(continued from this...)
The Men led them through the countryside, across fields and through thickets, avoiding the roads as long as they could. When they neared the crossroads, one way leading to Gondamon, and the other to the Dourhand port of Kheledûl, they halted, and sent out two spies to see that it was secure. Soon the ‘all clear’ signal was given, and the elves were hurried along the road and through the gates. The group was met by a squat dwarf with a short beard and horned helm who guided them down a cobblestone road to the pier, where a boat was moored. The skies were cloudy, the wind was rising, and small whitecaps were forming on the water. Balkumagan immediately began shouting orders to hoist sail and cast off.
"No doubt help will come soon," Parnard remarked to Danel, as they watched the men make short work of the preparations.
Danel looked at him with concern. The Wood-elf was covered in mud, with pieces of turf lodged in his armour from being dragged behind a horse. "I am not so certain about help," she replied.
"Quiet now, both of you!" said the Umbarrim shipmaster. "No harm will come to you as long as you do as you are told."
"You do not command us," snapped Parnard, and yelled, "Natho! Natho!"* as loud as he could, until he felt the cold prick of a blade at his throat.
"I will not say it again," Balkumagan said. "I do not wish to harm either of you, nor the small rat folk, but I have orders from my Captain." He lowered the dagger. "I will not permit these men to harm you either," he said, motioning toward the Breelanders, "but you must not resist."
"How can we trust the word of a brigand!"
"You have no choice, High Lord."
"What will become of the halflings?"
"I do not want them slain, but I will do what is necessary: if I must slay them, or you, so be it. Do not give me cause."
"Then have the courtesy of telling us who will be our executioner."
"What does it matter, Elf? But I shall tell you this: Captain Naraal shall not be your executioner. He wants you both, alive." Balkumagan's dark eyes flickered as they appraised Danel's handsome face and figure. "He particularly wants the Lady alive."
"A man with a penchant for Elf-women? Does he not know about us? said Danel, tossing her red hair in contempt.
"That you will die if any man dares to violate you? But you do not understand, Lady; my Captain is not like that. Perhaps you will learn something about Men, eh?"
"Or perhaps you will learn something about taking a woman of the Noldor," she retorted, and looked down her nose at the man. He was not uncouth in manners, unlike the other crude slouchy Men, and he was taller, with features coarse to elven eyes; but there was nobleness to his mien: perhaps she could yet reason with this man.
Balkumagan laughed. "Where is the big elf in black? I thought he would be following us by now."
"If he is, you will all die soon!" Parnard burst out.
"End this talk! Get them aboard ship," Daviion said to Balkumagan, then he turned to face Danel. "Wolfrun says you're a witch and that you should burn!" He pulled Steel-Thorn out from under his cloak. The sword was light as as reed but unbending, made from ancient dwarf-steel by the elf Estarfin, who was taught by the master armour-smith Forodhir, who was taught by Aulë himself in Aman, long, long ago.
"How I hate to see my sword in the hands of a - no!" cried Parnard, for Daviion had suddenly pointed the blade at Danel's chest.
Balkumagan struck Daviion hard across the face and pushed him away. "Fool!" he spat out.
Danel nodded her head slightly in wry thanks for the intercession, and said to him, "We know not if any are hunting for us: but you must know that when they do, they will slay you all."
"They can try, can't they?" sneered another of the landsmen, Burrwood, a sullen-faced man with a patchy beard.
The longer the Men tarry here, the more chance they give any pursuers, thought Danel. The horses will return to Numenstaya, and then Estarfin will set out at once after them, and all would be well. "You know not what fury you have unleashed. I hope those who give your orders understand that you are unlikely to reach them," she told Balkumagan.
But the tall shipmaster was not listening. "Now, Men! Ready to raise anchor!" he shouted.
Danel sighed and lowered her head, seemingly resigned to her fate. Her companion was staring fixedly at the river, and sensing Parnard's thought, she bit her lip, then threw herself upon Burrwood, wrapping her small, strong fingers around his sweaty throat, and squeezed as hard as she could. As the men cried out and hastened forward, Parnard dove backward into the cold water. The current ran strongly, and the rope tied around his wrists made it difficult to swim and keep his head above water. His armour, light though it was, was dragging him down; and before he reached the far shore he felt he was sinking. His white and gold cloak was torn off, and he was slammed against rocks; he desperately fought for a hand-hold; the rocks were slick and he was whisked away. As the dark waters closed overhead, he caught a fleeting glimpse of the spires of far-away Celondim. The sight strengthened him, and kicking hard with his feet broke the surface of the water to suck in a big gulp of air.
"There he is! Pull, men! Pull with all the strength you have, or the Captain will have our heads!" The men rowed as they had never rowed before. The rowboat shot forward, and with the help of the fast-flowing current, it overtook the laboring elf, and heaving up one of the oars, the men alternately bashed him over the head and pushed him down until he was nearly drowned. They laughed heartily to see the elf's struggles grow weaker and weaker, then dumped him unceremoniously into the boat and returned to the pier.
As he lay on the splintered boards coughing water from his lungs, he became aware of the tread of heavy boots and someone leaning over him. "No more of that, High Lord Parnard," Balkumagan said.
"Better hold him up by the heels, and let the water run out," laughed Daviion.
"It was a worthy effort, cousin: we shall look for other opportunities," Danel called over to him in Sindarin, and was slapped across the face. Again Daviion lifted Steel-Thorn to strike her down, but the blow never fell: his fist was grabbed mid-swing.
"What did I tell you?" Balkumagan threatened, his eyes flashing. The Breelander's fingers twitched on the sword hilt as he sized up the Umbarrim, then swift as a snake he leapt forward to cut him down. The shipmaster, a tall, strong, muscular man, parried the elvish sword easily, and kicked Daviion in the stomach.
"Irons for that one!" Parnard gasped.
"I give the orders here, Elf!" growled Balkumagan. "But yes, clap him in irons! Look you, sir, I should kill you for that," he said to Daviion.
"You may have to, southern wretch!" the man shot back.
"Take him below for now," commanded the shipmaster to the man closest to him. Burrwood took up the sword, and Daviion was born away by his fellows to the ship's hold.
"Now who is the prisoner?" laughed Parnard, a little giddily, despite his predicament.
"These Men should beware our swords; they seem to have a taste for men's blood," she said under her breath.
"Lock the Elves in my cabin," Balkumagan said. "I will deliver them unharmed, do ye hear? And do not worry about your big black friend," he said to Parnard and Danel. "We shall leave enough signs here that he will easily follow."
"Estarfin will find you, and he will kill you," Danel replied. "Are you certain you wish to throw away your life?"
The shipmaster waved a nonchalant hand. "We welcome the pursuit, Lady," he answered. "I do not know this river, but we shall not travel fast, since a storm is bearing down on us, and the wind is in our face."
"This is the River Lhûn," Parnard said, his indignation mounting very high. "You say this is your land and you do not even know what to call the river!"
Balkumagan frowned. "I know the Great Sea, not this trifling tributary! Now get below! You are spared again to make more mischief yet." At his signal, the men shoved Parnard through the cabin door, and being wet, tired, and aggravated from the chase, kicked him downstairs.
*****
"I suppose we should be glad that we are snugged away in the Captain's berth, and not above deck," Danel said, trying to cheer Parnard. "Your doublet must be soaked: you need to change out of those wet clothes, Cousin."
The Wood-elf crawled over to a bunk and sat on its edge shivering. The smell of linseed oil and oakum hung thickly in the air. "Change into what? The men did not allow us time to pack," Parnard replied, his voice bitter. "And Estarfin would keep his armour on, would he not?"
"Estarfin does not enjoy being wet and cold, and complains when he rides in the drizzling rain." Danel smiled at the memory, the red welt on her cheek already fading.
"Dear cousin, are you unhurt?"
Danel nodded slowly. "I am angry, and I must try not to be."
"So am I!" said Parnard, looking more cold, waterlogged, and miserable than angry.
"Then we must both try to be calm so we may think clearly. I do not know who wants us, or why - though I suspect what these Men are after." Her cheeks paled, then reddened. "They will not get what they want! But I deem there is more to this than meets the eye."
"So do I!" said Parnard as he wrung water from his hair. "But what?"
"I know not, as yet. Someone wants Estarfin, this Captain of Balkumagan - he said his name is Naraal."
"We do not even know where we are being taken," lamented Parnard.
"We go north. But where north, I know not."
"I will sit here and think on it," Parnard said, and closing his eyes sank heavily back on the bunk. Troubles never come singly, he thought. First his failed betrothal to the maiden Brasseniel, then the attack by Men on Numenstaya, and now this! Now, indeed, he was brought face-to-face with misfortune again, and this latest close brush with death made him realize how relatively light had been his other sorrows that troubled him: why should they be tormented so?
Danel sighed. Poor Parnard! The Wood-elf was already fast asleep, exhausted from his mad dash to escape. "Then I will watch the door," she said softly, fearing the worse was still to come.
*: Sindarin for "Help! Help!"
