A BOOK OF SCROLLS: The Prisoner

THE BOOK OF REQUIEMS:

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THE personal messenger of the tribal Judge-Shadol was sent out to speak to the people that remained behind the abandoned city’s walls; for the main gate was ever closed no matter the outcry beyond it.

BENEATH the Grand Pavilion, which stood beside the gray tower called Varlendur, (meaning: Tower of Strong Friends); sat the three Gnome, leaders deep in conversation: Ven.du.mar, Ba.al.yick, and Nol.Mith.lon, the tall. To their utter surprise, a strange voice called from behind them saying, “Hail! Oh, Masters of the fabled West! I come in peace.”

TURNING upon him the three strongly inquired as to his purpose.

“Forgive the intrusion upon your fair city. I am Bruth-ya.nel, and do seek an audience with those who yet retain the keys to these Grey Havens.”

“I am Vendumar of the city we now call Mithar.” Was the firm answer given him.

“On behalf of my Mistress, Queen of Wives, Yevith-nu-yalla have I come to you. It is she who commanded me to approach you for a favor oh noble Lord beyond The Wall! Her husbandman and Judge, called Sha.dol over all the people called Nasil were slain. The head of Mair-i-than lay beside its fallen body and the necklace of his office – stolen.”

VENDUMAR asked the messenger, “What is this favor she begs of us?” By now Legandriel and Nuthcorlan stood as guards beside their seated Lord.

“Keepers of Mithar, our rightful Judge, Mair-i-than is dead and his murderer captured only yesterday. At the behest of his widowed Queen, it is requested that his slayer be helped as a captive within your strong tower as punishment. In doing so, she swears perpetual alliance to the rulers of Mithar, for this one act of kindness for our beloved dead.”

MOMENTS of discussion passed among the three leaders in their own unknown elven tongue before the Nasilian human messenger.

Vendumar replied, “We will comply, but only after we confer with the next Judge Overseer, and the widow of the last face-to-face.”

Bruth-yanel bowed his head low before them, answering, “This word is as sacred as water to us, and eagerly so shall I deliver it unto my mistress with gratitude I leave you for leaning your un-angered ears unto me.”

TWO days later a more formal knock came upon Mithar’s main gate instead of a silent messenger breaching her walls.

Legandriel and Nuthcorlan ceremoniously opened the gate of the city eight days after the great departure of gnomedom from those shores. Then, through the iron gates paraded a procession the likes of which was never before witnessed. A mass of foreign people now entered the grand way.

Legandriel and Nuthcorlan let them pass. Leading them was a young man not more than twenty years of age. Naked, wearing only a loin skirt and high-laced sandals. Including his shaved head, his entire body was lavishly tattooed in the language of his people, and limbs were marked with magical sigils of protective art.

Behind him were three women dressed all in black. From head to toe, they were veiled in black sackcloth with only netting on their covered faces. Wailing and holding onto one another as they mournfully followed the naked young man before them. Dressed like their leader were nine bald warriors, each brandishing curved swords etched even as their bodies were in protective sigils of art. Behind them was their prisoner.

Following behind the guard and widows was a man badly beaten and chained with heavy fetters bound hand and foot to four huge guards dressed like the nine. Behind them were the fatherless children of the fallen Judge and the host of people behind them who stayed beyond the gate at the elven guard’s request.

The two gnomish guards, Legandriel and Nuthcorlan were armed only with pikes gave way allowing the strange entourage to pass them even though the people could have easily pressed against them they showed great respect in staying as commanded. Behind the two elven sentries stood twelve Nasilian swordsmen. As the naked man led his prisoner down the broad street called Straight, turning left they came to the very steps of Varlendur Tower itself and halted before the three elven lords.

THE Nasilian entourage met Beirdan. He was dressed in his formal green and blue robes, standing at the foot of the forty-two steps that lead to the oaken iron-clad doors of the grand tower. When the Nasilians halted, Beirdan called to them, “Behold! The Lords of Mithar bid you welcome.”

On the porch above, near the oaken iron-clad door of Varlendur stood the same three leaders the messenger had met before: Vendumar, Baal`yick, and Nol`Mithlon; dressed in their finest attire.

The boy who led the Nasil called in answer up to them, “Hail to thee, Masters of the City!” With that acknowledgment, the Gnome council approached them as Beirdan stood beside his lords.

The young man spoke again, saying, “My father was Judge over the total that remained of the Nasil’s nine hundred people, camels, and a great number of livestock that now encamp beyond your fair walls.

“He was brutally murdered by this man you see chained before you now. I, his three widows and all his grieving people do ask your privilege to house this creature within your magnificent Tower.

“For now – my own hand has stayed from the revenge of snuffing out his life in exchange for my father’s mantel. But, we seek to ever torment him with living in the secluded darkness of your Strong Tower and friendship. So too, that the righteous may know there are such things as mercy and swift justice, do we incline this of you. We ask only that you house him here for us.”

Lord Vendumar publicly asked, “Why would we fulfill such a thing on anyone’s behalf?”

THE head widow, Yevith-nu-yalla gave an answer, “I am ‘The Most Blessed wife unto God’ and we beg this of you because you were once known as a just people; before the great departure of your fathers.”

Nol`Mithlon stepped forward and questioned, “In whose time and for what need?”

The young man replied, “I am Mair-i-than the Second, and I am no fool, my lord. We are all very well aware that the life span of the Lords of the West far exceeded the daughters of men. Even so, do we swear by the mightiest of our oaths: that by the service of our children’s children or that which we promise to accomplish be done till we all draw breath no more; all is given unto you for this one act of kindness as a favor.

“When two camel fight it is the ground that suffers, my lord. So too, have we all been touched by this one act of brutality, and are we all now sworn unto you and yours.”

HAVING previously spoken among themselves, and fearing a deceitful plan would unfold; those three elven lords agreed never to call for a favor to be granted from the Nasil. Vendumar thusly pronounced, “So let it be done as you, yourself have said it before one and all.” With that, he led the beaten, guard-chained prisoner to his doomed fate, up the many steps and through the very doors of Varlendur itself.

AS court scribe, I Adormir, the son of Beirdan witnessed firsthand everything that was spoken that day. From, down the halls to the lowest depths of that three hundred and fifty-two-year-old tower that party was led. Vendumar then instructed the newly made Judge, before the final door was unlocked, “In this manner let it also be made to your people that all we shall give is house and darkness to this – wicked thing here. The full duty of his charge is laid fully upon you as to his care and well-being; yet, ever are you to keep us abreast of his state and to your own comings and goings. His welfare is upon your heads alone, is that understood?”

“Perfectly so, my elven lord,” Mair-i-than the Second, Judge of the Nasil answered.

SO it was that the Grey Tower of Mithar came to house its first of many prisoners. Its dungeon became notorious throughout Eriduah as the ultimate end, next to death itself. Thus, were the ties of the Nasil woven into the fabric of the Gnomes, as a new era of history began.

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