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Name me three things
that defy Death.
The art,
the song,
and glory.
But forget the feeling of love.
Enjoy it,
comfort on it,
relish in it.
But be aware:
It is fading
like a blossoming flower surrounded by ice.
- Viraïgon,
Dark Elvish Master of Picture and Word
North of Middle-Earth, realm of the Kraggash, Late Third Age
Cadhalor looked after the slave.
Inúr felt over the dress that was clearly too small and too short for her. Goblin clothing! her fear that the colors could be screaming in all various tones and let her seem like a fool, he could successfully disperse with a short »No«.
Cadhalor had exchanged the shabby horse against Sardaï. The nightmarish steed had appeared after a short time before them and had been visibly delighted to be reunited with its master. After that it had eaten the redundant horse to still its hunger.
Since their departure from the farm, Cadhalor and Inúr had remained silent.
The anger made him speechless: He had been deeply humiliated, possessed no longer the support of Thangrineth and was wholly dependent on the mood of the Goblin-king. He was not very good at thinking of an intrigue and yet he had to forge one after the other to stay alive.
Why the slave was quiet, he could only estimate. She certainly was saddened that she had to travel with him and still processed what she had gone through in the hands of the Obbôna. He saw it at her face. Inúr was no warrior, but an artist. The barbarians were not able to unite the advantages of both professions into one.
»At least«, Cadhalor said suddenly, »we evaded the henchmen of the Galran Unuk. With the favor of the Winds, those he sent out will clash together with the savage men and end the rabid Obbôna once and for all, so that we never need to worry about her again. Although I would have rather killed her to give her death my name.«
»Yes, milord«, she agreed and exhaled relieved. His words gave her some comfort. »Munugash will be easy to persuade.«
»Your words in the Powers' ears«, he replied. »Should the fat toad think that I hesitate to kill him despite his one-hundred guards with which he surrounded himself, he will see that he was wrong.«
»Attack, milord?«
»In case that he does not surrender the antidote to me. If I die, then so, as it is suitable for a warrior.« He smiled as he noticed how much she feared death. »You will be taken care of. You will be able to escape through the gap that I strike. You will return to the land of the Conclave and wait for Thangrineth. With my death, you will fall back to her.« He knew that through his well formed words, he had taken every possibility from her to return to her own people.
»Milord, that is very generous of you«, she answered. »May I ask you for a favor?«
»Is your life not great a favor enough?«, he gave back winsomely.
»You could issue a document that will allow me passage back into the realm. I fear that the border guards of your kin will kill me otherwise, as soon as they recognize me«, she said pleadingly. »In their eyes I am nothing more but a slave who took flight.« Inúr lowered her head. »They do not know my true reasons.«
Cadhalor admitted that he had not thought about that particular problem. »That I will. Immediately.« He led Sardaï away from the street and dismounted. »It will not take long anymore before we are at the courtyard of the fat toad.« He took a piece of parchment, ink and a quill, sat down in the grass and wrote a few lines to the guards on the island fortresses.
As he was done and looked up, Inúr just ordered her long, black hair, pulled it together and back to make a braid, which emphasized her slender, not very barbarian looking face. She was really beautiful.
Taken by surprise by his own thoughts, he led them quickly there to what one could do with her skull: dye it silver, cover it in adamant dust, place gemstones on it and create patterns. Such a graceful barbarian woman had deserved a life after her death.
Cadhalor got up and handed her the letter. »Take care of it«, he said. »Your life depends on it.«
During the transfer, he touched her hand. He could not even say whether it had been intentionally or a mere accident: soft, warm, delicate. Not different from that of his wife. He hesitated, looked at her and pulled himself into Sardaï's saddle.
Inúr acted as if she had not noticed it and as he did not a say a word either, it was, as if it had never happened.
Soon they arrived at the entrance of the courtyard of the Kraggash, the badly decorated Goblin-head, embedded into the hill landscape. Tinny was the sound of the trumpets that made their coming known. From the colorful painted entrance stormed the goblins and swung their toy-like halberds.
»There! One knife-ear has returned«, one of them called.
»The knife-ear and the round-ear«, giggled another. »Now, now, down from the horsy and quickly off to Munugash, the great ruler.«
Cadhalor saw with evil delight that they kept their distance to Sardaï. The word of the taste of the nightmarish steed for flesh obviously came around. He dismounted deliberately slowly, for one to show the Kraggash how indifferent he felt about their king and because his left knee was missing its strength. Numb and cold it felt between upper and lower thigh, which was usually the guarantee for graceful movements.
Inúr was pulled by small hands from her saddle, high-pitched voices laughed and giggled, the goblins poked at her clothing as they had recognized what she wore.
»Look at her!«, one of the Kraggash screamed and sought to pull Inúr away, »She wants to become the favorite of the king!«
Cadhalor gave Sardaï an order and the Nightmare dealt a menacing blow with its hind-hooves against the goblin's head. Dark sparks flew up as the hoof was literally smashing in the small head and the skull detonated. The dead goblin fell, blood gushed against his companions.
Screaming, the goblins jumped away from the slave. They insulted and threatened Cadhalor and the Nightmare by shaking their halberds about.
»Thank you, milord«, Inúr said relieved.
»That is my property, scum«, he called loudly instead of answering her and attempted to summon the black mists of fear against the goblins. He felt the powers at work, but more than a few thin threads did not appear. The poison showed ever more its effect. »Hands off the slave!« With a tuck, Cadhalor pulled her by the slave band. His knee did him service again.
Led by the Kraggash they came through several high rooms, then a large door was opened: They had reached the throne-room with the cascades.
Everywhere sat and stood goblins about: In armor, in shrill-colorful clothes, bareheaded or with caps, which not even the jesters of the barbarians would be inclined to wear.
The repulsive disgusting king sat leisurely on his throne, the eyes shimmered meanly and his goblin-women stood about him in all their terrible ugliness so that Cadhalor would have loved to shut his eyes to not longer bear the sight. The Kraggash were surprisingly calm and seemingly excited about what they would come to hear.
»You will be silent«, Cadhalor said to Inúr.
He decided to try it first with relaxed overbearance. Possible that he could intimidate the ruler. »We are here, Munugash.« He hurled the knapsack to the ground that was sliding with much force and loudly rattling before the throne. »Here you have the parchment and crown back, as you wanted it.«
Two goblins took the knapsack, brought it to the eye-height of the king and took out what it held within. »The crown«, Munugash giggled, »and the parchment!« He opened the document, looked at it and sniffed it. The he licked on the crown and scratched with his thick nails on the metal; it produced a scraping sound. Obviously, he was checking the loot. Finally he raised the thick face and called out: »We are happy!«
Loud shouts and screaming stormed through the hall.
Cadhalor looked at the king. »Where«, he called against the noise, »is my antidote?«
Munugash tore the arms up into the air, showed his people the crown and the parchment and at the same demanded silence. »And where darksome knife-ear have you got the head of the Galran Unuk? We had agreed on that!« His voice cracked. »Do you wish to leave your life? Or is the skull with your ugly warrior friend and you want to negotiate? You will be disappointed.«
»No. We have killed the Galran Unuk, but the time was not sufficient to cut off his head«, Cadhalor answered truthfully. Now he had to try it with cooing words. »See, king, it matters not whether to have the head or not. The Galran Unuk is dead and the sight of his face would not have been to your liking.«
»So? I am always delighted to have a trophy of a defeated enemy!« He waved a goblin over and demanded wine.
»In this case it would be only the eighth part of a trophy.«
»O, I love trifles!«, he called and clapped. »You should have brought him along.« The goblins laughed.
»Let me explain, king. During the fight his head came between two chain-links and was rasped to mere dust.« Cadhalor forced up a smile.
»Rasps? How magnificent! I could spread them over our fields and fertilize them«, Munugash screamed in laughter who was amused to make the Dark Elf look like a fool. His people joined in.
»It would have been no good fertilizer. And also no nice sight«, he tried to evade. »Even his maker would not recognize him anymore«, Cadhalor spoke on and lied in the same self-evident tone with which had spoken the truth earlier. »It was too little as to bother you with it.« He noticed by the constant laughter of the goblins that they did not care at all for what he had to report. For that reason he spared them the news about Kajara and the invading barbarians. Should they burn this hall to the ground.
He looked to Inúr. Her worried expression told him that she estimated that he would jump forward and kill the king, only to fall himself then against the outnumbering force.
»Enough, enough«, Munugash grunted and shook himself of laughter. »That a knife-ear tries to save its life is to me delight enough. I will not take it from you. Not yours and not that of your slave.«
»Thank you, king Munugash«, Cadhalor said. »Then I can take the antidote ...«
»No«, Munugash buzzed, broke again into shrill laughter and struck against the arms of his throne. »No, knife-ear. You will not get the antidote«, he panted. He poured wine into his mouth and gulped loudly. »That is the punishment for your failure. I will let you go, but I think that you will not have more than seven days, before the poison lets your blood become so thick that you come to an end.« He spluttered loudly and pointed at Cadhalor. »Look! Look, how his face tears up!«
Indeed, Cadhalor experienced immense anger and prepared himself to strike against the goblins to make the promise come true that he had given Inúr.
The small bells on the crown rung up as Munugash stood up. »Forty bows are aiming for you, knife-ears. If you so much as twitch, you will loose the time of seven days that I granted you to do that what you wanted before you die. Now out with you and your slave!«
The armed goblins advanced with lowered halberds on Cadhalor. He thought feverish about what he should do. Attack? To die now and forego the time he was given? He decided for another possibility. »We leave«, he said to Inúr, who could not believe that he intended to bow to Munugash's will and retreat.
They left the courtyard and stood again in the rain that came down on them.
»Milord, what do we do?« Inúr could no longer take the silence and had to break it.
Cadhalor remained quiet and looked at her. She did not even know whether he was in her immediate near, she did not perceive a loud from him, not even a tuck on the leash. From the turmoil that his thoughts were, he simply picked one that seemed to him the most sensible.
»Milord, speak to me!«
»We go to the land of the Conclave.«
»What?«
»You heard what I said«, he snapped at her and the hard, reprimanding pull on her slave band choked her. »The mission has failed. For me. It is impossible to reach where I need to go in seven days, as it is expected of me.«
»So you wish to die where your family is?«
»No, I will not step over the border. I swore to the Conclave that I would only arrive victorious before them or my people«, he said embittered. »But you must live, Inúr.«
»I? I am but a slave ...«
»... of the tribe of Farron. Your life must endure. Who knows what use the Conclave might draw from it«, he completed her sentence. »I do not do it out of mercy. You are a too valuable hostage as to die miserably in the wilds.«
»That means that you will not cross the bridge?«
»Indeed. I will bring you there and give the guards order to escort you to my wife. She will receive a letter in which I lay open your status. You will live well in our house.« Cadhalor spoke clear and certain. His decision was made, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he found Inúr fascinating.
»You will oppose the flesh-thief, am I right, milord?«
»The Obbôna will die by my hand, I promised her that. And also Munugash will have seen his last dawn. So it will happen.« He walked over to the mounts, the leash tensed up. »Faster. We must ride quickly. I have no time to loose.«
Inúr nodded. »Yes, milord.« She located her horse, climbed a little sluggish into the saddle and clawed her fingers into the mane on Cadhalor's orders, who had tied her reigns to that of Sardaï. Then began a wild ride through the rain that required strength and agility of the slave not to fall.
Cadhalor had observed her when he had felled his final decision. He had recognized regret in her expression. Regret and admiration - for him! But at the same time she could delight to return into the protection of the land of the Conclave, where she could await the return of Thangrineth.
Cadhalor saw the surroundings blurred and doubled.
The poison of the Kraggash unfolded ever more its effects. The more that he tried to ignore them, the stronger came the paining waves through his body. Even the herbs that he had gathered and chewed did not make any significant change to that. They usually helped against poisoning but the venom of the Kraggash seemed to be made exactly for him.
The right leg was numb and could just as well be missing, Cadhalor did no longer feel it. His sense of smell irritated him, made him believe to smell fresh baked bread and that since miles, while he had the constant taste of iron on his tongue. This mess confused him even more.
Endure, he told himself. Ye powers, I must reach the borders. After that give me enough power to at least end Munugash. It was a wish that he did no longer believe to come true. The poison caused him too many troubles for that. But maybe the Winds were merciful on him and the herbs would postpone his death.
»Milord, why do we suddenly ride slower?«, Inúr asked behind him.
»Your horse«, he answered shortly. The tongue did not obey him anymore as he wished. For that reason he did not speak at all with the slave anymore.
Cadhalor felt a terrible tiredness. His eyes closed themselves ever again.
»Rest«, he ordered weakly and already slipped from the saddle. He had to bend his knees, else he would have fallen. The bow fell from his fingers; gasping he tried to pick it up. After the third attempt he managed to grasp it and used it as walking stick.
»As you wish, milord.« Inúr followed the noise that the bow was making. They stood beneath a leafless tree that served no protection from the slight rain. »Milord, is there a place against the rain or why have you chosen this spot?«, she wondered and pulled the blanket closer around her slim shoulders.
»It appealed to me«, he answered and slipped with his back along the tree to the ground. »It simply appealed to me.« With his head leaning against the bark, he closed his eyes and drifted away.
Heat from his inner made him sweat, the cool touch of the rain came like a soothing. Without it, he would certainly have burned up.
The fever brought him dreams.
He saw his wife, who lured him and exposed herself for him and as he took her in his arms, she suddenly acquired Inúr's face. Yes, the slave possessed against all odds a face, something elvish. Infront of her empty eyes she wore the band made of black lace that enforced her alluring appearance in an indescribable way. He leaned forward and kissed Inúr, felt her well-formed body beneath his fingers which suddenly disappeared into smoke.
Now he stood on a balcony, far over the land of the Conclave, on their tower. The Conclave itself flanked him and from below the masses were cheering for him. They celebrated him as subduer of Middle-Earth.
»You have forgotten me«, a woman whispered into his ear and as he turned around, there stood the burned and smoldering Obbôna.
Ere he could raise his arms to defend himself, she dealt a harsh blow with both her hands against his chest that sent him back over the balustrade.
The Dark Elf fell screaming from the tower, fell past bones from which the building had been raised, screamed and screamed ... until someone caught him at his shoulder. His free fall ended still miles above the masses and the wind played about him.
»Milord!«
He wanted to open his eyes, but his lids were heavier than rock. Someone shook at his shoulder.
»Milord, wake up! Please! They are looking ...« Then Inúr screamed up. In the distance neighed Sardaï.
Cadhalor awoke from his slumber and looked about himself.
The slave was held by two masked figures; three others had thrown ropes around the neck of the nightmarish steed and tried to tame it, before Sardaï shredded the tow with his sharp teeth.
The shadows infront of him, he saw almost too late. His ability to see returned, but only on a distance. Three men whom he saw as blurred shapes stood right infront of him.
»Your death is Cadhalor.« He jumped up, drew his short swords and struck the blades against each other that began to buzz brightly. »You committed the unforgivable mistake to lay hand on my properties. No one who possesses a hint of sense tries to steal from a Dark Elf.«
The robbers stood still on a sign of their leader. Their faces were partly covered by cloth before their mouth and noses, but their eyes were evidence to the fear that had taken them. Barbarians, furthermore, by their own people exiled barbarians. »We held you for dead, Dark Elf«, he said and tried to sound disarmingly.
»I will show you the difference between dead and living creatures.« Cadhalor hurled his swords without a warning and assaulted them in the very same moment. Almost in the same moment as the swords struck their targets, he was among his foes and held his long-knives in his hands.
The blades struck through the leader and the man to his right, Cadhalor slit the throat of the third.
Something buzzed.
The sound brought Cadhalor to pull his head back. The feathers on the arrow shaft struck his nose, so close the projectile had missed him.
»Milord, be careful!«, Inúr's cry reached him. »One of them has to be ...«
A new shape stood before him, swung his weapon over his head and hit after him with a roar.
Cadhalor wanted to have him taste fear, but there shot a lightning arc through his skull. The surrounding became bright, he smelled again the fresh baked bread and tasted iron in his mouth. His arms fell powerless to the ground and his legs felt as if they were made of glass and would shatter under the mere weight of his own body. He even heard them cracking already! The poison! Motionless he stood there and waited that they would splinter.
The enemy before him appeared to him like a blinding white being. »What now, knife-ear?«, he asked laughing.
»Do not wait too long«, someone called. »Strike before he wakes up again!«
Again sounded the angry neighing of the stallion. The thunder of hooves closed in and the robbers called up in havoc.
Cadhalor's sight began to clear up and he stared at the blood-covered, blind slave, who was looking for him but would miss him for several steps. Why is she free? He could not utter a word. He knew what was happening to him: The venom was about to kill him in this very forest. Possible that the exhaustion of the battle encouraged the deadly substance.
Then he recognized the silence that was suddenly about him. Infront of him appeared a trusted and at the same time worried face of a Dark Elf. »Cadhalor! There I leave you to go only one time alone ...«
Aitholon! The voice of the friend became quieter, then Cadhalor was no longer able to think.
His awareness became dark.
