She walked around the small room that would be her dwelling place for the next four days. The large cat, Zir, had done the same. Then he yawned and lay down on the floor, taking up a full quarter of the space. He was not impressed.
“It will be fine, my pet,” she reassured him. “We can go on deck of a night and watch the sky. Just do not afear the sailors.”
Zir had yawned again, and laid his head on his outstretched paws. He was not fooled. Both Khahaynd and her cat knew they were not the most welcome of passengers. But the captain had no choice. The Grand Mistress of her Order had commanded it. So it would be.
And she had a mission. Khahaynd knew she was chosen mostly for her skill in the arts, but also because her olive skin would lessen any Gondorian’s thoughts that she was a Numenorian. If she tempered her natural grace and haughtiness, and allowed herself to become…a little dirt covered (she winced at that), if she ensured she spoke as she had been taught by the language tutor, she could ‘just’ pass for a woman of southern Gondor.
Zir was the problem. Only the wealthy were likely to have a great cat as a pet. But she would not risk travelling without him. He was her protector, her scout and guide. He was her friend…pet.
She had spoken at length with him already. No sudden moves, no stalking or pouncing. And be hidden as much as possible. She would place a spell of illusion on him near habitation. He would appear as a large dog to others.
‘A dog!’ She had read his thoughts of disgust. ‘Why not a small horse..a pack pony?’
‘An ordinary woman is more likely to have a dog’, she had thought back. ‘Dogs are ten a coin. Who notices them unless they are of a high breed?’
And that had satisfied the cat.
The ship was crewed by loyal and trustworthy men. They were not keen on Zir being aboard, they were not keen on a woman being aboard. ‘Bad luck’, some whispered. No matter. Their ringleader would soon disappear overboard.
The voyage itself was a trading one. There were goods on board needed in the Isles. There was jewellry and perfume heading to a merchant just south of Pelegar. Exotic to the taste of Northern Gondorians, and so fetching a fine price for those cunning enough to avoid the ship patrols out of Gondor and any elven ships that far south. She would be set ashore discreetly, on a beach a day’s ride North from the harbour of Pelegar. She herself was to head North.
She could hear her mare, Tarih, kicking at the wood of her confines. She liked being on ship as much as Zir. Khahaynd sent her a command. ‘Halt. Soon enough your hooves will feel sand beneath them, and green grass. Be calm.’ Tarih was another of her ‘pets’. A mare from a noble bloodline, swift of foot in the races, and stout of heart in the hunt.
And they would be hunting. Indeed, her mission required that.
Khahaynd Zimraphel of Umbar made herself comfortable among the plush cushions on her bed, and picked at a few of the delicacies she had sent onboard earlier. She unfurled the scroll bearing her general orders, (the more delicate ones not being set in ink) and focused on what lay ahead.
