The Kinstrife
Part
11
In
which our intrepid friends wend their way overland eastward toward Mordor
before turning north on meeting the road; a skirmish occurs with nasty but
overall ineffectual bandits in which Noruinivien is
killed; afterward several friends are reacquainted with Echadil,
who has joined a troop of 'rangers'; everyone experiences a mystic dream,
courtesy of a local fertility deity; and everyone eventually reaches Minas Ithil to be shocked by the refugee encampment outside the
walls.
Before
setting out, seeing as we'll be skirting the hills of the Emyn
Arnen and passing by the woods of the foothills of
the Mountains of Shadow, Noruinivien insists we
accept some military equipment in case of bandits, known to infest this
terrain. She offers back and breast to Pimm and
weapons to everyone, including bows to those she considers non-combatants:
Aerin, Ilvrin and Al-Han, to use from the cart.
Actually,
she appears to consider me a non-combatant, but nonetheless offers a full suit
of armour, which I decline, opting instead for a simple mail shirt - easier to
wear and covering the vital torso area. I already have two swords, a helmet and
shield, which I consider optimum for the sort of threat we are likely to find.
Regarding
tactics, Noruinivien believes the best way to deal
with bandits is to charge them down. They lack the morale and fibre to
withstand a cavalry charge and with her four mounted troopers and myself (and perhaps Pimm) we can mount
a fearsome attack. I make it clear to her that I intend to charge with her and
her men. She's not too happy with this, doubtless wondering how she will
explain the death of the Queen's cousin left in her charge. I feel for her but
that's life. Let's hope we meet no bandits who use tactics.
The
weather has improved and stays that way. Riding eastward, we strike the road
through Ithilien after two days of cross-country
travel. Turning north, we leave the prosperous lands of the environs of
Pelargir and enter the war-ravaged country pertaining to Minas-Ithil. The civil war has not been kind to this country, nor
has my cousin the king done much to alleviate their suffering, which may one
day come back to haunt us all.
Towards
the end of our second day on the road, we find ourselves approaching a village
that offers a welcoming committee. As we draw closer, we observe about a dozen
men on the near side of the hovels, two of them clutching children with knives
at their throats. The men all look like desperadoes but none look like
ex-military.
As
we pull-up short of a bridge a long bowshot from our welcomers,
one of the desperadoes advances part way to hail us. It seems they want us to
stay where we are so they can make good their escape with their loot. They
promise to let the children go once they're safe in the woods.
Personally
I doubt the word of such men and ask Noruinivien how
she feels about the situation. She recommends an immediate charge. If they harm
the children, it will be clear that the villagers were in no way in collusion
with the bandits.
I
confess this is not how I had regarded the situation but I think we can improve
on Noruinivien's plan marginally. Pimm
has already advocated showering the bandits with arrows, but that would
definitely endanger the children.
However
Aerin reminds me of her magic arrow granted by the mad old woman who so
impressed Brand. Aerin claims it has been promised never to miss and I instruct
her to one of the men holding the children. (The spokesman has several times
looked back at this one man and I'm sure he's the real leader.) I advise that
Aerin will shoot a single arrow and on its loosing, we will charge.
Aerin
shoots and her target goes down. As we charge, the bandits all scatter among
the hovels. I pick a lone archer as my mark; his arrow glances off my shield
but another arrow from behind me puts him down before I reach him.
As
I swerve my horse, Gimlu, toward the next bandit, a
shower of arrows come out of the woods to the left. For a second, I think we've
been ambushed, but then it's the bandits who start falling – the mysterious
archers are on our side.
I
fell my man with a single blow from my sword and wheel
Gimlu onward. I spur him between the bodies of the
bandit leader with Aerin's arrow through his throat and that of the other
child, blood pouring from a wound in his neck. I catch the childkiller
on the far side of the village but have no time to feel anger before my sword
bites in to his arm, spinning him round.
Before
I can land a second blow, he's hit again by a trooper riding behind me and to
one side (did Noruinivien detail him to protect my
back?) and then an arrow takes him in the back and he falls on his face.
As
I rein in Gimlu, I feel real rage against the fallen
man. Stabbing the child was a petty act and not even in his own interest. Had
he not wasted time in stabbing the boy, he might have got away.
Looking
round, I see Noruinivien slide from her horse on the
far left while a lone bandit limps up the street to our right, an arrow in his
leg. Knowing he won't get far, I lead the trooper westward, away from the road
and among the hovels, toward the sound of fighting.
Emerging
from in to a back street, we see two skirmishes. Directly ahead, two troopers
are duelling ineffectively with a lone archer, while to my left a woman assails
a bandit with a club. Punching the trooper in the arm, I point to his comrades
while urging Gimlu left but before I can ride down my
target, Ilvrin steps from nowhere and hacks the man
down from behind.
I
rein in Gimlu to avoid running down Ilvrin and take stock once again but it's all over. The
third trooper finally put paid to the archer (who I learn was responsible for
shooting Noruinivien) and the limping bandit we
passed in the main street has fallen to Pimm's arrow.
The
good news is that the child freed by Aerin's bowshot escaped unhurt.
Unfortunately, caught in its victim's throat, the arrow broke as he fell to the
ground but I consider that a small price to pay, whatever Brand may think. It
slew the bandits' leader and saved the life of one child; one broken arrow,
however magical, is a small price to pay.
One
of the troopers has a nasty arm wound and a couple of the others have minor
scratches but alas Noruinivien is dead. A dozen bowmen
have emerged from the woods and set about ensuring all the bandits are dead. I
see a couple of knives flash but I doubt whether they are necessary. All the
bandits I see are dead or expiring.
I
also recognise a face; one of these forest archers is Echadil,
the girl shot by Brand in Pelargir the last day of March. It seems she made
good her escape and has found some friends in the woods.
Knowing
Echadil's politics and recalling someone remarking
that many bandits are ex-supporters of Eldacar, I deem it prudent to ensure our
troopers do not mix with the archers and ask Aerin to ensure each is kept busy
with a full medical examination while Brand and I talk to the archers.
It
seems Echadil made good her escape from Pelargir and
has joined Bregven, an Ithilien
ranger operating out of Minas Ithil, so he claims.
Actually, from the state of his uniform, it looks like he hasn't seen a
barracks in a long time and I suspect he's been operating out of these woods
since the end of the civil war.
Bregven claims the archers are his rangers but I
know Echadil is a town girl and it looks like he's
trying to weld a bunch of potential bandits in to something approaching an
auxiliary ranger unit. He's the only one in even the rudiments of a uniform.
Still their aid was welcome and I tell him so. He replies that they had been
tracking the bandits and were about to ambush them as they retreated in to the
woods when we intervened.
He's
more than cordial (though I wonder how he would react if he knew of my
political connections) and invites Brand and I plus all our civilian friends to
an impromptu banquet of a deer they will be roasting in their camp, on the edge
of the woods just outside the village.
I
note he pointedly omits to invite the troopers so my guess as Bregven's political leanings are confirmed, no surprises
there. I accept with the proviso we allow the villagers to offer some courtesy
but it turns out everyone is more than welcome to comply. I suspect the
troopers are aware of Bregven's politics but lack Noruinivien's polarised viewpoint and are willing to live
and let live.
Similarly,
the villagers, while grateful for their aid, do not wish to openly associate
with those who might be deemed 'traitors' by a jaundiced eye. I ruffle the hair
of the hostage who lived, compliment him on his
bravery and sense in making his escape when the opportunity arose, and give him
a penny as a reward. He won't like his memories of yesterday but at least he
should feel he bore himself well.
Dinner
of roast venison turns out most welcome and with a mild, dry spring night, it
turns in to a night of genuine merriment. I notice Echadil
happily gossiping away to Brand and the others, seeming to bare no ill will for
her arrow wound, which must still be smarting, I'd have thought, and is a far
cry from the terrified child of three weeks ago.
From
the few words I do overhear I feel Echadil is a
little too free with her words and I do hope she learns the art of discretion
before she gets much older – or she may not get much older.
Finally,
as stars turn above us, it turns out that Bregven, Echadil and the others all worship an obscure local
woodland spirit by the name of Hellmoren and they
like to finish their feast with a little ritual.
A
large goblet, brimming with an aromatic drink, is passed around the throng.
Everyone drinks, though I keep a wary eye on Aerin and only take a sip after
she passes it as suitable.
It's
alcoholic, of course, but there's other things in
there, woodland 'herbs' if I'm any judge and I feel very drowsy. Then
everything seems to drift far away and before I know it I'm in a dream.
In
the dream I see an old man, a classic Dúnedain. He stares with cold, hard eyes
at some drawings in his hand. Then water begins to fall over the image. As the
Dúnedain vanishes, he's replaced by a narrow man-made culvert from which gushes
a spring. Standing guard over the spring is a slender girl of exquisite beauty
dressed in a flowing blue-green gown that match her
eyes. From her hands she pours water in to desert sands.
Then
she fades and now the culvert is dry. Instead a team of labourers struggle to
build a channel while in the foreground two overseers discuss a parchment.
"We must conceal the location, else it will be too easy to divert the
spring away from the city." The men then also fade from view yet their
parchment remains, resolving in to the drawings perused by the tall, cold-eyed
Dúnedain.
Beyond
the Dúnedain it is now possible to make out another figure; dark and fell, her
face is covered by a helmet and she is swathed in dark robes. On one hand
glimmers a ring. As the vision fades, a single word fills me with dread, 'Adunaphel'.
We
awake at dawn and I am only slightly surprised to hear we all had the same
dream. Somehow no one seems eager to discuss the dream,
instead we settle plans for the rest of our journey.
We
set out northward with our slightly reduced entourage. Noruinivien's
body loads the cart, taking the place of food used on our journey. Bregven's 'rangers' parallel our course through the day and
emerge at nightfall at our next stop, this time feeding us on rabbit stew, very
tasty. No more goblets or dreams, I'm glad to say.
Taking
leave of Bregven the morning of the 21st,
it takes another two day for us to reach Minas Ithil.
(Evidently Bregven is not anxious to report to
barracks.) Luckily, from now on our journey passes without any event of
interest and we reach Minas Ithil safely.
Minas
Ithil is a bit of a shock. This is my first visit to
one of the great cities of Gondor; it should be a
moment of awe and wonder but instead I am deeply disturbed by the sight of the
shanty-town outside the walls. These are all refugees from Osgiliath.
Beggars accost us until we pass through the gate to enter the town proper.
Minas
Ithil is a wonder, but I find I cannot forget the
wretches outside the walls. No doubt father would regard my feelings as
reflecting a lack of 'political ambition' but surely not all those high-born
can see the plight of the refugees and remain unmoved?
Tomorrow
Brand must petition the Loremasters for us to see the
'The Herbal of the Haradan Kingdoms'. If it hasn't
already occurred to him, I might also suggest he looks up 'Adunaphel'
as if that dream from Hellmoren was a big hint for us
to be on our guard, then I don't deserve the nickname 'curuhuan'.
I
have a strange feeling that little will be straightforward. If the Loremasters will refuse Brand his direct request to see the
herbal then I will have to wield the name of my father, even though I am hoping
to be able to avoid the halls of the Halls of the Loremasters
altogether, mindful of father's words regarding misdirection.
I
have a feeling that a glimpse of the Herbal will become a favour to be repaid
in kind. I would prefer the favour to be up front, so they let us see it after
fulfilling some quest. I'm not sure it would be a good idea to owe someone in
Minas Ithil an open-ended favour, though I am
prepared to grant such a favour if it means saving Doronil.
Meanwhile
I must get father's capital out of Toürthel's cloth
business and I'm sure our companions have each their own agenda also. I wonder
how Toürthel will take the news that father wants to
withdraw from the cloth business? And what on earth do I do with the money once
I have it, however little that might be?