The
Witch of Angmar
Legacy
of the Fellowship
Part
Ten
The Chieftain of Farnost
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T
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he
pale morning light filtered in through the high window, rousing Rose from a
deep sleep. She sat up in bed, for a moment trying to recall where she was and
how she had come to be there. Then everything rushed back.
The city glowing at sunset. The approaching darkness.
The goblins. Salrean and Ethorn
shouting at her and Peri to run.
The Gates of Farnost booming shut
behind them.
The screams. The Darkness.
Rose shuddered and climbed out of
bed, her feet slapping on to the cold flagstone floor. Her clothes were where
she had left them the night before, hung over the back of the large wooden
chair near the door. The chair, like everything else in the room was huge – nothing
here was hobbit-size. Rose felt a pang of longing for her own bedroom back in
her parents’ hobbit hole. Everything belonged to her there – and she belonged
to it. This room felt cold and strange in comparison.
She dressed quickly and let herself
out into the corridor beyond. Like her room, the hall was lofty with grey-stone
walls and a dark flagstone floor. Rose made her way along it, towards an open
door at the end. She walked through into a small room dominated by a large worn
table. Peri sat at one end, perched on a chair four sizes too big for him. He
was digging into a huge plate of fried eggs and bacon. An enormous basket of
fresh bread sat before him.
“Good morning Rose,” Peri tore off a
chunk of bread and stuffed it into his mouth. “Take a seat. There’s plenty more
where this came from. This is my second plate.”
Rose climbed up onto the chair next
to him, her stomach growling at the sight of his breakfast. It reminded her
that after all the excitement, they had not eaten the night before.
At that moment, a harried-looking
woman, dressed in a grey work-shift, apron and head-dress bustled out of a side
door. She carried a plate of bacon and eggs.
“Here you are,” the woman slammed
the plate down in front of Rose. “Eat up before it gets cold.”
“Thank you.” Rose did not need to be
told twice. She and Peri ate in silence, exchanging glances as they did so.
Once her plate was wiped clean, Rose took a gulp of water from a wooden cup and
wiped her mouth on a rough grey napkin.
“‘Tis such a colourless place this,”
she observed. “Everything is grey – even the table cloths.”
“The food’s excellent though,” Peri
sat back in his chair and sighed contentedly. “That’s the best breakfast I’ve
had in years.”
“So this is where Salrean grew up,”
Rose mused, glancing round at the featureless grey walls. “No wonder she smiles
so rarely.”
As if hearing her name, a familiar
figure appeared in the doorway.
“Salrean!” Peri called out
cheerfully. “Good morning.”
Following their encounter with the
goblins the previous night, Salrean appeared remarkably well. A cut to her
forehead, which had been neatly sewn, was the only sign that she had been in a
fight. This morning, Salrean was dressed differently than usual. Unlike the
leathers and heavy cloak she usually wore, she was dressed in grey leggings,
long boots and a long white tunic belted at the waist. Her long, dark hair had
been washed and fell in glistening waves about her shoulders. For the first
time, Rose realised that Salrean was actually quite beautiful.
Despite herself, Rose felt a stab of
jealousy.
Rose
the Fair, she
thought bitterly. Oh how I wish I was. Salrean,
on the other hand, did not seem to be aware of her beauty.
“Good morning Rose and Peri,”
Salrean greeted them with an enigmatic smile. “I didn’t thank you both properly
last night – for sending the guards back to help us. Without them, Ethorn and I
would have been overcome.”
“Our pleasure,” Peri beamed, in a
remarkably good mood this morning. “We couldn’t just leave you out there, could
we?”
Salrean’s smile widened before her
gaze settled on the remnants of their breakfast.
“If you have finished eating, my
father would like to meet you,” she said. “When you are ready we will go to
him.”
Rose noticed the change that came
over the ranger’s face when she mentioned her father – a seriousness which made
her appear older and harsher. For a moment, it dimmed her quiet beauty.
Rose, for one, was not looking
forward to meeting Rendur of Farnost. After Barandur and Ethorn’s reactions
whenever the Chieftain was mentioned, she imagined the worst. Yet, they were
now his guests and could put it off no longer.
The hobbits followed Salrean through
a network of grey stone hallways. After a while, they climbed a wide set of
stairs, before passing between two massive oak doors, flanked by guards dressed
in leather and iron armour.
Beyond, they stepped into a
cavernous, echoing hall.
Rose paused on the threshold, gazing
up at the high spider-vaulted ceiling. It was made of the same dull stone that
was found everywhere here. Two rows of massive veined marble columns ran
either-side of a white and black tiled floor. High above, small stained-glass
windows let in a watery stream of light that illuminated the ceiling and little
else.
“Come,” Salrean murmured, taking the
lead. “He waits.”
Torches, hanging from chains on the
wall, guttered as they passed, sending shadows across the columns. The hobbits
moved like ghosts; the only sound was the whisper of Salrean’s hunting boots on
the worn stone.
At the end of the hall, they approached
a man seated in an ornate iron chair.
“Father,” Salrean bowed. “We have
come.”
“Good,” the man rose to his feet,
his dark, predatory gaze sweeping from his daughter, to her two charges. Rose
bowed clumsily and Peri followed suit. There was something about his manner
that made Rose want to cower.
The man before them was tall and
broad shouldered, his size accentuated by the huge fur cloak he wore about his
shoulders. He wore black fitting leathers underneath; the clothing of a
warrior, rather than a man of his age and station. A mane of iron-grey hair
rippled over his shoulders and down his back. The only sign of wealth, besides
the plush cloak, were the heavy gem-encrusted rings that decorated his broad
hands, flickering in the guttering torchlight.
Yet, it was his face that frightened
Rose. It sagged downwards in a disapproving expression. He had a heavy brow,
black, glittering eyes, a large nose and a thin mouth. There was no hint of
softness in that face – none at all. Rose could not imagine him as a father, or
a husband.
Rendur of Farnost was as cold and
hard as the grey stone walls that surrounded him.
“So these are the halflings,” The
Chieftain rumbled, his gaze spearing Rose, “and one of them is a female.”
“Hobbits father,” Salrean corrected
him.
“I know what they’re called,” Rendur
snapped, “but halflings are what they are. What are your names?”
“I’m Pericles Took,” Peri spoke up,
his voice echoing timidly in the empty hall.
“And I’m Rose Fairbairn,” Rose
added.
“Which of you had custody of the Red
Book?” Rendur demanded.
Rose stared back at him, cowed by
his aggressive manner. “I did,” she replied. “My father looked after the book –
it was handed down through my family from Samwise the Great.”
“Samwise Gamgee,” Rendur’s mouth
curved. “You carry his blood?”
Rose nodded.
Rendur glanced then at his daughter,
who stood silently in the shadows, waiting to be addressed.
“And it was you, Salrean, who let
the book be stolen,” he rumbled. “Why did you not take it as soon as you learnt
of its whereabouts?”
“It was not mine to take, father,”
Salrean replied stiffly. “I thought I had time.”
“And you were wrong,” Rendur shot
back. “Your miscalculation has cost us something of great value. Now Morwyn has
it. If she discovers its secrets, we are all doomed. If this comes to pass, you
will carry the blame.”
Salrean glared at her father a
moment, before dropping her gaze to the floor. Watching her, Rose felt a stab
of anger at Rendur’s harsh treatment of his own flesh and blood. Her father
would never have treated her thus.
“It’s not her fault,” Rose spoke up,
her voice quivering slightly. “It’s mine. I tried to stop the thief but I was
not strong enough.”
The Chieftain of Farnost glared back
at her, his dark eyes glittering.
“Why are you here?” he growled
eventually. “You come empty-handed, without the Red Book. What do hope to
achieve, here in the north?”
“I asked them to come,” Salrean
replied. Her voice was cold, showing no sign that her father’s harsh words had
wounded.
“I didn’t ask you,” Rendur snarled.
“Speak, halfling.”
“The man who took the Book, killed
my father,” Rose lifted her chin. “I want vengeance, and will help your cause
in any way I can.”
Rendur of Farnost laughed at that,
the sound rolling like a drum in the emptiness.
“One small female hobbit,” he mocked,
“I’m sure Morwyn’s servant fears you.”
Rose felt her face go hot. Although
this man was frightening, his rudeness was now starting to anger her.
“Father,” Salrean’s voice was sharp.
“The fact that these hobbits are here, so far from home, should humble you.
They have both shown endurance and courage on the journey here. They want to
help. We should let them.”
Rendur glanced back at his daughter,
his craggy face impassive. For a moment, Rose thought he would rebuke her once
more, but this time he looked thoughtful.
“Indeed,” he said slowly, “they
might be of assistance.”
With that, Rendur of Farnost stepped
off the dais, which did not make him any less imposing to the hobbits.
“Come. Follow me – all of you.”
Rendur crossed the shadowy hall, in
long strides, his magnificent fur cloak billowing out behind him. Salrean and
the hobbits fell in quickly behind him. They followed the city’s chieftain
across the floor to a doorway. Rose had not noticed the entrance before, for
this side of the great hall was cloaked in shadow. Rendur strode through the
doorway and disappeared.
They followed him into a dimly lit
chamber, illuminated only by two torches. The room was windowless and smelt of
damp. It was empty save for a stone plinth in the centre. Upon the plinth stood
a large black stone bowl.
Rendur strode up to the plinth and
halted before it. Salrean and the hobbits stopped a few feet away, looking on
silently as he unfastened his heavy cloak and cast it aside. He looked younger,
and more dangerous without the cloak. His arms were bare, save for silver,
inscribed arm-rings which glinted in the torchlight.
The Chieftain of Farnost stepped
forward so that he was standing over the bowl. Then, he looked down at its
contents, his severe face giving nothing away.
Rose looked on, confused.
“What’s he doing?” she whispered to
Salrean.
“My father’s a seer, like Barandur,”
Salrean whispered back. “He…”
“So the halflings have met Barandur
have they?” Rendur’s cold voice interrupted them. “What did he have to tell
you?”
“Little,” Salrean replied. “I’m
afraid he spoke in riddles that I had trouble deciphering. He warned of doom
and against travelling to Angmar. Yet, he did tell us of a secret way in to Carn Dûm.”
“He did?” Rendur replied, his eyes
gleaming. “I will hear of this later, daughter.”
Salrean nodded. “Of course.”
Rendur’s gaze then shifted to Rose.
“Yes, I am a seer – but not the same as Barandur. We are of the same breed but
as different as an ocean is to a mountain stream. His powers of far-sight are
weak compared to mine.”
That’s
odd, Rose thought, for that’s not what I have heard. Your own
daughter told me otherwise. However, Rose did not voice her opinion.
“Barandur uses runes,” Rendur’s
mouth twisted. “Like a common fortune-teller who travels from village to village,
warning of failed crops and pestilence – but I use the Waters of Skellith.” He
motioned to the large vessel before him.
“Come forth female halfling,”
Rendur’s gaze did not move from Rose’s face. “For an accurate reading, the
Waters require your assistance.”
Rose hesitated. She glanced across
at Peri, who had not spoken since they entered the chamber. He returned her
gaze nervously, his earlier good cheer gone. Then, Rose looked across at
Salrean. The ranger was frowning.
“Father,” Salrean began. “Is this
necessary?”
“Silence daughter!” Rendur boomed,
beckoning Rose forward with a ringed finger. “Do not question what you cannot
possibly understand.”
Rose stared back into his dark eyes;
they were as hypnotic and terrifying as the low, powerful timbre of his voice.
Such a man was born to rule and impossible to resist.
Slowly, she walked towards him.
End of Part #10
Be back for Part #11 on 8 November!
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