The Thieves of Tharbad by AliceNWonder000137  

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Protection

The protection racket moves to collect but Valandil has a plan to stop them.

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Valandil’s Flat – Girithron 4^th, 1409

Valandil

Valandil felt renewed after a week of rest.  As it was midweek, he wanted to stretch his legs around town, shopping at the various markets and kiosks.  He also wanted to check on Mercatur, who was still recovering.  He was truly worried about the crusty mercenary.  They were really coming together as a team, and he found that he liked investigating.  On the busy, snowy street on his way to the Houses of Healing he was approached by a well-dressed, heavyset man.  The man appeared nervous, sweating in spite of the chill and biting his lower lip.

"Excuse me, young man.  Please, don’t think I’m stalking you, but I’ve asked around and they said you come this way.  Ummm...I heard of your success with the smugglers... Er...can I buy you a drink?" the man blurted out.  Valandil was taken aback. He became suspicious thinking that smugglers might want to take revenge on him.  Seeing Valandil's expression the man continued, "Er...I am Nomrel the Cartwright...Umm, maybe you know me?  My father built the coronation carriage of King Minalcar a century ago?  Um, no?  Well, I need your help.  Please, please follow me.  I swear that this is not a setup.”

Valandil nodded, now a little curious.  He followed Nomrel into the King's Crown Tavern, vigilant against a possible ambush.  Nomrel requested a secluded booth near a fireplace and soon the two were seated in a private room.  Valandil sat after the merchant and warmed his hands near the glowing brazier.  He scanned the booth and kept his hand under his cloak where he kept a small dagger.  A wise precaution he learned from Mercatur.  Some hot tea was served to ease the chill.  Nomrel warmed his hands on the teacup, blowing across the liquid.

Valandil looked up.  "I'm listening," he said quietly, both cautious and interested.

Nomrel nodded and cleared his throat.  “Several shopkeepers in the central district, including myself, have recently been contacted by a group of ruffians who call themselves the Gurth Rodyn.  They have demanded weekly payments of money or goods in return for 'protecting' our shops," he said, putting his words in quotes.  "At first, I did not take these demands seriously.  Then, Barkwell's Tannery and Leather Shop was burned down as an example.  The gang told me they would return on Orgillion for their payment.  I will not continue to pay such extortion, but I have no wish to lose my shop either.  If you can find and eliminate these blackguards before their next visit, I will gladly pay you fifty percent of the money they are demanding.  I've heard of your deeds, Valandil.  You and your mercenary friend have a reputation for getting the job done.  What do you say?  Please, I am desperate."  He put his hands together in supplication.

Valandil was a little disturbed at 'having a reputation' as well as still harboring some suspicion.  He leaned back considering the offer.  Eärdil would surely be interested in this information.  He decided to play along and see where it might lead.

If Nomrel is honest, so much the better.  Valandil nodded and the two men shook hands.  "What can you tell me?" Valandil asked.  Nomrel sipped more tea and scratched his balding head.  He then related the incident at his shop while Valandil quietly nodded.

When Nomrel had finished, he summoned the servant and ordered some bread and cheese.  When the servant left, he continued, "I know of five other shops that have been visited: The Mithril Crown, Herbs of Quality, Ibal’s Shoes, Findegil’s, and Serende’s Originals.  I think some of these shops may already be paying out protection."  Valandil nodded understanding.

Nomrel spoke again.  "The gang appears early.  Three men, two tall and one small, all cloaked and hooded.  One of the tall ones talks...I heard his name...Merwai, yes that's it.  He reeked of alcohol too.  The other two...," he added before stopping short.

At that moment the servant arrived with the plate of bread and cheese.  He left a bowl of condiments also: mustard, corn relish, and a creamy spread that was the specialty of the house.  Nomrel thanked the young man and tipped him a copper coin.  When the servant had departed, the merchant looked Valandil square in the eyes and asked, "Will you help me?  I sense you to be a good man.  I will give you ten gold coins today.  Forty more will follow if you agree."

"Why not go to the town garrison?" Valandil countered, honestly curious.

"They mean well, but frankly, they are so understaffed I can't rely on them.  Besides, I heard rumors that many of them were corrupt." Nomrel answered.

Valandil remembered the execution of the corrupt constable by Eärdil. “The Minister of the King's Justice is a true man.  He executed a corrupt official before my very eyes. I think he can be trusted.”

Nomrel shook his head emphatically, holding out his hands. "That may be true, but what of his staff?  My shop could be ashes before they get around to me.  Please, consider my offer." Valandil was still uncomfortable with vigilantism but agreed to think it over.  Nomrel insisted that he take the ten gold coins with him and that they meet back at the King's Crown tomorrow at the same time.

The Houses of Healing

Mercatur

Mercatur was finally up and very mean tempered, his muscles sore and his bones creaky.  He chided himself for being ambushed like he did.  That would never have happened back on the Dunnish Track in Rhudaur.  He could smell a trap a mile away out there. He sulked in his bed quietly eating the meal Pelemeth had brought him.  Except for bringing his meals and changing his bandages, she avoided him, clearly afraid.  He pushed the oatmeal away, feeling weak and very sore and had still not read the note nor counted the money from Valandil.  Finishing his last crumb of bread, he grabbed a stick and reached over to close the curtains, blocking out the sunlight.

The Courthouse

Valandil

"Minister, I need to speak with you about a matter of great importance," Valandil said to Eärdil entering his office.  He was starting to feel part of the city and was gaining a vested interest in its survival.

The Minister was dressed immaculately as usual.  He was going over the Constabulary's budget and seemed positively bored.  He looked up and smiled warmly at Valandil, motioning him in.  "All this paperwork.  I miss getting out into the field with my constables.  We have no scribe now you know, and I have to do all of this myself."

Valandil sat and put Nomrel's bag of gold coins on the teak desk.  "Sir, I was approached by a merchant named Nomrel, who states that he is being threatened and extorted.  He gave me these coins as an incentive to help him.  I knew it would be best to bring this to your attention."

Eärdil nodded.  "That was good thinking.  We cannot have vigilantes running around.   We need to coordinate our efforts if we are to succeed in overcoming this wave of crime."

Valandil felt good at hearing these words.  "What can we do?" he asked.

"I'd like to take this money and hire some willing men.  These men will assist you in your first investigation.  You will have a wide latitude of action in closing this case.  That is, if you accept the commission," he said with a hopeful grin.

The soldier returned the grin.  "Yes, I'm all in."

The minister let out a long sigh.  "I wasn't entirely sure that you would.  But I trust your judgment.  I can get you six men by tomorrow with this.  You may personally interview each one and choose the ones to your liking.  Tell Nomrel that you will take the job but let him think you are acting on your own.  We need to keep this on a low profile," Eärdil stated, drawing up a form to procure more manpower.  "I hate to use outside funds, but we really have little choice."

"Thank you, Minister. I do have a few questions about my status, though.  Where does this leave me with the army?"

The minister smiled.  "I knew you would ask that, such is your dedication to duty."  He slid a parchment across his desk that had already been filled out.  "This is a commission as a lieutenant in the Royal Constables of Tharbad.  It is open ended, and you can return to the army at any time.  The commission will transfer as well, and you can take it with you back to the army when you are ready.  You are an officer now," he said and put a golden cloak pin on the desk.  It bore the symbol of the scales over the red hill.  Eärdil smiled sheepishly. “I also took the liberty to do your paperwork for pay and benefits. You'll find life as a constable to be…comfortable.”

Valandil took the parchment and the cloak pin.  "Thank you, Minister.  I won't let you down.  I am glad to be back in charge of something.  It seemed that my life was going nowhere since the war, and this gives me a ray of hope."

That afternoon, Valandil headed south to the Houses of Healing to check on Mercatur. The mercenary was in a foul mood, but seeing Valandil brightened him somewhat.

"It's awfully dark in here," Valandil noted, checking the curtains.  "You might want to air it out some," he said waving his hand in front of his nose. It was definitely a little more than musty.

Mercatur nodded, grunting.

"Did you get the payment?" Valandil added.  Mercatur grunted again, pointing to the unopened brown sack on the table.  Valandil sensed the Mercenary’s depression.  "We've got another job.  It should pay pretty well," he said, offering some incentive.

Mercatur shook his head without looking up. "...not interested.  I think I'll hang here for a while."

"So, you do talk," shot Valandil, a little sternly.  He had hoped for more.  Mercatur sat motionless.  Valandil pulled out ten of his own gold coins from his purse. "Here's your half of our first day's pay," he lied, giving the man the whole amount.  He tossed the coins next to the sack.  "Meet me tomorrow at the King's Crown Tavern at nine in the morning so you can earn this money."  With that, he left, disappointed but still hopeful.

Mercatur groaned, rolling out of bed. He walked over to the table and stacked the coins. Ten light golden coins with the image of Ostoher on one side and ram's head on the reverse.  Shaking the bag of unopened coins in his hand he pondered for a bit.  Setting the bag down, he pulled off the musty patient's robe he had been wearing and put on his wool tunic and pants.  Picking up his axe, he strode over to the window and opened the curtain to see the snow-covered ground.

The King's Crown Tavern – Merchant Quarter - 9:00 AM – Girithron 5th, 1409

Valandil

Valandil sat at one of the booths, eyeing the timepiece that was carefully situated on the mantle above the fireplace.  The owner of the tavern, Elgwain Grelive had just brought a baked ham and some bread to the soldier, and the aroma brought rumbles to his stomach.  This was a family place, certainly not where trouble would occur.  Elgwain and his wife, Arma ran it with their five teenaged children and it was clean with great food.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nomrel enter the establishment.  Nomrel took off his snow-covered cloak, shook it out and then spotted Valandil and waved.  The soldier searched around for Mercatur but was disappointed.  Maybe the mercenary was too far gone. He sighed as the cartwright sat down at the booth and slid in.  Valandil took a gulp of mead and passed some of the ham to the merchant.  The older man thanked him and ordered his own beverage from Elgwain.

Valandil spoke, "You have my services.  It appears that I'll be acting alone..."

"Don't speak so fast," a familiar voice spoke.  Mercatur slid in next to Nomrel and grabbed a hunk of ham with his fingers.  “You can’t eat all that by yourself and not share,” he said with a smirk.

Valandil nearly jumped out of his chair in excitement.  He caught himself and continued, "Sorry.  Let me introduce my partner, Mercatur.  He's the muscle behind the operation."

Nomrel sighed in relief and took a sip of ale.  "This bodes well.  If you like, I will allow you to set up at my shop.  You can see firsthand the group's operation.  As I said before, their spokesman is Merwai, and he reeked of alcohol.

Mercatur put down his ham and his eyes got big. "Merwai?" he asked.

The soldier cocked an eyebrow. "You know him?" he asked with a sense of relief that his partner was here.

The mercenary stroked his brown beard. "Why, that little bastard.  He's just a two-bit drunk from the Orc's Head.  How'd he get hooked up into this sophisticated an operation?"

Nomrel nodded.  "I see that I came to the right men.  As I promised, here is the forty gold on top of the ten I gave you before." He slid a velvet bag, heavy with gold toward Valandil, who counted twenty to Mercatur.

The merchant downed the last of his ale and stood up.  "I will return to my shop.  You may come by any time." With that, he departed.

Valandil and Mercatur also stood to leave.  They bumped into each other briefly and Valandil felt a new weight in his pocket.  Reaching in, he felt thirty gold coins in a sack. He turned to Mercatur.  "What's this?"

The mercenary hefted his axe and smiled.  "So, you gave me half of our first day's pay, huh?  Well, this mercenary wants to actually earn it.  I'm giving you five extra for saving my behind too."  Leading the way out of the tavern he added, "By the way, thanks. It was getting dark in that room, and the nurse was annoying."

Around Tharbad

Valandil and Mercatur walked into the Mithril Crown, a beautiful shop stocked with exquisite jewels.  The shop's owner, Irimon, approached the two with a rather haughty expression.  Thin as a rail with sharp features and a hawk's beak nose, he was dressed in fine silk robes and adorned with some of his precious jewels.  In a high, nearly squeaky voice he asked, "What do you two want?"

"Sir, we've heard about the problems you've been having and we want to help," said Valandil.

Irimon raised his nose and commanded, "I do not know what you are talking about and if you do not leave now, I will call the constables."  He pointed right at the door.  His hand was shaking like a leaf.

Valandil was about to counter that he was a constable, but Mercatur grabbed him and pulled him out of the shop.  "What was that for?" Valandil asked.

Mercatur shrugged.  "He's a weenie.  It's not worth it.  Let's go to the next shop."

At the Herbs of Quality, Valandil and Mercatur browsed around the unusual herbs for a time before the owner, Aladil came out.  He was a short man with a round face and warm features beneath a bushy brown beard.

"Excuse me.  Are you the owner?" asked Valandil.

Aladil smiled. "Why yes.  How may I help you?"

"Sir, we've been told by a friend that you have recently been threatened by some group. We have been sent to help," Valandil told him.

Aladil became obviously frightened, looking around and peering out of the window.  His brown eyes were huge.  "I...I... don't know what you are talking about."

Mercatur stepped forward and gave his best friendly expression. "Look, we're not the bad guys.  We would just like to keep an eye on your shop.  No cost to you of course."

Aladil nodded slowly, looking around, still suspicious. "That…that would be alright."

Valandil nodded, and then he and Mercatur left as Aladil wiped the perspiration from his face and sat down.

Ibal, the owner of Ibal's Shoes on the South Bank confirmed the group's threats against him.  The cobbler was a middle-aged man with graying hair.  He was rather fit for a craftsman.  He also confirmed Nomrel's description of their operation, the crow's-feet around his eyes crinkling with anger.

"Is there anything else you can tell us?" asked Valandil.

Ibal thought for a moment, putting his finger to his chin. "Well, I think there was a fourth hooded man on the roof across the street just before the three came in the shop," he stated. "I definitely saw that."

This was important information.  Was the man a spy or an archer, covering the bag men?  Mercatur stepped in. "We would like to set up an ambush in your shop.  I think we can round up the whole lot.  Would you be willing to let us do that?"

Ibal looked at them sideways, obviously concerned. "But there are only two of you."

Valandil nodded, but countered, "Sir, we are veterans of the war against Angmar.  I even shot an arrow at Rogrog, the Warlord."

The cobbler stepped back, clearly impressed. "Rogrog?  The troll? Well...um…alright. Just let me know when."

Mercatur nodded. "Thanks.  We'll get them."

As if struck by an idea, Ibal turned and grabbed a pair of boots off of his shelves. "Kind sirs, if this works out, I will gladly make each of you a custom pair of boots, no charge. You know, I once made a pair of boots for the Princess Nirnadel, fur lined in ermine and made of the supplest doeskin.  That, was thirty gold crowns, but for you, free."

The mercenary gave off a huge smile, teeth peering through his beard. "You have a deal bud."

The soldier added, "We will be careful.  We don't want any harm to come to you or your shop."

Serinde, the owner of Serinde's Originals was also helpful once Valandil showed her his constable's cloak pin.  She was a well-dressed, mature woman of exceptional beauty, slender and statuesque.  The attractive designer agreed to purchase supplies for the two and also felt certain that the short one of the group was a dwarf.

"A dwarf?" exclaimed Mercatur.  He continued, "This is bad.  I hate dwarves.  They're tough little buggers.  I can see now how Merwai got up the stuff to do this.  I'll bet the dwarf is behind this."

Valandil calmed him down. "We're going to hire some extra manpower with the gold, so we'll have numbers and surprise on our side."

Serinde held up a cloak and a padded tunic. "I will have more of these delivered to you," she said in her melodic voice.  My patron Findegil will also supply weapons and armor to your group.  I want these scoundrels taken down and thank you for protecting us.  We were beginning to lose hope."

Later, Valandil took the gold that was allocated for manpower and hired six able-bodied men and women.  He stationed them at Serinde's and Nomrel's.  Serinde was true to her word and weapons and armor arrived for their team.  This was all coming together, but he was worried about the dwarf.  A dwarf would be an unknown variable here.

Ibal's Shoes – Girithron 6th, 1409

Mercatur

Early one chilly morning, Valandil and Mercatur sat behind a closed kiosk on the Rath Romen, or Romen Road in front of Ibal's Shoes.  They could see Ibal pacing nervously in the shop through the frosty window.  Mercatur motioned for Ibal to sit, pushing his hand down several times, and he did so.  Their vantage point offered a view of the entire road and of the rooftops opposite the shop.  Little did they know someone else was watching them.

The two were not disappointed.  A hooded figure with a composite bow made his way across the tiled rooftops opposite the shop.  Mercatur nodded. "That's my target.  You get at least one of them in the shop." Valandil nodded in turn.  A few minutes later, the three bagmen arrived and went into the store.  Valandil drew his long bow and nocked one of the arrows that were given to him by Serinde, fine shafts with gray gull feathers.

Mercatur cocked his trusty crossbow, pulling the string over a catch.

Ibal could be seen inside handing money to one of the tall bagmen.  Then the three turned to leave the shop.  It was time to move.

Valandil tapped Mercatur's shoulder. "This is it." The three walked out of the shop and Mercatur fired a bolt into the chest of the man on the roof.  The bolt sunk in up to the feathers and the man fell forward with a thud, dropping his bow into the street.  Valandil shot an arrow into the small figure, but it broke with a clang.  He had obviously hit armor.  Mercatur laid his crossbow down and pulled out his axe as Valandil drew his broadsword and shield.  The three bagmen, breath visible in the cold morning, also drew their weapons and threw off their hoods.

Merwai stared down Mercatur and sneered, "So big man, want to dance?"  The two-bit thug seemed to have found some courage in a group.

The mercenary shot back, "Anytime, punk.  Anytime."   He grinned, tapping the haft of his axe into the palm of his open hand.

The dwarf was now revealed in dwarven-forged armor with a beautiful steel hammer and dwarven shield.  A thick, dark brown beard hung down over his chest to his belly, braided and forked.  This was not going to be an easy fight.

Valandil looked at the finely forged weapons of the dwarf and commented, "Oh boy." Ibal slammed his door shut and barred the windows.  The icy streets were also rapidly cleared.

Merwai and the other tall Dunlending man warily circled Mercatur.  Merwai occasionally feinted with his broadsword, but Mercatur stood, unblinking. The other man was more passive.

"Is that all you got?" Mercatur sneered.

On cue, Merwai and the other man lunged forward.  Mercatur beat their swords down and swung his axe at the other man clad in soft leather armor.  He brought his shield up and caught Mercatur's blow, but in the process his shield was split, wooden splinters flying.  He backed up and discarded the shield into the snow.

Merwai went back into a defensive stance. "Orcare, you alright?"

Orcare, steam rising from his body, wiped the sweat from his brow with his now free hand. "Yeah.  This guy's dead meat.  This isn’t just a bar brawl now, big man."

The dwarf put on a fantastic display of hammer twirls and mock attacks.  He clearly outclassed Valandil.  Bravely, Valandil strode forward, head behind his shield.  As the soldier began probing the dwarf's defenses, the armored runt launched a vicious assault.  Raining blows down upon Valandil's shield, his hammer appeared to be a blurry wheel, spinning furiously.  The new lieutenant warded off the blows but could not even mount any attack through the ferocity of the hammer strikes.  His shield was soon dented and crushed in several areas and his arm was also quickly becoming numb.  Under the assault, he steadily retreated backward toward the kiosk from which he had emerged with Mercatur.

Mercatur had problems of his own.  He had managed to strike Orcare twice, causing a slight gash across the bandit's shoulder, but he too was being driven back toward the kiosk.  The mercenary grabbed at several potted plants on the side of the road and hurled them at his two attackers to no avail.  Alone, the two were no match for Mercatur, but they worked together and both wielded good weapons.

Growing concerned, the mercenary picked up another pot and threw it at Merwai, connecting with his face as the pot shattered, spraying dirt around.  Merwai grunted and fell to one knee.  The mercenary took the opportunity to lunge forward and cut Orcare with his axe.  The axe bit deeply into the man's side.  Blood spurted out from the soft leather armor and Orcare fell to both knees.  The bandit dropped his short sword and grabbed onto Mercatur's axe.  Blood flowed from his nose and mouth. The angry mercenary gave him a kick in the face and Orcare fell backward but took the axe with him.

Shaking his head, Merwai wiped the blood from his face.  Seeing the situation, he rushed the now disarmed Mercatur, who quickly drew a dagger and parried the attack away with a clang of steel.  Merwai body checked Mercatur, who staggered back, crashing into the wooden kiosk.  Flowers and plants fell down around him, showering him with dirt.

Valandil saw his comrade crash against the kiosk but had desperate problems of his own.  His shield was now useless, and he tossed it away.  The dwarf feinted high and then stuck low, hammering his opponent on the armor of his thigh.  Valandil clocked the dwarf with his fist sending him back a step.  The stunned soldier limped around the kiosk to catch his breath, but his left leg was entirely numb and sweaty steam rolled off of his body.

Mercatur threw a handful of dirt into Merwai's face, blinding him temporarily.  As he was about to tackle the thug, a bolt of fire hit the bandit full on.  The bolt burst into flames sending sparks everywhere.  Where the hell did that come from?  Merwai was engulfed for a second and let out a howl that echoed down the street.  The bandit's clothes caught flame, and he fell to the ground batting at his shirt and face.  Mercatur fell upon him, grabbing the burning shirt and plunged his dagger into Merwai's throat twice to end the fight.

Valandil turned to see his enemy rounding the kiosk.  He could not outrun the dwarf in his condition and swung desperately at the little guy.  His opponent easily parried, but just then a 'boom' was heard and then a howl.  The dwarf hesitated and stepped back. Looking around the corner, the armored runt saw Mercatur finish Merwai off.

Just then, the dwarf lit up with electrical energy as if struck by a lightning bolt.  The tough bandit jolted in spasms as electricity ran over his body.  When the energy had dissipated, smoke rolled off of his armor.  The dwarf shook his head, and with a grunt, ran down the street, away from the battle.  Valandil attempted to pursue, but his leg collapsed from under him, and he fell to his knees in the snow.  Mercatur did not even see the dwarf depart.

As Valandil attempted to rise, he looked to see a hand outstretched.  A Dúnadan woman of stern beauty stood there, dressed in a blue robe with a blue cap over her blonde hair.  Her eyes were amber in color and her skin pale.  She looked around for any other threats.  Valandil accepted the hand, and the woman spoke, "It appeared that you were in grave trouble.  I am Silmarien.  We have been watching over you for some time and have a stake in your success.  Your friends will be along shortly." Having spoken, Silmarien faded and then vanished into thin air.  Valandil blinked, almost not believing what he had seen.  He sat down and scratched his head as he massaged his leg.  The image of Silmarien's face and the wyvern symbol on her cap were etched into his memory.

Moments later, Firiel and three others ran down the street towards them.  Firiel saw Valandil and Mercatur sitting in the road with three bodies, one of which was smoldering.  She ran to Valandil and hugged him. "Are you all right?  A strange woman appeared and told me you were in grave danger.  I thought she might be a mage or something."  Kaile tended to Mercatur and Jonu checked the bodies for any sign of life, while the third drew a bow and scanned the area.  That man was dressed in fine chainmail armor and wore a forest green cloak.  His features were finely chiseled, accented by a sharp blonde goatee that poked out from under his hood.

Firiel pulled off Valandil's cuisse, the armor over his thigh, and placed a pungent herbal pack on his left leg.  The smell alone brought tears to Valandil's eyes. "Oh, that's strong!"

She tapped him on the forehead. "It's meant to be that way.  Don't be a baby.  At least it's not broken."

Mercatur stood, shaking Kalie off and grabbing his axe.  "Come on!  The runt's getting away."

The armored man held up his gloved hand. "Don't worry.  I can track that dwarf.  It looks like he headed toward the Menatar Road.  You've done well.  We'll get him."

Valandil also stood, feeling much better though his left leg still wobbled.  He looked at Firiel. "I'm sorry.  I was such a hothead.  You've always been there for me."

Firiel hugged him again. "It's alright.  We need to stick together during these times." This was all that Valandil had wanted to hear.

Mercatur shook his head slowly, pulling at his beard. "Alright, break it up.  We got a dwarf to hunt."  They gathered in the street near the bodies of the thugs, just being covered in a dusting of snow.  He waved to the six hired men who were running up the road now.

The armored man was already heading up the road toward the Bank of Cardolan, barely leaving footprints in the snow.  This guy had to be a ranger.  He motioned to Mercatur. "He went north across the bridge." The mercenary followed quickly with Valandil limping along behind.  Firiel, Kaile and Jonu brought up the rear, along with two of the men that they hired who were catching up, the other four going to alert the constabulary.  At the Ryncaras Tharbad or bridge gate, Valandil caught Mercatur.  The huge, stone gate structure towered over the waters of the river Gwathló, shadowing the group.

Valandil got Mercatur's attention.  "Hey, did you see that woman back there at Ibal's? She was some kind of wizard or something."

Firiel chimed in. "She came to the Houses of Healing, too.  She warned us of what was happening and that your two were in danger.  She had some kind of lizard symbol on her cap."

Valandil corrected her. "It was a bronze wyvern."

Mercatur stopped suddenly and his brown eyes widened in horror. "A…a bronze wyvern?  That's the symbol of House Rhudainor of Rhudaur.  Are you sure?  They're all dead but for the new lord in Rhudaur.  I was there at the tower Tirthon when Lord Rhudainor fell.  You must be mistaken," he said emphatically, punching his hand out with every word.  His face had gone white.  The horror of the Tirthon was not something easily forgotten.

Valandil and Firiel looked at each other, wondering what had shaken Mercatur so much. The armored man waved the group up, urging them to hurry.

Firiel motioned to the man. "We're coming Amrith."

Valandil queried, "Who is he?"

"That's my cousin Amrith.  He's the best ranger in all of Cardolan."

"I didn't know you had a cousin?"

"You didn't ask," she replied playfully.

Amrith turned left at the Rath Annún or Annun Road.  He quickly began walking toward the docks.  As they neared the wooden piers, Amrith stopped and surveyed the area.  As the group caught up, he knelt down on the road.  "Sorry I haven't introduced myself, Amrith of the King's Rangers.  I've been with Tardegil's men fighting those bastard Cultirith near the border.  I got word that my cousin Firiel had been attacked in the streets, so I took my leave to return to the big city.  I can see that things have gone downhill." Mercatur was about to speak when Amrith rose and pointed to an abandoned warehouse on the docks. "The dwarf and others are dug in there.  This will be…tricky."