Emissary by Uvatha the Horseman

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The First Day of Class

The First Day of Class

In one week, Urzahil would enter the University. Family connections had secured his place, and the first term's fees had already been paid. He would still live at home, but he felt like a new phase of his life was about to begin, in which anything was possible.

"You'll study history and geography, vital for a diplomatic career," said Pellardur, his tutor.

If Urzahil didn't become a scholar after completing his studies, he wanted to be an emissary and travel to the lands in the east.

"You'll take practical courses, like astronomy and geometry for navigation at sea," said Pellardur.

Urzahil liked math. He didn't mind that it had practical uses, even if he personally wasn't planning to get his hands dirty, now or ever.

"You'll learn to speak Sindarin," said Pellardur.

Urzahil wrinkled his nose. He couldn't imagine how that would ever be useful.

"Remember, there's only one course of study, no matter what profession you're planning to enter. To graduate, you have to do well in all subjects, even the ones that don't interest you."

Urzahil wasn't worried. He was a good listener and had an excellent memory. He was organized, he worked hard, and he didn't put things off. His years at University were going to be the best of his life.

"What about a class in Sorcery? I'd like to learn to summon storms, read minds, and extend my own life," said Urzahil.

"The University only teaches things you might actually use after graduation. Unless you plan to enter the Priesthood, sorcery is not a practical skill,"said Pellardur.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Urzahil joined the other first-year students crowding around the corkboard where the schedule of classes was posted: Diplomacy, Sindarin, Coastal Geography, Astrology, and the last class of the day, History of Númenor.

Urzahil followed the other first year students to the Diplomacy classroom. The best places on the student benches, in the center of the middle rows, were already beginning to fill up. He scanned the class for a familiar face, and brightened when he saw his friend Tas. Tas waved him over, and Urzahil dropped onto the bench beside him.

Urzahil looked around the room. One wall of the classroom was completely covered with a huge map of Umbar and the nations surrounding it, some friendly and some not. The desert nation of Harad was their traditional ally. Gondor, to the north, had warred with Umbar off and on throughout the history of the two nations. To the east, Mordor, an enemy of Gondor and therefore Umbar's friend, stood empty and abandoned.

Urzahil predicted the first lecture would either be a history of all the interactions between Umbar and its neighbors, or possibly a lesson in diplomatic protocol. He expected to be bored. Why should he have to take this course? He wasn't going to be an emissary any more than he was going to be a sea captain, but the University offered only one course of study, and every class was required.

He leaned close to Tas and whispered, "Why did the university student cross the road? Because it was required."Tas snorted and punched him in the arm.

Urzahil watched the other students as they arrived. As a group, they looked much like himself and his friends, with shoulder length hair, neatly trimmed beards, and the bright colored clothes of the nobility.

Except for one. A plump young man in the solemn-colored wools of a tradesman came in and took a seat on a bench near the door. Although drab, his garments were well made and probably more expensive than Urzahil's silks. He looked like the son of a wealthy merchant. Urzahil watched as he unpacked his books and writing box. What was he doing here? He wasn't going to serve as an emissary, nor would a merchant have any use for Sindarin, as the Elves they traded with were Teleri, not Noldor.

The boy noticed Urzahil staring and his apple cheeks pulled back in a smile. Maybe he was socially ambitious and had enrolled in University to rub elbows with their betters, but he would never be one of them. The merchant class controlled substantial wealth, but they lacked the manners and sophistication of the nobility.

Urzahil lifted his chin and looked away. I didn't think you could buy your way into this place, but apparently I was wrong.

And then his jaw dropped. Two youths in homespun shirts and wool leggings entered the classroom. Judging by their short hair and clean-shaven jaws, they were day laborers who built roads or unloaded cargo on the docks. The two of them walked to the front of the classroom and sat down on the first bench, right in front of the lectern.

Just then, the instructor entered the room, and every student in class got to his feet. The instructor spoke to the day laborers. "Hello Caran, and this must be Gaerna. Welcome aboard."

The teacher, whose name was Wynne, introduced himself and said a few words about the course. "I expect everyone here has the same question. Why do I have to take Diplomacy? 'I'm going to be a ship captain or a scholar or a commander in the army.' Few of you want to become emissaries. Am I right?"

There was murmured agreement from the student benches, and a nodding of heads.

"Diplomacy isn't just about joining the diplomatic corps. It's about aristocratic manners, it's about negotiation skills, it's about developing an almost supernatural sense of the message that's spoken, and the message that's not.

"In your chosen profession, will you need to read a man's face and know when he's lying? Will you need to make someone like you? Will you need to create a situation where someone can back down without losing face?

"What if you're a merchant leading a caravan, you're surrounded by dessert raiders, and you need to talk you're way out? What if you're trying to buy a plot of land from your neighbor, and you want to conceal how badly you need it? Or most perilous of all, what if you're attending the Castamiri Yule banquet, and two men, both of whom you need to please, ask you to settle an argument between them?" Several students in the back tittered.

The teacher broke them into groups and had them role-play to practice the skills needed to conduct a negotiation. It was a spirited exercise, and emotions ran high. Urzahil knew to be courteous when dealing with another nation's emissary, but he lost his temper and insulted the other 'ambassador, and worse, revealed information he shouldn't have. He was embarrassed by his performance, but he still had fun.

[show]

At the end of class, the instructor critiqued their performance."Urzahil, that was an impressive display of temper. Can you tell me what you'd do differently next time?" asked Wynne.

"Listen and nod, and keep my mouth shut," said Urzahil. He was embarrassed by his performance, but he still had fun.

"Correct. And one more thing, listen to your counterpart and remember what he said. There's a lot of information revealed in a negotiation, but we don't always pay close attention to it."

The instructor addressed the class. "Over the next few weeks, we'll do a series of exercises, each requiring more skills than the one before. You'll learn to hold your temper, to listen without getting defensive, to remember names, dates, and sums without writing them down. After you've master those skills, you'll learn to manipulate people using their own qualities: guilt, anxiety, or a desire to be fair."

Urzahil decided he liked Diplomacy. It required knowledge of history and geography, his two favorite subjects. To understand the relationship between two countries, it was necessary to understand what had happened between them over the course of centuries. Umbar and Gondor were a good example. The tensions between them began with a schism between the Black Númenorians and the Faithful.

And the importance of Geography was obvious. In addition to the borders between two nations, there were strategic features to be fought over: ports, mountain passes, and rich tracts of farmland.

He began to consider the possibility of becoming an emissary. It was a glamorous profession involving travel all over Arda. It would be a life of be state dinners, important people, and fine clothes and manners. He imagined himself as a guest in a foreign capital, being formally greeted by high officials and hosted in luxurious father's influence and connections should be enough to secure him a diplomatic post, especially now that his sister had married a Castamiri.

Sindarin Class I – Root Words

Urzahil was only taking Sindarin because it was required. Like most Black Númenorians, he had little use for the Noldor language. He raised his hand.

"Why are we learning Sindarin? The Elvish traders who pass through here are Teleri."

"Like traders everywhere, the Teleri speak the language of the people they trade with."

"By why Sindarin? Why not Black Speech?"

"Black Speech isn't spoken anymore, except in religious ceremonies, and hasn't been since Mordor was abandoned. You need to learn Sindarin because it's spoken almost everywhere in Arda. You don't believe me? Look at the map. Almost every place name in Arda is Sindarin."

"Númenor" "Sindarin for Western Land"

"Belfalas" "Sindarin for Great Coast"

"Anduin" "Sindarin for Long River"

"Haradwaith" "Sindarin for Southern People"

"Mordor" "Sindarin for Black Land"

"Umbar" "I have no idea. That's what it's always been called."

Maybe Sindarin wasn't as useless as he'd thought. Even so, after the excitement of the role-playing exercise in Diplomacy, memorizing Sindarin root words was pretty dry.

"How do you say gold?" "mall"

"How do you say silver?" "celeb"

"How do you say iron?" "ang"

"How do you say jewel?" "mir"

"How do you say wood?" "eryn"

"How do you say rock?" "gond"

"How do you say stone?" "sarn"

Urzahil thought his brain would turn to stone. As soon as he left this awful class behind him, he would make a point of forgetting every single Sindarin root word he'd ever learned.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Elan, the Coastal Geography instructor was standing in front of a map of the coastline of Arda which stretched from the headlands of Lindon to the Bay of Belfalas, a deep indentation in the southern coast, large enough to be a sea in its own right.

Along the coast were a number of havens, the largest and most protected of which was the Haven of Umbar, lay at the back of a deep and narrow inlet. To the north, the mouth of the Anduin, a complicated system of estuaries, was hidden behind the island of Tolfalas.

Castamir leaned over and whispered, "This class is great for future ship captains, but I'm only here because it's required."

Elan rapped his pointer. "Coastal Geography isn't just about navigating ships up and down the coast. It's also about politics and war." The class fell silent.

"For instance, Númenor disappeared beneath the waves three thousand years ago, but its colonies on the mainland, Umbar and Gondor, still speak the ancient language, still uphold the manners and customs, and still call themselves Númenorians. Now, you would think two such nations would be allies; they might even unite under a single flag. But what happened instead?" asked Elan.

"We're the bitterest of enemies," said one of the day laborers.

"Why is that?" asked the instructor.

"Because we practice the Cult of Melkor, and they despise us for it."

"No, that's why they split from us originally. Why did Gondor attack us in 933?"

The class fell silent.

"No, that's why they split from us originally. Why did Gondor attack us in 933?"

The class fell silent. He traced the River Anduin with his pointer from its mouth to a point far inland.

"Osgiliath, capital of Gondor. A hundred miles upriver, yet home to a great navy. Like us, they were a seafaring nation.

The instructor used his pointer to circle the Bay of Belfalas.

"Early in our history, Umbar controlled the Bay of Belfalas from the southern coast of Harad to the shore of Anfalas. Corsairs attacked Gondor's ships and raided their coastal settlements. Tensions between our two nations ran high, and in 933, forces from Gondor attacked Umbar and seized the Haven. Gondor occupied Umbar for over five hundred years. Umbar didn't regain their independence until 1447, when civil war and the plague that followed it loosened Gondor's grip."

"If you take away just one thing from this course, it should be this. Whoever controls the Haven of Umbar controls the sea."

Urzahil dipped his pen again and wrote, Occupation of Umbar, 933 to 1447. He'd probably have to know those dates for the exam.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Urzahil sat on the bench and looked around the Astrology classroom. The ceiling was painted dark blue, the background to scores of constellations of stars.

On a table in the front were astrological instruments. There was an astrolabe for navigating at sea, a variety of telescopes, and a globe showing how the sun and the moon rotated around the earth.

The study of the stars, although primarily for navigating at sea, was also used to foresee the future. It was the only one of his five subjects with an element of sorcery about it. He shivered. Sorcery was a closely held craft. It was rumored that the priests in the Temple were trained in sorcery, but it was said that they received their instruction behind locked doors, and never spoke of it to lay people.

While they waited for class to begin, the other students talked about their Astrology instructor, whose name was Palan.

"We're lucky he's teaching our class, given that he's often called upon to advise the High Priest and the Council of Captains."

"And he spends long hours watching the stars. You can't see the omens if you're not watching for them."

Urzahil learned that, before Palan came to the University, he'd trained as a priest. That meant he was almost certainly a trained sorcerer. Urzahil knew his teacher couldn't talk about it, but he hoped, if he were able to gain the man's trust, Palan might drop a few hints.

When the room was full and everyone was seated, the Astronomy teacher strode to the podium and rapped for silence. He was a tall man with silver hair, perfectly groomed, and dressed in expensive clothes, even for a nobleman.

Castamir leaned over and whispered, "Did you know he's the most famous Astrologer living? He wrote the book Astrologers learn the craft from. Father's invited him to the house to talk about it."

The lecture was about navigating at sea by the stars, and the instructor was articulate and funny. This was going to be his favorite teacher.

[examples of interesting and funny things in astronomy lecture]

Caran, the charity student, went up to the lectern after class to talk to him.

"You were admitted to the University? Do you know how to read? And you understand most of the words I'm using? Hey, that's great!" The Astronomy teacher spoke slowly, enunciating his words.

Urzahil personally didn't think charity students belonged in the University. If he were an instructor, he wouldn't have given them so much attention.

After class, Urzahil was walking through the crowded halls and found himself behind the two day laborers.

"You let him talk to you like that? He treated you like the village idiot, when you're the smartest person I've ever met," said his friend Gaerna, a tall youth with beefy arms and shoulders. "You should've told him you're already a scholar in your own right."

"I suspect he knows. If I've judged him right, he's someone who makes himself feel big by making somebody else feel small," said Caran.

"Well, tell him to stop it."

"He's not going to change." Caran adjusted his book bag on his narrow shoulder. "And nothing says I have to take it personally."

Urzahil couldn't understand why they were speaking ill of this accomplished man who'd just delivered a dazzling lecture.

Númenorian History

History of Númenor was the last class of the day. Urzahil followed his friends into the classroom. On the dais that held the podium, the instructor, a tall, slender man, strode back and forth across the planks, a tribal robe billowing about his legs.

His striped headscarf framed a fair complexion and blue eyes, and unlike every Easterling who'd ever lived, he wasn't wearing kohl. Lacking the swarthy complexion of the east, he looked less like a tribal warrior than like a Númenorian who'd traveled to the east and returned with a trunkful of souvenirs.

Urzahil found a place on the bench and put down his satchel. He wasn't too sure about this teacher.

The class began with a lecture about the first king of Númenor. Urzahil expected to hear something like, "Tar-Elros, first King of Númenor, who ruled from …" but their instructor took the sort of interest in the lives of ancient kings that other people took in the private business of their neighbors, and he made their stories come alive. He told a riveting story about two kidnapped children, the twins Elros and Elrond, and the agonizing decision Elros made when he chose a mortal life to become Númenor's first king.[1]

History had always been Urzahil's favorite subject. If he didn't become a scholar or a teacher, he would find some other profession that used a knowledge of history, like Diplomacy.

-o-o-o-o-o-

History of Númenor was the last class of the day. After the lecture, the flamboyantly dressed teacher, whose name was Caldûr, invited everyone in class to the Philosopher's Stone, a coffee shop that served tiny cups of strong, sludge-like espresso and the flaky pastries soaked in honey he'd heard other students speak of.

The double doors were open, to the square, and the sounds from the blue-tiled fountain in its center of the square reached every corner of the small shop. The students pushed several knee-high tables together, and a dozen of them crowded around on low stools. Urzahil found a place for himself on the ledge in front of the unlit fireplace.

Caldûr caught his eye. "Is this your first time at the Stoned Philosopher?" and laughed at his own joke. Urzahil smiled wanly.

Castamir leaned over and told him, "Caldûr produced the skit performed in the marketplace last year, the one where Sauron surrendered to Ar-Pharazôn." Urzahil looked at his teacher with increased respect.

Urzahil knew most of the other students there, his neighbors and the sons of his father's friends, but there were a few he didn't know. One of the day laborers he'd seen in class that morning was speaking passionately about naval history.

"Scholars don't appreciate how much the spring floods on the river Gwathló affected Tar-Ciryatur's[2] tactics. He was a brilliant admiral, we all know that, but the way he was lying in wait for Sauron when Gil-galad's army backed him into the river[3]. Now that was one for the history books!"

Urzahil elbowed Tas. "Who is he?"

"That's Caran, a charity student. When the son of a farmer or dockworker is admitted to University but can't afford to go, and if the student is really brilliant, sometimes the University will waive the fees."

There was a lull in the conversation, and Urzahil asked Caldûr about the skit his class performed the year before.

"Whatever happened to Sauron? All the stories about him are from the Second Age. We never hear of him now."

"He survived the Drowning of Númenor, but soon after, he was killed in the War of the Last Alliance," said his teacher.

"Killed? He survived the Drowning of Númenor, but died in battle?" asked Urzahil.

"The Ring was cut from his hand. He couldn't survive without it," said his teacher.

Caran got up to go. "If you'll excuse me, we start setting up for the evening meal in less than an hour, and I can't be late."

"Why does he have to work? I thought his tuition was waived," said Urzahil.

"He still has to eat," said Tas.

"They're no fun. All they do is study and work," said Marös.

Later, Tûlmir, the young man in somber wool, bought a round of coffee for everyone. By custom, he was allowed to pick the next topic of conversation.

"Last night my father said, 'The nobility doesn't do much, yet they own all the ships and all the land around Umbar and they hold every position on the Council of Captains.' Let me ask you, what is the nobility for?" Tûlmir's plump face was free of guile, he just wanted to know.

"The nobility defend the city."

"The nobility bear arms, which entitles them to wealth and privilege."

"One must fulfill the obligations of the nobility to earn its privileges."

Urzahil nodded in agreement. He'd been hearing that for as long as he could remember, but Tûlmir frowned. He didn't look convinced.

"Yes, but the merchants do something important too, we feed the city. We send caravans into the desert and ships out to sea, and we bring back grain and spices and nuts that don't grow here. And not just food, textiles and furs and mineral ores, and all manner of household goods.

The conversation moved on to other topics. Tûlmir whispered to Urzahil, "One can grow rich in commerce, rich enough to marry a title, I mean, a titled daughter from an impoverished noble house. You just wait, one of these days you'll call me Tar-Tûlmir."

Urzahil moved away from him, glad that his own sister was already married.

Chapter End Notes

[1]When Elrond's daughter Arwen made the same choice in order to marry Elros' great-great-grandson, Elrond was not pleased.

 

[2]Tar-Ciryatur was the Witch King's uncle, who defeated Sauron at Tharbad and turned the tide on Sauron's nearly successful bid for world domination.

 

[3]Battle of the Gwathló, SA 1701. Sauron had just been defeated by Gil-galad at the Sarn Ford, then backed into the forces of Tar-Ciryatur and was decimated.

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