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

26

We kept a fire blazing throughout the rest of the night and the cold mountain dawn. I made a big pot of mint tea and left it stewing over the fire. Our cloaks, tethered and stretched between two pines, provided some shelter from the breeze while our still-damp clothes hung limply over the lower branches. The river from the heart of the mountain tumbled over rocks and wound through the forest and down the valley on its journey to the Lhûn.

We sat huddled together in our undergarments, hugging our hot beakers, while Aglahad and I related our adventures since we'd parted ways. Finduilas said nice things about the Dwarves but when we pressed her for her account of how she survived the caverns and tunnels of the Dead City she was reticent.

"There are things I saw in there of which I will never speak," she said simply.

Above the mountains hung little fluffy clouds, glowing pink with the first rays of the rising sun. Too cold and tired to sleep, I passed the hours by telling them of Hirdan and Damrod, of their deeds in the village, the town, the city of Tharbad. I spoke of Enthor and Amandil and Yávien and of Ostoher. I spoke of the cursed, sacred sword, Calmegil. And of the men and women who died defending people they barely knew. And when I told them who Meleth truly was I shivered deep inside.

* * *

It was almost noon when we found the Old Dwarf Road. The fire had eased the chill of Belegost but now Mother Sun warmed me to the bone. Without discussion, we elected to tramp alongside the road, relishing the soft earth and crackle of pine needles under our boots instead of cold, hard Dwarven stone. The soft breeze hushed through the pines, sounding like a distant seashore. Small unseen birds tweeted and warbled among the branches.

Finduilas had barely spoken since we broke camp. An oily sweat glazed her pallid forehead. After Aglahad had sped ahead, I pressed her on whether she was injured.

"I must have caught a chill in that accursed place."

I frowned at her. "Lady, at least let me see your left flank."

She started, as though I had accused her of some heinous crime but then her face relaxed. She lifted her tunic then pulled her hose towards her hip. She had dressed the wound quite well. There was only a small dab of blood but it was fresh.

"What happened?"

"The fall. One of those things fell with me. Or rather I dragged it with me. It must have caught me with one of those quills on its back. How deep the wound is I do not know."

"It may be poisoned. I will re-dress it after I apply a poultice." I opened my messenger bag and started pulling things out. "The lhuglam is of little use but I have some oil of uialluin in here somewhere. You must rest, Finduilas. Stay here while I collect some athelas. And Aglahad."

But there was no need to conduct a search. The heir to the Princedom of Dol Amroth appeared grinning among the trees astride his beloved Bronweg, leading Finduilas's horse alongside.

"They must have found their way into the valley over another pass." He stroked Bronweg's black, glossy neck.

Finduilas spoke softly. "Perhaps by the high road we saw the Dwarves taking across the valley."

"What of the ponies?" I said. "Losnoron?"

He handed me the reins and I tethered Finduilas's horse to a tree. "I saw them grazing a furlong or so further down the valley."

He sat high and proud in his saddle as though he had just arrived at the Four Shields Tavern in Dol Amroth. His clothes were dry and looked clean and neat. His beard seemed to be longer and thicker. And his hair had grown long enough for him to tie it back. The thirteen year old boy I once knew was gone.

"Friends," he said as he started to turn Bronweg. The three blades of Gondolin were wrapped and lashed to his saddle. "I am away to Rivendell. Cemendur Siriondil, you are hereby relieved of your service to the House of Dol Amroth."

"Noro lim, Bronweg!"

Aglahad turned away and he disappeared among the trees. I never saw him again.