Of Anbor And Azruphel by gamil-zirak

The Rothgimil

OF ANBOR AND AZRUPHEL

Chapter One...
"The Rothgimil"

The vast unclouded sky's black canvas had set before it a veil of twinkling stars, whose shining light caressed the sea's calm waters. The lowly waves rolled lazily atop each other, glistening in the silvery tint of the starry heavens. The endless sighing of the sea rose and fell in the arms of a warm easterly breeze that swept over its shimmering surface. Yet the serenity was disturbed by a hulking shadow that cut through the peaceful water, riling it to a streaming foam at the bow. Bright lanterns of yellow flame hung upon the ship's tall masts, shining their radiance upon a still and peaceful deck. The helmsman was nodding at the wheel and the watch was half dozing. The breeze hardly filled the sails and the creek of the rigging was muted to a gentle slap, like the quiet rocking of a cradle.
Two figures stood upon the deck with upturned faces gazing at the night sky. One had an arm raised, pointing to the stars. "See there lady Azruphel! That is Alcarinque "The Glorious," ever bright in the night sky. And that cluster of stars over there is Anarrima. And glowing like a jewel of fire is red Borgil and the other who shines alike is red Carnil. So we see silver Elemmire and her kin, blue Luinil and silver Nenar. Lumbar also shines dimly over there. And so we come to blue Helluin, who resides at the foot of those stars that make up Menelvagor, the swordsman of the sky. See how his magnificent belt shines! And yonder, above Menelvagor and Borgil, are the "Netted Stars" of Remmirath. And look at the star eagle that is Soronume, and our sky friend Telumendil. And can you see those seven bright stars over there? That is Valacirca, "The Sickle of the Valar". And lastly, there is Wilwarin, flying high with her starry wings."

Azruphel's grey eyes took in Varda's ancient labour with the same innocent wonder and delight of the newly awakened elves of Cuivienen, for whom the starry gifts were made. They had always held an unearthly beauty, yet never had their names been told to her, and neither had she seen them from the vast reflective setting of the open sea that gave their lofty beauty a sharper resonance to the yearning heart. "Am I being foolish Balkazir?" she asked with eyes still gazing skyward. "These are the very stars I have known in all the days of my life. Yet they seem different to me now, as if what I had long taken to be fair milky opals, buttoned onto a dark canvas, were suddenly revealed to be sparkling iridescent diamonds, set upon a vast landscape of black velvet! Their grand beauty now pierces my heart. How can this be?!"

Balkazir laughed. "You have had but a taste of the enamouring power of the sea," he said. "The land-lovers speak ill of it, and name it the sailors vice. But we mariners call it the sea-longing. When it takes you, your heart is awakened to the real beauty of the open water; the starry nights and the fiery dawns. The salt tinged airs and the sparkling waves of a clear noon. The boundless freedom and the memorable adventure. We sailors would even view the raging storms to be our necessary adversaries within that beauty that are not to be feared but challenged, to prove our hardihood as unequalled mariners who would conquer the sea's vast watery-scape."

Azruphel was moved by his words. However, they saddened her. "And yet I am a woman of Yozayan," she said, "who can never become one of the seafaring folk. Vain is the sea-longing that has arisen in me."

"Perhaps," said Balkazir. "Yet I am comforted that you understand our seaward love better. For ever in Anadune's history have our women been the chief foes to the sailors love of the sea, heeding not our passion and purpose. For to my endless delight, I have tread the sea's rolling pathways for over one hundred years, only to return home to the accusing sermons of my wife. But the sea is not my mistress as she claims, but a fair realm where I would dwell for a season. For the hard stony ground of Anadune wounds my feet, and I would scarce lay still in a bed or hold myself upon a horse if I am parted long from the water. Would it that all sailors wives had your newfound understanding, happier indeed would be our wedded lives."

Azruphel looked at him for a moment and a slow smile lightened her face. "And the glory of Yozayan would be diminished had it not men such as yourself to sail to distant lands and extend her power."

Balkazir mirrored her smile. "Well said, my lady. For that is ultimately our purpose, as not a lady in Anadune could live with the niceties that are her due without the seafaring men who bring back home the riches from distant lands."

Azruphel turned again to the sky, thinking of their destination. This voyage was her first away from Numenor, and she could hardly contain her excitement. From her journey's start she had acquainted herself with the ship's crew, mingling with the sailors and listening with fascination to their many tales of adventure. And so she had befriended Balkazir who was the ship's boatswain, and had sat with him for many days and nights, listening to his shiplore. It had been a most pleasant voyage and it saddened her to know they were near its end. "So, the morrow shall finally bring us to port?" she asked a little wistfully.

"Indeed, my lady," Balkazir replied. "Fifty days journey it is from Romenna. Thus tomorrow, at dawn, shall you see the hills of Middle-earth in the fiery distance, set before the prow."

They both fell silent, with the lofty stars before their eyes and the lowly swishing of breaking foam in their ears. The Numenorean ship effortlessly made its way eastward, gliding smoothly through the waves. Of its three sturdy masts that pierced the sea airs, only the mainsail was in use. Its golden spread beat in rhythm to the gentle thrust of the warm breeze that set a widening arc of wavy disturbance in the ship's wake. Astern, and displayed upon the ship's escutcheon, was its name written in gold, "Rothgimil" the Sea-Star. She was a cargo ship, used to transport the goods and produce of her owner who was a lord of note among the Numenorean settlements that lay to the north of Umbar. Azulzir was his name, who had left Numenor some ten years before to further his wealth in the hinterlands of Middle-earth. In Numenor, he was held to be of some importance by virtue of his noble birth, being of a wealthy family that was historically aligned to the faction of the King's Men. But the grim affiliation he had inherited was not complimented by his mood. For he had a kindly streak that moved him more to pity and understanding than to ready disdain and the forcefulness of will. Therefore the deeds of his peers filled him with sorrow, and he was greatly disturbed by the unwholesome change in the land that Sauron, the High Priest of Melkor had instigated.
For years he tried to balance his views, quietly giving his support to the king, yet showing leniency and understanding to the Faithful in secret. But at the burning of Nimloth, the White Tree of the Kings, and the open worship of the Dark and of Melkor its Lord, a dread fell upon him. Yet he did not have the courage to join with the people of the Faithful whose beliefs he adhered to in heart, for fear of persecution. Therefore to protect his family as well as himself, he sought to begin anew, elsewhere and far from the spying and dark courtly intrigues of the day. He thereafter set himself up in Middle-earth as many a lord did in those days. Yet his wife, who had always been a true supporter of the King's Men, would not give up her life in Numenor. Therefore, for the sake of his wife's livelihood and the maintaining of their lofty position in Numenor, Azulzir was forced to remain aligned with the King's Men. But life seemed far better to him in Middle-earth as he was master of all he surveyed in his estate, without the prying eyes and accusing whispers of Sauron's spies. And though he became known as a moderate King's Man by the neighbouring lords, he got on well enough with most of them and was therefore content. Wide plantations he had and plenty of livestock, which generated much wealth for himself, his family and for Numenor.

"Balkazir," said Azruphel, breaking the silence between them. "There is a star that you did not mention, yet it is one that even the 'land-lovers' would know of."

"Ah yes," he replied. "You speak of Gil-Estel, the Star of High Hope, which is Earendil, our great forefather of old."

"Indeed, though in my youth I was taught to call it Rothinzil, the Foam-Flower of the sky."

Balkazir looked to the starlit heavens and sighed. "Gil-Estel is most seen at sunrise and sunset as the Morning and Evening Star. But we have long past the hour of twilight and he is now very faint."

He pointed and Azruphel could see a dim star radiating a weak flickering silver light. "But that star labours to shine," she observed. "Surely it cannot be the mighty Rothinzil as I have heard that even late at night his radiance would vie with that of the moon itself."

"So it used to be years ago," said Balkazir sadly. "Yet with the coming of Zigur, the High Priest of Mulkher, and the slaying of Nimloth the White Tree, Gil-Estel began to fade. Few who dwell on land noticed this at first, but we mariners observed the strange change at once. And as the years pass, Earendil has grown fainter still. So that even at dawn and at dusk when he was brightest, he shines even as you see him now, flickering cold and faint as if he sails Vingilot further away from us, shunning his descendants at last." Balkazir bowed his head and sighed.

Azruphel looked at him, a little perturbed. "But why would Earendil ever shun the people of Yozayan?" she asked. "The might of Ar-Pharazon and our people is such that the world has never seen. Are we not unmatched in power, wealth and stature? What forefather would not be proud of such glorious descendants!"

Balkazir raised his head and looked long at Azruphel, as if attempting to read what lay in her heart. His lips formed a silent word but he thought better of it, and instead, nodded his head. "What forefather indeed," he finally said.

But Azruphel looked upon him with a sharp eye as she read his hesitation. "If there is more you would tell boatswain, I would hear it," she demanded.

"And what more would you have me say on the matter, my lady?" he asked.

"I would have you speak your mind," she replied.

"Ah, and yet the days are become perilous for one to speak with a loose tongue?" he countered.

"Perhaps," she returned, "but only for those who would have questionable attitudes as to the purposes of our great realm,"

"And am I one of those whom you speak?" asked the boatswain.

"I do not know," she replied. "Yet it is not lost on me that you named the stars in the tongue of elves, our purported enemies. And you failed even to name the Star of Earendil by its Adunaim title."

"Of that I am guilty," Balkazir replied, "yet my reasons for doing so are simple. For to a true mariner our relationship with the stars is most personal and intimate. You yourself felt that strange desire. For they are our shining guides and our comfort, never ceasing in their lofty duty to pave our watery pathways as eternal beacons. So I would honour their immortal glory in addressing them by the names they were first given. For the tides of time may change all upon the earth. Ancient lands may fall and new ones rise. Vast realms with all their numerous peoples and grand policies may thrive and yet fall to decay. The weathers of the world may cloud over and the very airs should darken in the sweeping winds of raging storms. Yet the stars would endlessly shine above all the turmoil, and remain unchanged in their lofty beauty and serene peace. What sailor, even those of the King's Men of Anadune would fail to honour their original titles as a matter of grateful reverence to their creation and unceasing service that they render to us upon the high seas."

Azruphel stared at him with wide eyes and shook her head. "You surprise me Balkazir, as I did not know that sailors were so fair-spoken."

The boatswain laughed. "That, we are not," he replied. "For never will you find a more rowdy group of men who would speak in the most colourful of tongues that would cause a lady to blush. Yet we find our 'fair' voice in matters that touch us near. Our innocent love and passion for the sea and all its wonders would surely reveal this."

"Then let me reveal something of myself also," said Azruphel. "For I did not mean to accuse you of anything untoward. These are strange times for our people, and beneath our proud and noble exterior lies much confusion and doubt. Our people and beliefs are divided, yet I am neither for one or the other. I believe in understanding minds and purposes rather than the forceful dominion over them. I love my country and am loyal to the king, yet I will not shut my mind to all that is not regarded as the legitimate policy of Yozayan. You have nothing to fear from me."

Balkazir studied her for a moment, seeing that what he read in her were now vindicated. A slow smile rose. "May I be so bold as to say that you remind me of your father."

"You are mistaken," replied Azruphel with a raised brow. "For all who have seen my mother know that I went with her."

"In looks that is true," said Balkazir. "Yet in all else you are truly the daughter of Azulzir." Azruphel laughed beautifully and turned again to the stars. Balkazir gazed at her, smiling broadly. "And that is something," he said under his breath.

They heard a door close and saw an approach from the fore of the ship. As the shadowy figure drew near, it passed under the starlight and was revealed to them. A fair young woman she was, of long brown hair and slight frame. "Have you come to admire the stars, Aduninzil?" said Azruphel. "They are most beautiful this night." She held out her hand. "Come, I have just learnt their names and would recite them to you."

Aduninzil curtsied before her lady and bowed to the boatswain. "You have my thanks, my lady," she said. "Yet our stargazing must wait as I was sent for you."

"Ah! My mother," said Azruphel to the darkening of her face. "She would keep me cooped up like some captive thing, denying me the sights and companionships of the voyage. Must I..."

"Forgive me, my lady," said Balkazir. "Yet your mother is right as the hour is late. I also would have us go to our belated rest."

Azruphel's protest died upon her lips, and she gave a long sigh and soft nod. "Very well Master Boatswain," she said. "I shall retire. Yet I thank you for your most interesting insights this fair night. It has been most pleasurable."

Balkazir smiled. "As it has been for me, my lady," he replied. "And though you are made to retire earlier than you would like, it might be to your good as I would have you awaken before the dawn and meet me here. A most welcome treat shall await you."
At that, Azruphel's face lit up, but Balkazir raised a halting hand. "Sleep now and rise early, then all will be revealed." He bowed to the two women and turned away, hailing the helmsman as he moved to the stern.

Azruphel watched him for a moment before turning to the bow. She then made her way to her quarters with Aduninzil at her side. She opened the cabin door and was greeted by what she felt was a misplaced opulence that made her wince whenever she entered. A spacious bed took to the centre and was flanked by an oaken dresser of ornamental design with a large shapely mirror placed atop it, and a small stool of leather seating that was stood in front of it. A nightstand was tucked into one corner and an intricately carved walnut wardrobe of cumbrous form was backed against the wall at the other end. All these stood upon the twisted tufts of a carpet of exquisite make. Sweetly scented candles upon the dresser lit the room, giving a warm colour to the rich skins that hinted the luxury of bedded wealth. The bedstead, carved of marvellous design, was covered by hangings of silk, draping velvet and flowing golden cloth which were richly embroidered and lined with fur. Upon the bed sat a woman who complemented the room well. She was dark haired and very fair of face, yet her grey eyes held a sharpness that rumoured a coldness of mood, and the pout of her lips and her imperious posture spoke of a stern and proud woman. She wore rich garments that fit her well, and bore silver jewellery that glistened about her neck and slender arms. A maiden also was there, kneeling upon the bed and braiding her lady's long dark hair with gold. The woman looked up to Azruphel and Aduninzil's entry and her piercing eyes hardened. "Where did you find her?" she asked.

Aduninzil made as if to answer but Azruphel spoke for herself. "She found me admiring the stars as I took in the night airs."

"And you were in the company of those rowdy sailors, I deem," said the lady.

"I would not stand alone with friends nearby."

"Friends!" the lady exclaimed and her expression soured, as if something unsavoury had touched her lips. "The daughter of Naruphel shall not have uncouth sailors for friends! How I wish this dreary voyage would end, and we could leave this taxing ship."

"When will you stop mother!" said Azruphel with exasperation.

"When you cease to defy me!" came the curt answer. "Will you never understand your place as a lady of good standing?"

"And what does that mean?" came the heated reply. "To seal myself in this stifling wooden cell with its sickeningly sweetened scents and sullen company!" Naruphel's eyes narrowed, but Azruphel ignored their warning. "Or would you have me sweep regally onto the deck for an hour or two each day with the airs and graces of a pompous queen, spouting haughty comments on the filth of the ship and its crew with an upturned nose that would shoo away all who came under its flaring snout!" Aduninzil and Uripher, the girl who knelt upon the bed, attempted to choke back their rising laughter.

Naruphel shot them a venomous glance. "Get out, the both of you!" she said after a poisonous pause. "I have the insolence of one churlish girl to deal with and I shan't have two more!"

Uripher rose swiftly and went to Aduninzil's side. They both curtsied to their lady and turned to Azruphel who took them into her arms and kissed each of their brows. "Rest easy," she said as they exited the cabin for their own.

"Rest easy?" said Naruphel with bitterness as she watched the door close. "I should punish them both for their impertinence." She looked at her daughter with annoyance. "And you too!"

"Oh come mother," said Azruphel as she came forward and knelt beside the bed, laying her head upon her mother's lap. "I am sorry for the insult, but I cannot be caged like an imprisoned bird or brought to heel like an obedient hound. I am just not made that way."

Naruphel sighed, gently stroking her daughter's long dark locks. "There has always been a defiance in you that would gainsay all sense of authority. It was endearing in your youth, but you are a girl no longer. You must do away with such childishness and behave like the lady you are!"

Azruphel raised her eyes mournfully to her mother, but received a cold stare in return. "I am truly sorry," she said with remorse and lowered her sad gaze, but her mother put a hand to her daughter's chin and raised her head to face her. Azruphel saw the chill in her mother's eyes fade and a soothing smile rose to placate her.

"Perhaps I will forgive you," said Naruphel. "After all, if any should be blamed for that confounded trait in you, it should be me."

Azruphel smiled lightly. "I know," she said. "Father has told me many tales of when you were my age."

Naruphel sighed, looking upwards in thought. "Yes," she said, recalling old memories. "I was a spirited girl then, being strong, proud, fearless and beholden to no-one."

"And is that not how the women of Yozayan should be, to complement their mighty men?" asked Azruphel, with mischief.

Naruphel looked down at her with a brow raised. "Now you are trying to be clever."

"Another trait I no doubt received from you," returned Azruphel as she got up and knelt upon the bed. There she took to her mother's hair, continuing to braid from where Uripher had left it.

The mirror sat in front of them, reflecting their combined beauty with sculptured clarity. Naruphel studied her daughter's features. The oval shape of her face; the slender brows; the sharp grey eyes; the soft nose and the delicate lips; all of which formed a youthful copy of herself. Her own beauty had and still turned many a lords head, and she was proud that her daughter had inherited and even bettered her sightly looks. Yet Azruphel ultimately went with her father in mood. Her strength was tempered with gentleness and her pride with genuine humility. She was indeed fearless, yet sought to see the good in all she came across. And though Naruphel constantly berated Azruphel on her boundlessly open attitude that would be frowned upon by their peers, she secretly looked upon her daughter with pride and even envy, seeing in her what she had lost in herself as she sought to hold her own and conform with the Numenorean ways of the day. And could she be blamed for becoming so severe after her abandonment by Azulzir, who did not have the courage or conviction to stand tall with his people in their time of glory. He had fled, leaving her to hold together what he had left behind; the manor in Armenelos, the plantations in Andustar and the pastures in Emerie, all of which Azulzir had inherited and were the source of their great wealth. They had been left in Naruphel's care for the past ten years. Yet she had managed them well, even after Azulzir had enticed their son Abrazan away from her; a deed which still pained her heart.
Nevertheless, she had weathered all difficulties that came her way, alone. The prejudices towards a lady in a man's world of trade; the mean-spirited whispers of gossiping ladies; the suspicious eyes and searching questions of Numenor's spies and the lingering gaze and lecherous banter of suitors who would prey upon unaccompanied wives. She had stood her ground against all these trials with the obstinacy of an immovable rock that towering waves would dash their swelling waters into a thousand harmless droplets. That were how her strength, her pride and her fearlessness were put to use! Still, she did not wish for her daughter to be altered as she had been. Azruphel's innocence she must keep, then at least her sacrifices would not be in vain. And she had sacrificed much, through certain deeds of which she would not willingly tell. Yet the order of the day in Numenor brought forth many strange tales of the practises of their new religion. The worship of the Dark and of Melkor its lord!

"Mother, why do you shudder?" asked Azruphel, noticing her sudden trembling.

"It is nothing," replied Naruphel, breaking free of her troubled thoughts. She swept a warding arm to her daughter's braiding hands and swiftly rose. "It is time to sleep."

Azruphel looked at her agitated mother with concern. "But what troub..."

"Heedless child!" Naruphel hissed. "Must you always question me?"

Her mother's vehemence startled Azruphel, but she quietly rose and both prepared to sleep in silence. Naruphel blew out the candles and lay down by her daughter's side. The creaking lullaby of the ship's rigging wafted into the cabin and the gentle rocking of the boat sought to invite the warm embrace of sleep. Azruphel's voice sounded in the dark. "Rest easy mother."

Naruphel opened her eyes and smiled. It was a phrase only Azulzir had used to see his children to bed. She thought of him, conjuring kindly memories of their union. Her voice came softly in reply, answering in a manner she had never done before. "Rest easy, my child." Azruphel's eyes widened in surprise. Yet they soon heavied, and her sight dimmed as she passed into the forgetfulness of starry dreams with a contented smile upon her face.

~oOo~ The darkness was failing as the hour of dawn drew near. Already the sky had turned grey and the shining stars began to waver. The eastern horizon was streaked with an orange hue that heralded the rising of the sun. The ship had already come to life, with sailors going about their duties in harnessing the brisk morning wind that had arisen. All three masts displayed their great sails that billowed their strain to draw the Rothgimil over the sea. Gaining the knots, the ship tossed the quick foam from her bows, rising and dipping in the crested waves. Above the mainsail and fixed to the mainmast was the masthead; a lofty perch that stood almost one hundred feet above the deck. Two now stood there. One was a tall man of greying hair and beard. The other, who clutched at his shoulder, was a young woman who stood rigidly with fear in her eyes. "Do not pinch," said Balkazir, "for you are safe up here. Believe me when I say you will not fall."

Azruphel looked away from the yawning drop and tried to calm herself. However, the sudden height above the deck and the gradual swaying over the fathomless sea was a little too much for her to endure. "Oh Balkazir," she moaned in her distress. "You truly are a villain! Your so called treat shall surely be the end of me."

"Nonsense!" cried the boatswain. "These masts are of the sturdiest pine in all of Anadune and would hold ten more of you. Yet I will admit that being up here does take some getting used to. My advice is that you cease looking down and turn your gaze to the wide waters about us."

Azruphel complied and slowly turned her lofty sight to the watery vista that now greeted her in earnest. There she was, striding the deeps as if the masts were gigantic stilts, and all about her was the infinite lay of a dawn ridden sea. She forgot her discomfort as the salt-tinged breeze caressed her face and sent her long hair streaming in its wake. She felt free up there, flying over the green waves with the grace of a majestic sea-bird. And coming to her ears were their unmistakable cries! "Listen Balkazir!" she exclaimed. "The seagulls call. Surely we must be within lands reach!"

The boatswain nodded and pointed to the airs. Great white birds circled the ship high above them, and a flock of others flew by in the distance. A large gull swooped down to perch upon the very tip of the main-mast, five feet above their heads. He was white all over with black markings upon his head and wings. He opened his heavy yellow bill and let out a harsh wail that had the men on the deck below look up. "A winged herald cries out!" called one. "There he is, perched upon the mast-head. But what is his call? Perhaps he does the duty of our watchman and tells us of his sight of land. For I doubt the vigilance of the boatswain as he seems well occupied!"

"Mind the watch Balkazir!" shouted another. "Or you'll miss the distant shore on the horizon!"

"Now, now lads, let him have his fun!" cried a third. "You'll have to forgive him if his eyes wander. After all, there's sights aplenty for him to indulge in up there!" A jeering laughter of all the sailors followed.

Balkazir shook his head disapprovingly, yet Azrûphel seemed not to have heard them as she stared ahead at the brightening horizon. The sun was rising, sending forth widening rays that lay down shimmering pathways of dazzling light upon the water. The golden sails of the Rothgimil burst into rippling flame, and the glossy leaves of the Green Bough of Return renewed their vigour as the sun's glance touched the ship's prow. The last vestiges of night were tamed as the grey sky turned blue, and the wavering stars faded beyond recall. Wailing gulls now hovered beside the ship upon both its sides, as if they were nature's escorts that would guide the Rothgimil to port. A faint blue outline appeared on the horizon and Azruphel put a hand to her brow, shading her sight from the sun's morning glare. Her eyes widened when what she saw became apparent. "Land Balkazir!" she cried in excitement. "I have sighted land!"

The boatswain shaded his eyes and nodded. "Indeed it is Middle-earth that rises from the deeps!" he said. "Now look below and call out as loudly as you can. Let the sailors of the Rothgimil know they are finally within sight of their goal!"

Azruphel did as she was told with an enthusiasm that rendered her former fears cured. In a voice that rang as loud as her lungs would allow, she cried to the sailors below, "Land ahead men! The shores of Middle-earth lie upon the horizon!" A great cheer greeted her words.

Just then, the captain emerged from his cabin that was to the stern of the ship. His name was Balakan and he had captained the Rothgimil from her maiden voyage, almost eight years ago. The sea had been his life since his youth and he had gained a vast experience through countless voyages. He had even sailed with Pharazon's fleet that had humbled the might of Sauron and brought him back to Numenor as a prisoner of war. A few years later he had retired from the navy, seeking a simpler life of naval trade. And so he had come to work for Azulzir, who had swiftly acknowledged him as the best captain on his payroll. Balakan therefore undertook all of the most important voyages for his lord, and this one was of no exception. This cargo had been the most precious of all. But now he looked up to the mast-head, following the amused stares of his men and he swore. He was about to give a shout when a cabin door to the fore of the ship opened and the lady emerged. No doubt she was roused as he was by the cheering men. Naruphel strode onto the deck with eyes ablaze with anger. Following meekly were Aduninzil and Uripher, whose pale and frightened faces were a testament to the wrath of their lady on the unknown whereabouts of her daughter. Naruphel eyed the sailors who stood nearby. "You there!" she cried to one. "Where is my daughter?" The sailor and those beside him wordlessly turned their gaze upward. The lady granted them an ill favoured look before she turned to see what they were staring at. She gasped as her eyes widened in disbelief. "Azruphel!" was all she could whisper.

Yet Balakan saw Naruphel's distress, and her shock was supported by his own concern for Azruphel's safety. "Balkazir!" he cried.

The boatswain looked down. "Captain!" he answered.

"The young lady has had her fun, as have all the men. But now it is time for her to come down!"

Balkazir turned to Azruphel and motioned her to the ratlines; lengths of thin ropes that were tied between the shrouds of the ship to form a lofty ladder. Azruphel gave a nod and carefully manoeuvred herself onto the lines and began to descend. She clutched at the swaying ropes, lowering herself rung by rung with eyes that did all to shun the dizzying heights that yawned beneath her. Balkazir followed, supporting her with encouraging words. Soon she could clearly hear the voices of the sailors and the sighing of the green waves came closer to her ears. She found the courage to look down and saw that the deck was now much nearer, and she hastened her descent with growing confidence. Finally Azruphel reached the bottom, skipped the last five rungs and leapt down, landing with graceful ease upon the deck. She turned to the smiling faces of the sailors about her and gave them all a grandiose curtsy. The ship roared with rowdy applause and laughter. Balkazir stepped down beside her as she turned to him with a grateful smile. "Once again, I thank you Master Boatswain," she said. "The experience has indeed been most pleasurable."

Balkazir bowed. "I am at your service as always, my lady." came his soft reply.

Azruphel turned to follow her mother who had returned to their cabin in grim silence. The two maidens converged upon her with chattering concern. "Are you all right my lady?" asked Aduninzil, clasping Azruphel's hand. "You were so high!"

"And it seemed so dangerous!" chimed Uripher, clutching her other arm.

Azruphel assured them she was fine as they neared the dreaded cabin door. What her mother would say however was a different matter, yet she steeled herself to the fury that awaited her. She paused by the threshold, took a deep breath and entered.

Balkazir strode to the quarterdeck where the captain stood. The sailors watched him pass by with grinning faces and plied him with jolly comments. "You did well Balkazir," said one. "You'll make a sailor of her yet!"

"Aye," called another. "You've granted the lady her sea-legs alright, but you're overlate in the teaching as we're soon for the shore!"

"Nay, you've missed the point lads!" cried a third. "He's had her attentions for most of the trip and would end it on a grand note! Hah! Now the doubts of Saptheth his wife are realised, for truly does she vie with a tempting mistress of the sea!"

Raucous laughter followed the boatswain the rest of the way. There he was met by stern eyes that spoke of a grim mood that was not to be trifled with. "That was foolish Balkazir," said Balakan. "The young lady is our master's daughter whose safety comes above all else. What possessed you to neglect your duties and take her up to the mast-head?"

"Just an old sea-hand's innocent delight in showing a young eager soul the joys of the sea, nothing more," replied the boatswain.

"A plague on your delight!" fumed the captain. "It was foolish and you know it. What if she had lost her footing and fallen from that high place? You would bring this voyage to untold grief and endanger all our livelihoods with your nonsense!"

Balkazir bowed his grey head and sighed. "You are right, captain," he said. "It was wrong to place her in such peril. Yet see it as the misdeed of a childless sailor who would teach his beloved craft to an eager youth."

"Then teach your passion to one who should be schooled in your craft," Balakan replied. "Find a young adventurous boy from the mainland or from our isle, to whom you may bequeath your love of the sea. But the fair daughters of Anadune cannot become such pupils!"

"I understand," replied Balkazir. "Pardon me, captain."

Balakan looked at the boatswain and sighed. He knew the man meant no harm, yet to needlessly disrupt their smooth voyage within sight of their destination was irksome at the very least. Still, all was well...and for the rest of the voyage it seemed. A raging voice now rose through the timbers of the fore cabin. Naruphel was sure to keep her bold daughter imprisoned for the remaining leagues of their journey. "You are pardoned," said Balakan. "Now I shall return to my quarters, if you can be trusted to fulfil your duties as boatswain."

"I can, captain," replied Balkazir with a bow.

"Then see that Bawbuthor gets to his rightful post upon the mast-head and have the men set to their duties in bringing this ship home!" With that, Balakan turned and made his way to his cabin, calling to the helmsman to keep a steady course and guide the Rothgimil safely to port. The cries went up and the deck was all astir as the sailors busied themselves. One began to sing the staves of a popular mariners song to cheer the hands, who roared forth the chorus about the joys of landfall and the pleasures of the port with hearty goodwill. The early sun shone fully upon the welcoming sea; the airs were clear and the sky was clean. The Rothgimil flew with a grace that rivalled her winged escorts as her golden sails beat the crisp morning airs like huge flapping wings that hauled the ship forward, towards the fast approaching lands of Middle-earth!

Author's Commentary:

This is my first Second Age story and is my take on Numenor and its people, told primarily through the dramatic relationship between Azruphel of Anadune, and Anbor of Middle-earth. At its heart, it's a love story with the epic backdrop of a grave historic time. The story begins around 2 years before the Fall of Numenor, and the dark state of affairs shall become more apparent as the chapters go on. There's not much else to say except I hope you all enjoyed this chapter.
Anyway, next we shall see Azruphel reach the shores of Middle-earth!
Thanx!!
Dedicated to the wonderful world of Fanfic.

Crystal Height

OF ANBOR AND AZRUPHEL

Chapter Two...
"Crystal Height"

Uthruda opened her eyes and for a moment of rising panic, thought she had gone blind. But gradually her sight returned through a fog of darkness that dissolved into a miserable sight of clarity. She lay inside a boat crammed with many recognisable faces, all of whose expressions were of fear and sadness and the blank stares of despair. She winced at the throbbing pain that assailed her and raised a hand to the side of her head. A clatter of metal made her pause, and she realised that her wrists were clasped by thick manacles whose heavy chains were linked to the bands about her ankles. She felt firm hands grasp her shoulders and looked up fearfully to be greeted by a face she dearly knew. It was her brother. "Uthruda, you awaken!" he said, clasping her close. "My heart rejoices as I thought you were beyond all hope."

She put a hand to her aching head and brought her open palm before her eyes. It was stained with streaks of blood. "Uthrudul, what happened?" she asked.

"Do you not remember?" he grimly replied.

"I remember tilling in our fields. Uthrawen was with me as was Uthragul. Then suddenly our sister was screaming. "The Hunters are come! Flee the Urzubul!" I tried to escape, flying in the direction of our village but the Urzubul had encircled us from afar, closing in on their prey like stalking beasts that creep low amid the tall grass. I ran unwittingly into the waiting arms of one and fought him with all my strength as I tried to release myself from his crushing embrace, but to no avail. I then bit his vice-like arm and earned a blow to my head that knocked me senseless. And so I awaken."

"Then you remember enough," said Uthrudul, "for there is little else to tell. We heard the "Horn of Warning" echoing in the fields and gathered all the able men of our village. Swiftly we raced to the aid of our captured folk only to be ambushed and overwhelmed. Those of us who were not slain were rounded up and led to the river where we were forced into the boats."

"And what of Uthragul and Uthrawen?" asked Uthruda. "Did they escape?"

Uthrudul sighed. "No. Our brother and sister are languishing in the boat behind us."

"And what of mother and father?"

Uthrudul could only shrug his shoulders. Uthruda hauled herself up to sit, gently assisted by her brother, and replaced her palm over her throbbing head wound. Uthrudul put a reassuring arm about her shoulders and drew her close. After a brief comforting silence she turned her eyes to their miserable companions that sat with them. There was Golfin, Gabraghal, Borgim and Hunathragir, all young men of her village. And weeping softly together in a corner were the sisters Anthren, Anthred and Anthrel who were her friends. And old Ragnabor sat in silence beside his glowering son Ragnabul, the Headman of the Council. Many others of her village sat about her as dejected men and women, all encumbered in fetters and headed towards a dreaded end. "What do you think the Urzubul will do to us?" asked Uthruda fearfully.

"Rest sister," he said. "Do not burden yourself with questions."

But Gabraghal overheard them and raised his head. "Why do you comfort her Uthrudul?" he said. His glistening eyes held rising tears that belied his stoic expression. "She knows as do we all of our miserable fate! We have been captured by the Demons of the Sea and soon they shall drink our blood and set fire to our flesh in evil offerings to their God of Darkness. There is no hope left for us!"

"Aye!" said Hunathragir. "Yet the fault of our capture lies with Ragnabul and the Council. Did they not ignore our pleas to distance ourselves from the river and resettle our village nearer to the mountains of Arbul?"

Ragnabul shot him a perilous glance. "Hold your tongue boy!" he returned. "What would you know of the counsels of your elders. Our village lay far enough from the perils of the Urzubul, as we reckoned. And we still believed in the protection of the Ancestors. Besides, the lands about the Arbul are in turmoil as the other tribes that settled there war with each other in their efforts to live off the meagre land. Would you have had the courage to defend your people against our marauding neighbours had we moved there? Hardly have I seen you pick up an axe or raise a club, or noted within you the warriors heart that would serve our people well in defence. Were you even present at the muster or were you caught scampering away in fearful flight, only to be netted as a deedless coward?!" Hunathragir's face contorted with rage at his words and his chained body tensed for a spring. But suddenly his quivering posture faltered and tears sprung from his wavering eyes. He bowed his head and wept softly in despair. Ragnabul's eyes softened and he shook his head in sorrow and turned aside. He did not mean to wither the young man, yet his own despair had forced him to lash out. But the boy's accusing words held some truth as he felt he had failed his people and they would now pay for his errors in judgement with their lives.

Yet he felt a soft hand upon his shoulder and turned to the age-worn face of his father. "Do not blame yourself my son," were the old man's words. "For what fault could an innocent people be accused of who are beset by the evils of a grave injustice." The old man turned his grey head to the others who sat there. "All we have ever done is live at peace with the world around us. We till the land, hunt and forage for food, love our wives and beget our children, and give thanks to our ancestors of old. War-like we are not, save to defend our livelihood from other tribes who would hinder our peace. Yet if the way of our simple life deserves the evil fate that now besets us, then strange indeed are the ways of our ancestors and gods! But I will not abandon hope! Nay, not even in the throes of death from the greedy flames of the Urzubul! For even then I shall pray to our forebears, and with my final breath plead that justice should find the Demons of the Sea after my burnt body wafts away in the ash ridden vapours of their black temples!"

A harsh shout sounded from the stern of the boat and a tall man strode forward, kicking aside the legs of the chained that crossed his path. "Cease your grunting you apes!" he cried in a tongue they did not understand. "Or I'll send you to the Dark before your time!" He whipped out a long knife that shone greedily in the early sunlight. Uthruda and her kin all bowed their heads fearfully before his fierce eyes. "Good!" he said. "And don't think of planning to escape as I've ways of dealing with runaways that would make even your muddy minds cloud over in terror, and bring you to heel good and proper!" He gave them all the evil eye until his dark sight came to rest upon Uthruda. "Ah! So the wild imp has arisen at last. Did you sleep well my young apeling? Luckily for you we had to move swiftly or I'll have repaid you with more than just a blow to the head!" His leering eyes went to her thighs and rose to linger a little higher. Uthrudul stirred as he noted the man's lustful stare and guessed at his words but Uthruda tightened her grip upon him in her terror. However, the man raised his arm to glare accusingly at the band of cloth tied about it. He spat into the river and turned away.

Uthruda began to tremble. She looked up and saw tall alder branches waving their shadowy leaves over the water. The sun shone as it always had on a summer's morning, glistening upon the river's surface, tinging the tree leaves with gold, brightening the blue sky and warming the heart with a coddling breeze. Yet the beloved traits of the warm season that she had long taken for granted now held nothing for her. Nothing except a rising dread. For she was held against her will upon a dark path that led to a searing end of pain and death, forcing her to leave behind the joys of the riding sun and creeping moon; the wonders of the open sky and teeming forests; the warm familiarities of tilled fields and her quaint village; the hearty embraces of family and dear friends; everything she knew and loved. Uthruda turned her frightened eyes to her brother who looked down at her. "It will be all right sister," he whispered. But she knew that was a lie. With that despairing thought, she buried her head in her brother's chest and wept.

~oOo~ The boats lay moored beside a riverside landing whose wooden planks creaked under the heavy tread of the slavers who carried their gear to the bank. The alders grew thickly here, with their rustling leaves forming a shadowy canopy under which a well worn path led away from the river to a small clearing. A long shed was built there and a gloom ridden cottage lay behind it, at the very edge of the encircling trees. A narrow track for carts and horses led westward from the clearing, plunging into the thick undergrowth of the forest about it. The sun shone upon the cheerless glade, whose worn grasses grew in ragged tufts amid the dusty earth. The shed was roughly made and ill maintained, with broken windows and badly laid brickwork. Many armed men stood or lay about it, warming themselves in the morning sun. A few milled about inside the shed, where all manner of slavers tools either hung upon filthy walls or lay upon grime ridden tables. Chains, racks, collars, leashes, cages and much more cluttered the scenery. Before the shed's wooden doors were two horse drawn carts packed with cages of thick iron bars, and confined within them were all the captured wild men and women. A proud white horse was tethered to a pole by the cottage, patiently awaiting its master who was within.
The slave master sat at ease inside the shabby house with a flagon of wine in his hand. A tall young man stood before him. He was fair of face and hair which flowed with smooth ease to his shoulders. His attire spoke of wealth and complimented his airs that held an attitude of importance. A young woman carrying a wooden tray with a pitcher of wine and a flagon rose from where she knelt, having just presented her master his drink. She went to the tall man and knelt before him with the tray raised high above her bowed head. The man gave a curt shake of his head, yet she maintained her posture of offering. The slave master looked at her with irritation and placed a foot upon her shoulder and roughly thrust her to the floor. She lay where she had fallen, trembling in fear amid the clatter of woodenware and spilt wine. "Clean up your mess and get out, you mindless imp!" he growled. She rose to her knees and replaced the flagon and pitcher onto the tray. She then used her tunic to wipe the wine from the floor and was swiftly out the door. "These wild things are good for nothing, save to feed the ritual fires." said the slave master. "They're lazy workers and aren't even good for the bed as they lie with all the passion of a corpse!"

The tall man gave the slave master an unsavoury glance. "Spare me the details of your nightly pleasures with the wild folk Ugruben," he said with distaste. "Come, let us conclude our business." He produced a heavy pouch and tossed it into Ugruben's waiting hand.

The slave master weighed it in his palm and smiled. "Why thank 'ee, master Abrazan," he said. "I'll not count it as I'm sure it's all there."

"It is," said Abrazan, "and there is more."

"More?"

"You did exceed the amount I had hoped for."

"Truly so. Fifteen requested and twenty three delivered."

"And so you have my gratitude."

"And may I ask what these slaves are for. The Felling Fields, the Estates or the Fires?"

The young man looked sternly at the slave master as he thought to rebuke him for his delving questions. Yet what harm would come of it if he told him. "I mean to send them to lord Zigurben."

"What?" said Ugruben in surprise. "This bounty is for our Lord Priest?"

"Indeed," Abrazan replied. "Few know of this, but lord Zigurben plans to hold a grand ceremony to honour the Dark One and pray for his guidance and blessings in the conquest to come. I aim to surprise our Lord Priest with this gift of slaves that would sate the numerous rituals that are bound to take place."

"And so gain his favour no doubt."

"It is to be hoped."

"Well," said the slave master, "I wish you well in your endeavour. Twenty three slaves would be a respectable gift, especially in these lean times. The wild folk move ever further inland and are harder to find. They've grown fiercer too."

"So I see," said Abrazan, gesturing to Ugruben's bound arm. "It must have been quite a duel that gave you your wound."

Ugruben stared at him with narrowed eyes but Abrazan laughed and made for the door. There he paused and turned back to the slave master. "A word of advice," he said. "If I were you I would begin to cumulate the merchandise."

"And why would I do that?" asked Ugruben as he belched.

"Word has it that the Numenorean fleet is nearing completion. When that day comes there shall be a royal call for a host of slaves to man the ships. I foresee you becoming a very rich man...should you handle your business wisely."

"With you at the helm of the arrangements no doubt," said Ugruben.

"With my connections and influence! I would do the negotiating and you..."

"The capturing," the slave master drily cut in.

"Think Ugruben," said Abrazan. "Ar-Pharazon would send a host of soldiers to do the work of emptying all the coastal lands and beyond of their wild denizens without a thought for the slave masters who now ply their trade. Align yourself with me and you will be guaranteed a fair portion of the brisk business that is bound to arise in the coming months."

Ugruben looked at the young man with a discerning eye. He was an ambitious little lordling but he was assured and clever; a winning combination to success. Perhaps he would trust him in this. Ugruben took a swig of his wine. "I'd have time to think about your proposal." He did not want to give the proud young man the satisfaction of his eagerness.

But Abrazan smiled knowingly and gave him a mock bow. "As you wish master," he returned. "But do not take too long as there are others of less wit with whom I would do business!" Without waiting to see Ugruben's scowl, he exited the cottage and strode to his tethered horse. "Sakalben, Abrathor!" he cried to the drivers of the laden carts as he leapt upon his saddle. "Set forth for home at once!"

A click of his tongue set his horse to canter forward and he glanced casually at the human booty that languished in his carts. The slaves either knelt or squatted within their crowded prisons. Some clutched at the iron bars, staring at him with the wide vacant eyes of despair, while others were sobbing as they held their bowed heads in trembling hands. Abrazan turned away from their misery with ease. It was a picture he had seen many times before and was much used to it. Yet the wild men were beneath his pity and concern. They were necessities that enhanced the Numenorean way of life...akin to livestock. Yet far more importantly they were currency...the currency of favour and wealth that would usurp all notions of conscience. Slavery to the Numenoreans was not cruelty, but a necessary right. "You do not ride with us master?" asked Abrathor, as Abrazan cantered to his side.

"Nay," he replied. "I shall go on before you. Or do you forget that dear guests are due to arrive today. I am overly late as it is. Therefore I shall see you at Crystal Height." With that he sped away, passing through the trees in a cloud of dust and fluttering leaves.

~oOo~ The longboat heaved forward and settled, riding the silvery waters to the straining arms of the eight sailors who manned the oars and drew the vessel towards the shore. Azruphel looked back at the Rothgimil that had been her home for almost two months. The ship had dropped anchor and now languished upon the placid waters of a wide sheltered bay. Her golden sails were down, revealing stark evidence of her tall bare masts and complex rigging. Azruphel could see the tiny figures of the sailors who remained behind to attend to the ship. She and her mother were being ferried over the final part of their voyage before the Rothgimil set sail again for the southerly coasts to pick up cargo from other ports. Both ladies sat in the longboat alongside their maidens Aduninzil and Uripher, with Captain Balakan overseeing the men at the oars with a discerning eye from where he sat at the stern. Azruphel thought of Balkazir the boatswain who had stayed aboard the ship to oversee the crew, and smiled to herself at the fond memories of their friendship. She had hoped to see him again upon the shore where she thought to tease him about the solid ground wounding his feet, but his voyaging was not yet ended. He would be far away by days end and she did not know if she would ever see him again. The thought saddened her but she was glad to have met him, and grateful for the newfound reverence he had imparted for the mysteries and wonders of the sea. But that part of her journey was over and she were now drawn by strong rowing hands to another mysterious realm of which she knew little. The lands before her looked familiar enough, being of yellow sands, waving trees and rising hills. Yet all seemed of another world, with rolling beaches yet to be trodden, and rustling trees whose kinds she had never seen, and tall summits yet to be surmounted. She felt as a meek stranger from a small isle who now approached the threshold of a vast new realm that was beyond her comprehension.

This was Middle-earth, the mammoth continent; a land of which the Numenoreans knew so little, yet of which they claimed to own so much. For Ar-Pharazon professed to being its lord and his people took all that they would from it. They had settled upon its fertile lands, plundered its deep riches and gained dominion over its cowering peoples. But the Numenoreans had only conquered the tips of its western coasts as they would not settle far from the sea. Yet there were a few who ventured deep into Middle-earth's mysterious interior and fewer still who ever came back. Then those who returned would relate strange tales to those who would listen, recounting visions of vast deserts of endless dune ridden sands and dark untamed forests under whose thick canopies the sun's light was diminished. They spoke of long meandering rivers whose winding courses begat thundering waterfalls and perilous rapids as they coiled through deep shadowy valleys. They described towering mountains as seen from afar, whose jagged icy crowns were hidden in the wispy folds of lofty grey clouds, and told of wide inland seas whose boatless waters stretched before the eye to stranger shores. And in the telling they would raise their flagon to salute the king's power, commending the striking vastness of his conquered domain. Yet their hands would tremble at the toast and their wine would spill over the rim. And when asked what fearful thought would have them quake in the midst of friends, they would speak of the denizens of the dark inner lands; the savage tribes that hunted the Numenorean explorers like beasts. "But why do you quail at the thought of the wild men whom we use as our slaves and offerings?!" would be the defiant yell of one in the crowd. "What should we fear from those helpless whelps!"

"The wild men I speak of are not of our bounds," the storyteller would reply. "Nay, they are not of the timid kind whom we have enslaved with ease. These are of a different sort who are bold and fierce, and organised in battle. Heed me when I say that we have but conquered this vast land in name only, for there are tribes in their multitudes that you know nothing of. Yet they know of our people and they hate us, being schooled no doubt by the vengeful wild men who are under our yoke. Therefore hear me when I say the power of Anadune shall soon be put to the test. For the wild men are coming!"

Then the gathered crowd would grow silent under a descending cloud of doubt. But the storyteller would drink to the health of the king and the enduring power of Numenor and make his exit, leaving his disquietened audience to their troubled thoughts. Yet such stories were few and far between, and the people of the coasts would soon forget their warnings until another gaunt traveller appeared to them, imparting the same dire warning to those who would listen. But Azruphel knew nothing of such evil portents as she looked to Middle-earth's approaching shores with rising excitement. There was nothing ominous about the lands she saw before her. She beheld the welcoming sight of a sheltered bay whose tapering out-thrust arms were covered by waving palm trees that grew upon bright yellow sands. To the shore, the bay carved itself into a shallow valley that was nestled between the sloping arms of a tall hill whose rise was densely covered in trees. Upon its summit stood a great white pillar with a globe of light at its top that shone brightly with a piercing light in the mid-morning sun. High shoulders stretched away from the hill to the north and south of it, and the ridge bordered the coastal line for as far as the eye could see in both directions. The golden beach receded from the lapping waves, losing its sheen to the stony shingles and hard rock of the mainland. Upon the easy slopes of the ridge to the south were many houses of white stone, built in pleasant rows upon the terraces, and at the foot of the valley was a small port that held a flurry of bustling activity. The longboat was now in clear sight of the shore and Azruphel could see those who awaited their arrival upon the quay. Her heart fluttered with anticipation as she clearly saw the one person she had missed the most. He stood before the rest, with a hand to his brow and a smile upon his face. Azruphel turned swiftly to her mother. "I can see him!" she exclaimed. "I can see father awaiting us! There he is, shading his eyes in his effort to see our approach. Oh how he smiles!"

Naruphel leaned aside to better see the nearing quay. Indeed, there was Azulzir, stood precariously upon the very edge of the landing. She shook her head in vague annoyance at his ardency, yet a faint smile rose to belie her displeasure. For all her disapprovals, she realised then how much she truly missed him. And yet is that not why she and Azruphel were here? She had lived without her husband for ten long years. At first, she had dwelt alone with proud independence, yet that had turned into bitter resentment as the years went by. But at last her heart's desire could not be denied as her yearning for him became unbearable. Furthermore she needed a time of respite, away from the ever mounting complications of life that Numenor now presented. "Fool of a man," she said drily, to hide her own rising anticipation. "If he leans any farther he will fall into the water."

Azruphel, who had made her way to the bow, turned back. "Oh come mother," she called. "I know you have missed him as much as I have. You cannot hide the joy in your eyes."

Naruphel shook her head. "Foolishness child," she returned with an undeniable smile.

Soon the boat was within earshot and Azulzir raised a hand and waved. "Truly blessed is this day!" he called. "To think that my two most precious jewels have been brought safely over the vast leagues of the sea to grace my sights again! May Belegaer be praised for his leniency!"

"And praise the captain, father!" called Azruphel. "As our smooth passage was only assured under his watchful guidance."

"Truly am I indebted to you Balakan." Azulzir returned.

"Your praise is undeserved, my lord!" cried the captain. "For in boldness I would tell the truth and have it known that the very sea becalmed itself in reverence, so as to allow two of Anadune's finest women cross over its domain in peace."

"I see the company of these noble ladies has somewhat sweetened your tongue Balakan," laughed Azulzir. "Yet you speak truly as I reckon the very waters parted before the prow in deference to their beauty."

But Naruphel raised a brow, "I know nothing of parting waters," she called. "The sea went flat when I told it to. I did not think to ask for more!"

There was laughter upon the boat and on the quay as the vessel reached its berth. Azulzir gave his daughter his hand and aided her to the landing. There he drew her into his arms and held her close. "My dearest Azruphel," he said softly, caressing her long pliant hair. Azruphel clung to her father, resting her head upon his shoulder. She could not believe that she now stood within his warm embrace and could feel his reassuring presence. That she now heard his familiar voice and could see the undeniable features of his face. How she had wished for this! She tried to speak, yet could only mutter a few words which she did not understand in her intense delight. Their meaning only became apparent with her father's answer. "And I have missed you too, my dear child," he replied.

Azulzir then turned to the boat and gently released his daughter. He put out a hand and took hold of his wife and aided her to his side. There they looked upon one another with warm smiles and intimate joy in their glowing eyes. Azruphel stood aside, tearfully witnessing her father and mother's reunion. Her father tenderly caressed her mother's cheek and Naruphel shyly lowered her eyes and bowed her head. Azruphel knew that the past ten years had visibly hardened her mother, yet to see her respond to the affections of her father with maiden-like innocence spoke volumes about her depth of feelings for him. She realised then that there was more to her mother than was to be thought. "And so you have finally come," said Azulzir. "Long have I awaited this day."

Naruphel gazed at him with softened eyes as she studied his face. "The years have done nothing but age you," she remarked.

Azulzir laughed, as did those who stood nearby. "And yet you look younger than ever!" he replied. "How are you possible?"

Naruphel's lips rose to a gentle smile. "However, your tongue has lost none of its charm I see," she returned.

"Then I am relieved," said Azulzir, "since it is plain I have lost my looks to age in your eyes. I would have at least one trait that still seems good to you."

"You have lost nothing in my eyes," said Naruphel, to the waning of her grin. "For the lines upon your face are not of cares and concerns. Rather they suggest the qualities of joy and content." She traced the creases about his eyes with a gentle finger. "You have laughed much since I last saw you," she said softly. "Life in Middle-earth has clearly been kind to you."

Azulzir looked deep into Naruphel's grey eyes and saw that much was hidden behind their soft glance. There were unknown trials to be read, as well as a deep sadness and something more. Azulzir's own smile faded for an instant as he realised that all were not well with his wife. But now was not the time for a show of concern, not while others stood by who were there to welcome his family. There would be time enough to talk. He swiftly returned his smile to its place and looked to the gathering. "Do you see?" he said to them in jest. "Your laughter was misplaced as the lady's remark was well meant. For to her I have aged like a mature wine, and am now full of richness and flavour for her palate's taste. She discerns no doubt the joy and content that is prevalent in the hinterlands, and such is a gracious testament to the bliss we have created for ourselves. Therefore, I would ask for your warm hospitality to be extended to my wife and daughter throughout their stay with us." The gathering smiled as one and bowed low in their assent.

"But where is Abrazan, father?" asked Azruphel as her quick eyes darted among the strangers that stood there. "Surely he came to welcome us."

Naruphel also turned to the gathering, searching for her son but Azulzir's face darkened and he turned his gaze eastward to the slopes of the great ridge and beyond. She looked at him with rising concern. "Azulzir?" He turned back to her but could only reply with a pale smile. "What do you fear to tell us?" she questioned with growing agitation.

Azruphel stepped towards her father, mirroring her mother's anxious mood. "What has happened to my brother?" she demanded. "Why has he not come to meet us?"

But Azulzir broadened his smile in an effort to reassure them. "He is out on an errand of his own," he said. "But he is late and shall incur my wrath upon his return as he gave his word that he would be here to welcome you." The two ladies set aside their conjured fears with sighs of relief. Yet they were nonetheless disappointed at Abrazan's absence, and Azruphel marked her father's troubled look that betrayed more than plain annoyance at his son's truancy. "But come!" said Azulzir. "Let me present you both to those who were gracious enough to welcome you, on time." A flurry of introductions, handshakes, bows, curtsies and salutations followed. They were received by people of apparent importance, all of whom either worked for her father's estate or worked within the port. Finally Azulzir brought them before a tall man of fair hair and a noble and kindly face. "And this is Zadnazir," he said. "He is the head of my household and oversee's the affairs of the estate."

The man bowed before them. "It is my pleasure to welcome you to Crystal Height."

Azruphel looked up to the tall tree clad rise and the shining pillar at its summit. "I should very much like to climb the hill and see its lighting crystal up close."

"That can certainly be arranged, my lady," said Zadnazir. "Indeed the view from up there is a sight to behold as one can espy the fruits of your father's labour in their entirety."

"There shall be time enough for sightseeing," said her father. "But first I would bring you home to rest after your long voyage." With that, he took the hands of his wife and daughter and the party left the quay. They skirted the port to their left and made their way across the golden sands towards the terraced housings that looked to the sea. Soon their feet trod upon the smooth grey shingles that led up to a wide road of paved stone that came up from the south, following the line of the coast. Heavily laden carts and wains drove up and down its path, yet more came from the south, heading for the port. Upon either side of the road were broad riding tracks with few horsemen going about their business. An elaborately decorated and gilded carriage designed for comfort and elegance awaited them by the paved road. There Azulzir thanked his companions for coming to welcome his family and after many invitations and farewells, the party dispersed. The ladies and their maidens entered the carriage and awaited Azulzir as he spoke with Balakan.

"Master, permit me a swift visit home as I would see my wife before I return to the ship." said the captain.

"Do as you will Balakan," replied Azulzir. "But the Rothgimil will not head out today as planned. A feast shall be held tonight in honour of my family's homecoming. Therefore send for the men that remain on the ship as all are invited to our merry-making." Balakan bowed low. Azulzir entered the carriage and turned to the captain. "And tell them they are to receive a generous bonus for the work they have done. Thus shall you all know of my gratitude."

"I thank you master," said Balakan in parting.

The carriage began to trundle forward, going northward. The road rose, mounting the slopes of the ridge and passing high above the port that was nestled below to the left. The highway then turned east beneath the crest of the sloping arm of the hill and surmounted the high shoulder of the southern ridge. Azruphel gazed at the treeclad upper half of the hill that rose to their left. There grew tall white oaks with waving rounded crowns, and fine maples that coloured the hill with green and gold. Shrubs grew here and there in brightly coloured clusters while butterflies and hummingbirds hovered and flitted in the airs. "Nature has a sense of archaic beauty in these lands," said Azruphel. "Simple yet mesmerising. It is so unlike Numenor whose beauty is sharply tangible, as if our meadows and forests were purposely planted by the gods to please the eye. But here everything is wild and natural in its effortless beauty, and speaks more to the heart than to sight."

Azulzir smiled. "You discern well," he said. "For that is true enough." The carriage now descended, rolling towards the vast inner lands that stood behind the wall of the ridge. "Come daughter," said Azulzir. "Behold your home!" Azruphel moved over to the opposite window that looked southward and gasped in wonder. A mighty dwelling that was nestled at the foot of the ridge now passed into view. Its walls shone with a white tint and its numerous roofs were of low-pitched tiles. Shapely archways ordained entrance points and lovely balconies all flower laden, gave exquisite viewpoints from the second and third floors. Decorative iron window grilles and entire window walls gave sight from within to lush gardens, grand patios and shimmering fountains. Even from the highway Azruphel could discern the grand homely comfort of the house. The gardens were no less breathtaking. There stood orange and lemon trees dripping with fruit, and silvery olive trees dancing in the wind alongside evergreen ash and jacaranda's in full bloom. Many shrubs peppered the green lawns such as oleander, gardenias and night scented jasmine. Arbors formed pleasant shaded walkways upon which ornamental and fruiting grapes were trained. Three large pools of sparkling water with sprouting fountains graced the lawn near the main threshold of the mansion. Azruphel turned her stare to her mother who mirrored her awe. Azulzir laughed softly at their wonder. The carriage came to a halt by the great gates of the homestead. "Welcome home," he said to them. "Welcome to Crystal Height!"

Author's Commentary:

Nothing to say about this chapter except I hope you all enjoyed it!

Thanx!!

The Seeds Of An Avalanche

OF ANBOR AND AZRUPHEL

Chapter Three...
"The Seeds Of An Avalanche"

Azruphel sat upon her bed and gave a contented smile. She took in the look of her spacious room with fanciful delight. The warm patches of sunlight upon the grey walls, the flat ceiling with its richly carved beams, the dark shining oaken furniture and the delightful flowery decorum nodding in their vases. As new as this all was, she felt at home here. A soft breeze entered from the sun-drenched balcony, setting the silken drapes to flutter before her. She rose and stepped outside, stooping to savour the sweet fragrance of the white magnolia, pink lilacs, speckled sweet peas and yellow roses that were planted there. After a dreamy while, Azruphel stood and leaned against the lofty rail to take in the sights of the homestead in earnest. The luscious garden spread beneath her, tinted with the golden sunlight of near noon. Her sight passed over the far wall to the east and saw cultivated rows straddling the far slopes of a rise; the wine plantations. To the south east were herds of livestock grazing lazily in the distance. She turned north to the rise of the hill whose trees waved to her from the heights. Azruphel now saw that Crystal Height was the last of a chain of hills that stretched into the hazy easterly distance behind it. Upon a few of them were grey walls peeping through the greenery of their summits, and shining towers rose proudly into the high airs. Beneath these fortifications were many houses that terraced the hill-chain's slopes facing southward, and the road that led to the port ran beneath them with laden carts and horses moving slowly upon it, going away into the east or approaching the west. Azruphel's eyes narrowed slightly as she strained to look. Had she seen a shimmering outline upon the horizon? She was reminded of her sight of land from the lofty mast-head of the Rothgimil. Were those far away mountains that fenced the borders of stranger lands in the vast realm of Middle-earth? She could not tell, but she put a hand to her brow in an effort to gain a better look. There was a soft knock at the door and Azruphel turned to see Aduninzil enter. She smiled and beckoned to her maiden. "Come out here and share the view with me!" she called. Aduninzil smiled and joined her. Azruphel put an arm about her maiden's shoulders and swept the other before them in a gesturing motion. "What do you think of our new home?" she asked.

Her maiden grinned as she set her grey eyes upon the pleasant view. "It is a pretty sight my lady," she said. "Yet not one to rival the grandeur of Yozayan. Many of our towering trees and radiant flowers come from the Undying Lands, and the beauty of our shimmering landscapes are newly wrought by the reckoning of the years in Middle-earth. This land however is ancient and worn, and beyond the fair dwellings of our people I deem the land is withered and grey."

Azruphel's smile faded and she turned to Aduninzil with a sigh. "Do your eyes hold no wonder for this land, that you should note such a blemish within its fair portrait?" She turned back to the view. "Do you not feel a sense of intrigue about this strange place, a sense of epic adventure?"

Aduninzil laughed. "Nay, I am not so moved," she said. "Intrigue and adventure are the vices of pioneers and adventurers...or mariners," she added with a look. Azruphel gave her a furrowed glance. "Yet I am none of those things my lady, but a plain woman of Yozayan. And I hope I am not too bold in saying that you are too!"

"That is bold," said Azruphel with narrowed eyes.

Aduninzil took Azruphel's arm from her shoulder and clasped her lady's hand in her own. "I meant no offence," she said softly. "but I do not understand your mood thus far. Excitement in long journeying is one thing, but your easy friendships with the Rothgimil's sailors, climbing up perilous mast-heads, and your heady love for these hinterlands you know nothing of is strange to say the least."

Azruphel's face was darkened by her scowl. "You have drunk deeply of my mother's brew," she said softly, "and freely spout her coddling thought in your insolence. Well, if that is all you came to say you had better leave, for I have heard enough!"

Azruphel pulled away and turned her back on Aduninzil's look of alarm, to stare sullenly at the spoiled view. There was a moment of tense silence before she heard her maiden's soft remorseful voice. "I did not mean to anger you, my lady. May you forgive me."

At that moment, Azruphel heard the door open and her father's voice came breezing in. "Ah, there you are! I have been...Aduninzil, whatever is the matter?"

A soft sobbing rose and Aduninzil's breaking voice answered him. "I am sorry my lord, but I must leave." A swift patter of feet signalled a hasty exit, followed by another uncomfortable silence.

"Azruphel?" came her father's query.

"It is nothing father," said Azruphel without turning. "Nothing but the drama of women."

"The drama of women!" came Azulzir's reply. The door closed. "Now that is serious!"

Azruphel gave a soft grin and turned to see her father return her smile from the door. "Will you share the view with me?" she asked.

"Gladly," said Azulzir as he stepped forward. Yet as he reached the threshold of the balcony his daughter held out a halting hand.

"But only if I have your word that you will not dampen my spirits with tiresome lectures on my presumed unlady-like behaviour," she stated.

"I have already had an earful from your mother and am disinclined to hear or discuss anymore of it!" her father replied with a grin.

"And spare me the sermon that states the unequalled merits of the beauty of Yozayan when compared with this desolation of a land."

"What!?" cried Azulzir with mock surprise. "Aduninzil compared Crystal Height to a desolation? Had I known I would have..."

Azruphel swept into his arms. "Oh father, I have truly missed you!"

Azulzir kissed her brow. "There, there child," he said, softly patting her back with a reassuring hand.

Azruphel raised her face; she was smiling. "The drama of women," she laughed.

"So I see," said her father, laughing with her.

Azruphel took her father's hand and led him onto the balcony where they stood awhile, gazing in silence. "Well father," said Azruphel, "let me have the lay of the land."

Azulzir grinned and turned to point eastward towards the cultivated rows upon the shallow hill. "Well, there lie our plantations that turn in the finest wine of the province."

"Such praise would be forthcoming from you," said Azruphel with a raised brow.

"Nay," said Azulzir. "I speak truly. Our wines are renowned far and wide along the coasts, and those of Anadune relish its flavour, even to the royal house."

"And the grazing livestock over there," asked Azruphel, pointing to the herds.

"All ours," her father replied. "And may I say they provide the most exquisite beef in all..."

"Yes, yes father, but what of those towers rising from the hill-tops?"

"Those are the Crystal Height Forts that house the garrisons that serve to protect us."

"Protect us?" echoed Azruphel with a creased brow. "From what?"

"From whatever should seek to harm us," was Azulzir's reply. "These regions in which we live have been tamed. Up to twenty miles inland from where we stand, there are settlements of the Adunaim. But after that come the wild lands. An untamed wilderness where the wild men we displaced now roam. And as you would expect, they are not friendly." Her father said this lightly, yet his expression was grave.

"Because we enslave them?" said Azruphel with a darkened face.

"Yes," was Azulzir's simple reply.

Azruphel eyed the eastern view thoughtfully. She was well aware of Numenor's culture of slavery that had unwilling hands toil for its glory and prosperity. Yet she had been far removed from witnessing the endless hardships and cruelties that fueled the might of her people, as she had lived a somewhat sheltered life with her mother back home. But even there a few slaves from the hinterlands were to be found and their numbers grew with each passing year. The Council of the King had sanctioned the crossing of many wild men to toil for the rich and influential of Numenor, who used them like beasts or treated them as pets within their households. Azruphel gave her father a swift glance and looked eastward with widened eyes that betrayed her rising doubt. Her spirits sank as she stared into the far wilderness. The flaws in her hinterland paradise were becoming evermore evident with each conversation she had, and she began to feel foolish at the thought of her somewhat childish excitement and naivety. "Have the wild folk ever attacked before?" she asked, a little fearful of the answer.

Azulzir's warm smile was a gallant effort in reassurance."They have not," he said. "How could they? Who of the lesser peoples of Middle-earth would dare strive against the might of Anadune!" He set an arm about his daughter's waist and drew her closer to him. "I am sorry dearest, for I seem to have broken my word and further dampened your spirits. It was not my intention to have you know of these things upon your first day of arrival."

"Yet I would have found out all the same," Azruphel replied. She sighed and lay her head upon her father's shoulder. "I have been a naive fool, prancing about the ship and frolicking with its crew with the zeal of a lusty sea-wench. And here I have flittered about the house like a child in a play-den, and in a misguided haze of adolescent delight I have daydreamed about the marvels of the hinterlands. Perhaps mother was right. I should be sterner of thought. Even my own maiden sought to rebuke my ardour."

Azulzir laughed. "Well I would not go so far as to put it like that, yet she may have had a point."

Azruphel looked at his smiling face for a querying moment and her brow darkened with realisation. "So I am truly surrounded by my mother's spies! She sent you here to tether me with your charm."

Azulzir laughed again and tightened his arm about her but she stubbornly shrugged him off. His laughter waned to a soft smile. "Perhaps your mother did send me, yet I would not have done as she bid if I did not somewhat agree with her. The truth is that Middle-earth is a vast land with many perils that would ensnare the heedless. It is true that the land is filled with archaic beauty and wonders that would dazzle and astound, yet be mindful that it is not Anadune and few of its people harbour any love for us. Also know that here at our havens we are safe, yet be wary all the same. Be free and charming with those you meet, yet hold something back. Even among our people there are many with hidden purposes who would see ill in the innocent thoughts of a free-spirited lady. For know that the spies of the king do not dwell in Anadune only."

Azruphel sighed and turned to the view. She knew her father was right, yet it irked her more that her mother was too, even Aduninzil. She had thought the trip would be a respite away from the cloying nature of Numenor. Yet she already felt the familiar barriers here too. She could not be free to be herself. She looked wistfully at the distant forts that hazily stood upon the hills and after a while, narrowed her eyes to what she noticed. "That horseman rides with great eagerness, judging by the cloud of dust that rises in his wake."

"Yes," murmured her father, whose peering eyes also followed the rider's swift gait. "And his eagerness is well merited, for he is late!" With that, Azulzir turned and made for the door.

"Where are you going?" asked Azruphel, a little perturbed by his hasty exit.

"I am going to have words with that rider!" he called as he passed out of her room.

Azruphel stared after him for a thoughtful moment before returning to the balcony. The rider now rode alongside the low walls of the estate where he checked his speed and soon came to a halt by the gates and gave a call. The wardens immediately hauled them open and he entered, riding his proud white horse at a gentle canter. Azruphel's eyes widened with sudden recognition. "Abrazan!" she cried in her startled excitement.

Her brother looked up, smiled and gave a wave. "Well are you just going to stand up there and gape, or are you going to come down and greet me?!" he called.

Azruphel turned and swept out of her room, flew down the stairs and raced through the house. She swiftly emerged from the main entrance but halted just short of the silver pooled fountains. Azulzir now stood before his son and judging by his terse gestures, was surely berating Abrazan for his truancy. Servants of the household and workers of the estate now paused in their doings, silently witnessing the drama unfold. Azruphel hesitated, her joy dissipating as she watched them argue. She caught a few hurled words that spoke of things she did not understand. Accusations of cruelty and slave-trading from her father that were countered by the faults of a weak lord who behaved like a rebel from her brother. Their heightened anger and wild words troubled Azruphel as it were plain this was not the first time they clashed in such a manner. She remembered the strange look her father gave when they asked for Abrazan's whereabouts at the quay. She was now quite sure that her father had not only been annoyed by her brother's absence, but that he also disapproved of where Abrazan was and what he was doing. There were plainly deep differences that lay between Azulzir and Abrazan that had festered over time and it pained Azruphel to witness the two people she loved most, fight in such a manner. She was about to take a step forward in a bid to quell their arguing when a loud voice rose from behind her.

"Cease your discord at once!" cried Naruphel as she strode past Azruphel and approached the bristling men with the imperious air of a stern queen. "Your quarrelling can wait. Let me greet my son in peace!"

Azulzir subsided and took a step back. Abrazan's sour face softened as he turned and gave the lady a weak smile. "Mother!" he said, going forward to embrace her.

Naruphel leaned back and looked closely at him. Her sharp grey eyes studied his handsome face and tall lean body. "My dearest son!" she said at last, with eyes now glistening with emotion. "How long has it been lamb, seven despicable years of parting?!"

"Now, now mother," laughed Abrazan. "I am a lamb no more but a full grown ram that rakes the dust with a heavy hoof, bristling for the charge. Yet the years have been despicable enough, for I have dearly missed you."

"And I you," Naruphel replied. "More than you will ever know," she added softly. It seemed her words overwhelmed her then, for she bowed her head and put a hand to her face to hide her tearful eyes.

"Now come mother," said Abrazan, gathering her in another warm embrace. "No more tears, be they of joy or grief. You are here and we are together again. That is all that matters."
He then looked past his mother's shoulder and saw Azruphel's tentative approach. "Well, well," he said, "I was not sure it was you when you called my name from the balcony, but now that I fully see you I know my doubts were well founded! For this beautiful young woman is most certainly not my sister. She is a slight little thing, all of two knobbly knees and big round eyes gathered under a trailing mop of dark hair!"

"Well if the suckling lamb now sees itself as a posturing ram, then the delicate fawn flourished into an elegant deer!" Azruphel loftily replied.

Abrazan laughed. "And your tongue is still as sharp I see!" With that, he let go of his mother and went forward to embrace his sister.

Azruphel gazed at her brother and caressed his face. "The years have been good to you," she said.

"Not half as much as they have been to you," he replied. "Every suitor from Crystal Height to Umbar will come beating upon our gates once word of your beauty takes flight."

"What a terrible thought," said Azruphel with mock exasperation.

"I know," replied Abrazan. "I feel sorry for them already. I shall have to warn them of the headstrong vixen hiding beneath your allure." Azruphel gaped her indignation but Abrazan laughed and kissed her cheek. "It is still so easy to jest at your expense," he said to her pout.

"Well continue your jesting indoors," said Naruphel, taking her son's arm as she walked back to the house. "You arguing men have attracted an audience that needs to mind its own affairs." She sniffed at the many servants who were halted by the quarrel and now stood respectfully by, witnessing the tearful reunion.

Azulzir turned to them. "Return to your duties," he said. "There is nothing more to take note of here!"

He grinned a little at their excited chatter as they dispersed. Whatever the night held, it would have its fair share of gossip. He then turned to watch his family make their way indoors and as he did, his brow darkened. His son troubled him deeply, or rather he disappointed him. Abrazan's attitudes and deeds were not of the man Azulzir hoped his son would be. He had enticed Abrazan to Middle-earth, a land away from the darkened policies of Numenor. He thought he could mold Abrazan into a better man, at least in his eyes. Yet Numenor's reach was long and her influence was not lessened by the wide seas. In fact, the peoples of the coasts were grimmer than their island brethren, being the vanguard of Numenor's conquests. Many of them delighted in the debasement of Middle-earth's peoples, and indulged in cruelty towards their own people who were slaves from those of the "Faithful". Coastal lords fawned for favour and influence from the Dark Clergy who were Sauron's priests and priestesses. Heinous rituals and despicable acts were commonplace in their citadels and estates, all done in the name of the god the Numenoreans had taken for themselves. It all sickened Azulzir to see a noble people brought so low by their own machinations. Many times did he sit in his library, tearfully reading of Numenor's histories that spoke of their past noble glory before the black taint assailed them. To think of what it meant to be a Numenorean before the shadow seemed a remote dream of thought, a fleeting light ages ago that shone upon a fairer time in their history. A time when nobility was understood; a time when innocent joys were cultivated and glorious hopes were realised; a time when prosperity were not a thing of wealth but of the goodness of heart; a time when Numenor was guided by deep wisdom. But now all was dark and filled with deepening shadows that harboured conniving whispers, malicious deeds and evil cunning. Now rose red mists of coiling incense that bred lustful groans and gasping agonies of ritual demand within their fitful clouds. Now simmered fiery hatreds and vile attitudes towards all that were not Numenorean. How could Azulzir not want to protect his son from that. But he had failed. All of Abrazan's friends and peers were of like mind, believing in the dark might of Numenor and the merits of its people achieving it. The more Azulzir sought to clear his son of this travesty, the more his son embraced the fallen ways of his people. And now Naruphel was come.

Azulzir sighed. He knew he was at fault for loving her but he could not help himself. She had a strength of mind and spirit that enthralled him, and she was perilously fair and of a kind far loftier than he. That a timid unassuming man like himself should have fallen for such a queenly woman was not to be wondered at. Yet beyond all hope and expectation, she had returned his love and that was as strange a fortune to Azulzir as it were to others who looked to their union. Nevertheless, he had held onto that soft strain in her mood and gratefully gave her all he had. Yet he could not change her completely. Nay. He had always recognised the hardness lurking behind that would awaken with the growing pride and haughtiness of Numenor and its people. And surely as time went by, her words to him were flecked with growing disdain to his questionable sensibilities and soft attitudes. Yet more hurtful to him was the scornful light in her eyes as she berated him for his perceived weaknesses. She fully believed in the imperious path Numenor had set for itself whereas he hated it. In the end he had fled his soiled country, yet he could not flee from his wife...he loved her too much. Therefore he had turned aside from the coasts of the Faithful where he had thought to settle, and instead went south to the northern reaches of the coasts of the King's Men. He would still live within Numenor's royal power, but surely life in the hinterlands, even in the lands of the King's Men would be better, being far removed from the source. And here he had settled as a compromise to his wife who would not leave the island. The dreaded label of traitor would not tarnish his house and put his family in peril. She could dwell in peace in the Numenor she loved and he could dwell with greater peace of mind in the Middle-earth he grew to cherish. She could live with the riches and status his love provided and he could live with the knowledge that he had a beautiful wife whom though sundered by a wide sea, were still his. Now she was here, at her own request and to his utter delight. Yet he could not help but wonder. Amid his genuine happiness was a sense of doubt. Doubt for his son and for his wife. Naruphel had always favoured Abrazan who had sided with his mother in most things. She had schooled him well in revering Numenor's glory and it had always been a source of contention between her and Azulzir. That is why he had separated them, calling for his son to come to Middle-earth and aid in the affairs of the estate. Naruphel was heartbroken by Abrazan's decision to leave her and it was still to be assertained whether she had forgiven Azulzir for their separation. And now with the added support his mother would surely give him, Abrazan was bound to further his black ambitions with zeal. Azulzir truly felt he had failed his son. And yet not all was lost...for Naruphel had also given him a daughter. He still had Azruphel, and she was all his where it mattered!

"Master," said a voice that intruded upon Azulzir's thoughts.

"Ah, Zadnazir," Azulzir replied. "I did not see you there."

"You were deep in thought," said Zadnazir.

"You but witnessed an indulgence in gentle contentment," Azulzir returned.

"Very good. Well I came to report that preparations for the feast are underway."

"Good, good. And messengers have been sent with my invitations?"

"As soon as you and your family arrived."

"Then all is well my friend," Azulzir said with a creased smile. He turned then to the house with a strange look upon his face. A gentle gaze of joy that was somewhat tempered with a hint of sadness.

"Is everything alright master," asked Zadnazir after a discerning pause.

"It is," Azulzir replied with forced ease. "Let tonight be as warm a homecoming for my family as I could wish for. That is all I ask."

"Your household shall do all to make it so," was Zadnazir's staunch reply. ~oOo~ The crimson sunset set aflame the watery western horizon in a final play of receding light that gave way to the advancing shadows of night. The black horse moved forward at a sluggish gait, its heavy hooves knocking out a weary tempo of long journeying upon the hard road. Its rider sat swaying gently in the saddle with hanging shoulders and a bowed head; the reins were loosely held in his gloved hands. He was robed and hooded in brown, but his dust ridden boots and leathered hands were black. Both rider and beast were a vision of weariness, but the end of their journey was near. The road was set upon a lofty headland, overlooking the sea from the height of a sheer cliff rise of some five hundred feet. It was broad and well made; evidence of its obvious importance. Tall walls of smooth black shining stone rose before the rider and his horse, and ahead stood a great steel barred gate, arched with a sturdy parapet. The traveller crept up to the flame lighted threshold where silent wardens opened the gate for him to enter. Before him spread a vast complex that housed many darkly shadowed buildings. The broad road led on towards a great building that stood wide and imposing at its end. Many avenues branched off its path, hemmed with numerous dwellings and buildings of self-sufficiency that served those who lived there such as dormitories, libraries and infirmaries. A range of barns, forges and even breweries lay further off to the south. Rising from the main building that lay ahead was a tall tower with a wavering red light at its horned summit. A great fire burned there, nestled in a rounded iron chamber that enclosed its light save where it opened wide to the west, like a flaming eye looking towards Numenor. Zortarik it was called, The Flame Pillar.

The lone rider made his way towards the black tower as darkly robed denizens of the complex mutedly went about their business with hardly a glance towards him. There was a palpable heaviness in the twilight airs, a notable hush that could be felt and seen. All the peoples of that place spoke with low voices under their hoods, and stood close to each other in their intimate conversing. Others stood alone, half concealed in the shadows with their hands raised to the evening sky as they mouthed soft prayers. A few shuffled soundlessly up and down the avenues or passed the rider upon the main road, flitting in and out of the dim lamp lights that lit the thresholds of the many buildings. All was unnaturally quiet, save for the heavy dint of the forgeries that rang in the subdued airs. Yet even their steely voices gave the sobering impression of ponderous hammer knells that rang out a grim call of order before an ominous sentence of doom. The tall shining black walls enclosed the complex in a vast circle and from the inside, one could see many doors leading into it and many windows that gave sight out of it. Into those walls were delved armouries and many store-rooms for food and equipment. Atop the walled circumference walked tall armoured soldiers, locked in vigilant patrol. This was Dolgutarik, the Black Tower that was also known as Zigurben's Keep. The rider clasped the reins and drew them back, bringing his horse to a halt. Looming before him stood the grand yet sombre looking building, rising three stories with sturdy grey walls pocked with many arched windows all under a shallow tiled roof. The tall arched entrance was barred by two oaken doors and guarded by four wardens who stood upon either side of the threshold. They were almost as tall as the spear shafts they held. As the rider dismounted, the left oaken door opened and out came a robed figure that strode purposefully towards him. The rider clasped his hands in front of him and waited expectantly. "Must you be so laggard when we send for you?" the robed figure asked as it approached. The voice was deep, held a note of vague irritation, and came from a woman. The rider discerned her fiery eyes that stared at him from under the shadowy folds.

He waited until she stood before him and then he bowed. "Priestess Lomiphel," he said with a smile that was itching to sneer. "Have we done away with all courtesy that would have us seem no better than those whelps in the cage." He pointed to the iron barred box that was placed just beyond the reaches of the splayed torch light of the doorway. Two unhappy slaves languished in their small prison and both were naked save for the feeble loin cloths. "Surely that is not the way to greet an old acquaintance."

The priestess bristled a touch before sweeping away her hood to reveal a rich mane of flowing dark hair. Her face was of an alluring beauty that sought to entice with its black-shadowed eyes that rumoured the hypnotic ability of a snake, and full lips painted with glistening crimson that voicelessly spoke of the dark pleasures of unbridled decadence. The rider's sneer dampened and he would have swore. He had forgotten how easily she affected men with her lustful beauty. The priestess noted his grudging appraisal and her long lashed eyes softened as her ready lips rose at the corners to a gentle smile of sympathy. "Apologies Dolguthon," she chimed. "My manners escaped me." She gave him a low curtsy, yet rose to look upon him with a withering stare of seething contempt. The sudden change was startling, but Dolguthon was too weary for confrontations he was bound to lose.

He raised a hand in supplication. "Forgive me priestess," he said. "Yet as you can see, I am weary. It has been a long arduous task and an even longer journey that has finally returned me here."

"I should have you flogged for your insolence," hissed Lomiphel with flashing eyes. "However you are not a fool, and whatever made you brazen enough to flout me must be worthy of my forgiveness."

"It is," said Dolguthon with a curt bow.

Lomiphel's soured face freshened a little. "You bring good news then?" she queried with checked excitement.

"I do," replied Dolguthon, his weary mood in stark contrast to the rising of hers.

"And the task you were given?" she asked, clasping his arm with a trembling hand.

"Is done," nodded Dolguthon.

"And the proof of your deeds?" she begged.

"In here," answered the toying man, placing his hand upon a brown sack that hung from the saddle.

Lômiphel stared at the bulging sack and thrust Dolguthon aside as she flew towards it. She lay her hands upon the swinging contents, closed her shining eyes and began to feverishly caress them. "Great Mulkher be praised!" she breathed in a trembling whisper of chanted repetition.

Dolguthon watched her passionate display with as dispassionate a response as he could muster, yet her trembling body, her heaving chest, her clasping hands and breathless praise from those glistening lips roused heats that were hard to deny. However, the Lord Priest could not be kept waiting. "Priestess," he said softly.

Lomiphel stilled herself and opened her eyes. They were glazed with the fervour of her servile obedience to their god of darkness. The seeds of his grand plan for the Numenoreans imparted to them by Sauron had been sown and its firstfruits were in her very hands. How could she not be overcome by that! Still, she had to pull herself together as much was still to be done. Lomiphel gave a delicious shudder and turned her moist eyes to the man who was clearly in the agitated throes of an allayed arousal. She laughed inwardly at the easy effect of her charms but tonight was a good night. She would reward him well enough later. "You have done well Dolguthon," she purred with playful ease.

"I live to serve my priestess," came his quiet reply. He looked away with a clenching jaw.

Lomiphel smiled lustfully and set a long finger to Dolguthon's cheek, tracing the hardening line of his jaw. "Indeed you do," she breathed. "And later perhaps we will serve our master...together." Dolguthon gave her a querying yet hopeful glance but Lômiphel laughed and strode away towards the oaken doors. "But you know what comes first," she called. "So please follow me." Dolguthon released the sack from his saddle, flung it over his shoulder and followed after her.

A tall dark hooded silhouette stood watching all from a high unlit window. Its sharp piercing eyes had brightened when it saw the rider plodding towards its doors. They had brightened even more as they witnessed the rider and priestess converse beneath them. Then they had flamed as the priestess clasped the sack's contents in her quivering arms. A remorseless smile rose within the dark hood and the figure turned away from the view, satisfied. The first trickling stones had begun their long descent down the slopes of the Meneltarma. The first of the toppling heads that in due time would most surely lead to the awaited avalanche. The smile deepened with the dark thought. Indeed it was a good day to be a Black Numenorean.

Author's Commentary:

Here's another chapter to this ever darkening tale. I'm getting depressed just writing it!

As always, I hope you enjoyed it!

Thanx!!

Broken Chains

OF ANBOR AND AZRUPHEL

Chapter Four...
"Broken Chains"

Azruphel stood ill at ease by the second floor landing near the doorway to her room. Sounds of a gathering indulging in pleasure wafted up to her from the stairway that led down to the common room. There came a stream of crowded talk peppered with occasional laughter, the clatter of plate and bottle and the melodious strumming of a harp. Crystal Height's finest were feasting in honour of Azruphel and Naruphel and awaited their grand entrance to the proceedings. Azruphel was nervous and Aduninzil was no help as she fidgeted with Azruphel's gown, smoothing a crease here, folding an uneven hem there, now tampering with the silver circlet upon her brow, then re-positioning the jewelled necklace that was draped about her neck. "Oh cease your pampering!" cried Azruphel, unable to endure any more of it. At once she was sorry, for her maiden immediately bowed and stood sullenly before her lady with her hands clasped together. Their earlier quarrel still lay between them and Azruphel had not the time to address it. But as the hour of the feast drew near, Naruphel had ordered both to Azruphel's room with clear instructions to beautify her daughter. That had been managed, but done in an air of uncomfortable silences. Azruphel had wanted to break the stalemate but noted a sense of blame in her maiden's sulking, as if Aduninzil expected an apology. However, Azruphel had always been sisterly to her household's maidens, but Aduninzil's boorish attitude bordered on conceit, what with her terse manner and curt replies. But Azruphel could play that game too, and since Aduninzil had admonished her for not behaving like a proud lady of Yozayan, Azruphel sought to remedy that by haughtily behaving as such. But seeing Aduninzil's mournful display touched a nerve of pity and self reproach, for this was a scene fit for her mother, and Naruphel she was not. Their fencing had gone far enough. Azruphel sighed. "Aduninzil, what have we been doing?"

"Is my lady not pleased with my work?" replied her maiden.

"Stop it!" said Azruphel, placing a hand to Aduninzil's chin and raising her sad eyes to hers. "We quarreled this morning," she said softly. "Let it end there."

Aduninzil's eyes seemed to waver and she pressed down upon Azruphel's hand to stare back at the floor. "I do not know what you mean, my lady," she mumbled. "Servants do not quarrel with their masters."

Azruphel's expression passed from surprise to irritation and ended in exasperation. "This is hopeless!" she cried, bristling with renewed attitude. "Very well," she conceded. "If this is how it should be between us, then so be it. You may go!" Aduninzil rose, gave a respectful curtsy and made off. Azruphel closed her eyes and shook her head to Aduninzil's fading sobs. Anger rose at the thought of their petty situation, yet who was to blame? Her mother no doubt, whose insinuations were reaffirmed to her by even her maiden. She would get back at her mother for this. A door closed and Azruphel opened her eyes to see her mother's very self glide towards her with Uripher a step behind. Naruphel was also clad in white, a flowing gown that exquisitely clung to her figure and luxuriously cascaded to the floor. Shining gold bands encircled her supple arms and wrists, and a glittering array of twinkling jewellery adorned her neck. Her dark hair was free of braids and swept down her back, and about her brow was a circlet of gold, engraved with images of the Mallorn tree, the emblem of Azulzir's house. She looked a sight and even her daughter was impressed, though her show of it were somewhat skewed. "Your majesty," purred Azruphel as she gave a sombre curtsy.

Naruphel halted before her with narrowing eyes. "That pertness better end here," she demanded. "And I want none of it for our guests, do you hear!"

Azruphel was pleased with her mother's reaction. She bowed low, hoping to get more out of it. "As you wish my queen," she chirped. Uripher choked back her amusement.

"Enough!" Naruphel thundered, whipping round to face her now trembling servant. "Away with you!" she blazed. Uripher wheeled away, half dashing towards the door from which she had emerged. "Not that way!" Naruphel called. "Did I not send you on an errand?"

"Yes my lady," replied the flummoxed girl. "I am to inform the Master of your readiness to come down. My apologies." She bowed and fled to the stairway where she descended it with pace.

Naruphel turned back to her daughter where they glared at each other. But soon Naruphel's gaze softened and she put out a hand and caressed her daughter's cheek. "Whatever shall I do with you," she stated solemnly.

"You may do as you wish," returned Azruphel. "After all, I am but here to serve your abuse."

"Abuse?" asked Naruphel with a raised brow. "And how am I guilty of that?"

"You know best," Azruphel replied. "Did you not send Aduninzil earlier this morning to admonish me for my perceived ill behaviour?"

"I know not of what you speak," shrugged her mother.

"Indeed!" fired Azruphel. "And you also had the gall to send my very father!"

Naruphel feigned a blank stare before her face darkened in stern retaliation. "And what of it?" she conceded. "Am I wrong in my concern for you? Always do you seek to go against my advice so I sent others more commendable to your affections to persuade you to change your ways. Yet where Aduninzil failed, your father no doubt succeeded, forcing you to see the error of your wanton ways. Yet here you are, blaming me for the contention that lies between you and your maiden, though you know she was right."

"I blame you both for meddling!" cried Azruphel.

"For the good of your welfare child, can you not see?" countered Naruphel. Azruphel made no answer as her blazing eyes and fisted hands were reply enough. Naruphel returned her daughter's defiance with a look of pity and sighed again. "No," she remarked. "I suppose you do not." She turned her eyes to the flow of her gown, smoothing away supposed creases with sweeping hands. "Well, I care not," she resumed. "My so called "abuse" shall continue for as long as I see fit, until you are set right and brought into the fold."

"You phrase your words well, mother," Azruphel quipped in heated reply. "One would think you were recruiting me for the temples as that was spoken like a true Disciple of the Dark!"

Naruphel's look turned black as she bristled with anger and for the first time in her life, Azruphel thought her mother would strike her. "Do not push me," Naruphel returned in a harsh undertone. "Now is most certainly not the time!"

As if on cue, Naruphel's demand was supported by a call from below. The voices died down to a hushed silence. "My dear guests!" came Azulzir's clear voice. "Those who have already made their acquaintance have assured me of your delight to make it again. Yet those who have not have stated their eagerness to meet the two most precious jewels in all my hoard. Therefore I ask for all to rise and give a warm welcome to my beautiful wife, lady Naruphel, and my lovely daughter, lady Azruphel!"

Naruphel straightened to as regal a pose as she could muster. "Do as I bid Azruphel," she said as she geared herself up for the reveal. "You will not embarrass our family this night!" Azruphel however did not hear, for her anxiety resurfaced at thought of all those appraising eyes. But a tender hand took hold of her own and slid its fingers to clasp their palms together. "Worry not dearest," came Naruphel's soft encouragement. "You will be fine." Azruphel closed her eyes, giving all thought to her mother's warm reassurance. She took a deep breath. "Ready?" asked Naruphel.

Azruphel nodded. "Ready!" With that, they both started down the stairs, treading their way with graceful elegance to the welcoming cheers and applause of the enchanted crowd below.

~oOo~ Dolguthon sat at ease, staring at the flames that crackled and hissed in the great fireplace of the hall. They flickered and danced before him in hues of wavering yellow, hot red and searing blue, consuming the heavy oaken logs with greed. "Flames," thought Dolguthon as he eyed their garish performance. All were tainted by flame. The flame of Hatred, the flame of Belief and the flame of Dark Purpose. The Numenoreans would raze all they surveyed to the ground if they could be Masters of the Ashes. Dolguthon sniggered at the thought, his dark eyes reflecting the stabbing tongues of heat before him. "And I have lit the spark that shall bring forth a Storm of Fire," he mused. The gentle knock of earthenware on wood nudged his thoughts to awareness, and he turned to see a loin-clothed slave set a plate of bread and dried fish upon the table behind him. A flagon of wine awaited him also. The slave bowed low and receded into some shadowy recess of the dimly lit hall.
It was a refectory of sorts, long of length and crowned with an arched roof ribbed with sturdy pine for its support. Along the hall's length were two long benches set against both walls, and their adjoining tables lay upon legs of stone. At the far inner end was the fireplace before which Dolguthon sat, bathed in its wavering orange light. Candles burned at intervals upon the tables, but their flickering light was feeble and much of the hall was shrouded in shadow; just as the priests and their acolytes preferred it. Such was the realm of their God after all. Dolguthon looked at the fish with distaste. It was a paupers meal given to him, and he might have been annoyed by the intent of his host to serve him such fare. But as hungry as he was, he did not relish the meal. His eyes turned to the brown sack that was set upon the floor beside him. A dark patch spread at its base and from it issued a foul stench of rot. It was enough to put off the famished. He reached for the wine instead and downed all of it, and turned back to the fire with the flagon still in hand, tracing a circular path about its rim with a finger. He felt the wine's heat course through him, complementing the warmth of the blaze. "All are flames," he thought again as a log took a tumble in a shower of hot sparks and ash. He closed his eyes to the tingling numbness that swelled in his head. The wine was good.

Hands were gently placed upon his shoulders and slithered their palms down to his chest. Dolguthon jolted to his feet with a hand that instinctively went for his weapon. "Easy now," purred a voice. Dolguthon turned to see priestess Lomiphel smiling deliciously with her hands raised. His own hand fell away from his dagger hilt in recognition. "Such an assassin you are," said Lomiphel with scornful amusement, "to be caught unawares with such ease."

Dolguthon's face darkened a tint. "I am still weary," he replied, "and the wine was good."

"Too good it seems," said Lomiphel. "But weariness and good wine are poor excuses for one of your ilk. It is a wonder you returned to us at all, let alone with success." She laughed at his scowl and turned her back on it. "Come!" she called as she walked away. "The Lord Priest will now see you."

Dolguthon set the flagon down, took up the foul sack and followed after the priestess. They passed out of the hall, through a doorway that led into a short passage which came to a sparse room that held an iron barred gateway that was guarded by two silent sentinels. The gate was open and they went through it, into a wide passage that turned left in a curve. A short way ahead the floor fell away in a series of broad steps that led down to a guardroom. Piles of firewood were stocked in a corner and shelves that held an array of armour, hugged the walls in another. A bright hearth lighted the centre wall and before it was a small rack from which hung meats and plucked game. A table stood nearby, laden with flagons, plates and utensils. The walls were bare save for dark banners that held the emblem of the Dark Priesthood; a Red Tower with an orange globe at its summit that was wreathed in yellow flame. Another arched doorway led out of the guardroom and they took to it, passing down a wide passage whose floor sloped downward to an ill lit room that was obviously meant for torture. Its dark walls were ill plastered, dirty, and lined with cages, one or two of which held lifeless bodies, all broken and bloodied. The dismal room was littered with chains, manacles and other devices of cruelty. A large rack was planted at the centre and judging by the glistening stains of blood smeared upon its cold metal, had been recently used. Standing by it was a tall man, robed and hooded in black. His face was shadowed, but his eyes gleamed in the torch-light. Priestess Lomiphel bowed low when she was stood before him. "I have brought him Lord Priest," she said without rising. Dolguthon fell to one knee behind her and bowed his head.

The burning eyes absorbed their obeisance with satisfaction. "Rise," said Lord Zigurben. His voice was deep, rich and commanding. The priestess and Dolguthon both rose as one. "So," he continued, "Priestess Lomiphel reports that you have returned with success."

Dolguthon gave a grave nod of his head. "I have done as you bid, my lord."

Lord Zigurben took a step forward. "Show me!" he demanded.

Dolguthon took the sack and went to a nearby table. There he emptied its contents as the eyes of both the Lord Priest and his priestess flamed with anticipation. Dolguthon grimaced at what he brought to light. The stench of rot pierced the already putrid airs of the chamber, and he had to take command of himself so as not to gag. Yet the priest and priestess seemed oblivious to the noxious unpleasantness as they moved eagerly to the table. There, in a ghastly pile were five decomposing heads, all caked in dried blood and foul matter. Expressions of agony could be discerned upon some while the rest were too maimed to make out. The Lord Priest stalked an eyeing path around the table as the priestess lowered her twitching face to the gaudy mess. Lord Zigurben presently came to a halt and clasped his hands before him. "So, I finally have the chieftains of the five Sunland Tribes as my guests."

"You have, my lord," said Dolguthon. "They were not easy to persuade, yet each finally accepted your summons."

Lord Zigurben laughed. "So it appears."

"Great Mulkher's plan is now in motion," said Lomiphel as she caressed the blood matted hair of one head. "And his favour upon the Black Numenoreans shall be seen by all, and our power will soon rise to very throne of Armenelos!"

"So it shall," the Lord Priest concured. There was a satisfied pause before he turned to Dolguthon. "You have done well, Disciple."

"I live to serve, as always," Dolguthon returned with a bow.

"Indeed, you have achieved a great feat," said Lord Zigurben, "as I am assured of the difficulties you had in procuring these dainties."

"Verily lord," replied Dolguthon. "Many of my companions died in the task, and only I and one other made it back past the mountains. And still he died of a poisoned wound."

"And are the savages riled enough to our purpose?" asked Lord Zigurben, moving along the report. He was uninterested in tales of the demise of agents who failed him.

"They are, my lord," Dolguthon replied. "Vengeance rules the heart of every savage in the east and their hatred is directed at one people, the Numenoreans. Even now they are mustering their hordes and shall soon swarm over the high passes of the Miniltarik to attack."

"And when that day comes these lands will be swept clean of the Pretenders," declaimed the Lord Priest with sudden fervour. "And we, the True Black Numenoreans, who began our worship of the Dark more than a thousand years hence, shall claim sole power over our people!" He turned to a black corner. "Come!" he commanded. Again a ragged slave materialised from the shadows, carrying a tray with three flagons. The Lord Priest, Lomiphel and Dolguthon each took a cup. It was a dark red wine. The slave bowed and backed away respectfully, fading into some black corner. Lord Zigurben raised his flagon, "To our power!" he rumbled.

"Our power!" the other two cried as they downed their toast in unison.

Dolguthon wiped his mouth with a sleeve and looked at his empty flagon wistfully. The flavour had been exquisite. "From Crystal Height?" he queried.

"The occasion deserved a good wine," said Lord Zigurben. "And now greater pleasures await you." Lomiphel gave Dolguthon a lustful stare but Lord Zigurben laughed. "Nay, my dear priestess. Find another to share your bed. Dolguthon however shall indulge in pleasures of a more exotic nature this night." A fleeting disappointment passed over the priestess' face before she bowed and turned to leave. Dolguthon watched her go with his own look of frustration, but he felt the firm hand of the Lord Priest upon his shoulder. "You were looking forward to that, I deem," he observed with a leering smile.

Dolguthon lowered his eyes, a little embarrassed. "I look forward to whatever pleasures your grace might afford me," he replied.

"Ah," said Lord Zigurben with amusement in his shining eyes, "The Laying Rituals are but a matter of worship for us. And many have lain with Priestess Lomiphel, for she is good...she is very good. But I give you a chance to lay with that which is sweeter, purer and more potent of the spirit." Dolguthon looked at the Lord Priest with a questioning eye. "Indeed, tonight you shall savour my own personal delights. Follow me." With that, Lord Zigurben moved towards a further doorway that was barred with iron. Dolguthon felt a nervous kick in the pit of his stomach for that door led to the keep's dungeons. He hesitated where he stood but Lord Zigurben paused. "Follow," came his slow command. The assassin forced himself forward, his mind whirling with dark thoughts of sudden betrayal. They reached the barred exit which swung open at the pull of a guard from the other side. A dank passage led on, and in its stony walls from which hung patches of wet green moss and slime, were many cell doors of steel. Low moans of pain and despair could be heard from those pits. The Lord Priest turned to Dolguthon and in the torchlight, the assassin could see the tip of a hooked nose and a sneer shaded within the recesses of the dark hood. "Prepare to partake in the delights of your betters Dolguthon," he said, before leading him into the bowels of the damned of Dolgutarik. ~oOo~ Laughing faces, gorging mouths, lustful stares, coy glances, dancing couples, draping bodies, all under a shroud of dim lighting, perfumed airs and softly strumming music. Such was the lay of the banquet that Azruphel oversaw with a sardonic eye. She stood alone in a corner, half hidden behind a large plant. She was weary after the long routine of niceties with the guests. She had shaken hands, bowed to and curtsied before what seemed like an endless gaggle of strangers, many of whom carried themselves with airs and graces which she thought none actually had. There was master Sakalthon, a portly man who introduced himself as the third greatest estate master of the region, and was related in some vague fashion to a high lord of the Royal Council. His wife was weighty too, but plain of face and dour of mood, which probably explained his secret fondling of the giggling mistress Zorinzil, the impish daughter of master Gimlizir, the fifth or was it sixth most important estate master. And was that mistress Pharazari, the saucy wife of the Port Master, tempting young Urizagar, the son of master Belkhor of Cloven Bay, outside for a nighttime stroll. And there was master...Azruphel sighed, for she had endured such lecherous gatherings before in Numenor. But Azruphel had hoped people in Middle-earth were different. Ultimately she was disappointed.

"There you are," said a voice. Azruphel gave the speaker a disinterested glance before returning to her discerning vigil. It was another young man, some master's son no doubt who thought to try his hand. "I have been looking everywhere for you," he sauntered, "and have found you at last!"

"Well good for you, and damnable for me," Azruphel quipped. She'd had enough of his sort for the night.

The young man stood in dumbfounded silence. "My lady," he finally stammered, "I...I only meant to..."

"Disturb me," finished Azruphel. And in truth he was, for she nearly missed mistress Lominzil ascending the stairway in the clutches of a man who clearly was not her husband, for he was draped upon a couch in a drunken stupor.

"Lady Azruphel," resumed the annoying man. "I only wish to talk..."

"About what?" she overlaid again.

"About how you may need some schooling in manners," came his reply.

Azruphel was about to answer when the sheer insolence of his words became apparent. She slowly turned to face him. "What did you say?" she asked with simmering deliberation.

He opened his mouth to speak when a familiar voice sounded behind her. "So, the two of you have met at last."

"We have," said Azruphel with narrowed eyes that blazed at the offending upstart. "And now one of us is leaving," she ended, signalling the brazen young man to be off with a flick of her head.

However, the only movement the young man made was to fold his arms. "Well, you may go," he said to her bristling incredulity. "It is not that hard," he continued, seeing her mounting anger. "You put the left foot down and follow with the right."

It were Abrazan's staying hands that saved him from Azruphel's murderous lunge. "Whoa now!" he cried as he placed himself between them. "This is not how your first meeting was supposed to be."

"Did you hear what he said to me?!" spat Azruphel, who was all glare and fisted fury.

Abrazan smiled and leaned back to the chortling young man behind him. "Did I not say she was a handful?"

"Of the wildest kind," the young man replied with a smirk.

Azruphel turned her angered glance to her brother. "Do not jest Abrazan," she hissed. "I warn you!"

"Then calm yourself," her brother implored. At that, Azruphel stilled and her fisted hands fell to her sides. However, her inflamed expression showed no signs of abating. "Good," said Abrazan as he let her go. He moved to one side and put a hand upon each of their shoulders. "Lady Azruphel," he said. "This is master Avalozir, son of master Avaloben, of our neighbouring estate. He is also my dearest friend."

Azruphel stared at Abrazan for a moment, then turned her dampening gaze to Avalozir. "Why did you not declare yourself?" she demanded.

"I would have if given half a chance," he replied with a grin. Azruphel could only pout, but he bowed low. "Forgive me, for I did not mean to anger you with offence."

Azruphel's expression softened, yet she could not let go of all her annoyance. "Up with you!" she commanded as she held out a hand which he took and kissed. "What else has my brother said about me?"

"I will not say," Avalozir replied, "for fear of more violence done upon me. Yet I will say that all report of your beauty does not come close to the truth, for you are truly a sight to behold!"

Abrazan laughed. "And I say again that I left an awkward little girl in Numenor, who now comes to us as a princess among ladies."

"Enough of your flattery, the both of you," said Azruphel with an imperious air. "I have little time for it, or you." She looked about her with an exaggeration of distaste. "What I need is a breath of fresh air."

"We could join you outdoors, my lady," said Avalozir.

"If I want your company, I should ask for it," replied Azruphel with a sniff. "But as I have not, I will take my leave." She gave a curt bow and left them gazing after her. They did not see her smile.

"Again, she is a handful," said Abrazan.

"And again, of the wildest and most delightful kind," replied Avalozir. Abrazan did not see his smile also.

Azruphel passed into the night. The garden was strewn with golden light for lamps were twinkling among the vines entwined in the arbours, and hung shining from the ash tree branches, or sat glowing in showy arrangements beside the cascading fountains. And more light came from the moon itself which rode the sky, lacing the nightscape with hues of silver and grey. A few guests could be seen at their leisure, strolling about the lawns, or seated by the fountains, or fondling by the hedges; all with a drink in hand and content in their faces. The gentle tune of the harp wafted about the place, complementing the joyous airs with its serenity. Azruphel marvelled at why she had spent all her time indoors. There was a sense of easy peace which reminded her of the starry nights aboard the Rothgimil. Her thoughts went to old Balkazir and she wondered if he now looked upon the same full moon from the watery-scape of the sea. She gave a wistful sigh as she looked up at the vast expanse of twinkling dark. It were voices that broke the enchantment and Azruphel turned to note two men standing by the shrubs of golden jasmine. They were clad in silver armour that winked beneath their flowing black cloaks. Then she remembered the forts she had seen from her balcony. Could they be the soldiery her father spoke of? Azruphel found herself walking towards them for an answer. They noted her approach and ceased their conversing, bowing respectfully when she came before them. "Lady Azruphel," said one. He was tall with greying hair and a fair yet stern face. His armour's splendour surpassed that of the other, and upon his black surcoat was a graven image of a hill with an orb at its summit. It were plain he was a soldier of distinction. "It is an honour to meet you in person," he continued. "I am Captain Arnazagar, Master of the Forts of Crystal Height." Azruphel curtsied gracefully to him. "And this is Lieutenant Aglaran," he said, gesturing to his companion. He was a young man, all of dark shoulder length hair and sharp grey eyes upon a handsome face that held a cleft in the chin.

Aglaran bowed again. "I am honoured to meet you, my lady." he said with a warm smile.

Azruphel returned its charm. "It is I who honour you who keep us safe from all perils."

"You are too kind," replied Aglaran. "And I am comforted in your presence as one of such beauty is reminder enough of the jewels of Numenor that we soldiers strive to protect in the hinterlands."

Azruphel blushed as Captain Arnazagar turned to his smiling junior and gave a disapproving look. "Forgive the pertness of my lieutenant," he said.

Azruphel smiled but seemed to hesitate a moment, to the querying look of the others. "So I would ask if I may," she finally stammered.

"What is it, my lady?" asked Arnazagar.

"My father told me of the forts and the reasons for your garrisons," she began. "I mean to ask if...well if all is well with our situation."

Captain Arnazagar gave a nod. "Worry not," he reassured. "In all my long years of service the wild men have never attacked us. They are a feeble people who rather cower before us in fear."

"Indeed," put in Aglaran. "The soldiery of Numenor only deepens that fear in their simple minds. They have not the armies, the courage, nor the discipline to be of any tangible threat to us. Nay lady, do not trouble yourself with such thoughts. Rather enjoy the lands we have conquered." Here he gestured to the shimmering garden, "And the fruits of your father's labour. Think of us only as a rumour of strength and safety that watches from the dim recesses of a prosperous peace."

Azruphel again gave a smile which the young lieutenant mirrored in return. His words comforted and cozened her with confidence. Who was this tall handsome soldier, so gracious in word and noble in bearing? Perhaps she could find out more of him in the coming days. She blushed again at the secret thought. A faint cheer, peppered with jolly laughter came to their ears from afar. Not from the house it seemed, but away in the direction of the homestead's orchards. Azruphel strained to listen. "What joyful rumour is that?" she asked, almost to herself.

"That must be the merrymaking of those in your father's service," replied Arnazagar, with a glance in that direction. "Household hands, servants, and probably his sailors too."

"The sailors!" exclaimed Azruphel, forgetting herself before the two grave men as she thought excitedly of her friend the boatswain.

"Is everything all right, my lady?" asked Aglaran in wonder as to her sudden exhilaration.

Azruphel turned to them. "Forgive me captain," she said to Arnazagar. "But I must take my leave." She turned to Aglaran. "Lieutenant," she said and gave a slight bow. With that, she was off, as swiftly as she could walk without tripping over the flow of her gown.

She took to the main garden path that was paved with white stone. It passed under an arbour which sheltered the path for many yards and ended by a junction, as a vine shrouded exit that was hemmed by two tall marble carvings of the mallorn. Here the path split in two, forking to the left and sloping on ahead. The left path ran towards the dark greenery of a hedge, piercing through it in a leafy archway that held a small gate. There it joined with a wide gravel track that began beneath the windows of the house as a circular trackway and led down to the main entrance of the homestead, with its heavy iron gate set between two white-walled guardhouses. Many carriages stood there and all along the track's length. From Azruphel's vantage point, all the gravel track was hidden behind the bordering hedge that ran parallel with it from gate to wall, yet she espied a few drivers from over the top of the hedgerow, languishing in their seats while some spoke in cheery conversation with the homestead guards. The path Azruphel took continued onward, dipping to the lower gardens with their wide lawns and luscious ponds. To her immediate right were the homestead cottages, pleasant dwellings about whom stood great ash trees and many shrubs of oleander and gardenias. Behind the cottages came the storehouses for the tilled fare of the estate. The airs were heavily scented with Jacaranda which grew prominently here among the many stacks of barrels, crates and kegs. And so she came to the orchards with their rows of apple, orange and lemon trees that sweetened the airs with the scent of citrus. It was a warm night, yet a great bonfire lay before her and around it stood many men, while others sat upon crates, all of whom were a picture of joviality. She halted for a moment, her thoughts unwillingly harkening back to her chiding mother. "But she is away in the main house," Azruphel said to herself. "How will she ever know I am here." With that convincing thought, she resumed her approach, peering as she came for a sight of her old friend. A shout went up and all the men paused and turned to her. It grew so quiet that the roaring of the flames became deafening. "Why it's our Sea Mistress!" exclaimed one.

"You're right Rothzir," said another. "But how is she here with us?"

"You unheeding fools!" quipped a third. "She's here for the boatswain no doubt. His charms must have got the better of her."

The laughter that broke out was so loud it could have been heard in Umbar. Azruphel bowed her head with sheer embarrassment, but one came towards her and she looked up to an ageing weatherbeaten face. It was Balkazir. "Well met my dear," he said with a broad smile. Azruphel sighed with elation, put out her arms and took a step towards him, but Balkazir swiftly held out a halting hand. "Nay my lady!" he said softly. "Nowhere would that be proper and moreso at your father's house. I am but your humble servant." He then bowed low to which she replied him with a sweet curtsy. The men behind began to cheer and laugh and gave a string of lewd comments and observations. "Come my lady," said Balkazir, glancing at his fellows with a dark eye. "Let us distance ourselves from this offensive company."

He turned towards the house but Azruphel stopped him. "Nay, not that way," she pleaded. "I may be seen." She turned to the rows of the orchard. "Let us walk among the trees."

Balkazir hesitated, glancing nervously in the direction of the great house, and back to her. "My lady," he stammered. "I do not think it wise or pro..."

"I know, I know," she said, taking his hand and dragging him along, "You do not think it proper. But you are my friend Balkazir, whatever others may prescribe." She cocked an accusing eye at the sailors, many of whom slyly winked in return. "But I care not. Let us share a little time for ourselves." They left the merry men behind and walked at their leisure among the grey shadows of the orange trees. "I thought you were miles away, sailing to some southerly port," said Azruphel after a pleasant while.

"Aye, my lady," Balkazir replied. "That was the plan. Yet your gracious father thought to delay our voyage and include us in tonight's merrymaking."

"And how are your feet?"

"My lady?" said Balkazir, a little perturbed.

"The ground...wounding your feet when on land!" Azruphel replied with a mischievous grin.

"Oh that!" exclaimed the boatswain. And he laughed then, long and cheerfully. "Well it has only been a few hours, but ask that of me in the morning." They walked again in silence, wandering aimlessly through the shadowy rows. "How did you fare with your dear father?" asked Balkazir.

"It was wonderful," Azruphel replied. "I still find it hard to believe that I am here with him. And this beautiful home surpassed all my wildest expectations."

"Then all is well," said Balkazir with a satisfied sigh.

"Indeed it is," said Azruphel, but her face became curiously grave. "And I am happy...happier than I have felt in a long while. I could be content here Balkazir, and not only for a season."

The boatswain laughed. "Not a day has passed yet you have already decided to root yourself to Crystal Height."

Azruphel halted and turned to him. Balkazir's smile died when he saw her sombre face. "And why should you laugh at that, boatswain?" she asked. "I have had a good life in Yozayan. I live in a fine mansion and am waited upon by servants. I don myself in exquisite gowns and wear the finest jewellery. Yet I feel the need for more than Yozayan's material wealth."

"And you feel Numenor cannot give you what you seek?" asked Balkazir.

"It can," came her grave reply. "But I do not think I want it. Not from Yozayan."

Balkazir looked closely at the young woman who stood before him. She stared almost mournfully at the ground and the moon's rays shone upon her, shimmering the white hue of her gown and setting aflame the silver circlet about her brow and the bejewelled necklace about her slender neck with white fire. "As beautiful yet sorrowful as an elf maiden," thought the boatswain. "There is more that lies in her words that even she does not yet understand." He sighed and felt more fatherly to her than ever before. "Come now," he said softly, raising her chin with a tender finger. "Do not be so glum, for tonight is your blessed reunion with your father and brother." He looked back to the great house, all bathed in twinkling lights. "Speaking of which, I think it is time to return as I am sure you are missed."

Azruphel gazed at him with eyes that glistened with emotion. Before the boatswain could say aught, she set her slender arms about him in a warm embrace. Balkazir held his hands high for an astonished instant, before relenting to return her affection. Suddenly there was a harsh shout and calling voices rose in the dark. Balkazir swiftly released Azruphel and looked about him fearfully. Yet the calls and shouting came from the opposite direction of the house and judging by their growling tones, did not come from the master and his kind. Azruphel stood still and tense, with wide eyes searching the shadows about them. Then there was a movement some way ahead. A dark figure of a man maybe, crouching among the dark stems of the trees. "Balkazir!" she whispered. "Someone is hiding over there." she pointed ahead as Balkazir followed her gesture and saw a distant black shape lower itself to the ground on all fours and crawl.

"Come, my lady," he said, taking her hand and leading her in the direction of the house. "Mischief is afoot and you should be nowhere near it!"

But Azruphel could not help but look back. The calls grew louder and suddenly, more shadows appeared and one dove to the ground, bringing forth a terrible cry of agony. "Balkazir, someone is hurt!" she cried. With a lightning twist of her arm she was free of the boatswain's grip, and already flying back towards the shadowy figures. Balkazir gaped after her before swearing, and followed in her wake at as swift a dash as his old legs could muster. Azruphel rushed forward, ignoring the twigs and leaves that slapped at her face. The figures grew as she drew near and the light of the full moon began to illuminate them with clarity. Four tall men they were, attired in dirty leather and adorned with ill-favoured looks. Her running steps faltered at the sight of them, but Balkazir was sure to be following and the sailors were not that far off. The reassuring thought emboldened her to resume her final approach at a cautious walk.

"And what have we here?" said one, with a leering eye that appraised her from head to toe. "A swan of a lass if ever there was one."

"Lost are you?" said another. "The palace is easy to see from here. You're going the wrong way!" There were muffled cries and sounds of a struggle that came from behind them.

Azruphel plucked up her courage. "I heard a..." A gasping from behind had her turn to it. Balkazir staggered up, wheezing his strain. The men all laughed.

"Azru...phel!" the boatswain muttered between drawn breaths. He was hunched over with a clutching hand to his burning chest. "How could you...rush off...like that?"

"I'm impressed father," said the first. "Is she yours?" All Balkazir could do was raise a waving hand of denial. The men seemed unconvinced and laughed again. "And at your hoary age," the man continued. "What's your secret?"

"What is yours?" demanded Azruphel. She had listened to the vile insinuations with rising anger, and she was greatly concerned for it were plain someone was being ill treated behind them.

"What do you mean my little princess?" asked the forth.

"What violence occurs behind you?"

"That my little swan is none of your concern," said the first. There was a hint of menace in his gruff voice.

It were then that old Balkazir finally got a hold of himself and stood up to face them. "Forgive us my lads," he said in apology, eliciting a furrowed stare from Azruphel. "She knows nothing of your business and is a little startled is all. Think nothing of it for I shall return her immediately to her parents."

But Azruphel was having none of that. "You shall do no such thing until I find out what is going on here!" she stormed. Her anger whipped back to the men. "Now step aside and let me pass!"

"Isn't she a bold bit of fluff," quipped the second with an ugly grin.

"Gah! What does it matter," called a deep voice from behind the ruffian-like screen. "Let her see if she wants." The four men complied, parting to each side. Revealed before Azruphel was the largest ruffian of all, but it was what he held before him that made her gasp. It was a short yet stocky man of broad build and lank black hair. His hands were manacled as were his ankles, though the chain there was broken. There were severe cuts and dark bruises about his hands and legs and his face was bloodied and marred by terrible fist inflicted wounds. His left eye was swollen shut. Azruphel could only stare at the beaten misery that stood before her. Why had they...then it dawned on her. She was convinced she now looked upon a slave.

"My lady," came Balkazir's tentative voice. "I really must insist that we return to your father."

"And why should she do that?" asked the huge brute. "She wanted to have a look, let her!" He shoved the captive forward until he stood but inches away from Azruphel's face. "See little deary," he growled. "Here's what had you so concerned. Is this what you wanted to save?" Azruphel made no answer. She hardly heard him. Her fearful eyes roved about the abused body that stood before her, taking in each festering cut and seeping wound, the filth of the tunic and the stench that came from it. And then her wavering sight came to his one good eye. In it was fear, despair and helplessness. Whatever boldness that had this man attempt to flee had been beaten beyond recall and memory. What now shone in that dark pupil was utter dejection, but there was something more...something buried deep. However, Azruphel came to recognise it and she flinched. It was a deep seeded hatred. Azruphel took a step back and found that she was trembling. The brute smiled as he roughly drew the slave back and flung him to his mates. "Take that back to the pen!" he growled. "Nay, throw it in the pit! I'm not done with him yet." He turned back to Azruphel who seemed to stare ahead with unseeing eyes. "Frightened of it are you?" he smirked, noticing her trembling. He looked at Balkazir. "Take the little swan back to her cosy nest old man. I think she's seen enough." With that, he turned his bulk and followed after his receding companions. Yet he could not resist a parting shot. "And hold her tight tonight," he called, "as her dreams are bound to be filled with nightmarish delights!" His harsh laughter faded as the dark leaves began to rustle and sigh all about them.

Balkazir gently put his hands upon Azruphel's shoulders. "Come my dear girl," he said softly. "Let me return you home." They made their way back through the rows, heading towards the distant smoke and orange light of the bonfire that flickered between the boles. The old man was thoughtful yet disquietened, glancing at Azruphel with a concerned eye. But she said no word or showed any emotion as she walked beside him. The light of the blaze grew brighter and the hearty laughter and cries of the sailors came louder as they drew near. They had reached the edge of the orchard when Azruphel halted and stood staring at the cheery men. "Are you all right, child?" Balkazir asked, placing a gentle hand upon her shoulder.

Azruphel looked up to his elderly face. "You knew of those men, did you not?" she asked. There was a hint of accusation in her tone.

Balkazir sighed. "Yes my lady, I knew. They are the estate's slave handlers. Theirs is a grim work and I am sorry you witnessed the darker side of it. For at times a slave may attempt to escape his captivity..."

"Only to be caught and savagely beaten," said Azruphel as she lowered her mournful gaze.

"I am afraid so, my dear," Balkazir replied. "Such is the way of it."

"Where are the slaves housed?" asked Azruphel. "And how are they treated when at work?"

"There are simple huts made for them that lie beyond the orchards," the boatswain replied, "and they labour under the threat of the lash, as all slaves do."

There fell another windy silence between them as they both watched the sailors lively carousal with grave orange lit faces. "I heard of the plight of slaves in Yozayan," murmured Azruphel, wincing a little at a roar of oblivious laughter from the men. "Yet hearing of it from afar is not the same as seeing it up close. And here we are, feasting and merrymaking while others endure the most ghastly of mistreatments within these very walls."

"So it has been in the estates of our people for many, many years," Balkazir replied. "But did you not say once that the glory of Numenor would be diminished had it not men to sail to distant lands and extend her power? This is but a face of that conquest. It is both good and ill."

"But is it necessary, Balkazir?" asked Azruphel, turning her moist eyes to him. "If the price of that glory has made our people so, then it is of a worth too big for our hands. Noble men and women of Yozayan we call ourselves, but is that still true of us?"

"Those slave handlers are not of a noble kind," said Balkazir.

"But neither are their so called noble masters who dwell in the opulence of their proud mansions," Azruphel returned. "It is by their command that the poor people of the surrounding wilds are captured and drawn into a life of forced toil and abuse."

"Would you then speak so of your father?" asked Balkazir.

"What I witnessed occurred in his estate, did it not?" she replied. "And are there not slaves here, labouring for him in the fields? Yet I disavow my own sense of nobility. For I gave little thought to what I heard about such things. I turned a blind eye as do all the noble women of Yozayan, be they upon the Isle or upon these shores."

"Few of Numenor's noble women are blind to such things, my lady," said Balkazir. "But such is the policy of the king, and if we should follow him as people of the King's Men, then this is our chosen path."

"Then it is a dreadful path which can only lead our people to darkness."

"Truly so," said Balkazir with a sigh. "For such is the realm of our chosen God."

Azruphel looked at the old boatswain with wide eyes that hinted her growing apprehension as to his words. She thought of her mother and her devotion to the dark religion that many now followed. How could her people be so blinded? Her thoughts went to the Rebels and their cause, and she began to realise without a doubt that they were not wrong as was preached so often in Numenor. They yearned for the Light of old, and not the Dark which brought forth the hateful dissensions that now clouded her land and its people. "I beheld such hatred in that slave," said Azruphel in a low voice, "such as will long haunt my thoughts."

At that moment a figure appeared from beyond the blazing fire, coming down the path that led from the house. It was her brother Abrazan. "You are sought for my lady," said Balkazir, peering uncomfortably at his approach. "You had better go to him at once."

Azruphel gave a nod. "And when will I see you again?" she asked, looking up to the boatswain's face as she took hold of his hand.

"Maybe never," he replied. "If they find out what occurred with you this night..."

"Worry not," she cut in, "for I shan't tell them." With that, Azruphel reached up and planted a swift kiss upon Balkazir's cheek. Then she turned away, emerging from the leafy shadows of the trees to the stares and smirks of the sailors.

"A fair evening to you all," Abrazan called in greeting as he approached the throng.

"The same to you, my lord," came the crowded reply.

"I am searching for my sister, the lady Azruphel. Has anyone seen her?"

"I am here," she called from beyond the flames.

Abrazan swiftly went over to her with a look of concern upon his face. "What are you doing all the way down here," he asked as he put his arms about her. "Father is worried as to your whereabouts." Azruphel gave him a nervous glance as she thought of a satisfying answer.

"She was with us, my lord," uttered one of the sailors.

Abrazan turned to him with a querying look. "Oh?" There was a little suspicion in his gaze.

"Verily lord," said another. "Lady Azruphel made friendships with us upon the voyage, strange as that may seem. And so she came to us to share a final toast to the joys of her reunion with you and your father, which she spoke much of during the trip."

"And a fair lady she is, my lord," said a third, "to recall her friendships with those of lower state, and grace us with her delightful presence here on land as she did upon the high sea."

Abrazan turned to his sister who blinked at him innocently. He gave a thin smile. "Well, I thank you for looking after her," he said. "But I fear she must leave you now and return to where she belongs." He took her by the hand. "Come, let us go." With that, they began towards the great house to the murmurs of, "farewell my lady," from the subdued crowd. They had reached the storehouses when Azruphel looked back and smiled. There was Balkazir, standing among his fellows with a hand held high. He was waving. "So," said Abrazan as they passed the cottages. "You made friendships with our sailors?"

"Is there a problem in that?" answered Azruphel with rising irritation. She was gearing herself up for the inevitable confrontation with her mother, but did not expect a fight with Abrazan too.

He however, saw the darkening of her face and knew what to expect if he pressed the issue further. "Nay, I see no problem," he lied. "But there are others who might."

"Then let the Naruphel's and Aduninzil's of this world fret and foam at the mouth," she returned. "But I care not. They are my friends whom I shall see when I please."

They walked the rest of the way in silence until they came to the fountains. There were more guests strolling about the garden, but the captain and his lieutenant were nowhere to be seen. However, standing by the main doorway was her father. "Azruphel!" he cried as he came forward. "Where did you go, you worrisome child?" He held her close for a relieved moment, yet presently felt something was amiss. His daughter did not return his embrace. He let her go and looked closely at her. "Are you all right my dear?" he asked with renewed concern.

"I am," said Azruphel, turning aside her eyes from his gaze. "Yet I am weary and would retire, by your leave."

"But the feasting is in your honour," countered her father. "Would you leave your guests so early?"

"I would," Azruphel replied. "For if I should stay I would not be of much company to anyone." Azulzir scratched his chin thoughtfully. "The weariness of a long voyage is to blame," she added as an afterthought.

Azulzir looked at his daughter with a penetrating eye. It were plain she was hiding something. "Very well," he finally conceded. "Though many who hoped for an audience shall be disappointed."

Azruphel almost rolled her eyes, for it were plain her father spoke of opportuning suitors. "Thank you father," she said with an abrupt curtsy. And swiftly she was away, entering the house, pushing past and ignoring hails from guests and dashing up the stairway. She came to pause before her bedroom door, listening to the lively sounds below. A wave of guilt passed through her. Such joy at the expense of such woe. She shook her head sorrowfully at the taint of her people. The taint of her beloved father. Nay, she willed the painful thought away as she could not yet face it. She entered her room and with a sigh, threw herself upon her soft bed and stared blankly at the ceiling.

"So, did you find enjoyment in their rowdy company?" asked a voice.

Azruphel's insides coiled and swirled in a dance of nerves. She sat up and looked to the balcony. There was Naruphel, watching her with glinting eyes. The moonlight seemed to pale her smooth skin as her long hair strayed their wavy strands in the night breeze. Azruphel thought she looked like a wraith. "I did," she replied. She could not be bothered to lie.

"You worried your father and brother."

"And you?"

"I had a fair idea of where you were. I knew you would flout me sooner or later."

"Well I am back and I am weary," returned Azruphel as she lay back upon her bed. "I do not wish to fight."

Naruphel came forward to stand by her bedside. Azruphel turned her eyes to her mother and they widened with surprise, for Naruphel looked upon her with a gentle smile! "I came not to fight but to thank you," she said. "You were such a delight to so many of our guests that they could not sing enough praises to your charm and grace. That you later sought those uncouth sailors is pardonable. You behaved well enough tonight."

Azruphel gaped her amazement. "So you are not angry with me?"

Naruphel laughed pleasantly. "Let us place that anger on hold. I am sure you shall find ways to set it loose tomorrow." She bent and kissed her daughter's brow. "Rest easy," she said softly. She went to the door.

"Mother!" called her daughter. Naruphel turned back. "Thank you," said Azruphel. Her mother bowed and closed the door.

Soon Azruphel lay under her scented sheets and warm blankets. She really was weary; wearied in body, mind and spirit. The hearty sounds from below came faintly from the balcony as her eyes grew heavy. "Rest easy," came a vaguely familiar voice. Was that her father, or her mother? Nay, her mother never said that to her...wait... on the ship she had, or was it in her room? She was confused. But it did not matter, for a deep slumber now took hold. But wait! There were shifting images in the dark, coiling and shifting like smoke. And what was that? Trees, yes rows of trees and a fleeting scent of citrus. I know this place. "Turn back Azruphel and return home!" came an echo of a voice she thought she knew. Who calls? "Come away, my lady!" The trees seemed to darken but there were dim shapes ahead, beckoning to her. She began to glide towards them. "Not that way!" called the faint voice, now a faded whisper. Who calls? The beckoning shapes drew closer, but suddenly a black dread arose in her like a cloud. Nay, I do not want to go forward. The Eye, staring at me with such hatred and despair. Why? Please let me go back! Links of cold iron slithered about her body, enclosing her in chains that tightened their grip in an icy embrace of terror. And invisible shackles clamped about her wrists and ankles, restraining her as the eye grew, filling all her sight with its hateful glare. I cannot endure it! I want to be free! LET ME WAKE!!!

Azruphel shot up from where she lay and sat for a moment, gasping for air. Slowly the dread dissipated from memory, though the nightmarish visions did not. She thrust aside the covers and sat upon the bedside with her bowed head held in her hands. She breathed deeply in an effort to calm herself and cure the infection of horror that still lingered. Slowly, her mind cleared and the evil visions faded. Azruphel then sat up and listened. All were quiet and still. She sighed her relief that she had not woken the house by screaming in her sleep. She got up and went out onto the balcony. The night was old for the moon had sunk, leaving the stars to twinkle brightly in the sky. The garden was dark and all was silent, save the fall of cascading water from the fountains. The feast apparently had long ended. Certain events of that night came back to her, the lewd guests, the disastrous meeting with Avalozir, Abrazan's friend, the interesting encounter with the young lieutenant, the joyful reunion with Balkazir and...her first true experience with the horrors of slavery. Her eyes now turned to the orchards that had haunted her awake. She closed her eyes and pictured the maimed man in shackles. A feeling awoke from deep within. A bold new purpose and a new hatred of her own. She stood long upon the balcony in deep thought as the old night wore on until she finally turned away and headed back to her bed where she lay herself down to sleep. But she did not fear the return of her nightmares. She knew they would not bother her again. And so she slept, to misty visions of iron shackles and snaking chains. But one thing was different. They were all broken.

Author's Commentary:

Hie there. It's been a very long wait and for that I'm sorry. But I have to admit that I had abandoned this story. I don't know if anyone is still even interested in this tale, but I hope there are still a few who are.

As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Comments are most welcome.

Thanx!!