The Kinstrife
Part
22
In
which Ragnor learns on the job while Brand researches
Tarannon’s Villa; Aerin sets off for the Ethir early; Queen Mûrabeth
appoints Ragnor as her agent to Umbar for the budget
talks; we sail downriver and join Aerin in Tarannon’s
Launch; we experience marsh-lights and other unsavoury encounters in the
marshes; we explore Tarannon’s Villa; the Diary of
Queen Beruthiel.
May
19th to
While I immerse myself in my new
occupation, Brand researches Bergil’s poem and Tarannon’s
villa in the Ethir Anduin.
I don’t hear of his conclusions regarding Bergil’s alta-parma but he
finds mention that the villa should be close to a village in the marshes called
Tarannon’s Launch (which seems a likely locale). He’s
found written testimony that there used to be a paved causeway between the
village and the villa. According to Brand, Tarannon’s
Launch is right on the ‘nastier bit’ of the marsh, by which he means it’s full
of quicksand, etc. (I really should have asked him to expand on the etc.)
I
set to learning the ins-and-outs of the business but even though I am learning
on the job the task is not overwhelming as Father’s warehouses are not
operating at capacity, partly due to two or three losses at sea deterring
traders from using his ships and partly due to Castamir’s
economic policy, his recent devaluation of the currency having impacted trade
abroad, which effects everyone.
So
I have time on my hands when Ranmes announces, via Pimm, that she is to depart for Umbar on June 10th.
Travelling in company with her would provide security, intellectual stimulation
and a source of ready information. I cannot think of a better time to visit
Umbar as I and my friends have our own agenda regarding the Mirror of Fire and
Brand will doubtless want to find the location of the demolished
Of
course, it means time is limited for other pursuits so if we are to search for Tarannon’s villa in the marshes during the summer when the
waters are low and the weather kindest the time must be now, as I cannot see us
back in Pelargir before the Autumn so I arrange for Ranmes
to pick up my party on her way south. Aerin has the bright idea of going down a
week early to scout the village under the guise of touting for business as a
healer. She will also recruit a guide as we will need someone who knows the
marshes to keep us out of the quicksands.
Of
course, I have to advise father that his Clerk of the Keys will be absent for a
while but he seems sanguine enough. I expect he still hopes I will discover
some mercantile inclination at the budget discussions of so many traders. By an
incredible coincidence, the very next day (just before our departure for Tarannon’s Launch) I receive an invitation for an audience
with the Queen (an amazing honour; I know of nobles of stature who have to
apply months in advance and I get one without even asking!)
This
time Queen Mûrabeth receives me in her office. While
ostentatious and comfortable, as befitting a queen, it is also very much a
place of work, as opposed to the formal audience chamber before.
She
confides that her usual representative in Umbar, Rîvonthel,
has unfortunately gone missing. I offer my condolences along with the fervent
wish that she is soon found safe but, recalling Tegilbor’s
story of her probing for plans to Menelmir’s house
and grounds, I suspect she has either fallen victim to the Cor
Aran for her ineptitude so embarrassing the Queen or else vanished in to hiding
to escape their attention.
Without
Rîvonthel, the Queen needs an observer at the budget
as obviously these discussions will impact both Gondor
and her family in Umbar, implying that my services will be required in that
capacity. Obviously I’m thrilled at the prospect of spending hours in dreary
discussions over trade quotas and customs duties but I make a show of accepting
the invitation with alacrity.
However,
there are to be perks: the Queen advises that I can stay at the Drunken Southron inn, who will provide
room and board for myself and two companions (Brand and Aerin, I think) if I
mention her name. Apparently I’m to have something of an expense account, if no
actual salary. While discussing my travelling arrangements, she also mentions
that Captain Neithan will be there too. I’m not quite sure what she implies by
mentioning his name: would she prefer I travel with him? Does she want him
recruited, rehabilitated…spied on? I also offer to bring whatever news of Rîvonthel I should learn and the Queen graciously expresses
her gratitude in terms that indicate she really couldn’t care less.
We
set off for Tarannon’s Launch after Bauglir hands me the key to the villa (astonishing – the
actual key to a place that’s been lost for centuries – admittedly, not that
many centuries). Heading downstream in a relatively fast boat, with the villa
being on the nearer side of the Ethir, we get there
in three days, against the four or five it would take to reach the Ethir Garrison.
We
arrive in the early afternoon to find Aerin waiting for us. After greetings,
she reports that the causeway to the villa is quite evident at one end of the
village, marked by an imposing gate. Brand casts an educated eye over the
architecture and reports that the stone pillars are original, of a design
compatible with Tarannon’s reign and suitably
imposing to mark the entrance to a royal park and palace. The gates themselves,
however, are much more recent, of rougher work and intended to convey a ‘keep
out’ message.
Aerin’s
bad news is that there are no guides; the ‘keep out’ message of the gates has
been taken to heart and no one in the village is willing to trespass in the old
royal park. It seems they fear the ‘marshlights’,
spectral creatures infamous for luring unwary travellers to their doom.
Ilvren is also a child of the marshes and she reacts most strangely
to the rumours, warning us not to trespass on Benish Armon. (I recall that was the name of the tomb in the
marshes that Brand has us taken to in the spring, where I allowed myself to be
ambushed by a feral cat. – Why are there feral cats in the marshes? You
wouldn’t think an animal famed for its dislike of water would choose a marsh
for its home. I’ll just have to read Brand’s seminal work on the flora and
fauna of the Ethir, once he’s finished it.) Anyway, Ilvren warns that Benish Armon is highly dangerous but refuses to expand in a ‘what
man is not meant to wot of’ manner.
The
good news is that beyond the gate is indeed a paved causeway so perhaps we will
yet walk dry shod to the villa. Aerin has accumulated food, packs and rope for
which we pay cash. We are ready to leave in the morning.
With
a fair part of the village watching in fascinated horror and not without
mutterings of doom and accusations of foolishness or even madness, we set out
in fair weather along the causeway, which is paved with good stone and wide
enough for several horsemen to ride abreast. Poles that doubtless once bore
pennons mark the edges of the causeway and going is very good indeed for the
first hundred yards or so.
Then
the path starts to become obscured by plants and mud and many of the poles are
revealed to have rotted, fallen and become lost. We are forced to slow down and
start probing the mud for stone paving with Brand’s spear. The causeway is not
straight as it appears to follow firmer ground. Fearful of falling in to
quicksand, we rope ourselves together. Going is hard.
Towards
dusk we begin to see faint lights glowing out in the marsh, growing brighter as
darkness falls until eventually we can make out the closer ones to be in the
forms of cats!
I’m
just thinking about calling a halt and setting camp for the night when suddenly
I find Aerin painfully prodding me awake with my own sword. I’m up to my ankles
in water and well off the path. Ilvren and Brand are
ahead of me, apparently sleepwalking after a marshlight
vanishing in to the mist lying low over the waters.
We
shout and pull at the ropes and the other two wake. Aerin says one of the
glowing cats stalked across the path in front of us and we just followed it in
to the marsh, entranced.
Obviously
it’s time to make camp. Wary of further visits by the marshlights,
we set a watch of 2 on and 2 off. This will be exhausting to maintain for more
than a couple of days but we must be careful and Brand is sure we can’t be too
far from the villa. We find a patch of high ground with even a couple of hardy
trees growing on it and settle down for the night.
Aerin
and I take first watch and I keep a wary eye on the marshlights
but again I am woken, this time by Brand, roused by the pull of the rope as
both watchkeepers tried to follow another glowing
cat.
It
seems sleepers are unaffected so now we switch to just one person on watch,
tied to the sleepers and to a tree. Brand and Ilvren
take their turns but in the morning the glows fade without any further mishap,
though both report they felt the pull but were able to
resist their spells. Ilvren tried to strike one but
her blade passed through its glowing body. They are purely illusory.
We
have a quick breakfast of bread and cheese and then Ilvren
shins up a tree. She reports that she can see a low squat building to the
north, perhaps half a day’s walk at marsh-speed.
While
she is up the tree, Brand takes the opportunity to advise that while marshlights are phenomena known from other marshes, these
take their special shape from the mystic influence of some person or persons,
and that he suspects Ilvren knows who. We ask Aerin
if has any remedy but she has no herbs to ward off their influence, though
Brand has a word of power that he says can help resist for a few minutes at a
time. At least we don’t have to worry about marshlights
while it’s daylight and I’m grateful that the nights are short and getting
shorter.
We
shoulder our packs and hit the trail. By mid-morning we can all see a large,
square building, looking less like a villa and more like a fortress. I think we
all quicken our pace a little now our objective is in sight.
Then
the path turns a corner and from behind clumps of tall reeds either side of the
path emerge three large black cats. My experience of hunting tells me their
behaviour is very strange, most wild animals give men a wide berth wherever
possible. I suppose extreme hunger might induce a predator to attack but these
do not look underfed and if they wanted to attack surely they would do so from
ambush, as did the cat at Benish Armon;
these position themselves as if they would block our advance. Perhaps they have
been trained? Cats again! Someone has a cat fetish – Nursery tales of Queen
Beruthiel spring to mind again.
Whatever
the whyfors, these animals clearly intend us ill; we
all draw our weapons, I shoulder my shield and spring to attack as Brand speaks
a Word of Power to aid our struggle. Brand and I quickly slay one between us, Ilvren another, and we all turn on the last, expecting it
to flee. Instead it springs on Brand, clawing him superficially. It takes
several cuts but eventually Ilvren’s thrust sees it
off.
I
remark on their unnatural behaviour; few animals should have continued to fight
alone after losing two brethren to violence. Brand lays his hands on one and
divines it was acting under some mystical influence.
Another
hundred yards and we can see that Tarannon’s Villa is
built on a rock outcrop not far from the course of the river. The villa is
definitely more of a fort really, a large square building built on the rock but
also out over the marsh. Brand reckons the architecture dates back a few
hundred years and is plausibly from Tarannon’s reign.
Coming
closer, we come upon two women and a man; youngish marsh folk brandishing
weapons. They hail us and bid us turn back, claiming the fort is sacred to Benish Armon. From the way they
speak, Benish Armon is a
person or cult, but I thought it was just the name of a place. I tell them we
bear the key to the villa, implying we have royal permission, but they clearly
don’t believe me and claim their ‘orders’ forbid us entry. They charge their
weapons and battle is joined as Brand again utters a Word of Power.
Space
is more confined so Brand elects to shoot his bow as Ilvren
and I carry the attack to our opponents. Alas his arrow goes wide but Ilvren and I hit hard and fast. Both women go down and,
unlike the cats, the man turns to flee, making it to cover in the marsh before
Brand’s arrows find him. I chase him but quickly realise he knows the marsh
well and I cannot catch him without great risk.
Aerin
tends the wounded: one woman quickly dies but Aerin staunches the other’s
wounds and she will live if cared for. We tie her up before turning to enter
the fort.
Yes,
definitely a fort, not a villa. The walls are made of well-dressed stone,
fitted almost seamlessly with a minimum of mortar in the finest Gondorian tradition. We see no hand or foot holds; they
would be a daunting climb indeed. Even the great doors before us, beyond the
stone bridge over the moat, are stone.
The
key fits the lock and turns with but a little effort, even after centuries of
disuse. The doors swing open to reveal an arch as wide as a road extending in
to a tunnel through the outer wall for some twenty yards, wide enough for four
or five horsemen to ride abreast. There’s a small door in the side of the
tunnel to the left and some sort of courtyard at the far end.
Checking
the small door reveals a narrow corridor with a high window at the end and
doors off to either side; they look like offices.
In
the courtyard, we see stables to the right. (Who brings horses to a marsh?) To
the left on our side is a small door doubtless linking with one of the doors in
the corridor already seen. On the opposite side is an
entrance even grander than that we stand in, evidently the ‘front door’,
flanked by two smaller doors. A balcony extends around the first floor with
thirteen doors visible from where we stand.
But
the courtyard is dominated by a large central stone with what look like blood
stains. They are not fresh but they are a lot more recent than I’d like.
Someone has been inside the fort quite recently. I look at the fort with a
tactical eye; it is very defensible but the walls are not so high that they
could not be scaled with ladders or grappling hooks. Without defenders, anyone
could get in.
It’s
mid-day so we can spend the night here before returning but it’s probably a
good idea to search the place first, to prevent surprises. We bring in the
captive and lock the door behind us, mindful the young warrior that got away
may return with friends.
The
grand entrance opposite leads to a private dock capable of taking quite large
boats. There’s also a covered ‘boathouse’ with large shutters of stone! A
channel leads in the direction of the river; if it’s clear to the main channel,
perhaps we could leave by boat, with Ilvren’s help?
Aerin
finds some herbs in the overgrown courtyard garden. The various apartments are
all in pairs, a spacious state room for a guest of stature twinned with a
lesser room for a valet or maid. The first floor has more twinned state rooms,
including a more opulent suite for the King and Queen. All rooms are bereft of
furniture except, strangely, for the fully equipped kitchen, filled with pots,
pans and everything you could need to cook and serve sumptuous meals for a
large throng. I recall Benish Armon
showed signs of recent habitation, too. Beneath the kitchens we find cellars
comprising four large chambers with only a few empty barrels.
Also
on the first floor is a banqueting hall beyond which we find a small room, only
the second with furniture. On pegs on the wall hang several long, black robes
and three ceremonial cat masks. On the table lies a
large ornate sacrificial knife and a large bound book. Brand opens it and leafs
through while I look over his shoulder.
It
purports to be the diary of Queen Beruthiel herself! Brand sifts forward and
back, his loremaster instincts sampling a page here,
a line or two there. It covers just three years and he finds little of interest
until he turns to the final entries in which she wrote of her pregnancy! Now
the standard histories and the nursery legends all speak of Beruthiel and Tarannon dying childless. Neither is she supposed to have
liked the marshes, yet this is what she wrote…
“More than
three weeks have passed since I heard aught of Tarannon,
my husband, and the birth of our child draws near. But the passage of Time has
become strange to my eyes – moments slip away like tears, the days seem to
lengthen into years, the world around me has grown silent and empty. I, too, am
changing.
Hold me
close to you, Memory; for I could not bear to be torn from you a second time!
And yet you drift away from me like the waters that pass beneath the arches of
this house. Will you be lost again at sea? Will I ever know peace? I feel as
though I should be driven to madness but for the life that grows within me –
the only thing that means anything to me now...
**********************
The walls
of this fort close in upon me like a prison. Eryn my
maidservant has offered me the hospitality of her village, and Anborn the King’s guard has granted me leave to visit the Ethir Folk there. He knows that I have grown weak, but he
cannot understand the cause of it. I fear that I perceive all too well what is
happening to me. But why was I chosen to suffer? What crime have I committed
that I should pay so terrible a price? I cannot say; and that is the cruellest
part to bear...
Something
terrible has happened at the fort in my absence. Anborn
came struggling in to Talain by foot just before
nightfall. He was wounded, and his whole body was burning with fever. He was
too exhausted to tell what evil had befallen him, but the village headman told
me that he had seen Anborn’s condition before. The
red stone that my father had given me began to glow with an inner fire when I
drew near to Anborn’s body. Unable to endure waiting
for Anborn to recover, I commanded the Ethir Folk to bear me back to the fort in their boats. Eryn accompanied me.
**********************
There was a
ship moored next to the fort when I arrived – it was the vessel of the Black
Numenorean whom Earnil had captured near Tolfalas just after the storm. There had been fighting
between these rogues and Anborn’s men, but not one on
either side was left alive – save Merenion, and he
shared the same affliction as Anborn; but Merenion had not been wounded by steel, and had enough
strength to speak words to me.
Whether
fate or choice had brought him to me, I cannot guess, but from his lips I
learned the secret that the storm had veiled from me since I was washed ashore
– terrible secrets. Even the thought of repeating his words fills me with
loathing, but I fear that in very short time I may never be able to recount
them again to anyone.
Beruthiel
is dead. They killed her, and I have been cursed to bear her memory to fill my
own emptiness. But now the burden is worse, for alien memories that once were
mine have returned to me, and I understand now the evil purpose for which they
were hidden from me until now. No longer can I be Beruthiel, but neither can I
return to who I once was, before the storm. I, too, will soon be dead, but not
by their hands.
They seek
my new child, the one thing that I might still have called my own. That is why
Beruthiel had to die. That is why they have murdered my sleep; and the day will
come when they will seek to make my child a tool for their evil designs. They
must not succeed, but neither will I decide my child’s fate, for it would be
their way to dominate the choice of another. This I will not do.
They also
seek my daughter. They have designs for her too, though they lost track of her
in the storm that bore me to Tarannon. It may be she
still lives, but if so I know not where.
I remember
a time – an abyss of time that now separates me from my life. I remember the
red stone, and the cats... Oh, yes; the cats! Those eyes that could find their
way home in a blind night. Those eyes that preyed upon the
living.
And I
remember how Fuinur saved me and my daughter from
death at the hands of their master; how he loved me as a daughter; how he gave
me the stone to protect me; how he said we would live forever – it was a lie,
and I must suffer the penalty.
But I have
the stone; and soon I will have the cats, for they fear this thing and are
bound to the will of the one that wields it. I will bind them to this tortured
soul, and they will receive my pain. They will not save me, but they may be
able to help me save my unborn child. There are many dark secrets in Gondor, windows that look into the uncertain future or into
the dark past.
Time is not
deceived, but if there is a way to hold on just a little longer, perhaps I will
live to see the birth of my child. I have nothing more to hope for in this
hateful dream. Eryn will guide me through the night’s
labyrinth, to this den of fear where they dwell. Now, follow me to the end.”
What
does it mean? Can this really be Beruthiel’s diary?
She seems to have feared her cats. We read of Fuinur;
does this mean she and her daughter or her unborn child are those depicted in
the vault of Anwar Serni?
Was Beruthiel Fuinur’s