The Shadow over Rhudaur Part II. Intrigues and Sorcery.

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Cameth Brin, evening of October 24, 1347
Written by Angmar
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Back once again in his manor house, Lord Belzagar hurriedly made his way to his private meeting chambers, where he and Authon found that the servants had a fire blazing in the hearth. Giving their cloaks over to Belzagar's servant, they waited until the man had left the room. Going over to the dark oak table, Belzagar opened the message tube. Quickly skimming over the writing on the thin sheet of paper, he looked up to Authon.

"Either Sergeant Ashūk was drunk when he wrote this, or he has lost his mind."

"Why, my lord, what is it?" Authon asked in concern, moving closer to view the paper.

"The account starts out well enough... the usual information about supplies and stores. Then Sergeant Ashūk reports that his company is eager to be put to work and awaits orders... all expected comments. Nothing out of the ordinary here. That sums up the first page, until down near the bottom. There, Sergeant Ashūk begins writing that one of his scouts states that upon several occasions, he has observed an elf spying on him in the woods. No conflicts are reported... Now, blast it, Authon, that is all there is!" Belzagar clasped the paper in his hand and glared at Authon. "The sentence ends right in the middle. There should be another page. Where is it?"

"My lord, perhaps the woman knows more than she is telling, but you should not worry overly much about it. Even if she has taken the rest of the message, the only ones who can read that code are those who have been trained in the North on how to read it."

"I would not be so sure of that. Princess Gimilbeth is rumored to be a witch. Who knows of what she is capable?" Belzagar muttered as he walked to the hearth, balled up the sheet of paper and tossed it into the flames, where it quickly ignited and turned to ash.

"Lord Belzagar, what can we do if the woman has the rest of the letter?" Authon's eyes had narrowed to slits. "Should I endeavor to find a way to remove her quickly? These things can be done, you know!" Authon had suddenly become very eager, his eyes taking on a cruel expression. "In a situation like this, possibly the lady could receive a lovely gift... a jewel box of sandalwood inlaid with mother-of-pearl. When the hinges are opened, a small pin is activated. The poison is deadly, and death occurs in a matter of a few minutes."

"Do not be a fool, man! That is far too dangerous, and there always might be a way to trace the box to us. I must send a message immediately to Lord Alassar. Ready the raven Honalnūt. His Majesty must be informed!"


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Cameth Brin Palace basement, night of October 24, 1347
Written by Gordis
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Gimilbeth threw her quill across the room and cursed in frustration. All her attempts to decipher Belzagar's message had failed. The table was littered with notes, lists of runes, cryptic signs and calculations. She had determined the frequency of every cryptic rune in the accursed message, but still couldn't find the corresponding Tengwar runes.

She tried Westron, then Sindarin. Should she try Quenia? - Hardly a good idea. Whoever had written the cryptic signs was not a cultured person, of that she was sure. The lines were scribbled by a hand more used to a sword than to a quill: the lines were uneven and identical signs were written in quite a different manner. There were also some scratches, made not by the quill, but likely by the writer's long nails. A woman? Most unlikely, considering that there were also some large greasy fingerprints on the thin paper.

The paper itself was a wonder. Nothing like the usual paper made of wood, or a parchment. This one was thin, almost transparent and practically weightless. Gimilbeth knew what it was - rice paper. Long ago, back in the Second Age, Numenorean mariners brought rice seeds from the other side of the world beyond the Gates of Morning. Now the crop was cultivated in Far Harad in an old Numenorean settlement where a great river flowed into the Sea. The crop needed warm climate and lots of water, so the attempts to grow it in other places had failed. Rice paper was a rare commodity and the price one had to pay for it would make even rich lords like Belzagar think twice.

So, who was this poorly educated person with greasy fingers and long nails who wrote on rice paper in a code impossible to decipher? There was only one other way to find the answer - sorcery - and Gimilbeth was determined to try it.

After consulting a couple of books, Gimilbeth prepared a potion that helped to reach a trance. Holding the rice paper sheets in her hands, she drank the potion and chanted a long spell in ancient Adunaic attempting to trace the one who wrote the message.

Slowly, her vision of the room blurred and she saw high, ragged cliffs, pine trees swept by the wind, a cave... There were some creatures milling around, creatures of small stature with long arms and ugly faces clad in leather jerkins and crude helmets... orcs!!! There were plenty of them!

One was larger and stronger than the others, and he had weapons of finer workmanship. He was skewering something - a rabbit or a hare, as much as Gimilbeth could tell. Choking in disgust, she watched as the creature clawed at the furry hide with its long nails and wiped its bloodied fingers on its pants.

Long nails and greasy fingers...So, noble Belzagar was in league with the orcs!

Gimilbeth had enough and broke the contact. She felt dizzy and bone-tired. She would have time to think about the implications tomorrow. She curled up on a small bed in the corner, but sleep eluded her.

It was already late at night. Gimilbeth was working in her secret study in the Palace basement, deep underground. There were no windows there and the door was locked, latched and enspelled.

As for Gimilbeth's usual rooms on the ground floor of the Palace, this night an ambush was set there as a surprise for possible night assassins. All candles were long extinguished and a dozen Dunedain guards with drawn swords were positioned in Gimilbeth's empty bedroom waiting for an intruder.

While speaking with Belzagar in the afternoon, Gimilbeth became acutely aware of the danger. The noble Lord's face had revealed nothing, but Gimilbeth was pure-blood Numenorean royalty, able to read the hearts of men. She felt Belzagar's uneasiness and fear. And much more revealing was his servant's face and the white knuckles of his hands on the horse's bridle. If Belzagar were indeed a traitor and a spy, he might well send someone to kill her this night, once he discovered that some sheets were missing from the message.

Another thing Gimilbeth had done was to send spies to watch Belzagar's mews. Now every bird coming to or going from the mews would be reported and its direction followed. Also the poorer neighbors around the area and their servants were promised a rich award for reporting any unusual activity in Belzagar's townhouse.

Gimilbeth decided not to tell King Tarnendur about her discoveries. She was unable to decipher Belzagar's message. At a trial, it would be her word against his. She had no incriminating proof - as yet. Belzagar was going to be closely watched and sooner or later, he would make a mistake. What Gimilbeth was going to do then, she has not yet decided. If her attempt to get Arthedain's or Gondor's help failed, she would need help from the North. And now she knew who could transmit her secret message to the enigmatic King of Angmar. Belzagar likely was his spy in Cameth Brin.

Unknown to Gimilbeth, the Palace was astir with gossip. The very upset Gondorean maid, Nimraen, let her tongue wag freely in the Maid's Common room upstairs. She was not well-loved by the other servants, being a foreigner, and a haughty foreigner at that, but this night almost all the servants in the Palace were there to listen.

"'They told me to leave my room and go sleep here, upstairs!" complained Nimraen. "And my Lady is closeted in her study below. Afraid of MURDERERS she is! And that in the very Palace! Never has such a thing happened before, I tell ye!" she cried, shaking her head in horror. "Royal ladies and their maids unable to sleep in their beds! and an AMBUSH set in my Lady's rooms! What are we coming to?"

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Belzagar's modest townhouse, Cameth Brin. Late afternoon of October 26, 1347.
Written by Angmar ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authon could see by the expression on Lord Belzagar's face that he was sorely displeased. The spymaster's chief assistant had just come into Belzagar's meeting chamber, and after being offered a chair, had sat down.

"I take it the news is not good, my lord?" Authon frowned as he took the goblet of wine offered by a servant.

"Not one pigeon has returned from the Trollshaws! It has been like this since yesterday when that witch, Princess Gimilbeth, was up to her tricks! I believe, Authon, that she and her agents are actively hunting our birds and intercepting the messages from our troops in the Trollshaws!" Lord Belzagar's face was flushed and angry as he stood warming his back by the growing fire in the great hearth.

"What can we do?" Authon asked nervously.

"Nothing!" Belzagar was close to shouting. "Not one thing!"

Authon cleared his throat uneasily. "What about messages from the North? Anything there?"

"No, and I do not expect anything. I took a chance yesterday and sent the raven Āmbal flying with a message to Lord Alassar in the North. I explained that the Princess Gimilbeth's falcon had destroyed one of our homing pigeon. And, of course, I detailed my suspicions that her agents are spying upon us. I further advised of the danger of using birds as messengers, at least for the time being."

"My lord!" Authon exclaimed. "Basically that leaves us cut off and isolated here in Cameth Brin! We can neither send nor receive dispatches by raven or pigeon!"

"Aye, Authon, and you know what is far worse than that!" Usually calm and unruffled, Lord Belzagar was far more upset about the developments than he would ever let Authon know. "The Princess' agents will be watching our every move!" His face grim, Belzagar shifted his weight uneasily by the hearth.

"Then what are we to do, my lord?" Authon asked after he had gulped down a hefty swallow of wine.

"We must rely upon our trusted dispatch riders, our couriers. Of course, considering the vast terrain, much of which is rough and without roads, the delivery of messages will be slow!"

"My lord, I still think that you should allow my men and me to dispose of the princess. We could take care of it in ways that would make it seem like an accident." Authon's cruel eyes showed the first signs of emotion that they had since he had arrived.

"No!" Lord Belzagar exclaimed angrily. "We have been over that! Any attempt to kill her now would be far too dangerous!"

His face pale, Authon finished his goblet of wine. "Then, my lord, what do we do? Sit here and wait while the Princess plots against us and tries to collect enough evidence to prove our treason?"

"She can prove nothing!" Belzagar snapped irritably. "You ask what we are to do, Authon? Why, nothing. Nothing at all! We will go about our lives as honest, upright citizens, while all the time your agents continue collecting information. In time, the Princess will grow bored with her games and find something more interesting."

Accepting another goblet of wine from a servant, Authon looked to Lord Belzagar, and then shrugging his shoulders, he said, "It might be a long winter."

A smile flickered across Lord Belzagar's face. "Interesting that you should mention the winter, Authon. We never know what tricks His Majesty might have up his sleeve."