The Thieves of Tharbad by AliceNWonder000137  

| | |

Herbs

The money that was stolen threatens the very existence of the Houses of Healing and Valandil and Firiel struggle to raise the money.  Valandil and Mercatur find a job.  A benefactor for the Houses emerges.

The Office of the Minister of the King’s Justice – Narbeleth (October) 14th, 1409

Valandil

Valandil and Mercatur sat quietly in the Minister's office waiting for him to return.  The room was immaculate.  A huge teak desk dominated the area, flanked by two large file cabinets.  Awards and certificates adorned the walls along with Eärdil's diploma in Criminal Justice.  Behind the desk were paintings of the Late King and Nimhir, the Chancellor.  Valandil couldn't help but notice how lifelike the painting of Ostoher was from what he saw of the man in the war.  For a moment, he could still see the King issuing the orders to retreat to Tyrn Gorthad.  They would be able to dig entrenchments and fortify their position beyond the reach of Rogrog.  That didn't work out the way they thought it would.

The mercenary broke the silence first. "You know, this Minister's not half bad.  I thought he was a softie at first...you know, one of those moral types, but what he did was right on track.  Maybe he can give me the thirteen silver coins Cardolan owes me?"

Valandil blanched, his eyes narrowing and his mouth open. "I can't believe you said that!  That was cold-blooded murder.  We have rules which must be followed if our Kingdom is to survive.  Otherwise we're no better than barbarians."

Mercatur shot right back, pointing his finger at the soldier.  "Hey, kiddo... This was the scum who stood and watched blondie get whacked.  So don't use your high and mighty crap with me."

Valandil was about to say something else when the door opened.  Eärdil entered, dressed now in his gray robes of state.  The Minister's jet black hair, which was just graying at the temples, was slicked back.  He was all professionalism today.

Eärdil sat and then steepled his hands in front of his chin.  "Gentlemen, these are desperate times, and I have a proposal for you.  I have had a recent change of heart regarding my policy of utilizing strangers.  The Mayor has not given me the extra manpower, which was promised and our situation is growing more serious by the day.  Therefore, I am looking for a small group of quick‑witted outsiders to help me track down the members of a smuggling ring which has been going on for months, perhaps years.  At first it was mainly illegal herbs: Gort, Kirtir, Feduilas, the usual stuff.  Now, with the food shortage, they're smuggling in certain hard to get foods, and getting fantastic prices.  I strongly suspect that they had a hand in the attack on your friend. I want this ring broken!" he declared with a fist pound on his desk.

Valandil nodded and the Minister continued.  "I want transients for two reasons: first, since we get a lot of people moving through Tharbad, the criminals won't suspect you; second, once they are caught, you will be gone, and there is little chance that there will be any retribution against you.  I will pay you each one hundred gold crowns if you can provide me with concrete information about who's bringing the stuff in and how, who is distributing it, and if you will testify in Cardolan court.  Somebody is getting a lot of Gort to the dealers in the Thieves Quarter; that's who I want, though I suppose you'll have to start by going through them.  I am not concerned with the small‑time people.  The food is somehow bought by the more wealthy citizens more directly, and I haven't been able to determine from whom.  You two have done a good job so far.  Can you help us?"

Without a second though, Mercatur stood up. "Fine, chiefee. I'm in, but you owe me an additional thirteen silver coins for services rendered during the war."

Eärdil smiled wanly, reached into his pockets and pulled forth two gold coins.  He flicked them at Mercatur who caught them deftly.  "Keep the change," Eärdil commented.  Mercatur smiled, pocketing the gold.

Valandil sighed in resignation.  He needed to do something.  "Where do we start?"

Eärdil filled them in on the details and bid them good luck.

After departing the Minister's Office, Valandil trudged along dejectedly while Mercatur read the scroll that the Minister had given them.  "Hey, we're granted immunity from prosecution.  Well... provided we don't kill any innocent bystanders.  Hmmm, some suspects... Anvelig the Chandler... Liam the Grocer... Hoegwar... Let's check it out," Mercatur called out excitedly, the smell of money and fighting growing by the minute.

Valandil grunted weakly and Mercatur patted his companion on the shoulder.  "Come on, you could give your share to Blondie.  Maybe she could get some herbs with it."

Valandil stopped. It was as if he were hit with lightning.  "You're right!"  The sergeant had been wrestling with his own guilt and self-doubt since the war, but now this gave him some purpose.  Maybe he could redeem himself for his lost men, the lost gold, and for Firiel.

Traveling to the North Bank of the city, they began to stake out the establishment of Liam the Grocer.  The man was a tall, blonde Northman, clean-shaven and well dressed.  Business was booming for Liam as Valandil and Mercatur observed with people coming and going constantly.  Soon, day gave way to night and still patrons were entering the grocery.  For a change of scenery, Mercatur decided to go around to the back and observe, still within eyesight of his companion.  He snuck down the back alley and situated himself between two overflowing garbage cans.  Pulling his cloak over his head he quietly watched for signs of movement.  He was not disappointed.

Shortly before midnight, a gang of youths approached the back door to the grocery. They knocked on the door in a strange pattern and soon it was opened by a short boy in tattered clothing.  The leader of the gang spoke softly, "Michl, we need another sack."

Michl replied snidely, "so, where's your cash, Brogas?"

The leader snorted and passed Michl a sack of coins.  The boy traded it for a green pouch and then shut the door.  The six youths chuckled gleefully and headed back down the alley. Each boy reached inside the pouch and took a sample of the drug Michl had given them.

"Leave some for sale!" Brogas scolded his comrades as he pushed the younger boy against the wall.  With their backs turned toward the door, the gang didn't notice the dark shape emerge from behind the pile of trash near the grocery.

Mercatur snuck forward, crossbow in one hand, axe in the other. "Six to one... I know it's not fair to them, but who said I was fair..."

Some time later, Valandil was beginning to drift off to sleep when Mercatur returned and roused him.  The mercenary placed a bloody green pouch in his hand.  Valandil's gave him a confused expression, one eye narrowed.

Mercatur gave him a big, toothy smile, showing a few gold teeth.  "Some kids were doing illegal herbs behind the grocery.  I told them about the error of their ways and they graciously gave me the pouch, promising never to break the law again.  You know, I kinda like being a lawman.  Yeah, law man. I like the sound of that."

Valandil was too tired to inquire further, merely imagining what the mercenary had done to those smugglers.  He opened the pouch and examined the numerous leaves, none of which he recognized.  Mercatur described the scene in which Michl traded money for herbs and then continued to tell Valandil about each herb and its effects.

"I think we have something here.  Let's take them in at sunrise," stated Valandil authoritatively.

Mercatur held him back.  "Wait a minute friend, these guys are just small fry.  They've got to be getting their stuff from somewhere.  I say we hang on a bit and keep watching.  Maybe we can bag the whole lot.  You see what I'm saying?"

The light came on in Valandil's eyes. "We're going to get these scumbags, Mercatur. I can feel it."

Several days of tedious surveillance passed while the pair scouted out the north side of town.  One cold afternoon a riot broke out in the shantytown outside the North Gate.  Garrison troops were dispatched to hold the gate, and the sounds of anger grew louder. The troops blocked the gate and eventually, the anger died away as the rioters dispersed after an hour and a tense silence filled the void.  Leaving Mercatur to watch the Greengrocer, Valandil went north to find out what was going on.  Soldiers were reopening the gate as the riot had been over now for about ten minutes.

Seeing Valandil passing through the gate the Gate Sergeant called out, "Hey, you don't want to go out there just yet.  That bastard Lamril is still lurking around.  He'll be the death of this city yet."

Valandil looked back and replied, "Thanks sergeant, but I'll take my chances."  He showed his badge of rank in the Royal Army.  The sergeant nodded and waved and went back to his duties.

Just outside the North Gate, Valandil entered the Trader's Bazaar.  The area was now occupied by a platoon of army troops outfitted in chainmail armor and carrying short swords, called ekets.  Merchants could be heard wailing over their damaged booths and goods.  Continuing along the North Road, Valandil noticed a man lying in the mud.  The poor man was covered in blood, which had soaked through his gaudy clothes.  Valandil rushed over there and immediately inspected the man's wounds.  He was still breathing but had a deep gash on his head.  Pouring some water on the man's face revived him somewhat.  His eyes blinked and tried to focus.  "Uggh, where am I?" the man groaned.

Valandil gave the man his canteen, which he took and drained completely. "You've been injured in a riot. I'm going to take you to a healer."

The man smiled weakly. "I thank you, good stranger.  My name is Haedoriel the Bard..." At this, Haedoriel lapsed into delirium, mumbling something about Gil‑Galad, the Elven King of old.

The Bar Aran

Chancellor Nimhir

The Chancellor paced about, punching his open hand with a fist. "Blast, another riot! Captain Guilrod, what is being done about this?  I thought you had the guard doubled. What is Eärdil doing?  All he does is complain that he does not have enough men," Nimhir stormed, his eyes darting back and forth at the gathered officers.  He turned to Guilrod and fixed his gaze.

Guilrod turned gray and pinched up his face.  "Your Grace, the guard is undermanned and the number of refugees has increased tenfold.  We just can't keep up."  Guilrod had been friends with Eärdil for many years and felt the need to stick up for his comrade.  And the fact that it was the truth made it easier.

Nimhir shot the captain a stern glare.  "Excuses... all I hear are excuses!  I'll bet it was that damn Lamril again... stirring up trouble.  This is just the kind of thing that Girithlin needs.  Call the council together.  We need to do something about this now."  He then turned back to the arched bay window with iron grilles and drummed his fingers on his chin.  He was honestly quite lost.  A military solution might very well be necessary and he was woefully ill equipped to address that and it worried him to no end.

The captain bowed stiffly and withdrew.

Now alone, the Chancellor raged inside.  "I wouldn't be surprised if Girithlin had some hand in all of this.  Riots only serve to undermine me and strengthen his position," Nimhir mused angrily.  He looked over to the portrait of King Ostoher.  "I wish you were still with us, my King.  I need your strength.  I miss our talks late into the night.  I miss our collaboration for the good of the realm.  I don't know who to trust anymore."  He sighed heavily.  It was no use wishing for something that would never be.  Even the Valar themselves couldn't fix this.  It was time to put aside all of this self-pity and check in on Nirnadel.  He was desperately worried about her.  She just might be the last hope for Cardolan.  "If we lose her, there's nothing to stop Girithlin from taking the throne."

The Fortress of Barad Girithlin

Hir Mablung Girithlin

"Hah, ha, another riot!  That incompetent Nimhir.  He couldn't hold together a ball of clay with two hands, much less the Kingdom of Cardolan," bellowed the massive Mablung Girithlin, a broad smile on his wide face, his heart full of glee.  In his youth, he had been the strongest knight in the realm, but much of that had gone to fat with his diet of red meat and sweets from far off Gondor.

Mablung's eldest son, Falathar, nodded in agreement.  "Yes, father, he couldn't hold together a ball of clay with two hands, much less the Kingdom of Cardolan."  Falathar was a good son, always obeying and never questioning his father.  He was what Mablung had been twenty-five years ago, tall and lean with jet-black hair, the image of a Dúnadan lord.

Mablung leaned back into his giant, padded red chair chuckling softly to himself.  This was precisely the break he had been waiting for and his luck was turning.  He ran his hands through the piles of gold coins stacked on the table before him, gold accumulated through the vast production of the amber beds near the mouth of the River Baranduin.  The amber provided the necessary wealth for the Girithlins to dominate the area and to construct the massive fortress of Barad Girithlin in Balost, the capitol of the Hirdom.  "This is a stroke of good fortune, and I mean to capitalize.  It would be a shame if better weapons found their way into the hands of the gangs in the shanty town.  I couldn't imagine how bad that would be for the city guard." Perhaps with the right nudging, he would become King after all.

"It would definitely be bad for them, father."

Mablung smiled at his dutiful son and put ten gold sovereigns into a pouch and handed it to Falathar.  "Take this and go to the manor house in the city.  Give it to Barahir.  He'll know what to do with it."  The money was nothing to him, barely a celebratory feast but to some men, it could topple kingdoms.

"Yes father. He'll know what to do with it," Falathar said and left the room.

With his lineage, Mablung would be the right choice to lead.  There was only a young girl in the way, and she would either bend or be broken.  He had seen her at the King’s Yüle Festivals, and she was spritely waif but fair of face.  Perhaps there was some way to use that.  He spun his chair around to look out the window at his fertile fields, full of wheat and corn. "I can't speak for the city, but I think we'll have a good winter."

The Streets of Tharbad

Valandil

Carrying the unconscious bard, Valandil searched for Mercatur. The mercenary was waiting near the home of the grocer.  He waved Mercatur down and together they ran to the Houses of Healing.  They were greeted at the door by Jonu, a young, skinny Dunnish teen with brown hair who had served Firiel for three years.  He eyed them suspiciously, having heard the curses of Kaile, with whom he was infatuated with. The boy put his hand out, blocking the entry of the three.  "You are no longer welcome here," he said venomously.

Valandil started to say something when Mercatur grabbed the youth by the jaw and applied a grip.  Jonu collapsed to his knees with a shriek.  The powerful mercenary released the boy and said politely, "Thank you for letting us in."  Valandil looked down with shock at the tearful boy rubbing his jaw, but followed Mercatur into the house. There was no time to worry about what was done.  A man needed to be tended to by a healer.

They ran into Kaile in the main hall and upon seeing them she began to develop the most vicious look, a sneer with her nose wrinkled up.  Valandil laid the bard on a table and with a point of his finger, he stopped Kaile in her tracks.  Mercatur turned to him surprised, smiled, and then went about dressing Haedoriel's wounds.  Kaile fled the room.

Firiel arrived a minute later, disheveled and exhausted from lack of sleep.  She had been torturing herself over the lost money since the attack and was plagued by nightmares of the death of Ostoher and his sons.  The ghostly faces never seemed to leave her alone.  Silently, she strode past Valandil and began examining her patient.  She crushed a pungent herb over the bard's face, and he began to stir.  He inhaled deeply and coughed for a few seconds, thrashing about.  Firiel caressed his face showing the care she had for all her patients.  He looked up and grasped her hand.  Smiling, she said to him, "you'll be all right.  You need to stay here for a few days to recover.  We'll notify your relatives and have any personal items brought to you that will increase your comfort."

The bard smiled weakly, his eyes still unfocused. "I am Haedorial the Bard.  Please go to my wife, Faeliriel, on Lindamel Street.  The Nightsinger’s Guild.  Please," he said weakly, struggling.

Firiel pointed at Kaile.  "Can you go?  Take Jonu with you.  Please be careful."  The assistant turned to go and waved Jonu over, who was still rubbing his jaw.

Mercatur fell in with them.  "You're going to need some muscle," he said and then looked over to Jonu.  "Sorry kiddo.  But, you're better off with me as a friend.  I'll get them back safe, blondie," he shouted back to Firiel as they left.

With Haedorial stable and sleeping, Firiel slumped into the chair with the axe mark.  She spoke not a word, but sank her head in her hands.  Valandil went to her and sat in another chair.  He put his hand gently on Firiel's shoulder.  "I'm responsible for the loss of the money.  I've taken a job, which will pay me well.  I'll return every copper that was lost. I swear!"

Firiel didn't even look up. "No, I alone am to blame.  The money is gone. Valandil... take your earnings and leave this sorry city... you can make a new life for yourself in Gondor."

This comment struck Valandil as a blow and he felt deeply offended.  He cared for her, but how dare she question his loyalty to his homeland.  "What do you take me for.  I am a warrior of Cardolan, sworn to defend her with my life if necessary.  I could not... would not ever leave like a skulking coward!  I offer to raise the money... I risk my life... and what..."  He tried to calm himself, but something roiled in his gut like a snake.

Firiel sat unemotional and unblinking as Valandil worked himself up into a greater rage, releasing the anger and despair that had been building up for months since the end of the war. 

Valandil finally lost control.  "You want to sulk and cry and let the city fall into ruin?  Fine! Don't be counting on me, I'm going back to the Army."  With that he stormed out, vowing never to return.  This…everything…was a fool’s errand and he wanted nothing more to do with it.

The Houses of Healing – Hithui (November) 20th, 1409

Kaile

As Hithui wore on, the temperature began to cool, and nights were becoming chillier.  The cold, fall rains brought much needed water to the Houses of Healing.  But winter was nearly upon them, and food and firewood would become top priced commodities. And money was in short supply.

Jonu and Kaile sat in the common lounge, right off of the main entrance.  They cuddled together by a roaring flame, sitting on a fur rug.  The heat was nice and the crackle of the fire was soothing. Jonu was a soulful, intelligent lad who put his heart into healing and helping others.  Kaile felt drawn to those qualities and he seemed to like her in spite of her size.  It had been an unusually quiet afternoon and the two wanted to take advantage of that.  She undid her ginger hair and rested her head in the crook of Jonu's neck.  She was still losing weight, and she thought she looked downright good for this evening.  The diet was painful, but it was paying off.

A knock on the door caught their attention and they giggled together for a moment.  Jonu then stood and moved cautiously to answer it, his skinny frame hunched as if he might need to run.  He opened the door just a crack to see who was outside.  He was relieved to see Nel and Anna with another load of food.  Kaile rushed to the door and with Jonu, they hauled the wagon in.  It was none too soon.  Everything was reaching a critical point.  Nel wiped sweat from her pale face, smiling broadly.  Steam from the chilly evening blew from her nostrils and wafted off of her head.  Anna looked perturbed and nervous as usual, her wrinkly face pinched up from worry. They were dressed in simple gray tunics and brown cotton pants, but Nel wore fur boots that the nurse was sure were expensive.

"Thank you, thank you," Kaile said, bowing with every word.  "You are always so welcome here.  Please, have a seat and get comfortable."

Nel turned up her nose and held up her hand with a dismissive gesture.  "Again, We require no thanks," the young woman said in a strange, very formal accent.  "It is enough for us to see that our people are recovering and growing stronger by the day.  We are pleased." She swept her black hair back and tied it in a ponytail.  Her makeup was perfect and the cosmetics costly.  She then followed Kaile to a seat near the fire, removing her fine leather gloves and warming her hands.  She removed her emerald green cloak and hung it on a peg.  She was slender almost to the point of being emaciated.  As she sat, her gray eyes sparkled, reflecting the dancing flame.  She gave a faint smile, seemingly content.

As Jonu went to store the food, Kaile sat down and began her story.  "Nel, it's been a while since you were last here.  Please, I need to tell you something."

Nel nodded and put her finger to her cheek. "Of course We will listen to your story. Praythee, continue good nurse," she said with deep interest.

For a moment, Kaile wracked her brain, trying to pin down Nel's accent.  It was almost difficult to follow it was so formal.  The young woman was certainly not from the Common Quarter, where Kaile was raised as the daughter of a weaver and a midwife.  "We've got a problem, and some thief bastards stole our money for healing herbs... three hundred gold crowns... I don't know what we're gonna to do Nel.  We're almost out of herbs and the number of cases is growing daily.  We can't hold out."  It was a longshot but she had to take it.

Nel furrowed her dark brows and put her finger to her red lips.  Her eyes lit up as if she had an idea. "Wherever did you plan to go to purchase herbs?"

Kaile seemed a bit surprised at Nel's naiveté as everyone knew of the tight-fisted alchemist who sold the finest herbs.  "Why, we were going to Dirhavel the Alchemist," said Kaile cautiously.

"Of whom do you speak?"

"You know...the Alchemist...on Eril Street."  Kaile kept trying to pin down Nel's accent and ignorance of well-known Tharbad people and places but was getting nowhere.

Unexpectedly, Nel rose and lifted her chin, putting her finger to her cheek.  "Speak no more, good nurse. The hour grows late and We must depart.  We take our leave of your home once again and bid you good health.  Come Anna, we must away and return home."

Anna sighed, wrinkling her old forehead.  "It is about time Your Hi... I mean Nel...um... yes, we must take our leave."

When the two had left, Kaile pondered the curious conversation she had with the young lady.  She thought to herself that Nel must be from out of town as she was unfamiliar with the only legitimate Alchemist in Tharbad.  She looked at Jonu, narrowing one eye. "Her mannerisms are so…odd.  It’s like she doesn’t even make eye contact, and that accent?  I've heard it before, but where?"

He shrugged and then lay his head in her lap. "I dunno.  She's probably from out of town.  Maybe Arthedain?"  Kaile stroked his hair, gazing into the fire, her mind still fixed on their mysterious benefactors.

The Streets of Tharbad

Nirnadel

Outside, tiny flakes of snow began to fall as it grew towards late afternoon.  The Princess and her maid pulled their thick cloaks closely around their bodies.  Anariel shivered. "Thank Eru you have come to your senses,” she wailed.  “We will freeze out here if we do not leave now.  I still have to draw your bath and put you to bed.  Come let us depart.  Quickly now."

Nirnadel held up her hand.  "Good Anariel, our task is not yet complete this evening.  We will journey to the residence of the Alchemist and We will purchase the herbs for the poor and suffering subjects of Cardolan."

Anariel was horrified, her eyes huge and mouth open.  "Your Highness, you are mad,” she blubbered.  “I am taking you back right this minute.  You know, you are not so old that I cannot take you over my knee again."

Nirnadel stood her ground and shook her head, arms crossed.  "Maid, pray, We are not returning with you until We have completed the transaction.  Only then will We return to Bar Aran.  You will either accompany us or you will not."

Anariel backed down, but her jaw was still held tight.  Grimly, Nirnadel turned and began jogging down Eril street with her maid puffing along behind, shaking her head.  With a few inquiries as to direction, they turned down the right street.

The pair arrived to find Dihavel's closed for the evening.  Above the entrance was a sign depicting a glowing Palantír.  Nirnadel pounded on the solid oak door.  Several well-constructed locks barred it making it certain that all but the most skilled burglars could not penetrate.  And for those, other dangers lay hidden inside.  After a minute a deep booming voice rang out.  "Go away, we are closed for the night.  We open tomorrow at nine."

Nirnadel persisted.  "Good Sir, We need your assistance tonight.  It is an emergency! Please good sir, just a moment of your time!"

The door opened a crack and Nirnadel could see a tall, Dúnadan man with a well-trimmed beard and long brown hair.  His bearing was quite noble, and he reminded the Princess of Nimhir. 

The Alchemist spoke sternly, "Young woman, I am busy.  Please return tomorrow."

Nirnadel produced a sack full of sovereigns, which got Dirhavel's attention.  He snorted and then unbarred the door and ushered the women in.  He looked at Nirnadel and narrowed his eyes.  "Now what is such a young and beautiful woman doing here at this hour of the evening?" he asked in a rich, cultured baritone.

She turned her nose up and put her finger to her cheek as a good royal should when addressing a merchant.  "Good sir, We are in great need of healing herbs.  Our people at the most auspicious Houses of Healing have run low and We praythee good sir, may we impose upon you for a purchase?"  Surely her good manners would convince the alchemist.  After all, she had never been turned away before.

He stared at her intently, narrowing one eye and then looked away, his curiosity piqued.  "Definitely not a commoner," he said softly, stroking his beard, not caring if she heard him.  "Now I've heard of corrupt and greedy noble families paying exorbitant sums for illicit drugs, not that greed is too bad of a thing in my opinion."  He turned his head back, narrowing the other eye at her.  "So, what's a young noblewoman doing in my little shop?  What can I get you?"

"We would like to pay you five sovereigns for several sacks of healing herbs, my good sir.  If such transaction is acceptable, We would be most appreciative."  She lowered her head to make eye contact as uncomfortable as that was.  This was going well.  She was truly a woman of the people.

Dirhavel kept stroking his beard.  "Yes…yes, that will be acceptable.  This will really help to finance…something.  Yes, I'll be right back."  He took the coins that were offered and smiled.  A single sovereign was worth a hundred gold crowns so this was a large sum of money.  He ran out the door to a blonde woman in a purple cloak and gave her the coins.  She handed him twenty pouches of finely ground and cured herbs.  He spoke to the woman in a low voice, but Nirnadel could still hear him.  She always had unnaturally good hearing.

"How strange is it for this girl from some petty noble family to come here at night for healing herbs when there's so much valuable drugs to be had?  It makes no sense, love."  He paused for a moment before continuing, "Wait, is she part of some scheme to sell my wares for a profit?  Maybe I am the fool?  Wait, no.  Then she would've bought drugs.  Eh, I don't know.  I'm overthinking this.  At least this will go a long way to fund my experiment."

The woman turned and looked directly at Nirnadel.  The woman's eyes got big and the Princess looked away.

Dirhavel returned and gave Nirnadel the sacks of herbs.  He smiled and took her hand. "Thank you, young lady.  Please travel safe.  I look forward to additional business with your family."

She returned the shake and bowed.  "We thank you, good sir.  You have done the realm a great boon and We shall not forget it.  Please be well and We wish you a good morrow."

The Streets of Tharbad

Three scraggly youths hung out on a street corner boasting of their latest activities. Brug, the oldest, held the younger two in awe about how he cut one of the city constables during a drug run for one of the dock masters.  His cruel tales were always embellished with amazing deeds and beautiful women who admired him from afar.  Brug's story was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of two women carrying heavy bags.  They looked rather helpless in the lightly falling snow and the dim illumination of the streetlamps.  Brug struck one of the younger crew in the jaw, chuckling.  "Let's go to work, boys."  They began moving down the street, fanning out to surround their quarry.  Brug drew a jagged, rusty dagger from his cloak and held it closely to his chest.

Nirnadel's elation suddenly turned to blood chilling panic when she finally noticed the three closing in on her and Anariel.  They were now only about twenty feet away.  There was nowhere to run.  She gasped seeing Brug's blade and Anariel's attention was gained.  The nursemaid shrieked, "See what you have done!  We should never have come here!"  However, before Anariel could say another word, a gull-feathered arrow sank deep into Brug's eye followed by another which buried itself into another boy's neck.

Both crumpled to the ground without so much as a gasp.  The last teen hesitated, looking at his fallen comrades.  This was his undoing as two arrows struck him in the chest, sinking in up to the feathers.  He staggered back against the streetlamp as another arrow pierced his face, the tip poking out the back of his neck.  He sagged to the street as two more shafts sunk deep into his belly.  He let out a final gasp and slumped over into the muck of the gutter.  The two women ran for all they were worth back to the House of Healing.

When the women were out of sight, two men stepped out of the shadows.  They were cloaked in green with thick hoods over their heads.  Both men slung steel composite bows over their shoulders and strode over to the three corpses.  Silently, they removed all the arrows from the bodies and wiping them, placed the shafts back into their quivers.  In a quiet monotone one spoke, "Go after the Princess, I'll clean up here."  Without a word the other raced down the street.  When the second man had gone, the first man easily hefted the three bodies over his shoulders and carried them off to the banks of the river.

Panting and wheezing, Nirnadel and Anariel collapsed on the doorstep of the Houses of Healing.  Within a few seconds Jonu cautiously poked his head out the door.  Seeing the friends of the Healer lying on the steps he rushed out to help.  Once inside he slammed the door and locked it tight.  The two women lay on the floor in a daze trying to catch their breath.  Coughing, Nirnadel produced the sack of herbs. "Jonu, my good sir, We praythee take this to Firiel right away."  The boy took the bags and sped off with Kaile. Their mission was complete.  They had survived a terrible fright.

Minutes later Firiel returned.  A stern expression was on her face, but a glow that had been long absent seemed back.  "My friends, you have risked your life to bring these medicines.  This was my responsibility.  I cannot allow you to be in danger when the task is mine and mine alone," Firiel stated, shaking her head.

Nirnadel stood, raising her chin and putting her finger to her cheek. "Mistress Healer, you are most incorrect.  We all must share in the responsibility if our realm is to recover, and if anyone should be responsible for that it should be ourselves, good lady."  The pain and suffering of the people had to be addressed.  She could sit in her luxurious room on her expensive sheets and cry or she could do something.

Alarmed, Anariel pulled on the Princess' sleeve. "We must go now, before you say any more."

Nirnadel nodded.  "You are most correct good nurse," she said and then stood and made a grand curtsey, swishing her hand through the air in circles and bowing with a flourish.  "We praythee goodnight and a happy morrow."

Anariel practically dragged the princess out the door. "They are getting suspicious!  And you nearly got us killed!" she hissed.  "You need to learn to speak like a commoner if you're going to keep this madness up, Valar forbid.  You'll be the death of me, young lady.  If we're caught, Chancellor Nimhir would hang me!  Ohhh, you'll be the death of me."

Nirnadel looked at her nurse sideways and turned her nose up.  "Praythee, what do you mean, good nurse?  We…I mean I can speak very much like a commoner.  Our dear friends continue to believe the ruse, I'm sure.  Hmrph.  We are very much a chameleon.  You needn't worry, good woman.  And We are most apologetic for your near death experience.  And We wonder who might have been our saviors?"

Anariel put her hand to her mouth.  "Oh, I am very sure it was just rival thugs. Although…those arrows were well placed."

Chapter End Notes

Street crime, drugs and smuggling are on the rise in the city as its resources are strained from the war and refugees.  The spectre of plague and famine grows as political plots emerge.

Dirhavel the Alchemist from the RPG module.

Table of Contents | Leave a Comment