Of Anbor And Azruphel by gamil-zirak

---

Broken Chains

---

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!!