Perilous Journeys. The Shadow over Rhudaur Part III

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Shedûn Fortress at the border of Angmar, November 4, 1347
Written by Gordis and Angmar
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The last day of the journey over the Shedûn Pass dawned sunny and bright. "Disgustingly bright," thought Agannalo spitefully, while he gingerly made his way along the ice-covered roadbed. He had to dismount and lead the half-starved horse - drag him along, to be more precise. Unused to ice and snow, the old Gray trembled in fright when his shoes skidded upon the icy ground. The road was still steadily mounting toward the gap in the ridge beyond which the city of Shedûn was supposed to be.

By midday the rocky slopes on both sides of the road became level with it, and Agannalo stopped to observe his surroundings. Squinting in the sun, he looked around. The view from this highest point of the Shedûn Pass proved spectacular, even to his poor nazgûl eyesight. To the South-East, the white mass of Mount Gram rose almost to the very skies, white and glimmering like the fang of some giant carnivore. Beyond it stretched the endless chain of the Hithaeglir, its peaks topped with snow. Agannalo turned slowly around. Behind him, to the south, was the valley of the Mitheithel with its uncounted tributaries looking from this height like the finest net of silver threads over auburn hair. While to the South the leaves were still yellow and red, to the North the trees stood with bare branches. There lay a realm of ice and snow - Angmar, his Captain's new abode.

To the North Agannalo could make out the wide valley of the already frozen Angsuul, the river that took its sources in the glaciers south of Gundabad and flowed into the Ice-Bay of Forochel, far to the North-West. But what startled him was the number of large and small towns scattered all over the valley. Numerous smokes indicated the presence of smaller villages and farms. On the Second Age map that Agannalo had copied in Khand, this land was shown as empty and barren. Now, with the advent of his Captain, that was certainly not the case anymore.

Agannalo's gaze wandered further and he swore under his breath. What he had taken for a tall rock on his right was in fact an upper tier of a watch-tower overlooking the road. With the Sun right in his eyes he had almost missed it. So, unlike with Rhudaur, the border of Angmar was guarded. Well, that was no wonder with his Captain in charge... Annoyed, and not wishing to answer awkward questions, Agannalo turned to leave quietly the way he had come, to wait till nightfall and then try to sneak past the tower. But he soon found out that the tower was not blind. He had hardly taken a few steps when he saw that his retreat was cut off by soldiers issuing from some hidden tunnel in the rock. He was trapped.

Trying to seem unperturbed, Agannalo turned North again. A group of horsemen in black-and-red livery appeared from behind a sharp bend on the road and rode toward him.

"Hail, stranger," the foremost rider called to Agannalo. "What is your name and business in the land of Angmar?"

"My name is none of your business," Agannalo replied irritably. "I am riding to Carn-Dûm to see ...a relative, and I wish to stay in Shedûn overnight."

The guards visibly tensed at his impertinence and exchanged glances. "Come with us, then, and talk to the Lieutenant of the Tower!" the head of the patrol replied.

Agannalo hissed in irritation, but complied. There was no denying the order. He was surrounded and could not escape without doing some serious damage to his Captain's men.

***

As Agannalo was led forward by the corporal in charge, the other guardsmen guided their mounts to follow behind him. They had not ridden very far when Agannalo beheld the gatehouse of the south tower of the Shedûn fortress looming before them. Behind it stood the high tower itself. Gazing down upon them from one of the lower turrets stood a tawny-skinned man. He was an officer by the looks of his garb, with a red fox cape thrown around his shoulders for added warmth.

"Likely a Southron who has never become accustomed to the cold Northern winters," Agannalo surmised.

Halting his horse before the drawbridge which spanned a deep, turbulent mountain stream, the corporal called to the gatehouse, "We have taken a prisoner! Permission to pass and see the Lieutenant commanding the tower!"

"Granted," came a voice from the other side, "but you will have to wait to see the commander!"

With a great creaking and groaning of the cogs, chains and mechanisms of the windlass, the great drawbridge slowly swung down across the chasm. Simultaneously, the portcullis, bristling with fierce metal spikes resembling the teeth of a dragon, was hauled up with a loud groan of machinery. Frightened of the noise and his new surroundings, Agannalo's steed perked his ears up, every sense alert. Becoming angry at the obstinate horse, Agannalo touched his heels to the horse's sides, but the beast balked when it heard the hollow sound under its hooves. Agannalo sharply tapped the horse's flanks with his riding crop. Not expecting the sudden sting, the horse plunged forward, hit the bridge with hooves skidding and went down on its knees.

Reins in his hand, Agannalo was off the saddle before the horse's body ever hit the bridge. Not bothering to conceal their guffaws, the guardsmen watched him as he took the crop and slapped the horse's hindquarters several times.

"Up! Up!" Agannalo commanded harshly, and the frightened beast struggled to its feet.

"Best lead your mount the rest of the way, stranger. He seems to be a skittish nag," the corporal barely hid his smirk.

Once past the gatehouse and inside the courtyard, the corporal and two other guardsmen dismounted, while the other guards rode away. Directed to turn his mount over to a groom, Agannalo was motioned inside the building by the grim-faced corporal and directed to an audience chamber, where they were kept waiting for over an hour.

"This way," a red and black liveried guardsman directed as he opened the hallway door which led to another chamber. "Lieutenant Hyarion will see you now."

Seated at the great table before him was the man whom Agannalo recognized as the officer he had seen earlier, who had scrutinized him from the tower. The lieutenant returned his officers' salutes with a brief nod. To avoid contention, Agannalo bowed stiffly.

"Sir, my men and I found this fellow on the road. He refuses to give his name or say where he is from. When asked to state his business, he will tell us only that he is going to Carn Dûm. He requests permission to stay in Shedûn tonight. We thought it best to bring him to see you, and you decide how to dispose of him."

A broad-shouldered man of slightly above average height with a lean body that reflected a life spent outdoors, the lieutenant pursed his lips. A dark-haired man of mid-years, thin-faced, with a high, arrogant aquiline nose, eyes so brown they were almost black, eyebrows which met in the middle, and lips which were both sensual and cruel, Lieutenant Hyarion's appearance betrayed an origin not of the West. He looked down his nose at Agannalo as though he were a slug or a leech.

"It is a irregular, most irregular, when a man will not tell his name," he stated in an accented nasal voice. "Those who are reluctant to reveal their doings tend to make us suspicious of their intentions."

"I have already explained that I am on my way to Carn Dûm to visit relatives," Agannalo said. Though he had taken an instant dislike to the man, he held his temper.

"Stranger, that is not quite good enough. I do not like your insolent manner and the way you are staring at me. Yes, I saw that mocking look," Lieutenant Hyarion's voice said softly, an implied threat behind his words. "Have you never seen someone from the South before?"

"Yes, of course," Agannalo replied, disliking this arrogant underling more with each passing moment. He added sardonically, "As a matter of fact, I came from Far Harad."

At that, the Southron's eyes bulged and he sputtered angrily. "Are you mocking me, straw-head? You think I am a fool? The men in Far Harad are swarthy or outright black, and you are as pale as a maggot! I have seen the likes of you - horse boys of Rhovanion. Perhaps your father was a Tark, as you are quite tall, but I bet your mother was a straw-head whore!"

"It seems you are telling me your own story, Southron," Agannalo hissed back. "I gather your own dam was a Haradi harlot. But not everyone is as baseborn as you are."

Hyarion jumped to his feet, the knuckles of his hand white on the hilt of his scimitar.

"You will regret these words, stranger! Perhaps you have never heard of me before, but in such a backward place as this, I would expect that. Perhaps you never heard of my father, the Lord Balakuzir of Umbar? My mother was a princess from further to the interior. She was fond of telling me the way that her people have of encouraging someone to talk." His eyes cold, his lips smiling, Lieutenant Hyarion allowed the words to sink in.

"They put them out in the heat of the desert, bury them up to their necks in the sand, and let their brains bake out. Sometimes they will pour honey all over their faces and let the ants go to work on them. I learned much from my mother's people." He smiled. "Perhaps after you have tarried with us a while, we might convince you to be more...ahhh..." he paused, 'talkative.' Reflect upon it a while. I am sure you will see reason."

While the Southron had been talking, Agannalo's hot anger abated and slowly turned to cold hatred. Unbeknownst to him, Lieutenant Hyaron had narrowly escaped violent death or something far worse. But he was still in for the shock of his life. Agannalo smiled sweetly.

"Oh, noble Lieutenant, your hardly veiled threats made me see reason," purred Agannalo much like a sadistic cat would address a cornered mouse. "I decided to become talkative and to reveal my identity...." He paused for dramatic effect.

"My name is Silmadan, which means, for your instruction, the Jewel of Mankind." At this the Southron snorted, but Agannalo's smile only widened. "And the relative I wish to see in Carn-Dûm is your King. I am his Majesty's nephew. My mother was your King's sister, not a Rhovanion whore."

For a few seconds, Hyarion stared incredulously at Agannalo, then burst out laughing. "Silmadan, the Jewel of Mankind, the nephew of the King? What absurdity is this? Not only are you an impertinent knave, but you are a lying impostor! To my knowledge, the king has no nephew!"

Agannalo stood aghast. He thought he had the Lieutenant cornered, but this man proved a bigger fool than he had first presumed... In such a situation any courtier from Armenelos would have been groveling at his feet begging for forgiveness! But the Southron was as single-minded and as thick-skinned as a rhinoceros!

Meanwhile, Hyarion continued. "Perhaps you have been sent here to spy upon us, or maybe you have been hired to assassinate the King. However, no spy or hired killer would be so bold or so foolish as to ride up on an old plug and claim that he was the King's nephew! Instead, I think you are a madman." He smiled maliciously at Agannalo. "Whatever you are, I grant you your request. You will go to Carn Dûm - but in chains!" His breath coming faster, Hyarion's brown eyes glowed with triumphant excitement.

"Guards! Disarm this man!"

As in a bad dream, Agannalo watched helplessly while the grinning guards got hold of his sword and dagger and started searching him in earnest. In all his long years he didn't remember being searched - ever - and he didn't like the experience one bit.

But what could he do? If he killed the guards, he would have to kill Hyarion as well and the man was likely high in his Captain's favor. And then he would have all the garrison against him. Agannalo couldn't stand against such odds without turning to powerful sorcery. And using terror and Black Breath so openly would blow not only his cover, but his Captain's as well... Agannalo was pretty sure that even in Angmar no one knew his Captain's true identity - yet.

It was no way to arrive in Angmar with such a bang. From the start, Agannalo was not completely sure of his Captain's welcome. He planned to come to Carn-Dûm quietly at night, see the Captain and ask for hospitality. Now he was forced to call himself the King's nephew - without the King's permission. Enough already to make his Captain mad - even without wiping away the garrison of Shedûn.

"That is what happens when you tell the truth!" he thought bitterly. For he had told Hyarion the truth - he was indeed Silmadan, or more precisely "Silmatan" in Quenya, and he did come all the way from Far Harad and he was indeed the King's relative! Not exactly a nephew, but a third cousin twice removed on his mother's side and a fourth cousin once removed on his father's side - anyway the closest living relative his Captain had. Well... not exactly living, but...

"Look at this, My Lieutenant!" cried one of the guards, producing a small leather bag with a collection of tiny bamboo tubes. Each contained a poisoned needle of some plant and could be blown out at a considerable distance. "Have you ever seen such like?"

"Black savages from the Far South use them. How could this straw-head get those, I wonder? I bet he is an assassin sent by our enemies! Is there anything else?"

"Aye, Lieutenant," the guard went on, "this man is like a walking armory! Besides the sword and dagger on his belt, we have found hidden weapons from his cloak to his boots!" The guards placed one dagger after another on the table, the blades and sheaths clanking together. "These two wicked curving ones, crafted in the Eastern fashion, were found under his tunic, while the two wide, flat-bladed ones were discovered strapped to his back and shoulder. He wears this large leaf-bladed dagger strapped to his right thigh. And this one from his cloak must be worth a king's ransom..." A guard triumphantly held up a small curved dagger with three large emeralds on the hilt and another at the pointed end of the sheath. Both the sheath and the hilt were gold and studded with glittering diamonds.

Lieutenant Hyarion looked at the jeweled dagger with eyes gleaming almost as brightly as the diamonds. "Not only is the knave an assassin and a murderer, he is also a thief! A rascal such as he never obtained this treasure by honest means!"

Incredulous at the gross stupidity of Lieutenant Hyarion, Agannalo was so angry that he was ready to destroy this pompous officer and all his underlings. If he gave into his urges and did such a thing, though, the king would be furious. "It is a gift from my uncle," he murmured icily.

"A gift!" the lieutenant laughed mockingly. "You insult my intelligence if you think that I would believe such a thing! You have murdered the owner and stolen his dagger! I am hereby confiscating this treasure and the rest of your weaponry. All will be sent North, and His Majesty can deal with the matter." The lieutenant turned his gaze back to the guards. "Surely there can be no more!"

"Still more," the guard shook his head. "Here are two small knives from his boots and then there is this..." The guard gingerly held out a small narrow dagger in a plain black leather sheath. The handle was covered with intricate runes. There seemed to be a faint pale light emanating from the dagger.

Agannalo found his voice. "You better keep your filthy hands away from it! Or you will rue the day you were ever born!"

"Corporal, ignore that raving madman! Give that dagger to me!" the lieutenant demanded.

"Yes, sir," the incredulous guard demurred, handing the hilt to the lieutenant.

"You are warned ..." Agannalo hissed, but the Southron ignored him.

"A strange weapon," the lieutenant murmured as he unsheathed the dagger and held the blade close to his face, bemused by the pale glow. "Quite sharp, no doubt." He reached out his forefinger to touch the edge, but his attention was distracted by a question from a guard.

"But the prisoner, sir?" the guard reminded him.

"Chain the strawhead in the dungeon! In the morning, he is to be taken under guard to Carn Dûm! I am sure the King will be quite amused when he sees him!"