Emissary by Uvatha the Horseman

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The Letter

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Chapter 7 - The Letter

All those who served in the Temple, the priests, acolytes, and servants, were just sitting down to breakfast in the Refectory. The High Priest was sitting in the center of the High Table. Urzahil kept his head down and avoided making eye contact with them. The High Priest hadn't said anything further about Urzahil's quasi-blasphemous remark. Urzahil hoped he'd forgotten ever happened, but it was hard to be sure.

The High Priest pushed back his tall chair and got to his feet.

"May I have your attention." The murmuring in the Refectory fell quiet.

"The Captain of the Haven has arranged the marriage of his son to the daughter of one of the most prominent citizens of the city. This union will promote the security of the Haven of Umbar. I want each of you to include a benediction for this union in your prayers."

Tas was betrothed? Urzahil had spoken to him just a few days ago and he hadn't said a thing. Urzahil resolved to visit him as soon as possible, and offer his congratulations. Plus, he wanted to see him. He needed to talk to someone about his feelings of not fitting in, and Tas had been his best friend since before he could remember.

That afternoon, as he was crossing the foyer of the small building that guarded the entrance to the Temple compound, the clerk at the desk called his name.

"Urzahil? There's a letter here for you." The clerk pulled something from a pigeonhole and handed it to him.

It was a square of parchment, folded into a tight package. Urzahil's name was written on the front. He snorted with annoyance. He'd been to see his mother's people at their farm just a few days ago, and he'd given Gareth all the money in his purse. It was a little early for Gareth to be asking for more. He hadn't even known Gareth could write.

He turned it over and studied the back. The letter was sealed with red wax, which was normally too expensive for ordinary use. He looked for an imprint of the sender's seal, the wax was smooth, there were no markings of any kind.

Urzahil felt the color drain from his face. It must be an official reprimand. He shoved the letter deep in his pocket and crumpled his fist over it.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Just inside the outer city wall, in the part of the city where the houses were the size of palaces and separated by well-tended gardens, he stopped in front of the Castamiri house, five doors down from the house where he grew up.

A servant showed him in. He waited in the white marble foyer while he was announced, then ascended the sweep of marble stairs. He found Tas in his room. Marös was with him.

"Let me be the first to tell you my news. Father has negotiated my betrothal," said Tas.

"It couldn't have been easy for Tar-Castamir or his lady wife, either. Our young friend rejected the first two brides offered for his approval," said Marös.

"Unlike my older brother, I'm not the heir. I can pick and choose," said Tas.

Urzahil knew he should be happy for Tas, that he should be congratulating him and slapping him on the back. But he felt more like slinking away and sulking. He knew he would never have an arranged marriage, and felt left out.

The discussion never left the details for the betrothal banquet, who would be invited, what would be served, what they would wear. He tapped his foot with impatience. No one noticed.

"Sauron offered me a position as an emissary for Mordor." The moment the words left his lips, Urzahil clapped his hand over his mouth. It didn't matter, no one looked up.

He listened to betrothal talk until the city bells rang the hour, then said goodbye to Tas, who barely looked up from his list of influential guests.

-o-o-o-o-o-

On the way down the stairs to the door he spotted Tar-Castamir crossing the wide marble foyer and hurried to catch up with him.

"Tar-Castamir, I'd like to go on the next delegation to Mordor. Will you ask Tar-Adûmir to include me?"

Tar-Castamir looked uncomfortable. "Tar-Adûmir didn't request you for the next mission. Actually, he asked that you not be included. He says you're a liability."

Urzahil cheeks burned. "Because of the blunder I made, about not wanting to be a blacksmith's apprentice?"

"That was worse than a blunder. You insulted a head of state, one who happens to be our most important ally. You endangered the entire mission."

Urzahil shoved his hands in his pockets. His fingers closed on the square of parchment.

"It was an accident, and I don't think he was insulted, I think he thought it was funny."

"A diplomat isn't supposed to make mistakes like that. I'm sorry, Urzahil, I can't let you meet with foreign dignitaries any more, not when the stakes are so high."

Urzahil's fingers traced the outline of the wax seal, a smooth bump on the rough surface of the parchment. He broke off a piece of wax and rolled it between his fingers until it crumbled into bits.

"What about my gift for reading people? I'll sit in the shadows, unseen and invisible. I won't even open my mouth."

"It's not enough. There's more to diplomacy than reading people. Emissaries are polite. They think before they speak. They don't react to insults. The emissaries under Tar-Adûmir receive months of training in diplomatic manners before they're allowed to meet with their counterparts from other nations.

"You, on the other hand, are given to eye rolling and making sarcastic comments under your breath. Now, I think it's funny, but we can't risk anyone doing that on a mission.

I'm sorry, Urzahil. You aren't you are cut out to be a diplomat. I think you're more suited to the priesthood. You won't get in trouble there, where all your lines are scripted."

Urzahil bent a corner of the parchment forward, then back, until the material started to come apart. He looked at the ground, blinking hard.

"I'm sorry, I'd like to talk more, but I have to go. The delegation from Mordor is about to go home, and I should say goodbye to their ambassador before they finish up this afternoon."

Urzahil watched him cross the foyer, a large confident man, full of purpose. A servant opened the door for him, and light from outdoors reflected off the marble floor, blinding white.

Urzahil considered following him to learn where the delegation was meeting. Maybe he could give a message to one of them. But he didn't try, even for him, the breach in protocol was too great.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Urzahil was in no hurry to return to the Temple. He took a meandering path from the Castamiri house back to the old city. By exploring every side street and putting his hand in the water of every public fountain, he was able to turn the short trip into a journey of over an hour.

Although he delayed as long as he could, eventually the gold dome of the Temple came into view, and soon after, the library and dormitories, and the walls around the Temple grounds.

He climbed the steps to the entrance of the small building guarding the Temple compound. The front of the building was closed off, but in the back, tall windows looked out onto the formal gardens.

A man in dark clothes leaned against the wall that separated it from the City of the Dead. Blond hair hung in his face, covering his eyes. He looked familiar, but Urzahil couldn't place him. He could be one of his mother's people.

The clerk at the front desk was busy writing something in a register book. Urzahil glanced at the pigeonholes above his head fearing a note from the High Priest, but his was empty.

The clerk looked up. "Urzahil? The High Priest would like to see you in his office at your earliest convenience."

Urzahil cast about for a delay. Any delay would do. "Who's that man in the garden?" he asked.

"Someone to see you. He wouldn't leave his name, he said had to speak to you in person. I told him to wait for you outside."

Urzahil grimaced. He'd just given his mother's family all the pocket money he had, and wouldn't receive his stipend until the next full moon. He had nothing to give the man, even if he'd wanted to.

"How long has he been waiting? I suppose I should speak with him." Urzahil went out the back door into the garden.

Up close, the man didn't look like a farmer. His clothes were plain but well made. He could be a merchant's clerk or fish broker, someone from the wealthy part of the middle class.

"Did you get the letter?" he asked.

Urzahil's hand closed on the square of parchment in his pocket.

"We're leaving first thing in the morning. Are you coming with us?"

"Um… remind me how we know each other?"

"I'm Gillis. I was sitting across the table from you. Remember? I'd never fall so low I'd let myself be apprenticed to a blacksmith." The man slapped his thigh. "Sauron is still quoting that. Anyway, he likes you, probably because you're sarcastic and mouthy. Takes one to know one, I guess."

Gillis was Sauron's emissary. When the delegation from Umbar negotiated an alliance with Sauron, Gillis sat across the table from him.

Urzahil pulled out the square of parchment. It was grey from having been in his pocket all day. He broke what remained of the seal and unfolded the square of parchment. He recognized the handwriting immediately - the slanted cursive of a layman, the descenders fading to grey as the pen ran out of ink. The letters were decorated with ornate diacritics, identical to the 3000-year-old fragment preserved in the Temple archives. It was Sauron's handwriting.

He read what Sauron had written. He would be an emissary representing Mordor. As a member of the nobility, he would be entitled to a furnished suite of rooms, a servant to look after his needs, and the right to be called Tar-Urzahil.

The nobility. He would have a title, and he would belong to the nobility. If he accepted, he would be Tar-Urzahil, which he never could be here.

He turned back to the letter. The stipend was more than what he received from the Temple, by a slight margin, although it was nowhere near what he could've made as a merchant's clerk. He was to come as quickly as possible because he was needed for a mission to Khand.

Bile rose in his throat, and a sense of fear.

"What happened to Gaerna?" Urzahil asked.

"He's in Far Harad, making promises and distributing small presents to tribal chieftains. Taher is responsible for Núrn, and I come to Umbar. The Chief Ambassador will deal with Gondor himself, if the situation ever comes up. There are still two more positions unfilled."

"What about the High Priest? I need his permission to go."

"Sauron founded the Temple. I doubt your High Priest will refuse him." Gillis made a dismissive gesture, and then turned to practical matters. "Meet us outside the Main Gate first thing tomorrow morning. We'll have a horse for you, and room for your things in the baggage cart. Don't be late. We're leaving as soon as it's light enough to see."

Gillis left the garden and strode down the main road, whistling. Urzahil watched him disappear in the deepening twilight.

Urzahil's mouth went dry. He hadn't agreed to enter Sauron's service, but he hadn't refused, either. It was what he'd wanted, but it was too much, too fast. He would sleep on it before he gave Gillis his answer.

But now, he had a more immediate problem. With slow steps and a mouth as dry as cotton, Urzahil made his way to the High Priest's office. The door to the high priest's office was ajar. Urzahil cleared his throat and rapped on the doorjamb.

"Come in." The High Priest sat behind his desk, writing. It was purple twilight outside, light from the lamp played on the old man's pinched features. He didn't invite Urzahil to sit, so Urzahil stood on the carpet in front of the desk, shifting from foot to foot.

The High Priest looked up. He rested his elbows on the desk with his fingers tented. In

"Of all the priests three weeks out of Seminary, you are unique. Not only did you commit blasphemy inside the Temple itself, right before services began, but you met the founder of our religion and insulted him. If we ever had a worse example of the priesthood among our numbers, I'm sure I don't know who it was."

"I didn't insult him…"

"Really? Tar-Adûmir tells me you told him to his face that his chosen occupation was beneath you."

"I didn't insult him, he thought it was funny. He this asked me to join his organization. " Urzahil pulled out the letter and handed it to the High Priest, who read it in silence for some moments.

"I don't suppose your decision is based on religious feeling for the founder of our Cult? I see he offered you a title. No one there will know you were born a bastard."

Urzahil dug his nails into the palms of his hands, his pulse hammered in his ears.

"And you're not doing yourself any harm by joining now, when he has what, thirty people? In a few years, he'll have thousands, and those who joined early will be at the top. I understand your motivation, but I hope you're good at court intrigue, because where you're going, you'll have to be."

The High Priest handed the letter back to Urzahil, who nodded and turned to go. But before he reached the door, the High Priest called after him, "One more thing. Whatever you do, don't mock the cult of Melkor in front of your new Master."

-o-o-o-o-o-

Urzahil had trouble falling asleep that night. Tomorrow he would travel to Mordor, where he would enter Sauron's service. He didn't know what he was getting into. Quite possibly, he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

Why had he agreed to it? Because Sauron was a figure out of a legend. People in Umbar hero-worshiped him, Urzahil among them. But it was more than that. When Urzahil left Umbar, he would no longer be Tar-Lintoron's bastard, he would be Urzahil of Umbar. He would finally be free of the stigma of illegitimacy that had plagued him all his life.

When he opened his eyes, the sky had already lightened to a grey dawn. He sat up in a panic, and reproached himself for not asking a servant wake him. Gillis had said to meet him at the main gate at first light, and that they were leaving promptly. Urzahil might already have missed him.

Urzahil pulled on traveling clothes as quickly as he could, heavy wool leggings, a linen shirt, and a leather jerkin. When he was dressed, he draped a woolen cloak long enough to serve as a blanket over his shoulders.

There was no time to shave or to go down to the kitchens and snag a piece of bread for breakfast. There was barely time to find anyone to carry his chest. He was suddenly glad he finished the night before, and not left any last-minute packing for this morning. The small wooden chest held everything he owned, all his books from University and Seminary, and a few more he'd been given by the library when they got so worn they were pulled from the shelves.

He'd left almost no room for clothes. He'd managed to fit in his everyday shirts and leggings, an embroidered tunic of his father's, and one of the silver-grey robes of a priest. And one other thing. Wrapped in a linen shirt was a small river rock painted to look like a crab, with a blue shell and orange-red claws. He made it for his father when he was small. It was the only memento he'd kept when he left home for the last time. He'd managed to fit them all between the spines of his books, but it took doing.

Two servants lifted it by the rope handles at each end, and followed him down the hall.

He stepped out of the building that had been his home since he'd entered the Temple as an acolyte three years ago. It was cold in the predawn. He hugged himself and shivered.

He walked along the low wall which separated the garden from the City of the Dead. He stopped, and the two men carrying his chest almost ran into him. He scanned the tombs for the one marked Lintoron. He'd only read Sauron's letter yesterday evening, and since then, everything had happened so fast, he hadn't said goodbye to his father.

The sky was beginning to get light, even though the sun had not yet risen. What had Gillis said? Were they were leaving at sunrise, or at first light? Urzahil wasn't sure. It would only take a few minutes to vault the low wall and reach the Lintoron tomb, but he wasn't sure there was time. He'd overslept and gotten a later start than he'd meant to.

"Goodbye, Father. I'm going to make you proud of me." He touched his fist to his opposite shoulder in salute. "Let's go." The Temple servants picked up their burden and followed him.

They reached the main square in the center of the old city. The first of the vendors were just beginning to set up their wares in the marketplace, and the songs of birds were louder than during the middle of the day.

Just before they passed through the gate in the city's inner wall, he stopped again and looked back. Sunlight was just beginning to hit the golden dome of the Temple, the highest structure in Umbar. The Temple grounds were in shadow. He thought he could make out his father's tomb, a white coral structure in a sea of white coral structures, but from an unfamiliar angle, he wasn't sure.

From there, they caught the main road through the city, which took them through the cramped gate in the old city wall and on to the main gate in the outer wall. The main gate was barred closed at this hour, but a night watchman opened the postern door and let them out.

Outside the city gates, the delegation from Mordor was breaking camp. Men-at-arms were rolling up a tent or lifting wooden chests into the baggage cart. A group of horses and men were milling around. Some were mounted, and some were standing in holding the reins. There was an extra horse, already saddled.

"I thought you'd changed your mind. Any longer, and we would have left without you." Gillis went back to helping load the cart.

The Temple servants struggled to lift his chest into the baggage cart.

"Let's go!"