Notes - I lost a little bit of time. There was an aircraft crash yesterday that I was near to. It was a terrible tragedy.
Tharbad, Nórui, 1407
Dagar packed his belongings as Haedorial folded clothes for the young man to pack. "I'm sorry to hear about your mother, lad. You have my sympathies." The bard lowered his head, letting his curly brown ringlets of hair fall in front of his face. Even in informal settings, Haedorial was always impeccably dressed, a silk doublet in red and gold with a felt flat cap of forest green that sported a jaunty hawk's feather.
Dressed in a simple black satin doublet, Dagar nodded stiffly. "Thank you. It seems my father wants me to come home for good." He looked out at the rain water that had gathered on the streets of the great city. This region of Cardolan could be very wet at times of the year. Dagar inhaled deeply, smelling the falling rain and feeling the dank humidity. He had come a long way since his time in jail. He had a job, a home and friends now. Accounting was not the most exciting thing, but it paid fairly well. He could afford modest, but stylish clothes and his hair was neatly trimmed, parted in the middle with his mustache waxed and curled up at the end just the way he liked it. He was a gentleman after all.
The bard clapped his hand on Dagar's shoulder. "I made sure that your carriage has good protection. And here are five gold sovereigns for the road. If you are ever back in Tharbad, my wife and I will gladly take you in and she would love to cook for you again."
Dagar shook his head and put his hand out. "No, Haedorial, I can't accept this. You've already done so much for me. I was destitute and the Nightsingers took me in as if I was one of you. I can't." The bard and his family had welcomed him with open arms and had taught him respect and responsibility. That was no small feat.
"Nonsense, my good Dagar. It has been a good year, and I am happy to share. King Ostoher has kept the peace and our realm is prosperous. Now, you will take this and return home to be with family. I hope that you will be able to see your mother ere she passes. That is what a son must do. And I trust that you will write to us as soon as time permits. I insist." He pressed the pouch of coins into the young man's open palm and closed it.
Dagar's eyes misted up and his sniffed hard, wiping his nose with a fancy silk handkerchief. "You have been good to me Haedorial and I won't forget it." He forced a smile. "I'll return and maybe you can get me into the Royal Palace at Thalion. I would dearly love to meet the King…and the Princess."
The bard made a wry half smile. "Still on about the Princess, huh? Well, she's not that much younger than you. I hear she is very well read and very intelligent. I hate to let you down, young Dagar, but it would be my bet that she marries a prince of Arthedain or Gondor to seal alliances. She'll live a nice quiet life out of the limelight and her sons and daughters will be lords and ladies of that kingdom. It's a life that we will never know or understand."
"A young man can still dream though."
Haedorial laughed a hearty laugh. "Indeed he can, good Dagar. Indeed he can. I will write you all of the royal stories that you can stomach. I'm sure good Prince Braegil will find the fabled Mithril Room of Tar-Telmmaitë, the Fifteenth King of Númenor in the ruins of Lond Daer Enedh and I will tell you all about it. Now, travel well and travel safe. Rest assured, we have a good replacement for you. Hasog, the man who shared your cell and brought you to us, has been training in accounting. While your shoes cannot be filled, he is just the man to carry on."
Dagar smiled. "I will miss the Nightsingers. This last year has been my…my redemption. I know I was not the most responsible man. With your kindness, I think I have learned my lesson."
"That you have, my good man. Now, your carriage is waiting. Best not to keep your father waiting, dear Dagar. We will miss you too, so do not be a stranger and write when you can. And remember, you are only a few days ride away from Tharbad. The realm is at peace and the roads are safe thanks to King Ostoher." Haedorial picked up Dagar's bag and took it to the carriage. The driver hefted it into the trunk at the rear and then opened the door for Dagar with a nod of his head. Two mercenary riders mounted their horses and took positions at the front of the carriage.
The young man wiped a tear from his cheek and then boarded, sitting down in the plush, red velvet seat as the driver closed the door. Dagar looked out of the window and waved as members of the Nightsingers waved back. He could feel the warm summer rain fall upon his arm and the humidity filled his nostrils. He would miss the upcoming Autumn Fair or Eruhantalë. The pastries and ales would be well worth the trip back though. He would do his father proud, honor his mother and return with his fortune, a self-made man. Then, with a snap of the reins, they were off to Rhudaur.
The Yfelwood, Cerveth, 1407
Ethacali sat in The Black Cave, part of the excavation of the vale. Jet black crystals adorned the walls of the cave and it was a cool place in the summer heat and humidity of Rhudaur. Lanterns hung on hooks throughout the cave, providing a bright light for the mage to read. He had not turned the page of the tome for an hour, brooding in silence, worrying about how to broach Blogath's chamber. An orc came in and changed the water in his wash basin and then left past the unmade bed. He had one rune of binding left. Would it be enough? Should he just march in there and attempt the binding? Should he question Skrykalian more? Should he awaken Naranantur? Too many variables? Too many things could go wrong?
He stirred for a moment and looked down at the cameo of his wife that had become a bookmark in this most valuable tome of dark knowledge. He liked seeing Ethanya whenever he turned a page. It was as if she were with him reading. He thought back to his last day in Logath where he read to her at the dinner table, telling her and his family of far off lands like Harad and Rhȗn. He could see her curly brown hair and her golden eyes. He could hear the gasps of his grandchildren when he told them a spooky story from his travels. Now he was in far off Rhudaur. He knew that Blogath and the Blood-Wights were his path home. Now, he had to deliver.
He exhaled deeply and put the tome down. It was time for action. He snapped his fingers and the orc servant ran in. "Bring the shamans. We will bind Blogath today. We can wait no longer." The servant ran out and then returned with the ancient orcs, Urfase, Athrug and Grashur.
Athrug held the servant by the ear and pushed him into the cave. "This snaga says you want to talk?" The grizzled orc had a mop of sparse white hair and was bent from age, but he wore a gaudy silk doublet of black and silver along with fancy jewelry looted from the northern kingdoms.
"Let him go, Athrug," the mage said sternly and the orc released the servant with a sneer. "Yes, it's time to confront Blogath. You three will channel wards around me as I bind her. According to the tome, she is more powerful that the other two combined, being the eldest of Thuringwethil. Grashur, you lead them." Of the three, Grashur was the only one he truly trusted. Urfase was a dunce, but he was fanatical in his belief in the Dark Lord. And Athrug…he'd once heard the shaman whispering to the orc miners about Ethacali's incompetence. He would bear watching. The mage took the binding rune from the tome and looked at the thick parchment that it was drawn on. It would do the trick. It had to.
They walked through the crystal caves to the halls where Skrykalian and Naranantur were bound and, ultimately, the altar of the Dark Lord where Blogath was imprisoned. Ethacali felt that one last questioning of the two lesser Blood-Wights would be useful and they descended the stone stairs. In the binding chamber, they lit the lanterns and saw that Skrykalian was still bound to the wall and Naranantur floated in mid air, both still slumbering. Ethacali raised his hand, and a green glow emanated from his palm onto the male Blood-Wight, reflecting off if it's straight black hair. Naranantur's eyes opened, initially catlike with vertical slits, but then his pupils widened to make his eyes black. He curled his lip up and then opened his mouth, his jaw extending beyond what was humanly possible, rows of sharp teeth within and prominent fangs. The mage and the orcs took a step back.
"Unbind me, human," the Blood-Wight demanded. "Else I rip your throat out and feed you to the dogs." Next to his nude form, a black greatsword floated in the air. He tried to reach for the weapon but translucent bindings held his arms fast. "Unbind me now!" It was like a wave of anger smashing into the mage.
"That won't be happening, Naranantur. You are bound to my will through the Necromancer. My will is his will and you will obey." The green glow from his palm intensified and the Blood-Wight winced and narrowed his eyes. The rage in Naranantur's face faded and his teeth became normal, human teeth. He appeared to be a tall, proud Noldorin Elf, haughty and disdainful. He looked down his nose at Ethacali and was clearly not impressed.
"What is it you want, human? Trinkets? Baubles? What worthless thing can I give you to release me? That is all you humans care about, isn't it?"
The mage did his best to let the words run down his back, but they stung nonetheless. He was in the presence of beings so ancient that it defied rational thought. He grit his teeth and tightened his stomach. "You will now obey the will of the Necromancer. You will aid us in the destruction of the northern kingdoms. I need to know about Blogath. You will tell me," he said as he closed his fist and Naranantur groaned as the spectral bindings tightened.
The Blood-Wight chuckled. "Blogath is eldest of Thuringwethil as you know. She is a power beyond your imagination. She ruled this region for Morgoth when your people were still in animal skins. Go. Bind her like you bound us. See what happens."
"What can I expect?"
"Do not worry, little human. I am sure that it will go well," Naranantur said with a snide edge.
"What can I expect?" Ethacali said, more forceful this time and he tightened the bindings.
Naranantur grunted in pain and then made a gurgling laugh. "She commands spirits of her dead fanatics and the Serganka follow her will. They will be in her chamber."
The mage opened his hand and the bindings relaxed. "There. That wasn't so hard. Is there anything else?"
Naranantur's face untwisted and he breathed normally again. "That is all I know. Feel free to question my sister again."
Skrykalian's eyes opened as Naranantur closed his. Ethacali's mouth opened slightly. She did this on her own. He did not command her to wake. "Good morning Ethacali," she said sweetly. "Did you sleep well? I did. Now, if we could just sit down like normal people, I would be happen to share about my eldest sister. Perhaps you can tell me more about your family."
He ignored the probe. "What more can you add?"
"Blogath enjoys bathing in the blood of her followers and long walks in the forest."
She was testing him again and he could feel her worming into his brain, uncovering secrets like peeling an onion. "Stop playing games. You know I have the means to compel you." He raised his hand in a veiled threat.
"No please don't. I'll be good. I would be more worried about disloyal followers than Blogath, if I were you," she said and glanced at the orcs. She looked directly at Athrug. "Do you like what you see? Riches and more await you."
Ethacali's hand glowed green. "Enough! I will make use of you soon when we conquer the north. Resume your slumber, Skrykalian," he ordered.
She blinked and then yawned. "We've told you all we know about my sister," she said sleepily. "You bound us easily. You should not have a problem." She then closed her eyes.
The mage sighed heavily. The mental exchange had drained him. "Come," he told the shamans. "This was fruitful. I gathered much from our conversation," he said, almost more to boost his own confidence.
Grashur gave him a quizzical look, one eye narrowed on a crooked face beneath messy white hair. Scars from numerous battles ran down his forehead through his nose and down to his chin. "I don't follow, my lord."
Ethacali smiled. "We know that there will be spirits and bats in the chamber and we know to give Blogath a blood sacrifice for the binding. These Blood-Wights are smart, but not smart enough for the Necromancer."
They turned to go, but Ethacali thought he saw Skrykalian's eyes open. He blinked and looked again but she was fast asleep. "Urfase, I need five miners. Bring them here quickly. Go. Go. We need them now."
The orc dashed off and then returned a few minutes later with the five. "I told them that we're expanding a tunnel," he told the mage in a sniveling voice. They continued further into the underground complex where it grew progressively colder. Their lanterns seemed to dim and they felt as if a dark hand were pressing down upon them. The mage gulped. Even in the presence of the Witch-King he was not this afraid. He could see condensation on the walls and then his heart stopped. A pool of water on the floor was dripping upwards and pooling again on the ceiling. His skin crawled. What magic was this? He felt lightheaded. The miners grunted and squealed their displeasure, but Urfase pushed them onwards.
Focusing his lantern to a narrow point, Ethacali could see the chamber ahead. Ancient bones lay scattered on the floor, some barely more than dust now. Beyond, he could just make out some kind of altar made of obsidian. He thought he saw the glint of metal on it. Then, something moved near the altar. "What was that? Did anyone see that?"
The orcs shook their heads. Urfase pushed the orc miners onwards. They were close. They would bind Blogath and then rampage through the lands of the hated Dúnedain. Ethacali would fulfill his task and then return to the warm lands of Logath and live in peace. "There will be spirits ahead. I have a spell prepared for them. Flame will take care of the Serganka too. Be ready," he told the shamans.
They inched into the chamber and Ethacali raised his staff. "Spirits of the Blood-Wight, I release you!" he cried, and a deep groan filled the room. There was a flash of light and then the room felt lighter. He blew out a long breath. This was going well so far. "Grashur, have the miners stand in front of the altar. And shine your lanterns on the ceiling." Lights turned upwards and they could see hundreds of huge bats hanging down. Strangely, the floor was free of guano. The mage sensed that these bats were somehow manifestations of Blogath's will. He channeled power into his staff again and it glowed green. "Grashur, begin your ritual."
The shamans began to chant in the Black Speech of Mordor and pounded their fists on their chests. The five miners became frozen in place, unable to move. Athrug moved forward and then dragged the edge of his dagger across one miner's throat, spilling black blood onto the altar. It pooled for a moment before sizzling and it was absorbed into the altar. Ethacali pulled out the rune with shaky hands and held it high. The urge to run was nearly overwhelming. Athrug slit another throat, and the blood sizzled on the altar before vanishing. A deep moan emanated from the altar, definitely female. The shamans continued to chant and the room grew colder still. Ethacali thought he could see red, glowing eyes just above the altar. Another throat was slit. He could see a form now. A female figure, lithe and tall. He could see a face now, ethereal and beautiful. He looked at the rune when something leapt onto one of the remaining miners.
"What the?" he began and saw a male figure rip the throat out of the miner with fangs. Unlike Naranantur, this one looked demonic, red eyes slanted upwards at an impossible angle, hands that ended in claws more like a bear or a tiger with legs and feet like a beast with cloven hooves. Blood sprayed from the miner's neck and was suspended in a red mist which flowed into the demon's open maw. Before the mage could respond, the demon sank its fangs into the last miner's neck.
In a near panic, Ethacali called out, "Blood-Wight, in the name of the Necromancer, I bind thee. Thy will is mine to command!" The rune flashed and vanished and the demon became still. His bare body and face began to waver and he morphed into a man, similar to Naranantur with black hair and wings. His eyes closed.
Ethacali shivered and his hands shook. That was the last rune. The figure behind the altar slowly gained more substance. A woman strode forward, tall, regal, beautiful beyond words. Her white wings wrapped around her, revealing only her face, perfect with silver catlike eyes. The shamans and the mage staggered back, nearly falling. Her face was serene, peaceful, almost friendly.
"Ethacali," she said in a slow voice that reverberated throughout the chamber. "Welcome to my vale. You have met my brothers and sister now." She pointed to the now slumbering demon. "This is my consort, Balisimur. I apologize for the surprise. He really should have introduced himself first. It was rude of him to feed before me. It won't happen again, I assure you."
The mage continued to back up towards the exit. "I…I…the Necromancer…" he stammered. He had to survive. He had to get back to Ethanya.
She took two more steps forward, into the light and then swung her wings behind her to reveal a perfect body, young and supple. "Yes, the Necromancer. Sauron Gorthaur. Former vassal of my lord Morgoth. Yes, we're acquainted." She took another step and Ethacali held out his staff between them.
"Stay where you are, Blogath. Come no further." The staff glowed green, but Blogath raised her hand and the staff went dark again. She was worming her way into his brain like Skrykalian, but far more powerful. This was like a broadsword through the eye.
"Come now, there is no need for hostilities, is there?" she asked coyly. "I am what you want. I'm sure my sister told you about me, but don't believe her lies. I am your path home, isn't that what you said?" She slowly reached out and gently pushed his staff aside. She looked down at the shamans, who were quivering on the ground. "One of them will do. I am hungry. I have slumbered since the fall of Eregion. Can you tell me, was Celebrimbor killed? Has the Númenórean army arrived? Oh wait. You're human. Your lives flash by faster than a blink to me. Come now, be a dear and offer a lady a meal."
Ethacali made a subtle motion for the orcs to flee. They crept to the exit, seemingly unnoticed by Blogath. Without a rune he was helpless. Nothing in his power could bind her. But he had one trick up his sleeve. If he didn't act now, he knew she would tear their throats out. Everything she was doing to set him at ease just magnified his terror. He shoved the orcs past the exit and then raised his staff. A white sheen appeared over the passageway and he shouted a spell to seal it. He could not bind her, but he could trap her in the chamber. "I will return, Blogath, when I have another rune from the Necromancer. You will be bound for the upcoming war."
She tested the barrier with her finger, and it flashed. She pushed harder, but it would not budge. She sighed as a parent would with a naughty child. "No matter. I am immortal and patient. You are not. You will be back soon and we will both get what we want. Now scurry along and prepare for your war. If you see fit, please send me a meal. I would see it as a personal favor."
Ethacali felt like he could breathe again. The spell had drained him, but the barrier would hold. He turned to go, but all of their lanterns went dark. He raised his staff, and a light glowed from the tip. He looked back at Blogath to see her smiling.
"Just flexing my muscles," she cooed. "Remember what I said." Slowly, she floated back into the gloom until only red eyes could be seen.
Along with the shamans, the mage strode back down the hall, trying to put on his most confident walk, but he turned the corner and threw up. Waves of fatigue and nausea flowed over him. He had survived many trials, but he had never been tested like this. He leaned back against the dank wall and gulped air. "If we cannot bind her, we may have to make do with just the two Blood-Wights that we have. It will work. It will work. It has to work."