Aglahad and the Dead City (In Tharbad: Volume Three)

6

The sun was lowering towards the rolling hills of northern Minhiriath by the time we reached Sarn Ford and the heat of the day was starting to mellow. The road descended into a shallow dell where the River Baranduin, lined with rustling birch trees, narrowed and babbled over the flat stones of the crossing. I had passed this way many times before and a host of memories rose from the depths of my mind.

"Who is that?" Aglahad said as the statue loomed into view.

"Amlaith," I said. "The first King of Arthedain. The river marks the southern border of the realm, as it was of old."

"All the land from here to the Lhûn was part of Arthedain," explained Finduilas.

During the ride from Tharbad, Finduilas and I had tried to instruct the boy in some of the ancient history of Arnor. But as we passed the barrows of Talath Gorthad and the crumbling ruins of Cardolan, it was hard to tell whether he was taking any of it in. His attention seemed to have been everywhere and nowhere at once.

Now, the horses walked tentatively over dark, slippery stones, through water the colour of weak tea. Small fish darted away from their hooves. As we gathered on the flat landing on the opposite bank, the edifice of Amlaith loomed over us. His face was wind-worn and a large piece of his crown was gone. Ivy covered his lower half like a ragged green cloak.

The road led us up the gentle slope of the dell and onto the wide land beyond. I turned back to the south as I waited for the Dwarves to bring up the rear. The country of Minhiriath, featureless but for the odd clump of trees, spread into the distance, bleeding into the horizon. I remembered the first time I looked from this hilltop and saw nothing but trees. For some reason, I had a feeling that I would never see that land again. But instead of foreboding, I felt a sadness such as one feels when parting from an old friend.

When the Dwarves had passed, the young Perian smiled at me from the back of Lofar's pony. Asphodel had been clinging onto the pillion of his saddle like that since Tharbad, with the Dwarf's blanket across her lap. She wore her brown cloak tight about her but kept her hood down despite the hot sun.

She had barely uttered three words since we started our journey. This seemed to appease everyone; they hadn't taken the news that we'd agreed to give her a ride very well. She was so quiet that often we would forget that she was with us and would clip our talk when we realised she was privy to our discussions. More than once, Aglahad had started loudly enthusing about Lindon and Belegost and I had to change the subject or, if that was ineffective, back hand him on the shoulder when Asphodel was looking away. Another time, Lofar deflected her attention by tearing an apple in half with his bare hands, a feat that seemed to delight the halfling beyond reason. Quieter still than the hobbit was Finduilas, who made no comment on Aglahad's speaking of Belegost. By her expression, I assumed that she was as loath to speak of it in front of Asphodel as we were.

The road from the river took us in a straight line for a league or so, rising and falling with the gentle land. At the top of one rise Asphodel laughed with delight. "The Shire!"

In the near distance, the heath gave way to green and yellow farmland. A low stone wall ran eastward away from the road. It snaked off, following the contours of the low hills. We rode past golden barley down a gentle slope to where long rows of pipe-weed grew in the shelter of the lower ground.

After another few leagues, the land levelled and was given over to vineyards. To the west, low hills, speckled with sheep, marched off to the north.

Soon, standing alone at the junction with Longbottom Lane, the Last Inn appeared in the darkening twilight.

"A bath and a tankard at last," Lóni said over his shoulder.

"The last time I was here, this place had a different name," I reminisced. "The Leaping Hart."

Finduilas turned to me. "It had that name when I was a girl."

The inn was a long, squat half-timbered building with a thatched roof, set back from the junction by a small green. The whitewashed render glowed orange in the last of the sun. The horses stepped off the road past a pond where a swan and her cygnets floated indifferently. They clopped onto a cobbled courtyard where a hobbit emerged from a small stable.

"Hullo, good people," he called out, wiping his hands on his breeches. "Shan't keep you." He busied himself by lighting the lamps around the courtyard. He wiped his hands again and trotted towards us, looking us over.

"Well, if it's not Asphodel Brockhouse from Longbottom." He whistled through a short pipe that he held in the corner of his mouth. "We thought we'd seen the last of you, young lady."

Lóni was helping her down from Lofar's pony.

"I had to come back," she said, glancing around at us. "I have to go now," she stammered. "Thank you."

"It's almost dark," Finduilas said. "You should stay the night and walk home in the daylight."

"I have to go," she said, backing away. "Thank you for the ride." She shouldered her pack and turned. "Thank you!" She scurried across the courtyard and melted into the darkening lane beyond.

Lofar cleared his throat. "Faithless is he who says farewell when the road darkens."

"Or she," Finduilas murmured.

"That was queer," the hobbit said. "She was such a chatterbox in her youth."

"I expect she had her father's illness on her mind."

"Her father? Old Man Brockhouse? Fit as a lurcher when last I saw him, which was this very morning. He's the baker up in Longbottom. Brought me my day's bread."

I met Lofar's gaze and his brow was as knotted as mine.

But Lóni had other things on his mind. "Well, innkeeper. All that has passed my lips since breakfast is an apple and a strip of salt beef. What's cooking this evening?"

"Pork chops, fried taters, if that's to your liking."

"Ah," the Dwarf enthused.

The innkeeper started to toddle off towards the inn's doorway. "And plenty of ale if your journey gave you a thirst."

"A plateful and a soft bed," Aglahad exclaimed, "before the morning and another road part us."

The twins looked at each other.

"That is where I must correct you, laddie." Lóni looked at his brother again. "We have decided to join your wee quest. If, of course, you'll have us."

"Perhaps now that we are alone," Finduilas said, "we might speak further of this wee quest. And Belegost."