuminas Alliance would use in order to send news to him.
Sam popped the seal (from Merry, based on the barrel-stave imprint on the wax seal: barrel meant brandy...or Brandybuck) and quickly read the short note.
It began with a normal Shire-like complaint.
Dear Mayor:
I write to ask why the potholes on the road to Waymeet have been left unattended these past months. As a contributor toward the Sand and Shovel wagon, I am pointing out your abysmal neglect in this matter of utmost importance. I demand an explanation.
This was drivel, of course. Sam ignored it.
As such, I request your attendance at my next neighborhood dinner meeting, 18 February at the haybarn. Our most important neighbors will be there: the Oldburrowes, a few of the Lightfoots, and several Farhills.
Sincerely,
Leufroy Frogbank, Esq.
Crickhall
Sam took a deep breath. This meant there was news about the hunt for Shadowback and if he wanted to hear it, he needed to be at Little Delving (code word: the haybarn) on the 8th of November. (Subtract ten from any date, subtract three from any month.) Dwarves (Oldburrowes) would be there, along with elves (Lightfoots) and several of the Dunedain (Farhills.)
He flipped the letter over, looking for Merry's secret mark (to prove it was really from Merry Brandybuck himself) and found a small inky fingerprint smeared across one of the corners, as if the writer had been just a bit careless in his letter writing.
Sam smiled and took the letter and its envelope to the study's little fireplace, and holding it near the embers of his morning fire, let it flame and burn to ash.
He looked up and checked his calendar. It was the third of November.
And in five days he would meet the Alliance members in Little Delving.
She was an old thing, though not as old as some. But she could still walk. Walk for miles, walk for days. Walk all the time. Walk for the fight. A good fight...a good fight with head-knocking and cleaver-hacking. A sneaky fight in the dark. Sneaky…. In the dark with hiding places and surprises ...and sssnakes.
And the Uhdbosh. She remembered this…broken shards now but still very deadly. Very. It drew her...to a place where she would find it. It drew her…
The place would appear in moonlight...it would appear eight hands past the red eaten moon but deep below the ruined place.
Last night had been the red moon. Last night the moon had been eaten...and turned blood red. Last night started eight hands past the red moon. Eight hands past.
Eight hands...every hand has five fingers and eight hands have forty fingers. She had been repeating that to herself since the days when she hatched fellbeasts for the old witch-king. Eight hands have forty fingers.
Unless something has bitten three of them off, she gurgled out loud.
Unless something has bitten three of them off...
Kirin, young Prince of the Blue Mountains, didn't take afternoon naps anymore. Baby Lís did.
And Sorin did after his reading lessons.
But he did not. He helped his mother tend the ravens. Two of them were hopping along at his side right now, in fact.
"More nuts?" he asked, reaching into a little sack and dropping a handful of hard-shelled almonds and stepping away.
The bright-eyed birds darted forward and each lifted brown nuts in their beaks. One flew about ten feet away...but the other held the nut and looked at Kirin, angling his head and then bobbing. This one had just spent quite a while on his mother's hand before she had nudged him toward Kirin.
"I think your name is Raka," Kirin said to it. "You have a charm stone." He could see it from where he stood—a light ring threaded by a tiny stone around the raven's left ankle. He watched Raka crack the shell and pick out the nut.
"Give him as many nuts as he'll want," his Lady Mother had said. Kirin tossed a few more for the raven to consider.
While Raka beaked the hard-shelled nut, Kirin looked back at his mother. She was the most beautiful Lady in all of Ered Luin...and she always wore soft robes and a single long black braid threaded with beads and silk...sometimes leather. She held out her arm to a new raven and around her, five other ravens muttered and hopped along the railing, changing positions all the time.
He wanted to understand them just like she could, he really did. But he only heard them say quorkkkk and hah. Sometimes they muttered...but nothing that ever made sense to him.
A sharp squawk made Kirin look back at Raka. The raven had not managed to crack the next almond, but picked it up, looked at Kirin for a moment, then launched himself and flew high over the nearby trees. He swooped over the ravenspeaking area and then dropped the nut. He arrowed down to it, his beak busy—this time opening the broken shell and proudly picking out the food inside.
Then a flap of wings near his head made Kirin take a step back as another very large and sharp-beaked raven landed on the railing next to him. This one also had a charm stone on his ankle—a clear blue one that caught the light.
"Corax!" Kirin stood tall and faced the big bird that landed on the railing.
With clacking feet, his father's raven hopped twice and stopped not two handspans from his face. They looked at each other for a long moment, and then the raven leaned closer as if to touch his nose.
Kirin blinked and took a step back.
The raven was muttering and cocking its head.
"That's enough Corax," his mother's hand came between them and Kirin looked up at her.
"He's not old enough for ravenspeaking yet," she told the curious bird.
Corax hopped once, raising his wings, then muttered some more as if wondering why not.
Kirin heard his mother laugh and then with the wave of her hand, shooed the bird back a few steps.
"What's he saying?" he asked. "Is Da almost home?"
His mother smiled. "In time for dinner," she said.
"Corax," she addressed the raven. "Fly to Raven King. Show us where he is."
Kirin watched the large bird listening to his mother, wondering how it understood her words. Sure enough, Corax looked up as if spotting the sun, then launched himself into the sky with a loud call.
"Will he do it?" Kirin asked.
"Just watch," his mother said.
Kirin kept his eyes on the bird. Corax flew in a wide circle above them, gaining height. Then he headed north over the pine forest, toward the tall granite cliffs that rose behind Khelethur's great stone and wood lodge. Kirin lost sight of the raven for a moment, then spotted him again gliding toward the distant streaming waterfall called The Horsetail.
"He's on that path," Kirin guessed, pointed to the slanting line of trees that zig-zagged down from the heights above the falls.
His mother shaded her eyes and watched as the raven, now a tiny speck, caught an upsweep of wind and soared higher. "Corax said there are two dwarves and four ponies on their way. He's circling the upper switchbacks, so I think they've just started the descent."
Kirin pointed. "There?"
"I think so."
He caught his breath. His father would be home soon! "Can I alert the house guards?"
"Let's do it together," his mother smiled.
He grabbed her hand and tugged a bit, turning her toward the lodge. But by the time he was inside at the Commander's desk, Kirin slowed down and was mindful to stand straight at his mother's side.
"Lady Nÿr," a young short-bearded dwarf inclined his head to his mother, then smiled at him.
Kirin bowed in formal respect. "Commander Skirfir," he said.
"Prince Kirin," the Commander inclined his head, hand on heart.
"The ravens report that my father approaches on the Northern trail." Kirin glanced at his mother, then went on. "He should be here by dinnertime," he added.
The commander turned briefly to give word to an assistant who nodded once and turned to put plans in motion.
"Thank you, Kirin. Will you ride with us to the Valley Gate?"
Kirin looked at his mother for permission.
"Your choice, Kirin," she said.
"Can Sorin come with me?" he asked. It was always more fun with his brother, even if Sorin tripped over everything.
"If he rides with you," she said. "You have to keep track of him."
Kirin made a quick bow to Skirfir, grinned at his mother, and ran to get his brother. This time of day, Sorin would be in the library with his reading tutor...and he knew his brother would be more than ready for the chance to end his lesson early.
His boots echoed on the polished floor as he raced across the wide Great Room for an arched hallway that led to his father's reception rooms. He slowed his steps a little bit as he made it to the third alcove on the left, and he could hear his brother's voice reading a familiar teaching story in a halting voice.
"...and then Mostgon...Mosgonter," Sorin struggled with sounding out a name as he read.
"Mogsotnir," old Onar corrected in a quiet voice.
"Sorin!" Kirin skidded into the library, saving his brother from the task. He stopped, hand on heart. "Master Onar," he bowed.
Sorin, sitting at a large oak table with the grey-bearded Master Onar hovering over him, stopped reading and looked up, eyes wide with hopefulness that something—anything—would save him from The Trouble with Mogsotnir's Mine.
"Get your coat!" Kirin said to his brother. "We ride with Skirfir…"
Sorin instantly abandoned the heavy teaching book on the library table and slid out of the big chair before old Onar could catch him. Predictably, he stumbled to his knees before scrambling up and joining Kirin.
Together they ran.
"We'll continue this—tomorrow…!" They heard Onar's voice trailing off as they sprinted for the cloakroom. Kirin shrugged into his travel coat quickly, but turned to see Sorin wrestling with his—one arm in and the other one trying to find the sleeve...he grabbed the shoulders of the coat and held it for his brother.
"Hurry up!"
"Where are we going?" Sorin asked, his arm finally snaking into the sleeve.
"It's Da! Coming down the Horsetail Switchbacks. We can go with Skirf to meet him at the Valley Gate."
"In a pony cart?"
Kirin cinched the leather belt on his brother's coat. "On Swish, you idiot."
Sorin's eyes sparkled. "I ride with you!"
Kirin grinned. "Nadad...nadadith!" They bumped elbows and took off, heading for the stables.
They found Commander Skirfir and five other Guards with several ponies lined up and saddled, ready to ride. Skirfir was leading Swish to the line behind his own mount, and Kirin saw his buckskin pony was already set up with a light tandem saddle.
"Kirin first," Skirf said, holding the pony's reins while Kirin first greeted Swish and patted his nose, then went to the pony's correct side, got his boot into the stirrup, and pushed himself into the saddle.
"Good lad," Skirfir said, handing over the reins. Then he stooped and lifted Sorin, settling him on the pad behind Kirin. "Knees here," he said, helping Sorin get settled.
"And no kicking." Kirin warned his brother. "Or I'll make you walk."
"Or worse," Skirfir added, lowering his voice. "We'll make you ride with Raeg."
Kirin looked left, eyes spotting the plump warrior lass with the scary hair and the iron-clad gloves. She could smack a lad faster than anyone...and he knew from experience that their mother would approve.
"I won't kick," Sorin was promising in his most innocent voice.
"Good lads. Let's go find your Da!" Skirf raised an arm and the rest of the small escort mounted and readied themselves.
Three hours later, Kirin still rode behind Skirf with Sorin on the saddle behind him, though his little brother's head rested heavily on Kirin's back. They had ridden through shady conifer forest and across two sunlit meadows. Now he heard the rushing water of the Horsetail Stream ahead, sounding much like a steady wind blowing through the pines.
Kirin elbowed his brother.
"Are we there?" Sorin asked, sounding sleepy.
"Almost. We're at the river."
He felt Sorin clutch harder at his belt and squirm. "Do I have to ride with Skirf now?" he asked. Usually Sorin was handed to Skirf when the trail got tricky.
"I think," Skirfir said, turning to wink at Kirin. "That you can ride with your big brother." He clucked his pony and trotted forward, entering the stream as if showing the way.
Kirin felt a stab of alarm that Skirf was letting him ride across without even a lead line.
With his nadadith on his saddle!
He looked at the rushing water. They played in this stream sometimes—Kirin knew the water was shallow, but it was also icy cold and swift. Last summer it had carried Sorin a hundred paces away before a guard stopped him from getting swept downstream.
But they weren't here to play. They were here to follow Skirf to the other side, and behind them, several other guards waited for their turn.
"Hold on, Sorin," he said in a stern voice. "And stay still."
He felt Sorin grip his belt and freeze into position against his back. Then, taking a breath, Kirin clucked Swish forward into the uncertain footing of the coldwater stream.
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A/N Thanks for reading! Leave a review and let me know what you think! Your feedback helps keep me writing. And thank you to everyone who's taken a moment to leave a note-plus Welcome Aboard to new followers! Hand on Heart to you!
I'm posting this story as I write it...so apologies for the week or two between chapters. I do have a full time career, so sometimes that takes my time even when I'd RATHER be writing. I do hope to post one more chapter next week...then I'm off to London to meet up with Jessie152 and see (drumroll) Aidan Turner in his play "The Lieutenant of Inishmore" AND THEN Sir Ian McKellan as King Lear. Feeling pretty lucky...! I'm sure there will be some good story inspiration in all that. :D
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Neo-Khuzdul (and other) words:
Nadad - big brother
Nadadith - little brother
Uhdbosh: Like all orc words, we have no idea
