Elegy for Númenor - Volume 1: Journey to Umbar by elfscribe

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Chapter 7 - Sûla’s Dilemma

Chapter summary: Events cause Sûla to slip deeper into Sauron’s net.

Warning: violence, attempted rape

 

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Author's note: Dulginzin and Mirandor are sons of Izindor, a lord of Arandor, who first appeared briefly in Ch. 4.

*************

 

The taste was bitter in Sûla’s mouth but instead of quickly swallowing, as was his wont, he held it for a moment, then took some of the gooey substance from his tongue and rolled it between thumb and forefinger. A man’s seed, taken fresh. Could this be the key to an elixir of immortality? It was an astonishing thought. He swallowed the rest, wincing at the strong taste.

The King sighed in satisfaction as he relaxed back against the pillows. The broad arms reached down, grasped Sûla’s shoulders, and pulled him upwards to lie against the royal chest. Surreptitiously, Sûla wiped his hand against his own thigh. For a time they lay quietly, warm under the heavy furs. It was dark in the tent. Sûla heard the flapping of the canvas in the wind, a nicker of a horse, and the royal heartbeat thumping against his ear. If only things could remain just like this, with no more demands upon him. If only the King would let him sleep and not ask any questions.

Then the King shifted; Sûla could feel him bending towards him.

“They tell me you spent some time with the Lord Annatar today.”

“As you commanded,” Sûla replied, lifting his head.

“Did he have anything of interest to say?” The voice was eager.

“He asked about Lord Azgarad, wanted to know if he had any vices.”

“Hmmmm. I wonder what he has in mind. Is he planning something? Searching for weaknesses?”

“Perhaps. He said he needed the information because he was worried about what you might do to him. He seemed fearful of you, my Lord.”

“Did he now?” The King chuckled.

“Yes and he told me that in former days he could turn into a wolf. Said he could no longer do it since he took the new form.”

“That’s useful information. If that’s true, it seems that his power is diminished and that he is not the threat my counselors fear. I’m beginning to think my idea for you to attend him was a good one. Is that all?”

Sûla hesitated. “M’Lord . . .”

“What?”

“I do not mean to complain but my conversation was interrupted, just as he, well just as he was beginning to open up, reveal things. It was the Lord Aphanuzîr; he made me get out of the wain. He said it was too dangerous for me to talk to the Zigûr.”

“Did he indeed? Who is he to make such a decision?” the King snapped. “I’ll order Aphanuzîr to leave you alone, so that you can continue watching Annatar uninterrupted. I’m trusting you, Sûla, to tell me everything of importance.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Sleep now. We have another long march tomorrow.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

The silence deepened and the secret began to chafe at Sûla. Why had he hesitated to reveal it? Perhaps he should tell the King now. He could say, ‘oh yes, I forgot, the Zigûr told me about the key ingredient needed for the elixir of eternal youth.’ But the more he thought about that, the more suspicious it sounded. How could he have forgotten something of such magnitude? He should have spoken up right away. After all, what harm could it do to tell? Annatar had no power over him and the King held his very life in his hands. The Zigûr need not even know. Sûla could tell the King the whole story–that Annatar had told him to keep the secret –and instruct the King to act surprised when Annatar revealed it. Surely, Sûla thought, that would make clear where his loyalty lay, and perhaps the King would reward him. For a moment he entertained thoughts of a land grant, a place where he could be his own master. But even as he thought of that scheme, his heart sank. Somehow, he had a feeling that Annatar would know if he told the secret. Oh, what a fool he’d been to give his word to him! But he had been insulted that Annatar would think he wasn’t trustworthy; he had his pride after all, despite what others thought of his calling. And this was not a secret that put anyone in danger. Surely, it would not be so terrible to keep it hidden for a little longer.

And so, he remained still, debating with himself until he heard the King’s breathing roughen into a soft snore. Ah well, too late to tell him tonight. Tomorrow would suffice. Sûla closed his eyes with the taste of the King bitter on his tongue, while outside the wind rattled the canvas and howled like a beast.

**********************

“Well, what did he want?” Elendil asked as his father emerged from the King’s tent, with a look on his face that would have caused one of his sailors to piss himself on the spot.

“Not here,” Amandil said gruffly. They squelched through the ice-rimed mud back to their encampment where their household servants were folding up the tent and stowing their belongings in the wain in preparation for another day’s march.

Elendil could feel his father’s anger building like a wave. “Ada,” he said. “Tell me what happened.”

Amandil picked up a leather chest and heaved it into the wain. “He told me to leave his little zirâmîki be. Said he was spying on Lord Annatar for him and was gathering valuable information. Nothing I said moved him and he was quite clear that I should keep out of the affair.”

“Sûla is just a boy, Ada. What harm can he do?” Elendil said.

“Plenty. He sleeps with the King and therefore has his ear better than any of us, or have you forgotten that sordid little fact.”

Elendil ground his teeth. “No, of course not, Ada.”

“I have a terrible feeling about this. It’s certain that no good will come of dragging a Dark Lord of Evil home with us, especially amidst all the discord we already have there. Annatar could easily manipulate that if he wants to. Anyone with any sense could see past that pretty facade Annatar’s adopted. But then Calion always did let his baser desires rule him, even as a lad.”

“Did you tell him your concerns?” Elendil asked.

“Of course. He agreed with me! He’s not a fool, not yet at any rate. He told me that if I had a better alternative, I should offer it and quickly. He was very angry and I must admit I’m short on answers. Oh, Sauron has manipulated this one to a keen edge. We can’t let him go back to his dark fortress to plan more war. And it’s true what the King said; this campaign has gone better than I could have imagined with nary a drop of blood spilled. I suppose I should thank the Maia for surrendering as he did. But I am deeply suspicious of his motives.”

“So am I,” Elendil replied. He put his hand on his father’s arm. “But just think, what if Ar-Pharazôn is right? It seems reasonable to take Annatar as prisoner to Númenor in order to keep an eye on him. Better the shark ye can see than the one ye cannot.”

Amandil sighed. “I think we should have at least tried chopping his head off . . . , Annatar’s head that is, not the King’s,” he added with a slight smile.

Elendil snorted. “You have a potentially treasonous sense of humor. But think. You are a Counselor still and in a position to watch closely what happens. I pray you not to do anything rash that would jeopardize that position.”

“The voice of reason and it has to come from my son, and not from me,” Amandil sighed. “But my ability to watch is limited. Even if I had the stomach for it, I cannot slip into the King’s bedchamber and listen to pillowtalk.” He winced. “Nor do I have a reason for lurking around the Zigûr’s tent. Indeed, the King just ordered us to stay away from Sûla and the Lord Annatar. Is there someone who we can find to watch for us? A guard perhaps?”

Elendil rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “There’s Tigôn, one of the King’s pages. His family is of the Elendili.”

“Ah yes, the son of your friend Lord Eärdur of Eldalondë.”

“You remember that Tigôn and his brother Zoganîr used to come visit when we summered at Andúnië. I was the one who put in a good word for him to be taken into the King’s service, so he owes me a favor.”

“I do remember,” Amandil said, his eyes lighting. He nodded. “Do you think he could be persuaded to watch and report to you? He may not want to become involved.”

Elendil nodded. “I think it’s a matter of appealing to the boy’s sense of loyalty to both our families and to Númenor. I’ll try to find a quiet moment to speak with him.”

“We are moving into ever more dangerous waters, ion. We must keep our ship on an even keel.”

“Aye, my Lord Captain,” Elendil agreed.

***********

The evening shadows stretched long across the stony landscape as Dulginzin, son of Izindor, surveyed the field of tumbled boulders decorated with small caps of snow. He grabbed his brother Mirandor’s arm, pulling him back behind a rock. “Look, here he comes,” he hissed.

Mirandor rolled his strange wall-eye. “So what? ‘Tis c-cold out here. I want to g-go in to g-get d-dinner.”

Dulginzin peered out intently. “He’s very pretty, like a girl. I think I’d like a taste of that.”

“Don’t be a f-fool, b-brother,” Mirandor replied. “He’s the King’s p-pet, isn’t he? Father will b-be a-angry with us.”

“He’s heading toward the Zigûr’s tent, taking a short-cut. It’s very suspicious. Maybe we should find out what he’s doing there, huh? Maybe Father would thank us for learning something. And if the little piece of orc-shite doesn’t want to talk, I’ll just have to make him—one way or another.”

Dulginzin paused and licked his lips. He could feel his blood surging with interest as he watched the graceful swaying gait of the King’s Umbarian whore picking his way around the rocks. The young man was wearing a fur-lined cloak of dark, red wool with the hood thrown back, revealing long, curling ringlets of black hair, golden skin, delicate cheekbones, and huge, dark eyes. Carrying a steaming wine cup and a basket covered with a cloth napkin, he looked like some serving wench, except that his clothes were beautiful, much finer than a mere servant’s. Red for Eru’s sake! A royal color! For an Umbarian slave to be given such presents and to be so high up in the King’s favor, well, it was a disgrace! It made Dulginzin feel angry, made him want to hold the boy down and beat him senseless, after of course, he had taken his pleasure. He gripped his crotch, finding himself more than adequate for the task.

Mirandor noticed and snickered in that weird snuffling way he had. Snock, snock, snock. The sound made Dulginzin want to thrash him too, as he had done often enough when they were growing up.

“Besides,” Dulginzin said, “it’s been two months since I had a girl. No one should be expected to wait that long. And what have we gained from this cursed campaign? No spoils of war like we were promised; no gold or slaves, only frozen feet and terrible food and one paltry captive, which we should have just killed and been done with it. I should have had plenty of slave girls by now. And do not say it! I care not a sardine what Father thinks. After all this annoyance, I’m entitled to some of what the King has. The King owes me. Don’t you think?

“Dulgi, that b-boy, he’ll t-tell the King. You are b-being st-stupid, as usual.”

“Shut your useless mouth! He’s just an Umbarian slave. No one will believe what he says over the word of a blooded noble of Númenor.”

“Ohhhh, this is b-bound to be tr-trouble.” Mirandor folded his arms and looked stubborn.

“Well, I’ll not bandy words with you little brother,” Dulginzin said. “All you need do is hold him down, keep watch, and yell if you see anyone coming. If you do that, maybe I’ll let you have a piece of him.”

Mirandor giggled as greed lit up his eyes. “Ooh yes, like last year with th-that flute g-girl. I like t-to watch when you d-do it to them, Dulgi!”

Dulginzin looked around. In the distance, he could see warriors moving among the tents. The company was setting up camp for the evening and all seemed unaware, busy with their own affairs amidst the noise and confusion. Now was his chance. His moronic brother had disappeared. No time to worry about what he was up to. The Umbarian was close. Quickly, Dulginzin stepped out in front of him. “Say mîki, where might you be going?” he said, leaning casually against a boulder.

The pretty thing halted and raised his chin in an unbearably haughty gesture. “‘Tis none of your affair, son of Izindor,” he said.

He started to walk by but Dulginzin moved to block his passage. “How dare a mere whore tell me what is or is not my business.”

The Umbarian stepped back, his glance like a drawn sword. “The King will not take kindly to your disrespect.”

“Disrespect! As if you were owed any respect!” Dulginzin raised his fist. “You’ll answer the questions I put to you, slave, and you’ll do as I say, or suffer the consequences. Now set down those things and come here.”

“I see no reason why I should obey you. You’re not my master. Now, don’t hinder my errand; it’s for the King.”

Dulginzin lunged forward and punched him in the gut. The boy let out a sudden whoosh of breath as he doubled over, dropping the basket but managing to keep hold of the cup. Dulginzin laughed. “You’ll soon find out that it is I, Dulginzin, who is your master. If you take off your breeches now and bend over, maybe I won’t hit you again. No guarantees though.”

Suddenly, the boy straightened up, raising his arm so quickly and gracefully that Dulginzin didn’t realize what he was doing until he felt a scalding splash against the side of his face. Ai, that hurt! He grabbed his cloak and wiped his face, looking up in time to hear the clang of the cup on the ground and see the boy fleeing through the rocks. Filled with rage, he drew his knife and started after him, but the little beast was quick. When the boy looked back over his shoulder, Dulginzin could see his face, white with fear. Good. That’s what he wanted, the whore cowering before him, wanted to hear him cry out in pain. Curse the luck, the gap had widened between them.

Then Mirandor emerged from behind a rock with his head down like a bull and rammed full-tilt into the Umbarian, knocking him sprawling to the ground. So, that deformed weasel of a brother was good for something after all. Maybe he would give him some of the spoils.

The boy punched Mirandor in the jaw, knocking him to the side and was trying to rise when Dulginzin flung himself on top of him. He pressed the tip of his knife into the boy’s side. “Stop wriggling or I’ll gut you,” he said.

The boy stilled and his body became rigid. Mirandor grasped his wrists, hauling them over his head. “I’ve g-got him, Dulgi,” he crowed. “D-do it n-now. T-take him.”

Dulginzin worked his cold fingers under the tunic trying to find the buttons to the boy’s breeches.

“The King will kill you for this,” the boy hissed. “I swear it!”

“The King won’t do anything because he’ll never find your body,” Dulginzin growled. “He’ll just think you ran away.” He grinned in anticipation as he managed to jerk the boy’s breeches apart and wrench them down off the slim hips.

“No, please,” the boy’s voice caught. The haughty tone had given way to a sound of whimpering fear, like a puppy. It was just what Dulginzin wanted. Now if the little shite would just stop wriggling. He was twisting away from Dulginzin’s probing hand.

“D-do it to him, m-make him scream,” Mirandor giggled.

“I said, hold still,” Dulginzin snarled. He freed himself from his own trousers and took himself in hand.

“What do you want? Gold? Jewelry? I can get you whatever you want,” the boy pleaded. His delicate face was almost ugly with fear.

“What I want, you filthy piece of Umbarian trash,” Dulginzin sneered as he pressed up close, feeling the smooth warmth of skin against his loins, “is to rape you bloody and then cut you into little pieces and leave you for the crows. You aren’t worth a twist of straw except as a hot little hole. Ummm, but you are a sweet little piece aren’t you? No wonder the King keeps you around.”

The boy twisted violently under him and then released a harrowing wail. It was the tearing sound of someone gone mad, and for a moment, Dulginzin paused, taken aback by the strangeness of it.

“Dulgi, w-watch out!” Mirandor called in sudden warning.

“What in Morgoth’s wrath are you doing, boy!”

At the sound of his father’s voice, Dulginzin looked up, then rocked back on his knees, quickly fumbling himself back into his breeches before he felt a sharp blow to the side of his head. For a moment he couldn’t hear anything on that side. Blinking tears from his eyes, Dulginzin rolled away from the next blow from his father’s knotted staff.

“No, F-Father, no,” Mirandor was whimpering. He was on his back with one hand raised against his father’s fury. “D-dulgi made me d-do it; he said he’d hurt me if I d-d-didn’t.”

“You little traitor,” Dulginzin hissed.

“Silence, both of you.” Izindor reached his hand to Sûla, offering to help him up. “A thousand apologies, Cupbearer, for this . . . inconvenience.”

“Inconvenience!” Sûla cried, refusing the hand. Your filthy son tried to rape me! And he threatened murder! Do you have any idea how angry this will make the King?” He pulled up his breeches and then staggered to his feet. “He has hung others for less offense than this.”

Dulginzin’s head throbbed and his knees were cold from kneeling in the snow. He began to wonder if, in fact, he had done something stupid. It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

“Yes, but you won’t tell him about this, will you?” Izindor said in a calculating tone.

“I think I shall!”

“I think not. I can offer you payment if you keep quiet, a substantial sum.” Izindor opened a bag that hung at his waist, pulled out two gold sovereigns and grasping Sûla’s wrist, pressed them into his palm. Sûla spat on them and cast them to the ground with a ringing clatter. Izindor frowned. “If you reject this offer and tell the King, I will swear before the Bawîba Manô priest that you tried to seduce Dulginzin. Both my sons will attest to it. It will be your word against ours. And you know that the King needs the friendship and the military might of the Lords of Arandor, probably more than he needs a little cupbearer. There are always more where you came from.” He smirked. “That being the case, who do you think he’ll choose to believe? Hmmm?”

The King’s whore hesitated. He cast a look of impotent fury at Dulginzin, who immediately felt better, despite the pain on the side of his head. He should have trusted his father to know what to do. Too bad he hadn’t had time to finish. His balls ached. Well, he could bide his time. There were many deserted corridors in the palace.

“Come, do we have an agreement?” Izindor scooped up the money and handed it back to the boy with the smile that Dulginzin had seen so many times before in a situation where Father had the upper hand.

“Do you promise that your son will stay away from me?” Sûla snarled.

“Of course,” Izindor replied. “Isn’t that right, son?” At that he struck Dulginzin’s head again with an open palm.

“Uh, huh,” Dulginzin grunted.

The boy hesitated, his mouth working in anger, then he nodded, and walked quickly away.

Izindor fetched Dulginzin another rap on the ear. “Stupid boy! Don’t think this is the end of this. You best learn to keep your prick buttoned up or by Ossë, you’ll come to a bad end.”

“Yes, Father,” Dulginzin said sullenly. Behind his father’s back Mirandor was giggling like some old hag. Well, at least he could make his brother pay for his betrayal, quietly behind the tent.

*************
Sûla hadn’t realized how much he was shaking until he picked up the cup that he’d dropped. He upended it, dribbling out the last of the wine onto the ground. The basket had overturned, scattering the meat, bread, and cheese on the wet surface. That was a loss too. He’d have to go back to the cook’s tent and obtain more. He grabbed his breeches which were sliding off his hips and discovered that several of the buttons had popped off. How could he repair this without the King finding out? Suddenly he was overwhelmed with anguish. The effort to keep standing was too much; his legs give way under him, and he collapsed to the ground, sobbing.

Vividly, he remembered a time when his stepfather Khunig had caught him playing when he should have been sweeping out the ashes from the forge. He had grabbed Sûla by the hair and bent him over a bucket of soapy water, plunging his head into it repeatedly until Sûla was sure he was drowning. Sûla choked, struggled, and begged, “Please father, I won’t do it again! Please don’t kill me.” There was momentary relief when Khunig emptied the bucket over his head, allowing him to lie on the floor half-drowned, gulping air like a fish, but it was not over. Not at all. The deep, angry voice still echoed in his ears, “You boy, are a filthy whore, good for nothing except this. This will teach you your place!”

Was it true? Was he good for nothing except . . .? He’d thought that being the King’s servant would raise him above such degradations. It seemed he was wrong. That bastard Dulginzin and his creepy brother and father! He wanted to kill them all! No, better, he wanted to chop off Dulginzin’s prick and stuff it down his throat! What would happen if he told the King and Izindor carried out his threat? Would Ar-Pharazôn really believe he had tried to seduce Dulginzin? Sûla thought that the King trusted him more than that. He had been faithful; he’d never had relations with anyone behind the King’s back, even though he’d been tempted more than once by other lords, not to mention the other zirâmîkin, but he had known better than to provoke the King’s wrath and risk disfavor. Then again, it was true that Arandor was an important political ally. Bitterly, Sûla realized that he wasn’t sure at all that the King would protect him. Better to leave things as they stood. Wiping his eyes clear as well as he could on his cloak, he got up. There was only one thing to do, continue, as if nothing were wrong. That had always been his recourse in the past.

********

When Sûla entered the tent he found Annatar crouched on the ground drawing something in the dirt with a stick. His face was obscured by that waterfall of fiery red hair. Quickly, Sûla glanced up at the guards standing by the door of the tent. They did not appear to be paying any attention, and in fact, their faces held no expression at all. That was a trifle odd.

Annatar raised his head and looked at him with those golden, cat-like eyes. “You’re late,” he said. Almost casually, he scuffed over whatever he’d been drawing, rose, and sat on his hassock. Despite the clinking chains, he still looked like some great king granting an audience.

Rattled, Sûla said, “My pardon, my Lord, it could not be helped. I brought your wine.” He handed him the cup and quickly began laying out dinner on a low table. By Zizzûn, his hands were shaking.

Setting down the cup, Annatar reached out and grasped Sûla’s chin, raising his face to look into his eyes. “Something has happened to you,” he observed. “Something unpleasant. Don’t think I can’t feel it.”

“I . . . , my Lord, forgive me,” Sûla stammered. He wrenched away from Annatar’s hand. Curse it, he was shaking all over now. He did not want Annatar to see him so weak.

“Sûla, look at me,” Annatar commanded. Reluctantly Sûla raised his eyes to stare into those strange golden depths in which a fire seemed to flicker. “Ah that’s better,” Annatar said. “Now, you were about to tell me what has frightened you so.”

Sûla glanced at the guards.

“Do not bother with them. They do not hear you,” Annatar said. “Look!” He stood and snapped his fingers at one of the guards, who merely flapped his hand by his face as if brushing off a fly.

“What have you done to them?” Sûla asked.

“It is of no importance. Now tell me.”

“I was bringing your dinner when . . . Ai, I’m so ashamed,” Sûla said. He crumpled to the floor and hid his face in his hands. “I should not say anything, but I don’t know what to do.”

“I may be able to help you,” Annatar said. “You need not speak. Keep still.” He sank down next to Sûla, closed his eyes, and cupped his hand over Sûla’s head. “You have been assaulted,” he concluded.

Startled, Sûla looked up. “How did you know?”

“Because I can feel the shape of violence about you. It is like a snake coiled about your chest. Feel it? It is slowly squeezing.”  He moved his hand, placing his palm on Sûla’s breastbone.

Suddenly Sûla could feel pressure winding about his chest. He gasped, barely able to breathe and that scared him even worse.

“You escaped damage, but it has triggered evil memories. Am I right?”

“Yes,” Sûla said, and began to cry. He struggled to control himself but the tears seemed to flow unchecked. “It was that worm, Dulginzin; he’s the son of Izindor, Lord of Arandor. He tried to, he almost . . .”

“Hush.” Annatar leaned forward and kissed Sûla’s forehead. The effect was chilling to the blood but suddenly Sûla felt calm, almost as if he were drunk.  He could breathe again. “You have every right to be outraged for such an offense,” Annatar continued in that purring, soothing voice. “Yes, I am getting images of that young man’s face, twisted in lust. Very nasty. But I am seeing something else. Who is this large man with the great black beard?”

“You can see that?” Sûla asked, appalled.

“I have many powers,” Annatar said. “Strong emotions carry images which I can see. Did you think the appellation ‘Zigûr’ was a mere flattery?”

“My Lord, I did not know the extent of your power.”

“Nor do you now.” Annatar’s lip curled. “So who was that man?”

“Khunig, my step-father. He married my mother when my father died and took over the family business, but he hated me, and he, he hurt me, many times.”

“Yes, I can feel that,” Annatar said. He shivered as if excited. His eyes filled with a strange glow.

Swallowing heavily, Sûla attempted to draw away but Annatar grasped his shoulders.

“I can help you,” Annatar purred. “Come, sit with me.” He stood and raised Sûla to his feet, then drew up another hassock, opposite the small table. He picked up the cup of hot wine and pressed it into Sûla’s trembling hand. “Drink,” he said. “It’ll do you good.”

“Oh no, my Lord. This is yours. It is not for the likes of me.”

“You, Hadon,” Annatar sharply addressed one of the guards. “I am in need of another cup of hot wine for my guest.” The guard stirred, made a short bow, and left. Sûla stared after him, speechless. What had Annatar done? He should be running immediately to report it to the King. Instead, he took a soothing gulp of the wine.

Annatar chuckled softly. “Ah yes, the guards and I have arrived at an understanding. I may be Ar-Pharazôn’s prisoner, but I am not to be treated as some base slave, I who was the Lord of all Middle-earth.” His sumptuous mouth twisted. “You also are worthy of much better treatment, my dear Sûla. We are slaves of the same powerful man, you and I; as such, we have much in common. Now tell me everything that happened, in detail.”

Throwing all sense of caution to the winds, Sûla told him. It gave him a strange thrill to confide in someone who at one time had the power to become a ravening wolf able to rip out Dulginzin’s throat.  All the while Annatar listened, he absently played with the iron cuff about one wrist, making a soft chinking noise. Finally he said, “And you fear the King would not support you over this Izindor?”

“I fear he would not. Izindor is correct. He is a powerful ally to the King, and what am I, my Lord, but a pleasure boy.” The words came bitterly to Sûla’s lips.

“Yes, that is true,” Annatar said, “as long as that is how you think about yourself.”

Stricken, Sûla hung his head. “Perhaps, I should go now. His Majesty will want my services soon.” He started to rise.
                          
“Stay.” Annatar said. Sûla found himself sitting back down as abruptly as if he’d been pushed. “You have the right to be angry, Sûla, and fearful as well. You are beautiful and it is no wonder you awaken lust in others.” Here he stroked Sûla’s cheek with a cool hand. “But you have much more to offer than just your beauty. You are clever enough to have worked your way up to the King’s bedchamber. If you play your game right, you could rise even higher until you are so powerful that no one will dare offend you.”

“Ha! It is more likely that someday soon I’ll lose the King’s favor and end up sucking cock in some back ally of Armenelos."

Annatar looked off into the distance. “That is one possible future,” he said. “There are others.”

“Can you see the future?” Sûla asked with a surge of wonder, even as he felt sick at the prospect of having one of his worst fears confirmed.

“No one can clearly predict what will happen,” Annatar said. “I can sense possibilities, can trace along the many threads that make up the future. It is useful only in a limited way because actions taken to prevent an outcome may actually bring it about. This prediction is certain, however: as things presently stand, Dulginzin will attack you again and this time he will succeed.”

“No,” Sûla whispered. He began to shiver again. “What am I to do? Carry around a knife? I hate feeling so helpless! It’s like waiting for Khunig to come home at night, knowing he would be drunk and angry.”

“My dear friend, you have been much wronged in your life, through no fault of your own. Would you like something that could protect you from such fiends?” Annatar’s voice rumbled like a great cat. His fingers stretched and retracted on the smooth surface of the table, scraping his nails as if they were claws.

“What? What can you do?” Sûla asked eagerly.

“First I must know if you are trustworthy. Did you tell the King the secret I told you?”

“No, my Lord.”

Annatar took his chin and stared into his eyes. “You are speaking the truth. Good. I am pleased. Most pleased.”

Sûla flushed with pleasure. “When I make a promise, my Lord, I keep it.”

“A man of honor I see. Very well then, I shall give you a gift that will keep you safe from assault. But it will come at a price.”

“What price?” A warning sounded at the back of Sûla’s thoughts. Don’t trust this creature. If you become more deeply involved, the King will find out and execute you in some extremely painful way. But Sûla was too intrigued by Annatar’s offer. He had to find out what it was, Zizzûn help him.

“Nothing so terrible. You will now tell the King about the key ingredient of the elixir of eternal youth. Tell him I know how to make it but that I said I would never do it for him. You must say that I tried to make you lie to him about it, that I tried to seduce you, but that you resisted. Tell him about my attempted seduction in detail. Make up those details. I’m sure you have a good enough imagination to do so.”

“Yes, I can do that,” Sûla agreed happily. This would free him from his earlier dilemma of keeping information from the King, even if he was embellishing the truth. It was easy to imagine Annatar seducing him, to imagine those long hands caressing him all over, while that voice purred in his ear. In fact, it would be quite hard to resist.

There was a motion at the doorflap and Sûla started, but it was merely the returning guard. He placed a cup of hot wine before Annatar, inclined his head, and went back to his position at the door.

Sûla said, “So, how can I keep the likes of Dulginzin and his odious brother at bay?”

“I will give you words of power that will freeze a man into stillness for a short period of time, long enough so that you can escape unscathed from any unpleasant situation, and will leave your attacker with no memory of the event. The man must be alone though or others will see what you have done.”

“Yes!” Sûla cried, clapping his hands together. That was perfect!

“You haven’t heard it all yet,” Annatar said with a flash of the eyes. “At some point in the future, I will ask a small favor of you, which you must do for me. If you refuse, your power will disappear and anyone on whom you’ve used the word will remember what happened in full detail. ”

“Oh,” Sûla hesitated, but the temptation was too great. “Yes, my Lord,” he said. “What are these words that have such power?”

“Kiss me,” Annatar said.

“Those words?” Sûla asked, puzzled.

“No, you must take the words from my lips.” That shapely mouth curved upwards in a sly smile, displaying white teeth. For the first time, Sûla noticed that the two incisors were slightly pointed, like fangs, perhaps the remnant of Annatar’s ability to change into a wolf. Sûla found it dreadfully attractive, but still he hesitated. “Is that such a terrible thing to ask?” Annatar said.

“No, my Lord. It is not so terrible.” Sûla stood and bent forward slowly. Annatar reached up with a clink of chains and clasped the back of his head drawing him in. His lips felt tasty as ripe plums under his own, very sensual and exciting, more so than he ever remembered with the King. They moved forcefully, with a promise of unspeakable delights. Overcome, Sûla wished to give some pleasure in return. He reached up and stroked Annatar’s pointed ears between thumb and forefinger. Annatar shuddered and moaned. With a hissing gasp, he exhaled words into Sula’s mouth. At first it was like tasting some miasma of wine gone bad. Then, it thrummed throughout his entire being, ending like a thunderclap. He stood bolt upright, shocked, and then stared down into Annatar’s knowing eyes. With that flaming hair streaming down his shoulders, that sculpted elfin face, and those golden catlike eyes, he appeared as beautiful and deadly as a fire crackling upon a hearth. Perhaps it was the smartest move Sûla had yet made in his young life to ally himself with him.

“Thank you, my Lord,” Sûla said.

Annatar laughed softly. “You are lovely, Sûla. It’s tempting to seduce you in actuality, but we cannot have that. It would complicate things. Now, go about your duties. If you carry out your part of our bargain, no one will be able to take advantage of you, ever again. I promise.”

******************
Sûla crept up to Izindor’s camp, holding his hood close about his face. It was late. He hadn’t much time as he’d been dismissed from the King’s presence on the pretext of needing to relieve himself and the latrine tent wasn’t far away. But he was itching to see if Annatar’s spell would work. There was a small fire in the clearing near the tents of the Arandor encampment. Next to it crouched a bulky figure, his back to Sûla. His elbow was lifted high, bobbing up and down. What was he doing? There came a pained squeaking seemingly from a small animal. Sûla crept closer, moving silently through the undergrowth, and peered out from behind a large boulder.

Dulginzin had snared a small ground squirrel. The soldiers often hunted them to supplement their diet; squirrel pie was in much demand, but it didn’t seem like something a noble’s son would do as he had plenty of servants to hunt for him. Sûla moved to the other side of the boulder to get a better look and then his gut twisted with disgust. Dulginzin held the squirrel by a string attached to its tail and was dangling it over the fire. The poor beast was crying; its small body curling and writhing in an effort to get away.

Oh you pitiful thing, Sûla thought, I know just how you feel. That piece of orc shite! Dulginzin certainly deserved to have something horrible happen to him. However, Sûla knew he needed to be cautious, give himself enough space to run in case it didn’t work. Annatar had said that the spell would only be effective for a few moments. Long enough, he hoped. Slowly, heart pounding, he stood and called out, “Dulginzin!”

Dulginzin’s head snapped around. Holding the string carrying the hapless squirrel, he stood up and peered into the darkness. “Who’s there?” he called.

The words of power formed on Sûla’s lips, an ugly hissing sound, which suddenly burst forth as if on the wings of a storm, shaking the bare branches of the trees overhead. Dulginzin stood as if turned to stone, the squirrel dangling from his hand. Sûla waited a moment and when his enemy remained frozen, crept up to him, poked him hard in the arm, and then darted backward. No response. He slapped him. Dulginzin swayed slightly, but otherwise did not react. Amazing! A strange feeling came over Sûla, one that he had seldom felt in his life. He could do anything he pleased to Dulginzin. For a moment, he entertained thoughts of slitting his throat and letting his life’s blood pump out onto the frozen ground, but no, a murder would raise too many questions, especially given his earlier encounter. Izindor would certainly suspect.

He flicked a fingernail against Dulginzin’s chest. “Oh, what a big, strong man, you are, a low-life lout, hiding behind your father’s title. Not so much now, are you? I can do anything I like to you and no one will know.”

The squirrel, evidently not affected by the spell, squeaked pathetically and Sûla had a thought that made him laugh. It was perfect. He pried the string from his enemy’s hand and held up the squirrel, looking into its terrified face. “Hello my little friend. Tell me, would you like some revenge?” The squirrel blinked at him solemnly, as if he understood.  Jerking open Dulginzin’s breeches, Sûla plopped the creature inside, hastily knotted up the ties, and then retreated behind the boulder where he counted to ten.

Dulginzin raised a hand to his face as if bewildered, twitched, then suddenly clapped both hands to his crotch and let out a howl. Batting frantically at the small roving lump within, he sought to undo the reluctant knots. When that endeavor proved unsuccessful, he began running about in a circle, hopping up and down and yipping, “Aiiii! By the dog!” As far as Sûla could see, Dulginzin’s exertions merely managed to drive the lump further down into the region of his balls. Face turning bright red, he grabbed both sides of his laces and wrenched apart the fabric. The squirrel’s head emerged from its prison, seemingly sporting a grin. The sight was so amusing that Sûla had to stuff his fist into his mouth to keep from laughing. Then the squirrel clawed its way free, much to Dulginzin’s increasing distress, leaped to the ground, and pelted off into the darkness.

Izindor roared from a nearby tent,“What in the name of all Morgoth’s wrath is wrong with you, boy?”

Time to go. Sûla slipped off into the night, biting his lips until he was a good distance away. Then, he doubled over, clutching his sides and shaking with laughter. Dulginzin had gotten exactly what he deserved. Never again need Sûla fear him or anyone else for that matter. The sudden rush of power made him light-headed as if he’d gulped down an entire cup of wine.

-tbc-

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Chapter End Notes

Thanks to beta Malinornë and to pandemonium and randy for comments on the Lizard Council.

Zoganîr (elfscribe-invented Adûnaic name) Tigôn’s older brother