Hunt for the Palantíri RPG

[piosenniel]

PROLOGUE

--- Regin Hardhammer

~*~

Who knows where the lost Stones of Arnor and Gondor now lie, buried, or drowned deep?

--- Gandalf, from The Two Towers


The palantiri, or Seeing Stones, were fashioned by the Noldor, probably by Feanor. The Elves presented seven of these to Amandil as leader of the Faithful in the Second Age. The palantíri were crystal globes of power, black in color, that a person of strong will could use to communicate thoughts with someone using a similar stone or to see things from anywhere in the past or present. In the hands of a good ruler, the Stones were important tools for communication, but they were also capable of abuse. The evil ruler with a strong will could use the Stones for spying and domination. Sauron, for instance, projected images of despair in the Anor-stone to manipulate and destroy Denethor’s mind. There is even some indication that using the Stones, like the Ring itself, could be addictive to its owner, especially if misused.

Amandil’s son Elendil brought seven of the Stones with him when he sailed to Middle-earth after the fall of Numenor. These were eventually given to the Kings of Gondor and the North for safekeeping. A verse from The Two Towers describes the faithful fleeing Numenor bringing the Stones with them as they sailed across the sea:

Tall ships and tall kings,
Three times three,
What brought they from the foundered land
Over the flowing sea?
Seven stars and seven stones
And one white tree.

This tale will focus on the Stones of Amon Sûl and Annúminas, the most important palantíri belonging to the Kings in the North. The Stone of Annúminas was the smaller of the two, measuring about twelve inches across. It was used by the Northern Kings for day-to-day communication, and had a range of about 500 miles. Even more powerful was the Stone of Amon Sûl. This was so large that it took more than one man to lift and could work over very long distances. In the winter of 1974 T.A., after years of unrest in Arnor, the Witch King defeated King Arvedui. The King and his men escaped with both Stones to the northern foothills of the Blue Mountains and hid in a deserted dwarf-mine. Hunger and cold drove them to seek help from the Lossoth, also called the Snowmen.

The Lossoth were a remnant of an ancient people called the Forodwaith dwelling along the Ice Bay of Forochel. Their culture was well adapted to their snowy/icy environment – they constructed houses out of snow (possibly similar in principle to igloos), and traveled on sleds and bone skates. Despite the Snowmen's fear of the Witch King, and the general unfriendliness of the tribe, they took pity on the strangers and helped them survive.

When the Elf Cirdan heard about the King, he sent a rescue ship. This ship arrived in the Ice Bay of Forochel in March 1975 T.A., when thick sheets of ice still covered the shore extending out into the water. Despite the Lossoth's warnings and the treacherous conditions, Arvedui insisted on trying to reach this Elven ship. He managed to do this with help from the Lossoth but, once aboard, a great storm arose that drove the Elven vessel back towards the shore onto the ice. The ice crushed the hull and the ship sank, killing all aboard and taking with it the precious palantíri that the King had brought with him. (LotR, Appendix A, iii)

By the end of the War of the Rings, just two known Stones remained in Middle-earth. The Orthanc-stone, once controlled by Saruman, was the one King Elessar normally used. The second, the Anor-stone, was virtually unusable since it still bore the imprint of Denethor’s hands and crazed mind when he threw himself on the fire.

It’s interesting to think about what happened to these lost palantiri of the North. Did they remain undiscovered at the bottom of the Ice Bay, or did someone try to find them? The Palantiri were objects of immense power and would be prime targets for anyone seeking to seize political authority by sinister means. Fortunately, most people did not know about the Stones at the beginning of the Fourth Age. However, this tale will explore a Corsair sea captain’s quest to find the Palantiri both for his master and to avenge the death of his father.

[piosenniel]

Piosenniel’s post

‘My clan should have finished their Late Season Hunt by now,’ said Bear, his breath trailing in an icy fog behind him as he spoke. He rode the runners of the ice sled as the team of six dogs raced over the ice toward home. ‘We should be there soon. And by the way, we’ll pass by the northern rim of the Ice Bay. You’ll be able to see how thick the ice has grown while we’ve been away.’

Rôg spared a frozen grin back at his guide, and would have given him the universal gesture of a thumbs-up, save that his hands were encased in thick leather gloves and buried beneath the heavy fur hide covering him from toes to chin that blocked the cold from his body. Never mind that he already wore breeches and a hooded tunic lined with soft, warm fur – he was still cold, a disadvantage from having lived the majority of his life in the desert areas of the South lands and the far north east.

This had proved a most interesting trip for him. He’d seen birds and animals he’d not seen before in his travels. His notebooks were filled with description and drawings of all he came upon. The people here, too, he found fascinating – they seem to have adapted so well to this inhospitable climate. Rôg chuckled to himself at the thought that they would suffer just as much in the heat of his homeland.

They traveled on a good deal further over the white land with patches of frosted, peaty tundra just barely showing through. Bear called out to the dogs as he pulled on the reins, turning them toward the northern rim of the bay. They stopped near the edge and the two men proceeded on foot to look out across the freezing waters. Much of the bay was already beginning to freeze over, especially the shallower areas along the edges. Rôg could almost hear the ice groan as it reached out further to take hold of the deeper waters.

Rôg put his mittened hand to his brow, shading his eyes has he looked toward the far end of the bay. He squinted hard against the glare at some small, indistinct shapes he could see floating in the freer areas near the bay’s opening. ‘I didn’t know your people had sailing ships,’ he said, drawing Bear’s attention away from the dogs which had been given a small snack for their efforts.

Bear’s brow furrowed at the comment. ‘We don’t,’ he returned, drawing up alongside Rôg. His hand went in to the large pouch that hung from his shoulder and fetched out his long-seeing tube he’d gotten in a trade from one of the other clans. Steadying his arm he peered through the tube, describing as he focused it, the ships that were in the bay. Now it was Rôg’s turn to frown, and he took the tube from his companion to look for himself . . . hoping against hope, that it was not what he expected.

‘Scurvy sea-rats!’ he muttered, a term picked up on his few voyages by ship to Umbar.

‘You know these ships?’ Bear asked, not understanding the words of the imprecation but the feelings behind it. ‘Not so good, eh?’ he prompted Rôg.

‘Not good at all, my friend. They’re Corsairs . . .’

~*~

A few hours later found them at Bear’s clan encampment. News of the far southern men in ships had spread to the enclaves of Icemen about the Bay and Rôg gleaned what he could from the bits and pieces of gossip. They had been in the bay for a number of months now, seeking some sort of treasure, he heard. No, not from the sunken ships another answered to his question of what kind. ‘Old, old treasure,’ said one of the ancient elders in a thin reedy voice. ‘Those men from the old tales who sought our help. They had the great round stone, and the lesser,’ he said, recalling the old story they had all heard. ‘They were lost in the waters of the bay, it was told. Held by the ice for all these years from the Shadow and the Light.’ Those standing near the old man nodded their heads remembering the story. Other Lossoth from clans nearer the place where the Corsairs were seeking had been offered payment for their aid in helping to find the treasure, so Bear’s clansmen had heard. Not all the Lossoth thought it a fortunate venture – there was something about the men in the ships that raised the hackles of warning that they might prove untrustworthy in their promises. A number of the Lossoth who had agreed to aid the Corsairs were those ‘troublemakers’ within the various clans who had sought to challenge the present chieftains for clan leadership. It was said that the Corsairs were helping these malcontents with a promise of weapons to use in their fight for the right to be ruler.

Rôg listened silently as Bear and the others discussed the Treasure-seekers. He had no idea what they were seeking, but he knew that whatever it was, the finding of it would bode ill for any of the perceived enemies of Harad and Umbar. One of the Lossoth elders thought it might be good if they sent a message to the Elves in the Gulf of Lune, to ask for aid in ridding the Ice Bay of these treasure seekers. What use that would be, though, was debated hotly, since travel by land or sea would take many, many weeks.

In the midst of the discussion, Rôg cleared his throat to draw their attention and then spoke in a hesitating manner. ‘Begging your pardon, but if you can tell me where it is I need to go, I can take your message for you. Should only take a day if it is somewhere near the havens in Mithlond.’

The clansmen looked at him as if he had gone quite daft, and then one by one they began to laugh at his preposterous offer. ‘A day to make it to The Star and Swan at the Grey Havens?!’ one of them hooted. ‘What’s your friend propose to do, Bear? Fly?’

‘Well, yes, actually,’ said Rôg quietly. ‘The Star and Swan, you say? At the Grey Havens?’ Stepping outside the ice hut, the laughing crowd following after him, Rôg walked quickly to a large open space on the frozen tundra. I’ll return as soon as I can with help.’ Many of the group shook their heads at him, and returned to the shelter of the hut. The wind was picking up and already there were swirling flurries of snow that obscured the landscape. Bear watched Rôg as he moved farther away from the hut. He was hoping the man would give up the crazy idea and return to warmth of the hut with him. Rôg’s figure had grown dim in the distance and Bear called out to him. His words caught in his throat as he saw through the thick white blanket of snowy air a huge, dark figure take to the air

The brown Wyrm’s wing-beats stirred up the swirling flurries even more. He circled once, close over the small figure of Bear below him, then dipping his head once to the wide-eyed man, he flew south.

~*~

It was late night when he circled the Havens. Winter clouds obscured the moon and blocked the stars, making his drop down to an empty field just a short ways north of the gulf go unnoticed. A very short walk brought him to the cobblestone street that ran through the middle of the small town and down to the harbor itself. A narrow, dirt side street that paralleled the main one was where The Star and Swan sat, an Elvish watering hole for those still considering the trip West. Cirdan and his ship had not been seen in many years and the clientele of the Inn had continued to grow slowly, the patrons becoming fast friends. It was an unassuming little place . . . plain in looks, the wood greyed from years of contact with the salt sea mists and breezes. It bore no sign, only a small engraving on the thick oak door of an Elven Swan ship with a single mast; the sail of which bore a reyed, six-pointed star. What looked like waves were etched along the ship’s side and seemed to break against the bow . . . though on closer look they were not waves but clouds . . .

Rôg pushed open the door, stepping into the welcome heat of the small fire in the stone hearth. He pushed back his brown hood, letting his eyes accustom themselves to the level of light in the Inn. There were Elves . . . a fair number of them in his estimation, scattered about in the booths and at the tables in the Common Room. Their grey eyes were all turned to him, a detached sort of curiosity showing in them. ‘What sort of creature is this?’ he could almost hear them wondering. Not one to dither when action is called for, Rôg stepped into the middle of the room and cleared his throat loudly in the silence.

‘Begging your pardon, Master Innkeeper,’ he began, acknowledging the aproned Elf who leaned on the bar, his brows raised at the out of place visitor. ‘And yours also, good Sirs and Ladies . . . but I was asked to bring a message to the Elves of Lune from the men who live round the Ice Bay. Something is troubling them, and they need your assistance to sort it out.’

‘And what sort of trouble would that be, Rôg?’ came a vaguely familiar voice from the shadowed corner of a booth. Rôg squinted into the darkness, seeking a face to fit the voice.

‘Luindal? Is that you I hear?’ He went on before the Elf could clamber from the booth and show himself. ‘Big trouble, I think. There are men seeking two stones lost by other men long ago, in the bay. Good men, I think it was who lost the stones . . . a great round stone and a lesser, the elders told me . . . but I fear to tell you it is men of the Far South, Corsairs from Umbar, who now seek to gain them for themselves.

[piosenniel]

Child of the 7th Age’s post

Luindal gently pushed his cup of nectar to the side and peered intently across the Common Room; he had been startled to hear the message given to the Innkeeper. He craned his neck for a closer look and was even more surprised to observe that the messenger was someone he actually knew: Rôg the Shapechanger, a man of many talents who had last crossed his path during a visit to the home of a friend near Minas Tirith. The words the Shapechanger spoke seemed even more unlikely than the fact that the speaker had apparently materialized out of nowhere in the middle of the Havens. As Luindal well knew, the young man had certain special talents that even he and his fellow Elves could not match.

Luindal stood up and walked over to his friend, gesturing Rôg to join him at one of the corner tables; then, he stretched out his lanky frame and carefully listened to his companion’s strange tale of a Corsair sea captain who had recently arrived in the north searching for two ancient Stones at the bottom of the Ice Bay. Clearly, these were the palantiri of Annúminas and Amon Sôl that had sunk some thousand years before, when the Elven ship sent to rescue the King had capsized and all aboard, including Arvedui, perished beneath the ice.

Luindal first explained how the Stones could be used to communicate thought and images over great distances, and even to twist and manipulate the mind of the speaker on the other end, duplicitous acts that Sauron had once used to his own evil intent. With a sigh, he added, “I must take this news to Cirdan immediately. He has but late returned to the Havens, with ships to take more of our kin. I do not know what he will say, only that this could have terrible consequences for the peace of Arda and Elessar's intention to restore goodness to the land.”

Rôg responded, “What would you do then to help the Lossoth and rescue the Stones, if this thing were left to you?”

“Do not even ask!” Luindal’s frustration was evident in his curt denial. “I am but an Elven seafarer, a simple Wood-Elf with a knack for boats. Such questions are above me. Other Elves in the Havens understand these matters better than I do. Cirdan can decide what to do and have them mount an expedition to put things right.”

With the end of their conversation, Luindal offered to shelter his friend for the night. He had plenty of room on the swan ship Phalás, or Sea-Spirit, now moored beside the dock: this vessel currently served as his home. Hastily escorting Rôg down to the quay, Luindal offered his goodbyes and promised to return by dinnertime.

************

It was several hours later when Luindal returned to the Phalás. Rôg came out from below and greeted him on deck, anxious to learn what had happened.

For quite a while, Luindal said nothing, instead pulling a plug of weed from his satchel along with a pipe as he stood by the rail blowing decorative smoke rings while staring stubbornly at the water. Finally, he spoke, “A nice habit, this.” Luindal gestured to his pipe. “I picked this up on my most recent voyage to Gondor where I had the good fortune to meet two periannath who had friends in Minas Tirith.”

“That is what keeps me here instead of sailing with my family--the chance to explore the wonders of the Sea, to meet new people and hear new things. Early on, I could have left any day, if I wished. I might have walked to the harbor and climbed aboard Cirdan’s vessel. Even now, Cirdan has returned once more and another shipload of my people will soon depart. Today, I wonder if I should take passage on that ship. Yet it appears that this cannot be. ”

In a lower voice, he added, “Your news was taken seriously. In fact, tomorrow, before we leave, Cirdan wishes to speak with you privately.”

“Before we leave?” Rôg interrupted.

“Yes, I’m afraid that’s right…. I am to go north in two days. In fact, I am to command the ship that sails to the Bay. And somehow, we are to retrieve the Stones before the Corsairs do. If we cannot do that and they get there first, we must challenge them to battle. Whatever happens, they cannot come away with those Stones. It could be the death of Gondor. Cirdan says that there are few left who have experience sailing and fighting. Sadly, I happen to be among those few.”

Luindal took another puff on his pipe and observed. “As a youngster, I heard many tales from my mother about Elves who had such knowledge of shipbuilding and sailing that their skill was deemed an art. Even today, we sing songs that recall their golden deeds. Only now these Elves are gone, and it is left to me.”

Luindal stared over at Rôg, “These Snowmen of yours….they should have had you fly to Minas Tirith and ask the Men for help. It is their age now, not mine. I thought I had seen my last fighting when the Ring War ended. I know this must be done and I will do my best, but I wish it might be different. The last time an Elven ship was sent to the Bay, everyone aboard perished.”

“Luindal, I am sorry for that other Elven ship,” Rôg interrupted. “And sorry also that this burden must fall to you who do not wish to carry it. But, the Corsairs have made the lives of the Lossoth miserable and I feared they would do the same to others. The Snowmen cannot wait for Men to travel north. Elessar’s help would have come too late.”

“I understand,” his friend nodded. “You were right to do as you did. With these Stones, the Corsairs could force their will on many. I will not speak of my feelings again. And I promise you that I will do everything in my power to stop the Corsairs from seizing these Stones. By right, they do not even belong to the Elves, but to Elessar. Come now. Let us talk as friends and have some dinner. We will need all the strength we can muster over the next few weeks.”

With that exchange, the companions turned and went below, where Rôg had already set out a meal for them to share.

The conversation finally turned to their impending trip to the north as Luindal noted, "I have no fear of getting there. The Stars will guide us north. It should take only a week or so, once we put out to Sea. I wish it were earlier in the year. Yet, there is still time to make it through. Whatever weather comes, I can bring the ship to anchor in the Bay. It is what happens afterwards that bothers me. Whatever we do must happen soon or we run the risk of being trapped over the winter, or even of wrecking the ship. I do not want to repeat Arvedui's mistake; nor do I want to spend months battling Corsairs, of whom I personally know nothing other than the unpleasant tales I've heard from you and Mithadan."

Luindal fingered a piece of food and pushed it over to the side of his plate. Given the responsibilities weighing on his head, he had little appetite. “It's true that I can personally stand frigid weather and ice storms with little problem, and I know how to swim quite well. But knowing how to swim is a bit different than diving down to the bottom of the Bay and somehow locating ancient objects that have been lost over a thousand years. Once we find them, we can use a winch to heave up the Stones. It is locating them, and attaching the straps and ropes that remains the main problem. I have no ideas of my own."

[piosenniel]

Piosenniel’s post

Rôg had listened closely to Luindal as he spoke. As sometimes happens, a word caught his attention, sending his thoughts down rambling paths. . . . swim . . . Something he had seen on his explorations with Bear, his Lossoth guide, niggled at the edges of memory. He paused in mid-chew, his eyes fixed on his plate. With his fork, he traced a pattern in the thin pool of gravy on the flat of the dish. A sleek figure in vague outline seemed to move beneath his hand. He could not quite make it out before it disappeared beneath the coalescing sauce. His journal! The entry would be there if he could just remember when he’d written it.

‘I have no ideas of my own . . .’ he heard Luindal trail off in a half question. He took a breath and refocused on the Elf across from him. ‘Give me a little time. There is something I cannot quite recall right now. It may be of some help . . .’

[piosenniel]

Child of the 7th Age’s post

At each churning motion of the Bay, the waves swelled and then crashed against the ship’s bow, with water flying up so high that it came flooding over the deck. Despite the run off into the drains and over the side of the hull, Luindal still found himself standing ankle deep in water. Rushing from one end of the ship to the other, he barked out orders to his crew to strike the mainsail, hoist the storm sail in its stead, and drop the sea anchor over the side to provide needed weight.

Despite the heaving of the sea, the ship was managing to stay upright as they struggled forward into the Ice Bay. At least the Phalás was carrying a heavy ballast, a special precaution he’d taken knowing that they’d likely encounter poor weather on the trip. Things had gone well for first week on the open seas, but once he crossed into the Bay the heavens had opened with torrential rains and wind. It almost seemed that the Bay itself was unwilling to open its treasures to these curious outlanders, however well intentioned they might be.

The plain fact was that Luindal did not know too much about the local territory or conditions. He was used to living close to the land or water, and it bothered him that he had so little understanding of this strange place that he was in. He hoped Rôg was right in his assessment that a number of the most trustworthy Lossoth would be helping them in this endeavor. Their chances for success would be much greater if they could only get the local people to aid them. For the hundredth time in the past week, he reminded himself of the fact that, if the Elves and Men had simply accepted the counsel of the Snowmen who had warned them not to try and sail, many lives would have been spared, to say nothing of the Stones themselves.

He glanced around at his crew to make sure that they were holding up in the storm; they were all brave hearted Elves but only a few had real experience on sailing ships. This was apparently true of Rôg as well. The greenish tinge on Rôg’s face suggested that his friend would rather not be on this heaving ship.

A ferocious blast of wind came scudding down from the north, hitting the vessel broadside. The ship lurched sidewise but thankfully recovered, and after swinging around halfway, continued inching into the harbor. Luindal cast a wary eye up to the mainmast. He hoped that the lines would hold and that the mast would stand tall and firm. The last thing he needed was a cracked spar.

As the winds pulled back and the ship sailed into shallow waters, Luindal instructed the helmsman to take care not to bring them to close to the banks of ice, which lined the shore and already projected out into the Bay. In just a few more weeks, the Bay would freeze over even more, making it very difficult to navigate at all.

Out of the corner of his eye, on the far side of the Bay, Luindal caught sight of another large sailing vessel, this one very different in appearance than his own. She bore a strange black flag above her mast, with what looked like a exotic heraldic device imprinted on the material. He spied a number of men and a woman or two wearing thick fur coats, probably members of the Corsair crew; most of them had dark hair and brown or olive skin. He was too far away to pick out the expressions on their faces. But he had a feeling that they did not look too happy at the moment.

[piosenniel]

Regin Hardhammer’s post - Mareth

Marreth sat brooding inside the cabin of his ship, which had been moored at the side of the Ice Bay, within a well hidden cove that was totally free of ice and snow. The weather was stormy and the night dark. He gazed out at the violent sea as the waves rose and thunder roared. This was the worst storm he had experienced since his arrival in Forochel some three months before. It was an ominous sign that the weather was changing, and that blankets of snow and ice would soon descend on their heads. He found himself troubled and frustrated that he and his men had made so little progress towards accomplishing their goal.

Earlier that year, everything had seemed more optimistic. Marreth’s patron, the great Lord Castamir, had been searching ancient scrolls to obtain information on artifacts of power, especially those created by the Noldor. As a descendent of the Black Numenoreans, Castamir had extensive knowledge of early languages and lore, which he hoped to use to seize control in Umbar and eventually to challenge Gondor itself. While visiting Minas Tirith on a trading mission, Castamir had been able to consult the royal library and was elated to learn about the ancient Stones of Annumínas and Amon Sûl. He immediately decided to send out an expedition to locate and retrieve these objects of power from their watery grave at the bottom of the Ice Bay of Forochel. These Stones would give him the means to spy on Elessar’s troops and navy as well as to keep a controlling eye on his own people.

Circumstances seemed to favor such an expedition. There had been several years of drought in the North, with diminished amounts of rain and snow. As a result, the water of the Bay was shallower than it had been for some time, with stretches of the coastline and its maze of caves and rocks exposed to public view for the first time.

Marreth had eagerly sworn allegiance to Castamir, agreeing to head the expedition. Castamir’s plan seemed like the perfect way for Marreth to gain revenge. During the War of the Rings, Marreth had served on his father’s ship as part of the Corsair fleet that sailed up the Anduin. He had seen Elessar lead the hosts of the dead onto the pirates’ ships, and his own father driven mad as he jumped overboard to his death. Marreth had sworn to avenge the death of his father by bringing ruin to Elessar and his kingdom. These two Stones could help accomplish that goal.

Marreth and his ship had arrived at the Bay in early summer and spent months struggling to locate the missing globes. But the search had not gone quite as smoothly as expected. An exploration of the coastline and caves had yielded no results. And even on the fringes of the Bay, the Corsair divers could not stay in the water long enough to find anything without freezing to death. At first, the Losseth, the native peoples of the Ice Bay, had been suspicious and sought to avoid the strangers. As time wore on, a few malcontents began to assist Marreth, won over by future assurances that the Corsairs would supply a large cache of weapons to help them topple the existing Lossoth chieftains and seize leadership within their own tribes.

These malcontents, in turn, provided the Corsairs with seals that had been specially trained to seach for evidence of shipwrecks along the bottom of the Bay. With the establishment of peace, there had been a considerable increase in the number of trading ships that sailed North over the summer months. Along with this increase came a rise in the number of shipwrecks.

Those Lossoth who could handle the trained seals actually made their living from salvage operations, having the animals first locate the vessels and bring up a piece or two of sunken booty to those waiting in the ships. Then Lossoth divers would plunge into the waters and quickly secure the objects using a heavy leather net or sturdy ropes before attaching these to the hook of the WINCH. The last step would be pulling the object to the surface and unloading it onto the boat. This whole operation was only feasible during the summer when large stretches of water were free of ice.

Marreth had hired the men and told them to use these same tactics to hunt the palantiri, but they had still not achieved success. As the weather began to worsen, the Corsair pushed his crew and their Lossoth allies even harder to try and find the Stones.

Marreth set aside his reflections. The storm was blowing furiously: he needed to make sure that the rigging of the ship was securely fastened. Marreth rose abruptly, rushed out into the hall, and barked to his two most loyal officers, Diera and Jarlyn, to follow him on deck. As he was checking the rigging at the bow, he saw in the distance a large sailing vessel being tossed about by the waves. He could barely make out the distinctively swan-like outline of an Elven ship. He lurched forward in astonishment, clinging to the rail, and tried to get a clearer look. He had only seen such vessels in the ancient lore books that he had read. His second reaction was one of anger. Such a ship could only be drawn to the Ice Bay for the same reason that he was. They must be here to take the Stones for themselves and their allies the Gondorians.

Marreth roared out above the din of the storm, “Infernal Elf vermin! Thou vain, milk livered coxcombs, may you sink to the bottom of the sea!” Then he turned to his captains, pointing an accusing finger towards the bobbing ship, “Look there, we have company, and I fear they are up to no good!”

[piosenniel]

Niluial's post

Elwë shuddered as the brawling, icy wind punched him with a giant fist of cold as the thunder roared and crackled above him. The prying fingers of the cold groped through the layers of woollen undergarments, forcing his cold touch upon him. He took a darting look at Andtuariel who was standing with her hands clutched on the railing of the ship and her head hanging over the edge. Her face was as white as a ghost, her lovely rosy cheeks were gone. Andtuariel's eyes that were normally filled with expression were now sad and lifeless. Elwë always knew it was a bad idea to take her with him; she missed her family greatly and was seasick permanently. He knew he should have forced her to stay but she refused to:

”I will go where I wish! I need adventure, you know how I long for adventure, how I dream to fight for good, just as much as you long for it. I may be a woman but I am strong. Please…” Andtuariel pleaded with Elwë.

“Andtuariel, I said no! You can go look after our families, I’ll be back. You could endanger yourself, be harmed then what am I to do?”

He remembered how stubborn she was the day he said she would stay behind. He couldn’t make her stay; she threatened to follow which would have been even more dangerous.

Elwë wiped the rain off his face with his bleeding hands and sighed deeply. He dragged once more at the ropes of the sails but they were too big and heavy and refused to move. He winced as the ropes bit into his flesh which caused more blood and pain. Elwë glanced at the running tide and saw a massive wave break, the water sprayed onto the deck, sending Elwë and Andtuariel to the floor and wetting all the sailors that were hard at work, pumping water and wrestling with the sails on the deck.

Elwë stood and dragged himself up from the floor with difficulty, as his clothes were drenched. He peered at the wild sea again but this time he didn't only see mist and lightening but something else. Elwë squinted and sighed miserably, “I was hoping they wouldn’t be here so soon.”

Andtuariel peered at the ship in the distance in wonder, “who is it?” she paused while studying the black sailed dromonds with a puzzled expression on her face, she clutched onto the rails of the ship, "Its not the C.. Cor...?" Andtuariel stuttered.

“Of course it is the ship of the corsairs!” Elwë snapped. “We were expecting them, didn't you know? You can be so naïve and to think you have spent so much time on a ship and have read so much! We are here to keep the Corsairs from getting the Palantíri!” he shook his head and rolled his eyes.

He glanced at their bobbing ship once again in wonder and curiosity. Deep down he was awed by the corsairs, amazed at their will and perseverance, all for the Palantiri. They had left their Southern Climate, into the cold to search for the stones. Even with this wonder for them, he knew that they were dangerous, that they would not hesitate to kill them all.

[piosenniel]

Arry’s post

Carandû clamped his wide-brimmed hat down firmly on his head, tying it securely, as he left the protection of the hatch way. The hat was of tightly woven fiber, covered with thin, cured sealskin. It kept the rain from his eyes as it pounded down on the ship, but did little to save his face from being drenched by the waves as they crossed the bar into the bay. It was his oilskin pants and overcoat that protected him from the main onslaught of the frigid waters. Inside the haven of the ice bay, the waters were at least a little calmer. Though, you can’t tell by him!, he thought, eyeing the figure of Rôg clinging for dear life to the ship’s railing as his stomach protested the mixing of the his last meal with the heaving of the ship. Carandû’s earlier offer to tie the man to the railing so that he wouldn’t pitch overboard had been waved away by Rôg. It had been with some reluctance that he’d left the green-tinged fellow on deck, but then he’d noted the deathlike grip Rôg had on the railing. And apparently it had kept him safe from the overwashing waves.

Annû, he could see, was up on the main cross spar, shinnying back toward the rope ladder with its ratlines that ran down the length of the mast. The sails, on his side, were secured. He saw his brother make some sign to the other who had gone up with him – it looked, though as if the other one had also managed to secure his sections and needed no assist. Carandû waved for his brother to come to him once his feet had hit the deck. ‘I’ve brought your boots and a pair of dry socks,’ he said, pulling Annû beneath the shelter of a small overhang near the wheelhouse. ‘Get them on before your toes fall off!’ Annû grinned at his older brother and ducked a friendly cuff as he replied with a ‘Yes, ammë!’

‘I saw something when I was up top,’ Annû said, jamming his feet into his boots. ‘Over there, as the gull flies, from where Rôg is hanging on. To the right, where that glacier comes down to the lip of the bay.’ He pulled his brother to the railing, slipping along on the slippery and still wave-tossed deck. Narrowing their eyes, they peered off toward a shallow cove at the edge of the bay.

‘She’s a trim vessel,’ grunted Carandû, his brow furrowing at the far-off sight of the Corsair ship. ‘I’ll give her that. They’re well anchored, I see.’ He pursed his lips and hmmphed at the sight, wondering how familiar the captain of the vessel was in these far northern waters.

‘I know,’ commented his brother, picking up on his thought. ‘They don’t keep moving her along the coastline or pull her out to deeper waters, she’ll be bound fast in the ice by week’s end.’

‘Easier for us, though, if she does get stuck!’ Carandû turned questioningly toward his brother. ‘You know – in all the berths we’ve had with Luindal, I can’t recall us ever coming this far north on the Sea-Spirit at this time of year. Old Captain Ferrin’s ship – yes; Remember? He liked to come up in the early spring before the thaws, get the first of the thick winter pelts in trade.’ He looked expectantly at his brother.

‘Oh, no! You’re not giving me the job of questioning the Captain! You do it; you’re the one who thought of it.’ Annû pulled his jacket tighter about him and nodded toward the stairway leading below-deck.

Carandû sighed, and nodded he’d think of some way to approach the subject. ‘But first let’s sample a small taste of the Spirit’s spirits; fortify my courage, so to speak. I hear tell that Cap’n Luindal’s laid in some of the sweet, fiery brandy-wine from The Star and Swan.’

Before turning to go, the two offered their assistance to Rôg who seemed to mumble something in the way of an affirmative. Arms hooked through his as support, the trio made their way to the stair and down.

[piosenniel]

Taralphiel’s post

“Hmmm…today should prove to be interesting…”

Freyn rolled his shoulder slowly, before stretching his arms out wide and letting out a bellow of a yawn before the front of his home. His wife was in the nearest room, mixing some warm soup for breakfast.

“What makes you say that, love?” She smiled up at him, slowly turning her spoon.

“I have that feeling, it hardly ever steers me wrong. We are in for a change, love. Perhaps a very good one. I cannot tell just yet…”

She looked back at her pot “Everyone here would agree we need a good change. The only things to blow in here have been those Corsair ships. Those I do not like…”

Freyn sighed. “Aye, I do not know what they are up to, I’ve not been so fortunate to find out. I do know they bring a bad air and a misfortune that works against what we already have…”

Freyn walked down through the light new snow, peering out over the Bay. Few ships or even small boats were there, the ice was already packed thick around the Bay and could crush them through the night. This morning was particularly rough, and the clouds frowned angrily over the white coastline, turning them a grey hue. Freyn had felt a storm come in during the night, so this was no surprise to him. Through the winds and soupy mist, Freyn laboured to see anything with his ageing eyes. But he let out a grumble when he turned away from the ocean.

“I must be dreaming... I think there may be a ship out there. By the look of it, it is definitely no Corsair vessel. How strange…”

[piosenniel]

Orofaniel’s post:

“Come Rodhal!” Galhardir cried as he waved his small hand towards the young lad. “We must hurry!” he continued. Rodahl ran as fast as he could with his thin legs towards his uncle.

“I’m comin’ uncle,” the boy muttered as he reached him, breathing heavily. Galhardir patted him on the shoulder. “Rodahl, you’ll get me next time…I know you will,” he said and smiled.

Ever since Rodahl could walk, the two of them had been running races. Rodhal, poor lad, had never been able to beat his uncle, since he had a far stronger body with longer legs. Everytime however, his uncle told him that he would beat him next time. “You’re too fast for me, uncle,” Rodhal said looking at him, still trying to ctah his breath. “Well, I’ve got lot of practice. You just wait, until you get a bit older. Your old uncle won’t stand a chance,” Galhardir said, smiling at his nephew. “Really?” Rodhal asked him as his eyes lightened up a bit. “Definitely,” Galhardir stated.

“You should go eat your dinner now, you’re parents are calling for you,” Galhardir said as he heard his very own brother calling for Rodahl.

“Alright then,” Rodhal said, seeming a bit disappointed. “Oh, lighten up, Rodhal. You can follow me to the harbour tomorrow. Right now, you should eat your dinner…Besides, I won't go down to it..just do some scouting on the top of the small hill. You won't miss anything, I assure you,” Galhardir said, patting the boy on the shoulder, as they both walked towards the ice hole.

“Rodhal, my dear boy, what have you and your uncle been up to today?” Gonlahr asked his son as they approached him. He greeted his brother while he smiled. “Oh, we’ve been running…” Rodhal started, with a huge smile around his face. “Those races again, I assume?” Gonlahr interrupted looking at Rodhal. “Indeed,” Galhardir confirmed. “I just told him that he ought to eat his dinner so he’ll run faster,” he then continued. “Well, your uncle is right!” Gonlahr said patting his by, leading him inside the hole. Gunnhild appeared in front of them, telling them that the food was ready.

As Galhardir turned and was about to leave, his brother asked him if he wouldn’t stay and eat with them. “Oh no, thank you brother,” he started. “I’m not hungry, although I thank you. I’m heading down to the harbour right now,” Galhardir said and went out. A rush wind hit him in the face. The wind was cold and he shuddered.

“Do you really think it’s good to go down there now?” Gonlahr asked him sounding a bit concerned for his brother. “There seems to be a storm coming up…if not here, certainly further down the bay. Maybe it’ll just hit the ocean, I’m not sure,” Gonlahr said, looking out at the sky. There were dark clouds coving the most of it, and the wind was only increasing its strength.

“I’ll take my chances,” Galhardir said, amused by his brother’s concern. “It wouldn’t surprise me, brother. The weather has never been an obstacle for you, has it now?” Gonlahr replied while laughing. “Hurry up then,” Gonlhar said and waved his brother off. But before Galhardir could make another step, Rodhal appeared. “Can’t I go with him, father?” he asked innocently. “No, the weather doesn’t look too good. You should stay at home,” Gonlahr said. He almost regretted that as he saw the boy’s face expression. “Please father…I’ve eaten my dinner,” he continued, almost sounding desperate. “Have you asked your mother?” Gonlahr then asked Rodhal. The boy nodded. “Let him come…” Galhardir then interrupted. “I promise to bring him back before night strikes,” he continued.

Silence.

“Alright then,” Gonlahr said unwillingly. Rodhal’s face lit up once again as he dressed himself in more proper clothes. “Thank you father,” he said as Gonlahr embraced his son showing both of them off. Galhardir then started to run, expecting to see his nephew in his heels almost instantly.

The harbour wasn’t far of, and they reached it, not quite out of breath yet. One could definitely see that the weather was getting worse as the cold wind hit them in their faces. Up the short hill and they could see the harbour. They stood behind a rock, so it would protect them from the roughest wind. They had a nice view over the ocean and some parts of the harbour though.

“It’s lightening!” Rodhal cried at his uncle as he spotted a short glint of light across the sea. Indeed, it had been lightening Galhardir thought, as another glint of light struck down. As they scouted to the sea, Rodhal noticed something getting closer to the harbour. It had been hard to spot before, but now it seemed quite clear. It was a ship!

“Uncle! It’s a ship! Down ‘ere!”

“What?” Galhardir muttered, looking in Rodhal’s direction. “Down ‘ere!” he continued, pointing just beneath the rock. Galhardir took some steps forward, leaning over the rock. To his big surprise there was a ship trying to make it in. The wind and the big waves were making it difficult for them. “What ship is out in weather like this?” Galhardir questioned himself.

As he leaned even more over the rock, he spotted the Corsair’s ship on the other side. Therefore, these new ones couldn’t be Corsairs, could they? He held on to that thought as he found it quite pleasing. As long as it wasn’t Corsairs….because he simply couldn’t stand another amount of corsairs interfering with their lives. “Who do you reckon' it is, uncle?” Rodhal asked, interrupting Galhardir’s thinking. “I’m not sure, boy,” he replied, still watching the ship. He could see that they had great difficulties controlling it. How would they make it into the harbour, he wondered.

“It’s not…corsairs, is it?” Rodhal then asked. His voice was thin and frightened. “Hopefully not,” Galhardir replied, feeling great anger. If it really was another ship with Corsairs he didn’t know what to think, nor do. But he wouldn’t stand still, not doing anything - that he knew for sure. He wouldn’t let them treat the Lossoth as they had treated them so far. It wasn’t acceptable, and it had to be stopped. “Oh wait…” Galhardir exclaimed. “These people are elves!” he continued. “How do you know that uncle?” Rodhal asked him with great curiosity. A slight of relief struck both of them. “The ship. I think I know when I see an Elven ship,” Galhardir muttered. “It has to be,” he then continued, overwhelmingly satisfied.

“We need to tell this to your father!” Galhardir exclaimed, fetching the boy by his arm. “Come,” Galhardir then said, starting to walk hurriedly down the short hill. As they reached the bottom, they ran as fast as their legs could possibly carry them; Rodhal was even a few paces in front of his Uncle.

[piosenniel]

Lalwendë's post

Tarn looked out of the door at the brewing storm with an angry look on his face. He had to go and feed his seals and leave the warmth of his new stone hut behind him. He felt such pride in having been able to build this humble dwelling that he did not like to leave it. One of his cronies, Talsson, was slumped by the fire in a drunken stupor. They had been playing knucklestones and Talsson had lost his money to Tarn. The agreement had been that if Talsson wanted another game then he would have to offer the labour of his son, Thynne, to Tarn. The man, drunk as he was, knew that the labour would not be handsomely rewarded, and he knew that he could lose the profits he normally gained from hiring out the lad, but he would not lose face, so the deal was done.

Thynne, a well-fed fourteen year old, sat in the corner of the hut on a pile of furs, staring at Tarn, wondering whether his new job was a good thing or a stroke of bad luck. Tarn looked at the lad and motioned with his head towards the door.

“Get yourself wrapped up, there‘s a storm coming in. You will come with me now and start by learning how to feed the seals” Tarn watched as the youth scrambled into his warm clothes. “I suppose you can swim?”.

Tarn was the seal handler, but he rarely went into the water these days. He paid those with little hope, such as Thynne, to do this for him. He himself had survived by carrying out hard labour such as this when he left the family, so he didn’t see any harm in others making a living this way. Sometimes, he thought he was doing them a favour. If he’d had any children of his own then he’d have had them working with the seals as soon as they could walk, and that would be for free. But this lad looked strong and bright enough, he might have hired him anyway, had his father not been such a drunken idiot and offered him at half the going rate.

*********

Tarn stood a bucket of fish on a flat rock by the side of the water and let out a long, piercing whistle. The lad pursed his lips and tried to copy him. Tarn laughed. “I suggest you get some practice in, though I doubt you’ll ever truly master it the way I have. Watch me.”

Again he whistled, and ten sleek bodies came towards them through the water. The dog-like faces of the seals surfaced; they could smell the fish and came right up to the edge of the rock, circling and crying. The smallest one heaved itself out of the water, and his head bobbed up and down expectantly.

“This is the youngest, I think you could start with him,“ Tarn said to the lad, who had stepped back a little from the creature. “No need to be afraid of him, he’s learning just like yourself”. Tarn put one of the silvery fish into Thynne’s hand and the lad gingerly offered it to the young seal, who carefully took it, and slipped back into the water. Tarn quickly threw more fish out to the older seals, to keep them from taking the fish from the youngster.

“Why did he have a golden tag in his ear?” said the boy, suddenly finding his voice.

“That,” said Tarn, “Is how they are identified as my own seals. As soon as one is born I put the golden ring into his ear, and then anyone knows that he is mine. If one were to be hunted, then that hunter would have to pay dearly, probably with more wealth than that of five chieftains.” Thynne looked shocked. “But that, thankfully, has never yet come to pass. And these fine sailors, they seem to appreciate their worth as much as I do.” Tarn looked solemnly towards the cliffs, where the masts of the Corsair ship were rolling to and fro in the swell.

Tarn admired the Corsairs, with their proud bearing and fierce talk. He was eager to do well for them, partly because he might get greater rewards, but also because he wished to earn their respect. He was starting to form notions of making some kind of allegiance with them. Tarn did not exactly fawn around the Corsairs, as grovelling was not in Tarn's nature, but he made sure to impress upon them how invaluable he was, and made great show of both his skill with the seals and what he considered his status among the other Lossoth.

Tarn and Thynne threw out more fish, and several seals came out of the water, nudging Tarn’s legs with affection, which prompted him to scratch their necks. He started to do a few of his training rituals while the lad stood and watched, shivering in the driving rain and wind. He was hungry and licked the remains of the fish from his gloves. Having finished this, he squinted out to sea, where his attention was caught by a ship being tossed about on the waves.

Tarn soon noticed that the lad wasn’t paying him any attention. “Look sharp, lad, or it’s just the diving you’ll be doing. Thought you were brighter than that.” He looked up to see what Thynne was peering at and he soon picked out the shape of a white ship trying to tack into the bay.

“By the stars…”

[piosenniel]

The Elves and Lossoth had all entered the cavern and were beginning their explorations. Rôg took one last fly-about in the main cavern. Bats are, of course, blind for the most part, but he sent out a high pitched squeal, unheard by the human ears, and listened closely to the pattern of echoes that returned to him. He was beginning to make a sort of map in his head of the interior of the main cavern . . . where the rocks were that jutted up from the floor; where the ceiling slanted, where it arched up; where the rock shelves jutted out about the walls, their echoed images configured with the irregular shapes of fallen rock that cluttered along their lengths.

How odd! he thought to himself as he moved from rocky grouping to another. How very odd! Probably nothing, really . . . He shrugged off the difference in the returned echoes as he moved across a particular section. Parts of the echoes were different, softer, blurrier than the others. Having never been in this sort of situation before, he could not tell what it was that made the difference.

Still, as he dropped down to where Luindal stood, the light of the torch flickering on his features, Rôg thought that perhaps he should tell the Captain that there appeared to be some ‘irregularities’ in the rocky structures that he had picked up. ‘I really have no idea what they mean,’ he said as he finished telling Luindal of them, having taken on his mannish form once more. ‘But I thought you would want to know about them . . .’

Luindal took Rog’s information under advisement, then repeated the question about the side tunnels and caverns. Rôg gave his gathered information careful thought, presenting it finally in as organized a way as he could:

‘There are thirteen tunnels,’ he began, ‘leading into smaller caverns than this, although four of them – the four immediately to your left as you stand with your back to the main cavern’s entrance, are blocked to entrance by rock fall. I managed to squeeze into them – they are small caverns and small tunnels. I really doubt something the size of even the smaller of the palantiri could have been deposited in them.’

‘That leaves nine tunnels – the four leading to the larger caverns; that is the ones you Elves could probably stand hunched over in are straight ahead of you. I think they must be the ones the motion of the incoming tides hits the hardest. They are likely candidates for having had the globes rolled into them at one time or another. Unfortunately, when the tide comes in, there might possible be headspace for breathing, but I would hate to have to find out whether that is true or not. And breathing room or no, the tunnels leading to them will all be completely filled with surging water.

‘The other five – three to the right of those larger mid-caverns and two to the left have very low ceilings. It will be a hands and knees search in there. And those five will certainly all fill with water as the tide comes in. They are large enough certainly for the smaller of the globes to have become lodged in.’

‘According to Bear the tide was just fully out, the waters of the bay ebbed as much as they would, when we gathered in front of the tunnel into this cavern. The incoming tide will be a very high one and will be at its full around midday when the sun is straight overhead. The tunnels will be passable about half way into that time period. Beyond that, they may be too full of water for some to pass safely.’

‘So . . . it is best that we make haste to finish as much of our investigations as we can this morning . . .’

[Arry]

The passage through the tunnel narrowed down in both height and width. The Elves and man had to tuck their elbow close to their bodies in order to traverse it. And by the time they neared the cavern itself, they were all three hunched over.

“Ouch!” cried Annû as he stepped into the main body of the cavern and attempted to straighten up. A string of rather colorful curses followed as he dropped his torch and slapped his hand to his injured head. From behind him came the unsympathetic laughter of his brother. “Look up next time, before you stand up,” came Carrandû’s unsolicited advice, followed by a surprised cry of pain as his Annû, in frustration, gave his brother a sharp rap on the shins with his now unlit torch.

A few moments of uncomfortable and rather dark silence followed. Then, the sound of giggling began bubbling up into full blown belly laughs. With a whoof of expelled air Annû sat down on the stony floor and reined in his laughter. The hand which held his unlit torch came round to be handed off to his brother. “At least Galhardir has kept his head about him,” laughed Annû, rubbing his own. “Pass our torch on to him and let’s get it relit.”

As the additional light flared up, the brothers and the man looked about the small cavern about them. “This is not a good sign,” commented Carandu, his hand going out to touch the encrustations in clumps on the walls of the narrow area and on its low ceiling. “Looks like barnacles and limpets, doesn’t it? That means the tide water fills this place completely.”

Annû retrieved the lit torch from Galhardir. “Let’s take a quick look around for a roundish sort of rock stuck in the cavern floor. Spread out in a line and we’ll crawl about for a close look-see. Hold your torch low, Galhardir, so we get a big pool of light as we move along.”

The three explorers moved in silence, their gazes fixed on the floor of the cavern. Carandû, at one point, reached out briefly and brushed some sediment off a likely looking little outcropping. The other two looked at him hopefully, but he shook his head ‘no’ at them and they moved forward in their search.

Carandû smiled to himself at the little specimen of rock he had found . . . the imprint of a whorled fossil imprinted in the small shale slab. He slipped it carefully into the pouch at his belt. Rodhal would have a souvenir from the adventure he had not been allowed to go on, he thought . . .

[Taralphiel]

Freyn followed at the end of the group, surveying the large cavern they had entered. Finally finding the source of these events was of great interest to him, and the story of this Stone had struck his curiosity. His boots padded lowly along the floor of the cave, making the familiar noise, and a loud echo following it. His old eyes darted across the tips of the slender peaks of ice, watching every slight movement or tremble of what was around him.

A few of those in the group divided, and he stood where he was, still watching the Cave cautiously. One hand was in his pocket, his thumb pressed on a small fur pouch of herbs and cloth, bandages and salves. He was not the fastest or strongest of this group, this he was oft reminded of. And so he though to provide service where it may be needed most, to those who may find trouble on their search instead of this Stone. He smiled as he recalled the worried mumbling of his wife as he left the tent, complaining that one so aged as he should not try such adventures of boys.

He chuckled inwardly, though saying nothing to the others of the group, as they waited for more to be said to him. The men they had chosen were good and brave, and he had no fear of this cave when trod through properly. Still, the familiar nagging in his gut told him that caution was always best, and his supplies would be well used by the end of this expedition.

[Orofaniel]

"What's that you've got there?" Annû asked his brother with great curiosity. He tried to crawl towards Carandû but was stopped by the big rock that lay in between. "There is a rock there..." Carandû said, without turning to look at his brother as he stumbled over it, loosing his torch. "Ouch!" Annû exclaimed. Galhardir crawled forwards to help the poor elf up, but Annû managed it on his own.

"I apologise brother," Carandû said causally as he still seemed fixed on his discovery. "Eh..no problem," Annû said, with a great deal of sarcasm. "I'm alright, if you were wondering," he then added, smiling widely. Hs brother burst into a merry laughter and so did Galhardir. But still, Galhardir was a bit worried about Annû’s fall, and asked him if he really was alright. Annû didn't seem to want to discuss it so Galhardir accepted Annû’s short answer. Now both Galhardir and Annû had reached Carandû and his discovery. "What exactly is that?" Glahardir asked Carandû as he examined it with his own torch. "It's...it's a fossil," Carandû said, looking very proud of what he had found. "See the lines here?" he then asked. Galhardir nodded.

"Where is your helmet Annû?" Galhardir then asked, noticing that Annû’s helmet could be everywhere else than it should be; on his head. "Uh..I don't know," the elf said, touching his head. "I probably lost it as I fell over the rock..." he then said. "Without noticing?" Galhardir then asked suspiciously. "Aye, must have been..." Annû continued.

"You better go get it," Carandû then said, finally looking away from the fossil. "Ah..you're right," Annû said. "Hand me your torch, Galhardir, will you?" Annû said, holding his empty hand out. "I could need both; it's so dark in here..." he then said, while Galhardir handed his torch over to Annû. "You two just stay here," Annû then said, turning his back on them to find his helmet.

Not a minute had gone by before Galhardir and Caranû could hear a great boom. Galhardir jumped, holding Carandû by the arm. "What was that?" he whispered. Carandû didn't answer, just had the only torch they had in the direction they had heard the noise. "Maybe it's Annû!" Carandû exclaimed. "Maybe...he went after all, in that very direction!" Galhardir then whispered back. "What shall we do?" Galhardir continued. He suddenly became aware of the tales that had been told about this cave; what if they were true? He got anxious and frightened, but could not tell by looking at Carandû that he felt the same; he seemed so calm. "We should just stay...hush!" Carandû said. "I hear something," he continued, he too was whispering. Galhardir could also hear it; slow footsteps, as they were dragged along the cavern.

"Who's there?!" Carandû then yelled.

Galhardir heard nothing but the echoes.

"It's just me..."

It was a familiar voice. It was Annû’s voice! "Annû!" Carandû exclaimed, as he saw the elf move slowly towards them. "Aye, it's me.." he then replied. "What was that frightful noise we heard? Did you hear it too?" Galhardir then asked.

"I did hear it, indeed. Too well, one might say..." Annû then said. He had now reached the two others. The light from the two torches he bore mad it possible for Galhardir to see the blood from his forehead. "What happened?" Galhardir then gazed. "The same old rock..." Annû said, smiling a bit.

"That doesn't look good, my friend," Galhardir continued, shaking his head. "No, we better return to the main cavern, don’t you think?" Carandû then said, holding his hand out to touch Annû head. "Nah-a," Annû said, taking a step backwards. "It's alright my friends," he said. "There is nothing to worry about...although returning to the main cavern is something we could...and should do after, my opinion," he said as he handed Galhardir the torch back. "Aye, there is nothing to find here...let’s go," Galhardir then said, leading the way.

[Niluial]

Er, Elwë where exactly are we going?" Andtuariel asked anxiously.

"I want to go into that unexplored tunnel," Elwë pointed to the dark, lifeless tunnel. He shivered; the icy air had bitten right into his
bones, and his teeth couldn't stop clattering together. Andtuariel followed him, grabbing onto his hand as they entered the small tunnel.
They had to bend over to walk in the tunnel as it was low and the sides
touched them as they crawled along. As they kept on going, it got smaller and smaller, and soon they had no choice but to squeezed through.

Andtuariel muttered something to herself and Elwë chuckled. "First sign
of insanity to talk to yourself, you know." Elwë said trying to joke, in hope to avoid the anxiety and fear. Before Andtuariel could reply Elwë said abruptly, "what's that?"

"Oh, it looks like a cave!" Andtuariel said jerking her head trying to see more of it.

"Yes, a rather small one."

"Let's go see." Andtuariel said with a sudden tone of excitement.

Squeezing through the blacker hole that marked the entrance into the smaller cave, Elwë stopped and looked about it. It had a surprisingly high ceiling covered in long pointy pieces of ice. The thought that one of those icy swords could come tumbling down upon them was too terrifying to put into words. Elwë then shivered. "Beautiful, isn't it?" Andtuariel said, walking slightly ahead of Elwë exploring the iced cave.

"Beautiful, yet dangerous," he added.

Elwë walked around the small cave, looking for another tunnel. A few
rocks fell from the ceiling and Elwë lifted his head and pricked his long, pointy ears up looking around suspiciously. "Did you hear that?" He asked Andtuariel, with a worried expression.

"Yes, but it's probably just the vibrations or something like that,
nothing to worry about" Andtuariel said, sure that everything was right.

"Vibrations from what? Do you think some of the elves have ventured up
above us, on the roof?"

"Probably!" Andtuariel said sounding not very concerned. She crouched down examining a strange looking rock. It was covered in what looked like sickly fungi. She stood up, starting to walk towards Elwë, "I really think. AAAAA!"

Elwë rolled his eyes. She's probably seen a spider, silly girl.
"What's wrong now?" He waited for a reply. Nothing. "I said, what's
wrong!" he shouted but quieted himself, remembering the long ice pieces
hanging from the ceiling.

He walked to where she was. He suddenly froze, "Andtuariel!" he shrieked as he saw her body on the ground. "I. I. I think I'm ok" she stuttered, slightly opening her eyes. Elwë shone his torch to examined her; her one foot was stuck in a hole and her head was bleeding as it had hit a sharp rock. He tugged at her foot, trying to get it out. "Try and get it out Andtuariel! We need to get you to Freyn."

"I can't"

Elwë sighed and sat back after ten minutes of tugging. Now what? Do I keep on trying or leave her and get help? It's too dangerous! I wonder where Rôg is.

[Arry]

‘Hmmm . . . this doesn’t smell too bad!’ Annû lifted his helmet off and fingered the bandage that Freyn had applied. Carandû hissed at him and jammed the helmet back on his brother’s head. From the corner of his eye he could see Captain Luindal looking their way.

Galhardir, catching the last of Freyn’s question, stepped forward and introduced himself. Freyn’s gaze fell on the man’s injured hand and he offered to take a look at it. ‘Go on,’ said Annû. ‘Let him look at it. He’s not half bad!’

Carandû sighed and stepped forward. ‘I’m Carandû, from the elven ship . . . but then you probably already knew that . . . the Elven ship that is.’ He dragged his brother forward. ‘And this is my brother, Annû, . . . my younger brother. And you need to know his “not half bad” comment really was meant as a compliment.’ Carandû nudged his brother who shook his head ‘yes’ as he made a small bow toward the healer.

‘Say,’ said Annû, ‘we seem to be your only patients at the moment. Would you like to join us for a little exploration of one of the side tunnels.’ He looked toward his brother. ‘We have enough time for that, don’t we? Before the tide turns and begins washing in?’

‘It’ll have to be a quick search,’ returned Carandû, after giving the question a little thought. ‘I think the Captain will probably call us together soon and we’ll need to get out of here – back to the boat.’ He looked expectantly at Freyn. ‘What do you say? Four pairs of hands and eyes would make the work go more quickly. And besides,’ he said laughingly as he looked toward his brother, ‘the medicines and bandages would probably be where they’re most needed.’

[piosenniel]

After his ‘encouragement’ of the Elven brothers and the Lossoth concerning their need to visit the healer, Rôg joined Luindal’s group in one of the smaller caverns on the northern end of the big cave. ‘Might as well get in on the action,’ he said to the captain, as he lit the torch he’d brought and bent down close to the floor with it. It was back breaking, dirty work - all hunched over, eyes glued to the surface of the floor, hands prying through whatever silt had mounded up around objects on the floor. Rôg inched along, on his knees for the most part, brand in one hand, knife in the other for prying at likely objects.

After a bit, Luindal motioned him over. ‘I’m worried that we might spend too much time in here and the tide start to come in,’ the captain said. ‘I’ll have my little group move back out to the main cavern. Can you contact the other groups and tell them to head back there, too? Once we’ve all gathered together and all are accounted for, we can head back to the ship and make plans for the morrow.’

With a great sigh of relief, and a small rub to his back to ease the cramped muscles, Rôg handed the captain his torch and changed back to a little bat. Soon he was zipping in and out of the tunnels, bringing the message to the search groups . . .

[Rinfanawen]

“Jynne and Diera will go as a team.”

Diera despised the words. Of course, why wouldn't I be chosen? she thought to herself. It's just my luck. She praised the moment at the fact that Jynne had been chosen to go as well, for at least the two were familiar with each other. But the Lossoth... she sneered in her thoughts. I do not trust them...not well enough, at least. Marreth may find some loyalty in them, but I cannot find the loyalty I need to let them go wandering about a Cave of the Dead. They must not foil our plans. I will make sure of that.

As a foul look of disgust crossed her fear-worn eyes, she turned to look upon the Lossoth men. One, named Tarn as it were, had at some point placed a metal helmet upon his head. The helmet, to her, seemed rather odd to be worn by a Lossoth, since they mostly adorned in fur or some sort of animal hide. Diera questioned his intentions greatly. That ridiculous fool, she thought. We are going into a cave to spy, not give away our position with such outlandish armor. Suddenly the Lossoth caught her eye. Tarn smiled politely, but Diera sneered at him and turned her back before she arose in laughter. The helmet, and then the unusually white teeth? she thought in mockery. Well, you learn something new every day.

Diera led the small group silently through the cave. Just the thought of being there made her shudder, but knowing that is was indeed called the “Cave of the Dead” did not make it any more comforting. The cave was dark. Small rocks could be heard tumbling down the cavern walls far ahead, but she knew that no one had yet entered. Something was definitely lurking there, and she feared to meet what that was.

“I think we should split up here,” Diera whispered to the Lossoth. She signaled the Lossoth to take the far side of the cave while the Corsairs found some place nearby. The Lossoth took the lantern. The cave was now almost completely dark as Nilak led Tarn on away from them. Diera almost smiled at the thought of leaving the Lossoth, but she knew she must not forget her business.

Diera and Jynne walked on until they found a space near the top of the cave. They were clearly hidden from all...even the Lossoth. A small time elapsed before any sign of Elves appeared, and in that time, she found herself shivering at the eerie wind that blew through the cave. That is not a wind she thought to herself. It is far too lively to be any normal breeze. The light from the approaching Elven group soon lightened up part of the cave. Diera lowered her head below the rocks in front of her, as did Jynne. The Elves could be seen walking slowly below accompanied by many Lossoth.

I knew they couldn’t be trusted! Diera thought raising her eyes at the sight. The Lossoth have joined with them as well! You would think that the entire group would join with one side or the other. I must now keep an extra eye on those who say they are with us. She peered down with glaring eyes at the Elves. Fear could be seen clearly through the eyes of the Elves as the wind continued to blow. Rocks began to fall from the walls, one happening to fall directly towards an Elf. The Elf fell in shock, but managed to keep her balance. Diera laughed inside. If only Doyal could see this, she thought, remembering her shipmate. Oh, this is going to be quite fun.

[Child of the 7th Age]

Luindal had staked out for himself a section of the floor as well as the adjacent wall along the back of the cavern. The search here was easier in one respect: this was the tallest part of the cave so that he could stand upright with no difficulty and still have considerable room to spare. The ground in this spot had only a superficial covering of mud and silt. Underneath the mud was a hard, rocky ledge. Larger boulders were spread out here and there.

Right above his head, Luindal noticed some odd formations that almost looked like giant icicles hanging down from the roof. He had seen these in other caves back home, but the matching icicles that usually pushed up from the ground were totally missing, perhaps destroyed by the waters of the Bay.

Still standing upright, but using the protruding rocks to feel his way cautiously along the length of the ledge, he had to be careful not to cut his hands. Several of the stones had unrelenting sharp edges: one reached out to nab his ankle sending him sprawling to the floor. Feeling a bit embarassed, he reached out and grabbed onto a boulder to pull himself up to a standing postion. His fingers unexpectedly rubbed along something that was soft. Holding the torch closer, he was startled to see a tiny swatch of material hanging from a jagged rock edge. The cloth looked as if it was torn from something larger and still had a large button sewn on it.

Someone in our party must have caught his cloak and ripped it. Yet strange that I should find this here. I could have sworn I was the first to search here. But perhaps not. You can't see more than a finger's breadth in front of your nose in this infernal darkness. And what a strange design this button has. Certainly not Elvish. It probably belongs to one of the Snowmen"

Luindal absentmindedly stuffed the button and scrap of material into his pocket thinking that, perhaps later, someone would discover they had lost it and be grateful to get it back. He firmly believed that nothing should be wasted or simply tossed out. Then he forgot about the incident and refocused his attention on examining the floors and walls.

When another hour brought no new discoveries for anyone in the party, he stood up and beckoned the Elves and the Lossoth over to his side. "We must make haste. We will split up and search the side tunnels as Galhardir, Carrandû, and Annû have already started. But be careful! The most dangerous part lies ahead. Freyn, make sure to keep in touch with Rôg in case anyone needs your help."

With that, the last of the Elves and the Lossoth collected their torches and filed out of the main cavern to begin their exploration of the treacherous side tunnels.

[Lalwendë]

Tarn

Nilak had finally found a hiding place and Tarn was so relieved to have stopped descending further into the caves that he crept in behind the other Lossoth man, despite the alcove in the rock being so small and cramped that he began to wonder if this was what being buried alive would feel like. He wriggled about until he managed to fit his long legs into the crevice in such a way that they would stand no chance of becoming trapped there. The rock was cold and slimy with salt water caught in the cracks; this was obviously a place which filled to the brim with water at high tide. Tarn raised himself up onto his arms a little to be free of the clammy stones.

“Yes, this is a good spot” he said to Nilak quietly. “I suppose some of those elves will come down here. So we just lie and watch.” For a while, there was nothing to see, and little sound apart from the incessant dripping of water, a sound that soon began to get on Tarn’s already edgy nerves. Nilak extinguished the lantern and they were plunged into oppressive darkness. The walls seemed to close about even more tightly and Tarn struggled to breathe steadily. Then he felt a slight breeze on his cheek, and heard a faint whirring sound, as of birds’ wings. He sensed another noise, one which he could not hear, but felt as an uncanny flickering in his eardrums, as though the air pressure had altered. He kept as still as possible, holding his breath and after a minute he exhaled in a rush.

“What is it?” whispered Nilak, in as low a voice as he could manage.

“Something went by” Tarn whispered back. He couldn’t work out what type of creature it was, whether it was a bird or an insect, but he knew something had passed them by. Tarn was an instinctive hunter and knew the ways of animals, and he knew that what had just passed by was not a draught of wind.

Minutes later voices began to drift into the tunnels, as mingled and incomprehensible as the sound of waves at first, but gradually changing. A woman’s voice came echoing down the tunnels, musical yet filled with fear, then it grew quieter. A group of men approached, making a lot of noise. Tarn heard shouting, followed by laughter, and a torch revealed a group of three, two elves and Galhardir. Tarn realised what the Lossoth boats had been doing at the Elven ship yesterday; they were forming an alliance. “Idiots!” he thought to himself angrily, as he and Nilak slowly crept as far back as possible into the shadows, like two spiders hiding from the light.

Tarn watched the party search the cavern and couldn’t help but smirk as he thought of these elves and their Lossoth companion, rummaging around in the silt, vulnerable and entirely innocent of the spies who watched them.

[piosenniel]

Once he had spoken with Luindal, Rôg took wing again. The Captain had indicated that three of the searchers had already gone down one of the side tunnels. Carandû and Annû – the two who had so kindly helped him below as they’d entered the bay. One of the Lossoth was with them, also. Galhardir – the fellow who had brought the young boy with him.

The main body of Elves and Lossoth had broken up into search parties at Luindal’s direction and were now fanning out toward the side tunnels that Rôg had indicated were passable. Rôg flew low, skimming softly at knee height about the main cavern, checking for the presence of searchers heading down the tunnels to the small caverns. At one of the tunnels, he heard the sound of scraping coming near – something moved along slowly within the passageway. Flying cautiously into the side tunnel, he caught the sounds of the two brothers and Galhardir moving toward the little cavern. ‘By the Stars! he squeaked to himself – the keen-eyed Elves had apparently found an additional tunnel that opened into yet another small cavern. No luck, though he noted, scanning their hands – nothing of a rounded, globe nature could he pick out.

The three came all they way out into the main cavern, their knees covered in silt. And themselves looking a bit battered, he noted changing back to mannish form. One of the Lossoth’s hands had a good deal of dried blood on it. And the foolish Elf, no helmet to be seen, looked to have a sizeable goose-egg of a lump on the top of his head, and a few streaks of blood from where it had bled a bit.

Startling the three, as he stepped into their pool of light, he raised his hand in greeting and pointed back near the entrance to the main cavern. ‘One of the other Lossoth, Freyn by name, has stationed himself over there. He has his little kit of herbs and bandages. Go over and let him take a look at your injuries. We wouldn’t want any of you falling ill from them.’ Annû was about to wave off the suggestion, saying he was alright, there was no need. But Rôg stood firm, saying the Captain had made a point that injuries of any sort should be seen to . . .

[Child of the 7th Age]

It had not been an easy day. Luindal had spoken with Annû as well as others in the ship's company who had lost kinfolk and friends in the recent Corsair attack. A service of remembrance was already planned to take place early the next morning. Luindal had relieved the brother from his normal responsibilities over the coming week, and urged him to take time for rest and reflection, making what peace he could with the sad change that had come into his life. Luindal privately wondered whether Annû would eventually decide to leave the Havens and travel westward in hopes of reuniting with his brother. But until they managed to conclude their mission and sail back to Cirdan, that decision was likely to be postponed.

Overcome with restlessness and having little appetite for dinner, Luindal pushed his trencher aside and wandered out on the open deck, staring fixedly across the Bay. Under his arm were a number of journals and maps that Cirdan had entrusted to him before their departure along with one other ancient chronicle presented by the Elders after his arrival. The latter was sadly incomplete. Although carefuly inscribed on the soft hide of a deer, the account was full of indecipherable letters and gaps where time and the elements had eaten away at the text. Alahseey had translated this document for him some days ago, and then had spent more days trying to guess at the missing parts.

Determined to glean what clues he could as to the likely whereabouts of the Stones, Luindal had spent most of the afternoon reading and rereading the accounts of the shipwreck as well as Alahseey's translation of the comments that had been gleaned from the Lossoth onlookers. The latter had attempted to describe the location of the ship, the configuration of the Bay and the weather conditions that had resulted in the shipwreck. Putting these important hints together with Cirdan's own observations and a set of carefully annotated navigation charts used by navigators from that earlier time, Luindal had reached the surprising conclusion that he actually knew where the Stones had sunk.

At first, he could hardly believe his luck and had assumed that this was all a miscalculation. But reading and plotting again, he had come up with the very same conclusion. About one hundred feet out in the water, on the eastern side of the Bay, there was a lengthy sandbar that most navigators were careful to avoid. Ssince the water in that portion of the Bay was not deep, it usually froze quite early in the year. While the sandbar would not have caused the disaster, which was the result of the ship being smashed against the ice, it would account for the fact that Lossoth commentators claimed to be able to see the top rigging of the wreck for some years afterwards, until the winds and elements had battered the remains into nothingness.

An owl hooted overhead out of the gloomy night shadows that caused Luindal to glance up and break into a grin. Rôg had evidently taken him up on the challenge of suveillance work and was now returning to the ship. Eager to share his news about the location of the Stones, the Elf turned towards the shapechanger to speak. But before he could get a word out, Rôg came flapping down furiously, first landing on the railing and then blurting out a tangled tale concerning a shipment of supplies and some further mischief that was being planned by the Corsair crew.

Luindal scowled and shook his head, "I should have known. But this time, they'll not get away with their pranks. We'll be waiting for them with drawn sword."

"Perhaps we should just refuse the shipment?" suggested Rôg.

Luindal shook his head, "We need those supplies. And if we turn the Corsairs back, they'll come up with another scheme we won't be able to discover. At least this way we are prepared for them, even if we don't know exactly what they plan to do." At this point, Luindal explained to Rôg about the possible location of the Stones. "If we can just hang on till the morning after next, we may have the palantiri in our hands, and can say goodbye to the Corsairs for good."

"Let me think more on this, and I'll address the men tomorrow." With that, the two parted and went their own ways.

***************************

The next morning, once the service of remembrance had concluded, Luindal had shared with the crew Rôg's tale of a possible scheme by the Corsairs. "The shipment is to come on board tonight. We'll be ready and waiting. Some in clear view on the deck, and others crouched in hiding places, but all armed to the teeth. Trust nothing these traders do or say, and keep your eyes open."

The crew muttered its approval and agreement. After the losses of the past two days, many welcomed the chance for another crack at their assailants.

"One more thing," Luindal noted. "I had thought to take the small boats out tomorrow morning hoping to locate the Stones at the bottom of the Bay. Since then, however, I think we may actually have come up with an idea as to where the palantiri lie. So perhaps we may be able to collect them and sail home soon. We won't know for sure till we go down and have a look, but all the signs are good." There were whispers and mutterering to hear this piece of welcome news. Luindal cleared his throat and continued, " If the Stones are where I suspect them to be, we will locate them and immediately crank them onto the deck of the Spirit using the large winch. In this situation, the smaller boats won't do. So we will sail out on the Spirit and, with a bit of luck, be heading home not too long after that...."

"Now back to your cabins, all. Sharpen your weapons and your wits for we will be needing them tonight."

The crew wandered off, excitedly talking about the news, and prepared for the evening to come. By the time the stars shone in the heavens, the Elves and their Lossoth allies were safely hidden on the ships, awaiting the arrival of the shipment of supplies.

[Regin Hardhammer]

As evening drew near and the time came for the men to leave, Marreth cast a suspicious glance toward Jynne but spoke to him calmly, “In light of recent events, I shall have to leave you on the ship during my next mission. I can’t work with untrustworthy shipmates in a venture as important as this. You best run your schemes by me before you go kidnapping Elves and putting poison on your blade lest you find yourself in an unpleasant situation. I’ll have the plank ready if you pull something like that again.”

If there was one thing that annoyed Marreth it was a crewmember going over his head. He had not come by his position by accident, and thought that he at least deserved the courtesy of the men keeping him well informed. A ship without a strong Captain was like an eel with its head cut off.

Marreth was also suspicious of Jynne and his poisons in regards to his friend Jarlyn. In Marreth’s view, no one who snuck poison aboard the ship without informing him could be wholly trusted. Although he had no proof, Marreth suspected that Jynne might be slipping something foul into Jarlyn’s food. He found it very unusual for an officer who looked perfectly healthy to suddenly begin vomiting and turn pallid, taking to his bed. Just that afternoon, he had assigned Thomas, one of his most trusted manservants, to prepare the sick man’s food and tend to him in his illness, making sure that no one else came near Jarlyn until he had fully recovered. Just before he left, Marreth asked the ship’s carpenter to borrow his smallest hole borer. Slipping the instrument into his pocket, Marreth promised to return the craftsman’s instrument shortly but gave no explanation as to what he planned to do with it.

Leading the way out of the ship, Marreth and his men marched forward toward the warehouse under the illumination of the full moon. Constructed out of sturdy wood, the warehouse stood firm in the center of the village despite the thrashing it regularly received from the wind and the snow. Entering the building, he thanked Tarn and Nilak for their hard work, and then instructed his crew to hop into the barrels and wait. The boxes and barrels were to be loaded onto smaller ships and ferried out to the Elven vessel where they would be lifted up onto the deck with the aid of a winch.

The two Lossoth had already lightened the barrels by removing some of their contents so the Elves would not grow suspicious of the weight. The crew were already choosing their barrels and preparing to hide, one man in each. Marreth scanned the various type of containers, which were filled with an assortment of things: rope, sail canvas, salt, weapons, and other goods. By the time he had taken his time to decide, all of the barrels had already been taken except for one filled with flower. Marreth grumbled as he lowered himself into it, fully expecting to look like a ghost when he came out. Marreth hoped that none of the crew had taken a pipe with them, especially since someone was likely to be knee deep in tobacco. He sat back and waited for the shipment to move. It was relatively roomy but his sword kept poking him in the side.

[Lalwendë]

Tarn felt a rush of pride as Marreth thanked him for the work. He had rarely been thanked in his thirty seven years, and most of those times were when he was a boy. Hunting and working with his grandfather, he had always received warm praise when he did a job well, but his adult life as an outsider brought little opportunity for praise; to survive he exploited others and by necessity he had fostered the image of being a thoroughly untrustworthy man. To receive praise now was a rare sensation which he found strangely satisfying and he visibly drew himself up to his full height, and gave an appreciative nod.

Eager to help the Corsairs, Tarn strode towards the barrels where various bodies, small and large alike, were attempting to climb into their chosen hiding places. Thynne was already working; he received a gift of a tasty strip of cured meat from a man he helped into a barrel well packed with canvas. The man could see that he would have a more comfortable journey to the ship than most, although he felt a little envious of his mate, who laughed fruitily as he sat down into a container of tobacco.

“You can leave me here,” he laughed, not seeing the disapproval on the Captain’s face as he climbed into his own barrel of flour. “What a shame there are no barrels of ale.”

“Ah, you’d drown happy,” said the man in the barrel of canvas, his voice now muffled as Thynne began to pack some of the canvas over his head.

“And that is why none of you are going in a vat of ale”, said Tarn, smiling as he worked to help a man with a large belly into a container of apples. There had been enough risk of drowning already, he thought to himself, remembering the cave and the attack on the ice. It was not a fit death for any creature, let alone a fighting man.

“Here, make sure you have your sword,” he said to the man quietly, packing the blade which had been forgotten in the rush to claim the best barrels into the container with him. He clapped him on the shoulder before he replaced the lid, closing the man into dark confinement.

[Kitanna]

Nilak watched Tarn beam with pride as Marreth thanked them both for their hard work. Nilak was proud of the work he and Tarn had accomplished in the short time they had, but it was clear Tarn was far more pleased.

Now both Lossoth men and Tarn's helper boy began loading Corsairs of all shape and sizes into the barrels. Nilak laughed at each comment the Corsairs made about going into the barrels. He had to admire them for willing to do this. Nilak probably would not have agreed to be shoved into a barrel. For any reason.

"Pity I didn't bring my pipe." One extremely tall Corsair said as Nilak tried to put him into a barrel of tobacco. "It would make this much better for me."

Nilak laughed and pulled the canvas over him. "I think the Elves might suspect something if a barrel started to smoke."

The Lossoth headed over Sernir who was attempting to get into a barrel. Nilak felt an urge to nail the barrel shut when he was inside. "If this plan of yours fails Lossoth you'll have to answer to me." Sernir spat as he situated himself in the barrel.

"Barrels don't talk, Sernir." Nilak pulled the canvas top over him to avoid another remark from the Corsair. He really wished he had a hammer and nails handy right about then.

[Imladris]

Jynne buttoned his lips and mimiced to his friend who would never betray him (also known as his mind): In light of recent events...if I hadn't done it then they would have taken Hilde (not that she deserved to be rescued) but all that our beloved captain can say is that I shouldn't have done it. Gratitude is not something that should be viewed lightly...It's time to bring Jarlyn a little of a drink...

Jynne slipped into the filthy kitchen and rummaged about for a goblet, which he filled with red wine. Fishing a slim vial from his belt, he tipped a few drops of clouded liquid and watched with satisfaction as it disappeared like mist into a rose gloom.

Smiling thinly to himself, he swirled the goblet as he slunk towards Jarlyn's quarters. A man, Thomas if Jynee recalled correctly, was slouched against the door, eyeing a flickering rainbow. As Jynne slipped behind the manservant, Thomas eased himself in front of the door handle and stared at Jynne with a puppy dog insolence.

"What are you doing?" asked Jynne impatiently.

"Captain's orders, sir," he drawled.

"And why is that?" asked Jynne.

"He is suspectful of Jarlyn's illness --" he shut his mouth as if to keep the wayward words to fly away. He nodded solemnly.

"I see," said Jynne silkily. "Do tell him that I stopped by to be sure he was getting better."

With a brief nod, Jynne slipped to the decks below, and pushed a creaky door open. The elf-woman was huddled in a corner, her hair a veil over her dirt streaked face.

"Elf," said Jynne. "You wouldn't happen to know anything that would be of interest to us, would you?"

The elf straigtened and buttoned her lips, glaring at him. He was foolish to think that she would have betrayed her people.

[Niluial]

BANG! The noise didn’t scare Elwë, nothing did and nothing could. He had changed, he didn’t care about his life any longer, or even the Palantiri, only about his precious stone, Andtuariel. His eyes were cold and hard like ice, filled with hate and revenge. As the bang had happened Corsairs scramble from the barrels they had been hiding in. They drew their weapons with evil looking smirks on their scarred faces.

Elwë exploded, he charged at the Corsairs shooting his arrows at them, one of which pierced a Corsair's dirty skin. He found pleasure in watching the Corsair fall to the ground. Elwë glanced at Annû who’s eyes were also filled with the same anger and hate. They both smiled at each other, not a loving smile nor a caring smile but a smile that almost said charge, fight and if I die, it was nice knowing you.

Corsairs charged at him, hitting him with their pointed weapons. They smelt dirty and looked it too. Elwë’s hands were stained with a mixture of his blood and the corsairs blood. He had been stabbed in the side with a pocket knife, but it was numb, he couldn’t feel it, but it bled a lot.

[Regin Hardhammer]

As the fighting raged all around him, Marreth spent most of his time zealously protecting the Stone. In his earlier plans, he had envisioned the Corsairs launching a surprise attack on the Elven ship, not the other way around. No matter, he would soundly defeat Luindal's war host and then seize their ship along with the massive Stone on board.

Marreth slashed furiously with his sword as the invaders attempted to penetrate the ring of Corsairs surrounding the smaller Palantir. Marreth wished that he could put his treasure someplace safe so that he would not have to focus all his strength protecting it, and his men would be free to fight elsewhere on the ship. He needed to find a secret hiding place for his treasure! Should his worst fears come true and the Elves capture the vessel, they would still not be able to seize the Stone, since they would have no idea where it was. He could simply slip down below and retrieve it and make a hasty exit of his own.

But where could he hide it? He needed to conceal it somewhere that the Elves would never think to search. It was too large to fit inside his seachest, and they would be sure to look in the cargo hold. The place would have to be secluded and dark, but not overly difficult for him to reach in the event that he needed to make a hasty escape.

Then it came to him. With a grin, he reflected, Of course, I should put the Stone in the garbage chute.The Elves will never expect such a powerful weapon to be lying in the middle of moldy potato peels and empty rum jugs. The trash chute was in the corner of the kitchen next to the oven. It was large enough to admit a man and led to a storage hold below the ship in which all the trash collected and which was emptied out into the sea every couple of days by several unlucky crew members.

Marreth told his men to break ranks from their circle and noted that they were now free to chase down intruders in every quarter of the ship. No one questioned his orders. Then he quietly swept the Palantiri under his arm and broke away from the others, alerting no one of his plans. In the heat of battle no one was going to notice him retreating for a minute below deck. Creeping past the sleeping quarters and the mess hall, he reached the kitchen. Marreth's mouth watered at the sight of the goose that he had asked the chef to prepare for the officers’ dinner. It lay half gutted on the food preparation table. But he did not have time to think of eating: he must make sure the Palantir was safe, out of the hands of the Elves or their even more vile Gondorian allies.

His keen eyes scanned the room to ensure that he was not being followed. He had the strangest feeling that a pair of eyes was on him but that was impossible, since there was no place in the kitchen large enough for a man to hide. He thought he heard some rats scuttling about, but that was the only sound other than the distant din of battle.

He pried open the large wooden chute, squeezed downward into the opening with some difficulty, and bumped down the chute, landing on top of the trash heap. The stench was overwhelming. Marreth pinched his nose and scowled as he buried the Stone deep in the pile between a large mound of moldy bread and the remains of last night's fish. Glad that such an unpleasant task was done, his mind more at ease concerning the security of the Palantir, he shimmied back up the chute to the kitchen with renewed confidence. He must not be too proud, however: there was still a battle to be won. Marreth emerged back on deck and renewed his assault against the enemy, twice as terrible as before.

[piosenniel]

From his perch on the Corsair ship’s mast, Rôg, in his merlin form, had watched the battle rage on the deck below. The Elves had the advantage of their surprise attack and were holding their own against the Corsairs. He looked for an opportunity to help out, but the fighting was so fast and furious, he feared he would be more hindrance than help. He did note how a number of the Corsairs had arranged themselves in a defensive circle about the smaller palantir, fending off any attempts of the Elves or their allies to get at it.

Most interesting was Marreth’s reaction to the surprise attack. He was not as composed as usual; and, in fact, he seemed almost frantic. Rôg smiled to himself as he saw the reason why. Marreth was fearful that the stone would be taken! Cocking his head to one side, he watched as the captain slipped the smaller palantir beneath his arm and proceeded to go below deck. The skinchanger followed.

Rôg flattened himself into the shadows of the passageway, his beady eyes watching the retreating figure as it went skulking down the corridor. His whiskers twitched in anticipation, letting the Corsair put a fair distance between them. On silent feet, his nails making barely a whisper against the wood of the floor, Rôg ran along, his rat body racing quietly after the Corsair captain. Several times he stopped, drawing back into the pools of darkness that puddled in the ill lit passage. Past the sleeping quarters they went, the captain and his rodent pursuer. Past the mess hall, then, and into the kitchen.

The plump bodied rodent peeked his thin pointy nose around the entrance to the galley. There, in the corner by the stove, Marreth was kneeling down. To get a better look, Rôg ran to one of the kitchen stools, scrabbled up onto its seat then leapt to the table top. The captain, suspicious it seemed, halted his attempt to pry open some small door where he knelt and looked back over his shoulder. Rôg had seen him pause and had hidden himself in the nearly empty cavity of some poor goose which had been half gutted in preparation for a meal and then abandoned when the Elves had attacked. From the darkness of his little poultry cave, the rat could keep a well concealed eye on the actions of the captain.

There was a delicious smell that wafted up to where Rôg hid from the little passageway which the captain had opened up. Something delightful was down there . . . a whole lot of somethings of exquisite savoriness . . . or so it seemed to his rodent nose. He poked out his head, watching the captain hunker down and crawl into the dark opening. A short while passed, and he could hear Marreth scrabbling back toward the kitchen. Rôg eyed him as he crawled from the passageway and stood up. The knees of his breeches were soiled, and he looked as if his boots were wearing last night’s dinner. A smile a satisfaction was on the captain’s face as he swept by Rôg’s hiding place and out the door.

Rôg leapt from the table top to the floor and made for the garbage chute. In his haste, Marreth had left the door slightly ajar and Rôg squeezed into it and slid, helter skelter, down the sloping track. It was almost too much for his senses when he hit the pile of garbage itself. It was all he could do to keep himself from trying out the tasty buffet now spread before and beneath him. ‘Work to be done!’ he chided himself and went poking his nose about in the various sectors of the crew’s leavings. And there, wedged in nicely between a lovely mound of well aged bread and some fragrant bits of fish, he found his prize. Not far from it was a sodden flour sack the cook had discarded for being too filthy and ragged, he supposed. Rôg’s sharp teeth fetched it, and his little rat paws secured the sack about the stone. Then he went exploring for the hatchway that should open to the outside, where the men on garbage duty would shovel out the fermenting goo.

Holding his breath, Rôg changed back to a man for a few brief seconds, scooped up the sack with its prize tied securely inside, and made for the outward passage. His eyes were burning from the fumes and reek as he hit the icy water of the bay. Once more his seal shape grasped the sack and made for the Elven ship.

‘Hey!’ he shouted up to any one who could hear him when he reached the far side of The Spirit. ‘Let down one of the little boats; I’ve something for the captain!’

[Lalwendë]

Tarn held his knife close to the Elf’s throat. He could feel a cold, clammy trickle of sweat running down the throat of his captive, and he tightened his grip as he felt his arm slipping. The filthy blade was close to the Elf’s skin, so close that he could cut that throat at any moment, should he choose to do so. But Galhardir stood before him with the oar, looking at him with murderous intent.

He didn’t want that thing to hit him again. The stitched wound on his ear had reopened and he could feel the blood trickling down the side of his neck; stars flashed before his eyes and he struggled to stay focussed.

“Let him go!” the younger man shouted at him. Tarn’s attention suddenly snapped back into place as he heard the words. Galhardir, shouting at him? Tarn remembered the days when he was a youth, desperate for a home and food, and he had been caught stealing by Galhardir’s father; he had never forgotten the boy, not much younger than him, running out with excitement to see his father punish the thief.

“You’re in no position to demand anything,” Tarn snapped, knowing that this time, he had the upper hand against Galhardir. Feeling the Elf wilting in his grip, Tarn issued an ultimatum. “Now, I’ll give you two seconds; drop your oar or the Elf dies.”

Galhardir dropped the oar, unable to do anything other than what Tarn told him. The Elf begged him not to, too late. Now Tarn was fully in control. He edged towards the oar and kicked it away. It fell with a clatter down into the hold where Galhardir could not reach it. With a glimmer in his eyes, Tarn nudged the Elf forwards; he moved meekly, held under his fear of the foul blade. The other man’s eyes grew wide in panic, as Tarn and his hostage came closer.

“I am no fool,” said Tarn, his voice strong and calm. “I know that if I so much as turn you will knock me down or jump on my back.” He felt the Elf trembling as though he was willing Galhardir to do just that. “You are the fool. If you hadn’t interfered then you would have been free. As it is, I’m afraid you will have to do as I say, or your friend here will die in a pool of his own blood”.

Thinking quickly, Tarn moved closer to Galhardir. It satisfied him to see the boy who had been so pleased to watch his punishment to now be shaking with fear and uncertainty. Tarn was filled with hatred for the man. He had all those things which Tarn had wanted, family and comfort, all the things which he had been forced to replace with greed and hatred. He wasn’t going to let this man prevent him from taking this Elf hostage. He had plans.

Tarn motioned to the hold. “You can get down there,” he said through clenched teeth. “You can get in there and you can stay there. You can sit in the dark, all alone like I used to do.”

Galhardir edged towards the hole in the deck, not taking his eyes off Tarn for a moment. If this was what he had to do to keep his friend alive, then he would do it, but he hoped there was some way he could get out of there; he couldn’t just leave Annu to Tarn’s whims. The hold was dark, and there were no steps leading up to the hatch. Galhardir crouched down, and lowered himself over the side, dropping out of sight.

Tarn immediately kicked the cover over the open hatch, and moving awkwardly to one side, he reached for a heavy barrel, and attempted to drag it over the deck towards him. He wanted to push the barrel over the hatch, to make sure Galhardir did not get out again. He had just remembered where he had kicked that oar. As he reached out with one arm, the other gripped even tighter about his captive’s neck, he heard a quiet yet anguished noise come from the Elf.

“The mist,” was what he said. Tarn stopped what he was doing, struck by these words. He looked about him for a moment, expecting to see a bank of sea fog rolling in, but he realised it was something only the Elf could see. His body grew limp, and Tarn realised with horror that he was about to die. Confused thoughts raced through Tarn’s mind. He ought to have felt pleased, but he did not. It was as though the grief of the Elf was dragging his own spirit along, as though where the Elf was now going, Tarn was going to come there too. He felt a sudden void open in the pit of his stomach, and tears started to prick his deep blue eyes. With horror, he pulled the knife away from the Elf’s throat, and dropped his ailing body to the deck.

Backing away as quickly as he could, his eyes wide with terror, Tarn clutched at his chest and sat down, gasping for air.

[Child of the 7th Age]

The door to Luindal's cabin had been shut tight. Inside, three figures were huddled about a small table quietly talking: Rôg, Alakhseey, and the Captain himself. The Palantir that Rôg had extracted from the garbage now sat between them in the middle of the table.

Luindal absently traced a finger over the smooth surface of the globe and then withdrew it hastily when he realized what he was doing. Unlike the larger Stone, this one was clean and shiny, free of mud and all debris, with an oddly inviting aura about it. Luindal sighed and shook his head, glancing over at his friend who was again in human form.

Luindal and the crew had ignored Rôg's earlier plea for a boat. Instead, they had fished him out of the icy Bay in seal form, hoisting him onto the deck in a heavy net, since that had seemed the fastest way to accomplish what they wanted to do. The fact that Rôg was still emitting a strong stench from his escapade in the garbage may also have played a part in their decision to use the net. The first thing Rôg noticed once he stood on deck was how quiet everything was. Given the extreme noise and hubub of battle on the Corsair ship, things here almost seemed in slow motion. Luindal had stopped to thank Rôg for the Stone and then led his friend below deck, offering him a bar of soap, a wash basin and a change of clothes. Now, several minutes later, the Shapechanger sat next to the Captain and Alakhseey calmly discussing what was happening on the other ship.

Luindal had been vastly relieved to see his friend. The Elf had been restlessly pacing the deck for some time, eager to get involved in the fighting but feeling compelled to remain behind to guard the larger Stone. There had been too many earlier surprise attacks for him to assume that the Corsair captain would stay in one spot. There was always the possibility that Marreth would break off with a small band and make his way over, intent on retrieving the Stone of Amon Sul. Despite his impatience, Luindal had remained behind with a small hand-picked group, making sure that both Stone and ship stayed safe.

The conversation had been going on for some time when Luindal abruptly stood up and went over to retrieve his sword, slipping it back in its sheathe. "Let's go. We need to get back."

"We?," questioned Rôg. "I thought you needed to stay here?"

Luindal shook his head impatiently, "There's no need for me to be here. Alakhseey can be in charge of those guarding the ship. Anyways, Marreth's not going anywhere until he retrieves that smaller Stone. He certainly wouldn't leave his ship without it. And that means we know just where to find him."

"Rôg," Luindal continued, "I'll need your help to throw down a rope so I can shimmy up and get onto the vessel. And once we're there, I want you to take me straight to the garbage room. I intend to sit there and wait for our friend. I have a feeling he'll be coming back quite soon. He won't be able to resist. If Marreth was defeated and captured, the rest of his crew would not last long."

With that, Luindal strode out of the room to go back on deck, the other two trailing along behind him. The one thing the Elf was certain of was that it would not be very long before Marreth felt compelled to go down to the garbage chute to check on the safety of the Stone. He himself had felt an odd compulsion when he had touched the globe. That "odd compulsion" would be even more likely to affect a Corsair who would have no idea about the power of such ancient and wonderous artifacts.

[Arry]

. . . missed . . . he murmured, the last breath trailing out softly from his lips.

The pain was gone. And the darkness that had pushed in from the corners of his eyes fled, dissipated like some mist at the sun’s rise.

There on the white sands, made whiter by the green countryside stretching far behind it, was the welcoming tower, the solemn song of a silver harp winding down from a high window. Behind, the curtain of golden rain closed again on the outer seas . . . some sad, imperfect dream, now sundered from him.

‘Come, little brother!’ Carandû’s hand reached out to him, his face wreathed in smiles. ‘I’ve missed you . . .’

[piosenniel]

‘I’m going to stay here,’ Rôg said, leaning against the doorjamb. It had taken several washings, but he was now clean of all the smearings from the Corsair vessel’s garbage hold. Dressed in breeches and tunic lined with fur, he looked almost like one of the Lossoth with his dark eyes peeking out from the thick furred hood that surrounded his face. ‘Bear and I had not finished our explorations when the Southrons so rudely interrupted.' He cracked a wide grin at Luindal as he pushed back the hood. ‘Of course, I think I’ve seen enough of the bay itself, beneath and around and above it, to fill pages of my notebook.’ A few words of farewell, kept light as they could, passed between them; then the captain saw him to the deck, watching as he clambered down to the small boat held steady by Rôg’s companion. Both waved at Luindal, then Bear handed Rôg one of the paddles and they pushed off toward the shore.

‘Now wasn’t that something,’ Bear said, breaking the companionable silence of their rowing. ‘Sad it was, with all those bloody deaths, but still, we won out in the end didn’t we?’ He shook his head. ‘That was something. There’ll be tales told, you know,’ he confided with a chuckle. ‘And of course, the importance of my people’s part in it will gain in the telling.’ He turned round and eyed Rôg. ‘Best you get it wrote down right in your little books. Though,’ he grinned, ‘if you want to write how I single-handedly took down a fiercesome Corsair nearly three times my size with my bare hands and cunning, I’ll be glad to recall the details for you . . . seeing as how you weren’t there when it all happened.’ Both burst out in laughter, causing the little boat to rock wildly on the cold water.

‘Sad, though, all those Elves that died,’ Bear went on, turning back to the task of paddling. ‘Should’na happened, to my way of thinking. Some kinda beauty leaves with them when they go.’ He was quiet for a while. ‘I’ll think of them when the Great Lights bridge across the dark sky.’ He stopped his rowing. ‘Now pay attention,’ he said, in the voice Rôg had come to think of as his storytelling one. ‘Should be seeing them soon. I’ll tell you a little about the lights . . .

The ends of the land and sea are bounded by a great dark pit, over which a narrow, dangerous pathway leads to the spirit regions. The sky is a great dome of hard black ice arched over the earth. There is a hole in it through which the spirits pass to the true place beyond. Only the Raven and the spirits of those who have died a natural death or have been killed by the hand of another have been over this pathway. The spirits who live there light torches to guide the feet of new arrivals. This is the light of the Great Lights. It is said if you look closely enough at them you can be see the spirits feasting and playing kickball with a walrus skull.

The whistling, crackling noise you sometimes hear when they lights play is the voices of these spirits trying to talk with those people still left behind. They should always be answered in a whispering voice. When we are young we often dance beneath the lights, and drink a cup of juniper berry spirit in honor of those who dance above. The heavenly spirits are called selamiut, “sky-dwellers,” those who live in the sky.

‘Yes,’ he said, thumping his paddle against the rim of the boat for emphasis. ‘I’ll think of those Elves when I see the Great Lights dancing.’ He turned round once more to Rôg, who sat madly scribbling notes to be fleshed into story. ‘You getting this down there in your little book?’ Rôg nodded, scratching a few last sentences on the paper. Once done, he looked up, knowing he was expected to tell a story in return.

‘I heard this,’ he began, resting his paddle across his knees, ‘from one of the Fair Folk I met in the King’s city . . .’

I know a window in a western tower
that opens on celestial seas,
and there from wells of dark behind the stars
blows ever cold a keen unearthly breeze.
It is a white tower builded on the Twilit Isles,
and springing from their everlasting shade
it glimmers like a house of lonely pearl,
where lights forlorn take harbour ere they fade.

Its feet are washed by waves that never rest.
There silent boats go by into the West
all piled and twinkling in the dark
with orient fire in many a hoarded spark
that divers won
in waters of the rumoured Sun.
There sometimes throbs below a silver harp,
touching the heart with sudden music sharp;
or far beneath the mountains high and sheer
the voices of grey sailors echo clear
afloat among the shadows of the world
in oarless ships and with their canvas furled,
chanting a farewell and a solemn song:
for wide the sea is, and the journey long.

O happy mariners upon a journey far,
beyond the grey islands and past Gondobar,
to those great portals on the final shores
where far away constellate fountains leap,
and dashed against Night’s dragon-headed doors
in foam of stars fall sparkling in the deep!
While I, alone, look out behind the moon
from in my white and windy tower,
ye bide no moment and await no hour,
but go with solemn song and harper’s tune
through the dark shadows and the shadowy seas
to the last land of the Two Trees,
whose fruit and flower are moon and sun,
where light of earth is ended and begun.

Ye follow Eärendel without rest,
the shining mariner, beyond the West,
who passed the mouth of night and launched his bark
upon the outer seas of everlasting dark.
Here only comes at whiles a wind to blow
returning darkly down the way ye go,
with perfume laden of unearthly trees.
Here only long enough afar through window-pane
I glimpse the flicker of the golden rain
that falls for ever on the outer seas.

Bear was nodding his head in approval as the poem ended. ‘Good words,’ he said, running the phrase ‘Night’s dragon-headed doors’ round several times. ‘Good pictures of they way things are. And don’t it beat all, but those Elves have some right understanding of how it’s all put together . . . the darkness, and the light, and the water all . . .’

There followed a discussion between the two companions about certain references in their separate tales; with Rôg wanting to know more about this Raven fellow, and Bear wondering about the trees and what had they to do with the sun and moon. Soon, the place along the shoreline they had been heading toward was reached. The two lone figures tied ropes to their little hide covered vessel and pulled it along the ice and snow after them like a sledge. They would make camp later, as darkness settled in - huddling beneath their snow covered tent, sipping hot tea and trading further stories until sleep took them and the new day beckoned beyond.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

poem: The Happy Mariners; The Book of Lost Tales 2; J.R.R. Tolkien

[Orofaniel]

"Rôg, you're staying, I hear," Galhardir said enthusiastically.

"Aye, that's right. We have some more explorations to do," he said, nodding to Bear.

"I see," Galhardir muttered, smiling. "The Bay is a wonderful place, as long as there only are honest Lossoth around," Galhardir then said, thinking back at the Corsairs as the intruders they had been in the beginning. "Indeed," Rôg agreed. "I don't think, however, the Corsairs will return to the Bay any time soon," Rodhal said suddenly. "Hopefully not," Galhardir then said, smiling at his nephew, but he couldn’t help feeling a bit anxious. What if they returned? No, they wouldn't. Not after this. With this Galhardir settled at least.

"Luindal; thank you for everything. We, Rodhal and I, know you'll give Annû and Carandû the most beautiful song they so truly deserve. Hopefully it will be sung for years and years by the finest voices at the Heavens," Galhardir said dreamingly. Smiling weakly, Luindal offered a handshake. Galhardir took it. Then Rodhal offered his tiny hand to the elf. Luindal gave a short laugh, taking the hand in his, praising the boy; "You are indeed a fine boy, Rodhal. Remember that. We shall meet again, perhaps. I certainly shall look forward to it," Luindal said. "Thank you, sir. I will remember that. And perhaps you could come visit us," he said, smiling. The boy looked at his uncle. Galhardir could never have been more proud.

After this adventure, Galhardir and his nephew were returning home. Both of them were happy to say so. Galhardir knew there had been too much of an adventure for his own sake. Rodhal was of the same opinion. The boy was still upset over the death of the elves and the others that died for the cause, and Galhardir knew that it wouldn't be easy for the boy to get over it right away. To be honest, Galhardir would never forget it. The memories, the good and the bad ones, from the ship and the hunt for the Palantiri would live with him forever.

[Regin Hardhammer]

Marreth slurped his fish soup with a grin plastered over his face. Night was falling fast and the Elven ship had made its way out of the Bay and into the open waters. The time had come to begin his escape. Those Elves were foolish if they thought that Marreth could be contained in their simple prison cell. He had escaped from far more dire situations: once, he had slipped away right under the noses of a crowd of Gondorian soldiers. After he got off this wretched ship, he vowed to hunt down that traitorous scum Castamir and slice off his head. If it weren’t for Castamir and his agent Jynne, both Diera and Jarlyn would still be alive. Marreth vowed never to work in the service of anyone else again. From now on Captain Marreth would venture under his own flag and for his own benefit.

Finishing his evening meal, Marreth fingered the key that dangled from a metal chain around his neck. He had been waiting patiently in his room for three days until the Elven guards had slipped into a simple routine, and no longer paid much attention to him. Marreth knew that the Elves generally posted only one guard at the very end of the hallway. This guard brought Marreth his meals twice a day. Breakfast normally consisted of an apple or orange, a slice of stale bread, and a hunk of old cheese. Dinner was often some sort of fish soup or baked fish with a piece of bread just as stale as the one he got for breakfast. Marreth could not help but wonder with longing what scrumptious meals the officers ate......probably roast beef with buttered beans, or ham glazed with honey and steamed carrots. The only drink he ever got was a cup of tepid water. Marreth could have killed for a mug of ale, and if his guard had ever been carrying one when he delivered Marreth’s meals he probably would have.

Carefully he removed the key from around his neck, keeping his bowl in the other hand, and then unlocked the door to his cell. As he slowly turned the key, Marreth heard a soft click and pushed the door slightly ajar. He peaked his head outside and glanced down the corridor. At the end of the hallway he saw a solitary Elf, eyes closed and in deep concentration.

Marreth had once read in the scrolls at the library in Umbar about the Elvish power of communicating by thought over long distances. He wondered if this was what the guard was doing now. Perhaps he was talking to his family about the successful voyage and his speedy return home. Well, he would give him something to remember!

Marreth slunk towards the preoccupied Elf and swung the large stone bowl at his skull with all of his strength. The Elf’s expression turned to one of complete surprise as he fell over unconscious. Marreth made a mental note to reward Hilde handsomely for supplying him with the key if he ever saw her again. That was twice she had saved him. “Just in case you ever find youself locked in a cell somewhere on that awful ship,” she had said with motherly concern in her voice. Of course he had never believed that he would use it, but evidently fate had dictated otherwise. Quickly Marreth swiped the guard’s two-handed broadsword from its scabbard, eager to avoid anyone else who might be passing by.

Then Marreth snuck up on deck. It was empty except for a lone sentry on the far side of the ship; the remainder of the crew must be resting in their quarters. Marreth reached the railing and cautiously lowered one of the lifeboats into the water. Then with a nimble leap, he hurdled over the side and landed in the smaller vessel before the guard even realized what was happening.

Marreth had decided not to return to his ship back in the Bay. For one thing, all of his most trusted officers were dead and he could not trust anyone else from the crew. He wondered if Castamir had any other agents still on board. For another thing, the Lossoth might attack him as soon as he got back, and it was not worth starting a battle. No, the ship and crew held nothing for him now. As Marreth started to row, many uncertainties still plagued his mind: when e would get another ship, how he would make it back to Harad, and just where he would find his next meal. But amid the confusion, one thing remained clear. Marreth would find out where Castamir was and extract bloody vengeance upon his head: vengeance for the Palantiri, vengeance for his fallen officers, but most of all, vengeance for his own betrayal.

[Imladris]

Lord Castamir counted the days since Marreth left. If all went well then he ought to be back soon....or at least have a letter apprehending how the search for the Stones went.

Castamir licked his lips greedily. How he wanted those Stones. They could show him whatever he wanted. It was a power in his hand, a power that would make even kings bow before him. He grinned as fantasies of monarchs pleading for visions of their enemies flitted through his mind. And how rich he could become! The Stones would be a better guard than the men who served him now. It would show him plots whispered in the darkness, devious thoughts hidden under the mantle of fair words.

He sighed contentedly...Marreth would be successful.

A page crept in quietly, a rolled manuscript in his hand. "My lord," he said tremulously, "here is a letter for you from Marreth."

Castamir plucked the letter from the page's hand and gestured him away. Glancing at the parchment, he frowned. The writing was an unseemly scrawl, as if it were written in haste. Marreth's hand was usually long and flowing...

Castamir broke the seal and began to read the letter:

My lord Castamir --

It is my lot to bring you grievous news. It appears that we had a traitor in our midst -- Jynne. He murdered both Jarlyn and Diera...Marreth and Jynne met in battle and our captain killed him...

Castamir frowned. Jynne had been a good choice to carry ou this plans -- pity he let his murdering nature get in the way. On second thought, maybe it was better that Jynne had been slain. It would have been ill if Jynne turned against him..

We gained one Stone and the elves another. In the battle that commenced, however, the elves reclaimed the Stones and will take them into the West.

Castamir frowned and read hungrily on. Hopefully the Corsair who had written this would go on and tell how the captain bravely led them forth in battle and rewon the Stones...

We would have continued to fighty, my lord, but we were as a wounded dog who must slink away to nurse our wounds or die. And Marreth had been captured too....but he escaped and disappeared. We do not know where he is.

Castamir crumpled the letter in his fist, not deigning to read more, and cast it into the fire. His cheeks twitched...his body seethed with frustrated anger. The Corsairs should have died defending the Stones...if the elves outnumbered them then they should have taken the Stones stained with blood to their precious West.

Jynne dead, Marreth gone -- Castamir's cheeks paled. Why had Marreth abandoned the crew in such a fashion? He knew about Jynne. That could be the only explanation. Castamir knew that Marreth would never come back to the lord that had betrayed him. And Castamir could not help but feel a breath of chill tingle in his stomach.

[piosenniel]

~*~ Finis ~*~

[piosenniel]

~*~ To Elvenhome ~*~