Perilous Journeys. The Shadow over Rhudaur Part III

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Fortress of Carn Dum, Kingdom of Angmar. Early morning, November 6, 1347
Written by Angmar
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During the previous night, Alassar's sleep had been interrupted by disturbing dreams. Several times he awakened to find himself trembling and drenched with sweat. When the feeble light of the winter dawn peered through his window, he was wide awake. Alassar, foremost of the King of Angmar's counselors and a gifted sorcerer, was not a man who was frightened easily, but these dreams had puzzled and alarmed him.

While many dreams were to be discounted as of little consequence, some were fraught with signs which, when analyzed by an adept, could shed light upon the future. While nothing terrible in themselves, when taken with other signs which he had observed in the entrails of the sacrifice of the day before, his dreams were harbingers of dire events.

"What do these dreams presage?" he asked himself as a servant helped him dress. "Nothing good, surely." In his most vivid dream, he had stood upon a high, lofty mountain above a plain where grew a crop of ripening wheat which had swayed as the wind blew across the stalks. He saw a lone falcon, a female, soaring unchallenged high above the earth. He had watched her graceful flight and marveled at the beauty of the bird. A small speck appeared in the northern sky and began to grow steadily larger until it became a cloud which filled the heavens. As it grew closer, Alassar recognized the vast number of dark shapes for what they were - ravens. The black cloud of birds drew closer to the falcon, screaming out their harsh cries.

As his dream unfolded, the mass of ravens engulfed the tercel in their midst, obliterating his view of the scene. As thunder crashed and boomed, great bolts of lightning cut through a sky streaked with red. When the vision finally cleared, the ravens had vanished and the tercel flew away unharmed. As the sun came out from behind the clouds and shown upon the field, a stag ambled into the field and began to graze upon the wheat. Then, rearing up in the midst of the wheat field, a gigantic red bear growled and roared, frightening the deer away into the forest. Alassar could see that the beast grasped a loaf of bread in one paw as he tore off chunks and ate them.

Puzzled and unable to comprehend the meaning of the dream, Alassar barely listened to the trivial conversation of his valet. Before he had finished dressing, the counselor received a summons from His Majesty to go immediately to his private chambers. When Alassar arrived, His Majesty did not wait for the usual civilities, but went directly to the point.

"Alassar, you know already, do you not?"

"Know what, Your Majesty?" The counselor was startled at the question, for even though he had been with the King for years, he was always awed by his amazing displays of foreknowledge. "I know nothing with any degree of certainty. I can base assumptions and calculate possible outcomes based upon my observations from the auguries of yesterday evening. That, along with certain vague premonitions which can neither confirmed nor denied, is about all that I know." He looked up as a servant set a goblet of wine before him.

"You are far too modest, Alassar... you had a dream, did you not?" The King sounded mildly amused.

From the moment that the counselor entered the room, he had sensed that the King's mind sought entry into the depths of his thoughts. At first, the mental probing was no more than a gentle nudge, requesting admittance. Then as his brain had yielded information, the probing grew stronger. As the King attained total access, it seemed to Alassar that his mind was an open door through which information was freely exchanged. The counselor had no desire, of course, to deny His Majesty the sanctity of his mind, for all who had sought a high position with the King were expected to yield their total being, and that included their every secret. The honor and privilege of His Majesty's favor far outweighed the loss of privacy. Consequently, the granting of even a shred of his arcane knowledge was beyond the value of the greatest treasure. Alassar enjoyed his high position.

"Aye, Your Majesty, a strange dream which puzzles me," Alassar admitted as he looked to where His Majesty sat across the table. "Shall I tell you?"

"I already know," the King chuckled.

Suddenly uncomfortable, the counselor shifted his position in his seat and clutched the stem of his wine goblet. Alassar coughed nervously. "Then, Your Majesty, can you tell me the meaning, for I am perplexed?"

"The meaning is quite simple, Lord Alassar. The tercel represents the Princess, while the ravens represent the company which was sent to capture her. The field of wheat is Rhudaur, the stag is King Tarendur, and the bear stands for Broggha and the Hillmen."

"But, Your Majesty, what does it mean?" Alassar leaned forward eagerly.

"Princess Gimilbeth has escaped our net, and her kidnappers have mostly perished in the attempt. The King is weak and ineffectual, and his resolve will crumble with this new attack upon his authority. The only one who will gain any advantage will be Broggha, who is clever and wily. He and his Hillmen will use this turmoil in the Kingdom to further their own ends." The King lifted his own goblet and sipped at it sparingly.

"But, Your Majesty, I am still confused. Does this dream portend good or ill for us?"

"Great good." A slow smile crept over the King's face, and the thrill of victory tinted his eyes a rosy hue.

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At the site of the ambush, morning of November 6, 1347
Written by Gordis
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Exhausted as she was, Gimilbeth still slept little this night. The autumn wind howled outside her tent and it seemed to her that hundreds of orc voices joined in the hellish choir. The scratch on her neck ached, although it looked like there was no poison in it.

Unable to sleep, Gimilbeth rose well before first daylight and washed her face and rinsed out her mouth yet again. Yesterday she had what amounted to a full bath, but somehow she felt that no amount of washing could ever cleanse her of the lingering orc reek.

Her thoughts wandered back to Cameth Brin. Many there would feel only joy and relief upon learning of her death, certainly the Queen and all her brood, as well as the lords of the Private council... Only her father the King would mourn her, and Gimilbeth's heart filled with warmth for the old man. On an impulse, she found a piece of parchment and her writing implements and sat down on a low stool under the oil lamp suspended from the pole of her tent to write a note to Tarnendur.

My dear Father,

I decided to send you this short note to assure you that I am alive and well, and safe for now.

Yestereve we have been attacked by a large company of orcs. They have been repelled - but our losses are dire. It pains me to tell you that both our kinsmen, Gwindor and Elvegil, have fallen like heroes, defending me from the orcs to their last breath. We have also lost Guramir, Maldor from Aglardin and my poor page Lammir. Please, send my condolences to their families, and to Lammir's parents in especial. Tell them that Merendil will be bringing their bodies back to Cameth Brin for burial.

Please inform Edelbar's parents that their son remains unscathed. All the survivors praise his courage.

As for other losses, Merendil will give you the full report upon his return. As far as I know, we lost about 30 guards and both wagon drivers, one of them dead, another wounded. Merendil sends 40 men with me to Amon Sul, although now, when we are within direct sight of the Palantir, orcs are unlikely to repeat their assault. I hope to reach Amon Sul safely.

Your loving daughter,
Gimilbeth

Having sealed the letter, Gimilbeth stepped out of the tent into the blowing storm. The heavy clouds overhead were rushing to the south, faintly illuminated by the first pale shadow of daylight. The campfires hissed and smoked trailing sparkles in the wind. Near the biggest campfire Gimilbeth spotted the large figure of Merendil - the Captain was already up. Gimilbeth approached and hailed him.

"I need a messenger sent to the King," she said coldly, showing him her letter. "After your last dispatch he must be in a great worry that I wish to assuage as soon as possible."

"But, My Lady," Merendil replied, "the men are exhausted and the horses even more so. I will return to Cameth Brin quite soon myself and I will report to the King."

"Nonsense" Gimilbeth countered sharply. "Just pick the best rider among Brochenridge men and give him one of the surviving horses of my escort. We have been going at a leisurely pace, so the horses are still fresh. The rider will be back to Brochenridge this evening and there Lord Ormendur will send another man to Cameth Brin. In three days the King will get the message, while you and your men are bound to be on your way a whole week, burdened as you are with the bodies."

Merendil grumbled for some time, but Gimilbeth remained adamant. Finally the Captain sighted and ordered Dimloss to send the swiftest rider to Brockenridge with Gimilbeth's letter.

Gimilbeth thanked the Captain and turned to leave, then suddenly stopped.

"Merendil," she said, "I just remembered something... Has anybody seen my ..." she trailed off.

"Seen what, your Highness?" Merendil prompted

"Never mind" Gimilbeth sighed in exasperation. "I better ask Barund."

Merendil explained where the Brochenridge scouts were camped. Gimilbeth found Barund near a campfire, sound asleep. She had to shake the man twice, before he finally sat up and looked at her.

"Barund," she said, hoping that the dim light would hide her flush. "Has anyone seen my skirt - the one that the orcs tore away and discarded?"

Barund blinked. "No, my Lady, I don't think they have. But I can go ask them, if it is important."

"Please do! You know, I have had some ... valuables in the pocket. Jewelry, to be precise."

"I understand, Lady. I will be back shortly." Barund got out of his bedroll and disappeared in the gloom.

When he returned, he only shook his head sadly. A small party of scouts was sent to the mire where Gimilbeth had been rescued, but, well after the sunrise, they have returned - empty-handed.

Gimilbeth sighed. Elessya, the wondrous green necklace, the most precious heirloom of the house of Dauremir was irretrievably lost.

After a meager breakfast - Merendil's men had little food with them - the camp was broken and the company divided. Dimloss was left on the spot of the ambush with orders to bury the dead, guard the corpses of the nobles destined to be taken back to Cameth Brin, and search the surrounding area for remaining orcs. Gimilbeth's depleted party started the short travel to Iantbarad by the Last Bridge. Merendil decided to accompany Gimilbeth as far as the Last Bridge with all the Cameth Brin men and Barund's men. After having nearly lost the Princess, he was still worried about her safety. Moreover, at Iantbarad, he planned to find wagons to transport the bodies back to Cameth Brin and to order simple sturdy coffins. Some of the corpses were literally hacked to pieces, many decapitated, and Merendil wished to return the bodies to the grieving relatives in a seemly fashion.

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Old Orc camp at Pennath Toreg, Trollshaws, night of November 8, 1347
Written by Angmar
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The march back to the old camp in Pennath Toreg had been accomplished in good time with the five men making 50 miles in two days. On the way there, all the men had been edgy, fearing that the Rhudaurians were so angry and vengeful that they might follow them. When they reached their camp, all of them were breathing easier. After Corporal Boshok put the men to work setting up camp, he checked the cache of supplies that they had stored when they first arrived in the Trollshaws. Nothing had been disturbed. At least they would not have to worry about what they would have to eat. The men would have plenty of dried food and orc draught, along with extra weapons which would more than take care of them on the journey back to Carn Dum.

The corporal allowed the men to build a campfire, for the air was raw with the nip of winter. They could rest here for a day or two and wait for any stragglers to catch up with them. Corporal Boshok would feel a great deal more comfortable if he had more than four men with him. The trail back to the fortress was a long one, and though he doubted it, there was always the possibility that they might meet a Rhuduarian patrol.

A thick wool cloak wrapped around his shoulders and a leather cap lined with fur on his head, Private Saakaf was at last warm for the first time in days. As he sat on a log and warmed his hands at the campfire, he looked around at the other soldiers. Not one of them, not even Corporal Boshok, had a cloak as fine as his. Two years before, he had come upon the camp of a Rhuduarian dispatch rider. He waited until the man had gone to sleep for the night, and then he had stolen into his camp, slit his throat, and rifled his body. It was then that he had come into possession of the prized cloak. An orc had to be able to think and learn to live by his wits if he wanted to survive in this harsh world.

Under the cloak was a thick woolen shawl, woven of orange and red with shades of green, trimmed with long red tassels at the edges. It had belonged to a Rhuduarian woman whom he had surprised one evening at her small farm when her husband was away looking for a stray cow. He had raped her, taken her jewelry - which consisted of only a wedding ring and a locket with a miniature of her husband inside - and all the food that he could carry. He always thought of her with a sense of longing, for she had been a very lovely lady. He could not bear to kill her and so he had left her alive, crying on the bed that she shared with her husband. As he had looked down upon her, an emotion approaching guilt came over him. This alien sensation did not last long, and he quickly dispatched the feeling into the dark recesses of his mind. Still he could not help feeling something resembling pity for her, and before he had left, he covered her with a blanket. He always kept the shawl with him, for he fancied that even after all this time, it still retained her scent.

Saakaf looked up to see the Corporal staring down at him. "Get some sleep, Saakaf. Private Bidroi has first watch; you have second. While I don't think that there's anyone on our trail, keep a watchful eye just the same. We don't want to let our guard down and find ourselves surprised."

After Boshok had left him, Saakaf found a place to sleep within the radius of the fire's comfortable warmth and spread his oilskin on the ground. He covered himself with his cloak and the shawl. The addition of the green woolen blanket would keep him warm until it was his turn of picket duty. He had taken this fine blanket from a traveling peddler whom he had beaten and robbed a year ago on a lonely Rhudaurian path. Saakaf knew how to provide for himself, and provide well.

As he lay under his thick coverings, he took a neatly folded section of fine material from his pouch and unwrapped it. The ornate cloth would have been a treasure enough itself, for it had been the ripped skirt of Princess Gimilbeth and was perfumed with her scent. He remembered the night that he had found the scrap abandoned along the trail. He had concealed it in his pouch, later thoroughly inspecting the cloth when he was alone. Then when he had unfolded the material, he discovered inside it a rich treasure concealed within a secret pocket. He held it up before his face and saw a wondrous green necklace that sparkled when he held it to the firelight.

Waiting for his turn at guard duty, Saakaf kept the necklace concealed under his covers as he rubbed his fingers over the stones. He marveled at the the skilled work of the jeweler who had cut the gems, the fine craftsmanship of the setting, and the artistry that had turned out a masterpiece of rare and costly worth. "I must never let these dogs know that I possess this treasure! Boshok is a boot licker, always trying to curry favor with the higher ups. He would take this necklace away from me in a moment, and upon a return to Carn Dum, he would present it to His Majesty, hopeful of a grand reward. He will never get it!"

Saakaf clenched the necklace in his hairy paw. "I will show all of them! I will bury it somewhere along the trail, and then when I find my chance, I will come back and dig it up. Then I will make tracks to my clan in the Misty Mountains, where I will be safe among my own kind!"

Saakaf had barely fallen asleep when he was awakened by the picket's shout, "Who goes there?" Quickly, he thrust the necklace inside his tunic. When he learned that the disturbance was caused by the arrival of eight members of the company who had limped back to the camp from the ambush, he turned over on his side and fell asleep. He would find out more about them when it came his time for picket duty.