Emissary by Uvatha the Horseman

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Student Life

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Student Life

Urzahil sat in his Sindarin class, daydreaming out the window. The drone of other students reciting was making him sleepy.

They were making place names by taking a root word and adding the suffix for "land". The trouble was, sometimes the suffix was -dor and sometimes it was -nor. There was no rule, each one had to be memorized.

"How do you say land of stone?" "gond-dor"

"How do you say noble land?" "ar-nor"

"How do you say black land?" "mor-dor"

"How do you say lonely land?" "eria-dor"

"How do you say land in the west?" "núme-nor"

"How do you say land of the Valar?" "vali-nor"

On the cover of his Sindarin book, he wrote, "In case of fire, throw this in first."

-o-o-o-o-o-

Palan sent to the Temple Library to copy a passage from a rare book. Armed with a note from the famous astrologer, Urzahil was admitted, with an escort, into the great collection of books and scrolls which lay people were seldom allowed to see.

A librarian brought him a book, falling apart with age, and helped him find the passage he'd been sent to copy. The librarian sat with Urzahil while he wrote.

Urzahil finished writing and wiped the nib of his pen on a small square of cloth before putting his writing tools back in the pen box.

"I wondered, do you have a copy of Treatise on Astrology?"

"We have the original. Would you like to see it?" The librarian led Urzahil to a stand in the middle of the room where the oversized volume stood open to a map of the sky.

"May I touch it?" The librarian nodded. Urzahil lifted it to look at the cover. The names of two authors were on the spine, Merric and Palan, and Palan's was listed second. Urzahil's face fell.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Urzahil, I'm having trouble with the Diplomacy assignment on reading people. Can you come over after class and help me?" asked his friend Tas.

Tas was the same age as Urzahil, but far more sophisticated. Tall and athletic, he had an aura of worldliness and self-confidence.

Tas lived in the largest house on the street. A house? It would be more accurate to call it a palace. It was five doors down from his father's house, and on the same side of the street. He'd been in and out of it since childhood, and was as comfortable there as he was in his own home.

Urzahil knocked on the front door and was admitted by a servant. A shout invited him upstairs. Their friend Marös was already there. Short and built like a tree trunk, his bulk was comfortably settled in a delicate chair.

Urzahil looked around. Tas had magnificent rooms, bed hangings, marble balcony overlooks gardens, fountain in the center of the gardens, fine carpets with the tiniest of knots.

Tas read the assignment from his notes. "You're meeting with the emissary from an allied nation. He is speaking words of peace and supplication. Does his posture agree with his words?"

Urzahil thought before he answered. "While he is speaking, you watch him closely. If he leans forward, that means he's friendly. If he holds his arms away from his body with the palms up, that's a sign of supplication. If he crosses his arms, that's hostile. If he lifts his chin and looks down his nose at you, smiling with one side of their face, that's contempt."

"Can the gestures be faked?" asked Tas.

"Of course. Actors do it all the time," said Urzahil.

"How can you tell when someone's lying?" asked Tas.

"Well, you start out by asking them questions that are going to have true answers, like their name, observations about the weather, that sort of thing. Then you ask your real question and listen for a change in tone," Urzahil said.

He looked toward the window, trying to remember what a liar sounded like. "They'll distance themselves from the lie. They won't say 'I', they'll speak in the past tense or use passive voice, and if their answer sounds rehearsed, it probably was."

Tas scribbled down notes. "Now for the second half of the assignment, 'You're negotiating to buy grain from a neighboring nation. If they knew your nation was in the grips of famine, they'd double the price. How do you keep your secret?'"

"Arrange your features in a neutral mask, and keep your hands still. Keep your feet still as well. It's almost impossible to keep both still at the same time, so do something else, like curl your toes inside your shoes or clench your stomach muscles, something they won't see," said Urzahil.

"You're good at this, Urzahil. You haven't been taking the class any longer than the rest of us. How did you learn to read people so well?" asked Tas.

"He practiced by playing high stakes card games. Oh, wait! That would be me," said Marös.

Or by being a poor relation in an aristocratic household. After a few years of being dependent on the whims of others, Urzahil could read minds from a pinched nostril or a twitch in a jaw muscle.

Both Tas and Marös were the younger sons of Great Houses. They were not going to inherit the family lands or business, so they would enter the professions.

"Father wants me to be emissary to Harad someday, or maybe even Gondor. Gondor is the most prestigious assignment in the diplomatic service. That's the one I want. But Tas will probably get it, because the House of Castamir is the most well-connected in Umbar," said Marös.

"You're assuming I have the knack for it. More likely, I'll be given a ship to command and told to stay out of the way," said Tas.

"Why do we have an emissary in Gondor? They're the enemy." Urzahil frowned.

"To learn their plans. We'll keep an emissary in their capital until the moment open war breaks out, when he'll either be recalled or expelled," said Marös.

"Wouldn't they just kill him?" asked Urzahil.

"An emissary can't be assailed," said Marös.

Tas made a dismissive gesture. "There won't be a war. Gondor is a shadow of what it used to be, they can't do anything to us now."

Marös was no longer smiling. "A few years ago, I would have agreed with you, but …"

He was interrupted when Tas' sister Aranel came in the room. She'd shot up in height this year, and for the first time, Urzahil could imagine her as a grown woman. He was smitten.

Aranel wasn't like other girls. She had the same education as her brothers, and she shared Urzahil's interest in history and politics. Urzahil's thoughts roamed into the future. He and Aranel would stay up late into the evening together, talking about books and politics like Urzahil did with his father. She wouldn't fill her days with luncheons and charity work like the wives of most noblemen, she would oversee her holdings. She might even be elected to the Council of Captains.

He imagined his father bringing Tar-Castamir a betrothal contract. The two men would sip coffee and make small talk before moving on to the serious business of uniting their two houses, continuing what was begun with the betrothal of his sister to Tas' second cousin.

Then he recoiled as if kicked in stomach. There would be no arranged marriage for him, not to Aranel or anyone else. Arranged marriages were for the nobility, not for the baseborn. Urzahil kept his face still, his expression blandly positive. With an effort, he kept his hands still as well, and his feet. Listen attentively, nod and smile. He would not let his friends know how upset he was.

He grew up with Tas and Marös. They lived on the same street, they went to University together, and they did things together after classes. He wore the same clothes they did, and had the same amount of pocket money. It was so easy to forget he wasn't one of them.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Urzahil went into the Philosopher's Stone between classes one afternoon, looking for a quiet place to read other than the library. The two charity students, Caran, the expert in naval history, and his friend Gaerna, were sitting around a table near the back.

"May I join you?" Urzahil sat down at their table.

He pulled up a stool and sat down with them. As a poor relation, he sometimes felt like he had more in common with them than he did with his wealthy friends. The charity students were the most serious scholars in the school, and they were at University because they wanted to be there. Some of his wealthy friends were there only because their families made them.

But Caran slurped his coffee when he drank and left the spoon in the cup rather than lay it on the table like a well-mannered person would do.

And Gaerna talked endlessly about sports. Not even an interesting sport like swordsmanship or falconry, but fisticuffs fought for money in grog shops. Urzahil sat with them for a while, his eyes glazing over, and left earlier than he'd planned.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"Let's drink to the House of Castamir. Huzzah, Huzzah!"Tar-Lintoron raised his wine cup, and everyone else in the room did the same.

After weeks of maneuvering and negotiation, the House of Castamir and the House of Lintoron had come to an agreement. Urzahil's sister Aranelaith was going to wed a Castamiri.

The Castamiri weren't as wealthy as the House of Marös, but they were better connected and more influential. It was an excellent match. Granted, the bridegroom was a second cousin with no real wealth or influence, and he lived far away in the provinces, but still, it would forge an alliance between their two houses.

To close the deal, Tar-Lintoron had pledged a portion of the family's wealth into Aranelaith's dowry. Most of the Lintoron family's wealth came from their fleet of fishing vessels, but they also owned a number of farms. To pay the dowry, the rents from those lands for the next three years were pledged to the House of Castamir in lieu of gold or land.

Aranelaith was excited about her betrothal. She already knew the boy slightly; he came in from the provinces to attend the Castamiri Yule banquet every year, and he was her own age.

The betrothal ceremony was held as soon as the agreement was reached. The couple stood in the Great Hall at the Castamiri house, five doors down from the Lintoron house. In front of witnesses, they exchanged rings and spoke the words of promise. Once the vows had been spoken, the betrothal contract became legally binding and couldn't be broken.

The household was swept up in the preparations for the three days of feasting, public festivities, and giving gifts to the poor, traditional for a marriage between noble ceremony took place in the morning of the third day. Aranelaith stood with her betrothed on the marble steps of the Temple of Melkor, arrayed in a gown of green silk with gold embroidery, the finest she had ever owned.

All the nobility of Umbar and a good portion of its ordinary citizens crowded into the square in front of the Temple to witness the vows that would join the House of Lintoron to the House of Castamir.

After the ceremony, the guests came to the Lintoron house, where the servants had set up long trestle tables and brought in great platters of food. The feasting lasted for the rest of the day and well into the evening.

After most of the guests had gone home, Súrion, a priest at the Temple and one of his father's closest friends, accepted an invitation to stay a little longer. The two men put their feet up and reminisced, partly about Aranelaith, but mostly about their childhood together.

"You know, as someone who'd always wanted to be a scholar, you would have done well in the priesthood," said Súrion.

"Except that I'm not observant. Wouldn't that be a problem?" Tar-Lintoron grinned at him.

"Less than you might expect," said Súrion. They both laughed.

His father turned serious. "Do you like the priesthood?"

"Yes, very much. My duties in the Temple allow me to spend time reading and studying, but the position also carries great social prestige. I move in higher circles than I ever could have if I'd chosen an ordinary career," said Súrion.

"How about you, Urzahil? Do you have an interest in the priesthood?" he asked.

"It's not for me. I'd rather stay on at the University and teach," said Urzahil.

A few days later, Aranelaith finished packing the last of her clothes and cherished possessions, and moved with her new husband to his estate, far up the coast. He hoped some business or errand would bring her back to Umbar, he missed her terribly.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Urzahil skipped the coffeehouse after school and got home early. On the way to his room, he stopped by his father's study to look for some ink and a few sheets of paper. The door to his father's study was closed. His hand was on the latch and he was about to open it, when he heard voices murmuring on the other side.

"… attacks on our shipping …"

Urzahil closed his eyes to hear better.

"… population has grown … no, Tharbad's still empty, they're expanding south."

"… their steward is a charismatic leader…" His father's voice sounded worried.

" … regained much of their former strength … " Tar-Castamir's booming voice carried into the hall.

Urzahil felt sick. How could that be? Two hundred years ago, the Corsairs raided up and down the coast of Gondor, from Belfalas to the mouth of the Isen. Gondor used to be weak, devastated by civil war. What had changed?