Khahaynd remained in Calla’s house, in Bree, for two days. She knew she was nearing her goal, and that time was important. She also knew information was important. She would take all she could find to her Mistress.
The house itself was small, tucked away along a short alley, but with Balkumagan and Calla as the only other inhabitants it did not feel crowded. Her room was comfortable, Calla was a reasonable cook, and Zir and Tarih were provided for. For the first time in weeks she felt she could remain where she was for a while.
She spoke a little more with Balkumagan at dinner. She asked again after her brother of course, but the sharp featured man mostly smiled. “You have heard of him perhaps from other women, eh? He would like you, with your auburn hair. He has a thing for redheads. But I think his thoughts are on another red-haired ‘woman’ at the moment.”
She had laughed at that, but her laugh sounded hollow. “I have heard him mentioned,” she replied discreetly. “I have heard he has his own ship and crew, and answers to none?”
Magan nodded as he helped himself to a rare cup of coffee. He also took up a buttery pastry and nibbled the edge as if wanting it to last.
“He is a very good captain. He looks out for his crew and shares what treasures we acquire. What more can a man ask for? But maybe he is not all a woman could ask for? He travels often, and there is a darkness in his heart from his past that yet haunts him. There, I have told you enough. Information for information. Tell me more about yourself.” He offered to pour her coffee, and she nodded.
“What would you know? I was born in Umbar Barabel to a trading family. But my parents always knew I would not settle to such a life myself. When I asked to train with one of the Priestesses of Lord Sauron they willingly let me go. There I thrived. I had learning, and arts to delve into to my heart’s content.”
Waving a forefinger at her, Magan narrowed his eyes. “Most folk I know do not speak idly nor often about Lord Sauron. We know of him from our past, and try to remain unnoticed by he and his servants. Does it surprise you that speaking with you about Him makes me a little…nervous?”
She smiled, in rather more of a predatory manner than intended. “It does not surprise me. Lord Sauron is a harsh and demanding Master, but he has so much to teach to those who please him.”
Magan nodded, and pushed his chair back a little. “I take it you please him, Khahaynd?”
“At the moment,” she replied. She was under no illusion she could lose His favour as swiftly as she had once gained it.
“But if you do not mind, I would prefer to speak of…less spiritual matters?” Magan said, taking up one of the last two pears from the table. He offered her the second, and she accepted it.
“I miss home, at least what home once was. The Heirs of Castamir cause many problems in Umbar now, as I see it, and there are other factions wanting them gone, or to control them. You have to pick your friends carefully. But you must know some of this?” The First Mate tapped the table with his fingers, but watched her closely for a reaction.
“I thought you wanted not to speak of Lord Sauron?” she replied warily.
He raised his brow. “This matter is political, not spiritual.”
“Ha. There are more than four Heirs of Castamir, as many know. And they are all under His eye. His will will be done.”
It was enough. Magan raised a hand. “Then perhaps we take a walk outside, under the waning moon? There is a pleasant garden a short distance away.”
Khahaynd felt she should have said ‘no’, but she didn’t. They spoke no more of politics or Sauron though, only of youthful memories of the beauty of Umbar Baharbel. Strangely to her, she found she was liking his company.
But it was not to last. The following morn there was a letter left for her. His business had become urgent and he had to depart. Perhaps they would meet again once both had completed their ‘tasks’? She folded the letter and put it in a pocket.
Calla was in the small kitchen, baking. She turned as Khahaynd entered.
“I am making supplies for you. ‘Tis a long way you must travel to the Lady’s House, and there are no dwelling places of note past Trestlebridge. The Old Dwarf stronghold is that way, sure enough, but you never can tell what mood they will be in. Sometimes hospitable, sometimes not.”
“Dwarven folk scare me not,” Khayand replied. “If I am in need, I shall take what I want, while they hide from a great storm.”
“Weather magic?” Calla laughed as she took the tin holding the bread from the oven, and set it on the tiled table top. “I used to do a little of that myself. Still do, if the neighbours annoy me.”
Khahaynd chuckled. She doubted Calla had anything near her skill, but it was good to know she kept her hand in. “Weather magic, illusions, control of animals - these are some of my skills. Making bread is not. I thank you for your thoughtfulness.”
“Fresh bread, dried fruits and meat, and some pickled vegetables. Not fit for a Lady’s table really, but it will keep you full in the reaches of Angmar. You know not to touch anything there, game nor water?”
Khayhand nodded, and reached down as a large shaggy dog / Great Cat pushed the back door open and walked over to greet her with a rub of his head.
“The Hillmen there know what is safe; if they offer food it is likely fine. But there are different tribes and not all are friendly to us. The Angmarim themselves are reputed to be skin and bone, as if they try and exist on thin air since The Witch King left. But they must be eating and drinking something. I am sure they can be persuaded to ‘tell’ if need be.”
Khahaynd looked at her with narrowed darkened eyes. “I can handle them. From what I have been told they are resilient, but faded in power since the recent past. One snap of my fingers and they are ash.”
“Ah, I wish I had your skills,” Calla, walked round the table, and looked admiringly at Khahaynd. She slipped Zir a fair sized chunk of roasted beef. The cat purred appreciatively.
“Do you know the details of what the Lady requires of you? It must be important to summon you so far?”
That was a question too far. Calla should have known that. The Sorceress withdrew a little into herself. She had not been told specifically what she was wanted for, but she had a good idea. She was not about to tell any other though. It was her intent to do such a good job, that Zairaphel would find her ‘indispensable’. It would be another step closer to becoming head of the Order. She had seen Zairaphel dispose of others, she knew how it was done. Soon enough her power would be strong enough, and with her sponsor’s support, what could stop her?
Calla tried to speak to her some more, but she could not. Nor would she be able to speak with any other for a few weeks. Khahaynd was not having questions or rumours about her mentioned in Bree until she was far away.
Later that day, she told the man looking for a place to stay that there was no room at the moment. He went elsewhere. The following morning she packed her saddlebags well, enough of the food Calla had prepared for her, and extra dried meat for Zir. That she cleaned out much of her hostesses winter supplies did not bother her. She made sure Tarih had been well fed and watered, and groomed the mare herself. All was ready. She had almost everything she needed already about herself. She could handle most situations she could envisage. Khahaynd was confident.
“Now don’t go telling folk about me when I am gone,” she warned Calla. “Careless talk displeases our Mistress and our Master, and the silence will become permanent, should I find you have endangered my mission.”
Calla had nodded that she understood, but her eyes held a barely controlled anger. The woman should have known better.
And with that Khahaynd rode out of Bree, heading for Trestlebridge and the path to Angmar.
