The Court of Ardor by AliceNWonder000137  

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The Citadel

The Citadel of Ardor nears completion.

23) Citadel – Year of the Sun 300 Tuilë (Spring)

 

Ardana

 

Amid a heavy rain, the long carriage ride came to a stop as the coachman, Arduin, reined in the horses. The hood over his driver’s seat barely sheltered him from the rain and he wiped water from his face with a towel. “We are here, mistress,” he said through the forward window of the carriage.  He was a short Silvan Elf with ginger hair, a vassal of Gorthaur’s.  His black robes, trimmed in crimson and gold, signified his allegiance to the dark priest.

Ardana grunted, her body stiff and her legs sore from the journey.  She nodded to Arduin as he stepped down from the carriage to open the door.  “Wake now, my son,” she said to Moran, who had been sleeping, his head in her lap. He stirred and licked his lips and rubbed his eyes.

“I’m up mother,” he said sleepily.  He sat up and looked out of the carriage window.  “Are we here?”

Ardana stroked his black hair.  “We are. Let us inspect our people and the new citadel.  A lot of progress has been made.”

Arduin opened the door and held up an umbrella.  He was standing ankle deep in ponding water, but he gave his riders a wide, toothy smile. “Please mistress, my lord, follow me. The inner circle is waiting for you.” They walked down the steps and under the umbrella.  Ardana’s foot became stuck in the mud for a moment before Arduin helped her out.  Through the rain she could now see a tall, halfway completed, spire arising from the ground.  The foundations had been set and scaffolding surrounded the structure of polished granite and marble.  Hundreds of human and elven workers slogged through the rain and mud to keep the pace of construction going.

They splashed through the water towards the citadel to a tent just outside of the construction zone. Arduin held open the tent flap to let his riders enter.  Morthaur, the Lord, greeted them at the entrance, wearing his sooty work coveralls. “Welcome to the new center of the Court of Ardor.  We have awaited your-” he began before Valmorgȗl stepped in front and cut him off. Morthaur’s face soured instantly.

Valmorgȗl, the Magician, smiled broadly as he ushered Ardana towards the planning table.  He stood a full head taller than her and half a head above Morthaur.  He wore a gaudy black tunic, trimmed with golden cords and multicolored slashes in the sleeves along with tight fitting breeches that accentuated his toned physique. “What my esteemed colleague means to say is that construction is progressing well.  However, as you can see, the rain has made things difficult. At this pace, I anticipate completion in four to five years.”

“That seems reasonable…for now,” Ardana answered, a cryptic edge to her voice.  “Things should begin to dry out soon.”  She scanned the room to see her inner circle gathered around the great table that would go into her great hall when the citadel was complete.  It had been carved from the trunk of a Kirani tree, one local to the tropics here, known to grow to huge heights.  Silvan elves were known to make their homes in such trees in the area, so great were the trunks.  Morfuin stood in his elven form, unmoving, his head just touching the ceiling of the tent.  Rilia was next to him, the flames woven into her red gown dancing as if they were real. The female Fëatur was next in her dull, brown robes, her typical sadistic smirk on her lips.  A new face was among them now, Castolder, a tall, muscular Noldo, the new master at arms of the Court.  He had emerged as the finest swordsman of the group and was given this honor personally by Ardana.  He nodded to her with a grin, his arms crossed.  And finally, Gorthaur the dark priest, his eyes glossy as if in prayer to Morgoth himself.  These were the heads of the four suits of the court: helms, orbs, staves and swords. Like the Guild of Elements that they sought to destroy, they represented the elements of water, earth, fire and air.

Ardana looked to her inner circle, one by one.  “How are the holds progressing?”

Gorthaur placed a parchment on the table that had drawings of cavern carved into a cliff face by the sea. “My hold of Aurax-Dȗr is progressing. There is a natural saltwater lake in the cavern which will surround the keep.  There is one way in and one way out.  It will be impenetrable.”

Rilia placed her parchment on the table, the drawings made in red ink that burst into flame, but did not consume the paper.  She was always one with a flair for the dramatic.  “Naurlindol is being constructed upon a vent of lava, which will fuel my work.  We anticipate being able to produce great quantities of laen,” she said in a lilting voice full of mirth, speaking of the volcanic glass that could be enchanted and refined into blades and armor.  She swept back her long, red hair and then looked over to Morfuin.  “And the Lord Demon is always welcome in my keep.”  He tilted his head towards her without expression.

Ardana nodded in satisfaction.  “This is good.  We must still maintain secrecy as our holds are incomplete.  We are still vulnerable,” she said and then looked to Castolder. “Master at arms, how goes your progress?”

His features and auburn hair put him in the House of Fëanor.  He had a square jaw and chiseled cheekbones amid a long, straight nose and crystal blue eyes.  He wore a sky blue tunic with a large, two-handed sword at his waist.  He pursed his lips as if thinking.  “Mistress, the hold of Tirgoroth sits high atop a mountain and it takes ten thousand steps to reach it.  Construction is slow.  However, we have discovered a large species of bird, much like a hawk.  We believe that we can tame and domesticate them.”

“Good, what else?” asked Ardana, her black eyes boring into him.

A smile came to his face now, showing his perfect teeth.  “I dispatched a force based on your information.  They should have taken out the Guild, the Three, the Conclave and the Confederation.  With luck, we will have disrupted their attempts at unification and we may even sow chaos and mistrust.  I expect their return soon and I will report then.”

A sly grin crossed the Astrologer’s lips as if she were enjoying an inside joke.  “I look forward to it.”  She shifted her gaze to Fëatur.  “Your report?”

Fëatur flared her nostrils and turned her chin up.  Ardana knew that the woman felt that she should be in the inner circle and not a “mere” head of a suit.  Perhaps that ambition could be used.  “My hold of Angkirya is nearing completion.  We expanded an abandoned dwarven mine.  There are rich veins of iron and other materials such as gold and gems needed to make war on the blasphemers.  Construction has also begun on Menelcarca atop one of the peaks in the area.  I will grant this keep to Ardȗval, my astrologer.”

“Very good.”  Ardana looked back to Castolder.  “We will hold on any open attacks for now.  But you have done well.  We will focus on nipping at them, finding weaknesses, sowing mistrust. They know we are here, but not where and in what strength.  We have only a few hundred trained troops.  We must hide that for now.  And hopefully, your foray will have them convinced that they have a traitor.”  She then looked to Gorthaur.  “Speaking of how they know we are here, have you made any progress on finding out who or why, Gorthaur?”

He shook his head, his bowl cut hair swishing around his face.  “No mistress.  If it were indeed from an insider, they hid their tracks well.  If we were still in Angband, where it is more contained, I would have better results.  Here, in the south where we are spread far and wide and the weather is awful, it is much harder.”

Ardana narrowed her eyes and huffed.  Traitors angered her as much as the non-believers.  “I guess it will have to do.  Keep on this, Gorthaur.”  She reached her hand up towards the sky.  “I have attempted to scry the stars, but this thunderstorm has lasted a week.  I fear that our time for the ritual may not be coming soon.  We need the sun and the moon to be in the sky at the same time in a full eclipse in order for us to be successful.”

Morthaur bumped Valmorgȗl out of the way.  “You are correct, mistress.  It is at that moment that we must sacr…” he began and then looked at Moran.  “…we must give the offering.  Only then will your dream of a dark sky full of stars be made real.”

Ardana sighed with relief that Morthaur had not said sacrifice.  She tousled Moran’s hair and looked at him with a smile.  “Your destiny will come to fruition then, my son, and the Valar will quail at our power.”

Yavëkamba and her new assistant, Almariel, stepped up from the back of the crowd.  Yavëkamba held Moran’s hand, but she looked at Ardana. “And we will find the right way of doing this, yes?”  The Healer’s voice was strong and clear.

The Astrologer put her thumb on her lips and thought a moment.  Could there be another way?  If only the other twin had lived, she could be sacrificed.  There had to be another way.  Moran had become precious to her.  “Morthaur, I task you to find alternatives to the catalyst.”

The Lord seemed perturbed at first but then made a curt bow.  “I will…I will search for alternatives.”

Ardana perused the plans for a short time more before pushing the papers back to their owners. “I have one final thing to do this day. While we will remain secret, I wish to show our enemies and allies the power of the king.  It will also help your construction efforts,” she said slyly. “Moran, Gorthaur, I require your assistance.  Come friends, follow me.”

Members of the Suit of Swords, Suldȗn and Elendur, held open the tent flap.  Ardana nodded to both of them.  Suldȗn was originally slated to be the Master at Arms, but Castolder won the competition as the superior fighter.  Still, he was Moran’s sword instructor.  Elendur had assisted with the sacrifice of the human and was known to be loyal unto death.

They walked out into the heavy rain, shielding their eyes from the downpour.  The Astrologer gazed around at her court.  She saw the way that Moran looked at and looked up to Yavëkamba.  Perhaps they would be a good match.  So far as she knew, the Healer was unattached and she had never bothered to ask.  The personal lives of her court were of little interest to her.  Elendur would also be a good match.  She was competent, loyal and attractive.  The feud between Morthaur and Valmorgȗl could be exploited and she would keep that in the back of her mind for later.  The only one of the inner circle that she truly trusted was Morfuin, the Lord Demon. He seemed to have no ambition of his own and always followed her commands.

In the wide open courtyard, Gorthaur led them to a massive slab of granite that had been laid flat into the ground.  “I have consecrated this spot with the power of the Dark Lord!  It is a focal point for his power!  Let it now be unleashed!” he shouted over the pounding rain.  Water poured down his face, dripping into puddles at his feet.  He grasped his octagonal brooch and runes appeared on the slab and then began to glow. He led Ardana and Moran onto the slab and they were all bathed in an unearthly green light that made them glow as well.  Ardana’s gown was shimmering rapidly now, sensing her mood.

Ardana and Moran grasped their brooches, and she brought out the card with her image, holding it up to the sky.  “Morgoth! Lord and master of all Middle Earth! We beseech you to show us your power, your strength!  Help us to bring your faith to all corners of the world!”  The card suddenly felt chill in her hand, almost to the point of freezing. Their brooches all glowed a sickly greenish yellow, tendrils of power seeping through their fingers.  “Grant us your favor, oh lord!  Grant us your power!”

A bolt of lightning shot up from the slab to the sky, bursting on the overcast clouds.  Energy radiated from the bolt, shooting out in all directions.  Then, a hole opened up in the clouds and began to grow, showing blue sky beyond.  In seconds, the clouds vanished for miles all around them, leaving them drenched amid rivers of mud.  Ardana waved her hand around.  “See my friends!  This is the power of the Dark Lord.  The one who is able to crush mountains and rend valleys.  He grants us his favor!”

She took two steps and then felt dizzy.  A lot of power had gone through her.  She leaned on Moran, trying to make it appear innocuous.  She turned her face to his ear and whispered, “This has taken a lot out of me.  Walk me to the tent that they have set for us.  You will need…you will need to make sacrifices this evening.  Gorthaur will help.  The Dark Lord needs replenishment of his power.  Whenever we draw, he is lessened.  Be a good son and do this for your mother.”  They walked along, trying to appear as normal as possible.  “Any weakness may be acted upon by others wishing to take advantage,” she continued.

Moran looked back at Yavëkamba and Almariel who were following.  “My mother needs help,” he said quietly.  “Please come with us.”

They entered a tent that was elaborately decorated with fine furniture and a plush bed.  Moran helped his mother onto the bed as Almariel handed Yavëkamba a silver pot with some herbs in it.  Yavëkamba poured a small amount of water into the pot and then blew on it and it glowed red for a moment.  With the water boiling, she blew the pungent fumes towards Ardana.  “This should bolster your spirit, mistress,” the Healer said.

Ardana inhaled deeply, letting the scent of cedar linger in her nostrils.  She felt refreshed but also sleepy.  She lay down to enter her meditative state as Yavëkamba placed an elaborately woven blanket over her.  It depicted the night sky, full of stars.  She grasped Moran’s hand gently as her vision slowly faded.  “You are doing well, my son.  Now go and prepare the sacrifices for your father.  Gather some of the human workers for this.  Now go…” she said as she drifted off, dreaming of bright stars. 

Chapter End Notes

I want to engage all of the senses in this story.  This chapter looks at Ardana's power and the dynamics of the Court.

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