The Thieves of Tharbad by AliceNWonder000137  

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The Tainted Seer

The tomes are returned to Arthdain and King Araphor proposes a new quest.  But the tainted seer has other plans.

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The Tower of the Seer – 7:50 PM

Standing on the intricate tiled floor of the ground level of his mighty observatory, the Seer, Malborn raised his arms as if in prayer. "Those fiends attacked Ar-Elon's home. Is there nothing that is safe these dark days? Thank the Valar you were here," he said, practically wailing, to the group in praise.

Valandil shot Mercatur a suspicious glance that the mercenary instantly recognized; the two had worked together for some time now. He watched as Falathar Girithlin hung on Malborn's every word. "Great seer, it is a shame what had been done to your observatory. We are here to help in any way that we can," he said as a child who hopes to impress an adult. Valandil rolled his eyes. He thought about interjecting, but he was exhausted and just glad to be safe for the time being. He looked out of one of the windows to see the snow falling more heavily now, the wind blowing it in thick flurries. He slapped his arms and bounced up and down to keep warm.

Even inside, their breath streamed from their mouths. Valandil and Mercatur spoke in low tones. "I don't like this, Mercatur," voiced the knight, looking around to make sure that they weren't being listened to. "That seer was far too chummy with that dog creature and the elf."

Mercatur nodded. "You noticed that too. I didn't survive Rhudaur to be fooled by some fancy mage. I won't be sleeping too heavily tonight…and neither should you."

With the tomes housed in the tower, Malborn took great delight in perusing and cataloging them, mumbling to himself in gleeful tones. It was almost as if he were staging a play for an audience. The seer's servants took the weary group to quarters and provided them with food and drink.

Valandil stood at a transparent wall that revealed a winter wonderland outside. The knight was oblivious to the ancient Númenórean technology that created such a marvel, but he had a healthy appreciation for the beauty beyond.

"Thinking of blondie, eh?" Mercatur voiced from behind.

Valandil gave a quick nod and turned back to see the mercenary reading by lamp light, the reflection of the flames dancing on his dark beard. "You read?" he asked, incredulously, more of a jab than a real question.

Mercatur snorted and shook his head. "I wasn't always a barbarian from Rhudaur, but that's another story for a later, more drunken time."

The knight nodded solemnly and then slid into his thick sleeping bag that was atop a luxurious throw rug on a gleaming wooded floor. Valandil's eyes were drawn to the reflection of the warm glow of the lamps in the polished boards and he soon drifted off to sleep to the sound of the crackling fireplace and the flipping of pages.

The Next Day

At daybreak a wagon trudged through the new fallen snow towards the tower. Valandil peered through the transparent wall and narrowed his eyes. "Hey, I think that's Kaile! Yes!" He could see four riders escorting her and some of the wounded. "Thank the Valar they're safe."

Mercatur put his hand on his forehead to shield the glare. "Yup, that's her. There was no way to find them last night. I don't know how they got through the snow. I wonder if that old lady helped them out. I don't see her. Silmarien…yeah, that's her name. She has to be some kind of witch." He grunted and pursed his lips. "Silmarien…I need to…nevermind."

"Old? When I saw her, she was young."

"Wait what? No, I met her in Rood, and she was old." His forehead crinkled and his beard bristled.  “Like ancient.  I was surprised she was even able to travel.”

"She's Rhudauran, isn't she? You know her from somewhere?"

Mercatur started to shake his head and then stopped. "No…I mean…I don't know. Too many weird things are lining up. I was at the Tirthon, maybe a couple of years ago. One of the last of the Dúnedain towers in Rhudaur. The lord, Marendil Rhudainor, had a sister, also named Silmarien. She could be the rightful heir to the throne of Rhudaur and the head of our house, but we…I mean they were dispossessed after the previous war."

"We?"

"Fine…fine…I was a cousin to Marendil."

Valandil narrowed one eye. "So, you're in line for the throne of Rhudaur?"

Mercatur shook his head emphatically. "I'm a nobody. I'm a sell sword in the armpit of the world. I'm a brute, who fights and kills for coin and sport. I'm no king and certainly not a royal."

Valandil put his hand on the mercenary's shoulder. "Were. You were a sell sword. You were a brute. You're a captain of the Royal Mercenaries now in Cardolan now. I'd say those days are behind you."

Mercatur looked pensive for a moment and then snorted. "You're making me think too hard. It's bad for my health." He stood up and pointed to the wagon that was close now. "Let's go help them out. I'm sure they're cold." He looked at Valandil and winked. "Thanks, and screw you too."

They greeted Kaile and her troop in the courtyard. Valandil helped her down from the wagon. "Thank the Valar, we thought you'd be lost in the snow. You must be freezing." He pointed to some of the wounded and called to the others who were coming out of the tower now.  “Let’s help these people inside!  Be quick about it!  They’re all freezing.”

The nurse hopped down from the wagon with a spring in her step. She was far too lightly clad for the intense cold. "We were fine. Silmarien had some old tricks to guide us here and she gave us potions to keep us warm before she left. Said she had important business. Still, she really helped us out.  I cannot imagine us surviving without her."

Valandil went and grabbed Kaile's healing bag. "Kaile, did you not see Silmarien before when she looked young?"

Kaile narrowed her eyes as if thinking. She seemed to be in a daze when pondering the question. "What? No, she's always been old to me. What are you talking about?"

He thought for a moment about the strange encounter with a mage who saved him when he was fighting the dwarf, Thrangull. He remembered the bronze wyvern and then shook his head. "No…that's too weird. I'm having trouble picturing her now. How…how strange. Eh, come on in. There are warm fires and hot food," he said and then leaned in towards her ear. "But watch yourself around the seer. I'm not sure we can trust him. The enemy was here before us, and he was pretty chummy with them."

Kaile's eyes widened. "Really? I'll be careful, but is there anything I shouldn't say?"

"He knows we were at the library, and we brought the tomes in. I sense that was his goal all along. Don't say anything about Cardolan or our dealings with the king. Just keep it light."

They went back into the library, which had been cleaned and repaired by the servants, and Malborn welcomed the newcomers. The seer was dressed in his usual gaudy attire, a multi-colored robe that was adorned with feathers and mithril pins for his scarlet cloak. He wore his seer's flatcap of indigo with a hawk's feather over his thinning white hair. He was effusive in his praise, waving his arms in an over-the-top gesture. "Gather round, gather round, people. Ar-Elon has a token of his gratitude," he said with a broad smile. He gave each of them a small silver cloak pin with the crest of the seer on it, a telescope aimed at an eight-pointed star.

The seer then gathered the group. "We should depart for Fornost Erain.  Ar-Elon is sure the King will be pleased by my recovery of the tomes. Very pleased indeed." He led them back down the stairs to the now loaded wagons and away from the copies of many of the tomes that he had made overnight. The King would indeed be pleased, but which king, the seer kept hidden in his dark heart.

Fornost Erain. The Grand Hall of the King's Council – Three Days Hence

In the grand chamber of the King's Council, Artos Tarma, Lord of House Tarma, Lord Commander of the armies of Arthedain, and head of the Council, known as the Cordagar, watched with some suspicion as pages brought the many tomes before King Araphor and Princess Nirnadel.  Tarma, ever a warrior, eyed the great seer, Malborn with deep suspicion.  The Cordagar had many concerns about the recent war and Tarma firmly believed collaborators were to blame for the death of King Arveleg and the destruction of Annúminas and Amon Sûl.  Although he liked the Cardolani, their presence here with Malborn did not win them any trust.  He stood tall as workers brought the tomes in from the wagons, surveying the work very closely. He wore a fine gray doublet, woven with cloth of gold in intricate geometric patterns and gold epaulettes. His black beard was trimmed to a sharp point and his hair was slicked back.

Tarma leaned over to Haros Eketta, the knight with the hideous wife. "I am most sorry about the death of your kinsman, Mallon. He was a good man and a good warrior. His loss will be felt in Arthedain.  However, I wonder about our King's courtship with the young princess.  Uniting our land with Cardolan may not be the most insightful course of action, after all the Cardolani failed to secure our flank."

Haros nodded without looking over. "I will give this some thought my friend. Our two houses control the destiny of the north. We must make sure to keep it that way." They watched as the party made their entrance to the grand hall.

Dressed in luxurious robes of state, Aerin Eldanar and Malborn bowed before the King. The seer raised his head and swept his hands toward the tomes in a dramatic gesture, swirling his scarlet cloak behind him. "My glorious King, it is Ar-Elon's pleasure to bring you the lost tomes of Annúminas. The servants of the Lord of Angmar paid dearly for their affront; I can assure you. It was with the help of these fine adventurers that Ar-Elon secured the tomes and the northern border of the realm."

The young king smiled and rose from his throne to take a closer look at the magnificent books. With hands gloved in brown doe skin, he selected a gilded text that spoke of the glory of Vinyalondë, a great city on the coast, built by Anardil Aldarion, then the Crown Prince of Númenor and friend to the elves of Lindon. There resided the Bar-en-Uinendil, the greatest fortress of its time.  As he read the text, the King spoke, "Sadly, Aldarion had very poor relations with his daughter Tar-Ancalimë, who became the first Ruling Queen of Númenor when he retired. Three thousand, eight hundred years ago, a hurricane devastated all of Vinyalondë save the fortress. Ancalimë used this as an excuse to abandon the outpost and, without repairs and maintenance, the proud towers were gradually swept away."

Nirnadel and Haedorial looked intently over his shoulder, absorbing every word about the lost city that existed millennia ago in another age, when Númenor dominated the world.

"Your Highness," voiced the bard to Nirnadel, "your learned brother, Braegil knew much of this. It was his dream to find the mithril room of Tar-Telemmaitë."

Nirnadel narrowed her gray eyes and lowered her head in memory of her slain brother. "We fear it was just a legend, good bard."

King Araphor turned, his ermine cloak swinging around him. "No, I believe it to be real. I know of Prince Braegil's hunt for the lost mithril. I understand that he was close to discovering its whereabouts."

"So he said before the war, my king" the Princess answered solemnly, some doubt written on her face.

The King let a faint smile escape from his lips. "I think it may be time to fulfill your brother's legacy. Would anyone care for another quest?"

The Royal Palace of Arthedain – That Evening

A roaring fireplace lit the den with glowing, orange light, casting long, dancing shadows across the hardwood floor and heavy throw rugs. Austere oil paintings of landscapes and the great seers of the kingdom adorned the richly paneled walls beneath the great, arched ceiling. Above the mantel rested a mithril eket, the short, stabbing sword of Arthedain's armies along with a staff, symbolizing the northern Dúnedain's love of mysticism, unlike their martial cousins in Gondor.

His voice soothing amid the crackle of the roaring fire, Baranor spoke to the Princess of his long travels in the service of Cardolan. "You see, Your Highness, Cardolan is much more like our southern neighbor, Gondor, in warrior spirit. The Gondorians see war as a business; conquer the enemy, take his lands. Arthedain, I would dare say, is much more…elvish in its outlook. They rely on seers and the stars to guide them. Other than their wars with our kingdom and with Rhudaur, they have no territorial ambitions other than to restore the realm of Arnor."

"As a knight errant, I had traveled both lands and found respect for both. Eldacar, King of Gondor, has seen that diplomacy is also a great tool and he has made solid alliances with the Northmen, who are powerful riders. The Gondorian fleet under Castamir controls the seas and trade flourishes. Your Highness, we will survive this dark time and Cardolan will be great once again."

The young woman thought upon what her guard had said. "We thank you for your counsel, brave Baranor. With your guidance, our land is sure to recover." She then cocked her head, her eyes reflecting the orange blaze from the fireplace. "What preparations will be made for our quest?"

"Our…quest?"

"Yes, 'our quest.' It has been decided that King Araphor shall lead us and that We shall accompany the sortie," Nirnadel said mischievously, a sly smile on her red lips.

"Your Highness, that's not going to happen." The shake of his head was full of horror and stern determination.

The Princess patted the knight on the head as she rose from the plush couch. "You know what happened the last time We were told 'no.' This is our brother's legacy. Please make adequate preparations for our departure. Rest assured, brave Baranor, that this will not take place for some time. There are many things to be done first."

Baranor bit his lip, obviously displeased. "Yes, Your Highness. We will have some time as we cannot depart until at least Gwirith, three months hence. It is still too cold, even on the coast. Then, we will have to worry about the spring seas. Powerful waves and storms will batter the coast. Osse does love his coastal storms," he said of the Maia who powered the weather of the littoral.

Nirnadel nodded and then yawned, putting the palm of her hand over her mouth. "Thank you, good Baranor. It is getting late now, and We should retire for some rest. We are so very pleased that you and the others have returned safely to us. We were ever so worried and there were many sleepless nights, We can assure you." She glided off toward her bedchamber, where Kaile and old Anariel awaited. "Good night to you, Baranor," she chimed as her ladies ushered her away.

Nearby, Valandil sat with Mercatur at an intricately carved dining table that still bore platters of leftovers and mugs from the earlier festivities. The mercenary fiddled with his axe, wanting to sink it into the back of a chair, but thought better of it; something was gnawing at him though.

Valandil saw this and narrowed one eye. "So, you getting civilized in your old age?"

"Hrmph…I'm only holding back out of respect for the Princess. Any other place and 'kathunk', the axe finds a new home. Valandil, I must know this…what happened to the blonde woman…the mage?"  His jaw was set and his eyes fixed.  He needed to know.

The knight shrugged. "Kaile said she vanished soon after we left Annúminas. She was the one with the bronze wyvern. I think-"

"Angmar's bones! I should have spoken to her. We were in such a rush to pursue those rats. She has the blood of House Rhudainor…I'd swear it." The mercenary took on a dark look and downed a mug of ale, letting droplets roll down his thick beard. "Look, we've fought together for a bit now and I'd daresay you were…a…friend," he said with difficulty. "I've never told anyone about this, but what happened to me in Rhudaur…it…it changed me…forever. My honor was lost.  I couldn’t stay in Rhudaur even though I was invited by the new Lord Rhudainor."

Valandil didn't quite know how to take the compliment. "You've never let me down, Mercatur. Whatever you think of yourself, I hold you in the highest esteem."

The big Rhudauran drained another mug. "Pah…look at us. Getting sentimental…In Rhudaur, there was no time for sentiment," he said and then wanted to change the subject. It was bringing back some painful memories. "So, you going to wed blondie?" he asked, clearly trying to change the subject.

Valandil smirked at the sudden turn. "You're drunk, big man. Come, best we get some rest."

Mercatur staggered off to bed and Valandil finished the mug of ale. "I understand lost honor, my friend. I am the sole survivor of my entire unit. I understand," whispered the knight.

Ro Malborn – the Seer's Observatory

Atop the great tower of the Seer, Malborn, the clamshell dome of the observatory stood open a crack to allow the chill night air and the light of Varda's stars into the structure to be captured by a mighty Palantír. The tainted Seer gazed into the glowing orb, set on a mithril stand carved in the likeness of a great wave.

He stood on the south side of the orb, looking north until his mind entered the land of Angmar. There, he focused his energy.

"Lord of Angmar…wait…do not be hasty, Ar-Elon has not betrayed you. In fact, Ar-Elon has the tomes that you seek. It was necessary to deceive your lesser servants to ensure that Ar-Elon could deliver your prizes.  Ar-Elon’s people will make the proper arrangements for delivery."

The orb went dark and Malborn stepped back, covered in perspiration, his skin steaming in the cold. Communicating from orb to orb was tiring, but communicating to a lesser stone, such as the Witch-King had, meant sheer exhaustion for a mortal user.

However, a smile covered Malborn's face. He could indeed serve two masters