The Kinstrife

Part 10

In which Ragnor enlists an entourage; Iriel proves to be very pleasant company of an evening; Ragnor 'borrows' a rapier from the Royal armouries; Aerin, Brand, Pimm and Ilvrin all receive mystical presents from an aged seeress; Ragnor, Aerin, Brand, Pimm and Ilvrin set off up the Anduin and a mystical malaise afflicts all those not of pure Numenorean descent caused by an artefact of evil; the artefact and its owner are put ashore and Ragnor gains a personal slave.

April 5^th 1441

Over breakfast, Father announced that he'd thought of an excuse to send me to Minas Ithil. It seems he has a part share in a business that bought wool and wove it in to cloth for the Rohan market, the bottom of which has just fallen out, of course. Father believes the business, run by one Toürthel, will sooner or later go under and my overt mission is to pull his money out of the venture, which he believes should come to 50-100 Cr. Small change for him, of course, but money is money and Father didn't become a merchant prince by failing to count the pennies.

When asked whether he wanted me to bring the cash back for our coffers or find an alternative investment he seemed equivocal. He'd be happy enough if I could find a sound investment but he's heard that Castamir is about to call-in the coinage for reminting, almost certainly to be reissued at a lower gold content and so swell the Royal treasury at the expense of everyone else (but particularly the merchant classes) and reckons a small stash of quality coin could be useful if kept well-hidden. Of course, how exactly I'm supposed to find a 'safe' place to hide a hundred crowns is a question begging an answer, particularly in the shadow of Mordor.

Father believes I need a larger entourage so I enlist Ilvren and Pimm as well as Aerin and Brand. There's a fair lack of grace over their wages (a standard 2cr/week) but eventually they both sign up when they hear board and lodging is thrown in.

He can offer little in the way of personal contacts. I'm to get 90 crowns to see us to Minas Ithil and have letters of credit that should be honoured. If not, I should take subsistence funds from whatever I get from Toürthel. When I point out that just asking for this money might mean we get 10 crowns and a part share in a bankruptcy, he shrugs – it's only meant to be a cover anyway while I try to get my hands on the Herbal of the Haradan Kingdoms.

The governor of Minas Ithil is Heruvorn, a hardliner installed by Castamir to punish the locals for supporting the opposition during our recent civil war. While not exactly an ally, perhaps he can be relied upon to support a member of the Royal family in need, though I'd prefer not to have to ask if given the choice.

April 6^th 1441

Brand seems to have made himself scarce, though I recall him muttering something ghoulish about touring the burnt Southron quarter – he really needs to find himself a less unsavoury hobby, this obsession with the dead can't be good for him.

But anyway this gives me the chance to do something I've wanted to do for over a week, take the gorgeous Iriel out to dinner. She's only too happy to spend the evening with me and she proves, as I'd hoped, very pleasant company indeed.

She is looking forward to her new post as tutor to Tirazôr, third and youngest son to Prince Adrazôr, Neithan's uncle. Iriel seems quite proud of her appointment. The Prince is a major power-broker and may very well have turned the civil war in Eldacar's favour had he not been distracted by Morlaen's pirates. Iriel, as well as proving wonderful company and very easy on the eyes, may one day be an exceedingly useful contact at the Prince's Court.

Iriel has a keen intellect and is attracted to the loremaster profession but finds the cloisters of the Loremasters too secluded. She would prefer a more practical application of her talents (her specialisation is the history of the Anduin Delta and how it relates to Gondor south of the White Mountains). Although she doesn't say so overtly, I feel she would like to take up politics and become some sort of champion for the Ethir.

I'm pretty sure she enjoys herself as thoroughly as I and I think we both feel we've established some sort of a rapport. It is such a shame that she's not full-blood but I can't see us romantically linked unless she'd be prepared to become a mistress, which somehow I doubt.

I also get the chance to do another thing that's been on my mind for some time. Since we'll be out in the wilderness and Minas Ithil is by all accounts a pretty wild place since the civil war, I decide to purloin (on a temporary basis and with all relevant paperwork proving the item is only borrowed) a rapier from the Royal armouries.

Of course, having the weapon is one thing, using it another. I recall a few moves taught to me by Olthandil a couple of years ago but I'm sure I'd still be easy meat for anyone truly versed in the intricacies of the weapon, but with any luck one of Noruinivien's troopers or the captain of the boat will be able to give me a few pointers. It's definitely the weapon for me, I feel.

Brand returned from sightseeing the fire-ravaged Southron quarter. Strangely he didn't mention seeing any smoking corpses or of looting the ruins but instead raved about an old woman who alluded to some prophecy about 'kingmakers'. Apparently there should be five persons and she was disappointed to find only four but (according to her unstated 'prophecy') the absent fifth should be a noble – indeed, what a coincidence! The other four should be a healer, sailor, traveller and wizard.

Brand claims he would have written off her ramblings as dementia but it seems she then started handing out magical artefacts: Ilvren received a magical gem connected with the sea; Pimm an 'Elven' cloak and Aerin an arrow. Nothing for me, of course, but then I wasn't there.

Brand showed me three scrolls, one of which he claims is definitely a spell, the other two being some sort of a map or plan of a tomb (which does make me suspicious - as Brand put it, 'I think she saw us coming') and an unidentified document, all of which are encrypted. Brand has no idea how to break the code or of what languages might be involved. I tell him I think I can spot a couple of words of Quenya (see, his tuition isn't totally ineffective) but otherwise it's all dwarvish to me. He wandered off muttering something about needing to 'sleep on it'.

I'm flummoxed: he could be mistaken but I suspect Brand knows a scroll of power when he smells one, and the others all seem sure their acquisitions are mystical too. I wonder what the old woman would have given me had I been there, and why she didn't see fit to hand whatever it might have been to one of the others? However, overall I can't help being a little suspicious. Why should an old wise-woman be handing out artefacts to people in the middle of an incinerated suburb? And how is it she can speak of a prophecy but not actually quote it?

Even assuming these items are things of power, I can't help thinking there's a price to pay for their ownership. I might be better off without whatever present she might have had for the fifth 'kingmaker'.

April 7^th 1441

We set out in two boats, one of which is carrying just cargo, including horses and a cart to carry our provisions, pavilion, and non-equestrians (I think only Pimm and I can ride). Noruinivien, a strapping girl, dark haired and grey eyed, commands four troopers and Mate Bainovain has three sailors, giving just 2 seamen to each boat. Ilvren offers her services, which is just as well.

Our boat has other passengers besides us: Bornithiel and Ningannel, two pure-blood sisters, a goldsmith and a lawyer, visiting relatives in Minas Anor, and Borthor, a trader with his slave, Celphinmen (except that he looks distinctly Southron for such a name and his accent resembles Aerin's closely). Borthor unloaded his cargo from an oceangoing merchantman in from Umbar and is shipping it north before dispersing it all over Gondor. Aside from Borthor's freight, both boats also carry provisions and supplies for the Osgiliath garrison.

Both Noruinivien and Bainovain are hard-drinkers and not averse to gossip. Morale in Osgiliath is low. The people have been essentially caged within their own walls by Castamir, who fears their support for Eldacar. The soldiers of the garrison do not relish their role as gaolers and in any case they feel as caged as the citizens. With the damage done during the war still unrepaired and the almost complete collapse of the local economy, things are not good in what was until recently the capital of Gondor.

I find some bad news: my gamble has not paid off and none of Bainovain, Noruinivien or any of the troopers can help with rapier technique. I practise a few passes, trying to remember what Olthadil showed me, but I'm aware I must look highly inexpert and put the blade away before I hurt myself.

April 8^th 1441

A strange malaise strikes both our vessels. It quickly becomes apparent that Numenorean blood is somehow resistant to it but Aerin and Pimm are affected and Ilvren is clearly failing rapidly. There are no really lethal symptoms beyond a general lack of energy, as far as I can tell, and I would be willing to put it down to a passing affliction were it not that all our crew are afflicted to one extent or another. If it renders them incapable, we will be stranded in relative wilderness until another ship can relieve us and they may very well not want to get involved if they think there's plague involved.

Aerin, herself afflicted mildly, advises that she is unfamiliar with the malady and can offer no treatment. She thinks it is some form of wasting disease. Then Ilvren, not quite bedridden but apparently suffering more than most others, says something about Aerin being told by Borthor's slave that it's something in Bolthor's cargo that's causing the illness, that it did the same on the ship that brought it from Umbar and that it afflicts only non-Dunedain.

I briefly consider ordering all the poorly on to the other boat, since Bolthor's cargo is entirely in ours but apparently the two sailors in that boat are suffering almost as badly as Ilvren. (Perhaps seamen are particularly vulnerable to the miasma?)

Borthor's slave, Celephinmen, confirms the story and shows us a tattoo on his palm that Borthor forced on him to protect him from the vile immanence. Borthor refuses to reveal his manifest so, as my father's representative, I order Bainovain to break open Borthor's crates.

Amidst erotic statuary and vials of 'aphrodisiacs' that Aerin assures me are fake, we find a small ceramic statuette of a black dragon. Bornithiel (the goldsmith twin) confirms it as magical and Brand is sure it is this that is the source of the trouble. Suddenly looking uncomfortable, Borthor admits that it is a special commission for Alandür, a great lord of Calenardhon and a cousin of Castamir.

How very nice! Are we really reduced to this? Are we Dunedain so afraid of the lesser races that we must resort to black magic to drive them from our presence? And who, pray, will do all the menial jobs that keep our so noble society going? No doubt tattooed slaves such as Celephinmen.

My initial instinct is to smash the vile thing or throw it overboard but, as the sisters point out (who between them are highly knowledgeable about law covering merchants' goods) we have no proof of the black dragon being the source of the miasma.

However, assured that the black dragon is responsible for the black magic, I have no compunction in ordering Borthor and all his cargo landed on shore. I send a letter of explanation to my father indicating that I had no choice as the crew were falling ill and naming such witnesses are aboard to observe. Causing illness by black magic is a criminal offence and I suspect Borthor will not ultimately be making too many waves, though by the same token, with his evident connections with high-placed patrons, he will not suffer the penalties he deserves.

Of course, I am concerned that this means the vile object will find its way to Alandür and I will look for news of a 'plague' afflicting non-Numenoreans in Calenardhon in the next few months. This is distasteful but I cannot help but feel that Alandür and others of his ilk may come to regret this ploy. Legends abound with tales of black magic biting its perpetrators and I wonder just how 'pure' some of our high-borns really are? Some of so-called 'pure blood' may also find themselves afflicted, which will be embarrassing.

Finally Aerin speaks up about what we should do with Celephinmen? My first instinct is to say 'what?' but of course she's right. Celephinmen has caused his master trouble and I can't see Gondor law caring much about a southern slave who betrays his master, no matter how noble the reason. But what can we do? Buy him?

Well actually that apparently is exactly what Aerin was considering but the only person around with any cash is myself, and that cash is to pay for food and wages for Aerin and the others. Aerin, of course, sees Celephinmen as a compatriot, slave or no, but to my surprise, everyone seems willing to see their prospective wages spent on acquiring Celephinmen.

So I approach Borthor with a purchase offer of 75 cr, he asks 90 and we settle on 80. I'm sure father would be proud of me, it looks like I'm turning in to a merchant at last but it seems I now have a personal servant. Celephinmen's real name is Al-Han and this seems more appropriate than his absurd Numenorean cognomen. He claims to be able to drive a cart (so he can spell Aerin when we hit the road) and he seems to know his Ps and Qs so I won't be afraid to have him serve me in society. I just hope he can take training in more useful skills than mere servility.

April 9^th - 15^th 1441

We lose a day in setting Bolthor ashore with all his cargo and two further days due to adverse winds but we make it to Londuin, our disembarkation point south of the Emyn Arnen by the 15^th. The days we spend closed up and hove to are not entirely lost as I take the opportunity to get to know Bornithiel and her sister better (you never know when a lawyer may prove useful) and Brand manages to crack the codes on his scrolls.

It seems one is a ready-to-cast spell of some military use and a second somehow describes the theory behind the first, which Brand is sure will enable him to learn it for himself, rather than merely casting and thereby losing it. However, the third scroll is something else entirely: plans of the long-lost Temple of Melchor (aka in Quenya 'Morgoth' of infamous legend) in Umbar. This was an institution reputedly destroyed in the Second Age, millennia ago, but from the plans it seems some parts of it may still be extant beneath newer and more wholesome buildings.

Now some may call me a cynic, but I can't help recalling Brand's earlier words about the old woman having 'seen him coming'. Now if you gave a plan of a long-lost tomb to any other loremaster in Gondor, you could him just to file it under 'long lost architecture' and, if you were lucky, forget to enter it in an index so it could remain lost forever. But give it to Brand and you can just see him researching return trips to Umbar at the next port.

For myself, I really don't want to get too close to unclean temple architecture, no matter how interesting or long it's been lost, but somehow I have a nasty feeling that fate is leading us that way. Pity! Now if it took us to Osgiliath, or Minas Anor, or almost anywhere north of the mountains…

Well, we take our leave of the Anduin, Noruinivien, the sisters and Bainovain, all good company. On the morrow we start the most arduous leg of our journey, eastward until we strike the Minas Ithil road through Ithilien.