The End of Times. - 1. The Chase.

Beyond Mirkwood at the far reaches of the Celduin, where the great river empties into the Sea of Rhûn, lies a forest and a land unknown to man. Legend has it that a desert of endless sand stretches forever to a city talked about only by travellers, but seldom has a person visited such a place. The rumours are both dark and mysterious, to be believed or dismissed as pure invention. That city however, has a name, Assakia, and a history, but we will come to that in due time.

The peace of the land is a precious gift, a jewel that shines on all the people of every country, both near and far. There is another jewel, less ephemeral that the storytellers say resides in that unknown city. That gem also has a name, the Goldamîr. It’s light, if you would believe the tales, is reflected in the sun and guides or blinds those who would seek to cross that endless desert.

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“We've been here for days and nothing is moving in or out of the forest.”

“Patience Johan, the talk in the tavern was of a caravan going east.”

“The talk. There is always talk. Talk and drink, and nonsense.”

“The disappearances are not nonsense. Children don’t just vanish.”

“They run away... Sometimes. Often?”

From where they were camped they could see anything that came out of the forest on the path running next to the River Celduin. It was true this was an unenviable task, sitting and waiting.

“Aerandir and Círdan will join us in a day from now. Then you can go down into the forest.”

“But there’s nothing. I am sure the rumours are no more than repeated drunken gossip.”

“Perhaps.”

Eldon settled back against the tree stump and lit his pipe. He didn't like being here anymore than Johan. Worse, the cold and damp made his old bones ache. They could not light a fire because the smoke would easily be seen and give them away. Although he too wondered if anyone was really coming through the forest, he remained silent.

As the sun went down, the mist engulfed the river and hid the edge of the forest. If the caravan arrived in the night it would pass them by unseen. Eldon made up his mind, if the others were not here tomorrow, he would send Johan down to the river to check for signs. They could not afford to miss the caravan.

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Naaji tied the boys to a large broad oak tree and told them in their own tongue to sit. The ground was damp, moisture dripped from the over hanging leaves. The smell of decomposing flora and fauna hung in the air. Rasheeq occupied himself with the tent, whilst Hamdi, the youngest of the three, collected firewood.

“Is it wise to light a fire?” Naaji turned to look across at his cousin.

“I hate the cold.”

“Then take a boy to bed with you. He will keep you warm.”

“I want a hot meal tonight, not one of those wretched creatures. Look at them!”

Naaji glanced back. It was true, they looked miserable huddled together on the ground. Nothing like the dancing boys of Assakia.

“Hamdi! Get the fire lit. And feed the slaves.” That boy was always so slow. Rasheeq regretted bringing him along, but his father had insisted, said he needed to learn.

The tent was a simple affair, the floor covered with two handwoven rugs. A blanket for each of them. Nothing else, they travelled light. Most of their supplies were left on the eastern coast, awaiting their return.

An owl hooted somewhere deep in the forest. Night was rapidly encroaching, descending like a shroud to cover their encampment. The twigs cracked as the fire took hold. Food and sleep were all Rasheeq had in his thoughts. Hamdi had other ideas as he handed the dry bread to the boys under the oak tree. Taking the one at the end of the line he moved him around the tree, away from the tent. He pushed him into the rough bark. Another boy, the one attached to him, stared with fire in his eyes. Ruindolon was of mixed race, descended from an ancient ancestry of elves.

“I’ll cut his throat,” he whispered to Jasper, but not so quietly that Hamdi didn't hear.

Hamdi had a firm hold on the boy pressed up against the tree. Jasper could almost taste the damp lichen on the bark. His cheek twisted, chaffing against the rough surface.

“Don’t do that!” Naaji had seen what he was up to.

Hamdi, startled, let go his grip. He turned to look in the direction of his cousin.

“Why not?”

“These boys are not for your pleasure. We don’t want damaged goods.”

“Have you fed them?” Rasheeq demanded emerging from the tent.

Hamdi nodded.

Ignoring what was going on, he told Hamdi to prepare supper.

“Or do you want to feel my belt?”

Rasheeq was rapidly losing patience with the boy and thought one day soon he would need to teach him a lesson.

Another screech erupted from the darkness. A black almost impenetrable wall, broken only by the sounds of the night and the flickering light of the flames.

It’s the only choice, his father had said. We have nothing else, you have to make the journey. Years and years had passed since ever a Berber had crossed the desert to the Sea of Rhûn and the lands beyond. For centuries no one had ventured west, it was well known that dark forces covered those lands. In any event the journey across the desert was perilous. Only the book and the map it held within its yellowed pages, showed the route. Without knowing the oasis, without water, it was a journey doomed to failure. The book held the secret.

Rasheeq had tried to argue that they could cross the Black Sea, eastwards to the spice lands, but his father had dismissed this as fantasy. They had no money to build another boat and no money to hire one. You will go to the lands of the Goy, and bring back some boys we can sell in the market. That is not difficult? No, not difficult, not if the book was true, which fortunately it had proved to be. Otherwise they would never have arrived in the West, they would be bones turning to dust in the desert. Still, being a slave trader was not a profession of choice, only of necessity.

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He knew in the morning they would need to detour from the river, exit the forest away from the obvious path. He didn’t doubt for one minute that they were being pursued. With the first light of dawn Rasheeq stirred, stretched, and sat up. There was no lying in. The hard floor whilst softened by the dampness, let that same humidity creep onto his skin. It was not a pleasant awakening. As he exited the tent he glanced at the huddled shape of the six boys they had taken from the two villages. ‘Time to move,’ he thought.

“Hamdi! Naaji! Get up!” He poked his head back inside the tent.

“We’re leaving. Break camp.”

“And breakfast?” Hamdi complained, but too late, Rasheeq was elsewhere.

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Eldon lit his pipe, Johan watched the old man draw and inhale. His eyes followed the wispy smoke as it curled around in the still morning air, merging with the fine mist that rose up from the forest below. The dampness crept across the leaf covered hilltop like a cold blanket covering the ground.

“I've decided we cannot wait for the others. I will leave a message for them. Fetch my pen and ink.”

Johan carefully withdrew the writing materials from one of their sacks. He flipped open the tiny legs of the miniature table, placed the ink bottle, quill and parchment. This was a ritual Johan had performed many times over. Despite the circumstances they now found themselves in, Eldon was not a warrior, he was a scribe and Johan was his apprentice.

Whilst Eldon put pen to paper, Johan sought out some stones with which to make a tiny cairn. Aerandir and Círdan would find it, read the message, and follow them. Hopefully, they would catch them up before they came across the slaver’s caravan. Eldon had convinced his young apprentice that this was indeed the nature of the tavern rumours, and Johan was only too aware how ill equipped they were to deal with that eventuality. Aerandir and Círdan were the warriors and trackers, they themselves were mere guardians. Watchmen, sent out of desperation.

“Pack everything and let’s get down to the river,” Eldon looked over at the youngster as he laid the message under the stones.

Very quickly the two were making their descent through the forest towards the river. In less than half of the hour they could hear, but not yet see the water. Eldon paused with his arm outstretched, stopping Johan from moving forward. The two stood stock still, surrounded by the whispering forest and chilly morning mist. For an old man he had a keen sense of smell. Sniffing the air he took in the faint odour of burnt ash. It always amazed Johan, observing his master in action. It was an almost divine gift, something given to very few. This ability to find and follow the imperceptible smells. To distinguish one from the other, and he was seldom mistaken.

“They made fire,” was all he said as he darted off in a different direction. And suddenly there they were at the strangers encampment, vacated not very long before. Johan could no longer doubt the rumours. It was evident as they looked around and studied the ground, three men had slept in a tent. Under a large oak tree Johan counted the impressions made by six smaller bodies in the damp earth. They were following slavers!

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Rasheeq led them along the river bank, he was determined to go north, to cross the Celduin, but they needed a ford. Somewhere shallow enough for the boys to be led across. Whilst neither Hamdi nor Naaji were concerned with anything but their own thoughts and getting home, Rasheeq felt a strange premonition of foreboding. He had no idea why, but his feeling was accentuated when they stumbled across the mutilated carcass of a fawn. It was a bad omen, and he was sure they were being followed, tracked. They must cross the river.

As the mist became lighter and the forest thinned out, it was obvious that they would soon be in open country. This meant little or no cover from those who might be behind them. But just as the sun, what you could see of it, rose to its zenith, so chance played its part. There was what looked like a passage across the water. On closer inspection the river dropped over a ridge forming a curving arc interspersed with rocks. Only the middle part, which was narrow, seemed to pose any problem. The water gushed through the narrow breach at some speed. With caution it was possible to cross. They could not afford to lose the boys, drowned in the river, but he would not untie them.

“We cross here,” he pointed towards the river.

“You lead them across Hamdi. Naaji will take the middle and I will follow up.”

“Is this wise?” Hamdi hated the idea of the freezing cold water, but one look at Rasheeq and he said no more.

Gripping the rope he pulled the line of boys after him into the river. Naaji positioned himself next to the third and smallest of the boys. Slowly they waded through the icy water. Ruindolon was tempted to take them over the edge and down the river, but now was not the time. They were securely tied and the water would only tighten the knots that held them captive.

Once having reached the fast flowing part of the river, Hamdi waded through. The water was up to his chest and forcing him towards the edge. He held fast to the rope and positioned himself with his back against a large boulder. He pulled the rope taught. Naaji fed out the other end. The rope held the boys as they crossed.

“Move!” Naaji told the first boy.

Mario looked about him. Realising he had no choice, he plunged forward into the torrent. He almost fell, the cold water gushing over his shoulders. He forced his way across, Hamdi pulled on the rope. The others were in turn forced to follow, one after the other. Aaron, the smallest of the six found himself gasping for air as the water gushed around and over him. He made it, dragged up next to Hamdi on the boulder.

Finally, they were all across the river. Soaking wet, drenched to the skin and shivering. Rasheeq quickly ordered Hamdi and Naaji to gather wood and make a fire. On reflection it was perhaps not a good idea, but they had to get warm. In very little time, Hamdi had probably never worked so fast, they had a large roaring fire. The flames were shooting up, driving back the damp and cold. They gathered around, basking in the heat. The six boys were stripped naked. They, themselves, wore only their loin cloths. All the garments were hung on a line to dry. Hamdi was walking around now he was warm again, looking at one, then another of the boys.

“I already told you Hamdi. Don’t get any ideas.” Naaji stared hard at his cousin.

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Aerandir spotted the little pile of stones immediately. Bending down, he removed the message left by Eldon.

“They're pursuing the caravan towards the river.”

“Then let's get down there. There's no time to lose.”

“You see that?” Aerandir pointed across the forest.

“Yes, I see it.”

A thin spiral of smoke swirled upwards through the trees from below.

Círdan led the way, moving quickly into the forest. He wondered what Eldon and the boy would do if they caught up to the slavers, but those thoughts he kept to himself. In very little time they were at the river bank. They stopped to check for tracks. Then moved quickly, following the river, to catch up with the others.